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| No title. |
| (2013-02-23 - Now) |
| No description. |
| Faruja Senra | The official orders come in an envelope delivered by a nondescript human courier. He refuses to answer questions, merely stating the letter was for one 'Squire Percival', handing it over and leaving. For an act of penance, they seem remarkably straightforward, almost trivial. Escort the Priestess to a Monastary on Cleyran lands. There are no other specifics, other than the Priestess' life being paramount to all other considerations. Do all that you feel is necessary to achieve it. The ex-Alexandrian citizen would meet Perci at the gates of Fluorgis. She wears the typical white robes of a white mage, and the bent cross of the Ajorans. Oddly enough, she also has a Parasol that she constantly holds towards the sun. Pale skinned and with dirty blonde hair, she looks like she could be in her mid-twenties or perhaps a little older. When the gargoyle arrives, she'd turn to bow. "May the Holy Saint guide you, my Child. You're Squire, ahh..." Reaching into her robes, she pulls out a piece of paper. One set of reading glasses later, and she nods. "Percival? I take it the rat sent you?" There's more than a little bit of venom in her words. |
| Percival | While Percival took his duties very seriously, he began to wonder if perhaps the effort was wasted on him. He didn't think very highly of himself, after all. As he read over the very official looking set of orders, he couldn't help but to think grimly. "Orders are orders...' Such a simple phrase, and yet it had caused him so much grief in the past. The moral quandaries which resulted from just trying to follow orders were always the most difficult ones. Still he saw no cause to believe that there would be any sort of hand-wringing here. Perhaps his punctuality was the first sign that he was in earnest when it came to his desire for penance. He'd arrived a good hour early, at least. So when he saw the genteel white robed woman wearing the Ajoran cross, he put on his best mask of stoicism. He would be the picture of a courteous squire. His wings were already furled and at rest around his shoulders like a cloak, and he placed a hand across his chest as he bowed ever so slightly. "Forgive me madame, but I know not the proper title of address for a priestess of your faith, or the custom for greeting them. You will have to excuse my ignorance, but indeed, my name is Percival, and I was sent by Ser Senra, the ah, Burmecian Knight in question." He glossed over the rudeness in her tone. He was more inclined to forgive those in authority and of the opposite gender for uncouth statements. Thankfully his patience tended to be rather vast when it came to individuals of each group, and she qualified for both....somehow. |
| Faruja Senra | The mere mention of the Burmecian's name has the Priestess shaking her head and sneering. "Fine, whatever. You talk the part, I'll give him that much." Her dark green eyes stare at the Gargoyle briefly, in one of those looks of a person not used to seeing his kind. There's no fear, though. Turning around, she starts forward even as the squire began to bow. "Never thought I'd find someone who talks more than those rats. Priestess Anette, that's the proper title. Let's get going. There's been bandits on the desert paths, and worse as of late. Don't want to be caught out at night either." A pair of chocobos are led up by a young stablehand. The priestess pays him with a coin, before looking expectantly to the Squire. |
| Percival | Percival found already 'thinking' a prayer for God to grant him both the strength and the patience to overcome these trials. Mostly patience. Since chatting seemed to offend her, he lapsed into an uneasy silence. At least they could agree on one thing, getting started early was paramount. Percival was decidedly not looking forward to the conversation on what happened to him throughout half a day and why they had to make for a safe encampment before then. When she brought out the two chocobos, he tried to put on his best poker face. He'd only ridden once in his life, upon a chariot in the Colisseum, and that was decidedly different from riding astride it like a mount. Oh he understood the concept well enough, he'd watched enough old films at the cinema, he'd read enough books on horsemanship and Knighthood. And he knew enough of this world's bipedal feathered mounts to know there was little difference in the concept. Still, it made him uneasy, and he didn't want to explain it to the Priestess. He could only imagine the tongue lashing he'd receive if she knew she'd been sent a squire that couldn't ride. He half entertained the idea of saying he'd glide overhead, which would make him a better scout, but not for very long. He had a feeling that the idea wouldn't go over well. So in the end, he found himself awkwardly climbing to sit astride his offered chocobo mount. His feet didn't sit very well inside the stirrups and it made for a very uncomfortable experience overall, and yet he tried not to offer any complaint. He looked straight forward, but his peripheral vision was set upon the woman so that he'd discover better clues about how to ride the blasted thing. |
| Faruja Senra | It seems not even chatting will make her happy. As the Gargoyle mounts his steed, she openly scowls. "...Or perhaps not. Not going to help a Lady? Hmph! Maybe I've misjudged you. To think the rat would send such a mannerless Squire. Or maybe that's the whole point." Irritation is clear in her voice as she mounts her steed, expertly flicking the reins. The beast is off to a trot immediately, the gargoyle no doubt able to pick up many tips as she rides. The ride along the desert trail is at first rather easy going. Silence reigns from the Priestess, her parasol always tilted sunwards to protect her alabaster skin. Every now and then she'll look Percival's way in a strangely...hungry look. She even licks her lips once or twice. As the pair progress on, signs of recent travel become more obvious; footprints in the sand, general disturbance of the dunes. The Priestess continues on, seemingly heedless of the signs...nor of the signs of sand tumbling unnaturally down a nearby dune. |
| Percival | Percival wasn't even going to attempt to explain the idea of gender equality and how it related to chivalry in his Order. Despite his inclinations towards protection and tolerance of the opposite gender, his ideal of chivalry was not quite as the rest of the world imagined. Still he was grateful that she finished scolding him soon enough and that he was able to instead concentrate on riding with her. Percival didn't know what to make of the priestesses hungry look, but then again he had a tendency towards naivete. Perhaps she found him attractive? He certainly hoped that wasn't the case, and he doubted even that after a moment's introspection. Given her general derision towards Ser Senra's race, he had little doubt that she felt the same way about his own. His tendency towards naivete was not enough to mask the signs in him which screamed that something was amiss. The footprints, the sudden movement in the sand. It was enough that he already had his shield readied along his right arm. It took him a moment's thought to pick up the Chocobo into a gallop though so that he might catch up to her. Once he was alongside her, he began to speak in a hushed tone of voice. "Priestess Anette, this has all the makings of an ambush. If I say to take off, then do so. If I say to stay still, then do so. And if I ask you to take cover, then try to use your mount for that and pray it has the training to stay still. I can't guarantee your safety if you do otherwise. For now though, let's give that direction a....wide berth." He tilts his head slightly towards the ominous dune, and then begins to gesture to head in the opposite direction. At worst, he was doing as the bandits expected and leading them right into a trap in their current direction of travel. In slightly better circumstances the priestess would be able to ride away from them unhindered while he would be able to take the brunt of the attack. At best, there was nothing out there and he was merely acting out of foolish paranoia. He was quite sure he still would prefer her tongue lashing if that were so to the bandits or heartless that likely lurked beyond. |
| Faruja Senra | The priestess stops her chocobo as the Squire starts to give orders. Conveniently, it's within nice sight of that oh-so-suspicious dune. Unlike the hushed words of Percival, the Priestess doesn't see fit to lower her voice. Raising her parasol, she'll try to smack him! "Quiet! A Priestess will not slink about! I am an ordained Priestess of the Holy Church! No one would /dare/ attack /me/! Now shut up! First your ignorance, then rudeness, and now THIS!? Hmph! That I would be partnered with such a knave as you must be the rat's idea of a snubb..." Movement up above proves Percival all too right. Something metallic shines briefly. A second later a gunshot rings out. Looking down at her chest, surprise on her face, the Priestess starts to fall from her perch upon her steed. Blood drips from her wound as a pair of figures, dressed in leathers and long coats with their faces veiled and covered, begin to rain bullets down from crude guns upon Percival. |
| Percival | Percival saw it coming before the priestess did, and if he had a shade more skill at chocobomanship he might have been able to intercept the incoming bullet meant for her in time. Unfortunately he did not. A few bullets plinked against his shield, and while the impact was rough, he found himself thanking God that his order had saw fit to line the inside of their shields with Kevlar. Still, a few bullets found their marks, and he had a few traces of blood along his extremities marking where he'd been knicked well. He dismounted readily, for he knew his skill upon a Chocobo would not be enough for the battle to come, and then he found himself pulling the priestess the rest of the way off her mount and bringing her to ground. He only needed a brief look at her wound after he ripped open her wound to tell him what he already knew. Sucking chest wound. He hoped it hadn't nicked a lung, but he didn't think he was even close to being that fortunate. So instead he finds himself ripping a strip from the bottom of her robe, and then ripping her robe just enough to tie it tightly around her. He didn't care to even consider the issue of her modesty, this was a life or death situation, and while he had no healing magic, he was at least trained in basic combat medicine. "Priestess, it may be difficult for you to speak, much less breathe with that wound. Keep that bandage over your wound, and put your hand over it like so. If it becomes more difficult for you to breathe, then pull up the bandage just for a moment while you take a breath, then replace it. If you feel like you can muster some healing magic, then do so, but it may not be enough to fully heal this, so keep the bandage there." Merciful God, perhaps she might be able to muster a healing spell, but if she couldn't, he at least prayed that she'd follow his directions this time. He kept her propped up against her chocobo as he looked over towards the sand dune. Alright, second order of business, giving them a better target than her. That part was easy, surviving it was a wee bit harder. He started by sliding his shield just a bit up his arm, and tightening the strap. He then got down upon all fours, and for lack of a better way to close the gap, just charged towards the sand dune, in the direction of the veiled figures with crude firearms. Oh right, did he forget to mention that he was afraid of guns? ...Must have slipped his mind in the middle of saving the priestesses life, all the way up to charging the gun-toting bandits. Thankfully, Percival's fear of guns was not the sort of fear that paralyzed him, but instead spurred him to to take swifter action. Don't take any time to think about it.....OH GOD HE WAS GOING TO DIE! But somehow that was a comforting thought to him. It'd be an end, while doing something that was at least worthwhile. His charge was slightly serpentine in motion, as he realized that they would attempt to lead him into their shots. Given the vast distance between him and them, he didn't quite reach them, not yet.....he just had to survive a little longer, just a little further.... |
| Faruja Senra | "Get...*gasp*...away..." Mutters the Priestess despite her wound. She attempts to be commanding, but from the sounds of things, that bullet indeed hit a lung. Strangely, her wound doesn't seem bleed as badly as most wounds of its type. Could the Priestess be different from the humans of his world? How strange! Whatever the case, she /is/ bleeding. Pressing the bandage to her chest, she struggles to draw in breath. Each one is shallow, the woman fighting for consciousness. Muttered words escape her, something of a prayer, and repeated 'no's and 'run'. The gunners, having exhausted the exposed clips, quickly work on reloading. Spying the charging gargoyle, one is smart enough to attach a bayonet. A stray shot from the reloading veiled figure misses due to the serpentine manner of the charge. They don't give up the high ground, the bayonet user stepping forward to cover his friend. As the gargoyle approaches, he might notice something about their features; naked tails dangle near their legs, while their faces seem to have a slightly pressed out look in a muzzle. Overall, their general appearance is one Perci's seen before. But where? The freshly reloaded assailant continues to fire, while the other one takes more measured shots. The chocobo the Priestess was riding upon is struck down in the crossfire, but Perci's own remains alive as the Priestess leans upon it. |
| Percival | And another volley. This time he didn't even come close to getting his shield up in time, and he feels some of the meat at the side of his torso get sheered off from the impact. He hoped it was nothing vital, but he had no time to consider the consequences if it was. But at least he'd closed the gap, and all at once he was springing towards the trio. His sword found its way out of its scabbard mid-flight, as if he'd practiced the movement time and time again. Or perhaps it was just an adrenaline fueled frenzy that made it easier. Two had already fired, which he hoped meant that they would have to spend some time reloading. His first target would thus be the one with the bayonet, as he tried to bring him to ground with a roar that he hoped would unnerve them somewhat. He would follow this attack up with two powerful strikes with his blade, hoping to find his way past the effective guard that the bayonet made. If that one went down early by happenstance, then he would follow the momentum of the strike into one of his fellows. |
| Faruja Senra | The person wielding the crude gun seems quite proficient in the use of it, even when wielding it as a melee weapon. As he's leapt at, he steps aside, parrying the initial strike. That roar has the tailed one wincing, but otherwise he doesn't seem all that intimidated. These two clearly aren't your typical bandits. The follow-up as Perci tries to break the bayonet-user's guard is a kick into the back of the knee courtesy of the other fighter. Seems he's less interested in reloading for the moment than trying to knock down the gargoyle. It's rather powerful too, easily as strong as Perci's own strikes. Claws as well rake at flesh should it hit. Parrying once more, the bayonet flashes in a warding strike. The two seem to be trying the gargoyle's own tactic! Knock the opponent down. Then, the bayonett user quickly backs off, already lining up another shot. The shooter, however, stops suddenly. Tripping on /something/, he tumbles down the dune and out of immediate sight. A scream issues, in a rather rodent like manner. |
| Percival | What in the blazes is going on? These were clearly Burmecians, or Cleyrans, or.....you know what, Percival had no idea how to distinguish between the two groups. And he didn't know enough about them to try and call a ceasefire based on who assigned his mission. He had a feeling they were just simple bandits anyhow, but who knows? It wasn't worth the risk of trying. The kick to the back of his knee was irritating, as it caused him to lose his momentum and stumble. Fortunately he put it to good use in trying to roll away from the bayonet stab, which again barely grazed him. Bracing himself with a hand against the sand dune, he attempted to counter by unbalancing his original target with a tail swipe, this was followed by a good old fashioned 'whang' with his shield, before he tried to use the momentum to quite simply, run through one of the remaining bandits. |
| Faruja Senra | The tail swipe proves very effective, taking the bandit Burmecian off of his or her feet. Whap! The bandit stumbles as he's struck, then the sword pierces his stomach. Coughing, the burmecian drops his weapon, slowly dragging himself away from Perci's sword. Falling into a heap, he glares at the Gargoyle. "Curse...you! Bitch is...in league with /them/!" It's his last words, as he grows still. The sound of shuffling can be heard from just below. A shadow quickly moves, and then looms over Percival. Something sharp comes for his neck. |
| Percival | In league with 'them'? Who is 'them'? The Church of Glabados, the faith of St. Ajora, something different altogether? He recalled that the mortal foe of the Burmecians were the Alexandrians, but not much else. All thoughts of contemplation on the issue are cut short when he instinctually twists from the looming death above him. Well everything vital must be intact, else he still wouldn't be moving. Or at least he wouldn't be in a few more seconds. Twisting his shield arm around, he attempts to catch his attacker off balance, before taking a step back to take in his measure. "I didn't want this! Why do you attack us so fervently? She's only a priestess of the Church of Glabaddos, nothing more! I swore to protect her, even if it means my end, and as God is my witness, I won't forsake that vow!" He had a feeling that he was caught up in something that he just didn't understand. It hardly mattered at this point though, as it would likely mean his life, presuming his remaining attacker listened to him. He knew this wasn't likely, as he'd already slain one of them. With shaking hands, he removes a potion from his belt and unstoppers it, drinking it down before casting it away. That would at least slow his impending death. Anxiety was the first sign, and now his vision was already starting to blur. Lightheadedness would soon follow. Those were the signs that his end was near. He'd lost a lot of blood after all. |
| Faruja Senra | Whack! The shield hits something fleshy, and a distinctly feminine cry issues from the owner of the target. Something is yanked from Percival's body..feeling very much like a hypodermic needle. Should he turn about, the figure on the ground may not be who he's expecting. Blood dripping down her white robes, and smeared about her mouth, Priestess Anette gasps as she stares in unmasked hunger at Percival. Eyes bloodshot, a single look at her chest would show something horrific: where her wound was, is what appears to be freshly healed, bloody flesh. Not that of magic, but of unnaturally grown flesh. Her mouth slightly open, fangs would be visible in her mouth. "Told...you...to run. Idiot! Get...leave. GO! So hungry...blood. GIVE IT TO ME!" The Priestess rushes at the Squire, her true form revealed. |
| Percival | Now Percival had seen a lot of vampire movies in the cinema. In fact, more than he'd care to admit. He was a cinema afficionado, something which he constantly had tried to hide from his clan, most of the time he failed to do so. But he'd never actually seen a vampire, and had no idea what one even looked like. Time seemed to slow down as she charged, as he considered the moral quandary that this situation posed. She was a vampire, the Burmecians had to have known this and that is why they attacked. It was almost certainly justified that they'd attacked. Oh heavenly God, had he really killed someone who was entirely justified in their attack? No, no, no time for hand-wringing, he didn't know, and he was only defending himself. Furthermore, this 'holy' woman was decidedly unholy, and that brought on his initial rage. His oath was forgotten in an instant, he couldn't let the deception stand. A snarl rumbled in his throat as his anger boiled to the surface. At first it was the anger that one of the righteous might have towards an act of cruelty. His blade flashed in her direction with suprising strength, and accuracy. As he turned though to see what his handiwork had wrought, something in him just.....gave way. Between the circumstances of the situation, in so much that he'd killed a Burmecian that was simply trying to rid the world of a vampire, to the fact that he'd just attacked an injured woman, to the injuries he'd sustained, and the loss of blood. The irrationality of the situation just caused him to snap, and all of a sudden the blade was forgotten. Oh look, now the idiot was charging a vampire head on. And now he was wrestling it, and then..... The rest of what happened might as well be censored. As the two creatures of the night vied for an end to this fight. Whether Percival was the first to bite, or the actual vampire is not important, nor are the circumstances of the savagery of their fight, all his mind knew is that the creature had to die, unholy or not. There were no considerations even towards his knowledge of vampire lore and how he might make certain it stayed dead, no he just wanted to literally rip it to pieces. |
| Faruja Senra | Savage, unholy might battles with the strength of a mystical creature. Unlike Percival, the vampiress' words as she strives to take his blood are almost apologetic admist the frenzy of attempted feeding. A woman caught between something akin to a disease, blinded by her unholy body's desires. It's this very hesitation that allows Percival to overcome her. Eventually, there's not much left as Percival strikes. Blood coats the sand. The vampiress, brought down physically from her frenzy, twitches and coughs. Only her unholy vitality keeps her 'alive' if it could be called such a thing. A threat no more...for now. From the looks of things, even she won't last that much longer. All she can do is look at the Gargoyle, and whether or not he'll truly try to finish her off... |
| Percival | Perhaps it was mere exhaustion, or the realization of what he's done that finally causes him to stop attempting to destroy her, and just collapse on the sand from exhaustion. He definitely wasn't at his best, but he definitely wasn't at his worst. And then he saw the piteous creature that was the female vampire laying there, sprawled upon the desert sand. With agonizing slowness, he picks up his sword from its discarded place in the sand, and lifts it above her neck. He whispered a prayer for God to grant him the strength to do what was necessary. Drawing back his arm for momentum, he paused, and stared into her bloodshot eyes. Inwardly he heard the judgement of the Knights of his Order, his sentiments were foolish. He was already worthy of Knighthood. What he was doing was absolutely necessary. But what is necessary, what is easy. They did not fit his ideal of Knighthood. Instead he sits down tiredly beside her, and picks up the discarded syringe. No way to clean it, but any infection would clear up with his stone sleep anyhow. He pricks the syringe into a vein, and draws it full of blood, and then placing it over her mouth, he lets a small amount trickle into her mouth. "Anette, was it? You are no priestess, and your life is now entirely in the hands of a cowardly and unworthy squire. Answer me, and you might continue to live your mockery of existence a while longer. What brought you to infiltrate the Church of Glabaddos? Who were these 'Highwaymen'? They knew what you were, they sought to end you. Tell me what's going on, and you will be given enough to survive." |
| Faruja Senra | The Priestess almost looks sad that she's allowed to live. Sucking down the blood eagerly, she stirs slightly, hands twitching. Gasping, Anette's eyes come into focus. Though weak, her voice regains its arrogance. "...I'm an...Alexandrian. The Church saved me...that /rat/ saved me. But the Darkness...when it took me, it...it changed me. Into /this/! I...damnit, I'm hungry! I want to drink...to drink and hunt and kill. And not even God can save me from my hunger! I can't control it...if they know. If the Inquisitor and her little pet find out, they'll kill me for it. So...so I thought if I infiltrated the Church, gave the Alexandrians information...maybe they'd help me. The Alexandrians, my own damn country, uses monsters! That's why! Because I want to /live/, even if it's as a monster!" Even that outburst seems to almost be too much for the vampiress, gasping and twitching on the ground. From below, more shuffling. One of the bandits yet lives. "Heh. Knew she was a filthy Alexandrian...but damn. That's just evil. So, wot's it gonna be? You gonna kill 'er?" There's bite marks on the apparently female Burmecian's shoulder, and several claw wounds, but it looks like the armor beneath her coat saved her life. |
| Percival | Percival takes the story all in stride. Perhaps it was the gravity of his wounds, or perhaps it was just that he felt so very tired, but his expression remained unchanged. On one hand, she was a servant of the Alexandrians who sounded, Oh so very vile. She was also a vampire, which was, by his reckoning, the pinnacle of unholy existence. But it also did not appear to be her fault. The sorrow of that thought hit him like a load of bricks. She didn't choose this existence, it was forced upon her by the darkness. Well, assuming she was telling the truth, but it fit with what he knew of vampires. And then the other Burmecian comes upon them, and the gravity of what 'he'd' done appeared less damning. They were attacking her because she was Alexandrian, not because of what she is. Well that certainly made him feel a little less guilty about ending one of their lives, but only slightly. Her presence though complicated matters. He doubted she'd respond favorably to that which he desired to do. His gaze fell upon the Burmecian woman, as he spoke in a calm, and tired voice. "Evil? What is truly evil, is what was done unto her to begin with, Madame. That does not make my decision any easier, however. She cannot be permitted to kill, nor can she be permitted to infiltrate a church and report back to her masters. But...." His gaze returned to the female Vampire. "....I am ignorant of whether there might be another way to treat her. If I killed her, it might be merciful, but it might be denying her a chance at a cure, and redemption. Furthermore, if I were to take her to Ser Senra's church, they would torture her I fear, for a time, before ending her existence in the most agonizing way possible." He lifts his gaze to the Burmecian. "Or I could leave her to you. That might be justice in the end, but it is not what I wish to do. I want to take her back to Fluorgis, where individuals wiser than myself, and of differing opinion might decide upon what should be done with her. It will almost certainly mean her death, all the same, but...at the very least, I can tell her that I tried, before I look her in the eye and end her life. I feel that my oath presses me to grant her that much of a chance, at least...and if fate is unkind, then at least she might try to redeem herself before she passes." A pause, as he gives the mouse woman a soul-searching look. "I'm in no condition to stop you, if you feel otherwise, but I implore you to allow me to take her back. You're welcome to come with us, to ensure her good behavior, and I promise that I'll find treatment for you upon our return." |
| Faruja Senra | The woman stares at Percival, silent for a long minute. The vampiress, too, is similarly silent...though mostly due to her utter exhaustion and weakness. She occasionally twitches, trying to move away from the pair, but utterly fails. Hope dawns in her unholy eyes. She might live! A hope which is quickly snuffed out. The burmecian woman reaches into her clothes, pulling out a pistol. Three rounds to the head. She glares at Percival. "...Scum. That's what she is, scum! Monsters like that, you don't allow to live! Do you really believe all of that? From the...damnit, you're not even a human! You'd really believe that? Just another Alexandrian, only a little more damned than the rest. She's evil. Call yourself a Knight? A squire? A pox on your soft-hearted morals!" She turns to the dead body of the other Burmecian. "...He was my Brother. Last one of my family. When we heard an Alexandrian was out here? Knew she was crooked. Could get some revenge for our family, maybe rid those Ajora smucks of a bit of evil. Did 'em a favor. Would've been nice and clean if it weren't for an idiot like you." She looks at the gun, then back to Perci. Turning away, she snorts as she makes her way slowly down the dunes. About a minute later, one final gunshot rings out from below. |
| Percival | It was naive of him to expect otherwise, he can't find it in him to stop her. It was 'justice' after all. If he'd known what was going to come next, he'd have made every effort to take away her gun, to stop the woman, something. But in tying in his hands, he'd made himself a helpless observer in the fourth death that night. After the initial numbness passed, he led the remaining alive Chocobo over to the carnage, and as respectfully as he could, closed the eyes of each of the victims. He covered each of their bodies as best as he could, though he had little excess cloth to manage it, and then hitched them upon the Chocobo's back. The initial leg of the journey had him lead the Chocobo to an oasis, which he tied to a palm tree in the brush where it might at least remain half hidden. When the time for his stone sleep had passed, he found himself with nary a mark on him. For some reason that contributed to his guilt even further. He made the final leg to Cleyra that night, and requested that he be allowed to bury each of the Burmecians. Assuming that it was permitted, he would dig the graves for all three of them, and adorned each grave only with a simple wooden cross. If the caretakers or the church requested to debrief him at any point before that, he would simply ask that he be allowed to bury them first. After the explanations were given in cold, clinical, unfeeling detail, presuming it would be allowed as well, he would build a pyre for Anette and light it. All of his prayers went out to each of the four he'd failed. None of them were for himself. |