The Hordes of the Blight - The Adventure

[Oops, completely slipped my mind. The sapient races of the world were created about a century ago, and civilization was gifted to those who wanted it around the same time.]

"Before, I believe. I would say during, but applying the runes will take a lot of concentration. He began to go about the room, searching for supplies. "Gathering the materials, however, doesn't."

"Interesting." By this time, Wilfred had finished gathering the materials he needed. He brought over a small table and set it before his chair, then motioned for the sword to be set upon the table. "Out of curiosity, do you keep in touch with the bearer of the shield?"

"Not the only tale of two men in love with the same woman I've heard in my lifetime." He took out a small chisel and hammer and began to carefully etch a new set of runes at the end of the blade. "So the shield could still be out there, or perhaps fallen into the hands of the Blight. Nothing quite like a mystery, is there?"

...

Meanwhile, at the bar, the bartender, after a slight silence, asks, "So what's the news from outside? Other than milk prices being up."

"No good news. Monster attacks are on rise. Just on way here we were attacked 3 times. Luckily all of us are skilled fighters."

"Well, these two are," Aparix said evenly, "I'm just good at shooting things. Bit different from 'fighting'."

[On a random note, I don't think a chisel is the proper tool to be etching into metal, but I don't know what would be, so let's assume Wilfred has it.]

Wilfred nods and continues his work in silence, carefully etching the precise runes into the blade. When he's finished, the runes are seamlessly inscribed into the blade, and it takes a keen eye to even distinguish them from the original runes. "Well there... that should do it." He smiles. "It's been an honor to work on such a piece."

- - -

The bartender's eyebrows raise slightly. "Three attacks?" He sighs. "Probably means another surge. Just you wait, we'll be up on the ramparts in no time, fighting for our lives. I'd try not to get too drunk, just in case." He glances at the patrons throughout the bar, a few of whom are... pretty hammered. "Wish I could tell all my patrons that. Good business, but one time the monsters attacked when a good chunk of the town guard was drunk. Wasn't a pretty sight."

"No, I can imagine, the blood, the screaming...'Gifts' from the blighted beasts, but ones they should be recieving, not giving..." Bellator shook his head slowly. "No...If they attack, the blight will be what breaks, not this town...Won't let it fall, I'll skin every last one with their teeth if I have to!" He drank his whiskey quickly, staring at the bottom of his glass irritably. In his own way, he was worried. But no more towns would fall if he could help it, he'd die before that happened. "You're right...Need to be ready..."

The Bartender raises an eyebrow at Bellator's graphic imagination, but merely says, "Aye. This town'll survive. Always has."

...

"Let's see..." Wilfred thinks for a moment. "I'd say... 50 coins?"

[I put this off because I HATE FINANCES. Also, sickness. But mostly this reason. For comparison, 1 coin is enough to get you a loaf of bread or a mug of ale, and you guys got 100 coins from the caravan leader.]

Zakhar gives a small grunt of amusement. "Ignore little man. Is good fighter, but not so stable. Is best leave him be and thank world he focus energy on killing monsters."

"Well," Wilfred says, "When you put it like that, I feel bad for charging you." But he took the coinage without delay. "Anything else I can do for you?"

...

The barkeep nods. "It takes all sorts, I suppose. So, where are you all from? Why come to a town like Outreach?"

"I'm from a small town in the desert called Beluga," Aparix said before taking a sip of his drink. "It's a delightful locale, if you don't mind spider bites, frequent unnatural eclipses, and absolutely horrible theater." Having said this, he took a large swig. "Came here to show off, mostly. If I get paid doing it, that's great, and if not, I...heh...have alternatives."

Martin thinks for a moment. "There is a building where the wounded get taken after battles. I don't know if anyone's there now, but we could check it out." With that, he moves to exit Wilfred's house. Wilfred, meanwhile, says "Goodbye and good luck in your next battle!"

The "healer's hall" as it were, is a wooden longhouse indistinguishable from the barracks surrounding it but for the sign bearing the word "Hospital" over the open entryway. Inside is a pair of long rows of cots on either side of the room, and at the very end a few are even occupied. A half-dozen wounded guards lie on the cots, with a pair of attendants moving about them.

...

The bartender nods. "We've got a few other Lokira here, can't say if any are from there. Don't know if you'd want to talk to them or not."

One of the healers looks at Paladin. "Go right ahead, we could use the help."

Three of the guards have pretty standard injuries for those battling the Blight - claw and bite wounds, though thankfully the Blight hasn't infected them... yet. The other three have some sort of scalding all across their bodies, their skin covered in boils and sores.

With his abilities, Paladin is able to mend the tears in the wounded guards' flesh. They'll still need a bit of time for the scars to go away, but they are unofficially ready for duty again.

The healer's eyes widen. "Wow... never seen that before."

"Of course." One of the other wounded guards, one with the burns and sores, moans softly, and the attendant quickly goes over to him and begins to rub an ointment on his wounds.

...

Meanwhile, in the bar, the bartender, sensing the lack of further information to be gained, retreats to the back wall, only to be called forth again when a patron - a robed and hooded Lokira - walks up to the bar and sits beside Aparix. "I'll have what he's having," the Lokira says in a female voice, glancing at Aparix and then at the rest of the group.