75
« Last post by Fiverine on December 19, 2021, 02:05:34 am »
The tensions in the slums finally exploded today. A new gang, the Black Tails, tried to seize some of the livestock the refugees had brought with them whilst some rogue mages attempted to take some children for slaves. Several members of Diiri's Boys and Kizurra the White were on hand as well as myself so both groups of attackers were swiftly dispatched. But what then transpired was far worse.
One refugee by the name of Daggith has been in a state of maddened grief from his traumas. His paranoia and guilt have been infectious and Diiri's Boys and the Fane of the Thorned Rose used this unrest to convince some of the refugees to leave the camp and go to their respective groups. Vyc and Aarden the self-styled Mage Killer did not protest at Sid taking some refugees out of the slums to the Loviatarian den. Sid is apparently a member of both groups, which I cannot see ending well for him.
There were too many villains for me to fight alone, and I have no right to prevent people from leaving if that is their wish. It filled me with sorrow that these people I have fed and tended to when others would not could so easily abandon us. They will be hurt and even killed where they have gone and I can do little about it. Kizurra was the only other one there I felt did not just view the refugees as exploitable resources. She tried to cure Daggith's mental state but sadly could not. I later met Volandis Webberman who also seemed to be a good soul.
Some brave and grateful souls stood by me and will stay with us. But Sister Mylene broke down when I told her the bad news that so many had left, though a generous donation for her from Kizurra was some small consolation. Mylene was weaker than usual. Ostian told me she had one of her visions while I was arguing with the thugs outside. He handed me a sheaf of tattered papers she had been scribbling on during her rapture.
It was all sketches of people. It was our flock. I could recognise some of them easily- little Ostian, Arlow with his braced leg, some of the refugees who stayed. None of the ones who left were pictured, so I realised she must have had a vision of the near future. I leafed through the sketches and marvelled at how talented she is when channeling the Broken God.
There was one of me. At first I chuckled sardonically at how she seems to see me. Standing resolute with my sword high, my cloak glowing with rays of light or energy. The shrine was in the background and clearly I was protecting it. After that little moment of self-absorption I noticed something far more significant in the sketch. I was not alone.