Acheron's Irregulars, Part 5

Among the many gifts a Paladin may possess, the gift of healing is the most basic and well known. With only a touch, a Paladin may lift the burden of injury from their companions or even themselves if they chose to.

It is an ability even untrained Paladins can perform with relative ease. More experienced Paladins are capable of turning grievious, life-threatening wounds into no more than distant memories.

Boric couldn't even heal a paper-cut.

"Heal, damn it!" The warrior harshly cursed under his breath, pressing his bare hands to the slash-wound across his unarmored calf. Stifling himself, he threw a suspicious glance back to the campfire some distance away. By all appearances, his comrades were still sleeping underneath the starless Outlands sky.

Sighing in relief, he gave it another try. Pushing his palms against the cut, he closed his eyes and forced himself to focus as he had done countless times before. He searched for the warmth - that glowing, pulsing heat which when drawn out would travel through his chest and up his arms and into his hands - and found nothing.

Nothing but silence.

"You all right there, Boric?" The voice of Grumelda caught Boric by surprise. Jerking about, he almost fell off the rock he had perched himself upon, twisting around to throw a glower towards the female dwarf. She had slipped up through the high grass and made herself comfortable, with her axe turned upside down so she could lean her hands against it."I'm fine," Boric snapped.It took a lot to bother Grumelda. "You trying to heal yourself, eh?""No," Boric lied, and grimaced painfully as he did. "Yes."

"Can't, eh?""No." Boric reluctantly sighed.

"Not since we got here, eh?""Not since the whole debacle when we arrived on that mountain," Boric agreed, glancing away shamefully. "I haven't heard a word from Him...""Well, that's natural. I don't know too much 'bout this sort of thing, but you got to atone, right?""I'm trying to," Boric grunted, glancing back at Grumelda. "Things are just so confusing here."Grumelda gave a low whistle. "You said it. I miss home all ready.""Back home, things made sense," He continued."If it had horns, y'killed it," Grumelda grunted, looking up to the sky as if wrapped up in some happy memory. "If it breathed fire, y'skinned it. If it lived in a cave, chances are it wanted to eat you. Here, you don't know who to smash and who to hug.""If it weren't for Kizen, we'd be completely lost."At that comment Grumelda shot Boric a withering glare. "I don't know about that fella, Boric..."

"What about him?" Boric frowned, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. Despite his inquiry, he found he didn't really want to talk about this for some reason.

"He makes me uneasy. A little too sharp, if you get my drift. 'Specially today, against that demon... I ain't ever seen anyone move that fast. Faster than you. Faster than me." Grumelda shrugged. "Might be wrong. Just don't like the feelin' I get from 'em.""Selandria likes him...""No offense, but Selandria would like a troll if you drew a happy face on it. She's not too sharp herself, if y'get my drift," Grumelda muttered, glancing back to the camp.

"None of us are that sharp, Grumelda. We're all stumbling blind here..." Boric began, suddenly quite eager to change the subject.

"Eh...""Do you think we're doing the right thing? Going after Acheron, I mean?" Boric asked in an uncommonly quiet voice.

"If it'll get you back into bein' a Paladin, sure," Grumelda said, grinning. "I'm just out t'bust some heads. Though if it means hurtin' the people in Rigus, we need to look elsewhere to take our business."

"We're not going to hurt the people of Rigus," Boric said, waving a hand distractedly. "As long as they don't try to stop us, we'll just pass right through. I didn't mean what I said. I was just angry.""Let me take a look at that wound, Boric. If you're not goin' to heal it, then y'might as well dress it with some bandages..." Grumelda began to shuffle up from her spot, moving towards Boric's calf. Muttering, Boric lifted up his leg for her to inspect.

Unseen from the shadows, Kizen watched in silent contemplation.

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"Acting is not merely a craft," Jerald began, grim-faced and appearing as a well-dressed aristocrat with curly locks of auburn hair and a long swirling crimson cloak. "But an art. Remember this well as you take your roles."His audience - a group of children who were dressed in costume for their parts in the theatre, wearing a wide range of carved masks baring comically grotesque faces of kobolds, goblins, and demons, watched with rapt attention as the actor paced back and forth before them."To truly represent the gibbering beasts you shall play, my dears, you must do more than merely pretend to be a sniveling monster driven by base hungers. You must become the monster," He growled, clenching his fist emphatically. "You must desire to consume the very flesh of your enemies, feast upon their entrails and delight upon their misery! Now, let me hear your roars!"The children, taking Jerald's que, proceeded to produce a large quantity of interesting and unique sounds. The vast majority of them sounded more like the high-pitched yippings of dogs then the fearsome roars of savage and hungry beasts. Otherwise, they were quite eagerly getting into their rolls - some of them were on all fours while others were holding their hands high above their heads, wiggling their fingers in a menacing manner."We'll work on it," Jerald said, scratching his chin gingerly. "But so far, so good.""Ah, Jerald." The voice was that of the old Aasimar's. The elder was slipping out from behind the makeshift stage they had set up near the center of town, leaning heavily on a crooked stick. At the sight of him, several children of the village leaped up to wave while a few others promptly snarled hungrily. "Sorry to interrupt. Oh dear, are those real monsters?" The Aasimar gave the children his trademark peer, trying to get a closer look. One or two boys quickly yanked off their masks to attempt and reassure the old man that they weren't going to eat him.

"Monsters in training," Jerald explained with a dismissive wave of his hand. "I'll have them frightening the countryside in under a week.""Might I draw you away from your work for a few moments?" The Aasimar asked, smiling politely. "I'd like to talk to you, if you don't mind.""This is growing to be a habit with you and us. Very well. Now, my dear beasts," Jerald lectured, turning back to the children. "I want you to continue practicing your very best roars. And remember: Become the beast." Turning away, he smoothly moved to step besides the Aasimar, who strolled some distance behind the stage.

"You've been watching me for quite a while," Jerald began before the Aasimar could speak. The old man slung the shape shifter a surprised glance."You noticed?""How couldn't I?""Yes. I've been watching you ever since you came into the village," The old man agreed, pausing once they had gotten out of ear-shot of the other children. A few people milled about and some glances were spared towards the two, but most of the village inhabitants were far too busy to get a closer look. "Especially since you decided to work with the children.""You don't trust me.""I know what you are."A tense and quiet sort of silence washed between the two. Jerald spoke first."How?""It doesn't matter," The Aasimar said, shrugging. "I have my ways. Either way, you haven't done anything wrong since you arrived here.""Have you told anyone else?""Does anyone else know?""Benjamin does," Jerald explained, shrugging. "He's known since we've met. I never bothered to tell any of the other actors. They didn't need to know. I imagine Marien has figured out that I'm lying about not knowing what I am, at least. She's quite clever like that.""You puzzle me. You don't act evil.""Most people perceive good and evil as black or white," Jerald began. "It is especially easy with the Planes being as they are. But in actuality, evil can have degrees. Simply because I do not hesitate to use laws to arrive at my own ends does not mean I eat little children and have a collection of decapitated heads in my closet.""I just want you to know that I'm keeping my eye on you, beast," The Aasimar said, locking his gaze with Jerald's.

Jerald gave him a dazzling smile. "Feel free. I have nothing at all to hide." Turning, he began to stride back towards the children, who were busily practicing their ferocious roars, leaping and cavorting about the stage. The Aasimar watched him go with quiet thoughtfulness, a frown of worry creasing his wrinkled face.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jerald, sir?" One of the children - a young girl with dark curls of hair - tugged reluctantly at Jerald's robes."Mmm?" Jerald asked, perking his eyebrow at the child. "Yes, my dear?""Can I be excused? I have to go to practice.""Practice?" Jerald asked, stopping in front of the stage. "Practice for what?""Miss Jaer is practicing with the girls," She responded. "Uh, girl stuff.""Oh, of course. Feel free." Jerald gestured dismissively. "No doubt she's lecturing you all on some sort of silly feminine concern."

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"Aim for the torso," Jaer told Fact. "It's the biggest target."Fact released the string with a light twang, feeling the vibration stir through the whole of the short selfbow. The arrow buried its head in the upper torso of the stuffed dummy, making a satisfying 'thwunk' as it hit.

"Good shot," Jaer told her, patting her on the shoulder.

In one of the abandoned stables on the outskirts of town, fourteen girls practiced archery with Jaer. They had set up several dummies who were hanging from the ceiling by ropes as targets, and were lined up in rows with bows and arrows in hand.

Finding the bows had proven to be the most troubling part. The town of Rigus did hunt game, but they did not have a professional bowyer. Most of the bows they used were heirlooms from back when they did have a bowyer, and considering how many of them had broken over time they had become somewhat of a rarity. When Jaer had finally pin-pointed just where the bowyer had once lived, she had found a treasure trove in the new owner's basement - several dozen unused bows and arrows covered in dust.

Some of them had needed new strings. One of the girls was part of a family who had just slaughtered several of its livestock, and after bringing a rather unattractive pile of cattle-guts to the barn, Jaer had introduced the girls to the versatility of catgut.

They only had a few arrows - maybe no more than 100 between them all - and Jaer didn't know how to fletch more, so they were careful with their supply. After every volley of shots, the girls would pick through the fired arrows to find which ones were servicable for use. Meanwhile, Jaer was having some of the other girls inquire around town to see if anyone knew how to make them.

The work was awkward at first, and quite a few girls ended up getting blisters or bleeding fingers after the first week. But they were now at the end of the second and every one of them could hit the dummy straight in the torso at least one out of three times, which wasn't bad as far as Jaer was concerned.

"Do you think we're going to have to shoot anyone?" Fact asked, nocking another arrow to the bowstring."Probably not," Jaer told her. "But this is better than doing nothing, isn't it?"

Fact silently agreed. She let loose another arrow, feeling a quiet sort of triumph as it sank into the belly of the dummy with yet another 'thwunk'.