RP:The Road Ahead

Part of the Thy Kingdom Come Arc

Part of the Rise of Larket Arc

Summary: After Revan attacks Josleen and intensifies his curse, Josleen flees in search of Kelovath. Kelovath sacrifices some of his own aura to help dispel some of the symptoms of the curse, but does not cure it. They leave Xalious and join Hildegarde's war camp in the mountains where Josleen is less isolated, surrounded by allies, and better kept.

The Dancing Destrier

Kelovath wasn’t at the bar like he normally would have been. Instead, the paladin was off to the side of the entrance, in a booth, with his head down on the table. He wasn’t snoring, exactly, but he was asleep. The first little bit of sleep he’d gotten since before the war camp. Dreams came and went during his quick nap, but none would be remembered whenever he finally awoke. It was a noise that suddenly woke the paladin, causing him to jump and grab his sword. It was only someone entering the building that stirred him from his sleep. He sighed and looked around the building, wondering if anyone saw him jerk awake. There didn’t appear to be anyone watching him, and now even if there was, he wouldn’t have cared. The paladin was just too damn tired and wanted to sleep. Being awake now, he didn’t think falling asleep would be possible here. Not anymore. He needed guidance, so the obvious solution to that would be prayer. Brown eyes closed and his head lowered. A prayer began.

An older barmaid all but sprints across the tavern, weaving through the few remaining cots that host patients too weak to be moved to the new camp or to a clinic. Most have been moved, a handful remain. She stops short of Kelovath and blurts out quickly, her voice alarmed, “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there is someone waiting for you in the alley, through the service door.” She glances over a shoulder then leans in a little to whisper, “It’s Josleen. Seems urgent.”

Kelovath looks up to the old barmaid, a bit confused, but nods and stands. He makes his way in between a few cots and heads outside into the alley.

Josleen‘s back is pressed against the far wall. Her eyes are shut so tight they’re lined, and her breaths are controlled and measured like a person focusing hard on staying in the present, or staving off a panic attack. She hears the door open and looks up to see if it’s him. “Kelo—” She gasps and her hands quickly cover her mouth. “Your face,” she whispers incredulously. Her eyes go wide, lips parted dumbly as words fail her. She wears a coat that’s open and hanging loose. Beneath she wears only a patient’s robe. Despite the damp Spring ground and cool wind, she wears sandals, all evidence suggesting she left in a rush. Her eyes dart quickly to her left at a shadow there and she flinches as if bracing for an attack that does not come. She lets out a long breath, composes herself, then explains, “He came back.”

Kelovath looks right at Josleen when entering the alley and does everything in his power to not rush toward her. Slowly, the armored man stepped forward, “My face…?” He asked in a hushed tone, not quite understanding her meaning. There was something wrong. He could see it coming from the bard, but there was now something else as well. His steps continue and again, a question was asked. “He? Who came back, Jos?” The paladin had a slight idea, but needed to ask. Needed to make sure. He also wanted to keep her talking, hoping her attention would try to stay focused.

Josleen reaches feebly at the space between them as though she wants him to come, but they’re far too estranged from each other for her to reach for him or demand he be her shield. She just needs someone, preferably with a set of skills relevant to the problem, to help her separate what’s real from what’s not, and keep her composure. “The undead creature. The curse.” She glances again to her left, takes deep breaths as she stares something down in the shadows, then wills herself to not be afraid. After a few seconds she looks back at Kelovath, regrets that immediately, look to her right, regrets that too. Best to just shut her eyes, and she does as she explains. “He’s making me see things. Everywhere. Your face, there’s a massive boil pulling down on your skin, collapsing your eye. I know it isn’t real. I know. And there’s a man hanging by a noose behind you. It isn’t real.” Reflexive demands eye contact in conversation and she opens her eyes, winces at the sight of him. “I’m sorry. It isn’t real. I know.” She keeps repeating this for her own sake more so than his.Physically she’s no worse than when he left her. Her back is still bruised and beaten, but the rest of her looks the same, save for the disheveled hair and face made ruddy from recent crying. She isn’t crying now by some combination of the miracle of willpower, and the fact this isn’t her first nightmare rodeo.

Kelovath doesn’t stop moving forward as she speaks and tweaks out. If the paladin didn’t already kind of understand the situation, he’d strongly believe that this woman was beyond crazy. Thankfully, he knew better, unsure how to actually help though. At least the bard knew what she was seeing was only an illusion. That helped. Only because she mentioned the hanging man, Kelo turned and looked behind him. Nothing there, obviously. His hand reached out to Josleen and he whispered to her. “You are being so brave, Jos. Stay focused.” Not exactly a motivational statement. His magic, purely from instinct, began showing itself within his outstretched hand. “You are right. None of this is real. That hanging man isn’t there. My face is the same as it always has been. None of that is real. You need to focus on what is.” At the end of his words, the paladin would reach a bit further and attempt to grasp her hand.

Josleen takes Kelovath’s rough hand in her own. Despite her overall softness in presentation (the floral dresses, the perfume, when she isn’t tweaking out and cursed), her hands are thin and (relatively) strong belying a woman who isn’t afraid to work for causes, such as for Hildegarde’s war efforts. “I know, it isn’t real, but… like with disease. Knowing you’re diseased doesn’t stop the symptoms from affecting you. To my right there is an infant’s body, cold, purple, swollen, crawling with maggots. A crow eats his eye.” She unconsciously leans away from the right. “How can I live with that? Even knowing it isn’t real. Can you make the visions stop?” She looks up intensely at just his right eye, suggesting his disfigurement is on his left.

Kelovath allowed himself to get closer to the bard, now that he had a firm grasp of her hand. Truthfully, he did not know if there was anything that could be done. Dark magic he could remove or even dispel. But illusions weren’t always a dark form of magic. He now stood rather close to Josleen, would almost be nose to nose, if they were the same height. Looking down at her as she looked up to him, he offered a slight smile and continued his whispered words. “I wish I could tell you yes. Without the possibility of lying. I may be able to remove it, but only while I’m near. Temporary fix. My magic can be powerful, but rather draining.” Until he tried it, there was no real way to know what his magic could do. Or not do, technically. Kelovath kept his gaze on the woman, favoring his right side more, since there was apparently something wrong with his left. “If you want, I can try.” He gave a gentle shrug, thoughts now shifting to how Josleen was even standing at this point. Her back may have recovered faster than he thought. It actually made the paladin slightly more confident with his own healing ability, but knew it couldn’t have been all from him. If she accepted the offer of his temporary fix, a suggestion would be made to at least sit down before the attempt.

Josleen watches as his smile pushes into a massive, oily, oozing boil. She fights back a gag. This curse needs to go. Josleen shifts her weight around, suggesting her back is still uncomfortable, but so long as she keeps her movements small and slow she can withstand the constant soreness. Walking hurts, so she does as little of that as possible. Anything that requires her body’s shock absorption system hurts the worst. She accepts and limps towards the stairs to sit on them slowly, but stops short. “I know it isn’t real, but there’s two twin gi—.” She stops short, thinks better of sharing the horrible images. Sharing, not always caring. “Maybe the barrel.” She shuffles towards a barrel that stands on one end, its rim higher than her hips. Normally she’d have no problem jumping up and scooting her butt on it, but under her present circumstances there is no way he could pull off such amazing acrobatic feats as scooting and jumping a full inch. She blushes realizing how pathetic she looks, in this gown and coat and house sandals. “I meant the crate.” No, she meant the barrel. She slowly shuffles over to the crate. The crate is filled with human intestines and feces and a lamprey swims through the grisly innards. The bard takes a deep breath, shuts her eyes, counts to three, loses her never, counts to three again, then sits on it illusions of poop. Kelovath would see just an empty, wooden crate that once held apples. This is what Revan has reduced her to. A seed of hate begins to grow in her heart for him, uglier than fear. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Kelovath followed the bard around until she found a comfortable enough spot to start the process. He then began building up his magic. He made a small request to Arkhen, but didn’t think he’d completely need the strength from his God. Although the paladin he never tried this before, he at least had an idea of what he needed to accomplish here. The golden aura that was normally used to protect him, would now be needed for Josleen. But, turned down some. Kelovath did not need to be harmed by his own holy magic, but would stay close to the woman regardless of what may happen. A thought came to mind suddenly, thinking back to the events at the war camp. His magic reacted in a way he’d never experienced before. It was almost as if the magic backfired and was sent…Somewhere. That much he wasn’t sure of. But during that battle, something different happened and it worried the man. Maybe it was the surrounding panic and chaos. Maybe it was the possibility of Josleen being dead when he approached her. Too many variables for the paladin to consider and now wasn’t the time to be doubtful of his ability. The aura first surrounded Kelovath and transferred into Josleen through their touch. Leaving the paladin and engulfing the bard, it was truly a sight. Whether or not it worked, though, would be known soon enough. Kelovath continued to channel his magic into Josleen the bard, doing his best to sustain whatever it may be doing to her. Nothing harmful, hopefully.

Josleen gasps as she’s enveloped by a warm, benevolent light. It stuns her, but does not scare her. Josleen has never thought of herself in terms of good or evil, but Arkhen would recognize she is inherently good, albeit humanly flawed. Her intentions are often noble, her actions less clear cut, but all the same it is her goodness that allows this light to seep into her being and not harm her spirit, body, or mind as it would to a more wicked person. It also helps that she never denied Arkhen’s divinity, having long seen the god as a true paragon of Hollow;s religious pantheon. She’s no devotee to Arkhen, but she respects him. Tears glisten in her eyes as she is overcome by the beauty of the divine, an awakening Kelovath has no doubt experienced before. When it’s over she rubs her eyes to dry them. She looks around the alley and finds it sunny, normal, even quaint. Here and there rainbow-colored blurs dots her vision suggesting an imprint of the powerful illusion magic has been left behind. She can see well enough through them to get by. “They’re gone. I see… little blurs of color and energy, but I can see and…” She looks up at his face and finds it normal, maybe even handsome though she’s too distracted by pain, war, death, terror to dwell on anything like that. “Thank you. Your face, it’s good. Fine, I mean, nice. Normal. Healthy?” Her voice ticks up. Best to just clam up really. Using his hand for support she slowly rises, winces. “Look at me… I look like I escaped the asylum in Cenril,” she jokes with no commitment in a deadpan tone. “I’m sorry I keep imposing on you… I uh…” She wants to impose on him even more, but can’t bring herself to say it. Lids blink a few times as she tries to get used to see dots.

Kelovath offered a smile when the woman spoke of his face. He never thought there was anything wrong with it, but he obviously didn’t see what Josleen previous saw. The magic continued from the paladin as he helped the bard stand. Although he noticed her pain as she stood, there wasn’t much he could do currently to help. The strain wasn’t quite there yet for Kelovath, but he had a feeling it would eventually show itself. When mentioning how she looked, the paladin shook his head, “You look fine, Jos.” You’re alive, after all. He wanted to say that, but thought best to not remind the woman she was just recently attack within her own home. Looking around now, the paladin wasn’t sure what their next move would be. A war was happening, Josleen continued to be harassed by some undead creature, and Larket was surrounded in chaos. His hand squeezes the bard’s, the paladin wincing slightly, then attempts to hide it by speaking, “It’s not an imposition, Josleen…” He guessed a question was about to asked, so he patiently waited.

Josleen rubs a hand over her collarbone and looks anxiously towards the southwest, towards her home. “Isn’t it? I just… I don’t want to stay home. I’m scared,” she admits to likely no one’s surprise. “But I need to gather my things, change, pack and find somewhere else. Could you…” She looks up at him again, a full paladin who probably has better things to do than babysit her. “...accompany me while I pack? I think he’s gone, but I don’t want to be there alone.” Or really away from Kelovath period, feeling as vulnerable as she does.

Kelovath said to you, "Of course I will."

Josleen starts the slow walk back to her home. Her pace must be frustrating for Kelovath, and she’s aware of it, flashing him a sheepish smile a few times. Conversation helps the walk seem faster, and she parts her lips to start talking about Frostmaw, the war, the things in her immediate future, but then decides against it. What about him? He’s been so selfless despite being clearly burdened himself. Perhaps there is something she could help with there. “You mentioned your city, Larket, in your note. I read about the fermin attacks in the newspaper. Has it gotten worse? I thought the apothecary Artia had cured the poisoning.”

Kelovath didn't mind the slow walk back to Josleen's house. As long as she was comfortable, he'd be as patient as needed. And right now, it seemed he truly was needed. At the mention of Larket, he let out a soft sigh. "The poisoning, yes. Things have become more...Political. I believe Larket is in for a rough time with the current events. Council member dead. Another a traitor. One stepping away from his duties..." There was so much uncertainty in the future of Larket. The paladin found himself to be in the center of it, being pulled in every direction to help. Larket was his home, so he was happy to do what he was able. But one person can only do so much. "The only positive thing, it seems, is that the fermin attacks have dramatically slowed. Almost back to normal. But Larket is without leadership." He winced again, this time coughing some to hide it. "A lot has happened since I returned. Not much good, unfortunately."

Josleen cants her head curiously at the council drama. The bard clearly has an appetite for politics, and having served as Hildegarde’s private advisor and confidante for years now, she has some experience in politics as well. “Is the member stepping away from his duties doing so because of the death? What was the manner of death?” She catches the wince the second time and says, “You’re in pain. Is it the magic? Shall we stop?” The sun glints off her golden armor. She feels hot in this coat, she can only imagine what he must be feeling. “Perhaps you should change out of your armor when we reach the house?” she suggests.

Kelovath replies right away, “His wife was murdered. She is the…” It felt so wrong to say it out loud, even now. The councilwoman was his friend. “She is the dead councilmember. Killed by the traitor. I understand why he wants…Probably needs to step down. It just…Couldn’t have come at a worse time.” The paladin stayed at the same pace as the bard, ignoring the slight pain. “I’m fine. The armor doesn’t bother me. Hardly even notice it anymore.” Deflecting onto something else, he kept going. “The council is falling apart now and Larket’s people are scared. Scared of the fermin, mostly, but they need the council…I can’t be everywhere.”

Josleen shakes her head ruefully at the details of murder. “Well, if you know she wasn’t murdered by the fermin, then at least it’s easy to track down the murderer in cases like these. Have you apprehended the killer yet?” She doesn’t press him on the subject of armor. “You said you had left. Were you on a mission for Arkhen, then?” They’re arriving now at the property proper, with a long quaint rural walkway lined with local flowers.

Kelovath didn’t like what he would have to say next. “No. Macon, the traitor, was also a councilmember. He fled, presumably left Larket as nobody has seen him since that day. Since that day, the fermin attacks have slowed down. I strongly believe he had a part in that. Well, and the fact he commanded fermin to kill me after I witnessing Andurla’s death.” Now that the armor conversation was over, he was able to relax some. “That’s how my absence started, yes. I did not realize where Arkhen was taking me. But…” His eyes shifted to the nearby flowers, a smile forming across his lips. “I had a long journey, but it was worth it. I gained closure. Peace, for a moment.” A large breath was taken in, his eyes scanning the beautiful flowers of the property.

Josleen frowns at the development. “I’m sorry. That’s a difficult situation.” She watches Kelovath as he remembers the journey, admires the flowers. The uncanny familiarity is back. Even the way he speaks parallels another paladin she once knew, but Kelovath’s voice is different, and his face too. He makes a similar impression, differs in the details. Absorbed in these thoughts, she doesn’t realize she’s staring and when he looks at her again she looks away quickly and blushes. She busies herself with fishing the keys out of her coat pocket. “Here we are,” she says needlessly when they’re still far too many paces away from the door. Awkward timing. Step, step step, stair, stair, step, step, dead silence. Inside the living room there is ice and water on the hardwood floors and the door hinges. She steps over a standing lamp the crashed onto the floor during the attack, then limps around some books, paper, and ink on the floor. Near the hallway she passes two jagged cylinders of ice. “He has ice magic,” she explains. Her hand returns to her collarbone to rub it, clearly a nervous tic. She gestures towards the cylinders, “My feet were trapped in ice. I couldn’t escape.” In her bedroom she works quickly to put together a bag for a short trip. It’s the room she grew up in, and this fact embarrasses her. “I only moved back in recently. I’m between houses.” No need to disclose why. The walls are still painted a pale pink. The room is hyper feminine and in a far off corner an old, prized, collectible dollhouse gathers dust, a relic her parents keep as a reminder of when their only child was a child. Josleen doesn’t register its existence anymore. As an adult, she’s mostly focused on the things she uses, her clothes, perfume, musical instruments, medical supplies. A jar of salve is still open near the mirror suggesting Josleen was applying salve when she was attacked. Frost and water clings to the bedroom window as well. Having packed her bag she watches Kelovath behind her in the mirror and says, “Erm… could you wait in the hall while I change?” She smiles at him through the mirror.

Kelovath followed the bard up to the house. He took in the scene as best he could, trying to understand what happened. Really, he had no clue. But the looks he gave as his eyes searched the house looked like he knew, step by step, what happened. His eyes looked over a few things in the woman’s room, not really lingering on anything specific. He never knew what this was like. Living at home. With your parents. Not part of his history, sadly. The paladin started to make his way toward the open jar of salve, at least until she asked him to wait in the hall. His eyes widened a bit, becoming slightly embarrassed. And feeling somewhat rude, having just walked into her bedroom like that. He nodded quickly and turned, leaving the room. This was probably one of the few times he heard of his own clicking together. Good thing too, because if he were going to peep in on her, there would have been no way to quietly do so. Instead, the armored man walked throughout the house, examining the ice magic that was left behind. There was little point, really, but it passed the time until they could…He had no clue where they’d be going next. It just dawned on him. What was the next step? Where was safe? The newly established war camp? Back to the tavern? None of those sounded like good options, but surely Josleen would have an idea. Kelovath made his way back to the guest room and smiled. He was in this room for an entire night and didn’t sleep. Thinking back, he found that to be rather foolish. Being in his room also made him use more of his magic to sustain the aura around Josleen. Sleep sounded amazing at this point.

Josleen takes a long time to change, both due to her vanity and her injury. The soft clicking of fashionable boots signals that she’s left the bedroom. She joins him in the guest room and is wearing a floral dress that’s form fitting on her torso, flows freely from her hips to her knees. A little rose tints her cheeks and lips and her brushed, wavy hair is pinned behind an ear with a silver barrette then hangs loose. This is her armor. Wearing her usual look, her shorthand for who she is, she stands a little straighter, though her confidence is undercut by the pain in her back. She immediately put down her luggage as carrying anything is painful. “I’m not sure where we--or I, if you need to…” She inhales sharply and starts again, “Where to next? The tavern? The new camp?” She sighs with relief and explains, “When you shut the door the room started to grow dark again, a little foul, but I didn’t see any haunting visions, I just saw their impression.”

Kelovath turned his head slightly when hearing the boots. He was going to try and be out of the guest room, but obviously didn’t have enough time to do so. Instead, he turned completely around and saw the bard in her new outfit. Lovely as ever, he’d think to himself. A smile was offered, his attention shifting to the luggage now. Before the woman would even be able to react, the paladin picked up the luggage with ease and then suggested, “The new camp, I think. You’ll be safer there. Surrounded by your friends. I’m not sure how safe it’ll be in the grand scheme of things, but for you personally, it’s appears to be the best option.” He paused, nodding at her explanation. “Well, I guess that is a good judge on how far away we can be from each other…” Right as he finished saying that, a wave of thoughts flooded his mind. How was this –really- going to work? They couldn’t be more than 10-20 feet from each other without the visions returning. Things could be complicated, no doubt, but for now, they still needed to get to the camp. One thing at a time.

Josleen notices the way he looks at her now and smiles meekly. She’s too distracted by everything that has happened, and the ongoing war, to give it a second thought, but enjoys the flattery all the same. It goes a long way in making her comfortable, in returning her to normalcy. She nods, winces in pain, then says, “The camp then. I do hope this war is over soon. I gladly support Hildegarde, but I wish to return to a life of peace.” She starts to slowly lead him out of the house. “And I’m sure you’d like to return to Larket. We’ll need to find a cure for my curse soon. I have some ideas we can discuss at the camp. For now… I just want to feel.. Whole.” Outside now she takes a deep breath, enjoys what little of spring she can before the next battle commences, the next attack from the undead. Walking side by side under a bright sky that is oblivious to the carnage that transpired in this village just days ago, she wills herself to focus on the present. “I am so sorry to be such a burden to you. I really do appreciate you doing this for me. I know you don’t know me well, owe me nothing.” She smiles a little. “Now I owe you. I can’t imagine how I could repay, but I’m open to ideas.” She smiles slightly, when normally she would smile more. It’s hard to shake the terror of the day, but she tries. Her optimism is unflappable.

Kelovath didn’t say much as they left the house. Peace would be nice. There were only a couple of times he could remember feeling such a thing. The war was not what he expect to return to. The events leading up to the battle at the war camp weighed heavily on the paladin. The fermin. The dead boy. His friend being murdered in front of him. A few other things happened, but thinking about them now would do him no good. His breathing grew heavily for time. The magic was starting to strain on the paladin, but as always, he did really well at hiding the fact. “It is no burden, Josleen. Truly. Once we figure out a solution to your curse, we can discuss a possible repayment.” He looked at the bard as he spoke and after stopping, he winked. It was playful, of course, the paladin he’d require no debt to be paid. A breath was inhaled, taking in the wonderful smells surrounding the pair. “We have a long trip ahead of us, I think.” He wasn’t just talking about their travel to the camp.

Josleen grins at his wink, clearly enjoying the levity of the moment. It would be short-lived. Enjoy it while you can. She nods at his comment and begins the long trip, both this one to the camp and the rest of the war, the only way a bard knows how, with a story. As they pass the Xalious park, the site of the recent violence, Josleen tells of a different event that transpired there. “Strange to think the same park can be home to so many events, so many different events. The village holds its annual harvest festival there too. When I was a girl…” And with that transition she launches into a comedic story that starts with a traveling machete juggler whose slip of the hand involved a giant parsnip farmer’s prized veggie, the hobbit pig wrestler he loved, followed by a string of baffling affairs in a small village, a list of lovers that ends in a disappearing cherry pie, the fact of which so badly embarrassed a magician (alleged pie lover) that he had a nervous breakdown and starts shooting magical fireworks that spook the horses that knocked over the big canvas display for Angrod’s wares that comes crashing down on a deaf old lady who had fallen asleep sitting on a tree stump perfectly upright. Her head punctures through the canvas and she doesn’t even wake up until someone says “Is Grandma Noelle dead?” and she wakes up roaring, “Dead! I wish I were dead! Bunch of ingrates. You’ll rue the day I’m gone. The whole village will collapse and then you’ll be holding a seance to ask me how to churn butter!” Then promptly fell back asleep. Josleen is laughing so hard she causes herself pain, and frequently has to hold on to Kelovath’s arm for balance and support. The story alone isn’t that funny, but the storytelling is. She’s a gifted storyteller with a knack for comedic timing. “And that’s why they sell Noelle’s Butter now.” she says through happy tears and laughter. “The brand logo is a machete juggler. I’m sure you’ve seen it.” She stops to catch her breath, chuckles again, breathes, giggles, breathes again. Finally, “Lot’s of divorces that year.”

Kelovath happily listened to the entire story. Laughing when appropriate, as well as ooo'ing and aww'ing when needed. The paladin didn't know Josleen very well, but it was moments like this that would force him to remember the woman. Not that he'd want to forget about her, of course. His smile never vanished from his lips, his eyes shifting from the road and Josleen only. Never straying too far. Apparently finding peace was easier than previous thought. If it wasn't for the fact they are basically running away from Josleen's home to join a war camp, this moment would have been perfect in all ways. Regardless of the events that brought Kelovath and the bard together, he was happy to be here, which was more than clear based on his laughter and bright smile. "I'd imagine so. I doubt the juggler ever heard the end of it. Heh." The pain from the magic was a bit more present now, but the story, and company, helped draw his mind away from it. Again, he showed no evidence of the draining.

Josleen needs to stop and rest often. The trek is longer than she can withstand, but she has no good alternatives. For the rest of the trip she spends in equal parts doing the following: 1) telling stories about herself (studied at the Cenril Academy of Music, mother is also a bard, father is a long time member of the Mage’s Guild and a published author of academic texts and encyclopedias, she had a pet chicken named Dragon as a child; in sum her life seems perfect and quaint, but she is selectively choosing only the sunniest, rosiest stories), 2) asking about his life (Were you raised in Larket? Why did you choose to serve Arkhen? Why a paladin? Why a weasel?), and 3) silently clenching her teeth and soldiering on through the pain, or resting. She doesn’t complain, simply asks to stop when she needs it. Once they reach the camp, she will nap on the first cot she finds. Her dreams will depend literally on how close or far away Kelovath is. Distance allows Revan’s curse to re-emerge and manifest as nightmares. When he’s near she dreams of Arkhen, but she won’t remember the god when she wakes up.

Kelovath stopped when Josleen requested it, but never asked to stop himself. The trip wouldn’t be the easiest, but to get to somewhere safer, it’d be worth the effort. He listened to her stories, commented when he got curious about something, and shared some of his own stories and details. He wasn’t raised in Larket, but it’s been the only home he’s known. Has a single brother. Unknown whereabouts, currently. He felt like Arkhen chose him to be his champion, so he became his paladin. There was much more to that specific reasoning, but that was enough for now. The weasel was complicated. During his time away from Hollow, there was much traveling. On one trip, the paladin happened across a traveling animal merchant, who also traveled with a mage. Kelovath had a horse, lost it, but didn’t think about needing another mount. Traveling on foot wasn’t so bad. The merchant attempted to sell Kelo another horse, but couldn’t close the deal. The mage, who seemed to be sick of the animal merchant, found Kelovath that very night. The mage explained that the merchant obtained his animals illegally and wanted the paladin’s help. He got the help, they freed the animals. The weasel happened to be one of those animals who wouldn’t leave Kelo’s side. To this day, Kelovath does not know what happened to either of those men. Didn’t want to know, really. He got a friend and accomplished a good deed in the process. That was the only story Kelovath had ever told of his time away from Hollow. It was about the only good story. He knew once reaching the camp, sleep would find him quickly. He didn’t want it too. He wanted to continue his magic for Josleen. Things may be more complicated than explaining a large weasel as a mount and friend.

Josleen feels warm and flustered as Kelovath tells his furry animals rescue story. Armored heroes holding kittens? Someone find Josleen a restroom cause she needs a wardrobe change. Scratch that earlier comment about her dreams and revise it to dreams of Kelovath rescuing animals. On a more serious note, she really does utter a soft, quiet and appreciative “Ooh” at a particularly dangerous and daring part of the story. “That’s quite the story. The mage and the animals were lucky you came by when you did.” Her tone’s a little more flirtatious than she intended and she quickly corrects course by clearing her throat. She reminds herself that she’s just coming out of a break up, and they’re headed into a war camp. The rescue of furry animals should matter not right now, though it was nice to for a moment be enraptured by something as quaint and sugary as animal rescue. The camp starts to come into view and she stops being the Josleen of the trip, the bard with the stories and childhood pet chicken, and becomes the head of the medical tent. They figure out logistics, find beds, dream of furries.