RP:Tracking a Walking Corpse
Synopsis: Bastion and Trent are tasked with tracking down a walking corpse and putting it to rest.
Date: 05-28-2018
Xalious Village
This once small village hidden amongst the Xalious Mountains has grown over the years, as studious visitors come to study within the Mage Guild's public library, and also to visit the ancient Xalious Tree. Many of the young magelings have built homes here while learning at the Tower, and most chose to stay when their formal lessons are done. It has a thriving economy built upon this, and is well protected from roving dragons which frequent the Xalious Ranges by the Mage Tower. The houses which line the streets are all simple in construction, yet sturdily built with a caring touch. To the south is the town's well and beyond it the legendary Xalious Tree. To the west is a large inn which houses the town's frequent visitors. To the east is a rocky path back into the Xalious Ranges, and to the north, rising up to challenge the sky itself, is the infamous Mage Tower..
Early morning. The sun was just peeking over the horizon and casting its heavenly glow upon the frosted peaks of the Xalious mountains. Trent had gotten up fairly early to start his patrols through the nearby village, something he had taken upon himself when he had discovered the turmoil in the city of Schezerade high above the clouds. He had been worried about some sort of attack and wanted to keep an eye out for anything the least bit suspicious. Xalious, while fortified enough to defend from the dragons of the mountainside, was in a prime position to be invaded despite any sort of magical protection of the local mages. Trent walked along the main village path at a leisurely pace with his hands tucked into the pockets of his long leather trench coat, golden strands of hair bobbing as he issued polite nods to any passersby he came upon. Coming to a rest in the center of town, the human took to standing off to the side of the Destrier, watching those that went about their daily activities.
Bastion spent a lot of time in Xalious of late, and further south, with the friendly hobbit folk, very near to a well known entrance to Schezerade. He was largely disconnected from the larger affairs of the world, however, as he lived his life among peasant folk, sharing their worries and labors. When lords warred, however, and it was the peasants marched into battle, forced to turn their scythes into swords and abandon their homes... or when armies decided to roll over villages for the spoils of conquest, Bastion took that as a call to action. For now, he held a mystical bow in hand, pink and black as was his favored color scheme, as apparent by his choice in garb, and talked with several peasants, one of which held a more normal bow of his own. "Ken shoot a squirrel from a hunnerd paces, ah bet." "Perhaps, but it wouldn't do very much. As I've said, it doesn't shoot normal arrows, but its own arrows. They do no harm... otherwise, I wouldn't use it." "But it ken shoot normal like arrows, ya? Ain't much good for huntin' otherwise. You should be able to shoot for the pot, like other decent folk." "I'm afraid not. I can help skin and clean a meal, and cook it, but I'm afraid taking life is against my creed, and there are no exceptions." "'As full barmy talk, there. Whas the good of a bow cain't hunt with? Crossbow's what you use for menfolk in armor, anyway. Costs upwards of ten silvers, them. Can them lil' pink arrows pierce armor?" "Of course. They don't have..." He struggled for a way to explain it in simple terms. "They're sort of... not real. Like beams of light, but things that don't live do not hinder them. They do not do what normal arrows do, but they will help calm the storm in an angry man's heart. Or anything's." "What 'bout undead? I done saw the corpse of ol' farmer Shim shamblin' about last week. Scared the wits outta him grankids. They came to town to ask for help, but he done wandered off by the time anyone got over there to help." Bastion frowned. "If that's so, I'll set out to looking for him immediately, and see that he's laid back to rest." "A kid like you? No offense, and you's real handy around a plough for some 'un your size, but them things strong, don't get hurt by uh, arrows. Even normal ones, let alone ones don't hurt nothin'. You ain't gonna calm him down with a fancy avian bow." Bastion smiled. "I have my ways, good sir." "All the same, I'd not feel right sendin' a half pint like yous self to deal with the walking dead. Er, shambling. Had a bad knee, he did, before he died. Didn't get no better, neither." He looked around, towards a man he'd seen a little while ago in their conversation. "You there, sir! Come hither, will ya?" He beckoned to Trent. "You look like a strong lad, not from 'round here. Everytime a new face comes 'round, seems they's something wicked with a sword or sommat. You mind takin' this little one to look for a walking dead man? We can't pay much, but we'd feel a darn sight better if the little one ain't alone." Bastion gave a very patient smile to Trent, wiggling a few fingers in greeting, not bothering to gainsay the farmers decision in the least. It seemed he was... quite patient with people treating him like a child. He didn't look to be anything other, save perhaps part ram, with those odd horns on his head. The farmers here were kind enough to refrain from jests concerning his parentage and goats, however.
Trent had been watching the exchange with eyes of steel, brow somewhat crinkled as he tried to make out the dialect of the more prominent speaker of the pair. He himself had yet to see this undead farmer, and the idea was a little concerning. Pushing away from the Destrier and now heading toward Bastion and the the beckoning man, Trent pulled his hands free from his pockets; The sun glinting off of the shiny, well kept metal of the silver gauntlet affixed to the left. "Walking dead man?" the human asked in a flat tone. It looks like he would be on his first official job under the Steel Collective's banner. Normally, as far as he knew, there was to be a fee collected for the work, but as soon as the monetary value of the task was deemed to be lower than one might expect, Trent took pause. He couldn't very well just leave potential danger stalking around, could he? "Very well. Where was it seen last?" Trent looked over Bastion with a bit of scrutiny, sizing the younger male up. He didn't look like a whole lot, but Trent knew better than to judge a book by its cover. Much like Bastion, Trent didn't seem to be particularly all that armed himself; The weapon he once carried before having been destroyed during a spar not too long ago. Still, he had other means in which to get the task done.
Bastion quirked a brow when Trent accepted. The man's hesitation implied that the money was a concern, so perhaps he was a sort of mercenary, though he didn't openly carry a weapon. Still, that odd gauntlet upon his hand hinted at something quite magical about the man. Whatever Bastion saw, though, he kept to himself, merely smiling and saying, "That is quite noble of you sir." He looked to the farmer as well, and the man chewed whatever it was he was chewing, and nodded east. "Out eastaways. Towards the Abernathy farm. Right smart bunch of folk there, good folk. None of us never saw him usselves, but them saw Shim themselves, mighta seen what which way he headed." Bastion thanked the man. "We'll see that mister Shim Abernathy is properly put back to rest, I promise." "Please don't burn him, whatever you do. Lotsa folk come 'round here, no respect for folks traditions, but you don't burn no corpses 'round these parts. Ain't never find no rest in the next life if'n they's burned. Is known." Bastion nodded. "We will act with respect towards your traditions, good sir. I promise." The man smiled, and another of those less talkative farmers standing around grunted his approval. "We trust ya, Bastion. Just don' go gettin' yourself hurt, hear? Do as yer told by yer elders, n' all." Bastion smiled, and gave his word that he'd act with care, hands clasped genially behind the small of his back. He carried himself with much confidence for a child. He walked to Trent, then, and extended a hand in greeting. "It seems we find ourselves companions for an adventure, sir. I am Bastion, and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance." His hand had meditation beads of amaranth weaved in strings between his fingers, and seemed soft, not hands tempered by hard labor into callouses and the like. It was hard to think of this soft looking boy being praised for being good at heavy labor by folk that spent their whole life in the dirt, at it from sun up to sun down. He couldn't be a hundred pounds soaking wet, and though he carried what was obviously an extraordinary bow in his other hand, his gentle features held not one hint of a battle hardened veteran either, for all his confidence about approaching an undead man, with the intention of putting him down... without fire, no less.
Noble. That was one word Trent had never really considered of himself. It was most likely due to the connotations in which most had used the term that made him hesitant to accept such a compliment, and so he bounced a shoulder with his response. "It's just the right thing to do." Do not burn. Trent kept this advice in mind when it was offered up, a gentle nod to confirm that he understood full well. The last thing he wanted to do was piss on the tradition of the locals- He had just begun to find his place, once again, in this world. Taking the youth's hand in his own, Trent offered a firm shake and a half-hearted smile. "Well met, Bastion. You can call me... Trent. Sword for hire in the name of the Steel Collective." The lattermost of the introduction was mostly tacked on as a bit of promotion on behalf of the clan. "I do not mean to offend, but... you seem a little young for such a job. Not that I am doubting your ability, it's just... odd. Is this something you normally do?" Partially an attempt to start conversation during the walk, part actual curiosity.
Bastion was soon walking with the man, the farmers bidding them good luck, though he waited a few minutes into the walk to reply to his inquiry. "Ah, is this something I normally do? Yes. It is one of the duties of my pilgrimage of labors to protect the interests of the common folk, folk with no one to champion them in the struggles that matter to them most. Hard lives turn men hard, and cruelty is a byproduct of such hardness. I always do what I can to take the cruelty from men's hearts. They hurt themselves with it as much as they hurt anyone else." Bastion seemed quite the philosopher. Somewhere along the way, his bow had left his hand... and was nowhere to be seen. "Exorcism is something I have been well trained for. I take no divine patron, but I have the ability to lay the dead to rest nonetheless. I found it difficult to adjust to the idea of adding Vailkrin to part of my pilgrimage... but I did it. I learned much, there. Hopefully this is just an aberration, a case of overflowing necrotic energies already at rest, and an isolated incident. Hopefully, nothing more sinister is going on here, and the both of us will hardly even be needed." His words sounded genuine, but the words themselves carried ominous connotations.
Trent looked upon the horned boy with confusion. "Pilgrimage of labors?" The term was not something the human had ever heard of before. "That sounds far more of a noble thing." he offers with a soft chuckle. "It's good that there are still those like yourself in this world. I can confirm, to some degree, that there is far too much cruelty around here- Even in those that try to do good." By time they had been at a good pace, Trent's hands disappeared back into the pockets of his coat. "Vailkrin? That is the city of the dead is it not? I've never been there. How did they take to having an exorcist in their midst? Is that something that is looked down upon?" Trent had never really learned much about exorcism. Not that he could ever remember at least. As they made approach toward the farms, he nodded and echoed Bastion's sentiments. "I would hope so. Quick and easy would be best. Although, in this land, nothing ever seems to be as easy as it should." He too spoke with some form of worry in his words.
Bastion tapped a finger to his chin. "It's the path I chose for myself, under the Gentle Fist teachings. I'm a peasant monk, so I spend my life doing hard labor, adhering to the oaths of Truth, Poverty, and Peace, and helping the common folk however I can manage. Ah, yes. The city of the dead. Truth be told, in a city that is so odd most cannot fathom its existence without seeing it firsthand, they're quite tolerant of those that are unusual, even to their own communities. I had to be on my best behavior, of course, and practice a very new sort of discipline, of not giving in to my lessons and seeking to lay all the undead to rest. It is the law of a different land, and one should always be ready and able to conform to the laws wherein they find themselves a guest... lest they find themselves unwelcome, and unable to be any sort of help to the folk that might be in need." "It should be quick and easy, unless someone local took it upon themselves to try to handle the matter themselves, or something else is behind these happenings. Things are always more complicated when non-professionals try to do things themselves. Especially given their restriction on using one of the two most major weaknesses of undead."
Trent knew all too well what it felt like to be a guest in a strange world. It had been three years since he first arrived, and even now, it still felt like only mere months. None that he had first met seemed to be around anymore. His closest of friends lost into some sort of void from the last that he had heard. At least working with the Collective might bring about some sort of progress to his life. "Sounds like an interesting existence, this path you've chosen, Bastion. It's respectable at least." Cold, blue eyes fall to the well trodden path at their feet as the human took in the final of the boy's wording, memories of the invasion of Cenril two years prior flashing to the front of his thoughts. What a mess that had been. "Ah yes. Those who act without any sort of discipline often make things a bit more of a hassle than they need to be. Do you have an sort of idea as to how we can handle this with... tact?"
Bastion nodded. "Fire is the most readily available, major weakness of undead. The other is divine magic. Ah, holy magic, if you will. Trained as an exorcist, I have access to such mystical energies, even though I claim no patron deity. It's not particularly powerful, but it's still highly effective against the undead. I can use my arrows, or my hands, or, in more extreme cases, my needles." He wore a bracelet on hand that seemed odd, long. It was actually filled with lengthwise needles of varying metals. They came upon the farm after a few hours of walking and polite conversation. Xalious was filled with isolated farming communities like this one, families miles from one another, sometimes. The farmstead was a little nicer than the average specimen though, with a fine wagon, a two story house with a wooden, not thatch roof, well built enough that it could easily have served as a roadside inn, and likely did serve as a bed and breakfast at times for weary travelers who didn't want to finish the journey from the Sage mountains to Xalious village. Bastion showed no weariness from the walking, though he also carried no food on him, and his stomach did growl by the time they arrived. When they arrived, and found the family working in the fields, Bastion was all courtesy and smiles. "Hello! Finch Abernathy, is it? We'd heard of your sire, and his late rise to the world of the living. I'm very sorry this happened. Is everyone alright?" The man raised a brow at a kid in weird garb with horns, but seemed to relax a bit when he saw Trent. Trent seemed to exude martial competence to peasant folk. "'E did rise, yep. Darndest thing... terrifying, aye. "Ad a family grave out on a hillock closelike, but only 'e rose. Came to the house, too. Came -in-. Eh hid the childrens, the wife. Know better than to pick up an ol' club and start beatin' on the undead. Even if they's scrawny, and all bones. Man can shatter every bone in 'em, and still have 'is face eat off. Nothing eh want my kids to see." Bastion nodded. "You were right not to engage." His brow furrowed. The undead had come in the house. Zombies rarely showed such mindfulness of their past. If it'd been searching for flesh to feast on, it'd have been just as likely to head to the barn... more so, in fact. It was nearer, and hadn't a closed door, from what Bastion saw. This undead might have something of a mind about it. "Can you tell me which direction he headed?" "Ain't no he. Is an it, Gods rest 'is soul. If'n this good, young man here can take care o' it, all to the good." He motioned to Trent, clearly not believing Bastion was there to do anything of the sort, even if he was talking to him. "'Eaded out north. Didn't watch beyond that. Funny, used to go that often when 'e was livin' too. Don't know where he headed." Bastion thanked him, and said they would set off to pursue him immediately. "Aight." He gave Bastion an odd look. "Just don't go touchin' none of my sheep on the way by, hear?" Bastion simply smiled at the rather offensive remark, and promised to not to do so, and they would soon be off.
Trent took in the rustic layout of the farmland, eyes scanning the fields and hillside for any sort of movement that seemed out of the ordinary. Bastion's reassurances of ability put the blonde man at ease for the most part- That is until they spoke with the locals about what exactly had transpired. The undead seemed to showcase some sort of intelligence, or at least memory of his former home. Perhaps it wasn't so cut and dry as they had hoped. "North?" Trent muttered, turning soon to face the direction. He didn't quite see anything of note just yet; His mind working overtime while he waited for Bastion's lead. "Lovely folk." he commented to the youth. It was more of a observation as to that offensive little tibit the farm threw out about the sheep.
Bastion shrugged it off, as they walked. "People are people. They have their fears and superstitions, which are often simply to address those fears." He didn't sound as though he'd been offended in the least. They were headed north. "North is rather vague. Fortunately, I know this area, and have some ability for tracking... ah, north east." No hints in the foliage, no looking at blades of grass or broken branches in trees. Bastion simply said a word, and adjusted their course, heading, apparently, directly for their quarry. "Less than a mile ahead. He didn't get terribly far. Looks like he had a cabin as a getaway, that he never shared with his family. It has a rather large bed, too."
The warmth of the mid-day's sun had started to become a little too much for the man clad in black, and so that jacket was pulled from his shoulders and tossed over his shoulder. He wore a dark grey sleeveless shirt that showcased his well toned arms. Each seemed to play host to simplistic bands of inked symbols across the biceps; The left of his arms housing that silver gauntlet up to the elbow. "How do you know? Have you been here before?" Trent asked with intrigue. As they ventured further toward the cabin, Trent would lift his armored hand across his chest, flexing the taloned fingers a few times and observing the thing to make sure it was still in good working order.
Bastion shook his head. "Not into the woods, no. But I don't see in the same linear manner as most. I see from a point I can select at will outside from my body. Since I can change the perspective of it at will, and it has the abilities of True Sight, I can... scout well. I can see through forests, or walls, or anything, really. Even magical and supernatural things. Ah, we're almost there. Guard up, he's inside. I don't see anyone else around." They came upon the cabin in the woods, a sturdy log cabin with a rather large pile of firewood seasoning out front, and even a small garden full of herbs and tomatoes. The door, however, was closed. "Do you think he opened the door and closed it behind him?" Bastion asked, brow raised.
Trent balled his fingers into a fist and nodded, soon lowing the appendage to his side. "True sight? An interesting ability to have. I'm sure that comes in handy more often than not." When they finally approached the cabin, Trent took a deep breath and steeled his nerves, preparing gimself for anything that might transpire. Steel blue of his gaze shifted over the wooden structure with caution, soon falling upon the door that had been shut. "Hard to say. Perhaps he used force to lodge it open and it rebounded closed? Perhaps... he is not alone." Trent took the lead now, turning his body so that his armored hand was in front, reaching for the handle of the door. He turned it and pushed, unaware of what would be awaiting on the other side.
Bastion frowned. Perhaps he was not alone. He looked again, but saw nothing, and the door showed no signs of forced entry. "He's just standing there, in the center of the room. Not altogether unusual... for a mindless zombie. But he came here. Something isn't right." The door turned and opened, and the zombie turned a blank face towards the open door, and grunted, staggering towards Trent. Bastion couldn't fit through the doorway with him. "If you bring him out here, he'll be easier to control." Which should be easy enough, he was staggering straight for him. Unless of course, Trent could handle the undead on his own. If he looked at something other than the undead, however, he'd notice a girl lying on the large bed in the room, perhaps sleeping, in black robes.
Trent took a single step backward and crossed his metallic arm over his chest in a defensive stance when the zombified farmer started lumbering in his direction. The slow pace, the dulled senses, this old timer wouldn't be much of a challenge. Trent had faced off against the undead before, those much more of an intelligent and dangerous nature; Some even able to wield magic. By comparison, it would be like dealing with a toddler- or so he assumed. "That's it. Come on out here. Bite the shiny hand." Trent took another step backward as the zombie continued to stagger forth. As soon as the thing was out of the doorway, Trent spotted someone inside. "Who is th-" he began, when the zombie lunged (or possibly tripped) and fell atop the human, knocking him backward. The metal of his wrist was jammed in the undead creature's jaw to prevent it from biting him, soon struggling to get himself uprighted. "Damn it. A little help?!"
Bastion stepped to Trent's side, ignoring his words for now as he got room, and the scrawny, staggering undead tried to take a bite out of him. It seemed like a normal, mindless undead... ridiculously strong, ridiculously unaware of its surroundings, even as it attacked. Bastion held his beads in one hand, and touched his palm to the zombie's side, and there a flash of bright light, and the zombie howled, as though in pain. It crumpled, fell to the ground, writhing, and slowly going still. Bastion blinked. "I didn't honestly think at this point it'd be that easy." A pleasant surprise. His abilities in dealing with corporeal undead weren't very strong... this zombie was bottom of the barrel, animated by very weak energies. "What was that that you saw?" He scanned the room, still seeing nothing, though a woman in black robes lay upon the bed.
Trent grunted and shoved the decaying corpse off to the side and climbed to his feet. He made a face that spoke of an unpleasant smell, something he endured the entire time he had been waiting on Bastion to do his thing. Retrieving his coat and brushing off the dust, Trent nodded his head toward the cabin. "Someone's inside on the bed. Not sure if they're sleeping or dead. Didn't you sense them?" Trent figured with that true sight ability, Bastion would have spotted both bodies, and when it dawned upon him that the boy hadn't noticed the second lifeform, he became a bit skeptical. He found himself soon in the cabin and moving past Bastion to approach the prone woman, reaching out to shake her by the shoulder to see if she were alive. "Excuse me?"
Bastion frowned. "That's... truly?" He seemed absolutely baffled by this turn of events. Bastion unwrapped a sash from his waist, and tied it about his eyes... a black ribbon that seemed to absorb the light around it. Once properly blindfolded, he followed Trent in, frowning as he shook the woman. She moaned, groggily, then clenched her teeth and hissed in pain, hands moving to her side. "Wait, keep still." Bastion was at her side in an instant, hands feeling at her abdomen. There was a long wand like... something stuck in her side, a small amount of blood on the black robes around it. "Don't move that." He took a needle out from his bracelet. "It hurts. Why does it hurt?" "Hold still. Please. I'll make the pain go away." She seemed groggy, her senses lost, as though drugged. He put a pin in her side, above the strange wand, and waited a moment, as she settled down, apparently no longer in pain. Her breathing was a bit shallow for Bastion's liking. He put a hand on the wand, and slowly pulled... she didn't even flinch. Only a little blood seeped from the wound, and Bastion was already pulling out bandages and a salve when he laid the strange wand on the bedside, a piece of paper at its end, with a little of the woman's blood on it. If Trent read it, it would show a black hand, palm out, fingers tight together, thumb crossed over the palm, and below, "I see you", with a kiss in a winestain next to it.
The coat in the blonde man's grasp was once more fitted over his shoulders as a bit of a cool breeze ran through the cabin's interior. He watched as Bastion worked, curious as to why exactly the youth had tied the sash over his eyes when approaching the woman. His brow furrowed, the wound carefully examined. "Can you tell us what happened, miss? How did you end up here? Did the undead man do this to you?" The pendant that hung around Trent's neck began to softly pulsate with that familiar azure hue as the wand was settled on the bedside, leading the man to reach out for the formerly embedded object to examine it. The runes on the gauntlet, or at least the one made visible when his sleeve pulled back, began to pulsate in rhythm with the same hue. Something was off. "I see you?" he asked aloud as he read the note. "What do you make of this?" Trent held the piece of paper out for Bastion to look upon and offer his thoughts.
Bastion was blindfolded, and couldn't see the paper, but he paused when Trent said that. "I'm going to assume it has a picture of a black hand on it. It's... for me." He shook his head. "If I don't miss my guess, you're the necromancer that raised this undead, then. You made sure to get people's attention, before leading it out here, to a secluded location... where the person who made you do so drugged you, after a sense, and stuck your own wand in you with a note for me. You've been here long enough that you've soiled yourself, and you're dehydrated, and this wound has festered. You'll need proper medical attention. I can keep you stable, but it'll take days for you to recover at least." He shook his head. "I've been lingering too long." He stood, and sighed. "I apologize. This is... this has to do with me. I cannot fight these people, though."
Trent lifted a single brow, the left, that steeled gaze situated over Bastion as if to judge the boy. The long explanation wasn't exactly fruitful with answer, so the human took it upon himself to ask, "What do you mean this has to do with you? Who wrote this? Why you?" He looked at the woman, wishing now that he had brought his satchel along. It contained provisions like food and drink. "Do you know her?" Trent crumpled the note and tossed it to the side, the wand picked up to be looked over next. "Are you in danger of some sort? Tell me, what exactly is going on."
Bastion sighed. It was a sigh born of weariness. "I do not know her. She has... little to do with this. She's but a fledgling necromancer, and a pawn. These people after me are... they know where I frequent, and taunt me, trying to force me to commit to a fight. I flee, people get hurt. Their hope is I'll come to them to preserve their victims. As though that'd stop them from harming others." He shook his head. "Intimidation tactics. Sometimes there are attacks involved. This hasn't happened in months. And... they wanted to show me something. I can't -see her-. They've found a way to hide things from my vision. They're taunting me with it. That... concerns me. Their abilities in stealth are unparalleled. Since they're capable of this, they could be all around us, and I'd not know. They made sure I'd understand that."
Rhythmic pulsating continued; It was weak, slow paced, usually a sign of danger or something unknown. Trent hadn't seen anything on their way up to the cabin, nor any signs of another presence outside. He moved over toward the door and peered outside, looking over everything that he could see. "If these 'people' are harming the innocent to get to you, it might be in your best interest to deal with it. Or to hire someone that can." Trent folded his arms over his chest and leaned his shoulder against the doorframe, being the only barrier between the outside world and the pair within the cabin. "Do you think they'd be here now? Waiting? or would this just be some sort of taunt? Are we able to move the girl to safety?"
Bastion shook his head. "I can't be sure. These aren't people... easily dealt with. Dangerous. Masters of arts that should not even exist." He shook his head. "We must move her to safety. And it's best the good folk of Xalious do not know about her. She will not be safe." He looked at the wand. "That is rife with magic. I don't know where she got it, but it is beyond her level of capability. I recommend that she be parted from it, before it kills her. I cannot take it, however." He looked back at the note. "I... will have to give it some thought. On second thought, I believe it might be in our best interest to bring a healer out here, where she's safe from the townsfolk. Sage is too far, she wouldn't survive a trip like that, shouldn't be moved at all, truly. I can stay with her, if you can fetch a healer, or vice versa."
Trent pushes off of the doorframe and collects the wand, tucking it into the inside pocket of his jacket. "I'll pass it off to the mages. I'm sure they can figure out what to do with it." he took one last lingering look at the injured woman, view shifted to Bastion next. The travel would need to be made alone as someone would need to keep an eye on the girl. Well, figuratively in the boy's case. "Very well. I'll go as quickly as I can. I'm sure someone at the farm has a steed I can borrow. I shouldn't take too long. Think you'd be alright to stay here?"
Bastion nodded. "If there actually is anyone watching, it is likely best that I be here to deal with them, as best I may. Thank you for this. It speaks volumes that you're willing to help a stranger, in a situation like this." He smiled. "I appreciate it greatly. I'm sure our female friend here does as well."
Trent tried his best to reciprocate a smile, but his more serious nature and the current situation made it hard for him to showcase any sort of defined joy. "It's the right thing to do." With that, Trent makes for the exit calling out, "Lock the door. barricade it if you have to. I'll be back as soon as I can."