Yoren, the kindly cleric
In a far away place, in a city filled with plague and pestilence, there lived a cleric by the name of Yoren.
Many remember him as a kind man, quite unusual for one tasked with the destruction of the undead and aiding the monster hunters when they arrived.
Yoren travelled far from the city, going on rumors of a cure for an overwhelming illness taking hold in his portion of the city.
The rays of the sun beat upon the man as he walked through mud and swampy waters. Carrying around the large sword and shield he had become well known for in addition to his chainmail was not helping much.
Regardless, he carries on.
A frustrated grunt sounds out from near him. A man in creme colored coat and pants, a dark brown vest worn underneath. A brown mask worn over his mouth and nose compliments the dirty creme hat on his head.
"I told you we should have taken the pass, higher ground would have gotten us there quicker."
"Take heart Duran, it will not take long." Yoren smiles at the hunter by his side.
"You're taking us on a detour aren't you?" Duran says, "we're after some undead, leave the cures and the remedies to the church."
Another voice speaks up from behind. "You forget, my friend. I am a friend of the church."
Father Bregan, slayer of monsters and friend of the church. An interesting combination indeed.
Beside him, last but not least. His twin sister Helen, the doctor. A black cloak adorns her shoulders, as well as the beak like plague mask.
She remains quiet, indifferent to either mission. Admittedly, the remedy is Yorens personal mission. His primary order is to take these hunters to a town infested with some rogue undead.
The cleric spots what appears to be a valley ahead, a thick fog envelopes it. The plants they would need are somewhere down there.
There are rumors of a tribe of barbarians in the area. Yoren speaks their tongue, and Duran even knows some.
A light rain begins to fall on the travelers as they start down the steep pass. Its true, they could have gotten to their destination quicker if they had taken higher ground.
Sometimes the journey itself is better than the destination any ways.
Yoren, always smiling
Many would say Yoren always had a smile, for those in need, in passing, or even those who were less than polite. They say he was not one to hold grudges, and was quite a forgiving man indeed. Perhaps, good qualities for someone so involved with the church, and even a good friend of the Archbishop himself.
Especially when that destination is a town full of undead, Yoren thinks to himself. The cleric notes the storm clouds far ahead. He says a quick prayer in the hopes the storm will pass them by without too much trouble.
The four travelers finally come face to the face with the gaping valley. A small path, cut with stone steps leads the way down. Perhaps this place had once been more civilized, not many in living memory could be too sure.
These things matter not to the cleric, for a way forward is a way forward.
Duran puts a hand to his chest, inhaling deeply as he contemplates something.
"Something on your mind?" Yoren asks.
"No, just listening for something," Duran says, "I think you have led us to the best path to get down there, even if the way we took to get here was foolish."
Duran could sometimes get stuck on strange things, although by now Yoren knows he means nothing by it.
The sun glares off the goggle on Helens mask. She takes the first steps down into the valley, and the rest follow.
The going is slow, and often times dangerous. Often parts of the stairs just end, leading either to unstable earth or even more unstable pools of water. In time, the fog dissipates a little. It does nothing to hinder the unease growing in the hearts of the travelers.
Unearthly, shrill shrieks can he heard from the valley down below. In the skies above strange creatures of feather soar. From here, they can even see far off, where the sun sets. Past where the valley breaks, and the mountainous region declines. Far below, Fendora, the capital can be seen, all of its glory illuminated by the waning sunlight.
This land, large and ancient, holds too much to be seen. From the rumored sky city, where the phantoms of dragons watch, ever vigilant Down past the flaming city, all the way into the abyss that is the primordial depths; where creatures of unknown form influence the very nature of the realm above.
More immediate and less wondrous things are on Yorens mind however. From the caves that line the valley, loud erratic shrieks sound out, bouncing off the walls and into the aforementioned places above, below, and on par with the travelers.
Glowing lights reveal some of the caves in the night. The cries of Barbarians in their strange rituals continues by their fires. Somewhere the shrill screams of some unfortunates captured are heard.
Yoren grits his teeth, for all he knows some kind merchants have been taken. Or perhaps even the barbarians own people, as they have been known to fight amongst themselves and offer up even their own for bizarre rituals of flesh and blood.
They come to a vast network or pathways, supplemented by wooden and stone structures for getting around the valley wall. The travelers hide in the mouth of some such caves, as dozens of torchlights break through the dense wall of night.
Deep in the cave do they hide, hoping these strange people are not even going into this cave. Soon they come by, moving slowly. They are dressed in a variety of furs, leather, and mail. The lead having some kind of strange beast fur upon his head. The thing had once had fangs and horn and several eyes.
The barbarian stops at the mouth of the cave, looking carefully as his torch reveals the walls next to him. White symbols adorn them, made of chalk. Yoren cannot be sure what the signs say, as he never learned to read Barbarian markings.
The wild man turns to his followers, letting out three short sounds, no words in particular that Yoren can pick out. The Barabarians husky voice and quiet sayings dont carry through the cave well. But they leave the cave alone and continue.
Duran is the first to move forward after some time, the Barbarians must know of another way, because they do not come back again.
A fireless camp is sure to be the best option, the travelers wrap themselves in fur blankets. The darkness that surrounds them is quite peaceful, along with the embracement of the dark. Duran has first watch, mostly relying on his ears.
Feeling warm, Yoren slowly drifts, there really would be no better time to sleep. Why, even Duran seems to be peacefully....
Yoren tries to jerk himself awake, but it feels as though warm and heavy hands keep him down. A singsong voice echoes from the depths, coaxing him into a deep sleep.
The character had always been a cleric, I just didnt actually realize it until I thought about clerics
Originally was just gonna have him be called a bishop or something. But cleric rolls better on the tongue for the title anyways
Little yippy dogs get more attention than they deserve. Because they never shut up, not because they do anything productive (or bring joy to anyone).
I'll take a pit bull any day.
You must be a fan too
It doesnt bother me
And Ill still keep having fun where Bill can see me even tho it makes him angery