Online Session Recap - 18.06.2023

Tylendel, tired from his ordeal, went around the Holy Hill talking to people and gathering information on what had transpired in his absence.

Tylendel rested.

When he woke up, he went to the upper eastern gallery of the nave and witnessed, through a broken window, at last, a sunrise in the east. On the walls and everywhere soldiers cheered and hugged each other - for a moment, all the toil and disaster was forgotten.

He then went to the infirmary to check on Syr Dostan.

Apparently, Syr Bohumíl, fire in his eyes, had gone wild and slew many people. And his sister, Ester, had similarly been seen with fire in her eyes - she disappeared into the city.

Tylendel spoke with a Whitecloak Captain who was about to lead a small company of men out Alfons’s Gate to scout and bring back reports.

Tylendel visited the House of Martial Holies where he found Karlon Rymés leading a discussion with Countess Silvja Iker, Count Roben Sandath, Amon Imlia, Syr Perron Branral, Syr Decebal of the Arganhold, Duke Esmond Sollani and Syr Haxley Hosswort.

Here, Tylendel learned more about what had transpired. Syr Gylian Urunmyst had been slain while herding people into the tombs; Syr Dostan lay in the infirmary after managing to take down Syr Bohumíl.

They talked about the need to find supplies, food etc. in and around the city; about how the Host of the Prophet’s many men and women would want to go home, and how to deal with that.

Karlon gave Tylendel his seat; Tylendel said they would have to stay around at least until spring. He is waiting for Syr Nathyn Evett and the Imperials from the west. Tylendel clapped Amon Imlia friendly on the shoulder.

Tylendel went to the infirmary to see many wounded people, including Syr Dostan and Dorotei Sollani, whom he (after a few unsuccessful attempts) managed to heal. The Blessed Craftsmen who were present stared at him with wide eyes.

At some point Tylendel had a sudden vision:

Gloom; deep blue-black mists; cracked and dusty landscape. Light breaks through low-hanging dark blue clouds. Into this light spills a column of primitive warriors, gaunt and thin, wielding stone axes, clubs, wearing hides and hide boots. They are led by a short young man with a headdress of black feathers and he walks with a staff adorned with crow skulls. His bare chest displays what seem like carved symbols. They stagger up a broken hill as the sun breaks through fully, bathing them in light. Ahead, they see swaying grasslands and a slight smile appears on the man’s face.