Post by Delion on Oct 26, 2008 13:21:43 GMT -5
It was almost eerie the way Delion changed to suit the situation. Gone was the prim and reserved tailor, and in his place was a man entirely different. This man was was purposeful and fast acting, never panicked or flustered. He was loud where the previous was quiet and demure, now wielding staff and energy where before were only needle and thread. He'd clearly been in similar situations before.
It was night time. You could only tell by the slightly deeper darkness - the necropolis had summoned stormclouds overhead, blocking out the sun during the day. Some time during the evening the tailor's hair had come undone, and for once he didn't seem to pay it any heed. Single-mindedly he worked on defending The Finest Thread, whether that meant now-routine checks on passersby for infection, or swinging that greatstaff at a shambling Scourge.
Delion wasn't a strong man by any means, but he had managed to knock a skeleton's head clean off once, and with a thrust of his palm the abomination's ribcage had lit up from the inside with cleansing light, and disintegrated.
Sol'remy had tried to help, at first. Delion was the most frail of the household, after all, and at the LEAST he could leave the job to Bellesta. The tailor had had none of that, lifting him bodily from the doorway and nearly throwing him back inside, shouting something in Common. The message was clear enough. To be honest, he didn't want to be out there anyway.
For being darkest night, the air was surprisingly lit up in all manner of ways - down the street the Argent Dawn had set up a small haven, lanterns beckoning anyone in need. The Cathedral had set out what they called holy candles to ward disease away, which Delion seemed to disdain - apparently candles weren't on his list of precautions. Every so often a glimmer would sprout from along the Canals to show that someone was being cleansed out in the darkness, and all the usual patrols held lanterns too. Delion's staff emitted a high glow itself, and Sol'remy could follow it from the upstairs window as the other man went back and forth between store and Harbour entrance.
There was a shout from under the archway there, and a sudden burst of yellow as a paladin turned the cobblestoned way to gold. They, the guards and Delion made short work of the Scourge there.
An hour or so later, as the sky above grew to a dim grey, they swapped the guard over to people freshly woken. Delion returned home, still alert as ever until he stepped inside the door. There was a soft clunk as his staff was set aside, the quiet clink of a cup as he lifted the tea ready for him from the table. The noise of hot, steaming water as he showered and eventually, the latch of the door as he shuffled into the room.
Delion crawled beneath the covers, hardly acknowledging the bears either side but for a murmur of exhaustion and a half-hearted pat on fur.
It was night time. You could only tell by the slightly deeper darkness - the necropolis had summoned stormclouds overhead, blocking out the sun during the day. Some time during the evening the tailor's hair had come undone, and for once he didn't seem to pay it any heed. Single-mindedly he worked on defending The Finest Thread, whether that meant now-routine checks on passersby for infection, or swinging that greatstaff at a shambling Scourge.
Delion wasn't a strong man by any means, but he had managed to knock a skeleton's head clean off once, and with a thrust of his palm the abomination's ribcage had lit up from the inside with cleansing light, and disintegrated.
Sol'remy had tried to help, at first. Delion was the most frail of the household, after all, and at the LEAST he could leave the job to Bellesta. The tailor had had none of that, lifting him bodily from the doorway and nearly throwing him back inside, shouting something in Common. The message was clear enough. To be honest, he didn't want to be out there anyway.
For being darkest night, the air was surprisingly lit up in all manner of ways - down the street the Argent Dawn had set up a small haven, lanterns beckoning anyone in need. The Cathedral had set out what they called holy candles to ward disease away, which Delion seemed to disdain - apparently candles weren't on his list of precautions. Every so often a glimmer would sprout from along the Canals to show that someone was being cleansed out in the darkness, and all the usual patrols held lanterns too. Delion's staff emitted a high glow itself, and Sol'remy could follow it from the upstairs window as the other man went back and forth between store and Harbour entrance.
There was a shout from under the archway there, and a sudden burst of yellow as a paladin turned the cobblestoned way to gold. They, the guards and Delion made short work of the Scourge there.
An hour or so later, as the sky above grew to a dim grey, they swapped the guard over to people freshly woken. Delion returned home, still alert as ever until he stepped inside the door. There was a soft clunk as his staff was set aside, the quiet clink of a cup as he lifted the tea ready for him from the table. The noise of hot, steaming water as he showered and eventually, the latch of the door as he shuffled into the room.
Delion crawled beneath the covers, hardly acknowledging the bears either side but for a murmur of exhaustion and a half-hearted pat on fur.