"It's about time you got here. We've been scouting out those cultists and the situation is grim," bellowed a stout dwarf clad in a chain jerkin and hefting a crossbow in his hands. The dying rays of the sun glinted off his armor and cast purple and red hues across his helm. The helm perched precipitously across a ragged mop of dusky brown hair which lined the dwarf's face until it ended in an equally unkempt beard.

"Aye, Chigrak, I ran into a little trouble myself. Highwaymen thinking they had waylaid a helpless female only to learn they had come across one of the eyes of Helm," softly answered a woman of modest build, at home in her studded leather armor and long sweeping cloak. The symbol of Helm, an eye in the midst of a gauntlet, hung as a symbol around her neck. She patted the hilt of her sword, WoundBinder, as it hung almost invisibly under the left saddlebag of her steed.

"What have we before us, then, fellow dwarf?"

"The three villagers are in the hands of the cultists and it appears they are being prepared for sacrifice. Myrkak is still scouting close to their camp, but he should be back before nightfall," reported Chigrak.

"Good, good. We're missing Galen and Elizabeth. Where are they?" asked the woman.

"They are still in the village. Elizabeth is tending to the wounds of those men who survived the last cultist raid. Galen is seeing to the meager defenses those farmers can raise. He's having a hard time of it, too, with all that war learning about seige weapons and undermining walls and employing spells on armies," chuckled the dwarf, "but they, too, should be back by nightfall. That said, then, Illyssa, what is the plan?"

"We wait until Myrkak returns. He wouldn't have stayed so close to the cultist camp for this long unless he saw something of concern. If Myrkak's concerned, we had better be, as well. Now then, good sir, where is my heavy armor and shield? If we're going to strike this vagabond band of death mongers, then I had best be dressed for the occasion. The glint of moonlight against the hardened armor of a Helmite should strike fear into their wretched hearts. Perhaps we will see a few redeemed and converted from their evil ways."

"Illyssa, you say that every time we decide to wade into battle. And thus far your conversion rate hasn't been very high. I dare say you are far behind the lovely Elizabeth," snorted the dwarf.

Illyssa dismounted and shed her leather armor, placing it carefully within one of the saddlebags. She tended to her mount, too, removing the saddle and bags, and allowing it to graze. As Chigrak brought over her heavy plate armor, Illyssa took a moment to snag a piece of jerky from her belt pouch. Then she shrugged off the belt and pouch and began donning her armor. Chigrak began to help her with some of the buckles which secured the armor and place and balanced it on the black-haired female as the anguished sound of a nightengale song rang out gently across the glenn. Both human and dwarf turned to the source of the sound and saw the returning half-elf, Myrkak, looking serious and morose.