“Stop! Get away from him!” Someone shrieked. A woman's voice, he thought. Tyr was in incredible pain, only one eye to see. Watching as Benny was caught in a web of writhing vines that prevented him from moving. The blueish axe he'd crafting the man lay on the floor. All around both of them was a still pool of blood, but it wasn't theirs. Well, some of it was Tyr's. The wound at his side was gone but his skull was half crushed. “He's had enough! He lost!”

“We have to kill him, Jura.” Someone said. An older man. Abe. “That is not our Tyr. I guarantee it.”

Looking up, the torn leather breeches on a long set of green toned legs were splayed above him. A nice view, under better circumstances. Two groups were facing off against one another, with Girshan clutching a hatchet. Bloody and gasping, he rested against the wall, his rib cage a mess and Tyr's cleaver lodged hard inside of it. By the looks of it, Benny's party had gone up in arms over some argument and was facing off against Tyr's own. And a dozen of others. Meek people in the rear looking like scribes and industry men. Not warriors, certainly not adventurers.

Tyr rose, planting his feet in an attempt to incinerate the vines all around him. So much power was welling up within him that he was sure he could put them all down if he wanted to, and he felt great satisfaction in that. Unfortunately, before he could do so, Jura's leg swept up and cleared him clean off his feet. She seemed intent to protect him, but not so interested in allowing him to keep fighting her family.

“Did I do that?” He croaked at Girshan. The beastkin winced, a hard line at the brow – obviously confused about something. He nodded. “Did I win?”

“Not even close, boy.” Girshan saw the light enter Tyr's eyes once again. Returning to blue rather than the dull, glazed gray they'd been before. He was back. He hoped. “It was almost... Ah.” He groaned as Abe pulled the cleaver from his side and began to tend to the wound. Tutting, telling him to be a man about things. “Too easy.”

“What happened here?” Tyr asked after the others had backed down, their aggression replaced by raw anxiety. Unable or unwilling to trust that Tyr was whole in the head again. All around him were the broken and split bodies of the priests. Thankfully, nobody else had died. Though many were injured. None too serious to be of immediate concern due to the presence of Abe.

“You slaughtered a whole platoon of priests is what you--” Girshan tried to say, before Tyr interrupted him.

“No.” Tyr cut him off with a raised hand. Watching his face reconstitute itself was something they'd never get used to. The compacted skull grinding and popping into place right before their eyes. One eyed bastard, indeed. He was like a roach, something that simply refused to die. “I am well aware of that. I meant this. Why are you fighting?”

“I can answer that.” A voice came from the press, but from a man Tyr would never have expected was still alive. Raddick was still and barely moving, yet animated by a touch of his god. Perhaps he had been dead. Biologically, but the magic of celestials was something, obviously, far beyond common magic. Thanatos had done it, and it stood to reason that an important god like Agni could do the same. Except it wasn't Agni who had done it, but Astarte. In his high chair, amused at the proceedings though disappointed the fight was over so soon.

“Raddick?” Tyr frowned. Ignoring the fearful glances sent his way, people backing away from him as if he was carrying the plague. Even Jura now, which hurt more than Tyr would be willing to admit. “Guess you're alive...”

“Guess so.” Raddick choked. Trying to laugh, but unable to. His body was whole, Tyr could feel that, but it hadn't been an easy transition back into the land of the living. “My god has granted me a new lease on life. He spoke about you, Tyr of House Faeron. Said you amuse him and that he was agitated that his son got to you first, but now you're bound to him by an oath with Lord Agni. Is this true?”

Tyr nodded, sighing. He hadn't expected Astarte to be a part of the 'deal', but he'd walked the path of fire for some time now, and didn't plan to step off of it. Eventually, they'd have found him, and there were worse things than Agni out there. “You could say that, but I'm no paladin to him.”

“Then we are brothers, you and I. Our only baptism in the house of fire is in the approval of our gods. Congratulations on your ascension to warrior priest, just like me.” He coughed, spitting blood on the flagstones and chuckling in amusement.

“You seem strangely calm considering the state of you...” Tyr mused. Raddick was still slumped over and the others were stuck in a state of bemusement in observance of their conversation. Bantering on about gods, and major ones at that. “And...”

There was no reason to talk it over. To measure the length of their stream, so to speak. After all, Tyr felt no pride in it. But if this was the criteria, he'd been a representative of Thanatos for far longer.

“Ah.” Raddick nodded, reaching out a hand to be helped up. Frowning when nobody accepted the gesture, forcing him to do it himself. He figured it was natural. Few had seen a rising of the dead, and resurrection at the hands of a god was exceedingly rare. He had not earned it, warrior priest or not he was not some great hero. Simply lucky enough for Astarte's gaze to turn in his direction while chasing another soul. He turned to the others and told them the real and what had occurred here. Except, much to Tyr's surprise, he lied to their faces. Bold and confident in it, too. Telling them that Tyr had only acted in such a way because he'd been 'cursed'. Technically speaking, it wasn't exactly a lie. Tyr's mind had left his body and it had gone about its own business independently. Whatever consciousness has been controlling it... He did not know, and didn't want to. Added on was the fact that the dead priests had attacked him first, which... Well... The way he spun it made Tyr sound like he rushed to Raddick's aid and had been ensorceled by magic.

“This all felt strange from the start.” Raddick sighed in conclusion. “They brought us all the way out here from the Krieg when there are other churches and orders more prevalent in the region. Other houses of Lord Astarte. I thought, why us? Even though I was more than happy to be about his work. And here we are – finding out.”

“Finding out what?” Tyr asked, and all the others were curious.

Raddick limped over to one of the corpses that yet retained most of its original form, at least from the waist up. Turning it over, he waved Tyr over. He was in too much pain to work the straps on the breastplate, frowning as Tyr tore it free with no attempt to remove it properly. “What?” Tyr asked.

“Beating these men in what was a fair contest is all well and good, but I'd ask that you do not abuse them beyond what is necessary. It is disrespectful. Just end them and send them to our gods, that is all one of the flame can ask.” Raddick replied, but didn't push further. It was enough to request. He pointed toward the bare chest of the corpse. It was mottled black and blue, a tinge of dark purple near everywhere from a crushed torso. Splinters of what had once been a rib cage were visible through the skin in some places.

“Did I do that?” Tyr asked, staring in morbid interest at the vicious injury. There were no burns, or any wound to identify either magic or the use of a heavy weapon. It's like the torso of the man had been beaten flat with his bare fists. Tyr was physically capable, surely, but he wasn't that strong. It looked like the man had been kicked repeated in the chest by a warhorse. A church warrior and a veteran one by the decorated chevrons on the breastplate, he should've been... Tyr wasn't sure – more durable?

“Gods...” Benny murmured. “Since we're all off the throats of one another, I think you owe it to them to explain what that was. Are you unwell in the mind? Was it some magic?”

“Aye.” Girshan agreed. “I'd like to know if you're going to go insane again and start swinging at us when we turn our backs.”

“It wasn't him.” Abe asserted yet again. “Am I correct, Tyr?”

Tyr shrugged. “It was, and it wasn't. For lack of a better way to say it, because I do not know how, that was me without my... Soul? I was infected with something called lycanthropy, something I could not heal and had very little resistance to. I'm quite weak against magical diseases and various toxins, it seems. It would have killed me if nothing had been done.”

“Are you still infected?” Girshan backed away, eyeing Tyr warily. They'd never exactly been fast friends, but seeing the lack of trust there stung at him.

“No.” He shook his head. “It couldn't change me, so it adapted. Still couldn't, but it had an unforeseen side effect, I suppose. Burning itself out by feeding on my life force, maybe. In any case, I was cured. I doubt it'd happen again, even if I were to be infected now.” Something told him that he'd be immune to it entirely, but he wasn't sure. Certainly didn't want to go about and test it. Ensuring that no bites were present on his body, disrobing at the torso to show Girshan as much who physically relaxed. 'Were' blood was a vicious and painful way to die, and there was no cure. In his society, it was best to kill them before they could escape. Humans were not immune and perhaps even more fallible to its depredations. Feline beastkin rarely caught it, but when they did they would commit ritual suicide, or at least they were expected to. Were-cats weren't the bane that canids were, but they had a unique danger to them, still intact of mind – but possessive of uncontrollable magic.

“You kept talking about gods and strings.” Abe said. “What did that mean?”

Tyr frowned. He didn't like hearing that, but he also didn't know what it meant and said as much. “Maybe something was animating my body after death since it cannot die. I just don't know, but I swear I will not attack you again. And... I am sorry. Truly. I was foolish.” He shivered at the thought that he'd essentially been cast into a walking bomb, if not for his unique physiology – Girshan would be infected as well.

“Understood.” Girshan nodded. “It's not your fault. The curse of the werekin is not something to be trifled with. Thankfully, all of us seemed to have avoided it... For now.”

“How do you know?”

“You'd know. It burns fast. Within minutes, if the infection manages to take root in the body, you are doomed. We, the beastkin that is – especially of feline nature – can smell it. We are arguably the most resistant to it, but not immune. I'd have felt it.”

“I was foolish as well.” Raddick interrupted them, slumping to the ground again. The once proud and confident warrior priest stared sadly at the corpse, taking the face in his hands. “I still can't believe it.”

“Believe what?” Tyr asked. He saw nothing on the corpse that would earn such a reaction from the man. Raddick's face was pale and his red eyes dull. Pointing toward the brand on the bodies flesh. A swirling 'U' like the cross section of a cauldron. A vertical, almost blade-like flame rising vertically from the center of it. That's what it was supposed to look like, at least. It was hard to make out given the state the body was in. “A house of fire brand on a warrior priest of the house of fire? In what way is that unexpected.”

“These men and women.” Raddick breathed. “Are not of Agni's house. That is the mark of Indura. Long have they quarreled, the twins, but to think that they'd go so far and even attempt to kill me. I am a vindicator of Astarte, to strike at me is madness... Far beyond a quarrel between churches, and impersonating the chosen of another divine...”

“Something about a knife in the back doesn't seem very 'servant of the goddess of truth and justice'.” Tyr frowned.

Raddick snorted, shaking his head. “She is no such thing. No matter how many times her followers shout it from the rooftops. I love all the gods and goddesses of all houses, but I have a special love for those of the fire. Indura, however...” He pursed his lips, choosing his words carefully. “She is the tactician. Of deceit and strategy, and all related things. Astarte and Agni prize those who face their obstacles head on with no need of trickery. Indura is the exact opposite. To cut the head off a sleeping lion is a greater victory in her eyes than rousing it to do honest battle.”

“The question is why they did it. Why are they here?” Lina spoke after so long remaining silent. “I am a chosen of Nyx. While I've no bond with the house of flame, I do not believe that Lady Indura would commit such treason against a chosen of father.”

“And well met, paladin of water. But you're mistaken. I have walked the path of the gods for nigh six decades, and while I will never understand the games they play – they do play them. Rivalry is common in the heavens, as all the old legends claim. Perhaps even more than we are willing to believe. Each divine will approach a problem with a different hand. As for why they would infiltrate another church, and how they even did it... I do not know.” Raddick said. “We cannot know. To understand a god is to stare into an abyss there is no turning away from, one only a scant few have ever reached. And they all, without exception, went irrevocably insane. Leda and Helen, for example, were both priests in their time.”

“What's done is done.” Tyr said. He was not interested in the idea of trying to divine their actions, and they were all dead. “We're talking in circles. Now is a time for action.”

“I will remain here.” Raddick said. “As my lord commands. I cannot leave until given permission to do so.”

“He speaks to you?” Tyr asked.

“Not exactly.” Raddick shook his head. “For a chosen, we receive... Visions, or a purpose in our mind that appears as if from nowhere. I am but a puppet of His will, a dedicated instrument to see His work done. I have never spoken to the highest one until now, thanks to you. And I owe you a great debt for it. It is a gift I can never repay.”

“Only by happenstance.” Tyr said. “Coincidence. I am not responsible for that.”

“Even so.” Raddick inclined his head. His eyes lingering on Tyr's own, making the younger man feel as if his face brushed too close to a bonfire. “Fate is fate. There is no coincidence. All is done at the behest of something so far greater than us that we can only guess at the significance and step blind on the path, only faith as our guide.”

“Hmm.” Tyr resisted the urge to scowl. Raddick was, by his own admission, a slave – and happy to be one. As long as it was for his 'god'. Agni hadn't been so bad, perhaps Astarte was similar. “I will go, then.” He turned, not toward the exit, but the portal. It was no longer wispy and fading, flickering in and out as it had before. Now, for some reason, it was stabilized. And he wanted to know why.

“What are you doing, big brother?” Xavier asked, back in his original form. Stepping alongside Benny, who staring at Tyr in concern.

“Going inside to close that thing once and for all.” Tyr replied. “I'd tell you not to follow, but you'd probably do so anyways. Right?”

Benny and Xavier nodded in unison, the others not so quick with their support. Not enough time had passed to make them forget what they'd seen, and the gore slick walls were no balm for it. Tyr did that, and a smart man would avoid anyone or anything capable of doing the same.

“Wait.” Abe spoke in a grave voice. “Something is coming.”

“How many?” Tyr asked. He could not hear anything, but the old Telurian was connected to the earth in a way that he was not. Kneeling to place a hand on the stone.

“Many. A great many.” Abe replied. “Too many for me to feel with any certainty. Considering the circumstances, I'd think it unwise to consider them friends, in any case. Far too many to be adventurers, and they're running.”