Kashya stood alone at the gates, cutting an imposing figure on the dirt road that led to the rogue encampment's western entrance. If her impressive stature, fierce blue eyes and resplendent chainmail didn't command enough respect, the hundred arrows bristling from the palisade at her back would. A small smile tugged at her lips as she saw the approaching caravan come to a halt a respectable distance away and a man dressed in rich blue silks jump down from the lead wagon, walking her way with hands raised in a placating gesture.

The incipient smile was quickly brought under control before it could undermine her gravitas, and it was with her usual haughty demeanor that the fiery commander of the rogues greeted the newcomer. She had of course already recognized him as one of the many merchants who regularly plied this trade route, a man named Warriv, but one could not be too careful in these evil times.

Warriv walked up to her as unthreateningly as possible, and offered her the best attempt at a good-natured smile he could muster under the circumstances.

- "Greetings, captain! I've heard troubling news about the way east, but I did not expect such a... prickly welcome." His gaze shifted to the rows of sharp, pointy death aimed in his direction.

This time Kashya could not resist the smile that appeared at the corner of her mouth and she raised a hand to signal the archers on the ramparts to stand down. The atmosphere lightened significantly as arrows were lowered and Warriv's arms followed suit.

- "You come in dark times, Warriv. I don't know how much you've heard, but the glorified hovel you see behind me is all that is left of our order. Our monastery has fallen and we are besieged by the same evil that drove us out. You'd best bring in your caravan quickly, this side of the river is no safer than the other. I'm surprised you even made it here."

With a nod, Warriv hastened back as the gates were opened, and the wagons made their way into the encampment. Kashya joined the tail end of the convoy, casting one last wary eye at the wilderness before she stepped in and the gates closed behind her.


Inside, the encampment was a swarm of activity as each wagon was led to a spot to unload its goods and occupants, and the people of the camp crowded around to see the newcomers. Hard times have a way of breeding solidarity; welcoming faces and helping hands greeted the caravaneer and his fellow travelers. Kashya could tell everyone felt some relief at seeing new arrivals, but she herself carefully scrutinized every fresh face. The safety of the encampment was her responsibility, and she would not be remiss in her duties, even for an instant.

She was glad to see that the caravan came with a non-negligible number of armed guards. Mercenaries though they were, an additional sword was an additional sword. The extra supplies and able hands would also help them to endure this siege, and she even saw a few promising individuals among the passengers: some crossbowmen, a handful of pikemen that had the look and armor of professional soldiers, maybe even a couple of mages judging by their robes.

However, one stood out from all the rest, and not just figuratively; towering a good head above the next tallest man, a huge warrior carrying a broad axe was awkwardly making his way through the crowd like a grown man walking amongst children, taking care not to barrel over any of the small people around him. His armor consisted of a mail hauberk under fur-lined lamellar armor, as well as greaves and bracers. Blue markings snaked their way up his arms and ran along the shaved sides of his ox-like head, which sported a short but wild mop of black hair. Symmetrically, a scruffy beard gradually grew from his shaved sideburns. His size and warpaint marked him as a northman, and though many in the south eyed his kind with fear and suspicion, Kashya knew the value of their strength of arms.

With these new additions and the two amazons that had escorted the previous caravan, her camp was filling up with capable warriors. Enough to help the Sisterhood repel the demonic attacks...maybe even enough to help them reclaim their home. She had dreamed of nothing else for the past few weeks.

Kashya was shaken out of her reverie by a gentle voice.

- "Excuse me, are you the one who commands here?"

Kashya turned to see blue eyes staring at her expectantly. The man they belonged to had a surprisingly youthful face, his mess of chestnut hair tumbling upon a tunic that matched his eyes.

- "I am Kashya, and I command the rogues in battle, though Akara, our priestess, is the spiritual leader of the order. What do you need, outlander?" She tried to inject her usual curtness into that word, but something about the earnestness of his expression softened the edge in her voice.

- "My name is Galen, and I'm a healer. I've heard of the tragedy that has befallen you and your sisters. Perhaps I can be of help?"

- "A healer? Fortune smiles on us this day!" she said with uncharacteristic enthusiasm. "Come with me, I will lead you to Akara. She tends to the wounded".

As she started in the direction of the largest tent in the camp, Kashya wondered why she trusted this young man so easily. He looked harmless enough, but there was something about him that bothered the redhead, something that didn't fit his gentle manner.


The big tent at the north end of the camp served as a makeshift hospital, and Galen could hear the sounds of pained moans before he even entered. Following Kashya inside, he discovered rows upon rows of sickbeds and stretchers filled with rogues; some were sleeping, some were groaning, and some were hovering between life and death. Almost all sported a visible injury of some kind, except a few who just lay there with vacant expressions, their eyes lost in some dark memory.

Moving from bedside to bedside, offering a healing hand, a poultice or a kind word, an old woman in a stately purple cloak diligently tended to each patient. Galen fell into step behind Kashya as she negotiated her way through the packed tent to reach the old woman's side.

- "Akara, I have good news. I've found a healer among the newly arrived to help you in your work. His name is...".

- "Galen, priestess," he finished with a small bow.

Akara studied him with eyes that spoke of many sleepless nights. Both physical and mental exhaustion were etched on her face, but there was also determination there, and compassion. She offered him a tired smile and when she spoke, her voice sounded older than she looked.

- "Thank you, stranger, any help you can offer would be most welcome. But I wonder that one so young would have much skill in the healing arts."

Galen was already kneeling besides the patient she had been tending to, and he took a deep breath, eyes closed, hands folded as if in prayer. A soft aura began to emanate from him, its light touching everyone within reach. Akara could immediately feel some of the physical strain of the last few days lift from her shoulders; the young man placed his hands upon the bedridden rogue's wounded waist and more light poured from his open palms. The wound began to visibly heal.

Ignoring the smug look her second in command was giving her, the priestess quickly joined her newfound acolyte in making the rounds, healing battered flesh and flagging spirit with a vigor she hadn't felt in days. Kashya left them to it. Today was decidedly becoming a bright spot in a dark time.


The day was drawing to a close by the time the two healers had finished tending to every cut, gash, tear, bruise and broken bone. Akara felt much less drained than usual; not only had she had someone to share the load with, but she found her own energies continually restored by his influence. Even now an azure aura that shimmered like starlight replenished their spent mana as they stood just outside the tent's opening.

- "I cannot thank you enough for your aid. Your presence here gives me hope...not just for our wounded, but for everyone in this camp," she added with a knowing smile. "Already two of our Askari sisters have taken up arms in our defense. I knew it wouldn't be long before help would come from Westmarch as well. I pray you are the first of many."

- "More will come when the news reaches them. I was already in Khanduras when I heard of your plight, and I boarded the first caravan here to offer healing where I can and my sword where I must. Though...I haven't wielded one in years." A strange look overcame Galen's features. "Some of the rumors I heard spoke of a civil war, of sister fighting against sister. What I've learned since getting here suggests a darker threat. Is it demons you face, or has your order truly turned on itself?"

- "It is both, I'm afraid." A slight hesitation, a sigh, a deep breath. "It all began the day we welcomed two wanderers into our monastery. One of them seemed to know Moreina, the leader of the forces we sent to Tristram during its darkening. She hadn't been the same since she'd gotten back from that accursed place. I should've..." pain crept into Akara's words. "I should've known she had fallen to evil. I had sensed the darkness eating away at her heart, but I did nothing. I told myself the scars of her battle against the lord of terror just went too deep. I was too afraid to face the truth, too eager to trust in a hard-won peace, and we have all paid the price for it. My failings have brought our sisterhood to ruin." Akara's voice cracked and her entire being shook for a fleeting moment.

Galen placed a comforting hand on her slumped shoulder.

- "Don't judge yourself so harshly. There are few things harder than to confront evil when it wears the shape of those we love. To slay a Hell-spawned demon is one thing; to strike down another human being that has fallen to corruption..." his words stumbled upon some bitter memory, and he simply shook his head and sighed. "So, this Moreina...was she behind the fall of Eastgate Keep?"

Akara's expression hardened.

- "That night, she and her band betrayed us. We woke to the screams of sisters being hacked down in their beds by corrupted rogues and cackling demons, and more of the Hell-spawn were crawling out of the lower levels by the minute. Kashya eventually managed to rally enough of us to hold the demons at bay, but that is when she appeared." A shudder went through the priestess. "Andariel, the maiden of anguish herself, led the charge against us and tore through our ranks. We tried to fight back, but we were too stunned and disheartened by the betrayal of our own to stand before a Lesser Evil. We were forced to flee our ancestral home, and many of our bravest warriors gave their lives to allow us to retreat. As the last of us streamed into the outer cloister, I placed a spell on the doors to hold them fast and allow us to escape unhindered into the night." her gaze moved to the distance. "We've been fighting a losing battle for control of the land ever since, and the demon's numbers increase as ours diminish."

Her eyes would not meet Galen's, but he could tell there was hurt and shame there. He turned to face her.

- "You do not fight alone. There are other forces besides the powers of Hell in this world, and where evil rears its head good rises to the challenge. I for one will do whatever is in my power to aid you. I know I won't be the only one."

Akara was about to respond when a gruff voice interrupted them.

- "Which one of you is the priestess?"

The young healer turned around to see a beast of a man walk up behind him, casting a quizzical look at his now visible face. Galen was by no means short, but the barbarian that stood before him towered over him. Had the northman confused him for one of the rogues?

Akara stepped forward and removed her hood.

- "I am Akara. How can I help you...?"

- "Call me Aan. Your captain tells me demons besiege you and you are in need of strong warriors." He lifted his massive broad axe and gripped it with fierce intent. "Direct my wrath, elder. I will drown the land in the blood of your enemies."

Galen suddenly felt very naked without arms and armor. The axe loomed imposingly above him but at closer inspection, his trained eye could tell its blade was worn and its craftsmanship unexceptional; a workman's tool.

- "We are honored that you would fight on our behalf, son of Bul-Kathos. With your help and that of the other warriors who have joined us, perhaps we can finally..." Akara's words died on her lips as a clamor went up from the camp.

The alarm bell was being sounded and rogues were rushing to a spot west of the tent. The trio followed suit to see what all the commotion was about. When they got there, they spotted Kashya barking orders to get her archers into a firing line, and Akara hurried to her side.

- "What's going on?"

- "The runes on the ancient waypoint have lit up for the first time in recent memory! Someone or something is trying to teleport into the camp." She lifted her hand "Draw!"

As one, the disciplined rogues drew their bows, some quivering with anxiety or anticipation. The hum of the waypoint grew stronger...