Troupe by troupe the survivors of Gole collapsed in exhaustion on the Temple steps. Raenor, Durin, Elmric, Aieris, and Darren met and spoke together, with the acolytes nursing Gorn nearby.

"How many made it?" Durin was the first to ask the grim question. Elmric was the first to answer, "Forty-two including my company and those who travelled with us through the forest."

Darren added, "I had exactly twenty with me." And finally Raenor, "There were only thirteen others. That makes seventy-five survivors, plus ourselves."

No one was in the mood for talking, most were still mourning the loss of so many lives, worrying about the villagers fleeing to the south, and trying to rest their aching muscles. Oddly, Aieris, probably the most exhausted of all the captains, was the first to break the silence. "Well if we're expecting to survive, we should have a bloody plan."

"Indee-" Raenor began to reply, but stopped abruptly, a strange expression sweeping over his face. "What..." He sniffed loudly. "What is that smell?"

In the several seconds after the question, they all looked at Durin. The dwarf sniffed his armpit and shrugged. Raenor shook his head, "No, not that smell..." It was at this point the ranger realised something everyone else had overlooked. Not long after, Elmric and Aieris noticed it too. In a few moments, all of the captains were looking around the temple courtyard and up the steps.

"This place is empty. Where are the other acolytes?" Elmric was most confused of all of them, being a frequent visitor of this place.

Raenor even unsheathed his longsword, searching for signs of conflict. But there were none visible in the courtyard. A face set in stone, he began climbing the tall temple steps.

"Master Ranger, what was it ye smelled?" Durin called up to him, preparing to go himself.

"Bodies."

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OOC: Be careful with what you guys do now. This is a little less free reign and a little more narrative. Don't perform too many large actions, and don't make many assumptions, I will cover them. In other words, try to aim for inquisitive posts and such, I'll fill in the blanks.

“Bodies,” Durin repeated. “Alright, all ye wounded, continue on to Midgaard. Healthy militiamen, ye guard their backs.” This was unexpected indeed! “How could the Venurian horde make it here before us?” the dwarf asked no one in particular. “Could this have been their objective the entire time? Aye, what horrible demon coulda done this? These were only men o’ the cloth. They were no harm to anyone.”

“Shh,” Raenor hushed the lamenting dwarf. “I am not sure we are alone right now.”

Having quieted the mournful dwarf, Raenor tightened the grip on his sword. In the moment of silence which had followed Durin's orders, the slight creaking of his leather gloves seemed blasphemously loud. Turning to Durin, he dropped his voice so only he could hear.

"I can't be sure of anything from here ," he looked worriedly up at the yawning temple doorway. The doors were flung wide open, but this seeming serenity belay the fear that it raised in Raenor's heart. Steeling himself, he kept talking. "We need to find out what happened here...and that means going up." he nodded towards the doorway. "Move slowly and quietly..."

Without waiting for the dwarf's response, Raenor started cautiously up the temple stairs, every sense straining to pick up something, anything, which would provide a clue to what had happened here. His mind was keenly aware of every movement, every rustle, every breath of air. Step by step he and Durin climbed, until Raenor stopped him just below the lip of the entryway.

"Wait," he murmured in the dwarf's ear.

With that, he crouched low and climbed the last few steps, concealing himself under the lip of the stairs before carefully looking over the lip and into the temple.

The stench of the bodies entered his nostrils freely now as he looked into the main hall of the Temple. From his vantage point on the stairs, he could clearly see three slain acolytes. One was mangled across a pew, limbs flailed in every direction during his last moments. Another had crumpled against the wall, the splatter of blood around him still recent. The last was in the middle of the hall with a broken off spear still impaling her abdomen.

Raenor continued to scan the hall intensely, but found no sign of movement anywhere. Durin quietly crept up a few steps and peered through the Temple entrance. It was a miracle the axe handle didn't snap in his hands, and it took most of his willpower not to scream with rage at the sight of the dead priests.

Elmric stood up, unfastened his shield once more,and slid his spear out of it's holder slowly and quietly. Elmric steeled himself against the acrid smell of burnt and dead flesh, and stepped inside.

"Damn." Elmric muttered to himself as he saw the three acolytes, and even worse, a neophyte in the shadow of the door, burnt, but still barely recognizable. Elmric had many thoughts racing through his head, most of them not agreeable to his calling...but he stepped inside, and stood behind Durin.

"Well, Durin. It looks like things may have changed..and not for the better." Elmric said quietly, wondering how many more atrocities there were to be found.

Watching all of her comrades rush into the temple that smelt of death, Aieris decided it would be wiser to stay outside. With all of them inside the temple, something might come out of the woods at any moment.

So she sat down, cross legged on the ground, and got herself some rest.

Still, she did pull out her bow again, though it would not be terribly effective with the now-damp bowstring, and her much dwindled supply of arrows.

With the thirteen arrows left, she might be able to shoot five of them before the bostring stretched beyond any further use, and it would be unwise to string another before the rain stopped.

Aieris and Darren were the only two captains outside the temple at the time as the militia disappeared from view, moving as fast as they could south. That path would lead out of the forest quite quickly and would take them to a nearby farming village within a few days travel. The storm had died down to a minor drizzle, but bowstring and shirt alike continued to get wrecked.

Elmric, Raenor, and Durin had entered the main hall of the Temple. After soon finding it too unbearable to continually search the mutilated bodies, they took to figuring out their next destination. There were two doors, one large which led to a long promenade, opening up other prayer rooms, statue rooms, the quarters of the High Priest, and the gardens. The second smaller door led to the rather impressive library and it's plethora of accompanying studies.

Durin moved away from a fallen acolyte to quell his now seething rage. Taking a deep breath he softly spoke to his comrades, “We stick together. I canna say what horror did this… but I won’t see another meet this fate.”

Both Elmric and Raenor understood and agreed without a word. It was clear that Durin was not the only one deeply disturbed by this scene. Elmric shuffled in closer to Durin so that he could speak as quietly as possible. “What do you suggest we do?” he questioned to either of the two companions.

“Smaller door, smaller beast,” whispered Durin. Raenor grinned at the suggestion of the dwarf close behind him.

The smaller door opened up into a cozy preparation room where priests would organize scriptures, tomes, and anything they needed during mass. Long oak tables were lined with stacks of commonly used texts, herbs, and religious symbols of Avelia. The room led down a hall which in turn opened up into a small lounge area, about thirty by thirty feet, with several chairs nestled by an extravagant fireplace.

Normally this would all look quite luxurious, but things were a mess. Signs of combat were everywhere, and curiously enough, a gargoyle corpse was near the center of the lounge room, surrounded by five dead acolytes.

Raenor, Durin, and Elmric moved very carefully through the room, straining their senses to pick up the slightest sight or sound of an enemy. Following the halls adjacent to the fireplace, they heard the sound of several gargoyles conversing and arguing about their orders to collect any useful tomes about healing magic.

Raenor told the others to stay back for a moment and crept, using all of his stealth capability, towards the opening of the main library. He peeked in and saw three gargoyles knocking over shelves and stacks of what seemed like endless amounts of ancient tomes, occasionally finding one and throwing it into a central pile.

Darren, bored of sitting, wet, outside the temple, unsheaths his sword in a dramatic fashion. In an attempt to impress Aieris he slashes the air, obliterating many imaginary foes.

Aieris, however, used to Darren's antics, just rolls her eyes and looks elsewhere.

As Darren really begins to get into the practising, he shouts, "Have at you!" and continues darting and weaving around the foe he seems to see. Slash, weave, thrust, jab! He continues practising for awhile, and warms up his cold, wet, muscles, while Aieris continues ignoring him.

Finally, he flourishes his sword and sheaths it, after wiping it off as best as possible, under the circumstances. Darren poses in a way that looked good in his head, but to Aieris seems just plain silly. She stifles a laugh and bends over her bow, checking to see how much longer it will last.

Darren continues to pose, not realizing what an idiot he looks to the archer.