In Need

[Aviar Montage]

Drops of rain cascaded from the brim of Aviar's red hat. Wrapped tightly in his cloak, he banged upon the priest's door.

“Father!” Aviar cried, his voice being torn from his throat by the howling wind, which took precedence over any mere human. Standing ankle-deep in black mud, he prayed that the priest was home. Having never really confronted Mylward before, he only hoped the man could be of some help.

It had happened earlier that evening. From the woods...a monster Aviar couldn't begin to describe. Grasping his cloak with shaking fingers, he bit his lips to keep the feeling in them. They were already tinged with blue, and the fact that he could stand was a testament to a strength he'd never known he possessed. Only one person could help him now. Not the barbar or doctor, not the inn keeper, not even his own mother (if she were there)...but the priest...

When the door was not answered, he slammed into it. Better to be inside. To be away...away from what was out there, waiting for him...

The door opened with surprisingly little effort, and Aviar stumbled inside, felling to his knees, and glancing around, frantically. There was no one there...it was dark...but peaceful. A good place to die, he thought, struggling to close the door, as the rain poured in through the threshold. And then he fell asleep on the soft wood floor. Soft...relaxing....

[John Mylward]

John sighed, pushing through the rain as he traversed the dirt path towards his home. He had been delivering the last rights for the Smith twins. A shame to be taken so young, a tragedy. But the lord had his reasons, and John felt sure they found peace where they went. It was such a strange night. In recent memory, the priest had not seen such weather. It was as if the skies had opened and the decision was made to cleanse the earth once more of all its evil.

Smirking, he shook his head. No, there was little true evil to be had in Littlewood. He felt sure of this. The good people in that village were quiet. Terrified of the night. But evil? Never. And these thoughts continued to pour through John's mind, as he approached his cottage. The lamp shown as brightly as it always did, welcoming all who came near.

Though he was not in the church, nor delivering a sermon, a priest should keep his door open to any and all who sought him out. After all, few sins were so grievous that penance could not be made...

Something seemed odd, though. There were scuffs of mud on his door, he noted, as he grabbed the handle. And it was with some effort that he managed to shove it open with a grunt. And at his feet...there was a figure. Shadowed, with scarce light from the porch lantern.

“Heavenly father...” He whispered, dropping to his knees and wrapping an arm around the young man's shoulders. For it was a young man, that he could tell. Squinting, he realized it was the merchant. “My son...” He whispered, crossing himself.