Chaos at Exigo

[Cornuto]

Rumors swirl, every tavern buzzes with the strange tales of assaults, violent deaths, and monstrous undead creatures appearing to harvest the living. Fearful whispers all echo one name... Bane.

The remains of one of Ilmater's favored was seen being carried from the legion barracks to the Triumvirate. Observers noted that the corpse appeared to have been cleaned of blood, but the back of the corpse from shoulder to flank was ragged tattered flesh.

[Silas North]

The idea of getting drunk seemed more and more tempting to Osclow with every passing moment that night. So close she came.. so close. A lesser woman would have truly been gone. If not for the power of Ilmater running through her, she would have ..

His grip upon the bottle tightened and his emerald eyes lost whatever light of confidence they held when facing his friends earlier that day. It should have been him. Why did he allow her to carry that bloody thing? Tinkering with and fooling magical wards and trinkets was more HIS line of work.. HIS way of devoting assistance to the valley. The rumors were worse than the actual truth, as rumors tended to be. However, that did little to ease his pain or even keep his temper level.

He recalled nearly strangling a man who dared to speak of the priestess's bloody passing with far more grisly detail than what had actually occured. He reminded him that she had actually survived thanks to the quick actions of her brothers and sisters of the church.

Why did he even do that? The man was ignorant, but innocent. He may have been a little overeager to buy into ridiculous rumors but was that really any reason to assault him? These actions were so unlike the bard.

Osclow realized it was sheer luck that he was in disguise at the time. Even though things did not escalate too much, this was the kind of thing he could lose his status as a Legion for.

...as if that would be such a bad thing.

[Urithrand]

Leckith Oakenhair returned to the Trade Post after a long absence, which was not uncommon for him. He spent so much of his time wandering the forest that he rarely sought out the company of any other than his spirit guide. The rumours of what had happened found their way to his sensetive elvish ears surprisingly quickly, the trading post was awash with it, everyone was chattering about the recent attacks.

Alacander - a Banite? More to the point, a Banite defector? Now dead? He found himself less surprised than he should have been, and certainly not upset. Banites deserved to die, no matter who they were or what they had tried to do to escape their fate. Once a Banite, always a Banite.

Nocte Tempore as well? This one he was ashamed to admit brought a slight smile to his face. The tiefling has goaded Leck more times than he could remember, and it was so nearly his own hand that had done the deed. But he had insulted Dimenin. Lied about her. He deserved to die, and he had done. Some gnome had done it apparently, one Leck had never met. He would have to seek him out, shake his hand.

The rumours of Cybil's death however, greatly troubled his heart. Everywhere he listened, the rumours were different, some say she'd survived, some say she was blown to pieces so small you couldn't identify what was left. His mind flashed with horrendous mental images, snippets of memory as he tried to force his wife's mess of a corpse from his mind. He had to find out the truth. Cybil was one of his best friends, one who truly cared about him, and so few of those remained. He immediately went on the warpath, searching madly for his friend. He would raise her if need be. He could not lose another friend.