The group has finally managed to catch their breath after the horrific run-in with yet another massive horde of violent undead, and are now proceeding to the village of Kildare, which is still a few hours' ride away. Still not totally cured of his headache, Atticus continues to rub his temples in an attempt to alleviate the pain. Veros, riding next to him, notices.
“Are you alright?” The veteran asks. “Casting that spell seems to have done quite a number on you.”
“I'll probably have this headache for the rest of the day.” The knight responds with his head hanging and eyes closed. “This is what happens when you strain your mind too much when casting a high level spell. Mental preparation is important when it comes to magic.”
“I imagine that was another four-stone spell?”
Atticus nods. “Yes, it was. One of the strongest – probably the last one the university teaches to their pyromancy students before they graduate, if I were to wager a guess. It's called 'Fire Breath'.”
“An apt name. It was quite fascinating to see.” Veros comments, recalling the awe-striking spectacle of the raging fire emerging from his comrade's hand and lighting numerous hostiles aflame. “And it did indeed help us escape, like you said it would.”
“If I had been able to cast it faster, we could've escaped sooner, and Royd probably wouldn't have gotten hit by that arrow.” The knight doubts himself while still keeping his head low to try and quell the dull pain in his skull.
“You can't blame yourself for that.” The veteran tries to ease the Threcian's mind. “If you hadn't cast that spell at all we almost certainly would have gotten overwhelmed and killed by now. You did your part, and you did it well. We're all alive thanks to you.”
“Thank you.” Atticus replies, appreciating the reassurance. He takes a deep breath and finally picks up his head. “So, what do we do when we reach Kildare? The usual?”
“Well, it's not like we have a choice. Why? Do you think the leftovers from the ambush might still bother following us?”
“Hard to say. They lost their leader, and their numbers have been cut down by half, if I'm being somewhat generous. Plus, they're at least a few miles behind us as it is, assuming they are trying to follow. Those are reasons enough for them to give up.” The knight heaves a sigh, considering possible courses of action the enemy might take. “But if I were them, it'd probably still be worth it to try and attack us in the middle of the night, while we try to sleep. Probably.”
Veros shakes his head. “So, we might need someone to be a lookout, after all. I was hoping to avoid that.”
“Well, once we find a building to hole up in, you and I can take one quick patrol back down south a mile or two to catch any pursuers. If we don't come across any, then maybe a lookout won't be needed, after all. With the thickness of the fog, they wouldn't see much, anyway.”
“That sounds doable.” The veteran nods in agreement with the idea. “We should be able to finish that just before it becomes too dark out.”
“We should also try and find a building that isn't directly along the main road – something that's a bit out of the way.” Atticus offers another precautious idea.
“Agreed. We'll do that.”
With their plan set in stone, the Mistwalkers continue to Kildare, reaching it after another three hours of calm riding, free of any other violent encounters. Before entering the village proper, they take the opportunity to discuss their approach, as they've grown used to doing.
“Royd, you switch places with Erik.” Veros orders the injured woodcutter to take a more secure position at the middle of the group. “Guarding the rear is too much to ask when you can't even lift your shield at the moment.”
“Aye.” Royd responds and nods with little energy
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“And also, Erik, how are you on arrows? I know you used up quite a few and we didn't have the time to pick them up again, obviously.”
“I used up a little more than half of them.” The noble responds, showing his nearly empty quiver. “But I'm sure it's enough for now.”
“Alright.” Veros nods, more or less ready to continue with the daily village-clearing procedure. “Before we start, we should look for a house or something that isn't directly along the main road, just in case. So, if everyone's ready, let's dismount.”
Veros, Atticus, Kellar, and Erik climb down their horses, the former two guiding the group from the front and the latter two guiding from behind. Zyra stays on her horse in the middle of the formation like usual, while Royd joins her thanks to his injury. They all begin to cautiously walk into Kildare, mindful of their surroundings. The two men on point inspect the smaller homes that line either side of the road, never discovering any hostile undead in hiding or locked away.
When they approach the approximate center of the village, they decide to turn and venture to the eastern side of Kildare to find a suitable building that's away from the main road, just as they planned. They soon come across a respectably large home that has a fenced-in back yard behind it, perfect for the horses.
“I think this house should be fine.” Veros comments, content with the size and the the sturdy waist-high fence protecting the yard. “Let's see what the interior is like.”
The two men enter the abandoned home from the front door, and are greeted with the usual sight of leftovers from a hasty exit by the home's previous owners. The living room is large and open, with a big fire pit in the center. A table and chairs are nearby, along with mostly empty shelves and cupboards. Atticus walks into the short hallway leading to two bedrooms, which are also mostly empty aside from beds, some small furniture, and various articles of clothing left behind.
“Everything looks clear.” The knight announces, walking back to the living room.
“Seems so.” Veros replies while looking over the remaining pieces of eating utensils and cloths. “What do you think? Will this do for the night?”
“I'd say so.” Atticus answers with a nod.
The six Mistwalkers decide on their home until the morning and all except Veros and Atticus guide their horses into the backyard. Inside the house, they discuss their momentary living conditions and plans for the remainder of the night, with Royd throwing himself down onto the first seat he sees.
“A cozy place.” Kellar comments. “How many beds are in here?”
“Two.” Veros answers. “A single in one bedroom, and a wide one in the other.”
Kellar rubs his chin. “I'll probably look for some cots in the surrounding homes and try to bring them in.”
The veteran shrugs. “If you want. But the single should probably go to Royd.” He approaches the bulky woodcutter, who is still clutching the back of his shoulder. “Let's take a look at your back, friend.”
“Aye.” Royd gives an unenthused response and leans forward. Veros pulls the cloth off the wound, and a few drops of blood slide down the brawny warrior's back.
“Still bleeding a bit. I guess you'll need stitches, after all.” The team leader remarks with pity in his voice.
“Gods help me...” Royd utters with a sigh.
“I need to go out with Atticus and see if any undead pursued us, though. Think you can wait?”
“I can stitch him up.” Kellar suddenly volunteers. “I've done it several times before.”
“Really?” Veros is surprised at the thought. “Well, if you're comfortable with it, go right ahead. Here.” He hands his teammate the sack of medical supplies. “The suture kit, scissors, disinfectant, and adhesive are in there.”
“Got it.” The rogue nods affirmatively as he accepts the sack. “It'll be quick and clean.”
“Ugh.” Royd groans audibly with reluctance.
“Well, Atticus and I are leaving for a bit. Don't forget to unsaddle your horses and bring all of your equipment in, okay?” Veros reminds everyone of their duties before exiting the house with the knight.
“Guess we should go do that now.” Zyra states aloud.
“Can you two unsaddle our horses for us?” Kellar asks the mage and archer. “I'm gonna start sewin' up this big lug.”
“Sure.” The pyromancer answers with a nod, and she and Erik exit the house through the back door.
“Alright, big guy.” The rogue picks up a stool and places it behind Royd, seating himself to prepare for the suturing. “Take off that shirt and we can get this out of the way.”
“Don't get too excited about stabbing me over and over again, you hear?” The woodcutter gripes as he carefully removes his cotton shirt.
Kellar prepares by readying the suture needle and silk stitching. He disinfects the needle and then the wound once more before finally starting. Royd, despite his size and usual disposition before the injury, doesn't handle the procedure very well, wincing and groaning in pain at every instance of either the needle piercing his skin or the sensation of the silk thread being pulled behind it. After several complete stitches, Kellar cuts the thread and rubs the viscous, quick-drying adhesive over the wound to ensure it stays closed.
“Alright, it's done.” The ex-mercenary announces. “You can stop your cryin' now and put your shirt back on, okay?”
“Gods, what an awful experience.” Royd replies with pain in his voice. “If I ever receive another stitch while I still breathe air and my heart still beats, then it'll be too sodding soon.”