[Olvann Coia]

Olvann ignorantly plodded after the noble, blissfully unaware of the priestesses' conversation. Fear, however, was simply not in the mind of the healer.

The healer. Indeed that mantle fitted him well, he'd cured injuries, healed the sickly, tended to women in labor, he'd done all these things, yet, his hunger was not satiated. No thoughts of healing dwelled in his mind amongst the morass of heathen black kindred lining the halls of this palace of sin. He was a disciple of Aslan, his fist would be submerged in the blood of his enemies. His father had been so blindly mistaken in his worship. Aslan had led him here. Aslan wished his hands to cut into the ranks of these tainted underlings. He had finally found the clarity to understanding the will of his God. He would not disappoint.

He continued to tread behind the noble entourage, confident that his will was being guided by a higher power. His goal was clear, this darkening, he would fulfill the bloody wishes of his noble deity. He would smite the unholy wretches inhabiting this place of sin. The seemingly unending hallways, a myriad of identical spectacles finally changed form and Olvann found himself following the troupe down stairs into a seemingly different level of the complex. Two doors lined this hallway and Olvann watched as the group entered one of the doors. He followed them in, only to find himself within a room of entirely different scenery, a multitude of jade tiles decorated the floor and ornamental statues lined nooks in the wall. A door sat at the back of the room and Olvann quickly noted the various wicked small weapons on a table in the center of the room.

Finally he understood what he had been following this noble for. They were here for a sacrifice. Then, he looked upon the noble an smiled. Indeed they would receive a sacrifice this darkening. He waited patiently for the scene before him to unfold. No words breached his lips, no emotion remained on his face. He was a subtle presence in the room. A presence, if closely examined, of brutal strength and agility. Aslan, would seemingly accept nothing less than the sacrifice of a symbol of the dark goddesses’ evil.

He slid off to the wall, and kept his eyes pinned on the table filled with weapons. He was calm. He finally knew his course. He began the art of meditation and drew himself back to the quiet dell that he had grown up in as a boy. It came easily to him now, practiced as an initiate had brought him to level of understanding where he could easily advance to the next level of his thaumaturgy training, but as of yet, it still took time.