Light on her feet as they ran, Lost's somewhat wild appearance of free flowing hair and scarcely clad tanned limbs were nearly joyful by all accounts. Behind them, they've left ash, smoke, death, and many questions left unanswered, but this elven woman is obviously pleased. Earlier today she was sure she had felt the welcoming guidance of her Lord, a feeling like His fingers danced just inside her mind, and she'd unquestioningly flowed in that course. Indeed, she could hardly have contained the pulling at her body to appease that slight rippling of His grace. As they ran back to the Church now with a relic to again establish faith and godliness as a safe haven for those beleaguered by shadows, her thoughts were pondering this fact with wonder, as well as what this could mean for lost souls reaching for any shred of safety in a world that was anything but. She intends to be sure Father Lushan will take better care this time, and tell no one else. Perhaps to even secure the bones so that they cannot be moved and instead are part of the structure itself. There is also the consideration that if they were to operate out of this church, the Father might be a good ally to have and in that vein, he should be informed of exactly the level of evil they face in the Coffin Maker's shop. Six dangerous foes located right in the belly of the land's safest city had been ripped off the surface of Strahd's world tonight. The devil's mortal ally, as the craftsman most assuredly was, had fled. It was difficult for men to hide though, the human ego often far too early suggesting it was worth the chance to re-emerge for one reason or another. That man was another individual floating on an inner list of wicked men, witches, heretics, and devils that she would eventually want to contend with. The people she ran with were only given a sliver of consideration, a momentary distraction from the more pleasurable glory of Pholtus. The church brethren were useful allies who often times appeared to flow along the same guided path as she, but their methods were habitually leaving her wondering at the methods of their training. Though they all agreed on the good word of their Lord, words had a way of getting jumbled in the many ears hearing a powerful message. As it had been for years, some of their practices and indulgences made her turn and bite her tongue, while others just made her close her eyes with the satisfying snap of a bowstring running through her mind. The heathens were an unknown here in Borovia. Useful bodies with talents that could sway the battlefield in His favor, but who fought lawlessly and godlessly, without His Glorious direction. Lacking true faith was ultimately a weakness, but their drive for survival clearly had a knack, and their untrained desperation in the face of evil could be a surprising boon for them all. Finally, there was this townsman, who was clearly more than he offered up to them. Any doubt she would have at his first impression would be set aside, temporarily, for the fact that in a situation that was beyond a doubt potentially fatal, the man had not fled to save his own hide. Though hesitant in the beginning, this individual stepped forward to stare death straight in it's hungry maw, like any of the rest of them, and it's this bravery Lost can appreciate. Together they'd be useful tools for Pholtus' ultimate divine plan, and she'd use them as He'd use them.
