While life on the frontier was never easy, even Serge had to admit things were looking grim. He looked at the people in front of him and noticed two distinct groups, neither of which he was terribly pleased with. The first set were locals, mostly hunters and woodsmen with a few others who were strong enough to hold a sword and either brave or foolish enough to think they could fight with it. Able enough men, but too few and too inexperienced in actual combat to be all that useful.

And then there was the other group. There were a dozen or so sell-swords, dirty and uncouth and generally unpleasant to be around...but they had their own gear, they knew how to use it, and so long as the mayor was offering them coin they'd use it for the town's sake. And they were the most normal ones of the group; the others were an eclectic mix of "adventurers," as they called them, and the only thing they had in common was that they looked equally out of place. A few gave him hope--there was a man who stood nearly a head above the rest who carried a large greatsword, and looked like he could wield it in one hand if he wanted--but most of them he was skeptical of. He would be shocked if the one with the gold-hilted sword knew how to use it, even if it turned out to be battle worthy blade, which he doubted. He was even more worried of the ones that didn't seem to be carrying any weapons at all.

Saying that these two groups numbered fifty in total would be close but optimistic; Serge had to use them to defend the town from possibly a hundred barbarians.

And he thought training militia would be easier than being a military man.

The outlying farms were already smoldering ruins, the aftermath of earlier skirmishes between the locals and the brutes in which a lot of good men and women died. If the mercenaries couldn't turn the tide, the town would certainly be lost.

It certainly looked like Floen's Folly was living up to its name.

To say that the town was desperate was an understatement, to D’Angelo it seemed that the mayor was beyond desperate. The coin he promised was enough to gather all sorts of individuals to his cause, D’Angelo being no different. He needed that money to help see him safely to his next destination and to pay off a few debts of his own. He looked over the two distinct groups carefully, judging and weighing them, likely with more experience than any of them gathered here.

D’Angelo certainly wasn’t the tallest man here at a couple inches over six feet but he was tall enough to be recognized and he was built solidly with layers of muscle that was hidden under the well worn black cloak he wore. He kept the cowl of the cloak cast low to shield his eyes and to try and give off an ‘un-friendly’ attitude, he wanted to be left alone. Which is why he sat near the adventurers in comparison to the towns folk but still far enough away to not be bothered but hear what was being said.

There was nothing of interest being said by either said as far as D’Angelo could tell, and so all he could do was wait for their orders and learn where they were going to placed for the approaching hoard. D’Angelo hated waiting, it grated at his nerves, he hated it almost as much as he hated being told what to do. Yet, for the coin being offered D’Angelo could put aside that for now and with any luck he’d stay alive and be able to pay back what he owed.

Leaning back on the log he was sitting on he rested his back against a rather large and firm tree and cast his gaze into the sky, looking through an opening in the canopy to try and judge the time. “Shouldn’t be much longer…” He whispered under his breath, letting out a deep sigh.

Serge decided that the most important thing was to know what kind of options he had. He knew what the locals were capable of, he had a pretty good guess of the what the mercenaries were capable of, but the adventurers were an unknown, and unknowns weren't useful to him.

He gave the mercenaries their orders: keep watch, be ready to fight. Being an already organized force, he'd figure it'd be easier for them to keep to a schedule than trying to get villagers or ragtag wanderers to do it. As for the villagers, any time they weren't spending sleeping and eating they were to spend training.

That left the wanderers. "Alright, those of you left, listen up. Some of you I can tell can handle yourself-" he nodded to the large man with the equally large sword "-but some of you look like you don't know which end of your sword to hold. Some of you aren't even armed. So first thing to clear up: we don't have any extra weapons. If you didn't bring your own, you're either punching your way through the bastards or you're leaving."

"As much as I'd like to take anyone to throw between us and an axe, I don't know how long we'll need you here and we've got to feed you in the meantime. So here's how it's going to be: I'm going to call most of you up here. I'm going to swing a sword at you. You're either going to stop it or avoid it. If you don't like that, you're not ready for a fight and can get the hell out of here. If you're willing to prove that you can earn your pay and your meals, then do it. Let's start with you, Mr. Fancy Sword." He indicated the boy with the gold-hilted sword, who gave a weary sigh as he made his way up to Serge.

The boy was really a man, but barely; brown hair fell messily at his side, and while he looked athletic he was far from terribly muscular. That, combined with his sword looking more ceremonial than practical, suggested he had his head in the clouds if he thought of himself as a warrior. Other than his sword, he was dressed pretty plainly in brown pants, a jacket, and a white undershirt, all pretty clearly well worn.

The young man took his place opposite him and dutifully drew his sword, though the way he let it fall to his side looked suggested he was intending to use it as a walking stick more than anything.

"Ready?" Serge asked, just to be sure. He might have had minimal respect for anyone merely posing as a warrior but that didn't mean he truly wanted to cut them down. When the young man nodded, he advanced, doing a simple overhead swing aimed at the shoulder--nothing likely fatal if it hit, but getting hit with a sword was never pleasant.

To his surprise, the gold-hilted sword was raised swiftly to block, and as the metal clang of crossing blades rang out it was clear that despite appearances it was no cheap ceremonial sword that existed only to look pretty.

More than that though, it was the look at his face that convinced Serge he'd been wrong about this guy. Blue eyes as cold as ice stared up at him, as though daring him to truly try and kill him.

Serge withdrew. "Alright, you pass," he said reluctantly. "Alright, you next." He pointed to D'Angelo. While the man carried himself like he knew what he was doing, and had a build to back it up, he didn't seen any weapons on him, which meant he'd need some proof he wasn't there to pick up pay and food and then end up running at the first sign of trouble.

Nicoli’s eyes fluttered several times, his boredom making him tired and in turn making him want to sleep and despite the circumstance he was in that place between sleep and awake when he heard Serge speak to the group, the mans loud and commanding voice woke Nicoli up and grabbed the mans attention.

He listened carefully to Serge’s words and found himself nodding in agreement, his black abyss like eyes scanning the ground for those that might recoil from the suggestion, to their credit D’Angelo saw less than he thought he would and when the first man, barely more than a boy, stepped up to defend himself he thought for sure the apathetic guy would bumble his way through it, the sword looked to new and unused. A decoration.

Yet, Nicoli was wrong, and though he couldn’t see the defenders face he could tell by his body posture that in the moment the sword descended on him something changed and that apathy turned to determination, even if only for a moment. Was it laziness, or maybe arrogance? Nicoli wondered even as Serge pointed to him off to the side and beckoned him forward. “Fancy sword kid.” Nicoli commented as he passed the young man that went before him.

“Alright, old man.” Nicoli flashed a grin but was sure to keep his eyes cast towards the ground. He pushed himself off the log and moved to stand before Serge. His arms were lost within the depths of his cloak but he nodded his readiness. “Hope you can swing with your other arm. Heh.”

Serge gave D’Angelo only raised an eyebrow before slashing out with his weapon in a horizontal swing. The attack was like the one before and if it hit it wouldn’t kill Nicoli, but it would certainly render everything below his elbow useless without healing. Luckily Nicoli had no desire to be struck.

His left arm rose in defense as the sword came swinging in, the blade met the metal bracer on Nicoli’s forearm. In the same moment his right hand snapped forward, normally in a move that would crush an opponents fingers against the pommel of their weapon but in this case Nicoli was only going for a grazing blow, one that would send a quick discharge of electrical energy through Serge’s body and render that arm numb for a minute or two and likely cause the weapon to be struck from his hands.

Serge wasn't terribly surprised to see that D'Angelo had blocked his attack; he was a lot more surprised by the counterattack. While he was only grazed by the bracer on that hand, there was something else--a small flash of light before he felt a shock go up his arm, numbing it.

He was still a trained soldier, though. Even as he dropped the sword his other arm was already coming around to grab it by the hilt. Tempted though he was to swing back and cut D'Angelo for his insolence, he held his temper in check. It wouldn't prove anything and he had a feeling such an attack wouldn't end well for him.

Instead he backed up and eyed the mysterious man warily. "Cute. You pass, get out of here." There was clearly something strange about D'Angelo, but he wasn't going to turn out help, even if said help was surly and suspicious.

"Next! You there; yeah you with the bow, we don't got solid defenses here so don't expect to sit somewhere safe and shoot. And anyone else who tries something like that is going to be eating scraps for the duration of his stay!" he barked.

As D'Angelo stepped away, were he to look a bit he'd see the young man with the fancy sword--who hadn't reacted to his passing comment earlier, even if he'd heard--giving him a cold smirk.

With no immediate orders, he had time to kill now. Though there wasn't much to do. Most of the village that wasn't training was here watching the training, and even if they weren't there wasn't much to see; the only two buildings that weren't housing of some form were a general store and an old stone church.

For the first time since offering his services in protecting the town Nicoli raised his head to meet Serge’s eyes. He smiled coolly and let his own orbs of pure black stare hard into Serge’s, if the old man could meet his Nicoli’s without looking away then that was more than most could do and he would inevitably gain a little more respect from Nicoli, if not than he would be written off as just another one of the many that couldn’t.

As he turned to walk away Nicoli kept his head level and swept them across the group of people until they finally rested on the man that went before him. Nicoli was no longer smirking, in fact he purposely kept his features neutral when he met the young mans cold smirk. He wanted to show how quickly he too could go from relatively light hearted to cold, even if it was only a bit of theatrics to put the others on edge. Maybe they would back out and Nicoli could get more money, it was unlikely he knew, but maybe.

With nothing to do Nicoli found himself wandering directly away from the adventuring group if for no better reason than to be alone. He assumed that he could go watch the villagers train but he knew he would probably cringe visibly if he had to watch one more peasant perform a sloppy sword technique. It was in defense of their very lives though and so Nicoli could admire that, it took courage to stand up for what you believed in.

There wasn’t much too look at in the small village, almost nothing Nicoli hadn’t seen before in his many years of traveling. There was however a single place of interest, a single building made completely of stone and was, by Nicoli’s opinion, the oldest building here. Certainly here before the town and likely the reason why the town sprung up in the first place.

What struck Nicoli wasn’t the apparent age of the church, but the symbols and words were foreign to him. That alone required him to ascent it’s stairs and stair at the strange writing above the door for a moment. He felt a certain amount of weariness as he opened the church doors and stepped inside, as if the stairs outside had been more like a 100 than 10 and that he had sprinted up them.

His stomach turned and yet he worked hard to hide his physical discomfort and looked around the church, taking in the sights and mentally trying to compare this to anything else he might have seen during his travels.

The church would be both familiar and strange to D'Angelo; the former because it ultimately wasn't all that different from any other church in the land. There was a pulpit in the front, and between it and the doors rows of pews. There were a number of rooms off to either side, though most of the doors were closed at this time.

But the difference was in the details. The statue behind the pulpit was of a female figure, almost angelic looking, and one that D'Angelo wouldn't recognize. Whatever religion this church belonged to, it wasn't one that was commonly practiced in the rest of the world--perhaps this was the only place it was, even.

If D'Angelo often explored off the beaten trails of the world, and if he had a keen eye for detail, he'd notice that the style, the designs, even the architecture had more in common with ruins scattered around the uncharted territories of the north than with the designs used by most modern religions.

In spite of most of the town being gathered to watch the arrival of their potential defenders, there were a pair of people inside the church. The first was an older man, well past middle aged. What hair he had left was nearly shock white, and the thick round glasses covering his wrinkled face did little to make him appear younger. Given the white robes he wore, it was probably a good guess that he was the pastor of the church.

Especially as the only other person present was a child. A lanky, black-haired boy just shy of being a teenager was balancing on the backrest of one of the pews. However, when he noticed D'Angelo enter he quickly jumped down and darted off into a side room; it was only then that the older man looked up from sweeping the floor to notice him and give a welcoming smile.

The strange and uncomfortable feeling that momentarily gripped Nicoli was pushed aside, perhaps he was just working too hard as of late? Regardless, his interest in the church demanded that he at the very least ask about its origins. He put on his friendliest smile and approached the older man, not paying the boy much attention.

"Good afternoon, I am D'Angelo." He said pleasantly, but kept his eyes cast low so the godly man couldn't see into them. Best to avoid that conversation at all costs Nicoli figured. "The strange writing on the archway at the entrance of the church caught my eye."

As he spoke and drew closer to the old man he extended a hand to shake hands. "I must admit, I view myself as a well traveled man, but those carvings are foreign to me. Which god is this church devoted to?"

"It doesn't appear any different then many churches and holy buildings I have been in." Nicoli gestured towards the pews and general architect of the place. "Yet, the building is much older. Which leads me to two possible outcomes, either many other churches and their architecture were taken from this, making this religion incredibly old. Or, the church was converted at some point in it's history... which I doubt."

If he was surprised to see him, he didn't show it.

"Godric Black," the older gentleman said as he shook D'Angelo's hand. "And indeed you are correct; this church is very old, part of a religion that has long since faded from common practice."

He took a step back, and gestured towards the angelic looking statue. "This is the Church of Floen, the Holy Goddess. She was part of a pantheon once worshiped by an empire that covered nearly this entire continent; now all that remains of it are ruins scattered about."

He turned back to D'Angelo with a self-depreciating smile. "This is the only place I've found still fully standing; truthfully I'm more of a historian than priest, but I couldn't bear to let this place fall into disrepair, so I took up residence here."

"Do you have an interest in ancient cultures, Mr. D'Angelo?" he asked curiously. None of the other mercenaries or adventurers seemed to take much interest in the place.

D’Angelo looked up towards the statue of the goddess that Godric gestured too, but was wise to continue to keep his cowl low and a shadow cast over them. He studied the statue of Floen from the distance the best he could, it was different, but as far as he could tell it was no more special than any other statue. Perhaps it was a symbol at one point he thought, something for others to rally behind? D’Angelo couldn’t know for certain.

“I have a healthy respect and interest in knowledge Mr. Black.” D’Angelo explained. “Too much is often forgotten, things I feel that could help us now.” He moved to the side and swiped a leather gloved hand across the top of one of the pews as if inspecting it. “This building has a strange feeling to it. Something almost tangible and just out of reach. I can feel it weighning around me. It is… familiar, in a sense.”

“You’ve taken great care of this holy site.” D’Angelo said, quickly switching topics. “Are you training the boy I saw to take over for you?”

"Ah, Fenix. Well...I would certainly like him to continue caring for this place after I'm gone, but I fear he's not terribly interested." But rather than be disappointed Godric merely chuckled. "At his age, though, I suppose I can hardly blame him. He'd rather be out running around. Alas..." He shook his head.

By this point D'Angelo would likely feel someone's eyes on him. Fortunately, it was nothing threatening: the boy in question was merely looking in on them, half hidden by the door to one of the rooms. Were D'Angelo to glance at him, he'd quickly duck back out of sight.

"In any case, feel free to look around as much as you like, and don't hesitate to ask if you have any questions. It's rare to find someone in these parts who appreciates history for anything other than how much coin it's potentially worth."

“I suppose not.” Nicoli said with a chuckle, “I know that when I was his age following in the footsteps of my caretaker was far from my mind.” Nicoli’s dark eyes surveyed the church again and pushing aside the uncomfortable feeling pressing down on him he moved closer to the large statue of the Goddess.

“This is beautiful craftsmanship. Were the creators human?” He reached out to touch the base of the statue, looking to see if there was any of the same writing on it as there was above the door. “I’m afraid people are always worried about making quick coin. They miss the bigger picture, imagine if we knew now what was known back then?” The possibilities were theoretically endless to Nicoli, he had a way of craving what he could never have and wanting the impossible, it’s what drove him.

“Was anything else left behind, scripts…tomes, books? With the fighting that’s going to come soon I don’t know if this place will be safe. It’d be good to secure it somewhere.” After inspecting the statue Nicoli turned back towards the priest. “On the subject of war, is this where we will be taking the wounded?”