In the middle of the lineup, nothing to him that would make him stand out in any way, was a young man. A young Sephilim, that is. A very human-looking one, but still a Sephilim. Or was he?

Anyway, if the other wannabe paladins were scared, this one was truly terrified, and showed no signs of wanting to move. So scare he was, he thought he knew the answer to the Paladin trainer's question, but was too frightened to answer!

As you might have assumed by now, young (younger?) Tyval most certainly had no intention of stepping forward. He was shaking like a leaf inside of his leather armor, having difficulty even holding his cheap standard fare sword properly, since it kept slipping from his sweaty hands!

But alas, no one else was volunteering, and Tyval, despite the fact he was looking at that black abashi as if it was Naz'Goth himself, would very, very slowly take a step forward. Overcoming his fear, perhaps?

Well, once he had stepped out of the line, he realized just the mistake he had made - the black abashi was scary! - and as such, the words "I will fight it." came out of his mouth as little more than gibberish.

Too scared to feel proud, the wannabe paladin watched in awe as that creepy Black Abashi fell to a single strike! Either that monster was very week, or Sir Brennan was way stronger than Tyval has thought - or very probably, both. He was still a tad shocked when the order was issued, but he saluted, and went back to line like a good little soldier.

Like the others, Tyval too was quick to obey the trainer's next order. Healing - he liked healing. The young Sephilim ran to the other camp... only to look back, just once, and realizing no one else was running. Embarrassed, he stopped, and walked the rest of the way.

The first wounded person he came across with was a young Half-elf, who had a pretty nasty-looking wound in his belly - apparently a weapon, probably a sword, had been lodged in his gut, but someone else had taken care of it moderately well, disinfecting the wound and sewing it, which made the wannabe Paladin's job way easier. The half-elf wasn't sure if he wanted to risk opening the wound again, since it was already taken care of, but the Sephilim assured him he wouldn't make it any worse, so he said yes.

And while around him, the wounded were gladly accepting the Paladins' (even if they weren't full-fledged Paladins yet) aid, and the latter did their best to get their prayers straight, he stood still, staring at that stitched wound on the now lying half-elf. Pray to whichever will listen?

Tyval, maybe because he lacked memories of his early life, and most of his life, at that, didn't know much about deities. He only knew of those he had learned about in camp, while talking to the other trainees. Many worshiped Paladine, a centaur worshiped Gaeia, and that was about it. He knew nothing about either.

Well, Paladine sounded like Paladin, right? Maybe there was some kind of connection.  Therefore, that was who he usually prayed to. And to Paladine he prayed for the power to Lay Hands... that half-elf looking at him with a mist of expectation and apprehension as Tyval got his prayers wrong over and over again. At least, the other trainees didn't seem to be doing any better...

"T-thank you Sir Brennan!"

Those were Tyval's words to his trainer (he of course didn't mention he had forgot to practice the spell, and besides, it was implied. He looked around, everyone else seemed to be ahead of him already! He gladly took the intelligence spheres from his trainer, nodded nervously, and before both the annoyed look of the wounded half-elf he should be healing and the stern look of Sir Brennan, he practiced the spell a bit.

When he felt like he could do it, he put the spheres down. The moment he did so, the correct words for the prayer became vague in his mind. So he tried and failed, tried and failed, the two men's looks leaving him uncomfortable... It took him a few minutes before suddenly, and to his surprise, his hands started glowing! Yay for Paladine!

He laid his hands upon the wounds (after a moment of hesitation), and was honestly surprised to see those wounds slowly closing!

Tyval was, to be honest, tired. The display of 'bravery' before had left him drained, and healing that other person (which he eventually managed to do) hadn't helped.

And then, chaos. It was all a big blur, very honestly, and when he noticed, he was once again part of a line-up, but not in front of Sir Brennan. Anoen's first six words didn't worry him much, but the seventh... left him terrified. A lich in camp? The Sephilim started shaking! Then came his orders.

The fact that he and the nephilim got arguably the safest of missions didn't help him much. For a moment he hesitated, scared of even turning around, scared of finding the horrible visage of a lich when he turned around! Still, he somehow managed to do so... next, run to the tent where Sir Brennan was recuperating. That too, was needlessly difficult: when he started running, all he had to do was imagine the lich was behind him, and soon he didn't want to stop! When he arrived at the tent, he got in, panting... then he heard a noise behind him and jumped!... only to realize that it was the nephilim!

Once he got better from THAT scare, he would approach the passed out trainer. If that had been the lich's doing, they were probably all doomed.

Tyval's fear was slowly building up again, even if the trainer's words about forgetting Sanctuary were a reason to calm down. Perhaps after decently spelling up, he could have a chance? Well, what followed was expected. If you see a lich, run. Sounded pretty reasonable.

And then, words from the fiend, and Tyval's heart jumped and his body became stiff with fear. If he could move his mouth he would probably be praying to... someone... to allow him to die quickly and without pain.

The bony fingers of a Lich around his head, and Demethus's words were enough. The Sephilim couldn't really take it anymore. The moment Demethus laughed... Tyval let the merciful embrace of unconsciousness save him from the terror.

Tyval felt something nudging him, and mumbled something about 'just five more minutes', but eventually woke up and saw... a ghost. Obviously, he screamed, and loudly so! Panting, right hand over his fast-beating heart, he slowly got up, giving a glance first to the ghost - wait, that wasn't a ghost, it was just Sir Brennan. Just like the other Sir Brennan lying on the floor, dead - wait, WHAT?

After that first second of complete confusion, he managed to make sense of it. Damn it. Sir Brennan had died. The Sephilim shook his head. Get a hold of yourself, man!

"I'm uh...  sorry sir, it appears that the lich's Slumber spell was too strong for me to resist..." A pause. "Where did it go?"

To say Tyval was scared would be as much of an understatement as calling a certain Beautician 'effeminate'. There was a lich on the loose killing innocents for sport. He had also killed Sir Brennan for the sake of doing so. You'd be scared too.

The Sephilim, after somehow managing to calm himself down enough to think straight, looked at his superior.

"Sir, if I m-may ask... what do we do now? D-do we prepare for his eventual return? Do we ask for h-help from one of the many military organizations in Thera?" He was just suggesting things at random, really... then seemed to notice he was forgetting his place and bit his lower lip, giving Sir Brennan an apologetic look. "I um, apologize S-sir. It is none of my business, I'm simply a trainee."