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He could hear voices, but they were hard to understand.

He opened his eyes.

So bright!

He closed them again, leaving only a tiny slit open.

The voices incresed in intensity. Some words became clearer.

"...dangerous... holy... No!..."

There was a deep regular thumping that slowly died out in to the distance.

"...should wake up... the wife?..."

As his eyes got used to the light, he opened his eyes more. The stone ceiling arched above, from which walls expanded to the edge of vision. A large bookshelf loomed overhead, against a wall, covered in colourful shapes.

"He's comming round..."

An old wrinkly face apeard from the left. Large round glassy eyes atop a long aquiline nose and wide, dry lips.

"You took quite a beating, Lord Withamhall. You are lucky I was on duty, other wise you might have prooven too much of a challenge. Even for Sister Fuller."

"Who?"

A young female face apeared besides the first one. Reddish-brown hair framed her underbite and overactive eyebrows.

"You should be alright. Your head healed rather well, and there wasn't any damage of the brain." she said, with a kind motherly voice.

"Indeed, Sister Fuller. Though I am not quite sure that finger will ever move again."

"F-finger?" Richeron raised his hand and looked at it. It was covered in bandages. "B-but what happened?"

"You don't remember?" asked Sister Fuller.

"It must be the head trauma." the old man told her, reajusting his glasses. He turned back to Richeron. "You were attacked by the same thugs who attacked Miss Redcross, twice..."

"Redcross?" muttered Richeron.

"Yes. The guard aparently wants to talk to you about it as well."

"But I don't understand..."

"Don't worry Lord Withamhall. It'll come back to you. Meanwhile, I recommend you go home and have some rest. I'll help you up."

Richeron took the old man's hand and stood up.

The room was rather smaller than it had looked from the floor. Sister Fuller was sitting on a wooden chair, wearing long white robes and smilling benevolently. The old man held a large leather bag in his hand, and wore a modest linen suit. A few people were lying on the ground, being tended by other people wearing the same white robes as Sister Fuller.

Richeron just stood there, looking at his surroundings.

"There you are, Richeron." said a high-pitched voice. A small gnome, half-covered by a large brown beard stood at the entrance. He walked up to Richeron and patted him on the back of the leg. "The guard's looking for you."

"And you are?" asked the old man, looking at the Gnome with obvious distaste.

The gnome ignored the old man and asked "I never thought you had it in you, Richeron. Why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

"Burn all those trees and attack that other human?"

"I d-did that?"

The gnome nodded. "I was wondering why you weren't at your house his morning."

"I'm sorry... but I know you?"

The gnome stared at Richeron for a while.

"I'm sorry. Should I know you?" Richeron added, with a worried voice.

The gnome turned to Sister Fuller. "He doesn't remember me!"

The old man stroked his chin. "My my... it does apear those head traumas were worse than I thought... Call for his wife, Sister Fuller. And whatever you do, don't let him out of this Cathedral!"

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