"And you stay out, you bloody heathen!"
This was the last time Rhapso would ever have to stand that horrid phrase. People had problems with a man trying to help the needy. . . Especially war victims. Even though his training was for healing, it was meant for the rich. Hospitals could earn their own medics, the poor are trash, and the warriors shouldn't have fought unless it was a crusade. He always cast aside these teachings, his first being a young vagrant around his age. "That earned me a good beating", he reminisced. "First time I was called Heathen too." However, his repeat "offenses" have now lead to this, his judgement day. The Church of Flarg's doors slammed shut, and this rough town didn't take well to the church members, ex or otherwise. He had to flee, fast. A gold charm flashed on his neck, a memento to boost his cures. "Dammit, if they see this. . . " Gripping the charm, he prepared to throw it. . . but got a feeling he may need it yet. Instead, he made a mad dash for the city gates. Out in the desert, he saw a massive group of people clamoring outside of a fort-like structure. Then, he saw arrows fly and some people drop. "Well, that's no party. I had my hopes up 'n everything. . . ah well, better go use my "heathen" healing."
He set off in the direction of the fort