It was night.
The temporary Holy Hall of the Lazarus Order.
The ascetics dressed simply, after locking dozens of "would-be knights" in the prayer rooms, left to go to the wounded soldier camp to continue aiding those injured soldiers brought off the battlefield.
"I thought this place would be filled with corpses or wounded struggling for life."
Someone murmured quietly.
Another person responded, "You might not understand the Lazarus Order; they are kind-hearted healers who wouldn't leave the wounded here to rot and stink."
"Yes, I've heard the clergy of the Lazarus Order are skilled in using various herbs, much like the druids in Celtic mythology, able to heal all kinds of injuries."
The knights whispered among themselves, faces full of excitement, awaiting the sword-granting ceremony tomorrow.
"Brothers, we should pray!"
Someone reminded.
The group quieted down and began muttering prayers softly.
