The Paladin walks toward the shelter, a grim frown on his lips but more from practice then anything else. The rain bounced off his armor where it could and his shield guarded his head. Still, he needed shelter and he needed it soon.<br/><br/>The Shieldmaiden's prayers were short but unmistakable, though the ashen mark of a pilgrim had long ago been washed away.<br/><br/>"<strong>Bless the Innocent, For Them We Die.<br/>Bless the Just, For Them We Live.<br/>Bless the Soldier, From Them Our Lives.<br/>Bless the Enemy, From Them Our Will.</strong>"<br/><br/>Seeing the tower and thanking his goddess, he begins his initial approach as well.<br/><br/>"<strong>Ho, a lowly pilgrim comes. Is there room in that shelter?</strong>"