Like right now, for example: he is surrounded by demons. He does not know how he got to be surrounded by demons, with a splitting headache and a metaphysical chest injury of some description, but that sure is what's going on right now. And it's definitely demons, too. He knows his demons; devils would never be this disorganized, ever, and this is too gratuitously evil to be anything on the upper end of the alignment spectrum. He will not expand on the specifics of how he's aware of that one, but suffice to say that flaying says more than a thousand words.

Obviously he's attempting to get out of this location. He would like to, perhaps, get somewhere that there are less demons. He is not feeling picky enough to settle for 'no' demons, but less would sure be nice. They're kind of everywhere, here. He keeps having to kill them incidentally in his meandering towards a non-demon direction. Not because they've spotted him or anything, he's a rogue of above-average skill and stealth, but because they are literally, physically in his way, and he does not have the energy for acrobatics or overlong detours. Instead, some demons that are in his way cease to be alive. It's much simpler that way, though if he were in somewhat better condition he'd aim more towards being a shadow than being a shadow of death. As it is: yeah, no. He's too tired for any kind of proper cloak and dagger shit.

It's not clear how long he's like that, in his fugue state of pain and death and shadow, or how he... knows which way is the correct direction for Less Demons, Please, but. It does eventually get him somewhere that there are less demons. He's not quite up to no demons, but he gets to less. He doesn't have to kill as many, anymore. He even sees... what is that, greenery? Cool, living things that don't want him to suffer for eternity on principle, that's sure nice to see. You never know how much you'll miss grass until it's gone, and he's sure glad to have it back.

But it's obvious to even his addled mind that he can't keep at this forever, so: he's watching for something... not entirely unfriendly. Friendly would be nice, but he tries to at least pretend to be realistic when he's on searching for needles in demon swarmed haystacks, thank you. He eventually finds something promising. That something is an ambush. Not involving him, for once, just what looks... vaguely like a patrol... getting ambushed by what are definitely demons. Yeah, close enough, he'll take it.

The ambush then involves him, in that he kills six demons before anyone's even aware he's there, and then two more after. Then he stands there, a little listlessly, attempting to pick out the very frightened (non-demon!) figures in front of him. They seem... a little freaked out. He should probably say something. Something clever, something reassuring.

".... Paladin," he pronounces accurately, at one of them. Let's see, how does one quickly and succinctly reassure a paladin in a demon infested wasteland...

"I surrender," is the obvious answer, and he drops the weapons he stole from demons and promptly loses the will to stay conscious. He would like to make this someone else's problem right now, thank you.

"Well, you heard the man."

     "You're not funny, Lefa. What the Hells was that?"

          "How'd he know I was a paladin??"

"Could've been aura sight. Could've been the holy symbol. Could've been you healing Rian, with the glowy hands and all."

          "...I did heal Rian, didn't I."

     "You did. Can we discuss the terrifying murder-shadow that has just surrendered to us."

"I don't really see what's complicated about it. He's surrendered. He's unconscious, even. We tie him up and bring him into the city."

     "And if he's a demon trap and he explodes into a thousand nabasu the second he's within the Wardstone barrier?"

"...you raise a compelling point."

          "I'm not detecting Evil."

     "As we all know from the Prelate's regular lectures, no demon has ever learned to conceal its aura, or enchant a mortal who didn't happen to be Evil, or-"

          "If he was full of demon eggs he'd look Evil!"

"Eggs?"

     "Did you hear anything I just said?"

          "We can't just leave him in the middle of the Wound, that's against the Treaty and my Code."

"Can't we bring him to the gates and have some bigshot cleric come out and blast holy light into him 'til it shines out his arse?"

          "That's disgusting. You're disgusting."

"I didn't come up with the mental image of a man stuffed full of demon eggs."

     "Lefa, shut up. Milos, shut up. Lefa, that was actually a decent idea, everything else aside. Let's bring him to the gate and call in that we've got a man who might be a demon trap but might need help."

"And tell them not to call Hulrun."

     "No. This is the man's job."

          "...tell them not to call Hulrun unless absolutely necessary? You realize he's just going to want to set this poor bastard on fire and have done with it."

     "...I'll tell them to call Lady Terendelev too."

Cool, cool, doesn't look like he needs to defend himself. His plan was definitely a good one, and he is so good at problem solving. He made good choices.

Their terrifying murder-shadow is remarkably light, and currently both unconscious and seemingly harmless! He does not seem to be filled with any kind of demon eggs, either. With the weapons dropped, he's unarmed and unarmored, and looks kind of like a dead man who's already been efficiently looted. What clothes are left (loose, open shirt, tight pants, and barefoot) are dark enough to confuse whether his fair complexion is something in the gothic aesthetic, or if he's sick. Possibly the answer is both. Either way, he's got dark circles around his eyes, like he hasn't slept in months or like he's been attacked by makeup artists that are highly opinionated about eyeliner. Again: it's not clear which.

"Hello the gate! Please go fetch the Prelate."

     "And Terendelev."

          "...no? Why?"

               "This man killed eight vrocks in three moments, verbally offered surrender, and then fell over. If he's a demonic trap he's a very clever one. I'm prepared to swear paladin's oath, and you can hit me with whatever enchantment dispel you like."

          "Wait one moment, please."

The Prelate arrives first. He looks less happy with this situation than he is with most situations. (And if something can be described as a situation, he isn't happy about it.)

He registers, vaguely, that things are happening. There is some sort of leader person showing up. Or something. He should. Probably. Do a thing. Be conscious. Something.

“… hold on,” he mutters, stirring at the commotion. “Did I get mugged…? Thought I was past that kind of shite….”

Hulrun's lip twitches, either with amusement or contempt. "No one is past being caught by surprise. It merely takes a higher caliber of surprise."

Idly, he tries a minor curing spell. The lightest touch of healing can invigorate a victim interviewee, if they lie close enough to the brink.

“Damn it, they took my boots, those’ll be a bitch to replace…” he continues, then stirs at the cure spell. “Oh. Thanks. Think this is a… restoration thing… not a healing thing. Helped with the headache though, appreciate that.”

"Hm. I'll leave it to the Lady, then... diamond dust isn't so plentiful as it could be. And you look like they took more than your boots."

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression. Did you take my weapons?” He sounds oddly hopeful about this. “Wait, no, I stole the ones I was using, didn’t I. Shit. I am going to have to go on a quest to find that fucking sword again…”

Eyebrow. "It'll be quite a quest. The Worldwound is not exactly a goblin hovel... and you had best hope whatever took it didn't make it back to the Abyss itself."

It takes him a second to put this together.

“….. to the… you have a hole. To the Abyss. Of course you do. Why wouldn’t you. What else did I expect.” He snorts a half laugh of something like despair. “Other way around, I think, mugging was…. probably in Abyss. So. Yep I’ve got a quest.”

Hulrun does not frown any further, on account of how he is already frowning quite hard.

"Your implication that you came here through the Worldwound does not inspire the utmost confidence."

“Yeah. Sorry. Still time to stab me if you want to, but then someone else’ll need to go fetch the evil sword…”

This is, of course, when Terendelev arrives.

“Evil… sword???” she repeats, slowly.

Hulrun nods. "The story this gentleman presents is that was 'mugged', staggered through the Wound proper, made it here - reports are that he slew eight vrocks in three moments, I will refrain from comment on the veracity of said reports - and now needs to find an 'evil sword'. Along with other equipment, including boots so notable he brought them up before his need for Restoration."

Well, it sounds dumb when put like that. In his defense, they’re really nice boots.

“…. Yep, pretty much. Also, I don’t know the specifics of the mugging, probably some magic mind shite going on there or something.”

Terendelev usually does not agree with Hulrun’s assessments, but, well. A broken clock is right twice a day, she supposes.

“I… see,” she says delicately, considering what exactly to do with. … this.

Hmm. It’s well known that, as a silver dragon, she can Detect Evil at will. But she has had rather a long time to learn more tricks than just the ones her pedigree allows for, and if this person is what he claims to be, and as powerful as that implies, then a Detect Good will be harder to spoof.

The silver dragon stares.

“…. Prelate, his aura of good is. Stronger than mine,” she says, a little faintly.

Prelate Hulrun stops looking at the man on the ground in front of him. He also stops looking at Terendelev.

"What was the gift that you presented me with upon my return to service following the Third Crusade?" he asks. "While speaking, produce a fully detailed illusion of the Redeemer's Basilica, with frescoes as they were the last time I visited the Queen, using only Silent Image."

(If Terendelev has been ensorcelled, it is very nearly useless to use the basic anti-enchantment tricks that are available with no preparation. Any caster who could catch her would obviously be using a spell that can command her full abilities. But forcing someone to use up as much of their mental leeway as possible has been known to buck the hold of stronger enchantments as well... occasionally.)

“A cloak of resistance that was only the deep blue of the Mendev flag, because I felt that after the third crusade we’d all seen quite enough crimson.” She produces the requested illusion, frescoes and all while saying this, though once she’s gotten the details right she rolls her eyes. “If I were enchanted, the smart thing to do would not have me standing indulging you, it would have me charging alone to the Worldwound insisting that there is an evil there that only I can defeat, to be swarmed by demons and assassinated, where my body couldn’t be retrieved. The man wanted a Restoration, was it?”

She then casts its older brother, Greater Restoration.

It helps. A little. The sharp pain in his chest is lessened, at least. It’s not entirely gone, and without the pain to disguise things, he can feel a deep hollowness in him that can only mean he’s in some deep shit this time.

“Thank you,” he says anyway, and then he stands. Gingerly, and like he’s likely to fall over at any moment.

Hulrun rolls his eyes right back at her. "And if your response had been not indulging me but charging into the Wound, I would have concussed you as necessary, but some foes are more subtle than that."

(She is not off the hook yet. She probably knows that.)

He turns back to the man. "Would you care to explain your alignment aura? ...and give your name, please, I'll be filing a report."