[francel smiles and draws back, fishing his mythril rosary out from his chest-pocket. despite the fact that his gloves have become dirtied with dust and soot, francel's rosary still shines with the untarnished silver-blue glow of true mythril, and the chains jingle quietly when he slips it around his hand. once he's rearranged it comfortably, he looks up at haurchefant and again smiles reassuringly. he reaches out to take haurchefant's hand.]

Glory be...

[the prayer is supposed to begin: glory be to king thordan and his twelve. francel pauses, and decides that saying that in front of haurchefant isn't the best idea.]

Glory be to Haldrath the Dragonseye, our first and greatest. And upon us, the weak and sinful, let mercy and compassion be showered. Hail, Halone, goddess of war, our life and our hope. Lead all souls into Your hall, especially those in most need of thy mercy. Forgive us of our sins. Save us from the fires of the Horde. Grant, we beseech thee, Your guiding light, and weep for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death.

[francel leads them through the traditional praying of the rosary, with its answers and echoes; he pauses after each line so that haurchefant to repeat after him. he is reciting an abbreviated variation of the prayer meant for knights on the warfront — they haven't the time for a complete ceremony. still, francel's voice is surprisingly deep and rich, like a true ishgardian priest's, and it is hard not to miss the authority in his inflection when at last he finishes:]

Rise, Haurchefant, for the Fury is with you.