Session 5 (4-22-05) - Storm clouds burst, parts 1-4
Oricx stepped through the glowing portal into the parlor of the recently deceased Mayor Morningstar. He instantly began blinking his large black eyes as they adjusted to the relative brightness of the mid-morning sun as it filtered in through the plate glass windows. Nearby, Karma opened a large, vertically-slitted eye to see what had disturbed her “cat nap”. Upon seeing that it was the water genasi, she yawned and stretched like the massive feline she was, her paws reflexively digging into the stone floor of the parlor.
“What news from the Temple?” she asked sleepily.
“Much and all of import; gather the others – quickly.” Oricx replied in his usual curt, clipped manner.
Karma had come to expect this from the unusual paladin – at first it had been a bit off-putting, but she soon came to learn that it was just his way. Now, she merely accepted it. After all, if this group could accept her – a wemic from a land unlike their own and even more-so, one who followed a faith distinct from their own – then she could accept the manner in which Oricx spoke. She nodded, rose and made her way to the door. As Karma pulled it open, she turned her leonine visage towards the water genasi.
“Why all of the rashness?” she asked casually, never expecting the answer, which would change her life forever.
Oricx fixed his gaze, as deep and as unfathomable as the lightless reaches of his benthic home on the wemic and intoned, “The Misfits have been summoned before the High Council…”
Several reiterations and multiple confused questions later, the rag-tag group known colloquially as “The Misfits” had stepped through the recently created, shimmering portal to emerge in a small, secluded prayer room squirreled away in a little visited wing of the massive Temple of the One. The portal winked out of existence behind them, its borders framed by a bas-relief depiction of the circular symbol of the One. For many of the Misfits, this was their first glimpse of the oft-spoken of temple and for Karma and Ug; this was their first time to ever step foot off the continent which had been “home” for their entire lives.
Ug let out a low, long whistle. “Wowwee-zowwee, ‘dis is some temple!”, the horned goblin said, mistakenly assuming that the tiny prayer room was the entire temple and yet still amazed at its beauty and relative size.
Jekka chuckled, patting her simple-minded cohort on the head, “Ug should wait’n see BIG rooms”, the half-orc smiled as she saw Ug’s eyes grow as large as saucers.
“Da BIG rooms?!?!?” Ug repeated incredulously, awe filling his voice.
Quela and Oricx led the way, both of the holy warriors feeling a strange mixture of worry and excitement at once. Never before had even they, relatively powerful paladins in the Church of the One, been summoned before the High Council and now their entire group? Something was up and whatever it was, it was BIG – bigger even than Ug’s slack-jawed impression of his current surroundings.
The companions wound their way along vaulted flowstone corridors marvelling at the serene beauty of the place; enormous soaring and twisting pillars whose construction should not have been possible (outside the realm of powerful magic) surrounded them like a forest of embellished, living stone. Every surface transitioned naturally into the next and was adorned by statuary and bas-relief images that seemed to grow naturally out of walls and pillars. As they walked, the two paladins explained that the incredible, striking architectural design of the temple was made possible by an unusual substance found deep beneath the surface of the ocean. Known as flowstone, the entire Temple of the One - from its spire nearly a half a mile above their heads to the base of the temple, rooted at the bottom of the Eternal Ocean many miles beneath their feet - was crafted from its unusual properties and substance.
Soon the Misfits found themselves escorted into the High Chamber of the Council of the One. Everything that they had seen before seemed to pale in comparison. The chamber itself was massive and dome-like; the walls flanking either side of the cavernous space was braced by graceful, flowing buttresses that curved first inward and then outwards and upwards, much like the protective wings of some titanic celestial guardian. The buttresses themselves were festooned with images of the symbol of the One, statuary of saints, prophets, and holy warriors of the Church through the ages. Quela and Oricx had heard tales and read scripture of many of these famous souls, and felt a warmth flow over them as they walked beneath their stoney gazes.
Between the buttresses the flowstone took on a unique quality, like stained glass, it became both translucent and somehow malleable so that it had been formed into multi-colored scenes of the holy text of the One. Before the party's eyes they saw in vivid, shining color the creation of Urth, the birth of the angles, the fashioning of the elves in all of their pseudo-divinity, the passing down of the Law, and many more scenes. The entire room was filled with a holy aura and a warm, welcoming glow.
Of the group, only Dromar felt uncomfortable within the Temple and even more so, within the Chamber. It seemed to the fey'ri that everyone and everything within those walls seemed to be staring at him - and their eyes were screaming out that he was, and would always be, nothing more than a demon-spawned creation of Hell itself...
“Welcome, Misfits, our hearts are gladdened that you were able to comply with our summons”, the sonorous base voice of High Lord Marszten echoed through the High Chamber, but many of those gathered there felt that it would have done so anywhere, flowstone-crafted amphitheater or no. The older man, who appeared somewhere in his well-preserved sixties was large and intimidating looking, dwarfing the hardwood pulpit before him. Yet, for all of his size and stature, he had a friendly air about him and his smile was completely warm and genuine.
Dromar noticed that along the right side of the massive “V” shaped table that swept out from the center pulpit, several of the robed and bedecked priests looked at him sourly and then spoke in hand-hidden whispers. Their looks made his skin crawl more than any demon-borne glare he had ever received. His attention, however, as well as that of his new companions, was soon directed back to the center of the room and the white-and-gold adorned speaker.
“There is much to discuss this morn and little time in which to complete the task, so I shall set directly to the task…” The next several moments were filled with the High Priest going over the changes that were to take place within the Seafoam settlement. Initially, the Misfits were to receive an official church charter so long as an oath was taken and an agreement signed by all members. Each individual would be given title within the Church as well as a monthly stipend (1,000 gold halos) and the Misfits would now fall under a militaristic organizational structure. Quela was to assume the role of party leader and commander, with Oricx her immediate junior and Jekka their immediate subordinate. Beneath those three heads the others were to be organized as needed.
Additionally, High Lord Marszten was overjoyed to announce that Jekka had decided to become an official member of the Church of the One, taking on the mantel of a Champion of the One. The group, especially Oricx and Quela, were as gleeful as they were surprised to hear this and many congratulations were given amongst them.
The High Priest went on to explain the details of the church-sponsored assistance that the Misfits were to receive: twenty hardened warriors of the church (four detachments: one each of humans, halflings, half-orcs and dwarves), ten skilled adepts, three powerful clerics, six mercenary fighters, and Zhanna, who was a cleric and aspiring paladin. Then, Lord Marszten introduced them to the gruff but battle-hardened Gunnar Grayrune, dwarven warrior-priest. Gunnar was to report directly to Quela, or Oricx in her stead, and none other.
Lord Marszten took a few moments to then address a few questions from the party (namely, Vaskesh’s concerns about getting his tridents enchanted), but then his smile faded slightly and his voice took on a graver tone: “Finally”, he said, “there is the issue of all of the strange goings-on in Seafoam and the surrounding areas. There are many things there that require – no demand - a great deal of investigation. Further, there is the issue of the town being without a Mayor, the events thereof are also highly in question-”, Lord Marszten paused, licking his lips; his eyes shifting subtly to the right before continuing, “and to serve all of these ends, the Church has decided to send in the High Inquisitor.”
Dromar’s keen eyes again caught some movement out of the right side of the room. Now those who had before looked at him sourly gazed upon him with lean, hungry looks. Dromar suddenly felt like a hunted animal – like the hounds of hell were about to start baying; that he would soon feel them nipping at his heels. It was a well-known feeling to him.
But that did not make feeling it any better…
“This business with tha High Inquisitor bodes ill”, Quela remarked to her party as they made their way down the massive sprawling hallways towards the Great Library of the One. The half-orc nodded her head, adding simply, “Jekka not like.” It seemed that the overall opinion was that the Church’s selection of a new mayor was not in the best interest of the party, but it seemed there was little that they could do about it. Quela explained that within the Church, there were several different factions – some of the more intolerant and sadly, the most vocal, of these elements were of the mindset that the current head of the Church, Lord Marszten, was weak when it came to dealing with those who did not follow the Way of the One.
“This is all part of that agenda”, Oricx added. “The extremist sects in the Church are gaining more and more power, and there is talk of a war brewing on the mainland of Fae’gos – a holy war against the “heretics”.
“We musssst know more of thisss”, Vaskesh said, his sibilant voice echoing in the flowstone hallway.
Quela nodded, “Ya bet ya’re scales we will, Vas. I’ve still got a few contacts here in tha Temple. I’ll see what dirt I can dig up once we hear what Daubenspeak’s got ta say ‘bout hags.”
The group passed through the massive three story doors and entered into the resplendent Great Library of the One. Gasps issued from the mouths of the newcomers to the Temple. Dromar wiped a bit of drool from his thin lips. At least four stories of books soared above their heads on both the right and the left as far as the eye could see. The center of the massive, flowstone-vaulted ceiling swept upward to a height of at least six stories, the space between the stone ribs filled with magically strengthened glass. The mid-day sun shone in brightly, warming their faces and calling them to snuggle up in a secluded corner of the cavernous library with a book or twelve. There were literally thousands upon thousands to choose from…
“There must be more knowledge contained within these walls than in the Vault of Orcus!” Dromar exclaimed.
“Ahem! I would very much like it if that name was not spoken herein, youngling.” A thin, reedy voice carried across the room in direct response to the fey’ri’s utterance. The group turned collectively to see an ancient and withered half-elf looking over the edge of a tremendous cherry desk that sat upon a raised dais. A thin, elegant face punctuated by a sharply pointed nose, wispy silver hair and chin whiskers and sparkling blue eyes greeted them with a slight smile. The half-elf was quite possibly the oldest living person on Urth; Quela and Oricx both knew him well from their many seminary sessions beneath his tutelage.
“Master Daubenspeak”, they both intoned simultaneously, as if it had been rehearsed; bowing their heads slightly.
“Please, please, younglings, simply Daubenspeak will do”, the aged half-elf looked out over his small, half-moon glasses. “So, are the infamous Misfits ready for their lesson on the vile creatures known as ‘hags’?”
