Shackled City Epic: "Vengeance" (story concluded)
Broccli_Head
Explorer
sigh....you got me hooked again, Lazybones!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 4
“Are you all right?”
“I... I think so.”
The speaker was a young man, in his late teens, perhaps, his body lean and lanky. His hair hung in an unruly mess about his face, which was marred by a nasty bruise on his right temple that was already beginning to deepen in color. He wore a plain cotton robe that had been torn in the melee, and as he shifted, slowly and painfully pulling himself up to a kneeling position, Zenna was surprised to catch a glimpse of what looked like a chain shirt underneath.
“Oooh, they gave me quite a going-over,” the young man said, probing his side with slender fingers before gently touching at his bruised face. Wincing, he clasped his left hand to his throat, where Zenna noticed that some sort of amulet or device was hanging on a slender chain around his neck. The young man’s hand closed around it before she could identify it, but to her surprise a soft blue glow began to shine from beneath, through the gaps between his fingers. The young man’s face became focused, and his voice took on a resonant, deeper tone, as if echoing from the insides of a spacious temple.
“Vigilant Helm, share your mighty blessing with your unworthy servant...”
The result of the injured man’s words was immediately evident, as the blue glow flared briefly before sinking into his body, infusing him briefly before it faded. With a suddenness that surprised her, he got up quickly, his earlier discomfort gone utterly.
“A cleric... you’re a cleric,” Zenna said.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry, I neglected to thank you for your help. My name is Ruphos Laro, acolyte of Helm. While I don’t think those toughs were planning on killing me, I’m sure they would have left me quite a bit more uncomfortable before they—what’s the matter?”
As he was speaking, Zenna, whose exhaustion and emotion had finally caught up with her, had sagged backward, only the wall of the alley keeping her from collapsing. She clutched at Mole with both her hands, trying to protect her friend, unable to keep a sob from slipping through her strained façade.
No, mustn’t be weak, she berated herself. But her strength, already taxed beyond limit, had finally faltered.
The young man was beside her in an instant, a worried look on his face. Zenna slid down to the ground, her legs folding painfully under her, and her cloak parted to reveal her burden.
“What’s this? A child?” Ruphos exclaimed, carefully extracting Mole from Zenna’s arms to get a better look at the injured gnome.
“No... my... friend... bandits...” Zenna managed. Tears were beginning to slip down her cheeks, defeating her best efforts to bite them back. “I tried to help her, I had to get her here... You’re a cleric, had to find a cleric...”
“Shhh,” the young man said softly. “I will help her.” Once more he touched his amulet—his holy symbol—and called upon the power of his god, holding Mole gently with his other arm. Zenna watched with fascination—she’d seen this before, of course, had seen her stepmother use healing spells many times, but it was impossible to deny the wonder and beauty of divine magic being wrought, each time somehow new and unique.
And then it was done. Mole stirred, and her eyes opened, searching around her with that inquisitive manner that the gnome girl carried about her like a second skin. “What happened?”
“You were injured, but your friend was able to bring you safely to me,” the cleric said. He reached over and extended his hand to touch Zenna’s face, preparing to extend the benefit of his powers to her. But Zenna, worried that he might see... that he might see too much, drew back suddenly. The cleric started in surprise, but shifted his attention to helping Mole up to her feet.
“You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and you’ll likely be weak for a time,” Ruphos told her. “You—both of you, should come with me to the Temple of Helm. My brethren can help tend to your needs, and see that you find someplace safe and comfortable where you can rest and recover from your travails.”
Zenna, bracing against the wall, struggled back to her feet. It was clear that the gesture cost her no small amount of energy, but she put on a determined look as she looked down at the cleric, still kneeling in the dirt of the alley.
“Thank you for what you did for my friend,” she said. “But really, we should—”
“What she means to say, is thank you, of course we’ll accept your generous offer of hospitality,” Mole broke in. “We’ve only just arrived in the city, and we appreciate any help you can provide us.”
Ruphos glanced at them both, his gaze settling finally on Zenna, who—reluctantly, it was clear—nodded.
“Are you all right?”
“I... I think so.”
The speaker was a young man, in his late teens, perhaps, his body lean and lanky. His hair hung in an unruly mess about his face, which was marred by a nasty bruise on his right temple that was already beginning to deepen in color. He wore a plain cotton robe that had been torn in the melee, and as he shifted, slowly and painfully pulling himself up to a kneeling position, Zenna was surprised to catch a glimpse of what looked like a chain shirt underneath.
“Oooh, they gave me quite a going-over,” the young man said, probing his side with slender fingers before gently touching at his bruised face. Wincing, he clasped his left hand to his throat, where Zenna noticed that some sort of amulet or device was hanging on a slender chain around his neck. The young man’s hand closed around it before she could identify it, but to her surprise a soft blue glow began to shine from beneath, through the gaps between his fingers. The young man’s face became focused, and his voice took on a resonant, deeper tone, as if echoing from the insides of a spacious temple.
“Vigilant Helm, share your mighty blessing with your unworthy servant...”
The result of the injured man’s words was immediately evident, as the blue glow flared briefly before sinking into his body, infusing him briefly before it faded. With a suddenness that surprised her, he got up quickly, his earlier discomfort gone utterly.
“A cleric... you’re a cleric,” Zenna said.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sorry, I neglected to thank you for your help. My name is Ruphos Laro, acolyte of Helm. While I don’t think those toughs were planning on killing me, I’m sure they would have left me quite a bit more uncomfortable before they—what’s the matter?”
As he was speaking, Zenna, whose exhaustion and emotion had finally caught up with her, had sagged backward, only the wall of the alley keeping her from collapsing. She clutched at Mole with both her hands, trying to protect her friend, unable to keep a sob from slipping through her strained façade.
No, mustn’t be weak, she berated herself. But her strength, already taxed beyond limit, had finally faltered.
The young man was beside her in an instant, a worried look on his face. Zenna slid down to the ground, her legs folding painfully under her, and her cloak parted to reveal her burden.
“What’s this? A child?” Ruphos exclaimed, carefully extracting Mole from Zenna’s arms to get a better look at the injured gnome.
“No... my... friend... bandits...” Zenna managed. Tears were beginning to slip down her cheeks, defeating her best efforts to bite them back. “I tried to help her, I had to get her here... You’re a cleric, had to find a cleric...”
“Shhh,” the young man said softly. “I will help her.” Once more he touched his amulet—his holy symbol—and called upon the power of his god, holding Mole gently with his other arm. Zenna watched with fascination—she’d seen this before, of course, had seen her stepmother use healing spells many times, but it was impossible to deny the wonder and beauty of divine magic being wrought, each time somehow new and unique.
And then it was done. Mole stirred, and her eyes opened, searching around her with that inquisitive manner that the gnome girl carried about her like a second skin. “What happened?”
“You were injured, but your friend was able to bring you safely to me,” the cleric said. He reached over and extended his hand to touch Zenna’s face, preparing to extend the benefit of his powers to her. But Zenna, worried that he might see... that he might see too much, drew back suddenly. The cleric started in surprise, but shifted his attention to helping Mole up to her feet.
“You’ve lost a great deal of blood, and you’ll likely be weak for a time,” Ruphos told her. “You—both of you, should come with me to the Temple of Helm. My brethren can help tend to your needs, and see that you find someplace safe and comfortable where you can rest and recover from your travails.”
Zenna, bracing against the wall, struggled back to her feet. It was clear that the gesture cost her no small amount of energy, but she put on a determined look as she looked down at the cleric, still kneeling in the dirt of the alley.
“Thank you for what you did for my friend,” she said. “But really, we should—”
“What she means to say, is thank you, of course we’ll accept your generous offer of hospitality,” Mole broke in. “We’ve only just arrived in the city, and we appreciate any help you can provide us.”
Ruphos glanced at them both, his gaze settling finally on Zenna, who—reluctantly, it was clear—nodded.
Black Bard
First Post
Good to see you back in the saddle, Lazy!!! And that's certainty of a good story....
The characters so far are just wonderful!! Yet I would love to see an elf as one of the main characters... Especially in Tethyr...
Anyway, whatever you have in mind, I'm pretty sure it'll be great!!!
The characters so far are just wonderful!! Yet I would love to see an elf as one of the main characters... Especially in Tethyr...
Anyway, whatever you have in mind, I'm pretty sure it'll be great!!!
Lazybones
Adventurer
BB: That's true, I guess I haven't done many elves... there was Lariel in Travels of course, but he was more of a supporting character.
I have my initial characters sketched out (there's one we have yet to meet, but will shortly), but others will come as we progress in the story. Perhaps one of the Fair Folk will make an appearance. Whatever he/she is, it won't be a Legolas clone
* * * * *
Chapter 5
“So what happened back there?” Zenna asked, as the three of them continued down Obsidian Way, where the blocky outlines of the Temple of Helm could already be seen a few blocks ahead. Temples to the Vigilant One existed in cities and towns across Faerûn, and in contrast to regional variations in architecture and building styles, those temples all tended toward a simple, blocky structure that tended to make them easily recognizable wherever one traveled. Even in the near-darkness the two-story temple building was clearly distinct from its neighbors, its white marble setting a stark contrast to the black volcanic stone from which most of the city’s buildings were constructed.
The three had exchanged brief introductions, and Zenna had given a cursory summary of their recent troubles that was as much to inform Mole as to placate the cleric.
“It’s a long story... I’ll be happy to tell it to you, once we’re back at the temple. Things have been pretty tense here lately; there’s been... some abductions.”
Zenna glanced over at him; he looked troubled, but she could sense that he was holding something back. Not surprising; she and Mole had only just arrived in the city, and with a deep sword wound in the shoulder of one of them to boot. She looked around the darkened street, which was all but deserted now that night had arrived in earnest. She recognized it, now, the furtive looks and concern in the faces of the people she’d seen since arriving in the city. Cauldron wasn’t a happy place right now.
She could sense rather than hear Mole walking along beside her. Her friend was all but silent when she wanted to be, which was most of the time. With Ruphos present there had been no opportunity for any more lengthy discussion of what had happened to them, just a few knowing looks that promised more explanations later. The two had known each other and traveled together long enough so that they could coordinate their actions with little or no verbal communication, when necessary. Zenna frowned. Not that it stopped Mole from doing what she wanted, like when she had broken in to accept the cleric’s offer of hospitality at his temple. The mage wasn’t comfortable with it, not by a long shot, but there didn’t seem to be anything to be done about it now... they had arrived.
Now that they were here, the temple didn’t seem as large as it had from a distance; a strange trick of shape and perspective. The façade of the main building that fronted the street was connected to a low wall that provided access to a courtyard adjacent to the structure. The main temple doors were flanked by a pair of statues, also apparently of white marble, carved into the representation of a pair of armored knights, their maces lifted high into the air. Ruphos did not head for the main entrance, however, instead turning to the side wall and opening a latch on a gate of thick iron bars that led into that courtyard. The courtyard, sheltered from the street by the wall, was deep with shadows, but Ruphos was familiar with the path and neither Zenna nor Mole had any trouble with the poor illumination. Ruphos, of course, didn’t know that.
“Careful, the path is clear, but there’s a few benches here that you can stumble into if you’re not careful. Just follow me, the rectory’s just over there.”
Zenna, of course, could see the building perfectly, a squat stone structure with a roof covered in overlapping crescent-shaped tiles. She pretended not to see Ruphos’s outstretched hand, offering them guidance, but Mole quickly took it, half-pulling the cleric down the path, chatting about some element of religious life or other. Zenna’s thoughts were on other matters, like what they might encounter inside the temple complex.
Ruphos led them to a heavy wooden door recessed into the stone wall of the rectory building. As he opened the door a shaft of warm light spilled out into courtyard, but before Zenna could gauge what lay beyond, Ruphos and Mole were already going inside.
The room wasn’t large, but looked comfortable and lived in. A considerable stone hearth in the far wall was cold, but a pair of oil lamps on the mantle above shed a cheery light. There were several comfy-looking armchairs flanking a wall-mounted bookcase holding several dozen titles, and a small table flanked by a trio of chairs beside a long wooden sideboard. Two doors led to other parts of the building, while to their right a narrow corridor appeared to give access to the temple itself.
“Everyone’s probably at the temple, or still out in the town,” Ruphos said cheerily. “With everything that’s been happening, we’ve been putting in some long days of late, and we only have a handful of clerics on staff here.” Now that he was home, in his element, some of his earlier gloom had departed. With his bruise faded, only the tears in his robe remained as evidence that he’d only minutes before been the victim of a violent assault. “I’ll get you some food and drink, and a place to rest, but first we’d better go tell Jenya what happened.”
There was no way to get out of it; well, not without an unpleasant display, so Zenna joined Mole and the young cleric as he led them down the passageway that connected the rectory with the temple. As they approached a thick stone arch Zenna could make out the smell of incense hanging heavily in the air, and the faint sound of a chime that reverberated for a moment then faded into nothingness. As she passed under the arch, she felt a momentary tingle pass through her body; a strange sensation that was gone before she could describe it.
The passage opened onto the back of the nave of the church. Despite the limited size of the structure, Zenna could not help but be a little impressed. Thick beams held up the roof, rising to a peak some twenty feet above. Wooden pews ran in twin rows from the entry hall to the altar area just in front of her, with an ornate wooden door to her left probably leading to the sacristy where the vestments and other sacred accoutrements of organized religion were kept. Though there were no worshippers present at the moment, everything was immaculate, clearly well-tended by the clerics of Helm that ran the temple. She estimated that perhaps a hundred worshipers could gather here at once; a paltry sum compared to the number that could fit in the Moontower in Iriaebor, or the great temples she’d heard about in Baldur’s Gate and Waterdeep. Not that she’d seen them; while her parents went gallivanting off about the Realms, she’d been kept at home, under the watchful eyes of her parents’ friends, where nothing ever happened...
She started as she realized that she’d let her thoughts drift, that Ruphos and Mole were already talking to other people, several of whom were looking at her curiously. She felt herself color as she stammered out an apology, and came forward. The others were a pair of young humans, a man and a woman a few years older than Ruphos, clad in similar robes.
Mole sidled over to her, and covertly jabbed her in the thigh with her elbow. “Ruphos was just telling Morgan and Illewyn about our little misadventure,” she said. “Jenya, the acting High Priestess, isn’t here right now, but she’s...”
“Acting?” Zenna interrupted. “Was the former High Priest one of those abducted?”
She regretted her hasty words instantly, as the two young clerics looked at her intently, and even Ruphos looked a bit uncomfortable. Morgan, finally, whispered something to Ruphos, and the cleric nodded before turning back to her.
“Ah, in all the excitement, I’d forgotten... It’s a rule in all places sacred to the Watcher—no one can enter the presence of the Vigilant One with a hat, mask, or cowl that conceals one’s features. You’ll have to take off your cowl.”
Zenna felt her heart clench in her chest. She’d never been inside an actual temple of Helm, hadn’t known about such a rule, but she’d feared something like this ever since Mole had suggested coming here. She looked down at her friend with an accusatory look, but the gnome only smiled.
“Go ahead, Zenna... it’s all right.”
The three clerics were all looking at her now. The older man, Morgan, had tucked his thumbs into his belt, to Zenna’s eyes his hands threatening close to the iron mace that he wore dangling on his hip. Her mind was blank; she couldn’t think of an excuse, a way to get out of doing what she’d dreaded since they’d first arrived in this place.
It would be all the same as before. Coming here had been a mistake.
She sighed and reached up, dropping back the cowl.
I have my initial characters sketched out (there's one we have yet to meet, but will shortly), but others will come as we progress in the story. Perhaps one of the Fair Folk will make an appearance. Whatever he/she is, it won't be a Legolas clone
* * * * *
Chapter 5
“So what happened back there?” Zenna asked, as the three of them continued down Obsidian Way, where the blocky outlines of the Temple of Helm could already be seen a few blocks ahead. Temples to the Vigilant One existed in cities and towns across Faerûn, and in contrast to regional variations in architecture and building styles, those temples all tended toward a simple, blocky structure that tended to make them easily recognizable wherever one traveled. Even in the near-darkness the two-story temple building was clearly distinct from its neighbors, its white marble setting a stark contrast to the black volcanic stone from which most of the city’s buildings were constructed.
The three had exchanged brief introductions, and Zenna had given a cursory summary of their recent troubles that was as much to inform Mole as to placate the cleric.
“It’s a long story... I’ll be happy to tell it to you, once we’re back at the temple. Things have been pretty tense here lately; there’s been... some abductions.”
Zenna glanced over at him; he looked troubled, but she could sense that he was holding something back. Not surprising; she and Mole had only just arrived in the city, and with a deep sword wound in the shoulder of one of them to boot. She looked around the darkened street, which was all but deserted now that night had arrived in earnest. She recognized it, now, the furtive looks and concern in the faces of the people she’d seen since arriving in the city. Cauldron wasn’t a happy place right now.
She could sense rather than hear Mole walking along beside her. Her friend was all but silent when she wanted to be, which was most of the time. With Ruphos present there had been no opportunity for any more lengthy discussion of what had happened to them, just a few knowing looks that promised more explanations later. The two had known each other and traveled together long enough so that they could coordinate their actions with little or no verbal communication, when necessary. Zenna frowned. Not that it stopped Mole from doing what she wanted, like when she had broken in to accept the cleric’s offer of hospitality at his temple. The mage wasn’t comfortable with it, not by a long shot, but there didn’t seem to be anything to be done about it now... they had arrived.
Now that they were here, the temple didn’t seem as large as it had from a distance; a strange trick of shape and perspective. The façade of the main building that fronted the street was connected to a low wall that provided access to a courtyard adjacent to the structure. The main temple doors were flanked by a pair of statues, also apparently of white marble, carved into the representation of a pair of armored knights, their maces lifted high into the air. Ruphos did not head for the main entrance, however, instead turning to the side wall and opening a latch on a gate of thick iron bars that led into that courtyard. The courtyard, sheltered from the street by the wall, was deep with shadows, but Ruphos was familiar with the path and neither Zenna nor Mole had any trouble with the poor illumination. Ruphos, of course, didn’t know that.
“Careful, the path is clear, but there’s a few benches here that you can stumble into if you’re not careful. Just follow me, the rectory’s just over there.”
Zenna, of course, could see the building perfectly, a squat stone structure with a roof covered in overlapping crescent-shaped tiles. She pretended not to see Ruphos’s outstretched hand, offering them guidance, but Mole quickly took it, half-pulling the cleric down the path, chatting about some element of religious life or other. Zenna’s thoughts were on other matters, like what they might encounter inside the temple complex.
Ruphos led them to a heavy wooden door recessed into the stone wall of the rectory building. As he opened the door a shaft of warm light spilled out into courtyard, but before Zenna could gauge what lay beyond, Ruphos and Mole were already going inside.
The room wasn’t large, but looked comfortable and lived in. A considerable stone hearth in the far wall was cold, but a pair of oil lamps on the mantle above shed a cheery light. There were several comfy-looking armchairs flanking a wall-mounted bookcase holding several dozen titles, and a small table flanked by a trio of chairs beside a long wooden sideboard. Two doors led to other parts of the building, while to their right a narrow corridor appeared to give access to the temple itself.
“Everyone’s probably at the temple, or still out in the town,” Ruphos said cheerily. “With everything that’s been happening, we’ve been putting in some long days of late, and we only have a handful of clerics on staff here.” Now that he was home, in his element, some of his earlier gloom had departed. With his bruise faded, only the tears in his robe remained as evidence that he’d only minutes before been the victim of a violent assault. “I’ll get you some food and drink, and a place to rest, but first we’d better go tell Jenya what happened.”
There was no way to get out of it; well, not without an unpleasant display, so Zenna joined Mole and the young cleric as he led them down the passageway that connected the rectory with the temple. As they approached a thick stone arch Zenna could make out the smell of incense hanging heavily in the air, and the faint sound of a chime that reverberated for a moment then faded into nothingness. As she passed under the arch, she felt a momentary tingle pass through her body; a strange sensation that was gone before she could describe it.
The passage opened onto the back of the nave of the church. Despite the limited size of the structure, Zenna could not help but be a little impressed. Thick beams held up the roof, rising to a peak some twenty feet above. Wooden pews ran in twin rows from the entry hall to the altar area just in front of her, with an ornate wooden door to her left probably leading to the sacristy where the vestments and other sacred accoutrements of organized religion were kept. Though there were no worshippers present at the moment, everything was immaculate, clearly well-tended by the clerics of Helm that ran the temple. She estimated that perhaps a hundred worshipers could gather here at once; a paltry sum compared to the number that could fit in the Moontower in Iriaebor, or the great temples she’d heard about in Baldur’s Gate and Waterdeep. Not that she’d seen them; while her parents went gallivanting off about the Realms, she’d been kept at home, under the watchful eyes of her parents’ friends, where nothing ever happened...
She started as she realized that she’d let her thoughts drift, that Ruphos and Mole were already talking to other people, several of whom were looking at her curiously. She felt herself color as she stammered out an apology, and came forward. The others were a pair of young humans, a man and a woman a few years older than Ruphos, clad in similar robes.
Mole sidled over to her, and covertly jabbed her in the thigh with her elbow. “Ruphos was just telling Morgan and Illewyn about our little misadventure,” she said. “Jenya, the acting High Priestess, isn’t here right now, but she’s...”
“Acting?” Zenna interrupted. “Was the former High Priest one of those abducted?”
She regretted her hasty words instantly, as the two young clerics looked at her intently, and even Ruphos looked a bit uncomfortable. Morgan, finally, whispered something to Ruphos, and the cleric nodded before turning back to her.
“Ah, in all the excitement, I’d forgotten... It’s a rule in all places sacred to the Watcher—no one can enter the presence of the Vigilant One with a hat, mask, or cowl that conceals one’s features. You’ll have to take off your cowl.”
Zenna felt her heart clench in her chest. She’d never been inside an actual temple of Helm, hadn’t known about such a rule, but she’d feared something like this ever since Mole had suggested coming here. She looked down at her friend with an accusatory look, but the gnome only smiled.
“Go ahead, Zenna... it’s all right.”
The three clerics were all looking at her now. The older man, Morgan, had tucked his thumbs into his belt, to Zenna’s eyes his hands threatening close to the iron mace that he wore dangling on his hip. Her mind was blank; she couldn’t think of an excuse, a way to get out of doing what she’d dreaded since they’d first arrived in this place.
It would be all the same as before. Coming here had been a mistake.
She sighed and reached up, dropping back the cowl.
Broccli_Head
Explorer
Lazybones said:
Oh, the angst! Oh the drama!
Last edited:
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 6
The gathered priests drew in a collective breath of surprise as Zenna revealed her face, and the stubby horns that jutted from her temples that were instantly visible. Ruphos’s eyes widened in astonishment, but Morgan’s response was more dramatic.
“A fiend in the Sanctum!” he croaked, drawing back and clutching at his mace.
“Oh, do control yourself, Morgan,” came a voice from the entry. All present turned toward the newcomer, a short, brown-eyes woman of perhaps thirty years. She was clad in a simple but functional clerical robe, and wore her long brown hair in an elaborate coif that fell down to her neck in a flowing cascade. She wore an expression that reflected impatience and brooked no challenge, and her frown was directed at the other clerics as much as the two strangers.
The woman strode with deliberation over to them, and rested her hands on her hips as she cast an evaluating gaze first upon Zenna, giving her horns the merest tilt of an eyebrow, then Mole, and finally Ruphos. Finally, she turned to Morgan, who was still clearly agitated, with his fingers white on the haft of his weapon. At least he hadn’t lifted it from the hook on his belt.
“Have you forgotten, Brother Morgan, that the wards upon the Sanctum prevent any evil creature from entering its confines?” Zenna nodded to herself, remembering the tingle she’d felt on passing through the arch earlier. But the woman had already turned back to face Zenna, fixing her with an imposing stare for all that she had to look up to meet the eyes of the wizard.
“I apologize for the precipitous behavior of my priest. I am Jenya Urikas, acting High Priest of the Temple of Helm in Cauldron. I extend to you the hospitality of our church. I can see that you’ve come a great distance, and are clearly exhausted by your travels. Illewyn, take our guests to the rectory and see that they have food, drink, and the opportunity to wash off the dust of the road. Morgan, go to the festhall and get Malakar and Serrah; they were helping with the work on the Winter Fund and have likely forgotten the hour.”
The two clerics nodded quickly. Under Jenya’s expectant stare Morgan moved toward the door, looking back once with uncertainty—and finding Jenya still looking after him—before turning and heading out into the night.
“He’s a good priest, but he takes the ‘vigilance’ part of our code a bit to close to heart,” Jenya muttered, as the man left. Turning to Ruphos, she said, “I heard on the way over that there had been a bit of excitement. Come to my office, and tell me what happened. You ladies, please go with Illewyn; I’ll come and meet with you again shortly.”
With Mole and Zenna staring after her open-mouthed, Jenya took Ruphos decisively in hand and steered him toward the door in the rear wall of the nave. Belatedly, they realized that they hadn’t even told the priestess their names. Illewyn noticed their reaction and smiled.
“Yes, she’s a force of nature,” the young cleric said. “But she’s had a lot to deal with since High Priest Delasharn departed.”
“Seems like there’s a lot going on here that we don’t know about,” Mole stated simply.
The cleric sighed. “These are difficult times in Cauldron. It was bad enough with the earlier disappearances, but now, with the children being taken... Jenya has publicly committed the Church to finding them, and bringing their abductors to justice, but thus far there’s been no information...”
“Children?” Zenna asked. “Children have been abducted? Ruphos mentioned some kidnappings, but he didn’t say...”
Illewyn nodded. “Come, we can talk about it more over a hot meal. Jenya can tell you more, later.”
* * * * *
A short while later, Mole and Zenna were together in a small, simple room with walls of undressed stone within the rectory. A curtain hanging in the doorway offered a modicum of privacy, and a pair of simple cots offered an opportunity for rest. Zenna was standing over a basin that sat on a table against the wall, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up as she washed her arms and neck with a towel already gray with the dirt she’d accumulated on the road. Mole was lying on one of the cots, although her eyes continued to roam the room, taking in every detail. She had her purse in her hand, and by the look on her face as she jangled it, she wasn’t pleased with what she heard.
“You left all my weapons? The least you could have done was recover my throwing knife! I had that specially made, you know! And that crossbow, that cost forty crowns!”
“I didn’t exactly have time to look for your knife, and other things were on my mind at the moment,” Zenna said without turning. Bending low, she lifted two handfuls of water and splashed them into her face, letting herself enjoy the cool feeling of the water against her skin. “And you were heavy enough besides.” Memory stirred of that long hike, her friend dying in her arms, and she felt a cold shudder.
She straightened and felt a hand touch her arm. Looking down, she saw Mole there, an uncharacteristically serious look on her face. “I’m sorry... Thanks, it must have been... difficult.”
Zenna nodded, and smiled, taking the gnome’s hand in her own.
They looked up as the curtain parted, revealing Illewyn’s familiar face. “Jenya would like to see you, now.”
The gathered priests drew in a collective breath of surprise as Zenna revealed her face, and the stubby horns that jutted from her temples that were instantly visible. Ruphos’s eyes widened in astonishment, but Morgan’s response was more dramatic.
“A fiend in the Sanctum!” he croaked, drawing back and clutching at his mace.
“Oh, do control yourself, Morgan,” came a voice from the entry. All present turned toward the newcomer, a short, brown-eyes woman of perhaps thirty years. She was clad in a simple but functional clerical robe, and wore her long brown hair in an elaborate coif that fell down to her neck in a flowing cascade. She wore an expression that reflected impatience and brooked no challenge, and her frown was directed at the other clerics as much as the two strangers.
The woman strode with deliberation over to them, and rested her hands on her hips as she cast an evaluating gaze first upon Zenna, giving her horns the merest tilt of an eyebrow, then Mole, and finally Ruphos. Finally, she turned to Morgan, who was still clearly agitated, with his fingers white on the haft of his weapon. At least he hadn’t lifted it from the hook on his belt.
“Have you forgotten, Brother Morgan, that the wards upon the Sanctum prevent any evil creature from entering its confines?” Zenna nodded to herself, remembering the tingle she’d felt on passing through the arch earlier. But the woman had already turned back to face Zenna, fixing her with an imposing stare for all that she had to look up to meet the eyes of the wizard.
“I apologize for the precipitous behavior of my priest. I am Jenya Urikas, acting High Priest of the Temple of Helm in Cauldron. I extend to you the hospitality of our church. I can see that you’ve come a great distance, and are clearly exhausted by your travels. Illewyn, take our guests to the rectory and see that they have food, drink, and the opportunity to wash off the dust of the road. Morgan, go to the festhall and get Malakar and Serrah; they were helping with the work on the Winter Fund and have likely forgotten the hour.”
The two clerics nodded quickly. Under Jenya’s expectant stare Morgan moved toward the door, looking back once with uncertainty—and finding Jenya still looking after him—before turning and heading out into the night.
“He’s a good priest, but he takes the ‘vigilance’ part of our code a bit to close to heart,” Jenya muttered, as the man left. Turning to Ruphos, she said, “I heard on the way over that there had been a bit of excitement. Come to my office, and tell me what happened. You ladies, please go with Illewyn; I’ll come and meet with you again shortly.”
With Mole and Zenna staring after her open-mouthed, Jenya took Ruphos decisively in hand and steered him toward the door in the rear wall of the nave. Belatedly, they realized that they hadn’t even told the priestess their names. Illewyn noticed their reaction and smiled.
“Yes, she’s a force of nature,” the young cleric said. “But she’s had a lot to deal with since High Priest Delasharn departed.”
“Seems like there’s a lot going on here that we don’t know about,” Mole stated simply.
The cleric sighed. “These are difficult times in Cauldron. It was bad enough with the earlier disappearances, but now, with the children being taken... Jenya has publicly committed the Church to finding them, and bringing their abductors to justice, but thus far there’s been no information...”
“Children?” Zenna asked. “Children have been abducted? Ruphos mentioned some kidnappings, but he didn’t say...”
Illewyn nodded. “Come, we can talk about it more over a hot meal. Jenya can tell you more, later.”
* * * * *
A short while later, Mole and Zenna were together in a small, simple room with walls of undressed stone within the rectory. A curtain hanging in the doorway offered a modicum of privacy, and a pair of simple cots offered an opportunity for rest. Zenna was standing over a basin that sat on a table against the wall, the sleeves of her tunic rolled up as she washed her arms and neck with a towel already gray with the dirt she’d accumulated on the road. Mole was lying on one of the cots, although her eyes continued to roam the room, taking in every detail. She had her purse in her hand, and by the look on her face as she jangled it, she wasn’t pleased with what she heard.
“You left all my weapons? The least you could have done was recover my throwing knife! I had that specially made, you know! And that crossbow, that cost forty crowns!”
“I didn’t exactly have time to look for your knife, and other things were on my mind at the moment,” Zenna said without turning. Bending low, she lifted two handfuls of water and splashed them into her face, letting herself enjoy the cool feeling of the water against her skin. “And you were heavy enough besides.” Memory stirred of that long hike, her friend dying in her arms, and she felt a cold shudder.
She straightened and felt a hand touch her arm. Looking down, she saw Mole there, an uncharacteristically serious look on her face. “I’m sorry... Thanks, it must have been... difficult.”
Zenna nodded, and smiled, taking the gnome’s hand in her own.
They looked up as the curtain parted, revealing Illewyn’s familiar face. “Jenya would like to see you, now.”
Black Bard
First Post
Great!!! I loved that!!! Sorry, Lazy... but to me it was almost comical, not your fault, of course... but I have a player that is just like that...
Very good!!!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 7
The High Priest’s office was as plain as most of the quarters in the temple complex, furnished in spartan fashion with a wide wooden desk, a few wall-mounted shelves, and several chairs. A bright open flame that burned brightly on the desk illuminated the room. Jenya was sitting at the desk as they entered, and Ruphos was there, standing at her shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back. Illewyn did not enter with them, instead departing back for the rectory after closing the door behind them. Jenya gestured for them to sit in the chairs that faced the desk.
“Ruphos has told me what happened,” the cleric began. “It would seem that we owe you a debt of thanks, for scaring off his attackers.”
“Do you have any idea of who it was who attacked him?” Zenna asked.
Jenya glanced up at Ruphos, and the two clerics exchanged a brief look. “Cauldron is normally a quiet city, but street crime is not unheard of.”
“But this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill mugging,” Mole prodded.
“No. The way those thugs painted their faces... it is a symbol of a secret organization that calls itself “The Last Laugh.”
“A thieves’ guild?” Mole asked. The cleric nodded.
“And you think they’re the ones who are behind these abductions?” Zenna asked.
She and Mole had learned a bit more of what was going on in Cauldron from Illewyn, although the cleric knew little more than the vaguest outline of the facts. The disappearances of people had been going on for several months now, with both the Town Guard and the city’s various churches utterly stymied in terms of tracking down whoever or whatever was behind them. But what had the town in an uproar was the recent—only a few nights’ previous—abduction of four children from the city orphanage. The four had simply vanished from their rooms one night, without the faintest clue as to who had taken them or why.
“I... I just don’t know,” Jenya finally admitted. “The Last Laugh is certainly not an upright stalwart of Cauldron, but they’ve never done anything like this before. But tonight...” she glanced again up at Ruphos, who shifted slightly. “Ruphos had gone to the orphanage earlier, to offer consolation to the other children. Tell them what your attackers told you.”
Ruphos looked a bit uncomfortable as their attention shifted to him, but he cleared his throat and said, “They jumped as I was walking home, and dragged me into the alley. At first I though they were just thieves after my purse, but as they were beating me, one grabbed me and said, ‘Stay away from the orphanage!’”
“Well, that seems like a pretty incriminating bit of evidence, I’d say,” Mole said.
“We appreciate what you’ve done, offering us your hospitality, healing Mole,” Zenna said. “But why are you telling us all this? We’re just a pair of complete strangers who have only just arrived in town.”
Jenya didn’t respond immediately, only regarded them with an impenetrable gaze. Finally, she leaned forward across the desk, folding her hands before her. The desk was a bit too large for her, and she nearly had to stand to do so.
“I don’t know what brought you to Cauldron,” she began. “From what Ruphos told me, you had some trouble on the road, but overcame a difficult encounter. And you handled yourself well against those Last Laugh thugs. Clearly your skill in the arcane is significant.”
“My talents approximate those of a full apprentice,” Zenna said plainly and truthfully.
“Let me be completely frank with you. The Church has been placed in a very difficult position by these abductions. The people are scared, and they want answers. We’ve done what we can, used our resources to their fullest potential, worked with the other churches, and the guard... and yet those answers have not been forthcoming.”
“I still don’t see how this concerns us,” Zenna said, though in truth she was beginning to see where this was going.
“Whoever is behind this, they clearly know enough about the churches—ours and the others... the churches of Lathander and Tempus, while of divergent faiths, have been cooperating with us on this—to avoid detection. What we need is an outsider, someone who can poke around in the shadows, and hopefully uncover a clue that we’ve missed.”
Even though she’d suspected it was coming, Zenna was still surprised to hear the words. “So you want us to work for the church of Helm? And what’s more, to work for the most lawful and disciplined church in Faerûn as... I don’t know what word to use, ‘spies,’ ‘agents’?”
Jenya’s mouth tightened slightly as an expression of displeasure. “As I said, these are difficult times. And we’re willing to compensate you for your help, if you’re able to find out anything that can help us.”
Mole had perked up noticeably with the cleric’s last statement, but Zenna continued before her friend could chime in, her voice soft but earnest. “You have gotten a good look at me, I assume. Who is going to trust someone of my blood?”
Jenya did not back down. “I have no doubt that you’ve had a difficult time, and have learned to adjust for the reactions that you must constantly get. Cannot you see, that this experience makes you even more suited for such a task?”
Zenna blinked, and opened her mouth before she realized that she couldn’t think of a ready response. She felt Mole’s hand on her arm, and subsided. Her friend asked, “What other leads do you have?”
Jenya’s gaze shifted to the gnome. “I... there is a clue, though I have not yet been able to make meaning of it.” She glanced up at Ruphos yet again, just for a second, but in that glimpse it seemed as though the cleric’s face had held a hint of—what?—embarassment?
“The Church possesses a weapon of great power, the Star of Justice. This device is rightfully within the custodianship of the High Priest, but in his absence... Late last night, I called upon its power to cast a divination. As is the way with such magics, however, the information I received was cryptic.”
Mole was sitting on the edge of her chair, clearly fascinated. Zenna, however, was feeling quite less sanguine. “What did the spell tell you?” the gnome asked.
“It was a riddle, of sorts,” Jenya explained. She took on a focused expression, then recited,
The locks are key to finding them.
Look beyond the curtain, below the cauldron
But beware the doors with teeth
Descend into the malachite hold
Where precious life is bought with gold
Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long
“Ah, a riddle indeed,” Mole said.
“What was the question that you posed, specifically, when you cast the spell?” Zenna asked.
Jenya blinked, surprised by the question. “As I recall, I asked, ‘Where are the children who were abducted from the Lantern Street Orphanage?’”
“Below the cauldron... it could be that they’re being held somewhere under the city,” Mole suggested.
“I thought of that,” Jenya said. “But the locks? The locks of the orphanage, perhaps?”
“I spoke to the headmistress of the orphanage today, when I visited,” Ruphos said. “There wasn’t any sign of forced entry.”
“Perhaps an inside job, then,” Mole suggested.
“A question that I hope you will be able to answer,” Jenya broke in. “In any case, it cannot hurt to have another group of eyes and ears joining the search.”
“We have not yet agreed to help,” Zenna said.
“Say we did agree,” Mole said. “What support could we expect from you guys?”
“The Church can provide healing, and other divine aid, but it would be best if you did not come here, at least not openly. It would defeat the whole purpose of having a group of outside investigators if you were seen to be connected to us. You can work through Ruphos, who will be your contact, and will help with your investigation.”
Zenna raised an eyebrow, and glanced up at the priest, who fidgeted slightly under the scrutiny. “Him? Forgive me, but Ruphos doesn’t exactly seem like the ‘covert operative’ type, and as you said, people here would recognize him easily.”
“Perhaps not,” Jenya said. She reached into one of the drawers under her desk, and drew out a small cloth object. It was a hat, a simple and rather worn device of faded green fabric with a peaked front and a felt liner. She handed it to Ruphos, who shook it out and placed it onto his head.
As Zenna and Mole watched in fascination, Ruphos’s features began to twist and reform, shimmering slightly before settling into the appearance of a new man. He was now a good deal older, perhaps in his forties, with a thick beard and dark eyes that seemed almost black. The hat was now a wide-brimmed leather teamster’s cap.
“What about his clothes?” Mole asked.
“This particular hat of disguise only works with facial features, and of course its own appearance,” Jenya said. “But clothes can be changed. It doesn’t change the voice, either, but I suspect that few would associate Ruphos’s voice with his true identity, given a dramatic enough change in appearance.”
Mole nodded, considering. “I can see how that would be an advantage. Now, we were talking about gold...”
But Zenna had not taken her eyes from Ruphos. “We’ll help you find the children,” she interjected. “In exchange for the hat.”
The High Priest’s office was as plain as most of the quarters in the temple complex, furnished in spartan fashion with a wide wooden desk, a few wall-mounted shelves, and several chairs. A bright open flame that burned brightly on the desk illuminated the room. Jenya was sitting at the desk as they entered, and Ruphos was there, standing at her shoulder with his hands clasped behind his back. Illewyn did not enter with them, instead departing back for the rectory after closing the door behind them. Jenya gestured for them to sit in the chairs that faced the desk.
“Ruphos has told me what happened,” the cleric began. “It would seem that we owe you a debt of thanks, for scaring off his attackers.”
“Do you have any idea of who it was who attacked him?” Zenna asked.
Jenya glanced up at Ruphos, and the two clerics exchanged a brief look. “Cauldron is normally a quiet city, but street crime is not unheard of.”
“But this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill mugging,” Mole prodded.
“No. The way those thugs painted their faces... it is a symbol of a secret organization that calls itself “The Last Laugh.”
“A thieves’ guild?” Mole asked. The cleric nodded.
“And you think they’re the ones who are behind these abductions?” Zenna asked.
She and Mole had learned a bit more of what was going on in Cauldron from Illewyn, although the cleric knew little more than the vaguest outline of the facts. The disappearances of people had been going on for several months now, with both the Town Guard and the city’s various churches utterly stymied in terms of tracking down whoever or whatever was behind them. But what had the town in an uproar was the recent—only a few nights’ previous—abduction of four children from the city orphanage. The four had simply vanished from their rooms one night, without the faintest clue as to who had taken them or why.
“I... I just don’t know,” Jenya finally admitted. “The Last Laugh is certainly not an upright stalwart of Cauldron, but they’ve never done anything like this before. But tonight...” she glanced again up at Ruphos, who shifted slightly. “Ruphos had gone to the orphanage earlier, to offer consolation to the other children. Tell them what your attackers told you.”
Ruphos looked a bit uncomfortable as their attention shifted to him, but he cleared his throat and said, “They jumped as I was walking home, and dragged me into the alley. At first I though they were just thieves after my purse, but as they were beating me, one grabbed me and said, ‘Stay away from the orphanage!’”
“Well, that seems like a pretty incriminating bit of evidence, I’d say,” Mole said.
“We appreciate what you’ve done, offering us your hospitality, healing Mole,” Zenna said. “But why are you telling us all this? We’re just a pair of complete strangers who have only just arrived in town.”
Jenya didn’t respond immediately, only regarded them with an impenetrable gaze. Finally, she leaned forward across the desk, folding her hands before her. The desk was a bit too large for her, and she nearly had to stand to do so.
“I don’t know what brought you to Cauldron,” she began. “From what Ruphos told me, you had some trouble on the road, but overcame a difficult encounter. And you handled yourself well against those Last Laugh thugs. Clearly your skill in the arcane is significant.”
“My talents approximate those of a full apprentice,” Zenna said plainly and truthfully.
“Let me be completely frank with you. The Church has been placed in a very difficult position by these abductions. The people are scared, and they want answers. We’ve done what we can, used our resources to their fullest potential, worked with the other churches, and the guard... and yet those answers have not been forthcoming.”
“I still don’t see how this concerns us,” Zenna said, though in truth she was beginning to see where this was going.
“Whoever is behind this, they clearly know enough about the churches—ours and the others... the churches of Lathander and Tempus, while of divergent faiths, have been cooperating with us on this—to avoid detection. What we need is an outsider, someone who can poke around in the shadows, and hopefully uncover a clue that we’ve missed.”
Even though she’d suspected it was coming, Zenna was still surprised to hear the words. “So you want us to work for the church of Helm? And what’s more, to work for the most lawful and disciplined church in Faerûn as... I don’t know what word to use, ‘spies,’ ‘agents’?”
Jenya’s mouth tightened slightly as an expression of displeasure. “As I said, these are difficult times. And we’re willing to compensate you for your help, if you’re able to find out anything that can help us.”
Mole had perked up noticeably with the cleric’s last statement, but Zenna continued before her friend could chime in, her voice soft but earnest. “You have gotten a good look at me, I assume. Who is going to trust someone of my blood?”
Jenya did not back down. “I have no doubt that you’ve had a difficult time, and have learned to adjust for the reactions that you must constantly get. Cannot you see, that this experience makes you even more suited for such a task?”
Zenna blinked, and opened her mouth before she realized that she couldn’t think of a ready response. She felt Mole’s hand on her arm, and subsided. Her friend asked, “What other leads do you have?”
Jenya’s gaze shifted to the gnome. “I... there is a clue, though I have not yet been able to make meaning of it.” She glanced up at Ruphos yet again, just for a second, but in that glimpse it seemed as though the cleric’s face had held a hint of—what?—embarassment?
“The Church possesses a weapon of great power, the Star of Justice. This device is rightfully within the custodianship of the High Priest, but in his absence... Late last night, I called upon its power to cast a divination. As is the way with such magics, however, the information I received was cryptic.”
Mole was sitting on the edge of her chair, clearly fascinated. Zenna, however, was feeling quite less sanguine. “What did the spell tell you?” the gnome asked.
“It was a riddle, of sorts,” Jenya explained. She took on a focused expression, then recited,
The locks are key to finding them.
Look beyond the curtain, below the cauldron
But beware the doors with teeth
Descend into the malachite hold
Where precious life is bought with gold
Half a dwarf binds them, but not for long
“Ah, a riddle indeed,” Mole said.
“What was the question that you posed, specifically, when you cast the spell?” Zenna asked.
Jenya blinked, surprised by the question. “As I recall, I asked, ‘Where are the children who were abducted from the Lantern Street Orphanage?’”
“Below the cauldron... it could be that they’re being held somewhere under the city,” Mole suggested.
“I thought of that,” Jenya said. “But the locks? The locks of the orphanage, perhaps?”
“I spoke to the headmistress of the orphanage today, when I visited,” Ruphos said. “There wasn’t any sign of forced entry.”
“Perhaps an inside job, then,” Mole suggested.
“A question that I hope you will be able to answer,” Jenya broke in. “In any case, it cannot hurt to have another group of eyes and ears joining the search.”
“We have not yet agreed to help,” Zenna said.
“Say we did agree,” Mole said. “What support could we expect from you guys?”
“The Church can provide healing, and other divine aid, but it would be best if you did not come here, at least not openly. It would defeat the whole purpose of having a group of outside investigators if you were seen to be connected to us. You can work through Ruphos, who will be your contact, and will help with your investigation.”
Zenna raised an eyebrow, and glanced up at the priest, who fidgeted slightly under the scrutiny. “Him? Forgive me, but Ruphos doesn’t exactly seem like the ‘covert operative’ type, and as you said, people here would recognize him easily.”
“Perhaps not,” Jenya said. She reached into one of the drawers under her desk, and drew out a small cloth object. It was a hat, a simple and rather worn device of faded green fabric with a peaked front and a felt liner. She handed it to Ruphos, who shook it out and placed it onto his head.
As Zenna and Mole watched in fascination, Ruphos’s features began to twist and reform, shimmering slightly before settling into the appearance of a new man. He was now a good deal older, perhaps in his forties, with a thick beard and dark eyes that seemed almost black. The hat was now a wide-brimmed leather teamster’s cap.
“What about his clothes?” Mole asked.
“This particular hat of disguise only works with facial features, and of course its own appearance,” Jenya said. “But clothes can be changed. It doesn’t change the voice, either, but I suspect that few would associate Ruphos’s voice with his true identity, given a dramatic enough change in appearance.”
Mole nodded, considering. “I can see how that would be an advantage. Now, we were talking about gold...”
But Zenna had not taken her eyes from Ruphos. “We’ll help you find the children,” she interjected. “In exchange for the hat.”
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