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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Carnifex" data-source="post: 600110" data-attributes="member: 227">When Burl was ready, Wyshira led the way outside, calling to the rest of the party to catch up later. With Cord on one side and Burl on the other, the oddly matched threesome walked quickly to the door, ducking back outside into the fresh air and sunshine, two with distinctly unique versions of relief, and the third hardly noticing the transformation from darkness into light. The quiet, cobblestone street was just as they left it: a few city guardsmen, shining in their breastplates, paced in the cool shade of ornamental trees; fleet-footed messenger boys hurried into and out of the various shops and businesses scattered around the dominant guildhall. Down the street was another imposing stone presence: the Temple of Grummand."I don't have the mimir; Ebri does. She always manages to sneak off for soup, doesn't she?"  Mel struck up a stride alongside Sebastion as they followed the others out of the Mages' Guild, headed for where she had no idea, but it mattered little now that her meager gold supply had been further reduced.Sneak off for soup? he mouthed the thought silently behind her back as she moved away, adding it to the list of things he had to quiz the mimir about. 'Dracoverr', 'Imellin Daerlen', 'Sneak off for soup'.... and 'Cornell'. He didn't like that he tagged that last one on, and he stared at the fifth raised finger for some time as they walked before Princess Blue piped up once more."Listen, Mr Cornell, I don't think it would be a good idea to associate with his sort. The Flame Guild is known to work not only for Huron but also for Carthagia, and I have no idea if there's a bounty on me but I don't want to find out from the likes of him. And also," she added in a half-whisper, blinking as they stepped out into sunlight again, "we are carrying an artifact the Flame Guild would kill for, according to the mimir. I hope you don't intend to fraternize with them any longer." She ended on this slightly snotty note, flipping her deep blue hair and frowning.Sebastion felt it was more than a little unfair for her to be dictating to him who he should or shouldn't talk to because she was a runaway, but he didn't argue. Other, more fundamental worries were troubling his mind. He simply nodded and followed, fingering the sword in his hands. The Dracoverr sword... it is my father's sword, nothing more.He did not, however, the way her pocketing the Fire Serpent Rod had turned into us having an artifact the Flame Guild might want back....As the band crossed the cobbled street to approach the Temple of the Unyielding Stone, they could not help but notice a 'Wanted' poster that had been crudely pasted up on not just one building, but several; the posters hadn't been there when they'd gone into the Guildhouse. Scrawled on each one was the following:WANTED, DEAD OR ALIVE:'Iron Sky Thunder Hawk'Gnoll Criminal, Murderer and RobberFor the Murders of a number of travellers on the Heterric Road from Merlihr across the Sarokean mountains to Killanon, and the robbery of their belongings.The Cambden family offer a reward for his head, attached to his body or not, of 2,000 pieces of gold, and a further 1,000 pieces of gold for the return of the body and heirlooms of Marcus Cambden, Slain by Iron Sky.Underneath this was an incredibly lifelike image of the head of a gnoll, a distinctive pattern of swirling tattooes around a thunderbolt decorating his face; an old gnoll too, if the gray fur was any mark. The picture had probably been created so accurately through magical means of replication.Iron Sky may claim to be the 'Grand Master of the Knights of the Thorn' as a disguise, beseeching hapless travellers to help him before leading them into ambushes. Do not believe this dangerous criminal! His reign of Terror must be brought to an End.There was no sign of whoever had put up the posters.Maybe it was just his growing paranoia, but Burl sneaked a quick look around before approaching the Wanted poster. With a short sigh of relief, he found it was for a gnoll and not himself. With all that has happened to me, I am becoming very paranoid. I realize that in the great scheme of things, I am not that important, but it is my skin and now those around me that is in danger, therefore, I cannot afford to let down my guard. But, as a newly converted mercenary, I do think that we have come to the right area for work. Burl tapped his finger on the poster, putting to memory the details in case they should confront the object of the poster.Cord sensed the looming, permanent building of smooth stone, seeking to envelop him in cool, embracing arms. His steps naturally drew him toward the temple, though he may not have realized it consciously. It was not until they neared the steps that he realized he had been steering Wyshira with the lightest of touches with one hand; Burl had followed Wyshira.Burl spoke as they approached the temple. "Good, I will follow the two of you. It should make an interesting side trip." To himself he added, And it will get me off the street where I won't be so noticeable. Turning to Cord, he said, "You know Cord, I never could understand why others looked forward to days like this. When I lived in the forest under the huge oaks, the sun hardly ever broached the ground. Couple that with all the time I spent studying in my mentor's library, I never appreciated a day like this. One day was like every other when you spend it in front of created light." Burl had to admit that it was truly a beautiful day, but then taking a quick look at Wyshira, just maybe it was the company he was keeping.Cord did not see the quick look, but he heard the sudden, almost imperceptible creak of the neck, the momentarily tightening of Burl's muscles. He brought no attention to the action, though he wondered about it as they ascended the stairs.Within the temple the air was cool but still. A few small apertures allowed for enough light to enter that torches were not required for illumination, but it lacked the kind of grand stained glass windows of the Cathedrals of the faith of Ishrak. Instead a low ceiling of raw stone hung over the place, the walls decorated with brightly coloured murals painted onto the hewn, unrefined rock that had been stacked up to form the structure.Wyshira and Burl were shocked to see that, it appeared, the clergy here were growing stalagmites and stalagtites, as bizarre a concept as it seemed. Around the place were scattered pools of water, water apparently pumped up above them and then allowed to drizzle down through the rock. It must have been heavy in minerals for the process was acting in the same manner as that in caverns, creating the conical calceous growths. To Cord this was a familiar practise, though rarer to see in human lands than the dwarven temples due to the time and patience it took to grow a full stalagmite which could then be broken off and consectrated before being used to found a new shrine.The low chamber hummed with the faint blur of quiet voices talking and the slow drip of moisture from the ceiling. Far at the back two great burnished metal thaumineered pumps hissed and slowly revolved to pumo the water up to the celing spots above the pools. The altar at that end currently hosted a small group of worshippers at service, a cleric garbed in sand-coloured robes anointing them; a handful of men, some being farmers and some of other vocations, along with a couple of dwarves.The dwarven population in human cities was always low to non-existent, even in the larger settlements like this. Even a thousand years after the wars of the gods, most races were hardly populous, and it was only now that finally the dwarves populations were increasing enough to begin to push back down below the mountains from their undersurface cities, to try and reclaim from the ruins and caverns some of their former glory. With that kind of opportunity available, there was little reason for most dwarves to emigrate to human lands, even with the demand for their craft skills. Most such dwarves were outcasts, wanderers or had their own private reasons for their travels.As such, outside the Sarokean mountain range dwarves were not common, hence the low number here at worship.Other clerics of the same garb wandered, attending to their duties or watering the stalagmites with cans of water laden with extra minerals to promote flourishing growth. Most moved with slow, measured fashion, not in any seeming hurry. Moving amongst them, one stood out, a man in heavy gray cloak and sturdy gray clothes of the kind a traveller might make, though obviously a dedicate because of the emblem of Grumand he had tattooed over his face. Passive eyes wandered the temple in faint curiosity, occasionally focusing on a stalagmite as he stopped to give an acolyte a few words of encouragement or advice about how to best grow a stalagmite and achieve a pleasing array of mineral-caused colours over its surface.It was like stepping onto another plane, Mel thought--from the busy, bright streets of Naseria's capitol into the hushed murmuring of slow water on cool stone, the quiet prayers and infintely patient movements of Grumand's faithful. Of course, she had heard plenty on the subject of Grumand from her teachers of theology in Carthagia, just as she had heard about Immar, Naskha and others. Only now she was discovering them in their own temples, with their truly faithful. There was more to Grumand than lumpy, inert granite after all. For Mel discovering religions was like opening a chest full of gnome-made toys from Kerr, each brilliantly crafted and full of clever, wonderful surprises. Still, her blue heart held a special place for the trickster sorcerer Naskha and His tattooed Cerulean priests.Soothed by the geological patience of Grumand's temple, she once again found herself trying to make up for being sour by sugaring it over. "Of course, Sebastion, I trust you. I know you wouldn't do anything to put us in danger. It's just that he was making me nervous, the fire guy, and I--I think you should stick with us for now. It would be nice." This time she ended with a sweet, and really actually sincere, smile.Once within the coolness of the temple, Sebastion's shoulder relaxed a little, and the hunch left his back, even if the craggy eyebrows did still knot close together, almost hiding the deep blue eyes. Even then, within that sanctuary, she wouldn't leave it alone, and he realised he would have to say something to her... "Huron isn't Carthagia. You may have heard things about the Fire Mages, I don't know of, but I haven't. They seem no better nor worse than any other warlocks or witches to me. My father fought alongside them, probably, and I trust his judgement." Do I? What do I really know about those days? Where did he get this sword? Was he one of these 'Dracoverr'? He shook his head slighlty, looked at her and continued."You may have gone native now that we're here, but I'm not so sure. I've two job offers here, it seems: pander to some warlock noble's avarice, or look into the treachery threatening to undermine one of the long-term allies of my homeland? I'm not commited to either, yet, but I'd not mind learning a little more. Might be I take up the job hunting down the gnoll posted up on the walls outside when all's said and done. I'll try and do the right thing, and I'm glad you appreciate that, but I'll try and be sure I know what that is first."He couldn't, however, find anything to counter the assertion that it would be nice if he travelled with them. She was a witch, and a blue one at that, but he would feel strange without them now, they had been travelling together for so long.Though it probably would have been wiser to let it go, Melisande could not control her irritation, especially since she knew Sebastion's jibe was on the mark--they had not (she had not, in embarrassing fact) investigated Lord Ecurius any further than his handsome smile and lavish table spread before agreeing to the quest, and no one knew exactly what they were serving or whether it was 'right'. On the other hand, fire-spouting war mages who served aggressive military powers such as Carthagia certainly weren't the 'right' people to serve either, to her way of thinking.And who knew about the gnolls? They had massacred her countrymen before her eyes, and nearly finished her off as well, but if the crucified fleshtearer was what she thought it was, they had a good reason. Perhaps there were good gnolls and bad gnolls, just like people; but wasn't it better to reserve judgment until things were clear?What was galling was that she had not reserved judgment. She had plunged right in without a second thought, like the nitwit her mother always accused her of being. Yet Melisande trusted Lord Ecurius--he was a Naserian noble, a sorcerer and a Truth-Seeker. Not to mention that smile."First of all, he's not a warlock, he's a sorcerer. There's a difference. Second, the Truth-Seekers are not avaricious, they're curious. There's also a difference. Now I'm all for a little healthy skepticism, but certain things are evident from the start. I might as well make it clear to you right now: I don't know much about the Flame Guild, but I do know a bit about Carthagia, and if you choose 'learn a little more' about that man and his quest it's without me."Sebastion was about to snap back at her as she turned to stalk away, nose in the air like the spoilt princess she obviously thought she was, when common sense stayed his mouth. I see, he can be 'curious, not avaricious', but I can't. If he's curious, why doesn't he go look? Avarice wants someone to bring it to you.... He thought, hard, at her departing back, as he looked around the temple. It wouldn't do to shout in here, and anyway he wasn't prepared to argue with her about the nature of warlocks and wizards and sorcerors and what the differences might be. Chances are if he tried to explain light infantry and skirmishers to her she'd be lost, so fair seemed fair.He'd heard the stories, of course, about the Carthagian warmongers, and the Flame Guild, but then he'd also heard tales about the Huron, and he knew his father would never have been a part of such things... would he? Preconceptions would get him nowhere, he realised - feeling a little guilty about considering whether to include his impressions of his father in that bracket - and if he wanted to know what the Fire Genasi truly wanted he would have to go and hear the man's claims.Without Melisande, it appeared, he realised, as he trailed his hand over a nearby stalactite gently. He didn't understand why that bothered him.....Sebastion's silence among the gentle dripping of stalagtites rang loud and clear in Mel's ears. Too late, she realized he probably could not care less whether she intended to accompany him on his mercenary quests, and might even be enjoying the irony of relief at her promised absence.It was then that something her mother had said--which Mel had ignored at the time--came to mind. The Carthagian minerologist's strong fingers had been firmly braiding her daughter's blue hair, pulling it back from her temples and knotting it for the voyage, while her mouth went on loosing a steady stream of imperatives at the girl, who kept patting her toad nervously."...And don't let being a sorceress in Naseria go to your head. The only thing worse than a nitwit is a snotty nitwit. Don't do any kind of magic until you're over the border and even then, keep it discreet. And don't talk to strange men."It was at least the tenth time she'd said that. Mel had a strong recollection of having rolled her eyes, something she only dared when her back was turned to her mother. (She was sure there was a great deal a Reduce spell could do to quell the opportunistic lusts of bandits and brigands; that wasn't what was worrying her.) Amusingly, however, she had obeyed that particular injunction, associating almost exclusively with strange women; the only man among them was much more normal even than herself, and so it hardly seemed fair to call him a 'strange man'.As for the rest, well, she could only admit she had let herself slip. For a moment she thought she sensed Pierre being smug, and gave him a not ungentle pinch in his pocket. Luckily in the semi-darkness of the Temple of Grumand the deep blue flush in her cheeks would not be too visible.Once inside, Burl was astonished at the scene. The entire temple gave the impression of a underground cavern. The multicolored stalagmites and stalactites were awe inspiring. Remembering back to the trip on the boat, he assumed that the pumps were a thaumineered item such as the one that had propelled them up river. Slowly moving around the two metal monsters, Burl allowed Spike to slip his small head and front legs out of his home, Well Spike, what do you think of this? I am becoming more interested in these contraptions. I only wish we had more time to make detailed drawings and notes. We should probably go find the others. What do you want to bet that Wyshira has found her way into these waters.While the stuffy, stale air of the wizard's guild had weighed heavily on her, here the sharp scent of earth and stone lifted Wyshira's spirits. This place reminded her of the secret grottos she'd explored at home in the mountains.And what a discovery! They were using water to nurture and grow beautiful rock formations. The steady drip and trickle that echoed all around her was like music, and she felt herself calmed after the tension of encountering the Fire-kin. She couldn't resist dipping her fingers in a pool of milky, mineral laden water.She let Cord lead the way, but kept one hand on his elbow in case she needed to guide him around some obstacle. As always, he needed little guidance; he seemed to sense things around him as well as, or better, than she could see them. She bowed respectfully to the brown-robed clerics as she met them, then she noticed the one robed in gray. She guessed he was the high priest, and whispered a description of him to Cord.As Cord stepped into the temple, he found himself stumbling for the first time in months, possibly years. Wyshira gently held his arm, lifting him to his feet once again. The familiar surroundings, assailing his mind with memories of home and the monastery, had caught him off balance. Cord had not expected to be transported decades back in time to the dwarven caves beneath the Sarokean surface.The disciple of the sea and the patron of the earth leaned on one another for support as they wandered among pools of gathering water and columns of wrought stalagmites with undisguised awe. He steered her away from the towers of calcified rock as he sensed them drawing nearer; Wyshira guided him around the shallow ponds if he approached to closely. For several moments, the pair allowed themselves to relax in the comfort of stone and water.The soft, deep murmurings within the temple-cavern echoed off hewn walls. Cord recognized the litanies, taught within the Grummand monastery, and was surprised to hear the voices of dwarves, as well. He had not heard the voice of his kin in years. His latest wanderings had brought him deeper into human lands, and now he found that he had sorely missed the accompaniment of those like-minded. He was about to approach one of the few when Wyshira leaned to one side, and began to describe one that could only be the local priest, administering to the acolytes. He let her descriptions of gray robes and tattoos pass: color and art held little meaning for him. But by connecting his demeanor to the form wandering from one to another within the temple, he agreed with her conclusion. Cord began to approach the man.Perhaps such a one with close ties with Grummand might also sense the corruption with the earth. Perhaps he has a better understanding on my own uneasiness. Still holding onto Wyshira, he turned to face her, nodding in the direction of the priest. "I have a question to ask him," he said softly. "Would you like to join me?"Cord approached silently and waited for the elder priest to finish his advice before speaking. He dipped his head toward the priest and enacted the traditional gestures of a meeting between two Grummand patrons. It included deliberate, slow movements of the hands and head, bringing forth visions of stalwart mountains and rolling hills. In a moment, the greeting was over."I am called Cord," he said, introducing himself. "I have traveled over much of the Drakkath recently, and have felt a growing uneasiness. It has waxed and waned these past months, and I am afraid that it will soon strengthen again. I seem to feel a similar sense when contacting Grummand, though I am not one of his chosen clerics, but a recluse, wandering monk. Perhaps you could enlighten one such as I?"The gray-robed man turned from the rock formation he was examining to Cord, a curious and kindly expression on his face as he greeted him. "Good day, master Cord. I am Unyielding One Agarth, myself recently arrived at this temple; I have travelled from the caverns of Carthagia, and am on my way to a conclave of my order in the Sarokean mountains." Now that those with sight looked closer, past the facial tattoo, this man did have a Carthagian cast to his face. "We meet to discuss this very problem you speak of.""You are blind, yes? Yet you move as if you had sight... Perhaps it is because you are of the faithful and with the loss of your sight your other senses have strengthened, and with your dwarven lineage too, perhaps that is why you sense what we do." He sighed. "I wish I could grant you the enlightenment you seek. We believe there to be some source of corruption in the Drakkath, something of a nature we do not know, and the Unyielding Ones hope in our conclave to find some answers. There are many... troubling rumours I have heard. We have started to receive reports from the dwarfs who once again venture into the ruins of their old domains, about great numbers of beasts coagulating beneath the surface of the world like bile in the arteries of the earth. Perhaps it is nothing, but perhaps it is more than nothing... we cannot yet know.""The beasts are gathering upon the surface, as well, Unyielding One," Cord said, bowing in homage to the cleric. "Just recently, the Solanthar Templars turned away an encroaching werewolf coven in Akbar. The stench of the corruption had nearly overwhelmed my senses, but faded after the menace was defeated. I knew, however, that the single lycanthrope pack could not be responsible for the sense of wrongness permeating the entire Drakkath region. It remained too strong, too enveloping . . ." his voice trailed as he recalled the nauseous feeling of only a few weeks ago, and the smallest hint of it yet remaining.Clasping one hand tightly, the pressure returning him to the present, Cord returned his attention to the priest. "I once called the Sarokean's my home," he said, almost wistfully, "and I wish to do all that I may to rid the land of this unseen threat. I have experienced the corruption firsthand, in one instance. Perhaps I may be of some help to this conclave."The priest nodded. "Indeed, no lone werewolf pack would cause such a malaise of the earth as this. As for your offer of help... If you come to the conclave to reiterate that, then perhaps the Unyielding Ones shall take you up on it. The official time of the conclave is in two months, and since it will be taking place in the Cathedral of Stone doubtless many normal clergy of Grumand will attend as well. " He snorted. "No doubt the priests will be using it as an opportunity for the forging of new alliances and other such church politiking. If you do choose to attend, your presence will not be turned away."Approaching Cord and the 'Unyielding One' Melisande pretended to take an interest in their conversation--anything to soothe the burning impression of Sebastion's mockery behind her back. After a few moments she did a sort of mental double-take and interjected suddenly, "The caverns of Carthagia? I didn't know there were--oh, excuse me, did I interrupt?--I didn't know there were conclaves of Grumand in Carthagia. The clergy of Toran wouldn't hold with it. Not that it upsets me. I'm just intrigued. Who else lives within the mountains that the Carthagians don't know about?"At Melisandes surprised exclamation, the man's eyes twinkled with slight mischief. "Oh, the Toranites know we are there, but what are they going to do about it? Carthagia is riddled with mines, and the miners prefer to have a Grumandic blessing on the place before they start work to ward of cave-ins and suchlike; and, well, when the Toranites complain about us, we make sure that cave-ins do happen - such is well within our power. For the most part, they leave us well alone.""And as for what else lies beneath Carthagia, all I can say is - a great deal. Subterranean tribes of creatures that never see the light, and strange ruins which we assume are the remnants of the civilisation that once inhabited Carthagia, though it was gone already when Toran led us there. Discontents and brigands, all sorts of manners of beasts and abberations; some from the Manipulator labs and others created by the chemical waste the labs pump out into the earth."...And that's not all, Melisande added mentally as the Unyielding One inventoried assorted horrors lying under the mountains of her homeland. There are also aasimar--  This thought was cut short by the sudden realization that she did not actually know that that was what her father had been. Maybe she was just a freak after all. The dark color of humiliation left her cheeks, leaving her pale with something worse.Not particularly wanting anyone to discover that she had been conceived in a Carthagian biohazard waste dump, she just nodded to the priest, swallowed hard, and tried to think about something else.Abruptly she turned to the other oddly-hued woman in her entourage, perhaps seeking solace in companionship. "What about you, Wyshira? Are you going to the temple of Ishrak after this? I'd love to come along and learn more about it."Wyshira had been listening to Cord's conversation with Agarth, the Unyeilding One, with half her attention, and watching Burl examine the thaumineered pumps at the back of the chamber with the other half. Her ears perked up when Melisande mentioned the Toranites, but she said nothing.Then the talkative blue girl asked if she was going to the Temple of Ishrak next. The soft light reflecting off a still pool sent ghostly ripples udulating over the surface of the low ceiling and the faces of the two young women. Wyshira smiled."Would you really like to learn more about the Storm Lady? The truth is, I've visited few of her Temples myself. I was raised in a small shrine in the mountains. I served there, with my mother and my sister, until just recently really. In comparison, the Temples I've seen in my travels have been magnificent!"Wyshira turned and gave the Unyielding One a respectful nod, then waited to see if Cord was ready to go on.Lost in thought and study of the thaumineered pumps, Burl almost missed seeing the others readying themselves to leave. Taking a quick last look and making sure he hadn’t left anything behind, Burl hurried to join the others as they departed for the Temple of Ishrak.Cord nodded silently in response, memorizing the details of time and location of the Unyielding Ones' conclave. If his experience with the werewolves was unique, his presence might prove useful at the meeting. If it was not unique, perhaps he could learn more of the "malaise," as the cleric called the cancer Cord sensed deep in the earth.As the Unyielding One turned to his duty, Cord nodded to Wyshira, motioning to show that he was ready. "This place," he said, breathing deeply as they wound through the stalactites toward the entrance, "is like returning to the womb. It has been too long since I have visited Grumand in his home."He wondered if Wyshira's reaction to her patron diety would be the same as his own. "Let us visit Ishrak, as well," he said, holding out his arm as they left the temple.Sebastion began to feel somewhat out of place, stood beside the stalactite wondering why anyone would want to be here. The place was cramped and damp, the constant dripping of water irritated. Stepping closer to the others he sought to drown out the sounds with conversation, arriving in time to hear about the various 'guests' living in - and beneath - Carthagia.Are you going to the temple of Ishrak after this? I'd love to come along and learn more about it. The question wasn't directed at him, but he felt himself tensing at the call, wondering what this 'temple' would be like.More temples? How did I get caught up with all these God-botherers? That does it... I'm going to check out this Flame-Guildsman later. At least one of us will have gained something useful from the day..."Slipping into place at the rear of the group - where he could see attacks from the front, and was first in line for attacks from the rear - Sebastion followed watchfully as they set off to the next God-botherers complex, an expression of forced patience on his face.</blockquote>

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