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.