Garim feels a flash of irritation. Aroden is not dead. I saw Albar cast his spell. This is hardly a time of joyousness, what is Genedair about. What was this old priest about to say...
"My apologies, Master Genedaire, but I do not have a perfect memory."
The tiefling lowers his head in much the same way he had earlier, keeping his offensive gaze from bothering anything as he pulls his hands together thoughtfully.
"Perhaps Laya or Zuran have a better account."
Laya smiles when Ofelio mentions her name. "'I saw a vision,' he said. Something about humanity bound in slavery for all time, and that it must not come to pass. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There is an ancient evil in there. He pointed at the Starstone Cathedral. He said that it seeks to bind us all and must be stopped. 'I saw a key,' he went on. The first step is that we must redeem the Inheritor's cloak. 'Take this!'" She thrusts out her hand, but unlike Tolion's, hers is empty. She pauses in her speech momentarily. "That's when he handed his holy symbol to Garim."
"Either fate, or a prophecy from Aroden, has given you an impossible task, or it has made an impossible task possible. What do you know about the Inheritor's Cloak?"
Zuran, eats a piece of bread. Choosing to listening for the most part. At Ofelio's mention of him he looks up and speaks briefly, "If it is truly evil that Aroden return, we must do our part to prevent it. But how does one stop a God? Is this Inheritor's cloak the key? For I know nothing of this artifact."
AFter speaking, his eyes focus back on his bread. His mind races as he review the experience in seeing the new God rise, and why he was not given a gift of heat less fire.
"Now, now, nobody said anything about Aroden's return being the evil we must stop." Ofelio responds, taking in a deep breath. "Actually, the threat is vague as, well, the lines between the sky and sea on a foggy day. As for the cloak... I really don't know anything. Only that mentioning it upsets people."
"It's not that it upsets people. I'm sorry if that's the impression I gave you," Valla says. "The Cloak has long been sought by Chelish treasure hunters for hundreds of years, and if word gets out that it may be close to being found..."
She stops suddenly as Genedair raises a hand.
Genedair pulls himself to as erect a position as his feeble frame will allow.
"If you'll bear with me, perhaps a history lesson will be beneficial for all, and help you understand why all this talk of the Inheritor's Cloak has us so on edge."
”One of the first tests of anyone wishing to enter the Cathedral for the purpose of taking the Test of the Starstone is to cross the chasm without using one of the three, I guess now four, bridges. Any means is acceptable, from using flying magic or a flying mount, one disciple of Irori simply leapt the chasm with a monumental act of physical prowess, though it would seem his bones lie somewhere within the Cathedral’s catacombs. When Iomedae was to cross, she flung out her cloak, a simple wool garment bearing no enchantment of any kind, and her faith in Aroden caused it to stretch out to connect both sides and harden into steel. Once she had crossed, it turned back into a simple cloak once again, though it remained infused with divine power, becoming what many sages would deem a ‘minor artefact’. After her ascension, it was found, discarded on her new bridge, as if it had dropped off her shoulders. Those that were to become her first faithful took it into their possession, and brought it here, to what would become the Seventh Church, as a holy relic.”
”Years of study by our scholars determined its powers. First, it simply provided the wearer some minor protection from magic and other harm. Secondly, it retained its ability to stretch out and fashion a bridge. Tests performed on it showed that it could reach as far as three hundred feet. Both of these powers worked for the faithful, and anyone else who, in his heart, shared Iomedae’s goals of honour and justice. Finally, its greatest power was that, if it were placed over the body of a fallen knight of Iomedae, no matter how or how long ago that knight had died, it would revive him, restoring his body, but only so long as he wore the cloak.”
Genedair pauses to wet his throat with a sip of wine. He then continues.
”The Seventh Church protected and venerated that artefact for years, until the Chelish Siege of Absalom of 4137 AR. While the city walls held off the invading armies and great siege engines, Chelish strike forces used magic to penetrate the city to cause mischief and acts of sabotage. One of those teams penetrated the Seventh Church. A great battle was fought, but the majority of the Iomedaean forces were on the wall, and the Chelaxians were victorious. They stole the Cloak, along with other minor items of power.”
”It was assumed for the longest time that the Chelaxians had returned with their army to Cheliax, but agents of Iomedae searched Cheliax in secret for almost a hundred years, looking for it. They found no record of it even being brought to Cheliax. So for another hundred years, we searched the island of Kortos, thinking that perhaps they had failed to escape with their prize, but again, we found no trace.”
”There remained but one possibility: the Chelish Citadel. Do you know of it? One of the great siege engines, built so long ago for the Siege, but somehow magically sealed beyond all mortal attempts to penetrate its interior. Scrying does not function, teleportation is blocked, and stone shaping magic fails to function. Nobody knows how it happened, or what lies inside. It has been the belief of the Seventh Church for the last hundred years or so that the Cloak lies within, for what besides an artefact of a goddess could block mortal magic so?”
”If it is true, I don’t know how you could gain entrance after so many others have failed, but Albar Tolion was a great man, and he entrusted you with his vision. Perhaps he saw something in it that suggested you would prevail. Even without considering Albar's dire predictions of disaster, if you would be willing to take this on, the Church of Iomedae would reward you handsomely for retrieving such a precious artefact.”
Watching the man Garim is relieved that his initial impression of Genedair's reason for joyousness was misplaced. I'm growing paranoid I guess.
Garim shakes his head almost imperceptibly at Zuran's words. Would think an elf would listen better than that. Though he was paying more attention to Masoumi than anything else.
He listens attentively as Genedair as he recounts the history of the cloak.
"I'm but a simple blacksmiths apprentice." Garim sighs, "Well not even that presently. I don't know how I might aid in this search for the inheritor's cloak if the renowned men and women of our time have been unable to gain entry to the citadel." He shrugs, "But if I can be of aid, I will give it."
"The key here perhaps is faith. Faith to be able to use the cloak. Faith in Imoedae. While I am not one of her followers, I respect the example that her followers provide. Maybe this trial of faith is something we all need. I will offer my services. i'm merely a huntsman, but it has its uses out in the wild."
"A trial of faith...," Ofelio echoes, staring off into space. "Perhaps, but I see more the urgency." He drums his left hand on the table. "And I have already alerted my master to this chapter. I would not ignore Father Tolion's warning."
Genedair and Valla both seem to relax now that you've agreed to the quest.
"Obviously," Genedair says, "I don't have to caution you to be careful. If you do somehow manage to gain entrance to the Citadel, even the pre-Thrune Chelish were renowned for their devious traps, and the Citadel was their flagship tower, a prototype with magical propulsion. Also, there was an earthquake centred in the Cairnlands last week. Some of the other relic siege towers may have been structurally compromised."
"Also, brigands and thieves have been known to set up residence in some of the abandoned towers."
Genedair beckons over one of his attendants, and sends him off running with a quick whisper.
"While you are retrieving the Cloak, I shall turn to my books, and research any possible connections between the Cloak and the Cathedral, beyond the obvious, and what Albar may have meant by some evil within the Cathedral. Connections between the Cloak and Aroden would probably be a good thing to look for as well. Hopefully, by the time you return with the Cloak, I'll have some idea of what it is supposed to be used for."
Genedair's attendant soon returns with a clinking cloth sack and hands it to Ofelio.
"Some potions of cure light wounds," Genedair says, "to aid you in your quest. Hopefully, you will have no need of them."
"Oh! I'd love to take a look at your books," Laya starts, then stops suddenly. "Although that would be rather difficult since I'm going to the citadel. Oh well. Another time perhaps."
She peers into the sack Genedair brings them and lifts out one of the bottles. She unstoppers it and sniffs it. "I've never smelled one of these before," she says and puts the stopper back in. "It's a far less interesting smell than I expected. For some reason, I always figured they'd smell like strawberries." She starts passing out the potions to everyone.
Garim chuckles quietly to himself at Laya's comments, finding her exuberant personality infectious.
"Strawberries? Oh no, I always figured these would smell of peaches."
Clearly Garim had never even considered that potions might have a smell at all, let alone what that smell might be.
Garim was uneasy about this upcoming journey, yet surely whatever had led him to the Starstone Cathedral this morning to witness the passing of Albar Tolion had been for the purpose of him going in this journey. He could it... it felt right.
He suddenly speaks up, a thought occurring to him. "Do you have any books on the teachings of Aroden?"
Garim heads to the blacksmith shop he'd spent the last few years of his waking life at, bent over the bellows, or workbenches, as Master Beden had directed.
Finding the blacksmith at work as expected he waits patiently for the man to finish his current task of pounding away, shaping a horseshoe on the soot blackened forge.
"Master Beden," Garim struggles to look the man straight in the eye. "I stopped by to let you know I am leaving Absalom for a time. I... there is... I must take care of something." he stammers.
"Peaches?" Laya shakes her head. "No, they're not even like peaches I'm afraid. More like..." She takes the stopper out of one of the bottles and sniffs again, wrinkling her nose slightly. "More like swamp water. Rather unpleasant, actually. Hopefully, they don't taste so bad. But as long as they work..." She places the stopper back on the bottle and then carefully places her three bottles into her scrip.
Valla looks at Garim and blinks. "Is that a joke?" she asks.
Clearly seeing that it isn't, she blinks again. "When it became clear that Aroden had died, much of His church's infrastructure joined with the church of Iomedae. Most of its libraries came under our control. In which teachings exactly were you interested?"
"I've never been one much for the divine, but this morning has given me new perspective and things to consider. I should like to learn the basic tenents of Aroden's teachings."
"We'll, I can pull a few texts for you to read when you get back, but the short version is that while Erastil is concerned with community, Aroden was concerned with civilization, specifically humans, which he viewed as the epitome of mortal species, specifically human ingenuity and adaptability. He opposed all forces that would destroy a civilization, such as crime and insurrection. Since his death, Aroden has been romanticized quite a bit, painted as the ultimate champion of good, but that wasn't really accurate. Some of the crackdowns by his clergy on elements of organized crime in Westcrown bordered on the barbaric, and his followers frequently attempted genocide against all bestial races like orcs and goblins, not a bad thing in itself if course, but their methods sometimes would make the Hellknight Order of the Rack wet themselves."
"I suppose the church of Iomedae has been largely responsible for that rewrite."
Zuran shakes his head as the other's talk about the taste of the potions. Strawberries ... Peaches. What difference does it make as long as it works.
He simply listens to the theological breakdown of each of the gods before speaking up. I wonder, what role the new god Masoumi will take. Will the gods have a power struggle with his inclusion?
He was not a theology scholar as it appeared Valla would have them believe of her. He didn't avoid the topic, but all too often people speak of it in such certainties like they have some inside information that no one else was 'blessed' with.
"That's up to Masoumi, I suppose. If he chooses to challenge the status quo or impeach another god's portfolio, there could be trouble. He was a priest of Iomedae in his mortal life, so I can't imagine his interests will stray too far from Hers. He was also from Rahadoum, and was a secret champion for faith there for many years. I imagine he will try to build his church there."
"If the connection to Aroden is more than a coincidence, in many ways, Rahadoum is the paragon of Aroden's ideals, so perhaps Masoumi will choose to take up Aroden's portfolio."
"Mother's always tasted like pine needles but smelled of soap... Though her favored base is what she calls 'pure mud'. Wonder if she's still using that, wherever she is." Ofelio intones, bowing in thanks to Valla and Genedaire for the potions.
"Your aid is highly appreciated, Father, Valla."
Ofelio places his potions in his bag.
"I did not know Masoumi is one of your brethren. Perhaps my fears are unfounded... As long as he does not promote... slaughter, as you suggested could be a concern with Aroden's following."
Master Beden notices Garim arrive, and the former blacksmith's apprentice can see the man's shoulders tense, the stiffness transfering into his strokes with the hammer. That's probably not going to be Master Beden's finest horseshoe ever. Eventually, he gives up on the thing and turns to face Garim. He listens with poorly-concealed relief on his face as Garim tells him that he's leaving town, and makes a few half-hearted appeals for Garim to stay. In the end, though, he's quite eager to hand over whatever small personal belongings Garim might have left behind and see him to the door.
"Well, I suppose we should get started," Laya says, clapping her hands together. "No better time than the present." She checks that her scrip is done up tight and turns to leave. Then she stops suddenly.
"Oh!" she says, slapping her forehead. "What about Father Tolion's funeral? I didn't really know him, but I feel I should attend that, just out of respect. Should we wait until after the funeral to leave, or do you think there'll be time to go there and back before the funeral? Assuming we come back, that is. Ultimate evil and all that. Probably means we stand a fair chance of never being seen again. Makes you wonder if we're being foolhardy. Quite possibly. Anyway, the funeral. When will it be?"
"Probably not for several days," Genedair says. "The heads of many churches will want to attend also. Assuming you come back," he says with a nod to Laya, "you should have plenty of time."
Ofelio waits for the answer to Laya's question while trying to remember where in the chapel he was sleeping in he left his bedroll.
"Well, if we make it, I think... I think we should come back."
The man stands up and looks to Valla meaningfully.
"Shall I suggest that you give us up for dead after one week, milady? If we do not reach you, I mean... Or do you think longer?"
"A week? Even if some evil still haunts the rooms of the Chelish Citadel, I should start to worry after a couple days. It may be that you will encounter resistance and need to hole up somewhere in the Citadel to rest, but if it truly takes a week...Obviously, you need to be safe, and not try to rush through things you may be I'll equipped to handle."
"I will be very surprised if you do not come back. Clearly you are fated to this task somehow. I cannot believe you were fated for the task only to die from it."
Garim, feeling the discomfort lamely says in parting, "Take care of your family Master Beden."
"Yes please, I should like to read some of the texts."
Cheery lot this, though I am as somber as any of them I suppose.
In almost a chivalrous tone, "Let us head out into the lone dreary world. And may the gods favor us all.
Genedair rises (or rather, his attendants lift him up), and he bids you good luck and gods' speed. Valla escorts you back to the main entrance.
As you say your good-byes to Valla, you see a halfling in full plate stride in through the main doors of the Church. This halfling is unremarkable, save for his distinguished noble features, the wearing of brightly-polished full plate emblazoned with the holy symbol of Iomedae, and the blood-red crest across his cloak. He stops at the sight of you, quickly masking surprise, before he approaches.
”A good morning to you. May the Inheritor bless you, this fine day. I am Sir Rollynd Thrush, a Knight of Ozem.”
Ofelio looks almost ashamed for presuming failure is possible when Valla reminds him of the whole destiny thing. He is unsure if that is considered a manifestation of ugliness of character or not, not having studied dogma as religiously as he should have... but he hasn't fallen, so it must be a minor transgression, at best.
"Gods be with us, indeed." he agrees with Zuran, forcing a pointy, unsettling smile.
He also seems reluctant to part with Valla so quickly, though he has no real questions for her, he wants to come up with one. The halfling is a welcome distraction, though he obviously has no idea who the knight is.
"Well met, Sir Thrush. May we be of service?"
Garim listens quietly, perfectly content to let someone else speak among all these warriors of righteousness. These are people he should be crafting blades or armor for, not socializing with.
"Service?" the small knight asks. "Uh, no, thanks. Not at the moment. Perhaps in the future, we may help each other. A good day to you."
Sir Rollynd offers a knightly salute and quickly moves past you into the church.
Laya watches the knight wander off and shrugs. "Well, that was a little strange. Introduces himself, then wanders off before we can introduce ourselves. Oh well. Time to be off, I think."
You gather your supplies. Garim takes a side trip to his former master's shop, while others make their way back to wherever they have been living the past while to collect their things, and you meet up at the Sally Gate, ready to head out into the rough wilds of the Cairnlands.
A wide field of shattered weapons, barrow mounds, and mass graves surrounds the city of Absalom, a vast plain known as the Cairnlands. Rising from the war-torn earth like the grasping arms of the dead are countless siege castles, towers, and fortresses constructed over the millennia by would-be warlords who tried to take the great city and inevitably failed. Like forgotten monuments to failed conquerors, the siege castles of Absalom beckon the brave, the fearless, and the foolish with the promise of adventure and untold treasures, ever ready to create heroes or to entomb the fallen.
Among many of the ruined towers close to the city, farmers have set up their homesteads, some even using the structures to house animals, or even themselves. You pass several farmers driving camels ahead of their plows, and even one farmer further out with a yoke of axe beaks.
Eventually, though, you move past the lands farmers consider safe to work, and all that lie along the road is desolation. Occasionally, you think you spot a face hiding among the ruins or shrubbery, watching you pass by, though if you did, they evidentally consider your group too heavily armed to risk tangling with. After an hour, the road turns away from your destination and you begin cutting across country.
You estimate that you've traveled another hour before finding a good place to stop for lunch, and are unmolested as you enjoy a quick repast and cup of tea, before continuing on, pushing through a small copse of trees.
As you clear the trees, you see three ancient siege towers, each approximately fifteen-feet high. Vines and other growth cover most of their surface. From their direction, you hear the sound of canine barking and growling, and a man’s terrified voice calling for help.
Ofelio seems almost giddy once he gets his equipment in order (reluctant as he is to leave the cathedral before taking in all of the art within), and trembles as he walks along with the group, his ears pricking about like those of an animal, though he still walks a bit further away from Garim than anyone else, always ensuring that there is at least a meter between himself and the oracle... a gesture of what he believes to be respecting the man's wishes rather than an intentional spurning.
"I realize I know next to nothing about any one of you, you know... Please don't mistake my not asking before as not caring. It's just a lot, you know, taking in all of this at once. Erm..."
The paladin turns to Laya, his countenance as unsettling as ever.
"You seem rather confident. Have you quested before?
When Garim meets up with the others at the Sally Gate he is now wearing a set of scale mail armor and has a light steel shield strapped across his back over the top of a backpack that looks to be more empty than full.
The armor is poorly made, some of the scales not tightly synched in where they should be, and the size of it being a little to large for Garim's shoulders. The bottom of the metal coat is uneven along the bottom.
Garim's expression is gloomy at first, though he brightens a bit after they've been walking for a short time. He hums softly to himself while walking, not noticing Ofelio's keeping distance from him.
A couple of times he reaches down to pick up a rock or some other item off the ground to occupy his hands, but he always stops himself and straightens himself with slow deliberation before continuing to walk on.
At the cry for help from up ahead Garim retrieves a sling from where it hangs at his belt.
Due north of you, around the D or E rows.
"Confidence can be a thing of beauty; it bolstered us, I'd imagine." Ofelio responds, halting so as to not get too far ahead from the party's slowest member. "But I guess we're all on an even playing field, unless Master Hillstrider is holding out on us. So to answer your question, the closest thing I've done to questing was searching for medicinal ingredients and fighting off a few bandits."
He holds out his hand to beckon the halfling forward. It would not do to be left behind.
"How are you with a blade, then?"
Ofelio immediately breaks into a sprint towards the lowest point in the wall, which he surveys in order to see if there are handholds.
Until the man's cry for help is audible, Laya doesn't seem to be paying much attention, gazing about at the trees and the sky, sometimes even facing completely the opposite direction and walking backwards. As soon as the she hears the cry, however, her head immediately snaps in the direction of the sound. As Ofelio sprints forward, she calls out, "Ofelio! Don't rush ahead!"
With a sigh, she casts message, so she can keep in contact with the rest of the group even if they get too far ahead of her due to her slower speed.
Ofelio gives a quick, boisterous laugh, his larger eye unfocusing.
"Ah. So you'll be the brains, then! Good thing, too. I've always depended on the faculties of geniuses, myself."
Something about the way he says this indicates that he may be warning Laya that he is, in fact, a bit dense.
"Do you use magic?"
Garim listens as the halfing and tiefling talk. There is more to this tiefling than his outward appearance. Feeling a little ashamed at his initial reaction towards Ofelio he remains quiet.
Garim is caught off guard by Ofelio's rushing forward, but follows after 20 paces behind.
Zuran, knocks a feather, as he runs side by side of Garim.
"By no small amount of effort and diving providence." Ofelio responds automatically, his eyes refocusing in sharpness to land on the elf. His expression is impassive as he tries to distinguish curiosity from said sarcasm.
"And I am happy to report that the forces that 'make' paladins work beyond what I 'get'. Honestly, there's no accounting for taste, is there?"
The humor hurts a little bit, but it's unwise to leave elephants in chambers not designed for them. Especially if they fell and crushed innocent but sarcastic elves.
"-and I guess I ran away to do before my first exorcism, so I couldn't tell you how that would work out. Others weren't enthusiastic, though, and they were pretty bookish and wise, so I'm going to guess not well?"
"Hrrm. Well, before I forget, I will ask you what I have asked Laya. Have you experience with this whole questing business?"
Ofelio leads the way to the wall, with Garim and Zuran staying with him. Laya lags slightly, but catches up at the wall before Ofelio gets too far up. The wall is old and crumbling, and provides plenty of handholds; it's only ten feet high.
Getting to the top, Ofelio sees that there's another, lower wall just on the other side of this one. Beyond that, he sees the three siege towers, each facing inwards. Almost perfectly in the centre of the three, he sees a human man in rough, commoner's clothing on the ground being set upon by two mastiffs. The dogs have torn into the man quite badly, and he's covered in blood. The man flails helplessly at the dogs, trying to fend them off with his arm. As you watch, one of the dog eagerly sinks his teeth into the proffered limb.
Laya looks at the wall and looks to the side. Deciding it'll be quicker to go around, she moves to the left and around the edge of the wall.