Prestidigitation was Wrathe's favourite spell. Hours innumerable had been wiled away with the two burgeoning spell casters engaged in play, throwing figmentary balls back and forth, temporarily dying each other colours across the spectrum, adding unusual experiences for the palate with magical additions to each other's food, et cetera.
Only their seemingly limitless imaginations restricted them.
Hearing the familiar "prest'os", a magical utterance that had become as familiar as his own name, his response is reflexive as he starts to cast his own spell, but wisely stops himself at the first syllable.
As a rule Wrathe was the one to push the boundaries, far preferring overt uses of his magics, while Ssilax was much more conservative, so this use of arcane spell magics in public was a complete shock.
Sidling up next to the future theurge he whispers, "Well played, a point to thee this day." Then even lower he adds, "Expect to awake with everything you own hued amaranth my friend."
Looking at the wall that surrounds the temple, Storm nods absently.
"I suppose I might tag along. The gardens here are not filled with natural flowers, but they have their own beauty. I'll wait for the lot of you there." The pretty elf nods at the guard. "I hope your word carries some weight, otherwise I would imagine getting in will be difficult. Magic users seem to be a secretive lot, and the church is no exception." Storm laughs quietly.
Positioning his holy symbol on the outside of his robe, Ssilax chuckles at Wrathe's comment, slightly muffled by his cowl. Glancing up the street at some people a few hundred feet away, the dragonkin turns and nods to his friends, and heads towards the robed guard.
Walking up to the robed and armored human, Ssilax bows in greeting, and begins to greet the temple guard. Before the dragonkin can get out a his first word, the guard snatches the small holy symbol. With a quick jerk of his arm the robe snaps and he holds the symbol. Looking at the robed and cowled Ssilax. The human boots him hard in the stomach sending the dragonkin sliding back in the street. Running over to the downed theurge, Dog whines, and then turns and looks at the guard, growling deep in his throat.
"You should be lucky I don't kill you leper, for wearing one of our symbols, even a poor imitation like this one," The guard sneers. There is a cracking sound as he breaks the wooden holy symbol and then toss the splintered remains into the gutter. The temple guard turns and looks at the rest of the youth's gathered. "Same with the rest of you beggars. I don't now how you made it this far into the Court, but you aren't getting in. Clear off."
Rage fuels intense concentration, which permits Wrathe to hold the thousands of minute details that make up a human being; he draws back his cowl revealing a human's features (Change Shape, Greater). Interceding, he places his thin body between Ssilax and the guard, his frame a fragile shield both from further attacks, reprisals, and most importantly to hamper any ability to see the truth of this "leper".
Grabbing the theurge's attention he offers commiseration with his eyes, as Ssilax was well aware of the despoilment that was Wrathe's entire existence before master Dainoth had taken him in. He smiles, to hopefully deflect some hurt and avoid the dragonkin risking his life in an act of reprisal, and offers the dragonkin a hand up, turning as he does so, so that his true identity is not revealed.
Leaning in he offers only to his friend, "One day... They had spoken enough for them both to understand that he believed that they would wield enough power to earn respect in due course.
Turning on his heel he looks the guard in the eye, wanting to emblazon this man's visage upon his mind, he states, "We were sent here to seek assistance.". It would probably be best to add the word 'sir', but the bile in his throat stopped him from speaking with such respect to a worm such as this.
He was seriously reconsidering allegiance to this specific deity.
This man deserves to see the feather wrapped around Dorian's knuckles, with shards of the shattered holy symbol between his fingers.
Argon's jaw drops as he sees his friend assaulted by the gatekeeper of his own deity's church.
His first instinct is to draw his weapons and attack the bastard, but that would no doubt get him killed, and the rest of them banned for life. His mind races, as he wonders what the Deva had in mind for them. Perhaps she had nothing in particular, and the teleport circle was the only or easiest way to get us all back topside in one piece. He starts to calm down. Then he thinks of Dorian.
Expecting Dorian might feel the same anger he does, he puts a hand on Dorian's shoulder and says "Let's think this through, okay?
He looks at the guard, and at the others, and says, "I think our best option right now is to go home and get help from 'dad'. I'm sure he must have some pull with this church. And he'll want to know where we are."
Daxniss barely manages to hide a snarl at the guards actions, not enjoying his hate so brashly demonstrated towards another. Even if that other being wasn't human, it was still somewhat annoying as it was an everyday occurrence for those that were born different. Daxniss didn't notice but her shadow behind her was starting to grow larger on the flagstones behind her, as if the stalker's touch was starting to feed on her anger.
Managing in a calm tone " Sir we were sent here with the hope that this temple could in fact be of assistance with getting rid of a babule of some kind. If you say that we can't enter or seek help from your church, then I suppose we shall just have to find a different church. "
Turning to Argon she whispers " If 'dad' cannot help us, then we shall seek out 'Uncle' and perhaps he might be of better assistance. " Daxniss turns back to the guard and bows keeping her eyes on the guard, trying to avoid the possibility of a sucker punch. Inwardly she does her best to memorize his face, and if one night on some dark alley her stumbles drunk he might be waylaid. Not this night or perhaps any time soon however one night fate might decide to a lesson would be in order.
|
Thunder peels back his cherubs face, revealing the monstrosity that is his astonishment! Tsunamis bow in the wake of his anger. Erupting hot ash speedily retreats in the furious flow of his fury!
Dorian smiles.
He nods--slightly--to Argon in acceptance. He follows the wise and patient! lead of his friends, shuffling off into the crowd.
Dorian watches from the crowd, peering about for any who take notice of the proceedings.
Accepting the hand up, Ssilax gets to his feet. Coughing wetly, he shakes his head "No" when Wrathe utters the words "One Day". Handing Dog's leash to Wrathe, the dragonkin looks at the gutter.
Ignoring the jeers of the human, the young theurge walks over to the broken symbol, giving the guard a wide berth. Picking up the broken wooden pieces, Ssilax turns to look at the human.
With a swift motion the dragonkin pulls off his hood, and lets his cowl slide down to his neck. With a short prayer to Nethys, Ssilax mends his broken holy symbol and puts it back around his neck. His scaled mask glows during the prayer, flaring in concert with the pulse emanating from the Temple.
"You are going to take us to see the head cleric, so we can complete our task given to us by a Deva" the dragonkin's voice is soft, his tone ice cold. "Then, you are going to explain why you saw fit to assault a Marked Theurge of Nethys."
Wrathe glances from Argon to Daxniss to Ssilax, and remains silent, shocked by the dragonkin's assertiveness.
The sneer that had grown root upon the humans face falls away as he stares at the dragonkin. Surprise is plain on the Nethys temple guard as he stares open mouthed at Ssilax. He points at the marking on the theurge 's scaled face, his mouth open and closing soundlessly. The guard clearly recognizes the holy symbol of his deity.
It takes a few moments to sink, but it becomes clear the guard's attitude has changed significantly. The human looks terrified of Ssilax. Or perhaps it is the birthmark he carries that terrifies the man so.
Bowing low at the waist, the guard begins to back up, sputtering and trying to form coherent words.
"Of..., of.. of course Holy Theurge, right away honored one. I have no right, but I humble beg for my life... Please, lord, I didn't know that it was you." the temple guard turns and quickly whispers the pass-phrase for the wards. The heavy stone door swings open silently.
The extremely nervous guards almost flees, sliding through the door as soon as there is enough space for him. Once the door fully opens, a faint shimmering mirror is seen.
Ssilax looks back at his friends, his maw dropped open in surprise. Closing his maw with a snap of his teeth, the dragonkin gathers his robe about him and passes through the open door walking into the mirror and vanishing from sight.
Storm looks at the group of young friends, surprise clear upon her face.
"Well, there's is something you don't see everyday," the druid says, accompanied by the musical sound of her laughter. Giving Wrathe's cheek a quick peck to distract him, Storm slips Dog's leash free from the apprentice's hand and the two follow after Ssilax. Raising her hand, she touches the surface of mirror. Then Dog barks and drags her through the shimmering mirror.
Argon is ready to go to the Puddles, when Ssilax shows his immense pluck, telling the guard off. Argon had actually considered trying something similar, but was reluctant because he didn't know how it would have been taken, either by the guard or by Ssilax.
He follows the others into the gate, taking in everything, and looking at the guard with a questioning expression. He tries not to look at the rearward part of Storm, too much.
Entering temples has made him uncomfortable ever since his bad experiences with priestesses and priests.
He expected to be rebuffed by Nethys himself, both due to the devilish taint and the foul orb he carries, but Wrathe follows suit anyway.
Daxniss let's out whistle of surprise at the turn of events, shoving her surprise to the side, she follows the others, offering a silent prayer to Tulis the God of slaves, the oppressed, the poor, to watch over the group.
Tulis wasn't the only deity that Daxniss had sent a prayer to however, in this city it felt right to to offer a prayer to him. Keeping her wits about her was more important while, the guardsman might be cowed other's could be taking notice of them and the last thing Daxniss wanted was to be caught surprised.
The all walk through the shimmering, mirror-like doorway with no issue. There is the faintest sense of resistance as you walk through, akin to walking through a giant soap bubble.
Walking through, Wrathe remembers that Nethys is centered upon magic. Good and evil are irrelevant sides to the God of Magic. The Deities insanity might have a little to do with that as well. As far as Wrathe knows, about the only thing that the The Church of Nethys will not deal with are the followers of the Destroyer of All Things. Even in his madness Nethys will not see the world destroyed.
Ssilax, Dog and Storm stand in the crosswalk. Directly ahead of them, about 60 feet away, is the Temple. At a glance down the right pathway, there is a clearing. Several robed figures are standing underneath a large glass circle, suspended 20 feet in the air by tethers of glowing force. To the left, the garden that storm mentioned can be seen. If looks like nothing they had seen before, and not because of magical crafting. Most of the plants look similar to something out of a tropical environment. Hints of glowing leaves seen and strange, bird-like sounds can be heard.
The guard that assaulted Ssilax is standing before a bald human, dressed in a suit of rather simple looking field plate. The only oddity about the armor is that it seems to be silent and doesn't encumber the shouting human in the least. The plated human is berating the guard, whose name was Jenson, but might soon becoming "Meat-Sack". Jensen who has been stripped of his blade and wands, hands are bound by a glowing rope. He stands there, wincing under the verbal lashing, wearing the look of a man who expects to be doomed.
As the commanding officer starts in on the man's family history and what mongrels the mated with to produce the guard, when the figure robbed in dark blue puts a slender hand on the shouting mans shoulder. Falling silent with a final glare at Jensen, the officer clearly has a great deal more he like to say.
"Greetings Marked One, my humblest apologies for the assault on your person at the front door," the robed figure says as she draws back the hood of her robe. The human was perhaps in her mid to late 20's, her brunette hair drawn back from her face by a simple clasp. Perched on her nose where a pair of finely crafted glasses. Well made, but of simple design, these half-lenses where clearly for reading. This young woman clearly spent a great deal of time in a library. Faint ink smudges on her fingertips could be glimpsed when she pushes her glasses back up. There is something faintly familiar about this young woman.
"The Diviners have receiving signs that you and your traveling companions would be arriving soon," her hazel eyes glance over the party members, a slight frown appears. "Was there not a "Elf cut of darkness" with you holy one? I certainly wouldn't think that to be Storm," the young woman waves in greeting to the druid, who returns the greeting. The two seem to know each over.
"Oh, my apologies once more, I forgot to introduce myself in all of the excitement. I am the Holy Mother's second, Penelope Makilista. She recently retired for the evening, so it will be a few minutes while she makes herself decent." The priestess smiles, looking a touch embarrassed. "The Holy Mother has seen a great many turning of the season, so it might take a little longer." Glancing about, it seems that greeting visiting dignitaries is not the priestess normal duties.
"Do you, or your companions have any questions? Would you care for some refreshments? I could offer a short tour of the gardens, or a tour of the new device that the astronomers created for viewing the heavens?"
Wrathe takes a step forward, his hand in his a pouch affixed to his belt, and removes the small crystal orb. The cloth that provides a meagre barrier between his flesh and the wet, inky looking blackness of its surface obscures most of its faint, floating, golden runes.
"I would entreat you to lead us to an altar where we can discharge our solemn duty to imprison this foul daemon for all eternity." In response to the question about Lilith's location he stares at the orb's twisting surface, "This creature murdered our friend, the elf, and I would like to bear the burden of being this close to it any longer."
Unsure how such words would be taken he quickly adds with an impish smile, "Afterward a glimpse of the heavens and some treats would sound lovely."
Argon tries to recall if he's seen Penelope before. Perhaps around town? Or Dainoth, she must know Dainoth, though Argon is loathe to mention his name here in case it is a mistake to do so.
Wrathe tells what is required, and then asks for the converse of what Argon had been thinking. "And I would like to have the tours. If there is time." This last is added quickly. He would love to see more glowing ropes, and other magical miracles, as well as devices of any kind.
Realizing he sounds so much like a child, he inwardly chides himself and makes to correct that. "Of course, the matter at hand is of much more importance by far. Our friend Lilith was killed by this demon and then it took over her body and pretended to be her!"
Again, like a child... Argon sighs.
Nodding to his friends, Ssilax looks at Penelope and bows. He feels like the young woman is familiar somehow, but can't place from where.
"After the orb is taken care of, we'll happily take a take a break to look at the heavens. And something to snack wouldn't be a bad idea. It's been a really long day." Ssilax says with a faint twitch of his muzzle. The young caster looks exhausted, but his eyes are sharp and aware.
Tearing her hazel eyes free from the black orb with a shudder, Priestess Makilista looks at the group once more. The woman seems genuinely impressed with the group of youths. There is warmth in her gaze, as she empathizes with the loss of a friend.
"Of course, the true banishment of a demon takes precedence over niceties," Penelope says with a faint smile. "Would you kindly follow me into the temple."
Leading the group into to the temple, the officer shoves Jensen forward after the group passes. The proceedings have gathered some interest as a number of people pick the scent of something interesting going on. There is a slight buzz of whispered conversation as the rumor mill starts cranking up to speed.
Storm mentions that she and Dog will be waiting in the gardens. The near full grown canine follows after the druid as if enthralled.
The massive doors easily 15 feet tall, following suit with the temples duality, swing outward silently as the priestess approaches. Walking them through the foyer of the temple, Penelope guides them through a hallway. The temple seems to be constructed of the same white marble and and black stone all the way through. The pathway they are taking to the main chamber is right down the center of the temple.
A final set of large door swing open for the priestess as she leads them into the altar room. There are rows of pews in both the light and dark sides of the chamber. The pews seems to have risen from the floor itself. Two altars sit in the far end of the chamber, easily 150 feet long, and perhaps 100 feet wide, the ceiling perhaps 30 feet above them.
They stop at the end of the pews, 20 feet before the pair of raised altars.
"Now, young man, if you'll relinquish the orb to the Bearer of the Mask so that he made place it on an alter," Penelope speaks in a formal tone.
Eyes a bit large, Ssilax nods to Wrathe and takes the orb, still using the cloth to transport it. Walking up to the alters, Ssilax stops and looks between the two. After what seems like a short eternity, the dragonkin walks forward and stops directly between the two alters,
Pulling the small sphere of liquid looking blackness out of the pouch, Ssilax raises Prison Orb high above his head. The gathered crowd doesn't have to wait long for Nethys to show interest.
Ssilax's face scales glow as he stands between the alters, each of the large carved holy stones glowing brightly as well. The dragonkin appears to be speaking, or chanting, but now sound can be heard from him. Mostly because several moments after the glowing starts, there is a deep tone that rings throughout the chamber. The sound is more felt then heard, sending a wave through your bones.
Rising into the air high above his head, the sound of cracking glass is heard. The orb suddenly shatters into nothingness, revealing the horrible, almost elven looking demon. Before it can even snarl or slobber at them, a dimensionless disc of black nothing rips itself into being from empty air.
The demon turns to look at the disc and tries in vain to flee from it. It finds itself unable to move. Screeching silently, the demon seems to stretch and bits of it break off and and are pulled in the event horizon of the disc of darkness. The demon is devoured by the disc in the span of a minute or two. It seems to be hours for those watching the demons total destruction.
With a pulse of magical energy almost visible to the naked eye, the disc vanishes. The glowing between the alters and Ssilax's birthmark continues for several more minutes. The dragonkin stands, muzzle towrds the heavens. With a suddenness that is jarring the light suddenly pulls itself back into the alters.
Lowering his head and blinking owlishly, Ssilax smiles at his friends. Walking back to his friends, the apprentice almost appears to be drunk.
"That.. was amazing! I think I need to sit down for a minute to catch my breath," The smile on the muzzled apprentice theurge is nothing sort of epic. His sapphire orbs seems distant and unfocused. "Why's the room doing that?" Ssilax says, right before his eyes roll back in his head and the dragonkin drops like he'd been poleaxed.
Penelope looks stunned by the proceedings, the priestess seemed csompletely fascinated by the destruction of the demon. You can almost she her mind replaying the event. When Ssilax faints, she looks over at the group.
"I think he should be fine, being a conduit is.., well, rather intense." Chanting a few bits of arcane, a disc of force appears underneath Ssilax and raises him up. The disc and reptialian cargo float about 3 feet off the ground. "Well, I believe we have refreshments to partake in after that. And I want to take a moment to record all this experience in my journal while you eat. This is not something one sees that often." Penelope smiles warmly at the group.
Dorian feels a bit relieved that the deity that Ssilax follows is one of neutral temperament. The half living monk wasn't eager to find out the effects of being bathed in positive divine energy. Nor negative energy for that matter. Either type might threaten to upset his carefully achieved balance. Or just cause his mortal frame a deal of harm.
Parting the 20 or so gathered of Nethys' faithful, she shoes them back to their tasks. Walking them to a side chamber, she opens the door to a comfortable looking waiting room. Rather surprisingly, the walls appear to be made from a wood, polished to a warm glow. A fire crackles in the hearth, and several large tapestries cover the walls. The window revels a edge of a clearing, part of the wall that encompasses the temple, and the night sky. It takes a moment to sink in that this must be some sort of an illusion, since no windows where seen entering the temple.
"If you'll excuse me for a few moments, I will see to your refreshments." Penelope smiles warmly at the group and bows slightly before leaving.
Ssilax snores of the floating disc and mumbles in his sleep.
Daxniss stays in the back, observing Ssilax being a 'Vessel' for his deity.
Deep within the cowls of his cloak, long since having dropped the effort require to maintain his human appearance, the Xthian shies away from the light, shielding his sensitive eyes and falling into the world of his mind.
Cold argent eyes reflect the sneer that curls Wrathe's lip as he witnesses daemon is drawn into the dimensionless disc of black nothingness. Banishment was too good for the malodorous daemon. He had thought it would be held in thrall for all eternity, if not destroyed, rather than sending it back to its ilk.
"How long has it been banished for? Is it able to attend every other plane but this on..." His words are cut short by the collapse of the dragonkin. Lunging forth he is unable to arrest Ssilax's fall, but is able to feel the steady lifebreath and heart pulse, suggestive that he still lives.
They had been through a lot since that first goblin burning day when Pharasma had thrust them together. It appeared he traveled with those marked as special, as Ssilax was apparently revered by these people, and Daxniss and Argon were both injured by the invisible Stalker and unique in having the ability to survive the poison of the creature's attack that had slaughtered 37 others. His eyes rest on Dorian momentarily as he wonders what is special about the young half-alive monk.
The burgeoning wizard tents his fingers and leans back against the wall in contemplative silence for a time before asking, "'Holy Theurge'? He is but learning. 'Marked One', 'Bearer of the Mask', I appreciate the respect you show my friend, but please explain these honourifics further." Rygear's healing, so many days ago, was specially-amplified and perhaps was a portent of what this moment was revealing. Apparently Nethys himself, via the dragonkin's mother, cared about Ssilax in the way that his friends did.
While pondering that day he remembers that Dainoth had asked him about a 'Deva from the higher planes that had been captured' when he had spoken of his previous encounter with the tengu Mordsine. The Deva and imp were apparently aware of the old man. Curiouser and curiouser, since it appeared the man was aware of the angel's existence they had encountered.
Perhaps the task, he had overheard from the roof 4 years prior, that the others had failed in accomplishing was the very same one they had just been set upon. Perhaps the ashes that they swirled up with their feet were the remains of the children sent to their deaths.
Wrathe folds his arms from 'neath his robes and decides that he will research absolutely everything that had been connected with the event that the Deva and imp had relayed. This "Fat One", the loose half-orc, would be one he would find to get his accounting.
Daxniss was still in shock that Ssilax had been acting a condiut to his god, Daxniss had never really seen or heard much in the way of religions. It wouldn't behoove one to stay completely ignorant to such things as fate is tricky woman, not as fickle as luck though. Shaking her head, Daxniss looks over at Wrathe and Ssilax pondering what other surprises that this day was going to have.
Briefly wondering that this day wasn't over yet, there was still going to be coming back to Dainoth's home and informing him of what happened. There was also the imp, Daxniss had an inkling that there was much more depths to Zafe, that no one could ever know.
Shaking herself from her navel gazing she, looks out at the rest of the room, looking for more enterance that can be seen, not trusting herself to start looking around a place of worship... or a bunch of wizards, if they had the same mindset as the temple guard did.
Penelope returns to the waiting room that she had left them in, the open door reveals a number of robed figures outside of the door. Eyes strain to catch a glimpse of what had happened. The event seemed to have woken up the temple, because there looked to be a lot more activity in the hallway.
Closing the door behind her, the noise vanishes, letting the silence cradle them once more. Walking over to the coffee table she places a napkin on it and mutters something arcane sounding. The napkin rapidly unfolds itself until a steaming pot of tea accompanied by cups. Various plates of snacks appear as if unfolds. A variety of sweets, meats, cheese and breads fill the table. A pair of white floating gloves appear next to the tea pot. The hands are crossed like an invisible servant waits for instructions.
"To answer your questions young man; the demon in question was not returned to the Abyss that spawned it, nor will it ever touch another plane of existence. The disc you saw destroys all that falls into it's radius. Matter, light, air, it devours time itself.[/b]" The priestess takes an offered cup with a muttered "thanks". "Regardless of a being mortality or immortality, the Hole destroys all that it consumes. Not even a deity could revive a being destroyed by it." The second to the Holy Mother smiles pleasantly. "We're all thankful that the disc wan't allowed to exist longer," the priestess visible shudders at the thought. "That might have been..., a problem."
Sliding an errant lock of hair back behind her ear, Penelope smiles at the youths as the invisible servant sets about serving them. At Wrathe's second round of questions, a slight frown flickers across her face.
"You mean you didn't know?" Penelope seems genuinely shocked by this news. She quickly stands up and walks to the door. Opening it, she seems to snatch an acolyte at random. Speaking to the acolyte, the young boy scrambles off, running to complete his task. Returning, she sits down, smoothing out her dark blue robe.
"Well, I'm not too sure about what you know about Theurge's..," Penelope taps her glasses on her chin and launches into an explanation. It is hard to not think of Dainoth giving a lecture. They learn that a theurge is a person who studies and master more than just the arcane and divine. With enough study, a theurge can cast any type of spell that has been written down. "...and finally, as you can imagine, the current ruler ship does not encourage the knowledge of arcane magic."
"The titles are meant as a term of respect for those rare individuals carrying them. I've read about a few others with the marks of Nethys. Usually, they are small, appearing as any birthmark upon the body, just in the shape of our Lord's mask." Penelope points to a black and white mask that hangs from the wall like a painting. "They tend to be gifted casters, having a natural talent for magic. Nethys can also use the those born with his mark as direct conduit for his divine power, much akin to a living alter."
The young woman looks over at the snoozing dragonkin floating upon the disc of force, her expression has a tinge of sadness to it. She lowers her voice to an almost whisper.
"There is a danger in this of course. A mortal's body cannot contain the powers of god. And there is a possibility of another being using the Marked as a conduit. That is mercifully rare, I believe only a handful of cases where recorded of something like that happening. But those where enough."
Penelope takes a sip of her tea, sets the cup down and smiles warmly at the gathered friends.
"While I'm waiting on a scroll to be delivered, does anyone have any other questions?"
It takes a few minutes of sitting in the waiting room before the realization that all of the aches and pains that had, are simply gone.
As they look around the room, keeping an eye out for trouble, Daxniss and Dorian note the room has the single entrance and exit. The window appears to be an illusion of what is happening outside. The waiting room has a warm, relaxing feel to it. A good place to sit with a friend and talk about life's journeys.
Or lure someone into a false sense of safety before striking.
The large tapestries that nearly cover two of the walls are magnificent. The one on the right depicts a large battle between two forces. The longer you look at the battle, the more it almost seems to come alive. The second, is a strange looking ruin, thrusting out of a jungle's canopy. The structure almost seems like skeletal fingers rising out of a algae covered river. You could swear that the jungle trees are swaying in the wind.
In a moment of reflection, Wrathe realizes that Penelope didn't say anything about the Bearer of the Mask. He is starting to feel like the priestess might know more than what has been mentioned.
With a mighty yawn, Ssilax stretches, and goes to get up. And succeeds in rolling off the disc to the floor with an "Oof!"
Using the disc to get himself to his feet, he looks sheepishly at his friends and the priestess.
"What did I miss? I remember standing between the altars, and then stuff gets fuzzy," the dragonkin looks at the food snacks and tea. Looking up at Penelope, he smiles and asks for some water. "I'm really thirsty, I feel like I've been talking forever." Ssilax blinks a few times looking around the room.
Directed to the pitcher of water, the dragonkin pours himself several glasses, rapidly downing each.
Argon feels as if he is in a great, complex criminal hideout when he realizes all the illegal magic being practiced here. Just the existence of this place is a surprise, as arcane magics are prohibited by law. They must have a 'deal' with the local government that lets them continue on and be ignored. Argon knows boys back in training who would run and complain to the guards, but thinking about it a bit he realizes they would probably be acknowledged and then asked to go on their way. And nothing would be done.
He realizes this as he watches the fascinating tapestries - he could swear the pictures in them are moving...
It's a silly law, anyways. Wrathe and Ssilax are not criminals.
More than the magic, all the talk of gods, and their inhabiting mortal bodies, makes Argon uncomfortable.
Wrathe's face is a little more than a stoic facade as he asks again, "Bearer of the Mask?"
He shakes his head, "Penelope, I appreciate you receiving us, and helping us to discharge our task, but we are all close friends...orphans...all clinging together as pretty much all the family that we have. If you know something that will help us...or affect us, please share it, I implore you."
Daxniss having eaten just enough to take the edge off her hunger, sipping at her tea, she nods adding " That is of course if you have some more time to fill us in on the a 'Bearer of the Mask'. We would be most appreciative of this information as we have much to learn, please Penelope. I have a feeling that you have many duties that require you attention and this for lack of a better word, miracle has changed your schedule a bit. " Daxniss sets down her tea cup on the small saucer seeming to appear on the table for her, gets up from her seat, trying to keep her back to the wall and not the door, or Penelope.
Not thrilled at the lack of another option of egress in case things went poorly or in fact, guards showed up to arrest people. It was hard to suppress the urge to twitch at being trapped but Daxniss manged to as more was at stake then personal comfort.
Opening her mouth to speak, the priestess is interrupted by the sound of people gathered outside of the door. The constant murmur of talking intrudes upon the the waiting room once more as the door opens. Rising to her feet, Penelope bows deeply.
"Holy Mother, apologies for waking you, but I'm sure the ringing of our nonexistent bell would have woken you."
Walking through the door way is a very old woman, wrapped in the robes of her office, which where surprisingly plain. A black bandanna covers the old womans's head, letting a few wisps of white hair escape. The Holy Mother makes Dainoth look practically young. The thought comes to mind of an old witch out in the deep forest, stirring a bubbling cauldron. One of her eyes is covered by a white film.
"Nethys doesn't understand the art of subtly. I have a feeling half the ward heard that bell," the old crone says with a snort of amusement. The old woman hobbles over to the chair that Penelope had vacated. The clicking of the knotted piece of wood the holy woman used for a cane follows her shuffling footsteps.
A nervous-looking acolyte stands at the door he had just closed. He carries an worn leather scroll case. The boy is trying not to stare at the group. Surprisingly, the boy isn't fixated on just Ssilax. He looks like he has a 1001 questions that he wants to ask all at once. Waved over by the Holy Mother, the acolyte sets down the scroll case on the coffee table. Bowing several times to everyone in the room, the boy opens the door and leaves.
"Well, come here boy, let Baba Yaga get a good look at you," the old crone motions to Ssilax. The dragonkin shyly walks forward. Reaching out with a withered hand, the old woman traces the scaled mask upon Ssilax face and down his snout. To his credit, Ssilax doesn't jerk away when he was being touched as is his norm. Pulling out a bit of cloth, she wipes off the dirty imp hand prints off of his horns. "Curious marks on your horns lad, look a bit impish to my old eye."
"When I was woken up, I heard mention of of one of you carrying a feather. May I see it?" The holy woman asks. Argon realizes that the feather was still clutched in his hand. The old crone looks at the feather when Argon raises it into view with her one good grey eye. She grunts, nodding to the young man, a satisfied look in her eye.
"Young Vomas nearly knocked me over running to get you the Scroll of Visions. I'm guessing that they haven't been told, not a surprise given that none of you are associated with the Temple." Baba says with a near toothless smile on her wrinkled face.
With a wave of her hand, the napkin folds up on itself, items disappearing with a flash. Tucking away the napkin, Penelope pulls an intriguing looking scroll from the case. The handles of the bulky scroll were ornately etched ivory with arcane markings. Instead of paper or papyrus, the scroll appears to be made of metal. Opening the scroll, Penelope lays it down on the coffee table. The shiny grey metal is blank. Chanting quietly, the image of Nethys's mask appears on the scroll.
Floating in the air, symbols appear several inches above the scroll. There is a slightly elongated mask of Nethys with a 4 horns atop it. A hand with a rotating symbol of Asmodeus, pulsing with it's own infernal heartbeat. The mark of a dragon burning silver within a black claw mark. A burning volcano contained within a human figure. Half of a man's face, the other half a fanged skull. A brief line of glowing arcane script writes itself upon the the metal scroll. For those that can read magic, is says, "Those with the Bearer of the Mask are the Harbingers of Change."
"In our Lord's more delightfully insane moments, he send prophecies to a number of our diviners a little over a decade ago. Aside for driven them mad, they all penned the same scroll, containing a number of possible prophecies." the old woman says with a chuckle as she packs a lone stemmed pipe up, lighting it with a finger. The familiar scent of halfing weed and tobacco begins to fill the air.
With a slight frown tugging at his muzzle, Ssilax looks at the images.
"Lilith was mentioned as an Elf cut of Blackness, but I don't see anything like that here. Is that another vision?" the dragonkin asks, sounding a touch doubtful.
Baba Yaga leans forward and touches one of the handles, and the image sinks a little, revealing a number of other images. Most don't really seem to make any sense, or lack any frame of reference. There is the image of an elf, outlined in darkness with faint strings rising from it.
"Oh. Ummm, what are these other images, Holy Mother?" Ssilax asks of the old crone.
"My guess is that they are people or things that will aid or hinder this change that is spoke of," the old woman puffs at her long stemmed pipe. "As to what they specifically mean? You would have to ask Nethys. Our Lord's occasional prophecies tend to be vague, open to a great deal of interpretation." The old crone says with a short cackle of laughter.
Argon continues to watch and learn, well out of his element. He does take interest when symbolic images of the five of them appear on the metal scroll the old witch unravels. He looks closely, understanding little of their significance. He cannot read the strange writing, but nudges Ssilax and whispers, "What does that say?"
He doesn't understand much of the discussion afterward, only that one must talk to a god to understand the prophesies. He shakes his head. Not much chance that we'll be talking to a god any time soon, he thinks.
Disappointed that the food is gone, he waits patiently. The good news is that the demon is destroyed and all five of them are okay. For now.
Flinching slightly at the sudden nudge from Argon, Ssilax glances at his friend. When the Holy Mother takes a quick break from speaking, he whispers back what it means to the young Slayer.
The young dragonkin finds it hard to look away from the images floating above the metal scroll. Ssilax looks unsure, almost nervous as he looks at the images floating above the shiny metal surface. Many of the smaller images didn't make much sense.
Passing on eating, a decision that his stomach rues, especially since it hand forsaken its contents after the teleportative magics had disrupted his equilibrium, he considers the spot where the Stalker had been as they watched its last moments.
Wrathe leans in and reads the prophetic words of magic aloud, though he relays the words in the Undercommon trade language.
"Now that I've filled your ears, I'd like to hear how the lot of you came into possession of Demon trapped in a fresh divine prison." Baga Yaga takes a deep puff from her pipe. The old crones eyes reflect the red light from glowing cherry in her pipe bowl. The pungent scent of tobacco mixed with halfling weed fills the air as the holy mother exhales slowly through her nose. The image of smoke leaking from the nostrils of an ancient beast hidden within it's dark lair leaks in your mind's eye. "I'm rather curious to know how you ended up with a Deva's feather. Quite an accomplishment for a group of such young adventurers."
Ssilax's stomach growls noisily, catching the old woman's attention. The crone smiles, glancing at Penelope.
"Growing boys and girls need a bit more to eat then finger snacks, dear Penelope." Closing her eyes, the old woman leans back in her chair. With a sting of muttered arcane words and a few simple gestures, the holy woman opens her eyes. The air ripples outwards, and in less than a heartbeat, a table appeared along the right wall, near groaning with food. The scent of freshly cooked meats start mouths watering. "Thank you Nethys for providing us with this bounty. Now while you fill your stomachs, tell me how you came to be here."
Hearing the Undercommon tongue, the old woman arches an eyebrow but says nothing. She looks over at Dorian and taps her chin with the mouthpiece of her pipe.
"If you would agree to it young man, I believe several of our Healers would like to examine you. A being forged from both Life and Death is akin to tripping over a perfectly cut gemstone." the old crone asks of the half-living monk.
Argon thinks that Wrath or Ssilax may answer the question fully, but figures his understanding, unsullied by knowledge of the divine or arcane, might be a good first draft. So he speaks up, telling their story, and leaving out certain details.
"Well, we were exploring the under-city -- the six of us; us five and our friend Lilith -- and we ran across a pit trap. The trap killed Lilith, though it turns out it was actually the demon, who had inhabited Lilith's body. Anyways, the trap belonged to this imp, and the imp was associated with the Deva. It occurs to me that that's why she 'died' and we were injured only minorly. Somehow the imp and Deva work together. The Deva recognized the demon that was still in Lilith's dead body, and she drew it out and placed it in that little ball. She gave me... us, the feather to make our story plausible, and asked us to get help to get rid of the demon ball. Then she magically teleported us to a Druid grove over..... that way, and we came here because of Ssilax's connection with Nethys."
Not waiting for clarifications from the others, or further questions from the old lady, Argon happily heads to the meat and makes himself a hot ham and cheese sandwich.
Daxniss wasn't surprised that having a god give you a message of the future, it even made sense that they were driven mad from it, the Harrow Cards usually allowed the person telling the fortune to understand the suits.
There was something very odd about the 'Holy Mother' Baba Yaga, it felt that she was like Dainoth in someways. Still moving past introspection was easy, allowing Argon to tell the bits of the tale was fine with Daxniss, he might not have a flair for stories but it held enough of the truth.
"Tell me more about this Imp, and Deva that you encountered. What did they call themselves?" The old crone takes drink from a tea cup and frowns at it slightly. "What about this Pit trap that the Imp claimed, I'm curious to know about this place."
Wrathe urges caution, which shocks the s&@% out of even him, "It would be wise to seek the counsel of our master be revealing more.". This was a place hidden from man's eyes potentially for a reason.
His distrust of organized religion stemmed from Asmodean adherents, but it extended to all religions equally.
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Dorian slowly rises from his chair. He turns to face the priestess. He then bows deeply to her, his ice blue eyes trained on hers.
My humble thanks for this repast, Madam, but I regrettably must decline such a gracious offer. Irori has yet to advise me in this situation. I must yield to patience, as my friends here have taught me.
Dorian then nods to each of his friends. Stepping back two measured steps, he then turns to wander around the room.
He pays attention, but appears meditative.
Wrathe pragmatically seeks out the counsel of Master Dainoth before extending trust to anyone else with the knowledge.
They had been sent to simply undertake a scouting mission to explore something across more than one plane of existence that was not meant to be found; at least by humankind. Who knew what horrible secrets were found within.
Baba Yaga shrugs her shoulders when Dorian turns down the offer.
"A pity. Such is your choice," the old crone says. The holy woman looks over the group once more, compiling the little that they have told her.
"Very well, it's your choice to keep your secrets, it matters little to old Baga Yaga," the old crone cackles. Despite everyone being closed mouthed, the old woman seems to be amused by something. "I'm sure whatever hedge mage is bumbling through your training is making sure to keep you two on a short leash. Such good little obedient pets they have raised." The old woman cackles rather unpleasantly.
The Holy Mother turns to look at Ssilax with her one good eye.
"Now to more important matters. You have to decide the punishment for the idiot that struck you, boy. What do you want done with the fool? Burnt alive? Turned into a toad for the rest of his short life? He wasn't much of a caster, so his loss will mean next to nothing to the temple, and less than that to Nethys." The others feel a chill as they realize one of the truths of the church of Nethys. If you were not capable of magic, they had little interest in you. It was an order of magic users that where completely mercenary to the core.
"Most importantly, we will need to discuss what you have managed to learn. I don't think you need to be wasting your time starting over from the very beginning, but I need to examine the holes in your training." The old woman glances at the other in the room. "When your ready, say goodbye to your companions, they did an excellent job delivering you to us. Now that they are no longer necessary, you can dismiss them. They will be paid for their services of course."
Ssilax stares at the Holy Mother, his maw fallen open in surprise. Blinking his sapphire orbs, his mind struggles for a few moments. The dragonkin didn't know what to say or even think for that matter.
Leaning in close to Ssilax, Wrathe whispers, "Perhaps the guard should dictate his own fate. Such self-determination would permit him to set a fitting punishment, whether that be conflagration, exile, or simply an apology. Though if it was up to me I would have him commit to lovingly craft you a new holy symbol."
Glancing conspiratorially about he chuckles, "Since you're now the 'Chosen One', and are going to remain behind to be worshipped, or whatever, you probably won't mind if I take your bunk/sunning rock." His parting words come with a playful rolling of the eyes, "Should I bow to you as I leave m'lord?"
Unpredictable is the god Nethys, and it seems Baba Yaga holds more than little of her god's mercurial dual nature. Such unstable beings, partially bent on the destruction of the world, should not hold unknown magics.
Turning on a heel and bowing low at the waist he offers, with politeness honed to a razor's edge in the unforgiving Asmodean courts, "We appreciate the warmth of your hospitality Holy Mother, and the boon of assistance you have provided us this day, but we must sadly take our leave."
Argon is also shocked at the old lady's words. He sidles up to Ssilax and whispers to him earnestly. "Ssilax, you do not have to do as she says. At very least, you should seek the council of your true master. Remember, she is a person, not a goddess - you are touched by your god, not by his church. If you wish to stay... that I understand, as this is an amazing place, especially for a theurge such as you. Even if that's the case, you must first talk to.... our master."
"You will leave when I permit it, boy." come the old crone's voice directed at Wrathe. Her good eye still locked onto Ssilax, burning with intensity. "There is a choice to be made still. Say goodbye to them, we're the only family you'll ever need."
Ssilax had backed up against the wall, looking nervous and scared, which where pretty normal for the dragonkin. He looks between Argon and Wrathe, the expression on his scaled face indicates he completely misunderstood Wrathe's words. Sapphire orbs watering, Ssilax looks like he had just been punched in the gut.
With a suddenness that surprises everyone in the room, the dragonkin grabs a hold of the large tapestry and jerks it down with a loud ripping noise. Naturally, it falls, temporarily obscuring vision and hampering movement as it covers everyone. Dorian manages to dodge the majority of the fabric, but it the covered bodies flailing about effectively block him.
The sound of the dragonkin's claws rapidly clicking across the stone is heard in the commotion. The sound of the door being jerked open and crashing against the wall comes next.
"Something is wrong with the Holy Mother, she's fallen ill!" comes the sound of the dragonkin's shout over the sudden noise of a bunch of people talking.
The mass of people outside of the doorway, clogging the hallway, floods into the waiting room. Taking advantage of the confusion, the dragonkin flees.
A handful of minutes later, after the room had been cleared out with orders to find the missing dragonkin, the door shuts. Leaving the group alone with Baba Yaga. The second after Penelope closed the door behind her, the old crone begins to chuckle. It grows to a full out cackle.
"Hahahahaha.... the boy will be perfect, my Lord," the old woman says more to herself than the others, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Looking at the group, she winks at them with her one good eye. "My apologies for goading the situation, but I am left with few options. Ssilax cannot stay here. There are to many vipers working for the current Arch-Magus, the boy would have been killed within a fortnight's time." The old crone reaches into her robe and pulls out a small pouch and scroll.
Tossing them on the coffee table she looks at the group and smirks.
"Give those to your teacher. I've got a good idea as to who he is. Don't speak his name until after you leave the Temple. Magic ears hear better than you could possibly imagine," the old crone looks at the gathered youths. "Well? What are you waiting for, a written invitation? Get moving, Ssilax is hiding in the Gardens with that elf."
Baba Yaga had sent the people who had rushed in to check on her everywhere but the gardens.
The pragmatic Xthian accepts the dismissal sans expression or comment, grabbing the pouch and scroll as he departs for the gardens. Wrathe moves quickly, eager to avoid any adherents of the faith, collect the dragonkin, and return home to record his thoughts and begin his research on the events of the day.
There was much to ponder.
Not wanting to bring a malefactor into his master's dwelling, he peeks into the pouch and writing of the scroll when he gains some distance from the building.