Gunnar remains standing protectively in front of the prisoners against whatever the next calamity might be. With no healing or statue-moving magic of his own, he simply waits to see what might happen next, though he will slip a small blade to the prisoners if they are actually bound—so that they may free themselves.
Scramsax huddles out of sight near the top of the dome while Gunnar stands protectively over the former prisoners. Most of the workers suffer cuts and bruises, but thanks to Gunnar's protective magics avoided the worst of the statue's destructive arrival. All but the older man who had started to side with the inquisitors and another younger man. Both were builders.
"Old Boris was a cantankerous sort, but a darned fine mason." Says the one who was standing up to Willem. "The lad was his apprentice. A good boy, had a flare for the small pipes which he often played around the fire in the evening much to the delight of young Gloria there." He adds pointing out the girl knocked out by Scramsax earlier. The man shakes his head in bewildered sadness as he looks from Gunner to the girl. "I think she'll miss the boy sorely when she wakes."
Luthael hovers over Inquisitor Willem. The warrior priest's healing wasn't much but it did stymie the flow of blood from the man's crushed lower legs. Amazingly, the man still breathes. Looking at the destruction below both the inquisitor's knees, both Luthael and Ingryd consider the man's unconscious state to be an added blessing for the time being.
After a few more minutes, a green faced acolyte kneels nearby and mutters a prayer to Khors that infuses more of the god's light into the fallen inquisitor. With a grimace the young man shakes his head as he looks at the hideous state of Willem's legs.
"I...I can't do much to help that." He stammers, his hands shaking, his eyes downcast as he addresses Luthael. "Such wounds are far beyond my abilities. His only hope is the Elder Patriarch."
Eventually he nods toward the other dazed acolyte. "With your permission we will craft a litter and carry him back to Nargenstal. There the Patriarch will see him well." He says. "Or perhaps provide comfort upon his passing to the Light."
”Tell me of this elder Patriarch Solarious. Is he the one who rides in the sky ship? Does he lead this Inquisition? I believe I may have heard him speaking into my mind earlier today, but I knew not who he was,” says Gunnar.
After the answer, Gunnar looks down at the felled inquisitor and adds, ”Our faith can inspire us to great sacrifice for good, but our very zeal to see our Deity’s will done can be twisted by one of subtle guile and malicious intent, blinding us to the true effect of our actions. If Senior Inquisitor Willem Gant sought the Saint of Khors to slay her and pursued the evil sword to use it to further this *Inquisition*, he has allowed himself to become a tool of the enemy. I suggest you stay here in this temple and pray for the mercy of Khors—both on the mortal coil of this misguided priest and for Khors’ holy light to illuminate the true path.”
Quinn stands by listening.
"Evil sword?" he questions, to himself as much as anyone else.
"I can lift him" Ingryd says as she slips her hammer on her back and brushes off her body.
"We can make sure to bury him." Ingryd says looking about. She was injured and bleeding from her reopened wounds but seemed not to care. Nor did she care too much about ripped clothing.
”This is more your area, Luthael; what are his chances?” asks Gunnar, while looking up at the holy statues, ”Perhaps if Saint Katerina were here, she could help.”
Luthael looks around for the acolyte who had followed them from the skyships. "Is the priest who went mad with evil at the skyships, this Elder Patriarch Solarious? Would you please witness what you saw?"
In reply to Gunnar, the prophet says, "Willem will live, if he wants to. The damage to his legs is extensive, but I've seen survivors of accidents live meaningful lives, but it will be difficult."
"here are those who could heal his wounds. I cannot. Perhaps Katerina, if she were here."
Ingryd carries the broken inquisitor over to a nearby workbench. As she lays him down the young acolyte you saved from the chaos of the Nargenstal temple shakes his head at Luthael's question. He looks at the other acolytes, swallows and speaks.
"That was not the Elder Patriarch. That was Brother Regis. He is a senior priest and was...errr...is...err...well he was in charge of the temple and those of us assigned there to oversee the work and worship of Khors in this new venture." His hands dry wash nervously as he speaks, and sweat begins to break out across his forehead. "Brother Regis and Sir Willem were the senior most people any of us ever encountered. Most have never seen the Elder Patriarch except from a distance back in Zobeck when we first were preparing the expedition. He is quite old and some might say frail because he often needs a wheeled chair to move around. But...but...he is not so weak as some would think. In fact, he is quite strong in both mind and faith. At that shows in the steadfast aura and willingness to serve wholeheartedly that many in the temple feel. There are few who would dare challenge Solarious."
"He resides on the airship. Within a specially crafted chamber that eases the rigors on his mortal body and is blessed so that he may commune with Khors on a daily basis. Only the most senior and trusted priests or acolytes are allowed access into that chamber."
"What has happened here?" Another voice. One some of you recognize. Folk spin around and see the hidden doorway behind the altar now open. A young woman stands there, her wheat colored hair in a single braid. She wears a set of wooden practice armor and holds a wooden sword in one hand. Fierce eyes take in the devastation within the central shrine and suddenly that fiery anger turns to alarmed concern.
Luthael and Gunnar each immediately recognize the young woman, although she has grown much more than either would have anticipated since the last time either saw her. Instead of the youthful young girl, a wiry teenager stands before you. Her body slightly awkward and out of proportion. Her face flushed and her breathing heavy from obvious recent exertion. The aura of power that was ever evident, but mild and weak as a newly grown shell, is vibrant, strong, and positively palpable now. The young boy that Trevor adopted as his squire stands beside her, worry, confusion, and more than a little awe at the massive shouting statue now occupying much of the shrine all war upon his face. Eventually, as with most his age, curiosity wins the internal struggle and he starts to walk forward only to have Katerina's hand hold him back.
With a sisterly glare at the boy clearly meaning he should stay put, the Saint of the Wood walks into the room and kneels down next to the two fallen workers. "Oh no. Boris. Gregor." The wooden sword clatters forgotten to the floor. She reaches out toward the two dead men, placing a gentle hand upon the brow of each.
She looks up, her pale lavender eyes brimming with tears. "I am so sorry." She utters quietly, mournfully. "If I had not hidden, had not gone below into the hall of memories, this would not have come to be."
"Please. Tell me what has happened...and...and...why there is a statue screaming within this place that is meant to hold peace?"
The other workers kneel down, their heads bowed. Some see the woman's distress and tears begin to trickle down their own faces. The surviving acolytes look on with a blend of terror and awe of their own. The conflict rampages with their minds for it is obvious that the young woman is no simple fraud. There is power here. But none of the young worshipers of Khors is able, or indeed, even capable of determining whether she is a true saint of the Light or a powerful, deviously disguised fraud. For the moment they simple stand dumbstruck at the radiant youth stepping forth from behind the very altar and massive symbol of Khors.
Manslaughter. Another notch on the scoundrel's long criminal record. Scram's typical ethical neutrality failed him this time however, and he truly felt the sting of guilt and overwhelming remorse. He knew there was no redemption for these accidental slayings, knew there was nothing to restore the pride in his step...could he manage even to look Vee in the eye again, surely she would find no twinkle.
Scramsax indeed held a belief in the lost goddess of memory Mnemosyne, but was never a practitioner of any sort of religious ritual or superstition. Regardless, he now wondered of the implications of this transgression in the Temple of Saint Katerina. Not only had he killed two people, but now a large statue of himself 'stole the thunder' of the holy space's purpose. This feeling...he was actually quite familiar with it: debt.
Crouched in his perch, the thief hung his head in shame, shedding tears in resonance with the Saint's below.
"Khors' blessings, Katerina. Evidently, the Inquisition is alive again in Midgard sponsored by the Elder Patriarch who may be near the town nearby. We have encountered two of his inquisitors. The first in town. Gunnar discovered that he was possessed by an evil being and who met a terrible end."
"The second inquisitor led a contingent of acolytes here to find and dispose of you and recover the sword. Willem over there with the crushed legs is deathly afraid of dragons who's fear was corrupted by the Elder Patriarch."
"His injuries are beyond my blessings of Khors to heal. If you have the ability to restore his legs, it might provide proof of your sainthood. And Willem may renounce his allegiance to the Inquisition and help us pull the roots of that corruption out of the church. If you cannot or will not, it does not affect my belief that you are a saint of the Lord of Light."
"I cannot explain this statue, but I believe on my companions could explain it. The prophet of Khors attempts to summarize and suggest.
::Friends...I've made a terrible mistake, I think its best I stay out of sight. But the giant's pin...its Dawnflower's sigil. Katerina may know of it.:: the rogue offered, using pragmatics to obscure his guilt.
Gunnar bows to the Saint and nods along with Luthael’s explanation.
”The dark tendril of magic from the corrupted priest to the airship was too strong for me to break, but I heard his voice in my mind…’Your interference is not welcome, child of Volund. Continue your current course and you will be judged.’”
Katerina's face grows sadder and darker as both Luthael and Gunnar share what has happened and their experiences. With their tales complete, she bends down and kisses both Boris and Gregor lightly upon the forehead.
"May the Light shine upon your souls and guide to Khor's Grace." She prays.
She then moves to examine the unconscious Willem and his ruined limbs.
I will see what I can do for him." She places a hand upon his forehead and chest and closes her eyes. Her breathing slows. The warrior saint's head tips slightly forward as a soft ivory nimbus surrounds her wiry form. Her lips move in prayer, but the actual words are drowned by the continuing boisterous accusations and blather about Scramsax.
The light emanating from Katerina grows brighter and begins to seep from her hands into the body of Willem. As the light flows, the inquisitor's rapid, shallow breathing eases. His body visibly begins to relax and despite the loss of much blood, a bit of color returns to his pale face and hands.
Suddenly Katerina's prayers are abruptly cut off with a startled gasp. Her eyes fly open as she tries to jerk away only to find herself unable to move. Unable to release the ties that currently bind her to the broken priest. Having already experienced a tendril of this force before, Gunnar is the first to notice and recognize the foul presence of what the dwarf is beginning to believe is this Elder Patriarch Solarious.
Scramsax, wrestling near the top of the domed temple with the foreign feelings of grief and regret over the disaster with the magic bean, feels the villainous ripples flowing through the psychic landscape. The surge in power jars the halfling, causing him to gasp and momentarily scramble for a handhold to avoid slipping from he perch as the power flows across the Dreamscape like a rushing sirocco . Also having briefly touched the consciousness of the Patriarch back in Nargenstal, Scramsax suspects the two forces to be emanating from one singular entity. Looking up, the halfling peers toward the not-so-distant town. From his perch he spots the tiny form of the airship flying just above the treetops and slowly making its way toward the shrine.
As Gunnar and Scramsax sense the new, unwelcome presence, Luthael, Ingryd, and Quinn look on as an ethereal eldritch tentacle worms its way from the inquisitor's chest. Dark eldritch power infests the Saints pure light, wrestling the powerful but still young and untried Katerina for control of the fallen inquisitor and perhaps herself.
Her eyes wide with sudden fright look first to Luthael her fellow follower of Khors, but then encompasses Ingryd, Quinn, and Gunnar as well. Please help me.
You identify two potentials avenues of aide. Throw your own mind and power into the fray. Give yourself over to Katerina while helping the girl guide and control all that flows through her being.
The second, find the source of the Patriarch's connection. Something is allowing the powerful head of this inquisition access to Willem, the shrine and now Katerina herself. You suspect it would be something small, innocuous. But it would certainly be marked with some symbol or sign of the Elder Patriarch in order to maintain the link across such a distance.
"Ingryd! Secure that acolyte!" Instead of incinerating the Khorsmen with a holy fireball, the prophet commands bearfury to secure the acolyte who accompanied Willem and is reaching for the curved, nurian knife hanging at his side.
"Sramsax! Find something on Willem's person that is marked with some symbol or sign of the Elder Patriarch. It would be something small, innocuous. It connects Willen to the Elder Patriarch, so destroy it." Luthael calls for the halfling to make amends.
"Katerina! I place my faith in Khors in your hands to protect you from this Elder Patriarch and hopefully eliminate him." Luthael approaches the saint and places his hands on her shoulders to support her surrendering his will, faith, and divine blessings from Khors to Her.
Without seeing the source of the Elder Patriarch's influence, Quinn does the only thing he can and joins Luthael in aiding Katerina.
Reacting the bear woman leaps forward to Grapple the Acolyte.
Scram didn't really understand the nuances of the impending battle, but could see the damn airship clear enough. Sensing the darkness encroach the psychic Dreamscape he hesitated to contact the others telepathically, instead shouting "They're here!! Airship incoming!" from his position above the Temple.
The halfling heard the words of the prophet and resolved to take action immediately. Affixing his grappling hook to his perch, Scramsax Slayer of Innocents quickly repelled down to the top of Beanboy Scram. Stammering "Uh...what a liar, huh folks?" before making a beeline for Willem's possessions...
== 15 total
Gunnar casts his most powerful remaining spell, attacking the source of the magic afflicting Katrina.
(Dispel Magic, Arcana Check if needed)
Gunnar steps up, his back to the scene before him but facing the approaching skyship. Weaving powerful abjuration magic, Gunnar attacks the connection between the evil Elder Patriarch and the wounded priest. The dwarf’s Arcane Ward reinvigorates, ready to extend over Katerina at need.
== 30 total
As Scram rifled the pockets of Willem, something in the back of his mind focused on the fresco of Verrakesh...the sleeping dragon in Katerina's mythos. Her complement. Her peer. The Saint's companion.
But the thief had been stabbed in the back enough times to know how quickly harmony could turn to conflict.
| 1 person marked this as a favorite. |
Completely and utterly intent on Katerina and whatever fueled his burning fanaticism and need to act against her, the acolyte never even sees the mass of bear flesh spring into action. Rumbling across the shrine, Ingryd envelopes the cultist in a massive bear hug and tackles him to the floor.
"Oooof!" Is the only sound that bursts from his rapidly evacuated lungs as he struggles feebly to try and lift the easily twice his size barbarian off of his smothered body.
While Ingryd deals with the immediate mundane threat of the fanatic acolyte, throws his magic and the likely much more dangerous threat emerging from the inquisitor. Initially the dwarf wizard's counterspell causes the writhing eldritch power to whither and evaporate. But the victory is only temporary. Both Luthael and Quinn who step forward and offer their own strength and fortitude to Katerina can still feel the underlying power still attached to Willem's mortal form.
A rope drops down from the height of the dome soon followed by Scramsax who warns of the airship's slow, but undoubtedly inevitable arrival. Following Luthael's barked order, the halfling dutifully begins to search the fallen inquisitor with eyes trained to locate the hidden and valuable.
Luthael places a hand upon Katerina's shoulder and is soon joined by Quinn on the saint's opposite side. The two suddenly find themselves engulfed in a whirlwind of light and power battling against an elusive, deadly darkness and corruption seeking to strike down the saint and her connection to her god.
"There is an opening." Katerina says, her eyes staring at the body of Willem but clearly focused elsewhere or elsewhen. "We must hurry..." There is a brilliant flash of light. Luthael, Quinn and Katerina disappear. Then things get just a little weird...
A few smoke covered men and women stubble through the ruin, their faces covered with cloths to mask the smoke and fumes but also blessedly covering their own grief. Only one elderly man walks through the blasted village. His tall staff taps upon the broken cobblestones. Slightly yellowed eyes gaze from a thin face his shaved head practically alight in the noonday sun. He follows the shattered road further along and just past the village smithy. His slow but steady stride never breaking pace. Circling the smithy, he finally comes to a stop a dozen paces beyond the ruined forge. There, the tapping ceases and the old priest dressed in the red and gold of Khors gazes upon another cooked corpse. Levering the ruined body aside an opening is revealed, partially covered by a flat stone.
A weathered, almost gnarled set of hands slowly work the stone aside. It is still hot enough to the touch, that the elder is forced to work in short careful bursts. But eventually, he clears the opening wide enough to kneel down and gaze within. A smile snakes across his face and he stretches a curled hand down into the darkness and relatively cool air trapped below.
"Come out my boy." The voice is old. Kind, gentle, welcoming and reassuring in the depth of power lurking just beneath. It is a voice the poor, broken creature below barely registers at first before fleeing toward it with its entire being. "Step back into the Light."
"NO!" Roars a second voice. Fierce and strong, full of youth and vitality, but much less assured than the old man. "It is time to free the man that is to be from this moment that trapped the boy that was." Katerina says, a nimbus of light billowing around her and each of you who stand at her shoulders.
The elderly priest spins around, a hiss of anger slithering past his thin lips. He raises his staff and slams in back onto the ground.
"YOU! You upstart little wench. You cannot be here! I killed you once before, I shall do so again!" A crack of thunder rolls forth as Katerina throws up a hastily crafted ward. The blast of power slams into Luthael, Quinn and Katerina with the force of a thousand charging bulls. The young woman gasps and quickly draws on her two companions to help being thrown from the dreamscape and losing the tentative hold on Willem's life.
Ah...but wait...is that the slightest glint of a silver chain around his neck. You yourself know that if you want something kept safe from prying eyes and roguish fingers, best to keep it tucked under the useful barriers of shirt, armor, and cloak. It is doubtful that the man would object to a strip search, but before you can undo the first buckle, Luthael, Katerina, and the elf, Quinn all vanish in a burst of light.
Scram drew Willem's dagger from its sheathe, fishing the knife's edge under the silver chain and relieving the fallen priest of his necklace. Of course, the thief couldn't help but exploit his situation. Flesh-and-blood Scram combined with the warnings of stone-Scram looked rather shocking with a blade at the priest's neck...whatever attention was given the halfling was surely directed at the nape.
No one really noticed his other hand, which was smoothly appropriating rings, boots, and purse.
Monitoring the situation, Gunnar flinches when the others disappear with the Saint, but watches the weave of magic swirling around them and nods in understanding. ”Be not afraid. Saint Katerina goes to combat the evil at its source in the spirit realm. Let us remain vigilant here and do our part,” says Gunnar, adding to Scramsax, ”Quickly, anything that could be the connection, pull it off but don’t touch it with your bare skin.”
"This must be the day that Willem lost his family to a dragon." Luthael observes.
The prophet gasps and submits his will to the saint. In Khors, he trusts.
Quinn steels his resolve and fights to withstand the blast.
| 2 people marked this as a favorite. |
But it does occasionally come in handy at other times. Such as when you need to pry a deadly cursed holy symbol from a priest you recently partially crushed with a foul mouthed statue of yourself and delve your mind and any resources of the universe for a bit of historical information that might come in handy.
And so Fast-Hands-Scram tackles the trinket while Scholar Scram takes a trip to the Library of Less Popular Lore.
Gunnar, being a wizard, prattles in your ear as you snip the chain with Willem's own dagger. You give a tug and whatever is tucked beneath starts to slide free....
You push open the massive doors to the Library of Less Popular Lore and step inside. You boots clack-clack on the marble floor with each set of hurried steps. Up the wide stairs and around the bend to the second floor where a dotty elder lady sits quietly sorting and stamping a variety of books and pamphlets. The thump of the stamp and the soft clatter of the big beaded necklace draped around her neck are the only sounds in the musty, tome filled hall that stretches off in every direction.
"Ahem...could you point me to the section on Draconic Religious figures of the late second millennium? With an emphasis on Khors and human partnerships.?"
The librarian finishing stamping a book and places it upon the creaky metal cart with several other massive tomes. Her eyes are made small by the thick lens glasses perched atop a slightly elongated, mole-tipped nose. She leans forward, squinting as she presses her glasses closer to her eyes. Thin lips pucker in thought.
"That'll be the Gold Room, Aisle 52, Section AG through BX." She says, her voice having smoked a half dozen cigarettes in the last thirty seconds. "Through there and to the right." She adds pointing a skeletal finger in the direction of the tomes in question.
Cursing the luck and overly decorative armor, your hands start to fly across the buckles of the inquisitors heavy metal cuirass. You wave at Gunnar and point him toward the sets on the opposite side. The first two give way quickly, the third is a bit trickier as Willem was clearly a fastidious dresser and cleverly tucked and knotted the loose strap end in a most annoying manner.
You wander through the tomes of library finally arriving in the designated section. Searching along the shelves you finally come across several promising titles. Saints or Sinners: The History of Fallen Religious Icons in the Church of Khors; Dragons of Light and Shadow: An Annotated History of Draconic Saints; Enemies of the Inquisition; Prophets, Dragons, and Priests: Catching the Light of the Sun.
You just barely stop yourself from keeling over like a tranquilized Saph Saph Water Strider and instead grab a pair of tomes and take them to the nearest desk where a set of writhing green glow worms illuminate the musty pages from their hexagonal glass chamber. Flipping through the tome you search for any references to Verrakesh and Katerina....
Gunnar gives you an Aren't you done? Time really is of the essence here old boy look and with a muttered curse you forego messing with the knots and buckle and simply cut the straps. Besides, nearly everything worth pilfering was now tidily tucked away upon your person so it probably was time to get to the task at hand. With the straps all released, the inquisitors armor is easy enough to lift off and toss aside. There under the man's cotton shirt. Filtered eldritch light glows through the fabric. Once again with dagger in hand you delicately slice off the buttons of the shirt and expose the gold and ivory symbol resting upon the priest's chest. The usual sun symbol is crossed with a spear and sword surrounded by a wrapping rose vine, each crimson bloom a delicately cut ruby. It is from each of those gemstones that the eldritch glow glimmers and regrows. Four rosebuds, four tiny tentacles of power stretching forth to reassert their claim upon the priest and likely anyone standing nearby.
A thin crust has developed at the edges of your eyes and the glow worms are starting to look like a potential meal as your stomach grumbles angrily. But at last your efforts and seeming hours of reading bear fruit. You skim the relevant text taking notes as quickly as your hand can scrawl.
Like so many dragons of this period prior to the founding of the Mharoti Empire, the family history for Saint Verrakesh is simply unknown. It is believed he was part of a clutch born in a far southeastern branch of the Dragoncoil Mountains. Considered the runt of the litter, the young Verrakesh wasn't expected to survive the brutal contests for survival that typically only allow one or two clutch mates to survive to full adulthood. But despite his initially smaller size, Verrakesh was exceptionally smart and used his wits to escape the various snares and ambushes of his brothers and sisters. Having survived long enough to actually gain his wings and take flight, the red dragon youth took the first opportunity to escape the predations of his home.
Again through cunning and wit the young dragon survived, slowly working his way further north and across the vast Rothenian Plain where the large herds of the nomadic Khazzaki kept him feed. And so as Mharot was founding what would become one of the most powerful empires in all Midgard, Verrakesh roamed the world and grew into his own strength and power.
It was during this vast period of wandering that the philosophical minded dragon met a young farm girl blessed by the Light of Khors. The two became powerful and potent forces for good and spreading the teachings of Khors throughout the northlands as well as the most formidable warriors against the constant predations of the BLood Kingdoms and their ghoulish imperial allies.
Having achieved sainthood, the duo were bound to lead a reformation of the Khors faith and forge a potentially powerful alliance between many of the central powers and those draconic elements among the Mharoti who wished to slow or even end the policies of constant expansion that had been driving the Empire since it's founding. The rise and subsequent successes of the Inquisition of Khors put an end to all of that when Katerina was killed and Verrakesh either driven into hiding or himself killed by either the Elder Patriarch's Inquisitors or draconic assassins sent north from the Empire to put an end to the dragon's meddling in their affairs.
The truth may never truly be known since the bodies of neither Katerina or Verrakesh were ever found.
You slam the book closed and drag yourself out of the chair. A bell tolls. Its deep resonant gong echoing loudly through the halls and your own head. The Library is closing, it is time to go...
Whether it is his elven blood or just some additional mental discipline or fortitude, Quinn weathers the storm more easily that the priest. But even still the experience leaves him shaken and feeling drained of vitality.
The sacrifices appear to be worth the loss and effort. Katerina plants her feet firmly on the ground and proceeds to divert much of the Patriarch's dark power. With a shout she throws back a brilliant blast of white light that strikes the old man dead center and sends him flying backward through rubble and corpses.
The young, terrified Willem looks back and forth from the radiant Katerina to the recovering Patriarch. Katerina turns her gaze back to the boy and holds out her hand, this time in a gesture of kindness, gentleness, and caring.
"Willem. Poor boy. Poor man." She says, her voice filled with compassion and the pain of loss so visible with the boys frightened eyes. "Willem come to us. It is time to truly leave this place. To let yourself heal. You do not need to be here anymore." She calls.
The Patriarch scrambles slowly back to his feet a snarl curled upon his lips. "Do not listen to the witch's words boy." He rasps. "This is who you are. Revenge is the salve for your soul. Power is the strength that will bring an end to the enemies who did this to you."
The boy looks back and forth between the two powerful beings. A war rages across his face. The desire for peace and healing and letting go of the loss crashing against the rock solid foundations of anger, sorrow, and guilt. Desperately, the entirely to old eyes of the smoke stained, burnt boy turn to Luthael and Quinn.
In the shrine, the acolyte regains his breath and struggles to snake free of the bearkin's weight and grip. At the same time Scramsax, with the added encouragement and help of Gunnar, takes on an odd, slightly dissociated look, as he continues to work on removing whatever ties the wounded man to the approaching power of the Elder Patriarch.
After what feels like days or weeks, but is really only a matter of moments dwarf and halfling remove Willem's armor and Scramsax reveals a corrupted holy symbol of Khors resting against the man's chest. The usual sun symbol is crossed with a spear and sword surrounded by a wrapping rose vine with four red rosebuds, each crimson bud is a delicately cut ruby. It is from each of those gemstones that the eldritch glow glimmers and regrows. Four rosebuds, four tiny tentacles of power stretch forth to reassert their claim upon the priest and likely anyone standing nearby.
"Come along now." Quinn says gently. "Revenge is nothing more than a fleeting salve...it never truly fixes anything, and more times than not, only makes matters worse."
Ingryd grits her teeth and instead of keeping the grapple decides to show the Acolyte true strength.
Scram slipped a funny steel feather from a hidden pocket in his thigh, something like a magic wand an elven princess might wield. "Rosevines, son of a b*tch! Its coming through the gemstones just like the faded gems of Dawnflower's slumber prison. *tch* Damn fine rubies really...color, cut, clarity and carats. Shame they're infused with the essence of the damned..." Was this all some elaborate ploy to swipe the 'defective' rubies in plain sight? Who could tell as the thief went to town prying the stones loose...
== 15 total
The psionic part of his conscious that had smeared into the Library of Less Popular Lore lashed onto the red dragon scales of Verrakesh. That image began to become more focused in his mind, with sharper texture and dimension. The scales looked like the red rubies and their defracted roses of light...then suddenly the image twisted in a synesthesia of swapped senses, no longer a sight but tactile sensation guiding the practiced jeweler's hand.
"Revenge is not the path of the light, Willem." Luthael supports Quinn.
With the acolyte stymied by Ingryd, Gunnar focuses on the necklace. It seemed that Scramsax was more intent on dismantling the jewelry than removing it from the priest’s neck, so the dwarf hooks the edge of his shield under the chain and says, ”Help me out on this one, Sylvia,” as he rips the chain loose from around Wilheim’s neck, sending the jewelry skidding across the floor.
The Patriarch snarls and cocks his arm back. Eldritch power builds in a cloud of swirling darkness. Black lightning crackles as spews from between the skeletal fingers as his eyes gleam with hate and burning power. Flinging his arm forward, the dark magic flies toward the young boy.
"NO!" Katerina shouts, leaping forward. A barrier of brilliant light arcs out in front of her. The powers come within moments of colliding...
The vile darkness vanishes. The Elder Patriarch's eyes grow wide as he snatches his gaze upward. The sky roils, shimmers purple, then flashes a brilliant yellow-white as the cry of a valkyrie screams across the sky. The Patriarch's lips fly open in a raging scream as he disappears, his power and connection to Willem's psychic self severed in an instant.
Moment's later Quinn, Luthael and Katerina all vanish and find themselves standing back at the fallen inquisitor's side.
Scramsax reveals the corrupted holy symbol and begins to remove the crimson gems set into the item. As ever it is delicate work that requires nimble fingers and a soft touch in order to avoid any damage to the stone. Seeing his fingers shake more than he would like, Scramsax does his best to draw upon his mental exercises and calm his misbehaving digits.
Remembering to simply breathe and focus the mind, he tackles the delicate task even as tendrils of power begin to curl and wrap themselves around the small pliers and thin, sharp cutting blade he's using to cut through the setting.
With the patience of a dwarf, Gunnar slips the pointed tip at the base of his shield beneath the symbol's chain still clipped behind Willem's next. With a heave and an extra pulse of power from the shield's maiden spirit, the dwarf breaks the chain and sends the corrupted symbol flying across the room. It slams into the wall and clatters to the floor, the tendrils of magic once again withering having lost their connection to the inquisitor host.
Willem's body convulses several times, the chest lurching and heaving as hands clasp and flatten. A silent cry erupts from his mouth. Yet another flash of brilliant light and Luthael, Quinn and Katerina once again stand over the fallen priest. The saints hands hovering over the man's chest and legs. Healing light opening flowing from saint to priest.
Meanwhile, Ingryd let's the boy momentarily slip free. He tries to scrabble away and avoids the bearkin's first slapping claw. He snaps a quick kick that catches the bearkin on the end of the nose. With a snarling retaliation, Ingryd lashes out with a second claw and shreds the acolyte's robes all along his left side. But then Ingryd gathers him up in a second massive bear hug.
The statue continues to fume and bellow.
"Alright you little bastard!"Ingryd growled as she then went into a rage!
Scramsax raised a hand to console the crowd, promising "...eh, he's just kidding. C'mon...everyone knows I never read without a propa' bookmark." But before the crowd could decipher truth from lie Gunnar flung the hatred-infused symbol across the golden sun of Khors, causing the full 40 lbs of pure muscle that constituted the thief's corporeal existence to absolutely detonate.
Somersaulting across the fresh tile like a Nurian scorpion sand-skitters at noon, the magnetic rogue quickly clinked to the opposing pole that was the Quarce Bejewled Patriarch Periapt. The Barsellan street magician covered it with a square handkerchief, snapped his fingers once and made an overly dramatic, smoochy, kissy-kissy sound with his lips. When the cloth was yanked free the amulet had disappeared.
Then, when the acolyte ejected from the hairy cannon that was Ingryd Honeyhair Scram clicked his tongue and wasted no time eviscerating every last axon and dendrite that regulated the steady rhythm of life beating out of the the Khorsian's diaphragm.
As the others suddenly burst back onto the scene, Scram's guilt morphed into zealous devotion for the Invictusol "Woe to those who oppose the true prophet, Invictusol!"
Luthael quietly cheers on the saint's defeat of the Patriarch. Then, they are back in the redecorated temple. He checks the vitals of Willem.
And he just shakes his head at the sculpture ridiculing Scramsax.
The acolyte ducks away from Ingryd's left but he never even see's the right coming in low. The punch to the gut doubles him over as he spews whatever porridge and rations he'd had for breakfast that morning across the bearkin's boots.
Before Ingryd can properly curse the inquisition acolyte, the young man's eyes go wide, then roll into the back of his head. His body drop to the floor like it was nothing more than a sack of drowned rats. There are only a few lingering finger twitches before he grows completely still except for the blood slowly oozing from his ears and nose.
Scramsax disposses of the corrupted symbol and now speaks the praises of Luthael Invictusol. As his words echo through the shrine, Katerina's light reaches a brilliant peak and then quickly fades away. Beneath her hand are the completely restored and rejuvenated legs of Inquisitor Willem.
The man's eyes flutter open to stare into the face of the young saint who after a brief smile at her recovered patient, suddenly collapses in a state of complete exhaustion.
Weak, shaking, and very confused, Willem slowly levers himself upright.
"What...what happened?" He says rubbing his temples with his one free hand. "And who is Scramsax of the Rancid Odor and why is there a statue screaming about him...or her..." He adds in numb confusion.
Scram waddled up to Willem, spattering "It's the beans. Not the rancid odor, that'd be the rug...he's my brother. Family rivalries and such." in some obviously encoded nonsensical cant message or outright lie only a sage could decipher. "Er, yeah we have the same first name...it was confusing growing up...but eh, there's no time. Your old friends are coming to kill and mind control us all. Stand with the Saint of the Wood and Khors' true prophet, Invictusol. Anyone with a necklace like yours is an agent of the corrupted clergy..."
Turning to Katerina "We came to warn you, but it looks like we were too late. This Elder Patriarch descends upon us at this very moment." Pausing a moment, the thief then gambled "Inquisition's a big crew, we need more allies...where's Verrakesh?" gauging her response carefully, knowing she certainly has a reason to conceal the information...if she even knows.
== 23 total
Luthael looks down at Willem like a father, "The Saint of the Wood Katerina healed your legs and set you free of the control by the Elder Patriarch. She wields the Light of Khors." The prophet offers the (ex-)inquisitor his hand to help him to his feet.
"The Elder Patriarch approaches in his airship. What can you tell us about him and this airship? We need to defeat him and release all of those who he controlled, like you. It is Khors' Will to root out his evil from His Church."
”Invictusol speaks truly, Willem. Saint Katerina could have left you for dead in retribution, but she risked her life to redeem you,” adds Gunnar.
Willem looks at his legs, then to Luthael's hand, then to the fallen form of Katerina. Dawning realization of all he has experienced and all that he did. and likely would do, in the Patriarch's name comes crashing home like a dragon falling from the sky. He gasps. His hand grips Luthael's hard as he doubles over, overwhelmed by pain, regrets, and the horrors of his own making.
Eventually, the ex-inquisitor recovers and slowly comes back to himself. Taking his feet he walks over to where the other workers and Trevor's young squire help Katerina to her feet. Slowly he takes a knee before the young saint and bows his head.
"Truly you are the chosen of Khors. I thank you for the gift of my body, mind, and heart. It is upon these gifts that I pledge myself to you and your cause from this day forward until the last breath passes my lips." He says solemnly.
Katerina reaches out and places a gentle hand upon his bowed head.
"Take your feet Willem. I accept your choice and your pledge. May Khor's Light shine upon you throughout your days."
Then, looking to Luthael, she gives a slight shake of her head. "The Elder Patriarch flees." She says. "The battle for Willem's soul and the removal of his symbol of power and control wounded him."
She glances at the plain looking nullbox slung across the prophets shoulder. "In truth, it is not I so much that he seeks, but the sword. With it in hand, he could lead a true crusade that would set the entire north of Midgard aflame. If you know the means to destroy it, now might be the best time to do so."
"As for Verrakesh..." She says turning her gaze upon Scramsax and the question regarding her long lost partner. "I do not know if he still lives. Once, during my...my...incarceration, I thought I briefly felt his presence. Far to the south. I could sense little, only that he was in some...distress. But I think you are right, now is the time to try and seek him out and, if possible, we will once again fight side by side against evil."
"If you destroy the sword, seek me out in distant Harkesh, for I expect it is only in the great city of dragons that I shall learn if Verrekesh lives and where he might reside."
"We've a flying carpet. Any hope to catch and crash the airship with the Elder Patriarch aboard? Khors still blesses me with some holy Fireballs today." Luthael asks Katerina for tactical advice.
"We've an idea how to destroy the sword, but it's far away from here."
Katerina nods at Luthael as she ponders his words. "The airship is slow. Your carpet would surely be able to outpace it. But beware, even weakened as he momentarily is, the Patriarch is powerful. And given all else that has happened in this area recently, I fear he may have harnessed additional allies or resources. But to eliminate him now, would surely be a boon to all of Midgard."
”I have few spells left today to support another battle, but I am with you if you wish to carry the fight to those who would corrupt your church, Luthael,” says Gunnar. Who does indeed look a bit worse for the wear.
Holding up the wadded up corrupted symbol "Hey...why fight fair when we can set our own terms, eh? This thing turns whoever wears it into Elder bait, right? Lure him in, play pin the holy Fireballz on the sucker."
She harrumphs as she picks up her Maul. Slinging it over her shoulder, the bear woman chuckled at the others.
"I can fight. Just point me in the right direction!" She says with a smile. Though she is basically still bloody and swollen, she would fight.
"Saddle up. Let's go crash an airship and end the Inquisition." Luthael suggests destruction.
"Katerina, it's been a genuine pleasure meeting you. By your leave." The prophet politely excuses himself.
”So let it be spoken, so let it be done,” says Gunnar, ”Though I would not refuse a bit of healing as we depart.”
Gunnar takes his spot on the flying carpet.
"Healing would be welcomed. Also I may need to purchase some new clothes soon too, this dress is about to just fall apart" Ingryd says with a big grin.
"Saint Katerina? Do you have any blessings from Khors available for healing are squad? If I do it, it will take away from the holy wrath that I will bring to the Elder Patriarch." Luthael politely asks.
Her eyes a sunken and her face is pale. Katerina shares a regretful shake of her head after having just picked herself up off the temple floor.
"I...I fear my abilities were fully expended in the physic battle with the patriarch and in healing the inquisitor." She says, her head bowed almost in safe at her sudden weakness.
A moment later her eyes momentarily brighten. She places a hand on the boy's shoulder and points to a small alcove behind the marble altar. Nodding his understanding he dashes over and returns with a pair of full clay flasks.
"Waters of healing." Katerina says. "We were preparing them for dealing with wounds and sicknesses that might happen at the grove and inn. But they may serve this immediate need better."