Trevor ignores the others and continues to look for a scabbard or a place where a scabbard could be hidden. He uses his Divine sense to see if it helps in his search: "This sword cannot stay here. It's power must be... imprisoned."
"Is it safe to be carried?" Methada asked.
Trevor searches the room. A much easier process now that all of the bodies have been removed. Unfortunately, he finds no sign of a scabbard or other obvious case or carrier to store the spikes and sword.
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"Ah!" Allie ejects as inspiration hits.
She gathers together all of the pieces of fallen ceiling--big or small, jagged or smooth. She gathers them all in a large pile, leaving no piece un-touched.
She takes two pieces and, taking her small knife--a durable blade she's had with her since childhood--cuts one piece until it just about fits smoothly against the other piece.
Then she casts Mending, making one segment of ceiling fit the other one.
She continues to do this, making a long, sturdy length of ceiling material, casting the spell multiple times for joists that are more than 1 foot in length.
With a long stretch of ceiling now made whole, she takes out a small hammer and pounds the spikes from her dungeoneer's pack into it at regular intervals.
That done, she props the make-shift ladder against the wall.
"Well, I don't have a grappling hook, but...."
She takes out her rope and cuts off the last foot with her knife. Then she takes up her crowbar and places it against the fresh cut in the rope. She places the last foot of rope back, forcing it to go around the crowbar until the two pieces of rope are again touching, and she casts Mending on the rope, cementing the crowbar within the newly fixed rope.
"This could work too," she says, smiling.
"We don't need a grappling hook, we need a scabbard!" says Trevor, still not finding anything.
It takes a bit of time, but you finally poke your heads back up through the opening and climb into the old ruined temple. The change is miraculous.
Sunlight pours through the top of the open dome, shining down upon the completely reconstituted altar stone. Windows and archways that were once covered in thick vines and thorns are cleared and open as if built only days ago. Fresh smelling summer air drifts in from a large entrance to the east.
To the west, the once hidden doorway you emerged from only a few minutes ago stands open and inviting. There is no sign of the magical portal that once kept the inner chambers of the temple hidden and within their small pocket plane. Instead you can see from here the entire complex once again sits above ground under the light of the sun.
"I don't have that... but.." Methada began as she took off her quiver. "You can use my quiver Trevor." She offered as she handed it over. Most of the arrows where gone so there was some room.
Trevor thanks Methada and tries to use his axe to push the scabbard into the quiver, like pushing dirt with a broom.
It takes several long minutes of maneuvering and adjusting and cursing within the recently restored holy walls, but eventually, Trevor manages to get the sword into Methada's quiver. When the knight finally picks up the wrapped up sword he can still feel the things malevolence even through the thick leather of the quiver. What's even more disconcerting is the way the thing feels in his hand. It's like he's holding onto a live rattlesnake that's squirming and twisting trying to get itself free of the leather wrapping. Yet whenever he looks at the sword, it looks like just another inanimate weapon tucked away in a quiver.
Vrindel takes a deep breath of nature and ambles toward the door in the east to estimate where they are. He lets Trevor collect his relics of his god. The trollkin doesn't hold the sun's disciple that they cleared all of the roots of evil in this area. But, at least they have pulled several out.
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Allie, normally a curious person in the most mundane of circumstances, can't help but notice the very very odd way the paladin is handling a newfound sword.
"Um, what's the deal with the sword? IT got cooties or something?" she asks, curious. "Hold still a minute, lemme see what we're working with," she says, Detecting the Magic in the sword.
"I can get a better idea of how to Identify it after we camp," she adds.
The two powers that remain strong and steady within the temple proper are those radiating from the restored marble altar and the wall sized sun, heart, and sword symbol of St. Katerina behind it, and the sword. The altar and sun symbol's glow with various of yellow. Fluctuating from a pale cream to canary to a dark goldenrod.
You observe the aspects of the domains represented within the holy symbols. Your curiosity plucking away carefully at the various threads. There is certainly the underlying power of Khors and the domain of Light. But there is a second power. Something new, something you've not read about or seen before. A mysterious blend of Justice, War and curiously Draconic energies.
Mysterious or not, one thing is quite clear. The power is a without a doubt a force for good. A marked contrast to the vile, struggling thing wrapped in Methada's quiver and held so gingerly by Trevor. The knight's hesitation and revulsion toward the weapon become immediately clear to you as your eyes try to concentrate on the blade. Simply focusing on it is a difficult task, as if the blade itself fights against your intrusion.
Eventually you manage to pin the thing down enough to get a feel of the necromantic, blood, and apocalyptic powers churning through the weapon. It is almost too late when you realize your concentration on the blade has left you open and vulnerable to something else...something that resides within the blade. Something hungry, powerful, and utterly evil. The paladin's grip stifles the spirit magic a little, but whatever it is still calls to you, draws, you, promises you power, glory, wealth, and fame. All you need to it take hold and draw it forth.
Trevor tries to help by providing a good angle of view inside the scabbard, though he's holding it like an uncle holding a baby with a full diaper.
"....I'm not going to need to clean my quiver am I?" Methada teasingly asked when she saw how Trevor was holding it.
"You probably should... That sword..."
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"Whoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooa," Allie exclaims as her gaze, rarely static at the best of times, roves around, darting from the sword to the marble altar and the wall sized sun, heart, and sword symbol of St. Katerina behind it.
"This...this is...this is very interesting." For a time she just stares, not really communicating, taking in the wonderous sights that have burst into life with her magesight.
In time she focuses on the sword, nodding to Trevor's suggestion, and taking in the raw data and the implications therein.
"For just as good as this temple was...is...this is, like, the opposite. Very bad. It might even be a manifestation of a negative-plane singularity, or a...."
"Ooooooo. It's like a Calling Ring mixed with a Siren Trap!" Wraith says, not bothering to explain the simili. "No, wait, sorry. It's a Longing Ring. Maybe. It wants me to touch. Awwww, who's a little soul-vampire? Who wants some unsuspecting innocent to touch you and give you power. Yes you do, yes you do," she coos to the untouched and unloved sword like one would to a naughty-yet-cute puppy.
"Okay, so Imma -NOT- gonna be ID'ing that thing. Whatever Khors's's' biggest enemy is, that thing might be, like, a shard of it.
Ha, yeah, Meth, you won't need t' wash the quiver...'cause you're goona _burn_ it.
We can take that sword with us but you're gonna wanna break it somehow.
Anywhos, I could sit here and state at the marble and the symbol, but if you guys wanna get going, we're done here."
Vrindel steps out of the temple into the wilds of the forest. A portion of forest that has undergone a very recent transformation. The trollkin looks around the confines of the recently resurfaced and restored temple and finds a ring of arboreal devastation. Numerous trees, many well over a hundred years old have been toppled, their massive trunks, branches and debris lie piled in a great jumble about the building.
But not far beyond the devastated section, the forest still stands as it has for hundreds if not thousands of years. It is impossible to get a good idea of how far from the ruined inn you've traveled or from Nargenthal for that matter. Not within the great growth of forest. However, you are able to locate true west and east. Knowing the sea shouldn't be too far to the west, you should be able to find your way back without much trouble.
If only you didn't have that uncanny sense of being watched as the sun starts to pass its highest point in the sky and slip downward toward evening.
Vrindel slowly returns back to the renovated temple. When he gets to a distance that his companions can hear him whispering, he says, "It feels like someone was watching me out there. It's not clear where this place is, but I could lead us to the coast."
"Should we return underground and find out where the ghouls went, because they didn't find this place?"
"Maybe rest first?"
Trevor nods back to Vrindel, now suspicious of his surroundings and saying too much. He gathers his kit and prays, thanking Khors for this incredible blessing, this amazing sense of purpose that now fills him.
Then, he gets up, ready to follow the Trollkin.
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Taking the opportunity to rest under the protection of the holy magic within the chamber, you all settle in for a meal and a bit of sleep. The evening passes without danger or trouble but your dreams are not as restful as one might imagine. Various sights and scenes slip in and out of focus. Most are simple too confusing or unclear to leave any lasting impression. A few are quite clear...
....
A small library, tidy with only a few days worth of dust coating any particular shelf. An old man sits at a circular table along with a half dozen children varying in age from five to eleven years of age. Currently one of the children is reading from simple copies of The Book of the Sun while the elder listens. The priest is dressed in a set of elegant white robes with gold trim and a yellow and orange sun stitched upon the chest and back. Thin, round wire framed glasses are perched on the end of a large nose. What hair he has is close cut and white with age. He follows along as the children read each passage, his knobby hand tracking each line.
"Well done Tabitha." The man says to the child with a smile and a gentle pat to her arm. Suddenly he winces in pain, a gasp escaping his lips. The children look on with worry and concern.
"Are you okay father?" Young Tabitha asks.
The priest doing his best to recover, tries to smile, but it turns into more of a grimace. "Would you be so kind as to fetch Brother Jerome for me dear?" He asks. His voice filled with pain. He eyes glance about the study until they happen to land upon a small statue set high on a shelf, one that is actually covered with a thick layer of dust and cobwebs. The statue is of a young warrior woman, a small dragon sits upon her shoulder, it's long tail wrapped protectively around the woman's chest and waist. To anyone who hadn't spent the last thirty years in this sturdy and who didn't know every item with intimate familiarity nothing would seem amiss. Yet the old priest gasps as his eyes take in the statue. With fumbling hands he wipes his glasses upon his robe and stares again at the statue.
His eyebrows furrow downward and he slowly pushes himself up from the cushioned chair. "That will be all for today children." He says, rubbing at his forehead. "I'm afraid the cook’s porridge this morning has not agreed with me. You should all return to your quarters and we'll resume our lessons tomorrow."
There's a chorus of 'Yes Fathers!' as the children hurry out, skirting past the just arriving Jerome.
"Jerome. Good." The old priest says, waving away the man's immediate concern. "It will pass. But sit down." His eyes flick back toward the statue where the sword of the warrior woman glows with a feint aura. "We've much work to do. It seems someone has slipped her cage...."
....
Long nailed fingers rap tap along a bone armed chair. Field Captain Gravedancer of the Seveth Centile of the Marrowrich Legion did not like failure. Most especially his own. So far, his attempts to penetrate the inner sanctum of his target had failed miserably. Nearly a third of his centile gone and one of his necrophages wiped out in one vile chamber. Bah! He should have never left that dimwitted Graveleater in charge. Bones grind as his shifts in the chair, the bones still gleaming a freshly flensed white. ”Still what he lacked in command initiative, he makes up for in comfort.
A distant rumbling echoes through his quarters within the depths of Midgard.
”Bonejam!” He hollers for his aide, a rather rotund ghoul who hurries in, his head bobbing up and down.
”Yes Field Captain? How may I serve you?”
”Emperor’s black b@@*+*$s what’s that racket? We didn’t have any operations planned for today.”
”Oh no sir. Nothing today. It came well from beyond are lines, sir.” The aide says bowing his head in humble submission. ”Perhaps Necrophage Bloodletter knows.”
”Indeed I do!” Hisses a voice from behind the wide girthed Bonejam who can’t help but start at the silent appearance of the aforementioned necrophage.
”Out of my way, you over grown steak.” The conjurer says to Bonejam as he strides into the Field Captain’s chamber. His ivory and jet staff taps upon the stone floor while dead, black eyes top stare at his commander with barely concealed contempt.
”Our prize is free.” The necrophage says with a pointy toothed smile. ”It seems those bumbling surface dwellers have made themselves useful after all.”
As the necromancer speaks, Gravedancer leans forward, excitement and a bit of hope at coming through this fiasco in one piece animating his features. ”This is true? It’s free of that blasted temple?”
”It is. And at the moment the other force brought into play by these events remains weak and vulnerable. If we strike quickly and hard, perhaps we can rid the Empire of an ancient enemy for good as well as recover it’s lost treasure.” A smirk crosses Bloodletter’s lips.
....
The Lady lounges upon the feather soft chase under the cold gray glow of the shadow sun. The gray of the bikini a stark contrast to the alabaster skin of her lithe body as a broad shouldered servant rubs more of the jasmine scented leeching lotion into her shoulders and back. Her face is striking, but perhaps a bit too chiseled to be labeled as truly beautiful. Silver hair is wrapped in an elaborate set of braids that pile high atop her head.
”You’ve glorious hands Benali.” The melodious voice purrs as she twists her head upon the pillow. ”There’s nothing like a day spent under the sun’s rays getting all of that vile color gently pulled from one skin.”
Suddenly a forest sprite comes fluttering up to the balcony. It’s usual trail of sparkling golden motes little more than a pallid gray dust cloud within the gloom of the shadow realm. The whir of its fluttering wings breaks the peaceful calm of the Lady’s siesta, eliciting a frown and stern look from the noble shadow fae. The worried sprite offers a deep, shivering bow. Fear warps the tiny creatures features as it hands a slim silver cylinder to the Lady.
”Message from Doryanne Thistlebloom in Ozku your Ladyship.” The sprite says, it tiny voice even higher pitched out for fear of disturbing his mistress.
”Really, it couldn’t wait. The sun is just right.” The fae sighs, her lower lip protruding in a spoiled pout.
”It’s marked exceedingly urgent and for you only, Ladyship.”
”Oh very well, give it here you little roach.”
A coil of her elaborately bound silver hair falls free as she sits up and snatches the offered cylinder. ”Now what could old gloomy Thistlebloom have to say that is so important. Frankly, I had enough of that tiresome place…”
She snaps the cylinder in half releasing the contents in side. A swirl of shadows cascades free and rapidly forms into a gray toned image of a temple surrounded by a tumult of fallen trees and upturned ground. The images turns as if the someone is circling the temple. More fallen trees and disturbed ground as if the building suddenly burst forth from below.
”Humph….some old building in the forest. This is certainly not worth disturbing…” The shadow fae’s voice cuts off as the image zooms in toward an open entrance to the building. As the image closes two sets of lights from within grow brighter. The first is an overwhelming glow of brilliance coming from a sun, heart and sword symbol upon one of the walls. The second is a pulsating red and black power held barely contained within a shabby old quiver. The Lady sucks in a breath. Her ageless purple eyes focused completely on the sword.
”Oh my.” She says. ”Someone has found it and released it.” She claps happily and then turns to the sprite, concern growing in her eyes. ”When did this arrive?” She slings a black silk robe on, cinching the waist tight. ”Never mind. Get whoever is Captain of the Black Rose Knights up here now. We’ve no time to waste.” She laughs the laugh of splintering golden glass. ”We won’t need those filthy ghouls after all.”
....
An old woman shuffles across the room toward a steaming black iron pot. Her back is turned so all that can be seen is a tattered shawl covering pointy shoulders and a stooped back. The woman hums a bouncy little tune as she drops a bit of powder into whatever brews in the pot. She lens in to sniff the steam coming off the pot.
”Hmmmm….needs a little more powdered frogs heart.” An all too familiar voice. A voice filled with age and malice. A voice last heard cackling over a ruined inn on a full moon night slinging curses and evil. The voice of the Old Witch of the Wood.
”Ho now. What’s this?” She says staring into the pot, leaning forward further until her long, wart tipped nose practically touches the bubbling surface. A rheumy eye peers into the swirling stew. Until an image appears. The image of a newly risen temple, surrounded by fallen trees. Power radiating from inside.
”Oh Ho! So my little waifs have been busy little bees.” She stops for a moment and then bursts forth with a bone chilling, spine tingling laugh. ”Aiiiieeeeheheheeeheeeheee! Bees! Oh that’s rich. Aiiieeheheheheee.” She swirls a green, boney finger in the broth and the image zooms in. There is Trevor holding a sword as Allison stands nearby attempting to search out its secrets. Moments later Vrindel walks past with a tired smile for Methada.
”Well, well, well…new faces and old.” She cackles. ”Up to something so bold. Saints risen from evils prison. Secrets long hidden bring forth darknesses unbidden. Into the fray, we shall play, curses time, has begun its chime. Aiiieeeeehehehehehee.”
”Mourn! Render! Cackle! Gather your brothers. Mother is taking you on a trip! Aiiieeeihehehehehee!”
….
Trevor wakes, all sweaty: "I had this crazy dream! I was buying sandals, and they only had those silvery ones I don't like (I'd rather have the golden ones), but then others showed up and tried to take them from me! And it was the last pair! And then the whole world went dark... And after that... Well, the rest was much worse... Did we do something wrong?"
Vrindel awoke with a start. His dreams were so vivid, so specific. And he felt a horribly that they just did what the ghouls and the shadow fey wanted: to release extraordinary Evil into Midgard.
"Trevor, I dreamed of the witch. She's coming after that sword. That source of Evil. And, so is a noble shadow fey and a Centile of the Marrowrich Legion."
"And, I dreamed that someone in your Temple of Khors caged Katerina on purpose."
"At first, I was thinking that we need to find out what the ghouls were looking for, but I think we actually have it: the sword. So now, I think we need to keep the sword away from the ghouls and the fey. Maybe the fey who owes someone here a favor might be able to tell us what they know of the sword and the noble fey who wants it."
"And, what should we do about Katerina? Maybe if we help her, she can help us. Think we're going to need a bunch of help."
"What do you all think?"
"The fey I was mistaken for you mean?" Methada asked
"You all asked me to join, so I will follow your lead. I trust you after all." She added with a small smirk, "Do you believe it is right?"
Trevor's mood immediately darkens. He bows his head and says: "You to then... I was hoping... I was hoping it was just... Well, a dream. Then what does it mean? Part of me wants to see that witch, finally, and be done with it! But the Ghouls, the Fey, the clergy, my clergy! My clergy? I do not know anymore... Was Katerina a true saint? Was she erased for the right reasons? The wrong ones? I'm- I'm confused! Too confused! This... This is too manny conundrums..." he mumbles, completely lost.
"Perhaps we can hide that sword? Or some giant volcano to throw it in?"
You spend a bit of time walking through the temple complex both to discover what may or may not have survived the restoration and to help clear your minds of the disconcerting dreams.
You find the other sections of the temple still intact and even more inspiring. The great glass domes once again allow the sun to shine in brilliant rays upon statues, mosaics and frescoes. From the central hub the various arches still lead to a practice ground, chapel, and the other destinations, although the glow of magic is gone, replaced with actual arches of gold, mithril, platinum, and silver.
As you discuss what to do next, including finding a volcano or calling in fae favors, you all hear a sound coming from the down the hall beyond the mithril arch. It sounds very much like a woman crying.
"Would either of those options keep us from... apparently, having shared dreams..?" Methada asked, obviously rather unnerved. "Just uha, you know asking..."
However she stopped when she heard a women crying. "Forget my first questions. Does anyone else hear that?" She asked.
"I do. I hope it's the witch. If our dream was not a dream, then she'd show up first, wouldn't she?"
Before moving, however, Trevor makes sure the sword is safe and secure in the quiver and cannot easily fall, then he puts the quiver on his shoulder, feeling the sword impossibly heavy.
"This place is so beautiful... Right. The crying. Let's find out."
Stepping through the mithril arch you find the same hall as before. Lit by a series of silver orbs in crescent shaped scones. The entire effect is like walking a path on a moonlit night until you reach the end and swing the door open.
The tomb of Saint Katerina is the same as it was before. A circular, domed chamber. Perhaps twenty paces in diameter, smaller The room is lit in the same manner as the hall. A sarcophagus sits in the center of the room on a raised platform. The marble top is carved in the form of a heavily armored female lying at rest, her hand gripping the pommel of her sword. It only takes a few moments to recognize the warrior depicted as the same woman from the various mosaics and frescoes already seen throughout this temple. That of the Sainted Katerina.
The walls of the round chamber offer three quiet alcoves each with a stone bench. Places where acolytes, priests, or other petitioners once sat to seek guidance from the saint or otherwise spend a few moments in quiet contemplation. Above each alcove is carved a symbol. One a shield, one a greatsword, and one the many-rayed sun of Khors.
There is no decoration or other work marking this dome. Simply an elegant script in mithril. Behind my shield find shelter. With my blade find courage. Under the light of god find true wisdom.
There are two changes, the first is the shining light of the sun cascading down through the top of the dome. Glittering mirrors, not noticed before help reflect the suns rays throughout the dome and most especially upon the saints sarcophagus.
The second difference and most startling, is the naked young girl perhaps twelve or thirteen who sits, legs crossed, shrouded in the light upon the top of the sarcophagus. Her golden hair is cut about ear length. Her body wiry, youthful, fit. Small scars cover her body. Too many for one so seemingly young. Tears glisten upon her cheeks as she weeps softly in the suns radiant light. As you enter she looks up at you with a mixture of fright, hope, concern, and curiosity.
"Have you finished repairing the new creche? I told you it needed to been done today. We've another fifty eggs on the way." Her voice shrills at you from the hive's birthing chamber. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you catch a glimpse of her enormous abdomen in the mirror. She'd grown amazingly fast and too immense proportions in such a short time. And then the eggs started coming. One after another, after another. 'Got to repopulate the hive dear.' She said. 'It's a queen's duty and responsibility, dear' She said. 'Now be a darling and fetch me that jug of warmed honey and then you can help the drones.' The mere thought of more honey makes your stomach quiver and your teeth ache. Domesticity was not working out at all in the way you imagined.
In fact you could practically hear Thor and the other warriors of Valhalla chuckling, nay laughing, nay out right belly grabbing, falling down, tears in their eyes laughing at your current predicament. Aterro the Domesticated! Aterro the Changer of Diapers! Fetcher of Honey! Mighty Servant of a Thousand Buzzing Mouths!
Then comes the earthquake. Something disturbed the very foundations of the land. Fortunately, the hive was not badly damaged, but there were repairs to be made. Nothing the drones couldn't handle, but she didn't like you just laying about wasting time. So the King works right along with the other drones.
But then the visions come. A temple in the forest. Thrust up from the womb of the earth like a newborn egg. Trees scattered about. Light shines upon the temple. A new player in the game of gods. But nature abhors imbalance and so this new source of light, also unleashes an old source of darkness. And already evil is drawn like flies to honey. Shadow fae, foul ghouls of the Empire, the Old Witch, and other unknown enemies. Something must be done!
Your eyes look to the long spear covered with honey dust, sitting in the corner. Your armor and hammer languishing in the closet. Like a jolt of electricity it is upon. The call to adventure. The call to a warriors duty. The call to investigate this new mystery for your god and your own sense of pride and value.
Thus, packing your gear, saying your farewells, you set off from the hive and march once again into the world.
With Thor's blessing and guidance, you are drawn to the place of upheaval. A temple of the sun god, Khors that is easy enough to see as you step into the central rotunda. Khors, but not Khors. There is something new here. A figure and symbols you've not seen before. This new comer perhaps? Questions abound. And voice can be heard coming from further within the temple. Voices that sound familiar...
Trevor welcomes the light if the sun on his face. He smiles, bathing his face, but then raises a concerned eyebrow as he notices the girl on the edge of his vision.
"Who are you, young girl? Are you the Old Witch?"
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He had left with a heavy heart.
Yes, domestication had been nothing like he had thought. Yes, the queen had started...acting like a queen.
But still, it had been good. In the beginning. O, how they had made the roof rumble! How he had shouted in ecstasy that Thor himself must have felt a pang of jealousy at this, this romance that crossed even species!
But Valhalla does not exist because things last forever. They do not. Events move apace. Hence, though the Earthquake and the Tales of Ill Tiding brought bad omens, he did welcome it. Mostly. And mourning for the past was not his way. To battle!
The journey was quick. His stride was still sure, none of the days of multi-legs and flying had sapped his strength for the old-fashioned two legs and two arms. It was also not was way to bandy about when there was a way forward not guarded by GLORIOUS COMBAT. Thus did he enter.
"Greetings," he said in way of understatement to his old friends.
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As always, Aterro stood in silence a moment, not translating so much, but...absorbing...what Wraith had said. They had reclaimed a temple from the Enemy's clutches. And the child might be...what? A divine being's new vessel? He would find out.
"Gratitude to you, Ms. Whiteangel. Hast thou reaped a great slaughter? Cast the enemy from our shores have you?"
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"Sheyeah. You wish. Nah, got tracked on the side. Trapped chamber down under got enough deaders, I'd say. Got 'em scared for the now, but they be back. Always are.
In fact, you can follow here. Brain says the village might face the hammer, scan? Imma go tell Top to make with the ready. Try not to lose yer head.
I feel we may meet again, Attero.
Laters!"
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Aterro watched Wraith go. Always an enjoyable experience. She was a like a dog of war--a fearsome tool, but only if handled well.
"Greetings," he said again to the trollkin, Paladin, and, someone new. Dark elf. Not to be trusted.
"I see you've not died yet, Trevor. Glory to you. Hast thou reaped a great slaughter?"
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Vrindel follows the others toward the crying. Then, he answers Trevor, "no Trevor. This is Katerina. Let's get her dressed. Are you thirsty or hungry, girl?"
Then Aterro returns. "Aterro? Aterro! Good to see you. Did you eat enough honey? Drink enough mead? Return the Thorspear to me?"
"Allison? How do you know each other? Where are you going?"
Methada pulled her cloak off and slowly approached the young girl. "Here, we're not going to hurt you. Just want to give you this." And slowly Methada got closer to wrap the girl up in her cloak.
However she paused when she noticed Wrath speaking with this Aterro. "Huh..." She began. "A friend I take it?" She asked the group, "Who didn't die..?" Methada questioned trying to get a hold on the situation.
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Brother Aterro, in his way, stood motionless, only swiveling his head as the others provided information for his mind to chew upon.
"Katerina? The Handmaiden of Khors? This girl is her will made manifest?" Aterro speaks of one who knows this aspect of religion. And why wouldn't he. Such is the duty of Clerics to know these things.
At the mention of honey one can hear his stomach turn at its mention. "Oh for the love of all things holy and good, never even -mention- honey in my presence. Aye, aye, a thousand times aye! I had enough honey to last you, me, and all the living souls left in this land a thousand lifetimes! They knew not of meade but I crafted a still after a fashion and my product was poor, for I am no smith of spirits, so even in drink I could not find succor."
He pauses and puts a skin to his lips, but as soon as it touches his mouth he seems to think better of it and puts it back. "We need to find a town with a tavern as soon as we can," he mutters.
"You can not return a thing to one for whom it was not meant, Druid. Did I willingly part from the Bolt of Thor before my hands were cold and still, he would come down from Vahalla and look upon me with such shame as to melt any who beheld it."
He would have asked Vrindel how many skulls he himself had gathered for his own glory mound, but the troll-thing was ever odd about that, and was as like to take offense as to simply not care.
"As far as Wraith, did you not here? She thought the Command...the Brains of the operation...would believe that now the greyskins would attack the village with the Hammer of an attack, so she goes to warn them.
Her saying 'scan' is just we way of asking if one understands. An affectation of some patois, I surmise.
But, aye, there's no time to waste. If I am moved from leisure, then most like many other hands are as well. It's best if one of us go to warn the Top command, and they are more like to listen to her. Symbiotic."
Now he pauses and looks at the new speaker. Dark fey. The gnome, Ibrox, was not far from this ilk, and he was ever the oddity. Is this a spy now in our midst? Or some ally from dark ranks?
"Greetings to you," he says at the she-fey. "I am Brother Aterro Dominatus. WarCleric of Thor. I know this quest of old, and, yes, I am a friend to Allison WhiteAngel.
Trevor here didn't die!" he says, now laughing in a short loud guffaw. "Much to my amazement! Ha ha! That he's not found a way to shirk off this mortal coil is truly a feat for the legends. Songs will be sung and poems penned that Trevor the Yellow has seen another sunrise!
Now, by what are you called?"
"Many th-th-thanks." The girl says wiping tears from her golden eyes. And gold they are. Like radiant pools of sunlight glittering on a spring or molten gold within a dwarven forge. Despite the coloring and aura of power, they are filled with warmth, kindness, and compassion. Yet also a deep uncertainty, pain, and sorrow.
She looks first into Methada's eyes and immediately the shadow fae feels the girl's power washing upon her mind. For a moment it is as if the shadow fae were an ant under a magnifying glass. The radiant power burning through her mind and soul. Uncovering fears, secrets, dreams, losses, memories. All in a great overwhelming tidal wave of memory that crashes upon the shores of Methada's skull.
Following Methada, the girl, her eyes wide and panicked land upon each of you within the Katerina's resting place. In turn you each feel the same penetrating upheaval of memories and emotions, interrupting any initial greetings or farewells.
"Oh! Oh. I'm sorry." The girls says turning her face away. "I didn't mean to...I mean...I don't...I don't understand. What has happened? Where?" She starts to break into tears again covering her eyes with her hands. "It's all so overwhelming!"
Her body shivers and trembles. Heat radiates from her small frame as she begins to glow with a brilliant golden aura that matches her eyes. A cry of pain escapes her lips.
"I'm so lost? There is so much! So much...feeling...so much pain!" She shouts. "Please?! Help."
Stepping inside you find a large open hall with an altar in front of a great sun, heart and sword symbol you haven't seen anywhere before except in your own dreams. The symbol is clearly derivative of Khors, but the additions are nothing you've seen before. Before you can investigate further there is a loud scream that echoes from the open archway on the opposite wall from where you entered. The scream was high pitched, something like a child or young woman suffering in great distress.
"The fates have decreed that I arrive just in time to save this defenseless one!" thinks Gunnar, breaking into a smooth jog towards the noise, drawing his Blessed Hammer and readying his shield. Not knowing the situation ahead but keenly aware of its urgency, the dwarven worshipper of Thor utters a quick prayer as he tries not to make *too* much noise approaching.
Methada froze as she felt the girl's power flow into her mind. The flood of memories and the taking of her own made her lock up for a while till the girl began to shout.
"There! Look there!" Methada pointed case of holy water under the pit of the alter. She quickly moved to get one of the bottles. [b]"Here, here will this help?" Methada asked as she handed the girl one of the bottles.
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Aterro was an undying warbringer. This was true. But was also a Cleric, and Clerics have a way of embracing and understanding the unknown games that the powers beyond play in a way that most folk do not.
To him, it seemed apparent that this was -the- Katerina now come back to the Prime Material Plane to re-join the fight against those evil powers that threatened to overwhelm all people of the planet.
So too, this was not overly unusual. Deities fed on worship, and if all the people died, so would their power base. So of course someone has come back. And for reasons selfish or altruistic, at this point, it did not matter. A Power had manifested, and that was something.
"Greetings," Aterro rumbles as gently as he can. He approaches the girl. He kneels down. He takes his helmet off.
His face is not so unusual. It is a hard face, one that has seen life, both the light and the dark, and of greater intensity than most.
"I am Attero, WarCleric of Thor. This is Methada, a valiant knight. Thank you, Methada," he says as she comes over, bearings gifts.
"You are, I believe, Katerina, a fierce and honorable warrior. You have a special power about you. You will do great things, and the evil forces will tremble at your sight.
But for now...are you hungry?
I have mead and honey cakes," he says, stifling his grimace, and unbuckling his pack.
Vrindel surveys the new divinity wondering how this blossoming Good and weapon of Evil will affect Midgard. Too much power ran rampant over the natural denizens and will wipe them out if not combated.
The girl's cries calm somewhat and the tremors racking her body seem to ease just a bit as Aterro kneels before her offering food. Taking the offered cake, she slips just a bit into her mouth and chews it slowly, letting the taste and sweet flavor occupy her mind and body for the moment.
"I...I do not know. She says to Methada when the fae offers her the holy water. She reaches out to touch the glowing bottle. "But I can feel something...a resonance...or familiarity almost as if a small part of me is within." Her fingers run along the bottle, feeling the warmth and smoothness of the glass.
Trevor his face furrowed in concentration watches as Katerina holds the vial. "There...there's something that might help." He says. His voice is different somehow. Humbled in the presence of one so close to his god, perhaps even a child of Khors. With the humility comes growing maturity and perhaps even a true dedication. Something that has eluded the young knight since either Vrindel or Aterro first met him back in that tavern in Courlandia where old Rook first hired them all.
His eyes are completely and utterly focused on the girl. He starts to step forward, and she flinches back in fear, her golden eyes looking at the dark blade wrapped in its makeshift scabbard and held in Trevor's hand. The knight blushes deeply and carefully sets the sword aside before stepping forward again to kneel next to Aterro. He swallows. Clears his throat. The words do not come easy, but he has an idea and he would not run from fate or duty or responsibility any longer. He had helped bring this...power...back into existence, he would not see it suffer if possible.
Sensing the knight's inner turmoil, the girl reaches out a trembling hand, her eyes meeting Trevor's. She touches the knight on the cheek, resting her hand with gentle kindness. What is exchanged between the two of them, may never be known for what exists between a mortal and their god is in truth for them alone. But after a few moments. She smiles. A smile that is radiant with hope and joy. "Speak what you know, warrior of light." She says. Her words break the last dam within Trevor.
"It is a simple blessing that...that the priests give to newborns. I've read about it. In an old tome of the Imperatrix's. But I've never seen it performed. According to the tome, it was removed from canon long ago." He takes one of the vials of holy water and gently removes the stopper. "The priest who wrote the book said the ritual was meant to mark the child as one of Khors own children upon Midgard. Placing their souls under the protection of the light and grounding it to the world while it walks these mortal realms."
"Do you wish to have me try?" He asks.
Katerina simply nods and her body begins to tremble and glow again.
Pouring some of the water over his finger, Trevor then touches Katerina's forehead.
"Khors, bless this child so that she may always walk in your light." His voice is hesitant at first, but grows in confidence and strength as he goes. "May her thoughts be pure, just, and kind." He dabs his fingers over her heart and the trembling and light begin to recede. "May she know and love, kindness, and compassion." He marks her shoulders. "May she have the strength of the sun within her arms. May they always be just and serve to protect those who cannot protect themselves."
The light continues to recede and the girls breathing calms. The power in the room fades, not away, but to a more controlled state.
The knight uses the last of the holy water to dab Katerina's stomach. "May she find truth, passion, friendship, family and plenty beneath your glorious rays for the entirety of her days in this world."
He stops, rises and takes a step back, looking at Katerina. All can see the change in her demeanor. Calm has replaced panic. Peace has overcome her initial fear.
"Ohhhh...that is much better." She sighs heavily and smiles. "Still, I've no real understanding of what has happened or even...who I am."
Moving as quietly as you can down the hall, you come across a rather unusual scene. A trollkin, a shadow fae, a human and an elf all stand around a young girl sitting upon a marble sarcophagus. The shadow fae has drapped a cloak across the girl while the armored human kneels before her offering some kind of cake. Light radiates from the girl in varying waves of brilliance until the elf, some kind of warrior judging by the armor and big axe across his back, steps forward and performs some kind of ritual.
You watch as the girls trembling and cries seem to ease along with the brilliant radiant light. You cast your gaze back to the others and see the trollkin staring at you from his place behind the others.
Halting his stealthy rush to save the maiden in distress--as she is apparently no longer in distress--Gunnar stops and waits respectfully for the ritual to be complete, making no attempt to hide from the trollkin's gaze.
Nodding slightly to the one watching, Gunnar hangs his hammer back on his belt and slings his shield in a show of peaceful intentions and waits to be addressed while he scans for faces from his dream--and the one he might actually recognize from his waking moments.
Vrindel watches Trevor like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon actually embrace his faith and demonstrate it effortlessly with new divinity. Good for Trevor.
He happens to look back toward the entrance to the chamber. At first he thinks it is simply a trick of his eyes given all of the light beaming through the room, but then it moves ever so slightly. There is someone there. It looks to be a dwarf watching from the opening.
He whispers to his companions, "a dwarf has joined us."
Then, the trollkin turns to the opening readying his shield and brandishing his staff at the dwarf, "Dwarf! Who are you? What are you doing here?"
Methada watched Trevor and she couldn't help but feel sad, but she nodded understanding that their time together was at an end. "Goodbye"
With the dwarf's appearance Methada just raised an eyebrow. "Uhm... hello."