Early in the chilly morning after your staggered arrival in the holy city you meet once again when invitations are sent by the Queen to join her in being formally received by the chief priest of the temple city. You are brought to the square about which her small army is housed to accompany the normal detachment of the Lords with an added handful of sons and the noblest landed knights as the monarch’s honour guard towards the acropolis where the cult’s monastery sits. Though still carrying swords and other favoured arms on their belts they are wearing normal clothes and cloaks rather than armour. It is shortly after lunch when two monks in humble white robes with a simple solar disc embroidered arrive to guide you, they needn’t have bothered the way to the upper city is obvious from the outset. The main road of the city runs from the front gate in a straight line through the middle city and up to the upper ward in a wide unbroken line. The broad roadway is all but deserted making the habitually quiet city virtually silent but for the distant sound of water in motion and the occasional bird call. The lack of noise with the autumn cloud cover and still air almost makes you feel like you are still indoors as you make a leisurely pace along the road. You are led through the thick gateway in the inner wall that leads immediately onto a broad stairway that climbs to the acropolis. On each giant step twenty can walk abreast and five back to front with ease. The buildings of the upper city sit in part on the cliff side and partly on a massive terrace of white stone built out from the sloping ridge, the stairway runs on the west side of the terrace with large alcoves at regular intervals. Each recess houses a towering statue of some heroic figure from an ancient tale, Valerian can recognise a few of them but others are a complete mystery as you do not have time to study the words engraved neatly all across the back walls of the alcove that no doubt tell the tale of the figure. The last two figures are on plinths standing on the newels at the top of the stairs in front of another formidably thick gatehouse that is decorated like a Triumphal arch. They are known to even Drast as the tales
* they are from are known across the known world though specifics like their names vary depending on who is telling the tale.
The higher area of the city is dominated by the Grand Temple that takes up the right half of the platform. Two very large circular concentrically stepped buildings below the tall towers that can been seen from almost every point in the city, the larger is higher on the cliff with the two connected by a long hall at ground level rising up the incline. Made from the same white stone as the rest of the major construction in the city, on the outside they are all as simply designed as the cities walls with large flat blocks of smooth unadorned stone. The only splash of colour comes from the red tiles high up on domed roves of the towers. There is a pathway that leads around the outer edge of the larger circle towards the smaller but your guides lead you in the other direction across a wide square formed by the temple on one edge, the walled edge of the terrace on two and a dense cluster of buildings that take up the remaining half of the acropolis on the final side, you are headed towards the maze of buildings. Each one of them is really quite large by most standards apart from in comparison to the massive Temple but while the outside of the temple is spartan the façades of these buildings are a cavalcade of ornate carvings. Almost every inch has some sort of decoration be it the elaborate columns of loggias facing one another across a street narrow enough to reach across or intricate spirals fashioned into the corbels that support wide ornamental balconies. While there is more than a few religious figures and scenes in the larger freezes and engravings in the places most likely to draw the eye, the majority is just decorative pattern work. You are led through the streets past veranda’s, galleries, through colonnades, fountains and by vestibules spewing thick incense. Monks and nuns in various forms of the cult’s robes move about the streets in small groups, as your procession passes them each bows and gives way when the path is too thin. At ground level it seems like a maze but when you round a final corner and come across a wide cloistered garden you begin to suspect it is meant to be viewed from above. One story arcades are on three sides of the garden with a pathway at the far end that leads under a pergola, thick with the last flowers of the year, into a tall hypostyle that serves as a portico for the palatial building that serves as the residence for the chief prelate.
In the heart of the garden is a round pool of crystal clear water and in the centre of that pool is a single massive statue depicting the Three Great Houses of the Spirits in black, red and white marble with the smallest figure being at least the height of a man. The eyes of each of the spirits have been fashioned from precious stones of a unique colour in such a fashion that even the dull light of this overcast morning the shimmering light reflected from the water gives them an eerie living quality. Your guides leave you at the threshold of the Basilica and from in amidst the columns a group of ten cultists with ceremonial rods approach to lead you the rest of the way in procession through the main hallway, across a circular peristyle where a sacred tree grows surrounded by urns of burning incense even in this weather and into the grand hall itself. The inside of the building is as elaborately decorated as the outside but now with a plethora of colour and materials. Rich tapestries line the hallways, doorways are hung with silk cloths to divide the rooms, every ceiling is painted and every yard of floor has an intricately woven rug underfoot. The doors to the hall are made of a dark wood and are opened by two dark robed and hooded hierophants, one male and one female, who loudly announce all of the guests in a harmonic song like tone that echoes off the vaulted ceiling. A shadow is cast over the meeting before it has even begun when the hierophants term the principle guests as the Duchess of Ecthesis appending her status as a claimant to the Kingdoms of Numoeria and Aravigia after the fact which causes an audible growl to emanate from the Earl of Dulmorth and a murmur to run through the knights.
The Grand Hall itself looks comparatively bare to the rooms you have walked through not because it actually has any less decoration but because of the wide open space that dominates the hall means there looks to be less per square measure of distance. A collection of long tables have been pushed aside up against walls on both sides of you suggesting they have cleared the normal furniture for a purpose. At the far end of the hall from you a regal throne carved from a single piece of black stone is sitting on a raised platform under a deep blue baldaquin suspended from the back wall which is covered from the high ceiling to the floor with a single giant tapestry that depicts the Great Spiritual Houses again but now with a host of other figures and creatures around them. A great many paintings and busts in niches stare down from the walls, no doubt each a worthy from the monastery’s past. Arrayed in a semi-circle in front of the throne’s dais are eight people sitting on plain chairs that stand up and give various depths of bow as your party enters. Two are women, the rest men but all are partially white haired and at least in their fourth decade if not older. They are introduced by the same bellowing hierophants one at a time by name and then collectively as the Elders of the Aravigian Helodic Council. Given the titles of the priests you learn the council is manned not just by those priests from the city but from across such organised unity as there is between the cults of Aravigia. You recognise the most rotund of them as the head cleric of the Ecthesian Chapel, the same man that placed the Numorean crown on the Queens head. Evidently he has been her chief messenger in arranging the summit that was supposed to be taking place here. All six wear lavish versions of the white robes of the other cultists you have seen so far with one figure in particular clearly being the man in charge, he was the last to be announced as “The Revered Elder of the Lokston Grand Temple, Shrine Master of the Sacred Light, High Priest of the Orophic Brotherhood, Dacian Mallow Keeper of the Helodic mysteries” which seemed longer than anyone else’s title. He is the eldest of the prelates being at least sixty if you had to guess and probably closer to seventy given the lines on his face though he is still of healthy enough frame and rises and bows unassisted. He has a stern and lofty set to his face that you can’t imagine smiling very often. He isn’t smiling now.
He has a neatly trimmed beard and cropped hair both as white as snow. His robes have a high collar trimmed with gold inlay that coils round a solar pattern on each shoulder and on his chest. The robe reaches down to the floor with sleeves that are so wide at the cuff that they too nearly reach the floor unless gathered about his forearms. Set into several areas of the robes on shoulders, hips and a strip across his chest are small scale shaped mirrors that do little in this light but would have quite the effect in services of prayer when they catch and reflect customarily copious sun or torch light, during important festivals Marian priests are known to put on entire suits of the stuff to appear as beings of holy fire. In his hand is a tall white wood staff with an elaborate golden ornament attached to the top in which is set an obsidian black oblong of rock.
Each of the elders takes first the Earl’s hand and then the Queen’s with each making a further bow or curtsies to her apart from the Ecthesian who kneels and kisses her hand and the High Priest Dacian who shakes it lightly in a manner that strikes you as strangely casual, if there are any other formalities that are supposed to be observed at such a meetings there is an unspoken agreement not to practices them as a host of chairs are set out for the guests across from the priests by servants that quickly exit the room.
“Your Grace-” Dacian begins with a surprisingly deep voice for a man his size but he is immediately cut off by a very deliberate cough from the elderly Baron of Lepton. The Queen places a restraining hand on the Baron’s own and Dacian begins again,
“Your Grace, Lords, Sers and honoured guests from distant lands I bid you welcome to Lokston. I hope you find rest, contentment and peace within the hallowed walls of our Temple City, such rewards are always to be found here for those that in earnest seek them.”
His words clearly heavy with meaning beyond a simple greeting which The Baron of CaerLok, Luther Chiswick, shows no patience for,
“You’ve heard of our trouble crossing the Loklek Bridge then?”
The Abbess of Brandle
** answers,
“We have, a choir of our brothers and sisters left this morning to provide all the proper rites to the fallen but I grieve for so much death on the waters that flow from this holy place. A most regrettable loss of life that could have been avoided had calmer heads prevailed.”
The Earl of Dulmorth being uncharacteristically quiet mutters something about it being mostly foreign blood but something in her choice of words has irked the Baron of Mething.
“Had they not made two attempts to assassinate the
Queen we might have trusted them to safely convey us here. One does sell your last knife to a murderer. I am sure you do not mean to condone or reveal a part in the planning of their use of foreign cut throats and evil magics for such skulduggery!” he rebukes with an accusatory finger wagging at her.
The Abbess is quickly moved to anger in return by the remark and raises her voice to shout at him,
“I certainly have no knowledge of such matters and would scarcely credit that Milord Regent would have any hand in them either!”
Mething having gone red with anger leaps out of his chair to shout right back,
“Oh they tried! You may take my word on that and I dare you to call me a liar*** with faith on your lips for that scheming wretch I hear you’ve been gifting silver to, you wh-” but fortunately he is cut off by a forceful tug at his arm from the Baron of Beasley before he can finish saying something he would probably regret.
There is a quiet moment while everyone regains a bit of composure before the Elderly Baron of Lepton phrase Mething’s meaning in slightly better words,
“Quite possibly the late King Cedrik’s Regents doesn’t have full knowledge of or control over those he and his conspirators have purchased to their side. I am not sure being ignorant of the quality of men you surround yourself with absolves one of guilt but regardless of where true blame lies for those attacks, they did happen. We could not surrender ourselves to their mercies and expect to be brought to this city unharmed and at liberty. With their larger army close behind, the crossing was forced on us and the first real blood of this disputed succession has been shed. We can all agree that with fortune and good intention from just men there will be no more.”
The Ecthesian priest speaks up quickly before any of the other priests have a chance to reply, he seems worried and eager raise a topic before another argument can delay the discussion again,
“Agreed… but unlikely. A rider visited in the night ahead of the Regent’s arrival tomorrow. He wished to know if the city had means to feed twelve thousand, your pursuit follows you still and the Regent has not travelled from the Capital alone it seems. You were fortunate to have made it here when you did, I fancy their soldiers have been seeking to hold the roads of Lokston since they learnt we intended to hold a summit here. I would beg you to place no hope in their good faith when they arrive yet the Revered Elder has made plain that he means to leave the gates open to them.”
“
Open to all, my good brother, open to all.” Corrects Dacian but the point is lost on the Lords who make several exclamations.
“You’d hand us over the Regent then?” asks the Earl who’s though casual and still sitting easy in his chair is full of a sudden unexplainable but undeniable menace.
The youngest of the priests, Abbot John who is still forty five at least, answers with a rather intense edge to his voice,
“No my Lord Earl we will do no such thing. Indeed as our position demands of us, we shall do as the very letter of the laws lain upon this city long before any kingdom existed here mandate, nothing at all. Our sacred charge as masters of this holding is from a lineage of faithful begun by the Great Spirits themselves, and, confirmed by every monarch and noble to inhabit the region. It is to see that the gates of this city are never shut again for any reason but against the return of the great enemy which Helior himself delivered us from in ages past. Only for those whom Asharadon himself recanted and allowed these walls to remain standing against the threat of, only under peril of that force will we be caused to bar the gates. When Kanarabos gave warning to Orophius to open up before the march of the approaching Helodic hosts or suffer its wrath it was a threat our order took to heart and to this day we would fear that punishment above any army of yours or the regent’s. As much evil as any man might do, be the Regent as foul as is claimed by your supporters and surrounded by a host of the most vile peoples that can be found and bought from the corners of the world, as much evil as they might do to you, us and all the people of Aravigia in their victory by our inaction, when all is said and done while your war for kingship might leave us all dead beside it will never threaten the justice of Heliod and,” he finishes with a less fanatical tone, “I doubt Lokston has as much to fear from the Regent and his plans as you would have us believe.” It sets off the Lords again who are very much in no mood to be lectured to. The Earl of Dulmorth stands and places one hand on the handle of his sword quite possibly purely by reflex but it upsets the High Priestess of Cabberuk
**** as she questions his intention to use the weapon and several loud arguments break out across one another. The Queen remains calmly seated and still silent apparently quite happy to leave her warriors and lords to their own devices in this meeting.
Dacian raises his staff once and bangs it loudly on the marble floor with a loud command for, “Peace!” with a sufficiently authoritative tone to get him the silence he needs to speak into. He doesn’t have the fanatical edge of the Abbot or even really any sort of committed tone of the devout when he talks but seems rather weary instead,
“Please, be seated,” the other priests who had stood up to really get into their arguments take their seats again but the lords all turn to the Earl who turns to the Queen before a slight nod has them all back in their chairs again and Dacian continues.
“What Brother John has said is correct, we are charged to hold open this city to all and it would break with our vows to shut out the Regent on condition of his good behaviour at and intentions for the summit. That said the more pressing truth is that we could not keep out a force of that size even if we wanted to declare our city in your name, for there is no reason for us to do so. Our city but for
your esteemed presence is worth little in terms of your conflict,” he casts and arm expansively about at the hall in general, “we are priests not warriors. We craft, pray, reflect and work the land. We take no taxes from the people that come here in most cases to seek peace. We have no strength of arms here to resist the predation of greater temporal powers. Either the regent, and his conspirators as you name them or whoever else has moved to eliminate you before your arrival, will respect the sanctity this city has always relied on as its only means of real protection and you will also be safe, or, they won’t in which case there is no service we can provide to prevent them even should we choose to declare for you and doom ourselves at your side in the face of their iconoclastic violence.
As noble as that might seem and as much as it might appeal to our personal desires for the tale of our lives to sound glorious and brave, the burning of this city would be the path of far lesser justice in the long term for the Kingdom and all who follow the tenants of the Heliod. Its loss would be felt for untold years after whatever end any of us come to,” he pauses with a very steady and cynical gaze at the young would be Queen, “and to be frank I am not personally satisfied that you have justice on your side. As many tales as I hear of ancient crowns delivered by Marian hands,” his eyes flicking briefly to Valerian and Drast, “I remain unconvinced of the providence you would seek to trade upon to secure a newer minted yet more prosperous kingdom termed a righteous and blessed possession of late when your case was begun on more prosaic means.” His right eyebrow raises in question to the Queen.
“
Did the footfalls of twelve thousand upset the scales of your moral quandary in the night? Your dedication to your sacred duties could have been made clear to my emissaries when we were an extra day ahead of our pursuit.”
Dacian’s eyebrow drops and he gives a slight shrug,
“I place my faith in there still being honour amongst the nobility of the realm and hope that the summit can still bring an end to this business before it gets any further. As the side most married to a vision of its own virtue and made up of dedicated countrymen born to your dominions I judge you likely to walk away from any table not set out exactly to your liking and hazard the skills your birth has granted you against those others have purchased through adversity. Though I did not design it so, that your security is weaker in the coming bargain may yet prove beneficial towards the goals of peace.” There is silence for a time while all digest the meaning of what he has said then the Earl leans over towards Beasley to have a very brief word in his ear. Beasley gives a nod to Bodem and both rise and leave the hall heading back towards the front door with half the knights. Dacian watches them go then speaking as if in private confidence directly to the Queen and ignoring all others he says in a soft voice. “Come, let us be truthful with one another, David is not a wicked man. No more than you are a tyrant. Even now he will not demand your head or the ducal crown you have habitually worn on it. Though you rarely visited the capital he was ever favourable when speaking of your family to Cedrik, he has known you your entire life. Who was the first to offer you condolences and support when your father passed?”
Whatever he was aiming for missed the mark as the Queen becomes stiffer and her eyes narrow as she lists of a series of names now familiar to you with deliberate care in her pronunciation of each
“
Roger Meir, Earl of Dulmorth. Bromwood Braxton, Baron of Beasley. Woarm Scholt, Baron of Lepton. Charles Nadelm, Baron of Mething. Henry Kessing, Earl of Pegir. Hugo Ashe, Baron of the Ashe. Goddard Tolberd, Earl of Aswith…” the list goes on for another seventeen names before getting to “
…David Crosspenny, under councillor to King Cedrik I, long may he walk in the fields of Hemecial.” giving the man all the others refer to as the regent his title at the time and adding a formal reverence for the now dead king. She begins to name the High Priest himself before the Abbot John that spoke before with fanatical zeal interrupts her to say,
“The point is he offered condolences and is a pious man-“ before he is in turn cut off by one of the Lords and a fresh set of shouting matches breaks out.
They shout for a good while and no headway is made as the Queen again sits back and lets them go at it. Valerian more or less zones out to stare the ceiling when any input he might try to make is ignored until there is a tugging at his wrist. A small child in similarly refined robes as the elders has wandered into the room at some point and is pulling your arm out of the way so it can look at the sword hilt on your hip. Normally you might shush the black haired girl away but the child’s eyes are glowing with a golden light so you acquiesce, she reached out and places her index finger in the pommel then immediately gives a spasmodic gasp and throws back her head with a jerk making her hood fall from her head. She opens her mouth to speak and the same light issuing from her eyes shines out from within as though there were a powerful flame in her diminutive body. Dacian again bangs his rod on the floor and calls of silence with all following his attentive stare to the strange child standing next to Valerian’s chair. With an ethereally musical voice punctuated by sporadic snapped breaths she declares the following loud enough for all present to hear,
“Behold celebrants of the Great House of the Sun Lord, listen and known at least one truth you can hold in your hearts as beyond question. Be devoid of all doubts of this one fleeting moment of your presence upon the mortal stage, prophesy is fulfilled this day. This is the Champion of the Stolen Soul, wandering heraldic satellite, tasked by Retribution, questioned by Fortune, companion to Rage, warden to a Drake Heart and loyal to the line of Contest. In union in this place and hour with the Blade of Ceaseless Retribution that Exposes the Truth, sister to the Key of Souls. Foretelling was given in warning of this! The first sign of the Endless Void is provided here for all to see! Seek the second in the place where the sacred stellar jewel rests upon the ancient smog giver, there shall be called forth flame enough to birth the great fugitive that seeks the salvation of the chorus with the offering of new refrain. Accept this telling and teach your lines to tread lightly upon the trespass of life, the pages of mortal counting soon run short!”
As soon as the final word is shaped by her tongue the child collapses onto the floor and lies so still in the crumpled pile of her robes material that you have to look carefully to tell she is still breathing. Turning to the others in the room you see that several of the priests in the room have fallen to their knees, the Lords and Knights stare in confused surprise in your direction with some still frozen with a fist clenched in anger as they had been locked in their argument a moment before, one actually still has a priest by the scruff of his robe. There is an ever so faint noise as the Earl and Chiswick drop the few inches of blade they had begun to draw back into their scabbards.
The hierophants that had stepped inside when the child had entered are striding forwards to fuss over the fallen child and a host of other monks enter in their wake to start clearing away chairs and directing people to where they need to go. Dacian is still sitting in his chair staring at Valerian before taking a deep breath and standing up to address him,
“You had better come with me young man. I would hear your story from your own lips where it is less likely to get confused with other matters. Brother John bring Cassandra to my study when she is recovered and send someone to the sealed library to retrieve the scrolls of Cuthbert for me. This way my boy,” before walking towards a door at the back of the hall.
At the door he turns and addresses the Queen and her Lords one last time for this meeting,
“All has been made ready for your summit, quarters in the Basilica have been reserved for the duration. I invite you as I have invited the regent to midday prayers tomorrow before talks begin, the choice to attend or attempt escape is up to you. The gates stay open.” With that he turns on his heels and heads through the door into the inner hallways of his residence expecting Valerian to follow after him to his private study.
*Exploratory sailing twin brothers that are said to have been the first Humans to find the shores of the Cori Celesti. Their adventure mostly covers taming sea beats to carry vast rafts for pilgrims and overthrowing the evil tribal rulers that tried to stop the emigration of their people. They are popular romantic figures due to tales of their quarrels over more than one lover.
**A satellite town of the capital that you briefly passed on the road during your initial journey through Aravigia. You didn’t visit the Abbey.
***His rage is a little ironic for though they never said as much the general assumption at the time was initially that Drast had made the first assassination attempt up.
****One of the more important spirits of the Heliod associated with taming animals and invention.
This message was last edited by the GM at 22:19, Sat 09 Sept 2017.