Ran a bit long. Anyway, hope you enjoy. Might help to listen to Gregorian singing to get into the mood in the latter part of the chapter, but it's not necessary. Enjoy.
As though inspired by the morose mood that had descended upon the company, the weather remained bleak as the morning came and the local bell tower tolled the dawn. Sheets of rain drenched the city's buildings and streets, making travel seem all the more distasteful. The quartet breakfasted on more rations from their packs and finished their water. Emerging from their rooms, they went down the stairs together. Alyndra, now dressed in plain brown with matching leather boots, kept her hood up to hide her ears. The barkeeper gave Reuben a nasty look as the Fighter hurled the keys back in the man's face. Fewer were the looks that were attracted, now. It seemed that most of the patrons didn't keep a good memory, likely from excessive drinking, and didn't recognize Alyndra for what she was, simply due to a simple wardrobe change. The rest of the party pulled up their hoods and they stepped out into the rain. The group headed south, making for the southwest gate that would lead on to their destination, filling their water bottles as they went.
"We're gonna have ta walk," Cerys commented over the loud patter of precipitation. "Used th' last o' our money up yesterd'y,"
"I got coin," Reuben volunteered, uncharacteristically.
"How?" Cerys inquired, her suspicions rousing themselves again.
"Found it in th' street," the Mercenary answered impatiently. "Let's go!" He increased his pace and pulled ahead of the group.
'Why do I get th' feelin' that he's hidin' somethin'?' the Huntress thought. They went on for a bit, dodging the few people who were still in the streets. Most didn't give them a second glance as they hurried to their terminals. Finally, they came to the gate.
"Four horses to Mistwatch," Reuben grunted at the stablekeeper. He looked over the group, likely checking that none of them were Elves and pricing accordingly, Reuben assumed.
"Right...three hundred gold," he received the money and jotted down something in his log. "Take those," Four chestnut male horses stood ready, wearing caparisons with the blue water drop of Dewhold on them. The party mounted their horses quickly and spurred them to the gate.
"Have a good trip," the guard captain grunted, blowing his whistle to signal the other guards to open the portcullis. The four headed out, spurring their steeds to a light pace. They were quiet for a bit, still brooding over what had transpired in the city. Alyndra was feeling disillusioned. True, she had been warned, but little can prepare anyone for unabashed hatred based off of something that had nothing to do with their personality or self. Bryston was little better off, as he had always been taught that there was always good in people, even if it was hard to find. He had come to realize, though, that some people were just not worth associating with, due to cruelty that they so wantonly inflicted, regardless of what good they may possess. The people of Dewhold had gone beyond caution and treating fellow children of Lord Angelick with such contempt filled him with sadness. He thought of the message that had appeared in a flash of light, the previous night, and how it had summoned him on behalf of the Grand Father. He had returned one, of course, though his Sending spell wasn't quite strong enough to send much more than a couple of sentences. He prayed that the Grand Father would understand it. He likely would, in his wisdom.
Reuben was simply irritated, though that some of it may be on Alyndra's behalf didn't really cross his mind. He was more preoccupied with getting dragged back into things that he'd rather not be a part of. Cerys was of a similar mind.
"Reuben, yer not tellin' me somethin'," she frowned, riding beside him. "Ya came back at a real odd time, lookin' like rain'd washed some blood off o' ya 'n carryin' a new weapon 'n a bunch o' coin. Don' take a genius ta think ya mighta been th' one ta off them merchants," Reuben snarled.
"What I do fer a livin' ain't an' has never been any o' yer business, bitch!" he barked, a spark of fury in his eyes. His horse looked nervous and slowed a bit. "Fuck off afore I make ya!" He spurred his horse ahead, fortunate that he didn't spook him and get thrown off. Cerys sighed and shook her head.
'Always thought ya were diff'rent, Reuby. Was I wrong?' she thought disappointedly. The rest of the journey was silent. They came to a crossroads and turned southeast, heading on. Normally, they would have stopped to eat and rest, but something compelled them to continue on and stopping seemed to hold no virtue. More hours passed before they saw, ahead of them, a large, shimmering lake of beautiful aquamarine. Despite the lack of sun, it didn't lose its luster but seemed to drive away the gloom. The four felt their spirits lift a little as they gazed upon the lake and the walled city on the island in the midst of it. The stone of the walls and the buildings inside glowed with the same holy light as the lake, but one building stood above all others and possessed the greatest radiance.
"The beautiful Lake Mist and the glorious holy city of Mistwatch!" Bryston exclaimed. "Behold the Great Monastery!" The massive building towered over the rest of the city, far larger than any building of the church that the others had seen. There had been a small chapel in Oakenrest and a medium-sized temple in Honeyhorn and Dewhold, but this place dwarfed them all. It held dormitories, a giant hall of worship, multiple smaller halls of worship, a grand kitchen and a dining hall to match, schools for those training to be Clerics, a massive library full of ancient and valuable knowledge, and much more. It was far worthy to be the center of the Angelickan religion. The party continued down the road, now heartened. Alyndra even began to sing again. Around four hours from the noon, they came, at last, to the long stone bridge that led to the gilded gates and portcullis of the city's northwest gate. The horses' hoofs clattered as the gatehouse loomed higher, but they felt no fear, as they did not come here with an evil purpose.
"Halt!" two royal guards were standing by the open gates with halberds, four more were wielding crossbows. "What brings you to Mistwatch?" Bryston frowned at the unneeded hostility in their tones.
"We have come to speak to the Grand Father. I have even received summons," Bryston answered, uncertain.
"Well, I ain't heard o' no summons, so no entry!" the guard barked.
"I'm afraid that I have heard of their summons, so if you'd be so kind as to step aside," Malakai came striding up, hale and hearty as ever, peering at the group from under his hood.
"Captain Elliot!" the guard hastily bowed. "My apologies..." The paladin peered at him.
"Do me a favor and start checking people's claims before dismissing them or I might have to have you reported," he requested with an underlying threat.
"Yes, sir," the guard said in a subdued manner. Malakai turned to the quartet.
"Well, let's not stand around in the rain all day," he beckoned them to follow him through the gates. They stopped, briefly, inside, and turned their horses in at the stable.
"Angelick bless you. Thank you for using our services," the stablemaster bowed his head.
"Amen," Bryston replied.
"Amen," Malakai agreed. The party set off down the streets of white, square stones. The houses were built of a similar fashion, some with lovely stain glass windows. Alyndra gushed about it as they went.
"So Malakai, didn' mention th't yer a cap'n," Cerys said conversationally. "Ya came across as more've a Knight Errant,"
"Yes, I do dabble in that," the Paladin scratched his head. "I am actually the Captain-in-Chief of the Templar Knights. I serve the Grand Father directly,"
"I thought that the Captain-in-Chief was a different man," Bryston adjoined, surprised.
"Well, I've only been recently appointed to the position. Former Captain-in-Chief Alexzander Dillard finally retired from the position three months ago. Not surprising, as he recently turned ninety," Malakai informed them. "My job's been tough, though, since the royal army seemed to suddenly decide that they needed to help guard Mistwatch. I think the Templar Knights are more than capable of doing their own job, thank you very much," he smiled. "So what have all of you been up to since we parted?"
"We journeyed to the hamlet of Stagdrift and participated in the hunting of immense beasts," Alyndra responded eagerly. Cerys whistled teasingly at her, making her blush.
"Really? I haven't had the pleasure of visiting Stagdrift," the Paladin said with interest. "Though I may hesitate if I may run into a giant creature,"
"Pussy," Reuben muttered. Cerys elbowed him, to little effect, as he was wearing armor, but he got the message.
"We also had some trouble up in Dewhold. Racist bastards ripped a new 'un in our wallet," Cerys elucidated. Malakai nodded.
"Unfortunately, anti-Elf sentiment is high at the moment, what with the war in the northeastern provinces," he answered.
"War? Between Elves and Humans?" Alyndra seemed shocked. "Preposterous!"
"But true, though Tweplund is not the culprit. There's a faction of bandits up there, causing no end to mischief. They've been a problem for centuries, but they've been getting more aggressive than they have been for a while, lately," Several more paladins passed by, hailing Malakai and his friends. He hailed them in return.
"It's pretty common knowledge," Reuben struck up. "Me an' Cerys grew up hearin' 'bout it. You two're jus' sheltered,"
"The Grand Father and my parents likely had a reason to keep it from me," Bryston defended.
"I am not so confident about my Headmaster," Alyndra frowned thoughtfully. "A centuries-long strife between our kindreds seems paramount to our history,"
"Well, you'll have to ask the Grand Father, because I don't know the details, myself," Malakai scratched his head again. "Maybe people don't like talking about it. I know I don't. So many lives have been lost to the Yelphine Brigade and they still hold the ruins of Shadeharbor, Sleetgarde, and Rimegrave and Fort Sleetgarde has been lost for six decades, though they seem to not have bothered with holding it. Destruction and misery seem to be the blackguards' delight," The party passed through a bustling town square, filled with stands peddling food, knickknacks, and various other things. The stands were set up such that a bit of rain wasn't stopping sales. A pub and weapons shop was present nearby, too. Alyndra began chattering away again in interest. Malakai allowed a halt, chuckling, as she examined the wares. Bryston joined in, explaining things to her when he could get a word in.
"So when'd we get a summons?" Reuben shot to Cerys.
"Bryston mentioned th't one appeared ta 'im las' night," the Huntress explained. "'parently, Clerics cen send messages wit' magic,"
"Hmm...seems convenient..." he murmured, watching his companions look through various wares. 'Since when are they my companions, anyway? I'm becomin' a fuckin' softie.' he admonished himself.
Thirty minutes later, Alyndra had acquired a couple of knickknacks and an orange and a pear. The party set off as the Elf sampled the sour fruit, commenting on its flavor as her lips puckered. Chuckles were made at the adorable reaction. Reuben rolled his eyes and fixed his gaze on the massive monastery as they went upward along a winding path that climbed the hill that the building sat on. They came to the gate, at last, in the perimeter wall of the building. Two paladins greeted them and allowed them entry. The luminescent holy building towered over them as they entered the glowing bailey. Even the grass and flowers glowed with a divine light, making Alyndra excitedly go over to examine them. Malakai chuckled.
"If we keep stopping, we'll never get inside," he called jovially. "Come! I promise that you'll get your chance to look at the garden!" the Elf maiden grudgingly rejoined the group as they headed around the side of the building, passing more of the garden. After a bit, they finally came to the massive front doors. On each was etched the emblem of the Angelickan church. They were engraved in gilded mithral. Malakai approached the door, nodding to the two paladins nearby, and they opened the doors with levers that were next to them. As they entered, they came into a high-ceilinged room with paintings on said ceiling of ancient battles of gods, Clerics, and Templar Knights. Stained glass windows, only glimpsed from outside, lined the walls, glowing between the gilded marble pillars with an ethereal light. The windows depicted various saints and previous Great Fathers of the church. Two hundred lines of pews went forward in four rows of fifty. The party looked around in awe, lowering their hoods and listening to the songs sung by the robed monks and nuns that stood at the far end of the room.
"Truly formidable," Alyndra whispered. "Certainly the zenith of Human architecture," Reuben examined the large statue of a bearded man with long hair, in clerical robes and holding an ornate staff, that stood at the far end of the sanctuary, looming over the singers. This was the statue of Angelick, as he was ten thousand years ago, when he walked their world. There were usually at least one of these statues in every one of the holy buildings dedicated to him, but this one truly made one feel diminutive in his presence.
"Ya said it," he agreed.
"I never quite get used to the Grand Sanctuary," Bryston said quietly in awe. "I have only come here for High Group once. My parents and I were closer to one of the lesser sanctuaries so we went there for convenience,"
"Indeed, though this place is quite lovely," a venerable voice, deep, but laden with wisdom, said from behind them. They turned and saw an elderly man, clad in gold and white, his robe adorned with the golden cross on the breast. He wore a golden necklace and belt to match and his long, white hair was tied into a slipknot ponytail, mid-back. His beard, similarly, fell to his stomach. Bryston and Malakai immediately bowed to the man.
"Grand Father," they said reverently. He smiled, motioning them to rise.
"Now, my children, no need for such formalities outside of ceremony," he responded before turning to the others. "I extend most heartfelt greetings to you. I am Liam Riley, Grand Father of the Church of Angelick. What may I call you?"
"I'm Cerys Hunter, sir," the Huntress gave a little bow.
"I am known as Alyndra Virnan, your excellence," the Elf bowed lower.
"Pleased to meet you," Liam gave a little bow, himself. "It's been a while since I met our fairer kin, as they haven't been visiting lately. Though hardly surprising..." he shook his head solemnly and trailed off. "And you are?" he inquired of Reuben. He sighed.
"Reuben Nieves," he crossed his arms. The Grand Father didn't seem perturbed at all by the lackluster introduction.
"Indeed. I hope that you may set aside your sins, for a while, troubled one," the old man inclined his head.
"Y' don' know nothin' 'bout me, old man!" the Fighter snapped. "Don' act like ya do!"
"The first step to absolution is acceptance of your past, your deeds, the deeds of others. Fail to do that, and you're no better than Demonick," the old man walked past them, beckoning them to follow. Reuben grit his teeth angrily and trailed along with the others. "Demonick became disillusioned with living beings. Human, Elf, Dwarf, it didn't matter which race they were in terms of fallacy. All of them were subject to pride, temptation, arrogance, greed. It makes the tragedy of his war with the Lord Angelick all the more tragic. Lord Angelick sought and still seeks to see the good in everyone and bring it out over all of the darkness and evil that is latent in us all," They had finally reached the other end of the large room and he led them through a normal-sized door, though it still bore the gilded cross. A well-lit stone hallway, lined with heatless, permanant torches and paintings of various saints, Elves, and significant figures was revealed. Doors were interspersed here and there along the corridor. "Xanotter Yelphine has been flouting this teaching for centuries, allied as he is with Demonick, who grants him the powers of a Blackguard," he shook his head sadly, leading them into a sitting room and peering out a window that looked north. A few comfortable chairs and couches, covered in fur, sat around a modest table. A fire burned in a nearby ornate fireplace. Various paintings decorated the walls.
"Xanotter? I have not heard of him before," Alyndra interrupted.
"I suppose you would not have. Even we keepers of the secret knowledge seldom speak of these matters," Liam turned. "The Blackguard was banished, along with his followers, from Tweplund, nigh on two centuries ago. Their crimes of death, destruction, raising of the dead and monsters from the beyond to wreak havoc, and more were more than enough to warrant such measures. My friend Arbelladon was at the forefront of the battle and knows better than anyone of these matters,"
"If my Headmaster cognizes so adequately, why would he conceal it from his proteges? This sounds to be a vital portion of our history!" Alyndra exclaimed.
"Doubtless he has his reasons," Liam cast his eyes down as he settled himself into a comfortable armchair and gestured for the others to sit in the other, similar couches and chairs around the room. "But Xanotter's banishment is why he is in Falo now. He sailed across the ocean and landed near Shadeharbor. After setting up a camp northwest of there, he began harassing nearby settlements. His foothold is strong now,"
"Indeed, and it is causing more problems within the kingdom than just his assaults," Malakai adjoined.
"Yes, the king is worried as well," the Grand Father agreed.
"What's goin' on?" Cerys pressed. "If it has somethin' ta do wit' th' Golden Book..."
"Ah, you know about that?" Liam smiled.
"Yes, I aided them in retrieving it from Lostvault Tower," Malakai explained.
"Unfortunately, we gave it to Sir Hamilton, as was our contract," Bryston said ruefully.
"This bodes ill and confirms King Colten's suspicions," Liam frowned. "Bradley Hamilton is the protege of Baron Hudson Knowles. The Baron has been turning many other nobles and some of the people against the king, using the war as an excuse. He assumes that if he finds the right relic of the elder times, he may be able to make good on his promise to do better than the king in the war on Xanotter and, likely, gain enough support to oust him,"
"If we are aware of this, why is he permitted to continue with his dastardly crusade?" Alyndra inquired.
"He's clever and wields quite a bit of power, already," Malakai answered. "One false move and we could end up being labeled enemies of the state. The Baron already has little love for us, as the Templar Knights and the church are great supporters of the king and his fight against Xanotter. It doesn't help that he's employing mercenaries in addition to his own troops. Even the Rough Blades are under his sway, from what I hear,"
"Th' Rough Blades!" Reuben spoke up, standing. "Damn!"
"Reuby! Watch yer language in th' church!" Cerys scolded. "An' what're ya goin' on 'bout?"
"I met one of 'em last night an' he mentioned th't they're gonna pull somethin' in Grimcrest," the Fighter revealed, omitting the part about killing the mercenaries.
"Hmm...I wonder what...I'll have to alert my spies," Liam nodded to Malakai and he left to do so. "I have no doubt that Baron Knowles is up to nothing good. If you're willing, I ask that you make for Grimcrest and oppose whatever foulness that he has hired that misguided, greedy company to do,"
"If there's gold, I'm willin'," Reuben replied stubbornly.
"Reuben! There's lives at stake, 'ere!" Cerys snapped.
"At what locale is your respectability!" Alyndra added, also angry.
"No gold, no fight," he crossed his arms.
"Fuck you!" Alyndra barked in Elvish, forgetting that the Grand Father could understand her. "We shall journey to there ourselves! You are not essential!" she added in common language.
"Ya disappoint me, Reuben," Cerys said, downcast. "I thought ya were a good guy, underneath all th' shit, but ya jus' wan' money an' friends an' doin' th' right thing don' matter to ya. Yer no better 'n them Rough Blades," His eyes flashed and he smacked the Huntress across the face with enough force to knock her down. Alyndra looked scandalized and Bryston looked shocked.
"I ain't no fuckin' murderer like them bastards!" he roared. "Louis is th' one that killed them merchants an' he fuckin' lied ta me ta get me ta help wit' th' guys guardin' 'em! It was always that bastard!" He stormed out of the room.
"Such darkness within that child," Liam noted calmly as Cerys got up, rubbing her face and recovering from the shock. "He's suffered much and long, not least from those mercenaries. Given time, he will confront his past. I can feel it,"
"I hope so," Cerys muttered. "If not, I'll never forgive 'im,"
"Grand Father Riley possesses powers of clairvoyance in a significant measure," Bryston supported. "He likely knows of what he speaks,"
Reuben raged through the temple for a bit, making quite a few of the inhabitants nervous, and finally sat heavily down in a stone chair on an elevated porch that overlooked the city.
'Fuckin' people tryin' ta guilt me inta shit. I ain't goin' back ta Grimcrest! Who cares if them bastards're gonna do somethin' terrible? Them three're gonna be slaughtered wit' th' rest that oppose them guys.' It annoyed him that the prospect bothered him. 'Since when'm I such a pussy? I ain't never needed no one afore so why bother wit' these dumbasses?' He stared out at the city. 'This's all that bastard Louis's fault...'
Alyndra's brow was furrowed in thought as the party took their leave of the Grand Father and walked along the corridor, Bryston leading them on to the dining hall. The singing of monks and nuns still echoed through the building, giving the area a sense of spirituality and mysticism.
"What's up, 'lyndra?" Cerys asked, after watching the cogs turn in her head for a bit.
"I believe that I finally comprehend some things about Reuben," the Elf replied softly, pity on her features. "Xanotter must have been the fourth Elf that he referred to in Honeyhorn. The source of all of his hatred for my people. The Rough Blades must have raised him after the Blackguard destroyed his hometown," Cerys seemed taken aback at the Elf's long memory and deductive skills. "Cognate about it. He was always loath to speak of his hamlet of origin, of his parents, of his past...this must be why. I am...incongruous in how I feel of the man,"
"Well, he's a bastard, but we kinda understand 'im more, now," Cerys answered, also feeling sympathy.
"How terrible it must have been," Bryston had stopped, midway through the conversation. They now stood near a window. The rain still fell by outside. "I had prayed that his wounds may be healed, but I knew not that they may be so deep. He bears them well,"
"That's why I know that he's gotta come through!" Cerys exclaimed. "Th' Grand Father's right. He's gotta face this and I know 'e will! I know 'im, now,"
"I am unsure. Hatred is difficult to overcome and dangerous to wield against a Blackguard," Bryston shook his head sadly. "The Rough Blades are enough, for now,"
"Hmm...wa'n't even thinkin' o' that..." Cerys noted thoughtfully. "Guess it'll happen, though, won't it?"
"By the grace given to me by the Lord, it seems so," the Cleric looked out the window, gazing over the landscape. "A great foreboding rests on me,"
"The legendary Blackguard, Xanotter Yelphine..." Alyndra muttered.
Reuben paced around the temple, listening to the songs of the clergy. They were somewhat soothing, even if he didn't understand the Celestial tongue.
'Grimcrest, where I pussed out...Cen I really deal wit' that?' he thought, gazing idly over the statues that lined the high cloister he walked along. The wind wafted a bit of rain his way, periodically, but he didn't notice it. 'Louis r'members, 'course 'e does. Bastard was there. Told 'im I'd never work wit' 'im again...look how that shit turned out...' He looked out the gaps between the decorated pillars, gazing southeast, across Grimslime Swamp, towards where that city was. He stood there long, gazing out and losing himself in reflection, aided and abetted by the symphony of the choir.
"So are we gonna meet yer parents, cloth-boy?" Cerys inquired as they sat in the large dining hall. There were, at least, one hundred tables, made for twenty people apiece. The fare was good. Savory cheese, buttery bread, a nice slab of butter, meat roasted with a lovely array of spices from all across Dreneron, sweet fruits of varying type, and steamed vegetables sprinkled with salt were the entirety of the provender. Silver goblets of sweet red wine accompanied the meal.
"Angelick bless you," one of the monks that served them bowed.
"Amen," the three replied. The monks walked off, back to the adjacent kitchens, and left them to the meal.
"This is far superior to any foodstuffs that we have partaken of in quite some time!" Alyndra asserted cheerfully, smiling at the first bite of one of the fruits.
"Yeah, I'm in full agreement, 'ere. Ya didn' tell me ya got ta eat so good 'ere, kid!" Cerys elbowed Bryston, nearly making him spill his wine as he sipped at it.
"It didn't occur to me," he scratched his head apologetically. "I compared the fare elsewhere to this, but didn't mention what I was comparing to. I'm not sure why,"
"This wine recalls that of my own land," Alyndra adjoined.
"Not surprising, as the Elvish and the Human seem to unite here," Bryston looked around at the high ceiling and pillars decorated with crosses all the way up, with decent spaces between each cross. There were various paintings and statues around the perimeter. Some were of Elves, some of Humans.
"Likely by virtue of the camaraderie shared by the heads of the Magickal Academy and the Great Monastery," Alyndra deduced. "It is an alleviation to encounter some familiarity within this atypical land," They continued to discuss the Elvish influence in the architecture, for a while, as they enjoyed the favorable board. Finally, the food was eaten, the wine was drunk, and they were feeling at ease.
"So should we go meet yer folks, now?" Cerys pressed.
"If you insist," Bryston responded. "I was hoping to give you a tour of the monastery, but I suppose it can wait," He led them from the hall and along a corridor. They went up some stairs and along an elevated cloister on the east side before ascending another staircase. The corridors up here were different, though mainly because of the wooden signs affixed near each door. The Cleric led the two past many doors, mentally reading each sign and counting them. "Ah! Here we are!" he pointed to the sign that read: Nicholas and Megan Cross.
"So where's yer room?" Cerys inquired.
"I'll show you, later," the Cleric answered, knocking on the door.
"A moment, if you please!" a kind, feminine voice called from within. There were footsteps and the door, marked with a cross, like all of the doors in the building, opened to reveal a blond woman in her forties. She dressed in similar attire to Bryston, also being a Cleric, though it was obvious that she wore no armor, as he did. Her face lit up as she pulled him into a hug. "Bryston! My little boy is back!" He returned the hug, blushing from the chortles that came from his companions. Alyndra, at least, tried to hide them behind the back of her hand. She released him, after a space. "Why does it feel like you're wearing armor?"
"I am, mother. The world is dangerous and I needed protection," he elucidated apologetically.
"Well, I can understand that...at least you put it under your robe so as to not obscure your appearance..." she looked mildly put out, but rallied, turning to the other two. "Ah! Are you my son's friends?"
"Indeed, I possess the cognomen of Alyndra Virnan," the Elf inclined her head.
"I'm Cerys Hunter," the Huntress waved.
"Hmm...you've certainly found some odd friends, Bryston..." Megan muttered. "Oh, forgive me! It's a pleasure to meet both of you! I'm Megan Cross! My husband, Nicholas, is at Group at the moment, or he would be here to greet you, as well,"
"We all take turns singing at Group," Bryston explained for the sake of his comrades.
"We'd introduce Reuben ta ya, miss, but 'e's off tourin' th' place wi'out us," Cerys interjected.
"I see...well, come in, if it please you," the woman stepped aside and allowed them entry. The room was typical for the monastery. The walls were white and pristine, though a few paintings hung here and there. A picture of the Cross family hung over the fireplace, which currently held a fire to drive away the chill. The picture showed a blond man, also dressed as a Cleric, with his arms around Megan and a younger Bryston. He had to be twelve in the picture. All three had the same hair and eyes. The resemblance was uncanny.
"I can make us some tea, if you like," Megan offered. "Please make yourselves at home," She pointed them to the armchairs near the fire.
"Thank you," Alyndra replied as she took a seat. Mrs. Cross hurried off to put on the tea kettle.
Reuben snapped out of his stupor as his stomach growled. Grumbling, he headed off to look for the dining hall. Fortunately, it didn't take an expert tracker to smell food when you were near it and he took less than thirty minutes to wander into the hall.
'Place's too fancy fer me.' he thought, looking around at the decorations. 'How's anyone live 'ere wi'out goin' nuts?' A monk hurried over to him as he neared a table.
"Welcome, good sir. Are you interested in dining, at this time?" the man asked.
"Sure," the Fighter answered shortly.
"Very well. Have a seat and we will fetch your board," the man hurried off to the kitchens, which were behind a double door at the far end of the room. Reuben frowned and sat down.
'Weird ta have some'un waitin' on me.' Three monks hurried out, not two minutes later, and arrayed a good spread of foodstuffs in front of him, complete with the customary goblet of wine.
"Angelick bless you," the monk hurried off again. The Fighter watched him go before turning to the food.
'I'm startin' ta see why Cleric boy was gripin' 'bout th' inns.' he observed as he tucked in to the meal. 'This stuff's real good.' He sipped at the wine. 'Not bad...I'm not one fer wine, but I could deal wit' this stuff.'
Alyndra, Bryston, Cerys, and Megan sat around the small table that sat in the midst of the chairs in the sitting room. They sipped at tea from small china cups and nibbled at the scones that she has proffered, as they spoke between sips and bites.
"So what have you been up to, dear?" Megan inquired of Bryston. "It's been almost a month since you left, saying that you were going to do good in the world,"
"Where to begin?" the Cleric scratched his head. "Well..." So the story was told, aided and annotated by Cerys and Alyndra, at times. The battle with the Orc bandits, the giant black bear at Oakenrest, the camp of Orc brigands that had come from the Orc mountains, the bounty hunters of Honeyhorn, Lostvault Tower and its terrifying Lich. They spoke of Sir Hamilton, Stagdrift, their hunting adventure there, the bigotry and distrust in Dewhold, the incident with the merchants, their snag in entering Mistwatch, their conversation with the Grand Father. It made quite a long tale, the tea and biscuits had to be replenished part-way through. Megan became more and more shocked and impressed as the saga went on. Finally, the story came to an end, as far as it had yet gone, and they were silent for a bit. It had been hours and the sun was setting outside, as indicated by the golden light peeking through a nearby gothic-style, glass window.
"You've been through a lot, Bryston," Mrs. Cross said, at last. "More than many of our Elder Clerics could brag of,"
"Indeed, but I feel I am stronger for it," he said with a confident smile.
"I just wish that you could be content and stay here, now that you've gone and done good deeds, as a Cleric must," she answered sadly. "But I see that you have more, yet, to do and to see," She wiped an eye with a white handkerchief. "I'm so proud of you," She pulled him into another hug. The door opened, around this time, and Nicholas entered, looking exhausted but cheerful enough.
"Ah! Bryston!" he exclaimed hoarsely, his voice worn from singing all day. He hastened over and pulled him into a hug of his own. "Where have you been, son? What have you been doing?"
"It would be too tedious to repeat it all. I've just finished telling mother," Bryston responded.
"Well, I know how it is to be tired of speaking," Mr. Cross nodded. "I'm just wanting dinner, a bath, and some rest,"
"Oh! I must prepare dinner!" Megan hurried off to the kitchen. Nicholas was about to calm her, but his throat protested, so he just took her chair.
"Father, these are my friends, Cerys Hunter and Alyndra Virnan," Bryston indicated the two women.
"Charmed," Cerys waved.
"My salutations," Alyndra adjoined.
"Nicholas Cross," Nicholas replied. "Nice to see that you've found two lovely ladies, Bryston," he teased, looking to his son. Predictably, Bryston flushed.
"Father! It's not like that! They just happened to join up with me in Oakenrest! There's another man in our group too!" the Cleric protested, flustered.
"He's somewhere 'round 'ere," Cerys explained. "Kinda rough 'n tough, though,"
"Now I've really got to hear the story," Nicholas rasped.
"We'll review it over dinner," Cerys grumbled. "In short,"
"Absolve us, but, as previously expounded, it would be much too onerous to rehearse anew, in full," Alyndra apologized.
Dinner was as good as one could expect at the Great Monastery. It seemed that the parishioners were supplied as well as the main kitchens, in term of food quality. After the meal, Nicholas was still digesting the story of their journey, despite having only heard it in briefer terms than Megan had received it.
"That's a bundle, to be sure," he noted, less hoarse, now, due to having taken some tea and honey and pain killing herbs. "Seems like you've gotten caught up in something big,"
"I feel that that is, unfortunately, the case," Bryston agreed gravely.
"Well, if what you've told me is true, you and your friends can handle it," he nodded. "But let's put aside that, for now. We should go to the Great Bathhouse and cleanse away our troubles so that we may find restful sleep,"
"Oh! I have been yearning to contemplate the bathhouses of Mistwatch!" Alyndra said excitedly. "I speculate if they are, at all, analogous to the facilities of Magevault?" Bryston smiled at her enthusiasm.
Ironically, Reuben had just received the same suggestion, as he finished his meal, after wandering around and thinking for hours after the previous one, and was now allowing a monk to lead him to the northwest part of the complex. There were many stairs and corridors and he didn't really keep track, after a bit, but they finally came to a relatively large set of double doors in a large room adjacent to the northern high cloister.
"Towels, robes, and other paraphernalia are available," the monk gestured to the nearby shelves and racks that lined the walls. "The baths are within. Be courteous to other bathers and try not to stay in the water too long and pass out. Angelick keep you," the monk hastened off. Reuben rolled his eyes and began to gather together bathing supplies. There was a room, nearby, full of stalls in the stone walls, shielded by curtains. He shed his armor and exchanged his tunic for the robe.
'Don't see what th' point is o' havin' a robe, but, knowin' these fools, this place's got no private bath spots.' The Fighter shook his head and stowed this things inside the alcove that was inside the stall. He pulled the curtain back, flipping the sign next to the stall, and headed off to the baths with his towel.
The Great Bathhouse was called so for a reason. The room was high-ceilinged and vast, just as most of the rooms in the building were, and occupied by four vast pools of water, two steaming, two not so. There were around fifty bathers around, at the moment, but it wasn't crowded, as the room was made for three hundred. Reuben gauged the setup quickly, and made his way to one of the hot baths. The warmth was soothing, and relaxed the aches and pains of mind and body. He soaked there for a good while, content to do so instead of washing and leaving like he normally did. In fact, it seemed that washing might not be all that necessary. This hot-springs kind of setup was for a reason.
"The waters cleanse with divine magic," Bryston explained as the five of them soaked in the hot pool opposite of the one Reuben had chosen, though they didn't know it. "They relax and comfort, without the need for mundane bathing routines. Not that we don't have private baths, but they aren't really necessary here and they're mainly for guests that are uncomfortable with this setup,"
"I must say that these baths are exquisite!" Alyndra announced, laying back against the pool's side with her eyes closed. "Though not as defiant of physics as those of Magevault, I can certainly detect the influence of the Elves here," Cerys swam a couple of laps, just to see if she could, and came back, settling next to the others.
"Kinda wish I could do this ev'ryday..." she sighed, brushing a lock of loose hair out of her face. This was the first time that they had seen her with her hair down. It looked odd, but not necessarily unpleasant.
"Quit starin', cloth-boy!" she teased, flipping her hair, or trying to and being hindered by the water. "I know I'm sexy, but there's people 'round!" Bryston blushed and it had little to do with the water.
"C-Cerys! I-I wasn't..." he submerged in the water to hide part of his face. The others chuckled.
"Come now, dear, she was making a jest," Megan comforted.
"Hey, Reuby!" Cerys greeted him drowsily as they left the baths, back in their gear, which had been cleaned for them by the staff.
"Hey," he muttered, pausing in the cloister to turn to them. "Ya 'bout ta turn in?"
"Yes," Bryston replied, also very relaxed. "We were just about to return to my home. There are spare rooms nearby. The Grand Father just sent word of it," He showed a handful of keys.
"Good to meet you, Reuben," Nicholas offered, gathering his identity from the conversation, holding out his hand.
"If I di'n't know better, I'd say yer th' Cleric's dad," the Mercenary said bluntly, reluctantly shaking the offered hand.
"I am also pleased to meet you," Megan added. "I'm Megan Cross and this is my husband, Nicholas,"
"Great..." Reuben yawned. "Now where's th' beds?"
"Of course, this way," Bryston offered. "Good night, mother, father. May Lord Angelick grant you restful and peaceful sleep,"
"Amen," his parents recited together before taking their leave.
The constant singing softened as night deepened. Enchanted torches lit the cloisters and corridors as the quartet ascended back to the dormitories. Bryston lived a floor up from his parents, it seemed, and near a few empty living spaces. He handed out keys, pointing to three adjacent doors.
"Angelick bless your sleep," he yawned.
"Amen," Cerys and Alyndra agreed, heading off to other rooms. The spare rooms were bare, having only basic amenities. A couple of chairs of wood, a wood burning stove, a bed in the master bed chamber. The white walls were bland in the absence of decoration. Bryston's home was decorated a bit and had furniture similar to his parents, even a matching picture above the mantelpiece, but hadn't actually taken much time to decorate before he left. They were all too tired to care, though, and, stripping off their gear, collapsed on their beds, passing into peaceful sleep quickly.
All in all, it had been a good day, though it started with a bit of bitterness. Such was the magic of the hallowed Great Monastery that troubles and darkness were, for a time, forgotten, and peace and rest could be found. There was no doubt that the future would hold challenge, sin, and test the limits of their minds and bodies, but, for now, they took a respite.
Yep, back to the journey in the next chapter, but this was nice, too. Review, if you please.