The team I'd sent to eastern Liurnia brought me two pieces of information. The first was that the collapsing Divine Tower had opened a great crack in the earth. A statue of an archdragon – or the corpse of one – stood beneath the wreckage. Our own patron did not seem alarmed, so I dismissed my concern.
The other news was that they had found a survivor. One they could not bring to the Academy. I boggled at the thought. I knew of whom they spoke. The one we Fire Monks had always avoided conflict with.
I set out immediately.
The Church of Vows was altogether destroyed. Only the foundational stones still stood, melted to the ground. And yet there was the Pastor of Vows, his bishop's mitre only slightly curled from the heat.
None could say how old the giant tortoise was, but he had seen the rise of the Order and knew the mysteries of this ancient place. Stony and ancient as he was, he could not be moved. It would take extra manpower I did not wish to spend to secure the region now, but the Pastor's advice could prove invaluable.
More, he presided over Vows and Absolution. Radagon and Rennala had been enemies before the Pastor had absolved Radagon and sanctified their marriage. Could he do the same for me and save us from the dangers below?
It was not to be. The Pastor was overjoyed to learn there were so many survivors and promised to share his knowledge. Yet absolution required the dew of the stars, the water of fate. Some might still have been found in the ruins of the Nox below, but those ruins were the source of our problem to begin with.
I set a minimal guard and established a camp there. Any would-be priests would go to the Pastor for training. It was not the miracle I had hoped for, but we had gained much.