Chapter 10: An Elf in Gorraran and Demons in Deren
"I'll take my leave of you, Razen," Zayn stated, "It has been an enjoyable ride, but I must attend to my belated duties." The venerable Theemis placed a great amount of emphasis on the overdue nature of his tasks, as he has squandered his time. He prepared his wings for flight. He squawked before leaving them, "This is without including the fact that Medlag went his own way already. He was probably the most entertaining." Zayn wasn't flying particularly high, but Gorraran was not designed with flying creatures in mind.
Shortly following Zayn's words, Miar, Azaila, and I looked around as we hadn't noticed that Medlag slipped away. "Where in the Lords did that blasted Dwarf go?" Miar queried to no one in particular.
"Let's not focus on his disappearance, Miar," I responded, "As I am far more curious on what all were you referring to during your argument with Myodei. What aren't you telling me?" I wasn't going to dare question him on why I should trust him over Myodei.
Miar had a short expression of worry and a small speck of sweat on his brow. He had covered it quickly with a pleasant smirk. "I can allow you to consult with Kyrei, Belrik, and Varil over the situation," Miar replied, "I'd imagine that they are more knowledgeable about it than me, seeing as they were there."
I looked Miar in the eyes, "Did you bind them to your will like Myodei said?"
He had countered my gaze and firmly stated, "No. I would never do such a terrible thing, but we should discuss this in a more private location. Should we go to one of the taverns perhaps? I've heard that the Dragon's Keg is a fine establishment."
"Medlag talked well about it, didn't he?" Azaila inquired, "I know that he spoke of it before."
Miar rolled his eyes, "Did he? I suppose that he could have good taste in his inns. He was probably one of the Dwarves that spent their free time in the pub anyways."
"Do you have to badmouth him at any possible chance?" Azaila queried.
He snapped in retaliation, "I am only making sure that you realize that he is a foolish, old drunkard. You don't need some buffoon make you think that the world is all happiness and sunshine. It is fortunate for you two that you have me. I wouldn't want to imagine what silly things that you'd do without some anchor to reality, but we have discussed this enough. We might as get a room there as soon as we can." Miar scanned for the sign of the Dragon's Keg. He saw that most of the businesses were designated by their wooden signs, and he noted one carving that depicted a dragon with its claw over a keg. "There it is," He stated as he pointed at the intricate carving of the winged reptile and its beverage.
As we passed them on the way to the Dragon's Keg, I noticed that many of the shops and stands were closed and unmanned. The luminite shield was still visible under the cover of a cloth hung over the stand; the slightest specks of the bright yellow metal stood out from the dusty, brown tarp. Such a beautiful sight and left unattended, I commented to myself, It would be so easy to take... No. I need to get a hold on it, but it is so dazzling...
I slowed down and let Miar and Azaila take the lead. As they entered the Dragon's Keg, I went back to the unattended merchant stall that held the luminite shield. I looked around me; there was no one around in sight. I opened my leather pack by undoing an interlocking setup of buttons. I swiped the shield and quickly stuffed it in my pack. With the shield in my possession, I started back for the Dragon's Keg.
The tavern was filled with tired sots of Dwaves, yet there were still some of out the norm guests. There was an orc that sat near the bartender; I couldn't tell why he was in Gorraran or what he did for a living. Miar had reserved a table in the back corner, where he sat with Azaila waiting for me to turn up. "Ah, the man of the hour," Miar declared as he began to clap, "I was wondering when you'd get back from... Where was it that you wandered off to?" Azaila nudged Miar to stop mocking me, but he denied her request. "Azaila, do you want for your brother to just disappear without a word of where he went?" Miar stated, "I thought not."
"Miar, if you must know, I had went to the market to get something that we had forgotten to pick up earlier," I answered, defending my absence, "It was tough to find a stall that was still open this late into the evening."
"Was it?" Miar inquired. In a few seconds, he saw that his and Azaila's tankards were empty. "Eh, barkeep, we need three Spellberry juices over here!" I seated myself next to Azaila in the round couch that rested in the corner of the tavern. A Dwarven barmaid came towards us holding a platter with three tankards filled with Spellberry juice.
"Your juices, sir," She said with a kind demeanor. Miar winked at her as he handed her some gold coins literally under the table. "Of course, sir," She responded to the gesture. I hadn't been able to notice it, since he was the closest to her. She pocketed the excess coins and went to the back of the tavern. Miar had a pleasant expression strewn across his face, and it was impossible to know why.
"Don't worry, Razen," Miar spoke softly, "I was just tipping her to gain some friends here. It's always good to have the establishment on your side. That's just a life lesson. You're more interested in Myodei, right?"
"Of course, Miar, that's why we're here and why we're in such company," I answered.
Miar replied, "Let's go upstairs after we're through here then." He grabbed his tankard and take a long sip from it. He savored its fruity flavor. "Ah, the savory taste of the Moglin Spellberry brew," The elf stated, "I will give that Dwarves can make a fine beverage, even if they didn't invent it. I wonder how they got the recipe." Some of the fizz from the pink drink remained in the flagon. Miar felt more magically capable; perhaps his spells were simply more potent from the magical fruit. He swirled the remnants about before he laid the cup back down onto the table. "I'm ready, so I'll be waiting for you two," He announced with a tranquil tone and got up from the round couch. He walked towards the stairs to their room. Azaila took a similar sip; she was seeing how it tasted. She quickly drank the pink beverage. I followed suit. The aftertaste was quite refreshing and left me with a clear mind.
Azaila and I got up from the round couch. A pair of the Dwarves was talking lowly to each other while eyeing Azaila. In another corner, there was an armored Dwarf or Gnome and a Lightning Giant in robes; it was impossible to tell which race that the warrior belonged to. His armor was covered in vulgarities and profanities. He eyed us with a different expression than that of the two aged, googly-eyed Dwarves. I couldn't tell what he was after as most of his face was shielded by his Dwarvish helmet. The Lightning Giant seemed playful in nature, and I wondered if he could comprehend reality. He seemed to drift in and out of consciousness and would shout out random things at times.
Azaila ignored the creepy, old Dwarves that just happened to be miners as well as the mercenaries in the opposite corner. I tried to take notice of what I could from the tavern, but the majority of the patrons didn't stand out too much. The floor and stairs were wooden, and the walls were stone. There was a light draft near the stairs. Azaila nudged me to get my attention. "It's the last room on the right," She stated and then moved in to whisper, "And I, I'm not sure of what to think of with Miar. He seems so different from Galvin or Zaz', but I don't know what to think about him. I don't know who we should or even can trust."
I confided in turn, "Azaila, Myodei isn't going to inform us of what happened. Miar is the most versed person that we know on the matter, so we should trust him if not just for that. We'll also be talking to some of our ancestors if Miar was telling the truth."
"I suppose that you're right," Azaila replied softly. She proceeded to twist the bronze doorknob, and the wooden door squeaked as it moved ever so slowly. Miar raised his eyebrow as he turned over to look at the door. He was sitting at the ironwood table in a cushioned chair. There was a sky charm, box, and a folded cloth on the table; the charms were a common means of bolstering wind magic. It was an unusual thing for a necromancer to carry, but Miar had stated that he used the element Wind rather than the norm of Darkness.
"Ah, you're done downstairs then, I presume?" He queried with his hand on the talisman. He seemed to have relieved himself from the anger that wanted to wash over him when he was arguing with Myodei. Azaila and I nodded. We hadn't noticed that Miar's tattoo of a spirit on his right cheek was glowing far more than normal. "Let's not waste time then," He stated in a calm and otherwise ordinary tone after he noted out agreeing with his inquiry. He continued, "I have the charm that we'll need with me, but the ritual is not pleasant on the senses. The smell will be the least jarring part of the experience. Are you absolutely certain that you want to proceed with this?"
I raised my eyebrow in response and asked curiously, "How is it that the smell is the most comforting part of it?" He continued to fiddle with the sky charm in his fingers; his index finger would tap it every few seconds.
"Do you really wish to know?" He replied with intrigue abound in his tone.
I sighed, "I suppose so." Miar pulled out a small skull amulet. I couldn't tell what creature that the skull belonged to. It only had a few of its teeth; most of them looked like they were pulled off. He grasped one of its molars and pulled it out. He then reached into a wooden box on the table. It was a small, sharp knife that was stained with blood. There were some faded markings on the blade. It had no hilt; its handle was merely leather wrapped around a cylindrical ending of the weapon. He carefully grabbed the blade end of it and handed it to me.
"It requires the blood of one of the desired dead's lineage," Miar stated, "It only requires a few drops on that molar."
"What is the molar from?" I inquired with a disgusted expression.
Miar answered, "It's a Dark Djinni's skull. They're demons that serve wielders of Darkness Orbs. I've heard that they can grant wishes, but that is probably just an old wives' tale due to the power of any tenebromancer with such a powerful object in their possession. You certainly don't want to fight with the devilish things. Their bones do happen to make wondrous reagents for any necromancer that is worthwhile."
"Alright... And why are we using that for just a counsel?" I queried while maintaining my grimace.
Miar responded, "The ritual to pull a soul from Death's Domain requires a base reagent, and this is what I have chosen. It was a good choice." I did not verbally reply, but I had pricked my left index finger. Miar placed the molar beneath the tiny cut, and my blood began to drop on the pulled tooth. The sanguine liquid splatted on the enamel of the demon's fang; it was coating it in the dark red fluid. "Good," Miar stated as he put the bloodied tooth down onto the table. He grabbed the folded cloth, unfolded it, and placed it on the wooden floor of the room. The fabric was marked with chalk. There was an arcane script surrounding a triangle that was inscribed in a circle. The triangle was circumscribed by another circle.
Miar removed his hands from the cloth and grabbed the reddened molar. He placed it on the center of the cloth and began to chant, "Morte vitae comunicatum." A shrill screech thundered in our ears, and it was only followed by an increasing number of phantasmal shrieks. All manners of voices were in this demented parody of a chorus; there were the cries of a baby or child alongside screams of torment and defeat from all manner of people. One of them sounded like they were pleading with their brother. It was ear-splitting and terrifying simultaneously. The voices felt like they were tearing away at one's skull. It drove me and Azaila to tears as we winced from the pain. Miar must have grown resistant to the torture, for he showed little to no shows of anguish. Oddly enough, he seemed woeful at the plea of a dying brother.
We were surrounded by a circular wall of spirits; they were all indistinguishable as they swirled around us. The phantoms that made the encasement seemed to only writhe in agony; it seemed as though they did not realize that we existed. The tattoo of a spirit on Miar's right cheek looked like it was biting into his flesh. He stated coldly, "Kyrei, nhi stregum vista." The majority of the phantasms dissipated, but there was one that now stood still. Their departure had allowed for the mental anguish to cease fortunately, and the screams had finally stopped altogether.
The apparition looked like a middle-aged man with medium hair in studded leather armor. His face was gruff and bore some scars from his adventures in life. His eyes suggested that he was blind by the end of his life. His hair and eye color were indeterminable. The spirit broke the silence from his appearance, "What do you want this time, Miar? I have already told you all that I know about Myodei and his companions, and, wait, are you being accompanied by my descendants? By the Elemental Lords, how did you manage that?"
The Braken's Bane had finally come to a halt; the anchor began its descent to the ocean floor. A loud crunch signified that it was nestled in well enough. The captain, Shaemin Hovarion, sat behind a desk in his chamber with a map drawn out. It showed the Middle Isles, Battleonia, Deren, Tjeli, Neld, Inilar, Vandar, and Paxia as well as Dragonclaw, Gatta, and Bronwyn Island. It was an excellent and up to date map; it was to be expected of such a high caliber of ship. To Shaemin's right, there was a quill and bottle of ink. Throughout the Great Sea, there were small marks in the shape of an X. The captain sighed, "No sign of it yet."
Shaemin wore a black, tricorne hat with a gold trim. Under the brim of the hat and his salt and pepper hair, he had cold, hazel eyes. He had a beard that went down to his stomach. His shoulders were protected by gold epaulettes that were a part of his black, frock coat. The jacket covered the sides of his white, collared, and buttoned doublet. The cuffs were laced with glided lining that held gilt buttons inside their confines. The bottom of his overcoat met with the end of his breeches and the beginning of his stockings. His ebony shoes were held by a golden buckle.
He backed from the desk and stood up from his chair. He was making his way to the main deck. He twisted the iron doorknob. The bright light of Solaris tried to shine in his dim quarters as the door opened. "Do our passengers know that we have reached Deren?" Shaemin declared.
"No, captain, they're still resting in their chambers," The first mate answered.
Hovarion responded, "Get one of these blasted deck hands to awake them. It's time for us to rest, boys. Maybe after we lug them to Talados and back to Krovesport, we can get back to our search. It's been five years since I've seen that creature, but I'll not stand to let it slip past me. Oh, it'll be a good day if it still has the treasure."
"Sir?" The first mate queried.
Shaemin replied, "Oh, nothing. Don't worry about it, Garvick."
"If you say so, sir," Garvick stated. He called out one of the deck hands out to get Myodei, Bazrir, Szayan, and Dyjhal. The tanned young man returned with the four. The Braken's Bane was resting near the yellowish, wooden docks of Deren with a gangplank serving as the connection. Some distance away was the white stone tower that was the Deren Lighthouse. Its base was made of orange rock, and a metal support sprouted from the foundation of the spire. The top of the monolith was a metallic observation that was similar in shape to a c. It had a large amount of open space and was topped by a golden, horizontal claw-shaped top that faced towards the Palace.
"Well, it has been a smooth enough ride, Myodei," Shaemin declared, "And my ship will be sailing for Talados in two days as per your request. Until then, the ship will stay anchored here at the Docks."
Myodei replied, "I'm glad that you managed to help us again, Shaemin."
"Of course, Myodei," He spat out in a disgusted tone as some root bits came out of his mouth, "Enjoy Deren."
Nearby to the Docks, there was the Nobles' District. Many of the manors were three stories tall that would utilize pillars to sustain the roofs to their many balconies. The mansions were either gray walls with orange rooftops or white with light green. The darker housing had circular holes in the stead of windows, whereas the lighter estates had mostly rectangular hollows. Myodei took the lead as they entered the aristocrats' region of Deren. The taller chateaus rivaled the immense fortress of the King as well as the sky itself. Past the intricate structures, there was an opera house that was supported by flat, plain Tuscan pillars.
A large canal divided the city; Myodei and his party were on the western half. On the eastern side, there was an inn and a real estate building towards the south of it. On the northern edge, Deren's commoners lived in their squalor housing. The Derenian Palace was between the docks and shanty town, and its many spires had walkways from the main castle. All of the branching paths utilized arches quite freely. The front section of the citadel was topped with a hemisphere of glass.
The group stopped abruptly due to the many bewildered and disgusted glares of the human inhabitants of Deren. Myodei asked them, "Have you never seen an elemental that isn't wreaking havoc on you? I recall a time that we were welcome in this city, but I suspect that it was only due to our connections with the School of Thought. Can you not go about your business and leave us alone?" None of them dared to challenge Myodei's declaration. As they return to their daily routine, the party continued to make their way to the School of Thought inside of the palace.
Myodei's previous associate in the School of Thought was a purple Moglin that put the quest for knowledge above all else, and he admired how Dyjhal and Myodei studied so vigorously. He was of a Moglord lineage, but he had taken to visits to the academy and its impressive library far more than the excessive combat exercises that he was put under. When push came to shove, he chose to take a position as a teacher at Deren instead of a warlord. His name was Mivak, and he was probably still making visits to the university. The Moglin was always a bookworm, and he probably would know of any books or research notes that Myodei would be interested in checking out. The most unfortunate thing would be if Mivak had forgotten about them.
As the party neared the entrance of the palace, a guard stopped them. He queried, "Why does a group of elementals wish to enter the Palace of King Thalnor?" He wore green platemail, and his helmet was a head covering crafted from the skin of a Frogzard. His breastplate was decorated with a similar material. His shoulders were protected by two large metal plates that were held together by sickly green besagues. His gauntlets ended with fins that led into a swirl of metal. Beneath his chest plate, he wore a girdle-like band of gray metal. A cloth that was green and orange hung from his waist. His thighs were covered by a singular plate, and his greaves had two layers and enclosed his lower legs. In his left hand, he bore a kite shield that was armed with the fangs of a Frogzard. His main hand wielded a sword with a gray handle, brown gem, and a green hilt that had the head of a Frogzard and fins that looked like overly large ears to the shrunken head. The majority of the blade was smooth, but the base of it was bizarrely serrated.
"We are associates of Mivak, who is or was a professor at the School of Thought," Myodei answered. The ice elemental continued, "Is he still a frequent visitor of the library?"
The guardsman pondered for a short bit, "Ah, yes, you're talking about the purple Moglin, right? I believe that he is studying within the palace as we speak. I think that the subject was about the creatures of Heck, but I haven't paid much attention to the affairs of the school. If you are one of his friends, then I suppose that you can see him. You do know where the university is, right?"
"It is the first right upon entering, yes?" Myodei inquired, uncertain if he recalled the school's location. The knight nodded in response. "Thank you, sir," Myodei stated as the guard returned to his patrol. The large wooden doors opened with surprising ease. The innards of the palace were abundant in white and gold. Tuscan pillars supported the edifice at every one of the numerous hallway openings of the main hall. Arches stretched from every column to an adjacent one. The elementals took the first right to the library as per the sentry's directions.
The Derenian Library had two stories, and its structure was composed of a light brown wood. A spiral staircase led to the second floor, where the orange lamps rested and illuminated the room. Ladders leaned on the towering bookshelves upstairs. Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes, Orcs, Moglins, and even a few Drakel were present in the library. One of the scholars came towards the elementals when they entered the library; she was a light violet Moglin. "Hello, who are you, and why are you here?" She queried. She had turquoise eyes and pinnae; she looked quite reminiscent of Mivak. She even had glasses like him.
The ice elemental answered, "I am Myodei, with me there is Bazrir, Szayan, and Dyjhal. We are here to see Mivak as well as borrow some books and possibly research notes. Do you know where he is or might be?" She looked at them weirdly when Myodei mentioned four people making up their company.
"My father?" She asked and continued, "I imagine that he is upstairs reading up on planar travel, creation, and division. He's been writing up shorthand notes on it for someone, but he never told anyone who as far as I know."
"You're his daughter? Interesting," Myodei stated and then inquired, "But where is he upstairs?"
"I knew that I was forgetting something," She responded, "He should be on your left once you go up the spiral staircase. You can tell him that Virula sent you. He should at least hear you out that way."
"Thank you, Virula," Myodei replied and proceeded to levitate towards the spiral staircase. Dyjhal and Bazrir followed behind him. Most of the students and scholars that they saw were reading diligently while making notes. A few of them were writing essays as per their instructions from their respective professor. Mivak was sitting next to a Gnome and an Orc, but the others were probably students in the subject. Mivak had been a professor over the concept for the longest; however, he had retired from the position some decades ago.
Myodei moved in and tapped Mivak on the shoulder so as to not disturb the other scholars. The purple Moglin looked up at the ice elemental and got up from his desk. He grabbed the book that he was reading alongside the report that he was working on. They went away from the dutiful scholars. They were close to one of the more distant bookshelves; no one else was nearby. Mivak started, "Myodei, Dyjhal, where have you two been? I've been working on these notes for you this whole time, but I could never find or hear from either of you."
"Well, we've been quite busy," Myodei responded, "But I am glad that you remember us and worked so hard on our request. Would you be willing to give us what notes that you can as well as recommend some reads for us?"
Mivak answered, "Of course, Myodei. As for suggestions, perhaps The Planar Split by Tymir Rudal? Beasts of Heck by Livon Dacoir is another good one, despite the different subject. Imps are actually quite intriguing, and I hope to understand how they work one day. It'd be wonderful to study one."
"I actually was able to convince an imp to work with me, but I don't know how he is doing currently," Myodei mentioned.
Mivak gasped, "You... You do? You have an associate in a being from Heck? How? How did you—"
"The means to how I come upon my research co-workers is a story for a less hectic time," Myodei responded, "But to satiate you for the time being, he had agreed to work with me willingly. He asked for protection from those that would seek to harm or abuse him, and I had done so for when I was capable of such."
Mivak inquired, "I see, but what had incapacitated you?"
"I was... Imprisoned by some people in high places alongside my companions for a spell," The ice elemental answered, "And it was all due to Kyrei Veldrin, who was bitter over his vicious ancestor. It was an unfortunate affair altogether really."
Mivak gulped, "That is why I haven't been able to send you correspondence at the Elemental Foothills?"
"Indeed," Myodei replied, "And it is why I haven't been able to check up on my Imp associate. I was actually going to Talados to check up on him. My vessel leaves in two days. I suppose that we should not waste any more of this precious time. The Planar Split and Beasts of Heck you said, right?"
Mivak retorted, "Yes, they should be on relatively close to the table with the Ulgathi and Gnome, as they are in the planar section. Heck should be a little closer to the staircase."
"Thank you, Mivak," Myodei stated.
"What shall we do while they're off to Deren and Talados?" Ariyzi inquired, "And where is Zynaer? He should have been here."
Veqwei answered with his voice trailing off in all kinds of directions, "Zynaer is checking up on Iskrema from what I recall. As for us, we are supposed to find Jagos. He is one of the few that may know the secrets behind what we seek, but I am uncertain as to how we will convince him to divulge such information with us."
"Wait, he is actually sending me into danger?" Ariyzi blurted.
Veqwei replied, "Hmm? Oh, no. Zolkt is to stay with you. Myodei has tasked the search for and persuasion of Jagos to me and Vyrdae."
"Where will we go then, Veqwei?" Zolkt queried.
Veqwei responded, "Zynaer will probably want to meet up with you close to Riverine Keep. He takes joy from being there, and I can only imagine it is due to the volcanic landscape."
"If only we could rendezvous in a majestic forest without him igniting it," Zolkt stated sorrowfully, "I digress, I hope you find Jagos without much difficulty, Veqwei."
"Finding him will be easy, but he will be problematic on lending us bits of his knowledge," Veqwei asserted as he pushed his glasses back into place. There was an arcane symbol lightly etched with an arcane symbol that seemed reminiscent to a slit inscribed by a circle within a claw-like shape. Myodei had given them to Veqwei sometime ago; it was before they had even met Zynaer. Myodei had said that he had made them for when he worked alongside Izotz, but Myodei never stated why he needed them. The water golem surmised their purpose rather easily; the glasses allowed for an easy detection of magical objects and creatures. There was a means to disguise yourself from such a device, and Myodei had all of his companions utilize it. They were Oculi and quite efficient ones at that. Veqwei didn't have much use for them, but the glasses served as a decent form of reconnaissance.
"I suppose that is true," Zolkt replied, "Jagos has a way with finding new arrivals from what I've heard."
"That he does," Veqwei reaffirmed and told the earth elemental comfortingly, "I do hope that you have the best of luck keeping watch over Ariyzi. It'd be terrible for him to have a string of misfortune again."
Zolkt staggered up with Ariyzi close to him. He lightly opened the jaws of the reptilian skull in the form of a yawn. His head was that of a deceased reptilian that was situated over a rocky collar bone-like structure that bore his shoulders. His torso was the upper part of a tree trunk; his arms were akin to branches that ended with three fingers with an opposable thumb on each hand. His legs were composed of stone with holes made from protruding branches. His feet were comprised of dirt that held the roots of the tree that formed much of his body. He was at least three times the height of the other elementals, and they were about the height of an average person.
The earth elemental hadn't felt the most comfortable in Gorraran, but the mountain was soothing enough for him. It had reminded of a good friend that he had made prior to meeting Myodei. He had been recalling Mount Zolk, and it was mostly north and slightly to the west of the Dwarfhold Mountains.
The frigid tundra of the northwestern Frozen Northlands surrounded Zynaer; he continued to proceed through the blizzard that was sweeping the lands. The tempest was as sharp as steel; it would have no trouble slicing through unarmored flesh. It would not be capable of any major harm to one such as Zynaer, but it remained fortunate that there were no animals around to die to its wrath. The lack of visibility due to the ice-storm made it difficult to ascertain where Iskrema was taking refuge. All that Zynaer knew was was that Iskrema took hold within a vacant fortress of some sort.
As time went by, the blizzard eventually cleared. Zynaer took the opportunity to scan his surrounding. There were the remains of a stone outpost covered within the ice and snow towards the peak of one of the nearby mountains; it was certainly abandoned. Tattered banners, bearing a dog insignia, were still carried by the wind. The peculiar thing with the appearance of the fortress was that it was strenuous to distinguish if it was a military or religious institution. It was difficult to discern why the bell tower would be deserted; it appeared to be in relatively fine shape. The most probable cause seemed to be that it wasn't very accessible through any routes. Any roads that once existed were buried deep beneath the frost, and a nearby cave that was likely once part of a supply route had collapsed. The remainder of the environment that enveloped him did not suggest any more places of interest were visible.
Iskrema was bound to be holed up in there; there was nowhere else he could be. The road scaling up the mountain appeared only in slight patches. It was doubtful that anyone would intrude on the area, but there was a possibility that whatever organization controlled the bastion might send a party to reclaim it. Zynaer suspected that it wasn't that vital to them, or they would have already sent such a group to handle it. There weren't many pilgrims so far north, so a religious sanctuary would not have much value so detached from the rest of the world. A garrison would only be worthwhile for holding troops in reserve, but there weren't many invasions in the Northlands. The land was too difficult to traverse with its numerous mountains for offensives to have much success.
"This was probably the result of an avalanche," Zynaer hissed quietly, and embers shot from his mouth. They faded quickly into the frozen environment around him. As he scaled the scarce road, Zynaer noted light puffs of smoke coming from what he was now certain was a temple to the Ice Lord. Zynaer had heard tales of the patient, capable knights that would defend their temples from enemies, but what were the chances that there were some within this temple? It was also not as though Zynaer wished to do harm; he merely wished to meet with Iskrema.
The facade of the stone-brick parish was made of stained glass that was depicting a scene one of these Paladins of the Ice Lord wearing a snowy owl amulet facing off against a great Fire Dragon(perhaps an ancestor of the legendary Akriloth?) with the paladin employing one of their most powerful spells, the Breath of the Ice Lord. The spell was known to summon vicious blizzards; it easily could have been the source of the spontaneous and short-lived snowstorm on the tundra below. It seemed more and more likely that these temple knights were still holing up in this temple. "I wonder how they would feel about Iskrema and Myodei," Zynaer mumbled.
The door was oaken and bore the crest of Bask, a powerful kingdom of the Northlands. It had served as a supplier for Riverine Keep since the latter was built. In the recent conflict involving Swordhaven, Zynaer did not know which side Bask allied with. The battles in question were between the Slugwraths and a southern kingdom led by someone referred to as the Golden King, which is also, oddly enough, one of the many titles used for members of the Sek-Duat dynasty. Bask could have remained neutral in the conflict, but that was unlikely. Only the smaller kingdoms stayed out of the gambit that was war, and that was just because a defeat would spell out the collapse of the kingdom in question.
Inside the chapel, there was a crackling of fire. The sound of a guitar being strummed soon followed, but Iskrema would not possibly know how to play an instrument like that. Zynaer flung the door open; he was anxious to learn who or what was within the building. Before the fire elemental, there was a circle of priests around a fire surrounded by broken bookshelves with texts strewn about the place. The priests wore light turquoise robes with white cloaks that covered their shoulders and drooped to the ground from there. The cleric on Zynaer's right was the one strumming a guitar.
"Who are you, fire elemental, to enter a temple of the Ice Lord?" The priest that was directly facing Zynaer from the circle asked bravely. He had dark brown hair alongside hazel eyes; his face looked young. He was probably in his early twenties. His face bore heavy stubble to the point that it was almost a full beard. That was probably due to a lack of a means to shave as almost of them seemed to sport this heavy stubble. The two that didn't were the high priest and the librarian. They were both quite aged and graced with wisdom from their years; they sported long, unkempt beards rather than the stubble that the rest had.
"Who am I? I am Zynaer," The fire elemental answered, "And I am searching for a friend of mine, an ice elemental. His name is Iskrema. Perhaps you have seen him?"
"Well, I'm Fannar, and you say that he is an ice elemental named Iskrema?" The young priest queried, "Yes, he asked for refuge before the avalanche hit and closed us off from our main supply route. We allowed for his stay as he is one of our lord's servants, but he requested the bottom-most chamber that we could offer. We believe that he knew the avalanche was coming and came to here, a sanctum for those of the Lord of Ice, for protection from it. As you can see though, it still took its toll on us. At least five of our own are dead, trapped in ice and crust. It is as if the collapse of the cave passage to Bask wasn't enough."
"It sounds to me like you have angered the Lord of Ice, perhaps?" Zynaer replied with a bold but speculative statement.
The high priest answered this in his raspy voice, "What could we have possibly done to anger him? No, this is the work of some knave, a foolhardy cryomancer." He coughed a few times in his speech and proceeded to break into a coughing fit after he finished. He was definitely in poor health; the cold was not helping on that matter either. He probably had a few months to a year left, but it seemed like it could be easily healed.
"I suppose you're right, but might I ask what ails you? I would imagine that you must a healer within your group, so why are you suffering this illness?" Zynaer diverted the topic as to not anger the clergymen.
The old man replied, "We tried healing me, and it failed. I'm going to keep trying to avoid what is meant to be. I've lived my life long and well, so I can accept it ending. I've defended the sanctity of the Lord of Ice as well as his followers within this temple in my younger days, and I have continued to follow his will and will until I die." It was during his coughing this time that Zynaer was able to notice that this priest wore the same amulet as the paladin in the stained glass.
"I see, well, I suppose it is respectable," The fire elemental retorted, "Although I must be getting to seeing my friend."
"Yes, yes," The high priest muttered, "Oh, by the way, I'm Pyry, but I was nicknamed The Blizzard."
Zynaer was beginning to head towards where Iskrema would be, but he turned his head to Pyry once he finished. "Wait, why were you nicknamed that?"
Pyry sighed, "I had killed Arash, an ancient fire dragon, by summoning a blizzard upon it, the Breath of the Ice Lord."
"You're the paladin that the stained glass depicts?" Zynaer inquired in amazement.
"I was not a paladin; they are knights of the Lady of Light," Pyry declared, "I was simply a defender of this temple of the Lord of Ice. I was nothing more and nothing less." He broke back into a coughing fit, so Zynaer gathered that he should just see Iskrema. Pyry was too sick to spend his strength bickering about his past.
Zynaer descended the stone stairs; Iskrema awaited him at the base of the stairway. Three cyan tendrils swayed as they stood straight up from his similarly colored head. His eyes were a navy blue. His maw was filled with razor-sharp cuspids. His bottom jaw, torso, and arms were a pale aqua with shards breaking out from his body. His lower body was a complex arrangement of crystals akin to ice that formed into a single tip. His hands each had a thumb and three clunky fingers. "Hello, Zynaer," Iskrema slowly spoke.
"I see that you're on your deathbed," Zynaer jested.
"Why did you go so far out of your way to see me?" Iskrema inquired with his tongue lashing about within his mouth.
Zynaer was quick to answer, "You were the only reason that we got out, so I felt obligated to see if you were doing alright. It seems so to me. What's been going on with you?"
"I've been holed up in here for a couple of weeks, but Fannar and Pyry are good men," Iskrema snarled, "Aside from that, I did come across a group of Steppe Mastodons, but I wasn't close enough to catch their attention. They could have cause the avalanche that shook this place up if they encounter a major threat, but it also could have been an Avalurch."
Both of the aforementioned creatures are creatures that roam the Northlands and are considered among the strongest in the region. The Steppe Mastodons being a member of the genus Mammut(referred to as Mastodons) with four large, ivory, curved tusks protruding from their jaw close to where their trunks connect to their heads. They have dark-gray, beady eyes. Their bodies are covered in a thick blanket of snow-white fur that put even the pelt of a Two-Bear to shame. Their feet bore three toes which form an odd hoof. While the Avalurch is an elemental in the shape of a gigantic torso made of ice that is as hard as stone, and it was known to move glaciers about and carve mountains with them for the Ice Lord(It was never ascertained why the Ice Lord would make such odd requests).
"It would only make sense," Zynaer continued to spit embers from his being as he spoke, "Those two creatures are the main ones that would have the strength to cause such a powerful avalanche that it shook this chapel to its core. I'm not here to discuss that though; I'm here to discuss what you're planning on doing now."
"What do you mean?" Iskrema backed up uncomfortably like a child or teenager that was about to be forced into an apprenticeship.
The fiery humanoid clarified, "I mean, what are you going to do with yourself? What about the Elemental Lords? Are you going to go on a massive quest for vengeance or simply remain locked up and go insane through the centuries? What are you going to do with yourself?"
Iskrema spoke coldly, "I'm at a loss, Zynaer. I simply don't know; dedication to the Ice Lord was my life. Without him, I'm not sure of what I want to do. I suppose that I can exact justice on those who have done me wrong, but should I? I feel like I don't serve a purpose, yet the fault is only my own for that. I rebelled, and I regret it."
"Well, couldn't you join with me and Myodei again?" Zynaer asked.
"He doesn't want me," Iskrema said, "I do not need to be redeemed is what he told me."
"What about exacting vengeance on the minions of the Lord of Fire?" Zynaer suggested, "They have personally done you wrong, so you can enact justice upon them. Maybe that will give you something to do with yourself."
"Perhaps," Iskrema answered and corrected himself, "I hope."
A noise came from across the hall; someone was opening the door that leads down to here. There was a click, and the door swished open. It was Fannar. "Sorry if I am interrupting or intruding on something," He began, "But Pyry asked that I come down here to find out where you going next, Zynaer."
"Oh, uh, I was going to meet up with some fellows at Riverine Keep," Zynaer answered.
Fannar exclaimed, "Oh, then I must accompany you!" The young priest seemed to lean his entire frame as he performed these exaggerated motions before he dashed up the stairs to some room. In a few minutes, he returned adorned in thick fur clothes. His snow boots went up to his knees and went outward at least three inches. His hood was lined with fur, and the jacket was finished with thick leather. His gloves had fur bursting out from the leather constraints which tried to hold the fur tightly. He wore at least three pairs of pants, and the outermost was lightly covered with fur. "Are you ready to go?" He seemed anxious to leave; he probably hadn't left the parish in quite some time.
Zynaer answered awkwardly, "Sure?"