Chapter Three: Heresy and Holiness

When they'd first come to the Zenith to check on Cassandra, Pike had been too worried about her—a, frankly, about Percy—to appreciate the temple's grandeur. Now, though her concern hadn't abated much, she took a moment to drink in the view as she and Keyleth approached. Its beauty stole her breath away.

Reminiscent of sunrise over the Alabaster Sierras, the building reached toward the sky in graceful spires of white stone appointed in gold. Three large, round windows pierced each side, several surrounded by scaffolding as artisans carefully placed stained glass in brilliant mosaic patterns. Two smaller windows flanked the huge double door, its carved wreath of fire seeming to spread wide in welcome as sunlight danced on the gold-trimmed frame.

Though the years of the Briarwoods' occupation had left the temple desecrated and abandoned, it seemed the structure had remained mostly intact, allowing the restoration to proceed quickly. Whether she herself was a devout believer or not, it appeared Cassandra had prioritized this project. Pike approved wholeheartedly—the restored Zenith would stand as a beacon of hope, of faith, of simple normalcy to a people still reeling from the evils that had befallen them. It would be a sanctuary, a refuge in these troubled times. A reminder of the Dawnfather's mercy and love.

How could The Righteous have a problem with that?

Despite their massive size, the doors swung open easily at Pike's touch, and the two stepped inside. "Wow," Keyleth breathed.

The temple was even more gorgeous inside than out. Sunlight, shattered in places into a thousand colors by the stained glass, flooded the nave to reflect off polished stone and lacquered wood. Soft, rich red carpet covered the floor, so clean it fairly sparkled. Rows of elaborately carved wooden pews faced toward the raised stone altar, above which another stained glass window, twice as large as the others, blazed like the dawn.

Pelor's light was slightly different from that of Sarenrae, but Pike nevertheless found a feeling of comfort here. Of belonging. "It's so... peaceful," she whispered.

As they began to walk slowly toward the altar, a cleric in white and yellow robes approached them. She was perhaps a little younger than Percy, blue-eyed and freckled, with red hair barely tamed in a frizzy bun. "Welcome, friends," she said warmly. "I am Sister Deora, an acolyte of the priests of Pelor. May the Light of the Dawnfather shine upon you."

"And on you, as well," Pike replied. "I'm Pike, and this is Keyleth. It's nice to meet you."

Deora's eyes flicked over Pike's vestments. "What brings a priest of the Everlight to the Zenith, Sister Pike?"

"We wanted to talk to you!" Keyleth burst out before Pike could reply. "Well, not you, specifically, but someone here, you know, who might know things, about, um, stuff." She blushed. "I'm so not good at this," she muttered.

"Per—I mean, Lord de Rolo sent us," said Pike. "We're looking into the attack on his sister."

Deora glanced toward the door of the hospital wing. "Ah, I see. I'm afraid Lady de Rolo cannot be disturbed right now. She is not well."

"That's okay," Pike assured her. "We were actually hoping to speak with some of the clergy here, to see if anyone can help us fill in some details."

Drawing herself up to her full height—which wasn't impressive for a human, but still towered over Pike—Deora glowered down at her. "Certainly Lord de Rolo does not think anyone from the Zenith could be involved! Those Righteous zealots are a menace and a… a perversion of our faith!"

"No, no, he agrees with you," said Keyleth quickly, waving her hands and then catching her staff before it could fall. "We were just wondering if there was anything you could tell us about them?"

Deora relaxed a little. "I see. All right then, let's talk. But not here. Follow me." As she led them up toward the altar, she glanced back at Keyleth. "Pardon my curiosity, but you're a druid, aren't you? Are you one of the Fire Ashari, too?"

"Actually, I'm from the Air Ash—uh, what do you mean, too?"

"Oh, nothing important," said Deora, waving off the question. "There was a girl from the Fire Ashari tribe who came through here a while back, just before this whole Righteous business got started. She didn't stay long." She shrugged. "Like I said, just curious." Past the altar, she opened a door to the side of the sanctuary and ushered Pike and Keyleth into a small but comfortable sacristy. "Come, sit."

Like the rest of the temple, the sacristy was lit by sunlight streaming through stained glass in shades of gold, red, blue, and white. On a low table along one wall to the right sat a gold statue in the shape of an eight-pointed star, flanked by clusters of brightly burning pillar candles. A red cushion on the floor provided a place to kneel and meditate. Several chairs sat along the opposite wall, and Deora pulled them into a semicircle and sat with her back to the door. Pike hopped up into another one, and finally Keyleth sat beside her, moving slowly and frowning.

"You okay?" Pike murmured.

"Hmm?" Keyleth glanced at her, distracted. "Oh, uh, yeah, I just… yeah." She turned to Deora. "So, The Righteous?"

Pike made a mental note not to let that go.

"Yes. I'm afraid I have little to offer, but I'll tell you what I know." Deora folded her hands in her lap. "It began shortly after the overthrow of the Briarwoods. There were some in Whitestone—a small minority, but a vocal one—who mistrusted the Lady de Rolo. They could not, or would not, believe that she could throw off their influence on her. As she began to direct the city's recovery, they started to fade away, but before they could lose all momentum, they started in on the heresy." She all but spat the word. "They claimed the Dawnfather had abandoned the de Rolos, and would abandon Whitestone unless they were deposed. Their movement caught fire from there."

Pike nodded grimly. It was not an uncommon refrain throughout history: malcontents using religion to fuel their influence, tying faith to politics in order to gain the fanatical support of the simple and gullible. It was a strategy that had toppled empires—and led to many a dark age. "They're trying to start a rebellion."

Her heart ached at the thought. Not only for Percy and Cassandra, but for the innocent people who would be swept up in the fighting. It had barely been two months since they'd risen up against the Briarwoods, and many were still mourning losses and nursing wounds. More armed conflict would tear the entire city apart.

"The Righteous see the de Rolos' hold on the city as weak," said Deora. "Neither Lord de Rolo nor his sister have any heirs, nor indeed any other living family. The Briarwoods depleted or destroyed much of the family's wealth and resources. Lady de Rolo has therefore borrowed heavily to fund the Restoration, so The Righteous have seized upon that, as well, playing upon concerns over the city's debt. They paint her as reckless and disloyal, and the Lord himself as uncaring. And they invoke the name of the Dawnfather in their slander."

"Slander, is it, Sister Deora?" a stern voice interrupted. Behind her, a tall Elven man in ornately embroidered gold robes appeared in the doorway, grey eyes flashing with anger. "Is that really the only alternative to blind, unquestioning obedience? And who is this you have allowed into our sanctum?"

"Father Tharivol!" Deora shot to her feet, and turned to face him, cringing. "These women were sent by Lord de Rolo to—"

"Ah, yes," Tharivol sneered. "Our absent Lord once again swoops in to play the hero in our time of need. How… noble of him."

Keyleth bristled. "Do you have a problem with Percy?" she demanded.

"'Percy.' How sweet." Tucking his hands behind his back, Tharivol stared down his beaklike nose at her. "My only 'problem' with Lord de Rolo is that he is most often as I have described him: absent. For six years, Whitestone languished in the Briarwoods' grasp, and where was he? Gallivanting about all Tal'Dorei with a misfit band of mercenaries. He returned only in the moments before the people's resistance was utterly crushed. He saved the day, and reclaimed Whitestone for his own—only to vanish once again." He snorted, softly and imperiously. "I am of the opinion that he should either stay and rule as is his birthright, or abdicate formally. I find his recent behavior… shall we say, irresponsible."

Narrowing her eyes, Pike studied him as he spoke. Despite his vocation, which might otherwise predispose him to a little humility, Tharivol carried himself with the aristocratic bearing every High Elf seemed trained in from birth. His face was composed of such haughty and severe angles that she couldn't imagine him ever cracking a smile, and his greying blond hair, pulled smoothly into a ponytail at the nape of his neck, did nothing to soften it. Pike pitied Deora for having to deal with him on a daily basis, but nothing about him struck her as nefarious. Just unpleasant.

Still, she had an investigation to conduct. "What's you opinion of Lady Cassandra?" she asked carefully.

"I will admit, I was among those who mistrusted her at first," said Tharivol. "However, Whitestone is recovering apace under her leadership. She is young and has much to learn, but I trust her to act in the best interests of the people."

"And what do you think of The Righteous?" Pike pressed.

Tharivol raised his eyebrows. "As little as possible," he said tightly. "They are heretics and deceivers. I care not a whit for their politics, but their use of the name of Pelor to further their agenda is anathema to all of His commandments."

Pike looked up at Keyleth, who met her eyes with a shrug, then back to the two clerics. "Thank you for your time, Father Tharivol, Sister Deora. I think that's all we need for now." She slid down from the chair with as much dignity as she could muster, and straightened her vestments. "If you think of anything else, or find any information that might help, you can find us at Whitestone Castle."

"Noted," said Tharivol dryly. "Now, I must ask you to leave. May the Light of the Dawnfather guide your way."