Chapter Thirteen: The Wrath of Pelor

Scanlan split off from Vox Machina as soon as they left the Lady's Chamber, and slipped into an alley away from prying eyes. A couple of barrels provided an ideal hiding place for one of his stature, shielding him from the sight of anyone who might pass by. When he was certain no one could see him, he put on his Hat of Disguise, transforming himself—visually, at least—into a dashingly handsome and gloriously bearded Dwarf.

Pulling the slip of parchment out of his pocket, he cleared his throat. "The radiance of the dawn shall shine forth from the righteous and illuminate the darkened soul," he read aloud, imitating as best he could the accent of the residents of Kraghammer. Whitestone had a fairly significant population of Dwarves, so his acting had to be pretty damn good id he was going to pass muster.

Fortunately, Scanlan Shorthalt was a pretty damn good actor.

He reread the passage a few more times until he felt satisfied with his delivery, then strolled into the street with a rolling Dwarven gait. He took his time as he wandered north toward Dawnfather Square and the Sun Tree, giving the rest of the team plenty of time to get far ahead. He didn't want to be seen anywhere near them in this guise, lest he arouse the suspicion of The Righteous. He needed them to trust him, at least for a while.

Eventually, he reached the wide cobblestone square that surrounded the massive tree. It warmed his heart to see it bustling with activity: proof of the city's continuing recovery after the destruction the Briarwoods had wrought. The first time he'd seen this place, it had been desolate, deserted and filthy. Bodies had hung from the dead Sun Tree, cruelly murdered and dressed to resemble him and his friends. But that scene felt more like a passing nightmare now, as the square resounded with conversation and laughter, and the Sun Tree's branched were bare if anything but the tiny orange buds that would soon unfurl into the delicate leaves of early spring.

No one took any more notice of him than they did anyone else. For a man who liked to be the center of attention, that would normally have been a bit off-putting, but for now it meant his disguise was working, his mannerisms convincing. He could blend into the crowd unquestioned.

Scanlan strolled around the square for a while, making small talk with passers-by, purchasing a few trinkets from merchants' stands, and occasionally bringing up the passphrase Radiance had given him. That earned him a few funny looks. A couple of people responded with the sage nod and blank eyes of someone pretending to understand. But no one seemed to recognize it.

After a handful of attempts, he drifted closer to the Sun Tree. A small knot of people had gathered on the northerns side, and a man in brilliant white robes appeared to be finishing some kind of sermon.

Bingo.

"—walk in peace and freedom, and may the grace of the Dawnfather be with you all." The speaker extended his hands in benediction as the crowd began to disperse. A human man in perhaps his mid-forties, his dazzling robes made him stand out like a beacon even in the shade of the great tree. Blue eyes crinkled in a beatific smile as he caught sight of Scanlan approaching. "Welcome, Brother Dwarf," he called out. "Have you come to learn the true will of the Dawnfather?"

"As a matter of fact, I have," Scanlan replied. "After all, the radiance of the dawn shall shine forth from the righteous and illuminate the darkened soul."

The preacher's eyebrows shot up at the words. "And His blaze shall burn away the sins of the unworthy," he said as though completing the verse. "Come with me, Seeker. How are you called?"

"I am Darrak Hammerfist," said Scanlan as he followed the preacher toward the western side of the square. "And what is your name?"

"I am now called Kindle. That is all the name I need."

Together, they wove through the late-morning bustle of the square until they reached a pair of dilapidated and seemingly abandoned buildings. Kindle led Scanlan down a quiet alley between them and onto a quiet side street, then stopped and looked down at him. "Are you ready, Seeker Darrak?"

Scanlan glanced around a little nervously. In contrast to the liveliness of the square, this street was deserted. If this Kindle had nefarious ideas, there was no help to be found. "Uh… ready for what?" He barely remembered in time to use his Kraghammer accent, his voice coming out in a squeak he hoped wasn't too suspicious.

But Kindle seemed unperturbed. "To meet The Righteous, of course," he said with a smile. "I will take you to Daystar, our leader. He will take your measure, examine the truth of you, and determine if you are worthy of joining our ranks."

Scanlan swallowed hard. "And what if he finds me unworthy?"

Kindle's only response was to seize Scanlan by the arm, utter a word in the chiming, musical tones of Celestial, and pull him through a Dimension Door into darkness.

No, not darkness, just dimness. Scanlan blinked as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change from bright sunshine to flickering candlelight. Kindle's spell had deposited them it what may once have been a warehouse, but had been refitted and repurposed into what vaguely resembled a temple of Pelor. Banks of candles illuminated the space in dim, smoky light, reflecting off surfaces of gold and whitestone. Unlike the Zenith, the space was windowless, and where the altar should have been was a raised dais with a large chair, richly upholstered in white and gold. Clusters of pillar candles flanked this throne, and on the wall behind it, a huge mosaic, at least six feet across, depicted the eight-pounted star of the Dawnfather in shades of white, gold, red, and blue.

In the chair sat a man, human, perhaps thirty years old a the outside. His dark hair and darker eyes stood in stark contrast to the whites and golds all around him, giving him a slightly surreal aura as he gazed out over his congregation.

For Scanlan and Kindle were not alone here. The room was crowded with people, some of whom Scanlan recognized in passing, though few he'd actually spoken to. He thought he caught a glimpse of Radiance, but she vanished before he could be sure. People shuffled and shifted and murmured amongst themselves, as if waiting for something to begin.

The man on the dais—Daystar, evidently—finally cleared hius throat, and the crowd fell still and silent. "Star and Blaze, come forward," he intoned.

Scanlan watched as two figures approached the throne: one a short, stocky human man with wild and wiry grey hair; the other, a lithe and haughtily beautiful half-Elven woman who walked with a slight limp. They each dropped to one knee and bowed their heads.

Daystar stared down at them sternly, but not unkindly. "Though your mission was only partially successful, you have done well. By your hands, both of the remaining usurpers hae now been brought low by the wrath of Pelor. The ember is lit, and soon the fire will roar across this city to usher in a new dawn!" He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands. "Tell me, and all assembled here, the tale of your deeds."

The man looked up at him. "Percival de Rolo's greatest strength is also his greatest weakness," he said, his voice ringing through the space. "It was easy enough to use his friends, the half-Elven twins, as bait—he came charging to their rescue, as I knew he would. Young Star here nearly had him, and would have struck him down were it not for his guard's arcane trickery. A short battle ensued, in which I managed to land a blow on de Rolo and deliver the wrath of Pelor." He bowed his head again. "But Star and I were outnumbered and overwhelmed. De Rolo's men captured us and threw us in the dungeon before we could complete our mission. We have Aurora to thank for our escape."

Well, shit. Scanlan kept his face carefully neutral as he listened. The others were going to be very surprised indeed to find the dungeon empty when they went to question these guys. It appeared the mole in the castle, this Aurora, remained hard at work.

Daystar nodded in satisfaction. "You did well, and you returned to us alive. Rise now, and receive the blessing of Pelor."

As the two would-be assassins stood, Daystar rose as well. Scanlan expected some sort of invocation or prayer, but instead, Daystar turned, crouched, and withdrew a small chest from beneath the throne. He unlocked it and withdrew two small vials of sparkling, pale blue liquid. Stepping down from the dais, he handed the vials to Star and Blaze. "Drink," he said.

They obeyed without question, each emptying their vials in a single swallow.

Daystar smiled. "You are now full members of our order, and immune to the wrath of Pelor. Welcome, Brother. Welcome, Sister."

There was that phrase, over and over again: the wrath of Pelor. Scanlan frowned as the congregation around him burst into applause. The repetition of those words fell awkwardly on the ear, especially given the carefully crafted phrasing of the rest of this ceremony. And the thing about being immune was just weird as fuck. It was almost as if it referred not to any actual divine displeasure, but to—

Holy shit. The poison. The were talking about the poison that coated their weapons! And if that potion could make Blaze and Star immune to its effects… could it perhaps cure Percy and Cassandra, too?

There was only one way to find out. All of a sudden, this mission was no longer simple espionage. Now it was a heist.