Chapter 44
Having dealt with the last cleric down below, Bilwin turns to the rocky area surrounding him and looks for the archer. “Come out, ya damned cowards!” Nothing but silence in response.
On the other side of the clearing, at the top, Gven and Dolor search for the other archer with no luck. Using her eagle eyesight, the barbarian sees nothing except for barren rock all the way to the treeline they left yesterday. It’s as though the archers vanished into nothingness.
Down in the clearing, Mond investigates the cleric whose clothes are not charred from fire. The robes are well made, yet purposely without any adornment at all. They don’t carry any coins or personal objects, only a small, plain-handled dagger that is also well crafted. The sorcerer wonders for a moment if there’s more to this group than meets the eye. Thinking of their next encounter with any zealots, he decides that a little camouflage might go a long way to not being their target. He removes the least harmed cowl, which only has a few minor singe marks on a cuff, and pulls it over his own robes. It might not withstand close scrutiny, but should work in passing.
Grindlefoot is still invisible and decides to investigate further up the trail. He walks into the canyon the zealots exited from and only twenty feet later comes to another decent-sized clearing. It contains a makeshift camp with a few tents, an unlit campfire, and some supplies strewn about. “Come out, come out, if you can.” He waits for someone to poke their head out from a tent, but no one does and he begins searching the campsite. The tents are sparse on the inside, holding cots and supplies, but not much else. Amongst the provisions—only a few days worth remain, not nearly enough to return to the port city—he finds medallions with the same symbol burned into the shrine outside the small village and shown to them by the god, Zimon.
Finished searching for the vanished archer, Gven and Dolor see Mond alone in the clearing below, rummaging through the dead clerics’ clothing. The tall barbarian climbs down the twenty foot wall without trouble, while the rogue seems to trip over a ledge of some sort and falls the last five feet, landing with his face in the dirt. On the other side, Bilwin grabs a loose root and swings over the edge of the canyon top, gracefully falling to the ground. As he reaches halfway, the dwarf deftly pushes off the canyon wall, does a somersault and lands in front of the tiefling with a bow. “At your service, my lovely horned friend.”
Grumbling to himself, Dolor picks himself up from the dirt and walks over to the dead clerics to help Mond search their bodies. He finds that each one holds a medallion in their pocket with the same symbol as Zimon revealed to them. “Gustaf, it’s clear to come out now.”
“Ah, thank you lad! I didn’t want to interrupt your discussion with these, um, rather intolerant fanatics. Even for a man of knowledge, like myself, I couldn’t stomach their obsessiveness.”
Mond looks at the archaeologist with narrowed eyes, “What do you mean? That sounded like you knew these zealots.”
“Actually, I did travel with them for a bit.” Seeing their faces turn angrier, the small man holds up his hands in defense. “I had no idea they’d be here, in this location. Although, I did know they were headed towards the temple. Apologies for not divulging that particular piece of information. I was too excited about the prospects of what we’ll see and sharing it with the world!”
“Spill it, Gustaf.” Dolor looks perturbed, an unusual sentiment from the normally patient tiefling.
“Okay, okay. I wasn’t hiding it from you, it just hadn’t come up yet. Remember how I arrived at the island by pirating? Well, none of them were interested in exploring the island, so I headed off to the port city to see if I’d have better luck there. Turns out zealots don’t mind company, as long as you convince them that you’re a believer too. As we were traveling from town to the temple, I realized that they seemed short on supplies for a round trip. Posing this question to the leader, that brute of a warrior Mond cooked alive back there, didn’t go over so well. When we came across those tombs and discovered the one blown open, I decided it was time to go my own way.”
Looking at the older man, Dolor says calmly, “You shut yourself into that room to get away from them, didn’t you. You knew they wouldn’t be able to figure out the puzzle.”
“You’re smarter than she looks,” and he pointedly looks at Gven for a moment. “I knew I’d be able to get out. I just had to give them enough time to get bored and move along. But the statue was so interesting, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity. And before I knew it, you opened it for me.”
The group searches the small campsite, but doesn’t find much of value. They restock their supplies and provisions from what little was left. Mond suggests they grab some extra robes and medallions, in case they need to blend in later.
Mond looks around. “Has anyone seen Grindlefoot?”
“Over here!” The invisible halfing’s voice comes from the edge of the encampment, in the direction they need to go for the temple. “I’ll be incognito for a while longer, but I’m ready to hit the trail.”
It’s midday when they leave the camp and their impromptu battleground. Grindlefoot casts Pass without Trace, allowing them to move with stealth and worry less about running into any other bands of zealot soldiers who might be in the area.
After walking for several hours, they come upon a stone staircase that rises slowly along the side of the mountain. The stairs are wide enough for two of them to pass comfortably side by side, although there’s no railing or banister to prevent one from falling off the side. It curves towards the west and the sea, preventing them from seeing far enough to know if others started up the steps before them.
Dolor looks up the stairway, then back to the group. “We don’t know how long it’ll take us to reach the entrance, nor what we’ll find there. I don’t think we want to be dealing with unknowns in the dark of night on the side of a mountain overlooking a rough sea below without any protection from weather or foe. I recommend we find a spot to rest and call it a day.”
Everyone nods in agreement, except for Gustaf, who is busy writing notes and drawing pictures in his leatherbound journal. He blindly follows Dolor and the group off the trail for a ways and to a small indentation in the side of the mountain. Not even close to being a cave, but it’s enough to provide a semblance of shelter and prevents them from being surrounded. They decide a cold camp without a fire is the safest bet.
Their watches throughout the night are quiet. At one point, Bilwin is peering into the night sky above them and notices some creatures flying. He can’t make out their species, but they’re bird-like and could be harpies, or something else entirely.
Long rest….
The morning’s predawn light rises from the east, slowly illuminating their cold camp. Grindlefoot sits in silence while his watch comes to an end. Seated on the ground, he looks at the staff resting across his legs and a moment of reflection takes over. The staff was a simple farmer’s hoe once upon a time, when he worked the land around his home. It was easy enough to remove the iron head from it before he began journeying the open road, used primarily to assist with walking, he quickly learned how useful it is as a weapon. It’s odd how we can so quickly change the purpose of a thing. Once used for growing and cultivating life, the three foot long pole is now used to harm and injure.
The halfling’s eyes refocus on the sunrise to the east, peeking over the rocky terrain they walked through yesterday and the jungle treetops off in the distance. Soon, everyone is awake, packing up their bedrolls, and grabbing a cold breakfast before starting up the stone stairway to the temple.
The steps are warm to the touch of a bare hand, and Gustaf relates tale after tale describing their history and lore. As they noticed the previous day, the stairs meander around the mountain side to the west. They soon notice that looking backward, down the stairs, they can no longer see where they begin. Sounds of the sea rise up from the cliffs below, reminding them that there isn’t a barrier between them and the long plunge downward. Seagulls and albatross ride the wind currents around them, squawking loudly in protest of some unseen injustice to birdkind.
Leading the group up the slight incline, Dolor is the first to notice a flock of creatures high in the air to the northeast. The four creatures appear to be heading straight towards them, and at great speed. With the sun behind them, it’s difficult to tell much more about the incoming visitors.
The tiefling pulls his shortbow from his back and knocks an arrow, taking sight on the largest creature. “They’re coming in awfully fast. That doesn’t seem like a friendly advance.” Letting the arrow loose, it flies past the lead creature and between the others, missing its mark.
Gven removes Tempest Edge from its scabbard and settles her feet into a fighting stance, ready to respond if they’re attacked in close quarters. Grindlefoot decides that the most effective place for him to help is behind Gven, and Gustaf similarly decides to help from behind the halfling.
With a sigh and roll of his eyes, Bilwin bows his head and quietly prays to Hanseath, asking him to Bless his friends in the fight that is sure to come.
Following Dolor’s lead, Mond casts Fire Bolt at the largest creature, leading the pack in its charge at the group. A mote of fire erupts from the sorcerer’s hand, speeds off into the sky, and bursts into flame upon impact with the lead winged creature.
The birdlike creature chirps loudly several times, obviously angered by the unprovoked attack, and stops advancing towards the stairs. Flapping its wings slowly, it remains in place and the other three fan out around it. With a motion of its hand, a column of fire sweeps down the stairway, wrapping the adventurers in flames and agony.
“Stop! You approach danger!”
Gven realizes the aarakocra didn’t attack first, they only responded as an act of defense. She slides Tempest Edge into its sheath and holds up both hands, indicating peace. “Can we talk, without fighting? We mean you no harm.”
“Put away your weapons.” The lead aarakocra turns its head slightly towards its companions and makes several squawks, conferring with or commanding them. Dolor puts away his shortbow and Mond tries to make his hands look less threatening. He doesn’t quite know what to do with them and finally stuffs them into the pockets of his stolen robe.
“Why are you here?”
Grindlefoot steps out from behind Gven and looks up at the birdfolk hovering in the sky. He calmly explains why they’re headed to the temple, searching for the answers to prevent religious zealots from gaining power and trying to eradicate arcane magic users. The birdfolk seem to relax after the halfling’s tale and move closer to the stairway, landing close to the group.
“I am Asura and we are the Ember Wing Wardens, entrusted with watching over the temple you seek. There are dark things coming from there. You do not want to enter. For those who do, no longer leave.”
Gven tells Asura, “We were told to visit the temple. Seeing inside might lead us to the answers that we seek, or at least some knowledge that could help us.”
“Who told you this?”
Gven nods her head towards Bilwin. “Hanseath. We have a mutual acquaintance.”
“Ah, one of your dwarven gods. The temple has become a dangerous place in recent years. We used to watch from a distance while worshipers came and went in peace. Now, we do our best to warn those who want to enter.”
Mond pulls a hand out of a pocket and rubs his chin, “Do you know what’s going on inside?”
“No. We are not allowed to enter the temple. We do not fly underneath false skies. Proceed if you wish, but take care. No one knows the gods, least of all mortals. May you find what you seek and remember,” Asura looks toward the west and the sea below. “The ocean is stable, yet it always changes.”
Grindlefoot nearly jumps out of his skin, “No it’s not! I vomited the whole way here! That ocean is about as stable as a dozen pumpkins stacked atop each other!”
The group walks the remaining four hundred feet of stairs to the temple’s entrance while the aarakocra circle high above, watching their ascent. Reaching the doorway, they’re close enough to see that the temple exterior is a facade attached to the mountainside, not carved into it. Beyond the doorway, it’s eerily dark, none of the daylight seems to penetrate the threshold.
The temple facade is covered in symbols praising Aish, humanoid figures with flames for heads. Looking closer, Bilwin notices that they’re scratched over. “Hmm, these are humans, not gods. And look how someone has etched something over them. It looks like the symbol we saw at the village and that Zimon showed us in the vision.”
The cleric steps back in disgust and anger. “This temple has been desecrated!”
The adventurers advance to level 8.