The Undercroft
The Sturg appreciated the high ceilings of the Undercroft. One of the annoying things about being six and a half feet tall and an adventurer was the tunnels, dungeons, warrens and crypts he typically found himself in were not generally sized appropriately. The designers of the extensive underground complex under the Abbey of St. Ursula had been much more accommodating with their ceiling height then most. He hadn't even hit his head on the ceiling once, and The Sturg appreciated small blessings. Saint Ursula was said to be remarkably tall for a human female, perhaps it was to she he owed his lack of head trauma to.
"This part of the Undercroft is relatively safe" Sister Clara remarked as the party descended the broad stairway, leaving the Abbey above behind and entering the arched corridors of the tunnels beneath it. "There are miles of tunnels and chambers beneath the Abbey. We mostly use them to age the wine. Wine is very particular about temperature you see. Deeper in, when we reach the crypts things are...less safe. So much so that we warded that area off from the rest."
"What makes it... less safe?" asked Whisperleaf.
"That part is mostly crypts, so Ghosts. And worse" Sister Clara answered grimly. "You will see, soon enough."
The party continued through the tunnels. It was a bit of maze down here, room after room filled with wine, barrels or racks of bottles, covered in dust, aging in the gloom. The Sturg was glad they had Sister Clara with them, she didn't seem to have any problem navigating the twists and turns. She seemed a solid sort to The Sturg, tall and muscular, for a human female at least, and she seemed to know how to use that two handed war hammer she was carrying. She was rather attractive actually, he found himself musing before his mind ran screaming from that idea.
In general, The Sturg liked the nuns of the Abbey. It was peaceful here, quiet, pastoral. The Sturg hadn't experienced much of any of those things in his relatively short and brutish life, and he found he liked it. He was not a complicated soul, and 'religion' was a thing that generally happened to other people, but if following Mithra got you places like the Abbey of St. Ursula, it was ok in his book, and he was glad they were helping the Abbey. He'd hate to see fire and the sword come to these fields and vineyards.
Eventually they came to a stout wooden door, barred and locked. Inlaid in silver on the center of the door was a glyph, two foot by two, glowing softly in the gloom.
Sister Clara stopped in front of the door and nodded decidedly. "This is it, be careful not to touch the ward until I have disarmed it." she instructed. "Through that door are the crypts where we inter our most holy dead. And past the crypt, the library and treasury where our most valuable artifacts are stored."
She knelt before the door and prayed silently for a moment, then stood up and began to chant a litegy in ancient Annish. Periodically through he chant, she touched one of the four corners of the glyph. With each touch the glyph grew brighter
"“I stand before you a Sister of the Order of St Ursula, a follower of Mithras the Lightbringer.
I stand before you in supplication, that I be granted humility, that I may devote myself to His service without pride or arrogance.
I stand before you in supplication, that I be granted courage, so that I may protect His flock and defeat the foes that would destroy his faithful
I stand before you in supplication, that I be granted fortitude to endure the tests and tribulations of this world
Finally I stand before you in supplication, that I be granted compassion, the greatest of these virtues, without which all else is for naught
I stand before you a sister of St Ursula, empowered by her lineage and creed, and beseech that I may be granted entry”
With that final request the ward grew so bright it was impossible to look upon and then the door swung open.They passed the door. It was noticeably colder on the other side.
"This guy has been dead for quite awhile" Ricmo remarked. The corpse lay where he fell, directly in front of the wrought iron gate. The gate was studded with locks and seals. It was also very open, the locks unlocked, the seals broken, one of its doors swinging aimlessly in the breeze of their passing.
"Long but not incredibly long." Tello corrected. "Tens of years, but not hundreds. The air down here is cold and not conducive to decay but it has its limits." Pensively the Tortle inspected the scene, being careful not to touch the corpse. His small, beady eyes missed nothing. He noticed the broken seals on the gate. He noticed the warning sign above it. He noticed the broken staff in the corpses hand. He noticed the scorch marks on the wall cross from the corpse. And the mummified face still locked in terror.
"He broke the wards and opened the gate. Something came out." he stated, simply.
Sister Clara read the sign out loud.
This is the final resting place of Abbess Madora, third Abbess of the Abbey of Saint Ursula, also known as Madora the Mad. May her troubled soul remain undisturbed, so she may rest in peace. Beware opening this door stranger, least her shade be freed to walk among you and bring ruin."
"I can't help but notice the spirits of this place seem unusually restless." Fantastic Freddy observed. "There is a definite vibe down here." He strummed his guitar nervously.
"It's true." Sister Clara confirmed grimly. "In the past, the current Abbess would come to these chambers to consult with those who had gone before her, seek their council. But over the last score of years the spirits have become angry, stalking the halls of the Undercroft rather then resting in their tombs. Eventually we had no choice but to seal this all up behind the ward you saw. "
"What angers them, do you think?" Freddy continued his inquiry.
"The choices that were made during the Pirate Crusade." Radiant Lightbringer generally a quiet, mild man but this time he spoke with authority. "Blessed Ursula and the others are not happy with the way the Abbey turned it's back on the slaughter and rapine of the innocent. This, Mithra revealed to me in a dream, though at first I did not understand. Now that Sister Clara has told us the story of those times, it is clear".
"They seemed to have little choice, it was stay neutral or die" Dakhir found himself in the strange state of defending long dead nuns.
"That is still a choice. And if they had kept faith, who knows how it might have ended?” Radiant replied sadly. "They should have had faith. Mithra never promises that the struggles he sends to us are easy ones, but he always gives us the strength to endure them."
Dakhir seemed unconvinced but he knew well enough not to argue theology with Lightbringer.
While the others had been talking, Ricmo had been carefully circling the body, looking for traps, satisfying himself the lone dead adventurer had not left any nasty surprises behind. "Oh well, too bad, so sad, and who the hell was this guy I wonder? Nothing for it but to loot the corpse." Ricmo chirped. Satisfied it was safe, he bent over the body and started going through its pockets and the small backpack it wore. "Looks like your standard burglary toolkit, lockpicks, rope and grapnel, rations, the usual dungeon crawling stuff..."
"I would not touch tha..." Tello interjected, but too late.
From within the corpse a translucent figure rose, grasping a ghostly staff that burned with dark flame. A wave of cold engulfed the heroes. The figure howled.
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"I am a little afraid to touch it. That dead wizard was scary, it took all of us to defeat him, so whatever killed him must have been even scarier". Whisperleaf quipped. "Even though nothing was in that first crypt we don't know nothing is in this one."
“Something WAS in that first crypt” Tello pointed out. “It was just released. Now it likely walks these halls.”
After searching the (empty) crypt of the Mad Abbess the companions had continued deeper into the Undercroft and now were staring at a second crypt.
"This is the final resting place of Abbess Agatha the Meek, second Abbess of the Abbey of Saint Ursula. Her wisdom was only exceeded by her humility and kindness. No one worked more selflessly toward making Blessed Ursula's dream a reality." Sister Clara read.
There were the remains of many offerings on the steps of the crypts, long dried flowers, scraps of parchment, old candles and incense."'the Meek' is good." pointed out Ricmo. "Certainly better then 'The Mad'. Or "Abbess Agatha, Eater of Souls."
"I remember studying about her. She was much beloved, reputed to be very wise, her spirit was one of the most common to be consulted by the current Abbess." Clara mused.
"Oh poppycock" the thin, reedy voice came from thin air in front of the tomb. "That's only because I was the closest to the entrance. Never underestimate laziness as a motivator, my child. Also they didn’t want to risk triggering The Trials." In front of the tomb a ghostly figure, wrapped head to toe in white graveclothes materialized.
For a moment the party was struck dumb in shock.
Dakhir recovered himself first. "Excuse me, Reverend Mother, but did you say 'trials'?"
Abbess Agatha had proved quite pleasant and helpful (for a ghost) and there were indeed trials. Four of them to be precise. Sister Clara had been as surprised as any of them, evidentially this was the first she had head of 'trials' either.
"Defenses my dear." Agatha had explained. "Normally not needed, so dormant, inactive, but not so inactive now. Still, stay true to Our Lord Mithras and I am sure you will overcome them."
"Do you know anything of their nature?" Freddy asked.
"For the pretty man, certainly, I will tell you what I know. Don't get very many pretty men down here, I assure you." from under the graveshroud Agatha sounded almost mischievous. "They will test your faith, my sons and daughters. Four virtues we hold above all others; Humility of spirit, Fortitude of conviction, Courage in the face of adversity, and finally, and greatest, Compassion for all Mithra's children. These will be tested."
She paused for a moment.
"It'll hurt I'm afraid. Quite a lot. Sorry about that"
And, indeed, they were tested soon enough.
The First Trial
"That. Would be the first trial." Whisperleaf stated the obvious, as he stared at the angel.
The angel glowed softly from where he stood on the narrow stone bridge. The chasm the bridge spanned seemed bottomless, the light from Radiant's torch vanished into it's depths. From deep down in the darkness, the heroes thought they could barely hear moans and screams wafting up on the frigid air. Behind the angel, on the other side of the bridge, was only a blank wall.
The angel noticed them, saluted with his blade, and his voice boomed out.
"Only the greatest warrior can defeat me in single combat"
The Sturg looked sideways at Dakhir, then shrugged, drew his sword and started forward. The angel smiled.
"Hold on friend Sturg, I've got this." Freddy grinned as he stepped in front of the black armored warrior.
The Sturg hesitated. He had seen the Bard's swordplay. It was...not good. The Sturg suspected he only wore that rapier of his to be fashionable. He looked back at Dakhir, quizzically.
"What are you thinking here Fred?" Dakhir asked, a worried look on his aquiline features.
"Don't worry, I got this." Freddy flashed his dazzling smile again and before anyone else could argue he stepped out on the bridge and strode confidently toward the angel, whistling.
"Only the greatest warrior can defeat me in single combat" the Angel boomed at Freddy.
The angel seemed a trifle put out with that.
"Have you come to challenge me in single combat? Are you a great enough warrior to best me?"
"Hell no." Freddy replied. "Haven't a chance. Not on my best day." He presented his hands, palms upward. "You win, man."
The angel looked disappointed. Behind him the blank stone wall shimmered and faded away into an archway
"You may pass." the angel said, a trifle sulkily, as he flew off the bridge to the side. Freddy tipped his hat politely and sauntered across.
Whisperleaf laughed.
"What just happened?" said Ricmo.
"I believe Freddy just passed the Test of Humility" Whisperleaf laughed again, shaking his head.
As Tello, the last party member, assured the angel that he also was not in fact the world's greatest warrior, Dakhir grinned and patted Freddy on the back.
"Well Freddy I am not sure which is more surprising. That you aren't the world's greatest swordsman or that you, Fantastic Freddy, just passed the Trial of Humility." Freddy grinned back. "I'm a lover, not a fighter, you cats know that!"
Tello, ignoring the banter, was examining the crypt that was on the other side of the first bridge. The door was decorated with a crest representing a bunch of grapes, and carved grapevines adorned the entire structure.
"This is the final resting place of Abbess Marigold, fourth Abbess of the Abbey of Saint Ursula, Winemaker and Builder. She loved the fruit of the vine greatly and was the mother to all our vintages, but she loved the souls of the poor and destitute more. As Mithras commanded, she worked ceaselessly to care for them. She was greatly loved and will be greatly missed." Tello read.
"She was the first vintner of our order. Many of the vintages that are still popular were created by her. She was a genius horticulturalist, and her genius brought great prosperity to the Abbey" Sister Clara remarked.
Tello wandered over to the blank wall behind the crypt and traced the faint outline of an archway. "There is another portal here, I think. But how to open it, indeed, indeed."
The party spread out and began searching for secrets, along the side of the tomb, the chamber walls. Suddenly a low moan came from the tunnel behind them, echoing through the room.
The Sturg, who was the closest to the door they had entered by, turned to face the door as a ghostly apparition floated through it.
No words came from this apparitions lips and there was no sanity in her eyes. With a chilling cry she charged straight at The Sturg, arms held wide with fingers curled into claws.
"The Mad Abbess" Sister Clara cried out.
Charging straight at The Sturg turned out to be a mistake. The blade he bore, The Sword of Andronicus, which he had discovered in the Dungeon of Doom so long ago, was dangerous enough under any circumstances but it had been specifically forged to be a bane to the undead. The Sturg felt fear attempt wash over him and paralyze him, as the apparition screamed again. Several of his nearby companions were overcome with it and retreated, but the sword strengthened his mind and the fear failed to take any hold in him.
He swung his sword and met the spirt's charged. And despite the ghostly apparition's incorporable form, the sword bit deep. The creature screamed again, but this time in pain and surprise. And The Sturg struck again.
The ghost of Madora may have been mad, but she clearly wasn't mindless. Rather then continue to feel the bite of that blade she changed strategy and targets, hurtling toward Whisperleaf. And, rather then stopping when she reached him, she passed into him, vanishing inside his body.
Whisperleaf fell to the ground writhing, screaming and foaming at the mouth. The party stood paralyzed, lost for what action to take since their foe was no longer visible. The Sturg looked down at his weapon, unsure how to strike at the ghost without slaying the Druid.
After a moment, Whisperleaf suddenly leaped to his feat and with a maniacal laugh that was not his own, began sprinting for the entrance to the room. Toward the narrow bridge they had just passed, over the great ravine.
"She means to throw him off the parapet!" Dakhir, no stranger to possession, instantly divined the spirts intentions. "Stop him!".
Fortunately Radiant Lightbringer stood near the entrance. The Cleric stepped forward, raised his holy symbol and commanded the possessed Druid to stop. "In the name of most holy Mithras! Depart Foul Spirit! Leave Him!" White light welled out of the holy symbol, momentarily it shone so brightly that the companions had to avert their eyes. And when the light faded, the Druid lied crumpled on the ground, groaning.
"Is the spirit gone? is she dead?" asked Dakhir. The cleric shook his head. "Just driven away" he replied. He bent down to offer the Druid a hand up.
"Are you yourself, Whisperleaf?" asked Dakhir, concernedly.
"Gods my head hurts, I feel like I've had too much wine" the elf groaned.
"Wine!" said Tello suddenly. "Of course!"
Freddy (to no one's suprise), had several bottles of wine on his person. Quite expensive wine, judging from his wince as the Tortle poured a bottle out over the threshold of the crypt.
As the fruity smell of grapes filled the air, a figure in gravelinen slowly materialized, floating over the puddle. The apparition took a deep, appreciative smell and then whispered "That's quite nice. From the south slopes of the River Sur, I believe. A good year, though I can't quite place it."
Freddy smiled, bowed and somehow produced a second bottle of wine with one hand and two wine glasses with the other, He dexterously dug the cork out with one his taloned thumbnails and filled the glasses with a practiced pour, offering one to the ghost. "Cheers my lady." he smiled.
"Jesus he's so good at that kind of thing." Ricmo smiled at Dakhir.
The ghost took the glass and drank deeply. "Very nice indeed, my lovely. It's been awhile. A long while. And how may I help you today?"
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The Second Trial
Beyond the second portal was another narrow bridge. And on that bridge, another angel, even bigger and more resplendent then the first one, wielding a massive two handed hammer. On the other side of the bridge, they caught a glimpse of what looked like a sarcophagus, though it was so far away it was hard to make out details.
"Saint Ursula has bid me defend this bridge. To pass me, you must show your courage and prowess in battle. You must show the true blood of Ursula. You must defeat me, in single combat."
"Would it help you think, if I walked out there and proclaimed myself a coward?" Ricmo asked.
"Not this time I don't think." answered Whisperleaf. "We already passed the Test of Humility, by some miracle. Abbess Marigold seemed to imply that the Trial of Courage required a direct approach."
"Fuck this Mithran holy bullshit" Dakhir grumbled and in flash of red flame and brimstone, he disappeared, teleporting to the other side of the bridge. "Trial passed." he announced.
For a moment the entire group stood paralyzed in stunned silence. Then with a great flapping of wings the angel was moving, moving blindly fast. Before Dakhir could so much as move, the celestial was on him, and he found himself grappled in arms that seemed made of iron. He barely had time to struggle before he was flown back over the abyss dizzyingly fast and dumped unceremoniously back where he had started.
Dakhir got up, brushed himself off and flipped off the angel. Ricmo chuckled. "Nice try there Dakhir, 'A' for effort!"
"It was worth a shot" Dakhir explained sheepishly.
"Mithra's soldiers of light are not so easily thwarted" Radiant grinned.
"So apparently someone must engage her in single combat" Whisperleaf brought them back on track. "Who?"
The Sturg started moving forward, but Dakhir placed a hand on his chest, restraining him. "Hold on there big guy, appreciate the sentiment but we might want to think about this first." The Sturg shrugged and waited.
"You must show the true blood of Ursula." Tello repeated the angels words. "That suggests the Ursine powers these nuns possess."
Whisperleaf nodded. "I can assume the form of a bear and challenge her." he offered.
"No" said Sister Clara. "I think this duty is mine."
She handed her mighty hammer to Radiant Lightbringer and then stepped out into the bridge. In a clear ringing voice she spoke.
"I am Sister Clara, of the Order of St. Ursula, and I accept your challenge". Even as the words were still echoing over the cavern, Clara began to change. Her body morphed and grew and where the nun had been, a huge bear now stood. Whisperleaf was always amazed at how BIG the Ursula bears were. One of his forms of a choice was a cave bear, and he had thought that was a big creature, but compared Clara in bear form it was puny. She reared up on her back legs and roared, and she must have stood a good fifteen feet tall.
The angel nodded, saluted with her hammer, and also morphed into a bear. One even bigger then Clara. With a roar the two bears ran at eachother and with a great crash joined in combat.
"Sweet Mithra, there’s a thing you don't see every day." Ricmo sounded impressed as he watched the massive creatures rip at eachother. He drew his pistols.
"Wait" Dakhir called out. "The angel said 'single combat'. It seems to be pretty sensitive to rules."
Ricmo pouted and lowered his pistols.
"Perhaps some less obvious assistance" Freddy murmured. He unslung his guitar, and began to strum a song, weaving the chords together with the aim of assisting Clara.
From across the bridge, the angel-bear’s head swiveled, looking directly at Freddy, her eyes glowing with white fire. There was a great roaring and a column of flame descended from the ceiling far above, engulfing the Bard, and everyone who stood nearby. Freddy screamed. As a Tiefling, his demonic heritage was normally resistant to flame, but this HURT.
As the flames died down, Whisperleaf was desperately patting fire out of his hair. "Lets not interfere in the bear fight ok Fred?" he instructed the sheepish bard. "I think they need to work this out mano-a-mano."
"Ursa-a-Ursa" Tello corrected.
"Behind us!" Dakhir shouted. The Mad Abbess was back, stepping through the portal.
And thus the fight became two fights. The Sturg blocked the portal, supported by Radiant Lightbringer, the two of them preventing the Mad Abbess from possessing any of the companions, holding the ghost at bat with holy symbol and holy sword. Oblivious, the two bears tore at eachother on the bridge.
Keeping the Abbess at bay was difficult, given her ability to walk directly through walls, but she seemed to be more then a little afraid of both The Sturg and Radiant and unwilling to engage them directly.
The bear battle on the other hand was not going well for Clara. She fought valiantly but she was clearly outmatched. The other bear was both bigger and stronger then her, and while her claws were leaving their mark she was getting the worst of the conflict.
Whisperleaf felt helpless. And a little guilty. He understood why Clara had volunteered but he still felt that it should be him out there. As Clara noticeably weakened, the group was becaming more and more concerned.
"Maybe we should hit it, and single combat be damned?" Ricmo suggested. "I bet we can take an angel. Maybe?"
Only Radiant remained calm. "Be at peace my friend. This angel is a creature of our Lord of Light, it will not truly harm her. Not if she keeps faith. And Clara's faith is strong." he said approvingly.
And Clara stayed true. Despite the grievous wounds that ravaged her body and her clearly fading strength, she never stopped fighting. Even after one of her legs was bitten off, and her fur was soaked in blood, she kept fighting. And suddenly the other bear disengaged, and shimmered back into his angelic form. Clara swayed, trying to close the distance to the angel, still growling weakly, then collapsed in a puddle of blood.
"You have a brave heart my sister" the angel spoke approvingly. "You have passed the test." A radiant light spilled out from the angel, and where it washed over Clara her wounds closed, her leg regrew, and she was healed. As the light washed over the rest of the party the wounds from the angel's fire also healed, new healthy skin replacing the burns.
"Well, that was exciting." Ricmo quipped.
"Blessed be Mithras" Radiant Lightbringer murmured and sank to his knees, praying.
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On the other side of the bridge was a sarcophagus, clearly a shrine of some kind. The lid contained a bas reflief of warrior woman carved into the lid. The sarcophagus was bracketed on each corner by a tall candelabra . The candles appeared to be new and intact but were extinguished.
Clara reached over and brushed off the tarnished silver plaque at the base of the tomb, and read it out loud.
"This is the final resting place of Blessed Saint Eden, Knight Commander of the Hammers of Ursula and Paladin of Mithras.”
Both Radiant Lightbringer and Sister Clara took in a breath. "Blessed Saint Eden." Radiant said reverently. It is a great honor to be in her presence, her story is legend."
The tomb radiated a calm aura, even in the darkness.
"So I guess your saying we shouldn't rob it then?" asked Ricmo, disappointed.
"No!" both Radiant and Sister Clara answered in unison.
"I wonder why the tomb is dark?" asked Whisperleaf thoughtfully. "We've seen lights and torches throughout this dungeon, even though no one has been here in many years to maintain them?"
"It seems wrong that the Blessed Saint rests in darkness." Radiant agreed.
Stepping forward, Whisperleaf conjured flame from his hand and lit the tall candles. As the light spread over the tomb, a shining figure rose up from within it. Unlike the shades the party had encountered up till now, Saint Eden was solid and real, though her skin and armor glowed with a soft pearly white and a nimbus of light shone around her head.
Radiant and Sister Clara knelt in the presence of the Saint.
"Rise my brother and sister" the Saint spoke in a melodious voice. "Greeting to you all, and blessings in Mithra's name. What brings you to my tomb?"
Whisperleaf cleared his voice and answered. "The Abbey of Saint Ursula is in danger. We come here to search for power, to aid in defending it."
The Saint nodded. "My sisters have turned from Ursula's light." she said gravely. "This danger the physical body of the holy order finds itself in is only a symptom of the spiritual malaise that weakens the Sisterhood."
Sister Clara bowed her head, silent tears trickling down her cheek. "We have sinned." she said in a low voice.
"No sin of yours my sister" the Saint said kindly, "but the sins of our mothers are indeed visited upon us. They must be atoned for. The Sisterhood must return to walk the True Path."
"How shall we do this?" asked Clara, the troubled look still on her face, though she raised her eyes to meet those of the Saint.
"Where is my Order?" asked the Saint. "Where is the Holy Order of the Hammer of Saint Ursula, that should be stalwart bulwark against this danger?"
"All dead and long passed away" Clara replied, sadness in her face.
"No." the Saint. "Not true, dear sister. One stands before me in this very place, this very night."
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"Well at least we finally got some loot." Ricmo said happily, admiring the Armor of St. Eden that Sister Clara now wore, that the Saint had insisted they strip from his old bones. A lot of people misunderstood the Halfling's obsession with loot and treasure, took it for greed. Ricmo wasn't even remotely greedy. He didn't have much use for wealth really. Treasure was just a game to him, a way of keeping score with the universe. And the score now stood at "Captain Ricmo and Crew: 1, Universe: 0". As was right and proper.
Sister Clara still looked a trifle dazed, as she quietly talked to Lightbringer. Ricmo could overhear bits of the conversation. There was a lot of "I am not worthy" and "unequal to the task" and blah blah blah. Ricmo liked Clara. She was a solid sort, she'd do fine reviving an order of long dead paladins. After all, she had a nice shiny set of holy armor now, and that was half the battle. Lightbringer would buck her up, he was sure. It would all work out. To say the Halfling was "optimistic" was understating it.
The corridor forked to the right and the left, with no indication of which way they should go. Ricmo flipped a silver piece, and they went left.
This crypt was the largest and most ornate they had seen so far. A statue of a nun holding a book dominated the center of the four cornered structure, what appeared to be a sarcophagus was located under the statue, flush with the floor.
The crypt itself was made of silver and marble, finely carved with frescoes and carvings of angels and cherubs.
There was no need to invoke this particular shade. Even as they approached they could clearly see the faint, translucent figure of an elderly woman pacing the confines of the crypt, moaning and tearing at her robes. A fine silver plaque on the side of the crypt read
"Abbess Grace, 5th Abbess of the Abbey of St Ursula, savior of the Order".
Radiant Lightbringer looked careful at the shade and then said "I have seen this woman before. In my dream."
"It is Abbess Grace, who was Reverend Mother at the time of the Pirate Crusade." Sister Clara explained. "Upon her shoulders fell the most crucial decision in the history of the Sisterhood."
The shade continued to pace the confines of her crypt, wailing and tearing her spectral hair. Freddy stepped forward.
"Reverend Mother, what torments you so?" he asked gently.
"Wrong! Faithless! Deluded! Damned am I" she wailed. "Blessed Saint Ursula has turned her gaze from me! I am lost! And with my fall, so fall my daughters." she wailed, tearing at her clothes in despair.
"You are not lost, my sister." Radiant comforted her. "None have fallen so far that they may not be redeemed, by Mithra's light and love, and by their own just actions." he said.
"But how? How may I be redeemed? How may my daughters be saved?" she moaned.
"With your help, Reverend Mother, we will redeem you and saver your sisters." This statement came from an unexpected location, from Dakhir. The Warlock was not exactly known as the most warm and fuzzy member of the party. Cool, aloof, and melancholy, the statement was more then a little unusual for him. But not perhaps, out of character. He certainly had sympathy for the damned, especially those who had travelled a road to hell that was paved with the best intentions.
"And it just so happens we have a nice , shiny, newly minted Bear Paladin right here to redeem you. Blessed by a saint and everything. Bonafede. She has a big hammer too" Ricmo added.
"How may we redeem you?" asked Clara of the spirit, while glaring daggers at the Halfling.
"Save my daughters. Return my lost child to me."
"What lost child, Reverend Mother?" asked Clara.
”Return the mortal remains of my valiant daughter, Captain Ava, from where she fell in battle defending the halflings. She was the best of us and alone stayed true. She deserves more honor than a forgotten grave.”
Sister Clara bowed her head, accepting the quest.
"If it is within my power to do so, I will. So swear I" she said.
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"Who is Captain Ava?" asked Ricmo to Clara as they backtracked to take the right fork in the corridor.
"She was the Captain of the Order of the Hammer of St. Ursula, during the Pirate Crusade and Time of Troubles." she answered. "She was the last Captain. She disagreed with Abbess Grace's decision to stay neutral in the conflict, and she and most of her order set sail to protect the small folk, never to be seen again. We heard later they fell in battle, but none know on what battlefield or where her remains lie."
"She said 'protecting the Halflings." Ricmo probed. "What does that mean? What Halflings?"
"I do not know, but there are halflings towns and settlements in the southern part of the Reach. Hardbottle is the greatest of them, and there was much fighting there during the Crusade. I suppose that is where I will start looking for her. " Clara sighed. "Assuming we survive the next few days. Or the next few hours for that matter. It is very far from here."
"So you actually plan on searching for a hundred year corpse just because some insane ghost asked you to?" Ricmo blurted out in surprise.
"Yes. I swore it." Clara responded.
"You're a paladin alright, guess old St. Eden got that part right at least" Ricmo laughed.
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The next crypt was very small and plain, the smallest and least ornate they had yet seen. A bronze plaque adorned the crypt, reading
This is the final resting place of Abbess Joan, the Humble, sixth Abbess of the Abbey of Saint Ursula.
"Humble is good" said Ricmo cheerily.
"Mayhaps" replied Dakhir darkly. "But those who call themselves 'the Humble' much less so, in my experience."
"Abbess Grace died shortly after she made her fateful decision." Sister Clara educated them. "She was succeeded by Abbess Joan, a very spiritual woman, who was the leader of the faction that wished to turn their back on the troubles of the world and focus on spiritual contemplation. Most of the current direction of the Abbey was set by Abbess Joan."
"The one most directly responsible for the Abbey loosing it's way then?" Whisperleaf clarified.
As he spoke those words a cold wind blew through the room and a spectral figure walked out of the tomb.
"We. did. not. lose. our way." the slender figure spat. "And who are you to accuse us of such. Apostate? Tree Worshiper?"
"Time to be going" Dakhir announced quickly. "We will take our leave of you Reverend Mother." He quickly motioned for the rest of the party to return the way they had come. As the party beat a hasty retreat they could hear the shade of Abbess Grace screaming at them "Leave! Leave his holy place! Demons! Apostates!" but she either did not or could not pursue them.
"We do not need to pass her." Tello remarked. "The way is clear past Grace's tomb."
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The Third Trial
"I'm getting pretty tired of bridges" Freddy griped.
"And angels" said Dakhir. He wasn't generally on good terms with angels.
"She's the biggest angel yet." Ricmo remarked. "That hammer is bigger then I am."
The angel noticed them and boomed out
Saint Ursula has bid me defend this bridge. To pass me, you must show your fortitude and dedication to the light. Do you submit to my test?"
"So we've done Courage and Humility, I guess this is Fortitude" Whisperleaf said to the others.
"Yes, angel we submit to your test. Tell us what you require of us?" answered Clara.
"Very well. Four of you must face this test, one by one, one of you for each of the Virtues. You must leave behind your worldly possession. You may not receive aid, this test must be faced alone If you reach the statues of the saints, you have been deemed worthy."
The angel took to the air, flying to the side of the bridge. She raised her hammer and the entire bridge burst into white hot flames.
"Shit." said Dakhir.
"Four of us must pass." Tello worked the problem. "The Tielfings have some resistance to fire, due to their demonic heritage. My shell also provides me some protection. Who else?"
Whisperleaf raised his hand. "I can shapeshift into something fast and rely on speed to minimize the damage."
Tello nodded approvingly. "I suggest Friend Sturg lead the way and uncover any unforseen complications. His ability to absorb damage is impressive."
The Sturg nodded and started removing his armor but absolutely refused to remove his helmet. This wasn't entirely surprising, as none of them, not even Dakhir, had, not even once, seen him without it. Nonetheless Dakhir tried to reason with him.
"The angel says 'no worldly possessions" Sturg. "That means armor. She'll probably get really upset and do something horrible to you if you don't take it off." The Sturg just shook his head "no", once, and then just stood there, unmovable.
Ricmo sidled up to Clara, whispering "We have some action going on about what exactly is under that helmet, do you want in?" "Two to one odds he's hideously ugly or deformed, some long action that he doesn't actually have a face at all. Really long action that he's pretty under there. Any interest? Are nuns allowed to gamble?"
Sister Clara glared at the halfling as she took the Sturg's strip tease in through sideways glances. The body that had been hiding under that armor was not exactly attractive, the skin had a slight green tint to it, crisscrossed with many scars. And gods he was hairy. But, as a woman, she couldn't help but appreciate the massive musculation and it was rare she ran into a man she didn't dwarf. She blushed slightly and put such thoughts away, as not becoming of a Sister of the Order and newly minted Paladin of the Order of the Hammer.
"He won't take it off." Dakhir bemoaned. "It's a pretty big step for him even taking the armor off. Hopefully the angel will let it slide."
The Sturg walked up to the flaming bridge and cracked his knuckles, He looked at Dakhir. "Go get 'em" Dakhir urged and The Sturg ran as his friends let out a mighty cheer behind him. "It was good to have friends" he thought as he entered the flames.
As he plunged into the the flames that covered the bridge, he found that they not only burned but seemed almost solid, viscous, pushing back against him as he plunged through them. Despite his mighty strength he only moved at the speed of a trot. And he burned. Still, he persevered, even as the pain mounted, he plunged forward like an unstoppable battering ram. He didn't know what else to do.
He reached the halfway point.
"Go get 'em Sturg!" Ricmo cheered excitedly! "You can do it!".
Halfway across The Sturg found himself slowing. Closer to where the angel hovered, the flames were even hotter and thicker. Try as he might to push through them, he was barely moving at a walking pace now. The helmet on his head was glowing red hot. Fortunately, The Armor of the Undying Flame was resistant to fire, but even it's magic was being pushed to it's limits. As was The Sturg.
Still, he was The Sturg, a creature of singular focus and will. Trailing flame, the metal of his helmet melting and warping, burns covering the majority of his body, suffering agonizing pain, staggering as much as running, he reached the other side of the bridge. And where the two statues of the saints stood, the flames abruptly ended.
Where something waited for him.
The stone creature stood directly on the other side of the statues, waiting. It was tall, nine feet at least, the stone carved into the shape of rippling muscles. It moved toward him aggressively, raising it's huge fists. The Sturg, half dead, spent, alone and unarmed raised his fists in answer, preparing to die, as he lived, fighting.
But the creature did not attack. It paced back and forth before the bridge, as if drawing the boundary of an invisible line. It smacked an immense fist into an equally immense palm with a cracking sound, seeming almost frustrated.
Tello lowered the spyglass from where he watched the drama from the other side of the bridge. "Golems are very literal in their interpretation of commands. I suspect it was ordered to guard the room and considers him still on the bridge.? He called out loudly across the chasm. "Friend Sturg do no enter the room. Stay exactly where you are."
The Sturg turned and acknowledged the command with a nod of his head, then relaxed, waiting.
"Did you see how slow he moved at the end there?" Whisperleaf observed worriedly. "That fire does more then just burn."
"Yeah" Dakhir replied gloomily. "It was like he was trying to push through something. At the end he was almost wading through the stuff."
"Do you think there is room for the four of us in that little ledge at the end of the bridge?" Ricmo worried. "I really don't want to fight a golem with my bare hands."
"I doubt you could even hurt it." agreed Tello. "They are tremendously tough. And judging from what happened to Friend Sturg's helmet, I believe the admonition against carrying equipment is being enforced."
"I'll fly" Dakhir decided.
"I fear any attempt to avoid the challenge will earn the angel's wrath" Tello pointed out.
"I won't avoid it. I'll fly through the flames not around them, I'll skim the bridge. But I am much much faster flying."
"Maintaining concertation on the magic will be difficult" Whisperleaf cautioned.
"If I fail, I'll not fall far and I'll run the rest of it." Dakhir countered.
"Good luck my friend." Whisperleaf said, soberly.
Dakhir flashed a smile. "I'll make it. I've been through trials worse then this. And hotter."
Freddy and Ricmo both pounded the Warlock on the back, wishing his good fortune, and Radiant blessed him.
Dakhir stripped down to his breechcloth and walked to the edge of the flame, staring into the crackling fire for a moment. He took a deep breath, centering his mind. He reached for his power and the familiar smell of sulfur and brimstone wafted over the assembled party. First, he called on lesser magic to cloth his nakedness in armor of shadow and fire. Then he reached deep inside himself for greater power. As infernal syllables fell from his lips, fire momentarily wreathed him and he rose and few inches into the air.
The party cheered. From the other side of the bridge, The Sturg pumped his fist.
He could see the angel watching him very closely.
"Here I go!" he announced to his friends and shot headfirst into the flame.
Like The Sturg, he not only burned but found the flames were very resistant to movement. Flying through them almost felt like swimming. In some ways he had an easier time then The Sturg had, at least initially. He had demon blood running through his veins after all, and thus fire struggled to harm him. Keeping focus on the spell was a challenge, but Dakhir's mind had been trained from a young age to ignore the demands of his body and maintain focus. In his profession, focus was critical.
Like a fireball he streaked across the bridge, hair flaming, and while the angel watched, it did not interfere.
The second half of the bridge was tougher. The flames burned hotter here and it was harder to move. His speed slowed to a slow job as he pushed through the flames. The pain mounted and he struggled to maintain his concertation, almost loosing it once. He suspected if he lost hold on the spell he would not survive, that his plan of runnig the final stretch would be too slow. He focused all his will, regained his mental equilibrium and he reached the end. He landing neatly next The Sturg, who nodded at him, and then pointed at the Golem.
Whisperleaf was worried. Even in his fastest animal forms he was slower then Dakhir flying, and his elven blood gave him no resistance to the flames. He cast a spell on himself that gave him greater endurance, and then he shifted into the form of a jungle cat. This was the fastest form he possessed, at least that also had a strong body that could take some damage.
The great beast walked up the flames, sniffed the fire, the bestial side of Whisperleaf's mind whimpering in fear of the flames. He mastered the beast's fear, carefully backed up to give himself a ruining start and ran into the fire. His friends cheered and he was pretty sure he could hear Ricmo was making mewling noises.
Whisperleaf almost didn't make it. The fire burned like all of the nine hells, crisping his skin and dragging agonizing roars and yowls from his quickly blistering throat. The smell of burning cat hair filled the chamber. He drew on his druidical power to maintain the form, but it wasn't enough. As he drove through the syrup of the fire, bellowing and roaring his tail burning like a torch, he thought to himself "I'm not going to make it."
Eventually it was the very bestial instincts that came with the form that saved him. The cat had no idea what was going on, all it knew was it hated fire and it wanted OUT. Whisperleaf stopped trying to fight down that instinct and instead he gave into it. And the cat RAN.
Tello tranquilly considered the flames. He had several bits of magic he would use to help him here (though he never thought of the things he did as 'magic' it was all science, just more arcane and fiddley science then most). Tiny cunningly crafted rockets embedded in the back of his shell could provide him with insane bursts of speed for a short period, and he had traced circuits on his shell that would redirect some of the incoming heat harmless away from him. Still, he counted on his Tortle fortitude and his thick shell to carry him through more then his gadgets.
He withdrew his head almost completely into his shell, barely peaking out enough to see, and charged into the flame as his friends cheered. "TURTLE POWA" Ricmo yelled. As he hit the fire, the circuits he had drawn on his shell activated, warping some of the fire around him and keeping it away from him.
Tello found the journey remarkably easy. Surprisingly so. The fire barely touched him.
"This is odd." he thought to himself. "The energy circuits shouldn't be working THIS well. Puzzled, he slowed down, trying to ascertain why he wasn't hurt. He decided he needed to conduct some experiments, gather more data, get to the bottom of this.
"Man he's going REALLY slow" said Ricmo worriedly to Lightbringer. "I don't think he's going to make it. Shit, he's stopped entirely. Crap, he's walking backward! What in the world is he doing?" the halfling moaned.
"He's making forward progress again, but he's weaving back and forth" Radiant agreed. "Perhaps I should go after him." The cleric began removing his armor.
"Eureka!" even over the crackling of the flame they could all hear the Tortle's expression of excitement., "PhilosophicMoralistic Morphic Resonance. Of course! That explains it" Happily the Tortle sauntered through the flame, scientific babble falling from his excited lips.
When he reached the end of the bridge the angel raised his hammer and the flames died.
"You have passed the test" he said gravely, and then he also vanished.
"One more to go" said Whisperleaf.
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