”I have several questions and I’m not comfortable about any of them.” Anastacia whispered and stared at her reflection on the surface of the clear, yellowish oil placed on the table in front of her in a wide clay bowl.
She had been dragged inside by the large orcish woman immediately upon entering and seated by a large stone table in a room that wasn’t exactly on the subtle end of cultish decorating styles. The floor was mostly covered in wax from the dozens of candles lining the sides of the room, and the only clear area was in the middle, where it instead had a burnt symbol of chains and fire, surrounded by several phrases of writing that didn’t appear to contain any real words, but rather twisted versions of them, as if someone was trying very hard to make them seem mysterious or arcane.
The walls were covered in paper slips of varying lengths and widths, attached to them with wax seals and containing much the same; scribbled words and strange symbols. The ceiling had a yet another large burnt patter on it, which contained a pair of eyes that almost appeared to follow anyone in the room.
In total, there seemed to be three members in the so called ‘Sisterhood of Sylvia’; the orc that had answered the door, an elf of some kind and a small dragon-like person that wasn’t quite a lizardfolk but something a bit more sturdy and stunted. All three of them appeared to be fairy young, but Anastacia was very bad at guessing ages, even on humans, and couldn’t tell much more.
Based on the sounds the orc’s movements made, Anastacia had begun to suspect that her white attire hid a full set of heavy armor. This was certainly in line with what the necromancer knew about Sylvia, so she didn’t pay much mind to it. Other than that, the orc appeared to be a relatively easy-going person, as she had a constant smirk on her face and had happily welcomed the rest of the party into the cult’s lair after grabbing the ‘Saint’ by the waist. The amount of sheer admiration she had for Emilia was very easy to see even by a stranger, as every time the priestess so much as glanced at her, the orc would freeze and fix her posture awkwardly.
The elf was of some less common variety and Anastacia hadn’t seen her kind even in Valor. Both her eyes and hair were almost unnaturally bright red and the golden hue of her skin was almost glowing in the candlelight, though she did still share the usual spindly but tall frame of most elves and donned the same white garb as the rest of the cult. Hanging from over her shoulders, from under her uniform, both of her wrists and ankles as well as her neck, were long metal chains that dragged on the floor as she moved. A part of her uniform was also a pair of blacksmith’s tongs, which by the looks of the elf’s charred sleeves and the burnt spots left on the white cloth, were for moving the chains while they were heated.
The final member of the sisterhood was slightly shorter than even Anastacia herself. A strange stunted dragonoid with crimson scales and bright blue eyes, of which the necromancer oddly knew nothing of. Her uniform was covered in so much wax seals and paper held on by them that it was hard to tell she was wearing one in the first place. This walking fire hazard was also carrying a massive book that must have had at least a thousand pages to it and was similarly to its owner and most of the room, covered in wax.
The rest of the party had been seated by the same table by the orc, but neither the simulacra were offered oil, and the sisterhood seemed downright scared to address the priestess herself.
The orc noticed Anastacia eyeing her and the rest of the cult members with a worried look on her face. “Ah, shit! We’ve not introduced ourselves to the Saint yet. My apologies, Your Holiness!” She said and bowed with a frankly horrible and uncouth form. “I am Stroika, the first of the new paladins and the Acolyte of Might. It falls under my jurisdiction to see that the sisterhood stays true to the teachings of the high priestess, and that the mistakes the church made don’t get repeated.” After introducing herself, she nudged the elf forward to encourage her.
Hesitatingly, the elf opened her mouth. “Am Verna, am the Acolyte of Warmth. Am to see that no willing soul is excluded from the burning grace of Lady Sylvia.” She said warily and jangled her chains with a shaky smile on her face.
The last of the cult members was more excited to stand forth and explain herself. “I am Annie, the Acolyte of Purity. I make super duper sure that the teachings stay pure and unaltered! I also write down everything the high priestess says, and I’ll also write down everything you say in this book here, so we can make sure extract every little piece of wisdom out of your words!” She said and opened the book she was carrying.
“Wait. Everything I say is going to be written down into a holy book?” Anastacia asked in slight disbelief and could already hear Emilia cursing under her breath.
“’…into a holy book?’” Annie the acolyte repeated and scribbled the words into the book with one of her nails that had been cut to function as a pen. She was clearly not the most apt writer in the world and had to say everything out loud while writing, but it certainly didn’t stop her. “Yes! First edition, Lady Saint Anastacia Holiness.”
“Boobs, butts, dicks, dongs, tits…” The necromancer immediately started listing every filthy word she had been taught in Valor and amusedly watched as the cult’s scribe diligently wrote down every single one.
The priestess next to her was already on the brink of despair and regretted bringing the cult and Anastacia together immensely. “Why is no one stopping her?” She exhaustedly asked from the remaining two cultists.
“Oh no, we couldn’t!” Stroika declined. “There may be a lesson to learn in her words.”
Emilia rubbed her temples, hoping to avoid a headache. “There definitely is, and it is never to expect her to behave herself.”
“… bazongas, twinkle cave, schlong, the mighty mast of meat aaaand fanny.” Anastacia finished her list and waited for the cult scribe to finish her job. “Now that we got that out of the way, can someone tell me why am I, supposedly, a saint? I mean, I am pretty great, but this is the first time anyone calls me that.”
Verna raised her voice suddenly. “Because the high priestess told us that Lady Sylvia herself brought you back to life! Found your fading soul from the ether and in her boundless wisdom, with her great chains of fire, dragged it back into the mortal realm. There is no doubt that you are here to fulfill an important task that we simply do not comprehend yet!” She almost yelled before realizing the scene she was causing with her excitement.
“Yes! Tell us more about that! The records lack a description of Lady Sylvia. You’re the only one who has seen her and the high priestess refuses to tell us!” Annie joined in and prepared to write.
In truth, Anastacia didn’t remember that much about her brief visit to the afterlife, but she did remember that she didn’t actually see anything. Yet, it was too tempting to not insert some spice into what had probably been a very dull recount of Emilia’s religious ramblings so far.
“Damnit, no…” Emilia whined as she saw the necromancer gear up for yet another round of borderline heresy to mock her faith.
Anastacia completely made up a being based on her own ideas of what Sylvia was about. “Right, so here’s what happened: I got shot into the throat by that dick weasel of a paladin and died. Next thing I know, I wake up being wedged between some celestial ‘assets’, if you know what I mean, and I mean that almost literally – I couldn’t even breathe before she let go of me. Overall, she was just delightfully plump and really warm – oh and she was on fire, but the fire didn’t hurt me because I was dead. Her hair and clothes were made from fire and her skin was soft, molten iron. Also, she had a-“ Right as she was about to move into some details, Emilia interrupted her.
“Aaand this is where I’m going to stop this utter nonsense. Please don’t consider any of this to be accurate, Anna is just messing with you.” The priestess sighed. “The physical form of Lady Sylvia, or any deity for that matter, is of no importance and likely very fleeting, or entirely based on the one seeing them anyway. As far as we know, gods are both the personification of their aspects and while they definitely can have a singular body as a remnant of their past, their presence is in all actions of those devoted to them and in no way limited to that. It makes no sense to try and represent them as a being like that, when the totality of a deity includes actions, feelings, purposes, intentions and much, much more.”
The elven cultist raised her hand and waited for Emilia to grand her the permission to speak. “Does that mean Lady Sylvia could be fire?” She asked with her eyes glistening in the candlelight.
“I have no answers for you regarding that. Maybe for you, that’s what she is; carefully managed and controlled fire.” The priestess explained, being very clear to not encourage burning things to appease Sylvia. She knew from experience that the sisterhood was constantly on the lookout for new ways of worship and wanted to keep them as nondestructive as possible.
“So Lady Sylvia is in our actions as well?” Pondered Stroika. “Does she control them, or do we need to make sure to only act according to her wishes?”
“Your actions are yours and yours alone, but the actions of those who have taken Our Lady to their hearts will further her purposes by nature, not because Lady Sylvia makes them do so, but because they possess the integrity to act so themselves. You do not serve Lady Sylvia to serve a higher purpose, you serve her because you are a kind, just and merciful person that brings joy to all, with or without divine powers.” Emilia explained, surprised that she actually had to answer a question in a manner that wasn’t actually just a stopgap measure to make sure the cult didn’t get out of hand.
The orc nodded quizzically. “But what about the old church? They just weren’t up for the task?”
“I am sure there were people among them that once could have served true, but power is a very corrupting thing and once you lose the fire inside you that once made you righteous, it is often lost for good. I’m sure Lady Sylvia would have spared the worthy members, had there been any. But remember: this absolutely does not mean that all those who disregard our values must be purged from the mortal realm, and it is very important that you understand that. Even people who can not walk in the grace of Lady Sylvia have purpose in this world of ours, and it is not our duty to see them gone. That is something the old church had clearly forgotten, as all three of you are well aware of.” Emilia continued, quickly getting caught up in her role as a preacher. “What happened, happened because the one thing we can not allow, is the use of Lady Sylvia’s name for reprehensible acts that cause nothing but misery. Do that, and as the old church found out, Our Lady will answer your hate with divine wrath. This is especially important for you, Stroika. The paladins are not enforcers, they are protectors. Verna, those who practice and spread the teachings to others, do so only to the ones willing to listen. Annie, if you are intent on watching over the words, do not look for places where they don’t come true, look for the ones where they do.”
Anastacia applauded the speech semi-sarcastically but was joined by the acolytes themselves and she was forced to appreciate the way Emilia managed to bring the conversation back on its intended rails after she had done her damnedest to make fun of the whole religion.
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As she accepted her defeat for the time being, the necromancer’s eyes once again happened upon the basin of oil in front of her and it somehow made her very uncomfortable.
Emilia was well aware of Anastacia’s wily intentions and knew of her own triumph. She was about to smugly suggest that they all retire for the night, but saw an opportunity to fully turn the tables by bringing up the oil. “But it sure is getting late, we should move on with the sacred oil ritual before we get even more sidetracked – isn’t that right, Saint Anastacia?”
“Oh! Well remembered, high priestess!” Stroika realized and turned to the necromancer. “Saint Anastacia, please bless this oil so that we may use it!”
Anastacia frowned at both the oil and the acolytes. “Bless it how? And use it how?” She worried.
The orc shrugged and looked at her friends who offered no help either. “This is the first time we’re doing this, soo… The original plan was to throw some herbs in and just kind of dunk you in it – but turns out that good olive oil is criminally expensive, and since we’re not taking donations so that was all we could afford.”
“Please don’t…” Anastacia whimpered even more worriedly.
“We figured that there should be some of Lady Sylvia’s power still lingering in you, so even if it was just the tiniest bit, some might seep into the oil.” Stroika continued and stepped closer to dip her finger into the vat of oil. “None of us really know what to use blessed oil for, but maybe we could put a drop of it in the bathwater, in the wax when making candles or seals, rub it on our skin, mix it with butter or lard for cooking, shine some leather with it, mix it in medicinal herb extracts, maybe use a bit to bless the dead in the city and whatever else may need some lubrication.”
The necromancer pulled away from the oil and glanced at Emilia, who was clearly just enjoying the awkwardness of the situation for Anastacia.
“Those are certainly some of the ways to use blessed oils and couple of them are something I’ve done before.” The priestess smirked, purposefully omitting the fact that had she detected even a trace of Sylvia’s powers in Anastacia after her resurrection, she likely would have tried to siphon them somehow as well. However, no evidence for such leftover powers had been visible and the necromancer had remained undunked thus far. There were also more proper ways of preparing sacred oils, including lists of the ingredients needed and the ways to use the finalized product, but Emilia found herself enjoying the blind yet devoted attempts of worship from the cult – to a degree at least. “I don’t really recommend cooking with it though.” She added.
The cult reminded Emilia of her own first months as an aspirant, and even if their clumsy ways came at a cost of credibility, it allowed her to measure the strength of their will to follow Sylvia. Maybe after a year or two, assuming they stuck through it and with a few nudges I the right direction, she could send them to establish temples and shrines elsewhere in the world.
“Great!” The orcish cultist smiled and clapped her hands once. “Saint Anastacia, please bless the oil now!”
Anastacia stared at the basin of oil again and her reflection on the surface. Wondering if she should just take a sip and spit it back out or maybe toss a few strands of hair in, she glanced at the other people in the room for help. King was still menacingly staring at Leggy, and Leggy was warily keeping an eye on King, so neither of them were of any help. Emilia calm smile was slowly failing to keep the laughter at bay, and she let out a quiet snicker every now and then.
The cultists all seemed exceedingly excited about everything that was happening. Stroika was keenly observing everything Anastacia did, Verna anxiously tugged on the chains thrown over her shoulders and Annie kept writing down everything for future reference.
Suddenly, half-panicking, the necromancer held her breath and plunged her face into the oil, holding it there for as long as she could.
The others watched in equal amounts of awe and surprise as bubbles kept surfacing on both sides of Anastacia’s head. As a minute passed, the surprise started to slowly turn into worry and the bubbling slowed down.
Just as Emilia was about to pull Anastacia’s head out of the bowl, she lifted it up herself and gasped for air while chocking on some oil that had found its way in her nose. Trying her best to not get anything on her own clothes, the necromancer grabbed her friend’s snow-white cloak to wipe her face with.
Relieved that their saint hadn’t managed to drown herself, the cultists eagerly moved in and took out the equipment for bottling and sealing their freshly blessed sacred oil. Stroika and Verna handled the delicate work of pouring oil from the large basin to some very small glass vials while Annie scribbled up some worryingly cultist-looking paper slips she then attached to the bottles with wax.
“The high priestess and Saint Anastacia should go to their room if they wish to rest.” Verna said and peered through a bottle to make sure it didn’t have any dirt in it and was otherwise fitting for the job. “This will take some hours and is far too menial for someone such as yourselves. Am bring water to you shortly.”
Emilia yanked her cloak back from the necromancer and briefly glanced at the stains on it with a very disapproving look on her face before standing up to leave. “We’ll be departing as the sun rises or a bit before it, can someone wake us up and arrange something to eat?” She asked.
“Of course, high priestess. We have plenty of eggs to share.” Stroika nodded gladly.
“…Only eggs, in fact...” Verna added slightly disgruntledly.
The priestess chuckled. “Eggs will do. Good night to the rest of you.”
Anastacia and the simulacra followed their friend to a dormitory-looking corridor that continued for almost the full length of the building. Several wooden doors lined both of its sides, most of which looked nondescript and barely used, but at the end of the corridor, there were five that bared signs on them and were covered in seals the cult appeared to decorate everything with.
On the left side, three of the last doors had been marked as the library, the forge and the armory with plaques made similarly to the one above the front door. Each of them had several seals stamped on them in completely arbitrarily with either short phrases or more strange symbols drafted on the papers they held.
Emilia recognized most of the phrases as things she had said to the trio, but even she had no idea what the symbols were about. The stamp used to press the seals appeared to be a copy made of the hilt of her mace, which was actually what it was designed to be used as, so while probably not as effective or significant as the cultists believed, the seals weren’t entirely pointless and carried some remote fraction of the blessing given to the artifact the high priestess used as a bludgeon – though she hadn’t given a permission to copy it, nor did she know how or when it had happened.
On the other side of the corridor, only one of the doors had been paid such attention to, and that was labeled as the ‘bedchamber’.
“Only one bedroom, huh?” Anastacia wondered and looked at the dozen or so unused rooms. “You’d think they’d have rooms to pick from.”
“I asked about it once – I didn’t want that kind of thing to be an important part of the church doctrine, if you know what I mean. The rumors are abundant even without the help, and the name they chose is a nightmare…” Emilia sighed and pulled open the door out of curiosity.
The three beds in the room had been pushed together near the fireplace, as far away from the door as possible and behind as many tables and chairs as possible without making the room too cluttered. Right by the doorstep was a barely visible tripwire that would drop a bundle of keys on the floor when disturbed, likely waking up anyone sleeping in the room and alerting them about the possible threat.
The priestess pointed at the tripwire. “They’re bandits, have been for years and that’s just how they’re comfortable sleeping, be it in the wilds or in here. It’s a harsh life out there, and if you have people you know you can trust, you stick by them, oftentimes literally.” She explained.
“Your cult is made up of criminals?” Anastacia grinned, happy about the growing pile of stories she could spread back home.
“I’m not going to let you forget that you’re just as much of a part of this as I am, but yes. Though the way I heard it, they were imprisoned over ‘unclarities in transfer of property on the road’. Since they made the crucial mistake of not being human, they were waiting for their executions by the old church when we happened to come by here and got rid of their captors. After escaping during the scuffle, they gathered some rumors and decided to form the sisterhood to thank Lady Sylvia for coming to their rescue.” Emilia said and closed the door. “We’ll see what comes of it, but so far they’ve been doing fine – all things considered.”
“I suppose they seem to be good enough people. Like half the people at the inn have been some kind of bandits at one point or another too.” Anastacia shrugged.
The door at the end of the corridor had received a lot of special attention; its sign, labeled ‘high priestess’, was much nicer than the others, it had more seals than the rest combined and the wood itself had been burned slightly to bring up the natural patterns in it.
Emilia had to break a few of the seals to open the door into the unlit room, that had once belonged to someone very high ranking in the church. The large mahogany table by the window, the chair behind it, the pair of cozy armchairs by the fireplace, several cupboards and bookcases, and the absolutely massive bed were all even nicer and more pointlessly expensive-looking than the furniture at the Vassundian lodge. Each and every piece of their wooden frames was detailed and decorated, the fabrics embroidered, and metal pieces polished beyond belief and it almost felt somehow forbidden to even look upon them without a decent portion of nobility in one’s blood.
Despite being sealed, the room showed several signs of a recent visit; there was no dust to be found, the bedsheets were freshly changed, and the fireplace still had a few bright red embers in it. Since their visit was an unannounced one, there was no way the sisterhood could have known to clean and warm the room for their high priestess, so taking care of it just in case and then reapplying the seals on the door must have been a daily ritual for them. Considering that Emilia had only visited them a handful of times before and never more than once in a month, it certainly showed some exceptional dedication on the cult’s part.
Anastacia told king to put down the mountain of equipment he was carrying and sit down on one of the chairs by the fireplace, she then hopped on his lap and tossed her feet over one of the armrests. “This is a pretty sweet place you’ve hidden from us.” She said while waiting for King to take her shoes off.
Emilia placed her own luggage on a bench by the end of the bed and started to dismantle her armor piece by piece. “I’ve not hidden anything, none of you wanted to come along before. Besides, I’ve told the sisterhood to sell all this old stuff to fund themselves several times, but they insist on keeping this room as is.”
Leggy was instructed to throw a few more logs into the fireplace as the embers still appeared hot enough to ignite them, and soon enough, the adventurers could close their lanterns and the flames lit the room with a cozy orange glow.
Free of her armor, the priestess placed the pieces of plate on the table and moved around a bit, now that she was unhindered by them. “I wish sleeping in armor was a bit more comfortable, I just feel naked without it.” She grumbled and stared out of the window at the emptying streets.
“You’d sleep wrapped in metal and sniffing spices if it was up to you, and you still somehow call me weird.” Anastacia laughed.
“Just when I’m alone, okay? Back home I’m perfectly fine as is.” The priestess defended her own eccentricities.
“Oh yeah. It’s either metal or just a ton of cat fur!” Anastacia kept making fun of her friend. “I still can’t believe it took me months to figure you guys out. On hindsight it’s embarrassingly obvious.”
Emilia grabbed an apple from her backpack and sat down on the other chair by the fire. “Your wholesome naivety is a part of your charm, and honestly, even if some of the stuff coming from your mouth is filthy as sin, I don’t think you’ve wrapped your head around what half of it means – we really need to stop Xamiliere from teaching you any more pointless vocabulary when you’re very clearly missing the basics of how relationships work.”
The necromancer felt a bit insulted over such accusations of ignorance, after all, she had read a copious number of biology books over the years, some of which even had illustrations, and at least thought she knew what she was talking about most of the time. “I know exactly how relationships work. First when someone fancies someone else, they hone their powers and skills to their limit to impress the other person by doing something incredible with them, then the other person either deems them acceptable and figures that they’d be a good match or that it’d benefit their family. I’ve made my choice when this guy went ahead and chopped my mother into two.” She described an extremely Mournvalleyan view on relationships and put her hand on King’s cheek. “I assume Rosie impressed you with cooking or you punched something really hard.”
Genuine concern filled the priestess’ face and she had to quietly place the apple down after only a single bite to fully grasp what the necromancer was even talking about.
“Oh no, I know that look. There’s some real talk coming, isn’t there?” Realized Anastacia.
“Very much so. I don’t even know where to start dissecting what you just said, but the way I see it, Gil is useless for this, Rosie is becoming more and more overprotective of you by the day, Yulia is a coward and we only have so much time before that damn spriggan isn’t preoccupied by the weightlessness anymore and will mess you up further. So since we have some privacy here and it was obviously going to fall on me to do this, let’s go.” Emilia said, took a deep breath to prepare herself for what was to come and for the first time in a while, slightly regretted that she had stopped drinking.