Moving slowly and quietly, I ascended the stone steps and walked into the entryway. The stench of blood still pervaded the temple, but now I was grateful for its presence—the werewolves wouldn’t be able to recognize my scent.
Employing my Stealth ability to its fullest, I crept down the stairs that led to the Gallery of the Faithful. Rope traps would be useless, so I opened my pouch and poured its contents onto the floor, spreading them out to cover as much area as possible. Then I proceeded down the corridor toward the refectory.
Kolien and Vahanna reclined at the dinner table, gold goblets in their hands. I couldn’t hear them clearly, but they appeared to be debating philosophy or theology. Standing over fifty paces away, I cleared my throat.
“Where’s Palomir?” I asked.
The women stopped talking and turned to face me, mouths agape. Then Kolien burst into shrieks of laughter. Vahanna gave me a quizzical look.
“He’s gone, my foolhardy friend, but I think we can handle matters in his absence. Can’t we, Kolien?”
Kolien transformed into a blonde wolf and Vahanna transformed into a white wolf. Kolien smiled wickedly, saliva dripping down her chin.
“Why yes, Vahanna. I believe we can!”
Still facing the wolves, I stepped backward and then sprinted back to the gallery. I took a running leap and managed to clear all the silver caltrops on the floor. Then I unstrapped my crossbow and loaded a silver bolt.
The two wolves ran toward me. But when they stepped on the caltrops, their snarls turned into howls of agony. A caltrop is a tiny pyramid of spikes constructed so that, no matter which side is down, a metal spike protrudes upward. They’ve been employed by dishonorable men throughout history, from the ancient Romans to medieval knights. To the best of my knowledge, I was the first to use them against werewolves.
And my plan worked. After stepping on my silver spikes, Kolien and Vahanna howled and fell onto their sides, landing on still more caltrops. Bleeding from several wounds, the pair returned into their humanoid forms and started weeping, just as Berthar had.
I stood over the wounded women, aiming my crossbow at each of them in turn. They didn’t look like they’d be able to fight back, but I was ready.
“I have questions,” I said, “and I’ll end your suffering in return for answers. Have we a bargain?”
Kolien continued whimpering but Vahanna looked at me and whispered, “I accept your bargain.”
I leaned over Vahanna. “Where is Palomir? Is he hunting me?”
“No. His plans for Nalkak’s gnolls and Odriana’s nagas failed, so Venabel sent him on another mission. I don’t know what it is.”
“Why does Venabel care about the gnolls and the nagas? I thought Dhok’kor was the only god who wanted to destroy Encelas.”
Vahanna shook her head. “Venabel has joined forces with Dhok’kor. She’s placed agents throughout the kingdom, and most are in Encelas, working to undermine its defenses before Galliel’s attack.”
“What does she gain from Galliel defeating Encelas?”
“If the prince takes over the two kingdoms, Dhok’kor will become the most powerful of the gods. Venabel seeks to rule at his side.”
I nodded, taking this in. Finally, I was starting to understand how Palomir’s plan fit in with Galliel’s attack.
“So that’s why Palomir asked Nalkak to rob travelers and asked Leoren to become queen of the nagas. To weaken Encelas so Dhok’kor and Venabel could rule?”
“You have the right of it.” Vahanna looked up at me, beseechingly. “Now I’ve answered your questions. End our agony.”
A message scrolled across my view: QUEST COMPLETED: LEARN ABOUT PALOMIR AND NALKAK. +2,500 XP!
“I’m not done yet,” I said. “This temple was originally dedicated to Theris, but somehow, you’ve re-dedicated it to Venabel. Is that right?”
“Yes.” Vahanna pressed her eyes shut.
“I want to dedicate this temple to Motiacca. How can I do that?”
Vahanna’s eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t dare. You’d have to be mad to insult the Lady of Murder. Join us! Repent while—”
I drove a caltrop into Vahanna’s shoulder. Her scream resounded through the temple.
I cleared my throat. “Once more, how do I dedicate this temple to Motiacca?”
Vahanna’s jaw trembled. “Sacrifice a priest of Venabel on her altar. Then place your hand on the altar and state that the temple is devoted to Motiacca.”
I nodded toward Kolien. “Is she a priest of Venabel?”
Vahanna pressed her eyes shut, tears streaming down her face. Then she nodded.
I stood and fired a silver bolt through Vahanna’s chest. Moments later, her body burst into flame. +2,100 XP!
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
⚔
I drove caltrops into Kolien until her health fell to nearly zero. Then, when I was certain she wasn’t going to get up, I explored the temple. I walked through the sleeping quarters and the library, whose books had been torn to shreds. There were bloodstains on everything and countless empty wine bottles, but no loot. Palomir must have taken everything that might have proven useful.
A writing desk was hidden away in an alcove, covered with quills and sheets of papyrus. I assumed this was where Palomir wrote his letters to Nalkak. Most of the sheets were blank, but one caught my attention. It looked like a letter, yet it hadn’t been written in Palomir’s hand and it bore glyphs I’d never seen before. Interesting. I folded it in half and placed it in my pack.
I cast See Hidden and found a button concealed behind a painting. It opened a secret door to the chapel, which appeared to be the only unstained room in the temple. A stone altar stood against the far wall, and a statue of Venabel was mounted above it.
I returned to the Gallery of the Faithful and heaved Kolien on my shoulder.
“Please!” she cried. “You can’t sacrifice me! Venabel’s punishment will be eternal!”
“It’s a shame,” I said. “You were so friendly when we first met. But you know, it’s dreadfully impolite to invite guests for dinner and then hunt them.”
Kolien continued wailing as I laid her on the altar to Venabel. Then I removed a silver bolt from my bandolier and drove it into her sternum. Her weeping stopped and her health bar dropped to zero, but her body wasn't burning. Something was terribly wrong.
I was about to place my hand on the altar and dedicate the temple to Motiacca, but Kolien’s hand grabbed my wrist. Despite having zero health, she sat upright and faced me, her eyes as black as a necromancer’s blood.
“YOU… ARE A PROBLEM.”
The low, sultry voice resonated throughout the chapel, sounding half like a regular human female and half like a snarling wolf.
“YOU HAVE UPSET ME TWICE. FIRST BY SLAYING MY SACRED WOLVES AND THEN BY KILLING MY PRIESTS.”
Kolien’s body grew while her blonde hair darkened into a brownish-black. The left half of her body remained human, but the right half, including the face, grew the black fur of a dire wolf. The yellow eyes fixed me with an expression of madness and fury.
“YOU KNOW WHO I AM, MORTAL?”
My blood froze. I recognized her from the Cathedral of the Gods, and I responded in a whisper.
“You’re… Venabel, the Lady of Murder.”
Venabel let go of my wrist, and her hand clutched my throat. As she stood from the altar, nearly nine feet tall, she lifted me off the ground until my eyes came even with hers.
“YOU ARE A RESOURCEFUL KILLER, AND SO I GRANT YOU A CHOICE. KNEEL BEFORE ME, AND I WILL ACCEPT YOU AS MY PRIEST. REFUSE, AND YOU WILL INCUR MY WRATH.”
Her grip on my throat loosened just enough for me to breathe. If I’d been playing this in my gamecast, I would have counseled listeners to treat all gods with courtesy, whether you like them or not. If this had been a regular game, I would have accepted Venabel’s offer or politely demurred.
But I wasn’t in my apartment, and I was sick of wolves. I hated their yellow eyes, their fangs, their muscles, and the disgusting way they smelled. So I went slightly crazy. After filling my mouth with saliva, I threw my head forward and spat on the Lady of Murder, covering the wolf side of her face. The goddess flinched for a brief moment, and then narrowed her eyes at me.
Venabel didn’t howl or curse my impertinence. Her grip on my neck tightened, and she drew me forward until my mouth came inches away from hers. Then she opened her mouth and appeared to be taking a deep breath. But something strange happened. I began to feel weaker, as though my muscles were all atrophying at once. I took a moment to grasp what was happening—Venabel was draining my life force.
I tried to stab her with a silver bolt, but my hands passed through thin air. Finally, her mouth closed, and she smiled. She touched my forehead with a clawed finger that was as hot as a blacksmith’s furnace.
“I WILL NOT KILL YOU, MORTAL. BUT FROM THIS DAY ONWARD, MY FOLLOWERS WILL ATTACK WHEN THEY SEE MY MARK. I SHALL GRANT A PRIESTHOOD TO WHOEVER SLAYS YOU.”
Venabel hurled me to the ground, and a moment later, her body transformed back into Kolien’s, which burst into flame.
I checked my character sheet and gasped. My experience points had fallen from over 66,000 to 3,000, which meant I was back to Level 3, with a maximum health of 18. My skill ranks hadn’t changed, but all my level-up abilities were gone except for Shadow Sight and dagger specialization. No more Backstab, no more Called Shot.
The final change was the new affiliation. I was an Enemy of Venabel, which meant that her followers would have a +4 bonus to hit when attacking me, and they’d attack immediately upon seeing the mark.
I touched my forehead and felt the circular outline of Venabel’s mark. I’d been branded like a head of cattle. What was I going to do? There were no more rat quests or cobras. How was I going to get back to Level 7? How was I going to defend myself against Venabel’s followers?
It occurred to me that Motiacca might be able to help. I took a deep breath, rose to my feet, and then placed my hand on the altar.
“I dedicate this temple to the goddess Motiacca.”
A bright yellow light filled the chapel, and I fell to the floor and curled into a fetal position, covering my eyes with my hands. After the light faded, I saw that the statue above the altar had transformed from Venabel to Motiacca.
I lowered my head. “The Lady of Murder has drained me. I beseech you, Goddess, restore my power so that I can serve you.”
The statue of Motiacca came to life. Only a foot tall, the cloaked panther-woman stepped on the altar and looked up at me with a concerned expression.
“Alas… I cannot,” Motiacca said. “Venabel’s magic is simply too powerful. But fear not. You’ll regain your power in time.”
I closed my eyes. Venabel had stolen four experience levels and Motiacca couldn’t do anything about it.
“What about Venabel’s mark?” I asked. “Can you erase it?”
Motiacca looked at the mark on my forehead, then threw back her head and laughed.
“Venabel is as furious as she is powerful, but she lacks wisdom. If you stay vigilant, you’ll find her mark to be more of a blessing than a curse. I can’t remove it, but I can provide a measure of assistance.”
Motiacca pointed a paw at my forehead, and the hair at the front of my head grew until it was long enough to obscure Venabel’s mark. A wave of disappointment swept over me. Zeknir gave his followers the ability to cast spells and Venabel turned her followers into werewolves. And what blessing did I receive from my goddess? Longer hair.
“Thank you so much,” I said.
“You’re welcome!” Motiacca didn’t seem to notice my sarcasm. “Know that I’m grateful for this temple. I accept this dedication, and from this day forward, you shall be my priest.”
I checked my character sheet, and now the first line read “Priest of Motiacca” instead of “Follower of Motiacca.” I was going to ask about the benefits of priesthood, but when I looked back, the goddess was gone. All that remained was the statue of the panther-woman.
As I staggered out of the chapel, I saw that the temple’s defacement had disappeared. The stains, the stench, and the paintings were gone, as were the hanging corpses. It looked like a regular—though empty—temple of worship.
I searched through the gallery, and my caltrops had vanished. From now on, my only weapons against werewolves were my silver bolts.
I walked out of the temple and into the Baildril. I had to tell the Guardhouse officers what I’d learned.