Chapter 6

The morning after the night of celebration found the men nursing appropriately sized hangovers given their level of revelry from the night before. Errrkkkk and Roden both cursed Riakon for not having his handy hangover cure on account of him no longer having any divine magic.

When Miriana walked into the main living area, Roden noticed she was bright eyed and bushy tailed as always. Which despite being a priestess wasn’t consistent with the amount of wine he had witnessed her drink the night before.

“Hey mom.”

“Yes, dear?” She said while rummaging around the kitchen.

“How are you not hungover?”

Still not turning to face him, “That’s easy dear, I purified before I went to sleep.”

The three hungover men each raised an eyebrow.

“How?”

Miriana turned around and put a hand on her hip, “ I cast a Restoration spell. Don’t you keep one prepared?”

The gazes of Roden’s companions shifted to him.

“N-n-no…I ummmm, don’t have that one…” He said sheepishly, under dual scrutiny.

Miriana rolled her eyes, “well then hurry up, I’ll cleanse you boys and then I have to run. Busy day at the temple. We have a new group of initiates and I cannot be late.”

Miriana cured each man of their hangover with a touch of her hand and a brief aura of golden light.

“Okay boys I am off! Have a wonderful day!” She said as she closed the door behind her.

Riakon looked to Roden, “Ya know, I knew she was a priestess, but I keep forgetting she can use magic.”

Errrkkkk elbowed him,

“You don’t remember her healing us during our training for the tournament, cacaw?”

Riakon scratched at his temple, “Nope…”

Errrkkkk shook his head, “So what is the plan for today boys, cacaw?”

Roden went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup, before making his way over to one of the lush chairs by the window.

“I figure we have to go to the library, right?”

Both men looked to Riakon, “Yeah… the library.”

Errrkkkk narrowed his eyes on his brother, “You’ll be staying with me this time, cacaw.”

Riakon winced, “fair enough.”

Roden took a long pull from his coffee, which in his mind was not quite coffee, but it would do.

“So the plan is to research the pantheon for a new religion?”

“Seems like the only option to me, cacaw.”

Riakon nodded, “Yeah I think I just need something…different.”

“Do you think you guys can handle that on your own? I want to look into that black crystal the gremlin had. I have a rather bad feeling about that rock.”

Errrkkkk just shrugged, “I can’t imagine it’ll take us that long to find something new so this sad sack over here, cacaw.”

Riakon glared at the birdman, “Yeah, you are probably right. I am already considering Erjorn, and Byote…I just can’t remember what their tenets or rituals are.” He said a hint of embarrassment in his voice.

Errrkkkk shook his head again, “See, just like I said, bad paladin, cacaw.”

“Yeah well Era just wasn’t a good fit for me. Once I find the right God I’ll be good as new.” He punctuated his statement with a stern nod.

Errrkkkk rolled his eyes and gestured around, “well let's get going. The sooner we get your powers back the sooner we can get back to work, cacaw.”

It wasn’t long after that the men were pouring over various scrolls, books, and tomes for information. Errrkkkk and Riakon scoured the religious texts looking for something that fit Riakon better than Era’s tenets.

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Roden was more concerned about the black rock the shaman was using during the gremlin raid on Pescatin. At the time he had assumed correctly that the crystal was both magical and powerful. Unfortunately, the literature on powerful magical rocks and gems was abysmal in terms of categorization and origin.

Hours of searching pulled up numerous accounts of various minerals that had some magical properties such as the desert sands from The Barons that were reported to flow like water creating a sea of sand the natives used boats to sail across. There were a variety of reports on manufactured magical stones that bore no resemblance to the stone he had seen on the shaman’s staff.

One fascinating report came from a survey done on blue stones from The Tower Mountain known to repel magic primarily ambient magic. With the massive dossier on that peculiar mountain Roden found what appeared to be ancient geological records that reported evidence of an ancient meteor strike. Roden couldn’t help, but find all of the history of the place fascinating. Despite not finding anything relevant to his search, he kept reading out of sheer curiosity.

‘How often does a person get the chance to read direct reports about a planet?’ Was the thought that propelled him forward.

It was when he ran across a scrap of a report titled, “Proposal for naming of Mountain MRIR #3”. The document was so old it was barely held together.

‘How old is this paper?’

The ink used in the printing of the document was incredibly faded and Roden could only make out certain words, but the gist of what Roden could make out was a proposal to name a mountain, presumably the one now known as The Tower, Meteor Mons. The reasoning listed in the proposal was too faded to decipher, but it was stamped as rejected due to possible cultural contamination.

While Roden was replacing the papers, Errrkkkk appeared at one end of the row of stacks Roden informally commandeered.

“Hey Roden, Riakon has decided to go with the church of Erjorn. He wants to pop over there before it gets too late. Are you good to go, cacaw?”

Roden shrugged, “yeah let’s go, I haven’t found anything even remotely resembling what I am looking for.”

The three men left the library and made their way over to the famed Temple Street that gave Port Sept, the Sept portion of its name. The street was lined with huge structures that made up the various unique places of worship for the various gods of Mir’s pantheon.

The clergy of Port Sept took their objects of worship very seriously and went to great lengths to entice others into the service of their god.

For example, the church of Ay, the God of Magic, Knowledge, and Education, looked more like a small college than any church Roden had seen. Which served the needs of its clergy whose daily lives were more like that of professors than priests.

Next to that was a building that looked more like a factory than anything else. Out front were multiple tents, stands, and tables of people attempting to sell various pieces of art, pottery, and other creative productions. That was the Studio of the God of Craft, Art, and Fire, Otell.

It was truly a sight to behold as each temple was not just a work of art in reverence to its patron deity, but they exemplified their major domains. Byote, the God of the hunt had a temple more akin to a hunting lodge. Surrounded by a generously sized wooded park that made up the place of worship for the acolytes of Mirohna, the Goddess of the Seasons and Life, as well as the wife of Byote as depicted in the lore of each.

Next to that was a huge tavern-like building dedicated to the twin goddesses, Fala and Eetili. Fala was the Goddess of Civilization and Hospitality. While Eetili was the Goddess of Luck. The pair’s joint place of worship served as both an Inn and borderline casino, which is quite possibly why it was the most opulent of the temples on Temple Street.

A defining feature of Temple Street was it came to a fork which divided the primary deities worshiped by the masses of Mir and the Gods of a more malevolent nature. If a person walking down Temple Street kept straight at the fork they would most definitely find their eyes drawn to the temple positioned high up the hill.

The image from the street was that of a beautiful monastery with a truly massive tree growing out of the center of the temple courtyard. That monastery belonged to Era, the Goddess of the Sun and Nature. In the shadow of Era’s magnificence was a small building that lacked any great embellishments. It showed wear and was in disrepair.

There was a large banner over the door that read “The Brave shall inherit all!”, a saying that Roden found a little heavy handed even for the God of War and Strength, Erjorn.

When the men finally made it to Erjorn’s temple, both Errrkkkk and Roden made a face of distaste at the sight of the building’s entrance. Meanwhile, Riakon had a glint in his eyes at all the war and battle motifs that could hardly be considered decorations.

“Are you sure this is the god you want to follow, cacaw?”

Riakon looked at Errrkkkk appalled, “what do you mean? This is perfect!”

A simultaneous facepalming followed, before Riakon started walking through the front arch of the building. Inside the main room was just a large square of plain gray stone. Various weapons, suits of armor, and heraldry adorned the walls in a seemingly haphazard pattern. At the head of the room was a large table with a topographical map of Mir built into the surface, complete with mountain ranges and channels that represented the canals that ran through the center of the shattered continent.

Eventually the men were able to grab the attention of one of the Battle Brothers, who directed them to the Priest General. A tall burly human man with a large scruffy gray beard, dressed in a disheveled suit that reminded Roden of a Civil War reenactor.

He addressed the men in a deep booming voice, “Good day Brothers! What can the god of war do for you?”

Riakon took the lead and spoke to the man, “Good day sir, I have come seeking redemption. I have broken my oath to the Goddess Era and I seek redemption through serving Erjorn.”

The big man’s eyebrows shot up at Riakon’s forwardness. “Well straight to the point. I respect that. Well if you are serious the only thing to do is to hold a communion with Erjorn himself and see what he says about it.”

A myriad of emotions covered Riakon’s face. He showed surprise, apprehension, fear, and yet too many more to decipher independent of one another as his emotions were tumultuous.

Riakon nodded, “Understood, I am prepared.”

A big grin spread across the Priest’s face, “I suppose I could fit in a commune in about a month or so. Maybe two.”

Riakon’s jaw dropped in shock, “Oh I–I was hoping to get in today.”

The Priest knew he had him, “Well I could perhaps squeeze you in now, if you were to make a good and proper donation.”

Errrkkkk and Roden both rolled their eyes at the man’s obvious bilking of a desperate man.

Riakon pulled out a myrtium piece and held it up to the man, “Is this enough of a donation?”

“Why that is a perfect donation for the situation. Follow me.”

The Priest General led them through a door on the side of the main room and down a long hall. When they reached the door at the far end of the hall, the general opened the door with a key and ushered the men inside.

The room was more akin to an armory than an office. There were weapon ranks along the walls and barrels that held various long shafted weapons. Along the wall opposite the door was a stone altar with the sword and hammer across a round shield, the symbol of Erjorn on a wall spanning banner behind it.

The big man walked up to the altar and knelt down before it. He motioned for Riakon to do the same. He drew the sword at his hip. He touched the flat of the blade to his forehead before placing it on the altar.

The man started a singsong chant,

“Fighting soldiers from the sky,

Who are men, who just might die,

Men who do, just what they may,

The brave men, of Mir today.

Men who fight, day and night,

Have lived a life, in your light.”

At the culmination of his song, the priest threw his head back, a bright white light poured from his eyes and mouth as he was possessed by a divine power. Riakon held firm in his position beside the priest. The white light began to form cracks branching out from the man’s eyes and mouth down his face and neck.

Roden and Errrkkkk exchanged looks of concern, and uncertainty as the priest’s communion went on for minutes that seemed like hours.

The lines along the priest’s body started receding before being completely swallowed up by their source. There was a flash of brilliant light that left everyone with spots in their eyes.

In the aftermath of the flash and what appeared to be the culmination of the ritual. The priest was hunched over, still kneeling in front of the altar, but not moving. Riakon placed a hand on the bearded man’s shoulder, which seemed to rouse him as he took a deep breath.

He sat up straighter before opening his eyes and looking straight at Riakon. His stare could have bore a hole through the Dragonkin. The priest looked haggard and exhausted. Without saying a word he rose to his feet and sheathed his sword. He fetched a cup from his small desk and dug around beneath it, retrieving a dark bottle which he emptied into the mug.

He took a long drink, before looking directly at Riakon,

“What did you do?”