Morning arrived through the drafty windows of the Krandaelyn Inn, sunlight stealing into the tired eyelids of those who resided inside. Acadian and Arsa had shared a room while Flynn and Frank did the same. Gostor got a room to himself, which he quickly dismissed and opted to sleep on the wooden floor outside the door. Circe never returned to the Inn, though Frank continuously checked out the window in hopes that she hadn’t abandoned them.
The group had not discussed the job proposal as Arsa had said they would, much to Flynn’s confusion. When he woke, he hurriedly put back on his armor and sprinted down the stairs hoping to find Alek. The man was not there.
One by one, the group met each other in the lobby, partaking in the tea that the innkeeper conveniently provided. They sat in scattered positions are the space as they gathered their energy. Eventually, the front doors creaked open as Circe stepped inside.
The innkeeper shuddered at her presence, his head rearing back from the shock. He stuttered as he asked if he could help her, but she ignored him and glided toward the others. She grabbed a cup of tea and sat near Acadian.
“Where were you last night? Thought you’d up and left us,” he said.
She took a long sip, “Walking. Watching. Meeting the locals.”
They all stared at her, not quite believing she made any friendly acquaintances. Arsa was sitting on the ledge of an alcoved window hugging his knees to his chest. He met Circe’s gaze before sighing, “I don’t know about you.”
The corners of her lips turned in the first smile they had seen her wear.
Once they had all fully woken up, they followed Acadian and Arsa to the church building. It was a medium-sized office building, clearly not built to become a place of worship. A set of double doors opened into what was once a reception area, now transformed into a welcoming lobby. Symbols of the god Hiarus were sewn into tapestries that hung on the walls. The sigil was that of a large goblet with a golden handle. Around the opening space were several people all dressed in a similar fashion: White tops and tunics secured with black belts and lower wear.
On the back wall, behind what may have been an office desk, were lines of statutes carved and inlaid with gold:
Share Abundance. Give freely of your bounty.
Aid the Needy. Offer your hand to those in distress.
Foster Generosity. Encourage acts of giving.
Honor the Giver. Celebrate those who give selflessly.
Cultivate Gratitude. Express joy for all you receive.
Flynn looked on at the commands and the congregation nearby with a mixed look of disgust and sympathy. He was itching to disciple the lost sheep but had been warned from doing so by his party. Alek’s words echoed in his head. Show them. Make them see. He resumed his wide and overtly friendly smile.
Acadian approached one of the holy people, set apart from the commonfolk gathered for worship by the ribbon decorated with the symbol of Hiarus around their neck. They were a young man with a bright face and deep smile lines around their eyes and nose.
“We been told y’all need hunters. Gunnar Stone sent us,” he said.
The young man smiled, the lines around his eyes extending. He gave a shallow bow to them, his eyes fixating a Circe a moment longer than the others. “Yes. Follow me to the High Priestess.”
The boy led them through the worship hall. A long, wide hallways that had been filled with pews and chandeliers from the ceiling. The decor kept with the common theming of gold embroidery and inlays. A few commoners and staff members were praying at the pews, but not too many this early in the morning. At the end of the hall was another statue of Hiarus, identical to the one on the hill. Instead of a fountain at their feet, there was a wide oval-shaped bowl overflowing with gold and other valuable items, gemstones, and jewelry.
Beyond the hall, there was a series of open offices and prayer rooms. Staff members were cleaning and opening windows, letting the morning air fill the space. Their guide led them to a closed door and knocked before turning the handle and letting them inside.
The small office became quickly cramped with the entire party filing inside. The room was bare except for a tidy desk and high-backed chair, plush with stuffed velvet. On the walls were two banners of Hiarus that hung to the floor. A bookshelf sat against one wall with spellbooks and holy texts. At the back wall was a circular window with velvet curtains drawn back to let light in. Sitting in the chair behind the desk, silhouetted by the light, was a thin, pale woman.
At first, she resembled Circe, with long dark hair against sickly pale skin. Though, the longer they looked at her, the less disheveled she appeared. Her hair was clean and tied back, allowing the black hair to fall in waves down her back. Her black robes looked soft and fitted her well, clearly tailored to her specifically. She wore many rings on her fingers and a golden necklace adorned with prismatic jewels that lay on her chest. Her lips and eyes were painted with a deep rouge color.
As the group stepped in, she stood from her chair and leaned across the desk to shake each of their hands. “Good morning, friends. I am Sister Rosalynd,” she said, her voice deep and raspy.
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Frank raised an eyebrow, “You look young to be a High Priestess.” Arsa stepped on his foot and shot him an angered look. Rosalynd didn’t seem to mind.
“When you’re raised in the church from the moment you exit the womb, you climb the ladder faster than most,” she smiled and sat back down, leaving the group to stand shoulder to shoulder. “I understand you have particular expertise for finding things. Things that, perhaps, are guarded by dangerous creatures.”
Acadian felt a familiar heat in the space above his heart, “I’m not sure we’re what yer lookin’ for, then. Assumin’ the beast yer suggestin’ is of a specific… variety.” The others glanced at him with confused expressions. Had he not advocated for taking the job? Why back out now?
Rosalynd shared their expression, though with more empathy behind her eyes. She requested that she speak with Acadian alone and, begrudgingly, the others left the office. When the two were by themselves, she waved her hand in a circular motion.
“Seyilla,” she whispered. As the words left her lips, some of the books left the shelves, twisting and contorting around themselves to create a chair behind Acadian. “Sit, please.”
Acadian sat, “We aren’t dragon hunters. You’ll have to find someone else.”
“Except that you are, Acadian Finch. Your reputation precedes you. How many dragons have you claimed?” she was leaning forward on her hands, lowering her face to find his eyes.
He failed to look away from her. Instead, his gaze darkened, “One too few.”
She stood and turned her back to him, instead looking out the window behind the desk. She let out a solemn sigh, “The war with the Empires is far from over, even if the fighting has ceased. There are people out there - good people. Your people, Mr. Finch. They’re suffering. War does not end with peace. It never ends. The tidal waves do not recede into nothing, they return to the ocean to crash again tomorrow.”
“What is this about?” he cut her off. He was coming to realize how exactly she became High Priestess. She knew how to get someone to do what she wanted.
“A spellbook. Besior’s spellbook,” her tone became more severe. “His spellbook is said to house spells that aren’t found in any other library. Not in Hydraan, the Empires, nowhere.”
“And why do you want it?” he crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair of books.
She gave a soft chuckle, “Security. Those spells are from Besior himself. Homemade. Unregulated. Imagine the people we could save with that kind of magic. We could heal the debilitated. Rehome the displaced. Defend against future assaults.”
“No one thing should have all that power. Not you or your church. Certainly not anyone involved in the war,” he began to stand up, but she spoke an incantation that forced him back into the seat.
“And we won’t. I will personally deliver and teach these spells to those on the front lines and the Cities that were most affected. Then the spellbook will go to the councils in Ailaydan, where it will be kept safe and studied by the unbiased scholars there.”
He squinted, “Ailaydan is where yer church operates out of. Yer not foolin’ me, ma’am.”
Her confident expression melted into something more innocent; more desperate, “Please. We are trying to do our part to save those who can’t save themselves. You of all people know what that’s like.”
His hardened focus flickered and his eyes shifted away from her. She suppressed a smile. She had him.
Rosalynd told him of a dragon called Kienivaris who is suspected to keep Besior’s spellbook in her hoard. The trouble was that the dragon was a powerful Concealer, her abilities lending themselves to staying hidden from those who would seek their master.
“North of the village is a witch in the Danheim Forest. Agaas, her name is. The church attempted to expel her from the area years ago, but couldn’t manage it. Wicked as she may be, she knows as much about dragons as you do. If anyone will have a lead on this Concealer, she will.”
With a slow and deep breath, Acadian accepted the job. He signed a document with Rosalynd, sealing the deal and securing appropriate compensation. She wished him well with a kind and thankful smile, but he couldn’t shake the feeling it was another attack on his pathos. He left the room and closed the door behind him.
Out in the fellowship hall, the others sat in wait. Frank and Arsa were laid out on some empty pews, bored and counting wooden beams along the ceiling. Circe sat alone, staring at a young girl across the aisle from her who was scooting farther and farther away. Flynn was standing in front of a couple of praying nuns, lecturing them about the fortune awaiting them at the Church of Bane. A couple of the staff were trying, and failing, to pull Gostor out of the bowl of valuables in front of the statue.
Acadian cleared his throat, calling the group out of the church to meet him outside. Flynn had to help get Gostor out of the bowl and, moreover, remove the coins and jewelry from his pockets as they left the building.
Outside in the sun, the party gathered around the elf, who looked more tired than he had back at the Inn. Arsa looked particularly impatient.
“What was that about? You bring us over here just to turn down the job?” he vented.
“I accepted it. But I don’t expect y’all to come.”
“What?” Flynn and Frank said. Circe raised a puzzled brow while simultaneously holding onto Gostor’s scruff to prevent him from running back inside.
“It’s a dragon. They want a spellbook guarded by a dragon. Concealer type, too. I’m not gettin’ yuns in that kinda trouble,” he pushed through the circle of companions and began heading in the direction of the gate.
Arsa sped to his side, “Hold on, now. We’re a team. We do these things together.” He was trying hard to get Acadian to look at him.
“Not this time,” the elf responded.
They all chased after Acadian, who was determined to charge forward without them. Each of them attempted to dissuade him from leaving on his own as he silently paid for a small cart and horse, and began to throw his bag into it.
“Stop,” the voice of Circe called out, louder than they all thought she was capable of. “I don’t care what detestable brand of hubris you possess that makes you think you can leave behind these people who care for your wellbeing, but it is severely unattractive. You clearly have a history with this variety of quests and, whatever your past with them may be, you have a troupe who has demanded you allow them to aid you. Your hesitations do not matter so long as these individuals decide you are worth tending to, and it seems to me they have decided upon just that. Now, enough with this stubborn facade. Grow up, take a breath, and let them do what they damn well please.” The group fell silent as they stared on in amazement at the woman before them. Her fragile, near corpse-like body had no bearing on the immense power she wielded with words alone. Acadian’s jaw was slightly agape from the speech.
Circe crossed her arms with an unimpressed countenance.
“I’m coming, too, of course.”