Fall of Gods

Jokaar sat cross-legged at the base of a waterfall, the sound deafening him. It was a nice change from the deafening silence he had endured traversing the back passageways of the Allfaang, the underground world beneath the country of Vassak. He’d stopped speaking to Bede days ago after she’d brought him to their third dead end in the depths of Torvaat. Their clandestine operation had them traveling all over the country in search of an ancient artifact, but Jokaar had found it harder and harder to travel beside someone who had been grating on his last nerve every few hours.

Bede had a habit of sucking on her teeth, making a sickening popping noise that reverberated through the tunnels as they traveled. On more than one occasion they’d attracted a few kalda hime hordes, riverbank hunting murk who scoured parts of the Allfaang rivers searching for fish. They were bipedal lizards, the size of a teenage male with small heads that ended in pointed beaks of blue. The blue camouflaged their entry into the water as they pecked and prodded to capture wiggling fish. One could easily avoid them by taking common tunnels or the Pohpen, the main line of caverns from each city to the next. As their mission was anything but common, they had found themselves close to the raptors. Bede’s disgusting habit had alerted packs of them on two separate occasions and they’d needed to cut them down. The beasts weren’t as vicious as whitefangs or as cunning as vampyrs, but what they lacked in individual power they gained in number. Their beaks were also strong enough to crack fish bones, so they were nothing to take lightly.

The waterfall was a nice change of pace. Bede could suck on her teeth all she wanted and Jokaar could enjoy the crash of the water in its stead. Presently, Bede wasn’t even with him. She’d found a cleft in the rock down one of the side tunnels and had gone to investigate it. For all the sound she made, the Kol woman didn’t speak very much. She spoke when there was information to give, but wasn’t fond of surface level conversation. That was fine for him, he wasn’t very fond of bullshit either. Jokaar was task driven and results oriented. He’d been called clinical by those who appreciated him, and cold by those who didn’t.

“It doesn’t matter what people think of me,” Jokaar spoke into the rush of water next to him. “After we finish this expedition, I’ll be part of something greater than my own self interest.” He fiddled with his pack to pull out a metal cup and a slice of bread. With his right hand, Jokaar caught water from the falls with the cup and drank deeply. All of the water in the Allfaang was fresh water, with the exception of the Skeema River as it flowed out to sea. Setting the cup down, Jokaar slowly ate the bread; hard from travel. They’d stocked up a few days ago in a small mining town northeast of Torvaat. Travel was much faster on the surface, as the tunnels of the Allfaang were known to twist and turn without discretion or warning, but Jokaar preferred it down here. He found it infinitely more beautiful and full of far more mystery.

Even where he sat now, a waterfall a few stories high plunging down through the earth, cascading past him into a river below. It was a beautiful and wondrous sight, waterfalls beneath the earth. They’d stopped to rest on a ledge that was roughly half way down the falls. Covered in moss, it prevented them from slipping and gave them access to the water. From here, the cavern opened up on all sides. The room was large enough to fit a small town of around fifty or so, but the slick rock faces and little flat ground would make it hard to inhabit. The waterfall took up most of the available space. It did have light though. Koomote, a creeping vine named after the motes that sprang from them, covered the walls. The motes glowed pale yellow like fireflies, floating through the space. They hovered for a while as they slowly floated down, to be replaced by new ones. It was a pretty sight, one Jokaar was sure his mother would have liked to have seen.

“I’m sure you’re seeing it where you are now, mother. I’m sure you see it all now,” he said to himself as he bit into the bread again.

Her passing two years prior had driven Jokaar in search of something more. He was still deciding on whether it was revenge or answers, but either way both goals would be obtainable at the same time. She’d died tired, sick, and wholly downtrodden. Jokaar had only been away for a few days. Winter had just begun, as it was now. Their small home in Lambur had been a simple wooden thing, two rooms with a small hearth. His mother had been a talented farmer. She’d been part of a traveling Phytom caravan as a child on their never ending quest to see the whole world and study all plant life. She’d wanted more stability and settled down in Lambur to make a life for herself. It wasn’t a bustling city, but the farmlands and the clear air were more than enough. She had told him once she’d met his father on a trip to Tuumik, , the merchant crossroads city, to sell her crops. Jokaar’s fists clenched at the thought of him.

That one winter had been more unforgiving than most, and the biting winds had arrived earlier than expected. She’d sent Jokaar to purchase extra wood just over a day’s travel northeast at The Grove. A thick cropping of trees nestled up to the side of a small low lying mountain range made up The Grove’s boundaries. The region sat nearly half way between Lambur and Tuumik. In the middle sprouted a small village of Phytoms beside a tiny lake. For most, this village would be impossible to find, as The Grove shifted and moved to help hide them. But as a Phytom himself, he was welcome. The inhabitants there changed with the wind as they exchanged spots with caravans to travel beyond, but they were never short of firewood. The Grove’s trees had been specially grown by the sect to sprout quickly and burn slowly. By his own recount, he’d made the trip quickly. His horse was older, but Destrya was a war horse through and through. She’d been retired after serving house Parn, the region’s reigning family, and sent to the fields to live out her final days in peace. She had held both him and the firewood while making great time. Her speed and strength had proved not enough.

Upon reaching Lambur, he’d found the town in near ruin. To his horror, he saw men and women strewn about in the street while survivors moved about frantically attempting to save those who could be. Jokaar immediately jumped from the saddle and rushed home to find his mother lying on the floor. Her dress had been torn during a struggle, and her neck had been gouged open, but she was alive. In the days that passed, the vampyr attack had left the town in a deep state of sadness and fright. The vampyr were a northern Murk that never came that far south. Over the next few weeks, those who’d been attacked and lived began to show the signs of the blood disease that came with the vampyr bite. His mother, now on complete bed rest, had begun to turn the color of pale milk and her beautiful auburn hair had begun to thin and fall out. A week later, her breathing became laborious and she died in his arms as he wept over her. They’d had a simple life. Nothing grand, but simple and good.

Rumors had started, of course. Witchcraft had brought them there. Some had said the high court of Valivoim had sent them on purpose to attack the town, to hurt the Parn family who had verbally claimed the area as part of the Neurus Lands. Who would want an area that was now sickly and broken? Still others, mostly kesk; those without any special abilities; had said it was punishment for allowing a Phytom family to take up residence in their town. They were a superstitious folk who mostly feared those with Deus Voim. As he and his mother had been the only Phytoms in town, that talk had hurt most of all. With his mother gone and nothing left but questions, Jokaar had left to look for answers. When he’d found some of them, he decided to move away in search of help.

Jokaar splashed water on his face and packed up the cup he’d drank from. As he stood, Bede came into view, rounding a boulder towards his spot. The woman donned the same deep green cloak he wore, a sign of their sect in the group. They wouldn’t reach black cloaks until they’d proved themselves further. Green to blend in with the hillsides and valleys, black to blend in with the night. Bede also wore a mask covering the upper half of her face. It was a simple black mask, shrouding her from forehead to nose. It wasn’t necessarily a Kol tradition, Jokaar had learned, but something they liked to practice when in new groups. It kept others at bay until they were ready to integrate. I wish it was covering her mouth instead, he thought to himself. Maybe I’d hear her noises less.

“Did you find anything?” Jokaar questioned. He was met with a slow shake of the head in response. “I figured as much. The Allfalls have no real historical connection to anything. Besides, there are hundreds of Allfalls across the Allfaang. This one isn’t any more or less special than the next.”

Bede stood emotionless before him. She dropped her pack and pulled out her own metal cup to drink from. She moved up and past him to reach the falls. Her cloak moved silently with her, giving off a slight scent of pine. Perfume? So, there is more to her than silence and teeth sucking. “Why do you use perfume down here, and with me? There is no one to impress.”

Bede’s head turned from the falls to meet his gaze. Her deep brown eyes were nearly black through her mask, giving a more menacing appearance. She said nothing.

“Right. OK, then. Well let’s keep moving.” Bede dropped her metal cup back into her bag and moved to lead them down the side of the falls towards the bottom. She was about a foot shorter than him, Jokaar guessed. He was very tall though, something he hadn’t inherited from his mother. Tall but sinewy, hardened over the years from farm work and horse riding. Bede was smaller, but far from delicate. He’d seen her take down murk on her own. For a Kol, she was quick, lithe, and scrappy. Neither of them were working Deus Voim, those who were direct parts of the caste system, but they held their own. Without the structure of the Valivoim behind them, their people had needed to find ways to defend themselves and live on their own. Despite living in Valivoim lands, this was something Jokaar’s mother had been sure to pass down to him. Something he would always follow now that he knew more.

✽

The pair continued their travels for a few more weeks, slowly moving through the tunnels of the Allfaang. They stopped occasionally to rest, but their current destination was within reach. This stretch of the trip had been wholly uneventful. Most of the lower rivers were behind them now, as they were creeping into the mountainous parts of the Allfaang. Even though Bede was largely silent, having a travel companion made the passing time feel more steady and grounded. One could lose their way easily when alone in the Allfaang. Having someone as knowledgeable of the underground world as Bede was, put Jokaar at ease. After a time, the pair finally reached their next destination. A sign post hammered into the wall in front of them read plain, “New Kaldin”. The dark area around them was lit by a purple mote, a close cousin of the pale Koomote they’d seen at the Allfalls. It’s motes drifted about slowly like tiny spores looking to find a place to land and grow.

“We are here,” Bede finally said. Jokaar’s ears buzzed hearing someone else’s voice for the first time in weeks. “This area is still not safe. Ever since the fall of New Kaldin, whitefang have claimed the city as their own. They nest here and travel to the surface to collect food. We will need to travel silently in order to bypass their packs and reach the temple.”

“I still have the items you requested,” Jokaar responded. He pulled his pack off and knelt to rummage through it. Out of the pack he procured two vials, one containing a piece of Tasa Moss and the other several Lon Berries. Jokaar moved to find a soft spot in the ground. He brushed rocks and pebbles aside in search of some soil but came up empty. “I’ll need to enter the city to find a spot of soil. I can’t grow these here. Do you know where this enters in relation to where the whitefang den is?”

“Their den is in the city market in the center. This small passageway comes up the east side toward the outermost region of homesteads. We should be able to find some soil or an old flower bed. Would that work?”

“That’s all I need,” responded Jokaar. Bede nodded silently and made her way through a crack in the rock towards the city. Jokaar imagined this opening used to be much wider, before the collapse of New Kaldin. He’d heard the attack had been a massacre. Of course the Reverent family Protus had been relatively safe compared to those who lost their entire families. Presently, Jokaar found himself slightly stuck. Realizing the thought of the Reverent family Protus had made him clench his right fist which was trailing behind him. The shape of it had caught it in a tighter spot in the rock. Clearing his mind, he relaxed his hand and regrouped with Bede on the other side. Here, the small tunnels behind them gave way to the massive husk of the once bustling metropolis of New Kaldin. It had been a hub of trade and a melting pot of working and casted Deus Voim. This close to the northern Kolmuund territory brought Kol, Phytoms, and more to its depths. The city of Kaldin, the twin sister above, still functioned as a hub of sorts, but with the fear of the whitefangs it was a shadow of its former self.

Tall cathedral-like walls rose up on all sides of the city with pale motes raining down from the Koomotes that snaked in every direction. Unlike many of the other caverns they’d traveled, New Kaldin bore no stalagmites or stalactites. The cavern roof was smooth, bearing the more mystical creation marks left by the God Stones that had bore into the ground. It was written that the power surged off the stones, cutting and slicing through the earth forming the Pohpen and the major underground halls that would be taken over by major settlements. Thus, New Kaldin was like a smooth inverted balloon that had once been teeming with life. The crypt now before them was lined with decaying homes and desolate streets. Bede moved quickly to the closest row of homes, passing an open roadway that led further into the city.

As they reached the first home, Bede attempted to open the back door. Feeling resistance, she moved away from the home and towards the second. However, Jokaar noticed she missed the window next to the door which was smashed open and unblocked. Instead of following her, Jokaar lifted himself up and slid through the window, falling on a mound of rocks and debris. The sound of his mistake bounced around the skeleton of a house and out into the city. A flood of adrenaline filled Jokaar’s body as his ears immediately attuned to any responding sounds. Luckily, nothing came back. After a few moments of tense stillness, Jokaar found he had been holding his breath and released it with measure. As he moved forward, careful as to not disturb the debris much further, Bede walked in through a door at the other end of the room. Her eyes may have been mostly hidden behind her mask, but Jokaar could feel her gaze pierce him. She stood still, waiting for him to join her. Rather than berate him for his mistake, she beckoned him to follow her.

The pair moved quietly out the front door of the building and onto a dark street. It seemed the motes didn’t fall this far down or grow in this area of the city. Quickly and quietly, Jokaar pulled out a vial of Koomote seeds from his pack and opened it, spilling them onto the dusty roadway. Pushing the seeds into the rocky ground with his index fingers, Jokaar closed his eyes and placed his hands on either side. Centering his mind, he focused on the seeds. He focused on the way they responded to the earth around them and searched for nutrients. In this search, Jokaar aided. He traveled the cavern floor, through dead root systems and hollowed vines to find a source of life. There it is. He’d found a source of energy and beckoned the seeds to take it in. To Jokaar this was a delicate conversation, a meeting of new and old friends to create something spectacular. To Bede, this would look like an explosion of new Koomote vines speeding down the roadway releasing new pale motes to light up the dark area. Jokaar picked up his pack and smiled at his work. At this, even Bede seemed pleased. Her normal flat line of a mouth had curved up at the corners ever so slightly.

Continuing on, she led them into a second house where a large pot of old soil sat with a dead plant inside. “Can’t you do what you just did out on the road,” she said as she pointed to the pot.

“No,” Jokaar responded. “Koomote can thrive in areas of immense drought. It’s why they can be found in almost all caverns down here. Tasa Moss and Lon Berries are from extremely rich lands in the southern Neurus region. I’d need a more fertile spot to make this quick and easy. Did you remember to fill up your spare canister at the last falls?”

“Yes, here.” Bede passed her second waterskin to Jokaar who poured the full contents over the soil in the pot.

“Perfect. This soil may be dry, but it is still full of the nutrients that were once feeding this poor houseplant.” With that, he planted both the berry and the ball of moss at opposite ends of the pot. Again, he closed his eyes and this time grabbed the sides of the pot. He urged the two to drink and grow, assuring them there was enough for them both. He felt the moss immediately respond, drinking up nutrients and expanding along the inside of the pot’s wall. The berry was nervous. It knew it was beneath the ground and could not flourish the way it could on the surface. Jokaar pushed harder and the berry finally gave way, taking root and bursting through the top of the soil into a small bush full of new berries. “There, all done.”

“Now what?” Bede said. Her eyes twitched behind her mask and she sucked at her teeth with anticipation. Gods, how annoying.

“Now you take the moss and slather it to the soles of your shoes. Tasa moss is a shapeshifting sponge, able to grow and flourish on any surface as long as there is available food. It will essentially make you perfectly silent as you walk through the city. However, we’ll do that second. First, I need you to eat a handful of the lon berries. After digestion, they will emit a foul odor from your skin which will mask your natural one. It will also mask your perfume. This will keep any predators like whitefangs from smelling us out. The only issue is it takes around thirty minutes to kick in, so eat up because we need to wait.” Without hesitation, Bede reached out, grabbed a handful of berries, and shoveled them down. Thirty minutes later the pair began lathering their feet with the tasa moss.

“Ready to go,” Bede said. She procured a small hand axe from her side and held it defensively. The standard Kol weapon. Good for both hunting and everyday life, the Kol practically worshiped the axe. It made sense their sacred weapon was also an axe, The Kaotan Axe. “Can we go now?” Bede said, crouched low peering outside.

“One...last…yep all set,” Jokaar said as he finished lathering his second shoe. Wiping his hands on his sides he pulled out his weapon as well. Slung over his right arm was a simple shortbow. The quiver, hung over his back alongside his pack, was filled with a number of different types of arrows. A few were made by him. Simple constructions with simple serrated heads. Others he’d purchased along the way. His favorites had cost him quite a bit, the shafts dipped in longre oil and the tips infused with vampyr venom. They flew twice as fast and left a mark that was destined to kill. While it was possible to heal from the vampyr blood virus, not many had the means to purchase an antidote. “Let’s move.”

The pair emptied out into the street, now lit by Moomote vines. They slowly made their way down side streets, moving closer to the center of the city. “If it’s going to be anywhere, it would likely be inside Igavik’s Rest, the temple for him here in the city,” Bede noted. “This was a Reverent led populace, so Igavik’s temple would be the largest one here and in a very prominent spot.”

“And where would that be?”

“Directly in front of the ruling family’s citadel. Here, that is the most northern point in the city. We’ll need to follow the streets around the market center to reach it. It’s not a hard building to spot. Just look for the giant statue of Igavik.” Jokaar nodded in understanding. The Kol were well traveled. When he saw Bede in the line of new recruits with him, he was hoping to be paired with her for their initiation quest. She knew all sorts of information that had made the trip easier on them. However, he’d also gotten to see first hand how Kol got this information. She stopped and inspected everything she saw for large amounts of time. Now though, this was coming in handy.

As the pair grew closer to the market center, low growls could be heard emanating from beyond their position. Their movements were silent and they smelled like rotting corpses, but that wouldn’t make them completely undetectable. Bede made note of this as she passed a pile of teetering rocks. She quietly pointed at them so Jokaar wouldn’t accidentally hit them and send the noise bouncing down the street to the den. They passed old bakeries, leatherworker shops, and a deserted fish stand. As they filtered through broken homes and crumbling archways, they finally found the center of the city. A wide open area filled with more pale motes than anywhere else, clearly used to house an open air market. The built structures surrounded it like a giant ring with tattered faire flags still intact in some places. Jokaar imagined this place must have been loud and bustling in its glory days. However, people didn’t own it any longer.

Jokaar saw what looked to be thirty whitefangs pacing, sleeping, and grooming throughout the dilapidated square. To most, they resembled an oversized common wolf. However, they possessed speed unmatched by any wolf, three rows of jagged teeth akin to a shark, and a third ear that sat rested at the back of its head. With this makeup, they were hunters perfected. They heard prey hundreds of yards away and could get there in half the time it took to find shelter. They were formidable alone, but virtually unsurvivable in large packs. Bede pointed straight ahead, toward the next building along the ring that surrounded the market. It was, however, across a large roadway gap that would have been accessed by the masses as they moved from their homes to the market proper.

Bede motioned to Jokaar, indicating he would cross the gap first. She studied the whitefangs and their movements, waiting for an opening. A few laid down to nap and a pack turned to walk towards the far side of the market. Bede’s right hand pointed frantically and Jokaar took the opening. He sprinted, his footfall completely silent, from one building to the next, passing through the vulnerable opening of the market. He skidded to a stop and turned to help Bede cross. This time, it was his turn to watch for an opening. She would be solely focused on the run. Just before he told her to go, a large one woke up and stood to shake its fur. Jokaar held up a palm to say, do not go. Bede, amped with adrenaline, read the call incorrectly and took off across the gap.

Jokaar watched the whitefang spring up, now fully alert, and begin running straight for Bede. It barreled down the roadway, crashing into her and sending her flying along the dusty street. It began to growl loudly, alerting the rest of the pack to the disturbance. As Bede fought the giant murk canine, Jokaar spun through options. He hadn’t been seen. He could run and finish the job or he could stay and fight to save Bede. He closed his eyes and prayed to Hommia, the Goddess of fate. He prayed whatever he chose, what the path he was meant to take. With that, Jokaar pulled out his bow and strung up an explosive arrow. The tip was packed with unstable fire plants from the desert-like Unclaimed Basin.

Peering around the corner he saw the full pack now moving quickly towards the entry of the market. To his left, it was hard to tell if Bede was winning. Her axe swung wildly but he saw her forearms were bleeding where she’d raised her arms in defense. Quickly, Jokaar aimed his shortbow up to the building archway that hung between the two buildings. Once likely set of inn rooms or the like, they were now a way to cut off the approaching horde. Jokaar breathed deeply and settled his nerves. “One, two, LOOSE!” he yelled and let the arrow fly. As it collided with the building the underside exploded and collapsed onto the roadway below creating a full barrier from the onslaught of whitefangs. Turning to the grappling pair Jokaar pulled out a second arrow; one of his homemade serrated point arrows. He went to fire but was too worried he would accidentally hit Bede. Instead, a new idea popped into his head.

Sprinting up closer, he tracked the two as they tumbled across the ground. Picking a spot where he felt she may be able to reach, Jokaar shot an arrow that plunged into the side of a building near Bede’s head. Bede reached up and pulled it out of the wood and sunk it deep into the whitefang’s eye. The growls turned to a whimper and suddenly the beast lay still on top of her. Jokaar sprinted over and pulled the whitefang off Bede who seemingly had no life threatening injuries. Both arms were torn, but no major arteries had been hit. Jokaar pulled out a large bandage wrap and spun it around both arms independently. “Thank you,” she said as Jokaar helped her up. “We need to move. That barrier won’t last forever.”

“Are you good to run?”

“I’m fine. Let’s go.” They moved quickly through the rest of the city, avoiding any openings to the main market square. Soon enough, they found themselves standing in front of the statue of Igavik. An imposing man, he stood in a long cloak, here it was the color of rocky stone, but the histories wrote it was deep purple. Royalty and power. Jokaar found his fists clenched again.

Bede found a door at the base, opening to Igavik’s Rest, the temple in his honor. Once inside, they closed the door behind them. “We should be safe here,” Bede said. “Murk tend to avoid holy places. Even new and makeshift ones.”

The room before them was pitch black. Bede slowly and gingerly, pulled off her pack and procured a wooden rod wrapped in bandages. She doused it in oil from a waterskin and lit it on fire. Entering the dark space she found additional oil sconces and began to light them one by one. As the room was bathed in light, Jokaar saw a large cathedral built into Igavik’s base. It could likely hold more people than originally lived in the city. But that was the point. Reverents loved the showmanship. They loved to shove their power and might in your face. Jokaar imagined coming in here to worship and feeling dreadfully small compared to the size and scope of the space. Wooden seats lined the walls and rows of them made their way all the way to the center. In the very middle sat a full altar and a second statue of Igavik. This one had him holding the head of Pime as he looked out over his people in a feat of triumph. “Reverents really think their patron god defeated the devil himself all on his own? What did that everlasting life really give him, in the end?”

“Time,” Bede responded. “Time is a powerful thing that you cannot deny. Yes, Igavik wasn’t as strong or cunning, or resourceful as his brethren. He couldn’t predict the future or speak to the earth, but he had the one thing none of the others could get. Time. He was the first born of them all. Even my people’s sacred books say this. It is a common note in all records. Igavik was born much earlier than the rest, and had time to study the world, the cosmos, and was able to plan. He predicted moves his siblings would make not because he saw them in dreams or predicted outcomes, but because he waited and learned. Even Elamius, the true survivalist, was often at a draw with Igavik. They once fought at the top of the hottest volcano. Elamius quickly adapted to the heat and knew Igavik would not be able to stand it. But Igavik fought on, fueled by heat tolerant berries he stole from Kasvamaat’s garden. He planned, for he had watched and learned. It is why all of his children were blessed with time. An extended life is more than any gift of strength, speed, or the ability to talk to the earth.”

This slight adoration for the patron God of Reverents annoyed Jokaar and so he shrugged off the conversation and made his way to the altar in the center. Even though he despised who it depicted, it was a beautiful piece of art. Igavik’s perfect features were done beautifully, his head of curly silver-grey locks hung to his shoulders, here stone grey. At the base of the statue, words were inscribed. We wait until the time is right but the time in between is filled with valuable lessons. A journey’s end is nothing without the path of mistakes and learning that get us there. Time defeats all but provides all. Upon closer inspection, Jokaar noticed the word time was cut oddly into the stone. It looked to be separate, as if it was pushing through a hole.

“Bede, would the city folk be allowed to approach the altar?”

“No, only those who have that God or Goddess’ Deus Voim can approach the altar. You know that, we went over it in Torvaat.”

“I know, I’m just checking.” With that, Jokaar pressed into the word “Time” and the entire base of the statue shuddered. Bede quickly joined Jokaar as the stone slab covering the near side of the base slid away, revealing a hollow center. The floor of it then fell away, shedding light on a ladder down into darkness. Jokaar smiled, “I think this is it.” He immediately swung his legs over the side and descended into the dark.

As he reached the bottom of wherever they were, he turned to help Bede who still had the lit torch in hand. Now leading, Bede moved through a low room into a larger chamber. Here she found another sconce and lit it. The room flashed to life and Jokaar shielded his eyes. After a moment to adjust he looked and saw a room filled with riches. Silver and gold sat in forms of goblets, statues, mirrors, and plates. He found his mouth agape and quickly closed it as Bede looked at him. “This is definitely it.”

“I assume so, yes” Bede said, “It’s curious though. Why would it be here? The most famous of all Igavik altars is in Torvaat. It’s said Igavik died there and it’s full of his energy. Why would his patron weapon be stored in this altar, almost a hundred miles away and deep in the Allfaang?”

“It could have been the family that ruled here.” Jokaar responded. “The Protus family could have had it stored here on purpose. It could have given them leverage of some kind over other families.”

“Maybe, but this room feels even older than them. I’ll need to do more research.” With that Bede moved towards the center of the room which boasted a large chest. Jokaar watched as she placed her torch down, pushed the chest open, and peered into its contents. After a moment of rummaging, the silence of the room was cut short with Bede’s blood curdling screams. Jokaar ran over as she fell to the floor, scratching at her own face with a look of pure horror plastered on it.

“Bede...Bede! Calm down! You’re OK!” Jokaar yelled as he moved to restrain her from scratching at herself even more. She got a hold of her axe and pulled it loose. She attempted to swing it at Jokaar but when she couldn’t aim it properly she decided to sink it into her own stomach instead. As she lay dying on the floor, she looked up in a moment of clarity. “It is...the mirror. Do not….look at it. Cover...up...horror….my own….fear….gone.” And with that, Bede lay limp on the floor. Her mask had fallen off during the struggle, revealing deep golden eyes now staring into nothing. The gravity of the moment hit Jokaar like a kick to the head. He stood in a panic and backed away from the chest. They knew what they were there for, but they weren’t sure if its power was real or just a legend.

Suddenly, Jokaar realized the type of power he’d been sent to fetch for The Hands of Kaedun was much more ancient than he’d thought it’d be. “So much for a simple initiation.” It was an odd thing to say, but Jokaar assumed he was in a state of shock. The task wasn’t complete, however. He needed to leave with it. He took Bede’s pack and pulled out a large opaque sheet. Approaching the chest, Jokaar reached in without looking. His nerves fired through his body like he was on fire. As he felt around, his hands came upon something smooth and curved. “There it is.” Heaving it out, it was much heavier than he thought it would have been. “I guess that makes sense,” he said to himself out loud, “Build for a God after all.”

He moved it around on the floor without looking directly at it and found the bearer’s side. Flipping that side up he finally looked at it. The Shield of Mina was a massive thing, and not the prettiest on this side. It held iron brackets for one to place their arm through. The plated back was completely silver, and the shape gave away that it was a large kite shield. If the mysteries were correct, the other side would be completely mirrored, and would show the opponent unspeakable horrors, sending them into a frenzy. This was the patron weapon of Igavik and the Reverents. This was also, ironically, his key into becoming a part of The Hands of Kaedun. The treasure seeking group had found him in his darkest times; just after losing his mother. They promised a life where one could amass the treasures of the entire world and defeat those in power with their own weapons. It was a guild built on top of the most ancient and simple type of code: "If I find it, it is mine."

Jokaar looked down upon Bede and quietly prayed to Hommia for her, wishing her safe passage in death. With that he took her pack and emptied its contents. He moved important items to his pack and then placed the shield in hers. He left her axe with her, as a sign of respect.

Exiting out of the crypt, Jokaar made his way through the city, back the way they’d come. Luckily, the mound of debris he’d shot was still holding the pack of whitefangs at bay. Reaching the edge of the city, Jokaar slowly moved all his belongings through the cracked wall. As he moved the last pack, containing the shield, he looked back out over the silent city of New Kaldin, a Reverent ruin. Once he fully joined The Hands of Kaedun, this would be the same fate for Chancellor Yurik of Vassak, his father. The father that had taken his mother in to play at God and create something uncreatable. The father that had spat them back into Lambur just before that cold winter two years ago. Jokaar had decided: revenge was what he wanted.