Rask approaches Alexis in moment where the others are busy.
”Alexis, have you ever heard of Raiden being named a Storm God?”
Rask looks around warily, “My connection to Aegir is lost here, and it has been difficult…”
He gestured at the tattoos on his chest and back. Clearly a saddened and a bit lost.
“I have a vague… memory? “My… grandmother? Referring to Raiden as the Storm God…”
Rask’s brown furrows… Alexis gets the sense that’s not quite right, and that Rask is hoping for help understanding…
My friends– as we approach the heavy fortifications of the West Gate, I feel compelled at last to tell you. Throughout this journey I have been tortured by visions, including glimpses of the silent and stern visage of Raiden. I have felt that our steps were taking us away from, not closer to, the goal for which I asked my Lord’s guidance– the defeat of the Dark Hand.
Dennos has taunted me. He identified me as a priest of Raiden, from the outset, and as we traveled further and further into the west. I ignored him while he was challenging my God. But as we walked further west– and my visions grew more intense– I realized his taunts and my visions echoed each other. Raiden beseeching me to turn back. Reminders of the desolation visited upon his armies, long in the past.
Now that we stand in sight of the fortress, I need you all to hear and believe me, for I know as well as my own name– we have deceived no one. Drennos of the Dark Hand leads us gleefully into a trap. This fortress is so well defended, despite being in the wild lands, we have to ask ourselves, why? Maybe this is where Bandesingh and the Dark Hand are making weapons and training armies.
But maybe this is a prison, and we are about to be locked inside.
Honored Undersecretariat, Custodian of Hood’s Wisdom,
While I regret deeply that my companions and I had to leave our fair city in haste, I wanted to send you a message both to let you know of our departure, and also to let you know of some unusual markings in the sewer. The message we found was “Death to the God of Death”, which was perhaps only a little out-of-the-usual, but the fact that it was both in an ancient script and also written relatively recently piqued my interest and thought your interest might be piqued as well. Below I have included the specific script as best as I could transcribe it and also a map to the location in the sewers. Unfortunately, the only path I know of get to that location is through a sewer-cover close to our shared “acquaintance”, The Spider. For this reason I have also included the location in the city of the sewer-cover close to the Spider as well as a map from the sewer entrance to the area in the sewer used by the Spider. You are welcome to visit the Spider, or avoid her, as you see fit, but I wanted to provide as much information as you might find useful.
With the blessings of the gods we shall meet soon, and hopefully in our fine city.
May our shared vigilance hold strong against the shadows cast by the Dark Hand. With the highest respect,
XX
The Crimson Calling is sailing on the Gilded Zephyr, having been smuggled from Sutheron and heading to Llanos port. Alexis kneels down next to Ethelred, who is continually studying the documents from the Collegium, holds the red jasper around his neck, and chants something while his other hand forms precise forms and seems to get a little blue.
For the next many hours Alexis sits next to Ethelred, thinking. Occasionally one of the Calling will ask him for something, or about something, and he will respond and then go back to his focused thoughts. For some portion of his reverie he writes or draws in his book.
The next morning at breakfast clears his throat to get the group’s attention while he idly walks a copper coin across his knuckles. “Yesterday I studied the ritual room with the demon under the Copper Hills Fort. As we had suspected it was human magics calling upon demon magics. Nothing about the magics was anything I’ve ever encountered before. Not the sorcery on the sword, not the summoning. But I could clearly make out two intertwined magics: one demonic, and other was of Avv.”
After a few days a routine develops, in the mornings, Rask trains with whomever will join him. After sword and bow practice, he swims with Red.
In afternoons Ca’armine prays to Raiden, Gus does Gus things, and Red and Alexis study.
Rask assists with camp chores in the afternoons and often continues to practice his sword forms, never using his Black Blade, and working diligently to advance with the flat of the blade and on pommel-strikes.
One afternoon, about five days into their stay on the banks of the Llanos River, Rask approaches before dinner as Ca’armine is concluding his afternoon prayer, he waits patiently for the right moment and then addresses the holy man,
“Brother, Can you teach me some prayers so that I might join you on occasion? I know a little from Service in the chapels at various Forts, but would like to learn more, and learn more stories of Raiden if you would be willing to share?”
Ca’armine wakes in his lean-to, it’s still pitch dark all around, the only sounds are the crickets, and his own fast breathing—the undead alligator-monster isn’t likely to leave his restless nightmares for some time to come. At least tonight, he was not inside the jaws.
Ca’armine rises, and ducks out from under his rude shelter. In a moment he can see occasional stars overhead. He makes his way in the dark, toward the bank of the river. Looks out over the water. A fish jumps, but otherwise the landscape is still.
The dream having faded, Ca’armine has a moment to take a deep breath and stretch his weary shoulders. The opportunity to sleep, and rest—sure, not in a bed, but not in the sewers again, either!—such luxury. Though he can’t get it out of his head that he and his friends were still vulnerable, in the background, at this moment the thought of danger fades. Here he stands, not carrying a weapon, or wearing any armor, for the first time in what seems like a long time.
The last days in the city seem far away now. Every corner they had turned, an enemy was waiting for them! His sense that there were no safe paths of travel had unfortunately proved correct. Thankfully, Alexis had reluctantly accepted that another trip to the Collegium, or any other destination including their hideout, would result in another battle. Seeing wisdom, that gift Raiden had given him. Not always, could he convince others to listen. His new Captain was beginning to heed his advice.
That thought gratifies Ca’armine, as he stares up into the night sky.
He feels a warm breeze at his back. Puzzled he turns—nothing is there—but when he turns back, there is a radiant figure in front of him.
“Raiden!” he whispers, dropping to his knees suddenly. A moment passes.
He looks up. The figure has disappeared.
The Presence, however, stays with him. He stands, feeling both strong and light in that moment. “Raiden, lord, thank you for blessing me with a vision of your form.” He looks up at the sky again, feeling the blessing surrounding him.
The next day, starting his morning routine, the memory is with him. The Presence felt very real, moreso than spending time with any human he had yet met. It had faded with the stars, but when he reaches for it now, the memory is strong.
On reflection later in the afternoon he realizes that the sensation of the Presence was essentially, the opposite of how he had felt about his faith when he met the heroes he now calls his team-mates, at Mavon’s castle. Then, he had been conflicted in his faith. The visage of Raiden was clear to him, but it was also artificial—the paintings he had seen at the Temple, for example. He had been avid for Raiden’s blessing, but “Raiden” had been a figure he had read about, heard about, learned about at church and from his Father’s catechism. He was terrified that he had made a dire mistake, leaving the Raidensblud and forsaking their ideas about what “Raiden” commanded; was that what Raiden wanted for him? He had felt that it was, but it was as if he had yet to complete that conversation with his deity.
Now, he feels, the conversation has happened and he is reassured. Raiden is not a figure, only; He is a Presence that accompanies Ca’armine now. When Ca’armine reaches out for the power to heal, Raiden is present and provides instantly, instinctively. He feels sure.
Ca’armine practices the sword forms, practices with his bow. He reflects on the martial nature of Raiden’s Presence. It is right to stay in training, right to keep one’s blade sharp. Raiden doesn’t choose war, War is chosen for him, to protect humanity—and so it is for Ca’armine. It is wrong to allow evil to flourish, or even establish a root. Evil chooses violence, oppresses the weak and helpless. To be strong for good, one must not shrink from that violence, lest Evil prevail. The swords whirl, as he trains. Today, he is not using the blades to kill. This is a good day, therefore.
Finishing his training for the day, he takes a dip in the river to rinse off, and takes out some rations for his mid-day meal. Prayer will occupy the majority of the rest of his day, seeking to understand the nature of Raiden’s plan for him and his place in the greater scheme. Over the meal however, he is thinking about the team with which he is now aligned, and his place within it.
He senses that the Southroni comrades are loathe to leave the city, and he feels for them. He was similarly conflicted when he left Aegir, to come find these heroes. Ca’armine advocated for the team to leave because of their safety, and the safety of the less puissant comrades with whom they had aligned themselves (Mavon first among them), but as he chews the hard tack into pieces small enough to swallow, he acknowledges a yearning inside him, to be doing something. Not just reacting to circumstances, or taking up small tasks to curry favor with people who might be able to point them in the right direction.
Wisdom in this moment, is in conflict he realizes. He wants to attack the Dark Hand, eliminate Bandesingh and in so doing, cripple the foe that has corrupted the Raidensblud and all of Aegir. But how to do that? Sitting there on the ground, looking at the river, he admits that he himself has no idea where to start. He is convinced that Bandesingh is in Aegir, not in Southron, but he has to admit he has no source for that information. In other words, leaving Southron is wise because it is better than the alternative, but having no sure direction to travel, he is still only reacting to circumstance.
So, it is wise to leave Southron… but is it wise to travel back to Aegir? He resolves to take this up with the team when next they meet. Maybe they will eat together at sunset.
As he starts his prayerful observance, this thought is still on his mind, and it occurs to him to ask Raiden for guidance in this moment. Show me the path, he prays, as he feels the suffusing warmth of his connection to his deity. Raiden, your presence is near to me and gives me comfort. Now I implore you… show me the path. Show me what you need me to see, so that I can serve you and protect humanity from the scourge now using your Name to oppress the weak. At first he doesn’t notice that he is engaging his magical energy in this prayer, but when he does sense it, he puts his heart into the request, using all of his focus to send this prayer to Raiden—Show me the path!!
After the group has been dropped off by Hap, spent a day investigating the items they have, and enjoying being in the grasslands each of them starts delving into their own studies.
Over the next week, the weather seems to stay cold where the group is, even as spring seems to be taking hold around them. Frost greets the group on their gear and around the camp.
As well, during this week, backpacks and other buckles seem to be open when they were left closed. Perhaps this coincides with the occasional dreams of twisted creatures begging to be released when nothing seems to shackle them, struggling to open doors that finally open to rooms full of seemingly worthless treasure, or attempting to read books that contain text that seems to form never-ending and circular writings.
Inside the confines of the Mithril Lord’s estate, not long after after Gus brings up feeling uncomfortable in Sutheron, Rask asks in Gus’s direction but to everyone:
“What’s Aegier-Aegier, yah know Aegier-city like? Does it smell like a battle, a brothel, a well-used latrine, a garbage dump, and fish harvest… all at once, but worse, too?”
He wrinkles his nose, and pauses for a moment.
“Are there Temples to Raiden there?” He asks disbelief.
His eyes widen, his mind realing, he look more seriously at Gus and Ca’armine. Raiden is a god of battle and protection, and… Aegir…
Since arriving in Sutheron, Rask and Ca’armine and occasionally Ethelred, have been singing hymns of Raiden together. At first none of them really remember the words very well, and none of them are trained singers, but Rask and Ca’armine are fervent, and Ethelred is a true Aegierien, so they persevere.
“I wonder if there is anywhere we could show our faces and sing songs of Raiden with a big group again?” Rask wonders wistfully to the whole team while settling in for bed after the most recent session
A little later, after realizing that, without talking about it, they have all been editing Aedelfrid out of their renditions, he sleepily adds,
“Could we pay Grimsby to write and sing songs about Aegir and Sutheron and Raiden without Aedelfrid in them? Or a song about Aedelfrid the Pretend Raiden? Grimsby sang about Fjellsby, isn’t that where… the leaders of the Rebellion were from?.”