Godsday, Fireseek 4, 591 Common Year

Waking up before dawn, Gar pulls a blanket around his shoulder and sits in the chair by the window overlooking the castle garden. In a mood for something a little different this morning, Gar closes his eyes and begins his meditation by following his breath in and out, listening to the wind within him. As he sinks into a deeper trance, he listens to the blood rushing through his veins like water, nourishing the earth of his flesh and bones, and firing off a warm glow as the divine spark kindles within. As the minutes rush by in a quick hour, Gar prays for the divine power to meet the day’s needs.

At the end of his contemplations, Gar puts on his regular clothes over his light chainmail shirt since he is hoping to check out some of the seedier sides of town today and does not want to be viewed as a noble. Just as he is about to leave there Fingol knocks on his door saying, “Wake up, we have to recover the Heironean Statue before the town wakes up. We can’t have it be a spectacle.”

Gar opens the door to find Fingol in his traveler’s clothing. Fingol’s hammer and dagger are strapped to his belt but he wears no other weapons or armor besides a cloak to keep out the early morning chill. 

“Sure, I’m ready for you!” smiles Gar. “You want to carry it? Perhaps we should post a guard there so the Heironeans can simply take over the mission again and consecrate it in place?”

“I was thinking that if we can get a cart we can bring it back to the keep. Otherwise, we’ll just move it out of the doorway.”

Fingol and Gar walk softly over to the room where the half elves are staying. Fingol knocks and says, “Gentlemen, Sir Gar and I are headed to the Heironean mission. We were going to do something about that statue before the town wakes up. We’ll need your help to move it out of the doorway.”

From inside, Indranil replies, “Aye, I will come. Give me a moment to get dressed.” Indranil then dons his armor and grabs all his weapons and gear.

“I too will need a moment,” adds Lorindel. “If I’m going out looking for trouble, I want to be prepared.” He too dons his armor and gathers up his weapons.

Indranil looks over at Lorindel and asks, “Brother please help me fasten this buckle, then I can help you.”

“Of course,” replies Lorindel as he begins assisting Indranil.

Fingol then returns to his room to put on his armor and strap his longsword on to his belt as well, though he leaves his bow behind.

Indranil looks over at Fingol when he returns having donned his armor and says, “Wise choice wearing your armor. With what we have faced in the last few days I think prudence is the better part of valor right now. Sir Fingol, any chance we can get some backup from the local paladins on this mission?”

Fingol turns to Gar, “Would you want to ask Sir Godric where to find Sir Jankin? I think we owe it to Jankin to ask him along.”

“Sure!” Gar coughs into his hand. “I’ll bang on Sir Godric’s door, and then we can go knock up Sir Jankin for his assistance.”

As they walk into the cleric’s area, Gar first glances about as if looking for ghosts in the furniture. He then casts his eyes toward the green door for a moment and bows his head gently with a smile on his face and then quietly knocks on Godric’s door.

Godric answers the door in his silken blue night-robe, matched by a striped blue nightcap. In his left hand is a cup of chicory coffee and he stifles a yawn with his right. He blinks for a moment and seeing Gar says brightly, “Oh, Father Gar…” but then he trails off once his bleary eyes have taken stock of the others behind Gar. A little deflated he continues, “…and company? How can I be of service to you this fine morning? No more assassins in the halls I hope.” He stops rambling for a moment and peers at everyone more closely and then a bit more seriously says, “You do seem to be very well equipped for a morning stroll. What’s going on?”

“Sir Godric,” Fingol starts in quickly to cut off any more of Father Gar’s innuendos, “We’re just tying up some loose ends from last night. The Olman refugees appear to have abandoned the mission. In doing so they left some mischief behind. The head of the statue of Heironieus which was left there was in the doorway and vandalized. We were going to secure it. We thought we owed it to Sir Jankin to accompany us, since he was with us when visited the refugees there. Can you point out his room?”

As Fingol finishes his speech, Gar bows deeply to Godric, “Good morning, milord. Perhaps you would like to join us?”

“What! This is terrible!” exclaims Godric. “Sir Jankin’s room is over there,” Godric points it out. “Please wait for me a moment, I will put on my clothes and armor and accompany you. We must also inform Paragon Muire. Squires! To me!” In a moment a door opens down the hall and a couple of squires rush over to help Godric into his armaments.

Crap! Fingol thinks, I knew this would happen. Now it’s a biiiiig deal.

Gar bows deeply, “Thank you milord,” as he enjoys the sight of handsome young men in servitude.

Fingol notes the hungry look on Father Gar’s face as the adolescent squires run about and feels a bit unsettled.

After one last lingering look, Gar walks over to Jankin’s room and knocks on the door.

“Yes, who is it” answers Jankin opening the door. He is already in his court clothes and is wiping his freshly shaved face with a cloth.

“Sorry to disturb you so early, Sir Jankin,” says Gar. “Last night after midnight we found the head of Heironeous in the doorway of the old mission. It seemed like the Olman refugees had abandoned it. With your leave, Sir Jankin, we would like to go back to move the head or maybe retrieve it. Would you like to join us as well?”

“What? Oh, yes, we must do something! Of course, I’m not in charge, I’m just one of the…” he looks across the hall and sees the squires scurrying to get Godric suited up. “Sir Godric, is the one to ask as the highest ranking paladin in the Palace Guard, and I see he’s already been informed.” Jankin calls over to Godric, “Sir Godric, would you mind if I came along?”

“Yes, please do,” Godric calls back. “The two of us and our friends here should be sufficient to see what’s going on. I also don’t want too many paladins drawn away from the keep for this.”

“Just a moment,” Jankin says to Gar and the others, “I’ll get my breastplate and other armor on. It won’t take me long. I don’t have all the gear that the senior paladins have.”

In just about five minutes, Godric is fully accoutered in his full plate mail and heavy steel shield, with his longsword at his side. “Let’s go boys.”

Jankin also comes along in his breastplate, helmet, and greaves and with his longsword at his side. Two squires, in their mid-teens, trail the group as well, ready to assist the two paladins at a moment’s notice.

Once they reach the courtyard it is a simple thing to commandeer a cart from the stables. A donkey is hitched up and the squires lead it behind the group. Led by Godric the party exits the keep and heads down the Processional. The sun is now well up though it is probably not much later than 7 am. As they make their way down the Processional it is still quite dark as the sun is not yet high enough to disperse the shadows from the buildings that overhang the street. There is not much street traffic yet, though servants are emptying slop buckets into the drainage ditches, herds of pigs are beginning to move through the streets, stalls are being set up and shutters opened, and the smell of baking bread fills the air. Finally they reach the abandoned Heironean mission. In the dim light they can see the guano begrimed head of the statue on the top steps leading to the entrance. Beyond the broken doors is darkness and silence.

Fingol is a little surprised to see Sir Godric move forward without organizing the party. In a hoarse whisper he says to Gar, “Stay with the cart and guard the squires.” He then uses hand signals to indicate that Lorindel should cover the party with his bow while Indranil stays with Sir Godric. 

Fingol falls in behind Sir Jankin, drawing his hammer. He is ready to either engage in melee or throw the hammer at any threat. He is a little distracted by the thought that no one has warned the paladins about the giant demon bat from hell. Ah, but why ruin the fun for them?

Gar salutes his compliance and moves to the back. Watching the group move into position, Gar rubs his little Green Man and quietly confers divine protection upon the squires with a light touch. Gar then pulls his dagger out of his sleeve while approaching the mission.

Lorindel acknowledges Fingol’s instructions with a nod. He moves off to flank while drawing an arrow. Lorindel motions to a point up ahead and signals that he can move up to scout. He maintains formation awaiting Fingol’s response.

Indranil nods his head to acknowledge the plan, draws his longsword and walks with a sword’s length of turning between himself and Godric so that he is covering his back and side approaches.

Godric motions for Lorindel to stay behind him. He touches his head and sweeps the area in front of him, indicating that he is trying to sense if there is any evil before them. Warily he moves forward up the steps of the abandoned mission towards the defiled head. He holds his hand up to stop the others and makes the two-horned sign so that they know that there is indeed evil within.

Godric begins backing away just as three javelins come hurtling out of the mission. One misses but two others bounce off his breastplate. “Ha! I have nothing to fear from the likes of you!” he cries. “Sir Jankin, quick, to the sides and rear, make sure no one gets away!” Godric draws his sword and heads into the darkness of the mission with his shield held out before him. He is met by a new volley of javelins, one of which hits him square on his helm with a loud clang, causing him to reel back shaking his head.

Hearing the sound of feet running from around the corner of the temple, Lorindel rushes over to the side and sees a number of Olman in the shadows moving up along the left side of the building. He takes a shot and hits one in the left foot causing him to stumble against the wall in agony. The others swarm past their wounded comrade and he sees that they are wearing thick hides and wielding javelins. As they boil out of the alley they hurl their javelins at Indranil and Lorindel, and one javelin hits Lorindel in the side, penetrating his leather armor and hanging there until Lorindel jerks the bloody tip out and hurls it away from him.

Gar rushes over to get a view of the right side of the building from the middle of the street.

Fingol dashes past Gar and heads down the right side of the mission.

Godric, having cleared his head, moves cautiously into the shadowy interior of the mission, his shield held up before him. Indranil moves in at his side with his shield up and ready as well.

Jankin rushes two Olman who had run past Lorindel and moved up the steps leading to the main entrance of the temple before they can attack Godric or Indranil from behind. With a swipe of his longsword he lays one of them low.

Lorindel looses another arrow that strikes the chest of the other Olman on the steps. The Olman goes down. Of the last two who emerged from the alley, the one Lorindel previously hit in the foot collapses from pain and blood loss. The other runs, but before doing so he hurls his club at Jankin though it simply bounces off his shield.

Lorindel staggers over to Gar. “Good Father,” shouts Lorindel. “You’ve made quite a bit of references to holes and plugging them. Perhaps you could see fit to do something about this!” exclaims Lorindel as he points to his bleeding wound.

Gar laughs out loud as he reaches out to steady Lorindel with one hand and he fingers his little Green Man with the other. “May the blessings of Obad-Hai heal you my good friend.” As Gar puts his hand over the wound, Lorindel can feel it closing and the flesh knitting itself back together. The wound is still a bit painful, but the bleeding stops and Lorindel finds he can breathe easily again. “There you go, Sir Lorindel, all plugged,” Gar smiles and slaps him on the butt.

“Much better, Father. Thanks for the patchwork,” says Lorindel. “Now let’s see if I can do anything about that one.” Lorindel springs after the last Olman warrior and from about 40 paces away fires off a shot that strikes the warrior in the right foot. The Olman stumbles and falls, and then he drags himself off into an alley out of sight.

Inside Godric sees the shadows of the Olman near the altar and moves in on them. Indranil, with the enhanced night vision of a half-elf, can see quite clearly in the gloom. The paladin and ranger engage the Olman, of which there seem to be three now armed with clubs. One of the seasoned warriors jumps up on a nearby pew and begins hammering blows down on Indranil’s shield. Then he slips the club under Indranil’s defense. Indranil has the wind knocked out of him as the club slams into his belly, armored though it is. To Indranil’s right, the other two Olman futilely hammer away with their clubs on the shield and plate armor of Godric. Godric makes short work of them with his longsword. There is only one Olman warrior left. Having backed away from the pew to catch his breath, Indranil moves in again and hacks him nearly in twain with his next strike. Looking around, Godric and Indranil see that the temple is now clear.

While Godric and Indranil battle the Olman in the temple, Fingol races around the corner, skirts the back of the mission and then peeks around the next corner to see if anyone remains on the side where Lorindel had fired his arrows. He sees that there is one broken stained glass window about 10’ from the corner. Climbing over the windowsill is the Olman shaman Nauyotl. He sees Fingol and smiles, casting a shard of broken glass at Fingol’s feet. Suddenly all is darkness, as though someone had blown out the sun like a candle. Fingol can hear Nauyotl’s mocking laughter echoing all around him. Then he hears Jankin calling out to him, “Sir Fingol, follow my voice! Keep your left hand on the church to steady yourself and move forward towards me. Come forth into the light!”

Yeah, thinks Fingol, I don’t think I am going to walk toward any voices today. Fingol throws his hammer at the voice and draws his sword while yelling, “Nautotl is down here! He’s trying to escape through the window into the alley.”

Jankin, ducking away from Fingol’s wildly thrown hammer cries back, “Sir Fingol, it’s me. It’s just a spell of darkness, move out of it!”

Meanwhile, an absent look crosses Gar’s face, and then he remembers Sir Godric running into the mission with Indranil. He looks about to see if anyone needs his services and seeing that none do, he runs into the mission, dagger in hand and shield before him. The mission is dark but as his eyes adjust he sees that Godric and Indranil are standing over the corpses of three Olman warriors. The early morning light filters through most of the stained glass windows of the mission, except for the last two windows on the left where only a supernaturally thick inky blackness can be seen. Then they hear Nauyotl’s laughter and Fingol and Jankin yelling.

Godric realizes what has happened and cries out, “The darkness! Nauyotl must have summoned it to hide his escape!” Godric moves towards the broken window. Indranil remains with Sir Godric and follows him, sword and shield held at the ready. Lorindel also comes into the mission to join the others.

Fingol listens for anyone coming his way. To maximize his shot in the dark, he spreads out his shield arm hoping that whoever does come his way is just as blind as he is and may bump into him. His sword is ready for a sweeping blow, parallel to the ground. He begins to shuffle forward, slightly to the center of the alley. He slides his left foot out, keeping most of his weight on his back foot. That way, he is less likely to trip or be knocked over if someone does run into him. In moments he clears the darkness and sees that indeed it was Jankin calling to him out on the Processional. Nauyotl is nowhere in sight, and the only Olman warriors left on the Processional are dead ones. Jankin hands Fingol back his hammer without comment.

Fingol sees two dead Olman warriors in the street. One was hit in the foot by one of Lorindel’s arrows and had trailed all his blood from the alley to the point where he finally passed out in a pool of his own blood. The other has an arrow in his heart.

One Olman is still alive but moaning on the ground by the stairs of the mission. A sword wound across his chest.

“Sir Jankin, try to stabilize as many of the refugees as you can, some may yet cling to life.”

“Certainly, Sir Fingol.”  

“Oh, and Sir Jankin, send the squires back to the keep for large cart and guards so these men can be arrested.”

 ”Sure, but they should take the head of Heironeous with them,” replies Jankin. “I’ll see what I can do for this one,” he indicates the one he had cut with his sword. “I think the others are beyond any help I can give them.”

Inside, looking around the mission, Gar becomes curious. Rubbing his little Green Man, he mutters his magic mantra to see if he can feel the presence of magic or poison. He senses neither. He then notices that both Godric and Indranil seem a bit battered. Gar calls out to them, “Gentlemen, are the Olmans dead? Please watch them just in case!”

Godric and Indranil are by the still broken window. Indranil looks over and sees that Lorindel can cover the three Olman with his bow. 

Gar touches the little Green Man hanging around his neck with one hand and raises his right hand high fingers spread wide and loudly intones, “Om!” to bathe all around in healing energy. Godric and Indranil immediately feel the pain of their wounds ease, but the three dying Olman that they had laid low are also healed.

The three Olman get up and shake their heads in wonder at Gar and then start to run for the front exit but they are deterred by Lorindel who stands before the exit with his bow pointed at them. They stop and raise their hands.

“Good work, Sir Lorindel,” says Gar who walks over to Godric and Indranil.

“Not necessary,” replies Lorindel, “Just doing my part. Besides, I don’t take very kindly to a spear to the gut.”

“Thank you, milords, for your bravery and skill to win back the mission this merry morning! I do hope Sir Fingol and Sir Jankin are okay out there?” Gar walks up and stands perhaps a bit too close to Sir Godric, peering through the broken stained glass window.

Looking over the toppled guano begrimed statue of Heironeous, Lorindel says, “I guess we should get that cleaned off and set upright.”

Fingol walks in and surveys the mission. He sees Godric, Indranil, and Gar are peering at the darkness Nauyotl summoned through the broken stained glass window on the far left. It fades finally as he comes in. Lorindel has his bow drawn on three captive Olman, who look like they were bloodied up but then healed. They are on their knees with their hands on their heads. 

Indranil begins cleaning his sword then puts it away and slings his shield across his back. He turns to Sir Godric and says, “My lord, are you well?”

“I’m fine,” replies Godric, “though my ears are still ringing just a bit from that blow. Father Gar’s helped that considerably though.” He smiles at Gar.

Indranil then turns and bows to Father Gar, “Father Gar, again I am at your service. My thanks for the healing it was timely and welcome. I took quite a hit from the Olman warrior’s club.

“I would like to secure the statue and transport it back to the palace for cleaning and safe keeping and then secure the mission until the priests can return to clean and restore it lest it be further defaced and used my nefarious forces.”

“Ewww, that looks nasty,” responds Gar. “Sir Godric, how about we clean the statue with a little Storm Blast, instead of touching the bat guano?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” says Godric. “But even clean, we should leave it until those priests who know what they are doing can dismantle the statue and cart it away for restoration. We’d just damage it further I fear.”

“I am happy to be of service milords,” Gar bows to Indranil and Godric, and then walks over to the statue on the floor positioning his back to the altar to avoid any desecrating splash. He rubs his little Green Man with one hand and uses his right hand to project blasts of wind and water to scrub the holy head of Heironeous clean.

Indranil replies, “Well I for one think it sacrilegious to leave it unguarded clean or not. I don’t need a priest to tell me to do the right thing to protect a consecrated image of Heironeous! I swore an oath to protect and ally with the Good. I will not leave Heironeous’ statue behind unguarded. If the group doesn’t want to take it back then I suggest we send a fleet-footed messenger back to the Temple requesting immediate assistance while the rest of us wait here guarding the statue and making an effort to clean up and secure the mission while waiting to be relieved by the Heironeans.”

“By the Seven Heavens!” exclaims Godric. “I certainly didn’t mean to leave either the statue or the mission unguarded again, not at all. I concur that we should send the squires back at least to bring more help.”

Fingol speaks up, “I already asked Sir Jankin to send the squires back to the keep for guards and a wagon to take back the captured Olmans. Let’s keep them here until the guards come. Otherwise they might well escape.”

Gar walks over to the head. “Can someone please hold the godhead while I storm blast him clean?”

Indranil whispers to Sir Godric, “By the Gods! How can someone be so irritating and valuable at the same time!? I may never understand Father Gar, but I am glad he is with us.”

Godric laughs. “Yes, he’s a funny little punster he is. Not like the other stuffed suits in the palace. I guess that’s why I like him.”

One of the squires comes up to help Gar with the head. “Sir Jankin asked me to put it in the cart after its clean, good priest.”

“Well, I think we should do something with this lot,” says Lorindel as he motions towards the Olman with his bow. “I’ve got some rope in my pack if anyone wants to retrieve it.”

Fingol walks over and helps the squire take the head back to the cart now that it is clean. Jankin has already bound up the wounded Olman’s ribs using some rags and put him on the cart.

That is when Fingol and Jankin notice that from the direction of the keep a whole platoon of the Guard are heading down the Processional led by Commander Gorman in full plate armor and shield and mounted on his warhorse. The Guard is fully armed and armored in their standard gear but at the moment they are all holding spears with padded tips, and they each have a club and manacles thrust into their belts. Among their ranks Fingol sees Rain.

“What are you all doing out here?” shouts Commander Gorman. “Didn’t the messengers tell you that the Olman are gathering at the docks! There may be a riot on our hands any moment.”

Just then, down the Processional towards Riverside, they all hear loud chanting and the sound of drums. When Fingol looks that way he sees a mob of Olman, mostly young men. They are waving clubs, throwing rocks, and brandishing torches. The shaman Nauyotl is in front screaming, “Onward my Olman Brothers! Annihilate these High and Mighties and we shall have this city to ourselves – in the name of Camazotz!”