The Lost Temple of Dirthamen

[mythalenaste]

WHO: Pel, Merrill, Galadriel, and Zevran
WHAT: A study of the Temple of Dirthamen
WHEN: Drakonis 18
WHERE: Northern Orlais
NOTES: Violence, horror

Years ago, Lord Gretien Faulx was determined to prove that the priests of Dirthamen had foretelling abilities from magic, not divine gift. His group went into the Temple of Dirthamen and was never heard from again.

Now the Inquisition sends a group of four people to investigate this temple, its location revealed by the translation of Veilfire runes.

Comments

[mythalenaste]

"What is it?" Pel still can't look, pressed trembling against Zevran's side. Deep breaths. Squeegeeing tears from her face with her hands. When she speaks again, she sounds a little calmer. "Let me see. Let me see."

She peels away from Zevran, still trembling. Relieved to see that the head is hidden, she approaches the brazier where it lay. But the fire is gone.

"What...what did you see? What is the matter, Galadriel? Was it immersed in Veilfire?"

Just gonna do a quick tag, slightly out of order.

[laurenande]

That Pel had approached first, despite her distress, spoke well of her determination. Galadriel regarded her for a moment, disgust still lingering on her features, and finally motioned to the bag.

"Nay, it was not--the head..." she paused, but she would not do Pel the disservice of withholding the truth. "It lives yet."

Me too

[mythalenaste]

There's a beat of silence when Pel is standing in the woods, the splash of water becoming the crunch of dead leaves and fallen twigs. She is holding Merrick instead of Zevran, and Elan's head is at his feet. Staring up, still bleeding, eyelids still fluttering--

To the outsider, it looks like Pel has completely vacated her body. For an instant, she is a wax doll, unresponsive and lifeless. Then the forest floor becomes water again, and she sucks in a sharp breath. Instead of being intelligible, she starts muttering to herself under her breath, then steps toward the altar, shaking like a leaf. She has to work. She has to remember where she isn't.

"Veilfire...Veilfire. Then it was the altar and not the head that kept the Veilfire and...the head. It's still alive because it's being kept alive, and Veilfire can...Veilfire spells could..."

What follows is a long, quiet stream of obscenity before she picks back up where she left off.

"It's like a rune, except they used..." Nonono no magic jargon, get to the point. "The High Priest is alive. Not just his body. At least, I think. Faulx didn't need to reassemble him. The...no. I'll have to see more to say for sure. Just...keep that," she indicates the bag, "where I can't see it. Just now. I can't look at it."

[chainlightning]

For her part, Merrill quickly pulls the bag closed -- enough that the head is in no danger of falling out, at least. Still alive. She shudders, looking down at the bag with wide eyes, but her grip does not falter. It doesn't change the fact that this priest should not have to continue to suffer.

"Alive or something like it, at least," Merrill breathes, shaking her head again and then looking back up at the others. "It's strong magic either way, to keep him in this state for so long. And if they didn't want him brought back, there's probably going to be a trap as soon as we move, so-" Don't mind her fastening the bag to her belt and getting a firm grip on her staff.

"Either way, there have to be more pieces of the-" body "-puzzle around."

[laurenande]

Galadriel is not distraught as Merrill takes the bag from her, though she finds she is disquieted anew once the bag leaves her grip. She ignores the sensation, as best she can, and reclaims her glaive.

The temple feels as though it has drawn a deep breath and held it, like a cold draft pulled beneath the stone doors of a crypt, and she is uncertain if it is likely to release it soon. She steps away from the altar, very carefully, and into the water once more--fortunately, nothing greets her movements but weighty silence.

"Then let us search. Zevran, I trust, can assist with traps--else I will dispatch anything more...sinister that comes of this ritual."

[ombranera]

"Right. Let me make a polite request that if there is ever a magical means of preserving me after I've been killed and it involves my living like this? Don't." This was no way to live. It isn't even living as best he can tell. Simply...

Existing. It must be some manner of punishment. He cannot think of any other reason, though now he wonders if the thing is simply flesh that breaths or if the mind that was once in the skull lingers still and-

He shakes it off, focusing on the water, the ripples, any traps or tricks or line of wire.

Pressure plates would be his guess, those wouldn't have been set off by the water. Not yet. "Mind your step."