The Power of Ten

The place we pulled into first was obviously devoted to Harse, the Ivory King, if the scales out front and the white décor meant anything, smacking me in the face with the obvious.

I took note of the nomenclature and ornamentation. Different temples and churches belonged to different Orders of their gods, emphasizing this or that different aspect of them.

Harse was Eminent in Justice, the intersection of Law and Good, being the god of laws used properly for the benefit of the high and low, and so He stood at the apex of Law and Good, the greatest of the gods of white and silver. Although some would quietly argue Mithar was greater, Mithar had no temples, only shrines in the temples of other gods.

His other interests were Protection, especially of the innocent, and Death, in his role as Judge of the Living and the Dead.

This temple was devoted to the Good and Protection aspects, evidenced by the prominent suns and shields here and there, the Order of the Ivory Walls being the most popular of His Orders among the living. The skulls in the iconography denoted his influence over death, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they handled more funerals and disposed of more corpses permanently than any other Church in town, to the point of other churches using them for funeral services in mutual respect.

That hardly meant the Law aspect was going to be ignored, as Harsites tended to be heavily involved in the governance of their communities, be it judicial, administrative, enforcement, or executive. Harsites got involved, considering it a sacred obligation to keep communities on course and righteous, and indeed, not having them around was usually because someone else was keeping them out by any method they could.

My eyes traveled left, to the sprawling hospital and its grounds there, naturally also a holy ground to Amana the Mother.

Amana was the wife of Harse, and reputedly the only one who could overturn His judgements in the name of Mercy. Thus, She was Eminent in Mercy... and as a result, also in Healing. The best healers in the world were always the Hands of Amana... and pretty much always women, too.

Wouldn’t that have been a change in the male-dominated medical profession. There were plenty of healers out there, by various means, but nobody healed like Amana’s Own. It would have turned the medical profession on its head.

The heart of Her power was how readily Her faith would accept even the least talented Powered. Even if they could only reach One in Her faith, simply by taking Dedicated Healer, which allowed you to sub your Healing Ranks for your Divine Caster Level for healing spells, they could rise to become skilled and powerful users of Healing Magic, and in their old age, they could get to Four, then Five, then Six, and rapidly go up the Ranks. Young, novice Amanans might be weak, but the older ones could get strong quickly. A Cleric/Expert 1/4 had the healing power of a Four, even if they didn’t have the spells.

Amana only had two Orders: the White Hands and the White Robes. The White Hands were aimed towards the Good/Healing mix, and tended to serve more rural communities and in more diverse ways, being less tied to a specific place, going where they felt the Mother wanted them. The White Robes tended to be the Community-Lawful/Healing side, and tended to stay in place and care for a residential area.

By default, a hospital in a city was going to be dominated by White Robes. Setting a place devoted to life next to a place concerned with death often seemed odd to people, but the Churches themselves considered it only proper.

“There’s a branch of the Ivory Staves here?” I asked Sir Pellier, after we all bailed out of the car and stretched a moment.

“Yes. It’s not a training center, per se, but they keep a hall here for White Necromancers and members of the Hallowed Bones to use. It’s nothing like the Ossuary in Boston, of course, but that gets White Necros from all over the world.” He had a grim respect for the holy mages who worked with the dead, as they were often among the most fervent pursuers of justice alive.

“Boneheads,” Helix shivered, and both of us turned a cool eye on him. “What? They work with the dead! Necromancy gives me more heebie-jeebies than the undead do!”

I had to blink, looked at Sir Pellier, who looked back, and we both shrugged.

“I mean, if this isn’t going to take you long, I can just wait out here by the car,” he began, and I reached out, grabbed his sleeve, and dragged him after us.

“There’s going to be a Shrine to Mithar in this place, which means to Tiirith. How long has it been since you told your adventures to Mithar’s Son?”

He kind of gaped at me, but let himself be dragged forwards. “Well, the gods can’t hear what we are saying anyhow...” he started to protest, and I just snorted.

“You ever been to a metal concert?” They didn’t call them rock concerts here. He nodded and was about to start expounding when I continued. “Can the singers up on the stage hear a single word from the crowd?” His mouth opened, closed. “No. But they can feel them. Every single voice out there, calling out to them. You don’t have to understand a word they are saying to feel the thunder in the soul!”

I dragged him through the glass doors, which were strictly ornamental, as there were reinforced barriers overhead which could be dropped down for protection if needed.

“And who can Tiirith hear best? Why, those who know the Heartsong!” He stopped walking in utter astonishment, and I let his sleeve go. “So go. Go into the stadium hall to Tiirith. Realize that you are standing in His stadium with countless numbers across countless worlds, and even if He can’t make out the words, He can feel your thunder!”

My voice dropped as he stared at me in astonishment. “And c’mon, you’ve got all sorts of things to tell Him. It’ll be good for you to get them off your chest.”

His face twitched. After all, he’d just gotten his soul shredded a few hours ago. Whether he liked it or not, he had been driven to it by the machinations of someone who was not his friend, he had the willpower to see it through, and he was going to come out of it stronger.

It was a life-changing event, and if Tiirith was his god, he should tell Him about it.

“Down that hall and to the right,” Sir Pellier said helpfully. A little wide-eyed that he was doing this in a church of Harse, the Stormblooded wandered off in that direction, looking for the Mitharn Shrine.

“That was well-said,” the Paladin complemented me. “I’ll need to go down there before we leave, too...”

“As should I,” I sighed, wondering just what an Ur-Priestess was doing in a place like this...

----

Unlike many churches in a modern world, the churches of this one were basically open all the time. While services were at scheduled times, people coming for magic, fellow Priests, and emergencies could happen at any time, especially at night. There were Initiates and lay people here and there, going about their business, who were quick to guide us where we needed to go once they saw the silver sword on sun that Sir Pellier was wearing, and more importantly, felt the Aura of Courage about him.

If me automatically putting my thumb in my ear so I could Comprehend

The White Necromancer we talked to was clearly still an Initiate, still a Three, but he was thirty years old and probably good at his job. He was reading a tome or something, such a thing in Human meaning a book that dealt with magical subjects, and not something mass printed for consumption. He was a bit excited as he rose to greet us, obviously expecting us.

“Sir Pellier, Miss Traveler,” he smiled, reaching out to shake hands, which I took firmly, as did Sir Pellier. “Initiate Hugo... oops, Bleached,” he grinned, running a hand over his shock of early white hair. His pupils had gone black from his specialization, giving him a somber and dire gaze, although unlike me, his whites were still intact. “Father Bower called ahead. I have to say we were a bit surprised at his requests.” He eyed me with interest.

I spread my hands. “Caster need staff. Go hunt for staff.” I made run-around motions with two fingers. “Aie! Church of Harse, first stop. Hope have staff.”

He smiled despite himself, obviously amused. “Well, we have lesser, unenchanted staves we keep here for emergency situations, if a member of the Order loses their Implement. Are you certain you want a staff, and not a wand or orb?”

“All travelers need to carry a staff,” I replied calmly, and he laughed and waved us with him, opening a door behind himself and going into the room beyond.

There was a steel vaulted door there, currently open and waiting for us. It had lots of inscriptions on it of various sorts, and all of them pulsed with subtle power, reinforcing the active wards of the temple’s sanctified ground.

The underground storage area of the wing was cool and dry, which made sense considering the number of books and tomes and things down there.

I had to ask, “Pardon me for not knowing, but where exactly did all these tomes come from in such a short amount of time?”

“Madmen,” he replied with a sigh. “Vestigial Powered, often with high Intellect or Charisma and so potentially sensitive to arcane power, and then often abysmally low in other areas, making them vulnerable to outside influences.”

He gave me a careful look. “You know there were magical beings around before the Shroud, but with magic so weak, they basically only existed in the shadows, and rare places of power, right?” No and yes, so I nodded. They certainly existed before the Shroud, if you included off-world. “So, they had very subtle influence in the world, but with magic being stronger, some came out of hiding, and are, shall I say, making their presence known.”

Right through the Veil? No, that wasn’t right. Divine powers and extraplanars couldn’t reach through the Shroud... they might get Summoned here, but would be trapped if they did... and end up slaves to the Hierophant, or undead themselves, if they were weak.

So, if people’s heads were being fucked with, it was by things already here. Stuff caught by the Haze and Shroud, more than likely...

“You’re not talking about the vampire and werefolk clans, right?” Sir Pellier asked curiously, as we stopped in front of another locked door.

Initiate Hugo the Bleached messed with the lock after chanting under his breath for a bit, making some lights of nasty Runes flare up and dim. “No. They were basically forced into the spotlight because of the Shroud. There’s other Old Things out there, stirring up, buried for who knows how long, or maybe they were only looking in on our world before, and are mucking around a little more now, through their catspaws.”

I definitely kept my face straight at the mention of werefolk and vampire clans living out in the open.

He worked the door open, and stood back. “Have your pick from anything on the left.”

I glanced at the two on the right, which glowed with faint holy runework to my eyes. Magic Staves for combat, not true Staffs.

I flicked an Assay up as I looked over the rest, over a dozen in total. Most were of wood, half of those of oak or ash, a couple of ebony or mahogany. All had been lovingly carved and treated, weighty head thumpers as well as implements.

Three of them were not of wood. One was a wire-wound copper and silver thing, which was probably functional, but much too garish. The second looked to have been made from elephant ivory, Boneshaped into a useful form. The last...

“Is that a femur?” I had to ask. It was as long as I was tall!