Chapter 4 - The Goddess Smiles Upon You

A deafening click and the groans of shifting gears pierces the domed cavern with a short period of life as the fortress ignites with an almost blinding luminosity as Halgar shoves his way through its hefty metal doors. Namiah gasps after adjusting her sight from the abrasive lighting. A spherical vestibule stacked with crammed bookshelves and fine layers of dust greets them upon entry. However, that wasn't what earned the shocked expression from the halfling.

Skeletons scatter the ground, some detached from their former. Tattered blue robes stained with dark blotches were strewn down on the ceramic floor. Dried blood. It didn't just stop at the robes of the poor scholars from the past. It climbed the stone walls like a canvas with splattered paint and it settled in desert pools on the oddly intact ceramic under their heels.

"See, I told you so. You probably saw a ghost," the lad announces flatly, his eyes tracing the fleshless hand reaching at his boot, then saunters off to the open hall disregarding the occasional crunch under his steps.

"Arsehole," Namiah growls under her breath at his ill-mannered display towards the fallen mages.

Bending a single knee to a stainless spot on the ground, the redhead begins to whisper a prayer for the dead, asking for her Goddess' aid to guide their souls safely to Evarikus: the realm best suited for the afterlife. In the perspective of the less devout, Halgar only sees these divine rituals as a waste of time and a distraction from their pursuits.

He'd asked before whether the elfin halfbreed was going to do this for every single corpse they stumbled across only to get a firm answer of a far too long explanation and burning insults thrown at his capacity to shed any compassion at all. Long story short, it was an unshakable, "Aye, you heartless lout!"

Any complaints about it were now said under his breath or just rolled off with his eyes while his back faced her. Despite his very vocal resentment towards gods and religion, he does believe that there's a greater force out there watching over them. Not out of kindness though. More like a spectator to watch the world they created burn itself into ashes sort of way. He's experienced enough severity from his upbringing to believe that gods don't give a rat's arse about the wellbeing of those that worship them on their high, ethereal pedestal.

And speaking of gods, several of them had lined the walls of the corridor, standing at attention to greet the lad in their frozen positions. They were the 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘪𝘤 𝘛𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘷𝘦 (the oldest gods known from ancient lore), beginning from one of the larger statues that stood at the center alone. Rosaphiné, the Goddess of Creation and Motherhood, had established herself between the stone walls cradling a marble infant in her arms as vines intertwined around her bare legs. Flowers flourished down her smooth, marble skin, covering the most sacred parts of her body. And at her feet laid a fawn, on her shoulder perched a magnificent fowl with polished paeastones for eyes.

He'd seen her everywhere in Rosavall, in town squares with a nearly exact same design, on top of rooftops of the devouts' place of worship, even on bakery signs or tavern mugs. Her face is even carved into the gold darios to accentuate its worth and her significance in Rosavall. Point is, her existence is celebrated constantly to where Halgar avoids the busier streets from his town to drown out the minstrels who sing of her and those incessant preachers who guilts those who pass by into donating a coin or two--preferably silver or gold--for their "cause".

He respected the hustle and even more so seeing that they were capitalizing off from religion. Even Namiah had loosened her coin pouch to donate to sketchy bald men in ragged cleric robes. Bless that lass' generosity and virtue. She knew that most were charlatans. Yet, out of stupidity or just extreme kindness from her soul--Halgar assessing her actions as both--she still gave what she had left in her pouch.

Blinking back to the present, the lad focuses back on the enormous piece of rock in front of him.

With her head tilted down towards the infant, it might even seem like she was eyeing his much smaller appearance, his tufts of curls reaching only up to her waist. A judgemental stare that only a disappointed mother can give to her child seem to glint off from her serene expression. Halgar scoffs at the thought, narrowing his dark eyes at her empty sockets. It was a silent taunt, a challenge of some sort to see whether he'd go blind from staring straight into the eyes of the "Great Divine". A belief that's been long practiced and still upheld until now, clerics refusing to look into the eyes of the Goddess and instead bows to her statues with their lips grazing at her feet.

Halgar found the practice appalling and almost humorous in a way. Seeing how lightning hasn't struck him blind yet, he strides past her imposing physique and moves onto the next room.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

The lad came to a deadstop right at the feet of Quinaktu, the Goddess of Death, as a torrent of voices were resonating painfully against his skull. He could almost taste the irony as the voices became louder and shrill to the point where his vision was starting to blur.

𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘣𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦. 𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘸!

His legs snap to the ground with a hand flying to the side of his temple, Halgar yells for his elfin companion. The halfling was already at the wide entrance of the corridor and was almost taken aback from the enormous figure of the Mother Goddess and the other impressively grand figures against the walls behind her.

That's when dread gripped at her throat. The vacant countenance of the stone figures had all, but one had their heads turned towards her curly haired partner who sat incapacitated on the ceramic floor.

"Oh shi--" The Mother Goddess already had a hand swinging at her direction, cutting the redhead's moment of realization at a short notice.

She ducks just in time and sprints forward, not hesitating to take a glance at the now mobile statue of her own Goddess readying her arm to propel her crystal sphere into their skulls. Making it just in time to wrap her hands around her human partner's forearm, Namiah desperately tries to haul him to his feet.

"Get up! Get up, you oaf!" she screams, the terror of being trampled by her favorite religious figure spreading thick in her words.

"Fuck… you," the lad barely manages to spat out as he pushes himself off the ground, wincing from the wailing clutter thrashing inside his head. He follows the halfling with as much urgence in his steps, narrowly missing the stone projectiles of the deities' and the ground-shattering strike from the War God's very realistic and visibly not stone-crafted greatsword.

The two make it into the next room, having enough time to slam the doors behind them and sliding its wooden lock into place. Only problem is how long would the flimsy blockade hold off enormous figurines made of stone?

The doors weren't exactly made of the most heaviest nor durable materials made to withstand a stampede of moving sculptures. And by the rattling sound of the hinges and the trembling of the wood, the two knew that they didn't have much time to wait and see if it could.

"And you wonder why I'm not religious," Halgar grunts with his fingers rubbing hard circles into his temples.

"They were enchanted by a powerful spell, you can't possibly blame the gods for this," Namiah exasperates with her arms crossing across her chest.

"Yes! Of course, it's fucking magic," The lad laughs humorlessly, then sighs drinking in their grave circumstance. "Well, what do you propose we should do next? Since, fighting off moving boulders isn't exactly in our favor at the moment."

The halfling nods in compliance, almost smiling at the question. She knew--they both knew--that this was now beyond the lad's general skillsets. 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴. There were several passages that opened before them, only one leading to what they initially came for. Not enough time to do a bit of treasure sweeping, but to squeeze in a divination spell? That, Namiah could do without exhausting much of her magic reservoir.

"Halgar, hold them off for me will ya?" The halfling winks at the lad who's already on the move to toppling down bookshelves and pushing them against the violently shuddering barricade behind them.

"Just hurry up before I die from the most ironic death possible!" Halgar huffs from his position against the bookshelves, his right hand batting away the hurricane of dust surrounding him while the other covers the lower half of his face with his sleeve.

It was a rare sight, that frantic pleading in his dark eyes that called for her help oh so desperately. The redhead would've taken in a few more seconds to revel in it, but alas, she didn't have any plans on meeting Quinaktu at this very moment.

"Death can wait," she says coolly, spreading both her palms over the stone archways that encircled them. The glint of her pale green irises disappear for only a mere second as an array of visions through every corridor manifests itself through her mind. They were fast, images only lasting long enough for her to decipher that the second path to their farthest left led further underground to a cobweb infested room filled with paeastones shaped into sarcophagi. All built in neat rows. And on the walls were ceramic vessels plated with gold, engraved in them were symbols that the halfling couldn't interpret from its brief exposure.

"This way, Hal!" she waves to the lad struggling to keep his back against the barricade.

There were deep protrusions riddling the metal of the doors behind them, in any moment the hinges would give in to the tremors and they'd both become the next piece of history alongside the other corpses at the entrance.

Vibrations rush through Halgar's spine as the metal screeches against the laceration of the War God's monstrous blade. He narrowly dodges its swing just as it tears right across his scalp. He flings himself into the dark corridor, following the halfling at her heels, hastening their pace at the sound of wood splintering and the reverberating roar of wrenching metal.

Deeper into the narrowing corridor, the light shimmers to a dim glow. Lanterns hang from the ceiling, the paeastones inside their glass chambers imitate the gentle luminance of the moon. The air stiffens and the smell of damp soil breezes pass them. They were far enough into the tunnel that the size of its mouth can only allow them entry to the next room. A relief that the two noticed as they reach the opening of the tomb they were hired to pilfer.

"These archmages really outdid themselves," Namiah whistles, weaving through the dust-covered coffins and observing every engravement carved into its stone base. "Look! There's even an altar over there."

Not really understanding the enthusiasm about a tomb filled with--well--the dead, Halgar reaches for the curled parchment paper in the pocket of his satchel. The contract worth forty-thousand darios that the scholar and the two Kingsbane members had signed in agreement to fulfill the employer's request had been carefully tucked away after ending the short discussion on what that request was. Their guild wasn't so big on the "why" parts of requests, as long as the members were being paid good coin, it's always been a 𝘺𝘦𝘴 or 𝘯𝘰 type of job.

Unfurling the crisp yellow sheet in his hands, he walks towards the carved in shelves of stone across the tomb. Potted ashes of cremated mages were planted meticulously in rows as well, as if glued down to prevent any spills. Even the condition of the urns were almost spotless, apart from the sheen of dust staining the blue ceramic. Everything looked eerily in perfect condition, at least for a tomb that no one has visited for over centuries.

The lad stops beneath a paeastone lantern as he reads the request of the Fidrelle for a second time. '𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘮𝘢𝘨𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘴 𝘈𝘷𝘰𝘯 𝘝𝘩𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘤, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯 𝘒𝘭𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘣𝘦'--

His eyes traces each curve and ink drop that made up every symbol on the paper. At a single glance at the golden tablet on each urn in front of him, Halgar can already feel the mild sense of irritation settling in. "Nami," he calls to the halfling girl who comes bounding to him with what looks to be a liquor bottle in her hand.

"Look! Look what I found!" She beams at the lad, "This thing, I thought it was just some old wine, but then--" she shoves the dark bottle of liquid into his face "--it talked!"

Namiah observes her companion's reaction of her discovery with an eagerness that always confounds the lad. He'd humour her a bit with an acknowledging , "Oh," or, "Ah," and a raise of his brows whenever she found something that she thinks is worth getting all his attention for. But this, a talking wine bottle?

𝘔𝘢𝘺𝘣𝘦 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘩𝘪𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘸𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘰𝘯 𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘸𝘢𝘺 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

He cranes his head to the side from the murky liquid sloshing around for him to gawk at. "Is it… magic?"

"Shh, just listen." She tilts the dirty glass closer to the side of his face--a little too damn close for his liking--giving the stage to the wine bottle to say its dialogue.

Seeing the pure excitement on the halfling's face--even doing a doubletake to make sure she's not taking a piss at him--he fights his instinct to roll his eyes and begins to play along with her enthusiasm. He even goes so far as to lightly press his ear against the filthy glass with an expectant look.

Seconds go by and without any word from the magic alcohol beverage, Halgar's lips thins into a straight line, thick brows settling lower onto his hooded eyes, making his disinterest very apparent. "Nami--"

"Are you still there?!" a voice, deep and frantic, interjects the lad, derailing him from expressing his concern for his friend's sanity and the absurdity of what they were doing. "Help! Can you hear me? I'm in here!"

"What in Rosaphiné's arse… "

"Hey!"

Halgar snatches the bottle from the halfling, shifting it at every angle in his right hand whilst the forgotten piece of parchment hangs in his left.

"Who-who's in there?" he asks, pushing the thought of how deranged he must look if he were in a more public setting. This time the bottle answers quicker, desperation coating his words thickly.

"I need to get out of here! Help me, please! I can't leave this place on my own! You have to help me! You need to let me out!"

"He sounds like he's in trouble." Namiah reaches for the vessel in his hand, her delicate fingers seemingly determined to uncork the man trapped in there. Though, her doe eyes spark more with curiosity than genuine concern.

Halgar withdraws the wine bottle from her reach, having the advantage on height to keep it away from her grubby little hands. "We can't just let him out, this could be a trap."

"If it were, I wouldn't have shown it to you," she quips. "Now give me the stinkin' bottle, the guy needs our help!" The halfling clings onto the lad, dangling from his arm like a young alfara monkey.

Despite her size, Namiah's weight succeeds in almost dislocating his entire limb, bringing the bottle within her reach, then dropping it in her care as Halgar retreats from her, cradling his arm to his chest.

"You're so damn childish, you know that," he gruffs, scowling at the redhead from a good distance. Playing it safe, just in case if the surprise in the bottle turns out to be another vicious piece of rock or a flesh-eating demon with daggers for claws instead. Who knows? Nothing pleasant ever comes along when the two face magic imbued items or just magic itself. And it's usually the halfling's suggestions and inquisitive behaviour that bring about these unfavorable outcomes to both of them when they're out on assignments. 𝘐𝘴 𝘪𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘴𝘬 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘰 𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘥𝘪𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘺 𝘥𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘯𝘪𝘯' 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘺-𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘥𝘢𝘳𝘪𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥? 𝘈𝘵 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘵... 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘪𝘴 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦.

They'd be amongst renowned scholars who paved a way for thaumaturgy, ancient texts, historical architectures, forbidden spells, and so much more that the lad can care less about. Everything here had mainly catered to the halfling's interests and fueled her reckless curiosity thus far.

Grazing his fingers against the smooth metal of the dagger hidden under his cloak, Halgar keeps both an eye at the exit leading back up to the murderous deities and at Namiah who holds the glass in her hands. She draws it closely, scrutinizing the murky liquid inside. "If you end up releasing a flesh-eating demon, I'm leaving your arse here and I don't intend on lookin' back."

The halfling shoots him a swindler's smile. "Don't worry, I'll tell him to make it quick and painless."

"Just shut up and open the damn bottle, already," he bites back, unamused at her smug expression.