The templar took his time. The day was still warm and he had been riding for hours. Everything ached and he enjoyed the time he suddenly had to stretch his legs. It was only after Emilio, Bill, and Bolstead had eaten that Emilio started on the task of trying to find a way onto the island.
Emilio rode along the edge of the shore with Bolstead to see if different perspective would bring enlightenment, as the priests said but when his search offered no new insights after several minutes, Emilio cursed quietly under his breath. He dismounted and paced the waterline, staring at the island. He could hear the jeers if he went home empty handed, "Sir Arand scared of a little water!" He grit his teeth and set his jaw.
After many more minutes growling at the water, Emilio grabbed a river stone from the ground and hurled it across the surface of the water. It skidded to a stop halfway between the shore and the island. He stared at it in disbelief. There was a hidden way, perhaps his luck wasn't so bad today.
He gathered more stones and tossed them towards the island until he had revealed with 13 stones the way across. He left Bolstead to graze and pulled his helmet back on, securing it back into place once more before he drew his rifle and stepped onto the path. The submerged walkway groaned and gurgled as his weight shifted onto it but it held. Each step he took held the fear of falling through the waterlogged planks until he was finally on the island. Bill shook water everywhere as he re-emerged from the lake behind him.
"That wasn't so bad," Emilio murmured to Bill. The dog happily wagged his tail in response.
Thick vines strangled the large willow trees that had reclaimed the island from the elves that had once gathered here for worship. Emilio gripped the rifle tightly as he made his way towards the glittering he saw earlier. Old ruined, moss covered stone carvings bordered what was once a walking trail. He could not understand the elvish writing but he recognized some of the glyphs that represented the First Children, their shared gods with the elves.
The three wave tops for Laima stood opposite of a spiral representing Mara, Emilio supposed that this made sense fate was inevitably tied to death.
The pairing of the righteous arrow of Teiwaz opposite to the lightning bolt of Perkons was curious. He never considered them truly related or in opposition so perhaps there was something more to why these stones were arranged this way. It was something to ask the Fleur about when he returned to the temple with his report.
And finally the brilliant sun of Saule stood across the path from the pale moon of her husband, Meneo, the only symbols that seemed to truly mirror one another of the stones before the ruins themselves. The elaborate circular carvings on the ruins on either side of the dilapidated doorway were symbols in true opposition, the symbol of the Word across from its shadow, the one that represented the aphotics.
He sensed that something was off, the temple was falling apart but it still held power. Bill growled as his hackles raised. The hair on the back of Sir Arand's neck stood on end. For a moment, the symbol of the Church of the Holy Sword emblazoned on his breastplate blazed red as he crossed the ruins' threshold. His amber eyes widened. He had never seen his armor do that before. Emilio decided that he did not want to go into the darkness after all. Bill prowled ahead of Emilio, set to the task that his master wanted no part of.
Sir Arand stared after the dog and sighed. He reached into a pouch at his waist and produced a small glowing orb. He tapped it and it floated into the air in front of him and illuminated the red stone corridor. The orb was one of the small concessions of off-world technology that the Church permitted the Templars to use. Torches were not the best things to wield with a rifle that used black powder, so floating light orbs were the better answer than either Heartstone or magic. He did not know how the orbs worked, but all he cared to know was that it worked and was durable.
He resettled the butt of the rifle into his shoulder and advanced into the ruins. The walls were slick from humidity and water dripped down in thick rivulets, looking for all of Emilio's imagination like blood. His cautious footsteps echoed, marking his descent downwards. His heartbeat was suddenly too loud in his ears but no other sounds penetrated the stone.
The corridor narrowed before it widened again into a larger chamber. The orb's illumination was not enough to reveal more than a 20 foot radius around him. Water dripped from a high ceiling into stagnant pools on the floor. Time had worn away the finer details of the elaborately carved walls. It peaked his interest enough to run a gloved hand down the length of the carving closest to him featuring a buxom elven maiden holding a gnarled staff high while she fought a twisted monstrosity that he knew in his soul to be an aphotic. Is that staff the thing I'm looking for?
Emilio moved away from the wall, gravitating towards the center of the room as he looked for the object that was supposedly enshrined there. "Bill!" He hissed, "Get back here!" He paused and listened but, there was no response. Where did that damn dog go?
An isolated ray of illumination shone upon smooth stone steps spiraled down to a dais at the temple's heart. The templar circled the edge of the stairs, staring down. He saw an object but it didn't look a staff- it looked more like a… tomb. The thought made his skin crawl.
He saw no movement in the shadows beyond the orb or the tomb. He hesitated before he carefully descended the slick stairs. The clinking of his armor echoed softly around him, each step sounded vulgar as it disturbed the reverent silence.
"Templars are grave robbers these days?" A feminine voice inquired from the darkness behind him.
Emilio spun about, firing his rifle at the phantom voice. The gun thundered, echoing throughout the chamber as the shot splintered against crimson stone. As the barrel smoked, the templar instinctively cleared the cartridge and reloaded without looking as he searched for the speaker. He knew from the sound that he had not hit anything of flesh and blood. He hoped that it meant he was putting down a living elf vice an undead one.
"Nice shot," a light breeze curled around the chamber and spread the woman's voice in a taunting echo around him. He couldn't place the source in the shadows.
'I have to draw her out,' he thought irritably.
"I'm surprised you found the way across, good job with the stones. I wondered if you would swim or sink to walk across the bottom of the lake," she continued everywhere and nowhere all at once.
He loudly snapped the breech closed as he pulled the rifle back up to his shoulder. Where the hell is Bill? "Was your plan to talk me to death?" He snapped. 'She sounds cute for... a dead woman.'
"Why don't you show your pretty face and let me see what a ghost looks like?"
Emilio advanced up the steps, vainly searching for the mage. Out of the corner of his eye, just outside of his range of vision in his helmet, he saw movement. He gripped the rifle tighter and clenched his jaw. 'Did she notice that I noticed her? Have to play it off that I didn't until I can get a clear shot. Or until Bill's furry arse gets in here.'
Off in another part of the temple he faintly heard ferocious barking and noises of a struggle. There was a sudden release of pressure in his ears as something shifted. The sounds returned in layers, first it was distant bird song, followed by the dripping of water before it concluded with the pounding of his heart. The chamber brightened as more light poured through holes in the exposed roof and motes of dust glittered before him. All at once he smelled stagnant water, rotting leaves, damp stone, his salty sweat, and a sweeter familiar scent of what must have been incense.
'What in Teiwaz's holy name just happened?'
"You have to find me before you name me a ghost," the tone of the mage's voice was flirtatious. Emilio tried to remember when he last heard a woman speak to him in that tone and couldn't place a moment. His grandmother had painstakingly taught him that gentlemen didn't go philandering. And Sir Emilio Arand, templar of the Church's Holy Sword, heir to the noble House Arand, son of General Marius Arand was nothing short of a proper gentleman. He flushed crimson, suddenly grateful that his face was obscured by the visor of his helmet.
"Don't worry about that, I am going to find you. You know what will happen if I do, so this game is pointless," he slowly turned as he scanned the chamber, returning to the top of the steps. He avoided pausing his search too long at where he saw the movement.
"Are you you going to take me and beg for my name?"
He tightly gripped the rifle as she knocked the wind out of him without touching him. 'What is she on about?! Are the stories true then? Do other templars get bespelled into a elf witch's bed?' He stood dumbfounded as he tried to regain his senses.
"Ooh, a virgin?" The weight of her voice was at his shoulder. Startled, Emilio automatically whirled towards the sound and fired. The report thundered more loudly than it had before. The ground beneath him quaked in sympathetic response to the blast as the shot tore into more crimson stone.
"Harlot," he growled, struggling to keep his footing as the stone floor broke apart. He searched for the mage to no avail. 'Damn her!' His world tipped sideways and he scrambled to get away from the effect of the spell.
Above him, he saw an open doorway that led back out to the greenery of the island. The hidden door swayed back and forth as a figure darted through. 'That little…' He thought sourly as he quickly recomposed himself. Emilio judged the distance between where he was dangling to where there was still solid floor. 'I can make it!'
He hefted the combined weight of his body and his armor up until he was crouching precariously on the edge of the stone floor and leapt. He reached out to grab the doorway and came up short. His plate clattered against hardened stone and screeched as it scraped backwards towards the deepening pit. 'No! No! No!'
Emilio cursed loudly as he desperately scrambled, catching himself at the precipice of safety and death. He pulled himself onto solid ground. Each breath hurt more than the last as he panted. His eyes drifted to his weapon, the barrel was bent. 'It'll be no good until I get it back to the smith. Where is that witch?!' He glowered, re-slinging the useless rifle on his back as he pulled himself to his feet.
"BILL! Here!" He called, holding out hope that Bill wasn't trapped inside.
A sharp bark came in response outside of the temple.
'Good, Bill's not going to get caught in this then.'
The templar drew his longsword from its sheath as he broke into a run. He had to find the mage. Everything ached. He had to at least kill the damn witch if he couldn't recover the artifact.
'Apostate, the term is apostate, for someone that forsakes Teiwaz to use the Word,' came the scathing memory of his mentor. 'A witch is, more or less, a magician that deals in herbs and potions, Emilio. If you can't tell the difference between a rogue mage and a witch you are going to have a hard time as a templar!' His instructor had laughed and slapped him on the back. He knew the difference but he was irritated.
He ran after the fleeting glimpses of what he thought was a green cloak until they had reached a higher portion of the island. He hadn't recalled the island being this tall before. 'Is it more magic? Is this the true effect of the earthquake?'