The cathedral was only the above ground area of the Temple of Trelancisk. Passageways and catacombs branched out beneath it. Stretched for miles around, with sections cut off into townsteads, taverns and homes of the followers of Trelancisk.
Bone runes lined the walls of the passages, splaying out maps of the tunnels. It resembled an ants nest, resting in the mantle of the earth.
Everett traced her fingers over the bumps of the runes imbedded into the rock as they walked. The tip tapping of the stalagmites dripping water onto the rocks below, and onto their skin, was calming. Eylara lead them into the depths, passing small indents into the rock that opened into rooms of people and skeletons going about their lives (and deaths).
She hadn't been down here as a child. The children of the temple were kept in an offshoot of the cathedral above ground, being taught in a smaller schoolroom and sleeping in dorms.
Everett wished she'd been down here that whole time. She liked enclosed spaces much more then open ones. It was one of the reasons she preferred forests too.
The runes lit up in faint pink-red glows, illuminating Eylara's frame softly and distracting Everett in her steps.
Father Drin shoved past her for being too slow at one point as they hit a stone staircase. Threads of carpet had clearly once lined the steps, but had since either worn away or been stripped off.
Everett stepped down them last, because Kritana pushing her down these was highly likely and Everett wasn't wishing on another broken bone this week.
Wind made entrance to the tunnels and flowed through the thin ventilation systems to get down there, giving a low hum that flitted up and down the passages quietly- whispering into ones ears like a lover.
Her steps rang out beneath her, and as they hit the lowest level, the space opened into a well-lit room decorated in tapestries and golden flakes and bone runes forced into the walls. Viridian and Phthallo greens made up most of the tiles, and the room itself was circular in nature, save for one side flattening out to showcase a long, wide metal crypt opening.
She kicked a rock with her shoe.
"So..what are we doing in here?" She inquired, her fingers flipping the rolled up map Kritana had handed to her. It was warm, somehow, the paper a light egg colour with lines of dark ink.
Her breath made the air misty infront of her face, and she wondered when it got cold. She could hardly feel it- her bare forearms felt fine.
Twirling herself around, Eylara gestured to the metal hatch of the crypt.
"This is where his body is supposed to be. However, all that was in here was that map. Along with the letter, and a pile of congealed blood. Kritana," Eylara gestured to Krit, stood leaning against the tiled wall with a smug wave, "-managed to figure out that the blood wasn't his. But that means someone else got in here. The door is usually deadbolted shut."
Everett huffed in boredom, sinking onto the floor like a child, "What does any of this have to do with me?"
Eylara stood over her, hands in her pockets, before she nudged the hand Everett had the map in with the tip of her boot.
"That map is gonna take us somewhere to either find him, or whomever bled out in the crypt. Maybe both."
"Sounds like a load of horse-shi-"
Father Drin scoffed with a noise more like a dying cow keeling over and forcefully kicked at the bruise on Everett's ribs.
"ACHK- FUCK, DRIN?! THE HELL WAS THAT FOR?!" Everett sat up with a jolt, scittering away from him and holding her side with her hand as she gritted her teeth.
"Dammit-" she sneered, taking in a sharp breath.
Kritana prevented Father Drin from hobbling over to her to finish doing whatever his impulses told him to, and he grumbled under his breath.
"Oh how God made one mistake in creating a heathen like you, Everett Arne Distal. She should have cast you to the crows! Thrown you to the wolves! How dare you speak in such a manner, act in such a manner, before your elder?!"
He was cut off, rather harshly, by Eylara's hand slapping the back of his nack with snap. There was no hesitation behind it. She then held his head down in a bow, forcing him into apology.
"You," she spoke calmly, "are the only person here who is pissing me off. Do not lay your hands on our guest in our God's presence. Not in such a sacred crypt. You insolent-"
Another slap.
"-Little-"
Another slap.
"- Heretical little man."
Father Drin looked on the verge of crying, holding his head and rubbing the red welting marks, wobbling on his feed.
Everett was in love. Fuck age gaps, Eylara was too amazing to think about a 200 year difference.
.
.
.
Okay maybe that would actually be an issue but her point still stood. No one had ever given Father Drin his comeuppance before.
The dusty old man staggered over his words, his frail voice failing a few times before he just yelled incoherently and stormed out.
Kritana watched him go, then looked at Everett as if she was the one to blame for this, and rolled her eyes.
Everett used her hand to pull herself up the stone wall, resting against it as she felt somewhat winded by the kicks.
"Fucking- he kicks so much harder then you'd think for a guy made of wet paper mache," Everett half-laughed. She rubbed over the bruise on her side with a deep breath.
The copper haired southener nodded quietly. She looked more annoyed at Father Drin then Everett had ever seen anyone get. Her mouth pulled into a harsh down-turn.
It was Kritana who broke the silence, looking to Verin and nabbing the map from Everett's trembling fingers.
"Could you hold this please?" She said so sweetly that Everett assumed she must have been possessed by the ghost of Sister Yvonne.
Verin took the map, unravelling it and holding it out infront of him for the women to see.
Everett's eyes trailed the maps ink lines carefully. Her brows furrowed, and she pushed away from the wall to get a closer look.