The four
friends went to bed with their heads filled with dreads: killer goblin
crossbows, fungal blights, invisible angry divine messengers and visions of
Kelloran as a demon snack at the Lost Gods Altar. It was not a restful
night. The next day, they gathered for dinner. Kelloran still looked shaken.
The other three worried silently as they ate.
“I had a
dream. “ Kelloran finally spoke. “I don’t know if it is my dream or some
divine vision, but there is a connection between the blight, the
otherworldly beast Thomas saw and the unseen messengers. I think we need to
start somewhere and I think it’s with the angels.”
The four
looked at each other for a moment before Chells spoke. “Okay, let’s start
reading.”
Many, many
hour passed. Leafing through the oldest scrolls of the library, Stone,
Kelloran and Chells continued to try to find out the secret of the silent
angry ones and the divine Messengers. Thomas dozes in the corner. The
alchemist drifted off to sleep while the other three chattered on about
their own half-baked theories about who or what the unseen visitors are.
Chuckling, the trio quietly buried Thomas' slumbering form in the stacks of
discarded scrolls.
They had
gotten into the more rare theological scrolls that discussed divine entities
that hold a rank lesser than Deity. They had read all about Elder Spirits
such as the Telltales, the Damned Musician and the Gatekeeper and muse
agents like the Wild Huntsman and the Crier of Fate's Warning. They all
decided that none of these descriptions fit the Messengers but there was no
lore about Angels in the Fallenstar Library. The three friends skimmed
through more scrolls and cracked-wise about where Rowan hid the scrolls on
angels before she vanished.
A sudden
rustle of cascading scrolls startled them as Thomas arose from his
plot-induced stupor.
''You guys
suck." he muttered as he swiped off the last of the clinging scrolls. ''So
why don't I just cast Limited Retrocog to see where the angel scrolls were
last seen?"
Kelloran
thought for a moment. ''That's actually a good idea Thomas."
"Go back to
sleep Thomas and think up something else." Stone quipped.
"JuSt CaSt
ThE sPeLL ThOmAs." Chells retorted in that ghostly voice he gets when he is
tired or transitioning between life and death.
The drowsy
alchemist took a moment to clear his head before casting his spell. In his
mind's eye, Thomas saw a window to the past open and he directed the spell
to show this window to be visible to all present. A templar in monastic
robes sits in a dark cloister amongst stacks of religions texts and scrolls.
Two scrolls rest on the desk. The monk seems to be transcribing the
information onto a third partially finished scroll. The script and style are
identical but the text appears to be different. Thomas can only make out the
two titles; one scroll reads The Nine Orders and the second scroll is titled
The Twelve Orders. The vision faded. The four friends looked at each other
in bewilderment.
"Okay, what
the hells was that?" Stone asked. "Got me." Kelloran replied.
Obviously,
not wanting to admit he had wasted a spell Thomas focused on the spot where
the vision had flickered into, and then out of, existance. "Did you guys
recognize the priest that?"
Chells'
blurred for a moment as he searched his memory. "NoPe. NeVeR sEEn hIm BeFoRe."
"The monk's
cell looked really old. Maybe he is from the Great School?" Stone theorized.
Kelloran
shook his head as he swiftly did the math of the spells time scope and
Thomas' level of power. "Too long ago. Thomas can't see much more than 200
years into the past."
Thomas nodded
his head. "I can feel that it wasn't long ago at all; just a few months at
most. This is current events not ancient history."
"So who the
hells is he and why did we see him when we are trying to find the library's
angel scrolls?" Stone inquired clearly intrigued but evidently stumped. ''LeT's
FiNd OuT." Chells proposed.
In short
order, spells were cast, spirits were interviewed, skills were applied and
patron deities were beseeched. An hour later the four reconvened in the
tavern. Thomas poured himself a Ymir Ice Ale. Stone sipped cider and tossed
darts through the disencorporated Chells. The spirit-believer floated
cross-legged above the ground, while Kelloran spoke. The Restorer
absent-mindedly fiddled with his extremely rough-hewn Staff of the Templar.
"I brought
this to help awaken Sinjinkin. Of course, he would recognize the staff of
his brethren."
Tossing
another dart through Chells' phantom sternum, Stone cracked-wise. "The thing
looks like it lost the fight with a deranged beaver."
Chuckling,
Kelloran considered the wood-carved staff and continued. "Its not pretty but
it is potent. Anyways, Sinjinkin woke up from his sleep of the dead and he
started talking and talking and talking about angels. Seems like there is
about a billion opinions as to who or what angels are, their powers, their
organization and their very nature. Some say, angels were the gods chosen
beings until the creation of Mortals who possess free will. A few just look
at than as over-grown other- dimensional fairies, but it’s not a popular
opinion. Sinjinkin droned on and on about the different orders of angels.
Some scriptures mention only two ranks in the heavens: Angels and
Archangels. Other holy texts mention Seven Orders, some talk about nine
ranks of angels and still others mention Twelve Orders. There are Thrones,
Dominions, and a whole bunch of other types of angels. In short, despite
hundreds of years of scriptural references to divine messengers the Templars
know officially jack about angels."
Chells spoke
next. "WhILe you woke up sInJiNKin, I..."
"Dude, what
the hell did you say? I can't understand you. It sounds like you are in an
echo chamber." Thomas interrupted.
Chells
cleared his throat and spat out a gob of ectoplasm.
"Ew!" he
said, his voice now sounding more human. "As I was saying, while Kelloran
woke up Sinjinkin, I tried to rouse Hergyn. Once I finally got the old bat
up, he was surprisingly lucid. He covered a
lot of ground as usual but the main thing I pulled from his musings were angels
are aligned to air. Not sure what that had to do with anything but
then we switch to the scrolls. There he became a lot more useful .
He said that the two scrolls we saw weren't
the same. One is a deliberately flawed counterfeit of the other. The monk
was mis-scribing the original for sense reason but I can't think of why
someone would do that. What did you two figure out?"
Thomas spoke
first. "I tried to figure out where the scrolls were, so I hiked up to
Candlewood and prayed to Allahn. It was so great to light the candles and
stared into the flames as I recited the old ritual. I lay down in the grass
and looked up at the stars. Then I heard his voice and he said the scrolls
lie with the False Brotherhood."
"Who are
they?" Kelloran inquired.
"My divine
intercession was even more cryptic." Stone commented. "I tried to commune
with the Phoenix to find the key to the missing scrolls I pumped all my
prayer mana into the spell and the only thing I got from a fourth tier spell
was a cryptic clue. Luckily, it wasn't in the form of a rhyming riddle. It
was one word 'apocrypha.' Whatever that means."
"It means
bogus or non-canonical writings. Things outside the agreed upon holy
scriptures of the Templar.” Kelloran recited.
“Someone was
paying attention in Sun’s Day school.” Thomas smirked.
“No, I just
like obscure lore so I’m drawn to apocrypha more than the standard
scripture.” The Restorer replied.
Growing
mildly frustrated, Stone asked. “So my Bocu, fourth tier divine message
helps us out exactly how?”
They were all
silent for a moment. Kelloran closed his eyes and concentrated and then
looked startled for a moment. He looked around the room as if something in
the shadows would suddenly appear. He turned back to the others and spoke.
“I think I got something. Virtue-wise, I have a strong bond to Truth and …”
“Me too.”
Stone interjected.
“Me too.”
Thomas concurred.
Chells shook
his head. “Love lore but Truth is not my Virtue now Spiritu…”
“It’s a
capital A!” Kelloran blurted clearly excited about his epiphany and miffed
at his friends’ side-tracking.
“What’s a
capital A?” Chells asked.
“Its
Apocrypha with a capital A not apocrypha lower case! It’s a person place or
thing!” The Restorer exclaimed.
The truth
crept into Stone’s head. “Oh… Dawn. I guess I need the flaming pigeon to
write shit out for me not just whisper it in my ear.”
Thomas
already had his eyes closed and was deep in silent prayer when a scroll
appeared from thin air and drifted down to the tavern’s floor.
“Cool! It
never did that before. I used my Truth Boons and Know Lore spell to find out
about Apocrypha. Since it is a person or thing the spell worked but it also
made a real scroll pop out!”
“Read it!”
The other three said in impatient unison.
In his
booming voice Thomas read aloud from the mysterious scroll:
Apocrypha
His nom de plume is
Apocrypha and it is only as Apocrypha that he has any real significance. His
real name is unimportant, for he is an unimportant man. In his everyday
life, he is an insignificant and nearly unknown research librarian of the
Scribes Guild. His unceasing task is to scour through old, moldering texts
searching for canonical or historical inaccuracies. Everyday, he reads,
rereads and then compares and contrasts a dozen or so texts. He weighs the
author’s reputation, merits and schooling, the sources of information, and
their past record of embellishments to decide what is true, what is untrue
and was is blatant fraud. After two decades of unwavering and unrewarded
diligence, the absurdity of his chosen profession finally dawned upon him.
One can’t search for truth like panning for gold. It’s all subjective
speculation and perception. No one can tell you exactly who started a war
and why. They can just tell you a war occurred. Years of maddening hair
splitting and fact finding, led this inconsequential librarian to begin to
fabricate inaccuracies out of boredom. Some of his frauds were so well
crafted that they were never detected as counterfeit but instead were
accepted as part of the historical canon. The lowly scribe found creating
false religious doctrine, apocrypha, to be the most challenging and
rewarding.
Eventually, his skills at
forgery and fabrication drew forth the attentions of the Cult of the
Deceivers, the conclave of the once-demon Cinder. The Deceivers are a minor
cult compared to the insidious Cult of the Dead, the merciless Cult of the
Pentacle, or the secretive Cult of Darkness, but their flair for high-brow
deception and undermining the linchpins of society’s “Truths” greatly
appealed to the anonymous scribe. He took the cult-name of Apocrypha, his
favorite flavor of ruse.
Kelloran
groaned. “We have to take on the damned Cult of the Deceivers just to get a
frickin’ straight answer! This sucks!”
Chells
replied. “Maybe we are approaching this from the wrong angle. Maybe we don’t
need that lore or to fight the Deceivers to get it. Maybe there is another
way to deal with all this weird shit collectively or as separate issues. “
Clearly
discouraged, Kelloran responded “Maybe.”
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