Chapter 1-25: White and Ivory (1/2)
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.