Chapter 1-27: Not the Only Black and Silver (1/2)
As I’d promised Sir Pellier, it only took a half hour for me to Write a flurry of 0-III Valence spells into Einz. Initiate Hugo the Bleached was clearly envious of the speed. Normally, Writing like this cost a Slot of the appropriate Valence to do the job, meaning you could only do a couple of spells at a time unless you were truly prepared ahead of time. However, Einz didn’t require any special ink or parchment, so I could Write with nothing more than a Cantrip. Convenient...
I imagined other Witches enjoyed the same benefit with their living Familiars. As there wasn’t a single spell I’d copied that Aelryinth hadn’t previously had access to (and generally a superior one), I was underwhelmed at the same time I enjoyed the time savings. It was like I had Witch Levels just to provide me a free spellbook... my eyebrow started twitching at the thought.
Huh. Were my Level choices being driven by my immediate needs, or the choices I’d made? A Witch was basically a modified Wizard with a Divine connection. It didn’t get the whole Wizard’s spell list, but it got a ‘free’ spellbook. I’d taken my Wizard Level with an Arcane Domain... which I was still waiting to expand on again...
Ur-Priest had delivered Invisibility to Undead right when I’d needed it.
Still, would I get to choose my own Class Level tonight, or would it persist in making the choice for me?
I bid Initiate Hugo the Bleached farewell, and headed back the way I’d come...
---
I didn’t actually need directions, as I drew up pictures of my location constantly and Mapped everything out in Visual File, but got confirmation that the Mitharn Shrine was where I thought it was, and headed that way.
The main Church was solemn and silent, with prominent colors being white and soft grey, with blue and gold accents. There were no depictions of the god, but His scales were on prominent display up there.
The Shrine was in the back, directly accessible via double doors off the main worship hall. Currently those doors were standing open, which was a bit unusual, and a rather agitated Helix was walking around outside them in a resentful manner.
He naturally perked up when he saw me coming, and hurried over as if I could solve all his problems... or I was to blame.
“Trav, Trav!” he blurted out urgently, and was about to grab me when my new staff poked him in the ribs and stopped him. He coughed and stepped back. “I-I got kicked out of the shrine!” he complained loudly over his shoulder, and I had to raise my eyebrows.
“Don’t tell me.” I massaged my nose. “You got a little enthusiastic in recounting your tales to Tiirith.”
“Uh...” He didn’t look me in the eyes. “Well, you said I was in a stadium? So I figured some music and dancing was appropriate...”
“And someone else was in there, and giving a different performance.”
He grimaced. “It was a big scary-looking guy with eyes like I’ve never seen, and scars, and wow, so strong, shoved me right outside, and gave me a look that, ah...” He seemed a little embarrassed that he was so frightened.
I glanced past him over his shoulder. Mmm, being short... “And so, you recruited Sir Pellier to right things for you, and he walked in, and is talking with the guy?” His shoulders slumped. “Did you really think a Paladin was going to start a fight in a temple to Harse?”
“Uh, well...”
“Now, if this was a temple to Hurn, you might be onto something, but seriously?” I rolled my eyes and pointed. “Let’s see who interrupted your loud and flashy tales of yourself, Helix.”
Seeing as how he couldn’t seem frightened in front of a woman, he, um, bravely strode along slightly behind me, and I wondered which of us was actually higher Level... whatever.
---
The Shrine was much smaller than the worship hall, of course, maybe thirty by thirty, with well-spaced, comfortable pews, the room built in comfortable general earth and wood tones. The altar up there was clean and simple; backing it was the tristar of Heaven, with Mithar’s Sword in Silver Sun in the middle. As this was Harse’s Temple, the White of Amana, Scriba, and Harse were topmost, with the Gold of Aru, Sylune, Flora, and Aethra to the right, and the Orange and Rainbow of Nuava, Tiirith, Valus, and Jestanna to the right.
Sir Pellier was standing in front of front of the altar, his arms crossed, looking very stern as he was talking with a tall, rangy man with short-cut blond hair dressed in a black hooded jacket, dark jeans, and combat boots. He was wearing a knife with a sword’s hilt at his hip, and had a heavy pistol in a shoulder rig. I could already see scars on his face and hair: this was someone who’d been in a lot of fights.
Oddly enough, he wasn’t saying anything.
Both men turned to look at me as I walked in. I blinked.
Hellscars...
I was intimately familiar with the Damn things. Aelryinth had a trace of one still left on his face, happily glowing crimson whenever he considered Evil thoughts, and burning in annoyance whenever he was a particularly nice and merciful person. The black expanses of charred flesh, and the crimson that would leak through the cracks, were unmistakable to anyone who’d ever seen one.
This guy had one ripping across the left side of his face, taking his ear clean away and reaching dark fingers up into his hairline. A thin black line limned in red cut across his throat, and I knew he was mute.
I had the distinct impression he had more of them on him I could not see...
What was most singular were his eyes. They were the jet black of a Dark Warlock, but his Irises were shining silver, luminous against the black, with pupils of churning sky blue.
Oh, and the pupils were square.
“Color me impressed. A Four-Pact Heaven and Hell Warlock,” I greeted him, walking up fearlessly. I felt the Aura from him, clearly harmonizing with Sir Pellier’s. “Storm and City Pacts. You’ve definitely got the versatility thing down.” I held out my hand.
He lifted his hands away from me, a look flashing across his face. Very slowly, he lifted one finger, and brought it down to touch my hand as I watched closely.