Dark Armor: The Sanctuary

The sanctuary lay at the heart of the crypt. It had been carved and decorated to resemble a small chapel, with an arched ceiling and stained-glass windows depicting important events from the history of Teregor and House Teres. There was young Oziras Teres, calling to himself the powers that would establish his house; there was Folster Teres accepting the defeat of Magister Edrias after the Battle of Thorngrove, which had established the eastern border; there was Nira Teres, standing over the body of a fallen Emissary and claiming the Spear of the First for her own, a century before House Edrias would steal the artifact away and secrete it in the city of Marinul. Other images surrounded them, but after the evening's events those were the ones that caught Pallian's attention.

The stained glass glowed with sorcerous light which rendered the whole space in patterns of reds, oranges, and yellows; to be inside the sanctuary was like standing in the heart of a heatless fire. Pallian, as always, found the effect both beautiful and discomfiting.

Where the altar might have been in a more traditional chapel, a stone statue stood instead. The skeletons carried Pallian over to it, then positioned him so that he could place the Black Knight's helm on its head. The helm immediately fastened itself in place, and Pallian whispered instructions to the skeletons as he laid his will on the armor and forced it to unfasten. It let go reluctantly, unwilling to release him; were the armor given its way, it would keep him a prisoner inside it. It disliked being quiescent, even on those rare occasions -- as now -- when it desperately needed time to repair itself. 

Once the armor was finally arrayed on the statue, the skeletons gathered him up again and carried him to his rooms. His leg was a screaming mass of agony, drowning out the pain in his shoulder, but at least the flesh had closed over and he wasn't losing blood. Pallian gritted his teeth and thanked the dark and nameless gods that he didn't have to make his way on his own. 

Tybben was waiting in the antechamber with a silver chalice, which he held out to Pallian. "My prince."

Pallian offered a small bow -- the best he could do while being ferried about by skeletons -- and reached out to take the chalice. He downed it in a quick series of gulps, ignoring the thickness of the fluid and the horrid salty taste. A moment later he could feel it spreading out through his body, warming him, rebuilding him, carrying the vital nutrients that his own initiations needed in order to repair him. "I am grateful, Tybben." 

Tybben's inhuman face assumed an expression that was somewhere between a scowl and a snarl. "Grateful, my prince? That I do my duty? As well be grateful that the sun rises."

Pallian shrugged. "I am grateful for that as well."

Tybben huffed, but Pallian could see that he was pleased. He nodded at the skeletons, which bore Pallian past him and into his rooms, where a hot bath awaited. It was good to have the business done; now he could return to his own studies.