Forgotten Family: Into the Temple

"This's ridiculous," whispered Morthros, tugging at the blue robe and cowl that disguised his silver armor.

"Aye," agreed Balos. "If'n ye want tae just stroll in and get yerself killed after all I did tae get hold of these, you go right ahead. Ainslyn and I'll wait 'ere, an' make our own attempt later."

"I didnae say that," Morthros objected, but he removed his helmet and dropped it into the bag along with his axe and Balos' crossbow. Ainslyn's morning star, buckler, and helmet were in there as well. "Ye're certain this'll work, though?"

"Nothin's certain, brother," said Balos. He glanced at Ainslyn. "Are ye ready?"

"As much as Ah can be, fer this," she told him. "Ah've a bad feelin', though."

"Aye," agreed Morthros, "but it has to be done. Our niece is a vampire now, an' her father has tae answer for that."

Balos rolled his eyes, but didn't object; Ainslyn just nodded. "Onward, then."

* * *

The temple had once been set with four towers, and filled with a staff of devoted worshipers. Now three of the towers were fallen, smashed into rubble by the power of Indra, and only the Tower of Wind remained. Balos led his brother and sister past the bones of the ancient gold dragon -- which stirred long enough to regard them, but made no move otherwise -- and into the temple itself.

It was raining, of course. It had been raining ever since Durest's... ascension, if that's what it had been. Balos had managed to track down Vandraka and confirm that she'd become a vampire -- of her own free will, she said, but when it came to vampires any such claim must be suspect. She'd even confirmed that her father Durest had become a lich, shortly after the Order of Secrets had disappeared. She and her human girlfriend seemed confused that Balos wasn't more happy for them. 

It was early evening, and the temple was settling down. Word had it that Durest spent much of his time in the sanctuary, and sent lesser priests out to host services and recruit new worshipers. Ainslyn had shaken her head at hearing that. Clearly, she didn't approve, though that might just have been because it made their work more difficult.

The guards didn't stop them, though it seemed to Balos that most of Indra's priesthood here was human. Their disguises were apparently good, even if their faces were unfamiliar... and Indra's worshipers had been growing in number. Strange faces might not be that noticeable just now.

The entrance to the Sanctuary was unmistakable, and Balos walked calmly up to it and ascended the stairs. A handful of other priests stopped to look at them, then hurried on about their business; evidently anyone summoned to the sanctuary was either important, or doomed. 

The doors were open, and the interior was lit with a perpetual, magical glow. There were rows of wooden pews, arranged around a central altar. And there, at the altar, was a stout figure in blue robes, with a rod tucked into the back of his belt. A giant skeleton with a gleaming ruby eye stood on the far side of the altar.

"Quick and quiet," said Balos softly, and started down the aisle towards the altar and the dwarf who stood with his back to them. Ainslyn and Morthros followed, their steps clearly audible in the silence, and Balos cursed silently. Still, Durest remained silent and apparently absorbed in the study of a large book that he had spread open atop the altar. It was only after they'd passed the last of the pews that he turned to face them. 

"And what can I do for you?" he asked. "Come to offer worship and praise? Seeking advancement in the way of our lord?" There was something terribly mocking in his tone and posture.

"Durest Inglorian," pronounced Morthros, "We've come to take you back to the clan to answer for your crimes." He pulled off his hood and dropped the bag beside him, then reached down and opened it up. 

Durest started laughing, a horrible sound that filled the temple. The thunder outside seemed to echo it. 

Morthros pulled his helmet on and passed the other one to Ainslyn. Balos knew he should have been attacking already -- he had daggers concealed in his sleeves, ready to go -- but he couldn't seem to move. Something was horribly wrong. Durest should already have been attacking them, or calling for reinforcements, or fleeing. Instead, he just stood there, contempt in every line of his body. 

Morthros pulled out his axe, while Ainslyn retrieved her morning star and buckler. 

Balos licked his lips. "Durest?"

"Not any more," said his brother, and then the screaming began.

* * *

"Go!" screamed Ainslyn, as another bolt of lightning tore through her and blasted towards Balos. He rolled aside, barely avoiding it, then turned and sprinted towards the nearest window. It was a lovely piece of work, stained panels in a leaden frame, and he smashed through it without even the smallest twinge of conscience. There was nothing but open air on the other side, a good thirty feet of it, but he hit and rolled and came to his feet. 

There were other people all around, watching the flickering lights and listening to the sharp cries from the battle inside the sanctuary -- if what was going on inside there could even be described as a battle. Ainslyn wasn't down yet, but it was only a matter of time -- and she seemed determined to buy that time for his escape. Meanwhile, a couple of the nearer priests had turned towards Balos and were raising their hands... I'm going to die if I don't do something. He stepped over, grabbed the nearest priest, and yelled: "HE'S GONE MAD! HE'S KILLING EVERYONE!" 

The human's eyes widened, and he stepped back to look up at the window. Balos dodged past him, still screaming his warnings, and charted a staggering course towards the entrance. He'd only just ducked through and tumbled down the steps when he heard Durest call out: "Where is he? Where is the last of these pathetic assassins?!"

Belrab, lend me strength. Amun, lend me speed. Demeter, lend me life! Balos ran. His brother and sister were dead, and whatever Durest had become, he would need far stronger allies to have any hope of facing off with it. He needed to get out of Solstar, at least for a while. He needed shelter, and time to recover. And after that, he needed to recruit more allies. 

An' nae from the clan, either, he thought. I'll nae get any more o' us killed. No, he needed the sort of heroes who might stand a chance against his brother: the King's Solari, or something very like. 

And somewhere in there, he needed a drink.

Forgotten Family: Dwarven History

"Gather to me if you will, children. I would speak to you of the early days of our world, and the rise of our people." Stoneshaper Braeken took a seat in the ceremonial stone chair at the head of the table, and watched as the students took their seats around him. Their usual tutor, Boroka, glanced curiously at him, but he offered her a small smile and she inclined her head in return. 

When the students were settled, he began:

"In the early days of the world, the first dwarves were created by Moradin, whom the unenlightened call Sardion. At first we were a cruel people, believing other races to be weak and vulnerable. We valued strength, but not the brittle breaking-strength of Gruumsh; we valued the strength that endures, the strength that withstands, the strength that never yields. Ours also was the strength that comes with order, and ours was a nation in which everyone knew and respected their place -- and the position of those around them. Some dwarves still hold to the old ways of Moradin; these are the dwarves known as Duergar, and in this age they are a people unto themselves."

He paused and looked around, but his students -- even Andrik -- remained silent and attentive. 

"Other dwarves, inevitably, came into contact with other people and other gods. These became the deep dwarves of the underkingdoms, and the surface dwarves of mountains and hills -- our people, and once more each became almost a race unto itself. From Amun we learned to temper order with Justice; from Demeter we learned to cultivate the land both above and below; and in Belrab we found a strength and order that did not require the cruelties and sacrifices that Moradin demanded. Thus was the Stone Cabal eventually founded."

"And--" interjected Andrik, then cut himself off abruptly. "I would that I hadn't said that, Stoneshaper."

Braeken suppressed a smile. "I would have you speak, Andrik son of Durest."

Andrik swallowed, aware that his peers were looking at him and at least one or two were glaring. "Aye, well, 'tis just this: from Indra we learned to love the sky and sail the seas."

"It is good," said Stoneshaper Braeken. Andrik, while too young to enter any sort of clergy, had taken on something of his father's advocacy for the trickster-god Indra, and even the stone cabal couldn't fault the boy for his devotion. "It is good for you to say this, because it is true." He paused, both for effect and to organize his thoughts, and then he said: 

"We honor three gods, first and foremost: Moradin, who created us; Amun, who taught us justice; and Belrab, who gathered us into his strength. This is true, but this is not the only truth. We honor Demeter, who taught us to cultivate food for ourselves; we honor Yondalla, who taught us the value of knowledge; and we honor Indra, who first showed us the sky. Shall I tell you that story?"

Andrik, eyes wide, nodded slowly. Several of his peers settled back, losing something of their hostility as they returned their attention to the Stoneshaper. 

"I speak now of ancient days, but long after the first days of our people. The Duergar were still strong in the deeps; they still held the oldest cities, and still made war upon the dwarves who had turned away from the primacy of Moradin. The Stone Cabal was young then, and still finding its way; the priesthood of Amun was only just beginning to be eclipsed by our current ways. And while the conflict between the old ways of the Duergar and the new ways of our people was often bloody, there were passionate and loudly-debated conflicts within our people as well. Many had questions about what shape the new ways should take. Some even wondered if we might be better guided by other gods entirely.

"It was one of these, Taraia Stormcalled, to whom Indra first spoke. It is said that the storm-god had long ignored us, for in ancient days our people still dwelled belowground and only the worst of exiles were ever sent to the surface. Perhaps it was one of them, some misfit or criminal, who first caught Indra's attention; or perhaps it was only that Amun and Belrab were increasing their worshipers. It is said that when the trickster god first saw our ways, orderly and disciplined, he pronounced them unutterably boring. It is said that as he was turning away from us that he first noticed Taraia, who was not yet Stormcalled. 

"In her he found a kindred spirit, and through her he put out his call. For Taraia, like Indra, did not see our carefully-structured places in gards and delves, in clans and societies, as giving us meaning. They saw those things as trapping us, caging us, holding us back. And in time others came to agree, and Taraia led her followers to the surface and founded there the first of the skygards, contesting goblins and elves alike for a place beneath the sun. From there, it was inevitable that others would follow -- even across the seas and to other lands. 

"Sol Povos was one of those other lands; our people here can all trace our ancestry to those who left the underkingdoms.

"It is said Indra intended to trick us, to fracture our orderly ways with chaos and discontent, and perhaps that is true; but Taraia Stormcalled led us to new realms and in doing so gave those who might have created chaos and discontent a new place to go and new ways to find meaning for themselves. 

"Indra is not a kindly god, but in his unkindness he did us a great favor and made us stronger, and for that he is honored."

And Andrik nodded, accepting the Stoneshaper's tale.

Durest: They Grow Up So Quickly

Durest stood in the doorway of the former Temple of Helios, newly dedicated to Indra, and watched as the last of his followers shuffled out. In the weeks that they'd spent in Rockdale, he'd accumulated quite a congregation: enough to fill the chapel and then some. He wasn't honestly sure how many of them were sincere in their devotion and how many merely feared that he might do horrible things if people didn't show up when he held services, but they came and they offered praise and Indra seemed pleased. 

He had just turned to shut the door when he saw another dwarf come around the corner -- and not just any dwarf, either. It was his oldest daughter, Vandra, and she had company. 

He caught her eye, waved, and then waited as they closed the distance. The girl with her was dressed in a black skirt-and-shawl combination that almost looked like a robe; she was human, and... buxom, he thought, and shoved that thought down. He was not going to take that sort of interest in his daughter's friends. 

Also, there were a couple of hobgoblins trailing along behind them, and there was something about the way they moved... Zombies, he thought, surprised. Very well crafted, too. 

"Can we come in?" asked Vandra, and Durest grinned. "O'course." He motioned them inside, and closed the door behind them. 

The girls were four steps into the temple when the human paused, taking a moment to study Bob. The skeleton stood politely back against the wall, well off to one side; the undead were Durest's particular obsession, and not part of the formal worship of Indra. 

"That's some nice work," the human said, sounding faintly surprised. 

"I told you you'd like my dad," Vandra said.

Durest offered a smile. "I was going to say the same about your two. The skeleton's called Bob."

"The zombies are named Pain and Suffering," said the human girl. "They were the first ones I raised."

"And you've managed to keep them intact? Good work." 

Vandra cut in. "So, um, Dad. I'd like you to meet someone. This is Wendy. We're... kind of an item."

Puzzled, Durest had just opened his mouth to ask what sort of an item when it occurred to him that there was really only one possible answer in this context. He closed his mouth, nodded, and then said: "Like calls to like, it seems."

Vandra flushed, but Wendy just nodded. Durest said, "Right, well, I'm not sure what you're looking for under the circumstances, but if ye want to know if I object, I don't. Sure'n I'd rather have yez choosing your own company than having it thrust on ye by t'elders of yer clan -- and I say that with no insult intended towards yer mother."

Vandra said, "Thanks, Dad," and Wendy just nodded. 

"So this is a death church?" the human asked. 

"Not so much," Durest said. "It's for the worship of Indra, the Blue Devil, keeper of the sky and the winds and the storms. He... indulges me interest in death and resurrection."

"I like him," said Wendy, and reached out to clasp Vandra's hand.

Forgotten Family: Youth Group

 "Ma! There's someone to see you! Says he's part of the clergy!" 

Aviarra winced as her daughter's voice echoed through the house. Like as not, the child still had her hand on the speaking stone and her shout had carried out into the street as well. With a sigh, Aviarra turned to make her way to the door. Old eno' to be forgin' decent throwin'-steel, but nae a lick o' sense in her skull... "Coming!" 

Flushed with embarrassment, Aviarra began working the crank beside the front door, turning it over and over. The clicking within the wall was the sound of adamantine chain running through the series of heavy, mounted pulleys that allowed a dwarf of her size to raise the massive stone block of the greatdoor. It was time-consuming, and most dwarves left the outer door up and contented themselves with wooden inner doors. Aviarra would have too, but Tavra seemed to be going through a phase where she was terrified that someone would break into their house while they were sleeping. Aviarra had no idea why, but keeping the greatdoor closed seemed to help. 

"My apologies," she said, as the door rose into the wall overhead and left the doorway fully open. "We don't mean tae be unfriendly--" She turned to the doorway and added with a touch of dismay, "--Stoneshaper Braekan."

The head of the local temple of the Stone Cabal smiled genially and asked, "Is't yer will that Ah enter?"

Aviarra nodded, feeling slightly intimidated. "Ah so will it."

She stepped back as the stoneshaper entered, and gestured for him to move into the entry hall while she closed the wooden inner doors behind him. "Ah would know what brings ye to our dwelling.  Would ye share?"

"Aye," he answered. "'Tis yer son Andrik. Ah'm told he's been causing a bit of trouble 'mongst his peers." 

Belrab, Amun, and Sardion, what's the boy done now? Frowning, she kept the question to herself, and instead said, "That seems very strange tae me, Stoneshaper. He asked permission specifically tae join his age-group in the temple." 

"Aye, and we're glad tae have him," answered Braekan. "In general, aye, but his tutors there speak well of him also. It's just that..." 

With a horrible feeling that combined something of deja vu and premonition both, Aviara said: "Indra."  

The stoneshaper nodded. "The temple is nae exclusive, for all that we worship Belrab. Indeed, if'n your husband would see fit tae return tae us, we'd be more'n pleased tae have his wisdom and Indra's power workin' tae our benefit."

Aviarra started to shake her head, but Braekan continued on. "'Tis merely that we cannae have Andrik encouraging his cohort tae renounce all other gods and worship Indra alone. We need 'im tae tone it down a bit, tae stop at encouraging the others tae worship Indra as well and not Indra only."

"Ah," said Aviarra, "Ah'll talk tae him." 

"That's all that Ah wish," said Braeken. "'Tis no me volition tae place additional burdens on yer shoulders. I will to depart now." 

Aviarra nodded gratefully and escorted the stoneshaper to the doors, then closed them behind him. After a suitably respectful time, she lowered the greatdoor again as well. My life, she thought, is a constant march of indignities, and most of them arise from my husband and our children. Still, fair or not, this was hers to deal with. She would speak to Andrik, and they would sort this out. They were dwarves, after all; there was no other way...

...She hoped.

A note: Dwarven language is, I think, very focused on the concept of volition. A lot of the things that would be more passive in Common/English require a much more forceful and direct statement of intent. Thus, instead of "May I come in" and "Yes, of course" we have "Is it your will that I enter" and "I so will it" or "It is my volition."

This is part of the reason that Dwarves are perceived by other races as lacking charisma.

EvilParty: The Forgotten Family

"When is Daddy coming home?" 

Whenever Indra damned well pleases, and not a moment before. Aviarra suppressed a sigh, and left the thought unspoken. Durest wasn't what she would have wanted for a husband, but she thought he'd been as good to her as he could manage. It was just that the traitor-god Indra was his first love, and she and the children could never compete with that. So she set the last of the dishes aside and told her youngest daughter, "I dinnae know. Yer father's doin' important work for Indra, may his name be praised, and it'll take as long as it takes."

Tavra held up the crude hurling-axe she'd just finished forging. "But I wan' him tae see what Ah've done!"

"He will," Aviarra assured her. Possibly because I'll sink it into his forehead, especially if he lets anything happen to Vandraka. "Just ye wait, and dinnae worry." 

"I just wish he'd come back," said Tavra. "I miss him. Everything was better when he was here." 

Aviarra nodded. "We'll tell him as soon as he returns." 

"Soon," insisted Tavra. "We'll tell him when he comes back soon."

"When he comes back soon," Aviarra agreed.

Durest: Paternal Pride

"Is it true?" asked Vandraka. 

Durest blinked and turned. The child had literally just come in the door; she hadn't offered a greeting or even cleared the threshold before asking her question. "Is what true?" asked Durest, somewhat disgruntled. 

"That you and your friends set loose that thing that's chewing through the south," Vandra clarified.

"Oh," said Durest. "That." He nodded, still uncertain about where this was going. He'd been gone from the clan for years now, and for all that Vandra was his daughter she was still an unknown quantity. Would she rebuke him for releasing an unstoppable horror on the world? Or would it just reinforce whatever image of himself as a darkly powerful father-figure that she seemed to be carrying in her head? "Aye. 'Twas Malefar's plan, but we were the ones that did it."

"That's amazing. I wish I'd been there to see it." Vandra looked briefly wistful, and Durest decided that he'd better step on the idea that this was somehow admirable. His instincts as a parent were all kinds of wrong and he knew it, but this he was fair certain about. 

"I'm very glad ye weren't," he said gently. "Meanin' no offense, of course, but that thing is pure destruction and distance be the only true safety from't.  Ah'm nae so sure we did the right thing by letting it out, tae be 'onest, though Indra's sure eno' pleased wi' it."

Vandra frowned. "But once it's eaten enough Solari, sure'n Malefar will..."

"Surely. What of ye, me darlin' girl?" asked Durest. "What've ye been keepin' busy wi'?"

Vandra pursed her lips, but allowed him to change the subject. "Small errands, minor bits of sabotage. I ran support when we kidnapped the mayor of... some little hamlet outside of Garamond. Kassadia Etriga says I'm not ready for more, yet. She's got me working on casting spells without showing any sign that that's what I'm doing, which makes it a lot harder."

"Useful, though, if you can master it." Durest thought about that, wondered if it was something he should try to learn for himself. "They're treating you well, then." 

Vandra nodded. "Aye, well enough." Then she added, "Damn it, Dad, I start talking to you and all of a sudden I sound like every hidebound elder in the delve again."

Durest chuckled and shrugged. "'Tis a danger, me lass, to be sure." He stopped, recomposed his voice, and said: "I'm one of those undisciplined young men and women who refuse proper behavior. You can tell by the way I talk, which is perfectly normal and much more in keeping with the times."

Vandra laughed. "Sure, Dad. You just keep telling yourself that." Then she went back out, leaving him alone and bemused in his room.

Durest: Lineage

"Prisoner! The Solari-Hunter would speak with you! Refuse at your peril!"

The guard's voice rolled through the dungeon, echoing off the stone, and Durest swallowed a rebuke as the girl in the cell stood and approached the metal bars. He didn't manage to keep the look of annoyance off his face, though, and the girl grinned as their eyes met. 

"Hi, Dad," said Vandraka. "Funny meeting you here." 

There was a momentary pause, and Durest resisted the urge to look at the guard's expression... barely. He reached up and rubbed at his forehead, trying to relieve the headache he felt gathering there. "Vandra," he said, and then trailed off because he literally couldn't think of anything to say except: "Did ye seriously just walk up to the lines and present yerself as an up-and-coming necromancer and possible spy for the King or the High Provost?" 

"I mean... yes? It got you here, didn't it?" Her face was older than he remembered, coming into real adulthood, but there was still a childish gleam of mischief somewhere in the back of her eyes. 

"Sure'n me brothers are going to murder me in me sleep," he muttered, but he didn't break eye contact. "Aye, an' it did at that. Am I supposed tae speak fer ye, bid the jailors set ye loose?" 

"No need," said Vandra, dropping something to the floor and crushing it beneath her heel. The cell which had been enchanted to hold mages suddenly lost its magic, and she opened the door with a word and casual gesture and then stepped out. 

Knowing what was coming next, Durest flung an arm out and caught the hobgoblin guard as he moved to attack. "Hold off, will ye?" he said, firmly. "This's me daughter, and perhaps a tad melodramatic. She'll no be tryin' tae murder us all just yet." 

The guard settled back, seeming reassured to have someone else in command. 

Durest eyed his oldest daughter. "Up-and-coming necromancer?" he asked. 

She nodded. "I mean... arcane, not divine. I hope you aren't disappointed with that." 

Durest smiled. "My sweet little girl, already raisin' the dead and defeating hostile magics. And at such a young age." 

Vandraka shrugged. "I thought it through well before I ever got here. If you hadn't come, I had a way out." 

"That's yer mother's blood in ye," admitted Durest. "I've never thought things through in my life." 

"Yeah, well..." Vandra grinned. "Fair warning: Mother says if either you or I become undead, it'll be divorce and repudiation. And Uncle Morthros says he'll either bring you back in chains or behead you. Possibly both."

"My dear, sweet child," said Durest, "ye've come to the wrong place if you don't expect to be--"

Vandraka grinned, looking pleased with herself. "I thought I'd make an excellent vampire, especially now while I'm still young and pretty. I just wanted you to know so you could prepare." 

Durest paused for a long moment, then said: "Ye worry me sometimes, child." Then he gestured for the guard to remove her bonds -- probably unnecessary, but his daughter would remember the gesture and know how he meant it. "Come," he said. "We've people tae see an' int'rduction tae make."

Durest: Bait

Durest walked away from the road and into the field. The giant's body lay where it had fallen, stripped of anything that might be valuable but too large to move. Four skeletons followed in his wake, the red gems of their eyes gleaming faintly in the late afternoon light. 

It took a while to find the blind, but once he threw back the cover it was unmistakable: a hole in the ground, covered with a wooden trapdoor which had soil and grass atop it. A patient dwarf could wait there, even sleeping as needed, and raise the trap to emerge into the grasses when the time finally came. It had to have been prepared in advance, and Durest wondered just how long his kin had been following him. He'd thought they'd given him up as lost, but clearly he'd been wrong. Oh, he supposed this might be some other Delve making war on the Order of Secrets in their own way, but he didn't really believe that. This attack seemed too weirdly specific, too much of a tipping of their hand, to be random. Sure an' it's a message, he thought, for probably the fourth time that afternoon. 

He stepped further out into the grass, well aware that there might be other blinds all around him that he wasn't seeing; but the skeletons followed him and the Hierophant's escort was close enough to give aid if he called for it. And that was leaving aside his companions, who waited back at the road.

So he walked another dozen strides out before he stopped and pulled out his pipe. He withdrew a bit of sweetweed from a pouch on his belt, packed it into place, and lit it with a single, soft word. He drew the smoke in, then breathed it back out. Then he raised his voice. 

"Well? Yeh wanted me, I think. Ah've come. Step up, or take yerselves back tae the clan."

"Actually," said the dwarf in the silver armor, rising up from the grass, "we've come to take you back to the clan."

 "Have ye, then?" asked Durest, turning to face him. "Ye should've declared me dead and had done with it, and saved yourselves the trouble." 

"Little brother, you have no idea the scope of this trouble. These forces you serve, they annihilated the Northern Delve. Ye're commanding skeletons made from the bones of our people."

Durest nodded. "Did ye think I did nae know this? I can trace the shape of the bones as well as any." He turned away, and found his other brother creeping up behind him. "Balos. Hold yer ground."

"Little brother," acknowledged Balos. 

Durest stepped to the side, positioning himself where he could see them both. "I serve Indra," he said. "Surely, by now, ye've given up any hope o' dissuadin' me frae that."

Morthros frowned, and Durest knew that his oldest brother had not given up on any such thing. Balos, at least, looked resigned. "You've a duty to your wife and children," Morthros said.

Durest scowled. "The ones my clan chose for me? We'd both hae been better off wi'out the marriage. It's done and I will no' renounce it, but dinnae hand me a quartz and call it a diamond."

"Then come back and serve your duty to your clan," said Morthros, and Balos nodded. "With the humans gathering their forces, we need all our resources. For all that you've turned aside from the Council of Stone, we could use your help. And the Stone Cabal will not censure you; the Marble Bishop himself declares it to me."

Durest shook his head. "No. My place is here; my god declares it so. Give my apologies to our mother, and tell Aviarra... tell her that the fault is not in her."

Morthros rolled his eyes in disgust, but Balos studied him and nodded slowly. Durest turned back towards the road, and his brothers turned back into the grasslands. 

So there's a bit more insight into Durest. He left his clan -- and his wife-by-arranged-marriage, and their children -- to become a priest of Indra, or because he was a priest of Indra already; I'm not sure which. He has at least two brothers: Morthros, the oldest, who's a pure fighter, and Balos, who's either a ranger or a rogue. They haven't given up on taking him back, either...

Durest: Unpleasant Surprises

"And that's how ye do it, eh?" Durest nodded thoughtfully. 

"Yes." The Hierophant Malafar was smiling; the expression sat oddly on the withered skin of his face and the flickering red flames of his eyes. "The actual transfer is easy, once you've created the phylactery. And then, of course, there's the question of how best to keep it safe. Some keep it close, so they can protect it; some hide it away; some give it into the care of powerful guardians. All three approaches have their risks."

"Aye, but the rewards..." Durest sat back, then turned his attention to the scroll where the Hierophant had been outlining the structure of the magics involved. There was much to consider there, including some principles that could perhaps be applied to other things. The creation of a phylactery blurred the lines between divine and arcane magic in some fascinating ways.

He rose, and bowed. "I thank ye fer sharin' your time and yer knowledge with me, Hierophant."

"Not at all," said the Hierophant, rising and moving to show Durest to the door. "You've proven your value, and you seem to have a positive talent for this sort of magic. I'll look forward to witnessing what you do with it."

Aye, I'll bet you will, thought Durest, keeping his ambivalence off his face. He had always been fascinated with death magics, and this was his chance to learn from the best in the business; but his loyalty was to Indra, not the Hierophant or Vecna. Sooner or later the Hierophant might see his lessons turned against him. Sooner or later, Vecna might find that Indra was not the ally he had thought.

...But those were background thoughts; his attention was on the scroll, and on the nature of the magics involved in what it promised. 

They stepped from the Hierophant's chambers onto the balcony overlooking the main room, and immediately became aware of a disturbance below. A hobgoblin was kneeling in front of Cassadia Dilva, head down, as she raised the back of her hand. "How did it happen?" 

"I don't know!" The hobgoblin sounded terrified. "Please, I only bring the report! Krobisk was on watch. Someone walked up and attacked him!"

"Someone came out of nowhere and slew a hill giant?" asked Dilva, and Durest could hear the frown in her voice. 

"It was a dwarf! He wore silver armor, and carried an axe! He tripped Krobisk, and chopped him up where he lay! There was nothing we could do." 

"...Have you no archers? No reinforcements?" 

"Captain Erlunk, he ordered the attack. But the arrows glanced off the dwarf's armor and he vanished before we could reach him. I gave chase myself!"

"Fool of a hobgoblin." Cassadia Dilva sounded resigned and disgusted, and Durest concluded that she probably wasn't going to kill the hobgoblin in a fit of pique. 

Hierophant Malafar said, "What is this?" and the hobgoblin on the floor below went pale. 

Dilva turned, looked up at the balcony, and pressed her fingers to her eyes before flicking them outward in a salute. "One of the hill giants was slain while on watch. Not an ambush, exactly, but... strike and run. Possibly designed to lead more troops into a trap."

Durest shook his head, then turned to the Hierophant. "Let me investigate," he said. "It may be a message fer me." 

The Hierophant turned his head slightly, regarding Durest with his left eye. "Is it the kind of message you might need help with?" 

Durest shook his head. "A family matter, I think. A full troop won't find anything, but if I go, I might."

The Hierophant considered. "Take a few of the skeletons with you. The Quartermaster will have a ring that places four of them under your command. Let me know what you learn."

Durest nodded. 

"...And Durest? Do be careful. I'd hate to lose your services just as you're coming into your power."

Durest: The Rewards of Service

Durest rolled over and shook his head. Whatever he was lying on, it was cold. Cold, and very, very hard. like bein' back in th' mines, he thought, except... Not everything he was lying on was cold. He tried to look around, but his throat was dry and his head was pounding and he could barely see; the light hurt his eyes. 

What had he been doing...? Oh, aye, right, the worship service. An' the afterparty... He remembered breaking out the store of al'cul, and sharing it around; he remembered the divine chaos that had ensued. He remembered that one bugbear that had fallen to her knees in praise of Indra, and stayed there; he remember the minotaur twins that had had pulled him aside. Lovely women, both of them, and those shoulders... broad enough to make a blacksmith cry. 

Durest managed to sit up, and someone handed him a flask. "Good party, old man." It was a woman's voice, one he didn't recognize.

He took it, sipped, then drank deeply: it was ale, exactly what he needed to recover. He wiped his eyes, shook his head, then poured the rest of the flask down his throat and said, "Praise Indra for his mercies, and my thanks to you." 

It was at that moment he realized that he was speaking in Dwarvish to another Dwarf, and that he should be surprised by this. 

But the voice just laughed as a rough hand took the flask away and handed him another. "So you're the strongest of Indra's chosen among our kind, are ye?" There was a distinct challenge in the tone. "Let's see what you can do." 

"Are ye drinkin' wi'me?" asked Durest, "or are ye a coward?"

"Oh, I'll go flask for flask, unless ye think ye need to rest first," answered the voice. Durest squinted, and made out a stoutly feminine form in front of the crude wooden table that had served as last night's altar. "Are ye up to a challenge, old man?" 

Durest was pretty sure that he was in no condition for a challenge, but the temptation was irresistible. "I'll drink whatever ye match, lass, and still be standin'."

There was a smile in the woman's voice when she answered: "I'd tell you to show me what ye've got, but since yer sittin' there bare-assed on the stones between a couple of besotted minotaurs I think I've seen it all already."

Durest shrugged. "Drink yer flask, then, and I'll drink mine, and we'll see who stands when we're done. I hold you honor-bound to drink every bit what I do."

"Agreed," answered the woman. "Let's hope it only gets harder from here."

"One way or another," answered Durest, "I'm sure it will."

Durest: Praise and Thanks

Durest watched the skeletons swarm over the deck and nodded to himself, satisfied. Finally! The invading ships were overrun, the Solari were dead or gone, and the dark army was arriving in force. The battle for Boiler Bay was over. Even better, they were nearly done riding around in that magical crab-statue, so he could reanimate his skeletal Frost Giant again. 

Turning, he walked to one of the soldiers who had teleported in once the protections were broken and the Solari slain. "A mighty victory," he said. 

The woman was human, tall and tanned and probably stronger than Durest; but when she focused on him, the sneer on her face disappeared and she swallowed. "Yes, champion." 

"When you celebrate tonight, offer thanks to Indra for it." 

She eyed him nervously. "The priests, they say Vecna--"

"Oh, it's a victory for Vecna to be sure," Durest nodded. "But it was Indra's power that made it possible. He's still strong, even after his defeat. And if you pray to Him, He'll lend that power to you and yours."

The woman nodded slowly. She was one of the desert barbarians, wild as the wind herself; her people would remember Indra. "May the Maker of Storms watch over us," she said, and then added: "Especially here, above all this water." 

Durest nodded, satisfied. It wasn't much, but it was a start. His god wanted more worshipers, so worshipers he would  have. Reminding the savage tribes to give praise to Indra's might wouldn't be enough, but it was easy to do and would take on its own momentum; they still remembered their traditions.

Turning, he went to look for another of the warriors. He had no tongue for sermons, but a quick reminder to put the word in their ear? That he could do.

Durest: Prayer and Worship

Durest sat in the dark and prayed. At the moment, it was all he could do. His servitor, Bob, created from the skeleton of a frost giant, was on the main platform with the others... but Durest was stuck here, in a sphere of force, holding a magical orb that would probably help to unlock something important. And until his god saw fit to restore his blessings, here he would stay. 

"Lord of the Winds," he said quietly, "Father of the Storms, Deceiver of the Gods, I offer praise. I marvel at your power and aspire to your cunning. Hear my voice as I worship your divine chaos." 

Durest Deathtouched, a soundless voice admonished, those are not the sanctioned names for your deity.

"Aye, well," said Durest, "it's no as if that's a sanctioned name for me either, but I appreciate ye're comin' up wi' it."

There was a silent chuckle. I bear you a message, Priest of Indra, as one of His servants.

"Sure'n that's new," Durest said. "I'm honored, right eno'."

We are pleased with your work, pleased that you help the Cult of Secrets. This, you should continue. There is no conflict in serving Indra and doing the work of the one-eyed god.

"Aye? And here was me thinking that it was nae more a good job that put me in view of all sorts of interesting necromancies whilst payin' quite well." Durest nodded. "'Tis good to hear."

Those magics may be of use to more than just yourself, Durest. Study them, learn them, for the greater glory of Indra as well. But while you do... remember that all gods draw strength from their worshippers, and Indra's worshippers are much depleted. 

"Aye," said Durest, "because people are fools." 

So fool them in turn, if you must. Dazzle them with the blessings that Indra places in your hands. Persuade them of what they should already believe. Bring them to the worship they should know already. Lead them to understand His glory.

"Oh," said Durest. "Ah've ne'er been much fer public speakin', y'know. Still, I'd not disappoint Himself by choice. He needs worshipers? I'll find him worshipers, and set them to proper praise and ceremony. If He's no at odds wi' Vecna, it shouldnae be too hard. Plenny o' orcs an' bugbears and suchlike around, who remember His strength of old." 

Very good. Remind them, guide them, call them back... and you will be much rewarded. 

"Well, I'm no opposed t'that," said Durest, "but ye know I'd do it anyway. I dinnae take vows on a whim, spirit."

This is good. But no one acts entirely unselfishly, and Indra of all the gods understands that.

The presence was gone then, ephemeral as it had been, and Durest nodded. Then he lay back; he needed rest, and when he woke he would have magic enough to remove himself from this bastard sphere and rejoin the rest of his group.