“We are called the Lost, but sometimes what is lost does not wish to be found.”
Ridgrath Ro, bariaur Athar champion
Third Lady's Day of Mortis, 126 HR
Factol Ambar had already covered half the distance from the outer edge of the Ring of the Athar to the Shattered Temple. It was one of those days in Sigil when the sky was a delicate gray, but the temperature was mild and the wind almost imperceptible. Nevertheless, anyone who had lived in the Cage long enough could sense that it would rain, if not the same evening, then the next day. The area surrounding the Temple, consisting mostly of destroyed buildings, was avoided by most of Sigil's inhabitants. Too obvious were the traces of the Lady's wrath, which centuries ago had destroyed not only Aoskar's temple but also all the surrounding blocks. No one had dared to rebuild the houses since then – or at least not many. Thus, the Ring of the Athar was a field of ruins several blocks wide, stretching in a circle around the Shattered Temple, now overgrown with grass, weeds, the ubiquitous razor vine and a few scattered trees that bravely stood their ground against the city's harsh climate. Only here and there had members of the Athar rebuilt a few houses, which they inhabited because the Temple was far from large enough to accommodate all the members of the faction. Some buildings were also used as taverns or shops, but rarely did any customers other than the Lost frequent these places. After all, who else but the Lost could feel at home in such a desolate and oppressive place?
Ambar did not, even though the Godsmen and the Athar shared some philosophical views and had been political allies for a long time. But the barren landscape of ruins and the broken, dark Temple at its center always weighed heavily on Ambar’s mind. He kept asking himself how his longtime friend Terrance could stand it here, in this gloomy building that was such an obvious symbol of decay and decline, surrounded by so many embittered souls. Of course, he had to admit that not all of the Lost were like that. When he thought of the priestess Jaya or the bard Askorion, they could certainly not be described as bitter. And as for decay, it was, after all, the decline of a powerful god that they witnessed here every day. Despite all of Terrance's positive traits, this was something that the factol of the Athar thoroughly enjoyed. Fortunately, Ambar was not here to discuss philosophical questions and personal attitudes toward divine power.
The Athar guards recognized him immediately and already knew that the half-elf visited the Temple from time to time to meet Terrance. So they simply bowed low in greeting and let him pass. Ambar himself was traveling without guards, as was usually the case. He simply did not like to surround himself with guards who constantly made him feel like his life was in danger. His deputy Ombidias and many of his other factors called it reckless, but Ambar always waved it off. Over the course of more than six hundred years, several factols had been murdered in Sigil - most of them in the presence of their bodyguards. That wasn't what he feared. Ambar Vergrove feared other things that were brewing on the horizon of the near future. Things that might have something to do with the Ring Prophecy and the God Machine. But also other things that concerned only himself and his faction, things he had to sort out, and soon. If only he knew how.
“You're still looking so glum.” His familiar, the pixie Kayedi, snapped him out of his thoughts. She had spent the last few minutes chasing a colorful butterfly, hoping to identify its species by the pattern on its wings. But now she had apparently grown bored, for she fluttered back to him to perch on his right shoulder.
“You're exaggerating,” he replied with a smile. “I was just thinking.”
She held on to his lapel and crossed her tiny legs. “Mhmm,” she said slowly. "You can't fool me, Ambar. I've known you too long. But I have to admit one thing ...“ She looked around briefly. ”There's something creepy about this place. No matter how many times I come through here, I always get a queasy feeling.“
Ambar nodded. ”A powerful god once died here. No wonder we can still feel the reverberations.”
Kayedi's dragonfly wings buzzed for a moment before she let them droop slowly. “You're probably right. You know ... when we came to Sigil from the Outlands, where we had spent so much time in the wild, free nature ... when we entered the Great Foundry and I realized that you wanted to stay there, I wasn't very enthusiastic. But then we visited the Shattered Temple for the first time, and I knew: it could have been worse.“
Ambar had to laugh. ”Do me a favor and don't say that when Terrance is around.“
”Oh.“ The pixie dismissively waved one of her little hands. ”I already told him that."
“Oh, really?” The half-elf raised his eyebrows. “And what did he say?”
“You know him.” Kayedi chuckled lightheartedly. “He just smiled mildly and said he was glad you hadn't been drawn to the Athar. At worst you would have had to fight for the factolship.”
Ambar smiled. “Yes, that sounds like him.”
When they reached the entrance to the Temple, Ambar strode through the wide corridor between the front wings into the courtyard of the mighty building. Kayedi had risen into the air again and was buzzing alongside him. The shattered dome allowed a view of the sky above Sigil, and in the center of the courtyard stood the Bois Verdurous, the Holy Tree of the Athar. Tall, calm and majestic, it seemed to be both guardian and treasure of the Temple. Many rumors and legends surrounded this tree. That it held the remaining essence of the dead god Aoskar. That its consciousness was always connected to the current factol of the Athar. That the tree stood on a powerful seal that held either unknown horrors or the key to unimaginable power. Ambar knew one thing for sure: only the factol of the Athar could touch the tree without burning up inside. And that the Lost stripped blessed and holy objects of their power and transferred it into the tree so that only Terrance could use it. These were just rumors in Sigil, but Ambar had seen it once, years ago. He knew enough to stay away from such an unusual tree, despite all the curiosity of a ranger.
However, when Ambar opened the door to his friend's chambers, warm light enveloped the visitors. In these rooms, the Temple's wonderful stained-glass windows were still intact, but the stone floor had been replaced by parquet. The quarters were a fascinating contrast between the rebellious, gloomy philosophy of the Athar and the healing, benevolent nature of their current factol. The walls were decorated with various paintings and works of art, including a triptych depicting the journey of a soul through the planes – from the Prime to the Astral Plane and finally to the Outer Planes. Next to it hung several portraits of former Athar factols and two landscape paintings of Elysium, reminiscent of Terrance's origins. Particularly striking was a painting of the Shattered Temple before its destruction, on which it slowly transformed into its current state when viewed for a longer period of time. But no one who entered Terrance's quarters could ignore the desecrated objects of various religions that were also to be found here: a broken mirror from the realm of the Seldarine, several once-sacred symbols of various orc deities that had been repurposed as a surreal sculpture, a small bronze image of the dwarf god Moradin that now served as a paperweight ... Various desecrated altars and other religious artifacts were arranged alongside the walls, but they were not displayed triumphantly, rather placed respectfully and thoughtfully. They seemed more like memorials than trophies. In one corner was a large fireplace with a cozy seating area in front of it, where informal conversations and consultations often took place, and opposite to it stood a long meeting table made of dark wood, surrounded by many chairs. It was decorated with inlaid ebony symbols representing different variations of the Athar faction symbol. Between the fireplace and the meeting table, a staircase led to an elevated part of the quarters where Terrance's desk stood, along with numerous bookshelves filled with works on philosophy and religion, but also medicine and healing arts. Several planters stood between the shelves, some of them containing rare medicinal herbs from different planes, whose scent filled the air. Despite the desecrated religious objects, the room radiated an aura of calm and peace, reflecting the complexity of Terrance's personality - a man who rejected the gods but was nevertheless deeply spiritual and compassionate. His quarters were equally a safe haven, a place of healing and a center for the leadership of the Athar.
Ambar and Kayedi found Terrance in the rear, slightly elevated part of his quarters. The high priest of the Great Unknown stood behind his desk, still half turned toward the shelf from which he had apparently just taken a book. When he heard Ambar approaching, he looked up and smiled. “The Lady's Grace, my friend. And of course to you too, Kayedi.”
“The Lady's Grace,” Ambar replied warmly, stepping toward Terrance, who offered him both forearms. The half-elf placed his own on top and briefly grasped his friend's elbows before letting go.
Kayedi waved cheerfully to the Athar’s factol. Terrance pointed to one of the chairs by the fireplace, where a small fire crackled. Although it was mild outside, the walls of the Temple always seemed to be filled with a certain coolness. Ambar took a seat and Terrance offered him a glass of wine, which he thankfully accepted. Kayedi perched on the back of the chair. The Athar’s factol also sat down, looking thoughtfully at the half-elf, and Ambar held his gaze for a moment before turning his eyes to the flames in the fireplace.
“Have you found anything?” he began without beating about the bush.
Terrance sighed, leaned back, and also looked into the fire. “No. I think I've tried everything, to the best of my power, but no. I haven't found anything.”
“You think?” Ambar smiled as Kayedi lowered her wings, a little disappointed. “Unusually vague words from you, my friend.”
Terrance gently shook his head. “I've never searched for the severed part of a soul before. So you'll forgive me for not being an expert in this field.”
“I appreciate everything you're trying to do,” Ambar assured. “I didn't mean to seem ungrateful.”
The high priest waved it off. “I didn't take it that way. And I still have a couple of ideas. But I'm afraid it will take some time.”
“I hope that part of his soul ... is still in Sigil?” Kayedi asked hesitantly. “I mean, you know it's not back with Ambar, right.”
“Yes,” Terrance confirmed matter-of-factly. “I'm sure of that. And I also believe that Ambar's soul fragment is still in the Cage. Because the old, almost forgotten legend that souls can leave Sigil only in a body - whether living or dead … I find that story quite plausible.”
Ambar turned the wine glass thoughtfully between his slender fingers and nodded. He knew this old legend.
For Kayedi, however, the story was obviously new, and she looked at Terrance with curiosity. “How do you know that? And why is that so?”
Terrance crossed his legs and the dark blue fabric of his precious robe scrooped softly. “Well, when someone dies outside Sigil, a powerful cleric can bring them back to life, right?”
Kayedi nodded seriously, but did not interrupt the high priest.
“But there are limits. Apart from the fact that the soul must be willing, the same applies to the body. It must not already be in a state of decay, which means that after two, at most three days, it's usually too late - unless the priest is very powerful, and even then the time span is only one to two weeks. In addition, after a few days the souls go to the realms of their gods or to the plane of their corresponding alignment. And once they are firmly integrated there as a petitioner, they cannot be called back.“
The pixie nodded again.
”But how is it in Sigil?“ Terrance continued. ”Here in the Cage, assuming that the body has been properly preserved, the soul can be called back even after a much longer period of time. There have been cases where corpses were protected from decay by magic or alchemy, and they were resurrected after weeks, even months. So the souls were obviously still in Sigil, had not yet wandered to their destined planes. Otherwise, this would have been impossible.”
Kayedi looked at the Athar’s factol with a mixture of astonishment and unease. “I've never thought about it, but ... you're right. But I wonder why they don’t resurrect more dead people in Sigil then. Especially in the Upper Wards, many people would have the means to do so. But that almost never happens, does it? Not after more than three days.”
Terrance nodded seriously. “Exactly. Because the resurrected people were usually no longer themselves. Their personalities were twisted, perverted, completely changed. At least in most cases.”
“But why?” Ambar asked, frowning. “Where have these souls been while the body was dead?”
“I don't know,” Terrance replied. “I haven't found any information about it. But it must be something sinister.”
The factol of the Godsmen was not exactly happy about this statement. “And the severed part of my soul ... is in this sinister place?”
Terrance raised his hands in an apologetic gesture. “I wish I had an answer to that question. But I don't. As it's only a part of your soul, perhaps different rules apply - but that's just speculation. Do you still feel completely like yourself? Unchanged?”
Ambar nodded and looked back into the fire. “I feel no different than before.”
The high priest's gaze became more inquiring. “And Lereia actually did that? That's a very interesting process.”
Ambar looked up immediately. “An interesting process? What do you mean? It wasn't her intention!”
“I didn't mean to imply that,” Terrance said calmly. “I just think her gift is amazing, that's all. And you ... take an interest in more than just her gift, hm?”
The glow of the flames might conceal it a little, but Ambar was almost certain he was blushing. “I ... well, I ...” He heard Kayedi giggle from where she sat on the back of the chair and decided there was no point in lying to Terrance. “To be honest ... yes.” He smiled, a little abashed.
The Athar’s factol nodded contentedly. “I had almost given up hope that you would ever take an interest in anyone again. A serious interest.”
“Me too,” Ambar admitted. “But for the first time since Caye's death, I actually feel like I can open up - and maybe even commit myself – to someone. But I don't want to rush anything. After all, Lereia was with someone else until recently.”
“With an Anarchist,” Terrance stated matter-of-factly.
Ambar sighed. “By the Source of All, Terrance, Sgillin is still half clueless. He didn't really know what he was getting himself into. He didn't even know the sign. I believe him.”
“I believe it, too,” the high priest admitted. “But still, a factol would surely be a better match for her than an Anarchist.”
“Maybe. But I'm ... just not quite sure yet ...”
Terrance eyed the half-elf with raised eyebrows, and Ambar paused. “What?”
The high priest smiled, undeterred. “Well, you took her to the Festhall, weren't you?”
Kayedi nodded eagerly. “To a vernissage, factol.”
Ambar shot his familiar a warning glance and couldn't help sounding a little snide when he replied to Terrance. “I see you've been reading SIGIS.”
“As we all,” Terrance countered with his usual calm. “But in this case, I didn't need to. Askorion was there and he saw you.”
Ambar sighed. “Oh, yes. Is there any place where your secretary is not?”
The factol of the Athar laughed. “A few. Not many.”
“How reassuring. Well, if you want to know the whole truth, she asked me if we could go there together.”
Now Terrance looked surprised. “Really? Then she's bolder than I would have thought. She must be interested.”
“I'm not so sure,” Ambar replied evasively. “Not sure whether it's a kind of advances or just ... an innocent search for protection from someone she trusts in all this chaos.”
Kayedi sighed exaggeratedly, and Terrance smiled mildly. “Ambar, my friend. Who should know more about women? The still youthful, attractive and charming bard - or the priest with a vow of chastity who is already in his early sixties?”
Ambar raised an eyebrow. “I thought that vow only applied while you were a priest of Mishakal?”
But Terrance wasn't going to let him change the subject so easily. “You're evading the question.”
The half-elf had to grin. “May I cast a veil of silence over it?”
Terrance smiled. “You may. But I will give you some advice nonetheless: do something about it. The matter is preoccupying you, distracting you and gradually making you restless. I have noticed it, and I am sure your confidants will notice it too. Such a state of mind is not good for a factol.”
Ambar nodded with a sigh. “Unfortunately, you're right. When she returns from the Abyss, I'll ... try to sort it out.” He leaned back and gazed into the fire. Yes , he said to himself, as soon as she returns from the Abyss ...
--------------------
In my campaign, even powerful priests cannot cast resurrection after weeks or even months. There are a few mechanics in DnD that I find overpowered and I have therefore removed them in my house rules. Resurrection and True Resurrection are among them. I feel that death and the danger of dying otherwise lose their meaning and impact when players know very powerful clerics.
Comments
Post a Comment