Archives: Search for the Stormlord
Chapter 2: Temple of Myrii
Bidding Bella a fond good bye, and Midau a more cautious, but respectful nod, Niklas left the bar and looked about. Still a crowded city. That in itself was a bit unnerving, he still wasn’t used to being surrounded at all times while trying to act calm. “So... where is the temple?”
Ghorde shook his head. “I’m quite new to the city myself, so I haven’t the faintest idea.” Ghorde shifted his body to allow the free flow of the populace. Last thing he wanted was to ram into somebody, causing a difference of opinions. “I’ll just be glad when we get out of this crowd.” Ghorde mustered a grim sense of humor, as best as he could. Sadly it would more than likely come off as a complaint rather than jest.
“It’s not too far,” Luda replied. People tended to stay out of her way, though respectfully. Soon they approached a street that was seemingly less traveled at this time of day. In the distance the dome of the temple could be seen. It was not as large or majestic as the temples of Falis or Marfa, but a calming aura seemed to emit from it all the same. “Most of the local worshipers would have gone home for the day by now,” she explained as they approached.
The young warrior looked at it, and seemed a bit in awe of it. While it wasn’t the largest building he had seen, at least recently, it still made his former home seem extremely small in comparison. “I figured most people were followers of Falis, or Marfa here. People seemed amused that I asked about the War God rather than another at times,” he said a bit passively. Crossing the threshold, he suppressed the urge to immediately bow to the War God’s avatar. Instead, he looked up, wondering where exactly to pray. “If it would be possible, priestess, I suppose a blessing from you would be fine.”
Ghorde nodded to the temple’s statue. “Well,” Ghorde smiled with grim satisfaction. “This is a fine work of art. Perhaps, after you have blessed us, I would like to ask you a few questions.”
Luda led them inside to the main worshiping chamber. “I suppose it can only be a good thing if the god of war loses popularity to the mother goddess. I am interested in hearing why you do follow Myrii more so than the others, if you don’t mind. After I preform the blessing, I’d be more than happy to talk to both of you.” She motioned with her hand to an altar. “If you’d present your weapons please... you can kneel if you wish, but to sit or remain standing is also acceptable.”
“My master told me something about Myrii. ‘You want to live in peace, pray to Marfa or Falis. But if you live by the sword, pray to Myrii, otherwise you’ll likely die,’” Niklas said, unsheathing the blade and placing it on the altar. It wasn’t metal, but it was of a strange design. Rather than a straight rapier, or a thicker broad sword, it was a wooden curved sword. Oddly enough, it was blunted, although the wood would still do a great bit of damage if swung hard enough. Kneeling down, he waited for the blessing.
“It never hurts to get good with as many gods as you can,” Ghorde handed the priestess his worn-down broad sword. The sword obviously has seen better days, but its edge looked sharp enough. It definitely had a sinister design to it. Its hilt was shaped with the leering eyes that Marmo weapons tended to have on them. But it was not an intricate or complex sword. Ghorde knelt before the altar, trying his best to follow Myrii custom.
“Those who live by the sword can be expected to die by the sword, its only logical,” Luda replied to Niklas. “I don’t expect peace to last forever, so I’m pleased to see that some people still accept that as a way of life. Hopefully you will be granted a long and healthy one, and Myrii will aide you, I’m sure.” She turned to take Ghorde’s weapon next. “And you have a good point, sir.”
She placed the weapons on the flat section of the altar built to hold heavy weapons of many varieties, and stood in front of it with her palms held forward. “Great Myrii grant us your protection and your guidance in conflicts that shall come to pass, and the power to overcome the forces of darkness that plague this land and the hearts of men even in these peaceful times.” She paused for a moment, and then opened her mouth to begin a hymn. Her voice was deep but sweet, and matched the low chords of the blessing perfectly. It was an ominous but reverent song that consisted of two repeated verses, then two shorter ones, and then three simple praises.
After it was finished, she turned around to face them. “It is done,” she said, and picked up a weapon in each hand to return them. “Thank you for showing your respect.”
“Aw, no problem,” Ghorde scratched the back of his head, a little dumbstruck by the enchanting prayer. He unceremoniously placed the sword in its sheath. Both scabbard and blade had a worn look. Obviously they both have seen better days. And judging by the scratch marks on the lips of the scabbard, the sword was hastily drawn many times. Ghorde stood up, his knees aching. “Curious that a knight would be running around with a child’s toy.” He couldn’t help but sneer at the odd wooden sword, “A staff of fine oak is one thing, but a wooden sword...” Ghorde trailed off, shrugging, “Maybe in these times, the need for protection is not so great. Perhaps a wooden sword is all a man needs to defend himself with.”
“Well, life is just a dream. We all have to wake up sometime.” Reaching out, Niklas took the weapon out of her hands and looked along the edges. He wondered exactly what properties had been instilled in it, but he figured it would only come out in battle. Something he had yet to see yet. Clutching the hilt loosely, he stepped back, swinging it lazily at first, then taking a fighting stance not used by a knight. After several mock blows to the air, all of which were lightning quick, he sheathed the blunted edge. “A wooden sword is what I will keep until I get my sword,” he said a bit absently. “Anyway, I haven’t seen any battles. A few soldiers in Flaim sparred with me, but their form was a bit off. They weren’t bad, but they need work.” What he didn’t know, however, is when he resisted arrest, they had meant to either kill, or incapacitate him. Even know, he was a wanted man, and didn’t even know it. “I’m sure their masters will give them a few lashes for the lax fighting style, but I didn’t say him or her anywhere at the time.”
Ghorde laughed at the younger knights comment. “So Flaim’s soldiers need work on their swordsmanship?” Ghorde involuntarily shifted his shoulder around, as if it ached or had become stiff. “Then again, they were sparring with you. But don’t be fooled, a soldier is still a soldier.” Ghorde looked into Niklas’ eyes for a moment, “and when a soldier fights, he fights to kill. Not exactly something you would want to mess with.” Ghorde paused for a moment, eyes closed in thought, scratching his beard. “But, I’m an old man, back in my days, Flaim soldiers were fierce warriors. Perhaps your right kid, maybe they’re getting too soft.” Ghorde’s voice suddenly became conspiratorial.
“My master said they were strong, but...” he said a bit passively, not sure how to contradict Ghorde. “Easily gutted. She said that the true warrior spirit of Flaim died when they needed rescued from an outlander.” His mother had been more bitter about unification than anything else. He didn’t know when it had happened, it was a taboo subject when he was growing up. “I thought maybe that was why. One of the first lessons I was taught is that its not the strongest, or the fastest, but the strongest will that wins.”
Turning to leave, Niklas gave a slight bow to the priestess. “Thank you priestess, but I do not want to over stay my welcome. I need to find my sword, and I need an early start.”
Ghorde nodded to the back of the young swordsman, and spoke to himself, “Aye, the spirit of many nations died in those days.” He paused, turning to the priestess. “But as long as we have young bloods such as yourselves, Lodoss will remain healthy.” Suddenly he began again, hoping to break the slight pause that hung in the air. “Well, I suppose I should find a place to stay...” Ghorde nodded to the priestess, “I’m thankful. A blessing from Myrii has never let me down, good day madam.” With that, Ghorde left to make his way back to the tavern. It had been a long travel, and he needed sleep.
“You will always be welcome at this temple,” Luda replied to them both with a small smile. “May Myrii bless your travels.” She watched them depart in silence, and then remembered about her grandfather. By this point it was time to give up. “For Myrii’s sake,” she sighed, and headed back inside the temple to see if anyone could use her help.
