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Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

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it took him a while to navigate his way through the winding twisting halls of the temple but he made it to the hospice, it was fairly large place consisting of a lobby, just over a dozen rooms at the very least for the patents, four rooms designed for operating on patents in critical health and a morgue for the ones that didn't make it.
(at least the roommates are going to be quiet) Blake thought when found where the morgue was. afterwards he took one of the empty patient rooms next to Morr and the Plagued man. he made his bed, locked the door, crawl into bed and went to sleep.
 
Al rests against the wall, wondering if he should bother Wolfram with his queries. He didn't want to impose on Zato, but he doubted the head monk would have time for him.
 
The dull thud of heavy Trebuchets was drowned out by the thunderous crash of the heavy munitions they slung. Leonard stood, proud, upon the battlements of Acre, looking down into the burning city. Thousands of 'Innocent' heathens died in flames, smoke choking the city. Leonard drew his blade.

"Clense this city with sword and fire," He bellowed, "Purge this filth from their holes!, flood every warren with their blood!"

Charging down the stairs leading into the city, he dispatched with equal ease fleeing civilian and routing soldiery. Only pale-skinned were spared his wrath, and even then, only those in true faith. A few stood by the sides of the filth, and Leonard cut them down with equal zeal.

His blade fell upon the neck of a fallen mother, her crying babe begging for mercy. Bringing his heavy boot up, Leonard repeatedly stomped on the squealing thing until its sounds stopped.

No, Leonard did not believe, not truly, in his cause. Not anymore. He did this for pleasure now. "Gods Will" was a happy vindication that he was in the right, rationalization that he was truly superior to this scum. As if he needed more reasons to relish ripping the life from this defenseless vermin.

Leonard screamed as he rocketed upwards, his eyes flaring wide in panic. His scream came out as no more than a gurgle, as fluid spewed forth from his mouth and lungs like a guyser. A painful hacking fit too much for his weak lungs to bare latter, Leonard lie upon his bed, practically sitting thanks to the back-board, which afforded him more comfort with his affliction.

Across the way, he could see the less permenant resident, but he payed him no mind.

Leonard began to cry, openly, sobbing, his heaving interrupted by weak, pitiful coughs. He mumbled incoherently, mostly going between "Why, God, why?" and various inane sentences. His sobbing became more weak as his body simply couldn't afford to spend the energy on it. Leonard simply wished to die, to pay for his sins.

"What cruel god..." He muttered, not caring what ears would misconstrude, "Would let this suffering exist?"

He did not beg for release from his torment, rather, he begged that his own existence had been cut short long ago. Nothing would ever make the memories go away, the things he did and relished doing. He could give some small peace, however.

Leonard lay himself flat, and be it through force of will, or simple weakness, refused to right himself. He knew soon enough what would happen. He accepted it.

This would be Leonards last night.
 
Opening the door to his room (or as some would call it, his auxiliary shack) he steps upon the tines of a rake, the handle flying up to smack into his noise. Stepping back a few steps, eyes watering, Valetni is gratified to be able to make out the shape of a 1 foot tall statue of a monkey reading a book perched on his bedside table, aside from the rake, everything else is in perfect order. With a wry grin, he puts the rake back into place and slips into bed.
 
Blake wakes up suddenly hearing the loud coughing and hacking echoing throughout the hall, he since he forgot to take off his outer clothes it takes him very little time to get out of his room and investigate the noises which he suspected it was the man with the plague. he hurried to the plagued man's room and entered it to try and investigate...
 
Leonards limbs shuddered as he coughted and sputtered, trying to force the thick puss out of his lungs. The exhaustion from the day however kept him from getting access to sweat air. Spots swam in his vission as he violently thrashed, the burning in his chest only growing worse. The thick bile tasted worse than anything he had ever had to swallow, and he had been plastering himself with this goo for the last ten years.

Blood swam in the mucus in thick ropes, as he struggled to try and breath.
 
Blake rushes to one of the cabinets in the room and grabbing one of the thin sheets and ripping it to make an impromptu face mask, (he's got Tuberculosis, I've seen it before during one of the sieges during my time in the army, and it's contagious through breathing in the presence of one who has it, i must be careful) he thought, believing He has wrapped enough sheets around himself to keep out the saliva the man was coughing up, he then grabbed a pair of leather gloves to wear. and then walked to the infected man's side to attempt to stop the coughing
 
-I wonder if there are any ball courts here...- Al is lost in thought, mind drifting back to the childhood days of play. That was before the incident of course. Such a tragic thing; yet it had set him upon this journey. He would pay off his debt one day. Until then, the woman would always haunt him. Unable to stop the flow of memories, Al is launched into his past.

The washerwoman had always been in the river when he played with his friends. They would kick the ball back and forth, between the posts, but Al always stopped and looked at her. The village had ostracized her; she was outcast, feared for magic, and everyone said that she danced with demons. But to Al, she was a kindly woman who gave him a pat on the head when no one was around before sending away. He didn't even know her name.

One day the villager's fears had come to the bursting point. They had gathered at dusk and banded against her. She was only one woman, and could do little to stop them; to her credit, no magic was brought against them. No demons came to her aid. Al had seen her the next day, tied up to a post by the river. She said nothing, saw nothing with her eyes tightly shut. But he saw the tears slide down her cheeks, and some part of his young mind understood that she was grieving terribly. The village chief had declared that she would stay like this, until starvation proved her innocent of being an abomination.

Al, of course, had immediately thought to help her. He would smuggle her food, or maybe cut her free and run away with her. So his mind had been at ease, even hopeful, as he walked to the shore that night. But the fates had other plans. He noticed something odd when he came upon the bank. The river was in an uproar, as if in high flood; but the season was entirely wrong for that! Heart beating like tom-toms at a festival he rushed. Barely his mind registered the tangled corpse of the man sent to guard her strewn about the trees. He had eyes only for her. And she was not alone.

A large grotesque Thing toward over her. In the half-light it appeared to be a crocodile and bird at the same time, gloating over its kill. She had been ripped from the post and was pushing feebly at its maw, still silent, visibly straining under the weight of halted screams. It ended even as Al rushed in, desperation giving him a chance to do something, anything! But it was all for naught. The vile beast slithered back into the river. Al knelt by the woman, seeing her wounds and knowing there was no hope. She lived, but not for much longer. With faltering breath, she told him of her life.

She had been passed the right of warder from her mother. Her charge was to perform certain rites by the riverside, protecting the village and herself by appeasing the demon. The village could never understand. But she had been seen, dancing in the moonlight, by a passing boat. The rumors had started, and by leaping and bounding over the heads of small men, had ended with tonight. She had struck a final bargain, her life in exchange for the safety of the river. The demon accepted, and the contract was sealed. With her last gasp she had but two words: "Thank you."

Soon after, Al had gone to the monks of the Eastern Temple...

With a start, Al stirs from his reverie. -Best not to dive deeply in the past, lest the demons catch you unawares.- He instead turns to his meditations for comfort, still resting on the wall.
 
And so night falls over the Temple, the silver orb in the sky reflecting off of the rushing waters as they go over the side. The moon plots its course serenly, oblivious to the day's hectic events in its motions. Eventually, it sets, the stars in the sky twinkling out as red and orange trickle across the horizon. Dawn will soon arrive, and with it a new day of new opportunities. Of new faces. But also of new dangers. And an even darker wind blowing over the lands.

For in the Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls, nothing is ever as peaceful as it seems.
 
Korsarro blearily opens his eyes, finding that the ground is not nearly as comfortable or warm as it had been the night before. He groans loudly, gathering some curious glances from the Guards and Monks who had not grown used to the little Tanners usual sleeping habits. He sat up slowly, his head and eyes shouting at him to lay back down, forcing pain through his system. He reminded himself to aim for the carpets if he had to puke. Always the carpets. They could be cleaned. He forced himself to climb upon the chair he had fallen from less than a day before and found a fresh tankard sitting in front of him. Somebody had learned his habits well, he would have to investigate and discover who later so they could be properly thanks. With more drinking. He downed the tankard in several large gulps, pulling it from his now somewhat soaked face and feeling better already. He wiped his face on the back of his hand and decided that he should bathe, the smell from yesterdays events hitting him harder than Vernasus had with Zatos arm, which, now that he remembered, he scooped up from the dark corner. He decided to move to his Tannery, hoping that the garden was less... ruined now.
 
The mule whickered again as Alyssa pulled it behind her stubborn at being forced to carry the majority of the load up the path to the temple that rested atop the mountain. It was laden down with her armor, her personal supplies and then some goods she picked up for the Monastery given their remote location. The most important possession at the moment she held herself in a small, unadorned wooden case. It had been quite sometime since she returned, even longer since she had brought back any artifacts. The going was slow what with the pack mule and her own cautious going with her cargo, to the point Alyssa had stopped part of the way up to make camp. There she reflected on how peaceful the trip could be amongst the chirping of the nightlife in stark contrast to the raucous nature and dangerous elements within the temple that rested atop the hill.

Before the sun peaked over the horizon Alyssa broke camp and completed the last leg of the trip, approaching the temple along the winding pathway, faithful yet obstinate pack mule trailing behind her. Walking up to the imposing gates she took a deep breath hoping at least a few of them weren't passed out in the throes of heavy hang overs. Raising the heavy brass knocker on the gate she slammed it against the wood several times hoping the ruckus would catch an early birds attention or rouse one of them from sleep.
 
Zato awakened, and stepped out of the room, trying to avoid the other men in there. He headed to the kitchen, where he had the pig defecate more vegetables into a bucket. This time, a boy of about twelve was there and offered to wash them and heat some sausages while Zato fetched containers of ale, which he set around the table. All around, a nice breakfast.
 
Arngeirr sat up in his bed - a might bit to small for him - and stretched his mighty arms as he let out a huge yawn. His huge feet hit the cold stone floor as he roused himself from his huge slumber, ready to face any challenge of the day as a proper gentleman. He had spoken as truthfully to the monks as he could, telling them all that was appropriate, and once again uttered a silent pray to the gods that he was not making a mistake and would bring ruin to these huge gentlemen; for if there were any in this world who deserved death and destruction, it most certainly was not the monks of Buzzia and the brave Guard who kept watch over the Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls.

"I say," he murmured to himself, "It's about time to put on some trousers..."

Striding across the room, Arngeirr that a servant had deposited his once soiled trousers in the room for him. With haste he dressed himself, now properly clothed from the waist down but still with his huge muscled chest bare. He must do his best to be professional now, as a gentleman should; and today was an important day for him. He had received the blessings of the monks, and today he would enter the reliquary and search its vaults for Anvindr's relic. The wretched mechanism of the Anvindr family's shame. Arngeirr breathed deep of the fresh morning air, soothing his nerves and steeling his resolve. He decided it would be best to seek out Zato and request the senior monk's permission to enter the reliquary; he was sure the Temple's master would be quite busy today in the wake of last night's violence.
 
Brother Vernasus wakes up from a fevered dream, laying in a pool of his own sweat. He attempts to get up out of bed, only to freeze in place, as the cloth sheet draped over his body has now become agonizingly uncomfortable. He swiftly rips the sheet off his naked flesh and jumps to his feet, letting out an enormously loud roar as the skin underfoot floods with the sensation of intense pain the moment it touches the hardwood floor of his bedchambers.

"WHAT IN ALL OF THE HELLS?"

His entire body is covered in an ugly red rash, and even the dry air of his bedchambers itself, seems to torment his skin upon contact.

He quickly searches for fresh vestments, shuddering at the thought of his orange robes brushing against his now insanely sensitive skin. His search is completely fruitless however, and he jerks open his door and storms off into the lobby completely naked, shooting each and every guard he passes with a venomous, hate filled look as the sheer pain utterly overrides any sense of embarrassment he should feel.
 
"damn that was close" Blake muttered thinking about the close call with the plagued man's near death experience. it's been about 5 hours since it happened and Blake wanted to make sure that the plagued man was stable for the time being. Blake cleaned himself up and burned the face mask and leather gloves 2 minutes after he helped the man with clearing his lungs.

when the sun just began to rise Devlin decided to go check on the Knight with the cracked ribs just in case he didn't die while Blake was helping the plagued man
 
Al awakes to find his meditative wanderings had taken him to Zato's room. -Well, he did offer...- Shaking his head, he goes about the rituals for his armor. He rubs down each piece with a cloth to be sure of its unspoiled surface. When he is satisfied with it's sheen, he begins the assembly. It is complete within a minute; such is his experience with it that it may as well be his true skin. A quick prayer and he's all set. Stretching a bit, he wanders off into the hall for morning grub. Taking the same seat as yesterday he digs heartily into the sausage and, after another tentative taste of his beverage, starts gulping it down as well. One must be very vigilant indeed when some drinks hit harder than demons.
 
The gate cranked open as one of the guards opened it up. Giving a friendly wave when her memory clicks in.

“Good morning Klevan, still pulling the early shifts?”

He made an inaudible grumbling that undoubtedly involved a hefty amount of profanity. It was comforting to know some things didn't change. Handing off the mule's reigns to a waiting young boy who in turn lead it off to tether it in the stables, Alyssa proceeded into the lobby with her package in hand.

At that moment a great commotion was stirred up as an exceptionally naked and rash covered Vernasus stormed on through like a hurricane of rage.

Sometimes it was a little disquieting how things didn't change.

“Ah.” Alyssa opened her mouth, not quite certain how to handle...whatever was going on. Alyssa raised her voice to try and pierce his fairly determined march“Vern, I think you...forgot something.”
 
Valetni was doomed. He stood, staring at the little monkey on his bed side table, damning proof of his guilt in last night's mischief. "To the Cleverest" read the words on the base, in a neat, elegant script. Right now Valetni wasn't feeling so clever, the consequences of his actions would fast be approaching, once the affect of the powdered rat poison became apparent.

Right now, in his mind, he had two choices as he sat facing the monkey.

He could let Varnasus, that unimaginative oaf who was no doubt planning his revenge at the moment, get his licks in, surrender as it were, to the inevitable.

Or he could attempt to hide, to evade the bee obsessed fool until he had either calmed down or one of the other monks intervened on his behalf, it was his best chance to make it out unscathed, but Varnasus' wrath would be ever greater should Valelni be found after having had eluded him for so long. Neither option was very appealing to the head of custodial staff.

The monkey statue stared back, and a thought began to slowly form in his mind. Was he not Valetni? The cleverest of them all? He paused to check to make that yes, he was indeed Valetni. And with this affirmation, he began to plot.

Moving to the window, he threw it open, judging the distance to the ground, too far to jump and hope to survive without injury. Moving quickly to his closet, he brought out four items.

The first, a very wide wire brush, which he placed directly in the path of any who would enter his room, and covered it with a cloth. The next item was a bucket, which he then proceeded to fill with bleach. Opening his door just a crack he placed the bucket above the door, using the doorstop to loosely secure the door so that it would not be opened by a stray gust of wind, or anything short of someone opening the door. The final item was the length of rope and bar hook that he used to clean the monastery windows from outside, now they would facilitate his escape. Looking around to make sure everything was in order, he quickly tied off the rope to his under habit harness, locked the restraints in place on the window sill, then carefully back out and began his descent. Anyone on the greens below would have been greatly alarmed, or perhaps amused to see a figure slowly descending the outside wall.
 
Arngeirr, not quite familiar with the layout of the Forbidden Temple yet, attempts to backtrack his journey through its halls. After getting lost at least twice and ending up in a chamber that he would rather not talk about, Arngeirr's huge presence makes it way into the lobby. There he sees a familiar face, just as angry as heavy. He lets out a huge hearty laugh and says, "Dear Vernasus, I blieve I have the measure of you now! You are surely an intense man who-"

Something stops the huge wheels in Arngeirr's huge brain from turning for a moment. From the mighty vantage of his eyes at the top of his huge body, Arngeirr often looks down on people, and details can be difficult to ascertain from a huge's-eye view. Upon closer inspection, Arngeirr realizes two things about Vernasus's current predicament. First, what Arngeirr assumed as a sign of his huge anger actually appears to be a savage red rash. Furthermore, and most importantly, Vernasus is stark naked.

"I say old bean!" he exclaims, "Soothe thy huge anger for thou art naked!"

From the corner of his eye, Arngeirr spots a newcomer having just entered the lobby. He quickly positions his huge - and dressed - body between the slight woman and the raving monk. "Good heavens fair lady, dreadfully sorry about him," Arngeirr tries to explain, "He's not normally so... nude."
 
Brother Vernasus stops suddenly, turning to Alyssa and shooting her a venomous look before savagely grunting in reply to both her and the most assuredly huge man standing in front of him. Vernasus marches up the winding staircase of the lobby and approaches the double doors of Master Wolfram's quarters, repeately slamming his fist down violently on the hard wood, his sheer anger now utterly overwhelming the pain coursing through his body. The sound of his booming voice echoes through the halls, as his fist slams down again and again on the door.

"WAKE UP, BEFORE I BREAK DOWN THIS DAMN DOOR!"
 
Opening his eyes, Morr stared through the view-slits in his helmet up at the stone-ceiling. He had long ago lost the reflex most people felt compelled to act out to rub the sleep in their eyes away, what with him having the unhealthy habit of often sleeping in his armor. The nightmares did not keep him from sleeping really, he had become used to them, yes sometimes he even embraced them as just punishment.

Remembering yesterday's occurrences, Morr instinctively reached for his side, finding his broken ribs properly bandaged. He also had an array of cuts all over his already scarred chest, how had that happened?

Rising, he inspected his surroundings, recognizing them as that of a hospice, him laying on one of the beds. To his left, in the next bed, lay the concealed man he had saved from the fiend yesterday.

He unseated himself and began to reach for his breastplate and sword he spotted open in the corner.
 
Korsarro takes a detour on his way to the garden to head to the lobby, the sound of the heavy gates opening reaching all the way to the banquet hall. A visitor, perhaps they would let him examine the artifact for once. Korsarro chuckled a little, no, they wouldn't, they'd be mad to do something like that. He shook his head, damnit Korsarro you're a tanner not an artifact expert. He stepped into the lobby and took in the sight that found him, there was so much to see. Vernasus was nude and from the looks of things ready to destroy anything in his path, the huge knight was still just as huge and gentlemanly, using his hugeness to shield the visitor from the naked Vernasus. He stepped to the side as Vernasus strode past him, suddenly very much aware that his height made certain things far too visible. The accursed flopping would follow him to his grave. He looks to the visitor, recognising her a little as one of the many Guards who had been sent out to search the land for artifacts. He waved over to her "Alyssa! Can I play with the shiney?!" He grinned, before realising that he was still covered in yesterdays results and had many blades still tucked into his leathery garments. Truly, he was not a man to be trusted with anything at all at first glance.
 
Alyssa's mouth went into a half smirk, the left side being impaired by a scar running from her cheek bone to her jawline. Waving dismissively with her free hand at the gregariously huge man she chuckled slightly.

“It's perfectly fine. I've seen much worse and much better, a bit more concerned Vern doesn't end up wringing someone's neck at the moment.”

Alyssa paused as she looked the muscled man over a bit more closely, rapidly deciding she didn't remember anyone like this from before. Either someone who had joined while she had been away or a visitor like herself. Sparing a wondering glance as Vern stormed off to deliver some naked justice to someone, she felt a small bit of relief at not being the focus of it.

A familiar voice rang out as someone quite the opposite of the Huge man emerged. Korsarro hadn't seemed to have changed at all in her absence, blades and homemade attire as normal. His eagerness to examine the artifact made her pause. Past experiences had shown while willing, it wasn't a smart idea to trust such things to him alone.

"I...wouldn't object to this Kor, but I'd like to have a little bit of oversight. Maybe somewhere quieter as well. All right?"
 
The warm sunlight broke through the simple curtains to dance and play on the young girl's face, she batted her large eyes, rolling to try and avoid the day's embrace.

Eventually she rises, groggy and blurry eyed she pulled on a clean, (and all the more important) fitting habit before slowly making her way to the kitchen to say good morning to Zato and the Quacks and eat breakfast.

her little feet tapping their way down the hallways completely oblivious to the work of the monks around her she enters the kitchen.

"M-mister Zato?....." she says as she enters the room, not finding him she proceeds to the Quack Cupboard, finding the sleeping birds inside.

"Good Morning Miss Quack" the tiny girl murmurs as she strokes it's feathery head.

The Mother duck sits nestled atop her ducklings, having managed to pull the sack around it and form a sort of nest it waits for it's young to rise, Mary takes some toast off of the table of things waiting to be taken in for Breakfast and breaks it into small pieces leaving it near the front of the cupboard.

She shuffles out of the room, feet once again pattering along the floor on her way to the dining room
 
His descent completed, Valetni detaches himself from the rope, leaving it in place in case he needs to return to his room without going through the rest of the monastery, before sprinting towards his shed. The poison would be dissipated by now, or so he hoped. Quickly stopping outside the shed, he nervously walked behind it, making sure none could see what he was up to. Pulling a small hand towel from inside his robe, Valetni quickly went about the process of dousing it with urine, wringing it out before wrapping it over his face.

Pushing in the shed entrance, he felt around until he located the trap door in the floor. Hoisting it up, he clambered down into the space below. Intended as a root cellar, it was twice as wide as the shed above. He left the trap door open, until he retrieved his tinder and flint, which he used to ignite of of the torches ensconced in the wall. He closed the trapdoor above him, locking it with a sliding bar so that it could only be opened from below. Valetni could now relax, no one knew of this place, there was no record of it, and no living monk had ever been here, except for him. The rotten floor had given way one day, dropping him inside, after repairing the floor, he had set about converting the room for his own purpose.

Here, was his laboratory.
 
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