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Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

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"hey" Blake said getting the giant's attention and then held up a basic healing potion known by most soldiers and peasants as Cherub's Tears.
when the giant turned his head to look at him, Blake said to him "try this but give it to her slowly so she doesn't vomit it back up" he then tossed the potion to the giant and walked back to the alchemist's room to check on him again.
 
The Hugeman deftly caught the potion and leaned over Mary and the other monks present. "Here, little one," he says soothingly, "The good apothecary says this will help the pain. Drink it slow, young lass, or you'll get sick again." Arngeirr holds the potion down to her lips for her to drink with one hand, holding her head with the other to help herself up.
 
Eyes behind his helmet widening for a split-second in surprise before again narrowing in suspicion "Are you saying that this item transformed you into the appearance that I see now? What would you name yourself to be before it worked its vile influence upon you?"

There was little that was yet capable of surprising Morr and the revelation that this beast might have once been a man was one of these things, however, as he had to admit, he would certainly not put it out of reach of the range of capabilities of one of these foul artifacts that held a demon's might.
Something in him demanded that he simply let the beast be culled, be wise and remove any and all insecurity that came with this creature's existence, namely that even if it had once been a man, the obvious influence of the item, if one believed its words, could have changed not only its appearance, but also its intentions.

But goodness was not operating on something as mundane as wisdom. It was obvious that this creature must have known that coming here would be literal suicide, but if even against this danger it was willing to give its life just to deliver a highly dangerous item, then the purpose would demand it to be granted a chance, or rather reward for its service, understanding and patience for its obvious predicament. Love for the loveless, mercy for the merciless...
 
"Demon, why should we believe you? Why not ferry it here under cover of dark and leave to end your fate elswhere, if ever you were a man. This place would no doubt know it for what it was. Lies! You are of the taint that creeps along the grime-spattered edge of our world. Filth like you should be struck out from the world of men." Seething, Al takes a bold step forward. "Sir Morr it speaks naught but half-truths. Even if it had been a man before, the demon could have twisted him still to its purposes. It most likely comes to sow fear and confusion with its item. Let us stop this useless talk and smite it." He looks toward Wolfram. "What say you, Master Monk?"
 
Mary slowly drinks the liquid, it's cold touch blindingly different to the burning she was experiencing before, and as it slides down her throat she can feel it begin to make everything numb again.

"T-thank-you" her now numb throat manages to whisper out.

her tears begin to stop, her mouth opens and closes but no words leave her lips, she tugs her knees up to her chest, she is trembling still, though not as much as before, her small eyes close and ever so slowly she falls asleep.
 
To Morr, the beast listened, but winced at the word 'man', recoiling so much as to lift its right foreleg into the air. Its ears drooped, and it hung its head low. Even its bestial timbre couldn't hide the shame in his words; its voice was quieter now. “There is a name, written among a list of dead, far from here. The man that wore it is no more a man; he was lost, and mourned. He was a man that should- that would have taken death ten times over, rather than become what I am. Out of respect for him, not me, I ask you let him rest.”

Al's words drew no fire nor posturing from the creature; no angry arch of the back or defiant spread of the wings to challenge his accusations. It merely turned its head to watch him speak, with the quiet patience of one being told what he already knows.

“I have come here for redemption, armoured one... In service, or in sacrifice. It was a weak will in the face of death that saw me to this wicked fate, and I've come now to rectify that; this thing I've brought has wounded me greatly, and wounded others- I would see it locked away, and for I to guard the lock; it gave me wings to travel far, but I will stay. It gave me strength to kill, but I will serve. Worst of all... It took from me my place among my comrades in arms. It took from me my purpose. To find it again here would be both penance and reward...” It sighed heavily. “As would a merciful death. I do not know if my mind will forever remain my own, or if it will fade from me; whether the demon intends I become a mindless beast or have to live with the knowledge of what I've lost. But so long as there is even the slightest chance I could an innocent, that I could become the very sort of beast I once slew, then I cannot leave here. I do not, in truth, know if I desire redemption or if I, again, merely fear death... But if you leave me my life, I will see I work to the former. If I cannot...” He let the words hang in the air, their meaning as cold and stark as the spearheads and blades of the men around him.
 
Zato gave a sigh of relief as Mary finally went back to sleep, and he held her hand.
"Thank you, all of you." he said to the others. Dark circles had started to form under his eyes, and his head started nodding.
 
He watches as mary drifts off to sleep.

He leans in and lightly kisses her forehead, before wiping the tears from his face.
"Oh little one. I swear to you, nothing will ever harm you again. Even if I must sacrifice my very life, to make it so."
 
Arngeirr straightens to his full huge height, taking in a huge breath and letting it out in a huge, explosive sigh.

"Thank the gods," he mutters. He covers his face with his huge hands and turns away from the assembled monks. The little one is in good hands now, he believes, so long as damned Vernasus does not tarry in the hospice long. As for the hugeman, he has other matters to attend to; the slight woman Alyssa had been guarding his father's relic since he had swiftly departed the kitchen and dining hall to carry young Mary to the hospice. The monks all seemed to know her; he trusted them - most of them, at least - and had silently allowed the woman to protect his father's shame. The giant lumbers from the hospice, not saying another word to the monks, his limbs devoid of energy in the wake of the chaos that had erupted, and begins to journey back to Alyssa and the box he had left behind.
 
If Wolfram's expression has been cold of late, his eyes now hold a glacial chill that would strip a man of all heat in seconds. The only thing breaking the icy demeanor was the great arm at his side, the obscenely packed muscles under the crimson skin seemingly twitching in apprehension.

With a heavy sigh he closes his eyes for a moment, opening them slowly and with much less frost in his visage. Without hesitation he takes a step forwards towards the creature; no, the man, that rests bleeding before him. His great arm is extended, palm up and with the three claws spread wide. "Trust...is something we can ill afford in a situation such as this. It would be easy to be betrayed, to be paranoid and simply slay you and take the artifact from your corpse, removing all risk. But... sometimes the implausible is the truth, and sometimes a man must trust his gut.

But that does not mean open arms and warm tea. You will be under guard, and it does seem Brother Al is volunteering to lead your guard. Your wings will be bound until your artifact can be studied, which may take time given recent events. And of course, you will hand over the artifact to me, hear, now, or I will have to disregard my gut and the Guard will transform you into a feathered pincushion." Ahh, if looks could freeze... well the idea is understood here.
 
He quietly rose to his feet, and followed silently in line behind the huge man, Arngierr.

He had been given a job to do. A job he had shirked, in favour of petty squabbles.

It would not happen again.
 
Seeing the brother librarian walk through the protective lines of guards, speaking with the beast, Morr hastily followed to stop the foolhardy man, grabbing the man by the shoulder "Brother Wolfram, you may deem yourself and this... cursed being secure enough, but I can only urge you to leave the task of retrieving the item to me, you are not yet used up as much as I before the purpose!" he pleaded to the man, aware that the feathered creature could tear a man near its claws faster than the archers could fire their projectiles.
 
Arngeirr casts one look over his shoulder and sees Vernasus following in shame. The huge man says nothing and continues on his way, walking slowly, taking his time to reach his destination. He feels the huge weight of his mighty physique, exhausted even after eating his fill to slake the Hunger of the Huge. But it is no the need to feed that ails him now; he has grown weary of this place, of the things he must contend with to complete his journey, or the things he has seen done to innocent men and little girls at the hands of those sworn to protect them. But Arngeirr is, as always, a gentleman; he knows he must stand his ground in all things and try his very best. It is not a question for him; it is simply how he functions, for if he were to do anything else, he could no longer call himself the son of Anvindr.

Now they are far away from the others. The hallway they are in is devoid of monks and guards, far away enough that a man's shouts would not be heard by another. The giant continues to walk with his ponderous stride, and looks over his shoulder once more to the monk. This time, with his voice flat and dead, he says, "Vernasus, you seem strong enough to walk. How do you feel?"
 
WHAT?!? He would have the beast live? He yearned to cry out, to voice his anger. What could possibly-Calm. I am not the master here. I know not the wisdom of this man. Or that of his past.- The master monk's arm had not escaped Al's notice. Perhaps the man was inclined to the demon's trickery through similar fates? But no, he should not judge. Besides, did he not plan to bring forth the very thing he hated most? The small voice was ever present even now. A bit deflated, Al affirmed to the monk's orders. "Very well, Wolfram. It is not the course I would choose, yet you are doubtless more learned than I. Guards, go and bring forth the strongest bindings. I will stay with this creature as is my lot." And he eyed the great thing, eyes set, brokering no mercy or leniency in his task. "Leave him Morr. The beast shall have no chance to harm another while I stand before it."
 
Wolfram turns to Morr with a half grin on his face, closing and opening his distorted arm. "I find your regards well Sir Morr, but I have researched my own condition quite thoroughly in my time as Archivist. No Artifact so far meant to warp the flesh of men or beast has produced the slightest affect in my limb. I have confidence in this, at least, that nothing can alter it any further. You need not worry yourself, in this at least."
 
Slowly, Morr's hand let go off the man's shoulder, the apathy of seeing another man walk to his death returning, but on these grounds he could not disallow Wolfram to risk his own life if he so chose. Impassively, Morr followed the man through the lines, coming to stand at the last, watching on as the brother librarian approached the creature.
 
Wolfram's eyes must have been telling. As he approached, the beast moved from sitting to lying, carefully resting its body on the ground with its legs tucked beneath, shifting so neither arrow risked touching the earth below him. Its head followed, coming to rest on its forelegs, and the closer Wolfram stepped the more the monster... man... The more it seemed to be staring only at the deformed, menacing claw. And, lastly, when the Knight sighed, the beast quickly shut its eyes and stilled its head and neck.

And so it remained for a silent, motionless half-minute, until it at last opened its right eye and saw not the descending talons of an executioner, but the outstretched hand of mercy. Its immutable beak could not smile or frown; the set bone of its skill beneath its feathered skin had no capacity to move its brow in surprise, but somehow, looking up Wolfram, it managed to seem shocked. It lay on the ground for another confused second before it lifted a foreleg and placed a massive, taloned claw into Wolfram's own; though scaled and golden-yellow, and distinctly birdlike, the monstrous limb fit well into that of the Knight's. The creature let it rest there for what was likely a hair longer than Wolfram could find comfortable before it pulled the limb back, and again rose to its feet.

“I cannot ask for trust; you have given more than I could have expected already. You may bind my wings. I confess that this form is not sustained by any otherwordly force, as strange as it is; I must eat, and it is on my wings I hunt, but if you will permit me to fly then I will do so under supervision. If that cannot be, then I will do what I can to subsist on your charity.”

Naming Al as his watchman made the creature's wings fidget slightly. Annoyance? Fear? Whatever it was, it was quickly forgotten as something much more pressing came to light. It nodded once at Wolfram's orders, but was reluctant in turning his right side to the man. “You will have to retrieve it. My talons cannot work the satchel's latch; it was placed there before I had fully... succumbed. But be warned- It needs only the smallest trickle of blood; be it from you or any human, and to touch bare skin, and it will reach into your mind...” The beast's voice grew fainter, and far more dire. “It will worm its way into your fears and your thoughts, and find what you want most- Strength, or glory, or piety. It will find it, and if you lapse for but a second, it will twist you. It will give you everything you asked, and take from you but one price- Your humanity. Your tainted flesh may protect you, but still; be cautious. I thought myself immune by will alone.”

The words of Morr and Al did not escape the creature's powerful senses, but for the moment he let them talk amongst themselves; he had his life, he was being free of his burden, and at the moment there was nothing more he could argue for.
 
He can scarcely look the huge man in the eyes, as he answers.

"I feel ashamed. Completely and utterly. I have made a mockery of this temple and all I had sworn to protect."

"I... I fully expected you to beat me here and now for my actions and truth be told, maybe that's what I want. To feel the pain of my actions replaced with that of your anger."

"I can only tell you I will take whatever punishment you deem necessary. Should you wish to hit me, I will not tense or try to protect myself. I will take whatever punishment you see fit to dole out, in order to prove to you that I am sorry for... all of this."
 
Korsarro roused himself from the trance-like state he had been in since Morr and Al had carried Vernasus away from him. Deepening the shame that had struck him from the second he heard little Marys raspy voice. He shook his head. From the rumbling in his stomach and the lack of hangover. He assumed it hadn't been long.

At last, he took in the sight before him, if he had been a betting man, he would assume he'd been keeping an eye on the "quacks" from the moment he had been deemed unfit for yet another task. He sighed. It made sense. A midget and a blind old monk carrying a man? They must have been quite the sight. He smiled ruefull, bowing his head. He didn't even deserve to look at the quacks. They were Marys friends. He chuckled quietly to himself "I'm sorry Quacks." He stood slowly, finding that his body had little energy. He had to find Arn. Redeem himself in whatever way the Giant saw fit. And if redemption was not an option. He would take his punishment.

He trudged his way through the kitchen doors, emerging at one of the many sprawling hallways of the Temple. He forced himself to focus. If he were a giant. Where would he be.
 
Arngeirr continues walking. He says nothing to the monk, merely harrumphing to himself once. He weighs the monk's words for a moment, considers what he wishes he could do against what he know he should do. In silence, he comes to his conclusion.

A gentleman is not just noble. He is a warrior; a warrior of justice. On the battlefield, mobility is the key to survival. A gentleman must strike hard and move fast, lest he be overtaken by the simple sins of men. Swiftness is just as important as might, and even with a hugeman's huge muscles, any gentleman or gentlewoman who leaves their home must be expected to to move as quickly as they think.

Without another word, the giant rounds on Veransus. Even if the monk had not promised to stay in place, there would have been little time to react. Arngeirr drops low onto one knee, driving his arm straight forward at chest-height for the monk, his other hand balled into a tight fist at his hip. An open fist crash's into the monk's rib-cage with huge force; the wide palm spreads the impact out, ensuring the monk is launched across the corridor with excruciating pain, the air driven from his lungs, but leaving his bones unbroken. The monk's body hits the wall and rolls onto the floor, and the giant is in motion again. He surges forward, rising up to his full, terrible height, towering above the collapsed monk. He lifts one huge leg into the air, his lips parting to let a terrible war-cry break free, and brings his foot down with all his might.

The strike lands beside the monk's head. The stone beneath Arngeirr's huge foot cracks and splinters with the force of the mighty blow. Arngeirr stands in silence, eyes wide as fury seethes across his huge physique, his bushy eyebrows raised and his huge chin jutting out. He glares at the fallen monk murderously, holding the man in place through force of will alone.

Then his arms drop to his sides. His breast swells as he takes in a huge breathe as if preparing to say something once more. Instead, he simply turns in place and walks away, abandoning the monk where he has fallen. Before the monk can rise, the giant is gone, leaving behind only the broken stone.
 
Korsarro sighs. It was obvious. The giant would be watching over little Mary. He shook his head, quickly turning and taking the quickest way to the Hospice he knew. He would have to right his wrong. Or at the very least attempt to. His stride slowly changed, almost transformed. The small man with the broken spirit quickly becoming the small man with a deed that by the holy buzzing of the Beesiah he would see done this day.

He recalled the words he had spoken to Arn in the Kitchen earlier. If the man refused then Korsarro would simply follow him, repeating these words until the Giant finally exacted his revenge. He nodded to himself. Yes. This would do. He turned a corner that was only several corridors and saw the giant striding down the opposite end. For a moment, he froze, his purpose wavering, his self-preservation yelling at him how bad an idea this was. He cast them from his mind and cleared his throat, his purposeful stride returning as he locked eyes with the Giant, ignoring all obstacles he couldn't avoid and barging past those he could not. "ARN! We have unfinished business!" He shouted.
 
He knew it was coming. He forced himself not to steel his body, not to tense his muscles in preparation. He took the full force of the blow willingly. His body went limp as he crashed against the wall, and he lay there for what felt like an eternity, struggling to catch his breath. His entire body trembled with the pain now shooting through his chest.

He couldn't breathe... the air had been completely taken out of him in one blow. He lay there, fully expecting himself to lose consciousness once more, but eventually his breath returned in short, sharp audible bursts.

He heaves himself up off the floor. With his legs barely able to hold him and his body aching all over, he slowly makes his way towards the gardens.

It was time to meditate... time to think on what he had done, and what was required of him now.

He needed the hum of his buzzing bees, to clear his thoughts.

He quietly sat down in the grass between the hives once more, crossing his legs and closing his eyes. His face gave away no expression as he shut out his mind to the world outside... to the guilt swirling in his head. All he could hear now was the hive buzzing quietly around him.
 
Arngeirr sees the smallest of the monk round the corner. The man seemed obsessed with reaching him, claiming they had unfinished business. Arngeirr was about to call to the man to ask him what he meant when he remembered Korsarro's half-heard words from the kitchen, and what had happened before then. Arngeirr had promised to protect young Mary in times of danger, such as the accident in the library. But being trapped between two huge duties, Korsarro had accepted watching over the young girl while Arngeirr attended to his father's relic. And then Korsarrio had somehow lost sight of the little girl, which seemed a difficult feat to achieve to Arngeirr, as the monk was practically at eye-level with her.

"Aye," Arngeirr said, "Indeed we do, Korsarro." The two men met in the middle of the hallway. Arngeirr waited, allowing the smaller man to speak first.
 
Al watched intently as Wolfram interacted with the creature. He would not be made a fool of here. He swiveled around as the guards returned with very tough-looking lengths of knotted leather. Thanking them, he turned back and waited for the monk and monster to finish. The cord pulls tightly in his gauntlets as he considers the dangers of letting the beast roam free to hunt...but still, the master had not seemed against it. This would be a trying time indeed.
 
Korsarro took a deep breathe. Willing that his legs would not shake, that his voice would not falter. But... The man before him was so huge. To the point Korsarro wouldn't have been able to tell his face from his bicep had it not been for the moustache and glare that met his gaze. He forced himself to meet the glare with one of his own. He must not seem like he is doing this out of cowardice. This is his duty.

"Arn." He attempted to steady his hectic breathing. "I have failed at the task that you entrusted me with. It is due to my negligence and irresponsible behaviour that Mary now lies in Beesiah knows what state within the Hospice walls." He raises his arms from his sides, spreading them wide and opening his palms "I ask that you take the toll you deem fit. Consider this toll seperate from whatever Wolfram deems fit to do. I would have it no other way."

He gulps hard. Did his voice sound as shakey to the Giant as it had to himself? It did not matter. He had said what was needed. He would pay the toll the Giant asked a thousand times over if it would take away the heavy weight of his shame.
 
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