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Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

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Arngeirr looked down at the tiny man. He heard his words and weighed their honesty, seeing the way the man fretted over every syllable. It was not fear that drove him: it was shame. This was a man who was taking the blame for something that he believed was his fault. With that in mind Arngeirr considered his own actions leading up to the day's events, and the words he had spoken within these halls just the day before.

Arngeirr was always a gentleman. And if he understood this Korsarro as he believed he did, he knew what he must do.

The giant lowers himself to his knees, bowing before the slight monk as deeply as he could. "No," Arngeirr says at last, "It is not simply your fault. It is our fault, brother Korsarro. I promised that I would defend Mary any way I could in time of trouble, such as the fiasco at the library. It was my huge duty, and when I felt overwhelmed I deferred the ask to you. It was not a transference of duty, but a sharing. It warms my hear to see you take the blame for losing sight of her, and as a gentleman it is my huge responsibility to do the same for you. She was entrusted to me, and I entrusted her to you. We are both at fault."

The hugeman considered his words for a moment, then said, "And whatever punishment Wolfram deems is necessary, I shall justly bare with you."
 
"Your meals will be provided for you. The Temple has more than enough supplies to see to your needs until we can trust you enough to...fend for yourself, as it were." Nodding to himself, Wolfram moves confidently to the side of the Griffin, his great clawed hand moving to the satchel. The hand attempts to open the satchel once, twice, and failing both times Wolfram merely secures a grip on the bag and gives a massive tug, snapping the strap holding it. The arm itself spasms slightly holding the bag, though whether from the artifact within or merely due to its own inherent nature is a mystery that shows none at all on Wolfram's face. Holding the bag at an extended arm's length, Wolfram turns back to the malformed man before him, giving a slight bow.

"I will give apology for this behavior on our part, for the Temple does not take prisoners and this is not the treatment of a guest. I assure you outside of the necessary conditions you will be given every courtesy available to a normal guest, within reason. But first, we must begin again formally. I am Brother Wolfram Hart, head Librarian and Archivist of the Temple. By what title do you name yourself?"
 
Korsarro stood there, his focus on keeping his body still to provide a better target for the Giant shattering as his words were truly processed in his brain. He blinked, staring at the Giant as his arms fell limply to his sides, his face following suit in the falling. He had expected fury. He had prepared for death. Never at any point had he seen forgiveness as a possible option. He ducks his head low, he did not deserve this kindness. He labourously raised one of his arms to the Giants shoulder and planted his hand upon it.

"You... You have my thanks. Arngeirr, you are truly a gentleman, and a man that I will gladly fight to the death beside." He chuckled slightly, attempting to hide a large sniffle, he raised his head quickly, grinning with his eyes shut tight for fear that the redness of them would not shine through. By the Bessiah they felt like they were on fire. "Let us hope it does not come to that." He raises his other arm, turning slightly and wiping his eyes and nose with it before turning back to the Giant.

"Do you need help with anything? I should... I should still do whatever I can to help." The words that he spoke now came with much relief and far less apprehension than they had moments before. Truly. This was a huge gentleman before him.
 
Morr watched from the front-most line as brother Wolfram carefully unclasped the satchel from the... transformed man. The matter seemed resolved for now.

He was exhausted, physically merely hungry, but mentally he was surprised how such a far-off monastery had managed to bring no less than five people to such a condition that a bringing to the hospice was rendered necessary. He was also no longer willing to bear the burden of leading the guard.

Looking at the armored monk, brother Al, Morr spoke "This man, even though it may be hard for me to use this term, is now your responsibility, brother Al, but I must ask you to remember that it is like brother Wolfram said; this person is not to be treated as a prisoner and harm should only be inflicted in the most needed of cases. Remember, it is not just some mindless creature you are guarding, but a human being in need." The purpose demanded.

And he would accept. He made his way to the hospital, on the way asking one of the serfs to send a portion of provision to the hospice for him.
 
Al heard Morr's words and understood them, but seeing this beast as anything more than the filth clinging to the Beesiah's most holy coattails was not easy. He would have to meditate fiercely on this.
 
Her breathing becomes ragged as the small girl begins to toss and turn in her sleep.

She's trapped, she can't get out, can't get out, trapped, she can't breathe, can't escape, breathe, move, run.

The young girl's eyes snap wide open as she lets out a rough scream from her recovering throat.

She starts muttering and murmuring

"I can't do it, i-it won't open, I don't know what to do, help, I-I just...Help...need..."

she brings her knees to her chest and her small hands up to her face, hiding her eyes.

She's scared, terrified, she doesn't want to go back to sleep, it might happen again...
 
Arngeirr considered Korsarro's question as he stood up. "Zato said I should have a monk accompany me if I am to travel with my father's relic outside of the reliquary. As it stands, it has been left in the care of lady Alyssa in the kitchen..." the giant sighs heavily, "It is wrong to put the burden on her and I should hasten to recover it. If you would accompany me, brother monk, I am sure we can work to make amends for our grievances."
 
The strap was surprisingly resilient given its roughshod condition, but it proved no match for Wolfram's strength. When its full weight rested in his hand, the small leather satchel was stunningly heavy for its size; whatever lay within must have been of dense construction. The creature- the gryphon- tensed as he realized for the first time on his journey, and the first time in this form, he was not carrying that terrible burden with him.

“Thank you, but you need not apologize; you have given me my life, after all, Brother Hart.” With a slight flourish of its wing, the gryphon dipped its head to mirror Wolfram's gesture as best as he was able. “My name is...” He paused. “...I have not had cause for a name. In truth, I had not expected things here to go as they did.” A strangely flat growl rumbled from his throat, perhaps approximating a hum of contemplation. “I- He-” He started, stopping himself before continuing. “The man I told you of- The name I wore before. When he was growing up, his father had a hunting bird; he cared for it a great deal, and it had always been loyal. He called it Swiftbeak, for it could break a dove's neck with a single snap. That, I suppose, is as good a name as any.”

Finishing with a nod to Wolfram and the departing Morr, the newly christened Swiftbeak bowed again, this time keeping his chest to the ground. His wings pulled tight to his sides, and he addressed Al without looking at him.

“I suppose if you wrap the leather around my wings and body both, I will be unable to spread them... I confess this feeling of bondage is not one I've yet had; I cannot rightly say I will have no urge to break them. But I will try to keep my spirit still, as are my wings. And may you have the provisions to free these arrows from my body? I wager this hide thick; the pain is not great, but I would rather them removed.”

As calm as his words were, there was an irritable tension to his voice; the wounds held tight around the arrows, letting slip an amount of blood that was not worrisome so much as unpleasant, and the newest guest of the Forbidden Temple stared wistfully at the sky, as if watching a lover be carried away on a carriage.
 
"I-I-I don't want to go back to sleep..."

she uncovers her eyes, a hand reaching out to grab the monk's robes

"I'm scared Mister Zato..."
 
"Shh, everything's fine, Mary" Zato said, giving the girl a hug.
"Calm down, now. Was it a bad dream?" he rocked her back and forth, gently.
 
Korsarro nodded eagerly. A chance to make ammends suited him perfectly in the current situation. "Then let us go, though I warn you, some would have me as far as possible from relics at all times." He smiled a little "I know how much this relic means to you, it will not come to harm if it is within my power to prevent it" He grinned and pointed a thumb to his chest.

The Giant had forgiven him in a roundabout sort of way, there was little he could do about it but accept it and endevaour to help in any way he could. He turned, making his way slowly to the Kitchen, he would match his pace to the Giants if it was needed, for now, he knew the way and would meet him there.
 
"Very well...Swiftbeak...Wolfram has said you will be treated with courtesy and I cannot in faith betray his word." Al reaches out and removes the arrows, albeit with less gentleness than was probably called for. Setting them down, he begins winding the leather about the gryphon's body. Making sure it is tightly secured, he binds it in a hard knot. Not that it mattered. The beast could easily sever it with claw or beak. But trust was what Wolfram had said, and trust was what he'd do. "There, you're secure, but know this. I'm still watching you."
 
Knowing his way now, Morr soon arrived at his destination. Passing by the plagued man's bed, he noticed that his condition was unchanged and thus still out of reach of any of his capabilities. Moving on, he soon reach Mary's bed, the blind old man, Zato, watching over her, while she herself had just awoken, from a nightmare it seemed. Seeing how Zato seemed to have things under control, again allowing Morr to avoid her gaze, he walked further on the bed next to hers.

Lying himself down on the bed for sleep, still fully armored, sword grasped tightly in his hand, always ready to defend both she and the plagued man in the next room.

No matter his self-hate, the purpose demanded and the knight would follow, nothing else was needed.
 
Zato rocked back and forth, holding her, and began to sing

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...
You make me happy, when skies are gray,
you'll never know dear, how much I love you,
so please don't take my sunshine away....
The other night dear, as I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke dear, I was mistaken
So I bowed my head and I cried"
 
Valetni Twitched.

A little thing, barely noticeable, as a calf muscle contracted and relaxed. It contracted again, relaxed, and contracted again.
Faster and faster, it contracted and relaxed, and then it contracted.
And then it didn't relax.

Soon, it was the entire leg, spasming. Soon the convulsions spread to the entirety of the monks body, spasms so strong they tore ligaments and tendons. Convulsions that even threatened to break bone. Without acetylcholinerase to combat the deadly amounts of acetylcholine, the monk's body was threatening to tear itself apart.

Valetni, for all his knowledge of anatomy and physiology, for all his tireless study and experimentation over the last three decades, would never know the name of what was killing him, he would never understand the process that led to his death.

He would never know...
 
He found himself crying again. In the middle of his meditation, for reasons which completely confounded him, he found himself crying.

He moved a hand inside his robes and slid his fingers over the honey coloured, beehive shaped holy symbol of Beeziah.

He thought back again to his earlier dream. His stomach lurched as he recalled the moment when his father slid it around his neck, before shouting at the horseman to hurry... to leave before they found his little boy and did the same thing to him as they had his mother.

His mother... laying there in the pool of blood. Her eyes wide open and filled with fear, yet somehow now... completely devoid of life.

Without warning, vernasus was horribly sick.

He remembered...


He wished he'd never had that dream.
 
The gryphon canted his head to the side to watch the monk's hand curl around the haft of one of the arrows. "You are certain this is how you properly remove an aRRRR-" The word rose to another feral shriek/roar, a disconcerting mix of the pitch of an eagle's cry and the bass of a lion's bellow. The retracting arrowhead tore skin and flesh, widening the wound and sending a gout of blood running down the feathers. He snapped his beak shut to remain silent as the second was pulled from his skin. The pain left the creature panting and compliant as the bindings were wound tightly around him, and once secured he briefly pushed against them with his wings; they did not move so much as an inch.

"Of course. Brother... Al, correct? I am thankful for your hospitality; might I ask where I may sleep? I am sure you are so gracious as to offer me your bed, but I do not think we could share it. You are too large."

The gryphon stared at Al with its same intense, voracious stare.

"...I am sorry. I thought some humor might make you more comfortable. I forgot that I cannot smile."
 
She snores quietly, her breathing once again regular, her eyes closed tight...

The small girl sleeps calmly in the Blind monk's arms.
 
Seeing Mary sleeping reminded Zato how tired he was himself, after today's events. He yawned, and rested his eyes, and soon fell asleep next to the girl.
 
Morr stared in shock at what the enraged mob had done, all of the guards he had disarmed torn apart in an onslaught of make-shift weapons, the crowd's screams for revenge and blood reverberating through the streets.
That, and their praise for him, the glorious hero that would certainly herald their revolt against the shackles of the arrogant nobles that fattened themselves on the goods of those lower than them.

The noise went not without response, as soon after several dozens of fully armed men, the guard weary of further riots, marched through the streets to where they assumed the main trouble-makers were commencing the public unrest. At first, the faces of the men betrayed more boredom, with maybe some anticipation to strike down some haggard beggar-crowd. That was until they spotted the six guards lying in their own pools of blood, the gargantuan knight with his sword drawn standing in the middle of it, behind him a large crowd of peope shouting praises at the knight, insults at the men.

Even as the captain of the guard called out to him, Morr could still only stare at the faces of the men he had unwittingly condemned to death.

He was, again, a hero.
 
"Well then old bean" Arngeirr says to brother Korsarro, "I suppose it's time we move off then." The giant begins to walk once more, somehow not as drained as before. He is tired, surely, but Korsarro's heartfelt apology - and being given the opportunity to apologize as well - certainly stoked the fires in his huge gentlemanly heart. The kitchen was not far away, and he soon entered leading Korsarro. He made his way past dirty dishes and discarded foot and entered the dining hall where he saw lady Alyssa, vigilantly guarding both her relic and his own. Truly she was a gentlewoman to silently accept the duty he had unwittingly laid on her shoulder.

"I say lass, I am hugely thankful for taking up my duty when I let it fall," he told her. The giant placed himself at the table, sitting across from her and reaching out for the box he had left behind. "This day has been tiring indeed. I pray I did not cause you any grief."
 
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