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Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

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Al's words did little to calm the creature; he stood, and stepped from the shadow now that the others were gone, approaching his handler.

"You best be certain of that. I have dived upon sprinting deer from above, I have ripped wolves asunder with my beak and spilt a bear's belly with my talons. It would take only seconds for me to... harm... someone so vulnerable as her."

His rage had begun to fade into something else altogether now, the sharp fury in his words dulling into sadness, and guilt.

"...She is afraid of me, anyhow. I frightened the eagles I had hoped to fly with, and the jungle cats knew I was not one of their own. Even the beasts knew better than to trust me."

He turned, away from Al, walking around the tent-shelter and sitting closer to the hives; the bees didn't seem particularly perturbed by his presence, at least. He turned his head up to look at the scant few clouds slowly rolling overhead.

"If they are going to the courtyard, I would ask that you fetch me a bucket of water from the fountain. It is best I stay away from all of them. I would not want any to question their teachings on my account."
 
Korsarro groans, rubbing his temples with his thumbs. Choosing somebody would be difficult. He doubted they would find a volunteer. He looked to the hugeman, he owed him. Nothing for it. He looked to the sash, to Alyssa and finally to the hugeman. "Arn. You would be able to crush me in combat, yes?" His mind swam in possibilities of the terrible fate that may come from this. But he pressed on regardless. "I volunteer. Put the sash on me. I owe you. Both you and Alyssa should be enough to stop me if things go comletely hornets up after all." He scratches his head as the words finally stop coming.
 
"Again, you test my patience beast. I have already made it quite clear that I shan't leave your side so easily. If you wish not to disturb them, then water will be brought to you." Angrily he summons one of the patrolling guards. "Please take a large tub and fill it with water and bring it back here. Have someone help you if need be. Be quick about it." Al is taking his anger out on them. He is mad with himself; the bird-thing's words from earlier stung him with their truth. But his anger was wrong and he knew it. "I...I am glad that you would at least have the sense to spare her your presence." A few moments of silence pass. It is broken a few minutes later by the return of the guard, great sloshing tub in tow. With a fearful glance toward the gryphon he sets it down and leaves. The silence stretches awkwardly on. Not able to bear it any longer, Al asks "Have you ever been taken over by the beast? Have you...harmed anyone?"
 
Alyssa was silent for several moments from being quite surprised that it had been so easy to persuade the hugeman and Korsarro's volunteering. She had not anticipated that he would be so eager to study an artifact that he would put his neck on the hypothetical stump. Alyssa felt her stomach churn slightly at the thought, as if they were taking advantage of him. He did speak truly, he was physically the most diminutive out of the trio. The least she could do was give him respect for his decision.

“You understand fully what you intend to do and the possible consequences of such actions Brother Korsarro?”

As if to emphasize the question she set the clothed item on the ground with a heavy thump. Reaching in from the bottom her hand gripped a wooden haft and produced a long handled axe. The wood had been carefully selected from guayacan trees for its resilience, stained black and embellished with tiny script along it. The Buzzia scripture meant to maintain purity and steadfastness in the face of corruption. The heavy head was a dark colored brass, the acid etched flecks in its metal from its time spent in use against the demonic forces and their human tools.

If things went terribly wrong she would give Korsarro a quick end at the least.
 
Arngeirr is touched by the short man's courage. Truly one should not just a book by its cover, for Korsarro is indeed a huge gentleman. Arngeirr puffs out his chest, a display of hugeness to honor his huge friend, and moves to the hornet-styles container.

"Thank you, dear friend," Arngeirr says, "To do this for me is a huge deed indeed. I fear I can never repay you for this."

As his hands hover over the gold and black sashes, he pauses for a moment, wondering if he should take one or both of them. As he does, a memory returns to him; an old tail of humblebees his father told him when he was a child: A man is neither wholly good nor wholly bad. He carries both things inside of him in different amounts. As such, the humbebee wears both gold and black; it displays the warm color of sweet honey that it makes in its hives, and the black color of pain and death that can come form its stings. An odd time to remember a children's tale, Arngeirr thinks, but he feels its words resonate with him now. He is drawn to take the golden sash from the box and lowers it reverently to Korsarro. It is a large item, apparently meant for a hugeman, but at that very moment Korsarro is that tallest being in the room to Arngeirr.

"Take it, friend," he says, "And if something awful is to befall you, I shall surely tear it free before any of us - including you - come to harm."
 
Korsarro nods slightly, his eyes affixed to the axe Alyssa had revealed. She was a trained knight. She wouldn't hesitate if it came down to it. The thought somehow filled him with comfort. He gulped hard, taking the sash in his hands and examing it closely, he chuckled slightly "This is probably the dumbest thing I've ever volunteered for." Truly, the sash was far too big for a regular man, let alone a tiny man the size of Korsarro. Litle to be done about it, he chuckled again quietly, enjoying his own pun.

He took a deep breathe, looking once more to the giant and the knight, pulling the cleaver from his leather sash and putting it on the table. "I'd like if that could be moved out of my reach." He knew of his own speeds when he wanted to move quickly, the blade needed to be elsewhere. He gulped hard, placing the sash over his miniscule body, the majority of it hanging off of him. And he waited. The waiting was always his least favourite part.
 
She didn't say anything, she couldn't find anything appropriate to say that wouldn't be an attempt to talk him out of this, to undermine this man rising to answer the call.

Instead she stayed silent, nodding when he produced the cleaver. Gently, almost reverently, she used her free hand to wrap the cloth around the cleaver and set it near the door before standing between it and Korsarro. Feeling anxious she gave a glance over at Arngeirr, his unarmed abilities would serve much better here if something went wrong. She was just playing second fiddle if things became terminal.
 
Arngeirr watches with bated breath. He hopes, he prays to every god of the Hugelands, that his friend it not harmed. What wonders could this item hold? Was terrors? How could he anticipate anything that was to happen next? And beneath his excitement and his anxiousness, a small part of him wondered, was this right? Not only was it right to put Korsarro through this, but was it right to do this at all? His father had always made a point to let little Arngeirr - for he had not always been huge - know that the box was never to be opened, and the contents inside were never to be touched, or terrible things would happen?

As Korsarro dons the sash and ties it in place, he feels something strange in the back of his head. The prickling of hairs down his back, the sensation of a gentle breeze, though surely none could pass through his isolated chamber. For a moment he wonders if the breeze is something else, something watching him. Could it be the sash? The ancient demon whose essence was supposedly bound to the item? Observing him. Judging him. Looking at him. Or perhaps it was all just paranoia, pent up agitation at the days events mixed with guilt for his failures and the desperate plea to not be reduced to some gibbering monster-

Then all at once it is gone. The sensation lifts, leaving him to wonder if it was ever really there, or if it truly was just a figment of his imagination. All that remains is lurking worry, an uncharacteristic concern about his height. Arngeirr was huge - Korsarro was certainly not. For some strange reason the thought latched itself onto his mind, nagging at him incessantly. Then it too was gone.

The room was silent.
 
The gryphon kept his back to Al and the guards while they were ordered to the fountain, more to spare himself the sight of their reaction than anything else. When they had departed, he spoke again.

"I am thirsty, that is all. If you are referring to earlier, I do not want my presence here to be a prison to you..." He paused before letting out a great, heaving sigh. "Truthfully, there is more to it than that. Until I had summoned the courage to come here, I spent much of my time living as a beast. I was alone, and spent my time merely trying to survive, and stay out of sight; now I cannot run from memories of what I have lost. You and your brothers are all I aspired to once be, and what I know now I can never be; what's more, that you must stay here with me is an indignity I know you are not glad to suffer. To see a brother of the Temple playing caretaker to an unnatural beast would have angered me, once. To know I am that beast..."

He fell silent as the guards returned with his water; true to his words he walked to the tub and plunged his beak into it, closing it around a mouthful of water before lifting his head and throwing it back, letting it slide down his throat. He walked away from the tub immediately after, to avoid his reflection.

"...I have harmed none, no, save for the animals I've slain for food. But there have been times... What I told you of the wolves and the bear was true, and what perturbs me is how simple it would have been for me to simply take flight. But when I have been wounded..."

Swiftbeak looked to Al, fixing an intense, severe stare on the man.

"When the arrows hit my skin, and I fell to the ground, there was fury I could not describe within my breast. I wanted more than anything to last out at the guards, at Wolfram, at anything in sight; it took all of my strength, all of whatever remains of my will to hold myself steady in the face of it. I believe... When I was given this form, I knew at once how to fly. When I went to hunt, I knew how to strike with my talons and tear with my beak. In truth, I believe it has changed me inside- Given me the instinct and the savagery of the wild. When I am harmed, when I am force to wound, I am unsure if I could stop myself from killing. I speak now as a man might- But I move as a beast would, and see and hear and smell as a beast would. I believe I may fight as a beast would. No restraint, no quarter; perhaps no thought at all..."

His voice softened.

"I trust you to stop me if I tried to harm one of your brothers; to stop me with steel or fist. But to fight alongside you, I may need... tempering. I do not know if I am worthy of such a thing in the eyes of the Guard. I fear if I ask for aid, if I seem to be slipping, that I may become... too much of an uncertainty."
 
Korsarro clamps his eyes shut, the waiting was going to kill him before Arn or Aly could get a chance at this rate. He waited. And waited. And then waited some more. Nothing was happening. He opened one eye, finding that his world had not in fact become one of blood and combat. Relief overtook him, stayed with him even. He felt... good? Oh my, that could hardly be a positive sign. He couldn't quite find it in himself to care much though, his attention was fixed on the breeze that had entered the room, impossible under normal circumstances, but these were hardly normal.

He blinked, taking in for the first time in quite a while the true difference in height between himself and a normal man, even the table was strangely large, its top meeting the spot between rib and stomach on Korsarro. His mind was reeling between the breeze and the damnable height of his. He looked to Alyssa, his current state of mind being a very bad one to look to the man who was at least 5 times his size while kneeling. Oh god. He'd done it. His mind had slipped to it. He slowly craned his neck, seemingly taking forever from his point of view to find the highest point of the giant. This. This was ridiculous. He blinked again, realising that even Alys axe was probably larger than he was.

And then all at once, the feeling vanished, his biggest insecurity leaving his mind for another day. He chuckled quietly holding his hands out in front of him. They were small, yes. But they were his and he was perfectly alright with them. "I... I feel fine?" He looked up to Arn again, turning to Aly as he spoke "Maybe you two should ask some questions? I... I'll admit. I don't know where to begin. It's been a while." He grimaced. Hopefully his answers would ensure that the axe didn't have an express meeting with his mind.
 
"Did... did anything happen?" Arngeirr asked. "You certainly looked frightened. Did you feel anything at all?"

Arngeirr's mind was racing, but his thoughts were going nowhere fast. Was this a trick? Was Korsarro lying? Had a demon taken him? What was going on? Was nothing going on?
 
At first he thought of it as nothing, perhaps just the shred of an insistent memory that would soon again fade. Then, in its slight insistence, he thought it to be a temporary result of his inflicted healing, the years of hearing thousands of voices shout battlecries, weapons crashing on armor and shield, often his own, had taken their toll on him, but even for that it seemed...

It was... a buzzing. That was the only way he could describe it. Buzzing. Insistent, growing louder and louder it seemed. Not noticing that neither the older Zato nor the younger Vernasus and not even the youngest Mary seemed to hear the sound, Morr slowly seperated himself from the others and began to follow the sound, cautiousely, through the corridors of the temple.
 
Korsarro nodded "Yeah, there was a breeze and then... my mind just kinda... blew something out of proportion? Everything seemed so... big, just thinking about how huge you are set my head on self-destruct. It lasted a good while but... I think it might be gone now. Everything still seems pretty big but... it doesn't bother me like it did. Earlier it was setting my head into panic mode, I thought my heart was going to explode" He raised a hand to his chest, as if feeling to check if it had in fact exploded anyway, offering a sheepish grin to the huge man before him.
 
"I say, that is... troublesome, to say the least." Had something brushed against the man's mind? Infiltrated it even? This was why Arngeirr had wanted to be the test subject, but he knew if this was a worst-case scenario it would be lethal for the huge warrior to be under a demon's sway. He could not peer into the monk's head, and could not understand the nature of the sash until he himself wore it. Was it making a person's inner fears and conflicts worse? He had no way to tell.

Arngeirr holds out his hand to the small-of-body-huge-of-heart monk. This, he decides, will be how he determines if the monk is under some strange influence. "I say old bean, could you give me the sash so that I might return it to the container?"

----------

Morr soon finds himself in a deserted area of the Forbidden Temple's vast corridors. The buzzing sound is constant, but had become a low drone. At first the loss of pitch could be interpreted as moving further from the source, but something about the sound is insistent; he must be coming closer to the source of whatever the noise was.

Then... there. On the wall! A bumbebee? Surely Vernasus would not have allowed a-

No, it was far too large to be a bee. What was is it? The inset was nearly as long as a man's finger, with a black and yellow carapace and the most devilish of faces. Its huge eyes and wicked mouth parts made it look absolutely vicious. It looked for all the world like a giant hornet, sitting idly on the wall, its wings putting up a slightly buzzing sound. But how could one insect make such an awful noise?

But wait... was... was the sound behind Morr?
 
The old weariness was again settling in his old bones, where other men would have turned around with panic or at least nervosity, Morr gave off a sigh, ran forward, drawing his blade, until, when he had made some distance, he finally turned around.
 
Korsarro nodded eagerly, untying the sash and placing it in the guants hands "Couldn't be happier, I've enough to worry about as is without getting all weirded out by my height. I leave that to the regular folks!" He smiled, genuinely happy to have the sash off of his person. Part of him still ached to see it leave, but he pushed it from his mind, it was Arns artifact, he would have the deciding word on what happened with it. He stretched slightly "I don't feel anything but relieved now that it's off me... I think it might be safe if you want to try it for yourself."
 
"Thank you, lad," Arngeirr said, taking the sash from his friend. His attention was piqued when the monk said he might be able to try it on himself; it had been exactly what he'd wanted to hear. But was that the point? Was it a trick or-

Stop that he admonished himself in his head, You're being downright silly. Set it aside for now. Following his own advice, the giant folded the sash neatly and laid it next to the box. "Now then," he said, "If you are in good condition, would you be willing to try the second one?"

----------

Hornets. Across the walls, the floor, the ceiling. All off them sitting still, their multifaceted eyes seemingly locked on the armored knight. The only motion came from their wings, the sound of their constant buzzing becoming louder and louder as the vile insects stared at the man. It built into a terrible crescendo, the clicking of chittering legs and clacking mandibles joining with the hellish choir of wing-beats.

The swarm stirred. They moved, erupting from the stone and surging forwards in a single terrible mass. The giant hornets whirled around the knight in maelstrom of wings and glittering carapaces. Around and around they circled, seething in and out like the tide of terrible ocean. Tiny bodies crashed into the knight, rebounding back into the air to join the horde or cracking open against his plate, splattering his chest and limbs with their foul entrails. There seemed to be no purpose to the swarm, simply swirling chaos.
 
Korsarro grinned wide, jabbing his thumb into his chset "You kiddin'? Even if I wasn't I'd still do it. I volunteered and whatnot." He chuckled, mostly to himself and put his hands on his hips. Watching the Giant with the grin still glued to his face. Neither Arn nor Alyssa had taught what a purge felt like yet, that was a good sign, and it left Korsarro in high spirits.
 
The creatures crashing into him without logic and mind, it seemed, were not a foe a knight, no matter how experienced, could truly fight. On the other hand, even in their mass these creatures would be hard pressed to put more than a dent in his breastplate. Of course, that would change if they attempted to crouch through the space between neck and breastplate...

Resolving, he either needed enough water to encompass himself while still allowing him to get out or...

The bee-hives. Running, Morr set out for the gardens, doing his best to keep a wide range away from the kitchen and dining hall.
 
Arngeirr smiles and laughs just once. Without another word, he draws the black sash from the container. "Now then," he tells the slight monk, "I would not wish to test lady luck too much. If anything feels strange, please, remove the sash as quickly as possible or somehow let us know, and I shall endeavor to free you of it."

----------

The hornets continue their suicidal assault. Bits of the savage insects are smeared across the knight's entire frame in thick streaks and great stringy ropes, a truly disgusting sight to behold. Still they come on, their numbers seemingly endless, a dozen more arriving to fill the place of a single lost comrade. But where were they coming from? It was impossible to tell as they circled the knight, their movements erratic and uncoordinated. A handful began to collect around his visor, their eyes peering in on him, but they seemed either too large or unwilling to fit through the narrow openings of his armor.

As the knight burst out of the Forbidden Temple and entered the gardens, the hornets swelled around him, rising up higher and higher into he air. They all seemed to flee at once, soaring up into the sky and out across the Great Falls. In a matter of seconds the swarm had disappeared, vanishing on the horizon. The hellish horde left not trace; the knight's armor was devoid of gore, the bodies of the fallen having miraculously evaporated along with the swarm.
 
There was little that yet had the capacity of disturbing him, Morr was certain, and not even the thought of the hornets crawling through the openings of his armor and visor to reach his eyes had been capable of truly letting spark what one might call 'fear'.

But, how far was his mind gone if he was apparently imagining things in their greatest horrifying reality without them truly happening, without him able to control it?! Had he perhaps now truly become utterly insane? Had something snapped inside his skull that did- something?!

Looking up at the skies in helpless questioning, Morr's eyes soon shifted his view in front of him.
He was standing in front of the bee-hives now, he noticed...
Slowly, cautiousely, he made his way further in, why he did not know, perhaps looking for some kind of answer from the holy bees... it was worth the attempt, at least, and whatever result could come out of it, he supposed it could still not surprise him too much.
 
Korsarro nodded "Shouldn't be a problem, after all, you're huge and Alys pretty damn slashy, so if worst comes to worst, I'm pretty sure you can handle me" He smiled. Smiling was the last thing on his mind. But the Giant didn't need to know that. Artifact experimentation was terrifying at the best of times. Let alone when it was his own head on the chopping block, so to speak.
 
"Thank you, brother Korsarro." He holds the black sash out to the monk, waiting for him to take it. He wondered what this sash could possibly do to someone; the other had apparently brought feelings of insecurity and then left the man alone. Would this one be worse? The same? Different at all? The only way to tell would be to put it on.
 
Korsarro took the black sash, tying it on himself in the same manner as the last one, he took a deep breathe. Time for waiting. He gulped, the other sash had been mild by the standards of artifacts, this one, with all of it's dark fabric caused his mind to drown in possibilities of far worse outcomes. Maybe it would break his mind? Maybe it would be a dud? He had no clue.

He attempted to take his mind off of the relic, his gaze falling on the sash he had worn previously, black and yellow eh? If they were truly demonic in nature, then they were an insult to the might Beesiah and almighty Buzzia. He frowned. The waiting really was the worst part.
 
The monk feels as if a heavy weight has descended upon him. He feels lethargic, tired, a constant nagging sensation telling him that something is poking and prodding at him in the depths of his mind. Why should you wear the sash? What good are to you it? You are small, weak, stupid! Even the woman is a better fighter than you are. Look at her, bedecked in her arms and armor, prepared to strike you down at any moment! And the hugeman? Look at how massive he is, how powerful he is, how prepared he is to smash you into paste if you so much as try to run. These two warriors are beyond your wildest dreams, little man! What can you hope to accomplish beside such juggernauts, such huge pillars of justice? You cannot even keep your eyes on a little girl and prevent her from wandering into a poisonous disaster. Take off the sash, little man! And perhaps launch yourself from the highest tower when you are done. Pitiful wretch.
 
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