Knights of Anathaeum Through Halls of Flame

[Hector]

​

Mission: Flame Keeper

Priority: Medium
Rank: Squire

Operatives: Tandems of sworn and accompanying squires.
Objectives: Investigate the ancient ruins believed to be a Temple of Flame.

Briefing: Sources claim there is a bygone ruin far and to the north of the Spine. At the edge of the Blightlands, and west of the Ixchel Stone. Believed to be connected to dwarven tunnel systems, and linked to timeless holds, it is advised to proceed with due caution.

---

A band of knights, far from home, made trail through the stony country, far and to the north. The windswept crags with nary a bit of green, and what lone trees did stand were made to bow by the gales that howled and groaned through jagged earth.

It had been weeks since the Old Seer came and whispered rumor in their ears.

And for those weeks, the Crimson Crows had tracked them. Like carrion, upwind. Too far to get much more than that tingle in the back of the neck that something was watching. And watch they did.

"Avaris, We goin to follow them in?" one of the hooded lackeys asked, hunched down against the stone as he was.

Arvaris stared through the slits in his mask, the pale featureless faceplate still as he counted the number of knights that approached the ruins' entrance. "No, not yet," the masked man answered.

"Could we spring on them now, Sana and her crew just need a sign, could pick one or two of them off before they even know it,"

Silence. Stillness. The wind howled, and sang a haunting tone across the stones.

"We wait,"

The hooded lackey hmphed, and gave a nod. "Right boss," he turned and signaled to a man hidden behind some rocks, not far from where he perched. He turned in kind and signaled to the next node in the web of communication.

---

Hector's eyes were wide as they came upon the ruins. Great pillars rose high across the time-worn stone. Old murals, of great beasts twined in dance and march, with wings and scale and claw. Runes lettered across in passages that came in fragments.

With Flame and Spirit...
So the sun...
...from the ashes, and as the cinders dance, does the... fly.

From the codices of Flame. Least, that was the first thought that had sparked to life.

"Hoi, Half-Ear," came the voice of their guide.

Hector's ear's twitched, well, one and what was left of the other. His brow scrunched. "It's Hector, miss Vesna"


"The correct, Half-Ear, as I first spoke," she grinned. "Five and ten of you, only one of me,"

Hector sighed, and nod. "Right, a nickname can be... helpful I guess," he pressed forward toward one of the yawning entrances, a tandem of sworn already within, while a couple others stood watch at their rear, and one pairing examined the ruins closely.

Some four tandems of knight sworn. Seven squires to accompany. And a local guide, Vesna.

"Still, you can read this sign?" she nudged toward the ancient script.

"Most of it is dwarven," he said with some pride. "So some, yes, I can read some of it,"


Vesna smiled wide, and nod. "This is good. Clever," she nodded in approval, and ventured forward, into the temple proper.

Hector blinked. "Right," he cleared his throat, and took one more look over the outer wall. "Don't know if i'd call it clever..."

 

[Torche]

Scratching at the scruff that was quickly turning into a beard the longer he went without a trim, Torche stared at the ruin with little interest. He should’ve been more intrigued, after all, he had decided have two seconds of realizing the options there were for him in the Knights that Flame sounded the coolest. As a pursuer of Flame, shouldn’t he feel some sort of pride?

But wouldn’t this temple have been cooler if it was in a dangerous place like Mothal? Or somewhere with a bunch of volcanoes?

“Yeah, it needs more fire.” Torche said with a nod of his head, feeling rather pleased of his conclusion. Although if there was more fire, then his armor would get even more annoying than it already was. He had already been lectured two times too many to wear it properly, and his excuses wouldn’t be tolerated. Which weren’t excuses whatsoever! He hated wearing armor. That was a valid reason to not wear armor.

Walking after Hector, he looked at the symbols him and the hottie seemed to be so interested about. Torche frowned, crossing his large arms over his broad chest.

“Yeah, I can’t read that either.” Torche said, although it wasn’t shocking. He was illiterate. Whatever made him think he could understand words made by short men was beyond the natural logic of Arethil. “That looks kinda like a duck riding a spatula though.” Continuing to speak to himself, a bad habit he had developed in the dark cages within some ship for years, Torche stood up straight and marched in after Hector.

He had done enough research for now. He couldn’t wait to tell Syr Inkolad about the duck riding a spatula word for proof of taking this assignment seriously.

 

[Innis]

Her hands were smudged with charcoal, as Innis stood before one of the pillars supporting the temple's entrance, scratching out copies of the runes she could make out. Most of it was Dwarven, like Hector had said, but the stuff that wasn't Dwarven was really, really interesting. At least to Innis. She lagged behind as the rest of the company filed past her into the temple proper.

Torche wasn't speaking to himself, because Innis was right there next to him, and had been for awhile. Admittedly, she was on the shorter side, and she had her nose in her journal for most of the trip, so she hadn't been very good company.

"It's supposed to be a flame inside a brazier, not a duck," she said, completely serious. "You should at least learn that one, Torche. It's got the same meaning as your name." Innis scratched her charcoal wide across her notebook, scrawling a version of the rune out that had less lines. Then she flipped the page around and held it up to the giant squire. "See, you can simplify it like this."

Now that her focus had been broken, Innis wouldn't stay outside for much longer. She followed the other squires inside, making a note to herself to check on Hector once they'd pitched their tents for the night. They hadn't gotten a chance to talk since he'd come back from a quest with... Well, half an ear, as their guide was quick to point out.

Hector Torche

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

"Ack. This damned dust." He rubbed his eyes, which only exacerbated the irritation. Yeljor leaned in to ameliorate the problem. His tongue coarse, hardly helping. "Thanks but no thanks, Yelj." He pushed his companions face out of the way and reached for his canteen. "Water cures all, my friend." He splashed his face in hopes to remove the dust. It worked. Sort of.

He walked up to the pillar Innis and Torche were studying. Through squinted eyes he could make out some of the runes. He wasn't well versed in most humanoid languages. If we happen to come across half dwarf, half bear. Then I'd be of some use. However, he had to agree with Torche. The rune most certainly looked like a duck riding a spatula. Interesting.

"Well, I think you're both correct. And to add a third perspective. The rune looks like tendrilled claws reaching out of a bowl. Maybe something more sinister is afoot." He shrugged at Innis with amusement. "Three things can be true." He pat Yeljor on the head and let his companion lead the way to the other squires. Leaving the other two to their own devices.


Knightsworn? Well of course I want to be a Knightsworn. To serve, protect, and wield the great mysteries of nature as my weapon. To be a beacon of strength and hope for those who need it. I just want to help. In any way I can.
-Flyn

Hector Torche Innis

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

Because it was hot and the wind was left to its own blustering devices without the bodies of trees to break the gales, Amelia was grateful for the linen cloth she had tied to cover her head and mouth from the dust it kicked up around the old temple, let alone the sun baking down on her pale skin. Her bright brown eyes were the only thing that peeked out. And at the moment, their inquisitive gleam was aimed at a particularly gnarly dialect of Dwarvish runes she was attempting to decipher along one of the pillars. She had a particular talent for linguistics and found the very nature of a runic puzzle such as this to be fascinating.

But one of the things that goes along with reading and untangling languages and runes, is being able to notice patterns therein. And there was something nagging at her the longer she looked at the engravings around her.

She had been sketching away quietly, lost in a tangled web of thoughts and theories, when she finally noted the silence around her. Upon realizing she was the only one outside, she snapped closed the field journal she kept with her at all times and placed it back onto the harness from her belt for easy access. She then gathered the barbed hilt of her sword with her gloved hands from where she laid it on the ground next to her and stood up from where she crouched.

Amelia would need to hurry to catch up. But she was most eager to catch up with Innis and discuss the revelation that she had discovered.

That the Dwarven runes that were carved into the temple were new. At least, they were new in relation to the foreign and stranger runic scripts they had found scattered throughout the outside of the temple. They had yet to uncover any meaning to them. But there was a particular rune shape that was popping up again and again. It reminded her of an upside-down mountain, with three sharp peaks. And a two-part curved shape nestled on top. She noted that it was consistently carved deeper than the rest. The squire was unsure if it represented a name, a place, an item, or even an event.

Regardless, she hoped they would find the answers she sought within.

​

Hector Torche Flynbul Tosstopple Innis

 

[Hector]

​

---

Into the entrance of the ruins they went.

"I only go so far as ahead," Vesna tried to inform those knights around her.

Syr Kaligan huffed a little laugh. "Not much for spelunking?"

Vesna's eyes scrunched, "What is, spelunk?"

Syr Kaligan blew air through pursed lips. "You are about to find out, Miss Vesna,"

Vesna quirked her brow. "With you?" she asked, mouth pulled to one side. "No,"

Syr Kaligan laughed. "I mean," he cleared his throat. "Well, why ever not?"

Vesna laughed, slapped her knee, and went onward.

The entry hall was not long, but the dark that gathered neath the mountain's stone was like curtain of shadow, bright day turning to oppressive darkness. The eyes, for those with no darksight, needed to adjust. Ahead, they would see a reddish gold, like dying embers in the dead of night, radiating.

When the hallway opened, it opened into a cavernous chamber, cloaked in heavy shadow, save for the bright burn of fire that poured through a great window. Its shape, like that of the rune that had been the topic of so much discussion.

Sworn knights milled about, torches in hand, as they busied themselves with making camp.

"Alright, looks like you lot are done lollygagging," Syr Sando said behind easy smile. "Go on and help get the camp set up," he looked around the dark, the feint glow of torches pouring from archways along opposite sides of the room, left and right to the window. "If you go snoopin about uh, pair up will ya?" He smirked, and went back to speaking with the other Sworn.

Hector huffed. "Camp duty," he said to himself. Looked to Innis, and nudged her with an elbow. "Just our luck, huh? Make it all the way to a lost temple, and we get stuck tidying bedrolls and counting supplies," he shook his head, and smiled before he got off to work. "Yo Flyn! Help me sort the rations?"

Along the floor, near the center of where the fading light of day painted the stone with sun's fire, were traced a network of runes. A locus of communion, to the learned magicker, or studious squire. A series of runescript, patterned and shape to draw in the natural magicks of the world around it. The many glyphs and runes carved into the stone seemed to flicker with subtle power as they drank in the daylight.

Should a squire come to read the passage at the center.
Cast thy soul forth and light the way.

---

Torche Innis Flynbul Tosstopple Amelia Hawthorne

 

[Torche]

Torche did his best not to yawn as Innis tried to simplify the rune. He did glance down, if only because he thought that would make things more interesting but it didn’t. Flyn on the other hand had the right idea! Maybe the rune was actually a bad thing, a bad omen or something evil? And if that were true, didn’t that mean something exciting could happen? He kept quiet about it though, figuring that Innis wouldn’t like him saying such things.

“They didn’t know what else to call me.” Torche, unlike the others, hadn’t bothered bringing paper and charcoal. Mostly because he struggled in holding the sticks of charcoal between his thumb and finger— causing him to just break them instead of write with them. “It was either that or Maggot or Rat or Dirt.”

He didn’t appreciate the temple as they stepped inside, and for a moment he stood there awkwardly until Syr Sando gave him a task. A stupid task but it was a task all the same. Torche sucked in a lungful of air, as if he were about to release the weariest sigh in the whole entire world and history of Arethil. “Alright!” He shouted, a vein popping out from his neck as he shouted. His rambunctious voice echoed all around. “Let’s get camp set up! Watch me set up camp faster than all of you pipsqueaks!” His thick, meaty hands were in fists as he let out a eager war cry.

He barreled past Hector, shoving the one-ear to the side so he could get started on the bedrolls and carrying as many as he possibly could. He was going to set up the camp so fast and so good that no one was going to have to do anything.

Innis Flynbul Tosstopple Amelia Hawthorne Hector

 

[Innis]

Torche's condition was way worse than she thought. Innis watched his bored eyes glance at the page and then wander away. But she didn't pay it any mind, putting her notebook away into her satchel and starting to pay more attention to the people around her rather than the words on her page.

"At least its better than Island," Innis responded to him with a short little snort of a laugh. She tried to imagine Torche as a Rat, but it didn't work. He was just too high up off the ground for a name like that. "All the Pursuants in the order and that's what they could come up with for me."

Unfortunately, because she stuck around, she ended up right next to Torche when he shouted.

Putting a hand up to her ear, Innis flinched away from the brute dramatically. "Ow, okay, you don't have to yell," she said. The irritation faded quickly though, as Innis stepped forward, talking mostly to herself next. "Wow, this place really has an echo."

The lighting was impressive, too. The tall window at the end of the hall bathed the place in warm light. It reminded her of the red earth of the canyon cliffs they'd passed by on the way to the temple. Natural cathedrals shaped by the elements, which the symbol at the center of the tall window seemed to mimic.

Innis continued through the hall at a normal pace, unhurried. After Syr Sando's casual order and Torche's unbridled enthusiasm, everyone fell into a comfortable rhythm of work. Pairs of Sworn split off to scout out ahead, disappearing down dilapidated hallways and through rusted metal doors. There didn't seem to be any immediate threats - no ancient traps or attack automatons to disarm. Just a lot of old, ordinary stuff.

She found a cozy set of pillars to settle in between, and started kicking away a pile of broken ceramics to make room for all those bedrolls the boys were hauling. Strategically, Innis stayed just the right level of busy, working slowly enough that the rest of the camp chores would already be done by the time the area was cleared.

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

Amelia had been the last person into the temple with their group. Trailing behind due to her inability to resist the pull of whatever new discovery she found herself wrapped into along the way.

As a result, she caught only the tail end of Syr Sando's instructions and the whirlwind of Torche's rather boorish approach to following said instruction.

Watching him stomp about drew a sigh from her. Thinking, that, if only he spent less time blustering and announcing every thought that crashed through his skull, that the squire might find himself falling into a more efficient work ethic.

She demonstrated as such by getting right to work. While Torche wasted energy grabbing more than he could carry, Amelia set to work with a single-minded pace. One that favored efficiency over the uh.... more creative route thus taken by her fellow squire.

So it was that she had a good half of the camp set up before too long with the help of Innis. Focusing on setting up where the Sworn would rest, leaving the squires to assemble their own areas of respite, as well as getting out most of the kitchen supplies and even setting up the flameless stones that were enchanted with runes she had carved into them. The runes were meant to emit both adjustable light that could mimick a campfire, and enough heat to cook by if needed. It was a solid piece of her own experimental magic that aided in missions where stealth was needed or wood was in short supply.

Amelia was lost in her own thoughts, starting on supper and making notes of what she planned to tweak with her next set of fire stones, when she noticed the way the light was drank away from them and into the inlay of the floor. Her brow furrowed and she dropped the ladle back into the pot that she had been stirring. Standing to better realize the pattern of runes that encircled the center of the floor.

She had been so occupied by her duties, that only when the runes on the floor began to drink in the light from her stones and the warmth from the setting sun in the window, did she note the shimmering dance like that of trapped flames within the scripture.

A tentative excitement at the prospect of a clue had her calling out to the Sworn that milled about as she went right back to work deciphering their meaning for any who joined her.

Flynbul Tosstopple Hector Innis Torche

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

What a lovely window. There's absolutely no way Torche can mistake that for a duck riding a spatula. Hmph. It does look like a crown of thorns, though. He smirked to himself. It was a rather interesting place to be. However, he'd leave the shadows and ruins to his more book oriented companions. He enjoyed a good read, but living the tales was his calling. What's the saying? Ah yes, there's too many cooks in this kitchen. His eyes darted between the camps and the people setting them up. Passively taking note of varying cadences within each social pocket. Observing the movement of each person as they carried out their duties. Enjoying the smells of multiple cooking stations at work. His trance was quickly broken by a shoulder nudge from his companion. "What is it, Yelj?" Yeljor nodded towards the scouts. "Of course you can go. They could use your nose." He booped him on the snoot. Yeljor's eyes smiled. He spun in place once and swiftly darted off towards the group. Flynn trained his eyes back on the camp. One person stood out from the rest. Torche. The competitor belted his words of challenge. Then, with unbridled and unmatched celerity, Torche began setting up camp.
He possesses a swiftness of a hummingbird, but lacks the precision of one. We can hone that.

Hector's voice pierced through his concentration. He quickly snapped his attention to the man.
"Rations? I could sort some rations." He hopped down from his perched view and leaned forward with a wry smile. "We can play the role of the praegustator. Make sure the food isn't poisoned."
He'd have plenty of time to study the people around him later.


"Being a critique is unchallenging to most. Weakness is easily spotted in all people and things. Filling in the gap, turning what's perceived as weakness into strength, that's where the mastery lies." -Ramblings of a Squire

Hector Torche Innis

 

[Hector]

Hector rubbed the spot where Torche had bulled past him. His eyes narrowed as he watched the older squire set to work. If it wasn't for Flynbul, he may have let the thought kindle to words.

Instead he laughed. "The Praegustator, huh?" he smiled at that as he rolled his shoulder and set to move toward the supply. "I hear some Sworn get tasked with such when they are under service of a lord," he sat with the rations and began to unbind the sacks of supplies. "Not exactly the duty I'd care to take on in service," he thought aloud as he set to his task.

The work was easy enough, given the company.

A sharp whistle came from the sworn Amelia had gotten a hold of. A brick of a man, with a face like a worn down fence post. Syr Gwinly. "Oy Sando, this ones found some fancy rune script in the floor here," his rumble of a voice came out.

Sando had been speaking with some of the scouts who had come in after their party. Their expressions tense. Sando nod, and offered Yeljor a smile as he passed him by, along with a tip of his cap. The leal creature went off with the scouts. They knew him well enough, and were glad for his aid.

"Well, let's see here," the lead sworn started. "Old Scorch Runes," he said with a curious smile and a twinkle in his eye. He pointed at the first rune, a thing that looked almost like an arrow, sped along by the wind. "Cast," he muttered, as his eyes followed the network of symbols that spiraled inward. He smirked. "Well, can't quite make it out," his eyes flit to Amelia, "What do you think it is?" the veteran asked the squire.

From the entry hall came the mocked call of a golden eagle. The staccato notes sharp and full of alarm. Hostiles sighted. The pattern of wyld code said.

What good humor had warmed Sando's face was gone. His expression as grim as remnant ash. His eyes flit toward Gwinly and Kaligan, he nod his head toward the entrance. They nod in affirmation, and hurried out. They moved at the ready. Their footfalls with haste, but not hurry.


Vesna watched with wide and curious eyes. "What is happening?" she asked. Looking to the ones still around her for answers.

---

Torche Innis Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple

 

[Torche]

Torche easily brought the bedrolls to the spot that Innis had cleared off. She may have been short but at least she had the right idea on where to set up camp.

“I thought Innis was a girl name.” Torche said after plopping nearly a dozen bedrolls before the Dusk squire. “Gladys always said ‘innit.’” Torche squatted down, balancing on the balls of his feet as he started to untie the bedrolls. Despite his competitive spirit, he didn’t notice Amelia also setting up, or the fact that she was moving at a better pace than he was. Then again, he had already forgotten that Amelia was there, she was so quiet.

When Torche had finished and stood up to go do any of the other set up, he frowned in disappointment. Everything else seemed done to him. Not recognizing any of the smaller tasks, such as collecting water and purifying it (although would anyone want Torche to attempt the purification spell?) the brute of a man sighed dramatically.

About to comment to Innis how unexciting all of this had been so far, he was was silenced by the call. Torche wasn’t the sharpest candle in the tool shed, but he had paid attention to learning the wyld code amongst the order. He grinned, a glimmer of glee in his eyes as he glanced over to the guide, whats-her-name.

“Maybe some entertainment. Finally. I’ve been bored this entire time.” And despite having been scolded over it many, many times, Torche began to strip his clunky, unnatural armor off from himself. He couldn’t fight with all that deadweight holding him back. He couldn’t even handle wearing those wool-stuffed leather vests. Man oh man did he hope those hostiles decided that wanted a fight as much as he did!

 

[Innis]

The camp was practically set up, when the eagle's call disrupted their work. Innis held on to the corners of the blanket she had been unfolding as she watched the Sworn hurry back to the entrance of the temple. She waited a few more moments to see if any more orders would be given, but no words came down to the squires.

Innis huffed. "If it concerned us, Syr Sando would have said something already," she said, and kept fixing up the bedding.

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

Amelia's heart skipped a beat as the sharp call of the golden eagle echoed through the halls of the temple. And a surge of urgency coursed through her veins. She knew the Sworn would protect them, but the possibility of conflict when most of the squires had seen so little battle in comparison, was thrilling.

Sando's words echoed in her mind. "What do you think it is?" he had asked.

She had had a whirlwind of theories to meander through, but now Amelia's mind raced fragmentally from the pressure of incoming conflict. Her thoughts instead shifted gears to try and piece together the fragments of knowledge she had acquired about the history and culture of this ancient dwarven temple. She instinctively reached for her notes, a collection of meticulous observations and insights she had gathered along their journey.

"Cast... cast..." Amelia repeated softly to herself, her fingers flipping through the pages of her notes. And then, a moment of clarity washed over her as she found the translation page she needed. Her eyes widened, and a smile tugged at the corners of her lips.

Amelia stepped forward and held open her notebook in one hand, while the other hand hovered over the circle of runes on the floor. Tapping into what she had been taught thus far by way of the path of Flame; she inhaled deep, like that of the bellows that stoked a fire, the very fire that burned ravenously within her gut, that fueled her tenacity and ambition.

On her exhale, flames poured forth from her extended palm and into the ancient scorch runes that encircled the center of the temple floor. The runes flared bright, brightly, and brighter still, illuminating the space with an otherworldly red dancing glow before fading into sudden darkness. There was a beat of quiet where nothing happened, and then—the ground beneath them began to tremble and shift with a low rumble.

Amelia's heart pounded in her chest, echoing the pulsations of the baked stone. With a mesmerizing display, the area within the circle of scorch runes began to sink, revealing a set of winding stairs that emerged from the depths below, a winding spiral of stone steps that hugged the walls down into the dark. The edges of each step burned with the same intricate red runes that adorned the entrance, pulsating with ancient energy that lit the descent down with a warm red glow.

The air even carried a faint scent of smoldering embers now, blending with the dusty ambiance of the long-abandoned chambers.

As the stairs continued to sink, the walls of the hidden passage revealed themselves as well. The stone, weathered by time, told tales of a forgotten era. Faint carvings adorned the walls, depicting scenes of valor, great beasts, and mythical creatures. The flickering light from Amelia's magic illuminated the engravings, breathing life into the stone tapestry.

And yet, as Amelia noted with intrigued earnestness, that that strange symbol from before was a recurring rune within the etchings of the walls. Its appearance was even more prevalent here than anywhere else in the portion of the temple they'd explored thus far.

But what could they mean?

Hector Flynbul Tosstopple Torche Innis

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

"Nor I." He opened up a bag of rations and gave them a whiff. "However, it wouldn't be such a terrible gig if one knew how to detect incongruencies with a spell." He shot his patented wink towards Hector and shouldered his stuffed pygmy goat, unzipped it, and rummaged around for components. Shortly after finding what he needed, a shrill chwirk broke his concentration. His ears perked up and he looked to Hector. "Hostiles sighted."
The sworn were already gathering their equipment. With quick pace they shuffled passed him and Hector. "A shame we can't help in the conventional way." He pulled a vial from his pouch. "I made this on our journey here. It's a tincture. If applied to a wound carved by blade or beast, it'll cauterize it." He handed it over to Hector. "I've no use for it. Blades rarely find me. Its the boots of man I worry about." His smirk settled as he turned his attention to the entrance.




"I bet the winds on a giants cheek feels calming. I'd envy him, but when that zephyr turns gale he'll wish he could fit in a badgers hovel." -Ramblings of a squire

Hector Innis Amelia Hawthorne Torche

 

[Hector]

"Enter, entertainment?" Vesna's smile turned nervous, her eyebrows squeezed together and raised high. She looked to the others as the big loud one started removing his armor. She laughed. "What, you will dance for us?"

Innis cut in. Then went back to work.

It was the litte one who finally let her know what was actually happening.

"Hostile?" her eyes went wide and her gaze snapped toward the entrance. "Like, bear? Mountain lion?"

"Likely bandits," Hector called up from where he worked alongside Flyn. Hector took the vial, and nod at Flyn's explanation. "Will come in handy, to be sure," he pocket the tincture. "Thanks," he said with a nod, and got up from where he had sat down. Dusted his hands.

As much as Torche could get on his nerves, Hector appreciated the call to action. Would much rather be out with the Sworn, than doing camp duties.

Syr Sando turned his gaze back to the group. "You lot will remain here, less we call for your reinforcement, understood?" he looked at each in turn, wasn't so sure what Amelia was doing, but that squire was always quiet as a mouse. His gaze settled last on Torche. "Come, only if called," he flicked his nose at Vesna with a smirk. "Someone's gotta look after our guide," he tipped his hat, turned, and made for the entrance, vanishing into the shadow to face whatever threat had found them.

It was not long after when the hidden entrance came open. The sliding of the stone, the illumination of the runes, all seemed to beg those gathered round to enter.

Vesna was wide eyed. She grinned, from ear to ear, and ran fast as she could down the spiral staircase, and out of the squire's site.

"Well," Hector said. "I don't think that's part of the plan," the guides footfalls came softer and softer with each passing second. Hector hastily grabbed up his sword, and shield, and made after her. "Vesna! Hold on!" he cried out.

---

Down below, past the murals and at the end of a long stone corridor.

Those who ventured down come across a wall of flame which seals the path. Countless tongues of fire wash ever upward, shimmering and blistering in their radiant heat. Runic lattices weave across the floors, the walls and ceiling in a network of shimmering glyphs and sigils.

Symbols like mountains. Symbols like flame. Symbols like people writhed in ceaseless dance.

One set of runes, meters before the flaming wall, seems to drink in the flame's light. It sits apart from the ever shimmering network connected to the wall of fire, and is far enough where the intense heat can be felt, but still does not burn.

Holdfast your fire's heart and walk toward new day.

Through the shimmer of golden heat, high above the stone wall, one might see the sigil of Dawn's Star carved into the stone.

Vesna was no where to be found.

 

[Innis]

At the onset of this quest, Innis had decided to mind her own business. Flame was not her strong suit, nor did the pursuit interest her much. She'd only gone along because she'd never been on this side of the Spine before and she didn't know when the next opportunity to go would present itself.

But then Amelia did something with the runework, and the floors opened up, and and the walls started glowing, and Innis couldn't help but get excited about that. Unceremoniously, she dumped the rest of the camp supplies she'd been organizing and appeared quite suddenly at the other girl's side. "Y'know, I think I've seen that symbol before..."

She was looking at the same symbol Amelia's eyes kept being drawn to. Innis' brows furrowed and her hat seemed to sink lower on her head as she contemplated the glow of the runes lining the uncovered hall. Then, she gasped with sudden realization.

"Shit, could this really be the temple of Flame?" she said eagerly. She'd already taken one step further into the subfloor to better peer down to the bottom, but didn't go far enough in to worry anyone. "A really long time ago, squires used to visit different spots around Arethil and go through the trials of the pursuits before they got sworn in. But the temples fell into disrepair and we lost the locations over time. It was like, one of those things that no one wrote down because, duh! Of course every knight knows where the temples are, we go there every year!" Innis raised her hands up in a flippant gesture, mimicking the cantor of some ancient, careless scribe. Then, she crossed her arms, suddenly somber again. "Until no one went anymore..."

Their guide, Vesna, pushed passed Innis, the bigger woman knocking her against the wall in her haste. Innis reached out for the woman, but was shrugged off. "Hey, wait!" she called out, and heard Hector say basically the same thing a few feet behind. The were both ignored.

Innis hadn't set her gear down yet, so when Hector hurried after the woman, she followed after. Her feet scuffed hurriedly down the cramped spiral steps, kicking up hundreds of years worth of sandstone dust. "If this really is the Trial of Flame," she said, holding tight to her sword so it didn't clatter against the wall. "Then this is for sure not part of the plan!"

A wall of flame met them in the next room, but no sign of the guide. The fire's heat was so overwhelming that Innis turned her face away from it, only able to look at the shimmering white waves from an angle. She stepped carefully forward and reached a hand out, but just as soon retracted it with a hissing exhale.

"I didn't see any other entrances down here," she said, stepping back to look around the room from a safer distance. "So its straight through, huh?"

Fire was definitely not her strong suit.

 

[Torche]

That was the thing about the Knights! They were all about patience and charity and waiting and seeing and thinking and blah blah blah, doing a whole bunch of nothing. Torche huffed at Syr Sando. Torche may have been itching for a fight but he wouldn’t outwardly disrespect Syr Sando in front of everyone else, especially if it meant it could have him sitting out from the fight completely if they did need help.

It didn’t mean he was going to go back to setting up camp and pretending there wasn’t excitement happening all around them but this very room. Torche wouldn’t put his armor back on that he had removed, and all the scars that crisscrossed over each other like a series of spider webs in a long forgotten corner inside a big ship. He was preparing to go sulk by himself or maybe complain to another squire (that wasn’t Hector) about how lame this whole trip had been until he saw Vesna running past the squires.

He frowned when the woman pushed Innis into the wall. That wasn’t fair, they were in two different weight classes! Yet for some reason, everyone seemed to follow after Vesna. Why keep an eye on her when she was— oh what in Kress’ glimmering asshole was he thinking? This could be the perfect way to get some excitement going on this trip. So like the others, Torche followed after Vesna, only stopping to look at one particular part in the mural.

“Whoa. Raunchy.” He said, looking closer at the shapes of people dancing sinously. Were they dancing or were… “they’re having sex in the fire.” That was pretty badass if Torche had to say so himself.

Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple Hector Innis

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

Amelia sighed with disgust from beside Torche and elbowed him sharply in the ribcage. "Have some manners." She hissed scathingly as she moved past him to stand in front of the writhing walls of flame.

She looked back at him once over her shoulder before spitting, "Or I will teach you some." Before dismissing him with a curl of her lip and turning to observe the way Innis singed the tips of her fingers against it, her quiet mask in place once more.

She crossed an arm over her chest and tapped her jaw with her other hand while she pondered Innis's question.

"Hmmm, straight through would be the way it seems. But I imagine this is a trial of our "worthiness' to continue deeper into the temple. So, it is predictably either going to test our strength or our wit. Or a combination of our merit in both."

The squire spoke mostly to herself, but at a volume that everyone could hear. Her fingers still tapping away at her mouth as her lips moved silently, as if reciting scriptures of texts from memory under her breath.

Finally, she turned her brown eyes onto her companions and offered, "Perhaps we need to sheathe ourselves in flame to pass through? The wit is in solving the puzzle, and the strength is in holding our magic long enough to make it through without burning ourselves?"

Torche Hector Innis Flynbul Tosstopple

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

It all happened so quickly. Knights taking up arms, the gift, the command, the runner. Each scene mere moments. Confusion set in. A sense of duty overwhelmed them. The others took after the possessed guide. Leaving the halfling and his steed. He made a clucking sound with his tongue and Yelj raised his paw to his hand. "Thanks, old friend." He felt a tickle against his palm. He rubbed his palm on the soles of his boots. They immediately felt lighter. "Your gifts never cease to amaze." He nudged the fae lord, and off they raced.


Yeljor's bestowed swiftness trailed off as soon as they entered the ritualistic room. A wall of flame halting their advance. His comrades awestruck by the dazzling and bemusing display. He caught the tail end of Amelia's query. Her words hung in the air.

After his quick investigation of the room he piped up, "I don't mean to trivialize such a convoluted scene." Knowing he was doing just that. "Perhaps its as simple as closing one's eyes and believing they can walk through the fire? And toward new day?" He pointed at the runes on the floor. "Holdfast, believe, step up, move through? Torche seems to be filled with much fire."
He gave the man an encouraging pat on his thigh.



"From farm hand to squire. Who was it that said halflings can't take big steps?" -Flyn

 

[Hector]

The wall of fire went on with its dance. The runes etched into the stone, the murals, all shimmered and pulsed with the sensuous twist and curl of the tongues of flame.

Torche's proclamation made Hector blush, and turn his eye away from the obstacle before him. A cough from his throat as he thought on the ideas put forward. But the way the flame washed upward. The play of gold and orange. The hints of blue.

His mind went elsewhere. He closed his eyes. Filled his lungs with hot breath which he felt course through his limbs.

Without a word, he began to draw in some of the magick around him. The room, so full with the power of Flame, his mind, filled with memories of warm fire, he felt it all crash through him, fast and without warning.

The wall itself swelled toward him, fire looking to devour fresh fuel.

His eyes came open. Went wide. And with a quick series of snapped and flicked hand signs, he sealed his lines of magick.

Flame, like a living thing, did not like to be denied.

A loud boom cracked through the air, and blast Hector back and off his feet, to skip off the stone floor like a rock, till the momentum died, and he lay heaped on the floor.

Little trails of smoke rose from his singed gambeson, and a small glob of fire ate away at the hem of his trousers.

Hector coughed, and groaned, and turned onto his back. "Too much," he coughed. "Magick," a puff of smoke came from his mouth.

---

Torche Innis Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple

 

[Torche]

Torche felt the poke in his rib cage, looking over to Amelia with raised brows.

“I was having some manners! I said sex instead of fucking.” He said back to her, indignant. At least Flyn had the right idea, he should be the first to step through the flames, after all, he was in a constant blaze of force and motion. The behemoth took a step forward, ready to show everyone how it would be done. He’d do it right on the first try!

But it was soon forgotten as Hector attempted to go through the wall of flame to only get thrown back. It didn’t surprise Torche in the slightest, after all, Hector was always such a… what was the word again? A softie? A baby? A soft baby? Wait, no! A push over! Yeah— a push over!

“What do you mean too much magick? You can never have enough!” That was like saying someone was too buff or too strong. But… well, some things could be too much, couldn’t they? If everything was up in flames all the time then there could be no farmlands to grow food, or big leafy trees to snooze under. “What if we just pour some water on it so we can walk through and extinguish the flames?” Torche offered, being unable to read and thus correctly analyze the riddle.

Innis Amelia Hawthorne Flynbul Tosstopple Hector

 

[Innis]

Innis crossed her arms and rolled her eyes as Torche and Amelia bickered with each other. "Come on, you two," she scolded the both of them. "Everyone in this room is too old to be--"

She trailed off as Hector approached the fire, and a moment later was thrown back with a rush of flame. A lick of orange heat crawled up his leg, but he seemed too stunned to notice as he rolled around on the ground.

"Hector, you're on fire!" Innis rushed to his side. A sparkle of blue-white frosted across her gloves as her hands hovered over the burnt clothes. But instead of quelling the flames, her ice cold mana sparked a reaction in the fire. It leapt up as if alive, spreading across her gloves and eating into her leathered palms.

She shrieked, pushing backwards away from Hector, shaking her hands and ending the cooling spell. As soon as her mana spluttered out, so did the flame - both on her hands and where it had bit at Hector. Gingerly, Innis pulled off her now burnt gloves. The skin underneath was raw, but it didn't look like her palms would blister.

Tears of pain and frustration welled up in the corners of her eyes. "Isn't this too hard for a first test?" she lamented, still sitting on the ground in defeat.

Torche Flynbul Tosstopple Hector Amelia Hawthorne

 

[Amelia Hawthorne]

"Here, my friend.' Amelia quietly offered a small clay pot from where she knelt down next to Hector after seeing him burn himself. She noted how the fire that had lingered and burned him, disappeared when it had reacted to Innis's frosted fingers. "I always bring different ointments just in case there's a bit of magic that goes awry." She softly smirked in sympathy before getting up to check on Innis.

She extended a callused palm to her fellow squire, desiring to see the state of the girl's hands before they continued, her pondering thoughts rising in a contemplative tone around them, "After seeing that display, I think Flynbul has the right idea. This fire, it's alive. And doesn't appear as though it appreciates when we try and overcomplicate it. Magic fire or not, it takes courage to walk through either. Which now leads me to believe that that's the only thing we'll need to pass."

Innis Flynbul Tosstopple Hector Torche

 

[Flynbul Tosstopple]

Unabated and unfettered was the fire as it lashed out to each of his companions. Hectors attempt to tame it with magic was bold. Perhaps too bold. And Innis, a step ahead of Flyn, as most bigfoots were, rushed to Hectors aid in attempts to quell his penalty. Only to further provoke the riddles ire.

He studied their antithetic actions. The words he spoke so plainly fell on the deafest of ears. Maybe it's me. I need to practice boisterism. If that isn't a current standing artform, it is from this day forward. But now wasn't a time for words. The room had its fill. The imposing wall of fire crackled with foreign energy, beckoning his challenge. He took a step towards it. The flame danced unremittingly. He took another. The intensity grew to a sweltering and almost unbearable heat. Almost. He closed is eyes and focused on his own flame. The one within. Beneath the pleasantries and good nature of Flynbul Tosstopple lay an unscrupulous entity. One of fiery rage hellbent on rewriting the divinity that watched with mocking eyes, his people die to plague. It lashed out at him. The torrential blaze sought escape the moment he peered within. It wished to exact revenge, to escape its prison, take him over. His skin grew hot, his blood began to boil, memories of the calamity that befell his people blurred in succession. The fire roared and crackled with delight as it consumed him. He began to dance as the fiery pain shot through his extremities. Not a dance of frivolity and happiness, one of pain and anguish. Escape. Visions of home, of verdant forests and farmland, turned ash. A knee twisting step, followed by a bow. Waning visages of loved ones bubbling with boils and rot attempted to impede and sow doubt. Another step, a flick of his wrist, a contortion of his upper body, twisting like a mote turned inferno. The wall of flames roared in awe of his physical proclamation. A heel spin, a masterful plie ending with a jete Stoked the fire. Scorching rays shot towards the ground around his form while tendrils of conflagration ecstatically ushered his dance through.

Yeljor cocked his head as his companion danced through the flames. With confounded eyes he looked towards the group.


"You may say I'm a dreamer, I'm not." - Flyn