Renalt Reflects on the Rewards of the Religious Repository

The door to the final room swings open. Renalt smiles, pocketing the golden key. He can’t help but wonder what lies behind the massive, heavy door. It was protected, after all, and kept locked even when the only people in the hall were those who lived here. Or, at least, those whom the people who lived here allowed to come and go as their god pleased. Probably means it’s more than just a gold vault, as being trapped during whatever event happened related to those corpses locked out of the temple leaves little use for gold. Perhaps it is something more treasured than treasure.

The room does seem to be a vault, which Ren finds strange. There’s a rush of healing magic over them as it opens. The wounded sister asks, “What was that?”

Their captain replies from behind Ren, “Evidently, whichever God of the Land and People is watching over this place approves of us.” Ren isn’t so sure about that. Not the approval of this place’s god. But whoever it is, it doesn’t feel like the magic he’s felt in temples to the Gods of the Land and People. It feels different, not in the whole but in the nuance. Though the musician isn’t quite sure what that means, just that it would be a terrible story if that meant nothing.

Ren is about to turn around to say something about the nuance to his current captain, when he pauses. His travelling companion seems to be drawn into the room on instinct. Not by the gold bars nor the gems nor the jewelry on display, but by a scroll sitting on the pedestal. Instead, the storyteller steps forwards, into the room, shining his lantern across the rest of the treasure. And, softly, he warns Den, “Be careful, old friend of mine. Making deals with unknown entities rarely go the way the mortal imagines.” He tries his best to keep his voice low enough that no one but the massive Elfi’ika can hear him. No one else reacts to him, so it probably worked.

Den shakes his head. “Always careful,” he says. Then, the hulking killer looks down at his musical friend, “You tend to be the reckless one.”

As though in agreement, or in judgement, Ren can feel his armor begin to grow warm. He won’t admit it aloud, but Ren knows that his friend has a point. That said, what was said needed to be said. Renalt watches as Denlo stands over the scroll, written in a language even the well travelled Ren doesn’t recognize. He’s paused, which means the bard’s words had some effect. Ren turns his attention to the rest of the treasure hoard. In all likelihood, that scroll is what the lock was intended for, which means the rest of this is donations of some kind. He looks around, twirling his fingers in spirals as he hums, conducting an imaginary orchestra. Relaxes his mind, acting on instinct as he thinks to himself how much of the treasure here it would be appropriate for them to take.

It would be improper to take it all, he knows. The god still clearly holds some sway in this place, which means their wrath is definitely not to be incurred lightly. That said, a god wants to be known, so taking some to encourage more possible supplicants to arrive would certainly not be inappropriate, especially if Denlo were to accept whatever deal would carry the god’s mark out from this tomb. Enough to encourage more visitors, but also enough that those next groups would also encourage more visitors. At most a third of the wealth, more likely a quarter would be ideal. Which means he could just count chests, but many of these chests look to be overflowing. More interestingly, if they could count the actual items, they could leave all the chests and make it more appealing for the next group. Turning back to find the Sea Elf for help, he sees Denlo has touched the scroll. It seems he took the deal. The energy it held seems to fade as it descends onto the pedestal, at least until the next person goes through the divine gauntlet.

Then he realizes it. The nuance, why it felt oddly different. It was more than just divine. Reminded him of the magic coming from the strange machine in the other box. A time when magic was just magic. A time before gods’ power was no different from the world’s, no different from the constructed, no different from the imagined. He can’t help but wonder if that is part of the reason this god’s power remained after all who knew them fell to time. “Felazo,” he projects to the hallway. The captain is going through the books in one of the side rooms, so Ren needs to use his stage voice to reach the elf.

It takes a moment, but the elf captain pokes his head out of the doorway. “What is it, maestro?” Felazo asks.

“This modest musician would wish for the able aid of our clever captain to determine the proper profit of this endeavor. I do figure one part in four from the wealth of the temple, to encourage waves of adventure from rumors of our prodigious profits, without angering any lingering god,” Renalt requests of the necromantic captain.

Felazo nods, replying, “Give me a minute,” before heading back into the room he’d been in. Ren understands. The captain had been in the middle of something. The musician walks over to his old friend.

“Denlo,” he asks quietly, “I take it you took the deal.”

Denlo nods. “Risky, but useful,” the massive man says in his usual curt manner.

“Any idea the drawbacks?” Ren pushes for more details.

“Yes,” Den replies. Ren stares at him a moment, so Den relents. “I will be worse at killing those with peaceful intent,” he admits.

Interesting. That is an exploitable drawback, but only by those of raw conviction of their own righteousness. Meaning, not by most they’ll encounter on the Stone Ocean. Because most those who wander are not so doing because they seek out peace. That is generally achieved without wandering. “That is not much a problem around those who adventure,” Ren jokes.

Den lets out a slight chuckle, a sign of emotion behind his masked face. “Why do you suppose I took the deal?”

Felazo enters the room. “So, what was it that you wished of me?” He mutters some words and looks around. “The jewelry does appear magical. The gems and gold not so.” he picks up a brooch from one of the containers, affixing it to his clothes.

“I do figure for the trouble we endured in opening this place, as well as to entice the next group of seekers, we take about one quarter of this hoard. Should be well worth it, and if we spread the money around, many others will come. And others might draw more, if they have one who can endure the trial as our obdurate associate was able.”

Felazo considers Ren’s words, before replying. “That is sensible, as whichever lost God of the Land and People was worshipped here still lingers in power, if not in essence. Irritating them is ill advised, as all who know the history of this land are well aware.”

Sari, standing in the doorway, shakes her head. “Not if you know what you’re doing,” she mutters. Two perspectives that Renalt knows well come from their respective cultural backgrounds. Those of the caravans talk of witnessing the shattering as an act of retribution that must be awed at, in fear and respect, where as those of the Kingdom talk of it as an act of a war that must be fought without that fear, with rage, precision, and power in equal measure. In all the stories he has heard, Ren does not know if there is more truth to either claim. To him, they both sound right and wrong, just two competing stories of the same plot with differing morals.

But neither matters in this moment. “Power is power,” Renalt remarks, “And I, in my most humble of opinions, do suspect the rest of us to be illequipped to deal with the rage of this god as we stand in the present moment. Dost thou disagree, noble huntress?”

Sari looks conflicted, but acquiesces. “Likely true, I suppose,” she mutters. “And stop calling yourself humble,” she adds in an additional grumble.

“Never,” Ren replies with a smirk. As he turns back to the treasure, Felazo has been removing bars and gems into a stack. Ren walks up to another of the jeweled display case, one which held a necklace not of gems, but strangle colored, perfectly smoothed stones. Lifting it, he examines the necklace, and while can’t tell what it does specifically, he knows it is something to do with awareness. He offers it to the huntress, exaggerating its effectiveness, “To soothe your irritation, it does fit thy aesthetic, and seems to be a powerful tool in elevating awareness.”

Sari does take the necklace, holding it up to examine it, but she doesn’t put it on. Ren understands. Many people think strange items found in long lost places might be cursed, and have risks to using them. And sometimes, they are. But all the best stories are not about those that hesitate, but rather those that do. He shakes his head as he moves back over, to help Felazo.

It takes several more minutes before they have gathered up their valuable haul from the still full chests. As the crew leaves the treasure room, Denlo locks the door, and heads into the side room, to return the key to its hiding spot. It makes sense for him. Part of the purpose of leaving some gold was to attract more than one additional wave. And if the next wave has to consider their action before reaching the gold, the more likely they, too, will leave gold for the next wave. The large man also heads into the private chamber for a moment, though Ren does not know why. He doesn’t feel the need to ask. If Den is interested in informing the bard, he will. As they cross the gilded threshold, Ren feels an approving, but not overly pleased tingling on the back of his neck. The forgotten but lingering god sees them as not taking too much, but still does not like being stolen from. That makes sense. To appease her, Ren pulls the gilded key out from his cloak and locks the gilded door as well. He heads into the larder, hiding the key amidst the food long since decayed. As he returns to the hall, he sees Denlo paying attention to his actions. Then the crew passes through the silvered door, and Den turns to the monastic sister. “Could you lock the door, and leave the key under the altar?”

Sister Hilan looks confused for a moment, but only a moment before the realization of why that may be important dawns on her face. The pious woman nods, and heads back, locking the door behind them and leaving the key not necessarily well hidden, but not in plain sight. “What of the entryway?” the sister asks, looking at Denlo.

Den shakes his head. “No need,” he says, “Besides, I left the key behind.” And it clicks for Ren. The second trip was so that whoever shows up next has the same dilemma as they had. A test. He must give his friend credit, Den is far more clever than he seems at times.

“Let’s head back,” Felazo says, gesturing to the rope. One by one, they climb up and out of the temple. First Alessari, then Denlo, then Felazo and Renalt, and finally Sister Hilan. As they gather at the top, Sari finishes looking at the surrounding hills and sky, and she gestures in the direction of some hills not quite opposite the lake, but definitely not towards the lake. “The boat was that way,” she states. They begin to walk towards the hills that surround the valley. And, as they approach the bushes at the foot of the closest hill, Ren notices something out of the corner of his eyes. The necklace of stone beads, poking out of one of Sari’s pockets, is glowing.