Visiting the Temple of the Cold Fist in Hetha

Ever since the crew of the Ekzokia fought and slayed the long-dead dwarfish pirate, Sister Hilan has felt off. Ill. The last day passed in something of a haze. With Felazo, she had rowed back to the Ekzokia. The captain’s little strange creature helped them aboard and she headed down to rest. From there, she awoke a few times, and she could swear that she saw some things that had to be caused by the illness. She remembers vaguely Sari reading a book, Den coming out of the bathroom after a full bath, Renalt discussing religion. As she comes to in the morning, she is not feeling much better. While she seemed to have recovered from all her wounds that are not related to the curse, she is still queasy. Slowly, and carefully, she makes her way above decks for their crew’s morning breakfast. Sari serves her the fish as she comes up. Felazo is asleep on the deck. She’s never actually seen her captain asleep before. It is a curious sight. “How long has he been out?” she asks.

Sari shrugs, and looks over to Den. Den shakes his head. “While.”

“We were waiting wondering whether waking one with withering willpower would weaken one worse,” Ren rambles out with ease, before adding, “How feel you?”

The sister of the Darian Order shrugs. “No worse than yesternoon, but not much improved.”

Sari turns to Den, who nods. She then explains as Denlo is walking across the deck. “We are nearly at Hetha, should be arriving before noon.”

The massive Elfi’ika shakes our captain awake, informing him, “Breakfast.”

Felazo is clearly also not doing well, but he slowly awakens and looks around. “Ah, we must be running into the ebbing soon enough,” he says as he stumbles over and begins to eat. “Sister, did you enjoy your rest?”

“Not particularly,” Sister Hilan says with an exhausted expression, “But it felt better than not resting. You?”

“Odd. Is rest normally like that? I haven’t in a month or two, can’t quite remember,” Felazo admits. Before anyone can respond, Kalzia rushes down the mast and begins to make some odd, squishy noises in Felazo’s direction. The captain nods, and turns to the crew. “Sorry, looks like this hungering is ending early, which will put the currents against us. We need to catch the wind to take us over to the ebbing. I’ll close the capture, you lower the sails and tack them thataway,” he says, pointing in a specific direction. The Sea Elf heads up to the ship’s wheel and begins to pull on the base of it. A small lever comes out and he wrenches it up flush with the wheel above its fulcrum rather than below. Den and Sari take care of the sails, while Ren looks curiously at the monastic woman as she watches her captain do whatever he is doing.

“Pious Hilan, have you never sailed aboard a ship of the Caravan before? Surely Felazo has closed the Ekzokia’s capture before at the very least,” Renalt wonders aloud in her direction.

“Not that I remember,” she says, though she then fully admits, “Though any time we changed from current to current before, I’ve been the one doing what Denlo is doing now, so it is more than reasonable to assume that I simply missed it.”

Renalt nods. “Captures are rare outside the Caravan, but can aid in swiftly navigating currents. If you miscalculate and the currents are against you, they can be problematic. Or so my navigatrix friend has claimed.”

Sister Hilan nods absentmindedly as she enjoys her fish. Then she heads down to get dressed in her Darian Order outfit. Because she knows there is a temple of the Cold Fist. It may be run by the House of the Wise Flame, but they will respect her request if she comes to them as a member of the Darian Order on her mission. If anything, they may respect ehr requests more than since temples run by the House of the Bold Flame. Denlo also dresses up in his newly cleaned leathers, wearing his sword openly. Looking at it, the sword doesn’t look like it would be particularly easy to draw and use. A sort of carry that is more for effect than effectiveness, then. Sari puts on a dress under her armor as well, wearing it quite well. Just about an hour before noon, the Ekzokia arrives in Hetha’s harbor. “Friends and companions,” the holy sister begins, “Unless you have other ideas on how to relieve curses, I do believe there be a temple to the Cold Fist in this city.”

Renalt nods, while Felazo shrugs and says, “Probably.”

“I may well be able to get our curses relieved for free, or for a discounted price at the very least, by appealing to them and requesting it formally as a necessary provision for my mission.”

Felazo nods. “Better than my idea of hoping that drunken sorcerer-pirate I know wants to help me.” Den chuckles.

Ren thinks for a moment, then says, “I believe I do remember where the temple lies.” Looking up and seeing the monastic sister, he quickly adds the polite but unnecessary, “Assuming you do not know.”

“Such guidance would be appreciated,” Sister Hilan says in reply. As the others assent to this, they finish the docking process.

Felazo hands some money over to the dockmaster, then whispers something to her before returning to the group. “Lead the way, maestro,” he says, gesturing for the crew to disembark.

Leaving Kalzia behind, they begin to head into town. Hetha as a city does remind her of home in a lot of ways. It’s busy, crowded, and filled with people that seem in the middle of their own adventures and businesses. Having her own large, imposing figure, along with Den’s even larger figure flanking the crew makes passing through these city streets easier than it might have been otherwise. Renalt leads them, best he can from memory, towards the Temple of the Cold Fist. Soon, Sister Hilan can see the humble stone walls and austere facade that front their religion’s many temples. Taking the lead, she heads inside. A wiry man, about Renalts height, looks them over. “My dear, you look quite ill,” he says.

Sister Hilan bows deeply. “I am Sister Schnett, blessed Hilan, of the Darian Order, of the House of the Bold Flame.”

The gentleman bows in turn. “Honored to meet you, Sister Hilan. I am Brother Garrilen, blessed Mikall, of the Privellien Order, of the House of the Wise Flame. What brings you to this humble temple?”

She smiles. The Privellien Order is a fortunate turn of events. They’re focused inward, on self reflection. And, more importantly, they have always maintained close ties to the Darian Order. “On the course of my Mission, we were waylaid by ghosts. I believe myself and my wizardly companion have been taken by some sort of sickening curse. I was hoping someone in the temple might be able to aid in our recovery, so that I may get back to my quest for the temple.”

“A formal mission?” Brother Mikall replies, “Those are rare these days. Of course we can aid you. We will ask politely for a donation from your companion to cleanse his curse, however.”

Felazo nods in understanding, and pulls out some gems. “Would this be a fitting donation, Brother Mikall?”

The priest examines it briefly and nods. “Seems more than sufficient, friend of the temple. Come, this way,” and he gestures for the two to follow. He leads them through a large chamber that Sister Hilan knows is a worship center, and into the back halls. Eventually, they come to a ward room.

“Brother Quinsy, Sister Palline, this is Sister Hilan and a friend of the temple. She is on her mission and has been afflicted by a terrible curse. Would you be so kind as to cleanse them of their sickness?”

“Of course, Brother Mikall,” Sister Palline says with a head bow. Then, leaving the pair of sick people in the ward, Brother Mikall leads the rest of the crew away. Sister Palline looks them over. “So, Hilan,” she says, relaxing as Brother Mikall leaves, “What brought about this curse?”

“A ghost of a sailor,” Sister Hilan replies, “Once killed, it exploded in some sort of energy that sickened us. But, while the others were able to recover, we were not.”

Brother Quinsy nods. “Should not be too difficult, then,” he says. “If you could kindly lie down and move your armor, I can get to work.”

Sister Palline turns to Felazo next. “Brother Quinsy is our expert, he will be over here in ten minutes. In the meantime, what is your story, traveller?” she asks, as she leads him to a different bed in the ward.

“Felazo v’Icria, Captain of the Ekzokia. Sister Hilan has been travelling aboard my vessel for her mission,” he says as he lies back on the bed.

She nods. “In that case, Captain v’Icria, we of the temple owe you greatly. WHat is her mission, might I ask?”

Felazo smirks. “Please,” he replies, “It’s just Felazo. And that would be a question to ask her, I’m afraid. I tend to avoid such complex religious discussion.”

“Well,” she says as she begins to put cool towels on his forehead to keep his temperature down, “What do you enjoy discussing.”

“Theory, History, adventure,” Felazo begins.

While her captain is being led to the next bed in the ward, Brother Quinsy seats Sister Hilan on the cot beside the entrance. “Lie back, and relax. This is not a short process, but I am afraid all the proper clerics of the city were recruited by the Senate to aid in recovery efforts of our current skirmishes with neighbors.”

“It is no issue,” Sister Hilan replies as she removes her plate armor and lies back.

“How has your mission been going thus far?” Quinsy asks.

She sighs. “It has been interesting, to say the least. Have you heard anything of these newly rising structures?”

“Nothing really. An expedition was sent, co-funded by one of our devotees, to one that arose in the Union swamps, but it has yet to return.” Brother Quincy begins to trace symbols above her and draw small sigils of ash on her skin and the bed.

She does inform him, “If it is anything like the one we encountered, you may have need of healers, and many of them. Or it might be inaccessible.”

“That would be SIster Palline’s job, and she is quite good,” he states. After finishing the symbols of ash, he pulls out a book and begins to read chants. Her eyes drift over to watch as her captain, even sick, manages to draw and engage this sister Palline’s attention. She knows that the sister only began whatever that conversation is to distract Felazo while the long process of curse breaking went on, but she now seems genuinely interested in whatever topic he’s discussing. And her mind drifts to the nature of her mission. The answer to the question clearly lies in these new structures popping up. It literally came into her path as she was trying to find her question. But what question are these structures going to aid her in answering? Is it to do with the history they represent, like why the wizard’s house required all four traditions to unlock? Or is it related to the timing, like why they are arising now and what is driving them upwards? Or is it related to the contents? The last one had some mechanical form holding an undead soul as well as several dream spirits. Or perhaps the land nearby, for the lingering of that many ghosts cannot be a coincidence, could it? She sighs. So many questions, so many theories, but she cannot tell whether any are related to her mission. She needs them to enter more of these ancient structures. To find the similarities, and the differences.

After ten minutes, she can feel the sickness fade, the curse shattering. Brother Quinsy nods to her and heads over to replace Palline. She heads over to Sister Hilan’s bed and begins to clean off the markings from her skin, as well as the accumulated sweat from her body fighting that losing battle with a magical illness. “Your friend tells the most fascinating tales about the world. Do you know whether any of them are true?”

Sister Hilan lets out a chuckle. “Felazo? He’s not the liar that I have been travelling alongside.”

“Oh, do tell,” Sister Palline says with a smile.