Legend of Ransera

The Temple of the Fallen Skies
63rd of Frost, Year 121 Steel

Aurin paid their fare. There was no way for the flightless to get to the Temple otherwise. He supposed they might climb, but neither of them was skilled enough to scale the mountain in his humble estimation. The little air taxis could be a bit frightening, and he certainly wouldn't suggest someone with a weak stomach for flying like Torin to go up to the Temple unless it was on a larger, more stable craft. But Aurin didn't want to wait.

Yshvold wasn't much of a talker sometimes, and that suited Aurin fine. Divine magic was the only thing he could think of to rekindle the cold case. All Yshvold had was a song to go on. Aurin had asked around with the limited Lysanrin community in Kalzasi. He had taken the tune to an expert at the Pyrecaeon. The only one who seemed to have a shred of anything was the seeress of Galetira, and he didn't know how long she would remain in the city.

When the great complex hove into view, Aurin figured he had better offer a game plan.

"So, I'll take you to her. I'll introduce you. Then I'll... I can wait outside. I don't know if you want me to hear what she has to say. And anyway, she creeps me out. Sees too much. I don't like it, but I think she might be your best shot at any kind of answers or a trail to follow. She wouldn't just tell me. I guess she only tells people about their own shit."

He hoped the taxi would stick around to ferry them back so they wouldn't have to wait for a larger craft. They didn't always down in the city proper, but he figured they might not want to offend the Gods by ripping off a customer on Their doorstep. Silver lining.

The fox-faced man nodded. As much as he craved secrets, he could respect a man wanting to keep his own close to his chest, even a little, not-fully-grown man like Yshvold. So he was patient with the shoe-tying and the mask-donning and then Aurin just started off into the temple complex without a word. He left a donation in the box as he passed it, not one to give alms to an institution, except he had done so when last he came to speak to the seeress and so it felt as though he ought to continue the pattern so she would give Yshvold the answers he wanted. If there was a script to this, he didn't know it, so he was improvising as best he could. That was what he always did.

Through those doors, down that loggia, and eventually, he found the pagoda where she seemed to reside.

The seeress—he knew her gender by reputation and assumed her race to be Orkhan, though it was difficult to say through her voluminous robes and bronze mask—was silent and impassive, kneeling in the cloister. The room was too hot, braziers keeping her old bones warm. The light was a bit hypnotic, hundreds of candles flickering. The air was redolent with incense, a strange musk roiling out of various censors.

He pulled off his boots and set them beside the door before walking forward to kneel at the center of the room. While he didn't say anything, he hoped Yshvold would follow suit rather than make some weird point about being independent or whatever. In order to get what one wanted, sometimes one had to play by someone else's rules, at least until one figured out how to game the system. But this woman knew too much, saw too much, and Aurin didn't know how to game her system, so he played by her rules.

"Seeress," he said, his voice a bit strange as he tried to school it into tones of respect without losing his self-respect. "I brought the boy. His name is Yshvold, although, I suppose you already know that." He could only hope she wouldn't drop his name in front of the Lysanrin. The trail was cold, but it was possible it could lead someone back to Cathena and a man better off dead. When she didn't respond, he just sort of nodded, rose and returned to the door so he could collect his boots and wait outside. She spoke in her own time; he already knew that.

"Return when you want answers, Son of the River," she said, her voice hollow and metallic, as though it were coming to him down a long, resonating hallway.

His jaw squirmed under his skin, but he turned and nodded to her, then nodded to Yshvold, eyes shuttered. Once his boots were on, he was gone.

While Aurin wandered to a place where he could keep an eye on the door, but would be unable to hear what went on, the seeress sat serenely as if the turmoil within Yshvold didn't touch her. Perhaps it didn't. Few knew the depths of Galetira's gifts to Her seers; most just feared them.

Aurin had spoken of the boy's parentage, but as he didn't bring it up himself, she only spoke to what he did.

"The Fox made a donation on your behalf, little Raven," she said, her voice resonating hollowly from her mask. Unlike his, hers revealed nothing of her. "You are welcome to donate to the temple, whatever you think my advice is worth, or you may owe me a favor if you prefer.

"Most supplicants come to me with a specific question," she continued, "but you ask only for help. Then hearken to my words and do with them what you will: cleave to the Fox and to his Serpent. Seek the Sparrowhawks' nest under the ground. Of allies to come, trust the crownless king." After that, she fell silent. Oracles had a way of being maddeningly vague, but they were always correct, one way or another. But she could only offer him what she saw, and the future wasn't static. There were some things that were set or at least the probabilities were heavily weighted in favor of certain things happening, certain people meeting.

It was likely obvious to him that Aurin was the Fox and Elwes was his Serpent, but as for the rest, he would likely need to investigate.

Or perhaps he would believe all this superstitious bull shit. Regardless of his reaction, she had spoken.

As he was leaving, her hollow voice called out two names: his mother's and his father's. After that, she would speak no more.

Aurin, her so-called Fox, was idling far enough away that Yshvold could be certain he wasn't eavesdropping—unless he had some sort of magical means for that. But his hazel gaze fixed on the Lysanrin as soon as he emerged from the seeress' chapel, trying to gauge from his stance whether the news had been helpful or not. Those with foresight tended to give roundabout answers, and there were stories he had heard from ages past where heroes in their hubris had misread them entirely and done the exact opposite of what they ought to have done. He couldn't claim to be wise, but she had known things she couldn't have known without divine assistance, so he knew she had something real to offer.

Of course he was curious to know what had passed, but he afforded the boy some privacy unless he wanted to share.

"Ready to go, then?" he asked. If anything, the lad probably needed time to mull things over. Seers did like to be mysterious, whether to play up their mystique and wisdom or because the Gods just didn't want to pass out instruction manuals for life and destiny. Aurin would help if he could. He had only brought him up here to try to help. But every man's fate was in his own hands, even Yshvold's.

Lore:

Aurin:
Persuasion:
Making Light of Important Things
Offering Privacy

Yshvold
TBA

Points: 10 each, not for magic

Injuries/Ailments:
None

Loot: Secrets?

Notes: Interested in seeing how this plot line unfolds.