The temple grounds were close to the center of Glaucen, but offset towards the east gate, the largest entrance into the city. They were close to my position, and since there were so few out on the streets, no trouble was encountered. As the distance to the temple decreased, the surroundings became nicer. It was more difficult to distinguish during the day, but after noticing the drastic rise in street lamps lighting the roads, other differences became more apparent.

The flagstones on the street for one lacked the numerous fractures and uneven surface caused by pressure. Naturally shaped, they had also clearly been slightly hewn to interlock more strongly. The tops were polished yet still maintained traction, even under the slight layer of dirt, their color was a muted, yet imposing shade of grey like the walls of the city. Comparing it to those used on Alchemist Avenue, it was as if the best were used here, and the rest were mere extras dug in the process.

The buildings as well looked better formed, and even under the reddish-orange light of the oil lamps it was clear to see they were better maintained. While the land wasn't used so wastefully as to construct large estates, there were nevertheless homes that sported small yards. The designs seemed to step up an era, from medieval housing to something victorian.

The public works also qualified as art installations. Before I’d not put much thought into it, passing it off as just one piece of scenery or the other, but the water sources near the temple resembled those from Rome or Van Rel. Ornate wall fountains without a hint of algae or moss, the water shimmering under the low light, softly burbling as it did so.

I stopped at one of these fountains. It took not even a second glance to realize that I could gain insight into the religion of Tiansing by examining it. Had it been day, I may have overlooked it if not already examining the water feature, but at night it wasn't apparent.

The primary spout came from the mouth of man whose likeness made up the wall of the fountain. All stone, with marble used for his hair, made him into a wraith. Long white hair radiating out from a face with an iron countenance, a forceful image softened by a slight trickle of water from his eyes that looked downwards. No doubt that this was the likeness of Tias, or at least the commonly accepted rendition.

From his mouth cascaded the main stream of water, into the outstretched arms of three defined figures in positions of prostration, looking withered. Clear veneration from these figures, but around them was a crowd of less defined individuals. Towards the edges of the wall fountain were hordes of monsters. Some I could put a name of my own to, but many lacked an easily definable base, and were more like an amalgamation of features. The members of the crowd closer to the monsters grew defined and healthier, their arms and armor becoming the first thing apparent.

The layer of the crowd and monsters was the bulk of the work, about four feet high of the ten foot tall, and not just size wise. Unlike Tias’ Face, the crowd and monsters weren't a mere frieze, but dozens of sculptures. They occupied a solid stone platform, until a ledge about two feet from the semicircle that was the border of the fountain. The water cascaded in a huge amount of constantly varying streams that were relatively small, pouring out from the feet of the human crowd.

But the water coming from Tias’ eyes and mouth was caught by the prostrating figures in the center, so what font emitted the water to the basin? It was the most apparent and attention grabbing part of the whole spectacle.

From those fighting the monsters near the edges, water sprayed from their wounds. Those not about engage in combat had water flowing from consistent positions along their forearms. By the reddish hue of the oil lamps, it was hard not to see the final tide of water going over the edge as waves upon waves of blood.

Something like this could be normal in Underworld of Armok, but that was a dark and bloody world that a few choose to live in. To actually have a part of daily life be a monument to such a bloodscape, from such finely rendered wounds, my perspective shifted.

Normal to those of Tiaism was sacrifice. It wasn't hard to fully realize how much Lyssa failed to impress that upon me, or I failed to recognize it. From Tias to the people and cycled around and around, access to the Flow of Life really was a debt of blood in their eyes.

Disdain against the church now looked like a foolish thought for them to have. For any believer, it seemed the church was the only one who could help them repay their debt to Tias. Though the idea still seemed foolish to me, that wouldn't change how everyone else acted.

The fountain helped me understand the Derrish devotion to Tias, and in turn their reasoning for standing by the church. The knowledge gained still sat in the realm of theory, and I needed to learn more about how it transferred into reality. Just because you're told from on high to turn the other cheek, doesn't mean that you will.

Delayed, but not fruitlessly, I strode towards the temple proper. Angling the approach so as to be walking straight into the gates, I could catch a view of the courtyard from a distance. The presence of guards at the Varansterm made me cautious, but it seemed to be more of a decorative gesture, as they were none stationed at night. That made sense, who here actually wished to offend the church?

I brazenly made my way over to the Heirga Yoll, deliberately pausing a few moments outside the four double doors that encompassed almost all of the side of entry. It paled before the grand stone cathedral on the plateau, but retained its own majestic, if slightly tawdry appearance. The situation wasn't as if the walls were gaudily gilded, but the floral carvings were a bit excessive in quantity and detail. Several petals along the door frame were chipped and dented, showing that the decoration hadn't had much thought put into it. Clearly before the masses, the church had decided that ‘less is more’ was the wrong direction to take. Even the handle had been carved into a vine with buds, making it quite uncomfortable to grasp.

About to pull open the door, a cold wind flashed across the nape of my neck and my hand froze in place.

My eyes darted left, then right, but the atmosphere around me seemed unaffected. There were few oil lamps in the courtyard, and it was instead lit by bonfires in huge braziers; the illumination of the flames comforting. That instant of hesitation lost, but I had trouble shrugging it off.

My imagination is overactive, but at that moment I couldn't decide if it really was just tricks of the minds. Were it an actual omen I just didn't know the origins of, wouldn't proceeding be foolish? But the opposite could be true, perhaps there was a clue within that became necessary for later on.

Not one hour past, I sat before the visage of a deity above a fountain of blood. Feeling an icy gust, surely intuition should be heeded. This wasn't my only chance to learn more, I was losing nothing but time. Even if it couldn't be explained, sometimes the gut can pick up on dangers the conscious mind doesn't understand. Besides I was Level 1, strange body aside, my combat potential was staggeringly low. Ironically, even the lowest of specters and fleshworked could bring me to the grave with them. Before whatever creature haunted the halls of the Heirga Yoll, I wouldn't even know how I died.

“I am not alive because I am strong,” I heaved open the door. “But because I make do with what I have.” A quote from one of the greatest underdogs let me resolve my indecision. In the end how could I, a hero, back down in the face of a mere ill omen? The chill did not return as I opened the door, and slipped inside.

Darkness was heavy inside the Yoll, only a few candles the size of femur burned slowly at the pillars of the establishment. Stepping forward, I noticed the floor was even smoother here, encouraging me to move slowly lest I slip, but there were occasional textured patches. In the darkness rows of benches could be made out, enough for hundreds. As I moved down the main aisle hoping to get a better view of the dais, my already slow pace stopped. My nose was insensitive, and the smell was faint. Turning my head to the air, inhaling deeply, grasping as much of the scent as I could, trying to remember.

I dropped to my knee, the answer obvious. The metallic smell rose in power, not overwhelmingly so, but I could identify it clearly. Blood, droplets scattered about the floor, and concentrated when one neared certain hard to distinguish emblems. A bitter smile worked across my face, they were dedicated to the ideal alright. Using my hand to detect the blood by texture, apparently service included a donation of some centiliters of blood.

I should have taken more note of the baggy sleeves most people wore. The climate here felt temperate, but the fact that very few people wore tight long shirts, or had some sort of armband had to have been a clue. Once again, something so prevalent, I took it as a part of the setting and ignored the reason.

At least I wouldn't be surprised if I somehow got dragged into attending one of the services. I had no intention of spilling blood for anyone I didn't approve of, but I doubted the act would be easy to opt out of if things progressed to that point.

Standing up, it didn't seem like anything would be able to match the revelation that Tiaism practiced ritual bloodletting. Then again, I wasn't here looking for the shocking, there were already enough instances of overlooking the mundane.

Trying to be thorough, I still lacked direction in my investigation. Essentially the position of outsider didn't exist, so trying to discover how believers would react just from the clues of the church felt like an exercise in futility. That didn't mean I stopped, just that the information gathered was more like trivia than things I could use.

On the raised section of the ground where the lectern stood there were several basins, which like the rest of the surroundings possessed overly ornate decorations. There seemed to be some connection between Tiaism and plant life, flowers in particular, but I couldn't figure out what exactly it was. That aside, given how each basin had been placed with care, they were probably all used during the ceremony. Since the trails of blood didn't come to the center, it could be reasoned that each of the containers represented at least one official of the church. At least twelve members of the church were present during each service, as the lowest estimate.

Stepping up onto the raised ground, I moved around to the back of the lectern. It was almost a certainty that readings were done from a book, but it was not kept in a cubby like some old paper textbook. Standing there, with the view the reader of the scriptures would have, the darkness didn't obscure the sight of the service in mind’s eye.

Read from the Scriptured Doctrines, and explain what they mean to the illiterate below. They owe a great debt they are willing to repay, and the church accepts their blood regularly for that reason. It is returning a fraction of the Flow of Life, which is why they don’t use healing incantations afterward. The reason Disciples and the like are above the rest is because they are the ones who end up fighting the monsters; the rest of society works to support the church, and naught else. The church for the little folk is humanity, and that is what they are taught, to support humanity.

I couldn't tell if it was false equivalence borne through tradition, or if the founder of the church was someone who could con the heavens. The actions of Levaius definitely did work to progress the state of civilization in this corner of the world, but it didn't seem like his golden age left any lasting impression. Derriad bled the foundation to stay standing, and the end result was being unable to grow further.

All their sacrifice to try and make the church and humanity stronger, just to have that become the very thing that limited them. A depressing irony for those who managed to see it.

For quite some time I soaked in the darkness, pondering Tiaism and its adherents. Eventually deciding I could learn no more at my level of knowledge, I departed. Stuck in a mental rut, my thoughts repetitively came back to the populace of Derriad, as I strolled the streets.

To end stagnation meant you could move either forward or backward. I can accept harm in the short run if I can eventually grow greater, but would the people here be alright with that? Only a small minority looked receptive to change, and that was because they'd already gone through the hardship. Framed as advancing humanity, I could surely make others accept the idea of change, but was that really what I should do?

Sighing, I resigned myself to philosophical and ethical dithering until morning crept upon Glaucen.

A/N:AHHHHHHHHH!