And we sat abandoned,

Children without parents.

To enter into the world,

to begin once more.

-The Book of the Abandonment 1; 9-12

Gardinal sipped his drink, this time grabbing it directly from the bartender’s hand. Being poisoned once in a week was more than enough. He swished the drink around in his mouth. Ale was so flavourless. It had nothing on a proper mug of Krag, the favoured Khazimi drink of fermented goat’s milk. Gardinal sat at the edge of an uneven bar, careful of the wood railing that threatened to splinter at even a glance. Just another Southshore pub, no finer nor dingier than the Red Boar. The sign of a broken crown that hung out front hinted at a name long forgotten. Whether it was meant to be broken, or just a sign of a crown broken over the years, nobody knew and nobody cared. Gardinal took another sip and listened intently.

“The Master X will look after us, you shall see.” The hooded man proselytized to a table not far behind Gardinal. The young men, a smattering of Fereni and Fershya, seemed to be hanging from every word. “You want coin? He has it.” As if to make a point, a clinging of coins pelted the table. “Wine, women. They shall all be yours.” His voice hissed. A poisonous rot hidden among the lowest refuse of Southshore. Just as Gervin had warned him.

Gardinal had learned that a handful of these men wandered in and out of pubs throughout the rougher parts of town. They ordered large amounts of ale for apparent strangers, flaunting their prosperity. All in the promise of shared power and wealth to come for any who would follow. Not a bad strategy, Gardinal had to admit.

“What about the Pantheon?” An older man with a grizzled voice spoke up. “They did create us after all.” A round of nods and agreement from the rest at the table would have set any ordinary evangelist running. But this was part of the plan Gardinal had discovered, a voice of reason to win over as proof of the cause.

“Yes, of course, the Pantheon. Gods who would prop up a king who cares little for his people.” The cultist continued with his blaspheming. “X promises more. He is true just you see. X cared for me, and he shall do the same for you.”

The outspoken voice from before muttered an ‘I see’ and ‘you have a point.’ These people knew what they were doing. Gardinal waited.

“Come, ask for the Summoner, he shall set you on the path to riches and glory. All one needs to do is ask.” He lingered on the last word. The Summoner, was it? Gardinal wondered what exactly the man ‘summoned.’ Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. From the sound of heavy footsteps, the man was finished and heading to the door. Gardinal took a swig of the ale, lay down a few copper coins atop the counter to settle, and made his way over to the young boys sitting huddled in discussion.

“A snake is still a snake, even if it has coin to spare, men.” Gardinal said, slamming his hands on the table. He purposefully let his golden hammer amulet slip out from under his tunic, hinting at who spoke with them now. Most of the men gazed wide-eyed at the golden pendant. All except one, who shot a dangerous eye his way. A Fereni man with dark eyes, his gaunt face dotted with pimples and covered with a mat of greasy hair.

“And what good has your order done for us?” The skeptic spat at Gardinal, trying to win back the young men. “So called hammers of the faith.” The man bared his teeth at Gardinal. Gardinal simply grinned.

“If any of you young men need work, you can stop by the Temple of Ethinia, tell them Brother Gardinal sent you. You’ll have fresh food and clean water. It’s not ale, coin, or women, but something tells me you’ll all sleep better at night this way.” Gardinal looked to the cynic. “And think hard on the one among your ranks who would argue against the gods that made you.” The young men all turned to the gaunt faced Fereni, furrowed brows a plenty to satiate Gardinal.

He strode away from the group and pushed through the half-rotted front door. Leaning against the side wall he waited quietly, listening to them speaking within.

“You're all going to be scared off by some bloody Khazimi priest? Well curses to you all, you cowards. I'm going to go get some of that coin and women he promised. More for me.” The heretic raved madly. Gardinal simply waited, looking down at his boots. The entrance to the pub was in a dank alleyway, the muddy ground beneath his feet an unfortunate reminder of where he was.

Looking to the orange sky above, Gardinal realized he had been out far longer than he had intended. Finding the right pub and waiting for one of the recruiters to come had eaten up more than a few hours. If the ale hadn’t been so watered down, he might have been drunk from all he had during his wait. Her Radiance would be worried about him being out so late. And Gardinal wasn’t particularly happy about leaving her with that lordling for so long.

The door creaked open. The gaunt-faced man exited and turned, coming near face to face with Gardinal. Or they would have if there wasn't a full head's difference in their heights.

“You!” the man exclaimed.

“Aye,” Gardinal nodded, “Me.” Gardinal punched the man in the gut. A bit of anger still lingering from the encounter with that bloody Fereni nobleman earlier. The man gasped as he bent in half. Gardinal grasped him by the throat and pushed him up against the wet wood panel wall across the tight alley. With a light crack the man's head slammed into the wall, just enough to daze him. At least Gardinal hoped that was all he had done. “Where is your friend going?” Gardinal asked.

“I... I don't know what you're talking about.” The man stammered, eyes dashing down the alley. The man could search all he wanted, not a soul would help.

“Look, a'man, there's two ways we could do this. One's a'more fun for me, one's a little easier for you.” Gardinal bluffed, he really didn't enjoy hurting people, but for The Prophetess's safety he could certainly lie about it.

The man tried to grab at Gardinal’s arm, but a quick strike crushed the man’s wrist against the wall. An awful sound.

“So, the fun way?” Gardinal asked, feigning the grin he had seen on a Theremya torturer during the war. Disgusting as it felt to emulate the wretched scum, those women knew how to strike fear in their enemies. The man visibly panicked.

“I'll tell you everything, please just don't kill me.” he cried. “You crazy Khazimi bastard, don't kill me.” The man was begging, how pathetic. The rat wouldn't have lasted a second in the Shaded Lands.

“Where are you all hiding?” Gardinal growled at the man, not letting up on his terrifying act.

“I... I've met them in the sewers. The Catacombs beneath the city.” He cried. The sewers? The sprawling network of tunnels beneath the walled sections of the city were considered a wonder of the world. With outlets all over Southshore it made sense for getting around quietly. He would need to inform the Bishop.

“My master, he knows more. The one who was in here earlier.” the man was crying desperately now. Perhaps Gardinal had taken it a bit far. He said a short prayer in his head for Ethinia's forgiveness, but kept on.

“What does he know? And were has he gone?” Gardinal asked, tightening his grip.

“He's going to a pub in Small-Town, I… I was supposed to meet him there. The Rusty Nail I think it was. All I know is that he reports directly to the Summoner.” The man’s legs were limp now, only Gardinal's strength yet holding him up.

“And who is this Summoner?” Gardinal leaned in, growling deep at the man.

“I don't know him very well. I only met him once. I just know he's close with Master X.” The man snorted thick globs of mucous and tears as he wept. “Please don't kill me.” Gardinal dropped him to the ground, wiping his hand free of the man's filth in disgust.

“I'm not going to kill you, you idiot.” Gardinal snapped. “I'm a bloody Ethinian priest.” Gardinal knelt next to him now and spoke low. “But understand this, I won't be so kind if I see you out here doing this again. The First Mother may forgive all, but” Gardinal poked the man in the chest. “I don't.”

The man just nodded with wide eyes as Gardinal stood up to leave. That should be enough to put the fear of the Pantheon back in him. Gardinal left the sputtering Fereni behind as he departed the alley.

Stepping out into the afternoon light, Gardinal grunted. It was certainly far later than he had wanted to be gone. Was The Prophetess alright? Safe? Scared? The idea of her with that frustrating count grated on him. Nothing to be done about it though. He still needed to catch the heretic. That one would have some real answers by the sound of it. Gardinal continued his hunt.

***

The region of Small-Town was, despite its name, not small. A large sprawling mass of wood homes built one atop another like piled up crates. Thick wood planks spanned the tight spaces between buildings, an interconnected raised road system for those in the know. Small-Town held the largest concentration of Jöln in the city, and perhaps the second largest of Khazimi. All the peoples who were shorter than a Fereni. It had not been the residents who named the neighbourhood. The doorways and overhangs in this area were a proper height for once, as far as Gardinal was concerned.

He had asked some local Khazimi men, sitting around drinking some krag on the side of the road, how to get to the Rusty Nail. They drunkenly pointed him in the right direction, and the right fine people even offered him some Krag. He had to deny it of course as he needed to keep his head clear, but he appreciated the sentiment. A Khazimi always offers to share their Krag.

Marching up to the tavern, Gardinal found it a surprisingly clean structure. It was a Jöln establishment by the Sherya markings above the door. The two peoples had a deeply connected history. The well-painted sign of a rusty nail was clean and well hung. Gardinal pushed into the building.

Like any proper tavern it was spacious with a peaked thatch roof high enough to accommodate even the tall folk. An old worn feeling lingered about the establishment, like a beloved coat covered in patches, long past time to toss away, but cared for none-the-less.

Searching the room, it wasn’t difficult to pick the man out, his robed form towering over the table he preached to. He was taller than a Fereni. Had this cult managed to enlist a Sherya? No doubt they would be of the cursed clan Theremya.

“The Master X will look after us, you shall see.” The man repeated. It seemed he had a script. Too bad his friend wasn’t here this time. Gardinal strode up to the group.

“So how do you plan on doing it this time without a plant in the crowd?” he asked, the man spinning to stare at him.

“You!” The cultist snarled. Gardinal was surprised by him, taut red skin and a pronounced brow. Not a Sherya at all but a Korek. Though he was the spindliest Korek Gardinal had ever seen.

The man burst into movement, charging towards Gardinal in a bid for the door. If he had been any other man, this Korek would have likely bowled him over. Spindly or not, the Korek were a large people. Gardinal braced himself. Just as the man approached, Gardinal lowered and heaved, pushing up with all his force and flipping the man over his shoulder. With a loud thud the cultist smashed into the ground, a few cracks of broken wooden planks echoing across the room.

Spinning Gardinal found the man had fallen next to a heavy oaken table. He leapt atop the robed form without delay.

“You’re going to give me some answers.” Gardinal growled at the man, throwing his fist into the Korek's red face. “Bloody chaos-born.” He cursed. The lunatic began to laugh as Gardinal pinned him down.

“From Chaos we are born and to Chaos we return again Khazimi.” He cackled, pulling his own hand to his mouth, and biting down hard. Blood dripped down the Korek’s chin and Gardinal felt the man's form begin to warm beneath his legs. “And you shall join me, priest.” The cultist grinned like a mad man.

Gardinal looked down confused. Obviously, any man who would bite his own hand, or worse abandon the pantheon, was mad. But this? Gardinal looked down in shock as the form beneath him began to glow a sickly red brown. Thin beams of light bursting from within his flesh, the entire surface of his skin glowing red hot. Not good. The man laughed maniacly, screaming about deaths to come, the time of rising.

Looking around he saw the tavern folk had surrounded them, each trying to make sense of the commotion. An odd smattering of Jöln and Khazimi, staring on in confusion.

“Get away!” Gardinal shouted, waving them off. “Get back ya fools!” Slowly the group began to shift away. Gardinal didn’t know what this man was doing, but he knew he couldn’t sit and wait. Gardinal rose from the floor. The heretic, now flailing, and screaming mad nonsense, thick foam forming at his mouth.

Reaching for the nearby table, Gardinal heaved with every ounce of strength he had. As he pulled, a thick hand with bark like nails clawed across his calf, tearing chunks of flesh off. Gardinal gritted his teeth at the pain but stomped down on the flailing Korek’s arms. Gardinal pulled hard and the table toppled atop the man, just as he saw the cultist’s skin begin to bubble and boil like a living kiln overflowing with molten metal. Gardinal jumped atop the table, holding it down on the man with all his weight. The table burnt against his skin, thick smoke from burning wood filling his lungs.

“Run you bloody idiots!” he shouted. Not bothering to look if anyone was listening. He forced himself to breathe slowly, the smoke scratching at his lungs. The muffled screams from the man seeped through the crackling boards between them.

“Holy First Mother, set atop her throne, watch over me with your mercy, and bless me with your strength…” He began to pray, feeling the energy of Ethinia flow into his body. He felt his muscles begin to strengthen.

The cultist exploded.

A massive inferno blazed where the man had once been. Gardinal felt his body burn, felt himself tossed through wooden beams and splinters. Felt blinding pain on the side he had laid on the table, then nothing at all.

Gardinal blacked out.

When he regained conciousness, excruciating pain filled every inch of his body. Good, that meant he was still alive. Opening his eye, only one as the other seemed melted shut, he saw the remnants of the oaken table. The singed shards of wood and charcoal littered across the room. Looking down at his own body, he saw many of those same shards had pierced his flesh. Those parts where he still had flesh at least. He groaned loudly and realized he couldn’t hear it.

“Right.” He thought, though he might have spoken aloud. “Loud noises.” He had experienced something similar in the war against Theremya magics. A small hand pressed into his back and he gritted his teeth. Everything screamed of pain within him. “Holy First Mother…” He began to pray once more, beseeching the Mother for strength to stand. His muscles tightened, and he felt a sharp pain in his left leg. He ignored it and rose.

Looking around he saw a blackened pit in the room, maybe five paces away from him. Had he really been thrown so far? Looking around, his hearing slowly returned with a deep ringing noise. He saw all the tavern patrons staring at him with horrified looks. Good, no one else seemed injured.

From the persistent small hand it seemed a Jöln was still trying to help him. Gardinal rubbed his ears and looked to his helper. A little Jöln woman, kept pointing to his leg and mouthing something with shock on her face. Gardinal shrugged her off, he was fine. He stumbled towards the black crater, that sharp pain in his left leg pressing in on his mind. Not now. He lurched over to the chasm, hoping he might find something.

“Your leg master!” the woman shouted. It sounded like a shout, but as though muffled by a thick blanket. Gardinal finally relented and looked down. A large chunk of his bone was jutting from his calf, thick torrents of blood pouring from it. Thankfully it seemed to be pressing against a thin web of silver energy. Blessed First Mother indeed. Gardinal continued over to the pit, teeth gritted the whole way.

Approaching the blackened hole, the explosion having dug deep in a half sphere into the earth, he noticed a flickering piece of parchment on the ground lodged beneath a chunk of wood. Gardinal reached down and pulled it free. Only a corner of it was still left, the rest burnt away, but as Gardinal looked at it he felt his fury rising.

The only thing on the parchment was the crest of a Khazimi Kin. And he knew this one well. The Crest of Kin Belnur, his Kin. Or, more accurately, his brother’s. He was going to kill that bloody fool. But first, he needed to get back to Her Radiance, to ensure he survived the night to kill his brother.