Chapter 10: The Temple of Glockmire

“The Temple accepts all who wish to serve the Gods. Any who can open their heart to the Pantheon can become a Priest. It is not the path for everyone, but for those who can walk it, it is wondrous. To be a vessel and extension of the Gods’ love. To make miracles and bring solace to those in need. There is no higher calling.” - Priestess Zenna of the Second Temple.

After more than an hour of brooding under the branches, Cole had enough. It was time to start this whole mess in earnest. Hoisting Felix’s corpse onto his shoulders, he set out towards Glockmire. Carrying the body Cole was thankful it was only a day or two old and that Vampires' feeding distorted the natural rate of decomposition. So the dead weight he hefted at least only smelled somewhat of rot and death. Continuing towards the road, Cole mused on his first obstacle, getting into Glockmire. Arriving with a corpse on his shoulders might cause some complications.

The gate soon came into sight and before Cole was close enough to even knock, he heard a horrified gasp, coming from inside the gatehouse. Apparently, this time the Guard was both awake and paying attention. A slightly panicked voice called to Cole through the narrow windows as the Guard asked the obvious questions.

“Who in the God’s name are you, and what in the infinite hells are you doing with that body?.”

Cole knew he struck an intimidating sight, with his imposing height, wrapped in a dark cloak, with a naked corpse on his shoulder. So he needed to answer the guard as gently as he could. “I’m a traveler who's staying in Glockmire. While hunting in the mountains, I found a body,” Which was the truth, or at least close to it.

Adjusting the corpse so the guard could see its face, he continued. “Glockmire is the only town for kilometers, so I thought he might be a resident. I want to ensure he’s returned to his family and laid to rest.” More half-truths but no overt lies.

Even fouler curses erupted from the gatehouse as Felix was recognized. “Oh Gods, you found Felix! Quick, quick, get him inside.”

The myriad locks of the gate clicked and clattered as the guard swung it open. Out from behind the door came the Guard. Short, with sandy blond hair, he couldn’t have been more than twenty. The leather jerkin he wore as a uniform was ill-fitting, and his eyes were wild with fear and disbelief. Rushing over to Cole, he stared at the withered corpse and seemed to freeze for a moment. A familiar series of expressions passed over the guard’s face. Expressions, Cole had seen many a time before. Shock, disbelief, anger, confusion, the various faces of grief on display. Tentatively the guard reached out to touch the corpse, his fingers grazed the side of Felix’s head, and he quickly pulled away. The reality of the situation became clear to the young Guard.

Gently, Cole spoke. “We should get him to the Temple, there will be time for grief, but he deserves to be put to rest.”

The slightly stunned Guard nodded and followed as Cole passed through the gate. Getting back into Glockmire was being significantly easier than Cole expected. The guard quickly relocked the gate then ran to catch up with Cole. the Guard spoke up. “Wait … What’s your name? I’m Yakov.”

For someone supposed to guard the gate with healthy suspicion, Yakov was surprisingly open with his words and quick to abandon his post. Cole wondered if shock had something to do with the young man’s verbosity and distraction. As they walked, Yakov continued talking, not even giving Cole time to answer his first question.

“I’ve known Felix since I was a child; he and my older brother used to be close. He could always be a bit rough around the edges, got angry quick, but, but dammit, he didn’t deserve this” With his last word, Yakov gestured at the ruined body of Felix. Even to an untrained eye, the drained and tormented state of the corpse was apparent. It had not been a good death; those at the hands of predators usually aren’t.

Soon the grisly sight of Cole, Yakov, and the body caught the attention of onlookers. Whispers turned to mutters and finally into frantic conversation; as scared townsfolk observed the procession. A terrible mixture of fear, dread, and uncertainty poured off the people of Glockmire. They’d known what fate Felix would suffer when the Castle Guards took him. He’d spilled blood and doomed himself over the price of a clay pot. Dragged away by unspeaking Guards clad in dark armor. A goat slaughtered on its owner’s whims.

A small crowd started to line the streets, watching them walk by. Whispered conversation ceased as Cole approached. Faces colored by worry peered out from windows or doorways. No one got close to Cole and Yakov. And no words were spoken to them. There was a solemn terror to the whole event. The mournful quiet of a funeral procession coupled with the tense nerves of a grisly execution. It was enough to silence Yakov, the grim atmosphere smothering his nervous chatter. Cole ignored the dreadful tension and kept moving. The temple was not far now, its steeple rising above the crooked roofs of Glockmire, a dagger of white stone jabbed into the skies, contrasting with the haggard buildings around it.

Whispers and the sound of rapid feet on cobblestone were the only noise. An unnatural stillness had settled in Glockmire. Its population collectively held its breath in anticipation and fear. No one dragged away by the Castle Guards returned, alive or dead. Even those scant few offered mercy by the Lord spent the rest of their lives as servants in the Castle. Joining the gaunt host of attendants and staff that waited on the Vampires hand, foot and blood. The return of Felix, even as a corpse, was something new, something different. A change to patterns centuries in the making. And change is stressful under the best of times, and those times were most certainly not now.

Finally, after what seemed a small eternity, they reached the threshold of the Temple. doors. They were great wooden things, inlaid with silver ,reinforced with steel and adorned with. an inticly carved ten-pointed star, the symbol of the pantheon. Around the star there were beautifully inscribed inscriptions of protection and safety. Like many Temple doors, this portal was meant to guard against threats both physical and spiritual in nature. Cole, Yakov, and the corpse stood in front of the door, surrounded by a small but growing crowd. The increasingly nervous-looking Yakov decided to make his exit.

“I need to report to my superiors; they will know what to do. It’s just my first day, can’t expect me to know what to do in a situation like this, right?” rambled Yakov. He seemed to be trying to convince Cole, the listening crowd, and even himself with his words. A type of frantic fear showed on Yakov’s face. The fear of an uncertain man exposed to the unknown and expecting danger. He looked young and unsure, but he managed to pull up some hidden reserve of strength and spoke again before leaving. “I’ll make sure Felix’s family knows. Maybe the news will be better taken if it comes from me.”

The youthful guard disappeared into the crowd, its members easily parting to let him pass unhindered. Cole took a moment to watch Yakov leave before he returned to his task. With his free arm, he wrapped on the temple door, creating a series of harsh knocks on the time-worn wood. All who seek solace and sanctuary can freely enter a Temple of the Pantheon, but certain respect was due. It was better to be invited in and show courtesy to a place like this. Temples and other such locations, where Magic is channeled into over great lengths of time, get a certain power to them.

Centuries of people communing with the Gods and receiving their blessings could leaves a mark in the Aether. A mark that some might call holy or sacred. Something that even those who renounce the Pantheon and spit on their names are forced to acknowledge as powerful. Here in a Temple with more than a century to its name, the protection of the Gods and their will could be felt most acutely. So it was best to announce yourself and await a host, especially if one was a stranger like Cole.

Before the last of Cole’s knocks had fully faded, the great double doors swung outwards. A mournful-looking man of maybe fifty years stood in the doorway. Lean and of average height, he was clad in grey robes and curiously black gloves. Sad and tired-looking grey eyes rested on the body of Felix, and the man stepped to the side before gesturing for Cole to enter. In a reedy voice, he half-whispered. “Bring him inside.”

Cole entered the Temple, and the officiant shut the doors behind them. Made of polished white stone, carved from the surrounding mountains and furnished with carved wood. The Temple could have been any of the thousands like it that dot the Western Continent. A large main gallery filled with rows of wooden seats and a central altar. Multiple corridors branched off this central room, and back behind the altar was a secluded circular room, where the individual shrines of the Pantheon would be held. Large tapestries covered the gallery’s walls, each depicting a momentous event in the world’s history.

Just from a cursory glance, Cole could see one of St. Mira the Martyr burning her soul in the grand ritual to separate the World from the Beyond. Another showed Iskandar the Hero leading the First Pact against the perfidious Wyldfolk and the later founding of the Old Empire. Suitably the one opposite Iskandar’s showed the Empire’s fall and the start of the Dark Centuries, with the Accuser dueling the Adversary in the ruins of the Once-Eternal City. The tapestries were not masterpieces of weaving, but they were beautiful in their own way. Powerful stories captured on a loom and displayed so their lessons might never be forgotten.

Softly Cole addressed the middle-aged man who invited him into the temple. “I seek a Priest of Master Time. I want to ensure this man’s soul is laid to rest.”

In response, the man turned to Cole and leaned on one of the nearby chairs. With one gloved hand, he reached into his robes and fished out a familiar-looking pendent. The hourglass symbol of Master Time. Running the small metal medallion through his fingers, the man answered. “That would be me. I am Priest Matthias, servant of Master Time and Keeper of the Dead.”

With an exhausted gesture, Matthias gestured for Cole to follow him as he passed into one of the adjourning hallways. Cole followed the Priest to a stone staircase which they descended. The stairway went surprisingly deep, at least three stories down. Here the gloomy light of the day was but a memory, and a series of glowstones laid into the rock provided all the illumination. The small marble-sized gems react to magic, and here in the Temple, they always shone a pale light, picking up the power of the sacred place. At the bottom of the staircase was a metal slab of a door, one shut by several locks. Locks, which Cole noticed, on the outside of the door. This door was meant to keep things inside, not people out. A logical and painfully necessary feature to a mortuary. Which Cole accurately guessed was behind the door.

After a few seconds of fiddling with the locks, Matthias opened the door, and the two worshippers of Master Time entered the corpseroom. Cold stone and clever engineering provided a chilly space where bodies could be safely stored. Something that was rarely needed, judging by their only being five slabs in the small room and none of them occupied. The priest gestured to the nearest one, and Cole placed Felix’s body onto it as gently as possible. Matthias made a strange gesture with his hand, and the room brightened, the glowstones reacting to his attention. For a few moments, neither man said anything as Matthias looked over the corpse.

Then with a resigned sounding sigh, the Priest looked up at Cole, rubbed his eyes, and swore. “Damn, of course, it couldn’t be a dream.”

Cole raised an eyebrow and started to ask what the Priest meant but was interrupted. “The last few weeks, I’ve been having these terrible dreams. I tried to ignore them, hoping there was no reason to think they were anything other than odd nightmares. I mean, what else could they be? Messages from my God? That would be ridiculous, and if I said anything, I’d never live it down. Everyone knows the story of the Dozing Prophet, and I’d hate to have that sort of reputation.”

The irritable priest was, of course, referring to an age-old parable. Of an egocentric Priest who interpreted every dream as a sign from the Gods. Leading himself and his congregation into a series of morbidly hilarious fates by following these supposed “signs.” While it’s true a God can more easily communicate with their worshipper through dreams, it is anything but an everyday occurrence.

Gesturing back at the body of Felix, Matthias continued. “But of course these dreams had to be true. Of course, the sights of drained corpses, scarred warriors, and bloody shadows couldn’t just be my unconscious mind being temperamental. You show up at the Temple the first night I don’t have the dreams and bring with you this whole jagged mess.”

With an unbecoming harrumph of displeasure, the Priest plopped down on one of the empty slabs. In the stark light of the mortuary, exhaustion was plain on the man’s face. Staring at the drained and brutalized corpse of Felix, the Priest seemed to deflate. The irritation left him and was replaced with pure weariness. Taking a few deep breaths, Matthias seemed to center himself. Looking up at the still silent Cole, the Priest tentatively spoke again, his tone changed. “My apologies, the reason I didn’t have those dreams last night is that I didn’t sleep at all. Exhaustion and stress got the better of me. I should not have taken it out on you.”

Cole silently processed everything he’d heard before asking. “Master Time sent you dreams about my arrival? Could you tell me more?”

Matthias rubbed his eyes and sighed. “They were dreams and don’t exactly form a coherent picture. What I did manage to piece together was the arrival of a scarred stranger sent by Master Time. And that stranger would bring a corpse to Glockmire but leave with a different one.”

Blinking away the exhaustion, a thought seemed to form in Matthias’ head. “Wait, what’s your name? I forgot to ask when I was busy losing myself. Also, now that I think about it, the dreams said you would come, but not who you are and why you are here. ”

“Arrive with a corpse and leave with a different one.” Ominous words and ones Cole would have to dwell on later. It stunk of prophecy, and that in itself was worrying. Master Time, ironically, considering this God’s domain of purview, did not usually grant his followers glimpses of the future. Such disruptions to the flow of events ran anathema to the deity’s purpose. For Matthias to receive such a warning was in itself a more dire omen than the dream’s contents. These facts and what they represented sent a shiver down Cole’s spine. Something foul was brewing in Glockmire, something dangerous enough to require the attention and intervention of a God.

Pulling himself from these dark musings, Cole answered the Priests questions. “You can call me Cole, and I’m a fellow servant of Master Time, one who specializes in dealing with the undead.”

Matthias reached out a hand, one that Cole took. As they shook hands, Matthias spoke. “Cole, huh? You’re a Rest-Bringer, then? One of those Priests who tramp through tombs hunting the hungry dead? That’s an honorable but dangerous path, even more so in these parts. I trust you are not advertising that fact? The Lord barely tolerates me, and at least more than one of my predecessors disappeared under queer circumstances. I cannot imagine he or his court would take kindly to someone who practices their faith like you do.”

A slight thin smile crossed Cole’s scarred lips. He was indeed technically a Rest-Bringer, just in the same way a Wyvern was technically a Dragon. Of the same order of beings, but you would not mistake a winged animalistic reptile for a mighty god-beasts unless you were very poorly informed. But that faint smile dampened as another thought crossed his mind, he’d not advertised the truth of what he was, but still, it had been discovered.

Natalie knew the truth, or at least enough of it to get her killed. An idea that left a bitter taste in Cole’s mouth. The idea of innocent people getting caught up in the consequences of his actions worried him. The idea of Natalie suffering such a fate cut even deeper. Part of him wanted to leave Glockmire to spare its people the danger his presence provoked. But he could not do that; duty and the unknown threat he’d been summoned to deal with prevented such flights of fancy. You can’t solve a problem by fleeing from it, no matter how hard you try.

“I have not advertised who I am or what I am. I’d hoped to be subtle in my dealings here in Glockmire,” responded Cole to Matthias’s questions.

To that, the middle-aged Priest scoffed. “If you wanted to be subtle, then why in the infinite Hells did you hold an impromptu funeral procession for poor Felix here! If the Court doesn’t know of this by now, they certainly will by sundown. The opportunity for subtlety is long gone. Bluntly Priest Cole, what were you thinking?”

Cole didn’t bother to correct Matthias on the use of title; he was a servant of Master Time but never truly ordained as a priest. He also didn’t explain why he’d taken the path he had. By providing a momentous distraction, he’d hoped to shroud Natalie’s involvement. Everyone would be too focused on the grim spectacle and not notice the young woman’s comings or goings.

So Cole provided a secondary explanation. “I found Felix outside the lair of hungry Undead, and someone was feeding Felix’s corpse to them, hoping to strengthen and control the Ghouls. I freed those undead and recovered Felix’s corpse, and that alone would draw attention, so my arrival mattered little.”

Matthias’s mouth fell open, and he mumbled language you’d not expect from a Priest. “Jag me, you really have gone and kicked the hornet’s nest.”

The Priest shivered slightly and looked over at Felix before continuing. “I… I don’t know how to say this politely, but I’d rather not get further involved in this. Look, I have no qualms about meeting Master Time in person, but I worry about the exact process. I’ve told you everything I know, but I can’t provide you with any aid. This town needs a Keeper of the Dead, and I’m the only one left. Priest Cole, I serve the best way I can and do not wish to try my hand at the way you follow our God.”

Others might have castigated Matthias for his seeming cowardice. Rebuke him for not doing everything he could to serve his God’s champion. Decrying his choice as foolishness, if the situation was worrying enough to draw Master Time’s attention, then any attempt to flee was pointless. Cole did none of those things, and not just out of courtesy. Many unpleasant dealings with those gripped by fear had taught Cole his words would have no effect. Fear, especially the eldritch kind evoked by the Undead, could cripple a person’s mind and weaken their soul. Matthias was fearful and not without reason. Cole would not push the matter but find a more agreeable solution.

“I understand but have one request for you. Make sure Felix is laid to rest, and a funeral is held. He deserves that much, at least.”

The momentary trepidation that marked Matthias’s face at the start of Cole’s words; faded into a sad smile. “Yes, I will make sure it is done. I can do that much; I swear it on my faith.”

“Good,” remarked Cole, “I will take my leave now. And may time pass you gracefully.”

Cole moved to leave the chamber, and Matthias answered the traditional blessing. “And may it pass you gracefully as well.”

The metal door of the Mortuary shut behind Cole, and he retraced his steps back to the main Temple gallery. While he’d been honest about his desire for Felix to be laid to rest. His motives in that request had been slightly more complicated. In asking Matthias to do his duty as a personal favor. It helped the fearful Priest feel like he was helping Cole without actually doing so. It was a clever little trick that could help alleviate guilt and doubt in the weak. This little bit of manipulation was something Cole had learned years back from an elderly Rest-Bringer he’d fought beside in the Heartlands of the Holy League. While he disliked lying, Cole was not above a little bit of cleverness like that. His duty was to protect the living and the dead. Something that occasionally required more than a strong sword hand and good steel.

Back in the gallery proper, Cole decided to make a small stop by the local shrines. In the back of the Temple were ten alcoves, each dedicated to a member of the Pantheon. A quick glance at the various shrines could tell a person much about the community. Each was maintained by the faithful of each God. Usually the local Priests but with offerings and adornments provided by local worshippers.

Mother Earths’ shrine was filled with flowers, some fresh, others dried. The God’s sigil took the form of a pregnant woman with her arms stretched up and to her sides, with leaves and flowers erupting from her fingers and hair. Forming a distinctly matronly tree. It was beautifully carved from rich wood and lovingly painted by someone with no small degree of talent. The state of the humble but well-kept shrine spoke of a devout following in this small town.

Nearby, the alcove to Uncle Trickster was a chaotic mess of scrawled graffiti, random knickknacks, and interestingly a few game pieces from a Crowns board. On closer inspection, Cole was mildly amused to see the graffiti was a mixture of foul language, poetry, riddles, or a mix of all three. Which was fitting for Uncle Trickster and his followers. The actual sigil was a bizarre bit of sculpture work. A collage of scrap cloth, metal, and wood forming what could either be a grinning face or a swirling smoke cloud, depending on how you looked at it.

Eventually, Cole ended his little tour at the left-most shrine. The one to his god. This alcove was practically barren, with just a pair of grey vases holding a handful of dead flowers as decoration. It was hard to tell, but the flowers might have once been chrysanthemum. A funeral flower, which was probably where the flowers had come from. No candles or offerings marked the shrine, and the oversized hourglass sat stark in the alcove. Sighing to himself, Cole fished in his bag and grabbed a single golden coin. He dropped the small disc of precious metal on the altar and carefully flipped the hourglass that was his God’s sigil.

Dark sand started to flow down through the neck, and Cole took a moment to stare at the shrine. A gold coin was a lot of currency to leave as an offering, especially at a humble shrine like this. Matthias was right; he was fooling nobody with his paltry attempts at being subtle. It had never been his strong suit. Simply avoiding people to keep his privacy was his favored tactic, one he’d miserably failed at in Glockmire.

Continuing his musings, Cole laid out his knowledge and thoughts. He’d been called to Glockmire by Master Time to deal with an Undead threat. One he’d initially thought was the Vryko-Ghouls. It had been where the faint spiritual tug of his God’s guidance had led him. But in freeing the Vryko-Ghouls, he’d exposed his nature and purpose to Natalie. While also discovering the local Vampire aristocracy was attempting to bind and empower dangerous undead to their will. Something that was apparently enough of a threat for Master Time to be sending prophetic dreams and one of his most important servants.

These were all important pieces of the mystery, but the full complexity alluded Cole. He needed information and a better understanding of what was happening. It seemed clear that he’d stumbled into a complicated scheme of some Vampire. Which raised all manner of questions, ones he needed to answer and fast. By in essence, blundering into this whole mess, the element of surprise and subtly were lost to him. It was just as Matthais had said if the Vampires didn’t know by now, they would soon enough.

Vampires are by their very nature intelligent, clever, and incredibly paranoid. The literally cut-throat court intrigue of the Blood Duchies makes it so only the most calculating and vicious of their kind live for centuries. While the small brood that inhabited Glockmire could not compare to the millennia-old horrors that made up the courts of the various Duke and Duchess of the Blood Duchies. They still should not be underestimated.

So Cole’s problem was how to successfully outwit a cabal of cruelly intelligent, manipulative undead monsters. A prospect that daunted him greatly. He’d fought Vampires before and claimed many kills. But those had been feral or barbaric Vampires. Solitary predators that haunt the lands outside of the Blood Duchies. Not the organized, and vaguely united Nocturnal Nobility, bound as vassals to Duke Drakovich; The founder and overall master of this Vampire controlled regime. So Cole’s skills in traversing the wilds and hunting the undead were practically useless. He couldn’t simply walk up to Castle Glockmire and ask to meet the bloodsucker responsible for this mess.

No sooner had that sarcastic thought entered his mind when it sparked an idea. He couldn’t win at the Vampires game. There was no doubting that. However, he could utterly upend the board and force the Vampires into a situation he doubted even they could imagine. The skills and resources cultivated in century-long games of manipulation and deceit were of little use if their opponent was honest. Cole had failed the subtle approach, so he might just try the total opposite approach.

Turning away from the shrine, Cole started to leave the Temple. The beginnings of a plan started to take shape. Schemes and subterfuge define Vampires. They dance a terrible dance of death, deceit, and depravity. Where every action is calculated, and centuries of potential repercussions are considered. The idea of trying to be subtle or otherwise play this game had been foolish. Cole was no fool, but it simply was not where his talents and experience lay. He couldn’t beat the Vampires at their own game, so he’d force them to play a different one. It was time to upend the table and keep the bloodsuckers guessing.

Reaching the great carven doors of the Temple, Cole threw them open with surprising force. The resulting bang and thump startled the crowd still gathered around the Temple’s entrance. Maybe a hundred or so residents of Glockmire were clustered together in the small square by the Temple. Cole did not let the people have any time to settle. If he was going to do this, he needed to make a large splash.

Adjusting his cloak so his ruined face was visible to all, Cole started his new gamble. Speaking in a deep booming voice that surprised even him in its volume. “People of Glockmire, my name is Cole, and I am a Rest-Bringer of Master Time,” he proclaimed.

Shocked mutters erupted but quickly quieted as Cole continued. “I have come to Glockmire in service to my God. To hunt and destroy the Restless Dead who hurt the innocent. In doing so, I recovered the body of one of your own, a man who I’ve been told was called Felix. I found his body near the lair of some Vryko-Ghouls. Undead that I have laid to rest, as is my duty.”

The crowd’s murmurs grew in volume. Shouts of disbelief and confusion joined the din. Cole raised a gloved hand to call for silence. He had little to no experience in public speaking, but the rudimentaries were coming naturally. Which was a good thing; if he mishandled this, Cole could easily create an angry mob that would attack him or, worse yet, the Vampires. A possibility that would lead to far more death and suffering.

“Felix was apparently a criminal and subject to the Lord’s justice.” Cole barely managed to not choke on the word justice. Whatever had happened to Felix had certainly not been just. “I am not disputing that, but I wish to know why and how his naked corpse found itself at the mouth of a flesh-eating Ghoul’s lair? I know little of Glockmire and its people, but I’ve learned some in the few days I have been here. It has seems to me the Lord is harsh but not unnecessarily cruel. A Vampire but not one who’d engage in such terrible foolishness as feeding a Vryko-Ghoul.”

The crowd flinched in unison at his use of the word Vampire. It painfully reminded Cole of a beaten dog. Reacting to its master’s raised voice with trained terror. As the moment of fear passed, a few voices in the crowd started to agree with Cole.

“The Lord has done alright by us. His knights and guards protected us three years ago, and he keeps to himself as long as we follow the rules.” shouted one townsfolk.

“Glockmire is a lot nicer place to live than most. We have food, water, shelter, and protection, which isn’t always the case in these parts. We’ve prospered here, even recovering from the Plague when other towns were ruined.” said another.

The people of Glockmire were well-tended livestock, and they didn’t even see it. This was to be expected, but it still gnawed at Cole. In all his conversations with Natalie and other locals, they’d talked about how there were worst places to live than Glockmire. This was true, especially in the Blood Duchies. But a good life in the Blood Duchies was still a miserable existence under fear of predators compared to myriad other lands.

Cole had seen much of the western continent, and few places matched Zaubervold and its fellow Blood Duchies in sheer uncertain danger. In the Holy League’s lands, you had to journey deep into forbidden forests or abandoned tombs to find horrors you’d encounter just traveling the roads of Zaubervold. Swarms of hungry Ghouls, feral Werefolk, twisted Bandit clans led by Hells-touched Warlocks. These things were not supposed to be “the usual dangers of life.” The people of Glockmire and settlements like it were under constant siege, and they didn’t even recognize it. And Cole didn’t know how to tell them.

It reminded Cole of an allegory he’d learned from a scholar he’d met in Vindabon. The story of a group of prisoners raised in a dark cave, chained to face one wall and only knowing that life. How for their entire life, the only thing the prisoners would know was the dancing shadows on the cave wall. To them, those shadows and their movements were reality. Never knowing they were but specters cast by other people moving freely in the cave around them. As the allegory went, one of those prisoners was freed and saw the outside world. Learning the truth of light, reality, and what the shadows on the wall were. This freed man would return to his brethren and seek to illuminate them to the truth he’d discovered. But because he would be unable to free the still shackled prisoners and only convey what he’d learned through words. The still bound prisoners would dismiss their freed kin’s words as lunacy.

The lessons of this story were apt and brought a bitter taste to Cole’s mouth. Worse still in this metaphor, he was not a freed kinsman returning to his brethren but a stranger whose words would more easily be dismissed as heresy and madness. No matter how much he’d like to, Cole couldn’t convince the people that their reality was but shadows on a wall. He could, however, make sure his own shadow danced in a way it helped these poor prisoners.

Cole gestured up at Castle Glockmire and continued his speech. “It seems to me that another force is behind this. Someone perhaps seeking to harm the Lord and his subjects. A fact I intend to bring to his attention. I am a Rest-Bringer, one who ends the false-life of the Undead. Even so, I come not to quarrel with the Lord or his vassals. Only to put an end to the threat posed by whoever was mad enough to try and feed a Vryko-Ghoul. Also, while I am here in Glockmire, I will gladly listen to any petitions people might have. I know these lands are stalked by many terrible undead horrors, horror I intend to destroy. Come to me and name the thing that haunts you, and I will do what I can to free you.”

Internally Cole was feeling incredibly self-conscious. This flowery dramatic way of speaking felt ridiculous and alien to him. Cole was, in truth, trying to imitate some of the preachers and heralds he’d encountered over the years. This was far, far outside his expertise, and it seemed a small miracle he hadn’t bungled it. But as he finished his speech, the crowd reacted as well as he could expect.

Now came the easy part, marching up to a Vampire infested Castle and ruining the plans of centuries-old bloodsucking monsters. As that thought went through his head, Cole had to suppress a laugh. Public speaking made him uncomfortable, but plunging into mortal danger? That's just another day in the life of a Paladin. So as the crowd parted and Cole made his way towards Castles Glockmire, something approaching a smile crossed his face. He’d been a fool trying to play the Vampires games. Now it was time to return to his element and put the fear of Death back in these Unholy terrors.