Jiskastya X Seravee

[Jiskastya]

The legends of the creation of the world have been long lost in the mists of time, and only the oldest of the Eyes of the Mind (the orbs of consciousness that exist in fixed points of the world, watching and gathering information and stories of the world from their particular vantage point) can still tell that story. But it is common knowledge that the elves came first, birthed from a union of starfire and pieces of the physical world, (earth, wood, stone, fire, air, sea, river, metal, etc.). And it is from those ancient and unchanging elves that the stories of what happened in the rest of the world can be found.

The continents rose from the sea, creating the world (which does not look like earth, but that doesn't really matter), and the First Men and Dwarves were crafted with it, with soil or rock for flesh, and saltwater and magma flowing through their veins.

From there, the records get hazy. It is known for a fact that the Firsts began to spread over the world, they discovered that they were not the only species to have arisen from the creation of the continents. Other creatures, trolls, goblins, and orcs, had been born from the deep, dark rock of the underground caves, the cold deep-water rivers in their veins, supported by the strength of the roots of the old trees.

The Men and Dwarves could see no beauty in the deep ground creatures, for they were creatures of the underground, while the Men and Dwarves were of the surface. Thus they dubbed these “deformed” creatures evil and dark, and began a war for their extermination.

Thus began the first war, the Great War, and of the heroics and tragedies, the wars and loves, the exploration and hunts, there are many stories (which I shall be polite, and not delve into too much, except for the important ones, and those mostly came late).

But the war went on, and the numbers of all the species fell, until all realized that there would be no recovering from the damages. Their world was coming to an end, but the hatred was so deep that they could do nothing to stop the final extermination of all. They could only hope to find ways to preserve some traces of themselves from the future.

Here beings the story of Syrien, the youngest daughter of King Mauverex, and Jaheacis, the greatest of the giant eagles that watched from above. Jaheacis, seeing Syrien captured by a hoard of Orcs, and falling deeply in love with her beauty, spirited her away to safety. Their relationship and interactions were long and complex, but the final result of their union was the Aerix, the graceful bird-people. (Nowadays they have developed their own intricate culture and have established their position in the world. We can go into more detail on that later, should you care to hear, or I can summarize in a sentence or two. Maybe a paragraph for safety.)

Each of the cultures also went to one of the Eyes of the Mind that they felt the most associated with. The Men went to Dormendal, the Eye of the Highest Peak of the World, Evenskie. The Dwarves to Sadrengarn, the Eye of the Center, resting on a spire in the center of the largest continent, where this war had begun, the Trolls to Modelen, the Eye of the Wide Forest, its name long ago lost and known today only as the Green Mountain Forest, the Orcs to Quemensak the Eye of the Deep, hidden in a shadowy cave of the Grand Canyon, and the Goblins to Resdecon, the hardest to reach of the Eyes, located on a small island in the middle of a giant underground lake. There, each race told their stories, of their triumphs and failures of their race, of their beauties of construction and their terrors of combat. The Eyes took it all in, as is their purpose, and created a database of information for any who should take the perilous journey to tap their vast reservoir of knowledge.

Here also lies the story of the Dwarf Thone, a storyteller who got lost on his great journey to Sandrengarn and plunged into the great river Kalenim, and believed lost to all of his companions, and his great wealth of stories with him. But the river itself took mercy on him, flooding his very being with the fresh sweet water of its tide, and from that union was the Zati born, a creature of the water, graced with an unexpected mixture of grace and power, and little seen in the surface world. Their existence has passed almost into legend now, but still there are those who claim that they have seen their flowing bodies, or had their lives saved by the surprisingly gentle hands of these creatures.

Finally, in desperation, the last of the first species were able to call a brief treaty. Together, the last from each species journeyed to the original home of the Elves, and there pleaded for a chance to right the wrongs of the past. The Elves told them that there was nothing to be done to save them, but one final sacrifice might offer them a second chance. And so it came to be that each of these final members of the First Species spilled their hear-blood into the soils of the Elvenhome, condemning the last of their species to death. But this final sacrifice was not in vain, for the very soil rose in the places where the blood of the species had been spilled, and they grew once more from the soil. These people were lesser, for no longer was their soul of pure water and fire, but rather only of the blood of those who came before. Only in the Elvenhome was the blood and soil resurrected into people with the True Blood of Kings.

And so the Great War ended, not all lost, but the Firsts truly gone from the world.

There is a story in this time, one that is known not even by the oldest and most watchful of the Eyes, and would not come to be discovered in full until many thousands of years later. (I bet you can guess what a part of the plot will be, now).


The Great War was ended, and the species, new and old, claimed their second chance to the fullest. Led by those who came of the blood of those who had gone to the Elvenhome, for many hundreds of years there was relative peace. Wars still occurred between the species, but none so long lasted, so bloody, or so vengeful. It was a time of creation, for many of the techniques in crafting of the past had been lost, and those who found them discovered that they were no longer capable of performing the incredible feats. They still found relics of the past, but never again was anything crafted with such beauty and simultaneously such utility as the crafting of old.

But still they built, men and dwarves creating grand cities above ground and in the high reaches of mountains, the trolls, goblins, and orcs, thriving underground metropoli, the aerix comfortable homes in the high reaches of cliffs, and the Zati deep in rivers, lakes, and oceans.

While digging, one group of Goblins discovered a deep cleft, as old as the earth itself, and they followed it out of curiosity. Deep within the bowels of the earth, deeper than any had gone before, they found a civilization that had never risen above the surface of the world. They were strange, disgusting creatures, built like men in general shape, but lacking any sort of defined features. Their entire body was bubbled like melted wax, their fingers long, crooked, and grasping. The Goblins, terrified of their discovery, dubbed the new species as Worms, and then fled, sealing the cleft behind them as they went. It would be a long time before the Worms were encountered again, but those below were still of the First Blood, as of the Elves and other First Species, and thus remained unaging so long as they were not killed by dagger, sword, or arrow. And on the strange visitors they has tasted a breath of fresh air, a taste that would haunt them for many thousands of years to come.

And then the peace was once more shattered, but it was shattered not by the acts of any of the species, but rather the actions of those they could only dub the Gods of this world.

The first to come was Skaldreg, a viscous creature that gained pleasure from the pain and destruction of others. Many of the grandest cities of the world did he destroy, uncaring of species, and none seemed to be able to stand against him. His dark wings became the ultimate symbol of fear, and even the bravest felt their hearts fall when cast under his dark shadow.

For the first time, the Elves rose to fight. But even against their fierce grace his Shadow seemed unstoppable. And although the old enmities were not forgotten, all of the species (except the Worms, which is almost a shame. They are a fascinating people, who I will go much more in depth for at a later date. Maybe only once they show up in the actual role play) joined together to fight.

Still everything would have been lost, had the second of the Gods, the beautiful lady Jiskastya (haha, sorry, but I really do like the name) not descended to fight on the behalf of the word. She was so bright as to not be seen, but when one closed their eyes, the afterimage of her light glowed in the inner eye. (I have to include a picture here, because I don't want to try and find the adjectives for this, although I will need to at some point Jiskastya)

Their battle was fierce but short, and Skaldreg was locked away, hidden in the very core of the world. With his defeat, Jiskastya too left the world, but in her wake came the last three of the gods. The first was Aselia, the Goddess of Healing. She assisted the species in repairing the world, and helping those who were hurt, both physically and mentally, in recovering from their loss. The second was Koromain, a funny man, expert in music and tale, and a god of celebration. He served to all as a reminder that there was still the potential for joy and laughter in the world. The third and final of the minor gods was Elksyx, a master craftsman, builder, hunter,and farmer, who taught the species some of the crafts that had been lost with the First Species, and helped them to rebuild their cities. Never had such grace been seen since the days of old, and those cities that were touched by Elksyx still stand, seeming untouched by time.

And so the last god came and went from the world. Never again would they touch the world in such a profound way, but the priests tell all that all five gods find their way to touch our soul, guiding those who listen to their whispers.

Knowing now that there were gods in the world, some of the people in each of the species created other gods, ones that related to their culture personally. But the greatest of the Religions worshiped only the Five. It is centered in one of the most beautiful cities built by Elksyx, which also is the home of the spire of Sadrengarn, the Eye of the Center. This city is also one of the only places in the world where all the species (except the worms, again) live together in relative peace. This is only obtained because the high priest declared it to be so, saying that the gods had helped each of the species equally, and thus they must all be equal in the eyes of the gods. The peace is a bit uneasy, but the punishment for breaking it is quick and severe, and those who break it are banished from the city. This has earned it some enmity, but the walls of Elksyx have always held firm against any attack.

There is still a distrust, bordering on hate, between the species of the surface and the species of the underground, and the Elves still remain above it all, but the world healed from the attack of Skaldreg, and once more entered into an age of relative peace.


Thousands of years have passed since the Gods came to earth, and even the descendants of those with the First Blood have passed through the generations. Only some of the Elves that are not in the Elvenhome still remember those days. In that time there have been great battles, strange and fascinating stories of adventures and romance, and life has gone on. The tension between the surface and underground species has waxed and waned, and no real peace has been made, and nor is it likely to.

---

The sun rose slowly, casting a golden touch on the highest spires of The temple of the Five in the city of Sadrenhone. Slowly it spread down the length of the Temple, but in the city below the morning bustle of people had already begun. From the temple itself the high graceful notes of the morning choir had already begun, a sweet, heavenly song that still caused the passing inhabitants to pause for a moment and listen, even after all these years.

Beyond the high walls that surrounded Sadrenhone, stepping out of the forest like a ghost or shadow, a man appeared, tall and thin, face hidden in the deep folds of his hooded cloak. He walked slowly towards the gates of the city, only now beginning to open as the light of the dawn touched their highest reaches. And, as the gates soundlessly opened, so to did the man soundlessly enter, slipping right under the noses of the morning guard.

His feet made no noise on the cobbled street, and he slipped among the morning crowds, seeming to pass unnoticed through the slowly increasing throng. His steps led him, slowly but surely, towards the temple, which now lay fully illuminated by the sun. He too paused for a moment when the first notes of the choir reached his ears, the slow tide of people parting around him. It had been a long time since he had been in this city, but it hadn't changed at all during that time. The streets looked still the same, the exact same spots on the temple were hit by the strongest sunlight. And the uneasy tension between the people was the same to, everyone being careful not to make eye contact and risk starting a conflict that would find all involved banned from within the city walls.

Guards were posted regularly, uniforms neat, sliver clasps gleaming, and sabre clean and unused in its sheath. The guards were nothing more than peacemakers anymore, it had been many a year since anyone had dared to try and breach these towering Walls of Elksyx.

He slipped into the church as soundlessly as he had entered the city, but now he finally pulled back his hood. His hair was long for a human male, almost touching his shoulders, and it reflected an almost bluish black in the light that came in from outside. His face was pale, but no unnaturally so, and his white-blue eyes calmly surveyed the flying reaches of the main Sanctuary.

For the first time, he was noticed by the people in the temple. A young male dedicate walked up to him hesitantly, asking if there was anything that he could do to help. The strange man shook him off gently, and sat down in the back reaches of the church. He was not a religious man, but there was still a deep, almost holy reverence about him as he sat there, head bent forward, and eyes lightly closed.

It had been a long, long time indeed since he had been here, but this had never changed.

One of the priests walked down the rows quietly in light slippers, a candle held in his hands. He walked all the way to the front of the church, where there were five recessed sections, four on the floor level, one centered above the rest. Each one held a large statue. On the far right was a statue of a well-muscled man, tall and strong. His hair was long and wild, his hands large and strong, but there was a kind strength to his face. There was a knife in his belt, a quiver of arrows on his back, and a hammer in his hands. The priest bent forward, lighting the candle at the man's feet that had been placed there earlier in the day by one of the dedicates. "Elksyx, guide my hands in craft," he murmured as the flame doubled briefly and lit the candle. He moved on to the second recess, where there was a young woman, grateful, with thin and dexterous hands and long flowing hair. "Aselia, guide my hands in healing." There was a healers belt around her waist, and she wore long but plain robes. He lit the second candle as well. To the third statue he moved. "Koromain, guide my hands in music." This statue was shorter than all the rest, but his was the only one that interacted, his head was bent forward, hands lovingly cradled around the small harp in his hands, and his mouth was open in song. His hair was short and neat, and he has a round, warm face.

To the last recess on the level of the ground the priest stepped, and he paused before a statue, the only one made of black marble. The priest bent forward, and mercifully whispered, "Skaldreg, may you one day find peace in your earthen prison." This man was tall and thin, but still he gave off an aura of power. His eyes, jaw and mouth were hard, and his black wings were partially unfurled behind him.

Finally, the priest looked up to the statue above, and his face seemed to glow. This statue was of a woman, tall and incredibly beautiful, with wild long hair and a long dress, that seemed to almost flow about her like a waterfall. Of all the statues, hers was the closest to a pure, almost glowing, white.

The priest lit four candles on the alter, then placed the fifth at the top. He then turned and kneeled on the ground before the five. "Jiskastya, guide my soul to grace."

The bells high in the church began to ring, rung by a young aerix whose primary duty consisted of working in the high reaches of the temple. The morning service would begin soon, for those in the city who wished to attend.

[Seravee]

The small room was suddenly filled with the booming ring of the church bells. It was enough to make the young woman who had been lying her her bed flinch violently. At first, she wore only an expression of shock.The sound had clearly caught her off guard. But then, that look of surprise melted into one of horror. Her brown eyes widened, and she muttered a string of curse words under her breath. Then, muttering an apology to Jiskastya for her crude language, she threw back the quilts, swung her legs over the side of the bed and leapt to her feet. She was not the first dedicate to be late to the morning service, and she certainly would not be the last. It was not uncommon for a young person or two to oversleep. Of course, she had not overslept. She had merely lost track of time, as she often did in the mornings. The old, leather-bound book that lay forgotten on her bed was the culprit.

Stripping her nightgown off as she crossed the room, she briefly thought of how lucky she was to have her own room. Before, she had stayed in the community bedroom with the other female dedicates. There had been no privacy at all, and it had driven her mad. She was a woman who liked her own personal space, and there had been no great amount of that available. She had spoken with one of her superiors, someone who had seemed to take a liking to her. He had agreed to give her a small spare bedroom that was given to traveling religious men and women. As none had stopped by in months, he let her have it in exchange for her tutoring the younger members of the congregation. Often families would bring their young children to the church, and she would keep them occupied until the service was over. That was what she would be doing that morning, assuming she could get ready quickly enough.

She draped her dress over the chair to her vanity as she moved across to her small closet. There, the young woman selected a plain, modest black dress. It was hardly stylish, but it was common attire for a female dedicate. As carefully as possible, she tried to maneuver her feet into a pair of black flats, but she was so rushed that she ended up trying to cram them on as she moved back to the vanity. Plopping in front of the mirror, she leaned in to inspect her reflection. Her cheeks, dotted heavily with freckles, were flushed. She ran her hand quickly over her face, her cold hands cooling her hot skin. Her hazel eyes, large and deep-set, were wide. The rude cry of the bells had set her heart racing, and the adrenaline was still pulsing through her veins. She could not be late this time. The woman pushed herself back from the small table, and plucked her robe off of the hook on the wall. There would be no time to brush her hair. Instead, she ran her fingers through her long brown locks, tugging out any knots that she encountered. It caused her straight hair to frizz up a bit, especially along where it framed her heart-shaped face, but it was all she could do. With a loud thud, the woman hurriedly and none too gracefully ripped the door open, slipped through it, and slammed it closed behind her.

“Slow down,” someone called out as she hurried by them. Though she did not catch a glimpse of who it was, she did not recognize the voice as one of her superiors. Most likely it was one of the dedicates. So she paid the warning no mind, tugging on her robes and fastening them in the front as she neared the main hall. Just before she entered, she drew her hood over her head. She may get scolded for it later, but she would also be scolded for having messy hair, so she did not dwell on it for too long. She selected a candle, lit it quickly, and moved as gracefully as possible into the hall.

First, as she always did, she approached the statue of Elksyx. She had always liked him the best. He was strong and determined, armed with the tools to build new things. He could create. That was something she admired. Whispering him a few words of praise, she ducked her head and moved on to the next section. There, she prayed to Aselia, and then to Koromain. The whole time, she was smiling softly. She cared deeply for her gods, and speaking to them, even to their statues, made her feel closer to them.

However, her smiled faded as she approached the final of the four floor-level statues. This statue was unlike the others, as it was carved from black marble. More than that though, it made the woman uncomfortable. His features were hard, but as she stared up into his face, she almost imagine the stone lips curling into a frightening smirk. She shuddered, then glared back into the cold, unmoving eyes. Why dirty a church of such beauty with a monument to a monster? A creature that caused the world such pain for so long. “Scum,” she muttered, clutching the candle in her hands a bit tighter.

[Jiskastya]

People began to file into the Temple slowly, heads slightly bowed, but eyes fixed forward on the five statues in the end of the hall. Their light footsteps echoed off the high ceiling, creating a rushing noise almost like water, that seemed to echo through every recessed cranny of the Temple.

For a moment, as all entered the Temple, there was a general co-mingling of species, as all were expected to pass through the same tall but narrow doors. On the other side, however, the people divided into channels, separating into the groups of people that they felt comfortable with, or perhaps simply did not actively hate. Most predominant among them all were the humans, not the tallest nor the strongest of the species, but possessing a range of body and mind that marked them as unique among the species. No human's path was ever set, they were always free to change their future and embark on a new potential occupation.

The next most common were the aerix, mostly the youngest of their kind, for all were expected to serve for a brief time in a temple before being allowed to receive the full name of an adult. Light bodied and willowy, all aerix, male and female alike, are small, rarely expected to get over five and a half feet in height. However, despite their small size, the aerix have an almost exceptional amount of strength, necessary for them to be able to support themselves in flight. They soared down from among the eyrie, wings the many ranging natural hews of the world. Landing lightly on the small balcony on the second story, they folded their wings delicately, then descended to join the masses below.

The third most common was the dwarves, and their representation was small enough. Rare was it that one of the strong bodied and craft-oriented dwarves would abandon their tunnels, mines, and workshops to join the livelihood of the priest. But still they were more common than all of the underground species in the church put together.

They knew they were unwelcome there, the narrow faced squinty eyed trolls, towering over the rest of the people and made starkly visible for it, long lanky hair hanging down in curtains around a harsh chin and sallow green skin, with overlong arms and vicious sharp fingers. Even worse still were the orcs, not as tall as the trolls, but rarely shorter than six feet, well muscled, with grey skin and jutting jaws, eyes wide, dark and over-large, and rugged tusks emerging from the lower teeth of the males. Their nose was flat and wide, ears like the wings of bats, and no surface dweller found beauty in the harsh planes of their face But the worst of all, the most hated and most rejected, were the Goblins. They were thin creatures, almost stick-like, but still with well defined muscles, especially on arms and legs, and rivaling many humans in terms of height. Their skin was varied, ranging in hews from a pale unhealthy white to an almost solid, shadow-like black. Their face was narrow, ears long and pointed, with an over-defined brow and jagged teeth filling an almost gaping mouth that sometimes seems to run diagonally across their face. Hairless and wraith-like, with long grabbing fingers and cold pitch black eyes, they were the first to be rejected by the First Humans and Dwarves, for they could see nothing in the Goblins but the spawn of an unholy matrimony between shadow and stone, with no light or fire within their being.

Even now the hatred for them seemed to emanate from every corner where the humans gathered, but all of the under-species forced themselves to walk with pride, and not with the bent, shuffling steps that would show to all that they felt the pressure of the stares upon their shoulders. They knew that they were allowed to be here, and, while not welcomed, would no more be denied the chance of an education from the Temple than a Dwarf or Human would. It was one of the few places above surface where the under-species were tolerated, where they were not slaughtered on sight. But even here, they mostly hid away in the massive network of tunnels that ran beneath Sadrenhone, for they were not a species of the surface, and they thrived in the long shadows of the underground. But they came up in rotating groups for a Gathering. Despite the differences in the species, their long-ago ancestors had also fought against the rise of Skaldreg, in that brief moment of union where Man, Elf, and Goblin had all worked together, and they too worshiped the four who had come after. In many of the goblin tunnels other, bloodier, gods were worshiped as well, but those who came here believed only in the Five, as had their parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents.

Slowly the congregation seated itself, an unconscious and unnoticed space given to the strange man who had entered that morning, and who had not moved from his position of worship even when the noise of the bells had rung across the city. At first there was still a general murmuring of reverent voices, but the voices quickly came to silence as the ceremony began. Several priests, dressed in the light white robes of their rank, walked down the central space between the pew. Each held a candle, unlit, the white wick still standing tall from the top. Behind them came a row of disciples, dressed in simple black clothes. Each of them carried a basket, full to the brim with small white candles, except for one, which held the long tapers that the priests themselves held. The priests continued up the center, but the black-robed disciples paused at each row, quickly and efficiently counting out the number of people, and passing out the small candles to the occupants of the church. There was now a vibrating, anticipatory silence in the Temple, for those here knew that the candles were given out rarely, and it was almost always when the time had come for those disciples who felt themselves ready would move forward, and be welcomed into the Priesthood.

The man who had sat himself in the back finally lifted his head, accepting the candle that was offered to him by the woman who sat to his left. She was an orc, and, for just a moment, seemed remarkably surprised to find herself sitting next to a human. But he smiled at her, politely taking the candle from her hands, and the moment passed. She turned back to the front, seeming perfectly willing to forget the man who sat next to her, and devote her attentions to the ceremony taking place in the front of the hall.

From the side of the Sanctuary emerged Sovendel, the High Priest of the Temple. His hair was long and white, face wrinkled under the pressure of the years, and hands crooked and bent with arthritis. Yet, those same hands held tightly to their candle, and the little flame at the top did not quiver, and the light brown eyes, deep set in the same wrinkled face, glowed with warmth and compassion. He had been serving as High Priest for nigh on thirty years, and he was deeply loved by everyone who came to the Temple, dedicate, priest or worshiper. He had devoted his life, since he was a tiny boy no more than five years, to this Temple, and he had seemed the obvious choice to follow in the footsteps of his father, the High Priest before him. He was graced with age and wisdom, and all said that he must be dearly beloved of Jiskastya, for now he drew close to his eightieth name-day, and still he seemed destined to have many years yet. He led the Temple with a gentle hand, and it seemed to many that they simply could not commit wrong before him, and when they were taken to him to atone for a mistake they had made, most repented willingly, and learned from their mistake. Rare was it that such a gentle and wise leader could be found, and never had he seemed to display any ambition or desire to use others to his own benefit.

Now, every head turned to look at him as he stepped carefully from the archway, moving slowly with age, but still standing straight-backed and tall. He wore a long elegant robe, white, trimmed in ribbon of black and gold, but his attention was all devoted to the small flame before him. His progress towards the front of the Sanctuary was slow, but none felt any desire for him to hurry, it was enough to watch him walk. He came to stillness when he reached the front of the Sanctuary, and turned to the priests who had come up the center aisle. He lit each of their candles delicately, then turned to the statues.

“We gather one more to commence worship, to feel ourselves together in your divine presence, Jiskastya, and learn what we can from the three who came after. But, today, we also ask you to turn your gaze to the dedicates of this Temple. We ask you to send those forward who feel that they are ready for the next step in their life, to lift the soul and embolden the hearts of those who are ready to join the priesthood, so that they may stand before all gathered here, and join us.”

He turned to the room, and a young aerix male, standing up straight and proud, walked forward before the High Priest. He picked up a taper from the basket, and kneeled, lifting the candle above his head. The High Priest lit the wick, and he accompanied the rising flame with a small murmur of words, meant only for the ears of the dedicate. He stood, and bowed before each of the four ground level statues, giving a short but heartfelt prayer to each. He then turned his gaze to Jiskastya, and he set his candle on the floor, kneeled, and then lowered his chest to the floor. He would hold that position for the rest of the day, as he meditated on how he would serve the Gods for the rest of his life.

He was followed by a human female, who repeated the process, and then kneeled next to the aerix. And then, to everyone’s surprise, a goblin stepped out of the shadows, and walked up to the High Priest. She kneeled, and he lit her taper, ignoring the murmurs around the room. Her prayers to each of the statues was the longest yet, and she lingered before the statue of Skaldreg longest, silently begging him to cast her from his sights, and let the greed and envy that filled every soul slowly fade from hers.

There was a silence, and no other dedicates stepped forward. The people in the room cast their eyes about, wondering if any others felt themselves ready to enter into the rank of Priest.

[Seravee]

The young woman turned to the High Priest as he entered the hall. She nodded her head to him slightly, both out of professional respect and a genuine admiration. Despite outranking her dramatically, Sovendel had always been incredibly kind to her. He gave his usual greeting, welcoming the people to the place of worship, and explaining why they were all there. However, he surprised her by directing the patrons’ attention to the dedicates. As dozens of gazes came to rest on her, she felt fire rise in her cheeks. But she would not let her sudden stage fright keep her from moving up to priesthood. She had waited for this day for a long time, and worked hard to ensure she was prepared. Of course, if she had known today would be the day, perhaps she would have spent a bit more time on her appearance. She blew out her old candle, set it on a bench, and prepared to enter into priesthood.

Before she could make a move to the front of the hall, an aerix male leapt to his feet and strode proudly to Sovendel. The High Priest whispered to the dedicate, and she found herself longing to know what was being said. It was something she had always wondered - what secret words the High Priest and dedicates shared - and a small shiver climbed up her spine as she realized she would soon know. She waited impatiently for the aerix to finish, and as he dropped to his knees, she did her best to contain her excitement as she moved to the Sovendel. She was surprised and frightened to see his smile waver as he met her gaze. Was something wrong? Still, she plucked a taper from the basket and held it above her head, her gaze down, her heart racing. There was a gentle movement of air as the High Priest lit her candle and bent down slightly to speak into her ear. She inhaled sharply, preparing herself for his words of wisdom.

“Are you certain that you are prepared for this?” He asked gently. Then, to her horror, “I am not.”

Her heart plummeted, and she looked up into his eyes, trying to figure out what she was to do next. His eyes were soft, but they also held another emotion. Disappointment? Sadness? “Go on,” he whispered again, motioning his head in the direction of the statues. She nodded and stood up, thankful that he was allowing her to continue. But as she turned her back to him and moved away, she found her relief melting into anger. How dare he put her on the spot like that, questioning her readiness, only to send her on her way? Was he trying to evoke such emotion from her? What exactly could the High Priest hope to accomplish? She grit her teeth, but repeated the same path she had taken previously, stopping at the three statues to briefly pray. This time, she did not even bother stopping by the black marble statue. Instead, her anger bubbled up inside her, and she decided not to even put on a show for the people watching. She would not pretend to pray to Skaldreg. There were a few soft gasps as she bypassed the statue and moved on to Jiskastya, but she paid them no mind. Dropping to her knees, she placed her candle on the ground, pulled her hood tighter around her unruly hair, and dropped her chest to the ground.

[Jiskastya]

No others stepped forward, and everyone's attention slowly refocused on the High Priest. He looked at each of the dedicates, and, as his gaze passed over the human female, there was a flicker of sadness. So small was it that no one who wasn't paying the strictest of attention would have noticed it. The murmur that had been stirred when she had refused to pray to the statue of Skaldreg had been quickly overswept by the appearance of the goblin dedicate, and everyone had forgotten about that small scandal.

In fact, many wondered, like her, why the statue of Skaldreg was even placed in the temple. Some were quietly pleased to see him passed over. And so, it was easy for everyone to forget that small moment, and move on to the ceremony.

But the shadowed man in the back had not forgotten. His gaze lingered on her prone figure, and there was laughter in his eyes. It was not a kind laughter, not one that showed any particular friendliness. But nor was it the laughter of one enjoying another's pain. It was a self-centered laughter, that came when one knew something that the other did not, and they found that knowledge deeply amusing.

The ceremony concluded relatively quickly, but at the end, a small change in routine happened. Normally the members of the church would file up to the front, and light their candles, either from one of the four ground level statues, or from the highest candle on the five-pronged candle holder. This time, however, in a blessing of goodwill, the people would come and light their candle from the one that the dedicates had placed on the ground before them. The underground people instantly moved to the line with the goblin girl, lighting their candle from her flame, and silently or in low whispers wishing her luck and bravery in this difficult path that she had chosen for herself.

She would never again be allowed in the Goblin tunnels outside of Sandrenhone, rejected as a traitor for allying herself with an institution of humans. This was her home now, for as long as she lived, and it was not a place where many would welcome her. Those of the high ranks in the Priesthood would treat her no different, having long ago come to understanding and peace, but the Dedicates would always cast her glares, wondering how she dared to enter into this holy place.

Those in the ceremony who agreed with the actions of the human female went quietly to her candle, perhaps whispering a quiet but heartfelt word of praise, perhaps remaining silent, but every candle that was lit from her flame was a wish for her goodwill and success, and, most likely, a praise for her action.

The man in the back stood when everyone else did, putting his hood back up. He was not a man of the church, and, while not one to shun those who chose to enter its services, he wound not put his energy into their choice. Instead, he quietly and unnoticed lit his candle from the center candle, the candle of Jiskastya. Once more there was a knowing, unnerving, laughter in his eyes, but still the candle grabbed at that central flame and lit, a bright spot greedily consuming the white wax of the candle. Once more, his gaze returned to the human woman who was kneeling in front of the statues. The weight of his gaze would be heavy on her back, but rules dictated that she not turn around.

When every member of the congregation had lit their candle, service was over. They moved slowly towards the doors, once more forced to co-mingle. On the other side the sun was casting its full light on the doors of the temple. The underdwellers blinked rapidly, but forced themselves not to flinch away from the bright light. Their eyes were wide, made for seeing in the dark, and, no matter how narrow their pupils got, the sun still made the world almost blindingly white.

The man, too, followed everyone out, but he paused outside the doors of the temple. It wasn't quite time to move on yet. There was still something waiting for him here.

Inside the church, when the last member of the congregation had left, Sovendel walked back to the front of the room, and paused behind the kneeling human girl.

"I have saved you the shame of being publicly rejected, Raylynn. But now you must come with me."

[Seravee]

Much to her surprise, some in the hall seemed to agree with her rash actions. A few people whispered such praise as “well done,” and “very brave,” as they bent to light their own candle from her flame. The growing sense of dread that had been festering in the pit of her stomach (what will they do to me? she found herself thinking constantly as she knelt there) began to subside. It was replaced by a glowing sense of pride. Perhaps the High Priest had not agreed with her actions, but others had. Surely he could not penalize her for acting in a manner that many others would agree with?

While lost in her own thoughts, she faintly registered a heavy gaze at her back. Part of her longed to turn around and see who it was. Many of the people who had attended the service had already taken their leave. Who was this person who lingered behind, and why was he or she staring so intently at her?

Suddenly, the feeling of being watched was replaced by the sensation of having a person stand directly behind her. She soon saw a great shadow fall over her.

"I have saved you the shame of being publicly rejected, Raylynn. But now you must come with me."

Upon first hearing his voice, she tensed. What was this? Some sort of trick? Was he testing the strength of her faith? If she turned around, breaking the vow to spend the day in mediation, would she fail? She swallowed the lump in her throat, waiting for the figure to leave. But he would not. Finally, Raylynn sat up and climbed slowly to her feet. She left her candle on the floor, its flickering light casting eerie shadows on the bodies of the other dedicates. The candle was the only evidence that she had only seconds ago been among them. Wordlessly, so not to disturb those who were still meditating, the young woman turned to the High Priest. She was unsure of what expression his face held, but she did not analyze it too closely, for fear of discovering anything negative there. Deep down, she knew what was coming. She realized she had made a grave error. But she did not show it. Instead, she merely gave the man a curt nod.

[Jiskastya]

Sovendel nodded gently back at her, and turned to walk away, leading her to his office. It was on the ground level, facing the south, designed to be easily accessible to all and always to be filled with the light of day when the sun was up.

It was a warm office, despite the fact that it was made entirely from stone. A faded plush rug covered most of the floor, candles flickered merrily on many a surface, and the cool greys of the stone were well complimented by light and dark brown, and creme colored furniture.

Sovendel did not sit down behind his desk, but rather sat in one of the two armchairs facing each other. They were off to the right of the door, positioned so that they cut the corner of the room into a softer angle. He sat in the one that was facing the door, the soft, supple leather molding to his body, and gestured to Raylynn to take the other chair.

He sat there silently, giving her the chance to justify herself, to try and come up with an excuse. The honorable choice would be to remain silent, to listen and to learn, but he would always give her the chance to speak, if that was what she felt her path should be.

[Seravee]

Slowly, Raylynn followed Sovendel to his office. It was not as though she really needed to be led there, as she had been there a number of times in the past. It was not uncommon for her to pass a few hours in the evening with the High Priest, talking about books or music. Sometimes she would even find herself discussing more personal matters with him, such as her feelings on another dedicate or the life she led prior to finding religion. While it was not standard for a young dedicate to speak of such things to her superior, Sovendel always listened. Occasionally he would offer a kind word or a piece of advice, but often he just provided an ear for her to speak to. That was, of course, all she needed most days.

Now, as she entered his cozy office, that sense of dread began to return. The man’s mannerism’s were familiar enough to her that she was able to notice when he seemed troubled or strained. This was one of those occasions. Raylynn gently dropped into the chair as he motioned for her to do so. For a moment, she sat in silence, her legs crossed daintily at her ankles, her hands clasped in her lap. Her gaze was down so that she did not have to look at him, but he knew he was watching her expectantly. Finally, she could stand the silence no longer. Despite being a dedicate, Raylynn was a woman who did not take too kindly to prolonged silences.

“Am I in trouble?” She asked meekly. Of course, that was not the question she meant to ask. She knew full well she had made a mistake, and she hoped the High Priest knew she knew. Instead, the question was meant to be a transition into his lecture, no doubt filled with how disappointed he was and how she had let him down. She just wanted to get this over with.

[Jiskastya]

"I know what you are expecting, Raylynn," he said softly, "but this will not be it." Something in his tone said that there was to be no lecture, no statements of disappointment, just a simple decision, one that would undoubtedly be painful.

"You have always lacked the compassion necessary to pray to Skaldred, I know that. You hate him because he hurt the world, and you cannot forgive him. Just like you cannot forgive the underspecies, for a hoard of them burned down your village, and killed your parents. You let out that hate in any way you can, and since you cannot actively hate the people of the underground here, you let out that hate towards Skaldreg."

He let out a sigh. "I had hoped," he said slowly "that, with time, you might come to find a measure of forgiveness here. That time and prayer would heal that wound that tore apart your heart when you were so small.

"But, I see now that the sheltered life of the temple will not help you to find forgiveness." He paused, and looked deep into her eyes. "Therefore, I am sending you away. Journey the world, and learn what you can from it."

It would be a harsh lesson, this task he was setting to her. But, in a way, he gave it to her because he saw such hope, such potential within her. And she would never fully reach it if she did not find peace. And the peace that she needed was not waiting in a corner of this Temple. It was out there, in the world. It might take her a long time to find it, but he had no doubt that she would find it, just as she had found the temple when she had needed it most.

[Seravee]

The kindness in his voice not only took her by surprise, it pained her a little. Shame on her for assuming this man who had always showed her such compassion would turn on her. Her cheeks flushing with guilt, the young woman listened to the man speak in silence. His words, though she would hate to admit it, rang true. The pent up emotion from her violent past did indeed haunt her every single day. Though she had been young at the time, she still have glimpses of memories that she clung to dearly. The sound of her father’s laughter. The smell of her mother’s soap. But over time, she had forgotten the face of her parents. It was a memory that savages had taken from her. A memory she would never again have. Just thinking of the pain they had inflicted on her family and her town caused her to squeeze her hands tightly together in her lap. For a moment, she drifted away from the words of the High Priest. But she was brought back to reality with tremendous force when he told her she would be sent away.

“What?” She cried, her hands moving to grip the sides of the chair as she leaned forward, eyes wide with surprise, concern and confusion. It was unbecoming of her to behave in such a manner, especially in front of a High Priest, but she simply could not control herself. “Send me away? Where?” Without giving him a chance to answer, she spoke again, her voice seeming to jump a full octave. “But my place is here!”