Fate weaver’s convergence

I'll have to revisit the thought of that armor, the legs looked like they were supported by hydraulics. Was that really normal armor?

 

I shook my head.

 

Don't fixate on random shit, keep your head forward here.

 

Entering the temple was a strange experience, its interior as stoic as its exterior. Displays of ancient and freshly forged weapons alike adorned the walls, the clutter only broken apart by occasional bare sections of stone or glass. Along its corridors, Statues to the scale of the average person lined the walls, paintings, memorials, and the occasional room breaking apart the monotony. They wore armor, held weapons, and were posed. A drawn bow here, an ax mid-swing there, even a spear held back as its wielder prepared to launch it. Each face was captured in exquisite detail; one might even think they were all simply petrified.

 

Id been overtaken by idle curiosity enough to ask what was eating at my mind aloud. 

 

“Mom, who are these statues of?”

 

I asked, stopping at one that was of my race. A demon, a man similar in stature that adorned little above the waist, save for a torn tunic. He held an axe in both hands, his beard long, and his hair braided along his scalp while the sides of his head were shaven. His horns clearly marked him as a demon, but he lacked any further racial features.

 

"Solah's Temples pay homage to those that have fought, as vague as that may seem. Monster hunting, mercenaries, militia, as long as an arm is raised."

 

Hatsumi cocked her head to the side as if parsing through her words.

 

"She spawned the very force of magic in our world, simultaneously making her a figure of violence and peace."

 

She paused as she recognized the statue I was observing.

 

“Services have yet to begin."

 

She paused.

 

"All the better time to tell you why the temple is so rich with shrines.”

 

Mother spoke of the individual, ignoring the nameplate at the statue's feet.

 

“This was Sven. A self-exiled farmer, from where though, he never spoke of.”

 

Mother stared on, her eyes locked on the face carved of stone.

 

"I met him during the first exodus, he was amongst those that received us Morrison refugees. He was a foolhardy drunk, but all the more out of his way to help out when needed."

 

She sighed, her shoulders falling slightly as she did so.

 

"He was a lower Demon, the only other of three to step foot in Brenton for some time until you arrived."

 

Mother looked at the statue's face, turning her head to each of the statues around us.

 

"Most here passed decades ago, some died in the siege a few years back, others while fighting bandits, and others-"

 

She looked at the statue of a dwarf next. 

 

"Doing what adventurers do best."

 

She patted my shoulder, pushing me forward along the halls with the flow of traffic.

 

"The people displayed in this hall died either in combat or went missing. A select few are displayed in spite of still living if they proved enough."

 

Mother pointed to five more statues as she passed. 

 

Is that-

 

"Mom?"

 

Mother nodded.

 

"The great war-mage, Hatsumi, and the 'Revenants'."

 

Mother spoke in an exaggerative tone, doing her best impression of what could only be some old scholar before ushering me along. She chuckled soon after, unable to stand her attempt at a deeper voice. Mother’s face seemed to glow with pride as she tore me away from her own statue. 

 

"Lorn is here too, but she's one of the first, so her statue is in the main hall. That old tree has been around longer than Brenton's temple, so it's to be expected. Not many elves are still hanging on at her age for a reason."

 

We continued our journey inward, the halls slowly opening up to reveal the main auditorium. The drone of a large crowd now filled the halls, conversation filling the air over the clank of equipment and the steps of attendees. It was a sight not unlike the guild, though with minor differences. Instead of being purely utilitarian for our line of work, all manner of people were present. The adventurer, clad in textile, hide, and leather alike, some few even adorned with metal armor. Some farmers were present, John Egger amongst them, donning dated and in some cases, rusted imperial armor from generations past; the heirlooms of old families. Some were in more modern imperial armor that had seen better days, composed of rowed plates or bands of steel, bronze, and iron; the marks of veterans in this age. Even the occasional hunter dotted the crowd, clad in albeit mismatched, yet comfortable fur pelts.  

 

“This is the temple of Solah, Kiyomi.”

 

Mother held out a hand, drawing attention to the far end of the room.

 

“She who burns.”

 

Mother said those words as if they embodied all meanings of the phrase. At the far end of the hall, stood a statue identical to the one carved from the stone that sat upon the temple itself. Solah, in all her might, stood flanked by statues larger than those of the hall, older and dated. Amongst them stood Lorn, though the displayed armor was like nothing I’d ever seen. Looking above, a great mural was shown. The sun sat on a great horizon. A massive Wyrm framed the image, looking upon the ground while its body faded into the painted sky behind the sun and reappeared on the opposite side in the same fashion. The earth itself was a great map in a way; a massive illustration of the known world. The empire, Damus, Shin-rin, and numerous other small nations were vaguely outlined. Morrus and Va-ren were nowhere to be found, still portions of the frontier in the grand imagery. It was inlaid with gold, silver, and other intricate details. Aside from the Wyrm, other great creatures served as the framework for the imagery as it blended into the stars lining the ceiling. A great tree, with human-like features. An eagle, its wings spread wide. A Kraken, its many arms reaching into the oceans. Many other smaller creatures accompanied these, each depicted in motion as if moving towards the center of the piece.

 

“Solah is the Wyrm?”

 

I asked, my jaw nearly agape as I looked further up.

 

“Aye, the Wyrm, The sun, She who burns, the

Bearer of shield and Lance.”

 

She continued.

 

“As Aethelwulf speaks, you’ll understand a little better. Forgetting the myriad opinions of her, she’s simple compared to the others with the exception of Tyr."

 

I looked at Mother. 

 

"The explanations I got before, they did make each of the gods rather hard to follow in the sense of what they represented."

 

Mother chuckled under her breath.

 

"You know what? Aye, very. Though maybe a seamstress isn't the best-"

 

The noise from the crowd like Mother's speech, was cut short by an announcement.

 

“The recollection of the dawn will soon begin.”

 

An elderly man could be heard yelling amongst the crowd, the chorus of voices slowly dying down, replaced with the clatter of chairs and armor as people either took their seats or leaned against any stable surface. 

 

“Oh, it's time, Kiyomi, there!”

 

Mother pointed to a handful of empty seats a few steps away.

 

“Come, this can be lengthy. I’d rather you pay attention than focus on the comfort of your feet.”

 

“I’m moving, I’m moving!”

 

In all honesty, there is plenty I still don’t know in regard to the Gods. Lorn went to great lengths to keep them absent from her collection and I’m still not sure why. 

 

I followed Mother, struggling to maintain my own space without catching my own gear on anything. I took Wyrmstooth in hand, holding it in front of me as if it were a cane while Mother took her seat. In the next moment, I moved instinctively to take my seat beside her. I felt a momentary impact with my tail as it brushed against something as I turned.

 

“Ah! Shi-” 

 

The shrill voice of a girl blurted out behind me before I felt something grab my tail. With a sharp tug, I was stopped in my tracks. 

 

“What the fu- Excuse you?”

 

I turned around, my tail yanking itself free from the grip of my assailant. They were pulled forward, obviously not expecting my tail to free itself as I turned.

 

“Excuse me? Excuse you! Lizard-tailed imp!”

 

The owner of the voice made herself known. A human girl, only half a head shorter than myself. Braided blond hair framed a face that was puffed in anger, a small red line, and a disheveled braid showing where my tail had hit her. 

 

“Ah- Sorry, I didn't mean to-”

 

She clicked her tongue as she interrupted.

 

“Bull shite, ‘Hollow-point’. Just sit down and shut it, we're waiting on blessings here. The old fart can’t begin his sermon’ til everyone is seated!”

 

Excusez-moi, bitch? 

 

The girl crossed her arms, continuously gritting her teeth as if she were holding herself back. She continued mumbling to herself, avoiding eye contact.

 

What even? Little shit!

 

Looking her over, it was obvious she was another rookie adventurer. She looked roughly my age, with a clean shortsword at her hip.

 

“Tch.”

 

I rolled my eyes as I turned, sure to tuck my tail between my legs to avoid a repeat offense.

 

Drop it, nothing good will come from pressing it. 

 

I held Wyrmstooth close, resting my head on its crossguard. Mother smiled brightly, patting my leg.

 

“Don’t mind her Kiyomi, a lot of people get high-strung around the time they are blessed by the Seer. I’m sure she’s just excited.”