As the Priestess Walks

[CJK]

((Presently closed, will be opened when I get through the initial parts))

Months ago

The Priestess was stunned by the question, both in nature and in audacity. To imagine that any would ask such a thing of her in the presence of the Mistress's sacred altar! She cried out in anger, "You will NOT make me a party to necromancy, Mage!" But the moment had passed, he had already retreated through a portal to the city, leaving her wrath to face only the undead that surround Her chapel.

Earlier that day

Thirteen, seven, sixteen, nineteen, two.
Eleanor dutifully records the die on a parchment, leaning back in her favored seat to watch the fire while she ponders the rolls. The Mistress never graced her Servant with prophecy or fortune-telling, but the Priestess makes a habit of trying to scry Her orderly will through His chaotic hand none-the-less. Calling across the tavern to Rose, she asked if today's date was also the thirteenth. To her surprise the answer came from a voice through the window and across the stream.

"Should be, ma'am!" The response was needlessly cheery, and instantly recognizable. It was the voice of the Mage, a respectable sort who had treated her with kindness since her return to the region.

The Priestess continued to mull her numbers as the Mage made small talk with an elf who had some nasty rat bites. So, the Lord of Fate had passed a tenuous connection. What's more, she can always relate sixteen as a reference to the pantheon. If she reached, nineteen expands to include the Three Servants of the Lost God. Hardly a good thing, but it was a reach. Two is perhaps signal of the classic dichotomies: good and evil; life and death; light and dark. Thirteen and seven she could also take together as one hundred and thirty-seven, a magical and mysterious number that hinted at precise structures put in place through times and means beyond mortal comprehension. Each component, seven and thirteen, is its own significant portent. Perhaps she could turn the three dual-digit numbers into initials? Thirteen, by one ancient system, could read as some combination of: [A, Q, Y, I, J]. [G, C, L, S]; this would be far too much work for what would end in needless guessing anyway. She could spend all day and in the process completely miss whatever the omens were meant to foretell.

Eleanor packed away the parchment and dice, rejoining the conversation. It seems that the Bloodwitch had joined them. Unnervingly, it seemed both she and the Mage wanted something of her. The Priestess may not have the gift of Foresight, but even she could recognize flattery as the most ominous of portents. The Arcanists had praise for everything from her appearance that day to her relation with the Goddess and her aims to erect a new, safer, chapel. Whatever they were after, it must come at a great cost. Finally, the Mage came out with it: their Guild was seeking her talents for an unspecified purpose. It would be for their mutual gain, of course, he was sure of that. The Priestess did not share this certainty; magicians rarely seek out the Mistress for magnanimous reasons.

Nevertheless, she was bound through her Mistress in service of all. Mages, witches, and farmers alike stood before the same Sovereign Magistrate, and as such the Servant of the Mistress is in turn the servant of all Her subjects, past, present, and future.

[CJK]

((still closed))

The Priestess was relieved. She had followed the Mage to sit and quietly discuss his aims. His concern seemed to be focused upon the demonic influence spread across these lands. The gaping wound being wrought by a powerful demon, possibly even a greater demon, at the accursed Mount Letma. This was indeed a matter of mutual concern, as this demon was upsetting the balanced structures dividing the planes themselves, and influencing a corrupting effect on the souls of the living; never mind the necromancy it performed to animate its armies. Thus far, the Mage had not even once asked her about raising legions of the dead to combat their mutual foe! Perhaps she had misjudged these Arcanists?

A turn in this conversation left her again unsure of what the Mage was seeking of her. He hesitated as the scribes and students of Runewick walked by, then whispered, "I have this feeling that the nature of demonology is changing. How can you attack your enemy if you do not know them? I have this sense that the divide between the demonic realm and our own is thinning." The thought of this unsettled Eleanor, much more so than she cared to expose. She knew better than to say or do anything to fuel rumors that the Chergan Priestess consorted with demons; such a foolish yet dangerous accusation had seen her flee the stake before. Some people will just never trust women in black robes performing rituals in graveyards.

The Priestess demurred, "I am no expert on Bjolmur and her kin..." naming the Mother of Demons, one of the Three Servants of the Fallen God. Internally, she recalled the dice she had cast earlier, and the tenuous connection she had observed with the Servants. Perhaps the Mistress did want her to hear out this Mage after all?

The sixteen of the gods; the nineteen of the servants; the thirteen, a varied sign of pragmatism and many secret meanings besides; the seven, an esoteric matter of spirit and hint of victory; lastly two, one of the most deceptively complex numeric signs. Coexistence, cooperation, duality, and dichotomies are the most common concepts of two; more esoteric is its connection to the High Priestess, if you believe the fortune tellers. Yet more, she recalled the composite 137, and its connection to the structures underlying creation; perhaps this referred to the acts of the demon against the division of planes? As Eleanor considered again the numbers she had been shown, the Mage briefly greeted his Guildmaster, a reserved elf she had mostly seen keep to his studies and hone various crafts.

"We all need to know more...this danger is real. I think we have an opportunity to do just that. We in the guild are aware of a connection someone has to a demon." At these whispered words, her veins ran with the burning chill of blue fire. Every instinct told her to run. Whatever these mages were hoping to gain from her, the cost would be great. The cost, she feared, would be hers to pay. What's more, she was beginning to form an understanding of who this meeting was all about, a man whose very soul smelled of rot and corruption.

The Priestess is blind to the future, never blessed with the Eyes to See and Mouth to Speak those secrets known to the Goddess of Prophecy. Most importantly, she lacks the patience to listen. Otherwise, she may have spent that time to find whose initials were whispered in the die and the day.

[CJK]

((Still closed))

The Priestess was intrigued. Eleanor was afraid. The Mage was doomed. Neither knew it yet, but three days by the dwarven count remained until his murder.

"What manner of connection have you found?"

"We believe a form of possession or blood magic. One that goes against all teachings of Cherga's divine balance."

The Priestess' eyes flashed briefly as she whispered a curt reply, "I am interested, Mage, but do be careful to not presume to tell me my Mistress' teachings. Cherga is no mere warden of demons, leave that to brash Malachin." By Eleanor's account, the Grey Goddess is not concerned with such trivial magicks. Far worse things happen within Her own cults without intervention.

Perhaps spooked by her hint of anger, more likely wanting to keep in her good graces, the Mage clarified, "I only speak what I learned at the pantheon, nothing more. It is very foreign to me how balance between this world and after is shepherded and maintained."

"A simple possession of body has little to do with the the Lady's domain, least of all if that body is living and the soul not wrenched from repose." Let gods and demons fight for influence over the brief flash of life the soul spends on this plane, what is it to the Queen of the Underworld? No matter who claims dominion in life, all belong to her in death. Whatever trespasses the living perform under the mastery of a demonic lord will be measured as such when standing before the Ineffable Justice.

The Mage hesitated a moment, then countered, "Living is debatable... in this context. The matter is very delicate and most sensitive."

"Debatable in what manner? Just who we are discussing and why?" Clerics of the Grey are often associated with necromancy, undertakers, and others who deal most directly with the dead. A less common association, but more true to this Priestess, would be that of lawyers serving the Underworld's High Court. Eleanor found the idea of a theojudicial edge case terribly intriguing.

The Mage continued to deflect, "I believe I am more focused on matters of the soul, the demon can go back to whence it came."

"Forgive my suspicious nature, but it is rare to encounter a group of mages terribly interested in the preservation of souls; just look at the horde of skeletons raised by the Archmage. Just why is this one of such interest to you?" The Priestess may have her own reasons for taking interest in this case, but she was not interested in doing so as a mere pawn in some arcane scheme. If the Mistress willed her engagement in this demonic affair, she would investigate it further. She would not, however, sully her Mistress' name by blessing these Arcanists if their aims were unjust. Should they offend Her, the price would be theirs to pay. Should she bless their offenses, the just punishment would come down upon her threefold.

The Mage sighed looking at the palm of his hands for some time before the distance again as he explained, "The archmage is near timeless as any mortal soul can ascend. I, however, am an old man who ponders the after quite a lot. I have my heart in the afterlife... this mortal shell stays for Zhambra's divine purposes. I only began to wonder ... if I had the means... would a soul's chance at salvation, redemption, restoration be on my conscience at my judgement day?" He hesitated a moment more then added, "But if I am deeply honest with you and myself, I do not think I am purely benevolent either... for it could assist Runewick, give us insight to our enemy."

At this, the Priestess turned abruptly to gaze piercingly into the Mage's eyes and over his face, as if scrying into a clouded portal. It is rumored those most gifted Chergan mystics can see straight through flesh and bone to the very soul itself. They see every weight and measure the Goddess Herself may use to judge the merits and demerits of the spirit, laying bare all its secrets in an instant. Could the Priestess access such a gift? If so, she has never revealed what she has seen. After a time she spoke evenly, "I believe you. For now."