TEMPLE DIALOGUES
[KILLIAN] [ISHAP-Loriel] [ISHAP-Sarth] [SUNG] [SILBAN] [ASTALON] [RUTHIA]
[ISHAP-Malac's] [LIMS-KRAGMA] [EORTIS] [BANATH] [KAHOOLI] [DALA] [TITH] [GUISWA]
GENERAL DIALOGUES
The colonnade was typical.
Like most of Midkemia's places of worship, the temple's exterior was devoid of any kind of adornment that might be carried off by wandering thieves. "I would really like to know why it is that the priests who design these Temples can’t see fit to let someone know what god or goddess is being worshipped inside," Locklear growled. "Would a sign really be too much to ask for?"
ENTER (Day) ENTER (Night)
Incense swirled.
Striding between the columns of the temple, Locklear made for the heavy wooden doors which had been sealed against the daylight and which preserved the privacy of any ceremonies in progress. Pulling a tasseled rope which hung next to the door, he awaited the response of the door warden...
The temple doors were barred.
Stepping away, Locklear shrugged his shoulders. "I suppose even priests require sleep from time to time," he said. "We may have to wait until morning before we can get an audience with anyone."
The meditation chamber was Spartan and strangely cold, seeming all the colder for the heatless flame which burned in the holy censer. The only bow that had been made to adornment in the temple appeared to be the strange pattern that had been etched upon the wall.
The fire was cold. Unnerved by the unnatural flame, Locklear decided to explore elsewhere.
Locklear squinted. No matter how he looked at the picture, it didn't seem to represent anything in particular.
Locklear squinted. The wall looked strangely barren, as if a space had been prepared for a decoration which had not yet been crafted.
TELEPORT - INTRODUCTION
The design was odd.
"I see the mandala interests you." Turning, Locklear noticed a thin young man standing in the archway, his hands hidden in the folds of his robe. "While the relations between the temples and the new Academy of Magic at Stardock have been cool, it is one of the treasures they have passed on of the Tsurani magic. It has given us great mobility."
"Mobility?" Locklear asked. "How can a painting help you move?"
The acolyte smiled. "It would be easier to explain by example. Tell me about a place you are familiar with, a place where you have spent a good deal of time." Locklear shrugged, describing the place he had grown up, the layout of the rooms, the various things associated with his home.
"Very good," the man replied. "As you described those things to me, doubtless you also experienced certain memories through which you were able to relive your past. In the same way, these mandalas help us locate a place. By memorizing a pattern painted on the wall of a specific temple, we may will ourselves there."
"I could think my way home with this?"
"No. The memory of your home would be too unfocused for you to make the attempt. But, if you were to memorize this pattern, you could return here by recalling its image in your mind when assisted by the power of another Temple."
Locklear looked back at the mandala, lost in thought for a moment, his eyes soaking up the intricacies of it. "I assume there would be some fee associated with moving between locations?"
The acolyte nodded. "As simple as it is in concept, it still requires a great deal of effort to move even a single individual, though I am told the Tsurani Great Ones move about with less effort. I believe Pug wished to restrict our knowledge of this in some ways until we had proven we would not abuse its power."
SOMEWHERE TO GO NOWHERE TO GO
A priest approached.
His dark robes rustling as he crossed into the meditation chamber, he came to a halt behind Locklear. "I sensed that someone studied the mandala. Am I to assume you wish to call upon the powers of the Temple?"
"Perhaps," Locklear said. "I would like to ponder my options first."
"Certainly," the priest replied. "If you will allow me, I will alert the required brethren while you make your choice. Should you decide to summon the mandala, I will collect the fee at that time."
A bell sounded.
Abruptly a darkly robed priest swept into the room and came to a halt behind Locklear. "I was alerted that you might desire to use the mandala."
"Desire, perhaps, but I haven't seen any of the other symbols," Locklear said. "I don't suppose you could go with us?"
"I am regret that I cannot assist you," the priest said. "My duties require I stay here to guide others that wish to arrive. I am sorry."
Not Enough Cancel Invalid?
Locklear blanched.
"I'm afraid I may have overextended myself. Seems I haven't the money I thought I had."
The priest waited.
Sighing, Locklear stepped away from the mandala on the wall. "I don't believe we will be using your services at the moment, brother. Thank you for your attentions."
The priest chuckled.
Perplexed by what the darkly robed acolyte suddenly found so amusing, Locklear arched an eyebrow and waited for an explanation.
"Spare me the baleful look," the priest said mirthfully. "Apparently you are a bit disoriented. The mandala you wished to be transported to is right in front of your face. This temple."
TELEPORT SUCCESSFUL
Locklear recalled the mandala.
Like a wheel of fire, it exploded across Locklear's consciousness, vanquishing the world in a searing blaze of white light. For a heartbeat all that existed in universe was a single point of rotating fire, spun by an unseen hand with incredible power. Spun by the hand of a god.
Locklear blinked. As abruptly as it had burst into existence, the mandala was gone, replaced by a simple painting upon a temple wall. A new temple wall. Nearby, a clutch of darkly robed acolytes waited, their faces registering neither shock nor fear at the sudden arrival.
"You knew we were coming?" Locklear asked, stepping away from the symbol. "As a courtesy, we are given some warning by the sending Temple," one of the priests said. "You will likely feel a little disoriented for a time, but the sensation should pass. Be welcome."
The curtains seemed to lead to an inner sanctum.
Locklear pulled the curtains aside.
The rear section of the temple was as dramatic as was the meditation chamber; a large pool occupied the center of a lush courtyard and was hemmed in on all sides by an alabaster peristyle with climbing vines. Cloistered immediately off the open area were several arches, doorways either blocked by heavily woven curtains or choked with clouds of obscuring incense.
Nearby, a gong sounded and immediately a priest hurried out of a doorway, halting as he caught sight of the unexpected supplicants...
The priests bid them farewell. Leaving the lushness of the central courtyard, they passed back through the curtains into the deserted meditation chamber.
CURE: UNNECESSARY
Stamina unimpaired Stamina impaired
The priest shook his head.
Twice he had examined everyone from head to toe, but apparently he had found nothing wrong with his patients.
"If you are cursed or sick, I see no sign of it," he said to Locklear. "You are as healthy as I could imagine."
The priest shrugged.
"There is nothing wrong with you that I may mend," he said at last. "Your wounds will heal themselves with time or may be mended by chirurgeon, but I can only heal those things of a spiritual nature. There is no curse upon you, nor has Lims-Kragma marked you to come soon to her halls. You shall survive without assistance."
CURE: NEEDED
Locklear was studied.
"It will require many hours of our time and even priests must find ways to pay for their needs. For your condition we will need many oils and candles. [x] sovereigns and [y] royals should cover the cost of our services."
Enough Not Enough
Locklear sat up.
Looking around the room, he blinked at the haggard looking healer priest who was propped up in the corner. Dimly, he recalled the events of the grueling hours which had passed, hours in which he had thrashed on the bed as clerics chanted over him, other times in which he lapsed into fevered dreams filled with nightmarish creatures.
"You are free of your demons," the priest said with a weak smile. His voice was gravelly with exertion. "It was a tough battle, but you are well enough as you are. You may go."
Locklear blanched.
"I'm afraid I may have overextended myself. Seems I haven't the money I thought I had."
BLESS
Locklear searched his pack. "Which of your items would you like blessed today?" a priest asked.
A priest accepted the item.
Carefully, he laid the [Item] on a low table covered with a white cloth while he opened a book which he retrieved from a cluttered bookshelf. Flipping through its tattered pages, he found a column of numbers and ran his finger down them.
"I've always wondered why the price of a blessing varied from item to item," Locklear said, watching the priest. "Does it have something to do with the gods?"
"Rather more to do with how the item was made," the priest explained. "If there are any special metals used in its construction or spells used to bend the metal, then they become factors in how difficult it will be for us to make a blessing stick." Leaning closer to the page, he stabbed at a figure. "Ah! Here it is... for your [Item], it will be [x] sovereigns," the priest said.
ACCEPT (Enough) ACCEPT (Not Enough)
Locklear waited.
Far off, he could hear the low chanting of the priests in their alcoves, their prayers weaving the fabric of the enchantment. It seemed the better part of the day had passed away as he listened to the sonorous whispers rising and falling in the near dark. Suddenly, the doors to a great chamber were thrown open and the priest emerged, the blade/armor laid in his arms, swaddled in a white cloth.
"Your weapon/armor has been enchanted," the priest said with a bow. "Use it as your place upon the Great Wheel bids you."
Locklear blanched as he realized he was short of funds.
"I'm afraid I may have overextended myself. Seems I haven't the money I thought I had."