“What’s in it for you?” Gardinal asked tersely. From what he knew, this woman was driven by nothing but greed and debauchery.

“You forget, Brother Gardinal.” Tabitha answered, a tension filling her own voice. “Unlike you, I’m from these streets. Southshore, born and raised.” She tisked with her tongue, but never turned to look up at him.

“And?” Gardinal pushed, still not convinced that the woman who had ordered the deaths of countless men for her own gain was ‘helping out of the goodness of her heart.’

“And, if it perhaps dissuades some of our more desperate souls from joining the cult, then all the better for everyone isn’t it?” She responded, picking up an apple with only a few bruises from a table and taking a bite herself. “Besides,” she shrugged. “The more people that are well off, the more coin for my girls. Nobody wants to fuck on an empty stomach.”

Gardinal nodded in understanding. Now that actually made sense. From what Gardinal had heard, the Cult was the only competition the Silver Skulls had left in Southshore. Or at least that’s what Gervin had said over a pint three nights past.

So, her plan was to starve the cult by feeding the poor? Somehow, despite the intentions being impure, Gardinal could not resent the women for her actions. Not when they did good. And looking around, the dozens of people hustling and bustling back and forth with supplies, it would be doing good.

“How is the girl?” Tabitha eventually asked, honest concern slipping into her voice for a split second.

“I…” Gardinal choked back for a moment. “I don’t know.” He eventually answered. His arms felt so… heavy. Tabitha raised a surprised eyebrow but didn’t push any further.

“Well then, here we are.” Tabitha announced, stopping in front of a large building that Gardinal recognized. He had lived here for several days not long ago. “Some of your party’s trash is still in there if you wanted to grab it. Otherwise, you’ll find our scholarly friend in his usual spot, hunched over with a candle.” She shook her head. “I really do pay that man too much for how much he enjoys his work.” She began walking away. And against his better judgement Gardinal called after her.

“Her Radiance would be happy.” He told her, and the Jöln stopped. “With all of this, if she saw it, she would be happy.”

Tabitha never turned but called back a simple response. “What use to me is a little girl’s happiness?” She snapped, then walked away, her looming Korek guards right on her tail.

With that, Gardinal walked up the steps and entered the small building. Pushing open the door, he stepped into the large entryway and looked around.

The chairs were still there. Right where they had left them, arrayed in a semi circle. That was the last time they had all really been together. So warm and bright, a flickering fireplace had warmed the room then. The room was dark now, the only light a few stray strands that cut in from lanterns flickering outside. It all looked so… empty now. Gardinal strode over and placed his hand on the small, cushioned seat that the Prophetess had sat in. His hands held it with white knuckles, as if there was some remnant of her grace buried within. Perhaps being near it, he could feel her light again.

With a deep sigh, Gardinal stepped away. He had things to be about, and if he was lucky he might yet get a chance to see Her Radiance. Then he could truly feel her grace again. With reluctance, he stepped away from the chair. Flexing his hand, it was sore from gripping the chair so hard, he made his way towards the basement stairs.

Gardinal knew Archibald was where he should be well before he descended the stairs. A faint flickering of candlelight matched well with the absentminded mutterings of the man whose company Gardinal had grown fond of. They had only spent a few days together, but the Jöln’s excitement at every little thing he uncovered had made Gardinal smile. He could use a smile right now.

Stepping down the last of the stairs, Gardinal stopped and watched the little man work for a moment. Archibald was pouring over the large piece of paper he had bought. The thin plant-based writing material had likely cost the man a fortune, but it was the best thing for taking an etching of Gardinal’s shield apparently. Gardinal wasn’t sure why good old parchment wouldn’t work, but well, Gardinal wasn’t a scholar. Looking at the large sheet, he could make out hundreds of little scribbled notes all over the surface, with the Jöln adding more by the heartbeat. Gardinal smiled.

“Well you’ve been busy haven’t you.” Gardinal spoke loudly enough to make his friend jump. Spinning, Archibald relaxed at the sight of Gardinal.

“Oh! Um, well, Gardinal!” He exclaimed, taking off his ridiculous looking spectacles and polishing them on his dishevelled shirt sleeve before placing them back on his face. “I hadn’t expected you so soon!” The man had a way of talking that made him seem always surprised that anyone was talking to him.

“You sent a damned messenger.” Gardinal snapped before rubbing his own eyes in turn. It was getting late and yelling at young Faith Militia drained him more than he would have expected. That and the constant aches, he would see a faith healer if they wouldn’t tell him it was a waste of their energy. “Sorry.” Gardinal apologized for his outburst, it wasn’t Archibald’s fault he was on edge.

“It’s, er, fine.” He chuckled nervously in response. “I guess I did send for you, didn’t I?” Archibald shuffled through some papers, then shook his head. “Come, come, take a look!” He exclaimed, motioning Gardinal over.

Careful to avoid the piles of books and artifacts that seemed to grow in this place like weeds in a garden, Gardinal stepped over to his friend. Looking down at the collection of scrap parchment and hastily scribbled notes, Gardinal furrowed his brow. “Is any of this supposed to make sense to me?” he asked. The writing was cramped, as if the man was trying to fit as many words onto as little paper as possible. But even the words he made out seemed like gibberish to him, and Gardinal had memorized the Book of the Dawn in Sherya, so he knew that wasn’t the problem.

“Right there.” Archibald said, pointing to a scrap of parchment stuck onto the larger piece of paper with some sort of binding agent. “I think that the writing on your shield is a prayer, or hymn of one sort or another. Read this part and see.” Archibald dragged his finger under a smattering of words, and Gardinal tried his best to make them out.

“I don’t know any of these words.” Gardinal responded, looking at the oddly twisting shapes. “It just looks like leaves and flowers to me.” The flickering candle for light didn’t particularly help any.

“Ah right, forgot about that. Try this then.” Archibald pulled over a large tome, then hauled it open to a page marked with red ribbon. The words here at least where Sherya, though he knew none of them, and many of them had little marks all around them. “These marks,” Archibald pointed to a mark on the page that looked like a little hat. “Means that it should be sung high. Those other ones there are low. If it has no marking, sing it at a medium register.” Archibald said it as though it was simple, and Gardinal rolled his eyes. He had always hated choir duty while he had trained in the priesthood. Looking at the Jöln’s expectant face, Gardinal sighed. There was no harm in trying he guessed. Besides, he was not about to be embarrassed in front of this man of all people. Not when he insisted on wearing those ridiculous spectacles that made his eyes so large.

Clearing his throat, Gardinal began. “Ethinia, nos Lesara as theleshenya.” He sang loud and clear, rising and falling in tone as he had been ordered. The words flowed off his tongue like honeyed milk, and deep within him Gardinal felt a power begin to well up. A brilliant teal-silver light began to fill the room and Gardinal’s eyes grew wide at what he saw. This, he thought in awe, now this could be useful.