The Wizard

You were nervous. After what the archmagus told you, you knew that the mages of this city could not stand by and watch the priests suffer in any way, but you had appearances to keep, not to mention that the priests wouldn’t accept your help anyway. The adventurers weren’t in the city anymore, you were sure of that. The brooches had disappeared from the sight of the Witness, but not before one had went to Ulthar. Someone had told them of their true function, and you had a good idea of who it was. Considering that they are dreamers, it made sense. 

They seemed hellbent on finding out the truth of the matter by any means necessary. If they did it would be much harder to stop their course of action, and the dissolution of the church. The appointed time is nearly upon us, you thought. Alva will be soaring soon. 

Of course, the adventuring party wasn’t the only threat. A scouting party was sent to the complex rooted out by the ratcatchers, and the signs of malevolence were everywhere. The corpses of nightmarish behemoths and those of the defenders were strewn about the cavern floor. Tenebrium was recovered. Why there was such a place so close to Dylath’leen was worrying. 

Regardless, you had a meeting with one of priests, in another attempt to accept the help of the mages. Dassem Ultor was busy and so you had to settle for Tariq, a round man of southern heritage. You make your way past the gate to the mage quarter, and shuffle past a black carriage driven by one of the Kagnak. They still creeped you out, and not just because they smelled of death. 

You found yourself winding through the streets of the lower city until you found yourself at the church of Nath, and were ushered inside where you met Tariq, as solemn as ever. 

“Nice to finally meet you Tariq.” You offer a hand. The other man eyes it for a second and takes it into his own. You shake. He grunts.

“Likewise. We should talk in my private chambers.” You notice acolytes in the church minding their own business, cleaning and preparing for the next mass. You follow Tariq into a hallway and then a room lined with bookshelves. A stained glass window cast kaleidoscopic light into the room and Taris takes his seat on the other side of a desk. He motions for you to sit, and you take the proffered seat opposite him. The chair was nice, too nice for a simple priest.

 You couldn’t help but notice the glass framing Tariq’s head. It depicted Nath, above, reaching down to touch a woman, but from this vantage point, Tariq’s head took the woman’s place, and so it looked as though Nath herself were anointing the priest. 

“That’s a beautiful piece of work behind you, the composition is exquisite,”

“Thank you, I designed it myself,”

Of course you did. “I have come to your church in the past, urging you to accept our assistance in the grotto, and every time you have denied us,”

“That is true, and you must know that in each case that your assistance,” he stressed the word, pausing for second, “was not required. This time will be no different.”

You struggled to stay seated. “This time it is different. We know for a certainty that forces are arranged against you. We have interrogated the dead found in a fortress in the mountains. We know that they are coming for the Heart, and I know that they have infiltrated the priesthood. There may be five of these moles inside the parish.”

“So what do you want me to do? Kill all the new recruits?”

“No! Nothing like that! Delay the ritual until the next time Alva is soaring! Long enough for us to put up a proper defence!” 

“How many others know about this?” 

“Just one,”

Tariq sighed. “Cala Demis, you went to the wrong priest,”

“What are you talking about?”

Suddenly Tariq’s form shifted, blurring and turning black, until a very different figure sat in front of you. It appeared black, thin and emaciated looking, but the muscles it did have were wiry and tight. You immediately attempt a spell, but it fails. “Oops.” The sound came from behind you.

You turn around and look into the face of a young man, with a shock of black hair on a pale face. He wore an odd set of clothes, a coat whose collar covered his jaw. He must have been invisible! You cursed your carelessness.

“When I heard the base was cleaned out I expected the worst, but Rasan had survived. He is useful. You will be useful too, I expect.”