Record 4, Part 2

‘I’m beginning to remember WHY it’s been so long since we went to Calwill together.’  Nora dryly noted, mentally, cracking open her right eye to peek at Lucas Lucas as he prayed.  Well, him and the dozens of other people within the Calwill, all sitting down for the bi-weekly gathering.

The holy building was a bit small compared to the other places of worship within High Beacon, but it suited the practitioners of Fall-Girism, as they themselves were a small faith compared to the main faith of Girism.  With dim lighting, an inwardly curved ceiling, and very few people wearing formal clothes, however, it felt rather humble, comforting even, compared to the other, prouder temples that were located in the South Eastern sector.

“...As he walked upon the piteous path he had since come to accept, so did the those who he passed look upon him as his shadow cast atonement.  The self-inflicted chains whispered assurance from his encased hands as he was lead by all and none to the uncertain.  Long did he stride with us of now, for…”

‘Just have to wait for a bit longer, and Peters will be done with this sermon.  Glad to see the situation hasn’t razzled him too bad, though he’s still got those bags under his eyes.

By all accounts, Grace Nathaniel Peters fit the bill for the typical reverend, more commonly known as ‘Graces’, of Fall-Girism: consistently tired expression, somewhat unkempt hair, and a mild five o’clock shadow.  As he delivered his sermons, the graying strands of his wavy black hair occasionally needing to be brushed away from his azure eyes.  Letting out a yawn, Grace Peters’ eyes became more focused as he turned a page.

“-Five Paths he observed in his life, traveled, experienced.  Pages on pages were written of impulses to excess, and their denial through care and discipline.  The few to many who sought to provide aid took upon themselves the words written within the scriptures, enlightening only those who would listen, never venturing beyond their freedom.  Passive ever thereafter were the then anointed Graces, the light of other teachings more bright than theirs, yet never so absolute as to render unseeable.  And so do we stride in their  in acceptance and cautionary awareness, lest we be consumed of our desires, our impulses, our fever, our obsessions, our ambitions, our dreams, our curiosity.  And ascending all else, aver…”

After a bit of time had passed, Nora raised her head and took a look at Grace Peters, who seemed to have stopped mid-sentence, eyes closed and mouth open.  Whispers quickly began arising from the other people gathered in the Calwill.

“Is he alright?”

“Should someone...you know...go and check on him?”

“Please don’t tell me...”

“This certainly isn’t what I expected from a Grace!”
Already realizing what was actually happening, Nora rolled her eyes a bit in exasperation and started getting up.

“Ma, I got this.”  

Turning her head, Nora saw Lucas swiftly rise from his seat and walk down the center aisle.  Taking a left at the podiums stage, Lucas climbed the small flight of stairs at the end, walked over to Peters...and promptly snapped his fingers in front of the clergyman’s face repeatedly.  The sound quickly woke up Peters, his eyes blinking open several times and hands jolting up a bit as he took in his surroundings.

“Huh?  Wha-?  Lucas?...Ah, I fell asleep, I assume?”  Seeing Lucas nod, he let out a sigh.  “Right, well, thank you for, uh, that.  Perhaps not the most orthodox way of doing it, but effective, I suppose.  Please take your seat, if you will.”

As Lucas hurried back to his seat, practically jogging, the whispers began again.

“Seriously?”

“He fell asleep during his own sermon?  Just how tired is this guy?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah, this is why I’m not terribly interested in you joining with up the religious ranks here.”

Coughing once to get his audience’s attention, Grace Peters gave them an apologetic look.

“Yes, uh, you’ll all excuse me on that account.  Comes with the job, I’m afraid.  Now, where were we?”

Yes, as it seems to be the case with every religion, stereotypes were bound to crop up.  Girism’s Buellers were known for being a bit hedonistic, Aphyrnity’s* Locusts always seemed to be behind schedule…and Fall-Girisms Graces were known to suffer from narcolepsy.

“Ah, right.  Ahem:  -Avert our gaze from the Fifth Distance, that final path, and the
Beast of Eternities End.” Closing the scripture, Grace Peters placed his elbows on the stand, hands partially clasped as if to claw someone with his nails, and locked them together, knuckle before knuckle.  Everyone in attendance followed suite, Lucas clasping his hands tighter than most others present, and spoke in unison with Grace Peters:

“In the shadow of his journey, do we strive to walk not the Five Paths, and keep ourselves from our excess.   May he watch over us, so as to prevent the cycle.”

And with that, it was over.  As most of the attendee’s left the Calwill, Grace Peters looked towards the only ones he would actually be interacting with for the day.

“Now that that’s done, Lucas, Nora, please follow me to my quarters, if you will.  I believe we have matters to discuss.”  

The light squeak of iron wheels sounded as Grace Peters left his podium, his wheelchair coming into view along with the tan robes covering his body.
Bowing his head in slight reverence, Lucas replied “Lead the way, Grace.”  

….

“I trust that your mother has informed you of the situation?”

“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.  I’m all up to speed.”

Seated in the Graces office, Nora and Lucas relaxed a bit as they engaged in conversation with the old family friend.

Letting out a small yawn, Nathan Peters rubbed his left eye tiredly.

“That’s a relief to hear.  I truthfully was NOT looking forward to having to reiterate the problem at hand.”

Lucas simply rolled his eyes as he sat before his clergyman, sitting up straight for once

“So, judging by that little sleep spell you just had, I take it you haven’t touched that tea I recommended?”

A mildly annoyed scowl crossed Grace Peters’s face as he addressed Nora, who had elected to simply lean against the wall facing his desk, her right leg pushing against it.  A lit cigarette was in her mouth.

“I have no interest in any sort of artificial stimulation of THAT kind, Nora; it’s always more trouble than it’s worth.  And please do not smoke here, if you can help it.”  He gave her a reproaching look, pointing at the offending tobacco.
“Huh?  Oh, right, right;  Force of habit, I guess.  Apologies, Grace.”

“Hey, can we get to the issue at hand?  I’m not exactly keen on wasting any time when my fellow Fall-Girites might be getting attacked.”  Lucas partially demanded, frowning a bit as his mother

“Ah, yes, quite right.”  Nathan’s posture sagged a bit as he reflected on the regrettable situation.  “It is disheartening to hear that such zealotry might’ve found its way to our Calwill.”

“Hard to swallow, I know, but it happens; it always does when it comes to personal philosophies.”  Nora stated, folding her arms.

As it likely the case with any religion, or any political movement, extremists will arise.  For the faith of Girism, who worshiped a figure of atonement and self-moderation, there were Gireld’s Bound, a splinter faction that took things to an uncomfortable level.  They believed that werewolves, themselves included, were living sin, and should be forever bound to chains, unworthy to live amongst non-lycanthropes.  

While no one had so far had witnessed any attacks, several lycanthropic members of the Fall-Girism faith, all of whom were average civilians, had begun descending into pessimism and depression.  After a silent, but thorough, investigation by the Enforcers, a minute amount of an odd powder had been discovered just underneath one of the Calwill’s attendance seats.  Some mild inquiries later suggested than it had traveled there by means an unwitting Fall-Girite, likely having been a result of an accidental overexposure to the substance.

“I am aware of that fact, Nora.  It does NOT mean I have to like it.  And on that note, I wish you hadn’t been dragged into this, Lucas.  It truly pains me to ask, but as you are the only-”

“-Only werewolf in the Calwill who can really take care of themselves in a fight.  Don’t sweat it, Grace.  Always willing to lend a hand here.”  Lucas gave an understanding smile to the Holy man, reaching inside his civilian jacket to clutch at the symbol hanging from his neck.  “So, to make sure we’re all on the same page, you know your part in the plan?”

“Yes, and I shall do my best to perform it.  I will ring the bell the moment you are in peril.  Please tell me you brought something to defend yourself with, though.”

“Yeah, I’ve got it covered.  I even memorized the route to take on my way here.”
“And me and some other Enforcers will be on standby.”  Nora stated, giving an affirmative nod.

“Alright-!  Guh, almost forgot something!  Ma, Grace, just give me a minute!.”
Rising from his chair all too quickly, Lucas gave Grace Peters a hasty bow, then sprinted out the door to the main hall.

“Well, at least he has his priorities in order.”  Rising slowly from his chair, Grace Peters walked over to the newly toppled chair and set it up right.

“Can’t say I’m on the same boat, Grace.  This place is pretty important to him, and I’m worried he might do something that’ll bite him in the *ss hard when he’s trying to lure those fanatics out into the open.  Or worse, that they’d do something to piss him off and make him do something stupid.”  At this, Nora glanced in Lucas’ general direction, eyebrows furrowed, and a frown on her lips, the cigarette now held between her fingers.

Studying Nora for a bit, Grace Peters walked over to his desk, and took out a familiar looking book, flipping through the pages.

“Nora, you’ve become rather familiar with our rites and passages since the two of you began attending all those years ago.  If you please, there’s a passage I’d like you to hear; it may soothe your troubled spirit.”  Nora directed her attention towards him and raised an eyebrow, giving a slow nod.  Finding what he was looking for, he cleared his throat.

“ ‘Blinded, it was the only hope for clarity young Sariah could grasp in that state.  The desecration of her family, both of centuries-buried and newly spun from the thread of life, was a burdened memory that would stay with her in eternity.  Her fury shook the ground into fissures, an army soaring from her hands.  For seven years she stalked the untainted soil, the blood of her wrath desecrating the pure and the foul.  In the midst of her slaughter, vengeance nearly with her, did she turn about - and see the harvest she had sowed.  In her blindness, she had severed the sight of others, planting the seeds of others.  Then did Gireld’s apparition open her eyes, and claimed of inner strength, of temptation, of will, and soothed her still mind.  ‘To seek vengeance, to rage, to covet the suffering of others, all inspire the same cycle that plagues all.’  Her heart open, Sariah pledged to Gireld, for comfort, for guidance, for restraint of self.’ Julias, 6:7.”

Grace Peters looked up from his passage, closing the holy book in the process.  Nora’s eyes were closed as she pondered what she had heard.

“An eye for an eye-” Peters began.

“Makes the whole world blind.  I’m guessing Lucas has had that hammered into him?”  

Chuckling a bit at Nora’s choice of words, Grace Peters simply nodded.

“I have faith Gireld will grant him the strength needed to keep himself grounded.  I’m certain that he feels the same.

In the main hall of the Calwill, Lucas knelt before the altar to Gireld, hands clasped into a familiar position of prayer as the sunset illuminated the glass image before him.

….

The faint light of the sun just beginning to peak over the horizon of the Wall, Lucas strode down one of the roads within the only area of High Beacon that wasn’t covered in trees or water:

The Southern Grasslands.

Making up the smallest portion of High Beacon, they were more specifically located in the South-Eastern portion of the Haven, with JUST enough land for around six or seven farmers to supply most of the Haven with crops.  The Calwill was located relatively closeby, just a ten minute walk at most from the entrance of the forests,  nestled relatively in-between the northern and south-eastern section.

Lucas softly whistled a tune to himself, hands in the pockets of his non-work clothes.  The situation wasn’t ideal, as whoever was behind the powder could very well have already figured out who he was - getting information from W.I.S.S. would have been easy enough; they were a Den, afterall.  And wearing only his chest and upper leg armor, Lucas was feeling a bit more uneasy than usual. The dwindling tree population didn’t help matters; fewer places to take cover.  

Pretending to yawn, he wrapped the cloak he was wearing closer around his body, the chill air of the morning fogging up his breath.  Taking a break from his hike, Lucas turned and walked over to a fence overlooking the farmlands.  Propping up an elbow, Lucas leaned forward and took the time to admire the view in front of him, resting his chin in the palm of his other hand.

“Gotta admit one thing - the folks here definitely have the better view.  Sunrise and sunset must be fantastic from this angle.”

Taking things in for a bit, he heard something  from behind whistle as it passed him at a high speed, a slight chill running up his spine for a few seconds.  Whipping around, nothing about the scenery before him, from one end of the forest to the next, seemed to have changed.  

“Huh.  Strong wind, I guess.”  

Turning around, he admired the view for a bit longer, eventually got off the fence, and raised his arms towards the sky to stretch, using the opportunity to sneak a peak to his left and right.

And saw a fog gradually creeping down the road to his right.

‘Well, there’s something that wasn’t in the reports.  Either everyone’s got a shoddy memory, or it’s just one of those mornings.  It IS a bit chilly out here.’

Dropping his arms, he eyed the fog casually before walking onwards, only for more to sweep up from behind, spreading far more rapidly than the fog in front.  Raising an eyebrow, Lucas quickly looked around, making sure the Calwill was still in view.  Seeing the very top, he nodded in assurance and began walking through the fog cautiously, right hand casually drifting towards his hidden longsword.

“Are you aware of the collective sin, Brother?”

Halting, Lucas quickly looked around, neck hairs standing on end from the haunting nature of what he had just heard.  It was a deathly tone, a gale in a pitch black sea-cove, snuffing out the torch of the foolhardy explorer that dared to explore.    And yet...it felt as soft as a whisper, and clear to his ears.  Stranger still, it seemed to call from everywhere all at once.  

And yet Lucas saw nothing.

Pulling up his hood and face cover, Lucas tensed with awareness.

‘The h*ll was THAT??  I didn’t read anything about this; Do we have a spy on the calwill?...No, Ma is thorough about these kinds of things.  There’s no way she would have been fooled, and we had someone watch over us on the way to calwill.’

Quickly, he began hurrying through the fog, back towards the calwill, grasping his hidden weapon firmly, to ensure silence.  Soon enough, the thick fog completely enveloped him, obscuring his sight of even the trees themselves.  

Then, he heard it.  A swift, shuffling of grass as something raced by him.  But it was not the sound of a human treading over greenery, but of a much larger creature, thundering on the ground as it raced, however silently.  Recognizing it instantly, Lucas sucked in his teeth, the hand keeping his sword steady now clutching at it, ready to draw at a moment’s notice.  

And not a moment too soon.

A rush of wind coming from his left, Lucas immediately snapped up his concealed weapon to block, and merely received a shallow cut to his leg as several sharp objects clashed against the weapon, pushing him back.  Lucas’s fear was confirmed at the moment; what he had felt from that impact was not the edge of a sword, nor the tip of a three pronged weapon, but the slash of a claw, long and curved.
Sprinting onwards through the fog, he licked his lips slightly, keeping his eyes open for both shelter and enemy.  Coming to a halt as a mill came into view, he rushed over, and pressed himself against the stone wall, flinching as he felt something barely miss his arm.  

“I ask of you again:  Are you aware of the collective sin, Brother Vaulen?  Of the punishment for our existence?”

Grip on his weapon tightening, Lucas decided to play along, maybe even squeeze some information out of the speaker.

“Just what ‘sin’ are we talking about?  Cause I’m pretty sure you and I have got two very different definitions of what constitutes one.”

“To plead ignorance is unbecoming, Brother Vaulen.”

Eyes narrowing, Lucas considered hiding in the mill before immediately discarding the option, getting into a battle-ready stance.

“And you come armed.  Do you not wish to admit to the sins of our blood, and join our condemnation?”

Lucas scowled in return, eyes swiveling as he looked for the speaker.

“Not interested!  Can I take that as an admission to terrorizing my fellow Fall-Girites?”

At first, there was nothing, and all around Lucas, it was silent; No reply, no snarl of anger; not even the sound of leaves rustling in a tree, or of a creature of the night scampering on a branch.  It unnerved Lucas, and so he opted to sniff the air, hoping to catch a scent of the assailant.  To his mild shock, there was nothing; not even the ground beneath his feet offered him a smell..

Then, he heard it.

It was the torrent of the desert wind, winding through a route of twists and turns within a stone chasm.  Lucas shivered slightly as he realized that all he was hearing was the speaker inhaling.  Possible even more unsettling was the fact that he had barely registered it.  Before he could gather himself, his invisible foe let out a sigh.

Had he not heard the voice speak first, Lucas might have otherwise mistaken what he heard for an icy storm ravaging the mouth of a cave, the frozen gale echoing on the walls.  Trying to put as much distance between himself and the enemy as he could, he bolted from it, running down the dirt road and hopefully to outside the fog.  

“Terrorism, Brother Vaulen?  Is that truly how you view us?

Evidently, his pursuers weren’t keen on allowing him to escape.

He heard a slight rush of wind coming from his left, and rapidly halted, hastily taking a defensive stance.  His maneuver was instantly rewarded, as he was able to defend himself, albeit at the cost of being pushed back by the onslaught of his shrouded foes.  Leaping back, Lucas raced back towards the mill, slipping his back against the wall.
 
“Are we nothing more than common criminals, in spite of our adherence to Gireld’s teachings?”

At that, Lucas froze, before snarling at the audacity the cultist was displaying.  Lucas considered himself quite tolerant of the other teachings in High Beacon, but to claim that chemical warfare was following the ways of Gireld...

“...That tears it, the diplomatic approach is officially off the table!  Why don’t you all just come out from this stupid fog and face me man to man, *sshole?”  

Anger blinding him, Lucas leapt out of cover, long sword eager to spill the blood of the speaker.  And in his rage, he failed to notice the dwindling temperature, and the sudden visibility of his breath.  Nor did he notice that as he leapt, there was a small ‘crunch’ as his feet landed, as the grass beneath him were beginning to freeze over.

Narrowing his eyes, Lucas let out a brief battle-cry as he swung his blade to the left at the sound of more rushing wind from behind, the air briefly becoming colder.  Slashing thin air again, Lucas scowled, reached into his pocket, and patted the signal stones within, then retreated several steps.

‘Guh, it’s not gonna do me any good to blindly attack what I can’t see! Lucas, think for a moment; just one good toss in the air, and Grace Peter’s will ring the bell, and soon enough this place would be swarming with Enforcers…!’  

Instinctively, Lucas took a swipe at his right side as the increasingly icy wind blew past him, only to meet no resistance.

‘...And given how these maniacs have been keeping me on my guard throughout all this, chances aren’t looking good I’ll be able to toss it before they catch on to what I’m doing .  Gotta find some way to get out of here, and--the h*ll?’  

Pausing mid-step, Lucas glanced downwards as the freezing grass beneath his feet became too loud to ignore.  It was then that he noticed how visible his breath was, and how cold the air had become.  Alarmed, Lucas wrapped his cloak tighter around him, and blew several times on his hands to keep them warm, his mind racing with the implications.

‘I KNOW it was NOT this cold a moment ago.  Do these guys have a Frost Recrafter or something?...No, no, if that was the case, then I’d already be frozen in place.  Great, that’s TWO things to worry about:  the guy who won’t show his face AND freezing to death.’

“Have you now begun to realize how pointless it is to struggle against the inevitable?”  Each passing line seemed clearer than ever; by now, the speaker might as well have been a mere meter away.  Yet, still, Lucas saw nothing, nor did the voice come from any one direction.

Clicking his teeth, Lucas considered his options.

‘Okay, I got two things creeping up on me, one of which is actively slowing me down, and I’ve got no idea why.  I already used my partial werewolf state yesterday, so that’s out.  Best option might be to get some answers out of these b*stards.’  Slapping a hand to his legs a few times to ensure his blood kept flowing, Lucas narrowed his eyes.

“So, you’ve been in a talkative mood this whole time; what’s with the frost and fog?  I know I’m getting some special treatment here compared the others you’ve attacked.”

Sending a chill down Lucas’ spine, his attacker (or at least the speaker) chuckled softly, the only sound to be heard the rest of that morning.  Despite the abundance of freezing water vapor in the air, the dryness in the laughter made it seem as if Lucas’ foe had only ever lived under a searing desert sun.  Or perhaps a dusty crypt, hidden from wandering eyes, would be a more apt way to describe it.  Each chortle seemed as if the speaker was choking on nothing but dry air.

“Hn-hn-hmmm...All will be made clear, Brother Vaulen.  In due time, all will be made clear.”

“So that’s it, then?  You seem pretty self-assured that I’m going down, and you’re not even going to gloat about it?”  

“...”

“I’m just gonna take that as a ‘yes’.”  

‘I’m gonna need to find some real cover.   Let’s see, I think the mill might be the one I saw up ahead of me before the fog rolled in, and I don’t recall seeing the entrance from my angle at the time.  In which case…’  Whipping around, Lucas sprinted as fast as he could away from the mill’s side.  After at least a dozen meters, he was forced to back away against a flurry of unseen claws dodging away from the occasional gust of wind, and blocking the claws of shrouded Lycanthropes that got too close.  

Then, at last, he heard it.

A proud gong that swept through the fog, for all to heard.  

The Calwill Bell had been rung.

Grinning in relief, Lucas pumped his fist into the air, just as he sided against a tree at the edge of the southern forest

‘About time!’  

He’d excuse the delay in reaction from Grace Peters, given that it was a colder time of the year. Fog HAD been known to occur naturally in High Beacon, so the Grace likely had taken some time to realize something was wrong.

‘Looks like I won’t have to worry about the light signal being intercepted.  Still can’t see too well what’s in front of me, but I think ma’ll be able to come up with something.’  Turning to face the tree, Lucas was about to start climbing when he glimpsed something alarming

Ice was beginning to form on his cloak, and was spreading far too fast to be natural.

Eyes widening, he immediately beat part of the cloak against the tree, trying to shake loose all the ice.  Dusting off the remains, he immediately searched for the cause, and barely saw something glimmer in the grass to his left.  

Whatever it was had created a small, dead circle of iced grass around it.  

Walking over, he reached down to pick it up - and immediately hissed in pain as sheer cold bit his fingers the instant he touched the object.  Immediately smacking the partially-frostbitten hand several times against his limited armor, his remaining hand used his long-sword to flick the object into a better view - and gasped, leaping as far back as he could.  The tip of his blade became glacial beyond repair the moment it made contact, cracks instantly forming from the abrupt nature of it all.  Getting as much distance as possible, his voice dropped to a shocked whisper.

“A Frigid Horn!!  Gireld’s moon, no wonder things have gotten so frosty!”  

Like all creatures that roamed the planet, Incarnations left behind things when they died.  The core of a Torch Phantom could be grounded into Searing Ash, and made for exceptional kindling; once the ashes had been separated, the Incarnation itself was effectively dead.  The glands of Fallback lizard’s could be drained, and when combined with other ingredients, the hallucinogenic juices within made for a well-known recreational drug, popular amongst hedonists and party-lovers.

The Frigid Horn was one such resource, taken from the remains of the Tundra Wraith:

The Incarnation of Cryophobia.  The Fear of the cold.

An apparition of sub-zero vapor, Tundra Wraith’s had only three parts of if that could be discerned with the naked eye:  the  floating ‘mask’ that seemed to make up its face, and the horns always spotted to the sides of the mask.  When slain, the mask shattered as if struck by hammers, but the horns remained long after, and were well-known for freezing over anything near them, dropping the surrounding temperature to dire levels.
Frankly, the Searing Core of a Torch Phantom was considered almost safe to handle in comparison.  A story from the far east told of a man from a coastal Haven who had accidentally stepped on a fragment, no bigger than an infant’s finger.  Less than four hours later, half his leg had become a sickening dark blue, and amputation had been swift.

Recalling instances when he had felt a swift wind fly by his face when the fog had first started appearing, Lucas’ eyes widened.  Rapidly looking around in panic, Lucas broke into a run, aiming for the bell he had heard, his speed and stamina lowering with each passing minute

‘These b*stards must have some kinda Veil that’s keeping them safe from the cold!  The times when I was attacked...they were using them as cover while surrounding the area with horns!  And those times when I thought something was about to jump me, those must have been the horns they used, zipping by my head!  They’ve been trying to keep me here while I exhausted myself!  We were set up!’

In his weakened state, Lucas felt the air leave his lungs when a large, beastial hand suddenly emerged from the fog and dealt him a blow to the stomach.  Kneeling over quickly, Lucas’ vision blurred as he hit the earth, his breath quickly becoming almost inaudible as unconsciousness drew closer.  Blinking weakly, the last thing he saw were two transformed werewolves emerging into view from the fog, flanking a withered old man who calmly stepped into view shortly afterwards.  Unable to see the man properly, the only thing Lucas could notice was the sunken, wrinkled skin, barely clinging to the tissue underneath.  Succumbing to the forces at bay, Lucas closed his eyes just as the ancient cultist spoke to his followers, and Lucas finally realized who had been speaking to him in the fog.

“The Enforcers will be arriving shortly.  Bind him, and let us retreat for for the moment.  Now then, Brother Vaulen, I wonder how well...you shall play your part.”