Vraxious- Hopes End
It took some real teamwork, but with the help of a slightly stolen live chicken and a lot of elbow grease, Vrax and Torvald managed to stuff the Dreadfeast back into its box, where it would stay to grumble at them while they were in town. Vrax might do some irresponsible shit, but he wasn’t going to do it on what was basically his porch.
Their first intended stop was, of course, to the chapel; Vrax wanted to touch base with his father. They sauntered up to the surprisingly low wood and stone wall that hedged in most of Hopes End. Gregory was leaning up against the gatehouse with a pipe nestled in his lips and puffs of purple-black smoke curling around his bearded features.
“There he is, you know. Solara told me about you two and a blood mage tormenting the shit out of some knights at the arena! Gods, I wished I could have seen it; some of my funnest nights were in the dragon’s maw.” Gregory happily prattled at them, a bemused expression across his face.
“Good to see you too; glad you healed up!” Vrax joked as he and Torvald took turns giving Gregory a warm handshake.
“Bah, try me again some time, newbie. I heard you have a plant monster now that might actually survive for an exchange or two.” Gregory said with confidence, blowing a smoke ring at Vrax.
Vrax smiled, a wicked expression crossing his face. “Happily! I would love to show one of my most respected teachers how I am developing as an adventurer.”
A look of mistrust and concern furrowed Gregory's brow. “Sure you would…just know whatever you bring out is going back in small pieces.” Gregory meaningfully whirled his pipe in the air without touching it.
“If we start with the feet, the rest of the meat will stay fresh!” A cold, calculating voice came from the box.
“Shhh...later, buddy. Gotta get Martha her honey first.” Vrax whispered to the box while keeping eye contact with Gregory.
“The fuck?” Gregory looked at the box.
“Don’t even ask…” Torvald grumbled, giving Gregory a pat on the shoulder and heading into town to attend to his own errands before he and Vrax met on the edge of town later.
“Just one of those new tricks you plan to chop up into fine pieces,” Vrax said slyly and started pushing the box into town.
Vrax took his time walking down the worn but well-maintained street. Gazing fondly at the one- and two-story stone buildings jammed together, built in a simple but very stout style with thick bricks nearly the size of a hay bale framed by dark, unchanging wooden beams. The buildings would outlast most of the town's residents, and that was saying something considering the number of people here that could easily expect to see over three hundred years of age. He paused briefly as the buildings became less packed and Abernathy’s fine home loomed just before the city square proper. The prized hedges his manor hid behind had been painted with a dark green that had flecks of pink peeking through the peeling paint. Ha, I should fix that eventually, but him being vain enough to paint the damn things makes me want to wait a bit longer… Vrax couldn’t help himself; he stopped slyly near the edges of the hedgerow and channeled adapt into it. The pink peeking from beneath the paint now had a garish neon glow to it.
He moved on from the hedgerow into the town square proper. There was still some scarring on the ground from his scuffle with Gregory, but the market stalls were all back in order, and the place was full of townsfolk selling their wares and a good amount of Forsaken Lands delvers shopping around before marching into the unknown. Vrax was going to skirt around the edge of the market with his box and go straight to the chapel when someone was suddenly behind him; a firm, threatening hand landed on his shoulder, and the scent of sweetened apples filled his nose.
Martha leaned in behind him. “Oh deary, I’m so glad you came to find me. Does that box have my honey?” Her words were said with such sweetness that anyone overhearing them who didn’t know her was oblivious of the danger Vrax was in.
“My darling Martha! I’m so glad I found you!” Vrax lied through his teeth as he turned to face her, a hostage's smile plastered across his face, and he dabbed a drop of sweat from his brow. “The honey will be in your hands soon, Martha. I would never be such a knave as to ignore my promise to you. Torvald and I just had to get a couple levels under our belt before we got it...for you....” Vrax trailed off as her disapproving scowl deepened.
“Alright, hunny. I know you are true to your word and wouldn’t dare to leave town again for any other reason; we both know I could find you anywhere you hid.” She gave a grandmotherly laugh and booped him with far more force than necessary on the tip of his nose. “Off with you now.” She made a shooing motion and walked back to her cart of confections.
Vrax didn’t question it and fled from the market. I've got to get that honey, or I'm going to get baked into a damn meat pie. He took the road from the market straight to the end, where the chapel and stables buttressed up against the city walls.
Vrax stopped dead. William was standing on the stone chapel steps arguing with a pair of men in official-looking uniforms. One was a fat sweaty man whose chins had chins and an undersized mustache in the red and gold colors of the duke. The other was a willowy, neat man with dead eyes who wore the pressed white robes of the church of Rembrand. They both nervously looked from him to the glowing gulper plant that had its malformed, bulging eyes locked on them. The words I eat tax collectors written across its torso-sized pot. Oh shit...I forgot I made that thing shiny, and I guess I gave it eyes? On my last night in town...also that thing is way too big now…
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The plant behind William stood even with him in height now, counting the pot, and was starting to have secondary inverted bell-shaped buds forming off the main plant. The trio were starting to really raise their voices now, and Vrax noticed a few town guards edging towards the scene protectively, hands near weapons. The stable master across the way had come out onto her porch, bow in hand, her pair of hellhounds snarling in the direction of the argument.
“All unaffiliated churches must pay their fair portion to the orders they represent!” The duke's tax collector warbled loudly, flailing a meaty hand towards William.
“Well, I have happily paid all the orders we represent here,” William countered, anger rising in his voice.
“Our records show that a shrine to Rembrand was placed here eleven years ago, and we have not received a single tribute from this church.” The willowy priest calmly added, reviewing a ledger he held in his hands.
“Huh, that’s a shocker! But as you can see, obviously it never made it. Maybe they placed it somewhere else. You know how paladins can be so forgetful and clumsy at times. William broadly gestured at the open door where all the shrines were located just inside.
“This is unacceptable!” The tax collector shouted.
“Your fat ass trying to strong-arm gold out of me is what’s unacceptable. Calm yourself before you have a fucking coronary, and they try and blame that incompetence on this fine chapel too.” William said deadpan and then poked the man in his belly.
Scattered laughter echoed from around the argument. The pair of representatives looked around, finally realizing how many eyes they had drawn.
“You are allowed religious freedom by the king’s law, but that doesn’t grant you the right to bar an approved church from having representation in your chapel.” The willowy man said he pulled a small statue of the bowing man from his side satchel.
“You are more than welcome to go add it,” Willian said with a sneer and stepped aside. The gulper plant kept thrashing right next to the doorway, leaning perilously towards the pair, who both took an involuntary step back.
The willowy man looked like he was about to try and make it past the gulper with the statue when Vrax’s box of horrors decided to join the debate. A dwarven voice thick with accent and liquor echoed from the box loudly, “Rembrand? Oh, he’s that pissy deity that every money-obsessed lord who needs help washing his own arse likes. Don’t suggest him for anyone with a working brain or prick.”
The willowy priest whirled around, mana flashing on the tips of his fingers, his eyes literally alight with rage. “Who dares speak ill of my lord in my presence!” He was so angry spittle shot from his lips.
The fat man put a hand on his shoulder. “Calm the hell down; that’s not why we are here.” The priest slapped his hand aside and stormed down the stairs toward Vrax.
“Was it you, you godless filth?” he spat out as he got within a few strides of Vrax
“I mean, technically no, but it’s not like I disagree.” Vrax countered; he shouldn’t be pushing this man, but fuck him, this was his home. William and half the surrounding townsfolk tried to stifle laughs. The stablemaster didn’t even try, letting out a barking laugh, half wiping a tear from her eye, and then dramatically pulling her bow back to a full draw with the creak of strong wood.
“I think it’s time you left.” The stable-master rasped out her weathered skin and bright eyes, a sharp contrast to the immaculate presence of the priest she stared down.
The priest ignored her, stepping in closer to Vrax threateningly, then turned back to William, his eyes still smoldering with hate. “You are a filthy disgrace to priests everywhere. You and this entire town of faithless, hateful scum need to learn your place.” He turned back and spat on Vrax’s shoes.
Williams expression hardened as the priest spat on Vrax. “First, I’m not a fucking priest...I’m a cleric...sort of... Secondly, if you touch my boy again, I'm going to burn you alive where you stand and bury both your fucking bodies out in the forest.” The tax collector started sputtering; the priest held his gaze, starting to form the idea of a spell in the mana around himself.
Vrax broke the tense silence. “Dad, there is no need for that! He's just upset about the fact my god is better than his!” William lifted a curious eyebrow at that comment; the priest simply flashed an identify at him.
“You are a paladin boy? Why would you dare speak such heresy in the presence of another holy class? What god do you serve? I don’t recognize your order!” The priest was now even angrier than he had been before, if slightly confused, still on the verge of lashing out.
“Oh, heresy is kind of my thing. Hell, I have a whole box of it.” Vrax joked and slapped the top of the Dreadfeast's box.
The priest began forming a vile ball of red light in his hand, ready to strike Vrax. Vrax dropped his cloak and summoned his armor, ready to apparently come to blows with the priest. He was just about to slap a hand on the box to open the “Box of Heresy” and really start things with a bang before the priest suddenly came to his senses, realizing how close to being killed he was as the surrounding townsfolk were drawing weapons and more than one spell began being channeled around him. He let his arms drop, the spell sputtering out with an uncomfortable buzz.
“I will remember you, boy, Vrax, and your love of heresy.” He paused, looking around hard at the surrounding crowd before pulling an ornate gold and silver scroll from the same pouch the statue had come from.
The priest unfurled the scroll with a wicked smile; the magical seal, when broken, projected a spinning sigil of Duke Dermit, the roaring bloody lion, in a dramatic magical mirage to affirm that this message was from their lord.
“Message from your lord delivered by myself, Kelis, honored and trusted priest of Rembrand. I, lord of this land, proclaim the start of the fourth crusade against the horrors that lurk within the forsaken lands to push the system-bound borders back and protect the sanctity of our lands. The paladins of Rembrand will carry out this task for us in the name of their god and with my authority.” The priest loudly proclaimed to the surrounding townsfolk with a sick satisfaction as he saw the angered faces around him dwindling to dread as they realized the severity of what he had just said.
“How long?” William boomed from the stairs.
“Soon,” Kelis said smugly and turned sharply, walking away from the church.
The quivering mass of blubber ran up behind him to catch up, turning to address William, “And don’t think the fact you threatened representatives of the duke and, by proxy, the king will be ignored.” He stated in a haughty, out-of-breath voice.
The townsfolk nearby gave each other knowing looks as if something long considered but only spoken in hushed whispers had been decided; no one put away their weapons.
“Run, little piggies, run. I love the taste of fear and the screams on the edge of life and death.” Echoed from the box in a voice so low, so dark, and joyfully full of malice that even the priest paled.