024 – Ashakir II: The Temple of Storms

020 – Ashakir II: The Temple of Storms

“—The Varrans are beginning to view us as demigods. To this I say: what is a demigod but a god made flesh? Who are we to say that these NPCs—these human beings—are incorrect in their worship? You know as well as I do that death comes for us all, even for those of us whose magics free them from the mundanity of common physics. Free from the ravages of time. But what if I—we—could change that?”

—[TheZeusIsLoose], Lord of Olympos [godz], to [—YOU ARE NOT MEANT TO KNOW YET, DEAR MORTAL MINE—].

The Temple of Storms sat upon the Hill of Ashak like a crown made of marble-white bone and astonishingly beautiful blue stone. Ai paused at the base of the final flight of stairs up to the Temple, briefly caught off guard by the disconnect between her memory of the place and its reality.

The Temple turned out to be a temple to Resh, whose name she was more familiar with as the Varran god of Seas, Storms, and Plenty. In fact, she was familiar with this very same temple—obvious, in hindsight, but she rather thought she could be forgiven for her mistake given how much things had changed.

Back then, it had been a squat, miserable thing of gray stone, barely large enough to shelter thirty or so people from the rain. As the years had passed and the Titanomachy commenced, the settlement had grown into what one might charitably call a town, or even a small city—and the Reshic temple had grown in suit.

But the structure before Ai was far beyond any of that.

It was evocative of the Parthenon from Earth’s antiquity, but the structure itself was rounded, carved into stone as though it was set into the very structure of the Hill. Massive columns were painted a vibrant, electric cobalt that seemed to hum in contrast against the stark white pediment. Geometric detailing, carved with obsessive precision, spiraled up the pillars in alabaster patterns that mimicked the chaotic fractals of lightning arcing through the clouds.

“It’s breathtaking, isn’t it?” Sari said, standing a step behind her. “The blue paint is supposed to all be crushed lapis. No expense spared, as the stories say.”

The Temple’s appearance wasn’t the only thing different from what Ai remembered.

Starting partway up the Hill, there had been drums of all the shapes and sizes mounted along the sides of the winding path that led up to the Temple of Storms. In fact, once Ai started looking, she quickly realized that they weren’t just along the path, but placed innocuously in every corner of the Hill. There were small metal drums mounted on balconies and window sills, wyrmbone drums placed on poles in front of houses, and even stone drums that seemed to function on a weave of [Elastic-Tension] and [Beating-Stone].

Though they were all different, they shared one key similarity: their beating seemed to be in a sort of synchronized rhythm that propagated outward from the Temple above, rippling towards Ashak Bay and beating in time like the aftershock of a giant’s heart. This boded well for her search, Ai thought.

Ai and Sari ascended the last few steps to the Temple, the gentle beating of the drums surrounding them.

As they neared its massive bronze doors—these with a more aquatic focus, etched with depictions of waves crashing against jaggedly stylized rocks—a figure emerged from the shade. He was a young man, clad in the angular robes of a junior priest of Resh. His head was shaved smooth, save for a single braided lock behind his left ear, and his face bore an expression of practiced, desperate eagerness. He must have spotted Sari’s Aspirant robes as they were coming up the stairs and had lied in wait, Ai realized. Being able to serve a Karravar Aspirant like her would have represented a rare opportunity for social mobility.

“Greetings! Salutations! May the winds act as a gentle hand at your back!” The priest bustled forward, his hands clasping and unclasping in front of his chest. He bowed low—much too low to be proper—his nose coming so close to the floor he probably could have hoovered up the salt and dust in his vicinity all in one go.

“I am Meeol, a humble servant of the Darra’esh. It is a profound, nay, a staggering honor to welcome a burgeoning Karravar such as yourself to the House of Resh.”

It was a wonder he wasn’t staggering from how low he was bowing. Ai looked at Sari as she blinked wordlessly, clearly bemused at his posturing.

“And the Karravar’s companion! Good day, milady. Might you be a karra yourself?” Meeol’s voice was extremely irritating, a whiny, squeaky sort of nasality to his enunciation. His eyes darted down, landing on Aru. The lizard-dog was panting happily in the shade of Ai’s cloak, his tail thumping a rhythmic beat against the stairs.

Meeol’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of feigned apology. “Ah. I must implore your forgiveness, wise one, but in order to maintain the sanctity of the inner hall, beasts are strictly prohibited. Surely you understand.”

Ai felt a spike of irritation despite herself. Aru wasn’t a beast.

Aru, sensing the tension, let out a loud, dramatic harrumph. He shook his head, ears flapping, and trotted purposefully away from the doors. He found a shady spot under one of the cobalt pillars, circled around a few times to find a comfortable position, and flopped down with a heavy sigh, his chin resting on his paws. He glared at Meeol and harrumphed again.

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“It… it seems quite intelligent,” Meeol stammered.

“More intelligent than you.” Ai muttered under her breath. Nobody insulted her dog like that. Sari sighed and diplomatically gestured to the doors.

“Well then. Meeol, was it? Would you please show us around?”

“Of course! Of course, my Lady Aspirant, of course!” At that, Meeol scrambled inside, ushering them into the cool, incense-laden gloom of the Temple.

The Temple interior was a vast space, even more spacious than the exterior had suggested, dug into the Hill as it was. The roof was high enough that Ai had to narrow her eyes to make out details painted onto the ceiling, a continuation of the lightning and wave motif from outside. The air inside the Temple felt alive, somehow energized and charged, smelling of incense, ozone, and brine.

And all throughout the space reverberated the [Heart].

Th-thump. Th-thump.

At the center of the space were a pair of statues, which had to be the Storm Twins. Meeol immediately launched into his spiel, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

“You stand in the, ahem, beating heart of Ashakir itself! Here, through supplication of the Twins, mighty Resh, Formless and Ferocious, is beseeched for the Three Great Mercies: the Tranquillity of the Storm, the Bounty of the Deep, and Safety from the Seawyrm.”