Nowhere in particular

The shocking events of the past several minutes leave you in a daze and you find yourself wandering about, wherever your feet take you. Doom Keep is the oldest part of the fortress, and though it was made of the sturdiest materials of it day, the real defense of the fortification was fear. Fear of the Dark Wizard. Even after the untimely **** of the sorcerer, people never thought to venture near the place; and it stood for a long time as a towering bastion of power. This was not to last however, and eventually minor nobles and would-be warlords sought to claim the Keep as their own. It was then that your ancestors turned towards more conventional defenses for their home.

A tall curtain wall was constructed a good distance away from the Keep itself, leaving much room between the two for all of the standard facilities. Army barracks, stables, grain and food stores, training facilities, a workshop and all the rest were constructed behind the protection of the wall. For nearly a millennia the fortress stood as such, unchanged and unopposed. Battering rams could not breach the gate-house, nor could catapults or ballistae reduce the curtain wall, and people began to believe The Spire invincible.

It was only with the invention of the trebuchet that a siege posed any sort of real threat. After a series of massive battles, the last of which almost saw the fortress fall, the Von Doom's nearly bankrupted the whole of the south by building a second curtain wall across the entire shoreline of The Spire. It took centuries to complete; however, when it was done attack from the sea was futile. Further, with only a narrow winding roadway to the east, setting up siege weapons became impossible. When the first king of Itheria launched a campaign to take the south he attacked with over a hundred thousand men and lost nearly all of them against a defending **** of less than a thousand.

Indeed it earned its reputation as Unassailable.

In the years since peasants flooded toward the mountain. They erected homes, shops, businesses, temples, and even small farms behind the shoreline wall; slowly, the White Spire shifted from being a fortress to being a city.

Now, it is your city.

Absentmindedly, you stroll the streets for quite some time, going wherever your feet take you. Upon seeing your vestments, the people bow their heads and step out of your way as you move about the town. You doubt they recognize exactly who you are, though some certainly do; most likely they simply register you as more important than them and move aside. A curiosity touches your mind and you wonder if northern nobles move about their towns and villages as you do. You've heard that they don't, not without escorts at least, and that seems both strange a silly to you. If they cannot step outside of their own homes without fear of **** or theft are they really lords and ladies of their own lands?

You're not sure how long you walk, trying to distract your mind and clear your head, but eventually you end up in the most confounding of places. The fortress itself is behind you (to the east), and you stare west at a towering cathedral of polished marble and shining gold. White-stone statues of robed men and women with feathered wings and open arms look down on you inviting you in, while religious symbols and a gentle hymn coax you further. You've never been inside a temple of the northerners' god before, and curiosity gets the better of you.

The Order of Holy Light is a somewhat recent addition to the south. Missionaries have been in the Frostpeaks for centuries, but they never made any sort of real ground in conversions. Most southerners tolerate the presence of the monks but almost no one seriously accepts their doctrine as truth. In fact the only tangible success the Order ever had was when your great-great grandfather loaned it land in the city proper to construct their cathedral. This was done in acquiescence to his wife, who was a follower. Even then new converts were few and far between, and to this day nearly all of the Frostpeaks' population believe in The Pantheon. As do you.

Upon entering you notice a handful of worshipers, but what really strikes you is the architecture. Arched white-stone columns line the length of the nave between the aisles, while rich mahogany pews sit in rows up to the alter. Dim light shines in through expensive stained-glass windows set high along the walls, and masterfully woven, hand-carved, religious depictions are engraved into every facet of the holy site. Vibrant gold inlaid with precious gems are worked into gorgeous patterns along the walls. From the inside the entire structure seems devoted to display the wealth of the Order rather than any religious doctrine, but then you've always found the northerner's god more concerned with amassing material wealth than delivering any sort of spiritual guidance.

"Mmm..." you hear from beside you, "What do we have here?"

You turn to see a lithe woman, somewhat older than you, clad in loose, nearly transparent, cream colored cloths. She has long, wheat-colored, hair that descends to her slender backside. Her hips are narrow, and her bust is considerably less than impressive; her arms and legs are slimmer than they should be for a woman her size, yet somehow don't seem unhealthy. Her face is long but pleasing to the eye; and although she looks human at a glance. you can't help but notice her pointed ears part the mane of her hair. Her features are too human to be full-elven, but if she was you doubt she would be at the Spire.

She approaches you with a grace that reminds you of your mother, but she lacks the curvaceousness in her form and, as a result, you find her underwhelming. She is attractive to be sure, but she is not the alluring vixen that you left a while ago. "I haven't seen you here before." She says as she stops in front of you, her eyes inviting.

Her hand reaches out and gently grazes the leathers over your chest in a way that would make other men tremble with lust. Instead, you straighten and steel yourself at her indiscretion and it clearly catches her by surprise. She pauses and studies you for a moment, but does not remove her hand. Her expression is one of curiosity, and examination. You're about to reprimand her for her inappropriate conduct when a booming voice from near the alter grabs both of your attention.

"SISTER LYDIA!" an old woman calls out, quite perturbed, as she storms down the aisle, "Remove your hand this instant!"

Revered Mother Beverly barrels towards you at a brisk pace. You have met the woman on several occasions and have always found her to be highly regimented and very strict. There's no doubt in your mind that if you stuck her in the army, teaching new recruits, you'd have the most disciplined **** in all of Motania inside of a month.

Although the inner workings of The Order of Holy Light remain a mystery to you, you have gathered that each church operates like a household. First and foremost is the "Holy Father"; as head of the house, Father Landon sees to: the sermons, the confessions, the indoctrination, and the ceremonies of the order. He is responsible for administering to 'the spiritual health and righteous commune' of his flock. He is also the one you are most familiar with, as he is the 'face' of the church at the Spire, and sits on your council.

That was another acquiescence on the part of your great-great grandfather.

The second person of note is the "Revered Mother". While the Father looks after the spiritual well-being and moral fiber of the congregation, the Mother looks after their physical needs. She often directs the order's charitable drives for such things as food, clothing, and shelter. The Father assists with these tasks, as the Mother does the same for the Father's duties. Apparently, she must also see to the discipline of the house.

Like lightning, the half-elf drops her hand from your chest and she looks down as the Revered Mother comes to a stop in front of you. The older woman looks sternly at the younger, her eyes not stifling her anger. "This one," she states tilting her head in your direction, "is not of our order. You will return to your chambers and attend your duties to the congregation." Her tone is harsh and, surprisingly, even you fight back a flinch. "Until such time as His Grace decides to convert to the Holy Light, You. Will. Keep. Your. Hands. Off. Do I make myself clear?"

Her eyes still on the floor, the blonde girl nods and meekly states "Yes Revered Mother."

"Dismissed." The old woman says with contempt before turning to you and you find yourself preparing for a battle. Revered Mother Beverly has never been too fond of you.

"I apologize on her behalf Your Grace." the Revered Mother says with a deep breath. "Sister Lydia is still somewhat new to our parish."

"That's alright Revered Mother. I too am... unfamiliar with your ways."

"All the more reason for the importance of decorum." She states haughtily. "We shan't wish newcomers misconstrued."

You nod once accepting that answer. You're momentarily distracted as you see Sister Lydia lightly tap one of the few people in the building on the shoulder. He's a man, you'd judge about thirty or so, and she whispers a few words that you can't quite hear. The man subtly confirms something with a tilt of his head and the two make their way towards a door at the side of the hall. Out of curiosity you ask, "Just what are Sister Lydia's duties around here?"

The Revered Mother's eyes narrow, as though you just asked a damning question she would rather not answer. "Sister Lydia administers to the physical needs of the clergy and congregation." She explains without answering the question. "Indeed her services are to extend to all true believers."

"So the sisters serve the physical needs of your followers." The Mother grimaces at your interpretation. "But what does that mean exactly?"

"Not all sisters provide the same service." She clarifies. "Though they all share the same general duties, each one's failings determine them for a different path."

"Failings?"

"Forgive me Your Grace but was there a reason for you coming here?" Mother Beverly asks with a huff, changing the subject.

"Not really." You admit, "I was just out-and-about."

She regards you quizzically for a second before saying, "And your feet brought you here? Perhaps the Lord wishes you to walk the Path of Light after all." The last has an edge of condescending humor to it.

You consider leaving at that point when suddenly you ask, "Has sister Cynthia returned yet? I would like to have a word with her."

The Revered Mother looks confused for a moment before she answers, "Ah! Cynthia is an initiate Your Grace, not a sister. But yes, she is here. I believe she was quite upset however, and may not wish for company." You give her an unswayed look and she continues with some venom, "Although if you insist, proceed right through that hallway," she directs you to the door which sister Lydia and the unknown male parishioner entered, "and her chambers will be the third door."

You nod curtly to the old woman, "My gratitude Revered Mother." And move for the door.

The corridor spans the length of the cathedral, and is illuminated by many candles along the walls with only two stained-glass windows at either end granting natural light. The rich decorations seem to be reserved for the main hall as all you find past the door are brick and mortar with some wooden beams. Stairs at one end ascend to a second level that you cannot see, but you get the feeling that the more important members of the church reside higher up.

It's a trifle short distance to where the Revered Mother directed you, but as you approach the door to Cynthia's room, you hear lightly muffled moans come from further down the corridor.