The Consecration of the Cathedral (Shaka)

The sun hung low over the Varisian bay, the shadow of the Old Light hanging across the northern rise of Sandpoint and reaching out towards the Cathedral. The ruined tower of the ancient lighthouse hung picturesque against the warm purples, oranges and yellows of the sunset, and Shaka took in a deep breath and let it out as he watched the festival. Things had calmed down some - a great bonfire was waiting to be lit in the center of the main town square, and others had already cropped up in the nearby street intersections. The crowds had thinned - many of the foreigners already having packed up their wares and goods and retreated to their inns for the evening after a long and busy day.

This final part of the festival was for the locals, and the faithful. It had taken five years for Sandpoint to rebuild its church. The last had burned down, taking with it the previous religious leader of the community. Father Ezakien Tobyn had been a man entering the later stages of his life, but still had held the same confidence and sense of purpose as he had when Sandpoint was founded while he was still a younger man.

The chapel fire had marked the last in a series of horrible events which the Sandpoint locals only referred to as The Late Unpleasantness. It was something of a misnomer - it had started with the **** by apparent suicide of one of the local aristocrats. Rumour still held that Lonjiku Kaijitsu, the owner of the prosperous Glassworks, had had a hand in his wife's ****. Then, for a month, the town had been haunted by a serial killer. Twenty-five townsfolk, including the town's previous Sheriff, had died at the hands of local woodcarver Jervis Stoot. Shaka had only learned about the killing spree after the fact, or else he would have come south to help in the hunt. The woodcarver had once been an honoured, if quiet and shy, member of the community. Shaka could see around town where some of his now infamous carvings of birds had been scraped away from the eaves, doorsills and fenceposts of buildings lining the town square. Only the heroism of Sheriff Hemlock had brought the incident to an end.

Then had come the fire, claiming the chapel, Father Tobyn and his adopted daughter. It had spread to several of the other buildings of Sandpoint's Uptown before finally being fought down. A quarter of the town had needed rebuilding or repairs.

Shaka took another breath, and turned and placed a hand on the wall of the new Cathedral. Five years to plan and build. Funded by the town, and some gifts from the various networks of churches that were represented within. Shaka knew the church of Erastil in Magnimar had managed to put together a decent enough gift to aid in the construction. Apparently they hadn't been able to produce an acolyte to send along with it.

Of course, how could a church of Hunters and Farmers find many clergy in the midst of a trade city? Shaka shook his head. Abstalar - Father Zantus's - words still hung around his shoulders like a wet and heavy cloak. There was a flock of Erastil’s faithful here in Sandpoint, one in need of guidance. I was trained to do this, he sighed. But he also had a calling. Had, being an important word. Was keeping the Lost Coast road clear of bandits really the calling of a clergyman? Even one who served Old Deadeye?

Perhaps Erastil was speaking to him through Abstalar.

I'll need to pray, Shaka decided. He would spend time at the altar that had been set up in the Cathedral. He would make sure it suited his god, not just in appearance but in feeling.

"Perhaps," Shaka said quietly, patting the stone wall again. "Perhaps."

The crowd in the town square were singing a folk song, and Shaka let a smile slip onto his face as he turned back. Someone was bearing a torch as they paraded up to the bonfire, and with a whoosh the stacked wood took the flame and burst fresh light across the faces of the gathered goodfolk.

Father Zantus came out of the front entrance of the Cathedral, a smile of his own on his face as he saw the faithful and the happy townsfolk gathered for the ongoing celebration. He let the song run it's course, and then pulled out another of his thunderstones. Shaka moved up to the side of the stage, though remained apart - this ceremony didn't require his aid, and Abstalar had been working towards this moment for half a decade.

With a flick of his wrist, Father Zantus tossed the thunderstone down and it's boom cracked and echoed out over the town. The crowd got quiet, turning to him up on the stage.

"My dear friends," Zantus said, his voice carrying to the back corners of the square. "As we see this fine festival day coming to a close, I have the absolute pleasure to begin the consecration ceremony of our new-"

"AAAAIIIiieeeEEEEEEEE!" The scream ripped through the crowd, interrupting Zantus. Everyone spun, heads flailing as people tried to pinpoint the source. Suddenly more shouts, this time of surprise and pain, rippled through the crowd. Shaka, with his height advantage as he loomed over everyone else, saw a trail start to part in the crowd as people jerked away from a moving something. It burst out from the front of the crowd, a small dark shape scuttling quickly along the ground and diving underneath one of the nearby stalls that had been used all day for food.

"It's a goblin," Shaka called to Zantus, who was trying to maintain order in the crowd.

Shaka had left his axe inside the Cathedral, along with his pack. He pulled out his knife - it's size more like a shortsword in most people’s grips - and moved towards the stall. His blade was single edged and curved at the end, with a bronze knuckleguard equally capable of deflecting a blade and being used to deliver a hard punch. With all his time spent out in the hinterlands and travelling the roads of Varisia, Shaka didn't fuck with goblins. They were short little menaces that, in enough numbers, would be more than happy to strip a farming family literally down to the bones as they stole and consumed anything they could get their claws one.

He was ready to flip the stall over onto its side so he could find the blighter when another chorus of screams arose. And more. From the north towards the town gate. From the south, into Lowtown.

There was a clash of metal down a sidestreet.

"Fire!" Someone shouted.

Shaka looked out across the crowd as they panicked and ran, swirling in a mass like a school of fish attempting to avoid contact with anything around it. Goblins were crawling over the roof of the Jeweler at the north end of the square, jumping down and menacing folks with their razor sharp 'dogslicers', the blades they scavenged from refuse and carved into serrated needles. More came piling out of a house, bursting through the glass windows and laying about themselves with sticks.

With a roar, Shaka overturned the cart and stared down at the goblin that had been cowering underneath. It looked up, all of two and half feet, to meet Shaka's eyes eight feet from the ground.

"Grag ikik kazkaziki!" It garbled, and pointed it's blood-covered dogslicer up at Shaka while it gnashed it's sharp little teeth. Fire danced in it's beady black eyes.

Shaka kicked the dogslicer out of it's hand, scooped it up in his fist and threw the snarling goblin clear across the town square, over the heads of the quickly diminishing crowd, to splat against the wall of the Jeweler with a distant crunch among it's fellows. Those goblins that were quickly spreading out from their hiding place on that roof looked up at their comrade as he peeled off the wall and slopped to the ground, and they took a moment to begin howling with laughter before turning back to their chasing.

Taking stock quickly, Shaka saw Zantus at the doors of the Cathedral, holding them open for members of the crowd to flee into. Many of the townsfolk had already begun rushing deeper into the town - some to find loved ones and protect property, others to find weapons. A half-dozen men and women were fighting the goblins that had piled out of the house, using everything from swords to broken chairs. The goblins from the Jewelers were starting to spread out, and were moving towards the group of villagers and the chapel.

"Abstalar," Shaka shouted, pacing onto the steps of the Cathedral. He planted himself on the lowest step and held his knife in front of him, ready to meet the goblins as they bullied each other in preparation for a charge. A horrible, warbling song was piercing the evening air, sung from the lips of a half-dozen shrieking vocalists scattered across Uptown. Goblin Warchanters, spurring on the raid.

"Shaka?" Zantus called back from the big doors, the last of the nearby villagers scrambling inside.

"Fetch me my Ax."

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