Apostles of Doom

She blinked again as a half-orc about her own age came through the alcove’s archway, and then her eyes widened when she saw that the other side of the archway appeared to be the atunlit courtyard of a lightly fortified fort or keep. The half-orc coming through the door was wearing clerical attire — Tiernon’s robes and symbols — but they were of unusual design and color. Was that apostolic purple on the sash?

“Who goes there?” Karis demanded, holding up her ceremonial blade in defense.

The half-orc blinked a few times, his own eyes adjusting to the darkness of the chapel. “I am Teragdor al Tiernon, Apostle of Tiernon in Astlan.” He spoke haltingly, as if Nysegardean was not his first language. “I come seeking the assistance of those of the Five Siblings faiths in retrieving a Knight Rampant from Astlan, being held prisoner in Nysegard. Who am I addressing?”

She had been correct; the youth was wearing the colors of an Apostle of Tiernon, and claimed to be one. She shook her head. How long had it been since there had been an Apostle of Tiernon on the soil of Nysegard? Interestingly, the apostle’s surname was al Tiernon, meaning he had been a fosterling of the church. Not that uncommon, actually, when so many children had lost their parents to the Darkness.

“I am Karis Crooked Stick, Battle Priestess and Squad Leader of Tiernon upon Nysegard.”

“Battle Priestess?” The half-orc seemed puzzled at the title, and then seemed to do a double take. “Wait, did you say Crooked Stick? As in the orc tribe?” He peered at her more closely. “Are you half-orc?”

“Was it the name or my features that gave me away?” Karis asked.

“Both, I suppose. I have never met another priest of Tiernon who was also half-orc,” Teragdor replied. “So I suppose I was taken by surprise.”

“Well, in that case you are going swoon for Grob Darkness Slayer.” Karis snorted.

“Who is he?” Teragdor asked.

“He’s the Vicar General of the Citadel of Light, and a full-blooded orc,” Karis reported.

Teragdor’s eyes grew wide. “A full orc Vicar General of the Rod of Tiernon?”

Karis shook her head in puzzlement. “What’s a rod? He is the Vicar General of the Shield of Tiernon.”

“Is everything okay in there? a voice from the courtyard shouted in a rather hard-to-understand version of Nysegardean. “I told you, the Rangers should go first. If you are dead, Teragdor, I will not hear the end of it.”

Teragdor answered, speaking in his more understandable, accented Nysegardean. “I am good! I am simply speaking with Karis, Battle Priestess of Tiernon.”

“Battle Priestess?” A different voice said. There was some shuffling and an older human wearing the robes of an arch-diocate strode into the darkened chapel, peering at her.

“What is with you Tiernon folk? Do you all just go charging into the unknown with no thought for recon?” the first voice asked, the speaker now coming into focus in the archway. This gentleman appeared to be wearing the robes of an apostle of Torean. Two apostles and arch-diocate popping through a saintly gateway, as it surely must be — this was completely bizarre.

“Allow me the introductions,” Teragdor said. “Karis, may I present Arch-Diocate Iskerus of Norelon and Eastern Free Eton in Astlan.” He gestured to the arch-diocate, who nodded to Karis.

“Rasmeth, Apostle of Torean upon Astlan.” The apostle gestured at the latest individual to come through the archway.

Teragdor grinned at his colleagues and gestured to Karis. “Gentlemen, the Battle Priestess and Squad Leader, Karis Crooked Stick.”

“A Crooked Stick priest of Tiernon?” Apostle Rasmeth shook his head. “Strange bedfellows indeed.”

“I hope I am not late,” another individual coming through the doorway said.

“Not at all. Karis, may I present my patron saint, Saint Stevos Delastros, Patron Saint of Travelers of the Border Forests — and, apparently, Travelers of the Localverse!” Teragdor said.

Karis stared at the last entrant in shock. A saint? True Sight was adamant; he was clearly a saint. An actual Saint of Tiernon, in Nysegard? What momentous event had triggered such an odd company?

“We need to clear room for our Rangers to come through. I believe Inethya will also be joining us,” Rasmeth said making gestures for people to move out of the area in front of the archway.

Karis’s breath made an involuntary sucking noise; a gasp, she suspected, as she had never done such a thing before. “Did you say Inethya? As in the Divine Prophetess of Tiernon upon Nysegard?”

“Yes, yes, she prevailed upon Dashgar to allow her to join us,” Rasmeth said.

“I fear we are going to be testing the limits of Sentir Fallon’s restrictions on avatars in Nysegard.” Stevos grinned.

“Well, lad, fortunately as an avatar of Torean, I’m not bound by Sentir Fallon’s constraints, so I’ll be joining you as well.” A rough baritone voice chortled as a large, barrel chested human stepped through the archway.

“Well met, Timbly!” Stevos greeted the saint.