Apostles of Doom

It made quite a bit of sense to Hilda; the undead were far more active at night than during the day. Thus, if an attack were to come, it would most likely happen during the night. Vampires, vampyrs, specters and numerous other Unlife did not get along well with fierdlight, or atunlight in this case. Zombies and ghouls were, of course, fine during the light of day. Liches, while light sensitive, had magical protection, but tended to rely on armies and servants that shunned the day.

This should be an interesting adventure. Her specialty, of course, was Unlife. Fighting the Unlife was what had gotten her martyred and thus ascended. Her primary patronage was defense against the Unlife, her secondaries being women and children, so naturally, in many ways she should be right at home. She had studied extensively on the lore and how to defeat Unlife in saint school.

By and large, Unlife outbreaks in Astlan were not that common. The Knights Rampant were more than enough to deal with most cases. Hilda typically only had to intervene when someone was trapped, alone and in need of help against Unlife, much as she herself had been when she died.

The Ranger leading her stopped at a good-sized, iron-banded wooden door and knocked. A voice from within called, “Come in.” The Ranger opened the door and stuck his head in. “Saint Hilda of Rivenrock, Your Holiness.”

“Excellent. Send her in!” a second, deeper and louder voice exclaimed. The Ranger stepped back and motioned for Hilda to enter.

She entered the room, her guide closing the door behind her. Sitting at a table strewn with various maps were Stevos and Timbly. Both men stood as she entered, and Hilda noted them eyeing her picnic basket.

“Hilda? Did you bring some of your delicious wine?” Timbly asked with great anticipation.

“Of course. You do not think I would arrive empty-handed, do you?” Hilda asked.

“Thank Tiernon and Torean! The wine here is only a step or two above Murgatory,” Stevos exclaimed.

“Where do you get such delicious wines?” Timbly asked as Hilda set the basket on an empty chair. Stevos cleared the maps so that Hilda might set bottles and glasses on the table.

“Historically, I have simply accumulated interesting wines as I found them, and kept them in my wine closet,” Hilda told them. “However, as this mission goes on, my closet has become increasingly bare, so I’ve taken to scouring the wine purveyors of Freehold. Fortunately, given that Beragamos also has an exquisite palate, he has taken to approving my expense reports.”

“I suspect Moradel and Sentir would as well.” Stevos grinned.

“Indeed, yet even they must follow at least some protocols. Beragamos, on the other hand, answers only to our lord god.” Hilda smiled back as she uncorked the first bottle.

“I suspect he would also approve your expense reports,” Stevos said, waving the cork beneath his nose for the aroma and with his thumb. He checked the moistness of the cork. It was important that the cork be sufficiently moist to guarantee that bottle had been stored on its side and not upright. Further, by examining the dust lines on the bottle, one could hopefully make some determination of periodic rotation. One wanted to ensure that the bottle had properly settled, yet not in any way separated.

Hilda began pouring the wine. “I should so pray,” she said, grinning at the two of them. She finished pouring and took a seat, as did the other two.

Hilda raised her glass in a toast. “To our mission! May the grace of Tiernon and Torean be with us!”

“To our mission; may Grace be with us!” the other two saints agreed in response, all three clinking their glasses.

“So what progress?” Hilda asked after taking a sip. She smiled slightly, enjoying the flavors of the wine. It was exactly as she had hoped.

“Interesting,” Timbly said.

Hilda looked at him questioningly. “Not quite the response I was expecting.”

“It is slow going, even with Inethya here,” Stevos replied, shaking his head.

“How so? We do not require that much,” Hilda said.

Timbly sighed. “Apparently things are a bit bleaker here than they have been in centuries.”

“From what I’ve heard of this place, I find that disturbing,” Hilda said.

“Indeed,” Stevos agreed. “The High Pontificate of Tiernon upon Nysegard, Sessblame, perished about six months ago.”

“Of decidedly unnatural causes,” Timbly said, raising his eyebrows while preparing to take a sip of wine.

“Quarter-months or full months?” Hilda asked.

“Month months. Nysegard only has a single moon,” Timbly said.

“A single moon?” Hilda asked in consternation. “I would think that would be highly unstable. How could you balance the masculine and feminine astrological influences?” She shook her head. “I’d be terrified of the moon plunging into the planet’s surface!”

Stevos shook his head. “I know! But for some reason, it is apparently stable. I cannot explain it, but then astrology has never been my strong suit. It’s all science to me!” He waved his hands dismissively.