The Pilgrimage (Journey)

The Cleric stood at the Milltown gates, the vast expense of the endless desert was before him, swirling dust demons obscured the horizon to the North where the Cleric was heading. Beyond the battle scarred gates the only distinctive feature that could be seen was the looming western mountains, despite their use as a landmark the jagged peaks did not comfort the Cleric, he had no wish to return there.

The Cleric wandered through the desert along a path vague to his eyes and mind but familiar to his boots. Always with the sun on his back and the mountains to his left he walked his mind wondering always what the path ahead held. Desert scorpions and zombies that had more than once proved deadly to the Cleric remained hidden from the scorching sun, in fact for the entire day the Cleric so no sign of man nor beast. If the desert sunset was spectacular the moonrise was even more so, especially as the soft glow illuminated signs of an ancient pathway partially covered by a recent sand storm. The Cleric strode on enjoying the cooler air and confident of his directions for the first time since leaving Milltown. The ancient road was firm under the Clerics boots, at first it traveled parallel the mountains before curving gracefully deeper into the deserts centre. The Cleric soon saw the vast ruins of the ancient temple hidden amongst the dunes. Eager to be below ground before the merciless sun rose again he hunted for the stair way amongst the toppled blocks and stone work.

Holding his Holy Ring aloft to light the stairwell the Cleric descended into the gloom. The Cleric relished a long unfelt emotion fear and trepidation. So long hunting in familiar surroundings had softened the Clerics memory. Many times Rotting Horde feeders had slayed the Cleric here when he was a newly anointed acolyte fresh from the desert temple. The Cleric froze in the darkness, a dull shuffling of heavy footsteps was approaching. The Cleric drew Radient Slayer a silently as possible and crouched in the darkness with a hammering heart, it came as a complete shock as the first rays of holy light illuminated the monster it recoiled as though burnt and fled deeper into the tomb. The Cleric pursued but soon realized he was lost in the dark and winding corridors. The Cleric crept softly but no monster attacked, despite this the Cleric was not comfortable, the tomb was huge and despite many stairways leading up the Cleric knew he had to descend much deeper. His time in the tomb had allowed the Cleric to distinguish between varying degrees of gloom that had at first seemed a deep blanketing darkness. In this particular room all light seemed to be sucked into a hole in the centre of the room to be replaced by an eerie chill. Edging closer to the hole the Cleric tried to discern what waited below but the thick black was impenetrable. Keeping a firm hold on Radient Slayer, comforted by its weight the Cleric lowered himself into the hole. Groping in the darkness not remembered since zombie hunting in Dundee many many marcs ago. The Cleric called upon Cory focusing his god given powers, his holy ring warmed slightly and burned brightly emitting a blinding light. The extra light merely showed the Cleric to be in a small dirty hole, a very incongruous start to the path to Aldwythe's Landing. Descending deeper the Cleric had to squirm through the small passageway before emerging into a large cavern facing a smelly lake shrouded in fog. Advancing stealthily, the Cleric had never seen such a gloomy place in all his travels, the fog traced itself over the Clerics face chilling and adding to the sense of foreboding he felt. This place was anything but holy and the land felt almost unwilling to let the living pass. Two figures emerged from the fog, the sight of two rag wrapped bodies by the edge of such an eerie lake made the Cleric fearful in a way he had never experienced before. Taking deep breaths to calm himself the Cleric approached and struckup a grunted conversation. After a brief haggle passage for the Cleric aboard a ferry was arranged to cross the lake. The fog was so thick and the stench so powerful the Cleric huddled in the bottom of the barge listening to the swish of the oars. Landing on a pier the Cleric quickly departed to put as much distance from the lake as possible. The fog was so thick the ferryman was soon invisible somewhere behind him, stumbling along a rough path the Cleric carried on hoping not to meet whatever was making the strange grunting noises that put the hairs on the back of his neck up but could never quite be glimpsed.

A pair of ominous gates appeared through the mist before the Cleric, the design appeared so ravaged by evil the Cleric thought a near continuous battle must rage to defend this passage. Despite this no guards could be seen as the Cleric passed through unharmed entering Aldwythe's Landing and gazed up at the huge tower that appeared to be standing sentry over the city with an expression of awe. Exploring passed as though a dream, a happy smile descended onto the Clerics face, after much time he decided to leave, even the lonely hunt in the western mountains did not fill the Cleric with despair that it did before setting off his faith renewed.

Passing back through the ominous gate the Cleric in a happy dreamland the Cleric wandered carelessly. A heavy shoulder met his own spinning him around. Looking at the bulky bundle of rags before him the Cleric was concerned, he had read the history of the city, here was some poor adventure looking for sanctuary. Reaching for his healing potions the Cleric approached. Greetings there, how may I assist you I can lead you to the city..? The Clerics sense of smell was first to warn there was something amiss, the same stench that had hung over the swamp was barely concealed by the rags. It was the stench of death. Alarmed the Cleric pulled back and reached for his hilt, he was to slow, a heavy hand grabbed his sword arm and held it in a vice grip. A dull rusty dagger emerged from a fold in the rags and slashed at the Cleric.

The Cleric came to in the endless desert slumped against the life monument that had returned him to Valorn. Dirty and exhausted but renewed of faith. Hauling himself to his feet the Cleric headed to Milltown to rest his pilgrimage over.

The Pilgrimage (Preparation)

Sitting huddled back in the western mountains as close to his little camp fire as possible the Cleric was despondent and lost in thought. He was listening to two of his guild mates making the journey to Aldwythe's Landing. The cleric held his head between his hands, ran his fingers through his unkempt beard and racked his brain. The lonliness of his location and his seemingly endless futile hunt was leading the cleric on the path to despair. The revelation came as a blast causing the cleric to rise to his feet despite the cold, Aldwythe's Landing, the location of Corys Tower. The answer to his problem became obvious, a pilgrimage to Corys tower, a journey into the unknown to refresh his faith and give him new energy for his ongoing hunt.

The cleric kicked some dirt over the little fire extinguishing it easily, groped around for his pack and shouldered the burden surprisingly easily for its weight. As he headed off a Centaur warrior unwisely took the clerics preoccupation with his new quest as a sign of potential weakness and charged into battle, the clatter of hoofs alerted the cleric but he knew his attacker to be weak. The cleric drew his long blade and stood his ground eyes dark with grim determination. The centaur’s nerve failed and tried to dodge to one side but was to slow. A casual swing of radiant slayer cut the centaur down, the excellent broadsword delivered a terrible wound that gushed with blood despite the cold. Momentum carried the corpse a few feet scattering some gold coins obviously robbed no doubt from some poor traveler. The cleric barely mumbled a few words for that victim’s soul and did not even stop for the gold. His eyes were fixed beyond the mountains blocking his view east to the desert where he knew his path lay, he adjusted his pack and lengthened his stride.

The trip through the mountains passed quickly, stepping over he ravine bridge the cleric he was nearly to the Endless Desert, he paused long enough at the mountain pass entrance throwing his gaze over the desert heat haze, seeking the ruined remains where he knew the entrance to the tombs lay. As he descended to the desert road the cleric basked in the bright sun, the weeks of chill began to retreat from his bones, a smile returned to the clerics face, no more searching through unworthy enemies corpses for rare treasures, he had a task, a pilgrimage to begin.

He had barely taken two steps north before sense returned to the cleric, weeks in the mountains had left him dirty, unkempt, and certainly he was in no fit state to present himself before one of his gods. A sigh of disappointment escaped the cleric’s mouth, he hated delay but he knew he would have to return to Milltown and take care of his appearance and supplies before he could begin his journey.

The bustle of Milltown seemed almost magical to the Cleric but he knew he must not tarry, first a visit to Venteli ensured the cleric would not starve before completing his quest. Secondly a visit to the blacksmith, the cleric watched fascinated and savoring the heat from the forge as Grinwhold worked. Broken links in the amour from enemy blows had pressed through onto the cleric’s skin causing small sores. The quality of his Holy Partial Plate however had turned aside all blows without so much as a scratch. Grinwhold offered to take a look at the cleric’s blade. Radient Slayer, although covered in gore needed no work, the weapon smith Sylent One was indeed skilled and although the cleric appreciated the offer he had vowed that no unholy hand would ever defile such a weapon, they would not be parted with until it was passed to a fellow cleric the way his Holy Battle Hammer Thunder had passed to his brother.

The sores reminded the cleric of his final task, he must refresh himself before setting out, his disheveled appearance was not fitting for his Holy quest. He greeted Shamson quietly leaving him tending to an unknown adventured before ducking through a small doorway to the back of the shrine. Within the holy area he bowed, bathed in holy light and rejuvenated his body. Very soon it was a very different cleric that departed the Milltown temple from the one that had emerged from the western mountains cold and bowed. The cleric stood proud, he was tall and lean with fine brown hair and eyes that reflected the excitement growing within him for the pilgrimage he was about to begin.

The Lonely Hunt

He huddled closer to the small fire and wrapped his Shimmering Ice Cloak tighter around his legs. Although the cloak provided an excellent barrier against enemy blades the glistening surface provided little comfort in the shrieking wind. He had been in the Western Mountains for what felt like weeks, he was tired and dirty and very very cold. Suddenly out of the corner of his eyes he spotted a red glow from behind a jagged section of cliff, he leapt up disturbing the light dusting of snow that had settled, focusing the power of his holy ring of light all cold and discomfort was replaced by a godly warmth infusing him with renewed vigor. He hurried towards the red glow with hope gleaming in his eyes.

The Magical amour that had once seemed sleek and deadly now appeared slow and lumbering, however his foe carried a prize that had led to the cleric to be huddled in the loneliness of the mountains hunting this elusive prey. He parried a clumsy strike and swung with Radiant Slayer, although there was no sign of damage experience had shown that no more than two good hits banished the ancient spell animating the amour and reduced the glowing enemy to scrap. After a second strike the amour faltered, stumbled and toppled, the red glow faded and eventually died. The cleric rummaged franticly through the now dull remains, the search ignited an excitement within the cleric the battle had not. The exhilaration died instantly and the biting cold returned with vengeance.

The cleric returned his blade in the scabbard, carrying the dull ancient crystal casually in
his other hand, the awe which they once instilled had long been replaced by bitter disappointment whenever he held one. He returned to his little camp, as expected the fire had died leaving the mountains looming ominously overhead. Knowing how rare the Crystal Guardian are and faced with the near impossible task of relighting the fire the cleric decided to travel the short distance to the nearest settlement Caernivale. He added the orb to his pack which already bulged with dull crystals before struggling along the treacherous mountain path.

Although the platinum they would bring brightened his mind another unsuccessful hunt meant the cleric new he was destined to return to his cold mountain spot before long and resume his lonely hunt.