The Past is Never Dead

Chapter Five

The temple is large and expensively constructed. Upon entrance, the lanterns emit a dim light and the smell of poppy and rose wafts through the building. Large statues of both Decarys and Arigahard sit in the small corridor, both sided by bead-curtained doorways.

"Lady Merrick." A young woman bows her head respectfully, rearranging the plate of Decarys' offerings.

Lady Merrick smiles, "Brew some tea for the guests, Haven." The woman nods, retreating into a backroom.

Motioning for the group to follow her, Lady Merrick leads them into the only room that has a solid door. A desk sits next to the large window, stationed in front of a wall-length bookcase. The room is small and quite cluttered, but in a way that is not disorienting.

"Please sit." Two chairs sit in front of the desk and a sofa presses against the opposite wall. Macsen and Phigalia take the chairs, leaving the rest to sit upon the small sofa.

She clears her throat quietly, "I know Haven called my Lady Merrick, but please, call me Lleision." Her eyes trace the edges of a nearby book, The Sunder.

"Now, I'm sure you have questions." She tilts her head forward, inviting someone to speak.

"How does Gavin plan to kill us? Are we able to stop it?" Macsen raises the question, leaning back in his chair.

"He will exploit your weaknesses." Lleision fingers at the collar of her robe, "He's able to get into your mind and see your traumas, your regrets." She adds, her face remaining impassive.

"How does he exploit these weaknesses?" Phigalia asks, her leg shaking underneath the table.

"He will say things or produce images that cause you to recall whatever occurred," She explains, tapping the desk's surface with a purposeful rhythm, "I'm not yet sure how he does it but-" She's interrupted by the clattering of metal and ceramic echoing through the building. She stands from her chair, running her hands along the sides of her robe.

"Please excuse me." She rushes through the door, slamming it shut upon her exit.

Tension ripples through the air, the quiet crack of wood going unnoticed by the room's residents. Macsen stands from his chair, the others copying his movement almost immediately.

"We need to leave," He murmurs and rests his hand atop the handle of his blade, "I don't trust her."

"Why not?" Phigalia questions, but she seems to reciprocate his feelings.

He looks at her with a flint in his eyes, quickly looking away towards the other three. They walk towards him, their steps heavy with realisation. Kelric departs from them, though, nearing the door. He pushes against the knob, soon met with a strong resistance.

"We're locked in," He whispers, backing away from the door cautiously. The soft crackle of magic airs through the room, accompanied by purple, lightning-like tendrils shooting across Kelric's arms.

"Looks like we're fighting early today." Kissos smiles, cracking his fingers.

"We don't know that yet," Phigalia sighs, trying to serve as the group's voice of reason, "The door locking could've been an accident."

"How?" Macsen asks, keeping his eyes on the door. Phigalia doesn't respond, looking down to her boots.

Arken walks forward, moving past Kelric and to the locked door. Kissos moves away as well, lifting his hand to press against the window. Warmth spreads through the room, the tiefling's hand glowing a bright orange. Macsen walks closer and slips on a leather glove, familiar with his antics. He flexes his fingers as he heats the glass, testing it for any give. He frowns, moving away to allow Macsen to take the initiative.