The War For The Pallid Throne

Leviathan Sitis, Claw of Ursa Minor

You say that a Resonant can experience the memories of their victims? Apparently, there is more hidden in one's tendons and muscle fiber than I thought. Truly, what an absurd notion. To think that a man can learn of the women I've bedded just by tasting my wrist. These Resonants and the Great Devourer you speak of are nothing more than fairytales written by madmen. That fools such as yourself choose to believe in these things is an obvious reflection of your upbringing. Saint Iranol is a star, nothing more.    

5

Felix jolted awake. There was something in the walls that howled. A lonely cry that echoed like a lost whale in a vast ocean. It made the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

This place wasn't like the dungeon cells in Bruma's capital or the scum-covered sheets of that sleazy tavern on fourth street. No, this place was dark, and the walls seemed to heave, warm and moist. The Astralarium stood at the bottom of a tremendous chasm. So deep was the gorge that light faltered, forming the abyss. It took him two days to get to the bottom.

The scholars of the sunken valley brought him and four others to the edge of that ravine nearest a narrow winding path that led into the darkness below. They gave each a mule, three cantinas of water, a bushel of grain, and a blindfold.

"You have to learn to see without the light," they said, tying the scarf around Felix's head.

"But how am I to find the way?" Felix asked. "What if I fall?!"

"Trust the mule," Ilene whispered in his ear. "And whatever you do, don't remove the blindfold."

She'd been repeating that since his pilgrimage began, since she revealed the scar across her face and the kinship they shared in Saint Iranol's betrayal.

"This is ridiculous." Felix shook his head, remembering how the scholars stood on the streets of Bruma preaching like madmen.

"If you wish to turn back, now is the time," Ilene said.

"Screw it. I've come this far." Felix held the reins of that mule tight, stepping away from the edge.

A leap of faith, that's how it started, and, for some, that's how it ended.

Only four of them descended. The fifth threw his blindfold in the dust.

"No way in hell am I trusting some beast over my own two eyes," he spit, leaving them behind and never looking back.

Felix had half a mind to join him, but there was something here that stayed his hand. A voice coming from the throat of the world itself. It was like a familiar tune dancing at the tip of a bard's tongue or the sound of his mother's voice repeating god's blessing.

"When the path leads you astray, Saint Iranol will know the way."

No, mother, you're wrong. Felix thought, wishing he could tell her that.

Thankfully, Ilene was right. The mule seemed to know the way. Felix stuck close to the beast's side, his hands growing steady on the reins. Something was oddly reassuring about the mule's movements; stable, firm, and without a hint of doubt. An hour in, and who knew how deep they had gone? Perhaps it was better for him not to know.

"Careful now," came the snickers from behind. "We wouldn't want the thief to fall first."

Ah, Felix the sly, his reputation had preceded him. The other three initiates came from more respectable professions; A debt collector with crooked fingers and unpaid bills, a doctor with a shaky left hand and a scar on his cheek from a widow's blade, and an innkeeper with a red scalp, deep pockets, and a habit of leaving the doors of occupied rooms unlocked.