Reinolt stared blankly at Grathe, “So we are going to risk our lives, to steal a rusty sword, from a church?”
With a boyish smile Grathe replied, “No, no, no. There is no danger, at least, I doubt there is anything to worry about! And it’s not just some sword, it’s an heirloom of the Geg clan, passed down from the days when the Remnant empire was shattered.”
“Then why is it in an abandoned Ady church? Why doesn’t your clan have it?”
Grathe, smiling again, though more forced, “Safe keeping!”
The duo found themselves at the edge of a small forest on the outskirts of Enlod, where once nobles from across the Dark Isle came to indulge in the Adgarhin Way at its grandest temple, The Wellspring Temple. The conquering Sartanists had left the temple alone for the most part, though it was forbidden to come. Such restrictions were hardly enforceable anymore, however. After its abandonment, the forest had mostly reclaimed the land. What used to be a well maintained temple complex existing in an idyllic field on the edge of the forest, was now completely overgrown with vines and trees. The “Arcachon Forest” made swift advances when left to its own.
The sword Grathe was in search of had been taken from the Geg clan when they were “pacified” by the Arcachon people. Legends told of a magnificently crafted sword, whose strange materials gave off an almost iridescent glow, which any good legendary sword should have. The Westerners couldn’t fathom the First People crafting such an artifact, and so, under the guise of Remnant worship, they “liberated” it, so the “public” at large could enjoy such a beautiful, “Remnant”, artifact. The First People had not seen it since.
“Where to, magnificent leader?” smirked Reinolt.
Grathe wasn’t sure if he liked the casual attitude his captain took. At least he kept this side to when they were in private company, their band couldn’t do with two snarky leaders. It would throw off the entire dynamic. Grathe pointed at the crumbling remains of the wooden structures around them, “Look at this shoddy craftsmanship. The Arcachon’s wouldn’t be so dumb as to store something important in one of their own buildings. Look for the Guildmaster’s house, knowing the Remnants it will likely look like some plain box, but actually be incredibly well crafted in some ingenious way upon closer inspection.”
The two split up to search among the ruins of the temple complex.
It wasn’t long before Grathe sent up the call, “Reinolt, quit eating and get your lazy ass over here, I found it!”
The two marveled at the front side. The door was barely perceptible against the front façade of the building, a completely flat granite slab, which had been painted at one point, but then blackened in a fire during its forced abandonment by the Sartanists, then left to the elements for years. Reinolt looked at Grathe quizzically, “And your plan now?”
Grathe looked back at his captain, but said nothing. This was the moment of truth. He closed his left hand, clenching his fingers together into a fist, and splayed out the fingers of his right into an open fan, bringing both hands to just below breast height in front of him, pressing against the front of the granite. If the vision was correct, this would open the door. Click.
It worked! Click, click, click, groooooaaaaaaannnnnnnnn. The door slowly swung inward to a dark and musty room. With nothing but surprised in his wide eyes, Reinolt added, “After you.”
