The irony wasn’t lost on me that the altar closest to the Library was a small, private chapel set aside for the use of the Prior. Sandoval had clearly not used the room in a long time. Dust covered every surface and cobwebs covered the candelabras.

  “It would be easy for one to make a false assumption about this Abbey, Octave. This is the first altar I’ve seen that has symbology of other Gods besides Ord.” Octave flew over the altar, his wings disturbing the dust and causing a cloud of it to puff up onto his toga. The Cherub made a face.

  “Yes, apparently whichever Bishop had oversight over this Sector abused the privilege of holding one of Ord’s fingers and was overzealous in his distribution of Classes to the Novices. A failure of the Abbot as well.” I nodded. Sandoval had hinted at much the same in the Dungeon. The question was why?

  “Whatever you do, don’t take the Bishop Class. You will be mired in politics!”

  His Aunt Elsbeth’s words. He remembered them and they sent his thoughts spinning.

  “I don’t understand, Octave. Faith shouldn’t be about who holds the most power or which Church has the most Priests or even the most followers. Why would someone, especially a Bishop, do something so counter to what it means to serve the Light?”

  I also wondered how many Novices who had been given a choice between Ord and another God had been subtly pushed into serving Ord rather than take the other choice. Even at St. Iovan’s, it had been expected that if one were offered a Class by Ord then that option took supremacy over any other.

  And Bishop Kynmeir was always present during the induction ceremony. Could he have one of Ord’s Fingers as well? Wait a moment…

  “Octave,” I turned to the Cherub who was dusting himself off furiously and fixed him with a stare. “Did Bishop Kynmeir have possession of this Finger before I? He would have been present at both St. Iovan’s and St. Caradan’s at every Class induction ceremony. Did he use this sacred relic to push Ord’s Classes onto Ordheim’s Novices?” My voice rose higher and higher. “Faith should always be a choice!”

  “Yes, I agree with you,” Octave said, backing off slightly at my burst of anger. I immediately felt a stab of guilt and calmed myself.

  “I blame neither you nor Ord,” I finally said after a few breaths. “It is the corruption of Men I blame. I hate to say it, but I understand Prior Sandoval’s anger a bit better now. If the Pope is instructing the Bishops to grow Ord’s Clergy just so he could gather enough votes to have his Crusade then that is a blasphemy not just against Ord, but against all the Gods!”

  “Alright. What are you doing to do about it?” Octave folded his arms and sat down on the edge of the altar. “I’ve never served any Bishop Kynmeir. You are the first mortal to ever summon me, but the relic doesn’t always summon the same Angel. If you were to dismiss me now and use the relic to try and summon me again it would be a different Angel.

  “Really? Why is that?” I asked. Octave shrugged.

  “There is a Summoning Queue. Each bearer of a Finger, five in all in case you needed reminding, can summon an Angel. It was implied I would have a vital role in aiding Humanity in the coming Crusade. I assumed a Hierophant would be the one holding the relic.”

  “Who told you that? Was it…Ord?” I scowled when Octave laughed long and hard.

  Cherub laughter really is default set to ‘mocking,’ isn’t it?

  “Don’t be ridiculous! A real jerk of a Deva named Andromidus told me. Why, I’ve never even met…never you mind that! A mortal like you need not know such mysteries!” Pouting, Octave turned away and I sighed. I still had more questions. More frustrations and suspicions to air, really. Yet, now wasn’t the time. I had a more important task to complete.

  I removed the Dungeon Core from my Inventory and held it in the palm of my hand. I felt it pulse and in an instant every piece of dust upon the altar blew off its surface, which also caused Octave to launch back into the air.

  “Hey!” the Cherub yelled, but I ignored him and approached the altar. I knelt before it after placing the Dungeon Core gently upon its center. I folded my hands in prayer.

  “Great Gods of Aramyr, I am but the vessel for your power. I continue to try and understand this path you have set me upon and I recognize that proving myself to all of you is necessary for my continued survival. It is for this reason…” I raised my hands up to the ceiling in a show of supplication. “…that I offer this Dungeon Core of the Haunted Scriptorium to you, Gor, Lord of Beasts!”

  A bright pillar of light fell from the ceiling, enveloping the Dungeon Core until I could no longer see it. I heard a wolf’s howl and I would swear in that moment I scented a forest after a rain. Then, the light disappeared and the Dungeon Core was gone.

  You have offered a Dungeon Core to [GOR].

  You have gained +500 Faction Gor!

  You are now Trusted amongst the followers of Gor!

  “Yes!”

  You have lost -50 Faction Gor!

  “No! Why?”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The Satyr, Curmlough, is about to die! You have 5 Minutes to locate and save him! 4:59…

  “What? Did the Beast Lord choke on what you should have given to Ord?” Octave tutted.

  “No, the Satyr I’m supposed to save if we don’t find him within the next 5 minutes he is going to die! By Tek’s Abacus, we’ve been all over this Abbey and found not a living soul! Where could he be?”

  Ord’s Mercy, could Curmlough have run afoul of the hidden Murk Worm?

  “Slow down, Kenric. Think. What do you know about this Satyr, besides it likely being stupid sot and a flatulent…”

  “Octave, that’s it!” His sister described him as a sot! Goodlabor traded for the ale the monks here brewed! Where would they have their Brewhouse? We need to hurry!” Octave took flight and soared out the doorway.

  “My nose can smell an ale from miles away. Follow me!”

  I raced after the Cherub, heedless of Murk Worms or anything else. Faction points and my Quest to find the Satyr aside, I couldn’t let Curmlough die if I could prevent it!

  I don’t see why Gor should punish me with a Faction reduction. I have been looking for Curmlough! Perhaps I should have looked for the Satyr before tackling the Dungeon?

  Octave turned a corner, flew down some steps, crossed another Garden we had not yet explored and found more dead herbs and even saw a small, thatched hut set at the end of a stone path. There was an old, faded sign stuck in the ground I glanced at as we raced by.

  Garfle’s Garden- Harvesting Prohibited!

  I’ll have to take a closer look at that later.

  Octave flew across the Garden until we came to a rectangular building set against the wall of the Abbey closest to the cliffside overlooking the Orichalcum Ocean below. It didn’t look like a typical Brewhouse, as it didn’t have a waterwheel or a chimney stack for malt drying. I was about to ask Octave if this was the place, but he flew through a window and I lost sight of him.

  “Octave, wait!”

  I ran to the door and thanks to my increased strength I was able to pull the heavy door open and when I entered the building I found wooden barrels stacked against each of the walls by the dozen. Octave was nowhere to be seen.

  “Octave!” I hissed, mindful that there might have been a very dangerous, very slimy enemy nearby.

  “Here! He’s in here! Help me!” Octave shouted. I ran to where I heard his voice and saw a large, upright barrel the height of at least three men and the width of five with its lid open. A ladder was set against it and I quickly climbed up to the top and peered over the edge into the barrel to witness Octave struggling to lift a limp, sodden figure.

  “I can’t lift the drunk fool, he’s too heavy!”

  “Here, pull him closer!” I reached out a hand and stared at the unconscious form of the Satyr Octave was struggling with.

  “His head was under, but he’s still alive! By Ord’s Great Ax, I think fighting a Crusade would be easier than this!”

  “Come on! Just a little…bit…got him!” I yanked on Curmlough’s arm and pulled him up and out of the ale. Ale splashed down my face and down my robe, but I quickly, if carefully, descended the ladder to finally lay the Satyr down upon the floor. I listened at his chest and yes! Octave was right, there was a heartbeat. I cast Greater Heal and pushed down on a chest covered in wooly hair. Ale escaped the Satyr’s unconscious mouth as did a long, loud belch.

  “By all the Choirs!” Octave whined and he shook his wings, ale droplets flying everywhere. “All this ale…wasted! All because this drunk fell in the barrel, I would guess. Who wants to drink ale flavored with Satyr?”

  “I think he’s coming around,” I let out a relieved breath. “That was well done, Octave. Without you, he would be dead and I fear Gor would have been seriously displeased with me!”

  “Hmph! Well, just so you know that. I’m something of a connoisseur of ale, you see and so I cannot forgive this travesty.” There was another loud belch and Curmlough’s eyes flickered open.

  “Hello.” Curmlough smiled up at us with a gapped toothed grin. “I fell in the barrel.” Octave and I both looked at each other then back at the Satyr.

  “You did,” I said. “You nearly drowned.”

  “Knew I wouldn’t,” Curmlough cackled as he sat up. “I’m Lord Gor’s favorite. He wouldn’t let that happen.” Octave scowled, but I grinned. There was something about this Satyr…ah! He reminded me a little of my brother, Tanis.

  “Well, I’m just glad you’re alright, Curmlough. Your brothers and sister are worried about you. They sent me here to find you.” Curmlough’s grin wavered.

  “Draflough always says that it’s better for us to stay in our Grove, but I always get so bored. I wanted to see more! Some Humans in a village near our Grove sometimes get ale from the Humans in this place. I tasted some in secret and it was so good!” Curmlough licked his lips and I marveled that after nearly drowning in a barrel of ale he was now imagining himself drinking more.

  “I snuck out of the Grove while the others were asleep and came here, but the Humans were all gone! Just a bunch of big, glowing holes in the air. Lord Gor said they were off limits, so I didn’t go near them! But, he didn’t say I couldn’t have any of the Human’s ale!”

  “And that nearly killed you, fool!” Octave snorted. Curmlough eyed the Cherub askance.

  “You look like a chubby gnome who stole a swan’s wings and painted them gold.”

  “What! Why you-!”

  “Enough!” I put myself in between the Cherub and the Satyr before it could come to blows. The last thing I needed right now was to referee a fight between a Celestial being and a magical Nature creature. “Curmlough, my name is Kenric Ordheim and this is Octave of Ord’s Choir.”

  “Nice to meet you, Kenric.” Curmlough put out a hairy hand and I shook it. Then, he looked at Octave and smiled sweetly before making a raspberry noise.

  “Okay, let’s keep this civil.” I said.

  And make this quick before Octave’s head grows any redder and it explodes.

  “Octave and I need to go to the Library and go into the Blue Portal there. I would say you should stay here, but there is a monster hiding somewhere in the Abbey called a Murk Worm and it may not be safe for you to stay here alone.” I put a finger to my chin and considered my options. “Actually, it may be best if I escorted you back to your siblings first and then entered the Dungeon.” Curmlough shook his head.

  “No, I need to go with you into the Blue Portal,” the Satyr replied. Octave guffawed and I frowned in consternation.

  “What? No, that isn’t possible,” I told Curmlough and shook my head firmly. “Besides, didn’t you say before that Gor said the ‘glowing holes’ were off limits?”

  “Yes, he did,” Curmlough said, nodding his head in agreement. “But he told me just now that you won’t survive unless I go with you and since you helped me, I’ll help you!”

  “Ord’s Bloody Stump he’s going with us!” Octave griped and he leveled a finger at the Satyr. “What’s this drunken, goat-legged, hairy faced, gap-toothed…so-and-so going to do in a Dungeon except get in the way!”

  “I have this!” Reaching behind him, the Satyr pulled out a beautiful Aulos. A double flute. Had I Lore Sight, I would have inspected it. However, I was in the dark as to what I was looking at. I also wanted to know where the Satyr had been hiding it. He wasn’t wearing any clothes or carrying any sacks. “Behold, the Aulos of Marsyas, a most powerful and holy relic of Gor! It has the power to beguile with its music. With this, defeating that Dungeon will be no problem at all!”

  “Blah, blah, blah! A Satyr with a magic flute. How original!”

  “Shut up. you flying baby!”

  “You shut up, you half-goat!”

  “Stop it, both of you.” I said wearily.

  Gods of Aramyr, a part of me wants to enter the Dungeon alone rather than put up with another minute of this! These are supposed to be Holy beings and they act like children!

  “Curmlough, are you certain you want to do this? It’s going to be dangerous and we are going to face horrors of the Void. Octave and I already faced several in the Green Dungeon Portal. We just barely managed to win through it.” Curmlough nodded solemnly.

  “That’s why I’m going with you. You’re going to need me for what we have to face in The Revelations of Cel.”

  “Did Gor tell you something about that Dungeon? How to beat it?” I asked curiously. Even Octave leaned forward to listen to the Satyrs next words.

  “Only that if you don’t get to the Boss that’s at the end of the Dungeon and defeat it, all of us are dead. That includes all the people of Goodlabor too.”