Museum of Grimoire - 4.2 - Early Access (Patreon)

While the intent was simple enough, the actual matter at hand did pose some difficulties to the execution itself. The politics of the situation, if nothing else, shaped the challenge in an interesting way that Noire and Florence couldn’t claim to be so familiar with. Tempting as it was to disregard such, both realized that acting with impunity would only weaken their argument- and thus harm their long-term goals.

They wanted to part on good terms with the Followers of the Divine, not as wanted heretics. However silly that notion was.

So, to handle the matter, none other than the saint herself explained the situation of the troubled clergy to the guests at hand. It all stemmed from the fact that their faith wasn’t always so unified and monotheistic. Sure, they were at least more coherently put together than the Church of Saints, what with their hundred different sects worshiping a thousand heroes; but they too had their own different denominations, interpretations, and followings. The simply fact is that few would notice such a difference, owing to how closely tied together their core beliefs were.

The image was smoothed even further over by the rise of the demon lord, a universal threat to all. Whatever minor squabbling or arguments there were had been set aside for the time being, joining together in solidarity to work against the encroaching demons. It had even been why their saint had been formally requested to set out and join the hero on her journey, ignoring the fact that Iris and Tillith already had a personal history long before.

Now with Utsh defeated and the saint returned, those small disputes had begun reappearing, and now in greater force. The various sides all clamored to claim a measure of her favor, a declaration of their beliefs being closest to their own champion who helped save the world. Sycophancy, she had bluntly labeled it, before begrudgingly admitting they did at least help keep the peace while she was on the hero’s journey. They were the ones who had fed, housed, and clothed those who had come to the faith in the hour of need.

Yet it was that very same popular favor now that was rising up and threatening a schism within the clergy itself, ironically enough. Everybody wished for their flock to be guided by their greatest shepherd, so all had been… dabbling in more extreme ways to gain it. Ones that Tillith found great difficulty in condemning, knowing that their intent was perhaps to better strengthen their order- but with terrifically flawed execution.

Such as witch hunting, as that has never quite died down over the years in terms of popularity. People still liked to blame another as the source of all their woes, and her two visitors simply happened to be a most convenient target. If it wasn’t them, then it would have surely been some other passing poor soul who would have been turned into a scapegoat instead.

Of course, Tillith would have intervened all the same, but it was at least nice that these particular individuals could at least look to defend themselves as well.

Said defense was needed to be prepared and readied for the trial that the saint unfortunately hadn’t the political clout to fully cancel, merely delay. The outburst from some factions had seen to it that the people in the old capital were clamoring for a proper resolution before the spirits, unlikely to settle for a conclusion reached behind closed doors. These was too much emotional investment now in the matter to let it lie.

At the very least, as Noire and Florence had complied with good behavior, Tillith was able to argue for them to be allowed the run of the city to assemble their defense. It was reluctantly agreed upon by the various factions, some perhaps darkly hoping for this privilege to be abused as proof of guilt. A few might even be more tempted to more proactively seek the proof of guilt themselves.

That was, until the saint announced who would be the minder of these ‘suspects’ before the congregation. Then all hastily put the matter out of their head, lest they test the patience of a very irate paladin.

“He’s… not exactly the most personable of chaperones, is he?”

Noire simply shrugged, unfazed by the man in armor that shadowed their every step. “He’s doing his job, which is making sure nobody troubles us. If that means needing to remind everybody of his presence to chase away trouble, then so be it. It’s a nice change of pace from being the lure all the time.”

Florence sighed and accepted she was the odd one out here. Then she felt a tug of guilt, wondering if perhaps Photios took offense. He remained at a distance that seemed to respect the two’s privacy, but still should be within earshot. Perhaps he wished to be aware of any upcoming developments to make preparations for.

Whatever it was and if he took offense, the man’s expression revealed nothing. Which, in the warlock’s personal opinion, was a little creepy. He didn’t seem to express his thoughts or feelings so openly, always wearing some sort of dutiful persona at all times. Wait, no, he did at least show some anger when there was trouble at her ‘arrest,’ so he definitely wasn’t a golem in disguise.

Even then, she’d heard tales of puppets and dolls acting quite animatedly, probably more so than this knight of faith.

She shook the thoughts of her head and turned her focus back to a more deserving issue at hand. “So where are we looking? What do we seek to prove our innocence?”

“As those inquisitors seemed to direct most of their fixation on you, weakening their arguments regarding the relationship between warlocks and spirits would be the focus. Which means that we should be looking for proof that perhaps the Followers of the Divine have permitted or sanctioned the School of Invocation.” They passed a few seconds in silence, nothing but footsteps echoing through the halls. “Admittedly, that might prove troublesome, as invokers are a fairly rare breed of mages.”

“I honestly think that I might have been the only one at the academy, or so I think. If anybody else was pact bound, they certainly hid it far better than I ever did.”

“Yes, which is likely the biggest issue.” Noire pressed her lips into a thin line at the notion before sighing. “Nothing to it but to hit the archives and see if anything interesting comes up.”

Unfortunately, the archives that they had been granted access to by the saint’s blessing was not very helpful, primarily because most of it was ash. A quick chat with the caretakers confirmed that yes, they had been struck by the demon lord before, hence their precious records being ruined. Still, Noire and Florence persisted in reviewing what little there was before conceding the matter.

“It’s not looking good,” Florence mumbled as she closed one of the last remaining books. “These don’t really lend us a helping hand with our situation.”

“They are interesting in their own right, but you are correct,” admitted the historian with a matching exhale. “We haven’t the luxury of time to mosey about either. We need to change our approach.”

“Well, do you have any ideas?”

“A few,” Noire said, yet even the tone of her voice betrayed her uncertainty. “We could head back to Tillith and try to ask her to try and point us in a direction. We could also have a stroll about the city and hope we get lucky; with how storied the old capital is, we ought to find something. Maybe.”

Those didn’t sound like great leads, Florence glumly recognized. Maybe the saint could work a miracle, but relying on that was going to be a fairly long shot. Her eyes wandered the empty archive, seeking an alternative desperately and settling on a shape that broke up the barren patterns. It was their minder, having taken up a post next to the door and… standing there.

Really, had Photios not budged a single muscle? He hadn’t done anything like pull up one of the spare seats to rest on, instead just standing at attention with all the seriousness of a royal guard on parade. But Florence was sure that even in private, they would relax a little when attending House Harten. This paladin meanwhile treated the two as if they were the saint herself, and as if danger dogged their very step! He was quite a dutiful fellow.

That was what planted the idea in the warlock’s head, and she tried a wild suggestion. “Sir Photios, would you happen to be of any aid here?” she asked. “Could you perhaps recommend any avenues of approach for our studies?”

He raised his eyebrow quietly, then approached while delivering a stiff nod. “I can indeed. Though if you please summarize your needs in a more concise matter, I can produce a more accurate answer.”

Swiftly, the two rephrased their needs and he seemed to think in silence for a good minute. Then the man presented his thoughts. “As it seems like you are looking for personal histories of the past faithful, my first thought would have been to direct you to the personal effects of various saints through the ages. But therein lies a problem, in where plenty of those vaults have been destroyed by demons, or since recovered and in usage of various factions of the faith.”

Noire openly grimaced. “I don’t suppose we can ask the inquisitors if we’d like to have a peek at their equipment, is there?”

“You could, but the argument is quite likely to fail if based on suspicion alone. Should you present something more concrete, such as a direct historical connection and enlightenment, then they could be swayed to perhaps allowing you to perform deeper analysis.”

“So where would we get that?”

“… The various saints of our organization might not be venerated to the same degree as those of the sects, but we still do care enough for them to ensure they are buried in our most sacred resting place.” Photios let out a cough. “That is to say, they now lay at the lowest levels below the grand cathedral.”

Now that had the archaeologist visibly perking up, her interest definitely invoked by that mention. “Oh? I had thought that said areas were mostly unexplored?”

“The vast majority still is, but we have at least determined the furthest that our predecessors had ever dug. Perhaps they-” He caught himself and shook his head, refraining from speculation. “It at least is where I know our honored are laid to rest, in their stone coffins. Ones that are quite elaborately carved and made, I will add.”

“Would it be beyond the saint’s authority to grant us permission to investigate it?”

“Not at all, if you state a clear and intended purpose to it.” Photios paused, and frowned. “Though you understand that the bodies themselves are strictly off-limits. The situation is not so desperate that such activity could be excused.”

“A completely understandable request. We’ll refrain from grave robbing this time around.”

The paladin’s brow shot up, but he made no further comment as the three set off to seek Tillith for permission to this new request. The woman was both surprised and even a little concerned by this specific ask, muttering about the dangers of delving deeply below the grand cathedral. While the upper levels were mostly fine and even utilized for a variety of purposes, it was the lower depths where the shadows were deepest- and where monsters sometimes emerged from.

“There is a reason why it’s viewed as a trial of faith to go down there and find whatever newest monster nest has burrowed its way in- then clear it out,” she cautioned. “I wish I could come with to ensure your safety, but I’ll probably have my hands full fending off outrage from your delve. So Photios, please do make sure to keep them safe.”

He stiffly clasped his hand over his chest and bowed. “As you will it, your holiness.”