Museum of Grimoire - 4.4 - Early Access (Patreon)

It seemed like the monsters had abandoned the burrow and fled deeper into the tunnels they had made to get in, which was the stopping point for the three pilgrims. Any further, and they risked venturing out of the city itself into the unknown by themselves- which was quite a bad idea. But what they could do at least was seal the way back in, blocking it temporarily with rubble. Later on, Photios would lead a team of specialists experienced in the matter to fully collapse the breach, resetting the effort needed to breach into these holy depths once more.

That would be a matter to handle in the future though. For now, they continued to delve into the past. Nothing else bothered their journey downwards, all the way to the very final layer of the underground complex. The intended final destination of those who passed, according to the ancient builders.

Yet it was barely half the size of the floor prior. “Interesting. So they did dig out and furnish the very bottom layer- but it’s not the largest one,” Noire observed with a furrowed brow. “Hmm. Perhaps the theory needs refinement?”

“Hold on, Miss Noire, look at this. The bricks, they look very different, don’t they?” Florence pointed out after some looking about. “It doesn’t fit in with what we’ve seen.”

“Ah, you’re right. But this style and pattern, I’ve seen it before. In some parts up higher, right- renovated sections perhaps?” wondered the historian, glancing at Photios. “Do you happen to know anything about this?”

“I cannot speak as to the actual history of this sanctuary,” the paladin supplied with a slight shrug. “But I do know that efforts have been made to finish the work of our ancestors. The demon lord’s incursion had put pause to the matter for the longest of time though.”

“I see. So that presumption about Fifth Age tombs could still work, though some refinement to their techniques and methodology does need to be developed.” She nodded once, then set the matter aside for the moment in favor of examining the warded door before the group. “So this is it? The final resting place of the sainthood, according to the Followers of the Divine.”

“An important distinction, as there are none who claim to be enshrined by that sect cult here.” A small furrow etched itself on Photios’ brow. “In my opinion, they do not deserve their moniker ‘Church of Saints.’ Only our chosen clergy can ordain one a saint.”

“Don’t they believe in enshrining one by deed instead? Well, let’s set that aside for the time being,” Noire mentioned and turned to Florence. “So, I’m curious. Are you hearing any whispers of the dead beyond this door?”

“… None that make sense to me, at least,” the warlock answered after a moment of listening. “It’s actually not clear at all, like last time. Maybe I was just given the gift of proper tongue last time? It could also just be my patron tweaking it a bit to just make things interesting, according to them.”

“Such action would be quite befitting of those who we worship.” Photios laid both hands upon the handle and pulled the doors apart, opening the way. “Though it also could be because this is one place that we hope the gods will overlook. For the sake of those who rest inside, we pray that they are saved from a meddled afterlife to proceed to the great beyond, free.”

His mysterious declaration soon suddenly became quite clear when the two women stepped through and felt it. For Florence, it was like her partner suddenly became muffled and distant, that inseparable bond still there but now extended over a great length. Were she to try and call for her boons, it would take a stupendous effort to manifest that contract.

For Noire, it was even more pronounced when her entire body rippled and shimmered, becoming incorporeal for a moment.

Then the form reasserted itself, just in time to catch her bookbag from touching the ground. It had fallen through her hazy shoulder for a moment, when it simply stopped existing. But she was back in control over herself, albeit with shaky legs. “That… is very one powerful blessing levied upon this place.” The archaeologist frowned. “No, that’s not right. It’s inflicted upon us.

“So a curse.”

“We do not wish for those with domain over the boundary of life to entertain wicked ideas,” the paladin flatly told, linking his hands together as he stood guard at the door. “These precautions should at least dissuade them strongly of such notion. Such has been the arrangement of those who founded our very faith, an arrangement that even the spirits had agreed to contribute to at the time.”

“And you never know if they’ll renegade on a deal. No, you can almost be sure of it,” Noire declared in a tired tone. “Especially if they happen to grow bored of the matter, if nobody keeps it exciting. Something like proclaiming them to be gods and providing all sorts of interesting worship to keep them interested.”

To that, the paladin remained silent. The barest inclining of his head was the only response to her statement and Noire sighed, turning to face her other companion to check on her. Florence assured her that she was far less affected in comparison to the archaeologist; it was only just her powers which had been suppressed, not her body too.

With that little surprise over, the investigators turned their attention to the reason for all this. The graves of the saints took the form of large stone coffins, each of them richly decorated and carved to the point of surely being art themselves. What a shame then that few, if any, living eyes would ever gaze upon them to behold their majesty! More and more, Florence’s little idea of creating replicas for more widespread circulation seemed like a splendid idea.

Minding the living saint’s request to not disturb the rest of her predecessors, Noire had to settle for just studying the outside of the tombs themselves. Which, honestly speaking, was still an incredible opportunity. Especially when she noticed just how much effort went into each individual gravestone. “All of these carvings are different. The reliefs, are they all independently made in respect to whoever rests within?” she eagerly asked Photios.

“The most legendary feats of each saint is indeed etched into their grave, so that we may at least remember them by deed if not by name.” His gaze passed over one side of the room. “I fear that with recent tragedies, such reality has unfortunately become true. We can no longer provide name to all of these honored individuals.”

“Don’t be so sure of that. Sometimes, knowledge is only lost until we find it again.” Noire returned to examining the graves, her desire to learn more growing. “Can you come over here? I would like to probe that mind of yours about what some of these carvings might be referencing.”

“You may describe them to me and I will endeavor to recall the miracle to the best of my ability. However, I am afraid I cannot step into this room barring critical reason.”

“Huh?” That had the archaeologist blinking in surprise. “What, really? You can’t enter? But we’re in here, so… we’re not in trouble, right?”

“No, as the saint herself has given permission for it.” Photios looked at the graves, then returned to looking out at the door in case some sinner was suddenly sneaking in. “It simply is against my tenents to do so. You should focus on asking about the saints, not myself.”

A curious thing, for sure. Noire could almost taste the mystery behind the answer, sensing that there was greater intrigue afoot. Yet seeing as the paladin seemed quite disinclined to talk any further about his reasoning, she let it sit for the time being.

Just as she came to that decision, Florence called out excitedly. “Miss Noire, look at this! I think we’ve found what we were looking for!”

It was one of the older graves, judging by how much more worn this and the surrounding tombs were. But because it hadn’t been exposed to the elements fully, the detailing was much better preserved than any artifact found outdoors. So it was that the feat of whoever was buried within was depicted clearly, demonstrating a robed figure reaching out to something rather abstract. Multiple others surrounded the scene, but the focus was certainly on the center depictions.

Noire described it all aloud and gave as much information as possible from the carving to Photios, who thought for a moment before answering. “That would likely be Saint Alex, the Talker. They were said to have been a charismatic individual, the one who convinced many errant branches of the faith to return to the fold during the Fifth Age, mending a growing rift since their departure in the Fourth. Some believe that it is only by their actions that our pantheon hasn’t been shattered like the sects.”

“I’d argue that the sects were never so united in the first place, but that’s besides the point.” Noire intently studied the carving and hummed. “The Talker, huh? That sounds like a moniker that might also apply to Florence here. She does talk with her spirit, doesn’t she?”

“In a way, yes.” The warlock still adopted a frown though, doubt emerging. “But I mean, what if others just point out that it’s more likely to be attributed to their unification effort? It sounds like rather flimsy reasoning, doesn’t it?”

“That it does, but do pay attention to this scene. Look at how instead of something like having a banquet that features all the returned branches, the carving instead emphasizes these two alone.” Noire’s hand brushed lightly over the carving, her fingers tracing over the indents. “And should we suppose this one with fancy clothes is the saint, who or what is the other? It’s a bit strange, isn’t it.”

“You’re right,” Florence agreed after thinking it over. “Photios? Was Alex known to commune with the gods or something to that nature?”

“It is… less substantiated,” he delivered after a very long pause. “All saints claim to converse with the spirits, even Tillith. Whether or not they actually do so has never been questioned by our dogma. Their word simply is what the spirits will; For what other reason have they been chosen?”

“Maybe this time, it’s very more literal.” Noire considered the engraving some more before moving on to examine other clues that might be on the coffin. “Let’s see. This one, there’s that banquet scene you were expecting… this one, hmm, a miracle? Oho, have a look at this.”

This carving featured that formless figure again, this time appearing to be right behind Alex themselves. Said person was also extending their hands, perhaps baptizing or healing a presented baby swaddled in cloth. More figures in the background watched, this time with hands clasped in joint prayer.

“Well now, that’s even more proof,” Noire said triumphantly. “Doesn’t that look awfully familiar?”

Florence blinked and her head tilted slightly. “Wait, is that what I actually look like when I beseech my patron?” she asked, sounding actually bemused. “I mean, I’ve never looked in a mirror while I was channeling, so I don’t know. But my classmates never said anything about that, instead talking how ghastly my aura was.” Her mood dipped along with the tone in her voice, likely recalling some very painful memories about her ostracized reputation at the academy.

“… I did not witness any such manifestation,” Photios spoke, providing simply his own observation. “Few can hide from the my light as well.”

“Oh? Maybe it’s just because- ah, yes.” At the look both the warlock and paladin gave Noire, she simply reached up and tapped at her set of glasses. “My eyes are just that much better, I suppose.”

That was all she would say on the topic, instead rising up and dusting her hands together. “Moving on, what’s important is that we’ve got two depictions of Saint Alex looking an awful lot like an invoker. While it’s not yet definitive proof that he was a warlock like Florence here, it’s enough suspicion that I think we can narrow our focus on him specifically.” Noire looked at Photios. “Any chance that anything of his managed to survive the years and the demon lord?”

“We have a replica used for ceremonies-” he opened with before suddenly pausing, brow furrowing. “...Actually, no need. I just recalled Her Holiness had discovered and recovered the original text on her journey with the hero. So you may study the personal artifact yourself.”

“Let’s go have a chat with her and wrap this all up then.”