Museum of Grimoire - 5.1 - Early Access (Patreon)

Photios slightly exhaled and considered the request for a brief moment. Without uttering another word, he turned about and strode in a certain direction, gait only briefly pausing long enough for Florence to catch up. It wasn’t until they were a few streets over that he finally spoke, a dry note to his voice. “I suppose that if you were to look a bit further beyond, the old capital isn’t just the bastion of our one true faith. It has a history older than it even, being former hub of the empire.

“So you need only look a bit to see those remnants still clinging on, in spite of our succession and actions.”

Said lingering influence was soon made evident when the paladin introduced her to a square intersection not too far away, large one that could boast a central monument. But instead of an idol representing a spirit god so declared by the Followers of the Divine, this figure possessed no seeming trace of divinity. They instead looked quite mortal, grounded even despite regal ornamentation to their attire.

If one needed additional clues as to their identity, then the crown made of dragon spikes should be the final hint to the hero themselves.

“The Dragon Prince,” Florence whispered, taken back by the awe-inspiring craft. She darted forward to study the sculpture from various angles, eyes drinking in the sight of the legendary figure. “The one who founded the old empire, my word. Of course, he was born here wasn’t he?”

“The exact location of his birthplace is unknown, but it is certainly rumored that it had been within what we consider the limits of the capital today,” Photios elaborated on, apparently determined to at least do his job well if he must. “Keeping in mind, however, that back then it wasn’t even a city but more a small hamlet. Or so the fable goes.”

“Right, a lot of the story about his rise has probably been embellished over the years. But there’s somethings that are inarguable,” remarked the warlock. “Things like his triumph over the queen of the underworld, and the founding of the old empire. Maybe even his entire claim of being trained by dragons, given that they were roaming around back then!”

“They still do persist to this day- but of differing varieties and qualities.” He gave a rather exasperated sigh. “During the war, there have been many a claim from even my own subordinates about having slew a true dragon. Yet without fail, each and every time, it has been nothing but wyrms of varying strength.”

“Is the act itself still not impressive though?”

“It is, but it is of greater sin to claim heights you have not yet reached.” Photios gave a little huff. “It is why the faith is not so bold as to try and claim to be like the inheritors of the old empire.”

“Even the idea of claiming so is fairly suspect, isn’t it?” Florence muttered. She returned her attention to the statute of the ancient hero, moving back to the topic as well. “This… no, it surely can’t be an original construct during his time. It looks far too new.”

“That is correct, though there reportedly had been one such statue put up in this exact location during or shortly after his time.” Now the zealot shuffled uncomfortably, letting out a slightly apologetic cough. “It… may have been destroyed in the Fifth Age, during the quite chaotic coming of the era. An understandable mistake, a tragedy which shan’t be repeated.”

Florence raised an eyebrow and asked a single question. “Was it made of gold?”

“The outer layer had been veneered with such, at least. Or so I’ve heard- ahem. Or so rumor has it.”

Given the earlier mention of a time where the faith had yet to canonize austerity, she could only imagine something like a sharp-eyed priest declaring the statue as ‘idolatry to a false prophet’ or something nonsensical to that nature. A bit harsh, but given she was almost scapegoated as a blasphemer days earlier, Florence thought she earned some right to criticize how some used religion for their ambitions. Not all were a paladin who held firm to his tenets regardless of circumstance.

She briefly mused on what Noire’s reaction to this loss would be, then continued the conversation. “This replacement is still a fine piece of work.”

“It should be, as it had been one of those wondering sects which crafted a replacement. One which claimed lineage from the original sculptor even, so they at least possessed knowledge regarding its recreation. Our coin funded it too,” he added in. “And ever since, we have lovingly maintained it year after year. Even when the fires of war threatened our sanctuary, we continued to honor our great predecessor.”

“Well, it is technically his city you’re borrowing after all,” she joked blithely. “Not to mention that heroes like him are the true savior of the world through the ages, without a doubt.”

“Indeed, blessed by spirits as they are to set the world in their image.” Photios was quiet for a moment, then spoke hesitatingly. A rare question on his part, spurred on by a loosened tongue from engaged discourse. “Is… is it true then, that you can hear the consult spirits? As part of your... pact?” He sounded almost jealous of the idea.

Florence considered how best to describe it. “It is less a consultation as it is a whisper, and sometimes hardly even that. It is a feeling, a nudge of insight to something of interest to my patron,” she settled on telling. “Much like how you could guide me around the city and provide interesting perspective, so too might my partner. But in a certainly less involved manner.”

“Yet you could call upon them at any moment, a divine spirit to obtain wisdom from.”

“It’s not a conversation,” she stressed with a shake of the head. “It’s a bargain. A deal to borrow power, driven entirely by desire on both sides of this arrangement. There is no selflessness here, no miracle for the sake of a greater cause.

“Just two entities achieving what they wish for in their hearts. Allies of convenience, acquaintances by proximity. That is all.”

The paladin’s brow furrowed as he digested how Florence perceived the partnership with what could only be called a holy spirit to him. It felt almost irreverent, bordering on disrespectful. He was aware that such was only because of how he too understood things at least, his own fundamentals certainly quite different from her own views. It would be more than pointless to try and chastise her on such offense.

One simply didn’t go up to the Princess Hero and tell her how to slay the demon lord, after all.

He settled on a simple nod of acquiescence, finding no words to express these doubts. Not to mention, Photios felt he had overstepped enough already as is, straying from his role to pursue personal interest. Any further line crossing had to be more closely scrutinized, so he picked the slight adjustment in conversation direction with care. “Saint Alex believed, they say, regardless of his methods. So shall I.”

Florence relaxed slightly, glad to be finished with that topic. In fact, she felt like she had her fill of viewing this visage of the one who would become the dragon emperor. So she made a new request. “Anything else to see in this area? Maybe like the residences of the dragon lineages?”

“You stayed in one such estate already for these last few days. The saint’s retreat was once a mere manor home for an offshoot branch from the imperial family, one of those who never succeeded the throne but was too close to the succession to be allowed out of sight.”

“Oh? That explains all the artifacts that Miss Noire is probably right now glued to.”

“Indeed, and it had sufficient grandeur to remain mostly untouched over the years. Prestige as well ensured that when asceticism came into play within the faith, the home was allowed under cultural exemptions.” He shrugged a mite. “Practically speaking, it also would be a waste of good housing.”

“So I see. Then where would you take me to?” asked Florence with an interested slant of the head. “What’s something that isn’t so steeped in heritage here?”

“There… is an example of something of lesser antiquity, but of still impressive repute.” Photios’ face twisted up into a mixed expression, between a grimace and a scowl. “It personally is of little fascination to me; As it is my subordinates inordinately love it so though, I have had little recourse but to become familiar with…”

Now that was something which did intrigue the guest from outside. Especially when, of all the directions he could have taken her, they proceeded to into one of the seemingly newer districts of the old capital. It still possessed a trace of that ancient architecture in its layouts and foundations, but the brickwork sported a very much more updated look akin to how the underground beneath the cathedral looked with its mixed contributors.

The knight’s steps ended in front of an establishment that he graced with a long-suffering sigh, one that spoke of implicit disapproval yet begrudging acceptance. Florence was interested to see what could invoke such a reaction and studied the outside, blinking as the hanging sign made clear what sort of service was offered here. “A tavern? Really, that’s what got you so upset?”

“Yes as, for all our oaths and standards, many still feel a need to indulge in unreasonable desires.”

“Oh, come on. It’s pretty regular to want to grab some good food and drink at times. You can’t claim you forsake all but bread and water, right?”

“I have tried but as it happens to be an insufficient diet to maintain a form fit for combat, it has been forsaken.” He exhaled through his teeth. “No, I do not chastise those others for partaking in sustenance either. It is more about the… association this place has which leaves a sour taste in my mouth.”

“What, is it like a place for atheists?”

“If only it were so simple as a disagreement of beliefs.” Finally, Photios groaned and revealed the grand reason. “How familiar are you with the tale of the ‘Drunken Hero?’”

It took a moment for her to process that title, and a moment longer for Florence to recall references to it. “That’s… wasn’t that just the story of how a bunch of alcoholics journeyed across the world in search of drink?” she asked, beginning to understand her guide’s disdain. “It was compared to like a holy pilgrimage in search of fine spirits.”

“To even imply that such debauchery could be anywhere compared to an introspective opportunity to discover one’s faith-!” The man visibly ground his teeth together, restraint fully broken. He was clearly not at all pleased by the bawdy humor, especially when it looked like it happened to infect the lower echelons of other paladins too. Holy warriors whom, in his opinion, should at least pick better restaurants to frequent. “There is the virtue of temperance to admire- then there is the sin of gluttony to shun. Picking even a locale with a better menu would be less offensive than this hovel of drunkenness!”

“Wait, so this place was one of the stops on that supposed true story?” Florence caught on, looking on with renewed fascination. “Which means that I guess the drinks must be really that good if this is just where those consummate alcoholics chose instead of any other in the old capital. Can’t beat a seasoned sommelier in that regard.”

“Assuming that far-fetched fantasy even has an iota of truth behind it-!”

“Oh, come off it.” The warlock rolled her eyes and gestured. “Just tell me, are the drinks good or not?”

“T-that… they do…” he admitted sullenly and so her mind was made.

“Then let’s pop in and give it a taste. If it is, then it’s a good pick on your behalf. If it’s not, maybe I’ll talk with my partner about cursing the place,” she quipped, but the way Photios perked up at the jest was just a little too energetic. “It’s a joke, a spirit of death is far from like a spirit of misfortune.”

“No, but perhaps they could put in a good word to such contacts of pestilence. Or so I shall pray.”