Welcome to Gaia! ::

This is the foremost religious center in Gulthiac, although what God is worshiped here; that is not known. Still, it is a holy and quiet place and evil seems to stay out. It towers thousands of feet into the air. Even to a giantess, it gives one the impression of being small. To a human, infinitesimal. The Moderator of this area is the Priestess. Combat is not allowed here, explicitly. If a character challenges another to combat, he suffers a permanent -1 to all of his stats. Also, the priestess can then throw the character out.

Shasta lay on his back. His mind was troubled. The monks had set him up in a little room with a cot, a nightstand, a dresser, and a chair. They had even tended the wounds of his previous scuffle.

He held his hand out in front of him. He examined its front, and then its back. It was worn, scratched, scraped, and bruised. This didn’t bother Shasta. The monks, when treating his wounds, had removed some of his own bandages, revealing the sinewy marks of the poison.

“The poison…” Shasta’s mind had been racing through several topics. “What other monsters lurk in that decrepit wing? Why was it abandoned?” Shasta looked up his arm, “…They’ve seen the marks…”

There was evidence that the monks had stopped removing Shasta’s bandages after they discovered them. They treated the wounds carefully around the bandages that Shasta used to cover the stains of his poison. Obviously they understood he had some kind of condition, but what did they know? What do they plan to do? Shasta looked around the room- they at least seemed benevolent. Perhaps he needn't worry about them.

“That monster; I failed against him. That was his territory…” Shasta arched a brow; he was reminded of why he went in the Lich’s chamber to begin with. He looked over at the chair. His knives and a few other belongings were neatly stacked there. The dull glow of the candles in the room made it difficult to see, but the shine of that magic dagger seemed to be diffused at the moment.

His mind went back to the poison. Yes, he had entered the Ruined Wing to seek a cure for his ailment. Yes, he had failed against the Lich. Yes, though he did incur the fight, there are likely many other creatures down there. Avoiding the fight might not have mattered. Shasta was fortunate that the item that encouraged his run-in was the same thing that saved him from it. He couldn’t count on that again. He winced even to consider it, but he couldn’t go back alone...

He sat up at the side of the bed and stared at the floor. The vampire? “Ugh…” he didn’t want to consider that either. Aside from general suspicion and strong distaste for undead, Shasta had foolishly settled to her truncated version of their initial agreement. Returning to her and asking for help would put him in debt to her. “No” a cross expression grew on Shasta’s face.

So what now? He had reached the end of considering his situation, and thinking about it more was only making him feel sick. That, and he had lingering thoughts of his father gnawing at the back of his mind for some reason.

Shasta opened his door enough so that he could look out. He had put his pants and shirt on, enough clothes to be presentable. He saw a robed man sitting outside the door. He was aged, with white hair and a beard, and seemed engaged in a book. He was leaning back in his chair up against a pillar, making himself rather comfortable. He looked up at Shasta with an inquisitive, yet friendly look upon his face. “Ah! Our guest is awake!” He snapped his book shut and got to his feet, “My name is Xibalba. May I ask who you are?” He held out a hand.

Shasta paused for a moment and looked at the man. It had been awhile since he had met such kindness and openness. Slowly, Shasta obliged and shook Xibalba’s hand, “I’m Shasta.” The old monk nodded with a smile. He seemed very eager. “Can… I ask you a favor… Mr.(?) Xibalba?” Shasta’s eyes were wide and darted around as he spoke. He also spoke with an implicit respect towards elders. He carried a measure of vulnerability and innocence in his voice and demeanor, but not enough to overdo it. He assumed Xibalba knew that he carried daggers with him, how innocent could he really be? Shasta wanted to implant the benefit of doubt in his favor, perhaps get Xibalba to presuppose a young man like him would only carry weapons for protection…

Not thirty seconds with a benevolent monk and Shasta was already building the foundations of their relationship with subtle deceit.

“Just Xibalba will do! And yes, if I can meet your request I will. However, one of the elders wanted to meet with you when you woke up.” “Of course” Shasta nodded approvingly and smiled a bit, “I just… wanted to clean up some…” He had left some of his bandages visible, seeing as how the monks already knew about it. “I was wondering if you had any bandages in store that I could have? I um… have a bit of a skin condition…” Shasta feigned some embarrassment and shame so as to deflect any questions. “Of course” Xibalba rubbed his hands together and nodded with an expression of empathy. “And um,” Shasta continued, “I don’t know what kind of cleaning facilities you all have here, but I’d like to clean myself up too if that’s no problem-” Shasta was almost interrupted, “Oh no, that’s no problem at all. I’ll set you up with one of the showers. Please, come this way.”

Xibalba ushered Shasta down the old stone hallway, careful not to let him out of his site. Shasta surmised his task was something between butler and jailer. He was quite eager to help out Shasta, which was good because he wouldn’t have to be manipulated so much. But, he seemed to keep a keen eye on Shasta as they walked down the hallway, asking him simple questions. Shasta used this opportunity to gather information, make a few more requests, and to further establish his harmless identity. By the time they reached his shower cell Shasta had discovered he had been out for a day and a half and had achieved a meal for after he cleaned up.

Xibalba did not know which elder was coming to speak to him nor did he know the nature of the meeting they were going to have. This made Shasta a little uncomfortable, but he hoped there wouldn’t be too many questions…

“He won’t stop coming…” Shasta stared blankly across the room. He wore a grim expression and held a feral look in his eyes. His mind was fixated on a paradox; he didn’t want to think of his family, but he had to. “He can’t stop coming.” He didn’t want to hate them. If only pity could occupy his heart then he might feel closeness with them, drawing some impression of a familial bond tied in mutual misfortune. But he couldn’t. It was by severing all ties with them that he could survive. He cast them off long ago. To care for them is to open weakness and invite ruin.

Shasta wished he could be completely callous. To never have their horrible memories plague his mind ever again. To be avidly wrapped in apathy. To kill that annoying inkling in his heart that yearned to pity. “They won’t let it die…” And they couldn’t- for them to exist is to feed that sense. For Shasta to exist is to motivate their dark wills against him.

These sick ironies reeled in Shasta’s mind, though his unwillingness to address his thoughts prevented him from piecing it together. He hated all of it. The revulsion Shasta felt for his family consumed him like the poison that consumed his body. Indeed, the two were necessarily linked. He could not exhume one without the other. He looked down at the vine-like marks that the poison made. They were a sickening dark green color, and grew from a knife wound at his side- its roots were stuck deep.

He wondered if there was any hope of curing it, though that wasn’t the mental distraction he needed.

“‘Best not to think about it…” Shasta slowly rolled the bandage around his waist, and up and over his shoulders. Thinking about his family only made him feel rotten. His heart felt as though it would decay. Changing these bandages and unearthing foul thoughts was a necessary evil, a dark ritual of sorts. Shasta was a survivor- ignoring these miserable thoughts of his family was ideal, but bearing them made him strong...

Two knocks came at the door.

"Come in."

Xibalba poked his head in, "If you are ready, elder Luka would like to see you."

"Certainly." Shasta had finished bandaging himself and was dressed. Normally he would conceal his daggers, but he intended to continue avoiding unwelcome scrutiny from his hosts.

Xibalba opened the door and brought in a chair. Behind him was a young woman who looked to be about 3 to 5 years older than Shasta. She wore off-white robes with purple lining. Her hood was down, so Shasta could see her dark brown hair and steel blue eyes. She was of fair complexion.

"Young man, please have a seat."

“Young man?” Shasta was mildly amused at the comment, but kept his comments to himself. He sat in the chair provided in the room and Elder Luka sat across from him in the chair Xibalba brought. “Thank you Xibalba. Please wait for me outside.” He bowed and exited the room, shutting the door behind him.

"I trust your stay has been comfortable?" Luka sat up straight with her hands folded in her lap. Though she carried a kind demeanor, Shasta still felt uncomfortable and was brief and uninviting with his responses.

"Yes, thank you."

“You caused quite a ruckus the other night when you suddenly appeared here.” She smiled warmly.

“I’m sorry about that.”

“It was fortunate for you to have landed in the baptismal chamber…” Shasta’s ear twitched, but he showed no other signs of unease. Elder Luka looked him in the eye, then down at the black dagger at his waist. It had been wrapped in bandage, save for the tip, to conceal its subtle shine. Well, Shasta had been mostly upfront.

Elder Luka looked back in Shasta’s eyes, though not with the cold, inquiring look he expected. Instead, it was a kind, inquiring look, though this didn’t displease Shasta any less. “That dagger you have there, do you know what it is?”

Shasta wasn’t sure how to answer at first. He could give a terse, one-worded answer,
“A dagger…” but that would be rude. It also couldn’t hide what Shasta already knew about the dagger either, which would be the intended purpose of such a condescending answer. “With some surprising functionality…” he smiled at her, keeping his modest countenance.

“Judging by the condition in which you arrived here I’d say you had quite a time obtaining it.”

“Thank you for your hospitalities, particularly in tending to my injuries.” Shasta didn’t want to talk about how he obtained the dagger.

“Do you know how it works? The dagger, I mean.”

“The pointy end goes into the other person…” Again, Shasta didn’t want to reveal too much, but also didn’t have much to hide. Addressing the obvious would be impolite, “as for the… ‘transporting phenomenon’… I’m not sure; it was kind of a happy accident.” He smiled again, covering his anxiousness.

“It was no accident.” Elder Luka leaned forward, “That dagger has the power to transport its user to most any location he’s ever been. But it requires that he focuses on his destination first. The further the distance, the more concentration is required.”

Shasta furrowed his eyebrows. He had never been to the Cathedral before, but he didn’t volunteer that information. He didn’t have to…

“But, you have never been to this Cathedral before. The fact that you ended up at this location all battered and bruised leaves me to believe several things- one; that acquiring that dagger was no easy matter, and two; you have a strong tenacity for survival. Whatever perils brought you as close to death as you were would have ignited that strong desire to survive, and the fact that the dagger responded to that leads me to believe that your survival response was one of flight- a wish to be somewhere else, somewhere safe.” Elder Luka paused for a moment before continuing, “The cursed poison that afflicts you supports this. That you know of a suppressant for this poison suggests that you are resourceful and perhaps familiar with vile magic. And, granting that my assumption of your fugue is correct, you were afflicted with this poison by someone close to you…”

Shasta had gripped the edge of his seat at this point. This woman knew the secret of his poison, something he had been very careful not to let another person know about up to this point. A cold wall had been built up between the two, and the apparent shock and concern on Shasta’s face convinced Elder Luka to shift topic.

“This is the Great Cathedral, the safest location in all of Gulthiac. I believe you obtained that dagger somewhere within this city as you were likely unable to focus very well in your damaged state, preventing you from traveling very far. That comes as no surprise, really, given the nature of Gulthiac and its dark, hidden places-”

“You still haven’t explained why I ended up here despite not having been here before.” Shasta almost interrupted her. His kinder, unassuming front was being replaced with his typical callous behavior.

“That probably speaks more to the nature of this place,” she continued, “and the functions of the Life Stream in this world.” Shasta crossed his arms; this wasn’t really the answer he was looking for. “The Life Stream, as you may have heard, is the divine force that permeates all of reality. Everyone belongs to it and everything is a part of it. We are all in the presence of the Life Stream at all times, however the measure of its presence is not the same everywhere. Some places, such as this Cathedral, could be considered a concentration of its dwelling. These places aren’t meant to be understood by explicit location coordinates as normal places are- in a spiritual sense, of course.”

When your dagger brought you into a space-time distortion without an intended specific location, it brought you to the nearest location of ‘most acceptance’ fitting the description of your desire for safety- id est, here. The dagger responded to your faint spiritual experience likely because you lack any physical experience with any place that provides you with notions of safety.” Were she to continue, she would have added, “…further establishing my conclusions of your fugue and the cause of your poison.”

“So I was lucky.” Shasta spoke dryly. He only had a vague idea of the Life Stream, remembering the scant teachings his mother gave him about it and her insistence that his appreciation and understanding of it would grow as he did. He was still as ambivalent about it as when he was a child.


“It could be considered a miracle.” Luka had not changed her tone; she was still kind and welcoming.

“Okay. When can I leave?”

Luka stood and walked over to Shasta. He kept his arms folded, but sat up straight in his chair as she approached. Though she hadn’t changed her attitude at all when speaking to him, her voice seemed as though it sang, “Anytime you want.” She bent down and kissed him on his head. Shasta froze. His eyes widened and for a moment the barrier between them had melted away.

He shot up out of his chair and backed across the room. Shasta spoke just under a shout through his teeth and pointed a finger at her,“Don’t you do that again!” Luka remained undaunted by his paroxysm of rage, however. “You can leave anytime, but we’ll keep the light on should you decide to return.” the bedside candle lit up. “Good evening.” she bowed and exited the room.

Who was this girl? And why was she so creepy and nice? Shasta was scared of her and confused by her, both of which only made him angry. He shrugged off these thoughts and left the room.

Matthias shot up and looked around, drawing his blade. The apparently drugged clergy did nothing as his eyes searched around the cathedral. They finally came to rest on Shasta...

Matthias cracked his neck and then returned to staring at Shasta. An energy permeated this stranger. Something foul, but familiar.

Matthias began walking towards the door, the only exit in sight. He would surely be there before Shasta would...

Matthias cautiously eyed the stranger over his shoulder and exited through the massive cathedral doors with haste.

(Exiting to the streets.)