[Kiel]

“Like, this would totally be a great time to find out that, like, somebody here can pick locks, you know?”

Shane rumbled, the vibration staggering up Kiel's leg from where the shadowkin was pressed against his ankle. Like, that spot was about the only place he was warm, but, like, “It tickles, it tickles!” She yawned, and Kiel went back to staring stupidly at the huge wooden door blocking his path.

Like, it really was huge. For sers! He couldn't figure out how people opened the damn thing back then. Like, weren't the original priests human? That was kinda like if Kiel cooked himself a bunch of food and laid it all out nice and yummy on the table - and then shut and locked the door so he couldn't get to it. “Who the Hel even does that, you know?” It didn't matter that he hadn't voiced the whole train of thought - again - because the concept was too ridiculous for words.

“Or,” he considered, his eyes lighting up at the prospect for as long as it took him to realise it what it meant: “Maybe the doors don't even go anywhere. Like, maybe they're decoys! Maybe there's a room full of booby traps, or, like, a nest full of vlareon waiting for us!” The excitement died right away and he let loose a “Wah!” that shot him right across the tunnel to press against the wall, glowering at the door like it had bitten him.

Shane stared at him and yawned yet again from where he'd left her, her tail flicking ever so lazily against her butt. “Ahhh, you can look like that, but don't be poofing into monkey form and cowering behind me if a vlareon jumps out, you know?” She never cowered - except from the sunlight - so he was being kinda mean, and she told him so with a huff as she turned her back on him.

Pulling away from the wall, Kiel righted his hat and raised his voice. “Like, hey, hey, anyone know how to pick, like, a really giant lock?”

[Official NPC]

((OOC: Sorry, Solstice. This chapter ends on Saturday, so I needed to move this thread along. If you like, I can edit to say Aella broke the locks instead? I just didn't want to GM you. ^^))

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Jason Underwood can pick locks. When asked how he learned such a questionable skill, he will only say that his father was a locksmith and refuse to entertain any other questions, claiming that how he came to be a mercenary working for a man like Vilfredo Faust is "none of your Xanth-damned business".

The ancient and oversized lock is, however, ancient and oversized. Rust has eaten away much of the mechanism, along with many of the bolts and the metal strips that hold the door to its hinges, so Underwood's nefarious talents are unnecessary. One good lever (or two) with the flat of his sword pries the wood from its entrapments.

It also separates each of the hefty planks from each other, and the door collapses from the frame with a series of enormous thuds and clanks — opening the way into a room that has not seen the light of day for centuries. A great blast of stale air whooshes into the main hallway, dispersing into the tunnels and ruffling hair with a sudden, gagging breeze.

The room itself is surprisingly square, the walls of the cavern deliberately cut. At each corner is a statue of a beautiful woman looking up to the cosmos (blocked as it is by the temple ceiling), delicate wings curling out to frame and then disappear into the walls on either side. The statues all cup a dusty crystal orb in their stony palms, but each of these orbs is a different colour labelled in the ancient tongue: red for Flame, blue for Wave, white for Breath and brown for Earth. And at the centre of the room are two more, larger statues, back to back and mirroring the same pose with their hands cupped around identical orbs — save for the colours, navy for Neme and yellow for Hel.

Offering plates sit beneath each of the statues, six shrines filled with gold and gems — and an ancient, perfectly-preserved, sword.

[Kiel]

Kiel stared at the broken door like a kid with his hand caught in the cookie jar. Even his first thought — after covering his ears and ducking his head, and then loosing a vehement "Ewwwwwwwww!" at the stench of stale air — was "Oh, crap, my mom's gonna kill me." He wasn't even responsible for the destruction, but still flinched behind Underwood as if Xanth was going to smite him down right there and then, or a horde of vlareons would come rushing out for revenge on having their hidey hole exposed, or another nest of kumos were going to shoot webs first and eat them later.

When the dust cleared, Kiel discovered that he wasn't only cowering behind Underwood but that he'd slapped up to the mercenary's back and stuck like glue, and Underwood was craning his neck to peer back at him. “You done?”

“Wahahahaha, yeah. Yeah, man. Wow.” In the absence of smiting, he stepped clear of the merc and over his handiwork, stumbling over the rubble as his boots clanked on thick wood. Underwood wasn't far behind him, and echoed his sentiment. “Ooooooooooh.” He paused, one foot still in the air, as his brain caught on to what his eyes were seeing.

“Duuuuuuuuude. This is, like. Dude.” Kiel wasn't big on history or anything he could learn from a book, but he loved stories: hearing them, telling them, embellishing them, glorifying them (the latter two not deliberately). He was familiar enough with the lore surrounding the Voice of Xanth and the Creator herself to recognise who the statues were supposed to be right away, but what was with the orbs, man?

His hat hit the floor when he stepped forward and tilted his head to try and read the lettering, as if turning it sideways would make a difference. “Eeeeeoooooihhhhh.” He couldn't read Sylvan, or Anyeli, or whatever the heck language this was, and it looked old enough to not be in use any more anyway.

“We should get the priest in here. He'll know what this stuff's about, right?” Underwood was already scrounging through one of the offering plates, though, less interested in the statues than in what lay at their feet. Kiel, meanwhile, cupped his hands over the red orb — not actually touching it out of some deep-seated reverence that held him back — and gawped.

“Mannnn, how come we don't worship her like this any more?” He didn't really expect an answer, but it kinda sucked. He'd been raised to trust in her as the creator of all things Elysian, and to respect the goddess because of the things she'd done for his draconic ancestors, but even his reverence was limited to a few times a year for tradition's sake. He kinda liked the idea of being a priest, all of a sudden: daily visits to her temple, entering a room like this and kneeling before a statue, praying like he really meant it, thanking her for all she'd done.

And then reality sank back in and he turned to find Underwood hefting a very shiny sword. Kiel's eyes lit up like they had on his first visit to Xanth's Grotto and his palms itched. “Duuuuude, it's so shiny!”