Chapter Text
The steps to the temple were often the temporary resting place of babies, but usually not two who were of different ages. But one day, many years ago, there were two sacrifices: both boys under the age of 4, both with dark hair and eyes but different demeanors. The younger was scared and shy, and the older regarded the High Priest with suspicion but conditional acceptance.
Those demeanors changed as the days passed. The two boys were named Akachi and Eveshi, and with their names and integration their true personalities emerged: Akachi was a born leader with a mischievous streak and a penchant for ignoring the rules and the odds, while Eveshi was a light-hearted, easily-amused soul who was closer to his brother than his own shadow.
They were unremarkable, merely children playing pretend at being acceptable members of the clergy. The High Priest did not consider them any differently than the other children who had been sacrificed to the Lord of Bones.
---
If he ever had the ear of Myrkul, the High Priest would request they stop this nonsense of accepting child sacrifices. On paper one got an acolyte from birth, but in reality, what one really got was a group of stubborn brats who argued with anything logical.
"You can't be serious!" Akachi exclaimed, voice getting louder. "We're shirking our duty by ignoring the dead and dying. They need us."
The High Priest was having none of it. "We cannot tend the sick if we are dead, you well-intentioned fool. If any of us go out into the city, the plague will kill us all. It is not yet our time.”
Mulsantir was slowly dying, which was not a surprising turn of events in this day and age. Whenever people gathered together, inevitably plague would spread between them. This one in particular was called the “Black Whisper.” From what he had heard of the wails beyond the temple walls, it promised a quick and painful death to those it affected.
Akachi had a poor temper, which was apparent even in his youth. His cheeks had turned red, and his fists were clenched. “You’re a coward!” he snapped.
“No, you are a child, only six years old,” the High Priest told him sternly. “You have not been inducted into the clergy. You have not administered any rights. You have never seen a corpse. You have never lived through sickness. This plague is an aspect of the Lord of Death that must cull the populace.”
The boy shook his head. “No, we’re being tested. We need to go out and tend to the dying. We need to. Myril will keep us safe.”
The High Priest prayed for the patience to deal with this. “Myrkul would do no such thing. Why don’t you go find and play with your brother? You know, the one who is currently being well-behaved while you are being an obnoxious brat.”
Akachi stomped his foot. “I’ll show you.” The young boy stormed off.
The older man rubbed his temples. “Stubborn, arrogant, brash and temperamental. He will never make a good priest.”
---
“I don’t know about you, but I still feel fine!” Eveshi said.
“I don’t know how you can sound so happy,” Akachi replied, exhausted. “We just saw a lot of dead people.”
The brothers had spent all day in the city, administering rights to the dead and dying as best they knew how. It was not as easy as Akachi had imagined it would be, but also not as difficult as the High Priest had made it sound.
“I’m definitely not happy about that,” Eveshi said, a pout in his voice. “I mean, no, that’s all pretty sad, especially all the not-dead people crying. But when you made that one corpse try to scare me, that was pretty funny.”
Akachi smiled a little. “You startle way too easily.”
“I do not!”
“Besides, you shouldn’t be afraid of talking dead. If it’s dead people talking, then it’s gotta be a prank, since corpses can’t… can’t…”
The boys’ mirth faded as they entered the temple. Everyone inside was dead.
“Oh dear,” said Eveshi. Akachi would have covered his baby brother’s eyes, if his hand would move.
“Actually, the dead most certainly do talk,” said the High Priest, who was also most certainly dead. “Welcome home, Akachi and Eveshi. We have a lot to discuss.”
---
Gannayev-of-Dreams was used to odd things happening to him. It was to be expected when one was a hagspawn, but even moreso when one could communicate with the spirits of the land. But even he was thrown off by the random appearance of a beautiful celestial being who appeared in his jail cell and requested he help fight a bear god.
Not that he wasn’t used to beautiful women, mind. He certainly was. But there was something different about Garnet Farlong that he just couldn’t put his finger on. She was dressed in the black and grey chainmail of one of the more somber Realms’ gods. She was accompanied by a woman who was very obviously a Red Wizard of Thay, even if no one in Mulsantir seemed to be able to tell this with her wearing something not-red. More odd, however, was how serene she sounded no matter what she was discussing.
For example, this.
“So Mulsantir is apparently deeply connected to the Shadow Plane,” she said as if discussing the weather. “We need to investigate the other side to find someone named Kaelyn, who is a half-celestial. If we find her, then her siblings will help us fight the bear god.”
“I feel as if I’ve missed some things,” Gann admitted. “Why is Okku trying to kill you?”
“Earlier this week, I woke up in his barrow covered in blood and sealed with runes.” She pulled out a black, leather-bound journal with the image of weighing scales etched into the cover. “He took exception to this.”
“And, how did you get there?” Gann asked, feeling he shouldn’t have to.
“I don’t know,” she replied, flipping through the pages. “Last I recall, I’d just destroyed hordes of powerful undead and slain an avatar of shadow magic. Also known as Tuesday.” She nodded to herself, closing the book. “The Shadow Plane may also be the location of a few texts I’m interested in, but first we need to check with the Temple of Kelemvor here.”
Gann snorted in derision, but was stopped from saying anything more by Safiya, who shook her head and held up her hand to silence him. As Garnet began the walk to the temple, the Red Wizard leaned in close to Gann and whispered, “Don’t say anything. Garnet is a Doomguide.”
“Ah, that explains the scales on her journal. But I’ve never been cowed to silence by the faithful before-”
“Oh, it’s not a matter of not hurting her feelings,” Safiya said, voice derisive at the notion, “but she’s either delusional or powerful, and from my mother’s concern over her welfare, I’m guessing powerful.”
Gann frowned. “We are powerful as well. But if she’s as strong as you imply, then she shouldn’t need our help…”
“You sound doubtful, and you should. My mother made me vow to help her, and I will, but there has to be a reason she woke up in that barrow and I want to find out what it is. And you clearly sense something off about her, don’t you?”
He nodded. “Yes. It’s… hard to place. An emptiness. Likely a result of loss.”
“Or something. Regardless, I think we’ll both be here to help her, and there are times it’s easier to just keep one’s mouth shut, and this is one of those times.” Her expression softened a little as the two began walking behind their leader. “For one of the faithful, she’s not that into proselytizing. The only reason I figured out she’s a Doomguide is because of her garb and accoutrements, not due to any sort of prayer talk.”
She stopped talking as the two walked into the temple, watching as Davorik and Garnet greeted each other as if old friends. “Oh. Powerful it is,” Gann muttered.
Safiya looked to him. “Pardon?”
“Oh, you’e not from Mulsantir. Davorik is a Chosen of Kelemvor. If he knows Garnet despite her being from the Sword Coast, that likely means she is as well.”
Safiya digested that information. “Well, hopefully that won’t prove inconvenient.”