Monster Research Society 4 - Faith Undying

Please refer to my pastebin for additional scenes.

The Monster Research Society halts their preparations as they observe the influence of the weakened cult of Ilias. The declining faith has suddenly had a resurgence. Could this be the beginning of a new era for this failing religion?

For atmosphere, consider listening to kiki2.ogg, found here. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6NKph25MWAo

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It's hard to sum up the feelings around me but the two strongest emotions are anger and fear. In a place like Grand Noah the antiquated intolerance of Ilias is hardly welcome. Even the church, once grand and opulent, has fallen into disuse thanks to a changing public opinion and a dwindling parish. Because of that, you find more and more of the faithful falling into despair, desperation and hate filled madness. Their exile is one of their own making but I still feel sorry for them. Those kinds of people are just too set in their ways to change in this evolving world. But they're definitely not gone. This rising tide of zealous hysteria around me is evidence enough that the faith of Ilias lives strong.

“Quiet!” The orator demands, but the audience is unwilling. The preacher looks rough. His clothes are practically rags, filthy and torn. His face is thin, his hair unkempt. My first impression of the man would be beggar, not priest, but his voice holds an undeniable power. “The people yearn for Her words. Only the wicked would deny them that!”

A minotauros steps forward, an unsurprisingly solid and powerful looking representative of the species. “No one wants to hear your madness!”

But a white haired elderly woman raises an angry fist in opposition. “Let him speak!”

Father seems confused. “This is just an ordinary soap box preacher. Why is there all this emotion, this interest?” It's hard to believe he doesn't know. Even I've heard of this frightening new breed of Ilias worshippers.

Satisfied the commotion is low enough he can be heard, the wild eyed priest begins. His voice is loud, clear and unwavering. But most importantly, it is full of passion, the greatest tool of the rabble-rouser. “I am merely a messenger, a servant carrying the whispers of heaven that beg men remove the sash of ignorance they have so willingly donned. You have blinded yourselves with it, thrown yourselves to corruption and decadence with wild abandon! You need not listen to my words. You need only to look into your own hearts to see the truth. Observe! See them, those who voluntarily give themselves up as sacrifices to these idols of sin! These atrocious couplings are everywhere, and more fiendish pacts are made with every passing moment. But there is no room for humanity in their future! What will your daughters do when man has disappeared from this world?”

“Such a ridiculous notion,” I mutter.

Father doesn't answer that. “I've heard all this before. Why does this suddenly strike a chord with the people?”

“Not this. I'm sure it'll come soon enough.”

“I see it! Your doubt! But I do not judge you, no. Because She has not abandoned you! She will never, never abandon you! Unlike those abominations who are loved by no god, ILIAS watches over Her children as the great mother of humanity! It is why I am here! I have been entrusted with a most sacred duty. She has spoken! Bestowed a gift unto we lowly, undeserving worms, who spite Her love! She has delivered a prophecy of great magnitude!”

“There it is.” This is what's got people talking. The prophecy.

“Oh to have heard Her words, but I was not granted that honor. The High Priest has been granted this vision, however, and he has sent us, the faithful, out into the world to deliver Her message. I beg of you, for your own sake, for your safety and sanctity, listen well.” A heavy silence settles as the zealous holy man prepares himself. It's apparent that he considers the words to follow most sacred. His intensity, his absolute belief, this is the power of a true fanatic. And so he delivers the words of his goddess.

“I look upon my children and I weep. It is a mother's greatest desire to see her children grown, liberated, but what parent could be pleased with such a pitiful sight? In their freedom they have chosen the darkest road to travel. I hear the plaintiff cry of my most beloved faithful, 'Can we not save our wayward brothers and sisters? If there can be no salvation for their tainted bodies, might we at least scourge the sin from their souls?' Such thoughts bring me the deepest of sorrows. To see my beloved offspring take up arms against one another in my name, could there be a greater tragedy? But can a mother idly stand by and watch as her children march down the path of sin, lusting for their own destruction? I cannot. I have seen what awaits you all, a time of misery and anguish unlike anything this era has seen. In the face of this monstrous destruction, I refuse to to be silent.”

“So to you I bestow two gifts. The first, a gift of salvation. Go south, my faithful, and join your brothers and sisters in the holy lands of my name. Make yourselves strong and hearty. The trials to come will sorely test you. But so too I ask that the rest of my children follow. I extend my arms and offer you redemption. Your sins shall be forgiven. None will be refused. So come. Come the mighty and the weak, your young and your old, bring your cattle, your cradles, your sons and your swords. I shall gladly take you all into my embrace and there you shall know peace. Your love and obedience are all I ask in return.”

“To those who reject my present of deliverance, know that I shed tears of grief for you. I beg that you accept my second gift and with it find redemption. I grant thee the gift of vision. Take the truth of this revelation and make the right choice, for to err is to invite death into your home. Within the year, the true nature of monster kind shall be revealed. There shall be no hiding, no deceit, no illusion or lie that will spare them, but this revelation shall come at a most terrible cost. This insidious threat has run deep within the veins of human society, and when it bares it's teeth and rips out the heart of civilization it is you who will suffer. That will be the cost of this unveiling. The pagans who rejected my gift shall have no choice but to face the hideous true nature of their cherished abominations. Those that survive, know that my arms are always open. I only pray that for you, it will not be too late.”

“To the monsters who hear my words I grant a gift as well. Take my gift of dread. Know that when you do betray my beloved children, it is my wrath that you shall face. A punishment long coming awaits those of sinister intent and corrupted form. For every drop of blood your claws shed, know that it will be visited in turn upon you one hundred fold. The coming age shall not be one of darkness, no matter your efforts. When you make enemies of the world with your evils it shall be we who proudly stand against you, and at that time my faithful shall descend upon you as an unrelenting storm. When that day comes, I shall be there, and by my hand you shall be scoured from this world.”

A figure pushes through the crowds towards the orator and he stops. It's a girl, a monster. Clad in steel armor of breastplate, vambrace and high boot, she still manages to be fully armored despite lacking in certain conventional protection. Scales of yellow and brown, colors of a desert wasteland, defend her upper arms and things. Her natural protection makes the defense complete. The reptilian monster's face lacks such protection, however. The warrior seems to have abandoned her headgear if she had any at all. Seeing her exposed skin for the first time, it has a warm, dark quality to it like wet sand or creamed coffee. The monster's face has a youthful, confidant and rebellious look to it that her sharp chin, dangerous yellow eyes and absurdly spiked, short black hair seem to exaggerate. It's a boyish style that seems somehow natural to the girl. The reptile boldly strides forward, leading the way with a heavy slap as she slams the pole of her weapon into the cobblestone street. It is a vicious looking death dealer, a three pronged spear. Not a trident, instead all three prongs extend from a single point and fan out, threatening ninety degrees of murderous intent. It is a sentiment she seems to share.

“Did you really think you could just say something like that and get away with it?” she roars. “Damn Ilias filth! This is what happens when monsters make peace and play docile little house wives! Pathetic.” The warrior scowls at her fellows. “You can have your mock joy, pretend you've forgotten the true way of the world, but not me! Look at him! You think he'd have dared that under the last Monster Lord's rule? What have you become?” Yet the fighter doesn't receive the answer she sought. There are no kind eyes that look upon her, no words of support. “Fine. Cling to your illusion of happiness.” The desert girl turns to the priest instead. “Well, 'ye faithful',” she mocks him, “if you're so eager to fight, why wait?” Her bulky four foot long scale armored tail thrashes against the road. The mighty blow cracks the road with an awful crash and kicks up a small cloud of dust. The violence clears a wide area around her as panicked people flee the monstrous warrior. “Your hated enemy stands before you. Are you afraid? What will you do now?”

“Isn't that...” Father says something, but I miss it. I'm completely transfixed by the drama unfolding before me.

The preacher seems undeterred and stares upon the menacing monster without fear. “How eager they are to expose their wicked hearts. Look, gaze upon the bed you have made for yourselves, the kin of your choosing.” He grimaces, his frown becoming exaggerated and pronounced as he hisses his next words. “This is what you wanted.”

This seems to rile up the girl more. “That's such a funny interpretation.” She trades verbal blows with the man with a youthful energy. Despite her warrior bearing, the girl's eager impatience makes her seem childish before the priest's powerful charismatic presence. “Seems to me it was you who said something about wiping us off the planet. Didn't you start this? Or was I mistaken, mister hypocrite priest?”

I notice an elf next to me adopt a strange look. “Wait a second,” she says, “that spear... Isn't that her? A reptilian spearwoman of great power, it has to be one of the 3 Spears of Sentora!”

That seems to start something in the crowd, a wave of recognition. The preacher's face darkens. “I know you. Few good men of the south do not know of your infamous reputation, monster, “ he spits. “Otilia...”

Emboldened, the warrior speaks. “Understand? You've made a very scary monster angry.” Even with the priest standing above her she still manages to adopt a condescending stance, sneering at him. “However, I'm a decent person. I'll forgive you. Just get on your knees and grovel like the pig you are.”

He glares back defiantly. “So long as I hold breath I shall never bow to the tyranny of monsters.” Cries of assent surround the holy man.

“This is getting really bad.” I look to Father and consider asking him what to do. Could we even do anything? Are we just victims of circumstance forced to watch this awful scene unfold? Then I notice he seems to be tracking something with his eyes. I try to follow whatever it is he's looking at but it evades me. “Father?”

Otilia realizes too late she has turned the crowd against her. The angry gaze of hostile eyes burrow into the warrior. “Tch, worthless pests. Is that how it is?” The dark skinned girl abandons the throng and turns her eyes to the man of Ilias. “Keep talking! You really want to be a martyr that badly?” The monster raises her spear and the crowd grows ever louder. “Are you happy? You've got the backing of a mob of sheep. Quite the accomplishment. What else can you manage with your lies you officious scumbag?”

“I have spoken the truth!” he shouts. “I have done Her will! And if this too is Her will, so be it! I welcome it! But should you strike me down my vengeful spirit will bring calamity upon your shoulders!”

She just laughs at him. “What an idiot! When you die, you're dead! I'm not afraid of any dead men or their wicked god!”

“Blasphemer! I shall not allow you to besmirch Her, monster! I will not stand it!” The orator steps boldy forward. Is he crazy?

That seems to have done it. The crowd turns into a flurry of motion. Father rushes forward as Otilia levels her blade with the priest's heart. A cacophony of noise surrounds us, cries of despair and anger and frustration. Something awful is about to happen.

But a hand rests upon Otilia's spear. The scene becomes deadly still at the appearance of a strangely intimidating figure. A woman, as if appearing out of nowhere, has the weapon firmly in her grasp while her other sits hand upon the desert warrior's shoulder. “Oh my,” the deep, luxurious voice carries over the noise, “how frightening. My delinquent little sister was about to do something very naughty.” A heavy tension hangs in the air, yet it seems somehow absurd. After all, the woman seems perfectly ordinary. Her attire is gloomy, a simple low cut black dress with no adornment, long enough to trail down to the woman's ankles. Perhaps the figure's most extraordinary feature is the long dark hair that creeps past her waist. It goes on and on, wave after wave of luxurious strands. There is something enticing about her eyes as well but I can't quite put my finger on it. Those soft brown eyes seem to hold a deep soulfulness to them, a depth of emotion that now seems strangely sad. She somehow radiates a feeling of sorrow, an emotion that seems to encompass the mysterious creature's entire being. It is only betrayed by her strangely detached voice that speaks calmly in spite of the scenario. This curiously barefoot ordinary woman holds the attention of all gathered not by physical presence but through some extraordinary otherworldly aura. And she calls herself the monster's sister.

I notice Father is there too. He seems to have stopped just short of the scene, halted by the arrival of this newcomer. He is too close now to simply be a member of the audience. Certainly he has now become a player in this violent play. But contrary to my expectations, it seemed he was headed towards the new woman and not the warrior. What is he thinking?

“Not now Griselda! You're in my way!” The youthful monster complains.

Yet the gloomy woman's sights are on Father. “What excellent eyes you have.” The enigma's mouth bears the lightest smile. Her dark voice is slightly playful, as if the looming violence around her were of little consequence. “Still, I hope you don't intend to do something foolish, Lion of Sabasa.”

My Father stands resolute, proud. “I won't stand by and watch a cold blooded killing. I came to stop a tragedy.”

Her smile deepens and she speaks kindly. “Then it appears our goals are aligned.” However, there is something in the woman's eyes that betrays her intents. Those eyes, so full of emotion, seem to have a dangerous quality to them. These monsters, they're not the kind of people you want to make your enemy. But I can't just stand by and let Father confront them alone, can I? Not that it matters. I'm just an apprentice acolyte. What could I even do?

“I said let go!” the warrior girl shouts, yet in the presence of the mature and mysterious Griselda she seems even more of a child. The scaled fighter tugs on her weapon but it does not budge. “I don't need to be baby sat by you. Let me cut him down!”

Now Otilia catches her sister's gaze, and it is a fearsome one. Somehow the angry glare of an unarmed, ordinary woman forces Otilia to yield. “We do not slay men needlessly. It is not our way. Petulant child, you have overstepped your bounds. You disgrace us.”

The warrior finds her rebellious spirit again. “These cockroaches of Ilias are an exception, aren't they? We came north to escape their awful church but the whole world is infested with them! He insulted me sister, he derides our whole kind with his hate speech!” Otilia's voice turns husky and those yellow eyes take on a wicked glow. “It's not like we haven't done it before,” she says, her tone full of dark lust. “You can't have forgotten San Ilias.”

The woman laughs. “That was the past. Things are different now. Besides,” and those soulful eyes take on a horrible cruelty, “a bloodbath or two can be forgiven if it's their kind.”

“Then-!”

“No,” the black clad woman declares. “That was something else entirely. Times are different. But it is apparent my voice isn't enough to dissuade you.”

And then somehow everything changes. The air feels heavy and a deep sensation of dread fills me. A shrill and horrible whine comes from above and I find myself buffeted by an unnatural wind. I hear screams around me as I'm slammed into the ground. Stunned and disoriented my sense of time evaporates. And when I return to my senses I look up and find myself before a truly awesome figure.

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Bad turns to worse as this volatile situation is further complicated by a new entity. What troubles does this newcomer bring? Can Ben's wishes for a peaceful resolution come true or has this tranquil day transformed into an evening of horror? Next time, the 3rd Spear of Sentora appears in 'An Overwhelming Power'. For more information of this frightening band of warriors here's a notice from 'The Apostate Directory'.

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The 3 Spears of Sentora
Heretic Primary Group

The villainy of this organization can not be understated. With their first recorded actions documented in the year 1335 this trio has in but one year left an incredible mark on the face of the military and political scene of Sentora. We declare them Heretic Primary in response to their blasphemous acts committed in the sanctified lands of San Ilias. This military organization anonymously offered their assistance in a matter of great importance to the church and we accepted. The consequences of this action would quickly come to haunt us. Having completed the mission with incredible speed and efficiency, the monsters made an appearance in the capital demanding payment for service rendered. We denied them, obviously. They sought to make fools of us all and that could not be accepted.

The monsters remained in San Ilias, insisting they receive their pay in spite of their deception. After thirty days they seized control of the Hickory Woods Fellowship Church, a sacred place bearing the remains of Saint Gereon, and offered to return it for a considerable ransom. Plans were then put in to motion to put the villains to justice. A clever ploy was used to lure the sinners out of hiding and into a trap at Fortress Micaela. Surrounded on all sides and face to face with an army of White Banner Knights, their fate seemed certain. However, in a horrible twist of fate, the beasts managed a victory in the face of our superior numbers and righteous cause. Exact details on the event are disturbing. The sacred walls of the citadel were battered as if struck by an enormous beast suggesting one of them possesses an unholy strength belying their size. First hand accounts detail hearing multiple booms, thunderous explosions and similar such incidents of mayhem. Over one hundred casualties were reported, though the count of the dead was miraculously low, surely reflecting the protective guidance of Our Lady's hand. Yet even with Her blessing, all three members of the band escaped.

It is clear that Ilias is punishing us for our lack of foresight in allowing these monsters to so easily beguile us. 1,000 prayers were offered in penance by all parties involved while the worst transgressors were subjected to a flogging. Surely our next action will bear Her blessing.