Narrator – OOG Sanctuary

“Tyvian. You look entirely too nervous. If you can not breathe, close your eyes and say the morning prayer to Our Mother. It surely is the most calming and will level your heart and mind.”

“Uh, thank you, uncle. That is a wise suggestion.”

“Oh, trust me. After years of experience on the edge of…they’re here.”

“Mother Surin. Author of solemnity and all things of the light…we beseech thee. We ask your presence, amongst us your humble children. Bear the life into the lifeless, hope into the hopeless, and strength to those who have lost there wa…”

“You there. Priest! You protect a man suspected of murder and high treason. By order of Command Marshal Grandon of the 13th Regiment at Wycolt Citadel. By the authority of King Kastigal of Nyveria, I order you to remand the fugitive within your temple to our custody at once!”

(The priest walk three steps forward, his staff supporting the frailty of his frame. Before him, the stone archway of the Temple Grotto. Beyond that…a dozen armed guards baring the royal seal of Nyveria.)

“I am Darnesc Meer, Temple Priest of Surin and citizen of Wycolt. Might I remind you…that according to the law, you have no jurisdiction beyond this gate. Any person, regardless of race or station shall find sanctuary within the confines of this temple.”

“And might I point out to you, priest…that you are outnumbered. We are soldiers in battle raiments of the king’s elite. Comply or suffer the consequences of your stubbornness.”

(The older priest seems to glow in an amber light, and the winds have kicked into a controlled frenzy.)

“Lieutenant! Hear me! By the authority of Our Mother, the Goddess Surin. Sister to the Father of Light and Matron of every birth of every generation of Nyverian (beat) even yours. I warn you to step not upon the stone path of this holy ground! Heed my warning!”

(The lieutenant steps toward the gate with half of the compliment following him.)

“NOT ONE STEP FORWARD, RICHAR GOREC! ONE MORE STEP AND YOU SHALL IMPAIL YOUR MORTAL SOUL UPON THE THORNS OF WRATH AND INCUR OUR MOTHER’S HOLY SCORN!”

(With his last word, Darnesc raises his staff and from the surface of the Visible Wyrld a wall of thorns pierces the stone and juts twenty feet toward the night sky and twenty feet across, barring entrance to the Temple Grotto. The lieutenant literally jumps backward, landing hard on his backside. The chainmail thrown over his head exposing his gambeson and pink, ale-swollen belly. The guards all step back a minimum of ten feet, their swords held loosely toward the ground, frightened and humbled by the miraculous sight.)

“Turn back, soldiers of man. Your Mother holds you even closer to her bosom. Know her peace as you know truly the will of the law.”

(The guards look toward the lieutenant, fumbling with his armor – belt and accoutrements akimbo. The priest Darnesc slams the butt of his staff down hard on the stone walk.)

“GO!!”

(Without even waiting for their commanding officer, the guards run up the hill toward the citadel. Two swords and a crossbow dropped by the side of the walk. In rushing to catch up to them, the petrified officer trips over his fallen leggings, stumbling into a large Nighthawk bush. Thorns tear at the flesh of his arse as he finally finds solid ground and runs. Darnesc puts a hand on Tyvians shaking shoulder.)

“Our Law is bigger than their’s, wouldn’t you say, nephew?”

(Tyvian nods but can find no happy response to his uncle’s jest.)

“I worry for the boy, uncle. He is filled with rage and blind with vengeance,”

“I agree, Tyvian. But let us hope then that his rage is enough to fuel his short journey to catch up with your friends. I know Our Mother will keep an eye on him as well…and cast her grace upon him once he enters that dark place.”

“By the loving grace of Our Most Blessed Mother. Morsad, Surin Sthah.”