Since they had more critical infrastructure left to develop in Narc, he had settled on a very simple design based on early Egyptian architecture: sets of symmetrical stone walls, centered on an axis running on a slight incline from a sanctuary hosting a large shrine in his image down to the entrance. This central path formed a broad avenue punctuated by columns and smaller side doors meant to maximize ease of movement. Finally, Wepwawet conjured a Wolf House watchtower to complete the infrastructure and allow his clerics to relay messages or sermons to the whole city.
The temple was relatively small and lacked the grandiose ornaments Wepwawet’s churches enjoyed back in Ancient Egypt, but he didn’t care all that much. His followers could always build new wings and chambers over the years once the situation in Verglane had stabilized, and he had another under construction in Icefall too.
Besides, the quest didn’t specify what kind of temple his worshipers had to build. The notification that followed confirmed that this one sufficed.
Quest: Shepherd of Many Flocks II, completed. You’ve earned the Ice Barrier Rank 5 Animism Miracle!
Ice Barrier
Rank 5 Animism
Conjures a barrier of sacred ice on a designated spot. The barrier can be up to thirty inches thick, thirty feet high, and three hundred feet long. Anything caught within the barrier during its formation is frozen inside it as per the Freeze ailment. The barrier ignores Frost damage, but takes twice as much from Fire.
Ohoh, excellent! Wepwawet also noticed that the Miracle didn’t specify that the barrier had to be vertical either, which opened many possibilities for construction; especially when combined with his Wolf House.
Now came the hard question… which Miracle should he exchange it with?
Ice Barrier was a straight-up upgrade to his Barricade Kit, but the latter cost way less mana. Both could serve him in battle too. His duel with the mystery goddess taught him that while many of his Miracles were situationally useful, he had quite a few bricks.
I’ve run out of extra copies for Sacred Weapon, Sacred Beast, and my lesser Revelations, Wepwawet thought as he considered his options. They weren’t too useful anymore now that he had proper infrastructure, but letting them go meant a permanent loss of options. I do have three copies of Sacred Food left… but it feeds the people and it would be useful in a siege… I guess I could also let go of Skill: Longstrider since the +2 AGI bonus is starting to look pitiful now that my Champions are gaining more Perks… and I can’t let go of Raincloud either, because we’ll be fighting fire users!
Argh, decision paralysis! He knew some of his beginner deck cards were crappy compared to his new ones, but discarding them meant forever denying himself an option!
The magmorians also loved fire, which both his Wolf House and Ice Barrier took double damage from! Relying on these two while cutting himself off from other options capable of putting out flames or bolstering his Champions might prove catastrophic!
In the end, Wepwawet decided to switch Ice Barrier with a copy of his Sacred Food Miracle. His followers likely wouldn’t notice a slight decrease in the amount of lettuce he produced and he wished to keep Skill: Longstrider for now. It could serve to empower newer Champions before their ranked-up high enough.
All in all, Wepwawet was fast approaching the moment when he would run out of copies to discard. He had broadened his options a lot since he first started, but he would soon need to narrow down his deck around a central strategy for consistency.
He also needed more options to deal with Pele and the magmorians. Too many of his powerful Miracles revolved around ice.
New Quest: Shepherd of Many Flocks III
Write down a holy text for your followers to refer to. This can be a simple set of commandments or a dense grimoire full of parables and principles, but this document cannot be edited once chosen.
Reward: Prophecy Miracle.
Oh, that should be easy! Yahwéh got away with ten commandments, so Wepwawet should be able to fit all of his own on a postcard!
Nonetheless, that quest could wait for later. Wepwawet focused his attention back on his temple’s opening ceremony. As his last Commander in Narc, Wintresse oversaw its organization and invited most of the town to attend; though the real stars of the show ended up being his first clerics.
“Color me surprised, Your Majesty,” Wintresse whispered to Wepwawet’s spirit protection once his first priests took their place in front of the shrine. “I expected the honor of consecrating this temple to go to a werewolf.”
“Devotion ignores race and age,” Wepwawet replied.
In truth, he had been equally surprised to find that the first person to awaken the potential to cast Prayer spells in Narc had been Thibeau; the same wereowl scholar whom Victoire once consulted on about the magmorian threat. He guessed that wisdom, faith, and an inquisitive spirit often went hand-in-hand.
Of course, Wepwawet had ordained other followers; many of them being Snowstep werewolves, a handful of weregoats and werebears, and even a human woman. He prided himself in being an equal-opportunity god for all races and species!
“Have you found anything about the staff yet?” Wepwawet whispered in Wintresse’s ear. “Or these ‘Lunarians’?”
“I have yet to identify the staff’s origin, though it’s only a matter of time until I do,” Wintresse replied with supreme confidence. “I strongly suspect the material it was crafted from is the same Blackstone material common in Mortis and Shadazar, though how it made its way so far north remains a mystery to me.”
“Uh huh, I see.” It was a lie, of course. Wepwawet knew little about Shadazar and nothing about this Mortis place, but he didn’t want to sound ignorant. “Keep me informed should you find anything. This is a critical matter.”
“I will be sure to uncover this mystery, Your Majesty,” Wintresse replied with a knowing look. “And I do not doubt my discoveries will earn me your favor.”
Typical dark elves. You could always count on them to stay true to their ambitions. Then again, he had no cause to complain if she put in the work.
Now that his clerics had gathered at the shrine to face the people, Wepwawet manifested in a giant form behind them.
“Citizens of Narc!” He addressed the crowd and then waved his arms at his chosen priests. “These honored souls, through their faith and devotion, have earned a gift and duty! May the sick and wounded among you step forward to receive their blessing!”
To demonstrate his point, Wepwawet invited a set of villagers—mostly people who had suffered injuries during building works—to the sanctuary’s front. Thibeau and other priests placed their hands on them as Wepwawet taught them to, the crowd growing silent once their fingers shone with golden light.
Bless was by far the easiest Prayer spell for clerics to cast, and one of the most useful. It provided minor healing, alleviated the target’s exhaustion, and even removed minor ailments like sneezing. While unable to regrow limbs or cure more harmful diseases, the spectacle of seeing scars fade away before their eyes or injured men removing their bandages did impress his citizens.
Unlike other forms of magic, Prayer spells derived their power directly from a deity rather than the power of the caster; however, the relationship was more akin to recycling than anything. A cleric’s faith produced mana sent to their chosen deity, which then returned it formatted into a spell that they could cast. The amount of mana spent was so small that it didn’t even count as a point for the purpose of casting Miracles. To Wepwawet, the process was no different than taking out a single drop of water from a lake.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Most importantly, casting Prayer spells required both genuine faith and a soul aligning with a deity’s tenets. Wepwawet always knew whenever a priest used them and under which circumstances, so anyone trying to abuse this favor would immediately sense their connection fizzling out.
In short, anyone trying to use his name in vain would suffer for it!
“My priests shall travel among you and other communities to alleviate your suffering and provide guidance,” Wepwawet declared. “They shall be the shepherds among my flock, friends of the faithful, and messengers of their god!”
His clerics welcomed his proclamation with humble bows and his followers with thunderous applause; the latter of which only grew louder when Wepwawet topped it by conjuring a pile of lettuce and ordering a feast to celebrate the occasion. All in all, Narc’s population appeared pleased with the event.
Wepwawet hoped Victoire and the others were having as much of a good time as their fellow citizens. It had been over three days since she and Goreville’s groups departed to attend to their respective missions, with both of their teams traveling across Verglane undisturbed the last time he checked up on them.
Eh, they could handle themselves for a bit longer.
Traveling through the Glacis Mountains proved to be a pain.
Their journey started well enough for Victoire’s team. Using the Icefall teleporter and then following tracks cleared by Lord Wepwawet’s spirit-wolves allowed them to gain days on the expected schedule. They had quickly reached Last Pass, the final trading post at the Glacis Mountains feet, where Victoire hoped to either meet with her old comrade Kale and resupply.
Instead, her expedition team found the trading post almost deserted and no trace of her former comrade. The few werelings merchants in the area informed them that no Glarmes scout had crossed through the mountains in weeks.
This surprised Victoire. The Glarmes regularly sent traders to Last Pass to buy the few goods they struggled to produce themselves in Promesse. Relatively warm seasonal weather should have melted away whatever ice and snow that blocked the usual mountain paths during the winter.
In fact, it seemed Kale hadn’t returned since Mistouffe first informed him of the magmorians’ incursion prior to Jasper’s attack on Narc. Strange timing. Had Lord Raymond elected to keep all of his forces in Promesse in order to bolster the city’s defenses in case the magmorians pushed further north? It would be his style, but it surprised Victoire that he didn’t at least leave one or two sentries beyond the mountains to keep an ear on the ground.
Whatever the case, her expedition still had to cross the Glacis Mountains. The sight of the immense, snowy peaks forming an impenetrable wall stretching across the horizon had awed the group into silence. Even though Victoire had crossed them dozens of times in her life, they had come to represent more than piles of stone and snow.
In many ways, the Glacis Mountains now embodied the frontier between her past and her future.
She had powered through anyway and guided her team through passages which she knew like the back of her hand. They spent a good day progressing past bridges of stones, tall cliffs, and beautiful waterfalls of melting ice before making camp near a cave.
And then came the blizzard.
The temperature steadily dropped in the morning, with ominous clouds racing faster than the wind and swiftly covering the sky. A roiling and thundering snowstorm fell upon them in an instant, forcing them to retreat inside the cave under the cover of a warm campfire.
“How long can these storms last?” Alpine asked as she heated up milk on the campfire, her gaze lingering on the rising pile of snow that now separated the inside of the cave from the outside. The sunlight struggled to pierce through the dark clouds.
“Days,” Victoire replied, though that one shouldn’t last long. She had braved enough storms to identify weather patterns to tell it would pass quickly. “However, it’s the first time that I've encountered a blizzard this time of the year. Quite strange.”
“Thankfully we have plenty of supplies and our animal guides do not require sustenance,” Alpine mused. Lord Wepwawet’s spirit-wolves waited at the back of the cave near the slumbering Lourson and Filou. The former cradled the latter in his sleep like a child would do with a doll. “Would you like a cup to keep you warm, Victoire?”
“With pleasure,” Victoire replied. She brought the warm milk to her lips, so sweet that her body immediately heated up the moment it touched her lips. “It’s tastier than usual.”
“You’ve noticed?” Alpine chuckled to herself. “I’ve been improving my usual recipes since Lord Wepwawet blessed me with a ‘masterworker’s inspiration.’”
“It’s a nice Perk,” Victoire said, before suddenly realizing her mistake. “I mean, it is a useful blessing.”
“It is!” Thankfully, Alpine failed to pick up on Victoire’s slip-up. “Although, I do admit I’m somewhat jealous of the flashier powers Lord Wepwawet saddled you and Renarde with.”
“Give it time.” Victoire briefly wondered what kind of paths the weregoat would gain access to once she could ‘rank-up,’ whatever that meant in the gods’ jargon. Renarde had four choices to pick from. “I recall that you mentioned hiking in the past?”
“I used to live in Stalheim in the southeast,” Alpine replied while looking at the thundering snow storm outside. The weregoat seemed to find it more soothing than anything. “It’s all rocks and hills there, at least above the earth. Life was tough for my family, but we were happy for a time.”
“Until the Andvari civil war ended?” Victoire guessed. She had heard that the new dwarven king had taken power in a coup and brutally enforced his authority across Stalheim.
“No, the Andvari prefer to stay under the earth and pay no mind to the shepherds living above their roofs,” Alpine replied, shaking her head. “The issue came from above. A clan of harpies turned our region into their hunting ground, so we had no other choice than to flee further north until we settled in Narc.”
“That’s terrible.” Victoire only knew harpies as distant cousins of werebirds with human features and cruel appetites. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“It was a blessing in disguise, I say. I wouldn’t have met so many wonderful people had I stayed south.” Alpine’s head perked up when sunrays touched her face. “Looks like it’s clearing up!”
The storm indeed calmed down, and the wind carried away the thunderclouds within the hour. Victoire excavated the cave’s entrance, then watched the sun shining down on a vast frozen land split by a wide and massive chasm. She began to recognize the area without the snowstorm to obscure it.
“Mmm…” She heard Lourson stirring at the back of the cave as he and Filou woke up. “Is it time to leave?”
“We’re roughly one to two days’ walk from our destination,” Victoire replied. She checked the sky to find it utterly clear and empty, with no dragon’s shadow for miles. Perfect. “I think the worst is behind us.”
“We’re ready to depart at your command, Milady,” Filou replied the moment he woke up. He immediately grabbed their supplies with eager efficiency and enthusiasm. “I cannot wait to see your hometown!”
“Promesse is more of a fortress than a town, but it has its charm,” Victoire conceded. The area around the Sacred Source was especially beautiful, but she knew better than to give Filou the details. The Glarmes would never allow werelings near their holy sanctum, so it would only serve to frustrate him.
The group followed Victoire’s lead north along the chasm, though they didn’t approach it too closely; she recalled that this one reached nearly three hundred feet down, with meltwater often causing many unwary souls to slip up and fall to their doom below.
“Mmm?” Alpine suddenly began to smell the air. “Mmm…”
“Something the matter?” Lourson asked.
“I smell a huge treasure not too far from us,” Alpine said with enthusiasm. “So much gold in one place, it must come from an ore vein in the earth.”
Victoire froze in place. There were no gold ore veins in the Glacis Mountains; in fact, the only precious metals always found their way to the same handful of places…
“Like a dragon’s hoard?” she asked, praying to be wrong.
“Maybe?” Alpine sounded embarrassed. “How big of a hoard are we talking about?”
The mere fact that she had to ask unsettled Victoire. There shouldn’t be any dragon’s lair in this part of the Glacis Mountains. The only one that moved his treasure around was…
Uh oh.
Oh no…
“Battle formation!” Victoire ordered upon immediately grabbing her spear, her teeth clenching. “Battle formation!”
“W-what’s going on?!” Filou asked upon immediately drawing his sword. Lourson imitated him by raising his warhammer, while Alpine grabbed fire cocktails from her pack and the spirit-wolves tensed up. “Where’s the enemy?”
“I don’t know, but we’re going to retreat back from the way we came,” Victoire decided. “This will cost us a few days’ delay, but this is still better than–”
An enormous reptilian hand surged from the snow.
Victoire barely had time to blink before strong claws and white-scaled fingers closed on her waist and legs before lifting her up above the ground. An enormous shape—far larger than the undead mammoth she fought in Icefall—erupted from the snow, the resulting small avalanche sending Filou and the others stumbling backward.
“I’ve finally caught you, Princess Victoire!” said a nasally and all too familiar unpleasant voice. Two immense blue eyes gazed at her in triumph. “You thought you could escape me, His Magnificence Insupportable?”
Victoire suppressed a groan as she found herself facing a sixty-foot long dragon with frosty white scales, slender wings that were thin like sheets of ice, and curved horns crowning his big stupid head. His free hand’s thumb pointed at his smug reptilian snout.
“I have been lying in wait for months! Months!” the dragon gloated as he expanded his wings. “I outhinked you! I outhinked you so much, I gained telepathy!”
How could something so big have such a small brain?! “For the last time!” Victoire shouted as she raised her spear to stab the hand holding her. “I told you I am not a princ–”
She never finished her sentence. Her words turned into a cry as the dragon’s wings flapped with such strength that they whipped up a small avalanche, burying her teammates and propelling them in the sky. By the time Victoire recovered, the gulf below had become a tiny crack in a very, very distant ground.
“Back to my hoard with you!” Insupportable, white-scaled terror of the Glacis Mountains, boasted to his captive. “Like a cherry on top of a snow cake!”
Damn it, not this again!
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