Chapter Three – Neric and Cali

  Igniday, 9 Tamihr, Year of Folivor the Restful Sloth, 489 AWA

  Candibaru and the Temple of Tylarus, Andovarra

  Neric Hamson walked out of the inn where he had his room and out into the mid-morning sunlight. As he made his way through Candibaru’s artisan district, the sound of splintering wood drew his attention. Ahead, a cluster of broad-shouldered men in simple bronze-clasped tunics surrounded a street performer's cart. One man held aloft a beautifully carved lute, its neck gripped in his meaty fist.

  "Public performances distract from devotion to the gods," the man proclaimed, his voice carrying across the morning market. "The Brotherhood of the Bronze Hammer calls on all to abandon these worldly distractions!"

  With deliberate ceremony, he brought the instrument down against the cobblestones. The lute shattered, strings twanging discordantly as they snapped. Several onlookers gasped; most hurried past with averted eyes.

  Neric's hand instinctively moved to the flute concealed in his inner pocket. His fingers tightened around it as rage and fear battled within him. These were the same people who had hurt Sayana, leaving her unable to sing. He wanted nothing more than to confront them, but what could one Halfling do against so many?

  As the Brotherhood members moved on to inspect a painter's stall, Neric slipped down a side street. He needed help—and perhaps the gods themselves could provide it. With renewed determination, he headed toward the sun-emblazoned gate of Tylarus's temple.

  Perfect, thought Neric, and entered.

  Calizara Sylmaris, Cali to her friends, sat in the temple of Tylarus wondering for the umpteenth time what she was supposed to be doing in the busy, crowded city of Candibaru. She’d arrived two days ago, and still felt overwhelmed by the noise and bustle of the place. The temple of Tylarus had seemed the obvious place to go, and Father Jomek had been only too pleased to offer her a place to stay, not even batting an eye at the glowing aura that always surrounded her strawberry blonde hair, the sole visible indicator that she was not the full Elf her appearance otherwise suggested she was, but was rather Half-Elven and Half-Celestial.

  The temple of Tylarus was popular among the residents of Candibaru, and Father Jomek was always eager to make use of any help available. He’d asked her to stay in the temple and be available to aid anyone who needed assistance while he visited temple members on the other side of town. Cali enjoyed one-on-one work with others, and was only too happy to have something to do by which to earn her keep. Father Jomek had told her he’d finish with the visits he needed to make on the following day, and that she’d be free to do as she wished starting the day after that.

  Cali had what many had called a rather unconventional relationship with the god Tylarus. Many believed that gods were not directly involved in the affairs of mortals except perhaps when big things like world destruction or domination by an evil power were at stake, but Cali felt that Tylarus ‘spoke’ to her on a regular basis. She never heard an actual voice in her head, it was more of a small, quiet prompting she sometimes heard during times of prayer and devotion. Sometimes she’d pray for guidance, and in would walk someone who needed the kind of help she was best at giving, which usually involved sorting through some kind of personal problem. Sometimes one talk was enough to clear up the problem; other times several meetings were needed. Sometimes the person wasn’t willing to make the changes needed to deal effectively with the problem. It was hardest for her when the person refusing to change was letting people in their family down, especially young children. She ached to make things better for the youngest and most vulnerable, and she’d had to learn how to release those souls to their appointed futures. For her it was one of the hardest things in her duties as a cleric.

  She was brought out of her reverie by the sound of the front door opening. When a figure did not immediately appear, she thought that perhaps a breeze had blown the door open, but a Halfling male with light brown hair and hazel eyes soon appeared and asked, “Would you mind helping me close this door?”

  After helping close the front door, she turned to the Halfling and said, "My name is Cali Sylmaris, and this is the temple of Tylarus, lawful good god of knowledge, healing, community, glory, sun, and music. What brings you here today?" Cali asked, gazing down at the Halfling who had just entered the temple.

  As their eyes met, the world around Cali seemed to pause for the briefest moment. The ambient sounds of the temple—the quiet shuffle of acolytes' feet, the distant murmur of prayer—faded to silence. In that suspended instant, she experienced not so much a vision as a profound certainty, a knowing that bypassed her physical senses and spoke directly to her soul. She perceived Neric not just as he stood before her—a charismatic Halfling with ready wit and expressive eyes—but as something more. For a heartbeat, she saw him standing at a crossroads bathed in golden light, his shadow stretching in eight different directions. Above him, a distant star pulsed with the same rhythm as her own heart. Words formed in her mind with crystal clarity: His path leads to your answering.

  The moment passed as quickly as it had come, leaving Cali with that familiar sensation she'd felt throughout her life—the gentle but unmistakable touch of divine guidance. Unlike the promptings she usually received during prayer, this one had come unbidden, with an immediacy that left her momentarily breathless.

  "I'm Neric Hamson, story-teller and orator extraordinaire," the Halfling replied, seemingly unaware of her momentary departure. "I've come with questions about how the gods view artistic works. Can you help me with that, Priestess?"

  Recovering her composure, Cali offered him a gentle smile, now certain that this meeting was no coincidence. "Well, Neric," she replied, her voice steady despite the lingering resonance of the vision, "it's nice to meet you. For that question, why don't you join me in our discussion alcove?"

  Inside the temple of Tylarus, sunlight streamed through circular stained-glass windows positioned to create a pattern of light that moved across the floor throughout the day—a living sundial that marked the hours with pools of golden and amber light. Cali had learned that during the solstice celebrations, these light patterns aligned perfectly with inlaid bronze musical notation on the floor, creating what the acolytes called the ‘Symphony of Light.’

  Healing herbs hung in careful bundles along one wall, their fragrance mingling with the beeswax candles that burned perpetually in sconces shaped like upraised hands. Each flame represented a prayer for healing that continued even when the supplicant had left the temple.

  Near the discussion alcove where Cali led Neric, a small fountain bubbled quietly, its water running over carefully arranged crystals that created delicate harmonics—music made manifest through water rather than air, another tribute to Tylarus's domains of both healing waters and inspirational music.

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  After they both seated themselves, she asked, “Why don’t you tell me what you are wondering about?”

  “Well you see, I’ve been hearing about these men who are destroying various works of art, like paintings, sculptures, musical scores, and the like. I even witnessed a group on the way here, and they hurt a friend of mine, too, leaving her unable to sing. These people call themselves the Brotherhood of the Bronze Hammer and they call on people to turn from the distractions of art and follow the gods more closely. To start with, I want to know if the gods are really against art, because I’m going to stop these fanatics either way.“ He gazed earnestly up at Cali.

  Cali listened intently as Neric described the Brotherhood's attacks, noting not just his words but the flicker of something deeper that crossed his face when he mentioned his friend—pain, yes, but also something that looked almost like guilt. While Father Jomek might have immediately offered platitudes about the gods' will, Cali's approach was more measured. She took a moment to truly understand before speaking—a habit that some mistook for hesitation but was actually her way of honoring the depth of others' experiences.

  "These attacks on art aren't just about property," she said finally, her voice soft but certain. "They're attacks on expression itself—on the divine spark that allows creation." She met Neric's eyes with quiet intensity. "No true deity would demand the destruction of beauty. But tell me about your friend—what happened to her?”

  Neric's animated demeanor dimmed slightly. "Sayana. She was an Elven vocalist who performed at the Silver Chalice. Her voice could make you cry one minute and laugh the next." His hands moved expressively as he spoke, as if trying to capture something intangible. "Four Brotherhood thugs attacked her in an alley after her show. They crushed her throat, said it was 'divine judgment' for leading people astray. Healers saved her life, but she'll never sing again."

  The raw pain in his voice was unmistakable, but Cali sensed there was more beneath the surface. Years of serving as an informal counselor had taught her to recognize the particular weight that came with unspoken guilt. "That must have been devastating to witness," she said gently, leaving space for him to share more if he chose.

  "I didn't witness it," Neric said quickly, then looked away. "I... I found out afterward. Visited her in the temple infirmary."

  Cali waited, sensing the struggle beneath his words. When he remained silent, she offered quietly, "Sometimes the hardest wounds to bear are the ones we think we could have prevented."

  Neric's head snapped up, his expressive eyes wide with surprise and something that looked like relief mixed with panic. For a moment, his carefully maintained performer's composure cracked entirely. "How did you—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair. "I mean, that's not—"

  "Neric," Cali said softly, "I'm not here to judge. But carrying guilt alone only makes it heavier."

  The words seemed to break something open in him. "I overheard them," he said in a rush, the words tumbling out with immediacy once the dam broke. "Two Brotherhood members talking about making an example of someone at the Silver Chalice. They mentioned 'the Elf with the siren's voice' and 'divine judgment,' but I was rushing to meet friends and I thought—" He gestured helplessly. "I thought it was just their usual religious bluster! I figured I'd mention it to someone the next day, maybe joke about it with Sayana herself, but then..."

  "But then it was too late," Cali finished gently.

  "If I had just taken five minutes to warn her instead of rushing off to have fun," Neric continued, his voice thick with emotion, "she'd still be able to sing. She's suffering because I couldn't be bothered to take a threat seriously."

  Cali was quiet for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "The guilt you're carrying—it shows that you care deeply about others. But Neric, the responsibility for Sayana's attack lies with the people who chose violence, not with you for failing to predict it."

  "But I could have—"

  "You could have done many things differently if you'd known what would happen," Cali interrupted gently. "But you're not responsible for other people's evil choices. What you are responsible for is what you choose to do now."

  Neric looked up at her, something shifting in his expression. "That's exactly why I need to stop them. The Brotherhood of the Bronze Hammer has to be brought down, and I'm going to be the one to do it."

  "That's a dangerous path to walk alone," Cali observed. "Wouldn't it be better to coordinate with the city authorities? Or other temples?"

  "The authorities are too busy with 'important matters of state,'" Neric said dismissively, his natural optimism reasserting itself. "Besides, I work best when I can adapt and improvise. I've been gathering information on the Brotherhood for weeks now. Their leader calls himself 'The Bronze Hand'—wears a creepy bronze mask and glove. Nobody knows his real identity, but he's supposedly a former priest who thinks the gods chose him to 'purify' society."

  Cali frowned slightly. "And how exactly do you plan to stop an organization of zealots and thugs?"

  "Well, that's where things get interesting," Neric said, his enthusiasm building as he moved to safer conversational ground. "Have you heard about the Trials of Eight?"

  "The combat competitions? I've heard they're quite popular."

  "Exactly! The prize money would help me fund a proper investigation into the Brotherhood, and the recognition might give me the platform I need to expose them." Neric leaned forward eagerly. "But I've been hearing some unusual stories about recent Trials."

  "Unusual how?"

  "A merchant staying at my inn told me about his nephew's experience just three days ago. The Trials are supposed to be standard combat scenarios using the Thought-Weave Lattice, right? But lately, participants have been facing strange challenges." Neric's eyes lit up with a storyteller's love of mystery. "One group found themselves in ancient ruins with inscriptions that changed as they tried to read them. Another had to fight shadowy versions of themselves that knew their every move. And the most recent group—when they were 'defeated' in the simulation, they felt real pain, not just the suggestion of it."

  Cali's expression grew concerned. "That doesn't sound like entertainment."

  "The operators claimed it was just enhanced realism, but something felt wrong about the whole thing. The nephew swore the wildshards in their circlets were glowing with an unusual color." Neric shrugged with his characteristic confidence. "What can I say? I'm curious by nature. Besides, the Trials might be exactly what I need to gain the skills and reputation to take down the Brotherhood."

  "And you're looking for someone to go with you?” Cali asked, already sensing where this was leading.

  "My friend Jori—he's an Aquatic Elf—will be in our group, probably with his girlfriend. Well, they just found out they're half-siblings, so that's complicated." Neric waved his hand dismissively. "The point is, I paid for a slot for two people in two days, but I need someone to partner with."

  Cali felt that familiar stirring of divine guidance, the same certainty she'd experienced when Neric first entered the temple. "I'll go with you," she said, following the quiet prompting.

  Neric's entire face brightened. "You will? That's fantastic!" In his excitement, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small pouch. "I almost forgot—I was going to ask about this too." He carefully opened the drawstring and tipped a small object into his palm: a translucent crystal no larger than his thumbnail, with fractal patterns swirling inside its depths.

  "A wildshard?" Cali asked, leaning closer.

  "A merchant gave it to me as payment when he couldn't afford my performance fee. Said it was from the Thought-Weave Lattice. I've been carrying it for luck, but sometimes at night, it seems to... whisper. Not with words exactly, but with feelings. Dreams that don't feel like my own."

  As Neric held the shard between them, Cali noticed the fractal patterns within seemed to shift and flow toward her, as if responding to her presence. "May I?"

  When Neric placed the wildshard in her palm, Cali felt an immediate resonance—not unlike the subtle guidance she associated with Tylarus, yet distinctly different. For the briefest moment, she glimpsed shadowy figures moving in formation, practicing combat maneuvers with practiced precision.

  "I believe this shard is indeed connected to the Trials," she said thoughtfully, returning it to Neric. "And perhaps it's no coincidence that you've brought it to me today."

  "Can I pick you up here at 13 bells in two days?" Neric asked, carefully tucking the wildshard back into his pouch.

  As Cali nodded to the Halfling, she found herself wondering exactly which of the other participants in their group of eight would be in need of her help. And whether this competition might somehow lead her to hear the direct words of Tylarus that she had been seeking. One thing was certain—meeting Neric had been no accident, and whatever lay ahead in the Trials would test them both in ways they couldn't yet imagine.