Adventure of Slaan 1

The veil of shadow still clings to Saint Morlon’s temple, turning the walls to blurred stone and the corridor to a dim smear of shapes. On the floor, the vellum lies open like peeled skin, names and seals staring up from the cold dust.

Outside, armored boots thud against the gate again. Closer this time. The sound rolls through the temple like a hammer on a cask.

Bram gathers one stack of scrolls fast, while the Paladin braces near the cracked wall, his hand already on his blade. The hidden cache is open, the truth exposed, and now it has to be saved.

Slaan moves on instinct, snatching the loose records and drawing them into her robes before the wind from the gate can catch the pages. A fresh удар of boots shakes dust from the arch above them.

Slaan folds the evidence tight against her chest. The road to the chapel agents is almost through the gate, and the road out of the temple is the only way to keep the Sun-Eaters’ names alive.

Slaan folds the records tighter and slips them into the inner layer of her robes, where the shadow veil can hide their edges. The vellum vanishes from sight, and the waxed cords go with it.

Bram gathers the last loose sheets and crushes them into a single bundle, then shoves that bundle beneath a broken stone block. Dust settles over it at once.

Outside, the battering at the gate falters, then shifts, as if the chapel agents have changed their grip and started searching for another way in.

Slaan scans the dim, vaulted corners of the temple, but the halls remain hollow and silent. No brothers or sisters of the order emerge to answer the commotion at the gate.

The paladin plants himself beside the pillars, a living barricade, while Bram crouches by the loose stone and tucks the last visible sheets deeper under the block.

Slaan settles into the shadow of the nave, still as carved stone. The words leave her like a private oath, and the temple seems to hold its breath with her.

Bram slides the loosened block back into place with careful pressure, then dusts his palms clean. The records vanish from view, hidden beneath stone and old grit.

He keeps his body angled toward the nave, but his voice softens a fraction, more for the room than for the enemy outside.

A faint scrape answers from the gate side, then stops. Inside the temple, nothing moves, and the hidden records stay buried under Bram's hands.

Slaan crosses to the aisle mouth and drags a fallen bench half across it, turning the narrow approach into a choke point beside the pillars.

Bram rises from the hidden stone with a quick, practiced motion and settles behind the bench, bow in hand, eyes fixed on the gate.

The Paladin shifts to the front of the nave, shoulders squared to the entrance, becoming a bright obstacle in the dark.

A heavy impact rattles the gate, and loose dust sifts from the lintel. The first blow lands hard enough to shake the floor beneath Slaan's feet.

The temple answer is not silence now, but the grind of wood under strain, and the records stay hidden for the moment.

Slaan holds the line and waits. The gate takes another then another, each blow making the frame groan louder than the prayers in the hall.

Dust rains from the lintel into Slaan's hair and sleeves, and she feels the floor give a sharp shiver under her boots. The barricade stays, but it starts to creep an inch at a time.

Bram plants his feet behind the bench, bow lifted, as if the next sound will be a face in the doorway. The Paladin sets himself square to the nave, drawing the danger toward him on purpose.

Then the gate cracks open with a splintering shriek. Cold air knifes into the temple, and the first chapel agent's shadow appears in the gap.

A second impact lands, and the loose floor stone by Slaan's hip jolts free just enough to show the hidden records beneath before she can press it down again.

The Paladin catches the movement and shifts one step, body blocking the exposed patch of floor. Bram draws on the opening at the gate, waiting for a target that does not yet fully enter.

The gate keeps splitting, wood screaming under the blows, and the chapel agents are still outside the threshold, but the temple is no longer sealed. One more and the first body will force its way through.

Slaan lifts both hands, and the air before the barricade turns heavy and dim. A ring of pale shadow gathers at her fingertips, ready to burst outward.

The Paladin shifts back half a step, making room without breaking his wall. Bram lowers his shoulders, still sighting the gap, waiting on Slaan's signal.

Outside, the split gate shudders again. The cold draft thickens, and the first chapel shadow leans into the opening.

Slaan releases the blindness spell. Pale force blooms across the threshold in a silent wash, swallowing the gate gap and the shapes crowding behind it.

The temple doorway fills with white-dark haze. A chapel agent stumbles back into the crush outside, and another recoils, clutching at their face in the blown dust.

The Paladin drives forward to seal the opening while Bram takes the first clean shot through the clouded entrance. The records stay hidden under Slaan's robe, but the fight at the gate turns violent and close.

Slaan turns the spell inward on the gate line, and the chapel rush meets a wall of wrongness. The haze thickens with her shadow mantle, swallowing prayer, breath, and the first shouted orders at the threshold.

Along the doorway, two agents falter mid-step, their blades wavering in the choking dim. A robed figure behind them raises both hands for a healing plea, but the dark clings to the motion and smothers it dead.

Slaan snaps her wrists, and a fan of shadow blades lashes through the blind veil. The daggers cut the entrance clean, forcing the front line back into the press outside.

Bram fires again into the confusion, and the Paladin drives his shield into the gap, locking the breach shut for one hard beat. Outside, bodies stumble over each other in the white-dark haze.

Then the silence spreads, dulling the shouted chants to a muffled smear. The chapel agents lose their rhythm, their coordinated push breaking apart at the temple step.

The gate line holds, but the haze is starting to thin at the edges. A priestly shape outside lifts a hand toward the opening again, and the Paladin braces for the next surge.

Slaan lifts both hands and twists her spell into the priestly shape at the gate. Darkness snaps tight around the figure, swallowing the raised hand, then locking the next breath in a hard, silent knot.

The priest jerks as the blindfold of shadow lands, stumbling blind against the threshold. Bram’s arrow hisses past the veil, and the Paladin slams forward to keep the breach from opening wide.

Slaan follows with a sharp pulse of stolen air, then rains shadow bolts through the haze. The priest folds back from the doorway, robes snapping, and the nearest agents recoil with him.

Outside, the line staggers. The muffled chant frays, and the doorway clears in a choking swirl of dust and dark breath.

Then the priest is dragged out of sight by the press behind him, and the threshold empties. No hand reaches back in.

The assault falls away from Saint Morlon’s temple, leaving only the thin haze, the fallen dust, and the loose floor stone still pressed shut over the hidden records.