Blood on Golden Wings

The Silent Harp was a remarkably well-built inn and tavern for such an out of the way location. Settled at the edge of the Altarhome Forest - enchanted with holy magicks - the two-story wood-and-brick structure was seemingly out of place in the wilderness. Aside from the trickle of pilgrims making their way to Altarhome Temple, very few travelers actually made it to the Harp’s sturdy hearth and spacious living quarters. 

...Except for the coming holy days of Tyr, the God of Justice - who called Altarhome his central shrine and holy site.

Gaelen - a corgi barely over two-bear’s paw tall - wandered around the main tavern, washing mugs and straightening pictures as the doors opened with a squeak.

I shall have to fix that, he thought to himself. It was just after noon and pilgrims on their way to the ‘Temple Most High’ were stopping by for a drink. A family of moles in brown robes wandered in and asked for a bowl of water to share. Gaelen obliged, then excused himself and tottered his way to the kitchen.

For the ones making their way to Altarhome, this was the beginning of the holy season - nearly Tyr’s mass. The flocks of faithful were thick and Gaelen had obtained permission for extra help during the high holy day. 

It was the first day of Tyr’s Mass: the day of Saint Julien. Gaelen handed the reigns to one of his paladins, a badger unaccustomed to customer service or pouring drinks, but who would stop all questions if asked one. Gaelen himself made his way to the kitchen during the lunch rush.

Gaelen made sure he was alone as he secured the door. The corgi began to shake his fur, like a pup coming in from the rain, except - instead of drops of water shedding off of him, the duller parts of his pale yellow coat flaked off until Gaelen the Stalwart was revealed.

The angel Gaelen the Stalwart: a corgi of Tyr, the God of Justice. With golden armor and two glittering, golden wings, had given up on every other angle. His clerics and adjutants set a table of wonderful food, wine, and even a nice, soft pillow to entice the former assassin-illusionist to give up her secrets.

Alia’s wrists glowed with the light of enchanted shackles as she wandered the depths of her new home: the lowest level of the Bennarok Prison for Insane Mages.

It was the first day of Tyrsmas since she was arrested in front of her son and husband at the entrance to her bath house.

I wonder what they’ve done to it now, she wondered, a wandering smirk crossing her muzzle as shadows flitted in the dark. Have they kept it the same? Used its reputation to make money off of it? ...Used it to convert other creatures into Tyr’s clutches?

The dark moved around her like titanic serpents, yet - in this pit of unmaking - her reputation burned as fiercely as it had above. Alia was greeted not with derision but with reverence by the broken and the damned of Bennarok. 

They whispered her deeds as though reciting prayers: the butcher of judges, the terror of the inquisitors, the cunning vixen who had evaded the hounds for decades. For the mad souls of Bennarok’s lowest layer, she was not a prisoner - she was a prophet, an icon of the defiance that the divine could not entirely crush.

Higher up - though not yet the surface - was Gaelen, preparing his table for his other angelic friends. It was only the first day of Tyrsmas, so they would not be missed at other banquet tables.

The first to arrive was the archangel Victoria - a tall, athletic badgeress who had fought the legions of evil on many occasions. Even Gaelen was astonished at her presence. Victoria’s longsword was strapped to her back as she looked down on the corgi.

“Gaelen,” she said matter-of-factly. “I am... honored... to join you on the first day of Tyr’s mass.”

Gaelen bowed deeply. “Victoria, it is I who is honored.”

“I have not seen you for a century,” Victoria said, seating herself at the table.

“You have been busy fighting the Shadow Wars,” Gaelen said. “You have not had time to accept my invitation.”

Victoria eyed the corgi with malice, her golden eyes squinting.

“N-not that you had to accept it!” Gaelen said quickly. “As I said, you were busy!”

Victoria’s four golden wings fluttered in annoyance as she put her massive boots on his table with a thud. “When does your feast begin?”

Gaelen bowed. “There are a few more guests, and then someone who... may surprise you.”

Victoria eyed the corgi again. “Surprise me, in what way?”

The angel corgi blinked. “I only ask that you keep your... temper.”

“KEEP MY TEMPER?!” The Tyrian angel of fury asked. “You overstep your boundaries, corgi!”

“MY APOLOGIES, VICTORIA!” Gaelen said. “I am hosting a very... odd banquet today. Please...”

Victoria enjoyed seeing her subordinate recoil and leaned back in her chair. “Go on, then.”

Gaelen spent the next hour preparing a ‘care package’ for his special guest: Alia O’Savern, a vixen who had been arrested the previous year for a serious of... ‘crimes’... that Gaelen had connected to the most mysterious of Tyr’s enemies: A creature that nearly all of his angelic host had refused to believe even existed. Their faith in Tyr was so strong that they dismissed any threat.

Gaelen prepared a soft blanket along with a few bottles of Veilwinter wine and cheese. Alia O’Savern was connected with someone that Gaelen had heard whispered of before.

The ‘Traveller’. The supposedly eighth Vile Vermin. The Anti-Tyr. The enemy of Justice.

...If he existed at all, that is.

The stairway behind the grill of the Silent Harp descended far, far deeper than any of the naive pilgrims would ever have guessed. Each level was guarded by one of Tyr’s holiest paladins - each having taken a different one of the sacred vows.

Alia was in the deepest level - level thirteen with the most heathen, the most insane, the most untroubled by their crimes. Her fur was slick with grime, but her visions - her madness - saw her through.

Gaelen had been sure to dim the glow of his wings as he passed each layer - paladin after paladin bowing to him in respect. His small legs carried him deeper and deeper until his necklace glowed.

Another archangel had joined his banquet.

This was beginning to annoy him.

Ordering his seventh paladin to carry him as fast as he was able, Gaelen was able to make his appearance on the hidden ground floor banquet room where Victoria and Yusela now greeted him.

Victoria huffed. “And now he greets us. How was your trip, your highness?”

Gaelen bowed. “Victoria. Yusela.”

Yusela, Tyr’s archangel of peace, bowed as well. “Gaelen, it has been too long.”

The corgi stood up to greet the mouse angel’s gaze. “Yusela, I have been down in the prisons and libraries with the forsaken... I wish I had been with you instead.”

Victoria laughed boisterously, her boots still on his formerly pristine table. “A corgi and a mouse? What kind of abominous children would you have? Hurry with your special guest.”

“I-” Gaelen began. “Yes, madam.”

He turned to his paladin who carried him back down the stairs to the eighth level, complete with the blanket and wine. This time, he made it down to the thirteenth level where the paladin there - a wolverine with dark brown eyes - gave him entry with the type of solemnity that he expected.

The thirteenth layer of Bennarok was dark - darker than the night of a new moon. He could hear voices in the shadows, but he couldn’t draw his angelic sword without blinding the residents...

...All of whom held precious secrets.

Gaelen avoided a blind skunk wizard - but just barely.

“Who... who do you serve?” The skunk whispered to the air. Gaelen held the gifts close... in case another honored visitor came to his table above.

“Alia,” he whispered delicately.

“Ah,” the skunk said to the ceiling. “Our herald of the death of ‘Ryt,’” the skunk said, a razor-thin smile on his muzzle. “Go, and give your prayers to Ryt and the Traveller,” the mad wizard said.

The thirteenth layer was the most like a sewer. The most embarrassing to Tyr were kept here, and were fed and housed like feral beasts. In the middle of the deepest layer was a long trough used to feed them gruel. Gaelen had very little time to find his quarry - Alia, the Ninja. Alia the Mirror.

To the angel, the darkness was oppressive. Gaelen felt like he had been stabbed. He fumbled in the dark until he bumped against something soft, then felt a delicate paw caress his face.

“A corgi? Here?” A delicate, subtle voice in the dark asked. “Who is your God?”

Gaelen gulped. “Alia, you know very well who my God is.”

“Gaelen,” the voice repeated. “Welcome to the Abyss.”

“Do you feel this?” the corgi angel offered, holding up his blanket and wine. “It is the warmth and luxury you wrapped yourself in when you were in New Nottingham.”

“What do you want, angel?” The voice asked sharply.

“Merely to join us for dinner,” Gaelen replied.

“And that is all?”

“That is all.”

“On the Feast of Saint Julien, you’d have a serial murderer at your table?”

“Yes,” Gaelen replied.

“And of course you’d expect me to give you the pleasure of my conversation?”

“You do not have to speak at all if you do not wish to, Alia,” the small, angelic canine said. “But at least this’d be a respite.”

The vixen assassin smirked. “And when your little tin soldiers smite me?”

Gaelen huffed. “They will treat you with respect!”

“They will not suffer me to live an hour in your banquet, angel,” Alia said slowly.

“The God of Justice is not like your Reynard!” the corgi said defiantly. “They have mercy that you and your ilk have never thought of!”

Alia gave Gaelen both a tired, thin smile, and her paw. The angel and the ninja delicately navigated the thirteenth floor before finding the exit. The wolverine at the doorway - who had been sworn to multiple oaths - eyed the vixen with murderous intent.

“HOLD PALADIN!” Gaelen said. “Carry myself and the prisoner to the top floor!”

The wolverine flexed her muscles as she bent down to carry the corgi and fox along with the angel’s gifts. The stairs were long and enchanted, and at the end, the wolverine paladin gently set them down.

“Play nice,” the wolverine said to the vixen. Alia bowed and winked, causing the paladin to recoil.

When the doorway - silver and gold - opened, Alia beheld a sight she had never beheld... even before she was captured.

The table was set with celestial delights, but Victoria and Yusela stood up immediately upon seeing the mass killer. Alia was adorn in brown rags, but still had the gaze of a regal mammal.

“Hold, damn you, HOLD!” Gaelen said.

“Is there a problem, angel Gaelen?” Alia asked. 

“None at all, Alia,” the corgi angel said, his little corgi arms still outspread. “We are all here to have a respectful dinner.”

Victoria stood, her golden eyes burning with rage. “Restpectful to whom?”

Even Yusela was ready to attack, her yew staff held aloft.

“Respectful to everyone!” Gaelen yelled. “It is Tyrsmas! A time of peace! A time of hope! Everyone calm down!”

“I shall never calm down to one who has killed one of our sisters!” Victoria declared.

Gaelen stomped his foot. “Tyr gave me Bennarok, you will not massacre one of my prisoners!”

“You protect a creature who... ‘killed one of your sisters’?” Alia asked.

“Yes, dammit!” Gaelen said, ushering the vixen to her seat. Victoria drew her sword. Almost driving the divine weapon down, Gaelen teleported in front of it.

Yusela put her paw on Victoria’s shoulder. “Sister, let our brother speak.”

“This... is Alia O’Savern,” Gaelen said. “A fellow creature who has lost her way.”

“Yes,” the vixen ninja said cunningly. “I have simply... lost my way.”

“DAMN YOU TO THE HELLS!” Victoria said, launching herself in the air, driving the unarmed vixen to the floor, the angel’s golden longsword pointed at the vixen’s neck.

“VICTORIA!” Gaelen screamed.

“Sera’s blood tasted like liquid silver,” Alia said, chuckling.

The badger angel had a flash of the last time she met with her sister Sera - the collie angel of Tyr.

It will only be a quick visit, sister, Sera had said.

Tears burst from Victoria’s glorious eyes as she raised her longsword over her head.

“VICTORIA, wait!” Gaelen screamed again.

Victoria raised her golden longsword high above her head and brought it down with a crushing blow. Gaelen could have sworn that the vixen had a smirk on her face before the angel of “justice” splattered the vixen’s head and blood across the dining room.

“Victoria!” Gaelen said. “Victoria, you brash... you brash fool...”

The badger angel stood, covered in the blood of a vanquished foe. “There. Now we can enjoy Tyrsmas in peace.”

“Yusela!” Gaelen said to the mouse angel. “You certainly could not have condone that!”

The mouse saint stood, her eight tiny wings fluttering. “It was for the best, brother Gaelen.”

Victoria licked the vixen’s blood off of her armor. “Indeed. And now... Tyrsmas.”

Yusela’s grim face immediately changed to a grin. “Agreed!”

Gaelen couldn’t even look at Alia’s corpse: the body of an unarmed creature slayed by an angel of Justice. It almost seemed like Alia was intentionally goading Victoria to do it. 

 Alia’s massacred body was left at the ‘head’ of the table. Victoria managed to make a tasteless joke of it... at least from the corgi angel’s perspective. 

The dinner continued and eventually Gaelen softened as the first night of Tyrsmas widened. Eventually his two angelic hosts excused themselves, and the shadows returned.

Gaelen knelt over the vixen’s body.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not even sure what he was apologizing for.

Had the Traveller made her insane, or had Tyr?

He banished the thought as soon as it entered his mind. He turned to the wolverine paladin in the corner.

“Clean this up,” he said. “Respectfully.”

Gaelen looked at the massacred body one last time as the wolverine knelt down and threw the vixen’s headless corpse over her shoulder.

Who is the Traveller? He asked himself as a shiver traveled up his divine body. ...And what shall I say to my God when He finds the last link to the Traveller has been murdered by his own angels?