Nodkis has rebuilt fairly well in the last year. The city walls did not really sustain much damage in the attack, nor did the stoutly-built, stone buildings of the north side of town. I enter through the northwestern gate that passes first the grand guild houses for the Farmer’s, Forester’s, and Miner’s guilds—Nodkis’s reason for being. Just beyond, the outer bailey of the Earl’s estate and the government buildings sit opposite the church complex, separated by a clean, if not particularly impressive, main avenue.
The church complex always struck me a tad eclectic in its design, as it is split into three disparate aesthetics to honor their pantheon.
The cathedral of Ard Agdawn clearly pays homage to the side of the god that stands for rule. Not an oppressive rule, they argue. The sentiment is more of the belief that all things have their place and it is the responsibility of a lord to protect his people, just as it is the responsibility of the people to serve their lord. I can’t really argue with that, and it’s one of the reasons Elysium is tolerable. The building is awe inspiring, especially for a smaller city like Nodkis. I haven’t been to the capital of Ark Aegion, but the cathedral there is said to be so grand that worshipers begin bowing a mile before reaching it and depart without ever turning their back to it.
In practice, I am more interested in the other side of Ard Agdawn and, as such, am much more familiar with his temples scattered around the city. While no less respected than this grandiose structure, the temples provide a much more intimate environment to worship—in the form of sacred prostitution.
The shrine to Kurdu, on the other hand, is monolithic and almost brutally simple. It bears little embellishment, to remind followers that passion and whimsy are sins to duty. I’d been inside its stark walls before and there are three things of note. First, a dome near the back displays the holy symbols of all the known gods—not only the ones held sacred in Elysium. Hundreds of gods are recognized, from the dark gods of Elysium’s enemies to gods lost to the ages. Under Kurdu’s watchful gaze, all are free to worship whichever entity they desire. It comes across as both a show of respect and proclamation of strength, not surveillance borne of fear. It is one of the things I can respect in Kurdu who is, in all honesty, my favorite among this pantheon. Kurdu is the god of death for Elysium so he clearly is at least partially aligned to my God.
While there is a shrine to Ner Ngal, I would never go to worship there. All creation will funnel to Him and I’ve never heard of nor seen any indication that He demands pageantry, or even active worship, to deliver power or glory unto Him. Holding Him in my heart and whispering prayers when I send souls to Him on occasion will suffice.
Beyond that dome of pantheism is the second thing of note: a private enclave that is unadorned and empty of furniture. This space is said to be a place that Kurdu does not watch and any are free to worship in private there. While a nice idea—that of providing neutral territory to all—it is more trouble than it is worth to partake for the rumors and stigma one would get. I’m not stupid enough to do such a thing. Why would I want people questioning why I need to conceal my worship? It seems like the easiest way to get on the city’s watch list.
The final thing of note in the church of Kurdu is the pair of Kurdu statues facing one another. They carry his visage: a strong male figure clad in golden plate mail and hoisting a sword and shield carved from the darkest obsidian. This is the Eye of Kurdu and the statues form a gate that visitors pass through on their way to the church of Risha, for Elysians believe all must be subjected to Kurdu’s gaze to be permitted access to the goddess he protects.
The Glen of Risha is less a church than it is an elaborate garden. In acreage, Risha’s church puts the other two to shame. There are buildings surrounding the garden where Risha’s devoted priests live and tend to its verdant design. At its center is an actual glen, undeniably imbued with the power and purpose of the goddess. Not all Elysian cities have a glen, and none so potent as the Sacred Glen at the heart of the capital, so it is a matter of pride among the folk here to have one in their humble city. All accounts say that to be near it is to be swathed in harmony. I’ve never been inside and don’t plan to.
Though a local Priestess of Risha will reside almost endlessly in these glens throughout her life, the High Priestess and Risha’s chosen can use the power linked to the Sacred Glen to transport instantly between them. The demigod son of the High Priestess and Ard Agdawn is certainly able to use this and is another reason that Elysium has not been conquered for all these centuries.
I pass by the civic and religious sectors of the city toward where the market district had been. With luck, that is where it still is. The Merchant’s Guild House is my target. Taking work as a caravan guard seems a good fit for both money and possible connections. After leaving Varasht, I spent some years as a merchant guard on the ship routes throughout the Shattered Coast. It is only dangerous work about five percent of the time, but that five percent is worth a lot to a merchant who’s got narrow margins and would like to make it back home again.
The wood structures that once comprised most of the middle districts of Nodkis are largely rebuilt. I take a less than optimal path so that I can see what has become of the street where my shop had once stood. Not out of sentimentality; out of curiosity.
The street and buildings look much the same as they had before, and still appears to mark where the good and bad sides of town meet. Where my shop had been now sits a pawn broker. I don’t go in; my curiosity is already satisfied.
I am nearing the market district and am preemptively reassured that it has been restored to its former self by the cart traffic and shouting vendors that pepper the streets leading up to it. Turning the final corner to the Merchant’s Guild Hall, I notice another building just across from it that I don’t remember, or at least not in its current form. It looks as though it may have been a stable in another life but now has walls built into the frames of the livestock pens. The large, sliding, barn-style door is opened wide and a sign hangs above it with ‘Adventurer’s Corps’ carved into it.
The Wordbearer Chronicles is a dark fantasy web series with new passages on Tuesdays.
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