#but boy is she right there on the proverbial (and literal) ledge

[widowshill]

At the first turning of the second stair I turned and saw below The same shape twisted on the banister Under the vapour in the fetid air Struggling with the devil of the stairs who wears The deceitful face of hope and of despair. - T. S. Eliot

[ 37, 62, 71, 78 ]

[anneway-nitheliniel]

...a Day...

This chapter is already on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/12843270/chapters/31416771 

Forgot to post it here and only remembered today. Here yor go: More temples, more “deities”.

Part 3: Altar to Amadia

„No, wait! I will stop here. This is high – I mean, far enough!”

Ifan’s voice rang up to his three companions who were already several feet up on the next wall, their only support the long vines and the rock beneath their feet. Sebille, the most sure footed and handed when it came to climbing in general and with only naturally grown assistance more specifically, had already swung herself over the crest of the next rock and was reaching down for Fane to help him up. She found it just a tiny bit unsettling that the solid enough rocks they were climbing inexplicably hovered in thin air without visible support, but she would not say so. Fane, on the other hand, was in bliss and kept chattering happily about the wonders of magic. Even now, literally hanging between heaven and hell, he found the breath to talk about perfection. Ah well, Sebille thought, if he truly had to breathe, he would definitely shut up. Frowning at her own thoughts, she looked past Fane and Lohse down to where Ifan was still standing. One of his hands was searching for support in the sheer wall and he was clearly trying not to look back, or rather down, to where they had come from. She was about to shout something back, when Lohse let go of her hold of the vines and, in clear disregard to the height and narrowness of the ledge beneath her, dropped down next to Ifan. Obvious to Sebille alone, her foolhardiness was also in total disregard to Ifan’s feelings. The man’s face turned white as the clouds above them and he staggered back until his back was to the wall.

“You alright, chief?”

Lohse sounded only partly concerned. They all new about Ifan’s, well, difficulties with heights. Sebille thought, she could actually hear the other woman smirk. But she still reached out to lay a comforting hand on Ifan’s shoulder, eliciting an embarrassed groan.

“No – yes, yes! I am alright, Lohse.” Sebille could see him try to dismiss Lohse with the strained wave of a hand. “I will just wait here and … make sure no one follows you. You just… go ahead!”

---

Fane felt the caveats of being Undead painfully in this moment. For instance was he unable to squint angrily at Lohse the way he would have liked to. “Really, this is my goddess after all. I should be the one to continue!” he tried to convince her with reason as intimidation clearly failed. To his dismay, he was met with reason for once superior to his own.

“But your goddess has not seen fit to make you fireproof and even lacking eyes you must see the Fire Guardian, well, guarding the way into the temple. So this is my call. And you cannot jump far enough to follow me, so Sebille will accompany me.” The gap between this floating rock (Lohse’s naming, of course) and the next was indeed too wide for Fane’s liking as well as his athletics. And the rest of her words were just as true. Lohse’s fiery hair was positively crackling with energy after their first encounter with Amadia, while Sebille and he shimmered slightly blue from the force-field deflecting water. But this indication that the Fire Guardians had more fluid companions later on in the temple did not help his current case.

“Since when have we gone back to actually calling them gods and goddesses? I thought we had agreed they were renegade lords.” Sebille’s question broke his train of thought and Lohse jumped to this support of her one argument gladly.

„True enough! So, Fane, since this is not the temple of a goddess, what do you care who reaches the altar first?”

---

“You bastard!” Sebilles furious screech rang painfully in Lohse’s ears. One moment the Elf had been right at her side, the next she was replaced by a somberly dressed skeleton. Fane looked very smug, though how he conveyed the emotion, Lohse could still not say. Maybe it was in the way he rubbed his gloved hands together.

“Well, hi there, bone boy!” Lohse winked and gave him a comradely cuff in the ribs. “You do remember that Sebille hates being tossed around like this, right?”

“Care to remember, that if I were not so good at ‘tossing her around’, as you say, she would no longer be alive? I cannot consider every single one of her distastes. She has too many.”

Lohse laughed.

“Well, smart move, anyway! And rather good you are currently out of her reach and more or less needle-proof, too.”

---

Lohse and Fane had made it through the “floating rocks’ labyrinth” only to find that Sebille had left without them. They found her sitting next to Ifan, still sulking, while the man concentrated on her face in order to look somewhere that was not below. Lohse grinned. When had the two of them become so adorable?

“Listen up, all, I made a song of our last adventure. Can’t sing it yet, the lodger still disapproves, but I can recite:

Four almighty godwoken were climbing up a tree, Since one is not too fond of heights, The top reached only three.”

  Part 4: Altar to Duna

“Why must I always be the dwarf?” Fane complained.

“Simply, my friend, because it is your mask!” Ifan rejected the mask Fane offered to him and pushed it back towards the Undead.  

“It is not fair. The one temple where you see me as useful is the one with the least attraction to me.” Keeping on fussing, Fane nevertheless donned the mask. A stocky and, even though they had seen this form quite often now, still surprisingly young faced dwarf shot Ifan a murderous glance. The man remained unperturbed.

„Had Amadia cared to only let whining skeletons enter her temple, you would have been our go-to person number one.“

Stomping off, they could just barely here him mutter: “So it is my fault now, that Amadia is not a racist?”

Part 5: Altar to Vrogir

“Fane, do you truly prefer Vrogir to Duna?” Wonder lay in Sebille’s voice, but it was hardly sufficient cover for the deep concern beneath. Kneeling on the wet floor she held Ifan’s head cradled in her lap, her right hand carefully stroking a tangled lock of hair from his brow. His skin felt cool to the touch but it was nonetheless covered in a thin film of sweat. Her trepidation and her concern for his well-being had been growing ever since the Altar to Zorl-Stissa had set him on fire and she had found herself confirmed when his head had sunk ever deeper in his kneeling position in front of Vrogir’s altar.  When his whole body had eventually sacked and slumped forward, she had just been in time to catch him.

Fane’s hands hovered closely over Ifan’s trembling body, sliding up and down in their attempt to find the source of his indisposition.

“I understand not. Why would I prefer one to the other?”

“Well, you said that Duna’s temple attracted you the least.” Sebille was really only speaking to divert her thoughts from the rising anger within her. She feared that should she fail, she would find a way to flood the temple anew.  

The skull shook in slight irritation, but since they had long known slight irritation to be Fane’s main mindset, Sebille did not care much. “I found the source of the poison, or venom really,” Fane gave as a none-answer. His fingers had gently wrapped around Ifan’s limp right hand and raising it he showed her the small bite marks in its palm. Not saying anything else, he set to extract the venom and heal the Human. Sebille kept quite and instead of bothering Fane used Lohse’s careful search of the Temple as distraction. Finally, Ifan stirred in her lap and a low moan escaped his lips. A quick look ascertained her that the sweat was drying on his skin and he was recovering quickly.

“I feel for both naught but disdain,” Fane finally resumed the former subject. The Undead held a water bottle out to her and she took it with a grateful smile, unstopped it, and put it gently to Ifan’s lips. “But truly, his temple is much more exciting. The traps are more intricate –  which I would never have assumed given the Dwarfs proverbial skill in mechanics – getting here was much harder and,” he paused for emphasis, “we even solved the riddle of the Orcs’ disappearance!” He made a happy clicking sound as if he still had a tongue to do it with.

“Oh yes,” Ifan grunted, while carefully getting into an upright position with Sebille’s steady hands as support. He caught one and squeezed it tightly. “That is a relief. No more Orcs. But this truly is such a boring place. No fights and adventures to be had anywhere.” His sarcasm was betrayed by his broad smile.

“Let us hope, they find their happiness,” Sebille added, “and pester another people.”

The three of them nodded at each other in uncommon agreement.