Episode 1: Pradesh

The chief priest, Sashvar, shows you around the temple. The man has the bearing of a soldier but his eyes are as soft and kind as a midwife's. The temple is small and poor but Sashvar speaks with pride.

"The gods of Pradesh are old; older than even the Titans, who ruled for millenia before Lathander, Tempus and your new gods ascended to godhood," he begins, his eyes flicking over Rydler's amulet.

"Skandrana and Varhu are among the first of Gajenndra's innumerable offspring. Though all Pradeshi worship the twin-gods-who-are-one, this sect is for those who pay them special devotion. Among these are warriors and healers." As he says this, you pass some devotees tending to their fellows' self-inflicted wounds. In another corner, some members of the city guard. If any of them recognize you from last night's brawl they show no indication of it.

"Sometimes the two aspects are at odds with each other. For example, Varhu healers are allowed - even encouraged - to administer narcotics to patients, but Skandrana warriors are forbidden from taking any form of pain-numbing medicine."

"Every 170 years one of the aspects walks upon the earth by filling a child vessel - an avatar. The selection of an avatar is celebrated with a day of ritual mortification of the flesh. This cycle Varhu blesses us with her avatar, but we despaired when the Golden Child was stolen away."

Sashvar peers at you intently. "To tell you the truth when you Cysergians showed up I thought the devotees would tear you apart. Only the Child prevented that. Perhaps fearing our faith might prove fertile ground for rebellion, your government has long suppressed our sect, short of outlawing it altogether." The priest shakes his head.

"The Child says you are not spies, and so we, the faithful, believe her. And I will not speak the questions in my mind. But know this: Cysegrian spies ARE out there today and have marked you. Tread carefully now in Pradesh. If you ever require aid you will find it here."

Ybus pipes in, "So them rituals with the kabobs, does it have some sort of divine meaning if you stab yer ear, versus someplace else? Like, does it make ya close to royalty if you decide you gonna go down there instead-a up here?"

The priest chuckles. "One simply does as one's faith urges. It is for the god to decide the worthiness of an offering."

You pass a large tapestry depicting an ancient battle. Elite Pradeshi forces mounted on war elephants decimate Cysegrian heavy cavalry whose horses are mired in the mud of the Bandar Marsh east of the city.

Erden inspects the tapestry. Something about it seems familiar...

Ybus hooks his thumbs behind his wide belt. "Oh yeh, I gots plenty o' them urges," he chortles while elbowing Baracus, then pauses and looks to the ground in thought. "Huh. What in the hells were they?"

Baracus's deep thought is interrupted by Ybus's elbow. How can one god be two gods? He thinks to the two-headed Ettin, which roams the mountains of Qinglai, but it doesn't seem to fit. How can one thing be two things? Would you not be at constant war within yourself at all times? He furrows his brow. Something has struck a nerve, and he decides to sleep on it.

He barely even registers the warnings about the Cysegrian spies. Like flies around horses, there were always Cysegrian spies buzzing around Baracus and his friends.

Baracus glances over at the tapestry, then dismisses it. Pictures are inadequate to describe a battlefield. Only a song, deep and full-blooded, can capture the essence of war and the glory of victory.

"Is that the Battle of the Bandar Marsh?" Erden asks the man, almost totally convinced that he's correct. Upon receiving confirmation, he nods, "My father had a piece that was strikingly similar to this, actually. Said he kept it to remind him of the folly of overconfidence."

"'Twas a great many years ago... Cysegar and Pradesh were at war, with Cysegar claiming victory in the first, minor battles. Their momentum continued to grow as they pushed into Pradeshi territory, winning skirmish after skirmish. The general, Harznig Delethor, was considered to be the best of the times, but he grew overconfident, sure that they would win any battle against the 'uncultured swine'," at this, he offers a smile and an apologetic shrug, "So it was, one morning, that he pressed westward into Pradeshi lands, pushing them further and further back... almost too easily. As he realized his mistake, it was too late. The elephant riders came out of their hidden camps and pressed the horsemen back, all the way into the boggiest part of the Marsh. The elephants, being so large, had little trouble with the swamp, but the horses were not so fortunate."

"Harznig's overconfidence lost them a full two-thirds of the entire army's mounted forces, a loss that was impossible to come back from. Not long after, peace was brokered between the two, but Harznig never recovered from the devastating loss. He packed up and left Cysegar, never to be seen again."

Baracus listens intently to Erden's tale, and looks again at the tapestry. Erden's words bring the images to life, and fill Baracus's imagination with glorious imagery.

Baracus remembers a time when Erden would tell many stories, but since the incident that sent them into exile, he has noticed that Erden has not been the same. He rests a hand on his shoulder.

Good story, Erden. I would like to fight an elephant one day.

Urban takes in all of Sashvar's pronouncements. His attention was captured by the claim that these Pradeshi gods were in power before the Titans. Could that be true? Judging by the smallness of this temple, the power of these gods did not seem to be a challenge to the historic Titans.

Still though, Urban is drawn in by the devotion of these priests and monks. Their discipline was exceptional. It did seem that they had some understanding of ancient mystery.

Urban tries to continue an open conversation with Sashvar, wondering if he might be allowed to read copies of the religion's sacred texts, exposition letters by renowned priests or speakers, or hear any oral recitations that have been passed down to proclaim the core teachings of Skandrana, Varhu, or Gajenndra.

As he often does when around holy sites and religious leaders, Urban drifts away from other distractions. He quickly immerses in investigative study and exchange, with a genuine sincerity.

"What's this do? What's that do?" Ybus says with glee, pointing to each artifact without even waiting for an explanation. His eyes settle on a small object. "Oooo, snakes..."

Rydler, keeping silent and his thoughts to himself since they've got here, stares up at the wall and finally speaks "Why does a key have a place amongst these weapons? It seems out of place."

Rydler stares at the key as he listens to its purpose and for a moment after that "Hmm. In that case," He removes his backpack and digs through it for a second before producing an iron key in the shape of two intertwined serpents and holds it to the Golden Child "Now you can have two of six."

Ybus begins to remove his coat. "Are we sleeping here?" he asks, in the process of stripping.

His arms halfway through his sleeves, Ybus gasps. "You gots a key, too! And Chow-Mein's got a door! You two were made for each other, and I hope you have many fat happy snake-lings."

Baracus's sour mood is lifted as he enters the vault of artifacts. He moves through the display inspecting every detail of the beautiful weapons. He regards each notch and scratch the way a scholar might analyze the notes of a symphony. He inhales the weapon's aromas, the metals themselves each a unique blend from the regions they come from. His heart is lifted by the creativeness of the smith's designs - there truly is no limit to how to craft a weapon. A moment ago he would have laughed at these designs, the way he had scoffed at the Urumi from two days ago. Now, confronted with the vast array of battle-hardened weapons of every shape and style, he is humbled. A truly moving experience.
Baracus tells the tale of the Thousand Swords recruiter who gave it to him in Qinglai. Then, while lovingly caressing the blade, he explains:

It has been a good knife whether skinning animals, digging holes, or stabbing enemies.

When Shashvar tells him of the sword's heritage, Baracus is filled with laughter.

"Ha ha, little knife! You have played a joke on me all this time!"

Urban accepts the shield with a surprised expression that he cannot conceal. He is speechless. As he examines the shield his mind is filled with wonder. The things that this shield had witnessed - mighty deeds, legendary victories, tragic defeats. Visions fall over Urban like a heavy wave, and he falters for a moment, wondering if these images were only his imagination or something so much more.

He gathers himself to nod humbly at Sashvar, but still unsure of what words to speak to express his gratitude.

Before the Golden Child, Urban finds himself falling to one knee. Quietly he speaks, "You are a blessing to this place. To your city and people ...to me."

Not quite understanding why he is saying what he is, "I hope..." He shakes his head, barely noticeable, "...to prove worthy of this magnificent gift... and of your grace."

When she nods to him, he stands up and resets, as if clearing his head. He looks at the shield again and back at the child and Sashvar. To the priest, he says boldly and sincere "Thank you, Revered Sashvar."

Still studying the shield, he lifts it in display and says with pride, "Barracus! Have you ever seen anything like it on any battlefield? It is as if it was forged by a people from a time and place the I have never known but now long to."

He regards his friend Urban, who is touched deeply by the gift, almost shaken. He feels a kinship with him at that moment, which stirs him to speak at length:

"I know not the story of this shield, but the Golden Child did not gift it to you because you are worthy. I suspect everyone who wore that shield was unworthy at first. But it will not always be this way. Do not wallow in the shame of your inadequacy, which is most certainly vast. Instead, feel the hunger of your desire to prove yourself! Turn your feelings into your guiding star rather than a boulder that weighs you down. A warrior at war with himself cannot prevail."

He pauses and adds.

"I carry my father's axe - the greatest warrior my people have ever known. I too am most certainly unworthy of it and may never be. But I do not despair. This is my life's work, my purpose."

And then,

"Also, I will add: the shield looks good for punching things.