Shal screamed through her teeth again, then dropped to her knees and pointed up at the altar. When Tarl saw what he had not seen before, he began to pummel the groveling gnoll with his fists. Despite his outrage, he shouted: "We must not kill him! Not yet!"
"That's right, Tarl…not yet," Ren said, getting a hold on the gnoll and pushing Tarl gently away. "Both of you, take a few minutes to compose yourselves. I'll take care of him."
Tarl dropped down beside Shal and slipped an arm around her. Together they knelt, sobbing fearlessly as they stared at the appalling wreckage of a human being that lay on the altar before them. Tarl uttered a prayer to Tyr to put the unknown soul to rest.
Just then a piercing voice penetrated Shal's consciousness. A cloth would cover the poor soul's eyes, Mistress.
Yes, it would. Thank you, Shal thought silently. She called forth a cloth from her Cloth of Many Pockets, then covered the head and body beneath its rich violet folds, Tarl murmured one last prayer and stood beside her.
"Look there," said Shal, pointing. Beyond the body, at the foot of the T-shaped altar, was a painstakingly detailed diorama of a scene so lifelike that Shal thought if she blinked she might become part of it. A sculpted wall of golden stone rose up like a backdrop for the scene, making it clear that the diorama's setting was a cave, a mammoth cave with an airy, vaulted ceiling. A perfectly crescent-shaped pool, with waters that reflected off polished surfaces, was the focal point of the miniature scene. Centered along the inside curve of the crescent was an elegantly simple, raised hexagon, with tiny blue gems glittering from four of its six points. The hexagon looked pitiful and incomplete, like a once-magnificent broach with only empty sockets where gemstones should be. Though no more than two fingers wide, the hexagon, with its two missing gems, detracted from the perfection of the entire scene. Perhaps it was Shal's imagination, but the glistening golden waters of the crescent even seemed at their darkest near the six-sided mounting.
Centered along the outside curve of the crescent was a tiny replica of the T-shaped altar. On it was a minute fountain that was spewing blood-red fluid into the pool. Where the dark fluid hit the golden waters, the pool should have been ocher or orange, but instead it radiated a staggeringly brilliant yellow gold. Like staring into the sun, it caused pain merely to look upon it.
"The focus of the shrine," said Tarl, explaining the diorama. "It's a replica of a sacred place-or at least a place sacred to the gnolls."
" 'The Pool of Radiance,' this guy calls it," said Ren, moving closer to the altar, the yellow-faced gnoll still in the crook of his elbow. "He says they have to keep up a steady supply of sacrifices to keep the pool yellow and the Lord of the Ruins happy."
"Sacrifices? This is worse than a sacrifice," said Shal, pointing at the body that lay under the purple cloth.
"I'm afraid that's probably the gnoll version of a pretty gruesome practice," said Ren. "I don't have any love for orcs or kobolds, but if they have similar altars, you'll find equally dead bodies but less gruesome."
Tarl's face paled visibly, and his hands clutched the edge of the wooden altar. His usually clear, deep voice tremored noticeably as he spoke. "You don't mean to suggest there are more altars like this? More of these sites of abomination?"
"I'm sorry," said Ren. "But this priest says it was all done for the Lord of the Ruins. As I understand it, all the creatures in the uncivilized parts of the city worship him."
"Worship?" Tarl spat and shook his hands as if to shake off some clinging coat of slime. "Worship a creature that is not of the gods? A creature that demands blood sacrifices? What powers does this abominable beast possess that it can demand such horrors?"
8
"You're the priest. You tell us." Ren waved his free hand toward the altar, clamped the gnoll's neck a little tighter, and began to question the creature again. The gnoll was obviously responding to Ren's questions, but Shal and Tarl could only look on, uncomprehending.
"He says there's temples like this everywhere the Lord of the Ruins' power reigns. He says the pool makes him feel strong."
Ren paused as the gnoll grunted and continued with its explanation.
"What was that? Why you-!" Ren slammed the top of the gnoll's head with his free hand.
"What?" Tarl and Shal reacted in unison.
"The filthy piece of dog meat said we'd all become sacrifices to the pool."
"I can't stomach any more of this," Tarl said firmly. "As I serve Tyr, let this be the first of many such temples to be destroyed by my hand." Without waiting for the others to join him, Tarl raised his hammer up next to the diorama. The heavy end slammed powerfully into the crescent-shaped pool, sending a shower of gold droplets in all directions.
"Acid!" screamed Tarl, and he shook his hammer-hand where the flesh was searing from the contact with the drops.
Ren and Shal had leaped back instinctively as Tarl's hammer came down. Mere inches from where they stood, shimmering acid was burning through every piece of wood and cloth it hit. Where the acid landed on stone, it was sizzling and spattering like water in hot grease.
Shal quickly summoned forth a skin of water from the Cloth of Many Pockets and poured it generously over Tarl's right hand, which was already raw in two places, and then over his hair, which was smoking where a drop had landed.
Enraged, fury and agony blending in his screams, Tarl lashed out again and again at the blasphemous altar, hammering with all his might until the lower end splintered and collapsed. Still he wasn't satisfied. He dropped to his knees and pounded at the miniature fountain, the hexagon, and the rest of the diorama till only splinters and fragments remained.
By then, the gnoll was screaming steadily in reaction to the destruction of the altar. Ren chopped down hard on its head again. This time, its body slumped and its hyena head lolled loosely from side to side. Unwittingly, Ren had snapped the creature's neck. Remorseless, he pushed the dead gnoll to the ground beside him and moved to calm Tarl.
The cleric had not stopped hammering, even after the diorama was pulverized. Nor did he stop now in response to the coaxing of his friends. It was not until the cloth-covered corpse balancing on the crux of the altar slid down onto his arms that he finally dropped his head and stopped. Pulling his arms loose from underneath the body, Tarl turned and faced Ren and Shal. "I-I'm sorry. I couldn't help myself."
As one, they spoke to comfort him.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I've heard of altars to Bhaal and other gods whose worship I cannot fathom, but never have I seen anything so repugnant as this. I-" Tarl paused, distracted. "The priest-what happened?"
The gnoll's body was lying on the ground behind Ren and Shal. Its jaundiced face looked even more pinched and grotesque in death than it had in life, and the fervent yellow of its eyes had been replaced by a dull umber glaze. "He's dead," Ren said matter-of-factly. "I didn't mean to kill him, but I can't say I'll stay awake nights over it."
"No," said Tarl. "He would've killed us without a second thought."
"He probably would have skinned us alive with one of those meat tenderizers," added Shal, pointing to the row of torture implements that filled a wooden cabinet against the far wall of the big room.
"By Bane and Bhaal and all that's perverse…" Ren's curse came out almost in a whisper as he eyed the morbid array of tools. Despite his lifelong habit of quickly examining everything within eyeshot upon entry to a room, he had not seen what filled the cabinet. "Gnoll religion… You're right, Tarl. It goes against nature. It's an abomination."