[i]Ysgard.[/i]

The peculiarity of the inviolability of the residence of Valmjr struck the cleric, as the shadows were ineffective at breaching its inner sanctum. The adorned shields incorporated mandalas, unrecognizable at first, but suggestive of the blessed purity of steel and faith.  [i]Was this a shrine impenetrable where an oracle would return? Or was this the site where the altar of championed sacrifices would be mounted on the wall?[/i] The nave issued a remembrance of Candlekeep, with its hallowed vestibules and consecrated books, ordered neatly like a tabernacle, dedicated to knowledge. An iconostasis of a myriad of visions rife with tomes that the former elf curdled in the back of her cerebrum. 

The gloomy tendrils that provided additional false life became fainter around Wick’s armor, once fully submerged beneath the roof of the [i]Hall[/i]. [i]Strange[/i]. The bucolic sheepishness afforded a taint of wonderment of such a refuge. An annex dedicated to maimed couriers to the cause, hosting a bearer of an axe, a friend of their minuscule guide, begged more questions. [i]If such a fortified rampart dwelled among them, where were the other diviners, sentinels, and defendants?[/i] The walled juggernaut was too good to be true. [i]Or rather too polar for the necrotic minions of Darkness to envelop?[/i] 

[i]A church dedicated to the thereafter.[/i]

The warlock waddled towards the deranged wizard, leaning over slightly so that the gnome could easily eavesdrop.

[color=ec008c]“Holy places are no longer a sanctuary for death.”[/color] She paused making sure her vibrato was clear and her diction easy to follow.

[color=ec008c]“And death seems no longer a sanctuary from anything. But this place is different. Tell us, Birbin and Valmjr, what is this temple?”[/color]