Midday approached as Brother Hercade stepped beyond a shaded area of the forest. He gazed upon the entrance to an unhallowed and decrepit temple of Jaageen. The monk wore a thick, hooded, long wool robe. Originally, the robe was uncolored, but years of use have stained it a brownish hue. Around his waist was tightly cinched a rope, and tied to the cincture were his order's most valued blessings. The first piece was an alchemic pouch of worn leather. The second was a thin, knotted cord with three knots. The cord was a material representation of his sacred vows. Each vow is a requirement of the Mirodaite order. Knot one represents stewardship to Miroda; strict adherence to respect and defense for the oppressed. Knot two, frugality meant avoiding material and spiritual excesses. Knot three represented fortitude; a stalwart will and bodily wisdom. Brother Hercade's final possession was two thin sandals. The worn-out leather barely protected his heavily calloused feet, but the shoes were indispensable. The Monk’s face had started to droop with age, but it maintained the angular features of an ascetic. His ash-colored hair was shorn daily into a uniform tonsure. His tawny eyes shone brightly enough to belie his age. Around his neck was a rectangular, carved wooden representation of his faith; this fetish was tied to a simple, thin straw-colored rope. The monk ran his thumb and forefinger down the edges of his charm as he contemplated the baleful temple before him. The temple retained its ancient and impossible configuration but was otherwise in disrepair. Vines and noxious flowers clung to the remnants of great silver pillars. The once-tall representations of the monstrous Jaageen were scattered throughout the courtyard, and some vile vegetation had recently been cleared off these statues and piled to the side. This clumsy attempt at restoration only reveals the impact of decades of neglect. The collapsed effigies, now slightly uncovered, still projected a monstrous presence that quickened Brother Hercade's blood. The monk scanned the remains and identified the splayed claws on the fallen idol's webbed appendages. Jaageen and his djeceik suffered near extinction years earlier, but occasionally Jaageenic activities would increase in an area of the countryside. These activities would quickly result in some unlucky soul discovering ruins such as this. A search party had stumbled upon this temple while they sought some missing villagers. The discoverers fled from the site and contacted the order of Mother Miroda. Brother Hercade was grateful to be the only monk honored to receive orders to cleanse. He stood transfixed on the cracked idols, but faith compelled his gaze toward the bizarre entrance to the temple. Hercade was unsure if he would confront acolytes exclusively or if djeceik themselves would be present. As his eyes rested on a shadowy form that gurgled and squeezed itself through a crack in that anomalous gate, the answer to his internal query was given. The djeceik were repulsively unnatural beasts. Slender branching arms splintered into multiple pitchfork-like points, and shadowy brachyuran skin made them nearly invisible in low light. Their “head” was recessed deeply between arched bony shoulders, and the mouths of these beasts were reticulated voids of luminous fangs. Any movements they attempted were seen as an incorporeal phasing or lurching. Haunting gurgles and squelching added a chorus to their visage. This djeceik, by Miroda's grace, made two fatal errors. The first mistake was that it had passed through the temple gate in the midday sun. If it had been night or evening, Hercade might have been unable to perceive it in time to save his life. Secondly, the monstrous half-shadow anticipated the freedom of isolation. It never imagined the monk of Miroda, or his keen attention to the gate. Hercade tugged gently on his knotted cord and walked, with the forthrightness of his station, toward that newly emerged creature. He made three rectangular passes with his right hand and blessed the beast with a spit of vitriolic words. The djeceik was caught unaware by the haste of this blessing and could barely attempt to block the volley. Upon impact, the abhorrent monster folded over backward, and before it could even flash its fangs or spew a curse, its crude spine shattered and shot through its shelled chest cavity. The corpse of this creature disintegrated into a vile pool of cloudy ichor. Hercade sat cross-legged before the pool of filth. He brought the fetish around his neck to his lips and inhaled three times. Upon his third inhalation, the first knot on his cord untied itself and fell slack. He rose to his feet in a single smooth motion and began his inspection of the temple gate. Brother Hercade gazed toward the geometrically bizarre doorway and began to feel vexation rise. The unnaturally transitory magic of Jaageen gave his followers the ability to travel through dimensional anomalies, and this gate’s architecture reflected these powers. The followers of Miroda were capable of similar travel, but their faith questioned the natural morality of such movements. Historically, monks of Miroda have been thwarted by the impassability that this self-imposed restriction causes. The gate Hercade inspected was a tangled lattice of stonework, metal, and semipermeable magic. The architectural details of the portcullis would be impossible to describe, and for those uninclined to magic, merely looking upon the gate proved painful. Portions of the temple’s interior were visible through the gate, but the monk concluded that for him to gain entry, he would need to find another access point. The temple’s structure was orblike and set deep into the ground at an extreme angle. Only an odd-shaped semi-circular perimeter was visible. Temples of Jaageen were known to plunge to great depths because the acolytes and djeceik preferred subterranean existence. At the height of his frustration, the monk was compelled by a shock of indomitable faith; Hercade’s glance was directed upwards to see a lone puradov as it flapped its feathery white wings. The bird soared forth from the tip of that semicircle, and Hercade recalled the duality of the puradov's freedom and responsibility. This portent of Mother Miroda assured him that access to the temple was attainable from the elevated site the bird had just vacated. The monk walked away from the gate toward the back end of the temple. He pulled his long cowl from the back of his robe and used this loose fabric to cover his mouth and nose. The arcane properties of Jaageen's flora were a well-guarded secret even to the Mirodaite order, and Hercade was wise to take precautions not to breathe in their fumes. He pushed through the queer overgrowth that surrounded the temple, and once he reached the rear of the structure, the monk was able to take in the extent of the sphere he would soon need to climb. The wall he examined was seamless and made from what appeared to be a single textured stone. Hercade would have to scale the wall using the utmost skill and precision. He lifted the hem of his robe above his knees, removed his sandals, and placed them between his teeth. He wiped the sweat from his palms, and once comfortable, he began his free climb up the coarse surface. The dome's curve rose to a great height, and the climb was challenging. Hercade struggled due to perspiration and fatigue, but in time, he attained the peak and crawled over toward a perceived flaw in the dome. The aperture he discovered was a slight crack barely large enough for the wiry monk to pass, but Hercade understood his task and trusted that he could force himself through. His duty was to sanctify the temple's font and dispel the stain of Jaageen; he would not fail. After he deliberated some intricate contortions, Hercade tried to slide through feet first and lower himself down, but the fragile nature of the crack thwarted his attempt, and he plummeted to the base of the interior. Thick stones and additional debris came loose and followed his body down. The rubble that fell alerted the acolytes as they plotted in the temple depths, and three of them quickly grabbed their heavy silver cudgels and raced upward toward the entrance. Hercade had landed awkwardly, and his left ankle was snapped in two by the fall; the bone ruptured through the skin. In addition, he suffered several deep lacerations and bone bruises. The debris that followed him down partially pinned him to the earth. In his pain-wracked stupor, he perceived faint maniacal war cries that emanated from the acolytes of Jaageen as they approached. Hercade plunged the depths of his faith. He shut his eyes tight and conjured an image of the soft white glow that radiated from the countenance of Mother Miroda. This image bolstered his strength, and he was able to entreat his second blessing. He tugged at his fetish cord and uttered concise incantations; he made three rectangular passes with his right hand. Upon the completion of this rite, his body became encircled by a soft golden glow. In a moment, he was jostled from the debris upwards, and his form rose momentarily off the ground. His injuries, wounds, and abrasions rapidly repaired themselves. The acolytes burst into the vestibule where Hercade convalesced, and when they discovered a Mirodaite monk as he received a blessing, the three zealots raved and turned back to escape toward the deeper chambers. The frightened acolytes decided to gather reinforcements and concoct a plan. Hercade again sat cross-legged to give thanks for his recovery. He repeated his prayer and completed his contemplative breath practice. The second knot lifted and untied itself. The cord again fell slack, and the monk was down to his final blessing. He rose from his seated position and began to search for his sandals. After he rummaged for some time, he found the sandals and returned them to his feet, in accordance with his vows. He was grateful to have reclaimed one of his few material allowances. The acolytes who fled met with fourteen of their accursed brethren in a secondary subbasement of the temple. The sect was clustered together and chittered their dismay at being discovered. Unlike the djeceik, the acolytes of Jaageen retain relatively human characteristics, but despite these vague resemblances, they could never pass in the world of man. The curses they received warped and disfigured their bodies and skin. Their complexions were dark green, and the tips of all their appendages festered with boils and poxes. Their teeth and fingernails were long and dark, and their irises were washed with a bright violet or purple tinge. They wore ragged hooded phthalo scraps and massive bronze amulets of Jaageen. The weapon of choice for these beings was heavy silver cudgels that serve the dual purpose of combat and flagellation. Chief among the acolytes’ losses was the ability to communicate in human tongues; the temporal and dimensional displacements of Jaageen robbed them of the delicacy of such acts; thus, their language became a guttural chirp, and the gurgles often emitted were more akin to the sounds of the djeceik. The mass of acolytes gestured wildly, and as reason failed them, they rushed the ascending staircase. Hercade heard the commotion and descended toward the subbasement where the acolytes had gathered. He arrived amid the chaos and startled the panicked acolytes. Several of the group raised their cudgels and wailed in defiance, but some of the wiser acolytes began casting displacement spells in the hopes of escape. Hercade reached into his alchemical pouch and removed a single bloom of Miroda. He waved the stout allium in a circular motion toward the crowd, and the flower released a large cloud of pollen into the room. The bloom of Miroda took possession of all the acolytes. A deep confusion turned to bloodlust in their withered minds. The seventeen half-men turned on each other in a fury of destruction. They brandished cudgel, tooth, and nail, and the mob scratched, hammered, and bit each other in unbridled rage. Normally, fatal injuries did not slow the torturous dance. Each acolyte perished in accordance with their battle skill and endurance, but due to the bloom's influence, even an acolyte with face and head reduced to a shattered pool would flop toward a perceived foe and continue the attack with the fervor of life. Crushed and dismembered limb fragments that were blasted from the battle crawled magnetically toward the epicenter of retribution. The Mother's full wrath spread glorious wings above the scene. In a short time, the dead mangled bodies of the acolytes melded into a singular writhing mass of splintered bones, rendered skin, and torn scraps. The blood pooled thick on the floor, and this result informed Hercade that the lump of viciousness could perform no further damage to itself. He waved the bloom in a circular motion for a second time, and the pollen dissipated. The spent allium wilted in his hand and fell. In front of him, the pile of gore burst into a bright white flame, and the unholy viscera vanished. Brother Hercade now stood eerily silent. His breath was calm, and he scanned the room. The keen senses of the monk noticed that the walls had nearly imperceptible cracks. The silver braziers that adorned the room began to dim, and the runed phthalo tapestries started to writhe and billow. Although his faith had earlier warned him of the presence of djeceik, Hercade was unsure of the density of their infestation in this temple. Within moments, dozens of the shadowy beasts oozed from the newly formed crevices. Valour and fortitude struggled against the monk's discretion and frugality, but the latter prevailed, and Hercade took flight towards a spiral staircase that ran deeper into the temple. As he fled, he realized that his sacred task to cleanse would now serve as his only salvation from the horde of beasts that pursued him. His journey downward continued in the pitch-black depths, and he balanced precariously close to a forward crash and failure. His feet were guided to each step through that darkness, and as he rounded yet another curve in the stairs, he could see a luminous purple barrier that protected Jaageen’s inner adoration chapel. Behind him, he noticed an additional glow, but unlike the relief he felt at the barrier’s light, this rear glow greatly disconcerted him; the mass of djeceik extended their malformed mouths, and their luminous fangs cast an incandesce on the back of the monk. The children of Jaageen were closer than he expected, and as he neared the bottom of the final staircase, the orbital socket of his right eye was fish-hooked by the grope of a razor-sharp tendril. The nearest djeceik had extended a limb greatly and struck the monk, and when contact occurred, Hercade became infected with the fiend’s necrotic material poison. The monk’s eye burst in a steamed hiss, and his head jerked sharply to the right. His body spilled forth and whirled. This tumble, though painful, was fortuitous as its momentum carried him through the barrier. The djeceik halted their pursuit at the entrance to the chapel grounds. The adoration chapel filled with a horrific glow as the shadowy beasts pressed their open mouths against the magic barrier. The pain of Hercade's injury surpassed his will, and he lay motionless on the floor to collect himself; squelching gurgles of wrath rang in his ears. Weakened by his injury and partially blinded, Hercade was bestowed holy encouragement to complete his task. He reconciled his fate, swallowed the bile in his mouth, and crawled his way toward the silver font that emerged ahead. The chapel was ornately decorated, but the extent of its grandeur was obscured due to the light source limitations. The monk was guided forward and relied on divine intervention to shield him from any unseen threats. A lone blessing that was meant to cleanse the stain of Jaageen remained on his cord. With each strain forward, his lifeblood was mixing with a necrotic poison, and the two contrasting fluids rapidly rained from Hercade's face. This holy bloodshed riled up the djeceik and compelled them to open their mouth wider and gurgle ferociously. The inadvertent effect of this animalistic response further illuminated the room. Hercade, now in this increased light, could make out a monstrous golem of Jaageen crouched behind the font. Once he had seen those rows of needle-like teeth and spine-dappled tendrils, he was shocked into desperate action. He made three rectangular passes with his right hand and lunged toward the central font. The moment his hand contacted the cool, smooth silver, a ray gleamed and pierced the temple depths; the vile purple fluid that previously swirled with malice in the deep basin was cleansed and transformed to crystal clear purity. Miroda's merciful gaze fell on the temple and evaporated the monstrosities that remained. The God's victorious herald was prone and maimed as toxic material rotted his flesh. Hercade completed an act of thanksgiving and brought his fetish to his lips for a third time. The final knot on his cord unraveled as his breath quickened toward its end. Stone and magic crumbled above him, and his vision dimmed to an opaque haze. The ground erupted beneath him, and a dank geyser of putrid air forcefully jettisoned his body directly upwards. Hercade was propelled through dense layers of rocky sediment and wood. Chunks were torn from his skin, and his limbs contorted into unnatural angles from the velocity of his rise. His screams of agony were stifled by the dirt that filled his mouth and shattered his teeth. The monk's shredded and broken body was ejected forth from the subterranean depths into the clear blue surface. He tumbled several times and landed with a sharp thud on the cool grass. Hercade's lone remaining eye caught a glimpse of that puradov as it now flew westward. His right hand, by grace, had landed on his cord of blessing. He struggled to move his fingers slightly and perceived that the acts of faithful devotion he had just performed had returned his blessing knots. The monk spat dirt and teeth from his ragged mouth and raised his shattered right arm to begin three rectangular passes.