As the priest, Theophilus, and Alwina make their way toward the Black Altar tells Klokulf what he knows of the temple complex, admitting he’s only seen a portion of the whole and that most of his knowledge comes second-hand. He speaks of torture chambers, courtrooms, libraries, laboratories, dungeons, barracks, et cetera.
Foot traffic makes way for Klokulf as if the Hand of Bane were hovering over him, and stray dogs whimper as they scramble out of the priest’s path.
The trio turns a corner and come to the brick lane running along the south side of the sprawling compound.
At the center of the lesser shrines and outbuildings and iron-spiked fences and walls rises a grand basilica built in dark reflection of the gothic style so prominently seen in faraway Selgaunt
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High bridges connect buildings so that Bane’s priests can walk above the heads of the petitioners and prisoners herded every day through the black iron main gates by masked guards.
Such a crowd enters now from the street, some weeping or quivering in fear, others stone-faced and silent.
Klokulf’s personal charm and clerical status, supplemented by Theophilus’s hints about how best to navigate the ecclesiastical bureaucracy, suffice to move the priest though a series of security checkpoints, leaving behind the cringing mass of common folk and coming into waiting rooms reserved for persons of quality: lords, ladies, and military officers. In the inner parlors, temple-slaves serve guests goblets of wine and upon command bend down on all fours to serve as living stools.
Alwina frowns at the way a slave groans under the weight of a stout lord seated upon his straining back.
Theophilus clams up, and casts uneasy glances toward the nearest exit. Sweat shines on the skinny teenager's forehead.
When Klokulf’s turn to be seen comes, a timid slave girl leads him and his two attendants down a gallery hung with crimson and sable tapestries and into a study where a gray-haired man with patrician looks, dressed in black and green robes, sits behind a massive desk.
The man leans over the desktop, extending his right hand as a fist.
On his third finger, a polished green gemstone gleams from its setting in a black-enameled ring.
Theophilus turns his face toward his master and mouths the words 'kiss it.'
