Oracleus!

Brushing the Dust off the Soapbox

2008-04-19T03:11:59Z

I figured here was as good a place as any to blab about my gleeful news.
I finally freakin' finished a novel.
Like, a real novel. 181 pages of double spaced, courier 12 point fiction.
It's super mega rough right now, completely first draft and whatnot.
But anyone who wants to read it, just ask. I'd love to get it read.
So, okay, yes. Catch you 'round.

P.S. This is not Harbinger or the Tarot Story or anything like that. It's 'literary fiction'. Snazzy, no? Snooty, too.

Harbinging

2006-07-16T17:23:27Z

I've re-decided to take Harbinger off here, since I'm all editing it and stuff. Also, I want to hide it from the world before I'm ready to unveil it in all it's genreness.

Ring ring ring... Banality!

2006-07-12T22:21:29Z

(To give this some context, this is a sort of rant I went on one time about something I do when I'm bored. I was talking to [read 'at')] someone on AIM about this. In my defense, she admitted once doing the same thing. Everything that follows is all my side of the conversation, since it sort of became this extended explanation. I understand how very banal it is to post AIM conversations, but bugger off, I'm doing this confessionally. Here goes...)

Do you ever happen to write things to people you know are away...
And try to make their away response seem clever, so they come back and see something clever.
Especially if their away message is some obscure quote from some song by some band most people wouldn't recognize?
Like, here a stupid example I'm making up. Somebody has some really weird away message up like:
'Kittens ate my car.'
Something utterly absurd that means something pretty much only to them and, maybe, somebody else close to them.
And so you write to them:
'Dude, can I borrow your wheels Saturday?'
And they immediately reply, as they would, with:
'Kittens ate my car.'
So you throw right back:
'Dude, again? I'm beginning to doubt that excuse.'
So they come back to experience some random hilarity on their desktop.

(Well, if that's not expressive of my crazy youthful vigor and indomitable spirit of irreverance, I don't know what is. Peace out, y'all.)

-insert appropriate subject line here-

2006-07-07T03:22:06Z

I've got jobs, you see, and one of them is sitting at the circulation desk at the Cabot Science library. While not shelving like the library ninja I am I tend to keep a terrible vigil over the poor mortals who come here for enlightenment. And I check books out for them. Right now there is a lull in the flow of knowledge and I had just finished re-writing the first chapter from my RotDR novel, so I decided to post it up here. Then I figured, why the hell not tack a real post up on this sucker.
I'm going to be honest. I've tapped into someone else's music library, and I'm listening to fuckin' Blink 182. Adam's Song no less. Damn, this brings back memories. Camp Coniston and Ian James's room. Sweet freakin' Lord almighty on a popsicle stick. Crazy times.
But tiresome, bad music inspired nostalgia aside, I suppose I should give some sort of status update or something. Not so long ago I was suffering from some lassitude, mixed with this hateful restlessness. My fair Significant Other said she was suffering from the same deal. Without school to drive me... and with that disgusting English grade hovering over me... not a pleasant set up.
But now I'm working, I've created some purpose for myself. I'm writing again. I'm working. Making cash. Seeing people. I need to keep this up.
If you read this, I do hope I'll see you soon. Give me a ring, or something.
Alright, peace out.

P.S. I gotta wonder, how many people have used the above subject line and thought they were oh-so-clever, and how many did it, with full knowledge it had been done before, and thought it would still be a little clever if they wrote a note beneath about how they realized it's so been done before and... okay, I'm stopping before I write myself into my own screenplay.

0 - Caudex EDITED

2006-07-07T03:01:08Z

0 - Caudex

'Never underestimate the power of fools. They are the ones who don't just think of what you didn't plan for, but who are also the most likely to actually do it.' - Consilium Coniuratis ex Lucifer

Deep within the twisting, labyrinthine sewer system of Gorn, citizens were flirting with death. In the often shifting and uncertain Middlelands, a verdant if sometimes dreary realm between the great desert of the north and the Dragonstooth mountains to the south, Gorn had been seen as the capital, the great city, for centuries. It had been the seat of the Syl Empire, the heart of the first Republic, the throne of the hated Serpentine Empress, and the center of the second Republic, called the Great Republic. Gorn was an impressive city, none could argue with this. Even its sewers were unmatched.
It was in one of the most obscure and well hidden sewerlock chambers that Thadaahk Tohs and Beomur Wodensbane came to risk their lives for the rank spirits known as sewer liquor. Sitting on chairs of damp wood with unsteady joints held together with rusty nails, Thadaahk and Beomur held hefty tankards filled with murky alcohol, which they had purchased from the haggard, grim looking barman. The barman watched over the vats of sewer liquor, where all sorts of things Thadaahk didn't care to think about fermented into the beverage he now lifted to his lips. The Jackalman winced and stuck out his tongue after a small sip. Beomur, grey lupine face set in an expression of grim resolution managed to take a drink from his tankard without so much as a flinch.
"Great sands," Thadaahk moaned, "I don't think I'll survive much more of this. I swear."
"We've survived worst," Beomur said, "Remember when we dropped that chest of swag in the main canal, had to jump in to fish it out?"
"Aye... couldn't get the smell out for weeks." Thadaahk said.
"Couldn't get the taste out of my mouth either. Got a mouthful of filth..."
"Never thought I'd look back to that day with nostalgia," Thadaahk said, scowling, "The days we could just walk into a bar and get a drink. Now we have to risk life and..."
No sooner was this said than a shrill whistle cut through the dank semi-dark of the sewer tavern. The murmur of the patrons' voices cut out at once, leaving a tense silence. The barman leaned across the table that served as his bar and hastily dropped the metal shutter over the single lamp that lit the chamber. The fear in the room was palpable: the alarm had been sounded. The Inquisition might be coming.
It had been six months since all alcohol had been outlawed by Inquisitorial edict, by behest of Grand Inquisitor Cain. For the last two years Cain had risen from the position of an officer in the Inquisitorial Branch of Holy Church of the Dawn Raven to the head of the Theocracy, the power that held Gorn and its sister city of Vers to the south. The citizens of Gorn had either come under Cain's rule willingly, enlisting in the Faith Brigade, or lived in fear, keeping to their houses save for the evening assemblies at the old churches that dotted the city. A last, smaller group, Thadaahk and Beomur among them, were far too accustomed to flouting authority to bend so easily to such rules. For these brave and foolhardy few, the sewer-bars had become regular haunts, a venture not without risk. To flout Cain's authority was to tempt torture and death.
A tense ten minutes passed, time counted in cautiously drawn breaths and beads of sweat. It was for no more than ten minutes, for the agents of Cain were swift, and it would be in only so long that their fate would be decided. As it was, this time, they had remained undetected. Light crept back into the room as the barman un-shuttered the lamp. Thadaahk’s claws had dug into the wood of his tankard, and he had to exert some force to extricate them.
“That’s it, Be,” he began.
“Don’t call me Be,” Beomur interrupted, but Thadaahk paid no mind.
“That’s it. I’m through with this pestilential city. I know we said we wouldn’t be chased from our homes, but that was before… before this!” he waved a hand at the surroundings, dank and dim.
“What, you think we’re just going to escape? Just… wave our hands at the paladins, hope it confuses them for long enough to make a break for it?”
“Yes… but not like that, obviously,” Thadaahk said, “We’re smart, Be.”
“Really? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Har har. But seriously, we’re smart. We can do this. We can… you know… break out somehow. Head north, maybe, past Lucifer’s Gate, find greener pastures. Or at least pastures where we won’t be facing a chance of hot pokery death every other evening”
“I love the sound of it. Great idea, really. But how?”
Thadaahk tapped the side of his muzzle, “See, I’ve been thinking on it for a while. Don’t laugh! I really have. Been using the old noggin.”
Beomur crossed his arms, leaning back, “You should have waited for me to finish my drink. I’d have been more inclined to believe you.”
“Hear me out, damn you!”
“Oh, I’ll hear you out. Sure thing. Chatter away.” Beomur smirked slightly.
“Look, the only people who can get out of here are those who are cleared by Cain to leave, right?”
Beomur nodded assent.
“So all we need to do is secure a writ of passage!”
Beomur remained quiet, but his brow rose in a silent expression of skepticism.
“I know we’re neither of us forgers, but… look, Cain is shipping out supplies every day, northwards to the Gate and southwards to Vers. There must be plenty of good carts to hide away in.”
“You’re suggesting, then,” Beomur says, “That we disguise ourselves as sheaves of wheat, or rows of pikes, and lay down in a wagon for the two day trip to Vers, or up the Gate, and then make a break for it while the paladin escorts are all looking the other way?”
“Well, anything sounds ludicrous when you put it like that.”
Beomur gave a sigh of exasperation, but he was smiling. He leaned forwards, taking up his tankard and taking another sip before giving a nod.
“Convince me,” he said, “But make it quick. We should be out of here soon.” Other patrons, scared by the alarm, false or no, were preparing to leave as well.
Thadaahk nodded, “See here,” he said, “We don’t have to dress up like piles of hay or anything. We can just hide in plain view… if we’re invisible!”
Beomur frowned, “Magic?”
Thadaahk grinned, “Right you are, my friend.”
Beomur shook his head, “Impossible. Strictly regulated. All the mages ran, or have been hung.”
“Sure,” Thadaahk said, “And their stuff stolen, and their grannies tortured, and their sisters married to the Shah and the three Thanes… yadda yadda. But I happen to know one place that I know the Inkies don’t know about.”
Beomur’s skepticism began to wane as his interest waxed, “A hidden mage tower?”
“Um… not quite. But a mage hideout, for sure. This fellow, used to do favors for the Thieves Guild back when we were still in business, before you signed on. I never met him, but I heard of him. He was very good at being hard to find, and the Guild helped it stay that way. But I know where he lived. He’s likely run off by now, but some of his things have got to still be there. And I know he kept the Guild stocked with invisibility charms and the like.”
“So we hope against hope there are some trinkets we can actually use left, and then stow away on a supply wagon?” Beomur said.
“No, we sit here and have you summarize everything I say,” Thadaahk said giving a snort, “If we hurry we can get to the place before curfew.”
Beomur exhaled in a long breath, then lifted his tankard.
“Why the drek not? You’re a damn fool, Thad, but I’m a fool with you. To freedom.”
Thadaahk grinned wide as his tankard met Beomur’s.
“Nothing more dangerous than an alliance of fools. To freedom.”
They drank to the toast, and Thadaahk, wincing, added, “And better booze.”
(Copyright Phillip Alexander Lobo, 2006, bitches!)

8 - Fortis

2005-11-30T22:24:01Z

8 - Fortis

"Gird yourself, my soldiers. Ours is a worthy fight, as all battle is worthy in its waging. When the arrows fall and the blades cut, and you stare down your doom, remember, though you fall, our strength will never fail." - Shah Argon Ironfist, the Merciless

Thadaahk and Beomur were sitting by the public fountain when Sister Ululshi found them. Beomur was quiet, eyes pitched up at the scholastic spires of Vers' academies, while Thadaahk leaned against a carved statue of a Hlessi Cahl warrior, one boot resting on the prostrate form of a fallen Vipernian soldier. Thadaahk's claw flicked steadily against the serpentine creature's long fang, bared in futile fury.
The Sabelite sister spotted them with little difficulty. Most in Vers were still putting the pieces of their lives back together, writing to find relatives who had disappeared, gathering in taverns and restaurants to talk about their mixed fortunes and misfortunes. Everyone had something to do, save for Thadaahk and Beomur, who were doing a great deal of nothing. Ululshi lifted her hand and waved it, trying to catch the pair's attention. Thadaahk, keen on anything that could distract him, was the first to see her.
"Oh, Great Sands..." he moaned. Beomur perked an ear and swung his gaze to Thadaahk.
"What's this?" he asked, but he soon noticed Ululshi as well, who was making her way towards them with as much haste as her ordained dignity would permit.
"Sir Tohs, Sir Wodensbane," she said, dipping into a bow, "The High Priestess has requested your presence. She'd be most grateful if you came with me to speak with her."
Thadaahk was quick to speak before Beomur could speak his assent, "What for?" he asked, "I thought she had to do something about some sort of asylum."
"The order has been granted asylum, and now we are situating ourselves," Ululshi explained, "But Lady Thule has business with the authorities here that she was hoping you could assist with. She was impressed with your stealth in escaping Gorn, and believes you might be suited for another, similar task."
"Similar task?" Thadaahk echoed, "How about escaping from having anything to do with the Dawn Church ever again, how's that for a similar task? Tell Lady Thule we're very flattered and all, but we're not interested."
Beomur crossed his arms, "When is it that you get to speak for me, Thad?" he inquired.
"Since you always make me do the talking anyways, Be."
"Yeah, about that, I think I've decided that was an overall poor decision on my part."
"Too late, Be. Your opinion has already been stated and, might I say, quite a sensible opinion it was."
Sister Ululshi cleared her throat lightly. Thadaahk looked back to her, a scowl etching his features.
"Look, we're very happy you didn't smite us when you found us in your holy cart, but there's not much more we can offer. What money we have is too little, and our lives are a tad too much so..."
"Lady Thule said that the authorities would pay handsomely should you accept." Ulushi interjected. Thadaahk's mouth remained somewhat open, but he didn't continue speaking. Beomur took the chance.
"What would the task be, lady priestess?" Boemur asked.
"Lady Thule did not tell me the specifics. She'd prefer to speak with you both in person."
Thadaahk rediscovered his voice, "Did she tell you the generals, then?" he asked, "Because I'm not going anywhere until I know just a little something about what she'll be asking."
Ululshi dipped her head apologetically, but said nothing. Beomur turned to Thadaahk.
"It doesn't hurt us any to go talk to her," he said, "And we at least owe it to her to hear her out. I'd say we owe her a lot more, after all the trouble we brought down upon her and hers."
Thadaahk's scowl returned, but there was a petulant edge that was as good as resignation coming from him.
"This is bloody ludicrous," he mumbled, "So I'll be really enjoying telling you I told you so."
"Don't I know it." Beomur said, and then, returning his eyes to Ululshi, "Lead the way, priestess."
Ululshi did just that, guiding Thadaahk and Beomur along the streets of Vers, deeper into the city. It was still recovering from Cain, they could see, with the windows of the schools being unboarded, and whitewash being put up over the leering Eyes that had been daubed on the masonry. One werklevt, gray with age, was grimly wrenching nails out of mage tower's door, freeing it from the pinned up edicts of the Inquisition. There was anger in the citizens as they purged Cain from the city, but there was elation too. After months in Gorn, Thadaahk could see just how dead that city had been, and just how quickly Vers was returning to life.
They approached the tall steeple of the church of the Dawn Raven, rising up over the roofs of the townhouses and shops. Thadaahk could see some of the white robed sisters moving amongst the other citizens, lending their help. The white banner with the silver sigil of Sabel hung over the entrance to the church, the church to which they were headed. They scaled the shallow stone steps, up through the arched double doors, and into the nave.
The vaulted hall of the church rose above them, windows of stained glass letting in tinted light that lay across the pews lining the long hall. A large raven, done in silver, hovered at the far end of the nave, its wings uplifted, head crowned with a crescent moon, claws holding a golden disk: the image of the Dawn Lord himself. Sitting amongst the pews were a collection of people, citizens of Vers, some praying quietly, some just resting, most bearing some injury or sign of sickness. Thadaahk's ears tilted back as he heard a harsh cough from an elder hlessi. He had no desire to catch his death so soon after escaping Gorn.
High Priestess Alshaia stood near the altar, a work in pale marble, tending to a Syl boy. His skin was sallow, his hair lank, and he sat on the altar, feet not touching the ground. Sister Ululshi paused at the end of the row of pews, folding her hands and dipping her head reverently.
Alshaia murmured a prayer, eyes closed, hand reaching out to touch the brow of the boy. A faint light shimmered about the boy's form, a sight that Thadaahk recalled, if only faintly, seeing before. This was one of the rituals of healing the Church had once performed on supplicants. It had been years since Thadaahk remembered seeing the marvels of the clerics. He and Beomur waited in silence as the light brightened, then faded. The boy's skin, while still not entirely healthy, looked much less sick.
"Raven watch over you, child," Alshaia murmured, "And be sure to eat well. There's not ritual that can replace a square meal." the boy nodded and hopped off the altar, giving the priestess a quick bow before heading towards the door.
Sister Ululshi stepped up, Beomur and Thadaahk glancing to each other for a moment before following suit. Alshaia turned to them, and the fatigue on her features was clear to the eye.
"My lady," Ululshi said, bowing, "They've come as you bid."
"Excellent. Many thanks, Ululshi," Alshaia's eyes slipped to Thadaahk and Beomur, "Sir Wodensbane, Sir Tohs, thank you for coming. Might we adjourn to my newly set up chambers? I've been drawing up rituals for the better part of two hours, and it's left me more drained than I should like to admit."
"My lady," Ululshi said, "I could take your place at the altar should you wish it," he glanced behind her at the gathering of the sick and injured, "There are many supplicants still."
Alshaia nodded, "But of course. Thank you, sister." she stepped to the side and Ululshi moved up to the altar, and then turned, motioning for Thadaahk and Beomur to follow. The pair fell in step as the high priestess led them through another, smaller set of doors, into a stone chamber with a simple cot. Thadaahk could see some of the objects he'd been huddled up to in the arc resting here. One of the large books, the silver-topped staff, and the white rags, which rested on a table all its own.
Alshaia moved to the desk that sat in the corner, a sturdy oak affair, far simpler than Vespasian's. She pulled the seat out, turning it to face the cot, and sat down, gesturing to the bed.
"Be seated, please. This may take some time."
Beomur did as asked, but Thadaahk remained standing.
"There's a chance it will be pretty damn quick, actually," Thadaahk said, "What do you want from us, and how much are you paying?"
Beomur gave Thadaahk a glare which he ignored. Alshaia gave a soft sigh, closing her eyes for a moment before answering.
"I need you to go back into Gorn..." she began
Thadaahk gave a harsh laugh, "You can stop right there," he said, "Forget it. Let's go, Be."
"I'm not moving," Beomur said, "I'm hearing her out. You didn't even let her tell you how much she's offering."
Thadaahk glowered, "Are you out of your mind? We nearly got ourselves captured and tortured getting out of the drek pit, and now you're thinking there's any payment in the world what can make that palatable? You've always been stupid, Be, but never suicidally so."
"I will not press you if you are dead set against it," Alshaia said, keeping her voice level, "Nor will I moralize. All I can ask is that you consider the good you will do. You will be helping right the wrongs that drove you from Gorn in the first place. You will be returning, but if your task is completed you will be able, soon, to stay."
"You mean we'll be striking Cain a fatal blow?" Beomur asked, "Defeating him, driving him from Gorn, even killing him?"
"Oh, is that all? Sounds easy." Thadaahk said, lip twitching in a suppressed sneer.
"The task will be filled with risk and no small danger," Alshaia continued, "I will not lie and say otherwise. But yes, Sir Wodensbane, if you succeed you may well make the decisive move that frees us from Cain and his Theocracy. You will have the gratitude, not only of the Violet Order, but of all the Middlelands."
Thadaahk had not yet stormed off, as he had intended, but he had not yet sat either. He crossed his arms, eyes set on Alshaia, "Gratitude? That's the polite way of saying we'll be paid a whole damn lot, isn't it?"
"Thadaahk..." Beomur began.
"Shut it, Be," Thadaahk countered, "But from what was it? The Violet Order? I remember hearing about that from some of the others down in the sewers, rumors of a secret society of exiled clergy and inquisitors who spoke against Cain. So you've working with this other group all this time, then? Your leaving Gorn, your whole Sisterhood moving, all had another purpose?"
Alshaia nodded, "I planned from the beginning to join with the Violet Order. I was set from the start to defy Cain in what way I could. And while we are by no means a clandestine organization, our work often demands covert action."
"Spying," Thadaahk said, "Infiltration, trickery, assassination it sounds like, now."
"If necessary."
"You'll forgive me for saying, Lady Priestess, but that doesn't sound to me to be much different nor better than the Inquisition. What if we do take up your little job and, Raven favoring, we manage to poison Cain's morning tea? Then what? Your Violet Order sets up shop, changes the names on the desks, then starts running things your own way? What in the Maelstrom is so much better about you than about Cain?" Thadaahk gave a grim smile, "At least Cain has the manners to upfront about being a bastard. I'm none too keen about being ruled by a samite fist."
Alshaia paused, closing her eyes. Beomur tried to catch Thadaahk's eyes, to give him glare, but Thadaahk just watched the priestess, waiting for his question to be answered. Finally she opened her eyes.
"That is a fair question, Sir Tohs."
"Please, call me Thadaahk."
"I believe Cain has changed your expectation of religion," Alshaia went on, "Your fear lies in Cain's understanding of what it means to be of the faith. Have you ever read Cain's works?"
"Once or twice, when I was bored."
"Cain began preaching in a dark time. The Luciferian Lands had broken off only years before, the Razorfists had terrorized the people, but had ended up collapsing in on themselves..."
"I lived that time, priestess," Thadaahk said, "I don't need a reminder. They were bad times."
"Precisely. Bad times. Cain spoke when the citizens of the Gorn were afraid. Beset by the Durkan to the south, the Pantheon of Enoch to the north, and with frightening rumors of an uprising to the east, fear and uncertainty were the most prevalent emotions. The Church had been alternately wracked by corruption and curtailed in power by the law, and the Archbishop's place was still empty. So Cain rose, speaking a new philosophy. He said that salvation, from fear and pain, would come with a revival of faith. Before faith had been earned by good works and miracles. Cain said that good works and miracles must be earned first, through faith. And at first this did not seem out of place. Faith in the Church, and in the Gods, had waned throughout the Republic's reign. Many clergy believed Cain was on the right track.
"But as he gained support, Cain's tune began to change. As the people began to gather to his sermons and read his teachings, he began to criticize the clergy, and the standing government. He blamed them for the failures of the age, for the woes that the people faced. And the people listened, and they believed. Cain was the only clear voice in the disorganized jumble of government factions and clerical alcoves.
"It didn't take long for Cain to take de facto control of the city. Inquisitors hunted down criminals and lawbreakers, began to provide the services that the government no longer could. And the people were grateful and glad. So grateful and glad that they did not bother to notice as Cain began to purge the Church from within, silencing dissent in a hail of corruption and heresy charges."
"Huh..." Thadaahk said, "I never did understand why folks were so pleased with Cain in the start, but perhaps that's because I'm a criminal and lawbreaker myself."
"Of course," Alshaia said, "Your the breed with which authority will never sit well, but that is the heart of the matter, you see. Cain believes that he and his are the lords of the people, chosen by the Raven, ordained by the divine. As the Gods rule all things, so are the Raven's most faithful granted some portion of that authority."
"And you don't believe that? You'll just step aside after Cain gets toppled?"
"I believe Cain is essentially wrong on that matter," Alshaia said, "I worship Lady Sabel because she gives me hope and guidance, because I am grateful, but not because it is my purpose to serve. It is my choice to serve, and it is because it is my choice that my service is worthy. The Raven's children are innumerable, the beating of their wings the very chorus of the world, and each one is a choice, an ideal to pursue, each worthy in the choosing. Cain would not give you that choice, he would give you one path, and in doing so he obviates the very virtue that lies in faith. It is not the duty of the Church to govern and rule. We are to set a standard, to act as guides by example, no more and no less. We are no different from any other mortals in authority. We are masters only of ourselves."
"Stirring," Thadaahk said, his short tail swishing from side to side, "Really beautiful. I'll be sure to get that framed and put over my mantle," he turned and again made for the exit, pausing to look around at Beomur. He remained seated, "You can't tell me you're swayed by that, Be? Sands, what's the matter with you?"
"Lady Thule," Beomur said, not looking at Thadaahk, "Please, tell me what needs to be done."
"Be, are you insane? You'll get yourself killed!"
Beomur's pale eyes snapped over to Thadaahk and his lip curled in a snarl, revealing his prominent canines, "What do you care? Look after your own life. Seems like that's all you've the strength for."
Thadaahk spluttered, but could think of no way to reply. He hung at the door as Beomur looked back to Alshaia. The priestess paused, waiting for a moment, before speaking.
"We need you to rescue a number of prisoners from the Inquisitorial dungeon. They are a delegation from the Sahaahkhan, and if we save them we hope..."
"Wait," Thadaahk cut in, "A Sahaahkrahai delegation?"
Alshaia nodded, "Yes. They were captured just a week ago, or so."
"Who was in the delegation? Do you have names?"
"No, I do not, though perhaps Brother Isaac would."
Thadaahk took a careful step back into the room, "And if you don't get them out, what'll happen to them."
Alshaia's thin brow arched very slightly, "What do you imagine will happen to them, at the hands of Cain?"
Thadaahk's ears angled back, his brow furrowing into deep lines. Beomur watched him, his previous anger diluted now with confusion, but it was not long lived.
"That g-" Beomur began, but Thadaahk cut him off.
"Shaddup, Be. Alright, I've changed my mind. I'm in, but I expect to come out of this with more coin that reason dictates."
Alshaia's brow lifted a little higher, but she inclined her head slightly, "I shall see what can be arranged. Now... shall I go on?"
Thadaahk nodded, "Aye," he said, "I figure you should."
(Copyright Phillip Alexander Lobo, 2005, bitches!)

7 - Quadriga

2005-10-21T04:38:02Z

7 - Quadriga

"When I went to war, I remembered the shattered halls of the Khuln, the ruined homes and lost lives, the fall of Shaadar, the pillars of smoke as their diabolical machines ground relentlessly south, covering the sands in soot and ash. For decades we had merely slowed the advance, delayed a fall that seemed inevitable. But when we first found victory, we found new hope. The fury of the sands was remembered, and the tide began to turn. We struck north, beating them back, reclaiming what was ours by right. Under the flash of our blades they fell, and onward rolled the relentless wheels of the chariot." - Mraahk Tohs, Khanansahaahkrah

Alshaia's meeting with former president Victor von Vespasian went more smoothly than even she had expected. In retrospect, she supposed she should not have been surprised. The Violet Order was for all those who wished to actively defy Cain, she had been told this, but that those who were not involved in the Church would do more than escape his grasp or fence him off hadn't at once occurred to her.
"Then you knew I was coming?" Alshaia asked, "The Order informed you?"
Vespasian was an aging werklevt, much of his fur a silver grey, though his eyes were still bright and alert, and under his thick pelt Alshaia was sure he had retained a soldier's sinew. He was dressed in a black velvet jacket with a red sash, the mark of a Republican, though the sash now bore a embroidered gold circle on it. A new dawn for a new uprising, he had explained. The Republic was no more, but it would rise again. He had not fought so hard to end the Vipernian era to step aside when a new era of Cain was beginning.
"Father Isaac insisted our uprising must come in time for your coming," the short statesman said, "I'll have you know we performed miracles with logistics to get enough black powder here on time."
"I'm most grateful, your excellency..." Alshaia began.
"Please, I won't ask you to call me Victor, but I will insist that you not use my old address!" Vespasian said, "I was fairly voted out of office, after what I consider a very good run. If you must use a title, call me 'commander'. That's my station now. Never expected to be back on the field again, and while I'm sorry it had to come to this, it is a fitting last campaign."
"Commander it shall be, then," Alshaia said, nodding, "As it happens, you're capture of the city could not have come at a better time. I had hoped to meet with the Order in secret, but circumstances blossomed darkly..."
"As they are wont to do." Vespasian commented, with a grim nod.
"We were found out," Alshaia explained. That it had been the result of a misunderstanding, she decided, was moot, "One of our sisterhood was killed by Cain's agents, and we can only assume that it is only the beginning."
Vespasian rose in his seat, a clawed hand lighting on the edge of his desk. The desk, like most of the furnishings in the study, was made of a fine wood, mahogany in this case. But as no more than two objects were quite the same design, Alshaia assumed that this set up had been assembled from the rest of the city hall. The Theocracy, scorning anything exceeding the barest minimalism, had likely stripped this place down upon converting it into a headquarters for their own regime.
"How strong a reprisal can we expect, priestess?" the werklevt asked, "We're well entrenched here, but against a force like the Paladins..." Vespasian trailed off. Alshaia understood.
"I do not know the mind of Cain, and at most times I am thankful for this, but I cannot imagine a single life will satisfy him. In Cain's eyes, any life that has deviated from what he feels is the proper path is not a life that deserves to exist."
"Well, perhaps our informants will have some idea of what is going on inside Gorn now," Vespasian said. He noted Alshaia's look of surprise, a subtle expression, but one a trained politician such as he would be bound to pick up on, "We have informants within the Theocracy."
"I was first contacted within the walls of Gorn," Alshaia said, "But it did not occur to me that you might be privy to the plans of Cain."
"We don't precisely have access to his actual orders, beyond the edicts he apparently has scattered all over the city," Vespasian said, "But we have insiders in the Faith Brigades, Cain's civilian corp, and one can learn a lot just by having eyes and ears open. If he's preparing for something big, we'll at least know ahead of time."
"I see." Alshaia said. She felt somewhat out of place, discussing plans of war with this statesman. The werklevts were the most secular of species, not denying the existence of the gods, but rarely sparing time to worship them. She didn't object. Their pursuits, the pursuits of science and philosophy, were worthy ones in their own right. But she had decided to fight in the name of her faith. That equal resolve could come from one with little or no faith seemed strange at first.
"But yes," Vespasian said, eyes turning to a paper on his desk, "Of course I'll grant you asylum. I've had the paper ready and signed already," he tapped it with claw, "With that business dealt with, we should hurry and meet with the rest of the Order." Vespasian hopped off his seat, disappearing behind the desk and reappearing around the corner, bustling in the distinct werklevt waddle. Alshaia rose after him, following him out of the office, and down into the basement of the town hall. The archives here had been confiscated by the Inquisition, taken back to Gorn, so the wooden shelves were empty, pushed aside to make way for a round table, around which sat the Violet Order. Of the fourteen seats there, six were taken up. Alshaia recognized Lady Palth, who was smiling with great pleasure as Vespasian led her inside, as well as Father Isaac, who was already rising from his seat.
"Lady Thule!" Father Isaac said, spreading his great, shaggy arms, "Welcome! We've been so looking forward to your arrival. I hope it went smoothly."
Alshaia dipped in a deep bow to the table. The others there, a black-furred hlessi in robes and a peaked mage's hat, a werklevt with a thick tuft of sandy fur on his muzzle, like a mustache, another bearman dressed, rather unsettlingly, in inquisitor's robes, and a Jackalman in the blue garb of a Luciferian priest, all watched Alshaia with interest.
"We encountered some difficulty," Alshaia admitted at once.
"Seems matters may have rolled ahead of us," Vespasian agreed, pulling out a seat for Alshaia, before hopping up onto a seat of his own, next to the hlessi, "Lady Thule, perhaps you can tell the council the story in greater detail."
And so Alshaia did, explaining the close call with Ishmael, the unexpected discovery of Sir Tohs and Sir Wodensbane, and the reprisal of Cain's spies. The hlessi immediately asked whether the stowaways might be agents, or at least in the pay, of the Inquisition, sent to give grounds for Cain's actions against the Sabelites. Alshaia was quick to dismiss this.
"They seemed to be good souls," Alshaia said, "I sensed they had as much to fear from being discovered as we did."
The hlessi gave a small nod, not looking entirely convinced, but pressing no further. Father Isaac frowned in thought.
"I have confidence that Lady Thule's judgment is sound, Lord Morningshiv," Isaac said. Morningshiv glanced to the bearman inquisitor, as if looking for assistance. The inquisitor shook his head.
"It would be out of place, even for Cain, to make such a move. It would offend his sensibilities," he said, "But either way, the end result is the same: we are all put in danger now. The entire sisterhood will be considered culpable, and Cain will not let such a large defiance of his authority pass."
Father Isaac indicated the hlessi and the bearman, "These are Lord Arnen Morningshiv and Brother Jonah. Lord Morningshiv came to us concerned with the persecution of mages by Cain, and Brother Jonah has served as a just inquisitor for many years. He heads up the Order's intelligence."
Jonah dipped his head to Alshaia, but was quick to return to the previous topic, "I would not be surprised if Cain dispatched a taskforce of Inquisitors to attempt an assassination."
Alshaia blinked, "An assassination? Against myself, I'd presume."
"Indeed," Jonah said, "That's standard procedure, to kill the leader and see if the remaining members of your sect will turn themselves, penitent."
"That would be misguided," Alshaia said, "None of my sisters would go back to Cain, not after what happened to Sister Illica."
"Would Cain know this?" Jonah asked.
Alshaia thought for a moment, then nodded, "He would. I was told his agents often approached newer sisters, trying to win their loyalty, and each time they were rebuffed. I don't believe Cain is foolish. He would know better than to think he could win back the sisterhood by spilling my blood."
Jonah nodded, "Then the second most likely response would be sending Paladins to demand the city hand your sisterhood over."
"Something," Father Isaac added, "We would never do."
"As long as your sisterhood wishes to stay within these walls," Vespasian said, "They shall be manned and guarded."
"I thank you all," Alshaia said, "I came to offer aid, and find that I have brought more trouble than help. I am eternally grateful for your kindness, even so."
"Cain will not be pleased with us if we do not cave to his threats," Lady Palth said, "The only reason he gave up Vers so easily was because he has been so weakened by the defeat at Menith, against Enoch. If we defy him again, he'll be forced to act, will he not?"
The eyes of the council moved again to Jonah. He gave a single nod, "From what I know of Cain, he is rash when angered. He will trust to his divine mandate and mount an attack."
Vespasian made a noise of discontent, "As proud as I am of my troops," he said, "I cannot be sure we could stand against a regiment of Paladins, not for long."
The Jackalman in blue suddenly spoke up, "Then perhaps it is time we discussed the plan Brother Jonah and I put forth yesterday."
Alshaia glanced from the Jackalman, to Jonah, feeling just slightly confused. It seemed she had arrived in media res. In fact, she felt as if she was more a trouble than anything else. She had sped up the pace of Vespasian's revolt, had possibly called the rash wrath of Cain down upon this city. And worst of all, so new to this, she did not even know how to make amends. Father Isaac seemed to have noticed, and spoke up.
"Keeper Brrouhk," he said, speaking to the Jackalman, but with his eyes on Alshaia, "Could you explain the plan fully. Lady Thule is quite lost in all this, I'm sure, and I'm also sure I'm not doing much better. Not so much room in this old clergyman's head for new plans, with all the old texts I've memorized."
Keeper Brrouhk. He was, indeed, a priest of Oraclean Lucifer. Alshaia wondered what had brought him from the lands north of Lucifer's gate to do battle against Cain. It seemed there was more anger and defiance towards the Theocracy than she had at first thought. Kept within the walls of Gorn, surrounded by the staring Eyes, it had seemed Cain was a vast, immutable force. Yet here were representatives from the great powers of the world, convening against him.
The Keeper laced his hands together before him, "Very well," he said, "The battle of Menith was a great defeat for Cain. The Paladins of Vilfang suffered considerable losses..."
"Over a third of their forces were killed." Jonah added.
"Indeed," the Keeper continued, "Thus Cain is weak at his borders, especially at Lucifer's Gate. Still, the Paladins of Bestilir are still strong, and Cain is well fortified within Gorn itself. The Order lacks the forces to unseat him. If we are to topple Cain, we must call upon a powerful ally.
"Enoch's Pantheon are a common enemy of Cain, but they cannot be trusted. They want to destroy not just Cain, but the entire Church, the entire faith of the Dawn Raven. Obviously, we cannot ask them to aid in assault on Gorn and the Cathedral. The Luciferian Lands are still fragmented after the disappearance of the Lucifer's Lords. We cannot rely on them, with their infighting, and the Oraclean faith isn't cohesive enough to draw them together in time. The hlessi..."
"Would never help us," Lord Morningshiv said, "They would gladly take advantage of our weakness and deal with Cain on their own terms. The only reason we aren't facing a third invasion is because both the Shah and the Archmage are dead, and the Iljate is paralyzed."
"The Empire of the East would have lent aid in better times," Lady Palth added, "But the Jade Crescent has unseated my husband, and Shogun Ketto-tsuki would be patently uninterested in Cain."
The Keeper nodded, "That leaves one last great power that could possible help us. The Empire of the Sahaahkrahai," the Jackalman leaned a little further forward, "The Jackalman Empire has never been a friend to oppression, and will always act its conscience. Now, the question Lord Morningshiv brought up at once is a vital one: why would they move at once to help us? Of course they would realize that Cain is dangerous and evil, given time, but their nearest forces are in Calith, giving support to the Luciferians against possible Pantheon encroachment. Brother Jonah, explain, please."
Jonah's eyes were on Alshaia. This had, it would seem, already been explained to the others. While the Keeper kept it a matter of general address, perhaps out of courtesy, Jonah addressed Alshaia alone, since this was for her benefit.
"Cain has recently captured a delegation from the Sahaahkhan. His paranoia, it would seem, has reached new heights. They will be tortured, interrogated, and killed, and their deaths blamed on Pantheonic betrayal, or perhaps on the dangers that, at times, wander out of the Bonedust mountains. How long this will keep the Jackalmen from acting is unclear, but certainly it will be longer than we can afford. If we free the delegates, they report back to the Sahaahkhan, and those troops in Calith will almost certainly be used as a formal reprisal. It is only natural that they will work in tandem with us, out of fury and gratitude. And if Cain should send the Paladins south to Vers, Gorn will be at its weakest: a prime time to strike. At the very least, Cain will be forced to withdraw the Paladins to defend Gorn and the Cathedral, buying us valuable time."
Alshaia was quick to consider all of this. Matters sounded near desperate. It seemed the whole world was in upheaval, that nothing was safe, but this was, from what she understood, as sound a plan as could be conceived.
"This all," Jonah continued, and as his eyes shifted back to the rest of the council, Alshaia reasoned that they were no longer repeating what had already been discussed, "Will hinge on rescuing the delegates from the depths of the Inquisitorial dungeon, right under Cain's eye, before the delegates are killed, or tortured to the point of madness."
Vespasian gave a grim nod, "I'm in favor," he said, "We can gather support to our heart's content, but we must deal a blow against Cain before he has time to truly consolidate after the battle at Menith. And since Lady Thule's arrival, now is the time, more than ever before."
Isaac folded his great hands together, "Are there any objections before we put this to a vote?" he asked, looking from face to face.
Morningshiv cleared his throat, "I am skeptical of our ability to rescue the delegates," he says, "The inquisitors are not likely to be loose with their security, especially after Lady Thule's presumed betrayal. To have even the slightest chance we'd need to send elite individuals, ones that might be better served remaining here, for the defense of Vers."
Vespasian frowned, tone apologetic but unyielding, "The handful of individuals needed to carry out the proposed mission would mean little in an open battle with Paladins. While I'm similarly concerned with the chances of success, the alternative seems even more bleak."
Jonah spoke up now, "The team would have to be as small as stealth demands, and large enough to stand against the danger of meeting of an inquisitorial patrol. They would also need to have leaders with an intimate knowledge of Gorn's workings. A map of the dungeons I can provide, but the paths to reach there should be shadowy ones known to few."
Vespasian quickly followed Jonah, "I believe Lieutenant Varian would be ideal for this venture," he said, "His qualifications fit the bill perfectly."
Sylvia injected, "Whilst I agree that Lieutenant Varian is a prime choice, in all respects, it has been a long time since he ran the sewers and streets of Gorn. We might need... more current expertise."
Alshaia hesitated only momentarily, before she at last spoke her mind to the council,
"I believe I may have a suggestion..."
(Copyright Phillip Alexander Lobo, 2005, bitches!)

6 - Amores

2005-10-13T00:00:23Z

6 - Amores

"The heart of all that is good is the willingness to be selfless. Kindness, Creation, even firm Justice: they are all, at heart, manners of selflessness, the giving to the world, or the favor of serving others before serving the self. But the happiest virtue is that which, in giving, is received. The sweetest goodness is that in which two beings can be selfless entirely to one another, so that both benefit and both are truly good. Thus, we call the sweetest virtue Love." - Scribus Amoris ex Lilith

The remainder of the trip to Vers was burdened by anxiety and sadness. Thadaahk mentioned to Beomur, that, were he one of them, he'd just be straight out panicking, and Beomur was forced to agree. High Priestess Thule had explained to them what had happened when they awoke, instead of waking them right after finding out, something that struck Thadaahk as odd, but which made sense to Beomur. Them getting a sleepless night for fear would do them no good should the Inquisitors actually come.
They sensed no ill will from the solemn procession of priestesses. Though even Thadaahk knew better than to try and strike up conversation with any of the marching sisters, they both felt perfectly welcome. Any discomfort they felt was their own guilt. Beomur had said it was likely that their presence may have been the reason for the grisly retribution of Cain. If they had been seen exited the arc, then the very least the sisterhood would be guilty of was failing to report heretics to the Inquisitorial Police, and the very worst that could be assumed would be that they had mindfully smuggled heretics out. Either way, Cain would come down hard on the sisterhood. The only question that remained was: how?
Beomur kept up the march, Thadaahk having make up for his shorter legs with a rapidity of stride. Both, however, were hardened from lives of strong arming and guild commissions. The wonder was at the stamina of the priestesses, whose lives in the monastery, Thadaahk reasoned, couldn't possibly make them ready for these sorts of marches. The sisters looked even more frail than before, now with the collective cloud of dread that hovered over them. They didn't seem ruffled, so much as made darker in shade, and bleached paler in light. Thadaahk felt a strange fatality in their procession, that he imagined hadn't been there before, though he and Beomur had been cramped in the dark for the first leg of the journey. Thadaahk couldn't blame them. Vers was still Theocratic territory, even if in a much looser way than Gorn, and Cain's agents communicated through spiritual agencies that they couldn't be outrun. They would almost certainly be met at the gates.
Thadaahk had considered bailing and heading for one of the smaller towns, but Beomur had given him just a single look that had killed that idea. Hlessi honor, or something of the sort. Thadaahk managed to reason out something more sensible as a reason to stay with the procession: the Inquisition would have already noticed their departure, and since they now knew where they were, there wasn't really any place to run, at least until they got to Vers. Then they could disappear. But, until then, there was safety in numbers. Or so Thadaahk hoped.
The Middlelands sloped gently down from the Bonedust Mountains north of Gorn, down to the River Arr, so the city of Vers was visible, sitting amidst the patchwork of farming fields, a good two hours before the actual north gate could be seen. Not as vast or well fortified as Gorn, Vers was still walled and well defended, a fact that had saved it from being raided by the Hlessi in the first invasion, and from being taken by the Durkan colonialists from across the sea. Thadaahk had visited Vers on many occasions, and found it an eccentric place, with a school on every corner and at least three pairs of arguing students for every school. He wondered how the Inquisition had changed the free spirited city.
The gates of Vers were open, something that surprised Thadaahk.
"Be..."
"Don't ca-"
"Just shut it will you? Why are these gates open? And why aren't there paladins ready to meet us? This is queer."
Beomur paused to consider this, "You're right," he says, "It is. Very queer. Maybe their communications got jammed up."
"Control not as tight outside of Gorn?"
"Vers has never been an easy city to control. Governer Murdoch's legacy, and all that. City of scholars and students."
"Still, big drekking bearmen with hammers..."
"I figure an irate werklevt with a heavy book might give a bearman pause."
Thadaahk gave a snort, but he was smiling, "Is it too early for me to feel relieved, because I do."
"I think it is, and I don't. Let's wait to see what's beyond the gates."
It seemed the sisterhood was also failing to share Thadaahk's feelings. They were more tense than ever, and those with staves gripped them tighter. Thadaahk had seen this stance on many a night watchman: full alert. There was no panic in this number, no real fear, but a dreadful breed of anticipation. They passed through the gates, and Thadaahk peered at the ramparts, but could make out no bearmen, and they would be easy to see over the crenellations.
The procession was not greeted by paladins, nor mad eyed inquisitors, but instead by a werklevt rat man, with a thick roll of parchment and a quill, marked with a red tip. Thadaahk remembered seeing such quills. It was a Republican bureaucrat's quill, enchanted to create its own store of ink. The werklevt waddled up to the priestess in the front and, after a few short words, headed for the High Priestess's chair. Alshaia had been set down by her bearers and had stepped out, and surprise was evident even on her subdued features.
Thadaahk's ears perked to catch the conversation.
"Welcome to Vers, lady priestess," the werklevt said, "The Revolutionary government welcomes you."
"Revolutionary government?" Alshaia replied, "I believed this city to be under the jurisdiction of Grand Inquisitor Cain."
The sour look on the werklevt's face was easily visible, "The people have deposed that regime, and have set up their own government, representing themselves."
Alshaia smiled and dipped her head, "I am glad to hear it, sir. We have just suffered from the madness of Cain ourselves. My sisterhood came to seek out new initiates, but it seems we may need asylum now. Can that be arranged?"
The werklevt also noticeably brightened, "I'd heard that the Sisterhood of Sabel were not allies of the Dawn Church. I am glad to have that rumor confirmed."
"We are allies of the Church, sir, but not allies of Cain. Cain is not the Church, or at least not the Church we believe in. As to asylum..."
"It will certainly be granted, once you speak to the interim governor," the werklevt actually beamed with pride, "Victor von Vespasian."
Thadaahk looked over at Beomur, who seemed to have heard this as well. Beomur appeared equally amazed. Thadaahk gave a low whistle, "Victor von Vespasian... I might not be a great student of history, but that'd be the founding President of the Republic, right?"
"Aye, the mastermind behind the Revolution. Guess it's hard to keep an good werklevt down."
"He's got to be... what, two hundred and fifty years old or so?"
"Your guessing on the young side. Must be a mighty grey fellow, though werklevts stay pretty spry, even at that age."
"And he's gone and liberated Vers, and we never knew about it."
"Well, no one was let in or out, right?"
"Aye... er... how about we get back to eavesdropping?"
Beomur gave a nod and the pair perked their ears, catching the werklevt mid-speech.
"...at the Dawn Church near the town center, if you'd wish. It's still used, by those priests who helped us topple the Theocracy here. I am thrilled to be the one to meet you here!"
Alshaia looked in a much better mood that she had when she had woken the pair, and the sisters were all looking on, murmuring softly to one another as the word spread, "And I am honored to meet the former President of the Republic. It is good to know that old goodness can still fight new evils."
"Just allow me to take note of each member of your procession... we need to be very careful about who comes and goes. We keep our gates open for refugees from Gorn, but no one comes in or gets out without it being noted. A tiresome but highly necessary precaution."
Alshaia nodded, "Please, speak with sister Ululshi. She will help you in that matter." the sister stepped up, bowing to the werklevt, and Alshaia made at once for Beomur and Thadaahk who, taken by surprise, both started slightly as she made eye contact with them both.
"We are safe, much to my surprise," Alshaia said, once she was close enough to them to speak conversationally, "It seems that wheels have been turning outside of Gorn. I should have expected such a thing, but I did not dare to hope."
"Aye, things are looking up, then?" Thadaahk said.
"That is, of course, a relative measure. There is much of value that we left at the monastery, as well as a few watch-sisters, and I fear what may happen to them, but there is little we can do at this moment. I must tend to my order, and seek legal refuge here. I am sure we can do the people of Vers much good." Alshaia said.
"If there is anything we can do, please tell us," Beomur said, "We understand that we are responsible for the actions against your sisterhood, and we are indebted to you for sheltering us nevertheless." Thadaahk struggled not to give Beomur a startled look.
"We cannot know if you had any part in what took place," Alshaia said, "And even if you did, it was an unintentional part, of that I am certain. You need not bear any guilt for a action done without malice."
"But we did what we did for our own good, not thinking of the risk you sisterhood would face..." Beomur continued, and Thadaahk now struggled not to clamp a hand over the Hlessi's muzzle.
"Your plan was very well thought out, I'm sure," Alshaia said, her smile small but gracious, "You managed to evade even my cautious eye, so I cannot fault your execution. Do not worry over it. If you wish to do us any good, tell any young ladies of good quality to seek me out. The tenor of this journey may have changed, but some of its purpose ought to remain."
Beomur dipped in a bow, one that Thadaahk copied hastily, "That we will, given the chance, Lady Priestess."
"Many thanks. May the gentle moon shine on your path kindly, Beomur and Thadaahk Tohs," Alshaia paused, "Alas, I never learned your bloodname, Beomur. Forgive me."
"It's Wodensbane, Lady Priestess. And don't worry. I'd rather just Beomur than 'Be'." Beomur shot Thadaahk a look.
"Aye, aye," Thadaahk says, "And you too, Lady Priestess. I'm sure we'll see you about. I don't think we'll be leaving any time soon, unless things get better further south. Cain's after our heads too."
"I've little doubt we'll cross paths again," Alshaia said, "Until then, be well." she bowed to them, and they bowed back, before she moved back to her palanquin. There was a long silence, one that Thadaahk broke, "So... I think I'd like to get a real drink. That's why we came all this way."
Beomur gave Thadaahk a long stare, then sighed, starting off into the city as the procession of priestesses headed off as well, "You're an idiot. Let's find a tavern."
"Wha'?" Thadaahk exclaimed, following after him.
It was not hard to find a tavern, something that made Thadaahk's heart swell with gladness. The Tipsy Weasel, bearing a sign with a cute little animal with is head stuck up a barrel's spigot, opened up before them, smelling not of dank sewer, but of tobacco and ale.
"Holy Oracle," Thadaahk said, taking a deep breath of the air, "I've found paradise, my friend." he moved at once for the bar, taking a seat, "One whiskey, one stout and one ale!"
Beomur sidled onto a stool next to the Jackalman, "Make that two stouts," he glanced at Thadaahk, "I'll have you know, if you pass out, I'm going to pay for a single bed innroom, and stick you in the closet."
"Fine by me. It'll be just like home. Even slept in a Jackalman inn?"
"No, and I don't plan too any time soon. Sand makes my nose itch."
The drinks arrived before them and Thadaahk paid, adding a hefty tip, "Thank you good sir." the barman gave a nod, and went to serve the other customers.
"Ooooh Thadaahk!" a female voice suddenly crooned from across the room. Thadaahk, whose muzzle was buried in the stout, nearly choked. Coming up, gasping for air, he spun on his stool to see the source of the voice. A Jackalwoman, walking with a hippy gait, and wearing a threadbare tunic, smirked at him, stepping up to the bar, "Thad, darling. It's been too long."
"That's a matter of opinion, Alma." Thadaahk replied, his face in set an unadulterated scowl.
Beomur looked between them, "And this is?"
"Alm-" the Jackalwoman began.
"Alma Minuettah," Thadaahk replied, eyes still on the lady in question, "We're... previously acquainted. Back in Tohsara."
"You know Thad from back home, in the north?" Beomur asked, tone polite if slightly doubtful.
"That's right," Alma said, beaming, "We used to work together, picking pockets, pulling Rock Bottoms, filching from vendors."
"I never filched from a vendor. I'm a thief, not a Morag blasted villain," Thadaahk said, "And don't make it sound like it was a regular thing. I worked with Sephaata most of the time."
Alma gave a little giggle, "Oh yes, your lady love Sephaata." Thadaahk's good mood had utterly evaporated, his muzzle buried in his stout again, ill tempered bubbles rising to its dark surface, "Too bad that never worked out, hmmm?"
Beomur looked from Alma to Thadaahk, then back, "Uh..." Thadaahk glared at Alma, emerging from his drink again.
"Don't dirty her name with your filthy mouth." he growled.
"Too bad she doesn't like men with... well, too bad she doesn't like men." Alma sounded very pleased about this.
Beomur's brows lifted a fair bit at this. Thadaahk's eye twitched,
"Alma, shut your disgusting trap. I don't need to to remind me about that little detail. I'm glad I'm not religious, because I'd be having a real crisis of faith about a god that would allow you to keep on living."
"You know, I thought about taking a spin with Sephaata, but she wasn't really my type back then."
Thadaahk turned to Beomur, "Be, inform the authorities. A murder is about to be committed." he said this with utmost seriousness. Alma just laughed, leaning along the bartop.
"I don't see why you never screwed me, Thad. Must have been a lot of lonely nights with just you and your h-"
"Because I enjoyed being the only thing with at least one leg north of the river Ar that hadn't screwed you, Alma." Thadaahk spat, the grip on his tankard getting tighter and tighter. Alma didn't seem fazed. She just blew Thadaahk a kiss.
"Well, just so you know, Sephaata graduated. Thought you'd want to know."
"What?" Thadaahk said, his tone changing at once, "She got through the Academy? That's great! How did you hear?" Alma didn't answer. She just winked. Thadaahk sneered, "Oh, spare me."
"Believe what you will, Thaddy dear."
"Just tell me how you know, Morag blast you!"
"Ask nicely now..."
"Tell me, and I won't gut you."
"'Oh, spare me.'" Alma said, tone mocking. Thadaahk grumbled something barely audible. "What was that?"
"Please." Thadaahk repeated, sounding like his mouth was full of gravel, and about as cheerful as if it were full of glass.
"Was that so hard?" Alma said, turning her back to the bartop and tossing her head, one foot up on a stool.
"Just tell me."
"I heard through the network. Just because the guild in Gorn is dead, doesn't mean we can chat over Lucifer's Gate."
"But we don't get news from Tohsara."
"She was heading south, with a delegation. She passed through Lorcom, and one of our mates, Aahlganad, recognized her. Said she was quite the sight, with a Gymchaaka, riding on a sand dragon and everything."
"Was the delegation to the Pantheon?"
"Nope. Theocracy."
Thadaahk spluttered a second time, "The Empire is sending a diplomat to those maniacs? Sephaata is going to Gorn?"
Alma nodded, "Yup," she grinned, "Guess it really wasn't meant to be. Sometimes you've got to say die."
"Go fall down a chasm, Alma."
"That's one way I'm not willing to please you, Thaddy."
Thadaahk grimaced, "Just hearing that makes me feel unclean. Just... just get out here. Great Sands..."
Alma gave a sigh, taking her leg off the stool, "Well, I'll just leave you with your Hlessi friend here. Have a fun time, Thaddy. So glad to hear the inkies didn't get you."
"I wish..."
"That you could say the same, I know..." Alma sounded as if she was losing patience, "You'll come around eventually. They all do." and with that the Jackalwoman headed for the door, and walked out into the street. Thadaahk let out a groan.
"Sands... I hate that filthy harlot."
"Is she really that bad?" Beomur asked, setting down his stout, which was almost done by now, "She seemed a little, well, smarmy, but not so bad otherwise."
"You don't know her like I know her," Thadaahk said, "She's a drekking hive of disease and ill will. And all that tripe she was saying about Sephaata..."
"Ah yes, this Sephaata. Should I ask?"
"It's alright. You're my friend. I can tell you. It's just, well, a little embarrassing."
"Most stories of unrequited adoration are."
"Love, Be. Not adoration. Love. You didn't know Sephaata, but she was just amazing. Funny, witty, beautiful, smart as a damned Dargun. And sweet as an angel, unless you vexed her, in which case you'd spend the next hour looking for your teeth on the tavern floor," Thadaahk gave a sigh, "She was a gift from the divine."
"But?"
"But, well, Alma was right. She wasn't, and I'm guessing still isn't, interested in men. But she wouldn't be interested in a woman like Alma! Sephaata had class, and Alma is classless. "
"That's an accursed shame, Thad. I'm sorry."
"Tell me about it. And now she's heading to Gorn. I hope to the Sands that she's alright. She can take care of her own,"
"So I gathered." Beomur interjected, smiling a little.
"But still, I don't know what the Empire's thinking, sending diplomats to the Theocracy. Like Cain's interested in trading with the 'heretics' of the Sahaahkrahai."
"Well, maybe they'll be turned away at the gates, and they'll have to head down here, and you'll see her again."
"Aw, what good would it do?"
"Choosing to see their love is always good for lovers."
"We're hardly lovers. At all."
"But you are. A lover."
"Don't bloody remind me."
(Copyright Phillip Alexander Lobo, 2005, bitches!)

5 - Custos Sanctorum

2005-10-11T07:49:34Z

5 - Custos Sanctorum

"The Archbishop shall keep the faith, shall be granted the right to bear immortal authority to the mortal plain. But through his three lieutenants he shall act. First, the Pontifex Maximus, who transcribed the holy word. Second, the Talon General, who leads the army of faith before the final days. Last, the Grand Inquisitor, who shall watch over the others, keeper of sanctity and sacred things." - Codex Lux Vesperis

The eye of Cain watched from every street corner, from every church door, from the home of every heretic that had been dragged to the dungeons to serve penances. The eye, ever open, unblinking and inescapable, shed a single tear, for those lost from the path of righteousness. But atop the eye was set a flame, the terrible burning anger felt towards those self same who had denied the Raven's will. Both weeping and burning, the eye watched. And beneath each eye was marked two words: 'Cain Spectat'. Cain watches.
And so the Grand Inquisitor did, for his agents were widespread and skillful. Two days ago a rogue mage was caught practicing her arts in the old merchants' quarter, doing tricks for a few coppers. She had been dragged away at once, along with her idiot audience. Just yesterday an illegal alehouse had been found in the sewers. All within were detained for chastisement, and the house itself had been hacked to bits and dumped, plank for plank, into a nearby stream of filth. A fitting fate.
Cain lifted his large, clawed hand to his skullcap, shifting it backwards, wrinkling his broad snout. More reports sat stacked on his desk, in his office deep beneath the Raven's Cathedral. Candles, set on the walls, cast flickering light over the documents that Brother Barnabas had brought him just an hour ago. Citizens who had failed to appear at church every day. Citizens who were straying from the path.
The Grand Inquisitor sighed, lifting the first and examining it briefly before pressing a claw to the bottom, placing the burning eye seal on it with a single scorching touch. This particular Jackalman would be flogged in front of his own house. Cain took some satisfaction in knowing that this wayward soul would soon be shepherded back into his care. Alas that it should come at the price of the Jackalman's suffering, both their suffering.
For, despite what satisfaction he might draw, he took no pleasure in ordering such violence. He was a priest, ordained and mantled, and priests work to alleviate suffering. Yet he was an inquisitor first and foremost. He was the conscience of the Church, the keeper of those things most sacred. He had advised the Archbishop and the clerics for many years, seen them ignore him, seen them drive the Church deeper into failure, losing followers constantly to the false faiths of Oraclean Lucifer and the Enoch Pantheon. In the end, he had stopped advising. He had acted.
That, too, had pained him. Ordering the trials, organizing the tribunals, executing the failed priests. He had enjoyed none of it. But faith was not about enjoyment or pleasure. It was about doing what must be done.
There was only one window in Cain's office, a stained glass panel depicting the death of Saint Jerrard, the great Chosen One of the Raven, who had taken up Stratka Blade and struck down wickedness wherever it reared its head. The scene, done in colored glass. showed the mighty saint, impaled upon a ballista bolt, sword held aloft over his life long nemesis, and infamous traitor, Captain Marken. The artist who had wrought this window had added a touch that Cain thought was sheer genius. The pain on Jerrard's face was obvious, beautifully rendered, and the triumph on Marken's face mocking. An ignorant seeing this window would think the great Jerrard defeated, and Marken spared. But Cain knew the whole story, as would any of the faithful. Even in the fullest extent of suffering, with his lifeblood spilling out of him, just after this one captured moment, Jerrard would plunge his sword into Marken's open mouth, slaying the vile traitor at once.
This never failed to comfort Cain. Whenever his stomach seized in the chambers of penance, whenever the cries grew too loud even around the gags each and every sinner wore, he remembered that moment, remembered Jerrard's pain, and knew he must not dishonor the Chosen One. Knew he must not let Marken's smile last. Knew he must strike out, even in the fullest extent of suffering, to banish sin. It was his task, his calling.
There was a faint glow on the wall to Cain's right. He turned his eyes. On that wall were pinned up a virtual mural of papers, some blank, some with red lettering. One of these papers was emitting a low, golden light, as red letters traced themselves on its surface. The Grand Inquisitor rose from his chair and moved, taking the bottom of the page and lifting it slightly. On the very top of the page was the letter 'twenty-three' in black ink. Brother Ishmael's group. The ones he had set to track the Sabelites. They had news. Cain scanned the message, which had ended with a quick sketch of the eye.
'Grand One, we have caught the Sabelites out. We followed them, as you instructed, to their way point shrine. Not long after they made camp, we observed the high priestess opening the Arc and releasing two individuals, one a Jackalman, one a Hlessi. We moved at once to intercept a member of their sisterhood that strayed from the group. She was chastised, but even under chastisement refused to admit sacrilege. We left her body as a warning to the sisterhood. They will fear our justice.'
Cain was struck with two opposing emotions. First he felt pleased, pleased that what he had suspected had been confirmed. The sisterhood of Sabel, recalcitrant and contrary, but almost untouchable, were heretics and traitors. He had known it to be true, but even he could not act against such a well seated order without proof. This was a great stroke of luck.
At the same time, he fumed at Ishmael's imprudence. He had tortured and killed a sister, alerting the whole order to their peril, and had failed even to gain anything by it. Cain suspected Ishmael had let his resentment at being defied by the High Priestess, and event he had related with perceivable anger, get the better of his judgment. Such an action was understandable, but certainly not acceptable. Cain would have words with Ishmael.
For now, however, Cain would have to think quickly to recover the situation. Stealth was no longer an option. They would too watchful for even the best of the Inquisitorial Police. No, he would need to use might; he would have to call upon the Paladinic branch. The Brothers of Bestilir, the homeguard of the church, were ill suited for the task: in the holy texts the Forge God and the Moon Goddess were often written of as close. The Brothers of Vilfang, then, would take it up. The Sword of the church, the Vengeance Goddess's knights, were depleted in number after the disastrous battle of Menith against Enoch's Pantheon, but Cain felt that this task was too important to delegate to the civilian Faith Guard. The chosen weapons of the Church must strike down the deviants.
Cain plucked the parchment from the wall, returning to his desk. He took up the shiv that rested there, and slit his finger, letting blood drip into an inkwell, walls lined with dried blood from other such correspondences. He plucked up a red quill, whetting it, and began to write a reply.
'Report back to Gorn at once. You have served your purpose. The matter is being placed in the hands of others.'
He pressed his cut finger to the bottom of the page. There was a short hissing, and when he lifted his finger up, the wound was burned shut, and his eye, marked in reddish brown, gazed up at him. Cain waited as the letters sunk into the page, slowly being drawn from view, carried along ritual paths, to the page that Ishmael was doubtlessly watching with avid anticipation. He would be disappointed that he could not continue the work, but one must serve righteousness.
Even when it pained one deeply to do so.
(Copyright Phillip Alexander Lobo, 2005, bitches!)

4 - Imperator

2005-10-08T21:02:55Z

4 - Imperator

"So strange an arrangement of leadership this writer has never seen, that a land of insular and long isolated creatures lacking even in mammalian descent should be ruled by a half-Syl, most detested of natural races in this age. Yet perhaps not so strange, since the unity of Vespasian, High King Klarn and Shah Ironfist. It was in adversity that he found them, and in peace he keeps them, this Emperor of the East."
- History of the Land Beyond the Eastern Mountains, by Phelocti Reka

Why she had told them so deep, so personal a story was beyond Alshaia. She was greatly troubled as she left the both cursed and blessed shrine. Her actions had no reasons behind them, had seemed rash and uncalled for.
Rash, perhaps, and uncalled for, but not without reason, or at least, without cause. This close to Vers, Alshaia was tense with anticipation and nerves. She would be meeting with the Violet Representative soon, be passing the point of no return. The secret had welled up inside her, and had spilled out in that story from her childhood. The memory held little pain for her now. More than a century had passed, and no faster for her than for any other mortal. Yet in that memory rested the most meaningful reason for her committal to the Violet Order. Under Cain, the Church had turned from a source of hope and salvation to a worker of great evil. Cain himself was a corruption of her beloved faith, and now she had power to fight that corruption, she knew she must use it.
The camp had settled down for the night, all the sisters either preparing for rest, or already sleeping. Alshaia's own tent was set up by her palanquin, no more spacious or fine than the others, though marked by a silver border. She stepped to the entrance, lifting the flap half way before pausing. Her eyes closed and she took a deep breath. She could not sleep like this; she needed prayer, and for prayer she needed solitude. The tent flap slipped closed and the high priestess headed for the nearest tent, where the four relic bearers had set up. Alshaia parted the folds of the entrance, eyes firmly set on her feet, as a matter of courtesy.
"Lady Alshaia?" Kathrine's voice, "Lift your eyes."
Alshaia did so. Kathrine was kneeling on her sleeping mat as Ululshi read from a small leather bound text, one of Saint Salmara's tracts most likely, and Tamik was hemming her robe for the march to come, wearing only the white silk bandages that served as undergarments.
"Where is Sister Illica?" Alshaia asked, at once noticing the Syl sister's absence.
"She went out to get some water from the spring," Kathrine replied, and the other sisters nodded in agreement, "She's only been gone an hour. She likely stopped to pray as Lady Sabel's light caught the pool."
"I see," Alshaia said, "Well, I shall be leaving for a brief time myself. I must ask Sabel more about our unlikely guests." This was true, though not the entire truth. It hurt her to hide anything from these dear sisters, but it was pain she had to bear.
Tamik smiled, lifting her robe to examine her handiwork, "They can't have entered that arc without Sabel's blessing, just as you said," she said, "Maybe they have a purpose to serve in the acting out of Sabel's will."
"That is something I hope to find out," Alshaia said, "I shall return soon. If you are asleep by then, may your slumber bear silver dreams."
"And you, Lady Alshaia." Kathrine said, dipping her head with the other two. Alshaia dipped her head in return, and exited the tent. She glanced up at the night sky, at the moon. It was on the wax, though still a slim crescent. Alshaia set off towards the road. Her sandals made a startlingly loud sound against the the smoothed stones in the evening quiet. Stepping over the cart tracks, still darkened by the last little water from the last rainfall, she made her way to the other side, towards a grassy knoll, overshadowed by a lone oak. Such a place would be ideal. All of the Dawnbearer's children favored a place with a proper perch, and it would have been too much to ask for a sacred beech tree.
Alshaia entered the deeper shade of the oak, and kneeled, folding her hands together, and lowering her head, eyes closing in reverence. She dipped deep into that well of calm, seeking those vague impressions that were the messages from the divine she could always turn to. Would her sisters be safe? Would she be able to aid the Violet Order? And what of these stowaways? What part did they play in the divine plan?
Answers did not come, not before a soft woman's voice spoke up behind her, "The clouds are darker than I've seen them." it said, and at once Alshaia's heart began to race. This was the first part of the coded interchange she was supposed to hold with the Violet Representative in Vers. Alshaia's calm left her at once, and denied any urgings from the goddess, she acted on instinct.
"In such weather, violets flourish." Alshaia replied, completing the interchange, and keeping the surprise and wariness from her voice.
"That they do, High Priestess Thule," the voice said, and there was a smile in it, "I apologize for my impatience. Recklessness sometimes gets the better of me, ever since I left the sisterhood."
These words, and that voice, suddenly combined into a realization. Alshaia turned to confirm what she already knew must be. The woman that stood behind her was dressed in dark green and black, one hand against the oak's trunk. She smiled from under the shadow of her hood, and as she lowered it, revealed a pale brow, framed in dark locks, bound with a silver circlet.
"Lady Palth." Alshaia said, dipping her head without thought.
"Please," the woman said, lifting her hand, "It is I that should bow to you, High Priestess. Your office warrants more respect, I know, than my own."
Alshaia rose to her feet, "Still, Lady Palth, out of respect to your mother..."
"My mother was a greater woman than I will ever be," Sylvia Palth replied, "She kept to the order even when love begged her to leave. I was not so strong."
Still, Alshaia found it very hard to approach the daughter of Saint Salmara with less than reverence.
"There is no shame in your marriage. The Emperor of the East is a great man, who aided the sisterhood many a time." Alshaia said, though she kept her head lifted, eyes on Sylvia's.
"And now he and I are both in exile. Rulers of a rather unorthodox home, and little else. But it is not the troubles of myself nor my husband that the Order is concerned with, and as you are concerned with the Order, we should turn our minds to the matter at hands. The matter to the north."
"The matter of Cain."
"Indeed. You're most daring to throw your lot in with rebels and heretics such as the Order while still a seated cleric."
"I cannot sit idle while the Church is perverted."
"I am glad to hear it. When you arrive at Vers, I will meet with you in the place that was agreed upon."
Alshaia nodded, "I shall be there."
"Though I should not do this before the formalities are completed... well, as I said, I've become impatient. Welcome to the Violet Order, High Priestess. It is an honor to have you. Father Isaac is quite giddy with anticipation, a sight that, in a bearman his age, is something not to be missed."
Alshaia smiled at the thought, "I shall just be glad to see Father Isaac again. He was, is, a peerless priest. Even Cain was not audacious enough to have him executed."
"Still, banishment for a man such as Isaac is almost worse. He longs to see his congregation again."
"Sabel willing, he will soon."
"Sabel willing, indeed. Though, of course, Sabel's will depends on our own will. Our will to do everything we must. For every time Cain is audacious, we must be doubly so. Sabel grants us will, but it is in the ambition of Lord Kameric that we will find the power to stop the Inquisitor," With that Sylvia made a small bow, "But I should leave you to your prayers. I would not have interrupted you if I did not have a curfew to meet. Good evening, High Priestess, and may the Raven watch over you."
"As he does for all the righteous."
Alshaia watched as Sylvia drifted into the night, melting into the shadows not more than twenty paces from the base of the tree, her robe melding her fluidly from sight. Alshaia kneeled once again, but she found already that her peace of mind had been restored. She would be be safely in Vers soon, along with all the sisterhood, and from there they could speak with Lady Palth and Father Isaac and all the other banished priests and sympathizers who had found purpose in defying Cain. She clasped her hands, murmured a quick prayer of thanks to Sabel, knowing it would be ungrateful to ask for more than a visit from Salmara's daughter.
Alshaia hurried back to the camp, where the fires were now no more than glowing red coals, tiny dusk suns in the dark. All seemed peaceful, all at rights, but as she stepped back into the grounds she saw that the sisters were not in their tents, but gathered in the center of camp.
"Sisters," Alshaia called out, "What is going on?"
"Lady Alshaia!" It was Kathrine's voice, and it was cracked with panic. The sister pushed through her fellows and fell on her knees before Alshaia, clutching her robes, "Sweet Sabel! It's Illica!"
"Where is she?" Alshaia asked at once, shaken by Kathrine's violent distress, "Tell me, sister."
It was only thanks to Sabel's gift that Kathrine was able to hold back tears and speak with any clarity, "In the woods. I went to see if she had gone into a trance, or perhaps had lost her way. I brought a lantern. Sweet Sabel, there must be something you can do for her!"
"Take me." Alshaia said, without a trace of hesitation. Kathrine nodded and rose, heading out of the camp and into the grove. Alshaia followed close after, cold dread floating in her chest, far worse than the vague anxiety she had left behind her at the knoll. After a good ten minutes of heading through the silvery birch, Kathrine stopped and lifted a finger.
"There." the sister said. Alshaia peered into the dark, unable to see clearly what Kathrine was indicating. She closed her eyes, muttered a ritual prayer, and opened her hand, palm upwards. A clear white orb of light rose from her hand, casting light on the surrounding woods. Just as her eyes made out the broken lantern Kathrine must have dropped before returning to the camp, the wind shifted. The stench of scorched flesh slipped into her nostrils, a smell she wished she was unable to recognize. It took effort to lift her eyes to see the source of the smell.
Lashed to a pair of birches that had been bound together into a cross was sister Illica. She was naked, her flesh marred by grisly burns and yellow heat blisters. Her hair lay about her, still clinging to bloody bits of scalp. Her belly had been split open, and the coils of her intestines hung down to her knees. Her eyelids had been split, causing her to stare blankly up at the upper branches of the trees above Alshaia and Kathrine, and the leather gag was still shoved between her teeth.
And in the center of her chest was branded the burning eye of Cain.
(Copyright Phillip Alexander Lobo, 2005, bitches!)

3 - Imperatrix

2005-10-07T02:55:07Z

3 - Imperatrix

"For two hundred years the Vipress has held the Middlelands in her coils. For two hundred years the Vipernian power has held sway. For two hundred years we have longed to be free of the Serpentine rule. Today this era will end. Today the Empress will fall." - Victor von Vespasian, speech to the Council of Allies

The Arc was built sturdy, with thick walls of lacquered wood and polished steel. The hands of the Forge God's brotherhood were matched by few, and exceeded by none. Still, from what little Thadaahk and Beomur had heard from inside their holy hiding hole, they realized they had come very close to being found out.
As soon as they exited the gates of Gorn, the potions' effects disappeared, the large anti-magic rods built into the arches of the city scrambling the manaforce that had been so carefully imbued into the ingredients. Spared the embarrassment of reappearing one segment at a time, the pair was able to fully direct their attention to the discomfort of their position. Crouched between alabaster pedestals, cramped in the dark, Thadaahk was at least grateful that, being kept with the Sisterhood's most holy of holies, they were given a smooth ride by their bearers. Still, Thadaahk kept looking up to check that the huge, ironbound book the white-clad priestess had put inside just before they snuck in, ducking under her arms, was not about to topple onto his head.
They had agreed, of course, not to talk during the ride, but this was understandably hard for Thadaahk, who firmly believed all discomfort could be lessened if one heartily complained about it. He contented himself, at first, by alternately pricking his left and right thumbs with the opposite hand's thumbclaw, but this managed to entertain him for an extremely limited amount of time before at last,
"How long 'til they stop, do you think? I'm starting to not be able to feel my legs." Thadaahk said, keeping his voice to what he thought was a very reasonable whisper. Beomur scowled at him.
"Sooner than we'd like, if you chatter at me." he replied in an even more reasonable whisper.
"Well, we're out of the gates, aren't we? Doesn't matter much if we get caught at this point. We're out of Gorn, and no one even saw us leave, so it's not like the Inquisition is going to have paladins on the lookout for us. We could start sing-"
"Will you shut up?" Beomur hissed, "We'll be in deep trouble if they discover us inside their holy arc."
"What trouble?" Thadaahk said, "They're Sabelites. Don't they have an oath against killing or something?"
"Actually," Beomur replied, "I heard it was that they can call molten silver from the sky to smite the unfaithful."
This gave Thadaahk pause, "Seriously?"
"Dead serious."
"Oh... drek. I'd better shut up then."
Beomur simply nodded.
And so the ride went on in silence again. Thadaahk turned to trying to find grey hairs on his hands, but in the near total dark of the arc, this proved impossible.
"So, where is it that you heard about this whole molten silver bit?" Thadaahk asked, again keeping the volume of his voice very reasonable. Beomur bore his teeth, looking very much like one of his quadripedal forbears.
"Thad, I'm going to throttle you. I heard it from my cousin in the Raiders. Now keep your gab shut!"
"You're being twice as noisy as I am, hissing threats at me, Be."
"I wouldn't be hissing at all if you'd just be quiet. And don't call me Be."
"Are Hlessi pissy by nature, or is it a religious thing?"
"I'd ax you right now, but I'd get blood on my clothes. Wait 'til this thing stops."
And, as if this were the cue, the procession halted. Beomur and Thadaahk both fell dead silent, keeping still as the arc settled to the ground, lowered by the priestesses bearing it. The sound of sandal-shod feet on roadstones could be dimly heard through the walls of their hiding place. For a good five seconds, neither of them even breathed.
Thadaahk looked significantly at Beomur, jerking his head to the door of the arc. Beomur squinted at him, expression confused. Thadaahk jerked his head more sharply, then swung both his arms, hands in fists, miming running. Beomur's eyes widened and he shook his head. Thadaahk rolled his eyes, making a few more imprecise gestures with his hands before, "Oracleus, Be, this is our chance, while their setting up camp or whatever!" the Jackalman's voice was a strained whisper.
"You idiot!" Beomur growled back, "We don't know where they are. They could all be out there waiting for us."
"Listen to yourself: 'waiting for us'? They don't know we're here. And even if they did know, it wouldn't matter if we bolted now, would it? And you call me the idiot." And with that Thadaahk eased onto his feet, careful not to bump into any of the relics.
"Oh, drek..." Beomur groaned, also getting up.
"Ready?" Thadaahk asked, hand on one side of the swinging doors, "Take the other side."
"If you die, and I escape, don't expect me to go back for your body."
"I love you too."
"I'm ready."
"Alright, on three. One. Two. Th-"
The doors swung open, the reddish light of dusk pouring into the arc, and onto the two stowaways. Thadaahk and Beomur both froze, staring at the white-clad woman who had opened the doors.
"Holy Sabel." she said, blinking at the pair.
"Oh, drek." Beomur repeated.
"Ah... lovely evening?" Thadaahk offered, grinning, hand still lifted to push a door that was no longer there.
The woman, who was obviously a priestess, looked from Jackalman to Hlessi, and back, "What," she asked, slowly, "Are you doing in the arc?"
Beomur kept quiet, waiting for Thadaahk to do the talking. He did not wait long.
"Um... well, to be honest, we were sort of trying to get out of the city, you see..." Thadaahk said, opting for the truth, "Hard to get a decent drink, what with the ban on alcohol." he shot a glance at Beomur. The priestess was quiet for a long moment,
"Very well," she said at last, "I can understand your sentiments, but please get out of the arc."
"Oh, no worries," Thadaahk said, hopping out onto the road, followed quickly by Beomur, "We were about to anyways."
"My name's Beomur, lady priestess," the Hlessi said, bowing at the waist, "I'm sorry if my companion and I have shown you or your faith disrespect, but we were desperate to escape Gorn before we somehow ran afoul of the Inquisition."
The priestess stepped into the arc, lifting one of the two large books from its pedestal. Holding it in both arms, she examined both Thadaahk and Beomur with calm brown eyes, the slightest of frowns creasing her brow,
"You are very lucky," she said, "You were almost found out when the Inquisition raided this procession."
"Oh, so that was what all that was about," Thadaahk said, "Yeah, we figured we'd dodged a quarrel there."
"And, so it seems, did we," the priestess remarked dryly, stepping back down onto the road. The pair were following her, still unsure whether or not anything was going to be done to them for sneaking into the arc, "The Sisterhood, that is. If the Inquisitors had discovered evidence suggesting we were smuggling people out of the city, I can scarcely imagine what would happen..." she paused, giving Thadaahk and Beomur ample time to feel guilty, before amending, "Actually, I think I could imagine. I just don't think I'd like to."
"I... well, we didn't really expect the Inquisitors to raid one of their own. Er... a fellow branch of the church that is." Thadaahk said.
"Then you have a very dim understanding of what the Grand Inquisitor is capable of." the priestess replied.
They arrived at the beginnings of a camp. Silver and white robes were all about, covering the slim, graceful forms of the Sabelite sisters. Tents were being pitched, and a number of fireholes being dug, menial tasks that seemed odd performed by the hands of the pale sisters. The priestess accompanying Thadaahk and Beomur received a number of bows as she moved through the camp. The pair slowly began to understand that the Sabelite that had found them was not just any sister, but the high priestess herself. They exchanged glances, each reinforcing their suspicion with the other's.
A silver and samite palanquin sat further into the campsite, which sat next to a birch grove, and beyond this lay, further into the grove, a dilapidated stone building, tangled with forest growth. Thadaahk and Beomur's priestess, the high priestess, stepped into the palanquin, taking a seat. Thadaahk frowned at the cleric, wondering how old she actually was under her smooth skin, and stern brown eyes. He felt a tap on his shoulder, and turned.
"What is it B-." But whether or not Thadaahk was going to continue with Beomur's full name, or use the forbidden nickname, was not determined, for Thadaahk fell silent at once. Behind his back, in a matter of moments it had seemed, the entire body of sisters had assembled, all facing them, all kneeling in the grass, hands clasped over their thighs. Thadaahk felt, suddenly, very nervous.
He looked from face to face, and began to realize that the sisters were, in fact, not facing himself and Beomur. Their eyes were watching beyond them. Thadaahk turned again, and understood that is was the high priestess they were watching. He glanced to Beomur, lifting his brows, then sank to his knees as well. Beomur followed along.
"My sisters, we have with us a couple of guests," the high priestess began, the large book sitting in her lap, her eyes fixing first on Thadaahk, then on Beomur, then up to the crowd, "These two men were hiding in our holy arc, that self same arc we watched the Inquisitors nearly desecrate. How they managed this, I do not know. Perhaps they can explain themselves."
Beomur jerked his head at Thadaahk, placing the responsibility upon him again.
"Dammit Be..." Thadaahk muttered, "I don't always have to be the chatty one..." he cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the high priestess. Her gaze, which had settled on him, was eerily intense. He wondered, as he began to speak, whether it would have been easier to face the crowd of sisters when speaking, "Well, you see, lady priestess, we sort of snuck in right after you finished putting your holy whatnots... er... relics in their places. We were invisible, you see."
The priestess nodded, "I see," she said, "I felt your passing, but I thought it was the wind. A wind of good omen. It is the duty of Sabel's high priestess to interpret signs and guide the sisterhood through inner wisdom. I shall not recant my initial decision. While you did risk yourselves and my order, and came close to sacrilege, I trust that your... somewhat improbable tactic could not have succeeded without license from Lady Sabel. You are welcome to remain with us for the duration of our journey, should you desire it. The sisterhood will provide provisions, should you need them."
Thadaahk's surprise was clear all over his face. He was literally dumbstruck for a number of seconds before, "I... well, I don't know what to say."
"A thank you," the high priestess said, "Will suffice."
"Thank you." Thadaahk and Beomur said, just failing to achieve unison.
"You may sleep in the shrine in the grove behind me," the high priestess said, "I suggest you find the best spot now, unless you wish to remain here for the vesper."
Thadaahk and Beomur looked to each other again, unsure.
"I assure you, I shall not be offended if you decide sleep is more important than listening to the evening mass," the high priestess said, "This is an Order ceremony. It is rarely viewed by any outside the Sisters of Sabel, You presence is not necessary."
Thadaahk nodded and got to his feet, followed by Beomur. They both bowed, and hurried towards the grove, giving the palanquin a wide berth. As they approached the ivy-hung entrance of the shrine, they could hear the solemn voice of the high priestess speaking in the tongue of the texts. Some of it they recognized, after months of sitting in cold churches, praying to the Dawn Raven not for faith or for the strength to serve the Grand Inquisitor, but for the service to be over, already. Much of it was unfamiliar, the private rights of a cloistered order.
Beomur pushed aside some of the ivy, lifting a hand to stop Thadaahk, who'd begun to draw his shortsword,
"I think, Thad, that we shouldn't disturb this place more than we have to. We're already pushing our luck taking up the Sabelites' hospitality."
Thadaahk nodded, letting the blade slip back into its sheath, and followed after Beomur as the Hlessi drew aside the curtain of vines and stepped inside. The shrine was larger than had appeared on first glance. The floor was set with stone, upset by the growth of tree roots, and the arches bore marks suggesting there had once been carvings, but these had been smashed thoroughly by a vandal's hand. They halted fifteen paces in. Any farther, and the darkness was too thick to allow walking such an unfamiliar path. Thadaahk leaned his back against a wall, and slid into a sitting position, while Beomur lifted a hand and brushed it over the rough stone.
"Hammers did this," he said, "Carvings this thoroughly smashed... I'd say it was the Inquisition, but they'd be a little more ostentatious, you'd think. And this was done a long time ago."
"Maybe it was your folks," Thadaahk suggested, "Hlessi invaders. Did they get this far north during the first attack?"
Beomur shook his head, "No, not even the Flaming Raiders made it up here. We're still north of Vers. This is more local work. I wonder whose shrine this was?"
"White stone," Thadaahk said, "Maybe it's Syl."
"A temple to Sylia?"
"It'd make sense that the Sabelites would camp near a shrine that is dedicated to another moon goddess."
"That'd make this really damn old, then," Beomur said, wrapping the stone with his knuckles, "Before the Dark Ages. Back when the Syl actually had a religion, and an empire."
"Times change, Be."
"Don't call me Be."
"So, are we expected to just sleep on the stone floor then?"
"No," the voice of the high priestess came, causing both Thadaahk and Beomur to look up. She wore a silver shawl about her shoulders, and a thick bundle of blankets over her arm. She carried a lantern in her hand, which shed light from iron moons and stars, "It gets very cold in this shrine at night, even during summer."
Beomur gave another bow, and Thadaahk lifted his hand in greeting. The priestess handed Beomur one of the blankets, setting the second next to Thadaahk, who both gave a nod of the head.
"We were wondering, who's shrine is this?" Beomur asked.
"Ah, this was originally a shrine to Sylia," the priestess said, "Built by the Syl before the Dark Ages. It's been sanctified by the sisterhood... the upper levels, at least."
"Ha ha!" Thadaahk said, "Point to me."
"Why is it that the carvings are smashed, then?" Beomur asked, ignoring Thadaahk, who'd begun to unfold his blanket.
"Well, this shrine was Sylia's originally, but... it is perhaps easier to show you. Would you like to look deeper into the shrine?" the priestess asked, steeping a little further into the stone corridor, the lantern causing the limestone and marble to glow under the white crescent moon of light.
"That would be lovely, thank you." Beomur said. Thadaahk groaned,
"And I'd just gotten set up, too." he complained, peering at Beomur with one eye closed, the blanket draped over his legs.
"Well, you can stay here if you'd like, Thad."
"Like hell. You know I'm bad company for myself." Thadaahk got up tossing the blanket aside, and stretched his arms towards the low stone ceiling. The priestess began to move down the passage, with the Hlessi and Jackalman close behind. The passage sloped slowly downwards, opening into a chamber too large to be fully on the surface. The ceiling was domed, a painted night sky in plaster hanging above them, cracked and faded. The floor was a mosaic, but the tiles were smashed and in disarray. It was like walking on sharp gravel.
"The fresco above us is as old as the shrine itself," the priestess said, "It was blessed by Syl clerics. The blessing has faded quite a bit since, but the only reason you can see it at all is because of the faith of those long dead believers."
"You know, lady priestess, we never did catch you name." Thadaahk said, his eyes on the Sabelite rather than on the ancient art above them.
"Well, I have only Beomur's name, so before I give my name to you both, I'd like to knows yours, sir Jackalman." the priestess said, a hint of amusement in her voice.
"Thadaahk," he replied, "Thadaahk Tohs."
"The Tohs clan? My predecessor, Salmara Palth, was a friend of Mraahk Tohs, or so I understand."
"You mean, the Khanansahaahkrah?" Thadaahk said, eyes widening. Beomur's ears perked. This was a name he'd heard as well.
"Indeed," the priestess said, "Khanansahaahkrah, Khanantohs, Silver Fang, he had a lot of names, I understand. I even saw him once, with Lady Salmara. One of the few times I ever heard her laugh."
"Well, Mraahk means 'laughing one'," Thadaahk said, "Makes a bit of sense."
"And what does Thadaahk mean?" the priestess asked, glancing over her shoulder. Thadaahk scowled, and Beomur chuckled.
"Dense one." Beomur answered. Thadaahk snarled at him.
"'Thad' also means sturdy or strong," he said, "You mistranslating it!" he looked back to the priestess, who was leading them down a set of stairs that led from the side of the domed room, "You've our names and more now, lady priestess. Mind making it a fair trade?"
"My name is Alshaia Thule," the priestess replied, "Alshaia means 'grey plain', not a very pretty image, really. Thule is some old human name."
"So are you part Syl? That first name is Syl, isn't it?" Thadaahk asked. Alshaia nodded,
"I believe my grandmother was half Syl. I never knew her, just heard it from my own mother. She said I had Syl hair," the priestess lifted and hand to brush the pale blond locks, "Honestly, I don't think it matters. For all intents and purposes, I'm human, and that's enough to serve under Lady Sabel."
"Aye, I never quite understood that," Thadaahk said, "Why is it that only humans and Syl-kin can join your sisterhood? I thought bearmen were the chosen people of the Raven."
"They were the first bearers of the word, yes," Alshaia said. They had entered a small, round room, and the priestess has stopped, "But humans were the first to receive it. And it is said that Sabel, in her early days, was cared for by human hands. It is her way of returning kindness with blessing."
Beomur, who had been taking the time to look about the shrine's interior, capable in a way Thadaahk wasn't at paying attention to more than one thing at once, now took careful note of this room.
"What is that, priestess?" the hlessi asked, pointing to an area of the wall cast in deeper shadows than the rest of the room.
"That is what I wanted to show you. Don't go any closer than I do." Alshaia said, and moved slowly closer to the darker spot. Beomur advanced, checking the position of Alshaia's feet to be sure he didn't overstep her, while Thadaahk opted for great safety and trailed a few feet behind. The light of the lantern crept into a large niche in the wall, slowly illuminating something that caused Beomur and Thadaahk both to freeze in their tracks.
Shining with a warm glow of the lantern, sitting coiled in the niche, was a large figurine of a serpent, done in gold, its head upraised, mouth open to reveal long golden fangs, a glittering, dark orange jewel clasped in its jaws.
"Oracleus..." Thadaahk breathed.
"That's... that's Vipernian." Beomur said, glancing to Alshaia. The priestess nodded.
"It is indeed. After the priests of Sylia were driven from this place it lay empty, until the Vipress came. It became her shrine. What was once a pure sanctum of the elder moon goddess became a den for Serpentine corruption, polluting the grove and nearby towns."
"Then that was why the carvings were smashed," Beomur said, realization in his voice, "During the Revolution, the citizens must have come here and smashed every trace of Vipernian decoration. It wasn't Syl carvings that were destroyed, but Vipernian ones..."
"Yes. It doesn't seem so great a loss now, does it?" Alshaia said, "The tragedy is not the vandals' defilement, but the defilement at the hands of the Serpentine Empress."
"But... then why is this still here?" Thadaahk asked. His nose was sniffing at the air, feeling a slight tingle, "Why did they leave the damn idol?"
"Because it would take great power to snuff out that corruption without being harmed," Alshaia said, "Look, around the niche, on the walls." she lifted the lamp higher, and they could see silver etching on the walls, curving in graceful lines. It was not Vipernian work, and too recent for the Syl.
"What is that?" Thadaahk asked.
"It's a boundary," Alshaia said, "The sisterhood, when they found this place, placed it around this idol. We didn't wish to risk moving it, so we contained the corruption with that ring. Now, every year, when we make this journey, we renew it. Woe be to us should we ever forget, and some weary traveller would arrive to find his dreams filled with topaz terrors."
"I'll say." Thadaahk said.
Alshaia kneeled, setting the lamp on the ground and turning from the idol. She motioned for the pair to sit as well.
"This shrine is actually quite near my home village," she said, folding her legs to the side and settling with her white robes pooled about her, "It was a procession such as this that drew me to the order. My parents were gone, I was left orphaned. Many of the sisterhood are orphans."
"Well, what parents would wish to give up their children, no matter how kind the order?" Beomur said.
"Indeed," Alshaia said, "There are few oblates, though perhaps more than you would imagine, in times of great trouble. Many fathers and mothers would rather see their child grow up in an order rather than starve in their arms. My own parents, however, were not so poor. My father was a woodsman, my mother a seamstress."
"You remember them?" Thadaahk asked.
"Yes, I do," Alshaia answered with a nod, "I was eight when my mother died, and my father left," her eyes cast about the room, "It was because of this place, in fact. Back in the Vipernian Era."
Thadaahk was surprised by this, "That was over a century ago!" he said.
Alshaia smiled, "I was born eight years before the Revolution. I'm older than I look."
"You said your father left, Lady Thule," Beomur said, "Do you mean he died, or that he up and left you?"
"The latter," Alshaia answered.
"Did he go to fight in the Revolution?" Beomur asked.
"In a manner of speaking."
"Then did he serve under Exeter Channelwood, or the President?"
"No. He served under the Empress."
A long silence, one that Alshaia broke.
"I told you that my father was a woodsman. He came to this grove to ply his trade. This was before, of course, the sisterhood had placed the binding circle. Here, like in so many other places, Vipernian corruption spread, permeating the ground, polluting the wildlife, the earth, the air, the inhabitants,
"It began slowly at first. Father would come back dazed, like he'd been drinking a little. He started to favor this grove over others. That is how the Empress's power worked. It lured you in, tempted you. His moods became erratic, he would spend more and more time out working, but would do less and less work. I was too young to really understand at the time, and I think my mother didn't wish to understand,
"It is a terrible thing, to watch someone you love dearly be slowly twisted. A seed of corruption that blossoms and changes something good and true into a mockery of what it once was. To see flecks of amethyst form in his eyes, watching his pupils slowly narrow. Mother killed herself when she finally admitted what was happening. It was a terrible thing for a child to experience. I am eternally grateful that the sisterhood found me after my father left to join the ranks of the Empress."
Another long silence followed this. Thadaahk shifted, uncomfortable. Beomur, too, was unsettled by this strange and sudden confessional. Alshaia rose to her feet, "Keep the lantern," she said, "I suggest you find sleep soon. We'll be traveling to Vers quite early, and I would be glad to see you safely there."
The priestess rose, sweeping up the stairs, and leaving the pair with the lamp in the dark, and the idol of the fallen Empress.
(Copyright Phillip Alexander Lobo, 2005, bitches!)

2 - Sybil

2005-10-05T20:49:00Z

2 - Sybil

"For her grace is like the delicate rays of the moon, the gentle reflection of the sun's glory, and her voice is the celestial song of a thousand tiny bells, and her mercy is as endless as the dark blanket of night. But her wrath, fear it, for it is terrible, a Shadow across the Moon." - Codex Deae Lunae

The sisterhood of holy Sabel was one of the most unusual in the once great clerical branch of the Dawn Raven's Church. The only priesthood not dominated by the zealous and imposing bearmen, it accepted only humans and Syl into its numbers, and of these, only women, and only before the age of twenty-three.
Upon entering the sisterhood they were stripped naked in the light of the full moon, and bathed in a great silver basin, said to have been hammered by a saint of Bestilir, washed clean of their mortal wants and base sins. Even their very mortality was washed away in the blessed waters of the Moon Raven's bath, for upon being bathed, a sister of Sabel would, so long as she was true to the order, never age a day, never fall to a common ailment, and never fade in patience or calm. They were reborn, children of Sabel, serene as the Winged Silverbeak herself.
But, despite this, Alshaia Thule, high priestess of Sabel, was worried. Dressed in the clean white of the order, she descended from the steps of the Monstarium Lunae, flanked by a quartet of fellow clerics, each bearing a sacred relic. Sister Tamik held a silver rod, topped with a silver raven, clutching a moonstone: the high mark of the priesthood, used by Alshaia herself on high holy days. Sister Ululshi carried the Codex Deae Lunae, the text that described the birth of their holy lady, and her advice on how to keep the faith, to be referred to at every life juncture. Sister Kathrine held, folded in her arms, the tattered robe of their fallen high priestess, Alshaia's predecessor, the since canonized Salmara Palth.
But most on Alshaia's mind of the four was that which Sister Illica bore: the iron-bound charter of the order, in which they would write the names of the new inductees. Alshaia hoped that it would be amended very soon, that this journey there were taking beyond the walls of Gorn would be a success, drawing young girls from the embattled lands around Brith and Vers, seeking safety in their long respected sisterhood. Their numbers had dwindled, first with the oppression of the human-hating Razorfists, then the iron grip of Grand Inquisitor Cain and his newly christened Theocracy of Gorn, a Theocracy that distrusted the sisterhood's usual autonomy and separation from the politics of the Inquistorial Branch and Clerical Branch.
Still, this was not what was worrying her most of all. What worried her most was that which she could confide in no one. Not even the four most faithful sisters that gathered about the Arc, resting in the middle of their train, which would soon slide through the streets and out into the wet, green hills and plains of the Middlelands. Certainly, these four would keep their peace, would remain faithful to her as always, but they could not know, because, should Cain and the Inquisition find out, it would mean they would be beside her, before a Tribunal. She could not tell them that this journey was more than just a procession meant to bolster their ranks.
She could not tell them that she would be going to take her place in the Violet Order.
Tamik, Ululshi, Kathrine and Illica all stepped forward, turning towards each other, leaving a gap between to allow Alshaia to step to the doors of the Arc. She placed her delicate, pale white hands on the silver wings that were emblazoned on the holy repository. Her head dipped and she murmured a soft prayer, before drawing the doors open. Each sister, in turn, passed a relic to Alshaia, which Alshaia bore into the Arc, setting each in it's appointed place, before returning for the next relic. When the fourth relic, the charter that had been penned by Saint Diatha, was set on a pedestal of alabaster, she turned and stepped out onto the cobbled road, palms coming together, head sinking in prayer once again. She was joined by the quartet, and they began to chant, voices soft and resonant. For a moment Alshaia thought she felt a gentle brushing against the sleeves of her cloak: a wind, perhaps, of good fortune. She could only hope. She lifted her head, turned, and reverently closed the arc, shutting in the holy objects.
The sisters bowed to her, and then moved with her to the white-draped palanquin that would be her means of conveyance. She ascended into the silver-gilt chair amidst samite hangings, and took her seat, resting her hands on twin raven-heads that made the ornate chair's armrests. Tamik, Ululshi, Kathrine and Illica took up their places at the holding posts, stooping and lifting the palanquin and Alshaia up. The high priestess lifted one hand, and the procession began.
Through the streets they wound, past the cobblestones, washed clean by the unseasonably heavy rains, and cast dark in the shadows of the unseasonably heavy clouds. From behind the hangings, Alshaia could see the city streets, and could recall how much they had changed. Once lined with frantically manned merchants' stands, gaily colored and vibrant, only the pale parchment of Theocratic edicts decorated the buildings now, whispering in the chill wind. This was not the Gorn that the young, wide-eyed orphan girl had come to, though it had been in a procession much like the one she now rode in. This was not the Gorn of the Republic, the Gorn of the sly werklevts and fierce Hlessi exile-mages. This was Cain's Gorn, a city as cold and dark as the iron bars of the Inquisitorial dungeon.
She knew what must be done.
The main gates of Gorn rose up before them, a huge wooden barrier, banded in steel, kept closed and guarded by the watchful Brothers of Bestilir. A pair of armored bearmen, members of that brotherhood, moved up to the procession, dipping their heads respectfully. Alshaia allowed herself a small smile. The paladins were fierce and loyal, and had long been the sword and shield of the Church in better times. They could not be blamed for continuing their function under a cruel and unjust lord. They were faithful always to the Archbishop, and the Talon General. And with the former dead and the latter hand-picked by Grand Inquisitor Cain, they could not help that they were now the sword and shield of a heartless Church. Yet another reason this journey had to be taken. These noble knights deserved better than to become the idiot army of Cain.
Great chains clanked and ground overhead, as a number of Brothers turned the huge wheels that opened and closed Gorn's gates. Slowly the road from Gorn was revealed, the stretches of green grass and wet farmland. Alshaia felt great relief flood her. She had not known it, but she had feared that something might happen along the way. But seeing those green fields, the emerald plains of the Middlelands. The procession began to step towards the opening gates.
"Hold!" a voice called from somewhere to Alshaia's left. Her heart sank at once. She turned her eyes, lifting a swash of samite to see more clearly what she already knew would be there. Five bearmen, with black skullcaps and crimson robes, moved swiftly up to the procession, their leader lifting an abortive hand. Each of their mantles bore an Eye of Cain, "Hold. This is an inquisitorial investigation."
Alshaia acted at once, murmuring quietly to her quartet, and stepping out of the palanquin as soon as it was set down. Retaining her composure, holding onto her divinely granted calm, she locked eyes with the lead Inquisitor; she recognized him, Brother Ishmael.
"Inquistor Ishmael," Alshaia said, dipping her head without breaking eye contact, "I will honor you position, and not lie by saying I am overly pleased by this. The Sisterhood of Sabel has never been subject to a raid, nor has there ever been reason for us to be."
The Inquisitor's eyes held unabashed loathing. She had seen it before, in the eyes of all of Cain's most trusted lieutenants, a gaze that already knew you were guilty, and were only seeking the proof needed to act.
"I am here on orders from a Tribunal," Ishmael said, "Your procession is to be searched, thoroughly and completely. If you have sinned not, then there is no reason for you to protest."
Alshaia felt a flash of anger flicker through her, an uncomfortable emotion, one she had long become unfamiliar with, "But I disagree," she said, "There is every reason to protest. This is a offense against the Sisterhood, against Sabel herself. I at least ask for a reason for the search. I find this as wanton as it is disrespectful."
Ishmael scowled, not willing yet to openly display the scorn that boiled behind his features, "We do not need to provide a reason," he said, "The Tribunal's deliberations are its own. And I mean no offense, but to refuse us is an equal insult to the authority of the Tribunal and the Inquisitorial Branch as a whole," a hint of warning in his voice, "I should hope you are not attempting to cross the Grand Inquisitor. That would be bordering on heretical."
Stealthy and zealous as they were, the Inquisitors, Alshaia noted, had never been much for tact. The threat of heresy trial, one made and carried out again and again until the once powerful Clerical Branch was but a skeletal remnant of what it once was, a shadow puppet controlled by Cain's favored, was as thinly veiled as ever. Alshaia was torn between showing courage and defying the Inquisitor, or cooperating. There was, after all, nothing to hide. Nothing that was not kept in the secret chambers of the high priestess's mind, and, search as they might, they would never be privy to their contents.
"You may search my palanquin, and the supply cart, if the Tribunal deems it necessary, but I shall, without doubt, complain to the Pontifex Maximus." Alshaia said, not willing to concede entirely. She would not give Ishmael more triumph than she had to. The bearman jerked his head and his four accomplices went to do just this, two heading for the wheeled supply wagon, the other two brushing past the silent sisters to scour Alshaia's palanquin.
"And I," Ishmael said, striding over towards the Arc, "Will search your Arc."
Anger again visited the high priestess, burning hot and bright in her chest. The sheer audacity.
"You will not." Alshaia said, some of that anger creeping into her voice, ladening her negative with vehemence rare for any of the sisterhood, let alone their highest. There was sudden murmuring in the procession, silent all this time, and heads turned. Even the paladins looked up, resolute features marked with disbelief.
Ishmael turned to Alshaia, lips breaking into a sneer, that disdain and hatred that had been poorly hidden before displayed brazenly, "I will do as I am bidden. I will search this procession, and, if needs be, turn over each leaf of your charter. It is the Tribunal's will, the Grand Inquisitor's will."
Alshaia's hand clenched into a fist. He could not do this. There was, of course, nothing within the arc that could incriminate any of the Sisterhood. He would be humiliated for daring such a thing for nothing. He would pay steeply enough for his actions. She should let him have his way, not risk either the mission of the Sisterhood, nor her own mission by defying him. Yet, how could she stand idle whilst the rights of her Sisterhood were trampled? How could she allow this, something that no other Priestess before her would have stood for without retribution? Though unwise, perhaps, everything within her cried out that she should not, must not let this pass. As the Inquisitor turned back to the Arc, stepping towards it, she spoke,
"No hands save those of the high priestess of our order have touched the Arc since the Brothers of Bestilir forged it. No one has dared infringe so deeply upon the rights of the Sabelites. You will not open those doors, unless you wish to know the true anger of Lady Sabel," Alshaia's hand lifted, a finger extended towards Ishmael, "Fear it, for it is terrible, a Shadow across the Moon."
These words from the Codex, certainly ones known by all who listened, paused Ishmael's hand just before it touched the arc's door. There was a long, tense silence. The Inquistor's hand dropped, and he turned back to Alshaia, "Your unwillingness to cooperate will be reported to the Tribunal. Do not think you can display such disregard without consequences." he said, but his threats didn't hold half the danger they had minutes before. He had lost. He had been beaten, and he was no longer trying to exercise power over her. He was simply trying to save face.
"I trust that I shall be strong enough to bear the reprimand when it comes, Inquisitor," Alshaia said, that fire within her fading, but not going out. The other four inquisitors, having completed their futile searches, formed up next to Ishmael, but they served only to diminish him, looking like scolded initiates as opposed to the firebrands of the Inquisitorial Police, "And I trust, also, that you are done here. Good day, and may the Raven watch over you."
"As he does for all the righteous..." Ishmael replied, completing the traditional interchange, though there was no well wishing in his eyes. He lifted his hand again, flicking it and leading his squad along the road, back to whatever watch post they had come from. Alshaia glanced to the paladins, who had gone back to opening the gates. She got back into her palanquin, adjusting the cushions that the Inquisitors had disordered in their search before taking her seat once again. Again her pale hand rose, and again the procession set off, this time unimpeded, into the green beyond the gates.

1 - Magus

2005-10-03T21:57:00Z

1 - Magus

'To know is the greatest power. To know is to step towards understanding. To understand is to comprehend. To comprehend is to control. To control is the ultimate end of the magus.' - Codex Arcani ex Atticus

"This the place?"
"Aye. Not much to look at, but I suppose that's the point, ain't it, Be?"
"Don't call me Be."
Thadaahk and Beomur stood at the top of the steps, which led down to a door in the base of a stone building. This was one of the oldest buildings in the poor quarter, likely fashioned by the bearmen who first came to civilize the human tribes. The stone was dark and firmly mortared, a testament to and symbol of bearman resolve. This place had stood even when the elegant towers of the Syl had fallen during the first Dark Age.
Thadaahk stepped down, reaching out to touch the heavy oaken door. It was unmarked by nails; the inquisition had never been here. If they had come, they would have hammered a parchment to the door, bearing the staring Eye of Cain. But there was not even a dent where a spike would have once been driven. Thadaahk smiled with satisfaction, and reached to turn the handle.
The door swung slowly open, pushing up a small cloud of dust that swirled in the air. It was late dusk, and the light only barely caught on the swirling motes. Thadaahk beckoned for his friend to follow, and then ducked into the cellar.
"Tiny damn door." Beomur grumbled.
"Hard to believe bearmen would fit in here." Thadaahk said, waiting for his tall companion to duck into the cellar.
"Mayhaps this was added by werklevts, after the revolution."
"Mayhaps. Damned runty little bastards." Thadaahk smiled as he said this. The diminutive werklevt ratmen, brilliant, skeptical and avaricious, made amongst the best thieves Thadaahk had ever known, but they also made up the bulk of the merchants and, when the Republic was intact, the politicians.
"Hmmm," Beomur said, "This doesn't look like much of a mage tower. Not even a mage cellar. You certain this is the right place, Thad?"
The cellar, with its dusty stone floor and low ceiling, looked nothing more than a cellar should. Bare, save for a number of broken shelves, it disappeared into darkness further back, where the light of the door could not reach. Thadaahk sniffed the air.
"Something more than wood and dust here, mate," he said, "I smell animal hide... parchment, my friend."
"Scrolls?"
"Damn right."
"Should have brought a lantern."
"I reiterate, damn right."
"We'll just have to make do."
"Aye."
The pair made their slow way further into the cellar, both their canine noses sniffing at the dry air. The darkness was heavy, and there was an odd, musty smell growing in their nostrils. Suddenly Thadaahk struck his foot on something, and that something squeaked.
"Oracleus!" Thadaahk yelped.
"What is it?" Beomur asked.
"Oh goodness gracious!" a third voice added.
There was dead silence. Then, slowly and cautiously.
"Hello?" Thadaahk ventured.
"I don't think that's entirely necessary," that third voice replied, "I believe the kick you administered to my ribs will do quite well for greetings."
"Uh... we didn't think anyone was-" Thadaahk began.
"Living here?" the voice squeaked. It was a little tremulous, likely the result of aging, and high. Thadaahk and Beomur both sniffed again, and the smell was now unmistakable: werklevt fur, "Well, think it now, if you please. Gracious me... well, I suppose I can't blame you. I'm not used to having guests, and the lights aren't on. One moment."
There was a rustle of fabric and the click of claws on stone by Thadaahk's feet, then the sound of a quick mutter. Abruptly the room swelled with light, glowing glyphs appearing on the walls. Beomur and Thadaahk lifted arms to shield their eyes. When they finally adjusted, they could see the creature Thadaahk had literally stumbled upon.
The werklevt was no more than three feet tall, average for his race, and covered in salt and pepper fur, with a long, segmented tail curling out from under threadbare robes. Atop his angular head was set a blue velvet skullcap, and his small, clawed hands were uplifted. He lowered his arms, and peered at the two interlopers through a pair of large, round spectacles.
"So," he said, "Care to tell me why you're tromping about my home? I'm not afraid to admit that it seems a little silly. It's hardly the choicest location, though it's home."
Thadaahk was, for a moment, at a loss for words. Beomur, however, rose to the occasion, "We thought the mage who lived here had abandoned it. We were looking for something."
"But," Thadaahk said, finding his voice after eyeing the glowing runes on the walls, "It seems like you're still here."
"Indeed," the werklevt replied, "That I am. You didn't think I was about to up an leave my home, did you? After all those years making this place habitable, putting those runes in the wall.." he sniffed, "Should have placed a ward on the door as well, looks like. Just never expected anyone to just barge in like this."
"Well, I used to work for the Thieves' Guild, back when there was one," Thadaahk explained, "I thought you'd have moved out, since there was no one paying you any more."
"Oh, the guild didn't pay me. Not in coin, anyway. They just sent texts my way, and I kept them supplied with knicknacks. But just because I had an arrangement with them doesn't mean that's my whole life. Far from it." the small mage gestured at the cellar. Lit up, it didn't look markedly more impressive. The werklevt had been sleeping on a small woven mat, something that would have served as a front door adornment elsewhere, and the walls were lined with shelves that looked not much better than the ones closer to the entrance, though these suffered from a burden of many books. Still, it certainly looked more like a mage's cellar, if not a mage's tower. There was a desk with writing utensils and a weighty tome open upon it. There was a table festooned with various amulets and runestones. There was a tattered hanging on the wall, bearing some of the essential runes of the Charter. Dingy and ill kept though it was, it looked lived in, and lived in by a wizard.
Thadaahk and Beomur exchanged glances, and in the moment their gazes met, it was decided who would have to ask. The Jackalman cleared his throat, causing the bespectacled werklevt to direct his attention on him.
"Well, my friend and I were hoping to find something that would render us invisible for a time. That's why we came here. See, we're trying to get out of the city, and to do that, we need to be unseen. But we're a little short on money at the moment..."
"So you thought you'd raid some long gone mage's stores, eh? Well, lucky for you I am here, because most mages worth a damn take all their trinkets and scrolls with them if they leave a place. You'd have had slim pickings if I hadn't stayed. So really, you're lucky."
"Aye," Thadaahk said, looking to Beomur again, and again loosing the momentary scuffle for responsibility, "Well, as I said, we're low on coin, but if you'd be willing..."
"You want invisibility scrolls, or invisibility potions?" The werklevt asked, already shuffling over to his desk. Thaddahk blinked,
"You mean you're selling?"
"No."
"Um... then why?"
"I'll give them to you."
Thadaahk blinked again, and Beomur began to smile,
"You're asking nothing in return then?" the Hlessi asked, "I find this hard to believe, I'll admit."
"Well," the werklevt said, opening a large drawer and rooting around in it, causing the sound of clinking glass to issue forth, "I'd never ask you to take anything on faith. Faith is a very silly practice, really, believing something in the absence of proof. So I'll prove it to you. Potions," he removed a pair of bottles, filled with a murky, dark liquid, "Or scrolls?" he closed the drawer with a clink and hopped up onto the chair, pulling open a second, higher drawer.
"What's the difference?" Thadaahk asked, again regaining his voice.
"Besides the obvious?" the mage said, index claw poking at scrolls of parchment in the drawer, "Well, scrolls require a verbal component, so you shouldn't use them in a place you can't talk, and potions are more likely to have side effects."
"Side effects?" Thadaahk said, sounding more than a little worried, "Like... what side effects?"
"Well, bits of you might start fading in before others," the mage said, "Not before a certain point, of course, but it can be disorienting. And sometimes people don't stomach certain ingredients, and vomit it up before it can take effect. But it's rare. I tend to use rather benign ingredients, myself. I've a delicate stomach. Can't eat bread with too much butter, for the Oracle's sake." he gave them both a wide smile, eyes squeezing shut with good cheer behind his round glasses. In his small hands were a pair of yellowed scrolls, tied with silver ribbon.
Beomur looked at Thadaahk, "I think potions, myself. It won't matter if we look funny, cramped in the..." he stopped as the Jackalman gave him a glare.
"Sure there aren't any side effects you forgot to mention?" Thadaahk said. The mage didn't seem to mind Beomur's sudden trailing off. He was busy setting the scrolls next to the potions, nudging them with his fingers so they sat neatly next to each other, "Even really rare ones?"
The werklevt shook his head, "That's it really. Potions are easier in general, really. The magic is component based, so it's harder to dispel, if that concerns you. I find most of the guild preferred the potions. Sneaking about at the middle of the night didn't much lend itself to muttering arcane words, I surmise."
Thadaahk nodded, "Right," he said, "Then we'll take the potions," he paused, "Sure we shouldn't be doing something in return?"
The mage chuckled, taking the potions from the top of the desk and hopping down from the chair, "Quite sure," he said, "You're just too used to mages who are trying to use their gift to gain riches and fame. All silliness, I think. I mean, riches are all well and good, and while I utterly loath the idea of being famous, I know plenty of old schoolmates who were mighty showoffs, but in the end, that's not what being a sorcerer is about, is it?"
"Then what is it about?" Thadaahk said, "Figured most did what they did for a living to make ends meet, live comfortably."
"Oh, well, I think you've got it the other way around," the werklevt said, "I think you should make ends meet so you can pursue what's really important."
"And that is?" Thadaahk prompted.
"Well, come now, granted the power to rewrite reality itself, you start to wonder what reality really is, if you can bend it with the wave of a hand and the flick of a tongue," Thadaahk remained quiet, still waiting for further explanation, "Look, to know is to understand. To understand, well, that's important if you want to control. And that's what magic is all about, isn't it?"
"Control?"
"Well, yes," the werklevt said, getting on tiptoes to press a bottle into each of their hands, "That and it's quite wonderful for wooing ladies." the squat ratman gave them a salacious wink, and then a wave, "Good luck."

0 - Caudex

2005-09-30T20:30:44Z

0 - Caudex

'Never underestimate the power of fools. They are the ones who don't just think of what you didn't plan for, but who are also the most likely to actually do it.' - Consilium Coniuratis ex Lucifer

Any city large enough takes on certain aspects of a sentient being. Its buildings become its features, its citizenry its personality, its crime its mean streaks. A city can grow old, can grow sick, can have a prime of its life, and a city can even go insane. Most people you asked would say that Gorn was an ill city, aging and weak from decades of strife and a history of conflict.
At that moment, Thadaahk Tohs was feeling sick as well.
"Great Sands," Thadaahk moaned, "This swill is absolutely the worst yet."
"Then don't drink it," Beomur said, wincing slightly as he too drank up the sewer liquor, "No one's making you. Least of all the inkies."
In the vast, stone intestinal tract of Gorn's sewer system, Thadaahk and Beomur sat at a table in the makeshift alehouse built deep and far from the eyes of the Inquisition, offering the sin of spirits, one long banned by the watchful eyes of the Church. Amidst the ripe smell of refuse, only partially masked by scented candles, Thadaahk, Beomur, and all those others brave enough to risk the stench and the wrath of the Inquisition, came to the secret sewer-bar seeking an escape from the woes on the surface.
"Beomur, if I had the choice, don't you think I would stop?" Thadaahk said, muzzle hovering over the mug, a wood and metal affair, a bit rusty, but serviceable, "But where else are we going to find booze? A man must have his drink, even if it is brewed from things too unsavory to mention, and there isn't anywhere else. 'cept for the other two or three sewer-bars scattered about."
Thadaahk's companion, a tall Hlessi wolfman with a scarred snout and cool blue eyes, set down his drink, "Thadaahk, you're a fool. You risk hide and hair for a silly maxim. 'A man must have his drink'. You're not a habitual drunk. You're just an idiot."
"Be that as it may," the Jackalman replied, "Drinking seems to be the only thing left in this damn town, besides going to church."
"Which we do."
"Only because we'll be killed if we don't, Be."
"Don't call me Be."
"Be, they shut down the orchestras. The orchestras, mate. Now, I never went to any. Its the cabarets and brothels that I really miss, but when high culture becomes outlawed... well, then you know things are getting boring."
"Boring may be an understatement. We're in a bad spot, Thadaahk. We stuck around while the inkies took over because we used to have good business, but the guild folded, and now we're stuck in a city where, in order for you to get your precious drink, you have to risk being caught in an inquisitorial raid."
"Then why is it you're still hanging about me? If the drink isn't all that important to you, why risk it? Eh, eh? Venture's over. Why stick about?" Thadaahk gave Beomur a toothy grin over the rim of the mug.
"Because I've got nothing better to do." Beomur replied, wet, black nose sniffing.
"Oh, that's so much better than 'a man must have his drink'. I apologize for ever doubting you."
"Then perhaps that makes me a fool as well."
"Oh, but I've got an idea."
"Oh, holy Morg..."
"To get out of Gorn."
Beomur blinked, looking quite surprised and taken aback.
"What?" Thadaahk asked, eying him with suspicion, "What's the look for?"
"Well," Beomur said, "It's just that that sounds like a sensible idea."
"Oh, that's it. Any more cracks like that and I'm leaving your big lupine rear here with the inkies."
"Oh, by all means, tell me your idea. I think I may be just drunk enough to take you seriously. At least for the first half."
Thadaahk rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair, "Doubt, doubt, doubt; that's all I get from you. You should learn to trust me, Beomur, after all these years."
Beomur snorted, "After all these years I've learned you're the last person to trust. I met you working for the Thieves' Guild, after all."
Thadaahk ignored this, "My idea goes like this: the Inquisition has us in lockdown. They are hoping, I guess, that eventually everyone will get used to them, and they'll save hundreds of souls that might otherwise be lost to immigration from this pit they've created. They have paladins at the gates, agents on the walls, and there are even guards at the sewer pipes that lead out of the city. There's no getting out without a mandate from the Church, right?"
Beomur nodded, "Right." he echoed.
"That means the only way you and I can possibly get out of this place is to get a mandate," Beomur began to snort at this, "Or," Thadaahk said, cutting off any possible retort, "Move with a group that had a mandate for themselves."
Beomur's brows lifted, "Huh..." he said, "Are you suggesting we stow away on a paladin supply cart, or something?"
Thadaahk tilted his hand from side to side, "Not quite," he said, "Paladins are remarkably observant, and if we got caught, we wouldn't stand a chance against armored bearmen with huge drekking hammers. I was thinking of sneaking along with some more... harmless members of the Chuch,"
"Such as?"
"Such as the Sabelite Sisterhood."
Beomur slowly smiled, "I see. I am assuming we're not more than halfway through right now, because so far this is all sounding very reasonable."
"Very funny, wolfie. But yes, I'm not done yet. This is, as with most things in life, easier planned than performed. You see, the Sabelite Sisterhood will still be searched at the gates. They're gentle, calm, and merciful, so naturally the Inquisition distrusts them, or so I've gathered. But the paladins won't search them too carefully, and they certainly won't search their arc."
"Wait... are you saying?"
"That's right, my fine be-fuzzled friend. I'm saying we should hide in their arc, with their holy scriptures and relics. That way we'll be able to slip through the gates, and even if, later, on the road, they decide they're thirsty and want a swig of holy water, instead of huge burly bearmen covered in steel plate, we'll be faced with a bunch of shocked Syl-kin nuns."
"This is the part where I start to question your reasoning, Thad." Beomur said, "How are we supposed to hide in the arc? Aren't they holy containers that only the faithful can open? I don't know about you, but I've never counted myself as one of the Raven's flock," he glanced up at the stone ceiling, as if expecting to see the great dawn god himself glowering down at him, "No offense to the Dawnbearer, of course..." he added.
Thadaahk remained unruffled, "I figured as much. Even if we could open the arc ourselves, we'd need to sneak in unseen, and that's almost impossible in a city were every street corner has one of the Eyes of Cain," the Jackalman's smile widened, "Impossible if you can be seen at all, that is."
"What are you driving at?"
"We'll need to be invisible."
"Invisible?"
"Invisible."
"You mean an invisibility spell, I'm assuming."
"That's right."
Beomur snorted, "Thadaahk, I'm stopping you right there. First off, neither of us are mages. I know I'm not, and I know you're too much of a showoff to hide a secret like that. Secondly, there are no mages left in Gorn, at least none that are practicing for money we can gather. The inkies have shut down more than just taverns and whorehouses, you know that. And last... oh, hell, you're still smiling. What are you thinking of?"
"I'm thinking of a place where a mage used to live, a mage who'd have all sorts of things lying about."
"A mage tower? The Razorfists would have raided it, even before the inkies."
"Nope. This is a place the Razorfists and the inkies both would have missed. A place I heard about in the guild."
"You're kidding."
"Not at all. In the poor quarter, not two blocks from the old Darkwillow tavern, we'll find a cellar door. Used to be a guildman with pass from the master could go there and pick up something from the mage there. Never went, myself. Never got that high in the guild. But this place, no one knew about except the guild. And I'm sure if we go there, we'll be able to find something or other that will do the job."
"Sounds risky to me," Beomur said, "And what about this mage? I doubt he'd take kindly to us looting his workshop or whatever it is."
"Oh, he won't be there," Thadaahk said, "After the guild toppled he lost his source of real income, I'll be bound, and he wouldn't be stupid enough to stay around while the Inquisition was rising."
"So we just go on in and root about until we find what we need."
"That's right."
"Sounds easy enough."
"Aye! Only a fool could mess it up."