Lochwar Temple - Thrall's Gate

[Farwalker]

*One of the neophytes enter the back office where Bishop D' Alendel and Father Aed sit discussing the recent events*

"Your Excellency, Father Aed, a man who looks to be Marrent Arghivius is here wishing to speak with Father Aed."

*Aed looks to Bishop D'Alendel*

"Should I speak with him Your Excellency or have the Exemplars throw him out? I would like you to be present if I am to speak with him."

[DM Sanguinity]

D'Alendel speaks softly, "I see no reason to imperil our brave Examplars, so long as the creature stands upon consecrated ground there is little to fear from it."

Standing he brushes his hands fussily upon his robes.

"Let us hear what Culnul's pawn has say"

At the door to his sancturary he pauses a moment, "Oh, and Aed, find out who let the creature enter the temple and have them flogged"

[Farwalker]

*Aed stands along with Bishop D'Alendel listening for his instruction*

"Yes Your Excellency. Neopyte, have the creature escorted in."

*Bishop D'Alendel and Father Aed wait for Marrent to enter the chamber*

[vastgoten]

Entering the chamber Marrent looks around and rests his eyes somewhat surprised on Bishop D 'Alandel.

Gracefully inclining his head he greets D'alandel. 
"A true pleasure to behold you in such good fluids Eminence. It brings me great comfort to know that Father Aed has truly wise guidance.

"I have come to offer you support My son." he continues with a concerned tone at Aed. "I know what it means to go against the blinding light, I too have executed the Inquisitors will and know where it leads." unfolding his hands he insinuates that he himself is some sort of example.

Hesitating for a moment his face grows serious.

"Because of your somewhat rash actions the shadow has fallen upon Thralls gate and The grub lords creatures have fixed their eyes upon this holy soil. Ineania may have shed a tear for the fate of this town but the lord of the decayed roars in triumph." a cold eye trying to empower the importance of the words fall upon D'Alandel.

"I come as an ambassador of Culnuls church and will listen as well as offer my humble word of advice, if you will have it."

[Farwalker]

"Say what you have to say."

[vastgoten]

Narrowed eyes dart between the two, as Marrent seem caght off guard somehow.

"I can sense a distinct change in our relation my son" he notes with a distant voice more to himself then anyone else.
Straightening he gets himself back on topic.

"I sense the grub lords grasp over thralls gate growing stronger by the hour. If you were to help me understand your deed better I might be able to understand the bigger picture of what is happening. I cant say for sure but I believe that this town soon will see a great increase in necromantic activities unless I discover an alternative way to please lord Culnul.

I have come to help" showing his palms marrent looks alarmingly innocent.

[Farwalker]

*Aed speaks sharply and short.*

You are incorrect. This is not the work of Culnul, nor the abomination Canas.

[vastgoten]

Marrents eyes flash with curiosity as his tounge quickly wets his dry red lips.

"oh, but you missunderstand me. I see that this is not Culnuls work. "hesitating he adds. "I would not know about the one named Canas, although it is of course not my place to question your insight on the matter."

"The consequences of the deed however, greatly affects lord Culnuls blessed creatures, regardless if the responsible wished it... or not."

"If this temple wishes to discuss this..." smacking his lips he searches for a continuation. " ... this deed and its consequences in more detail I am here to offer my advice. If you prefer to understand Culnuls wish and how it will affect you on your own  I will bid you a good night." 

Marrent seem less confident as the meeting progresses.

[Farwalker]

"We clergy of Lord Lochwar are taking care of the present issue that Thrall's Gate is experiencing.

However, we will contact the Temple of Culnul if we are in need of your insight.

We appreciate your concern and you offer of assistance.

Your Excellency D'Alendel, do you have anything to say?"

[DM Sanguinity]

D'Alendel habitual grandfatherly smile is utterly lacking, instead he gazes Marrent with the pitiless gaze of a man who has faced the inner circle of Lochwar's hidden mysteries and survived.

When he speaks his voice, though soft, rings with menace, "The respect we have for he who once walked in that body does not extend to you. You are but a shadow of the priest who once stood as Lochwar's strong right fist. I suggest you return to what ever moldering crypt you have crawled from and bother us no further with your feeble attempts to unsettle us, least you overstep yourself and we are forced to deprive Culnul of one of his tools in the mortal realm.

[Farwalker]

*Father Aed immediatly summons the Exemplars to escort Marrent out*

"EXEMPLARS!"
"Escort this person out of Thrall's Gate."

[vastgoten]

His upper lip close to a snarl, Marrent first seem intent on protest. Although flanked by the exemplars and faced with the determination of the two priests his posture quickly shows that he more then willingly will be escorted without causing any trouble.

With a hasty bow he leaves the room and proceeds outward - although silent his eyes scream of frustration and the will to turn this defeat to something else... clearly he did not achieve what he had hoped for.

[Chia]

The old woman, judging from her hunched posture and unsteady walk, finally made it to the donation box. The neophytes working around the church paid her little attention this time – she hand been coming regularly for the past few days.

The first time she did cause some stir, with the heavy clothes wrapping her entire body tight. A low hood covered her head, itself wrapped tightly but for a small eye slit, but the occasional strand of long gray hair that fell out of her cowl was always quickly swept and disposed of.

Plague could be easily cured, but not all deserved such effort.

She paused by the box, fumbling as her bound hands struggled to open the thin pouch. Again she dropped in a few coins, lowest denonimations judging from the sound they made connecting with the iron lining of the box itself, the sound turning into a wrecking cough. It took her some time to stop swaying, her body shaken by every expulsion of air through the wrapped linen over her face.

It took her some time to reach the doors, and even more the gates leading toward Cear.

A free woman, but with little to show for it but perhaps no more than days or weeks of life. Few paid her any attention, and most of those that did noticed her simply to avoid collision with her slow-moving form before it disappeared at the bend of the road.

***

The cool night was filled with the quiet frying sound of the torches lighted along the perimeter of the palisade. Long past midnight, but not early enough for the first thralls to start waking, even the patrolling of the Exemplars seemed muted, as if each had to struggle just to stay awake.

There was movement in the main office. Fortunately, it was unseen by any. She took great care to ensure that. Besides, the security arrangements were, frankly, laughable. The side door barely needed some huffing and puffing to open, much less touch of fingers that could open combination tumblers with pick-catchers and timing sequencing. The interior was hardly more challenging, either – even the heavy lock to the office of the highest local representative of the Church was more symbolic than functional.

Not that she would complain.

What little star light came through the high, shuttered windows was more than enough for somebody used to the near-total darkness of caverns and forgotten temples. The legacy of her dear plane-philandering ancestors was also rather helpful. Not that she did not pay for it dearly almost every day of her life...

Her soft doeskin gloves, tinted deep gray to blend with the shadows, rummaged through the official correspondence on the desk almost on their own. She reached for the special piece brought over just to spice things up. The Ni Triad member who was its – and the gloves' - previous owner, and was now regrettably long gone due to misunderstanding of the word “no”, was rather annoying. She sure did not plan on leaving a small scrap of their customary tunic caught on the edge of the cabinetry within, of all things, the offices of Church of Lochwar, but it sure was going to be something fun to watch if they caught up on it.

Which, given the lack of a large-lettered parchment with “We dun eet, Ni! Ni! Ni!” left behind, might not even occur, this being the Lochwarians... But she took time to make sure the “accidental” clue was placed well enough not to raise any suspicion, if only for the sake of professionalism. Besides, who knew... maybe somebody with half a brain would find it, and she sure wouldn't mind observing the resulting uproar. Preferably from somewhere far away, though.

With fried salted corn. And butter on it. Lots and lots of butter...

She considered reading some of the documents under her hands, but the light was not so good. Also, time was not on her side. Besides, she found she still had a copy of the missives Minuvas was so fond of distributing all over town in her emergency box left at the Buck so long ago.

With the oh so distinctive signature...

Her fingers finally moved to the side of the desk. Unsurprisingly, the mechanism for the side “hidden” drawer was barely more elaborate than the lock on the door itself. She recognized it as soon as her fingers brushed the carving that released the spring – the gnomish shop that supplied most of the parts had been closed for good three years now, but their prolific business filled many a clueless mind with deep satisfaction of the security such arrangements were supposed to bring.

Her satisfaction was certainly much deeper as her fingers confirmed the contents to be the seals she was searching for. She didn't really need them, but it would make things so much easier, not to mention much more authentic.

She was careful to lock the side drawer back in its place, emptied of its contents. It was going to be -fun-!

The stacks of empty parchments, already adorned with the Church's insignia, were her main objective. The man on the streets may not know well all the elaborate seals used within the hierarchy well, but they sure did know the difference between posh Church parchment and quick rub-down from the local supplier.

As an afterthought, she added two small bottles of ink from another shelf. Again, little need, but good habit to keep.

A few moments later, she was carefully closing the lock of the inner door. She glanced down at her feet, making certain that the oversized soles she attached under her boots left at least -some- readable smears of the mud outside. The plank support between them and the soles of the boots should prevent trackers from noticing the otherwise uneven weight distribution... if anybody even thought about those things. She had her doubts, but better safe than sorry. Besides, they came complimentary with the gloves, courtesy of the Ni creep.

There was still a good hour before the earliest risers would awaken to tend to the cows. She made certain to lock the outside door as well, and was tempted to leave a note suggesting a carpenter who has at least seen a decent hammer... but not her door, not her problem. In fact, quite the reverse.

The departure was as uneventful as the arrival. As all of the job.

Which was the way she liked such things to go.

((Continued viewtopic.php?f=18&t=11558 ))

[Karma]

Thayne walks back and forth in front of a few ranks of soldiers. Behind the ranks stands two men, one with a banner of House Rhaz, and the other of the Temple. The men, mercenaries and recruits gathered from Fort Kratos. Thayne walks up and down their lines inspecting their armor and discipline.

"Now hear me, Men. I have gathered you here, with coin and word to bring hell to the Enemy. You have proven yourselves these last months, capable of combat and surviving against them out there." He comes to a stop at the front of their lines. "But to be victorious you will need to have the Blessing of Lochwar, that you may be His shield, His fist, His FURY!" The men start cheering, for the Steward of Rhaz chose his men carefully. Strong men and women of Faith and Conviction. "Now come, Brothers and Sisters. Come with me to the Temple at Thralls Gate, and be inducted into the Temple, and into the Third Regiment in Full!" Thayne snaps to a militaristic stance and gives the order. He and his soldiers form ranks and start their march. For Thralls Gate, and for Glory...

[Minuvas]

A man enters the Church late into the night with only candles to light the hollowed walls. He has what appears to be the look of a permanent scowl. A face that looks like years have taken its toll. His Armor is of a resplendent crimson red, a dark color of blood. The flames flicker along the sheen, adding a reflective effect to him as he moves. He is adorned with the symbols of faith, his very armor seems to be a repository for both weapons and seals - but he wears a cowl that covers a greater portion of his face from identity - not that many here would recognize him.

It is clear he is a Priest, and judging by the high quality of his clothing, he is not some newly inducted boy from the Capital here to cut his teeth in teaching Neophytes how to raise a mace. No the man has a look of a veteran, experience. A heavy iron chain with the tome of Lochwar and it's Iron fist imprinted on it is slung around his chest.

Steel. The Mace is draped across the back of the man, and it is the only item that seems to have no evidence of the spit-shine of the rest of his uniform. In fact, it looks recently used - as if dry blood has been crushed into the very edges of the mace itself.

He pauses to look around the Temple, and for a small moment the man seems to be at ease. This momentary respite lasts only briefly, as a few neophytes who approach the Father to identify him - he brushes them aside with his massive palm in a motion that seems effortless. As soon as his iron fist makes contact with the cloth of the Neophyte, his mouth open in mid-speech seems to pause and just allow himself to be brushed aside, the man then makes for the Altar.

He kneels, and there he remains for almost a half hour. Only then does he rise, closing the tome he had opened before him. He grabs one of the Neophytes only then noticing he is much younger than what he expects, "You...Neophyte...where are the men...who is in Charge here?"

The shaken neophyte, being held loosely at the clothe of his robes at his chest by a massive Iron fist hesitates in reply "F..father they have gone off to fight...with the Third Regiment. The Bishop has..."

He cuts the Neophyte off and looks to the ground, his deep blue eyes flashing only momentarily from beneath the Robes "Bishop? There is a Bishop here.....The Men have been called to fight in the Imperial Legions.." He seems to ask no one in particular.

He releases the Neophyte from his clasp, The Neophyte remains on the floor, as if instinctively he knows to rise would be some kind of act of disobedience to which he would not be given a chance to repent from.The loud clank of his boots echo in the Hallways as he makes his way to exit, he stops only briefly to look at the Office to where the Priest resides for the temple before continuing out the door.