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Villa Candela
Posted: 30 Apr 2006 07:23 PM |
The aptly-named Villa Candela, known in the Common language as The House of Candles, was officially nothing more than an ancient holiday house that had belonged to the Villanueva family since the Patrician Civil War. It was not often that Lillian had come here, as she’d lived at the Academy for literally almost half her life. The path had been overgrown when she’d arrived, and she’d spent the better part of a day hacking away the tangled branches and foliage with a machete, and then an intensive week after that tidying up the interior.
Unofficially it was much more than that.
A repository of generations of lore and artefacts, it was ancient in a way that no building within Midor was ancient: in a deeply personal way. This was no cold museum presenting only the neat and tidy facts of aloof heroes that one could not identify with. This was a site where memory still lived and breathed, where it filled every smoky incense-suffused room, where you could stand in any one place and imagine that the souls of ancestors long dead still dwelt here, and where history was every bit as real as the present, presented with faithful veracity.
During the Patrician Civil War and in the century following it, the place had been a safehouse for the forces of Sanctuarre and Cherisse. It was because of this place that the Crisandamonde were not extinct. It was here, in between semesters at the Academy, that her grandfather had introduced her to the shortlist of patricians on the trusted list; had taught her history that Midor no longer bothered to teach—not because it was forbidden, but simply because it was not considered worthwhile; had continued to train her for a moral war already fought and lost, for the enemy was within the walls and Midor had already gone the way of idle Aristi, turning away from its original gritty and industrious ways. It had taken the rise of the New Order, and the acceptance of the Midoran people to submit to such a power, to drive that point home. The people had become materialistic, complacent, accustomed to their luxurious urban lifestyle behind secure city walls. They valued their safety, their wealth, their comfortable lifestyles more than they valued their integrity and honour. And the New Order provided them with the former at the cost of the latter.
It was also here that the trusted families still continued to meet. She had considered holding a convocation of the patricians, but with no way of telling who was still loyal to Midor and who was not, she’d dismissed the idea as being risky and counterproductive. No, the visitors sleeping in the rooms upstairs tonight were not the usual visitors. But then, this was not the usual situation. The war that had never ended still continued.
And it required warriors.
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, surveying the candlelit living area. After a quick circuit of the room to shut all the windows and check the front door, she made her way to the sectioned-off staff area.
Jerec looked up from the book he was reading. “Finished tucking the children in to bed?”
She fought to keep a straight face, without much success. “They wanted a bedtime story first. I had to refuse; it would have kept them up past bedtime.”
“A story fraught with cynical questions on faith and the metaphysical without satisfactory answers, no doubt.” He shook his head ruefully. “They take after you.”
She pulled up a nearby stool. “I’m not that bad.”
“You’re not,” he agreed. “You’re worse.”
Shutting the book—which she recognised as the rough draft of the codex she’d been writing—he put it aside. “You realise, don’t you, that we could come out of this looking like complete fools. It might well be that Midoran was the sole source behind their powers and they’re lost forever. Is it really so terrible to be only Human?”
Lillian swallowed, feeling a lump rise in her throat as the familiar, unfaded pain of irredeemable loss threatened to overtake her. With an effort, she fought it back.
“You don’t know what it’s like,” she whispered. “You’ve never had it to lose.”
Strange that the priests, who were supposed to be the most spiritual and faithful Midorans, had made the conversion to this new life and belief so smoothly and easily while the Paladins still struggled after all these long months.
But then, the Paladins of Midor had been unique. The world had never known their like.
Jerec regarded her in silence for several long moments, waiting for her to regain her composure.
“Well, it could be worse,” he pointed out. “At least none of you grew a goatee and became a warlock of Naillamne like Claude did. I still haven’t figured out what to do about that sentient skull he invented.”
“If he wasn’t already dead, I’d strangle him,” Lillian snarled, a sudden fury burning through her haze of despair. “What was he thinking?”
“He was thinking of producing the ultimate demonstration of what should be a divine miracle through common magic and engineering,” Jerec said quietly. “And he succeeded. Be grateful the Black Hand don’t know what that skull truly is and haven’t begun to investigate it.”
She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees, pressing her hands to the sides of her head as if trying to hold it together. It had only been recently that she’d found out what Claude had been doing in the years between the time she’d driven him out of the Paladin Order and the time she’d served under him in the rebel Paladin army. She’d had no idea he’d managed to fall so far.
Yet in the end, he’d died a Paladin. He’d managed to make the long climb back up.
How was it that someone like him could have his powers restored, not through the Church, but through allegiance to an army that had been against the Church? How had any of the renegade Paladins hung on to their powers prior to the manifestation of Midoran? How was it that the Aristi could produce empowered Heralds that were nowhere near the calibre of the Paladins she’d known, with no explanation for it save for a feeble and blasphemous reasoning that it was an inherent talent that required only a simplistic Code to activate? As if it was something anyone could do, because everyone had the potential to be one. As if it was nothing special. As if it was not a transformation that required one to become more than what they were, superhuman. As if it did not require total devotion, rigorous and continuous physical and mental training and trials, absolute and unshakable faith, confidence, courage, leadership, good judgement, initiative, will, tenacity, righteousness...
How was it that there were three former Paladins of perfectly excellent quality sleeping upstairs who had no powers, who had been punished for following their consciences, who had broken civil law in order to preserve the far more important and holy moral law? Where was the justice in that?
“It has to be attempted, Jerec,” she said in a quiet, pained voice. “Even if we fail, it has to be tried. It isn’t fair to deny them that chance.”
“If the chance exists at all,” he argued. “We could be doing nothing more than wasting time chasing a false lead.”
She lifted her head. “It has to exist,” she said bluntly, thinking of the rebel army and the Heralds again.
Jerec held up his hands, palms facing forward. “Well, you’re the one who’s had a lifetime’s worth of practice in finding loopholes. I defer to your judgement.”
She made a face. “I’ve only had experience at it because I had to bail Claude out of trouble so often,” Lillian complained. “That fiasco where I had to cite the obscure Manderellan Insurrection—”
“Impressed Sir Gildaine,” Jerec finished, amused.
“Oh, he was very impressed,” Lillian agreed darkly. “Too impressed.”
“You know, most people in your situation would just have said no. They wouldn’t have smashed the other person’s face into a stone wall. I think he’s still traumatised.”
“The reaction,” she said acidly, “was justified.”
“I don’t doubt it,” he agreed. “I just wish you hadn’t damaged him so extensively. I had to fill out a rather long Incident and Fatality Report for it. I was still at the Academy trying to finish it long after everyone else had left for the holidays. Even Sir Goodman had gone.”
She winced and lowered her head into her hands again. It hurt to think about the Academy.
“Crescindelle of 992,” Lillian said dully. “It doesn’t feel like ten years.”
“It doesn’t feel like two and a half months,” Jerec countered, reading between the lines.
She pinched the bridge of her nose. Two and a half months since the disbanding of the Order, the proscription of all Paladins, the destruction of the Academy. Nine months since Midoran had manifested. It felt like fifty years and she had the rest of her remaining life to look forward to days like this. It was one thing to ask yourself pointed and difficult questions for which you had no answer; it was another thing entirely to have others ask the exact same questions and rely on you for answers you simply did not have. On a daily basis yet.
“I’m getting too old for this,” she murmured to no one in particular.
“You’ll get older faster if you don’t get any sleep and spend all night reminiscing,” Jerec chided.
She looked up and arched an eyebrow. “Is that a professional medical opinion?”
“No, it’s an excuse for me to send you away so you can stop distracting me and I can go back to work,” he said, picking up the book again. “I can’t believe you’re using my thesis as the basis for this. I don’t remember any of what I wrote except for The Sleath Gambit case study.”
“The Sleath Gambit was a fluke. And I would never have dragged your thesis into this if you’d just agreed to tell them about the vision.”
“Oh, and that’s so much more credible than a medical paper and historical facts,” he shot back. “Let’s tell them that Father Duvados may or may not have had a vision with very vague instructions that may or may not work, from a source unknown that may or may not be benign. I’m certain they’ll accept it unquestioningly and won’t tear it apart at all.”
“Good. We’ll tell them in the morning.”
He stared. “Lillian, I was joking.”
“I wasn’t. I think they ought to know. They can decide for themselves if they want to reject it as nonsense. And you were the one who wanted a shortlist of people to tell it to and investigate it.”
“I changed my mind. Besides—”
He stopped abruptly, head and eyes tracking towards the stairs at the sound of wood creaking, as if straining beneath a furtive step. Lillian twisted around to follow his gaze, but there was no one there.
Several moments passed in silence, but the only other sound was that of the Inner Sea whispering outside.
“On second thought, I don’t think I’ll get anything else done tonight,” he said at last. “I’m going to head up to one of the spare rooms. The last time I stayed up too late, I ended up in a trance for a week.”
“And spent a month deciphering it only to decide not to reveal it,” she said pointedly.
“You heard them today, Lillian. It wouldn’t have done any good.”
“You don’t have any faith in them,” she said accusingly.
“They don’t have any faith in themselves,” he corrected, placing the book atop the pile by his chair as he stood up. “If they want answers, they can earn them. At the right pace, in the right context. Until then, I choose to withhold what they cannot understand in their current state of mind. Truth is meaningless to a mind that’s not conditioned to deal with it.” He paused. “I’ve seen mortally wounded people go into shock if you use an instant miracle to heal them. This isn’t any different. Drastic changes and instant solutions will always cause more harm than good.”
“Well, if they don’t like it, they’re always free to fission off and come up with their own interpretation as Lance did,” she pointed out. “No one’s forcing anyone to follow anything.”
A shadow of worry flickered across Jerec’s face and then was gone again. Lance and Nightshade...
“I suppose they could do that,” he said slowly. “I’m going to trust that you’ve figured out a way to hold on to them and that it won’t happen; they’re lost enough as it is. Good night, Villanova.” |
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Re: Villa Candela
Posted: 30 Apr 2006 10:42 PM |
Comforts could coddle into beguilement, and so Rosen was wary of them as she neatly stacked her few possessions in the drawer by the hard-backed bed of her room. Everything was so terribly different, yet alluringly familiar. The strict regimen of day to day life, as it was theoretically to exist at the Villa, offered to replace existential worries of faith and worthiness with more manageable ones; making the bed correctly, ensuring a meticulous state of order, uttering her prayers at proper times, these things were of paramount importance.
She knew it was neither coincidence nor banal adherence to formality that these codes, befitting of untested inductees, were being so strictly applied upon her, Sir Cedrych, and the young lady she had not yet met. With shared, achievable goals, bonds inevitably grew. Personal differences and shadowy pasts tended to evaporate under the pressure of a required state of excellence. Already the familiar movements of folding the top of her linen blanket had begun to soothe worries.
But it was a very conspicuously earthly excellence. Of this, there could be no question, and so she doubted, much as she knew Sir Cedrych to doubt, and much as she suspected the third member of their ranks to doubt as well. Doubt had worked its way into her heart months ago as a sort of survival trait. As the waters of unreason and betrayal had risen around her, she clung to it like a rocky precipice in the midst of ominous storms.
Still, there was something to be said of camaraderie. Rosenellia Vimes, wearing nothing save a cotton robe, sandals, and her skepticism, smiled stiffly at that. Yes, there was something to be said of that. Whether it would prove to be anything more than a brief flickering of so many candles, now that True Light had gone, was a question that she could not hope to answer at present.
The pair below had many secrets, and secrets were, from the very start, ill-advisable. Honesty was a central tenet of her existence (and theirs, she would have gambled, were she the gambling type), but even a meager wordsmithing ability could quickly render technically true words into a whirlwind of misleading innuendo. Of this, she was almost certain they were at least somewhat guilty. There was no use in fretting about it.
The smile faded. She knelt by a candle, uttering prayers to Who Knew Whom, and as was recently becoming common, her mind wandered as she did so. There was something definitively cultish about the rituals and rites which lay before her. Something of it smacked of witchery. It was inane to assume that this was all some overextended attempt to recruit three fallen Midorans into the ranks of some derivative order, especially considering who was doing the recruiting, but it was not quite as impossible to suggest that either Sir Jerec or Dame Lillian, as confused and blind as she, had themselves been deceived. Rosen, more than aware of her intellectual limitations, would not have wished to play a game of chess against either of them, but it was far easier to spot a potential failing than plan a success. There were many, many potential failings in their plan, if it could be even called a plan.
It was with these thoughts in mind, stomach knotted, that she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, where fragile flames played against darkness.
Everything familiar like the way home and I know that person that entity so familiar so like Him but different not male first of all and not possessed of the contempt only compassion there and Zarathustra is the name. Light, Zarathustra is showing me doors, as I dreamt when I was born, as I dream now.
Her face frowned in sleep, even as her expression was fixed in awe.
She is showing me everything and telling me more. About the Dying. That it all goes away; the failing crop and the failing heart, that it is the same, that the universe itself is going this way, and is there anything that can be saved?
She does not know. She shows me only the questions, not the answers; the doors, not what lays beyond the doors. It is for me to choose. It has been for me to choose. This is what I am, this is why I was chosen, there are those that can and will do what they can and will with greater effect, currents to which the waters eddy and form, and I am one such minor Force, as important as any other and More Directed. This is why – this is part of why – that I am what I am – what I was made ---
The vision faded into the normal, nonsensical, sometimes important imagery of dreams, and the dreams faded into darkness. At dawn, when what was left of the world’s natural light lanced the windows of the Villa and overcame Light’s waxen tribute, Rosen had been awake for hours, going through the rhythms of combat and prayer by the crystalline shores.
The spray of shore breakers cooled the sweat on her brow, lubricating her mind. She no longer could claim to have anything but a small amount of perspective and capability. She could not claim to know where the next day of her life, much less her life in general, would take her. The apparition that spoke to her claimed that the choice was Rosen’s to make.
Her greatsword cut through the surf, sending a briny spray toward the horizon.
Rosen had never made choices in her life. She simply listened very carefully to her heart and mind, waited for them to come to a compromise, and followed their instructions. Come what may, these new trials would be faced like any other: with all due diligence, courage, and wisdom. It did not take a paladin to tell you that doubt was no match for the collective might of these three noble glyphs of humanity. |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Re: Villa Candela
Posted: 02 May 2006 10:55 PM |
It was in Ferein, of all places, while waiting on the dock for a ship to Port Royale, that Cedrych von Maistlin had finally given himself some time to think about it all – the invitation, the discussion and the dream. What it all meant, and what he thought he might do.
Ferein had played the occasional odd role in his life journey, he thought, recalling the long night he had prayed at the sacred grove, at the time trying to balance both his conscience and the tenets of his faith. Since his departure from Midor, he had come to appreciate Ferein’s beauty, its principles and its people, just as he had come to gain a better understanding of Port Royale and its rather unique charms. He might have once chided himself for spending so much time in either place; but now, it seemed perfectly ordinary. To wander Ferein or spend time in the Port Royale Market. To simply observe their lives – discussions, mannerisms and ideas that he had never previously imagined. To take in, consider, appreciate and most importantly he thought, not judge. It still felt very odd to him sometimes, although he felt like he had gained much from the experiences.
But in the end, both places were foreign to him. While he could surely appreciate their strengths and qualities, they were not his, and the frosty reception he still got from the inhabitants reminded him that those places could never become home, even if he could never go back to Midor.
Which is why the summons from Jerec and Lillian had been like a breath of fresh air. As much as he was beginning to dislike Jerec and Lillian, they were as close to Midor as he was going to get now, and their presence reminded him of the strong connections that he still felt to his training, his home and his faith. Or at least, he thought what was left of it.
The villa had been spectacular, like nothing he had ever seen before, with ancient relics of Midoran history laid out like they were just silverware on a table. It was old, but warm, as if instead of fading and losing strength with the years, it had brightened with each occupant leaving a bit of themselves to keep the place alive and vibrant. It didn't just contain history -- it was history. And the story that Lillian and Jerec had laid out has been as fascinating for its own history as the obvious opportunity it presented all of them.
He had been glad to meet Lady Vimes again. He had not seen her in a while, and while they had not spoken much at the villa, they had exchanged several glances durign the tale, and Cedyrch knew that they had much to catch up on when the time was right. Before the troubles, Cedrych recalled her being a teacher and missionary in some remote places in Vives, and he knew she had a keen mind and wise perspective. Yes, he would be very interested in picking her brain.
The other paladin there was also fascinating, albeit for different reasons. He hadn’t met her before, but she had given her family name as Sanner. That had startled him. Sanner? Of course, Jerec and Lillian had said nothing, so he had to assume she was no security risk. But having a Sanner join them was another story he was simply going to have to hear.
The only disappointment had been the absence of Ulalume. Cedrych knew she had gone on some sort of pilgrimage, but she must have indeed made herself disappear if Jerec and Lillian had been unable to find her. Hopefully, she would join them. She had to join them.
For what Jerec and Lillian had told them had really been what Ulalume had known along, and what he had hoped for, although he knew he had no basis for it. And isn’t that faith, said that voice inside of him that always seemed to pop up at the most inopportune times. There is faith, he growled to himself, and there is blind faith. People made the mistake all the time; he did not intend to do the same.
Yet, he knew he was going to…at least, for a while. The dream had been….too vivid. Jerec and Lillian could not have planned it better. He wondered idly if they had.
And immediately scolded himself, for that was his problem, and he knew it. He had the intellect aplenty to grasp the situation, and the ideas that had been presented that night were ones that he had thought about and discussed many times – indeed, had enjoyed long discussions with Jerec about in the past. The rift with Midor had not diminished his ability and desire to consider the nature of the world and the existence of something – a god – beyond Midoran, beyond all of the so-called gods for that matter. Jerec and Lillian’s story pleased him. It made sense. It tied certain strings together quite neatly, while leaving many theological questions left to argue, a proposition that Cedrych found quite gratifying.
But what the rift with Midor had left was a large gash in his ability to take the little step needed to accept what Jerec and Lillian had said – to truly believe without truly knowing.
Faith.
The destruction of the Isle of Midoran had made him cynical. Questioning. Undisciplined. What had the woman in the dream said? When did magic cease to be magical, when did religion cease to be spiritual? When did all that was revered and held sacred become utilitarian and lose its soul? That seemed to be applying to him faster than he cared to admit, and he was afraid it was evident all too clearly to Jerec and Lillian.
He was harsh and emotional when cool consideration should rule. And he wanted answers even when he knew they were not forthcoming or that he was unworthy of them. For the first time in his life, he was his own ruler, and while it hadn’t exactly been a successful reign, the thought of giving up his independence again, especially to those two – and to what they represented, even if it was his salvation -- was surprisingly difficult to handle.
Dislike Jerec and Lillian? No, that was too strong a word. But he was annoyed that they didn’t respond to the questions he wanted answered. Hadn’t that been the downfall of Midor, blindly following leaders and dogma without thinking for yourself? And he was even angrier at the thought of having to comply with the rigid order of the villa. As if I haven’t trained all my life to do this, he thought, surprised again at his bitterness. It was like he was having to start all over again.
You are, the voice came again, almost an amused tone this time. And you know that you don’t give the novice everything at once. He merely drowns himself. Jerec and Lillian are merely doing what they should. He sighed, nodding absently to himself. Undisciplined, he thought to himself. Very undisciplined. At least he was still wise enough to understand himself.
But that understanding didn’t mean he was wise enough or strong enough to take the final step. Or if he wanted to all. And as the dawn broke and the sailors began to ready the ship for the passage to Port Royale, it was that last thought that made him shudder despite the warmth of the early morning sun. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: Villa Candela
Posted: 05 May 2006 06:09 PM |
In the silent stillness of the ancient shrine, Ulalume knelt and prayed in preparation for her impending induction into this new faith, a faith which felt as oddly familiar as it was maddeningly just beyond her comprehension.
She found that when things were explained, she grasped the concepts immediately, like a foal learning to walk in the first few minutes of life, but she was rarely making leaps and connections on her own. The ways of the Academy were still too ingrained in her, she thought. "You can take the paladin out of Midor..."
Still, her talk with Jerec and Lillian had been a gush of confidence and reassurance. Even more so, during the first stage of initiation that she and Rosen Vimes had taken earlier that day, she had felt something for the first time since being cast from Midor by Vidus Khain. She had felt... something stir, beyond the darkness. She had prayed, and felt something respond to it.
Only a paladin could understand. Even priests had a different sort of connection, almost an intermittent one. They prayed daily, but were left to allow their wisdom to guide them in their daily trials. A paladin was always connected in the most primal way to their god - they provided constant feedback. When a dragon threatened to consume their companions, their god instilled them with the courage necessary to overcome every basic human instinct of self-preservation and charge directly into certain death. Ulalume knew she could have charged into the gates of Hell itself, if it meant saving a friend. The patron god's power washed through the paladin constantly, driving out all impurities and infectious agents. The god became an intimate part of the paladin; it was a connection that few in Vives could ever fully understand, which was why what Vidus and Midoran had done was so cruel. For the first time in her life, Ulalume had known fear. For the first time in her life, Ulalume had known doubt. For the first time in her life, Ulalume had been truly alone.
Today was different. She had continued to pray, because it was all she knew to do, even though now there was no reassuring presence, no warm wall of power resonating back to her prayer like an eternal soundboard, verifying her faith and harmonizing it to greater heights. It had been like shouting down a dark wellshaft and hearing no echo... but today, she had heard... something. Not a full echo, perhaps, but the beginnings of one, like someone trying to touch you through a heavy curtain. Something stirring, just beyond the darkness. For that alone, she was eternally grateful to Lillian and Jerec. She trusted them - her faith, always strong, had received all the reassurance she would ever need.
And so she prayed... her mind's eye seeing that one symbol that the witch had drawn in the air with her finger, the one that described the basic movement of the cosmos. The spiritual moving down to the material, the material striving upward to the spiritual. If her life thus far had been mostly about the spiritual, Ulalume had definitely experienced bit of the material as of late. Relocating to Port Royale had been one of the most educational experiences of her life, completing her education and crystallizing her beliefs, like quenching a glowing sword blade in a cold bucket of water would harden and complete the weapon. Then she had known love... even if only for a brief time. Lucius' betrayal had been hard. Had she not heard talk in Port before she saw him in Buckshire, there was no way she could have displayed the level of savoire-faire she had when he told her. There was no way she could have kept her vow to herself never to allow him to see her cry again. She had cried - alone, in a dark section of Scar Alley, with only the rats to hear her. By the time she had reached Buckshire, where Jusin had told her Lucius had gone, she was ready. She knew that he needed to tell her, to be truly free and unburdened, and she knew she must not allow him to see how much it had devastated her. And so she had... her laugh had been genuine, coming from a moment of clarity as he told her - that was Lucius. Bouncing from one bed to another, like a moth bumping against a glowing lantern shell. She hoped in her heart that he would find a soft place to land before he wandered into an open flame.
She had known material loss - the world of her youth was gone, the funded trips and the balls, the huge gifts with gawdy bows at the solstice celebration, the extravagant birthday presents - all were gone by her teens, and then her father had died, then her uncle... she had received a letter from Uncle Edgar after her father's death, one of solace and an offer to aid in her education. She had burned it after his defection to the Aristi - how she wished she had it now. How she wished she had him now to ask him what he had seen, how he had known before almost everyone else in Midor...
She felt her knees against the cold stone, and retraced the glyph in her mind. The material. This was so unlike the Academy teachings. It was... necessary, she knew now. It was something the Midoran paladins had been missing, a real connection with and acknowledgement of the material, the world - living and dying, connection with other human beings. It was just as important as that internal connection with the eternal. Had they known that, perhaps Vidus' rise to power would not have happened at all. They would have seen the inherent wrongness in the wanton slaughter of innocents, no matter what the justification. The spiritual she could deal with, she had been prepared to deal with that her whole life. She knew now what had been keping her back all this time - she had not known from whence she was beginning... re-beginning, she told herself. She had begun her journey as a spirit, reaching down for the material. Reaching down... to learn. Reaching down, because it had something of value that the spirit yearned for.
She took a deep breath. So this was what it was like to be reborn... |
"You know, a gong. Large, flat object that you hit when you want things. Sort of like a waiter, but less portable."
-Radra |
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Re: Villa Candela
Posted: 10 May 2006 03:08 AM |
Dedication
Energy
Perseverance
It was raining, for once, outside the villa. Not that it mattered to him. It could have been blizzard conditions and he wouldn’t have batted an eye.
His thoughts were turned inward. Not on the villa, but himself. His journey, and in particular the last 72 hours, the climax of which was something that….well, he was not sure he could describe back to himself. It was, as he was sure the others had felt before him, a feeling that he had been given a part of himself back. And how do you describe that? I am complete? Does that adequately convey what he was experiencing? What does that mean for anyone but the person in question anyway?
He was energized in a way he had not felt for some time. His mind, his thoughts, his soul, they were all racing, but unlike the past months, this time everything was acting in concert, as one. Despite the adrenaline he was experiencing, his body was calm and relaxed, yet also….ready?...prepared? Ah hah, that was it! Prepared. He was complete and prepared. As if his body was born for this very moment, and all the ones after it.
After the dream, he had wanted to go to Jerec immediately and complete the training right then and there. He knew it would have been foolish; there was still much to learn. Only this time, he reveled in his ignorance. How amazing to feel this good, to delight in what you have just understood and to know there are still so many revelations yet to unearth and share with your brothers and sisters.
It was inevitable, now. There was no question. He had persevered – somehow – and it was only a matter of time. There would be tests, of course, he knew that. And his doubts would come again, to be sure. But they would be shattered by his memory of that night, and surely what was to come.
He looked up briefly from the document he was studying and peered out the window. He raised an eyebrow and pressed down the ends of his moustache, as if only now acknowledging the rain outside. The memory of that night…and the nights before. That’s what would drive him. To remember…
**************************************************************
Self-control
Sense of duty
Gentleness
72 Hours Earlier
Aquinas Coast, just outside Port Royale
He hadn’t meant to run into Lucius and Dana. He had been traveling to Buckshire and the Blackstone Swamp. There had been rumors of increased lizard folk activity, and he wanted to take a look, check with the locals and possibly foray into the swamp if necessary.
He had never made it that far, for just beyond the city he had seen the pair, talking quietly, Lucius’ arm disturbingly wrapped around the human half-orc. Lucius didn’t seem to like regular, quiet women. He seemed to prefer daughters of gods, ex-paladins of Midor and now, a sorceress who thought she was a half-orc. God forbid they have any children…
Dana had never liked Cedrych much, and her feelings had become even worse when she had discovered he was MEEE-DOORR-ANNNN, as she liked to say. So be it, they didn’t have to be friends but she frequently went out of her way to insult him whenever he was around. It actually amused him most of the time, although lately he had been lettings his feelings get the better of him.
He and Dana had been starting to go at it again, and he was about to lose his temper when Lucius had, somehow to his great credit, managed to get her to calm down. Together, he and Cedrych had spoken to her at length about what was going on in Midor – in between a few more jibes – and the difference between Righteous Swords and the Novus Midorum. At some point, Lady Rosen had joined them, and it seemed they were making some progress.
Until Dana had pulled out the undead hand and started chomping on it.
Why hadn’t that affected him? Had his wanderings just inured to what clearly was a violation of his code? It was, as Rosen had so shrilly noted, at the least foul and certainly cannibalism, and at the worst, stunk of necromancy, especially given Dana’s reputation as a sorceress. It should have enraged him, as it did Lady Rosen. It should have ended the conversation right then and there.
Instead, he had found himself briefly wishing Lady Rosen hadn’t been there. He had been so close to finding some ground with Dana, who might make for a powerful ally and was also a friend of Lucius’. Wasn’t that enough?
But really, as he thought about it later, what ground was there to find? Lady Rosen had been right to act as she did, and if Lucius didn’t like it, well, he hardly had any ground to stand on. One could respect others’ cultures, but eating an undead hand was something entirely different. At least, he reminded himself, it should be. She would never understand Midoran faith; she could barely understand the difference between Cedrych and Vidus Khain. An ignoble thought, he mused, but not an inaccurate thought.
Afterwards, after Rosen and Ulalume (who had arrived just in time to let Dana know exactly how she felt, adding to the utter confusion of the whole scene) had left for the villa, Cedrych thought long and hard about he was measuring up to those two.
And his answer, as he suspected, was not good. Lady Rosen, who was a strict traditionalist on many issues, it seemed, was making him realize just how far he was straying. He had briefly perused the list of virtues that Lillian and Jerec had promulgated, and his progress – or lack of it – on many of them was distressing. Meanwhile, Ulalume’s progress continued unabated, as if she was born for this new path. She seemed to have all the answers.
And he, sitting quietly in a corner at Doc’s in Buckshire, had none.
**************************************************************
Foresight
Good manners
Justice
24 Hours Earlier
Icy Vale
The argument had gone poorly, mostly because they didn’t (or didn’t seem to) understand his point, and it was the last straw. He didn’t have a problem with people getting paid to help Moiran get his shipment from the Tumata. Far from it. His service certainly didn’t preclude people getting paid for their efforts, and it wasn’t as if Moiran couldn’t afford the coin.
But no one, with the exception of Lady Rosen, had seemed to understand that maybe the welfare of the people of Icy Vale might be more important than getting paid. They had waited the whole trip back for an ambush, yet one had never come. Everyone had remarked how strange it was, given that something was killing every enemy in their path, setting them up for a final blow. And hadn’t people seen the witch who had quickly turned invisible? It was simply a possibility that should have been checked out, and one that would take just a few seconds.
So when they had made it to Icy Vale without a single incident, it seemed sensible to Cedrych that they ought to check the cargo. Moiran was undoubtedly an honorable man, and the Tumata had seemed the same, yet that didn’t someone somewhere along the way hadn’t messed with the cargo. Or some trick had been played. After all, it seemed as if whatever was killing their enemies had wanted them to get to Icy Vale just fine with the cargo. Didn’t that sending warning bells to everyone that perhaps the cargo should be checked?
Apparently not.
Lucius’ adamant stance and ridiculous reliance on the contract legalese was understandable given his nature. While Cedrych had noted that nothing in the contract precluded them from looking at the cargo – one box, for goodness sake! – and making sure everything was in order, Lucius didn’t budge. And if the contract did preclude them from looking at the cargo (something which would have given Cedrcyh pause), he had not mentioned it. Lucius had never met a contract he didn’t like that involved gold and power…so nothing surprising about his reaction, he thought.
But Tarn’s similar reaction was very disappointing. He had seemed like a reliable fellow, a quiet but efficient woods guide who had a good head on his shoulders. And certainly not one to place a town in possible jeopardy just for some gold. Cedrych wondered absently if Tarn had simply been embarrassed by forgetting about checking the cargo when they had first arrived at the Tumata.
His father had been a successful merchant in Midor, so Cedrych knew how these things worked. They were, by contract, representatives of Moirin. It should have been the first thing they did when they arrived, checking the cargo to make sure it was in proper order. It annoyed Cedrych quite greatly that he had not thought of it himself earlier and saved himself the rather long argument at the end.
Then, of course, Tomi had gotten involved. Well, “involved” probably wasn’t the right word. He had simply told Cedrych to shut up. The same Tomi whom he had seen attack a man without warning. The same Tomi he knew was up to all sorts of ill deeds in Port Royale. The same Tomi whom everyone seemed to like – even Ulalume had expressed her admiration of him and Tomi had told her what happened in the tomb and she had accepted his explanation.
Based on Ulalume’s word alone, Cedrych had been hoping to try to talk to Tomi during the expedition and find out what he had to say. But it was during the argument that Tomi had said that “I should have stabbed you too when I had the chance.” And with that, any sort of good intentions Cedrych had towards the man disappeared. That no one else commented or expressed surprise at Tomi’s outburst surprised him not at all. The world, thought Cedrych, had gone mad, and all everyone wanted was some coin.
The final nail in the coffin had been her…the hin…Cora. He loved a little banter back and forth every now and then, and she had a quick, biting wit about her, which he appreciated. But ye gods, she never stopped…ever…and her comments always seemed biting and cruel. Something had happened to her at some point, he was sure. If there was anything he was learning from Jerec and Lillian’s training, it was examining and appraising people. No one was that bitter, constantly, without some good reason, he thought.
Finally, it had all died down, but the whole experience had left a bitter taste in his mouth and left him feeling worse than ever. What difference did anything make if most people acted in this manner? And why he had felt compelled to continue arguing despite the obvious fact that no one cared?
These were answers that the Villa was not giving him.
**************************************************************
Faith
12 Hours Earlier
Villa Candela
It had been the simplest of questions, and it had gotten right to the heart of matter. And how else could he respond, when the answer was obvious?
Rosen and Ulalume had been down the tunnel. They had seen….well, they could not describe what they had seen, but they had experienced it. Rosen had suggested that they ask Jerec to go down, seeing that Cedrych had not yet. And he agreed to the idea, but he had been afraid.
Afraid that Jerec might ask. Or would know. Or worse yet, would let him and he would have to go into the tunnel. And finally reveal what he had known for so long.
But he didn’t have to wait that long because Jerec had known and had asked him. And it had become all too clear to everyone there.
He had no faith.
When others had found solace in the cave, he had only heard disparate voices, a cacophony of sounds that had further upset whatever little balance he still maintained. When others had moved forward in their learning and understanding, he had hung back, finding the obvious cynical fissures that religions, by their very nature, always exposed. While others remained calm, impassive and polite, he became emotional, rude and out of control.
The tunnel, Jerec had told him, only showed what each person already possessed anyway. Those with faith would be rewarded. Those without faith – with unclear thoughts – would be left with only more questions.
He had yelled and screamed, ticked off his list of deficiencies, his lack of understanding and most of all, his unworthiness. Maybe there was a time when Cedrych von Maistlin was ready and worthy of being a knight. No longer. He wanted to be a knight, but he didn’t know how. The world had changed and left him behind.
It was just like the dream he had experienced the first night at the villa. What had Zarathustra said? When did magic cease to be magical, when did religion cease to be spiritual? When did all that was revered and held sacred become utilitarian and lose its soul? When did miracles become commonplace, when did instant answers and instant solutions become the norm, without doing anything to actually earn them?”
She had been talking to him. About him. It was the sign he needed that the end was near. He offered to give back his key to the villa. It was over. He was done.
Until Rosen had mentioned her dream. The one with Zarathustra. The same dream. And Jerec had just looked at him.
And suddenly he realized that Jerec knew, had always known. And he thought that maybe just maybe, he had gotten Jerec all wrong. That maybe his growing dislike of Jerec had more to do with himself than anything Jerec had done. So Cedrych agreed to do one last thing that Jerec asked.
Go to sleep.
Only this time, Rosen and Cedrych weren’t having similar dreams, they were having the same dream. And the figure was there again, or maybe it wasn’t. He couldn’t tell. He couldn’t describe it. He could only feel it. Its power, its presence, its timeliness.
And he knew, somehow, what he was feeling. The very soul of Vives. The land, its history and every living thing. Its beginning, its end and its rebirth.
And he felt ashamed, for this, truly, what his all his life had been working towards. What he had been searching for. What he had been denying. What he was ready to walk out on.
“What can I do to serve?” He tried to yell, but his words came out weakly, barely a whisper.
And it came to him, like a thousand voices yelling at him, rushing up at him like the wind, and then suddenly becoming one sound, a soft lilt, like the touch of a lover, coursing through his body, feeling the word rather than hearing it.
Believe…
The rest he barely remembered, like an afterthought. He had fallen to his knees, his strength crumbling. Tears had flowed. He had thought perhaps they were for the paladins he had been unable to save or those who had never made it out of Midor. Or perhaps they were for those he had hurt since his departure from Midor.
But in the morning, he realized immediately who they were for. Himself. The one person for whom he had never grieved.
**************************************************************
He blinked, bringing himself back to the moment. He continued to think about the night, blushed briefly at the thought of hugging Lady Rosen after he woken up from his (their) dream. It was most unlike him, but she of all people understood, he was sure.
He chuckled to himself and returned to his study of the document before him. He had still much work to do, but the list seemed smaller now, more manageable. He studied the list of words, then focused on the one that caught his eye. The one he always returned to.
Faith. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: Villa Candela
Posted: 10 May 2006 02:13 PM |
Being hugged by Cedrych was akin to being engulfed by a large sea of firm pillows. Even as she yelped in surprise, she tilted her head above water, sucking in breath as it was crushed from her lungs. The touch of flesh upon flesh, however platonic, however appropriate to their shared joy, was nonetheless electric; the odd handshake or pat on the arm was all the human contact Rosen had felt in years, and so, in the midst of divine exaltation, there was human excitement.
Human excitement had long since been left by the wayside on the road to what had proven to be a false idol. Interesting. Dangerous.
At length, she was lowered to the ground, released from his grasp. Cedrych gesticulated wildly as he spoke in exploding fragments. Despite herself, she found her own replies just as scattered.
“Lady Rosen! I saw – did you-
-Sir Cedry – Yes I – it was-
-It was there – it was –
-I know! It’s-“
They tapered into giggles, like children. He stood in the barebones of his plainclothes, quivering from head to toe as he laughed, vain moustache frizzy from end to end, hair wild with the throes of their dream. She had not any idea what she looked like, but she had the nagging suspicion that it was far from properly groomed. She felt her shift move against her body.
I’m standing in my underwear, having a casual conversation.
So quickly and adeptly, the suspicions and self-imposed instructions returned. She cleared her throat, taking a meaningful step back, and grinned from ear to ear. No measure of flouted restraint could disparage what had just happened. It Truly Had Happened, what they had been praying for. The very image of Light itself had appeared. It was no cloistered god, walled off in a plotting fortress, no flame so bright that it blinded. It was the sole beacon of hope in a dying universe, a sentinel, every bit as alone and humble as any of them. A guide - a lighthouse in the lake of existence, harried by obscuring mists on all fronts. So Jerec had promised, and so it was.
Cedrych’s laughter gave way to the odd shudder, his large hands wiping away the drying tears that clung to his face. It had spoken to him. It had given the revelation to him and him alone, the words ushered past her ears. He, perhaps, that needed it the most, but likely also he that was most deserving. She reflected on this even as she allowed him a moment to recover himself, smiling wryly as he resorted to the familiar gesture of pressing down the ends of his moustache. “Get your thoughts in order, man!” said the gesture. Adorable.
There was little doubt that Cedrych, giant of a man in body and soul, was the largest vessel among them. He was the most honest with himself, the readiest to claim fault when it was his, and, when it came right down to it, the most courageous. The largest vessel held the greatest volume. Thus Cedrych was chosen by their guide. The small pang of jealousy returned, but it was soothed by a host of whispering admirations for the man. Thus the greater Rosen prevailed. She found herself nodding to him.
“You see?” she asked, her voice wavering somewhere between eager outburst and somber acknowledgement.
“Yes, yes of course, Lady Rosen!” he said, and it began again in an instant, the joyous words from him and the flushing intermingling of divine and all-too human energy from her.
Their shared words were short, but potent. What they had seen was nothing less than the first concrete sign that they were not on a fool’s venture of spirit. The comfort, the responsibility of that was indescribable. When he bade his goodnight to her, withdrawing into his room, she murmured her own meaningless words of farewell in conversation’s shadow, watching him leave. She turned evenly, brow creasing. For whatever reason, it was easier to think now that he had left. A good deal of rumination was in order. It was most likely wishful thinking, but she was certain that the candles in her room burned brighter. Silent steps and the turning of a rumpled cover brought her into bed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and turned into her pillow. This experience would be analyzed in due time, dissected by the scholars, priests, and sages in her mind. For now, though, there would be a small luxury allowed. The remembrance of Cedrych’s unbridled exuberance and the firsthand sight of Light in the distance would guide her into sleep.
Peaceful sleep. |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Re: Villa Candela
Posted: 14 May 2006 04:40 PM |
For the first time in a fortnight, Cedrych von Maistlin did not sleep in the villa.
He wasn't sure if this was some breach of protocol, especially given what he had just experienced, although Lillian’s behavior seemed to indicate the training period was over. In any event, there was something in him that needed to break away, to let his mind wander away from the confined perspective that the villa seemed to engulf him with. The order, the routine, the artifacts, the history – it all lent itself to introspection, but only he found, in relation to the Novus Midorum and his training. He suspected the villa was built, in some manner, for that or some similar purpose, and no doubt Jerec and Lillian did what they could to increase that feeling.
But there was the outside world to increasingly consider. Lillian’s own reaction to his mention of the Ssissilayath proved it. Things were moving quickly, too quickly, in threads so disparate that there barely seemed to be a pattern. Indeed, there wasn't a pattern yet. But he could not shake the growing sense within him that said there was. And this had to be considered, thought over, shaken out for new insight and reassembled, to find what was missing just beyond his grasp.
While he might still be learning the spiritual truths of his new faith, he was no young, wet behind the ears graduate straight from the Academy. A night out on his own, to ruminate alone on his thoughts, sleeping under the stars next to Ender’s tent, wasn’t about to affect his training. Plus, he was just too dang tired.
His trip with Lillian into the tunnel and into the cavern had been exhausting mentally and spiritually. Ulalume and Rosen had been right – the whole thing was indescribable. There was something almost comical, the thing just floating there in the air. Yet, the immense power it gave off left no room for humor, or much of anything else for that matter. One just stared and stared and stared, and for a moment, tried to comprehend.
But in the end, as he had said to Lillian, the revelation had left a bitter taste in his mouth. An amazing discovery, just it dwarfed them, like gnats to the sun. It only proved how ignorant they really were about everything, and how much was left to be learned, if it could be learned at all. Not a reassuring thought, and it had left him frustrated. He knew the journey would be long, but the discovery had just underscored how long it would be.
Still, his overall mood was positive, and his disappointment had lessened as he had joined the expedition in Ladriel. Action in service to the greater good always lifted his spirits and put him in the right frame of mind. Apparently, zezirs in the Ladriel area had been more aggressive lately, and accompanied by large, strange lizard-like beings. The Alliance had put out a call for a group to investigate and drive the creatures back.
Which had been done, and fairly easily at that, with no loss of life to the group. Yet, there had been no progress as to where the lizard beings had come from, and the trail had died out in the desert. He had hoped the group would continue to the desert, but by then most everyone seem satisfied that the work was done. He was too tired to relive the sense of indiignation he had felt towards the group at that point, although he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised.
But he had been equally surprised and delighted that Tarn had announced he was going back to the desert to continue his tracking, and Cedrych and Lady Rosen quickly volunteered to go along. It was another interesting point he would have to consider the in the character of Brant Tarnyal, who, as he had in the Icy Vale expedition, acquitted himself well during the trip, but whom Cedrych was still not completely convinced about.
Unfortunately, the trail had proved fruitless until Rosen had suggested they speak with Ender, who undoubtedly possessed great stores of knowledge about the desert. And he did not disappoint. Accordign to the desert merchant, the lizards had been considered extinct for centuries, but had been under the rule of the Ssissilayath. And the Kraken Sailors might be key in figuring out exactly what they were up to.
Neither the Icy Vale or the Ladriel expedition had ended in any sort of closure, but both had connections with the Ssissilayath. It was too much of a coincidence for Cedrych. Plus, there were several other rumors that needed be explored as well. Increased Kuo Toa forays around the Northern Highway, along with additional lizard folk sightings near the Blackstone Swamp. Both involved lizard, amphibious like beings, somewhat like the Ssissilayath.
He chuckled to himself. It was the most tenuous of connections. Yet, it was all he had. And perhaps if we pull enough strands, one would untie the knot.
He was tired, but he mustered his last bit of strength to pen a letter to Ulalume and Rosen, asking them to meet him in the Carfax Woods. He would need to find a way to reach Tarn too. There was much work to be done.
*****************************************************
Getting the meeting with Captain Dalmas of the Buckshire militia had not been hard. Getting his assistance or any information out might be completely different. Still, given the captain’s reputation, it was difficult to believe he wouldn’t be interested in helping out the situation.
“Captain Dalmas,” he stated, formally nodding. “My name is Cedrych von Maistlin, knight of the Novus Midorum.” And he added quickly, “Member of the Illumine Alliance. On Alliance business.” He wasn’t entirely sure if this was still official alliance business, but any mention of Midorum wasn’t likely to get a good reaction, so he felt he needed any leverage he could get. And there was no point in beating around the bush.
“Von Maistlin” the guard asked coolly, staring at him for a moment, then looking down at his papers as if trying to recall something.”
Oh no, thought Cedrych. He can't have that good of a memory?
“The same von Maistlin who brought to my attention the petty theft of a few grains from the Riflin farm? The same von Maistlin who at the time was a paladin of Midor?”
He blushed slightly, then cleared his throat and nodded, looking a bit sheepish. “The one and the same.”
“You are no longer than a paladin of Midor, I take it?”
“No, sir”
There was a long pause. Too long, Cedrych thought, but the captain continued. “I hope you have something a tad more important for me to deal with today.”
“I do, sir, I promise. The increased lizard folk sightings along the Buckshire Trail. I am seeing if there was any connection between those and…eh…some other incidents across the land, that may involve some sort of invasion.”
Another long pause. “So if I get this straight, a former paladin of Midor has come to me mumbling something about a world-wide invasion based on some increased lizard-folk sightings, and wants any aid I can provide.”
He considered mentioning that it was official Illumine Alliance business, but he knew it would sound weak. He kept his gaze straight at the captain and nodded slowly. “Yes, sir,” he said flatly. “That’s correct.” He wished the strength of his voice matched his optimism, but he wasn’t sure the captain was going to give him any information, provided he knew anything at all. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Dreamwalking
Posted: 07 Jun 2006 02:18 AM |
Why Lillian had asked him, of all people, he was still unsure. Maybe she still wanted to keep him in the fold. God knows she still acted like their mother, their troop leader. It would be unlike her to try to keep him if he didn’t want to, but then again, she was the most unreadable person he’d ever met. She might as well have been a Ssissalayath, given what Cedrych could read into her thoughts and feelings.
But there she was, in front of Rosen and Tarn, asking him to be involved in the dreamwalking. To try and speak to the Sacntuarre and Cherisse. To find out about the early history of Midor, and any sort of link to the current problem with the Ssissalayath.
At this point, Rosen was either just barely civil to him or ignored him completely altogether. No doubt she was in a state of disbelief and confusion as to why Lillian had mentioned it to him. Join the club, he thought to himself absently.
He had spoken to Lillian about dreamwalking a bit more later on, although there wasn’t much else to learn, truth be told. It was an ancient custom, a type of prayer, perhaps even a precursor to prayer, she had said, as it didn’t require much action on the part of the dreamwalker. He had asked her if there were any things he might do to help such dreamwalking actually occur, but there were so few answer, so few fragments left over from thousands of years ago. Just the divine grace and will of the paladin…
Which bothered him, considering he wasn’t a Novus Midorum anymore. He wasn’t a paladin anymore, really.He hadn’t even passed the aptitude tests when he was younger, the exams that the Academy gave potential students. Exactly how he had gotten into the Academy remained something of a mystery to him. His thoughts turned dark, a memory of his brother, his father coming to the seminary, taking him out of class.
Stop it, he thought to himself. He didn’t know much about dreamwalking, but he was fairly certain these sorts of thoughts weren’t going to help.
In the end, though, it seemed to make little difference what he did or thought. If he experienced a couple of dreams that were more vivid than others over the next couple of weeks, he either completely forgot them by the time he woke up, or they were inconsequential or flights of fancy. Clouds. White places of nothing and everything all at once. Amorphous and mysterious shapes. Voices that came out of nowhere. The typical dream stuff that meant nothing in the end.
He considered the ramifications. It was possible that he simply didn’t have the divine grace to successfully dreamwalk. Perhaps Lillian had been sending a message to him, as if to say he was truly done with the Novus Midorum and there was no going back. So be it, he shrugged, it wouldn’t be the first time he had failed, and he was content with his current path, despite the lack of a destination. But such a subtle display would be unlike Lillian. She was far too direct.
It was more likely that dreamwalking simply wasn’t possible anymore, if it ever was to begin with. Lillian must have thought it was worth it to try, and why waste the effort on a Novus Midorum? Now that would be her typically efficient self. And if people knew how many different avenues, clues, rituals and traditions they had explored and come up with absolutely nothing….
But in the end, neither option bothered him all that much. No, he was mostly concerned with what he was going to tell Tarn and the continuing void that left him with regards to early Midoran history and the Ssissalayath. He wanted to be useful…needed to be useful…and Lillian and the Novus Midorum, as typical, didn’t seem in any sort of hurry. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Gone
Posted: 07 Jun 2006 02:58 AM |
It was the hardest decision she'd ever had to make.
There were a thousand things here still clamouring for her attention. Lance's group getting bolder, the nightmares becoming more violent, Byron's recent report on Undead activity, on top of which there was all the odd reptilian activity, and everything was still on the verge of falling apart and hanging by the thinnest of threads—
Not to mention being hounded by everyone from Righteous Swords and bounty hunters to witches to an insane fallen angel vampiress—
It was the hardest decision she'd ever had to make but Lillian was convinced it was the right one. One thing she'd learned in the Midoran Army was that you had to go when it was time to go. If you'd done your job right, if you'd set up the system and trained your people correctly, things would run fine without you, no matter how close to the verge of breakdown it all looked. At least she hadn't taken the coward's way out. After everything they'd already been through, she'd decided that she couldn't put them through that. It had all come within a hair of falling apart with just one leader dead; if they'd found two dead that day... no, that would have been too much. It sickened her that she'd been perfectly willing to put them through it right up until she'd actually seen their reactions.
It came down to people. It always came down to people. You could write up all the philosophies you liked and write a long list of virtues to adhere to and come up with all sorts of metaphysical explanations about the world and God and whatever forces shape the world, but at the end of the day, that's what it always came down to. When you had to deal with people face to face, rather than as some abstract clumps that needed moving around and organising, only then were you reminded of the reason behind it all.
All the more reason to go. All the brutality of the past year was futile if the Atropos Gambit had been unsuccessful. By necessity, even she had been kept in the dark about it. But now she needed to know.
Besides, this lot needed to exercise their independence and initiative. No matter how much distance she put between them and herself, they still kept asking for permission for things that didn't need her permission. A lot more distance ought to do it. And it had to be now, before she got caught up again in this vicious circle of neverending work.
She spent the rest of the day ensuring that whatever supplies were lying around got shipped off safely to Ladriel—by boat, not by that infernal flying contraption. Then a few more hours on top of that talking to Darius about collating any and all relevant facts about history that the others might need to know.
And when evening rolled around and they all came home, she prepared to tell them that she had to go. For reasons she couldn't tell them. For reasons she herself was uncertain of. She just had to trust in the plan Jerec had put into place. A blind leap of faith if ever she'd had to make one, but at the end of the day, it all came down to people, and it all came down to a matter of trust. |
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Re: Gone
Posted: 18 Jul 2006 03:12 AM |
The Villa was quieter in later days. Darius could be heard shuffling around in the back, studious and graceful, as the few who still called the place a base of operations stole through hallways and doors. As with any building whose inhabitants were constantly on the move, it looked desolate, even in its beauty.
The sound of a key turning was all the noise that Rosen made upon entering. A quick look to one of the guardians with a half hemmorhaged eye was given, then a quick stride through the light scent of a thousand burning candles, toward the back.
"Magister Darius." The words were spoken from a fractured jaw, broken and left to heal as nature saw fit.
He was not surprised by her words, though her approach from behind was reasonably stealthy. Perhaps her uneven limp rousted him from his unending study supressed myths, ancient history, and buried betrayals. In any case, while he did not jump, he did turn slightly toward her, nodding down the length of an aristocratic nose.
Her own was a nub; it always had been, only now it was broken in two places, giving her the look of a bully. Her gaze was made of stone, her voice polite.
"I'm sure you're aware of the guardians below our foundations," she murmured, gesturing with a hand to the floorboards, "I'm here to ask whether you have a key and whether you will temporarily allow access to an outsider."
Rosen moved her hands behind her back, speaking with quiet effort.
"It's possible that one, given in temporary service to a certain mage, magister Xaranthir, may behoove mankind. He has no other source of the elementals required. They must be of the most primal essence, as they who guard the sacred waters. It is not necessary that he go further than the first tunnels - only long enough to encounter an elemental. Little will be compromised. Less if he is blindfolded. Much could be gained if he is to be believed - that his requirements, fulfilled, aid the world.."
She cleared her throat, dipping her head. "I believe him, for what it's worth. Also," she continued, allowing a rueful smile to flicker across her features, "I'm interested to know, if I may trouble you in an unrelated matter, about red and white chess pieces as mythological symbols. I have supposed names corresponding to certain pieces, if you're interested and willing." |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Judgement
Posted: 18 Jul 2006 05:19 AM |
"There are many layers to this place, and many guardians who defend what lies beneath the earth," the mage replies, his gaze momentarily drifting to the sphinxes squatting at the front door. "They must be the ones to judge whether he is worthy to pass into the tunnels. If he is willing to be put to the test, then bring him blindfolded to the coast via the flying machine."
He gestures to the fireplace across the room. "I lack the authority to access the lower levels and must make arrangements, Lady Vimes. Please, take a seat while I do. I'll be along momentarily to discuss chess with you."
~*~
Delia.
The white cat pads silently across the floor at the unspoken beckon, stopping within half a metre of Darius and regarding him with a haughty green gaze. He can still remember how alarmed his mentor had been that he'd dared to name the cat after a notorious witch of legend. Such an act was almost as bad as having an Imp for a Familiar. It had been an immature decision, driven by spite, but he'd been young and reckless then.
Besides, it was too late now to change the name.
He drops to one knee before the cat, murmuring, "When we are done here, you will accompany Lady Vimes to Brandibuck Coast. From there, take one of the fishing boats to Midor and seek Amaranth. Pass on everything that you have heard."
The cat inclines her head in an eerie imitation of a human nod. Darius stands.
"Now, let's see what this chess discussion is all about." |
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Re: Judgement
Posted: 18 Jul 2006 10:01 PM |
Seated on the cushions at her request, stature sacrificed in the name of a damaged spine, she continued to regard the nobleman plainly. The wealth of knowledge within the Villa's walls taught that several breeds of noble had existed in Midor's history. Though they of the patrician lines were not automatically wreathed in authority and wealth, any who felt the flow of any of the twenty-seven original bloodlines was accorded a healthy measure of respect and responsibility to match. Darius Illumini was not a particularly imposing man, but an experienced one to be certain. A man of the world. Formidable.
Rosen's peasant brown eyes sized him up out of habit, ignoring her discomforts long enough to gather his posture, expression, and tone into a snapshot psychological profile. She did it blandly and quickly, speaking in the next moment.
"The vision accorded was one of past, present, and ostensibly future. The vision accorded was one of a chessboard. One side white, the other red. The white side was composed of what seemed to be prevailing paradigms. Midor-centric ones.
"According to the prophecy, I'm told, the pawns of the white side existed only to be sacrificed. This knowledge came with a brief image of individuals disappearing in the dead of night. Whilst I was with islanders at the time, I am aware that Paws suffered a cruel fate which bears some similiarity here.
"The knights, of course, were the enforcers of law on the white side. The red ones were similar in function, but acted in greater stealth. The white rook was an ancient, red dragon. The rook for the red side was a dragon of comparable strength, but colored in rainbow hues. As to bishops, I have no information.
"Now, to the interesting part. The white king, conveniently enough, was Vidus Khain. His queen was masked - willfully obscured. This, alongside almost myriad hints and clues left here and there amidst gossip and conjecture, may suggest that there is a... consort acting in concert with Midoran. Be it mortal or divine, I am in no position to say.
"The red king and queen, well..."
Her throat was parched, but she settled for a dry-swallow before continuing. Something about the familiar walls of the place promised safety and light. This indescribable, sublime sense of the possible was difficult to resist. It prodded her tongue back into movement.
"They are less definable. The king, evidently, is Eternal Death, aka the Death's Head, aka Atropos. Far be it from me to attempt to quantify such a thing. The queen, likewise, is Eternal Life: Amaranth.
"Interesting, is it not? Allegorical in some spots, perhaps prophetic in others..."
She trailed off, mid-sentence, and watched him carefully. Her tongue worried a loose molar. For all intents and purposes, she was motionless. |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Amaranth
Posted: 19 Jul 2006 06:11 AM |
"Likely the names are merely symbolic," he murmured, turning his back towards her and searching the spines of aged books. One of those names was familiar; the fact that she had not been enlightened as to its significance was a message and a warning in of itself.
"Midor has ever been hostile towards mythology and fables that glorify powers other than that of Midoran. Even the most harmless nursery rhyme may be ruthlessly suppressed if it is not to the Church's liking. Therefore, we have only glorious tales of history, and even those are suppressed and not encouraged to be re-told."
There was a lengthy pause as he traced the faded threads of memory back nearly two decades, to the first and last time he'd heard this tale.
"Midor, more than any other place in Vives, has had its share of wars and death. It was not even a century ago that we had our last war—the War of the Witches Three.
"For all its fortifications, before the New Order came to the White City, Midor has always been vulnerable. The past four years are proof of this; whatever else you might say about the Righteous Swords, they have brought order and stability—albeit, at a cost—to a city that had been growing increasingly dangerous to live in. The White Bishop did not rise to power by exaggerating the escalating violence within Midor; he rose to power by doing nothing more than tell the truth. Murder, theft, vandalism and demon-worship were literally an everyday occurrence until the Righteous Swords arrived on the scene.
"Nor did he lie about the Paladin Order. For whatever reason, when Midor needed them the most, the Order did literally nothing to defend Midor during its darkest hour—they were not there for the Undead invasion, they were not there for the numerous temple murders nor the burning of Midor, they did nothing when farmers began to be mysteriously and brutally crucified and did nothing when Elves began to wantonly and openly slaughter citizens of Midor unprovoked. Ask any witness; not during any of those, nor any of the disasters that have plagued Midor, was even a single Paladin present. Not on the scene, not afterwards as damage control, nor to investigate. Not even for one disaster. Not even one Paladin."
His fingers came to rest upon a tall, thin book bound in dark red leather. Darius tugged it out from its place on the shelf.
"But the point of this is to establish that Midor has always been vulnerable, not to dwell on mistakes of the past," he continued calmly. "It was during the War of the Witches Three that magic became so unpopular that eventually there was only one magical centre left in the entire city, where once there had been a dozen: The Midor Mage Tower."
There were three raised stars protruding from the front cover of the book, arranged in a vertical line. A pentagram, a familiar hexagram and a heptagram.
"Five, six, seven are the numbers three
Of black arts and philosophy.
One is the witch of poison claw,
Five-fingered stars and summoning.
One is the witch of evil eye,
Of dire sight and fell scrying.
One thousand faces has the third,
And knows every forbidden word.
Five, six, seven are the numbers three
Of damned numerology."
He did not open the book. A chill seemed to have settled into the room.
"An old nursery rhyme, that; often told preceding a cautionary tale to frighten children into behaving. The warning still stands: beware any philosophy attached to those numbers. I am told you have been warned not to trust the witch. Beware any philosophy originating from her; know the difference between what has officially been told to you, and what has been told to you from outside sources. She will confuse and mislead and deceive; it has always been her way."
Slowly, he opened the book, turning each page with care until he came to a double page bordered with vines. Red, tassel-shape flowers drooped from them.
"The war ended when one of the witches was assassinated by an agent of the Midoran Church whose identity has never been discovered. In some versions of the story, a footnote is added that it was an act of such great personal sacrifice that it caused an immortal flower to bloom in the perfect afterlife, the only one of its kind. A flower so pure that it could not live in this imperfect world, and so could only exist in a perfect one. In Common, it is called the love-lies-bleeding.
In Ancient Midoran, it is named amaranth." |
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Riddles
Posted: 21 Jul 2006 10:49 PM |
< Letters to Aderyn
~*~
"The sphinxes screened him, so I'm not too concerned. He's also on Father Duvados' shortlist. What I am concerned about is that the elementals couldn't get a lock on him."
"A reading," Illumini corrected.
"Right. A reading. There's still so much about them we don't know." Lillian stopped pacing and cast a look around the pitch-black deeper cellars of the villa. No one else had access to this part of the building, and with good reason. The Caligine Tunnels weren't the only things hidden behind the heavy metal doors here.
"Is it wise to permit him to remain?"
"Quite. No one here knows anything dangerous, and I'll be leaving soon."
"They do know something dangerous. You told them about Midor."
She hissed through her teeth. "Yes, well... we'll see what happens with that. Whether or not it proves to be a mistake—whether or not that trust is betrayed—we're prepared for the consequences at our end. It will be an inconvenience, but it can be overcome. At the end of the day, all it means is that we'll be forced deeper into hiding."
"Even if they don't say anything, he might figure it out on his own," the older man pointed out.
"Good. This place could use someone sharp to keep them on their toes. Lives depend on it, and it doesn't hurt to learn a painful lesson or two about being careful. Better a simulation with someone we can trust than a real situation with the enemy." She paused. "He raised some good points on issues with the procedures for getting here—"
"Villanova, we don't even bring anyone here unless we already absolutely trust them. The blindfold was unnecessary. You just wanted to test his observation skills and his level of trust."
"Passed with flying colours." She waved a hand dismissively. "And raised some good points doing it. Take notes, see what suggestions he has, implement them if reasonable. This might not be Hammerhead, but I still expect to see a certain degree of caution and professionalism. Sloppiness and indiscretion gets people killed."
"Perhaps it's time for another congregation to deliver a reminder?"
She shook her head. "No, our true strength and true numbers cannot be known. There will be no more congregations. This is the way it has to be. So long as they cannot be trusted with secrets, so long as they continue to have delusions of grandeur and misinterpret what this movement is, they must remain in quarantine. We can't afford to have elephants stamping and trumpeting about and drawing attention."
"The chances of them coming around and adapting to the new way, though—"
"Are slim to none," she finished grimly. "Still, I suppose we'll see. They are still only in the twilight of understanding. Let us pray that their beliefs mature and that they see the new dawn." |
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A New Ally?
Posted: 23 Jul 2006 07:12 PM |
((Probably obvious, but very OOC...and a big shout to Ficcy for some wonderful history and background)))
Cedrych von Maistlin sat staring into the fire at the Villa Candella, trying to figure out if he was going to be able to survive another conversation between himself, Ulaluame A’Midori and the mad wizard Xaranthir.
He had known Lady Rosen had spoken with the mage about entering the Villa, and there if was anyone’s judgment he trusted, it was hers. But he had not honestly expected that Lillian or whomever made those decisions would really allow him in.
Yet there he had been, walking into the main room from the downstairs as if he had been living here for centuries. And he had the audacity to ask essentially what they were doing here!
Cedrych knew Lady Ulalume well enough to know that that wasn’t going to go over well. And most of the conversation had gone downhill from there, with Ulalume apparently trying to poke holes in Xaranthir’s vision and Xaranthir doing his best to question….well, pretty much anything they told him. That he was a guest at the villa and they were doing him a service by talking to him was lost on the wizard. He also seemed unaware of the level of sarcasm and condescension his words contained, though he was quick to point to their own.
Cedrych shrugged absently. Difficult personalities didn’t typically bother him much, as he handled enough of those at the Academy and throughout his time as a knight-errant. Show me a mage who wasn’t difficult, he thought, and well, you probably don’t have a mage. The image of Yggsdrazil popped into his mind. Okay, the elf might be an exception.
Cedrych sure enough respected Xaranthir’s intelligence and quickness. Quick indeed, the wizard had a clever answer for everything. But he wondered if quick and clever would be enough. If the mystery of Midor and the Ssissilayath and very well the future of the world was a simple puzzle – Find A, connect to B and solve for C – then he was quite sure the wizard would figure it out. Perhaps the leaders of the Corucanti had felt a different perspective was needed.
But Cedrych was fairly certain that the final answers needed more than just cleverness. Faith, he felt sure, was going to play a part in the puzzle, and he wondered if Xaranthir possessed that. Faith in anything other than himself…
They would find out, apparently. The vision Xaranthir had been given seemed real enough. Truthfully, there was little in it that Cedrych hadn’t either read, been told or dreamed about himself, but it was a confirmation of his thinking, as well as a confirmation that Xaranthir wasn’t making it all up.
Xaranthir’s chessboard vision was instructive, for it pointed to the Patrician Civil War, which itself had many parallels to the current situation in Midor. Reviewing what he had learned and discovered, Cedrych recalled that the game of chess originated from the period during the war, featuring red (the Sanctuarre family) versus white (the Augulde family).
The underlying premise behind the civil war was that some of the patrician families had become enamored of the rich and decadent style of the Aristi. Led by the Augulde, Silvriade and Dia Monte, these families forsook the original vision of Midoran and encouraged the movement of Midor to a rich and luxurious city. No coincidence that the origin of the words “gold,” “silver,” and “diamond” came from the names of these families.
During the Patrician Civil War, the positions of Primor Palatinus and Primor Pontifex were abolished and replaced by a single “Auguld,” something like a dictator. The need for an Auguld was apparently justified by the state of Midor at the time. The city had degenerated into crime and chaos and a strong leader with authority to crack down on criminals was seen as necessary. Cedrych had always found it interesting that the Silvriade, Augulde and Dia Monte families all had strong ties to the underworld. Once the supposed state of emergency was over, the Auguld had stepped down and the Church was once again in power. But to this day, those three families continue to be very rich and very influential.
The Sanctuarre had led those who remained true to the city’s original vision, and were ultimately banished from the city, along with many of their allies. Which ultimately led to the construction of the villa that Cedrych was currently sitting in.
27 patrician families. So much history, and that history, Cedrych was sure, was a key to the future. He thought absently of his own vision. The Aphrodel family seemed be to be one of the least regarded and accomplished patrician families, perhaps only significant for the flower named after them. Yet that had been his vision. The aphrodel, that grew in Buckshire Swamp.
He suddenly stood up, nodding firmly to himself. There was much to do, but if everything was related (Midor, the Ssissilayath), then the aphrodel was at least as important as any other challenge and mystery that stood before him. He would swallow hard and deal with Xaranthir as best he could; undoubtedly the wizard would provide some sort of insight. He would speak with the wizard shortly, provide him with whatever he could and then he was off to Buckshire, with one important stop along the way. |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Hope
Posted: 18 Aug 2006 09:06 PM |
The meeting with Trent had been surprisingly painless. The young man had changed since last Lillian had seen him, on that day when Markus had brought him into Haven unauthorised. The fact that he'd been with the Loyalist Army was a plus; that he had already understood everything they were trying to achieve here and why they had to take the approach they did was nothing short of a miracle.
Of course, he would still have to prove himself, but his background was no less checquered than any of the other exiles. It had been an extremely fortuitous day when Whitehall had discovered him and offered to teach him about this new faith. For two weeks now they had quietly scrutinised him, probed and evaluated him.
Whatever he might have been, it seemed he no longer was. The situation bore careful watching to ensure there were no demons lurking beneath that aura of quiet maturity, but if he was what he appeared to be... then he was a godsend. He was exactly who they needed to make this to work, the middle ground and missing link who could lead and set an example to the other paladins and ensure that the grand tradition of the Paladin Order of Midor did not die or become something wholly unlike what it had been before.
And so it was that he was shown what few resources they had scattered around Vives and offered a key to the Villa, his name added to the exceedingly short nominal roll at the foot of the stairs. There were days when it seemed the entire situation was futile, but then there were days like today when hope quietly made itself known. |
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Re: Hope
Posted: 23 Aug 2006 08:13 AM |
Ulalume sat in her cell at the Villa, staring into the single lit candle on the desk. She could hear Rosen breathing in the hall outside, but did her best to block the sound out. Her only thought was on this one point of light before her, and what she must do.
The day had started well enough - she had gone to Haven to meet with Byron and had found everyone there - Sir Allan, Rosen, Cedrych, Byron, even Karlina showed up - it was like a smorgasboard of everyone she had been trying to speak with in the past few weeks. She found Byron speaking with Allan in the Hush Tunnels, and proceeded farther in and found Cedrych and Rosen huddled conspiratorily in the workshop. They started when she entered, obviously speaking in hushed tones about something very private.
They seemed relieved to see her, and asked her what she knew about the Dana/Ferein situation. She explained the details of her letter to Lucius, and the one she had received from him. They began to explain something to her, but Byron came clanking down the tunnel and the two clammed up. They settled a few things with Byron, but always with a twinkle of urgency behind their eyes, as if they were trying to send her thoughts not to leave without speaking with them. Then people kept showing up - Claudia, Karlina - and Ulalume wondered to herself, isn't this supposed to be a -secret- base?
Finally they extricated themselves and left for the Villa. Upon entering the walls she had barely put her packs down in the corner of the main hall when Rosen started explaining their plan. As she heard it, her heart sank.
They wanted to lure Lucius to Ferein under false pretenses, where they would ambush him with the help of the elves and capture him. They would then extend the offer to Dana - if she turned herself in, Lucius would be spared. Tit for tat. The whole business made Ulalume nauseous. She did her best to explain the flaws of the plan to them - they had no idea that Dana would actually sacrifice herself in that way, Lucius would probably not go to Ferein under any circumstances, Lucius would not be subdued so easily and would doubtlessly endanger scores of lives in doing so (including his own), and, first and foremost in Ulalume's mind, such bald-faced deception was beneath them. She did her mightiest to convince her fellows, but all the conversation seemed to do was to entrench them deeper in their convictions. Then, it happened.
Rosen and Cedrych broke her heart.
They both expressed that they didn't think she was acting properly because of her feelings for Lucius - how had Rosen put it? "I can't trust you to act logically..." The words burned into Ulalume like a brand. After everything she had been through with these two, all the sacrifices they had made together, all of the battles they had stood at each other's side and stared into the face of hell only to emerge triumphant in the end... she felt as if they had just stuck a dagger in her heart. She listened to them a little while longer, slowly realizing the conundrum they were placing her in.
She couldn't go along with their plan, as she honestly felt in her heart that lying to a man and leading him into danger was beneath them as paladins, despite the fact that Lucius had proven himself to be a criminal by giving Jessup money to make the situation go away, as Rosen had testified she had seen. Would I have done any differently for one I loved? she asked herself. She knew in her heart this new faith, this new light was about mercy and love and compassion just as much as it was about vengeance and justice, but she couldn't make them understand. Yes, Dana should be captured and punished, but the manner in which that was accomplished... that said more about them than accomplishing the deed in the first place, and she simply could not make them understand. They were so driven by their desire to "do something" that they allowed their judgement to become clouded. They were allowing themselves to be blinded by the glory of the deed they hoped to perform.
She couldn't allow such a plan to be carried out against one she considered a friend. Lucius must be warned of such treachery and the threat to his life averted. However, doing so would betray her bretheren, something she would rather die than do. So, she found herself in the most difficult moral situation she had ever faced: whom would she betray? The room swam before her as their voices droned on and on and on... Cedrych said he would never allow his feelings for Rosen to make him do the wrong thing, and that he hoped Ulalume would tell him if he was straying from the path - that he was telling her now. Oh, Cedrych, she thought. Have you really lost that much of your soul to that demon of justice? Are you really that much less of a human being that you would turn your back on a friend in need, a friend who was in mortal danger? Would you allow the most important person in your life to fall into the hands of her mortal enemies? She realized that these two were beyond reason. There was one course of action they were pushing her to, as much as she hated to consider it.
She would have to apprehend Dana herself.
And so she had quickly excused herself from their company and headed upstairs. She must not allow them to see her weep. She entered her cell and closed the door quickly behind her, closing off the trailing Rosen before she could voice the sentence rising in her throat. She would hear no more.
Later that night, she drank the invisibility potion that Lucius had given her long ago. She opened her door and slipped soundlessly down the stairs, past the open doors of their cells. She left a letter on the table, and watched it materialize as it left her possession. As she turned, she caught the eye of one of the guardian sphynxes, its true-seeing aura making it twinkle in the soft candlelight. She wondered what they thought of this whole crazy situation.
She rounded the corner, into the arcane workshop where Darius Illumini worked. He was still up, as usual, and turned to greet her as she approached.
"Darius, I need to know how I might protect myself from the mightiest magics in the world..." |
"You know, a gong. Large, flat object that you hit when you want things. Sort of like a waiter, but less portable."
-Radra |
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Re: Hope
Posted: 23 Aug 2006 11:59 AM |
If there is a lesson to this, it is that I simply cannot trust anyone. I cannot bring one soul into my confidence, save perhaps Cedrych to a limited extent, if I wish to put any ideas into action. I live in a world of secret agendas, conflicting loyalties, and lingering principles. They harp upon any honest traveler until she loses her footing. I must ply with honeyed words and promises when possible, threats and intimidation when not, the way a farmer drives a mule.
Rosen stared at Ulalume's window, red eyed and ultra aware. A mostly cup of Port's dark roast, ground coarsely and quickly brewed, rippled from the tiny tremors in her hand. Aside from the nervousness which came by introducing discord into the Villa, there was the simple fact that it was her third cup. She took a sip.
The weight of Ulalume's statement, "I must prepare," and her subsequent flight upstairs, sank in almost immediately, but not soon enough. To assault Dana directly would be fruitless at best, suicidal at worst. This much was child's play to understand. It spoke volumes of Ulalume's stalwart faith and self-respect, volumes of her pride, that she would attempt such a thing. Rosen's search for their would-be crusader proved fruitless, and now she sat in twilight, watching the stars wink out as the sun's promised light began to burn up from choppy, distant shores.
You fool. Honor is one thing, and a basic sense of decency and altruism, certainly, and by the light, obeying tenets in dead languages when possible, but though I care not whether I am remembered, I would rather die in ignominy than be remembered for my adherence to the rules in times that desperately called for their bending. If upholding our ideals drives us to inaction, or worse: foolish action, then we need to reexamine our ideals.
But that’s not going to work, because you are as thickheaded as you are true. If the ideals do not fit the times, then fault the times and sit on a high horse. This instance of honesty to you, the outlining of a plan in full, when you were resolved to oppose it, has been a learning experience. If I am to get anything done, I cannot trust anyone – anything, save my internal compass.
And if I fall, then I’ll simply be a smith, and likely happier for it.
The grounds were tossed to the side with a bitter resolve that far exceeded coffee’s chemically alert acridity. Rosen could not remember a time when she’d been angrier. The Villa, over the course of an evening’s disagreement, had gone from beacon of possibility to proof of that old adage: too many cooks spoil the broth. She would appear to acquiesce; she would acquiesce, to any course or complete lack thereof as determined by the prettier-minded of the household, from this day forward. All that could be salvaged of this disagreement was fortunately, to her mind, the Villa’s most important aspect.
The appearance of sanctity, untouched by the very hands and minds that made the world turn, a prelude to some patrician scheme. For if Cedrych, she, and Ulalume were to live their lives as statuesque examples, accomplishing nothing for fear of the mud below, it truly would be inexcusable to screw that much up. She would find Ulalume and defer to the woman’s idealism. She would continue as before, complete with profuse apology and newfound understanding of the Eighty-Seven Attractive Sounding Virtues of the Coruscanti, and never again embarrass anyone by introducing harsh truths into the soft light of the Villa.
Those she would keep to herself, in the dark. |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Re: Hope
Posted: 23 Aug 2006 07:00 PM |
Letter left an the bulletin board of Villa Candela:
My Dear Bretheren,
Your plan is flawed. As much as you think my opposition is due to my feelings for Lucius, I do not think you shall meet with success, and in the process you shall cause the deaths of others and sully yourself with tactics unbecoming this order. We are not mercenaries or raiders who accomplish goals no matter the method or the cost, we are judged by a much higher standard. We are paladins.
However, it is clear to me that, for whatever reason, your faith in my judgement is non-existant. As we are a collection of equals, I shall not stand in the way of your plan. However, as I perceive that your plan shall place many people at unnecessary risk, I cannot simply stand by and allow you to deceive a man and lead him into potentially lethal danger. When we pursue our perception of justice blindly, with no regard for the lives and safety of others imply because they are "criminals" in our eyes, we are no different from Righteous Swords.
I have thus resolved to detain Dana myself. While your assistance in this endeavor would have been welcome, after last night I ask that you not seek to find me or stop me from my goal. I shall pursue my plan, you pursue yours, and may the Unknowable Light provide success and safety to us all.
I did not wish to have to attempt this task alone, but I have been forced into a moral dilemma that I cannot penetrate. I hope that someday you shall understand my actions and that I may once again enjoy your trust.
Your Humble Servant,
Ulalume A'Midori |
"You know, a gong. Large, flat object that you hit when you want things. Sort of like a waiter, but less portable."
-Radra |
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Madness
Posted: 24 Aug 2006 02:46 AM |
Madness, he thought. Absolute madness…
He re-read the letter again, although by now he knew the contents word for word. And yet, it still made no sense to him. Nothing about the letter or the night before made any sense.
Days earlier, they had all been speaking of plans, big plans. Of projects to begin the slow transformation into a group that could make some difference, that might, if not able to see the downfall of Vidus Khain and the reclamation of Midor, at least set the stage for it. For his part anyway, the talk with Lillian had revived him, re-inspired him, and made their path a little clearer, at least in the short term. Evidently, it hadn’t had quite the same effect on the others, but it was, he thought, a start at least.
And now, it was all gone. Everything they had built. Everything they had been planning. Gone. And he wasn’t entirely sure they were going to be able to rebuild it.
Because the truth was, he wasn’t sure he could trust Ulalume anymore. Certainly not with regards to the current situation. She wasn’t thinking straight, and she had said nearly as much herself. Argue with the idea all you want, he thought. Call it wrong, call it small-minded, call it unprincipled. But to consider your only alternative a direct solo assault on the most powerful sorcerer in the world? Madness...
(((Just a quick shoutout to VK and Rosen for some bling-bling, fa-shizzle RP last night. Love the different perspectives on the posts. Bummed I have to be gone for a few days. Go get her, VK!)))
They had never said that their plan was the only way, although he thought with much remorse, perhaps they had presented it as such. And much of it would based on what the elves would have told them. What evidence did they have of Dana’s guilt? And what they agree to such a plan, or did they have a better one?
Nevertheless, he suspected that Ulalume had only been half-listening to them most of the time. She still had feelings for Lucius, not matter what she might say, and obviously they had preoccupied her.
The discussion had prompted him to review this own relationship with the wizard, and it was lacking. He and Lucius had known each for some time and still talked occasionally. But they were clearly not friends anymore.
He still liked Lucius, in many ways. They had been through too much, especially at the beginning, to simply dislike him, despite the wizard’s growing antipathy for what Cedrych stood for. He admired Lucius, despite himself, for his skills and the things he had done in the past. But he didn’t – and couldn’t – trust him, and thus friendship, true friendship, was impossible.
The wizard had made a number of decisions that had created a wall between them, and the latest one seemed to complete the barrier. Cedrych could forgive friends for many things. After all, he thought, God has made us imperfect. Of course we must show forgiveness when possible. But there was a difference between words spoken in anger, a misunderstanding or a mistake – and the deliberate cover-up of the murder of six people. If Rosen had indeed seen what she said she had seen, and he trusted her more than anyone, Lucius had crossed the line between simply defending his lover and becoming her accomplice. And that made him a criminal too.
Lucius was, he thought, the old friend that you haven’t seen in ten years and with whom you now have nothing in common. And in this case, nothing in common was an understatement. He would take no pleasure in doing what had to be done, for he knew how close they had once been and how far they had fallen apart. He sighed absently. Pure madness…
But what truly troubled him was the letter. That she thinks so little of us, he thought. Or even worse, that she thinks we think so little of her.
Rosen had been harsh in some of her language (although he had to admit to himself, fairly accurate), and he had tried to play the mediator, looking for some middle ground. But Ulalume was having none of it. He absently pressed down the ends of his moustache, a scour looming large across his face? Did she not understand the whole plan was predicated on talking with the elves in the first place and their subsequent cooperation? Could she not see that Lucius was involved with this, that he was not some innocent but someone who simply was turning a blind eye to what was happening?
Blind justice? Sullying ourselves? Had he not known Ulalume and understood the depth of her faith and her feelings, these would be laughable. As it was, the accusations made him angry, especially the latter. Guile and deception were hardly the meat and drink of paladins, yet they had been used on occasion (as to how much success they had had with them, well that was another story entirely). How many times had he been forced to deflect or deliver half-truths when asked about Midor, the Novus Midorum or the Villa? He was not pleased with the prospect of such deception, and he had been hoping that in speaking with the elves of Ferein (if such a meeting had been possible), another avenue might open it. And if such deception was still necessary, he would wrestle with that when the time came. There indeed may have been other ways.
But such a meeting seemed pointless now, and that’s what made him most angry. Ulalume had, in his estimation, given up and taken a course that would most likely lead to her death. She, the best of them, really. The one he had looked up to. An in instant, she would throw it all away and would most likely be gone, a pointless death.
He went to go find Rosen. They would have to find Ulalume, and do it quickly, although he wondered if the schism, as Rosen had put it, could ever be mended.
Madness, he thought. Absolute madness… |
The world is a fine place, and worth fighting for...
-- Ernest Hemingway |
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Re: A Time for Tea
Posted: 31 Aug 2006 08:22 PM |
Rosen's apology and promise had been rehearsed, but they had been rehearsed well. If she was deceitful in her words, she was grateful for their result. The Villa's occupants could continue their lives. More importantly, they could maintain the appearance of seamlessness, that picturesque unity which can alternately intimidate or inspire. The heart beneath the armor was impure, but the armor was all that would be seen. No more needed to be contemplated, there. A door swung shut.
Rosen rose from her cushions, jarring from that half-dreaming state of intense thought into the present. Heavy footsteps, carefully placed would mean Cedrych. Lighter ones, faster and surefooted would mean Ulalume. But instead of a single set, she heard a clattering, which either meant interlopers or that she'd have to pitch the plan to a pair. Laughter. Pitching to a pair it would be, then.
In the way of a moth to a flame, her lips had tugged upwards at the sound of their joy, but she forced them thinly prim. Images were important. The book, written in a language she could not yet comfortably translate, was opened to a particularly arcane page. When they rounded the corner, her expression was one of utter concentration, her pacing a rumor of coming action. Their laughter abated, she assumed, at the sight of her. Rosen snapped the book shut and turned to them, primly sliding her spectacles to the top of her nose.
For a moment, Rosen's breath caught in her throat. Ulalume, as always, looked the picture of a knight, and though she was dwarfed by Cedrych physically, her sheer presence filled up the space between them. Her eyes lanced Rosen's as surely as any blade, in the way that only an honest soul's could. Rosen took a breath, flaring her cherub cheeks, and tore her eyes to Cedrych, whose own reflected nothing but an affection wavering between fraternal and adolescent and eternal. You can do this. You are their peer.
The moment passed and she spoke.
"Cedrych; sister," she said, gesturing to the cushions, "I have a plan which, I pray, will be more palatable - that is - more pious. Would you have a seat? I will join you as soon as I am finished making tea."
(The kettle, of course, was in place, freshly harvested peppermint herbs filling the room with an aroma of studious expectation. It would hardly do to lack an excuse to remain standing while you asked others to sit.)
She continued: "What I suggest is that we, that is, the residents of the Villa, create and become the hub of an informal information network. We have dozens, perhaps hundreds of exiled Midorans, some in plain view, others not, scattered around Vives. Though I know of only two locations which are haven to our ranks, these being the Buckshire Trail cavern and the forested manor you showed me, Cedrych, I do not believe I am hasty in assuming there are others. Moreover, for every Midoran exile who gathers in secret to worship our fledgling faith, there must be a dozen who do not, who eke out a life where they can.
"These people are eyes and ears waiting to serve. These are women and men who have already demonstrated courage in leaving what they know to be unjust for an uncertain future, much as we did. They have not been chosen, and yet they still worship!
"I can remember the despair and daily battle of faith I underwent when I was alone, and I know that the memory of sorrow and uncertainty is not far from either of your hearts. It would be nothing less than dereliction on our part if we left them to their own devices. If we are to serve as an example, I would argue that we must do so primarily for our people, by allowing them to serve.
"Practicality and piety must not always be mutually exclusive... what do you say?"
(( Any others [Trent? Sanner? Anyone I'm missing?] who want to have been here for this, so be it. The more the merrier. Ced, Ula, sorry for my small liberties with ya. )) |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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Re: A Time for Tea
Posted: 05 Sep 2006 08:38 AM |
Ulalume cocked her head and listened to Rosen as she spoke, trying to gain insight on the contents of her heart. She and Rosen were definitely spun from different cloth, but she had meant it when she told her that she loved her. This was her family, Rosen was her sister, and it hurt to feel her naked anger, especially when she felt that anger was misdirected. Although she was a terrible liar herself, Ulalume had a keen sense for untruth in others, and she had definitely caught the barest hint of something not quite right when Rosen had addressed them. She wrinkled her brow. Maybe she had been right. Maybe good things could only be done by getting your hands a little dirty... Ulalume trusted Rosen's intentions, but feared that those intentions might one day force her over the moral line she so willingly toed. Until then, Ulalume would open her heart to her and continue to believe in her.
When Rosen finished, Ulalume glanced over to Cedrych with a quizzical look. "I see no inherent problem with it - if folks are willing to help, then by all means, we should use them... I had just assumed that our more clandestine friends were already taking care of that aspect of the project. Cedrych?" |
"You know, a gong. Large, flat object that you hit when you want things. Sort of like a waiter, but less portable."
-Radra |
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Meetings
Posted: 19 Sep 2006 10:38 AM |
*A note left at the Villa Candela notice board*
To the following paladins: lady Rosen Vimes, sir Cedrych Von Maistlin, and lady Ulalume A'Midori,
A meeting has been called by lady Sanner at the Villa as soon as possible. Due to the complexity of the location and the numbers which are required to attend, that is all of us unexceptionally, a time has to be called in which we would temporarily forsake our duties and attend. Inform me in note here of your possibilities of arrival.
Note that you are more than advised to make no mention of this meeting, unless in complete and certain confinement, outside the walls of the Villa, for any reason whatsoever.
May you walk in Light,
Sir Trent Kelten,
((A time for the meeting is still not set. Please inform me of whatever day and hours you could be available, and I'll compare for a suitable date and hour for a meeting.
Note that due to my military duties, I'm only at home at fridays and saturdays.If a time couldn't possibly be set in two of those days, the closest holiday I'll be spending home would be from the 29th of Sept. to the 2nd of Oct.
If any of these options are not possible for one of you, I'm afraid the meeting might have to take place without Trent.)) |
WickedArtist: I think he needs a proper elf.
WickedArtist: A christmas elf!
Tasra: Any sort of elf that actually smiles ;o
Gasp! Scandalous!!! |
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Re: Meetings
Posted: 19 Sep 2006 05:38 PM |
| ((I am just about moved into my new place [just watching the techs install the TiVo now - huzzah!] and should be on more regularly. Unfortunately I am also stage managing a play and working saturdays, so I wouldn't be available Fridays at all and Saturdays not until after 11:30 PST.)) |
"You know, a gong. Large, flat object that you hit when you want things. Sort of like a waiter, but less portable."
-Radra |
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Re: Meetings
Posted: 20 Sep 2006 09:04 PM |
(( PM sent ))
A methodical mind often missed the subtleties of life, but unfamiliar penmanship was starkly obvious. The doorknob was held in a firm grip, a slice of apple halfway vivisected between her teeth. Rosen slowly craned her neck back to where the note was pinned. She squinted.
A fumble for her spectacles and several tense steps later, the bulletin board faced the full brunt of her scrutiny. Her eyes scanned the words with terse celerity.
been called by lady Sanner
required to attend
Note that you are more than advised
Sir Trent Kelten
A sharp intake of breath hissed past her teeth as she bolted upright, a dim recollection of the face mucking about in the forefront of her mind. Memory's haze panned down to his breastplate. Faded Midoran emblems. Courtesy and public reserve. A certain dignity. Yes, it fit. But when exactly in the hells did he become a part of things? Certainly it was Lillian's doing, again, but to what purpose? Did Cedrych and Ulalume know? Rosen felt her cheeks blooming into shamed heat. Had she remained uninformed simply out of collective apathy, or had this been a deliberate silence?
Sanner had not shown her face to Rosen's since their initial meeting, despite several attempts. Rosen found herself to be mildly surprised to know that the woman still existed. Now Sanner had emerged from the beyond with Kelten at her behest, promptly issuing instructions. Perhaps the woman was laboring under the assumption that the Villa was a functioning but headless beast, awaiting the next idle schemer's orders. Rosen's mouth closed with the slick sound of wet, sweet, severed pulp, then a click of angry teeth.
It was also possible that Rosen might be entirely mistaken, she knew; that their motives might be entirely innocuous, or even better: actually intelligent. In the hearth across the room, an oaken log gave way to heat and crashed into a cloud of sparks.
More than anything, the meeting was likely to be another showing of secrecy and misdirection under a flag of duty, resulting in a season of mostly fruitless effort from Rosen, Cedrych, and Ulalume, and ending when they who fancied themselves the world-changers found more interesting intrigue in which to meddle.
A quill was borrowed from Darius in the adjoining room. The note, tacked neatly below Trent's, bore small canyons of ink where the lettering stood out. It was all she could do to avoid stabbing holes in the parchment.
I will be in attendance if at all possible. Make the date and time known.
-RV |
True solace is finding none, which is to say, it is everywhere.
-Gretel Ehrlich |
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