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The Novus Aristi
Posted: 21 Dec 2005 05:23 AM |
Dramatis Personae
Leaders of Novus Aristi
Blanche La Belle (High Priestess, Hands of Mercy): Leader of the rebellion against the Midoran Church. The Church sees her as a dangerous rebel and heretic. The rest of the world sees her as a visionary: a symbol of justice, mercy, temperance, hope and peace. She is also known as The Priestess or The White Maiden. It’s rumoured that she holds the Staff of Aristi: an artefact that apparently controls the fate of Midor.
Sir Byron Lorian (High Paladin, Paladin Order of Novus Aristi): The Last Son of Aristi. He has an ambitious and daring plan to reinstate the Aristi Code and revive the Heralds of Aristi.
Prominent Members of Novus Aristi
Kruvious Seyon: A popular and charismatic orator, Kruvious is a former Midoran Lord-Bishop who managed to escape Midor. He used to answer directly to Vidus, and has many decades of experience as both priest and politician. Many of the Aristi's leaders, including Blanche, are old friends of his.
Perriand Goodman: Formerly charged with the responsibility of instructing Paladins at the Midoran Academy, Goodman was rescued during its destruction. He is now the second-in-command of the Aristi, and de facto leader whenever its real leaders are busy.
Rayinor Liam: Former High Captain of the Chapter of the Lion of the Paladin Order of Midor. Vanished from public view following the Battle of the Plains. Some say he is dead; others say he is missing; still others believe he is merely in hiding, waiting for a chance to reform the rebellion.
Sir Tonan (Staff Officer - Training, Paladin Order of Novus Aristi): One of two remaining Heralds of Aristi, Sir Tonan used to guard the Hall of Champions in Nethar’u. He is said to be a genuine Herald from the days of Aristi—although if this is to be believed, then he must be over a thousand years old. When the rebellion gathered in Haven to strike against Midor, he left his post in Nethar’u to join them in the Battle of the Plains. There are reports that he is still with the rebels, now calling themselves the Novus Aristi, and has been staying at Ladriel ever since the Battle of the Plains.
Heralds and Would-Be Heralds of Novus Aristi
Lady Grace: An enigma and an anachronism, she is stranded in a world that's a thousand years removed from the one she knew.
Sir Markus Mortriety (Communications Officer, Paladin Order of Novus Aristi): Formerly a loyal Paladin of Midoran, Markus began to doubt the integrity of the Church and the truth of the Midoran Order when he encountered Chia. He is in training to be a Herald of Aristi and works in Logistics.
Sir Tomas de Torquemada: Formerly a loyal Paladin of Midoran, Tomas turned to the Aristi way after hearing Byron’s speech at Ladriel, promising the birth of a new era of light. He is in training to be a Herald of Aristi and works in Logistics.
Lady Chia Steele: Formerly a loyal Paladin of Midoran, Chia witnessed the decline of Midor and her heart bled for her home city. Lost and confused, she at last encountered none other than Blanche La Belle, who taught her a new truth and a new faith, and welcomed her into the rebellion. She is one of the first of the newly inducted Heralds of Aristi.
Sir Richard Clark: A former Paladin of Midoran, he's been assigned to aid the Order of the Seven Sisters.
Sir Erick Aidanson: A former Paladin of Midoran, he has turned to the Novus Aristi after his father was unjustly executed by the Midorans, renouncing the Midoran way.
Sir Militiades Petrios: Those in the Paladin Order of Midoran may recognise the name and remember him to be a Paladin. He was sent off to Port Royale to track down a runaway criminal and return him to Midor to stand Justification. He hasn't reported back to Midor for a while, and it is rumored that he was seen at Ladriel with the rebels, who now call themselves the Novus Aristi.
Allies of Novus Aristi
Philippe Jongras (Recruiting Officer, Hands of Mercy): Former High Captain of the Chapter of the Eagle of the Paladin Order of Midor. Beheaded for heresy by the Righteous Sword Knights, although there are faint whispers that he yet lives. It would be a great embarrassment to the Midoran Church if these rumours are true. He currently heads the Illumine Alliance.
Angelius: A celestial hound archon who serves Blanche.
Nessa Marillawen Sairina: Blanche’s handmaiden. In the initial period of the White Maiden’s exile from Midor, Nessa was responsible for carrying out tasks in Midor on Blanche’s behalf.
Lillian Carol Villanova: With a disposition more closely suited to the Righteous Sword Knights or a Priestess of Helkris, it’s a wonder that the former Paladin ever joined the rebellion at all, let alone remained with it through all its incarnations. Strict, uncompromising, and a stickler for the rules, she was released from the Aristi to assist Phillippe Jongras in setting up the Alliance and Jerec Duvados in establishing the "Novus Midorum". She has recently vanished for reasons known only to herself and a select few others.
Father Jerec Duvados: Anyone who's ever been rescued and brought to the Midor Infirmary may recognise him as a long-standing leader of one of the now-defunct Midoran Survey (ie. rescue) Teams. With the rise of the New Order, he attempted to lead a small band of exiled Midorans and forge a new religion; that attempt failed before it even got off the ground, and now he is dead.
Salt Sower: Seer, alchemist and practicing mage. He is passionate about finding out any lore on the ancient nation of Aristi, which he will assert “nobody really understands.”
Willom Wilde: A playwright who has been coerced into writing a play about the rebellion.
Iris Tammarack: Willom's business partner. Of the two, she is the more level-headed.
Kalannar Illistyn: A supporter of the Novus Aristi, the Half-Elven bard promotes them enthusiastically through tale and song.
Leaders of Midor
White Bishop Vidus Khain: Second only to Midoran himself in his reign of the holy city of Midor, Vidus is credited with bringing true holiness and justice back to Midor after a series of events threw the city into chaos and darkness. His most notable move has been to introduce the mysterious and deadly efficient Righteous Swords to bring order to the city.
High Paladin Johanas Uvanle: Head of the Righteous Swords as well as the Paladin Order.
High-Captain Sir Percival Sanner: One of a handful of Paladins to accept Vidus’ offer to leave the Paladin Order and join the ranks of the Righteous Sword Knights. Zealous, merciless and uncompromising, it’s hard to find a more fitting representative of the Righteous Swords.
[Last Updated 16 Jun 06, Fictrix]
((*****I know I’ve missed people; if you want me to add or update/correct a bio, PM it over to me.*****))
[Edit: thread renamed "The Novus Aristi", was formerly "Insurrection"] |
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Insurrection
Posted: 21 Dec 2005 05:25 AM |
Ladriel Tower,
Four Months After the Battle of the Plains
“To begin, Aristi was a city and an ideal.”
The speaker was a tall woman, easily towering over the other inhabitants of the room. She had a formal, professorial air about her and spoke with words that sounded like they’d been borrowed from someone else rather than coming from her own experience and beliefs. Her eyes were blue and icy, in contrast to the warm blonde hue of her hair. She had the sort of sharp and cold face that looked like it belonged on a marble statue rather than a living human being.
Her name was Lillian.
And for what seemed like the thousandth time in the past week, she was going over the story of the rebellion against Midor. Even though she knew very little about it. Even though she still didn’t know where she stood with the rebels.
Her audience was a small one, crowded around a table in the living area of Ladriel Tower. There were the two Songsingers, Bennigan and Melina; a rather shy woman named Cybeli, who preferred to go by the moniker of “Bell”; Rhaegar, an archer from Ferein; and a Gnome who had introduced himself as Bohnito Nerfagph Jhenakrh Treventy the Twenty-First.
“It was the name of Midor before it became Midor,” Lillian went on, as Bohnito began to swiftly stack books on the table with one hand and scribble in an open one with the other. “A plague visited the city; and the people of Aristi were saved when two followers of a relatively unknown god rode into the city.
“That god was Midoran.”
She paused, not so much for dramatic effect as to gather her thoughts together. Rebel or not, traitor or not, there was enough residual loyalty there to make her uneasy about telling this tale from the Aristi point of view. But if nothing else, they needed to present a united front in these early days of rebuilding the rebellion. If these people wanted the Midoran version, they would have to ask a Midoran.
“The people of Aristi were told that they had become corrupt and decadent. They were told to repent and convert to the True Faith, to worship Midoran.” This, at least, was familiar ground. Nothing here need be changed; she could have recited it in her sleep. “In doing this, they would be cured.”
“Brilliant!” Bohnito flipped his book upside-down, then flipped it around again after scrawling something in a shorthand only he could read.
“Did it work?” Bell prompted.
Lillian nodded. “Yes.”
“So Aristi became... Midor,” Bell said slowly.
Bohnito mumbled under his breath and held the book over his head, continuing to write even though the ink was dripping down his quill.
“Yes, they converted to the Midoran faith,” said Lillian.
Rhaegar stirred and spoke up for the first time since he’d been introduced. “Why did they convert so easily?”
“Sir, the entire city was in the throes of the plague,” Lillian explained.
“Because I wasn’t around then to give them ideas,” Bohnito interjected with a tragic sigh. “Obviously.”
“They prayed to any god who would listen,” she went on, trying to ignore the Gnome’s remark. “Only one did.”
“Had their own gods abandoned them?” Rhaegar shrugged and answered his own question. “I guess so.”
“A thousand years have passed since then, and Midor has changed,” Lillian continued. “In recent times, a small group of rebels have broken away from Midor, led by The White Maiden. The group grew until nearly the entire Paladin Order had left Midor.”
Bell’s eyes widened in surprise.
“The majority of those who left, in fact, did so around the time The Righteous Swords arrived on the scene. Thousands of dedicated men and women, sworn to protect Midor and sworn to Midoran... gone. Just like that.”
Bennigan’s face grew strained and distressed at the mention of the Righteous Swords.
“This was when Midoran fought alongside of Midor?” Bohnito asked, quill poised.
“It was before,” Lillian said slowly. Everything she knew at this point was based on rumour and hearsay; she’d still been in the regular army at the time, posted out on the Midoran frontier. It had been during her seven-year-long hiatus from the Academy. “The rebellion began about a year and a half before the Battle of the Plains.”
Bohnito scowled and scratched out several lines in his book.
“Some of the paladins left because they thought it was Midoran’s will: to restore Midor to a place of justice. Others left... because they were told a certain truth. These were exceedingly few in number.”
Too few, but it was too late to address that glaring discrepancy. Distantly, she wondered if it would have made a difference if the entire rebel army had known.
Probably not.
“The truth they were told was this: that the plague had been unleashed by Midoran.”
This, too, was not news to her. There were different versions of the Salvation from Darkness, and one version, originating from Paws, had stated exactly that.
“Always good to know everything,” Bohnito said with a cheerful wink to Melina.
“It’s starting to make sense now,” Rhaegar murmured, sighing.
Bell merely sighed, while Bennigan arched his eyebrows and looked even more disturbed.
“That their powers,” Lillian went on with an effort, “did not come from him at all: they came from within themselves, in a manner similar to the power of sorcerers.”
The words were like ashes in her mouth. With an effort, she fought to keep her expression neutral. It’s important to present a united front, she reminded herself.
Rhaegar asked the inevitable question: “Who told them this?”
“The White Maiden,” Lillian replied. “She is the reincarnation of The Priestess.”
The title obviously didn’t ring any bells to anyone present. No expressions of shock or recognition came to their faces.
“This... this is true?” Bell asked, shocked. “A god killed thousands to...”
“He would probably claim the greater good or some such nonsense,” Rhaegar growled darkly.
“The Priestess...” Bohnito tapped the side of his nose thoughtfully.
“The Priestess... was an important figure in Aristi lore. As was The Prince,” Lillian explained briefly. “But these are incidental details.”
There was a cough from behind the pile of books Bohnito was now hidden behind, and a mutter that sounded vaguely like “Midoran’s Will Be Done!”
Bennigan winced.
“Who is the reincarnation of The Prince?” Melina inquired, gently steering the conversation on topic.
“I don’t know if there is one,” Lillian admitted. “Little remains known about the Aristi.”
She hesitated, and then ploughed on, “We are told they are corrupt; yet The Priestess, Sir Byron and Sir Tonan tell us they were not.”
“So where are these errant paladins now? Here?” Rhaegar asked.
A quiet alarm bell went off in the back of Lillian’s mind; she forced it to be quiet. They needed the publicity more than they needed discretion; and on their heads be it if their blind trust got them all killed.
“No...” she answered slowly.
“Now who do you believe?” Bohnito piped up. “Sounds like quite the story still left to write!”
“The rebellion ended during a battle on The Great Plains, only a few months ago,” Lillian said, her attention staying focused on Rhaegar. “During that battle, the forces of Midor—the Righteous Swords and the remaining Paladins—warred with the rebel Paladins. We were evenly matched. However...” and here her gaze drifted to Bohnito, “...it was during that battle that Midoran appeared. For the first time in history he manifested himself.
“And he was on Midor’s side.”
Even Bohnito had fallen silent at this point.
“You must understand this: less than twenty paladins on the rebel side had been told the ‘truth’,” she explained earnestly. “The others still thought they were acting in accordance to Midoran’s will.”
Bohnito murmured to himself, “On one hand the story could be written from the perspective of a man from Midor... and on the other hand the story could be written from the perspective of someone like Byron...”
“Ah, so confusion and chaos followed on the battlefield,” Rhaegar spoke up again, clearly warming to the topic.
Lillian nodded.
“Midoran offered to take them back, to forgive them for their treachery.” It was amazing how calmly she said it; her insides felt like they were made of equal parts of ice and fire. “All but about sixty took him up on that offer. Out of the thousands that we had.”
“...Or alternating chapters...” Bohnito continued to mumble.
“And the others?” Bell whispered almost inaudibly. “Those who stayed?”
“...Brilliance!...”
“Dead,” Lillian stated flatly. “Dead or scattered.”
Bell dropped her gaze.
“Are you one of them Lillian?” Rhaegar asked.
“I am one of fewer than ten who survived and chose to remain instead of flee,” was Lillian’s matter-of-factly response.
“How alone you must have felt...” Melina murmured.
“Well it is an honor to be in the room with one so brave,” Rhaegar said with genuine pride.
Lillian shook her head dismissively. “Brave” wasn’t how she would have put it.
There’s a special place in Hell reserved for traitors, she wanted to tell them. They’ve reserved a place for me. I can see my name written on it every time I go to sleep.
“But on to Aristi,” she said instead, reverting back to her lecturing tone. “In the months following the battle, I’ve advised a different sort of war to be fought. And this is the one we are fighting now: a war of words and ideals.”
“A good war indeed,” Bell remarked with a smile.
“But will this not once again lead to war?” Rhaegar asked, troubled.
“Mister Ranger here was worried that it was going to cause a large scale war with Midor,” Bohnito agreed.
“Inevitably, yes,” Lillian told them frankly. “Midor will never allow us to spread our beliefs.”
“Ideas are sharper than blades,” Bell said softly.
“Another war of beliefs,” Bohnito sighed, scribbling without looking at the page.
“But even if they wipe us out, then where will their attention turn? They have never been tolerant of other beliefs,” Lillian pointed out.
Borrowed words, borrowed opinions. Someone else’s questions and concerns, but not hers.
“Well, they say that the quill is mighter than the blade!” Bohnito flashed a grin and waggled his quill.
“Midor is afraid of those who have their own beliefs,” Melina said bitterly.
“It is not fear, Melina. It is hatred,” Lillian corrected. That much, at least, she knew to be true. Up until a few months ago, it had applied to her.
To an extent, it still did.
“My friends,” Bennigan spoke up, “Midor is already extending their influence into surrounding areas. They will spread their influence. I am certain of it.”
“Hatred comes from fear sometimes,” Melina remarked quietly.
“Two sides of the same coin,” Bell added with a shrug.
“Has anyone spoken to the Elven or Dwarven Kingdoms about this?” Bohnito asked.
“It has been brought to their attention, yes,” Lillian said slowly, fighting the urge once more to say that it was classified information. Military habits died hard; she wasn’t sure if they ought to die at all, but there was very little about their rebellion that was supposed to be secret. And on their heads be it... “The White Maiden has spoken to the Elves, and we have both spoken to Coruva Lorehammer of the Halls of Bregodim.”
“It sounds like you need an alliance,” Bohnito observed.
Lillian shook her head. “For the moment, our goal is to educate.”
“How can one hope to defeat a god, hmmm?” the Gnome persisted.
How often had she herself posed that question to her leaders and come up with no answer? Too many times.
“Mister Bohnito, that is a question we have asked for the past three months—” she began.
“The lands have faced this task before... gods and their insufferable desire for power and followers,” Bennigan interrupted.
“A powerful alliance may deter Midor from seeking open war,” Rhaegar suggested. “And there are other gods beside Midoran—”
“Which is why I have come here!” Bohnito exclaimed. “The solution to your problem!”
“Ah, yes,” Bell looked at the Gnome. “The grand solution...”
Rhaegar stared up at the ceiling. “Uh oh...”
“Indeed, you had mentioned a solution,” Bennigan agreed. “I am most curious to hear of it.”
“Midor has always been an inwards-focused city,” Lillian said with a slow shake of her head. “In the thousand years it has stood, it has never cared what happens outside its walls. The one and only expansion to the city of Midor has been Icy Vale, and that was not a government initiative. It was the task of one man.”
“But Lady Lillian, I have heard of sightings of Righteous Swords even as far as Buckshire,” Bennigan said, his face set in its usual lines of worry.
“They would only leave the city if someone had directly caused Midor trouble,” Lillian said firmly.
“They were looking for Blanche, if I remember correctly,” Melina added.
“It is my point, I am afraid,” Bennigan said with a nod to his wife. “Sooner or later, Midor will see any community that does not believe what they do as a threat. It is inevitable.”
“This we know, and are attempting to prepare for,” Lillian told them. “But for the moment, our goal is to make our story known. Whatever violence comes of this, it will not be us who begins it.”
“Even that, though, will anger Midor,” Rhaegar pointed out. “But there is no alternative if what you say is true.”
“Do the bards sing of it in Port Royale, in the Shire?” Bell asked. “Is that how you educate?”
Bennigan lowered his gaze, avoiding Lillian’s eyes.
“It is one method we hope to use, yes,” the former Paladin replied. “The remainder of the education regards the ways and the Code of Aristi.”
“The Code...” Bell repeated with a slow nod.
“Code?” Bohnito perked up. “I’ll need to get this one down.”
“That is a lesson best left to Lady Blanche, or Sir Byron, or Sir Tonan,” Lillian informed them. The words sounded stiff and forced in her ears.
“I would love to learn about your code, but I am no follower of rigid codes,” Rhaegar said.
“The Code of Aristi is not so different to the Code of Brakus,” Lillian told him.
“Brakus, Brakus...” Bohnito pulled a book out of one of his piles and began to flip through it.
“The Code of the Midoran Paladin Order,” Lillian explained.
“Right right right! I found it in here,” the Gnome said distractedly, keeping the page open with his thumb.
“Essentially, both codes advocate doing what is good and just,” Lillian went on. That much, at least, was true. There was nothing terribly wrong with the Aristi Code; it was the metaphysics behind it that bothered her.
To have a divine gift reduced to a latent mortal power...
“I follow the cycle of the Lady... but... what the god did... and does... sounds an abomination against the natural order,” Bell murmured to herself.
Lillian diplomatically kept her mouth shut. Now was not the time to debate gods and frauds. Especially not considering her own uncertain state of belief.
“The Code of Aristi is not something I can teach; it is something best left to the Priestess or one of the two remaining Heralds of Aristi,” she repeated instead.
“All those people dead... for power,” Bell murmured sadly.
“There is no proof Midoran sent the plague,” Lillian told her.
“What are your roles here?” Rhaegar asked abruptly, turning his attention to the Songsingers.
“Oh, well... actually. We were just... invited here... I am—I am not sure, yet,” Bennigan stammered awkwardly. He flashed a guilty glance at Lillian. “Perhaps... to tell a tale, as she has just told you.”
“Bennigan is a bard,” Melina said proudly.
“I had stepped away from my bardic for some time, but I think I have returned now,” Bennigan agreed nervously, his gaze flicking over to his wife.
“And you Melina?” Rhaegar prompted.
“Myself, I am a fighter.” Melina chuckled warmly. “But... I am Bennigan’s wife and along for support.”
“Oh, Melina. You are much more than a fighter. Do not sell yourself short,” Bennigan chided.
Bell interrupted the exchange in a troubled voice, “Mistress Lillian—do you believe that the god did what they said? That he caused that destruction?”
There was a dull THUD as Bohnito, who had been scribbling at his usual reckless speed, fell asleep atop one of his books. Rhaegar shot a glare at the Gnome and kicked him under the table to wake him up.
“Personally... I don’t know if I believe that,” Lillian admitted.
“Then why did you rebel?” Bell prompted softly. “Why do you fight?”
“I reached a point of no return,” Lillian replied slowly. The excuse sounded thin and implausible in her ears. “I had to choose between reporting in two of my fellow paladins, who defected to the rebellion; or joining them.”
In other words, it was the Sally McKinnon scenario all over again: a favourite set-up of the professors at the Academy, and the topic of many heated debates, it presented the option of breaking the law to let a girl named Sally live, or following the rules and resulting in her death. A no-win scenario, composed of progressively harder questions, it had no right answers and was designed to stimulate debate over whether it was better to do what was right or what was correct.
At the Academy, Lillian had always opted for the correct route. The one that led to the girl’s death. It was an inevitable part of duty, after all. People died; that was a fact of life. But those rules existed for a reason. They were the divine commandments of the Just Hand’s will.
And it wasn’t as if she hadn’t turned on friends before. Up until that point, she’d reported them all in.
So it had surprised her, more than anyone, that she’d chosen this route. Still surprised her to this day, and confounded her terribly. She had no rational explanation for her actions. Only an inexplicable gut instinct that it had been the right thing to do.
“A tough choice,” Melina remarked, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Bennigan merely looked on with pained concern.
“Must have been difficult...” Rhaegar said, his expression unreadable.
“Ah.” A frown creased Bell’s brow, then vanished. “You had to save your fellows.”
“There’s a degree of trust that exists between soldiers,” Lillian said matter-of-factly. “You have to rely on them with your life, after all.”
Silence fell across those gathered; a silence broken only by the faint scratching of Bohnito’s quill.
The conversation turned to other matters from there; there was nothing left to say. |
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Re: Elucidation
Posted: 21 Dec 2005 10:08 AM |
| (*phew...wow!*) |
Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly.
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"...Cause he mixes it with love
And makes the world taste good."
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<@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.
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Update
Posted: 09 Jan 2006 03:55 AM |
((Updated dramatis personae. BIG report on the way, I've been writing for weeks now and am trying to squeeze enough time in to write it!
None of the new roles/titles are definite, peeps! They are placeholders. I just made them up.)) |
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Progress
Posted: 07 Feb 2006 09:03 PM |
((OOC: The following information is known only to a select few people, therefore please RP accordingly.))
It was the busiest staff meeting they’d had in a while. The senior officers of the Novus Aristi sat around the table in Ladriel’s living area, exchanging long and detailed reports.
“I’ll be meeting with Sirac in a few weeks,” Blanche was saying. “It’s okay, really... he’s an old friend... just trust me on this, all right?”
She looked around the room, as if to gauge the reaction to the announcement. Phillippe gave a supportive smile; Angelius’ dog-like face was joyful and excited; Byron looked reserved; Lillian was scowling darkly in disgust, but remained mercifully silent on the topic; and Tonan, as always, was in complete agreement with whatever decision she, The Priestess, wanted to make.
All in all, it was about the reaction she had come to expect.
“I haven’t been able to cure Rayinor yet, but I’m working on it,” Blanche continued with a sigh. Why, oh why, couldn’t they all just be in complete agreement for once about something? She knew Sirac and trusted him; wasn’t that enough? Didn’t they trust her opinion? “Also, I’ve got some potion recipes from Drugo that I want to try out, and I’ve started up a supply line to the Order of the Seven Sisters. I... guess that’s all from me.”
“Excellent progress, Blanche,” Byron nodded and turned to Tonan. “Anything to report from the training cell, Tonan?”
“Some more of the Accepted have been moved to Haven for further training,” Tonan replied crisply. “I’ve decided not to distinguish between ordinary soldiers and potential Heralds. They all get the same basic training, and if they want to continue on to Heraldship, they can elect to do so when they get to that stage.” He looked at Lillian.
“Ladriel is not a suitable place for training. It never was,” she explained. “But neither can we just take large numbers of people in and out of Haven. Ladriel will only be used for important meetings such as this, here inside the tower; and for recruiting drives outside on the lake or the shore. Basic training is now being conducted in Mirghul. Maddison’s had a talk to the Mirghul Rangers and they’re fine with us doing our training over on the coast or up near the lodge. He’s also trying to make arrangements for a sort of exchange program: we learn from them, they learn from us.”
“I’ve been selective about who I take into Haven,” Tonan said with a nod. “If we can get the Rangers to cover basic combat training and survival, it means I can focus on Herald training.”
“We really need some sort of information or administration cell,” Lillian added. “For background checks, communication, intelligence and counter-intelligence. At the moment there really isn’t a way of doing any of that properly, and our numbers are starting to grow. It’s imperative that we keep track of everyone and know who everyone is and where they’re at. We can’t really defend against spies and impostors at the moment.”
“Any ideas?” Byron prompted.
Lillian and Tonan shook their heads. Blanche gave a sigh. “Yes, leave that to me. I’ll talk to Sirac about it.”
“Seeing that you’ve already started, you may as well give the report from logistics cell,” Byron said quickly, seeing the look on Lillian’s face. “Anything to report?”
“Yes, quite a lot of things,” she said, balancing a pair of spectacles on her nose. “Sir Tonan? I’m going to need help reading some of this.”
Tonan peered over at the notes she had spread out on the table, written in neat, unintelligible symbols that he’d penned.
“Paws first,” he said, pointing to the top of one page.
“Right. I’ve put Sir Clark in charge of the logistical side of the Paws operation. He’ll be working with the Seven Sisters and getting supplies to Paws under their name,” Lillian said. “He’s already been working closely with them; he’s going to liaise with Sister Mina about it.
“Grace is heading the rescue side of the operation. Our agents report that the Midorans are prioritising who gets raised and who doesn’t. Paws Woods is largely unguarded, and they’ve started separating the Human corpses from the non-Human ones. We could probably quietly rescue the non-Human ones if we’re careful and don’t work too quickly.” A pause. “But we won’t be able to save them all.”
There was a sharp intake of breath from Blanche.
“We have lookouts stationed in the woods permanently,” she went on. “So long as they stay out of sight and the Swords don’t bring Mystics in, they should be fine. Their duty is twofold: to keep an eye out for Swords so our people don’t get caught, and—” her expression darkened, “—to protect the dead from looters, necromancers and other low-life scum.”
Tonan spoke into the uneasy silence that followed that remark. “The Hush Tunnels,” he prompted quietly.
“In other news, Conn and Jubei were down in the Hush Tunnels the other day. They managed to open up the way to the workshop,” Lillian continued blithely. “In their efforts, they also managed to uncover...” she shot a look at Tonan, “... well, I haven’t seen it, so I’m not sure what this report is trying to say...”
“A massive stone statue in the workshop,” Tonan supplied. “Surrounded by a circle of runes. None of us can figure out what the runes are. The explosion also uncovered various golem parts that had previously been buried in rubble. Whatever sorts of golems they made in there when the factory was active, it’s on a scale that I’ve never seen.”
“Is Haven still safe to remain in?” Byron asked worriedly.
“I believe it is,” Lillian said slowly. “Grace seems to know something about the area, but she... you know how her memory is.”
Byron nodded and motioned for her to continue.
“Sir Tonan is going to discuss a few things with Conn and Jubei,” she went on. “He’s had a look at what they can produce and compared it to what remnants we have of Aristi equipment. We should be able to start producing armour and weapon prototypes within a few weeks, and go into mass production soon after.”
“I’d like to have a look at what’s available now as well with regards to magical armour,” Tonan added. “Enchanting will have evolved over the centuries; I don’t think we’ll be able to produce the same results as the craftsmen of Aristi, but perhaps we can come up with something of our own.”
“I’ll take you to Ladriel Path after the meeting and dig up my old Paladin armour,” Lillian said. At Byron’s surprised look, she added, “I couldn’t risk that it might be somehow traceable. The last thing I need is for Midor to track us straight to Haven because there’s tracking magic woven into Midoran equipment.”
“Is that based on knowledge of spellcraft or pure speculation?” Phillippe asked wryly.
“Pure speculation.” She held up her hands, palms forward. “I’ve never claimed to know anything about spellcraft, but I’d still rather not risk it.”
“Speaking of which,” Tonan tapped a finger against a letter, “we have news from Salt.”
“Yes, I’ll get to that in a moment. I was going to cover communications first,” Lillian said. “Markus has managed to get in contact with Lady Solitaire, and they’ll be coming up with something secure, reliable and fast. No word yet as to what the system is actually going to be, but I really need to push him to hurry up with it. I don’t care about something complex, we just need something that works, and we need it soon.” She ran a hand through her hair, agitated. “At this rate, I’m considering having Maddison contact the Mirghul Rangers and asking if they have carrier pigeons or can teach smoke signals to our people.”
Phillippe chuckled. “Well, if it works...”
“Right, on to Salt,” she went on briskly. “I had him research divinatory magic a while back; I need to get in contact with him again and see what he’s found.” She looked up from her notes, peering around at the group over the top of her glasses. “We can’t continue to hold these meetings in Ladriel Tower. I’d rather we had secure facilities of our own. I’d like for all of Haven to be set up as an anti-scrying zone; if that isn’t possible, then select parts of it.”
“His opinion on the shrine atop the command plateau would be invaluable,” Tonan added. “For all we know, it might be something we could use for that purpose... if it isn’t already working in that capacity.”
“I’ve shown it to Coruva, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it,” Lillian added. “The two of them, working together with the other mages we know, may be able to determine what it is, and how to utilise it.”
“Perhaps we could send Claudia in to have a look,” Byron said thoughtfully.
A confused frown crossed Lillian’s face; then recognition came. “Ah. I wasn’t aware she was a mage.”
“A very powerful and capable mage,” Byron said. “Do we have any Haven compasses left?”
“There might be one,” she said slowly. “I’ll look in the command tent, but I think we’re out. She might have to go with myself or Sir Tonan some time.”
“Do it,” Byron nodded.
Tonan quickly jotted a note in Aristi.
“We need to get in contact with Salt anyway,” Lillian added, pulling out a sheet from under the pile of incoherent notes. This one was penned in neat Common. “Potential new recruit, exiled from Midor.”
Byron scanned the note. “Ulalume... she and Cedrych are scheduled to meet Tonan or Grace at some point and talk to them. Perhaps it’s time to finalise a time and day for that meeting.”
“I can’t do it; not with my schedule,” Tonan said regretfully.
“And Grace is needed on the Paws operation,” Lillian added.
“It will have to be after she’s finished in Paws, then,” Byron decided. “Find out how soon she expects to be out of there, then set up a time and day for the meeting. And a venue,” he added, almost as an afterthought.
“Speaking of meetings, we still need to meet Londo,” she pointed out. “And I don’t think Ladriel is the best place to do it.”
“Because it’s too civilian and not defensible?” Byron asked wryly. He was all too familiar with that particular complaint.
“Exactly.” Lillian nodded. “I’d set that up as the initial meeting place, then move to the Mirghul Rangers Lodge or the cliffs outside.”
“I’ll take it into consideration,” Byron said. “And while we’re on the subject of meetings, when are we seeing Father Duvados?”
Her expression didn’t change, but her hands, resting atop the encrypted notes, started curling and uncurling into fists.
“The survey team was recalled two days early. They’re all in Midor now,” she said in her usual businesslike tone. “We missed that particular opportunity and there are too many other things that need our attention more.”
“You’re suggesting we give up.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’ll take that under consideration too,” Byron said in a tone that sounded deliberately unconvincing.
Blanche looked between the two of them, confused. “Who are we talking about?”
“A potential ally, Blanche,” Byron explained.
“I think that’s all of logistics covered,” Lillian said quickly, throwing a glance at Tonan. “Did I miss anything?”
He looked over the notes. “I need to spend some more time with Tomas, but he might be ready for Heraldship soon.”
“Oh?” Byron asked. “How soon?”
“Weeks, months... hard to say.” Tonan looked apologetic.
“Assign him to work with Clark on the Seven Sisters project, see how he does,” Lillian suggested. “We still need to make delivery arrangements.”
“If he’s going to be travelling a lot, I’ll need some help gathering components for these potions Drugo has taught me to make,” Blanche added.
“I’d rather release him into errantry again than keep him around Haven as the quartermaster,” Lillian agreed. “We don’t need him around as a staff officer any more; he’d be more valuable as a knight errant. Same with Markus, once he’s finished his work with the communication system. We should have as many Heralds as possible out in the field, not stuck in desk jobs.”
“All right, consider him reassigned to knight errant duty,” Byron said decisively. “Now. Was there anything else?”
He looked around the table and got a chorus of negative replies.
“Good work, crew.” He stood. “Now, let’s go home.” |
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A Report.
Posted: 15 Feb 2006 07:12 PM |
Steam curled up from the mug, and the roasted smell of coffee filled Markus’ sense of smell. The coffee was vital to fight the exhaustion of poor sleep.
Will the nightmares never end? He wondered to himself.
Quickly gulping down the rest of the drink, and set the mug on the counter, thanking the woman behind the counter. With that he made his exit of the Broken Mask tavern, everything from the previous night still swirling in his head. A frown formed over his scarred face as his eyes caught sight of the multi-hued wards covering the sewer entrance.
Sir Markus Mortriety had other things to deal with first though. He had to make a report back to Lillian and the rest of the command of Novus Aristi. His heavy boots thudded steadily on the pavestones, and he made his way to the wagon. Paying the transportation fee the wagon whisked him across the coast to Buckshire’s docks. From there he leapt aboard the first vessel sailing to Ladriel. It was only a couple hours past first light; but the world never stopped moving.
Markus made his way quickly from the coast of Ladriel, through wilderness, until he reached a rolling range of mountains. Fishing out a compass from his pouch without breaking his stride, but his gaze flickered to the compass every several steps. Without it he’d be lost for Gods knew how long until the ever shifting maze would spit him back into the wild.
Haven. A place very few have been to, and just as few have heard of. Markus’s haste slowed almost ritually as he passed through each of the security checkpoints. The soldiers recognized him, but that didn’t stop them, or the Paladin from following protocol. He signed in his presence and let himself be inspected for hidden weapons. His visible arms were collected and filed before being returned to him.
As he topped the rise onto the command plateau his gaze passed over the twin fiery falls. The picture of them tugging at his memories–treasured memories. Pushing the memories aside he strode purposefully into the command tent, stopping shortly at Lillian’s desk. He withdraw two folded letters. Both of them addressed to Lady Lillian – only the first one was written by himself.
Addressed to: Lady Lillian.
Official Field Report by: Sir Markus Mortriety
I finally managed to meet with Lady Solitaire. She’s agreed to help us and should have summarily began working on the communications project.
The report continues on for a full paragraph with the specifics discussed in the meeting and of the actual project.
Contacted Lady Ulalume. I believe we can trust her. She told me that she met with you. Enclosed with this report is a letter she passed to me to forward to you.
Garick informed me that the White Bishop has made a declaration of death to the elves. He also said that the Order of Midoran is no more, and that it’s been abolished. If that’s true we need to conduct a search and rescue any Paladins who may have left Midor. I truly hope this does not come to war.
Lucius who was there when Garick informed me told me that Midor has allies. I believe we should find out who, or more importantly what these allies are.
I sent Lady Ulalume to Ferein to let them know that the Novus Aristi will aid them. It is the right thing to do.
Signed in a simple flourish:
Sir Markus Mortriety |
CHOO CHOO!
- - - - - -
Bereil Yadashem.
Markus Mortriety, Herald of Novus Aristi. |
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Intrusion
Posted: 21 Feb 2006 11:19 PM |
The irony of the entire situation was that Willom was the one who had inadvertently necessitated the new security measures.
She ran through Willom’s report with Tonan and Grace with a detached aloofness that was unusual, even for her. It was the same troubling recount of the briefing that she had given to Byron and Blanche earlier today, here in Ladriel Tower.
“It’s a ruse,” Lillian said bluntly. “It has to be. Father Duvados let them go. Either he’s watching through their eyes right now without them knowing; or he intends to recapture them after they gain our trust with their escape and have learnt more about us; or...” and here she gave them the bleakest look they’d ever seen, “...he’s finally found a way to put his theory to work. He’s infected them with some sort of meme.”
“A what?” Grace asked blankly, echoed a moment later by Tonan.
“Something he wrote a paper about once.” Lillian frowned, trying to dredge up memories of the research he’d done on this radical theory of his. The Church had loved it so much that they’d snapped it up immediately and classified it as one of their many forbidden secrets. “A theory that ideas have a life of their own and can be transmitted through subliminal cues without any arcane or divine means whatsoever. He was always fond of research in non-magical fields.”
They were still looking at her blankly. She didn’t blame them; most of Jerec’s explanations on the topic had gone completely over her head, too.
“Imagine a mind virus,” she said instead. “An idea that you could implant in one or more people. And then could spread without magical means to infect other people. Through words or gestures... perhaps through something like a play.”
Grace gave a gasp and covered her mouth with her hand. Tonan merely looked grim.
“I don’t know how to defend against it; I don’t even know how to detect it, or if it can be detected.” Lillian pinched the bridge of her nose wearily. “But you see the danger we face. Possibly, one that the world faces.”
“How does one defend against an idea?” Grace murmured.
“I don’t know. Nor did I expect to come up with a solution straight away,” Lillian said. “It’s a possibility I needed you to be aware of. For now, we ought to focus on the things we can defend against.”
“If information is in danger of going out, then there are three pieces of information that must be defended,” Tonan spoke up for the first time, looking a little white. “Our actual strength; the existence of Haven; and all details on the expedition.”
“We’ve gotten around that mostly by keeping people who actually know anything isolated in Haven,” Lillian pointed out. “Although I am concerned that they haven’t been trained to withstand tactical questioning. And it’s training I’d rather not put them through. Even the Academy balked at it when it was suggested as part of the curriculum.”
She saw Tonan and Grace wince. The first time she’d used the term “tactical questioning”, she’d had to explain that it was a kinder word for “interrogation”.
“I could stop people from talking about it under certain circumstances,” Grace offered. “Papa will know how. I could ask him.”
“What did you have in mind?” Lillian asked warily.
“Oh... you know... something minor,” Grace said airily. “Maybe something that stops people who know anything about those things from talking about them unless they talk in Aristi. From my understanding, it’s easy enough to slip an exception like that in.”
Lillian exchanged a glance with Tonan.
“Do whatever you have to,” Tonan said quietly.
~*~
They took Grace off Paws duty, arranging instead for the Sunbringers to pick up where she’d left off. It was, Lillian decided belatedly, what they ought to have done in the first place. Maddison was making arrangements now for the Sunbringers to publically extend a hand to Paws. They could operate openly, after all.
When Grace came back with her plan the next day, Tonan met it with grim resignation. Lillian looked more than a little sickened but seemed too tired to fight.
“It’s just a passive geas,” Grace explained for the umpteenth time. “It doesn’t hurt anyone and it doesn’t even activate unless the conditions are met. I’ve looked it over and it’s not harmful. It just... makes people conveniently not mention or write these things in anything but Aristi. Even under stress. Give me two days to prepare it and I could have it last two months. It will need renewing after that, but I keep logs of these things anyway.”
“How long will it take?” Tonan asked. “How many people could you put this on in one day?”
“Maybe about... fifteen?” Grace answered uncertainly. “It’ll take a while to put it on everyone in Haven.”
“Start with people who go in and out regularly,” Tonan said. He turned to Lillian, who suddenly went ashen. “Lady Blanche, Sir Byron and Sir Phillippe will need to be free to discuss these things with whatever allies they choose to trust, so they are exempt. I suppose that means the three of us go first.”
~*~
Three days later, all hell broke loose.
~*~
It was a near-repeat of the time Markus had brought Trent into Haven, but without Byron’s diplomacy to smooth things out. For whatever reason, Conn had decided to bring Willom and Iris to Haven, completely without permission.
As if Haven was some sort of tourist attraction.
They hadn’t understood, of course. They were civilians. How could they? Three enchantments wasted unnecessarily to ensure that they didn’t inadvertently leak news of Haven. And now a scramble to get Sunbringers and Ladriel Guardians to Haven to see if they could track down this mysterious shadowy stalker that Willom had apparently led right into the place. More people to bring in, more people that could potentially expose the secret, more people who they’d have to put under oath and geas.
If there was an intruder here in the first place. It almost didn’t matter. Time wasted and troops mobilised when they had better things to be doing. Sixty-one people already spread too thinly over an area made to accommodate an army of thousands. And now they had to worry about the welfare of three civilians on top of that, when they could barely defend themselves. This was the reason Haven was a secret. They couldn’t afford distractions like this. They couldn’t afford to be invaded. Understaffed and ill-equipped, Haven was laughingly vulnerable. The best way to keep intruders out was to ensure that they didn’t know it existed in the first place.
Lillian quickly sent the three of them to Ladriel for their protection and for observation by the guardians. If they stayed, they’d only get underfoot. It didn’t matter if they were capable of taking care of themselves. They hadn’t had the training that everyone here in Haven had. They didn’t have the ability to think as one, act as one, move as one. They would argue and ask unnecessary questions, as they already had. They were civilians, and if they stayed, they were a greater danger to Haven than any mysterious intruder could ever be. A liability that they could not afford to defend.
Still, she did not deny that it could have gone a whole lot smoother. She was seriously considering asking for a demotion, or at the very least, for someone like Charinne to act as the civilian liaison for the Novus Aristi. Now, more than ever, the need to keep the military aspect separate from the philosophical aspect was becoming evident.
It was definitely something to be brought up at the next staff meeting.
~*~
The carrier pigeons had been dispatched to Ladriel and Mirghul, the alarm had been raised, and the yellow flags had replaced the green. All that was left for Charinne to do was explain the situation to Tonan.
“...sent the word out to Maddison to get the Sunbringers and Ladriel Guardians over here. I don’t know what Lady Lillian intends to do with the three civilians but she hasn’t come out from the Hush Tunnels yet, so I suppose she’s either keeping them there or has sent them away,” Charinne concluded.
“Head down there and find out,” Tonan ordered crisply. He pulled aside a cloth cover on the ground, revealing a trap door set into the rocky floor of the command tent. “That goes down into the tunnels. I’ll take it from here.”
Charinne nodded. “Yes, sir.”
~*~
The aptly-named Hush Tunnels beneath Haven were a complex honeycomb of myriad tunnels, the majority of them collapsed or half-collapsed. The air here was unusually still and silent, the atmosphere having a muffling quality that seemed to absorb and mute all sound.
A Human in full plate could fall without so much as the quietest of thuds.
And there are a thousand thousand places where one could hide the body.
~*~
Half an hour later, Charinne returned, looking flushed and somewhat panicked.
“Sir...” she stammered to Tonan, “she’s not there, sir. And Saunders says she never came out through the main exit.
“Lady Lillian’s gone missing.” |
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A Package undelivered.
Posted: 23 Feb 2006 07:17 PM |
Conn tucked the second package away. This one had been given to him by Lord Tagreth himself and Conn had no intention of letting it out of his sight.
((A letter left for Lillian Blackstone at Ladriel tower.))
Dear Miss Lillian.
Despite our recent dispute; I request a meeting with you at your earliest convenience.
Connavar. |
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A Package undelivered. Part Two.
Posted: 24 Feb 2006 03:50 AM |
“Miss Lillian has gone missing.” The news hit him like a ton of bricks. “What... When!?” He heard himself say from somewhere far off.
The young Novus Aristi soldier didn’t know it, but he had turned Conn’s world on it edge. When was his streak of bad luck going to end?
“She never returned from the tunnels” The soldier explained. “Could you please go over the details of the last time you saw her?”
Conn was taken aback. He explained the details as best he could remember. His words to him where far off like someone else was saying them. Was this his fault? Did he mistakenly lead someone or something there? The questions echoed in his mind louder than the questions of the soldier.
“Thank you for your information sir. I am afraid I am due back at...” The soldier stopped, unable to say Haven, but they both understood. Conn nodded to the soldier and rose from the cushion he was sitting on.
“Yes… please let me know if there is any information discovered about Miss Lillian.” The smile has not lightened the guilt Conn felt.
The least Conn could do was make sure the package was delivered. After a few brief questions about where it could be safely left. He was told the best place to leave it would be in Byron’s mailbox. It was warded from theft and Byron checked it regularly. Conn dropped it in gingerly, as he headed to catch a ship back to port. He wanted to deliver it personally but this would have to do. |
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The Fallen One
Posted: 24 Feb 2006 05:49 AM |
For you must know this:
The World has grown old,
And does not remain in its former vigour:
It bears witness to its own decline...
~*~
Melody and light.
We have danced this dance before. You know our answer. You know why we cannot interfere.
Shadow and song. Dirge in the darkness.
You choose this fate. For them and for yourselves. When will you see the folly of your hubris? How much longer will you choose to fail to act? How many more must die for your inaction? Will you let another thousand years pass while you look the other way?
An angry chorus. Orchestral thunder.
You will be silent, Fallen One. You have no right—
One voice, discordant.
And you do? You dare to call me Fallen? You who have failed through your inaction countless times, when I have fallen only once!
Crescendo.
This is the way that it must be. We cannot interfere. Our most sacred laws forbid it.
A damning truth, met with no reply save silence.
You do not act because you are afraid. And they are the ones who suffer for it.
Watch and learn from these mortals. If their courage does not shame you, if their actions do not move you, then truly there is nothing more for me to say, and you will have fallen further than I.
~*~
This is the Sentence passed upon the World,
That everything that has a Beginning should perish,
That things which have reached maturity should grow old,
The Strong Weak,
The Great Small,
And that after weakness and shrinkage...
~*~
“Grace?”
She blinked and turned her faraway gaze to focus on Tonan. It was not unusual for her to have these episodes, these lapses, but this time had been different. She’d heard, or thought she’d heard, something on the wind. Something familiar...
Grace put a finger to her lips, head tilted to one side. “Listen...”
The two ancient Heralds stood in silence atop Haven’s command plateau, the quiet scuffle of personnel and the shrieking of the wind the only sound. And then it came... a distant sound beneath the sound, an underlying melody speaking in a language that neither understood.
“She is here,” said Grace with a grim solemnity that was completely uncharacteristic for her. “The Fallen One. She is the one we seek.
“Avadielle.”
~*~
...Should come dissolution. |
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The Message
Posted: 26 Feb 2006 08:20 AM |
All things considered, the transfer of the refugees to Haven happened quite well. Recent events had seen a sudden spike in efficiency and alertness amongst the Haven personnel. Once the Rangers had taken the Midoran survivors off the hands of the Fire Knives, a contingent of soldiers and healers led them from the Rangers Lodge to Bowness, leaving behind only the mysterious prisoner.
Grace was in charge of the first boat-load. The trip itself went fine. The arrival at Ikarian Bay, and thence to the Hush Tunnels and finally Haven, could not have been more uneventful.
It wasn't fated to last.
There was a crowd outside the medical tent when she arrived. Calling one of the soldiers over to mind the half dozen refugees she'd been looking after, she swiftly moved over to the centre of attention: one of the young healers, looking as though she'd spent the past hour sobbing and being sick, was being attended by Angelius and Sir Phillippe Jongras.
"Sir." Grace straightened as she approached, nodding to Phillippe. Worriedly, he nodded back. "I need to take the first lot into the tent, sir. Is there something...?"
She never got to finish. The look he gave to her cut her off.
Wordlessly, he tilted his head towards the tent, then turned his attention back to the young healer.
It was with a great deal of trepidation that Grace stepped past them, a dozen different scenarios flashing through her mind in the five seconds it took to cross over to the tent and pull aside the flap.
None of them could have prepared her for what she saw.
The back of the tent had been left largely alone, but the stretchers had been swept aside in a hurry, some lying broken and snapped. Several white blankets lay flat across the stone ground, covering the space the stretchers had occupied.
Upon the blankets, clumsily drawn in blood, was a spiral comprised of Aristi symbols, twisting anti-clockwise.
IN SEVEN MOONS THE AMARANTH BLOOMS IN THE DEAD GARDEN OF SHADOW AND FIRE.
Lying in the centre of the spiral were a pair of pale blue eyes. |
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Piecing Together the Puzzle
Posted: 01 Mar 2006 08:26 AM |
After a hasty conference, Charinne ended up pulling most of Haven’s forces into the Hush Tunnels, partially to keep an eye on the refugees and mostly because it was easier to keep track of everyone that way. There were other reasons too, disclosed by the twin Sunbringers that had finally arrived along with the refugees. Phoebe and Phoebus had wasted no time getting their investigation underway, working closely with the Ladriel Guardian Eileen, and with Grace.
Even then, it was three days before they were finally ready to deliver a report.
“...warded to the metaphorical teeth with some creative and powerful abjurations even I’ve never seen,” Eileen was saying, sounding rather awed.
She and the two Sunbringers were gathered in the command tent with the rest of the senior staff: Blanche, Byron, Tonan and Phillippe. Present also were Grace and Charinne.
“To be perfectly honest, I don’t know how you could have had an intruder slip in here,” she concluded. “Every ward I know—and then some—blankets the plateau. You name it, it’s there. State-of-the-art Gnomish illusion spells; at least seventeen different layers of anti-scrying centred around the plateau; subtle and powerful forget spells that could make your geas procedures obsolete if you actually bothered to activate them; Ladriel-designed abjurations that could keep Lord Nu’men himself out...”
She spread her hands and gave a helpless shrug, turning to the twins.
“But there are gaps,” said Phoebe.
“Any system has gaps,” added Phoebus.
“You’ve no protection against aerial intruders. Although that’s an age-old problem that no one’s yet found an answer to.”
“Save from putting up a roof.”
“Yes, there is that. There’s also the fact that there’s nothing to stop someone from slipping in sideways through a shadow.”
“Not that many can do that. There are probably a dozen beings in the entirety of Vives who can.”
“Neither is easily defended against simply because it’s unreasonable to expect to have to defend against it.”
“Wards take effort and drain power.”
“Although it’s strange to note that the occurrence took place in the tunnels—”
“—Being the place where the gaps are fewer and the protections are strongest.”
“Someone didn’t want that factory to be found or remembered.”
“But this isn’t about the tunnels.”
“No, it isn’t. It’s just a side note. Yet a remarkable one, at that.” Phoebe nodded to her brother.
“The message,” he prompted her.
“We begin with a number of assumptions. First, we must assume your soldier is not dead. There is nothing we can do in that instance. Best to focus on things we can do something about.”
“Next we assume that, as Grace said earlier, your perpetrator is this Avadielle.”
“Who has no way of keeping her alive, even if she wanted to.”
“Perhaps it’s best to rephrase that...”
“Indeed.” Phoebe leaned in towards the others. “If this Avadielle is a creature of Syn, then she’d be hard-pressed to keep a single captive alive. The children of Syn cannot heal. Nor can they keep captives for very long. An entity so powerful would erode life with her mere presence.”
“So, based on the assumption that she needs your soldier alive, that means...”
“No bleeding her.”
“No feeding on her.”
“No gouging out her eyes.”
“Although I suppose that also assumes she doesn’t want to turn her. Or hasn’t already.”
A few faces around the circle went white.
“We’ll leave that option out as well,” Phoebe said quickly.
“Yes... nothing to do about that except kill the spawn. Bodies are redeemable. Souls are not.”
“So. The message.”
“Grace had some ideas on the message.”
As one, they turned to look at Grace, who looked taken aback.
“Well, I suppose the seven moons was obvious. Seven nights. It’s a timeframe,” she said slowly. “Amaranth was the code name we were using; though I’m not sure what ‘bloom’ refers to... I mean, it could mean a metaphorical rebirth into darkness and immortality... or it could mean she is dead and after seven days she can’t be raised again...”
She faltered momentarily, then ploughed on. “At any rate... I do know the garden. There’s only one place it could be. I saw it a number of times in... in my day... and I saw it a great many times after bits and pieces of Maldovia got demolished...”
Grace noted the impatient looks she was getting, and hastened to add, “It’s the Aquistine Gardens. It has to be. I mean... it’s not a garden made of shadow and fire, but it does belong to someone who’s, well, the personification of both...”
The Sunbringers looked grim. The others looked blank.
“Oh. Oh, you don’t know.” She covered her mouth with a hand. “The Aquistine Gardens... they’re in Maldovia.” |
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Re: Piecing Together the Puzzle
Posted: 02 Mar 2006 02:00 PM |
True Colors - Black
Byron's heart skipped a beat. Maldovia. A place of darkness and despair. Byron's first emotion, before his brain even registered what Grace had said, was of searing pain. Once before he had been laid bare on a table in Maldovia. Mr. Loccard had cut deeply; the scars of which he kept hidden. For an irrational instant, Byron wished that "he" was still with him. But the other paladin, the one who had existed with Byron so intimately, and the one that directed him to Maldovia in the first place, was long since gone. Many of his memories and experiences remained, and the foremost of these was the first time he was laid bare on the table. Both times, Loccard's blades had been precise and cruel.
He quickly snapped himself out of his reverie. Loccard was dead, he had seen Macha put a spear through the vampires heart. "Yes sir," said Grace, a concerned expression on her face, "Maldovia." Byron hadn't even realized he'd spoken.
"Then Lillian could be there," said Byron with as much confidence he could muster. All in all, he thought he did a pretty good job.
Grace nodded, "But..."
Byron interupted, "Gather the Heralds, as many as we can spare. Make sure Markius gets here." The room erupted in a flurry of paper as several aides hurried to write down Byron's orders. Without pausing, Byron continued, "Get into contact with Cedrych Von Maistlin and enlist his aid." Several in the room blinked. Could he really be asking them to contact a Rightous Sword? "Do it," he insisted in a tone that left no room for arugment. That, if anything, he had learned from Lillian. "And tell him to bring any paladins still loyal to Midor. This involves one of their own as well."
The others looked at Byron with a mixture of incredulousness and awe. Byron could sense they knew what he would say next. "And contact Jerec Duvados, if you can. Through the rangers, if we must." Byron raises a hand to stifle Charinne's protest, "THe called her one of his own. Now is his chance to show his fealty."
"And Blanche?" It was Grace who asked.
He looked to Sir Tonan, "She cannot go to Maldovia."
Sir Tonan nodded slightly, "Neither can you," he said, "The Novus Aristi need their priest and prince." Byron looked as if he'd like nothing better then to correct Tonan's casual reference to the prince, but thought better of it.
"I am going," he insisted, "I will not abandon hope, even if hope lies in Maldovia. Lillian is one of us." He looked around the room, "We take care of our own, too." Sir Tonan, he noticed, nodded slightly, a small smile on his face.
"We leave tomorrow." |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Plans
Posted: 04 Mar 2006 10:47 PM |
He could not explain why he personally went to seek Jerec. It was something Byron could easily have delegated to someone else, but as with many things in life, he was simply led by an unshakable feeling that, somehow, this was the right thing to do.
Jerec wasn't in the ranger lodge, and the Rangers still remained wary of Byron, Meridia most of all. He had a feeling, though, that the residual hostility would fade given a few more days; it seemed a defensive instinct more than anything personal and lasting. Eventually it was Jim who quietly pointed him to the deep western forest, explaining that the last time he'd seen Jerec had been that bungled interview. After which the priest had approached Vorg and Ugrok and vanished with them into the deep woods.
It took another hour and a half of trudging through the woods to find them, by which time he had begun to wonder why this was so important to him. The man was a complete stranger whom he'd only met twice in his life, and who he had every reason to steer clear of and no reason to trust. Willom and Iris didn't trust Jerec. Lillian didn't trust Jerec, or at the very least, had so little faith left that she couldn't bring herself to even if she wanted to. Jerec didn't trust Jerec and had rather viciously and thoroughly justified his reasons why. So when Byron finally found the man with the two Rangers at Sable Lake, could not help but wonder to himself why he trusted the priest.
“Trust your heart.” How many times had Uncle Jochim told him that? “If your intentions are pure, your heart will lead you true.” That was all very well, but now, in the cool pre-dawn air, Byron could not help but question his judgment. Too late to go back now, he decided. He was committed to his course.
The strangely surreal atmosphere didn't help. He approached the three cautiously, hands held loosely by his sides and well away from the hilt of his sword. The chill mist and the spidery shadows obscured their forms, but he could see that the Rangers were wearing tribal fright masks of some sort. It was as if he'd stepped into another world, and reality was so very far away. Strange how he'd never noticed before how eldritch and ancient this place was.
"Jerec," he greeted him. Peripherally, he noted that sound was oddly muted here, as it was in the Hush Tunnels. “We need to talk.”
There was a low rumbling growl from the Half-Orc, echoed a second later by the man Vorg.
But nothing from Jerec. He simply waited for Byron to continue, in a manner that was eerily familiar. He must have picked it up from Lillian; she had more influence on people than even she knew. Still, his time with Lillian had been well spent. He knew how to control himself around such infuriating calm.
"The last time we spoke," Byron began, forcing himself to sound calm, "I told you that Lillian had gone missing. We now have reason to believe that she in alive... in Maldovia."
A silence followed that was so absolute that his own breathing sounded loud in his ears. It sounded like the proverbial calm before the storm.
Slowly, Jerec turned to the two Rangers and said a few quiet words to them. There was a lot of growling from the Half-Orc, and protests from the man, who kept shooting suspicious looks at Byron. But eventually they did leave, vanishing into the mist. He had a feeling they wouldn't go far; but he also had a feeling that they only had to go far enough to be out of hearing range.
"This will only take a few moments. Stand on the bridge, please."
Jerec gestured to the narrow stone arch that bridged the dark waters of Sable Lake. Bemused, Byron followed the other man's instructions. If there were any time to test his trust in the priest, this was it.
It took more than just a few moments. Working quickly but with practiced ease, Jerec set to work on both sides of the bridge, setting up—as far as Byron could tell—a number of vicious traps that could probably kill a rampaging ancient dire bear or three. By the time he was done, he could not envision anyone coming anywhere onto the bridge close enough to overhear anything they might say.
Jerec twisted a ring upon his finger and did a slow scan of the surroundings, then turned to Byron and gave an almost imperceptible nod.
"Primitive countermeasures, but you learn to work with what you've got when you're in the field," Jerec said quietly. "Just keep the volume down and it should stop be safe enough to talk."
"Very well; I'll try to keep this as concise as possible," Byron murmured. "Our last encounter went very badly. It didn’t achieve anything other than getting everyone involved riled up and suspicious of each other. But despite that, I feel I can trust you."
He braced himself, waiting for the inevitable scolding from the other man telling him he was a naive and trusting fool. It never came.
More proof, if ever he'd needed it, that Lillian's influence extended deeper than she realized. Half a year ago, Byron would never have thought anything so cynical.
"I have a sense about you, Jerec," he continued when it was clear that Jerec simply wasn't going to say anything. "You and I serve the same Greater Good. That I cannot ignore; it is fact."
Byron paused again, then simply ploughed on, explaining quickly and in hushed tones about the bloody message, the eyes, the theories of the Sunbringers and the reasons why they believed Lillian was still alive and well. He deliberately left out details of Haven and the Hush Tunnels, and Jerec thankfully didn't ask.
...The calm before the storm, indeed. By the time he was finished explaining, the metaphorical storm had broken and it was a blizzard. He watched as each detail was met with a growing and terrible ice-cold anger. Absurdly, he found himself wondering why Jerec wasn't breathing ice vapor.
But there were other emotions there as well, accompanying the anger. Determination, resolve and what looked like a distant and profound pain.
"How did this... creature know to use that name?" Jerec asked in a low voice.
"She was using it as a code name," Byron said, watching him carefully. Of all the questions he could have asked, why ask that one?
Jerec turned and stared out over the dark waters of Sable Lake thoughtfully. "I see. Well, in that case, it appears I owe you an apology."
It was the last thing Byron had expected him to say.
"If she has chosen to adopt 'Amaranth' as her code name, then that is a good enough guarantee for me." Jerec turned to Byron and inclined his head in a bow. "I apologize for the way I acted during our last encounter. At the time, I felt that I needed to be certain that you and the others were sincere, using whatever means necessary. There is no question of that now."
"Apology accepted," Byron said, taken aback. He had wondered, when she had first come up with the name, what possible significance it held. As usual, it seemed that Lillian had been three steps ahead and found ways to act even when she wasn't present. "And I apologize as well, Jerec, for suspecting you. We put you under a lot of undue stress during that interview."
"I forgive you," Jerec replied quietly. It struck Byron as an odd thing to say; then again, the man was a priest, and it was probably force of habit that made him phrase it that way.
"There isn't much time left to us, Jerec; we depart for Maldovia tomorrow," Byron said. "I'd like for you to come along. I hold out hope that she is still alive. And..." He braced himself again. "I will be going to Maldovia to rescue her, whether you are coming or not."
"Strange that you say that; I was about to say the same thing myself," Jerec replied wryly. "Well, I take it that there is to be a briefing at some point in the next few hours?"
"Ah... a briefing..."
"Consolidation of your plans? Logistical arrangements to be made, intelligence to be analyzed from reconnaissance teams...?"
He sounded like Lillian.
"We've made the adequate arrangements," Byron said through gritted teeth. The man must have been a teacher in another life. He felt as he had felt after their interview along Mirghul's northern cliffs: like a student who'd just unwittingly undergone a surprise test, and failed.
"You've made adequate arrangements?" The horror and incredulity in Jerec's voice was far worse than contempt would have been. "Byron, that isn't good enough. This is Lillian who might die. This is Maldovia you are entering."
"Don't you think I know that?" he shot back, his voice an angry hiss. There wasn't anything condescending in the way Jerec had said it, but he was sick to death of being criticized. He'd gotten it a lot from Lillian and he'd had enough. "I have been to Maldovia and back. I know what we are getting into. We're doing our best and that's what counts."
"No, it doesn't count," Jerec said firmly, his voice taking on an edge of frost. "You can't just muddle through and hope for the best, Byron. You can't afford to make mistakes; you have to prepare and plan as thoroughly as possible. Adequate just isn't good enough. Whatever you plan to do, it has to be planned and executed perfectly, or near perfectly. Anything less just doesn't cut it."
Byron opened his mouth to retort, but nothing was said. He found himself looking into Jerec’s eyes, and he finally began to understand the man before him. Jerec, who had spent the past seven years on rescue duty. Jerec, who had no doubt made more than his fair share of mistakes and learned the truth of his words the hard way. Jerec, who had probably faced more death and more horror than Byron could begin to imagine, and who had only two weeks ago been at ground zero when Midoran destroyed the Academy. Not an imperious, and even arrogant man, but a lone priest who was missing someone for whom he cared for deeply, and refusing to accept anything but perfection in the task of bringing her home.
Instead, Byron relented. "Be at Ladriel Tower in three hours," he said in the same calm that used to infuriate Lillian. "We could use your help working out the rest of the plan. I'll make sure the rest of my senior staff are there."
"I'll be there," Jerec promised. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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The Night Before
Posted: 05 Mar 2006 11:08 AM |
Ladriel Tower
The planning session went exceedingly well, despite a rocky start. It had taken a lot of quick talking on Byron's part to explain Jerec's presence there, but by the time they were done, any qualms the others may have had were gone. Jerec's experience alone was formidable; more importantly, he had the ability to tap into the experience of others. It was easy to forget that they'd all been through a lot over the past few years; he made them remember.
"It should be safe enough for a second group to come on through once the first has cleared the way." That was Phillippe, decades of forgotten Paladin training and military experience being dredged up and brought to the surface. "There are a lot of people who won't be content to just sit back idly and let others do the rescuing. Still, this is Maldovia we're talking about—it's not a place you'd take just anyone along. Good intentions simply aren't going to cut it; if we have uninformed amateurs running around doing their own thing, it doesn't matter how powerful they are or what their intentions are: they'll be a severe liability. If we do it this way, in two groups, the non-essential team can always pull out if worst comes to worst."
"It also means that we can select a few of the more advanced Heralds and Healers and give them much-needed experience," Tonan added. "The danger will be real, but it will also be lessened. They won't be in mortal peril if we go about this properly."
"There's timing and logistics to consider as well," Jerec said. "I can only get a hold of one boat. At best, it's a four-hour round trip from Brandibuck Coast to somewhere on Maldovia's south coast. You'd also have to consider extraction. The second group will have to take the bridge back to the mainland."
"And then you may have people turning up at the coast anyway and insisting on coming," Tonan pointed out. "I've mentioned it before and I'll mention it again—we have, somewhere, a security leak. At least one; possibly more than one. Things have gotten better since we went to yellow, but the fact remains that a lot of our operations and knowledge, which should be confidential, are actually widely known."
"A traitor?" Byron asked grimly.
"Quite possibly. Or it could be simple incompetence. Either one is dangerous," Tonan sighed wearily.
"I could screen the second lot," Grace offered. "There are ways of checking. I'll tell you if I find anything, so we can decide how to act on it."
"Don't act on it unless it's urgent. It may be in our best interests to continue to lead them on," Byron decided. She gave a nod; he turned to Blanche.
"All the clerical supplies we could spare are ready to go," she said with a serene smile. She'd found something she was good at and the improvement in her morale showed. "Angelius wants to know when the boat is coming so we can load them. He's threatened to go on a baking spree if we find her alive and well..."
"I pray we do," Byron said solemnly.
The remainder of the meeting took on a rather somber tone after that. Nevertheless, by the time they'd finalised their plans, things were looking up.
~*~
Maldovia
It was a good thing he couldn't feel the cold. Lex suspected that if he'd still been capable of it, he'd be freezing by now. He paced around the scorched platform, occasionally glancing in the direction of the haunted city of Maldovia. It was a futile gesture, of course: he'd never see her coming. She certainly wouldn't just stroll out of the ruined south gate.
A slight brightening of the mist. A faint melody on the breeze. He stopped his pacing and looked around.
He saw her shadow before he saw her: tall, imposing, with an impressive and vast feathered wingspan. Strange how the shadow remembered what no longer existed. From what he knew of the story, she'd lost those wings long before the fall of Maldovia, although not long before the fall of Aristi.
A moment later, her solid form peeled away from the shadow.
It was clear that she wasn't Human. It was equally clear that she had never been, even before she'd been tainted and turned into a vampiress. A bizarre amalgamation of the profane and the divine, of malevolence and benevolence, her angelic features clashed with the devilish red glow of her eyes, the blue of her veins standing out against her pale dead skin, the pointed fangs that gleamed when she smiled.
Avadielle.
Her solid form, of course, had no wings. She'd lost those long ago. And yet, the shadow she cast still clung to the illusion that she had them.
You know why I'm here.
She sang as she spoke. A memory of cold overcame him for an instant.
"It's not as if I had a choice." The argument sounded thin even to his ears. "She had to leave sooner or later. I wasn't about to stop them. It would seem the time is drawing near."
Nevertheless, you should have stopped them.
Her voice took on an accusing edge, reflected by the sudden red flare of her eyes.
Nothing keeps me here. You understand that, don't you? My fate is linked to Grace. She was all that kept me here. The day they took her away, they took me with them. The day they removed the restrictions on her mind and on her power, they lifted those on mine as well.
And now the final piece fell into place. Grace, removing the amulet that she'd always worn...
It worked both ways. It must have worked both ways.
"I take it there's a point to this?" he prompted.
Her lips curved into a sinister white smile.
Remember that you could have stopped them from taking her. Remember that you could have stopped me.
She took a step back and vanished, leaving behind nothing but an echo of music in the chill, misty air.
"Well, that went as well as could be expected." Lex turned and looked over his shoulder, addressing empty air. "I hope you got all that."
I did. The others will know soon enough.
A variation on the melody of her voice. This one faint, elusive, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once.
One way or another, she will get what she wants. We will act. But not in the way that she expects.
Lake Ladriel
In her lifetime, a thousand years ago, this place had not existed. It was amazing how the world had changed. The wonders that existed now. This lake of singing crystal, where the very air hummed with song. Grace stood looking over the lake's edge, marvelling at the autumnal colours, watching the dying leaves slowly spin and fall from the surrounding trees.
A shift in melody was her only warning. So slight as to be imperceptible. She only heard it because she knew that song so well. It was impossible to forget.
Grace whirled, eyes searching frantically for the creature she knew had to be here somewhere, even as she instinctively began to murmur a prayer beneath her breath to ward off evil. Too little too late. Halfway through, her words faltered. A wave of dizziness overcame her.
A cold voice whispered in her ear.
It's probably best for everybody if you do exactly what I say, scion of Maldovia. You have a lot of work to do for me tomorrow. |
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The Dragon
Posted: 22 Mar 2006 02:30 PM |
Heavily cloaked with powerful protections and warded with magical silence, so that even those with excellent hearing would be fooled, a man made his way through the Midor mountains. Not even the best tracker could follow his path as he literally jumped from mountain top to mountain top. The orcs, ogres and ettins went about their usual business, oblivious of what transpired high above their heads. But the wizard had no interest in them, for all he wanted was to reach a place where no eyes would see him. Finally, he reached a small, afforested valley hidden deep within the mountain range. After checking his surroundings in both mundane and magical ways for nearly an hour, the time had finally come to begin.
The woods grew silent, as nature often does when something grand – and quite often caaclysmic – is about to happen. Suddenly a cacophony of sounds was released into the world, a pandemonium of falling trees and screeching birds. Great flocks of feathery creatures rose from the canopy, reacting to the sudden appearance of a clearing in the middle of the forest. Out from the mist of leaves rose a magnificent dragon, its red scales glistening in the moonlight. Powerful wing strokes created buffeting winds that toppled more trees and the scaly one rose quickly.
It had been nearly 3 years since he had done this. Actually, it had happened in another life and he had been another person. Nevertheless, he knew that this was part of his heritage. The time had come to fully embrace who he was. Denying one part could only lead to weakening himself. Blown away by the winds, these thoughts fled his mind, as he raced through the nightly sky. Flying high above the landscape, he had only one goal in mind: Haven.
The dragon plummeted down to earth, spreading its wings a split second before it would crash on the command plateau, only to rise once more accompanied by the voices and screams of the Novus Aristi gathered there.
His fears had become reality. Although initially he had dreaded hidden countermeasures by Haven’s defences, nothing had happened. There was some sort of camouflage present, as the natural mists –slightly transformed by magic - warped what the eye registered, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be overcome with ease. The protections were earthbound and wouldn’t prevent any aerial attacks.
It was time to inform Phillippe about the obvious gaps in the wards, he thought and disappeared once more into the night.
***
Later that same day, a letter is sent to Phillippe Jongras.
To Phillippe Jongras
Dear Phillippe,
It would seem that what your consultants told you was correct, as by now you have probably gathered. Had it been a dragon intent on feeding itself, many of the Novus Aristi would be gone now. Although it is highly unlikely that anyone or anything would try to attack you via aerial means, it is my expertise that being unlikely doesn’t mean impossible. And even if it’s not for attacking, birds can often be used as spies.
There are ways to protect the site better, even against those who can slip between shadows and it surprises me that no one has suggested or even thought about them yet. Let me know when and where we can meet again and I will come. I’m afraid that my last visit was more a fluke than true skill. |
Luther McIath: I see, so [X is] the right person in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time.
[Fictrix] ... And can speak French, like both! Wait, I mean Elven. |
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Out of the Darkness
Posted: 02 Apr 2006 08:46 PM |
Life went on. Life always went on.
Goodman and Tonan discussed changes over the training program. More Heralds went out into the world rather than staying inside Haven. The burgeoning Illumine Alliance took its first tentative steps into becoming a formal organisation. Strange how a name could make such a difference. The exiled Midorans had eyed the Alliance warily when it had called itself the Novus Aristi; so, too, had others, although perhaps not with the thinly veiled hostility that Duvados’ lot had. It had taken a great deal of explaining on Lillian’s part before she could communicate the proposal for the new infrastructure to Phillippe, but it had made all the difference when it finally came into being.
Sadly, that was politics for you.
The surface details changed, but at its core, the simple reason behind the Alliance’s existence was exactly the same: to serve the greater good.
Renaming it and divorcing it from the Aristi Code went a long way towards making it more accessible to all cultures. Under the new organisation, the Novus Aristi were only one part of the Alliance, and did not dominate it; the Council was disbanded and reformed to reflect that. No obligation existed to conform to the Aristi philosophy; in fact, none had ever existed, but the fact that both philosophy and alliance had once been under the one name had confused the matter.
It had been a good move. To some extent, that worried Phillippe. Not the move itself, but the way it had come about. Lillian disturbed and perplexed him; she had intermittent flashes of brilliance which she was quick to suppress, and a bad habit of ruthlessly smothering whatever benevolent instincts her paladin training had drilled into her. For her sake and for the sake of their exiled people, he prayed that she would change; he did not want to think that the Midorans had escaped one tyrant just to be ruled by another. She had assumed leadership of Duvados’ group and there had been a hasty reshuffle when Duvados came out of his trance that had ended up with the both of them as the Augulds of their faction, sharing equal responsibility and authority.
“Well, I’m not surprised,” Perriand Goodman remarked one night in Haven, after an uneventful staff meeting. “Villanova/ Duvados/Esmond, the triune mastermind. Eeriest thing I ever did see, watching the three of them work together. You would think they were one mind.”
Phillippe had to smile. That was Perriand for you: never forgot a single Academy student.
He didn’t tell Perriand that they weren’t working well together at all. The united front they put up was just a show; out of sight of the public eye they reminded him of two wounded wolves circling each other, each waiting for the other to show weakness so it could move in for the kill.
The Novus Aristi had its faults as an organisation, but at least its leaders and its people trusted one another. They might lack the strict discipline, efficiency and focus of Duvados’ faction, but Phillippe was all too happy to relax military strictness a little if it meant an improvement in morale and camaraderie. He feared that the other group would eventually follow in the footsteps of Vidus’ New Order if its leaders didn’t sort themselves out soon.
“Speaking of which, they’re up to something,” Perriand went on, narrowing his one good eye. The Academy fiasco had cost him his left one, and Phillippe was still trying to get used to the sight of his old friend in an eyepatch. Combined with the scars he’d already had and his burly build, it made him look like a thug. “I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I know they’re plotting away.”
“What gives you that impression?” Phillippe asked. He hadn’t picked up on anything, himself.
“Oh, you would have missed it. You were already gone from Midor by then. Villanova was Ravenheart’s protegé.”
Phillippe abruptly sat up straight as if electrocuted. Tonan merely looked confused.
“A notorious pirate,” Perriand explained to Tonan. “Or at least, she was some decades ago. After she became Admiral of the Kraken fleet, she turned the entire fleet legitimate, then quit and joined the Midoran Army, converting to our faith. She wasn’t the sort of person who encouraged idleness. She didn’t forgive or forget easily, either. All wrongs had to be righted with decisive and harsh reckoning.”
“She can’t have belonged to Ravenheart,” Phillippe argued. “Unless they changed the rules, you have to attend a Paladin, not just an officer—no matter how high-ranking the officer.”
“Ravenheart joined the Order.”
Considering what he’d been through in the past three years alone, Phillippe has thought nothing could surprise him any more. He’d thought wrong.
He didn’t know how long he sat there in shock. After an eternity, he finally found his voice again. “That’s not possible. It would have been big news in Midor. We would never have heard the end of it.”
“Not really. Duvados wasn’t news when he graduated either, and Teluvion was setting him up to be the next Darellan,” Perriand pointed out. “I’m telling you, Phillippe, between the two of them, they’re not going to be content to just fade into the background and quietly set up a peaceful new religion.”
“She’s taking up Ravenheart’s legacy,” Phillippe murmured. At Perriand and Tonan’s confused look, he added, “About four months ago, Lillian went and took leave for a month. We don’t know where she went or what she did, but it wasn’t long after that the Kraken fleet quietly came back into the public eye. Then when she had to be rescued from Maldovia a few weeks ago, Duvados secured us the services of two of their vessels on short notice to provide transport to and from Maldovia. Then we sent Phoebe and Grace to stay with them some weeks ago, and they agreed to it readily enough. Draw your own conclusions.”
“Admiral Anjhan’s still in charge. There’s been no duel to the death for command of the fleet,” Perriand said.
“No, not yet, but there might be soon. It’s also been her insistence and suggestions that have sped up the development of the Illumine Alliance. Duvados keeps accusing her of empire-building; I’m not so sure he’s that far off the mark.”
Perriand let out a quiet hissing breath between his teeth. “I can’t believe we didn’t see it. She invoked the emergency clause; we were there when she gave the address and did it. They’ve even gone back to using the old terminology. Two Augulds, though only one a patrician. Of all the reckless...”
“They’re planning a coup d’état,” Phillippe explained to Tonan, who still looked confused. He’d probably only been able to follow half of what they’d said. “It’s the only logical explanation.”
“I don’t see anything logical about it. It’s madness. Midoran will wipe them out, no matter how big a force they manage to amass,” Perriand argued.
“It may be that there is another explanation,” Tonan said. It was the first time he’d spoken since the staff meeting had ended. “The last time we did any sort of work on the planning of the expedition, Villanova was very focused on the need for a diversion.”
Phillippe nodded slowly. She hadn’t been the only one; he’d had to vehemently talk Blanche out of sacrificing herself, and he still wasn’t sure that he’d succeeded.
“At any rate, I’ll have an answer for you tomorrow, Perriand.”
“On what they’re up to?” Perriand asked skeptically. “How do you intend to work that out?”
“Simple.” Phillippe smiled. “I’ll ask.”
~*~
Tomorrow never came. At that point, Haven revealed its nature to them.
The Alliance quietly grew in strength as more and more small groups banded together beneath its banner. The Order of the Seven Sisters, of course, was amongst the first to join, along with the Novus Aristi. Duvados’ as-yet-unnamed faction followed, bringing with it a surprising amount of contacts that Duvados had picked up over his years in the field—Shaldriel of Icy Vale, Shira of the Nihillan Moor, and various other individuals scattered around the southern lands. All the leads they’d started to track down months ago finally paid off; small-time merchants, smiths, craftsmen and others showed interest in providing support. The Mirghul Rangers and Sunbringers stayed well clear and refused to be a part of it, maintaining their neutrality; there was no word from the Kraken fleet but Phillippe had a sneaking suspicion that they were friendly with Lillian; the Haven incident had prevented him from questioning her about it, but he intended to, and soon. He was still waiting on word from others—the Fire Knives, Coruva, Ladriel, Asashi—but considering his and Blanche’s past association with them, he suspected that many of them would agree to be a part of the Alliance.
After all, it was merely a formalisation of the ties that already existed: all that was required of the Alliance’s members was that they work together to serve the greater good.
Slowly, the world became aware of the Alliance’s existence. The need for a visible symbol grew day by day.
Phillippe prepared to open Haven up to the entirety of the Alliance. |
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A Tangled Web
Posted: 17 Apr 2006 11:13 PM |
* The Black Hand
~*~
The urgent request from Villanova had been surprising and unexpected. Her vehemence in supporting the request—considering what had happened so recently in Haven with Avadielle—was equally surprising. In the end, she won out.
Leaving Goodman to wonder what in blazes she and Duvados were up to. Considering that she'd been the one who'd made a big fuss over the civilians Willom and Iris entering Haven in the first place, why was she now requesting sanctuary for them in Haven?
When the two of them finally arrived, they were every bit as baffled as he was, and had precious few details to tell. Nor did Duvados, who seemed to be in whatever passed off as a state of panic for him. His explanation had been no explanation at all; in fact, it had been a simple and confusing warning:
If anyone other than Willom asks to interview Byron or Blanche or ANYONE regarding the Aristi as research for the play, suspect them of being in the employ of the Black Hand. Take note of who they are. Do not reveal your suspicions under any circumstances.
If he didn't know better, Goodman would have suspected that the priest was trying to topple both Midor and the Black Hand in one fell swoop.
How convenient that Duvados was always on the move and hard to get a hold of for questioning.
"It's not as if he knows our plans either," Phillippe pointed out when Perriand brought up the topic. "Lillian hasn't told him of the task that we must eventually carry out."
The impossible task. The ultimate expedition.
He had a point.
"So, what do we do?" Perriand asked. "Just let them do their own thing and never mind if it brings disaster down on all our heads?"
"I doubt it will come to that," Phillippe said with a shake of his head. "No, in the meantime, let us question Willom and Iris. Perhaps they can shed some light on the matter." |
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Hiding in Plain Sight
Posted: 16 Jun 2006 08:04 AM |
< The Turning of the Red Tide
~*~
*An encrypted note circuitously makes its way to Haven*
Church has gone way of Paladin Order. Clergy replaced by Righteous Sword Supremists.
Supremists to attend to poor in Midor. Have alerted Team Hammerhead.
Righteous Swords will replace Errant and Survey teams. High Captain Percival Sanner in command.
Crowd in fear.
Eye in sky inactive.
Site specifications for Operation: Relic in separate annex. Should arrive within four days of this message.
-Amaranth |
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Supplying Haven
Posted: 21 Jun 2006 08:50 AM |
Yorgan peered through the spyglass he was holding with one hand. With his free hand he rang a bell, raising the alert at Haven. "Wagons approaching," he called to the duty officer below, "lots of them!"
The duty officer nodded and quickly barked orders, "Inform Sir Lorian, and be quick about..." his words died as Byron Lorian approached. Quickly, the duty officer changed tone, "Sir Lorian," he said crisply, "Several wagons approach from the south."
"I know," said Byron, "I saw them myself. Let them approach." The duty officer was about to question such a reckless and dangerous order when Byron continued, "I have been expecting them, but not this early."
"Sir," protested the duty officer, "we were not informed."
"I know," replyed Byron calmly, "it as necessary to do it this way." The duty officer worked his jaw in frustration, but did not complain. If Sir Lorian wanted to keep the nature of he wagons a secret, then it would be a secret. Surprisngly, Byron elaborated, "They are very important supplies."
"Supplies," the duty officer could not restrain the question. Byron smiled in his calm, indulgent way, as if to say that he did not mind the questions.
"From an old friend. Somethings we have needed for a long, long time." The duty officer let the confused look fade from his face, then nodded.
"As you say, Sir," he said formally. "I shall make preperations to recieve the supplies."
"Do so, and inform the Q-Store to make room in the armory." Byron began to walk away, "I am going to meet the caravan.
Sometime later, Byron was surrounded by four sullen faced dwarves. "Thank you," said Byron again, "for your speed. I did not expect you here so quickly."
Borgam Stonehammer, a thick-set dwarf with flaming red hair was the first to speak up, "We do as we're ordered," he drawled, his common bearing only a hint of an accent. "More are comin'. Not a load, mind ye, but enough to server yer purpose."
"I see," replied Byron. "And payment..."
Borgam cut him off. "Ain't necessary. Th' priest made all th' arrangements for ye." Byron nodded, silently offering thanks for Coruva's selfless response. Borgam continued, "Now then, it's been a long, dusty road." He looked to Byron expectantly.
"Of course. Please, accept the hospitality of Haven. I think we may even have some dwarven ale, I'll send word to open the keg." All four dwarves brightened considerably at these words. "Tonight we will celebrate. To friendship, and the Greater Good."
"As ye wish," said Borgam, but even Byron could tell he was pleased. He looked over the wagons, now uncovered, their contents being moved into the armory. Most of the weapons were yet unenchanted, but the armor already had some of the necessary runework done. A credit, Byron though, to the dwarven smiths.
Soon, Byron knew, proper Heralds would walk the face of Vives again. He ran a hand down the chestplate of the Herald armor, pondering the significance of the eagle crest. With a smile, he lead the dwarves to the mess hall. It was not much, but the ale was cold and the comraderie jovial. And for the first time in a long while, there was a celebration in Haven. |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Relic
Posted: 23 Jul 2006 05:18 AM |
*An encrypted note circuitously makes its way to Haven*
Strongly recommend Xaranthir be included in Operation: Relic. Haven access if possible, especially to investigate underground sea in Hush Tunnels.
- Amaranth |
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Re: Relic
Posted: 24 Jul 2006 06:16 PM |
*The return message is encrypted, but in an entirely different way*
Message recieved. Your trust is our trust. First contact with Xaranthir went poorly. Read Atropos: I have a knack for that. Please confirm that Xaranthir is really cured from insanity.
-Sihdail Daeen |
My name is Byron Lorian....I am the Last Son |
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Re: Relic
Posted: 24 Jul 2006 09:14 PM |
He is under observation. Thus far he has exhibited no signs of insanity.
Add to trusted list of sane and trustworthy mages along with Salt, Shihaya'zad and Solitaire.
- Amaranth |
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Re: Relic
Posted: 25 Jul 2006 10:16 AM |
*Hand-delivered directly to the command tent*
Eagle,
Request Drugo be approached to make a copy of his Novus Aristi potion list available to Xaranthir, and that Xaranthir be granted access to the unique alchemical equipment in the medical tent.
Xaranthir's ID sorted.
Briefed Xaranthir on Operation: Relic. My notes are still in the vault. I've told him he may have access to them. He also now knows the list of trusted mages.
Need spotters or sensor glyphs at Haven land borders to detect incoming approach. Watch towers insufficient due to fog.
- Amaranth |
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