Church Intrigue

[Lighthawk76]

Closed to those who signed up here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=983)

The land of Salvar was one of the coldest and most inhospitable places on earth. The wind howled with a primal fury. The snow flew around like little daggers. The bitter cold jumped into your bones and throat and began wreaking havoc on you poor body. For one man, left by his companion a few miles back, he prayed to die and go to hell, just so he could finally be warm again. Or maybe for his horse to burst into flame, that would work to.

Blank had come to Salvar beside his companion and sometimes teacher Alan. They had been traveling through for almost a week now, coming up from the south and picking up supplies in Knife’s Edge. Not that the supplies had helped make the trip more comfortable.

The old fool had brought them to this icy wasteland with the hope of new information. Regarding what, Blank didn’t know. He was pretty sure that it involved him, or rather the him that was.

Alan and Blank had been traveling together for some time, and Blank was only really traveling with the old fool because the man had become intrigued with Blank’s past, or lack thereof. Blank had no memory of his past. He had washed up on a shore (where it had been warm), and taken in by small fishing village. Alan had come through as he did yearly, and found this young man with nothing known about his past save for a book of randomness. It was this book that enthralled Alan so much, pushing him to offer, more like demand, that Blank come with him for a journey that Althanas would forever remember.

Since then, they had traveled. Alan was known almost everywhere by someone, from the largest and most famous cities and castles, to the most secretive and clandestine guilds, to the most out of the way villages.

It was this last one that had brought them to the far north of Salvar. Alan had a connection here that he had to contact. Most likely it was to talk about the book and Blank. Blank himself had been kept out of his meeting and dealings so far, but Alan would many a time go off with his book, so there was little doubt what he was trying to find out.

Only lately had Blank made his first discovery about the book. It was a sealing. Someone had sealed its contents magically. Alan probably knew it, and was now trying to get around it.

That was probably why they were in the farthest place from both heaven and hell. That was why Blank was following this road as twilight came on, a blizzard howling around him, and his companion left five miles behind him. Where Alan was heading, Blank couldn’t guess at.

Blank had been left with only the instruction to go on ahead to the next town, get a good meal, some rest, and grab a pretty girl if he needed company. It was just like Alan to have to include women.

So Blank went on his way. Just as it was starting to get too dark to see, he came to the gates of a large town. His horse was cold and he could feel the beast starting to give out from the extra exertion. He dismounted, came up to the gate, and knocked.

A small plate was pulled back, allowing enough room for a pair of eyes to look out into the growing gloom.

“Who are you and what is your business?” yelled the man from behind the door, just loud enough to be heard over the wind.

“My name is Blank; I’m looking for lodging for the night.”

The man closed the small plate. For a moment Blank thought the man had spurned him. Maybe he hadn’t heard him over the wind. He was about to knock again when a door open, allowing a large man to step out. His features were hidden by mounds of clothing.

“Are you with the church?” the man asked.

“No.”

“Then you’ll have to check in with the church first. Wait a moment and we’ll get a guard to escort you through the town, it’s another mile in that direction.”

Escort? thought Blank. He and Alan hadn’t had to check into any churches on their way to the north, even in the capital of Knife’s Edge.

Blank just wanted to get to a warm fire and then a bed, and if that could be gotten at the church, then so be it.

After a few moments, Blank was brought through the gate. He walked his horse beside him. The town was relatively large for one so far north, taking a while to cross. On the way, Blank switched out his horse at the stables for one that was ready for more riding. His escort was quiet and cold, not wasting any energy, and warmth, on useless actions.

Once at the other side of town, Blank was instructed to continue on his way until he reached the church, and once he was given permission he could come back for lodging.

With a bit of anger and frustration, Blank hurried on his way. It was already night, and the storm didn’t look to be letting up. This was going to be a long night.

[Izvilvin]

Religion. Izvilvin knew next to nothing about it, but already it was uncomfortable. From what he understood, religion in Althanas was a means of control and manipulation, instilling fear or hope in the masses in order to rule lives. He had a very narrow vision of it, of course, but narrow vision had rarely hindered him before.

Step knew about Salvar's churches, about their religions and culture, but things had been... Different, lately. Things had gotten more severe over time, the stranglehold had tightened, security had been increased. It was all very suspicious, and such issues were never long ignored by agents of Step. Sending a Drow to investigate the goings-on in the lives of the ignorant did not seem wise, as Drow were almost universally hated by humans, but Izvilvin could not complain. Not because he didn't want to, but because there was no room for it. It was hard to respond to a letter if you didn't know where it'd come from.

What made it even worse was that Izvilvin hated the cold. Even under a series of sweaters and two jackets, he was shivering. His hood was pulled down low, leaving only the smallest space for him to look through. A biting wind sneaked through his clothing to nip at his eyes, stinging them as the Drow squinted. It was horrid, and for the first time since he left, Izvilvin missed Alerar.

Things were looking up, finally. He'd begun to regret denying a guide, but in the distance he spotted a building, vieled in the violent, snow-laced winds. Bolstered by the vision, Izvilvin plodded forth through the awful weather.

Reaching out, the Drow gently pushed the door open and entered, immediately warmer. Lifting his head, he spotted a man, who upon noticing the Drow's skin, eyes and ears, backed up a step or two. Izvilvin knew what was happening and didn't want to make things worse, but lowered his hood and lifted his hands as a sign of peace.

The man screamed some words Izvilvin didn't understand, and soon two men were barrelling out of another room to see what was going on. Knowing better than to stay and see what would develop, the Drow fled back through the door. The two men quickly followed.

Out in the cold, the two could not find Izvilvin. It was as if he had somehow disappeared into the eternal white. "A demon?" One of the men asked, his voice wavering. "In this holy land, so close to the church?!"

The other began making his way back to the door. "Maybe it's gone... And it won't come back. Come on, we need to talk to Father Rue about this."

Slowly they reentered the building, watching the area around them to make sure the 'demon' did not reappear. As the door shut, Izvilvin's head popped out from the snow just next to where they had been standing. Spitting snow from his mouth, the Drow reflected upon what had just happened. He could tell that they were more afraid than angry, which wasn't uncommon among humans.

This church was becoming more and more interesting, not to mention more dangerous, every moment.

[INDK]

Salvar was undoubtedly one of the coldest places on earth. A famous Raiaeran storyteller had once remarked that the mark of an elf’s insanity is his or her willingness to brave the cold continent’s ice and snow, and this was a consensus that was often reached in any of the other continents. As such, it was no surprise that most people who came to Salvar came to escape something, be it the law, a family obligation or unfair expectations. A few others came because of the opportunities for wealth and fame, be it in the sea serpent culling industry or in catching a Great Bear. The almost anarchic nature of Salvarian feudal politics gave the place a certain appeal for people who felt stifled under the finer points of casual conversations of Raiaeran politics or Radasanthian dinner etiquette.

However, none of these were the reasons of Damon Kaosi. He had gained the ability to teleport, and now he wanted to try it out. Salvar had piqued his curiosity, particularly because if rumor held true, Salvar was the home of his namesake (or perhaps even ancestor) the original Damon Kaosi. A small part of the boy wondered if he could meet anyone who knew of his past, or would perhaps be able to explain how it was that he got there. Thus, Damon let his body disparate and then he reappeared in Salvar, standing in nothing more than a normal day’s outfit amidst the freezing cold.

Almost immediately Damon’s teeth began to chatter, and he clutched himself in cold. The boy’s pale skin turned even paler, and he began to look around frantically for some place warm. There was a snow storm, so it was difficult for the boy to see much beyond his own nose, but there seemed to be some kind of dark building off in the distance. The boy couldn’t make all that much out about it, it seemed like little more than a blur. Scowling, the boy bit down on his lip and trudged forwards, moving as fast as he could through heavy snow and against the wind.

After a trip that seemed arduous due to his impatience, Damon managed to appear before a rather large building by any standards, particularly intimidating given how little there seemed to be around it. The building was at least five times the height of the boy, and that was excluding the curved conical roof that hung over the entire building. It was a rather odd piece of architecture, with stained glassed windows still deemed as appropriate despite the ravishing winds that were so apparent in the area. However, the building’s appearance wasn’t of much concern to the half frozen boy, all he cared about was running towards the tall oaken door and ending up inside.

However, the moment the boy knocked on the door, the area around him began to glow with a light green light. Eyes wide, Damon bit his lip, unsure as to what it meant. Before he was able to make anything of this new development, the door of the building was sprung wide open as fifteen men dressed in red robes all began screaming at the top of their lungs.

“It’s a heretic… a heretic!” one of them shouted, waving his hands excitedly.

“Yes! Yes, a heretic!” another agreed.

“Look at his eyes, they have no pupils… just like those of a serpent… or a devil!” came the cries of a particularly aggrieved parishioner just before he fainted.

“And a book… what kind of devil writing lies in there!” came the cry of another.

The cacophony of people screaming all at the same time merely intimidated Damon, and he was caught by utter surprise when they grabbed him, pulled his machete out from its sheath to disarm him and took away the book he had been carrying with him.

“Hey that book is mine,” Damon protested, speaking in Tradespeak because he wasn’t aware that these parishioners wouldn’t understand him unless he spoke in Salvic. He now began to flail against the people who were bringing him down and trying to bind him, perhaps surprising some of them with his strength. However, Damon refused to let anyone else have the Slayer Songbook, the book that had been stolen from him. The angel that had given it to him had said that no one other than the boy would be able to use it, and therefore it should never get lost into the hands of another. She had said this was even true for Ashiakin. And as far as Damon was concerned, if Ashiakin couldn’t touch the Slayer Songbook, certainly a group of hostile parishioners were by no means entitled to.

However, the parishioners looked at the book despite Damon’s protests, unable to read any of the elven writing inside it and denounced it as the work of a heretic because of its demon skin binding. Soon Damon was hung up in a cage above the pews, with the only thing keeping him alive being the parishioners’ desire to wait for the magistrate’s return before making a decision.

The boy was just confused, especially because for some reason or another, he couldn’t quicken himself away.

[The Blademaster]

Salvar was an unforgiving place. It was the harshest of environments that Althanas had to offer, yet somehow Nemian Troy had taken a liking to it. He had taken such a liking to it, actually, that he had actually joined a militia years ago for a port town called Brakenn Hold. There he had grown through the ranks, eventually soliciting himself as a head Advisor to Lord Hector.

But it was the past that always called to him.

It was Step that often pushed him into doing things. Though the organization was for the betterment of Corone, Nemian often used it for himself too. He possessed a notebook, a few of them actually, and in them were all sorts of notes. Some related to the continents, some related to specific people, armies, economies, even religion. It was the later that was at the forefront of the soulless beings mind and the task at hand. But there was also something more, a small mission that was given to Nemian by Lord Hector, it was the exploration and documentation of the neighboring holds, as well as those beyond.

‘Amazing’, the man thought. It was intriguing, to say the least. Before the soulless was a picture of a zealous heretical church. People moved about with a purpose and as the blizzard outside grew stronger more and more people were arriving and taken instantly as demons. Rumor had circulated about a demonic entity outside the gates, how it had disappeared without a trace, and how it could be looming yet. Nemian noted the reactions, tone, and reactions to the ‘demon’.

The second person that had sparked the zealous flames that pulsed through the community was a younger looking man. He was not too tall, about a medium build, and had not only been disarmed but also caged. Even as Nemian sat and jotted down quick notes in his book the man was awaiting the judgment of the church. The curious soulless had missed how the man had demonic ties, much less why they had reacted as they had. The man knew his place though and had no intentions of becoming involved, having remained unnoticed despite his void-like eyes that could cause an uproar just as much as the boy before him.

‘Be careful,’ he warned himself as he jotted down more notes and pulled his hat a little lower over his head. The night was only growing deeper with the passing of time, and Nemian held little expectations of sleeping soundly in such an awkward environment, or miss important pieces of a rather intricate religious puzzle that the town of Raefur revolved around.

[Zephyriah]

Why do people think that men who’ve known nothing but the ways of battle their entire lives are nothing more than hollow, callous drones that only act on impulse, or rather uncaring, cold-hearted men with nothing but an insatiable lust for blood and carnage? The reasons behind these misconceptions and stereotypes are quite simple, for onlookers speculate and judge what they do know nor understand. From an outside perspective it might seem that warriors like me do not have fresh functioning organs within our bodies but cords and machinery, but it is quite the contrary. Blood is spilled to survive. Lives are taken to stay loyal to those that’d cared the most. The belligerence and carnage is nothing but a mere shell that is necessary to stay alive each and every day. But, that doesn’t mean that we don’t feel things.

Yes, I said it. Feelings. Emotions. They do reside within us, albeit some more than others. If it were possible to program my own brain and input and extract that which I wanted in there and without any interference, I would have my mind immune to the annoyances of guilt whenever a sinful act was committed. A hard heart was the best ally of a warrior for one did not have the time to focus in on morality when slashing and hacking through flesh and bone. I so wished that I had that aspect embedded into my character, but the truth of the matter was that I clearly did not. When alone, I thought deeply about my deeds, ashamed that I’d veered so far off the path that mother and father had set before me as a little boy. The fear of God was in them and it drove them in their everyday lives. Mother dealt with a lot of grief for being the only dark elf within the city of Rune, and father was ridiculed by those that were close to him. However, they used to always say, “Trust in God and you’ll have nothing to fear, or worry about.” That was all inspiring in the beginning, but when hardship came my way in the form of conniving paladins wishing to see my downfall, no deity ever warned me of their plot, nor stopped it. So naturally, all of those stories about the great things God did with people were dumped out of my mind like daily trash. What put the fear in others was a blade to their neck. If something was the get done force was the most appropriate route to go, for peace and speech never did a thing. Or so I thought.

The suppressed guilt that I’d been battling since the first time I murdered someone had started resurfacing a short time ago. The attacks were growing worse by the day, leaving my old methods of suppression null and void. Frustration was usually coupled with my fluctuating emotions, which in turn elevated my anger to the point where I’d want to slay anything that looked at, or said something to me in the wrong manner. However, a phrase that kept coming into my head was, “Clean yourself up.” At first I didn’t have the slightest clue what that meant, yet upon meeting this middle-aged knight named Heroh while passing through Hanz, a town about fifteen miles south of Radasanth it all became clear.

I’d bumped into him by accident, causing him to drop an armful of pamphlets that he had been carrying. Now normally, I would’ve verbally blasted someone for disrupting me while walking, but something actually drove me to handle the situation cordially. So, I picked up his pamphlets and gave them back with no intentions to say anything to the man. However, he replied, “Young traveler, have you cleaned up? Have you reconnected with God?” One could imagine my how confused I was since this was not something that a complete stranger would ask someone else. He repeated his question as if I hadn’t heard it, but curtly I responded saying, “God? You still have faith in him? Indeed you are a fool!” I thought for sure that my statement of reality would produce a look of puzzlement on this naïve believer, yet instead he simply continued talking to me in that same, positive and uplifting tone. Heroh told me about his life and how he once fought for the Corone Armed Forces, but due to a drug problem, committed several crimes, all which included murder, theft, arson, and rape. Seized by the authorities, he was shipped to Terrinore where he spent twenty-five years of his life doing nothing but hard time and soul searching.

Suprisingly, I found myself intrigued by his story and more impressed that somebody with that kind of background had managed to change his life and snap the cords of his enemies and start afresh. For too long a time, I yearned for the day in which I didn’t have to look over my shoulder or sleep with my weapon. Asking him how he was able to start anew, he told me that he’d joined up with this church in Salvar and was passing out pamphlets in Corone to spread the word. “Structured, balanced, and reliable” were the words he used to describe this religion; three terms that I could not apply to my religion of old, or the Thayne religions. More information could’ve been given about this religious organization but if it somehow got this man clean and enemy-free, then I wanted whatever they had to offer.

Together we journeyed to Salvar where this church was located. It was somewhat of an “on the fly” decision, yet the moment I expressed interest in his religion, Heroh insisted that I accompany him to the “Cathedral”. Naturally though what’d coursed through my mind was whether or not there were people on the lookout for me there. The last time I’d been in the frigid lands was way back when I’d lived with fellow drows in the City of Persephone. The events that’d transpired there mutated into a giant fiasco, but so much time had passed from my time there that I took a chance in figuring that I’d long been forgotten.

The Cathedral that Heroh spoke of was grand, with many steeples, stained glass windows, and everything else that was specifically designed to make one feel worthless and inadequate. But I didn’t worry, for only good things would come from all of this.

Entering, we traveled down a long corridor that led to a large, opened section of the building with pews and strange statues and portraits of unknown individuals. Yet the center of attention had been on a cage high above the pews. Seemingly there was an unfortunate lad in there being condemned by the parishioners on ground level. “What’s this all about?” I whispered to Heroh, trying not to disrupt this bizarre occurrence.

“A heretic has been caught. It is always the duty of God’s people to deal strictly with heretics. Now…..let us observe how this heretic will be dealt with.”

[Lighthawk76]

Blank awoke feeling worst than he had the night before. He had straw stuck in his hair, his back ached from sleeping on the hard “bed,” and his body was still numbingly cold. If he had his way, he would be heading back to the town as soon as possible and hoping they had better lodging.

He had come into the church late in the night, the trip having taken more time than he had been told. After a few minutes of cajoling with the doorkeeper, he had finally been allowed entry. It had then taken him some time to explain who he was, where he was from, why he didn’t know, who he knew, if he was a heretic, the names of gods he followed, and other questions he started giving random answers to. By the end he was irate. Normally Blank was relatively calm, allowing people to walk over him, but he had had it. He had demanded a room for the night, not wanting to walk all the way back to town, and they had begrudgingly granted him one. He was still deciding if it was an actual room or spruced up prison cell.

Getting up and grabbing his bag from the floor, the only article on his body he had discarded, he exited the small room. The stone hallways were cold and damp, and the torches spaced too far apart were little help in warding off the dark. Every so often his foot would drop into a puddle of what was most likely melted snow, and a few times he had even slipped on what was presumably ice.

How did people in these conditions?

Coming to a staircase leading into the main hallway, the scene changed drastically. Blank had been too tired and too pissed off to truly notice how ornate and decorous this area of the church was. Tall pillars held up the ceiling, topped by images of gargoyles and spirits. The walls were broken in places by small alcoves, holding hundreds of candles each, helping to light the room. Statues and portraits lined the walls wherever the alcoves were not, adding somber colors to the already grim room. It was the altar that held the most attention. It was ornate and sculpted with care, a true testament to this people’s belief in the Ethereal Sway. It was a strange mixture of light and beauty mixed with that of the grim and dark stone all around.

Looking higher, the beauty was soon forgotten. Hanging above the pews were cages, made only just large enough for a man to stand in. It was not a man that stood in one though, but a young kid. One that Blank knew immediately.

Damon! Blank quickly looked around wondering what was going on. There were many Lictors and Acolytes milling around, many of them pointing at the spectacle above and whispering in hushed, though undoubtedly fanatical voices. Others were whispering about a demon that had struck in the night, and still some were thanking the Sway for its continued protection.

There were only two groups where there was little to none of the fervent fanaticism. An older man, his hat pulled low over his eyes and a couple of men just entering. One was most definitely part of the church, though the other was a frightful elf with red skin.

Blank made his way to the former man, taking a seat next to him in a pew.

“Do you know what’s going on?” Blank had a little worry in his voice. What was going on? “I know that boy. Why is he up there?”

[Izvilvin]

The going was tough, but though he was frigid to the bone, Izvilvin plowed forward toward the town. Clearly he would not do well here if he was seen, so his goal was to remain as inconspicuous as possible. The tumbling snow did well to mask his heritage, with a little help from his coat, and soon he was walking among townsfolk without getting too many stares his way.

The church was easy enough to pinpoint, being the largest building in the area. A towering structure adorned with several large gems and intricate design patterns, especially in the areas around windows and doors, the church was something Izvilvin marveled at for just a moment before proceeding around back. Here there were some crates and supplies, all caked in snow, but they served the Drow well as he climbed up them and drew his sai.

Using the sai to pull himself up the wall, stabbing, pulling and stepping, Izvilvin made his way to a high ledge. His hands were cold, so he put his sai away and slowly made his way along the ledge to a large window. Carefully he pried open the pane with a sai and climbed into the building, instantly warmer and more comfortable.

He appeared to be in the bedroom of a priest of some sort, as Izvilvin spotted a great many religious symbols on the walls. There was a small fireplace, which he found odd to be in the room of a person, not to mention on a high floor. He gently opened the door to the room, and found that he was on a balcony that circled the ground floor, overlooking the rows of pews, an altar, and many people. Some were coming in from the cold, gathering in preparation for some ritual, Izvilvin thought.

Despite the beauty of the church, the many candles shedding light against so many statues and gargoyles, it was all lost on him as he witnessed the cages dangling between his level and the floor. Many cages, most of them filled with people. Izvilvin lacked knowledge of Salvar, but it wasn't hard for him to imagine what was going to happen to them. He realized why the people were all gathering in the pews below.

And there was a child, a strange looking child, within one of the cages. Izvilvin's job was to simply gather some information, but there was a sense of right and wrong within him as well. Killing a child, for whatever reason, was deeply wrong to him.

He wouldn't let it happen, he decided.

[INDK]

Damon had been sulking. For reasons unknown to him, he had been unable to quicken away, or use any kind of magic. When his teleportation spell had failed, the boy had attempted to sever through the cage with a tornado of lasers, only to find that he was no longer able to do that as well. He had even found that he couldn’t see into the future anymore! It was very frustrating.

Now, it looked like things were getting worse. Not only had the boy attracted an entire crowd, but all around him, the suggestions they were whispering were getting scarier and scarier. Initially, they had just been calling Damon names like “heretic” and “serpent eyes” but now, the voices were becoming increasingly hostile. One particular old woman was even suggesting that they couldn’t wait for the arrival of the magistrate, that they would have to make a decision quickly for the sake of the young.

However, what had made Damon the most worried was the arrival of a person he’d known from his past. It was a man he had fought in the Citadel, and one who had given off the impression as of dubious mental stability. First of all, the man went only by the name of “Blank” and made no apologies for his lack of a last name. Secondly, the man had attacked him in the Citadel for no good reason, only later to decide that Damon had won the battle after all. Third, Damon had never received what he’d believed to be his fair compensation for the fight, and he had often wondered if that “Blank” fellow was responsible.

The idea of Blank spreading lies about him made Damon nervous. The boy began to panic a little, wringing his hands as he looked down at the crowd, especially now that Blank was conversing with the locals. Damon didn’t know how Blank had ended up there, but he was more than certain that his former citadel foe was responsible for what had happened to him. “DON’T LISTEN TO ANYTHING HE SAYS” Damon shouted, taking everyone by surprise.

The entire crowd hushed down. All the Lectors and Acolytes suddenly hushed to a silence of surprise. They looked at Damon curiously, unsure why it was that he had pointed an accusatory glance towards another stranger to their town.

“That man… that one there,” Damon said, pointing at Blank fervently. Everyone else’s attention turned towards the youthful outsider who had arrived only a day before the heretic. “He’s evil… he’ll tell lies just to steal your battles. When we were in the Citadel he did nothing but try and trick me… I swear I tell you. Don’t believe him and let me go!”

The boy emphasized the last line. He hoped now that they would see that they had been duly misinformed about him. Damon was confident he wasn’t a heretic. He wasn’t sure what a heretic was, but he knew it was a bad thing. Since he was polite and considerate to the needs of others, the boy was confident that he wasn’t anything bad. However, the boy doubted that the same could have been said for Blank.

“At the very least I’ll look better by comparison,” the boy thought confidently.

[The Blademaster]

Nemian quickly came to realize he had thrown his lots in with a dangerous crowd in an even more dangerous game. He looked up briskly. What he saw was the young man, still hanging in his cage. The soulless had no true sense of right and wrong, believing socially acceptable and socially unacceptable was to blame instead. This true neutral kept him from lingering his eyes on the captive, allowing him to continue his rough study of the churchgoers.

As the step agent continued jotting down notes more people arrived. From the doorway a duo entered. One was a middle-aged knight, the other a crimson elf. Nemian’s interest was perked instantly. What had caused the change in color of the elf? Why was he walking with the human? Why did the church not immediately assault him with questions and lock him in a cage too? It seemed they knew him, or feared him. The soulless was not sure of which, but was eager to find out.

He turned the page in his notebook.

“Huh? What?” It was a surprise to be addressed so suddenly. Someone had come to him, sat next to him, and he had barely noticed. Nemian looked up from his notes, which were hurriedly turned the opposite way, and looked at the person who addressed him. He was young, not outstanding in any feature, yet held a certain interesting undertone. “Oh, uh… I believe he is indicted on charges of being a ‘heretic’. He was stripped of his weapons and placed in that cage as soon as he entered. I would not voice too loudly, either, that you know that one…”

However it seemed that karma was against the poor Nemian. The boy next to him had kept his voice low enough that those around them did not hear him. They certainly had not reacted to his proclamation of a relationship with the man. As far as the agent could tell that meant they had not heard it. The child had other ideas though.

From overhead he bawled. Accusations flared through the room as he pointed fingers and attempted to turn the tides. Though it seemed he was assuming that the man next to Nemian was the source to his captivity. The soulless without hesitation scooted a little further down the bench and turned his attention to his book. If he could make the church of The Sway believe that he was reading and not conversing with the newly accused maybe he could get out safely. It seemed a cowardly thing to do but in the game of survival it was just another move.

‘Where is Izvilvin?’ He thought as he hid his pen and flipped the pages as if reading. ‘I was supposed to have another with me. Why did they not send him?’ The issue would assuredly be brought up next time Nemian was given the chance. If he was promised another to accompany him then he damn well get another, even if it was simple busywork.

[Zephyriah]

"Damon?" My lips opened to let loose a whisper of that name, almost involuntarily. Apparently such was what the captive was called, according to a strange hazel eyed youth that'd commanded attention of the parishioners and acolytes by his loud antics. I wasn't particularly interested in this fellow, or any one else for that matter. However, I was intrigued by the fact that this abductee was named Damon. "Could it be......no, impossible." There was only one person in my past that I knew of that went by the name Damon. He was once the hero of Raiaera, an olive skinned half elf with an assortment of abilities. Too many times had I crossed paths and blades with that fellow. Yet as time passed, the less I heard about him, until no word concerning him was uttered at all. Just what happened to the one called Damon Kaosi was beyond my comprehension, but I really didn't care all that much. Whether he died or gave up life as a warrior was irrelevant, for he was out of my hair for good.

"Are you alright good sir?" Heroh said, noticing that I wasn't entirely fixated on the ritual taking place. I responded with a simple, yet assuring head nod that everything was fine and then he emulated the same gesture. "Follow me good sir. It's time that this congregation make you one of our own." Without hesitation he took my wrist and eagerly pulled me forward, with all intention of introducing me to the men directing the poor caged sap's ritual. My instincts urged me to resist, due to this being an unfamiliar situation. However, Heroh had managed to obtain my trust and I did respect him. Yet, the closer he brought me toward the Acolytes ahead, the more uncomfortable and agitated I felt. Surely my middle aged traveling partner couldn't have been the producer of these emotions in me for it that were the case, I would've felt this way a long time ago. But just what was making me feel this way? These lavender eyes of mine scanned every aspect of the church, from it's grandiose pillars, stained glass windows, and even those sitting in the pews; no answers had come up. Once again though, I looked upward, staring at the youth in the cage and realized that his very presence was what was causing me to have all of these irregular emotions.

"Why am I feeling this way about this person? I've never seen him before a day in my life!"

"Young traveler, how about you introduce yourself to the fine Acolytes of this congregation?" Herod asked, pulling me out of my daze.

The men looked at me suspiciously, almost in the same manner that they gazed upon the captive. However, Heroh must've eased their minds about me which probably prevented them from tying me up and tossing me into a cage as well.

"The name is Zephyriah......Zephyriah Ablione." I hesitantly uttered, unsure as to whether or not my name would strike fear into their hearts. The malicious deeds I've done in the past were indeed many, and everywhere I seemed to go, I ran into people who seemed to know someone that I either killed or placed into some unfortunate circumstance. Thankfully, the countenance of these fellows had not changed in the least bit. Instead they simply looked toward Heroh. "Good brother, we of course are unsure of this man that you bring to join us. Certainly as you know, we don't have the authority to admit him into this congregration for that is solely up to the magistrate. But, we will trust your decision since you've been a faithful follower for many years. In the mean time though, have that young traveler get rid of this," One of the acolytes handed over a dusty book to Heroh. "Surely we desire not to touch the possessions of a heretic any more than we have to." My middle aged traveling partner nodded before giving the book over to me and telling me to discard it.

There was a trash barrel behind the very last row of pews, which I began making my way over to. Yet about have way inbetween the caged man and the trash barrel, I halted upon really looking at the book. It had elven symbols and characters all over it, which suggested that the captive had a connection with Raiaera. In no way was I adept in reading or understanding the elven language, but I did recognize a few characters such as the character for "song" which was one of the words on the cover. This wouldn't have been all that interesting had such a book not been etched into my memory. Only one person that I knew carried this kind of songbook.........

Taking yet another look at the caged individual, I felt my jaw clenching. There were too many strange coincidences occuring. Or were they even.......coincidences?

[Lighthawk76]

As the man explained the situation to Blank, the young man turned his face towards the boy in the cages of above. It didn’t make any sense. Damon was a little, well, special, but there was no way he could ever be capable of something that would put him in this scenario.

The boy had been naïve to the world around him, the last time that Blank had seen him. A battle in the Citadel that had turned more into some sort of fiasco, with Blank being unable to touch the boy. The kid had been utterly unable to come to blows with Blank either, and seemed to believe that a battle was something that he would physically obtain.

Now that same boy was sitting in a cage in a church. What had happened to put him in such a predicament?

It was with these thought of worry running in his mind, that Blank heard the boy’s outcry. It appeared that Damon remembered him quite profoundly, though apparently their meeting was remembered in very different lights.

Blank could only look around in amazement as the clergy of the church began whispering, some even nodding in agreement, though these seemed to have some sort of fanatical insanity in their eyes. He could hear some saying how the heretic was simply showing them another that needed to be punished alongside him. Others were saying that the heretic was now speaking with the Sway’s fear in him, pointing out Blank as the one who had led him down this path.

Most, thank goodness, were simply writing it off as the boy’s insanity, caused by his cling to heresy. Even so, everyone began keeping a wary eye of Blank when the outburst was over.

Blank simply sat there, seeking into his cloak. What was he supposed to do? Damon needed help. The young man still wasn’t sure if he was crazy or was simply naïve of the world, but either way, the boy needed someone to watch out for him. On the other hand, maybe Blank needed to worry more about his own skin.

The whole clergy seemed to be taken up in the fervor of finding a heretic. There was no telling if they would stop here though. They may want to have Blank join Damon, purely so they could have the pride of catching two heretics.

Blank was going to kill Alan when he saw him next. The old man had left him in the middle of a road, saying he had a meeting he had to attend. Of course, the only town he had pointed Blank to was apparently a town of religious fanatics who ruled the local village with an iron grip.

Blank sat to the side, debating with himself on what he should do. Until he could come to a decision on the matter, he would just have to hide and hope that there wasn’t anymore attention given to him.

[Izvilvin]

Ah, the language barrier. If Izvilvin could only understand the strange thick tongue of the Salvar people, he might have been left with a few more options. As it was, the Drow was looking down upon the congregation of people, hiding just below the golden top of the balcony's protective rail. His keen eyes and ears had picked up some aggressive movements and tones, not to mention the pleading tone of the boy in the cage.

He didn't want to wait any longer. Izvilvin summoned his courage and leapt atop the banister, gathering the attention of all below who were able to see, given the angle. A man below pointed at him and screamed something Izvilvin couldn't understand, but the Drow was hardly paying attention anyway. Nimbly he leaped from the balcony and soared through the air, much to the shock of the men and women below.

He landed on Damon's cage. Hard. Izvilvin's knees buckled with the impact, but he reached out and grabbed the chain to keep himself from falling. The cage itself swung with the impact, almost hitting a window before swinging back. The Drow didn't want to give the humans below a chance to react to his appearance, so he quickly dropped to his stomach and drew a sai, using the main prong to pry the lock from the cage and open it.

Of course the whole idea of leaping onto the cage was rash, maybe even stupid, and it showed now that Izvilvin had no plan of escape. The cage was open, but dangling as far from the ground as they did, the Drow didn't really have any idea of how he could safely get the child down.

He looked down at the boy in the cage, thinking as desperately as he could, desperate for a plan.

[INDK]

The entire congregation was in a stir at the act of the renegade drow. None of them had paid all that much attention to the masked stranger before, but now everyone’s attention had turned to the Alerar native. No longer did anyone care about the accusations that had been levied towards Blank, the entire crowd was caught between screams of outrage and swoons in fear as they didn’t know what to make of the church now that their heretic seemed to have an accomplice with him.

“Bless my heart!” an elderly lady screamed. “How can the stars have fallen on us so that this is our fate?”

Damon smiled though. He didn’t know the dark elf who had rescued him, but he was grateful none the less. Immediately, the boy leapt down to the ground, bracing himself for the impact by bending his knees and hitting the ground with his palm. Some of the braver Acolytes were attempting to surround him, and the boy briefly entertained the thought of using his laser tornado.

“It’d kill them all,” he realized solemnly, knowing that if his magic powers had returned, he might have more easily been able to quicken away from the church frenzy. However, more than anything else, Damon knew that he was going to have to get the Slayer Songbook back. Until the boy found it, Damon knew he couldn’t leave. Sevviel had insisted that it be in no hands but his.

With a group of Acolytes upon him, Damon began to defend himself, dodging the attacks with weapons as best as he could. Most of the Acolytes were armed with hand daggers and short swords, for the larger melee weapons had all been placed near the church entrance upon arrival.

For Damon, it was a quick flurry with all the people coming at him. They were poorly coordinated with each other and it was all the Acolytes could do to avoid stabbing each other as they ran at him. For his part, Damon was content to run away until he could locate the Slayer Songbook, running up onto the pews and running along the top of their backs. It was a tough balancing act, but Damon was agile enough that he’d still managed to put distance between himself and the throng.

“Got to find my songbook though,” he thought with a slight hint of panic. With pandemonium in the church and bodies moving around discordantly, Damon could barely judge how many people were chasing after him, let alone locate a spell book among a frenzied sea of panicked churchgoers.

By the time Damon had seen the red skinned stranger with the book, the boy had ended up tackled. A particularly quick acolyte had grabbed onto his heel, causing the boy to trip and fall into the pew. It was a matter of minutes before they had managed to bound and gag him up again. The drow that had helped him had suffered the same fate.

“Luwh him alowhn” the boy managed through the muffle of the gag, protesting the capture of the stranger who had been nothing but kind to him. “Hesh noht ah hehrehtic an neethaw am I.”

It was to no avail, as Damon’s muffled demands were drowned out among a sea of voices speaking at once about whether or not they could wait for the magistrate any longer. “Their evil grows every moment we let them live… who knows what other agents they have here?” one particularly persuasive voice had asked.

However, before the frenzied mob could do act on any of the suggestions that had been passed around amongst them, they were interrupted by the arrival of the magistrate. The man was solemn, wizened and old, with sharp yellow eyes that looked like they might need sleep. “Now what’s goin’ on ‘ere?” he demanded. Damon cringed. The magistrate’s voice was crotchety and shrill.

An acolyte who had been particularly involved in the scuffle to catch Damon spoke up. He was out of breath and red faced, but completely beaming with pride. “Magistrate sir, we’ve got a heretic, just like your trap had planned. He’s tricky and he may have allies with him… we’re still not sure. We were going to call the counsul, because he’d know what to do. ”

“No- no need,” the magistrate replied rather quickly. “I mean- I can take care of them myself. The counsul ain’t got ‘orever to be dealin’ with thin’s that happen in just one church.” He took a few steps towards the prisoners to inspect them as he spoke, his tone beginning to slow to a normal pace as he continued to talk. Damon wasn’t sure, but the boy also believed that the magistrate’s accent had changed a bit while he had spoken.

Soon, the boy found himself being stood upright next to the drow. The magistrate stood next to them and held a small orb in front of each of their chests. Near Damon, it created a bright glow.

“This one is the ‘eretic,” the magistrate said calmly. “He’ll be ‘armless now. Gather his thin’s and those of this friend a’ ‘is and brin’ ‘em both to my rectory.”

“He claimed to know another in the audience as well,” one of the Acolytes replied.

The magistrate frowned. “Fin’ any ally he’s got and brin’ ‘im,” the church leader instructed. With those commands made, the magistrate went off to discuss the event with some of the more wealthy Acolytes at the church.

(Bunny of Izvilvin approved)

[The Blademaster]

Through the façade of reading Nemian’s eyes scanned the room. An oddly tinted elf was wandering towards the caged child, un-persecuted. The issue was interesting. He was left alone, walking with a middle-aged man of human origin. The elf, though, looked out of place to say the least. Curiously the young man inched away from the accused and looked over the shoulder of a mumbling clergy member.

They had handed the elf a book.

It was nothing special, but it was what the child in the cage had called for. It was important to him, and therefore important to Nemian’s curiosity. The man moved forward, only to be stopped by outstretched arms. Mumbles became calls. Whispers became screams. Apparently my idea of what an ‘agent of Step’ was supposed to be like had drastically changed. Izvilvin had arrived, however oddly.

As the boy leapt the attention from the drow was once again changed. It seemed that the church was full of ‘heretics’. Nemian tucked his book inside his coat, right next to his pen, and looked to the human who had been next to him. “You might want to come with us,” he said with a smirk. “You’ve already been accused by the kid. The last thing you’re gonna want to do is stick around when all the other heretics are gone.”

But the man gave little more time. The magistrate walked through the front doors and his heart sunk. He knew he would be too late for his comrade, much less the now bound and gagged child. Nemian instead took a seat as the magistrate passed, slowly progressing towards the door. The soulless blademaster was not a coward, by any standard. But he knew when a situation was getting out of hand and knew when a timely exit could mean his survival.

However the magistrate was a little different then what he had expected. As the people were to be rounded up Nemian put his head down and feigned sleep. He could follow them, but then what? He had no clue. The situation was ridiculous. Izvilvin had acted brashly and rather idiotically. To what end was an agent of Step going to accomplish by throwing himself dramatically against a caged figure and stirring the already near-to-boil pot of fanatics.

“This is ridiculous,” he thought as he watched the acolytes bustle about. “Izvilvin will be captured; this child will be with him, and probably that other human. And then there is me, stuck doing nothing… what the hell happened?” Very quietly there were whispers in the back of his mind about leaving Step, about getting out of the nonsense that was Step.

[Zephyriah]

Tension had risen way too quickly for my liking upon the unexpected events of a masked drow shaking things up in this church. It seemed that everywhere I went, drama followed with the intention of dragging me into it. Usually I'd yield, showing my lust for battle and shedding the blood of those that could possibly threaten my life. Yet in this case, I played the background, quietly putting the songbook into my knapsack. Something told me that this book was all too important to the caged fellow, and it was ironic that the moment it was placed into my hands, some masked elf sprung from the rafters, commanding attention. Quite possibly, they could've constructed this diversion, leading the rest of us to believe that they weren't partners in crime. "No wonder they think these clowns are heretics," I thought, baffled at what had transpired. "These clerics and acolytes are already unstable. Doing something like that is only going to boil their blood further."

At this point, Heroh had approached me, as if these events hadn't bothered him at all. "Young traveler," he whispered, making sure that I was the only one who could hear what he was saying. "The magistrate is about to handle a heretic personally. Truly this is a rare occurence and a magnificent sight to see, as he's been blessed with many talents by the Almighty God. Come, let us make haste to witness this."

Pulling me by the arm, Heroh lead me to the door in which the acolytes had brought the caged fellow through. I made sure to make it seem as if I were still interested in this congregation, but the truth of the matter was that I was turned off from the moment I stepped within this place. However, the fellow in which the songbook belonged to was becoming more of an enigma with each passing moment. I had to find out just who he was, and why I felt such a strong connection to him.

[Lighthawk76]

Blank was quiet, allowing the action around him to unfold. He hoped that maybe he could leave once the acolytes had turned there attention back to the unhinged boy above and away from the innocent man below. He would simply walk out of the back doors, get on his horse, return to the village, and wait for Alan. Things weren’t always that simple.

Only a few moment of silence was given to Blank, when the rest of the church broke out into new screams of fear. Blank simply watched as the masked man (or was it truly a devil) swing to Damon’s cage and proceed to rescue him. Blank smiled a little, glad that someone was looking out for the boy. He could only hope that the Damon saw the man’s good deed. Apparently the boy did.

Blank nearly jumped out to save the boy as he fell to the ground. He stood suddenly in fact, gaining the attention of a single acolyte. The man glared at him, a reminder that Blank had yet to be forgotten.

The young man’s good deed was unneeded though, as Damon showed Blank yet again that there was more to this boy than he let on. Soon enough it all ended, with Blank hoping that his escape route would open soon. Watching the boy bound and gagged gave the young man second thoughts.

Blank pushed them away, and stood up, ready to move out. The man with the hat recommended another course of action. Blank had little time to choose though, as the acolyte from before spoke up about Damon’s earlier proclamation.

With reluctance, the young man followed the rest. This was becoming much more trouble than he had expected.

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin landed in a tumble, moments after the boy had done the same. But his plans were soon ruined, he realized, as he had drastically underestimated the amount of Acolytes occupying the church. Of course, if he never admitted to them the existence of Step, the organization could not be made public knowledge.

They took his weapons and he offered no resistence, for as long as he was with the boy, Izvilvin felt he could be of some help. As he was brought deep into the church's basement, he felt he was learning, and never once feared for his life. Resourceful and strong, Izvilvin was confident he could escape at any moment. Perhaps that, and his recklessness, were his two greatest flaws. For a man over a hundred years old, Izvilvin was still very much like a boy.

"Can you speak?" The Drow asked of the boy as they were pulled along. "They have not harmed you, have they?"

One of the Acolytes spun and struck the Drow in the face, yelling something he could not understand. Izvilvin's head twisted with the impact, but turned back almost immediately. He had endured far stronger strikes in his lifetime, and that only further affirmed his belief in his confidence.

Talking, however, would probably have to wait. The Acolytes apparently did not care for dialogue they could not understand.

[INDK]

Surprised by how Izvilvin had been treated, Damon’s eyes opened wide when he saw how the dark elf was treated. His first impulse was to complain, but he didn’t think it would do any good. These people didn’t seem particularly interested in listening to him anyways, since they had labeled him to be a heretic. The boy didn’t even know what that meant.

Soon he was tied and bound, roughly. A few people spit on him, and many called him crude names that would have normally been unfitting for a church. In the case of a heretic, however, the Sway would understand. There were no words befitting such a profane person in the more sacred verbiage.

Once he had endured the abuse of what seemed to be the entire congregation, Damon found himself thrown onto the floor of the rectory. His hands were tied together and it was generally unpleasant for him. The boy scowled and sighed deeply. This adventure seemed like it was doomed from the start. “And I didn’t even do anything…” Damon muttered to himself sulkingly. “I just came here, and now all of this is happening.” He needed to get his songbook back, and most importantly, he needed to get out of Salvar.

Frustrated by the situation, Damon sighed. He didn’t care much for the rectory. It was a stern room without much chance for escape. Huge bookcases of deep mohagany covered every wall, an expensive wood in this part of Salvar. Elaborate sets of tomes decked the bookshelves, ones that were not even written in Salvic or Tradespeak. From some of the languages present, it was clear that the magistrate was a world traveler of sorts, or at least wanted to offer that impression to the clergy.

Soon after, Damon was joined by the magistrate. “Keep ‘eh others out o’ ‘ere fer now,” the senior clergyman demanded. “Let me talk ‘ere ‘irst wit’ the ‘eretic…”

The door to the rectory was closed, and Damon was left alone with the magistrate. “I will help you escape,” the magistrate said, his accent and voice suddenly changing. While he had sounded old and nasally earlier, his new voice gave the impression of coherence and confidence. “The thing is you have to do something for me first. There is a strange development in the basement of our church, and I’m going to need you to investigate it.”

“Uhh… why me?” Damon asked.

The magistrate replied briskly. “You have that special energy to you. That’s why you triggered the glow earlier. Anyways, I want you to pick a team out of the people that will be brought into this rectory. Pick wisely, because they will be accompanying you on a difficult task, I will explain more once they are all selected, alright?”

Understandably, Damon was a bit skeptical. He eyed the magistrate. “Do I have a choice?” he asked, pretty certain that he knew the answer anyways.

“You could die,” the magistrate answered coldly.

Damon sighed.

A few seconds later, the magistrate opened the door to his rectory again. “Brin’ em in, one bah one,” he said, his voice returning the more homey tone he had first used. “I’ll test ‘em fer their purity with the ‘eretic watching.”

[The Blademaster]

“Hey.”

Nemian did not look up.

“You, who are you?” The man’s head lowered just enough for the soulless swordsman to see his bronze eyes out from under his cap. The inquisitive man’s face was flush with excitement, his eyes bright, his brow furled. Nemian toyed with the idea of responding, unsure if it was a wise course of action under the circumstances. “I said, who are you? Where did you come from?”

“Well good fellow,” the soulless man said with a fake yawn and a good stretch, “it seems that this place is in quite an uproar. Why would you bother to question one visiting person among so many heretics?” Despite the boy’s cautious tone, he could not help but spit the venomous word. It was ludicrous, of course, for so many people to be ‘heretics’ to the church of The Sway.

“Outsiders seem to be the problem today.” The man responded in turn, tugging on the sleeve of another acolyte as he attempted to pass. The second man turned, confused at first. His expression quickly changed as the tone around the room and the face of the first acolyte came to his attention. “You will have to come with us… follow them.”

The two ‘assisted’ the young man to his feet, more dragging him by his shoulders up. Luckily for Nemian the book he had been scribbling in was tucked away, instead of on his lap as it had been but moments before. The two pointed and pushed their way towards the same path that the drow and the boy had followed.

“You would not happen to have soft beds where we are going, would you?” The grunts that came from the two answered the soulless’ quip. He sighed. It seemed that the churches uproar was throbbing, quickening like a warrior’s sudden adrenaline. He only worried that, much like the warrior, the adrenaline rush would not wear too quickly and leave the acolytes hands dirty.

[Zephyriah]

Strangely, Heroh’s grip on my wrists tightened, as if I were a top notch criminal that he’d managed to apprehend, and now would not let go under any circumstances. I attempted to wiggle free in order to prevent the blood circulation from my arm to my hand from cutting off, yet the middle-aged evangelist’s strong fingers would not budge.

“What are you doing!? Get off of me!” I finally yelled out, delivering a kick to his stomach, thus forcing him to relinquish his hold on me. Heroh dropped to his knees, holding his abdomen, trying his hardest to battle the pain of an attack that he certainly did not expect.

“I’m…sorry Zephyriah. I just tend to….get a little….excited…when I know that the judgment that is most……certainly due to heretics is in the….process of becoming a….reality,” Pointing to a nearby wooden door with a brass knob, he coughed several times, while following that up with three deep breaths. “That’s the room that the heretics and the magistrate should be in. When it comes to true enemies of the Sway like what you saw earlier with that caged boy and all of his cohorts, the magistrate likes to handle those things on his own.

Approaching the door, I pressed my left ear to it, seeing if I would be able to hear anything. The attempt was futile for the most part, save for the fact that I could detect voices speaking one at a time. This though would do me no good. I had to get in, and I had to get in now. Therefore, I grabbed the knob and fiercely pushed the door open, interrupting whatever conversation might’ve been going on between any of the individuals. The first person I set my eyes upon was the boy in which the songbook belonged to. I was tired of pondering over the mystery of his identity. “You better tell me your name right now boy and how you managed to at one time have this songbook in your possession,” I firmly stated, unsheathing my sword, while holding the Raiaeran songbook in my free hand. “Otherwise my face, as well as the faces of the rest of these fellows will be the last thing that you see in this life.”

[Lighthawk76]

Blank had been more than willing to calmly go wherever the “good and religious” people of the church had asked him to. These same people apparently didn’t trust him.

As he came into the view of two acolytes, they immediately made a beeline towards him. They grasped him by the arms, and pulled him forward, knocking him over so that the two were basically dragging him, his feet scraping along the crowd.

Blank fought back, finally having enough of it. He struggled, twisted, and turned. He threatened and groaned for his release. The two had nothing to say to him save that he was a heretic and was going straight to see the magistrate.

They pushed through the rest of the crowd bringing him to the door of the rectory. They pushed open the door and roughly threw him in.

Blank got up angrily, ready to ask for (or demand) the exit. He found himself alone in a cold hard room with the Magistrate and the young Damon.

He directed his statement to the Magistrate. “I am ready to leave. I have a friend waiting for me back in town.” Thinking of Alan, and the sway he seemed to randomly be able to exert, he got an idea.

“My friend is in a very high position. He… uh… is very powerful, and… and… if I don’t show up in time he’ll… be very cross with you.” He tried to look brave in the face of these two who were apparently in some sort of power, Damon being allowed to stand equally with the magistrate now that he was away from the eyes of the community.

“Well,” said the magistrate, “I’ he one?”

[Izvilvin]

Izvilvin's head drooped and bobbled back and forth as his chin rested on his chest. There was no point in even gazing around the area he was in, for his arms were tied and he was alone in a dark room. Chances were he could hardly see anything even if he did look, despite how many years he'd spent in the utter darkness.

Suddenly, light spilled into his eyes as a door opened. Some words came at him that he didn't understand, but the person at the door came in anyway, pulling him outside and down a hallway. They came to a doorway, and he was thrust inside as the door slammed behind him. Here was the boy, a strange red-skinned man, and Blank. Izvilvin shook his head hard and tried to get his bearings.

Really, all he could do was gaze around the room and wait for someone to speak, though he did mutter something aloud in the hopes that the boy could hear him. "Usstan inbal nau ul'hyrr vel'bol ulu plynnil," it was, a Drow phrase he hoped would be deciphered.

[INDK]

Damon had selected four people, each of them intentionally. The dark elf had been kind to him, the boy knew Blank better than anyone else, the red skinned stranger had his songbook and the other man just tickled Damon’s fancy. The four of them seemed to be enough, because after that point, the magistrate had cleared his throat and declared that he had found the total sum of heretics available. Damon didn’t particularly like that, for the boy wanted as large of a coalition as he could get. The bigger the group, the easier it would be for him to make some alliances, get his Slayer Songbook back and escape.

However, the magistrate had now closed the door again, dropped the homey accent he had used out among his parishioners, and sat back down upon his desk. The magistrate’s hands were linked together, and the man cleared his throat before explaining the situation.

“There is something odd in the basement of this temple,” the magistrate explained. “I can’t say what it is for certain, but there is something going on that is of a sinister nature. I can’t give you much, if any information beyond that, but it seems that many of my acolytes have been growing sick lately. These diseases are of the soul, and they increase every time they come to church. I have tried to keep this quiet, because I don’t want to cause alarm, but I’m going to need you five to investigate…”

Damon scowled. “Why would you want heretics anyways?”

The magistrate laughed. It was a shallow laugh, but the first sign of emotion from the clergy man. “The glow was just to sense people with precocious power,” the magistrate replied. “Someone with power from a non-Salvarian source, so that it wouldn’t be one of my men. The heretic label provided an excellent pretense.”

With an exhale, Damon got up. “Well then,” he said. “I’d like my Slayer Songbook and then I’d like to go. If I’m not a heretic, you have no need to keep you here.”

The magistrate’s face suddenly hardened again. “Everyone out there thinks you are a heretic…” the clergyman stated. “You go out there, you get torn to shreds.”

Damon sighed. “So I have to go on your adventure?” he asked.

Dourly, the magistrate nodded.

“You know I’ll just try to escape,” Damon replied.

“You won’t be able to,” the magistrate shot back. With that, the church leader opened up a door to the basement from inside his rectory. “Time to go…” he said. “If you wish to discuss payment, you may do so now.”

Damon didn’t feel like discussing any more nonsense. With that, he jumped into the cellar, figuring the sooner he was done with the adventure, the sooner he could leave this confusing place.

(feel free to bunny the magistrate and describe the cellar)

[Zephyriah]

The fact that this supposedly holy magistrate had turned out to be something completely different than what he presented was not surprising to me. Back in Rune, priests donning their silky white robes, carrying their bibles always strutted around as if they were walking on clouds, even if the truth about them was that they’d done evil deeds and had done everything they could to cover it up. This individual baggage wasn’t yet exposed, but the fact that his voice changed and he wanted the four of us to embark on this enigmatic mission led me to believe that either there was something going on beneath the church, or he had unpleasant events in store for us. Initially, I was about to speak up on this concern of mine, but something in me would not allow me to utter what I’d been thinking.

“If the time to talk about payment is now, then I want 1,300 gold pieces,” I stoically mentioned, clutching the boy’s songbook as I followed him to the new opening in the rectory. “It isn’t negotiable either. It’s the first amount that popped into my head, since Raiaera has a bounty over my head for that amount.” Truly, I couldn’t been more flexible, but I simply saw no point in doing so. This fellow wanted my services and I wasn’t reluctant to offer them, especially when it gave me yet another opportunity to find out who the previously caged human really was. He had Damon Kaosi’s songbook once in his possession and I needed to know how he’d gotten a hold of it.

“Kaosi,” The name rang in my head, causing me to clench my fists. “What in the world happened to you? Surely you weren’t killed by a weakling like this……. ” In all honestly I would not believe it if the truth was that the renowned hero of Raiaera was destroyed by such a pathetic looking human. The olive toned elf was a warrior who’s strength and prowess matched my own. He was my adversary; a man that I personally vowed to kill myself. Under no circumstances would it sit right with me if I would never again be given the opportunity to take Damon’s life.

“Hey you!” I’d followed the boy into the cellar, speeding up my walk to catch up with him. “You don’t know me and I don’t know you. But I will tell you that you’re irritating me! How did you ever manage to get a hold of this songbook!? Did you slay a man named Damon Kaosi to get it!? No…that couldn’t be it! You bought it off somebody else who’d happened to kill Damon!” My fury was rising with the more I inquired of the boy. “You better start speaking now if you don’t want to lose your head!”

[Ashiakin]

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