Eli let out a heavy breath. his entire morning had been spent with his father, reiterating and re-establishing the boundaries for a negotiation. Eli did not have much wiggle room, and he knew that De Reimer's offer would be a strong one. Eli didn't have to give a damn about anything except the facts right now, and they all fell heavily in De Reimer's favor.

The Entente falling apart

The assassins from Manshrew

The ability to make a powerful offer...

These were the things that De Reimer had and could wield in these negotiations, and Eli was cautioned by The Old Man that they may even try to use Naomi's harm as an induction to negotiation. The thought had crossed his mind, but he had initially disregarded it after his interactions with Lanaya. However, he forced those away.

And it is now, sitting at his desk once more, that he is focusing his mind. He knew what he had to do and he knew what his negotiable limits were. He forced his opinions and thoughts on Lana out the window, sharpened his mind, and set his focus. This was, perhaps, one of the most important decisions he had been tasked with handling, and he was, for damn sure, going to make it come out in his favor. Blackwell favor.

He lifted his head and cast a glance about the room; it was lit by torches this evening rather than a solitary candle, giving the room much more light. Mary was obediently sitting upon her perch, hooded and pacified. He had cleared his desk entirely of clutter, leaving its entire surface empty save for a stack of blank parchment and a quill with ink. And, a touch of his father's influence, his elaborate rapier lay across the table as a soldier's show of integrity. Perhaps a touch more interesting, however, was the queer dagger that lay at its side, with its thicker sheathe and adornment of the Blackwell crest.

He had abstained from alcohol and fasted all day, to sharpen his mind and quell his complacency. Water and meagre supplements of bread had been his only meals throughout the day, and this was a practice of his that he held in quite high regard as a method of sharpening oneself. And, there upon the table, was a pitcher of water rather than wine or any other drink, for he disdained the mind numbing powers of the substances when serious work needed to be done.

Everything, he decided, was set for a discussion of war and politics.

He wouldn't need to wait very long either, as in just a few minutes Lanaya Dionisa, his opponent for the evening's discussions, would be shown through the door by a much more stoic and quiet member of the Dragonguard than she would be used to at this juncture in time.

"Welcome, Lady Dionisa." Immediately his tone carried none of the charm and friendliness it had in their previous encounters, and instead maintained an authoritative and powerful air- and, indeed, he did no banter and moved straight to business once the door was closed behind her; "I presume you are prepared for this evening's business, and I propose we begin with some brevity as there will be much to discuss."

"Thank you Lord Blackwell, and indeed, let us not waste any time." Lanaya stated somewhat haughtily as she entered the room. She used the formal version of his name, for this was a formal engagement and feelings had no place in it. She wore the illusion of Nyhem high fashion - a much more flashy and bulky affair than the Alenius standard, and normally quite limiting of motion, though not for her. In her hand were the papers Duncan had given her - rolled up of course - to be used if needed.

She noted the weapons on the table as she approached, guess it was some kind of quaint Blackwell custom. She had no blade of her own to place on the table to return the gesture, and so did not. "The Imperial Concord wishes to invite House Blackwell to join the Imperial Concord." She spoke firmly of the intent of these negotiations - though the terms and conditions were up for debate, Duncan had been quite clear about the ultimate goal.

Eli didn't give her the same appraising gaze she had felt before, and it appeared that her appearance didn't mean anything to him in this moment. She was a voice to him right now and nothing more, a representation of a man he wished to challenge. However, something that remained the same was the lord's employment of silence as a tool. He let her declaration hang in the air for several seconds as he shut his eyes and listened.

"Ah. The Concord wishes for our help." he said with a sly smile. "I see. I will assume that you were given leave to make offers in order to entice us to accept this request, and if that is the case I suggest you do so now."

He was leaving all of the initial declarations up to her, and he kept his eyes shut as he spoke.

However, as he spoke, he focused his mind. On the chess-board presented upon the table he envisioned a map of Formaroth in his mind's eye, and upon it he placed three 'king' pieces. One king was presented with several pawns and a bishop, the other with two knights and a rook. The former king was placed within the city of Nyhem and his pawns cast about the lands, with the Bishop piece standing in over the recent battleground against the Manshrew forces. The latter king was placed in Uzgob and the knight pieces were locked against the bishop.

He then placed a third king in Alenius, and with that king he placed a knight piece and a queen piece. The queen was the strongest piece upon the board, and he felt quite satisfactory with laying it firmly within the third king's repertoire. He moved his mind's eye around the board and surveyed it from all sides, then began to move pieces about slowly- moving them to match the reports he received.

Then he finally opened his eyes and returned his gaze to Lana.

"Glarmion and Akki." Lanaya stated with little delay.

When she continued, it was to state in more depth the terms of this allegiance - though allegiance was perhaps a strong word, as her terms would strip Alenius of its independence. That would be the hardest thing to sell to her opponent. It was best to gauge his reaction to it early.

"In exchange for joining the Imperial Concord and supporting Duncan De Reimer's claim on the throne. As a member of the Concord, you would be bound to provide full support to the war effort against Manshrew. Following the successful conclusion of the war, House Blackwell would be granted dominion over the lands of Glarmion and Akki int heir entirety for as long as the House endures." She knew territorial gain would appeal to Eli, but it was not her only card to play.

"Glarmion, Akki, and Uzgob." Eli stated immediately. "Because, and I assure you of this, my father will eradicate the Manshrew name from Formaroth for the damages done to the princess. That means Uzgob will be in need of new lordship. I see it fitting to include Uzgob within the entitlements of the Blackwell King."

He then pressed his hands together, forming a pyramid with his fingers.

"And you say 'join' the Imperial Concord, however an alliance will be sufficient, and any further attempts to subjugate the independence of the Blackwell King and all lands presiding under their rule will be seen as a threat to our way of life and an act of war. So no suggesting we kneel and no suggesting we recognize De Reimer as anything other than an equal. He is neither our king nor our superior, and there will be no swaying this matter. King Giles Blackwell has made it clear that our independence is paramount."

His voice was iron. Unyielding. They were asking for his help. He was a provider of a service- a service of war. And the Blackwells were extremely good at war. And something Eli had learned very swiftly as a young boy was this; if you're good at something, never do it for cheap.

He had made these counters and demands swiftly, disregarding his usual silences. A direct and sudden counter-attack to her offer.

The barest hint of a smile curled one corner of Lana's mouth. While part of her was hoping for an easy victory, she was also expecting a challenge, and with such terms stated so boldly, Eli was certainly presenting one.

She took a little time to respond, remaining silent before speaking as Eli was prone to do, though not as long as he usually did.

"Uzgob, Glarmion, Akki... House Blackwell joins the Concord and acknowledges King Duncan, and in addition, a daughter of the Blackwell line marries Patrick De Reimer, placing the Blackwell lineage on the direct line for the throne." She wasn't going to relent on a full joining of the concord quite yet. She knew her position was not strong, but he didn't need to know that. She was confidant in her offer, despite Eli's tone of iron. They wanted the throne. Given that Duncan did not currently look like he was going to be producing any heirs, it was a good deal.

Eli broke his gesture, moving his hand to the quill and ink pot upon the table. With deft gestures he coated the quill, then writ upon the paper.

'Uzgob'

'Glarmion'

'Akki'

Once those words were upon the paper, he placed the quill back within the pot and let a silence hang. This one was weightier.

"You still expect subjugation to De Reimer. Any attempts at revoking the independence of the Blackwell Kingdom will be met firmly with denial of the other terms." He reinforced. "As for the marriage, if one is to occur it will be Matrilineal to ensure that the children are Blackwells and all inherited titles will fall into house Blackwell. The marriage would thusly take place in Alenius under the customs of this land."

He allowed himself a sly smile.

Her response was swift and firm, though not quite the iron tone he managed.

"No. These terms are unacceptable."

She let the statement hang in the air for a moment. The deal would be entirely in Blackwell favor under such terms and he knew it. When she spoke again it was in a more conciliatory tone.

"Independence. Let us add that to the table. His majesty will acknowledge the independence of Alenius under King Giles Blackwell the first. However, the Concord is not willing grant as much land to the Kingdom of Alenius during this negotiation. We now have three separate things to negotiate. The terms under his Majesty Duncan De Reimer will recognize the independence of the Kingdom of Alenius, the terms of the military and economic alliance against the upstart Andrew Manshrew and the terms of a marriage between the Blackwell and De Reimer families."

She had divided them up like this because of the different duration that each was likely to entail. It was far cleaner to create a number of separate treaties than fill one with all manner of temporal clauses. "Shall we begin by discussing the new borders of your Kingdom?"

Eli's sly smile escalated into a smirk, though he cautiously poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the table and drank from it, forcing his facial expressions away. He'd succesfully guaranteed independence as a part of the deal as far as he was concerned, meaning he could afford to be much more lenient in other manners. He set his glass down and poured another one, ever courteous of his guest, even if an opponent, and set the second glass on Lana's side of the table.

He then folded the parchment bearing the lands previously discussed into half, and set it aside. A new piece of parchment was presented, and he wrote, this time in quite calligraphic means..

Independence Guaranteed

He then returned to his neutral mannerisms, depositing the quill back into the inkpot.

"I am willing to relinquish Uzgob from the listed additions to the Blackwell demesne, and am willing to accept your initial offer of Glarmion and Akki."

He discarded his iron tone and, once more, wielded the neutrality of business.

For a moment, Lana wondered if perhaps she hadn't pushed hard enough. If maybe the Blackwell's might've folded on independence if she had just been a little firmer. It seemed as though Eli believed he he had one the first round. Perhaps he had, but even if that was the case, she would not give in to doubt. She could not go back now.

She took the offered glass and sipped it. The cool water was refreshing, and the pause allowed her to formulate her next move.

"His Majesty is very generous in his gifting land while acknowledging Blackwell requests for Independence." She began, taking the quill in her hand. "It is valuable territory that is changing hands... He will expect, however, a significant tithe in order to cover the administrative costs of transferring authority, and as a repayment for his benevolent granting of your request." She was not going to let these lands go lightly.

"A tithe will be paid and nothing more. That is to say, formally, one-tenth of the land's earnings of the year shall be paid to cover the..." He paused and chuckled some... "Administrative costs."

He then waved a and dismissively.

"Before you bargain again, consider the value and position of the lands of Akki, as well as the already considerable treasuries of Alenius. Looking upon these lands alone, the established Tithe I suggest will be quite satisfactory. When Glarmion is taken into account as well, it is without doubt that a considerable sum will find its way into the Imperial Concord's coffers as... tithe."

He spoke quite quickly throughout this, as if finding it tiresome and wanting to be done with it. Money wasn't an issue. Would never be an issue. He didn't care enough to try and sway them for less money, so he just went ahead and offered something he considered, privately, an adequate amount. He fully expected her to pressure him for an extension of the tithe, and he was considering how long he was willing to agree to it should the Lady Dionisa pressure him.

Noting his tone, Lana saw a chance to push for more. It was a fairly generous beginning offer, but that didn't mean she would just accept it.

"Ten percent of yearly earnings for four years." She countered. It was a high estimate, and she was willing to be argued down, but it also set up for the next thing she said, after a brief pause.

"Or thirty percent of only one years earnings."

She was aware that such a lump sum would be less in total, and was again prepared to negotiate the number down. But at such a significant percentage of a kingdoms earnings it would not only cut severely into the Blackwell income, but go a very long way for Duncan. The crown was in significant debt, and if she was able to eliminate that debt in one fell swoop, it would likely please Duncan sufficiently to overlook her failure to incorporate Alenius directly into the Concord.

"Ten percent for two years." the tone of iron, once more, arose from the man's throat. The boredom and lack of care on the matter shattered as soon as she made a counter-offer, and he once more moved his will to assert himself over the conversation.

He chastised himself on relaxing on a subject he felt comfortable about, because his comfort allowed for a point of leverage on his opponent's behalf. He was fine with agreeing to longer terms, but he couldn't let her feel she could press for much in the future lest this whole thing become less...in his favor.

Lana smiled and said "That is acceptable." She put quill to parchment and recorded the details of the tithe on the treaty. It was a significant payment. She hoped it would be enough to please Duncan.

"Given the state of the world as it is now, you must understand that the Imperial Concord unfortunately will not be able to ensure the current rulers of Glarmion and Akki will gracefully accept their new liege. As such, it will be entirely up to house Blackwell to determine the manner in which they bring their new lands under control."

This was the other stroke of her plan. Though it was fairly certain that Giles' fury would see House Blackwell drawn into the war with Manshrew, providing a direct economic reason would commit Eli to the war as well. After all, it was highly unlikely the rulers of Glarmion or Akki would simply role over and allow themselves to be deposed or significantly diminished in power and standing. She did add one final word though. "Of course, should you wish to assist us in bringing Manshrew down swiftly, the Concord would likely be happy to assist in bringing your new land directly under your control."

"I assure you that the current rulers will see reason and submit to our lawfully deigned rule." Eli said coolly. "Assistance will not be needed in order for the acquisition to take place." His eyes fell on Lana once more, having searched the parchment. He left the weight of his gaze upon her and drank from the glass of water he had poured for himself.

And while he drank, he moved the pieces on the chess board mentally. The image in his mind's eye, created and held in place before, now began to change. The queen moved and occupied Glarmion, whilst the knight moved to Akki and dominated it. Then pawns, dozens of pawns, sprung up within the newly acquired Blackwell territories.

His mind raced, trying to calculate things he had very little direct information on, trying to anticipate profits and costs and, ultimately, the power gained. He was calculating this deal in terms of 'Can I get the throne in thirty years from this position on the board'.

And, so far, he saw this as an affirmative query. He felt satisfied.

"Let us move on to a new topic." He offered, placing his glass down. "What is next on our agenda?"

Lana looked on, knowing he had a plan. He always had a plan. Whether it would work was another question entirely, but not one she would worry about now. Things were as in her favor as they could be.

She picked up a new sheaf of parchment, moving the existing one to the side, though keeping it prominently in view.

"The nature of the economic and military alliance against the Forces of Andrew Manshrew." She stated. She did not doubt there would be such an alliance - the Blackwell family was provoked against him already. It was only logical to join forces to ensure his swift and complete destruction. This time, she would let Eli offer first. She was interested to see exactly what he was willing to commit to such an Alliance.

"The alliance will be one of simple necessity. The Imperial Concord will offer the Blackwell Kingdom assistance in their endeavors to inflict retribution upon those who sought to assassinate the king, Giles Blackwell, and all those of his lineage. Furthermore, the Imperial Concord will grant the Blackwell Kingdoms an Auxiliary force as a sign of good will and trust. This auxiliary force will number at least one thousand strong and may be accompanied by a commander of Duncan's choosing so long as they be willing to follow orders."

Eli's eyes watched Lana.

"And, finally, the Blackwell kingdoms, in return for the assistance against Manshrew, will similarly work with the Imperial Concord at junctures so as to ensure smooth relations and a quick, painless, war. To put it simply, we will work together to meet the ends desired."

He then splays his hands to Lana, as if opening up the air to her, and patiently awaited her response.

Lana thought for a moment. Her initial impulse was to refuse - Duncan had little need of more troops, he needed equipment. However, on thinking it through, she changed her mind. Not only was it proper to accept the show of good faith, but Blackwell troops were, in general more consistently good than the disparate armed forces of the Concord. If Duncan was careful about who we he sent, he could well benefit from the quality Blackwell troops being under his direct command.

"Very well. An auxiliary force will be provided, however we will expect the Blackwell Kingdom to provide an equivalent force. It is only polite, after all, to extend the show of good faith both ways."

She paused for a moment, gathering her thoughts, taking a sip of water while she did so.

"I'm sure you are aware, that the Imperial Concord will be requesting economic support, primarily in the form of arms and armor. Cawanor cannot supply the entirety of the army, while your land is known to have a surplus. I am sure the details will be quite dull to discuss, and likely better figured out by one with more knowledge of the Concord precise need, however I would like to have an indication of how you would respond to this request."

"Very well, Blackwell will also send De Reimer a legion as a sign of goodwill. Of course, just as De Reimer may send a commander, Blackwell will send one as well."

He paused here, letting a silence settle. Then he smirked. He found his angle, and he pressured it;

"Ah, of course."

He clasped his hands together and adjusted his posture, crossing a leg and resting the elbow of an arm upon his knee. He had, yet again, something the Concord needed. And when you have something, make them bleed for what they need.

"However, due to the sudden need to arm our own people and establish ready supplies, in order for us to relinquish any of our armaments there will need to be...compensation...And, due to the war and the need to hold onto a surplus...the price of the equipment will, understandably, increase markedly..."

From the way he spoke, it was clear that the 'compensation' would be steep.

Lana knew she would be hard pressed to turn this to her advantage. The Concord was not in a good position for bargaining right now.

So she switched tack.

"While I understand the need for a significant compensation in this time of war... The Concord is an ally. His Majesty has been kind in granting independence, but Manshrew will likely not even acknowledge the difference between Concord and Blackwell kingdoms. He will sweep in and destroy us both if we do not present as unified a front, both militarily and economically, as possible. He has ample reason to hate your house after you fought him in the last war, after all. Let us hasten the destruction of a shared enemy through cooperation."

She was already doubtful that this approach would hold any weight with Eli, he would probably be too canny to be caught up in such an emotional manipulation so easily, but she expertly kept her doubt from her voice.

"Allies is the key word in this negotiation, lady Dionisa. For we are allies, not unified, is the reason that this increase in the price must be made. We are not a unified front, we are a collaborative front with a common goal. That means I must take care of my own before I can offer aid to others, and in a time of war supplies are paramount in this regard. If the Concord wishes to obtain supplies from the Blackwell Kingdoms, I'm afraid that the prices will increase to supplement the higher demand for the goods. It's idiocy on my end to offer any less, and in truth I'm already bending from my father's unyielding position on this. So do accept the offer, lest it be revoked under the wrath of the king himself."

With how this was worded and phrased, Eli was portraying himself as making a generous offer in an otherwise unyielding environ.

Lana had known from the start such a trick of manipulation would not prove effective against this most canny of foes. She made a show of mulling over the offer before continuing, even as she inwardly cursed herself for being outmaneuvered.

"It is a generous offer." She began, appearing at first to accept before continuing. "But I must counter with one offer, a payment of sorts that is not in gold. A guarantee that Andrew Manshrew will be kept alive should he be captured by Concord forces, that he might be handed over to your family to suffer whatever judgement you may wish. I must also beseech you to consider that while we may not be a unified front, Manshrew will surely see us as one. Whatever may occur after his defeat, it is in both our interests to avoid tension and economic strain in the short term."

She paused for just a moment to ensure what she said next was distinct. "If such a guarantee is of no interest to House Blackwell however, I will have to accept the terms of this agreement. Either way, Concord economists and logistics specialists will be dispatched upon my return to negotiate the finer numbers of the deal."

Eli was in a powerful position, and maneuvering a negotiation like this was exhilirating at times. He put on a show of mullimg over the decision; sighing softly, drinking his water, looking up for a moment in consideration...

Then shaking his head and looking back at Lana.

"I cannot accept."

This outcome was decided from the start, but Eli had chosen to play this entire section of dialogue as if he were struggling to be generous and there simply wasn't any more he could do.

"The offer is tempting, however you must consider this; Giles Blackwell is a soldier, not a knight. Manshrew dying in battle will satiate our feud with him, and should he be captured alive the Blackwells will simply put him to trial of combat. So either way he dies in battle, and we will contnue hunting those who bear his name. So in the end, such an offer as yours offered nothing and took much. So I cannot accept. The price of the armaments will increase as befitting a commodity during war."

And, with Lana's approval hanging in the air from her prior statement, Eli Blackwell wrote down a rough outline of the price increase and trade ordeal.

Lana sipped her water in silence as Eli wrote. She was experiencing a curious mix of emotions. Disappointment at being bested in this duel of wits... Fear over what Duncan's reaction might be... And an ever growing admiration for the man across from her.

Once he had finished writing she began to speak, allowing none of her emotion to color her voice. "If that is concluded, let us move onto the final element of the treaty. The nature of the marriage between Patrick De Reimer and a Lady of House Blackwell. His Majesty offers this out of an intent to ensure peace between the two kingdoms. He does not expect the crown to pass to the Blackwell line within the next generation however."

"Ah. This is the fun one, isn't it."

Eli gazed across at Lana, and let a silence weigh upon him. This was something he actually needed to think about. If he agreed to this, he would be sentencing one of his sisters to leave their home and marry someone they'd never have met and someone Eli only had a grudging knowledge on. If he were to weigh his sisters evenly, the obvious choice would be to pick Naomi. She was the least beneficial to the house and would be the most worth-while to marry off due to her youth.

However, even Eli was not capable of completely disconnecting his feelings for his sisters from this dealing- not with any ease, at the very least. And as he thought about Naomi a protectiveness clung to his sensibilities and swayed him.

Then he thought to Beatrice and instantly wrote her off, she would likely kill the man in their bed on their wedding night if he tried to touch her.

Then he went to Drevala and hesitated. Drevala was, arguably, the sister he favored the most, Naomi disregarded in this argument, and he was hesitant to sign her off to this without addressing her. That pulled him back to reality now, and he looked down at the rest of the deals he'd made.

The rest of the deals he'd controlled.

If he didn't accept this one, he'd risk losing the others due to compromising the tenets of the negotiation itself. This was the only position in this whole ordeal he couldn't find an unyielding, advantageous, position to bargain from.

But he maintained his confidence and nodded once, assuring himself privately as well as registering what Lana said visibly.

"Naomi Blackwell will marry Patrick De Reimer, their children will be wards of the Blackwell household, and the right for Naomi to leave Cawanor and visit Alenius will never be restricted so long as a Blackwell king sits its throne."

Lana sensed that the tables were more even here, and barely contained her smugness at having gained an advantage. The feeling was fleeting however, as she remembered the angry girl from before, and what she was forcing upon her. Even more so, when she realized that Drevala could just as easily have been the one to suffer this fate.

Regardless, she would press on. A success here might just redeem her other less favorable results.

"I see no reason to restrict Naomi's travel, so long as she does consider Cawanor her home following the marriage, and spend at least some time there." She began, addressing the first point while simultaneously agreeing to it being Naomi.

"However I will have to seek assurance that any children sent as wards are raised in a manner that meets with the requirements of both parents." Though she was too polite to say it, it was clear she was referencing the rumors of Giles' method of 'raising' his children. She was certain Duncan and Patrick would find such a method barbaric to say the least - indeed she herself considered it rather distasteful.

"In addition, I suggest that only male children be sent to the Blackwell household as wards. Peace will be easier to ensure with Children on both sides of the divide."

Her choice of males was not a random one. Males raised by Blackwell's would likely become powerful warriors and skilled leaders, but females, if the existing ones were any example, were likely to become too headstrong to be easily married off for the sake of diplomacy. They were more useful to Duncan if raised in the more traditional manner in Cawanor.

"I assure you that there will be no members of the De Reimer family being stripped of their names and being sent into the world. That is a privelege that, thankfully, only we Blackwells are intended to possess."

Eli's response to this was quick.

"However, as wards, their education will be heavily up to the Blackwell King. That will satisfy Giles Blackwell and make him apt to relinquish his youngest daughter."

Lana's expression when Eli spoke of the Blackwell's curious upbringing as a 'privilege' made it clear she was skeptical of it being a good thing, but she was satisfied with the assurance that any resulting children of the marriage would not be subjected to it.

"This is acceptable." She began, putting quill to paper to begin recording the terms. "You are in agreeance with the stipulation that only male children will be wards?" She questioned, noting his lack of reply to this aspect. She was eager to conclude the negotiations, they had been long and intense. She had other plans for the limited time remaining to her in Alenius.

Eli leans back in his chair and offers her an affirmative gesture.

He was thankful for these negotiations to be over, but as he watched Lana write down their agreed upon terms, he felt a certain fading within himself- the exhiliration of control and danger was falling, leaving him with a stoic, businessminded, satisfaction of the ordeal.

All things considered? He'd put his boot on the Imperial Concord's neck and dictated terms to them with only minor inconviniences to the Blackwell side of things arising. It was a very, very, good feeling.

"That concludes our negotiations for the now, correct?"

"It does."

Lana replied, her tone neutral. She drained the rest of the water in her cup before continuing.

"If I may, my Lord, it has been a long day and I would like to retire."

She stood and moved slowly to the side of the table, though did not rush to the door. Her stance was that of one who was worn out from a long day, but her eyes held a mischievous twinkle that was not there previously. She was going to retire, but her night was not over yet.

Eli nods to her as she rises. He reached out and took her glass into his hand, before stting it aside more neatly on his half of the table. He then sipped from his own cup and looked to her. The evening had worn on for some time.

"Feel free to retire, my lady. Our business has been concluded. I rather enjoyed the discussion, thank you for not being boring."

Amusement was in his voice now that the official business had been wrapped up.

"Thank you my Lord. You have been a most gracious host in this time of uncertainty." She replied before making her way to the door.

Once she had made it back to her room, she considered the likely ramifications of the deal. It was possible Duncan would be willing to understand, but she suspected he would more likely be angry at her for granting House Blackwell independence. She knew, from speaking with Eli, that there was no way they would've joined the Concord now, or ever. They were going to remain independent regardless, whether it was by being granted it officially or by fighting for it. In her eyes, it was better to have it be granted, and for the Concord to get something out of it, than to stubbornly refuse it and start another war over it.

Regardless, history would now hold her up as the one to blame if the new Blackwell kingdom caused ill.

At first, she had been nervous. Worrying over her appearance like a schoolgirl before her first romantic encounter. But then she had remembered, that she was a Sorceress, and that men were simple. Even the great Eli Blackwell, as intelligent and perceptive as he was, was still merely a man.

She reminded herself of her goals - secure a marriage with a prospective King. As dearly as she loved her friend, Aurelia was not reliable when it came to matters of the heart… Or sacrificing matters of the heart for the greater good - not that that seemed to be a requirement of the plan as yet.

And so it was that she justified, in terms of her grand plan, the feelings she could not deny she felt when she looked at the Blackwell Lord.

She changed quickly, though that was not hard when she was primarily clad in smoke and mirrors. Now, she would appear in a similar dress to the one she wore the previous night, though richer in color and more intricate in detail. Jewelery was at a minimum, and she let her hair flow freely down her back. It was clear at glance that she was no longer playing the part of the Nyhem noble, or the diplomat.

She checked herself once more in the mirror, then made her way to the balcony with a skip in her step. She shifted effortlessly into one of her songbird forms, and glided the short distance around the castle to Eli’s balcony, shifting back and wrapping the illusions about her again simultaneously.

“It would be a terrible waste not to spend the remainder of the night hidden away in our rooms.” She said by way of greeting. Gone was the wariness from earlier, now there was a playful note in her voice, and a sparkle in her eye.

Eli watched Lana go, then set about the task of rewriting the terms of the negotiations formally. In elegant, flowing, script he wrote, and in formal language that such deals were often worded, but the nature of the agreements were not changed one bit.

Then he set the document aside. That was a heavy final deal. He had married off his dearest sister for a deal. Objectively speaking, he felt satisfied. Emotionally speaking...

He was going to drink tonight.

And so, roughly twenty minutes after Eli had set himself to work with the intentions of inebriating himself, he heard a voice call to him. He wasn't drunk by any means, but he had succeeded in giving himself a slight warm fuzzy feeling, the point of barest intoxication. He was still in control of his faculties, he had just deadened his worry over Naomi considerably.

He himself was still dressed finely, if, perhaps, a little more relaxed than during the negotiations. Thusly, seeing Lana, his first action was to swiftly correct his attire and rise up in a bit of a surprise.

"My lady, I wasn't expecting you again tonight, but it is nice to see you." he said as he bowed to her, ever the gentleman. When he rose out of the bow he let his eyes move over her form, and this time she could read him more easily; her appearance was quite pleasing to him.

"Please, just Lana." She replied. "No more formalities today." She smiled, slightly amused at his swift attempts to correct his clothing. He clearly valued his image, much as she did hers.

"I thought after this long day, we might enjoy each others company and relax... I fly back to Nyhem tomorrow, we may not see each other again for some time." She stepped forward, still smiling, happy to see that he was appreciating her appearance, even as she did the same.

Eli couldn't help but quirk a brow up at her words, and his smile slipped into a rather sly one. He gestured around the room, and nodded in acknowledgement of her request.

"Make yourself comfortable then, Lana. You're welcome to what I have to offer."

He then lifted a goblet up and drank from it, letting the spice of the wine offer him a brief solace from dialogue.

"I think I'd rather enjoy having you as company this evening, if I may say so. You look very nice." It was a simple compliment, but he didn't feel like being elaborate at this moment. After he said it, he would finally stop fidgeting with his own attire and would simply try to relax and adopt a more casual demeanor.

"Thank you." Lana replied, the slightest hint of crimson coloring her cheeks as she stepped forward. "You are rather handsome too..."

She elegantly took a goblet from the table - the very same one that had so recently contained water, and cast a fleeting but expectant gaze towards Eli. She did not need wine for courage, but it would warm her and prevent any shivering - the temperature was beginning to drop and she had no reprieve from it.

The crimson of Lana's cheeks brought a smirk to the young lord's lips. She was being terribly cute. He moved to fill her cup with wine once she lifted her goblet, though this wine was stronger than what he had let her have the other day. He had been drinking with the intentions of inebriation before she arrived, after all.

"Did you have anything in mind for this night, Lana, or did you wish to leave your intentions to my imagination?"

There was considerable amusement in his voice, and his eyes twinkled with mischief. He set the bottle of wine down and kept his eyes on her, but after a few seconds seemed to finally tear his gaze away, and he licked his lips. He disguised this 'tearing of his gaze' behind a brief eye-rubbing period, but once it was complete he returned his attention to Lana and she, once more, had his full attention.

Between the wine and the knowledge she was likely clad in illusion, Eli was trying not to think too hard and thus see through her illusion, but also just enjoyed looking at her which his slight 'buzz', as it were, allowed him to enjoy.

Lana raised the goblet to her lips gripping it with both hands while meeting his gaze with her own. He really was a dashing, handsome man.

She was expecting the same flavor as the first time, not realizing Eli had picked a stronger bottle this night. She tried very hard not to grimace and make a face as the spicy liquid burned its way down her throat. It was far stronger than she had imagined. Her cheeks - being only slightly rosy before, now burned crimson as she looked away.

It took a moment for her to regain her composure, but once she did she looked back and spoke, her tone equally suggestive and curious. "What does your imagination suggest my intentions are?"

Her tone played through Eli's mind and he closed the distance between them, now well within her personal space. He lifted a hand and, between a thumb and forefinger, gently lifted her chin so he could stare down at her face.

"If I'm being honest, my imagination..."

He still had that smirk of mischief.

"...Is wondering what your lips taste like with that fire you just drank behind them, Lana."

The man was interested, and his pride didn't allow him to be anything less than direct or confident in his approach to the situation. Perhaps the fact she could set him on fire with a thought would caution other men from such forwardness, but Eli Blackwell has danced with dragons and their fire- surely fancying this woman couldn't be as dangerous as that.

No words were said in reply. Lana simply stood on her toes, maintaining balance with the grace of a dancer, and tenderly kissed him. She did not rush, savoring the moment and sensation. A small part of her mind was happy that everything was going as planned, but she payed little heed to it now. Now only her personal, immediate desires concerned her.

After a long moment she stepped back and ran her hands slowly down her body, dispelling the illusions covering her as she went. She stood for a moment, then stepped forward again, this time closer still, looking up at him. The desire in her eyes spoke of her intentions far more clearly than any words.

Eli met her lips with his, planting a kiss on her lips that he was happy to hold for as long as she was. His fingers, holding her chin, loosened slightly and he let his hand caress her cheek, before pulling his hand away as she backed up, a more...masculine...smirk on his face. He didn't mind how this evening was going one bit.

Once her illusions fell away, he shut his eyes for just a moment, before suddenly wrapping his strong arms around her waist and lifting her up by her hips, pulling her to him, and kissing her once more. A much more 'needy' kiss, this one. A few seconds after kissing her again, his feet began to move, and he carried her over to his bed- which he pressed her down into, still holding her by her hips.

"I don't think we'll be getting much rest tonight." He whispered into her ear, breaking the kiss for a moment to get these words out.

As she was lifted by firm hands, Lana threw her arms around his neck for support and returned his kiss, just as hungrily.

She did not fight as she was carried to the bed and pressed into it, simply unwrapping her arms. The loss of control was as much an exhilaration as the thought of what would come next. She clawed at his clothes with her hands, eager to see him stripped as she was. She just giggled at his comment, pulling him back into the kiss.

She would enjoy this night very much.

Early The Next Morning

Lana drifted slowly back to wakefulness, becoming aware bit by bit of the source of great warmth so close to her. She wondered, sleepily, before opening her eyes, if she had left the curtains open and the sun was streaming in to lick at her skin. That idea was quickly dashed as her sense of touch weighed in on the curiosity, and she realized that the warmth came from skin - in contact with her own.

It was then she remembered the events of the previous night, and a smile curled her lips as she opened her eyes. For a moment, she simply enjoyed the closeness of Eli's body - a sensation she had not felt like this in a long time.

When the moment was over, she disentangled herself, slowly and gently, from his still sleeping form, doing her best to avoid waking him. She wanted to be back in her room before any servant tried to check in on her. News could not escape that she had slept with the Lord Blackwell on the same night she had negotiated the treaty securing Blackwell independence.

Stirring. There was movement. Movement was an incredibly foreign sensation, and as Lana tried to pull away, Eli's arms wrapped around her- a bit tightly, at that. But then his arms loosened and his eyes opened, and he gazed at the woman in his arms. He slowly sat up in the bed, and wrapped the blankets about her as he did so.

"Good morning." He offered her softly, leaning in and claiming another kiss for himself. "Have to go so soon?" He asked with a soft chuckle, rising up and pulling away from her. He tied a morning robe about himself, and let his gaze linger on the beautiful woman in his bed.

Though she felt a small sense of urgency, Lana enjoyed the kiss all the same. "Can you imagine the scandal if a servant were to see us?" She replied, her tone light and near that of a jest, despite the severity of what she was suggesting.

She slid out of the bed and stood, not worried about covering her body. She was happy to let him drink the sight of her in as much as he liked. She would be shape shifting soon anyway, and didn't feel like picking out an illusion when she was just going to put her travel attire on as soon as she returned to her room.

His eyes slid over her form slowly, and a pleased twinkle filled his eyes.

"I have something I wish to give you. A gift, to a woman I find quite beautiful."

His confident steps carried him to the table they had sat at the night before, and he picked up, from its surface, the black sheathed dagger he placed there the night before.

He then returned to Lana and gently lifted her hand, placed it into her palm, then closed her hand around it.

"This knife is made of dragon's talon, Lana. It is worth much gold, and can pierce any armor made by man. I want you to have it so you might have something of mine to keep you safe in these dark times to come."

Lana felt mild and pleasant surprise at the mention of a gift - Eli living up to his noble heart once more.

When he placed a dagger into her hand though, she felt a rather sharp and complex slew of emotions run through her breast. On the one hand, it was a precious gift, and she knew the Blackwell's placed importance on the martial. From him, this was a very meaningful gesture. On an intellectual level, she knew that.

On the other hand this was a despicable tool of death - of the same sort that had ended many a mages life prematurely. It represented death, waste and a willingness to continue those things. It was a pointed reminder that Eli was mundane - not knowing the pleasure of truly bending the world to his will... or of the fear, hate and misunderstanding directed towards one because of the way they were born. It was everything she despised, everything she sought to end.

She tried... And failed, to suppress a grimace, contorting her features in disgust. To hide her reaction from Eli, she turned her head, letting her hair fall across her face. Just to be sure, she also cast a subtle illusion to blur her face, it would appear as simple trick of the light behind the amber locks of her hair. She desperately wanted to avoid hurting him, and hated herself for hating this gift so much.

To buy herself time to get her feelings under control, she focused on his words to keep you safe. She stepped back, turning her face back towards him, an expression undeniably of reveling in power on her face. She raised her arms, the weapon still in hand, palms just above her shoulders facing the ceiling, and began to summon magical flames in her hands, extending them down her upper torso, but never letting them touch either the dagger or her skin.

"I am quite safe." She said, a smirk on her face and an other worldly tone to her voice as she put on the display of her power, letting the fires burn for a moment before extinguishing them all at once.

Eli's eyes watched her intently as he placed the dagger in her hand. Her head turned away, and he filed a mental note of that away. She was not overly fond of the gift, but as she stepped back he couldn't help but offer her his usual confident smile.

"Fire." He said, his voice a chuckle. "It seems you are very safe, Lana. Forgive me for ever doubting that. Some men, though, don't fear fire. And, then, some are quite fond."

And as if to prove his point he stepped close, reached through the flame, and slid his hand to caress her cheek fondly. He'd been in dragon's fire, or at least near enough to matter.

"You know, tis Alenius tradition to get married wreathed in flames. You almost seem to be a bride like that." He said as the flames faded, and then he stepped close and kissed her again. A deep kiss, pulling her mouth to his.

And then he stepped back, gave her space once more.

She couldn't help but be impressed by his lack of fear. No Mundane would reach through mage fire, no matter how beautiful the prize behind it.

She allowed him to kiss her again, taking solace in the intimate gesture. He didn't realize her feelings around physical conflict. He didn't mean to hurt her with the gift.

As he stepped back, a small smile came back to her face. "Are you offering to make me a bride?" She jested, now taking the dagger in both hands. She would accept the gift, despite her feelings, for his sake.

"That is an interesting thought, now isn't it? Misses Lanaya Blackwell. It does sound very nice to me." He smirks at her. "Think on it, why don't you. I certainly will." He then looks away from Lana, for the first time since they awoke, and towards Mary. He moved to the bird and gently touched her feathers.

"Drevala will be here soon, then she will likely pay you a visit. Do keep in touch with me Lana, I fear you've made me into an admirer."

Lana laughed, a musical sound, and turned, walking towards the balcony. "I will." She said over her shoulder, not specifying what she was replying to.

Placing the dagger on the balcony, she shifted into one of the more powerful birds in her repertoire, and once the spell was complete, gripped the weapon in her talons before taking off. It was faster that way - the spell to shift with matter was more energy and time intensive.

Once back in her room, she shifted back and cast the dagger aside, on the bed, which she ruffled a little to make it appear as though she had used it. After all, servants noticed much, and talked even more. Following that, she began to put the clothes she had arrived in on. She took her time now though, no longer in a hurry, and not eager to begin the complex shifting spell she would need to get home....

Just a few moments after Lana finished fixing up her room and began getting dressed, a flapping of wings alerted her to a bird's presence on her balcony, then a few moments later the bird stepped down and shifted into the familiar form of Drevala.

However, strange enough, Drevala was fully clothed and carried a large, leather-bound, book in her hands.

She smiled brightly to the dressing Lanaya and performed a half-bow-half-curtsy, before stepping into the room proper.

"Lana, I just had to see you once more before you left."

"Of course." Lana replied, a note of happiness in her voice as she turned to look at her friend. She was being very formal, and had shape shifted fully clothed. Drevala didn't usually do that - and it immediately piqued Lana's curiosity.

She didn't mention anything about the night spent with Eli, but she hadn't exactly hidden the dagger Eli gave her either. She wondered if Drevala would piece things together or assume it was simply a gift for her to take to Duncan.

Drevala offered an even brighter smile as she studied Lana.

"Caught you at the right time! Yes!" She laughed her musical laugh and gazed down at the book in her hands, somewhat lengthily. After a moment she offered the nondescript leather-bound book to Lana.

"I want you to have this. This... This is my life's work, my entire study on dragons." She gave a more wistful smile at this, then cleared her throat to express the intent to explain further.

"You're risking your cause with me, so I'm going to trust mine with you. If I die, you'll be the only one who can appreciate and utilize this research. And seeing as I'll be in a war, the chances of me dying do exist, however slim that may be." She teased this last sentence, alleviating some of the seriousness in her voice. "But you mustn't open it unless you hear of my death, because within these pages are detailed everything I know about dragons- including their weaknesses."

The last word was said very pointedly, and she allowed a brief moment of seriousness to cross her expression.

"But if I don't die..." the cheery tone returns. "I'll come get it back from you, mmkay?"

"Drevala I... This is..." Lana was genuinely shocked, and lacking for words, quite the rare occasion.

If she took this, it would mean much - a significant bond of trust, but it would also have to be protected. For Drevala's safety, and the world at large. She took a moment to compose herself, continuing to dress as she did so.

"Are you sure? Nyhem may not be the safest place for this..."

Drevala giggled.

"I need it in someome I trust's hands. You're the best one I could count on. If I die, I need someone who respects this information to have it. Other shifters may abuse it. Others may use it to hunt the creatures unecessarily. I need it safe, and if I die and it's left here who knows what will become of it?"

A smile returned to Lana's face then, she couldn't help it with Drevala's levity.

"In that case, thank you." She took the book in her hands. "you are a dear friend Drevala. I will keep it safe."

She looked at the cover for a moment, wondering what secrets it might contain. Not for her to know. She placed it on the bed beside the dagger then, and turned back to her friend, placing her hands on the other woman's shoulders, a more worried, severe look on her face. "But you really must not die. I would be beside myself if you did."

Drevala gave a downright playful smirk. "Death's a good friend of my father's, he won't take me any time soon. Don't you worry. I'll only die if there's nobody left for me to protect- so long as there's someone in my heart I'll crawl out my grave to make sure they're okay. So you better stay safe yourself, because you're in my heart too."

She winked, ever playful, and began to back off.

Lana laughed as she replied "That's reassuring to hear..."

When Drevala began to back away she said slyly "Where do you think you're off to? Once I'm dressed you can help me with the spell to carry all these things with me through the shift."

She had ended up with quite a few extra items she hadn't planned on having to bring back, and it was always easier to cast complex spells with two mages present.

Drevala paused. This pause betrayed a flicker of her gaze moving over Lana, then to the things on the bed.

"Oh. That's an interesting knife you have there. Brother said he didn't end up giving it to Duncan, so...you have it! When's the wedding?" She laughed, this one a bit more forced, as she moved closer once more.

Lana laughed heartily when her friend made the comment. Drevala always was an observant one.

"There is no date yet..." She began. "But I do intend to marry him. Isn't that wonderful Drevala?" Her voice had taken on a sudden enthusiastic note as her feeling spilled over when she spoke the words aloud. "Or maybe I should call you sister-to-be?" She giggled

"It makes me very happy to be your sister, Lana, so feel free to address me that way." Drevala's giggle was genuine once more, and she placed her hands on her hips, in an ever adolescent gesture of sass.

"But no date? Awww, how am I supposed to torture the poor man? I suppose I'll have to wait for him to be all official about it, as usual. Ooo. That means you're Beatrice and Naomi's sister-to-be as well, Lana~" She grinned at that, rolling her eyes.

Lana was somewhat less enthused about that idea... Especially Naomi, after their rather unpleasant meeting. She was sure Naomi would be equally unhappy about the prospect too. Beatrice was a simpleton too, but one not prone to involving herself where she was not wanted, and so Lana worried less over her.

She took on a more serious tone then. "Alas, there are political reasons why I cannot provide a date... And why it is likely I will have to wait some time yet before I can marry him. If it were to be known in Nyhem that I engaged in a relationship with the Lord Blackwell even as I was sent to negotiate with him, doubt may be cast on the treaty, or my loyalties. I dare not risk Duncan's wrath." She purposefully avoided going into detail - she knew Drevala didn't like politics.

"Suffice it to say you cannot tell anyone of my relationship with Eli."

"C-Can I at least discuss it with Eli?" she asked, wilting considerably.

Lana's expression became one of remorse and concern - she did not take pleasure in destroying Drevala's enthusiasm.

"Of course you can, he knows my feelings for him."

She sighed then, and musing, continued. "Were it not for this accursed war, I would spend a month or more here, and eagerly announce my feelings to all."

Drevala cheered up a bit at hearing her ability to chatter with her brother over this topic.

"I would adore that, but it'll just get me sad to think of such a lost opportunity." the woman lifted a hand and ran it through her hair, the gesture certainly, Lana could now likely tell, a habit picked up from her brother.

"So you need to get back and as much as I'd love to keep you here, your work is important. Let me help with the spell."

Having just finished dressing, Lana quickly tied her hair and gathered her things. On her own it might've taken an hour or more to cast the spell needed to shift with her clothes, the papers from Duncan, the treaty, the Dagger and the Book, but with Drevala it would be far faster.

"Thank you. Until we meet again sister."

With that, she began to speak the words that would change her to a bird.

Those words had an undeniable effect upon Drevala, who instantly had her features twisted into immense happiness and a touch of melancholy. But then she had her focus wrapped up in assisting with the spell, and once it was complete she would stand and gather her thoughts for a moment.

"Farewell, sister." She called to the bird.

As written in the hand of the lord Eli Blackwell of Alenius

First and formost, the independance of the lands under the lordship and demesne of those bearing the name of the Blackwell family shall not be under contest politically, militarily, or ideologically lest it be seen as a threat to the lands' independance and integrity. The independance of these lands and their sovereignty is furthermore acknowledged as legitimate in the eyes of the Gods, men, and kings of the Imperial Concord who sits upon the throne of Nyhem.

As per negotiations, the lands of Akki and Glarmion are to be granted to the independant Blackwell Kingdoms demesne. These lands are to be acquired without assistance on the part of the Imperial Concord, but the claims upon these kingdoms is legitimate and acknowledged as thus by the Imperial Concord and its kings.

A tithe is to be paid to the Imperial Concord for two years, on the part of the Blackwell Kingdoms. This tithe will amount to the sum of one tenth of the entirety of the demesne's yearly earnings and is not to be altered or negotiated beyond the current agreements.

The two parties are to co-operate and collaborate whenever necessary to reach the mutually wanted conclusion of the downfall of the Manshrew claimant and household and, ultimately, the stabilization of Formaroth.

An auxiliary force is to be mutually exchanged by the two parties, numbering at least one legion [one thousand] strong. The Imperial Concord and Blackwell Kingdoms may send commanders for these forces as they see fit.

The segment on discussing the price of armarments is initially penned with staggeringly high prices and offhand comments about mathematic formulae/functions and supply necessities during a war-time effort.

A marriage is to be hosted in Alenius, under the customs of Alenius, in order to cement this alliance between the Imperial Concord and the Blackwell Kingdom. Those partaking in the wedding are Patrick De Reimer and Naomi Blackwell. As a part of this cementation of the alliance, Naomi Blackwell's travels are not to be restricted should she wish to travel to Alenius so long as a Blackwell King sits its throne.

Any male children of this union are to be raised as wards in Alenius, whereas the female children may stay with their parents in Cawanor.

This treaty is agreed to and signed by Eli Blackwell, heir and crown prince of Alenius, under the permission and authority of Giles Blackwell, King of Alenius.

Death's No Stranger

@TheDuncanMorgan @Ellri

For now Lycaon had served his time in the King’s Court, at least for today. For now he would have time to think on what he had saw, but he would not be able to rest. He could never truly rest. Yet at least it was better than during his days in the war. There he never knew peace. As his mind wondered, he thought of how those armchair aristocrats had never and would never really get a taste of the battlefield, even though there was a war on now.

“The more I learn about these aristocrats the less I like them,” Sir Daeleth said.

“I expected that you say that,” Lycaon said.

“They tried to kill a little girl,” Sir Daeleth said. “The only one of her entire family who has a soul worth a thing.”

“They are honorable men and women,” Lycaon said.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Sir Daeleth said. “To a simple man like me they simply look like a bunch of bullies and plotters.”

“I appreciate your honesty, Daeleth,” Lycaon said. “But we have more pressing matters to attend to than complaining about barbarians.”

“The Grand Cleric,” Daeleth said.

“Yes,” Lycaon said. “I’ll make no qualms about it. She has been obstinate, preventing us from using the resources of the Church to our own advantage and fighting with us every step of the way. She will prevent us from getting anything worthwhile done, so she must be eliminated.”

“Make it look like an accident, then?” Daeleth said.

“No,” Lycaon said. “I already have it all planned out. She has long lived passed her prime, and everyone knows that luxury is her only true friend, other than decadence. No one shall be surprised of a little heart attack. I have sent Antony to get it done. He will be able to get close, and the lad is well enough that he knows how to get them both alone and get her a drink while he’s at it, and to tamper with the drink.”

“I see,” Daeleth said. “And what then? What is my part in all this?”

“Killing Mildred is the easy part,” Lycaon said. “The hard part is ensuring that Yvainne becomes Grand Cleric. If he doesn’t, then the whole enterprise was merely a waste of time and energy. I need you here, Daeleth, because though you may hate the noble’s tact and their masquerades of geniality, of all the men and women I have besides me that I trust, you are the smartest.”

“I’d rather be out fighting than stuck up in here,” Daeleth said.

“You may get your wish in time,” Lycaon said. “The Order is not fighting – not yet – but it is only a matter of time, I am sure.”

Sir Antony was there, standing over High Cleric Mildred. He felt very uncomfortable around her, but at least today he was not there to grant her any “favors.” Antony did not poison the drink himself. That was left a young, handsome youth about twenty who had suffered the same fate that Antony had at the fate of Mildred, though he had suffered it repeatedly. He was given a small bribe and then eagerly inserted the poison into Mildred’s goblet. Antony was glad that Mildred could finally die. He was sure that no one would ever miss her, and he was glad that her legacy would consist mostly of a name, scrawled on lists of the heads of the Church. Fellow Knights of Order were stationed outside, so no one would disturb them. No one would know that Mildred had been assassinated, maybe even Mildred herself. Only a select few within the Order would know.
“My, if it isn’t my favorite young squire from that little Order,” Mildred said. “Is that a drink for me in your hand there?”

“Yes, your holiness,” Antony said. It made him angry that she had called him a squire. He wasn’t a squire anymore, he was a knight. He had worked for this job. He swallowed his pride and ignored it, and he put the goblet filled with poisoned wine on a finely-crafted wooden table. Now Antony only had to wait for Mildred to take a drink from it.

“But I much prefer you on your knees,” Mildred said. “So why not take a little kneel for your holiness?”

Antony did not argue. He took a kneel.

“Ah you are one of the few-” and Mildred could not help but laugh at that word. “-Who knows that I am not a saint. So let me ask you, did you not enjoy your night with me? Tell me that you enjoyed it.”

It was an order, so he could not refuse. He knew that she was taunting him, tormenting him. “Yes, your holiness, I enjoyed it,” Antony said.
Mildred uttered a wicked laugh. “I could not help but bring it up, for when you called me holiness I could not help but stare the irony of it in the face. But, you know, boy, that you were not the only one I enjoyed. There was also your leader, Lycaon. When he was a youth he was a much better sight than you, with his long, flowing blonde hair. How do you think he got a holy order of his own?”

Mildred took a big gulp of the gobley. Antony waited for the poison to take effect. It was supposed to take effect immediately. To his surprise, it didn’t.

“I give favors, you know?” Mildred said. “Sexual favors for a favor of my power. Material favors for material favors, in a way. I help give Lycaon everything he now values. How else could he hope to make his way up in the ecclesiastical hierarchy than by impressing a cleric or bishop? You wasted your favor by giving it to Lycaon. As for that boy in the kitchen, I gave him everything that his life as a pauper deprived him of, and more. As a result he’s more loyal than a puppy, and would do anything to keep me alive, for otherwise his useless self is back on the streets.”

When Mildred began to talk Antony was nervous. Now he was horrified.

“You know, that Lycaon is an impressive man,” Mildred said. “He has a superb intellect, he’s a great visionary, but he doesn’t read people well enough to belong in the capital. Did you really think you could outsmart me with such a simple plot? If I could be killed that easily, I would have died years ago. I am aware I am not the most popular woman in the country.” She laughed.

What was he supposed to do now? He now realized why he had been stripped of his weapons when he came in here. This was all very bad, and Antony was not sure exactly what he was supposed to do. He didn’t want to die, but if it came to that, so be it. That, however, would not be all. If a member of the Order was implicated in an assassination attempt, it would end up trickling upward to Lord Lycaon. Lycaon could prepare an excuse, to be sure. “Antony was abused by Grand Cleric Mildred, so he had her assassinated,” Lycaon could say. But it would not be enough to avoid scandal, if a member of his Order was involved in something something so shocking.

“Clever, I’ll give you that,” Antony said. “But there’s one thing that you didn’t account.”

Mildred laughed. “And whatever could that be? My guards will be here in mere moments, and both you and your fellow Orderlings will be dispatched.”

“When you had my weapons stripped from me,” Antony said as he pulled out a knife. “Your lackeys forgot to search me. They accepted my honesty by faith.”

“Those fools!” Mildred said.

Antony ran forward. Mildred uttered a scream, but it was quickly silence. Antony with a first slash slit her throat, and then he stabbed his knife into her heart. She died relatively quickly, for Antony cut at her furiously and with much strength. Now that this part was done, Antony had to deal with the hard part. Antony had only one hope, and he had been lucky for it. There was a fireplace here, and Antony knew where Mildred kept the oil lamps. That left only choice. He went to the cupboard where the oil lamps were kept, and one by one emptied their oil on to the ground. Then he picked up a stool and like it was a torch led it into the fireplace. Once it was on fire he took it from the fireplace and made sure it touched all the paths of oil before letting go of it and allowing it to disintegrate in flames.

Then once everything in the room was firmly being set ablaze, Antony left the room, and went out to meet his two fellow knights who standing outside. They were both dutifully continuing to guard the room, but when Antony came out they could hear the cackling of the fire and the heat of the flames.

“So, uh, what’s going in there, Antony?” one of them asked.

“Continue to this guard this room,” Sir Antony said. “Do not let anyone in, and I mean anyone, even under the threat of imminent death.”
Then they saw soldiers who served the Church, but were not part of their Order, approaching them. They looked guarded, and had one hand on the hilt of their swords. As he saw them approaching Antony sighed, and then drew up his sword.
“I do not like where this is going,” the other Knight said.

Lycaon still had on his mind what happened to Mildred, and to his Knights. It was very clearly not what he had in mind. There had been a fire at Mildred’s country estate, and nearly everyone inside, including all of his knights, had died. So far, they had been unable to identify the Grand Cleric’s body. This was supposed to have been simple, easy, and clean. Instead there was this fire. He had large plans for Antony. He was so young, but already a knight. He was bright, and he learned easily, but also was a warrior some skill. Every week it seemed he was a better fencer. Now he was gone.

“Sir,” Tydeus said.

“Yes?” Lycaon said. He had become distracted by fonder memories.

“If you were serious about meeting the King, then we better be on our way,” Tydeus said.

The priest was right. So Lycaon entered into the Carriage, and Tydeus entered in behind him, and both of them took their seat. As the driver let loose the horses with a slap of the reins, Lycaon for a moment allowed himself to get lost in his thoughts. There had been many men and women who Lycaon had known that had died – Yzebel, Hanot, Harnish, and now Antony – and the answer to it all was not to let some passion overwhelmed you when it happened, or you would go crazy. Lycaon did not talk to Tydeus, for he had nothing to say to the priest, nor did he have anything to say to him. He had only brought Tydeus because unlike himself, Tydeus was not here to make friends and allies, and so his statements towards the King could be bolder.

The guards were hesitant to let them in at first, and blocked their way. It was because of the death of Aurelia. After she had briefly gone missing, her body was found. Assassination. He honestly did not know enough of her, only that she was a great mage, and one with a considerable degree of influence.

"Peace, men," Lycaon said. "I am Lycaon, Grandmaster of the Order of Saint Elenor, and chosen represented of His Majesty between the Church and the State. I have business with him, and I cannot promise His Majesty's approval if you do not move your spears."

Lycaon's expression, serene, remained unchanged throughout.


Then They entered into the Kingly hall, where King Duncan was on his throne and the conniving and whispering aristocrats were all around. Lycaon with Tydeus close behind him approached Duncan with reverence, and then kneeled before their King.

“Salutations, my King,” Lycaon said. “For what is worth, her holiness Grand Cleric approved of my position as a representative between you and the holy Church. Though the Church has been thrown into limbo by the death of her holiness, my position still stands. I am sure you already are fully aware of that situation, however, so I shall pass over it. I understand that in these times of conflict and war, soldiers and the supplies needed to supply them are always running short. If you do not mind, my King, would you be willing to hear a proposal of mine in that respect? I have brought with me a priest. A scholastic. He specializes in the theorizing and speculations that the scholastics do.”

"Salutations, my King," Tydeus said.

Duncan stared intensely at Lycaon as he walked towards the throne. Duncan had only found out about Mildred's death a few days prior to the days hearings and had had little time to prepare a solution for the problem. Duncan found it suspicious that Mildred's death happened so soon after Lycaon's promotion.

"Greetings to you Sir Lycaon. I am greatly saddened to hear of the death of her holiness. Someone as pious as her did not deserve such a cruel fate. Tell me, what do you wish to propose to me?"

“What I propose, my King,” Lycaon began. “War is always wears a heavy price on the nation, especially on its treasury, so I aim to lift the burden slightly. I can raise a brigade from the populace, train them, and supply them, all without your Majesty paying a single piece of gold.”

Duncan raised an eyebrow at Lycaon's proposition. He was skeptical of how Lycaon planned to achieve his offer. "A most generous proposal, in response of which I have three questions. Firstly how many soldiers do you think you can raise? Secondly how do you plan to arm them? weapons and Armour are hardly cheap, after all."

"A full brigade, your Majesty," Lycaon said. "One-thousand strong. Indeed, it will not be a cheap endeavor, but at the moment the war is not so desperate that the supplies are not available at a price. The Church has the funds to provide it."

Indeed, Lycaon could gather the funds from within the Church. At the moment, while the Church was in limbo, he had never been more influential.

Duncan remained silent for a moment. In principle there was no reason Lycaon couldn't achieve this goal. He now had full access to the Church’s funds, and his influence over both the clergy and people would make it easy for him to find recruits across Sypius.

"Very well. I don't doubt that you can achieve this, but that bring me to my next question. What do you want in return?”

"Nothing, your Majesty," Lycaon said. "But the satisfaction of helping in the war effort."

Duncan didn't believe Lycaon for a second. Though he hide behind the pretense of good will, Duncan knew that Lycaon wanted the one thing that everyone in this room desired; power. No that this was a problem, Lycaon was loyal to him, and whatever power Lycaon attended would ultimately belong to Duncan.

"A most noble gesture, Sir Lycaon, and I gracefully accept. Tell me, has any process been made by the clergy to elect a new leader of the church. After all, in such perilous times it is of paramount importance that the Church elects a Grand priest quickly and decisively."

"The initial panic, your Majesty, has subsided," Lycaon said. "And by now letters are being sent to our priest-electors and cleric-electors across the Kingdom. Once they have arrived, there begins the real challenge of getting a majority to agree on who shall lead the Church."

"Will you be taking part in this vote? If so, who do you plan on supporting? I am sure that someone of your influence would provide substantial aid to whomever you decided to vote for."

"I myself take no part in the vote, your Majesty," Lycaon said. "Though for my part, I have been hoping that Secretary of the Grand Temple, Marcus Irenaeus, shall go into the running, for I know him, and he is a man of good character and reputation. But, your majesty, I shall not bother you anymore with this, and I thank you for your generosity."

"Very good, Sir Lycaon," Duncan said as he gestured at Lycaon to leave. "I hope your brigade truly can help bring peace to the lands of Sypius."

Lycaon bowed to King Duncan in respect, as did the scholastic Tydeus next to Lycaon.

“Tydeus, your Majesty, shall remain here at your honorable court should you have any questions on any of my plans.”

Then Lycaon soon left, departing from King Duncan’s court and heading on his way to the future business at hand.

Lycaon left the Palace grounds, having let the scholastic stay back at the Court. He would be able to care of Lycaon’s business there if anything came up, and he could more frank about it than Lycaon could. For now, Lycaon had business to take care of elsewhere in Nyhem. He went into his carriage, and took a seat upon the leather.

“Driver,” Lycaon said. “To the Grand Temple.”

The Driver asked no questions and quickly got the horses moving with a crack of the reins, and drove quickly along the bumpy roads of the city. Lycaon paid no attention to the bumps in the road, however, and mere lost himself in the thought of what his next move was be. He did not know what Duncan would do. For the time being his position seemed unassailable as King. However, he had been quite cooperative, and for Lycaon that was a good thing. Lycaon’s next move did not involve the King, however. For now, Lycaon needed to speak to the Secretary of the Grand Temple. His position not only made him an elector on his own terms, but also the closest thing to a leader of the Church during this transitional period.

He gave the driver the money he was owed to him quickly, and then Lycaon was quickly on his way. He quietly entered into the Grand Temple, which at the time was quite empty except for the caretaker-cleric inside.

“Greetings, Mother,” Lycaon said. “Is the Secretary here?”

“Greetings, Lord Lycaon,” she said. “Yes, he is here, at his desk. Would you like me to fetch him for you?”

“Yes, if you would be so kind,” Lycaon said.

So the caretaker-cleric brought Secretary Marcus Irenaeus, dressed in garish clothes and an obnoxious smile, to the front of the Temple.

“Ah, if it isn’t Lord Lycaon,” Secretary Irenaeus said. “I am told that you have some business with me? Pray tell me then, Grand Master, what is it that you seek from me?”
“Nothing too great, your excellency,” Lycaon said. “Only that with a heavy heart I must speak to you more on the tragic death of her Holiness.”

“Yes, yesterday was a great loss for all of us, indeed,” Secretary Irenaeus said. I knew her well, and she was a great friend, honorable and trustworthy. But what was it that you wished to speak to me about, Lycaon?”

“The election,” Lycaon said.

Secretary Irenaeus’ face darkened at the word, but then quickly was filled with greed.

“With her Holiness’ death, we must make it so that there is a candidate put forward that can properly replace her,” Lycaon said. “Put forward your name, your Excellency, into the conest and I will do everything I can in order to ensure that your victory is assured.”

“Then I shall,” Irenaeus said. “Thank you for your words, Lycaon, and for your declaration of support.”

“I will return later,” Lycaon said. “For now, your Excellency, there is much work to do.”

"Brother. Please explain yourself once more." Naomi's tone was that of severity and harshness, and she gazed upon Eli with a look she had, until now, spared him of; the look that Lana had received; the look that said 'You betrayed me' in some way, the look that said 'You lied to me' in some way.

Now only Beatrice and her father had been spared from that look. Not even the Dragonguard who accompanied her at times were spared from her judgement. People who had claimed to 'always be there to protect her' had failed. People who claimed 'the gods are merciful to the innocent' had failed. Those who spoke of life being better than death had even failed her, as the girl, now tasting life after a situation she considered her death, found that oblivion was a far better option than the sustained suffering of this world.

But suicide was not an option for her, no. The man standing before her, explaining his heinous crime to her, had taught her far better than that. He had taught her that failure was inexcusable, that giving up was unforgivable, and that hardship only made you stronger.

So Naomi had immediately ruled out killing herself, but had become increasingly harsh and brutal as the days wore on. She shifted Hoppers in her arms, gently making sure the bunny's comfort was as great as possible, as she settled herself in to hear her brother's words a second time.

Eli, being fortunate enough to be graced with a high level of intellect and social graces, knew his sister did not wish to hear the details of the economic agreement, and made haste in his explanation;

"You are to be married. That is all." He said the words clearly, with no anger or sympathy. It was her duty. He hated it as much as she did, but he understood its necessity. She did not grasp that concept- necessity- and he was keenly aware of it, and thusly had taken her aside like this to tell her himself.

"It will secure the alliance. Allow us to avenge you with the comfort of allies. Allow us to consolidate and grow our own power, so that no one dare to harm us like this again." His voice, much to his satisfaction, maintained its neutrality.

"I see. You married me off without my consent, or so much as asking me how I felt. Even Drevala would have done that much for me." She said critically, a scowl forming on her face. "Well, I'll have none of it!" She hissed at him. "I refuse! I'd rather we all burn than marry-"

Her tirade, only in its fledgling stages, was cut short by a simple gesture. Something that had never been done to her before. Eli had slapped her.

"Listen here, flower." Eli began, his own gaze hardening. "We all do things we don't like. We all have to suffer. Your pain, your anger, your hate? It is unrefined and crude." The man knelt down to be at eye level with Naomi. "Look into my eyes. Do it." He grabbed her face and forced the girl, startled by the pain and suddenness, to stare into his eyes as he let the calm demeanor he maintained so painstakingly to drop.

Naomi's own critical, hard, eyes, softened and widened in the weight of Eli's own powerful gaze, and she numbly reached a hand up, balancing Hoppers carefully, to rub her cheek.

"Naomi. You're not the only one who's angry. I will flay that man alive for what he's done to you, but we can't just let our emotions take control of us." He said evenly, keeping her eyes focused on his. Eli was a man full of anger and hate in his own right, and seeing these things he had crushed and condensed and refined within himself from his childhood reflected in his younger sister pained him. So he had to make this clear. As clear as he could.

"Take that anger. Take it deep inside you. Let it hide. Let it broil. Let it cool, become an edge as hard as steel rather than a fire. Then use that edge against your enemies. If you let this rage inside you, let it take control, you'll become nothing but ashes before long. Do you understand me? You have to be the one in control. I don't care if you're angry, I'm not going to do Drevala's bit and try and calm you down, I just don't want you being a stupid little girl. You're not a stupid little girl, now are you Naomi?"

She shook her head, mesmerized by his words as she often was. No, she wasn't stupid. Yes, she did understand. But he clearly didn't- and that worm of anger manifested in her mind. He couldn't be trusted. Not after this. But his lessons could be trusted. She could learn from him still. She could harbor this anger, turn it against those who betrayed her, who caused her harm. But he still couldn't be trusted. Not anymore. That worm of paranoia and anger whispered such things to her, but in the moment Eli's presence was overbearing, and she felt nothing but the respect, if diluted by her raging anger, she had always felt for her brother and his lessons.

"I understand brother. I understand." She said quietly. "I wish to go now."

"Alright." Eli said after a sigh, pulling away and putting his neutrality back up. "If you wish to discuss anything, I will always be ready to assist you."

"Of course, brother." she said, curtsying, and carrying Hoppers out of his room.

After leaving her brother, Naomi made a direct path to her father. Her father, she thought, would surely understand that she couldn't be married off like this. She couldn't. It was insanity. She didn't know, let alone love the man! But her own mine rebelled at that thought as quickly as she had it- love was a lie, or at least a far rarer occurrence than she had initially thought. that bitter'ed her mind, made her rationalize it as Eli would; she didn't know the man, and it could be a danger to herself.

And so, with little speaking or interruption, Naomi found her way to her father's garden. The bleak, stone, dead garden. He was meditating within it as he often did, though the stones in the garden were now splashed with blood, and a few more weeds had sprung up in the dry dirt. Perhaps this place, she imagined, did grow with death.

She approached her father from behind, then crouched down and gently set Hoppers upon the stony ground. The bunny then proceeded to hop all about, as his name implied, and explore the garden. Naomi, for her part, did what she used to do as a small girl in the castle; she moved to sit across from her father and mimic his posture and pose. She faced him, his face stoic and hard. She gazed at him for some time, studying him.

This was her father. The man she respected and, often, obeyed without question. But as she sat here, her mind, wormed with paranoia, related this same feeling to her brother- whom she had recently concluded had betrayed her in some way. She was loathe to think it, but perhaps... Perhaps even The Old Man couldn't be trusted. She would have to test this.

"Father."

"Flower."

The immediate exchange was mechanical and rehearsed. They had done this similar thing many times before. Naomi meditating before him, questioning him, and him answering without hesitation.

"I'm to be married."

"Yes."

That made Naomi sigh and wring her hands together, then anger took over her nervousness and her hands clenched into fists.

"I do not wish it."

"I know."

His immediate response and lack of sympathizing with her made her hit her legs and hiss with frustration.

"I do not know him."

"I know."

"I may not like him."

"You will not."

"Then why?"

"Because you are a woman. A woman of this household has many responsibilities. You, my flower, have managed to miss out on many of them. Too young for the war. Too young to manage the estate. Too young to fight the dragons. You are my little girl. Will always be my little girl. However you've learned the world is harsh. The world is cruel. The only thing we can trust is death. The only thing we can trust is pain. The only thing we can trust is ourselves. Even now your are likely labelling me as a traitor, or saying I've lied to you in some way, and that is true. I have lied to you your whole life, my flower. I've told you that I will always be there to protect you. I've told you that I will keep you safe. I've been made a dishonest man by my own foolishness, and because of it you're hurting far more than you would be if I had only been honest."

All this was immediate, without so much as a hesitation between her question and his answer. Naomi scowled severely, and her hand even went to the hilt of the dirk she carried. The Old Man only smiled softly at feeling her hand shift.

"I have lied to you your whole life, kept you inside walls and protected you. You must learn to do that yourself."

"Then...F-Father... W-What is it y-you desire me to do?" Her voice was shaking with audible anger.

"Marry the man."

this response only resulted in another angry growl.

"I did not, however, say you had to stay married to him. A De Reimer losing his life is no love lost between you and I. Don't be stupid, girl."

That made Naomi pause. 'Girl'. Father never called her anything but 'Flower'. She moved her hand away from the dirk and occupied them by clenching them together into a big fist, then flexing her fingers and popping them one by one, pulling them at the joint. She did this to distract herself for a moment as she deliberated on her father's words.

"I see. Thank you father. It is nice to know you are still my ally."

"You will always be my little girl."

"May I make a request?"

"Whatever it is, it is granted."

"Thank you father."

Naomi rose up from the ground, went to find Hoppers, then made her exit.

Naomi was wearing armor. This was something she had been steadily adapting to over the weeks, ever since she got out of bed from her near-death-experience. Unlike Beatrice however, Naomi only wore a breastplate. She took after her father in this way. She had found that her hand favored not the sword, nor did it favor the greater weapons such as Beatrice's. Rather, her hand found its greatest comfort in smaller weapons like the dirk she carried. So Beatrice had acquired an assortment of knives and daggers for the girl to carry if she intended to fight; her signature dirk she carried on the back of her hips, a heavier knife with a thicker blade meant for defending was kept close to her off-hand on the hip, and an assortment of lighter knives were placed at other places on her torso and upper legs. Naomi, after growing accustomed to carrying them, found she liked having them close, and liked having so many, and found that even just holding and gazing upon one of the weapons was a titillating experience for her.

But she was not standing in the training field with Beatrice now. No, she was not in that bright and familiar place at all. She was in a dark place, a damp place, a place deep below the castle she had come to know so well. This place was a dungeon. A secluded, horrible, place where criminals were kept. Some were forgotten on purpose, others by time, and others still deserved execution for their crimes.

Others, however, were more interesting to Naomi. Ones that had secrets. Ones that were to receive...secret-loosening techniques.

"It ain't erry-day we get t' princess down 'ere." The hooded man said to Naomi. "And ne'er wit such a request as yers, m'lady."

"Shut up. Stop speaking. Your idiotic speech upsets me." She said critically. The hooded man did naught but nod and move on, guiding her as she had requested. They travelled along the dark tunnels, passing cells of decrepit individuals and degraded people. Soon the hooded man stepped up to a door and, using his heavy ring of keys, opened it for her.

"'Ere you are m'lady."

"I said shut up."

And so the man did. Naomi stepped into the room. It stank of blood, piss, and defecation. It made her senses revolt, but her anger hardened. She came here for a purpose, to do as Eli said and sharpen her anger, harden it, make it into an edge. And she was also taking a lesson from her father- the only thing we can trust is death, pain, and ourselves. So she was going to learn to tell when people were lying to her. Learn to read people like Eli.

But she was going to do it her way.

There was a man, hooded- but unlike the one who had guided her here, his hood had no eyeholes. It was merely a burlap sack tied over his head. She stepped into the room.

The door behind her closed.

And she let out a sigh. The man jerked, for some reason she could not yet tell, at her simple exhalation of air- though he did not go far, due to his hands and feet being bound to the far wall with chains.

"I will be your new partner." She said softly, delicately. "I hear you were a thief. Who buried their treasures. And that the people you stole from want their things back...quite a bit."

"A girl?" He laughed, full of derision, from within his hood. "They think a girl can make me talk?"

Naomi didn't speak further, merely gazed around the room. What she saw mesmerized her. Tools. So many tools. So many things far more specific and useful than the knives she had intended to use. But one thing in particular made her stop and lick her lips. Titillation was the only word that could truly apply, the same titillation she got from gazing at her knives. She walked over and picked the tool up from the bloodied table it rested, grabbing its handle and letting it uncoil down to the floor.

A whip.

As she held it in her hand, she felt herself smile.

"Pain." She said after a while, letting the feel of the whip rest in her hand. "Is only the beginning. Death is my good friend, and he'll let me know your secrets after I'm done."

-------------

Naomi walked out of the room roughly an hour later. She had coiled the whip, now somewhat bloody, back up and hooked it onto her belt. She looked at the hooded man who had waited outside the door and had a blank visage.

"He's dead. I pushed him too hard." she said to him. He nodded, refusing to speak after her adamant declaration for him to shut up, but didn't seem upset with her. Rather, understanding. Someone new to torture often pushes people too far.

"And I'm keeping the whip."

With her newfound hobby, she had done as he father and brother have instructed. She had stopped being stupid, found a way to refine her anger and hatred, and a way to stop lashing out at others. She has unmistakably changed, but is no longer the volatile, angry, woman she has been in recent time. She harbors, and will continue to harbor, intense hatred for all that the church stands for, seeing it as the greatest lie in Formaroth, and in her practices with torture and pain she has begun to learn to tell when people are lying to her, though this is twisted in her mind by the pervasive and overbearing paranoia that has become a part of her psyche.

But she internalizes most of it. She's still angry. Still vengeful. Still full of hate, but as she found an outlet for it all, all that's left inside her has been cooling down, and she has been hardening it into steel as her brother recommended. Naomi Blackwell has a knack for torture, and a soul of fire that has been lit by powers beyond her comprehension.

Her cooling has been welcomed by Eli, who has resumed her education at her behest. She desires to learn as much of the De Reimer family as she can in as short of a time as she can, so as to learn of her future husband and his family.

Her cooling has been welcomed by Beatrice, who has noted a marked increase in her combative capabilities once she stopped being driven solely by anger.

Drevala, however, finds that this sort of sudden calming is a confusing thing. She wants the little girl she helped raise back, but all she has now is a hard and cold woman. A woman, Drevala finds, reminds her too much of her father. She only hopes that she can, with her steady and gentle hand, continue guiding Naomi back towards kindness and, in Drevala's mind, innocence. However, the rest of the world would call this 'Naiveté'.

It took but a time nearing a few months for the girl to go from being bedridden and dying, to being angry and vengeful, to steadily becoming cold and hard. A woman of iron, if unrefined and untested, in the making.

A collab between me and Andrew.

In all her years Johannia had faithfully served the church, and had served the gods with dutifulness and piety. Yet in all the years of her life, whenever she looked up at the Church above, with its bishops and High Priests and Grand Clerics, she saw nothing but shame and disappointment. Nay, such words were not strong enough to describe what she had seen when she looked into the so-called holy Church. She had always dedicated herself to piety and contemplation of the divine, but when she looked up to the divine seat for inspiration, she only ever saw voluptuaries there. This Johannia found to be quite a shame. It was so much of a shame that Johannia could no longer allow it to go continuing on without a challenge or objection from anyone. And so this was what brought Johannia away from her university study, where she was most comfortable, and brought her into the streets among the people. She disliked being in public, but she took comfort in the fact that it was here, and nowhere else, that genuine piety lay. So she now stood up a tall white platform, walking up the dirtied white steps, in her flowing robe of blue and white, and began to preach, for this was where preachers came. She was not one of the great preachers of her day, but she knew she could express the ideas that was needed in this age better than any other.

“We have come here not to engage in the lascivious and shameful inequities which all men and women city must, in their burden, be forced to witness in any and all days. Indeed, that is not what we are here to witness, but rather we are here to witness in the spirit of God¹ that innate goodness which all know to be within us, and through knowledge to bring it out. So, O people, in order for that ineffable but most desirous thing called the Good to be brought out into us we must dedicate ourselves to virtue, that most exalted of words. And so to follow virtue we must follow the great example of the saints, the prophets, and the mightiest of all, the great gods. So follow the advice and the example of Saint Elenor², Saint Zedaiya³, Saint Augur⁴, Saint Zacarias⁵, and all the great men who the gods have smiled upon and have gifted with the ecstasies of Providence.

“Such is the greatness and glories of the Church gifted to man by the God. We are to follow the example of the Church, which follows the example of Those Who Lead Man. Yet there is one Church of the sheep – of those who in service to goodness and virtue follow the true ways – and another Church of the goats – of those who are reprobates. Those who follow the virtues are of the sheep, and shall be rewarded in the hereafter, and those who are of the goat shall be retained in this world in a vicious cycle, returning again and again to this sinful and painful world until they have become sheep. On Earth we see but one Church, for in truth we all hide our wrongdoings from the world in the guise of being good men, but when we stand before the Three Judges the good shall be separated from the bad, as is written by Saint Augur, who says, ‘And verily there are two classes who the Three Judges shall cast their eyes on, and one shall receive the fruit, and another the fire.’

“Yet if indeed there is any such a way of coming to know who are the reprobates among us, then that way shall be looking deep into the actions of these men and women, ones who call themselves holy and just and virtuous, and see whether their words speak true to the actions we know them to commit, or whether their deeds reveal them to be vicious and licentious souls who ought to be reviled. If it is true that their souls are base and that of reprobates, then we ought not to praise and follow them, but to turn away from them, chide them with firm tongues and hot irons alike, and run them out of our churches and into the jailhouse. One must not say that the Church is synonymous with the Grand Cleric, or the Bishops, for, as the prophet Galaius6 said, ‘Heed not the inane voices of the priests who harbor the heart of the sinner.’ For if they were they would not fallen so, for, as Saint Elenor sung, ‘Follow the Church ever incorruptible,’ and what is incorruptible cannot be corrupted, and cannot fall into sin. But indeed we have seen the Bishops and the Grand Clerics and High Priests above fall into sin, for it is in the knowledge of the many that they commit simony, usury, engage in debaucheries too numerous naming, and prefer gold and silver to the gods and to piety. There are three definitions to this word, church. When the faithful gather, that is a church. That great body whom all consider themselves a member of, whom both sheep and goats are shaded by in times of distress, that is a Church, and it is a Church much in need of a cleansing, and there is a third Church, the Church of all virtuous believers, and it ought to be the goal of all to make the second and third definition as close as can be on this earth.”

And the sermon continued, and as it continued more and more flocked to her. They were not attracted, like they were by other preachers, or by Lycaon, by the elegance and luster of her phrasing or of the power of her voice, for which Johannia said. Rather, what attracted them were the words themselves, or rather, it was their meaning. How long had it been since that supposedly Holy Church had led them astray, had committed unholy and lascivious deeds behind closed doors while they preached of purity of both body and soul, and had cared for nothing but the accumulation of gold and riches? None could remember truly a day when they could say with full honesty that everything was alright in the Church, save for when they were young, childlike, and naïve. So to see a preacher speaking out against corruption was attractive indeed.

1. God here is not meant here in the strictly monotheist sense. Rather, it is signifying the general notion of deity and divineness. Nonetheless, such a term does, in the eyes of the Church, imply an uncomfortable tendency towards monotheism.

2. Patron saint of poets, passive virtue, and riddles. She wrote a philosophical work which was filled with difficult, riddle-like aphorisms which allowed varying interpretation. Her religious significance, however, depends on her virtuous life and her outspokenness in favor of the religion, as well as her role in getting the worship of Giphine, Hizreus, and Hystix condemned.

3. The Patron saint of writers, archivists, and librarians. He is the main theologian of the Church, having written numerous tracts, letters, and polemics on the subject. Additionally, he was an ascetic.

4. Patron saints of the persecuted and the poor. He is an important prophet, having written four holy books, which were somewhat vague in the exactness of their content, forcing extensive exegesis.

5. Patron saint of warriors, priests, active virtue, and justice. He was both a wonderworker and hero, who not only slew great monsters with his sword and his strength, but also resurrected the dead and made fire rain from the sky.

6. Semi-legendary prophet, mystic, and saint who has attributed to him 12 speeches, 33 hymns, and 25 poems, widely respected among the faithful as a man chosen by the gods to instruct mankind in theology and morality. He was said to often be in a state of religious ecstasy.

Lycaon was finally at home for the day, at his estate, but that did mean that he was allowed to take a break. Though he was sitting comfortably on a wooden chair cushioned with silk purple cushion, he was sitting across Sir Daeleth, who was standing, and their conversation was strictly business. They were speaking of how to gather up his army, which the King had already agreed to the commission of. They certainly had the resources to inevitably gather it us, but there was the problem of logistics. It would be no long-term problem, but in the short term it resulted in a nightmare of micromanaging. Felise of Dagensbourg, Lycaon’s beloved wife, walked in with a dress, simple yet noble, golden in color, and had her favored servant, Anastasia, at her side. Felise gave a polite curtsy, while Anastasia gave a deeper one, as one only proper for a servant.

“Greetings, Sir Daeleth,” Felise said.

“Oh,” Sir Daeleth said. “Thank you, milady. But there’s no need for you, milady, to boy to someone like me.”

“Nonsense, Sir Daeleth,” Felise said. “You’re my husband’s honored guest, and deserve to be treated as such.”

They would not be able to enjoy civil conversation for long, however. Tydeus came storming into the room, Lycaon’s guards so wary and weary of him that they came trailing behind with him, only a step away from grabbing him by his arms and throwing him out.

“Tydeus!” Lycaon said. “What are you doing here? I mean, Tydeus, what brings you here?”

“I dread to disturb you, my lord,” Tydeus said. “But I must inform you of the terrible outbreak of heresy that has just occurred!”

“Heresy?” Lycaon said. “The local religious authorities can deal with that, wherever it happened.

“This time, my lord, you are the local religious authorities,” Tydeus said. “It is this woman, Johannia of Telmarion. As a scholar of the matters of the holy texts and the prophets and saints there are few better, but she has always had a problem. She is one of those who is always letting their mind get their better of them, always skirting the path between heresy and orthodoxy, and always getting a good proverbial beating from the authorities in return. Those sorts are not bad insofar as they are themselves, for the Church always finds a proper use for their innovations, once steered in the right path, but now Johannia has gone too far. Just an hour ago, she was discovered saying that the Church of the Sheep was the Church of Reprobates, that said Church of Reprobates included most of the sitting clergy, and consequently that they ought not to be followed. Further, she was uttering the heresy that the Church was not the bishops and their head, but the whole of believers. And it easily follows that she shall do away with the whole thing. And that does not even mention the monotheism which she is infecting people throughout the city with. And there are other issues as well.”

Lycaon looked to Felise. This was not the time to time to discuss such things. Felise was a gentle soul, who could not understand what was necessary to do in order for justice to be done. Such were the thoughts of Lycaon.

“You know what must be done,” Lycaon said. “And as long as she has no movement around her, she will no longer be a problem.”

“But, my lord, she may have a movement after all.” Tydeus said. “For she has already started preaching before the multitude, and received like no other preacher has been received in recent time.”

Even himself? If this woman had really already become effectively a heresiarch, that would indeed a problem for the Church. Most knew that in fact the Holy Church was not holy at all, and Lycaon knew many among the masses would gladly follow anyone who based a theology against such corruption. Lycaon knew that though some heresies fizzled out quickly, it was very possible for it to spread rapidly into a wildfire from a single spark. If Lycaon wanted to stop this, he would have to act quickly, decisively, and carefully. Yet whatever the case, Lycaon knew that the Church could not merely ignore this. The Church needed a change, and Lycaon would not stand idly by as it rotted.

“No matter,” Lycaon said. “Tydeus, if I remember correctly, there are three bishops within the city at the moment. I shall have them gathered, and we shall have this theologian’s propositions condemned, and have her summoned before us. Then the trial of a heretic shall begin.”

“I agree with you wholeheartedly,” Tydeus said. “But will not this make her but a martyr in the eyes of the people?”

“Whatever will be may be,” Lycaon said. “And free, a heretic is far more dangerous.”

“You’re leaving, dear?” Felise said.

“I must,” Lycaon said.

“And this woman,” Felise said. “You’ll kill her.”

“If she does not repent,” Lycaon said. “Then that is all I can do for her. Unrepelled and unchained, a heretic is a virus, which spreads from person to person, and summons up the forces of damnation on ever more people.”

“And you’ll kill her,” Felise said. “Even though she is flesh and blood and soul, the same as the two of us.”

“If that is what is necessary in order for the good to be served,” Lycaon said.

Lycaon sat among the fine and tall wooden chairs of the Bishops, in the chambers of the Council of the Synod¹, and had the company of several of these bishops, along with a couple of others who were not bishops, but were churchmen who were of high and respected standing in their deeds if not in their ranks. Tydeus was there, and he was a respected theologian to be sure, but it was in ecclesial matters where he was considered to be an authority, though no one doubted his knowledge of systematic theology. The other theologian here certainly was not doubted in his knowledge of systematic theology. Her name was Bernarda Avicebrol of Yannis, a theologian, popular with the highest echelons of the ecclesial authorities for her ability, but hated for her puritanical and pure personality. She never shirked from making clear her outrage when she saw anyone stepping out of line with what she saw as the firmly orthodox, and had gotten not one, but two of the most prominent philosophers of her day to recant some of their doctrines under the threat of excommunication.

Otherwise, there were a mere three bishops here, but that could only be expected. The order to come to the capital had come but recently. These few had come in order to condemn the propositions which Mother Johannia had declared in her recent sermon. Though they were ostensibly supposed to debate the merits and faults of the propositions which could be drawn from it, no one here was debating that what she had said was heretical. Now all they had to figure out was what she had said and officially condemn it in letter. It would not be much of a condemnation with the few that were here, but it would have to do, and if it would not, Lycaon would make it do. Of the three bishops here, one of them was Bishop Irenaeus, the very one Lycaon hoped would become High Priest. Secondly, there was Bishop Karyn, a disheveled, unkempt, and shy woman who despised responsibility, and much preferred writing poems. They always were obscure, opaque, celestial poems which somehow were extraordinarily popular with the burghers. Thirdly was Bishop Marko, a levelheaded man who was just the right amount of corrupt to be both efficient and morally deplorable, who possessed many skills in a moderate degree, one of which was lucid penmanship, which was why he was the one who held the quill against the parchment, and not Karyn, who wrote often but whose handwriting was stylish and messy. This would be a very sober council, free from any silliness or unnecessary strife. And so they talked and talked, discussing in a roundabout way, until at last they were agreed on what was to be said, and Marko wrote it down. After some thirty minutes they were just about finished.

“Do not forget her condemnations of the mages,” Lycaon said. “Johannia says they are of the devil, and sorcerers of wickedness. Yet such utterances are nothing but heresy.”

“Actually, I quite like that proposition,” Bishop Marko said. “And I would this heretic to be orthodox at least on that count.”

“It is from the gods that the mages are bestowed their gifts,” Lycaon said.

“Let it drop, Lycaon,” Bernarda said. “The mages are a troublesome, impious lot, who ought to receive the lash far more than they do. The current propositions will suffice.”

“No, I must disagree,” Lycaon said. “I must be on my way, regrettably, though I am gladdened of our work here. So add that final proposition, honored Bishop Marko, and all will be well.”

1. A place where the Bishops meet to pronounce important decisions.

The Holy Church, with the authority bestowed upon us by the gods, hereby denounce the propositions put forth by Mother Johannia of Telmarion as heretical. Mother Johannia of Telmarion is to be summoned at once to the capital, where she is to defend herself of the charges of heresy, the punishment for such a crime being death by burning at the stake. The propositions put forth are:

1. That there is a One God, above the traditional deities in form and stature.

2. That the gods are merely an abstract Intellect.

3. Denying the practice of Indulgences, which has previously been defending in a Church Bull by High Priest Marus.

4. Denying the authority of the sitting High Priest or Grand Cleric.

5. Denying the authority of the sitting Bishops.

6. Denying the oneness of the Church.

7. Denying the purity of the Church.

8. Condemning magic-users as of the Devil.

Signed,

Marcus Irenaeus, Bishop of North Nyhem

Robertus Marko, Bishop of South Nyhem

Arianna Karyn, Bishop of Fishgrove

Lycaon was actually surprised how little resistance Johannia had actually put up. The Church authorities had called Johannia to the Council of the Synod, where she was to defend herself against the accusation of heresy, and she did not run, as Lycaon had seen some others do. Perhaps she still had some faith in the system she had so strongly condemned. Perhaps she wished to become a martyr. Whatever the case, Johannia arrived in her priestly garments of blue and white, having a somewhat uneasy expression on her face, but nonetheless still brimming with confidence. Lycaon stood in the center, on a tall wooden chair, while the others were, the Bishops Irenaeus, Marko, and Karyn, as well as the theologians Tydeus and Bernarda. Lycaon was to serve as the overseer of this hearing, but it would be the clergy who voted to condemn this Johannia.

“Mother Johannia of Telmarion,” Lycaon said. “This Council currently has condemned the heretical propositions, eight in number, which you have been accused of holding. What say you?”
“Lord Lycaon, I know you are a good man,” Johannia said. “And a just and pious follower of the gods. Take a look at what you are doing, and what you are condemning, and ask yourself whether this is what the gods would truly want.”

“This hearing is of no such things,” Lycaon said. “Answer, Mother, of the previous question concerning these heretical propositions.”

“Very well, Lord Lycaon. I have seen propositions of mine that you have condemned as heretical,” Johannia said. “But it is still unclear under what authority they have been condemned. Well, what I mean to say, Lord Lycaon, is that perhaps you should be defending the accusation of heresy against me rather having me defend myself of heresy. The burden of proof, then, would be on the Council.”

“The heresy within your words are palpable, Lycaon,” Bernarda said. “And I cannot react but with disgust at both the sentiment and the literal meaning of the words with equal revulsion. Whereas the Book of the founder states ‘The Church is the way evermore,’ you state unequivocally anticlericalism, which brings about the death of the soul.”

“Mother Bernarda,” Johannia said. “I have always respected you. You have long tired to bring erroring men and women into error, especially those of the philosophers and dialecticians, who favor reason about the supreme matters of faith. And you are truly pious in your convictions, unlike many who claim the title of clergyman.”

“Well, I cannot say the same,” Bernarda said. “In the past I remember how closely you resembled to be a heretic, and it was then that I knew you to have a soul a heretic. And so I am not surprised that you have decided to abandon the Church in favor of the self-aggrandizement of yourself. Such actions disgust me, and I shall gladly partake in your destruction. You condemn sophistically the philosophers and dialectians, yet every one of your doctrines in your vulgar metaphysics you vilely gave in your meager sermon to the impious rabble can be traced back to the worthless speculative meanderings of those sophists who go by the name of ‘philosophers.’”

“Thank you, Mother Bernarda” Lycaon said. “Mother Johannia, the definition of Orthodoxy was defined at the Synod. Would you affirm such?”

“Nay,” Johannia said. “The only orthodoxy which can be affirmed is that which is written in the book of the prophets, not in the encyclicals of lesser men and women. If it were not so, it is not conceivable that those prophets and saints we deem most holy could possibly be orthodox, for the knowledge attained by revelation could be attained independently of revelation.”

Lycaon said. “And would you affirm that the sitting High Priest or Grand Cleric, a currently vacant, is the head and ruling body in the Church.”

“No, I would not affirm such a thing,” Johannia said. “For they are but a single bishop of many among the Church, whose authority is not like that of a King over the Church. Nor is his or her character promised simply by their position. It is clear from ecclesiastical history that there was no superiority in the earliest days. I only ask that the Church once again return to its purest, original state.”

Lycaon said. “And you would agree that you have condemned Indulgences.”

“Yes,” Johannia said. “It is a most vile and unholy practice.”

“Yet it has been defended in the Bulls of a previous High Priest, High Priest Marus,” Lycaon said. “In the Year 448.”

“I have made my opinion clear already of such men,” Johannia said. “And also my reasonings for declining their authority.”

“Very well,” Lycaon said. “I think we here have heard quite enough.”

“What?” Johannia said. “That is all? This is the Church’s rule of law?”

“Yes,” Lycaon said. “We have more than enough information now to accurately discern your guilt or innocence, and so we shall. Now we shall bring it to a vote. Do the sitting authorities hereby declare Mother Johannia is guilty of heresy? Answer yea or nay.”

“Yea,” Bishop Irenaeus said.

“Yea,” Bishop Marko said.

“Yea,” Bishop Karyn said.

“Yea!” Bernarda said.

“Yea,” Tydeus said.

“And by a vote of five to zero, you are henceforth condemned with heresy,” Lycaon said. “Mother Johannia, you now have time repent. You may renounce your heretical doctrines and be given a less severe sentence, and your place in paradise kept, if you so choose.”

“I know what it is that the gods wish for,” Johannia said. “Even if you do not.”

“Very well,” Lycaon said. “Again, we shall bring it to a vote. Who votes to have her burned at the stake? Say yea or nay.”

“Yea,” Bishop Marko said.

“Yea!” Bernarda said.

“Nay,” Tydeus said.

“Nay,” Bishop Karyn said.

“Yea,” Bishop Irenaeus said.

“And so at a vote of three for and two against,” Lycaon said. “Mother Johannia, with the power invested to me by this court, I hereby strip you of your clerical ranks and declare you to be a heretic.”

“No, wait! This is something that should be decided in a few short moments,” Johannia said. “Allow me to put my case before the new High Priest or Grand Cleric. I have only declared what is true.”

“Your request is denied,” Lycaon said.

“Lycaon, I know you are a good man!” Johannia said. “Unlike the others within this Church, you have gone before the people, and you are purer than those bishop whose presence you now share!”

Yet Lycaon was silent. Johannia tried to resist, but the guards behind her leapt on to her, and pushed her down to the ground, and held her down. Then they delivered on to her an ironic crown. It was a burning metal cap, labelled “Heresiarch” in big, bold letters. Ss the guards put it on to her head the heat of it seared her skin, and she screamed. Then the guards began to carry her out, pulling her up, for at the moment she could barely stand, as was barely consciousness. Then the others began to leave, Bishop Karyn being the first to.

Johannia was being drawn by the hand of the guards around her. She knew where they were taking her. She would be given an ignomious death, tied to a stake, or perhaps nailed, and then the fire would be lighted, and she would be burned, and her body would be slowly consumed by flames. It was not the death which she desired, but if this was the will of the gods then Johannia could only accept it with what grace she could.

She saw the stake, as the guards dragged her up, but the next thing she saw was of a very different sort. There men with swords that came from every side, and they assaulted the guards which had held Johannia against her will. Soon Johannia was freed from the grasp of those guards, and the din and clanking and the bloodshed of war unleashed in front of her. Then she felt a grasp over her hand again, but it was not an aggressive, overbearing, chaining grasp like those the guards had done.

“Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mother Johannia,” said the woman clothed in plate armor. “If you don’t mind, we’ve got to get going.”

“If it leads to me avoiding the stake,” Johannia said. “I’m all for it.”

And so this soldier led Johannia by the hand until the both of they came to a carriage. The soldier opened up the side door, and led both of them inside, and Johannia was glad to take a seat. As soon as they were seated the driver hit the reins and the horses went running at full speed. Johannia was glad that she could again have a safe breath, yet there was also many questions she had. The most pressing of them, however, was as to why Bishop Karyn was there as well.

“You!” Johannia said.

“Is that any way to thank the one who just saved you?” Bishop Karyn said.

“You condemned me as a heretic,” Johannia said.

“You would have been condemned anyway,” Bishop Karyn said. “And I could not very well had the other suspecting me. This way works best. They would never have suspected. They think I am nothing but a second-rate poet, but I am far more than that.”

“You allowed them to burn my head with that damned cap,” Johannia said.

“You’re going to have to get over it,” Bishop Karyn said.

“Let me out here for a moment,” Mother Johannia said.

“What?” Bishop Karyn said. “We can’t. If someone sees you, I can’t imagine it’ll be easy for us to get out. No. We need to get out of Nyhem as quickly as possible.”

Johannia, however, was not listen. She stepped out of the carriage and entered in the center of the two. As people saw her approaching, many recognized her and were shocked.

“Know this!” Johannia said. “Mother Johannia lives, and it is due to the grace of Jykher that it is so. Never, citizens, abandon virtue, and always follow as according to what the gods say, and nothing else!”

Then Johannia quickly returned to the carriage, opening the door and taking her seat once again.

“If you are quite done, Mother Johannia, then now we begin our journey to Ralda,” Bishop Karyn said.

“Ralda?” Johannia said.

“Yes, my home,” Bishop Karyn said. “The place of my birth, and of my treasury. You do know, Mother, that there is no turning back. You will need a movement, and army, if you are live, and not return to that stake you barely escaped from.”

“Indeed,” Johannia said. “I know. And if that is the will of the gods, then so be it. I shall never surrender. Even in death, I shall live on, until the Church has been thoroughly purified.”

Ellri & Sundered Echo

Lycaon stood at a long, broad brown wooden table that had over it a long and wide piece of paper. This piece of paper was a detailed map of the Sypius Plains, meticulously depicting the various geographical structures of the province, and listing every village, no matter how small, with a dot and a name. Besides these dots indicating the villages were numbers, which had been written on the map by Lycaon with a pen, which indicated how many were needed to be conscripted from that village. Some said twenty, some said thirty, and some said other things. Some thousand troops were to be taken from Nyhem alone, different numbers being written by different districts. On the other side of the table stood Sir Daeleth, as well as Sir Raeya, Sir Oswyn, Sir Glynda, and Sir Sayer.

“So, Lycaon,” Sir Daeleth said. “What’ve you brought to us today?”

“Could you not be a little more proper?” Sir Sayer. “You are speaking to our Lord and leader, after all. Forgive him, milord, his mannerism is wanting.”

“I’ve known Lycaon for longer than you have,” Sir Daeleth said.

“Let no more be said of this matter,” Lycaon said. “Today I brought you here, my esteemed captains, so that our mission now can be known to you. It is now our responsibility to raise a brigade. And each of you has your own responsibility to attend to, as do I.”

Lycaon approached his captains, and handed each of them a piece of paper, each of them having a list of names of villages on them, with a number by them.

“The logistics and statistics have been studied and reviewed well,” Lycaon said. “And now must be carried out. Go to each of these village, and get that many soldiers. These are my orders to you.”

“And I am gladdened, milord, to receive them,” Sir Raeya said. “Yet I still wonder, milord, what shall you do?”

“I shall remain in Nyhem, and gather the people here to serve in my brigade,” Lycaon said. “There are things that still must be attended to, in our capital. Unless there are further questions, you are dismissed.”

“Milord, with the greatest respects my lowly self can offer, I shall at once go to my duties,” Sir Glynda said, saluting.

“Yes, milord, your will shall be done,” Sir Sayer said, saluting.

“I shall see your army gathered swiftly and effectively, milord,” Sir Raeya said, saluting.

“It shall be done, milord,” Sir Oswyn said, saluting.

“This doesn’t sound like much fun,” Sir Daeleth said. “Damn.”

Herona was awoken by the sound of the rooster. It was as loud, obnoxious, and as bothersome as ever, but Herona was not annoyed by it; she had lived with the call of the rooster since the day she had been born, and was used to it. She awoke yawning and stretching her arms, and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, and then brought the thick wool blanket away from herself. Then she slid off from her creaking, old wooden bed that her father had made for her when she had turned ten, and rose herself up. She put her coarse hands up to her head to feel her golden hair, gently patting it down, running her fingers through it. She wished she had a mirror. Herona had never seen a mirror before, one of those things which supposedly one could see themselves reflected in, but she had heard of them. She wondered for a moment whether it had to do with mages, but put the thought of her mind, at least for now. There were more pressing matters she had to take care of right now.

She slipped out of her night clothes and went into her work clothes made of thick wool, freshly washed from three days ago. First she put on the blouse, then the long skirt, then her cap, then her boots, and then her gloves. When she left her room she saw that her elder sister Eleira was already up as well, and was up at the counter, preparing the stew. Her hand held a long wooden spoon, stirring the soup as she poured the cabbage and vegetables into it one by one. Herona’s younger brothers Aethan and Cedric came running across the house, with Aethan chasing the mischievous Cedric around, though their elder sisters could see nothing more from them other than that they were mucking around.

“Pipe down, the two of you!” Eleira said. “Unless you reckon on replacing all that the two of you break.”

And when they didn’t listen, Herona, with a bright smile on her face, reached down to the both of them, and grabbed them up by their collars and set them down in their chairs.

“Mind your sister, the both of you,’” Herona said. “Alright?”

“Alright,” they said in unison, and now they were under control, at least for the moment.

Then she let go of her brother’s collars, and let them fall into the wooden seats around the dinner table. Aethan and Cedric began to fidget, and when Cedric began to lightly kick Aethan the two of them once again began to muck around with each other. Herona held them back, but the two of them stopped messing around anyway when Eleira put a bowl in front of their face, and then they were pacified completely, for now that they had something to eat. Herona as well got her bowl, as did Eleira, and so Eleira led them in prayer. Then they all ate peacefully. They made small talk, passing the time with joyous smiles as they prepared for yet another day at work.

Then soon they left, and all went storming out the door. Herona stepped out of the door and into the open and free world of the outdoors, where she could breathe in the fresh air and the morning dew. After she went to the barn to grab her hoe she went to the fields, where she began to till the fields so that they could plant the vegetables, carrots, lettuce, cabbage, and potatoes. Eleira was not far from her, tilling at the other edge of the field, but Aethan and Cedric were not. They took care of the pigs, and unlike at the breakfast table there was no mucking around. Herona held up her hoe above her head, and then hit against the ground with all the strength which her body could muster, digging deep into the ground, and then roughly pulling out the hoe, with the dirt coming up in thick chunks. Herona sang softly, but aloud, the words of, “Shadows under the Suns,” that ancient song sung even by their heathen ancestors, which she had heard uttered from the lips of the minstrel Rorty, as she labored under the rays of the sun and wiped away the sweat from her brow. For Herona, waking up with the sun and working until it went down, with only short interruptions in the form of meals, was life, at least during this season. Mother died four years ago, and father had died just two years ago. Her eldest sibling Aelric had died six years ago, just before his fifteenth birthday, and Daria and Daniel had died when they were just infants. This was life for people like her, but Herona would not complain while their life had joy under the sun.

Herona was singing softly the words to “Wish You Were Here,” while she wiped the sweat from her brow after she dug her hoe deep into the earth. That was when a messenger for the baron, dressed in his bright and garish clothing, appeared, and stood before Eleira. Herona could not hear what they said, but supposed that it must have been either urgent or convincing, for Eleira soon came over to Herona and told her that she needed to leave for the time being. Herona nodded and bid her sister farewell, and she did realize how sad a face she was bearing. Rather, she could not help think of how odd a thing were the clothes the messenger were, and how clean they were. Were they washed every day? What a waste of water that would be! What she could have done with such water…

So Herona continued to work, slashing through the earth with her hoe again and again. She had to be done before harvest season. She was focused on working, and sung softly the words to “The Land of Glass,” but nonetheless she heard overheard in the nearby trees and bushes quite a rustling. She wiped the sweat from her brow and ceased working, even if only for a moment, and looked towards the forestry.

“Someone there?” Herona said.

Herona saw someone not hiding very well, his face, rough and covered with scars and scratches, and his coarse black hair seen as well.

“There ain’t no need to hide,” Herona said. “Come on out, sir.”

So he did so, but he did so ever slowly, for this stranger was ever weary of everyone he ever came across. He emerged from the bushes, and his clothes were worn and weary, and torn, and his boots looked ready to fall apart. At the sight of him Herona knew that he must have been on quite a long journey. He held a dagger in his hand, firmly gripping it.

“My,” Herona said. “Well, if I may say so myself, it looks as if you’ve had something of a journey. Tell you what, sir, why don’t you come on inside, and I’ll fix you something nice to eat.”

Herona paid no attention to the fact that he was point his knife at her with aggression in his eyes. Rather, she put her hoe down on to the ground, and went to her house, waving for this man to come inside. She showed not even an ounce of hostility, so he grudgingly followed behind her, though he was still ever wary. She opened her door for him and led him in, and as he took a seat at the table, Herona prepared a meal for him. She took out a clay plate for him, and put a couple of carrots and potatoes on, and filled a clay cup with water, and, with plate in one hand and cup in the other, she put both on the table in front of him.

“Sorry that it ain’t much,” Herona said.

He was still looking at her suspiciously and full of hostility, but when the food and drink came down in the table in front of him it didn’t take long for him to begin abandon his wary attitude. He was very hungry, and so he ate like an animal, rapidly taking up the food up in his hand, and eating and chewing rapidly, without bothering to keep his mouth closed, and drank up the water in one gulp, and gave a satisfied sigh at the end. Then he promptly got up to leave.

“Thanks,” he said.

“Of Course,” Herona said. “Around these parts, we treat our kind well, whether they be friend and stranger.”

Then he was gone. He left so rapidly that Herona didn’t know what to think. He seemed to be an odd man, and rough, but Herona wasn’t the type to judge others, and so she thought nothing more of it. Yet she saw that he had left in such a hurry that he had left his knife lying there on the table. So she took it up in her hands, gripping it in her hands, and had made up her mind to find this man again and deliver it to him. She left her house and went looking for him. Herona went looking all around, nodding and curtseying politely to everyone she came across, and asking if they had seen a rough-looking stranger around, but none had. Then Herona came upon the Church, which she saw had a pair of guards each wearing a fearsome and serious expression on their face, and each holding a tall halberd in their hands, and Herona’s curiosity got the better of her. She just could not resist the urge to see what exactly was happening inside the Church. She snuck around the Church, the guards never taking notice of her presence, and snuck around the western edge of the Church, where there was quite a large hole in the glass, which Herona could look through and overhear anything happening from the inside. Herona was surprised to see the landlord, Baron Theobald, inside, tightly gripping her sister Eleira’s elbow. Eleira tried to escape from his grasp, but with his aggression and his grip she was unable to, and his grip seemed only to tighten when she tried to escape from him.

“So is this what you want from me, m’lord?” Eleira said. “For me to go with you as a wife, and leave my family behind with nothing, and without saying a word, that’s something I cannot accept, so m’lord, I’m afraid I’ll have to turn your request.”

“Hah! You misunderstand, flower, I don’t want you as a wife,” the baron said. “I have already gotten myself one of those, and I would hardly take the likes of you as my wife. No, little flower, you’re going to live with me, but not as a wife. You’ll live in one of the backrooms, with the other women. The wife doesn’t like the fact, but beat a shrew enough and they’ll pipe down. And I don’t remember asking.”

“Hmph. Swell as that hell all sounds, m’lord,” Eleira said. “I’m going have to refuse, like I said. So good day, m’lord.”

Baron Theobald slapped her across the face so hard that she went tumbling down to the ground. She put her hand to her cheek, and eyed the baron with wariness, anger, but only a little bit of fear. He came down to her again, gripping her by the elbow. She resisted him as strongly as her will could muster, and repeatedly punched his face and kicked at his shin. As his grip came off of her, she began to retreat from him with all the speed her feet could take her, but she was not quick enough. Baron Theobald grabbed Eleira by her hair, and pulled her back to him. He grabbed her by the arm so tightly that a strong wave of pain went through her. Then the baron pulled out a large dagger, and held it against Eleira’s throat. This he used to threaten her, so that she would not resist anymore. Eleira became quiet, fear going through her heart now, and sweat appearing on her brow. Herona, watching, could not take it anymore. She felt guilty enough already, seeing how much their landlord had already hurt her sister. Herona crashed against the glass window with her shoulder going first, and the glass was shattered, and Herona herself falling down on to the wooden ground of the Church’s floor. She learned quickly that perhaps this had not been the greatest idea. The left half of her body was bleeding now in many areas, for shards had cut and pierced her all over. Nonetheless, Herona could not let it bother her, for she needed to save her sister from the landlord. She needed to persevere.

“Eleira!” Herona said.

“Herona?” Eleira said.

“Hmm? That’s the little sister, right?” the baron said. “No matter.”

And so he drew forth his dagger, and Herona was afraid. Yet even though she was fearful, she did not allow her fear to overwhelm her. Herona held out the knife that she acquired from that rough man. She had been planning to simply give it back to him, but now she would unfortunately have to give it back to him used.

“Where’d you get that?” the baron said.

“Get away from my sister!” Herona said.

The baron, smiling wickedly, put his dagger around Eleira’s neck. Herona was tortured in her mind, unsure of what to do, but the choice was soon made for her, for in this situation the power was not to be in the hands of Herona, but in the hands of Eleira. Eleira smashed her elbow against the baron’s neck, trying to escape from him, so the baron slit her neck.

“Eleira!” Herona said.

Herona ran towards her sister, and as she did, the Baron, with a bloodthirsty look in his eyes, held out his dagger, bloodied by Eleira. So as Herona ran towards her sister, she and the baron met. Both of them raised their weapons, the little blades of the iron which they held in their hand, and lunged at them, though only one of them would live. The baron’s dagger only scathed Herona’s side, for she slid away from it, but as for the knife Herona held in her hand, it went deep into Baron Theobald’s chest. Herona pulled it out of him as he flew down backwards and blood came streaming out of his chest rapidly, as she still needed to give it to that odd man she had met. Herona’s eyes left the baron, for she didn’t care about him. She was worried about her sister. She carried up her head and tried to cover her neck with her hands, so her blood wouldn’t come running out as fast. Hearing a noise, Herona turned her head. It was the guards. Having heard all the commotion, they began to barge in.

“Eleira,” Herona said.

“Sister…” Eleira said. “Go.”

She didn’t want to. At the same to, however, she knew she had to. She had no choice but to leave her sister behind to die. She knew that if she did it, she would never get over the shame. But she did it nonetheless. As the guards began to run to try and apprehend her, Herona ran with all the speed she had. She leapt over the Church’s altar, and smashed through the thick glass. Herona knew that this was an impious thing to do, to smash through the images of the saints and gods. More pressing to her, the glass hurt like hell. But Herona did not have time to worry about that. The moment she hit the ground she flung herself up, and ignored the fact that there were chunks of glass stuck in her skin, in her arms, in her legs. So Herona ran and ran, doing as much as she could to ignore the pain, focusing only on getting away, and behind her were the baron’s two halberd-wearing guards chasing her. She kept running, hoping with all her heart to eventually get away, until she bumped into a man rough-looking man in shining iron armor, with long black hair.

“Ah, excuse me, sir,” Herona said.

One of the baron’s guard tried to grab Herona by the shoulder, but the black-haired man drew his sword, and put the tip of his sword between Herona and the guard’s hand, stopping him.

“Sir Daeleth!” the guard said. “This woman is a dangerous criminal. She just killed the Baron of these lands, and her very own sister.”

“That’s a lie, liar. That bastard killed her in cold blood,” Herona said. “And I for sure just went and gave him what was coming to him. And I didn’t even want kill him. The man went and came at me, and so I had to defend myself.”

“Sounds good to me,” Daeleth said. “I need a thirty soldiers from this dinky village, and I think I’ve found one of my first.”

“You’re going to take her?” the guard said. “This killer?”

“I am taking killers,” Daeleth said. “Because what I need done is killing. But that’s enough out of you. You, girl. What’s your name?”

“H-herona,” she said. “Maudit.”

“Maudit? I knew a Maudit, once,” Daeleth said. “He came from this very village. His name was Antony.”

“My brother?” Herona said. “That’s my brother’s name.”

“Then I must apologize,” Daeleth said. “I must also deliver the news of your brother’s death. But maybe it’ll comfort you to know he died honorably.”

“I see…” Herona said, in shock. “So I lose two siblings today...”

It was just then that a couple of other guards came forward, carrying forward a rough-looking man. Daeleth, using his political power he had been given temporarily from this process of mobilization, had ordered a certain criminal, recently apprehended, to be brought to him. Herona realized that this rough-looking criminal was the very man that she had treated at her home. She once again remembered her responsibility, and got up and limped over to him.

“Your knife, sir,” Herona said.

“What, you? Hey, that’s my knife,” the man said. “Guess I should say thanks, for what it’s worth. So thanks.”

“This is certainly a surprise,” Daeleth said. “When I had heard about the vicious killer I knew I’d get a good one, but I had no idea it would be you, Hakon.”

“Ah, hey, Daeleth,” Hakon said. “Was hoping I’d never meet you again. Look it you now, with your fancy speech and your fancy clothes, you’ve turned into the very thing you hate.”

“I’m not an illiterate and incompetent. Unlike you, I made something of my life.” Daeleth said. “I started out as a criminal, I turned into a mercenary, and now I’m a knight! But looks like you’re still at stage one. But I think you’ll do nicely. Welcome to the army, Hakon.”

Herona wanted to stay awake, but she simply could not. The pain was simply too much. She fainted.

Sir Daeleth stood tall and proudly upon his horse, and all around him were men and women whom he trusted with his lives, and they in turn trusted both him and each other with their lives. These were the Knights of the Order of Saint Elenor, trained for years in ways of horsemanship, swordsmanship, and the martial arts. Not everyone was accredited with an official knighthood; not everyone got to kneel before their lord or lady and feel a sword’s steel on their shoulder and official get to join the nobility. Some of them had originally come with Sir Daeleth, in the days when he ran his only mercenary company, and when Daeleth joined Lycaon they came with him. However, most of them here were properly knighted. Yet whatever they were, all of them were addressed as “Sir,” and all of them were knights in the eyes of the Order.

The knights walked forward upon their steeds, their formation being a circle, and from behind them were all the men they had brought with them, who, unlike the knights, were not well-versed in the martial arts or fighting in any kind, if you did not count barfighting. Firstly, there were all those who they had conscripted from the villages and towns. These were peasants and laborers mostly, but there were also the aristocrats and burghers. The peasants and laborers Daeleth ultimately had faith in, as in his experience they were of a hardy and enduring character, but in the wealthy Daeleth had not quite so much confidence in. They were an entitled sort, who never knew any sort of hardship, and were even less prepared for the experience of war than the commoners. Nonetheless, it was always these rich men and women, or the aristocrats at least, who were always made the officers. He lived in a culture of privilege. Secondly, there were also those men and women who served as the servants, laborers, nurses, smiths, and physicians. There needed to be someone to carry and cared for the equipment, to care for those who fell ill and those who fell wounded.

Daeleth had herself taken a part in getting these men and women recruited. It was one thing to use the Church’s funds to buy weapons and armor, and quite another to get the people to wield and wear them. It was one of those things that was both simple and complicated at the same time. Daeleth had personally oversaw gone into many villages, and saw that they got enough manpower from each. Daeleth hadn’t been the only one, either. One of those young recruits had especially stood out to him. Her name was Herona, and she was Sir Antony’s sister. She had come to him, wounds all over her body. He didn’t know the situation exactly, but he could tell that she had fought with all her heart. Daeleth had been impressed with her. She had killed, apparently, and he needed killers, as that was what was needed for war. Yet she did not look like a killer, with those types of eyes. Since everyone was on the move, and there was nowhere to lay her while she slept, Daeleth allowed her to be with her. She sat on his horse, behind him. He considered it as a favor for his friend. She was only a girl, hardly even a woman yet. He supposed he should have felt guiltier for thrusting the life of a killer on to her. Yet even now if she went back home now, they would execute her, so there was little choice.

Daeleth could see the shores of Telmarion, where Telmarion and Scassia nearly met. Yet they wouldn’t meet it today. When he looked up at the sky, he saw that the sun was already setting. So Daeleth gave the order, and everyone around him stopped, and began to circulate the message through the army that they were setting up camp for the day. They would have to wait another day before they reached the shore, and the ships at Mearle could take across the other side of the strait.

As Johannia sat on her velvet seat inside the carriage, she could not help but look at the beauty of Nature. There she was, just outside of the reach of Johannia, being the trees and its leaves, the wild grass, and all the species which flourished and propagated within the forests. Yet Johannia had no time to gaze in wonder at Nature. There things to do. Even within the confines of this crowded carriage, with a handsome guard on one side and a bishop she hated on the other, Johannia knew that there were things which she needed to do, and which she could accomplish.

“Bishop, do you have anything to write with?” Johannia said.

“Absolutely,” Bishop Karyn said. “But what on Earth would you need that for?”

“I need it, Bishop,” Johannia said. “Trust me.”

“If you say so,” Bishop Karyn said.

The Bishop put a square-shaped container on Johannia’s lap. Johannia opened it, and saw plenty of pages of parchment, and an ink and quill. Johannia’s mind was quite distracted, and could not focus on the nature outside, beautiful as it was, while she knew that there was a most pressing matter at hand. So Johannia focused herself, and began to write. She knew that there would be many among the common men and women who would follow her willingly and enthusiastically, but Johannia was unsure how useful hammers and scythes alone would be. She needed some support from the nobles. Even if it was lopsided against her, it would be enough, since the gods were on her side, and also the people. She just needed enough nobles to fund an army. Then she could overthrow both the false Church, even if King Duncan himself went rushing to their aid.

Johannia knew that the nobles could not be converted by sermons alone, no matter how polished its words, and that she needed something more than sound exegetical arguments to win them over. So as Johannia had begun to organize her thoughts, she realized that in order to woo the lords and ladies to her cause she needed to show how they would benefit in her way over the way of the High Priest or Grand Cleric. So Johannia began to write, and she knew, roughly, what her arguments needed to be. The esteemed nobles, though seemingly comfortable under the power of the existing Church, were actually constantly being disturbed by it. The Churchmen were greedy and independent. With merely one of these qualities the state of affairs of the nobles was troublingly damaged, but with both of these qualities the state of affairs of the nobles was a disaster. The Church’s greed meant that they took wealth from the people, reducing the general wealth from which the nobles could draw from their subjects. The Church’s independence, on the other hand, is disadvantageous to the nobles because it does not open up the aristocracy to the wealth of the Church, and makes the corrupt Church the only ones who can rightfully claim to be blessed by the providence of the gods. This fact has the disadvantage of making the nobility unable to hold sway over the hearts of the pious masses, and the additional disadvantage of making the people more and more impious, and an atheistic populace is certainly a bad idea, for everyone knows that atheists are universally immoral and hedonistic. Such were the arguments of Johannia. She thought of them, polished them, and then wrote them done. Nonetheless, she was not completely cynical. She laid out her theological ideas and justified them with the proper scriptural passages, but the practical perspective was a new element that had not been in her earlier sermon. Johannia lacked the proper awareness, however, to realize just how counterproductive the comments on atheists were.

“Hey, Mother,” the soldier beside Johannia said. “What’s that you’ve been working on this whole time? You’ve been writing pretty keen-like for a while now. What’s got you so excited.”

He leaned in closely towards her, so close that Johannia blushed. “Come on now, back away. Is that any way you should be talking to a Cleric?”

“Heh. I was just curious, is all,” the soldier said. “No need to get your undies in a bunch. Wait, I didn’t mean anything by that! That was slip of tongue, if you will, your grace.”

It did not matter what he said afterwards, for what he had said had already been said. So she slapped him hard across the face, thinking that perhaps this would make this man learn how to hold his tongue. Whether it worked only time will tell.

“Who even is this man, Bishop?” Johannia said.

“The man who saved you?” Bishop Karyn said.

“Perhaps,” Johannia said. “But he is quite an impudent man.”

“I’m Dietrich Plasait, from Sypius,” the soldier said. “Officer of the royal guard, with a captain’s rank; at least, I was when the day began. I imagine by this hour I’ve already been declared anathema, or something like that.”

“Well, Mr. Plasait,” Johannia said. “Prove yourself, and try to behave yourself, or at least keep your mouth shut.”

“We’re here,” Bishop Karyn said.

“What, where?” Johannia said.

“It will be dark soon,” Bishop Karyn said. “Luckily, there are number of inns on the way, and this is the first. The Grand Old Lion Inn, I believe it’s called.”

“An inn? One of those dens of lasciviousness and inequity,” Johannia said. “Where at the front there is a scantily-clad damsel playing her lute, that most devilish and wicked of all the instruments. Then there are the prostitutes in the backroom, seducing your good friend who is quite bright, but has just made a couple of mistakes in their life because of a couple of minor defects of character. So you try to drag him out, and away from his inequities, but then the prostitute suddenly seduced me, and after the act made off with my purse. Oh, ah, theoretically, of course.”

“I wonder what they have to drink,” Dietrich said.

Yet though Johannia said much of the inequities of the inns, she was not about to stay in the carriage for the night. So she walked into the inn, and alongside her was Bishop Karyn, Dietrich, and the carriage driver. The inn’s walls were of a brown, warm color, as warm as the air inside, with rowdy yet friendly patrons, tired from a long day’s work, some sitting at the bar, others sitting in the chairs around the round tables lighted by a single candle on each. The carriage-driver was himself very quiet, at least with his patrons, and took a seat at a table, and waited for a serving-girl to take his order. This happened quite promptly. The carriage-driver wished nothing from his patrons right now, and wished only to have a meal before he bought his room for the night and went to sleep. Dietrich was eager, after today, to get a drink, and sat at the bar, talking heartily and enthusiastically with the barwoman and the other patrons there. Bishop Karyn went to talk to the owner, while Johannia sat awkwardly and stiffly at the back of the inn.

Soon Bishop Karyn walked away from the owner’s room behind the bar and approached Johannia, telling her, “My associate is already here.”

“Your associate?” Johannia said.

“Yes, your bodyguard,” Bishop Karyn said.

“I thought that was this Dietrich fellow,” Johannia said.

“No, Dietrich is to be our general,” Bishop Karyn said. “The commander of our armies, or one of them, at least. And he will be staying here. Another carriage will be here shortly for him, and he will meet with us later. Perhaps.”

“Then let me see this bodyguard of mine,” Johannia said.

“Very well, Mother,” Bishop Karyn said. “I’ve already paid for the rooms, so feel free to sleep to your hearts content. Come, Mother, and I show you where. Your bodyguard will be sleeping in the room opposite of it.”

Johannia followed the Bishop to the long hallway where there were rooms left and right, in the most literal sense. Johannia was walking alongside Bishop Karyn, who was pointing the left, telling her that this was where room was to be, when Johannia heard something near the end of the hall. She looked up, and saw what in her opinion was a beautiful, fit man, who had long and bright blonde hair, and blushed at him as he staggered down the hall with a bottle in her hand, as the buttons on his shirt had come loose so that his shirt was flying open, baring much of his chest.

“A-ah, why hello there, Bishop,” the man said. “Tell me, ah, whose the fine ol’ lass that you got by your side.”

“You,” Bishop Karyn said. “Don’t tell me that you’re drunk!”

“We’re both drunk, if you’ve got to know,” he said.

“Both?” Bishop Karyn said.

“Woops,” he said.

It was that moment Bishop Karyn went into this man’s room, and saw a woman in there, who screamed and covered herself as soon as she the Bishop come in.

“That…that’s the owner’s daughter!” Bishop Karyn said. “You know better than that.”

“This cannot be the man who you had in mind, Bishop,” Johannia said.

“It is,” Bishop Karyn said. “This Percival del Valles. I promise you that he is trustworthy, and one of the best at what he does.”

“This drunken lout, this man of lust,” Johannia said. “You expect me to believe he has a part to play in the purification of the Church?”

“Sure I am,” Percival said. “It’s what the Bishop paid me to do. So, my fair lady, you can trust me. So long live the Reformation, long live Purity! Say, why don’t you come and join me and my fair lady, and I’ll show you a good time.”

“What? No, get away from me, you boor!” Johannia said. “Ugh. This is going to be a long journey…”

Johannia had felt that Dietrich was something of a fool, but now she missed him, for she felt that his replacement had been quite inferior in character to one who was merely a fool. This Percival, on the other hand, was she not everything that she had preached against? Was she not on a run, preparing for an inevitable war, because she had preached against the Churchmen committing the very same inequities this man had committed? The answer, of course, was yes. Yet because of the Bishop, she was now forced to have for a bodyguard this sensuous and lascivious man. She would separate herself from both of them as soon as possible. Such were the thoughts of Johannia. She now focused on finishing up her practical message on her theological and ecclesiastical vision to the aristocracy. The manuscript was now nearly done, nearing twenty pages, and now all she needed was to give it the finishing touches and write the conclusion. Yet as night began to dawn and the sun began to set, with the amount of light flowing into the carriage lessening, Johannia’s body soon began to remind her that she had not had enough sleep the night before, and before she knew it she was asleep.

So she wandered into the realms of the god of sleep, where daemons and sprites entered her, entertaining and stimulated her mind with the vivid images of the dreams. Johannia stood high, suspended in midair, and held there by thick ropes. She realized she was up on a stake, and below her were the flames, and the evil Bishops and Priests and Clerics who had condemned her to die as a heretic, laughing as they watched. The flames began to reach her, and went over her. Then she awoke, and her shaking body was against that of Percival’s. Upon realizing this fact Johannia quickly brought herself up and backed away from her bodyguard.

“You!” Johannia said. “While I was sleeping, did you violate me?”

“I would never violate a woman without her consent,” Percival said.

“Calm down, Mother Johannia,” Bishop Karyn, who could not help but notice that since the time she had met her, Johannia had been astoundingly rude to everyone. “I told you that you can trust Percival.”

“Yes,” Percival said. “I have never betrayed a client, even when I ought to have.”

Johannia certainly had something to say to this, and would have said it, but it was no longer the time for talking. They heard sounds coming from outside their carriage, the sound of horses. Percival put his head outside the carriage, but quickly had to put his head back inside when an arrow came rushing towards him. He pulled a bottle of wine out from his belt and drank down a gulp of it.

“An ambush,” Percival said. “Looks like someone got here before we did and told someone else we were coming. There’s horseman on both side, with archers backing them up. And I hope to the gods that’s all.”

“I-it can’t be!” Johannia said. “What do we do?”

“Fighting’s out of the question,” Bishop Karyn said. “Driver, try to lose them!”

Yet a second later the driver hit the brakes hard, trying with all her might to try and stop the horses from moving any more by pulling back the reins. It did not matter. Three men with pikes had jumped suddenly into the road, and let down their pikes. They pierced through the body of the horses, killing them, and the carriage went rolling on to its side hard. Johannia hit her head hard against the side of the carriage, the blow so powerful she could hardly keep consciousness, and would have fainted then and there, and waited for these assassins to bring her to death, had it not been for Percival. He kicked opened the door, and as Percival got outside, dazed as he was, he drew his sword when a man clad in armor of iron and leather came running towards him with a battle-axe in his hand. Percival was quicker than his opponent, and drew up his sword against his opponent’s opening in his armor, cutting through his neck. Then he grabbed Johannia, and with all his strength dragged her form out of the remains of the carriage. He would have grabbed out the Bishop too, but he did not have time, and since protecting Johannia was his mission, it was given priority. As Johannia felt Percival’s hand pulling her out, consciousness went flooding back to her, her hands tightly gripping her twenty-page manuscript.

Percival griped Johannia’s hand and led the way, as he had an inkling that in the heat of the battle the Mother would not up from down and left from right. Under the cover of night they escaped under the cover of the nearby hills. Soon these men-at-arms swarmed the carriage, with their swords and axes and pikes in hand. Johannia knew what would be done to the bishop and the driver, but she had to leave them, because there was no way that they could defeat them all. Once they hiding safely behind a hill, Percival let go of Johannia’s hand, and the cleric quickly went sitting to the ground cross-legged, her mind in a daze. Percival sat down as well, taking a gulp from his canteen filled with wine.

“That look in your eyes,” Percival said. “I can tell you’re not used to war or battle. But don’t worry, miss, I’ve got a job to do, so you’ve got nothing to worry about. Consider your life safe.”

Johannia never once again called Percival lascivious, boorish, or a lout. No, such a thought never even occurred to her. She now only saw the man who was sitting alongside her.

If you went to the hottest section of the Uzgob Desert, you would find a hermit by the name of Fenick. He had been there for many years, away from the society and world that he had shunned. There, he felt himself always drawing closer to the gods. Today, however, was not to be a day of fasting or contemplation. Fenick sat mediating outside the cave he called his home, thinking of the great deeds of the prophets and his glorious martyrdom, when Rhodanthe, the only real company Fenick ever had up here came up. She, aged sixteen, was Fenick’s only acolyte and friend, and in return he had raised her up ever since she had come to him when she was but a babe, who had appeared on the doorstep of his cave in a basket. Fenick called it a miracle from the gods. For today, though, there was no talk of miracles.

“Hey, gramps,” she said. “You’ve got to hear this.”

He said nothing, and was not interrupted from his meditation.

“It’s important this time, gramps,” she said. “This woman, this cleric, named as she is Johannia of Telmarion, has preached about an entire new Church, though I don’t know much about it. She was saying things along the lines that that word ‘Church,’ can be used in many senses, the Church we know that’s full of the corrupt, the Church as any body of believers, and the pure, universal Church established by the gods. “The Church is in need of cleansing,” is a quote that keeps floating around. And gramps, this Johannia was saying that the Grand Cleric or High Priest or whoever’s in charge, their authority is no greater than an ordinary bishop, saying that that’s how it was in the beginning. And she gave no authority to the Synods, just to the Holy Books. That’s all I heard, from this this preacher in town.”

“I must eat,” Fenick said.

“Huh?”

Fenick went inside his cave, and soon came out, but he had his sack. He pulled out from it an apple and several hard pieces of cheese and a couple pieces of bread. He made a sandwich and ate it, and then at the apple too.

“I can’t remember you ever eating some much in a single sitting,” Rhodanthe said.

“I have heard the Good News!” Fenick said. “Surely it is so, that the Church has heralded in a new era. Rhodanthe, who was that told of you stories of such a saintly cleric?”

“Some preacher from down south came into Andromeda and started talking about her,” Rhodanthe said.

“Then to Andromeda we go,” Fenick said. “And meet with this preacher. The gods will it, I can hear Jykher telling me so. But Timtos too is telling me to be wary. But go we must, the gods tell me so, from their immaculate wisdom.”

“I’ll ready the horse, gramps,” Rhodanthe said. “Though isn’t this is the first time you’ve gone to the city in…?”

“It’s been over thirty years,” Fenick said.

“I’d be excited, were I you,” Rhodanthe said.

“I hardly am excited! I would go many, many more years than to go the squalor again,” Fenick said. “But go I must, for our task is sacred. Ready Belliante, Rhodanthe!”

And Rhodanthe did so. They descended from the cave, walking down that narrow path, until they got to the bottom, where Rhodanthe kept her horse, Belliante. She pet his mane, and then put on his saddle and rein. Then she leapt on him, and then pulled out her hand to Fenick, so that he could join her.

They entered into the capital of Uzgob, Andromeda, as the gates were open for them. Things in Andromeda looked to Rhodanthe to be about normal. Laborers and workers were walking to-and-fro, browsing the wares, looking at what they needed and what they could afforded, and the two did not always line up. Yet Rhodanthe had seen happier days here, in the days before the war. Rhodanthe quite enjoyed life in Andromeda, for it was always a nice respite from the drudgery and quietness of the desert. She did not enjoy the suffering that she saw, but she knew that if you looked in the right places you could find more than simply pain. Fenick, however, was not glad to be here. No matter how many years passed, he never missed civilization, and perhaps may have even come to despise it more.

“Andromeda…” Fenick said.

“Yes,” Rhodanthe said. “It’s nice to back, isn’t it, gramps.”

“Not at all,” Fenick said.

Rhodanthe said. “You said you wanted to meet that preacher, didn’t you?”

“Indeed,” Fenick said. “Let his light shine upon me, and the heart shall be seen, and gods’ will shall be revealed to me.”

So Rhodanthe led the way, with Fenick following close behind her. Rhodanthe walked into the city square, and then took a left. There, as they walked passed the houses, they came to a wide open area, where many people had gathered. At the center stood a man covered in a large habit, its brown hood over his head and its cloak running down his back. He stood up on a wooden podium, speaking to some two-hundred people, all listening intently to him. He was not an eloquent speaker comparable to the elite orators and rhetoricians, but he spoke clearly and bombastically, and gave a mission of liberation and purity that appealed greatly to the masses. Rhodanthe waited as the man finished his speech, as he was nearly done, before she tried to approach him. Rhodanthe, however much she found his words inspiring, no longer found them surprising. Yet for Fenick this was the first time hearing these words sprung from lips which were not his own, and was joyful and mesmerized. To him they were like a sweet song that sung through the air. Then when he was done speaking Rhodanthe began to move her way through the crowd, pushing and swerving her way through. Many people were not grateful, and pushed back, but Rhodanthe didn’t care, and persevered. Then she at last came to the front, where she might perhaps speak to the preacher.

“Excuse me!” Rhodanthe said. “If you don’t mind, sir, just one question, please. There’s something I’d like to ask you.”

“Of course, my child,” he said. “The sermon is over, and so some time may pass before the Good News comes again, though it will come again.”

“This woman, Johannia of Telmarion-” Rhodanthe said.

“Yes, the most holy of women!” the preacher said.

“Could you tell me a bit more about her?” Rhodanthe said.

“Indeed!” Fenick said, in an uncharacteristic booming voice, so that all in the crowd look at him. “I have heard the Good News, as if spoken by the tongue of the gods themselves, coming from you, yet also coming forth like the clouds of the sun came to me like holy white dove, that venerable Johannia of Telmarion.”

“Tell me, who are you?” the preacher said. “From your words and your appearance, you don’t seem like just an ordinary man.”

“But I am but just an ordinary man,” Fenick said. “I am only a simple man, who follows the gods’ laws as best as I can. I am only Fenick.”

“The man who lives in the wilderness! The men speak of you here speak of you with the highest regard, as one does of a sage,” the preacher said. “It is an honor to meet with one as holy as you, and I am glad that one like you is interested in the Good News. I am only a messenger of what is coming. It is Johannia of Telmarion who deserves praise for the message of hope and renewal I give.”

“And who is this Johannia of Telmarion?” Fenick said. “Where is she now? Down in her home of Telmarion?”

“No,” the preacher said. “She was at Nyhem, where the bishops viciously tried to put her to the stake. But sympathizers to her righteousness saved her, and now she heads towards Ralda safely. Such is the story that has been told many times over in the capital. And as for myself, I came from Nyhem, and I dedicated myself to spreading the new gospel. There are many like myself, not only here in Uzgob, but in Telmarion, in Coruneon, in Scassia, in Windermere, and elsewhere.”

Now Rhodanthe was standing back beside Fenick.

“Ralda, then,” Fenick said, and he looked at Rhodanthe. “Rhodanthe, the gods have just now made all things clear to me as like the water of the stream. You have always loved the cities, I know, and have always wanted to see the world, so go and see. You are now a woman, not a child, so there is no reason that you cannot. Go to Ralda, and find this Johannia.”

“Gramps?” Rhodanthe said. “Are you serious?”

“Do you not wish this?” Fenick said.

“I do…” said Rhodanthe said. “But it’s so sudden. But…I’ll do it. I’ll go to west, and find this Johannia, if I can, if that is what you want of me. But what about you?”

“I wish I could go with you,” Fenick said. “And one day I will join you, but today I cannot. For the moment, I must stay in Uzgob.”

“I see,” Rhodanthe said. “Guess there’s no reason to wait. As soon as I can, I’ll get going.”

“If you return back to the cave,” Fenick said. “Take whatever you need. For now, there’s no need for it.”

“I will, gramps,” Rhodanthe said. “I guess this is goodbye, then.”

“For now, child,” Fenick said. “Until we meet again.”

TheDuncanMorgan and Sundered Echo

Me, myself and Andrewcooper