The Church of the All-Force in Odonfield may be a more artistically-inspired building, but the Church of the All-Force in Hathforth was nevertheless the more historically-significant building. It was here, after all, that King Ludwig had consolidated his power whilst acknowledging the need for that power to be used to the benefit of the people. It was here too, that he had shook hands with the former leader of the Church, an act that gave the masses the idea that royalty and religion were equal, allied forces of change within the province of Arrowfell.
That old leader of the Church disappeared when the regime changed. There stood only Potentate Brinyar Heavy-Handed now, kneeling in moonlight, his halo glinting like a blade as his hands were cupped in offering, supplication.
Duke Rhinecliff waited until he was done. The nightly prayers of the faithful ought not to be disturbed, after all. He cupped his hands as well, as if to capture a fragment of that alabaster shine for himself, as if a mortal could grasp upon second-hand divinity and craft a miracle of it. But the duke’s lips only parted to address the man before him.
“Potentate Heavy-Handed.”
A slow exhale, before Brinyar stood, and turned to his visitor. A hand came to rest on his chest, and he bowed slightly, his halo glinting in the light.
“Your Grace. You honor me with your presence.”
Brinyar smiled, straightening. The moonlight shone between them in the calm, empty church as they stood underneath the stained glass and raised podium.
“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Alas, I've been unable to make any headway with Her Majesty. Stubborn as she is, especially with her new-found power.”
Before Brinyar sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I'll refrain from regaling you. What can the Church help you with tonight, Your Grace? Confession services, perhaps?”
“It’s natural for those who obtained power through violence to fear the same. As for confessions…yes, such matters should be kept private before the fact.”
Without waiting, Duke Rhinecliff strode towards an isolated booth, his fingers tracing sigils over the exterior to cast a simple privacy spell as he stepped in. Moments later, he heard Brinyar enter, the door closing, before all sounds from the outside disappeared. They were in an isolated space now, safeguarded from the eavesdropping of all except the All-Force.
“Potentate, what are your thoughts on the sovereign in the North, King DuFairre?”
Brinyar sat forward in his seat, staring at the duke's silhouette through the booth's screen.
“A man, as unfeeling as he is disconnected from the teachings of the All-Force. To transform your people into ghosts numb to simple expressions such as love or joy, it's a crime of undue proportions.”
Brinyar sighed, hand cupping his strong jawline.
“He's always had shadows in Arrowfell, but as to his end goal, or what he hopes to glean from us, it has remained a mystery to me.
“Why do you ask, Your Grace? …Has something happened?”
“His end goal may yet lie further in shadow, but for what’s most pressing…” The duke’s silhouette shifted, a thumb grazing his moustache in thought. “Her Majesty and King DuFairre have a history with one another. One that will see Arrowfell trampled beneath. You are not blind to the changes around Hathforth, yes?”
Duke Rhinecliff paused, giving the Potentate a moment to gather his thoughts.
“The Wizard Queen seeks to make a leviathan a weapon, to crush Ravenfell. King DuFairre has reached out in turn, offering a leviathan-culling sword in exchange for the nobles of Arrowfell sitting by as he marches his undying army southwards to take this province for himself. Due to the manner of my refusal of his offer, that sword is now lost, but there is still need for it.” The barrier between the two men glowed for a moment, before the image of that ghostly blade emerged upon the screen. “Odonfield’s records do not contain anything of this artifact, but the Church of the All-Force predates my House. Brinyar, have you heard of such a weapon? I can only imagine that a sword capable of slaying a leviathan is mythological, rather than historical, in nature.”
Brinyar gave a careful look to the projected sword, his eyes narrowing slightly. “...I'll admit, I never thought I'd hear mention of this blade again.”
A pause, before Brinyar spoke again.
“There was a time Her Majesty came to me seeking as to the nature of this sword. It wasn't always a leviathan-slaying sword, curiously enough.”
Brinyar glanced at the duke's silhouette, his voice dropping a note. “It was a king-slayer sword.”
He leaned back a little in his seat, eyes glancing up to the roof of the booth. “As I was told, the sword was used to kill the previous False King of Ravenfell, King DuRant. After the deed was done, light descended, and imbued the sword with pure white light.”
A hand ran through his silver hair, air escaping through his nose. “Her Majesty wanted to know how to destroy a sword imbued with the touch of the All-force. I told her a sword like that should be revered and placed in one of our churches for safekeeping. Of course… Her Majesty disagreed.”
A pause, before Brinyar’s eyes were drawn once again to Duke Rhinecliff's silhouette. “Attempts to find the sword proved ineffective, from what I was told. Her Majesty eventually gave up. But… how this sword turned from a king-slayer into a leviathan-slayer… I am unsure what King DuFairre did to it, but he is a rightful king. Perhaps the Benevolence imparted knowledge to him that I am not privy to…”
“It proved…ineffective?”
The Duke’s tone was questioning in that moment. How could that be, after all? It was common knowledge that the current King of Ravenfell had raised the banner of revolt and disposed of the previous despot. If she had known all this, then she too would have known that the sword used belonged to the undying King.
“Still, I thank you for such information, Potentate. I had hoped that such weapon would have been crafted by mortal hands, that it could be replicated by one with sufficient talent, but if it is a holy relic, then I shall not pursue that matter further.” It simply meant that more attention would be paid upon the initial plan. He wouldn’t have to draft an extra letter after all. “Regardless of its holy nature, however, it appeared that King DuFairre had no issues with getting his court mages to teleport it away. I reckon that the Wizard Queen would have simply used that same method to handle this king-slaying sword.”
Curious indeed, that a spell once considered the pinnacle of magic was now so commonplace. A pity, even, that the genius of Melisande was due only to the age in which she achieved her dimension-folding magic. If she had been born twenty years earlier…
“Moving on from that matter, Brinyar, what are your thoughts on Duke Willowsteel’s pending fate? Drunkenness makes fools of us all, without doubt, and his protests against the Queen’s policies have been vocal over the last year or so, but Nordor has nevertheless paid its due.”
A laugh.
“Unlike myself.”
Brinyar gave a sympathetic nod. “The situation with Duke Willowsteel is a sad story. A man so desperate for revolt he'd hang himself to see it happen.
“On one hand, he's right to feel and act the way he does. On the other, the Wizard Queen has to maintain her image. Tolerating an outburst… Well, if she allowed this to slip, it would mean allowing a revolt one step closer to manifesting.”
Brinyar shook his head, his halo glinting slightly. “Ultimately, he will be put to death as an example, and for trying to spark a revolution. But, it won't end there. More will rise in his place, I'm afraid.”
“Such an even-handed response,” Laurent remarked, leaning back against the wall of the booth. “Beloved as he is, I suppose one would imagine Nordor itself to rise up in retaliation.”
And in turn, that would give the Wizard-Queen reason to deploy the weapon she sought within Althius. Not to fight back the corpse-horde of Ravenfell, but to cow the people of Arrowfell into perpetual submission, for as long as she held the creature’s reins. The path to Nordor, of course, laid Odonfield, and she no doubt would exercise her privilege there too. He sighed.
Those twenty years were kind, but none yet possessed the capability to even give a peaceful life to single generation of humankind. All that power and possibility, yet wholly impotent.
“The monopoly upon the Glasic Fields will be broken. Potentate Heavy-Handed, I know of your own concerns of the region. Will you be willing to join my allies’ ventures into that garden, if only to elucidate the Church’s inquiries?”
Brinyar was quiet for a moment, before he leaned forward in his seat. “...I imagine you've weighed out the options, Your Grace. You know I'm not one for politics… but if you feel it's time, maybe not to overthrow Her Majesty, but to at least make her think of her dukes and duchesses… Then I, along with the Church, will follow you faithfully in this endeavour. There are many troubling rumours springing from the Fields, after all.”
“Thank you, Potentate. I pray that balance, at least, may be struck between the forces within Arrowfell, and between Arrowfell and the neighbouring provinces.”
The Duke held his hands up in supplication.
“May a single generation, at least, be born and die without worry of war.”
”Ameen.”
That old leader of the Church disappeared when the regime changed. There stood only Potentate Brinyar Heavy-Handed now, kneeling in moonlight, his halo glinting like a blade as his hands were cupped in offering, supplication.
Duke Rhinecliff waited until he was done. The nightly prayers of the faithful ought not to be disturbed, after all. He cupped his hands as well, as if to capture a fragment of that alabaster shine for himself, as if a mortal could grasp upon second-hand divinity and craft a miracle of it. But the duke’s lips only parted to address the man before him.
“Potentate Heavy-Handed.”
A slow exhale, before Brinyar stood, and turned to his visitor. A hand came to rest on his chest, and he bowed slightly, his halo glinting in the light.
“Your Grace. You honor me with your presence.”
Brinyar smiled, straightening. The moonlight shone between them in the calm, empty church as they stood underneath the stained glass and raised podium.
“I wish we were meeting under better circumstances. Alas, I've been unable to make any headway with Her Majesty. Stubborn as she is, especially with her new-found power.”
Before Brinyar sighed, clasping his hands behind his back. “But I'll refrain from regaling you. What can the Church help you with tonight, Your Grace? Confession services, perhaps?”
“It’s natural for those who obtained power through violence to fear the same. As for confessions…yes, such matters should be kept private before the fact.”
Without waiting, Duke Rhinecliff strode towards an isolated booth, his fingers tracing sigils over the exterior to cast a simple privacy spell as he stepped in. Moments later, he heard Brinyar enter, the door closing, before all sounds from the outside disappeared. They were in an isolated space now, safeguarded from the eavesdropping of all except the All-Force.
“Potentate, what are your thoughts on the sovereign in the North, King DuFairre?”
Brinyar sat forward in his seat, staring at the duke's silhouette through the booth's screen.
“A man, as unfeeling as he is disconnected from the teachings of the All-Force. To transform your people into ghosts numb to simple expressions such as love or joy, it's a crime of undue proportions.”
Brinyar sighed, hand cupping his strong jawline.
“He's always had shadows in Arrowfell, but as to his end goal, or what he hopes to glean from us, it has remained a mystery to me.
“Why do you ask, Your Grace? …Has something happened?”
“His end goal may yet lie further in shadow, but for what’s most pressing…” The duke’s silhouette shifted, a thumb grazing his moustache in thought. “Her Majesty and King DuFairre have a history with one another. One that will see Arrowfell trampled beneath. You are not blind to the changes around Hathforth, yes?”
Duke Rhinecliff paused, giving the Potentate a moment to gather his thoughts.
“The Wizard Queen seeks to make a leviathan a weapon, to crush Ravenfell. King DuFairre has reached out in turn, offering a leviathan-culling sword in exchange for the nobles of Arrowfell sitting by as he marches his undying army southwards to take this province for himself. Due to the manner of my refusal of his offer, that sword is now lost, but there is still need for it.” The barrier between the two men glowed for a moment, before the image of that ghostly blade emerged upon the screen. “Odonfield’s records do not contain anything of this artifact, but the Church of the All-Force predates my House. Brinyar, have you heard of such a weapon? I can only imagine that a sword capable of slaying a leviathan is mythological, rather than historical, in nature.”
Brinyar gave a careful look to the projected sword, his eyes narrowing slightly. “...I'll admit, I never thought I'd hear mention of this blade again.”
A pause, before Brinyar spoke again.
“There was a time Her Majesty came to me seeking as to the nature of this sword. It wasn't always a leviathan-slaying sword, curiously enough.”
Brinyar glanced at the duke's silhouette, his voice dropping a note. “It was a king-slayer sword.”
He leaned back a little in his seat, eyes glancing up to the roof of the booth. “As I was told, the sword was used to kill the previous False King of Ravenfell, King DuRant. After the deed was done, light descended, and imbued the sword with pure white light.”
A hand ran through his silver hair, air escaping through his nose. “Her Majesty wanted to know how to destroy a sword imbued with the touch of the All-force. I told her a sword like that should be revered and placed in one of our churches for safekeeping. Of course… Her Majesty disagreed.”
A pause, before Brinyar’s eyes were drawn once again to Duke Rhinecliff's silhouette. “Attempts to find the sword proved ineffective, from what I was told. Her Majesty eventually gave up. But… how this sword turned from a king-slayer into a leviathan-slayer… I am unsure what King DuFairre did to it, but he is a rightful king. Perhaps the Benevolence imparted knowledge to him that I am not privy to…”
“It proved…ineffective?”
The Duke’s tone was questioning in that moment. How could that be, after all? It was common knowledge that the current King of Ravenfell had raised the banner of revolt and disposed of the previous despot. If she had known all this, then she too would have known that the sword used belonged to the undying King.
“Still, I thank you for such information, Potentate. I had hoped that such weapon would have been crafted by mortal hands, that it could be replicated by one with sufficient talent, but if it is a holy relic, then I shall not pursue that matter further.” It simply meant that more attention would be paid upon the initial plan. He wouldn’t have to draft an extra letter after all. “Regardless of its holy nature, however, it appeared that King DuFairre had no issues with getting his court mages to teleport it away. I reckon that the Wizard Queen would have simply used that same method to handle this king-slaying sword.”
Curious indeed, that a spell once considered the pinnacle of magic was now so commonplace. A pity, even, that the genius of Melisande was due only to the age in which she achieved her dimension-folding magic. If she had been born twenty years earlier…
“Moving on from that matter, Brinyar, what are your thoughts on Duke Willowsteel’s pending fate? Drunkenness makes fools of us all, without doubt, and his protests against the Queen’s policies have been vocal over the last year or so, but Nordor has nevertheless paid its due.”
A laugh.
“Unlike myself.”
Brinyar gave a sympathetic nod. “The situation with Duke Willowsteel is a sad story. A man so desperate for revolt he'd hang himself to see it happen.
“On one hand, he's right to feel and act the way he does. On the other, the Wizard Queen has to maintain her image. Tolerating an outburst… Well, if she allowed this to slip, it would mean allowing a revolt one step closer to manifesting.”
Brinyar shook his head, his halo glinting slightly. “Ultimately, he will be put to death as an example, and for trying to spark a revolution. But, it won't end there. More will rise in his place, I'm afraid.”
“Such an even-handed response,” Laurent remarked, leaning back against the wall of the booth. “Beloved as he is, I suppose one would imagine Nordor itself to rise up in retaliation.”
And in turn, that would give the Wizard-Queen reason to deploy the weapon she sought within Althius. Not to fight back the corpse-horde of Ravenfell, but to cow the people of Arrowfell into perpetual submission, for as long as she held the creature’s reins. The path to Nordor, of course, laid Odonfield, and she no doubt would exercise her privilege there too. He sighed.
Those twenty years were kind, but none yet possessed the capability to even give a peaceful life to single generation of humankind. All that power and possibility, yet wholly impotent.
“The monopoly upon the Glasic Fields will be broken. Potentate Heavy-Handed, I know of your own concerns of the region. Will you be willing to join my allies’ ventures into that garden, if only to elucidate the Church’s inquiries?”
Brinyar was quiet for a moment, before he leaned forward in his seat. “...I imagine you've weighed out the options, Your Grace. You know I'm not one for politics… but if you feel it's time, maybe not to overthrow Her Majesty, but to at least make her think of her dukes and duchesses… Then I, along with the Church, will follow you faithfully in this endeavour. There are many troubling rumours springing from the Fields, after all.”
“Thank you, Potentate. I pray that balance, at least, may be struck between the forces within Arrowfell, and between Arrowfell and the neighbouring provinces.”
The Duke held his hands up in supplication.
“May a single generation, at least, be born and die without worry of war.”
”Ameen.”