A Very Important Date (Chyril 25th, early MT)

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Turi
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Post by Turi »

It wasn't easy - the terrified, drowning Oneist thrashed and bucked like a rabid donkey, and Arnholt got a face full of sewage for his trouble. But his strategy worked. As his struggling abated, Arnholt's knife-point found his throat and put an end to the struggle immediately. The water around the bald man's hands temporarily grew warmer.

Once the violence died down Arnholt had more time to pay attention to his surroundings. He couldn't see a thing, but he could tell that Lorenzo was more or less where he had left him. The adhiel's breath came in rapid, shallow gasps punctuated by the occasional whimper. To his right -

"Merda! Pio! Vai in culo, the cazzos got - ahh!"

There was a splash.

chk. whunggg

And in the space of a heartbeat, another splash.

"Accardi!"

The tunnels filled with invective, and many things were said which a pious Dominican ought not to have said.
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Post by Arnholt »

Rising, Arnholt wiped the slime from his brow as best he could with the back of his sleeve, grateful at least that the scarf he'd wrapped around himself had kept too much of the filth from going into his mouth or up his nose. At the end, Pio had not been so fortunate. Nasty way to go, he thought fleetingly. And, Better him than me. Oh well. Later on he'd commend the man's soul to Dominicus. Or maybe Righteous, if things worked out well on that end. Right now he had more immediate and pressing concerns to deal with. Things like being blind and knee-deep in effluvium while people baying for his blood were hot on his trail.

Luckily trying getting bearings wasn't so hard, mostly because Lorenzo seemed to be having some kind of minor meltdown where Arnholt had left him. He hoped the adhiel would hurry up and pull his shit together... but not too quickly for Arnholt to make his way over to him by following the sound of his quiet hysterics. Without the elves' glowing medallion, it was pretty clear that he would never be able to find his way out of these damn sewers. The darkness down here would do him in as surely as the blade of any Purificatio trooper. In grim silence, with his dagger still drawn, the big man began making his way carefully toward Lorenzo while keeping track as best he could of the tunnels around him.

From the sound of it, another enemy was down: the swordsman, Accardi. Which would leave at least one more inquisition soldier nearby, armed with a crossbow and a lantern and (unless he was a complete fuckwit) at least a small blade, besides. And there was no telling where Carminello was right now. Arnholt thought he'd heard the last soldier's crossbow go off, so for all he knew, the old elf was also lying dead in the muck. But hell, all he really knew for sure was that Pio had gone to his eternal reward, and that he would not be able to accomplish a fucking thing without just a little bit of light around here.

"Pio's dead," Arnholt said for Lorenzo's benefit, when he thought he was getting closed to the adhiel. He spoke in low tones, not intended to carry very far... and would have preferred not to risk giving away his presence at all, in fact, except that he didn't like the idea of being stabbed with his own dagger by a panicked adhiel, either. "Shine the damn medallion, already."
Turi
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Post by Turi »

It was not a good time for Legionaire Carlos either, who found himself outnumbered by his enemies, literally knee deep in increasingly bloody shit with his brothers-in-arms falling around him one by one. Just how many cultists were there left, crawling around in this filth? In the dark, for the love of the One! In a fair fight he was sure they'd be completely outmatched but down here, in the bowels of the nether itself... the man cursed as he struggled to reload his weapon, in time for the next assault which he was certain would be arriving any time soon.

A red light bloomed in the distance ahead of him. A sudden jolt of adrenaline surged through his system and the soldier finally clicked the bolt into place, jerking it up into a defensive position. He saw two figures outlined in the glow, one large and muscular, the other slender. He had no doubt that with his lantern, he was shining up just as clearly.

It was a chancy shot at this distance, but...

They'd taken out Pio.

If they'd also taken Pio's weapon, he was probably done for.

He still had a sword.

He set his aim for the large one.


[hr]Lorenzo took the jewel out and Arnholt could see once again. The first thing he saw was the adhiel's eyes, frozen and full of fear. He was simply obeying Arnholt's orders, not really thinking for himself.

The second thing he saw was Lorenzo raising a shaking hand to point behind him, but by then it was too late. There was a whrrr, a sickening thud, and a sleek metal bolt protruding from the centre of the adhiel's chest.

He crumpled slowly to the ground, face first into the water.[/hr]
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Post by Arnholt »

"Fuck it all!" Arnholt bellowed, too infuriated to consider maintaining his silence in the hopes of scoring a psychological advantage, or at least prevent summoning the rest of the inquisition patrol. He dove wildly toward Lorenzo's prone body, in the hopes of laying hands on the medallion before it was lost forever in the filth and the slime. If he managed to grab it, the big man would shove it into one of its pockets before he, too, ended up skewered thanks to its continued illumination.

There was no time to waste bemoaning Lorenzo's fate, and very little in which to consider any sort of strategy. For all Arnholt knew, he was the last fugitive left alive in these sewers. Truth be told, he might very well have made a run for it rather than tackle a much better armed, better-equipped foe all on his lonesome. Only he didn't have anywhere to run to, nor any idea how to even get out of this gods-be-damned, feces-infested death trap below World's Mouth. Lacking any cover in these tunnels and unable to expect any back-up from Carminello, his options here were few indeed. Hell with it. Better finish this now. His lips drawing back in a terrible rictus behind his scarf, Arnholt hauled Lorenzo's (presumed) corpse from the filth to hold it before him as an impromptu elven shield, and turned to rush the cglowing lantern that marked the crossbowman's presence as swiftly as his uncertain footing in these sewers allowed.

Never thought I'd kick it this way. Slogging through a river of shit in pitch darkness, underneath a city he barely knew, and hoping to murder an armored soldier while armed only with a dagger and the corpse of a recent acquaintance? Hell, no one expected to die that way. And if old Carlos was possessed of a calm head, a steady hand, a keen eye, and the time to load again and fire before Arnholt could close the distance between them, then he was probably a dead man. Worst of it was, Arnholt would die without ever really knowing why. Who the hell did these soldiers think they were hunting, anyway? Revolutionaries? Heretics? Both? The man's ambitions aside, it was something of a wonderment that Carminello had actually managed to piss off the city's rulership so much that they wanted his merry little band dead this badly.

Well, anyway, they surely hadn't been expecting to find anyone as big or as mean as me in these sewers.
And probably the very last thing Carlos would be expecting was him to come pounding out of the darkness, black cloak whipping around him and dead adhiel held high in order to shield his head and torso. He figured it would be pretty hard to set a bolt under those circumstances. It ought to be a bit of a challenge, too, for the enemy to sink a quarrel into Arnholt, what with several inches of deceased elf being between him and his target. And if Arnholt did manage to get close enough, he could always toss that cadaver in order to foul the soldier's aim, or throw it onto his blade, come to that. Yeah... if he could just get close enough, he had more than a fighting chance.

Heh. Even if the bastard does tag me, he'll never be able to deny I gave him a run for his money. Be telling this story to the boys for years.

And the thought of that, and of the absurdity of it all, was enough to set Arnholt roaring with laughter as he charged.
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Post by Turi »

Missed! With no idea how much time he had to defend himself with, Carlos dropped his crossbow and slid his sword from its sheath. He stepped forward two paces, standing ready to face his final foe.

Just one man, he told himself.

Then in the dim, red glow he saw it bend over into the water and when it rose again, it had sprouted two heads and four more limbs. The soldier almost dropped his sword.

The light disappeared. Unholy screams reverberated off the walls. Mad, diabolical laughter filled the fetid air.

And to his rising horror, they drew closer, as the shadowy, hulking figure lumbered inexorably towards him.


Lorenzo had tied the pendant rather closely around his neck, and in the end, it proved faster for Arnholt to simply hold it against his body and use the corpse to block out the light while he sallied forth. Rather than a charge, however, the best he managed was a clumsy waddle - Lorenzo had been a delicate man, but even so his dead weight was enough to slow Arnholt considerably. So he wasn’t quite close enough to hear the soft, dry laugh that joined the mad cacophony from behind Carlos.

He did hear it though, when the soldier’s nerve finally broke.

“Daemon!” came the wail. ”Daemons and undead! Get out, get out. For Dominicus’ sake, someone get a priest!” Trapped between them, Carlos had no choice but to turn back the way he had come. He ran. He ran until he couldn’t hear the laughter any more, then he ran a bit further just in case.

As the sounds of the fleeing Oneist had died away, Carminello stopped laughing, and let out a groan. “Arnholt? I do not wish to end my life down here.”

[hr]Carminello had taken a bolt in the stomach, a wound that was immensely painful, but not immediately fatal. It proved impossible for Arnholt to support him while carrying Lorenzo, so they were forced to abandon the shopkeeper’s corpse before making their escape, the white-haired elf directing the way.

A large, open pipe formed the exit of the sewers. It emptied directly into the Scillus. It was drizzling when Arnholt and Carminello finally emerged, but the air at least was fresher and cleaner. The older elf directed Arnholt to a nearby thicket, where they waited until another adhiel and an achadhiel crept out of hiding and led them back to their hideout in an abandoned bear cave.

There were only four remaining members in Carminello’s “merry little band”. The survivors showed Arnholt to a place where he could clean himself in private, providing him with a bar of lye soap, a tub of clean but cold water and a large, bright, patterned cloth to dry off with and to protect his modesty. Meanwhile, Carminello was borne away, presumably to someone who would attend to his injuries.

When he returned back to the camp, Arnholt found the achadhiel, Ushira, standing guard alone at the entrance. His appearance elicited a momentary smile, but her sad and worried expression quickly returned.

“He’s asking to see you, once they’re done cleaning him up,” she said and sighed. “He won’t make it past Konday.”[/hr]
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Post by Arnholt »

Had it not been for the fact that Arnholt had to practically hug Lorenzo's corpse to his chest to block out the light from the amulet, he probably would have noticed sooner that Carlos had dropped his crossbow and drawn a blade. That would have been his cue to ditch the cadaver, rather than continue to tire himself out by lugging such an awkward burden; gods knew that a crossbow dropped into the thick sewer "water" wouldn't be in fit condition to shoot again any time soon. As it was, however, the Western Kingdom émigré had to admit that things worked out well enough. His wild laughter continued to echo through the sewer for quite a while as the enemy fled. In point of fact it continued until he was bent over, wheezing, out of breath and dizzy with relief.

"See that, Lorenzo?" he chuckled to the corpse where it lay haphazardly propped against the tunnel's side. "Someone up there loves us after all. Well... loves me, anyway." But at Carminello's call Arnholt straightened, ready for business once again. "Me too neither, Carminello. Gimme a flicker and let's get the fuck out of here."

Crouching down by the fallen Lorenzo, the human went to loose the pendant from around the dead elf's neck at last, cutting it free with his dagger if necessary. Truth be told he would have liked to find the dead soldier's corpses and loot them, too, but time was of the essence, now... and only the pendant was truly essential. He figured they'd need its light to find their way out of here. Besides, it would be the only thing he had going for him if Carminello croaked before they found an exit, which, by the sound of it, would be a distinct possibility. Nor did what he saw upon locating the white-haired adhiel prove him wrong. Gut-shot. The man was a goner for sure. Hell, even on the unlikely chance the wound wasn't as bad as it looked, it was sure to become infected with all this filth around them. A man just didn't survive that sort of crap. Arnholt was just as glad he was still wearing his mask. At least that way Carminello couldn't see what he was thinking as he helped the adhiel to his feet and helped him remain upright as best he could. For his part he made the rest of the walk out of the sewers in silence, listening hard all the way for the sound of any further pursuit behind them.

Arnholt was actually amazed when they got out of the sewers alive. Normally being rained on was one of his least favorite hobbies... reminded him to much of miserable nights on the streets of King's Court... but after the whole sewer thing, it was actually rather present. He even peeled off his hood and scarf to let the drizzle rinse a bit of the grime off his face. Then, as they halted in the little thicket where Carminello began waiting for his henchmen or death or whatever, the fugitive took stock of his meager remaining possessions: The clothes on his back. His leather cuirass and braces. One dagger, the other having been lost in the sewers when Lorenzo fell. One knife tucked into his left boot. One purse, containing all his remaining worldly wealth, and also a whetstone. One very used book of prayers to Dominicus that he carried with him wherever he went. A couple of lock-picks he kept secreted about his person because, hey, you never knew. Oh, yes... and there was the pendant, of course. But that belonged to Carminello, unless he croaked within the next few burns.

That was it. Everything else he owned was still back at the Lost Elf, which meant it was gone forever. What pissed him off most was the loss of the little Prodesse Dominicus replica he'd bought. It would have been nice to have something by which to remember his visit to the great temple, especially seeing as it somehow didn't seem like he'd be getting to visit it again in the very near future. But, hell, at least he had escaped with his life. Unlike Lorenzo. His inventory of what little he had left completed, Arnholt spent the remaining interval before the arrival of Carminello's friends muttering Oneist prayers for the dead adhiel's soul... for whatever small bit of good that might do.

The arrival of the rest of Carminello's band... sorry, raggedy-ass band that they were... provided plenty of food for thought for Arnholt as he did his best to clean himself and his clothes a little bit later on. If this is all of Righteous's faithful, she won't be reliving the glory days any time soon. So again, why all the commotion and blood and death in the sewers? If this handful of adhiel and their kin was in fact all that Carminello could muster, they were no threat to anyone, and probably never had been. Can't just be because they're pagans. Arnholt's understanding was that unbelievers weren't actively persecuted in World's Mouth if they kept their activities under wraps. So what, then? Probably has something to do with what the Puro said. Daemons and undead in the sewers... what bullshit. But unless the man had been unusually high strung for a soldier, he must have had some reason for believing that such was a possibility. Who did he think he was fighting? Daemonologists? Necromancers? It didn't seem to make any sense. Carminello clearly hadn't possessed any magic, or at least not enough to save himself or Lorenzo. But then... there was that glowing amulet. So maybe the old elf knew just enough to get himself into trouble.

Still very damp from his bath, since he no longer owned a change of clothes, Arnholt just grunted in acknowledgment at Ushira's news. Neither item came as any particular surprise to him. Not in much of a mood for conversation, for once, he just set his back against the cave wall and waited. And wondered what final words a dying Carminello wanted to share with him.
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Post by Turi »

OOC: Thread passable. I'm so sorry about my disappearance - I didn't expect it to be for so long. If you want to start in a new location of your choice, feel free to do so at any time.

A cloud of gloom seemed to hang over the cave. No-one said very much to Arnholt until the achadhiel returned and led him to where the Carminello. He'd been cleaned up and bedded down as comfortably as he could be made on a bundle of old blankets towards the back of the cave, the ghastly wound covered by a bandage and a faded shirt. The old adhiel looked drowsy and was breathing slowly, and an empty glass lay by the makeshift bed.

'We gave him laudunum," the achadhiel murmured to Arnholt. "To ease his way to the aether. He might be a bit... incoherent," he warned him. He pressed his hands together in front of his chest and bowed his head to the dying elf, then left the two alone.

"'I hear him well enough," Carminello grumbled. His speech was halting and slurred, as though his tongue was too thick in his mouth, but otherwise he was still making sense.

"Thank you for bringing me here. I did not think... it would end this way..." He sighed heavily. "I am sorry for... well, many things, but involving you in this affair is the last thing I will regret." There was moment of silence, then a visible effort was made to perk up.

"So where to now for you, friend Arnholt? Do you still search for something to believe in, after seeing the troubles it can bring upon you?" the adhiel asked.
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Post by Arnholt »

OOC: Just glad to have you back.:) I'll continue hanging around here for now.

IC: Arnholt hadn't known the old adhiel very well, or for very long, but it still left him a little sad to see Carminello reduced to this. Gods knew, he for one had rather be killed instantly than linger on the cusp of death for marks. But if any lesson was to be learned today it was that only the gods knew when and where your life might be cut short.

At least Carminello's wits still seemed to be with him. For a moment Arnholt had wondered whether the elf would recognize him at all. Coming to kneel on one knee by Carminello's side, the big man looked down at him impassively. If he'd still had his had he would have been holding it in his hand. But his composure cracked with a dismissive snort when the elf expressed his regret for bringing him into this.

"My choice," he reminded the adhiel. "And I wouldn't take it back. Though I'd maybe have packed better before coming," he grumbled.

The big man's face split in a grim smile at Carminello's questions. He couldn't deny that the question had occurred to him too: Was this the end of faith? Only he knew damn well that it wasn't.

"In the end we all die just the same," he answered gruffly. "Maybe sooner, maybe later. Man like me knows he could eat it any time. Difference between you and me, Carminello, is if I was lying in those rags I'd know it was all for nothing, because I've spent my life serving only myself. I'd die with fuck all to show for it." Arnholt quirked his lips in an ironic smile. "Now maybe you're about to break my heart and say it don't make no difference to you at this particular juncture. But I say if you put your faith in something greater, a part of you lives on."

True words. In his own, peculiar way, Arnholt found he almost envied the dying elf. Which reminds me. The big man leaned in closer, bracing his weight on the ground with one hand. "Where to now for me? I dunno, Carminello. But I do know this: I still want to know what all this was for. Listen... Lorenzo said... you had a book, about Righteous."

[Edit]Changed "burns" to "marks."[/Edit]
Last edited by Arnholt on Sun Feb 24, 2008 7:04 am, edited 1 time in total.
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Post by Turi »

Carminello let out a long, slow breath, settling back deeper into his blankets. Underneath his drowsy lids, his eyes shone wetly. A brief smile crossed his lips.

"The Book," he said quietly. "I had hoped that you would ask. I have asked them to bring it to me. And it's yours, if you would have it. I think She will guide you, as She once guided me."

The white-haired elf clutched at something underneath his shirt, and struggled to sit up, looking at Arnholt with something like hope in his eyes.

"You see beyond these men and women I once called my brothers and sisters. What good is She? they ask. When the Dominicans denounce us demon worshippers, and a full score of our brothers and sisters are slain for their lies, what good is a god without the power to save us from them? They forsake Her. She has seen into their hearts... faithless hearts... and they will leave them to rot with my body when I am gone, the Book and the Eye..."

"Listen to me Arnholt, for a thousand yahren my Goddess has been bound in the depths of the Nether itself. What power she has cannot yet be given in this realm, Tazlure. Yet I swore I would bring her back or die trying because I thought a god had to be something other than an answer to my prayers. That is what all this was for." He flung an unsteady hand out at the cavern around them. "Do you still think I was right?"
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Post by Arnholt »

The human bobbed his head at Carminello's denunciation of his fellow worshipers, half out of sympathy for the dying adhiel, and half out of understanding for the other elves' complaint. Granted, Righteous was hardly unique among her fellow deities in her failure to protect her worshippers. The One God himself was not known for his great prowess in keeping his faithful alive and well, either. Case in point: the recent war. Not even Dominicus' fucking avatar survived that one. Still, it came as little surprise that the recent disaster might cause Righteous's believers to falter. The strong of faith, like Carminello, could easily maintain their belief in the face of such tragedy... but those less committed might not. Arnholt had suspected as much already.

At first Arnholt didn't pay much mind to Carminello's mention of his little band being denounced as demon-worshippers. In his experience, Oneists used "demon-worshippers" as shorthand for "pagans" with some regularity. It was not until the old elf started talking about his Goddess being bound in the Nether that what he had really been saying sank in. And for a moment, the big human's face went utterly blank. In truth, his eyes were barely focused on Carminello at all, for in that moment Arnholt's mind was many markers... or rather, many yahren... away. And all he could think about was a strange book found in his father's house.... a book that had even felt unclean in his hands, when he had held it so briefly, and so long ago. A flicker later he was staring down at the dying adhiel with... what? It would have been difficult for Arnholt to describe what he was feeling just then. Shock, certainly. Even a hint of disgust. Horror, as well... but also fascination. His life on the streets had begun thanks to his chance encounter with demonic lore. And here was a demon-worshipper, in the flesh. As if he'd finally come full circle.

When he finally broke his silence, Arnholt's words were not what Carminello might have hoped for. "So," he said heavily. "In point of fact, your goddess is a fucking demoness. A Demon-Goddess... of Justice?" He shook his head derisively. "Ain't gonna lie to you, Carminello. That's about the stupidest thing I ever heard."

Gods. To think I almost got my sorry ass killed for being a demon-worshipper. And here I thought they were a band of revolutionaries with a religious streak. Turns out they were a fucking cult.

That explained why the Inquisition had wanted them all dead. And why that soldier had panicked as he had while being clumsily assaulted by a man brandishing a corpse. Briefly, Arnholt wondered what his father would say about this whole mess, before deciding that he didn't really give a damn. And for a moment, the human might have left the cave then and there. He couldn't deny a sudden urge to walk out on this demon-inspired crap before it overturned his whole life once again. He could make another run at getting to Nether's Gate, maybe. A place like that had good prospects for a man like him. He could find a respectable street gang in need of a soldier such as himself fairly easily. Take the opportunity to return to a life of sanity that did not include crazy-ass elf cultists.

Except... was it madness? Carminello hardly seemed like a lunatic. Nor anything like how Arnholt would have thought a demon-worshipper would be.

Righteous was a demoness, apparently. But what, exactly, did that mean? After all... hadn't he grown up hearing about how demons and pagan gods were more or less interchangeable?

Arnholt's brow furrowed in thought. What do I know about demons, really? Horror stories, that was all. And how much of that was mere Oneist propaganda? "Righteous... she can't be what you say she is. But..." But, indeed. What if she could? Most likely poor Carminello had been sold a fine line of shit. But what if there was some kernel of truth to his claims? If he left now, Arnholt would never know what, if anything, Righteous really stood for. "Maybe..." he mused. "Maybe you'd say that my definition of 'goddess' is too narrow." The big human stared down at Carminello for another few flickers. And his habitual smile slowly returned. "Yeah. I don't know if you were right or wrong about Righteous, Carminello. But know what? I think I'd like to find out for myself." By now he was showing his fiercest grin. "I can promise you this much: I'll give your... Goddess a fair shake. In any case, I sure as hell won't let Her memory die, here in this fucking cave."

And why not? Why the fuck not?

Pan, Atara Arda, Aurelius... Arnholt might have accepted any of them, but none of them had made any impression on his life. Nor had Dominicus, really. A man like him was far beneath the One God's concern. But Righteous... right or wrong, somehow, Arnholt was already a part of her story.
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Post by Turi »

"No..."

It was the last thing that Arnholt heard Carminello say clearly. By now the adhiel was succumbing quickly to the effects of the drugs, and the rest of his words were mumbled and indistinct. He slumped back onto his makeshift bed and as his muscles relaxed his hand loosened its grip and fell away from the pendant underneath his shirt. Before long, he was slumbering peacefully.

Not everyone taking shelter in the cave was as silent as unconscious adhiel. New voices found their way to Arnholt from further to the front of the cavern, a furious chorus in the adhiel tongue. The human man could make no sense of it at all, until Ushira's anguished voice cut through the rest.

"Aylmari, aylmari... i anabh ealiu sanaidhanabh, i anabh dainibh seodhielibh aidhanabh nin... ai, acha!"
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Post by Arnholt »

"Rest easy, daini," Arnholt murmured.

Most likely he had mangled the pronunciation of that honorific, because he'd never actually heard it used, only seen it in print at the Lycaeum. But just now the old adhiel was beyond caring. The human had knelt faithfully at Carminello's side as the adhiel lapsed into incoherence and, finally, slumber. Hadn't spoken at all until the old cultist was deep into a sleep from which he seemed unlikely to awaken.

"Like I said, Carminello, I won't let it all be forgotten here. Not Righteous. Not your Book. And not... the Eye."

His own eyes fell to Carminello's shirt, at that last. To where the old elf had been clutching something only a few moments before. The Eye itself, perhaps? Whatever that might be. It was something, at any rate, that Carminello had feared would be left abandoned in this cave along with his dead body. He said the Book was mine, if I wanted it. Suppose that goes for the Eye, too. For sure he didn't want to be buried with it. As gently as possible, Arnholt felt around for the dying adhiel's pendant, muttering a vague apology for any disrespect he might be showing. It did feel a little ungracious to be taking the thing before Carminello was even dead, let alone cold. But if not now, when? Apparently the Eye was of significance to Righteous' cult. There was no way in hell Arnholt was going to allow it to be lost.

Concerned as he was with laying claim to the (presumed) religious artifact, Arnholt at first ignored the rising commotion at the front of the cave. The adhiel tongue was mostly just so much gobbledegoook to him, anyway. But there was one word there that Arnholt recognized. Aylmari. The human's head shot up at that, and he wrinkled his brow as the name was followed by what sounded remarkably like a bunch of cussing in elvish.

"The hell is going on out there?" Whatever it was, it sounded real ugly. Aylmari, huh? Unconsciously, Arnholt checked his remaining dagger. His face was grim as he trudged out to see what was the matter, suspecting that he wasn't going to like what he found.
Turi
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Post by Turi »

Two newcomers had arrived in Arnholt's absence, and the rest of the fugitive adhiel had congregated to greet them. They had brought along three mules bearing a welcome load of supplies - including food, clothes, maps... even a few weapons - which the cultists had begun to unpack and redistribute before their heated discussion had distracted them.

The arguments broke off when Arnholt made his presence known. Everyone in the little group turned to stare at him, except Ushira. She had withdrawn from the rest of them and was sitting face to the wall, curled up into a ball and holding her head in her hands. One of the new arrivals asked something in his own language. The achadiel who had been attending to Carminello replied in kind, then nodded to the human. "Joachim wants to know what you're doing here," he translated. "I told him that you tried to help Carminello and Lorenzo escape from the Puros."

"You mean failed to help. Aidha ni, ninadhiel," Ushira spat, without raising her head. The achadhiel looked at her sadly.

"I'm sorry..." He turned again to Arnholt. "Ushira has lost many dear friends today. Joachim told us that the waitress at the Lost Elf was taken in by the Purificato for questioning after she interfered with the attack on the tanner's shop. They were... not gentle to her." In her corner, Ushira curled up even more tightly.

"For forsaking the Pantheon, this is our punishment," she muttered. "Our friends and families pay the price in blood. We must repent, I say. Burn the Book and cast the Eye of Righteous into the depths of the Western Ocean. Then we can return our souls to the true and rightful Gods."
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Arnholt
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Post by Arnholt »

OOC: Sorry for the long post.:oops:

Arnholt's lip curled as Ushira lashed out at him, her meaning clear even if the exact words were not. Under ordinary circumstances he would never have let that kind of shit pass. Just now, however, circumstances were quite far from ordinary. He didn't need the other adhiel to tell him that Ushira was hurting, or why. Anything he could say right now would only belittle the cultists' pain. So he made no rejoinder, and offered no excuses, nor any other response than that momentary snarl.

The news about Aylmari made a far greater impression on the human than had the half-elf's contemptuous outburst. Slowly, Arnholt bowed his head, one hand coming up to cover his face. It had been many months since he had last felt actual guilt about anything. Sure, he hadn't been able to save Carminello or Lorenzo, but then again who could have? They'd been brought down by superior weaponry, and in Lorenzo's case by his own lack of nerves. But Aylmari... that was a different story. She'd been taken because she'd called out a warning to Arnholt. And because, instead of coming out of the shop with his hands up like the innocent man she'd claimed him to be, he had responded by fleeing through the sewers and killing a soldier of the Inquisition in cold blood. To be sure, he had known the elfess only marginally longer than he had known Carminello, but he had liked her. And word of her fate had moved him as the deaths of the others had not.

"Now that is my fault," he muttered. "It was my name Aylmari called. She was trying to help me." Arnholt ground his teeth almost audibly, his free hand clenching into a fist as his anger rose. "Taken by the inquisition," he growled. "That... that ain't what I call justice..."

No chance to save her now. And maybe death is all that Righteous brings. Gods, what the hell am I doing here, anyway?
"For forsaking the Pantheon, this is our punishment," she muttered. "Our friends and families pay the price in blood. We must repent, I say. Burn the Book and cast the Eye of Righteous into the depths of the Western Ocean. Then we can return our souls to the true and rightful Gods."
Arnholt glanced up at that, an entirely new look in his eye. A spark, so to speak, that hadn't been there before. The suggestion that Righteous' book be burned had shocked him right out of the beginnings of a depression, reminding him forcibly about his promise to Carminello. Burn the Book? Like hell. That was something that Arnholt could not possibly allow. Not before he had read it, and decided for himself the truth or falsehood of the daemoness' words.

"Carminello predicted you would say that," the human ground out. "He said that Righteous has seen into your hearts, and that She knew you would forsake her. Repent, Ushira?" he asked, with a new and much more serious sort of anger. "What absolute bullshit. You're talking surrender. You can blame me, or yourself, or even Righteous for the friends you lost, and that's your right. But you know damn well it wasn't any of us who did the deed. It was the followers of Dominicus and the Purificatio. You know them! The same people who've been persecuting and spitting on and tormenting you and all the folk of the Elf Quarter for years... or so Aylmari said to me. By Righteous, if the Puros could hear you now, they'd laugh so hard they'd piss their fucking pants! Because if that's what you really think, you've let them kill you, too. You're dead on the inside, if that's your choice. Because you're ready to give up the part of you that hopes for anything better!"

Arnholt spun to address the group as a whole, now, sweeping his hands through the air like one of Dominicus' more energetic preachers, haranguing them with the zealous passion peculiar to very new converts. A few marks from now, he might well think of this as the moment he made a complete and total ass of himself over a daemonic 'Goddess' that he knew next to nothing about. For all he knew most the the adhiel here might not even speak Human! But right now all he was thinking of was that he had stumbled across something monumental and life-altering, and that he couldn't possibly allow it to be lost to the mist of history. And now the words were pouring out of him almost of their own volition.

"To what 'true and rightful gods' would you turn?" he roared. "Pan? Let him be damned for his bloody failure at Aveas! The Mother? The Father!? Witness the fate of T'aquar, and consider how much help they were to your people there! They were deaf to you then and they'll be deaf to you now. Righteous! Will you live out the rest of your lives groveling under the boot of fucking Dominicus? I'd rather be dead myself!" Arnholt screamed with utter honesty. A moment of clarity, so to speak. The fledgling cultist shuddered, struggled to regain control over his ecstatic outburst, and went on in a calmer and more measured tone. "Listen to me: The stars were against you in World's Mouth. The enemy was simply too strong there. But there are better places to make a stand. Places far from here, where the yoke of Dominicus rests far more lightly, where the followers of Righteous can hide and gather strength against the day when we answer the Purificatio in kind. There are places where we can disappear so thoroughly into the shadows that our enemies will never so much as imagine that Righteous and Her followers yet live, not until the very moment that we are at... their... fucking... throats. Justice will have its day."

At length, Arnholt folded his arms and gathered his cloak about himself, still trembling slightly from the force of emotion carried in his own tirade. "I'm not asking you to throw your lives away," he said quietly. "Only, please, don't throw away your souls." The human glanced about himself, his eyes hard. "Listen, I say! I do want your help, and your guidance. Follow me and, I swear, I'll stand by you as firmly as I do by the Goddess now. But if your faith really is gone... I only ask that you stand aside. Forget you ever heard the name of Righteous, until the day She stands tall in the heavens. One day, I figure, you will hear her call again."

Slowly, hidden underneath his cloak, Arnholt's fingers curled around the hilt of his one remaining dagger. Just in case his attempt at rallying Righteous' faithful proved to be a spectacular failure.

"The Book is mine," he finished, quite slowly and clearly. "Carminello meant for me to have it. And I made him a promise I mean to keep."
Turi
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Post by Turi »

Blank, tired stares met Arnholt's outburst. The silence was interrupted only by the whickering of the mules outside.

"Then take it," Joachim said finally. "And good luck making head or tail of the gibberish inside." He sighed heavily. "I know that look in your eyes, kid. We've all been there before. That's how we got into this mess in the first place. But take it from me, Righteous ain't no better than the rest of 'em. All those pretty promises she whispered into Carminello's ears... obviously she can't deliver on them."

He shook his head. "The rest of you can do what you want, but I'm done with all this. Let's just divvy up this shit, get some sleep and tomorrow we can go our separate ways, alright?"

Not all the other adhiel in the cave shared Joachim's cynicism. From the conflicted looks cast towards him, it seemed that Arnholt's words had struck a chord in a few of them. But not enough for them to speak up in support of him. Only Ushira muttered "I dunno... I'll have to think about this."

One by one, the cultists began to return to their work, shuffling like sleepwalkers trapped in a nightmare, laying out supplies and equipment in untidy piles. The male achadhiel made his way to the area where a cluster of bedrolls were laid out haphazardly. He returned to Arnholt with a bundle wrapped in red cloth and handed it to the bald man.

"Try to keep it hidden," he advised him, then stepped back and regarded Arnholt carefully. "I know what you're going through. A part of me still feels the same. It's just... I need time to recover. All of us do. Maybe... if we're still alive in a couple of weeks, some of us might look you up again."

He tilted his head at the taller man. "By the way... you're welcome to a share of the supplies. Get yourself a set of clothes that don't smell like the privvy at least, eh?" He smiled wryly.

OOC: Gear up and I'll add the items to your list. I trust you'll keep your requests within reason ;)
Last edited by Turi on Sat Mar 15, 2008 5:55 pm, edited 1 time in total.
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Arnholt
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Post by Arnholt »

As the silence stretched on, Arnholt stood there very nearly as numbly as the adhiel themselves did. He hardly knew where his outburst had come from. Strange, though. For some reason he was quite certain he would do his damnedest to take the Book of Righteous by force if they refused to hand it over peaceably. At Joachim's reply, however, the tension went out of him. The fledgling cultist threw back his head with a sharp bark of laughter, and looked down again with a wry smile. Almost as if he was back to his merry old self. Almost... but not quite.

"I been disappointed before," Arnholt admitted. "I don't blame you for being tired of 'pie in the sky, by and by.' But I do know this: a man needs something to live for." His shoulders rose and fell in a heavy shrug. "After all the years of lies and the betrayal I endured as a Oneist, after all the self-righteous cruelty I saw in World's Mouth, I say the world is ready for a daemon's justice. I'll see for myself what there is to be done."

The human's breath hissed between his teeth as he accepted the bundle containing the book. The Book and the Eye... the two symbols of Righteous' faith. Now he was in possession of both of them. Guess that makes me the official leader of the Cult of Righteous. A religion consisting of approximately one man. Maybe less, if the daemoness failed to impress him... or if his good sense came back from its extended vacation and he chose to abandon this wild dream. As an amateur theologian and a newly semi-converted potential cultist, Arnholt was extremely interested in exactly what sort of 'gibberish' the book might contain. For now, however, he answered the achadhiel with a nod and tucked the Book away right alongside his little Oneist prayer book.

"Don't mind if I do, brother," he told the half-elf with a grin. "Smelling like shit doesn't inspire a lot of confidence in a man, and I'm going to need that where I'm headed. In a more serious vein, he told the other man, "I was raised a Oneist. I can talk a Oneist, and think like a Oneist, and I can teach any one of you to do the same. There is a place..." Arnholt's eyes slipped closed, and he could picture it in his mind's eye. Exactly as it had been described to him by Big Jim, an old friend of his from his street gang, and a former guard in Roque d'Ancourt. Almost the only city in the Western Kingdom where Arnholt would be welcome now. "Roque. More than half of its people are of adhiel blood, and many of those follow the One. It would be a good place to blend in. If you choose to seek me there... look for a man called... Beacon."

Arnholt offered similar words to most any of the erstwhile cultists who seemed as though they would listen, including Ushira. He didn't ask for any names unless they were offered. If any of this lot decided against rejoining him, it was best they knew as little as possible about one another.

At length, the fledgling cultist headed over the supplies, to provision himself with whatever there was remaining. His needs were fairly simple: a change of clothes, as the one cultist had suggested. Some food and water for the long road ahead. A bag to carry stuff in. A blanket to soften the hard ground at night. A map of Roque, if there was one. Finally, he turned his attention to the weapons, hoping to find a quarterstaff. Not that he had much experience in the use of the weapon, but in case he ever found himself going up against another swordsman, he damned well wanted something that would give him the advantage of reach. And unlike a spear or a longsword or such, a staff was the sort of weapon he could carry around without arousing suspicion... even disguised as a holy man. After all, it was basically just a big heavy walking-stick, and plenty of people carried those.

OOC: Hopefully this is within reason. If there's no staff, Arnholt will just buy one from a traveling staff-vendor on his way to Roque. :wink:
Turi
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Post by Turi »

It looked like the elves had the same idea as Arnholt about suitable weaponry, as there were a three plain, sturdy poles of oak amongst the supplies. Nobody object to Arnholt taking one of them. Eventually, everyone had taken their share of equipment.

As darkness began to fall and the rain started to ease off, three of the ex-cultists left the hideout, anxious to be on their way. Their road would take them to Dragonskeep and from there, to Pax Balthasar. Preferring not to speak to each other and with nothing else to do, the rest withdrew to opposite ends of the cave and attempted to get some sleep.

Only sleep did not come easily for at least one of these weary souls. His eyes were closed but inside his mind was churning with confusion and despair. Daemonic justice? He'd been too shocked to say anything out loud - he still wasn't sure that he had heard the words correctly. What secrets had Carminello betrayed to this ninadhiel in his drug-addled state? Exactly what manner of... being was it that they had placed their faith in all this time?

I should slit his throat in his sleep, I should destroy this abomination... no, something has to be done to keep the Oneists in check... oh, to the Nether with it... Joachim was right. Dominicus, daemons, they were all the same in the end. Let them tear away until they have destroyed each other and this accursed place. By nightfall the next day, he would be far, far away from it all.
[size=75][i][b]"If it were clear in my mind, I should have no incentive or need to write about it. We do not write in order to be understood; we write in order to understand." -C. Day-Lewis[/b][/i]

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Arnholt
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Post by Arnholt »

Arnholt was one of those who left the cultist camp in the night, though he was heading in a different direction from the others. He, too, was impatient to reach his destination with all due speed. Any other night he would have been cursing the dark and the drizzle and the general annoyance of country travel non-stop, but for now, the man was oddly at peace. More so than he had felt for years.

When exhaustion forced him to a halt, the fledgling cultist tried his hand at prayer to his new goddess for the very first time. Alone in the wilderness, with no 'friendly' faces around him, he was more careful than he'd been back at the camp. Gripping the Eye with one hand, Arnholt spoke so quietly even a man kneeling beside him might not have heard his exact words.

"Righteous. Goddess of Justice. I..." A long moment of silence, broken by Arnholt's full-volume snort of amusement. "...I can't believe I'm praying to a daemoness," Arnholt muttered. "Justice, heh. Right now you're probably just thinking of how much fun it would be to rip out my guts and toss 'em around like confetti. If you can hear me at all." Another interval of silence. "Still... you're all that I have, anymore. And I'm the only believer you've got left. Such as I am. I guess neither of us ever asked for the other, but here we are. So we ought to give one another a chance."

More quietly still, Arnholt whispered, "I do have it, you know. That fire in my heart, like Lorenzo said. I... want to believe in You. So..." He steeled himself to make another effort. "Righteous. My Goddess of Justice. Please be my guide... my inspiration. I will cherish You, that you speak to me with Your voice. One day Your voice shall be heard across nations, and You shall rise again. Amen."

For now, Arnholt wasn't expecting any immediate reply from the daemonic Goddess. But it was a start. At least enough to satisfy as he settled down to sleep.

OOC: Finished if you are.:)
Turi
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Post by Turi »

Possessed by a skilling demon.

Locked, archived.
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