DK - A New Beginning - CH 27th - ET

[Vanadius]

At night, the gates of the great Keep were closed and barred. The guards patrolled the walls carrying torches which caused light to dance and sway in the yards below, and shadows grew long and deep.

Most nights were quiet at the Keep. The patrols walked the ramparts and night turned to day without much incident or noise. But that was not the case this evening. As night began to fall, a horn sounded. It was a deep, sonorous tone that carried throughout much of the castle. Heads turned and the sentries began dashing about in reaction to something strange outside. They shouted cries of alarm to make ready, and suddenly their seemed to be a number of guards and men on the walls.

In the dining hall of the Dragonknights, Commander Lockwood shouted for readiness, and Midge began to help knights dress for battle and squires raced for their master's weapons. Blacktree sat calmly for a few moments, uttering some silent prayer, before springing to his feet and making his way out of the hall and outside. Denbar the Red began chugging a large pewter stein of ale. As he quaffed it, he belched loudly and made his way outside as well.

Another horn sounded, and the usually calm inhabitants scurried through the streets and locked their sturdy doors.

[Malakhai Qinua]

Malakhai looked up from his meal in surprise, quickly getting to his feet. "What...?"

Over the past couple of days the young tribesman had been busy settling in. In truth the time had flashed past - perhaps it was the greater altitude of the keep. In any case, he'd accomplished little enough: talking to some of the other junior Knights and trying to get a feel for the place, mostly. Although wilful, Mal was no lone wolf. People were important to him.

Of course, no one had explained the rules of the place. But Malakhai was used to having to react at a moment's notice. Often, when on trips away from the Hidden City of Tents, his father would wake them at night and they would move the camp to the other side of a dune in order to avoid roving bandits, bad weather, djinn or some such. Dragonskeep itself couldn't exactly be packed up and moved, though, so Mal was curious to see what would happen. For the moment he followed the general exodus, trying to catch up with Denbar. "Dreshi!" he hailed him as he half-ran to catch up. "What is happening?""

[Vanadius]

Malakhai's long legs made short work of catching up with the shorter and stockier Denbar.

"Gods only know lad. They blow the horns and sound the drums and make all kinds of noise when someone or something approaches."

Denbar's calloused hand was stern and strong on the hilt of his sword.

"Let's meet whatever they've thrown our way together, shall we?"

Denbar lead the lanky tribesman up the stone steps and onto the wall. Out in the darkness, a dozen torches could been dancing and hopping as the dim and murky figures of those carrying them could barely be made out. The tiny lights were coming fast, and grew nearer to the massive walls of the keep in a rush.

"In a hurry..." Denbar said under his breath.

Before too long the sounds of hoofbeats and carriage wheels could be heard, and the torches revealed a small wheelhouse being drawn by a team of four steaming and lathered horses. The driver of the coach pulled the team to a stop, and the half dozen escorts reigned in as well.

"In the name of the Father open the gate!" One of them shouted.

A dozen arrows were trained on the newcomers by men around the walls. Clearly there would be following such a command until more was revealed.

Lockwood shouted down to them. He was standing a few paces away from Malakhai and Denbar, near one of the archers. "Who are you? Show yourself!"

The escort removed his helmet and showed his face. He was a craggy, dark bearded fellow that was sweating profusely and covered in the dust and grime of the road.

"Magliorre" Denbar snorted quietly in derision, then spat. The creak of bowstrings sounded in the night as the archers relaxed. Lockwood gestured with his arm for the gates to be opened.

Denbar continued. "A former knight. Sold himself to the Royal Temple Order of Paladins at first opportunity." Clearly the burly Knight found the arrival lacking. "Well then..." He started again. "...shall we go down and see what the great knight of sand and sagebrush has for us this night."

The posture of the guards relaxed, and Lockwood, Denbar and a few others including Malakhai made their way down to the gates to greet their new guests.

[Malakhai Qinua]

Malakhai followed Denbar to the wall, dark eyes narrowed to try to make out what was approaching beyond the light. It wasn't long before the first man became visible.

"Mag-li-or," the desert man repeated, letting the foreign syllables run off his tongue. As one brought up among the animistic People of the Sands, the concept of a paladin was unknown to him, as were many of the trappings of theistic religions. If he'd recognised the word, he would surely have had cause to wonder at its co-occurrence with 'sold himself'. For the flicker, though, he simply removed his bony hand from the clothed hilt of the khukri he wore at his belt and accompanied Denbar and Lockwood as they made their way to the gate. As a still low-ranking member of this new tribe, it would not do for him to speak as if he had the authority of the castle behind him, but he was certainly curious about this dishevelled-looking late arrival who he was told had been a Knight.

[Vanadius]

The gates were opened and the wheelhouse was walked in slowly and deliberately. Then the massive chains rattled and pulled and the gates were closed with a deep, sonorous sound behind the new arrivals. The escorts all began to dismount and relax. As they removed their helmets, the relief in their expressions was obvious.

Midge arrived from the shadows and assisted in the care of the horses. The entire group had been riding hard and fast for a very long time, and the animals needed attention and immediate care if they were to survive. A team of Midge's groomsmen, looking sleepy and disheveled descended upon the lathered mounts and began to haul them away.

Magliorre dismounted and handed his helmet and gauntlets to a groomsman and ran a hand through his thick black hair as Lockwood approached with Denbar and Malakhai in tow.

"Been a while Nathan." He said casually. Malakhai could nearly feel the stiff rage given off by Denbar as he bristled at the lack of respect towards the Knight Commander. Lockwood himself stayed easy going and seemed unruffled.

"Good to see you again Ren. What's this all about?"

Magliorre gave Denbar and the tall desert tribesman a careful glance.

"I'm here to present Bishop Thures to the Duke."

"Bishop Thures?"

"The Regent is concerned that since the death of Father Amaris, the people of the Keep have been without proper spiritual guidance. He has sent the good Bishop to rectify that and ensure proper tributes are being paid to the Church."

Lockwood's only reaction was the slightest tilt of an eyebrow. He stood silent for a moment before he replied.

"Well then, I guess we'll get word over the Seneschal that Amaris' chambers are to be prepared for the Bishop. When will the ceremony be taking place?"

"Day after tomorrow."

"Good. That should be enough for Jome. In the meantime, I assume you'll be needing a place to hang your spurs?"

"Just for a few days if it's not too much trouble."

The pair walked off toward Lockwood's office together. Denbar spat again, his anger cooling to a distant icy rage. The door to the wheelhouse opened, and a young man stepped out. He wore priestly robes, and began to speak with the driver. As he did so, another stepped out from the carriage. This was a much older, heavier man. His priestly vestments were rich and elaborate, and his fleshy jowls jiggled as he clumsily stepped down, nearly falling in the process. He made the sign of the Eye over his forehead and looked around carefully at his new surroundings.

Denbar hailed the Warden Blacktree over to where they were standing.

"Bishop Thures." The Warden surmised and Denbar agreed with a nod.

"Gods help us all." The Red hissed under his breath.

[Malakhai Qinua]

This Magliorre - Ren - did not make a good impression upon Malakhai. While his lack of respect for the Commander clearly rankled with Denbar, it was his seeming ingratitude that disturbed the tribesman. To him it was almost unthinkable that someone would be so nonchalant when returning to his dreshi, those who had taught him all he knew, and it put a bad taste in his mouth.

The Bishop was a different matter entirely. Malakhai's people often referred to outsiders as guarrdi, but also as wetlanders, a far more derogatory and disparaging term. In his time at Dragonskeep, the tall man had seen little cause to apply the word to the castle's inhabitants. The beshi seemed, by and large, to be a sturdy, tough, self-sufficient lot - especially the experienced veteran warriors such as Denbar, Lockwood and Blacktree. Thures, on the other hand, looked very much as Mal had imagined wetlanders to be. Everything about him spoke of softness and a life of ease, and the tribesman immediately disliked him even more than Magliorre. He didn't know what the role of a bishop was, but he equated them with shamans, and the shamans of his people could never be seen to be soft or ineffectual. They had to lead by example. After all, what value had the advice of one who had spent his life cowering in his tent? Even Malakhai's father, Oyon, had seen the need to appear strong in front of his tribe, and Mal respected him for it, however much he hated him otherwise.

All these conclusions were jumped to in the blink of an eye. Malakhai had never seen the harm in judging based on first impressions. The implications were, as yet, lost on him; he simply didn't have enough experience of the fierce monotheism practised by some worshippers of Dominicus to recognise the possible danger this posed to his own person. Nevertheless, he could see that the new arrivals were going to change the balance of life in Dragonskeep, and that Denbar at least wasn't happy about it. He resolved to find out a little more about what was happening.

"With your permission, dreshi," he spoke in a low voice to the Red, "this one will help the wetla... newcomers to find their feet. And collect knowledge about them." Without actually waiting for the permission he'd requested, Malakhai made his way over to the young man he'd seen talking to the driver of the wheelhouse.

"Kal'essen," he greeted him diffidently, with a half-bow in what he hoped was a Western style accompanied by a friendly grin. "This one has been sent to assist you in finding your way in Dragonskeep."

[Vanadius]

Whatever was said between Denbar and the Warden didn't reach Malakhai's ears. Needless to say, they were both pleasantly surprised by the tribesman's bold action and initiative.

After speaking with the carriage driver, the young initiate turned to look who approached, and his eyes and neck craned upwards to look at the much taller Malakhai.

He was dark headed, and fairly ruddy of complexion. Judging by his height and the manner in which he carried himself, it was probably likely he was no more than fourteen or fifteen yahren old. Malakhai's keen eyes discerned no weapons, but it was clear the young man had some sort of armored breastplate on beneath his robes. His right hand held the scars of healing blisters and scratches that came with weapons practice as well.

"Kal-less-sen." He tried to imitate the word of greeting, but his accent and inexperienced shone brightly.

"A... a guide? Excellent! Its very good .... uh..." He trailed off for a heartbeat before beginning again.

"This one thanks you for your kind service. This one is thankful and appreciative that one such as you has been sent."

It was obvious that he'd never spoken with a desert tribesman before, but he was trying.

"This one's name is Larson. How are you called?"

[Guest]

Melissa awoke with a jump when "In the name of the father open the gate!" had been shouted by her one of her escorts. The book she had been reading toppled from her lap to the floor of the carriage. A snicker could be heard from one of the occupants, but nothing more was said.

Though she was away from the abbey, her studies did not stop. Her satchell had been filled with scrolls and text needed to continue her studies in Theology. She reached down to pick up the book from the floor of the carriage. Reading had proved to be an delightful escape from the boredom of being on the road. The book in question was interesting indeed, it was the culture and history of Dragons Keep.

Reading the material proved to be challenging, but she felt rewarding. After a long journey the carriage had finally reached it's destination. Melissa left out a sigh of relief as she began to stow her personal items into her satchel. The Bishop had already exited the carriage followed by another actoyle. Melissa began to place the Bishops personal effects as banter could be heard from outside the carriage.

Melissa exited the carriage with her head on a swivel as she took in the first sights of the keep.

[Vanadius]

The Bishop was a man of great intelligence, wisdom, and patience, and as he waited for Melissa to exit the carriage, he breathed deeply, enjoying the arid air of the keep. He was a heavy man, and amiable to not only his own desires for food and drink and the finer things in life, but to those who worked and worshiped with him.

"Ah, good, Acolyte Deveroux. It was nice to see you so caught up in your education. Books are a grand way to learn about new things, but there is no substitute for immersing oneself in the real thing. Standing here, I can name three things that make the architecture of Dragonskeep different than any stronghold built in King's Court. Can you determine what those three things are?"

The Bishop folded his hands behind his back and watched his acolytes. His eyes traveled over to Larson interacting with a tall tribesman, likely from the deep desert. Then he turned to watch Melissa ponder over his question.

[Malakhai Qinua]

Malakhai's grin widened, his thin lips drawing back and pale teeth showing in an expression of delight. Larson was having a good go at using the deferential form of address sometimes used by the People of the Sands when talking to strangers, which was more effort than most people put in. The young tribesman decided that he was going to like the slightly younger boy.

"I... am called Malakhai," he replied, still smiling, and making an attempt to use the first person in return. "I too have not been here very long, but I know my way around." He hoped. "I came here to learn the ways of the Dragon Knights. So I am a squire of sorts." He glanced across at Thures, who was now talking with a girl. Malakhai noted that she had striking blue eyes - a feature rare to the point of non-existence among the desert tribes. "This one is curious... what is it that you do? You aid the... Bish-Op?"

Malakhai took his self-imposed role as an information-gatherer very seriously for the moment; ridiculous, really, because the six-and-a-half-foot tribesman, with his bouffant hair and dark, leathery skin, was about as inconspicuous as a Trothgard Guardian in the jungles of Sierra.

[H`saan Alai]

When the horns began to blow, H'saan had been in his chambers, washing himself before going out to eat. Unlike Malakhai, the half-giant reacted to the disturbance with very little urgency. Had he been out in the desert, it would have been a different story, but within the walls of a city he held it a far more sensible course of action to stay indoors and to observe events rather than rushing out into the open.

The hullabaloo died down quickly. No screaming or explosions were forthcoming. His caution satisifed and his curiosity now piqued, H'saan slipped on his breeches and sandals, throwing a robe loosely over his shoulders without bothering to wrap it around his bare chest before he ventured out into the night.

He soon located the source of action at the gates. Many guards were there, including the young Tribesman who H'saan had noticed on his first day in Dragonskeep, but still had not had an opportunity to speak with. He was speaking with a younger man... a Westerner judging by his dress and features... and not so far away, an older, corpulent, berobed man stood watching an elegant young woman.

Was this the famous priest, that the Keep had been expecting for so long? H'saan had been expecting an ascetic, more suited to the severe lifestyle on the edge of the desert. This one looked as through he would have a hard time of it - yet he also appeared to be enjoying his new surrounds, or perhaps it was the company of his pretty young companion...

Adjusting his robes to look less casual, the half-giant wandered closer, watching to see if anyone else would come to greet the churchmen officially. If no-one approached them, H'saan saw no reason why he should not introduce himself.

[Vanadius]

OOC: Was waiting on Melissa, but now that H'saan has posted, I think its time we move along.


"Mal-uh-kai" The young acolyte intoned. "A fine name. This one is pleased to meet you." He returned the taller man's grin, although the expression came from a place of shy embarrassment or sheepishness.

Malakhai's words indicating the Bishop and the other Acolyte Melissa took Larson's gaze from the tall desert dweller to the Bishop and his other student.

"Her name is Melissa. We only just met on the wagon ride here. Yes, I am both aid and student for the Bishop. I have served as his aid for nearly a yahren now. We have arrived from King's Court so that Bishop Thures could serve as a spiritual shepherd for the people here."

~~~

As the Bishop watched and waited for Melissa to answer his question, he turned to gauge the approach of the half giant. The Bishop was if nothing else, a keen judge of character on first impulse, and although he did take a nervous step backwards, betraying his anxiousness at so large a being, he held his ground rather well and even managed to smile somewhat warmly at H'saan's approach. He rapidly made a strange sign of prayer over his chest and then resumed his posture with his hands folded behind his back.

"Glory of the One. My greetings to you. The One has graced you with such strength. I am Bishop Thures, arrived from King's Court. Are you the Shaman for your people here?"

~~~

After a few burns, a dissonant horn sounded a short, sharp note, which announced the arrival of a member of the Ducal Family. The large doors of the Great Hall opened and a squad of Dragonknights emerged in a protective array around a young woman.

"The most noble Phelissia Drakedoder. Daughter to our Lord, the Duke Joris Drakedoder the fourth!" A voice announced.

Phelissia was a rather homely, unattractive girl that held herself with a quiet grace. The young woman... for she seemed only just old enough to no longer be considered a girl... smiled and lowered her eyes in a most appropriate fashion at her introduction.

Her slippered feet whispered across the courtyard and approached the Bishop...

[Boxil]

Boxil had spared no time in cutting a deal with one of the tavern owners, a decent meal in turn for performing the rest of the night. The plate was ample and generous, business must be good. As he scarfed down the last bite of potatoe he saw the tavern's patrons stiffen, then he heard the sound, someone was calling an alarm.

While the rest of the tavern's residents considered the possibility of an extended seige, Boxil ran to the door and into the streets. He surveyed the scattering crowd and heard the bolting of doors, remembering the direction of the gates he set off at a run towards something potentially interesting. I'll have to remember to pay back that tavernkeeper

[Rahilu]

"Oh, shoot," Nik mumbled to himself as he sat up form his plate of food. The night, little to say, had been better than the last many, after he had finally settles into the Keep amog the Knights.

He abandoned his meal to heed the alarm. What he was doing, he didn't quite know, but it would make promary sense for him to grab his halberd and get to the gate. He heard mutters of siege and attack on the Keep from those around him, and shouts of fear. He left the dining building to see people fleeing the area in masses, locking their doors and keeping their families safe inside- from whatever was out there.

He set off in a run.

[Malakhai Qinua]

(OOC: Sorry about the slowness. Busy couple of weeks.)

Malakhai was amused by the shepherding metaphor, which he'd never heard before. "Among my people, the Ochre Tribe breed long tail sheep," he replied to Larson, a musing tone in his deep voice. "The shepherd is necessary to build little carts, to keep their tails from dragging painfully along the sand behind them. Maybe the castle-dwellers have spiritual tails that have been dragging?"

His train of audible thought was interrupted by the arrival of the duke's daughter. Malakhai was one of those young men who immediately assigned any young woman he saw with an immediate yes or no, and in Phelissia's case it came out as a distinct no. However, that didn't mean that the tall tribesman would immediately reject the idea that the woman could have other merits. He didn't see himself as sexist, just predatory.

For the flicker, he stayed silent, observing the meeting between the Bishop and the young Drakedoder.

[H`saan Alai]

He had intended to loiter (or perhaps, loom) in the background while the formal welcomes were made; but conveniently, the priest addressed H’saan first, saving the half-giant the hassle of deciding when would be the most appropriate time to approach him. He came closer and bent forward in a fluid bow as he introduced himself, the form of his reply patterned on the churchman’s. "Bishop Thures, my greetings to you in kind. Your god has graced you with wisdom and abundance. I am H'saan Alai of Sabata - no shaman, only a healer.”

He straightened up and smiled widely back down at Thures, hoping to quell any lingering anxiety the priest might have had. He hoped to study under him, but most of the Westerners he had known were from World’s Mouth and were notoriously insular - especially when it came to their religious beliefs - leading H’saan to wonder whether or not this holy man of theirs would want anything to do with him and his vague lack of spirituality. But the open curiosity in the bishop’s manner appealed to him right away and his confidence grew.

“Forgive my intrusion, but I have heard that you are a too are a healer, and a scholar of some renown,” the half-giant continued smoothly, in his most civilised tones. “Your arrival here has been greatly anticipated and I hoped to make your acquaintance before official business carries you away. If you are ever looking for an assistant, you see.” Here H’saan grinned a little roguishly. “I would like to be the first to volunteer my services.”

The blasting of a horn cut short anything else the large healer had to say. “Ah, here they come,” he murmured, turning his head to glance at the approaching Phelissia. “And there I must go. Well, should you ever wish to speak again Bishop, I may be found working with Sir Sterling in the Dragonknight Barracks infirmary. Farewell to you. May you find a soft bed and a warm welcome here this night.”

With these words he slipped out of the way and resumed his looming with the rest of the troops.

[Vanadius]

OOC: Apologies for the delay, the recess and RL kept me away. On with the show!

IC:

Before they were interrupted, the Bishop replied to H'saan's polite offer of service.

"Thank you for your kindness. I will no doubt have need to seek you and Sir Sterling out."

~~~

Malakhai's story of the long tail sheep brought an amused and fascinated grin from the acolyte Larson. He chuckled softly as the imagery sank in.

"No doubt! No doubt!"

~~~

Although Phelissia did not posses the regal beauty of her mother, or many of her forebearers, she did carry herself with a certain dignity and grace as she crossed the courtyard and towards the newly arrived Bishop. She wore a long gown that was near the color of the sandstone that much of the Keep was raised from, and she carried a scroll that had been sealed with a blot of blue wax, which handed over to Thures forthwith.

"Bishop Thures, on behalf of my father and the lady of the Keep my mother, we bid you welcome to Dragonskeep. You presence here is welcome, and we wish to make you as comfortable as possible for your time here."

Phelissia's voice carried around the stone confines of the courtyard, despite the fact she wasn't shouting or projecting her voice to carry out to the people that watched.

The Bishop on the other hand said something inaudible in reply, and took the scroll from the lady's delicate hands. He broke the seal, unrolled it and read it silently as she waited. When he finished he rolled it back up and handed it to Larson, his manservant. A barely perceptible word of thanks could be heard by those nearby or listening closely and he held out his hands for her to take. As Phelissia took his hands politely, he bowed his head in prayer and spoke quietly over her for a few flickers. He kissed her hands when he finished, and looked to Larson and his other acolyte to follow them as the homely girl led them into the great hall.

~~~

Nikolaeran arrived in time to see most of the proceedings, but a crowd of citizens blocked any good view. Instead he was forced to settle for a half blocked perspective of the Bishop, but he could see little of who the holy man spoke with. From his vantage, there was a short conversation, and then the new arrivals were ushered inside. When it was over, the crowd began to slowly disperse, many of the citizens held quiet conversations where the name "Amaris" could be heard as they returned to their beds.

Off to the side, sitting placidly against a rain barrel, a man with black hair and beard smoked a long, thin stemmed pipe. The ruddy coal from the pipe's bowl illuminated his face for a flicker or two and he was watching the proceedings intently. His eyes flicked over Nikolaeran for a moment, before he returned his attention to the evaporating crowd. He looked well out of place among the citizens of the Keep.

~~~

The warning horn was easily heard all over the keep, and as Boxil exited the rough hewn door to Pete's cafe, he could see a crowd gathering in the courtyard. His short stature made it all but impossible to see anything substantive, but he could hear a woman welcoming a Bishop to the Keep. After just a few burns, the crowd began to break up nearly as fast as it had gathered.

Old Pete was leaning on his crutch immediately behind the halfling, and nodded towards the doors to the great hall where two knights took up positions as guards.

"New Bishop. Came here to replace our ol' one, God rest his soul."

Pete stood lost in thought for a few flickers before he looked down, turning back to his cafe.

"Well c'mon. Let's get you an ale you can start your singing tonight with a wet throat..."

[Malakhai Qinua]

He couldn't hear much of what was said between the Bishop and the Duke's daughter, which was frustrating. The other half of the conversation took place in writing - a medium foreign to Malakhai - which was equally frustrating. Still, Mal was flighty, but he wasn't put off yet. He'd decided to attach himself to the Bishop and his entourage, and that was what he would do.

Bowing his head and hunching his broad shoulders somewhat, he followed the bishop and his two acolytes into the Great Hall like an obedient dog. He'd been assigned to look after them and help to show them around - even if it was only he himself who had set him the task.

[Rahilu]

"Amaris," his smooth voice repeated quietly, hearing it spoken on the tongues of those around him. Nikolæran glanced around as the crowd dispersed. How much of an important gathering did he miss?

One man a bit off to the side hadn't moved much at all with the crowd. Nik glanced at him from the corner of his eye; the man's own eyes had been on him for a mere second before turning away without interest. He didn't seem to fit in amongst the others of the region, and after a moment of inner debate, Nik walked his way over.

"Er- hello, sir." The blonde mumbled, hopefully loud enough for the man to hear. "May I ask what this assembly was about? I'm afraid I didn't catch most of what was happening."

The smoke from the pipe filled his senses, and Nik had to hold back a cough. But he waited patiently, standing perfectly still for the response he needed.

[H`saan Alai]

OOC: please continue without me for a while

[Vanadius]

Locked, skilled and archived. Due to inactivity and the recess. Any questions? Just contact me.