White Robes, Black Hearts (Jygust 30th ET)

[Arnholt]

As a cultist, paranoia had become a way of life for Arnholt. He had good reason for that even aside from the obvious. Many tendays ago, when he had first arrived at the monastery, Brother Gentus had unwittingly done him the favor of revealing that some of the ostensibly "private" prayer-rooms here actually equipped with peepholes. Arnholt had done his best since then to try and figure out which of the rooms were safe to make use of, but nevertheless he took care to act as though none of them were. By the same token, with Righteous currently being so attentive he could easily ask Her if there were any listening ears about, but he didn't want to fall into the trap of relying upon divine aid that might not always be forthcoming.

So, regardless of whether the Daemon-Goddess reported the presence of any potential spies, Arnholt was conducting the brief meeting according to the cultists' usual cautious protocols. Alone in one of the theoretically uncompromised prayer rooms, the three of them would kneel in a circle, more or less knee to knee. One would keep up a constant stream of Oneist prayers while the other two conversed in low tones. The idea was that the former would drown out the latter, so that for anyone listening from a distance, the whole thing would blend into the sound of two monks and a nun engaged in collective prayer. At present it was Shiera's job to do the chanting, while Arnholt conversed with Velvel.

"That first meeting went as well as we could have hoped," he told the adhiel, leaning in slightly to be heard over Shiera's stream of Oneist babble. "We have our foot in the door, now, brother. I hope you noted the faces of those pagans who cried out loudest about their grievances with the Oneist Church?" The cultist priest smiled tightly in satisfaction. "In our monastery's newfound spirit of friendship and cooperation with the pagans, I think it's only just that some of our brothers and sisters go to pay those folks a call. Just to express their understanding. To exchange personal histories, and like that. Eventually I think we can talk some of those people around. For now, though, we'll have to keep it casual. The pagans will start getting all skittish again if they get the idea we only suggested peace because we want to convert the Mother's followers to Oneism. We've got to make it real clear that they can work with our 'Unity' movement while staying pagan. Togetherness, and interfaith understanding, and all that. We can work on them more as we start to win their trust."

Three days, the pagans said. That's a long time. For sure it's enough time for them to go to ground for good if they decide we aren't on the level.

Once that line of discussion with Velvel had been concluded, Arnholt would turn his attention to Shiera, gesturing for Velvel to take up the chanting in her place. "Now, sister," the cultist priest began. "What deity is it that you follow? And why?" His tone wasn't overly harsh, but the young adhiel woman wouldn't have to be a genius to realize he had her performance back at the Mother's temple in mind.

[Haikan]

"Blessed One, who in your infinite wisdom and power created the stars, please forgive my sins. Lead me away from the Rat who wishes to stray me from righteousness, and guide me towards bringing Your people together under your One name, in Unity. Praised be..." To Arnholt and Velvel, her passionate and overpowering prayers were nothing but a drone behind their speech, for they were vastly more concerned with the matters at hand than they were with the typical blatherings of a Oneist nun. It could be observed that the entire time she was praying, she held the sign of Righteous, not wanting her Goddess to get the wrong idea.

"Brother, I remember some of those faces as if they were my family, do not worry. I am sure that I can get a strong following from a good number of them. Sister Shiera is good with feigning sympathy, she could prove to be an asset to sheperding the lost ones toward Righteousness as far as the pagans are concerned. The Hatred is in them all, like a fire, and we must hope that it is a large enough fire that the wind of our courage will strengthen it, and not extinguish it." He grinned wide as Arnholt smiled, the satisfaction of Righteousness was infectious.

"...to wash us of our pagan blood, and invite us into Unity for ever." Shiera concluded her prayer almost on cue, and Velvel nodded, taking his position of clothing their secrecy in overpowering prayer.

"Lord of Wisdom and Righteousness, keep us safe and proud in Your name. Bring us together for You are to be..." He blathered on in a similarly dramatic tone as Shiera's, as if truly confessing his deepest of sins. Shiera looked at him and squeezed the blade that she still held in her hand, which was removed from her boot.

"I serve the wise and Righteous One." Sign of Righteous. "My reasons are sound. Those who strike us down are to share the fate of those that keep Her down. I will lend my blade and my mind to her cause, and do what I can to keep us in the light of justice, behind the curtain of secrecy, under the nose of our enemies." Shiera was a practicer of mindcraft before she became a Oneist nun, and for that reason she was always very wary and paranoid, looking around, trying to expand her mind to hear the thoughts of others. It was nosy, but it was her contribution to the Righteousness. She did not have the power Arnholt had, she could not harness her Hatred. The most she could do is use her feeble mind to give her what help she could.

"And of course, I would sacrifice everything for Her cause, or face any challenge, as I am sure you would as well."

[Arnholt]

"Hatred, brother?" Arnholt arched an eyebrow at that. "I should certainly hope not. Hatred has no place in our Order."

The cultist's tone was dry, but he was hardly joking. Righteous could speak of the holiness of Hatred all She liked, but as long as Arnholt was around to look out for Her interests, 'Hatred' would never be something that the daemon-goddess's followers embraced. To do so would be admitting that they were merely daemon-worshippers after all. Unacceptable. Arnholt aspired to more than that. If Righteous was ever to be accepted as a true Goddess, even by Her own followers, the darker side of Her message was going to need some fairly heavy sugar-coating. Luckily Arnholt was up to the task.

"We will embrace 'Justice,'" he went on. "We will strike down the unjust with 'Righteous' judgment' and 'divine wrath.' We will heed 'Her voice.' We will kindle 'Her flame.' But we will never fan the flames of hatred, brother," Arnholt said piously. And then, his tone going flat and deadly serious, "That would lower us. We cannot afford to allow our purity to be compromised."

"And of course, I would sacrifice everything for Her cause, or face any challenge, as I am sure you would as well."

"Certainly," Arnholt said. But he continued to fix her with the same intense stare. "I note, however, that you haven't answered my question as to why. Well, that's fine, sister. Your reasons are your own, I'm sure. Just be sure that you remember them. Cherish them, as you cherish Righteous Herself. It's by recalling past injustices that we keep the spirit of Justice strong in our hearts. And we must be strong. The Righteous Order can afford no weakness." On a different note, he added, "I trust you will remember that better than you did the message you were to deliver Brother Gentus. You recall how I explained that I feared his great size and strength would intimidate the pagans, through no fault of his own... and so I begged him to remain at the monastery during our initial meeting at least. I was quite diplomatic and eloquent about the whole thing. Too bad, isn't it, that you forgot to pass the message along? Imagine my surprise and dismay when I found out."

Of course there had been no such message, and ditching Gentus had been a spur of the moment decision on Arnholt's part. He just hadn't wanted to allow the man to fuck up the delicate negotiations with the pagans before they even had a chance to begin. But by pretending that he had done Gentus the courtesy of sending his regrets, he might maintain at least the facade of brotherly love between them. Anyway, maybe having Shiera take the blame just now would help her remember not to cower when a pagan priestess cast a glower her way.

"We should report to Father Rohan now," Arnholt said at last, returning to character as a Oneist monk as he finally rose from his knees. "He will be pleased, I think, to hear of our success. As will Brother Gentus, no doubt," he added with the faintest curl of his lip.

[Haikan]

"My apologies sir, I was confusing my own emotions with the goals of our following," the adhiel cultist bowed his head. His reference to Hatred was not the same as that which Arnholt knew, he was merely thinking back to his own reasons for being in the cult. "I shall control my tongue, brother."

"Indeed, father Rohan awaits, brothers," Shiera stood up and turned toward the door and opened it, holding it wide for Velvel and Arnholt to walk through. Velvel nodded his head in respect and allowance for Arnholt to walk ahead of him.

[Arnholt]

"I can't blame you for how you feel, brother. The Oneists have done a great deal to court our hatred. But I am glad that you will recall the importance of keeping our message... consistent."

Bowing his own head to the others, Arnholt strode out through the doorway and headed for Rohan's office, where he imagined that Father Rohan would be. Before long he was whistling a hymn as he went, breaking it off now and again to bellow a cheerful greeting to any acquaintances of his they encountered. Making a show of his good spirits. And why the hell shouldn't he? By most anyone's reckoning, their mission to the pagans had been a great success. And as he rapped a fist on Rohan's door Arnholt had every expectation that the good father would feel... well, hopeful, at least, despite his initial misgivings about this project.

[Haikan]

"Indeed," said Velvel.

Velvel and Shiera rose and followed him, as Shiera made her closing prayer. There weren't too many folk in the hallways, most were probably working.

Father Rohan also was working- on transcribing some sort of old yellowed text onto fresh paper. He didn't look up from his work, but he addressed them and made it clear that they had his attention.

"Come in, but make it brief; I have an appointment with Lord Madison later this evening that I must prepare for. The monastery is to be entirely... Ah well it's really none too much a concern for anybody. Nothing's changing, just typical protocol of the state... At any rate, how went the secret meeting?" He was soft and gentle in his speech, not projecting out into the hallways, in fact, he was talking just loud enough for the three of them to hear.

"You know, that temple isn't common knowledge. If too many people find out about it, something terrible could happen before we can save them. I am sure you know that... but just in case you forgot the condition of the times...

"...Anyway, What news do you bring?"

[Arnholt]

Father Rohan's concern was almost enough to elicit a guffaw from Arnholt. The old priest was worried that he couldn't keep a secret? How precious. He didn't say that sweeping into the monastery silently to confer in hushed tones with Father Rohan would be a fine way to set the entire order wondering about what exactly was going on. The more obvious a show you made about safeguarding some deep and terrible secret and the more people would pry. That was just human nature. Better to act as if you had nothing to hide in the first place.

"What temple would that be, father?" Arnholt asked deadpan. But his voice was pitched just as low as the old priest. "On an entirely unrelated note, our meeting with some of the local adhiel went well. They were quite jittery, which is perhaps understandable, but they will join us in future talks. We agreed to a council to discuss ways of resolving our differences and working together. The first meeting is to be held three days from now. That will give you time, father, to select our own representatives, and for us all to work out the details of the conference. Their... community leaders suggested a return to the previous venue," the cultist went on, "but if privacy is a concern for you, father, then perhaps we should get back to them suggesting a more neutral locale."

Arnholt wondered, briefly, whether Father Rohan was getting cold feet. The old priest had never been wild about the idea of direct talks with the pagans, but this repeated emphasis on secrecy was rather new. What exactly was Rohan frightened off? Mob violence and riots in the streets, resulting in a massacre of the pagans by overzealous Oneists? Or was a new leadership emerging in the city that might actually muster the Roques against the hidden temple?

Better find out who this Lord Madison asshole is, he thought offhandedly. But not just now. Arnholt might care about the city's temporal leadership, but that wouldn't be entirely in character for Bram Beacon.

[Haikan]

"I see..." Even someone as up front and unaccustomed to secrets as Rohan could detect what was going on now. "You, Brother Gentus and Ushiya are those I would like to send. If you wish to take Velvel and Shiera, you may, but it is mandatory that Gentus go along. You and he should be a team, no?"

Father Rohan was indeed nervous, and Arnholt could detect that somewhat simply through his manner. He wasn't elucidating why, but it didn't seem to be anything too earth-shattering. It was probably just that walls built long ago were going to be torn down, and change was difficult for most to deal with.

"You will meet them wherever you wish to, although I would suggest the neutral location over the adhiel turf, for it is far too unaccomodating, wouldn't you say?"

[Arnholt]

"Of course, father," Arnholt said with a bow of his head. "Besides which, Brother Gentus brings with him a perspective that cannot be ignored. His voice must certainly be heard."

Meaning that supreme traditionalist asshole ought to make 'Brother Beacon' look all the more reasonable and non-threatening in comparison. It might not be bad to give the pagans a reminder of who exactly they might be dealing with, if not for 'Beacon's' more enlightened faction of the Oneist Church. Anyway, there was no way to get out of having his nemesis on the council: the good father had his heart set on Gentus and Arnholt becoming best buddies or something. The cultist wasn't thrilled, but he was prepared to make the best out of the situation. At least until the time came to sacrifice Gentus to his Goddess.

"As for Sister Ushiya," he went on, "there is a great deal that she can bring to the table as well, I'm sure. But it was my impression, from what she'd told me, that Sister Fullys was keeping her very busy, tending to our young wards in the orphanage...?"

While Arnholt had no objection to Ushiya taking a more active role in the temple diplomacy project, per se, he wasn't entirely comfortable with the cult's entire First Circle all being connected with it. If anything went wrong, all of them would end up with their reputations tarred... at the very least. Besides which, the cultist wasn't entirely ready to give up control of those orphans. Ushiya thought she could turn them to Righteous-worship in time. Failing that, those innocents would make ideal, unwitting hostages, should the Righteous Order be exposed and their circumstances turn desperate. He would hate to lose what minor headway they had already made in befriending the children, therefore. Though he supposed Ushiya might split her time between the two projects.

"Then I'll contact our future friends again," Arnholt said, "to arrange for a more suitable venue for our next meeting. And may I say, father, I do think this is a promising beginning. With our guidance, the good adhiel of Roque will be drawn ever further into His light." And he made the sign of the Eye with one hand, while the fingers of the other curled into hooks, hidden in his trailing sleeve. "Was there anything else we needed to discuss, Father Rohan? Or may we take our leave"

[Haikan]

"Ushiya seems quite capable. I can never understand how she so happily handles so much work. I merely expected that since she never complains, she surely could handle a seat on the committee. How time consuming could it be?" He grabbed his papers and set them underneath his desk, preparing for a long break after the meeting concluded. "And Velvel also never seems to mind his work either. You three and Gentus are the most upstanding members of the monastery, I swear it must be the will of the One that you four are on such good terms and function so well together."

"Right, that should be that for the evening. You may take your leave."

[Arnholt]

"As you wish, Father," Arnholt said with another slight bow of his head. As long as she wasn't being relieved of her other duties, Ushiya being on the council suited him fine.

It was amusing that, of the four that Rohan named as the most upstanding members of the monastery, three were secretly cultists. (More amusing still: unbeknownst to Arnholt himself, all four were.) In a way, however, it was a little bit sad. Even without the Righteous Order's help, the Light of the One was plainly fading. Less adhiel attending services. A decided lack of fire or inspiration among the true monks of the temple. The whole place seemed to have been running on little more than inertia, before Arnholt and his crew showed up, and now it was well on its way toward becoming a true nest of cultists.

All of which was quite fine with Arnholt, except that the Light of the One had long represented a kinder and gentler face of Oneist worship, one that was only just beginning to take root in King's Court. This monastery could have become the spiritual home of the Unity movement in fact, instead of merely as a front for Righteous-worship and holy war. It just went to show, Arnholt supposed, that the gentle new tradition of Unity just wasn't strong enough to make any headway against the entrenched forces of hatred and religious tyranny that continued to control the Church as a whole.

Not, he thought, without Righteous. Perhaps something will become of Unity, yet, with the power of our Goddess clearing the way. When we slaughter enough of the old guard, even the Oneist Church may embrace Justice and reform itself. Perhaps. And if not, that would be a pity, at least when it came to people like Father Rohan, who were decent enough within the limitations of their faith. But it hardly mattered. Justice must be done.

"Good evening, then, Father Rohan. As always, may the One God's blessing be with you."

Upon leaving, Arnholt soon turned back to the others. "Sister Shiera, please be so kind as to inform our new friends among the adhiel of Father Rohan's request to move the council's meeting place to a more neutral location, due to the sensitivity of our negotations. To one of the inns in town, perhaps? Or whatever they suggest." And to Velvel he said, "And now, brother, I really must have a private word with you. I'm not sure if Sister Ushiya had the chance to tell you yet, but I've gotten a letter from mother. She's doing very well. Sent me a new recipe, in fact... one we might want to use at that feast we've been planning."

Even without being privy to the earlier conversation, Velvel ought to have a clear idea of what Arnholt's cultist cant was driving at with regards to spells and summoning.

[Haikan]

"Yes, Brother. I know of just the place." Shiera bowed her head and shuffled out the door quite swiftly. Father Rohan seemed preoccupied with the papers that he just resumed working with, already seemingly ignorant of the goings-on around him. As the two Brothers left the room and Arnholt spoke his cant, Velvel's eyes grew wide, and his fingers trembled. It was hard for him to withhold his jealousy, why didn't he get Her blessing?

"Does your mother suggest any assistance with the recipes, Brother? That is a lot of work to handle on one's own." He spoke in a deep but casual voice, his eyes squinting a bit as he hid the flare that was blazing within them. "Of course, regardless I can help with the cooking, whether I'll be directly contributing or not."

[Arnholt]

Velvel had once been an actor by profession. He was quite adept at hiding or disguising his emotions. In this instance, however, Arnholt didn't find him all that difficult to read. The same kind of light had shown in Ushiya's eyes when the cultist priest had intimated that the Goddess had called and the doors of power thrown open. And for a flicker Arnholt just eyed his adhiel brother shrewdly, considering. Righteous' holy Book had instructed him to choose one follower to share his secrets with. On the other hand, it hadn't said not to choose more than one. To deny Velvel his chance to touch the Goddess's power would inevitably cause a rift within the First Circle. And anyway, three cultists who could summon divine miracles would certainly be a bigger advantage than two, when it came time for the Goddess to flex Her magical muscles.

At length Arnholt gave a slight chuckle, and threw an arm around the adhiel's shoulders expansively. "Why, Brother Velvel," he said, "you've known my mother nearly as long as I have. Surely you know she wouldn't forget you. She loves you as though you were her own son. Some people," he went on, his voice sinking lower, "Say that too many cooks spoil the broth. But I say, it's a big kitchen. And my mother has so many favorite recipes. Of course there must be one that's right for you. In fact, I think I have one you might want to try. Perhaps we could head to the kitchen and get to work on it right now."

Arnholt's fingers had been hooked for most of that, of course, but he briefly flashed a palm with thumb across it for that last bit... indicating that he was referring to the actual kitchen and not one of the cultists makeshift, temporary shrines. From early on Arnholt had pushed to get a few of the cultist acolytes working in the kitchen as part of their daily chores around the monastery, in part so people wouldn't wonder why their little circle of friends kept talking about the 'kitchen' all the time, and in part because he had vague thoughts about maybe needing to poison the real monks' food some day. In any case, the kitchen was as secure a place as anywhere to talk, at least when it was staffed with cultists who could cover the sound with banging pans while their leaders spoke (preferably in an adjoining larder/pantry/storeroom).

If indeed there was a cultist crew working in the kitchen right now, therefore, that would be ideal. And among the other benefits, there ought to be a few old pots lying around there for use as target practice, in case Velvel was blessed with the miracle of Thunder and got the urge to test his power as Arnholt and then Ushiya had. That way they wouldn't be reduced to testing on discarded clothing again, which would be nice. Practical issues aside, while Arnholt had undeniably gotten a rise out of watching Ushiya jiggle the goods, he had no desire whatsoever to see Velvel drop trou in order to huck a lightning bolt at his pants.

[Haikan]

A wickedly excited grin made its way to Velvel's face as he listened to Arnholt. "Very well Brother, I will help with all my power." He was too shocked to say much else. Despite his skills for acting, he was losing his cool and therefore was choosing to act off in thought, gazing at the floor as they walked with trembling eyes. "I'm sorry Brother, I have a lot to think about right now, pardon my behavior..."

The kitchen was staffed with only two at the moment, and one of them had gone out to purchase supplies. The one who remained was not a member of the cult, he was a new worker who went by the name of Brother Climacus. He was an honest monk, who was obsessively devoted to Dominicus and the worship of him. Brother Climacus was known for his sharp mind and his keen knack for theology. He was not known by the cultists to be an ally however, he was entirely ignorant.

"Greetings, Brother Beacon! Are you and Brother Velvel hungry?"

[Arnholt]

"No, Brother Clicamus," Arnholt answered jovially, taking this minor setback in stride. "In fact, Brother Velvel and I were looking for (OOC: insert the name of a cultist Arnholt thought might be on duty now). Have you seen (him/her)?" Regardless of the answer, he went on to say, "Well, now that we're here perhaps we'll help with the cleaning, in the hopes that (brother or sister whoever) comes by."

He still harbored some hope of getting Clicamus out of the kitchen. In any case, even if they couldn't practice drawing on the Goddess's power here, this was still as good a place as any to discuss the events of the morning. The extended "kitchen" metaphor that Righteous was so fond of, and that Her cultists' cant relied upon rather extensively, would keep their conversation from sounding especially out of place. The "feast" to come was something that the cultists discussed often and openly. Supposedly they were discussing a party they wanted to hold to celebrate the end of the war and "peace" between Oneist and pagan, but of course every cultist knew the real meaning of the word.

"So, like I was telling you, brother," he told Velvel over the sounds of washing up (or helping out in whatever other way Clicamus would allow, if there was no washing to do). "My mother is a great cook. One of the greatest, if you'll pardon my sin of pride is saying so. And what she always told me is, it isn't just about training. It isn't just about learning to cook, goodness, no. That helps, of course, but to become a great chef... she always told me... you have to be a chef, here." And he tapped one finger over his heart. "Mother always said it's a calling, really. Just like... well, like being a monk, brother. The One God" (hooked fingers) "... calls us each to serve in different ways, you know. But even monks like you and me might feel a little bit of a cook's calling, too. In order to cheer the faithful, you know."

"Now, me, I'm obviously not very much of a chef." Which was true in the literal sense, as even Climacus might have heard. Arnholt couldn't cook to save his life and his few fumbling attempts thus far had been fairly awful. "But there is one recipe I know, brother, and if you ever tasted it you'd know right away that I'm my mother's son. Her special pot pie. The taste... let me tell you, it's like an explosion in your mouth. Like biting into a thunderbolt." And he shot Velvel a lazy wink, when Climacus wasn't looking. "If I do say so myself, it would be a perfect dish to serve at that feast of ours. And for desert... well, Ushiya has something special in mind for that. A unique recipe handed down in her family. Something cool and refreshing, she says, with a flavor like the sweetest thing you can imagine." Like Justice.

"Anyway," he went on breezily, "it's my mother's recipe I'd recommend for you, brother. We'll have to try it together, sometime, when we have all the, heh, secret ingredients at hand." When no fucking Oneists are around. "Because I think you just might have a little bit of that chef's calling, yourself. I'm pretty sure my mother would say so too." He flashed his easy grin. "She's never said you didn't, that's for sure."

[Haikan]

Climacus - the lovable goof - was completely unaware of Arnholt's disappointment. In an odd display of friendly amusement, Climacus grinned wide and closed his eyes as he laughed and started pouring water into a pot.

"Ha ha, Lionel was out for groceries, but he should be back very soon. Actually, I think he's long overdue... I'm sure there is no problem, but he was supposed to help me make beef stew! That silly maroon is such a free spirit."

Lionel was a newly recruited cultist that Velvel had found very recently. He was ambitious and always eager - almost too eager - to prove himself, but he was borderline foolish in this regard, for in his eagerness he was likely to make many mistakes. This is why he was meant for the third circle. Useful, but stupid and not trustworthy to be wise and safe.

"I don't need any help. I can't get started until Lionel gets back... I sure wish he'd hurry though. My mother is sick and the sooner I finish this stew, the sooner I can get home and tend to her."

Velvel was silent. He liked Climacus, but he wasn't in the mood for his sunny attitude at the moment. All he could think about was the recipes he might be using soon. He was very unaware of what it was, and in his mind, torrents of hail and rivers of magma were blasting out from his fingertips. Her power... I may someday wield it... I am not worthy, but if She thinks so, so be it.

[Arnholt]

"Mm, that sounds like Brother Lionel all right," Arnholt agreed.

Velvel was to be commended for finding the man. So innocent. So eager to please. Of course, since he was a member of the Third Circle, Lionel wasn't actually a cultist. No one in the nascent Third Circle was to know anything about Righteous, or even about the Righteous Order, at least until they had proven themselves as qualified for introduction to the cult's darker mysteries. To Lionel's ilk it would be the "Circle of Friends:" a "secret" organization within the Church dedicated to promoting Arnholt's overt agenda of reconciliation between Oneist and pagan, without interference from Oneist traditionalists.

Arnholt did his best to keep Lionel's ego inflated by assigning him various tasks, and "entrusting" him with a small amount of the secret cant that the Righteous Order used. But most likely that was as far as it would ever go. While the idea behind the Third Circle was that many of its members would eventually be inducted into the Second Circle and the cult proper, Lionel simply wasn't a suitable candidate. Which was not to say he didn't have have his uses. Should the Righteous Order's existence ever be discovered, people like Lionel would nevertheless serve as unwitting tools to disguise the Order's true nature, provide the cultists with invaluable cover by virtue of their very innocence. They would be able to insist with total honesty that the "Circle of Friends" had never had anything but the best interests of the Church in mind.

Unfortunately that also meant that Lionel was totally unsuited to stand guard anywhere he might witness the cult leaders tossing around their Goddess's miraculous lightning. Damnation. Arnholt had been hoping that a committed cultist was on duty just now.

"I don't need any help. I can't get started until Lionel gets back... I sure wish he'd hurry though. My mother is sick and the sooner I finish this stew, the sooner I can get home and tend to her."

Ahh. "I wish you'd said so sooner, brother," Arnholt told the man sympathetically. "It does you a lot of credit that you're so attentive to your duties here at the monastery, but the One God knows, your duty to your mother is just as great. Please... just this once, allow Brother Velvel and me to take your place and finish the stew for you. We needed to speak to Lionel, anyway, so it's really no imposition."

Hopefully that would get rid of Climacus anyway. If Arnholt could talk him into leaving, then they'd only have Lionel to deal with... and perhaps they could solve their little problem by having him stand guard outside the door. As for the stew, Arnholt couldn't cook even that worth a damn, as Climacus probably knew. But at least he could peel and cut the vegetables while Velvel and Lionel did the rest.

[Haikan]

"Y- you'd do that for me? Bless you, Brother Beacon! You have my thanks, and if you ever need a favor, just tell me!" With a sparkling grin, Climacus bowed to Arnholt, and to Velvel, and he waved his hand as he rushed out the door. I'm coming, mother!

"...He's a damned good kid. It's a shame, he'd really make a terrible candidate as a close friend. A guy like that... You know, you just can't bring yourself to get pissed at." Velvel turned to Arnholt and then looked around at what surrounded them.

"So are we going to cook this food? I actually am pretty good in the kitchen, of a couple sorts." He crooked his hand, but he did mean that he was a good chef. He wouldn't win any contests, but he could make a passably delicious stew in the absence of a real chef. Velvel leaned in towards Arnholt and he grabbed a knife and a large pepper, proceeding to dice it on the cutting board, which made a good deal of kitchen noise to mask his words.

Quietly, he muttered. "Was there something you wanted to share with me, Brother?"

[Arnholt]

"Good night, Brother Climacus," was Arnholt's mild reply. "All the best to your mother."

To Velvel he said, "He'll never be a close friend. But we can always feed the pigeons with him." The cultists' term for doing charitable works in the One God's name, in order to maintain their cover. "Maybe there's even a place for him in our Order along with Lionel. There's practically no limit to who the Third Circle can accommodate."

How can you hate a man like that? Arnholt thought fleetingly, recalling his conversation with Ushiya earlier that day. You can't, I suppose. On his own Climacus wouldn't hurt a fly. But then again, as a Oneist, and a monk of Dominicus, he could destroy the Righteous Order with a word. And would, if he ever learned their secret. Gentle soul that he was, Climacus would no doubt shed a tear or two beforehand and say a prayer for them after, but he'd see them all dead nonetheless. As Righteous had warned, "A Dominican man who walks hand in hand with the governing bodies, will betray you. Before this can happen you must betray him first."

Hmm. Perhaps that's it. Arnholt might not be able to hate Climacus, but he could hate what Climacus represented. I can hate his Church. I can hate the god he worships. Which was probably as good a way of any of beginning to bring the junior cultists around to Righteous' way of thinking. Don't hate the man, hate the Injustice he stands for. That could work...

"...Anyway," the cultist concluded, ""Climacus is too trusting to be suspicious."

Quietly, he muttered. "Was there something you wanted to share with me, Brother?"

"One moment, Brother Velvel."

Actually, he would need a burn or two to prepare, rather like a stage magician putting on his act. Except that Arnholt had the opposite goal, because his object was not to have an audience, and not to leave anything that would linger in people's minds. He first barred the door, lest Lionel or, worse, some totally innocent monk show up unexpectedly. And the next order of business was finding a target for the Goddess's power. Hopefully it wouldn't be too difficult to find some dingy old pot, which no one would notice or care if it acquired a few burn marks. Then all that was left to do was to set it down somewhere where it couldn't start a fire, and back off a few paces to call on the Goddess's power.

This would be the first time that Arnholt had actively tried to strike something with lightning... or rather, that he tried to strike something that he had no reason to hate. But apparently it was possible. If Ushiya could make herself hate her own robe, then Arnholt could certainly drum up a hate-on for an inanimate tin pot. To focus Righteous's energy this time, the cultist remember Lorenzo. Poor, harmless Lorenzo, who never knew Righteous as anything but the Goddess of Justice, and who literally couldn't use a dagger to save his life. Lorenzo was no fighter. He'd been one of Carminello's gentler, more trusting breed of cultists. And he had died because he was too fucking terrified to duck when he saw a loaded crossbow aimed his way. The man hadn't even had a decent burial, either... they'd had to leave his corpse floating in a river of raw sewage.

At the time Arnholt had been able to run Lorenzo's killer off, more out of dumb luck than anything else. But how much more satisfying it would have been to drill a whole right through the Purificatio soldier with the Goddess's holy power of Thunder. How much more... Just. As it was, Lorenzo's death had never been avenged. At least not yet. When he found that man again, it would be a very different story. Arnholt would grant him as ugly a death as he was able. The death that all Purificatio scum deserved.

"Even steel plate would be no defense against Her power," Arnholt muttered aloud, imagining for all he was worth that the pot was that same, armored Inquisition stooge as he released the divine power. "Goddess of Justice, light our path to the Oneists' destruction! Show us a blessed miracle of Thunder!"

[Haikan]

Arnholt's arm went numb again as he focused on his hatred, but it was extremely difficult. Limp at his side it hung, but it took nearly half a burn for him to focus his mind enough to pretend the pot was actually something else. Arnholt was more experienced and capable with the magick, but Ushiya may just have been a bit ahead of Arnholt in her hatred of the delusional sort. Finally, his elbow jutted out toward the pot, and soon after his forearm followed, his fingers crooked and then his middle and ring finger separated, turning his hand into a "V" sign as a moderate bolt -still not as large as the first, but more impressive than the second- shot out and was absorbed cleanly into the pot, with enough force to knock it onto the floor and into the wall with a loud clatter. A puff of smoke rose up from the pot and it turned a dim orange.

Velvel merely watched with a wicked grin on his face. Things are heating up indeed. "Yes Brother, I know the play you are referring to!" He spoke in a loud, but casual voice, realizing how reckless Arnholt had been throwing words like that around. He shuffled over to the pot and immediately put it on the stove, lighting the fire to cover for the orange metal and the puff of smoke. He poured some water in which caused a hiss and some steam, but he didn't falter or bat an eye.

"I cried my eyes out when the protagonist said that! Goddess of Justice! What a compelling production. Haven't seen anything like it since my visit to the Isles, though. Not to insult this fine city's excellent theater... Bah, you know what I mean. Hey could you pass the vegetables Brother? The water is almost ready." He looked at Arnholt and winked.

We will have to wait just a bit before we discuss this further... As much as I wish to learn that miracle, the risk of discovery is too great. Please understand. "We can continue discussing that play after we get the main course underway." Arnholt was suffering - if you could call it that - the outrageous joy that came with the release of justice. His cheeks flushed, and his soul felt as if it might fly away at any moment.

[Arnholt]

"We can continue discussing that play after we get the main course underway."

"The play was pretty good, I suppose," Arnholt said, fetching the vegetables as bidden. Ignoring, as best he was able, the feeling of euphoria that the power of Justice had left in him. No power in joy. Focus on the old grudge. Even so, it was a bit like trying to keep his mind on business while three sheets to the wind drunk. Still, he knew from experience that the happy fuzzy feelings would soon pass.

"But personally," he went on, "I'm not really a fan of this new kind of street theater. All improvisation, next to no actual script... sometimes, Brother, it seems like more of a public nuisance than real entertainment."

Arnholt had taken the point of Velvel's warning, of course... though he would have been mildly puzzled if he knew it was the words he'd spoken that the adhiel considered dangerous. After all, the cultist priest hadn't shouted his prayer to the skies, or even spoken it at normal conversational volume. He had muttered the words, which was to say, he'd spoken them in a low and indistinct tone. Arnholt was more concerned about the loud clatter of the lightning-struck pot than anything else. That racket could easily bring concerned Oneists running to see what was the matter.

"Perhaps I'm just old fashioned," he mused, "but I think that plays belong in a playhouse." Arnholt looked askance at Velvel with a wry smile. "A pity the Performance Hall is so long a hike from here. It would be nice if we had a proper venue like that one closer at hand. Don't you think?"

Regardless of whether or not anyone could have heard what Arnholt had said, he was very much aware that he was taking a considerable risk every time he called on the Goddess's power within the monastery's walls. Even given all of the cultists' usual precautions, they had not accounted for any way to cover up after hurling around lightning or freezing things solid. If the First Circle was going to continue their explorations of the use of Righteous' power, they would absolutely need to find some relatively secure place to summon Her divine power. Otherwise they would be courting disaster with every miracle.

[Haikan]

"A playhouse can be found, Brother. Often one is built out of what used to be something else... An outdated building whose use is unimportant to the betterment of society. Just something to think about." Velvel was of course, talking about the temple of the Mother. While Ushiya intended to have the Righteous Order reside in a building that Gentus and Rohan would be duped into funding.

"I can understand though, that actors get antsy. I from experience can say that sometimes one really does wish to take a look at the script before the theatre is even open. Sometimes though, it's up to the folks in charge, whether or not that's appropriate - here, chop the celery, I'm going to prepare the broth- and I would go along with either decision that was made for me dutifully, and with all my heart."

Velvel handed Arnholt several sticks of celery, and he pulled salted meat and spice out from a cabinet that Climacus left opened. The water already began to boil from the red hot cast iron pot, and Velvel threw the seasonings in early, to mask the smell of scorching.

[Arnholt]

"A playhouse can be found, Brother. Often one is built out of what used to be something else... An outdated building whose use is unimportant to the betterment of society. Just something to think about."

Arnholt furrowed his brow slightly at that, not following what building Velvel was referring to. But he was willing enough to accept that the adhiel had some suitable place in mind.

"I can understand though, that actors get antsy. I from experience can say that sometimes one really does wish to take a look at the script before the theatre is even open. Sometimes though, it's up to the folks in charge, whether or not that's appropriate - here, chop the celery, I'm going to prepare the broth- and I would go along with either decision that was made for me dutifully, and with all my heart."

"Well, like I said... I'm not a big fan of improvisation," the cultist priest replied. He was chopping up the celery as he spoke... somewhat awkwardly, since even now he had a tendency to hold a blade more like a knife-fighter than a chef. "But I can see it from the director's perspective, too. You don't want the script falling into everyone's hands. You'd spoil the ending for the audience. That sort of thing can ruin an entire play, you know. So I guess you'd have to know your actors are... trustworthy." He was sure of Velvel, of course. And Ushiya, too. But Arnholt remained convinced that the Second Circle needed to be brought into this 'hatred is holiness' stuff very, very gently. As if changing the subject, he went on, "Are you quite sure we're making this right, brother? Maybe you'd better take another look at the recipe. The directions didn't mean much to me, on first glance, but I guess they'll make sense to a more practiced Eye."

Arnholt casually passed over the Book and the Eye of Righteous, as if it were nothing, rather than the two of the three most important artifacts of their religion. Velvel could go ahead and read the book, while he kept watch on the still-locked kitchen door.