"Thank you.. please hold them with you. As they are no weapons anymore, you are no enemy. Just keep them visible so you can defend us."
"As you wish," Arnholt replied, accepting his dagger back again with no further commentary. His expression remained mild, but a black mark had just appeared next to Gwayne's name on the cultist's mental Justice list. Where the adhiel might see an issue of trust, he saw only an absurd game of "gotcha." As for Shiera, her antics had the cultist priest seriously ready to throttle her, at least until the showing of Righteous' sign reassured him as to where her loyalties lay. His face briefly registered a brazen grin as they headed into the temple before settling again into something more somber and businesslike.
"Wait, I think I misunderstand you..." Said Vigxhunna to Arnholt. "...You wish to help us raise a sword against our enemies? Isn't that dangerous for monks of Dominicus?"
"A sword!?" bellowed Arnholt. He was nearly as shocked as a real monk would have been upon being asked that question. What the hell had he said to make the adhiel believe he was suggesting a violent uprising with Oneist monks in the front ranks? "Opposing oppression?" These elves must be mad for revenge, if they think that must mean taking up arms. Which was good news, in the sense that they were apparently ready to fall in line under Righteous' banner in a moment's notice. If the Righteous Order was in a stronger position Arnholt might have jettisoned his cautious approach then and there and said, "Sure, rise up. We've got your back." But in reality there was no way that he could accommodate such wishful thinking.
"I beg your pardon, priestess," he said humbly, bending in a stiff vow. "You do misunderstand. As I said before, we are not a military order. We have no swords to raise up. Even if we did, the Light of the One Monastery would not take up arms against anyone, much less believers in our own faith, however deluded their ways. Ours is the way of peace... not war. And it is a mission of peace that brings me here." Arnholt ran his fingers through his beard thoughtfully as he went on, trying to get the discussion back on track as quickly as possible. "No doubt the fault is mine, by not explaining our offer clearly enough. I am offering our assistance in the lists of diplomacy. We cannot be your sword. We will not be. But my brothers and sisters and I can be your shield. The Light of the One has a great deal of influence in this city, still. We can use that influence on your behalf, arguing to the council for your concerns, as well as our own. We can do our part to rally the people to peaceful protest in order to effect change in Roque d'Ancourt. We can stand with you to show the world how followers of the One God and those of the Mother can coexist in peace, as we did, once, before the policies our the late King Balthasar poisoned the relationship between us."
"However," he went on, "All of those things are a matter for future discussion. For now, all we can offer you is our recognition of your temple and our plea for you to come to the negotiating table. Please do not think that peace is a gift only those of our faith can give or take away. Some effort is required on your part as well." Fully collected once again, Arnholt turned his eyes back to Gwayne. "You are wise of course to question what it is that we want of you. I will ask you, however, to refrain from further insulting speculation regarding our motives. You accuse us, sir, before even allowing us to answer your concerns. Such talk is hardly helpful to our negotiations."
Turning to the assembled adhiel, he called, "What brings us here? Before asking that question, first ask yourselves if you were the only ones who lost a loved one in the war. I assure you: You were not!" he shouted, answering his own rhetorical question. "There are many of my brothers and sisters who could tell you the same story that you have told me. Brother Velvel and Sister Shiera, here, know that pain. And even I... a good friend of mine was..." Arnholt paused, bringing up a hand to hide his face as he trembled with emotion, in order to hide the 'holy' hatred before it started showing in his eyes. When he spoke again it was in a far softer tone. "We know something about suffering and loss. We have seen for ourselves the excesses committed in our One God's name. We want to set things right. That is all." Straightening, he brushed his hands on his monk's robes, trying for a diplomatic mien once again. "Do all of our brethren at the monastery share our... unique perspective? No. But all of us are equally committed to preventing bloodshed in Roque. Father Rohan knows of your temple here. He has seen for himself the anger in this city. Already violence has come to our very door, and our beloved monastery has been vandalized. We want such unwarranted aggression against our order to cease immediately. We have chosen to engage your community, here, in dialogue in order for us to address your grievances... and ours... in a civil and constructive manner. If there is rioting in the streets of our city... if there is war and rebellion... all of our people will suffer. Surely you can see that?"
Words that the Goddess of Justice would not be especially enthusiastic about. She had to know, though, that for now this kind of smokescreen was necessary to protect Her cult from detection.
In the end, Arnholt assured Her, It will hardly matter. We will have Justice with him or without him, my Goddess.