((just posting it for the POs since they are not able to make new accounts.. and I think it is closed RP))
"All in favor say ~Aye~ " called out the Cardinal from his golden throne in the back of the room, the light from the multicolored stained glass reflecting on his blood-red, richly decorated robes. He leans one arm heavly on his golden staff, watching like a guardian over the round table arround which sat the eleven High Priests, each from a different God. The years of his advanced age push his old body lower, pressing him against the throne, giving him a respectful, eldery stature.
All the priests look towards the elder, all listening to his words silently, none speaking, not even breathing too hard either. The hint of an enourmous respect for the man is shown clearly on their own eldery faces, not even the old orc, baring the markings and robes of a Moshran High Priest, not daring to speak over his mentor. Silence sets in the room, not even a slight whisper could be heard, all looking from one to another as if this being one of the most important decisions they had to take in years.
No one knows who spoke the first "Aye", but as soon as it left those lips, an avalanche of ten more words followed, all stating the same fact. It seems now that whatever they have decided, it shall remain as so.
The Cardinal nods slowly, looking down, his eyes hinting deep sadness for what he was about to do. He grabs a firm grip arround his golden staff, slamming it's end in the floor next to his throne for three times, the lound sounds booming and echoing inside the massive cathedral. A young boy comes running towards the Cardinal's chair, falling to his knees in front of it, not daring to look towards the eldery man, his whole body shivering with emotion. He remains silent, looking into the ground. The Cardinal peers at him from under his snow-white eyebrowns, but says nothing for a few moments, as if still contemplating on his decision, until finally, with a low, regretful voice, he whispers towards the boy "Send for... the brothers"
The boy nods a few times, bowing even lower as the respected Cardinal speaks. He gets to his feet, turns arround and starts running towards the entrance of the massive building. Silence once more.. no one speaks, no one moves, all look in the ground in front of them, in deep understanding of the hard decision they had to take.
The massive doors of the Cathedral crack open, the strong natural light from outside almost blinding those that would have looked in that direction, a small breeze of hot air entering the building, carrying inside thin grains of golden sand. Two imposing shadows stand in the door way, peering inside the semi-dark room, waiting to be invited in. The Cardinal lightly raises his staff, barely supporting it's weight with one hand. The two figures step inside, stepping slowly, with confidence in their every step, a light screeching sound and the sound of wood hitting against eachother, marking the closing of the thick gate behind them.
Both broad shouldered, of imposing stature, wearing same, humble white robes, their heads being covered with sand guards, masking their features, step slowly towards the end of the large room, their thick deeply tanned palms resting casually on the hilts of their two curved scimitars. All eyes are on them, all are silent, only a slight, low growl escaping the present orc's mouth. It would take a fool to not realise that their presence is deeply despised, all looking at them as if they could smell the stench of death surrounding the two.
They take a knee in front of the Cardinal, bowing their heads once, formally. The old man sighs, and after gesturing them to stand with his eldery hand, he speaks lowly, with contempt in his voice.
"High Inquisitors Kar'armak and Bralkan Thort... you are reassigned to the land of Gobiath"
The Punishers
Moderator: Gamemasters
The skies were a bright blue, scorching rays of the sun beamed down over the brothers, their white robes gave a blinding reflection. Kar'armak slowly stepped over the wooden boards of the robust ship, every step carried great weight from his powerful frame, the boards beneith his feet creaked under pressure. He leant over the side rails, peering down into the dark unexplored waters and began to speak loudly, a strong deep voice came from beneith the sand guard cloths that cover his mouth. "The island is such a small one brother, it should not take long to glass the entire thing." Kar'armak remained examining the waters below, though he could hear further creaks on the wooden boards behind him. A deeply tanned hand found itself resting on his shoulder. Bralkan stood just beside his brother, gazing out to the distant island with his chin held high, a determined look in his eyes, though one could sense a lack of aggression compared to his brother's own. "There may be more than meets the eye when we get there. I do not beleive everyone on this land could be a fool." Kar'armak slowly turns his head, locking his own eyes onto the man's own. They both bared simularity in appearance, yet they clearly had their differences. "The Cardinal would not have called upon us if only few people were to be punished." His voice noticably carried aggression, though Bralkan was relaxed, his voice was not as deep, yet flowed more smoothly. Fear not my brother, I do not dissagree with the Cardinal's decisions, I merely beleive we should approach this differently than our other work. Instead of punishing everyone who inhabits the lands, let us select a few of the extreme cases. Kar'armak furrowed his brows, his expression showed disagreement, he answered back in a cold and questioning manner with his eyes still locked onto Bralkan's. "And what will that solve? There will still be people that offend the Cardinal and the high council." Bralkan released a muffled chuckle from his mouth cloth, he raised a sun-kissed hand out infront of him, pointing at the island ahead of them. Kar'armak followed the point with his narrowed eyes as his brother spoke with a sudden coarse and paced tone. "They will learn from the examples we make of their friends and relatives. They have no choice.. When we are finished we can set up a permanent way of ensuring the people remain with their hearts bleeing with fear for the Gods and follow them as they should. There is of no importance what god they follow, but if they are true in their heart towards the gods. We shall ensure that transgressions are whiped from this cursed rock."
Kar'armak formed a hidden grin on his face, before laughing. He hit his hands off the metal railings, causing them to vibrate with a hollow ringing sound across the ship. He proceeded to turn, walking with heavy steps towards the cabbins. Bralkan however, remained standing by the railings. He never removed his gaze from the island of Gobaith.
Kar'armak formed a hidden grin on his face, before laughing. He hit his hands off the metal railings, causing them to vibrate with a hollow ringing sound across the ship. He proceeded to turn, walking with heavy steps towards the cabbins. Bralkan however, remained standing by the railings. He never removed his gaze from the island of Gobaith.
The ice cold wind blew like a razor sharp blade through the rocky mountain where the two brothers established a camp. The dancing tongues of flame shed a little light and warmth, the wet wood burning with silent crackles, making the snow melt slightly arround the campfire. All silence, only the moon in the sky watching carefully over the white world, making it shine calmly under it's light. In the distant crests a wolf howl echoes, piercing the darkness, giving chills on one's bones.
"Much like the nights in the desert, aye brother?" said Bralkan, the younger of the two, wrapping his robes arround his body and covering himself with a sheep's skin, his voice calm and low as if not really wanting an aswer from his half-asleep brother.
He unwraps the leather belt from his body, setting the two sharp scimitars under his head, turning his back to the fire, soon falling into a deep sleep.
No answer came from Kar'armak, his brother's question passing by his ears as a distanced sound, continuing to stare into the dancing flames, as if peering beyond space and time themselves. A large log crackles, the wet part of it finally drying and catching fire, Kar'armak watching it intensly, with his eyes half opened, strugling not to fully fall asleep.
The simple log takes many forms in his tired, dreaming eyes.. from a mere piece of wood to a whole tree, to a house and a whole row of houses.. all burning, all lifeless. The sound of burning wood now surrounds him, becomming louder and louder and as he finally shuts his eyes closed, he sees himself in the middle of a burning village, grasping his blades with force, listening to loud burning sounds as he is now. He hears the loud terror screams of dieing women and children, running for their lifes, but stumbling and falling under his swords like grain under a scythe. He sees row of corpses, one over the other.. some armed and armoured, others, even in strenght, showing no resistance.. as if accepting their fate.
At all times it was the same.. they come to new lands predending to be mere robbers until the powerful ones, in their foolish arrogance, come face them alone looking for glory, but finding only death insted. Only then, when the lands were left defenseless, the true purging would of began.. they come as a corrosive plague that eats everything in it's path, scortching the earth, destroying every hint of life that once was there. Nothing is spared.. men, women, children, even the cattle, being consumed by the hungry shadow that sweeps the land. "Even the animals are tainted by the souls of the wicked", as Kar'armak always says.
They call it "healing the lands", others would call it... "extermination".
What drives the brother's souls to be so crude and merciless, no one knows.. Rumor has it that they were born in a village, in far, distant lands in the heart of the mountains, a village where the gods were not known to man, but insted, a false deity, an idol, was honored. Story says that it was customed in these parts that each year, after the last snow, a family would of received the great "honor" to sacrifice their youngest offspring to this idol, in hope for a good harvest for the entire village, a gruesome tardition passed on from generation to generation. It is said that one day, two brothers, one of them facing the same fate, fled the lands, never looking back. They ran day and night, with hope in their hearts for a better future, but swearing to never forget the atrocity they have left behind, vowing to return one day.
What happened from here, it is not certain, but whispers say that they were found by a kind, old monk that took them in a secret place in the middle of a distant desert where they have spent years and years training their bodies and minds under the scortching sun, closely guided by a secret order of priests and monks sworn to uphold some higher truths.
If one would be in the right place, at the right time, in the market square of a distant kingdom, listening to the words of an old beggar, the story of a great masacre would be revealed, a gruesome spectacle that took place in a far away village, somewhere in the mountains, where an idol was being revered. He would say that one day, two men appeared out of nowhere, dealing death and destruction with their every step, a storm of death that left behind it only the scortched lands and the discarted, dismembered bodies, of those that once lived there. Why the beggar was spared, no one knows and he would never tell, but if one would ask him enough questions, they would find out that once, many many years ago, his two sons ran away from him, never looking back and vowing to return.
"Much like the nights in the desert, aye brother?" said Bralkan, the younger of the two, wrapping his robes arround his body and covering himself with a sheep's skin, his voice calm and low as if not really wanting an aswer from his half-asleep brother.
He unwraps the leather belt from his body, setting the two sharp scimitars under his head, turning his back to the fire, soon falling into a deep sleep.
No answer came from Kar'armak, his brother's question passing by his ears as a distanced sound, continuing to stare into the dancing flames, as if peering beyond space and time themselves. A large log crackles, the wet part of it finally drying and catching fire, Kar'armak watching it intensly, with his eyes half opened, strugling not to fully fall asleep.
The simple log takes many forms in his tired, dreaming eyes.. from a mere piece of wood to a whole tree, to a house and a whole row of houses.. all burning, all lifeless. The sound of burning wood now surrounds him, becomming louder and louder and as he finally shuts his eyes closed, he sees himself in the middle of a burning village, grasping his blades with force, listening to loud burning sounds as he is now. He hears the loud terror screams of dieing women and children, running for their lifes, but stumbling and falling under his swords like grain under a scythe. He sees row of corpses, one over the other.. some armed and armoured, others, even in strenght, showing no resistance.. as if accepting their fate.
At all times it was the same.. they come to new lands predending to be mere robbers until the powerful ones, in their foolish arrogance, come face them alone looking for glory, but finding only death insted. Only then, when the lands were left defenseless, the true purging would of began.. they come as a corrosive plague that eats everything in it's path, scortching the earth, destroying every hint of life that once was there. Nothing is spared.. men, women, children, even the cattle, being consumed by the hungry shadow that sweeps the land. "Even the animals are tainted by the souls of the wicked", as Kar'armak always says.
They call it "healing the lands", others would call it... "extermination".
What drives the brother's souls to be so crude and merciless, no one knows.. Rumor has it that they were born in a village, in far, distant lands in the heart of the mountains, a village where the gods were not known to man, but insted, a false deity, an idol, was honored. Story says that it was customed in these parts that each year, after the last snow, a family would of received the great "honor" to sacrifice their youngest offspring to this idol, in hope for a good harvest for the entire village, a gruesome tardition passed on from generation to generation. It is said that one day, two brothers, one of them facing the same fate, fled the lands, never looking back. They ran day and night, with hope in their hearts for a better future, but swearing to never forget the atrocity they have left behind, vowing to return one day.
What happened from here, it is not certain, but whispers say that they were found by a kind, old monk that took them in a secret place in the middle of a distant desert where they have spent years and years training their bodies and minds under the scortching sun, closely guided by a secret order of priests and monks sworn to uphold some higher truths.
If one would be in the right place, at the right time, in the market square of a distant kingdom, listening to the words of an old beggar, the story of a great masacre would be revealed, a gruesome spectacle that took place in a far away village, somewhere in the mountains, where an idol was being revered. He would say that one day, two men appeared out of nowhere, dealing death and destruction with their every step, a storm of death that left behind it only the scortched lands and the discarted, dismembered bodies, of those that once lived there. Why the beggar was spared, no one knows and he would never tell, but if one would ask him enough questions, they would find out that once, many many years ago, his two sons ran away from him, never looking back and vowing to return.
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Bellringer
- Posts: 867
- Joined: Wed Nov 08, 2006 1:55 pm
The Archbishop sighed wearily, taking a well-deserved rest en route to the Inquisitors; it had been a trying week, which had not been made any easier by the ridiculous choice of locale they had made for meeting him - an old man should not have to sneak past golems, he firmly believed. Still, he was a monk of the highest order, it was only necessary that he should undergo some sufferance in order to attain perfection, but he was at the age when one starts to feel a few passing comforts wouldn't be amiss.
"Eldan, grant us thy purity...Eldan, grant us thy purity." the sound of Anthony passing prayer beads absently through his right hand, punctuated by his short pleas. Why on Illarion was he the one getting the blame? All he had done was follow the orders of the Mother Church, he barely even knew what the Knights were guilty of...Why couldn't they just let him return to the Monastery, for prayer and fasting and prayer and fasting and prayer and...It just goes on. The life is uninspiring, but he was sure the end would be great; after all, who doesn't long to share the realm of a God?
"Eldan, grant us thy purity..."
He had never even wished for the role of Archbishop...No, far be it from an Expleti to have ambition. It had been peaceful, if dull, at the Eldan Monastery; and as if to reinforce this, as soon as he had stepped out from his cell, he had been swepped up by the mysterious Inquisition. Though, he had to admit, Orthodoxy is exceptionally important - their aims seemed pure, to say the least. If only Caecillianus would see it the same way...
"Eldan, grant us thy-"
He stopped. Footsteps approaching. He sighs once more, placing his prayer beads back into the recesses of his robes...Might as well see who it is, he thought, it was probably going to be another long night.
"Eldan, grant us thy purity...Eldan, grant us thy purity." the sound of Anthony passing prayer beads absently through his right hand, punctuated by his short pleas. Why on Illarion was he the one getting the blame? All he had done was follow the orders of the Mother Church, he barely even knew what the Knights were guilty of...Why couldn't they just let him return to the Monastery, for prayer and fasting and prayer and fasting and prayer and...It just goes on. The life is uninspiring, but he was sure the end would be great; after all, who doesn't long to share the realm of a God?
"Eldan, grant us thy purity..."
He had never even wished for the role of Archbishop...No, far be it from an Expleti to have ambition. It had been peaceful, if dull, at the Eldan Monastery; and as if to reinforce this, as soon as he had stepped out from his cell, he had been swepped up by the mysterious Inquisition. Though, he had to admit, Orthodoxy is exceptionally important - their aims seemed pure, to say the least. If only Caecillianus would see it the same way...
"Eldan, grant us thy-"
He stopped. Footsteps approaching. He sighs once more, placing his prayer beads back into the recesses of his robes...Might as well see who it is, he thought, it was probably going to be another long night.
Swords clash on the cliffside, two figures can be seen fighting. A human grunts and places his swords up. The other nods and lowers his swords, seemingly equally injured, if not more. The two bow to each other and sheath their blades.
"Good fight Inquisitor!" The man claps as he looks at him with a smile. Inquisitor... Paladin... Lord... He never liked such titles. The two brothers look to one another and begin speaking. He sits on the bare rocks and watches them thinking to himself. "The island has blown the announcement out of proportion. Such was expected." He looks off to the river, staring at the flowing waters. "Poorly represented... Seems they fear us too much. That seems expected as well". What importance is balance? Gods of every ideal and moral. Their is a purpose in this. What is good without evil? Where is triumph without adversity? Why do so many people ignore certain gods, and denounce them? It doesn't seem our place to decide such things. "Fools... they are so ungrateful to have mortals deal their punishment. If only I was so fortunate. My god spoke loud and clear." Only in your weakest and most pained moments, might you find the strength of heart to renew your soul and ambitions. These are these mens goals, is it not? If you can not find strength of heart to serve your god, then you will be sent directly to them. "Spoiled... So few have really faced such challenges that may end your very life, only to prove your worth for their Gods." Though... how could it have been expected for such actions to be accepted by this island. They probably wont see the success in the end. Maybe a few will see salvation when they are put to the test. This world is no easy one to live in, many do not realize this and live claiming righteousness without giving such sacrifice. It sickens him.
He stands, and the brothers look over to him. Waving his hand he turns and leaps from the cliffside. The two acknowledge him with a nod, keeping the silence he so prefers. He walks to the river, splashing water on his face, cleaning some of the blood from the duel. He looks at his reflection in the water. "Such pain has come from my accomplishments. Their worth is seemingly outweighed by one mere mistake. One mere incident that could have been prevented." He grunts as he stands, looking down the river. Staring off, as if wondering if its all worth it. Has his service been worth it? Has his undying faith been worth it? He lets out a sigh and begins to walk. He'll find out those answers when his day of rest comes.
"Good fight Inquisitor!" The man claps as he looks at him with a smile. Inquisitor... Paladin... Lord... He never liked such titles. The two brothers look to one another and begin speaking. He sits on the bare rocks and watches them thinking to himself. "The island has blown the announcement out of proportion. Such was expected." He looks off to the river, staring at the flowing waters. "Poorly represented... Seems they fear us too much. That seems expected as well". What importance is balance? Gods of every ideal and moral. Their is a purpose in this. What is good without evil? Where is triumph without adversity? Why do so many people ignore certain gods, and denounce them? It doesn't seem our place to decide such things. "Fools... they are so ungrateful to have mortals deal their punishment. If only I was so fortunate. My god spoke loud and clear." Only in your weakest and most pained moments, might you find the strength of heart to renew your soul and ambitions. These are these mens goals, is it not? If you can not find strength of heart to serve your god, then you will be sent directly to them. "Spoiled... So few have really faced such challenges that may end your very life, only to prove your worth for their Gods." Though... how could it have been expected for such actions to be accepted by this island. They probably wont see the success in the end. Maybe a few will see salvation when they are put to the test. This world is no easy one to live in, many do not realize this and live claiming righteousness without giving such sacrifice. It sickens him.
He stands, and the brothers look over to him. Waving his hand he turns and leaps from the cliffside. The two acknowledge him with a nod, keeping the silence he so prefers. He walks to the river, splashing water on his face, cleaning some of the blood from the duel. He looks at his reflection in the water. "Such pain has come from my accomplishments. Their worth is seemingly outweighed by one mere mistake. One mere incident that could have been prevented." He grunts as he stands, looking down the river. Staring off, as if wondering if its all worth it. Has his service been worth it? Has his undying faith been worth it? He lets out a sigh and begins to walk. He'll find out those answers when his day of rest comes.
"You've betrayed me Salathe!"Betrayed... That's what I had thought for some time after Malachin forsaken me. I went on for near a year until I realized it wasn't betrayal. I had done nothing wrong to receive such treatment from Malachin. Was punishment worth not doing all that I could... That oath was a decade old... I guess time was irrelevant to Malachin. He took words seriously, especially oaths. I was misguided for a while after he acted. That is when I truly did unforgiveable things. It took me a while to understand his punishment was salvation. And it was only in near death that my faith was renewed and strong as before.
But it was so hard... Nightmare laid upon me the same taint that was laid upon Moshran. The taint from nightmare... was weaker... but it was still hard to bear. Malachin expected so much from me. Not only did he stop protecting me from it, he punished me himself. The courage I found to live after it, I thought was my own. But it was from the one source of courage I had ever known... my gods... both Malachin and Zelphia. They saw my will and still gave me the courage to live. But how does a lizard live without scales... How does one live with every injury he ever endured... to grow as a scar on his bare body. It was so hard. I am shamed that I cursed Malachin's name for so long before I realized.
"Salathe!! You are a traitor..." That name died when Malachin decided I was unworthy. Why must the only person on this Island that knows my name... be the one I do this to. Perhaps it is a message. I don't know. Why is it always so hard to know. When I met Dantagon he seemed more determined than I ever had. His actions now are no worse then mine when I was punished. It does hurt me now to see him broken, with his goals distant as ever. Perhaps he'll find a new path, though... I've still not found what to do... Why must it always be so hard. Why must I bare this taint for saving lies and destroying pure evil. I would have given my life for the island on that day, and the gods surely know it. I don't expect Dantagon to understand. What happened was not close to what I experienced. He'll curse me for some time. Only in endless sorrow and near death, may one completely reinstill their flame of courage.
But it was so hard... Nightmare laid upon me the same taint that was laid upon Moshran. The taint from nightmare... was weaker... but it was still hard to bear. Malachin expected so much from me. Not only did he stop protecting me from it, he punished me himself. The courage I found to live after it, I thought was my own. But it was from the one source of courage I had ever known... my gods... both Malachin and Zelphia. They saw my will and still gave me the courage to live. But how does a lizard live without scales... How does one live with every injury he ever endured... to grow as a scar on his bare body. It was so hard. I am shamed that I cursed Malachin's name for so long before I realized.
"Salathe!! You are a traitor..." That name died when Malachin decided I was unworthy. Why must the only person on this Island that knows my name... be the one I do this to. Perhaps it is a message. I don't know. Why is it always so hard to know. When I met Dantagon he seemed more determined than I ever had. His actions now are no worse then mine when I was punished. It does hurt me now to see him broken, with his goals distant as ever. Perhaps he'll find a new path, though... I've still not found what to do... Why must it always be so hard. Why must I bare this taint for saving lies and destroying pure evil. I would have given my life for the island on that day, and the gods surely know it. I don't expect Dantagon to understand. What happened was not close to what I experienced. He'll curse me for some time. Only in endless sorrow and near death, may one completely reinstill their flame of courage.