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The Cask of Winter -4 July-
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<blockquote data-quote="ForceUser" data-source="post: 2751327" data-attributes="member: 2785"><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>Holy City of Heilbronn, </em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>County of Üttembach</em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>25 December, 1060</em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>Dear sister,</em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>Today I completed my pilgrimage to the sacred shrine of our Redeemer. What a throng of seekers there was! Knights and peasants, artisans and merchants, maidens and nobles knelt together in awe at this the place where our Redeemer was visited by the Spirit of Freedom and took up his righteous cause. As I touched the holy stone which guards the cave’s entrance, my heart was filled with o’erwhelming love for him that sacrificed all for us. I felt a bond with my fellow pilgrims, as intense in that moment as any I’ve felt within our family and our church. Later we spoke and shared bread and water as we described our experiences. It has been long since I’ve felt such profound yet simple joy. I am reminded again of why I joined the ministry, and thankful again for the gods’ divine Blessing. Tonight I will attend Yuletide mass, and tomorrow I will begin the compilation of my notes upon the highland people of the lower Hems*. </em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>I wish that you could be here as well! After the turn of the year, I intend to visit mother and father at Reifsynder before returning to duty at Ottschtül. I hope that you will be there when I arrive; it has been too long since we saw one another—the Magistratum seems to be doing its very best to keep me at duties abroad. It is my hope that Bishop Locati will allow us some time together before our service sends us apart once again. I have much to tell you. </em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>I hope this letter finds you in good health and happiness. If we do miss each other at Ottschtül, write a letter and the Right Reverend will send it along.</em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em></em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>Yours in love and faith,</em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>Lukas</em></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Ilse folded the letter and sighed. She would not be seeing her brother as they’d hoped—her orders had arrived, and she once again supressed a pang of anger at her inexplicable reassignment from the Temple to the Mission; in her mind, a demotion. She wasn’t a missionary, she was a church knight, one blessed with a divine calling to smite the enemies of her faith. Seemingly at odds with her fair complexion and womanly figure were her battle scars and calloused hands. She had grit under her fingernails. She wielded the mace, not the pen. <em>Why me?</em> she asked herself again as she walked through the courtyard of the Basilica of Saint Adelbard. As she approached the portcullis, a temple sergeant exited the guardhouse and waved.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“He’s in here, Reverend.” </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Thank you, Arnolf.” She followed him into the warmth of the building, where a merry fire sparked. Outside, the gray sky belched droplets of wet snow than fell leaden and straight. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Ilse spotted the newcomer and inquired perfunctorily, “Wigliff of Oski Faste?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">The small man seated before her wore simple, well-spun local garb, but had the rugged demeanor of a Northman. His dark eyes huddled close to a hawkish nose centered high in a lean, sallow face. Close-cropped blond hair swaddled his head. He smirked briefly and spoke in accented Sturmmen, “Hello.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“I am Reverend Ilse of Reifsynder. I will accompany you and Reverend Barozzi north when he arrives tomorrow. Allow me to show you to your accommodations. This way.” He followed her into the frigid, soggy twilight across the courtyard. The Northman did not speak, which suited Ilse well. She was not in the mood for banter. She noted as they walked that the Vangal was shorter than her, and that he bore neither arms nor armor. Under his coat, however, she spied a strange assortment of small wooden sticks hanging upon a thin leather belt. Wands. Though she knew little of Wigliff, it made sense that he bore the trappings of magic. His master Zurmlurd was a noted magician. She looked away when she noticed him observing her. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Here is your room,” she announced. The small cell was six feet by seven feet across, with a stone floor and a straw cot. A washbasin sat upon a plain table in the corner, and a book of scripture lay upon the bed.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Wigliff glanced at the dingy chamber and pursed his lips. “Thanks,” was all he said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“The bell will toll for dinner soon, and afterward for Vespers. Mass is at dawn. If you require a confessor, there is a priest on duty within the fane.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Thanks,” he said again, with obvious disinterest. Ilse frowned.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Very well. I will call upon you when Reverend Barozzi arrives.” She paused as he nodded absentmindedly and tossed his pack upon the cot. As he sat upon the cot, he began to take off his boots. Frowning again, Ilse withdrew.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"><em>Why was I chosen for this?</em>, she wondered again.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p style="text-align: center"><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">~~~~~~~~~~</p><p></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Ilse studied Stefano. The man was shorter than she, with short well-groomed hair, manicured hands, and a carefully neutral expression upon his narrow face. He was swarthy in the way of a southerner and like her wore the silver collar of a member of the Magistratum. She knew little about this Genovan priest save that he was said to be an ecclesiastical scholar and, like her, was blessed with divine powers. Presumably, this made him a member of either the Temple or the Inquisition. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">He did not look like a templar. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">For his part, Stefano took the measure of the woman who towered before him. Clearly, she was a warrior—her bearing and posture spoke of a lifetime of rigid discipline. He knew through Archbishop Leconte that she was well schooled in theology, though her learning no doubt centered less on metaphysics and more on the application of doctrine. He knew that she had a twin brother, Lukas, who was also a member of the Magistratum. He knew that she was a faithful knight of the temple, and had been honored by the Bishop of Ottschtül with possession of a holy relic. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Stefano smiled and gestured to the simple flanged mace that hung at her hip. “Is that it?” he asked.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">She nodded once, sternly. “Yes.” </span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“<em>La Maza de San Carlo</em>” he breathed. “Are the stories true?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Mostly,” she grinned. “To my knowledge, I do not have a member of the angelic host keeping counsel with me, nor does Saint Karl whisk me into the heavens upon Remembrance Day.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Pity. That would be a sight,” chuckled Stefano.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Reverend Barozzi,” Ilse intoned, “Why me? My skills, my blessings, not to mention the Mace of Saint Karl, are wasted upon barbarians.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">”We are here to serve the church, Reverend Reifsynder, in whatever capacity she sees fit.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“I am not questioning the wisdom of the bishopric. I am seeking to understand my role in this mission. I have never been good at public speaking. My strength is here.” She made a fist.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“That is exactly why you are needed, Reverend. The Vangals are barbaric and undisciplined. They respect strength primarily. You can bring discipline. You can bring strength. You can serve as an example of the rewards of faith in a way that they can understand.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“I am a woman. Will they respect me?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Stefano shifted uncomfortably. “Women sometimes fight, and sometimes hold property among them. One of their most cherished beliefs is in angelic warrior maidens that lead those who died bravely to their just reward. They are called valkyries. They have incorporated this bit of paganism into their worship of the Celestine.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“And, through me, you wish to use this.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“Nothing so deceitful. They will respect a strong woman, especially one that is a warrior. They will listen to you, and thus, we will be able to teach them.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Ilse regarded him intently. Stefano waited patiently. Finally, she said, “What about this Wigliff?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">”As I understand it,” Stefano replied, “He is the wayward son of the Oski thane. He knows the land, and he can teach us more about his people. The land and its inhabitants are harsh, so he has value as a guide.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“He does not seem particularly pious.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“That is surprising, given his mentor. Zurmlurd is a well-known practitioner of our faith.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">”He is a wizard. How can this be?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“He does not consort with demons; in fact, he is said to have taken the Uncaring One as his patron in the mystic arts.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">”So he is a Fractionalist**.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">”He is an honest man, and loyal to the mother church.”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">“If you say so.” Ilse shifted her gaze across the Basilica’s battlements. Patches of dingy snow hugged drifts of rugged farmland that waited for spring. She turned back to Stefano. “Is that everything?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">A spike of concern surged through Stefano. “Yes,” he lied. “Will you be prepared to leave in the morning?”</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">Ilse stared at him. The moment slithered forward like a sinuous snake, and Stefano kept his gaze steady. He refrained from swallowing. Finally, she nodded. “Good day, Reverend Barozzi,” she said.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">As she walked away down the battlement, Stefano turned, closed his eyes, leaned upon a crenellation, and prayed for forgiveness.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">*The Hem mountain range, which borders the continent of Eriador on the west.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'"></span></p><p><span style="font-family: 'Georgia'">**The Fractionalists are a burgeoning faction within the Celestine Church that believes that the gods can be worshiped individually, rather than as a collective. There is fierce theological debate within the church over this issue, though the Primate has not taken an official position.</span></p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="ForceUser, post: 2751327, member: 2785"] [font=Georgia][i]Holy City of Heilbronn, County of Üttembach 25 December, 1060 Dear sister, Today I completed my pilgrimage to the sacred shrine of our Redeemer. What a throng of seekers there was! Knights and peasants, artisans and merchants, maidens and nobles knelt together in awe at this the place where our Redeemer was visited by the Spirit of Freedom and took up his righteous cause. As I touched the holy stone which guards the cave’s entrance, my heart was filled with o’erwhelming love for him that sacrificed all for us. I felt a bond with my fellow pilgrims, as intense in that moment as any I’ve felt within our family and our church. Later we spoke and shared bread and water as we described our experiences. It has been long since I’ve felt such profound yet simple joy. I am reminded again of why I joined the ministry, and thankful again for the gods’ divine Blessing. Tonight I will attend Yuletide mass, and tomorrow I will begin the compilation of my notes upon the highland people of the lower Hems*. I wish that you could be here as well! After the turn of the year, I intend to visit mother and father at Reifsynder before returning to duty at Ottschtül. I hope that you will be there when I arrive; it has been too long since we saw one another—the Magistratum seems to be doing its very best to keep me at duties abroad. It is my hope that Bishop Locati will allow us some time together before our service sends us apart once again. I have much to tell you. I hope this letter finds you in good health and happiness. If we do miss each other at Ottschtül, write a letter and the Right Reverend will send it along. Yours in love and faith, Lukas[/i] Ilse folded the letter and sighed. She would not be seeing her brother as they’d hoped—her orders had arrived, and she once again supressed a pang of anger at her inexplicable reassignment from the Temple to the Mission; in her mind, a demotion. She wasn’t a missionary, she was a church knight, one blessed with a divine calling to smite the enemies of her faith. Seemingly at odds with her fair complexion and womanly figure were her battle scars and calloused hands. She had grit under her fingernails. She wielded the mace, not the pen. [i]Why me?[/i] she asked herself again as she walked through the courtyard of the Basilica of Saint Adelbard. As she approached the portcullis, a temple sergeant exited the guardhouse and waved. “He’s in here, Reverend.” “Thank you, Arnolf.” She followed him into the warmth of the building, where a merry fire sparked. Outside, the gray sky belched droplets of wet snow than fell leaden and straight. Ilse spotted the newcomer and inquired perfunctorily, “Wigliff of Oski Faste?” The small man seated before her wore simple, well-spun local garb, but had the rugged demeanor of a Northman. His dark eyes huddled close to a hawkish nose centered high in a lean, sallow face. Close-cropped blond hair swaddled his head. He smirked briefly and spoke in accented Sturmmen, “Hello.” “I am Reverend Ilse of Reifsynder. I will accompany you and Reverend Barozzi north when he arrives tomorrow. Allow me to show you to your accommodations. This way.” He followed her into the frigid, soggy twilight across the courtyard. The Northman did not speak, which suited Ilse well. She was not in the mood for banter. She noted as they walked that the Vangal was shorter than her, and that he bore neither arms nor armor. Under his coat, however, she spied a strange assortment of small wooden sticks hanging upon a thin leather belt. Wands. Though she knew little of Wigliff, it made sense that he bore the trappings of magic. His master Zurmlurd was a noted magician. She looked away when she noticed him observing her. “Here is your room,” she announced. The small cell was six feet by seven feet across, with a stone floor and a straw cot. A washbasin sat upon a plain table in the corner, and a book of scripture lay upon the bed. Wigliff glanced at the dingy chamber and pursed his lips. “Thanks,” was all he said. “The bell will toll for dinner soon, and afterward for Vespers. Mass is at dawn. If you require a confessor, there is a priest on duty within the fane.” “Thanks,” he said again, with obvious disinterest. Ilse frowned. “Very well. I will call upon you when Reverend Barozzi arrives.” She paused as he nodded absentmindedly and tossed his pack upon the cot. As he sat upon the cot, he began to take off his boots. Frowning again, Ilse withdrew. [i]Why was I chosen for this?[/i], she wondered again. [center]~~~~~~~~~~[/center] Ilse studied Stefano. The man was shorter than she, with short well-groomed hair, manicured hands, and a carefully neutral expression upon his narrow face. He was swarthy in the way of a southerner and like her wore the silver collar of a member of the Magistratum. She knew little about this Genovan priest save that he was said to be an ecclesiastical scholar and, like her, was blessed with divine powers. Presumably, this made him a member of either the Temple or the Inquisition. He did not look like a templar. For his part, Stefano took the measure of the woman who towered before him. Clearly, she was a warrior—her bearing and posture spoke of a lifetime of rigid discipline. He knew through Archbishop Leconte that she was well schooled in theology, though her learning no doubt centered less on metaphysics and more on the application of doctrine. He knew that she had a twin brother, Lukas, who was also a member of the Magistratum. He knew that she was a faithful knight of the temple, and had been honored by the Bishop of Ottschtül with possession of a holy relic. Stefano smiled and gestured to the simple flanged mace that hung at her hip. “Is that it?” he asked. She nodded once, sternly. “Yes.” “[i]La Maza de San Carlo[/i]” he breathed. “Are the stories true?” “Mostly,” she grinned. “To my knowledge, I do not have a member of the angelic host keeping counsel with me, nor does Saint Karl whisk me into the heavens upon Remembrance Day.” “Pity. That would be a sight,” chuckled Stefano. “Reverend Barozzi,” Ilse intoned, “Why me? My skills, my blessings, not to mention the Mace of Saint Karl, are wasted upon barbarians.” ”We are here to serve the church, Reverend Reifsynder, in whatever capacity she sees fit.” “I am not questioning the wisdom of the bishopric. I am seeking to understand my role in this mission. I have never been good at public speaking. My strength is here.” She made a fist. “That is exactly why you are needed, Reverend. The Vangals are barbaric and undisciplined. They respect strength primarily. You can bring discipline. You can bring strength. You can serve as an example of the rewards of faith in a way that they can understand.” “I am a woman. Will they respect me?” Stefano shifted uncomfortably. “Women sometimes fight, and sometimes hold property among them. One of their most cherished beliefs is in angelic warrior maidens that lead those who died bravely to their just reward. They are called valkyries. They have incorporated this bit of paganism into their worship of the Celestine.” “And, through me, you wish to use this.” “Nothing so deceitful. They will respect a strong woman, especially one that is a warrior. They will listen to you, and thus, we will be able to teach them.” Ilse regarded him intently. Stefano waited patiently. Finally, she said, “What about this Wigliff?” ”As I understand it,” Stefano replied, “He is the wayward son of the Oski thane. He knows the land, and he can teach us more about his people. The land and its inhabitants are harsh, so he has value as a guide.” “He does not seem particularly pious.” “That is surprising, given his mentor. Zurmlurd is a well-known practitioner of our faith.” ”He is a wizard. How can this be?” “He does not consort with demons; in fact, he is said to have taken the Uncaring One as his patron in the mystic arts.” ”So he is a Fractionalist**.” ”He is an honest man, and loyal to the mother church.” “If you say so.” Ilse shifted her gaze across the Basilica’s battlements. Patches of dingy snow hugged drifts of rugged farmland that waited for spring. She turned back to Stefano. “Is that everything?” A spike of concern surged through Stefano. “Yes,” he lied. “Will you be prepared to leave in the morning?” Ilse stared at him. The moment slithered forward like a sinuous snake, and Stefano kept his gaze steady. He refrained from swallowing. Finally, she nodded. “Good day, Reverend Barozzi,” she said. As she walked away down the battlement, Stefano turned, closed his eyes, leaned upon a crenellation, and prayed for forgiveness. *The Hem mountain range, which borders the continent of Eriador on the west. **The Fractionalists are a burgeoning faction within the Celestine Church that believes that the gods can be worshiped individually, rather than as a collective. There is fierce theological debate within the church over this issue, though the Primate has not taken an official position.[/font] [/QUOTE]
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