The Heretic of Wyre - Part II
- Thread starter Sepulchrave II
- Start date
Knight Otu
First Post
Jarval said:
Thanks, Jarval!
Could you send it to me?
Thanks in advance.
And the most important thing about this thread:
WOW!
Cheiromancer
Adventurer
Horacio said:
I've seen him lurking on the boards- he's around. It would be nice to know if we're caught up, or if his group is playing again soon.
(check out my new sig!)
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Diplomacy Plus Twenty-Four
Which is, to say, Eadric's modifier to the skill.
Sorry for the extended absence - making time to both play and write and mindlessly browse this site is difficult. Also had a long conversation with Dan about Mostin.
Oh, and RL stuff too. Almost forgot that
I'll post again in the next couple of days, and also post Mulissu to the Rogues' Gallery, as requested. I've bumped her up a level since the ELH came out, but its in-game plausible.
Ahh, retrofitting. Don't you just love it? (Sarcasm)
**
Mostin felt a sensation akin to a twitching in his mind. He swallowed.
He stood up quickly and unsteadily. "I have to go," he said to the others, and rushed out of the door. After he had left, Eadric gave a quizzical look and was met by shrugs and blank stares.
Descending from the tower, the Alienist pressed through the campsite below, heedless of the drunken Ardanese mercenaries who swayed around, pushing mugs of mead into his face, and hustled the quarter-mile to where he had erected his manse.
He walked through the entrance, staggered inside, and closed the door, leaning heavily on it and breathing quickly. He entered into his Magnificent Mansion, and sealed the portal behind him.
Mostin lurched into his study, pulled a cushion from a couch, and curled up on the floor. He vomited. Fire burned in his mind. Mogus gave an empathic croon.
It lasted for three hours.
*
Somewhat later, having regained his composure with some dry toast and a stiff drink, Mostin sat cross-legged on the floor of his study.
His mind swam with potency.
He reached into the Belt of Many Pockets which he had looted from Feezuu - the first time he had killed her, he noted ironically - and produced a number of scrolls. Shomei had traded them for the spellbook that he had looted from Feezuu the second time that he had killed her,* along with a number of other minor items.
Mostin opened the first. It had been scribed quickly but elegantly in Shomei’s own hand.
Gate, it read.
Mostin took a pen, and his own books from his Portable Hole. They smelled faintly like a farmyard.
Mogus gave a worried squeak. Things could only get more dangerous from here.
**
Prince Tagur, who administered Einir - nearly ten thousand square miles of land centered around the city of Gibilrazen – was the son of Theiwho, the paternal uncle of Tiuhan, King of Wyre.
Tagur was a man of immense power. An aristocrat with a pedigree the equal of the King himself, a noted swordsman, an able administrator and one with an uncanny ability to penetrate others’ motives and drives. The Prince considered himself something of a philosopher, albeit one with a pronounced stoical bent. He was generally inclined to wear simple, unpretentious clothes, indicative of his no-nonsense, puritanical approach to life. He despised frippery in all of its forms, and loathed the spendthrift habits of much of Wyre’s aristocracy. Tagur was a profoundly practical man.
In his own fief, Tagur had implemented a curious regime. Whilst mercantile enterprise was encouraged, overt displays of wealth were not. The Prince had a penchant for simplicity, and tried to foster the same sentiments amongst his subjects. He regarded Einir as his own, private kingdom and, although a steadfast supporter of the official regime in Morne, was irritated by any dictates which issued from the capital which conflicted with his own personal view of what was right. Fortunately, from Tagur’s perspective, this seldom occurred: his own hand was often found behind policy which issued from the Royal Palace. Unfortunately, any vision which the Prince possessed had to be ratified by the Royal Council, and by the King himself. By the time it had been amended, and endorsed to the mutual satisfaction of all of Wyre’s great magnates, it was often nothing more than a statement of intent.
Tagur was not a spiritual man, and found religion in all of its forms a rather pointless exercise. Nonetheless, he attended the chapel, and was conscientious in his efforts to at least give the right impression where religious matters were concerned. His relationships with the Bishop of Gibilrazen, the Curia and the Temple were cool but not antagonistic.
The Prince had observed the events in Trempa in the manner of a disinterested scholar. When Rede had petitioned for royal aid, Tagur had felt ambivalent – perceiving that it was an internal affair which the Church should deal with on its own. Acutely aware of the way things worked at the Royal Court, Tagur had allowed the other great aristocrats to infer that he supported royal intervention. Suspicious of his motives, the Lord Chamberlain and the Duke of Jiuhu had moved to block the measure, thus resulting in the impasse which Tagur had, in fact, desired.
He was therefore surprised one sunny morning in his study, several weeks after the Spring Equinox, when his nuncio – a spry and quick-eyed man called Mallaus – informed him that the Baronet of Deorham, chief instigator of the current Temple crisis, sought an audience with him. Tagur placed his pen – a plain and unremarkable quill – upon his plain and unremarkable desk, next to a large pile of papers through which he was diligently working.
Prince Tagur screwed up his face. "What for?"
"He would not say, Your Highness." Mallaus drawled. His manner of speech – which irritated many of Tagur’s cohorts – was something that the Prince himself was so intimately familiar with, that he no longer noticed it.
"You mean he’s here?" The Prince was incredulous. "Tell him to make an appointment, like anybody else. In fact, no. Just tell him to go away."
"He respectfully requests that he speak with you concerning the current state of affairs at the Temple. He has two others with him: a pagan priest and – er – a Fey. He is most insistent and – er – persuasive."
"A Fey?" Tagur vociferated. "What is this, some kind of practical joke? And why did you even speak to this man, Mallaus? You are not the door-ward."
"He was admitted by the door-wards into one of the antechambers, and I encountered him – or them, I should say – on my rounds."
"Who was on duty at the time, Mallaus? Suspend their benefits immediately. This is intolerable."
"Please, not on my account," Eadric said stepping into the room.
"Get out, or I’ll have you hanged," Tagur yelled. "How dare you. Guards!"
"Please, Your Highness, I need only a few minutes of your time. Will you hear me out?" His manner was calm, confident and, apparently, completely self-assured.
For some reason, Tagur desperately wanted to say yes.
"Make an appointment," the Prince muttered, waving his hand at Eadric.
"This afternoon?" Eadric asked openly.
"No!" Tagur replied. He grunted. "Speak to the secretary, down the corridor, on the right."
Eadric bowed and left.
Prince Tagur returned to his paperwork, but found that he could not concentrate. He had been fazed by the exchange. An hour later, his scribe brought his book of appointments for the day into the Prince’s study. He looked through it, until his eyes fell on a single line.
Eadric of Deorham……3 pm
"What is this?" The Prince asked, exasperated.
"I switched him with the Thane of Storbine, who you were due to speak with this afternoon. The Baronet said it was very important, so I said we could squeeze him in. You don’t mind do you, Highness?"
**
"Alright, Deorham. You’ve got five minutes. What do you want?"
The Paladin smiled. "Thank you for speaking with me, Your Highness. I want you to help me convince the King to allow my troops passage across royal land," Eadric said with disarming candour. "I would also like you to lend your weight to discourage the Royal Council from intervening in the current Temple crisis: it may be necessary for me to lead over a thousand troops into Morne to secure the Temple compound."
Tagur raised his eyebrows. "Are you quite insane? ‘It may be necessary?’ What do you expect us to do – open the gates and just allow you to walk in?"
"Yes," Eadric replied.
"Deorham," Tagur explained drily, "I appreciate your honesty. I’m sure that you feel that you have been selected for a special task. But I will say this once: at present, you are under an interdict which issues from the King, as well as the Church. It was he who signed your warrant. Were they here, Temple troops would be arresting you, and I would not prevent that arrest – they do, after all, have Royal approval."
"Then technically, you should exercise your responsibility, and have me held," Eadric said unexpectedly.
"This is an ecclesiastical matter," Tagur shook his head. "The King merely sanctioned the Curia to act. And I’ll be damned if I’m getting involved unless I have to. As far as I know, you’ve broken no civil law."
"And if I had?" Eadric asked. An idea was beginning to form in his mind.
Tagur immediately read his intention. "You cannot use a charge of treason as an excuse to speak with the King, Deorham." Who was this lunatic, he asked himself.
"Would you agree that the current legal framework in Wyre is a complete farce?" Eadric asked Tagur.
The Prince frowned. The Paladin’s directness was uncanny. "I agree that it is not perfect. No legal system is. However, it serves its purpose, to protect most of the people most of the time."
"In Trempa, the Temple has been disestablished. It has no legal jurisdiction whatever," Eadric said. "All law is decided by civil courts. There is no Temple tax."
"I am well aware of Soraine’s actions – which are, in fact, legally questionable in and of themselves with regard to civil law in Wyre. She is not empowered to disestablish the Church."
"But she has, nonetheless," Eadric said. "I would see the same arrangement made throughout Wyre."
Tagur was baffled. This was hardly the tack that he had expected Deorham to take: he was a fanatic, some Messianic type or other. Why did he wish to diminish his own power? And he had assumed that Trempa’s curtailing of the Temple’s power had been made on political, rather than ideological grounds. He grunted.
"Do you trust me, Prince Tagur?" Eadric asked openly.
The Prince laughed despite himself – an uncommon occurrence, as those who knew him well could have testified. "I distrust everyone with equal vigour, Deorham."
"I do not lie, Your Highness. I work for the renewal of the Church, the abandoning of outdated dogma, the restoration of the Prelacy and the spreading of my faith. However, I also support the removal of the Temple’s legislative powers and the institution of a voluntary system of contributions."
"In which, I can and will do nothing to help you, Deorham," Tagur replied.
"You already have, by listening to me," Eadric smiled. "And I think you believe me."
"Enough!" Tagur snapped. "You should remember your station. This audience is now over." He gestured for Eadric to leave.
"Your Highness," Eadric bowed.
Tagur waved him back. "Before you go, Deorham, two questions. The murder of Lord Rede of Dramore. No charges have yet been brought against you, but they may be. Were you instrumental in his death?" The Prince fixed Eadric with a penetrating gaze.
"No, Your Highness," The Paladin said without wavering.
"Do you know who was?" Tagur asked.
"The Bishop of Hethio," Eadric replied simply.
"How is this known to you?"
"Tahl the Incorruptible is in communion with Lord Oronthon," Eadric answered in a matter-of-fact way.
The Prince sighed. Revelation held little weight in his scheme of understanding. "Also," he went on, "the Archiepiscopacy. Do you have designs on it?"
"I will do as decreed by Oronthon," Eadric replied. "I have ruled it neither out nor in. I am a servant of His will, and nothing more. And not all things are revealed to me."
He bowed again, and departed.
*The items rescued from Feezuu’s crypt included her replica spellbook (which Mostin took, and traded. He’d already learned the ones he’d wanted from her original set), several potions (which Eadric took), a Robe of the Void (Allows wearer to see in any darkness, sustains without air. Taken by Iua), and scrolls taken by Mulissu of spells that she and Mostin already possessed, but still had trade value, as well as several minor items that had once belonged to Chorze. As usual, Nwm didn’t want anything, and Ortwin was, at that point, dead. He complained afterwards, naturally, until Nwm pointed out that he was ‘no longer dead, and should shut up.’
Which is, to say, Eadric's modifier to the skill.
Sorry for the extended absence - making time to both play and write and mindlessly browse this site is difficult. Also had a long conversation with Dan about Mostin.
Oh, and RL stuff too. Almost forgot that
I'll post again in the next couple of days, and also post Mulissu to the Rogues' Gallery, as requested. I've bumped her up a level since the ELH came out, but its in-game plausible.
Ahh, retrofitting. Don't you just love it? (Sarcasm)
**
Mostin felt a sensation akin to a twitching in his mind. He swallowed.
He stood up quickly and unsteadily. "I have to go," he said to the others, and rushed out of the door. After he had left, Eadric gave a quizzical look and was met by shrugs and blank stares.
Descending from the tower, the Alienist pressed through the campsite below, heedless of the drunken Ardanese mercenaries who swayed around, pushing mugs of mead into his face, and hustled the quarter-mile to where he had erected his manse.
He walked through the entrance, staggered inside, and closed the door, leaning heavily on it and breathing quickly. He entered into his Magnificent Mansion, and sealed the portal behind him.
Mostin lurched into his study, pulled a cushion from a couch, and curled up on the floor. He vomited. Fire burned in his mind. Mogus gave an empathic croon.
It lasted for three hours.
*
Somewhat later, having regained his composure with some dry toast and a stiff drink, Mostin sat cross-legged on the floor of his study.
His mind swam with potency.
He reached into the Belt of Many Pockets which he had looted from Feezuu - the first time he had killed her, he noted ironically - and produced a number of scrolls. Shomei had traded them for the spellbook that he had looted from Feezuu the second time that he had killed her,* along with a number of other minor items.
Mostin opened the first. It had been scribed quickly but elegantly in Shomei’s own hand.
Gate, it read.
Mostin took a pen, and his own books from his Portable Hole. They smelled faintly like a farmyard.
Mogus gave a worried squeak. Things could only get more dangerous from here.
**
Prince Tagur, who administered Einir - nearly ten thousand square miles of land centered around the city of Gibilrazen – was the son of Theiwho, the paternal uncle of Tiuhan, King of Wyre.
Tagur was a man of immense power. An aristocrat with a pedigree the equal of the King himself, a noted swordsman, an able administrator and one with an uncanny ability to penetrate others’ motives and drives. The Prince considered himself something of a philosopher, albeit one with a pronounced stoical bent. He was generally inclined to wear simple, unpretentious clothes, indicative of his no-nonsense, puritanical approach to life. He despised frippery in all of its forms, and loathed the spendthrift habits of much of Wyre’s aristocracy. Tagur was a profoundly practical man.
In his own fief, Tagur had implemented a curious regime. Whilst mercantile enterprise was encouraged, overt displays of wealth were not. The Prince had a penchant for simplicity, and tried to foster the same sentiments amongst his subjects. He regarded Einir as his own, private kingdom and, although a steadfast supporter of the official regime in Morne, was irritated by any dictates which issued from the capital which conflicted with his own personal view of what was right. Fortunately, from Tagur’s perspective, this seldom occurred: his own hand was often found behind policy which issued from the Royal Palace. Unfortunately, any vision which the Prince possessed had to be ratified by the Royal Council, and by the King himself. By the time it had been amended, and endorsed to the mutual satisfaction of all of Wyre’s great magnates, it was often nothing more than a statement of intent.
Tagur was not a spiritual man, and found religion in all of its forms a rather pointless exercise. Nonetheless, he attended the chapel, and was conscientious in his efforts to at least give the right impression where religious matters were concerned. His relationships with the Bishop of Gibilrazen, the Curia and the Temple were cool but not antagonistic.
The Prince had observed the events in Trempa in the manner of a disinterested scholar. When Rede had petitioned for royal aid, Tagur had felt ambivalent – perceiving that it was an internal affair which the Church should deal with on its own. Acutely aware of the way things worked at the Royal Court, Tagur had allowed the other great aristocrats to infer that he supported royal intervention. Suspicious of his motives, the Lord Chamberlain and the Duke of Jiuhu had moved to block the measure, thus resulting in the impasse which Tagur had, in fact, desired.
He was therefore surprised one sunny morning in his study, several weeks after the Spring Equinox, when his nuncio – a spry and quick-eyed man called Mallaus – informed him that the Baronet of Deorham, chief instigator of the current Temple crisis, sought an audience with him. Tagur placed his pen – a plain and unremarkable quill – upon his plain and unremarkable desk, next to a large pile of papers through which he was diligently working.
Prince Tagur screwed up his face. "What for?"
"He would not say, Your Highness." Mallaus drawled. His manner of speech – which irritated many of Tagur’s cohorts – was something that the Prince himself was so intimately familiar with, that he no longer noticed it.
"You mean he’s here?" The Prince was incredulous. "Tell him to make an appointment, like anybody else. In fact, no. Just tell him to go away."
"He respectfully requests that he speak with you concerning the current state of affairs at the Temple. He has two others with him: a pagan priest and – er – a Fey. He is most insistent and – er – persuasive."
"A Fey?" Tagur vociferated. "What is this, some kind of practical joke? And why did you even speak to this man, Mallaus? You are not the door-ward."
"He was admitted by the door-wards into one of the antechambers, and I encountered him – or them, I should say – on my rounds."
"Who was on duty at the time, Mallaus? Suspend their benefits immediately. This is intolerable."
"Please, not on my account," Eadric said stepping into the room.
"Get out, or I’ll have you hanged," Tagur yelled. "How dare you. Guards!"
"Please, Your Highness, I need only a few minutes of your time. Will you hear me out?" His manner was calm, confident and, apparently, completely self-assured.
For some reason, Tagur desperately wanted to say yes.
"Make an appointment," the Prince muttered, waving his hand at Eadric.
"This afternoon?" Eadric asked openly.
"No!" Tagur replied. He grunted. "Speak to the secretary, down the corridor, on the right."
Eadric bowed and left.
Prince Tagur returned to his paperwork, but found that he could not concentrate. He had been fazed by the exchange. An hour later, his scribe brought his book of appointments for the day into the Prince’s study. He looked through it, until his eyes fell on a single line.
Eadric of Deorham……3 pm
"What is this?" The Prince asked, exasperated.
"I switched him with the Thane of Storbine, who you were due to speak with this afternoon. The Baronet said it was very important, so I said we could squeeze him in. You don’t mind do you, Highness?"
**
"Alright, Deorham. You’ve got five minutes. What do you want?"
The Paladin smiled. "Thank you for speaking with me, Your Highness. I want you to help me convince the King to allow my troops passage across royal land," Eadric said with disarming candour. "I would also like you to lend your weight to discourage the Royal Council from intervening in the current Temple crisis: it may be necessary for me to lead over a thousand troops into Morne to secure the Temple compound."
Tagur raised his eyebrows. "Are you quite insane? ‘It may be necessary?’ What do you expect us to do – open the gates and just allow you to walk in?"
"Yes," Eadric replied.
"Deorham," Tagur explained drily, "I appreciate your honesty. I’m sure that you feel that you have been selected for a special task. But I will say this once: at present, you are under an interdict which issues from the King, as well as the Church. It was he who signed your warrant. Were they here, Temple troops would be arresting you, and I would not prevent that arrest – they do, after all, have Royal approval."
"Then technically, you should exercise your responsibility, and have me held," Eadric said unexpectedly.
"This is an ecclesiastical matter," Tagur shook his head. "The King merely sanctioned the Curia to act. And I’ll be damned if I’m getting involved unless I have to. As far as I know, you’ve broken no civil law."
"And if I had?" Eadric asked. An idea was beginning to form in his mind.
Tagur immediately read his intention. "You cannot use a charge of treason as an excuse to speak with the King, Deorham." Who was this lunatic, he asked himself.
"Would you agree that the current legal framework in Wyre is a complete farce?" Eadric asked Tagur.
The Prince frowned. The Paladin’s directness was uncanny. "I agree that it is not perfect. No legal system is. However, it serves its purpose, to protect most of the people most of the time."
"In Trempa, the Temple has been disestablished. It has no legal jurisdiction whatever," Eadric said. "All law is decided by civil courts. There is no Temple tax."
"I am well aware of Soraine’s actions – which are, in fact, legally questionable in and of themselves with regard to civil law in Wyre. She is not empowered to disestablish the Church."
"But she has, nonetheless," Eadric said. "I would see the same arrangement made throughout Wyre."
Tagur was baffled. This was hardly the tack that he had expected Deorham to take: he was a fanatic, some Messianic type or other. Why did he wish to diminish his own power? And he had assumed that Trempa’s curtailing of the Temple’s power had been made on political, rather than ideological grounds. He grunted.
"Do you trust me, Prince Tagur?" Eadric asked openly.
The Prince laughed despite himself – an uncommon occurrence, as those who knew him well could have testified. "I distrust everyone with equal vigour, Deorham."
"I do not lie, Your Highness. I work for the renewal of the Church, the abandoning of outdated dogma, the restoration of the Prelacy and the spreading of my faith. However, I also support the removal of the Temple’s legislative powers and the institution of a voluntary system of contributions."
"In which, I can and will do nothing to help you, Deorham," Tagur replied.
"You already have, by listening to me," Eadric smiled. "And I think you believe me."
"Enough!" Tagur snapped. "You should remember your station. This audience is now over." He gestured for Eadric to leave.
"Your Highness," Eadric bowed.
Tagur waved him back. "Before you go, Deorham, two questions. The murder of Lord Rede of Dramore. No charges have yet been brought against you, but they may be. Were you instrumental in his death?" The Prince fixed Eadric with a penetrating gaze.
"No, Your Highness," The Paladin said without wavering.
"Do you know who was?" Tagur asked.
"The Bishop of Hethio," Eadric replied simply.
"How is this known to you?"
"Tahl the Incorruptible is in communion with Lord Oronthon," Eadric answered in a matter-of-fact way.
The Prince sighed. Revelation held little weight in his scheme of understanding. "Also," he went on, "the Archiepiscopacy. Do you have designs on it?"
"I will do as decreed by Oronthon," Eadric replied. "I have ruled it neither out nor in. I am a servant of His will, and nothing more. And not all things are revealed to me."
He bowed again, and departed.
*The items rescued from Feezuu’s crypt included her replica spellbook (which Mostin took, and traded. He’d already learned the ones he’d wanted from her original set), several potions (which Eadric took), a Robe of the Void (Allows wearer to see in any darkness, sustains without air. Taken by Iua), and scrolls taken by Mulissu of spells that she and Mostin already possessed, but still had trade value, as well as several minor items that had once belonged to Chorze. As usual, Nwm didn’t want anything, and Ortwin was, at that point, dead. He complained afterwards, naturally, until Nwm pointed out that he was ‘no longer dead, and should shut up.’
Last edited:
Cheiromancer
Adventurer
Uh-oh. Is this for breaking the Injunction?
Or is someone deciding that he should see the down-side of lacking a powerful protector?
Last edited:
Ryan Koppenhaver
First Post
Cheiromancer said:
Er, I think he gained a level. "His mind swam with potency.", and he went to scribe Gate into his spellbook afterward. The side effects were, uh... growing pains?
Sepulchrave II
Legend
Neither. I simply asked Dan:
"How do you see the transition to 17th level happening?"
I liked his idea.
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