"GAH!" With a start Verik jerks awake and his eyes snap open, instinctively drawing in as large of a ragged breath as he can manage...and then hacking out the foul smoke that he inadvertently sucked in as well as flecks of blood and hardened phlegm. He lies face down, wheezing and coughing, struggling to crawl away from the place where he fell, but not getting very far.
"Can't...breathe..." is all Verik can say as he continues to gasp for air and cough out smoke. He finally gets a seared hand to his golden key symbol, which thankfully is still intact, and mumbles a prayer as best he can to restore his burnt and hardened chest, his lungs barely able to bring in air. Mercifully, Abadar answers his call.
Meanwhile, the summoned golden light crossbow neither knows nor cares that Alexius has fallen from Taisper's terrible blow, continuing inevitably to attack its foe until ordered to do otherwise by its summoner or a higher authority. Another click-click-click until the third bolt is loaded and fires downward at the Asmodean's back.
Alexey's sneer never leaves his face, though a flash of fear crosses his face briefly. While he knows that Berrin has the strength and history to kill him, he knows that he is safe here. "I've got my plans for him, but I came here for you. I'm not surprised that you're here with that animal, pretending to actually be of noble blood. You're just like him, hardly more than a savage beast making a fool of himself."
Elspeth smiles sadly at Akiros's explanation of Corwin's death. "We were close, once upon a time. He was my brother, as well as Alexey's. Half-brother, that is. We share a father, the Baron. Corwin had a terrible upbringing - first scorn from our father, then outright cruelty from Alexey. The rest shunned him. I loved Corwin and could not understand why anyone could be so terrible to so sweet a boy. I cried bitterly when I was sent to marry Gobahl Garess, though I grew to love him - in my own way - in time. Corwin and I would write to each other, though his spelling was at first atrocious. I taught him as much of reading as I could from afar, and it was a great salve to see him learning so readily. Unfortunately, Alexey discovered our letters and ordered the messengers to not pass any more missives between us. Soon after, Gobahl disappeared while visiting the dwarves that share the Golushkin mountains, along with all of the dwarves. When my father had the marriage dissolved, I returned to find Corwin cast out of our holdings. I looked forward to seeing him again, but by the time I discovered his whereabouts, it was too late. He had a cursed life, my brother, but I am glad that he had a friend there with him at the end to give him some measure of comfort."
Jemini's laughter is light and genuine. "Now that would be a sight to see. Even I don't dare dream that big!" she chides, before continuing ever more seriously. "My father and sister would like me to wed; each for different reasons. And in the great game of houses, it would be the smart thing to do. But I cannot simply marry. Not anymore. A union of marriage is more than a move in the game. A marriage is a commitment - and I'm afraid I cannot honor such a commitment. A noble's life can be fleeting, especially in times of uncertainty as now. This in itself is fortunately not enough to prevent fruitful unions, and as we've seen in various ways recently: a noble's house has the means and usually the reason to return a deceased to life - which ever more so strengthens the bonds of marriage between nobles."
Jemini sighs, and there's a bit of intangible happiness and sadness in it. "But not for me. My life is twice as uncertain as that of the next noble - as I don't just die by myself, I also die if Nikolai should fall. In both cases no mortal magic will be able to raise me. I shall then guard over Nikolai Rogarvia's soul in Abaddon. No... marriage, for me, is out of the question."
Zander's smile seems to fade a bit, though he maintains it with a practiced ease. "What does one say to that? The sins of such a man are great, and so much be the strength it takes to share such a burden. I imagine that if you were to change your mind, a marriage would have to be to a man of similar strength to help share the pact you seem to have made. Were you to find such a man, would you reconsider the question?"
Meanwhile, the summoned golden light crossbow neither knows nor cares that Alexius has fallen from Taisper's terrible blow, continuing inevitably to attack its foe until ordered to do otherwise by its summoner or a higher authority. Another click-click-click until the third bolt is loaded and fires downward at the Asmodean's back.
As Verik draws breath and eases the horrible pain of the lightning strike that shot through him mere moments before, his conjured crossbow launches a bolt through Alexius. Had the bleeding, injured Asmodean been healed, he may have lived - but not once the golden bolt put a hole in his chest. Alexius Morai-Thrune, Hellknight Signifer, dies as swiftly to Verik's conjured bolt as Orlivanch did to Taisper's morningstar. He breathes a horrific, ragged last breath as his eyes close, while blood begins to pool in the bottom of the cabin.
Berrin just smirks at Alexey, believing he sees right through him and not liking what he sees. "I ain't pretending nuthin' boy. I got were I am bacause the people raised me to it, I earned my place not by my fathers cock. What have you done in your life exept beat women and invalids?" Berrin's voice is lowered as he exchanges words with the Surtovan Bastard, they are meant for him alone and Berrin is not so stupid as to voice theyre griavences to the flock gathered around them.
"So here I am boy. Tell me, if your man enough, what do you what with me? 'Cause I, for one, don't whant you here."
Zander stands up thinking he sees movement coming from the woods, but comes to realize it was nothing but the wind moving branches. I've got better things to do than sit up here... which was true, but he did not find himself moving from his perch.....
This was how it all began. He came here, to leave it all behind. And yet it all followed.
From his high vantage, he watched as a pretty young woman entered the gates carrying a large basket of flowers...red roses...and then she is quickly gone, invisible among all the others on their way to market...so quickly, did he blink? He stands again for a better view but cannot see her. Eah. You got better things to do than look after peasant girls.
And with that he casts one more look at the forest, before he starts to climb down. What are they doing? Burying someone? He chuckles to himself as he quickly descends. He approaches the guards manning the gate lazily watching the flow of farm folk. He returns their salute as they snap to attention. "If you see Founder Taisper Stozs... butZander pauses as he thinks on Taisper's secretive ways..."or if you see someone who looks like Tasiper...or failing that, perhaps its best if you see Brother Verik, to tell him I wish to speak to his cousin on a small matter...if he nothing too pressing to attend too, that is."
Zander then sets off for his barracks, eager to disappear in the crowds himself, and yet the crowd always parts to let the horned defender pass through their midst...alone.
Berrin just smirks at Alexey, believing he sees right through him and not liking what he sees. "I ain't pretending nuthin' boy. I got were I am bacause the people raised me to it, I earned my place not by my fathers cock. What have you done in your life exept beat women and invalids?" Berrin's voice is lowered as he exchanges words with the Surtovan Bastard, they are meant for him alone and Berrin is not so stupid as to voice theyre griavences to the flock gathered around them.
"So here I am boy. Tell me, if your man enough, what do you what with me? 'Cause I, for one, don't whant you here."
Alexey's sneer barely nudges, though his eyes turn as cold as the northern winters. His voice is barely a whisper at this point. "I'm going to make you pay for what you did, you impertinent peasant. I'm going to make you wish that you'd choked the life out of yourself, or simply turned and walked away. Some already wish that you had. I'll have you know that the whore you defended with such vigor wished to her dying breath that she'd never met you." He licks the bottom of one of his teeth in a manner both lascivious and sadistic, then leans forward to whisper something into Berrin's ear as he pats the hilt of his blade. "You'd think for a whore, she'd have been more used to men thrusting things into her."
His terribly bloodshot eyes try to fixate on the golden emanations coming from the spiritual crossbow, even as he winces in pain to bring himself to an upright position against the wall. He starts to extend a hand towards the summoned weapon, but then halts his movement and drops his hand to his charred and gashed overtunic, staring absently at the scene of execution.
Somewhere in his aching mind, Verik knows he could - and perhaps should - dismiss the Master's weapon back to the First Vault, but he seemingly cannot bring himself to do so. He just sits there clutching at his burnt side, watching with an occasional involuntary twitch or shudder as the loading of the golden bolt completes and fires two more times at the now lifeless body of Alexius before it hums and disappears entirely. With the golden crossbow now gone, Verik squints and peers to where the blackblade has fallen next to Thrune's now-shattered body.
The shining twin halos of light around Taisper's arms fade away as he dismisses his enchantments. He sighs as he looks at Alexius, then turns to Verik and helps him to his feet. "Well, there you go; that's done with." he says lamely. "We should...we should head back. I think we're on the same page now, yeah? We can dump him in the swamp a ways up. He, uh, he won't be the first I've disposed of that way."
As the cousins leave, Taisper eyes Mourne flintily. "Verik, what do we do with that sword of his? I don't know if it's intelligent or what, but it's too distinctive to let back into the community. I'm not comfortable just dumping it in the swamp with his body -- too easy for someone else to come upon it at some other point. I mean, his armor will drag him down to be eaten or to rot, and I suppose the weapon will sink too, but...I dunno. Maybe I'm being overly cautious."
Taisper leads Verik to a quiet and out-of-the-way spot deep in the swamp, where the water is deep and black and murky. He unceremoniously dumps the hellknight's corpse into the brackish water. Things stir on the shore and in the deep, perhaps knowing the presence of this particular human leads to a free meal. Perhaps.
The inquisitor looks at the enchanted Cheliaxian blade, then at his cousin, clearly not knowing what to do.
Akiros feels a mix of emotions at Elsbeth's response, and this time, he does not try to hide them. At hearing that the beautifully melancholy noble's affections for Corwin were fraternal rather than romantic, Akiros can't help but feel a great weight of apprehension lift off of him and a blossom of hope begin to bloom.
Yet as she continues and he hears of the terribly difficult life both Corwin and Elsbeth had forced on them by their 'noble' father he feels a great anger arise. These were exactly the kinds of behaviors which gave him such a low opinion of nobles in general. Finally, as she finishes the tale of Corwin's life as she knew it, he feels both sadness, an even greater closeness and affection to her, and pride that his friend had found a better life in Sanctuary.
It is this last that he chooses to share with her "I am so sorry Elsbeth for depredations, trials and tribulations forced on both you and Crowin by your father and a diseased system. But although Corwin never chose to tell me about you, I have no doubt whatsoever on how much you must have meant to him, and how grateful he must have been to have had your love and affection in his life. It is very likely that your care and friendship for him shaped him into the great man he became ans was. As well, I believe I can at least share some happier news with you. For no one here in Sanctuary in any way saw Corwin as someone with a cursed life. He was a brave and very admired man and warrior and held a position of great respect here. Not only was I his friend, but many others were proud to hold that title as well. Almost all of us here in Sanctuary have come here to leave our pasts behind and build new lives. Lives free of tyranny and oppression, lives where all are equal and one is judged by their actions and what lies in their heart, not by where or how they were born. And we have done an amazing job of it so far! We have and are creating something most wonderful and unique here in Sanctuary. And the nobles of Brevoy know it, which is why they have all come slinking around here, trying to to worm their way in and gain control of something which is unfamiliar, and so makes them uncertain. And something they know they do not control, which makes them fearful. Well, they shall not find us lambs to be led to the slaughter or lap dogs to lick their palms!"
Having got carried away towards the end, and unconsciously allowing his voice to rise, Akiros simultaneously realizes his error in volume and also his possible offense to the woman who has so stricken his heart. "Oh! I mean...please forgive me my Lady, you must of course know that I was not referring to yourself. I...well, what I mean to say is that...um, as so many of us have found new lives, made new happy and free lives for ourselves here in Sanctuary, well...perhaps...others might do so as well...?"
And like a youth with his first crush, the addlepated Akiros leaves his heart on his sleeve as he eagerly awaits her response.
"You didn't take the eyes... Verik's voice is hollow and trails off at the end, his own eyes fixated on the corpse sinking into the water and muck. From the tone of his voice it is clear that Verik is not really asking a question, or even really knows that he made the statement aloud.
As Taisper led him to this place Verik walked as if his mind was in a haze, silent and staring in a very uncharacteristic fashion for the cleric. Even now he stands there, absently touching a patch of his hair which seems to be falling out now, that portion of his scalp showing burn marks. His eyes are bloodshot still, and he favors one side with his hands where his ribs were struck with the black blade. In a simple sense Verik looks terrible, and will clearly draw attention by those who look upon him due to his visible condition.
Something, however, seems to bring the cleric to his senses, and with a blink of his eyes as if awakening from a nightmare he looks first to his cousin and then down at the blade which very nearly ended his life. He can't quite take his eyes off of that blade, but at least he begins to speak more coherently.
"It...it must be sundered and broken, Taisper. While I am normally not one to suggest unmaking something of clear craftsmanship, that blade is despicable and will find a way to do more harm somehow if given a chance. Perhaps...perhaps Alexius himself was adversely affected by this thing which caused him to...no I don't know, but I do know we must destroy it. I would do it myself with my mace but I..." I AM WEAK WEAK WEAK NO STOP! "...I am not the Champion of the Master, though indeed you are. Perhaps you can sunder it, or if not you must place it in a leadened chest until we can destroy it properly. I myself have the power to locate objects known to me in the distance of a battlefield's bowshot, and though that could not be discerned here from the edge of town I would not want for a search to ever be successful, so we must destroy it into pieces."
Looking back to the swamp and the sunken body he murmurs, "I must come back here and both consecrate and bless this place, so that the Judged have no possible ties to return here through lingering unholy energies..."
Alexey's sneer barely nudges, though his eyes turn as cold as the northern winters. His voice is barely a whisper at this point. "I'm going to make you pay for what you did, you impertinent peasant. I'm going to make you wish that you'd choked the life out of yourself, or simply turned and walked away. Some already wish that you had. I'll have you know that the whore you defended with such vigor wished to her dying breath that she'd never met you." He licks the bottom of one of his teeth in a manner both lascivious and sadistic, then leans forward to whisper something into Berrin's ear as he pats the hilt of his blade. "You'd think for a whore, she'd have been more used to men thrusting things into her."
'Alda.' Berrin's face becomes a mask of sadness as he thinks about the woman who was the cause of him ending up in the Stolen Lands. He hadn't thought about her in a while and the thought of her ending her life at the hands of this wretch before him filled Berrin's heart with sadness. Sadness and anger. The sounds of her screams followed by the snap of the whip wielded by this weakling echo through Berrin's mind as he stares Alexey in the eye. Berrin sees a fever there, the fever of a rapid dog, a dog that needs to be put down.
Several scenarios run through Berrin's mind, his options laying out before him. He sees himself launching forward, leading with a but of his head and followed by he pounding of his fists. That would sent the hall into an uproar, he would be pulled off the bastard before he could kill him again and besides, merely killing him would only earn Newhaven the enmity of the Surtovas as the boys father would just have him raised again. He envisioned himself calling the guards and have them arrest him, but so far the boy had broken no law in Newhaven that he knew of so his lawful friends would have him released and scold Berrin for inviting war. He saw himself exiling Alexey from Newhaven, he could encounter him out on the road, kill him and be done with it, but Berrin wasn't Steward anymore and so didn't realy have to power to exile him. Maybe he could turn to Taisper, the whispered rumors of how bad men tended to disappear in these lands made Berrin think of the young Abadarian and his quiet, mysterious ways for some reason but no, he had no way of knowing for sure and being Verik's cousin he probably wouldn't take kindly to the prospect of murder. Corwin would probably have been more than happy to help, Jemini would only look at him with sadness, Verik would sputter and try to change Berrin's mind, Zander was charged with upholding the law as was Akiros and the Stag Lord had been in a stupor since the charges were brought up against him as was Tandlara since Corwin's death. Berrin really didn't see anyone to turn to but himself. The only thing that was for sure was that Alexey must die. He must die in a way that meant he wouldn't be coming back. He must disappear.
Berrin gives Alexey a small smile and leans in to whisper back to him. "I hope you liked your stay in hell my boy." his voice is surprisingly devoid of emotion. "It must have been a really special place for you since you seem to be in such a hurry to get back there. But don't worry, I'll see too it you get back as soon as possible. I'll also burn your corpse and grind your bones to dust, place your remains in a lead box with a non-detection- and misdirection spell cast on it and drop it to the bottom of that beautiful lake outside you probably missed due to looking down your nose for your own excellence refusing to come out of hiding from between your legs."
Rising back to an upright position Berrin gives Alexey a smile. "I do hope you find your stay pleasant but now if you'll excuse me, I have matters to attend to." he says in a more normal tone for anyone to hear and extends his arm to shake Alexey's hand.
Taisper nods in agreement with Verik's assessment of things. "Yeah. Yeah, that seems best. " He frowns at the sword. "Okay. Well, hang on a second while I...there." The inquisitor puts on the sword belt and scabbard, then pushes Mourne behind him so his cloak will cover the blade up. "It'll make it awkward to walk, but we're not going that far. It's also not particularly sneaky, but if anyone is around when we get back I can always just turn invisible. I'll bring the weapon into my chambers in the Founder's Hall and take care of the sundering there."
The two walk on in silence for a while. Taisper eventually speaks. "He didn't deserve it, you know. He didn't deserve to be Currency. That was a dumb thing he did, and a foolish death. He should have known better. I feel like something or somebody forced his hand, forced him to act earlier than he would have liked. I've hunted with Alexius a fair bit, and he was rarely so reckless. I don't like it. Other forces are out there, Verik, champing at the bit to get a piece of what we've started here. I know you've already seen the political manifestations of this. I think Alexius' attack today was the beginning of the shadow war on our nation. The trolls and other things, well I guess they're the "in plain sight" war." He smiles weakly.
When they arrive back at the town and the guards tell them both of Zander's request, Taisper looks with surprise at his cousin. "I guess...I guess I should go see him. I will leave the blade in your care for now, cousin, in our bank and church. I feel safer with it there than in the Founders' Hall with all those nobles swanning around, know what I mean? I'll get it after dinner tonight."
After accompanying Verik to the heart of the Abadarian faith in Newhaven and securing Mourne as best they can, the inquisitor notes the time and curses under his breath. This will be a close call if he wants to speak with Zander and still meet Widow Flaxen for dinner. He jogs across the square and finds the Warden in one of his customary watch positions, not a soul around for a long ways.
"Zander." He calls cautiously. "You, uh, you wanted to see me? What's going on?"
Zander's smile seems to fade a bit, though he maintains it with a practiced ease. "What does one say to that? The sins of such a man are great, and so much be the strength it takes to share such a burden. I imagine that if you were to change your mind, a marriage would have to be to a man of similar strength to help share the pact you seem to have made. Were you to find such a man, would you reconsider the question?"
Sense Motive DC 10
Jemini blushes, ever so slightly more than she intended. A hint of a smile appears and in a moment of distraction she brushes a strain of hair behind her ear. Though it only lasts for a second, a bit more somberly she replies, "I'm... I'm afraid not. I mean... I cannot predict the future; perhaps the burden of the pact will be resolved in a way that leaves me free to act as I please. But then I'd still have to honor my obligations to my father and Newhaven before my own heart. ...but love... love is a bond that does not limit itself to vows and burdens. Yes, I could love a man as you described."
Verik stares at the short ironbound chest in front of him on the floor of his private chambers. He sits on his bed, the key resting in the palm of his hand, staring at the chest in revulsion, yet for some reason he cannot look away, or move, or do anything else constructive that the small part of his ordered mind is shouting for him to do. He just sits and stares, knowing the blade his cousin called “Mourne” lies within, black and terrible, somehow yearning to bite into his flesh and finish what it started, what it nearly completed hours ago by Morai-Thrune’s now-lifeless hand.
Next to Verik over a chair rests the rent, partially fused and blood-stained chain shirt that he wore earlier that afternoon, and repairable. Verik should do something about that and put his mind to productive use, but he doesn’t. On the floor next to the torn armor are the remnants of his slashed and burnt traveling clothes – they used to be his favorite set to ride with out in the wildlands, but Verik will have them destroyed now. The beautiful white cloak he crafted in the southern Inner Sea style is dirty but mostly spared from the damage of his electrocution and also mendable with a bit of effort, but for now is draped around him as if to ward off a severe chill in the air. He has changed into simple linen white robes and no shoes, using several kerchiefs and cloths to wipe away the grime, sweat and blood, healing the burns upon his exposed head and sides with most of the remainder of his prayers.
Upon Taisper’s hasty departure to find Zander, Verik cloistered himself in his private chambers just off the private library room, feigning illness and fatigue to Thomas and Anya and hastily ordering that he would see no one. Now it is dark outside, and only a single light illuminates the room from a shuttered lantern only partway opened, casting flickering light and shadows across the four walls of his room. His rational self knows it is just adding to the shadowy fear in his mind of what lies closed in the box, but that rational part of him just cannot take over right now as he knows it should. The chest should go into a 2’ deep iron-lined recess built below the floor designed to fit it snugly, a hinged trapdoor set into the floor and another good-fashioned lock to secure it properly, with his bed moved over the top of it. The Vault of the Banker of Newhaven, pathetic as it was in Verik’s own mind. The cache trapdoor was never designed to be “hidden” and it was laughable to think an intruder would not guess to move the bed within moments of viewing his chamber, but the locks were stout and sturdy enough to be difficult and buy a delay for the perpetrator to be discovered. Still, a pitiful excuse in comparison to what Verik assumed were the private holdings of Archbanker Vinodragov, the Banker of Restov or any of the Bankers in Brevoy for that matter. Pathetic. Pitiful. Weak. Feeble. Laughable. A Mockery.
He should move the bed aside and push the damnable chest into the recess and be done with it. But he can’t. He just stares at it until a blurring of his vision makes even that impossible, and the uncontrolled tears of the priest threaten to overwhelm him utterly with all of his fears and failures. He grips the iron chest key tightly in his left hand until the metal painfully bites into it, then hurls it with all his force at the chest, sending it careening off and violently striking the nearby wall. Crumpling to the side of the bed he buries his face in his balled-up cloak and lets loose his muffled screams into it, the only conscious thought now from his ordered mind demanding he keeps his face and mouth to the cloak, so that the screams cannot be overheard outside and bring even more embarrassing shame upon himself, if that were possible.
Eventually, after spending his remaining energy in this way and becoming dizzy from both the effort and lack of air, Verik passes out upon the bed, leaving the locked chest on the floor where it lay.
Zander looks relieved to see Taisper, but uncomfortable at the same time. He looks about, apparently satisfied that no one was too close to overhear and starts in, "Yeah. This is a bit awkward...I was unsure how to approach the fellow founders, beside Talandra...but I thought of starting with you, as there is trickery afoot and I thought you would be the best at uncovering motives and plots."
He picks at the leather wrapping his sword's pommel as he continues. "This has nothing to do with the doppelganger issue of late, but I have been replaced. It is not a coincidence that the visiting Orlovsky has the name Zander, because it is my name too...the whole part, Zander Orlovsky. You heard his story, miraculously waking up healed from a fire...." Zander looks up at his friend. Within the shadow of the Stag Helm, he drops the illusion magic and his face is again revealed as its scarred visage. "Well, there was no miracle, there were no regenerative treatments, and there was no marriage to the Lebeda beautiful heir. There was none of that, but a father who cast out a useless son. Useless...with a face so hideous that he would be unable to serve him in the Game of Houses."
"So I had set out to find my own fate, but it seems my Father shas been busy trying to recreate my original fate. Even now, NewZander strolls our streets courting Jemini. I only had a moment's exposure, but I believe this NewZander is oblivious of the game my Father is playing, you might be a better judge of that. But his minder....that is my Father's right hand, here to protect their new investment. And...it is not from fear that I mention this, but I can see an attempt made on my life. I made the introduction, even used my name and a facsimile of my face. It was not likely lost on the man responsible for minding my Father's problems...and I am as big a problem as they come." Zander gives a small half smile.
"I have no wish for what was mine as an Orlovsky. I left that behind and will not fight for it. And likely with this face, I can make no believable claim. But I have created something new here, with you and your cousin and our friends. It is protecting this that I will fight for. And with my Father now having plans in this area, this means that me as the living thorn in his side has just gotten that much bigger."
His appearance reverts to the slightly scarred Zander, "I almost laughed and scoffed when the NewZander was introduced, but I think I rightfully held my council tight. But now I am uncertain how to proceed...like I missed an opportunity...so I turn to you. Your mind works in a way I can only wonder at, with the way you see plots and threats...That was meant as a compliment, despite the way it sounded. My Father's agent will need minding while he is here. And the others warned....I suspect Jemini may have her suspicions about me. We did meet many times growing up...but meeting her again out here...perhaps the hardest part of all THIS He makes a hand gesture of waving his hand before his face in an inclusive manner. "...I have kept my distance lest painful past memories be brought up.....and promises unfulfilled...." Zander just drifts off at the end, not finishing that thought.
Seemingly at a lose to continue, he turns to his friend and gives him a wry and confused look.
Taisper frowns just a bit as Zander relates his tale. ...he dunno you herd pig you done picked up a bit and he cain't... "That's...so you're kind of...wow." Taisper feigns surprise at the revelation.
It's not a complete fake-out, though, as some of this information is genuinely new to the inquisitor. He thinks for a moment, his golden eyes looking first at Zander, then out at the horizon. Eventually his gaze returns to the warden. He smiles that winning smile of his and claps Zander on the shoulder.
"Zander, man, a threat to you is a threat to all of us. Whatever you were, whatever he is -- I'll keep an eye on your father's pet, don't worry. He won't know what hit him, should it come to that. All these nobles here in our city, they need to know they can't just come here and bring their intrigues and assignations and expect business as usual. We have a mandate from God. From many gods. They can't stand against that. I'll...I'll watch." His face disturbingly neutral, Taisper whispers almost inaudibly; "...I'll watch..."
The inquisitor drops his hand and looks down. "...not only that, but I don't take kindly to threats to my family." He raises his eyes and gives Zander a nod. Looking back out over the fields and woods visible from the guard tower, he says "Threats within, threats without...it's good to have a moment to just look out over the land, isn't it? Remember what we're fighting for. It's good to have just a moment to breathe."
"Yeah...It nice to think of fighting Tatzleworms as the good ol' days." Zander gives a dry chuckle. "It's just...I'm sorry. I need to say that to you. I need to say that to the others. It's not that I have been lying, but I had hoped it, all of that from my past, was all behind me, in my past, so I saw no reason to bring it up. Talandra knew, and that seemed enough, but I shall need to tell the others, especially Jemini...I hate to think of her being used...especially by my Father. But I really don't look forward to it."
He holds out his hand to grasp Taisper's, and lightly says, "So thanks. Zander Orlovsky thanks for looking into this. But in a sterner tone, "But Zander the White Stag asks that you to be careful. Think of everything you are to us. This man is that for my Father but has 20 years experience on you. Him and my Father were desperate enough to enact this plan of theirs, they will be desperate to protect it. Caution. I can have trusted men made available to you if you have need."
The month following the accusations against Nikolai Rogarvia passes slowly. It seems that every day, the nobles of the North send another representative or lesser scion to represent their interests in Newhaven. It becomes clear quite quickly that their interests do not always (or even often) match those of Newhaven. Many seem only interested in opening a new front in the social conflicts between the houses. The very first night of this new setting, during the feast laid out by House Orlovsky, Alexey Surtova challenged some minor nobleman, a cousin of a third son of some Lebeda duke, to an Aldori duel for some perceived slight. By custom, none could stop the duel, though Jemini was able to force the duel to be to surrender after first blood rather than to the death, an act that saved her distant kin's life. For whatever Surtova's personal shortcomings, he is skilled with the Aldori dueling blade in single combat and deftly defeated his foe. In a manner that had many tongues wagging, Surtova whipped his blade out to clear it of blood before sheathing it, spraying it across Berrin Myrdal, Newhaven's General.
As the days and weeks continued, some new plot seemed to surface on an almost-daily basis. Accusations of spying were routinely leveled against the staff and servants of rival houses. Nadia Lodovka, the daughter of Lord Kozek Lodovka, arrived amidst fanfare from New Stetven. Ellana Lebeda told her sister (in confidence, though it is no secret to any person who follows the politics of New Stetven) that Nadia has been asking her father to increase pressure on the King to select a bride - and that Nadia sees herself wearing the crown. Ivahn Medvyed, heir to House Medvyed, arrives with neither pomp nor circumstance, and quickly develops a warrior's bond with both Akiros and Berrin. The fledgling nation sees more attention in a month from Brevoy's nobility than it did in a full year prior to the return of Nikolai and Jemini.
Not one to miss out on all the revelry and duels, Maegar Varn travels the difficult road between Varnhold and Sanctuary to lend his unique and garrulous viewpoint to the mix. He remains a huge hit with the commoners and the troops, though most of the nobles find him to be uncouth and provincal. He does little to dissuade them of this view. Fortunately, his presence allows some actual work to be done in strengthening the bonds between the two small nations, with a further commitment to ship more iron from Varnhold to Newhaven. He also brings his flame-haired daughter Aylene, whose exotic looks and fiery personality quickly bring her many noble suitors - not of whom she deems remotely suitable.
In the chaos of so many nobles, no one notices the disappearance of the strange Cheliaxan warrior. A carriage driver comes forth with a report of seeing the pale young man leaving in the dead of night without warning and with little explanation as to his destination. Taisper, assigned to search his room for clues, finds a small book that at first appears to be a somewhat dull manifesto on the benefit of Diabolism. For whatever reason, he hangs onto it to peruse later - if nothing else, to give him more insight into Alexius.
In a series of legal arguments and messages, Verik somehow finds himself legally outflanked by Archbanker Vinodragov, who argues that the trial must be conducted by a neutral third party to have legitimacy. The Archbanker of the Central Bank on Absolom sends a letter seconding this suggestion. While it is not a strict heirarchy and Verik can legally rebuff the suggestion, he knows that the political ramifications of defying Absolom would be grave to the new Bank. Absolom's Archbanker suggests a solution: Vinodragov could adopt the position of accuser, as many of the complainants were formally citizens of Brevoy during the time of the alleged crime, while Verik could argue the defense of Nikolai Rogarvia.
Verik wakes with a strangled cry and start, bolting upright from his sideways position on the bed, his eyes wide with terror and a hand clutching his side where he was both cut and electrocuted. His face is mopped in sweat and dripping down to the white linen robes, his breathing both heavy and haggard. It takes Verik a long moment to even realize where he is, seemingly in the safety of his sleeping chambers as opposed to the dreadful floor of the cabin, the smell of burnt flesh and metal fresh in his nostrils, even though it is somehow only in his mind. He wipes his forehead with the back of his hand and attempts to slow his breathing as best he can. Firelight and shadows dance along the walls of his chamber, making the place even more dreadful. He cannot go on like this, living in fear and doubt, uncertainty and weakness. Verik’s eyes drift unerringly to the large low chest on the ground near his bed where Mourne lies within. It is almost too much to bear, the horror and shame welling up again in his eyes and chest as before when he passed out.
He just couldn’t start that up again, else he would go mad and lose himself entirely, doing something reckless and stupid to end the fear and pain. With no one else to turn to in that blackest of hours, Verik falls from his bed onto his knees and begins to prostrate himself, begging for the Master of the First Vault to hear his discombobulated prayers.
And Taisper! MASTER! How can I serve you when your Servants h-have turned my beloved cousin into a…a…a cruel weapon to slay and maim in your name! I do not understand Master! I try to understand, to put Order and hierarchy and precedent here, but these Inquisitors ARE your servants too, but have NO hierarchy or order to be guided? How do I walk the chasm blinded without falling in? And Taisper made into a cold hard weapon by them? Why? Can he not Serve you and still be part of this society? Can he not be part of the world and know at least a fraction of contentment to sustain him through the hardness of our Purpose? He IS your CHAMPION my Lord Master! I…I saw this in truth when we were pitted against the agent of the Prince of Lies! I would have d-died, but Taisper was filled with your Blessed power, and vanquished the Usurper just as he vanquished the Stag Lord in Stagfall! Untouched! Unblemished with wound, shining with your Glory in fulfillment of Utopia in your vision! I nearly succumb in sacrifice to the greater Purpose, yet he is unscathed! How can it be so, yet he be stained with darkness and fostered so cruelly by these mentors of his? Is that all you wish him to be? A weapon to be used until he is spent and discarded? Is that all I am? Am I to be ground to blood and dust to pave the way for your true Servants?
Forgive me Master Abadar…I live to serve and obey. I want to be a good and orderly servant upon this world. I will do your Will! B-but it is so hard, and-and-and I would give way if you ordered it so, to accept my Doom if you truly decree it so, but I would not wish to see Taisper used and spent as a broken tool in that way! Can he not be saved? Can he not be a useful Servant yet be part of the world he strives to carve from Chaos? Am I wrong to feel this way, to ask for a modicum of happiness for him in amongst the hardships and strife of this place? If I am to be sacrificed to pave the road for your Servants truer and better than I, can I at least not prepare myself properly to walk the final steps with honor and dignity? I…I…I DO NOT WANT TO DO ALL THIS FOR THE MIRAGE MASTER ABADAR! I DO NOT WANT TO BE THE WEAK FOOL THAT WAS THE LAST TO KNOW WHAT YOU REQUIRED OF ME! SMITE ME IF I HAVE GONE ASTRAY, BUT I BEG YOU TO NOT LEAVE ME STRANDED IN THE WILDS!
I…I am sorry Master. I have no right to entreat with you, or bargain, or demand what you are not willing to give. I…I just thought that my Purpose would be clearer, and that I would not be set against our own kind, and made to lie and conflict with my brethren that hold your power in greater measure. It does not seem to be orderly to have it so, but if it is your will then I must adapt. I must strive, must serve, must sacrifice, must toil and labor to see your vision for this land turn into reality. For as long as I can. I will not give up. I am weak and feeble, but I strive to learn from my mistakes, and take my failings from the day before, and do better the next. This I promise. Forgive my transgressions. Master of the First Vault be praised for your patience of this poor mortal servant.
After Verik’s impromptu prayer, he stands up to clear his stricken eyes and blow his nose, to gain some personal sense of composure. Looking down at the chest, he stares at it some more for a time, until this time he finally moves himself into action, pushing aside the bed to the wall and finding the iron key that he had flung earlier in the night. He pushes the chest into the recess, pushing the last bit in with his foot until it landed with a low thunk, and then closes the trap door of the recess, locking it with the key and dragging his wooden bedframe back over the door.
For the rest of the night he sits by the nightstand where the shuttered lantern rests, watching the dancing flame but not really seeing it. He thinks about his time as a Clerical Clerk of Abadar, of his time with Justicar Knesh, of his journey here with Taisper, of the meeting with the other Founders, of their trials and joys, of Orlivanch, of Stagfall and Jemini’s death, of Taisper’s truth and that of his Sect - so many things to analyze and understand what he may have failed to see and learn before.
Eventually the darkness outside turns to a faint pre-dawn. Hours have passed but he is not tired, or at least can find no rest in sleeping. With the grim understanding of this as well as his promise to the Master that he would keep striving with each new day, Verik finally casts off his linens and dresses himself for morning devotions, putting a hat hastily upon his head to cover the burnt patches for now. Leaving his chambers before the others are fully up, he quickly scripts a note that he will take his own dedications down by the lake’s edge, and instructs Thomas to lead the others in morning prayers, with additional tasks to be assigned upon his return.
It has been a busy and eventful few weeks for the Banker of Newhaven.
In the first days after the declaration of trial for the scion of Rogvaria, Verik was rarely seen about town, only leaving the small makeshift Bank for early morning dedications down by the lakeshore or picking up some odd variety of ingredients and requisitioned works from select craftsmen. Nearly all of the holy services were conducted by Clerk Thomas Quiss, confessing privately to parishioners that Verik’s absences were due to issues of health. Gossipmongers of Sanctuary hinted that the Banker had tried to prove his ‘mastery’ of natural lore to either Jhod Kavken or Taisper Stozs in a wager, and ended up catching part of himself on fire in the nearby woods. This embarrassing rumor seemed to match up with Verik wearing a variety of hats whenever he was seen, was never denied by him and was the subject of tremendous amusement to his detractors. About a week later he went out again with his cousin to “play pretend warden” in the woods but returned unscathed, and eventually the rumors faded in favor of far juicier gossip with the upheaval of the Brevian nobles and their entourages.
He also bestows to his cousin a full as the second wand he has ever made. He does not ask Taisper to repay him though he would not turn down funds if given, but when questioned why Verik does this (Abadarians after all find it improper to give crafted items away without compensation) he only answers that it is fair payment for saving his life, and something worthy of a Champion of Abadar.
In the year since Newhaven was founded Verik had often been criticized at times as moody, irritable, argumentative, long-winded, puffed-up, overly opinionated and even petulant. In Desnus however, the demeanor of the cleric shifted to what only could best be described as taciturn and aloof, with a simmering temper that was something more than his typical assumed bluster. Even after his appearances about town and in church returned to more normalcy, he almost never attended any social functions at the Founder’s Hall if they were not required – and when they were he would leave after the smallest degree of time to not be considered an insult. For minor Founder’s Council sessions he often sent young Anya Amitel to Council to deliver a prepared list of his votes and notations for the records ahead of time. Matters came to a boil in one closed Founder’s Council when Verik had to attend a direct vote on the taxation of newly founded Olegsgrav and the framework for that village’s administration. Jhod had started arguing again on what he perceived was Verik’s undue role of authority over the village in support of Akiros Ismort’s demand for an appointed guard-captain there, when Verik suddenly slammed his fist down upon the table, spilling ink and sending papers across the table. Standing, he shouted at Jhod to shut his mouth and then proceeded to rattle off the rest of his votes for that morning’s deliberations before walking out of the Founder’s Hall. For reasons that are not clear, Verik has actively avoided Jhod, Kesten, and even Jemini, entreating with her only formally as “Lady Marshal” in the Council sessions. Needless to say, he has had no contact with Nikolai Rogvaria up at his confined suite in the Castle.
To others such as Berrin, Akiros, Taisper and even Zander, as well as his own “flock” of his own Bank, Verik has been much more engaging. While his mood is more melancholy and temper-laden, he still has humor and in a private setting is more like his old self. They find that the clerical Banker of Abadar seems bent on viewing their activities directly and participating in ways he hadn’t before.
He confesses to Taisper that while they need some clarification of his “hunts” as it relates to the Bank’s jurisdiction in civilized areas, Verik will have no claim or authority regarding them – though he insists that Taisper submits for review and atonement to either a fully gifted Justicar or his own Venator Inquisitorius should either ever visit here. Otherwise, Verik will consider these matters “Sealed to the Vault” and will only submit himself to the Justicars. He counsels Taisper to keep to those who “cast themselves outside of the law’s protection” by fleeing town or evading trial – something to provide a law or boundary unto himself to steady himself by.
The taking of Currency, while unsettling to Verik, is judged by him as lawfully part of the treatment of a body once Judgment has been made, as per a vague reference in the Order of Numbers. Heads have been put on spears and bodies have been put on display as warning of the breaking of law, though Absalom-based Verik finds that distasteful and counterproductive to a populace. Nevertheless, Verik concludes it is not unlawful.
His most urgent words, however, are for his cousin to “be part of the world” – else like a sword blade made with no carbon and no flexibility Taisper will shatter himself by continued isolation and detachment. It is the best and most heartfelt advice Verik can give him, other than his own continued support.
Berrin is given a finely crafted in Berrin’s own requested design, the war-belt sturdy and well set to harness his many weapons and fit with his armor. .
Verik seems to approve of Berrin’s role as Captain-General or “General” and is more complimentary of him than during his time as Steward. He also seems to be working on his vocabulary in some of Berrin’s more “colorful” phrases. In any talks they have, he can tell Verik is very much against the Brevian nobles being here, though he tolerates it as long as they spend their ample coin and do not break the law.
Verik bestows to Akiros a finely crafted in his requested design, the circlet in such fashion that it would fit with an open-faced war helm. . He states that he is still working on a war-belt for Akiros as symbol of his new position, but has not had suitable time to finish the “sealing of the inverted abjurative dweomers with blessings of the Seven Constructs under the Lawgiver”…whatever that means.
In discussions with Akiros over his “affliction” of sight, Verik wanted to try and restore his vision, concerned it was some recurrence from Tandlara’s curse last year. Upon revelations that he has been “marked” by Iomedae, Akiros will find the Abadarian Banker is actually supportive of him, citing that “devotion to the Inheritor” is both worthy and noble. Verik, unlike many of his faith, professes support and tolerance of faiths such as Iomedae, Erastil and Torag , and would generally support the building of a shrine of Iomedae as funds permit, citing the Abadarian phrase “This Can Help Us All” in terms of sustaining Newhaven from Chaos and Woe.
Verik’s encounters with the Brevian nobles and their retainers, courtiers and servants has been varied and, in some ways, entertaining. He clearly wanted nothing to do with them beyond his required duties in formal sessions as the Banker of Newhaven. Visitations by some of them to his Bank and enduring both the ridicule and dissatisfaction of his “paltry” church was swallowed initially, but about a fortnight into it he replied to one set of courtiers that if they did not wish to pray in his “hovel” they could make do at the “pig farm” a league outside of town, comparing New Stetven to a “pig sty” when compared to the grand cities of Abaslom or Oppara. This caused some bit of uproar and gossip, but Verik held firm that the Bank of Abadar’s services were open to devoted citizens of Newhaven first, and he would make no additional accommodations for visitors.
Yet, the amount of money the Brevians were throwing around – and the services they desired and required – impacted the small Bank regardless of his prejudices. As the nobles began to occupy and enhance the finest new residential compound of the town with their entourages, retainers and servants, the sprawling villa known as “Brevoy Manse” represented a mini-boomtown for laborers, craftsmen and merchants. Additions were made, furniture and decoration orders flooded the market, fine wines and foods were being hauled in by the cartload. Akiros had to double the guards to keep the peace between the factions there, with private guards hired by the day for various needs and functions. Naturally, the requests spilled into the Bank, from and on newly added wings of the place, to on noblewomen not wishing to sweat in their fine gowns, to by agreed parties for sealing negotiations, to castings on the recovery of lost property by careless nobles, to non-lethal for increased protection of rooms and property. Verik could not decline the requests on any reasonable grounds, and soon the Abadarians were constantly busy on requests, with Verik having to perform the majority of the more powerful dweomers himself. Money for services flowed into the small Bank, with Thomas Quiss proclaiming to his Banker that they could build a full library and new Bank before year’s end at the rate the coffers were filling. Truly, if Verik, Thomas or Anya would have had any skill in divine potionmaking, their profits could have easily doubled.
One morning, a courtier intruded upon Verik over the waters of the lake after his dedications as he occasionally did, and offered to pay him one-hundred fifty gold to himself over the lake. Though the affronted Banker declined on grounds of propriety to the Brevian, the courtier doubled his price in direct donation to the church, at which point Verik grudgingly relented and scheduled it for the following morning. It spread like wildfire amongst the young lesser nobles, and soon Verik found himself “popular” in an odd sense, scheduled to offer this rare “service” to them several days a week. He privately detested it and forced them to a series of conditions after one near mishap, but simply could not deprive the bank of the resources.
This is not to say that all of his encounters with the Brevian courtiers went smoothly. On one morning Verik was fetching rare ingredients for the day’s castings when he witnessed a fight break out between rival courtiers of Surtova and Orlovsky over a rare bottle of wine at a merchant’s stall. Both men drew blades in a duel, smashing the bottle in the process, and a lone nearby guardsman was cruelly slashed when he tried to intervene. Without warning the Banker the Orlovsky lad, shouting both to submit to arrest. The Surtovan tough, angered at his duel being interrupted advanced upon Verik with threats, but was dropped to the ground by a single from the cleric…and when he tried to rise Verik drew a stout cudgel and bashed him over the head, temporarily stunning him. The bloodied Surtovan soon regained his senses but was arrested by an arriving full patrol. Challenging Verik to a duel, the Banker coldly mocked him and stated his threats would only add to his charges. Eventually the matter was dealt with by a payment of severe fines by both Brevian Houses to Newhaven coffers, the dueling men sent back to Brevoy on separate guarded caravans heading north to Olegsgrav. Verik repaid the merchant for the smashed bottle of wine out of his own pocket.
Verik’s oddest encounter of the month occurred not with the Brevians however, but with the Varns of Varnhold. At a lavish(and mandatory) feast for Lord Varn at the Founder’s Hall, Berrin found himself partaking of too much wine in his fervent enjoyment of Maegar Varn’s stories, breaking his promise to Verik to relate (once again) the Tale of the Tatzylwyrms that had become so popular. Verik was forced to endure yet another round of laughter and embarrassment at his near-death experience, some Brevian nobles going out of their way to comment more snidely than others. Lord Varn embraced the tale with great bellowing laughter, but then surprisingly proclaimed that the Abadarian was the first he’d heard of to show any sort of courage in a fight, even if woeful in skill, and clasped Verik (hard) on the shoulder. A small measure of compliment, however backhanded, from a mighty lord who typically considered Abadarians to be cowards and petty schemers.
Several days later Verik was once again at the Market in the early morning hours after his devotions, hastily picking up reagents from the merchant who just arrived and already late to get to a scheduled service at the Brevoy Manse. Occupied with thoughts and not paying attention as he was stacking his packages, he walked straight into Aylene Varn and sent her nearly stumbling into the dirt. The red-haired beauty was haughty and proud and verbally launched into the Banker for being a careless, dim-witted and blind idiot, mocking his lack of agility and skill with walking and anything else, adding that she could see why he fell into a “pit of ‘wyrms” and had to be rescued by his betters like a child.
The insults and memories of that event were too much for Verik to bear from the young haughty woman, and something inside of him snapped. In front of the frightened merchant, three market guardsmen and perhaps a half-dozen townsfolk, Verik launched into such a nasty scathing retort of Aylene Varn's character that one of the guards actually fumbled his spear in shock. The visceral reply was filled with all of the finest swear words that Verik could remember from Berrin, somehow arranged in a way to be nearly poetic, even if foul and shocking. Red-faced and shouting, he finished by telling Aylene that one as she so blessed with looks and wealth was so spiteful and shrew-like that she deserved a cold bed and house devoid of suitors, friends, or any creature not impaled on the walls to comfort her.
Almost instantly after the last biting sentence, Verik realized he had gone well overboard with his temper, surely forcing an incident with Lord Varn to try and take his head. However, Aylene Varn shook her flaming curls and just laughed at him – first in giggles and then with such a hearty sustained guffaw that Verik looked around to see if he was actually awake and not in some strange dream. Lord Varn’s daughter stepped forward to him and with an oddly mocking smile she patted him three times upon the cheek, thanking him for giving her a much-needed laugh that she had not had since before leaving Varnhold. Then she walked away with a lightness in her step as if nothing had happened. Verik stood there, mouth agape, staring after her for a time until finally a guardsman respectfully interrupted his confusion and asked if he could escort the Banker to his next appointment.
In Sarenith, despite some change in his priorities, Verik remains something of a man of habit. He takes prayers and devotions in the Bank on the two most holy days of the week, conducting the day’s services and sermons personally. On at least three other mornings Verik conducts his daily prayers by himself down by the shore of the lake, with two days devoted to Tasiper’s regimens. The lesser vigils and services are often handled by Clerk Quiss or Clerk Amitel, with Verik attending the militia at the practice grounds, the guardsmen at their newly expanded barracks compound, or occasionally the Wardens at their grounds when not on assignment. Afternoons these days are often devoted to scheduled spellcasting services for the Brevoy Manse or Castle, though Verik has two afternoons devoted to matters of research and law in the Bank’s private study – more so recently with a rash of correspondence from Abadarian notables. He also spends a day in the library room or private prayer sanctum off of the private study, working on research to progress and increase his dweomercrafting.
The Private Study door beyond the Public Services Hall has no special protections other than a lockable door. However, the Library Room off the private study is versus Chaotic-aligned beings with . The door to Verik’s Private Chamber off of the Library Room is versus non-followers of Abadar with a . Verik’s recessed chest underneath his bed is versus non-followers of Abadar AND requires a password (“Knesh”) and releases a .
Turning away from the sneering nobleman Berrin's face is etched in stone as he makes his way through the gathered nobles and hanger-ons occupying the founders hall. Meeting no ones eye he ignores any attempts at greeting or curtsy, staring unblinkingly forward as he makes a straight line toward the back of the hall he disappears through a servants entrance.
His mind is abuzz, images of Alda and Melissa in happier times, Melissa's frightened look when she fetched him from his post, the sounds of the whip and the sadistical laughter, Alexey's face turning black and blue under him, the madams fury as she pried him of his corpse, the overcast sky as he made his way through the night all flash through his mind as he plays the conversation through his mind again and again, Alexey's voice echoing in his head.
"You'd think for a whore, she'd have been more used to men thrusting things into her."
Berrin's stony face cracks into a grimace as he bursts through another door, startling several chefs and servants. 'The kitchens.' Berrin dully registers as he looks at the concerned faces looking at him.
"I'm going to make you wish that you'd choked the life out of yourself, or simply turned and walked away. Some already wish that you had."
Berrin's vision turns blurry and his breathing ragged. Cursing under his breath he turns his eyes from the servants and thunders through the kitchens and finds a flight of stairs leading down at they're back.
"...I came here for you."
Berrin finds himself in a dark, cold room of gray brick staring at the wall drawing in gulps of air with tears streaking down his face and his fist clenched by his sides. Crates stuffed with vegetables line the walls as do shelves lined with sealed clay pots of various shapes and sizes, meats hang from the ceiling in rows and large brown sacks bulging with flour and various corn are stacked up high. The only illumination comes from the doorway leading back up to the kitchens.
"...wished to her dying breath that she'd never met you."
A keening sound can be heard emerging from the cellar, a keening sound turning into a gurgle as it's source runs out of breath. After a few gulping breaths a different sound emerges, a gurgle starting at the back of a throat building up momentum turning into growl and growing into an inhuman scream of pain and anger. The few moments of silence are then broken by an angry roar followed by the sounds of impact, followed by another, and then more of the same. Sounds that can best be described as those accompanying a furious battle emerge from the cellar for what seems an eternity, the kitchens have grown silent except for the stifled crying of a pair of serving women, a large pot washer and a comely chamber maid, huddled against one another for comfort, the guards have been summoned but the pair that arrived stand at the top of the stairs staring down afraid to descend knowing who's down there. But then silence.
Berrin emerges dishelved from the cellars after a minute of silence, his hair is amess and he's covered from head to toe in flour, meats, spices and vine, his face is stony, his fists still clenched by his sides and he emerges staring at the ground in front of him. The guards back off unsure what to do and Berrin strides past them without a word. Stopping in the doorway he opens and closes his fists a few times before glancing back into the kitchens.
"I'll be needing a bath. Bring it too my chambers." he says simply in a hoarse voice before heading out the door to his chambers. Arriving at his chamber Emma stands up startled by Berrin's appearance, leading him in he sits rigid at the edge of his bead as Emma tries to get him to open up, begging him to tell her what happened, Berrin only stares at the floor unblinking. Unable to get Alexey's visage from his mind Berrin's only answer is a hoarse, whispered; "I'm gona kill 'im, I'm gona kill 'im again." through clenched teeth.
On the morning of the 12th, Verik is where he usually is - working on the legal requirements for the upcoming trial in the study. His loyal acolytes assist him, having ordered a much larger set of legal books and precedents via Oleg's rapidly-increasing connections. The construction boom associated with the intense social jockeying centered on Nikolai Rogarvia has swelled the coffers of the small bank, bringing in a new set of clerks to assist the counting and securing of the coin. Fortunately, Brevic coinage is uniform amongst the Houses, making the task considerably easier without having to deal with exchange rates. Thus, his previously junior clerks have now becomes senior clerks rather quickly, leaving the more mundane tasks to the less senior acolytes.
Anya Amitel hands Verik a heavy book with a silk bookmark noting a page. While not the most naturally gifted with the law, she has dived into the task at hand with fierce determination. Whenever Verik is researching some law or case, Anya is there to assist him in any way that she can. She smiles up at Verik, radiantly happy to be of assistance, as he begins reading the passage she discovered.
Without much by way of warning, Aylene Varn barges into the study - unlocked during the banker's hours - glibly ignoring the protests of the hired guardsman. It is likely a combination of her aggressively forward attitude and her extraordinary good looks that the guard does not make much of an attempt to stop her. He stands there staring at her, looking to Verik for some guidance. The noblewoman (though she is not actually of noble birth, she would be the first to remind anyone who dared call her that) wears trousers and has her red hair tied as best as anyone could wrestle it, striking a truly odd image for anyone used to Brevic tradition. She tosses a bag clinking with coin at Anya, who catches it with a tiny shriek. "Three hundred gold pieces, donated to Abadar. I've been told that you can take a woman to incredible heights, Archbanker. Any truth to that?" She grins with her inappropriate flirtation, trying to get a rise out of him.
Anya's eyes flash with anger. "How dare you! Hussy! Take your gold and return back to whatever place taught you how to speak without class!" She tosses the gold back at Aylene, who catches it with a laugh.
"Anya!" Verik's admonishment is not angry but a mix of surprise and embarrassment over the situation. He drops his quill and leans forward, putting up both hands with one towards each of them as if to feebly ward off another toss.
"Anya, though not obvious in her manner and dress, this is the Lady Varn of Varnhold that you are..." calling a brazen hussy "...ahh...addressing." His cheeks flush visibly, but he tries to hide it in sternness as he turns to Aylene. "And Lady Varn we do not toss sacks of currency to be bestowed to the betterment of society around like potatoes, certainly not in the Master's own Bank. Now then."
Swiveling his head to look at each of them in case the flying sack makes a comeback, he stands and straightens his cassock-style vestments, clearing his throat which has for some reason gone dry. A lock opens from a long-standing puzzle in his mind, and he realizes he will have to handle matters with both Anya and Petyr in the near future. Delicately. Wonderful. "Senior Clerk Amitel, let us take a break for now - please take this tome back to the sanctum library and we shall continue with it after the sundown sermons. Then check on Petyr and Bertram with the junior ones in the preparations for moving yesterday's tallies to the Castle, will you?"
It is a polite and gentle dismissal, but a dismissal nonetheless. Anya glumly complies with almost a crestfallen and petulant curtsy, throwing in her nastiest glare at Aylene Varn before leaving to the library room beyond and closing the door with a solid thunk.
Verik regards Aylene Varn then in his study with that mocking smirk upon her face at the latest exchange. His face is still flushed for some reason, and he involuntarily clears his throat again. For all of her lack of proprietary in dress, her blouse-and-breeches style was not a shock to him when growing up in a city like Absalom. He found he didn't exactly know what to do with his hands all of a sudden, so he simply crossed his arms in a more stern and authoritarian posture.
"I suppose I well deserved that for our exchange in the Market the other morning, Lady Varn. Perhaps even more humiliation is due to me to even the scales for my outburst." Good man, a good beginning, even if not a full apology. Best continue. "Now do you offer the donation for proper services, or was that merely part of your jest? I would not want further misunderstandings between us." Good, keep control of the situation and measured as a Banker should be. Go on. He gives a shake of his head and sweeps his hand grandly. "In answer to your question after all, as High Cleric of Newhaven I am quite adept at lifting a woman's spirit up to the glorious peaks of the Seven Heavens through devotional prayer, betterment of the mind through lore and self-reflection of one's flaws and virtues." At the last he realizes how stupid that sounded, and sputters a clarification, the flush of his cheeks back in place now. "That is to say...ahh...I mean that is meant to be...you know all in a proper and decent manner of prayer to the Gods and such!" Fool! Now what in Golarion made you blunder on to go say a thing like that?
Time was passing at an amicable pace. On the one hand, the impending proceedings and trial were looming. On the other, the sight of Jemini and the Brevoy dignitary Zander Orlovsky being seen together with such regularity that idle gossip quickly turned into a wildfire. No matter the number of times Jemini declared the innocense of their affection rumors were want to go overboard. Perhaps it didn't help matters that on the very first evening of festivities Jemini and he swept the dancefloor with a passionate display of the bailes flamenca - a dance more commonly found in back-alleys of Varisia, but characterized by emotional intensity and proud carriage, a dance between equals.
Jemini's first matter of attention, though, when the immediate throng of nobles and their incessant need to be pleased and agitated at the same time passed, was to look after the survivors of the harpy experience. The small plot she had located served its purpose well enough. It was impossible to tell for many of the victims if the new, stable surroundings were starting to become a home - but on the whole they managed to settle in well enough. Once suitably supervised and cared for the outward appearance at least cleared up. None of them would ever be hale again, but according to the notes Jemini received the cries and screams at night were becoming slightly more subdued and infrequent.
When the Lebeda girl realized that Verik was holding out a silent face towards her, she initially assumed there was a quiet reserve on him - probably due to his tenuous and strained love of the nobility. But after a while, she realized that she was not really special in this regard - some ghost had taken hold of the cleric that had left him bereft of his usual measured self. One (relatively) quiet week, Jemini opens the door to Verik's office unannounced to see him pouring over legal writs, two baskets full at his desk and more along the wall, arranged in some order that escaped Jemini's immediate grasp. When the cleric looks up he sees the very apologetic face of Anya peering passed the paladin - but she apparently does not want to interfere with Jemini's resolute march towards Verik's desk.
"It seems if nobles are good for one thing, it is to make the coffers tingle here at the Bank," Jemini grins at the surprised cleric, and she bends in close to his face to whisper out of ear shot of Anya, "It is remove disease mostly, isn't it? Sometimes I think the only thing they know is to stab it, or get naked with it."
Their conversation covers a number of topics: once Jemini closed the door to the office, in privacy, she admits her concerns towards the future. The trial would lay her bare, and perhaps worse, the trial drew attention away from the real threat that was forming around the infant nation.
"The thing is, Verik, that I trust you. Implicitly. I can hardly imagine a more able and lawful defense at the trial," Jemini explains, "but I worry that our accusers are not merely advocating fair proceedings and an appropriate examination. Theirs is an ulterior motive, where their law has an agenda." Jemini's proposal to strengthen their case is to have Verik sway the minds, and for Jemini to sway their hearts. She asks him to see if his divine instruction can find some magical aid to enhance Jemini's ability to do this.
Zander trudges up through Sanctuary's gate with Gregary, returning from a scouting mission to the south. Gone for nearly two weeks, Zander was more than ready to get out of the city and away from his replacement (as well as the watchful gaze of Lord Orlovsky's murderous lapdog). The scouting mission may have been broached by the mostly-recovered Gregary, but Zander did not not hesitate to share the burden. One more minute of watching the man wearing his face flirt with Jemini and walk around as if he had earned the place of honor he stood in, rather than being used as a pawn...
The scouting mission had been successful, inasmuch they made it back without being captured by harpies. Gregary told him much of his experience with the vile creatures, and what he had learned of the trolls prior to being lured to Candlemere Island. The talkative Warden was not nearly as loquacious as usual during their trip, but that suited the laconic Zander just fine. Almost a week into the trek, they came across a warband of trolls. Safely nestled behind cover, the pair noted as much as possible about the creatures as they could before they passed.
The trolls were eight in number - considerably larger than the average troll group, which traditionally do not increase beyond four because of the competition inherent to such massive appetites. They seemed well-fed and reasonably organized for trolls, though they stopped briefly to settle a dispute between two of them. The duel was brutal and quick, with one of them yielding after having its arm torn off by the other. The limb regrew quickly, already finished by the time they made it out of sight. The trolls were accompanied by foul, slavering beasts with a hide that seemed part-scale, part-fur. Gregary identified them quietly as trollshounds, and they watched as the vaguely canine things ran headlong into the forest and tore a deer into shreds in moments, consuming it in its entirety. Fortunately, if they shared a canine's sense of smell, Zander and Gregary had the sense to be upwind.
Most alarming, however, is the hideous monster that seemed to be leading them. At the head of this terrible host was a onyx-skinned hag, its sharp claws visible even at a great distance. It wore a terrible wooden mask with fair human skin stretched across the face, covering its vile visage with an even more terrifyingly vile countenance. Its skin looked scarred and burned, as if a great warrior unafraid of the flames. While the hag was dwarfed in height and bulk by the trolls, it was clear to the scouts that she was their leader.
Intent on reporting this new threat, Zander barely notices when Gregary splits off to check in with the junior Wardens. (According to Gregary, Travess seems to be settling in well in the role, it seemed, while Yanna is unsurprisingly having problems.) Zander Whitestag stalks through the streets of the city, apparently in a foul mood seeing the number of nobles parading through Sanctuary as if they owned the city. When one of them unwittingly bumps into him, Zander snarls loudly - apparently having trouble getting back into the social norms of the civilization - at the transgressor. Zander's anger pours out as he yells at the man to watch where he walks.
The man's eyes grow wide with terror, and he turns and flees, giving a brief moment of satisfaction to the Warden. However, the onlookers - noble and "common" alike - gasp in fear and terror. A few people shriek in alarm. For a terrible moment, he fears that his magical disguise left him when he yelled at the man, but this is far beyond the normal reaction for seeing his true face. Around half of the onlookers actually turn and flee, running away from Zander as quickly as possible. A few of the others, mostly noble, have longswords in hand quickly and begin to approach him with the naked steel.
PRICE 7,200 GP
AURA faint illusion
CL 3rd
WEIGHT 1 lb.
SLOT Head
Three times
per day the wearer can command the mask to cause great terror in creatures within 100 feet who can see the wearer,
who must succeed at a DC 13 Will save or
become frightened (if the target has 6 or fewer Hit Dice) or
shaken (if the target has more than 6 HD) for 1d4 rounds. This
is a mind-affecting fear effect and a glamer. Anyone who can
see through illusions (such as by true seeing) is unaffected.
CONSTRUCTION REQUIREMENTS COST 3,600 GP
Craft Wondrous Item, disguise self, scare
Taisper meditates early in the morning, having exercised already and prayed once before the sun's rise. Sitting in his room, shirtless and sweating, the affable young man is deep in thought about his role in Abadar's plan. He thinks of all the men who would use him for their own agendas, so divorced from the First Vault's plan for him. The Masters who taught him to Hunt, Vinodragov in his own way, Alexius... Their plans were earthly, the mortal quest for personal power and personal glory. Abadar's plan for him is so much more, Taisper knows.
A knock interrupts his reverie. His heart flutters in a vision of Ilyana Flaxton at his door, but he suppresses it as quickly as he can. Besides, what would she be doing there so early? He stands up and answers the door, taking care to undo the crossbow trap pointed directly at the portal. (It is the least of his traps, but the most obvious and likely the most frightening to a random onlooker.) On the other side of the door is a courier with a wooden box. Taisper takes it with an affable smile, making every attempt to keep up appearances.
For the next forty-five minutes, Taisper checks the box in every conceivable way. He is, after all, a man who has sent many boxes to many others, many of whom likely want revenge. Some of them would likely want revenge with some sort of twisted symmetry. Try as he might, he cannot find any traps whatsoever. With a minimum of trepidation, he opens the box. Inside, he finds a pair of brown leather gloves and a pair of brown leather shoes. Both appear quite worn and almost threadbare, something that will go well with anything that he wears. The magical nature of the clothing items is immediately apparent to him.
There is a note written on fine parchment inside the box. The parchment looks quintessentially parchment-like, devoid of any sort of imperfection. Written on the parchment in golden, glowing blocks letters is a message. 'You stand at a crossroads. One path is true. Ignore those who would lead you astray.' As soon as Taisper reads the words, the glow from the script expands and consumes the parchment in a heatless golden flame. The parcel likewise disappears, leaving just the boots and gloves.
Despite himself she can see his lips quiver at her jest about diseases and Brevians, though he is stalwart enough to not openly lower his guard, probably out of some principle he is clinging to. The formal "Lady Lebeda" and "Lady Marshal" references last for a time until she states that she implicitly trusts him. Then he finally breaks his guard, throwing up his hands in consternation.
"You worry that the proceedings will not be...Jemini this entire trial is nothing more than a flimsy farce of law, a...a mockery of justice! Did you just come to this conclusion? Of course it will neither be fair nor appropriate! It is a...a political ploy, a sham, fishguts on the butcher's table, a deadly game couched in the pretense of law! Do you think for one moment that I can win this and sway your Houses of Issia and Rostland with my words? With the treacherous but brilliantly-minded Archbanker on the other side running mental circles around me? As IF the outcome had not already been preordained? PHAH!" He slaps his hand on the table with a meaty smack for emphasis.
There's the temper that Jemini noticed in the Founder's Council late last month, right at the surface now with him. But she can see he works hard to try and contain it, to bottle it back up and gain his composure. In a more even tone he looks at her levelly and adds, "And what then when they decree him guilty and call for his head, for his life to be taken again, and now you are either literally or at least spiritually tied to his fate. What shall I do Jemini? Bring forth the Sacred Golden Bolt of Judgment and ordain it? Carry it out myself? Or let that snake Vinodragov do it? What shall I do then?"
Jemini nods at Verik earnestly, his frustration at having the law - his one true confidant - betrayed in such a cruel mockery is evident. To Jemini at least it appears obvious that this is the root of Verik's distance and short-temper of late.
"You're right. Right of course. The entirety of it is a carefully constructed trap - of a scale that exceeds my expectations. Our opposing Archbanker may not even realize how big of a fish he caught on his hook." Jemini smiles, and perhaps surprising to Verik adds: "The trial, though, is appropriate. In a manner of speaking, Nikolai hasn't paid for his crimes yet - and more importantly, he needs to be held accountable before the nation as a whole."
"Furthermore, he is obviously guilty - at least by the reckoning of every ordinary man and woman. We cannot fight that. I think we should focus on two things: as Nikolai is guilty, our priority should be to ensure that the punishment is something we can live with. Secondly, I want to ask you if there is a way that we can defer his judgment not to a single judge or representatives; but to as many people as possible. Preferably as a surprise move near the end to catch the puppet masters off-guard. I think if we only need to sway a majority of citizens, then we have an easier time than convincing a single judge or a small group of people that may not be of sound mind."
A rueful smile graces Jemini's features, "If... if things were not to work out; then yes. Nikolai's sentencing should be swift and certain. I would not want his fate... my fate... laid in the hands of anybody else but yours. I am quite certain that I will not have long in this world when Nikolai dies, and by any less than the direct intervention of the gods themselves I don't expect to ever see this place again."
With a titanic crash, Maegar Varn slams a huge wooden warhammer into Berrin's breastplate, driving him backwards. The huge, burly warrior and Newhaven's General are locked in a titanic battle amidst their own troops, who have settled into a wide semi-circle around their leaders. Berrin thrusts forward with a blunted wooden replica of his greatsword, but Varn is surprisingly quick for such a stout man. A few dozen feet away, Jhod stands with a worried look in his face and a wand of healing clutched at the ready. With a roaring bellow, Varn brings the hammer down on Berrin's shoulder, snapping something in his collarbone - right as Berrin twists his entire body to slash the wooden sword straight into Varn's stomach. Both men collapse on the ground, breathing hard in exertion, as Jhod runs up to heal them both. The men erupt in cheers and cries of victory for their side, but the match seems to have been a draw.
Laying on the ground, Varn holds his stomach tightly. He grimaces, though his thick beard hides most of the look, and shouts to Berrin. They are only a few feet away from each other, so it's likely for their men. "You bastard! I think you ruptured a bowel!" A beat passes, and he adds, "I'll be climbing in your bed and leaving you a present, then!" He bursts into good-natured laughter, a bellowing and infectious joy that has both side's men laughing with him. He reaches over and shakes Berrin's hand in a warrior's clasp as Jhod heals both of them of the bruises they inflicted upon each other.
A few weeks prior to the skirmish, Varn declared that he was bored and that he wanted some action while he was here. At first, he had requested some alone time with Esmerelda, but settled for joint war exercises between their nations. He sent home for a hundred troops, who marched west to Newhaven. The two armies would skirmish with each other, one taking on the traditional tactics of nearby neighbors. Today's skirmish had Varnhold emulating the traditional Brevic and Mivonese style of battle, with a duel between Swordlords being nearly as important as the armies themselves. The previous skirmish had been remarkably telling, with Newhaven's troops acting as Pitax's spear-and-shield phalanxes; despite not having as much experience (or discipline) as the Pitaxian spearmen, the defensive tactics were very difficult for Varn's army to make any offensive headway.
Varn rolls up off the ground and helps Berrin up. He claps him on the back, almost knocking him forward again. "Not half bad! One of these days you might stop leaving yourself open!" He leads a call for the men to head to the mess hall, an impromptu tent in the field slightly outside the city currently being used as a campsite for his army. Leading the way (and thus ensuring that no one will get seconds), he heads towards the mess hall with an arm thrown around Berrin's shoulder. The man has taken a very paternal shine to Berrin, despite having fought him one-on-one nearly half a dozen times so far. "So, did you give any thought to my offer? Aylene's hand, if you can get her to consent. I'll even help out by forbidding it!"
He stares at her for a long moment, his gaze searching her eyes for any hint of mockery or untruth. He then abruptly looks away, his voice low and rough. "I know you mean that as both a kindness and a mercy, Jemini, but you simply have no idea how much cruelty you inflict upon me."
Standing up from the desk he turns away from her to conspicuously inspect the bookshelf on the far side wall, his arms folded across his chest. "I saw you die at Stagfall...or near enough anyway...your body rent and broken. I was the only one to see you at the debacle that was to be your resurrection last year, saw your shining spirit over your corpse I did, asking us to wait. I always believed you would return, convinced the others despite it sounding like deranged delusion. Then suddenly and miraculously you did return, but with him."
Verik waves an arm in frustration, but his tone is much more emotional than that. "And now you've cleaved yourself to him and he drags you to this ruination? After all that has happened this past year, to see you back and whole, only to be ripped away again by that vicious dog for a second time! I cannot bear the agony of losing y..." He catches himself up hard before the last word, but there it is. The raw and true emotion in his voice is much more than anger over the law being manipulated, or the shame of losing the trial to a more powerful and detestable rival. It is far stronger and deeper, something many of his critics - and even his friends - thought him oblivious or incapable of.
Then, as abruptly, the emotional doors swing closed. He takes a visible deep breath and his arms move to straighten his vestments and medallion, and then finally turns around to face her. The mask is firmly back in place. Guarded. Distant. Saving a scrap of dignity and self-honor. He forces a slight smile but she can tell it doesn't touch his eyes. Verik bows in a gesture of formal respect.
"It is as you say, Lady Marshal - you have given me much to think upon. Let us hope I can pull a miracle of my own in this, but if it comes to it I will do what needs to be done and not shirk my responsibilities."
"I suppose I well deserved that for our exchange in the Market the other morning, Lady Varn. Perhaps even more humiliation is due to me to even the scales for my outburst." Good man, a good beginning, even if not a full apology. Best continue. "Now do you offer the donation for proper services, or was that merely part of your jest? I would not want further misunderstandings between us." Good, keep control of the situation and measured as a Banker should be. Go on. He gives a shake of his head and sweeps his hand grandly. "In answer to your question after all, as High Cleric of Newhaven I am quite adept at lifting a woman's spirit up to the glorious peaks of the Seven Heavens through devotional prayer, betterment of the mind through lore and self-reflection of one's flaws and virtues." At the last he realizes how stupid that sounded, and sputters a clarification, the flush of his cheeks back in place now. "That is to say...ahh...I mean that is meant to be...you know all in a proper and decent manner of prayer to the Gods and such!" Fool! Now what in Golarion made you blunder on to go say a thing like that?
The red-haired beauty seems to revel in his discomfort. Unlike Jemini, whose ribbing always seemed good-natured to him, Aylene seems almost predatory in the enjoyment she takes from making Verik uncomfortable. "I've done quite a bit of reflecting on my flaws and my virtues. I imagine that you've been doing some reflecting on my virtues as well!" She breaks into a fit of laughter, seeming more her young age than before. She takes a few steps forward and presses the bag of gold into Verik's hands. "My donation is good, straight to Abadar's vaults. I know that you had an appointment later this morning at the lake to grant the power of flight to what's-his-name from House Garess, but I convinced him to let me go in his stead. What do you say, preacher? Can you take me to flight?"
Akiros breaks his fast, as he has nearly each morning for the previous month, with the fair Elspeth Surtova. Their meal is a fairly simple one - eggs, hotcakes, and sausage from the nearby farms that surround Sanctuary. Fortunately, their production during the summer has been excellent, with harvests and bounties producing enough of a surplus that there is ample food for the rapidly-expanding population. There will even be enough to store in the granaries to last the winter. The relatively-plain breakfast seems to please Elspeth far more than the grand meals offered by most of her fellow nobles, and there is not a servant in sight.
The romance between the former bandit and the widow has many of the other nobles clucking in disapproval. While many of the nobles know that he was a lieutenant for the Stag Lord prior to becoming Newhaven's general (and then protector, a title he has grown used to), none seem to know of his more tortured past in Mivon. He shared the story with Elspeth, not wanting to hide his shameful past from her, and was very relieved when she accepted it with understanding and sympathy. She had many questions about his past and his sins, which he answered with candor. At the end of the conversation, she kissed him lightly on the cheek and told him that he was strong for having been through all that he had.
Late one night, Akiros had gone to bid her a good night. Alexey Surtova was in her room in the villa, screaming at her that she was to stop seeing such filth and to stop disrespecting their family. For her part, she quietly refused her brother. Akiros had confronted the nobleman, who had already gained his enmity from his clear disrespect of Berrin during Zander Orlovsky's feast. Elspeth kept them from coming to blows (or blades), and Alexey had stormed out swearing that he would keep them apart - or their father would. His disapproval had done little to dissuade Akiros and Elspeth from each other.
Still, their romance has been slow. For two people with such pain in their history, they were neither capable of a torrid and heated affair. Such would be the nature of youth. While both still have the strength and vigor of youth, neither could be described as young thanks to their experiences. Considering the consequences of physical intimacy with Sara, Akiros was especially wary of impetuousness. Still, the two were inseparable in the days, though apart at night.
Elspeth savors a bite of the sausage and taps her metal fork upon the simple metal plate a few times. Something seems on her mind. "I have something to tell you. I was unable to sleep last night and went for a walk in the villa. I saw that Varisian woman, Berrin's..." She leaves a title unsaid, vaguely disapproving of the obvious and fiery relationship between Berrin and Esmerelda. Their open cavorting was frowned upon by the more conservative of the nobles, though it was less of a scandal because neither of the pair were nobles themselves. "I saw her speaking with my brother in the garden under the cover of night. She handed him something, though I was unable to see what it was. I wasn't close enough to hear them either, but I could tell that he was demanding something of her. I know my brother well enough, and I fear that he may be using her to get to Berrin."
"You should thank me then, for clearing the stopper out of your arse, old man." Berrin replies, grinning, in an equally loud voice as the two shake hands. "And I'll thank you back for keeping the results of it too yourself." he finishes, joining in the laughter.
Berrin walks back to the mess hall tent with clear eyes and an open grin on his face as he views the soldiers walking into the tent. He had grown to enjoy, and even look forward too, his bouts with Maegar Varn. The two seemed to be peas in a pot, evenly matched, both were big and strong, favored two-handed weapons, knew how to wield them and were shockingly similar in manner though Berrin did his best to restrain himself for Emma's sake. Besides all that the boost to moral the knowledge that a friendly army was within shouting distance with trolls prowling at the borders was invaluable to the fledgling army of Newhaven, plus they could use the exercise.
At the mention of Maegar's fiery daughter Aylene Berrin can't help but picture the young woman. 'Now there's a handful.' he chuckles to himself looking at the ground. "She gettin' to much for you, eh? Old man? Keeping you up nights, turning your hair gray?" Berrin replies, drawing a snort from Maegar and earning himself a knock on the shoulder to which he replies with a snickering laugh. "Sorry, couldn't help myself." Berrin says by way of apology to the king, glancing around to see if anyone is withing earshot. 'Gods, I've grown paranoid.' Looking around Berrin sees only his and Maegar's men, talking jovially between themselves, jockeying and sharing laughs. 'Brothers in arms, nowhere safer.' Berrin reflects with pride reassured that at least here he was free from the Game of Houses he'd heard talked about. 'Well, mostly.' he thinks and glances at King Maegor Varn walking by his side, offering up his daughter to wed.
They walk on in silence for a few moments, Berrin deep in thought and Maegar giving him the space to do so. Berrin had to admit that he'd noticed Aylene, it was hard not too, her fiery temper seemed to match her fiery hair perfectly and he'd seen her put many a man down with a barbed tongue making them flee in embarasment under the laughter of onlookers, and Berrin also had to admit he'd been one of those laughing. So yes, he'd noticed her and, frankly, liked what he'd seen.
But there came the conundrum, Emma.
Esmerelda Ludovan, his lover. They'd been together how for more months than Berrin had thought possible for him to stay with one woman and the wonder of it was that they're passion didn't seem to be fading, but Berrin was beginning to have doubts. He wasn't the most experienced man when it came to commitment, emotional commitment especially, but he was beginning to feel that they're relationship wasn't all that he thought it was. Everything was so... frivalous, for a lack of a better word. They gave each other to each other willingly enough, enthusiastically even, but something was missing. They chatted and joked, argued light-heartedly and were kind to each other in a most easy going manner, she never complained when Berrin came home too drunk to stand nor when he didn't come home at all and likewise Berrin said nothing when she disappeared without a word often for days. Everything seemed perfect and yet Berrin was experiencing doubts when he should be the happiest man on Avistan.
They never really talked.
Sure, they talked, gossiped about everyone and everything, Berrin complained endlessly about council to her and she always seemed to know just what to say to make Berrin snicker at it all but Berrin felt they were at an impasse, sailing steadily down a river of comfort. They never argued, every attempt Berrin had made to be serious had been turned into a laugh leading to a kiss. He'd made attempt after attempt to tell her how he felt about her, how he really felt about her, but she always turned his confessions aside. Berrin couldn't complain about her methods but still, he was growing frustrated.
And then there was Aylene, fiery, beautiful, outspoken and free in her manner. Oh yes, Berrin had noticed her and, feeling surprisingly shameful about it after the thoughts had passed through his mind, had thoughts of her. She was, after all, as much an eyeful as she was a handful but he couldn't help how he felt about Emma, Berrin could only surmise that he loved her. There really was no other explanation.
And then there were his wows. Berrin had sworn to serve and protect Newhaven in every way he could, he had sworn to stand by his companions through thick and thin, he had sworn to stand with anyone who had Newhavens best interests at heart. Did this count? Would him marrying the Varn strengthen Newhaven? Would his refusal weaken it?
Berrin could only sigh as he held open the tent flap for Maegar to enter and then follow him through. "Aye, I've thought on it." he finally replies. "Let's eat, I've worked up a hunger by beating on you."
Standing there with the bag of coins in his hands, he can only help but slightly nod in understanding as to what Aylene Varn was alluding to. Ahhh heights and flying now I see...only took her to write it out on my thick dim skull though didn't it?
Thankfully, her latest exchange with him revealed her own youth and a bit of immaturity that made her a tad less mysterious and understandably more rational to Verik - not altogether unlike the management of his small Bank with a group of chosen young adults and teenage boys under his roof. His manner was more relaxed as he responded to her request.
"So how did you convince young Arturo Garess to give up his...well nevermind I do not want to hear the answer to that. He's already been twice before anyway and the last time he tried very hard to spear himself headfirst into the shoreline if I hadn't waved him off." He considers the ramifications a moment longer.
"Very well m'lady, I accede and agree to your request upon condition." Cradling the sack with one arm he points his free hand at her and raises his eyebrows for emphasis. "Namely that you will heed all my instructions both before and during the casting - I have not had any serious injuries to-date and I don't intend on it now." He shifts his pointed hand into a clear gesture for a handshake, something not done with the Brevian nobility, but somehow intuitively suitable for her. "Do we have an honorable bargain then, Aylene Varn?"
Zander looks about in confusion, "What is wrong with you people? Am I to be replaced as your Warden? What more are you nobles after?"
These people are crazy...what is different now since I left? His mind reels trying to come upon some reason for all this, as he watches the bared steel slowly gather around him. ....The last thread he latches on is the Hag. Did she know we were there? Did she curse me? Am I a hideous monster to them. Or is this more of that damnable Gregori?
"Put the swords away and get yourselves back to whatever fancy party you are overdue for. You are not keeping a Founder from going to the Founder's Hall. I am the REAL Warden Zander and there will not be blood on these streets."
The room was a solar on the second floor of the palace with large, open windows and a balcony overlooking the palace back-gardens. Asking the marshal if they could take a break Berrin has a pot of coffee brought out and asks Akiros to join him for the good weather and fresh air on the balcony. Standing there for a few moments Berrin blows on his coffee and takes a few tentative sips, staring out at Sanctuary, before turning to Akiros.
"Akiros, my friend." he finally begins, trepidation written all over his features. "I'm in trouble." he states solemnly. "King Maegar has offered me his daughters, Aylene 's, hand in marriage."
Taking a deep breath before entering Berrin tries to steel himself before facing Jem, he'd done nothing wrong, he was sure of that, so why was he so anxious?
Seeing Jemini sitting behind her large oak desk in a large plush chair reading a letter from a stack of many others looking tired but still radiant as ever takes Berrin's breath away, he never ceased to be amazed at how beautiful the woman was. Pushing the thought out of his mind Berrin wades forward to confront her.
"Jem.." Berrin begins, using the nickname he's started using for her. "Hey, umm... I'm ah... I'm in a little trouble here an' I thought I'd ehh... I thought you might ehh... help. You see eh.. Maegor, King! Maegor that is eh.. he's ehh.. He's offered me too marry.. that is err... Oh, gods! He's offered me Aylene's hand in marriage, ok?" Berrin's face goes through various stages of discomfort as he forces the words out of his mouth, finally ending in a mask of rage as he thrusts out the last sentence. "Help Jem, what do I do? What about Emma? She'll carve out my heart! I don't know what to do!" he pleads.
Knuckling his back to remove some of the stiffness from leaning over the war-table, once Berrin's back is turned Akiros signals to the servant to bring a pot of his favourite herbal tea as well. Akiros never drank the popular dark beverage, preferring to never indulge in anything which might dilute his senses, even the mild narcotic of coffee. He smiled to himself once again at how the new General always seemed to forget this fact.
Joining him on the balcony, Akiros' expression is at first attentive and serious, but he cannot help but smile once the nature of the big warrior's concern is revealed. "Ah well, so! It appears a congratulations is in order then my friend! Aylene Varn is quite the handful! And then some! But I'm sure a warrior of your stature should be able to escape from your encounters not too much the worse for wear!" smiling to take whatever sting there may be in his rare attempt at humour, Akiros' expression turns more thoughtful and serious then as he continues
"Joking aside, I believe I do well understand your concerns my friend. For from my observations, over many years now, it seems that little but trouble can ensue whenever one involves themselves in the bickering, backstabbing, viper-pit that is the nobility of Brevoy. Sometimes though, a dive into such turmoil is unavoidable, and well worth the risk." this last said more to himself, as he looks out into the, for him, hazy distance. Turning back to his friend, the Marshall once more attempts levity by adding "Count yourself fortunate Berrin that you at least do not face the stomach roiling thought of having Alexey Surtova as a brother-in-law." but by the disgusted and angry twist of his mouth it is clear that Akiros does not find this prospect amusing in the least.
"In truth though Berrin, I cannot remotely claim to be one best suited to advise you on such matters. Perhaps Jemini would be of more aid? I can and will say though that you could scarce find a better father-in-law, and Newhaven has little chance of finding a better ally, than King Meager of Varnhold. I've seen and heard how close the two of you have grown. Have you yet gotten to know, or have any feelings for Aylene? For this should be the primary matter, should it not?"
Then, seeming to just remember something, Akiros looks a tad embarrassed as he speaks again "Ah yes, forgive me, for there is the other, Esmerelda, is there not?' Coughing to cover his discomfort at the thought of the rumored tempestuous and bawdy relationship between the two, Akiros' expression grows the most serious it has yet "And speaking of your, ah...Esmerelda, I had meant to speak to you of her myself. I have it from...a most trusted source, that, just two nights ago, she met with Alexey Surtova. The two were seen speaking in the 'Brevoy Manse' garden, under the cover of night. Esmerelda handed Alexey something, though my source was unable to see what it was. Neither were they close enough to hear them speak, but they could tell that the bastard was demanding something of Esmerelda. The Surtova dog is...well known to my source, and they fear that he may be using Esmerelda to get to you, Berrin."and as he finishes, the Marshall's piercing gaze stare searchingly into the General's eyes, intent to reveal his deepest truth regarding this matter, this thorn, important to them both.
Sense Motive:
Newhaven's new Marshall had spent one of his most memorable and enjoyable months in many long years. For it seemed it Goddess had had one last surprise, and reward, in store for him. Before he had laid eyes on her, Akiros would, and could, never have imagined that once again his heart would open and such love for another could fill it. Yet it had happened, completely, absolutely and fully. And while no one and nothing could ever replace Sarah in his heart, as his love for Elspeth grew, he found the pain and memory of his time with Sarah fading more and more, and he was not sad to see her go. As well, with his greater and more mature perspective, he was now able to see that his love affair with Sarah had been a youthful and impetuous thing, flamed by the passion and foolishness of youth, dangerous in its heat. His love for Elspeth though was like a slow burning fire, growing brighter and deeper every moment, with enough fuel to keep in burning for a long time, but tempered by caution and wisdom to ensure that none were burned.
The two spent every moment together that they could, and Akiros treasured every single one of these moments for the precious gems that they were. It seemed to matter little what they were doing, whether walking by the lake, or shopping in the market or riding through the nearby woods or sitting together over a simple yet nourishing and flavorful meal, in many ways the two new lovers floated in their own little world, blissfully enjoying getting to know one another more.
Of course they did not exist in their own little world though, for the two were aware of the looks and clucks of disapproval they received from others, most especially from many of the visiting Brevian nobility. But these looks affected and bothered them as little as did the approving stares and rumors from most of Sanctuary's populace, happy to see their new Marshall and Protector happy and in love with such a worthy woman as Elspeth of Surtova.
There was only one, really, who's feelings about their union had been of any serious concern; that of her brother, Alexey. The vain, selfish snake had made his objections well and loudly known. Things had come to a head when Akiros had interrupted Alexey threatening Elspeth if she had continued to see the Marshall, and only Elspeth's imprecations to her paramour had prevented what would otherwise have surely been bloodshed and likely death. As a couple, Alexey's feelings and intentions had little effect on them.
Yet both Alexey and Akiros knew that matters between them were far from finished, a knowledge which was abundantly clear from the deathly glances the two gave each other whenever their paths happened to cross. However Akiros never let these moments, or his feelings for her brother, interfere with his relationship with the woman who had so completely taken ownership of his heart.
As they sit over breakfast and Elspeth relates her serious news to Akiros, the smitten man feels his heart swell even more. For here was his beloved clearly placing herself in his camp, over her brother's, by passing on this information. Here was a partner! Someone with whom he could share the entirety of his life, knowing that she would always support him and take his side against others, even if privately she may disagree. Knowing what she risks, Akiros reaching a hand over to place over hers, saying with feeling "Thank you my dearest, and please know that I understand fully what this means for you to tell me such a thing. And this is serious news indeed, for I think we both well know what your brother is capable of. I will keep your name out of it if at all possible my dearest, but I must pass this information on to Berrin, as soon as possible. Do I have your permission to do so?"
However much he wished to spend every waking moment with his new love though, the Marshall of Newhaven had many duties, and Akiros Ismort was nothing if not a slave to Duty. One of his first orders of business as Marshall of Newhaven, something he had meant to do much earlier but had for some reason kept forgetting, was to meet with Narthropple, leader of the Gnome expedition, and express his sincere thanks for their part in helping keep Sanctuary from tearing itself apart in fear, distrust and negativity. Somewhat to his surprise, the normally taciturn Akiros found that he quite liked the strange, quirky, friendly, happy and excitable Gnome. More than once he burst out loud laughing good naturedly at some comment or action of the Gnome merchant.
It seemed the Gnomes were settling in quite well in their new home. After their performances during the almost riots, they had become generally quite liked and respected by most Sanctuarians, and had been able to add another income generating source to their activities in the form of their now regular, and quite popular, performances, which they now charged a modest fee for. Finding a new friend, Akiros left the meeting with a lighter step, something about their fey nature having lightened his burdens somehow, even though he was a trifle more weighed down by the gifts of a pair each of alchemist's fire and vials of acid that the Gnome had insisted Akiros take with him.
Seeing the Gnome had also reminded the Marshall that he was urgently due for a serious conversation with Jemini regarding the Kobold prisoners which were causing louder and louder grumbles from concerned Sanctuary citizens.
One of his most important duties had been to keep his word and push through a promotion for guardsman Giergios Torkendrade, the guardsman whom he felt had shown such bravery and attention to duty during the Doppelganger affair. The perfect solution had come up during one of the Founder's Council Meetings, the one where, for reasons unknown, Verik had blown up and Jhod and stormed out of the session. Despite that oddity though, Akiros had argued for and got his wish to have 2 more Guardsmen appointed to the town, with newly appointed Captain-of-the-Guard Giergios to command them.
Akiros had decided to accompany Giergios and the two guardsmen to Olegsgrav and had asked Ivahn Medvyed, to accompany them, so as to have a chance to get to know his new friend better and as well, to have company, and another, better, pair of eyes with him on the return journey. Since there was no particular rush though, and as he was loath to leave Elspeth, he scheduled the trip for several days hence.
Throughout the rest of the month, Akiros had worked to ensure that crime remained low, and gave thanks to the Inheritor that no serious or particularly violent crimes had occurred during his first month in office. His restored faith to his Goddess grew daily, and with that the new Oracle of Iomeade determined to increase his Goddess' presence in Sanctuary. While he had no interest in preaching to the masses, Akiros was happy to take Verik's suggestion and order a shrine to Iomeade to be built.
A shrine would not be enough to suit him though, for he wished a full chapel to be built. He had no need or desire for it to be anything to rival the Bank of Abadar, but he did strongly wish for Iomeade to be fairly represented and to give the population a choice as to where they chose to worship. To that end he also sought the Banker out to ask his help on where and how to find a cleric of Iomeade who could be convinced to come and help see to the building of the new church and to run it when completed.
The first of the two final items of some interest in Akiros' month was the still comatose Tandlara. While his affection for her had in no way increased, and while his distrust of her had in now way lessened, he could not deny to himself that a...bond, or sorts had been formed between them. As well, he could not deny the fact that without the Elf's help during the battle with the witch's coven, that he himself might very well have ended up in the grave along with Corwin. It had been during that battle that Tandlara had chosen to allow the darkness to come into her. The selfsame darkness that Jhod believed was the cause of her current state. So the duty-bound ex-ronin also felt a certain responsibility for her condition. At least once a week, he paid a brief visit to her chambers, inquiring her caregivers as to her condition and then asking for some alone time with her, whereupon he would simply silently stand and look down upon her, allowing his various emotions to flow through him.
The Marshall did have one other reason for keeping close tabs on the Spymaster though. He had not forgotten that shark of a man who had accompanied the noble Zander Orlovsky into town. Knowing to the core of his being that the man meant trouble, Akiros had attempted to get in contact with, and gain the confidence of Tandlara's young 'eyes & ears' spy network. If he did manage to gain their trust, he then hired them to keep close tabs on the man, and report back personally to he, Akiros, himself. If is unable to contact or work with Tandlara's spies, he then commissions several of the most sneaky and subtle of his guardsmen to perform the same task.
"Jemini, it is my own fault for not bringing this matter up with you before, but as Marshall of Newhaven, I must insist that the matter of these kobold prisoners be dealt with once and for all. The people are staring to complain louder and louder, and rightly so, of these creatures remaining in their midst. I understand why you had them brought here, but Sanctuary is not the place for them. Perhaps they could be sent out to a work farm, or paired with Zander's scouts? I do not know how much you feel you can trust them, but they must be gone from Sanctuary proper. And soon."
Receiving the circlet and trying it on, Akiros immediately feels its power flow through him. Looking at himself in a mirror he also notices the subtle yet significant physical differences and he cannot help but smile as he imagines Elspeth's reaction. Turning to Banker out loud he says "Your skills are truly blessed by your God, Verik, for this is as fine and powerful a work of magical crafting I have ever seen. Thank you. And please, I know how busy you are. No need to apologize for the delay on the belt. It shall be ready when it is ready. I am in no rush."
Removing the circlet for now, preferring to remain his unaltered self as he converses with his friend, Akiros continues "And thank you for your sentiments Verik, for I do appreciate them. I must admit, it did sting a fair bit at first to lose my command of the army. But even I must admit that Berrin, with his much greater military experience, is far better suited for the job. And more, I find I quote like this new role as Marshall. I am well suited for it."
Moving around the room as he talks, picking up and glancing idly at various items, the Oracle comes to another matter he wished to discuss with the priest and Banker. "I also thank you for your suggestion to raise a shrine to Iomeade Verik, for I am not sure if that is something which would have occurred to me on my own. Yet now that the notion has entered me, I feel strongly moved that more than just a mere shrine is necessary. I wish there to be also a Church of Iomeade here in Sanctuary. Nothing to rival your Bank of course, but I wish our citizens to have a choice as to where, and how they might worship. I have no need or calling to lead any congregation, so as well as the funds to build this church, I also call on your aid to find a suitable priest of Iomeade capable and willing to come here here and lead the church, for I have no idea whatsoever where to find one or how such things are arranged. Will you help me in this?" and as he finishes Akiros looks eagerly and somewhat apprehensively to his friend, unsure of how the Banker will react to the possibility of competition for worshipers, and their purses, to his own god, Abadar.
"Put the swords away and get yourselves back to whatever fancy party you are overdue for. You are not keeping a Founder from going to the Founder's Hall. I am the REAL Warden Zander and there will not be blood on these streets."
The nobles who approach him look at each other, then back at Zander with the appearance of total anger. There are a few cries of "Monster!" and "Beast!" from the onlookers, even one of "Demon!" One of the nobles with a longsword (or more accurately, an Aldori dueling sword) in hand, holds up the other hand to have the others quiet down and step back. He steps forward and points his sword in the traditional dueling manner before speaking in a thick accent of the woodsmen of House Medyved. "I am Ivahn Medyved, a guest of this city. I know not who you are, nor do I care. I invoke my duty as a guest of Sanctuary to take you immediately to the captain of the guard. You can surrender or you can fight, but choose quickly." Zander quickly counts the number of armed nobles - even if they were poor fighters, there are more than enough to overpower him. A few dozen yards away are a pair of spear-wielding guardsmen, but they seem to be more prone to supporting Medyved than Zander.
Nikolai the last month:
The former Stag does little more than brood when the Founders return to town. The sleepless nights, bizarre wounds on his body, and constant storms drive him into a deep depression. He mutters to himself about his own unworthiness, and his cold reactions to Verik disappear into a passionless nonchalance. His skin even seems to gray as his sullen stares convey a complete lack of trust and hope.
The ceremony for Jemini seems to brighten his spirits, but her ascension reminds him of the vast chasm between them. They'll throw no robe or crown on you, ogre. He tells himself. The gods laugh at you. Tortured by your nemesis until you can only sate yourself with blood and drink, and it turns out you were meant for a crown all along. You're a catamite for the gods' pleasure. You matter not, except that when you finally fail, the shining Jemini will fall with you. Again.
His expression clears when the letter enjoining his capture and trial is revealed. That was the old Nikolai. I'd give anything to kill him myself. I'd give anything to be him again. His confusion enhances his guilt, but his guilt is his salvation. He'd never felt guilty before, as the Stag.
His self-loathing comes to an end, though, when his savior steps forward and intertwines her fate with his own. She can't. They won't accept it. As he ponders her selflessness, the realization strikes him. Her life is bound to mine, but her legacy must not be. Her house will suffer for it. He grasps at the implications - could this be less about his crimes and more about his birthright? He posed a laughable threat. One damned man with no ambitions but revenge on the Conqueror - if such a thing were even possible. Still...[/i]
I will stand for this trial. he says. He lifts from the wooden seat in the corner. The looks of fear from the small women and nervous men bruise him. When he looks over the quieting throng he repeats, I will not defend myself against these accusations. I will only say that man is dead in every way. You gave a name to the place where I died. I was returned for a purpose, and I will not harm your people again.
A year ago, his only defense had been the swing of a greatsword. Last week, he would cry before his companions as the memory of his torment dominated his sleep. Today, he found his voice. The moment washed over him. For the first time, he could conceive justice.
He spoke again. I am here to do more than atone for my crimes, I am here to aid the families of the men I took. I will kill these trolls and keep your Sanctuary safe. I will give everything to those I have wronged. My crimes cost me my life once. Today, I will offer it again. Let me die killing the enemies of my victims, or let me live in their service.[b] They look at him strangely, as if it was the last thing they'd expected - as if he'd interrupted their deliberations regarding his fate.
He realized his life was not in his hands. Part of him chafed - was it not always so from birth to his days in captivity? The other part of him was relieved. Once again, the paladin was his death and salvation.
Nikolai searched the faces of the townsfolk, finally settling on Jemini. Something in his chest felt tight. Maybe she could be free of him. Maybe if justice was done.
He turned to leave, pausing to turn his head toward the Founders.
[b]Best get to it.
Verik nods sagely at Akiros as he sips his tea. "Well in a sense you have a suitable shrine to The Inheritor already, though it is too far to pray and give thanks to from here!" At a look of confusion from Akiros, the Banker smiles and adds, "That is to say the Monument of the Fallen at Stagfall. I designed it myself you know, but the inclusion of the sculpted sword in honor of Jemini was unwittingly but decidedly Iomedaean in look and feel when it was all finished. I thought it was a fitting tribute..." His words trail off as his thoughts go back yet again to Stagfall, but he snaps out of it quickly enough.
"Yes well in any event, as High Cleric of Newhaven I most wholeheartedly and enthusiastically support your request, to the boundaries by which I am able. Did you think I would not?" Verik gives him a wink and gestures towards the outside. "Unlike some who cannot separate their duties, prejudices and objectives, as High Cleric I must see to all positive and beneficial faiths whom would seek representation here, for the well-being of all Newhaven. Now as Banker my mortal pride and sense of competition may put the Abadarian spire just slightly higher than the others, perhaps with slightly larger doors if it can be managed! However, there is a saying amongst the Abadarian clergy that I am quite fond of - 'This can help us all' - and I think it applies here most truly.
Verik takes another sip of tea and furrows his brows in thought. "Of course any Iomedaeans I have ever heard of this far north seem to all be heading up to Mendev. I shall make inquiries with merchants heading to Restov and New Stetven, but in the meantime may I suggest that with your recent...ahh...revelations in honor to Iomedae, perhaps you are best suited to temporarily leading the prayers on a weekly basis on Sunday? Since you are not officially ordained you do not have to make it entirely formal, but that is not to say it is not equally blessed by The Inheritor. I believe I can find some hymnal and ritual books for you from Restov, though the bookseller gouges me on prices there."
He picks up a quill and starts to scribble down a few notes in a flourish. "As to a place of worship, well as you can see here my Bank is in truth a converted house with an extra wing added for living space, but I will make requests with Oleg as it concerns your desires in similar fashion to mine. In the meantime you may find that Kavken is more willing to lend out the schoolhouse to you than he was to me - when the weather is fair he conducts his own services out-of-doors most of the time anyway."
Zander looks around in confusion, What is going on here?.... But his attention is drawn to the approaching nobleman.
I could shoot that sword out of his hand quicker than..... and Zander pauses. He can see that there is real fear in these people. Violence will not make things better...in fact.... The words of the Hermit by the Lake come back a slap him in the face "You carry so much anger. You must learn to let it go."
Zander takes a deep breath, and then raises his hands to show his palms...away from his weapons. In a more measured tone, "I am Zander Whitestag, the Warden of this Realm. I know not the confusion that surrounds me, but I will gladly..." and here he bows, "Accompany you to the Captain and see if we can get to the bottom of this." Thinking that he wished Tandlara were available, he instead thinks Verik might be the one to talk the 'crazy' out of these people. "And send for Brother Verik at the church, we could use his wise council."
Zander turns and takes a step toward the guard house, "We go this way. That's the church over there, over those building." He then continues toward the guardhouse, no one even thinking to stand in his way.
Leaning onto the railing with one had Berrin stares out at nothing as he continues. "My congratulations on finding love again Akiros, gods know you've earned it, but I don't envy you your brother in-law."
Taking a sip of his coffee he looks at Akiros appraisingly. "Look, your my friend, that's why I'm telling you about the Varn's but you've got bigger problems than me if you're courting Elspeth without Alexey's consent. Look. I've got history with Alexey and I can tell you that that man is a sadistic devil made flesh and I can tell you that he's not the forgiving sort either. Just be careful alright." Berrin's concern is genuine but he just sighs and mutters "Emma's gona kill me." before flicking the leftovers from his cup over the railing and heading back into the maproom.
"Your right, I should talk to Jem. She'll know what to do." he says as he heads inside.
The prevailing wisdom in the nobility of Brevoy is that Nikolai Rogarvia will hang for his crimes as the Stag Lord, thus returning things to the status quo of Surtova's dominance. However, the Brevic nobles are nothing if not cautious, working plans and schemes in the attempt to gain the most benefit of any possible scenario. Thus it is no surprise that a steady stream of "well-wishers" has approached Nikolai, bearing words of support and gifts. Most of them are declined as politely as the former bandit king can be, which is to say that he does not assault anyone while sending them away. The nobles are persistent, though, and begin to send him more and more extravagant gifts. With little patience for vacuous and obvious bribery, he sends them to Olegsgrav for sale. Quietly, and without telling anyone, he sends Oleg instructions to divert some of the generated funds for those who suffered under his rule and send the rest to Newhaven's treasury. Oleg writes back to Nikolai that he will do so anonymously. Though there is nothing in the letter that suggests it, Nikolai is somehow left with the lingering feeling that this has done little to dissuade Oleg's negativity towards him.
Nikolai receives a package from Oleg after several weeks with an attached note. The note states that he had received a bargain from a traveling merchant on the enclosed item, one that should assist Nikolai in his defense of Newhaven. Despite a lack of text stating thus, Nikolai senses that Oleg expects his full, total, and complete strength dedicated to Newhaven. He pulls out the belt and finds it to be a very thick leather belt, which actually looks somewhat normally sized on his massive frame. It has a metal buckle, engraved with the image of a charging four-legged beast with a thick horn atop its snout. Nikolai tries it on, feeling a surge of vigor pumping through his muscles, even greater than before.
As he finishes trying the belt on with his back to the door, Nikolai notices a tiny creak. Choral's constant tortures had turned his senses quite sharp, capable of hearing the smallest changes for fear that they would soon turn into another session of terrible pain. He turns to spot the back of a black-clad boot almost silently slip in through half-opened door to his room. With a grunt of effort, Nikolai bounds across the room to snatch the large greatsword from its place on the ground that he had discarded it after his last trip outside the room. Fortunately, Nikolai never broke the bandit habit of being almost always in armor. The owner of the boot flashes out from behind whatever his hiding spot was, assaulting Nikolai quickly and silently. Nikolai had been preparing for whatever assassin the Brevic nobles sent against him, but this one is even faster than Nikolai was prepared for.
The assassin holds a pair of wicked-looking gloves that hold sharp spikes along the back, extending forward almost half a foot from the edge of his fist. He darts forward, ignoring the hiding spot that he had just been heading to. Surely, had Nikolai not seen the assassin, he would awaken to a slit throat or poisoned veins the next morning. Flat-footed after grabbing his sword, Nikolai cannot dodge the uppercut aimed for his stomach. The claws of the right cestusslip through the chains of his shirt, though the armor hinders them enough to prevent a fatal strike. Blood spills onto the floor as the black-masked assassin follows up with a jab to Nikolai's throat. The claws pierce Nikolai's throat, threatening to flood his lungs with his own blood - but the former Stag Lord will not fall so easily or without a fight.