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Rising of Tides

Started by Lion, October 08, 2013, 02:59:06 AM

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Lion

Northern Connlaoth

A Rastognlir by any other name would never dream of finding themselves in a place like this.  The conditions were livable, though quality of life was certainly something to be desired.  It was difficult to tell from the outside, as the carriage rolled through the narrow dirt path.  The trees were thick here and foliage grown wild except where it was necessary for the passage of men and beasts. 

The carriage that carried the priest toward the camp, known only as Valinarus, from a nearby abandoned castle situated within the depth of this forest.  As it neared, he stared out of the window, watching it come into view and didn't know what to make of the stone, mortar and iron gates that completely surrounded the facility and where each point of entry was well guarded with Mordecai and soldiers alike.

The priest was welcomed, with all due honors afforded to a member of the Church, and given a brief tour of the camp grounds, save for the more unsavory details.  It wasn't quite was he was expecting, nor what he was used to, but the current commanding Lieutenant did his best to make his visit as comfortable as possible.  He was introduced to the main hall, a cabin connecting to the temporary barracks and to the main offices commanding officers in charge of the camp, even Lieutenant Bromlin.

They afforded him lodgings of his own, separate from the barracks, a small cabin room with all the accommodations befitting a member of the Church.  Beside it was a make-shift chapel, constructed from small bits of wood for support and walled with tarp-skin and staked into the ground.  He knew they would make the best accommodations they could for him.  Perhaps they did not look upon the mages and magic-users living here with pity and sympathy, but they could at least understand the need for men and women to cleanse their souls from the weight of guilt and sin, the likes of which could only be achieved through confession.  Perhaps the poor wretches might find some peace through it.  But it was a hope the soldiers of Valinarus clung to perhaps at least save their own sanity.

They were lucky to receive response from the Church to send a priest willing to travel so far north in Connlaoth.  And better yet a priest from the Order of St. Agratha, the patron saint of merciful forbearance and just judgment, to ease the souls of the camp.  Mercuxio Rastognlir was more than willing to oblige. 

But the journey had been long and arduous and after a small meal from rations he'd brought himself, he retired for the falling evening before starting the first confessions set up in the morning.  Damn the dawn that came all too soon.  The cold washed against his face as he made his way to the small, but well-built chapel.  There were benches placed on the side and an altar in front with the Spear of Ansgar carved into wood, but Mercuxio had a feeling the church suffered from lack of use.

Much farther in the back and more toward the side was a confession box and, after cleaning up most of the chapel from most of the dust that lingered, he heard footsteps approaching, tentative at first, but coming nonetheless.  He took his place into the right side of the box and waited for the arrival of the newcomer.

He slightly parted the curtain and stayed within the shadow of the dim lantern light.  "Welcome, child," he answered in a soft voice.  "I am Father Merric.  Tell me what lays heavy on your heart, my child."




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

It was an exceptionally cold and blustery autumn morning with low, grey clouds blanketing the sky. Constance Carwick, or "Olive," watched the make-shift chapel with steely eyes, chewing the inside of her lip while contemplating the priest inside who had just arrived the previous night. He had come, the guards had informed the camp's internees prior to his arrival, to hear the confessions and minister to the troubled souls of the camp. It had been, somehow, nearly a year since Olive had arrived at Valinarus and, in that time, she had seen very little evidence that the guards or the Mordecai were even remotely concerned with the souls of the mages inside its walls. Even this sad, makeshift chapel had been off-limits to the mages until word of the priest's arrival had reached them. It had been reserved for the prayers of the guards, the Mordecai, but never the mages. She wondered, with a snort, if the priest knew that.

Since she'd heard that the Church was sending a priest to hear their sins, to forgive their transgressions, Olive had felt a growing feeling that, up until then, she hadn't had time for: anger. Life in the camp had been taken up by just that, staying alive. Or even, when possible, making life livable. When she'd first come here, her situation hadn't been so bad in comparison. Here were children ripped from their parents, grandmothers bent over in age and pain, a newlywed bride or groom with their lives and loves pulled out from under them. And she'd been allowed to keep her dog. She'd been kept separate, given her own quarters and in the beginning even ate with the Mordecai. But it hadn't lasted. Olive had found, for the first time in her life, that there was some actual use to her title, her lineage, her nobility. Finding that she could exert some authority over some of the guards and holding herself as at the very least the equal to the highest ranking Mordecai, she'd spoken up against the conditions in the camp and the treatment of the interned mages. Even the Mordecai who were unmoved by her position did not want to be the one deal too harshly with the daughter of a duke. Especially Duke Carwick, who was one of the staunchest supporters of the Grand Duke and the mission of cleansing the nation. Olive had made herself something of a headache, pushing the guards on small things mostly, things she could get away with: interceding in the punishment of a child who took too much food, insisting upon material for the upkeep of their hutch-like dwellings so no one would freeze to death during the harsh winters. Sometimes she pushed too far, and the special housing, the better food, the polite relationship with the captains of the guard and Mordecai had not lasted.

So much of her energy had gone into surviving the everyday trials of the camp, putting on a brave face and doing what she could to keep up morale, that she hadn't had time to be angry about it. She had been hardened, yes, but she hadn't had the spare energy to be angry. But the arrival of a priest here, the witness of a Man of God to the grim inhumanity of it all, was like a seal of approval from the Church.

Olive took her eyes off the church and looked down at her feet, heaving a sigh. Though she had never resolved how much of a believer she was in her heart, she had long turned to the Church as a refuge. A door that was always open, a way to try to be the daughter her parents wanted. It felt, in a way, like a personal betrayal. When she looked back up she saw the Carriage twins, Milo and Lucy, just ten, wrapped up in the wool traveling cloak she'd brought from Uthlyn, but given to them last winter. Between them was Dac, her Tracker, and the twins clung to the bear-sized dog as a source of warmth and comfort. Seeing them – cold, underfed, clinging to a dog when they had no parent – caused the bile to rise in Olive's stomach. Setting her jaw, she stepped into the make-shift chapel.

As soon as she entered, her pace slowed into something slow and respectful. Bowing her head, she muttered a short prayer as she crossed the threshold. Then she closed the distance of the small chapel and sat, her heart for some reason pounding, in the opposite side of the confessional.

"Father," she finally said, "I'm having a crisis of faith."

Lion

[Bear-sized dog, I love it!  More to hug!]

Mercuxio couldn't say how long he was planning to stay within the confines of Valinarus.  Though it wasn't the luxury he was used to, the priest learned long ago how to make the best of even the most meager of situations.  He was given a task to accomplish in this bleak and dreadful place, and far be it from him to shy away from it just because the chapel was little more than a tent, the cot he was given was old and could barely support his weight, and soldiers had no idea of the real reason why he was here.

But it wasn't theirs to know.  For it was not a matter of war or politics, not even of faith as many would have reason to believe.  Secret eyes and ears would find rumor of dissidence present somewhere within the camps.  It was to be expected at some point in time; any man with an ounce of common sense knew that prodded cattle, abused and whipped, could just as easily turn and stampede if enough of them set their minds to it.  He was priest, yes, a man of the cloth, but he knew in his mind he was foremost a Confessor.

Yet rumor was still rumor unless backed up by the proper evidence.  The surfacing of rumor, was to the Confessor's eyes, possibility for some kind of truth behind it –though twisted it may be.  It wasn't his to reason or make reply, but to obey and go to the North camps to find the source of it and root it out before it turned into a cancerous sore.  It was a matter the Order could not envision the Mordecai and soldiers of handling properly.  They were stretched thin enough as it was.

Mercuxio's mind was brought back from his thoughts at the sound of one of the wretched that came to sit on the other side of the screen.  There was something curious about her voice that struck him and he actually sat up at the sound of it.  It seemed familiar, and yet, he couldn't place it.  He supposed it was no real matter.  After ten years, they all started to sound the same.  He cleared his throat and kept his eyes toward the corner of the screen, not quite looking at the figure on the other side.

"I see, my child," he replied softly.  "A crisis of faith would not be uncommon in grave times like these.  Please go on."




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

Olive sat in silence. She felt surprisingly nervous now that she was here in the claustrophobic little confessional booth. Once the Church - both the organization and the physical buildings with their alters and confessionals and saints - had been so familiar to Olive, like her own home. But now, after nearly a year in the camp and a year prohibited from the chapel and the rites of the Church, she felt uneasy somehow. When she had been a young girl, she had loved the stablehand's dog dearly and would sneak away to the stables every day it, until one day the dog bit her. It had been recently injured by one of the horses and had reacted out of pain, but Olive had been very young and all she had felt was the pain of having something familiar and trusted hurt her. She could never make herself feel quite the same way about the dog after as she had before. She realized, as she sat in the confessional trying to find her words, that it might be the same with the Church.

Finally, Olive took a deep breath, and began. "It's just... Father, my whole life I have turned to the Church. For guidance, for solace, for succor, to try to know and follow God's will. It can be very hard... It is very hard, sometimes, to be a mage in Connlaoth. To be born with a burden you didn't ask for. Not because of the laws about magic use, I don't mean that, but because of how people view you, how people treat you." Olive spoke haltingly, and it was clear that words were not coming easily to her now. "But from the Church we receive the teaching that it is not the possession of an ability, but the use of magic which is wrong. And it has always been the Church that has provided... provided a framework and support for mages to still be able to live their lives and overcome, or at least resist, using magic. Forgive me for saying so, Father, for I don' mean to speak out against Connlaoth, but I often felt that the Church was one of the only places I could turn - where mages could turn - and be treated with dignity, as human beings." Olive took another deep breath, then continued. "It's where I would turn not only for the strength to resist the temptation of magic, but the strength to face everyday prejudices. Somewhere I could go to know what was right, and what was wrong."

Olive was silent for several moments then and, when she spoke again, her voice was steadier, more resolved. "But what's happening here, father, it's wrong. I know that it's wrong. There are children too small to lift a bag of flour here torn away from their parents, with no one to look after them. They're treated the same as the adults: made to do work they're too young for, follow rules they don't understand and beaten when they break them, when all they are is afraid. It's the same for elders. Women and men bent over in age, rattled with pain, forced to labor like someone half their age, with no treatment for their ailments. People who arrive during the warm months, or who are too poor and own too little, are given nothing to guard them against the winter. They're left to freeze to death if they can find no aid from the others interned, who all have next to nothing. Everyone is starving or near to it. Those too weak to work are beaten. Those who fall sick are either left to die or taken away and never seen again. And the women..." Olive stopped. She didn't say what happened to women in the camps. Instead, she changed tracks, "Before you came, no mages were allowed to enter the chapel or receive any religious rites, so that even our souls are made to starve."

"I don't understand, Father," she said, the emotion in her voice evident, but controlled, "how the Church can let this happen. I don't understand how the Church can let children starve, let the feeble to beaten and the elderly freeze to death. Because of a burden they were made to bear, that they never asked for and many have never used. How can this - this - be God's will?"

Lion

The priest that resided in thoughtful shadow blinked for a long silent moment, before slowly turning his head to peer at the speaking woman on the other side.  He hung on her every word, giving her his undivided attention.  Patience and listening were things required of any priest, and Mercuxio had them in abundance.  Yet what was more was that familiar note in her voice that brought him to try and peer a little more clearly through the darkness of the screen.  The curtain remained only slightly parted and his meticulous eyes studied the curvature of her face.

But still she spoke and still he listened, the impact of her words not lost on him.  Though he did not see firsthand what the conditions of the camps were or the condition of the prisoners within, common sense told him enough that it wasn't pretty, that not all accommodations could be made for the prisoners within to live a quality of life equated with that of the lowest soldier.  The soldiers here most likely gave little care to the thought, save that the prisoners did not die as a result of their conditions.  After all the entire point of such camps was to contain them, not slaughter them.  But if one or two died, he supposed it wasn't a weight that was going to lay too heavy on their consciences.  Luckily for them, there were others within the camp to worry about such menial manners than brain dead soldiers.

The woman's words fell gravely on his heart, and he sat up within his half of the confessional and leaned closer to the screen, still hidden partly in shadow.  "That is indeed a grave matter to witness and bear," he replied.  "I cannot say with any resolution that such an ordeal would be unheard of within the history of men and nations.  This is not the past, but the present, I know.  Yet if there is anything to be learned from the past, it is that man has always endured great suffering.  Whether it is from his will or God's.  But it is God's to bear the burdens we are given, even if it was not our choice.  To see through hardship, what lessons to be learned, what mistakes we have made, to see what lies most important around us and within us..."

He took a moment to pause, trying to study her face from the corner of his eye, seeing only the lint of hers in the faint lighting.  Her words were quite troubling in and of themselves, for Mercuxio knew the answers she sought could only be brought to light if he looked at what he considered God's will within himself.  Was man made to toil?  To toil in order to achieve a greater paradise beyond death?  To walk beside Ansgar?  The collective answer was a fool's prophecy to all who saw nothing beyond these points.  Mercuxio frowned internally as he struggled to find a satisfying answer.  Why would Ansgar allow his children to suffer so even with the action of men?  And yet if he did not, wherein lied man's given choice, his free will?  Or was it all just an illusion?

Mercuxio blinked and sighed, knowing he could just as easily lie to the woman on the other side, but something in her voice told him he couldn't.   "I cannot answer for the actions of our nation in a time of war," he said solemnly.  "But the Church has and always will be a haven for the repentant and weary.  And I am deeply troubled to learn that those residing here were denied even prayer at the altar.  Please take some comfort, no matter how small, that all things indeed happen for a reason.  That the will of God will always test those of the mortal coil, no matter how great our suffering and pain."




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

Olive looked straight ahead, focusing on controlling her feelings, controlling her breathing, as she listened to the priest. His ministry didn't surprise her, and she didn't know what she had expected to hear from him if not something like this. That every one must bear the burdens given to them, however hard they are, that God tries his children, however virtuous they might be. Olive had heard this teaching over and over throughout her life and for a long time she had taken comfort in it. But now she was becoming increasingly unsure that she believed it at all.

And then the priest said something else. Something equally typical, but that shot Olive through with emotion.

"Please take some comfort, no matter how small, that all things indeed happen for a reason. That the will of God will always test those of the mortal coil, no matter how great our suffering and pain."

Olive felt the color drain from her face and she had to remind herself to breathe. Of all presumptuous, standard-fare platitudes... "I'm sorry, Father, but I take no comfort in that," she answered slowly, her voice quieter than before, and it was clear that the girl was exerting quite a bit of effort to control the emotion, the anger, in her voice. "I think I did, once. But I can't believe that any longer. I can't..." She paused, exhaled, then continued. "I can't see the reason, I can't believe that God has a plan in all of this."

"Children who had homes and parents arrive here and dwindle into shadows, starved of food and affection. Once I saw a soldier tell a boy that his parents were coming for him and all he had to do was wait outside by the gates, in the freezing mud and the snow, while they took bets on how long he would stay there. The girl I share my cot with," again she paused and took a breath, but her tone was harder now, angrier, but steadier. "The girl I share my cot with is fourteen years old and sometimes once, sometimes two or three times a week, two soldiers come and take her away saying she has extra work that day, then bring her back an hour, two hours later, covered in tears. I can stop them if I'm there, but I can't always be there... What do you think they're doing? She's fourteen years old. Where is the reason in that, Father? What 'test' is God trying to give her?" For the first time Olive looked at the curtains, her eyes half imploring and half accusing the priest.

Olive looked forward again, raising a hand to her face, as if just realizing that her voice had become too loud and too angry for a church. She took several moments, wiping away angry tears she hadn't realized were in her eyes, and when she spoke again her voice was calmer and quieter. "I'm sorry, Father. I understand that it it's not my place to question God's plan for us. But it isn't just her. It happens to a lot of girls. They don't dare touch me because, well. But it happens to others. And still others are left to starve, or freeze, or are tormented or beaten in other ways. There is a war going on outside, and there is a war of sorts going on in here, and there is a war in my heart between what I once believed, what I still want to believe, and what is happening here, Father. I struggle to believe that any of this is happening for a reason. Or that God's hand is at work in Connlaoth. And I don't understand how the Church that was once a refuge, or a haven," she said, repeating his words, "can sanction the things that are happening here."

Lion

It was a small hope and one he knew would be dashed at the spark of her words.  It was a common priest's ploy and any but the most foolish could see through that much, the typical "fear not, for God is watchful."  Though he couldn't say why, it pleased him to know she could not be satisfied so easily.  Only meager minds could be satisfied with such an answer.  The fire in her voice made him turn toward the screen and he could see her face all the more clearly.

Once her tirade had softened – if such a word could be applicable – Mercuxio parted the curtain further.  "God's plan can never truly be known, we can only guess through trial and error.  But I believe God has placed you here for a reason, both of us within this point in time.  For no, I do not believe the Church or God would sanction the actions which you describe to me.  Nor do I believe that either would allow it to continue.  I am deeply troubled by the matters which you've brought to light, and as a priest of the Church of Ansgar, I feel it is my duty to see to it that all children and treated justly and fairly."

His voice grew sterner and he sought the source of that familiarity from which she spoke.  "Your words do not fall on deaf ears.  I give you my word that I will set out as soon as possible to investigate this matter and put it right.  Please, let your heart rest easy, if it can." 

"The soldiers that you mention, the ones who have took away the girl, do you know their names?  What more can you tell me of them?"




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

Olive actually laughed at the priest's question. A short, surprised, mirthless laugh. "Yes," she answered slowly, "I know their names. So does their captain, so does Lieutenant Bromlin. But that doesn't mean that they are willing to believe the word of a mage over the word of a soldier." Olive had brought the issue to the Lieutenant and the guards' captain several times. The reaction to her accusations were varied, but all fell on a spectrum between thinking she was a lying mage and thinking that she was a confused girl who misunderstood the events. The results of which were therefore the same: nothing. "I can tell you that they're not the only two," she added soberly, in response to Mercuxio's second question.

Olive wasn't sure what to think of the father's promise to investigate the issue, and she couldn't keep her eyes from peering at the curtain that separated them, curious who this priest was. Though she had come to the confessional to vent her feelings on this, to provide a clear witness to the crimes going on in the camp, she hadn't expected a promise of action from the priest. She had only expected ministries to her personal ,religious conflict. Or, if anything would be said beyond that, she'd half-expected that the priest would accuse her of lying (a sin) or questioning things she had no right to question. Part of her expected the confessional to be little more than a front for gathering information from the interned mages. She wasn't sure if she should be hopeful or suspicious that the priest joined in her condemnation, that he wanted to investigate...

Then something occurred to Olive and she sat up straighter, her eyes drying as a new thought entered her mind. A new thought, and a bit of fear. "But, father," she said carefully, " if I told you their names now... surely you couldn't use that to investigate their actions?"  She was in a confessional, after all.

Lion

"Yes, it is true, that which is discussed during confession is in the strictest confidence and cannot be shared elsewhere.  There are few exceptions to this.  Only with the permission of the Deacon of my congregation may I be allowed to openly express anything I hear through Confession, child.  But I am here to serve as your witness, your confidant, and your friend.  And as a Priest of St. Agratha, by my very oaths I cannot sit idly by at accusations of neglect and abuse.  It is immoral, unethical, and forgoes everything for which the Church itself stands," Mercuxio replied with solemnity.

He bowed his head a little and peered at the speckled face on the other side, that just seemed a little more clear now that she came slightly closer into view.  He sighed and then stared up at her once more, braving her scrutiny.  "That your very words have been given reason to be born is cause for concern.  And it will not be tolerated.  Even in a time of war.  The nation is enduring great inner strife, not only of the people, but of the Faith.  And it becomes easier for men to give into the beasts that linger within us, hungry for cruelty and suffering."

He saw the outline of her face, a familiar shape, but still caught deep within shadow.  The priest knew he could not openly break his oaths of confession, but there was as much to gain from even the plain knowledge of such a transgression.  And it sounded like a perfect place to start his real investigation.  So he peered at Olive on the other side of the screen with intensity, foreign even to him.  "And if they will not heed the word of a mage, I shall see how they listen to the voice of the Church."




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

There are a few exceptions to this. Olive sat in silence in the confessional, trying to decide what to make of these words. And what to make of the priest who had offered them. It seemed too good to be true to have a priest arrive right as matters were getting more serious in the camp and so quickly promise aid and action. And if Olive's testimony qualified as an exception, what else would? But she wanted badly to trust the priest; the lure of an outsider who might have some control over the situation was just too great. But she recognized how much she wanted it, and that made her wary. They were desperate, all of them, and desperation bred vulnerability. Who did he really want to help?

But he's a man of God. He should care. Going after two guards for one – if repeated – offense wouldn't solve the greater problem of the camp, she knew. They would still be starved and worked to the bone. No priest was going to change that. But maybe if an example were made... Things could get marginally better. Or at least better for little Orchid.

"You don't need to break the confidence of the confessional, father," Olive heard herself say. "I can come back and give my witness to you in person." This was a dangerous thing to offer, and she knew it. She pushed her luck a lot here; going over the head of the Lieutenant and making allegations to an outsider might be pushing it too far. But if anyone should do it, it was her, and she knew that, too. Olive swallowed, uncertain of the wisdom of this decision. But nonetheless, she confirmed, "I can come back tonight."

Lion

Despite his words to the woman, Mercuxio had everything intention of carrying out his promise of seeing through the matter, of taking care of these two men, and filtering through the finer points of her claim, whether the woman on the other side of the screen knew it or not.  He could tell from her words that her place here was not quite like other mages, though she made no attempt to hide she was one of them.  She must have been someone of import, someone who apparently had sway with the guards and was not afraid to use it.

He knew the problem wouldn't be entirely fixed, but if there was one thing Mercuxio did know, it was how to get results.  And if conditions did in fact improve, perhaps he could gain this woman's trust.  And where trust was an often undervalued asset to most, to the priest it was invaluable to his very life.

He turned his eyes up to the screen and actually smiled at it, though it would be difficult to see from the other side.  It quickly faded and he bowed his head once more.  "If that is your wish, I will not condemn you for it.  You have my word that I will be here should you return.  But only if you can; I do not wish unnecessary harm unto you or your people here in the camp because you risked too much trying to come to me."




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

The priest's words gave Olive cause for pause. It felt like the man on the other side of the confessional divide was backing away. Perhaps he had only made the offer to restore some of her faith in the Church? Maybe he had no intention of doing anything about the guards. And he'd never intended to investigate the guards, what would stop him from going straight to the Lieutenant to report her allegations?

Well, Olive guessed that, between her title and the captain, she still had some mileage. And if the priest's offer was genuine, it was one she couldn't turn away. But she should tell Bremen first. And about the priest's opinion that there were exceptions to the confidentiality of the confessional...

"No, I'll come," she assured him. Why, she wondered, did he say that he wouldn't condemn her? Surely there was nothing to condemn in such an act... Olive pushed the idea out of her mind. "Thank you, father, for... Well, for listening. It feels like a long time since our voices were heard."

Olive moved to leave the confessional, then paused. "Don't too ill of the mages here, father, if not many come forward to say their confessions. No one is sure who they can trust anymore." It was as close as Olive could come to telling Mercuxio that she wasn't sure that she trusted him. Olive exhaled, paused, then left.




Dusk came early this far north now that autumn set in. Light was already fading to a monotone grey when a young guard stepped into the church. He had a slightly anxious air about him; even though there had been no one to hold mass, and the young man felt guilty in the eyes of a priest for not having attended for so long.

"Father Merric?" he called, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Lieutenant Colonel Bromlin sends his invitation to dinner, if you're able to attend?"



((OOC: Hope it's okay that I fast-forwarded things. Thought it might be useful for Mercuxio to get some face time in with the peeps in charge!))

Lion

[It's fine by me.  And I'm assuming you're going to write for the Lieutenant and play out conversation.  If not I can edit it and put in conversation or sump'm!]

It wasn't that he doubted her, but that if she failed to arrive, he would not find blame if she was unable to come through.  She was risking much by abandoning whatever shelter she resided in, going past soldiers on their posts, their patrols, solely to meet with the priest of this rundown chapel.  Mercuxio was not yet familiar with the routines and schedules of the camp and he was certain the prisoners were only allowed a short time in the chapel when they said it was allowed.  Bromlin had brushed over the routine vaguely.  But the commanding officer seemed more anxious from the priest's presence and in a hurry to get him settled in.

"Go in peace, child, and may the saints watch over you," Mercuxio responded as the girl left. He wasn't sure what to make of her parting words, but there was little time to think of it as the next prisoner was escorted into the confession booth.  He put it in the back of his mind, knowing she was right that there were few these poor souls could trust, that his presence could only be damning or a salvation.

As the confessions progressed through the day, he knew that sentiment leaned more toward damnation.  But damnation of them or him, he couldn't be sure.

At the end of it all, he retired early and needed time to center himself.  There were few people to listen to, but hearing their words had been taxing.  He was cold, tired and hungry.  He supposed many of the prisoners here were hungry too, most likely feeding on some kind of old stew and stale bread.  He'd been putting away the relics he'd brought with him to display and sweeping the wooden boards placed on the floor when the soldier came in.

He looked up and smiled to the young man.  "Very well, tell him I will be coming shortly," he replied.  The young soldier gave a nervous nod, averting his gaze and bowed his head a little.  "Yes, sir, I mean, Father," then left.

After finishing his work, Mercuxio dressed down to his civilian clothing, though kept his necklaces exposed as he found his back to the officer's hall.  He was escorted to Lieutenant's quarters and the soldier knocked on the door.  "The father is here, sir."

"Enter," said the voice on the other side.  Mercuxio did and bowed to the soldier who was dismissed thusly after.




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
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Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

"Ah, father, thank you for coming," the Lieutenant greeted as Mercuxio entered his quarters. "Sorry everything was so rushed last night. But I trust you've had an opportunity to settle in a bit now? Can I offer you something to drink?"

Bromlin was an older man, probably in his late fifties, with salt-and-pepper hair and a softer stomach than he had in his younger days. He had a genial and even manner fitting of someone in command of such a large operation. But it wasn't meant to be mistaken; he could plan bloody military movements and 'fit' punishments with the same cool manner with which he offered the priest a drink. Also in the room was a clean-cut brown haired young man in a military uniform, and a woman probably in her late thirties or early forties dressed in the elaborate armor of a Mordecai.

"Let me also introduce Captain Lorent Fawley, my second-in-command," he said gesturing to the young man, "and Major Anna Neil. Major Neil is the captain of our Mordecai. They'll be joining us. We're all quite curious to hear how you're settling in." Fawley offered a polite greeting, but Neil merely gave the priest an austere nod.

A cracked round table, large enough for four but not more, was situated in the room, and Bromlin gestured for them to sit. A heavy pot of stew and bread were already on the table. In general, while the quarters were not luxurious by any conventional means, it had a warm, comfortable feel. It was dry, with a lit fireplace, and spacious enough to fit a Lieutenant's needs. Bromlin sat at the table, and the others followed suit.

"I'm sure the setting isn't what you're used to – hell, it isn't what any of us were used to before we got shipped up here – and the chapel leaves something to be desired. If you need anything at all, just let myself or the captain know. We'll see what we can do. Resources are a bit thin, but we'll do all we can to provide you with what you need. I have to admit the chapel suffers a bit of disuse. I think the poor wretches fear Angsar's judgement as much as seek his mercy. Did you have many come to you? We're hoping the ministries of a priest will bring them out a bit more."

Lion

Mercuxio took in the other guests in the room with a cool gaze, simultaneously warm and observational.  The two others were unexpected, but not unwelcome, though it did make him all the more aware of his surroundings.  More people meant more to keep an eye on and eye out for, just in case.  When the Lieutenant welcomed him into the dining room, Mercuxio bowed his head and greeted the others at the table.  "Please.  A wine will do," he replied, nodding to Bromlin.

The priest took his seat himself just as the drink was placed beside him and he settled into the seat on the opposite side.  The major to the right of him and the captain to the left, with Bromlin dead ahead.  Mercuxio reached out and shook the Captain's hand, bowing his head, and he did the same to Major Neil with no reservation.  "It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he assured them just as they took their seats.

When at last they were settled, Mercuxio smiled and nodded at Bromlin.  The stew was hot before him and he was nervous his stomach would growl loud enough for them to hear, but was thankful for Bromlin's rambling to drown it out when his stomach began to complain.  "I think most men fear Ansgar's love more than His judgment.  But please, do not be silly, Lieutenant," Mercuxio was quick to assure him.  "You've done enough for me all ready.  Far be it from me to complain about your gracious generosity.  Agratha condemns not the man who makes the most of what he has.  Now that is a lesson to be valued."

The others gave soft laughs to the quip, but it quickly faded and Mercuxio continued.  "The chapel, indeed, is in need of some love and care, but I assure you it's nothing I cannot rectify of my own doing.   A few did come for confession, though I'm afraid none came for mass.  It is not yet the day of worship; Ansgar will forgive them enough for that."  Motion made Mercuxio turn his head toward the young Captain to his left as he reached for his food.  Neil audibly kicked him from underneath the table and Fawley looked up, feeling the priest look at him.

Fawley's hand quickly retracted and he bowed his head.  Mercuxio gave a smug chuckle and without need for notification, he bowed his head before his food and the others followed suit, and he led them quickly in a prayer before they could eat.  Fawley looked like a demon had just released the grip it had on his balls as the young captain gave a breath of relief.

"Lieutenant," Mercuxio began, the first to take a sip of wine, savoring the mild taste.  "I do have one minor concern, however.  I've heard talk that in the brief time before my arrival, only soldiers were allowed to worship at the shrine.  And only now have the prisoners been allowed to set foot within the chapel.  What do you make of such a claim?"




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

The priest's question brought forth the first words of the evening from Major Neil. "Three guesses who told him that," she remarked dryly, taking a sip of her own wine.

The Lieutenant gave the Mordecai a mildly admonishing look, while Fawley seemed particularly concentrated on his food. "Well, to start, father," Bromlin said, turning his attention back to Mercuxio, his tone as genial as ever, "I know the conditions here are a bit on the grim side, but I have to object to the term 'prisoner.' True, the mages are interred here and many - though not all - against their will. But they aren't prisoners locked for some crime. At least, that isn't how we like to think of them. Camps such as ours weren't established as a form of punishment, but for the sake of security. And not only the country's security, but also for the safety of the mages. It isn't my understanding that the rest of the country is the safest place for anyone wearing the mark anymore, father. Here the mage is kept where the country is safe from the odd rogue, and where the rest are kept safe from a lynching."

It was clear that Bromlin was rather used to holding court. And while some of what he said was a facade to make the camps seem better than they were - whether he believed his story or not was unclear - there was an undeniable kernel of truth in it.

"As for what you heard, of course it isn't true. Soldiers and Mordecai do have priority when using the chapel, that is true, and the mages are requested to wait until members of the military have finished their worship. This may seem harsh, but we have to think of our men serving their country, father." He took a sip of his wine, before concluding, "Likely this is where the misunderstanding came from."

"Or someone is intentionally stirring trouble," Neil remarked, in the same dry and lazy tone, before unconcernedly taking a bite of the rabbit and parsnip stew.

Lion

The priest gave a bow of his head and nodded at the Lieutenant.  “I see, then,” Mercuxio replied, with a humble nod.  “Please forgive my ignorance.  I’m not yet familiar with the terminology appropriate for the denizens of this facility.”  It was all he had to say as he watched Bromlin merely nod to him in excuse and continue eating.  Of course, no matter what the Lieutenant Colonel said, Mercuxio knew better.  He knew a prisoner when he saw one, for such a word was one who was contained within the confines of an armed facility, such as this one.  While the camp was not in fact a prison, it was not designed to keep the mages safe from the citizens of Connlaoth.  But keep Connlaoth safe from these mage.  Containment.
   
“I understand, Lieutenant, but don’t you think, that the chapel ought to be open to all members of this camp, regardless.  Consider the fact that even if mages and soldiers were to pray together, the soldiers are already present.  If an act of aggression should take place, Ansgar forbid, they will already be there to suppress it.  Do not, however, think that I don’t take our men’s service into consideration.”




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

"Hmmm," came Bromlin's sound of consideration at Mercuxio's suggestions. Fawley and Neil exchanged a quick look. The Lieutenant was not used to having his edicts questioned. "Well, father, you are of course the expert here when it comes to matters of the soul," Bromlin conceded and paused to chew on a piece of rabbit, "and while you are here, of course how the chapel is run is entirely up to you. Though I would ask you to consider soldier's morale when asking them to worship side by side with the mages. Most of these boys are young and unseasoned – of course the most experienced soldiers are needed out there – and most are away from their duchy on long deployments. None have had any leave from here. It's a lot to ask, father. Morale is a fragile thing in a place like this."

It seemed as though Bromlin was content to leave it there, but Neil spoke up again. "I would also keep in mind, father," she said pointedly, "that the 'prisoners' here, as you put it, are mages. Let's not pretend we don't know where their sympathies lie in this conflict. I'm sure while you're here you'll hear the odd mage who is genuinely seeking religious edification. But be wary of those whose goal is to weaken the position of the camps and of the government. From the lowliest peasants to our darling little noblewoman, at the end of the day, every one of them is a mage. Anything that moves in their favor is necessarily against ours. We shouldn't forget that."

Fawley looked up from his dinner for the first time since the conversation began. "I think the father just wants to make sure that everyone's religious concerns are considered," he offered, though he clearly didn't have half the confidence of the Mordecai. "Salvation is available to us all, after all, Major Neil."

Neil rolled her eyes at Fawley's use of the word 'us' in his comments. "Yes, of course, Captain, but we should always ask ourselves," she looked directly at Mercuxio now, "what these people's motives are."




While Mercuxio dined with the official leaders of the camp, Olive poured what passed for "tea" for what might be considered perhaps unofficial leaders in the camp. They were in Bess Martin's shack - one of several small sheltered clustered together in the camp, providing some security by the crowded surroundings. Bess was an older woman, perhaps sixty, practical and compassionate. With them were Lloyd Bremen, a woodworker in his fifties and something of a natural leader, and Darnel Jarrek, who wasn't much older than Olive, but was defiant, smart, and proactive.

"The evening livestock shift is being worked straight through dinner," Bremen was saying, laying out the latest trials being faced in the camp. "There are ten of them and they're not getting half enough at the other meals to keep them going through the day."

"I can supplement them with rations from the kitchen. I can't take enough to replace dinner, but I can get enough to put something in their stomachs," Bess answered. She went to great personal risk to take food from the soldiers' kitchen - where there was, of course, more spare food to take than the kitchen which served the mages. The woman sighed, though, as Olive handed her a mug. "I haven't seen anything pass through the kitchen that might help the illness those poor Caileigh kids are suffering, though. And another child's come down with it. Sometimes something passes through the kitchen, an herb or something that might help, but..."

"Oh," Olive interrupted, "I have something for them. I was going to say, but since you brought it up..." She fished a small pouch from where she'd hidden it beneath her shirt and handed it to Bess. Bess opened the pouch and looked at it in surprise; it contained proper healing herbs. Reading her expression, Olive added a bit sheepishly, "I got it from Lorent last night."

"'Lorent?'" came Darnel's derisive sneer. "Well, isn't that cozy. The captain is 'Lorent' now."

"Shut up, Darnel," Olive shot back, her tone exasperated. "It makes it easier, okay?" The three here were some of the few people in the camp that knew about the arrangements Olive had with the captain.

"I just want to make sure you don't forget who's on whose side in this. It's no good for anyone if you let 'Lorent' emotionally compromise you."

Olive opened her mouth to respond to Darnel, but a look from Bremen stopped her. It was a warning look, to both her and Darnel, to leave the subject be. And to be careful, though perhaps not for the same reason.

"Enough of that," he said, when the two backed off. "Good job, Olive. That's more than we could have hoped for." He waited a moment to make sure that the subject was going to rest before continuing. "We also have the issue of the priest who arrived last night. He might prove to be some comfort for some, but we should keep an eye on him."

Bess huffed. Before being rounded up and brought to the camps, she had been a practicing magic user - a healer living alone in the forest, tending to those who sought her out - and had no interest and little respect for the Church. But Darnel, for all his zeal, was also quite religious, and he responded with, "I went to confessional. He seemed fairly run-of-the-mill to me. Not warm, but mindful, respectful."

"Actually," Olive interjected, "we should be careful about that. I also went to confessional. Well... less to confess, I have to admit, and more to confront him with how the Church can sanction this," she told them, gesturing around her to the camp at large; no one looked particularly surprised that she had dared to do this. "Anyway, he said he would make an investigation into what I told him, and I had to remind him that the confessional was of course confidential. Well, not when it's an 'exceptional case,' apparently. So we should make sure people know - we know - to be careful what we say."

"Wait," Bremen held up a hand, looking intently at Olive, "did you say that you made accusations, and he promised to investigate?"

"You made accusations in a confessional?" was Darnel's question, but Bremen waved it away.

"Yes, I just... got carried away." At this no one looked surprised. "I don't really know what to make of it, but I feel we can't - or I can't - ignore his offer, though. I'm going back to talk to him tonight. Outside of the confessional." Now they did look a little surprised. "About Jackson and Carroll. ...And Orchid."



((Lion, feel free to jump in and write for any of these characters if you want! Or introduce a new one. Or just ignore it entirely, and I can keep writing it. :D))

Lion

 The eyes that lingered in the corner, high in the rafters – or the pitiful rotted excuse that helped suspend the dim oil lamps above them and the thatch roof that was sorely in repair – narrowed down at the four individuals that went about their conversation.  They were curious, and quiet, speculative and yet beneath their blue-eyed surface held a hidden resolve that most knew never to question.

“You say to be careful,” came the voice, quiet and calm, though with a rusted steadiness that threatened to break at any moment.  “You say to be mindful of what you say, and yet you ‘got carried away?’  How could that be?  But you do present a point that should be expressed once more.  This priest should not be ignored – not his presence, nor his offer.  But do not trust him, or anything he says.  He is a liar, like the rest of his kind.”

Each word was spoken with what might be mistaken for mourning, but it was anguish.  And to those that knew of that voice, it was a tone filled with regret only for making the mistake of trusting one such as the priest.  And one that saw no hope in clinging to the feeble threads of faith.  If a man wanted results, he must do them himself.

Feet resounded hard on the ground as the figure came at last into the light, an older man in his thirties or forties, thereabouts with the scruff of a beard spread across his haggard, grim face.  His hair was short and haphazardly cut across his head, and had grown white and gray from years of distress – sources of which were unknown.  He was tall for a Connlaothian, lean from work, with roughed burned hands, and scars across his palms.  His hands were clenched, and it took all he had to relax them.

His name was Christophe Corbinius, the only ‘leader’ within the shack who’d been there longer than anyone else.  He’d grown accustomed the walls and dirt and muck and lack of care from the soldiers.  And he’d been the first to distribute the fact that if the prisoners here wanted to be taken care of, they had to start taking care of themselves or starve to death.  Or worse yet.  It didn’t take long for many to gather behind him, though, like him, they would never speak of his ‘cause’, of that quiet charisma that gave them small courage in the face of their inevitable demise.

He’d heard of the prominent action – if it could be called that – by the one Bess had called Olive Carwick, and he’d found it interesting for her to speak of her action.  She was young and impetuous.  He almost smiled, but not quite.  His face had no use for smiles.  And such a nature, even within one such as her as a dangerous mixture in a place like this.

He looked at the young woman with hard eyes, grimacing, as he spoke.  “Hear him, but swallow it with a grain of salt.  And tell us everything he says.  Leave nothing out.  Is that clear?”

____
The challenge was partly unexpected but not unwelcome.  “But of course, Lieutenant Bromlin.  I’d like to think that I understand all things considered.  I’ve been here but a day and all ready I feel the isolation and bleak atmosphere of these surroundings.  Not only of the camp, but of the natural setting presented around it.  It is misty here, cold, mountainous, with beauty seen perhaps only at the edge of dawn and dusk.  I understand the thought of bloodshed and war may be traumatizing for many, and in times of crisis they long for something to hold onto, to provide a sense of stability, whether that be a loved one or the faith of Ansgar.  All me, Lieutenant,” he replied solemnly.

He didn’t quite know why, but his appetite was starting to feel soured.  Still he knew better than to skip meals, especially in a place like this.  Hot filling meals were precious, so Mercuxio swallowed another bite when the Major addressed him.  His eyes gave a narrowed glint to Neil.  “Your words are duly noted.  But I assure you, I have kept in mind,” he replied.  His voice had an edge to it, but it was vaguely noticeable, and gone within a second.  Another thoughtful sip of wine.  “Major, forgive me if I am presumptuous, but you seem to hold your opinion quite strongly.  Aside from your experience as a Mordecai, may I inquire as to what moves you to hold such hard opinions on the mages here at the camp?  There seems to be one in particular that most bears your ire.”

“Major Neil would have hard opinions about a brick wall if she bumped into it, Father,” Fawley interrupted.  “There’s little in the camp, or in life for that matter, that wouldn’t bother her.”  Though the young Captain didn’t look up, he didn’t have to to feel the Major’s eyes scowling at him.  He ducked his head and ate on.

“No, no, Captain,” Mercuxio pressed.  “I am interested in what the Major has to say.  She brings up valid points.  It would only be right to hear them out.”

[Christophe is the de facto leader of the rebellion, just fyi.  But plays a much more behind the scenes role than the others.  Also, not sure what his powers are magicwise, I didn't think that far ahead.]




Like to kill mages?  Join the Order!
The Order of St. Agratha

Help Rebuild Connlaoth from the ashes of war!
The Red Legion

Jump in the water's fine!
Desert Valley Nights
Wrong Turn

"Go into battle determined to die and you will survive.  Go into battle hoping to live and surely you shall not." -Bushido proverb
"Life is a series of dogs." -George Carlin
"We must view with profound respect the infinite capacity of the human mind to resist the introduction of useful knowledge." -Thomas R. Lounsbury
"If a cosmic tree falls in the universal forest and nobody is evolved enough to hear it, does it make a sound?" -Unknown

kleineklementine

All four people gathered around the small fire fell silent when Christophe entered the circle and all eyes turned to him. Olive's, at first, held a flash of defiance. She was still riled up by Darnel and wanted to say that she knew she'd made a mistake and that that was, after all, what 'getting carried away' meant. And furthermore, that it was how she'd found out about the laxity of the confessional in the first place and the impetus for the priest to make his offer. But as soon as her eyes met Christophe's, they lost their fire and dropped to the ground and a soft blush colored her cheeks.

"I know. I'm sorry," she said instead, her voice tired. Olive had spent much of the day turning over what she'd said to the priest in her head, visiting and revisiting her feelings about Orchid, about the Church, about the camps. The whole thing had been emotionally exhausting, even for a day in Valinarus. "I was just so angry about it all." This illicited a sympathetic look from Bess. Olive rubbed her face, heaving a sharp exhale, before looking back up at Christophe, clear-eyed now. "I will," she agreed resolutely.

Darnel opened his mouth to protest the plan, but Bess's hand on his shoulder quieted him. His fight was with the soldiers, the Mordecai, maybe even the government, but this inditement of a priest was hard for him to swallow. And though he did, his demeanor was smoldering.

Bess and Bremen exchanged a look, then Bremen leaned forward, looking carefully from Christophe to Olive. "I won't tell you no to go through with this if you both think it's a worthwhile endeavor," he told Olive, a frown creasing his eyes, "but be careful. The Lieutenant won't take kindly if he finds out that you're giving official testimony against the guards of this camp to a priest, or any outsider for that matter." To make sure that his point would be taken, Bremen added something he normally wouldn't to the girl, "No matter whose daughter you are."

Again Olive's cheeks colored slightly. Though her position had proved quite useful here, for all of them, she couldn't help but feel guilty that she had some form of protection that the others didn't. At least, until she wore it out. "I know," was all she said.




Captain Fawley shook his head to himself and refocused on his food. He'd tried to help, but the priest clearly wanted none of it.

Neil, on the other hand, leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, a distinctly feline smile spreading across her features. "Perhaps as a priest and obliged to see 'the good in everyone,' you might think that some further tragedy must have scarred me to fuel my certainty regarding mages, father, but I assure you that you couldn't be farther off the mark. I am quite happy to say that, outside of my work, my life has been entirely unblemished by the creatures. When you've spent nearly twenty years in the armor of a Mordecai, you don't need any additional 'experiences.' I've seen them all at their darkest hour, and in the end, they're all the same. Filthy, dangerous, wheedling. A scourge on our country." The smile hadn't left her face and she seemed quite happy with the topic of conversation. "But to your point, father, I give you my oath that every mage here bears my ire equally. It's these two," she waved at Bromlin and Fawley with her fork, her smile growing slightly larger and rather crueler, "who have a soft spot."

Fawley focused more than ever on his food, but Bromlin cleared his throat and heaved rather an overblown sigh to indicate that he didn't really think that this was a topic that warranted conversation, and hopefully to deflate Neil's thinly-veiled accusation. "She goes on about this every chance she gets, father, you'll have to forgive her," he said to Mercuxio in a tone both exasperated and confidential, and pointedly not addressing Neil. "I'm honestly surprised it took her this long to bring it up. The issue at hand is Duke Carwick's daughter, who is one of the mages interred here. I was a bit surprised to see magic crop up in nobility, especially in a family like the Carwicks, but the girl came here willingly and Duke Carwick is one of the most vocal supporters of what we're doing. Neil here wants to string the girl up by her ankles and gut her – no doubt to make some terrifying example to the others – and is rather sore that I won't let her."

Bromlin conveyed all of this with the tired tone of someone who's had to explain the same matter time and time again to a disobedient child. Her smile disappeared and her eyes narrowed dangerously at the Lieutenant. "She's dangerous," was her gravelly warning.

"She's a nuisance, at worst," Bromlin said wth a dismissive wave and took another bite of rabbit. "And this is hardly a way to greet our new priest, Major Neil. I'm sure he doesn't want to listen to the two of us bicker over the same issue for the fiftieth time. You'll have to forgive us, father, I'm afraid we're giving you a rather poor welcome."

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