As you all shuffle in, the blind, deformed creature that served as your guide gestures with a pale hand towards a carpeted span against the wall of the chamber cut into the dark, scarlet earth of Mogra. This audience was not easy to acquire, necessitating a full week of careful research and bribery in order to gain access to the proper channels, and thus receive an invitation. A few of you have heard of this Avra'ad before (you may decide for yourself if this is a part of your character's body of knowledge) and thus you are aware of his fearsome reputation. A gladiatorial fighter of renown for his cruel subtlety and vicious spellcraft, he secured a niche for himself in the Orders after his retirement (under mysterious circumstances, of course). Arriving at an appointed meeting place, the bulbous pale mutant (your guide) led you through a series of hidden passageways down into the bowels of Mogra's mazelike heart, where now you have been left alone in a dark room.
After a few moments, during which time your guide silently disappears through a nearly invisible exit in a different wall, a wan light begins to fill the room, filtering through a series of cracks in the ceiling and walls with occasional vibrations and distortions moving through the rock around you. It takes you a moment to realize that the cracks are in fact a single enormous vein of some minor species of gemstone - quartz, perhaps, but clearer and somehow thicker, magnifying the light of the surface to reach even here in Mogra's darkest chambers.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Those of you given to paranoia suppress a jump of surprise as the massive figure of Archpriest Avra'ad abruptly cruises into view. A goliath is a rare sight in Mogra, and this one rarer still. Pale skinned, like most of his race, but taller than average, the archetypal tattoos that run across his visible skin shimmer with a metallic aura that you, given your current knowledge of Mogra's varied and ancient arcane schools and practices, cannot identify. This, of course, is a terrifying prospect. Silently, the black-cloaked goliath, his face masked behind a plate-helm of darkened Vitre, seats himself in a thronelike chair off to the right of the carpeted seating area. For a moment, he regards you.
(Take a moment and describe yourself, your current demeanor and appearance, as well as your character's initial reaction to meeting the archpriest.)
Immobile and silent, clad in Legionary issue scale mail with hood and wooden mask. Ozrius stared at the soft glow of light in the walls in a slow rhythmic manner following one crack to another, before the appearance of the Archpriest. It took him a hot second or two to realize who was in front of him before sluggishly kneeling on one knee with his head down " Ozrius Von Hurshdale Legionnaire officer of the 2nd" *inhale* "regiment!" *exhale* "It is honor beyond any to be in presence of who's name strikes fear and discipline within the Legion" He then goes back to being silent and immobile like a statue!
As the pale mutant moves away, Brenna lays a comforting hand upon it, being careful to ensure nobody else is watching. At least she hopes that the feel of a cold, hard hand would feel comforting. She walks into the dark room, holding still and waiting for light to guide her the rest of the way. When the crystal veins begin to glow, they reflect over her, revealing a constructed being made of a material the same color of the dark, scarlet earth of Mogra. Humanoid, tall, slender, elegant but also appearing somewhat fragile, Brenna's face is a blank slate with two oval glass orbs as eyes that are currently glowing a pale blue. She stands attentively and obediently with hands folded behind her back as the Archpriest enters, not saying anything. One of her status does not speak unless directly commanded. She wonders idly if this was the man that oversaw her creation, but otherwise stays quiet.
Kodoran is tense as he follows the mutant into the room. The area is to dark for his liking, sparking unwanted memories. When the cracks light up around him, he is more relieved then surprised, relaxing visibly. After a moment's hesitation, he moves his hand away from his chest, where he'd been touching his holy symbol. As he lifts his head, the light reveals his own pale face, lined with black tattoos around his eyes and across his brow. His black hair is close cropped, leaving the designs on his forehead clearly visible. He wears a heavy fur-lined hooded cloak, under which a large buckler shield is clearly covered. A war axe hangs by a loop on his right hip, and a hand axe hangs on his his left.
He looks up at the Archpriest, pale blue eyes opened wide as if surprised to find another of his kind. Used to being the tallest figure in the room, it takes him a moment to realize that he is rather short for a Goliath, as the Archpriest towers over him. For a moment, he wonders if he should have already known that the Archpriest was also a Goliath--perhaps he did, but remembering things isn't exactly his strongest suite. Regardless, he quickly sinks to one knee, chainmail jingling as he once more bows his head.
"I am Kodoran of the Holy Orders Sir. It is an honor to be here," his voice is low, but not as deep as one might expect from someone his size. He seems tense, as if unsure of what to think of the Archpriest. His eyes flick across the room, as if searching the shadows for signs of danger. Internally, his mind races to answer the question as to why he is here...following orders, as always.
From beneath his voluminous robes, he pulls out a metallic rod with a delicate interweaving network of metal strings. This device he manipulates with the fingers of his left hand, sending a brief coursing through the lights of the room. Behind him, the wall begins to open vertically, revealing a ledge looking out into a vast room. You are momentarily blinded by the sudden introduction of a much brighter quality of light.
"I know why each of you were sent. A command from a superior officer, to uphold the honor of the Legion in the face of her enemies. An order from the Archon of Songs, who divines a worthy task for one of our creations. A missive from the hand of a living saint, Malthusien himself - the Red Cardinal. By this I know that Mogra sends her best on this expedition: because all others who may have shown weakness have already been removed. This is the path of Mogra, the legacy of our forbears and the gift to a future generation."
As the window retracts fully, the rumbling you discerned earlier through the walls resolves itself into a thunderous roar, thousands of voices cascading one upon the other in a vast, but still enclosed space. Between the waves of shouts, the clash of arms can be heard.
"As I said, I know why each of you were sent, but this is only the first part of the choice... You have been given instructions, to which I am sure you all loyal. But now, I ask a different question."
You are not sure how he does this, but his next words seem to blur into the vibrations of the crowd outside, riding the wave of noise like no other voice you have heard.
You each hear something different.
Ozrius:
"There are others of the Legion already selected for the expedition. Why did you claim the honor? What did the Archon of War see in you?
...
Is it, perhaps, that you simply wish to die?"
The towering figure seems to loom over you, and for a brief moment you get the sense that, if it is true that an honorable death is what you seek, this horrible figure will oblige you, not out of kindness or respect for duty done, but almost out of spite - a kind of pettiness belonging to children who take pleasure in dissecting a broken plaything, performed with the cold, unyielding hands of a wrathful surgeon.
Brenna:
"I have the utmost respect for the Archon of Song, for in no other way shall our secrets be recorded but in the truth and hidden meaning of music. But you are more than a simple machine, I think, little Brenna of Heor. If you had a choice in the matter, I must ask you this: would you choose to go on this journey, and risk this - your second life?"
The machine on his hand flashes as he manipulates it further, and you find yourself standing at the edge of the room, overlooking the vast chamber below.
It is an arena. Far beneath you, past a dozen other similar chambers on lower levels, four warriors fight each other on raised pedestals, bearing ornate armor and intricate weapons of metal and flashing vitre.
It is a gladiatorial bout of the highest level.
For a passing instant, Avra'ad overrides your vision and forces your sight down to a needle's focus, upon the face of one of the combatants.
It is a face you recognize. A face from a previous life. Precious to you, someone you cared for deeply, perhaps even loved, though you cannot bring a name to mind. Your vision snaps back, and Avra'ad looks at you with appraisal in his bearing.
"Some say that the warforged projects are a worthless endeavor, that your souls are no more loyal for having been remade than any of our born-slaves. I disagree. I think you are far more dangerous because you are far more free."
The clash of vitre weapons is punctuated by a sigh from the crowd. Below, someone screams in pain.
"Free to choose, in your heart of stone; free to chart your own course. I have the utmost respect for the Archon of Song. This does not stop her from being an unmindful fool to send one such as you on this mission. But... 'To whom much is given, much is required,' and you have been given much. I ask only that you reflect upon the one below when you make your choice."
Kodoran:
"And so the living saint speaks once more. And to one of the Mountain-born as well. I see in your heart the zeal of the acolyte, but as with all things of Mogra, passion must be tempered with patience, strength with suffering, lies with truth. You seek to climb the hallowed halls of your temple, to serve God as only the faithful may - this is true. Yet now, I must ask you this:"
His hand flickers and the metallic net shimmers over his hand. Your vision goes black and you see yourself standing on a narrow bridge of red earth, a black sky above you shining with stars of blood. A cold wind shears your breath from your body like nothing you have experienced, leaving your mind alert but your body nearly broken from the strain of simply surviving, as if bearing up under stabs of a thousand knives. The way in front of you forks down two paths, one to your right, one to your left.
On one path, you sense, feeling without seeing, the call of your faith and duty to the Order, a difficult and dangerous road, shrouded in darkness, but one you know you must walk because it is asked of you, and nothing of your life is too precious to be sacrificed to God. The cries of thousands of voices, all those who have gone before you, scream and rage into the night, knowing that they did their duty, only now for the choice to be passed to you.
Yet, on the other path, you feel something else. An attraction, a warmth of life like nothing you have quite experienced in memory. For a second you imagine that the feeling must be like what you imagine it would be like to be in the presence of Saint Malthusien himself, but in your heart of hearts you know it goes beyond that, deeper than that. It is a cry of a few voices, not the many, a lonely few whose cries at once feel more real, and more familiar, than the screams of The Ones Who Came Before. They call for you, for your help, in their moment of need. There is a life apart from the Orders, a life of freedom, of love, of forbidden things too wonderful to know.
The vision is ripped from your senses, leaving you gasping. It seems to you that you made a choice, but now, as you reflect, you can find no trace of it, no memory of which steps you took.
The Archpriest smiles, with no trace of kindness or remorse in his eyes.
Somewhat taken aback by the words of the Archpriest. Ozrius quickly lifts his head up in surprise for a few seconds before slowly and maybe a bit guiltily lowering his head back down "I have claimed this honor through merit alone" *inhale* "Not by favors or connection!" *exhale* he goes back to how he was if a bit more tense.
Brenna's hand twitches, the only outward sign of her roiling emotions. While the glass orbs of her eyes remain passive, her thoughts jumble over themselves in a tumult of half-formed and half-remembered feelings. I...what?...how did he know?...no...it can't be...who...I can't remember....my heart... The glass orbs dim as she shuts down her vision and focuses on a single thing: a song. Or not so much a song as a single perfect note, to be formed and shaped by those who see its component parts. With that focus, her thoughts coalesce and for the first time she meets the Archpriests gaze. She says, without a hint of emotion:
"What I have is an illusion of freedom. My form is yours and thus so is my everything. The one below does not change that. You own me."
Kodoran’s face is passive as he comes back to reality. His thoughts are whirling, creating an internal mess he can’t hope to sort through at the moment. His eyes flick towards the archpriest, and he wonders how exactly he did it. Does this man know my inner thoughts? Does he know what I am thinking in this moment? How does he know my desires?
Kodoran does his best not to frown, fearing such an expression might offend the Archpriest. A thought manages to present itself from within the tangle of emotions and questions, kind of person this Goliath? Yet, it doesn’t matter. He is the Archpriest, Kodoran is here to serve.
”I cannot pretend to know what that meant. All I can say is that I hope whatever answer I gave was satisfactory.” He dips his head, still kneeling. “I am here to serve.”
OOC:
Does Kodoran know anything about this “Living Saint?” Is that a title that is well known in the Holy Orders, or is it something new or obscure, leaving Kodoran ignorant? Just trying to gage what his reaction/thoughts will be once he sorts through his current thoughts.
In response to all of you, with a voice that rings at once across each of your individual experiences, echoing and inflecting in on itself as light within a kaleidoscope, Avra'ad speaks.
"We shall see."
The pale mutated servant reenters, bearing a plate of pure silver with utensils for tea already set. It ignores you as it moves to a low table near the throne.
"Our expedition leaves at dawn tomorrow. Make any final preparations as you need. You may accompany the 3rd Legion Engineers Cohort as Aeges Logistae (essentially, the baggage guard in ancient Mogran, which is almost indistinguishable from old Argo in all but a few specific cases), or you may ride with the rearguard 5th Circle, Sect of Patience, which departs four hours after light. The assembly grounds lie in the shadows of Argo's walls. You shall be contacted with further instructions by my servants when need arises. Until then, you will be following orders from a joint leadership council, with myself and two others guiding the decisions for the expedition. Your immediate superior officer is Hierarch Amax of the 5th Circle, Sect of Patience, but you will ultimately answer to me outside of this public chain of command. Do not disappoint her. Do not disappoint me."
A chance to respond and ask questions is provided, though briefly. The High Priest's time is valuable, and he is only willing to share a portion of it at this time.
OOC to Kodoran
You would be familiar with this figure - the legendary and supposedly immortal founder of your particular order among the Many Holy Orders. Relative to Mogran historicity in the Holy Orders, his is a relatively recent claim to fame, but you would know his story rather well as your particular groups disciplines are patterned on his deeds. To have his legacy brought up so disdainfully is at once insulting to you and yours, but also indicative of how great a difference in rank lie between not just you, but your entire order, and this particular High Priest. You would know, by whisper and spying, that Avra'ad's Order, over which he presides, is almost unrecognizably mysterious in Mogra to the near point of anonymity, but it has been called the Farseers, the Ghost Hand, and Machon Magor over the last two hundred years.
"By your words! am i to assume we'll get support for tasks you deem" *inhale* "urgent?" *exhale* As Ozrius stands up after hearing the Archpriest's answer he put his fist on his chest and bows slightly.
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
History check for the Sect of Patience 20
Brenna sneaks a glance at the two others in the room: both men with unsurprising strong allegiances to the Holy Orders. She should bear the same allegiances. Should, but doesn't. The overwhelming sense of defeatism she carries with her each day does not allow such strong emotions. And so she responds: "I will accompany the Aeges Logistae if that is your wish Archpriest." She does not ask any further questions for it would be impolite. Her moment of clarity just a moment before which allowed her to address Avra'ad with such impudence is now gone. How could she disappoint these people when the one she disappointed the most was herself?
This post has potentially manipulated dice roll results.
(OOC: Thanks for the clarification! Both in the spoiler and on the other thread.)
Kodoran, now very unsure how he feels about this Priest, slowly rises to his feet. Someone of such power is not to be trifled with, and besides, this is the mission he was called to do. He will not question his orders. Hearing the options for whom he can travel with, he is immediately drawn to Sect of Patience. Surely traveling with another Holy Order, even if it is not his own, would be more comfortable than the other option. History check: 15
However, he would like to get to know these two individuals who also found themselves in the presence of this priest. If he is to be traveling with them, surely he should establish some sort of relationship with them. He decides to wait and see what group Ozrius chooses.
Once the others have chosen he spoke at last "I shall escort the Aeges Logistae and" *inhale* "insure its safety!" *exhale* Ozrius nods the one who chose the Logistae in signal that he is ready to depart whenever they are, and turns to the other nodding as well before returning his attention back to the Archpriest "We shall not fail you Archpriest."
Kodoran nods after hearing Ozirus's answer. What a shame, he would have liked to go with the Sect of Patience. Oh well, at least it should be just as interesting to go with this legion group.
"We shall not fail," Kodoran says firmly. "I too will accompany the Aeges Logistae." He nods to Ozirus and Brenna in turn, implying that he wants to speak with them more after this is settled.
As you all shuffle in, the blind, deformed creature that served as your guide gestures with a pale hand towards a carpeted span against the wall of the chamber cut into the dark, scarlet earth of Mogra. This audience was not easy to acquire, necessitating a full week of careful research and bribery in order to gain access to the proper channels, and thus receive an invitation. A few of you have heard of this Avra'ad before (you may decide for yourself if this is a part of your character's body of knowledge) and thus you are aware of his fearsome reputation. A gladiatorial fighter of renown for his cruel subtlety and vicious spellcraft, he secured a niche for himself in the Orders after his retirement (under mysterious circumstances, of course). Arriving at an appointed meeting place, the bulbous pale mutant (your guide) led you through a series of hidden passageways down into the bowels of Mogra's mazelike heart, where now you have been left alone in a dark room.
After a few moments, during which time your guide silently disappears through a nearly invisible exit in a different wall, a wan light begins to fill the room, filtering through a series of cracks in the ceiling and walls with occasional vibrations and distortions moving through the rock around you. It takes you a moment to realize that the cracks are in fact a single enormous vein of some minor species of gemstone - quartz, perhaps, but clearer and somehow thicker, magnifying the light of the surface to reach even here in Mogra's darkest chambers.
"Beautiful, isn't it?"
Those of you given to paranoia suppress a jump of surprise as the massive figure of Archpriest Avra'ad abruptly cruises into view. A goliath is a rare sight in Mogra, and this one rarer still. Pale skinned, like most of his race, but taller than average, the archetypal tattoos that run across his visible skin shimmer with a metallic aura that you, given your current knowledge of Mogra's varied and ancient arcane schools and practices, cannot identify. This, of course, is a terrifying prospect. Silently, the black-cloaked goliath, his face masked behind a plate-helm of darkened Vitre, seats himself in a thronelike chair off to the right of the carpeted seating area. For a moment, he regards you.
(Take a moment and describe yourself, your current demeanor and appearance, as well as your character's initial reaction to meeting the archpriest.)
Immobile and silent, clad in Legionary issue scale mail with hood and wooden mask. Ozrius stared at the soft glow of light in the walls in a slow rhythmic manner following one crack to another, before the appearance of the Archpriest. It took him a hot second or two to realize who was in front of him before sluggishly kneeling on one knee with his head down " Ozrius Von Hurshdale Legionnaire officer of the 2nd" *inhale* "regiment!" *exhale* "It is honor beyond any to be in presence of who's name strikes fear and discipline within the Legion" He then goes back to being silent and immobile like a statue!
As the pale mutant moves away, Brenna lays a comforting hand upon it, being careful to ensure nobody else is watching. At least she hopes that the feel of a cold, hard hand would feel comforting. She walks into the dark room, holding still and waiting for light to guide her the rest of the way. When the crystal veins begin to glow, they reflect over her, revealing a constructed being made of a material the same color of the dark, scarlet earth of Mogra. Humanoid, tall, slender, elegant but also appearing somewhat fragile, Brenna's face is a blank slate with two oval glass orbs as eyes that are currently glowing a pale blue.
She stands attentively and obediently with hands folded behind her back as the Archpriest enters, not saying anything. One of her status does not speak unless directly commanded. She wonders idly if this was the man that oversaw her creation, but otherwise stays quiet.
Kodoran is tense as he follows the mutant into the room. The area is to dark for his liking, sparking unwanted memories. When the cracks light up around him, he is more relieved then surprised, relaxing visibly. After a moment's hesitation, he moves his hand away from his chest, where he'd been touching his holy symbol. As he lifts his head, the light reveals his own pale face, lined with black tattoos around his eyes and across his brow. His black hair is close cropped, leaving the designs on his forehead clearly visible. He wears a heavy fur-lined hooded cloak, under which a large buckler shield is clearly covered. A war axe hangs by a loop on his right hip, and a hand axe hangs on his his left.
He looks up at the Archpriest, pale blue eyes opened wide as if surprised to find another of his kind. Used to being the tallest figure in the room, it takes him a moment to realize that he is rather short for a Goliath, as the Archpriest towers over him. For a moment, he wonders if he should have already known that the Archpriest was also a Goliath--perhaps he did, but remembering things isn't exactly his strongest suite. Regardless, he quickly sinks to one knee, chainmail jingling as he once more bows his head.
"I am Kodoran of the Holy Orders Sir. It is an honor to be here," his voice is low, but not as deep as one might expect from someone his size. He seems tense, as if unsure of what to think of the Archpriest. His eyes flick across the room, as if searching the shadows for signs of danger. Internally, his mind races to answer the question as to why he is here...following orders, as always.
The Gigantic figure nods to each of you in turn.
"And so you have come."
From beneath his voluminous robes, he pulls out a metallic rod with a delicate interweaving network of metal strings. This device he manipulates with the fingers of his left hand, sending a brief coursing through the lights of the room. Behind him, the wall begins to open vertically, revealing a ledge looking out into a vast room. You are momentarily blinded by the sudden introduction of a much brighter quality of light.
"I know why each of you were sent. A command from a superior officer, to uphold the honor of the Legion in the face of her enemies. An order from the Archon of Songs, who divines a worthy task for one of our creations. A missive from the hand of a living saint, Malthusien himself - the Red Cardinal. By this I know that Mogra sends her best on this expedition: because all others who may have shown weakness have already been removed. This is the path of Mogra, the legacy of our forbears and the gift to a future generation."
As the window retracts fully, the rumbling you discerned earlier through the walls resolves itself into a thunderous roar, thousands of voices cascading one upon the other in a vast, but still enclosed space. Between the waves of shouts, the clash of arms can be heard.
"As I said, I know why each of you were sent, but this is only the first part of the choice... You have been given instructions, to which I am sure you all loyal. But now, I ask a different question."
You are not sure how he does this, but his next words seem to blur into the vibrations of the crowd outside, riding the wave of noise like no other voice you have heard.
You each hear something different.
Ozrius:
"There are others of the Legion already selected for the expedition. Why did you claim the honor? What did the Archon of War see in you?
...
Is it, perhaps, that you simply wish to die?"
The towering figure seems to loom over you, and for a brief moment you get the sense that, if it is true that an honorable death is what you seek, this horrible figure will oblige you, not out of kindness or respect for duty done, but almost out of spite - a kind of pettiness belonging to children who take pleasure in dissecting a broken plaything, performed with the cold, unyielding hands of a wrathful surgeon.
Brenna:
"I have the utmost respect for the Archon of Song, for in no other way shall our secrets be recorded but in the truth and hidden meaning of music. But you are more than a simple machine, I think, little Brenna of Heor. If you had a choice in the matter, I must ask you this: would you choose to go on this journey, and risk this - your second life?"
The machine on his hand flashes as he manipulates it further, and you find yourself standing at the edge of the room, overlooking the vast chamber below.
It is an arena. Far beneath you, past a dozen other similar chambers on lower levels, four warriors fight each other on raised pedestals, bearing ornate armor and intricate weapons of metal and flashing vitre.
It is a gladiatorial bout of the highest level.
For a passing instant, Avra'ad overrides your vision and forces your sight down to a needle's focus, upon the face of one of the combatants.
It is a face you recognize. A face from a previous life. Precious to you, someone you cared for deeply, perhaps even loved, though you cannot bring a name to mind. Your vision snaps back, and Avra'ad looks at you with appraisal in his bearing.
"Some say that the warforged projects are a worthless endeavor, that your souls are no more loyal for having been remade than any of our born-slaves. I disagree. I think you are far more dangerous because you are far more free."
The clash of vitre weapons is punctuated by a sigh from the crowd. Below, someone screams in pain.
"Free to choose, in your heart of stone; free to chart your own course. I have the utmost respect for the Archon of Song. This does not stop her from being an unmindful fool to send one such as you on this mission. But... 'To whom much is given, much is required,' and you have been given much. I ask only that you reflect upon the one below when you make your choice."
Kodoran:
"And so the living saint speaks once more. And to one of the Mountain-born as well. I see in your heart the zeal of the acolyte, but as with all things of Mogra, passion must be tempered with patience, strength with suffering, lies with truth. You seek to climb the hallowed halls of your temple, to serve God as only the faithful may - this is true. Yet now, I must ask you this:"
His hand flickers and the metallic net shimmers over his hand. Your vision goes black and you see yourself standing on a narrow bridge of red earth, a black sky above you shining with stars of blood. A cold wind shears your breath from your body like nothing you have experienced, leaving your mind alert but your body nearly broken from the strain of simply surviving, as if bearing up under stabs of a thousand knives. The way in front of you forks down two paths, one to your right, one to your left.
On one path, you sense, feeling without seeing, the call of your faith and duty to the Order, a difficult and dangerous road, shrouded in darkness, but one you know you must walk because it is asked of you, and nothing of your life is too precious to be sacrificed to God. The cries of thousands of voices, all those who have gone before you, scream and rage into the night, knowing that they did their duty, only now for the choice to be passed to you.
Yet, on the other path, you feel something else. An attraction, a warmth of life like nothing you have quite experienced in memory. For a second you imagine that the feeling must be like what you imagine it would be like to be in the presence of Saint Malthusien himself, but in your heart of hearts you know it goes beyond that, deeper than that. It is a cry of a few voices, not the many, a lonely few whose cries at once feel more real, and more familiar, than the screams of The Ones Who Came Before. They call for you, for your help, in their moment of need. There is a life apart from the Orders, a life of freedom, of love, of forbidden things too wonderful to know.
The vision is ripped from your senses, leaving you gasping. It seems to you that you made a choice, but now, as you reflect, you can find no trace of it, no memory of which steps you took.
The Archpriest smiles, with no trace of kindness or remorse in his eyes.
Somewhat taken aback by the words of the Archpriest. Ozrius quickly lifts his head up in surprise for a few seconds before slowly and maybe a bit guiltily lowering his head back down "I have claimed this honor through merit alone" *inhale* "Not by favors or connection!" *exhale* he goes back to how he was if a bit more tense.
Brenna's hand twitches, the only outward sign of her roiling emotions. While the glass orbs of her eyes remain passive, her thoughts jumble over themselves in a tumult of half-formed and half-remembered feelings.
I...what?...how did he know?...no...it can't be...who...I can't remember....my heart...
The glass orbs dim as she shuts down her vision and focuses on a single thing: a song. Or not so much a song as a single perfect note, to be formed and shaped by those who see its component parts. With that focus, her thoughts coalesce and for the first time she meets the Archpriests gaze. She says, without a hint of emotion:
"What I have is an illusion of freedom. My form is yours and thus so is my everything. The one below does not change that. You own me."
Kodoran’s face is passive as he comes back to reality. His thoughts are whirling, creating an internal mess he can’t hope to sort through at the moment. His eyes flick towards the archpriest, and he wonders how exactly he did it.
Does this man know my inner thoughts? Does he know what I am thinking in this moment? How does he know my desires?
Kodoran does his best not to frown, fearing such an expression might offend the Archpriest. A thought manages to present itself from within the tangle of emotions and questions, kind of person this Goliath? Yet, it doesn’t matter. He is the Archpriest, Kodoran is here to serve.
”I cannot pretend to know what that meant. All I can say is that I hope whatever answer I gave was satisfactory.” He dips his head, still kneeling. “I am here to serve.”
OOC:
Does Kodoran know anything about this “Living Saint?” Is that a title that is well known in the Holy Orders, or is it something new or obscure, leaving Kodoran ignorant? Just trying to gage what his reaction/thoughts will be once he sorts through his current thoughts.
In response to all of you, with a voice that rings at once across each of your individual experiences, echoing and inflecting in on itself as light within a kaleidoscope, Avra'ad speaks.
"We shall see."
The pale mutated servant reenters, bearing a plate of pure silver with utensils for tea already set. It ignores you as it moves to a low table near the throne.
"Our expedition leaves at dawn tomorrow. Make any final preparations as you need. You may accompany the 3rd Legion Engineers Cohort as Aeges Logistae (essentially, the baggage guard in ancient Mogran, which is almost indistinguishable from old Argo in all but a few specific cases), or you may ride with the rearguard 5th Circle, Sect of Patience, which departs four hours after light. The assembly grounds lie in the shadows of Argo's walls. You shall be contacted with further instructions by my servants when need arises. Until then, you will be following orders from a joint leadership council, with myself and two others guiding the decisions for the expedition. Your immediate superior officer is Hierarch Amax of the 5th Circle, Sect of Patience, but you will ultimately answer to me outside of this public chain of command. Do not disappoint her. Do not disappoint me."
A chance to respond and ask questions is provided, though briefly. The High Priest's time is valuable, and he is only willing to share a portion of it at this time.
OOC to Kodoran
You would be familiar with this figure - the legendary and supposedly immortal founder of your particular order among the Many Holy Orders. Relative to Mogran historicity in the Holy Orders, his is a relatively recent claim to fame, but you would know his story rather well as your particular groups disciplines are patterned on his deeds. To have his legacy brought up so disdainfully is at once insulting to you and yours, but also indicative of how great a difference in rank lie between not just you, but your entire order, and this particular High Priest. You would know, by whisper and spying, that Avra'ad's Order, over which he presides, is almost unrecognizably mysterious in Mogra to the near point of anonymity, but it has been called the Farseers, the Ghost Hand, and Machon Magor over the last two hundred years.
"By your words! am i to assume we'll get support for tasks you deem" *inhale* "urgent?" *exhale* As Ozrius stands up after hearing the Archpriest's answer he put his fist on his chest and bows slightly.
History check for the Sect of Patience 20
Brenna sneaks a glance at the two others in the room: both men with unsurprising strong allegiances to the Holy Orders. She should bear the same allegiances. Should, but doesn't. The overwhelming sense of defeatism she carries with her each day does not allow such strong emotions. And so she responds:
"I will accompany the Aeges Logistae if that is your wish Archpriest."
She does not ask any further questions for it would be impolite. Her moment of clarity just a moment before which allowed her to address Avra'ad with such impudence is now gone. How could she disappoint these people when the one she disappointed the most was herself?
(OOC: Thanks for the clarification! Both in the spoiler and on the other thread.)
Kodoran, now very unsure how he feels about this Priest, slowly rises to his feet. Someone of such power is not to be trifled with, and besides, this is the mission he was called to do. He will not question his orders.
Hearing the options for whom he can travel with, he is immediately drawn to Sect of Patience. Surely traveling with another Holy Order, even if it is not his own, would be more comfortable than the other option.
History check: 15
However, he would like to get to know these two individuals who also found themselves in the presence of this priest. If he is to be traveling with them, surely he should establish some sort of relationship with them. He decides to wait and see what group Ozrius chooses.
(OOC: my bad. I forgot to choose a group.)
Once the others have chosen he spoke at last "I shall escort the Aeges Logistae and" *inhale* "insure its safety!" *exhale* Ozrius nods the one who chose the Logistae in signal that he is ready to depart whenever they are, and turns to the other nodding as well before returning his attention back to the Archpriest "We shall not fail you Archpriest."
"Naturally. You shall be provided all that is necessary to ensure Mogran dominance in the Expedition."
Kodoran nods after hearing Ozirus's answer. What a shame, he would have liked to go with the Sect of Patience. Oh well, at least it should be just as interesting to go with this legion group.
"We shall not fail," Kodoran says firmly. "I too will accompany the Aeges Logistae." He nods to Ozirus and Brenna in turn, implying that he wants to speak with them more after this is settled.
OOC: What was that roll, Kodoran? It parses as 2d8+6 = 0 for me...
"Go, then. You are dismissed."
And that's a wrap! I'll post something here about the Sect of Patience once I figure out that Kodoran die roll...
(Oh lol, blasted dice roller. It was a 1d20-2=0)