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[ToM] The Temple of Mondain resides in the Desert of Compassion in Felucca. There, they seek the veneration and rebirth of Sosaria's darkest wizard...

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Veritus
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Posts: 31
UO Shard: Great Lakes
Character Age: 0
Guild Affiliation: Temple of Mondain
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Archives 4

Post by Veritus » Wed Dec 24, 2008 2:57 am

Magincia
"Chaos is the manifestation of natures panic, my friend. It is that small rapture where the world takes to it's own affairs, leaving those of us who wander her the chance to truly handle things on our own."

Agnathoras continued his small talk with the student taking notes of the wildlife near the moongate. His eyes carried over the architecture of his former home and source of his knowledge. The island city of Magincia was a shade darker than it was twenty years ago. Be it by erosion from the nearby sea or some other influence, these buildings were not what his memories resembled.

"Master Agnathoras, what about this one here?" queried the young mageling. As the older gentlemen took a knee, he picked up a small, sandy colored snake. Agnathoras held the head of the snake close to his eye, studying it carefully. His student of the moment was mesmerized by the look of contempt on the snake. It bore an almost human look of disdain as it returned the gaze of its captor.

"This ones species name escapes me for the moment, but it is commonly know as the sand dart. A most peculiar breed of crawler to be sure." Agnathoras looked over his shoulder, almost as if he felt eyes upon his very back. The audible sigh of his impatient student brought him back to his lesson. "Ah yes, the old sand dart. Interesting predator it is. Very poinsonous, but will only bite creatures that show signs of fear towards it." The voice of Agnathoras lowered and slowed somewhat as he continued.

"You see, the sand dart remains hidden and is very aware when suceptible prey are about. But when larger, nastier creatures are afoot...it burrows and freezes like a common stick in the ground." Agnathoras stood and tossed the creature to the ground, where it stood perpendicular and erect in the soft ground around it, hissing as it burrowed. The lesson of the sand dart is simple, my lad. Poison alone is not cause for fear, only the resolve of the creature itself."

The bell from the library sounded in the distance as the apprentice stood. "Noon reading, I'm afraid. I was very happy to meet and speak with you, sir." Agnothoras rubbed his greying stubble and returned an enthusiastic smile. "I shall look forward to that, my friend." Exchanging waves, the two seperated.

Agnathoras dusted off his crimson robe and grabbed his staff from a nearby tree. As he did so, he noticed a bald, ebony-clad elf walking the streets. His appearance was somewhat sinister to Agnathoras, who reacted as though he had never seen an elf before. Without breaking stride, Agnathoras passed the elf, who bore a crimson text. Nodding respectfully to the elf, Agnathoras noted a tolerant nod from the imposing figure. He felt the air chill about him somewhat as the elf passed. A single thought occured to him.

"Clearly something on your mind of greater consequence than little old me, my shadowy friend."

Magincia Generations
"I don't get it Daelin. I don't understand this. What would prompt the population here to back some morbid cult that worships the ideals of Mondain?"

Agnathoras stared out from the windows of the Library as his companion, a young man in his mid-twenties replaced some texts to thier proper shelves. "There was no real 'backing' of anything. This 'Prime Minister' Meneldur achieved his post through no feat of treachery or dishonesty," replied Daelin. "He won his post as a result of our apathy." Agnathoras gave a conceding smile in return. Daelin was young, but he knew his city well. Picking up a crystalline chalice, Agnathoras pulled a long swallow of water before continuing.

"You're right, Daelin. You weren't born when the High Council first assembled. The nations of the realm were enthusiastic about thier representatives, and we had the most saavy of the lot." Agnathoras smiled as his thoughts carried him to memories of Magincia's very first Councilor.

"I know all about Councilor Fl'Gith, my friend. I've studied the man, his rise to Chancellor. He was the steward of the Council when the Council needed a rudder of steel." Daelin smiled with a degree of pride as he rolled off another half-dozen facts about the elf from Dracona. Agnathoras pinched the bridge of his nose and just laughed.

"Yes yes, Daelin. You do the authors of the texts you memorize good justice with your eloquent recitations. But have you ever met the man ? That experience would do you good justice." Daelin smirked and straightend his acolytes robes. "I remember my mother speaking of him from time to time."

Daelin's last comment drew a eyeroll from Agnathoras. "Your mother was the near death of the poor man. Nevertheless, this Meneldur gives my judge of good character an uncomfortable pause. What else can you tell me about him?"

Daelin sat and looked to the ceiling, prying his facts about the Prime Minister from the roof of his mind. "Well lets see, he served on the Council only a short period of time and was badgered pretty often by most of the other Councilors. My guess, he came from the Temple and that just rubbed too many old robes the wrong way." Agnathoras nudged Daelin to continue.

"There was some buisness about a kidnapping some time back, someone of importance being snatched by the Drow. I don't know the particulars, but the rumors were that someone on the High Council smelt something rotten. Then proceeded to 'insult' the Princess of Tokuno, but the particulars of that were never really resolved. It did, ultimately cause the dismissal of Councilor Meneldur."

Agnathoras raised his head on the last point made by Daelin. "They dismissed him over disrespecting the Princess? That seems somewhat harsh." said Agnathoras, watching Daelin raise a matter-of-fact finger. "No, they dismissed him because he refused to apologize to her."

A look of complete satisfaction beamed from Agnathoras. "So this benefactor to our city, our Prime Minister forfeits our representation to the High Council based on personal pride. There must be something more to this. If there is not, then I am right. The High Council is all that remains of a shattered monarchy as far as I am concerned. Were I to choose its broken ways over this Meneldur, I'll take my chances with Ra'Dian and his lot."

Daelin sighed and folded his hands in his lap. "So what are you going to do, knock on his door and introduce yourself? 'Oh hello Prime Minister Meneldur. I'm Agnathoras, I havent been home in upwards of twenty years, I dont like the smell of the place I'll expect your resignation on the morrow. Power to the people, good day!'? Is it along those lines, because if it is, I'd reccommend boning up on your skills. He's no pushover."

Agnathoras thumbed his ebony staff with an elongated nail. "Neither am I. But you are correct, I'm hardly in a position to demand anything. As you said, Daelin...it was the apathy of Magincia and her populace that found us under the thrall of this fellow. Perhaps I can open some eyes."

Daelin crossed his arms and shook his head.

"You're going to need a bigger staff."
Magincia Decisions
"So let me get this straight, you're saying they don't WANT them here?"

Agnathoras pressed his forehead against the ebony staff he favored over many living friends four decades deep into lifetime. His younger colleague, the apprentice mage Daelin, continued to feed the fire. "No, they don't. His election was a sham, his appointment was by a Council handcuffed by their own rules." Agnathoras shifted his posture towards the window that proferred a view towards Britain.

"I am not what these people need, Daelin. Yes, I admit, I am somewhat outspoken in silent council to you and other dear friends when it comes to the well being of Magincia, but I am far from the political type you would suggest!"

"And why not?" asked Daelin in poingant fashion. "I mean really. With respects, just who in the hell do you think you are? You roll in here a month ago, tear into my head about your displeasure with lordship of the Mondain priest. I come to you with a petition from the masses who SUPPORT you and you decide that NOW is the time to play casual observer?" Daelin smacked the goblet from which Agnathoras drank to the far end of the room, suffixing his thought before the glass shattered.

"Just who in the HELL do you thing you are?"

Agnathoras rubbed the top of his ebonstaff with the heel of his thumb and shook off his reservations. If there was one thing that irked him above all others, it was upstart youngfolk who spoke thier passions with an absence of life experience that would be needed to justify them. His lip curled in a crooked smile as he gave Daelin a facial visage that shook the boy.

"You aren't you mother, lad. And the gods rescue your soul from my torments if you EVER make the mistake of speaking to me from you illusion of such again." There was an audible roll of thunder outside as Daelin conceded by the mere gesture of taking a seat to Aganthoras. Daelin knew he had crossed a line, and he had yeilded...but his bloodline was paved in the ways of arrogance. He could have the last word, so long as it was voiced in the proper manner.

"So what will you do now?"

Agnathoras chuckled inwardly and looked to the demonic head at the top of his staff, a pair of crimson eyes staring back at him from a demon perched on some mountaintop. "I will do what you have irked me into, Daelin. I will defeat this Meneldur per my plans." said Agnathoras, not quite sure where the resolve of his statement came from.

Daelin pinched his nose-bridge and shook his head as he spoke.

"His temple is a worshipper of one man. Defeating him should not pose a problem."

Magincia's new guests.
There was a small knock on the large wooden door. A moment later a low, commanding and somewhat gentle voice said “Enter”. The door slowly creaked open to reveal a large office. The office was dimly lit by a pair of small candles upon the large marble desk in the middle of the office. Shadows danced upon the dark stone walls like a ghostly ballroom dance.

Meneldur looked up from his desk, putting down his quill and leaning back in his high backed chair motioned for Elros to enter. Elros moved further into the room standing with his hands clasped behind his back. Meneldur’s snakelike emerald green eyes surveyed Elros over his now touching fingertips. “What news?” Meneldur asked.

“Your Excellency, it appears there have been strangers entering Magincia. They are not part of either council yet I don’t believe they can be counted as our friends.” As Elros finished he noticed Meneldur was still staring at him over his finger tips but was now smiling benignly. His eyes now Jet black. “Yes, I have heard reports of them entering the city once before from the dhaeraow. I have met the older of the two, long ago. He was once a wise elf, though now I can only guess he has forgotten the resolve of this temple.”

Meneldur’s smile faded, His hands were now resting on the arms of his chair, and his jet black eyes were emitting a strange emerald glow though his face remained calm and impassive. Elros remained silent, his hands still clasped behind his back as Meneldur continued. “The elder of the two is Agnathoras and I met him long ago and remember him well. An advantage he will not foresee. The younger I have not met but I can only theorize has some influence over his teacher and this is perhaps a greater advantage still.”

Meneldur leaned forward and began to survey Elros over his fingertips again. “I wish to speak to each in turn, personally. I would also like you to send Silrien to me, I must talk with her.” Elros’ iridescent crystal eyes flashed briefly before nodding and sweeping from the room and closing the door quietly.

September Skies
"Subtle. Very, very subtle."

Daelin sat back impassively as Agnathoras paced about the Great Library of Magincia. Yes, the young man could see the elder was deeply rooted in his course of action. Over the last several days Agnathoras had beaten the bricks and visited with many of his old friends, getting some insight on how things had either prospered or degraded since the arbitrary secession of Magincia from Britannia proper; from its unilateral withdrawl from the stewardship of the King's Council.

"Why resort to subterfuge?" questioned Agnathoras. "We agree that this imposition of Mondainian power was a product of public lethargy and Council optimism." Daelin smiled as Agnathoras moved across the library floor as he spoke.

You're already working the room with your speech, and you don't even realize it.

"I've read these transcripts over and over, and I've done a degree of homework. I have walked these city streets for weeks, you have for months and we have seen these Temple folk..."

"Never."

Agnathoras stopped pacing for a moment, regarding his younger friend with a mixture of absent admiration and prideful disgust. Daelin was the true catalyst of both mother and father. He wore his fathers pride and honor, coupled with his mother's desire to win all confrontations, no regard for moral cost. Nodding, Agnathoras proceeded.

"Right. I cannot fathom how the Council could permit the secession of the Isle based upon the whims of some lone priest."

Daelin looked at the winebottle and then back to Agnathoras. He was barely the legal age to consume spirits, but no counstables were nearby and he needed to unwind. The duo had been at the plotting table for a fortnight. Agnathoras shrugged an unspoken approval as Daelin poured the first round. "I was reading up on this Temple of Mondain," Daelin said as he pulled a full sip of the crimson wine. He rolled the smooth spirit across his toungue as he recalled what the assorted histories recorded.

"And?"

"Apparently, this Meneldur holds an artifact of immeasurable power against the Council. Some say it is this weapon that grants him the sway and latitude that makes you sick to your very stomach."

Agnathoras took the wineglass that was proferred by Daelin. The candlelight danced thought the wineglass onto his crimson cloak, and off of the ruby eyes of his demonhead staff. "Immeasurable power," Agnathoras whispered as he drank deeply. Exhaling after the swallow, he regarded his ebonstaff from base to pinnacle, eyes finally shifting to the ancient map of Magincia etched onto the tabletop.

"Powerfull artifacts can accellerate a rise to power Daelin, but they seldom sustain it. It is the trust and good faith of mankind that commands proper faith in rulers. Look to your histories of good and evil. Those who ruled by the power of items..."

Daelin and Agnathoras seemed to share a singular thought at their eyes locked simultaneously to a picture on the far wall of the Library. A visage burned into the minds of all who occupied Sosaria....

...an image of Mondain, and the Gem of Immortality.
The "Predict" Ability.
Daelin rubbed his thumbnail across his upper lip as he listened to Agnathoras speak of the events of one night prior. He started a word, then rapidly paused. "So you're saying he offered you a position as his liason to the High Council?"

Agnathoras shook his head. "No, he offered to make me the Councilor of Magincia. Those were his words. It was as though he felt his was the power to appoint delegates to the Council that he seceded from. No shortage of balls on this one." Daelin let a crooked smile through as he tried to fit square pegs into circular holes. "Was he alone?"

"No, and we should seriously consider relocating for our discussions of this nature. Devil has eyes all over, and they are never the same damned color twice." Agnathoras sat on the table, which drew a look of ire from Daelin. The older gentleman waved him off. "Don't start with me, kid."

Daelin continued. "How about his subjects? What did you get from them?" Agnathoras wrinkled his nose and rapidly shook his head, conveying that he wasn't very impressed.

"He had a small entourage. They remained silent for the most part, the one that did speak was either drunk or feebleminded...called me an elf. I especially liked the 'gate to anywhere' that I was just expected to walk through after his emissary's quaint glancing threat." Daelin found that somewhat amusing.

"Then there was some sneaky b**** in the library who gave me some quip before she vanished. That was essentially it."

Daelin pressed one foot against the wall as he leaned against it and crossed his arms. "Track of events is too chaotic for a madman, but its to academic for a strategist. He threatens and postures, offers a branch in the form of a job. He seeks talks with a council he denounces to your face." Agnathoras shook his head in agreement.

"Would you trust some unknown enemy to be your voice to a Council you talk through both sides of your mouth to?"

Agnathoras mimic'ed his colleagues body language, crossing his arms and curling his lips inward. "Daelin, I tell you...he was afraid. I dont know what it was. Not so much fear of me as much as a fear of the situation. He had eyes in those Council Halls and arived immediately on cue as they adjourned. He prefixed his address to me with some dog-and-pony act address from some elven emissary who was defintely there to rile me."

Daelin raised his eyebrows and ran a hand though his ear-length brown hair. "I think its a litte of both. By the sounds of things, you made an impression at the Civic Center. Whether Meneldur's ego concedes it or not, he sees that you have some light on you. He cannot simply smite you without drawing the ire of the Council he's seeking to open dialogue with..."

Agnathoras put his hand up and cut Daelin off. "Enough! We're talking in circles, here. Bottom line is that I haven't done anything but go to the Council with a citizen's gripe, coupled with my desire to remedy it with their aid. I have a lot to accomplish in a little time."

Daelin nodded in agreement. "You have some powerful aquaintances. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, Agnathoras." The elder mage straightened his crimson robes and placed a hand on his young friends shoulder. "I have to worry about what I intend to do before I worry about how intend to do it."

Daelin responded evenly, and in short order.

"Agreed, but you aren't alone in this."
Sordid Casts
"It was like the stranger at the Northern gate stated. Several members in a circle, simply waiting for a turn to speak."

Daelin poured an outlawed skin of wine into his goblet, he just wasn't interested in the opinion of Agnathoras on the matter. "How did they stack up?"

Agnathoras gripped the topmost part of his scalp. For a man of fifty-plus years, his head bore an appreciable sprout of hair, an absent blessing he never neglected in his nighttime prayers.

"They sympathized, but I'm fairly certain this United Council of Sosaria wont raise a finger to our plight. Granted, they were most gracious and accomodating..." Agnathoras peered over to his junior under the veil of curled brow. Daelin was there waiting for him...tossing a text from from one hand to the next.

"So you went, explored and remained unimpressed."

Agnathoras released a defeated breath. "In so many words. Thier only commitment seemed to be one of speech." Daelin pulled from his wineglass hard, emptying all but a mouthfull from his goblet. Daelin egged him on.

"Were I to guess, your enemy underestimates your strength."

Agnathoras looked back to Daelin, the wise young lad of twenty years, whose wisdom stumped the more learned mage over and over again. "Then let us drink to your assessment, Daelin. May my enemies 'never know what hits them'."

Daelin offered a blank, semi-tolerant stare. It was clearly obvious that he wasn't in the mood to argue, and he was educated by his mother never to take advantage of his elders when they had consumed too many fine spirits. Winning an argument in this venue would be easy, and odds were in Daelins favor that Agnathoras wouldn't even recall said argument on the morrow.

But the fat that he might offered the young man a moment of pause.

Daelin returned the salute of his alcoholically imbibed friend with a raised glass. "Amen and good will to your plight, brother. Here is to paradise...."

Daelin didn't concern himself with the stains upon his shoes as he poured his full wineglass upon the sandstone floor.
Under the Estimation.
Meneldur sat back in his throne. A different kind of smile was upon his face than the usual benign one. The main chamber of the Temple was warmly lit by candelabras and a small hint of vanilla pipe smoke filled the air. Elros remained at attention standing in the middle of the Black Altar. “Tokuno has stated in the United Sosarian Council that they will not aid in the attack upon Magincia.” Elros said. Meneldurs smile faded slightly as Elros continued. “Our allies have been informed and all preparations are underway.”

Meneldur shifted forward, his elbows now resting on the arms of his throne, his fingertips lightly touching as he peered over them. His snake like eyes shifting from emerald to black as they usually did and his voice was deep and cold sounding. “Our friend was unsuccessful in rallying the second council?” Meneldurs eyes shifted again as Elros nodded. “Most a pity.” Meneldurs face was expressionless now… “I believe Silrien will be most useful in solidifying my plan.” Elros nodded slightly before speaking up again.
“And what shall be done about our friend?” Elros looked inquisitively at Meneldur whose expression was still unreadable. “Agnathoras is to be untouched… Fly in our potion that he may believe he is he doesn’t realize he is the main ingredient to the potion. His arrogance and self proclaimed importance is our advantage.” Meneldurs voice was still cold but the usual benign smile and returned as he sat back and dismissed Elros who nodded respectfully and exited the chamber.

One Voice
"Tis as I predicted. There is one voice upon the land, my young friend."

Daelin regarded Agnathoras cooly. "I was playing percentages, my old friend. Two unified bodies against a shared aggressor, one to which they mutually hate seemed to be the wise play." Daelin ran his hands through his hair and gave Agnathoras a contrite stare.

"I'm sorry I wasted your time with the UCS."

Agnathoras sighed and leaned in upon his staff. "I was told by some vagabond the night before my first meet with them: 'They talk and talk until someones feelings get hurt, then they resort to squabbling.' I would be compelled to say that was a fair assessment of this secondary Council."

Daelin grabbed a record off the table. It was a large, leatherbound text that chronicled the events of the High Council up until the return of Lord British. "You've mentioned your appreciation for Fl'Gith in the past. How does Tanda stack up in his stead as Chancellor?"

Agnathoras nodded as his left eyebrow raised. "Tanda is a lesson that you should never judge a book based upon the opinions of those who have read the text." Daelins young forehead betrayed a pair of fledgling wrinkles, signifying that he didnt understand. "Fl'Gith was, and is, just as the day is long. His tolerances virtually knew no bounds. Hard pressed is a mortal to find another who cared more about the populace and prosperity of Britannia and her commonwealth."

Daelin raised his index fingers as he replied. "This doesnt answer my question."

"Ra'dians tolerance evaporated upon criticisms to the Council, whether they drew merit or not. His stack blew on so many occaisions when the direction, discretion or decisions of the council...his Council, came under scrutiny. It is with regret that lesser foes knew to exploit this rage, and did so often. In addition, Fl'Gith abhorred the vacuum of interest in his Councilors. Many took seats and offered little to justify them.

"This Tanda isn't rattled by the prattles of her lessers, nor the impatience of those who seek her deliberations yesterday. I sensed a great deal of concern in her when I brought our plight before them. The UCS granted me rhetoric and an implied gesture to the door." Agnathoras huffed hardly, so much so that the candles near Daelin flickered. "How are my studies going. Pathetic."

Daelin ran a finger over a chart on the table that outlined all of the continents of the world. "Have you noticed, Agnathoras...since your little stir, we've seldom seen a Mondainite upon our shores?" Daelins finger continued to move across the map. Agnathoras propped his staff against a corner and reached for a wineglass. "I've been traveling a lot, but yes...your observation holds merit."

Daelins' hand ceased to move, his index finger falling upon a completely different area of the map. His eyes locked with Agnathoras, who returned a completely comfounded look. "I don't understand." Daelin simply sat back and replied evenly, "No, you don't." Agnathoras was getting visibly impatient. If there was one thing he hated above all others, it was jovial volleys of small-talk. "Get to the point before I get buzzed enough to crack you one!"

Daelin opened his eyes wide and innocent, returning his finger to the space on the map it occupied a moment before. "Look!" Agnathoras shook the cobwebs from his tired mind and put simple facts in line. One plus one will always equal two. His face brightened as he looked to the visibly satisfied younger man.

"You mother would be proud of you boy."
Repulsion
Agnathoras raced through the streets of Magincia, cursing and swearing. There was blood spatter all over the cobblestone and buildings, and a fresh scent of burned reagents hung heavy in the air. Agnathoras had heard from some colleagues in Moonglow, where he was at the Lycaeum reading up on his enemy, the Temple of Mondain.

Magincia had fallen under attack.

By the time Agnathoras arrived, the battle was clearly over...with no way of telling who emerged a victor. The dead and wounded had obviously been carried off, all save one man. It was a wounded footman who bore the colors of the Yew Militia. Agnathoras dismounted and raced to the man, apparently fresh from unconsciousness.

"Rest, good man. You seem to have taken a tumble from your horse. Can you tell me what happened here?" Agnathoras profferred his waterskin to the soldier who scratched his head, struggling to recall what had happened. "Yes, the Temple was here, along with some drow. We were ready for them, however. I was chasing their leader when the flash of his recall spell startled my horse."

Agnathoras grinned somewhat as he saw a barded horse frolicking nearby. "Your horse is safe. So, the BAF forced the Temple into a tactical withdrawl..."

The militia man choked back on the water he swallowed. "Tactical? There was nothing tactical about it. The battle commenced and their leader, Fearun, high-tailed it for the moongate. I was given orders to pursue, but he obviously shook me off."

"Fearun. I think that was the chap who tried to lure me into some gate some time ago. He was the Temple leader, and fled. It would seem his namesake is a good description for his battle ethic. Fear and run." Agnathoras helped the soldier to his feet. "Do you know where they went from here? I would imagine the BAF would have stayed here to secure the island, even after routing the Mondainites." A third party gave Agnathoras his answer.

"The Army pursued them to Nujelm, where they were routed a second time by the BAF." The familiar voice of Daelin came from behind Agnathoras. Daelin was covered in dust and debris, but appeared unharmed. "Don't fret over me. I was standing by a tree that was hit by an errant energy bolt. I'm uninjured, but I cant say the same for the tree."

Agnathoras tossed the waterskin to Daelin, who verified the story of the battle. Daelin kept shaking his head, stifling a laugh. Agnathoras prodded the boy. "What the hell are you on about?" Daelin looked back sheepishly as he responded. "Your nemesis, Meneldur. He clearly has a taste for theatrics...but not one for battle." Agnathoras raised his brows in astonishment as Daelin continued.

"I ran though a conjured gate and witnessed the happenings there. The BAF routed their enemy in Nujelm. Much like the Mondainite officer here, the High Priest was no where to be seen." The elder mage bid a not to the Militiaman and walked over to Daelin. "For all his posturing, threats and assertions...well, I sensed fear when I met him. My instincts continue to serve me well."

Daelin wiped a small scratch over his brow. "Don't go celebrating yet. There is talk that the Mondainites loosed a plague on the city. I overheard the Grand Marshall dismiss it as fraudulent, but we should do some investigating on our own." Agnathoras looked at the bloodstains on the walls and ground.

"My gut tells me this plague, like the Temple, will wash away with the next good rain. Now I have something else to consider..." Daelin lost his understanding of where Agnathoras was going with this, but the direction his friend was looking gave him some idea...

...Compassion Grove.
Fear of loss
Fearun paced the great hall endlessly, his amber eyes ablaze with anger and rage. Meneldur watched calmly as his general paced and vented his frustrations. “This plan was to be flawless you said… It could not have been thwarted you assured me.” Meneldur continued to watch the usual benign smile still upon his face and contrast to Fearuns demeanor he was calm and collected. “I should have never allowed the main force to attack Magincia to keep them from Nujelm.” Fearuns fists clenched as he stopped in the middle of the room and looked at Meneldur.

“How can you be so calm?” Finally leaning back in his throne and resting his hands upon its arm Meneldur responded. “Nujelm should not have been abandon to save it from what was ultimately the onslaught it was going to suffer the second we were spotted inside the city. Nor was it wise to take a smaller less experienced army against a battle hardened legion that outnumbered you at least 6 to 1.” The smile still present only infuriated Fearun more his brow furrowing in rage. Meneldur simply gave a sincere smile before it vanished and he continued.

“It was however wise enough of a tactic to flush out a betrayer whom I had a suspicion would turn against us. It was also wise enough of a plan that we now that there are still friends among our allies as well who will not betray the cause of our liberation. It was wise enough of a plan to expose their entire army to a plague that has been sent throughout Magincia which will weaken it. It was wise enough of a plan to allow me time to capture Imadii.” Meneldur finished and his benign smile returned.

Fearun began to calm slightly. "But we have still lost Nujelm, and now we are being considered cowards by some for leaving the battle." Meneldur smiled again again this time it did not fade. "Were you the first to leave the battle?" Meneldurs eyes seemed to bore into Fearuns. "No" Fearun said defiantly. "I was the last one alive, I fought till I was the last one left." Meneldur's smile grew. "Nor was, and like you I was the last one alive and to leave." Meneldur sat forward a little further. "With the capture of Imadii it matters not that we lost Nujelm. We can easily reclaim it without the use of a blade this time with the added bonus that she holds the second to last ingredient I require.” Meneldur continued smiling as he leaned forward slightly. “And I believe you were placed second only to one of our own in the first tournament of the dragon, undefeated until you faced Aleksander our Arch Priest. Faced with the odds of 20 angry battle hardened Knights and Mages looking to kill you at first sight I believe your choice to remain alive to aid the rest of us and report was happening was a wise decision. As was mine to leave under the same circumstance. A wise man chooses his battles, not allows others to choose them for him. And I am sure that such rumors are started by shallow minds hiding behind veils of words and self importance.” Meneldur leaned back again. “They have thwarted my plans only for a brief moment; we shall re plan and move on.”
Justified Suspicions
"They are morons, Agnathoras. That is the simple long and short of it."

Agnathoras paced about the floor of the Magincia Library. "No, they aren't. They were burned by Meneldur and they are being cautious. I don't fault them for looking at me awry." The elder mage stroked his chin as his facade of understanding faded. "I was just under the impression that my intention to serve the Council was clear." Daelin stood and mimicked his colleague, rubbing some freshly grown stubble under his chin. By the gods, you look like your father, Agnathoras thought to himself. Daelin's golden hair, tied off in a long pony-tail coupled with this new facial hair...it was almost eerie.

"Don't look at me like that, it bothers me!" Daelin retreated to his chair and pulled his red cloak about him. Agnathoras just smiled and continued. "Tonight the Grand Marshall asked, most poingnantly, do I seek to take over the government of Magincia. I replied that I had no political ambitions. It seems we both stopped speaking before our thoughts were expressed, namely by that fool of an elf."

Daelin's eyes narrowed. "What elf?"

"I don't know what title he bears, but he clearly has it in for me. He even brought you up." Daelin's eyes arched inwardly, his face then revealing a more curious look. Agnathoras continued. "I don't know...he went on with some sermon about children who seek to be kings. Elven gibberish.

"In any event, I don't think they are interested in having me there. I feel a lot of distrust in that room." Both Agnathoras and Daelin seemed to make a simultaneous 'oh well' shrug as the old of the two men tugged on his tousled grey hair. "That nonsense notwithstanding, I did declare that I would investigate these dubious plague claims..."

Daelin shook his finger in protest. "You said the Grand Marshall stated your assistance would be appreciated, but they need someone from the Council to report to them. Nothing but spurns, you seem to draw from them." Agnathoras raised a finger to the face of Daelin. He could fire a response that would send the youths sense of wit well into next week, but his conscience considered the retort a cheap shot.

The finger was deterrant enough. Daelin piped down.

"There was something else. The Chancellor took ill during the meeting. I examined her briefly, but saw nothing conclusive." Daelin returned an incredulous look and released a laugh clearly hued with pity.

"Sitting in with the clerics much, are we?"
The Seeds of Ambition
The blotter rolled across the signature of the handwritten letter, with the author taking one moment to proofread his work:

"Salutations, General.

I am sure you are puzzled to receive this letter, given the brevity in which we have known one another. If my name does not jog your memory, we met briefly in Nujelm as I spoke with the BAF Grand Marshall, Polynikes.

I also recall seeing you last night at the High Council proceedings. Your body language, as well as your banter with the Chancellor spoke volumes to me. I have found myself embroiled in a two-front war...one of politics and one of concscience.

I've done my fair share of research on you and your people. I know you care little for my kind, but nevertheless, there are certain circumstances in ones life that any race can appreciate and understand. In this case, ones appreciation of homeland against invaders...well it seemed most prevalent if the histories I have read about your people are accurrate.

I would like to meet with you, this evening if possible. There is a tavern called "The Rusty Anchor" in Trinsic. I would imagine you should have little problem locating it.

I will be there at the 21st hour of the central skies. (9pm CST)

I look forward to meeting with you.

~ Agnathoras

Rolling the parchment into a scroll and sealing it, the writer handed the message off to a young man. "These Atalan were often seen in Trinsic. You should find this General Asimov there. Go with haste, and report back immdiately if you don't find him!"

Grabbing the familiar, ebony staff from the wall corner, the author began preparing for his journey to Trinsic.
Nothing lost
Silrien burst into the main chamber a large smile stamped on her face and her gaze rested on the figure now sitting in the throne of the temple. Steeling herself she mastered her emotions but her head was spinning. “It’s about time.” She thought to herself as the words “Indeed.” responded in her head, they were not hers. Her smile widened with an almost sinister smirk.

The full congregation of the Temple had been amassed within the great hall. All were seated with the exception Durnik and Fearun who had taken the figures left side while Silrien had made her way to Elros her husband and Gargomel to the figures right. The candle light in the chamber flickered and the shadows danced their usual ballet upon the walls with the exception of the throne. The figure was draped in darkness; his black hood seemed to cover the whole of his face. His posture was slightly different though relatively the same as usual. His manner was more arrogant and confident.

“As you can see…” the figure began “…the rumors are true.” Silrien again smiled. “My Lord, may I ask?” Gargomel started. “…how?” the figure finished for him. Gargomel nodded. “It is really very simple my old friend. When the Atalan killed Meneldur during their siege of Nujelm they destroyed his part of the soul allowing me to return and fully take over this meat sack. Ironically and most humorous of all is that they killed one of their own to do it.” A smirk could be seen upon the shadowed face of the figure. “…One of their own?” Gargomel asked. The shadowed figure nodded. “He was of Atalan decent, though, he never went through their awakening ritual. His sympathy for them and trust in them was ultimately what brought about the betrayal and murder that was required to bring me back into being. It appears that my experiment worked as intended.”

Gargomel smiled with the realization of what was being said. His long term in the Temple had made him savvy to the devices and mind of the figure that sat in the throne. Many faces in the room shared the same smile that grazed Gargomels but others looked confused. Aera and Niran new members were watching with a look of confusion. The man before them looked no different; it was the High Priests body. Meneldurs voice had been slightly different as it had a rather bemused aura and his posture was slightly different. They couldn’t understand why he suddenly wore a hood that covered his face but that was a common style within the Temple. Their curiosity would only linger for a few more minutes as the figure began to speak again.

“I have called you all here to discuss what has happened these past few weeks. Many of you may be confused.” His gaze rested on the newer members of the congregation for a brief moment. “…others may feel a sense of loss at the battle of Nujelm recently, but this was according to plan.” Durniks head turned slightly. “According to plan?” he asked. “Asimov, as you know is blandly predictable. The weak minded who think only with a blade always are. The trap I laid before them solidified our position in Nujelm, shifted the eyes of the world upon them, and exposed their conspirators and aids.”

The figure smiled widely as the Demon Lord’s eyes narrowed. “How?” asked Durnik. “Simple, they were unwittingly doing my bidding all along. By allowing them the knowledge that there was an emergency meeting in Nujelm they could easily predict the outcome. Asimov had already proven he wished to interfere with the Temples business and it appeared he has a jealous vendetta against us so he quickly set in motion a military action to stop Imadii from making her announcement. In the midst of the meeting he showed his predictability as he and the Atalan murdered her, but not before Daelin Covenant, son of Ariyana Sune, aided in their escape exposing himself as their aid and witnessed by several prominent members of the High Council and the United Council. Using the familiar brand of protective magic he was unable to be harmed as he aided the Atalan in their escape. When they returned they had returned with the aid of the Blue Lotus Ninja’s which allowed them to claim victory over the city but not before Agnathoras appeared and again exposed the second conspirator and aid of the Atalan. When Polynikes attempted to arrest them they of course attacked. This attack led to them completing the necessary steps of returning me to power and taking us from the light and exposing the Atalan’s return.” The bemused voice of the figure paused for a moment.

Realization had struck everyone in the room this time. “And Imadii dieing was exactly what you wanted…” Silrien began. “…yes. Her Death solidified our position to take Nujelm when the time is right. As you well know when we had captured her and allowed her release. The Atalan have only one mindset and that is war. They now have two cities and their armies are already outnumbered and stretched thin. They had no real interest in Nujelm other than, as I theorize, never allow Meneldur to hold a city.” A chuckle bellowed from the figure.

Whispers began to echo throughout the entire Temple. The genius of the plan had been clear, the Atalan being manipulated, the implications of Imadii and her murder, subject #24, and the Horocrux all becoming clear. As the congregation began to clear the figure could be seen standing and removing his hood. Though his face was that of Meneldur he was saying to Aera, Niran, Arianna, Johnny, and Streea. “Meneldur is dead, I am Mordain…”
A new threat...
Reaching into the sack Gargomel pulled a small journal. Smiling to himself he whispered to himself “Finally.” Looking up, the house was burning slightly still, ransacked and its precious contents looted. Niran and Aera soon joined him on either side first glancing at the small book in his hands and then the crumpled figure at his feet. “General it appears that there is a plot in motion, Lord Mordain was right in his theory.” Aera said as he handed over another set of books. Gargomel took it and quickly skimmed over it before looking at the figure now rousing before him. “It will be morning soon, bring him.” Gargomel closed the book, and put it and several others into the sack.

It was daybreak before the four figures now stood before the intimidating structure of the Temple of Mondain. The sun had already begun to warm its great stone walls. As they entered the usual smell of incense and wood burning from the fires greeted them. All was silent as they made their way into the main chamber. Niran and Aera helped the fourth figure onto a bench and Gargomel made his way to him. The figure was tall, with blonde hair, a dignified look about him. Gargomel looked down upon the figure “I trust you are alright Arrenathian?” The elf looked up a moment. “Yes but that is the second time my home has been ransacked in as many months.” The elf began to brush the dust from his robes. Gargomel smiled slightly as pulled one of the books from his satchel. “Yes regrettable but, necessary. It seems that she is working against you.” Gargomel conjured a goblet of out of thin air and offered it to Arrenathian who took it and took a sip.

“What I don’t understand…” Arrenathian began. “…is why me?” Gargomel smiled slightly as he looked up from the book he was skimming through. “You hold a seat of power, to discredit you would of course gain her further influence upon others.” Arrenathian looked slightly angered. “But I am giving up that power…” Gargomel closed the book with a snap. “Correction, you have already given up that power. As of this moment you are a guest of the Temple.” Gargomels face took a harder look before warming again. “Drink…” he said carelessly waving his Arrenathians cup refilled. The elves face contorted a minute. “You are holding me against my will?” He arose from the bench taking a more aggressive posture. Niran and Aera both took steps forward before Gargomel waved them back, his posture remaining unchanged. “We are all pawns of lords in this world. My orders are to keep you safe and within these walls. Whether that protection is offered to you while you are conscious or not is up to you.”

Arrenathian sank slowly back into his seat and took a long gulp of his wine as Gargomel continued. “His eminence theorized you would be one of her targets. It seems we set out just in time and these books…” Gargomel held up one of the books “…appear to be your research and proof of her change in heart as to alignments. The attack upon your home, also proof of her disloyalty to the realm. I doubt even those following her realize her ambitions or the fact that they have been duped in the absence of their true leader.” Gargomel smiled as he pulled the small book from the satchel. “This will be our payment.” Gargomel tossed the book to Niran who promptly caught it. “Take that to the High Priest, he’s been waiting for that for months now.” Niran and Aera both nodded as they left.
Four Directions...
Niran and Aera made their way into the southeastern tower of the Temple. The light from the torches danced upon the dark walls as they made their way down the stairs and finally reached the large mahogany door to his office. Niran knocked on the door three times before the door opened of its own accord. Meneldurs form was sitting upon a low backed seat in front of a large white marble table. “My Lord, I bring this from General Gargomel, he procured it from Arrenathian’s home.” Mordain’s black eyes focused on the book for a moment before it burst into flame in Niran’s hand. “Excellent… then the secret is safe once again.” Mordain’s gaze focused on Niran and Aera a benign smile upon his face. “And the elf lord?” Mordain asked. “He is with the General now, we got there in time to rescue him from the building and he is now safely behind our walls.” Mordain’s smile dimmed. “Very well, prepare a night guard and return to your duties.” Niran and Aera bowed and left the chambers.

As Niran and Aera made their way into the main chamber they noticed it was now empty. The Temples guest and its general had departed for other chambers. Niran began to tighten his armor and secure his reagents. “Where are you off to now?” Aera asked. “I must return to Illshinar. I have been told to raid the treasures from the Blood Elementals home and recover an artifact of great power. I have little time to waste, the sooner I acquire these treasures the sooner I may return home to my studies. I have an experiment I wish to finish.” And in a flash of light Niran had disappeared leaving Aera alone in the main chamber.

Aera stood alone in the chamber for several seconds before he realized he was being watched from atop the stairs. Daecorm was standing at the top of the stairs looking down at the main chamber with curiosity etched upon her face. Her striking crystal eyes were searching through the dim light for the voices that had preceded her appearance. Aera nodded slightly as she made her way down the stairs slowly. “Was that Fearun?” She asked curiously. Everything about her seemed to exude the innocence of a young child, days before she had been brought into the temple unconscious and near death by Fearun. Nursed back to health and diagnosed with amnesia everything seemed new to her but not to the High Priest for she bore his marking when Fearun had found her. When inquired upon the High Priest would not answer save say only that she must unlock her own past to discover truth.

“My Lady that was Niran, I have not seen Fearun in many days.” Aera replied apologetically. A look of disappointment met Daecorms face but in that moment another voice sprung out of nowhere and the figure of Silrien appeared out of the shadows. “I have been looking for my brother for days now. I doubt he will return to the Temple for some time, even after I find him. He is to be charged with a pilgrimage and not to return until it has been completed.” Aera didn’t look surprised by the sudden appearance of Silrien, he was used to it by now, but Daecorm was rather startled. “Aera have you issued the night guard yet?” Silrien asked. Aera now looked startled but Silrien smiled. “I don’t need to make myself known all the time.” Aera smiled slightly before leaving to summon a night guard.” Silrien then turned her attention to Daecorm. “You need to rest, come. Tomorrow we will set out to find my brother.”
Silent Observer
Black eyes surveyed the wind swept desert as the figure looked out from the terrace as he had done for years. Pondering the events of the recent weeks he folded his arms and continued to look out upon the sun filled and uniquely cold desert. Traces of battle could still be seen in the distance from the shrine of compassion that lay within his domain. The Temple had fought hard to purge the corrupted creatures and cleanse the shrine re-affirming his dominance over the desert.

His thoughts turned to the Empires attack upon the High Council, despite his warning that doing so would only bolster unity between the corrupted and sparring factions within Britannia’s Armed forces. Proof was their unity in the uprising in Yew and the attack upon Spider Cities capitol. Though the High Council was at fault for their own ignorance and was another who ignored his warnings that Tokuno was preparing to invade they now reaped the rewards for their foolishness. The figured grinned smugly knowing he was right on all counts. Whatever events had unfolded they were of no consequence to his plans and only worked to solidify his position in the coming days.

As usual his movements have gone unnoticed, the preparations were now complete. The Temples redesign signified hints of what was coming. Thoughts of his recent visitor, the Drow Malag Aste, brought yet another smug grin to his face. He knew the true purpose of the visit from the Redemption Knight. Despite the protest of his High Emissary, he cared little whether his identity would be revealed now. Though his physical body is warped and distorted from the shear power of both his light and dark magic’s, his strength is returning at an astronomical rate. Killing Malag Aste served little purpose to his plans and Malag as well as everyone else, was more valuable alive. at least for now...
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-Veritus, Arch Priest of Mondain
"The softest things in the world overcome the hardest things in the world; Through this I know the advantage of taking no action." ~Lao Tzu

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