Fight the Real Enemy!
	Forum Fracas

Engrossed in your conversations with each other, at some point you notice that the Spaniard from outside and the old man have taken seats in the middle of the bench before the one that you all sit on, the last column on the left hand side, that being the only seats left available when you arrived. They do not speak, though the Spaniard appears annoyed by Sam's constant buzzing about. He finally turns toward the group as if to say something, when a loud sound distracts him. Further conversation is halted by a loud banging sound coming from the podium above you. You see that the hyenaman is knocking his staff upon the floor of the podium, producing an almost unnatural racket. The chamber appears to have been designed to carry sound, and does so well indeed. You all, with the possible exception of Guiseppi, are startled into silence and turn your attention toward the podium, where a figure has emerged to stand beside the imposing dogman. He is clearly Italian, even from here, and tall and handsome. He commands instant attention even without speaking, though he does that well enough as you soon find out. You hear someone a few rows before you mutter, "Antonio d'Medici?" And his partner next to him shakes his head, "Of course not. It couldn't be." The man steps to the edg of the podium, his rich silk robes making no sound, "Gentlemen and ladies," His rich Latin sounds polished, with only a hint of Italian accent, "You have been gathered here tonight to discuss a grievous wrong being done my people, and many of yours. I speak of course of the Catolik Cult, which even now is spreading across my fair land and out of Italia into the lands of the Goths and Germans. What difficulty this? Why bother with religious debate, when commercial transaction is so much more glorious a thing? I will tell you why. My father and brothers have already fallen victim to the foul taint of this Jerboha." He says the name and spits, narrowly missing a darkly bearded fellow in the fourth row, "My house is in their service. My fine wines donated to their celebrations. My fine clothing resewn into bishop's robes! And such will happen to all of you, if it has not already. You will give them your last bit of copper cheerily, smiling as the simpleton followers of the faith do. You will turn on your neighbors and friends, even your family, if one of their dark priests ask you to. I know, for I have seen it happen. The families of Florence fall to the Cult even as we speak, and the last active voice against them was found to have hanged himself last week. Their power is unchecked. If they control Florence, with all her beauty and power, they will control all of Europe!" He realizes he is pacing quickly back and forth across the tier, and halts himself, sighing, "Some of you may think this overreaction. Others know the sad truth. Only in submission have any enemies of the faith found survival. Those who find the power within themselves to resist the entrallment disappear, or are disposed of in some way. There are never any questions, as the Cult controls the political and legal systems first. Their influence is growing like a plague upon humanity... and all other races." He quickly amends. "But" He lets the word sit on the crowd like an embittered wife, hardly to be shook off. "We have found a way...." He smiles triumphantly, "There is a way to stop the enslavement." He gestures toward the menacing dog-faced fellow, "Tell them, my friend, what you have found." He sits back, obviously satisfied with himself. The imposing hyena mouth opens, and his Latin is not nearly as sweet to the ear. He barks more than speaks, though his words are with some difficulty comprehensible, "True power in Cult, my master says there is. Knows Jerboha, he does, from times before this, when known he was not. Had not power. Was small, unpowerful. Found thing, changed. Thing with real power. Took thing. Gave power to huuuumahns." He does not sound particularly happy to be speaking that word. "Much power. Huuumahns strong with power, take more huumahns. Many huumahns. Few with power. Others not powerful. Slaves. Jerboha gain more power, huumahns give. More huumahns, more strong Jerboha. My master says enough huumahns, Jerboha too strong, become other thing, and my master become weak. You masters become weak. All masters become weak. Only Jerboha strong. Not good, this is." He is interrupted by the intrusion of the Italian, "But there is light at the end of the tunnel, right, my friend?" He seems to be hinting at the dogman to get on with it. The tight lips of the gnoll roll back a bit, exposing a nasty set of teeth, almost fangs, but he obliges "My master knows thing. If thing is regained, Jerboha not power again. Small, unpower." D'Medici interrupts again, "And that is where you come in, my friends. You are the best of the best, for the most part. Many of you have fought in the wars, waged mighty sorceries, felled furious beasts. All this and more will you need to regain the "thing". Next to him, the beastman nods his head lightly, "My master say only most skilled of huumahns get thing back. So he give to me place of thing. Place to give to you." He draws forth a tube from his crude leathers. Rhune listens to both men with strained ears. The Latin is hard to understand and the dog face gnoll, for that is what she thinks it is, is even harder to understand. Unknowingly she has slipped from her bench to step past Silus to the end of the row. Then a most peculiar thing happens. He barks loudly, dropping the tube from his hand and looking down. You in the back can see little, but the gnoll turns and in profile, you can see something protruding from both his chest and back. He drops to his knees, his long fingers clutching for the tube, as you see the Genoese at the opening come in with crossbows cocked. They then proceed to launch another series of bolts into the hapless hyenaman, who falls to his hands, but refuses to die. Antonio begins to protest, but backs away as he sees the man behind the Genoese. He is dressed in a scarlet robe, and wears a tall hat. His clothing is richly gilded, and rings, whose stones are visible even from this distance, fairly drip from his fingers. In one hand he holds a golden staff, heavily encrusted with gems, and in the other he holds a cross of some metalic substance high. He speaks, his voice rich with power. Kenishiro listens attentively to both the Italian and the Gnoll, trying to make as much sense as he could from their words. Which isn't very much. As the Gnoll was crossbowed, he stands up in surprise, but seeing that nobody else moved he sits down again. Asif sits at the meeting, listening like Kenishiro but not full comprehending what is being said. He tugs his beard with frustration a number of times, wishing that the man who had invited him to this damn meeting was here to translate for him. Invited by this damn merchant who spoke the tongue of his people, he had seen no sight of him at all this day. The man had seemed so civilized, knowing of the great Djinn who ruled the heavens and cultured in the culinary delight of fine coffee. Where was he damn it, and what was this meeting all about. This cult of the one god that he spoke of, was indeed an insult to those who ruled the heavens. Surely with the passion he displayed, he would be here. Looking to his left he sees the stranger who like him seems so out of place, and with that same look of confusion upon his face. In halting italian he says: "May peace be upon you efendi. Fate plays cruel trick on us. Tongues wag but speak words not of meaning" Asif shrugs his shoulders. "Man invite me here, but he not turn up". During this relatively short period, you all stare up in awe and then amazement, but not so the old man in front of you. The moment the gnoll drops to his knees, the man stands and begins to speak furiously. Instants before the richly dressed man appears at the doorway, there is an intangible sphere of some sort which springs up from the old man, just happening to enclose each of you within it's protection. He cackles madly, "You won't get me, you sons of bitches." The Cult Bishop, for it is clear that is who has intruded upon the ceremony, speaks casually, either not noticing the old man or not caring. You all take note that not a single other member of the audience has spoken or moved since the man came out into the open. "My children, it is so nice to see a gathering of such devoted servants to the Church. We are pleased that you have gathered at last and made your individual conversions unnecessary." At his feet, unnoticed by all in the crowd seemingly, the gnoll finally breathes his last, as at least eight two foot crossbow bolts protrude from his body. As he falls heavily the floor of the podium, some last bit of energy from him sweeps his clawed hand toward the tube, which clatters onto the floor of the forum, in the midst of the apparently enthralled crowd. The old man, who has begun chanting furiously again, vanishes completely. The Bishop, who apparently still has not noticed the old man's activity, brings the cross down and places it within his robes, "The purpose of this gathering is completed. You all may leave as you came, with the love of our Lord Jerboha in your hearts." He smiles gently at the crowd, and only a very observant viewer notes the nasty grin that he has upon his face as he turns toward the opening once more. The crowd, almost as a unit, turns toward the doors, which are flung open. Almost as a unit. Somewhere in the middle of the crowd, a voice with a distinct French accent breaks out, "What is zis? Have you all gone mad? Zat is ze enemy, up zere! 'As he ztolen your minds from you?" The Bishop, who have almost departed, turns toward the crowd, muttering something toward an unknown person behind him. He turns toward the crowd again, "My children, this man is an unbeliever, and the sight of him disturbs our person greatly." He smiles again. The reaction to his statement is rather nasty. Several of those closest to the man turn toward him, still smiling, and you see several sharp weapons drawn. The hapless elf, for elf he clearly is, is apparently neither warrior or scholar. He falls swiftly beneath the swords of several human warriors, who turn, still smiling, sheath their weapons, and resume their march toward the door. As he turns once again, the Bishop declares, "We would have such treatment for any that are not of the faith, for they pollute the oceans of our bliss." As you are farthest from the door, the room begins to empty a bit once more as the Bishop departs, this time for good. From where you are, you notice that the same functionary is standing outside the door, this time clutching his chest continually as the crowd passes him. He nods and stares at each person as they depart. All appears to be well, until you see another panic-stricken elf make a run for the door. A middle-aged balding man turns calmly toward him and electricity arcs out of his fingers. The charred skeleton of the elf falls to the ground, and the man resumes his march as well. Marika listens with interest to the speakers, then leaps to her feet in shock as she witnesses the sudden vicious assault on the poor gnoll. She takes a step or two toward the dias, but when she realizes that the crowd is under the thrall of the scarlet-robed man, and that the mortally wounded creature is beyond aid, she comes to a stop, crouching in the aisle. For an instant she fixes the bishop with a look of pure, volcanic hatred, but then her expression goes carefully neutral, her true thoughts betrayed only by the pale tone of her normally dark skin as she watches the two confused elves torn apart or casually cut down. Urak-gor cannot help but stare in confusion as the gnoll is shot by the crossbowmen. Do all human gatherings progress so brutally? And why is no one else helping the poor creature? Fumbling awkwardly for his healing bag, he half-rises, some vauge idea of aiding the dying humanoid coming to stunned mind. Fortunately for Urak, his progress is frozen by the old man's spell and the words of the strange interloper. The threat of this 'Bishop' gradually dawning on him, Urak sinks back down, studying the man with a single-minded intensity. Father had always said to observe wild horrors before striking, for you would almost certainly have to make your thrust count. While in a far more 'civilized' form, there is no doubt in Urak's mind that he is observing a wild horror. The man is used to command, he speaks more like Chieftan than like Speaker, Urak thinks, odd for a religious figure. His garments bespeak wealth, and the startling conversion of the crossbowmen indicate some form of arcane power. Power that he enjoys, evidently, Urak thinks, noticing the nasty grin on the Bishop's face. The robes, rings, staff and cross are all summed up, perhaps one of them grants this man his power? As the crowd begins to move unanimously towards the door, murdering the Leafwalker in the progress, Urak's mind goes strangely still. Reaching for his bow, his only thought that of striking now, while he had the chance, his hand is halted. In his mind, a faint voice whispers...'Wait'. His breathing deep and regular, Urak drops his hand slowly, careful not to betray himself to the hostile crowds. The man *must* die, of that, Urak had no question. But Speaker-with-Storms had always taught that it was wise to listen when the spirit-voice spoke uncalled. Rhune gasps as the crossbow bolts appear in the gnoll's chest and as he drops she clearly sees the tube fall and roll away. When the man in the red robes enter she looks around at the people and notices the faces of those around her. She feels something tug at her mind but then it is gone. As the man tells the people to leave, Rhune uses this time to dart in among the crowd to reach the spot where the tub rolled. She picks it up and quickly stuffs inside her large belt pouch and then she just as quickly turns and makes her way back to the rear of the forum. When she passes Silus she reaches out and quickly tugs his sleeve. Looking up at him with glittering(almost glowing) purple eyes she winks and then all of a sudden her face takes on the same expression as the crowd and she heads for the door. Silus rushes along at Rhune's side. His eyes appear to be glassy and there is a fixed smile upon his vacant-looking face: "All hail to Il Papa," he says in a robotic fashion. "I have seen the light and feel God's Love flowing through me like the warm summer rain. I must hurry and tell all of the splendors of His Love." When he is sure that none of the guards are looking towards him as he tries to hide in the middle of the throng running out, then his vacant expression falls and he throws a wink in Rhune's direction. The vacant expression then returns to his face as he continues uttering his mantra in the same hypnotic fashion as he tries to reach the safety of the the outside world as quickly as possible. Teague sighs as the pompous priest moves ahead of her, then falls into step behind him, the impish halfling at her heels. She turns to him and gives him an encouraging grin. "Look," she whispers to him, "if things get ugly as we leave, and I yell for you to run, do it. I might have a way to keep folks off our trail if we're quick...or at least give us a head start." she adds. She reaches deep in one pocket for a bit of pork rind she has placed there. As Teague turns around to speak to Sam, he notices the serious blanket cover her face. Sam's smile drops to a daze as the sobering experience takes toll on his soul. Sam gives a brief nod as he lowers his arms, resuming the trance of the rest of the crowd, his face pale. He remembers the feeling he always used to get while finding out he had to do some chore at the monastery. He remembers the face he used to get, a sickened and blank disguise of nothingness. He clones this expression as best he can. As Teague turns around to speak to Sam, he notices the serious blanket cover her face. Sam's smile drops to a daze as the sobering experience takes toll on his soul. Sam gives a brief nod as he lowers his arms, resuming the trance of the rest of the crowd, his face pale. He remembers the feeling he always used to get while finding out he had to do some chore at the monastery. He remembers the face he used to get, a sickened and blank disguise of nothingness. He clones this expression as best he can. Rhune is aware of what happens to all three people but with a crowd this size there is nothing she can do about it. As she approaches the door she takes a deep, even breath and strides forward with the bemused look on her face. (if she makes it outside) She immediately slips off to the side to way for the others to come out.

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	Benjamin Lomax

This page was last updated on 20 January 2001