The sky outside the window brightens from a dark slate gray to the salmon glow of dawn, and slowly fades to a pale blue. The woman sees the changes with no real sense of time passing, and no thought to their meaning. After a while, though, her gaze shifts to the rough-hewn timbers overhead, visible now in the early morning light. She knows this room, she realizes after what seems like an eternity of drifting on the edge of sleep. She remembers the injured bat-thing, fleeing screeching out that same window during the siege. She's never seen it by daylight before, but this is Taras' room.
She notices that Taras has several antique pole arms placed upon his wall, along with what looks like a collection of throwing daggers, placed like trophies. It is clear that Taras' martial nature carries all the way into the bedroom.
With that memory come others, and Marika feels fresh sorrow at the memory of Sam's death and the senseless carnage that followed. But why is she still alive? Her fingers probe beneath the bandages on her neck, exploring the edges of the deep gash there. Fyodorll's blade must have nicked her carotid, for her to lose consciousness so quickly. It was a testament to the resourcefulness of her friends that she hadn't died on the battlefield, and to the skill of the matriarch Kuzma that she seemed to have come through with most of her faculties intact.
Moving gingerly, Marika tests her limbs. Her muscles feel stiff and painful -- no surprise there, she smiles, remembering her inexpert attempt at horseback riding -- but everything seems to work. She sits up in bed, and discovers that her head had been resting against the shoulder of Asif, who still sleeps soundly, his other shoulder and arm immobilized by heavy bandages. A good thing she woke first, she thinks, suppressing a laugh. If Asif had found her here, he would likely have fallen out of bed and smashed his shoulder up beyond even Kuzma's capacity to heal.
Marika rises quietly. She must look like hell, she thinks. She still wears her rumpled travel clothes, stained with blood and with the grime of several falls...er...emergency dismounts from the horse's back. But no one stands on formality here, and she doesn't want to wake Asif while searching for a change of clothes, so she creeps out into the hallway. The door to Petr and Darya's room is closed, and the low, serious murmur of several voices can be heard behind it. Louder voices come from the other direction, along with the tantalizing smell of food, so Marika follows the corridor that way.
She pauses on the walkway overlooking the main hall. Below, breakfast seems to be in full swing. Alfana and Masha are moving through the room, helping to serve a surprisingly large crowd. There are around a half dozen men whom Marika has never seen before -- wait, that's not quite true. Two of the new faces she recognizes, amazingly enough, as Fyodorll's massive bodyguards! They don't appear to be prisoners, so some sort of truce must have been reached with the horse trader after all. Glad that the battle at the corral did not take more lives that she had already known, Marika is about to turn toward the stairs when she sees something else that freezes her in her tracks. One of the unfamiliar men wears the unmistakable cassock and silver cross of a Catolik priest.
Not daring to move, Marika scans the faces below, searching for a clue to the situation. Has Fyodorll's party come here not to negotiate the return of the horses, but to force Petr's clan to covert, or to seize Sukiskayn in the name of the Church? But the mood below does not seem at all dark. Still, she does not want to walk in on a scene that she doesn't understand, so she steps back from the railing, thinking to knock on Petr's door and join the smaller conversation there.
However, she sees Asif emerging from the corridor behind her, beaming. "Efendi!" he calls happily. "Little remember I. Safe we all are?" His voice draws the gaze of several in the hall below, and friendly voices call the pair to come down and join the meal.
I suppose we get to have all our questions answered now, thinks Marika, and with a wave and a smile she joins Asif in hobbling down the stairs to breakfast.
Rhune wakes as dawn sends its rays into her room. She looks around and notices that she is the one woman's room, for the life of her she can't remember her name. She has met so many people in the past few days that it is hard to keep track. Her stomach growls, a testament that she is hungry beyond belief. She must have slept through the night as she doesn't remember eating supper. Moving to get up, every part of her slight body screams in protest. She is sore, apparently still injured and stiff. But she is also hungry so she ignores her body's protest and gets up. Apparently someone must have removed what clothing she was wearing last night as she is quite naked.
Looking around she tries to find something to wear. She didn't have much in the way of extra cloths. Hoping that the young woman doesn't mind, she rummages around in her wardrobe for a tunic.
Rhune finds several sets of very plain, almost ascetic clothes, sized far too large for her, as Irina is quite a bit heavier than Rhune. However, Rhune makes do, covering the baggy clothes with the cloak that Asif gave her to wear. Brushing her hair slightly she goes to find the others and something to eat. She is about to go check on Marika and Asif when she spots them in the hallway. Smiling, "Good morning, Marika and Asif. I am so glad that you are both alright," she says as she joins them.
Asif, his left shoulder in a sling, looks up and smiles warmly at Rhune.
"Sleep most well efendi, despite all hurts. I feel Aten's healing warmth upon me. That stranger with the gray eyes, who wears robes of the Catoliks, is most talented with his hands. Strange I think for one of land of merchants. Surgeons of enlightened Amnara most talented in known world. Thought not to need one of similar skill, but today shoulder much better. Thank him must I. He still in our company?"
"Yes as far as I know, I think he still here. He is probably down stairs. I hope he is, as I think I could use his talents somewhat. I seem to have sustained injuries that I didn't know I had," she replies with a smile as she tries out some of the words that Asif has been teaching her. Rhune does still look somewhat hurt and injured. She helps her friends down the stairs as they go to the main hall and breakfast. Those who are already there see them come downing the stairs. Rhune, though dressed a little more appropriately, still seems to be sporting some wounds. She does look better rested than she did the night before.
Xania sighs and stretches, a bit painfully. She was right in that she knew she wouldn't sleep that night. And she hadn't. No spells and no healing today.
{When Marika recovers, I'll ask her to take a look at the wounds, make sure they're healing at all,} Xania smiles grimly. {Definitely more to worry about with Asif and Rhune for her, no sense in troubling her over her own comparatively minor injuries.}
She can still see the way Fyodorll looked at her when she slid home the dagger. Damn, she was hoping that would fade, but she knows it will take time and there will be nightmares. Like the other time... No, best not think of that at all.
She was surprised by Jacobus' words also. She had thought him a mere wastrel. There was strangeness here. She was actually growing attached to some of these people.
She walks to the wash basin and begins her morning ritual, albeit a bit tired and sore. Her eyes feel like there is sand in them and they look almost bruised from lack of sleep. She catches sight of her reflection in the basin and smiles dryly. "No one will be looking at you today, Xania, that's for sure," she murmurs.
She changes into clean clothing and heads down to find some breakfast. Maybe today she can eat.
Jacobus rises from a deep sleep which seemed only to make him feel more tired, he can hear people stirring and moving about, but he turns onto his side. As he does so he can feel the unfamiliar ache in his shoulders and arms from yesterday's battle. He groans slightly and his hand inadvertently catches a scab that had formed on his stomach.
He looks down to see a small amount of blood on his hand. "Hell's teeth!" he exclaims. He reluctantly rises and dresses himself, sniffing disdainfully at his leather jerkin. He dons his cloak and ties the clasp near his shoulder before making his way to the kitchen for some breakfast.
As he passes his companions he mumbles his good mornings, merely wanting a good hearty meal, before they discuss their plans for today.
Dawn's first rays caught Leslie finishing his morning jog. He had risen an hour earlier, as he had nearly every day in the last decade. Getting up, he made his way carefully among the sleeping forms on the floor, not wanting to disturb anyone. Wearing only his pants and boots and strapping his great sword to his bare back, he set out running. Leaving the settlement, but not straying too far, he encircled the palisade over and over again, sprinting a hundred yards every half mile or so. His booted feet tearing into the soft ground and powerful arms pumping, a sweaty sheen soon covered his barrelly chest. Having run, by his judgment, eight or nine miles, he made his way back into the settlement and began a series of stretches, sit-ups and pushups. Then, drawing his sword, he drilled moves just as the Sarge taught him, concentrating this morning on defensive ones.
When the smells of breakfast wafted out into the courtyard, and the clatter of dishes could be heard, he called it quits, washed himself with water drawn from the pump and dried himself off before entering. Sitting down to the table, having worked up an appetite, he ate enough for two men (assuming there was enough...).
After offering his evening prayer, Augustus lies down to rest. Sleep does not come readily, so he spends many hours staring at the rough hewn beams in the ceiling and contemplating what he should do on the morrow.
Augustus finally drifts off to sleep, but even that is restless. He rises early and begins his day with his morning prayer, gathers his possessions, and heads down to the main hall where the delightful smells of frying bacon and fresh bread are wafting up, honing his appetite to a sharp pang.
He walks down stairs quietly, pausing to see who is already about. Almost all are present, save for the two who were most gravely injured: the dark-skinned man called Asif, and the young woman, Marika, both of whom shortly join the confusion when they first descend from the upper rooms. The two large warriors, Leslie and Forte ravage seemingly endless portions of eggs and fried meat and bread with honey. Augustus himself is very hungry, but eats sparingly...not quite relaxed enough to feel totally welcome.
Marika exchanges greetings with her companions, most of whom have arrived at breakfast before her, and thanks Kuzma for her expert care and healing touch. The table is crowded, but the priestess finds a seat next to Xania, who has been sitting apart from the others in the far corner. Too hungry to wonder if she's intruding, Marika breaks off a large piece of bread, tearing into it with relish. At the same time, though, she is taking in the conversations around her, trying to make sense of the many new guests, some of them quite suspicious, who now lodge at Sukiskayn.
"Hey Xania," she says, turning to the mage with a grin. "I'll bet I end up with a more impressive scar than yours." But Xania only nods coolly, clearly in no mood to joke. For the first time, Marika notices the dark circles under Xania's eyes. She looks exhausted...had the group been up all night again defending the compound? Marika returns to her breakfast, eating in silence until she can learn what has happened.
The story comes out soon enough, told in a dozen different voices and guided by questions from her and Asif. Marika looks appalled when Rhune tells about Fyodorll's execution. She turns a shocked gaze on Xania, in time to see the mage stiffen and look away. Marika's expression softens immediately, as she suddenly understands the reason for the haunted look in Xania's eyes this morning. "Yes, I suppose she left us no choice," she says to Rhune across the table. "She shouldn't have read our minds. We could have moved on before she brought the bishop down on us...but Petr's clan would have been finished if Fyodorll walked away alive." She starts visibly as another thought hits her. "So might all of our contacts in Florence and other places. There's no telling what stray thoughts she might have picked up on."
Marika shakes her head sadly, and says to Xania in a softer voice, "I'm sorry you had do it, though. It must have been terrible."
Xania, no longer hungry, stands, "I'd rather not talk about it."
Rhune also looks a little saddened that the woman had to die, but she understands why. She looks at Xania, "You did what you had to do, Xania. You are far braver than I am. I would not have been able to do it." Then looking back to Marika. "We got a lot of items from her. I was wondering if you could do anything to detect if they are magical and if so what they could do," she says as she eats some of the bacon and scrambled eggs.
"It is not brave to slit a helpless woman's throat," Xania says coolly, then turns and walks out of the room, what little she has eaten sitting like lead in her belly.
Ullar, also risen from his bed, has been silent up until now. The warrior suffers from some sort of 'morning-temper' and eats his breakfast as if its contents were something uneatable.
With an amazed look the warrior listened to the story of 'cutting throats' and looks at Xania with some kind of respect. However, considering her attitude towards the ex-gladiator, he doesn't say anything to her and continues to mock at his breakfast, listening to what the rest have to say.
Rhune looks down at her eggs and bacon. She is no longer hungry. She had tried to ease some of Xania's suffering but instead she had just made it worse. Tears begin to pool in her eyes as Forte asks her about the bishop and the church. Perhaps she can apologize to Xania later, if she can figure out the correct words to use.
Marika watches helplessly as Xania leaves. Her instinct is to go after the mage, to talk to her...but she's said too much already. At this point, all she could do is make things worse.
Jacobus watches as Xania leaves the table; he can see the hurt in Rhune's eyes. "Let her go for a while Rhune; it takes time to heal these type of wounds; she didn't mean to upset you." He grabs some fruit and places it in his knapsack for later and then returns to his breakfast.
Rhune attempts to smile at him for his kind words but it doesn't come out that way.
"Damn Fyodorll," she mumbles again, miserably. "She shouldn't have read our minds." Marika recalls a young man whose wounds she had treated once at Minerva's Temple in Sardinia. He was a gypsy, and had been the only survivor of a raid on his caravan. She remembers the unreasoning guilt the youth had felt for surviving when his family and friends had all been killed. Marika hadn't understood at the time, but now she feels something of that same guilt -- not because she had lived while Sam had died, but because she'd had the luxury of being comatose while her friends had faced the terrible fact that they couldn't leave their captive alive. They -- Xania, especially -- would have to live with the memory, while Marika escaped with only a physical scar.
Emerging from her reverie, Marika remembers that Rhune had asked her a question. "Hmm? Oh, yeah. I'll have a look Fyodorll's things. I'll get the spells ready after breakfast," she tells the young elf.
Having waited for Rhune and Xania to talk, Forte interjects, "Bishop? What's a bishop got to do with you?" asks Forte, as he wipes bread crumbs off his chin. "Maybe now's the time for that 'long story' you mentioned," he states, staring directly into Rhune's purple eyes. "Just what will I--" the large warrior glances briefly at Leslie, before returning his gaze to Rhune, "--uh, we, be doing with you?"
Rhune returns his gaze for a moment before blushing and looking down at her plate. If nothing else she looks even smaller and younger than you thought, though since she is elven this could be deceptive. "Yes I guess it is time for that long story." Looking around to her companions, "You see, most of us were in Florence a few weeks ago. For various reasons we all ended up at a meeting of a group of people who were opposed to the Bishop and the Catolik church. During the meeting the bishop came and took over, literately. Several people were killed. I and the others-" she indicates the following people: Ullar, Urak, Matteo, Krige, Marika, Asif. "Sam was also there and there a few others but we lost them along the way. Anyway, we tried to get out but were detected. Most of us managed to get out but were injured in the process. A couple were caught and managed to escape. We have been on the run ever since. I managed to get a hold of something that might be able to help but we can't open it. Right now we are here to help Peytr get his horses to the Rillifane as payment to his brother Stephan. That is the grit of the story," she replies, suddenly embarrassed to have all eyes on her.
Augustus nearly chokes on a forkful of egg as there is mention of a Bishop, and killing. He listens with horror as the tale of the meeting and the massacre is retold. He feels his skin grow hot as several pairs of eyes glance in his direction.
Forte shrugs his shoulders and nods his head as if to say "fine with me," but when he turns to grab some more food, he see Augustus. As Forte's jaw drops slightly, he stares at the Catolik priest, then at some of the 'original' party members and back to Augustus, pointing at him. Forte remains speechless, staring at Augustus and pointing at him. His mind is screaming, "Hey, do any of you see the CATOLIK priest sitting right there?!" but he can't seem to form any words. The talkative warrior is finally speechless.
Augustus drops his fork when the large warrior points in his direction. Totally motionless, he looks at all of the people staring at him. Mortally afraid, and showing it visibly, the tall priest stammers, "Wh-wh-what did I do?
Rhune looks up at one point and sees his gaze, "Augustus has already explained that he doesn't hold with what is happening with the church and I for one believe him," she says to Forte
"Does everyone else believe him?" asks Forte, looking around the table at the party members he encountered at Fyodorll's camp.
Ullar just nods. "I see no reason why I shouldn't believe him."
Then, realizing that he hasn't introduced himself properly to any of the new ones, the warrior stands up, easily 6'3" tall.
"Excuse me for my lack of etiquette," he says, while nodding a little with his head. "My name is Ullar, ex-gladiator from the Arena in Florence. And you are Forte? And that is Leslie?" he says while pointing at the other guard.
Leslie looks up from his plate, and for the first time since he sat down, and stops stuffing his face with food. He stands up, his impressive frame making up in width what he lacked in height. "Yes, I am Leslie, Leslie LeCroix," he beams a smile around the table, "and it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. Working for the horse-trader was a dreadfully boring, if profitable, job. I don't know how much longer I could keep it up, with nothing better to do all day than watch the grass grow...", he chuckles. He looks around the gathered company appraisingly. "You people seem to get a lot of action by the look of you, and it looks like a strong sword-arm could be useful to you... I've got half a mind of joining you, if you like, and if you have any more action lined up...?" He sits down, and resumes gobbling food.
"I guess that will not be solely up to me, but we owe you a great deal for helping out in this 'horse matter' so I doubt anyone has a problem with it. You are more than welcome to join us, but, ehm, just be assured that we tend to attract trouble," the warrior ends his reply, a huge grin on his face.
Marika chuckles. "Boredom," she says wistfully. "I remember boredom. That's the thing you feel when nobody's trying to roast you or cut you to pieces. Gods, do I miss boredom."
She grins at the swordsman. "You're right, Leslie, we'll probably be needing your sword, more than once. You and Forte are both welcome to throw in with us if you like. But are you sure this is what you want?"
"I know I don't want to go home," Forte says, to no one in particular.
She glances around the table, and her tone is more serious as she continues. "If you haven't already deduced it from our conversation, we're on the run from the Church. And the moment they stop chasing us, we'll turn around and start chasing them. Right now, no one can tie you to us. You could both still live a normal life -- perhaps sign on with Petr or Gregor; they also need swords, and see more action than they'd like. But if you come with us, you might also start feeling nostalgic for boredom..."
The warrior looks at Marika and says, "I might as well join you. I'm not too good on horses; I've only had mine for about a week. Does it show?" he asks with a grin. "I don't think I'd enjoy a life working with horses. Nice animals, but I just don't have a way with them...." His voice trails off as he looks around the table, wondering what adventures lie ahead. "Anything would be better than helping a horse-thief and whore pillage and kill innocent folk." Forte begins rubbing his hands together. He shakes his head and mutters, "She killed him over a book...." His voice trails off again.
When he realizes people are staring at him, he seems surprised to realize his hands are rubbing together. They are almost starting to chafe from the intense rubbing. He very self-consciously stops rubbing his hands together and puts them under the table.
"Yes, I am Forte (OOC: pronounced for-tay)," the massive warrior affirms. "I come from a small village near Turin, in the north of Italy. I had only been working for Fyo--the horse-thief-- a few days when you," he gestures at most of the party, "showed up."
"Hmm..." Ullar ponders. "What did you bring to this part of Italy? Not that Florence is that far from Turin, but still, it's quite some travel. I've heard that business is pretty good in Turin, so I'm curious why you left that town to join up with that elven women..." Ullar says, no accusations in his tone of voice.
Again, he glances over to where Xania went, then continues to listen to Forte.
Forte clears his throat, and begins to give a brief summary of his recent experience: "I left home because my father wanted me to enter the clergy, but I felt more suited to the life of a soldier. I didn't make any grand plans - I just left."
He glances over at Leslie, then continues:
"I wasn't doing too well. I broke my two-handed sword. I lost my battle axe. I was in a tavern, drinking my last bit of money, when Fyodorll came looking for workers. I accepted, not really knowing what I would be doing. I remember her floating through the air; she sure had some powerful magic. We rode for a long time - a day and a night without stopping, I think - before we came to her camp. Turns out she just wanted Leslie and me to look scary. All we did was stand around, eat, and sleep. She promised more money if we had to do anything else."
He pauses for a few moments, trying to recall anything that might be significant.
"She might have been a whore. A man and his two sons came one day. After, uh, visiting with her, they gave her some horses. The goblins showed up with your -" he gestures to any of Petr's family still in the room - "horses and a bit later you showed up."
He turns to Augustus, explaining, "I didn't help Fyodorll attack them. I just couldn't hurt someone who is smaller than my little sister," he says, smiling at Rhune. Turning back to Augustus, Forte says simply, "I switched sides when Rhune asked me to help them. Fyodorll was screaming to kill the women, but I just couldn't. You hadn't done anything wrong," he explains, looking around the table.
"I wonder why she kept screaming to kill the women. You were in a tree," he says, looking at Ullar. "And you were down," Forte notes, looking at Asif. "But, Jacobus, is it? had killed at least one guard and was still a threat. Maybe she didn't see him.... It's still all kind of blurry in my mind. I can't believe I helped kill her."
"That *was* strange," agrees Marika, remembering Fyodorll's near-frenzy. "Especially after she ignored us before, and talked only to the men. Perhaps she was afraid of fellow mages. Xania and I both know a little magic, but not as much as she did." The priestess shrugs, and shakes her head in bewilderment. "Or maybe she just disliked other women. But whatever her thoughts were, thank you both for helping us. None of us would be alive if you hadn't."
Rhune listens to his story, "Hmmmm......that doesn't make sense. Who knows why she wanted to kill the women. She had seen Xania throw a spell and Marika looked like she was going to cast a spell. She might have thought I could do so as well. I guess we will never know for certain." she murmurs a little self-consciously, still feeling badly about upsetting Xania further.
Forte's voice trails off. After a few seconds of silence, his uncomfortable face looks down, and he resumes eating. "Any questions?" he mumbles, his mouth full of food.
Ullar, feeling that his honor is at stake, replies to the tree thingy.
"Well... ehm... actually..." a bit of a blush appears on his face, "she kinda used her 'float through the air' ability on me."
Glad that is off his chest, he continues: "I managed to get hold of some branches and keep me at that height, otherwise I'm afraid I'd would have fallen quite some more feet," while stretching his still hurting back.
"And you are.. ehm.. Augustus?" Ullar says, hesitating a little while speaking out the name of yet another newcomer.
Marika studies the priest's face, alarmed to learn that the others don't know much more about him than she does. She chuckles, though, at the awkward way that he squirms under the combined attention.
"Silus was...is a Catolik, and a hell of a good man," she allows at last. "A friend from the Forum who we've lost along the way," she adds for the benefit of those who didn't know him.
She looks up toward the second floor, where Petr and the other elders of his clan must still be conferring. "Petr and Kuzma have welcomed this priest into their home? That says a great deal; they're certainly not fools. Nonetheless," she adds, fixing Augustus with her gaze, "I think we'd all like to hear your story, sir."
"But forgive me, we haven't had a chance to be introduced yet." The young woman stands, and her gaze widens to encompass all the newcomers at the table. "My name is Marika, and the other one who came in on a stretcher last night is Asif. It's an unexpected pleasure to be meeting you all this morning. To be doing anything other than feeding worms, in fact."
Those who haven't yet met Marika see that she appears to be in her early twenties, of medium height and slight build. She is dressed in a loose-fitting, light gray robe over darker gray trousers and tunic. Black, wavy hair is drawn back from her face by a purple ribbon, leaving her slightly pointed ears in clear view. She carries herself with a certain elegant pride, despite the fact that her clothes are battered and stained, and the left side of her neck is heavily bandaged.
Marika's accent is that of southern Italia or Sicily, mixed with hints of some more distant southern land. Her dusky skin, dark even for the southern tip of Italia, reinforces this impression; you guess that she might be of Greek or Persian blood.
As introductions are exchanged, Marika smiles and greets each of her new acquaintances. Finally, she turns back to the Catolik. "And now, Mr. Augustus...or is it Father Augustus?...I'd love to hear the tale of how you wound up in a room full of suspicious and heavily-armed heretics. Not that we want you to feel uncomfortable." She grins, white teeth flashing against her dark skin, and then takes a seat, leaving the shy priest to face the room alone.
Summoning up some fortitude, Augustus slowly stands. He looks down at his plate of eggs that he knows he will not finish. Looking at Rhune, he says, "Thank you..." He looks at the others in the room, "But it is for each of these good people to come to their own understanding of my dichotomy, and they alone will have to decide if they can abide my presence here...It is but a brief tale, but one I think you should hear..." Augustus pauses and looks around the room at those gathered.
As the introductions are made around the room, Augustus gray eyes seem to drink in details of the people in the room as they recount their various stories of how they came to be in this motley troupe. As Marika turns to him, he takes a deep breath, attempting to banish the nervousness that has plagued him since his arrival. "Actually, I am a simple Brother...and you may just call me Augustus, as that is the only name I have ever known." He pauses to take a brief drink from the cup in front of him. "I was raised within the walls of the Catolik Church...they found me abandoned at their gate and took me in until I was old enough to be sent elsewhere. Well, as I recall, they decided to let me stay there as long as I worked hard and did not disrupt the status quo... I eventually became old enough to join the priesthood, and was accepted as a novice."
"I lived and worked in and for the church all of my life...and I love it-" He stops suddenly... "I love Jebohah. He is my God and I serve him with all of my heart and soul...for I know he has love for all of the worlds children.." He looks around at the faces of those in the room, his countenance changing...Rhune recognizes the mix of shame and fear that she saw on his face the night before at the wagon. "I began to hear of things that I could not believe were true. Horrible things done in the name of Jebohah that sickened me...things that I have seen."
"I prayed to my God to guide me in the way that I should go, and he told me to leave the walls of the church...since that day, I have wandered, helping where I could...I have met many fine people that I cannot believe that the church has wronged in such ways, like Gregor and Peytr. Many have chased me away, and my life was threatened on more than one occasion, but I believe that Jebohah has led me here, and this is where he has purpose for me...I regret that the church that speaks in the name of Jebohah has done such evil, and I ask your forgiveness."
With that, Augustus silently takes his seat. He quietly pushes away his plate of cold eggs and wraps his long supple hands around his cup of water, lowering his head. You cannot be certain, but you think there are tears trailing down his face.
Marika listens with rapt attention to Augustus' story. This is the first account she's heard of the Catolik church before its insane grab for power, when it was still one faith among many.
When Augustus has finished, Marika studies his face silently for a moment. This man is either sincere, she decides, or the best actor she's ever met. She's willing to bet on the former.
"You're a credit to your faith, Brother Augustus," she says gently. "There is a cancer in your church...and like any cancer, it grows without reason. But you're no part of the disease. Perhaps you're part of the cure."
She sighs, and continues. "I was an acolyte at the Temple of Minerva before...well, before your Church destroyed our temple and ensorcelled our priests. I hope we all live to see the day when our faiths can live side-by-side and share their wisdom freely with one another. Until then, I'm proud to count you a friend."
Augustus seems slightly embarrassed by Marika's offer of friendship, "I am grateful for the opportunity to aid you and your friends, and I want you to know that I will not let you down..."
Rhune listens intently at his story. When he is finished she reaches out across the table to try and touch him, but given her size and the width of the table that proves futile. "You helped my friends when they needed it. For that I am grateful." she says in soft tone of voice. "Perhaps we can find out why these things are being done and if there is away to stop it and return your church to normal" she adds
Augustus looks up from the table at Rhune, his eyes slightly reddened. "Thank you..." His weak smile almost makes him seem handsome, well...almost. "You are welcome," she replies with a bright smile that travels to her deep purple eyes and makes them dance and sparkle.
As this seemed the time for introductions Jacobus picks an appropriate time to speak. "As you already know my name is Jacobus, by trade I am, was a successful merchant, selling Jerbohan religious artifacts to the growing number of converts."
He looks up at the people around the table "I'm not interested in religion, I saw an opportunity to make some profit and I took it. Anyway, my business grew and I became the sole supplier to the Jerbohan churches; however, a minor dispute with a high priest sentenced me to spend my remaining days down a gnomish mine."
"By a stroke of luck, I happened to break into a secret tunnel within those mines only to come face to face with most of the people you see here. My business empire is ruined, I'm hunted by the Bishop, amongst others, and I keep finding myself falling back to my old vocation." Jacobus grins to himself. "I'm falling back into my old profession with surprising ease. So there you have it."
He smiles and his bright, soulful eyes rest on everyone at the table. He seems to weigh each of the companions up. "If you'll excuse me," he stands up and moves to the entrance of the building, going outside to relieve himself.
Looking around, "I am Rhune Morthaine. I never really said what my profession was until the wagons, but I am a thief. I don't steal from friends." She looks at the young woman whose tunic she is wearing, "I will pay you for this just tell me out much. I didn't have anything else to wear. Anyway I am from France. I got into this mess when a friend of my father's came by to claim a debt that Father owed him. Apparently he thought I would be better at finding out what was happening with this church than my father as he wanted me to do the work. Now I am here and I still have no idea as to what to do next," she says to the new people. She then looks down at her plate and attempts to eat some more, but her appetite seems to have left with Xania.
Ullar coughs, a shiver running down his spine. "Well, since we all are telling what brought us in this awkward position, I'll add my side of the story, which can be very brief," he adds with a smile.
"I kinda used to fight in the Arena in Florence and found it harder and harder to kill not only boars and lions, but also, well, ehm, to view how people with different believes were slaughtered there. Of course nobody mentioned they had different beliefs than you Augustus, but we, the Gladiators, knew it for a fact. It was one of the means to get us excited for a fight, get the testosterone floating through our veins."
"Anyway, I escaped and somehow got informed about a meeting in Florence regarding the 'bad influences' of the Church. As I received most of my education as a guard of the temple of Mercury, I was excited to hear what other people thought about it. However, I guess you all know what happened there, and from that point on my history is mostly the same as the rest of the group."