[CHURCH]  COMPENDIUM XI
FAITH AND A POISONING


	*****		*****		*****

After they reapear in his room, Dryctor quickly goes downstairs to warn
Hugh about Smith selling him and the inn out to the church.
--Barron Featherston

"BD?!?"  Bonedancer speaks to an empty room.  "That's a little 
informal for a guy I just met.  Even if he did rescue me."  Shaking his 
head, Bonedancer stalks out of Dryctor's room and stands in the hallway 
gazing down the stairs at the common room.  

After a moment's thought, Bonedancer begins to grin. An internal, as 
well as his ubiquitous external grin.  "Yes Deacon, it shall be as you say," 
He projects his voice down the stairs ahead of him before he starts down.  
"I have been sent here to observe the activities in this establishment by 
the church of the redeemer,"  he announces to the room at large as he enters 
the common room.  "All seditious and treasonous behaviours will be reported 
to the church and dealt with as befits those who would stand against our 
Master."  

Letting his bony visage sweep over the room, Bonedancer marched over 
to the bar.  Beckoning Hugh over, he leaned close and whispered "Thanks for 
the key and the clothes by the way.  I'm afraid they're both a little the 
worse for wear right now."  Standing straight once again, Bonedancer swept 
the room once again with his gaze, before moving over to a side table to sit 
and observe the common room.
--Jeremy Farnham

Bonedancer sat against the wall, the focus of attention, though 
no one was actively looking at him.  Smiling to himself, he thought back 
to the man who had walked past him holding food in front of his face in 
an effort not to be recognized.  It hadn't worked.  Bonedancer had 
immediately recognized him as one of the people who had broken into the 
church dungeon with him.  Still internally chuckling to himself he 
watched as yet another of the 'Staunch' church supporters cast an uneasy 
eye at him before getting up and hurrying out of the inn.  

"Hmm," he thought to himself, "I seem to be ruining Hugh's 
custom.  Hardly the thing a grateful guest ought to do.  I think that it 
might be time to take this show out to the general public.  What do you 
think?"  this last he thought at one of the two mageguards sitting in 
the inn and keeping a close eye on him.  

Standing he let his gaze sweep across the now thinned crowd as 
he stalked his way over to the door.  Opening the door, he turned to 
face the common room once more, "May the peace of the redeemer be upon 
you."  he said, letting a pinpoint of blue light appear in each 
eyesocket, before stepping out of the inn and closing the door behind 
him.

Chuckling internally, he started to wander the streets of 
Montford, keeping to the open and staying visible, an experience he 
hadn't realized he'd missed before this.  He greeted everyone he saw 
with the same phrase he used on his exit from the inn, their horror 
striken faces well worth the trouble he was going to get into because of 
this.  "Damage control THIS, you bastards."  he thought toward the 
church as he threw back his head and laughed.
--Jeremy Farnham

Semareth sent for a healer as soon as he reached his rooms. His ribs and 
arm were beginning to flare with pain every time he moved. Just reaching 
his rooms had been a test of determination.

He lowered himself gently into his chair and waited.

The door opened, admitting a green robed woman with a bag of herbs and 
poultices. She quickly began removing Semareth's armor from his upper 
body, revealing a chest covered with black and blue bruising. She bit her 
lip to suppress a cry when she saw his left arm, the bones jutting out 
sharply through the skin, his forearm dangling loosely at a right angle 
to the rest of his arm.

"I'm sorry, Lord Semareth, but I can do nothing to save you arm...", she 
paused, looking him in the eyes. Their blue-grey surface did not change. 
"I can fetch for a surgeon or a mage...", she began...

"NO.", he said, face stern. He shook his head, and through gritted teeth 
told her to bandage and splint what she could.

She complied, shaking her head at the extremity of his wounds. His ribs 
she bandaged gently and rubbed healing herbs on, and when she attempted 
to place anaesthetic salves on them he stopped her. Shrugging she moved 
onto his arm.

"This may hurt a little bit.", she said. He nodded, and his right hand 
gripped tightly to the chair-arm.

Grabbing hold of Semareth's forearm, Maida stretched it away from the rest 
of his arm, such that the outjutting bones could be pushed back beneath 
the skin. Semareth's eyes closed, and his nostrils flared, as he began
breathing deeply of the incense which filled the room. Lifting and 
twisting the loose part of his arm, she attempted to push it back 
such that the bones roughly connected where they had used to be. A 
small grunt of pain from Semareth told her when she had located it 
correctly. Then, grabbing a pair of splints from her bag, she strapped 
them on either side of his arm. She could see tears glittering at the 
corners of his closed eyes, and couldn't even bring herself to imagine 
the pain he would be in.

Again, she offered to fetch a mage, or to give him a pain-killer. He 
shook his head and thanked her. 

"Go, Maida. There are many wounded soldiers to be healed...", he hissed 
through gritted teeth.

She left, the man was a fool. The arm was worse than useless, it should 
have been amputated.

When Maida had closed the door behind her, Semareth stood from his chair 
and walked deliberately over to his bedchamber. Against one wall was a 
small shrine, upon which several incense sticks burned slowly, releasing 
their spicy plumes of smoke into the air. The centrepiece of the shrine 
was a small idol of Sh'aljien, wearing nought but a loin cloth, his face 
a mask of anger. On his forehead, a small gold emblem rested... a symbol 
of peace, and perfection.

Semareth prostrated himself before his god then, and picked up another 
incense stick from a pile on the floor. Twice he passed it over his 
forehead, then, with a muttered prayer, he lit it on a candle, and placed 
it on the shrine. He narrowed his eyes to mere slits of silver, and 
slowed his breathing...

#Sh'al#, he whispered, more in god-speak than in language.
#Sh'al#, he whispered again, #grant me strength.#
He waited. Nothing stirred for minutes.
There was no answer but for a dim rumbling in the back of his head. He 
had no terms to describe it, but when he dreamt, he always associated it 
with resting on the palm of Sh'al, as clouds floated around him, wrapping 
him in their folds.
#Sh'al#, he breathed, and he felt a warmth slowly fill his body. Tears 
began to flow steadily from his eyes.

He lay there, prostrate before the shrine, cradling his arm and ribs 
beneath him until the incense stick had burnt to mere embers. His 
chambers were silent, and still, but for the gentle swirling of the 
sh'alvar.

***
An hour later, a knock on the door roused him from his prayers.

"Come.", he said, sitting up slowly.

The door opened to reveal Maida and a surgeon, equipped heavily with 
pain-killers. He stood, and clapped his hands together loudly.

"So you have returned... are all my men well?", he smiled as the two 
stood poleaxed in his doorway, jaws dropped. He held up his left arm with 
it's black hand, and flexed his fingers , grinning at them expectantly. 
Veins pulsated grotesquely beneath the stoney surface of his left hand, 
as if the rock itself were living.

They practically ran from the room, eyes wide, chased by the gentle sound 
of his mocking laughter.
--Nick Takayama

his face was not one of pain, however.  "Find a *very* secure cell for
this one," he said to one of the Inquisitors with him.  Just before Dougan
lost all consciousness, he muttered, "Forgive me, Smith, I failed."  
--Count Ryan

Thai finished tending to the Inquisitors before she even bothered 
with the remaining prisoners. Most had taken no damage, except Smith 
seemed to be dead. With hard work yet to come repairing and containing 
the damage he had done to Montfort, she found herself caring not at all.

Another prisoner was brought in, cutting short her examination of 
the magical residue left in his cell.

Inquisitors put Dougan in a special cell as she watched. This 
was the last one then. Good. She still had to prepare for the afternoons 
workload.

Four Inquisitors preceeded her into the cell in case the prisoner 
was still hostile. She shrugged and followed them in. If he needed any 
healing, he had better not be stupid. She wasn't in the mood for it.

She looked Dougan up and down, searching for his aura to estimate 
how injured he might be. 

"My name is Thai. Are you injured?"
--Phaedra Whitlock

Dougan felt himself being dumped unceremoniously onto the floor. 
Awareness came before motor function, however, so there was nothing he
could do about it.  Soon afterward he was able to move.  He turned over
and looked at the four Inquisitors in his cell.  A fifth person, Deaconess
Thai, spoke.  "My name is Thai.  Are you injured?"

He surveyed his situation.  Thai was capable of casting spells, he
believed, and it was magic that took him out.  He *might* be able to
subdue them before they could retaliate, but he decided that it would be
better if he just cooperated.  He might be able to learn something from
them, too.  "No, I am not injured, but my thanks for your concern.  I hope
nothing I did harmed YOU.  Too much."
--CountRyan

The guards brought Cari before solid, but plain door, and knocked. She 
shook her head, trying to clear the afteraffects of the mild stun the 
guards had delivered. It had been sufficient to keep her from using her 
abilities and from really understanding the twists and turns they had 
taken through the Church's vast corridors. All she did know was that she 
wasn't be taken to one of the torture chambers in the dungeon. She, 
however, doubted the longer route into the main part of the building 
boded any better.

A male voice, muffled by the thick door told them to enter, and while one 
guard held the door open the other pushed the her into a room filled with 
a thick and foreign incense.

Cari stumbled, tripping over the torn hem of the stolen robe, and 
when she recovered she gazed at her surroundings. The room was hazy with 
smoke, and she didn't waste time noticing the furnishings. Her attention 
was focused on the man before her. Fear curled in the pit of her stomach, 
for she now knew in whose rooms she stood; the High Inquisitor's. She 
also noted that he wore black and red robes over his armour; robes that 
she didn't think were of the Church's.  She looked up at 
Semareth and knew that with the fear-inspired adrenaline she was recovered 
enough to jaunt. 

She tried, but she didn't even experience the mildest sense of vertigo 
that came with a jaunt. She was still standing in front of Semareth, with 
a Inquisitor directly behind her. 

Semareth smiled, and folded his arms.
"I wondered for a while when you were going to try that. Interesting 
talent you have, child.", his smile dropped slightly. All were children 
in the eyes of Sh'aljien. "Your powers will not work in these rooms. This 
incense which I burn for prayer suppresses magical and psychic energies. 
The intent is to strip the supplicant of all impure claims at power, so 
that they may truly be humble before their god. It seems the people of 
Montfort have not learnt this yet.". He beckoned to his men...
 
She tilted her head slightly. Though afraid she was curious. She knew little 
of Semareth, except for the recent rumors and stories of his phenomenal 
ability to survive dire battle, and most considered him the main 
strongarm of the Church, but the man who stood here now sounded of as 
being a deeply religious man. "That would make sense," she told herself, 
"He serves the Church. Yet . . .?" She wasn't sure. 

Cari tried to send, though she did believe what the High Inquisitor said; 
the incense weighted down on her.

She did manage, though her "voice" was weakened to a whispher, to 
say, "The Church seems to be doing fine in regarded to 'humbling,' though 
I would call it enslavement." Even with the affects of the incense the 
strength of her emotions colored her thoughts; her anger wrapped itself 
around the images of the destruction that the dark armies left behind, 
and of the Churches standing empty, leaving their followers vulnerable 
and betrayed. Cari was angry at herself for letting her fatigue drop her
control by a degree.The heavy smoke in the room 
made her cough, and gave her time to bring her emotions to heel.

At Semareth's bidding the guard removed Cari's manacles and pulled a 
chair over. She glanced at it, then sat. Her expression was one of 
composed calm, though her green eyes showed both her fear and anger. What 
did it matter that the High Inquisitor wished to play games? She knew 
that she was going to die; either her body would die 
by fire or her spirit would be destroyed by conversion. 
There was little difference, since it meant an ending of who 
she was and what she fought for. So, there was to be an interlude, 
directed by the High Inquisitor, before the final movement?

Semareth inhaled deeply of the Sh'alvar which scented the air, and sat in 
his richly inlaid seat. He sat back and watched the girl for awhile 
before speaking.

"You, like those with you who sought to defile the Church today, have 
been misled in your thinking. The intent of the Church is not to enslave 
or oppress the populace, but to enlighten them. How can we be expected to 
do this with heretics such as Hugh out there? We seek only to help lead 
the people of Montfort out of their spiritual ignorance before it is too 
late, and your friends out there see this as an oppression of freedom.", 
he shook his head. The Sh'alvar swirled around his mouth as he exhaled 
softly. He whispered so softly that Cari could barely hear, "Are you 
truly free, if you walk foolishly to your own doom?".

Even though his voice was low and the incense both cloying and 
distracting Cari heard what he said. She focused her waning concentration 
and replied, "It could be said that's one of the few choices we have 
left." She straightened in her chair, and said, "Lord Semareth I do not 
know how far you have traveled, but have you seen the decimation of the 
land? Or care? I have, and I do." Her fingers twisted in the fabric of 
the robe. "Over more miles than I care to count I've seen the death 
brought by the dark armies. I've seen how the Church of the Redeemer has 
suddenly emptied, leaving their flocks, that you say the Church has come 
to safe, as so much fodder. That is why I fight. That is why those 
healers and mages who are left have had to become soldiers. . ." Her last 
words were vehement.

She kept herself from slumping, but her body was beginning to tremble 
with fatigue and the exertion she was expending to communicate. She 
clenched her hands together to hide the trembling, and closed her eyes 
for a second to buy a reprieve from her headache. 

When she opened her eyes she studied the High Inquisitor, angry at his 
sure power, and wondering why she was bothering to try to argue the 
point. She had no doubt he was sincere in his beliefs, as fanatics tended 
to be. Perhaps, she decided, she was just taking her last and only 
opportunity to say her piece to the enemy. She also decided she had 
figured out what had been nagging her; why she thought Semarethh did not 
quite fit her picture of the Church. He reminded her of a predator 
amongst the docile flock.

Semareth listened to her silently. He had indeed seen the destruction 
caused by the Church in the Northern reaches on his journey towards 
Montfort. "I have heard of these incidents, child. Though there is 
nothing I can say to dispute the claims, I can say one thing... _this_ 
Church will not be leaving. Remember, the Church is not a building, nor 
is it the preachers... it is the people who know it.", he sat back, and 
inhaled sh'alvar, letting the spicy scent cleanse him. He closed his 
eyes, and whispered, "I assure you, this Church shall be different from 
those you spoke of... if the people of Montfort were to wholly embrace my 
religion, they could stand tall, and could turn back the very armies of 
Jieal if they had to.". He stood up and walked to one wall, and stood 
looking at a tapestry which adorned it.

Cari could just make out the details from where she sat. It was a battle 
scene, depicting the struggle between two non-descript armies, in the top 
left hand corner stood a man-god red-faced, and snarling. She had to 
strain to make out what he was doing... he was breaking their glowing 
weapons, and tearing the armor from their bodies. The men could just be 
seen walking quietly from the mayhem, wearing only loincloths, but with a 
peaceful expression on their faces.
Semareth merely stood and stared at the red-faced god, seeming to forget 
Cari's presence.

Cari knew better than to leave her chair though her curiousity was 
aroused. Semareth's reaction had surprised her. She had expected him to 
preach about the Church, but now she had a strange feeling that he was 
referring to two different Churches. She shifted so she get a slightly 
better view of the tapestry that held his rapt attention. She was almost 
loathe to break into his reverie, but something else was going on here. 
Gently she asked, "Who is the god in the tapestry? It isn't the Redeemer, 
is it?" She felt the faintest flicker of hope - maybe there was a new 
factor, an alternative course than the destruction or the slavery they 
had all been rushing towards. She stood up and took a step forward, but 
came no closer. "Why will this church be different from all the others?" 

Semareth turned around to face Cari, and placed on hand on his chest as 
if making a pledge. 
"Because I will not let it be.", he replied, slowly yet forcefully. 
His hand came down to rest on his sword hilt, and he took one last glance 
at the god-figure on the tapestry before walking back to stand in front 
of his chair.

"My god believes in the salvation of mankind, but not through magics or 
powers such as your own. I do not mean that he condones the ruthless 
'cleansing' which the Church is currently undertaking. The powers you 
have can still be used, but only once you achieve enlightenment... it is 
only then that you can use them to further humankind.". He sat, and 
motioned the guards over, but did not tell them to take her away yet.
"I want you to think on what we have discussed while you are in your 
cell. But before you leave, there is something you wish to say?", his 
hands formed a steeple in front of his face. He focussed his steely eyed 
gaze on Cari, and awaited her reply.

Cari was shaken by Semareth's answer, and that she believed him. She 
knew there was a good chance he was playing games with her, but some deep 
instinct said he was speaking honestly. She would have a great deal to 
think on. She said, "Lord Semareth, I will think on what you have said, 
because despite my better judgement I do believe you." She paused, and 
quietly, tiredly, asked, "What is to be my fate?"

Semareth paused only briefly before replying.
"Your fate is of your own making, child. You will be returned to your 
cell, where you may reflect on what we have discussed. I will most likely 
see you once more in the morning.", he motioned the guards to start 
moving. "Rest well, and when you wake may you find the true path.".

He did not tell her that if she chose to continue her heathen ways, the 
Church would cleanse her without a thought. He would see in the morning...
--Nick Takayama

The guard pushed Cari into her cell, which had been graced with a solid 
new door. "They work fast," she thought, letting her eyes adjust to the 
darkness. After a few minutes she could make out the vague concept of the 
wall and felt along it till she came to the straw and lay down.

"Rest well," had been what Semareth had told her. "Not likely," Cari 
thought, hating the whirl of conflicting thoughts and emotions that filled 
her head. She felt ill. Ill not only from fatigue and lack of food, but 
because she found herself believing Semareth.

She curled up in a ball, wrapping her arms around her stomach. She had 
known that when she decided to fight she would probably die for her 
cause. And before speaking with Semareth she would have done so proudly, 
because they had achieved their goal - Jarrad was free. Though she wasn't 
sure about Smith. She buried her face in the foul-smelling straw, wanting 
to hide, to deny, that she was willing to find hope in what Semareth had 
said, and was willing to live. She knew that to live meant that she must 
convert.

She ignored the tears that ran down her cheek, and dripped onto the 
straw. She made herself think back over what the High Inquisitor had 
said, about not condoning the ruthless cleansings, and that this church 
would not flee the dark armies. She weighed it, 
but no matter what direction she looked at it from it still 
rang true to her. Her instincts told her that he wasn't lying; that there 
was an honest concern for the people. "It's possible he's 
trying to bring reform," she thought. But even if he was, 
the idea still didn't make her decision easier. If she did convert it 
meant that she could well have to fight those, like Jarrad and Hugh, that 
she called friends. How could she face them, let alone fight them, with 
her only reason for converting being that there was a potential for hope?

Cari shivered with the chill of the cell, and with the knowledge that 
before morning she had to come to terms with the consequences of her 
decision, and bury her hatred of the present Church.
--Cathy Mosley

Jarrad had no idea what he had done. All his energy and emotions had been 
transmitted into raw power straight through the instruction matrix for 
jaunting.

After the nausea and sense of vertigo had passed, Jarrad found himself in 
total darkness. He was in some sort of cave, judging from the rocky uneven  
walls and floor. Sitting back, he leaned against one of the walls, 
ignoring the outcroppings digging into his back and shook, tears 
streaming down his face.

Tears of self pity changed to tears of rage. Thai had played him for a 
fool, how could he think she would feel anything at all for him. She had 
drugged him, seduced him, and used him as bait to lure other rebels in and 
killed some. She had left clues, but Jarrad had not realised. He never 
told Elvira his name, yet she knew it. Jarrad cursed himself for letting 
his feelings get in the way of reason. She would pay for this.

Jarrad stood and prepared himself to jaunt, straight to her quarters. He 
would milk her for every piece of useful information she had, then kill 
her. Squashing the regret that surfaced in his mind, Jarrad 
reminded himself what feelings could do. Concentrating, he gathered his 
psionic strength ... and didn't know what to do with it. The matrix had 
gone. Jarrad cursed for a couple of minutes and tried again, but he 
couldn't find the matrix.

Sitting back down, Jarrad's anger slowly leaked away as he reviewed the 
events. Could she have really been that good an actress? She had shown 
definate fear when Semareth had thrown her around. He analysed himself, 
and realised he didn't want to kill Thai. But he needed to talk again. 
She had definate feelings for him, something he had tried to ignore in 
his rage.

Jarrad tried jaunting again, but still no luck. Sitting there in total 
darkness, he was glad no one would see the tears that streamed down his 
face until he fell into a restless sleep, full of dreams about 
confronting Thai and being killed because he could not bear to hurt her.
--Paul Khangure

Deacon Thai smiled serenely at the people in the Avenue of 
Triumph as she exited the church gates with four of her mage guard.
The grey-robed acolytes scattered in different directions across 
the square while she waited in the center and enjoyed the fresh breeze.
She was arrayed in her white and gold again, and the pendant 
given her by Proctor John looked well against them. She still wasn't 
certain what it did, but he expected her to find out, and she planned to 
that afternoon.

She smiled at them and at the curious who had stopped to watch. 
Many had been crying, all had been up past dawn searching the ruins for 
loved ones or what they could salvage of their belongings.
She watched them with pity, and joined the nearest group to 
provide what comfort she could. PJ would have approved. 

When her acolytes returned, each carrying handfuls of charred 
wood and stone, she took the fragments in her hands and walked with the 
first acolyte to a ruined manor that had once graced the street. 

As the sound of her chanting spread across the square, more 
people arrived to gawk. The blackened foundations of the manor began to 
glow with an inner light that pulsed with the rise and fall of her voice. 
She dropped the stones and wood gathered by the acolyte to the ground and 
moved her soot stained hands in the correct gestures of the spell. 

Within a minute the crowd saw the blackened timbers lose their 
charred appearance and the marks on the stones still standing 
disappeared into the grain. The whole building pulsed now, and a faint 
singing could be heard as the acolytes added their spells to hers.

Before the eyes of the crowd, the building began to rebuild itself.

By the tenth house, Thai was exhausted. She had stood enchanting 
the stones and manipulating energy and reality for what seemed like forever 
but was only hours, and this was the last for today.

An old warlock had taught her the creation spell, but she had 
never before had a use for it. Ending the spell, the song remained 
hanging in the air for another few seconds before fading into memory and 
the subconscious of those who heard it. 

"Good people," she spoke, turning to face the crowd. "Last 
evening your homes were destroyed, your husbands, fathers, brothers and 
sons died fighting the evil that has arisen to plague this land. They 
have been among you for years, and worked their evil in small ways until 
now. Last night in their quest to rescue their own, they harmed not the 
church, but instead directed their energies against you, the people of 
Montfort, violently and randomly with the sole intent to terrorize you 
and destroy that which you have worked long to build for yourselves. 
Through the power the Redeemer has granted me, I have today restored some 
of what was lost and will continue to do so until the damage is 
forgotten. Those of you who have lost your homes, the church has 
organized places for you to sleep until your they are restored. Those 
without food, it will be given you, those who lost loved ones..."

Thai's voice, beautiful despite being hoarse from spellcasting 
for so long, stopped in the gentle breeze and when it returned
was choked with emotions mirrored in her lovely tear filled eyes. "It is 
not in my power to turn back time. I'm very sorry, and can only hope that 
your neighbors can provide the comfort that should not have been 
necessary. The church has spoken with the bank of Montfort and they have 
agreed to assist people needing to rebuild their lives. Those of you with 
other problems, the church is always open to you."

Thai surveyed the crowd in a look that encompassed everyone there. 
"This is our town, yours and mine, and they shall not take it from us!"

A wave of positive enthusiasm from the crowd made her smile. A 
notice would go up with a few hours saying that the prisoners Eldarion 
and Ellana Elessidel and Baron Therion had been chased by a party of 
Inquisitors into the forest the night before where thay and others had 
refused to surrender. They had died, and their bodies been interred in 
the cemetary. Headstones had been erected to that effect, and the bodies 
of unclaimed victims of the terror had served the Redeemer one last time 
in the morning shrouds of those who had escaped with no intentions of 
returning.

Thai swayed on her feet, the long day catching up with her. She 
was bone-tired and gratefully took the proferred arm of one of her acolytes.

A young boy stepped forward and offered her his waterskin. Thai 
smiled gratefully and drank to clear her parched throat. The more she 
drank, the thirstier she realized she was until she had drained the small 
flask. "I'm sorry," she murmured, embarressed. 

"It's nothing Lady Deacon. I'll get more from the well. Bless you for 
helping us."

"And you." The boy watched her continue towards the church. Her 
exhaustion was obvious. To tire herself so much to help the people she 
must truly be an angel.

Others in the crowd agreed and the dark mood that had covered the 
town began to lift. She had promised them, and they believed her.

The angel spoke with the people as they asked her questions and 
offered assistance, dealing with each problem individually. An hour 
later her skin grew clammy and the acolyte supporting her noticed 
her face shining with sweat as she began to tremble. In midsentence Deacon 
Thai stopped and put a hand to her stomach, then collapsed to the ground.

Kneeling beside her, a stunned acolyte took her pulse and noted other 
signs, then raised his voice to carry over the murmuring of the crowd. "The 
Deacon has been poisoned!"

[Admin: Deacon Thai was poisoned by drinking the well water poisoned by 
Himgurath earlier on.]
--Phaedra Whitlock

After several hours sleep, Jarrad woke feeling much rested. He had come 
to a decision regarding Thai. He would go to her quarters in the evening 
(when he worked out how to get out of these damn caves) and talk to her. 
If she went to kill him, he would stun her, otherwise he would sort out 
the problem. With the internal turmoil calmed, Jarrad was able to 
remember how to jaunt. Knowing that he would look rather filthy, he 
jaunted straight to his rooms at the inn.

There was a spare set of clothes there, and he undressed and started to 
wash with the luke warm water.. Just as he finished dressing, there was 
a shimmer in the air, and his sword appeared. It seemed that it could 
follow him even through jaunting. After cleaning up, and getting the 
current news from one of the maids, Jarrad jaunted to Thai's rooms.

As the sense of vertigo passed, Jarrad found himself in Thai's quarters. 
She was lying on the bed, a sweat drenched thin robe clinging to her 
body, and bunched up to mid thigh, leaving almost nothing to the 
imagination. She was beautiful.

She moaned and muttered a couple of inaudible words. but Jarrad picked up 
the images on the top of her mind.

Thai moaned as she thrashed among her sheets, hoping to find an 
escape from the fever and pain engulfing her.

The young dragon that had once terrorized her had returned, only 
this time her cousin Niki had appeared to save her. Thai stumbled again 
around the corner of the old man's hut, shaking with fever as she had been 
then, to see the reptile claw one of the fighters weaving in and out.

She tried to cast a spell as it turned its head towards Niki and 
drew a breath, but the words wouldn't come. All around her was fire and 
heat.

The rough wood of the hut rasped against her hands as she held
onto it for strength. The sounds of battle faded as the blaze encircled 
her in scorching heat.

"Nikiiiii!!!" she screamed in anguish. The fire swerved closer 
and she wrenched herself away into nothingness. "Jarrad..."

She did care. Jarrad's moment of exultation was washed away by fear for 
her health. Moving besides her, he saw how flushed her face was, and her 
forehead was radiating heat.

Taking a linen cloth from the pile at the foot of the bed, he soaked it 
in the basin of water, then wrung it out before placing it on her forehead.

Thai awoke and mumbled, still in the throes of delerium. Jarrad poured a 
glass of juice from the jug, and held it for her to drink in slow sips.

As she drifted off into a restless sleep again, Jarrad brushed his lips 
across hers, then whispered "I love you" into her ear. Replacing the 
cloth with another one, Jarrad held her hand and waited. 

Thai smiled blissfully as she twisted around to rest her head 
against his hand. 'I love you too...'

She smiled again and snuggled closer, wanting him to never leave.

With his other hand gently stroking her hair Thai drifted into 
pleasant dreams where her wish was reality.

10 minutes or so later, the sound of boots approaching warned Jarrad, 
and he recognised the approaching aura to be that of Semareth. Knowing 
that to get caught here would mean instant death, for both of them, Jarrad 
jaunted back to his rooms at the Dragon's Inn.
--Paul Khangure & Phaedra Whitlock

Acolyte Sandor sat in the saddle loosely holding his horses reins 
as he looked about him. Four black uniformed Inquisitors and Acolyte 
Janelle accompanied him.

After the Deaconness Thai had collapsed in his arms, poisoned, he had 
seen to her comfort and then immediately went to see Proctor John. The 
Deaconess had planned on the morrow to seek out the local hedge wizards 
and healers and bring them into the church as a healer corps, but now it was 
imperative that they be found and brought to her immediately.

Proctor John had authorized his mission, and the mageguard, accompanied 
by small Inquisitor teams, had gone to the locations of all those the 
faithful had mentioned as having healing skills, magical or otherwise. 

With the help of his sorcery and Acolyte Janelle's, the Inquisitors 
had easily subdued the woman living here, and the two others who had 
hidden themselves with her to avoid the church's cleansings. 

The woman's belongings were brought, nothing was left behind as 
they returned to the church with their unconscious captives.

Night had fallen and noone was about to see as the teams 
returned, each with their prize. By morning not a midwife, healer or 
hedge wizard existed in the area that was not wearing the green robes of 
the church and living within a dormitory set aside for their use.

One more aspect of the people's lives was now controlled by the church, 
as it should be.
--Phaedra Whitlock

The acolytes and healers had gone and Thai was 
once again alone in her tower room. Her body was still weakened 
from the poison, but her mind was again her own.

In her delirium she had dreamt Jarrad had come to 
her room, and that dream had kept her going through the miserable 
hours that followed.

Semareth visited briefly they had told her, and it was 
his incense that still burned in the room.

The care and concern of her acolytes had been 
strange but comforting as the poison ran its course. It had been 
nice to know someone was concerned for her, and that was her 
quandrary now.

Her emotions were getting in the way.

She was growing fond of Semareth, who cared for 
her but would never show it. The cameradery of the Mageguard 
was new, they wanted nothing from her but to serve the Redeemer 
upon her command. Proctor John demanded her full loyalty and 
devotion, but Thai wasn't certain she could give him that any 
more. 

The tiny ember of Semareth's lit incense glowed red 
as she watched it and tried to resolve her emotions. 

Jarrad said he loved her and she no longer doubted 
that he did. 

Around him she felt wonderful. The power she had 
always sought over others didn't seem to matter when dealing with 
him. Instead she wanted to know his thoughts, where he came 
from, what he wanted.

Jarrad would never support Proctor John and Thai 
wasn't certain she wanted to see him to corrupted by the evil of the 
church. Jarrad almost certainly knew what would happen to 
Montfort if Proctor John was left unchecked, and he would never 
allow it. 

Thai had sworn loyalty to Proctor John rather than be 
burnt herself, but there was no future for her here without Jarrad.

She felt no affection for Proctor John, and killing 
him would bother her not at all.

The tiny fire of the incense burnt low and flickered 
out as she came to her decision. Sleep came easily and she drifted 
back into pleasant dreams.
--Phaedra Whitlock

"UUUuugghhhh...."  Darkness and the smell of blood awaited Mauq when
he awoke.  Much time had passed since Shan wopped him in the chest.

"Hey, watch were you're stepping!" He yelled as an inquisitor walked
by. He sat up and braced his back up against a wall.  Feeling his chest for any
broken ribs he slid his hand around in shock.  (Where is it!)

Going to the chord wrapped around his neck he discovered his necklace
had been flung around behind his head.  The feel of it wasn't right, though.
As he pulled it before his eyes he saw what his hands had been telling him.
The medallion was broken.  "&#%$!!"

Dispite the pain he was in he got to his feet and ran up the corridor.
When he found his way to the wagon he saw the scene he had expected.  Three men
lay dead.  The cage was open.  Sylpie was gone.

"#&@*!!!"  He kicked one of the dead men.  "$&#%!!" 

With his medallion broken she had been able to break free, kill these
men, and fly away.

"I'm going to kill that $@&#!!"

He cast out, trying to find any hint of anybody using the Way.  As he 
walked around to the courtyard, dawn was breaking the darkness over head.  He
was able to see just what had happened the night before.  

"So, much for first impressions."  He walked about the devistation.
"Oh, man.  If I don't get at least some of this cleaned up..."

He began dredging the rubble and stone into piles.  He found a couple
more barried bodies and stacked them elsewhere in their own pile.

After about an hours work he went off to attend the morning mass and
had some breakfast before he continued with the work outside.

He wasn't too worried about finding that Wa'ari or the dragon soon.
He could track them.  Right now he needed to cover his glutius maximus.
--Samson Gonzales

Semareth turned to his honour guard, scowling. 

"I have no need for you right now.", he growled at the leader.
"Sir, it is our duty to the Church to serve and protect you...", replied 
the man-orc. He sounded perfectly justified.

"Just stay here in the Church and don't follow me.", Semareth ordered, 
and turned sharply, heading for the Church's front gate.
He heard their footsteps begin behind him, and he whirled, anger writ on 
his face.

"Sir..", began the officer.

Semareth's fist cut him off mid-sentence.

"STAY HERE!", he roared, and stormed off. The next guard to follow him 
would end up with much worse than a broken jaw.

How had Thai let herself be poisoned? The city was still unsafe, and she 
was already out trying to spread the good word... and this is what she 
gets for it. Semareth cursed her silently. He had been in to her rooms to 
see her. Her robes had been removed, and she lay beneath her blankets 
quietly, sweat covering her face and neck. The acolytes informed him that 
she had been groaning in pain just seconds before he had arrived. He did 
not stay.

Now he was out on the streets, ignoring the scared looks the townsfolk 
shot in his direction, or hid. He passed by the Dragon's Inn, but did not 
enter. He would deal with them later.

The image of Thai lying ill in bed resurfaced in his mind. He growled, 
and blanked his thoughts. A merchant walking by jumped at the aggressive 
sound from the Chief Inquisitor, and ran for dear life, dropping his wares.
He would normally seek to find out what the man had to fear from the 
Church, but instead he turned quickly into an alley. The last thing he 
wanted was to have to deal with the peasants.
--Nick Takayama

The lady in gray might be worrying about her. She might want to know 
where she was. Fran frowned. She couldn't go back...not to where Mommy 
and Lorna had died. Lorna didn't deserve to die. She was so sweet, so 
kind. Fran loved Lorna.

Fran walked around town, unnoticed by the populace. The wind dried her 
tears, and she could cry no more. The little girl turned a corner and 
saw a man standing by a step. She smiled. Poor man. His family had 
probably been hurt by the Church, too. She walked quickly over to him.
--Marie Kelly

He had been sitting on the back step to a trader's store in a poor 
section of Montfort for more than an hour when he heard faint 
footsteps approaching around the corner. He stood quickly, drawing 
himself up to his full 7' height, and waited as the footsteps came 
nearer. Then, when the footsteps were just around the bend, he jumped 
out and came face to face with - nothing. His head swiveled around 
quickly, scanning for his unseen prey.
--Nick Takayama

The man didn't see her. That was silly. Well, she would just have to 
make him see her.
--Marie Kelly

He heard a cough down at his feet.
He looked down, and there stood a gorgeous blue-eyed, blonde-haired 
little girl, beaming up at him. 

"Hi, mithter," Fran began. "Are you running from--" suddenly she 
noticed the gold emblem on his armor and stopped. She narrowed her 
eyes, put her hands on her hips, and jutted out her lower lip (which 
didn't make her look threatening at all.) Perhaps she shouldn't have 
said what she did--but she did. "That'th what the Church meanieth wear. 
Are you a Church meanie?"
--Marie Kelly

Semareth's face softened, and he crouched down so that he was only 
head and shoulders above her. 

"No, child, I am with the Church, but I am not a meanie. My men are 
mean, but only because they want what's best for people. You know how 
mommy won't let you eat lots of candy because she doesn't want you to 
get sick."
--Nick Takayama

Fran nodded. Mommy said candy would give her a tummy ache.
--Marie Kelly

It's kind of like that...", for some odd reason, he looked at this 
little girl's face and felt a form of unfamiliar kindness well up. He 
had to prevent her from going to the heathen orphanage.
"If you would like I can show you the beautiful artwork inside the 
Church, and you can come say hello to a friend of mine who is sick. 
She would like a visit from a strong, beautiful girl like yourself.",
--Nick Takayama

Fran frowned. "Thick? Oh, that'th not nithe. Mommy alwayth made me 
chicken thoup when I was thick. I mith my Mommy. I mith my thithter."
--Marie Kelly

he was making himself sick, being so nice, but inspiration had struck. 
Too late for maintaining his image.
--Nick Takayama

Fran thought a bit about Semareth's offer. On one hand, he was a part 
of the church, and her father had been killed by an inquisitor's arrow. 
On the other hand, he was a grown-up, and Mommy had taught her that she 
should respect her elders. And he seemed so nice. Besides, churches 
were pretty.

Wordlessly, Fran nodded and held out her hand.
--Marie Kelly

Smiling, and inwardly kicking himself for being so soft, Semareth took 
her little hand in his. Unfortunately, he realised that his 7' of 
height would make walking like this difficult, and undignified (what 
was he doing with a child anyway?). "Hold on," he said, and picked her 
up in his arms. He walked quickly back to the Church, hoping no-one 
saw him, and if they did, his glare was enough to make them forget.
--Nick Takayama