Revision as of 00:06, 12 March 2017

Participants

• Fenris
• Flora
• Krove

Date

11/3/480

Log

The priestess, for her part, is resting on one of the pews inside the church, facing the entrance with a smile on her lips, and her strange, unintelligible First Text in hand...

Ironstead was wrong. There was something just not right, from the smell in the air, practically. He didn't know what to say, what to do. He didn't have a copy of the first text with him; he couldn't counter her arguments with fact, only from memory. But he was right. He had to be. At least the church was... mostly intact, from the outside. Krove shudders, though, and it pales quickly from hope to horror as he sees what has happened to the Creator Saints within.... but why? Even blessed St. Alan... why would they do that to him, too? He's speechless.

Fenris saunters after Krove casually, and looks around, as if he is surpised to find himself here and in company. "What are the odds we would both end up here?" he asks with a grin, "I was sort of hoping to catch a noon meeting, but the place looks pretty empty."

"You are early, if you were looking for a noontime meeting, Fenris. But you're free to wait around, if you prefer?" the owl offers, before gesturing Krove along."

"You will have to pardon the mess. The villagers were a bit... Overzealous. While I can't say I worship the saints, I do recognize Eric and Patricia's achievement. I am certain uplifting a species is no small task," she offers, as she gestures towards the sanctum. "However, that is not what we are here for, is it? You wished to see the treasures the Church hides."

That... that wasn't quite it. The Church wasn't hiding anything. The Church protected, saved, brought peace and health. They didn't hide anything. They kept it safe, kept the people safe, from the Creator's wrath. "I wish to see the Church respected. We wouldn't be here without the Saints... and Alan, more than anything--why would we ever want to disrespect his memory?" It almost physically hurt the doctor to see a church this way. No wonder they were so lost and confused.

"I AM a little early, aren't I? How silly of me!" Fenris says easily, "Well, as long as I am here, you don't mind if I tag along, do you? I always love to see something new!" In his odd, Creator-esque garb, it is not hard to imagine the tiger aboard one of their great flying machines and tinkering with the strange magic of the Creators.

A smile, a nod, and a small gesture towards the sanctum once again. "Ah, yes. Alan," she offers. The one that purportedly gave us Promise? What a world he gave us. One where the world, all around, will try to kill you. One we had to make habitable ourselves. And then, there's the shadows. Quite a coincidence the Creators decided to apologize for that, no?"

"When's the last time you thanked a Noble for convincing the Crown you were useful?"

He grunts. There was no need to thank a noble for convincing the Crown. He didn't work for the crown, there was no need to feel needed. He just helped people in need. "What reward is there without work? How could we love what we have put no effort into? There's a rule that work makes reward great." He was trying to dig in his heels, and prepare for a conflict. "I get my use from seeing someone breathing after apoplexia. From hysteria giving way to rest." Still, he was nervous, and shaking a bit.

Fenris scrunches up his face in confusion and looks to Krove. "She must be talking to you," he says, "I can't say that the crown has ever found me particularly useful." The tiger turns a smile on the owl. "As for the whole planet thing, well, there is a reason they called it Promise and not Eden," sounds like someone has been reading up on literature from the Creator preacher in residence in Thera'Dor, "Call it a parenting move."

The big tiger saunters over and pats Krove on the head between his antlers. "But now you have peaked my interest! What are you going to show us?"

"Follow, and you will see," the owl offers, as she strides through the double doors, into the inner sanctum, where several devices are stalled out, and several valuable materials are stalled out. "Behold. The Church's riches. And this Church isn't even that big," she notes, as she gestures to one device. "A machine capable of slicing even the toughest of creator steel."

Another gesture, this time at a smaller device. "A compendium of knowledge in the first tongue. Most of it, unfortunately, beyond the common being's grasp, but some, some of it very valueable. And of course," she offers, as she guides the two along to a large tube made out of creator steel and glass. "The sacred doctor's more powerful relative."

Creator steel... that was basically a powerful scorcher. The compendium of creator knowledge... that was a query. But the giant tube? That didn't make any sense. "That couldn't go anywhere. How could anyone use that for someone lying in a fever in the slums?" He could figure out ways of bringing the sick here... but it was treatment. That wasn't how to end a plague, one victim at a time.

Fenris is pretty sure that while the church in firmament may have a defunct cutting tool and maybe an archive, they definitely do not have a device like the third one. His unflappable demeanor is momentarily flapped. "Creators above," he breathes, "A regeneration tube. I never thought I would ever see another one of these. And it still works?" Fenris may be one of the few beings on Promise to ever see one of these things in action.

"Here's the marvelous little thing, Mister Krove. This machine here works together with the Sacred Doctor. You bring someone with an unknown illness here, and by using the right setting on the Doctor, the Doctor will be able to administer the proper treatment," the owl offers. "The Doctor isn't infalible. But when combined with this beauty, it can combat any plague," she offers with a smile. "You could save a city within two weeks, and even then, you'd only have to ask the machine to do its work very rarely."

That, combined with the fact that Fenris wasn't responding, finally crumbles the resistance. This could save lives and end plagues! What--why was it here? Why wasn't it the first thing turned to, whenever sickness came? In his investigations, the doctor hadn't found anything to explain the pallor and the sickly demeanor of some of the residents... it didn't add up. They were all healthy, but looked sick.

"Is that--" He furrows his brow and turns back to look at the entrance to the plaza. "Is that why nobody here is sick? But they all look so--" It's hard to justify himself, but he could find nothing wrong. "How did you know of this?"

Fenris shakes his head and steps back from the tube. Used correctly (or incorrectly, as the case may be) this machine could do rather more than cure plague. "Last time I saw one of these, it exploded," he says, recovering his jovial attitude, and turning his eyes to Krove. "Oh, kid," he says, "None of those people are ill. They are marked." He looks sidelong at the owl, to see if she is going to take umbrage at the explanation.

"Mister Fenris? Would you like to enlighten Mister Krove? I believe you may know more about this than you might've told him," she offers with a smile on her lips, a small gesture at the machine. "The last one you had was poorly operated, then. There is no risk of that here. The compendium provides every bit of knowledge we, -I- need to operate it safely. And I'm well-aware it can do much more than cure plagues. However, those other powers are a little... Selfish, aren't they?" she offers with a smile on her lips.

"As mister Fenris said. The town is Marked. I'm sure he can explain what that means."

Marked... "Dedicants, all? I mean--the tusks, the pallor... that's what this place is? A giant... cult?" Being so blunt about things was likely hazardous to his health, but they didn't seem intent on hiding anything, here. Except the one the Freeswords were hired to find. This was not somewhere he wanted to be--there had to be a way to fix all of this; but he couldn't figure out an easy solution. "Did they all take oaths, then? Swear fealty, make bonds?" He needed to figure out a way to stop this from ending in massive bloodshed, but with the town as it was... that seemed doubtful.

Fenris smirks at the owl, "I was younger then," he says, "And its effects were hardly on purpose. I have learned quite a bit since then. I think I could give you a run for your money on these things." The tiger turns his attention to Krove, who seems to gradually be working himself into a frenzy. "Yes," he says, "Dedicants of three different Spirits, though I have never seen so many gathered together like this." He considers the owl priestess, whose name, he realizes, he has never asked for. "Olloch, the Glutton, Pyrrha, Lady of Bones, and Akros, Lord of Decay. A strange trio for townsfolk," he says, "And even stranger for their sheer numbers." A vivid, green ? appears on the fur of the tiger's cheek. "But it is you, priestess, that leaves me confused. There are at least two more Spirits influencing this town, but I can't decide which you serve."

"Now now, Mister Krove. A cult? We are clearly a community unlike any other. But a cult? You wound me," he offers with a smile, a gesture at the machine. "And we are enjoying the benefits of the technology the creators left us with," she notes, a smile on her lips.

"Care to make a guess, Mister Fenris?" she offers, before turning back to Krove. "I am certain you would love access to technology like this. No more relying on untested medicine. No more uncertainty about your cures. Instead, you'd heal those who need healing, without fail. Isn't that your goal in life? To be a force for good?"

The concept of a cult or a community was merely in the phrasing. And did he want to use such things? So very dearly, he did--to be able to prevent death, to strike back at the great beast which laid waste to all, eventually. But he couldn't. He shouldn't. It was coming down to that one question which Fenris asked, which was the water deer's best grasp on reality. "Yes. Which do you serve? Who has torn your loyalty from the townsfolk? From the Saints? What caused you to--" he winces, knowing she's got to be right, at least, "to cast aside caution, for the sake of these... secrets, of yours. A book which cannot be read, even."

Fenris keeps his eye on Krove, unsure of what game the owl was playing. "My first guess was The Scholar," he says, "You know more than you should, especially out here. But then, Olg'Ish is also here. I am in a city overflowing with Callers for the Corrupt court and I cannot seem to get worried about it. All I can seem to think of is how nice the place is and how good all those tusked beings look. The Master of the Third Eye is looking hard at this place."

The tiger rests a hand on Krove's head again. "Keep a cool head, kid," he says, "Remember, everyone thinks they are the hero of the story. And there is no such thing as an unreadable book."

"In due time, Mister Krove. In due time," the owl offers, as she pats her Text. "Perhaps you might obtain your own copy. She will be visiting you when she feels it best to approach. Without Outside interference," she offers with a smile, though she doesn't seem too intent on clarifying her words just yet.

And then, she turns to Fenris. "Time will tell, won't it? Perhaps you will have the pleasure of finding out. Perhaps not," she offers, smiling warmly. "However, I have no intentions of secrecy beyond that which is absolutely necessary. The doors to the sanctum are open. Any may walk in here, and study the text, the machines. Any may approach with questions, and I try my best at answering them."

"Although that doesn't mean I have to spell anything out, does it? Mister Fenris here oh-so-loves a puzzle. Doesn't he?"

"Perhaps, though, you should consider a third option?"

Visiting when she wishes... that was a hint, at least. But while he didn't want anyone endangered by his encounter, trying to face off against a spirit seemed a very poor decision. "It's--I don't--" He didn't like being on the ropes, but he didn't see a way out of it, either. She was in control here. He tries to figure out something he can say, something he can do, to get it all fixed and neat. "But what is your goal, then? More importantly, what is the goal of the one you serve?" There were ways to skew even the holiest of artifacts... maybe that was it. A skewed perspective. As Fenris said, there's no unreadable book.

Fenris perks his ears up. "A third possibility?" he asks, another large ? fading into being on his white furred chest, "I am listening." At the open invitation to peruse, the tiger saunters over to the archive machine, waving his hand over it in a complex gesture to wake it and do a bit of research of his own.

He looks up at Krove for a second when the machine starts to hum. "Be careful what promises you make," he says, "And remember that getting what you think you want is not the same as getting what you really want. It's the best advice this old tiger can give."

"Ah, but that would be giving it away, wouldn't it? We wouldn't want to deprive mister Fenris of his puzzle, do we?" the owl offers once again, a smile on her beak, as she gestures at the device. "My goal, personally, is to show the opressed the truth. To provide them the means to fight back against those that opress. Be they church, state, or Creator themselves," she offers with that same smile of hers.