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Author Topic: SW IV- GW&H- Foiron (Salsair)  (Read 520 times)
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Drea
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« on: March 23, 2014, 08:31:59 AM »


Nymuria marveled at the grandeur of the Foiron as she approached, as the evening light was beginning to fade.  In the last week she had seen many wonders; Emjin Gate, Jernais, Heckra Volcano, the mighty Vandrina River, Salsair with its White Citadel, and now the Foiron itself.  She had been born two and twenty years ago in the town of Bourshall, and later trained and raised in Armuth Abbey.  Her whole world consisted of those two places and perhaps two strals outside of them.  Now she felt as though she had traveled the entire breadth of the disk and had seen every wonder in the world.

"Pick up your feet, girl.  Don't be dawdling."
Nymuria hurried to keep up with her master, Cleric Keephra.  It wasn't easy, as Keephra was riding atop a chestnut rounsey, while she had to walk behind.  Worse, it seemed she carried as much of her master's clothing and personal effects and did the horse.  

"Yes, Keephra."

The two were greeted by three acolytes, one took the horse and led it to the temple's stables, while another took the packs that Nymuria carried.  The last one welcomed them and inquired about their journey.  While Keephra answered the acolyte, Nymuria looked about with earnest.

The Foiron was one of the finest temples in all of Santharia dedicated to the god of fire and justice, Foiros.  It was circular in design, with a white stone exterior.  Gold filigree was inlaid into intricate geometric designs cut into the stone.  A tall tower rose from the center of it.  A row of braziers, burning oil, seemed to circle around the building, while a path to the front doors of the temple was lined with the same braziers.  The door itself had two unicorns carved into it, facing each other combatant.

When they were led into the temple, Nymuria gasped at the beauty.  A unicorn of marble stood in the center of the round nave.  Many doors exited the room, each of carved wood with fiery suns adorning them.

"You must rest, after your journey.  The conclave will begin on the morrow, as you are the last of the high clerics to arrive," the acolyte was explaining to Keephra.

They were led to one of the doors which opened up to a smallish chamber complete with a bed and a table.  Their belongings were set carefully on the bed and then they were left alone.  Nymuria unpacked her masters belongings and prepared the bed.  She herself would be sleeping on the floor, at the foot of the bed.

She would not complain, however.  Simply to be allowed to attend this conclave was a huge honour, especially as she was only a newly anointed cleric of Foiros.  She wasn't even supposed to come, but Cleric Trysta had come down with a fever the day before they were to leave, and Nymuria had been put in her stead.

"Help me get undressed, Nymuria.  Quit dreaming.  Just my luck that Trysta could not come and I am stuck with you."  Keephra was often scolding the younger woman.

Nymuria hurried to obey, and helped the older, fat woman out of her clothes and then helped pull a nightgown over her head.  She then pulled down the bed and waited until Keephra was comfortable before pulling the sheets up to the older clerics neck.

There was a soft knock at the door and Nymuria opened it to see an acolyte holding a tray of food.  It had been supplied in case they were hungry after their journey.  Nymuria chose not to explain that immediately after entering the city, that Keephra had stopped at the first inn and had eaten a king's feast worth of food.

Nymuria held the tray out toward her master.  "I know you are probably still full from supper, master Keephra, but we have been served with some fruit, some cheese and some fish.  Shall I set it on the table?"

Keephra scowled and licked her lips.  "You shall not.  Hand me the tray."

Nymuria obeyed then undressed and took her place on the floor, covering herself with a threadbare blanket.  Suddenly she was hit with a piece of apple thrown from the bed.

"Ugh, I hate mushy apple.  You can have that."

Nymuria looked at the piece of fruit with a bite missing from it and set it on the floor next to her.  No, she'd pass on it for now.  She just wanted to fall asleep and see what the morrow would bring.
« Last Edit: March 23, 2014, 08:47:38 AM by Drea » Logged

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Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
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« Reply #1 on: March 28, 2014, 07:57:47 AM »


Morning came early for Nymuria.  It was in her charge to ready Keephra's clothes for the conclave today, as well as prepare her master's food to break her fast.  As per usual, it was never up to Keephra's exacting standards.  Her eggs were too runny, her porridge was too cold, her milk too warm.  Her hair wasn't set just so, her dress was wrinkled and didn't fit right.  All of this Nymuria bore with silence.

Finally it was time to leave their small cell.  The entered the nave where everyone was gathering.  High Clerics from Temples of Foiros all over Santharia were gathered.  Some, like Keephra, wore finely tailored, embroidered robes, while others wore more simple garments.
Nymuria stood silent while Keephra greeted many of the clerics.  It seemed she knew most of them, by first name, no less.  Nymuria knew none of them.  No one deigned her important enough to introduce themselves to.

After what felt like hours, there was clapping to quiet the crowd, after which one of the acolytes she had met last night invited everyone to gather upstairs in the Foirostra.  Nymuria dutifully followed Keephra up the stone staircase, with its dark baluster inlaid with gold filigree.

The Foirostra was the upper most level of the Foiron.  It was a circular room that was open overlooking Lake Aelignós.  The cold of winter was held at bay by the large brazier in the center of the room that burned brightly, reflected off the golden walls of the room.  The high clerics, the lower clerics and the acolytes circled the brazier, facing it and all took a knee.  The host high cleric then led them all in a series of prayers; proclaiming the glory of Foiros, blessing the Santhran, blessing the races of Santharia in their struggle against the Horde and blessing those gathered here and wishing them wisdom in the hours to come.

The conclave was about to begin.
« Last Edit: March 28, 2014, 07:59:03 AM by Drea » Logged

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Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
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« Reply #2 on: April 03, 2014, 10:08:38 PM »


At the end of the prayer, Nymuria stood.  She slipped in behind Keephra, as did all the minor clerics behind their masters.  They were here to observe, not to participate.  This conclave belonged to the high clerics gathered, and in truth, not even all of them.  Everyone knew that it came down to three.  Keephra was one, while the others were Tyleda of Marcogg, and Yullun of Elsreth.

Yullun was a tall, lanky man who, like Keephra, wore rich robes.  Gold and silver chains hung from his neck, and bright green eyes sparkled beneath a head full of light brown curls.  He talked with everyone it seemed, laughing gaily at their small talk.  He was the one most favoured to win the seat of Pheramethar at this conclave.
At the other side of the room was an older woman, her hair brown but heavily streaked with grey.  She wore simple robes, unadorned in any way save for a pale yellow sun embroidered over her heart.  That was Tyleda of Marcogg.  It was said that this was her fourth conclave, and that she had failed to win the seat of Pheramethar in her previous three.  It was assumed she would go back to Marcogg a simple cleric one more time.

Finally the High Cleric of Salsair raised his hands until the crowd hushed. "Friends, it is time to begin.  Thanks be to Foiros for allowing us to gather here in His name.  May He grant us wisdom and humility in our time of choosing.

You are all aware of the sad fate of our beloved Pheramethar Pyrene, who met her unfortunate demise when Voldar burned.  It is said that she stood on the walls of Voldar unafraid and defiant of the evil that overwhelmed the city.  It is also said while she was engulfed in flames from the dragon, that she did not burn.  The fire enveloped her, draped her, but that she continued to stand and pray to our great god, Foiros."


The crowed murmered the god's name as one.

"Pheramethar Pyrene was said to have brought down a dozen dragons and their riders before the walls collapsed around her.  She fought bravely with Foiros beside her, and indeed a part of her."

"Foiros," the crowd echoed.

"But now we are in need of another to take Pheramethar Pyrene's place as head of our order.  Someone must lead us, His humble servant's to His glory.  That is the objective of this conclave; to seek the council of Him in order that we select the one person to represent Him on this disk.  Foiros be praised."

"Foiros be praised."

"Now, who would be first to nominate for Pheramethar?"

A short bald headed cleric stepped forward.  "I propose that Yullun of Elsreth be named Pheramethar.  It is well known that Yullun comes from a family of rich merchants.  He is an only son, and stands to inherit all the riches that his family has.  Yullun has pledged that fortune to the glory of Foiros.  Temples will be built, and our voice will grow strong throughout the kingdom and beyond.  Ships will be built so that clerics can spread the faith to all corners of the disk, from the heathens of the north, to those ignorant of the true faith in Nybelmar and Aeruillin.  Our order will fill the disk and the glory of Foiros will be known everywhere."

There was much murmuring when the short bald man stepped back.  Yullun seemed pleased as clerics patted him on the shoulder and shook his hand.

Next, Zinia the High Cleric of Carmalad stepped forward.  Her melodic voice quieted the crowd.  Nymuria had known Zinia from her many visits to Armuth Abbey.  It was no surprise to Nymuria who Zinia offered.

"Friends, I offer Keephra of Armuth for your consideration.  As you know, Keephra is the eldest daughter of Duchess Polynna, Santhran Tiandor's own aunt.  As well, I don't need to remind you that our late Pheramethar Pyrene was also her cousin.  As Pyrene's tenure was marked by a close relationship with the Santhran himself, so would one be with Keephra at our head.  There are many things that money cannot buy, and influence with his grace Tiandor is among them.  This, Keephra offers.  A continued relation with the throne that has benefited us all for the last eleven years."

Again the crowd murmured amongst themselves, those who agreed conferring, while other dissenting and whispering the advantages of Yullun.

Finally, Tyleda of Marcogg stepped forward.  "Alas, I have no one to champion my cause, so I must do so myself.  As well, I have not the money and riches of Yullun and his family, so I cannot promise you that we will build many more temples, or ships to spread the faith to every darkened corner of the disk.  Nor is my family a powerful one, who can win influence among the court in New-Santhala.  I can offer none of this.  All that I can offer, all that I am, is dedicated to Foiros.  It is for Him that I offer my service, for a service it is.  A Pheramethar is not so much the head of the order, but its heart, its spirit.  In that, I can claim richness, for my God is within me.  He guides me, and He commands me.  I am His, and I would be yours as well."

There was murmuring after Tyleda's speech as well, but from what Nymuria could make out, it seemed to dismiss the older woman in favour of Keephra and Yullun.  How could faith alone conquer power and wealth?  To Nymuria, that seemed completely at odds with what she felt should be the case.

"Any others?"  The High Cleric of Salsair awaited more nominees, but there was none.  "Very well.  Nominees, make your pledge to the God of Fire."

Keephra was first, almost elbowing her way past the other clerics to stand before the rooms great brazier.  "Foiros, my God of Fire, God of the Sun, God of Justice.  Weigh me in your eyes and grant me the wisdom to lead your children in the faith."  She brought forth a porcelain ball, gilded with gold and painted beautifully so that it looked like a burning sun.  She then held up the ornament and dropped it into the brazier.  There was a burst of light and flames rose near to the ceiling.

When the fire became normal once more, Keephra stepped back and Yullun took her place. "Foiros, my God of Fire, God of the Sun, God of Justice.  Weigh me in your eyes and grant me the wisdom to lead your children in the faith."  He then produced a golden disk, with flames around its edges and a unicorn emblazoned in its center.  Very clever, Nymuria thought, as it encompassed all of Foiros' symbols, the circle, the sun and the unicorn.  He raised up the disk and dropped in into the brazier.  Again, flames roared up to the ceiling, then receded back.

Tyleda stepped forward when Yullun vacated the spot before the brazier.  "Foiros, my God of Fire, God of the Sun, God of Justice.  Weigh me in your eyes and grant me the wisdom to lead your children in the faith."  She pulled a wooden block from a pocket in her robe.  On each of its six sides was simply carved a circle.  Tyleda raised the block up and deposited it into the brazier.  Flames flashed then returned to normal.

From what Nymuria could see, among the three offerings, none had produced flames greater or lesser than any of the others.  If Foiros had a favoured nominee, he was not sharing.

Acolytes passed polished lengths of pale ashwude to each of the clerics, as the High Cleric of Salsair spoke.  "Now the voting begins.  Each of you will place your provided branch within the brazier and pray for wisdom.  Foiros will then decide.  A majority of three fourths of the assembled clerics must agree on our next Pheramethar.  If this does not happen after the first vote, then the nominee with the fewest votes will be eliminated and another vote will be taken.  If the two final nominees cannot win the majority needed, then there will be more discussion and more votes until such time that one nominee has three fourths the vote.  May Foiros grant us wisdom."

"May Foiros grant us wisdom."

Keephra, Tyleda and Yullun took their branches of ashwude and placed them in the brazier, as did each of the high clerics in the room.  The voting had begun.
« Last Edit: April 03, 2014, 10:17:15 PM by Drea » Logged

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Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
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« Reply #3 on: May 25, 2014, 06:08:55 AM »


Once all the branches of ashwude were placed into the brazier, the collective of clerics in the room began to to pray aloud to the god of fire.

"O Foiros, you who sees and mends the wrongs
 Of men. Defender of equality,
 This cold responsibility belongs
 To you, who knows no animosity
 Or favour, for behaviour and intent
 Are fairly weighed with objectivity
 To then determine praise and punishment.
 The just view you with kind amenity,
 The base deal you their vitriolic spite;
 Yet these opinions blur your judgement not;
 No insult, plea, or bribe could sway your might,
 For no act, right or wrong shall be forgot.
 You balanced truth, decide the best award,
 Ensuring all receive their just reward."

Once done, the High Cleric of Salsair began to remove the branches one by one.  Each that he pulled forth, he studied the burned end, then holding it up to the crowd so each would be able to see.  

Nymuria was struck with wonder at the first few branches that were held aloft.  Instead of being a charred blacked stick, each of the branches that were pulled forth had either a flaming sun, or unicorn or simple circle burned into it, distinct and bright.  With each, the high cleric announced the symbol and placed each into a pile of likewise marked branches.

About halfway through, it was becoming obvious that there would be no clear winner on the first round.  More of the flaming suns of Keephra's were counted, but not far behind was the plain circle of Tyleda of Marcogg.  It appeared that the unicorn of Yullen of Elsreth would be the first to be eliminated from the nominees.

Nymuria glanced over to the richly dressed man, who no longer wore an arrogant smile, but instead his eyebrows were knitted together in an obvious look of disappointment tinged with anger.  He turned and whispered into the ear of a younger man that Nymuria assumed was his assistant, as she was to Keephra.

When the last of the branches was counted, the High Cleric of Salsair lifted his hands to silence the murmurs of the gathered.  "It is by the will of Foiros that Keephra of Armuth Abbey and Tyleda of Marcogg will move to the next round of voting.  Blessed be Foiros for his infinite wisdom."

Everyone echoed the last line.  Everyone except Yullun of Elsreth, Nymuria noted.

Nymuria felt a kick to the shin.  "Quit dreaming, girl.  Get me the next branch for voting."

Nodding to Keephra, Nymuria hurried forward to where the High Cleric of Salsair stood near the brazier, hand out fresh branches of Ashwude.  She reached out to take a branch when another hand got in the way and the two hands touched.  "Oh, excuse me, I'm sorry."

The young cleric that was the assistant to Yullun of Elsreth grinned at her.  "Not to worry, my lady.  I'm sure the High Cleric has enough for all of us, though my master might think that was too many."

Nymuria felt herself blush.  She cast a quick glance to Yullun, who was continuing to pout.  "Your master does not look too happy."

The young man followed Nymuria's gaze.  "No.  No he's not.  But, I'm sure he'll get over it soon enough.  He knows that he'll have another time.  If Tyleda should prevail, we could very well back here in a years time."  He turned back to her, his bright green burning into hers.

Nymuria could not hold his look, and cast her eyes downward.  "Let us pray that does not happen."

"Of course.  But, my lady must excuse me.  I must get back to my master."  He bowed low.

Before he could leave, there was a strong gust of wind through the southern open expanse.  Robes were ruffled, and some turned their backs to face the rear of the room.  A gasp, then a scream was heard above the roar of the brazier which seemed to be stoked by the gust.

Nymuria turned to face the brazier and was horrified to see a bright orange glow of flames come directly at her.  She held up her hands to protect her against the excruciating pain and death that was about to engulf her.


OOC: That beautiful prayer to Foiros, entitled "O FOIROS" was not written by me, but rather the very talented RAYNE  AVALOTUS.  It can be found in the Compendium Library- Prayers.
« Last Edit: May 25, 2014, 06:17:27 AM by Drea » Logged

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Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
Drea
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« Reply #4 on: August 24, 2014, 11:19:18 PM »



The young Cleric of Foiros, Pollo, had been born of one of the wealthier families in Elsreth.  Yet, after the death of his father, the family fell into ruin, and at the age of sixteen, the spoiled Pollo had been placed into the service of Foiros.  

Because he was educated, intelligent and charismatic, he was soon recruited by Yullun to be his assistant.  This suited Pollo fine, as Yullun was a wealthy man in his own right, and it kept Pollo in the lifestyle was both accustomed to and, quite frankly, deserved.  He was not made to be a poor acolyte, begging in the streets for alms, dressed in poor linen rags.  He much preferred the rich red silks with velvet trim that he wore.

He was Yullun's creature through and through, so when he was instructed to introduce himself to Keephra's assistant after Yullun had been eliminated from the next round of voting, Pollo did so without question.  It was easy enough, and the pretty young woman reacted exactly as he had hoped, smiling shyly and barely able to hold his gaze.

He had made an impression on her, but to tarry longer might jeopardize that.  Better to walk away now and leave an opening to meet again with her later.  

"Of course.  But, my lady must excuse me.  I must get back to my master."  He responded to her, then he bowed low.
Before Pollo could leave, there was a gust of wind and flames from the brazier were fanned, causing them to roar and lick outward.  He watched in horror as the young woman he had just conversed with was engulfed in flames.  Instinctively, he reached out to her, but he quickly pulled his hands back, his flesh reddened and beginning to blister.  He stepped backward from the intense heat.

In horror, he watched as the flames surrounded the woman.  It seemed to run along her flesh as though a liquid, flowing and ebbing until every part of her was engulfed in flame.  Her flesh bubbled and cracked, her long dark hair burned away leaving a blackened scalp and her eyes melted in her skull.

Yet, beyond all of this, what burrowed deepest into his mind was the screams that came from her, the only noise that rose above the roar of the flame.  It pierced his brain, etching itself on his memory, something that if he lived a thousand years, he would never forget.

Then it was over.  The young woman collapsed onto the tiled floor and the flames disappeared.  Her smoking corpse lay still, blackened and charred.  He stared mutely at her, hardly aware that he was being pushed backward and others moved closer to look upon the body.

When his view was finally blocked, he came to his senses, shaking off the shock that had enveloped him.  "No," he mumbled, trying to move forward, but too many were in his way.

"No." he repeated more forcibly, this time elbowing his way forward until he was once again at her side.  He dropped to his knees beside her, and a prayer came to his lips.  A prayer to Foiros, who had so suddenly claimed her for one of his own.

"Pity, I shall need another to assist me while I am here and back to the Abbey if the gods see fit."

Pollo looked up to see Keephra looking down on the body with anything but sympathy.  How could the woman be so cold, Pollo wondered to himself.
« Last Edit: August 24, 2014, 11:45:50 PM by Drea » Logged

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Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
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« Reply #5 on: September 14, 2014, 12:17:12 AM »



Pollo knelt by the body a moment longer.  He could hear others beginning to head for the stairs.  It was obvious that there would be no more voting today.  Keephra and Tyleda of Marcogg would have to wait one more day before finding out who would rule the faith.

"Pollo, come.  We have much to do before our return to Elsreth."

Pollo glanced up at his master, Yullun of Elsreth.  "Yes, milord.  I'll be right along."

Who was this poor girl who had to die so horribly?  Though he had only just met her, she seemed sweet.

"We will take her body and see to it she is properly honoured."

Pollo looked up to see the High Cleric of Salsair and two acolytes standing above him.  He nodded, then turned one last time to the burned figure beside him.  He reached out a hand and gently ran a finger over her cheek.  Beneath his finger, the ash began to crumble.  Initially, he thought that the body would collapse in a mound of ash, but instead, beneath the grey was a splotch of pink.
Amazed, Pollo again brushed her cheek and more flesh was revealed.  "What?  In Foiros' name, what is happening?"  Pollo gently took the charred remains of Nymuria's hand in his own.  The ash flaked off, revealing a perfect hand beneath.  As he held it, her fingers twitched then curled around his own.

"She... she lives!"  He could scarcely believe what was happening.  "She lives.  The girl lives!"

« Last Edit: September 14, 2014, 12:18:19 AM by Drea » Logged

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Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
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« Reply #6 on: March 08, 2015, 07:07:04 PM »



Pollo looked up to the High Cleric of Salsair in a questioning manner?  What was happening?  How could this girl still live?  His eyes searched the crowd for someone to give him answers, but any he saw only mirrored the shock and amazement he felt.

His own master, Yullun of Elsreth, was almost to the stairs when the brazier again lit up and a stream of fire flitted out crossing the room.  Shouts and a few screams rang out as the flames crossed the room and blocked the exit to the room.  Yullun and others were forced to step backward, raising their hands to ward off the intense heat.

Below him, Pollo saw that Nymuria was beginning to stir.  Each movement caused more ash to flake from her, leaving pink, healthy flesh showing.  Seeing that all her clothing had been burned away, Pollo called out.  "Someone give me a cape to cover her, please."

When a cape was presented, Pollo took it and covered the woman.  "Are you alright?" he asked her when her luminous eyes fluttered open.

Nymuria looked about with a frightened and confused expression.  "Wh-what happened?"

"A miracle, a miracle," the High Cleric of Salsair declared, his shouts echoed by some of the gathered crowd.
Pollo scowled and tried to ignore the shouts around him.  "It doesn't matter.  I just need to be sure you are not hurt."

Nymuria looked down at herself and realized her undressed state and pulled the cape tighter about her.  "I'm fine, but I don't understand."

Yullun stepped again toward the stairway, and again was rebuffed by flames from the brazier.  Angrily he turned toward the High Cleric.  "Someone put out that damned fire or block the opening and stop that wind or we shall all be burned alive."

The High Cleric looked helplessly.  "We cannot close the Foirostra, there is no way to do so."  The room had been built specifically to be open to the south, to be open to the sun.

When Yullun and the others stepped back from the stairway, the flames retreated back into the brazier.  "It is Foiros' will that we stay," came a voice from the crowd, and others agreed.

"Can you stand?"  Pollo helped the girl to her feet while she stared about in confusion.

"I don't understand what happened," she spoke softly.

"Neither do I, my Lady, neither do I."
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Honour is within you, and cannot be taken away by others.  Neither highborn Knights with hollow souls, or gossiping harpies can break your spirit unless you let them.- Drea
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