Fires Sacred and Mundane
Thirty Seventh Day of Elnu-eza (Elnu Ascendant), 1349 A. L. (After Landfall)
There is no tale told in the face of Ansefu of Lirman, there is no tremble to his hand as he raises it in greeting, no look of fear in his eye when he contemplates the war to come, greeting you instead to hearty cheers of his lords. "All who would share my oar bench are welcome at my fire! Come tell me your tales of strange and wondrous lands. Have you yet more hides of great beasts to show before the court? The skulls of mighty raiders?"
You answer true, speaking of the raiders you had vanquished and then of the ships of Ibanora you had found guarding the Mouth of the World, but of the Formless you do not speak for there is something uneasy in the hall, like smoke to thin to see but not to taste, the smile on the face of the king is is just a little too wide and his manner unsettlingly open. In place of the uncertainty veiled by bravado you had been used to seeing for him there is a sort of reckless drive that you are used to seeing not from boys propped up on thrones, but from men seeking one final night of revelry before the battle that might b their last. It is almost like...
"So you say your sword can now burn the
anjo oru all the brighter, body and soul and all of that through the artifice of your man, Zaia was it? Tell me can you conjure more of that fire at need master sorcerer?"
You had sailed to the Holy Land at the call of the Holy Father seeking absolution for treason against your rightful king, but there were others also who bore greater burdens upon their souls, those whose sleep was unquiet and who seemed the most
eager to cleanse their own souls in the blood of the Saracen. That is what you recognize behind the eyes of the petty king of Lirman, a boy no more.
With half an ear you listen to Zaia describe that manner of potions he can brew, but most of your attention is reserved for the man on the throne, the one who is yo lead you all in battle. Once before you have been lead to ruin by those whose banners you followed in war and never shall you lead the fellowship in such a battle.
"Great Lord we have spoken of this," Moru steps up from the shadows. "You cannot count upon sorcery to bring the enemy to heel, bronze is what must be drawn against men, when words are not enough and sorcery for the Neverborn. We tire in our invokations and they do not, for they are not of flesh, not of the substance of the world."
"Ships burn fire priest, they are pitch and wood, rope and sail."In an instant the expression of Anseful changes as though a mask had shattered and behind that cold rage coiling like a snake.
"Ships burn just a well if you sat flaming arrows to them," the priest replies, calmly and without rancor, but still undeniably refusing a king in his hall, such that you have to remind yourself that the kings of the Anwa are not as the princes you know, but much more beholden to their warriors and lords and indeed among those gathered in the hall you see many who nod along with the foreign priest over their rightful lord. The brothers have not been wasting a season here... though you cannot be sure that you approve.
What do you do?
[] Support Moru, mention that you learned about the daemon to whom the folk of Iyotemi now give sacrifice
[] Support the King, thus you may gain his ear more closely and shape the campaign to come
[] Write in
OOC: Well you managed your social rolls quite well so you start off as mildly well seen by both the king and the lords, but you will need to pick a side on this now since by the company he keeps Roland is thought of as a man who knows wizards. Not yet edited.