"A Situation" | Sanctified, Baldwin, Yolanda, Perceval, Dupont, Blue Cloaks
"Oh Lord! Healer of the world. The Evidence of you woven in our heart.
For not knowledge nor might! Nor great weapons nor strife!
Shall eclipse the joy I find in fulfilling my part.
And walking, with unbroken stride, into eternal life."
The quire of voices hushed. A young woman, her head covered and looking at her toes, sings the lyrics but finds no comfort in them. She is also deaf to sage words offered by the priest at the podium.
"Walk in blessing my children," he concludes, and the congregation dismisses.
She takes her basket of morning baked bread, hides her printed copy of livre sacré* beneath the bread and blanket, and strides out the door.
Blue tunics mingle casually with the crowd outside, their faces proud of the newly constructed Sanctuary from which the locals may finally learn Elyon's truths, and the briggands, bandits, kidnappers, outlaws, murderers, and so-called adventurers that defined this unclaimed land may finally walk in light and prosperity.
She moves quickly, trying to avoid detection by one blue tunic. Her hood and scarf do not deceive him. He strides over, joining her walk.
"Yolanda."
"Greetings brother."
"Warm bread for His Highness I see."
"Yes, yes it is."
"Might want to cover it. This fog, this drizzle. It will be cold and soggy."
"Of course," she quickly throws the blanket over, but is careful about not revealing her livre sacré.
His face shows concern "Why the long face? And just after Sanctuary?"
"You promised things would only get better, and yet, the sky mourns."
"It is only because you are still trying to hide. You've no need to, you've given your confession, you carry the sacré. I warn that hiding it will invite suspicion."
Yolanda looks about. The fog and rain have placed many indoors, it is safer to speak about what she feels. "Your god seems so full of wrath."
"Don't be ungrateful for Him sparing your life I tried to warn you for years, was it not mercy that you and your tribe had so many years to turn?"
"I-I-I must get this bread to the Master," and she quickens her pace.
"Yolanda!"
She pauses.
"It wasn't your fault. They chose."
She turns to face him, the rain drops dripping down her cheek. "My family perished ten years ago, Perceval. What have I to mourn?" She turns quickly and leaves straight for the Inn. Perceval sighs. More soldiers move by on horses, pulling a canon through the mud. He goes to the Inn also.
Baldwin leans over his desk. A knock at the door. "Enter!" without breaking concentration. Yolanda steps in with the bread. The livre sacré has now been placed on top of the basket. "Your breakfast Sire." He detects the slightest twinge of fear, and his eyes move from his maps and letters "Place it there," gesturing to the chest beside his desk. Yolanda's steps tap across the boards and the basket is lowered. All remains silent as she removes a loaf. She gets on her knees and slices it there over the chest. Baldwin's gaze shifts between her and his map. Yolanda keeps her eyes down, and cuts faster. "So my breakfast suffers for your piety?" At the suddeness of his voice Yolanda's heart nearly skips a beat, and she slices her thumb. She regains her composure. "I am sorry Missier." "No Madamoiselle! You are not sorry. It is good that you placed your most prized item beneath what is required. Even so called piety can keep us from seeing what needs to be done." She is not sure what this means. He turns to face her "Thank you. I may be able to think more carefully because of you. Now see to that hand." Yolanda walks quietly out of the room with her basket, closes the door, and takes a deep breath. Baldwin looks into his drawer, and retrieves a torn page. Ire lights in his eyes. He lets if fall onto his desk, and he draws the dagger bearing his family crest and stabs the paper.
THUMP A massive pot of porridge lands on the counter. Knights and Man-at-Arms dine, grateful for the hot food. Those at the tables exchange their tales. One large man's voice bellows, easily heard above the rest. "Such food on cold day, reminds so much of great Vorsclava famine legend. Gentlemen! I tell you this, never say "too much". Great hero in Vorsclava teach our people this." "I would never whine over sustenance, only the quality of the chef," says the man sitting to his right, and there is laughter from the others at the table. Perceval strides into the room. The cheer among his brothers is uplifting from his previous conversation. He hears more of the conversation continued by the Vorsclavan "Mercenary can still complain, but when he gets blue tunic, then no more." "I don't need one of those. So long as the money is rolling I'll be around." "Wow! How did you get into ranks? You know how many [Vorsclavan word for scumbag]'s like you I blow up with canon?" "I guess you just never know what your boss will do for help do you?" "Vorsclavan rather fail mission with 100% quality and effort, then succeed with only 50%." Perceval walks through the room, into the hall to a guarded door. It unlocks from the inside, and the guards stand to attention. Marshal Dupont (pronounced dew-pawn) exits, two large eyes behind a hill of red facial hair. "You sir," His voice growls at Perceval "What is your post?" Perceval snaps to. "I am here to take third watch Master!" "Not yet!" Dupont's voice is lined with anger. "I sent that useless Turtrulian to move those crates into the cellar. Elyon knows he's fallen asleep, dreaming of home or something sentimental." Dupont gestures to a stack of crates and then down the hall. "With respect Master, Turtrulian is fresh from his learning, and plus, leaving home wasn't easy for him." "I will hear no such excuses, now move those crates and go wake up the rat." Dupont dissapears back into the room. Perceval smiles "Oh Turtrulian." And he begins moving the crates toward the cellar. One by one, they stack, one is breached on the top, and he sees it is filled with spare bread. He smells it "Still good, don't mind at all," and he finds a piece for himself. "It's as the Vorsclavan said, I can never say "too much". Elyon! Thank you! Show Yolanda she is wrong. Bless me so that the fruit I yield will show her your hand." Sshhtkk! A blade slices across his throat, fingers grasp his mouth, and he falls back, the ceiling all that he can see. His vision is darkening fast, but there are many faces. Heathens, Blue Cloaks with them. A tall one takes his tunic and belt. He can still hear, the sound of clanking armor means another of his brothers was nearby, and heard the commotion made by his assailants. One of the Blue Cloaks seems to laugh. "It's so easy baiting these fools." The knight is slain also. "Cover the body in those crates!" A member of the party says under adrenaline. He sees a darkly dressed masked man step over him, and hiss at whoever it was that made that suggestion "No! Leave it like we found it." His fading ears catch the sound of many intruders, seeming to move out in small groups. One set of footsteps walks through the hall and fades, then another, and another. The ceiling moves again, it is the last thing he sees. The Vorsclavan raises from his chair "Sanctuary service over one hour ago, I go follow Perceval, time for guard change." He gets to Dupont's room, but he finds the Marshal outside his room with no guards. "You bumbles! Why do I have no guards and why are those crates still in eye-view!?" "Apologies Master-" "Keep it! Go get Perceval, he went down that hall, perhaps to awaken the boy in the cellar." The Vorsclavan takes a few steps down the hall as the previous two doomed soldiers. He enters the vestibule connecting the hall with the cellar. "Wake up sleepy potatoes," expecting the kid Turtrulian. But the chair is empty. "Comrade Perceval!? Boss man angry! Where-!" He sees the streak of blood going into the cellar. The cellar door caves into his strength. There on the floor he sees all three limp and lifeless faces. "What in blazes?" Dupont's adrenaline begins to rise as he reads the Vorsclavan tearing back up through the hall. "Raise the alarm!" Dupont gives the order "Raise the ala-!" A masked man swings into visibility, thrusting two knives of reddened steel at Dupont. The Marshal reacts in time, the blades slice his tunic, but the masked man turns the handle in his hand and pounds sideways into Dupont's chest. The Vorsclavan reacts too, drawing blade and pistol simultaneously, tries to discharge, but the assassin re-directs the barrel with one knife and the other thrusts at him. The Vorsclavan relies on his heavy armor to blunt the weapon, and brings his sword up to slice the assassins arm. A second later, and he felt he would have had the assassin beat, but a second man, caped in a brown cloak bursts in, launches a fireball at him, blinding him for that last second. When the Vorsclavan bears to, they are both gone. Healers burst in a moment later and Dupont is back on his feet in seconds. The door unlocks behind them, and Baldwin steps out. He stares hard at the two men. "A situation your Highness."
Baldwin leans over his desk. A knock at the door. "Enter!" without breaking concentration. Yolanda steps in with the bread. The livre sacré has now been placed on top of the basket. "Your breakfast Sire." He detects the slightest twinge of fear, and his eyes move from his maps and letters "Place it there," gesturing to the chest beside his desk. Yolanda's steps tap across the boards and the basket is lowered. All remains silent as she removes a loaf. She gets on her knees and slices it there over the chest. Baldwin's gaze shifts between her and his map. Yolanda keeps her eyes down, and cuts faster. "So my breakfast suffers for your piety?" At the suddeness of his voice Yolanda's heart nearly skips a beat, and she slices her thumb. She regains her composure. "I am sorry Missier." "No Madamoiselle! You are not sorry. It is good that you placed your most prized item beneath what is required. Even so called piety can keep us from seeing what needs to be done." She is not sure what this means. He turns to face her "Thank you. I may be able to think more carefully because of you. Now see to that hand." Yolanda walks quietly out of the room with her basket, closes the door, and takes a deep breath. Baldwin looks into his drawer, and retrieves a torn page. Ire lights in his eyes. He lets if fall onto his desk, and he draws the dagger bearing his family crest and stabs the paper.
THUMP A massive pot of porridge lands on the counter. Knights and Man-at-Arms dine, grateful for the hot food. Those at the tables exchange their tales. One large man's voice bellows, easily heard above the rest. "Such food on cold day, reminds so much of great Vorsclava famine legend. Gentlemen! I tell you this, never say "too much". Great hero in Vorsclava teach our people this." "I would never whine over sustenance, only the quality of the chef," says the man sitting to his right, and there is laughter from the others at the table. Perceval strides into the room. The cheer among his brothers is uplifting from his previous conversation. He hears more of the conversation continued by the Vorsclavan "Mercenary can still complain, but when he gets blue tunic, then no more." "I don't need one of those. So long as the money is rolling I'll be around." "Wow! How did you get into ranks? You know how many [Vorsclavan word for scumbag]'s like you I blow up with canon?" "I guess you just never know what your boss will do for help do you?" "Vorsclavan rather fail mission with 100% quality and effort, then succeed with only 50%." Perceval walks through the room, into the hall to a guarded door. It unlocks from the inside, and the guards stand to attention. Marshal Dupont (pronounced dew-pawn) exits, two large eyes behind a hill of red facial hair. "You sir," His voice growls at Perceval "What is your post?" Perceval snaps to. "I am here to take third watch Master!" "Not yet!" Dupont's voice is lined with anger. "I sent that useless Turtrulian to move those crates into the cellar. Elyon knows he's fallen asleep, dreaming of home or something sentimental." Dupont gestures to a stack of crates and then down the hall. "With respect Master, Turtrulian is fresh from his learning, and plus, leaving home wasn't easy for him." "I will hear no such excuses, now move those crates and go wake up the rat." Dupont dissapears back into the room. Perceval smiles "Oh Turtrulian." And he begins moving the crates toward the cellar. One by one, they stack, one is breached on the top, and he sees it is filled with spare bread. He smells it "Still good, don't mind at all," and he finds a piece for himself. "It's as the Vorsclavan said, I can never say "too much". Elyon! Thank you! Show Yolanda she is wrong. Bless me so that the fruit I yield will show her your hand." Sshhtkk! A blade slices across his throat, fingers grasp his mouth, and he falls back, the ceiling all that he can see. His vision is darkening fast, but there are many faces. Heathens, Blue Cloaks with them. A tall one takes his tunic and belt. He can still hear, the sound of clanking armor means another of his brothers was nearby, and heard the commotion made by his assailants. One of the Blue Cloaks seems to laugh. "It's so easy baiting these fools." The knight is slain also. "Cover the body in those crates!" A member of the party says under adrenaline. He sees a darkly dressed masked man step over him, and hiss at whoever it was that made that suggestion "No! Leave it like we found it." His fading ears catch the sound of many intruders, seeming to move out in small groups. One set of footsteps walks through the hall and fades, then another, and another. The ceiling moves again, it is the last thing he sees. The Vorsclavan raises from his chair "Sanctuary service over one hour ago, I go follow Perceval, time for guard change." He gets to Dupont's room, but he finds the Marshal outside his room with no guards. "You bumbles! Why do I have no guards and why are those crates still in eye-view!?" "Apologies Master-" "Keep it! Go get Perceval, he went down that hall, perhaps to awaken the boy in the cellar." The Vorsclavan takes a few steps down the hall as the previous two doomed soldiers. He enters the vestibule connecting the hall with the cellar. "Wake up sleepy potatoes," expecting the kid Turtrulian. But the chair is empty. "Comrade Perceval!? Boss man angry! Where-!" He sees the streak of blood going into the cellar. The cellar door caves into his strength. There on the floor he sees all three limp and lifeless faces. "What in blazes?" Dupont's adrenaline begins to rise as he reads the Vorsclavan tearing back up through the hall. "Raise the alarm!" Dupont gives the order "Raise the ala-!" A masked man swings into visibility, thrusting two knives of reddened steel at Dupont. The Marshal reacts in time, the blades slice his tunic, but the masked man turns the handle in his hand and pounds sideways into Dupont's chest. The Vorsclavan reacts too, drawing blade and pistol simultaneously, tries to discharge, but the assassin re-directs the barrel with one knife and the other thrusts at him. The Vorsclavan relies on his heavy armor to blunt the weapon, and brings his sword up to slice the assassins arm. A second later, and he felt he would have had the assassin beat, but a second man, caped in a brown cloak bursts in, launches a fireball at him, blinding him for that last second. When the Vorsclavan bears to, they are both gone. Healers burst in a moment later and Dupont is back on his feet in seconds. The door unlocks behind them, and Baldwin steps out. He stares hard at the two men. "A situation your Highness."
*(French for Holy Book)
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