Post by Fremont on Jun 27, 2006 8:47:37 GMT -5
((I apologize if you've already seen this on my guildsite, but I do love to contribute, so here it is. -Fremont))
Brother Kristoff looked around first to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "They've gone mad," he spoke in hushed tones, typical for chatter in the Cathedral of Light.
Fremont leaned over conspiratorially, muttering, "Is the monastery intact?"
"Oh yes! The Scourge never touched it. They must have been hellbent for Lordaeron."
"Yeah." Fremont turned aside as memories washed over him. "You can't imagine." Now he hesitated - politics. Would the Archbishop recognize Barthalamue as the new king of Lordaeron? There was no real reason to believe that he was the bastard son of King Terenas. But the way Fremont found him at the gates, with the Hammer of Arthas... There was something to it. Of course! The hammer! Oh, but it was widely considered just another treasure lost to skeletal fingers. A seed of an idea sprouted to life in Fremont's head.
"It must have been terrible. Light bless you, my brother." Kristoff put a hand on Fremont's shoulder.
"Thank you." Fremont lit his pipe, which didn't seem out of place here. The incense burners and candles around the Cathedral gave the air a rosy scent, which blended well with the herbs he was fond of. "By mad, you mean?" He raised his eyebrows.
"You remember the plague, don't you? The deliriums? Like that, from what I hear. They're cannibals! Like orcs, but worse."
Fremont huffed. "You must be joking."
Brother Kristoff gesticulated. "Well, I've never been there! That's madness!" The priest's words echoed in the cathedral and the Archbishop glared from the dais. Kristoff chuckled nervously, then led Fremont to an antechamber.
"Well, in all earnest, the old clergy must be mad. They've formed a Crusade, without the Archibishop's permission. They think everyone's got the plague now, but them. And the worst of it? They want to exterminate us all."
Fremont laughed softly. "That's a whole lot of extermination."
"Well, yeah."
"Still, they might be dangerous - crazy or not. This sounds like one of your tales, brother." Fremont grinned knowingly.
"It's not! I swear it! I met one of their clergy outside in the square, just the other day."
Fremont gave the story-teller that now-be-honest look.
"Well, a defector anyhow. You know what I mean. And he told me..." Brother Kristoff lowered his voice and shielded one side of his mouth from imaginary observers. "You can speak with Brother Anton to gain entrance to the Scarlet Crusade."
"The Scarlet what?" Fremont seemed dubious.
Kristoff backed away, incited now by his friend's disbelief. "The old clergy, you bonehead! Don't you want to see the monastery again?"
Fremont recalled the library with pleasure. It had so many books, now prisoner perhaps to the walking dead of Lordaeron or worse - ignorance. "And where would I find Anton? The Undercity? No, I've got it - the Plaguelands." He grinned.
Brother Kristoff glared. "You're a stubborn friar, you know that? Desolace."
"Desolace?"
"Yes. At Nigel's Point, the last bastion of alliance forces left there. I'm sure the elves can show you the way." Kristoff was stern.
"You're serious..."
The fellow priest continued. "A... prominent noble approached me with the tale as he heard it. He said he'd pay well to see key members of the Scarlet Crusade dead. I don't know where we'd find an army to do the job, though."
"You're a little too ruthless to be a priest, you know that?" Fremont chided.
"Well, I have ambition."
"Indeed." Fremont found this to be an opportune moment. "What would you say if I told you... that King Terenas had another son, unrecognized by the Church?"
"Now you're telling tales." Brother Kristoff grinned.
"He has the Hammer of Arthas to prove it." Fremont was sober.
"What?!"
"And like his father, he follows in the path of the Silver Hand."
"The Order is dead, Fremont. Nice try."
Now Fremont looked around suspiciously. "We have a new Order."
Brother Kristoff stood speechless. "What, a guild?"
"We're not thieves, brother."
"We?" Kristoff raised one hand to his chin. "So, you're - well, besides crazy - you're recognizing the Order yourself? What is this, a Crusade?" He shook his head. "You're just a friar, Fremont. The Archbishop could excommunicate you for this. Exile. Are you nuts?"
"Well, I'm not about to make a public announcement anytime soon..." Fremont smiled.
Brother Kristoff guffawed. "So you have an army? And I'm the ambitious one?"
"It's not an army and it's certainly not mine. King Barthalamue has promised me a holding. Why not the Monastery?"
"Now you're a lord?" Kristoff spit out a hearty laugh. "Oh Fremont, you'll be the death of me. How do you do that with a straight face?" Fremont looked annoyed. "I didn't hear any of this. You tell your story to Lord Benning and earn yourself some silver for the entertainment." More laughter. "Light bless you, brother."
Fremont clamped the pipe between his teeth. "I just might."
An endentured servant opened the door, spilling candlelight upon the dark street. "It's a little late for visitors. Oh.. a priest! Come in, come in." The young manservant looked like he doubled as a bodyguard.
"Thank you." Fremont removed his hat as he entered the bourgeoisie home - not quite a mansion.
"How may I help you father?"
"I need to speak with Lord Benning."
"Certainly. He's just finished dinner. This way, father." The servant opened a set of double-doors to a well-kept dining room. "My lord, there's a priest here to see you."
Lord Benning looked up from his plate and set down his napkin. "Kristoff, is that you again?"
Fremont stepped into the room. "No, my lord. My name's Fremont. I spoke with Kristoff today about a tithe?"
Lord Benning waved the servant away. "I'll be fine. Give us some privacy."
"Yes, my lord." The servant closed the doors behind him.
Lord Benning took a sip of wine. "Have a seat, father. Make yourself comfortable." Then Benning poured another glass for Fremont.
"Thank you, my lord."
"I've made my tithe this year. I'm sure you know that."
"Yes, my lord. Actually, I'd like to know how much you'll pay for the... vestments of a few important members of the Scarlet Crusade?"
Lord Benning was quiet a moment. "Brother Kristoff told you his tale, eh?"
"Yes, he did. And I have reasons to believe it's no tale."
"As do I." Lord Benning wasn't very helpful, so Fremont sipped the wine.
"Well, I may have some stalwart folk lined up to make the journey." Fremont proffered.
"They don't come cheap, do they?"The priest considered that. "Don't worry about the price; that's not up to me. A good friend of mine takes this personally - he'll handle the payment. The trouble is, my friend needs proof of your conviction; he'll want to test your mettle. If you and your friends can manage to gain Brother Anton's favor - and none I've spoken with have so far - then my partner may put you to work."
Fremont started to plan the long trip to Desolace in his head, but only made it to Astranaar. King Barthalamue had traveled far lately - he would know the way. But equipping the Crusade of Light for the task wouldn't come cheap. Who knows what wanders Lordaeron now?
"We may need a little proof of your conviction, my lord. There are enemies north of Dun Morogh, not to mention Kalimdor. And Desolace doesn't sound inviting."
"How many of you are there?" Lord Benning sounded doubtful.
"More than twenty, my lord."
The rich man's eyebrows perked up. "Really? You have a guild then?"
"You could call it that. Yes, my lord."
"Oh, I see - one of those expeditionary companies. Now I undstand your costs. Dwarves are stalwart alright! Do you really believe they have what it takes?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Well, I don't know how you managed to convince an expedition to travel so far from Ironforge, but I think we can help each other." Lord Benning smiled. "Will a hundred gold do?"
Brother Kristoff looked around first to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "They've gone mad," he spoke in hushed tones, typical for chatter in the Cathedral of Light.
Fremont leaned over conspiratorially, muttering, "Is the monastery intact?"
"Oh yes! The Scourge never touched it. They must have been hellbent for Lordaeron."
"Yeah." Fremont turned aside as memories washed over him. "You can't imagine." Now he hesitated - politics. Would the Archbishop recognize Barthalamue as the new king of Lordaeron? There was no real reason to believe that he was the bastard son of King Terenas. But the way Fremont found him at the gates, with the Hammer of Arthas... There was something to it. Of course! The hammer! Oh, but it was widely considered just another treasure lost to skeletal fingers. A seed of an idea sprouted to life in Fremont's head.
"It must have been terrible. Light bless you, my brother." Kristoff put a hand on Fremont's shoulder.
"Thank you." Fremont lit his pipe, which didn't seem out of place here. The incense burners and candles around the Cathedral gave the air a rosy scent, which blended well with the herbs he was fond of. "By mad, you mean?" He raised his eyebrows.
"You remember the plague, don't you? The deliriums? Like that, from what I hear. They're cannibals! Like orcs, but worse."
Fremont huffed. "You must be joking."
Brother Kristoff gesticulated. "Well, I've never been there! That's madness!" The priest's words echoed in the cathedral and the Archbishop glared from the dais. Kristoff chuckled nervously, then led Fremont to an antechamber.
"Well, in all earnest, the old clergy must be mad. They've formed a Crusade, without the Archibishop's permission. They think everyone's got the plague now, but them. And the worst of it? They want to exterminate us all."
Fremont laughed softly. "That's a whole lot of extermination."
"Well, yeah."
"Still, they might be dangerous - crazy or not. This sounds like one of your tales, brother." Fremont grinned knowingly.
"It's not! I swear it! I met one of their clergy outside in the square, just the other day."
Fremont gave the story-teller that now-be-honest look.
"Well, a defector anyhow. You know what I mean. And he told me..." Brother Kristoff lowered his voice and shielded one side of his mouth from imaginary observers. "You can speak with Brother Anton to gain entrance to the Scarlet Crusade."
"The Scarlet what?" Fremont seemed dubious.
Kristoff backed away, incited now by his friend's disbelief. "The old clergy, you bonehead! Don't you want to see the monastery again?"
Fremont recalled the library with pleasure. It had so many books, now prisoner perhaps to the walking dead of Lordaeron or worse - ignorance. "And where would I find Anton? The Undercity? No, I've got it - the Plaguelands." He grinned.
Brother Kristoff glared. "You're a stubborn friar, you know that? Desolace."
"Desolace?"
"Yes. At Nigel's Point, the last bastion of alliance forces left there. I'm sure the elves can show you the way." Kristoff was stern.
"You're serious..."
The fellow priest continued. "A... prominent noble approached me with the tale as he heard it. He said he'd pay well to see key members of the Scarlet Crusade dead. I don't know where we'd find an army to do the job, though."
"You're a little too ruthless to be a priest, you know that?" Fremont chided.
"Well, I have ambition."
"Indeed." Fremont found this to be an opportune moment. "What would you say if I told you... that King Terenas had another son, unrecognized by the Church?"
"Now you're telling tales." Brother Kristoff grinned.
"He has the Hammer of Arthas to prove it." Fremont was sober.
"What?!"
"And like his father, he follows in the path of the Silver Hand."
"The Order is dead, Fremont. Nice try."
Now Fremont looked around suspiciously. "We have a new Order."
Brother Kristoff stood speechless. "What, a guild?"
"We're not thieves, brother."
"We?" Kristoff raised one hand to his chin. "So, you're - well, besides crazy - you're recognizing the Order yourself? What is this, a Crusade?" He shook his head. "You're just a friar, Fremont. The Archbishop could excommunicate you for this. Exile. Are you nuts?"
"Well, I'm not about to make a public announcement anytime soon..." Fremont smiled.
Brother Kristoff guffawed. "So you have an army? And I'm the ambitious one?"
"It's not an army and it's certainly not mine. King Barthalamue has promised me a holding. Why not the Monastery?"
"Now you're a lord?" Kristoff spit out a hearty laugh. "Oh Fremont, you'll be the death of me. How do you do that with a straight face?" Fremont looked annoyed. "I didn't hear any of this. You tell your story to Lord Benning and earn yourself some silver for the entertainment." More laughter. "Light bless you, brother."
Fremont clamped the pipe between his teeth. "I just might."
* * *
An endentured servant opened the door, spilling candlelight upon the dark street. "It's a little late for visitors. Oh.. a priest! Come in, come in." The young manservant looked like he doubled as a bodyguard.
"Thank you." Fremont removed his hat as he entered the bourgeoisie home - not quite a mansion.
"How may I help you father?"
"I need to speak with Lord Benning."
"Certainly. He's just finished dinner. This way, father." The servant opened a set of double-doors to a well-kept dining room. "My lord, there's a priest here to see you."
Lord Benning looked up from his plate and set down his napkin. "Kristoff, is that you again?"
Fremont stepped into the room. "No, my lord. My name's Fremont. I spoke with Kristoff today about a tithe?"
Lord Benning waved the servant away. "I'll be fine. Give us some privacy."
"Yes, my lord." The servant closed the doors behind him.
Lord Benning took a sip of wine. "Have a seat, father. Make yourself comfortable." Then Benning poured another glass for Fremont.
"Thank you, my lord."
"I've made my tithe this year. I'm sure you know that."
"Yes, my lord. Actually, I'd like to know how much you'll pay for the... vestments of a few important members of the Scarlet Crusade?"
Lord Benning was quiet a moment. "Brother Kristoff told you his tale, eh?"
"Yes, he did. And I have reasons to believe it's no tale."
"As do I." Lord Benning wasn't very helpful, so Fremont sipped the wine.
"Well, I may have some stalwart folk lined up to make the journey." Fremont proffered.
"They don't come cheap, do they?"The priest considered that. "Don't worry about the price; that's not up to me. A good friend of mine takes this personally - he'll handle the payment. The trouble is, my friend needs proof of your conviction; he'll want to test your mettle. If you and your friends can manage to gain Brother Anton's favor - and none I've spoken with have so far - then my partner may put you to work."
Fremont started to plan the long trip to Desolace in his head, but only made it to Astranaar. King Barthalamue had traveled far lately - he would know the way. But equipping the Crusade of Light for the task wouldn't come cheap. Who knows what wanders Lordaeron now?
"We may need a little proof of your conviction, my lord. There are enemies north of Dun Morogh, not to mention Kalimdor. And Desolace doesn't sound inviting."
"How many of you are there?" Lord Benning sounded doubtful.
"More than twenty, my lord."
The rich man's eyebrows perked up. "Really? You have a guild then?"
"You could call it that. Yes, my lord."
"Oh, I see - one of those expeditionary companies. Now I undstand your costs. Dwarves are stalwart alright! Do you really believe they have what it takes?"
"Yes, my lord."
"Well, I don't know how you managed to convince an expedition to travel so far from Ironforge, but I think we can help each other." Lord Benning smiled. "Will a hundred gold do?"