Anonymous

Enorian): You say, "Beacon."

Enorian): Daingean says, "Knight-Marshall."

(Enorian): Daingean says, "Plenty of citizens about. Anyone interested in an arena event?"

(Enorian): You say, "Know that what I do is in the name of duty. It is all for an ideal. To shape the world into a better place."

Enorian): You say, "If that makes me a dangerous man. If that makes me a harbinger of pain then so be it... I accept that. You have been warned."

(Enorian): Daegon says, "Interesting."

The clear chimes of the Sanctorium's bell ring out over the City of Light, heralding a call to faith.

(Enorian): Daingean says, "You ought not have to warn -us-, Haven. If you feel such is required, you might wish to reconsider whatever it is you're about to do."

Aren tells you, "What did you do."

Aren tells you, "HAVEN."

You tell Preceptor Aren Yaslana, Morning Star, "I do what I must."

::[ Lilith ]::   <<> Aren enters from the southeast. <>>

Aren reaches out, grabbing the front of your shirt, "The fuck made you think burning Djeir was a good idea?!"

Haven raises his hand at Aren's approach though he does not stop him from seizing his shirt. "Comrade... Brother. Blooded." He calls as he studies Aren's face closely. "I have passed judgement on Djeir because they are a people of corruption. A blight in this realm. A mark to the Dark Lady."

::[ Lilith ]::   <<> Rivas enters from the southeast. <>>

Haven is being held by the cuff of his shirt by Aren when Rivas emerges. The Azudim pays the new comer no mind as he works a grim expression on his face.

"Says who? You!?" Aren exclaims, pressing his face in close, "You do what you want and burn what you want because you feel like it. What the -fuck- brought this on? You know you burnt down half of Roux's house?"

Rivas saunters in nonchalantly, obviously unsurprised by the scene. He takes position a few arms' lengths away, watching you both.

Haven's lips peel back into a half-formed snarl. Carefully the Azudim lifts his hands to wrap around Aren's wrist as he utters darkly, "Sometimes... sacrifices must be made. A lesson I thought -you- of all people knew." His tone takes a dangerous plunge as he dares bring his face closer to Aren leaving only a breathe between them. "We are Judges. Are we not? I have past Judgement. I have -earned- that right by your will. The Morning Star! Risen anew by your precious Daskalos."

"Do you admit, then, that you are responsible for the ashes of Djeir?" Rivas asks you directly.

Seeming to relish at the term ashes, Haven uplifts his chin proudly as he claims, "Yes."

The clear chimes of the Sanctorium's bell ring out over the City of Light, heralding a call to faith.

Aren pushes you from him, releasing the man, "You do not think of the consequences of your actions at all...do you?"

Rivas besmirches your name in the guild records.

2013/04/29 03:21:42 - Rivas guilddisfavoured Haven for: Abusing our talents and skills to set part of the world ablaze. Again. Power is tempered with wisdom and responsibility, and Locke shows he neither has, nor cares to have, either.

Haven takes a step back from the shove and he has to visibly force down the grimace as he smoothes his hands over the front of his armored chest, claws clicking audibly over the splintmail. "Of course I do. A Judge weighs all sides.. He must have Foresight. He must have Fortitude. He must have..." At the last he turns his silvered eyes to Rivas and finishes, "Faith."

Rivas Silverain says, "A judge must have -Wisdom-. A judge must be -right-. A judge must be, above all else, -GOOD-."

Rivas Silverain says to you, "Raise your weapon, even an inch to the guildmaster, and you'll bleed for me, Locke. I swear it."

Aren glances briefly from Rivas to you stepping in between now, "You're lucky this is not the forest again Haven. Djeir is a known ally of Chakrasul, which is the -only- reason I'm not cutting your head off."

Nearly shouting, you say, "It was a place of corruption! Our message must be seared beyond their bones and into their very souls: Corruption will not be tolerated."

"YOUR MESSAGE!" Rivas shouts at you, pointing with his fiery mace. "YOUR message is the only one you care about! Innocent, good people had homes there, and fires -spread-, you ignorant moron! What would have happened then?"

A quick gust of wind blows through the nearby buildings with a chilling whistle that sends a shiver across your skin.

You yell, "SACRIFICES MUST BE MADE! FEW MUST SUFFER FOR MANY TO GAIN!"

The clear chimes of the Sanctorium's bell ring out over the City of Light, heralding a call to faith.

You see Rivas yell, "IF -ONE- MUST SUFFER, THEN -NONE- SHOULD GAIN!"

Ankarv tells you, "Or maybe all must suffer so that everyone gains?"

You tell Ember Ankarv, "If only..."

You tell Ember Ankarv, "What a paradise that would be."

Dangerously, you say, "Let the gods tend to them in the next life. We shall mourn their passing in this one and remember they perished under a -GOOD- cause. A better world."

Rivas grows quiet, suddenly, a realization dawning on him as he tilts his head, watching you curiously. "You...you sound like -them- now."

"Cut it out. Both of you!" Aren exclaims, his own talons balling into fists, "Haven. Burn something. Anything again without asking first and I'll fucking burn your nuts off. Got it?"

Preceptor Aren Yaslana, Morning Star says to Rivas Silverain, "Them?"

"You sound like the vampires. Undead. Those who claim that -their- world is the only one that should exist, and that those in their path must suffer for that world to come about," Rivas says to Aren, though his bewildered eyes are still fixed on you.

Haven waits for Rivas to say it. His fingers curling into his palms, forming nearly trembling fists as half-moons are carved into his flesh. When it comes the Azudim is lost to a frenzy as he throws himself at Rivas, knuckles going for his jaw.

Phoenecia ripples into existence before you.

Rivas turns with the blow, taking it hard enough to turn his face, but not hard enough to stun. He spins with the momentum, bringing his flaming mace spinning around in a hard backhand towards your side.

Aren jerks back, surprised by the sudden attack, "Cut it out!" he bellows.

Phoenecia lashes her whip at your arm, seeking to catch it and stop it from further strikes. "Enough," she hisses, eyes narrowed at you. "You think you're smart, don't you. You know nothing."

Rising higher in the sky, the sun illuminates the land, confining darkness to the shadows.

The blow lands with a resounding thud as Phoenecia's whip bites into his arm and holds Haven firm. With a thunderous roar of pain and anger, the Azudim tosses back his head as he pulls at arm and side. It spreads through the man like a virus, from wound to bone and ultimately the soul... This hatred. This fine emotion as piercing as any spear. Still... He remains rooted on his feet, obedient to Aren's word for peace. "I will remember this day." He says to each of those present, chest rising and falling unsteadily.

The bright sun shines down upon you.

You think: The Sun favors me!

Rivas's blood literally sizzles as he spits on the ground, tiny trails of smoke wafting up from the fiery red glob in the dirt. "You do that, Locke. You remember this day, and you remember my mace. You remember that this world -hates- you and your crusade, and we will fight you to the end," he says, verbal momentum taking his quiet first phrase to a loud, pounding cadence.

"Stay out of this." Aren hisses to Phoenecia, approaching you now. His voice remains gentle and calm, despite his obvious on edge demeanor, "Haven...go. -I- do not hate you, so remember that."

"You're an idiot, Locke," Phoenecia growls, tightening the slack on her whip and pulling it taut. "Every time you do something, you do it as you please without consideration at all for -anyone- else. Egotistic bastard. Your hubris is no better than the Spireans."

Rivas reaches out, placing a hand on Phoenecia's taut arm.

The whip is like a serpent tightening its grip about Haven's arm. Hungry. Eager. Dangerous... The Azudim stares at Aren with an edge so sharp it might've been a sword in another life. Still, the man does nothing but allow Phoenecia's whip to tear further into his flesh. "If you make me leave... I will never return. Blood of my blood, I swear upon it now and know it to be true: I see enemies around me, not comrades. Not members of the Faith."

Phoenecia glances to Rivas, hesitating for a moment, but eventually relenting, flicking her wrist and uncoiling her whip from your arm. "You're not even a zealot, Locke. You're just an Infernal wearing a different coat. -Lexen- turned out much better than you, and he started out far worse."

::[ Lilith ]::   <<> Roux enters from the southeast, riding a massive, dark-hued wolf with wings. <>>

Aren snaps at Phoenecia, "I swear. If you continue to insult my Luminaries I'll take your damn head here and now, regardless of your damn laws."

Azure Rose, Lady Phoenecia Sinclair says, "Insult your Luminaries? I'm insulting a citizen who's an obvious liability to the city, and has been -repeatedly- in the past, and looks to continue to be."

Aren turns towards you, his expression worried, "Haven. Relax. Calm...we can go talk."

Preceptor Aren Yaslana, Morning Star says to Azure Rose, Lady Phoenecia Sinclair, "No. You came in on this cause you wanna fuck Rivas. Or you are. Hidden as usual."

Preceptor Aren Yaslana, Morning Star says, "This is a guild matter first."

"Talk?" Rivas asks incredulously, turning towards Aren. "After this, you think you can just -talk- it out?"

Roux pulls her wolf up short, ears aggressively forward, every line of her body reading anger and aggression. She, however, pauses, waiting, watching.

Each resounding stroke of the Sanctorium bell is like an elixir for Haven . He stands straighter now that his arm has been released from Phoenecia's whip but his eyes... Oh, how they line with a deep seated anger! His eyes remain fixated on one person and one person alone: Master of House Yaslana, Morning Star of the Luminaries, Harbinger of the Dawn. Aren.

Rivas's flame extinguishes on his mace, his face turning from anger to an odd, pained expression as Aren speaks.

Aren holds a hand out towards you, still standing between you and Rivas, "Come brother. Please."

"Fuck this," Rivas says in disgust, though it is unclear to whom his anger is directed. "Coddle the psychopath all you want, old man, but remember that -he's- the one who set the world ablaze. -He's- the one who struck me first, and -I'm- the one you're insulting when you say shit like that about Phoenecia. Like I needed a better reason to leave this damn guild..."

Closing his eyes briefly in concentration, Rivas begins to break apart into tiny motes of light until no trace of him can be seen where he once stood.

Haven cradles his wounded arm to his chest, the crimson smeared across his golden plate now. Despite this, however, or perhaps maybe because of this... There is a wildness about his demeanor now. With each word uttered be it from Phoenecia, Rivas, or Aren... The former Knight seems to grow dimmer. Colder. Darker. A careful but hard step is place toward Aren. And then another. But eventually he falls in line.

Preceptor Aren Yaslana, Morning Star says to Azure Rose, Lady Phoenecia Sinclair, "Done -herald-?"

Phoenecia snorts faintly and coils her whip around her hand before tucking the weapon into her belt and striding away. "And the Light blinds another. Typical. I'm helping run a city of blind, ignorant fools."

< We leave. >

An airy indoor garden. (neighborhoods of Enorian.) (15308)
A delicate windchime of skysilver and skycrystal has been hung here. A large, white-trellised arch decoration covered with roses stands here. A sigil in the shape of a small, rectangular monolith is on the ground.
You see exits leading south and up (closed pine door).

Aren steps in close to you, his tone soft, "Give me your arm..."

"So you might sear it off?" Haven asks, his tone venomous. "What might you ask for next? My nuts? To dangle over the Great Spark and cooked slow like you've promised?!" Each word rings louder and louder as he keeps his wounded arm clutched close. "I am here out of respect for our love. Our blood bond. Nothing more you shall have from me!"

Roux leans against the doorjamb, her arms crossing over her chest, her head dipping forward, perhaps in thought. Her ears flick towards you both though, signaling her attention as she merely lets herself be there, listening.

Aren lowers his offered hand, his eyes filling with tears, "That's fine..." he says softly, his gaze settled on the floor, "You don't need to stay. I didn't mean to force you." He motions to Roux, "Also, laen...I expect you'll do a lot better. Becoming Morning Star, cause I'm stepping down."

Roux jerks her head upwards at that, her expression freezing. "What?" she asks incredulously. "You can't be serious, Aren."

Aren's admission is more severe than any blow Haven's received this day as it nearly floors him. His knees nearly give but the former Knight rebounds as swift as any tumbling Knight before he rushes across the garden to backhand Aren across the face. "Always! Always backing down. This is what happens when you let yourself grow soft. This is what happens when you stomp out the hate in your heart!" He nearly shouts. "You've judged me before. You -will- judge again. Stand strong! Embrace your strength within!"

Aren's head jerks to the side from the blow, but he rights himself staring into your eyes.

Aren begins to enter the newsroom.

Zura Ani, Roux Aquila says, "No!"

Aren enters the Aetolian news system.

Roux lets out a deep-seated shout as she spins, fist cocked upwards and slamming into the wall with breaking force, a sizzle and sear crackling through the air as her fist and the wood catches aflame.

Aren returns from the news room.

(Luminaries): Aren says, "New post."

LUMINARIES NEWS #906
Date: 4/29/2013 at 4:08
From: Preceptor Aren Yaslana, Morning Star
To  : Everyone
Subj: Resignation

Luminaries,

I feel my time is up. My heart is bias and my love will always remain
above my judgment. As such, I'm asking someone to replace me.

I cannot continue to be your Morning Star when I value giving others
chances above what -should- be done. I've grown soft.

I know whatever decision you make will be for the best.

Aren Yaslana

Penned by my hand on the 22nd of Midsummer, in the year 389 MA.