The Education of Suffering

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "I will begin the sermon now."

Nafireak clasps her hands before her waist, fixing her eyes on you.

Striding to the forefront of the gathered congregation, Vigo plants his feet firmly and lets his shoulders fall wide, adopting a stance fit for clear oration.

The radiant sun shines all about you.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "My gratitude for your attendance this day. My name is Vigo, and I hold the rank of Sentry within the Maldaathi Knights in service to the great City of Evil, Mhaldor. I have gathered you here to speak on the bonds of Oppression, and perhaps dispel the base misconceptions surrounding our traditions of enslavement."

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Allow me but a moment, as I will have you introduced now to the first mentor many Mhaldorians are tutored by."

You take an iron-tipped whip from a stygian Mhaldorian satchel.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "A simple lash, to many of you. On our Isle, a tool of re-education."

With a sibilant 'shhhiiiinnngggt!', you smoothly sheathe an ornate steel rapier.
With a sibilant 'shhhiiiinnngggt!', you smoothly sheathe an ornate steel rapier.

You begin to wield an iron-tipped whip in your left hand.

Vigo pulls his wrist in towards his body quickly before flinging the iron-tipped whip forward, uncoiling its length before the audience.

You display an iron-tipped whip for all in the room to see.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "This mentor is quite direct."

Slithering the lash back into his grip, Vigo's knuckles grow white as he commands the whip into a slow, mesmerizing rotation above his head...

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "It teaches but a sole lesson."

The lash audibly slices through the air, brought to speed into a full circle whirling into a blur above Vigo's gnarled horns...

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "How that lesson is interpreted decides the fate of every Slave."

Bringing down the leather grip of the spinning lash with violent force, Vigo suddenly snaps its iron tip a mere inches from the faces of those gathered in a deafening *CRACK*!

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Pain, is a universal facet of Suffering. Felt by all creatures of Sapience, direct application of such serves to reveal much about a city's populace."

Vigo deftly swings his forearm back towards him, reeling an iron-tipped whip well into his grasp once more.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Many learn aversion to this instrument. The lessons they earn from this divine educator are manifested into fear and cowardice. This is good."

You remove a jet-black falconry glove.

Unbuckling a black leather falconry glove before slowly removing it from his fist, Vigo reveals a crude brand seared into the flesh on his wrist. An escarbuncle within a border adorns it.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "This is the brand of all living property of the Fortress of Mhaldor. As I said, this is the only herald that many slaves aspire to attain. This is good, for a fortress will always require bricks and mortar, sweat and blood."

With a slight flick of the wrist, Vigo deftly commands the lash raking upward through the wind above his horns...

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "This lash serves dual purpose as the sickle, segregating the chaff from the wheat, the weak from the Strong. It divines who among us will rise to wield its power, and who will be destined to toil beneath it."

Vigo allows the slightest hint of a smirk to curl his lips, speaking as he brandishes the whip with greater speed...

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Those of us who are graced by the Twin Lords to embrace this Suffering crave not to be removed from the lash's presence entirely, but instead aspire to command its unforgiving tutelage."

Kicking his left hoof into a lunge behind him, Vigo wrenches the lash downwards from its spin into a sideways slash through the space between himself and those gathered. *SNAP*!

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "If I were to truly strike any member of this audience, I have no doubt they would possess the resilience to shrug it off as glancing cut."

Nafireak's eyes sparkle with a carmine shine.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "The same could not be said if this were once again the day of your Trial of Rebirth..."

Xer chuckles quietly.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "To some, this instrument of education is foreign, but its teachings are known by all."

You have emoted: Vigo lurches forward toward the congregation bringing the iron-tipped whip down and around from its motion into another speeding *CRACK*!

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Perhaps, in your youth, you found yourself razed to bits by the feral wildcats of Lodi Valley. Or suffered a stinging defeat at the hands of the cultists who dwell in their lairs beneath our feet."

Vigo casts a determining gaze upon the crowd, judging those that he scans from beneath his darkened brow.

Antidas winks conspiratorially at Deladan.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "I can look into the eyes of those gathered here and know that not one of you allowed these early moments of Suffering to dissuade you from the reason you chose to pursue the demise of these enemies."

Yanking the iron-tipped lash swiftly towards the sky, Vigo rends the space before him just as quickly in a series of diagonal slashes. *CRACK*! *SNAP*! *CRACK*!

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "The promise of Strength tempted you all into the allure of Suffering. The instinctual drive for advancement, whether summoned from the self or commanded by the masters of your respective Houses, demanded payment in blood for the power you sought to possess."

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Suffering, is not solely a Mhaldorian concept. Suffering is the growth of a young Cub into a guardsman of the Ithmias..."

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Hardship is the forge which smelts an unrefined Page into a Templar Knight..."

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Tortured is the mind of the elemental or kharmic scholar, pressuring their mental limits past the mundane boundaries of the sane to amass their arcane power."

A daemonic fury floods the eyes of Vigo as he summons an unholy frenzy within him.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Our practice of subjugation of the weak is no less than Divine Providence. It would dishonour our Twin Lords, Shaitan and Apollyon, to do less than exert the power they grant our unswerving faith in mastery over the lesser races of these lands."

Dusk steals silently over the horizon and crimson and ochre engulf the firmament, their seductive tones beckoning the sun to her nightly repose.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "And while some of you may disagree with our traditions, you all know the value of their lessons..."

Squeezing the leather handle in a death grip, Vigo writhes the entire length of the iron-tipped whip once above his head on the side of his severed and blunted antler.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "So before you open your heart to show pity upon one of our tormented slaves in lament for their lack of freedom, close it, as that pity will soon be replaced by the steel dirk of a Naga Assassin."

Vigo twists the handle of the iron-tipped whip downwards, lashing it into a speeding *CRACK* before ripping it back into the sky.

"Heh heh heh," Vayne chuckles.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Should your hearing be blessed enough to have the words of the Seven Truths poured into it by a young Malefic, do not offer a deaf ear, for he will return with a congregation whose devotion cannot be ignored."

Gracefully returning the lash to a striking motion from its previous command, Vigo *SNAPS* his serpentine instrument inches from the eyes of those in attendance.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "And should you happen upon a Grunt, a lowly maggot unworthy to be titled after anything but a primal show of physical exertion..."

Vigo viciously uncoils his leather whip in a feinting strike, the faint smirk returning to his lips as the iron tip falls harmlessly at the feet of the audience.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "Remember, that it is only the determination of this young soldier, the drive for his advancement, and his faith in the Seven Truths of Evil which separates him from the rank of 'slave' and the title of 'Sir'."

Vigo reels the iron-tipped whip firmly into his grasp once more. Deftly swinging his forearm backwards,.

You relax your grip.

You put an iron-tipped whip into a stygian Mhaldorian satchel.

You say in a youthful, yet confident voice, "My gratitude for your attendance this day."

With perfect form, you proudly bring your blackened hand to your forehead in a formal salute.

Xer nods approvingly.

Milenka inclines her head politely at you.

Nafireak exhales a carmine mist, giving an approving nod.

Vigo relaxes his posture, bringing his oration to conclusion.