[hider=A Royal Introduction]

Rhodanthe had been out of her element ever since she had arrived in the South, but now that she had arrived at the royal Winter Palace, she had been feeling even more out of place than before. She was put into an intricate purple gown which Rhodanthe found itchy compared to regular clothes, and which was held up by a corset that was tugging into Rhodanthe so hard she felt that it had violated her. Her hair was put into a high braid which Queen Sorcha’s stylist had made in an intricate style. At least she had prevented her from putting her hair into the ringlets that the Queen had initially recommended. Barristan had told her that compared to what they wore in Nyhem, this clothing was plain, but that was not how Rhodanthe saw it. She breathed a sigh as she waited inside the guestroom, which was fancier than anywhere else she had ever slept. Queen Sorcha or one of her servants probably would come to get her any minute now, which was making her nervous. She had apparently entered her prophet state when she had been with the Queen before, and it seemed to have made an impression. After that the Queen took her from south to meet the King. He was her king now, so Rhodanthe hoped she could make a good impression. But she wasn’t good with this sort of thing and hoped that she didn’t mess up. Nearly all of the people who had come to Raeldar with her were no longer with her. Most had joyfully swore eternal loyalty to King Bearnard Sutharlan, and had run off to become soldiers or farmers. They were loyal to Rhodanthe and would rush to her side again if she could ever find them again, but they did not belong to her, and once she had fulfilled her goal of bringing them to safety, they no longer accompanied her. Only a circle of her closest allies and friends had remained with her, which including Barristan, her personal scout Alan, and her tutor Wilhelma. It was easy to feel isolated now. One wrong move, and with a word the King could send her back to Alasdair, perhaps on the end of pike. The thought made her shiver. Her thoughts, however, were interrupted when the door suddenly opened up. Rhodanthe quickly jumped up to her feet, or at least as quickly as one could in this corset. At the door was Asta, a servant who was about Rhodanthe’s age, but who had served the Sutharlans her whole life. 

“Ma’am,” the servant said as she bowed. “If you would follow me.”

“Where’s Barristan?” Rhodanthe said. 

“He is further down the hall, ma’am,” Asta said. “But he will not be joining you in the throne room.”

“Huh? Why?” Rhodanthe said. “I need ‘em with me.”

“His Majesty, on the advice of Her Majesty, is willing to grant you an audience,” Asta said. “But the invitation for you alone. I am sure you understand, ma’am.”

“Ah, ‘course. Everything’s fine as always,” Rhodanthe said.

Barristan was out in the hallway, waiting for her to come out. But, as Asta had said, it seemed that Rhodanthe would have to deal with this.

“You’ll be handlin’ this one alone,” Barristan said. 

“Don’t see how I can,” Rhodanthe said. “Never met a king before.”

“But you’ve met a queen,” Barristan said. “And you did alright there.”

“That was different,” Rhodanthe said. “I wasn’t alone. And I didn’t hafta do politics.”

“The Queen has put a good word in for you,” Barristan said. “He’ll know who you are. Long as you keep yerself together, you’ll do well enough.”

“I’ll try me best,” Rhodanthe said. 

Asta led Rhodanthe to the throne room. Two fearsome-looking guards armed with halberds and clad in heavy plate guarded the door. They gave Asta a nod and opened up the hefty red doors which marked the opening to the throne room. The cold grey stone was covered by an elegant blue rug with golden trimmings which led up to the throne. Sitting upon a tall throne of strange bluish metal was a man dressed in fine robes, and adorned with a great crown which consisted of two layers; the outer layer was white like ice, while the inner part was red like blood.

“That is King Bearnard – long may he reign – sitting upon the Chilled Throne, an artifact that was ancient even when the first Remonnet High King came,” whispered Asta said. “Sitting upon his head is the Red and White Crown. It symbolizes the union of the blood of the Remonnets and the Sutharlans, according to the historians. Some say, however, that it represents how the Remonnets left Raeldar in a sea of blood. But you did not hear that from me. And besides them is Octavia Celestine, Grandmaster of the Order of Saint Zacarias. Now, remember to address His Majesty with respect, and bow properly.”

Rhodanthe couldn’t do anything but follow Asta’s instructions. Rhodanthe bowed as deeply as she could. She didn’t have “manners,” but she hoped that she could make up for it by bowing deeply enough. 

“M’lord, I’m glad fer ya summons,” Rhodanthe said.

“Raise your head, Rhodanthe of Uzgob,” King Bearnard said. “My Queen has told me much of you, your journey, and your gift of prophecy. You have earned my Queen’s trust, and perhaps even her belief, but why should I believe you? You do not have the look of a prophet. No one will mistake you for Klebrithy.”

“Dear, there is no need to scare the child,” Queen Sorcha said.

“I ain’t no preacher, y’majesty,” Rhodanthe said. “‘Scuse me, y’majesty. I might not have any o’ that proper ‘elokence’ other people that speak to ya’ do, so I can’t be thinkin’ of swayin’ ya one way or another. I dunno if you’ll see me as prophet. But me and the others, we came down this way ‘cuz there’s no other place we could go. When the de Reimers killed ah’ friends, and was comin’ fa’ us next, we knew we’d need a new home. That’s why, y’majesty, I humbly petition fa’ sanctuary.”

“You are right, you do not have ‘elokence,’” King Bearnard said. “But better the honest man’s truth than the flatterer’s treachery. Your request for sanctuary is granted, for now.”

“Your Grace, if you would,” Octavia said. “This girl is nothing but a heretic, her gift of prophecy nothing but the result of possession of demons. Her followers are miscreants, malcontents, and, worse of all, foreigners. Just as plague is a pestilence of the body, heresy is a pestilence of the soul. It devours, debilitates, and brings death to all it blights. We do what we can to cure this excruciating disease of the soul, but our primary aim should be to ensure that this disease does not spread to even more souls.”

“And would you have me eliminate Rhodanthe, as the source of this disease?” King Bearnard. “That is where your argument leads, correct?”

“Octavia, please be understanding of everyone’s position,” Sorcha said. “Rhodanthe has come a long way, and simply wishes for a place to call her own once again.”

“Your Grace, it is not as a girl that I bring my objections to Rhodanthe,” 

“You called her a foreigner,” Bearnard said.

“Well, your Grace…” Octavia said.

“Do you see the problem, Rhodanthe?” Bearnard said.

“Sorry, y’majesty, I don’t quite know what ya’ mean,” Rhodanthe said.

“You ask for peace and coexistence, while the Grandmaster asks for the opposite,” Sorcha said. “Coexistence is not something which will be easy to do.”

“Might be, y’majesty. I ain’t know much ‘bout these sorts o’ things, y’majesty,” Rhodanthe said. “All I’s askin’ is that those’ve us who came into your kingdom get to live. I know they’ll work n’ fight n’ die fa’ ya. All I’m askin’ ya ta’ do, y’majesty, is ta’ do nothin’.”

“It will not be easy, but the people of Raeldar will obey their King,” Sorcha said.

“My answer has already been given,” Bearnard said. “Rhodanthe and her followers shall be given sanctuary. But I shall not take more. I do not wish for a horde of northerners swarming my borders.”

“Mylla will want to hear about this,” Sorcha said.

“That I will leave to you,” Bearnard said. “I am sure that she will want to meet Rhodanthe.”

[/hider]

[hider=Vivid Nightmares]

Ser Oswyn knew that there were battles, campaigns, and other things of great importance happening in the east, but in this sleepy part of Iruladdin Oswyn had his own duties to tend to. Though it might have seen like Oswyn had disappeared for good, and was not to be seen again, here he was. He rode into the village of Dirge, having travelled an ancient dilapidated road deep into the forests of Iruladdun, and saw prying eyes staring at him in every direction. Oswyn could tell immediately this village would not be pleasant to him. The houses made of wood were clearly well-crafted, the hostility of the village destroyed any pleasantness their sight might have had for Oswyn. He had been told little of this village, since there was so little to tell. There was perhaps no place more secretive than the village of Dirge in all of Formaroth. This was the home of the Cult of Erena, the oldest monastic order in Formaroth, who existed even during Klebrithy’s lifetime. Owing to their ancientness, and the fact that they sided with Klebrithy, they were a link to an ancient past, and a source of legitimacy for the Church. Thus, the cultists were above reproach, however eccentric and secretive they seemed. They were said to be great magic users in their own way, but they were very different from those who learned at the Circle and objected to being called mages. In fact, it seemed they objected to a great many things. Apparently if you were an outsider, they were some of the touchiest people imaginable. As Oswyn rode into Dirge, men and women in thick gray robes stared at him in every direction. Oswyn thought he even felt like he was being watched from behind, since it was from behind him that the feeling of being watched was at its strongest, but when Oswyn looked behind him there was no one there. Nonetheless, the feeling of being watched from behind persisted.

“Outsider!” one of the cultists said. “Are you lost? You clearly are not a prospective initiative.”

“I come on behalf of the Church,” Oswyn said. “A diabolical plot has struck the Church and all of Formaroth, and your aid is requested.”

“If the Cult of Erena answered every call to arms, the Cult of Erena would never know rest,” the cultist said. “Know this, outsider. The Cult of Erena shall provide aid to the Church if we that is what is required of us, but not hungry for war. The elders shall decide if you are worthy. Past their tests, and if your cause is worthy the Cult of Erena shall die for you.”

“A test? Regardless of whether I pass or fail, your aid is needed,” Oswyn said.

“If the Church truly thought the situation was desperately enough to call for our aid, then they would send one worthy enough to pass this test,” the cultist said. “Now, outsider, continue on to the cave. There is another like you, but far more eloquent. She shall make one such as you understand all things.”

Oswyn knew better than to argue. He continued onward. The cultist had told him to head to the caves. With no knowledge of this village all he could do was move deeper into the village. He dismounted, and since there was no stable moved to tie his horse to a tree. Yet as Oswyn approached the tree, his horse strongly protested, raising his hooves up, kicking back and forth, and neighing loudly. Oswyn was surprised. His horse was hardy and fearless and had never objected to anything before. He would have run headlong into a wooden spike more than once if Oswyn had not been guiding him.

“Easy, boy,” Oswyn said. “What’s wrong?”

Oswyn did everything he could, but no matter what, his horse continued to whine and kick. Eventually Oswyn gave up when he realized that it wasn’t being tied to a tree that his horse feared, it was the idea of being near the forest that his horse feared. He could feel dozens of eyes peering at his failure to tie up his horse from all directions, and at first Oswyn felt slightly embarrassed. Then he realized that he was alone and had been for some time. He felt a gust of wind come through the forest and heard a rustling of leaves from within the forest. It was not a rustling made from wind. After Oswyn realized it was the sound of footsteps stepping against the leaves and twigs he felt a very strong urge to get away from their as quickly as possible. He took his horse’s rein in hand and walked away from them there as quickly as possible. 

Soon Oswyn looked and saw a towering temple made of russet stone and bronze, much taller than the small wooden houses he had seen so far. It had been obscured by the trees, but as Oswyn approached he was in awe. It was simply made, and only a fourth the size of the Grand Temple, but in a village as simple as Dirge it seemed utterly magnificent. It resembled other temples he had seen to a degree, except for the strange runes carved on an inscription above the door. The runes had a certain resemblance to the common language but were different enough that he had no idea what the inscription said.

“Keep moving, outsider,” the guardian said in a monotonous voice that Oswyn somehow felt was full of malice. “You stand before the Temple of the Galcazhar. Only initiates, to partake in the Mysteriae Sacra Minora may enter, and your attire betrays the fact that you are no initiate.”

“Temple of the Galcazhar?” Oswyn said. “It was the Temple of the Galcazhar that Klebrithy based his own 

“I know not of this Grand Temple, outsider, but when Klebrithy built his temple he took this very Temple as his model but dedicated it to all true gods instead of just one,” the guardian said. 

“To think it still stands after all these centuries,” Oswyn said. “What does the inscription say?”

“If you cannot read the inscription, then it is not for you to know,” the guardian said. “The initiates can read it. Once they understand it, then they are ordained. But you are clearly not here for initiation.”

“No,” Oswyn said. “And I should be going.”

Oswyn went further into the village, as the guardian continued to guard the Temple of the Galcazhar. As he got deeper within, he finally saw the caves, which had been obscured by the trees. Oswyn saw many cultists standing by there. Several stood guard by the cave entrance, while others were busy meditating and reading. More striking, however, was a woman who was not clad in the gray robes of the cultists. He could tell immediately that she was an outsider like himself.

“Hello,” she said to him as soon as she saw him. “You must be the man that Grandmaster Lycaon sent.”

“Ser Oswyn at your service,” Oswyn said. “I am surprised to find another non-cultist other than myself here.”

“Yes,” she said. “I am Ricarda. By profession I am a mage, trained in the Circle, but I have had some dealings with Lycaon. Currently, I have been studying the Cult of Erena, the most ancient magical organization in Formaroth. This will be my sixth month together with the Cult of Erena.”

“It is hard to believe anyone could spend so long here as a visitor,” Oswyn said.

“They are not friendly at first,” Ricarda said. “They are simply very secretive and bent on keeping their ancient traditions alive. I think when they look to Nyhem they felt threatened. It represents such a different world, such a different way of life from the ways of the Cult of Erena that they are afraid they will be swept away if they allow others to get too close. I am sure you are suspicious of them. They worship a little differently than they do in other temples, and so they fear others would not be understanding. But make no mistake, they are as loyal to the Church as you are.”

“Then why are they watching us?” Oswyn said. 

“Watching us? No, they are quite private individuals,” Ricarda said. “While they may have stared at you when they first arrived, they were just surprised. They will let you be once they realize you have a good reason for being here.

“I can feel them staring at me, through the forest,” Oswyn said. “They are hiding within and watching me. I have felt their eyes ever since I entered the village.”

“You must nervous,” Ricarda said. “There is no one in the forest. The cultists never enter into the forest, not even for scavenging, since the local lord provides food and water for them in exchange for the medicine they make. Besides, by birth these men are farmers and smiths. Do they look like the sort who could hide from you in the forest if they wanted?”

Suddenly, Oswyn felt a chill go down his spin. Though he could not prove it, Oswyn knew that something was rotten in the village of Dirge. Nonetheless, the Grandmaster had sent him here, and he would not allow this village to scare him away.

“The Cult of Erena’s aid is needed,” Oswyn said. “The situation is desperate. Heretics sweep across the land, especially, I hear, in that barren land of Uzgob.”

“Yes, the Grandmaster mentioned as much,” Ricarda said. “The initiates, I am sure, told you you need to past their test, I assume? The test itself is nothing much itself. All you need to do is go through the Cavern of Erena’s Respite, the cave just up ahead. And you will have to go alone. The elders are deep inside the cave, and I am sure they will aid your request, if you make clear how desperate the situation is. But you should be careful. You are not a mage, so you cannot tell, but the magic is incredibly thick within there. There are things within there which I saw that I still cannot explain.”

It was just then that the sound of a great bellowing came from within the cave.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” Oswyn said.

Leaving Ricarda and the village of Dirge behind him, Oswyn stepped into the cave. It was pitch black inside, and the only illumination came from the dim light seeping in from the outside. Oswyn had no choice but to use his hands and feet to feel his way around. Suddenly, it began to become darker, and he could no longer see any light. He moved around slowly, feeling the wall in front of him to feel for a way forward. Eventually, he found two different openings in the cave. As he was thinking which path to take, Oswyn saw a light emerge, seemingly from random, at the center of the cave. Oswyn could have walked towards it, but he couldn’t help but think it was a trap. He took the left path, and walked into the darkness, deeper into the cave. As he walked blindly through the path, he felt like the ground from under him disappeared, but he did feel himself fall. Then he felt as if all the oxygen in the cave disappeared. He gasped for air, and tried to run out of there, but it was all in vain. Every direction he moved he felt only the cold rock of the cave’s walls and began to suffocate. As he was about to pass out air once again filled his lungs. He moved his hands around him but could feel nothing. A second ago he had been surrounded by rock at every side, but now they were gone. 

In the distance he heard the sound of water dripping. He followed the sound, until he found a source of water. He could not tell how large the source of water was, but it was at least large enough for him to deep his arm into. Then he heard a splash. It was definitely a splash, and not the ripple of a drop of water falling into the water. It was the sound of movement in the water, and Oswyn, even in complete darkness, could tell that it was no fish that was wadding in that water. He heard a bellowing, the sound of a voice unbelievably low and loud making a great groan, and then a great force knocked Oswyn to the ground. It was not an invisible force. It was like a great, long, wet tentacle knocked him to a ground. Or so he thought.

“What are you!” Oswyn screamed. “Gods, tell me, what madness reigns in this damned village!”

Oswyn thought he heard a laugh, a terrible and low laugh that sent chill through him and threatened to drive him mad. As he went to draw his sword, he felt something knock it out of his hand and smashed the blade to pieces. As he was knocked to the floor again Oswyn saw a light with a slight green tinge. Against his better judgement he leapt towards it. It felt like for an eternity he crawled towards it frantically, until he saw a vision of a glowing woman in white, but in a moment, it seemed to fade.

“Your fate is a terrible one, for one so loyal. You are condemned to live, and see the whole truth revealed.”

Oswyn was on the ground and felt like he had just awoken from a nightmare. His sword was gone, and there was once again a dim light coming from outside the cave. Before him he saw three people sitting cross-legged at the back of the cave. They were robed, and Oswyn could not see their face. Oswyn still had not settled down. The memories of what had happened were jumbled in his mind, as if they had not been real, but Oswyn could not dismiss them. He saw them. Thus, he was far from being calm.

“What was that? That light, that creature?” Oswyn said. “Elders, tell me! You live here, don’t you? You must understand. Tell me!”

Oswyn was knocked back as a gust of wind struck him. Yet it was only one of the elders’ magic, annoyed at the noise Oswyn was making.

“You have made it this far, outsider,” the elder in the middle said. “And you are not fit for the mysteries of this cave. Tell me why you are here, and you shall have your answers.”

Oswyn still had his mind on what he had seen in this cave. But at the elder’s words he was suddenly aware once again of why he had entered the cave in the first place. The panic in his mind faded. 

“The…the Church has need of you once again,” Oswyn said.

Then Oswyn spoke to the elder for a long time. He spoke to him so long that his eyes began to adjust to the darkness around him. Oswyn told, in detail, all that had transpired from the beginning of Johannia’s rebellion, to the unrest the heretics were spreading across the east, to the rebellion in Uzgob. Then there was silence for a long while. It felt like an eternity to Oswyn. Eventually, however, the elder spoke.

“So it has come,” the elder said. “‘The end shall come when blood sweeps the land, and four plagues shall come and bring the land to a final ruin. The First Plague brings death to the tree of life and turn the parchment to stone. The Second Plague shall divide the soil and sap it of its strength and unity. The third shall sunder Truth, and falsehood long hidden once again shall. The fourth shall bring again the forces of darkness, and the land shall once again be shrouded in darkness.”’

“What is that, elder?” Oswyn said. He felt that it sounded familiar, but he was no theologian.

“The Last Prophecy of the Devi,” the elder said. “And so it comes. Tell Lycaon that the Cult of Erena shall aid him in all his ventures. Command, and we shall obey. But warn him that we shall not participate in politics; the power struggles of kings and bishops is no business of ours. Such squabbles are the business of rats and carrions, fit only for men who have turned their souls black with vain and fleeting ambition.”

“He shall be glad to have your aid, elder,” Oswyn said.

“And you still have questions,” the elder said. “I promised you I would answer, and now the time has come.”

“I saw…things,” Oswyn said. “The light disappeared, I was surrounded in complete darkness. The walls around me vanished, and I saw myself in a cave with a creature in the water. It overpowered me, its tendrils grabbed. And I saw a light, a woman, more beautiful than any I had ever seen before…Was it real?”

“The cave does not lie,” the elder said. “But one such as you cannot hope to understand. The magic here is great, and its magic is still active. Ask the mage outside, and she shall tell you the same. Yet you are one who is untrained in magic. You are unable to understand the truths of this. There are ancient things in things in this cave, and ancient truths hidden here, things which can only seen through years of meditation and practice of the magical arts. Erena herself blesses some with visions of herself and departs knowledge. Perhaps, for some reason unknown even to us, there was some reason that you were given a vision of her. Whatever she told you, I advise you to ponder it, though I doubt one not versed in magic and the ancient writings could understand her words.”

“And the beast?” Oswyn said.

“There are only so many secrets we may divulge to an outsider,” the elder said.

“Then I leave you now, elder,” Oswyn said. “The Grandmaster shall be glad to hear of your support.”

The elders had nothing else to say to him, so Oswyn left them. He was able to leave the cave by following the light behind him. It did not resemble at all the place that Oswyn had been blindly wandering around a few moments ago. It was strange, like running down a long hallway, looking back, and discovering you had been a hut the whole time. This cave had no end to its mysteries. When he was out of the cave he took a deep breath, glad that he was finally away from it. Ricarda was there, looking over some papers and books when he emerged.

“You’ve finally returned,” Ricarda said. “It’s been nearly four hours since you entered into that cave.”

“Four hours? Impossible!” Oswyn said. “I could not have been in that cave for more than twenty minutes.”

“Look for yourself,” Ricarda said. “The sun is setting. You will have to spend the night in the village.”

“Let us hope that it will be a peaceful sleep, and not an eternal one,” Oswyn said. 

“I’m sure you had some difficulties in that cave,” Ricarda said. 
“That is putting it lightly,” Oswyn said. “I saw things I cannot explain.”

“The magic in that cave is quite thick,” Ricarda said. “If you aren’t versed in magic you won’t be able to handle. It leads to what we might call hallucinations, though that is oversimplifying things. Others are knocked unconscious and are given unexplainable dreams. It leads to temporary memory loss. They cannot remember being knocked unconscious.”

“But what I saw there, it was real,” Oswyn said. “I know it. I remember it well.”

“Well, they are very lucid dreams,” Ricarda said.

[/hider]