[center] [h1][b][u]Brundt[/u][/b][/h1] [i]Twenty-five years after Antiquity…[/i] [/center] [hr] Although Brundt had lifted the hammer, he was too young to wield it. And so, it became a secret. The boy began regular visits to the House of Perfection, who took over his education. He soon began spending more of his waking hours there than Milos Karras’s own manor. There had been talk of moving him to the temple permanently but Brundt himself had refused. They put him through rigorous physical exercises as well, where Brundt quickly amazed him with his unnatural strength. They taught him to fight with hand, blade, and staff. He mastered several different exercises, and learned to play a number of different sports. Inevitably, word began to spread throughout the city about the scarred barbarian boy with the strength of ten men, and how the temple had taken him in. Brundt’s unnatural strength had once terrified him, but the temple taught him it was a gift, and so that as long as he used it respectfully and responsibly, there was nothing to fear. Although two or three nobles withdrew their support from the temple in disgust, for the most part the men and women of the surrounding district were unwilling to distance themselves from Cadien’s holy order, especially over the fate of a mere boy. The tales of Brundt’s strength were eventually dismissed as exaggeration, and the sight of him at the temple became common enough that those who once loathed him learned to ignore him. In the meantime, Brundt enjoyed his time at the Temple. Grandmaster Varsilis had always been kind to him, and the temple acolytes, though cold at first, had eventually warmed to him as well. They told him tales and histories. They told him of Cadien and Evandra’s Gift of the Berries. He learned of the creation of the Purple Moon, and the irregular lunar alignments. They spoke of the crusade against the Iskrill and the founding of Acadia. They told him of short men who lived in the mountains of the south, and of winged beasts in the plains to the west. Milos had also taken the time to personally educate him on strategy and tactics. He listened to it all with fascination. Under escort, he would walk around the city, marvelling at the architecture of the Cadien’s Quarter, and at the distant royal palace. It was truly like nothing he had ever seen, and even after he had gotten used to it he still found the walks to be peaceful and relaxing. Gelos, the guard who had once held Brundt down and been ready to execute him, accompanied him on most of these trips, and couldn’t help but grow fond of the boy as well. As the years went on, Brundt had also begun to notice a change. The nobles of Cadien’s Quarter no longer snubbed him or Milos. The House of Perfection’s endorsement, it seemed, was enough for them to give him the benefit of the doubt despite his status as an outsider. Even then, he still found it somewhat difficult to connect to those outside of the House of Perfection or the Karras Household. The same could not be said for the rest of the city, however. They had tried to hide the conflict from him, but it was clear something was amiss. He would overhear talk of incidents in other districts, of ‘territory’ and ‘support’ being lost or gained. It worried him, but there was little he could do, for he was still too young and the order still too secretive. It frustrated him, knowing that there was a growing threat out there, but being unable to act. It all weighed on him, and although he did his best to meet what expectations and challenges were put before him, it became harder as the years went on. He was strong and studious, yes, but he also became grim, stoic, and serious. He was not without a sense of humour, nor was he above harmless-yet-amusing distractions, but more pressing matters always lingered in the back of his mind. How was he supposed to be the hero they expected him to be? Eventually Brundt had become a man in his own right, and although he could now walk the district freely, they still had not told him much. Other than that the city was divided between the Houses of Cadien and Tekret, and a Cult dedicated to the love goddess Neiya. But he knew very little of the cult, other than that they rejected all gods save Neiya and were hostile against those who did not do the same. If he was to stand against them, he needed to know more. Some part of him felt it was a bad idea, but he decided he had to see for himself. He was a tall man. Seven feet in height, and he still bore the scar from when he was nearly burned as a child. A few years ago, during a lunar alignment occurred, and he could have simply washed the disfigurement away… but he refused. Now he was paying for that, as it meant there was no way he could disguise himself to leave the district, and he was not one for sneaking. But perhaps he didn’t need to do either of those things? Brundt donned a cloak and a simple tunic. They were of fine quality, but ultimately rather plain. And with this rather unassuming-looking garb, he belted a sword to his hip and made his way out of the district in the middle of the afternoon. Unsurprisingly, there were guards posted at the district’s entrance - guards in the employ of the local nobles, rather than the city - and they recognized him on sight. “Lord Brundt Karras?” one of them asked. “What brings you here?” “I’m leaving the district,” Brundt answered. The two guards exchanged a glance. “Why?” “That is my own business,” Brundt replied. For a moment they only stared at him. Then, reluctantly, one of them nodded. “Very well, my lord.” That had been far easier than expected. The next district was also under the control of the House of Perfection. Its inhabitants were considerably less well off than the nobles of Cadien’s Quarter, but still respectable. Blacksmiths, jewellers, butchers, merchants, sculptors, painters, architects, and some exceptionally poor nobles. Men of some wealth and distinction, but no impressive birth. He passed through without incident, no one here willing to question or challenge the burly intimidating man who wore the finery of a lesser noble. He had been here before only a few weeks ago, when his fath… Milos… took him to a blacksmith to be fitted for his own suit of bronze armour, and so the district’s layout was relatively fresh on his mind. Eventually Brundt reached the next set of guards which marked the entrance to the next district. They had been far more reluctant to let him through, but also far more yielding to his authority. The area he entered next was for the lower classes - mostly labourers. The buildings were smaller and more worn down, while the people were dirtier and wore frayed tunics or rags. It was a rather shocking contrast to the finery of Cadien’s Quarter, where he had spent most of his life. This district, he understood, was supposedly under the House of Perfection’s control, but to his knowledge the cult was making a recent push to convert the locals. From time to time he would see the symbol of the Horned Goddess or a message about Neiya etched into the wall of an alleyway. Later, as he entered the district’s square, he saw a man preaching about the love of Neiya. Then he noticed men and women in the robes of the House of Perfection approaching. Fortunately, their attention was set solely on the preacher, but Brundt decided it would be best if he moved on before he was recognized. The borders between the poorer districts like these were supposed to be far less defined, with guards rarely being posted at the edges. And yet the House of Perfection had sent acolytes to watch the main road, with a makeshift barricade even being set up. Brundt frowned, as he considered how to get past this. Fortunately, it was rather easy, for there were a number of lesser roads and alleyways which also led to the next district, and it was simply impossible for the House of Perfection to observe them all. Brundt simply found one of these side routes and followed it, slipping back onto the main road once he had passed the makeshift checkpoint. He was in dangerous territory now, for this next district was entirely under the Cult’s control. It did not take many steps for it to become a wholly different experience than that of the previous poor man’s district. Debris had been stacked along the pathways in zig-zagging patterns, creating small labyrinthine walls of dirt, broken furniture, and discarded rags. Almost like walking into some barbaric display of tribalism, he came face to face with a simple wooden pole jabbed down into a refuse pile, and at it’s tip rested a guardsman’s helmet, battered into disrepair and smeared with paint like the rest of the area. Navigating this small walkway of refuse proved more tedious than difficult, but it could be assumed to serve a basic function of slowing down any larger patrols. Passing out on the other side and into the district proper left behind much of what one could consider normal, and replaced it with what could only be said to be an otherworldly sight. Effigies of straw, wood and discarded metal had been raised, and decked with several horns jutting from it’s head. The walls of buildings were like murals, a scattered and chaotic pattern of graffiti where words mingled freely with archaic symbols, weird or unfinished drawings, and the symbol of the Love Goddess. Many of them were crude, even vile, in nature. For all the preaching of love, the images depicted could only be said to coax out the vilest thoughts in humanity. Ragged men and women littered the district, languidly sat around with nothing much to do, or caught in the midst of defacing yet another wall. On most of them, Brundt could see a medallion hang around their neck, worth more than the people by the looks of it; it was a simple design, a heart, surrounded by horns. Brundt had regarded all this with disdain. He had been taught that one should rarely have cause to stand idle. And while art was something worth pursuing, this was nothing more than defacement; it was illegal and ugly to look upon. Yet he had also noticed a distinct lack of guards, and more than one suspicious look. He was a tall man with purple eyes and a burned face; no doubt at least a few of them had already guessed his identity. But he pressed on, going deeper into the district, wondering what else he might find. The main path wound around a few houses - none of which looked to have seen any maintenance in the last few years - and then began to properly open up into a square of dilapidated market stalls, old merchant’s quarters, and warehouses. A mostly untouched brass sign hung on a single of its hinges welcomed him to the Golden Row, a once reputed market area that was now but a former shadow of its former glory. Most stalls had been abandoned, their cloth stolen and requisitioned for other purposes. Others had been converted into what looked like squats for entire families. Here too the trend continued, open areas defaced with symbols of the goddess and crude drawings. The disaffected littered the streets, talking amongst each other, going about business that could probably be considered criminal, or staked out Brundt as he passed through from perches in windowsills above. Here too, the medallions were prevalent, as were the stares. More so than before, he could see people shushing when he wandered into view, following him with their eyes and talking amongst themselves. They did not seem particularly keen on confronting him, even turning away when he looked their way, or quieting down at the very least. Still, it was no doubt word would spread quickly at this point. Trawling through the old market district brought a shift in the established disrepair as a procession of people came into view on the far side of the square. Dark-dressed men and women, with Neiya’s insignia sewn into the fabric, stood before a larger building that looked at least a little more well-tended than the others. Though they did not seem to carry weapons, a few of them had done a poor job of masking the copper protecting their upper arms beneath the clothes. A line had formed in front of them, and each ragged commoner coming up to face them displayed the medallion Brundt had seen so many times. Those who did were ushered inside, those who could not were quickly dismissed. Brundt stood and observed the proceedings from a distance. He did not have a medallion, and did not feel like stealing one, so it was clear they would not let him in. He watched a few people enter, and then turned away. "A little out of your element, aren't you?" a scraping feminine voice cut from one of the nearby stalls that had stood the test of time and looting. It belonged to a worn woman with hair the color of flax. She too wore a medallion, and like the others she was doomed to be unremarkable and unkempt without it. She leaned on the old woodwork me, watching Brundt with tired, but curious eyes. Brundt turned and eyed her warily. “I go where I please,” he replied, after a moment. She smiled at that, but it was a smile that suggested he was not in on the joke. "We are all equal before the Goddess, friend. Welcome. Come to participate in the summoning, then?" “The summoning?” he asked, raising his eyebrows. She nodded over towards the procession, still admitting people into the old merchant's building. "That's what they call the service. We join together and send our love to the Goddess, in hopes she will respond with her warmth. The clerics say that if all of us have only love in our hearts, Neiya will come to us and walk Ketrefa." She sniffed idly, eyeing Brundt up and down once more. "Guess some of us are not faithful enough." “Indeed,” Brundt nodded coldly. “Some of us have chosen to only acknowledge one god, and disregard all others.” The woman sighed softly, but retained her smile. "The Goddess' messengers teach us about the vices of the old ways. By ignoring the Goddess word, we have let ourselves become impure and unworthy. Perhaps a summoning would do you some good, friend." “And who are these messengers?” Brundt asked her. "Why, they're right there," she proffered, and lifted a hand to point at the dark-dressed men and women taking in people. "I heard a rumour they're all nobles from up by the Archway Garden, but you can't get anywhere near there these days without sponsorship from a cleric. The one who does summonings for us is called Naros. Nice man." “And how do you know their messages comes from Neiya?” The woman scoffed at that, and pulled a mocking grimace. "They came with food and blankets when the nobles let this place go to the pits. They support you, as long as you keep your faith in the Goddess. Where else would such love come from?" Brundt looked around, at the shabby buildings, the impoverished citizens, and the desolate marketplace. “It looks to me like this place has seen better days,” he remarked. She did not appear to like that, and her tone changed to reflect that, just as her building frown did. “My belly is full each day, and the trials of the Goddess keep me working for the good of all. What good is jewelry and finery if it does not bring us closer to Her love?” “I have eyes, you know,” Brundt answered drily. “I see people wearing rags and families living in shacks. I speak not of jewelry and finery, but of clothing and shelter. What of those?” He shook his head. “Those who show dedication, and faith, are allowed to live in the Court of Flames, with all the majesty that entails. To appreciate comfort, you must learn to live without it. To truly know love, you must be free of your distractions,” the flaxen-haired woman replied with growing fervor, watching him with an intensity to her eyes. No doubt others had taken note by now, or indeed, never stopped watching in the first place. “How many are chosen, then?” Brundt asked. “And how many are left behind?” She shook her head, lifting a hand to wave it dismissively at him. “Simply by asking that, you show you cannot let go of your distractions. We are all equal before the Goddess. Were the poisons of Ketrefa not so rife in our bodies, we would all live in splendour.” Brundt’s frown deepened. “The gods help those who help themselves,” he told her. “You’ve allowed yourself to become dependent on faceless nobles from another district. Hoping they deem you worthy, when they don’t even know you exist.” How could they? Nobody could memorize every name and faith in an entire district. “You’ve turned your back on four gods to please one. No surprise then, that those four have turned their backs on you.” “Look at you, spitting lies as easily as a sermon,” she began with a restrained tut. A moment’s thought, and she leaned down into her stall to fish out a small knife, and stabbed it neatly into her wooden barrier. “As if what you describe is anything different to how it was before. The four are what allowed this to occur in the first place. We will restore the natural order, and bring Neiya’s love to all.” She kept her eyes on Brundt intently, seemingly unfazed by the absolutely massive difference in size. Indeed, her eyes carried their own flame, a spite that only seemed to grow for each moment. “You’ll restore nothing,” Brundt countered. “All around us, there is only decay. Instead of the solution, you’ve become the source.” And with those words, he turned and began walking out the way he came. The woman muttered something behind him, and he heard the sound of spitting, but no further trouble seemed to come of it. The path back towards cleaner and saner worlds was long, and though no one had really eavesdropped on their conversation - as far as he knew - the atmosphere on the walk back was rapidly turning from tense and disdainful to outright hostility. Men and women alike stared at him from the gutter, from behind doorways, and from window sills. Perhaps they’d done so the entire time, and he could only see the madness now. It was not long before he found a reassuring sight. Over a dozen household guards, and half a dozen temple acolyes marching toward him. At their head was Gelos, though the usually calm and professional retainer bore a furious look. “By Cadien’s Grace, what were you thinking!?” he demanded, before quickly looking around. His tone quieted, and he put a hand on Brundt’s shoulder. “Come. There’s no time to argue.” Brundt did not argue, and instead followed his escort out. [hr] “What were you thinking?” Milos demanded, echoing Gelos’s earlier words. Brundt stood in a room in the House of Perfection, with Varsilis, Milos, and Gelos standing before him. None were pleased. “I had to see it for myself,” he said. “What if they had killed you?” Milos demanded. “Or captured you? Or…” “...or convinced me to take their side?” Brundt interrupted. “Have you so little trust in me?” “Did they?” Varsilis suddenly asked, and Brundt’s head turned to face the older man, who was still as fit and vigorous as a young adult. “Convince you to take their side?” Brundt shook his head. “What did they tell you?” So, Brundt relayed the story of his encounter in the ruined marketplace, as well as everything he had seen. Varsilis nodded; it all seemed to be more or less what he expected, and there was a look of approval whenever Brundt claimed not to believe or agree with one of the woman’s points. “It’s true,” Varsilis nodded. “The cult has provided food for the areas under control. But little else. It’s all a ploy, you see. Give them the necessities to keep them dependent, then take away the luxuries and tell them they have no need for anything else. Have them do naught but wallow in their own filth or deface their own homes in the hope that they can rise higher. They don’t know it, but they’re little better than sheep.” He shook his head disdainfully. “If they’re sheep, then wouldn’t that make the cult shepherds?” Brundt found himself asking. Varsilis shrugged. “There are different types of people in this world, Brundt. Sheep, Shepherds, and Wolves. Sheep do as they are told, or what they see everyone else doing. Shepherds lead the sheep. And wolves? They live outside this system, and prey on those within. So yes, you’re right. The cult are shepherds. But there are different types of shepherds, Brundt. There are those who genuinely care about their flock and wish to protect them. And there are others, who only see them as a means to an end. That’s the cult. They say they care, but everything they do only serves the ends of the few who are in charge. I don’t even know if they serve the ends of their goddess, for they haven’t done anything truly special.” “But what if they do?” Brundt asked next. “What if… what if Neiya truly does speak to him?” Varsilis stared at him, and chose his words carefully. “Neiya is a goddess,” he said. “She deserves respect, worship, and devotion like the others. But if she asks us to disregard the others… we cannot. Cadien and Evandra created us. Tekret made our walls and gave us law. Oraelia made the sun which provides us light and warmth. To reject an order from Neiya would be a blasphemy, yes, but to reject all other gods on her behalf?” He shook his head gravely. “That is a far worse crime.” Brundt nodded in understanding. “I see,” he said. “Perhaps it was foolish to think they could be reasoned with.” “It was,” Milos agreed. “We cannot afford to lose you.” Suddenly, Brundt frowned. ‘We cannot afford to lose you’ or ‘you are chosen.’ He had heard such things his entire life. “Why?” he demanded. “Why am I so important?” “There’s a poison in this city,” Varsilis told him. “The woman was right about that. The way we have treated outsiders, or those of lower birth… our fellow humans… it’s intolerable. But you were right too. All the cult is doing is adding a poison of their own into the mix. If not stopped, these poisons will spread throughout the city, and choke us out from the inside. That is why you are important, Brundt. It’s your destiny to stop them.” “How?” he asked. “It is time we figure that out. If reason will not work, then more drastic measures must be taken.” [hr] [hider=Post Summary] We get a timeskip in Ketrefa. Brundt is older and more powerful now. He’s spent the past ten years being educated and trained by the House of Perfection. Unfortunately, he was also quite sheltered; rarely leaving Cadien’s Quarter, and relying on overheard snippets of gossip for news and information. This frustrates him, so he decides to head out into the city on his own to see what it’s like out there. He passes through a few districts and then eventually finds himself in cult territory. It sucks. Everyone is poor and there’s grafitti everywhere. A woman approaches him, and the two have a theological debate. The woman basically says that Neiya and the cult care about them and provide for them, while the rest of the city and the other gods do not. Brundt basically says that the reason the other gods and the city don’t care about them is because they live like slobs and only worship one god. It goes back and forth for a bit. Eventually Brundt leaves. He encounters a group of guards and acolytes led by a rather angry-looking Gelos, which was sent to find him and bring him back. Later, Brundt has a conversation with Varsilis. Varsilis tells him a bit more about how the cult functions, and explains that while Neiya must be respected and worshiped, they must not ignore the other gods to do so, even if Neiya herself wants them to. Brundt is also reprimanded for putting himself at risk, and he demands to know why he’s so important. Finally, Varsilis reveals the boy’s destiny, and decides it’s time to act. [/hider] [hider=Prestige Summary] [u]Brundt[/u] [b]Beginning Prestige:[/b] 23 +5 for 10k+ characters. -10 to upgrade Strength I to Strength II. -10 to upgrade Endurance I to Endurance II. [b]Ending Prestige:[/b] 8 [u]Cult of the Horned Goddess[/u] [b]Beginning Prestige:[/b] 14 +5 for 10k+ characters. [b]Ending Prestige:[/b] 19 [/hider]