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Forbidden Temple of the Great Falls

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Brother vernasus finishes his bottle of wine, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before slamming the bottle down on the table. He then scoops korsarro's bottle of wine and continues to drink.

Wonderful vintage today... ~hic~
 
"Hmm, well. I was going to infuse some vodka soon. There should be some apples in my brewery." Zato said, and turned to go find the room where he designed and mixed drinks for the monastery.
 
Arngeirr's huge nose twitches. He snuffles, ruffling his mustache. "I say, my gentleman sense is tingling."

Looking around the table, he sees Brother Vernasus drinking heartily of the mead. But upon closer inspection, Arngeirr sees that Vernasus has robbed a brother monk of his mead. The beekeeper, keeper of the humbe gentleman bees, is hogging the honey-mean for himself! How ungentlemanly!

"Dearest Vernasus!" Arngeirr exclaims, "How could a man who ponders the mysteries of the bees be so greedy? I say, you should apologize for such wanton behavior."

Having said his piece, Arngeirr takes up his own mug of mead and passes it to Korsarro. "Here, brother monk, you shall have mine!"
 
Brother Vernasus, already moving swiftly into a drunken stupor shoots Arngeirr a dirty look.

.....are you going to try and make me?

Vernasus takes another hearty drink of the stolen wine, then belches loudly.
 
Korsarro watches Vernasus take his wine bottle, the daily occurrence no longer bothering him as it used to, having quickly discovered that he did not enjoy wine nearly as much as he did mead... or any other alcoholic beverage. He finished tankard and swayed slightly, finding that 3 gulps was certainly too little to drink so much when one was so small. He smiled and patted Blakes shoulder. "You know. I kinda thought you were dead. You know that? It was kinda funny, the doctor unable to fix himself" He burps loudly "No offence meant of course." Korsarro takes the giants tankard, drinking this one far slower, still not even touching his meal. "You have my thanks huge Gentleman, it is good mead however, I am sorry your honour dictates you into this course of action. We will drink it together next time."
 
The mood seems a bit tense. Al decides to remind people of their recent accomplishments. Setting down his spoon, Al speaks up: "So brothers, I must say that it has been an interesting day, has it not? Some of us have just arrived and already we are beset by the foul unholy things that creep the edges of this plane. I would raise a toast: To us, the monks of Teigee new and old, in our constant struggle against their kind! Shall we continue to do so until the end of time!"
 
Brother Nerrik sits back in his chair, mug in hand. "That stew was a tough opponent, trying to fill me so early in the meal, but I defeated it! I shall surely have to thank the one that created such a meal."

He drinks more of the honeyed mead. "And the drink is great as well. Praise Beesiah!"

He raises his mug at the mention of a toast "To the monastery, lucha, and the Beesiah!"
 
"I say dear brother, I have rightly forgiven your earlier outburst as a terrible misunderstanding, but I shall not tolerate your wanton behavior at the dinner table." Arngeirr's voice is low and harsh, his eyes narrowing as something approaching true anger begins to swell within his huge breast. "I shall indeed make you stay true to your professed morals, monk, as I am a gentleman and a warrior of justice and it is wrong, simple wrong for you to act the way you are. If you attempt to challenge mighty Arngeirr, I shall gladly step outside with you and show you the meaning of being a huge gentleman. Now apologize to your dear brother and we can forget this mess."

Not wanting to cause a scene, Arngeirr raises his huge fist into the air, no longer having any drink to raise. "Here here!" he said, "To new friends and new adventures! I have only just arrived at the temple of Buzzia, but already I can tell that this is a place for gentlemen!"
 
Brother Valetni quietly slips in, not wanting to disturb anyone. He quietly walks over to the table, unnoticed by his brother, fixated on the huge man as they were, and draws out a chair for himself. Slipping a hand into his habit, he withdraws a white, powdery substance which he inconspicuously sprinkles into his goblet of mead, he does the same with the soup, mixing it with a spoon.

Quietly, and without engaging anyone in conversation, he begins his evening meals. It is better this way, without talking to anyone he could finish faster, and the faster he finished, the quicker he got back to the ducks, and cleaning. A small smile tugs at his lips, efficiency, the one thing he loved nearly as much as cleanliness, and nearly as unattainable.
 
Zato entered his brewery, a large room of bottles, tags, and notes. Here, he perfected the art of drinks. True, it wasn't very hard considering the fact that their demands were "it makes us drunk", but he still considered himself something of an artist. He felt a shelf and found a basket of apples he had for a project soon. He plucked a few out, then stored them in a pocket to head back to the banquet hall, and get himself some food.
 
"believe me Kor, you have assumed too much" Blake said jokingly

Blake raises his glass and says "may we live to see the end of this year and the next" and takes a sip
 
Brother vernasus prepares to shout down the huge man, but suddenly sobres up as he spots brother valetni sit down at the table and pour something into his food and drink.


"B-brother valetni, what was that you just mixed into your meal?"
 
Zato returned apples in stump.
"Arngeirr, I got those apples!" he exclaimed, hoping he was walking towards the huge gentleman.
 
Brother Valetni gives a start as someone calls his name, nearly knocking over his goblet as he does so, his head whipping around to see who called his name.

"Ah, Brother Vernasus, it is a herbal additive that confers several unique benefits upon ingestion, I've been using it for several years now. Would you care for a taste?" Valetni says, holding out the goblet in Vernasus's direction.
 
"Ah, dear Zato, you have-" Arngeirr stops for a moment and puzzles over the man's appearance. Something is off, but it is hard to tell with the huge and heavy robes. "Brother Zato," he begins again, "Is there something different about you?"
 
Brother Vernasus slowly emerges from his drunken stupor, and quietly remembers himself.

"No... no. I'm fine."

He begins to eat his stew in quiet contemplation, cursing the strange mood swings that seem to be affecting him more and more this past month.
 
Korsarro nods thoughtfully "I always do, this is how I survived for so long. Assume more than you need to, let the truth come out of its own will and... something happens. I dunno. I haven't finished the philosophy yet." Korsarro silently raises the giants mug in toast, taking a large gulp afterwards, staring down at his stew and deciding at last to eat he sets down his new tankard and lifts the bowl, bringing it to his mouth and gulping down the stew, chunks and all. Looking rather sickly afterwards as he practically throws the bowl down at the table, surprising even himself when it doesn't break. "Food... is the devil."
 
"No, why do you ask?" Zato responded, glad that Mary didn't understand that hands don't grow back.
But if Arngeirr pointed it out.....
 
As the meal starts and the mead begins to flow, other Monks and those Guards not on duty make their way into the Great Hall, sitting at the various tables that fill it as food makes its way up and down the lines. There is surprisingly little talk about the so called 'Squirrel Incident' of the morning, and none at all of the involvement of the mirror. Whatever tales have wound through the Temple, they apparently have whatever happened done and finished.

Eventually, Wolfram ducks his head in through a back door near the table the newcomers and the others involved in the day's occurances have gathered at, his arm now wrapped in fresh, dull gray cloth as he takes his seat. With a smile more akin to a grimace he raises his good hand for attention from those nearby, waiting until all conversation stops and halting those that persist with a glare sharp enough to shave with.

"Now then, thank you. I'll be brief -I usually take my meals in my personal quarters after all- and I have no real desire to say the unnecessary here. I've asked those of you here to answer firstly that the artifact responsible for today's...occurances... has been dealt with, and there is no longer any need to worry on that end. However, upon questioning him after he awoke, it seems that Brother Johnson, the monk investigating the artifact, does not have any memory of the events leading up to his removal of the device from the reliquary, and those who assissted him in moving it were themselves ignorant of his intentions. Which means that the chances there is another force acting in the temple that led to this is no longer an impossibility, and that is not a good thing.

Effectively, I would like your aid in keeping an eye out for any further unusual happenings. Brother Johnson's memory faded sometime early this morning it seems, and if a demon has somehow hid its presence and made its way into the temple it could have had any amount of time to lay plans. Plans I will *not* abide coming to fruition." He stares at the gathered monks and guests, his eyes not even noticing Mary in their sweep as they pass, before the grim form of his face returns to its calm casual smile. Awkwardly after his outburst, and perhaps a tad quickly, he gives a polite yet meek bow before moving off back the way he came, exiting the dining hall.
 
Arngeirr suddenly realizes what is amiss. He gives a sideways glance to Mary as he takes the apples in his huge hands and smashes them, straining the delicious apple juice in a huge, clean mug before placing it in front of the dear girl. "Ah, just wondering," is all Arngeirr says.
 
"Are you sure brother? You seem somewhat unwell, are you perhaps sick? I myself had an encounter with some slightly poisonous gases."
Valetni takes a sip from the goblet.
"This is quite refreshing, I'm sure it will do wonders to restore the balance of your humors." He says with a slight smile. "It would be quite rude of me not to offer you anything that might be of aid to you."
 
Zato smiled and finally took a chair next to Arngeirr and Mary. Reaching down, he was pleased to find that the bowl of food was still warm, and ate heartily, taking swigs of the wine he had laid down earlier.
 
The lucha-monk watches as everyone bursts into talking again after the speaker leaves. "What a jolly bunch." he said aloud before drinking again.
 
Brother Vernasus attempts to hide the look of shock on his face.

"This... this is not good."

He glances over at mary, his face filling with sorrow as he suddenly becomes far too painfully aware of her innocent fragility.

"Mary I think you should go to your room and stay there until we have purged this demonic entity from our halls. I would be a broken man for the rest of eternity, should you come to any harm."
 
In the Hospice, slowly drowning in his own lungs, Sir Leonard is beseiged by muddled vissions of past memories. However, as oxygen slowly begins to return, a deep, unexpected sleep comes over him, one that opens wide his subconciousness.

Horrors of his own hand play out within his mind...

Holy Land, Crusader Encampment, Black Sea

Leonard tosses the sobbing Heathen to the ground inside of his tent, tossing his breastplate over by the table. He chuckles to himself, eyeing this woman hungrily.

"Hands and knees, dog." he growls, unfastening his belt. When she does not respond, instead continuing to cry, fury grips Leonards heart just as assuredly as his gauntlet smacks her cheek. "Did you not hear me, you stupid Fucking Cunt?!"

Ripping off his greaves, Leonard snarls, and slams a fist into the womans head. With a cry of pain, she slowly spins, utterly terrified. With a chuckle, Leonard simply rips his rope belt off, allowing his pants to fall to the floor and kicks them away, not expecting to need them for the rest of the night.

It was not a pretty thing, nor was it quick. For most of the night, her sobbing would occasionally be punctuated by his own enraged commands, often followed by some form of abuse. At some point, her crying was cut painfully short with a shrill scream, before silence over-took the camp totally.

By sun rise, the Camp was packing up, and a Groggy Leonard staggered from his tent, rubbing his eyes in the Desert sun.

"Someone get the Squire to get my armor on!" He yelled, finishing fastening his sword upon his belt, "And get some Serfs to move that whores body, too."
 
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