Inquisition: In the shadows

Heroes' Shrine

The Shrine of the Heroes is shielded from the hubbub and noise of the city beyond by a double colonnade of pillars that runs around its circular perimiter like tall stone trees. Fluted and emblazoned on their capitals with carved acanthus leaves cunningly crafted, they support a domed ceiling above bearing a map of star-shaped Numenor of old. Arrayed in a ring around the inside of the temple are statues of gold and bronze of various size--four placed at the cardinal directions are larger than the rest, though, and were obviously a matched set, while the rest seem to have been added later.

No furniture decorates the interior of the austere place, but there are small patches of thick eastern rugs embroidered with intricate designs that rest before each of the statues so that penitents need not worry their knees overmuch on the cold limestone of the floor.

Contents:
Golden Statues

Obvious exits:
Out

Golden Statues
The statues are life-sized and exquisitly made from brass and gold leaf. From left to right there is Sangahayndo, Ar-Gimilzor, Ar-Pharazon, Castamir, Angamaite and Illandra.

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Trewsday, Day 21 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 14:27:19 MDT on Tue May 19 2009.
IC year: 3046

[Alimah(#24218)]
The current climate of religious fanaticism in the city has dampened enthusiam, to say the least, for the local gods. The Shrine of Heroes has been most affected, with no souls braving a trip there and risking a visit by the Inquisitor of Nurn. So it is that well into this dark evening, the Shrine is empty, its floors dusty and unswept with sand, its statues of the Heroes beginning to be covered with a fine dust and cobwebs.

And yet...one dares to come here: Soft footsteps come across the floor, a lone person walking between the pillars, face covered by a veil, yet under the layer of silks there is armor and a scimitar.

Empty? Perhaps not quite. The darkness hides any telltale tracks in the sand, but somewhere at the far end of the hall there is a hiss of breath as Alimah's quiet footsteps are heard, followed by the creak as leather as someone - a heavyish someone, by the sound of it - rises to their feet. Some secret penitent, perhaps - yet is it not strange that they did not choose to kneel at the feet of the Heroes?

[Alimah(#24218)]
There should be no sound here other, perhaps, than the whispering of the wind, and the sudden creak of leather makes Alimah stop cold. Under the wrap of silk, there is the sound of a blade pulled from a scabbard.

That sound is matched, but then that solitary figure moves round a pillar the man silhouetted there is broad-shouldered, of average height, his features unidentifiable in the near-dark. His right hand rests on his scimitar, which is but half-drawn, and approaching no further, he instead draws breath for a single, nasal word: "Who?" And then, more demanding, "Why do you come?"

[Alimah(#24218)]
"A Corsair of Umbar. Anything else is not your business," Alimah snarls. She pushes back the veil over her shoulder so that it covers her face yet frees her hands to use her weapon.

"My life is my .. business." The speaker stumbles over that last word given the slow, nasal Haradaic, does he really need worry whether his own features are visible or not? Yet he reaches up his left hand and starts to pull a mass of brindled hair over his face. As he lowers his arm again, a single drop of blood falls from his outstretched palm, and he clenches it quickly. "If you wish to take it, you can try. If not, then ... it is a good night for a walk."

[Alimah(#24218)]
"I am here to pay homage to my gods, not to take your life. If you wish to interfere with my worship in a violent way...then I will sacrifice your life to the Heroes," Alimah says in a bland tone. "If not, get out of my way." She steps forward, challenging the man.

"I wish only quiet," comes the response. "And a place to ask ... to pay homes?" He repeats the term rather doubtfully as he steps back a pace so that Alimah may pass if he wishes. He does not raise the scimitar nor does he release its hilt. "I do not stop others who speak to their protector, as I speak."

[Alimah(#24218)]
"Quiet. And a place to pray," Alimah says grimly, eyeing the man's scimitar. "Will you give me that or do you intend to stop me with your blade. I will not kneel and pay my respects to the gods if your weapon hangs over my head such as you hold it now."

"I will not stop." The nasal words are abrupt, but the man hesitates only one moment longer before the scimitar is slid back into its sheath. "Pray - that was the word," he murmurs, then queries softly, "You also fear .. Him?"

[Alimah(#24218)]
 As the man sheaths his blade, Alimah moves to put hers away, too--yet hesitates. Her eyes narrow. "Who are you? Another tool of the black-robed fanatics, come to kill me if I don't foreswear the gods of my fathers and pray only to your Eye? Is that what this is all about? Is the shrine of heroes now off limits even to the Corsairs of Umbar?" she demands.

"No." The single word holds no heat. "Or I would not be here." His profession, at least, he seems willing to divulge. "I am ... one who comes to speak to - to a God, if that is how you say it. And yes, I fear the Eye. All men do. If you say you do not, you do not say truth. Is this place ..off limits.. to one who fears?" His words are slow, carefully enunciated a note of challenge creeps in as he watches the scimitar warily.

[Alimah(#24218)]
"You make no sense, sir, or else I can't discern what you are trying to imply. Of course I fear the Eye--what fool doesn't fear a god?" Alimah snaps at the man. "What fool doesn't worship all the gods that they can? But to prohibit the worship of heroes, as the fanatics wish? This I will not stand for. This place, by my blade, is off limits to none who wish to pray. Do you wish to pray?" Her scimitar is still in her hands.

The man lets out a hiss of breath at Alimah's accusation, a clear sound of frustration. "I - I do not have all the words. It is not a thing men often talk of. Gods. Praying. Yes, I come here to pray - did pray." He holds out his left hand, empty and palm-upwards, revealing the shallow cut there, which still oozes a little blood. "I ask my god for a clean death, a fighter's death. Not .. to become something else. What do you ask?"

[Alimah(#24218)]
Alimah stares at the blood-stained palm and then into the man's eyes. She nods and sheaths her scimitar, moving slowly and deliberately so that the motion will not be mistaken for an attack. And then she sighs and her voice sounds suddenly weary.

"I have come to humble myself before the gods that my father and my father's father and before him prayed to. I ahve come to ask them to help me. To guide me how to act against these black-robed fanatics, if at all. The Eye..it is powerful...but I will not give up my gods. I want to know that I am doing the right thing."

As Alimah stares, the man lifts his hand as though to tug brindled hair over his face, then shrugs and pushes it back instead. She will see features made distinctive by a long, ugly scar that slashes diagonally downwards, away from amber-coloured eyes.

The final words bring a bitter laugh. "What is right? I thought my God gave a sign, that I should no longer hide. But he is here now - the Inquisitor - and the Lords are not strong enough any more."

He hesitates, eyeing the veiled woman, then offers quietly, "When he was here before, he was called away. That is how to act against him - make trouble in a place that is not here."

[Alimah(#24218)]
"Trouble? What kind of trouble and in what place?" Alimah nods, warming to this idea. "He must be stopped...if he cannot be called away then there is another way. A group, in secret, that gives our lives to take his. His life..the life of Uzay and perhaps the life of the High Priestess. In a tragic accident somehow, perhaps...or they disappear and are never heard from again."

The man's features twist as he scowls. "The Inquisitor follows .. there is a word. Heresy? Maybe heresy can be made in another place."

The other suggestion brings a shake of the head. "It will not work. This Uzay is just a man, but the others - anyone they touch will .. change. It is best to stay quiet, then they will look somewhere else for men to turn. Or, if there is need - I know a man who gets things out of Umbar. Goods, men. But his price is high."

[Alimah(#24218)]
 "They are just men, like me and you...though...if their God is strong..and undoubtedly he is. All right. Heresy elsewhere. In Harad? Among the tribes? How do we spread such rumors? And though I have a ship, likely it is watched. My family has coin and gold. Tell me more."

"The Eye is strong." That statement comes swift from Barjad's lips. The woman's command is not obeyed immediately rather, he stands in thoughtful silence. "The tribes - that would be good. But I do not know the tribes. Bozisha-Dar I know a little. Write letters the Eye's servants will find, or go there and speak, if you have the words. Kill a black robe or two. The ones who hold the power will not welcome this Inquisitor." For a moment one side of his mouth curls up, and he laughs softly. "It is a pity there is not way to turn this Inquisitor on his own kind."

[Alimah(#24218)]
"All I know is Umbar," Alimah frowns. "I do not know the tribes...I'm not sure what kind of letters to write that would draw this particular Inquisitor away from here. He seems pretty intent on ...ending worship of anything other than the Eye."

"Then there must be something for him to end. In Bozisha-Dar, they wish their emperor a god. Maybe if he hears a statue-house to Ajnabi be made? Like this place?" Barjad sounds doubtful even as he makes the suggestion, then shakes his head. "It is not a thing to decide in one night. For now - speak to your God, as I speak to mine." That is spoken almost as command, for all the slowness of the Haradaic. Then the man moves away into the shadows of the hall, treading softly toward the entryway. If the street outside seems clear, he will leave.

[Alimah(#24218)]
Alimah considers, frowning, then nods to the man as he leaves, slipping out quietly as well.