Elendor
The Inquisition: It's history
Barzhil tries to answer the Lokhikhor's questions about the recent past
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Dark Citadel - Priest's Alcove
Game Date: 15 December 3046
Description: Dark Citadel - Priest's Alcove
The exact time of day has not been permitted to enter this room, as there are no windows to open to invite in the sun's light. The sole source of light is the lit torches that line every wall, casting their flickering shadows along the perimeter of the high-ceilinged room.
A large oak table is centered in the room with two aged candle-sticks located on each end. Wax has pooled around the base of the candles, and deep scratches on the table's surface show that the hardened wax does indeed get removed from time to time. Several oak chairs line the length of the table, with a larger more ornately-carved one crowning it at the far end. Above the table hangs a massive crimson banner - inlaid with a representation of the Eye at its center, worked in gold thread.
Ringing the chamber, a number of small partitions have been formed by heavy grey drapes, separating the cramped living spaces of Priests, Acolytes, and Students.
Obvious exits:
Out
[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Hevensday, Day 15 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 15:28:02 MDT on Sun May 17 2009.
IC year: 3046
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
The candles of the chamber are lit the ripple of their flame's dance sent shivering over the dark stone that encases them. The pool of their light glows down upon the oaken desk of office, at which sits the figure of the Lokhikhor of Nurnen. No notes or scrolls lay before him, naught for the agent of Mordor to study save the darkness itself, for he gazes long and silent into such pockets of shadow that the candlelight cannot touch.
Minutes creep by, as though waiting for a new arrival.
And a new arrival enters. First the shuffling of footsteps. Then the grey drape is pulled aside, and one can see that there stands the young Farside scribe, Barzil, his head bowed and his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. His two hands are clasped tightly together before him, and his gaze is focussed on them as though every inkstain, every crease in the smooth flesh were being memorized.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
The Lokhikhor does not look up as the scribe enters, though after a long moment he raises his hand to beckon the youth closer. "Have a seat," he rasps, not once taking his eyes away from the shadows.
Reluctantly, stiffly, the youth lowers himself onto one of the oaken chairs. "How - how can I serve the Eye?" he enquires, his murmur little louder than the wind whispering amidst the reeds. His own gaze, in contrast, shifts toward the Lokhikhor, though he keeps his head deferentially bowed. He draws breath, then asks, hesitantly, "Is it information you seek? Or a task I may do?"
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Both," comes the curt reply, and the Mordain's eyes narrow slightly. "Now that we are free from the interruptions of Uzay, I can quiz you more thoroughly. Tell me what you know of the Lady Regent, Eruphel. I wish to know how deeply this friendship with Azradi and Alphros runs..."
That question brings about a startled response. "Lord," and he swallows, for his voice is husky. "I know little enough of the Lady Eruphel," the youth mumbles, his sharp features tensing a little. If this is a test, surely he is doomed to fail? "A little before Lord Alphros led the assault on Gondor together with the Crusaders, a woman appeared from the Havens of the Gimilzain, a captain she was, and pledged herself to him. She called herself Su'ad." His dark eyes half-close as though he tried to recall details, then snap sharply open. "She had a follower. The youth called Yussef."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
If this is news to the Lokhikhor, he does not show it -- his tone is flat and even as he bids: "Go on..."
The youth pauses despite the command, drawing breath. His skin looks slightly clammy - perhaps it is the heat of the candles in this stuffy, airless room. "This Su'ad fought in the battles, distinguished herself well I daresay." For a moment the scholar's distaste for combat creeps into his voice. "When the Lord Alphros .. ah, became mired in the affairs of state, she continued good relations with his sister, the Lady Azradi. Then, just before the removal of the Emperor, she suddenly proclaimed herself Eruphel, Mazrakhor's daughter, and seized Seaward. I daresay they welcomed her, there was no talk of resistance. Of course, there was not much of the tower's population left by then." He coughs delicately.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
A nod then, and Barzhil's host sniffs in the candlelight. "Thanks to the wonderful Lominakh," he appends the tale, and curls a lip of his own in distaste.
"So," says the Lokhikhor a moment later, "The ties between Farside and Seaward were forged in battle. How does Alphros feel about his pledged servant taking on the management of a Tower that could grow to rival him?"
The young scribe's slanted brows tilt up just a fraction, perhaps, at the Lokhikhor's comment. At the next question they draw together in a slight frown. "That, I cannot entirely say. As a junior scribe, and not one of the Lord's confidants, one has to rely on heresay," he explains hurriedly, his tone growing husky again. "I believe he may have been a little put out - Eruphel claimed the title of Lord, but Lord Alphros recognized her only as regent. He let that youth Yussef follow her to Seaward, released him from his oath to Farside, but he was the only one. I am sure the Lord did not wish to see Farside weakened." By now his voice is quite hoarse, and he swallows again to clear his throat.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Thirsty?" asks the other, and finally he drags his eyes away from the shadows to stare into Barzhil's own. "Guard!" he calls, and continues to hold the youth's gaze as the curtain is shifted aside gently. "Fetch a jug of water." With the soft sound of the guard's feet slipping away down the corridor, the Lokihkhor clears his throat ere speaking on.
"I find," says he, "it interesting that in a city where every swaggering peacock cries to the heavens about honour and loyalty, that there is so much petty betrayal and jostling for position. Even your Lord Uzay is nothing more than a dung beetle, scrabbling to accrue the largest and most glittering ball among the muck. But no matter... each has their uses in accordance with the Master's plan. You... do believe in the authority of the great Lord of the East, I assume?"
As insults are heaped on his city, the scribe sits quite still. Should one be looking at his hands, however, which are clasped in his lap, one might notice the knuckles whiten. The final question is met with a stare at first, and then a thin, narrow smile. "I believe that the Eye holds power over all, and that even if I did not it would not lessen His hold on my life. Those few fools who put their trust in other gods, witless idols of gold and bronze, delude themselves. When the Eye turns His gaze their way, they will shrivel beneath it like parchment destroyed by fire."
Perhaps his declaration of faith bolsters his confidence a little, for for the first time the youth has a question. "Are not all men equal and humble under the Eye's gaze?"
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"No," comes the simple reply, and a shake of the Lokhikhor's head. "They are not. Piety is the measure of a man, and the pauper need ask himself what he has done to deserve such ill fortune, for as you say, the Dark Lord has a hold on all our lives. The Eye watches, always. What do you suppose He does when he sees plans within plans with the aim of rebellion?"
The young scribe casts his gaze toward the door longingly, as though wondering whether the guard will return. The Lokhikhor's question is answered promptly. "I cannot understand the workings of the Eye. Even were I an old man who had studied His ways all my life, I could not presume such knowledge! But ... surely that would depend on whom the rebellion was turned against? I imagine the petty squabblings of Men are of little concern to Him. The victor would owe to the Eye their all. If-" he stops, his dry voice almost giving out, "if that rebellion were turned against Him ... Burn them." His youthful tenor hardens. "Purify them in fire."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Well said, well said..." nods the Lokhikhor, with a flash of zeal in his eyes. But, he calms a little as the curtain is pushed aside once more a Citadel attendant entering languidly to set a jug of water and two mugs upon the desk. With nary a word the guard then leaves, and the room's host waits until the curtain falls back into place before continuing.
"That is the fate that heretics and traitors deserve, sure enough. And.. you are a shrewd one, Barzhil, for as you say, the squabbles of Men are as naught to him. Something I attempted to impress upon a certain Lady Regent this very morning. I gather the other Towers are a little... resentful of the power that Ajnabi was able to acquire during his rule, and the fact that Mordor appears to back Black Tower alone for mastership of Umbar?"
Only for a moment does the young scribe's gaze rest on the water-jug before he tears it away, looking once more to the Lokhikhor. This time the furrowing of his brow is less pronounced than before - puzzlement. Lord, I- that is, we of Farside were told that the High Priestess Mara of Nurn herself had backed the Lord Alphros when he rose to drive the former Emperor from Umbar's haven. Is this not true?"
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Of course it is true, and the world turns accordingly. Someone had to remove the idiot from power, and so her Emminence made use of a tool. Now, it seems, that tool may be flawed..."
The youth's face does not change in the slightest. "Then the Eye will simply cast away the flawed tool, and choose one better fitted to His hand." He pauses, then adds, quietly, "In truth, such might benefit Farside. There are many there who revere the Eye, and many more whose minds are simply .. clouded. Show them the truth and they will believe."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Really..." says the Lokhikhor, leaning forward with a feral smiles. Slowly, purposefully he raises the jug to pour out two cups of water before setting it back down. Not once does his gaze leave Barzhil. "Tell me, scribe, who would fill his shoes were this to happen?"
The scribe steeples his hands together, releasing the tension in his knotted fingers. "That is a hard question to answer. There are those gathered in Alphros' shadow - his squire Yildirim is one such. I would not trust that his heart is free of heresy. Of Corsairs who might rise to lead, there are many." He considers a moment longer, then remarks thoughtfully, "The corsair Alimah appears to reverence the Eye. I spoke with her whilst I was teaching the Gondorian woman."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Alimah..."
The name hangs in the air for a moment, and the snarl from the Lokhikhor's lips is terrible to hear. "Aren't appearances such tricksy things. I've heard rumours of that one, scribe. Rumours of hero worship, and the reverence of other gods. I want you to follow her, and discover where her loyalty truly lies. You will report to me, and not to Uzay. Does this displease you?"
At that accusation the scribe springs to his feet, his dry throat forgotten. "What?" The order is met by a firm nod. "Yes, Lord, I will do as you bid. If there is any truth to the rumors, rest assured I will find out. I will begin the investigation immediately." Then, without touching that water he had so longed for, and without even a single mention of Uzay, Barzhil bows deeply, turns and hurries away.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
The Lokhikhor's eyes narrow at the scribe's reaction, but, left alone, he says nothing of his thoughts. Pensively he reaches out to lift his goblet, and sips at the water. At length, one word reveals his inner musings:
"Curious..."
"
The exact time of day has not been permitted to enter this room, as there are no windows to open to invite in the sun's light. The sole source of light is the lit torches that line every wall, casting their flickering shadows along the perimeter of the high-ceilinged room.
A large oak table is centered in the room with two aged candle-sticks located on each end. Wax has pooled around the base of the candles, and deep scratches on the table's surface show that the hardened wax does indeed get removed from time to time. Several oak chairs line the length of the table, with a larger more ornately-carved one crowning it at the far end. Above the table hangs a massive crimson banner - inlaid with a representation of the Eye at its center, worked in gold thread.
Ringing the chamber, a number of small partitions have been formed by heavy grey drapes, separating the cramped living spaces of Priests, Acolytes, and Students.
Obvious exits:
Out
[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Nighttime on Hevensday, Day 15 of December.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.
Real time is: 15:28:02 MDT on Sun May 17 2009.
IC year: 3046
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
The candles of the chamber are lit the ripple of their flame's dance sent shivering over the dark stone that encases them. The pool of their light glows down upon the oaken desk of office, at which sits the figure of the Lokhikhor of Nurnen. No notes or scrolls lay before him, naught for the agent of Mordor to study save the darkness itself, for he gazes long and silent into such pockets of shadow that the candlelight cannot touch.
Minutes creep by, as though waiting for a new arrival.
And a new arrival enters. First the shuffling of footsteps. Then the grey drape is pulled aside, and one can see that there stands the young Farside scribe, Barzil, his head bowed and his adam's apple bobbing as he swallows nervously. His two hands are clasped tightly together before him, and his gaze is focussed on them as though every inkstain, every crease in the smooth flesh were being memorized.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
The Lokhikhor does not look up as the scribe enters, though after a long moment he raises his hand to beckon the youth closer. "Have a seat," he rasps, not once taking his eyes away from the shadows.
Reluctantly, stiffly, the youth lowers himself onto one of the oaken chairs. "How - how can I serve the Eye?" he enquires, his murmur little louder than the wind whispering amidst the reeds. His own gaze, in contrast, shifts toward the Lokhikhor, though he keeps his head deferentially bowed. He draws breath, then asks, hesitantly, "Is it information you seek? Or a task I may do?"
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Both," comes the curt reply, and the Mordain's eyes narrow slightly. "Now that we are free from the interruptions of Uzay, I can quiz you more thoroughly. Tell me what you know of the Lady Regent, Eruphel. I wish to know how deeply this friendship with Azradi and Alphros runs..."
That question brings about a startled response. "Lord," and he swallows, for his voice is husky. "I know little enough of the Lady Eruphel," the youth mumbles, his sharp features tensing a little. If this is a test, surely he is doomed to fail? "A little before Lord Alphros led the assault on Gondor together with the Crusaders, a woman appeared from the Havens of the Gimilzain, a captain she was, and pledged herself to him. She called herself Su'ad." His dark eyes half-close as though he tried to recall details, then snap sharply open. "She had a follower. The youth called Yussef."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
If this is news to the Lokhikhor, he does not show it -- his tone is flat and even as he bids: "Go on..."
The youth pauses despite the command, drawing breath. His skin looks slightly clammy - perhaps it is the heat of the candles in this stuffy, airless room. "This Su'ad fought in the battles, distinguished herself well I daresay." For a moment the scholar's distaste for combat creeps into his voice. "When the Lord Alphros .. ah, became mired in the affairs of state, she continued good relations with his sister, the Lady Azradi. Then, just before the removal of the Emperor, she suddenly proclaimed herself Eruphel, Mazrakhor's daughter, and seized Seaward. I daresay they welcomed her, there was no talk of resistance. Of course, there was not much of the tower's population left by then." He coughs delicately.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
A nod then, and Barzhil's host sniffs in the candlelight. "Thanks to the wonderful Lominakh," he appends the tale, and curls a lip of his own in distaste.
"So," says the Lokhikhor a moment later, "The ties between Farside and Seaward were forged in battle. How does Alphros feel about his pledged servant taking on the management of a Tower that could grow to rival him?"
The young scribe's slanted brows tilt up just a fraction, perhaps, at the Lokhikhor's comment. At the next question they draw together in a slight frown. "That, I cannot entirely say. As a junior scribe, and not one of the Lord's confidants, one has to rely on heresay," he explains hurriedly, his tone growing husky again. "I believe he may have been a little put out - Eruphel claimed the title of Lord, but Lord Alphros recognized her only as regent. He let that youth Yussef follow her to Seaward, released him from his oath to Farside, but he was the only one. I am sure the Lord did not wish to see Farside weakened." By now his voice is quite hoarse, and he swallows again to clear his throat.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Thirsty?" asks the other, and finally he drags his eyes away from the shadows to stare into Barzhil's own. "Guard!" he calls, and continues to hold the youth's gaze as the curtain is shifted aside gently. "Fetch a jug of water." With the soft sound of the guard's feet slipping away down the corridor, the Lokihkhor clears his throat ere speaking on.
"I find," says he, "it interesting that in a city where every swaggering peacock cries to the heavens about honour and loyalty, that there is so much petty betrayal and jostling for position. Even your Lord Uzay is nothing more than a dung beetle, scrabbling to accrue the largest and most glittering ball among the muck. But no matter... each has their uses in accordance with the Master's plan. You... do believe in the authority of the great Lord of the East, I assume?"
As insults are heaped on his city, the scribe sits quite still. Should one be looking at his hands, however, which are clasped in his lap, one might notice the knuckles whiten. The final question is met with a stare at first, and then a thin, narrow smile. "I believe that the Eye holds power over all, and that even if I did not it would not lessen His hold on my life. Those few fools who put their trust in other gods, witless idols of gold and bronze, delude themselves. When the Eye turns His gaze their way, they will shrivel beneath it like parchment destroyed by fire."
Perhaps his declaration of faith bolsters his confidence a little, for for the first time the youth has a question. "Are not all men equal and humble under the Eye's gaze?"
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"No," comes the simple reply, and a shake of the Lokhikhor's head. "They are not. Piety is the measure of a man, and the pauper need ask himself what he has done to deserve such ill fortune, for as you say, the Dark Lord has a hold on all our lives. The Eye watches, always. What do you suppose He does when he sees plans within plans with the aim of rebellion?"
The young scribe casts his gaze toward the door longingly, as though wondering whether the guard will return. The Lokhikhor's question is answered promptly. "I cannot understand the workings of the Eye. Even were I an old man who had studied His ways all my life, I could not presume such knowledge! But ... surely that would depend on whom the rebellion was turned against? I imagine the petty squabblings of Men are of little concern to Him. The victor would owe to the Eye their all. If-" he stops, his dry voice almost giving out, "if that rebellion were turned against Him ... Burn them." His youthful tenor hardens. "Purify them in fire."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Well said, well said..." nods the Lokhikhor, with a flash of zeal in his eyes. But, he calms a little as the curtain is pushed aside once more a Citadel attendant entering languidly to set a jug of water and two mugs upon the desk. With nary a word the guard then leaves, and the room's host waits until the curtain falls back into place before continuing.
"That is the fate that heretics and traitors deserve, sure enough. And.. you are a shrewd one, Barzhil, for as you say, the squabbles of Men are as naught to him. Something I attempted to impress upon a certain Lady Regent this very morning. I gather the other Towers are a little... resentful of the power that Ajnabi was able to acquire during his rule, and the fact that Mordor appears to back Black Tower alone for mastership of Umbar?"
Only for a moment does the young scribe's gaze rest on the water-jug before he tears it away, looking once more to the Lokhikhor. This time the furrowing of his brow is less pronounced than before - puzzlement. Lord, I- that is, we of Farside were told that the High Priestess Mara of Nurn herself had backed the Lord Alphros when he rose to drive the former Emperor from Umbar's haven. Is this not true?"
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Of course it is true, and the world turns accordingly. Someone had to remove the idiot from power, and so her Emminence made use of a tool. Now, it seems, that tool may be flawed..."
The youth's face does not change in the slightest. "Then the Eye will simply cast away the flawed tool, and choose one better fitted to His hand." He pauses, then adds, quietly, "In truth, such might benefit Farside. There are many there who revere the Eye, and many more whose minds are simply .. clouded. Show them the truth and they will believe."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Really..." says the Lokhikhor, leaning forward with a feral smiles. Slowly, purposefully he raises the jug to pour out two cups of water before setting it back down. Not once does his gaze leave Barzhil. "Tell me, scribe, who would fill his shoes were this to happen?"
The scribe steeples his hands together, releasing the tension in his knotted fingers. "That is a hard question to answer. There are those gathered in Alphros' shadow - his squire Yildirim is one such. I would not trust that his heart is free of heresy. Of Corsairs who might rise to lead, there are many." He considers a moment longer, then remarks thoughtfully, "The corsair Alimah appears to reverence the Eye. I spoke with her whilst I was teaching the Gondorian woman."
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
"Alimah..."
The name hangs in the air for a moment, and the snarl from the Lokhikhor's lips is terrible to hear. "Aren't appearances such tricksy things. I've heard rumours of that one, scribe. Rumours of hero worship, and the reverence of other gods. I want you to follow her, and discover where her loyalty truly lies. You will report to me, and not to Uzay. Does this displease you?"
At that accusation the scribe springs to his feet, his dry throat forgotten. "What?" The order is met by a firm nod. "Yes, Lord, I will do as you bid. If there is any truth to the rumors, rest assured I will find out. I will begin the investigation immediately." Then, without touching that water he had so longed for, and without even a single mention of Uzay, Barzhil bows deeply, turns and hurries away.
[Lokhikhor(#32438)]
The Lokhikhor's eyes narrow at the scribe's reaction, but, left alone, he says nothing of his thoughts. Pensively he reaches out to lift his goblet, and sips at the water. At length, one word reveals his inner musings:
"Curious..."
"
Players: Lokhikhor, Barzhil
Located in: Haradrim
