EdwardDewey98
Professional Argentine
• The King's Castle •
The sound of gentle voices could be heard through the darkened hallways, which were decorated with fine carpets, the stoic statues of knights, and banners displaying the royal colors of old dynasties. The voices became agitated for a moment, the once calm discussion descending into righteous anger until they were asked to stop. And thus, the voices were replaced by the ticking of an ancient clock.
"Your highness..." said the Prince-Pishop of Castow, in an attempt to break that uncomfortable silence. "...I promise you that I'll not fail in my duties. The tending of the sick and the afflicted is my main priority. The Church will always be at your side to tackle this crisis." And yet, despite his reassurance, the Prince-Bishop was met with more uncomfortable silence. For the King was concentrated with something else. While his eyes were locked on the silver goblet in his hand, filled to the brim with a dark red wine, his mind could only hear the damnable ticking of the clock.
"...With all due respect, Prince-Bishop..." Another voice broke the silence, this time it was the Count of Arlois, the marshal of the realm. "...Tending to the sick can only do so much. I insist.... your highness, while the church means well, we should be marching down the streets and checking every house. Getting rid of this scourge." "Would you like us to act like the Catanachs?" interrupted the Prince-Bishop, anger in his voice. But before the count could continue with his suggestions, he stopped at the sight of the soft hand of the Queen. Whom had been a silent observer as the Council debated. "Gentlemen, please... Ever since this curse appeared, our people have been suffering greatly. If we were to march down the streets and break into their homes, they'll lose what respect they have for the crown. It is our duty to protect our subjects and ensure their safety..."
There was a common understanding between the Council and the Queen. Her words were kind and gentle, but bore truth to them. The middle class and the freemen were growing restless, and only the Catanachs remained loyal. In their own way, of course, as they were only really loyal to the King himself. Silence engulfed the room, as everyone looked to the King. Awaiting the renowned wisdom he often had, but they were only to be met with silence and the brooding expression on his face. All he did was look down upon the cup of dark wine, and all he heard was that damn clock.
Enough was enough. He broke the silence, hurling his goblet of wine at the clock with a maddened expression on his face. "SHUT UP!" he shouted, breathing heavily like the beasts that prowl in the dark alleys of his Kingdom. He looked at the wine-stained clock, which continued ticking, almost making a mockery of him. "Husband... my love, please calm down." said the Queen while pulling her husband's sleeve. Breaking him from that perturbed trance. "...You need rest. Let the church handle this for now." The King looked down upon his wife. He looked lost. Confused. He looked to his council. "I... don't know what..." The clock rang its bell. It was now nine in the morning, yet it made no difference as the moon kept watching over Castow.
• Plaza of Ol' Catan •
The clocktower in the main plaza shook with each ring of its bells. And down below, the people of Castow walked the streets. Continuing their lives under the tyranny of the Moon. In front of the tower was a man, surrounded by a small group of Catanachs, the poor and working class native population of Valion. The man was shabbly dressed, but sporting a fine hat of fairly modern design. His face was red as he shouted at the top of his lungs to the Catanachs standing around him, much to the annoyance of the Freemen and foreigners walking around them. "It is our duty to serve the true King of the Catan! This curse of the moon was brought upon us by heretics and foreigners! Just look at 'em! Walking around all dandy, safe in their homes while our people suffer the blight they brought upon us!" The small but zealous gathering nodded and clapped in agreement before he continued to spit his vitriol. "The King wants peace. We will respect that peace with the foreigners for now, for the King knows what he is doing... But our duty is to hunt down those cursed beasts and the damnable fiends of the night that keep killing us! Remember, brothers and sisters! Remember what the king shouted that day when WE crowned him! Kentoc'h mervel eget bezañ saotret!" The small crowd of Catanachs shouted with him. The foreigners and people of the middle class looked upon them with either fear or disdain as they walked past. While another man watched from a distance, shaking his head in dissaproval.
• Church of St. Charlot •
The once pristine oak pews were now the resting place for wounded. The faithful, praying on their knees at marble statues of the Saints and the decorated stained-windows depicting ancient pantheons. By the podium at the back of the church was an altar dedicated to St. Charlot, the patron of this church. Behind the podium was a tired and stressed man, who delivered a sermon to the faithful who were still concious. His voice overpowering the pleas of help from the wounded and sick. "I want to remind everyone of martyr Pretreus, and his verse... 16:13: Be on your guard; Stand firm in the faith; Be courageous; Be strong. Those who maintain their faith in this adversity, will be blessed by the saints, who-" The priest suddenly stopped, his eyes squinting at a figure standing by the entrance of the Church. It was a woman. A noble woman, in fact, wearing various Goetic signs and queer charms. Her presence alone was enough to scare the nuns standing guard by the entrance. "...I must attend to something, children. Please wait and be strong, for the Saints watch over us."
The woman smiled as she saw the priest making his way to her, and she greeted him with a curtsy which was responded by an annoyed look. "How dare you! Coming here wearing those symbols. This is the house of the Gods and Saints!" The woman looked at the priest with an amused expression, a smile forming on her dark lips. "...Father Castelluccio, please... I've just come here to help, just like I did before. I imagine the church still has need of my libraries and artifacts." The priest looked back to his flock, before looking back at the noble. He then told her to follow him into his office, motioning gently with his hand as he moved.
It was a messy place, full of books scattered across the furniture and the floor. It was painful to see for the noble woman as she stopped by the door. "What do you want, Lady Madennig..." asked Castellucio, before sitting down, looking at the woman with caution on his eyes.
The woman, Lady Madennig Jézéquel, the Marquess of Veran, looked at the desk for a bit, noticing a few documents scattered about. "A little bird told me... that you've considered allowing vampyrs into this little project of yours." The face of the priest went pale for a moment. "...W-What do you want, wicca?" he asked with a trembling voice. "Oh please, calm down, father! You make it look like I'm about to sacrifice you! I've come here to make sure you use all the resources I've kindly donated to the church to face this adversity." Lady Madennig walked around the room, eyeing the various religious books and decorations. "...Last time I've visited, you were against my suggestion to contact Fulstan Schroder... I wonder what the Prince-Bishop might think of the Deacon for... granting forgiveness to a pair of Vampyrs and not a Wer scholar." Castellucio looked down for a moment. "The last thing I want is charlatans. Especially those who think they are occultists."
Lady Madennig let out a loud laugh before looking back at the priest. "Oh, my good friend, I assure you that Sir Schroder is nothing but trustworthy... Do not believe the lies of Prince-Bishop of Lindenberg and his zealous kind... You are an open minded man of the faith after all! Allowing... vampyrs, and I imagine werwulfs as well." A mocking grin appeared on the noble's face as she looked down upon the priest. Castellucio looked down, sighing bitterly before nodding. "Good..." she said, while placing a bag of silver on the desk before the priest. "...To fund the volunteers... Oh, I heard something else as well... There's an Arkhanite around as well, right? I hope you smart enough to... get rid of their ilk as soon as possible, Castellucio."
The priest did not say anything else, as the noble woman left his office. He simply looked down, clearing the sweet from his brow.
• The Docks •
The docks were home to salty mariners, whores, and drunkards. So, to see a Nun walk these darkened paths was an oddity. The nun held various posters in her hand, which she then placed on the walls. Hoping that they'd gather the volunteers the church so desperately needs. Not far from the docks, on a little island, was the Lighthouse. A shinning beacon of fire and oil that was visible for miles. The nun walked across the piers, looking at the turbulent ocean and the light mist floating above it. The massive moon watching over her. Just as she was about to turn around and leave this part of the town, she noticed something in the distance. It was a ship, but none like she has ever ever seen before. An Eastern Ship.
