The female follower in white, no longer holding tightly onto the wooden box with both hands, was now releasing it from its comforting embrace to kneel down, hovering over the floor.
A slender hand slipped into the fold of the thick white robe, and when it returned, it was now brandishing a small green cloth, the green matching the high priest's markings adorned on his robe.
The kneeling woman was carefully wiping away something from the cloaked form in front of her.
Brucknell turned, seeing the follower's actions and noticing the thin streaks of blood on the thin piece of cloth as it moved from the hidden face and down to the woman's side, clenched in soft hands, trying to keep it out of sight.
As the kneeling follower and the little form were talking in hushed voices about someone in the crowd that was long gone, the high priest sensed that time was now growing short, as was his patience with the whole debacle of his plans. He could hear the landlady speak again, beckoning for him once more.
Maigio called out to the high priests with a name unused by commoners a disrespect in her voice; this time, she got more than she bargained for. The little robed man turned, fulfilling the landlady's wants and more.
Magio: 'Cheeky tone.' This woman has a name, and so do you... (Looking at the royal guard, then to the small priest, thumb in her chest.) Have you already forgotten me, "High Priest," or will your true name suffice, "Brucknell Van Huill II?" 'Condescending.' Or does the holy church of the "Luminarum" forget those who saved the village and the house of...
*RUFFLE OF A ROBE.*
The priest put up his slathered hand of old treasures, a gesture meant to cut the woman off as he began to take control of the situation that pressed on, talking into Magio's words cutting her off. His tone was clearly changing; it was now matching the woman's that held no reverence as the open palm moved back to his chin, arching to a long finger, not impressed at the antics in front of him but more amused than anything, twisting the atmosphere in his favour.
*TAP, TAP, TAP.*
Brucknell: If that is how you wish to play this... (Tapping his chin.)
Magio's and Brucknell's eye locking onto each other.
Brucknell: Yes, I remember you, especially those eyes and those flickers of false light in them, still not fading, I see. 'Pausing.' Even after all these years, you still haven't changed, have you, "Magionna." 'Confident.' In truth, I knew who you were from the very beginning, well before you opened that trap of yours or the stuttering mess of this man... (Glancing at the royal guard, then back to magio.) Ruffian is too kind a word for a lout like you, though I will not lower myself to your level in childish retorts any longer.
Magio paused, staring daggers at the uncouth attitude of the high priest, remembering that same face from all those years ago, still listening to the little man.
Brucknell: A pity, still the same little girl clinging onto trivial things like lost titles and past achievements, sucking at the teat of history! 'Eyes narrowing.' I would ask how your father is, but we both know the answer to that: 'Smirking.' "For we do not worry about the long-gone and dead, only the living." (Looking up at Magio, unperturbed by her height and posture.) Have I hit a nerve? 'Callous.' Or the proverbial nail on the head?
Hatred boiled in the woman's heart as she clenched her fists. A tiny shimmer underneath the sleeve appeared. The priest saw it from beneath the thin sleeve, moving his hand to his side and then clapping them together. The sliver of red light fizzled from underneath the sleeve of Magio's arm.
A tingling sensation lingered as her fist unclenched.
*SINGLE LOUD CLAP.*
Brucknell: As you said to this man for not pushing his luck, "wise decision." For not even you can go against the will of God or our Lord; all you can do is bend it, for the only thing that will break is you and you alone. (Back straight.) So I say this not as a man of "God," but as just a "man." "Don't push your luck, Lady Armella!" 'Forceful.' I hope you heed these words and don't repeat your father's foolishness. (Seeing Magio's arm's loosen.) "House of Armell" 'Confident.' If my memory serves me right... well, I am right, aren't I? (Tilting his head.)
Magio bit her lip, then let it go, the teeth not wanting to bite any further into the soft flesh, trying to speak in defiance instead, but failing, held in place by memories of old.
An unsettled memory sat in Magio's mind of when she was a child, mulling over the words "Don't push your luck, Armella!" and feeling this power over her that made her become a statue with only living ears and eyes, for if it weren't for her beating heart, she wouldn't have known if she was alive.
The priest carried on talking, cutting the desire of Magio's lips to open, forcing the woman who was bursting at the seams to speak out to be silent and to listen to the high priest's words.
Brucknell: Your silence holds more weight than your words ever could. Indeed... you are from the house of the fallen, criminals, and charlatans—still a house nonetheless, even if it's only in name, I suppose, even if you are the last. 'Tutting.' You might have played this "fool," but not "I." (Looking to the royal guardsmen.) I take it that she used her name to free them of the fated bonds they should so rightfully be wearing, using "that crest." and her "skill." 'Cold.'
The high priest looked over the royal guards, who were all nodding slowly, sensing them all to be in pain and discomfort, and back to Magio, piecing together his own puzzle of the events that transpired at the bar.
Brucknell: 'Sighing.' Still, you all did your job, even if the outcome wasn't what the "Lord" and "I" wished for. 'Pausing.' As for "your" accomplishments, "Magionna" I shall overlook this transgression on all parts for the Lord's sake... not my own. (Looking to the guards injuries and the unused chains.) We are not here for you after all, but if you keep this up, I will gladly make it about you, and not even the Lord will stand in my way, and you will be wearing those chains and more.
The atmosphere grew thick.
Brucknell: 'Calming.' That said, this is a day of truth and justice for "God" and our "Lord." (Pointing to the sky dramatically, then to ground.) The royal guard has told you why "they" are here. (Looking to the four adventurers, then the man nodding to the side.)
The captain, now off to the side shook his head up and then down, keeping silent, affirming the man's words.
Brucknell: (Glancing to the royal guard.) Glad to see that grover has no hold over your sense of movement... 'Furling his brow.'
The royal guard away from the high priest while Amanda, Feryn, Rache and Yervel looked to the crowd, growing in interest.
No longer holding her tongue in place or her head looking to the side like the man next to her, she knew she had heard the severity of their words before hand and the tally of crimes in the bar that would soon come to light, kicking her back into the fold, not wanting to pursue her own past any longer and free from the high priest's hold.
Magio spoke, determined in her words and the weight they held about someone she cared about.
Magio: Yeah... (Head lifting up.) He told us, alright. 'Boiling.' And I, for one, don't believe a fucking word of it, even if it were to come spewing from your mouth. 'Determined.' He would never do anything like that; you clearly have the wrong person... These four here are loyal to the guild through and through and I can put my name on the line for that. 'Fuming.' So is Ayrell. So you can stuff your allegations up his arse. (Looking at the royal guard.) They were all at the inn last night.
The man in armour puckered his cheeks upon hearing the words.
The high priest looked away until a little glimmer of hope allowed him to see a way out of the tension that flung back and forth.
The priest listened to Magio's, only fixated on the tall and slender young woman with brunette hair behind the prattling that fell on deaf ears, still compounding her belief in the person she had so much faith in, one word after another banging on his eardrums.
The small man squinted, focussing on a singular necklace—not the one in the young woman's hands or the other around her thin-toned neck, the chains and cord resting on the collar bone, then on her upper breast, nestled in the middle in an embrace of flesh—a holy symbol.
Brucknell: This will do nicely... 'Silently in his head.'
Brucknell looked at the young woman's conjoined hands holding a black oval stone, then to the near-bare chest, glancing over one, then to the other. One of a black, crudely chiselled stone different from the smooth stone in her hands, not as deep in darkness or its colour, and the other made of beaten brass, the dimples in the metal catching the light and the shadow, a tiny clear crystal almost resembling a chip of glass sat at the bottom of the nearly complete ring.
A trio of light, shadow, and darkness, all three necklaces playing against each other.
The main attraction for Brucknell was the thin brass chain running through the middle holy emblem where the two points tried to meet, imitating the priest's gesture on the podium. The high priest walked forward, pushing past the royal guard's lost position, forcing the man to move aside even further, the followers in tow with the robe now held up high.
The small old man was now standing in Magio's shadow, who was still speaking to him, until a hand shot up in response to the request for silence. The high priest, calmly pushing the malice growing within him, now let out the man who stood upon the podium.
Brucknell: I take it that you are a believer, my dear. (Nodding to the necklace.) What is your name? 'Warm.' I do not wish to muddle you up with the others; could it be Amanda by chance? 'Attentive.' I have a feeling it is, "God" dwells within you, does he not? (Lightly nodding his head up and down.) Speak; no harm will come to those who believe, I will honour the deal set upon you in the inn, in her name, of course, and your faith. (Glancing at Magio.)
Green eyes looked down at the softness being spoken to her, not realising her part in the great scheme of things and the flurry of questions that were overwhelming but comforting in how they were asked.
A cracked, soft voice cleared up.
Amanda: Yes... yes, it is and Yes I believe in the Luminarum, we all do? 'Frightened.' (Hand gripping tighter around the stone.) Magio is right. I know Ayrell wouldn't do those things that they said he did; none of us do. (Glancing at the royal guard, then the others behind.) We could never do anything like that; you have to believe us; we wouldn't hurt the Lord's treasure. 'Sincere.' We respect our Lord for everything he did for us as kids and the Luminarum. (Bowing her head.)
Brucknell listened to the words and looked at the other three, noticing they all had the same necklaces—one black stone and one brass—around their necks and the same determination in their eyes.
Feryn, Rache and Yervel inched forward, still keeping together, each speaking up, no longer lost in fear of the unknown, fuelled by the open words of their friend. First the violet, then crimson and blue soulful eyes looked at the high priest.
Yervel: She's right! 'Timid.'
Rache: He would never do anything like that, nor would any of us. This is a big mistake! 'Fiery.'
Feryn: None of us are even capable of that... We were all at the inn last night, we... (Stopping, realising something in his words.) Except for... 'Shocked.'
Brucknell, still smiling, heard and saw the young man halt himself, the other three going quiet, no longer confident in their words and actions, looking to Feryn.
*SOUNDS OF CARRIAGES GETTING CLOSER FROM AFAR.*
Brucknell: Yes... All but "One" I see, all but this "Ayrell." (Looking at Feryn then turning to the crowd, hearing something in the distance.) Well, we will know soon enough, won't we? If you are all true believers or liars in disguise. 'Smiling.' Pray it is the former, for she will know and the Lord himself will be here soon to begin the ritual. (Looking at the little cloaked form.)
As Magio took interest in the hidden little form, she felt an ominous atmosphere come from underneath the cloak, the feeling of something looking deep into her soul—a feeling she hadn't felt in a long time, not since she was a child, not since... the fall of her home.
Meanwhile, two guards hurried past the outskirts of the crowd, heading to the market street away from the commotion that now ended at the front to a new darkness about to rear its head.