DominionNES2

I'll be sending everyone a PM or mail with tentative stats for update 0, along with a local map. If the map location doesn't suit you, or you think you should be farther away from the indicated neighbors, please tell me.
I'll be asking questions to most of you regarding stats. Usually, that's about the battlefield spells your pretender and prophet start with (up to 3 each) and sometimes details about your units. Note that you don't have to have spellcasting gods and prophets, and your battlefield spells may be limited (immobile pretenders in particular). This can be compensated by your prophet 'blessing' troops.
I'll also need some city names and even kingdom names for those who didn't provide these.
Make sure to check the public stats, in case there's something you'd rather hide, we'll have to find a way to do that, knowing that I'd rather keep these public in order to reduce my own micromanagement.
Expect these PMs within 12h of this post. If you don't receive one, shout. It may mean I've jumped over your name in my list, my internet connection is down, I'm still be asleep, or I've burnt myself while cooking. Or something else, actually.
 
interested in joining, if you're still willing to accept me. I'll write a proposal soon, right now I'm thinking a Grigori-type nation led by a mostly-fallen angel and her companion/champion, Jack Giantslayer.

edit: sent proposal to old domnes1 email.
 
I mean FFH2 Grigori, a nation of naytheists in a world filled with meddlesome gods who're led by a fallen angel. Cassiel would make a great pretender!
 
I remember playing as the Grigori in a FFH NES.

I should probably put something here... so prepare to fear...

Spoiler Emeseran! :
Plague_rat.jpg
 
If you'll have me, I have an idea half-formed.
 
Ezio the Unseen

Form: Ezio takes the form of a fox with an orange and white coat. He prefers to remain reclusive, and allows the king of Falaxan to use his abilities in his stead as an avatar. Anyone descended from the farmer king can tap in to Ezio's abilities, but to do so without the authority of the crown could be lethal (ie the king can use the Pretender abilities).

Start: The world, in a region mostly forested.

Armies: The region of Falaxan is a heavily forested region, with plenty of farmland, wood, but little metal. Consequently, the Falaxan military is composed of massed light units, especially infantry. Falaxan archers have been the stuff of legends, and the lightly armed swordsmen are talented fighters. They don't have a dedicated cavalry force outside of bands of horse archers and mounted skirmishers. Due to the lack of heavy units en masse, military tactics usually involve deceiving, flanking, and generally outmaneuvering the enemy rather than having a straight-up fight. The champions of this strategy are an elite group of soldiers known as the Brethren of Ezio, who specialize in subterfuge, sabotage, and general mayhem behind enemy lines. A standing army is present, but conscription proves very effective in raising an army.

Religion: None organized. As Ezio prefers his seclusion, he isn't crazy about any organized worship of him. The little worship he does receive comes from small, private ceremonies led by his disciples, who live lives of solitude like their patron. Instead of faith being generated as worship towards the Pretender, it is instead drawn from honor shown towards his avatar, the king of Falaxan. Honor shown towards the king and the nation as a whole is equivalent to faith in Ezio's eyes, and can be substituted easily.

Dominion: Ezio's abilities manifest in atmospheric illusion and alteration magic. For instance, shadows can be conjured to hide movement, enemies can be frightened with conjured images of fearsome beasts (or tricked into turning on each other), and armor can be corrupted and weakened in preparation for a well-aimed arrow.

Prophet: The king of Falaxan (at this time, Hector Alacron II) serves as Ezio's chief prophet like his forefather's before him. Hector essentially serves as Ezio's avatar, using Ezio's magic in his stead. Hector II is looked upon with favor by his people, but he is discontent with living in the shadow of his deceased father and seeks to prove himself.

Spoiler :
The faith system for Ezio is kind of weird, so I can change it if you want. Just to restate, Ezio is a reclusive Pretender who allows the king of Falaxon to channel his abilities. Faith for Ezio is exchanged instead for honor towards the king. If the king is incompetent, cruel, or generally a bad king, for instance, honor towards the king will drop as it would for a pretender. On the other hand, if the king is honorable, kind, or wise, then honor for him will rise as it would for the pretender.
Spoiler :
tldr: faith in Pretender=respect for King
 
Hero/Religion: Pontifex

The greater the victim, the greater the power of the Sacrificial Magic.

In truth, the Pontifex had not sacrificed his parents in order to open the gates. A simple slaughter of his loved ones would never have accomplished what he had set out to do.

Instead, he sacrificed his very hope of salvation with the Pancrator and his Faith in her in order to do it. The people of the Eldergates had demanded that he bring her back. What was he supposed to do?

And his new Goddess that emerged from the Gates... was she truly worth it? He was happy with her. Or was he happy? He wasn't so sure if what he thought was his own anymore.

His heart had stopped beating when he accepted his status as her messenger. His hands grew cold and his eyes lifeless. Even so, he could move. He could speak. He could serve. There are many that feared his new Goddess, understandably. She had told him that so many had accepted her with open arms before. Why could not everyone do the same? She asked him. Why could they not accept the gift of eternal rest?

Pontifex explained to her that not all human beings desired rest, for they feared that it may grow boring. Samael had nodded and conceded that point, at least. She could be reasoned with. She was not a mindless being that just sought out to cause death.

And now he had to pray. He prayed for all the souls that he unleashed the curse of death upon and begged his Goddess to give them just one more day, a month, a year. Hundreds of thousands begged for her to lift up the veil of death that had fallen across the land. Sometimes she accepted. Sometimes, she left the humans to their own devices. Hundreds died each year. But while life was tough and short, it was full of excitement and riches, just as Samael promised. She opened up her knowledge of hidden treasures under the earth and all the men and women of Ermor could partake in this small gift.

For now, the Pontifex and his new Cult of Death preached the new Faith. To stave off death of the lands, they had to worship it. Otherwise, surely Samael's powers, unleashed upon the world, would go wild and destroy everything that the Pantocrator had created, or at least plunge it into eternal stagnation. It was a small irony that the citizens would just have to accept. He was cursed. All the citizens of Ermor were cursed. They were cursed for clutching to an ancient hope and meddling with things that they had not fully understood. He was espescially cursed for daring to presume that the sacrifice of his Faith would bring back a being powerful as the Pantocrator. Samael was their punishment, he was sure, but he accepted her with open arms now.

There was comfort in doing so.
 
Stats and starting positions sent to everyone.
If you didn't receive them, ask me. If you see some question marks that aren't explained in the message, ask me. I've been a bit interrupted while sending them so I might have forgotten something.
I'd like feedback on starting position, army composition and spells mostly.
Once I have all that, I can write my mods for battle simulation. Right now, stuff that I worked on has already changed, so I wait a bit.

Anyone who hasn't submitted a pretender can still do it. I won't tweak the map as much nor move nations after this feedback, however.
Map/starting location change requests can be made up to Friday.
Changes to armies/spells should be done as fast as possible.

Hopefully, I'll post update 0 on saturday.
 
THE TARDINESS OF THE EARTHLY CHILDREN

No. 1:
Priest Marfaeth safeguarded his victims of ears in an upheld ceremonial being. He spoke to them in tongues and cast them in awe. Thus started the farce what made believe will.
”But no, dear child, importance solely relies in what you believe. And as is, your beliefs are false ones lest ructylic. Cast yourself into ructyle thought and I have you mind it vainly. Gather in hands, I shall have you connected in peace. Part those once again, I bring you cleanse. For damned are those that engage in hand without my command.”

No. 2:
The earthly protester rose in his crowd and demeaned all to cattle:
”I fordamnate your chatter; thus we are not ructylic or able to see ructyle; you speak in ructylicty and ructylicsomeness, I shard you in pieces and whole will never whole make. What is whole to be searched for when we part in so many pieces? Where are cities when denizens dwell in caverns solitary? None, cities are not! Building buildings, building false lies! We foredamnate ructylicty and ructylicsomeness, find your bastardness in foul mouth!”

No. 3:
The virgin mother took her unborne child from her stomach and clubbered at Marfaeth till his death ran along his corpse.

No. 4:
The crowd preyed on the slain: First they took out his eyes with fingers' force and mashed them in flat before eating slices like flat bread. They broke their own teeth in sharp joints from fists, and took them to carve out the slain slowly. The legs were devoured first, then the shins were buried in the virgin mother. Blood never left the temple floor.

No. 5:
Axxatlatl ìnnùnnìnù ìxxa ùnnaxxatl
Tlectl ìnnù axxa ùnnaxxa lectl tlectl tleclì
Brrrìxxatl ùnnùn nùnùnì axxa lectbrrraxxatlectlùllìnnù fùx

No. 6:
There are seven accounts of human devouring.
I. None shall eat nothing.
II. Love is a selfish gene.
III. Eat breeds love.
IV. Devouring is selfish.
V. Selfish is goodth.
VI. Goodth is goal of human will, or what they name it.
VII. Humans are slaves to themselves, their devour.

No. 7:
Enslave yourself, let not the rest touch upon your fine chest or fairness. Beautiful is this world of violence. Listen to your deceitful natural decapitation that slowly removes you. Ah, such askfulness in the human heart, let us axxatlectl brrr. Ìnnaxxa rrrùxfaxxaìnù ìnnì nìnnìfì ùfìxxarrr. Axxa and none shall take away our beauty. Truth comes only from inside you to you, and the seed inside you is Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl. Listen to him lovingly. Best wishes, your prophet.

~ o ~

Pretender name: Fùxaxxatlìnnùnìnùtlectlìbrrrìxxatl

Physical aspect: He's a buried squid, but has overtaken priest Maerfarth shortly after the preacher's death. The accounts of insanity rising in the town of Myrde written in the above book are all true. The growth of misdirected will happened because the recently built temple was founded just above the squid; its mere presence cast violence and malevolence onto the peaceful town. Currently, the avatar is Maerfarth's corpse; well, rather, of course, the bones of his with flesh salved from corpses reattached as replacement parts of a walking abomination. The squid is a perpetual replacement of Maerfarth's head. As long as the squid's will remains alive in the insanity of its servants, its avatar Maerfarth will inevitably resurrect in strange places, whether that be sewers, ponds, ditches, clouds, within trees or even below beds or inside impregnated creatures. This, of course, is a lucky feat since Maerfarth is often sacrificed to his servants' hungry hulsters.

Powers: Ìnnùnnìxxatl, or Maerfarth, call the unity what you will, generally casts strange reactions into its peers; if one stares at it, he or she will grow in love with it and then grow insane from its mere presence. It is also often sacrificed by its servants, only to grow out again strange places or even fall from the sky. The squid grows in power from each insane person in the world, especially those close to it; but it will die without the affliction of its insanity. Luckily, the insanity naturally spreads.

General provincial nonsense: Myrde is a small town, although the craze rapidly infected the region like a plague. It used to be a smaller kingdom practicing ructylic faith, the meaning of which lost when its denizens ate the kingdom's books. Currently, the area is poor and has no practical economy - people in that state of mind don't produce - and the savage humans making up the population have no direction or intention to do so. There is a cultic college of mages, the Mindblossoms, a sect of mages able to somewhat control the insanity of the squid, that have survived in the regional capital Uthrarthe's sewers for centuries before the squid's rise, but since the city fell into ruin they have transferred seating to Myrde where the squid currently resides. There they preach for it to conquer all but spare them from mindlessness. In short, there are city ruins everywhere and Myrde where the mage's college is the local government. The region is densely populated with crazed inhabitants, or the standing army.

Military: There is practically only three sorts of armies in Myrde's military. First off, the directionless rabble-gang of mad peasants whose only true defense is the infecting insanity that will always spread when they collide with enemies - also, the intimidating appearance of the rabble-gang isn't a nice sight to behold; self-carving, nude, baby-throwing humans using dead dog heads as clubs are deeply disturbing to even the most well-trained army. Secondly, there is a more elegant force in another sort of direction-less rabble-gang: However, these carry maddening flags and paintings of the squid, shout out foul words from their holy book, The Tardiness, cry out the squid's constant talking in their heads, only to assault even further on the enemy's mind and spirit. And lastly, Mindblossoms sometimes join in battle and utilize their mind abilities to control the enemy generals - this usually robs them of their own self-control, however, casting them into mad rabble like the rest of the army, forever robbing one Mindblossom the ability to stay as one, or even be sentient. The craze instigated by all of these parties usually consists of suicide, attacking things in random fury, or suddenly falling in love with someone from the enemy army.
 
Stats and starting positions sent to everyone.
If you didn't receive them, ask me. If you see some question marks that aren't explained in the message, ask me. I've been a bit interrupted while sending them so I might have forgotten something.
I'd like feedback on starting position, army composition and spells mostly.
Once I have all that, I can write my mods for battle simulation. Right now, stuff that I worked on has already changed, so I wait a bit.

Anyone who hasn't submitted a pretender can still do it. I won't tweak the map as much nor move nations after this feedback, however.
Map/starting location change requests can be made up to Friday.
Changes to armies/spells should be done as fast as possible.

Hopefully, I'll post update 0 on saturday.
Okay. Sent my spells/weaponry and whatnot.
 
I think only heroes can use Magickal abilities in this game, but I guess he never specified that we can't not use Mind Blast.
 
I think only heroes can use Magickal abilities in this game, but I guess he never specified that we can't not use Mind Blast.
I have a Psicorps that controls Mephits but is to weak to control anything of higher intelligence then that. They also can't combine their powers.
 
Taernsvwyn: The Autumn People

Long ago, there was the Van. And then they died. The exact cause is still debated to this day, as few dozen Van that still live rarely speak of these events. As well, the remaining tales are hard to interpret, for they need be filtered of propaganda, mythology and ego. Despite these difficulties, a general history has been devised.

Long ago, the Vanir, the humans and an apparently extinct race called dwarves, lived in the north, within a firmly established realm, ruled by the Old Gods. Overtime, the Old Gods dwindled, each eventually passing his or her power to the rest, until only one remained. The last, the Thundered ruled for many years, until his dominion faced a final enemy. Here, the stories diverge wildly, with claims of conspiracy and betrayal, demonic hordes and Chaos itself. However, the most likely story is that either that rival nations conspired to trick the Van into vulnerability, or schemes by everyone (including the Van) left the Van in an unwinnable war.

In truth, the why matters little, only the effect. In a final move, the death-curse of the Van, the Thundered traveled to a shrine to a now forgotten power, and used it to spill his blood: the blood of the Old to release the First. The blood that fell upon the stone became the form of the World Eater, which destroyed the both enemy and most of the Van, consuming even the firmament itself, until the land had ceased to exist at all.

The survivors fled, travelling with the humans of an annexed land, conquered by the same foe who destroyed Vanheim, led by the Lady and her champion, the Red. Eventually, they settled in their new home, Taernheim.


Taernsvwyn: The Autumn Vale of Flowers
Tarnsvwyn is a broad valley centred by the Lilies Flow, a broad, slow river named for a many lilies found growing along the edges and within the marshes flanking it. The lands south of the river is a dense mixed forest, with good soil and ample game, however the forest is fairly sparsely populated, as old taboos against cutting the trees remain as a cultural bias. It a believed by some that the forest may have been inhabited by fae or some such, but no evidence remains today. Today, the Vale lies well within the boundaries of the world, making any such encounters with such being unlikely.

North of the river the forest thins, transforming into plains cut by bands and groves of trees. This region is home to the majority of the population, mostly living in small homesteads or farming villages. The land along the river is rich and deep, however certain areas are prone to flooding. Further north, the land clear further as it rises into hills, of which only the foothills have been claimed by the Taern, and is mostly used for herding.

(If possible, I would like for my land to be near the mouth of the river, flowing into either a large lake or the sea.)

Taernheim:
The capitol and largest settlement, Taernheim occupies a rocky island raising from the centre of the river, height enough to avoid flooding and connected to both shore by a bridge that crosses the island, the Broughsvern, said to have been created by the Lady herself.


The People:
The Taern are primarily human, mostly of moderate build with brown to blond hair, with dark red being somewhat common, usually with blue or grey eyes. Only a few houndred Vanir remain, and their species is doomed. While Vanir can live centuries, and they do have some children, there simply are not enough for most to consider them a viable species anymore. As a result, most of the Vanir live in a section of Taernheim, protected and separate from the human population.

The Culture/Religion:
To the Taern, eternity through deeds is the most important value. The Taern believe that reality is shaped by actions and deeds, and that no one can truly been said to have lived without shaping reality thusly. The fame itself can vary; after all, not everyone can be a famed hero or legendary smith, but they should still strive to be known for action or event, for example, a farmer winning a vegetable contest at a fair. This emphasis on fame has had its downsides, such as people engaging in criminal acts when they feel that they have no other path to fame, but a more recent aspect of their culture has begun to change this.

The other key cultural value of the Taern is Value: the Taern often claim to know the value of every object, concept and idea. This is most heavily displayed in the legal system, where any crime must have a greater or equal compensation. An example: a man who takes a life may be punish by being forbidden from engaging in his career again, or even have his name stricken from records and culture.


The Lady
Also known as the Blessed, the Blessing, the Queen of Flowers, the Rose and Guardian, the Lady is said to have been the daughter of the Thundered, and the reason that any of the Van escaped the World Eater. The Lady is usually seen in a rather unassuming form, a human woman of somewhat short of height, with brown hair and one blue-grey eye, the other hazel. The Lady is most often associated with life and growth, but also to a smaller degree with cold, which is believed to be a holdover from the days of Vanheim.

Hero/Prophet: The Red.
The Red is a Vanir man, solid of build, but beyond that most know little. The Red is said to have once been the bodyguard of the Lady, and a loyal soldier to her father. These days, he rarely removes his armor, which, along with his sword, was said to have been forged by the master smiths of the now extinct dwarves. He is a powerful force in battle, a trait that has been displayed many times, but as has been shown in a few cases, he is still only one being, with no more magic than some simple illusions.
 
I think only heroes can use Magickal abilities in this game, but I guess he never specified that we can't not use Mind Blast.

Yes, only heroes can use magic. Mind blast IS magic.
However, in this particular case, it could be allowed, with a cost and limitations, because:
1/the pretender is immobile, doesn't cast battle spells or participate in battle itself, it only spreads its dominion.
2/the prophet is raving mad and also very little battlefield magic
3/the whole nation is sacrificing its sanity in order to fuel insanity, so it can work as sacrifice magic to a point
4/without such powers, the army list can be summed up to : a bunch of useless rabble that would die at 10 vs 1 without inflicting any loss if they attacked half-decent archers in a half-decent defensive position.
Even then, mind blasts would be manifestations of the pretender's faith magic, which means it would be using up some of its faith power and not be doing something else. It's also likely not to work outside the pretender's dominion.
 
I have a Psicorps that controls Mephits but is to weak to control anything of higher intelligence then that. They also can't combine their powers.

You don't count, you elemental-using non-human filled nation.

And why can't you use normal method of training the Mephits instead with your fire-proof beings?

@lord: Now LDi's Compromises may be really harsh but... mindblast!!!! Freespawn troops!!! (I don't think you really should pay to get bunch of rabble... I think they just come on their own) it almost makes it seem as if not having gold because everyone's batshit insane and frolicking and making love to each other (while eating then) and killing babies is alright.

Just make sure you Stay as far away as possible from me. Or else skelly spam.
 
In an average-sized cabin an average distance from an average-sized town on an average-sized river, something was wrong. Or right, I suppose.

A man, dressed in a mix of leather and woven cloth, sits next to a cot. Beside him was a bowl of hot water and towels, a pair of scissors, a pan of ash, and a hot cup of herbs.

Before him is his wife, in the throes of the consumption.

How hard must his love burn! For him to stay beside her as she vomitted, first bile, then blood!

How hard must his heart be, to stay there while she becomes weaker and weaker! Unwilling to listen to her pleas of a merciful death!

How hard must his skull be, to herd his children into the barn, and turn to ME for prayer?

Me? Prayer? Hah!

I can feel as he drew strange shapes from distant memories, and spoke strange words from distant men. I can feel as his faith slowly channeled towards me.

I can feel stronger.

I can feel as he called my name. Or more correctly, what they said my name was. "Oh! Kind Healer! Oh Lonely Lord! Turn your attention to my pain!" he cries.

I can feel her blood boiling as she struggled against her disease.

I can feel his pleas and his lamentations as he sees his wife fading.

Exquisite, this scene.

One that is repeated dozens, if not hundreds of times across the land.

Wait.

WAIT!

He is taking the scissors.

The scissors!

Ah! What rumors must Launar have spread!

I can feel... I can feel the flow of his blood.

He dedicated his finger in my name.

MY NAME!

I can feel the finger fall, twitching, into the center of the circle.

Into the center of the circle.

What.

What faith.

What sacrifice.

What exquisite show he has put out for me.

Perhaps...

Perhaps I might give him what he wants.

I could give him it...

He certainly earned it...

Perhaps...

Not.
 
So, uh, how important are stories to this NES? Because if it is at all possible I would rather write more direct things, like miniature essays presenting my society as straightforward as possible. Full-blown narratives I do not have the time for, though.
 
Dabbler

The girl sits under the trees, her belongings and experiments scattered around her. She is deep in thought, a cheap pencil pressed to her lips as she pauses in her writing. It is a crude notebook, with leaves made from salvaged paper, poor quality or scrap parchment, bark and fabric, bound together with nails, string and two pieces of wood. Despite this, it is well cared for, the writing and spelling neat enough to suggest an above average degree of education. The girl herself in young, likely not yet ten years aged, and dressed as typical for a daughter of a freeman; dully dyed wools and linens, however with rather large boy’s boots on her feet. She also shows an uncommon focus and intelligence, which would be quickly proven to any who realized what she was doing.

She finishes writing, then reaches down to unwrap a piece of last night’s pie, then bites off about half of it, chewing but not swallowing as she puts the rest down. Then she closes her eyes, and seems to think or pray deeply. If someone of the write sensitivity were to be close enough, they would feel the small change and charge in the air. After a moment, she opens her eyes, then seems to stop and think more lightly. A moment passed, then her face screws up in disgust, spitting the wad of chewed pie from her mouth. She rinses her mouth with water from the skin beside her before taking the remaining portion into her mouth. As soon as she does, the expression of tasting something awful returns, causing her to spit the food onto the ground. After she has rinsed away the taste, she looks to the small stream gurgling a few feet from her, focusing on the water. Seconds after, the water stills, ripples and bulges becoming still, as if frozen. It last for only a few seconds before resuming, but she seems satisfied.

“Oohh, Astrid, you clever girl.” She says, writing furiously in her book, The ablelity to enjoy motherses pie for 1 day: held a streme for a few secends.

Upon finishing, she sits back for a minute, playing with one of her braids idly. Abruptly, she freezes, slowly pulling her braid before her eyes, thoughtfully. The blond hair often earned her compliments, and a braid missing would surely be noticed...

Reaching a decision, she sharply grabs an old pair of sewing scissors from her basket, moving quickly before she could change her mind. The dull blades take several seconds and attempts to cut through even the thin braid, but finally the last hair parts, and she drops it to the ground. Again, the feel of power, now slightly stronger. She gazes around herself before her eyes settle on the small flower that she had earlier sprouted from a few drops of blood from the now wrapped cut on her fingertip. She closes her eyes, placing her hand beside the sprout, eyes closed. She does not open them as she feels something brush against her hand and arm, not until the weird charge has gone.

The small sprout has bloomed into a modest bush, perhaps two dozen flowers upon it; flowers like the previous one save larger and more richly coloured. She smiles, cupping one to her nose, drinking in the beautiful perfume. She barely notices that the severed hair is gone, leaving only the scrap of leather her mother had tied to the end. She eagerly takes up her pencil and book again, writing eagerly.

Locke of hare: small flower into bush of flowers, biger and more colourfuler and smellier.

Satisfied, she looks over the previous entries, and closes the book, putting it away in her basket. She then gathers her other belonging before rising to her feet and begin the walk back to her family’s farm. The small cut on her finger would be easy explain, as she could say she caught it on a stick while picking the mushrooms in the pouch in her basket. The hair would be harder to do so, but with luck no one would notice until her bath tonight, and she could conceal the missing hair when she took her braids out. And then, she simply had to think of out what to try next time.
 
The man sat on the floor as he prayed that the phoenix would be merciful. The door burst open and the city guard ran into the room aiming spears at him. Their towering Captain walked up. "You will be coming with us criminal." the captain said as he lifted the man up like a ragdoll. They had found him. He attempted to squirm away but he could not beat the captain's elven strength. The man gave up and sighed. "You know I'm the decoy right?" "We will see what the phoenix has to say. He did witness the crime after all." The captain next ordered his assorted group of Humans, Elves, and Dwarves to garrison the building. He picked five of them and they took the man to the phoenix.

"My excellency, this is the man we found in Edrick's home." Captain Bornhald stated to the phoenix. "He was praying for mercy when we slammed through the door."

"Captain, this is not the man that killed Mael. This man is innocent. I hope you garrisoned the building." "I did my lord." "Good. I'm coming to help. This man told you the truth from the start and he will live. Now, down to the business of finding Edrick. Your party was the last to come back. He was not in the taverns, not in his house, the gates to the tunnels have been closed, nowhere near the central keep... he is in the city and close too. I can feel it. Somewhere where we would never find that Councillor... hmmm... I know! The temple. Tell the priests and priestesses that you have been sent by me and are allowed to pull their hoods down. I'll come. We will close off all the doors when we get there."

At the temple, 200 of the city guard surrounded the main temple blocking exits as 100 more began the search. "Here is a map showing all of the hidden corridors. He will know about these corridors and I already have the soldiers that were guarding the basement entrance to the keep charging down that semi-secret hallway. He knows he is trapped now and will do anything to escape."

"Hello my lord, what brings you to the temple this day?" Burner asked smoothly. She then noticed the soldiers. "Why are the soldiers here sir?" "They are here to find a murderer. We have decent cause to believe he is in the church. Our evidence is that it is the least likely place we would have found him. Already searched everywhere else. We are searching for Councillor Edrick. This will only take 30 minutes." "I'll help my lord. It is important that we catch this murderer." Burner said smoothly as she left for the priests chambers.

With the help of the priests, they searched the temple. They found bodies of priest and priestess alike as they moved deeper into the temple and the guards found Edrick curled into a corner. They surrounded him and the Phoenix arrived. "What low will you not stoop to?" the Phoenix asked as he kicked Edrick - breaking ribs. "You have been caught with your hands covered in red blood. You have proven yourself guilty by your actions. You have obviously murdered all of the priests and priestesses we found on the ground so you will have 5 times the punishment of murder. You will not hang."

"So I will die then?" asked Edrick. He then looked at the Phoenix's face and clued in. "No... NO! Don't do to me what I think you are going to do!" "I can and will." replied the phoenix as he triple cursed the fallen Councillor. You will live in the dungeons. Take him to the dungeons. See that he is fed. His living will be a more just punishment then a quick death."

Spoiler OOC :
Curse = RPing spell that puts a perma-heated grain of sand into the victim's stomach. Over several years it burns it's way to the victim's feet. Every month it gets a tiny bit more painful so the victim will not get used to it... Think about how painful a white-hot rock in your stomach would be.
 
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