Jackpot
um Pontif Elim freed Saverous
but i cant understand the rest of ur question
something to do with thralls being freed????
Also if i remember correctly, Pontiff Elmin was a Pontiff of Junil?
Kael's own words
The short version of the story is that when the priest is killed that summoned the demon that is possessing Saverous, Saverous is freed. Then we have the following (which is the opening chapter of the Tale of Saverous):
Quote:
I was the Burnt Priests thrall for 17 years. A mindless creature, my will completely subjected to his. No more than a puppet who played out the darkest of his desires. He had thralls for many purposes, mine was to kill.
A thrall is not unfeeling, just unchoosing. I felt exactly what he wanted me to. If he wanted me to feel remorse, I did. If he wanted me to delight in the pain and suffering I caused, then I did. Most of the time, because he didn't care, I felt nothing.
He was killed just over three years ago. I stood in the middle of a Bannor swordsman phylaynx, a mountain of dead bodies around me. Easily 3' foot taller than the largest soldier I was an unstoppable green giant. Glowing runes covered my body, making me stronger, making my skin harder than stone, his power coursing through me.
The moment he died I had my first real thought since the day he found me, it was one of confusion. The massive obsidion cudgel I wielded, that was always in my hand, was suddenly so heavy. It was covered in gore and blood, its sharp edges glistening. The end dipped toward the earth. I wondered if I should exert more force to hold it up or grab it with both hands, that was my first real thought.
After 17 years even a simple decision is paralyzing. He had been killed, in that instant his conjurered legions returned to their remote worlds. The magic that strengthened me failed and my mind was free. A cry of triumph went up from the armies of the Bannor, cheering by men granted the gift of life on a day most thought would be their last. And I stood only blankly staring at my heavy club.
I was chained, dragged from the battlefield and kept under close guard by men waiting for any excuse to kill me. But they didn't need the chains, what was I going to do? Did they think I could jump up and run out of the camp, tear a tent pole from the ground and attack a guard with it? The choices, the options were overwhelming. I felt my bladder growing slowly strained and then the warmth of my own urine spilling on my legs. I just sat and waited for the voice that commanded me to return.
For all of their purported devotion to honor the armies of Bannor would have killed me had it not been for a diminutive herbalist named Pontif Elim. The single dissenting voice, he claimed I was another victim of the Burnt Priest. Even a greater victim than those slautered at Prespur, those the army strove to avenge. He claimed I was not dangerous.
For weeks he cared for me, feeding me, giving me water. The only way at first was for him to command me to drink it, yelling and screaming he could force me to swallow. That was the limit of his control over me. My mind sought a voice to lead it, and with all his energy he was able to get me to swallow, to keep me from dying. I wanted to follow, but my mind wanted the return of the Burnt Priests voice.
In time he could have controlled me. In a few weeks he didn’t have to scream as long or as loud. I could have been an automoton again without any magic at all. But then he stopped telling me what to do. He sat the food in front of me and I stared at it. I was starving and I wanted him to tell me to eat it so badly. My feelings had returned, my desires were slowly coming back, but I still couldn't do anything.
The first few times he had to break down and tell me to eat the food. But each time he waited a little longer, each time I grew hungrier. Until finally I slowly, incredably slowly, reached out and picked up the piece of cheese in my hand. I held it unbelieving, my head lost with the concept of getting the fist sized piece of cheese into my mouth, my stomach screaming for it. And I did it. I raised it to my mouth and ate.
Pontif jumped and screamed. The tiny mans white robes and beard bounced randomly as he cheered. He lept and hugged me, it was to much for my throbbing head and I shut down again.
He struggled to maintain his composure the next time I ate. Standing as far from me as he could in the cramped barn he had converted to my home he watched in glee as I ate nearly half a cooked chicken.
Then he began moving the food around. He had always set it right in front of me, on the closest side of faded red tack box I used for a table. Then he started moving it away. Again my mind was overwhelmed by the decisions. But in time I got used to this as well.
One day he had set the food far enough away that I had to crawl to get to it. I had done it a few times before, it was a slow process but I picked it up relatively easily. But on this day, after I crawled to the food I just sat and stared at it. For almost two hours I stared at the cut of crusted bread. Pontif watched, afraid I had suffered another setback on such a minor part of the task. But after 2 hours I reached out and picked up a furry caterpillar that had crawled onto it. Setting it carefully aside I then reached and ate the bread. That was the day I truly awoke.
- The Tale of Saverous, Act I, Chapter I
