<jaw drops>

The Dawn saw Azaeli rather unrested, and a knock at the door of her room forced her from her half slumber. Dawn's fingers already crept into the room and motes of dust spiraled in the early rays of light.

Azi's hair was matted on one side, and her head ached a little from her lack of rest.

She threw on some clothes to preserve her modesty, and opened the door a crack, expecting Jashen to be there.

Instead it was the innkeeper, with a mug of hot tea and a parcel under one arm.

"Sorry to disturb you miss" he said, trying very hard not to let his eyes roam to the tiny patch of exposed leg beneath Azi's coverings "But this was to be brought up to you urgent like. There was instructions to give you some hot tea too. The messenger was a little Saracen man, but he's off to the Yeardly's place in quite a hurry, so I 'ad to give it you myself." He smiled in what he hoped was an unarming way, since the youn paladin looked non too impressed.

"Thank you" said Azi, doing the rather awkward dance of getting the parcel and tea without emerging from behind her door. She closed the door firmly, and then put the key in the lock.

She sipped the tea gratefully, for it relieved the dry throat of waking, and it's hot fumes revived her somewhat. The Parcel was wrapped in cloth and fastened with a pin of the League. She undid it carefully, and unwrapped the bundle. Inside she found a piece of parchment and a slim tome.

The tome was charred a little down one side, but mostly undamaged. It's leather cover was inscribed with arcane etchings, proclaiming it to be a book of spells.

The parchment, hastily flattened out, was written with a very shakey hand, scrawling across the page with no heed for neatness. It read:

"Dear Azi forgive this note but I am in desperate need. I am entrustiung this to your care, for I know you are most skilled in these matters" The next line was unreadible until "...of Sorcerors spells, specifically my curse. I beg you a short return to your wizardly ways in order to find out more.

Yours in need,

Crispian Pontiff"

There was no mention of what she had to look for, or who had delivered it. But could this tome unlock the mystery of Crispian's Curse?

Azi shivered slightly and set the mug on the little night table without taking her eyes off of the note. It was Crispain's hand indeed, she remembered his to be shakey and a bit less legible than she was used to. She lowered herself to sit on the bed, resting the tome on her lap.


"The messenger was a little Saracen man," the innkeep had said. Could it have been Achou? But if this was such an important message, why didn't Crispian have Tannir deliver it? Her fingers played with the edge of the bookcover, and she sipped from the mug again. She was certain if Crispian had indeed wished her help, he would have sent someone he trusted with the parcel. But perhaps Tannir had been busy on an errand? Jashen had said that the squire was sent often to watch Arcalan..


She set the tome on the night table and pulled her knees up under her chin, sipping the hot brew. Her eyes never left the tome, its charred cover, its ragged pages...She had read about cursed books, she knew full well the risks...and why had Crispian not given it to her himself? Surely if the note was true, he would have been excited enough to sit and watch her decipher its contents..


But it was sealed with the blue chevron and tower that she had come to associate with the warmth and friendship of the League. And Crispian was a busy man, she was certain he was probably just too busy with matters of the League to deliver it himself. If it could help him break the curse... she had sworn to do anything he asked of her in order to help. She imagined herself being the one who could lift his burden, and a smile stretched across her lips.


Azi slid the tome from the table and slipped a finger under the cover, setting down her mug slowly. A familiar tingle ran through her as the ancient magic of the tome touched her.

OOC- Alittle out of order, this comes before Toorc's first post


Crispian was crafting in Camelot. He had given up on trying to even be focused enough to hunt after the last several days of constant headaches. Ale had brought some relief, but generally, he was just happy to not be overly surly with anyone, when that could be achieved. He had returned to working on weapons, in mithril metal as much as possible. He also noticed that it seemed few if any were willing to work in Iron or Steel, so he did some work in that as well, when citizens called for it.

He had decided to take a break from the work and entered the Guild Hall. The Banner of the League and those of her allies hung from the walls. Several finished tables had been placed within by those who crafted in wood, and there was much evidence of traffic, large mud tracked on the floor. Along one wall hung the emblemed cloaks of those recently left, Kromly, Graid, Leftie and others. The roster of the League was updated and lately it seemed that more were leaving than coming. Darnyk had retired, focusing on his ministries, and Achou too had left.

Crispian waved greetings to Ceowyr, Nalwein, Alios, Iphemiar, and Oakelif. Many hails were traded. Arcalan, the Avalonian Cabalist, was perched atop a stool in studies after returning from her recent foray into the Falls.

“Hail all, Nydori called as she entered. Many paused in their work to greet her as she shook out her cloak. “I always feel as though when I say ‘Hail’ to ye all, ye stop what yer doin’! No need for that!”

Oakleif frowned. “Not at all Nydori!” he said as she settled herself on a bench. Arcalan smiled her sickly sweet smile to Nydori.

A young woman in burnished plate entered the hall and proceeded directly to were Crispian sat. She curtseyed graceful and removed her helm. Azi smiled. “Milord!” she cried out in joy at seeing him again, much of her concerns addressed at seeing Crispian in evident good health. Azi grinned widely at the expression of sheer surprise on Crispian’s face as he looked at her.

“AZI!?” he exclaimed, surprised as seeing her kitted out like a full warrior. The plate hauberk was well crafted, as were the leggings and arms pieces. A great sword was across her back, the hilt showing much evidence of use to Crispian’s seasoned eye. It was very evident that she was comfortable with it as well. “Did you freeze a guard or something?” he asked in disbelief.

Azi grinned and nodded, turning about so that Crispian could see her fully. “Is that how I look, milord?” she asked around her spreading grin. To see the seasoned armsman taken by surprise was a bit of a thrill to her, for she had longed for this moment for some time now.

Crispian shook his head in disbelief as he looked at her, Wizard, friend, and on one occasion, savior. “Well, ye are a wizard!” he said, “A fine ice wizard, I might add!” he added as he set his mug of ale to one side, very aware that Azi would notice it.

She shook her head. “Not any longer, friend,” she said, settling at the table where Crispian had been at work on the League rolls of membership. No one else in the hall seemed to have noticed Azi’s entrance, or were not giving any not to another plate clad fighting woman, for there were many in the League.

“WHAT?” Crispian gasped in surprise. The fullness of what Azi was talking about began to register on him. “What did you do?”

She looked a bit sheepish as she started to explain. “I have taken up the sword,” she said quietly, “as my mother and father before me,” she paused a moment. “And as I was always meant to and as I always had dreamed of.” Her fine blue eyes met his redden gray eyes and held them, not in defiance or anger, but in a measured meeting.

Crispian sat stunned as he listened to her. He recalled a conversation long ago about how even the touch of her hand to a sword blade would set Azi to trembling, how she would always drop the blade. Then r he recalled the more recent tales of her foray into Hibernia to meet, and ultimately defeat the curse of the blade, and how that had played out into even larger events. The ruination of an Elf Enchanter who was building his own mindless army from the peoples of Albion, Hibernia, and Midgard. And also, the valiant death of Azi’s mother in that same fight.

His jaws moved soundlessly for a moment as he grasped the entirety of it. “But you were so skilled at magic, Azi,” he said quietly.

She smiled at him sweetly. “Yes, I shall miss my old schooling, but I swore to use it no longer so that I could become a paladin as I dreamed since I was a child, in my mother’s arms,” she said a bit sadly. The choice had been hard to make for her, but she felt destine for this role she now served in. “I wish to join the League under my proper name, if you shall have me, dear friend,” she said, hand resting on Crispian’s.

Crispian could not contain the smile on his face. “Of course! I could not turn you away, you have done so much for me!”

Azi smiled. “I did nothing more than aye friend wold do for another, my Lord,” she said quietly as Crispian pulled her to her feet.

He stood, leading Azi from the League Hall and out into the street that ran before it. An upended barrel was there, and he sprung atop it lightly. “Friends! Albions! Countrymen!” he called out in a loud, battlefield voice. Many of those passing turned head to the young blond man in shining armor. “I ask your attention for a moment!” He held his arms high to further gain their attention as Azi began to blush deeply, not thinking that Crispian would do such as this. “Today is St. Crispin’s League proud to be reunited with Azaeli Hammerfel, now a paladin where once she was a mighty Ice Wizard! Join me in welcoming her home to us!” Vinn clapped loudly, Ethazar, also crafting near, stood, exclaiming, “Celebration seems to be in order, Lad!” to Crispian as he jumped down from the barrel top.

Crispian beamed at Azi. “Hardly just that Azi,” he said, picking up their earlier conversation. “None, save Tannir have seen as you did.” His eyes welled a bit with tears, but he blinked them down.

Azi shook her head. “Speak not that way, sir, friend. We all have our troubled times.” She knew she had only recently been freed of her own problems and difficulties beyond her control.

“Twas more than just trouble,” he said quietly. Just as the awkwardness of the moment seemed to be stretching, Drae Loresinger, minstrel of the League, came up the street. “Welcome Home, Azaeli!” she said. Her own works in the Capitol had nearly made her a master tailor.

Tears standing in her eyes, and then rolling freely down her cheeks, Azi entered the League Hall, with Seneschal and minstrel-Knight in companionship. “HOME!” she said loudly as she entered. The weeks of training and worrying about her acceptance were over. Finally, she was able to call the League family again.

Mirashta, setting aside her tailoring work, embraced Azi. “HAIL!” she said, her own voice filling with emotion.

Azi was smiling wide, looking as carefree and peaceful as Crispian could recall. “I have missed you all so deeply,” she said as her eyes took in all that filled the chamber.

Kalsaak rose, bowing deeply. “Allow me greetings, Milady!” he said in his fine, cultured voice.

Arcalan looked Azi with a blank expression. “Greetingssss,” she hissed. Crispian tried not to notice.

“Even Arcalan must share my joy today!” he said firmly. “Azi is returned, no longer a wizard, but a paladin!” he added, true joy showing in his voice.

Azi allowed a slight nod to the cabalist, whom she had met the day before in Camelot, prior to riding to far Cornwall to hunt with Jashen, Achou, Kalsaak, and others of the League. “Arcalan,” she said, level voiced. She was determined to not let the cabalist spoil such a joyful moment for her.

“Indeed, Crispian,” Arcalan said smoothly, “I am MOST pleased.” Her sarcasm was unmistakable, nor was her baiting of the Seneschal of the League.

Crispian’s smile faltered, for he was never pleased to be dealing with the Cabalist, and tried to not have to deal with her at all. “I could tell!” he quipped. “Your scales rubbed so nicely together,” he continued with a small smirk on his face. “This day is now good and blessed!” he exclaimed to the rest of the League.

As Mithralin entered the hall and greeted people, Arcalan allowed a small chuckle. “Do you propose a drink, Lord Crispian?” she purred.

Azi, missing the exchange that was beginning, smiled at all in the Hall. “It is good to be home! Thank you all for the welcome and the congratulations!” She was standing still as Crispian invested her with signs of knighthood; a broad white belt for purity, spurs for mastery of battle, and a hat which needed reblocking.

Crispian smiled at Arcalan with little warmth. “Indeed! Let us all lift our tea high to Azaeli’s honor!” he called out, taking a tankard of tea from Mirashta’s spot and lifting it in toast.

Azi grinned at him. “Yes, I have tea for you, milord, if you are fresh out,” she said, offering the grinning Seneschal a small, pungent packet.

As he lifted his own tankard of ale, Oakleif offered Mithralin a hardy “Hail!”

Kalsaak raised his goblet of wine. “To Azaeli” he called out and took a deep drink.

Azi was again smiling broadly. “Oh, how I missed the League so!” she said, as new tears stood in her eyes.

“So difficult to get,” Arcalan said, toying with her mug of ale, “what with tea being the drink of choice among all strong warriors.” Her dry tone and smirk sent the barb home to Crispian. .

“Welcome, Mithralin,” he said, a moment behind Ceowyr’s greeting to the young wizard. “Tea is the drink of choice for civil people, Arcalan,” he commented as he sat. “Thus, I am sure you have never tasted the brew,” he continued in a dry, off-handed manner.

As Azi grinned, and made a pointed effort not to acknowledge the cabalist, Arcalan made a sweeping gesture with her hand. “Your jibes bounce off me, Crispian, so save your breath for other fights,” she said archly.

Sigowan chuckled. “Not to mention that Cabalists have a Reflect Wittism spell.”

Azi whispered to Crispian, “That woman is a demon, Crispian, or if she is not, she is as close to one as you can be!” She kept her voice low so that it did not carry beyond him.

His face setting into a firm expression, Crispian looked directly at Arcalan. He still found her to be disagreeable in the extreme, and knew he played much at being innocent, but was far from that. “I need not waste breath on you,” he said calmly, “when I have facts gathered to my side.” He paused, holding her gaze. “Do you think all your and Ceowyr’s work is unnoticed?” He watched her, wanting so betraying tick or sign to let him know he had landed a good strike, but her expression remained calm and frosty.

He took the moment’s pause to reply to Azi. “Indeed,” he said quietly she works to a different goal, I fear.”

“Perhaps not so very different, dear friend,” Azi replied quietly.

“Indeed, Crispian,” Arcalan said coldly. “I believe you appreciate little I do. So, yes, unnoticed.” She leaned back in her seat, resting against the wall. She smiled.

Coewyr, Cleric of the Church and companion to the cabalist, stood. His patience were a bit thin at the moment and he did not intend to let this banter get out of hand. “To be frank, My Lord Crispian,” he said as he rose, “you are biased against Arcalan. I believe there is much good in her. We just have to give encouragement.”

Crispian was not about to be unbraided by a cleric whom he was sure had compromised at least vows, if not more, in his time spent with Arcalan. “And I trust you are true to your pledge of purity and truth, Ceowyr?” he threw back at the cleric, pleased to see that it brought him up a little short in his reactions.

The cleric gave Crispian a chilling look. “I am a servant of the church always,” he said in a tone that could make the warmest red-wine servable.

Crispian arched an eyebrow at him, otherwise checking his own reaction. “In truth?”

Arcalan drew herself up. “Ceowyr is among the few who can overlook the occasional harshness I deal out and see deeper,” she said. “Beyond the bottom of the barrel, at any rate, Crispian!” she snapped. Her temper was rising and the Seneschal had gotten some good barbs in.

Crispian kept his eyes on the young cleric. His expression was flat, as it would be examining any potential enemy. “Indeed? Overlook is it?” he paused, “or condone?”

Ceowyr straighten up at the scalding remark. “I have faith that Arcalan will do us proud,” he declared, his voice thick with anger.

“I have faith she will do something,” Crispian quickly countered. “You best keep your eyes focused on heaven, Brother Ceowyr,” he chided mildly, knowing there was more between these two than just confessor and penitent.

Arcalan stood, stepping into the middle of the Hall. “I am oft too quick anger,” she said, her voice now taking on a hurt tone. “Yet, Ceowyr is patient with me.”

Azi watched her without changing the calm expression her face had taken on as this matter continued to brew on. “Indeed?” she observed dryly.

“Where your insults inflame, a kind heart,” she said, hands clasped to her bosom, “can instead teach me more.” Her tone and manner struck Crispian as false as a tax-man pleading duty as he took your coin.

“Tis not patience you need to be taught, woman,” Crispian said in a low, dangerous tone.

Azi tried to derail the conflict that was growing, for she did not feel this was time, or place, for such an argument. “Milord,” she said directly to Crispian, “I feel we have so much to talk about. It has been so long.” She hoped to be able to get Crispian out of the main hall, at least, even if he insisted on bringing Arcalan along so that they could hurl more insults at each other.

Crispian turned to her, taking in the armor, the sword, and symbol of a paladin. He smiled. “Aye it has indeed!” He too hoped that this conversation with Arcalan could be stopped. Azi colored at his words.

“Is it that much of a shock, sir?” she asked, her voice tender and full of question. She had known from Jashen that Crispian was very likely to take the change of vocation as a shock, but she had expected him to rebound quickly.

Arcalan towered, her back rigid in anger. Her eyes glinted with all the warmth of agates and the muscles of her jaw line danced. “Oh really, ‘master’ Crispian, what DO I need to learn?” she spat out, anger fueling her words with venom and scorn twisting them into weapons.

Azi looked at Arcalan, her expression intentionally mild and pleasant. “Arcalan,” she asked mildly. “Is all well with you? Last night, when we spoke, you were much more cordial. Now you seem troubled.” She raised her eyebrows in mild surprise and smiled pleasantly. The cabalist did not even turn to pay her any attention. She just continued to stare at the young seneschal.

Finally, Arcalan turned and considered Azi. “I am cordial to those who have a civil tongue Azi, but when Crispian does bait me I am apt to return the thrust of his wit. Such as it is." She quirked an eyebrow cynically at Azi and turned back to meet Crispian’s gaze.

Crispian’s gray eyes smoldered at her. Long months of warring against the enemies of Albion and the foul beings called forth on the land caused him to show no other reaction. He had faced worse than this young caster and was facing worse now. “You may use Sir or Lord to address me, young miss,” he said levelly. “You need to learn the values of compassion,” he raised a finger into the air, “charity, and kindness, chief most of all.” His steady gaze did not falter in the least as Arcalan met it. He ticked each value off on a finger as he named them,

Ceowyr turned to face his seneschal now. His face was ruddy with the flush of anger. “Arcalan was entrusted to my care,” he said a bit sternly. His hand clasped about the holy symbol he wore. “With time, and patience,” he continued, emphasizing the second word, “I believe she will become a highly valued citizen of the realm.” His tone was pure admonishment, and one any good cleric was skilled in the use of.

Crispian met the cleric’s retort straight on, barely giving him time for breath at the end of it. “I would trust her more under the eyes of one such as Lady Wynter, or his Lordship, her husband,” he snapped at the young cleric. Then he again turned to Arcalan.

“My wit is not your concern,” he said defiantly to her. “Arcalan, I fear what damage you can do to the League with your,” he paused, reaching for the right word, “well, callow actions!”

Azi again felt the need to try to head off what was shaping to be a bitter and acrimonious exchange, more so than she had feared earlier. “Still, those are strong words toward the League’s Seneschal, and your elder,” she said to Arcalan, who did not even react.

She scowled at Crispian, instead, fixing her eyes upon him. “What actions do you speak of?” she hissed quietly. “Save to defend myself against your tongue, and your brother’s malice?” She hissed the last out at him.

Crispian was not going into the innocent approach with Arcalan, nor did he feel inclined to bandy words with her. “You know, full well,” he said calmly. “I shall not have all reports of your doings dragged out here in public!” he said with a tone of finality.

Arcalan’s glare became even more bitter. “I am content,” she said with deadly quiet, “for my conduct, save for these spats where you rouse my anger, and has been flawless.” Her flat expression gave great testament to her anger.

Ceowyr cleared his throat. “I have found that Arcalan has some problems with authority figures,” he said rather apologetically, “and as such it would be a bad idea for her to be put in Mirashta’s care.”

Nalewin, riding the edge of the verbal storm, could contain herself no longer. “Goodness, everyone!” she declared loudly, “All you need is love.”

Arcalan smiled to Ceowyr for his timely comment. “Aye,” she murmured, “after all, Lord Crispian was of her care, and she seems to have neglected to teach him manners in dealing with women.” She twitched an eyebrow at Azi.

Crispian shrugged her comment off and turned to Ceowyr again. “Arcalan has problems, I agree,” he said in a heavy tone, “but I think them not limited to authority, for she deals well enough with that.”

Nydori was nodding in agreement to Nalewin’s statement. As Arcalan quipped, “Indeed, love is all you need.” She favored Crispian with a bland look. “But Crispian invited me here, and yet he bears me no love.”

Nalewin caught the comment. “Forgive me if I seem lighthearted, but I mean what I say.”

Crispian looked again to Arcalan. “’Tis not women, Arcalan, as Drae, or Azi or Nydori could tell you.” He included each woman named with a move of his eyes. “I have no issues with the fairer sex.”

Nalewin grinned down at the seneschal. “Except that we tower over him”

Arcalan looked at Crispian with disdain and amusement. The corner of her mouth quirked up in a cruel grin. “Indeed,” she flicked her eyes over him. “No issue at all with the fairer sex.” She turned away from him. “No issue from the eldest son...and the line passes to Jashen to continue.” She sat on a bench in profile to Crispian.

He glared a type of cold death at her. “Keep a civil tongue in your mouth, Arcalan!” he hissed in pure anger. She was starting to get the better of his temper, and he knew he should keep it more in check.

Nydori, having observed this all, cleared her throat. “Though, Lord Crispian, I must say,” she said calmly, “I’ve seen nae wrong doing from Arcalan since I’ve joined a wee bit ago.” Her highland burr was a gentle counterpoint to the Avalonian and two Britons who had been sparring verbally thus far.

“THAT is her intent, Nydori,” Crispian said quietly. “That none see her secret works.” He could feel the tide of sentiment shifting toward the Cabalist, and he most certainly did not want that.

“Not one to say it,” Ceowyr said in a mild tone, “but that sounds like paranoia.” He pursed his lips in thought.

Arcalan sighed explosively. “I have made...mistakes in my past,” she almost cried. “Who has not? Yet Ceowyr,” whom she favored with a kind smile, “has taught me more noble ways to live and breath and be with a family or friends, such as Nydori, Nalewin, Marzan.” She looked at Crispian. “But this hate of yours stems from my past, and I wish you could forgive.”

Crispian snorted derisively. “Your past?” he asked calmly, seeing the opening he hoped for. “What of your present?” Arcalan jumped in. The turn of Crispian’s attitude to her seemed a lapse toward weakness. “Could it be I am a lesson for YOU, Lord Crispian?” she shot at him. “And not the other way around? Or are you secure in an arrogance that you can learn nothing from me?” She flicked he head archly.

“Arrogance?” Crispian said quietly. “I am ever a student of life.”

“And WHAT about my present?” Arcalan rushed over his statement, her words as much a challenge as a gauntlet.

Now it was Crispian who smirked. “What say you of the late night meetings you have?” He watched her hawk like. “The skulking in shadows? The hording of items best destroyed?”

Nydori was truly distressed at the way these two were going at each other. “I have nae seen any wrong doing, and with no proof, I think it unfair to accuse her o’ such or suspect.” Her eyes watched both for some reaction. “We should all be suspect then.” She concluded softly.

Arcalan again fixed Crispian with her icy stare. “Than open your eyes and learn, student of life. Learn to forgive me my dealings with the Shadow Guild, and overcome your fondness for prejudice,” she said, her chin quivering in near tears.

Crispian laughed. “Think I have a problem with the Shadow Guild?” he asked her. “When you know my brother? Jashen is a mercenary and he too follows the Shadowed path,” he reminded her, with a raised finger.

Arcalan clenched her jaw, gritting teeth. “I said MY dealings with them,” she spat out. “There are layers to an onion Crispian. Don’t twist my words!”

“I did not twist your words,” Crispian spat back. “YOU made the assumption about me. YOU said that I could not deal with the Shadow Guild!” he reminded her none to gently. “YOU said I was closed minded to YOUR dealings.” Arcalan’s chin quivered as she put on her best miserable face. “All that I say you twist against me!” she sobbed out. “Very well! I shall keep my peace and speak not, if you will use my own words as weapons to hurt me.” She fretted with her hands, noticing the effect her apparent misery had on the on-lookers.

Crispian shook his head slightly. “I but observe what you do. Tis you,” he raised his eyebrows at her, “who must hurl the first insult, the first slight.” He intentionally kept his tone mild, calm, giving her no cause for further excitement.

Arcalan threw her head back with a cry. “Witness League! I bear him no malice, for he goes through a difficult time. I merely pray one day he will find it in his heart to accept a Penitent as the Church does!” She clasped his hands before her in an attitude of piousness that Crispian found strangely revolting coming from her.

“You bear me no malice?” he shot at her, the mockery of her pose too much for him. “Then why is it you who must first open the wounds I struggle with daily?” The hurt in his expression was genuine to those who knew him, mostly by the slight narrowing of his eyes. “Tis you who always bring up the evil curse upon me!”

Arcalan snorted in disdain, her delicate features curling into a near snarl. “Your wounds are yours to tend, Lord Crispian! I inflict none.” She turned her head away in contempt. “I do not wish to speak with you if you will torment me thus!” Her voice and tone were both brittle with emotion.

Crispian could not bear this. “Torment YOU? You insight my ire, and then lay blame on me?” he asked incredulously. “Tis like a troll saying we are wrong to slay him at the Relic for he was but looking!” He could not believe she was protesting innocence.

Ceowyr looked at Crispian with the blandest of expressions, his hands clasped across his abdomen. “I think I would be aware if she were casting evil curses, my Lord,” he said with bland drollness.

Arcalan toyed with an amulet, turning so that none saw the small smile that crept over her face.

Crispian gave the cleric a dismissive look. “She casts it not, but she works in its cause it would seem!” he commented. “Why else would her every word be a barb to me?” He leveled his question squarely to the cleric. It must be possible to get him out of Arcalan’s camp. “And you, Ceowyr, who defend her and fawn at her side like some ineffectual lackey!” He fixed a stern scowl on the cleric.

At that moment, Mensc entered the hall. Hail brethren and sisters in arms!” he called jauntily into the charged air.

“Hail Mensc,” Crispian said, an easy smile on his face at the sight of the young fighter. “Jashen speak very highly of you.” Arcalan was doing her best crying at the moment.

Ceowyr could not the opportunity pass. “I think you have the wrong idea, My Lord. Are you so biased against Arcalan that you will taint all who associate with her?” He shook his head slightly. “I do my best to steer her onto the path of light through the teachings of the church.” His hand was again curled protectively around the symbol of the church that hung upon his breast.

Arcalan managed to offer a truly pious look for a moment. “I am the object of your ire because you suffer, Crispian,” she offered her most sincere tone. “I will bear it, for tis part of your curse,” she finished with a sob. “Please do not turn on Holy Ceowyr though.” She lifted her red-rimmed eyes to Crispian. “His reputation, unlike mine, is spotless.” Her hands pressed to her lips in a moment of anguish, or what Crispian supposed was to be seen as anguish.

Crispian had had enough. “Oh, is THAT how you wish to cast it, Arcalan?” he challenged her. “Be warned, I have your first words to me, and witnesses!” He had no intention of letting this swamp-spawned caster of magicks twist it all on him. He had enough of that already through D’Vena. The last thing he needed was yet another caster placing their own sufferings and wrong-doing upon him.

Arcalan truly did an impressive job at that moment in playing the wronged, Crispian had to admit. Her face was stricken, almost as if she had feelings to hurt. Her eyes welled, chin quivered. Had he known better, he would have been certain that she was truly jibed by what he had said. However, having read what Jashen sent him, and more, having seen her himself, he knew that was not the case. She was an agent of some sort, and he would press her so that she found no easy road during her time in the League, where at least she could be watched as closely as he had been having her. The Almighty alone knew what her real intent and purpose was.

She pressed her hands against her face, and then dropped them, tipping her head back so that she was looking heavenward. “I shall be silent,” she gasped in a choked voice. “Vent your wrath, Lord. I will be as a willow in a storm and yield to it.” Her Lord was either a direct reference to Crispian, or a plea to the Almighty, and Crispian did not care which at the moment.

“Perhaps like the willow,” he challenged further, “you could seek the light and not dark alleyways?” He wanted to press more, to let her know that the League offered no haven for her deeds if they were evil in nature.

Her eyes swept those in the Guild Hall. “Ceowyr, Nydori, Adaya! Pray to heaven for his soul, I plead of you!” Her eyes brimmed with tears again and cynically Crispian wondered where she summoned them all from. “May the Lord our Savior make him what he once was!” Her clasped hands were pressed into her lips in an attitude of prayer. In all your orisons, be he remembered!”

Azi signed herself and did indeed pray, although she had not been so implored by Arcalan. She had already included Crispian in her prayers for some time, and had even tithed at Vestutala Abbey to have special offerings made for his intentions. However, she could not contain her feelings for Arcalan. “Foul, foul creature she is,” Azi whispered quietly.

Nydori again had the feeling that this was all going beyond her. “I do nae know the jist of any of this, and lay nae wrong with either o' yea, nor prayers at this moment.

Arcalan turned her crushed expression to the highland lass. “Crispian is not at his best, Nydori,” she said softly. “I thought he was open with his affliction with all in the League. Or, thus he said to me,” she said as she turned eyes that glinted with some victory on Crispian.

Azaeli looked to trusted friend and new adversary. “I shall pray for both of you, for both of you are in need of the Light,” she said gently.

“Sister Arcalan,” Nydori said as a hint of steel crept into her voice, “I would better wish nae know what you think of the other. Ye are both given to your own assumptions, it seems.” She included Crispian in a most vexed look. “I shall make me own!”

Arcalan kept the wounded martyr look upon her face. “Poor man, resent not his wrath,” she called to the League as a whole. “Tis but a remnant of the struggle he fights with mad,” she caught herself, “I mean, with the...curse...he is suffering.”

Crispian was not about to let her turn his plight into something that would make him shunned. He was fighting too many others small battles to let that happen. “I will be clear with all that plagues me, if ye wish to know it,” he said as he took a seat in the midst of the League members. “Allow me to speak a few moments, Arcalan,” he said in a tone of exhaustion. “Surely I do merit that?” he asked her, plaintive voiced.

Nydori shook her head. “Nae, for tis naught that I have seen meself. If it is so terrible, I trust our council’s wisdom!” She made as if to leave the guild’s hall. Arcalan sat rigid and silent, waiting for Crispian to begin.

Crispian scanned the faces of his brothers and sisters. His feelings were so strong toward them all that he knew he must trust his fate in their opinion. He took a deep breath and began.

“Not long ago,” he started, allowing images long buried to come to his mind. “About two months, no more, there was an issue involving some companions of mine, good folks and true.” He allowed the faces of all those from that time to come to mind. So many he had not seen in a very long time, and others he had not heard even rumor of. “Tied to this one name, D’Vena, a sorceress, mighty and dread.” He paused as his mind conjured up all the images of that day. The fire, D’Vena’s milky skin and warm, dry touch. He noticed Azi shudder slightly, for she knew much of this tale as well. “Well, D’Vena possessed and guarded secrets that she hid in the deepness of her personal chambers.” He recalled his consideration of other courses, of others who could have tried what he had tried, and laughed lightly.

“There was but one way,” he said quietly, a slow blush coloring his cheeks, “to lay her defenses bare, and I did take it.” He could well recall the courtly lady’s pleasant surprise when he arrived that night, with wine and sweet candies. And when he returned again later.

As he paused, Arcalan blushed, and Azi looked away.

“I plied her with wine, compliments, and other, ah, charms,” he said as it became his turn to blush, “to win her trust for a few moments at least. And, well, from there, as is said, nature took its course.” He allowed a moment for everyone to fill in his unspoken comments.

“As she slumbered,” he continued, his tone low and subdued, for these were still actions he was not proud of, and had it not been for the risks involved, they were actions he would not have taken, “I found her secrets, and revealed them to my friend, who then sent me back to get more evidence. And I did, compromising body and virtue in the cause of good.” He cast his gaze to the floor. “Her plot was far reaching, and in the end, it was the king’s troops who were brought against her, and some then members of the League, the Red Lions, Wayward Band, and others.” He recalled the great fracas at the manor house.

Azi shook her head sadly.

Crispian’s throat worked to swallow the lump of emotion that was threatening to choke him. “But even in defeat, she was not harmless. She did get a last spell off as they led her away. And from that day, I have labored with a burden on my heart and soul, and a, disorder to my wants in the world.” He paused, composing himself.

Tashtego, young armsman of the League, wiped at his eye for a moment. “’Twas beautiful, Crispian.”

Azi looked at her liege with compassion filling her eyes, for she knew seen much of the toll this took on him.

“I have sought solace in ale, in battle, in death,” he continued on, voice flat and lifeless. “And, I confess, with other men,” he added quietly. Or at least one other, he thought to himself, not willing to let Tobyas be drawn into this cesspool that was dealing with Arcalan. He stood up. “So, that is my curse, my burden, which SHE,” he stabbed a finger at Arcalan, brings ever before me.”

Azi grasped the hilt of her sword so tight her knuckles were white, her nails showing pale in her finger tips. “It shall be put right, my dear Lord,” she vowed, her intensity carrying her quiet pledge throughout the hall. “And I swear you my aid, if you should need it!” She drew her sword, holding the cross guard up, as if a cross, and kissing the relic housed therein. Her eyes were filled with compassion.

Crispian looked at his dear friend. “Daily, good Azi, and the aid of ye all!” he said to the assembly of the League that was present. “So, now you know the worst of me,” he said with a grim smile. Arcalan was notable quiet as she watched.

It was occurring to her that she might have underestimated this young armsman, who some said was modest because he was unskilled. Humble, because he could not motivate. It appeared that at least some of those reports were indeed in grave error. She herself had just seen that he could be an eloquent speaker, bearing out in truth with his heart on his sleeve, and to quite a good effect.

Tashtego clapped Crispian on the shoulder. “Well, we still like ye,” he said as he moved through the hall.

“And I do appreciate that, Tash!” he said in response, clasping the warrior’s arm in passing.

Arcalan decided to take another tack at the matter, as things were not playing out as she wished. She drew a great breath and sighed loudly. “I stand accused,” she said levelly, calmly, “of tormenting your soul, Crispian, yet you are free to wander the forge at Camelot drunk and upsetting others.” She paused. “I have done you no harm, and yet you flare at me as though I bestowed this curse! Do not say I cast it up when half of Camelot knows your woes through your drunken revels!” She had managed quite a head of self-righteous indignation at the end of her speech.

Azaeli patted Crispian’s arm in a comforting gesture, her anger vying to get the better of her. “He cannot help himself, Arcalan. Can you not see that?” Her voice, though low, was full of passion.

Crispian’s face became a mask of pain, as he allowed his self-imposed mask of control to yield to his true feelings. “And when I drink, I harm none,” he said, his voice too dropping, but full of aching emotion.

Azi again squeeze Crispian’s arm. “I disagree, milord,” she said. “You harm yourself.” Her voice filled with pain.

“I do, Azi,” Arcalan pressed, trying to keep the turn of conversation to her advantage. “This is why I practice the forgiveness and endurance that Ceowyr preaches to me of,” she gave Azi that frosty smile of hers again.

Crispian patted Azi’s hand and chuckled. “Aye, but none other!” The concern of Azi for him was truly comforting.

“None other, Lord,” Azi continued, but that does still count as harming one.”

Crispian sighed. “Aye, well, ‘tis my burden, and my harm,” he said in a voice barely more than a whisper. He had accepted the damage he did to himself long back now, when he decided that none other would suffer as he did. Azi’s continued look of forthrightness brought color to his face.

Arcalan looked at Crispian with something that might have passed for compassion on another face. “The hatred you feel for D’Vena,” she said as a shudder passed through her, “spills out of you sometimes. If I must mop up excesses, I pray that I have learnt the strength,” she said quietly.

Crispian looked at her, not completely sure if her feelings were being completely feigned in this matter. “You need not complicate matters, Arcalan,” he said quietly, trying not to raise this back to the near-shouting match it had been.

Azi favored Tashtego with a warm look as the two verbal combatants took a pause. “Dear Tastego, you who has brought me to the bowels of Keltoi and back, I owe you my deep thanks. How well it is to see you in the guild halls!” she said to him.

Before such topics could be pursued, Arcalan got things back to the track she wanted them to stay on for a bit longer. “I do try rightly to help,” she said, “but that I am buffeted by cruel words in return I understand.”

Crispian shook his head. “Let it go, woman,” he said, at last having had enough of this, “and truly set aside your workings.”

Arcalan drew herself again, to play the injured. “I work only good, and shall continue to do so!” She managed a good note of pain and suffering in her declaration of good intent.

Crispian looked up at her. “Your pure heart will tell in your actions, Arcalan, not your words, I caution you,” he said mildly. He sighed his vexation at the entire issue. He shook his head. “But more than that, I cannot do.”

Arcalan, keeping her face in the fixed look of the wronged, sighed. “I hope already other can attest to my good will,” she said in her hurt tone.

“And your good works?” Crispian challenged mildly. He had an expression that asked for real confirmations of Arcalan’s protests.

She again took on the look of the one wronged. “I only beg you to cease to torment me, and my new found strength,” she said in a pleading fashion, “while Ceowyr instructs me further.”

Azi shook her head. “Crispian, Lord, let it lie. Time will show. Words shall not.” She so wished that they could move beyond this especially on this day, when she had revealed her own joyous secret to the League.

Crispian was still staring at Arcalan. “And you the same,” he said to her. “Test not my resolve toward you, nor that of my brother. We twins are closer than you realize,” he said in a cautionary but not challenging fashion.

“Only the other day,” Arcalan nearly sobbed out, “did I freely dispense advice, seals of emerald and fine cloth among my fellow League!” She sobbed for a moment longer. “And fear not about my quarrels with Jashen, Crispian. I have buried them now. I realize you brothers are but a knife’s edge apart.” She threw her hand up to her forehead. “Now, this eve’s struggles within my home have wearied me. I must make camp and refresh myself for future battles.”

With that, she swept from the Guild Hall and proceeded to her quarters, leaving the rest of the group weary and tired from the more than spirited exchange.

Azi called to her back as she left the hall, “God bless you, Arcalan, good night and be well.”

“Good Luck tae ye, Arcalan,” Iphemiar added.

Pausing at the door, Arcalan looked back. “You too, Azi. May the rooters let you be peacefully. Fare thee well League,” she shot to them all as she left. Azi watched her go through narrowed eyes.

“Well, yes,” Azi said mildly. “Thank you Lady Cabalist.”

 

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The door opened with no sound at all, as Jashen slipped into the room. Azi was tucked up on the bed, drinking tea. He smiled. It was so like her.


"What you got there, Azaeli?" he asked, sitting down himself.


"A tome, a magical tome that had to do with Crispian's curse," she whispered. "It came with this note." She passed the parchment to Jashen, who read it quickly, examining it.


"Azi, something is wrong," he peered at the note again. "Cris wouldn't sign something to you with his full name, nor would he neglect his signet seal," he said, looking at her sideways. "but maybe, you should play along. I'm off to the city. It is time to see some old friends," he quietly handed her the document. "And speak to my aunt as soon as ye can please."


He departed for the city on his horse, holding curses in check under his breath. That wench Arcalan had some explaining to do.

 

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Azi quickly perused the first few pages of the work, the strange symbols falling into place in her head and she worked through it's preamble. She delved into the next page with great excitement, for indeed these were works of sorcery, and she had seen much of them through the Academy. The ancient use of some of the symbols phased her not one bit, she deciphered them with a mind bright and agile for being so long from her craft.

Her eyes fell upon one single symbol inserted in the line. Two sets of concetric circles pressing against each other stared her in the face.

Her limbs were suddenly reluctant to obey her commands. Her eyelids fixed open, her eyes fixated on that one simple sigil she had so carelessly read. Her breaths came in shallow gulps, as her lungs slowed. Her lips felt numb. There was no mistaking a mezmerization spell.

How foolish she had been in trusting this tome! And Crispian had inadvertantly trapped her! Azi caught a motion in the periphery of her vison, but could barely move her eyes to look at it.

In front of her was a small and hideous imp, like a Molochian Tempter reduced in size to a mere handspan.

But what if Crispian hadn't sent the note? What if.. D'Vena.. oh. No. The burned cover flashed through her mind, the discription of D'Vena's mansion wreathed in flame, the accursed symbol she had tripped in reading D'Vena's Book.

The tiny imp positively squeeked with joy. Long had it been bound in this volume until it's one task was performed, then it could be free. It began to gesture, looking straight at Azaeli, making sweeping movements of it's arms. Visions of Master Visur repeating those motions burned in Azi's brain.

She flexed her muscles as much as she could, she fought with all her will, and sent forth a prayer for divine intervention. Not all her strength nor will could break the spell.

The little imp completed it's motions, swirling a blue orb and flames around it, it flung it's arms wide and cast the Gateway spell.

Azi was flung through space frozen still as stone and mind racing with fear. Where would she appear?

__________________________________________


D'Vena cackled. Ripples of laughter passed through her like the convulsions of a dying man as his organs are removed while he is still breathing. She shrieked with hysterical laughter, and then subsided into a chuckle, a low moaning chuckle. Blood cacked her nails where she had dug them deep into the flesh of her own palm.

Someone had tripped her ward upon her Grimoir. She had thought the pretty volume lost in the flames of her house, lost to the lapping flames and the stupid pig farmer and his cronies. She howled in laughter once more and fought to stay upright.

The energies swirled in the room, and coalesced into a single point, depositing the paralysed form of Azaeli before her. Her laughter changed to a demented tittering as she surveyed the young cleric. She quickly renewed the Mezmerisation, and Azi felt her mind spiral away from her body, losing all control...

D'Vena spat on the floor, and staggered towards her new plaything. "AH" she drawled through strange little gasps and giggles "ou my pretty little girl, should not have meddled with me." She drew closer, and a long finger twireled a lock of Azi's hair. Azi feverantly wished she were in armor, though she knew that was of little good, it would have made her feel better.

"ou were sent to me-heheheehehe heeh heh... h.. to complete the last piece-heech heeheehe of the curse" she snorted out "ou'll seal the fate of Crispian Jasphurr-hur-hur-hur P-p-pontiff" and punctuated her sentance by stabbing her finger into the eye of Azi.

D'Vena thrilled over this new twist of fate... surely the old gods of Avalon were on her side.. Azi was the vessel into which she'd pour her malediction, and deliver her to Crispian like a poison chalice to his lips. She began to work her plan immeadiately, obliviously tugging out fistfuls of her own hair as she worked.


</bump over to you Crispian! >

OOC


<Jarred with excitement and anticipation!! WOOOOT!>


BTW paladin not cleric though

(prepares his own defense)

 

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Azi watched the insane creature with disgust. Chill warnings of evil stabbed through her, even through the mesmerization that held her fast. So this was D'vena. This wretched, wasted, tittering hag was the cause of Crispian's pain.


At that moment she did not regret in the least opening that vile tome. She kept her mind calm and even as she had been trained by the church to do, and set her thoughts to prayer. But her eyes, little as she could move them, kept a steady watch on the madness taking place before her.

Word of the charges from Pompin was quick to spread. The Lords of Justice began to work on the warrants; the High Marshal of Camelot began to work on the decritals for attainder of lands. Word was passed to the King. The Defenders of Albion received word. The work of sorting out private holdings from League holdings was begun in the Lord Chancellors offices. However, there were somethings Arcalan had not accounted for.

Warrants were missent, or contained errors and had to be redrafted. The Lord High Chancellor, due to his meticulous work in seeing to that the right lands were seized did not sign attainders. And somehow, the patrol that the Defenders sent out to take Sir Crispian Lord Pontiff into custody went to Snowdonia Castle, having received some questionable information that the young Armsman Lord was at Caer Hurbury on an assignment. However, Corporal Ardy MacArdy, a bonnie highlander lad, was sent south to Lyonesse. His stated mission was to pass word to Lords Ulfwych, Adribald, and Witrin that Crispian was under warrant of the King.

There might be some who would later question the judgement of Captain Rion in sending a young man like Ardy south, especially seeing as how he somehow made statements about the charges in every stable yard he passed through, once within earshot (Ardy had moved three times to make sure) of a young blond Briton armsman in burnished platemail.

Thus it was that Crispian had word of what was going on while he was out of the city. An invitation to hunt in Lyonesse with Mirashta and Oakleif, in the company of Arguyle MacFadden had been too tempting to him. His warrior edge had been getting dulled by making weapons. The enthusiasm of the young armsmen and mercenaries purchasing his wears had begun to make him sullen and surly. So, when Arguyle had asked him if he would be interested in thinning out the animated trees and wormwoods that preyed in Lyonesse, he had said yes.

He still harbored some resentment toward the highlander Lord and General for his absence during the recent problems with D’Vena, but the truth of his friendship was not in doubt to Crispian. Of course, a few tankards of ale to dull that resent seemed wise. It was three horses down to Yardleys, and Crispian waited. The evening sun was just sliding under the far horizon as he stood on the road by the small trading encampment mulling over all that he had heard. He purchased parchment from the traders and dashed off some short notes. Kelvyn, Hyacynthe, and Laraleloth were his correspondences, and he hoped that word reached them quickly enough to make some sort of a difference. They had all been good friends, over the last difficulties, and Hyacynthe for sometime before that. He considered Moryan and Glavian, but word had been scarce of them lately, and he needed firm friends in his camp.

With a certain dread, he hoped that Azi, Jashen, Tannir, and others were well, but there was naught he could do for them. Jashen and Azi were both skilled in their works and he had little doubt as to their ability to take care of themselves. Tannir was another matter. He was still a lad, and looked to Crispian as a hero and role model. He hoped that the boy’s hero-worship and unquestioning acceptance of tasks from his Lord would not lead him into harm, or worse, an early grave.

The coming of Arguyle was heralded by nothing more grand than a snorting horse, but somehow the highlander made even that an event. He swept down from his horse with his great cloak sliding down behind him. Despite his office, he always paused to have a word with the stable man and his boy about the care of his horse, even sliding a few extra coins out of his belt pouch.

Crispian felt his pulse jump at the sight of the man, though. Their last conversation had been the bitter exchange outside of Sauvage Castle. He braced himself for the onslaught he knew would come from D’Vena’s working. He only hoped he could master it long enough to emplore the aid of the paladin.

“Hail, Lord General,” he said, giving a firm salute.

“Hail, Crispian! Has been a long time, lad!” the older lord greeted him, clapping a large highlander hand on Crispian’s shoulder. “How fare ye?”

Crispian could not contain the sigh he had been holding in. “Not well, General. I have found out that I am to be charged with assault, and I am already due to stand trial for killing an unarmed man.” He tried to keep the pain and disappointment of it all from his expression, but failed.

“What is this?” Arguyle almost roared, only barely checking himself from a very raised voice. “What are these charges about, lad?” he asked as he watched the younger man in the lights from the camp. “Are they true?” Arguyle had already stood by other friends who had been tried for a variety of things, some true, some false. But, he had always been there for them.

“Nay, General, both are not true,” Crispian said quietly. “The first is a false charge, but I am guilty enough of the second.” He thought it would be better to deal with the worst and true charge first, so that he could enlist Arguyle’s aid in the second.

“What caused ye to slay a man unarmed?” Arguyle frowned deeply. As a paladin, and a Lord, he had never raised sword to an unarmed person of the Realm. What mattered the assault if murder was a true charge?

“I was waylaid sometime ago by a small group of men. I didn’t intend to kill anyone,” Crispian explained, as others of the hunting party began to arrive. “I was even using the flat of my blade, but it is a magical blade. As I struck one, the magic was unleashed.” Arguyle scowled at the tale. “Lord Adribald is to sit the trial.” Crispian felt badly relating this all to Arguyle, who had been friend true and noble.

“Well,” the highlander said, scratching at his chin, “the Lord Adribald is a good man, and will mete out justice once the truth be known.” He watched Crispian closely. “And the other?”

Crispian closed his eyes, exhaling loudly. “I am accused of assault Pompin, a crier. And those charges were brought in Camelot. The king will try me there.” He watched Arguyle’s reaction. “I am going to need some help on that, Lord-General.”

Arguyle nodded. He knew well that the King’s Justice could be swift and terrible, when given just cause. But he also knew Constantine would listen to reason. He would have to see about getting some of his old friend’s time.

“How fare ye otherwise, lad?” he asked as his mind began to formulate ideas.

Drinking deeply from a skin, Crispian paused. He braced himself, hoping his resolve would hold. “There is still trouble with D’Vena,” he said, looking toward the horizon.

“Bah! That witch troubles ye still? Where is she held up?” The anger of a highlander was swift, but a grudge this old made for more than anger. This was now a matter of pure rage at D’Vena’s repeated injustices.

“Last I heard, Lyn Barfog somewhere,” Crispian said mildly, not wanting to have to go into his own forays into Lyn Barfog in an effort to find her.

The highlander paladin shook his head. “We shall have to do more about her later,” he said quietly, as the other companions to the hunt began to arrive. “And we shall do to that one!” he said as he adjusted his shield and turned to greet the others for the hunt.

 

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