The great and merciful quiet of the rest of the day pleased Crispian immensely. The last weeks of hecticness, coupled with the apparent diversion of D’Vena’s attentions had allowed him to really bask in the quiet of the day. Not that he had not been busy. A good Seneschal was always busy, he thought with a small grin. He rose from his work place and made his way quietly out of the hall and into the street. The chain coif and drab cloak he wore, coupled with the heavy blue robe, kept him unrecognized.

The streets hummed with a certain activity, a kind of droning as the work of Camelot went on. He smiled at that, tossing a gold to a woman hawking ale from Cotswold. Why not? At least she was not just begging coins. The slight smile did not leave his face as he made his way into busy market place. There was a face he was seeking and it did not take him long to find it.

“Mikiel!” he greeted the lad quietly. “Did you do what I asked?” The boy beamed at the young knight and nodded. Crispian tousled his hair. “Good lad, and here is what I promised,” he said as he handed over a heavy purse of coins. “Now remember, slowly this must go, but I want it constant, every day, at all times, aye?” Again the boy grinned and nodded. For an urchin, he was a good lad, and far better than most. Crispian had no doubt that the few hundred silvers would not be ill spent. Mikiel had a sense of honor. Too bad that he was a mute lad, or much could have come of him.


Then, with a frown, Crispian pressed on to the shop of Judan Hammerfel. He found Judan at the forge as always these days. He bowed deep to him as the smith-paladin looked up from his work.

“Young Crispian!” he called in his great voice. “How fare ye? I want ye to know, I put no stock in these rumors,” he held out his large hand as he talked and Crispian shook it. “‘Tis hard to be under the curse of a heathen!” he declared with a spat into his fire. “But ye are bearin’ up well, Azi tells me. She is proud of you,” he said with raised brows. His daughter was not given to flights of passion and her belief in this young armsman spoke much of him.

“‘Tis about her that I have come, sir,” Crispian said awkwardly. He reached under the robe he wore and took out Azi’s sword, once her mothers. “She asked my brother to pass this to you, but I have taken that on myself.” He saw Judan’s face fall. His dear wife just months gone, and now this strange knight bringing him the sword again. “Nay, Sir, it is not that!” Crispian rushed out. “She has taken a rest at an abbey and is well. She did not want to risk this in the good monk’s keeping and bid Jashen to bear it home to you, is all.”

Judan’s relief made a transformation of his face. “AH! ‘Tis her new vows, no doubt,” he said as he lovingly took the sword from Crispian. “She was so dedicated to magic,” he said with a proud smile, “and to turn paladin after so much study!” His eyes glistened. “May ye have a daughter to make you so proud,” he beamed, “or a son,” came his quick amendment. “Which abbey is it, that I may send word?”

Crispian’s heart froze, for he had not counted on this question. He could not say the truth and have Judan find his daughter possessed and mad right at hand! “‘Tis the Abbey of St. Ilitad, Sir, deep in Cornwall,” he lied, hating it but hating the truth more. “My cousin, Lynis, is a friar from that house. You could send word care of him.”

“Very well.” Judan turned business like for a moment. “Where is your armor, lad? Do you need some fitted? I made Azi’s m’self, ye know.” The thought of Azi, and her armor, made Crispian blush slightly. “Perhaps in short time, Sir. My current armor is quite good.” He bowed. “Duty calls me back, though, sir.” Judan patted his back with a thanks and Crispian was off.


Later that day, strange stories began to make their way around the market squares and taverns. Had Sir Crispian really given nearly 200 gold to the church in penance? What was this that he had PAID the barkeeps to serve him no more and call the guard if he got unruly? Or that he had installed Pompin at the League’s own hall for recovery and invited all to come see him, if they so wished? Camelot soon was buzzing with the news.


At the Guild of Shadows, Jashen stood. He was stripped of his chain, and his fine swords lay on the table. “Ye sure of this lad?” the trainer asked. Jashen nodded. “Aye, I am quit of being a mercenary. Teach me the ways of stealth,” he said. With a sigh, the trainer started, not hopeful that a mercenary trained could be much of an infiltrator.

 

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Toorc crouched by the entrance to the Halls of the Corrupt and breathed the fresh air anew. That was indeed a place of dread they'd discovered, but he was the better for having come out here. He squinted into the sunlight and took a gulp of water, as the cool breeze ruffled his robes.

He longed for news of Crispian, and of Azi's return to the League, but he knew he could not leave till he had found what he was looking for. News had reached him of some disturbing finds in Hibernia and even from midguard there were rumours... did all this tie together? And if so where could the wellspring be found that he might cut it off at the head? Ah unanswered questions were his bread and wine.

"Master Toorc, we've left three of them in there" said a young scout approaching him.

"Three? Right, the break is over, we're not leaving stragglers to be picked off out here" and Toorc shouldered his pack, and made ready to descend once more into the foul dungeon. News of Crispian would have to wait, but he hoped to hear more of him soon.


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Blissfully unaware of why he was recieving such good fortune Pompin had been living well from the table of the League. His comfort was well attended to, and all for seemingly nothing? His luck was in.

Only the slight malise that still afflicted him bothered him greatly. He confessed he couldn't put it into words, but if pressed on the subject he'd have said it felt as though his skin was like putting on someone elses glove. It was odd indeed, and a general weariness oft overcame him. Still good cheer and endless service did wonders for a man in his condition, and he found that he had more than a year of news to reaccquaint himself with, which occupied his mind.

In the early afternoon, just after a spot of rather heavy rain, Pompin recieved a visitor. The aqua-blue sheen of chainmail could be made out beneath his tunic, and it contrasted with his fiery red hair. A large heavy symbol of the Trinity hung about his neck, and he fingered it even as he came into the room.

"My son," said Ceowyr "I'd like a moment to talk with you"

Pompin smiled cheerfully to this Cleric, no doubt checking on his well being, and the door to his room swung shut.

(nt)

The clerics at the alter stopped thier prayers abruptly, and all turned to look at the young stranger who had yelped out in the middle of mass. Azaeli lost her concentration and turned a deep crimson, bowing her head even lower. She could feel the cleric's eyes linger on her with obvious disdain at the interruption, but he eventually continued and all fell back into the sombre rhythm of the mass.


Inside, though, Azi reeled with hope. What did this mean? Could she control D'vena? How far could she take it? Then another thought drifted into her mind. Again she closed her eyes and clasped her hands before her and began to think of Crispian. The mass droned on in the background as she pushed herself, keeping only Crispian in her thoughts.


A sudden warmth passed through her, a feeling of freedom and happiness at the forefront. She leaned into it with all of her attention. The sun was low against her back, and the bustle of the city was around her. "Crispian," she said silently, pushing her thoughts toward him. The Abbey bells tolled, and a hand was on her shoulder. She snapped back to herself in the emptied chapel. The young monk who had brought her out of her room stood over her.


"Time to go back, miss." He said softly, and Azi rose to follow.

Ayslyn smiled down from where he sat in the rafters of the chapel. Brother Joseph was leading Azi back to her cell. The other brothers had all filed out, leaving the chapel empty. Quietly, he dropped to the floor and aproached the altar. A statue of the messiah looked benevelantly down on the chapel. He eyed the statue for a while. "I am sure that you know what you have in her," he said to the statue, "Were she not so devoted to you, I might have tried to win her over to my own Lady. Watch over her, and Crispian. They are good people." He knelt and crossed himself. As he stood again, he pulled his hood back up to conceal his features. He left the chapel, humming to himself.

 

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<mid-weekend bump>

((OOC: Azi you tease I thought more of the story was ready Hopefully Crispian is penning the final chapters as we speak <holds breath>)

Jashen had been fighting hard for two days in the swamp when he returned to his new trainer and became an infiltrator. He then returned to Camelot. He was sheepish about finding Crispian, but find him he did.


"Hello, Crispian," he said quietly. "I'd like to come back." His leather armor creaked with its newness.


Crispian looked up at his little brother and smirked. He had to shake his head. "What did you do?"


"What I said I was going to do, Cris. I have become an infiltrator. I have to be able to REALLY ferret out information if I am to be of any service to the League," he said with passion, sliding into a seat opposite Crispian. "I failed once already, and I won't fail you all again!" He held Crispian's eyes a moment. "Or you personally, Cris."


Crispian looked at this little brother and sighed, "Well, I could see other people doing worse than you, Jash, at least I can trust you fully." He put his hand out. "But, you have to re-earn your rank, just like any other would."


Jashen nodded. "And I shall!" He grasped his brother's hand.


"Well, brother, let's go great the League!" They rose and walked to the Guild Hall together.

 

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D'Vena gaped at her hand. It had moved in a gesture blessing, one she had not made herself in years. It was as if...another had made her do it. She did not like that at all.


She stormed through the fastness to her inner sanctum and pondered this event. Who could have the power to defy or invade HER???


She toyed with her golden haired toy, and turned it over in her mind.

The Vestusta Abbey was just outside the north gates to the city of Camelot, but it still had taken Tobyas most of the day to get everything in readiness for his small trip out there. He had with him two clerics of his acquaintance, a sorcerer of some repute and two large men who worked from time to time loading carts and wagons in the merchant district. He knew that if Azi allowed him to perform the ceremony he had in mind, a lesser type of exorcism, then he would need their help. If she did not, he was only out some coin, of which he had plenty these days. The monk at the gate bowed low to allow him enter, and he swept through into the chapel area where most of the public was allowed.

Without missing a step, he proceeded to the cloister gate and pounded on it, his mailed fist causing the metal to ring out in a harsh tone. Immediately, a monk presented himself.


“Blessing to you, father. How may we be of service?” he muttered as he bowed his head in greeting. He was an older monk, which caused Tobyas a moment of pause.


“I have been sent from Lady Wynchell to check on Azaeli Hammerfel, daughter of Judan the Smith.” He snapped his fingers and one of his companions presented him a scroll with pendent seals hanging from the bottom and heavy wax signet impressions by a bold signature. “I would inspect her quarters to bring her father comfort,” he said as he handed the scroll over.


“I beg forgiveness, father, but she is not permitted visitors.” The monk’s eyes glanced to the scroll a bit nervously. “Please bring our assurances to Lady Wynchell that all is well for Lady Hammerfel, and she is comfortable.”


Tobyas threw the monk his most haughty look. “Lady Wynchell did not ask for YOUR assurances, brother, but for my report. If I do not gain entry, I shall report your disobedience to her as the King’s High Cleric, and YOU can face her charges.” His voice never rose beyond conversational, and he was pleased to hear keys being fumbled with. “I am glad the Almighty has gifted you with wisdom, my son,” he said as he swept through the gate as it opened and ushered his companions in as well.


The monk look startled but led him to the room they had given Azi. Tobyas was a little surprised to see two hulking monks at the door, obviously farm boys who found God. He fixed the two of them with a frosty gaze. “I will interview Lady Hammerfel privately, with my own guards to stand watch, brothers. Your vigilance is a credit to you.” He blessed them both as his companions moved them away from the door and took up station. With a deep breath, he lifted the latch and went in, hearing it close behind him and the lock being rehasped.


Azi sat in a simple robe on a narrow cot. The chamber was bare of any adornment, save the symbol of holy Mother Church on the wall. She looked up a moment, and surprised was quickly followed by joy on her face as the identity of her visitor registered.


Tobyas himself could not suppress a small grin as he settled on the single stool within the chamber. His cloak dragged the floor and his armor clinked and slid against the leather hauberk. “Forgive me for not coming sooner,” he said in greeting as he sat.


Azi’s shock was quickly beaten by her curiosity. Jashen had said he would tell no one. “Tobyas..how did you know?" She asked. She had hoped that none would see her thus, and Tobyas was a special case.


He grinned sheepishly. “I can find out a lot when I want to Azi,” he said in a quiet but offhanded way.


“Why did they let you in? I told them not to let anyone in!” she said, a not of protest entering her voice as she wrung her hands in worry. Who else would they let in to see her like this, she now thought. What if Pappa had come? She could not know that Crispian and Jashen had been telling all that she was deep in the wilds of Lyonesse, in an abbey hard to reach in the best of times.


Toby could not help the grin that spread on his face. Azi had the impression of a lad who had just pulled off a grand gaff, and gotten clean away with it. ‘Lady Wynchell did send me, of course,” he said as the grin made his cheeks dimple and dance. He looked such the youth at times like this, and hardly a battle-cleric who had seen more than twenty two battles already, or one who could call the fallen back to life.


Azi smoothed her robes in a gesture so reminiscent of her days as a wizard. Her blue eyes met Toby’s in question. She did not know how much she dare to reveal even to this close friend. She did not look as though she were going to speak and simply waited. Soon, Toby felt himself start to blush under the scrutiny.


“I was not always a cleric, and I have not forgotten my old friends,” he said calmly, knowing he would not have to explain more to Azi. “Nor have they me,” he added, thinking to those beyond the outer door.


Azi shook her head slightly. “Forgive me, Tobyas. I forget sometimes.” She smiled fondly at him. “You’ve changed so much. And,” she cast her eyes down, “forgive me my harsh words.” She shuddered slightly.


Tobyas shook his head slowly, his coppery hair catching the light. “No forgiveness needed, Azi. But, we must deal with what troubles you.” Azi could detect the slight change in his manner as he moved from friend to cleric and believer of the Church.


Azi drew a deep and shaking breath. She had been considering this very thing since Jashen had brought her here. What could be done? And what should be done? “I am not certain that we can, or that we should,” she said. Her eyes moved from Toby, to her hands, back to Toby. “Is the door locked?” She seemed very disjointed.


“Aye,” Tobyas said with a tight grin, not wanting his concerns to rush to the surface. “But not by monks.”


“By who then?” Azi shot at him harshly. The door must be guarded. It must be, she thought.


“Some old friends of mine,” Toby said as his eyes crinkled up in concern. Azi was nodding her agreement, but did not seem fully in control of herself. He leaned forward, his face becoming serene; his eyes fixed on Azi’s. He sat more straight upon his stool, his shoulders squaring. “Look at me, Azaeli Hammerfel,” he said calmly, yet in a compelling tone.


Azi’s hands worked in her lap, balling and unballing. She raised her tear filled eyes to meet Tobyas’s. His were calm lakes of a crystal blue compared to her own at this moment. She sensed his calm and his peace.


He reached into a pouch at his belt without breaking eye contact. “Do you believe in this, Azaeli Hammerefel?” he asked her as he brought into their field of vision his holy symbol. It was plain, worked in silver with fine craftsmanship, but no gems winked from in the wan light of the chamber.


Azi’s eyes widened slightly at the gravity with which Tobyas asked her this question. “Yes, I do, father,” she said, not the automatic response so often given, but a true and heart-felt reply.


Without changing his tone, he went on. “And do you accept the Almighty as your creator and empowerer?” His tone was compelling, but not forceful; firm yet not imperious.


“I do, Tobyas, I do!” Azi whispered as tears came to her eyes and fell down her cheeks. This was Tobyas in role she had not seen him in, and one at which he showed none of the playfulness that he usually did. He was more serious than she normally saw him.


Again, his hand dipped in his pouch, coming out with two vials that he deftly opened. His fingers dipped into each, coming up with a thin sheen of oil on each. The smell of holy chrism and myrrh filled the air of the small chamber as he rose and crossed to her. “Azaeli Hammerfel, I anoint you as Daughter of the Almighty, born into this world by His Grace and blessed in His Sight.” He marked her then with holy signs on the forehead, the lips, and at the opening of her robe. “I bless you,” he intoned calmly, “in His name, and His power, as his instrument and vessel.” He paused to recap the oils.


“Wait!” Azi cried as she grabbed Tobyas’s hand. “Wait. You cannot yet.” She felt he had more in store than just a simple blessing, but there was much she had not told him yet, much they had yet to discuss.


“Why not, dear Azi?” he asked, his kind eyes startled. He had every intention now of going forward with the ritual.


“Tobyas,” Azi began, “how much do you know of the curse?” Her words fell into the air and froze Tobyas’ action as he looked at her, suddenly uneasy at her asking, and cautious of how to proceed.


--to be continued--

 

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