[RPG] [BT] [Vlaan] [Enweil] [Blood Cult] Two new lives at the crossroads (Part 1)

[Dominic]

<i>A day or so ago, in Weghie, the southern outskirts, near the Plergothian
border.</i>

Louis-Joseph appeared to be arriving at the camp he heard rumours about,
foreign soldiers angry peasants complained about were setting camp, guarding
a short but apparently very fit noble with a distinctive banner: Enweil's,
the continent's democracy, or, by the account of some, the democracy of
democracies. "Strange people", Louis-Joseph thought, "this democratic
concept is just begging for trouble on the long run."

He had his red and brown dress donned, and walked with confidence. Long ago,
in the peaks he could see well from these plains, he had built the Cult's
first temple, hidden somewhere in a remote peak, at the source of one of the
blood sources which fertilize Reeds and the plains south of it. The sight
brought back some of the nostalgy he often felt since, whispering crowds
that were starting to gather, awaiting his anticipated first preaching, had
been enough to settle it. He walked by the guards, his confident approach
deterring them from stopping him.

------

Nicolas had marched a reasonable distance to get there, and the last few
weeks had been exceptionally rough on him. Betrayed by the man he trusted
most, deceived by his liege, conspired against by his enemy... His rebellion
had failed, Ben had been too weak, he could not save him, he could not make
a theocracy out of Fwuvoghor. Then the tournament... Despite all these
contenders with daimon magic, unnatural strength and skill, he had finished
third, defeated in the semi-finals by the winner of the tournament as the
second-place was a wildcard. His enthusiasm was quickly curbed, however, by
the apparent complete apathy from his peers, being third place in such a
tournament, the first he ever attended, seemed like quite a feet to himself.

And simply overall, everyone seemed cold, distant. The weight of his failure
lied heavy on his shoulders, the shame frustrating. Arriving in Enweilieos,
he had decided to leave for other lands, new opportunities. Making a detour
in Darhauyo, he put his past behind him and formally abandoned the Church of
Teros: They had pardoned the man who, since his very first days in the
realm, had planted in him a seed of ambition, only to betray him as soon as
it blossomed. He could not forgive him, and he knew whatever arguments he
had given to the elders would not have been enough to satisfy him, it was
time to put Fwuvoghor behind him for good; the selfish, the greedy, and the
manipulators with it.

After a short skirmish with undead and monstrous forces, he had arrived in
Tindle, where he sent his farewells to the realm and offered the local lord
an oath of fealty. He had spent his career fighting daimons... but he just
felt he needed something new, perhaps this realm was closer to what he was
looking for, he didn't know. As he did, however, he got word back from
Enweil: they did not dislike him, it appeared, his conclusions had been too
hasty, these weren't the same kind of people he lived with before, these
were the same kind of demagogues. As he planned his return trip, he also
heard another interesting rumour: his cousin, a priest of some shadowy
faith, had just joined this realm, and was in the capital, apparently making
his way towards him.

He had never met this cousin... He had never met any of the sons and
daughters of Alexandre Chénier, actually, though his life in his former
realm seemed to have been very dependant on the actions of one of them, the
one who died shortly after his ennoblement, "Jean-Olivier". He set course
for Weghie, it was time to meet...
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