Quoted By:
Heretics or not, they are the King's men. Though their methods tarnish their honor, the loyalty of the Order of the Imaginary Color to crown and country stands beyond reproach. The King's orders told you to support the forces that have gathered here in purging the heretics, so you will carry out your duty with honor and grace.
Though you will keep note of things. It would not do for them to go beyond the bounds of the proscriptions the King has allowed them in their duties.
Stepping into the greathouse, you can see that the entry hall has turned into a warroom. An elderly man in humble - but well made - robes who must be the town chief stands in one corner trying his best not to be intimidated by the others in the you. You suspect him familiar with the woman in the red white garb of a pagan girl-shaman, whose pendant marks her as of the same faith the village keeps. It is the other two that his eyes dart too with some nerve.
A man and a woman, both blindfolded with a black cloth. Two magenta lights peak through the blindfold where their eyes ought to be. Like you, they wear a bodysuit of black armorsilk that clings to their forms. Yours is marked with gold runes, the sacred prism beneath your navel and your personal coat of arms on shoulder and thigh. Eldritch symbols scrawled in magenta writhe upon theirs, as if they were alive, glowing with heretical power, and in place of the sacred prism they have the notanthus.
The folding plate nexus worn about their necks is tighter than your own, and three times as thick. Plain and iron, like a collar, a medallion hangs from it bearing the crest of the daffodil.
"Dame Louise le Blanc..." the man drawls, not looking up from the maps. "I did not realize we would be receiving such <span class="mu-i">auspicious</span> reinforcements. I hope you're not here to spoil our fun. I claim first rights to any prisoners taken, we need human sacrifices to- <span class="mu-i">ow</span>."
The blindfolded woman raps the man on the ear. "Please forgive Sir Damien, Dame Louise. His sense of humor is..."
As she struggles for a word, the priestess interjects. "Disgusting, yes. Now, can we please get back on task?"
The tension in the room lifts as you join them at the table. Introductions are shared. The Chief is a man by the name of Rodrim, though he has little to contribute other than a neutral enough ground for people to meet upon. He is more scholar than warrior, a rarity in these parts of the world. The priestess is named Natasha, and she keeps faith to some river spirit that apparently brought her the ill news from upstream.
The King's pet heretics are Damien and Fiona, and you are not particularly eager to ask after their glowing eyes. Their scouts have already located one of the cult's strongholds...
>A village upon the banks of the river.
>An abandoned town built around the ruins of an old wizard's tower
>A cave complex that they've doubt can be reliably smoked out
>The ruins of a castle at the center of a lake.
