How A Proud Falls
Jun 13, 2009 20:52:06 GMT -5
Post by Kender Bard on Jun 13, 2009 20:52:06 GMT -5
The Proud were back, or what was left of them. They'd lost some of their numbers to the plague, which had been a heartrending sorrow. They lost a couple more to Talen'sul - and the lands beyond. Priests wanting to explore now that they were out of Flux. These were left behind with farewells as well. Constantine had said they should plan to head to Anarlina next, despite the fact that they had been very poorly received in Talen'sul. Mostly, that was the fault of timing.
His pathmates had another idea. Namely, they were sick of HIS ideas.
And so the priests of the Proud returned close to the same hour of night that they had departed. They moved as quietly and discreetly as they could, and bundled amidst them was Constantine, forced against his will to return to their home. One of the next highest ranking Proud spoke to him as they walked through the city of Flux and toward the temple proper.
"The sickness was a sign from Soahc," the priest was saying. "We are not meant to leave our home. Your pranks in the night have only served to enrage our enemies. Our leaving was nothing more than cowardly fleeing, no matter how much you dressed it up as otherwise. And we, as damned fools, followed you. I've no doubt those wiser than us, who stayed behind, will be glad to rub that in our faces for years to come, to climb over our stupid mistake to sit on thrones of pride higher than our own."
The priest, Kiril, bared his teeth at that in a snarl. "Because of you, Constantine. Because of your cowardice. We thought we saw a glimmer of something great in you, but no. We should have paid more attention to what we had heard about what happened in Khelek."
Constantine struggled against the hands holding him, fought to speak past the gag in his mouth, but could do nothing. Kiril slapped him, lazily, and he quieted.
"You sought to bring fame and greatness to our path?" the other priest asked in a soft, mocking voice. "Well you failed. No doubt we are the laughingstock of Flux. Not even our brothers in Talen'sul wanted much to do with us. We, the Proud of Flux, have fallen so low because of YOU."
By this point, the group had reached the heart of the temple. Kiril snapped his fingers and sent some of his priests in various directions. When they returned, there were ropes which were used to quickly bind Constantine, including wrapping around his sign and keeping him from being able to touch it.
Also brought was a sacred item from the heart of the Proud Hall, and its very sight caused any Proud near it to flinch away. Constantine's eyes widened in horror and he redoubled his efforts to free himself. A few of the stronger priests beat him a little until the man simply fought to get his breath back. Then the priests dragged him by the ropes and tread as close to the Wrathful hall as they dare. There, they fastened the ropes onto anything stable within reach, and the result was that Constantine was forced to stand, nearly spread eagle, facing the Wrathful hall.
Kiril nodded to another priest who, holding the Most Feared Object, came forward. The other priest touched his sign and chanted and soon the metal brand in his hand had heated up to a red-hotness.
"Constantine Anholts," Kiril said, each syllable falling as heavily as slamming door. "You are hereby cast out of the Proud Hall."
The brand came down. Constantine screamed in pain, though the contact was brief, and writhed. He mostly screamed because he knew what had just been pressed to his skin, searing the back of his left hand.
The Proud left without another word, leaving Constantine strung up in front of the Wrathful hall, like some sort of grisly sacrificial lamb in hopes that their bloodlust for the Proud might be sated on him.
Branded into his hand was the mark of shame to a Proud. A single word, that stood out sharply against his pale Fluxian skin.
Worthless.
His pathmates had another idea. Namely, they were sick of HIS ideas.
And so the priests of the Proud returned close to the same hour of night that they had departed. They moved as quietly and discreetly as they could, and bundled amidst them was Constantine, forced against his will to return to their home. One of the next highest ranking Proud spoke to him as they walked through the city of Flux and toward the temple proper.
"The sickness was a sign from Soahc," the priest was saying. "We are not meant to leave our home. Your pranks in the night have only served to enrage our enemies. Our leaving was nothing more than cowardly fleeing, no matter how much you dressed it up as otherwise. And we, as damned fools, followed you. I've no doubt those wiser than us, who stayed behind, will be glad to rub that in our faces for years to come, to climb over our stupid mistake to sit on thrones of pride higher than our own."
The priest, Kiril, bared his teeth at that in a snarl. "Because of you, Constantine. Because of your cowardice. We thought we saw a glimmer of something great in you, but no. We should have paid more attention to what we had heard about what happened in Khelek."
Constantine struggled against the hands holding him, fought to speak past the gag in his mouth, but could do nothing. Kiril slapped him, lazily, and he quieted.
"You sought to bring fame and greatness to our path?" the other priest asked in a soft, mocking voice. "Well you failed. No doubt we are the laughingstock of Flux. Not even our brothers in Talen'sul wanted much to do with us. We, the Proud of Flux, have fallen so low because of YOU."
By this point, the group had reached the heart of the temple. Kiril snapped his fingers and sent some of his priests in various directions. When they returned, there were ropes which were used to quickly bind Constantine, including wrapping around his sign and keeping him from being able to touch it.
Also brought was a sacred item from the heart of the Proud Hall, and its very sight caused any Proud near it to flinch away. Constantine's eyes widened in horror and he redoubled his efforts to free himself. A few of the stronger priests beat him a little until the man simply fought to get his breath back. Then the priests dragged him by the ropes and tread as close to the Wrathful hall as they dare. There, they fastened the ropes onto anything stable within reach, and the result was that Constantine was forced to stand, nearly spread eagle, facing the Wrathful hall.
Kiril nodded to another priest who, holding the Most Feared Object, came forward. The other priest touched his sign and chanted and soon the metal brand in his hand had heated up to a red-hotness.
"Constantine Anholts," Kiril said, each syllable falling as heavily as slamming door. "You are hereby cast out of the Proud Hall."
The brand came down. Constantine screamed in pain, though the contact was brief, and writhed. He mostly screamed because he knew what had just been pressed to his skin, searing the back of his left hand.
The Proud left without another word, leaving Constantine strung up in front of the Wrathful hall, like some sort of grisly sacrificial lamb in hopes that their bloodlust for the Proud might be sated on him.
Branded into his hand was the mark of shame to a Proud. A single word, that stood out sharply against his pale Fluxian skin.
Worthless.
