The Disk of Antius

Square of Faith

The Lumite's great tolerance for all faiths can find no greater home than here in the Square of Faith. Here members of all three faiths can come to worship in their own halls without fear of governmental persecution. The center of the large square is not dominated by a fountain but rather an enormous mosaic. In the circular design are symbols of all three faiths; the star of Lumah, the sun of Enzu and Orien, and the moon of Hebat, Occasa, and Uxa. Gardens grow on the edges of the square so as to not block the mosaic at the heart of the square.

Unlike the other squares and plazas of the city, only three structures are built here so as to not distract from their importance here. The Orienite and Vesperan temples are grand in their own right with the Orienite being the oldest structure in Esharra, pre-dating anything the Kuredin had built. The Vesperan temple stands beside the Orienite, though a wide expanse of courtyard and walls keeps the two from being immediate neighbors. At the southern end of the square the Lumite temple stands alone, the architectural gem of Esharra.. The central building of marble and granite is topped by a golden dome that shines brightly in the Esharra sun and appears to glow when the moon is full.

----------------------- IC Time and Weather in Castana ------------------------

Time of Day : Midday

IC Date : Verendi, 12 Maia, 1178 OY (426 LY)

Season : Late Spring

Weather : Windy

Temperature : 84 F (28 C)

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For the past couple of weeks, the city has seen more and more Orienite pilgrims venturing into the city of Esharra. Now the time has come - this is the appointed day of the Praelocutor's ceremony, and high noon is drawing near. The fact that the northern horizon has darkened with thunderclouds has not dampened the palpable enthusiasm running through the thickening crowds. The faithful have been pouring past the gates of the Orienite Cathedral at a steady pace, and it shows no signs of slackening despite the fact that the building and its courtyard must be full. Here and there may be espied a pale face, a nobleman and his or her servants from the region of Avanne and beyond. The vast majority are dusky of skin and black of hair, the Castanans who have traveled from the northern regions of the country. A hum lies thick in the air - the countless voices mingling together in conversation or in prayer.

On the outskirts of the throng, a man stands alone in quiet contemplation. Nicolas busies himself with watching the Orienite pilgrims as they pass him by, most without giving him a second glance. Every so often he brushes motes of dust from the sleeves of his scarlet coat, and rarely a nod is offered to a group of passers-by.

While this day has been set aside for the Orienite faithful, the procession of the Sultan and his Qadim cannot be ignored. Attention becomes divided as His Majesty Jamal ibn Shahir has his way parted by the authority of the yellow-cloaked Shar'ur. There is some grumblings from the Orienite faithful; some had speculated that the rather reclusive Sultan would not make an appearance, or that he should not make one. Asipu attend the Sultan as well, looking as solemn as most of the Orienites in attendance.

The entire Qadim trails behind the Sultan and among them in the tall feminine figure of the Qadiya who first welcomed the visiting Orienites to these shores, Qadiya Shahrazad. She walks a bit apart from the rest of the men with her veil partially covering her face. The group makes their way to a place set aside for the Sultan and his entourage, but none speak or makes attempts to turn more of the crowd's attention from the Orienites who are here at His Majesty's blessing.

The site of the ceremony itself, as befits the honor of the Sun God, is outdoors in the Cathedral's courtyard. An enormous dais has been erected there, where the Praelocutor will present the Disk of Antius to the crowd of faithful worshippers, well within sight of the heathens beyond the gates. For in truth, this is more about returning them to the true faith as it is supporting those already within the Orienite Church.

The Praelocutor has not yet made his entrance, but the black-garbed figures of the Hastati surround both the dais and the path he will travel to arrive there. A few more adventurous souls have tried to approach closer, but the swift and harsh responses from the sober-faced soldiers of the Church quickly put an end to such adventures.

There are those few among the Hastati that do not quite fit in with the others of their brethren. They are the Persequors, the famed and feared mage hunters of the Orienite Church, and here in the very den where they promote and teach the sin of magic, they keep careful watch over the throngs of citizens and visitors to Esharra. There is little doubt that displays of heretical power will be dealt with swiftly, and likely brutally as well.

Well well, what have we here? Dark eyes are immediately drawn to the splendor that is the Sultan's arrival, and without hesitation, Nicolas sweeps into a bow from the waist as they pass him by. His gaze flickers up from beneath his brow, lingering for a little while upon the tall figure of Shahrazad. He straightens only after they have passed, but he does not return to his former position near to the wall ringing the cathedral's courtyard. Instead he trails after them a little ways, using the parted crowd to his advantage to take up a new position near to the gates. There he will have a splendid view of the ceremony to come.

Such courtesy paid to the Sultan's arrival is not found in many, indeed. More than one Orienite looks askance at the heathens, murmuring prayers for protection from the one true God, and making the sign of the sun over themselves. As the sun creeps ever higher into the sky, the voices grow stronger in the crowds. A well-sized group has begun a regular series of chanted prayers, which rise and ebb like the flow of the tides.

And then there are those who don't fit into the surrounding ethnicity at all. Their garb is different...of duller colors and of a different style. Skin and hair are fairer, and they most likely look a bit wary around so many who call this place home. At least one does. He wears a feathered hat, but it doesn't quite cover his bright red hair, and his clothes...of browns and ivory, are of a completely different style than is worn by the Castanans. Hazel eyes glance about at the processions...the boy is rather nervous at being in this particular crowd.

Prayers to the Orienite's god are countered with prayers to the Lumite's god and goddess, as well as those to the prophet. There are some shouts from the crowd, anger over the fact that the Orienites are here. There is no large contingent of anger, at least not yet, but rather the protests are scattered throughout the crowd, likely brought on by friendly dares to see who can catch the Orienite's attention - and ire - first. Members of the city guard circulate warily through the growing crowd, expecting trouble and more than once casting glances toward the Sultan, for it is by his approval that this has come to be.

The Sultan, on the other hand, does a fair job of ignoring the protests as he takes a seat, somewhat away from the crowds. As an Orienite gestures to him in an Orienite fashion, he returns with a blessing of Lumah, which gains him only a scowl.

What, exactly, determines high noon from the moments just before? There must be some sect of the Orienite Church that determines these things, the most proper moment for sacred ceremonies to begin. Whatever the case, as the sun continues to climb into the sky, the massive doors of the Cathedral swing open to reveal a contingent of the priesthood. Robes of all colors are visible, from the white of the Auxiliators, through brown and green for the Ministrators and Proximates, and black for the personal Hastati guard of the Praelocutor. At the center of this group walk two men, one in the bright blue that signifies a man of Primate rank.

The other is a tall man of middle age, with iron grey hair and sharply chiseled features. Even beneath the red robes of the Praelocutor, Pacificus VIII will be recognized as a man of strong build. His head is held high, a regal bearing echoed throughout his manner as he strides forth toward the dais. He lifts a hand to the faithful gathered, who make the sign of the sun and prostrate themselves before the man that stands at the right hand of the God.

The Primate, his own star dimmed slightly by the presence of the man next to him, matches his stride to that of the Praelocutor. Ramrod straight, he leaves the gestures of blessing to his master, instead staring ahead with piercing eyes, not bothering to hide the look of disapproval at the mixed throng before him.

A reverent hush falls over the faithful at the first appearance of the Praelocutor, and those who do not fall quickly to their knees have only been caught up in a moment of what can only be awe. Excitement and tension mounts, for a great many Orienites cannot help but take offense at the behavior of the heathens, those who do not immediately kneel to show their respect. The grumbling is kept to a dull roar, a wave of sound that lifts up from the crowd and sweeps back and out towards the gates and the Square of Faith beyond it.

Like so many of those standing outside of the gates, Nicolas does not kneel nor even incline his head to the Praelocutor. But he is watching, and he is watching ever so intently. The faintest of smiles takes hold of his lips, and the glitter in his eyes is distantly excited. A young woman standing near to him quietly murmurs a few words, and when he turns to her, he softly comments, "It is not every day you see the Praelocutor of the Orienite Church, Senorita. Even if nothing else should happen, even if the man should turn around and go home to his Holy Isle, this will be a day to remember."

There is a growing tension in the crowd that can be felt everywhere. Even the usually calm and composed Qadiya appears disturbed by the events of the day, even more so as the Orienites begin their public service in front of such mixed company. her dark fingers brush her veil away from her face so that she might gain a better view of those around her. Shahrazad, like the rest of the Lumites with the Sultan, does not bow or acknowledge the Orienites in any manner, but neither does she shout or make other attempts to disrupt the Praelocutor and his men.

Shahrazad makes her apologies to those nearest to her as she gently pushes herself past them to get closer to the Sultan. The Sultana is no in attendance and to the uneducated it might appear that Shahrazad is the Sultana. She takes a position at His Majesty's side and he reaches out and pats her arm, noting her nervousness and trying to reassure her. She smiles at him briefly, but turns her attention back to the foreign and confusing ritual of the Orienites.

The Praelocutor turns to the Primate Avannum walking next to him, sharing a word or two with his colleague that carries only to his ears. He wears a beneficent smile, portraying the kindly shepherd to the flock that surrounds him. Now and again as he approaches the dais, he stops to touch his hand to the bowed head of an Orienite, speaking a few words of the God's blessing.

The knot of priests reaches the dais, and climbs the steps to stand atop it. The Hastati encircle the dais, a few steps below the top, so that the Praelocutor may be seen. The red-robed prelate and the Primate stand atop the dais and wait for silence -- or as much silence as can be given by such a throng.

Primate Meyric stands stock still, behind and to the left of the Praelocutor. Pacificus leans back and says something unheard by the crowd, but the Primate's expression doesn't chance, stony mass of disapproval still in place. It's pretty clear to those who can see and have an eye for nuance that the Primate Avannum is NOT happy to be where he is today.

The young lady standing next to the Professor mutters something that is undeniably unpleasant and derogatory towards the Orienites. Hearing it causes Nicolas' smile to waver towards a smirk, but he says nothing in reply as his attention is drawn to the bright red figure ascending the dais. He refolds his arms across his chest, gaze fixed intently upon the man.

Silence is a little difficult in coming, for some of the younger members of the faithful cannot quite quell the murmurings of their excitement. But soon it comes, falling like a thick pall over the assembled, bowed heads. Those more devoted... or fanatical... do not even dare to lift their eyes to the holy man, let alone speak in this moment.

The Sultan, after the momentary gesture of comfort, is silent, out of respect for his guests, rather than any kind of acceptance for their teachings. He does not bow or nod his head or even avert his eyes, but rather sits as still as stone, watching the proceedings as if he were attending a performance by some of the city's actors and musicians.

Shahrazad smiles down at the man but noticing his attention to the events at hand, she doesn't dare break the silence with any words of thanks. She too turns her attention toward the Orienites, though she is not as still as the man beside her. The rest of the Qadim follows the Sultan's example and remain as passive observers.

As the Praelocutor comes forward and stands atop the low platform at the center of the dais, he lifts his hands toward the gathered crowd. "Children of the God," he begins in a booming voice that carries impressively over the area, "be welcome here under His sheltering light, among what he has created and allowed to be created. It has been many years since Oviedo has welcomed the Church with such open arms and we are warmed by the welcome we have received," he continues, providing the Orienite name to the city of Esharra.

He nods toward Meyric as a Ministrator approaches the dais with a polished wooden case. The thunderclouds that have been building across the sky approach ever closer, though the sun still shines. "I bring to you today the Disk of Antius, the sun disk worn by the holiest of men to walk the God's earth, the first Praelocutor of our Church.

He has to strain in order to hear the Praelocutor's voice, and if he could press any closer through the crowds in order to get a better view, he would do so. But Nicolas must content himself with remaining near to the gates. He parts his lips slightly, inhaling sharply between his teeth at the announcement made, and he lifts his chin in order to look upon the wooden case that is being carried forward.

The Professor's anticipation is echoed throughout the entire crowd. Every Orienite head is bowed now, waiting for the moment to be blessed with the artifact, though the younger ones are bold enough to steal the occasional glance upward. Those Vesperans and those Lumites who had caught the name of Oviedo grumble darkly amongst themselves, their displeasure coming as a low rumble that strangely resembles a growl of thunder.

Meyric takes the wooden case from the Ministrator, pausing for a moment as he is overcome with reverent awe for the holiness and history he holds within his hands. With unwonted gentleness, he opens the case before turning back to the Praelocutor. The sun shines off the newly revealed disk, causing a glint of light to shoot over the crowd. The Primate kneels to the Praelocutor's right in honest supplication. "Your Holiness, may I, unworthy though I am, present to you the Disk of Antius?"

Now there are murmurs rumbling though those near the Sultan. Members of the Qadim turn from passive observers to annoyed spectators as they shoot glares toward the dais at the mention of Oviedo. Even the Sultan, who has tried to maintain a solemn mask today, looks disturbed by the obvious slight by the Orienite priests.

Just one among the crowd of Orienites, Tibault leans forward a bit to catch sight of the Disk. Hazel eyes flicker briefly among the priests in attendance as if he tries to find a familiar place before it returns to the relic.

The tip of his tongue touches his lips as Nicolas leans ever further, nearly pushing a woman off to one side in his obvious eagerness. The senora gives him an annoyed look and whispers a few hot words at him, which are summarily dismissed with a curt wave of his hand.

"You may, my son," replies the Praelocutor, ever the kindly father figure. "We are all unworthy in the eyes of the God." He reaches forward to carefully lift the artifact from its resting place. It is similar in size and shape to the disk that hangs about Pacificus' neck, though far, far older.

As the red-robed priest raises the disk closer to his eyes, a look of horror passes over his face. In sharp contrast to the serene smile he has worn up to now, his teeth clench to hold in a sudden rage as he snaps off a few words at Meyric. Those nearby might well hear him say, "This is not the Disk. This is a clever fake." And as if mirrored in the skies above, the displeasure of the God's voice on earth is echoed in the sudden clash of thunder overhead. In the heavens as on earth, there is something very wrong.

Meyric recoils in shock, dropping the case and leaping to his feel. "Your Holiness...", he begins, but is unable to finish, as overcome with shock and horror as the Ministrators and Hastati around him.

Wait a minute...ruddy brows draw down at the drama that begins...it's not supposed to happen like that. Where's the priest with the scar he spoke to? Tibault wrenches his gaze away and begins looking for him among the crowd...but there are too many people. Color drains from his face, causing him to stand out even more from the dusky-skinned population.

Like a stone cast into a pool of water, the reverberations of shock and horror spread outward into the crowd. Though many could not possibly have heard what was being said, those nearby know that something is wrong. Many of the faithful lift their heads to the skies, the crash of thunder disturbing the haze of devotion that had settled over the vast majority. Something is wrong. The word is spreading like wildfire through the people, and many a murmur is being lifted to voice confusion.

Nicolas stands still and silent, frozen like a statue with his eyes riveted to the sight of the dais. His cheeks flush pink as he holds his breath, his eyes shining darkly, before he slowly eases his weight back onto his heels. Beside him, several men and women have begun muttering. The general opinion, even as far out as he is, is that something is not going according to plan.

The Sultan is on his feet, though he rises slowly at the shock that radiated from the Orienite faithful on the dais. Murmurs begin to turn toward cruel laughter from some of the Lumites and Vesperans as word spreads that something is very wrong. "Enzu has punished you!" comes shouts from the crowd. "Orien has betrayed you for your arrogance!" yells another as the mockery begins to grow among the curious, but not faithful.

Shahrazad looks on with her lips parted, trying to speak but unable to form the words. She's shocked, that much is obviously, but she also begins to shakes. Her eyes tear away from the priests as she begins to survey the crowd. Members of all branches of the Castanan military circulate, they too sensing the grave possibility of a riot beginning to take hold.

The Hastati, en masse, close ranks about the dais as the situation begins falling apart. Atop the dais, Pacificus raises his hands once again, crying out as loudly as he can, "Be at peace, my children, be at peace!" It becomes all too clear all too quickly that no one is listening to him. Even those faithful nearest the dais bear looks of horror to mirror that of the Primate Avannum, and where horror treads, danger will soon follow. High-ranking officials of the Hastati approach the Praelocutor and the Primate and urge them to return to safety inside the Cathedral. Pacificus, it seems, will have none of it. "The vile heathen that has perpetrated this crime against the God will be found and brought to pay for the crime committed!" he shouts, rage filling his features and voice. "The sin that permeates this city has brought this to pass, and will be purged by the flame of the God, my children!"

The Primate Avannum remains behind and to the left of the Praelocutor. Having schooled his features during the Praelocutor's speech, Primate Meyric once again projects grim-faced disapproval towards the crowd. At the mention of flames purging the city, satisfaction creeps into the Primate's expression.

Pressed closer to the gates by the throng of the curious and the jeering, Nicolas struggles momentarily to keep his balance. The Professor no longer tries to keep his place, falling back to allow others to surge forward and cry out with their sneers or outrage. He cannot hear so well now, but by virtue of being one of the taller men in the crowd, he can still catch an occasional glimpse.

Roars erupt from the throats of many an Orienite at the Praelocutor's words, calling for the blood of the man who committed such a vile crime. There are many more calling for every living mage and every living heathen.

This brings a wave of anger from the residents of Esharra, at least those who do not follow the Orienite faith. Single comments are massed into a wall of noise, an angry sound that comes with shaking fists and red faces. Armed men, wearing the cloaks of the Castanan military are already breaking up small fist fights while the Shar'ur is trying to keep the Sultan and his entourage protected from anger on both sides.

Shahrazad loses all composure at this point. She draws her veil back across her face as if it were a form of protection from the vile threats that pour from the Orienite priesthood. She is drawn close to an unnamed Shar'ur who tries to get her away from the growing anger of the crowd, an anger almost certain to leave some dead before night falls.

Maybe in the near riot, Tibault can squeeze his way out of the crowd. He's not particularly small and lithe, but he can try to push his way through...no doubt getting his share of curses or whatnot because of who he is. But if he can just get away...go back home...forget all of this...

One of the Hastati commits the sin of touching the Praelocutor without consent, but it is rapidly becoming necessary that His Holiness depart the scene. The Hastati that guard the dais are being sorely pressed by the sheer numbers of those that seek to swarm the Praelocutor. Still the man fights against being taken away, caught up in the grasp of holy fury. With a wince, the Hastatus draws out a dagger and clubs the Praelocutor over the head, knocking him unconscious so that he can be dragged away. Should the God incinerate him where he stands, at least he will have saved the Praelocutor from being torn apart by an angry mob. For now.

Meyric, seizes the arm of the Hastatus who struck the Praelocutor and says something, pointing at the Praelocutor. What he says is lost in the tumult, but he allows himself to be led away as Pacificus is carried off.

As enjoyable as this little outing has been, the Professor knows that it is time to make his exit. Nicolas abandons every attempt at keeping his place in the crowds, and he is easily swept back by those who are intent on trying to rush through the Castanan military to flood the cathedral's courtyard. As he finally reaches a distance where he can turn around, he does so with a flare of his scarlet coat. The faintest of smiles rests easily upon his lips as he strolls away down the street, careful to keep himself pressed against the buildings so that the crowds can pass him by on the pavement.

Restrained from a purely open display of violence by the skill and the watchfulness of the Castanan military, the people have little choice but to vent their fury and tension by shouting threats at each other. Some begin calling for a holy war. Others demand the destruction of every Vesperan or Lumite temple and church.

The Sultan is shouting orders, likely heard by those nearest him, but otherwise they too are consumed by the angry shouts from the mob surrounding the Cathedral. A group of men in blue cloaks with the sigil of a ship on them take off as best they can in the direction of the docks, likely to stall any departures from the city by boat. Members of the Masa'a angrily push through the crowds, threatening arrest or harm to those that try to delay them. Punches are thrown by residents and visitors alike as people try to get away from the square or make attempts at justifying their god and their faith. The Lumites and Vesperans counter with calls to destroy the Orienite Cathedral and soon there are even seen some men bearing torches, waiting for the chance to do just that.

Somewhere to the northwest heavy bells are sounded, signaling that the giant city gates have been closed in the attempts to keep the thief or thieves in the city.

As the Praelocutor is ferried off by the Hastati and the Primate Avannum, the soldiers of the Church begin pushing people out of the Cathedral grounds. More than one is cut down by the swords of the Hastati, brutality not something they are particularly concerned about. Their goal is to clear the courtyard and save the Cathedral, and may the God have mercy on any who stand in their way.

Over the roar of the crowd comes the fury of the God himself, made manifest in the sharp crack of thunder that pierces the cacophony. The storm that had been threatening to break all morning finally does so, releasing a downpour of rain that comes as if it had a mind of its own. Droplets slash down, soon soaking the populace to the skin. It is a chill wind that blows through the city, carrying a force behind it that holds a promise of a truly magnificent storm.

Strange how rain has a way of cooling a few tempers. It serves to spur a great many towards their homes, though assuredly blood will be spilled in the streets for this catastrophe.

Wounded are carried off to the city's hospitals and others that were arrested are dragged off to await further punishment. Screams of anger and fear have died down and completely overwhelmed by the cracks of thunder that shake the very walls of the city. Torches that had been meant for destruction are extinguished, but not all anger has been washed away. Too many small groups of people wander off together, their conversations held to whispers and their gazes cast suspiciously around at others also departing.