[PRP] Holy men and holey hats.

[kotaline]

Holy Men and Holey Hats

A roleplay featuring Adal Malt, a Plague, Wickwright Finch, a mendicant, and his Plague, Hopkin, Symonis, a Jawbone Man and bishop, and Corby, a Jawbone Man and clerk of the Chancery to the court of Emperor Rine. The place is in the Council/Panymisian church base in Terra, Nova Mundus, where lives a bishop who has requested two prisoners' presence. The date is February 17th, 1413, and the time is late evening. The snowstorm that was raging in the previous roleplay continues unabated.

 

[kotaline]

At first, Wickwright had thought that they wouldn't have to brave the snowstorm roaring outside, as it was well known that Council bases had underground tunnels snaking between their buildings. But in Terra, where Nova Mundus and some of the most preeminent Council theologians were located, it was deemed unwise to have the underground tunnels connect to the castle which housed the handful of prison cells and administrative buildings which kept the government involved in Nova Mundus's affairs. The trio were led through the snow, despite Wickwright's determined protests about his old bones and terrible aches, and were stalled from getting into the warm by a few feeble attempts to fetch Tristram through the snow. When they finally did arrive in the slightly warmer and definitely drier confines of Nova Mundus, the guards that had escorted them dropped them in the gatehouse while filing the paperwork necessary for their transfer, leaving them even longer in the cold.

Eventually, finally, they were picked up by a harried looking deacon, passed onto an even more harried looking servant, and led to the blissful warmth of their host's chamber, and as they were announced, Wickwright not surprised to see who greeted them. "Bishop Symonis, your charges," said the servant, and then rushed off somewhere else.

Wickwright looked around the lodgings and grinned. "Hardly mendicant poverty, Symonis," he admonished.

"My apologies, said the bishop, who was young for his title, but not a youth. "Next time I'll be the one to stay in the jail cell." His eyes sweeping over the two of their party that he could see, he asked, "Wickwright Finch and his book, I presume?"

"And Adal Malt," said Hopkin, before he could be stopped, but WIckwright did not seem as concerned as he had been in the jail cell about Hopkin's secrecy.

"Adal Malt," repeated Symonis, looking taken aback. "Finch, I thought you were alone with your Plague. Whose Plague is this?"  

[Rookeries]

It didn't feel right in any sense to be strung around Helios by its officials, especially when it was alongside the rickety old Wickwright Finch. Adal managed to offer a pleasurable smile and relatively candid attitude along the way, though, and made sure to be doubly as sweet to his kind old Grimm, with his old bones and terrible, terrible aches. Ah, he would say, excuse him, he is as fickle as he is old, but let us hurry, lest he forget where he must go and wander astray.

Adal allowed his mood to sour only when they were no longer accompanied by the Helian guards. He managed to glare bitterly at the guard before he left them be, then allowed Wickwright to speak for them all. The Locos had no business in this locale, he felt, even despite his more privileged status as a Locos. What did this damn bishop want from either of them?

The blond managed a wry grimace and halfheartedly respectful bow of his head to Symonis. He managed to suppress his confusion and overwhelming feeling of disinterest in the ordeal by keeping to himself, mostly. All pretense of well-adjusted mannerisms shattered to pieces when Hopkin began speaking, though, wherein Adal glared daggers at the book bag and Hopkin. Of course the Phasms didn't listen. That alignment rarely did.

Adal managed to calm considerably when he realized Wickwright wasn't acting the part of miserly mendicant speech-interloper, and allowed his previously tense shoulders to relax. If Hopkin were to go uninterrupted, and father Symonis took the presence of two Plagues in relative stride, he would speak for himself willingly.

"My Grimm is Georgie Malt, father," he frowned, "You would not know him. My only tie with Wickwright Finch is his bearing a Plague."  

[kotaline]

Symonis nodded brusquely. "Well, I did not expect you, but now that you're here, Adal Malt, I welcome you!" He turned to Wickwright and gestured to a chair, which Wickwright gratefully accepted. To Adal and Hopkin he offered nothing, clearly more used to thinking of Plagues as possessions, rather than people, despite his unruffled acceptance of their presence.

"I had a chance to catch up with your work recently," Wickwright said, as he sat down. "I thought it might be you when I heard that a Helian official wanted us, but I never thought you'd do this well for yourself-- In the Panymisian Church, no less!"

Symonis laughed nervously. "It hasn't been easy. I have O'Neill to thank for much of it."

"Of course," they both said, nearly simultaneously, then Wickwright grinned. "He's doing much the same for young Yawley."

"I know," admitted Symonis. "I heard news of your Plague through him, and--"

A flurry of knocks came upon the door, causing Hopkin to startle. The door burst open to reveal a younger man, in his late twenties at the most, who gaped at Adal as if he had never seen such thing as a Plague before. He backed away slowly, but he seemed more nervous than scared. "Symonis, you got them!" he exclaimed, then added, "It's me, Finch, Corby. I found out you were here and told Symonis! I thought your Plague was--"

"I am here," Hopkin announced, somewhat impatiently, "This is Adal Malt, Georgie Malt's Plague." He clambered out of the bag, well aware that he was in the presence of Jawbone Men that Wickwright trusted now, though Adal Malt, he supposed, must be completely lost. For once, he quite relished it.

"Adal Malt, I am Jaket Corby, a scribe for the Emperor and a confederate of Wickwright Finch and Bishop Symonis." As a younger man, he at least seemed more used to treating Plagues like people, though he still seemed unsure about what to say to Hopkin. "I'm afraid that even tough you're here, and Finch, you're still actually in the custody of the guard here. I came to try to help you, but it looks like it'll take me at least a few weeks to wrangle your release legally." He grinned sheepishly. "Bishop Symonis can keep you imprisoned here, instead of in jail, though."  

[Rookeries]

With a vague smile, Adal offered Symonis another bow of his head. "Thank you, father," he managed to say, though his consternation over this Helios fiasco was quickly growing. He thought absolutely nothing of the lack of seating-- he was quite used to it by now-- and merely allowed his eyes to wander around the area. Helian institutions were certainly more decorated than many of the ones present in other kingdoms, even the ones in Thorn, which he supposed added to the cloying nature of these events.

He didn't catch too much of what Finch and Symonis had to say between each other, and his attentions were immediately snapped back towards the door. He was initially shocked, much like Hopkin, though he dissuaded the feeling quickly. He studied Corby with narrowed eyes, his glance faltering only when the Phasmas introduced himself. And Adal, as it were, which made the Locos scowl somewhat.

Ah, an associate of the Emperor's. He bowed halfheartedly to Corby as well, though his expression did not lighten as he managed to do for Symonis-- he was growing tired of the quickly surmounting news that played against his favors. He didn't much expect anything beneficial from Corby-- even the mention that they could stay here instead of jail was surprising. He raised his brows slightly and nodded.

"I see," Adal began, his voice low. He spoke with a tad more confidence after digesting the information. He bowed his head to address Corby, "I'm thankful for our continued stay here with father Symonis, truly. But I must ask: what of my possessions? The only thing we managed to retrieve was Mr. Finch's ox." That damn ox.  

[kotaline]

"I've arranged for Finch's wagon and your possessions to be sent to me," confided Corby, "But the authorities will have to inspect them first. After the revolts in Gadu, all Council bases are on high alert for signs of unrest and conspiracy." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Especially in Nova Mundus, it's terribly difficult to keep secrets." Changing the subject, he asked, "Pray, what kind of Plague are you? I've never seen a Plague up close before." He didn't address Hopkin at all, and it seemed like he had difficulty remembering Hopkin was there, for when Hopkin piped up with "I am a book," he looked rather startled.

Wickwright glanced over at Corby, who was busily distracting Adal and Hopkin, and leaned in closer to Symonis. "If you've heard of my book from Yawley, you likely know why I'm here."

Symonis shrugged. "Yawley did mention it. He seemed to be in favour of fixing your little problem." Wickwright relaxed slightly, but Symonis continued. "I'd like to know what the benefit is for us. Yawley seems to think your book can help him with his own rather ambitious contribution, but I find it hard to believe a Finch would allow another family to meddle with their creation, especially not a Finch like you."

Wickwright raised a hand. "I anticipated this. I read your research. It was impressive."

"It's difficult enough to research what I do at Nova Mundus, but I manage" admitted Symonis with some false modesty. "Studying religion and power is important to our erstwhile patron, as you may imagine." He steepled his fingers, adding, "If you think that Plagues will bring power to a small religious order like the Society, though, you're mistaken."

"You've researched the Jawbone Society, as have I," pressed Wickwright. "But some parts remain a mystery to both of us. Hopkin won't bring us power, but he won't bring us unwanted attention either, like O'Neill seems to believe. And he has his advantages. For instance, he can decipher Kingsley code. And he remembers every story I wrote in him perfectly"

Symonis leaned forward. "Prove it."

"Ask Gravesend," Wickwright replied. "My book could resurrect a dead religious language for you, and far more." Getting up, he left Symonis to think about his proposition, and went to Adal.

"I think Iheard that we were allowed to stay here. Will we be safe from prying?" he asked Corby.

"As far as I know," Corby obliged.

"Were you done testing Hopkin?" Wickwright asked Adal. "What did you discover?"  

[Rookeries]

Adal wasn't so pleased at the idea of anyone in Helios inspecting property, but he had nothing to hide but a Plagueologist's work in his satchel. If it was the Council, he reckoned things would go remarkably uneventfully. He grimaced in understanding and glanced at the floor in thought, only to be addressed with a question he didn't expect. This was certainly no inquiry on the governance's part-- they had no reason to be curious-- and Adal wondered if he should answer at all. Adal only decided to do so when the Phasmas answered before him, out of some sense of spite.

"I am a Locos, sir Corby, who comes from a hat. I admit my origins aren't as elegant as a book's." Adal kept partial attention to Finch and the father's conversation, and managed to scoff quietly at what context he managed to decipher. A mixing in matters of Plague and theology rarely went well, in his experience, and Wickwright sounded hopeful, which rarely went well for Grimms.

When the mendicant turned to him, the Locos hesitantly furrowed his brows. "Ah," he began-- he felt the smooth ridge of the ink vial and pulled it out from his pocket, only to find it difficult to see past the layer of ink caked inside the glass. "No, I've yet to complete testing Hopkin. I request some patience, mister Finch. I haven't the time to cure it yet, and it's difficult to see the contents in this bottle. I may have to ask your Phasmas for another sample and acquire a cleaner container."