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| No title. |
| (2013-10-11 - 2013-10-11) |
| No description. |
| Faruja Senra | The clank of armor and shine of the light in Blivon's new office off of Faruja's golden plate mail herald the arrival of the tiny Burmecian, recently recoved from certain taxing exploits. His tail lashes as a clawed hand rapps on the door harshly. Faruja's voice booms, authoritative and giving no uncertain impression of his distaste. Though his views on the Heretics of Beoulve's company has certainly changed as of late, one is still very much on his own ideological hate-list. The spear upon his back will only attest to such a hatred, freshly cleaned and sharpened. Just in case the man in question gives him a reason to use it. "Heretic Blivon! Open this door, by order of the Holy Office of Inquisition!" Demands Faruja. He resists the urge to kick down the door, knowing well the automated turrets and alarms of the strange new mayor would kick in. |
| Blivon | Blivon was sitting in his lobby, looking over some things as he started to hear somebody tapping his front door, which wasn't actually locked-- then again, vampires had to ask permission before entering one's home, or it would cause them to lose some of their powers, as per the rules that governed that particular type of demon. On the other hand, the one in question wasn't actually asking /permission/ to enter, but demanding passage, which muddled the shaman, who wondered why someone so insistent wouldn't just enter, when the public was allowed to come in at their leisure, moreover.... he was wondering was caused the visitor to hallucinate such that by the order of some foreign dignitary, did he need to open the door? It was entirely possible this fellow was disabled, and unable to turn the knob himself, although hearing the voice and recognizing it, he had to wonder if Faruja was just trying to put on pretenses of authority when Blivon was certain that in Traverse Town, he had none, and was trying to manipulate the guru into opening the door, as some paltry attempt at verifying the sway Glabados might've had over our unobtrusive hero, 'Heretic Blivon'. Nonetheless, he moved towards the door, and opened it, and took a few steps back so that Faruja might enter, which'd be ensued by the enactment of Blivon's election to then close the door; he didn't want insects abound in his place of practice! Thankfully, the mage was not of such haughtiness that he viewed Faruja as a meager insect, which ironically, is something one of his own order might've been inclined to do-- if not Morrighan Alazne, then certainly.... Ophelia Lovett would've appraised the Nezumi in such a critical light |
| Faruja Senra | Putting on a pretense of authority is often part of the job description; after all, a Templar's authority extends far beyond political borders as arbiters of Faram! Though that rarely is the case in non-Ivalician societies, the ratling has to /seem/ to be that way. Even if he comes off as a jerk at times because of it! There's no insects, but now Blivon has a rat infestation. The Burmecian looks the daemon-cavorter over with a spiteful gaze. A clawed hand flexes, and he shivers. It would be so easy to drive a blade into his heart, and then speed away... Deep breath. No. He has a /job/ to do. "Well. At least you are prompt. Ahem!" The Templar pulls out a scroll, unfurling it, reading off of the ornately decorated piece of parchment. "By Divine Order of the High Inquisitor, blessed by Faram, walking in the light and grace of the Holy Prophet Saint Ajora Glabados, the blasphemous, Daemon-tainted Heretic Blivon is hereby ordered to surrender himself into the custody of Temple Knight Faruja Senra for Confession and Correction, whence he come upon Holy Land." Furl, furl furl. "Turn thyself in. 'Twould do thee much good, methinks. One wrong step across yonder border and out of this town...well. Free game, as they say." |
| Faruja Senra | Putting on a pretense of authority is often part of the job description; after all, a Templar's authority extends far beyond political borders as arbiters of Faram! Though that rarely is the case in non-Ivalician societies, the ratling has to /seem/ to be that way. Even if he comes off as a jerk at times because of it! There's no insects, but now Blivon has a rat infestation. The Burmecian looks the daemon-cavorter over with a spiteful gaze. A clawed hand flexes, and he shivers. It would be so easy to drive a blade into his heart, and then speed away... Deep breath. No. He has a /job/ to do. "Well. At least you are prompt. Ahem!" The Templar pulls out a scroll, unfurling it, reading off of the ornately decorated piece of parchment. "By Divine Order of the High Inquisitor, blessed by Faram, walking in the light and grace of the Holy Prophet Saint Ajora Glabados, the blasphemous, Daemon-tainted Heretic Blivon is hereby ordered to surrender himself into the custody of Temple Knight Faruja Senra for Confession and Correction, whence he come upon Holy Land." Furl, furl furl. "Turn thyself in. 'Twould do thee much good, methinks. One wrong step across yonder border and out of this town...well. Free game, as they say." |
| Blivon | Blivon would not be the first to accuse Faruja of having poor diplomacy skills, and he would not be the last, if he were in fact inclined to cast such an aspersion on the arrogant, yet foolish rodent; but being of a truly calling, his tranquil demeanor is not to be so easily disrupted by a few mal-choice words that imply the rat is on higher authority than the shaman-- let Faruja believe all he wishes, for one's vision, if that ocular prowess be distorted, houses no allegiance belonging to reality! The spiteful fixation doesn't cause quake in Blivon, either, or tremors in the demi-human's body, but no,... whether Faru thought it would be so easy to dispatch a mindful guru with one mere blow, when his history was riddled in warfare, it is hardly unheard of for Blivon to be caught unawares in terms of assassination attempts, especially when the fire of the furred's atrium so adamantly preaches contempt without words to play the courier of what resounds in the Nezumi's soul. The holy-man has survived harder trials than that which Faruja could offer, and if one were capable of pillaging his body, it could be well assured that none in the World of Ruin had the wit to desecrate his mind-- certainly, not some upstart of a paladin, whose every whim was governed by romantic sentiment, rather than dispassionate rationale.... "Ah, Mister Senra.... You may think much, but what you think is in my opinion, actually a simple regurgitation of what you've heard elsewhere, as opposed to the origins of such notions hailing from the forges of your own faculties, which having been untampered with for so long, would likely be cold to the touch." Blivon says, shaking his head, "No offense intended, but when you have examined the truth for yourself, and speak your own mind, instead of playing messenger for another, I might meditate on the prospect of heeding your words. Until that time arrives, you may have the precipitator face me themselves, if they have the courage for it, when in a place where the laws of the land favor neither they or myself" He smiles, "On the other hand.... if you gather that you have a stalwart heart, you are welcome to test your own knack for carrying out the will of the Divine Influence, and see if you may be inspired, so that through you, the powers that be will instruct you to speak with testament to the undeniable truth, such that a reasoning being cannot withstand its integrity-- for you see that I have no weapon, yet you come to me, spear in hand, ready to smite, or assault, as would a Shadow Lord, or a Heartless." He tilts his head, "Do you accept my challenge, or do you yield?" The shaman rubs his chin, thoughtfully, and raises a brow inquisitively, "First, though, I implore you to humor me..... Have you ever been deceived by anyone presiding from a position of authority, in the past, or else.... one stemming from a station of subordination? How about both? If this be the case, who, then.... do you trust? Those who threaten with ultimatums of punishment of violence for refusal, or those who discuss with civility, without promise of reprisal?" |
| Faruja Senra | Faruja's muzzle is set, almost in a growling fashion if he were a canine sort, the Burmecian clearly enraged by the thoughtful words of the man before him. And indeed, he's far more susceptible to them than he previously was; rock-solid faith remaining, if appraised of the true corruption within the Church. He's silent for some time, pondering his words, before chuckling. "The gift of debate never was my calling. Mine is to defend and slay the enemies of the Divine. But, I suppose a Templar cannot pass a challenge if 'tis made honorably enough." It seems the man's snagged onto the Burmecian's pride a bit! And his next words hit far too close to home. Glaring, he very nearly acts the Shadow Lord before regaining control of himself. "Speak naught such blasphemies! The Shadow Lords and their vile ilk seek to do naught but consume and destroy in foul Darkness!" A deep breath, and the rat continues. "Yes, I have. 'Tis the reason I work for the Holy Church, amongst others. Betrayal and deceit are part of the condition of mortals. We are imperfect, and even the Church is so. Yet, 'tis finding a cause amongst good souls which invokes my trust. Even should a member, high or low, betray a Brother or Sister in Faith, 'tis why we have laws, Divine and Secular, to punish and prevent such actions. 'Tis the whole reason the Office of Holy Inquisition exists. Violence is a tool only used upon those whom refuse to yield to rightful, Divine authority. Such as thyself." |
| Blivon | Blivon extends a hand, motioning towards a rather comfortable-looking sofa, adjacent to the one he himself sat upon, and remarks, "You seek to control my word-craft, by commanding me on what comparisons to issue, yet I tell you to do nothing, not even to refrain from striking me....." He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know if you recall that episode some days prior to this, you unleashed fury amidst persons wholly innocent to deeds of which I am suspected-- and yet, you accuse me of fraternization with demons, or show willingness to carry out the foulness of ferrying soul from body, on orders or one who has declared me an associate of the dark-side." The shaman scratches his head, "If I were to speak in earnest, and tell you right now whether I am guilty of this crime or not, then I would expect no less from you; have you ever affiliated with demons, or been possessed by them? One should not ask from others what one does not exhibit the same spirit to give, from they themselves....." Which is actually an old proverb of the Indigenous Peoples of American Soil, from which Manhatten originates; Blivon inwardly refers to them as 'Indigenous Peoples of American Soil', since anyone born in Manhatten is, technically, a 'native american', thus, is actually a misnomer that gets perpetuated quite frequently..... but is indeed, far more convenient a handle than something so long-winded as the aforementioned term. "When you have answered thus, I shall speak from the heart.... and then, I will ask you another query, since it seems relevant to your self-appointed crusade against the sinners of this plane." |
| Faruja Senra | Faruja refuses to take a seat, the Burmecian standing straight and proud. For the briefest of moments, the Templar's muzzle curls in a smirk. Even /if/ the man is an ally of the Heretics, he's not about to admit to the episode that simply /must/ remain hidden. Rather than attempt a lie, he solidly leans on position. "An assumption, /HERETIC/, which is most dangerous to make! How /dare/ thee speak such! I am under no obligation to speak of any sin of my own, on the simple reason that you possess no authority over me. Nay, as a lost sheep of the flock, 'tis thyself that comes under Divine Authority. You were a Priest, tasked with spreading the Divine Word to the people of the world, not making Judgement and Arbitration. That is the duty of Inquisitors, and the duty of Templar. Such as myself." It seems the rat isn't quite willing to play Blivon's game. |
| Blivon | The druid shakes his head, and says "You gladly take, but you do not give. Is that 'the way', for your order? Intriguing." He smirks a little, insinuating that Faruja is behaving in a very greedy manner, or, if not him, then that of his institution. "You know, Mister Senra..... I visited Manhatten at one point.... and there was something called a 'Holy Bible' left in my motel room inside a drawer, which I started to read. To my own mind, it bears resemblance to the teachings I used to follow, when I was within Glabados; ergo, it is interesting that you should greet me with such aggressiveness, and hostility." The guru takes a sip of water, and then remarks, "In the Christian Bible, it speaks of loving one's enemy and one's neighbor both as one loves oneself." Blivon then points at Faruja, "Is there not a passage in our own school that resonates something nigh-identical to this, on some page? While I am in the business of daring, as you so put it, I dare say that my knowledge of Glabadosian scripture, being that I /was/, without a doubt, an arch-deacon, which ranked right under bishop. If you are a warrior who fights the war of righteousness, why is it you have forgotten this excerpt, and do not practice it?" The guru, still looking relaxed, has yet to raise his voice in the slightest, or to yoke tones of anger when stealing the podium. |
| Faruja Senra | "How /ELSE/ should I greet one such as thee!? Why must I shrink like some wilting violet before a blasphemous, Daemon-loving TRAITOR!? You have sinned in the eyes of the Lord, abused thy position, and turned thy back upon all that is Holy and true! And yet you refuse proper correction by the authority you pledged thy life to! I have naught but utter contempt for thee." No one could accuse the rat of lying, judging from his passionate rage. If the Templar has a sin, it's certainly that of wrath. "To do what I must to see that criminals and traitors are redeemed in the Lord's eyes is all I /can/ do to love them. I know no other way, for they refuse to see sense when 'tis right before their eyes." "You speak of investigation. 'Tis to investigation that I would have thee surrender! I am not here to slay thee, no matter what my anger may well wish me to do. Nay. I merely wish to see thee sent to the proper authorities for thy crimes and to have them Judged as fairly as any Child of the Lord would deserve! And yet, you refuse. Am I to turn a blind eye to such? It speaks of guilt! That I must do so with harsh words and weapons is indeed tragic, but you do not surrender thyself. Should you choose to surrender into my custody, then on my honor, my blade shan't touch thy throat!" Responds the Templar, visibly shaking. He doesn't bother responding to the question, the rage in his red eye all too apparent. It's when Blivon takes out the holy book, quoting a passage the ratling knows all too well, that he goes silent. Claws scratch at metal in rage, the very word of the Lord turned against him. "I merely do my duty. 'Tis all." His voice trembles lightly, though whether of doubt or anger, it may be difficult to tell. A deep breath, and he continues. "And if 'tis forgiveness that ye wish, by all means, I would like to grant it. But 'tis nary my place to do so. I merely am to take thee to where it may be granted by lawful, Divine authority." |
| Blivon | "To do what you must, whether or not it contradicts your very charge.... and soon, you cease to resemble the very thing you pledged yourself to, which is no different than you claim it is to which I have degenerated.", Blivon says, with profound observation. "You dishonor your own station, Mister Senra. You would slay a pre-pubescent without so much as investigating the would-be victim's story for a single fact, without any evidence, as you would do me-- simply on the word of those who you yourself confessed, may have lied to you." The shaman shrugs his shoulders, "Now.... you tell me, who is the heartless one? You come to my home with weapons and wrath, and what do I do but welcome you in return, and endure your diatribes without delivery of my own derogatory terms; is your behavior what becomes of a soldier of the savior?" He shakes his head, "You're free to disagree, as deigned by the Creator, who has seen fit to bestow free-will, and grant it to all, just as I disagree with you on your views." Blivon then rummages through a drawer and pulls out a Glabadosian Bible, and starts flipping through the pages, "In my name do they humble themselves, and seek my countenance for comfort; hark, I will hear and see all.... those who claim to judge in my stead whilst forgetting that I speak of forgiveness, doth not despair, downtrodden ones.... for humility in the coil of thine reciprocates tenfold in your Final Home...." Putting the book down, having only taken mere /seconds/ to find that exact passage, as though he knew by heart where everything was, he stares at Faruja, "Does this describe your behavior, and your air, Mister Senra?" |
| Faruja Senra | Indeed, a sharp eye might catch a ghost of terror upon the Burmecian's face, swiftly hardening into cold lines of thought. The Templar weighs his options silently, tail swaying in that way that often bespoke of violence amongst his kind. It would be so easy to justify an attack, even /if/ he'd catch some flak for the whole thing from his superiors. The words of the very Heretic that both think of float through his mind. Indeed, so much of his actions today are built on lies, and guilt eats at him. But in order to cleanse the Church, and see his own dreams through, there's little choice in the matter as far as he's concerned. No doubt, if Blivon speaks with Ramza, all will be revealed. "I know naught what ye think ye saw or felt that day. Feedback from thine own Daemons, no doubt!" If there's one thing he's good at, is playing the zealot. It comes naturally after all. "And I know quite well the methods of the Inquisition. Now if you will excuse me, there is no gain from remaining and listening to the poisoned tongue of an asp." Then, he quite simply walks out. Sometimes, it's best to keep your mouth shut. |