Justice is Blind (JustBlind RP)

[Masta]

(OOC) : First, I just want to say, that I read all the forum and specific guilds forum rules prior to creating this thread. I know there are RP forums within this forum, however, in the past, we made *relaxed* RP threads within the general Guilds forum, generally to have a bit of fun, introduce ourselves and greet others. I also feel as though this thread will be seen and used more within this forum. However, if it is not permitted within the general forum, then I'll take my strike and move or erase it. Thanks. Oh and this thread *is* for JustBlind members mostly, but others may join the discussion, even heathens, just keep to the general rules of RP, no godmode, metagame, etc, and please drop me, the OP, a PM about your entry and wish to RP with us.

(RP):

Masta checked his armor once more, adjusting his shoulder-pads and pulling tight the straps which secured his chest plate. He fidgeted about nervously, running a hand through his hair, he nodded with lips pulled tight. His adviser assured him there was nothing to fear from the Priestess. He listened, but did not truly hear, his mind was far away, trying to shake the images of carnage he had witnessed within the temple walls. He nodded without looking at the adviser, who persisted a bit too much, and finally received a shove against the wall and a look that clearly said, "Silence."

Masta wiped the sweat from his forehead, looking away from the adviser who now shrank from his presence, he strode forward, pushing open the large wooden doors which barred the temple.

When he stepped inside, he became nervous again, smelling the thick stench of blood and sweat, perhaps even tears, he shook his head in an attempt to regain his composure, and stood in the center aisle with legs locked. He glanced up from the floor, gazing on the Priestess who threw her hands toward the sky, bending backward on her knees before the altar. He quickly looked back down at the stone, noticing it was not gray but rather some sort of dark red or burgundy, his words came out calm and quiet as he spoke to the woman's back.

"Lady Justice... Priestess of the Lord Leto, for whom Chaos reigns supreme, I beseech thee, pray lend me your wisdom... I wish to bring Leto's followers together, scatter his enemies in chaos, and deliver the heathens unto Justice... But Priestess, I wish to know, to understand, how can I turn chaos into justice? How shall I treat His followers, and the Heathens? I cannot, will not, shun my brethren... I will crush the non-believers and drink their blood from my boot, but..."

Masta paused, shaking his head. He pulled on his chest piece once more, pushing the distracting thoughts and images from his mind once more. The way she had ripped the thieves asunder, he wondered, could she be controlled, could any of them? If Leto worked through Chaos, how then would he ever lead them to victory and bring the heathens to Justice? Could the Chaos ever be controlled? He swallowed hard and continued,

"Lady Justice... I am here to ask you lend me wisdom and... and assistance... aid and advisement, with which to smash the heathens, but also to rally and... control... our people. Our brethren, my Lady, they are wild, young, angry... Can they be controlled? Can their rage and desire for Chaos be channeled to serve His purpose? Can you... Will you, help me, my Lady Justice?"

Masta dropped to his knees without realizing, he threw his arms up, and hang his head. His chin rested on his chest, the sweat dripped from his forehead and landed softly on the cold, damp floor. He dared not look directly at the Priestess as he awaited her reply. He made no sudden moves, and offered further in almost an inaudible whisper:

"They are wild, my Lady... I fear the Chaos. I fear it cannot be caged or controlled. I fear the consequences of such destructive force... Is it true, Lady Priestess? Is Justice simply Blind? If we deliver Tonan unto Leto... will he not dash it to pieces? Will there be Judgement for the heathens... or simply... Judgement for all?"

[Ophelia]

The priestess Ophelia prayed silently, the words echoing in her mind as she sought a whisper back from the cold stone. She slowly caressed the red jasper feet with the edges of her robes, the sleeves frayed from the gesture repeated over many moons of her allegiance. No answer came forth, no words spoke back in the void of her mind she laid open before her god. He had been silent for weeks, not listening to her words she had spoken or pleads for response. She stopped her insistent prayers and raised her arms up in sweet surrender, and threw her head back to expose her slim neck. The priestess remained there for candlemarks as if she herself had turned to stone, becoming so still that if birds had been let into the temple they may have mistaken her outstretched hands and shoulders for strange branches.

A resounding thunderous sound struck out as the temple doors opened and footsteps neared her kneeling body. She shot her eyes open, and she frantically looked around, thinking those heavy footfalls must be her answer, he had come to respond to her in person, the frozen statue alive! But no.. as she held onto a icy sandaled foot of the god and regained her thoughts... no it was a man, taking a burdenous pace closer to her turned back. His armor clinked together and she could not help sighing as he spoke, his voice labored with same seeking nature her own heart felt.

The priestess fervently listened to his words, his questions of the gods intentions, his searching and longing for the replies. And his fear.. fear of unending turmoil, and was it also.. a fear of her? She was a high standing priestess, and had done as requested of her.. and what she had to do. No, no, she must control herself and wavering notions and sink back down into the serene waters of meditation as he uttered his pleas. She heard the dull hitting of stone against flesh as he fell to his knees behind her and whispered. Ophelia rose from her worn place beside the altar and gathered her blood-red robes tighter around her, slowly turning around and stepping down beside his bended body with his fingertips reaching for the roof of the sky.

"Dearest follower of Him.. I offer you all that I have of aid and give my hand in your quest for control and order over the people, our brothers and sisters. I hear their screams and anger from inside these walls, their taste for chaos and hunger for blood of the unworthy soaks all of us. It is the true nature of Him. But just as savagery is part of Him, so is the strength and charm and generosity He has given us, He will not let us drown in our own squabbles and become treacherous towards one another.. the wildness is raw power, and with the hand of Leto touching the men and women to lead them, they may wield our people's rage into the piercing blade that yearns to taste the blood of our enemies..."

Ophelia paused and closed her eyes, touching her cool forehead before she said more," He has however.. been silent to me for several fortnights.. " She shifted a little in her cloak as solidarity of her words chilled and sank into the marrow of her bones.

[Masta]

(OOC) Sorry for the delay between posts. Will try to get them out more regularly.

IC:

Masta listened intently without looking up. He believed all she said to him, about the people, about channeling their bloodthirst, but her final words rang in his brain, echoing in the dark recess of his mind.

He wiped a bit of sweat from his brow and grabbed a bench nearby the aisle, leaning on it as he stood from his knelt position on the floor. It was worse than he had feared, truly, with Leto silent even unto His Priestess, there was no telling what He may do, how He might influence those who held Him dear. The very idea of Leto laughing silently to himself while He inspired more and more fanatical converts each day was disturbing even to Masta, a lead Letite in the war against the heathens. What did He have planned?

There was a heavy knock on the door, and in response, Masta frowned slightly without looking back. He held up a hand and called out with eyes shut, "I demanded no disturbances. Who dares test my wrath? Should I decide your reason for intrusion is not reason enough to interrupt a talk with the Gods themselves!?"

He shook his head slowly, opening his eyes, he saw the Priestess before him, seeing her again for the first time, his gaze drank her in, but he quickly diverted his attention. He spun round on a heel to face whomever had the gusto to challenge his previous orders, "It had better be total war..." he thought as he watched a man in robes approach slowly with a roll of paper in hands, outstretched before him.

Masta took a step forward, toward the monk messenger, who's face was cast down, hidden beneath his hooded robes. Masta pulled his hand back. He snatched the rolled paper from the man, before releasing his charged arm with a ruthless backhand that sent the poor man swirling to the floor without even a whimper.

"I warned you not to disturb me here."

Masta shook his head slightly, not looking at the man on the floor, he immediately unrolled the paper before him, holding the top and bottom each with a hand respectively. He read aloud, turning back round slowly to face the Priestess.

"War. The Empire converges on the lands of Angelique, but it does not bode well for the followers of the one called Barnabas. They die in great numbers, and resort to magic and thievery. Meanwhile the Angies themselves send foolish thieves and scouts each night to Letite lands, apparently not busy enough with Empire to leave well enough alone. We have hanged many of them from the trees outside the city walls, to dissuade their fellows from following in their footsteps, and sent forth correspondence to their leaders in thy name, but the fools remain silent. The people ask for their lord, they call for you by name, they wish you lead them in the trials to come. It is recommended that you return home, and take the throne for yourself, for your people."

Masta rolled the paper back up and tossed it over his shoulder, letting it fall on the hooded man who had brought it to his attention. He looked in the Priestess Ophelia's direction, but did not look at her. He smiled slightly, as much as he ever did smile, no turn up of the lips, more of a straight lipped look of contentedness than an expression of joy. He unsheathed the dagger on his hip, holding it up before his eyes, into the light that poured in through the small stained glass windows in the ceiling, reading the inscription to himself as he spoke.

"Do you think, my Lady, that the heathens, both Imperial and otherwise... dare wag the dog? Do you think... Doth they speak, and in their deliberations, find their one true enemy, the one whom they each fear more than the other?"

He paused, looking out the corner of his eyes at the Priestess. He sheathed the dagger and beckoned her to follow him out. As he strode toward the large wooden doors, stepping over the man still crumpled on the floor whom had delivered the message, he spoke with a bit of boredom in his voice.

"I hope you don't mind the sight of blood, good sister... I know you are a Lady of the cloth, the faith... But I am a man of the faith, a leader and protector of men. I am the Imperator, entrusted with a dozen and a half cities and towns, an entire kingdom... And before I allow those heathens to pull the wool over my eyes, there will be blood."

[Ophelia]

The priestess cast her eyes downward, her hood hiding her face in shadow as Masta rose to his feet. She felt as if she should have not spoken that last sentiment... the uncertainty recently brought forth in her faith was now spoken in solid words and made her shudder and bite her tongue until she tasted blood. She knew that the absence of Leto's presence meant something, something must be happening for His spirit to be only a mere silhouette to the men and women whom were dedicated to illuminating and carrying out Leto's wishes. She wrenched back her mind out of the swirling depths of meditation and into reality once more, and to the very real man before her.

A strike against the heavy doors and a man appeared behind him in a brighter red robe than her own. He presented the now vexed Masta with a roll of parchment which was sealed with a stamp symbolizing urgency. Ophelia's brow darkened and her knuckles grew white and balled into fists as Masta unbound it and began to read aloud the message, then when he finished completely she swelled with excitement.

"War... war amongst Angelique and Barnabas. Hah! Tis lovely news to hear the heathens are killing off one another." Unlike Masta's controlled expression she let a smirk slip across her face, much like a hungry fox licking its lips.

"I think dear warrior, they look behind the veil of these rather foolish battles to face their true threat, the ever-strong people of our lord Leto. They might very well find themselves with tail in hand and teeth at their throats.." Her voice suddenly lacked emotion and came out in a deeper empty tone,"May our enemies cut themselves down so He may drink in their savage blood."

The warrior invited her to follow him, she shook her head and moved briskly to throw a satchel over her shoulder from a hook next to the door. Ophelia nearly ran trying to match his long strides over the sheepish monk and into the temple's courtyard, causing a gust of savory smelling air to swirl around them from the healing herbs and spices cultivated there. She meet his gaze as he continued glancing backward at her and nodded sharply at his words.

"Aye, that I am I have no aversion to it Sire. They shall rot as in their own filth and lands be salted. Do I call thee my lordship, Imperator? Forgive me, mine name is Ophelia, and ye may leave it at such, my title outside the temple interests me little."

She fastened her holy garb back into a cowled cape and donned a red leather bodice with mail and skirting beneath as they strode from the temple gardens into the main plaza of the city. "I inquire of ye, where might we be headed, Sire? Does a man of your stature need be required at some high council perhaps?" She leered at him slightly and raised a fine brow, quite curious yet trying to remain her cool demeanor. The merchants of the market howled out their wares to all that could hear, and folk brushed past them with strange looks at the sight of them while some gave a few bows.