Topic: Studies and Tests

Thomas Tippet

Date: 2008-11-20 00:42 EST
Thomas sat watching the flames flickering in the hearth.

A fairly non-descript building. The only thing that distinguished it from the other buildings on the street was the sign that hung over the door. The sign declared the place to be The Shepherd's Arms. A traveler's lodging house a few blocks off the Marketplace square. The Arms catered to the frugal traveler. A common room on the first floor where a lodger could get a plain meal. The second floor housed the rooms that were rented out. The rooms for let reflected more of the austere quality of a convent or monastery cell than a comfortable bedroom. But it was a dry and seeming safe place to sleep and rest.

Thomas sat watching the flickering flames in the hearth on the third floor. The furnishings of these rooms were the opposite of those below. Palatial in comparison. From the rich mahogany floors and intricately woven rugs, fine leather covered furniture, lavish beds of down comfort, to the fine china and sterling cutlery the servants were quietly clearing away after the evening meal.

Thomas drew his gaze from the hearth as a snifter was presented to him. The presenter, Barnabus Sheffing, was a tall, gaunt man. The owner of The Shepherd's Arms, his dark hair and eyes were the same as the black suit he wore." Thank you, Barnabus." Thomas took a sip as Barnabus settled himself in a chair beside the hearth. The assistant deacon, Barnabus, sat in silence awaiting Thomas to speak.

"First I want you to arrange to have those friends of Piper's observed. I want to find out all we can about them. Godless heathens, except for that one. Eva is her name. Choose those with the utmost discretion, Barnabus. I do not want them to know they are watched or who is having them watched." The assistant deacon nodded silently. He already had a few of the faithful in mind that would be well suited to the task.

"And what of Piper?" he asked. Thomas took another sip before he answered." I want you to find three ruffians. If they are "tainted" all the better. I want them to confront her. Short of killing her, I want them to do their worst. You will have a Watcher present to record her reactions." Thomas spoke matter of factly about having his own daughter attacked." The three are expendable and after the trial is completed they are to be disposed of so that no one, save you and I, know why she was attacked."

After a few moments Barnabus stood up. He bowed his head to Thomas before he started to leave to carry out his orders. The assistant deacon paused and looked back to Thomas. "Have you considered my request, Thomas?" The Deacons dark eyes were on the hearth again." She would have to be purified before she could be given as wife, Barnabus. Your request is still being considered." Barnabus nodded silently and continued to the door, shutting it quietly behind him.

Thomas took a long sip from the glass and watched

Piper

Date: 2008-11-27 22:12 EST
The first laws of subterfuge- hide it in plain sight. Standing on the ominously quiet second floor housed within the Teas N" Tomes, Piper was shrouded heavily within that battered and thread-bare wool cloak, her gaze held steadily upon that upper most shelving.

It was still ridiculously early and she would have plenty of time to work undisturbed.

Her heart beating with anxiety, Piper pushed the establishments ladder around on the rusted wheels until it was aligned with the row she wanted. She climbed up. On the top shelf, in the dim space just below the ceiling, sat an old, intricately carved box. It possessed elegant brass fittings decorated in a vaguely Eastern fashion, and an ornate lock that shone with an eerily inner glow.

Tucking it under her arm, she descended the ladder with care.

With her booted feet back upon the floor, she moved toward a small table. There she sat the box. She studied it for a long moment, trepidation washing over her, but perceptive of the fact she had to continue.

Withdrawing the curiously shaped key from her pocket, she wrapped the ribbon around her finger then fitted the key within the lock. With a sharp click, the brass fitting of the lock fell free.

With the key grasped within her fist, each item was removed and lined up meticulously on the table; the stack of small bound journals, the ritual dagger of pure silver with the valuable gems embedded, a curiously carved bud vase. And The Heretics Tongue.

She flipped the box over. The bottom of the box consisted of a number of small panels of Thuya Burl wood, the overall design one of elaborate chaos. The panels consisted of two hues: one a rich auburn, the other ivory. She murmured the age old rhyme drilled into her memory softly to herself in the gloominess of the Tea n" Tomes:

I have two boxes and they are empty, yet they are not. I have two boxes that are out in the open, yet conceal much. I have two boxes beautifully adorned, yet disparagers in my midst. I have two boxes that taunt me, yet I can only wait. *

After a moment's hesitation, she lifted her hands once more and settled them gently upon either side of the box. As dark memories were released from the dusty tomb of her childhood, inundating her into motion, her thumbs began moving with effortless ease, sliding panels left and right, up and down, not questioning how the knowledge came to her.

As the riddle was repeated over and over again, so too, did her thumbs move. More and more the panels of thin wood moved and shifted, until a more familiar design took shape.

Seven and seven: 49 feats toward the ultimate goal. As she manipulated the panels slightly in different steps, each of those steps loosened devices within the box that allowed it to be opened after the last panel of ivory slid into place, creating a cross out of the chaos. She pressed her finger upon the secret pressure point or "kannuki", built into the center of the cross. With a soft sigh, the base of the box lifted lightly from its secured position.

Lifting the base further, she reached inside the slim hidden space for the single sheet of papyrus hidden there within.

She glanced over her shoulder to the closeted staircase leading down to the first floor even as the creased sheet was being unfolded. Bolstered with false bravado that she still appeared to be alone within the building, she tuned her gaze back to the papyrus, studying the list of names and facts recorded there.

(The portion of the rhyme/poem presented here is written by Arron Hawk-which gave me this idea to begin with! http://a-hawk.blogspot.com/2008/01/i-have-two-boxes-another-riddle.html )

Piper

Date: 2008-12-04 00:28 EST
The papyrus was carefully hidden away within an inner pocket of the cloak and then the base of the box was securely latched once more. Moving quickly, she jumbled the panels yet again until the cross was once more incomprehensible from the overall design.

The heretic's fork (that which looked like an absurdly, oversized silver fork with an extra-long middle tine), was slipped between the belt about her waist, resting heavily against the small of her back.

After a moment's contemplation, she deliberated over the other items, then quickly replaced the journals, the vial and the dagger into the box and locked it. Moving swiftly but silently, she climbed the ladder and replaced the box within the shadows of that top shelf as the dawn's cold light penetrated the second story of the Teas"n Tomes.

Wasting no more precious seconds, she descended the closeted staircase and slipped outside before the diligent keeper's granddaughter could discover her inside.

Starting for home, Piper traversed the long winding snow-covered path with its deep-green sentries of pine. As she approached the iron gates with their wrought designs of harps, miters, and Celtic crosses that guarded the archbishop's house, on the far side of the road emerged an arduously creeping old priest. He was a familiar sight on the cobbled surface between the archbishop's house and the seminary, and local carts had been known to steer around him considerately as he stood, contemplatively catatonic, in the midst of the road.

It always seemed as if in walking, the old man was held back by gravity greater than that of the multiverse. The story was that he had flung incarnate evil, the Demons, out of souls in Mount Yauso when he was a young missionary. Now, in vengeance, the Dark One and his minions fiercely delayed the old fellow as he crossed Queen's Lane on his way to a meal. It had been known for him to take three hours to pass four hundred yards up the path, and denizens (slaves to superstition and Fishmonger Tales) who encountered him knew better than to extend a hand to him and thus enroll themselves in the close combat between him and the auguries of Evil.

In her swift haste to be off the roads, all Piper said was "Hello, Monsignor," to the old man, who was at that moment (as he was most moments) inhabiting another scale of time and place, and she passed on.

Piper understood and accepted that although thought to be mad and beyond reasoning, he was still a significant figure in Rhydin's religious landscape and therefore, for reasons she didn't understand herself, felt compelled to avoid any further communication. But before she had gone five paces past the barely moving old fellow, she heard a thunderous voice emerge. "Wait!"

Piper turned her gaze to find the old man had her fixed with two blazing eyes set in his block-like head, a skull which seemed to come from another age.

"You, daughter!" the old priest further roared. Piper stopped, and her inexperienced essence blazed brighter with color in cheeks which were already rosy and chapped from the arctic temperature. She was not ready yet for such an imposing summons from one viewed as eccentric, if not downright mad. Not so unlike herself, she pondered inaudibly.

"Monsignor?" She pleaded. She could not tell what would be demanded of her, but her rush to return to the safety of home and hearth was gone, replaced by alarm more absolute and transcendent.

"You must be a merciful confessor!" It sounded as if the old man had been struck by a message from another sphere, a suggestion that Piper, unless warned, would not be at all merciful.

Piper pulled the cloak hood down with a gloved hand and straightened her hair back from her face, assuming the old Priest had mistaken her for a member of the cloth. "I pray I will be, Monsignor," she assured the old man with a patronizing aire, one usually reserved for the senile and unfortunate.

But the exorcist waved his hands in a cut-out-the-claptrap way. "You must be a merciful confessor!" he insisted.

"Yes," said a suddenly shocked Piper. She knew this answer had no chance of satisfying the frightening old exorcist. "Help me," she heard herself bleat like a despicable creature, a coward, a sinner, and a silly girl as well.

Though the monsignor did not answer, the fury went out of his eyes, and he seemed content that an essential message had been passed. Turning back to apply himself again to the cobbled road, and advancing by millimeters, he might make the main building by pudding.

Piper watched him for untold seconds, suspended in time. With a forceful shake out of the trance, she looked toward the uninhabited road with concern and more than a touch of apprehension for what might lay ahead. Or behind.