=============================================================================== Logged and edited by the Doctor 9-July-2006 DMs: Corellon, Gronwin PCs: the Deacon, Faiza, Hayli, Jones, Kyliea NPCs: various Council members, @emitted by Corellon (Oskar, Fiorian, Wensel), the Doctor (Hyan Luize, Skrags), Genesis (Brukal), and Gronwin (Tarn) Summary: The Ark's governing Council sentences the Deacon to 10 years of indentured servitude aboard the Ark (under Brukal and Jones's supervision) for her actions --- killing an unconscious prisoner (who had surrendered and begged for mercy) in cold blood on her own initiative. Location: Grimstone Keep - Main Hall: Time: Although this scene was played out today, it ICly occurred one day after the PCs went after the bandits (25-June-2006). --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jones.................... - 1m - A 6 and ahalf foot tall metal man. The Deacon............... - 1m - Tall, metal, warforged, built to look like a woman. Brukal................... - 2m - Tall, brawny human. Dark hair and green eyes. Kyliea................... - 1m - Tall and slender, with ash blond hair and blue eyes. Hayli.................... - 4m - Young elven woman. Red hair, green eyes. Faiza.................... - 0s - Human woman. Black hair, braided. "East Asian" looking. The entire council is in attendance, the different members sitting behind a long, curved table. The Deacon has been summoned and told to stand in the center of the room. Ark guards stand about, as do the more prominent of the Ark's adventurers, such as Hayli, Tylan, Elan, Slash, Vale, Jones, Lana, Dal'Niy (this was before his death, ICly), etc. Brukal sits at his position at the curved council table.. Looking a little uncomfortable. This 'councilor' thing is still new to him. Faiza, having already given her statement to the Council members, sits on a bench, glowering at the Deacon in between trying to read the mood of the crowd and the council. Jones stands silent and still exceptr for a moment of the head here and there to look at those about the room. Kyliea stands off to the side, looking discontent.. If the Deacon truly believes what she did is pious.. It is an odd god she serves, but.. Since she was escorted back to the Ark, The Deacon hasn't resisted in the least. Her metal face, unsurprisingly, is impassive and unreadable as she walks stoically into the keep, hands by her sides, eyes glowing dully. There's a bit of a crowd here in the keep -- and more of a crowd outside, as Ark residents gather to listen as best they can while guards form a line to keep them back and keep order outside. Oskar Taverner, from his seat on the table, clears his throat -- in that 'everyone shut up, because I'm about to speak' sort of way. Standing up onto his chair, so as to be clearly seen and easily heard as he speaks, it can be seen that he's wearing a breastplate few now on the Ark have ever seen him in and with a beautiful dwarven waraxe in a hanger on his back -- his old armaments from before he 'retired' to run the tavern. He stands there, glaring about the room and waiting for true silence. Tarn from the plane of fallen fortresses sits glouring and watching the procedings with a smoldering anger. A midddle-aged man from Nix who's face has taken a hard dour expression sence the loss of his wife in the deathcloud affair. Hyan Luize, priestess of Pelor, and Skrags, priestess of nature, both sit quietly, faces calm, letting Oskar, as the senior Council member, have the opening word. The rest of the council sits fairly quietly, with Brother Fiorian looking very stern and Wensel looking as interested as he can manage without giving away /too/ much boredom. Brukal sits quietly as well, leaning back in his seat a little.. his breastplate gleaming, and the hilt of his sword leaning against the table on his right side, his shield resting against the side of his chair. The Deacon gazes up at the council in silence, her eyes still glittering deep in their faceted depths. The crowd outside quiets down, as does what crowd there was talking inside the keep itself. Apparently content now, Oskar turns his eyes to The Deacon. "Ya've been charged with a crime, and this council's discussed it. We're thinkin' that ye're too dangerous to have wanderin' around the Ark, armed. Ya're ordered ta relinquish yer weapon to the care of the guard. Ye'll serve guard duty under the direction of Brukal, here, as an indentured servant to the Ark and its guards for ten years. Ye'll be allowed yer weapon ONLY when on duty, and it'll be carried by the guards who stand watch with you, given to ya only when there's trouble and ya needs it. When yer not on duty, ya'll spend yer time in a cell and yer weapon'll be kept safely for ya in the armory. Is this clear, lass?", the dwarven council-member says. Tarn snorts lightly and shakes his head. Faiza leans forward, hands on knees, to hear the Council's decision. She lets out the breath she had been holding, and nods slightly. She mutters, "The Council holds wisdom and mercy in its heart..." The Deacon laughs at the verdict, a metalic, unsettling noise. It's decidedly unnatural, especially the way it clips off after just a moment. She bows stiffly, and removes her weapon from her hip, "If it pleases the council." She brings the sword to her unmoving lips in an inhuman approximation of a kiss, and then tosses it to the floor in front of her. "The Ark is a cell already, why would a smaller cell bother me?" A pause, and then she continues, "I shall continue preaching the word of my Lord, whether or not it is accepted." Hyan murmurs, "Pelor's light is beyond mortal ken. So be it. The Deacon serves as must we all." Skrags simply looks silently at the Deacon, waiting for her reaction, then nodding. Jones sighs lightly, whether in frusration or relief it is uncertian. "It is worth noting," The Deacon says a moment later, "That unlike you all, save perhaps Jones, I was created for one purpose alone, to serve the tenants of my faith. To not do what I did would be to go against my very purpose, without which I am nothing more than the same metal that makes up my sword." Tarn slams a fist down in anger. "Damn it all! Do you see?! Not an ounce of remorce! If a human dwarf or elf had don this we'd be hanging them up by the branches of the nearest tree! But no..not the metal creature!" Hayli just crosses her arms in front of herself, staying silent. She is frowning a bit, though. Brukal nods his head in response to Tarn, slamming to his feet and staring angrily at the Deacon. "Many of my boys do not wish to stand by her on guard duty, Oskar.. How do we know when she will decide that we have violated some precept of her faith and have her kill us?" Skrags looks at Jones, frowning slightly, then at the Deacon, as if to compare one metal being to another. She looks at Jones again. "Is it the way you're made, then? Can you never change your mind, your beliefs, as a made-creature?" Jones says "I will stand guard with her. Perhaps this frame may temper the hot metal within her heart with mercy. perhaps not." Jones says "There is always choice. Even the choice not to choose." Oskar grunts and motions forward a guard, who picks up the weapon to carry it over to Brukal. Once the weapon's in Brukal's hands, the dwarf nods. At Tarn's outburst, he scowls and turns to listen also to Brukal. "The moment she draws a weapon on ANY Ark citizen, she's an enemy of the Ark and she's to be taken down with all due force and speed, then destroyed by simply tossin' her off the side", he declares. "And if the rest of the council'll be agreein', I'll take up Jones' offer to guard with her and to, with Brukal and his guards, mind over her and her weapon. He turns his eyes, glaring from beneath his busy brows, to The Deacon. "Do ye be understandin' all of this, lass?", he asks of the warforged. "My head is not rusted, I understand your terms," The Deacon says, without a trace of malice or sarcasm. That might be impossible for her, though.c Hayli simply nods her head and turns to leave the keep, apparently satisfied that something's been done. Kyliea sighs softly.. She turns and follows Hayli.. for they will be departing in the morning on a quest.. she has much preparation to do. The crowd outside starts muttering. Oskar bellows out, "QUIET!", then mutters something in dwarven about silly people sticking their noses in other people's forge-work. "Jones... she's yers and the guard's. If she gets outta line, yer expected to deal with it like we've said. Are ye understandin' this, lad?" (The crowd /does/ shut up, too. Immediately.) Jones looks to Deacon and then back to Oskar. "She is her own. Under punishment but her own. I will watch her and help her and the Ark as I am able." Brukal sighs softly, sitting back down, watching The Deacon with a look of disgust. But his respect for Jones keeps him quiet. Faiza glares at the Deacon's non-rusted head. But she seems satisfied with the Council's decision. She, too, stands and slips away outside the keep. The Deacon bears all glares with a stoic look. Warforged are good at stoic. Finally, she turns to one of the guards, and offers up both hands, "Use good shackles." ===============================================================================