In the capital of Talocandel, the Lord Bishop Francois Pembroke stirred awake. Sunlight from his dozen windows lit the room, bathing his yellow and golden chambers in warmth, reflecting light until the room seemed to glow.
And for the first time since he had encountered Lightning Lord William Green, he felt no pain.
“Ah, I, I don’t hurt anywhere!” Said Francois, sitting up as he tentatively began to move.
Fully expecting pain to shoot through his spine or kick him in the legs. Ever since –that day– he’d felt agonizing pain, a deep crackling torment that sent him into a fugue of nightmarish wakefulness. A sort of meditation via dizzying pain that Therun Perun Taloc used to communicate with him. He’d thought that losing the first Teutonic Codex, the Fulminonimbus’ most sacred text to a cat, would have led to his annihilation, but now… He understood Taloc’s plan. Life was pain, a lesson he had learned everyday for more than four years. For no amount of healing seemed to assuage his suffering.
Until today.
“Thank Taloc! No, praised be the name of Therun Perun Taloc! We must integrate the mongrels– No, I can’t call them that any longer. Hmm… Will cats do? What do they even call themselves? Ah, we can figure it out once they’ve been purchased. Yes, we must free the kittens!” Said Francois, speaking to himself.
“Hmm, don’t say kittens, it’s creepy.”
He spent the next ten minutes dressing himself in the simple robes of a bishop, leaving the additional gold trappings of his Lordly station in the closet. He hadn’t worn them for three years, for fear of the pain the heavy golden threads brought. Not to mention the hat! It must weigh at least ten pounds, if not twenty! Besides, the garments fitted to him had been melted to slag by Taloc’s own lightning, new garments would have to be made, but that could wait.
Pain and visions had muddled his mind until today, and he had a church to set in order.
He was off, galavanting through the corridors of the grand monastery, saying hello to every priest and choirgirl, even the dour scribes caught a smile, startling the ink stained men with joy as he found his way through the grand halls of the church’s monastery capital. Eventually the Lord Bishop found his way to his private office, throwing open the door and entrenching himself in the ignored letters of almost four years. His convalescence had drained him, crippling him and prohibiting him from participating in the governance of the church. Though his bishops should have been able to fill in the gaps–
–The bishops, whom King Aldric had executed–
“Scribes!” Shouted Francois, summoning three literate men into his office.
They arrived post haste, with confusion in their eyes and smiles on their faces.
“Lord Bishop!”
“You’re alive!”
“Tis good to see you up and about my Lord Bishop!” Said the shortest, and most senior of the three adding “What is Taloc’s will?”
A smile crept across Francois face, pleased at their fidelity and impressed by their quick response. It was to be expected from the church’s faithful, but he had not called upon them for three years, a personal failure that he would have to remedy.
“Tis been three long years since I was in a proper mind to govern, and still I find you at your stations. Excellent. Help me work through this mess! I can’t possibly read all these letters myself.” Said Francois, already sorting any letters with perfume into his own pile. Fanmail was better off concealed until he was alone.
Together the four men ripped into the letters, summarizing and sorting them by urgency, and if the letter was already beyond answering. The entire kingdom had heard of Taloc’s wrath against the Lord Bishop, so many letters did not expect a prompt reply. Though none expected an answer three years later. Personal letters wishing him a swift recovery warmed Francois' heart, but his joy quickly turned to horror as he read the letters from First Captain Thaddeus Stormcaller, bastard of Emir Efendi.
“Read that again.” Ordered Francois.
“Yessir, it reads…”
‘Most honourable Lord Bishop, I must confirm the order to sterilize all felinids prior to delivery to Lord Liam. Such depraved conduct clearly breaks the intent of his demands and is severely delaying our acquisition of new slaves. I cannot in good conscious continue–”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Francois raised his hand, signaling that was enough. He knew of King Aldric’s secondary and tertiary plans, sterilizing the eclipsiarchs was one of his most dire contingencies, discussed, but never truly meant to be used. A sort of final solution protocol, in case Blackwood turned on them and tried to wage war against them with his eclipsiarchs. Since Aldric had allowed Blackwood to breed them in ‘secret’, though all men involved knew of their number and locations far more accurately than Blackwood did.
If only you knew how right you were Aldric. They’ll be the death of you. But not of me…
“How many letters has First Captain Thaddeus sent us?” He asked.
“Approximately eighteen, all delivered by paladin hands upon delivery of former slaves. Apparently Kheresh has been purchasing the slaves in small batches, giving merchants just enough coin and promissory notes to avoid bankrupting them, though some have complaints.”
“Yes yes, Duke Kheresh is worthy of his station, that’s not important! Have we honestly been delivering sterilized cats to a Lightning Lord who claims to be their mother?” Asked Francois, his voice growing in fury and volume as he spoke.
“Ah, twas the king’s orders, and during your convalescence it fell upon the bishops to decide sir! Each has reported different methods and varying levels of compliance!”
Francois buried his face in his palms, damnitall Aldric, I understand what you were attempting to achieve, but did you think for half a second? There is no way in all of Taloc’s creation that Liam wouldn’t find out about this! And his wife! She carries the moniker of ‘Lightning Daughter’! It’ll be a miracle if she doesn’t depose you!
“Drop everything, I need paladin messengers summoned forthwith. Mind you this, call only paladins with standing! Captains or officers, trusted confidants. Order all bishops to emulate Duke Kheresh’s tactics, excommunicate any slave traders, they may only be permitted into the church if they sell their slaves at one quarter the market price. I swear this to be Therun Perun Taloc’s will! Slavers may deliver them in small shipments, so long as no more slaves are produced, they are fed properly, and most importantly, that no more sterilizations occur. Use our network of priests to deliver the message via holy whispers, and send a paladin emissary after. If they complain, tell them that the Lightning Lords have exacting demands that we are handling privately.” Began Francois, stroking his chin and finding quite the extensive beard attached to his face.
“Yes sir!” Said the trio of scribes, already busy taking notes.
“Oh my, I’ll need a razor. Later. Taloc has spoken, the- erm, cats are to be freed. It no longer pleases him to keep them in slavery. Yes… We’ll funnel it through the individual diocese, each Archbishop shall take responsibility for the sterilization and accounting. To the public, we must appear to comply fully with Aldric’s commands, but if another cat is sterilized I'll castrate the entire county’s clergy!”
“Yessir!” Shouted the three scribes, one began drafting letters while the second fetched additional parchment and the third ran down the stairs, heading for the watch captain’s office.
Francois tried not to flay them all, three years and no one had troubled him? Idiots, incompetent fools!
I’ve brought this on myself. They were only following Aldric’s orders.
“Bah, I must call upon our treasurer! Carry on.” Ordered Francois, striding from the room.
His footfalls were muffled by heavy rugs as he stormed through the complex, ignoring the endless tapestries and polished statues until he arrived at the treasury wing. Dozens of armored paladins saluted at his arrival, snapping to attention and stomping their feet to announce him.
“Good, I see discipline has not failed during my illness. I must take account of our finances.” Declared Francois.
A portly man, thin in the face, and wearing clothes that were on the absolute cutting cusp of clerical decency, approached.
“Lord Bishop! Is that really you? Oh how we have waited for your arrival! Please, enter my office, let us discuss all matters–” He began.
“--I seek to double our standing forces and launch a full crusade. Let no paladin remain at home, not when there are dragons to slay abroad. We must follow in St. George’s footsteps and slay them all!” Interrupted Francois.
The man squawked, choking on his words as if he were trying to fellate a watermelon. Two hours later, and Francois had his funds secured. As well as one thousand standing paladin magi, six thousand knights templar to support them, and sixty thousand devotees who could be called upon to fight. Though the last would possess nothing more than a spear or pike. Shields would need to be obtained, an expense they could now afford.
“We’ll send the Kheresh paladins to Greenwood first, twill be pitiable to abandon the Duke, but he’s lost all power. Best to abandon that land while we can. Hrrmmm, we’ll focus on areas where the king is likely to raise his levies, if we can beat him to the question then it’ll be like skimming the king’s own creme. Ha!” Muttered Francois, missing the pun but enjoying the phrase all too much.
The thought of stealing a march on the heretical King excited him in ways he had not felt in years. Three years to be precise, since his Frank hadn’t functioned since the lightning strike. At that realization he gasped in surprise, looking directly at his trousers.
There was a bulge!
“Thank god! It works again! I should call the choirboys and have them sing Taloc’s praises to the whole kingdom! Maybe the scribes would be more useful? Naw, they’d only draw pictures and I need a WOMAN cause this old lightning rod rides again! Time to visit some whorehouses! Or maybe take a few wives… Who knows what the old ones have gotten up to in my absence.”
Pain wandered through his spine, a sensation he took as divine warning.
“Of course my lord, pleasure comes after duty, Nyota’s crusade must receive its rallying call.” Exclaimed Francois, humming a tune of joy as the pain vanished once more.