Port Lorrel- Prison Break

[Alberich]

"Good," said Tim, though he had strong secret doubts about the "charity." "Influence" more like. Though as the example of the Church had shown, the two could be compatible...

"Then this seems well thought out," he continued. "So I guess we're watching more for individual sneak-thieves than ambushes, unless the Eisenfaust decide to show up. I don't guess they'd have much presence in a neighborhood like that" -- the bandit gangs that ran Farrel were not noted for their concern with the poor; that was one reason the Church had made so many inroads without opposition. "Is there anything you think we should be watching for?" Tim was ready to get moving.

[Jack Rothwell]

"Just run of the mill muggers, it's unlikely we'll run into anything worse." The Sergeant replied. "Chances are, it'll be a quiet trip, even a desperate man won't attack a convoy with armored soldiers."

The trip to Dakson's Vacancies was a short one. Carlson hopped from his perch on the lead cart to exchange a few words with one of the guards standing by. A moment later the supply train was moving towards the poor quarter at a steady pace. The wheels creaking gently at the weight they carried, the rhythmic clops of horses flanking the cargo made a chrous as the sun began it's descent on the Port.

"How do you know the half-elf, if you don't mind me asking? It seems unusual for one of the pointy-ears to do business with the Church." The soldier queried from his seat next to the Brother. Around them, the first of the run-down houses came into view

[Alberich]

Tim kept his eyes open even for muggers and snatchers - he didn't want it said that he let the relief supplies get away - as he conversed with the soldier.

"How do you know the half-elf, if you don't mind me asking? It seems unusual for one of the pointy-ears to do business with the Church."

"Well, as you can imagine," said Tim, "the Church has diplomatic relations with all the major powers, but we'll also work with just about anyone, especially in foreign lands. In fact, later on I'll be talking to the local Veracian mission about your group, and what you say about yourselves, and what I've seen you do.

"As for Eli, I met him while I was on a mission for the Church." Any inquiries about what the mission was would be politely deflected. "He's a good man to have on your side. He just has trouble keeping control of his passions, sometimes, and needs a little calming down."

A good wife would be just the thing, thought Tim. Human or at least humanlike, strong, placid, loyal... But if he could help Eli escape the toils he was now in, there'd be a lifetime to pray for that. Anyway, now he'd given the man an invitation to talk about two things he wanted to know more about: how these devil-worshippers were portraying themselves to their troops and to the world, and how far gone his friend was now.

[Jack Rothwell]

"I don't know him well." The Sergeant replied, as the carts clattered down the broken streets. The creaks of door hinges opening came from behind them. The soldiers suddenly felt the weight of denizen's eyes upon them. "I've heard enough rumours to know I wouldn't want to piss him off, you know the pointy-ears and their magic." The guard shifted uncomfortably in his seat as unpleasant images capered through his mind.

"Someone's been going around saying he's Logan's illegitimate son, which would explain why the old man has him as his ear so often. If the company's new direction is his influence, then I'm glad he came to the Port."

The spire of Brambrook's central square could now be seen poking up like a twisted finger through the smoke of chimney stacks and broken orange tiles of the roofing. Carlson nodded to one of his men as a beggar furtively approached the convey. The soldier pushed a package into the hands of the bedraggled, and surprised, man. The guards at the back of supply train followed their comrade's example, passing goods to the growing number of people who were following them.

"We'll be at our stop in a minute or two. I think a little speech to the gathering folks to declare our good intentions when we arrive would be the right first step. You big on talking to crowds Brother?"

OOC Standing on top of the cart to do it of course, people appreciate a little showmanship, 3 years of touring theatre shows have taught me that. /OOC

[Alberich]

"I am," said Tim. Though he was better with small groups or one on one. "But for this trip I think you had better make the announcement. These gifts are from Mr. Logan and not from the Veracian Mission, and if they hear it from me" -- he plucked at his robe -- "they may miss that little detail. Once the Mission has given me some official sanction, as I hope they will tonight, I may be a little freer to speak out loud. You understand they won't want the Eisenfaust showing up and claiming the Church has taken sides in a Farrelian turf war. At least, not until and unless we actually do. Which historically we haven't.

"So don't imply something that isn't true about Church involvement - I'd be forced to deny it and that would hurt matters. I'm here only to observe and Mr. Logan should get sole credit for what he's doing today."

From the way the sergeant had talked, he and his men were professionals, not fanatics, so he thought he'd understand that. Even by coming along, Tim was going pretty far.

"But what I can do is to see if there are any sick and injured among the crowd, and give them some healing if there are. That really is from the Church, but I think it will be well received, and won't diminish Mr. Logan's gifts in their eyes." And also, he thought to himself, do some listening and some one on one talk -- hear the street's-eye view of this Logan group, who the leaders were in this community, how far the Church had penetrated it, and whether anyone was preying on them. And share the information where it ought to be shared. "Even helping to protect me while I do that will make your group look good for sure."

[Jack Rothwell]

"As you wish, Brother. I've had enough occasion to makes speeches turning these recruits into soldiers." The Sergeant replied, as the carts drew to a halt in the centre of the square. The stalls around the convoy looked no better than the houses that made up the district. The merchants, such as they were, eyed the soldiers handing out supplies with naked hostility, as their customers detached themselves from their shopping and went over to see what all the fuss was about. When a suitably large crowd had gathered, Carlson turned in this seat and mounted a crate in the cart behind him. He clapped his hands together and the crowd fell silent.

"Citizens of Brambrook! Lucas Logan presents you with his compliments and these supplies to aid you in these times of financial uncertainty." The Sergeant's speech-voice had a pleasant ring to it, and his open, handsome face radiated a charisma which made his selection for the task clear. The chatter of happy surprise drowned out the angry shouts of the salesmen who'd had their business stolen from them as they joined the general gathering.

"He brings you food, clothing, and money, both for the people and to invest in your local businesses." He finished the sentence a touch sharply, directing a meaningful look to the hostile businessmen, whose anger dissolved at the declaration in an instant. "Lucas Logan wants the people of our proud Port to know that not all men of wealth are heartless tyrants who overlook the suffering of the common man to advance their own interests. He gives you his word of honor to bring prosperity back to the people, and extends to you the protection of the Black Guard." The Sergeant extended a hand to Brother Tim. "Today, we are also in the company of Brother Tim of the Veracian Mission, who offers your sick and injured healing on behalf of his church. May the Gods bless us all."

A happy cheer met the end of the Sergeant's speech, the soldiers and merchants of the convoy went to work. Carlson sat down and grinned.

"Not my best one, but I think it did the job." He nodded to a man approaching their cart with a hobble and pained expression. "I think your services will be required, Brother."

[Alberich]

Tim nodded his approval. "It was excellent and tasteful," he said. In truth it simply illustrated something every Orthodox Churchman already knew. Some of the Unorthodox foolishly believed that the work of worldly charity should be the primary mission of the Church, and that the temples should be stripped of gold, silk, and incense to pay for relief missions like this. But in reality, the main business of the Church was the souls of men, not their bellies. If the temple furnishings put them in a reverent frame of mind, that reverence would bring them something far better and more lasting than a few meals they would eat today and forget next week.

Look at this charity wagon here. In a material sense, for delivering food and supplies it was as effective as anything the Veracian Mission could do, and maybe more so, but it was going to empower devil worshippers! Works without faith were just as empty as faith without works. Yet there was one blessing here - the monsters didn't appear to be converting their rank and file or revealing their true natures.

Tim could already see that their wealth and organization were too great for him (or even the Veracian Mission, if he tried to involve them, which he wouldn't) to do any harm to their leadership. He would have to pray for a crisis to strike their leaders - and give him a chance to pull Eli out from the wreckage. Maybe Eli would tell him about the threats they were facing. At the very least, if he got the ambassadorial role he was hoping for, the Ralkin would have to tell him about anticipated battles, raids, and so on so he could warn the missionaries where to stay away from when.

He put these thoughts aside as he spoke friendly words to the lame man and set to work with his healing. He moved a little away from the wagon as he did so, and kept up friendly talk with his "neighbors" as he healed. What he learned - about their attitudes to the Church, to Lucas, to the Eisenfaust, whatever - he could carry back to the right quarters.

[Jack Rothwell]

OOC You want to fast-forward to the meeting with Eli and Myra in the evening? Or is Tim heading to the church first?/OOC

[Alberich]

[OOC: Yes, very glad to fast-forward. Eli and Myra first, though Tim is not anticipating Myra. Anticipating Myra is beyond Tim's imagination so far; she is probably someone Tim has never even imagined existed or could exist...

But the reason is that, in order to try assuming an ambassadorial role, Tim wants as much as Eli can give him in terms of what his organization calls itself, their public intentions, etc., and also if they are anticipating anything dangerous in the immediate future -- like "We anticipate a big rumble with the Eisenfaust in South Central Park tomorrow; good time not to be taking the schoolkids there on an excursion..." Of course Tim has private reasons of his own for wanting to know that too...]

[Jack Rothwell]

OOC Groovy. Picking up at The Clarke./OOC

"But a priest? Why a priest?"

Eli looked over from the post he was leaning on, spying Myra sat at their table with her heels crossed nonchalantly on the back of the chair he'd risen from. The Clarke was quiet that evening, a mid-week lull it seemed. Only a handful of patrons were scattered around, along with it's acne-ridden youth of a barman and it's short, portly owner. The hour had dragged by since Eli had arrived to find the banditwoman in her usual spot. Even under the subliminal control of the Ralkin the woman's ability to irritate him had gone undimished. He found himself considering taking the 'needle of the eye' and modifying her personality a little, but settled with brushing the bandit's feet off his seat as he replied to her question.

"The clergy are a backdoor into politics, and a few other things besides. With Tim speaking up on our behalf, arranging meetings for us with the higher ups... they'd come round to our point of view in a hurry."

"You hinting at some mystic elven crap?"

"Climb back in your mug, savage."

"You're always so damn touchy, when was the last time you got laid?"

"None of your damn business." Eli snapped, shifting uncomfortably despite himself. To his relief, he spied Brother Tim pushing his way through the entrance doors of the ship-shaped tavern, he signalled his friend and stood to meet him. Myra shrugged, and put her feet back on his chair.

"Good to see you Brother, did the charity work go well?"

"Waste of bloody resources if you ask me..." Came a mutter from the table.