Author Topic: The Fifth Heresy  (Read 9215 times)


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The Fifth Heresy
« on: October 31, 2008, 07:19:56 PM »
An Heretic's Empty Grave.

Four years it had been since mockery came haunting the Witch hunter from under the piles of grave dirt and decayed rotten corpses. Between the darkest alleys and beggar infested warehouses, pungent perversion and death preceded him. The thrice damned Heretic he heard laughing from the shadows, always one step ahead, as if the Grand Scheme itself bent to accomplish his accursed Heresy.

Herr  Doktor Lilas Wurtbeich.

The most calloused Puritan soul; Only The most calloused heart of a Puritan could be bred into an Heretic such as him. The Inquisitor gazed at the sight of the empty grave; this was no coincidence, by all accounts, this had to be another exploited deviant soul, a tool that served Sin and Malice in her Name.

He clenched the holy symbol into his gloved hand and uttered a few verses of Exorcism spewing them from his mouth in anguish; guilt haunting, festering like poison in his head as even if for the briefest of moments a flash of doubt crossed his unshakable thoughts.

"What if"

"No. Heresy!"

The thought came haunting him recently, and how he hated himself for it.

"...To lighten suffering, to be a true anchorite, thou must die and be reborn as our guardian did. Only the worthy will rise and suffer. And their suffering shall set the living free..."

The Heretic rose from the grave. The Flagellant deviant had accomplished what he had sought; the Heresy materialized and it was the one of the Purest of Hearts of Ezra that had been the key to accomplish the deed.


But the Inquisitor didn't blame her. He blamed himself. For being late. Late to receive yet another calling card from the thrice-damned Doktor, the haunting would continue, but something changed in the Inquisitor's eyes, a superstitious mixture of fear and doubt, as for the First time; Jean-Paul La Rochenoire considered, that perhaps there was something else than Heresy he was after in his Pursuit.

« Last Edit: November 01, 2008, 02:08:32 AM by DM Heretic »


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The Fifth Heresy - The Good Warden Riendeaux
« Reply #1 on: June 03, 2009, 05:48:16 AM »
The Good Warden Riendeaux

"Warden  Lilas Wurtbeich"
The heretic had just vanished from Sainte-Mčre-Des-Larmes with several scripts; the tip came from father Riendeaux, a good anchorite, by all accounts, an impeccable man that had spent time and shared travels with the heretic. According Toret Pineau, no one ever saw this coming. The Inquisitor watched as the Richemuloise priest hung from the rope; sheets of papers sprawled on the ruined chapels' floor; droplets of blood had dripped from the biting of his tongue. The turn of events had everyone bemused. Good father Riendeaux. The good anchorite, the scholar whose hands had produced fine work, the man whose faith would be described as solid as his morals and joy to live.


The Inquisitor turned the page with an impassive determination. They had fallen to their knees, choking back their tears in broken prayers to their brother. Pineau's outrage could not disguise the creaking sound the rope caused by the body weight. The inquisitor closed his ears to the sounds of sobbed prayers that filled the air. He knew full well that it took a single wrong  word to spin the mind of a perfectly fine man into heresy. How many times had he seen men spiral from the best to worse in a snap of fingers?

Good father Riendeaux. The good anchorite. The Inquisitor would spew the verses of exorcism with an absent mind. What corrupted thought could taint the man's soul enough to have him defile himself in such holy ground? Good father Riendeaux, the friend, the good anchorite had died, but the Inquisitor knew the good Warden had not said his last word...

"So it all begins..."
« Last Edit: June 12, 2009, 05:01:12 PM by DM Heretic »


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The Fifth Heresy - The Heretic's Hovel
« Reply #2 on: June 25, 2009, 12:18:06 PM »
The Heretic's Hovel

The calling card came from a girl from the Land of Loa, she had been a forced blind and muted from birth; her genitalia mutilated as it must have been custom; a chosen witch set on course to commune with the spirits; never to be swayed by distractions of the flesh. The heretics were shamans from Sourange, they had taken residence in an abandoned warehouse in Quartier Ouvrier. It was a good tip from Good Warden Riendeaux and the only lead to the heretic.

The air was rank with the smell of decay and death, a morbid atmosphere that crawled within the shack like a pestilent fog, staining the rays of moonlight filtering through the cracks on the walls with a sickly hue. The interior of the hovel was small by any standard, yet into this space had been crammed enough weird superstitious trinkets to fill a space ten times as big. Pieces of broken furniture littered the floorboards hiding whatever fecal matter lied beneath. Bundles of dried roots and withered weeds drooped from the few wooden poles that supported the roof, their noxious stench contributing in no small part to the foul viced air. The walls looked like somebody had punched holes through them. A collection of bedsheets sprawled around the hovel covering flimsy silhouettes were stained with blood and bodily fluids. Crude rotten timber shelves supported a disordered collection of clay jars and pots, strange glyphs scratched in charcoal upon each to denote whatever unclean and hideous material might be found within. The rotten carcasses from dozens of different birds swung from leather cords affixed to the roof beams, ranging from songbirds to seagulls yet all alike in one way; for not one of the birds was complete, each one was missing some part a clawed foot there, a wing here all vital ingredients in the practices of the hovel’s inhabitants.

"Les Mort Vivants"

The "Living Dead". Surely the Good Warden didn't mean these heretics for the Inquisitor could see and smell each fetid breath that came from their grossly large nostrils. No, these men were soulless, but living in depravity. The Witch hunter's calfskin glove tightened its grip on his silver pistol at the prospect of his options, his gaze staring into nothingness between the dusted crates. His face twisting in pain as the fought against the instinct of the finger on the trigger. He thought again about that loathsome day in Levkarest. The memory fresh as the day it had happened. No he had no regrets; deviants with corrupt minds seizing misery and exploiting it to a point Beyond Redemption. There was no other choice.

The heretics were poorly armed and most likely unable to be of match to face down the years of violence and adventure that had weathered the Inquisitor's face. The Witch hunter counted at least eight, nine with the small girl, she must have been seven, eight? Surely no more than ten. A victim of heresy, not a heretic herself; But the Inquisitor knew he couldn't be distracted by the thought of mercy or logic. No, whatever had to be done, it had to be done In Her Name.

Already he had his first target in sight.

He had seen others of those calloused Sheppard that exploited ignorance and poverty to further their own needs of self-glorification in the name of some Heathen god. He knew what had to be done. Unlike some of those Erudite mystics who'd dare claim that the type of men that bear heresy in their culture did not necessarily embody the force of evil, that these heathens could be saved from the Legions. Philosophies that would allow them to cloak their own lack of faith and degeneracy behind words like 'reason', 'culture' and 'science', and whatever perverse explanations to justify sin like toying with the same little boys they would teach Her Faith. Such men were more dangerous than the Legions they bowed and grovelled before - the haunting thought of knowing they could be heretics from Her Faith was a truth he'd wish he'd never come to realize; what a huge burden to carry To Protect Her Faithful in Her Name.

The witch hunter shuddered as he remembered that moment – Oh how he remembered that cursed day in Borca; the memory branded in his rotting heart; lingering with a sour taste of deception that rushed like some malevolent venom forever festering in his brain.

No he did not fear death, but how he hated himself at that moment for he knew Ezra's will needed to be done; she would be the only witness for these heretics were all guilty. The Grand Scheme would surely see him out of the hovel safely. It would not be Ezra's Plan that he would die there. He’d whisper a prayer to Ezra that His Aim Would be True.

"My Lady Ezra, my guardian in the Mists, Hear My Prayer
Let Not My Weapon Fail Me, But Strengthen It Against the Foe
Give My Blade Your Wisdom, to Cleave the Guilty From The Innocent
Let Your Holy Fire Infuse the Powder to Burn in the Eyes of the Heretic
Keep Your Hand on Mine, Ezra, So That My Grip And My Faith Will Not Slip
My Arm Shall Strike in Thy Name, Against the Heretic, the Witch, the Unclean,

"In Ezra's Holy Name, I deliver Her Judgment!"

The Sheep were swiftly without their Sheppard. The heretic collapsed; the hovel ceased its heretical practices and fell silent. The witch hunter's expectations were met and little were the chances that those scrawny figures would move from under the soiled bedsheets to offer any resistance. But did he realize there were more inhabitants to this den of perverseness that he had first appraised. Gaunt figures whose eyes mirrored sin and long lived inhuman attentions within the hovel. He had seen worse things, but never had he seen a Symbol of Ezra in the midst of so much heinousness and these heretics all wore them.

"Lilas Wurtbeich"

The heretic had been bold enough to use his own name. The Inquisitor watched as an hideous submissive grin followed by a bow in acknowledgment came from the heretic facing him. The girl's hand raised to rest on the pistol - not in an attempt to stray it, but guiding it on the heretic's head so his aim would be exacted. She was bent and crushed low by the weight of abuse pressing upon her young shoulders. A shabby brown shawl was wrapped about her crooked back; Scraggly thick mass of black hair crawled like worms from her tiny head, from the sunken pits of her face, two little eyes were sunk deep cloaked by a veil of pearled nothingness.

"For Ezra's Sake..."

The Inquisitor felt that contact as the very moment he lost control; the end would likely be achieved, but these heretics were not led by their fears, no. These were heretics led by whatever malevolent force was guiding them to submission from the shadows; these were heretics that knew what was coming and had already accepted fate. They had rehearsed that cursed moment and saw their death as the closing act. The Witch Hunter could almost feel it was part of a plan he had not devised, the finger on the trigger of his pistol the key that unlocked whatever gates had been promised to these heretics. What dark heresy had tainted their souls? How had they come to this? If these heretics worshiped Ezra, surely it wasn't the same Ezra the Witch hunter had ever known and served.

"L'Homme Mort".

One of them said. The dead man. The Inquisitor wondered for a brief moment if they were referring to him, reaching under the thick leather coat, he pulled his Symbol of Ezra, clenching it desperately as if trying to cling to The Lady for his legs were failing him. The Inquisitor blessed each of the bullets he would use, spewing the verses of exorcism while questions would gnaw his mind.


The heretic insisted as the girl passed the Inquisitor a twisted representation of Her Guardian in the Mists filled with a thick liquid substance meaningfully; she had accomplished her deed, kneeling in front of the Witch hunter. She would be the First; he would not Suffer the Heretics to Live.


The Bullets would avoid them Suffering and the flames would consume what was left of the den of debauchery - at each pull of the trigger he'd hope some heretic would try to stop him - to no avail; the fires of righteousness burned that Old Night, the fires of righteousness that felt all wrong...

"In the name of Our Guardian in the Mists, protect us as we walk the pathways of this world and guide us to those of the next. Forgive our sins and grant us the wisdom to forgive ourselves.
« Last Edit: June 25, 2009, 12:44:37 PM by DM Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #3 on: July 15, 2009, 10:56:25 PM »














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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #4 on: September 26, 2009, 09:27:27 PM »
The Black Coat


 The begging voice gnawed at Noirgrim's mind, as fresh in his memory as the dark day in which the words had been spoken.
 "She is just a child!"

 The witch hunter could still smell the rueful stink of pig feces and rotten vegetables, the ugly odour of decay and poverty.

 "For Ezra's sake, my lord, show mercy!"

 Noirgrim clenched his jaw as he stared down at the open page of his book, laid open on a round wooden table. The glass of wine that sat beside it had remained untouched. How many times had he thought back to that loathsome, black day in Bolkta? How many pleasant moments had that same recollection reached out to kill?

 "For Ezra's sake.. I cannot let her live."

 The words had tasted like bitter ashes as he spoke them, spitting them from his mouth as though they would choke him. The woman had fallen to her knees then, sobbing, wailing, falling to the ground and washing the filth from his leather boots with her tears.

 How many ugly little villages had he traveled through, always one step behind the thrice-damned heretic he was in pursuit of? And how many times had he arrived too late? Too late to find anything but the twisted bastard's handiwork, like the calling card of a demon. Noirgrim knew it was no coincidence. His quarry taunted him, mocking his efforts. Daring the witch hunter to make good the chase.

 He thought again of the little girl. How long had she lived? Six summers? Seven? Surely she had seen no more than eight. The child had been kicked by a mule, her tiny leg snapped and broken. It was feared she would never heal, for the break was too complex for the poor farmers of the village to set. The little girl was then destined to be a cripple- if she survived at all. But then, one of the gods had smiled down on the village when a passing traveller would stay for a night. He was a practiced physician, a healer, a man of medicine. His promise was that he would look upon the child, and help her if he could.
  Herr Doktor Lilas Wurtbeich. The heretic's name haunted Noirgrim, mocking him from the shadows. He had first learned of this deranged, self-proclaimed "physician" from a priest in the small town of Reikholf. The madman was said to abduct children from their households and subject them to his abominable, vile, loathsome experiments. It was said that among the horrible "tests" that Wurtbeich conducted, there was one where he attempted to impregnate a small child with the seed of an abominable caliban.

 Noirgrim could see the faces of the farmers, glaring at him from every corner of the square, hatred boiling in their sullen eyes. No, they would not challenge him. For they knew it had to be done.

 But how they hated him for it. And how he had grown to loathe himself. Even the girl's father could not challenge him, but instead stood slumped against the wall of the blacksmith's shop. His gaze staring into nothingness. His face twisted in agony.

 Noirgrim remembered closing his ears to the sounds of wailing that filled the air. He had looked toward the pile of wood heaped in the centre of the square, at the stake rising above it, at the tiny form lashed to it.

 The witch hunter stared at the tiny figure. The little girl slumped against the pole. What crime had tainted this child's soul? She was surely guiltless- a victim of heresy, not a heretic herself. It would take a cruel, calloused soul of a fanatical puritan to not see that. If a child had to be tortured for the greater glory of Ezra, then She was not the same one that Noirgrim worshipped and served.

 Noirgrim had commanded the innkeeper to produce his strongest grog, and then fed it to the child until she fell into a drunkard's stupor. He hoped that it was enough, that she would not regain her senses when the flames did their work.

A child's broken leg.

Noirgrim wondered at the corrupt mind that could seize upon such misery and exploit it. A sick mind that could subject a small child to his abominable experiments. Wurtbeich had set the child's leg, then wrapped it in bandages with a brown herbal salve which, he assured the girl's parents, would hasten the healing process and ensure that the bone would not knit crookedly.

 Then he had left, words of gratitude following him as he left the village.

 Two days later, Noirgrim had arrived in Bolkta and asked the villagers if a stranger, a tall elderly man who might be presenting himself as a physician, had passed their way. His enquiries had led him to the child.

 The witch hunter shuddered as he remembered that moment- just as he recalled so many similar moments. He'd voiced a prayer to Ezra that even Wurtbeich would not be so depraved, that he had spared the girl his inhuman attentions. Then, slowly, he had cut the bandage away from her leg.

 There had been screams then, the girl's parents wailing in horror. Noirgrim himself turned pale. He had seen worse things, but never on the body of a child. Coarse black hair covered the flesh beneath the salve, an unclean growth like the fur of a fly.

 The contagion was spreading, too, already beginning to creep upwards toward her knee. The fur was an outward sign of the infection, but what other changes might be happening inside, within the girl's mind and soul? Perhaps the cruel mutation would so completely consume her that she would become no more than an animal, loping off into the woods to join the terrors of Old Night, a lust for human flesh gnawing at her belly.

 Noirgrim spoke prayers to Ezra as he cast the iron brand into the pile of fire wood, but truly did not know if he meant them for the little girl or for himself. The flames had burned quickly, fiercely. The witch hunter had ordered most of the village's store of lamp oil dumped upon the tinder. It was one of the swiftest fires he had ever seen set. Yet, even so, it seemed to take an eternity to burn. Noirgrim had forced himself to watch, refusing to look away, and once more swore the same oath he had made at each such pyres.

That he would find the despisable Doktor Lilas Wurtbeich and make him pay for his crimes.

It had been nearly three years since that black day in the small village of Bolkta. The heretic's trail was evasive, like chasing wisps of vanishing smoke - running cold at times, only to have a stroke of coincidence place the witch hunter right behind Wurtbeich again.

This time, it led him to the lands of Dementlieu.
« Last Edit: September 26, 2009, 10:38:50 PM by Enigma »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #5 on: January 07, 2010, 07:06:15 PM »
The Doom that fell upon Blaustein

“Only a fool calls a wind good or ill. The greatest fortune can be brought by the most terrible storm, and the most lethal thunderbolt can fall from the clearest of skies.”

-Blaustein aphorism


Roared the Captain, the Grey Lass rode the Sea of Sorrow with a winter gale at her back, her white sails stretched to their limit and the slate-grey sea hissing along her sharply-raked hull--she was a "borrowed" officers' ship from the Port. Her crew knew their trade well, gliding effortlessly along the pitching deck like hungry shades at the sibilant orders of their captain. They wore heavy robes and thick leathers to keep out the icy wind, and their dark eyes glittered like onyx between the folds of dark woolen scarves. They were racing before the storm with a full load of cargo chained below, with the craggy southern coastline and the mouth of Arden Bay behind them, it would be only a few miles along the coast. The wind howled hungrily in the black rigging, singing an eerie counterpoint to the muffled cries rising from the hold, and the sailors laughed in quiet, sepulchral tones, thinking back to the revels of a few nights before. The girl was a pretty, foolish little thing, vain and easily befooled, else she had never maintained the low-scum tigans she was hanging with. Some now dead Barovians, loaded caravan near Teufeldorf and what a load it was; too easy. The booty came from a plunder from some abandoned Zeklos Keep the girl said,---they kept the girl as booty; boxes filled with gold, artifacts; statues, valuables those intellectual fops consider as 'antique of high value' in Quartier Savant. From Gundar River, till the mouth of Arden Bay, the woman kept them warm, and the bastards took their turns.


This is the smell of victory, the Captain thought, his lips twisting into a mirthless smile. The raiding cruise had been a gamble from the outset. He’d pushed his luck every step of the way along the narrow streaming rivers--they said it wouldn't be possible. With only one small ship, an equally small crew and a pressing winter hindering his efforts, it wasn’t enough to merely succeed; nothing short of a rousing triumph would impress his reluctant, daring allies back at the Mutined Sailor. So they had lingered along river banks of western, uncivilized world for two months, pillaging, looting.

The captain had complained bitterly about the turning weather and the damnable cartographer, that scallywag scum, some Blaustenian fool with little years ahead and lots of debts behind. He seemed like a fortuitous tag along at the time, until rum wormed greed into the front of his mind, daring to take command of the Grey Lass for himself; thankfully, Pierre had jabbed a knife to his throat and tossed him overboard. Scum he thought, as if he was going to let the incredible prize slip away from his hands when they were this close. When a gale blew up in the dead of night off the shores of Arden Bay all had seemed lost, and three sailors had vanished into the black waves while fighting to keep the wind and the sea from dashing the corsair against the rocks. Straying off course, till she was swallowed by the Mists...engulfed in darkness.

In swift succession, the raiders had struck three villages along the Mordentish banks of the Arden River. It ended by the sacking of the luxurious Waterford manor in what were four days of pillage and slaughter before escaping out to Sea with a hold full of loot and two chests brimming with gold and silver coin and that unexpected Barovian plunder. Capitaine Jacques Rousseau would see that his backers were well paid for their efforts; to risk the ire of Black Pieter and his 'family' by borrowing the funds he needed for the voyage had been a risky gambit--and while the recent loss of three crew members meant not having to worry about their cut, he wasn't out of worries,  Pierre made him feel unease, after all, he could see him like just another of Pieter's lackeys, seeing to his interests, and waiting for the right time to strike him out of a cut.


From high in the corsair’s rigging, the sailor blew his horn, its long, eerie wail echoing across the surface of the water. There came no reply, but Rousseau’s skin prickled as he considered the prospect of being lost; worse, that they would be closer than he thought; dreading having to grease a bribe to another whoreson official from Port-ŕ-Lucine---Pieter was a greedy man, he would surely not suffer sharing. And so they were carried, vanishing into the icy depths of Sorrow as silently as ghosts, cold mists, shifting and swirling in the wind...The shambling stench of decay, the rotten smell of carcass lingering in the air like a pestilence crawling from the hold...


"Tis time."

Young Edric found his father sullen, leaning against the side of their hut, staring down the narrow lane that made up the village of Blaustein. It was nothing much as villagers went. A scattered mass of simple shacks, perhaps two score in total; a large meeting hall where the village men would spend long summer nights drinking and carousing; a mass of ramshackle boat houses closer to the rocky edges of shore; a small tavern, some warehouse where food would be stored, kept in a community trust; and a coach house where the village's only four horses, all owned by the ruler himself, were scattered under the brimming shadow of brooding Castle Bluebeard. Arnaud looked up at as his boy joined him, gripping Edric firmly by the shoulder.

"Tonight you officially become a man". Arnaud said smiling into his son's face, his tobacco-stained teeth broken and pitted. He stared at his son, reading the youth's features. He thumped him on the back and began to walk slowly down the lane. "Everyone's nervous their first time" Arnaud explained. "You'll do just fine, why, when I was your age, I was probably even more anxious than you are now".

Arnaud punctuated his remark with a short, cough-like laugh. Edric looked hard at his father, considering his words. He seemed older now than he had been only this morning, helping his son pull empty lobster pots back into their boat. Edric wondered why his father had also been unable to sleep, if he was having problems adjusting to the new nocturnal habit demanded by the long autumn nights. He would have thought that after these many years, his father would have adjusted to the yearly pattern. Perhaps it was something besides the alteration in routine that had upset his father.

Suddenly, the shadows in the narrow lane danced away from them, retreating away from the beach. A bright light glared from the shore, dazzling in its brilliance, far more wondrous than the pale, feeble light of the tiny sliver of Moon hanging in Old night's sky. Edric shut his eyes and flinched away from the sudden brightness, but Arnaud had already gripped the youth by the shoulder and pulled him into sharing the accelerated trot the old man had adopted.

"The Beacon fire has been lit!"

Arnaud exclaimed as the two made their way toward the shore. "Our place is on the beach." Arnaud paused as they passed the last of the thatch-roofed shacks. He removed a heavy boat hook from his belt and pressed it into Edric's hands.  "Keep this ready". Arnaud ordered, his voice heavy with concern. "Stay close to me. Perhaps nothing will happen tonight, but as your grandfather always used to warn expect every storm to be a hurricane ".

The small group of men of Blaustein were gathered around a roaring, blazing fire. The mound of wood rose several feet above the rocks, promising to spend hours before burning out. Men were feeding the fire, stacking empty kegs of oil they had use to douse the wood with into an orderly file some distance from the advancing surf.

Do you think we'll catch anything tonight?"

"No." Said one of the men. "It is too late in the season, the fog is starting to become thick, the wind too strong. We must let the indolence of summer be forgotten" The man turned away from father and son, warming his hands in front of the roaring fire.

"Come along boy. He has the right idea and it could be a long night and we might as well be warm."



A keen-eyed villager said. Edric was immediately roused from his napping by the sudden activity around him. He looked away toward the roaring bonfire for a moment, then turned his face to the man previously addressing him and his father.

"Fortune smiles upon us on our first Night"! He laughed, replacing the looking glass within his coat. "She looks to be a merchantman, a fine prize for so late in the season"! Arnaud and the other men gathered stared at the distant lights expectantly, even Edric becoming caught up in the excitement. The men watched and waited. When the lonely bellow of an answering horn sounded from the ship, the men of Blaustein turned to one another, their wide, cruel smiles bespeaking their silent glee. Edric watched as the lights of the ship came closer towards the shore. The youth understood what was happening, and his excitement abated as his mind made the leap from the scene he was witnessing and that which must surely follow. Emil blasted the horn once again as the ship drew still closer, drawn through the night and the fog toward the promising light of the beacon. Light a moth to the flame.

A captain wise in the ways of navigation and accustomed to the Sea of Sorrow's depths would never have fallen for the trick. But Rousseau had been a better thief than a good pirate. The wisest pirates, those accustomed to the region shun it for its established reputation, they know the cragging stretch of that shore as "Wrecker's Point." It is a place riddled with sharp fangs of rock, submerged shoals and razor-sharp coral reefs. The refuge promised by dozens of tiny harbors is like the call of the siren, luring ships to their doom and no practiced captain would accept their lethal charms. An experienced mariner would take his chances with the sea's doubtful mercy in even the most vicious storm than accept the certain destruction of a landing on the treacherous coastline of Wrecker's Point.

But the evils of geography are not the only dangers to menace the ships sailing the Sea of Sorrow's wicked shores. A desolate place will often find wicked men all too willing to put to use such a blighted site. Pirates and scavengers, waiting with their small fleet near the craggy rocks when the Season boosts with trade between Mordent, Dementlieu and Martira Bay, summer heralding more profitable catches to their shores. The ship continued, Emil and his counterpart on the vessel, sounding their horns above the soft roar of the tide. It drew so close that Edric fancied that he could see the bonfire reflecting off the white canvas of the ship's sails. A part of him wanted to look away, but he could not. It was not the fear that his elders would think him not ready to become a man that prevented him. It was because the drama was too compelling, too ugly for Edric to turn from.

The sound of the ship striking the jagged fangs of rock that lurked just below the waters of the inlet tore the night asunder. It was like the bellow of some bestial god betrayed, a cry of pain and wrath. The cracking snap of the wooden hull as it split upon the rocks was the most horrible sound Edric had ever heard in his life, more terrible even than the cries and screams of the men on board the ship that followed death cry of their vessel. Edric focused upon the lights of the ship, trying again to pierce the veil, trying to see the conclusion of this terrible drama he was a part of. He could hear the screams; the cries of terror as the black waters flooded the ruptured hull, as the sea reached up with its amorphous claws to pull the dying ship down to its watery grave. Long minutes passed, the screams faded away. The men upon the shore watched as the last of the ship's lingering lights was extinguished by the devouring waters and all sign of their victim was lost to their view. Arnaud handed Edric a torch, pressing the boy's fingers tightly about the firebrand's grip. "You come along with me and Emil" Arnaud did not wait to see if his son would obey, but nodded to the grizzled, weather-beaten Emil and the two men made their way away from the bonfire, holding their torches high to illuminate the incoming tide and the sandy beach..

Edric walked several paces behind the two older men, his face pale and bloodless. He had heard the terrible shouts of discovery echoing from other searchers, only their glazing torches visible to his sight. He had heard the terrible screams that followed upon their findings, sometimes preceded by desperate blabbed pleas for mercy. Edric did his best to shut out the sounds of the drama's murderous epilogue, but try as he might, he could not block out the terrible sounds.

Ahead of him, Edric could see a dark object floating upon the white foam, gliding along its side was the lid of what used to be a coffin. Only when it was deposited upon the sand and rolled onto its back did he recognize the object as being a man. The youth ran toward the body that had come ashore. The ragged figure was tangled in a mass of weeds. Indeed, he had not seen the body wash ashore, Edric might have never noticed the object for what it was. The boy hurried over to the brown mass of vegetation and found himself staring down at a disheveled shape that had lately been Jacques Rousseau. Who he was, what he had done, Edric had no way of knowing. Certainly, he wasn't no simple merchant sailor, given Rousseau's leathers strapped by rows of knives and that fine cutlass to his belt. By his side atop the lid, floating, was a leather-bound tome. Edric opened the book, holding it upside down to allow some of the excess water to drool away. The ink had smeared and run in many places, but there was still enough that was intact for the boy to be astounded. Amidst the incoherent writings, intricate drawings of the Legions of the Night. A sketchbook, it appeared, pages crammed with drawings of strange, apocalyptic creatures and impossible, twisted landscapes, he gasped as he saw some ugly brutish-hairy creature resembling half-man, half-wolf. He saw weird things that were like bats with the beads and tails of rats. He saw many pages missing, lost to the violence of the wreck, denying him the pleasure of whatever sights were depicted upon them. "Ezra" he read:

The First!
And the Third!
The Fourth!
And the Fifth!
The Place!
The Whip!
The Sin all over again!
« Last Edit: January 14, 2010, 02:53:36 AM by Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #6 on: January 14, 2010, 03:31:39 AM »
Riddled with puzzlement, the boy found himself gazing again and again at the drawings. Where had this ship been to see such ugly things? Was the Sea damning him? Or was Ezra, that goddess he'd hear desperate sailors pray to when mists cloaked their way, bringing him ill omen of the ugly reality he had been part of? A wave of guilt swept over Edric. These men had gone so far, and survived so much, only to find their doom on the wasted shore of Blaustein's Wrecker's Point, victim of a hideous deception.

The sigh that rose from the mound of weed caused Edric to nearly leap from his skin. The youth cried out in fright before he saw what had so alarmed him. The man he had thought dead was staring at him, his bleary eyes pleading for help, his bloodied hand trembling, reaching out towards him. Edric bent down towards Rousseau, his hand reaching downward to meet that gasping for him. "Stand back Edric!" Arnaud said, his voice strange and heavy. Both his father and Emil were now looming over the survivor from the ship. Edric did as his father ordered and stepped away from the wounded man.

The youth watched in open-mouthed horror as Emil crushed Rousseau's arm with a savage downward swipe of his axe. The captain's arm snapped, hanging limply at a twisted unnatural angle. All the same, he struggled to raise it to ward off the second blow. He did not see Arnaud come upon him from the other side, a wooden belaying pin in his hands. Arnaud struck Rousseau's head with a brutal blow with the wooden cudgel, sending a rush of blood seeping from the man's scalp. Arnaud did not pause to see what effect his first attack had accomplished, but struck his victim's head again and again. After what seemed an eternity, Arnaud and Emil withdrew from the pathetic, butchered thing that had been a man.

Edric was frozen to the spot as his father walked over to him. His father reached and took the boat hook from his son. The contact snapped Edric from his horrified stupor and the boy looked away from his father.

"You are tired" Arnaud said, laying a hand slick with blood upon his son's shoulder. "Hold the torches, Emil and myself will attend to the body" The old fisherman turned to the body of the murdered man, sinking the boat hook into the body's ribcage. Wheezing from the effort, they began to drag the body back to the bonfire. Edric followed after the grim procession, both men's torches held in his hands. The boy's mind was in turmoil, reeling from the horror and barbarity of what he had witnessed. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the horrible scene upon the beach; the murdered man's eyes staring with terror at his father as Arnaud sent the belaying pin crashing against his skull. Edric could not believe what his father was capable of such actions. The same man who had raised him, the same man who had so tirelessly instructed him in the skills of a fisherman, the same man who only the day before had jovially joked with him as they retrieved lobster pots. How could such a man be capable of doing what he had seen him do?

For most of his life, Edric had known what Blaustein's trade was, but had not understood what that trade really was until a few minutes ago. Now more than ever he thought about the virtue of such a trade and was unable to reconcile himself to it. How had his father been able to embrace so cruel a vocation?


Upon arriving on the beach, debris from the ship left stranded when the waters retreated back into the sea. Nearer, he could see several men standing in front of barrels, clothing and sacks. The men were laughing as Arnaud and Emil hauled the body toward their position.  The hours passed slowly, and the Night's fog was still thick upon the beach. The Men watched as the fire removed all trace of their prey, removing the last vestiges of their crime. "Has everyone come back"? Arnaud asked. "All aside Cleits and Bernard". Replied a grim face Emil, obviously disgusted by the stench of cooking flesh. There were things even a cutthroat could not get used to.

As if on cue, a scream rang out from the beach. Illuminated by the moonlight, one of the men withdrew from the pyre and ran toward the sound. The fog had still not entirely dispersed from the shore, yet it had thinned enough that Bernard could be seen, kneeling in the sand, staring at the sea and sobbing hysterically. "What happened?!" Arnaud asked. "Cleits...Cleits" Was all the man could stutter. "What about Cleits?" snapped Emil, pulling Bernard to his feet. "Where is that idiot brother of yours?!" Emil slapped Bernard with his open hand, trying to beat sense back into the frightened man. "Gone"! Bernard shrieked. "A demon rose from the sea and and grabbed Cleits with its claws! He dragged him back into the Sea!" The men of Blaustein cast apprehensive looks about them and fear began to crawl across their faces as they heard Bernard's frightened tale.

"It is a demon cloaked in Mists"! sobbed Bernard. "He's come to punish us for our evil ways! We cannot kill him! He was sent by the Mists to punish us for preyin' upon the Sea! No one can defy the wrath and judgment of the Sea"! Bernard broke into a thrill of mad cackling, his mind crumbling under the guilt that fueled his terror.

"It is no demon!" Edric declared, pushing his way to the front of the group. Already men were rushing into the meeting hall, summoned by the alarm bell. Edric raised his voice for the benefit of the men had had just arrived. "It is some befouled creature from whatever foreign shore that ship visited"! Edric repeated, trying to calm the superstitious dread slinking into the mob, sharing the ugly book he had just found. Men scattered about the shore, securing whatever heirloom they had digged from the debris.

A shambling shape was pulling itself advancing at the wreckers, his clothes hanging about its body in dank, dripping folds. In less light, it might have been mistaken for a man, but the Moon was full and there was no mistaking its lifeless state. Nor could there be any question about the stink and mists rolling about it, the corruption it was bringing worming dread to their own horrified eyes. Fiery light and bitter steam seethed from the creatures figure, his eyes glittering with madness and as he moved, the wind about him cried like the souls of the damned...five freshly-severed heads hung from trophy hooks at the thing's waist, and a profane, holy Symbol clutched in a clawed, vice-like grip steamed with clotted gore.


The men of Blaustein set out to enter the Davey Jones Locker in a frightened race. Old Night's mantle came crashing down upon them like some malevolent Nightmare, heralding some impending doom; a reckoning judgment upon them.

"LiLaS WurTbeicH!" The thing uttered with perfect hatred. A loathsome sound like the wailing of torment, a sound hideous in its suggestion of malevolent mirth. Old Night was ugly, reckoning had come to Blaustein cloaked in Mists to deceive the ugly deception, to exact and bring ruin to the blight in the Wrecker's souls.





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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #7 on: August 17, 2011, 11:28:03 PM »
The Vessels of Heresy

-Only by allowing the darkness its place can Ezra destroy the seed that lurks in all but her sainted Apostles.

January - 752: "I have met Rhiannon Elysia briefly upon my travels in Kartakass - I find it daunting, troubling that even after abandoning my bold pursuit Des Échassons - this girl, the image of Ezra herself - crosses my path - I was left with a sense guilt, my mind in turmoil  - was she one of them  -  was Ezra, in her mysterious multifold ways, sending me a sign, pleading me to come into the aid of her child so warped in heresy? Could it be possible that Rihannon Elysia was a direct descendant of Ezra, our Guardian in the Mists? Heresy, I must keep my resolve - Ezra help me...

Notes: Rihannon Elysia  is a beautiful girl on the verge of womanhood. Upon questioning her, she did held blindly on her belief that she is the mortal coming of Ezra. Physically, she seems the spitting image of Ezra's image as depicted in art, she was kind, her features soft and her mannerisms seem resolute but caring. She states even she doesn't understand the role she plays in the Grand Scheme, at least, not yet. Our encounter was short, she was pulled away by her brother, a handsome boy that held the posture of a protective guardian."




This tome appears more than a decade old, its cover recently restored noting consultation. Behind the first cover, the reader can see the year 751 on the print. The author is a woman, by the name of Rhiannon Elysia.

The book appears to be a parody of Ezra's previous messages, but more than that, it mentions a heralding to judgment, reckoning and apocalypse. It mentions the Apostolic Doctrine of the Blessed, where those who open themselves to the call of Ezra would be able to speak languages they never knew, see places far in the past or in the future, and know things that were realms away.

"The disciple of Ezra," the book reads, "Must open himself to his sins - Only by allowing the darkness its place can Ezra destroy the seed that lurks in all but her sainted Apostles. Those who accept their sins and allow Ezra's light to shine upon them will be Apostles, blessed by the physical touch of Ezra incarnate, which alone can cleanse the sins and open to revelation."

« Last Edit: August 17, 2011, 11:41:04 PM by The Heretic, The »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #8 on: April 25, 2012, 05:46:27 PM »
Schisma Siti


Quote from: Inquisitor Ivorn Meisser
The report is written with a sharply, almost aggressively, a copy was left with the Sentire, one with Toret Callois and another sent to the Inquisitional Court for review.



Just when I thought the actions of certain members of our clergy had hit the bottomness in disorganization regarding the Flagellant deviant from the Village is when further investigation revealed that the Heretic was given burial in unholy grounds under the supervision of Warden Ward! The burial occured on an infested ground plagued by the Legions ; perhaps one of the most unholy sites in these accursed Lands of Barovia! Under the very soil lies a tainted Mausoleum which harbors a daemonic creature of immense power.

It is even common knowledge possesed by the pleb and the ignorant Morninglordian Heathen that such ground is unholy and tainted, The Legions roam and rise from those grounds at night! Is the desire of the Pure Heart so great and blind in having the Legions convert that she must bury our own by their side?



Upon arrival on the site, Heathen Vicar Miklos revealed that he had shown to two of the church's laymen (Pope, Calatan) the now desecrated and empty grave where the Warden Ward lay the heretic to rest! Upon examination of the soil, it makes no doubt that the Heretic rose, all the signs were there.

Except the ones of a carcass!

These are wicked times and decisive actions must be taken so this does not occur again! The Heathens of the Morninglord already must be spreading the word of this Heretical act performed by one of our members; the so called heathens of dawn provide healing to many and risk spreading ill about Our Lady Guardian and her faithful which compromises our position in Barovia and her Home!

Lets not forget that by this unholy act, Warden Ward gave ammunition to the Heretic! Lets not forget what was found as evidence, the Desecrated Statuette of Our Lady with the Following inscription:

Quote from: Flagellant Heresy# 7
"...To lighten suffering, to be a true anchorite, thou must die and be reborn as our guardian did. Only the worthy will rise and suffer. And their suffering shall set the living free..."

Coincidence, a sign or perhaps is it that the Warden has been so busy in getting on the the Legions' good side to convert them that she must now realize their accursed heretical prophesies!?

Knowingly or not - she is responsible!

May Ezra guide my hand and aid my cause, May she spurn the wicked and comfort the valiant, May she chastise and burn the unrighteous!


-Inquisitor Ivorn Meisser

-October 26, 763


Quote from: Inquisitor Veritas
Inquisitor Meisser,

You presence is again needed in Vallaki. The Legions of the Night are overwhelming this already corrupted land.  The church refuses to act.  They sit by idly, and are only reactive in nature, taking no active attempts to quell the Legions.  I feel your strong personality is needed to spark them into action.  And I will also suggest you continue with your trial against Nell Ward, she has again begun to aid heretics, and feel she can call the shots as she sees fit, she is out of control, and a hinderance to the true mission of Ezra.  Contact me immediately if you can make the time to aid this dire cause, I have much to share.

Inquisitor Veritas.


Quote from: Inquisitor Veritas
Bastion Raines,

It is with great regret I must write this disturbing letter, but I felt it necessary to check in, and inform you of a situation that may require your attention.  I would never disturb you unless I felt the scenario worthy.

The Legions of the Night surely rule Barovia. It is without a doubt the must corrupt and offensive land to Ezra that could exist.  The Time of Unparalelled Darkness is certainly approaching at double the speed because of this land.  Yet I suppose because of this there is much of Our Guardian's work to be done, and many Legions to be put to the sword and torch.  There are still a few pinpoints of light who can be saved, and taught the error of their corrupted ways.  Which is why we must persist here.

Yet a great obstacle has risen both against bringing salvation to the innocent and purging the corrupted.  A woman, formerly of the fourth sect named Marle Winterlass, has become one with the Legions, in undeath.  I know this because I tested her myself using our methods.  After she was subdued and places on the pyre to be burnt by my hand, the mists of death came and snatched away their prized possession.

The heretic now hides in darkness, openly sponsored by a local noble land owner.  This man who harbors them is very important amongst the political scene in Barovia.  This makes it extremely complicated to act against them.  The noble's keep also harbors no less than 3 drinkers of blood I've managed to confirm.

What's worse, is that the heretic claims to have the fifth revelation, and is now preaching heresy amongst the keeps small congregation that they are the fifth sect.  This reflects poorly on us all in the worst way, and even worse the Legions of the Night are openly allowed to exist.  The Home Faith has a small establishment here, but they are slow to act as you know, and dotted throughout them are a handful of Pure Hearts, whom although have good intentions, meddle more than they aid for the time being.

I ask that you write in or better yet visit corrupted Barovia, to denounce this heretical sect claiming to have spawned from us, and to motivate our few faithful in the proper methods of dealing with the Legions, and striking fear into the heart of the creatures of the Night.

Inquisitor Veritas.

-June, 764 B.C.

Quote from: Bastion Theodorus Raines
Thanked are your words of Warning and exact is their time of arrival, Inquisitor Veritas.

It is the coming of the growing darkness that befalls upon us all.

The Legion's claws desperately grasp at our arms in the thousands, trying to draw us down into their sickly wretchedness. The Legions of the Night grow and multiply at an alarming rate; evil hides behind many masks and not all Legions of the Night creep in the shadows. It is disturbing to hear the extent of the foul maledictions and perverseness that sprout from the Barovian Land; sins of such depth and heinousness that it makes no doubt in my heart agreeing with you that it will be a key battlefield where the Legions will rage. Your work is priceless on that field, Inquisitor.

The weakness in the mercy from the Pure Heart must be suppressed and put to side, the heretical wretch should increasingly be made example of so that the noble and commoner alike witnesses the agony and ruin that befalls all who stray from Ezra's benevolent care.

That local authorities sponsor the undead is nothing short of alarming - yet, confusing and contradictory - enlighten me, didn't the local boyar condemn the wretch as threat to Barovia?
That this Winterlass was once preaching the Sainted scriptures of our sect is both scandalous and appalling.
That this abomination - myself recently informed here in Levkarest where I find myself responding to your letter - has committed theft in a public institution of Dementlieu, disturbs me.
That known Heretic Lilas Wurtbeich has been said the root of this fifth sect heresy, doesn't surprise me and did I warn them of the attention they should have given the heretic at that time while the first heretical scriptures we received, but are they ever passive.

That Home Faith has recently sent letter to inform me of discussions to be held regarding this Fifth Sect!
That based on the information you have shared which we have been receiving from Barovia!
That despite the former!
There is still desire and openness of certain to even consider accepting to receive the heretics for a process of the Rite of revelation is revolting! Unless a devious lure, or whatever political scheme Home Faith has devised, I find this entire situation highly blasphemous!

Yet, that is the political subterfuge of Home Faith, such are the ways of the numerous book dabblers of Sainte-Mčre-des-Larmes; more interested in the prospect of what they will pen than to root out this heresy and put it to rest, as its happened with others and have no doubt that it will happen with this one. Yet it is considered they will get audience for a reason that eludes me - truly, a disaster waiting to happen - yet, one we must find a way to use at our advantage, in Her Name. We must ever be vigilant and realize the importance of our mission in these circumstances, our faith and stance must be unwavering and strong. Our position in Barovia must strengthen; it is unfortunate that it will happen under these urgent late circumstances but hopefully more will understand and realize these are signs of the darkness surrounding us; the end is Near.

Inquisitor, a dossier should be shared, we must spear this entire issue. We need a solid dossier, one that comprises names and backgrounds of those said part of this fifth heresy. The veil of smoke that cloaks the past and the actors at play of this heresy must be put to light. Build your own dossier, I am fully aware of the challenges our methods pose, and you will be supported in your endeavors, we need results.

In closure to this personal letter, I leave you with three of principles of our Inquisition,

Of obedience to Our Lady Guardian in the Mists, and renunciation of our will,
Of the privilege to accuse, dispense judgment, declare anathema and excommunicate,
The suppression of Mercy,

Ezra bless you with wisdom and judgment in these dire times of Unparalleled darkness.

-Bastion Teodorus Raines

-June 26, 764 B.C


Quote from: Inquisitor Veritas
Inquisitor Meisser,

It is with great concern that I write you to state that vallaki has fallen to the 5th revelation heretics. The sentire ordered me stripped of inquisitor status, and all my prisoners taken from the heretics cult released into the streets.  I am at a loss for what to do and urgently seek your aid.

Inquisitor Veritas
llll Sect

-January 8, 766 B.C


They faulted my methods for being too extreme.  I had a prisoner inquisitor Noirgrim had taken from the heretics festival in my custody for some time, when the pure hearts found him they immediately went to the sentire and the law of Vallaki, and attempted to have me removed.  The sentire has wrote the Praesidius.  The church in Barovia is divided, some refuse still after many have been slain by her to see that Marle is an undead legion.  They want us to sit idly by, as I said I think Nell Ward and her pure hearts are in league with the Legion, as I traveled the mists with my templar to escape this conspiracy, I was confronted on the mist trail by Ward herself! She responded in battle as a legion might, until she was beaten into submission and fled.  I fear for my safety and that I am being followed, the Legions are all around.  I am in urgent need of help.

Inquisitor Veritas
llll Sect

-January 8, 766 B.C

Quote from: Inquisitor Ivorn Meisser
The Mists can deceive, Inquisitor, they have shown many anchorites their fears through vile and twisted deceptions.

One thing will always be certain: The weakness of the Pure Heart is a rampant disease in the Church. The trial of Nell Ward should be pushed forward, it has been waiting long enough. With your support, we can vote for this to occur.

Build your case against them.

-Inquisitor Ivorn Von Meisser

-January 10, 766 B.C

Quote from: Inquisitor Veritas
This will be difficult Inquisitor as I have been stripped of my titles in Barovia, the Sentire, Ward, and all her followers should be put on trial, I will attempt to rebuild in Darkon, and report all the infractions I've seen them make.

-Inquisitor Veritas

-January 13, 766 B.C

Quote from: Inquisitor Meisser
There is nothing we can do until the Praesidius doesn't receive or responds Mugur's plea - which the Inquisition will be tasked to investigate.

It is always the same with these Pure Heart cowards and the snakes in Levkarest. If something can move things, it is their lust for power and greed. Send a letter to Inquisitor Rowley; after the poor treatment and lack of respect he received by members of the Vallaki Congregation in Levkarest - while the Praesidius was honoring Bastion Raine's unprecedented number of converts in Darkon - I am sure he will be more than willing to lend you his full support.

-Inquisitor Ivorn Von Meisser

-January 14, 766 B.C


Quote from: Templar Commander Grevis Sinovia
To Inquisitor Focolari and whom else this may concern.

Before I commence with the body of this letter, I would first like to assure the Inquisitor that I have the utmost respect and gratitude for Ezra’s Inquisition and the work that they do. It has been my pleasure to assist all inquisitors in their duties here in Vallaki and I foster the same attitude in those under my command.

However, recently the actions of some of the agents of Ezra’s Divine Inquisition have been brought to my attention and I feel these actions cannot be justified as being within their scope of operations, or their responsibility as representatives of Ezra’s church.

Layman Serafim Ianescu, a native of Barovia and one of the precious few residents of the city to heed Ezra’s call was recently confronted by two inquisitors while in the shelter of the Refuge of the Fifth Light. Inquisitors’ Messer and Rowley.

Also present were Layman Ovidiu Lacusta and a prospective Layman who identified himself as Lorenzo.After learning of her identity, Inquisitor Messer demanded that she be put to the flame for the actions of her past, and even suggested she be allowed to pray for her life first, proclaiming loudly that the Legion comes in many guises and must be confronted at all costs.

While I agree with his sentiment of confronting the legion, I feel openly declaring a (As then yet un-baptised) convert to the church to be worthy of such extreme measures, as well as implying she is Legion is heavily contrary not only to the teachings of the first sect, who’s Church he was in the shelter of at that time. But also contrary to the mission we are all working so hard to undertake here in Barovia. To make matters worse, doing so in front of a Layman and a prospective Layman undermines the legitimacy of the Home Faith and also abuses the hospitality offered to Barovia’s residents by our church’s very presence.

Layman Ianescu, then fearing for her life, but unable to flee because of the legion that stalk the nights of Barovia was then approached by Inquisitor Rowley, who proceeded to press his ring finger to her forehead and demand she prey for forgiveness five times. While I understand the need for confession, it has never been my impression that the Home Faith enforces it as a demand of its flock, rather relying on them to confess as they see fit. Since they were all sheltering in the Refuge of the Fifth Light at this time, the Dogma of the Home Faith should have been respected. Neither was I aware that the Inquisition had a right to dictate the behaviour of the Layman of the church unless they represent a specific threat, even as the capacity as Wardens, an Anchorite can advise and suggest, never demand.

Inquisitor Rowley then leaned in close to the young woman, as a lover might, so close she said she could feel his breath on her neck, an proclaimed that a chastity belt should be fitted to her, and even went so far to instruct Layman Ovidiu Lacusta to measure her for one and have it constructed and forcefully placed upon her. At this point, dawn had arisen and the young Layman fled.

Firstly sir, I would say this entire episode reflects badly on the Church as a whole, portraying us in a light more suited to the Dogs of the Lawgiver then Ezra’s own chosen. But more specifically it is a dangerous threat to the Refuge of the Fifth Light and it’s mission to be a beacon of Ezra’s light here in Vallaki and convert it’s people to the true path. If word were to spread that the highest-ranking members of our faith regularly threaten, belittle, intimidate and force implements of extreme restraint on our Laymen then our mission here would be forfeit and Ezra’s light would flicker out. Snuffed into darkness by the very people we hope to save.

Secondly, by showing a disregard for not only Church Law but also the rights of our Flock, they have risked the reputation of the Inquisition itself, harming it legitimacy in the eyes of many of the faithful and negatively impacting the trust they have in the agents of the church.

Thirdly, the intimate and threatening nature of Inquisitor Rowley’s conversation with Layman Ianescu if find both sickening on a professional and personal level. Had any other man done such a thing to one of those under my watchful eye I would have seen him ejected from the church and if he persisted, the matter would be settled on the field of honour.

Consider this my Formal Complaint against the actions of these men. They have undermined and ignored the Sanctity of the Home Faith, endangered the mission of the Sanctuary of the Fifth light. And abused, intimidated and alienated a woman who’s only crime was to seek Ezra’s light after a lifetime in the dark, all while under the roof of a church established to protect her from such things. Rest assured, that if this is not handled to my satisfaction I will continue to raise awareness of this until it evaluated and reviewed at the highest levels, for such is my place in the Grand Scheme to protect those who would seek Ezra’s light and deliver them safe from harm, and ensure that they should never have to live in fear.

May Ezra bless you, Five fold.

Commander Grevis Sinovia
Refuge of the Fifth Light.

-July 23, 766 B.C


Quote from: Inquisitional Statement, Inquisitor Poisson III sect, read in Levkarest
If this were a court of criminal law, we would be assessing ‘innocence’, or ‘guilt’ in accordance to a specific charge. However, in this case no charge has been levelled, and so what is presented here is a review, a case and argument pertaining to the current state of the Refuge of Fifth Light, Vallaki.

Firstly, I believe some context is required to establish the scene. The Refuge of Fifth Light is unusually large and wealthy compared to most buildings in Vallaki and indeed is much larger than its congregation demands. As such the Church and Rectory represent combined a considerable financial investment.

Barovia is a land with a chilly reception to the Church of Ezra, at best, or open dislike to at worst. This is attributed to historical events in which Leo Dilisyna murdered Count Strahd von Zarovich the first, his bride-to-be, and indeed the entire wedding party. This is why Ezrites are often referred to as ‘Poisoners’ and treated with contempt or suspicion.
Barovia is secondly hostile owing to its fauna. It is, if anything, overrepresented by the Legions of the Night in all its forms, including some that defy categorisation. Barovia has faced its far share of crises, historically, within living memory, and in the here and now.
Thirdly, Barovia’s politics, or specifically Vallaki’s politics are complex in the extreme. Not only does the Church face hostility from native Barovians, but from the organised Legions, Outlanders, Municipal authorities and other groupings there represented.

I will now address some specific present concerns before moving onto thematic issues.
Firstly, the issue of the unsuitability of Laypersons Serafim and Krow, as evidence for systemic instability and corruption in the Refuge of Fifth Light. Claims I strongly /refute/. Neither person is unfit, or unsuitable. Laywoman Serafim’s past was not privileged, not comfortable, but dogged with nessecity and uncertainty. She has been lost, and weak, and now Ezra, and the Church are her guide, and her protector. She is, if anything, the perfect success story of Ezra’s ministry and the Refuge of Fifth Light, who have helped this young woman find her place in the Grand Scheme.
Secondly, I move that Layman Krow is a credit to the congregation. His ‘crime’, if anything, is of cultural difference, not theological deviation, and in wild Barovia his skills and knowledge are invaluable in the fight against the Legions of the Night. If he is brash, or rude, it is not because he is insubordinate, but because he is impolitic, which is certainly not a crime, and a credit to him, that his faith is not dogged by the politics that swallow so much of our time.

There are however, problems with the Refuge of Fifth Light.

First, chronic understaffing. Though Vallaki’s congregation is small, its problems are large. Anchorites and Templars alike are overworked and overstretched in their duties – fighting the Legion, attending to politics and preaching Ezra’s word. If there deficiencies in these areas, which I am sure there are, it is because they are too taxed and stretched between the three to perform any one so adequately. Many churches do not have the burden of two of these concerns at any one time, let alone three, with so few Faithful to do them. Juggling these responsibilities is nigh impossible, and they have done extremely well to do as well as they have for so long, with so little.

All of these aspects reflect upon one-another, and they produce a concoction of spiralling poor reception towards the Church. When there is a crisis, they are too few in number to respond in the manner perception demands. When there are politics, the apparently ‘toothlessness’ of the Church makes relations hard. When there is preaching, they do not listen, because the Church is seen as inept, self-interested, selfish.

Yet the work of the congregation is express and admirable. The Church has won hearts and minds, though on a piecemeal rather than wholesale basis. It has, solely, or in conjunction with others turned away great threats to Barovia – something that requires martial skill as well as political nouse. Every serving member of the congregation has proven themselves in all these aspects, despite their other flaws.

I reject the imposition of Lekvarest-style hirearchy in Barovia, as it would be counterproductive and untimately damaging. The Church of Ezra is not inclined to permit heterodoxy, however what Vallaki does not have is theological divergence, but merely operational. Where the staff is few, they must be close. When crisis arises, the need for personal initiave is essential. Where the need is urgent, chains of command can be cumbersome. The Refuge of Fifth Light’s model of distributed responsibility is not a weakness, it is a strength, and one so essential to Barovia’s volatile climate in all respects. Stricter, or tighter control would be extremely damaging.

Yet it is owing to this model that insubordination, argument and strife breed. This is inevitable, when colleagueships and partnerships between Anchorites and between Templars are stretched and tested as they are in Barovia, they become friendships, and church disputes can become personal disputes, and vice-versa. However, despite what Lekvarest believes I have yet to see a situation that has not, through this unity and strength of group, resolved itself. This /is/ the meaning of family – what the Church of Ezra is. Families squabble, bicker, but come good in the end.

The Refuge of Fifth Light is not orthodox. And I defy you to tell me how it could be, or ever should be. I cannot think of another branch where all four Sects are represented by so many from across the Core. Diversity /is/ the Church of Ezra, and the Refuge of Fifth Light represents a microcosm of this. Its flexibility is an attribute that demands preservation, as rigidity is to die. I have never met a member of the congregation lacking in moral fibre, spiritual fortitude or any other essential quality.

What can be done to help the Refuge of Fifth Light is to stop it being the playground of politics. It is not a prize, or a game-piece for the Four Revelations to win or fight with. It does not belong to any one Revelation, it belongs to all Four, to Ezra’s Ministry in its unity, and the largest problem is politics from the outside, not from within.                            

My recommendation is that the Refuge of Fifth Light be left alone for a period of at least one year. One year, after which point we see that the Church has not imploded with unruliness, heresy, indecency, and indeed see what it can accomplish when unburdened from the yoke of wider church politics it has no business to be burdened.

-Inquisitor Poisson

August 5, 766 B.C


Quote from: Inquisitor Meisser
My most esteemed apprentice, Inquisitor Rowley,

What we feared regarding the congregation of Vallaki is worse than I had expected. As conducting inspection of the bedbunks in Vallaki, I found a stash of lewd, inappropriate letters sent by a woman by the name of Florica Romulich all addressed to Toret Svari Ionelus - the Burgomaster`s son. If that was enough, it is not all I have found - further, was a small portrait of her in skin attire posed in a sexual suggestive manner.

The threat of flesh gnaws at Vallaki and is destroying it from the inside. The Sentire, too blind to see all of this occuring in front of his own eyes does nothing to prevent it.

It is required you travel to Vallaki as soon as possible, so we put plans in motion to stop this once and for all.

P.S: One of ours shows promise - one going by the name of Ovidiu Lacusta - you will find sense in him as he has embraced the teachings of Bastion Raines.

-Inquisitor Ivorn Meisser

April 08, 767
« Last Edit: April 25, 2012, 05:56:06 PM by Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #9 on: September 14, 2012, 02:53:06 PM »
Lilas Wurtbeich's Final Testament

I am Doctor Lilas Wurtbeich, Scholar, Physician.
I legate to the world my knowledge of science, medical science that made leaps in anatomical research in this land of my adoption.
As a good adoptive son I legate the using of this knowledge to the benefit of the government, that, for reasons that escape me,
I do not have full memory in doing so, but I did. Ezra be my judge for the crimes found within the abodes where my work took place.
I legate the example of a man saved by Ezra from the torment and wailing of suffering men in nightmares. Bastion Seccousse saved me from harm, she is truly blessed by Ezra.
My legacy to the world is the penning of the Revelation, a Revelation that is my truest work, more than science itself.
A warning to mankind of the divisions and wretchedness of men who falsely embrace Ezra.
I firmly believe Ezra will return to us one day, we are being judged as the ill sons and daughters that we are in conducting ourselves with such depravity.
I have never murdered, not impregnated any women or children, or anything inbetween. I am innocent of those charges.
Regardless, I am a guilty man.
I accept death.
To join with Our Guardian in the Mists.
And beg Her forgiveness for us all.
I pass on all my belongings, my wealth, to Aleyi Forrey.
In the name of Our Guardian in the Mists.
Protect us as we walk the pathways of this world and guide us to those of the next.
Forgive us our sins and grant us the wisdom to forgive ourselves.

Quote from: Claude Ducloq Personal File
Herr Doktor Lilas Wurtbeich

Ex-patriated Falkovian, Ex-fanatical Puritan Inquisitor, cast out by Nevuchar Springs’ Puritan Inquisitive order due irreconcilable differences in belief. After many years spent in Darkon, he spent the last years of his affiliation with the church in Port-a-Lucine dwelling in research with Erudites from Sainte-Mčre-Des-Larmes—convinced of his enlightenment, he is said to have begun series scriptures that were never shared, nor published. His last known theories and works, which he sent to the Home Faith by courier, were strongly rejected as vilest heresy, he was shun – treated as a plague and cast out; his involvements along with most of his previous works erased from their records—was not seen after long years - in Barovia. In the higher circles of the clergy, he had rightfully been suspected to continue spreading his heresies throughout the existing townships where shrines of Ezra abound throughout the Core.

Due his former close ties with the Puritans, the sects’ official position is that to try to quiet the affair and existence of such claims, preferring to view and interpret Wurtbeich heresies as an undeniable and condemnable blasphemy, proof of his tainted soul and passing to The Legions—some in the Darkonese spheres dare even go as far as to claim that Wurtbeichs’ heresies are the fruit of his inaction for spending too much time tampering with dark scriptures and questionable experimentations, which inevitably led to his minds’ decay into heresy.

The self-proclaimed physician Wurtbeich is was the spiritual leader behind a deviant sub cult formed by cast-out fanatical Puritans known as the “Black blades of Ezra”.

Status: Confirmed death in Port-a-Lucine. Executed in private by the local law.

Personal note: It seems that there was more to Wurtbeich in Port-a-Lucine that I had known. Incredible how many layers there is to a man. His distractions will be sorely missed.
« Last Edit: September 14, 2012, 04:06:30 PM by Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #10 on: October 29, 2012, 08:39:28 PM »
A Journal Entry


There will be rupture and attention drawn to us, these weak-willed supplicants cannot even be damned to follow their roles - after all these years, it cannot be that the fate of our well being depends on such insignificant parish in backwater Barovia.

I will need to get involved, I will need to move my pawns carefully - balance must be maintained.

Death. The long dead and damned. The fascination of the dead is always so inspiring to the righteous, that is what I will give them, that is what they will get: a damned man.

-Your adoring, loving disciple.


Quote from: A portrait attached to the journal
Dimitry Bochinsky


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #11 on: November 13, 2012, 04:10:42 AM »
The Last Redoubt

He could smell it.

The shambling stench of decay, the rotten smell of carcass lingering in the air like a pestilence. A foul, revolting stench swelled about the ruins, the stink of something long dead, something necrotic and decayed, something rife with corruption. Noirgrim stood there where there had once been a fountain, he could see the fear gnawing at the very depths of the young anchorites' eyes, a fear so profound, so complete and all-consuming that the novice stomach purged itself without warning and a warm foulness dampened his legs as the pyre was being prepared. The poor young anchorite, another casualty of the Holy Mission created by his betters - he had been corrupted by the Misty death of the von Zeklos Keep, his body warping into the very thing he had sought to destroy in his grand adventure that would take him to Barovia - the battlefield where it would all be decided.

Noirgrim knew what it was. That sinister remnant that would stubborn itself from leaving what was left of the rotten world. There was no denying in his Black Heart - the stench of old death wasn't what wormed at the forefront of his mind, but the prospect of facing this Evil and corruption within the very Church he would desperately try to protect. Sooner or later, the light of Ezra would find one of the creatures he sought, the thing once a honorable man called Salvatore Alurto, no matter how deep and dark the burrow into which it crept. The evil he fought against was like a malignant plague, striking indiscriminately - it was spreading, reformists, pagan heretics and pleasure daemons - the Legions of the Night' armies were gathering, the Church was being divided from within, the inevitable moment was coming...

What things might even now be crawling under the wicked shrouded skies of Barovia?
What atrocities might the Legions be plotting to inflict upon her Faithful?

One thing was clear in the Inquisitors' mind: To fend off the darkness, there is always a price which must be paid. No good has ever been achieved without the sacrifices of good men.

« Last Edit: November 13, 2012, 04:12:38 AM by Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #12 on: November 14, 2012, 02:18:02 AM »
Suffer Not The Eternal Order to Live

A Call to Arms.

Three successive shafts of lightning turned the black night for a heartbeat into bright day. The storm lashed at the countryside of The Last Redoubt in Nevuchar Springs. Skeletal branches strained to the point of breaking with the furious winds. Thunder grumbled around the hilltops of the squat ruined ancestral Temple, the heavy sounds folding in on themselves until they boomed like war drums.


The Battle of Karg had been officialized. The Holy Army of Bastion Teodorus Raines would muster and deploy to the thrice ruined forsaken city of Karg, the largest remaining Stronghold of the Eternal Order, the sinister Church of the Sorrowful Dead.


How many years would the war last?

How many coffers of Borcan gold would be spent?

How many souls would it claim?

Could the Church Survive its defeat?

Would the Pure Heart take part in Raines Holy War?


« Last Edit: November 14, 2012, 02:27:43 AM by Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #13 on: January 24, 2013, 11:03:08 AM »
The beginning of the Clarion's End

A journal entry.

Quote from: ''Claude Ducloq journal entry''

Lilas Wurtbeich is a fool. Long past are his years of usefulness, now a threat he has become. Careless, O Ezra, his letter was careless. His return will only stray us from our goal, my mistress. We should deal with him swiftly, but I cannot allow myself being careless. I must severe all ties with him - I must plan this and do it well.

Soon all that was Lilas Wurtbeich will be nothing but ashes. The end is near, the end and a new beginning.

I must find the Clarion by all means necessary.




A letter stained with wine:

Quote from: ''Letter by Lilas Wurtbeich?''

Only the worthy will rise, and I have risen.
I wish you could have seen it; such majesty, such beauty. And the pure white light, everywhere – serene, and everlasting.
But not for me, for I knew my work was left unfinished, cut short, by that lapdog of this edifice, on the precipice of crumbling to the truth. The decadent church is poised to fall – it is nothing but a house of whores to gold and charnal pleasures.

What more proof do you need? That I carry in my bosom the salvation of the Hollow. Ezra Herself has sent me back to complete her works. The Time of Unparalleled Darkness draws closer, surely you can feel it too? Only Her serenity, and salvation, will save us. And only we can do it! We must let them know the Truth! For it cannot be denied! And the house of whores will fall, and wither, and die, writhing and mewling. And we, ordained by Ezra, her Fifth and Final Revelation, will have saved Her Church.

This is my plea to you, Brother. The time is at hand! You must stand with me. I must rebuild what has been destroyed. I implore you, send what you can; money, men, resources.

There is one other thing.

Poisson came to me. For it was he. He sought to extract a confession from me; but it was he that confessed. He too has been visited by Her Most Beautiful Angel. He has witnessed the prostitution to the cult of power that is the mother church, and he is most wearied by it. He knows the Truth, and fears of it. He sought to silence that doubt with my death, but with my ascension, he is denied it. He is ripe, brother, and a voice of influence in Ste. Mere des Larmes. I do not wish violence upon him, for he can be /redeemed/ in Her Beautiful Majesty, I know it to be true! If you will only show him the Truth, he will come to the cause!

Forever in Her service.



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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #14 on: October 01, 2013, 03:42:51 PM »
Finium extremi justificat

A broken man's dark redemption.

The Praesidius himself., said Inquisitor Jean-Paul LaRochenoire to the secret High Clergy council.

Borca, 746 ------

 Praesidius Alexei Raskolka had abused choir children - a sickness of the mind. Judgement had passed on the spot - how he hated himself for he had also judged the innocent, those whose pure voices would never sing again, for they had been corrupted by the highest member of her holy church. He wondered how it had come to this. How was it possible that Ezra's chosen could be responsible for such heinous act.

The answer he found on a scripture found on his belongings:  "...Must open himself to his sins - Only by allowing the darkness its place can Ezra destroy the seed that lurks in all but her sainted Apostles...." - The text was signed Lilas Wurtbeich.

They would know the truth. He would tell the High Members of the clergy.

A den of vipers.

He felt it there, the truth. His truth for the rest of his life. He swore secrecy, Her Church's integrity had to be maintained. Its threats had to be neutralized.

How far must I go...? He asked.

As far as you must. They said.

The end.

The end justifies the means.

For the Fifth Revelation was the vilest heresy ---- and the greatest threat to her Holy Church - THEIR church - so had they decided.

The fear of truth. A truth they would twist.

No one would be spared.



We have no choice.  Said Claude Ducloq, High Toret and treasurer of Levkarest.

The Inquisitor will serve her well. To bitter ends.

Quote from: Borcan secret File
Jean-Paul La Rochenoire:

Radical Inquisitor born in Port-a-Lucine. The man’s methods were questioned by St-Mčre-des-Larmes, has led numerous delicate investigations which were successful, but not without their controversy. Often criticized for his cavalier approach, he is known as  an arrogant, overconfident man of action, one that executes and asks questions later. His working ethics are frowned upon in most Erudites circles, viewing the man as another overzealous Darkonese with no cultural or theological background.

Only thing to his credit: he gets the job done. Has expressed frustration that his pleas for collaboration with Nevuchar Springs’ Puritanical branches have fallen into deaf ears. In Borca, he is viewed as a fanatical tool. La Rochenoire’s particularly infamous reputation in Borca is due an affair occurring years ago which was morally questioned by the church. [He made a drastic experimentation on a child in hopes it would reverse the curse that would lead to his death.] His involvements with St-Mčre-Des-Larmes have continued, but have been hushed, sources say behind the curtains and in case of extreme need ever since. Has been sent on a mission to Barovia & Rolkta and other nations of the core where Wurtbeichists have been active. His objective : Complete discreditation & neutralization of the Wurtbeich heresy or/and any ramification of.

Psyche: La Rochenoire's views are of the end justifies the means whenever extremes call for it. Though he believes continued use of such practices suggests they may be treading the first few steps down the road to Damnation and heresy : "To use an heretic or magic sword is not to be a 'magic lover', it is to be a magic user to further the cause in the grand scheme. But we should never kill a witch or a heretic out of hate. We are tools, we are here to do the work in the name of Ezra. We rise above hatred, and the truly great Inquisitors kill not for hate, but because it is their duty. Those who cultivate needless hate such as Meisser and use it as an excuse are not doing their duty. They are destroying the enemies of the church of Ezra and mankind not for Her sake, but for their own petty emotions."

Likes: Knowledge, to read. To teach. Good wine. Art in all their forms.

Dislikes: Ivorn Meisser, Arthur Rowley, Puritans and Heretics.
« Last Edit: October 01, 2013, 04:23:54 PM by Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #15 on: December 04, 2013, 11:15:21 AM »
The Fanatical

Ivorn Von Meisser

Quote from: C.D. Notes
Darkonese. Narcissist. Puritan to the core. Wears the distinguishable red coat of the Inquisitor belonging to a puritanical order. The man is a fanatical tool of the church. Is rumored to have led over thirty six burnings of alleged witches in small townships around the core, has forged himself a reputation of cruelty and unforgiveness. Wherever he passes, he makes sure to leave his mark, intimidation and fear are his greatest tools. Despises the Radical views which are too lenient and condemns Radical Inquisitors who employ "the end justifies the means" philosophy in employing and experimenting on the same Heretics they capture; for him they are the ultimate expression of heresy, using one is a direct insult to the church of Ezra and clearly demonstrates that the inquisitor involved is guilty of heresy and blasphemy to the highest degree - any inquisitor using one of these monsters is a vile heretic who must be purged after thorough interrogation.

Meisser on races: "The Orc, the Caliban and most if not all fey are aberrations, inherently evil spawns born with the Legion taints' in their cursed blood, I will never trust; given that they cannot all be killed - they must be avoided; their judgement day shall come. The dwarves are repugnant kind, their runic knowledge and forgery creates the vilest of weapons which inevitably lead to heresy to those wielding them. Halflings: anomalities; they are a weak and treacherous kind, watch them closely for you never know when one will pull a dagger from its sleeve. We are outnumbered and many threats close in on us, we cannot afford to destroy every one of the filthy heretics at a stroke, we must prioritise."

Psyche: Meisser's views are that all heretics and twistling spawn species bar one are heretical scum who deserve no mercy, they can never be associated with and should all be exterminated. It is acceptable for him to use some enchanted equipment blessed by a member of the Clergy that is not inherently corrupting in the heat of battle to kill more heretics and it is not required to kill every twistling he meets; if it is part of his greater plan to let them live for the time being, but in the long run, he'd be content when every intelligent heretical specie bar the human destroyed - including any artifact that vessels heresy; from novelist book or corrupted artifacts.

Dislikes: Librarians, novelist books, Heretics, Radicals: Viktor Noirgrim, Jean-Paul La Rochenoire.

Likes: Arthur Rowley (Tolerance), himself, Ezra.

-OOC: Thanks Geiger for the nice scroll.
« Last Edit: January 14, 2016, 06:10:25 PM by Heretic »


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Re: The Fifth Heresy
« Reply #16 on: December 07, 2016, 10:06:15 PM »
The End Justifies the Means

Vallaki - 8 years ago

"Please, domn."

Another one of her children would serve their most holy purpose. Another small, peaceful village where the good Doktor would do his unholy work. The boy was seven, maybe eight. He had been given medicine - bad medicine, a cocktail containing heresy and wretchedness in a bottle. The effects : corruption that warped body and mind into a creature of Nightmares.

"He is just a child!"

The Inquisitor could smell the stench of liquor inside the hovel, the father drowned his sorrows in the bottle - the Inquisitor was there a few days ago. Twas another vistit from the malevolent Herr Doktor Lilas Wurtbeich, he who embodied all that was vile in the world. LaRochenoire had taken the good Doktor's name, impersonating him from village to village, posing himself as a savior for the needy, only to let them down with horror and dread.

"For Iadul's sake, my lord, save our child!"

LaRochenoire's holy purpose was as vile as the daemons he sought, he knew himself lost. The impure thoughts of doubt gnawing at his mind. Shaken, his resolve warped. The images of the tragedy that had befallen Father Riendeaux, a man so pure, a man so brilliant and benevolent with unshakable resolve, that the very thought of thinking he had devoted a life for a goddess preached in the wretched book of Wurtbeich's Fifth 'heresy' would be too much to handle. Her Church needed to be saved, for even the Most Holy Praesidius himself had befallen into such depravity - he had to put it down. Fire with fire.

"For Ezra's sake... Whatever it takes."

The words had tasted like bitter ashes as he spoke them, spitting them from his mouth as though they would choke him. The woman had fallen to her knees then, sobbing, wailing, falling to the ground and washing the filth from his leather boots with her tears. There were many ugly little villages traveled through, always one step ahead the thrice-damned heretic he was trying to discredit - Herr Doktor Lilas Wurtbeich - the genius, her chosen one. No, it could not be! The Heresy could not, should not and must not be true!
Herr Doktor Lilas Wurtbeich. The heretic's name haunted LaRochenoire, whatever the truth was, it did not matter - the end Justifies the Means.

Suffer Not the Fifth Revelation to Live.