Oethipius T'llathereyon the Jaguar of Justice, Provost Magistrate

Role

Chapter 9

Streaks of black smears crossed the blistered paints and gilt of once-bright
tapestries, soot overlaying murals that had once been the glory of the elven
city T'llathareyon. The dead lay everywhere, men and women and children,
struck down, dead in frozen positions, some with horror painted on their
faces, others pain. Finely carved furnishings lay in ruins with scorch marks
that ran up the fine wooden finishes, and even the once-lauded floors of
marble freizes had melted in the heat. Duergars and dark-elven mercenaries
patrolled the ruined halls, searching for survivors. Two dark-clad monks also
walked the halls, ignoring dead bodies that littered the floor.

"What do we search for, Sister? The elves swayed in power. The balance needed
to be shifted, and that is done. Our work here is done."
"The worthless seeming piece of coal can cover the most beautiful of
diamonds, Sister. We search for one in case we need a tool."

A cry of a infant split the air, halting conversation. Nodding in knowing
silence, both hurried to the source. A duergar grunt grinned in savage
brutality as he held the elven baby by its head, a dagger prepared to cut off
a leg.

"Foolish sewer dwarf. Hand the infant over."

Sneering, the grunt raised his bloody knife high - to only grunt in pain.
Eyes glazing, he keeled over, spine broken. One of the dark-clad monks
lowered her hand. Picking up the baby, she and the other left T'llathereyon,
the elven city of cities.

Role

Chapter 8

Eight years later...

Desolate hills and jagged black mountains rose from the barren plains of the
land. The sky, though dark, was a cauldron of clouds of black and silver that
roiled and boiled on the horizons. Despite the turmoil in the skies high
above, no breath of breeze stirred across the land, and the air burned cold
like the depths of the Frigid Wastelands. The waning moon gave off a pale,
sickly, light that seeped through the iron bars of the window of the dark
cell, barely illuminating the still body of a child huddled in a corner,
knees to his chest. The damp stones of the cell glistened in the light, only
darkened by the areas where mold abounded. The still air was only interrupted
by the sound of claws from rodents that scuttled across the cold floor,
stopping to nibble at the extremities of the prone body.

A voice, soft, feminine, broke the air, carrying past the prison and through
the plains.
"Shall we release him, Sister? He still merely a child."

Another voice, still feminine, still lucid, responded with clear authority.
"Yes. We have need of the T'llathereyon child now, Sister. The balance has
shifted again, and we must restore it to its original state. The Blood
shifted again, and we must restore it to its original state. The Blood
Tribunal drowns in the blood of evil. It is like a plague, infesting all that
it touches. The undead scale the walls of the Spire as if it is their own.
The Scales are becoming synonomous with the Codex. Yes. Release him."

The oaken reinforced doors to the prison slowly, silently, swing open, as if
pushed by an invisible hand. With an earsplitting crack, the metal chains
that had held the boy captive drop away, hitting the cold stone floor. The
boy shivers as lashes of cold air whip his body, and a look of pain flashes
across his face as he slowly breaks the scabs of dried blood that have glued
his eyes shut.

"Oethipius T'llathereyon. Time has come for you to leave. Do not dwell on
your past. Do not dwell on what has occurred. Order and Justice are tainted,
rotting in the clutches of the mummies, and evildoers abound in the Spire.
Act as the beacon of Light, revealing the dark areas from the shadows that
have hidden them for so long. Go elven one, and bring Light."

Slowly stumbling to the open door, the boy coughed up blood, and reached out
to regain his balance. Chains of his bondage still in hand, he whispered
words that far surpassed the maturity of his age.
"Wielding Justice in my right hand, Order in my left, I shall dictate and
fulfill execution. With my voice, I shall act as the voice of Light,
emblazoning the Spire with the fires of Light."

Role

Chapter 7

The dying fire flickered leapt to life for a brief moment as the doors to the
barely lit room swung inwards.

A woman, clad in a dark robe, sat in a fading velvet chair, facing the fire.

"Is there a report, Sister?"

The woman who had entered, also clad in black, responded, her words barely
heard above the crackling of the flames.

"Yes, Sister. The elf has completed the first step in the process, joining
the Blood Tribunal. He has, yet, to encounter others of the Light in the
Spire, or Marcatis."

"Marcatis. A fool, blinded by his own 'Light.' Very well. Are there any
problems that you have seen as you have watched him? We must be wary, in case
he fall wary from his path, and he must not, under any circumstances, get
kicked or demoted in the Blood Tribunal."

"There is...a slight problem, Sister."

"Oh?"

"He has met with the Spearmaiden."

Though she heard not a word of anger, the standing woman noticed the Sister's
knuckles go white as they gripped the arms of the chair in silent fury.

"Oh, Sister?"

"Yes. He met with her yesterday, for about an hour. I know not what was
conversed, for the Spearmaiden has blocked my sight into her cat-infested
ruins, but I have noticed that he was given the initial mark of the Jaguar,
Sister."

Silence.

"It is too late now. We can do nothing about such an action, though we can
possibly turn this to our favor, as he will be further entrenched in the
Light. The brighter he shines, the better. Continue to keep watch, Sister. We
do not have another elf that we can sacrifice to the maw of the Spire."

Role

Chapter 6

Oethipius' eyes gazed from the northeast tower of Galadon, his new city of
protection, frowning thoughtfully at the Outlanders to the far east. Turning
his gaze to the north, he could barely see the blink of shining walls that
were the walls of the Fortress, home of the Maran.

There were many Lightwalkers in the Tree. Yanusyia, Tangni, Lyrecia, to name
but a few. Misguided elves, but they were still elves. He pitied them, for
they did not realize that chaos brings more evil than order, and that peace
for the innocent man could only be found through Justice and Order.

"Magistrate?"

Oethipius turned around to look at one of the guards who accompanied him,
hand-picked giants who had the same intent as himself.

"What will you do about the Lightwalkers of the Tree? They are of the Light,
after all."

After minutes of silence, he glanced at his two guards.

"They are of the Light, yes. But we both know they will not change in their
ways. Talking to them is like talking to a wall, unwilling to form. We will
need to crumble the wall, even if the only way is through force."

"And the Fortress? I hear that that many of them are becoming Criminals.
Dargin, Ilobe, Brillem..."

"I will speak with the Marshall, my guards. Hopefully, something can be
worked out. Have faith. Justice and Order will prevail, wrought by Light."

Role

Chapter 5

The hooded dark-elf stood watching from eastern crossroad as a lithe elf
followed by two hulking storm giants paved a way through the crowded Trade
road. Motioning to rest, the elf walked up.

"What do you want, messenger of the Sisters? I told others before you, I
followed their orders. I am a presence in the Spire."

"The Sisters say that you do well, but step too far. Cut attempts to parley
with the Marshall. It doesn't serve their purposes to--"

The dark-elf gurgled as blood spurt from the wound at his neck. The elf,
pulling out a second and third dagger in two blurs, spinned on his heel and
then dropped low, slashing at the hamstrings. Screaming in pain, the
messenger stumbled and bent over, only to die from several swift understrikes
from a dagger impale his lung and stomach.

Hours later...

Rivulets of expensive cherry wine run down the stone wall from where a glass
goblet had been thrown in fury. Snarling, one fist clenched, a Sister sat,
fuming at what she had heard while another stood, more calmly, near a mirror,
thoughtfully combing her hair.

"He killed our messenger?! We should kill him for that!"

"It cannot be done. We have no others to use. And it'll take years. We spent
centuries on that one."

"What did he discuss with...Arrna?"

"They've agreed to peace will come once a lightwalker is Provost. They've
come to such close terms that Oethipius plans to talk with the most probably
future Marshall, the identity of whom he gave to Oethipius, so that Oethipius
can build a relationship."

"Oethipius sets his eyes on the Provost position once the mummy is dead?"

"Certainly. He also has quite a following of Lightwalkers, many of them
recommended, or at least reviewed, by him."

"The fool. He thinks he's a real elf! Damn that Baerinika!"

Role

Chapter 4

Oethipius stood stoically above the corpse of Yanusyia, the elven Outlander.
The elf had kept him in battle, deftly sweeping his legs from under him and
smashing at his head with batons of icy creation. Though his goal was to
merely make her run, Oethipius had accidentally slain her. Recalling the
past, he remembered that she had recently taken all his belongings and
sacrificed it during a successful raid by the Outlanders. Yet, he felt no
fury for vengeance as he peered at the corpse. He didn.t even feel the urge
to take her weapons, Tribunal policy it might be. Taking a brooch that was
once his from the corpse, he left the body and walked to his post at the
northeast tower of Galadon.

The attacks from the Outlanders had increased over the past days, and
Oethipius was relieved to find the brief respite that was opened after
Lyrecia, Tangni, Loz, and Yanusyia went off to tend to their wounds. All
elves. Three of them high elves. Rubbing the tattoo of a roaring jaguar with
glowing eyes, Oethipius remembered how when he was young he had promised to
kill them, regardless of the fact they were of the Light. But as he grew
older and wiser, he realized that killing those of the Light defeated the
purpose of joining the Tribunals: to protect the Light. He now swore to never
attack any of the Light. He already secured a truce with Lilorni. Gripping
the ramparts tightly, Oethipius swore to avoid killing Lightwalkers unless
under dire threat of death. Upon hearing the yells of the Captain, he groaned
softly and signaled two of his best guards forward. Yes, he would defend the
Spire...but Loz was his only focus.

Role

Chapter 3

Oethipius watched in shock as the young healer before him at the shrine of
his Lady slew himself upon the spear of his Lady. What had begun as a mere
talk of Justice and Punishment had turned into something deadly that should
not have been in his power. He gave the verdict for the healer to die for his
actions, and it was one. He shuddered at the thought as the blood slowly
seeped out from a gaping chest wound into the broken stones and grass within
the ruins. No, Oethipius could never do such a thing again. He was merely a
Pronvicial Magistrate, not Lord Marcatis or his Lady. Going to this extreme
was a lesson to be sure. He could no longer judge anyone outside that of the
laws, for who was he to decide which life was to be taken or which to be
spared? Grasping his daggers more firmly, he kneeled beside the body. Justice
was to come through the Spire. Nothing more. Not until Oethipius gained an
increased knowledge of life, and death.

Role

Chapter 2

Oethipius frowns slightly as he thoughtfully lays a finger on his badge of
duty. Provost Magistrate. He reached his dreams. His hope. He had done as was
requested of him from the Sisters. He had completed the road that he had
asked his Lady to guide him on. Yet he never thought what would happen once
he reached the end. He thought it would be an easy cruise from this point on,
but the tasks only got harder. Disciplining Magistrates, deciding how capable
they were, keeping Artenno under control and away from other Lightwalkers.
And his sight beyond this point was hazy. Yet he resolved to change certain
things, on a personal level.

He had always been biased as a Magistrate, and a Provincial, to those of the
Light. However, as a Provost, he realized the need to act as a neutral leader
who showed respect to both sides, despite his feelings. He would look solely
at the qualities of the Magistrate and whether they were fit or not.
Oethipius felt he could control the evil ones, even including Artenno. Yet,
he had to remain Pure, unsoiled by the taint he had to deal with. Talking was
to be on a limited track, and besides Magistrate duties, aiding those of the
dark was to be denied.

Furthermore, no matter what he was doing, Oethipius would always go if there
was trouble in the Cities, unless everything was under control. Tauros.
decision to leave the Spire forever when Artenno didn.t come to help heal him
left a bitter taste in his mouth when Oethipius was in Kteng.s. Never would
this happen again.

Role

Chapter 1

Many times Lightwalkers, especially the young and brash ones, question
Oethipius as he defends the Cities from attackers, mocking him and asking if
he'll protect a dark one, or if he feels happy protecting an Imperial, or a
Scion. It angers and pains him to see them do such, for they do not
understand that those of the Light attack in the Cities, it merely gives an
excuse to those of the dark to do the same. However, it also reminds him of
the another essence of Purity that must be maintained in his soul. Not only
must there be his Purity to remain unsoiled by the dark as he serves, but
also his Purity from those of the Light who inadvertently (or perhaps
advertently) attempt to sway him from his path of Justice and Order. He must
ignore the jeers and mockeries of the Light within him, and not lash out in
anger at Lightwalkers who are foolish enough to not understand.

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