“Ser Idristan Tournes, son of Baron Eaulaux Tournes, knight-captain of House Durendaire, you stand formally accused of heresy against the Holy See. The charges formally levelled against you are as follows: sabotage of the defenses of Camp Dragonhead, collaboration with subversive elements with the intention of committing apostasy, dereliction of duty, sedition, and embezzlement of military funds. How do you plead?†With an almost dismissive thunk, the hawk-faced inquisitor shut the large volume of Ishgardian legal code and glanced over his spectacles to stare disdainfully at the former knight.
Idristan had been stripped of his tarnished chainmail, covered in little more than functional rags, and his hands and feet clanked with the burden of heavy iron manacles. His eyes still held something of a sharp, defiant gleam, though he kept his gaze fixed at the bottom of the podium that sat in front of the inquisitor. It was little more than the assembly room of Camp Dragonhead adjacent to the mess hall, hastily converted into a courtroom with the help of the podium, some rearranged pews, and the two men-at-arms of the Inquisition standing at his sides.
“Not guilty,†he murmured, shifting from one foot to the other. There was a low murmuring among the assembled members of the clergy.
“What have you to say in your defence?â€
“I have only ever been a loyal servant who has dedicated my life and honour to the preservation and prosperity of Ishgard and the Holy See.†Tournes’ voice cracked at the word ‘dedicated’. The murmuring increased. “If the Fury, by her grace, has seen fit to relieve me of my command and calling, then I accept Her verdict, but I deny any and all accusations that I had betrayed Halone’s trust in my duty.â€
The inquisitor’s eyes narrowed to blade-like slits, a derisive snort escaping from his hooked nose. “Understand that if you are found guilty beneath the Fury’s gaze without confessing, the punishment will extend to all of those in your command. The prosperity of Ishgard is reliant on the removal of those who would plot the destruction of the Holy See and her people.â€
“I understand the severity of my circumstances, Inquisitor. I deny the charges all the same, and request that those under my command be spared my fate.â€
The murmuring increased in volume to a low mumbling.
“Whether or not your men will be judged is dependent on you, Knight-Captain,†the inquisitor growled. “Is it not a fruitful coincidence that your acceptance of your new mercenary charges occurred just before an insidious attack on Camp Dragonhead by heretics who had managed to infiltrate the walls?â€
“I did not accept any additional freelancers. Deneith had been in my service for several moons. Her companions moved onto the city.â€
“But you did exercise your authority in order to allow them entry, did you not?â€
“Camp Dragonhead is a fortification under the ultimate command of House Fortemps. It is they who--â€
“Yes, we are aware of House Fortemps’ frivolous association with outsiders, but it is not the decisions of House Fortemps that we judge today. Answer the question. On your authority, your freelancer and two outsiders were accepted into Dragonhead’s walls. Is this or is this not true?â€
“...it is true.â€
Sensing triumph, the corner of the inquisitor’s mouth split into a grin.
“And Camp Dragonhead was laid under attack by heretics who ingested dragonblood. Is this or is this not true?â€
“It is true.â€
“Ser Idristan Tournes. You have been brought before the gaze of the Fury to be judged for your crimes. Confess, and surrender your collaborators, and Halone will exercise fair judgment upon you.â€
“I deny the charges.â€
Idristan looked up at the inquisitor to stare at the latter’s beady hazel eyes. There was nearly an audible gasp amongst the assembled clergy, as if they could not believe that the obviously-guilty knight would throw away everything.
The grin spread across the inquisitor’s face.
“Then by the power invested in me by the Fury and the Holy See, I hereby order Idristan Tournes, son of Baron Eaulaux Tournes, and all those under his command, to be arrested for heresy and taken to Ishgard to face punishment.â€
Idristan’s gaze wavered, and his throat caught, but not for the reasons he thought. Back to Ishgard? Not Witchdrop?
The two men-at-arms at his side roughly clasped his arms and began to drag the manacled captain out of the door. The clergy assembled on the pews nodded sagely to each other in agreement in a display of synchronized sycophancy. That sight alone almost made him sick.
“Fear not, Captain,†the inquisitor called out after him as a black hood was pulled over his head. “Given time, even you may be redeemed.â€
--
That was many moons ago.
By the Grace of the Fury--perhaps an inappropriate thought for Idristan Tournes to think, given the circumstances--he and many others who had been held by the Church under accusations of heresy had been released. Lord Commander Aymeric's push for secularism had been almost unanimously passed by the newly formed House of Lords and House of Commons, and thus Tournes had been restored to his proper rank of knight-captain within the Temple Knights.
And yet, he found himself with more questions than answers.
Idristan Tournes was, for the most part, a loyal man who quietly and dutifully served his nation and faith in its time of need. And yet, someone saw fit to use the machinations of the Church to arrest him. But why?
"Good to see you back, Tournes." A grunted greeting resounded to Idristan from the entrance to the barracks. The Elezen turned, his mail armour only half-donned to greet an older Wildwood. Idristan gave a brief salute.
"Commander Marchand."
Marchand was aged but not yet wizened; his worn face held surprisingly few wrinkles or scars, but his eyes were sunken and cheeks somewhat gaunt, belying his status as something of a haunted veteran. Nonetheless, the Commander never let such things affect his command.
"They let you out of the stockades, eh? I'm surprised how many people the Church had locked up in their gaols. You'd only been held for a few moons but it's nice to see you still remember how to put your armour on."
"A poor knight I would be if some incarceration were capable of depriving me of that much," Idristan said dryly. He was conversing with his commander and yet his thoughts were elsewhere. The questions did little to abate. The Church is--was--strict and ruthless, but fair. If Idristan had been truly suspected of heresy, then the Temple Knights would have been the first to deal with their internal affairs as they had always had. Yet, someone skipped some chains and involved the Inquisition directly.
His mind wandered. "On your authority, your freelancer and two outsiders were accepted into Dragonhead’s walls. Is this or is this not true...?"
Were they after someone under his command? Deneith? One of her companions? All of them? And whoever authorised his arrest...in the months leading up to the end of the Dragonsong War, Marchand had received increasing number of reports of heretics in the city. Were they truly heretics, or was the same entity within the Church using the Inquisition and heresy as an excuse?
Idristan's mind gradually filtered itself back to reality.
"...brood, so it looks like the Lord Commander is itching to send some poor sods off to the borders. Not enough to re-spark the war, but it'll be uneasy having to fight with dragons against more dragons if the rest of the Horde refuses to disperse." Marchand was blathering on, as usual, though the commander jerked his head towards Idristan. "You ready, Tournes? Your squad has to leave tonight for Cloudtop."
"In a minute, Commander," Idristan said absentmindedly as he affixed the last of his armour to himself. "I need to prepare some correspondence."
--
Deneith,
By now you might have heard of my arrest.
Someone or something within the Church may have been using its influence to gather falsely accused heretics. There may be more innocents involved.
I cannot investigate. This is not an order; I am not your captain any longer. This is a request.
Be careful. Someone may be looking for you.
-Tournes
Idristan had been stripped of his tarnished chainmail, covered in little more than functional rags, and his hands and feet clanked with the burden of heavy iron manacles. His eyes still held something of a sharp, defiant gleam, though he kept his gaze fixed at the bottom of the podium that sat in front of the inquisitor. It was little more than the assembly room of Camp Dragonhead adjacent to the mess hall, hastily converted into a courtroom with the help of the podium, some rearranged pews, and the two men-at-arms of the Inquisition standing at his sides.
“Not guilty,†he murmured, shifting from one foot to the other. There was a low murmuring among the assembled members of the clergy.
“What have you to say in your defence?â€
“I have only ever been a loyal servant who has dedicated my life and honour to the preservation and prosperity of Ishgard and the Holy See.†Tournes’ voice cracked at the word ‘dedicated’. The murmuring increased. “If the Fury, by her grace, has seen fit to relieve me of my command and calling, then I accept Her verdict, but I deny any and all accusations that I had betrayed Halone’s trust in my duty.â€
The inquisitor’s eyes narrowed to blade-like slits, a derisive snort escaping from his hooked nose. “Understand that if you are found guilty beneath the Fury’s gaze without confessing, the punishment will extend to all of those in your command. The prosperity of Ishgard is reliant on the removal of those who would plot the destruction of the Holy See and her people.â€
“I understand the severity of my circumstances, Inquisitor. I deny the charges all the same, and request that those under my command be spared my fate.â€
The murmuring increased in volume to a low mumbling.
“Whether or not your men will be judged is dependent on you, Knight-Captain,†the inquisitor growled. “Is it not a fruitful coincidence that your acceptance of your new mercenary charges occurred just before an insidious attack on Camp Dragonhead by heretics who had managed to infiltrate the walls?â€
“I did not accept any additional freelancers. Deneith had been in my service for several moons. Her companions moved onto the city.â€
“But you did exercise your authority in order to allow them entry, did you not?â€
“Camp Dragonhead is a fortification under the ultimate command of House Fortemps. It is they who--â€
“Yes, we are aware of House Fortemps’ frivolous association with outsiders, but it is not the decisions of House Fortemps that we judge today. Answer the question. On your authority, your freelancer and two outsiders were accepted into Dragonhead’s walls. Is this or is this not true?â€
“...it is true.â€
Sensing triumph, the corner of the inquisitor’s mouth split into a grin.
“And Camp Dragonhead was laid under attack by heretics who ingested dragonblood. Is this or is this not true?â€
“It is true.â€
“Ser Idristan Tournes. You have been brought before the gaze of the Fury to be judged for your crimes. Confess, and surrender your collaborators, and Halone will exercise fair judgment upon you.â€
“I deny the charges.â€
Idristan looked up at the inquisitor to stare at the latter’s beady hazel eyes. There was nearly an audible gasp amongst the assembled clergy, as if they could not believe that the obviously-guilty knight would throw away everything.
The grin spread across the inquisitor’s face.
“Then by the power invested in me by the Fury and the Holy See, I hereby order Idristan Tournes, son of Baron Eaulaux Tournes, and all those under his command, to be arrested for heresy and taken to Ishgard to face punishment.â€
Idristan’s gaze wavered, and his throat caught, but not for the reasons he thought. Back to Ishgard? Not Witchdrop?
The two men-at-arms at his side roughly clasped his arms and began to drag the manacled captain out of the door. The clergy assembled on the pews nodded sagely to each other in agreement in a display of synchronized sycophancy. That sight alone almost made him sick.
“Fear not, Captain,†the inquisitor called out after him as a black hood was pulled over his head. “Given time, even you may be redeemed.â€
--
That was many moons ago.
By the Grace of the Fury--perhaps an inappropriate thought for Idristan Tournes to think, given the circumstances--he and many others who had been held by the Church under accusations of heresy had been released. Lord Commander Aymeric's push for secularism had been almost unanimously passed by the newly formed House of Lords and House of Commons, and thus Tournes had been restored to his proper rank of knight-captain within the Temple Knights.
And yet, he found himself with more questions than answers.
Idristan Tournes was, for the most part, a loyal man who quietly and dutifully served his nation and faith in its time of need. And yet, someone saw fit to use the machinations of the Church to arrest him. But why?
"Good to see you back, Tournes." A grunted greeting resounded to Idristan from the entrance to the barracks. The Elezen turned, his mail armour only half-donned to greet an older Wildwood. Idristan gave a brief salute.
"Commander Marchand."
Marchand was aged but not yet wizened; his worn face held surprisingly few wrinkles or scars, but his eyes were sunken and cheeks somewhat gaunt, belying his status as something of a haunted veteran. Nonetheless, the Commander never let such things affect his command.
"They let you out of the stockades, eh? I'm surprised how many people the Church had locked up in their gaols. You'd only been held for a few moons but it's nice to see you still remember how to put your armour on."
"A poor knight I would be if some incarceration were capable of depriving me of that much," Idristan said dryly. He was conversing with his commander and yet his thoughts were elsewhere. The questions did little to abate. The Church is--was--strict and ruthless, but fair. If Idristan had been truly suspected of heresy, then the Temple Knights would have been the first to deal with their internal affairs as they had always had. Yet, someone skipped some chains and involved the Inquisition directly.
His mind wandered. "On your authority, your freelancer and two outsiders were accepted into Dragonhead’s walls. Is this or is this not true...?"
Were they after someone under his command? Deneith? One of her companions? All of them? And whoever authorised his arrest...in the months leading up to the end of the Dragonsong War, Marchand had received increasing number of reports of heretics in the city. Were they truly heretics, or was the same entity within the Church using the Inquisition and heresy as an excuse?
Idristan's mind gradually filtered itself back to reality.
"...brood, so it looks like the Lord Commander is itching to send some poor sods off to the borders. Not enough to re-spark the war, but it'll be uneasy having to fight with dragons against more dragons if the rest of the Horde refuses to disperse." Marchand was blathering on, as usual, though the commander jerked his head towards Idristan. "You ready, Tournes? Your squad has to leave tonight for Cloudtop."
"In a minute, Commander," Idristan said absentmindedly as he affixed the last of his armour to himself. "I need to prepare some correspondence."
--
Deneith,
By now you might have heard of my arrest.
Someone or something within the Church may have been using its influence to gather falsely accused heretics. There may be more innocents involved.
I cannot investigate. This is not an order; I am not your captain any longer. This is a request.
Be careful. Someone may be looking for you.
-Tournes
