The Price of Surrender
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It started with discontent.
Tilverton, after the shadow of the white witch, became the property of Duke Obyn Misrim- a man who crawled from the shadow of his grandmother, murdered her, bent the knee to Arabel's invader, and in a series of cunning betrayals, saw to it that she was defeated with the aid of the Council of 12 and Arabel proper.
Obyn Misrim's eyes blazed with ambition, and he saw the Crown of Arabel adorn his own head, as he languished upon a padded throne, serviced by all and worshiped as King.
Then it was taken away by a man who he dismissed as irrelevant, a man doomed to die- a man whose presence was like a Ghost in his Life...
Matrim Kingsley took away his crown.
Matrim Kingsley married the Broken Champion's mother.
Matrim Kingsley ascended, and this cemented the eternal hated he possessed for the House of the Morning, who he blamed for stealing what he believed to be rightfully his- and in his dreams, he saw Charisbonde Belon's laughing, smug face. He swore his revenge, and stewed...
Time passed, and the ravages of war and its open wounds turned to scabs and bitter memories. Crops grew, and as he clenched his fist on the lands of Tilverton, he sent his Ravens to flock around Arabel and the surrounding lands that kept bordered his own. Nobles were made to bend the knee, merchant contracts were signed, and prosperity grew- his coffers grew fat, and the glory of his Court grew. He discarded old friends and embraced new ones as his eyes remained seated in the future, gazing into a far off destiny that many knew already. Obyn Misrim never gave up on his ambition to be King- and he would prove to all that Eveningstar made a dire mistake.
However, in his ambition- he permitted to much wanton abuse by his court, and soon, his serfs grew discontent, his freemen balked at the yoke about their necks, and his people cried out for relief. They pleaded with him to lower taxes, to give them justice- to discard those who would oppress them- but Obyn gave them no satisfaction- for the greatest prize in his mind was loyalty- and if the price of Loyalty was the corruption of his court, so be it. Talent was hard to come by, morality was secondary.
So his subjects suffered. So his subjects were easily persuaded by the whispers of Charisbonde Belon whose cunning claws sensed the weakness of the Misrim domain. He sent his agents to whisper to families- that life can be better, that they can come to Eveningstar, be given land, food, and justice. They can start a new life...
Obyn's subjects grew discontent, they envied the free lives that the Bishropic's citizens enjoyed- sure, the restrictions of faith were draconian- and the privileges the Knights of the Dawn enjoyed were similar to Obyn's Court- but morality, ethics, and justice were sound, and the Dawnlord heard all his people. Some of Obyn's people outright rebelled, given weapons, tools, and explosives to undermine his rules. Some sought to flee the lands- and in the clenched fist of Obyn Misrim- this was outright betrayal.
He sent his Ravens to mob and murder all who would flee his grip. He sent his Ravens to make an example of men, women, and children. Fifty souls slain, fifty lives lost- and who knows how many more executed by the dripping, pitted blade of Thaddoth the Executioner. Only the Temple of Cyric kept track, and its Whispers were silent to the truth.
The sacrifice was unfortunate, but it played in Charisbonde's hands- in his outrage, he demanded Misrim free its serfs, permit the free movement of its subjects, and cease all future ambition to grant his heirs a larger domain over which to rule.
Obyn, fist clenched in defiance, refused. He taunted Eveningstar, even as his troubled rule over his subjects who became riotous and discontent- he sneered at Belon's demands, and threatened War.
And Eveningstar, believing that public opinion and righteous cause was on its side- did so...
Only for Belon to learn to his horror and disappointment, that he was wrong.
Apathy...
Convenient Allies...
Fair weather friends...
Cowardice...
All infected the lives of Arabel's adventurers. Some claimed that some distance threat of Beholders who never walked past the Forest of Eyes were a greater threat. Some believed war was wrong, and that the suffering, injustice, wrongful executions, daily abuses and suffering of Obyn's subjects were somehow lesser than the freedom and liberation they'd experience if they were freed by Charisbonde's Paladins and Knights.
To Obyn's ranks came the Murrain, and the gleeful vermin and plague-cultists harassed, harried, and poisoned Eveningstar's lands, Setting fire to properties, killing and sacrificing men to Talona, and even kidnapping Dawnknight Stillwater. These setbacks, defeats, and continued humiliations culminated in the dismissal of Arabel's adventurers- despite Arianna, High Priestess of Tymora's support over the conflict. Despite the Betrayal of Kincaid the Whoreson who laid Tilverton's abuses and crimes plain as day to all.
Cowardice. Fear. Apathy. The siren song of neutrality sung and enraptured Arabel's adventurers.
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Charisbonde Belon's plans for the future unraveled. They were made bare by the foolish actions of Dawnsquire Harcourt- who later redeemed himself by defeating the Murrain's Hans in single combat- the war was a ploy for Eveningstar to expand outward and subjugate other territories to the Light of Lathander, to dispense his justice, and convert its denizens. A plot to slowly ensconce Tilverton in Hostile territories and forever prevent it from expanding- and from there, whittle away its influence.
Pierre's dogged actions- despite repeated failures, acts of spineless cowardice, proved his rabid loyalty. Like a hound eager to please its master, he secured the neutrality of the Precept, he fought the Council of 12 to inaction, he stymied any effort or plot by the City to interfere in the conflict with Eveningstar- his hamfisted actions amused his Masters, and in a cruel display of glee, promoted him after maiming the Paladin Toussaint before the King. Pierre the Bootlicker enjoys the amused respect of his masters in Tilverton as he struts through the City, peasants removing their hats to him.
All of this combined to eventually conclude in Eveningstar's bitter, unceremonial, and utterly humiliating surrender. At the behest of her Majesty- of whom Obyn and Belon owe respect and obedience, came to meet in the Palace.
Negotiations between Pierre and Obyn, Belon and Argun took place- and soon, a number was agreed upon- Tilverton would receive reparations that would cripple Eveningstar's growth, and no doubt hinder it's future for the longest time as it beggared itself to feed Obyn's War Chest- money he'd no doubt spend well. If it was left to this- perhaps, Eveningstar could hold its head high- say it stood up to the Tyrant, and that it was the cowardice of those who Claimed to be good, but sat upon a fence and scorned both sides as if they were the same who truly caused them their defeat.
Then Obyn made an offer- Eveningstar's reparations could be reduced if they kissed his boot, to kneel in front of him, beg his mercy- and kiss the boot he used to step upon his subjects.
To deny them freedoms and justice.
To cruelly remind them of their place beneath him.
And Eveningstar did- Argun bent the knee- and kissed the sole of Obyn's Heel.
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A war without a single battle- and the rewards were reaped...
Even after attacking the City- Obyn openly defies the King and Queen by protecting the Murrain, rewarding them with a shrine, and openly permitting them to flaunt themselves in his lands. He smiles at the helpless fury of Matrim Kingsley's impotent throne- mocking him from his own domain as he watches more and more nobles send their children to his court to 'learn' from him.
The Misrim network grows, his power, prestige, and presence becoming more felt in the villages and minor townships across the lands. It is not Eveningstar they look to for guidance- but the cruel hand of the Misrim family.
Anastasia Misrim would no doubt be proud of her grandson now, if it weren't for the dagger still in her spine, buried in the family crypt.
As for Belon, he broods in his private chambers, rarely leaving for his sermons, letting lesser priests and priestesses to handle such ceremonies. The prestige and presence of the Church of the Morning is all but wiped out with this surrender, the kiss of a boot sealing their outright humiliation.
No more will the commonfolk view them as champions of their cause- the moral authority that will see them defended. If such a day came- it will not be anytime soon, as the lives of fifty serfs go unavenged, and their families will keenly remember this failure.
Tilverton won the day, and the sun sets on Eveningstar.