[Sedna]

I'll use posting my turn here as an excuse to bug you all about writing your turn sixes. So far we only have 3 out of 9...
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Marignon, Turn 6

Lead me, O LORD, in thy righteousness because of mine enemies;
make thy way straight before my face.

For there is no faithfulness in their mouth;
their inward part is very wickedness;
their throat is an open sepulchre;
they flatter with their tongue.

Destroy thou them, O God;
let them fall by their own counsels;
cast them out in the multitude of their transgressions;
for they have rebelled against thee.

But let all those that put their trust in thee rejoice:
let them ever shout for joy, because thou defendest them:
let them also that love thy name be joyful in thee.

For thou, LORD, wilt bless the righteous;
with favor wilt thou compass him as with a shield.

Psalms 5:8-12

Muszinger

"By all that is holy! I should smite your where you stand!"

Father Muszinger grinned softly at that thought as the Archbishop of Marignon strode across the conclave room, spittle flying from his massive jowls.

"You have torn the Church apart with your mad support of this... Aftial. You have sown the soil of faith with the bitter seed of war, and watered the harvest with blood!"

Eventually, Muszinger knew, Marignon would tire. The summer heat still lingered in the House of Just Fires, and the old man was, well, indecently obese.

"The kingdom is falling apart! Condemned witches disappear from embarrassingly public places, and while you play solider in the :Image:MapOfJerovia.jpg|Plains of Eternal Peril, the mighty Aftial, Goddess of... Courage," the sarcasm dripped from his lips, "remains cloistered in the library playing with the minds of schoolboys and sucking at the rotten teat of ancient-- nay, heretical-- knowledge!"

With the last, Marignon pounded on Muszinger's desk with his diadem, then, overcome by exertion, started coughing uncontrollably.

The Archbishop of Wic strode into the center of the chamber. "Friends!"

A hush fell, as this perfect specimen of a man lifted his hands unto heaven.

"Friends. Let us not quarrel. It is true that the lords refused to accept the authority of Aftial, and that most have risen in open revolt, but so much the better. The chance lies before us know to clear the kingdom of this black bile, and bring all power directly under the control of the Church. Father Muszinger's campaign to do this has been quick and decisive. I returned to my home province for the first time in several years, and found the cathedral there in shocking disrepair, and the peasants cowering from me-- from me, a true servant of the LORD."

"Vampire..." muttered someone from behind Muszinger, but he pretended not to hear.

"There is some truth in what Wic says," said the Archbishop of Avoca from where he stood by the fire, despite the heat of the day. "Woledar was a crook who cheated the church out of its rightful tithe. The people will be much better off with their taxes going directly to the church through me."

"And, you, Archbishop of Amiridon?" Wic turned toward the shortest of the archbishops.

"Ach, 'tis true" he murmured. "Me people be better off wid out the yoke of tyranny."

"But what of the witch?" asked the Archbishop of Spire. "Old Ratty let her get away. He's not doing his job properly."

If Muszinger had one regret in life, it was not killing everyone who knew his nickname from school. The indignity of being called back here to answer these ridiculous charges was grating enough. Things were so much simpler out in the field where a good smite took care of everything.

Muszinger rose. He knew he lacked the stage presence of Wic, but... "By the grace of God, I have been charged with a sacred quest. Aftial guards every hair on my head. No man may hinder me." He puled out his dagger and spun it gently on the desk, then sat again and leaned back. "I challenge any man to face me in combat. I will be unarmed, but the LORD will protect me, and the false accuser's soul will never enter the Kingdom."

The blue robes of the Archbishop of Elkland parted with inhuman quickness, and a wicked looking man darted forth with dagger and short sword. Muszinger's heart froze for a second. He'd expected an attack by one of the elderly archbishops, not a fully trained assassin. What if Aftial's protection...?

A searing pain in his arm, and then a flash of light and a thunderclap. The assassin's bloody dagger clattered down with his sword onto the empty stone. Only the faint smell of brimestone and a little wisp of smoke remained.

Muszinger rose. "May the LORD bless and protect you all, as he has blessed me. I return now to the front-lines of the war against death. The Archbishop of Elkland is hereby excommunicated for allowing this assassin to infiltrate the conclave."

And with that he strode from the room, dizzy lights before his eyes. The dagger had been poisoned were his last thoughts as he pushed into the crowd of inquisitors who swirled their black cloaks around him and prevented the Archbishops from seeing his collapse.