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A wild eyed man dressed in ragged clothing walks into a busy market in the City's trading district. He finds a spot over to one side of the crowd, and overturning a discarded crate he stands upon it and begins to speak to whomever will listen.
"Hail to you all, brothers and sisters! I bear news for the people of Sundren that should be of interest to you!"
The mans eyes are feverish, his gestures wild, but there is something compelling in his manner and a small crowd begins to form as he speaks.
"We all know the troubles which beset the land my friends. We have felt them and suffered. Rebels amass in the mountains, smugglers and bandits ply their trade, our fellow Sundarians are murdered by marauding Orcs, the other night half a dozen families were murdered in their beds and two children simply disappeared. Our crops die in the fields and livestock with them, and not only that, plague sent by the lady of poison has struck this very city! We, the people, are being ground down with the weight of all that befalls our land!"
Despite the ragged and zealous appearance of the man, most in the crowd nod in agreement at what he has to say.
"I come to tell you of our path to salvation... and I promise you, we can be saved! But first you must know the truth; you must hear the lies we have all been subjected to exposed for what they are! We have been lied to, brothers and sisters, by those who promised to keep us safe. This seems almost too obvious to point out, but it is the hardest thing of all to see! Who are those sworn to protect us? The Helmites, the Nobles and their Militias, the Triumvirate of Tyr, Torm and Ilmater, and these so-called Red Blades. You might well ask whether their efforts have been to any avail, given all that happens in Sundren. The truth is different... They do not even try to help us! The Helmites sit idle in their temple, secure and arrogant in their own righteousness, and lazy as slugs. The Triad sends morons and incompetents to Sundren while their leaders spend our tithes on whoring and carousing in the taverns of Waterdeep! The nobles try to crush us under the weight of their taxes while their militia arrest any who cannot pay. Our so-called protectors are corrupt, and care only for themselves. They cannot save us!"
Many in the crowd are growing uneasy by this stage in the man's diatribe, but while some wander away, most seem transfixed by his words even if they find them blasphemous.
"That we have been deceived and betrayed by the corrupt and uncaring is obvious... But what of the path to Salvation, you ask? The answer is not a comfortable one my friends, but I ask that you listen carefully. Ask yourselves who holds the true power over Sundren's future? There are deities and their followers whom we have been taught to fear, and rightly so... to fear the powerful and those that may harm you is good sense! But we must do more than fear them my friends. There is nobody to protect us from the ravages of the Black Hand, the Lady of poison, or the Stormlord... We are at their mercy, and they have none for those who defy them! Renounce the false protectors and bow down before those with the power to destroy us all! We must appease their wrath before it is too late for us all. Grovel, for their mercies may be small but their wrath can destroy us entirely!"
A pair of guards on patrol enter the marketplace, and seeing the man preaching, one whispers to the other "Shit, not another." They begin to push their way through the crowd.
"See! The authorities do not wish you to hear the truth. Their cronies come to silence me...whoah."
The guards reach the front and one grabs the man forcibly by the arm. The preacher struggles to break free with manic energy and claws at the guards faces. The mailed fist of the second guard sinks into the mans face with a meaty thunk. He falls unconscious as blood sprays from his nose. The second guard then turns to the crowd and speaks. "Disperse! There's nothing to see here." The guards drag off the bleeding and unconscious man.
Most in the crowd nod in approval of the Guards' work as they wander off, and one or two even stay to clap or cheer. But a few among them nod to themselves at the words of the man, and cast resentful gazes after the guards.
.....
Rumours spread of crazed Heretics spouting blasphemous vitriol in the streets of the city and elsewhere. People are unsure of whether these are just the usual cranks turned to more extreme diatribes, citizens maddened by the early stages of plague, or whether they have simply turned to this path out of fear. One thing is certain, in times of trouble such Heresy has a way of taking root, and some Sundarians whisper that these preachers may be on to something.
"Hail to you all, brothers and sisters! I bear news for the people of Sundren that should be of interest to you!"
The mans eyes are feverish, his gestures wild, but there is something compelling in his manner and a small crowd begins to form as he speaks.
"We all know the troubles which beset the land my friends. We have felt them and suffered. Rebels amass in the mountains, smugglers and bandits ply their trade, our fellow Sundarians are murdered by marauding Orcs, the other night half a dozen families were murdered in their beds and two children simply disappeared. Our crops die in the fields and livestock with them, and not only that, plague sent by the lady of poison has struck this very city! We, the people, are being ground down with the weight of all that befalls our land!"
Despite the ragged and zealous appearance of the man, most in the crowd nod in agreement at what he has to say.
"I come to tell you of our path to salvation... and I promise you, we can be saved! But first you must know the truth; you must hear the lies we have all been subjected to exposed for what they are! We have been lied to, brothers and sisters, by those who promised to keep us safe. This seems almost too obvious to point out, but it is the hardest thing of all to see! Who are those sworn to protect us? The Helmites, the Nobles and their Militias, the Triumvirate of Tyr, Torm and Ilmater, and these so-called Red Blades. You might well ask whether their efforts have been to any avail, given all that happens in Sundren. The truth is different... They do not even try to help us! The Helmites sit idle in their temple, secure and arrogant in their own righteousness, and lazy as slugs. The Triad sends morons and incompetents to Sundren while their leaders spend our tithes on whoring and carousing in the taverns of Waterdeep! The nobles try to crush us under the weight of their taxes while their militia arrest any who cannot pay. Our so-called protectors are corrupt, and care only for themselves. They cannot save us!"
Many in the crowd are growing uneasy by this stage in the man's diatribe, but while some wander away, most seem transfixed by his words even if they find them blasphemous.
"That we have been deceived and betrayed by the corrupt and uncaring is obvious... But what of the path to Salvation, you ask? The answer is not a comfortable one my friends, but I ask that you listen carefully. Ask yourselves who holds the true power over Sundren's future? There are deities and their followers whom we have been taught to fear, and rightly so... to fear the powerful and those that may harm you is good sense! But we must do more than fear them my friends. There is nobody to protect us from the ravages of the Black Hand, the Lady of poison, or the Stormlord... We are at their mercy, and they have none for those who defy them! Renounce the false protectors and bow down before those with the power to destroy us all! We must appease their wrath before it is too late for us all. Grovel, for their mercies may be small but their wrath can destroy us entirely!"
A pair of guards on patrol enter the marketplace, and seeing the man preaching, one whispers to the other "Shit, not another." They begin to push their way through the crowd.
"See! The authorities do not wish you to hear the truth. Their cronies come to silence me...whoah."
The guards reach the front and one grabs the man forcibly by the arm. The preacher struggles to break free with manic energy and claws at the guards faces. The mailed fist of the second guard sinks into the mans face with a meaty thunk. He falls unconscious as blood sprays from his nose. The second guard then turns to the crowd and speaks. "Disperse! There's nothing to see here." The guards drag off the bleeding and unconscious man.
Most in the crowd nod in approval of the Guards' work as they wander off, and one or two even stay to clap or cheer. But a few among them nod to themselves at the words of the man, and cast resentful gazes after the guards.
.....
Rumours spread of crazed Heretics spouting blasphemous vitriol in the streets of the city and elsewhere. People are unsure of whether these are just the usual cranks turned to more extreme diatribes, citizens maddened by the early stages of plague, or whether they have simply turned to this path out of fear. One thing is certain, in times of trouble such Heresy has a way of taking root, and some Sundarians whisper that these preachers may be on to something.
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