#redeemers

Narration: Jaune and Cinder make their way through the busy corridors of the keep. Guards hurry about, torchlight flickering on the stone walls. Commands ring out amidst the chaos as messengers dash to and fro. Civilians huddle together in the various rooms and halls and medics work quickly to tend to the wounded that lie where space is made available.

As they reach the fort’s dungeons, they see Governor Nighthill and a dwarf guard captain talking outside of the interrogation room.*

Jaune: Governor. Is the prisoner awake yet?

Nighthill: Ah, Paladin. Just in time. Our “guest” has indeed been awake for some time now, but she's been stubbornly tight-lipped. No matter what we've tried, she hasn't said a word.

Escobert: *Escobert the Red is a shield dwarf with knotted, tangled, bright red hair. As master of the keep, Escobert is in charge of its defense and maintenance.* Whoever these bastards are, they train their underlings well. I’ve done everything short of pulling out the tools from the dungeons and she won’t even so much as give us her name.

Jaune: *Furrows his brow, glancing at Escobert and then at Nighthill.* We’ll need to change that.

Nighthill: *Nods in agreement.* The guards have been keeping a close watch, but if you have a plan, we’re all ears.

Escobert: We’ve had enough of these raiders. Do what you need to, just get us some answers.

Jaune: *Turns to Cinder.* Think you can get her talking?

Cinder: Scoffs Please, I’ve bartered people’s souls into eternal servitude. I think I can get our canary singing. Just be your sweet little self and let me do the talking.

Narration: The dungeon is damp and dim, the air thick with the scent of mildew and old iron. The prisoner sits across from them chained to an old heavy table, her mask removed to reveal a face etched with defiance—and perhaps a flicker of fear. She couldn’t be much older than Jaune himself, yet here she was, a zealot in a cult that had just razed a town. When the door creaks open, she stiffens, then forces a sneer.

Cultist: *Spits on the floor between them.* Save your breath, infidels. I won't betray my brethren. I won't tell you a damn thing.

Jaune: Steps in and closes the door behind them. We're just here to talk.

Cinder: *Saunters in, her tail flicking lazily behind her.* Oh but haven't you heard, Jaune? She is not going to tell us a thing. Such a devoted little soldier. *She begins circling her.* But unfortunately for your brethren, you're also an open book. Let me tell you exactly what you've already revealed before I even brought out the big girl toys.

Cinder: *Cinder eyes her up and down.* You're not high-ranking. Your robes are cheap linen - no embroidery, no decorative colored masks. You have enough authority to boss around a few green recruits and some kobolds, but not much else. They promised you power, didn't they? Told you they would make you special? *She leans in, voice dripping with mock sympathy.* And yet… here you are. Expendable. Forgotten. Why, I doubt anyone has even noticed you were captured yet.

Cultist: *Gulps nervously but her eyes harden.* Th-They’ll come for me. You can’t hide in this fortress forever. Soon they’ll blast these walls apart and release me.

Cinder: *Laughs mockingly.* Oh absolutely, darling. I'm sure they'll come charging in, gather up whatever charred bits of you remain, and throw you a lovely posthumous ceremony. *She examines her nails dismissively.*But let's discuss what else your friends so helpfully revealed. Dragon worship—painfully obvious between those theatrical masks and your aerial friend's dramatic entrance. Though honestly, it's almost quaint. Dragon cults are quite the rare sight, mostly because dragons make terrible patrons. They're fundamentally selfish creatures who view followers as either useful tools or convenient snacks. Why would an all-powerful wyrm share anything when they could simply take what they want themselves? Not to mention terrible egos, can’t play nice with others of their kind.

Cinder: Which brings me to what I can’t exactly quite grasp. The variety of masks. See, Dragon Cults tend to worship One Dragon or in some cases one Color of Dragon. Based on our unwelcomed guest in the sky, it would be assumed you would be worshippers of a Blue Dragon, but so far I’ve seen every color under the Chromatic. So, who's the big cult in charge? Steel Talon? Ashen Veil? Furnace Breath?

Cultist: *Lets out a sharp, mocking laugh of her own.* How outdated you are! Steel Talon? Ashen Veil? Those are footnotes in crumbling history books. What we serve is so much more than those pathetic remnants ever dreamed of being. *Her voice drops to an ominous whisper.* This is a renaissance, and I won't rob myself of the pleasure of watching your faces when you finally understand what's coming for you.

Jaune: …When we were rescuing the people at the temple, the Cultists were chanting something about “The Queen.” Could that mean anything?

Cinder: *Cinder looks surprised at Jaune then insightful.* Wait. Queen? Dragon cultists worshipping a Queen… Queen of Dragons… *Cinder looks discerningly at the Cultists.* You’re THE “Cult of THE Dragon?” You're worshippers of Tiamat?

Cultist: Eep! *Eyes widen in worry. Bingo.*

Jaune: Worshippers of Tiamat? Why does that sound familiar?

Cultist: *Gets all haughty.* W-Well, It’s no surprise that our infamy precedes us.

Cinder: These dullards haven't been relevant for centuries.

Cultist: *Flushes embarrassed.* H-Hey!

Jaune: Wait yeah! Weren't they the Big Bads, like, four Chosen Ones ago? During the “War of the Nine?”

Cultist: *Nods enthusiastically.* That's right!

Cinder: *Scoffs.* Sure, they had a champion of Tiamat lead them during the war, alongside eight other champions of the eight other False Gods of the Nine Hells. Everyone was a Big Bad during that time. Try harder.

Cultist: Th-That didn't stop us from being the best airwing of the entirety of Asmodeus’s Army!

Jaune: *Rubs the back of his head.* Well, I would hope so, being dragons and all.

Cinder: *Rolls her eyes.* Leave it to a demon war to make dragons relevant again. This is why Fiends are the superior Patron. Fiends at least sign contracts. Dragons? Just chew through followers and move on from empty promises.

Cultist: *Finally snaps.* OUR CHAMPION DOES NOT MAKE FALSE PROMISES! SHE SPEAKS FOR THE QUEEN! Breathes heavily before realizing she just released some vital information.

Jaune/Cinder: *Look surprised by her outburst before Cinder smiles sharply.*

Cinder: Oh? So you have a “Champion” now? So that’s why your brethren are so well organized. Please, tell me more about this new leader.

Cultist: I… I have nothing more to say.

Cinder: Oh, yes you do. And unfortunately for you, I’ve run out of patience. *With a flick of her wrist, Cinder casts Charm on the Cultist.*

Cultist: *The cultist seizes in her restraints, being overcome with Fiend Enchantments. She does her best to fight back through sheer force of will, biting her tongue, but it’s not enough. In a quick act of desperation, she slams her face down on the wooden table and breaks her nose.*

Jaune: BY THE GODDESS!

Cinder: YOU LITTLE SHIT! You made me waste a spell!

Cultist: *Sits up cupping her bloody nose.* OW! That hurt a lot more than I thought it would…

Jaune: *Twists his hands in worry. Jaune stares at the blood on the table. She’s a fanatic, sure. But not a monster. Not yet.* Boldrei… show me the way.

Jaune: *His hand tightens on his holy symbol. He recites a prayer, and Channels Divinity: Emissary of Peace. Jaune’s hair becomes windswept and silky, and his deep blue eyes have a faint sparkle. He walks over to the cultist, gently takes her hands in his and uses his divine magic to repair her nose. His voice has also seemed to have dropped a smooth octave.* Please, don’t hurt yourself. There's no need for that.

Cultist: *Blushes hard, now flustered for a completely different reason.* I-uh-Wh-what…?

Cinder: *Looks perplexed at the now significantly more attractive paladin.* What in fresh Avernus is this?

Jaune: We got off on the wrong foot. My name is Jaune Arc, and this is Cinder Fall. What is your name?

Cultist: W-Why do you care what my name is?

Jaune: Because you’re not just a prisoner. You’re a person. And people have names..

Cultist: Uhm… E-Eileen. Eileen Prim.

Cinder: *Holding a hand up to shield her eyes from Jaune’s face.* Oh brother.

Jaune: *Smiles comfortingly.* Good to meet you Eileen. Listen, I know in your own way you have a duty to uphold for your Goddess, and I have a duty to mine. We're not here to stop your master plan or anything like that, I just want to make sure as many people don't get hurt as possible, and to do that, I need to understand what's going on. Please, any little thing could help save lives.

Cinder: *Begins to gag on all this talk of kindness and belief in good.* Lilistor save me now…

Eileen: *Very bashful* W-What do you need to know…?

Cinder: WHAT?!

Jaune: Why is the Cult attacking Greenest? Is there something they're specifically looking for?

Eileen: I-I don't think so. Or I don't know. All the leaders said is that the towns in this area would be easy targets for looting. Our goal was to take as many valuables, magic items, and coins as possible before sunrise. Along with any important or wealthy people worth ransoming.

Cinder: “Towns?” There are other attacks happening right now?

Jaune: How many of you are there?

Eileen: Two other towns nearby are also being raided. Beregost… and Nashkiel? Each with about the same force as you seen here and each with their own dragon.

Cinder: *Straightens up, her theatrical demeanor dropping slightly.* Three coordinated attacks. That's… actually impressive for cultists. And expensive. Dragons don't work for free. What's in it for them?

Eileen: I’m not sure specifically. All I know is that the Dragons do whatever the Champion says.

Jaune: *Still glowing with divine presence.* Tell me about this Champion. What is her name?

Eileen: *Eyes light up with fervor despite her current situation.* The leadership only refers to her as “The Red Lady.” She's always dressed in red silks and golden jewelry. She's… quite beautiful.

Eileen: Rumors around the followers are that she was once a Arch Red Wizard from across the ocean, who made a direct contract with Tiamat herself in exchange for even more power. During the rallies, you can see her body glow when she channels the Queen's power. She can speak Draconic like she was born to it, and the dragons… they actually listen to her. Really listen. Promising a New World Order under the rightful rule of the Dragons, and those who followed faithfully would rule by their side.

Cinder: So. The cult finally found a high priestess with charisma and delusions of godhood. That explains the coordination… and the dragons. *She straightens, her voice low and venomous.* If she's channeling Tiamat’s power directly, we’re not dealing with a cult anymore. We’re dealing with a crusade.

Narration: As if on que, the roar of a Dragon sounds outside the fort, a long with the tumbling of stone and the sound of war horns. Escobert quickly bursts into the room, a panicked look on his face.

Escobert: The dragon is raining lighting on the battlements! And the raiders just launched an attacking force. They have a damn battering ram!

Cinder: *Turns to Eileen.* Well, looks like you may just get your wish to die with the rest of us. Come on Arc, we need to go.

Jaune: *Nods and then remembers something important.* One last thing Eileen. I was supposed to meet an adventurer here, Qrow Branwen. Does that name mean anything to you? Did he have any run-ins with the Cult?

Eileen: No, I haven't heard of that name. B-But there was an adventurer that we captured in the woods near our camp. A drunk druid of sorts wielding a scythe.

Jaune: Yes! That's Qrow Branwen! You mean you captured him? Where is he being held?

Eileen: He's currently in chains back in our camp, out in a small canyon called Blood Gulch. All the raiding parties are supposed to regroup at camp after sunrise.

Jaune: *Smiles and places his hand on Eileen's shoulder.* You've done a great deed, Eileen. I know you can come out of this whole thing a bigger person. *He turns to Cinder.* Lets go. We have to get the others, defend the gate, and figure out how to get that dragon to back off.

Eileen: *As they leave her alone in the interrogation room.* -I’ll just… be here! Maybe we can talk again? Or—you know, survive first! * She buries her face in her hands.*

~O~O~O~O~O~

The keep is under attack! Divide up the team and assign tasks to fend off the attack of the Dragon Cult!

New Contested Voting Mechanics! Not only can you now make multiple choices for your votes, but now we can have votes for multiple tasks!! When ever delegating a character, whichever poll they scored higher in will be the task they undertake!

Vote for Who Defends the Gates! - https://strawpoll.com/PbZqbWq4vyN

Your Results for the Defense of the Keep are:

Defending the Gate: Neon Katt, Adam Taurus, Reese Chloris, and Neo Politan!

Redeemers info page

Michael Tomasky at The New Republic:

It’s not just a cruel irony that, as many have observed, Martin Luther King Jr. would have opposed Donald Trump and likely been out protesting somewhere today had he been alive. That’s obvious. The cruelty of the joke that Trump swore the oath of office on MLK Day runs much deeper than that, because each man is the epitome of our two American traditions that have been in conflict since the 1860s and will probably be furiously at war in new and worrisome ways, maybe even approaching some kind of Armageddon, over these next four years.

The traditions date to the period right after the Civil War. It has been referred to, notably by the great historian Eric Foner, as America’s “Second Founding,” when the Thirteenth, Fourteenth, and Fifteenth Amendments finally established the American ideal of equality of law for all—completing, in other words, the revolution that the Founders left unfinished. This has been the standard interpretation of the importance of that era. But as we know all too well these days, there are no longer any “standard interpretations”—a phrase that makes any right-winger reach for his revolver, to invoke another famous right-wing complaint about mainstream small-r republican values. Down South, that never was the interpretation of the Second Founding. In the South, it meant destruction and occupation and, most of all, the transfer of political power from the wealthy class that had held it for 200-plus years to people who had been their property.

That was the Southern interpretation of what we call Reconstruction. And so the South countered with its own narrative, Redemption: the return of white supremacy and the re-subjugation of the Negro, enforced through newly written state constitutions and through the violence carried out by groups like the Ku Klux Klan. We’ve been locked in the battle between Reconstruction and Redemption ever since. No single American has embodied the Reconstruction narrative more fully than King, who, a century after those amendments, finally and courageously brought the country face to face with the ways in which even those bold amendments remained unfulfilled, thus helping to bring about full legal equality—and paying with his life for doing so. And surely no one has represented the Redemption side of the argument more than Trump. To say that is not to attempt to associate him with cross-burnings. But Trump represents, and pledged in his inaugural address to enforce, the American tradition that is handed down to us from the Redemption movement.

[...] And that’s what’s new here. The reactionary movements that have peppered and darkened this country’s history—segregationists, Joe McCarthy, others of that ilk—have usually been opposed by establishment forces. Sometimes that opposition was slow to find its voice, but it never outright supported the Redemptionist strain. Today, Trump has the establishment’s backing. As they went through the motions of tradition and decorum on Inauguration Day, we saw their smile. We’ll see their scowl soon enough.

Donald Trump’s 2nd term is the modern-day version of the Redeemers taking over.

hand in mine into your icy blues