Akallabeth

Yep, just what I wanted to know. Thanks to both Gryph and Tanny!

Brother Rhys came from breakfast, his head bowed in grief. He had been mistaken, he had been wrong. The one murder had not been a lone event. Another had occurred, and he feared that this may turn into a cycle, if the murderer was not found. Sighing heavily, he thought of what he knew of the other monks and servants. It had to be one of them. The abbey was the only populated place for a great distance. Brother Thibault immediately appeared in his mind, but he dismissed that thought, at least for the moment. He knew that much of the reason Thibault came first was because of his accusation. He also knew that personal feelings had no place in this, and that he ought to be ashamed of even thinking it. Certainly, they were monks of different orders, yet they both served for the Glory of God. Surely Thibault would understand this in time, rather than holding onto prejudice. Brother Phillips Hue, the swordsmith . . . well, he seemed far too ready to make weapons (and for all Rhys knew, use them). Perhaps him? Sword smithying would certainly give one access to many devices of death. But it had been said that poison may have caused the death of Brother Venancius. Poison brewing swordsmiths? It didn't seem to fit. Brother Adrian . . . yes, this was certainly a monk Rhys did not know what to think of. First he accused an innocent man, and caused many of the other Brothers to do the same. Rhys was certainly glad he did not follow this ill-guided man on that errant venture. And he never did say just how he "knew" that Brother Benedicte was the murderer, and had yet to confess to this question of reason even after Benedicte had been found blameless. Rhys knew that once again he was following his feelings, his desires to avenge the blameless man's departure from the abbey, but such desires led only to Satan and the Abyss. They were not proper for a monk, and were baseless. Filipe? No, though he often seemed to be under punishment of one type or another, Brother Rhys felt that this was more likely of an unknowing nature, not entirely baseless, but due largely to misunderstanding. He just didn't seem the type. Rhys paused on his way. "Of course," he said to himself, "should any Brother in Christ be a murderer? I cannot trust my instinct in this, for obviously not all of these monks are as they choose to appear." Ah, well. This Abbey appears to have many secrets among it's residents. Brother Alcott was a mystery. He had heard from various monks that he had always been a copyist, much like Rhys. Indeed, he had even damaged his eyes through his fervant studying. Rhys would have to investigate his enigma of a Brother so that he might discover a true profile of his character. Brothers Thomas and Joseph were also enigmas of their own kind. He had never met monks who had taken vows of silence before, and they disturbed him silightly because of this difference. Certainly they seemed devout enough, but, after all, they were monks! It was expected of them. Good Bennet . . . Rhys could hardly even bring himself to suppose guile of any sort on the part of that young man, but he had heard of people more mentally slow killing others for strange reasons which apparently made sense to them. He would have to watch out for Good Bennet then, even if he was a lesser intellect than the Abbey's other residents. Yet it still felt so wrong, so . . . evil to even consider such an innocent soul committing such heinious crimes. Brother Caire. . . of all the monks at the Abbey, he seemed most similar to Rhys. More of a rational man, not blowing so easily in the winds of thought that seemed to gust through the Abbey in fits and bursts. Of all the other monks, only he and Rhys had considered Brother Benedicte innocent of any apparent crime. Perhaps he was correct in his thinking that Brother Phillips Hue was the perpetrator of these crime. Rhys went on to the chapel, to pray to the Lord and ask for guidence in this matter, and especially in his choice. (OOC: I also accuse Brother Phillips Hue, due to suspicions regarding him and another) (EDIT: added then fixed text coloring )

Will the days/nights always end at 6:00 PM EST? Also, just to make sure, are days always 48hrs, and nights always 24hrs?

I think that (for now) I am of the same mind as well. I don't think that Rhys would accuse anyone yet, even if he is suspicous. Note: Thanks to Tanny for clearing up the death part. It didn't quite seem right for a bunch of monks to start slaughtering each other. Then again, that's what this setting is , except with few slaughtering many rather than many slaughtering few.

Edit: Completely replaced due to extremely bad choice of words. Currently thinking about replacement, may take some time.

Man, this choosing is tough. Don't really want to kill an innocent. . . . (me continues contemplating) Edit: thought about changing wording, then changed mind, then made edit to insert edit note. See above for explanation.

Brother Rys overhears two of the servants whispering as they come out to the garden, and he catches the words "Thibault", "accusing", "Rhys", and "murderer". As they see him looking their direction, they glance innocently to the side, though darting looks of terror back at him. His heart heavy with sorrow, Brother Rhys turns to look back to the mountains from which he had come, far from his native Wales. Apparently Brother Thibault had decided that Brother Maynard of Cwmhir's death had been of his design, and that he had killed poor Brother Adelmo as well. His sorrow had nearly dissipated, to be replaced by feelings he had rarely felt: annoyance, and slight anger. Though he knew that he would probably spend the rest of the day in the church asking for forgiveness, and talking to the confessor, he could not help the thoughts that were going through his mind. Why would this man become so accusatory? Had his age caused dementia, along with having been in this abbey most of his life? Or was this just a sheltered man's fear of outsiders? And all these accusations of Brother Benedicte just astonished him. He simply could not see how all of these brothers could be so zealously accusing one of their own. Surely there would not be a murder. He did not even wish to think about how much more the community of brothers would degenerate if another one of them . . . no,he didn't even want to consider that there would be another death. With these thoughts to accompany him, Rhys left the garden, walking slowly and sorrowfully to speak to the Lord about these disturbing thoughts, and the rumor he had just heard. (OOC:Abstaining from accusing for the moment) Edit: disliked my original wording, typo

Brother Rhys finished his worship at prime, leaving the beautiful church of the abbey in deep sorrow and consideration. Who would have done such a thing? Brother Adelmo had seemed such a quiet, kind monk. Surely no soul should see a reason to have harmed, much less killed, this servant of the Most High. And the illustrations that Brother Adelmo had left behind! Why, they were nothing short of magnificent. Rhys decided to take another trip over to the garden. Perhaps he could see about assisting the servants in some of the work there. Gardening always seemed to relax him, to loose the troubles of this world. With a heavy sigh, Brother Rhys walked towards the garden, reluctant to face the thought that one of the abbey's servants had done such a thing, and even more unwilling to consider that one of his fellow brothers. . . no, he could not even bring himself to think it.

Just adding a little info on a monastic day, is someone wishes to use it. There should be a pie graph visible below showing the various hours, rest periods, sleep periods, and work periods.

Rhys slowly walks through the gate, entering the avenue of trees leading to the abbey's church. 'It has been a long journey,' he thinks to himself. 'I am certainly glad it is over. And how shall I ever bring news of Brother Maynard's death back to Cwmhir?' As he glances off to the left, he sees the vegetable gardens, and several dark robed figures, one of which is busily cleaning a path. He heads across the lawn, his travel stained white habit swishing quickly above the immaculately trimmed grass as he heads towards the garden. 'What an excellent place to find some distraction from this journey! I have always loved working with the earth, with the seeds and plants. Perhaps these brothers could use some assistance with their labor?' he contemplates as he continues to walk across the beautiful lawn.

I shall be Rhys of Cwmhir. I have traveled from my abby in Wales with a fellow monk of the Cistercian Order, one Brother Maynard. However, during our trip through the Alps down to Italy, Brother Maynard fell to his untimely death. The poor soul placed his crutch in a bad location, placing it on a patch of ice, and fell off a precipice as he tried to regain his balance. He was a fine monk, a soul devoted to servitude. His unfinished Bible back in the Abbey of Cwmhir shall show his devotion to his work through the ages. . . but I deviate. (sigh) This happens all too often when I think of the poor soul that was Brother Maynard. We were on our way to this famed Abbey to copy several manuscripts of St. Benedict, but now I fear that I shall spend several more years than was intended for the journey, since Brother Maynard tragically left his body, and the copying, for me to take care of. My hair is a fiery red, not yet graying as I am still in my youth. As is traditional in my order, my habit is white, rather than the Benedictine and Dominican browns or blacks. EDIT: Slight correction of info.

I'll do it. Name of the Rose gets my vote.

That'd be great. Riddles are interesting.

This is a beautiful poem. I like the way that you put the feelings, the desperation that the speaker is experiencing. And I think one of the things that I like most about it is how I can connect with it, which I can't seem to with most poetry (that I have read, at least). It is a great poem.

At these words, spoken by an unknown person who slipped away as quickly as they had appeared, the sorcerer takes a seat on a nearby chest, then jumps up quickly and finds another chest after he is growled at by something within the first chest. He will wait patiently for the riddlemaster to arrive.

The confused sorcerer still stands outside the tent, still unsure if there are riddles still awaiting inside, or if this great platter of food should go to another who might appreciate it.

A confused sourcerer wanders over to the tent with a large platter filled with roast pork. "Aye, Ozzy, King of Kings," he says, "does the Sphinx have more riddles left to give?" (note: Excellent poem. I like his and Coleridge's poetry best of what I've read before.)

A latecomer arrives at the auction. Bursting through the ebony doors, the green sorcerer hails the auctioneer: "Sir! What is the asking price for this treasure?" The auctioneer stands silent, and a wolf to the side growls out 'sixty'. As relief spreads over the sorcerer's face, he says, "Make that 65 dollars," as he collapses into one of the nearby chairs. The auctioneer and the others at the auction glare at him with varying degrees of annoyance. "The only currency accepted here is geld," states the auctioneer. "Is there something else you would like to say?" "Ummm . . . yeah," says the sorcerer in green. "Uhhhhh goodbye!!!!" The sorcerer dashes out of the room as quickly as he came, causing sighs of relief from those still inside. "Shall we resume then?" the auctioneer asks. "Any more bids?"