[EdinSumar]

It is a joyous day for many common people. The Cyricists are lauded as defenders of the common man for their act of bravery in the face of anarchy and chaos.

A few members of the Banite and Maskite faiths have been murdered in their beds or within the reaches of their temples by Cyricist warriors and defenders of the common people. Over, below and upon their bodies many symbols of Cyric were scrawled upon wall, floor and flesh to ward off poachers and predators of flesh. The Cyricist high priest refuses to comment when asked about the murders and other official Cyricists likewise offer only a knowing grin, some Novices whisper that they have only done what needed to be done. The Cyricist faith likewise is making note of the evil inherit in these religions and how wrong they are to act in their arrogant and demeaning way toward the common people. Especially, the Cyricists say, they fear that the Mystrans and Azuthians, the followers of the whore and the old man, would work towards anarchy and destruction of the Thayan order of things.

Wiser and more informed factions and individuals now live in fear, they know that the Cyricists are on the war-path. And that they are hungry for the blood of those opposing the Dark Sun.

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[theredknight_x]

Grostil Zirelman stood with High Priestess Cothra of the Temple of Bane.

"These mad fools have gone too far," Grostil said stroking his finely cut goatee. "The faith of Bane shouldn't be subverted in this manner. What can I do to help, High Priestess?"

Cothra looked over at Grostil, peering at the holy sybol of Bane that the evoker kept upon his neck. "Find me those willing to subvert them... not with these petty word games those cowards love... but with the striking fist of the Tyrant!"

[LooseWilly]

"Come now sir, you know of the ill deeds of the followers of Bane. Any action that might have been undertaken against those who would serve Bane's interests is, inarguably, in the best interests of Everyman." explained Vicho Kenthenthir to a passerby on the street.

"Well... but I 'ad heard that Bane is dead." responded the pedestrian.

"Aye, an' most like he is. That doe'n't change the woe that'd come of any activities of anyone what is doing things that Bane would 'ave approved of were he alive. Right?" answered Vicho.

"Hmm... I think I see what you mean." muttered the pedestrian, rubbing his chin in thought over the strange implications.

"An' ... as for Maskites. Well, the only difference 'tween them an' the Banalites *grinning at his own play on words* is that mos' people just don' know what unspeakables Mask and his followers have gotten themselves up to. Righ'?"

The pedestrian just nodded, a growing conviction lighting his eyes.

"So you see... the Temple of Cyric is a champion of the people. Of You. We're always watching, and always ready to strike to defend you. Right?"

More nods.

"Well then, when you get a chance... be sure to stop by the House of Cyric, and make a small donation toward the Holy Works, no?"

They clasp hands... and immediately Vicho spots another passerby on the street.

"Oyy... Have you heard what Cyric has done for you lately?"...[/i]

[EdinSumar]

Yet further assasinations have been inacted by the Cyricists. Their marks, written in blood, fill many bedrooms of the new murdered, lesser Priests and Officials of Bane, Mask, Mystra and Azuth.

These new murders, however, are not as the others. Firstly, they are of a much lesser station than the former. Secondly, generally, these were well liked individuals in the whole of the whole.

The High Priest of Cyric has this time adamantly, yet politely, refused that Cyric's faithful had anything to do with this action. Blaming the propaganda of the Dark Sun's foes.

Some speak in a hushed voice that this is the doings of not the Cyricists but of another, more malevolent force...

[kta]

The High Priest of Cyric wakes this morning and as he sits up he knows something is wrong. A feeling of unease creeps up his spine and thightens his throat - then he becomes aware of the package.
A small package all black silk right on his desk. Reluctantly he stands up and takes a closer look, all black silk but woven into the silk are tiny feathers, black feathers, raven feathers. Below the silk is a plain ebony chest...

Minutes later after the templeguard and several acolytes have arrived the sergeant opens the chest and takes a hasty step backwards. The head of a known priest of Cyric look out of the chest with black, black eyes. Onyx has been driven into his eyesockets...
His teeth hold a small note.

Know your limits, for we have none! You would be wise not to step on our soil again...

Unsigned