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The Scinterlands: Sibling Rivalry
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<blockquote data-quote="Roquesdoodle" data-source="post: 1911676" data-attributes="member: 14798"><p><strong>A Simple Task</strong></p><p></p><p>“King Scinterod is not in Uilleand.” Sir Feon Rey readjusted himself in his seat and twirled a vicious carving knife between his able fingers. “He is here in Arradian Castle, in some form of…of…” He stuck the point of the knife into a large cut of meat, the handle wobbling for a moment after he let go. “Some form of stasis.”</p><p></p><p> Out of habit, Connor filled the empty mugs on the table while Glasdon asked, “What exactly do you mean…<em>stasis</em>?”</p><p></p><p> “Not alive, but not exactly dead either. Stasis.” Sir Feon Rey rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes. “We found him that way a few days before Korskadain’s death. Nothing we’ve tried has been able to rouse him. Valance, our court wizard, has exhausted every magical avenue and still nothing. But the Queen is desperate.” The Hand looked up from the skewered roast. “Which is why I have gathered all of you.”</p><p></p><p> Tibbit said, “I think you’ve made a mistake, Lord Hand. I don’t know anything ‘bout rousin’ Kings from magic naps.”</p><p></p><p> The Hand pulled the knife from the roast and began carving a slice. “No, but you do have some experience with discretion. South Haven, for instance.” </p><p></p><p> The rabbit’s ear twitched. “I’m from North Haven, Sir.”</p><p></p><p> Sir Feon Rey threw a slab of beef into his mouth as he stared at Tibbit.</p><p></p><p> “What happened in South Haven,” Pet asked. </p><p></p><p> The Hand spoke around a mouthful of food. “Mmm…the regent of South Haven had…an accident.”</p><p></p><p> Pet turned to Tibbit and tilted her head. “You killed the regent?”</p><p></p><p> As Tibbit sputtered, trying to deny the accusation, Sir Feon Rey broke in. “No, he didn’t kill the regent. However, the man who did is now in control of South Haven. And apparently he isn’t terribly fond of bards.” The Hand stabbed another slice of meat and held it in front of his face. “This new regent dislikes bards so much that he had the tongue of every bard in South Haven cut out and nailed to a wall.” The Hand threw the meat into his mouth and began to chew with a hint of a smile.</p><p></p><p> “All of them?” Sean asked.</p><p></p><p> “Well, all the ones that Tibbit here didn’t smuggle safely into North Haven.”</p><p></p><p> Tibbit casually wiped some crumbs from his leather jerkin. “For a price, mind you.”</p><p></p><p> Pet folded her arms across her chest, her narrow eyebrows furrowed in a knot of confusion as she spoke to the Hand. “And you let this new regent do this?”</p><p></p><p> Sir Feon Rey audibly swallowed the food in his mouth as he spread his arms in resignation. “There’s nothing I could do. South Haven isn’t part of the Scinterlands. I know it’s easy to forget sometimes, but I have no official authority there. Now, had he come across the river into North Haven searching for his grisly trophies, well, then I could have done something about it. And believe me when I say I would have nailed more than just his tongue to a wall.” </p><p></p><p> Pet tilted her head. “Like what? His p—”</p><p></p><p> “Perhaps some more ale, Pet?” Connor tried to smile as he filled her mug. </p><p></p><p> Sean leaned back and rested an arm on his wagon wheel. “Well, Tibbit. It was a noble thing you did.”</p><p></p><p> “Noble or not, it’s one of the reasons he’s here.” The Hand handed a napkin to his squire and then stood. “There are various reasons why I’ve chosen the five of you, perhaps the most important being that you each represent one of the Island States. Tibbit, you hail from Lesterhsire. Pet, from Wraithenul. The good Materite Glasdon here is from Dorland. Sean comes from Torborough, and Connor lives here in Valdurren. Though you each hail from a different state, you each call the Scinterlands home. And I prefer to have all the states represented in this struggle to help the King.”</p><p></p><p> “Why would anyone care if Wraithenul was involved?” Pet asked. “Most people don’t consider it part of the Scinterlands anyway.”</p><p></p><p> “I care, and that should be reason enough. But there are those in this country who want to go back to the way things were before King Scinterod united the Island States. If the King’s condition were to become public knowledge, those people would take advantage of the situation and we would have civil war. I will NOT allow that to happen.” </p><p></p><p> Sir Feon Rey did not speak for a moment, but let his eyes slowly roam over the people at the table in front of him. When he did speak again, his voice seemed to reverberate off the stone walls in thick, heavy waves. “I will be very displeased if the King’s condition is revealed. And I can assure you…the new regent of South Haven isn’t the only one with carpentry skills.”</p><p></p><p> Pet raised her hand. “But I don’t have a—”</p><p></p><p> “Pet!” Glasdon reached over and laid his hand gently across her forearm. “Perhaps we should let his Lordship finish what he has to say before we start debating the technical aspects of our punishment for treason.”</p><p></p><p> Everyone else at the table crossed their legs and leaned forward over the table. The Hand smiled, his mouth thin and crooked across his face. “Now that you’re aware of my problem, let me tell you of my solution.</p><p></p><p> “We know that the great wizard Mandlebrot created a sigil of immense power. We believe that this sigil will help us free the King from the spell he is under.”</p><p></p><p> Sean raised his hand. “And you want us to find it for you?”</p><p></p><p> “In a manner of speaking. For the most part, I already know where it is. I just need you to go get it.”</p><p></p><p> “So how does this involve the Sisters?” Connor asked.</p><p></p><p> “Mandlebrot divided this sigil and gifted a piece to each of his daughters—the Sisters as they are more commonly known. These pieces have been inked into their very living flesh. I need you to go to each of the Sisters, copy the sigil’s likeness, and then return those copies to me.”</p><p></p><p> Glasdon leaned forward, his clear voice falling over the table like a warm mist. “Pardon, Lord Hand, but what makes you believe these sorceresses will be willing to share such a personal and private thing with five total strangers?” </p><p></p><p> “Nothing. I imagine they won’t be too pleased with the idea.” The Hand washed down a bite of meat with a hearty swig of ale.</p><p></p><p> “Then how are we supposed to retrieve these copies?”</p><p></p><p> “Convince them.”</p><p></p><p> “It sounds like suicide, my Lord.” Sean was scowling, a strange and foreign feature on his weathered face.</p><p></p><p> “Which is one of the OTHER reasons I chose the lot of you. You’re expendable.”</p><p></p><p> “But wouldn’t it just be easier just to send some of your Scinter Knights to do the job?”</p><p></p><p> “Yes it would. Unfortunately I need them elsewhere. War is brewing in the north and I cannot divert my forces to a task that you should be quite capable of handling.”</p><p></p><p> “But they’re <em>the SISTERS!</em>”</p><p></p><p> Sir Feon Rey dismissed Tibbit’s outburst with a wave of his hand. “It will be easier than you might think. Two of the Sisters recently had a falling out in the small village of Naur’ ali. Their fighting turned the village into a smoldering pile of bloody ashes, but it also left them both greatly diminished in power. They should pose no problem for the five of you.”</p><p></p><p> “What about the third Sister?”</p><p></p><p> “We only know that Roh is somewhere in Wraithenul and is now in service to a dark god new to these lands. The Sister Cymbaline is here in Valdurren, living just outside of Riverrun. As for Celosia, we have no idea where she might be.” </p><p></p><p> “So Cymbaline is the only Sister we know where to find?” </p><p></p><p> The Hand gave a slow nod. “As of right now, yes. Hopefully, she will be forthcoming with the whereabouts of her siblings.”</p><p></p><p> Connor took a long draught of ale before saying, “Well lads, looks like were off to Riverrun then.”</p><p></p><p> “My squire Geranzimuth will accompany you. He will act as my eyes and ears since I cannot be there to wa-- Ahem. <em>Guide</em> you. Besides, he’s of age now where he should be setting off on adventures of his own.” Sir Feon Rey walked over to a small serving table against the wall and picked up a small square box. It was roughly the size of a book and its face was smooth, the grain of the wood shining through the polish. “Now, it would be very dangerous to copy the pieces of the Sigil onto just anything, so here. Take this.” He placed the box on the table in front of the group.</p><p></p><p> “How do we use it?” Tibbit asked.</p><p></p><p> “Take this to a blacksmith by the name of Akkadian Zigguraut, just outside of Riverrun. In return he will give you what you need to safely copy the pieces of the sigil. But do not open this box. He will know if you do. But more importantly, so will I.” </p><p></p><p> Sean twisted in his chair and pulled at his collar. “Excuse me, my Lord, but what if she doesn’t cooperate?” he asked. “Cymbaline may be greatly reduced in power, but she still is a daughter of Mandlebrot.”</p><p></p><p> Sir Feon Rey held out a hand to his squire. The thin youth produced a piece of paper and then returned to his post just a step behind the Hand. “This is a warrant for her arrest. We believe she has information regarding the disappearance of someone very close to the Crown. She can either cooperate or spend a week in the stocks.” He placed the paper on top of the box. “The choice is hers.” </p><p></p><p> “Your Lordship,” Glasdon said as he stood, his eyes focused sharply on the Hand. “Whose disappearance is she allegedly involved with?”</p><p></p><p> Sir Feon Rey’s face stiffened as his heavy voice became somber, almost sympathetic. “Wycliffe Arlatheon’s.”</p><p></p><p> The Materite nodded. “When do we leave?”</p><p></p><p> “First light. Horses and supplies will be waiting for you at the front gate at dawn. Good luck.” With that, the Hand turned and headed toward the door.</p><p></p><p> While the others sat at the table in silence, Glasdon hoisted his shield over his broad shoulders and started to follow after the Hand.</p><p></p><p> “Who’s this Wycliffe?” Tibbit asked.</p><p></p><p> “I don’t know.” Connor said. “Glasdon. Glasdon! Do you know who Wycliffe Arlatheon is?”</p><p></p><p> The Materite stopped, but did not turn around. He stood frozen for a moment, his thick red cloak flowing underneath his shield like bloody tears from the eye of a wounded god. “He is the son of Lynn and Ferrel Arlatheon, Duke and Duchess of Highwater.” He readjusted the heavy oak shield before moving again toward the door.</p><p></p><p> </p><p></p><p> “He is also my cousin.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="Roquesdoodle, post: 1911676, member: 14798"] [b]A Simple Task[/b] “King Scinterod is not in Uilleand.” Sir Feon Rey readjusted himself in his seat and twirled a vicious carving knife between his able fingers. “He is here in Arradian Castle, in some form of…of…” He stuck the point of the knife into a large cut of meat, the handle wobbling for a moment after he let go. “Some form of stasis.” Out of habit, Connor filled the empty mugs on the table while Glasdon asked, “What exactly do you mean…[i]stasis[/i]?” “Not alive, but not exactly dead either. Stasis.” Sir Feon Rey rubbed at the dark circles under his eyes. “We found him that way a few days before Korskadain’s death. Nothing we’ve tried has been able to rouse him. Valance, our court wizard, has exhausted every magical avenue and still nothing. But the Queen is desperate.” The Hand looked up from the skewered roast. “Which is why I have gathered all of you.” Tibbit said, “I think you’ve made a mistake, Lord Hand. I don’t know anything ‘bout rousin’ Kings from magic naps.” The Hand pulled the knife from the roast and began carving a slice. “No, but you do have some experience with discretion. South Haven, for instance.” The rabbit’s ear twitched. “I’m from North Haven, Sir.” Sir Feon Rey threw a slab of beef into his mouth as he stared at Tibbit. “What happened in South Haven,” Pet asked. The Hand spoke around a mouthful of food. “Mmm…the regent of South Haven had…an accident.” Pet turned to Tibbit and tilted her head. “You killed the regent?” As Tibbit sputtered, trying to deny the accusation, Sir Feon Rey broke in. “No, he didn’t kill the regent. However, the man who did is now in control of South Haven. And apparently he isn’t terribly fond of bards.” The Hand stabbed another slice of meat and held it in front of his face. “This new regent dislikes bards so much that he had the tongue of every bard in South Haven cut out and nailed to a wall.” The Hand threw the meat into his mouth and began to chew with a hint of a smile. “All of them?” Sean asked. “Well, all the ones that Tibbit here didn’t smuggle safely into North Haven.” Tibbit casually wiped some crumbs from his leather jerkin. “For a price, mind you.” Pet folded her arms across her chest, her narrow eyebrows furrowed in a knot of confusion as she spoke to the Hand. “And you let this new regent do this?” Sir Feon Rey audibly swallowed the food in his mouth as he spread his arms in resignation. “There’s nothing I could do. South Haven isn’t part of the Scinterlands. I know it’s easy to forget sometimes, but I have no official authority there. Now, had he come across the river into North Haven searching for his grisly trophies, well, then I could have done something about it. And believe me when I say I would have nailed more than just his tongue to a wall.” Pet tilted her head. “Like what? His p—” “Perhaps some more ale, Pet?” Connor tried to smile as he filled her mug. Sean leaned back and rested an arm on his wagon wheel. “Well, Tibbit. It was a noble thing you did.” “Noble or not, it’s one of the reasons he’s here.” The Hand handed a napkin to his squire and then stood. “There are various reasons why I’ve chosen the five of you, perhaps the most important being that you each represent one of the Island States. Tibbit, you hail from Lesterhsire. Pet, from Wraithenul. The good Materite Glasdon here is from Dorland. Sean comes from Torborough, and Connor lives here in Valdurren. Though you each hail from a different state, you each call the Scinterlands home. And I prefer to have all the states represented in this struggle to help the King.” “Why would anyone care if Wraithenul was involved?” Pet asked. “Most people don’t consider it part of the Scinterlands anyway.” “I care, and that should be reason enough. But there are those in this country who want to go back to the way things were before King Scinterod united the Island States. If the King’s condition were to become public knowledge, those people would take advantage of the situation and we would have civil war. I will NOT allow that to happen.” Sir Feon Rey did not speak for a moment, but let his eyes slowly roam over the people at the table in front of him. When he did speak again, his voice seemed to reverberate off the stone walls in thick, heavy waves. “I will be very displeased if the King’s condition is revealed. And I can assure you…the new regent of South Haven isn’t the only one with carpentry skills.” Pet raised her hand. “But I don’t have a—” “Pet!” Glasdon reached over and laid his hand gently across her forearm. “Perhaps we should let his Lordship finish what he has to say before we start debating the technical aspects of our punishment for treason.” Everyone else at the table crossed their legs and leaned forward over the table. The Hand smiled, his mouth thin and crooked across his face. “Now that you’re aware of my problem, let me tell you of my solution. “We know that the great wizard Mandlebrot created a sigil of immense power. We believe that this sigil will help us free the King from the spell he is under.” Sean raised his hand. “And you want us to find it for you?” “In a manner of speaking. For the most part, I already know where it is. I just need you to go get it.” “So how does this involve the Sisters?” Connor asked. “Mandlebrot divided this sigil and gifted a piece to each of his daughters—the Sisters as they are more commonly known. These pieces have been inked into their very living flesh. I need you to go to each of the Sisters, copy the sigil’s likeness, and then return those copies to me.” Glasdon leaned forward, his clear voice falling over the table like a warm mist. “Pardon, Lord Hand, but what makes you believe these sorceresses will be willing to share such a personal and private thing with five total strangers?” “Nothing. I imagine they won’t be too pleased with the idea.” The Hand washed down a bite of meat with a hearty swig of ale. “Then how are we supposed to retrieve these copies?” “Convince them.” “It sounds like suicide, my Lord.” Sean was scowling, a strange and foreign feature on his weathered face. “Which is one of the OTHER reasons I chose the lot of you. You’re expendable.” “But wouldn’t it just be easier just to send some of your Scinter Knights to do the job?” “Yes it would. Unfortunately I need them elsewhere. War is brewing in the north and I cannot divert my forces to a task that you should be quite capable of handling.” “But they’re [i]the SISTERS![/i]” Sir Feon Rey dismissed Tibbit’s outburst with a wave of his hand. “It will be easier than you might think. Two of the Sisters recently had a falling out in the small village of Naur’ ali. Their fighting turned the village into a smoldering pile of bloody ashes, but it also left them both greatly diminished in power. They should pose no problem for the five of you.” “What about the third Sister?” “We only know that Roh is somewhere in Wraithenul and is now in service to a dark god new to these lands. The Sister Cymbaline is here in Valdurren, living just outside of Riverrun. As for Celosia, we have no idea where she might be.” “So Cymbaline is the only Sister we know where to find?” The Hand gave a slow nod. “As of right now, yes. Hopefully, she will be forthcoming with the whereabouts of her siblings.” Connor took a long draught of ale before saying, “Well lads, looks like were off to Riverrun then.” “My squire Geranzimuth will accompany you. He will act as my eyes and ears since I cannot be there to wa-- Ahem. [i]Guide[/i] you. Besides, he’s of age now where he should be setting off on adventures of his own.” Sir Feon Rey walked over to a small serving table against the wall and picked up a small square box. It was roughly the size of a book and its face was smooth, the grain of the wood shining through the polish. “Now, it would be very dangerous to copy the pieces of the Sigil onto just anything, so here. Take this.” He placed the box on the table in front of the group. “How do we use it?” Tibbit asked. “Take this to a blacksmith by the name of Akkadian Zigguraut, just outside of Riverrun. In return he will give you what you need to safely copy the pieces of the sigil. But do not open this box. He will know if you do. But more importantly, so will I.” Sean twisted in his chair and pulled at his collar. “Excuse me, my Lord, but what if she doesn’t cooperate?” he asked. “Cymbaline may be greatly reduced in power, but she still is a daughter of Mandlebrot.” Sir Feon Rey held out a hand to his squire. The thin youth produced a piece of paper and then returned to his post just a step behind the Hand. “This is a warrant for her arrest. We believe she has information regarding the disappearance of someone very close to the Crown. She can either cooperate or spend a week in the stocks.” He placed the paper on top of the box. “The choice is hers.” “Your Lordship,” Glasdon said as he stood, his eyes focused sharply on the Hand. “Whose disappearance is she allegedly involved with?” Sir Feon Rey’s face stiffened as his heavy voice became somber, almost sympathetic. “Wycliffe Arlatheon’s.” The Materite nodded. “When do we leave?” “First light. Horses and supplies will be waiting for you at the front gate at dawn. Good luck.” With that, the Hand turned and headed toward the door. While the others sat at the table in silence, Glasdon hoisted his shield over his broad shoulders and started to follow after the Hand. “Who’s this Wycliffe?” Tibbit asked. “I don’t know.” Connor said. “Glasdon. Glasdon! Do you know who Wycliffe Arlatheon is?” The Materite stopped, but did not turn around. He stood frozen for a moment, his thick red cloak flowing underneath his shield like bloody tears from the eye of a wounded god. “He is the son of Lynn and Ferrel Arlatheon, Duke and Duchess of Highwater.” He readjusted the heavy oak shield before moving again toward the door. “He is also my cousin.” [/QUOTE]
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