*New* Mehket's Magnificent Seven

The view beneath the Sultan’s lake was nothing short of spectacular in its pristine clarity and opulent grandeur. Set in the desert Sultanate of Al‘Akhbar, its mere presence was an example of the kingdom’s vast riches and its populace’s resulting mastery over its natural surroundings. Shoals of rainbow colored fish darted away in alarm, moving with the single clarity of purpose and the sublime gracefulness of a thousand creatures guided by a single mind. Amidst, the shimmering spectrum of reverberant colors darting toward the gold coral below, a dragon whelp, Mehket, skimmed through the cool waters with child-like delight, squealing away, his laughter erupting inaudibly in a barrage of bubbles. He would have swam even faster swishing through the water with his reptilian tail had he not been held fast by a serpentine tentacle attached to a construct of gargantuan proportions that casts a deep eight armed shadow in the coral bed below.

A hundred feet behind, a lone figure cuts through the choppy waters with broad strokes that belied a man in the prime of his physical condition. His name is Liang, a sometime-acolyte of the “Monastery of the Four Dharmas and One Truth” as well as full time peasant hero. Clad in thin saffron, he was glad that his friend, the Kasatriya Putra Suriavharman had called upon his ancestors prayers and rendered his body resistant to the paralyzing cold of the water induced by the chilly winds of a star-lit desert night. His vision magnified by his Chi catches sight of the Wyrmling and his pseudo dragon companion in the obsidian grasp of the mysterious automation. His muscles burned with exertion and his all too human endurance began to tire against the construct’s ceaseless locomotion. As he watched on, his eyes stinging from the effects of the water, the construct began to pull away. “No!” his mind screamed in anguish as the black shape disappeared beyond the range of his preternatural vision along with the dragon whelp that he had come to be fond of over the last few days. Calling upon his spiritual reserves, he searched through his infinite reservoir of past lives and erupts in an explosion of funnel shaped steam and where there was once a man is now a colossal Sea Drake that once guarded the shipping lanes of the Kao Pun Straits against the predations of the Abu Nidal Were-Crocodile pirate fleet two hundred years ago. Embracing the strength of his new form, Liang powered through the choppy waters and in a flourish of coral bed debris cuts off the automated assassin in its watery tracks.

For a moment, serpent and machine looked on, drowning themselves in the visages of their adversaries beneath the still silent depths of the lake. The construct, molded from an admixture of piceous rock and ebonite metal was designed as a miscreation, a cross between a beauteous woman and an eight armed serpent. The face of the construct was a portrait of a saint but the curves of its body was that of a smothering harlot. Every nuance of its movement was manufactured to elicit pain in a myriad of ways coupled with the dispassionate disposition of a surgeon. Mehket and the pseudo dragon watch on anxiously as their lives hang in a precarious balance. And then, that moment of calm passes.

The waters explode into waves of action. Liang reacting before the construct saturates his thoughts into a ray of destructive energy and water sizzles around and finally crashes unerringly into its side. Nothing. It seemed as if the blackness of its metallic hide had swallowed the ray into oblivion. In response, the gargantuan construct begins to wave its six free arms hypnotically with the disturbing grace of a dancer painting a symbol of sheer malignance. The rune shone as a beacon in the water; colored in hues of crimson likening it to a cloud of sanguine baiting sharks to the vicinity. Drawn to the call, the coral bed splits and belches forth a creature from the Abyss. The earth around it screams as if the creature’s very presence was an anathema to the natural world. Shaped like an eel and man, the many finned monstrosity immediately succumbs to blood thirst and attacks the monk. The monk in his fortitudinous Sea Drake form brushes aside the vicious rakes with ease. Sensing the efforts of his foes to encircle him, he concentrates on the duality of his consciousness to manifest a negate psionics to dispel the summoning but his efforts fail. Unflinching, he utilizes his mental reserves to fortify his draconic form. The construct evaluated its priorities and the imbued stratagems of its creator and “decides” that self preservation would be a good enough deterrent to this quarry and with puissant strokes continues on to its destination.

The huge demon, unconcerned about the fate of the soulless construct that birthed him into this world, calls forth one of its pets from the Abyss to savor purity made flesh and yet another monstrosity is birthed amidst the discordance of battle. This time, evil personified comes in the shape of a ravenous Dire Great White Shark armed with teeth the shape of rusted scythes and a vivacious appetite. Liang assesses the situation with his reptilian eyes unblinking in the water and calls upon an entire lifetime of martial arts to adopt a defensive stance but his Colossal Sea Drake form does not lend enough agility and the fiendish shark tears a hefty chunk of flesh in serrated cuts laced with unholy power. Grimacing, Liang wrenches himself from the bite of the demon and despite his open wound sending both demons into blood frenzy; he ignores their revelry and tumbles through them, his colossal serpentine form twisting in a spiral and overtakes the infernal machine once more.

Mehket, the little wyrm looked on at this spectacle in awe. Indeed the man made lake struggled to contain the titanic struggle that was waged in its depths by the four sea monsters. Mehket sighed and looked at expressionless construct’s face permanently fixed in supplication to a god and asked,” Why you want Mehket? Mehket no harm you. Mehket need to go home… see Peter.” The construct gazes ahead uncomprehending. “You let Mehket go NOW!!! Peter needs Mehket.” the Wyrmling beseeched, his melodious voice cracking in emotion like that of a panicked child lost at a marketplace. He bites down with all the might that he can master but the metal is callously impervious. Pearly drops of liquid gold cascades down his cheeks and drifts off into the water like drops of bittersweet honey.

Liang catches Mehket in the eye and with a nod reassures the dragon whelp that all was not at lost. In the face of this uncomprehending apathetic evil, only the strength of human courage shall stand in defiance. The ebon construct raises its fist and Liang bellows in the water summoning forth his chi to turn aside the blows. The fist connects. As well as four others. The potent punches are as hard as adamantine and the scales of Liang’s Sea Drake form fall to the coral bed below like a shower of red leaves drifting in autumn. One particular blow catches Liang in the snout and the excruciating pain nearly blinds him. In that single moment, his Chi weakens and to his dismay, he realizes that he had failed. Numbness permeates him from the tail upwards and his scales that once glistened with life now shone as ebon stone. As the petrification process reaches it’s near its end, he glances at Mehket, the wyrm and bows.

The Sea Drake now inert and lifeless captured in all eternity in its noble final stand fossilized in stone drifted and sank to the brackish murky depths below. Bleakness consumes and hope languishes in the basement of the world.

And thus Mehket’s Magnificent Seven was born.

Continuation

“But there are demons in the lake!!!”

Back on shore, a furious argument had shattered the fragile tranquility of the night. “I’m telling you good sir, any minute my friend is going to drag a demon out of the Sultan’s lake and show it to you.” , Swordsman Jack, the assimar paladin of Pelor exclaimed earnestly to a pair of unconvinced, slightly bemused palace guards. In the background, his two comrade-in-arms, Archon Maxamillian Grey of the Magistrate of Tyr and the ksatriya warrior-noble of Mahani, Putra Suriavharman waded gingerly into the water but their heavy armor made any sort of progress impossible.

“I don’t care if you think that there are demons in the lake. Guests are not allowed to swim after seven. Do you understand?” barked Corporal Ali of the Ministry of Parks and Beaches. “You two! Get out of the water. I will have no drowning knights on my watch!”

Swordsman Jack took a deep breath, words of prayer flowing from his lips like dew dripping from swaying leaves in the morning dawn. His luminescent eyes blazed with earnest fervor and his voice deep and resonant like rolling thunder. The paladin spoke, “I swear to you upon the sanctity of my faith that there is a demon inside the lake and the life of Piotr the White, honored guest of the Sultan and a young dragon are in dire peril. Will you stand by and allow such atrocity to take place on your watch? Now will you please allow us through? If I should be proven wrong, you may by all means arrest me.”

The two guards of the Ministry of Parks and Beaches looked at each other, bowled over by this shinning man’s passionate argument about being allowed to wade in the water after seven.

“Very well, you have half an hour.”

The next half hour was spent futilely beneath the chilly waves. Despite renting “Amulets of Water Breathing” from the administrative office, the search was made difficult because three factors. Poor visibility, cumbersome armor and lastly and perhaps most importantly, the party not knowing how to swim. The only lead was a sink hole where water from the lake swirled violently to the Undersea, a massive sea beneath the desert. On the recommendation of Archon Maxamillian Grey who was ever ready to narrate an old story in his long distinguished career of crime-busting (However distasteful and gruesome it was to the uninitiated), a criminal who once swam into a sink hole to evade arrest floated back up to the surface in twelve separate counties looking like twelve different suspects.

The three made their way back to shore convinced.

As they neared land, they caught sight of a squad of guards moving with urgency on the beach. Those men athletically leapt out of their light warhorses and unsheathed their scimitars in a coordinated flourish. One of them, a bearded pox-marked behemoth of a man and probably a ranking officer by the manner in which he moved and spoke with familiar authority boomed. “Look out for the four men! They are armed and dangerous. Shoot if you encounter any sort of resistance. Questions?” There were none.

“Now move! Move! Move!” a sergeant bellowed.

“I think they’re looking for us.” whispered Grey, his azure eyes squinting in concentration behind his ancient helm bobbing out of the water.

“A brilliant deduction detective. As always…you astound me with your keen powers of conjecture.” Putra growled curtly, sarcasm and machismo cutting through the air keener than the water’s edge. “What do we do now?”

“We wait.” Swordsman Jack replied assertively as he sank underwater.

Twenty minutes later, the three warriors emerged from another part of the lake clinging as closely to the shadows as sheer wits would allow them. Fortune smiles and they evade detection by the skin of their teeth. Throwing themselves flat on the earthy embankment, they catch sight of troops already swarming the beach house where Piotr the White, a local boy folk hero and the supposed target of an assassination attempt was staying as guest of the Sultan. Breathless, tired and cold, the nerves of the three heroes were beginning to fray.

“We should go back to the sink hole and take our chances.” Putra whispered in undisguised irritation at having to skulk about like a common brigand.

“I’ve told you already. It’s dangerous. Remember the time where…” rambled Grey.

“Hush.” Jack hissed. “They’re coming.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Putra vehemently insisted and dashed across the beach like a slick hunting cat to the surprise and chagrin of his fellows.

“. Idiot.” Grey miffed and concealed himself amongst the palm trees. “We really should have got some jurisdiction for this operation.”

A squad of men broke through the landscaped bramble having heard noise in the direction of the shore line. Breathing heavily and with coppery sweat trickling painfully into their feverish eyes, they scrutinized the darkness for the “master spies” that had infiltrated the palace. Tales of their deadly technique had filtered through the barracks like a plague of fear even as the alarms were sounded. A miniscule of a second was all it took for the infiltrators to lay waste to an entire squad of men in a whirlwind of razor sharp blades. A shudder broke through the ranks as they silently prayed to Al-Akhbar that the noise that they heard a second ago were not the nefarious spies but some innocuous noise that go bump in the desert night.

Suddenly, it happened. A dainty leave floated down delicately and landed on the sergeant’s shoulder with all eyes trained on its movement.

“The trees! They’re in the trees!!!”

Immediately, subdued fear takes a back seat and two hundred man-hours of regimented training spun the men into adrenalin-laced reaction. Dropping their scimitars, they deftly drew their crossbows and took aim at the canopy above them with bolts cocked and fingers twitching at the hair sensitive triggers. The sound of cocking bolts reverberated across the night air in waves of barely-constrained violent intent aimed at the source of the sound.

“Erm… Coconuts anyone?” Swordsman Jack smiled sheepishly.

Hi everyone.

Greetings all,

Thank you stopping by to read "Mehket's Magnificent Seven." My name is Raihan. I'm from Singapore. I'm a student film-maker in a local polytechnic. This is *obviously* my first time publishing my fiction in a public forum and I’m understandably nervous. But having 30+ views so far is kind off satisfying. 

The game that you currently reading about started three years ago. It went on for about a year. It was the first 3rd edition game that I ran and now, it’s been resurrected at the behest of my friends who’ve had fond memories of it. At present, the party is a mix of level 14 to level 16 characters. We’re not exactly experienced in playing at this power level like many of you guys out there and we’re bumbling along as we go along. We’re an Asian group and as such there’s a lot of Asian cultural influence in the game ranging from less serious ones like Bollywood, Hong Kong Kung Fu movies, Japanese Anime to more profound ones like Zen Buddhism and the Hindu caste system.

I’m blessed with a group of talented and committed role-players and I certainly hope that this Story Hour does justice to the characters involved.

Thanks again for dropping by and stay tuned for more of Mehket’s Magnificent Seven.

Cheers!

Raihan


OOC: I know what you’re thinking. Swordsman Jack is such a cheesey name! The players were having a lark trying to get a fake name for the paladin with a sordid history. Well, they claim that it’s very Japanese anime so it’s an acquired cheesey taste.

haha.

hallo,

i'm the player for Lian - and i admit, i started the whole thing 'bout referring to the other PC as "Swordsman Jack". those of you who watch Samurai Jack will get the reference - and since the aasimar character is supposed to be mysterious and his true identity remains incognito for "story reasons", i thought a Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty reference to "Jack" or "Raiden" would be erm appropriate.

i much, much prefer the new writing style haha - easier to read and snappier style of prose. but one complaint.. (rant on)

WHERE IS MY PSICRYSTAL? It gave the best advice of the evening, and its negotiating skills were instrumental in not getting the PCs killed!

(rant off)

yours,
shao

Well..hello hello

Hello it is me...the one who comes online to play Pt..

Hmmm....rather good account of what happened...lol...although u missed out the 'Win, lose, Die' part of the underwater act....lol

As you would already have figured out..i am the player playing Archon Gray. Inspired from Sir Dorian Gray from a Leage of Extraordinary Gentleman. =)...

I'm the resident Inspector Cluso, Cluedo or whatever u call it yea...or rather...Inspector Codename 'Pink Panthar'. The most obvious things are there for me to point out obviously and making testimonals and taking the stand obviously is not my forte..=)...

oh well...(tells a realy long story about how i caught a bandit)

Reg.
Jeff

Twenty leagues away, Lian awoke. Around him, the world was swathed with impenetrable darkness. He could not tell where he was or how much time had elapsed since his disastrous defeat. Neither was he capable of simply distinguishing as to whether he had eyes to see nor limbs to move. Yet, the absence of all light did not bring about the sense of palpable fear or confusion but rather, it felt womb-like, comfortable and serene like the warm mammalian embrace of his mother when he was a child. Here, Lian felt a tangible connection to the universe that was sublime in its spirituality and he savored the wholeness of self, saturated in the experiences of a thousand lifetimes.

Off in an immeasurable distance that was both far and near, the melodic sounds of the holy sutras chanted by infinite monks heightened his revelry and cemented his attunement to the cosmos. Brightness flares and enlightenment illuminates the world around. His world is small just like the worlds of all men. He reflects and understands that all men cannot see beyond themselves, their needs and their base desires. In recognizing this, Lian had taken the first of many steps in achieving enlightenment. A woman of unearthly grace stands before him and it is not her beauty that moves him for as a monk he felt no lust. Rather, she emanates mercy and compassion that was bountiful and available to all who sought it. She is Kwan Yin, a boddhivshta of mercy.

She offers him a vision. It is a world devoid of all light. People stumble about in the blinding darkness desperately trying to find their way. They are starving. In hunger, they peel dried bark from dead trees with bloodied fingernails and scrape sand from the ground so that they may feast on dust and ashes. Their sunken eyes are hollow with misery and skeletal children cling to the cadaverous breasts of their mothers trying desperately to draw nourishment but it is futile and hopeless. It is a world of absolute pain and suffering that moves Lian to sob like a child.

“Why have you shown me this Goddess?” he asked hoarsely. The tightness in his throat made it difficult to speak.

“Because I believe acolyte, that if I were to show you ugliness and misery, you will flinch but you would not look away. You will not forget what I have shown you.” she spoke wordlessly.

“How can I help them? These people suffer and I cannot stand by idle; knowing but not acting.” Lian beseeched.

“All your life, you have mastered the destructive power of the Phoenix spirit that burns inside and channel its power to destroy evil that threatens the peasantry and holds the weak hostage. You have slain the vile and burned away fiends in the purifying flames of the Phoenix. Your deeds have not gone unnoticed. You have garnered the eternal gratitude of the common folk and the admiration of countless. You have done well, Lian Wu Hai”

She pauses.

“But to help those whom I have shown, you must unlearn all that you have learnt. You must forgo the power of the Phoenix in entirety and walk another path. Though the path of destruction is formidable, it is one that perpetuates the cycle of hate. You must learn to stride on the road of mercy. For it is the road of forgiveness, reconciliation and redemption for even the darkest and most wicked soul. Strife begets strife. Only by possessing the courage to forgive shall the seeds of peace be sown. ”

There was no hesitation in the monk. No hesitation at all to throw away everything that he has ever known.

“I accept those vows. Once I was a bandit. Then I was a phoenix. Now I am a guide. It is not the power of the phoenix that matters but the lesson it teaches.”

With those words, his body slumps and he feels a familiar part of his soul empty itself into the universe. There is no remorse for the sacrifice. There is no regret over the loss of self. A flux of immense power gushes into the heart’s vacuum filling it with the fortitudinous will of a thousand martyrs and infuses him with an aura of calm that make murderers stop in their tracks and ponder on the horrific nature of their crimes. Some would call it an apotheosis. Others… a miracle. To Lian, it was all he can do so that he could even begin to help.

Way cool! These guys have a Story Hour!

For those who are remotely interested, these are the guys I regularly game with - though not as much I'd like, nowadays.

Anyways, enough about me. Keep up the good work, dude, excellent writing!

renegades of bump! renegades of bump!

update! we want the Anointed Knight/ Warrior of Darkness duel! bump! bump!

we're the renegades of -bump!- renegades of -bump!- come on Chasmodai! join the song and dance segment - there's a bollywood hero in the game, what's more!

The only song i'll ever sing, dude, would be: I want an update!

Me want update!

We want update!

Update! Update! Update!

Interrogation

Thank you Chaosmodai and Xenoflare for your kind support. I've just finished Sephulcrave's work and it's beautiful. By the way, does anyone know how I can "color" my text. The panel in which I used the last time does no longer appear. Anyways, on to the story.


*-Interrogation-*

“Swordsman Jack? What kind of a name is that?”

“A fake one. That’s what. An alias no doubt.” Superintendent Allaudin Ibn Raid Min Kassar replied with a raspy sneer that ever so faintly disguised his condescension of his subordinate’s mediocre intelligence.

The two detectives sat at their desks fidgeting and racking their brains trying to formulate a motive for the three men found wandering in the palace grounds. The heat was sweltering in its murderous intensity and the drought that had assailed the entire desert for the last month did not show any signs of letting up and the resulting heat wave was killing people in their homes as they died of dehydration and heat stroke. Children perished like dried prunes in villages too far away from the tender administration of the clerics of Al-Akhbar even as their anguished parents prayed frantically for a salvation that never came. The two detectives were lucky to be in the relative comfort of their shaded office and have their sweat-drenched tunics to show for their good fortune.

“I don’t understand… Our suspects do not seem to fit the profiles of known terrorists, spies or assassins. It just doesn’t make sense. Why weren’t they armed? Who were their targets? Why wasn’t there any resistance to their arrest?” the boyish investigator exclaimed his thoughts aloud, a thin sheen a sweat coating his lips like a moustache he doesn’t have.

“You’re thinking too hard, detective. If the answers there, it’s there. No sense making something out of nothing.” Superintendent Allaudin grunted and whips out a stick of tobacco, lighting it with such alacrity that no motion was wasted. “We’re obviously barking up the wrong tree. It seems a little too convenient.” He pauses as if to reshuffle his thoughts.

“Intuition tells me that our boys on the ground smelled something fishy and bit the first Red Herring they could sink their teeth into.” the veteran investigator smiled wily even as beads of sweat trickle down the side of his head. “Commission for their release. You can forget about those trespassing charges.”

“But Sir… I must protest. Willful trespass of the palace grounds is a violation of Section 53 of the Penal Code and thus is a capital offence!” the younger man protested.

“Trust me lad… a clean death at the executioner's falchion would do no justice to the fate that awaits them at the hands of their own superiors."

Tragically, as always, Superintendent Allaudin Ibn Raid Min Kassar was right.

*

The three men sat in their cells. Far below the hustle and bustle of the sun-scorched streets of the Sultanate of Al-Akhbar, where the plaintiff screams of those detained by His Majesty’s pleasure will reach no ears, the hellish temperatures was catastrophic. Heat can be seen radiating from the walls in waves. The metal bars that encaged the prisoners scalded any who would brave its sizzling surface in a rabid bid for freedom. Ventilation came in the form of vents that merely served to conduit the heat from above and as such, many lost and condemned souls wallowed and died before the Sultan’s court could render justice.

Swordsman Jack sat in his cell looking forlorn. It had been more than a day since he had seen the daily miracle of Pelor rising from the east and already he missed the blessings of his Lord’s rays. Pelor had charged him- a fallen paladin- to save his religion that was usurped by agents of another power. Even now, despite the colossal task that was set before him, he knew that he could not fail his Lord. The question was- how was he going to do it in jail?

Across the hall, Putra Suryavharman sat in abject disbelief. He was a warrior-prince of the great kingdom of Mahani and not some roadside bandit to be thrown in to a squalid gulag and rot like common garbage. Anger rose in like bile and he longed to vent it on something or someone. In his fury, he spat on the floor and kicked the miserable scraps that the warders had the audacity to pass off as food across the hall, sending the other riff raffs scurrying to feed themselves.

“Pitiful animals.” Putra prayed to Mithra that he would never be reborn as one of these “untouchables”. Their unfortunate existences were obviously a result of misdeeds in their past lives and he swore that he will live up to his ksatriya ancestor’s hallowed names or die as one.

Beside his cell, Archon Maxamillian Grey was already plotting his defense and tabulating the facts of the case. Espionage, the crime that he was charged with was a capital offence. A reduced charged of willful trespass into the Royal Palace amounted to the same fatal consequences.

“Mr. Grey! There is someone from your Magistrate here to see you!” the warden Qasir bellowed habitually despite his parched throat.

======================================================

Under an armed escort, Grey was ushered roughly into a room. It was spartanly furnished. Two men sat in rickety chairs and waited for the Paladin of Tyr to take his place.

One of them was a gargantua of a man. Despite his advanced age, he was clad in gleaming, dented full-plate that enhanced his magnificently cultured alpine beard. The Consular General, Stephan Wolfgang of the Magistrate of Tyr looked every bit the part of a grim dispenser of justice.

The other was a lanky gentleman whose sharp features were partially silhouetted and he started to take notes of the conversation discreetly.

“SIT. Do you know who I am?” Consular Wolfgang asked tersely without much ceremony.

“Err… You must be the Consular General. I’ve been trying to make an appointment with you but your secretary…” Grey rattled on.

“Be silent runt! You are to answer my questions concisely, Archon. I resent the tone of familiarity that you take with me. I am your ranking superior and you are to address me as such.” The aged judge barked in rage, his wizened face darkened till it was nearly beet root red in color.

“Your actions have resulted in smearing the reputation of your God and his sanctified judiciary. Why, Archon, by Tyr’s hand have you trespassed the Sultan’s palace?”

“I apologize for my complacency…Sir. I was in pursuit of a team of assassins who were poised to strike targets in the Sultan’s palace. I had sought proper authorization from the security command through a local officer of the law, Inspector Mahmud. However, permission was not granted. Therefore, me and my comrades were forced to make a difficult decision. Because the lives of the Sultan and his guest, Piotr the White were in genuine danger, I thought it proper to take a calculated risk, Sir.”

Gray replied coolly, picking his words carefully so as not to further aggravate the old man. Being a field agent, it had been a long time since he was asked to testify in court. He was beginning to dread his lack of practice.

“And in doing so, you have transgressed the law. There are proper channels to legislate any covert action. If paladins of Tyr cannot be expected to adhere to the letter and the spirit the law, then how can we be expected to uphold justice? Why was not the Magistrate informed?” Consular Wolfgang pressed on.

“With all due respect Sir, there was no time. The assassins were poised to strike at any given moment. Each second I was delayed would be a matter of life and death for an important figure in the palace. If there was a way to get some form of jurisdiction for the mission, I would surely have sought it.”

“Well, then, what evidence do you have of this assassins?”

“The assassins were from House Belahrus.”

“What!!!!” The Consular General’s eyes bulged in disbelief. “Archon, that’s impossible. The House is extinct. They were purged by the other noble houses of Aghrive ten years ago. I was there with Justicar Jaroslav Mannvitsbrekka who conducted the trial. There were 759 convictions of murder, 268 convictions of battery, 658 convictions of infernalism and convictions of just about every other crime and perversity that a depraved human mind can possibly think of. Led by House Destare, we marched every man, woman and abomination to the gallows, and the world was better for it. You are surely mistaken.”

“I am aware of the House’s blasphemous history and its timely destruction. But I am certain that remnants of the House still exist and they do intend to inflict casualties here in the Sultanate. I cannot as yet fathom their motives but they have struck a target in a suburb district. Twenty five people were slain in the explosion.”

The paladin attested grimly. Memory of charred flesh and death grimaces filtered through his mind making his stomach retch in grotesque recollection even as he continued.

“Before the explosion, I and the Ksatriya Warrior Putra were taunted by an illusion of the perpetrator of the crime at the conflagration’s ground zero. He claimed responsibility for the bombing and challenged us to stop him. He also promised further attacks on the Sultanate and identified himself as Anton Belahrus. Further investigations revealed that a monk named Lian had encountered agents of House Belarus in the Cold Lands and they had sought to slay Piotr’s paladinic mount. By good fortune, I met Swordsman Jack who claims to be the son of Lucian Belahrus, the patriarch of the House. He seeks his father’s destruction.”

The Consular General leaned back on his chair severely testing the furniture of its capacity to function. He was deep in thought weighing in his mind the information that was recited to him. What the Archon had told him shook him more than he let on. Years of both field and legal training made him quite adept in maintaining an innocuous façade.

“Well then, what is your evidence?”

“The testimony of the accused.”

“You mean to say the testimony of an illusion?”

“Correct. I understand that this might be hard to take in all at once, Sir.”

“Do not make presumptions of my limits or my capacity to understand anything Archon. Do you think that the testimony of an illusion is admissible in court? Do you think that it is enough to garner us a conviction or even to start an inquiry?”

The Archon looked crestfallen. He knew that it would not be enough.

“Well, I admit it won’t be…”

“I could put a f**king monkey on the stand and train it to say; I’m from House Belahrus. And it would amount to the same thing. You’re opening a can of worms, Archon. If indeed what you say is correct, you’re going to open a chapter of history that people would rather forget. But right now, your case is so full of crock and you would be hard pressed to prove that you’re a paladin of Tyr.”

The two men sat there in silence for several seconds. The oil lamp swayed over their heads casting a cantankerous pallor over their faces. The tension between the two truth-seekers of Tyr was electrifying in its intensity. No sound permeated the room with excerption of the scribe’s scrawling on the papyrus. The Consular General spoke first.

“I concede however that the possibility of the infernal house still existing merits- investigation. You will no doubt wish to undertake this task?”

“I will do as you and Tyr ask me to, Sir.” Archon Grey replied evenly.

“Very well. You are assigned to go undercover and provide me with a weekly report on your progress. I will be preoccupied with shepherding the peace process here between the state of Semphar and the celestial lycanthrope nomads of Karashstan. I will petition for your release and that of Swordsman Jack who is your closest lead. You are not to reveal your allegiances to any in the course of your investigation. A sum of fourteen thousand gold pieces shall assigned to you to be spent as you see fit.”

“Thank you, Sir. What about Putra?”

“I’m afraid that the fate of your friend is uncertain. His Majesty, Maharaja Barachan has yet to speak with him. From what I gather from his dark looks, his future promises to be ominous indeed.

=End=