Sagiro's Story Hour Returns (new thread started on 5/18/08)
- Thread starter Sagiro
- Start date
Quartermoon
First Post
Don't mess with Mommies, Sagiro.
Just don't.
We know where it hurts.
Just don't.
We know where it hurts.
Last edited:
Zaruthustran
The tingling means it’s working!
Sagiro said:
Wow. I was squirming as I read the post--like the others, I figured Something Bad was coming. But boy oh boy, I didn't expect something THAT bad.
Did Sagiro do a scary voice for that italisized bit?
-z
Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 172
Ernie's eyes go wide in surprised horror. He is not calm, and he is very alarmed.
"YOU GET OUT OF MY MOTHER!" he screams, groping in his pocket for his continual flame coin.
“Don't worry,” says the voice of Ernie mom, cheerily. “I'm no longer trying to kill you."
Ernie's father looks over in surprise. Granted, there's a lot of general din including some screaming, but... did he hear Ernie correctly?
“Dear, is everything all right?"
Dranko, seeing the drastic change in Ernie’s expression, comes over to see what's going on.
"Dad," says Ernie between clenched teeth. "I need to be alone with mom for a minute. Why don't you go visit with Morningstar's parents?"
"Ernest, are you sure that..."
"DAD... please... go... stand... over... there."
Dranko gives Ernie a puzzled look. Ernie mouths “Farazil.” Dranko’s eyebrows shoot up. He puts his arm around Ernie's father and strikes up a conversation, leading him gently away. Then he takes out the mirror of whispers and sends a message to Morningstar. "Farazil is in Ernie's mom's body. He hasn't tried anything yet, though."
“Sh*t,” utters Morningstar. She starts casting detect thoughts.
Ernie turns back to his mother, and speaks in a voice that is tightly calm.
"I said, you get out of my mother's body right now."
"Oh, I will in just a moment. I simply wanted to convey a message, and needed to do it in a way such that you wouldn't try anything... rash."
"Then say what you want to say, and get out."
"Ok... fine. Two things, mostly. One, like I said, I'm no longer trying to kill you. My contract is finished. And two, I want to talk about a... possible business arrangement that would be to all of our benefits."
"We're not talking about anything," says Ernie hotly, "while you're possessing my mother. If you really want to talk, meet us at the Rusty Bucket tomorrow, and not inhabiting the body of any of our families."
"That sounds fine under two conditions," says Farazil. "One, we set the meeting for noon. And two, you promise me right now, on Yondalla's good name, that you won't try setting an ambush or any other treachery."
"Fine. I promise those things, as long as you also don't try anything. But if you give us any provocation, all deals are off."
"Wonderful!" says Farazil. "I really have no further desire to antagonize you. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon then. Bring as many of your friends as you'd like."
And Ernie's mom suddenly faints, falling backward into the crowded row of parade-watchers behind her. A number of townsfolk move to help her up.
"Ernest?" she says, blinking. "Oh my! I must have fainted from all the excitement. Don't look so concerned! I'm still having a wonderful time."
"Ok mom." Ernie turns away from his mom and rejoins the parade before she can fully register the angry frustration on his face.
* *
The parade comes to an end that afternoon; the Company retires to the Greenhouse where they put on a calm collective face to their families. No mention is made of the “incident” with Farazil. After a meal largely courtesy of Eddings and the magical icebox, the guests depart for a final night at their inn. (Most of them are leaving on ships or carriages the following morning. Kibi plans on returning his ship-phobic parents by teleport.)
The Company spends an hour or two before bed discussing tomorrow’s meeting with King Farazil. Ernie is still fuming, and has all sorts of violent and treacherous suggestions that he knows deep down would make Yondalla pretty mad at him. Everyone is curious as to what made him call off his contract on their lives, what he wants to bargain for, and (worryingly) what he might have to bargain with. They agree that treachery on Farazil’s part is more than likely. A continual flame coin will be in every pocket, just in case.
* *
The Rusty Bucket is a tavern of low means two blocks in from the harborside. At noon it is typically full of tooth-challenged mariners, itinerant dock workers and the occasional priest of Brechen making the rounds among his flock. Today is no different; the Company filters into the noisy, smoky commons, drawing a few stares by dint of being fully armed. A small group of soldiers in the corner raise their mugs to the Company, perhaps recognizing them from the parade. Only Flicker waves back; the others are looking to see who in this crowded tavern might be Farazil.
A man is waving to them from near to the center of the room. It’s their tall, white-haired navigator, Sutton, with a big grin on his face and (somehow) two tables all to himself. Dranko grimaces; it had to be someone they knew, didn’t it? The Company winds its way through the crowd until they reach Sutton’s table, and they sit, nervously.
“Next time,” says Dranko, “you don’t show up wearing the body of anyone we know.”
“It’s just a sensible precaution,” says Farazil. “It has occurred to me that you might set up an ambush. Anyway, I’m glad you all could make it! Would you like to order drinks before we get down to business?”
“Just get to the point,” says Ernie. “Why don’t you start with giving us at least one reason why we shouldn’t kill you right now.”
“You mean besides your promise to Yondalla?”
Ernie seethes. Farazil continues.
“I assume you all have your little light stones ready in case I try anything?”
He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “It’s a good idea, but it wouldn’t work. It would make me uncomfortable, but it would hardly be sufficient for what you hope would happen. But I know it’s made you feel better, shining a little light in everyone’s eyes when they come to your house. And even just feeling secure has value, right?”
He carefully watches the expressions of the Company. Do they believe him? At least one person winces instinctively at the thought that all of their light-testing of guests has been for naught.
“How about you don’t give us a reason to find out,” suggests Aravis.
“Fair enough,” says Farazil, smiling.
“Before we go any further,” says Morningstar, “I don’t suppose you’d have any objection to a spell that would verify that you’re telling the truth?”
“No, of course not. I don’t object. For once, complete honesty will serve me the best in a haggling session, and I’m sure it will make you feel better. I promise not to resist the spell. Go ahead.”
Morningstar casts zone of truth.
“Try lying,” she says.
“I am the Ki… I am King Cr… My name is not Far… hm. Well, it’s working insofar as I cannot lie about my own name. So now I have neither the desire nor the ability to lie. Happy?”
(At the tables nearest to their own, conversations start to falter and break up, as people come to realize that lies simply won't come out of their mouths. Within minutes every table inside the spell's range has emptied.)
“You were saying, then?” prods Ernie.
“Ah, yes. Well, let me start out by telling all of you what I told Ernie yesterday. I don’t want to kill you anymore. That particular contract is no longer in force.”
“Not that we’re not delighted,” says Grey Wolf dryly, “but why is that?”
“I reached a deal with my former employer,” says Farazil. “Technically, we had come to a verbal agreement after I locked you up in God’s Thorn. We both agreed that your imprisonment was as good as, if not better than, an actual killing of your bodies. When it turned out that you had escaped, my employer – I’ll just call that person “he,” though I make no assurances as to his or her gender – was somewhat put out. We… went back over the wording of the original contract, and reached a deal in which he would not attempt to hold me further.”
“Who was your employer?” many of the Company ask at once.
“I cannot tell you. That was part of my end of the bargain. I will not divulge any piece of information about him; not his name, his whereabouts, or his affiliations. But since that’s not germane to this meeting, I think we can just drop the subject.”
“Fine,” says Dranko. “So how about you tell us about what it is you want.”
“I want to help you,” says Farazil, “as part of an exchange of favors. For my part, what I’m willing to give you is my services as a professional.”
“You’re an assassin!” cries Ernie. “Why would we possibly want that?”
“Assassin?” says Farazil in an injured tone. “Hardly. That’s such a limited role. Yes, I can kill people, and yes, I’m very good at it, and yes, I take pride in my work. But for our purposes, say instead that I am an investigator who could also kill someone if called up on.”
“We can find out information for ourselves when we need it,” says Morningstar. “I don’t see what we would gain from hiring you.”
“I’m sure you’re very good,” says Farazil, taking a swig from his mug of beer. “But you’re not as good as I am. You can’t be. Think about what I am! I can infiltrate in ways that you humans never could. I can read minds more reliably and with greater facility than even you Ellish priestesses. For instance, I know that you are currently worried about a certain red-armored escapee from the recent fracas up in Verdshane. His name is Tarsos. You want very much to know where he is. You have no leads at the moment, and neither do any of your allies.”
Farazil leans forward again.
“But I have leads. And if we reach an agreement, I will follow up on those leads, and before too long I guarantee I can provide you with Tarsos’ current address. How does that sound?”
He sits back and watches the Company digest his offer. Eventually Aravis lets out a long sigh.
“I hate to ask this, but go on… what is it that you’d want in return?”
“Nothing as grim or expensive as I’m sure you expect,” answers Farazil. “What I want is this: to be granted full Citizenship in your Kingdom of Charagan, with all the of the rights and duties implied thereby...and with a chance to start fresh, from a criminal-record standpoint. In return for this, I would offer my services to your King Crunard, to serve in whatever investigatory capacity he wishes. Given the mess that needs to be cleaned up after your little war with Naradawk Skewn, I’d expect he’d be thrilled to hire someone of my unique talents.”
The Company exchanges startled glances. This sure wasn’t anything like what they expected!
“But… no!” says Kibi. “The King wouldn’t hire you. You’re a murderer!”
“Nonsense,” says Farazil. “I’m a mercenary. I am hired to perform jobs, and I do them. I try to enjoy them as well as I can, and I strive to do my best, even when performing under duress as with my last employer. Sometimes those jobs involve killing or otherwise inconveniencing my boss’s enemies. Isn’t that exactly what you do for your Archmage patron? How many intelligent creatures have you killed, simply because they have goals that conflict with those of your employer?”
“He has a point,” says Kay.
“But he’s evil!” says Ernie. Everyone instinctively looks at One Certain Step, who nods, frowning.
“Evil,” says Farazil, shaking his head. “It’s so subjective. But I’ll bet a quarter of the people in this tavern are evil too, aren’t they, Paladin of Kemma. So what? You don’t think King Crunard has evil people in his employ at this very moment, performing vital but unsavory tasks for the greater good? Don’t kid yourself. And right now I’m the least of a whole slew of evils besetting your fair kingdom. I’d like to help you fight them.”
“But why?” asks Morningstar. “I don’t understand what’s in it for you. Even if you could somehow be made a citizen of Charagan, so what? You’re eager to pay taxes?”
“I’m not sure you’ll understand,” says Farazil in a softer voice than before. “But it’s largely symbolic. I want to belong somewhere. To be a part of something, part of a group. My existence is not like yours. I have no friends. No permanent home. No identity outside of myself. I’m… lonely. The creatures of the Plane of Shadow are petty at best, mindless at worst. I loathe the place. I so much prefer the company of real, solid humanoids. It would have a great meaning to me to think that I was part of a whole Kingdom of people, recognized officially as one of them.”
The skepticism around the table is palpable. Farazil sighs.
“If you need a reason more in synch with your prejudices, consider this: my last employer had me trapped in a bottle, and only released me by forcing me to agree to kill you. I don’t like him. And it is not breaking my agreement to say that my old employer and your King Crunard are somewhat at odds. I wish to play for your team. Is that better?”
“Even if we accept your reasons,” says Aravis, “there are some logistical problems to solve. For starters, you don’t have a body. And if you’re going to be a citizen of this kingdom, you can’t go around possessing people.”
“I don’t have a choice in that,” says Farazil. “I cannot interact in any other way. But I have anticipated the question. When not on duty, I would propose to inhabit the body of some criminal who would otherwise be put to death. That way your King could keep track of me when he wanted to, to make sure I wasn’t up to any mischief. I would subject myself to any truth magic that would allay fears of treachery.”
“Speaking of which,” says Morningstar. “What about Naboz? We’ve read about him. I believe the quote from the author was: “…capable of nearly infinite malice.”
“Naboz,” says Farazil, clucking his tongue. “Yes, he got what was coming to him, didn’t he? He always was the bad seed. A born troublemaker from the start. And it wasn’t bad enough the mischief he got into on his own account. We all ended up painted with the same brush! Look, the Carch-Din are no different than you humans is that respect; some of us are worse than others. I shouldn’t judge you by the actions of… of Meledien, or of Parthol Runecarver, right? Then I ask you not to judge me by the stupid antics of Naboz. And besides, his actions got him killed.”
“How did they kill him?” asks Dranko.
“I’m certainly not going to discuss that,” says Farazil, smiling. “But it was a nice try.”
There is a long silence, while Farazil takes a long pull at his mug.
“You have my offer then,” he says at last. “You get me granted full Citizenship in the kingdom of Charagan. You at least convey to King Crunard that I am willing to work for him as a master spy, though that is not a necessary part of the bargain. And you agree that I will be free of persecution by you or anyone else acting in an official capacity. In return, I at very least find out for you where Tarsos is hiding out, and possibly end up serving as a valuable source of intelligence for years to come.”
“We’ll have to make some inquiries,” says Morningstar. “We can’t just give you citizenship ourselves.”
“Of course,” smiles Farazil. “Why don’t we agree to meet here again, in a week’s time. You advocate my offer to the powers that be, and in the meantime I’ll start hunting up information about Tarsos. If we can come to an agreement when next we meet, I’ll share with you everything I’ve learned. And in anticipation that our next meeting will be fruitful, I’d best get started in my sleuthing.”
Sutton stands up.
“It has been a pleasure talking with you in such a friendly atmosphere. I’m glad I’m no longer bound to kill you. You’ve always seemed like nice people. One week from today, right here. In a body that none of you know.”
He turns his back on the Company and walks through the crowd to the door, shaking hands and patting acquaintances on the back all the way out.
…to be continued…
Ernie's eyes go wide in surprised horror. He is not calm, and he is very alarmed.
"YOU GET OUT OF MY MOTHER!" he screams, groping in his pocket for his continual flame coin.
“Don't worry,” says the voice of Ernie mom, cheerily. “I'm no longer trying to kill you."
Ernie's father looks over in surprise. Granted, there's a lot of general din including some screaming, but... did he hear Ernie correctly?
“Dear, is everything all right?"
Dranko, seeing the drastic change in Ernie’s expression, comes over to see what's going on.
"Dad," says Ernie between clenched teeth. "I need to be alone with mom for a minute. Why don't you go visit with Morningstar's parents?"
"Ernest, are you sure that..."
"DAD... please... go... stand... over... there."
Dranko gives Ernie a puzzled look. Ernie mouths “Farazil.” Dranko’s eyebrows shoot up. He puts his arm around Ernie's father and strikes up a conversation, leading him gently away. Then he takes out the mirror of whispers and sends a message to Morningstar. "Farazil is in Ernie's mom's body. He hasn't tried anything yet, though."
“Sh*t,” utters Morningstar. She starts casting detect thoughts.
Ernie turns back to his mother, and speaks in a voice that is tightly calm.
"I said, you get out of my mother's body right now."
"Oh, I will in just a moment. I simply wanted to convey a message, and needed to do it in a way such that you wouldn't try anything... rash."
"Then say what you want to say, and get out."
"Ok... fine. Two things, mostly. One, like I said, I'm no longer trying to kill you. My contract is finished. And two, I want to talk about a... possible business arrangement that would be to all of our benefits."
"We're not talking about anything," says Ernie hotly, "while you're possessing my mother. If you really want to talk, meet us at the Rusty Bucket tomorrow, and not inhabiting the body of any of our families."
"That sounds fine under two conditions," says Farazil. "One, we set the meeting for noon. And two, you promise me right now, on Yondalla's good name, that you won't try setting an ambush or any other treachery."
"Fine. I promise those things, as long as you also don't try anything. But if you give us any provocation, all deals are off."
"Wonderful!" says Farazil. "I really have no further desire to antagonize you. I'll see you tomorrow afternoon then. Bring as many of your friends as you'd like."
And Ernie's mom suddenly faints, falling backward into the crowded row of parade-watchers behind her. A number of townsfolk move to help her up.
"Ernest?" she says, blinking. "Oh my! I must have fainted from all the excitement. Don't look so concerned! I'm still having a wonderful time."
"Ok mom." Ernie turns away from his mom and rejoins the parade before she can fully register the angry frustration on his face.
* *
The parade comes to an end that afternoon; the Company retires to the Greenhouse where they put on a calm collective face to their families. No mention is made of the “incident” with Farazil. After a meal largely courtesy of Eddings and the magical icebox, the guests depart for a final night at their inn. (Most of them are leaving on ships or carriages the following morning. Kibi plans on returning his ship-phobic parents by teleport.)
The Company spends an hour or two before bed discussing tomorrow’s meeting with King Farazil. Ernie is still fuming, and has all sorts of violent and treacherous suggestions that he knows deep down would make Yondalla pretty mad at him. Everyone is curious as to what made him call off his contract on their lives, what he wants to bargain for, and (worryingly) what he might have to bargain with. They agree that treachery on Farazil’s part is more than likely. A continual flame coin will be in every pocket, just in case.
* *
The Rusty Bucket is a tavern of low means two blocks in from the harborside. At noon it is typically full of tooth-challenged mariners, itinerant dock workers and the occasional priest of Brechen making the rounds among his flock. Today is no different; the Company filters into the noisy, smoky commons, drawing a few stares by dint of being fully armed. A small group of soldiers in the corner raise their mugs to the Company, perhaps recognizing them from the parade. Only Flicker waves back; the others are looking to see who in this crowded tavern might be Farazil.
A man is waving to them from near to the center of the room. It’s their tall, white-haired navigator, Sutton, with a big grin on his face and (somehow) two tables all to himself. Dranko grimaces; it had to be someone they knew, didn’t it? The Company winds its way through the crowd until they reach Sutton’s table, and they sit, nervously.
“Next time,” says Dranko, “you don’t show up wearing the body of anyone we know.”
“It’s just a sensible precaution,” says Farazil. “It has occurred to me that you might set up an ambush. Anyway, I’m glad you all could make it! Would you like to order drinks before we get down to business?”
“Just get to the point,” says Ernie. “Why don’t you start with giving us at least one reason why we shouldn’t kill you right now.”
“You mean besides your promise to Yondalla?”
Ernie seethes. Farazil continues.
“I assume you all have your little light stones ready in case I try anything?”
He leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, “It’s a good idea, but it wouldn’t work. It would make me uncomfortable, but it would hardly be sufficient for what you hope would happen. But I know it’s made you feel better, shining a little light in everyone’s eyes when they come to your house. And even just feeling secure has value, right?”
He carefully watches the expressions of the Company. Do they believe him? At least one person winces instinctively at the thought that all of their light-testing of guests has been for naught.
“How about you don’t give us a reason to find out,” suggests Aravis.
“Fair enough,” says Farazil, smiling.
“Before we go any further,” says Morningstar, “I don’t suppose you’d have any objection to a spell that would verify that you’re telling the truth?”
“No, of course not. I don’t object. For once, complete honesty will serve me the best in a haggling session, and I’m sure it will make you feel better. I promise not to resist the spell. Go ahead.”
Morningstar casts zone of truth.
“Try lying,” she says.
“I am the Ki… I am King Cr… My name is not Far… hm. Well, it’s working insofar as I cannot lie about my own name. So now I have neither the desire nor the ability to lie. Happy?”
(At the tables nearest to their own, conversations start to falter and break up, as people come to realize that lies simply won't come out of their mouths. Within minutes every table inside the spell's range has emptied.)
“You were saying, then?” prods Ernie.
“Ah, yes. Well, let me start out by telling all of you what I told Ernie yesterday. I don’t want to kill you anymore. That particular contract is no longer in force.”
“Not that we’re not delighted,” says Grey Wolf dryly, “but why is that?”
“I reached a deal with my former employer,” says Farazil. “Technically, we had come to a verbal agreement after I locked you up in God’s Thorn. We both agreed that your imprisonment was as good as, if not better than, an actual killing of your bodies. When it turned out that you had escaped, my employer – I’ll just call that person “he,” though I make no assurances as to his or her gender – was somewhat put out. We… went back over the wording of the original contract, and reached a deal in which he would not attempt to hold me further.”
“Who was your employer?” many of the Company ask at once.
“I cannot tell you. That was part of my end of the bargain. I will not divulge any piece of information about him; not his name, his whereabouts, or his affiliations. But since that’s not germane to this meeting, I think we can just drop the subject.”
“Fine,” says Dranko. “So how about you tell us about what it is you want.”
“I want to help you,” says Farazil, “as part of an exchange of favors. For my part, what I’m willing to give you is my services as a professional.”
“You’re an assassin!” cries Ernie. “Why would we possibly want that?”
“Assassin?” says Farazil in an injured tone. “Hardly. That’s such a limited role. Yes, I can kill people, and yes, I’m very good at it, and yes, I take pride in my work. But for our purposes, say instead that I am an investigator who could also kill someone if called up on.”
“We can find out information for ourselves when we need it,” says Morningstar. “I don’t see what we would gain from hiring you.”
“I’m sure you’re very good,” says Farazil, taking a swig from his mug of beer. “But you’re not as good as I am. You can’t be. Think about what I am! I can infiltrate in ways that you humans never could. I can read minds more reliably and with greater facility than even you Ellish priestesses. For instance, I know that you are currently worried about a certain red-armored escapee from the recent fracas up in Verdshane. His name is Tarsos. You want very much to know where he is. You have no leads at the moment, and neither do any of your allies.”
Farazil leans forward again.
“But I have leads. And if we reach an agreement, I will follow up on those leads, and before too long I guarantee I can provide you with Tarsos’ current address. How does that sound?”
He sits back and watches the Company digest his offer. Eventually Aravis lets out a long sigh.
“I hate to ask this, but go on… what is it that you’d want in return?”
“Nothing as grim or expensive as I’m sure you expect,” answers Farazil. “What I want is this: to be granted full Citizenship in your Kingdom of Charagan, with all the of the rights and duties implied thereby...and with a chance to start fresh, from a criminal-record standpoint. In return for this, I would offer my services to your King Crunard, to serve in whatever investigatory capacity he wishes. Given the mess that needs to be cleaned up after your little war with Naradawk Skewn, I’d expect he’d be thrilled to hire someone of my unique talents.”
The Company exchanges startled glances. This sure wasn’t anything like what they expected!
“But… no!” says Kibi. “The King wouldn’t hire you. You’re a murderer!”
“Nonsense,” says Farazil. “I’m a mercenary. I am hired to perform jobs, and I do them. I try to enjoy them as well as I can, and I strive to do my best, even when performing under duress as with my last employer. Sometimes those jobs involve killing or otherwise inconveniencing my boss’s enemies. Isn’t that exactly what you do for your Archmage patron? How many intelligent creatures have you killed, simply because they have goals that conflict with those of your employer?”
“He has a point,” says Kay.
“But he’s evil!” says Ernie. Everyone instinctively looks at One Certain Step, who nods, frowning.
“Evil,” says Farazil, shaking his head. “It’s so subjective. But I’ll bet a quarter of the people in this tavern are evil too, aren’t they, Paladin of Kemma. So what? You don’t think King Crunard has evil people in his employ at this very moment, performing vital but unsavory tasks for the greater good? Don’t kid yourself. And right now I’m the least of a whole slew of evils besetting your fair kingdom. I’d like to help you fight them.”
“But why?” asks Morningstar. “I don’t understand what’s in it for you. Even if you could somehow be made a citizen of Charagan, so what? You’re eager to pay taxes?”
“I’m not sure you’ll understand,” says Farazil in a softer voice than before. “But it’s largely symbolic. I want to belong somewhere. To be a part of something, part of a group. My existence is not like yours. I have no friends. No permanent home. No identity outside of myself. I’m… lonely. The creatures of the Plane of Shadow are petty at best, mindless at worst. I loathe the place. I so much prefer the company of real, solid humanoids. It would have a great meaning to me to think that I was part of a whole Kingdom of people, recognized officially as one of them.”
The skepticism around the table is palpable. Farazil sighs.
“If you need a reason more in synch with your prejudices, consider this: my last employer had me trapped in a bottle, and only released me by forcing me to agree to kill you. I don’t like him. And it is not breaking my agreement to say that my old employer and your King Crunard are somewhat at odds. I wish to play for your team. Is that better?”
“Even if we accept your reasons,” says Aravis, “there are some logistical problems to solve. For starters, you don’t have a body. And if you’re going to be a citizen of this kingdom, you can’t go around possessing people.”
“I don’t have a choice in that,” says Farazil. “I cannot interact in any other way. But I have anticipated the question. When not on duty, I would propose to inhabit the body of some criminal who would otherwise be put to death. That way your King could keep track of me when he wanted to, to make sure I wasn’t up to any mischief. I would subject myself to any truth magic that would allay fears of treachery.”
“Speaking of which,” says Morningstar. “What about Naboz? We’ve read about him. I believe the quote from the author was: “…capable of nearly infinite malice.”
“Naboz,” says Farazil, clucking his tongue. “Yes, he got what was coming to him, didn’t he? He always was the bad seed. A born troublemaker from the start. And it wasn’t bad enough the mischief he got into on his own account. We all ended up painted with the same brush! Look, the Carch-Din are no different than you humans is that respect; some of us are worse than others. I shouldn’t judge you by the actions of… of Meledien, or of Parthol Runecarver, right? Then I ask you not to judge me by the stupid antics of Naboz. And besides, his actions got him killed.”
“How did they kill him?” asks Dranko.
“I’m certainly not going to discuss that,” says Farazil, smiling. “But it was a nice try.”
There is a long silence, while Farazil takes a long pull at his mug.
“You have my offer then,” he says at last. “You get me granted full Citizenship in the kingdom of Charagan. You at least convey to King Crunard that I am willing to work for him as a master spy, though that is not a necessary part of the bargain. And you agree that I will be free of persecution by you or anyone else acting in an official capacity. In return, I at very least find out for you where Tarsos is hiding out, and possibly end up serving as a valuable source of intelligence for years to come.”
“We’ll have to make some inquiries,” says Morningstar. “We can’t just give you citizenship ourselves.”
“Of course,” smiles Farazil. “Why don’t we agree to meet here again, in a week’s time. You advocate my offer to the powers that be, and in the meantime I’ll start hunting up information about Tarsos. If we can come to an agreement when next we meet, I’ll share with you everything I’ve learned. And in anticipation that our next meeting will be fruitful, I’d best get started in my sleuthing.”
Sutton stands up.
“It has been a pleasure talking with you in such a friendly atmosphere. I’m glad I’m no longer bound to kill you. You’ve always seemed like nice people. One week from today, right here. In a body that none of you know.”
He turns his back on the Company and walks through the crowd to the door, shaking hands and patting acquaintances on the back all the way out.
…to be continued…
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RangerWickett
Legend
Yay, Sagiro! I knew that mustachioed fool would never die. But I kinda wish Farazil had been Turlus.
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thatdarncat
Overlord of Chat
Of course, if I was Farazil and I really wanted to make an impression, I'd show up riding Tarsos's body 
KidCthulhu
First Post
Ah, but then we'd just kill Tarsos, and leave Ferris Wheel (as we like to call him) to whistle for a body. His only negotiating point has always been that he siezes bodies we don't want to harm, like friends, parents or innocent bystanders. Tarsos would be like a present. Kill the body, bug the Carch-Din. It's a win-win.
Alomir
First Post
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