Sagiro, you magnificent bastard.
I don't know which is more applicable: what they say about the praise of the praiseworthy, or that it takes one to know one.
And, hey, here's another update:
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 363
Farewell Party
Even with the windows and doors shut tight, the stink of a million dead fish finds its way into the living room. The Company eats a hurried breakfast, waiting for the meeting of the Spire to begin. The first to arrive is the adventurer Royce, only survivor of “Fortune’s Children” following the Battle of Verdshane. He smiles grimly as he’s invited in, shakes hands, and helps himself to some hors d’oeuvres.
Over the next half an hour, the rest of the Spire’s membership filters in. After Royce comes Anhaya Sunblossom, the High Priestess of Yondalla on Charagan. She has never been in the Greenhouse before, and is delighted to find that Ernie lives in a converted bakery.
Several former archmagi arrive in a group – Fylnius, the old elf from Ghant; Alykeen from Minok, and Salk, the Spire’s leader after the death of Grawly. Ozilinsh comes down the stairs separately, having teleported into the secret room directly from his tower.
King Crunard is accompanied by his stalwart adviser Yale, and Duke Nigel of Harkran. A dozen royal guards remain outside, setting up a defensive position around the Greenhouse.
Also in attendance are the adventuring duo of Wellington, the child-prodigy wizard, and his protector and companion the paladin Glade, tall and beautiful. Cornelia, High Priestess of Pikon, and Dalesandro, leader of the Stormknights of Werthis, come in on the heels of the Generals Anabrook and Largent.
The only person the Company doesn’t recognize is introduced as Junaya, of whom they have heard often but never seen. Junaya is even taller than Glade, lithe, with a warrior’s bearing. She and her brother Jerzembeck lead the Spire’s secondary adventuring team. She greets the Company warmly.
“Nice to see how the other half lives,” she laughs, looking around at the Greenhouse.
“What I want to know,” says Aravis, “is which one of us is the group that’s just sent off to mislead and distract the Spire’s enemies.”
“Hard to say,” says Junaya with a grin. “But I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt, and assume you’ve been doing
something useful with your time.”
Last to arrive is a newcomer to the Spire ranks – the diviner Belinda, who was recently instrumental in tracking down Mokad. She cannot hide the look of concern on her face, even as she is introduced to the others. In fact there is a gloomy pall over the entire gathering, and not only resulting from the odor of dead fish that now reaches into every street of Tal Hae. Though all assembled are exchanging handshakes and pleasantries, worry and sadness show on every face. The King himself looks pained, and rubs his temples with his fingertips. Though the Masking is nearly gone, a lifetime of defying its effects has taken a great toll on the old ruler.
When all are seated, Salk stands in the center of the Greenhouse living room. “A fine place we've come to,” he says, shaking his head. “I suppose we ought to start with the reports of current events. The death of all the deep-sea fish is quite evident. It is no doubt related to the death of the Ventifact Colossi in the Mouth of Nahalm. Something down below is affecting Abernia, in ways that are killing the things upon it. And it is not simply that. The worst news of all is about Forquelle. I know some of you had friends there. I am sad to say that it is unlikely that any of them got out in time. There are no reports of survivors, though it is possible that some were able to teleport away, before the sea rose up and swallowed the islands. The city of Oasis is under three feet of water, as are many of the east coast settlements of Lanei. The ocean has since receded, and we don’t think it’s likely to happen again soon. But we don’t doubt it will be something else.”
“Like the volcanoes,” says General Largent. “In Hae Kalkas.”
This is news to many, and it sets the gathering to mumbling.
“There hasn’t been volcanic activity there in centuries,” says Largent, “until about a week ago. It’s all been high up in the mountains, no need to evacuate yet. The dwarves are handling it well, by all reports.” But Kibi looks plainly worried; his family lives in Eggemoggin, a small town high above Hae Kalkas.
“And there’s Sentinel,” says Dranko. Many heads turn to regard him, as this is news to most. “The miners hit a vein of the Adversary’s blood, which bubbled up, and everyone in Sentinel went insane and killed one another. It was not pretty.”
This pronouncement causes a great stir among the guests; the knowledge that Adversary blood is even a consideration is not known to several people, and for those privy to the fact, Dranko’s words are even more alarming.
“We have the area locked off with a
forbiddance,” Ernie assures them.
There are several ticks of silence, before Wellington asks, “What about Octesian? We heard that he was rampaging through the Dreaming, killing people.”
“Octesian is dead,” says Morningstar.
“We got him just before he was going to kill everyone in the kingdom,” Dranko adds.
“He had found the Adversary in the Far Realms,” says Ernie, “and went completely mad.”
“And very tentacular,” says Dranko. “But we killed him. Morningstar killed him.”
Anhaya Sunblossom sits up a bit straighter, a puzzled look on her face. “The Adversary is in the Far Realms? Then what exactly is causing the problems here on Abernia?”
“The Adversary is escaping,” says Aravis.
“And His agents, and agents of the Emperor, have gone into the Underdark on some evil mission,” says Dranko. “They’re probably responsible.”
“Unfortuately,” says Belinda, “divinations seem vague and largely ineffectual on these topics. But I have news that I cannot decide if it’s good or bad. Although we have been struck by this wave of natural – or as is more likely, unnatural – disasters, they seem to be over.”
“What do you mean?” asks Dranko.
“I don’t think we’re going to have any more. It either means that whatever was causing them is over and failed, or it’s over and succeeded.”
“It’s theoretically possible,” says Wellington, “that the part of Him that landed here in Abernia, is regenerating into a whole… a whole new Adversary.”
“I don’t like that theory,” says Ernie.
“Can you come up with something else?” asks Dranko.
Wellington blinks. “Yes. Perhaps the Adversary’s blood infected something extremely powerful that was
already in the Underdark, and now there is a new shadow-Adversary arising down there, and
that’s what’s affecting the surface.”
“That one’s not much better,” Ernie mutters.
Dranko picks up an hors d’oeuvres. “When I saw the Adversary, I was pretty sure that...”
“What?” Largent interrupts. “When you
saw the Adversary? When was this?”
Dranko takes a minute to explain the vision he saw during the battle with Octesian. “The Adversary was in a cage, in the Far Realms, but He looked triumphant, like He had already won. But only I could see Him.”
“And why is that?” Largent presses.
“It’s a long story.”
“We’re all here to hear these stories, so we can figure out what to do next!” Largent exclaims.
Dranko sighs, and launches into the tale of Het Branoi, describing the starry void left behind when Cleaners ripped apart the Vree’s slice of Chaos. “Those Cleaners lived in the Far Realms,” he says in summary. “Where logic and sanity go to die. And, uh, accidentally, one my personal belongings ended up in the, er…”
“Dranko has acquired something like an ally,” Aravis cuts in. “It provided Dranko with something it thinks will help us.”
“It wasn’t an accident,” says Kibi accusingly. “Dranko threw a bottle into the Far Realms, with his name inside it.”
“You did?” Royce’s eyes go wide, and he smiles broadly. “That’s fantastic! And now you say you have a tentacular nature yourself?”
Dranko looks pained. “We made a deal. I gave up something important to me, and it put something in my brain. It said that without whatever’s in there, we’re going to lose. But now, when something rips open my brain to see what’s in there, it will uncover this hideous nugget of madness, and suffer for it.”
Yale looks at Dranko very intently. “Where exactly do you need to be, to make use of this…tentacular nature? And when will you need to be there?”
“I don’t know,” Dranko admits.
“I would say it’s almost assuredly when we face the Adversary,” says Aravis.
“So you’re going to the Far Realms?” asks Yale.
“No,” says Aravis. “We’re going to the Underdark to chase the servants of the Adversary.”
Yale looks confused. “So the Adversary is somehow going to leave his cage in the Far Realms, and appear in the Underdark?"
Dranko nods. “Yes, that’s what we think. That his servants are going to find some way to make that happen.”
“We’re following the instructions we found in Leantha’s Book,” says Kibi. “It led us to this.” He unsheathes the
Watcher’s Kiss, and all eyes are drawn to its golden glow. Color leeches away from everything but itself.
“This is a fragment of the blade that Uthol Inga used to stab the Adversary,” says Dranko.
“It’s all in this book,” explains Aravis. “It was a gift from a Goddess.”
Anhaya cannot mask her astonishment. “A Goddess? Which one?”
“A dead one,” says Aravis.
“And how did you acquire a gift from a dead Goddess?”
“We went to the tombs of the Gods,” says Dranko.
Ozilinsh turns to Fylnius, chuckling. “See? I told you I wasn’t making any of it up.”
Kibi frowns. “But Tarsos and Meledien and Seven Dark Words have gone down to the Underdark first.”
At this point about half the assembly demands more explanation, and an entire summary of the Company’s relevant adventures. When this is done, Junaya turns to Aravis with a little shake of her head. “I guess now we know which group was the diversion.”
The general laughter at this is interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Must be Parthol Runecarver,” jokes Dranko.
Salk doesn’t laugh. “Yes, I expect it is. I invited him.”
The sounds of mirth die away at once. “He can’t get on his own anymore,” says Salk to the Company. “One of you will need to invite him in.” He turns to Belinda, who nods. “We are confident he will not try anything during this meeting.”
Eddings opens the door, and Aravis stands at the threshold. Standing in the street is Parthol Runecarver, forked gray beard hanging from his chin, a serious expression etched into his old features, and the faintest shimmer of an Astral cord snaking away into the aether.
“May I come in?” Parthol asks politely.
“Yes,” says Aravis. “But only for this one meeting.”
“Fair enough, ”says Parthol with a shrug, and he takes a confident stride into the house. Everyone is quiet as he enters. Fylnius, who’s become particularly lighthearted and jovial since his “retirement,” stares daggers into the new arrival, his face a thundercloud.
Salk never takes his eyes off the new arrival. “I have invited Parthol to this meeting so that he can tell us what he knows. That’s the only reason he’s here, and when he’s had his say, he will go.”
“How true,” says Parthol. He spreads his arms and addresses the Spire. “I don’t expect any of you to like me. Have no fears on that count. I still maintain that Abernia would not be in these dire straits had it been governed properly by a magocracy these past thousand years, but since you Spire folks have managed to land your kingdom in this pickle, I should do what I can do help get it out. Because although I once harbored a great desire to rule Charagan, I have a much greater desire to see that it is not consumed by the Adversary.”
If he expects any reaction to this, he is disappointed. Cold hard stares are all he earns.
“Also, I dare not leave my current abode, because you would all band together and kill me.”
Under his breath, but loud enough for all to hear, Royce mutters, “Damned straight we’d kill you.”
Some of the Archmagi cannot help but look a bit nervous at this statement. It’s unlikely that Parthol knows that they have lost all of their magical powers, but anything is possible. Either way, Parthol continues with only a quick, sharp glance at Royce.
“I don’t know how many of you know of Yulan’s Barrier. It is an iron shell around the inner parts of the world, placed there by the father of all Kivian Gods to prevent the armies of the Underdark from conquering the surface world.” He turns to Belinda. “Belinda, that’s your name, isn’t it? You at least have realized that divinations regarding the Adversary, or even the Black Circle, are often futile. When you are beneath the Barrier, it will become even worse. Your divinations will suffer from… distance. You will be farther from your own Gods there. Divinations will be taxing, ineffectual to a degree you are not used to.”
“What about divinations that are not divinely based?” asks Aravis.
Parthol shrugs. “I’m not sure. There may be additional difficulties simply because you will not be a native to those lands. You will find things very strange beneath Yulan’s Barrier. It is both like and unlike the surface world. There will be things familiar to you… peoples, civilizations, politics, comings and goings of folk powerful and mundane; and also customs alien to you I’m sure, things that make no sense.”
He looks pointedly at Aravis as he says: “For instance, below the Barrier, there are Gods who walk the earth. I don’t know where they came from, or if they were there even before the Barrier was set in place. But unlike all the Gods that we know, possible company excepted, they live on – or in – Abernia. And they make the rules. So, yes, your arcane divinations may be more efficacious than ones powered by your Gods, but I’d still be prepared to learn things the old fashioned way.”
“You mean beating people up until they tell us,” says Dranko.
Parthol nods, perhaps missing the humor. “Another thing. As you may have learned in your underground journeys
above the Barrier, long-distance teleportation is impossible. The nature of the Underdark prevents it. But…” Here he stops, and his face tightens, and he closes his eyes, like he’s trying to recall a distant, painful memory. “But, there is a connected series of teleportation circles that can circumvent that restriction. Gaining access to that would be of great benefit to you.”
“That’s good to know,” says Kibi. “But do you have any information about where they are specifically, or
how to access them?”
“No,” says Parthol. Seeing beneath the Barrier is… very difficult. I’m the only one on the surface who can, and even my views are vague, foggy.”
For a startling moment, a small black lesion crawls up his neck from beneath the collar of his robe. He closes his eyes and concentrates until sweat beads on his brow, and then it fades away. When he opens his eyes again, all the collected members of the Spire are looking at him with revulsion.
He laughs. “Yes. I can harness that power. That’s how I learn things that no one else knows.”
“You always think you can control it…” says Ernie, shaking his head.
“I
can control it!” barks Parthol. "Where I currently reside, I can control it. It’s a large part of the reason that for now, I am content that my physical body remains where it is.”
“Good,” spits Glade. “You can stay there and rot.”
Parthol graces the paladin with a wan smile. “Don’t be rude. I have presents for you.”
He holds out his hand, and
wills something into his palm. Whatever it is flickers briefly, and then vanishes. He frowns, sighs, and walks to the front door. With some grumbling about Abernathy, he opens the door, sticks his hand out into the street, and tries again. This time a small leather pouch appears in his hand. Parthol returns to the center of the living room and empties out eight green glass stones onto the table.
“These will let you speak and understand Undercommon. Whichever of you are going to go beneath the Barrier, you should take them.”
“Should we swallow them?” asks Dranko.
Parthol glowers. “What? No! Just carry them on your person. Swallow them? What kind of demented magic would work in that fashion?”
“Earth magic,” Dranko deadpans.
“Oh. I didn’t realize earth magic required you to
eat rocks.”
“Only sometimes,” says Kibi defensively.
“Lastly,” says Parthol, “Something I have confirmed through my own divinations, though perhaps you already know it. Whichever of you goes, you cannot, and will not, be returning. It would violate the nature of the Barrier, and the laws laid down by the Old Gods. Even if there is a way through it in the downward direction, there is no coming back up through it.”
“Yeah,” says Dranko, “but lots of people tell us that, and we
always come back.”
Parthol smiles indulgently. “If it buoys your spirits during the long journey, to think that someday you might come back, then by all means go on thinking it.” He bows his head. “That’s all I have for you. I hope it helps. Now, I assume you have some questions?”
“Will the stones let us read undercommon, too?” Dranko asks.
“Yes. They’re extremely potent. Please don’t lose them.”
“What about Melendien and Tarsos?” asks Kibi. “Do you have any idea what they’re up to down there?”
“No. Though I concur with Belinda, that they have completed some stage of their mission. Whether it concluded successfully for them or not, I don’t know.”
“I bet it did,” says Dranko glumly. “Say, when you said Gods walked the earth, what did you mean?”
“I meant exactly what I said,” says Parthol. “The Gods of the Underdark – real Gods, and not Godling pretenders – live among their mortal flocks.”
Dranko sees Parthol looking at Aravis as he says this. “What was that about being polite?”
“Forgive me,” says Parthol with a bow. “I meant Nature Demigods. Divine Sparks. I intended no offense. But actual Gods live in the Underdark, and walk among the people.”
Kibi brightens. “If they’re Gods, could they help us get back?”
“Highly doubtful. They are clearly nowhere near as powerful as Yulan and the Kivian Gods.”
“If you’re in the Underdark,” Dranko asks, “can you
plane shift, or go to the Astral?”
“No. Though you should be able to enter extra-dimensional spaces whose only egresses are back into the Underdark. But there is no
gating, no
plane shifting. Anything you summon will have to come from elsewhere in the Underdark.” He looks at Kibi. “Don’t worry, there will be Earth Elementals in great supply.”
“I never thought I’d say this,” says Kibi quietly, “but thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I’ve only ever wanted what I thought was best for this world.”
“Which is you being in charge of it, and with the Emperor’s help.” says Dranko.
Parthol looks annoyed. “The Emperor was only a means to an end. I wouldn’t trust him any farther than I could throw him. And I don’t
personally need to be in charge. Aravis, you of all people, I’d think, would understand what I’m saying.”
“I understand that wizards would not make good rulers,” says Aravis.
With a look of profound disappointment, Parthol sighs. “Anything else?”
“Yes,” says Ernie. “You can get out of my house.”
Fylnius speaks up from the back of the room. “I don’t trust you, Runecarver. You’re still playing some game with us, aren’t you?”
Parthol looks affronted. “I’m playing the game we should all be playing – saving the world from destruction. Anything else I wish to do can wait until after that.”
Dranko points at Parthol. “If we come back, and find that you’ve taken advantage of our absence to cause trouble, it will not go well for you.”
Parthol laughs. “I assure you I am in no position to do that, even if I wanted to.”
“He’s lying!” says Flicker.
Aravis stands and moves to the door. “He should remember that while no human agency can bring us back from below the Barrier, we are only pawns of the Gods, and they can make up their own minds.”
“Harbor what false hope you wish.” Parthol also steps toward the door. “But no Divine agency can bring you back, either. I have learned as much.”
“Even if we don’t come back,” says Kibi, “there are plenty of other people here to keep you in line.”
Parthol looks slowly around the room. Does his gaze linger a little too long on the now-powerless Archmagi? No one can say for sure. “Yes,” he says. “Yes there are.”
Dranko opens the door.
“Ah,” says Parthol. “I see you’re inviting me to go. I pray for all of your success. Salk, if you need to talk to me again… you’ll have to wait.”
Parthol exits the house and vanishes from the street. The room collectively exhales.
Junaya looks at the small pile of stones at the table. “He only gave us eight? We’re going to need at least twenty!”
“What do you mean?” asks Dranko.
“Well, you don’t think you’re going down there by yourselves, do you?”
“Well, yeah,” says Dranko. “We kind of do.”
“Why?”
“Someone has to stay behind, to cover the retreat if we fail,” says Aravis. By way of explanation he summarizes their recent chat with High Priestess Jahnda.
The Stormknight Dalesandro scoffs. “Retreat? Wait a minute. You went and spoke to Jahnda the Watcher?”
“It was Uthol Inga who last did damage to the Adversary,” says Ernie.
“Yeah,” growls the Stormknight. “And a fat lot of good it did us.”
“It got the Adversary imprisoned,” Aravis notes, “and gave us thousands of years of peace.”
“But if failed to
kill the Adversary,” says Dalesandro. “I have to agree with Jahnda that it won’t work the second time, either. The Watcher didn’t, and still doesn't, have the might within her to kill the Adversary.”
Dranko looks Dalesandro in the eyes. “I know that your God and your religion have certain… theories and parables about Uthol Inga, but some of them just aren't true.”
The Stormknight looks like he wants to spit on the floor. “You were shown the truth and didn’t see it,” he says bitterly. “From your description, Uthol Inga had sided with the Adversary. The others fled. Then, at the end, the Watcher realized that if she stayed, the first thing the Adversary would do would be to turn on her and kill her. So she panicked, and stabbed Him in the back to save her own skin, and then begged the others to let her come with them, lying about her motives for staying in the first place!”
“Does it matter?” asks Ernie. “She still stabbed him in the back!”
“Only after betraying the other Travelers. And only to save herself.”
“Enough!” says Salk, and the old wizard’s voice still has power, even if his magic is gone. “This is not the place for a religious feud.”
To Junaya, Aravis says, “There may come a point when the Gods will have to flee again, and taking whomever they can. People capable of assisting them will have to remain here.”
“That is absolutely true,” says Cornelia, High Priestess of Pikon. She looks at Junaya, and Royce, and Glade and Wellington. “Only Abernathy’s company is going to make the journey. Pikon has granted me a vision that it must be so. The rest of you will be needed here, though whether that is to cover a retreat, I don’t know. But in the Company’s absence, there will still be great dangers besetting Abernia and our kingdom of Charagan, and we will need you here to stand against those dangers.” She turns to the Company. “Because while you are thwarting the Adversary’s designs, if all on the surface is destroyed in the meantime, it will all have been for naught.”
Junaya sighs and laughs. “Well, you
are the ones who went to the city of dead Gods, and you
are the ones who traveled a thousand years into the past to rewrite history, and you
are the ones who stopped Mokad from joining the planes together…”
“Yeah,” says Ernie. “We get all the crappy jobs.”
“I don’t think so,” says Junaya. “Harrying the supply lines of the Delfirian army for six months?
That was a crappy job.”
The boy Wellington steps forward, bows to Cornelia, and says gravely, “I will pledge to defend Charagan against any and all dangers, while Ozilinsh’s Company is traveling.” He elbows Glade, who stands and adds, “Me too.”
Royce gestures to the table. “You have an 8th stone.” He makes a show of counting the seven members of the Company.
“It would be honor to fight by your side,” says Dranko, “but it’s not going to happen this time. I have great respect for you, Royce, but we’d feel better if we knew that Charagan was in your hands. Also, we’re likely to get our asses kicked numerous times, and you’d probably end up..”
“Yes, yes, I understood the subtext, thanks,” says Royce.
“If it makes you feel any better,” says Kibi, gesturing to Dranko, “you’re way more famous than he is.”
That’s too much for Dranko to take. “Oh… Gaaaaaah!” He addresses the room, gesticulating wildly. “We’re going to have this out right now. Do you know what I gave up for the tentacles? You know what I gave up for the thing in my head? Being famous! That’s what I gave up! I used to be famous! I was in the frikkin’ parade with the rest of you! I was knighted too!”
No one answers him, but everyone looks at him with pity.
“Dranko,” says Salk gently, “I understand that having a piece of the Far Realms lodged in your head must be a very strange and difficult way to live, but…”
“Then answer me!” Dranko demands. “How is it that the rest of my Company is famous, and I am not?”
“Because they have done the greater deeds, those worthy of fame,” says Salk.
“Oh no they have not! That is not true! I was knighted!”
Salk regards Dranko kindly. “Don’t think that the Spire doesn’t value your contributions extremely highly, Dranko.”
Dranko’s shoulders slump. “Never mind.” Over the mind-link, he hears Ernie’s voice. “We know, Dranko. No one else knows, but we know. We’ll always know.”
King Crunard IV stands, with difficulty. His body is hale, but his eyes show a mind that is losing itself, and casting about for an anchor. The Company is put in mind of the sage Richter, who lost all his sanity for the study of Masked subjects.
“You should… go soon, I think,” says the King. Nigel and Yale nod, as if the King has said something profound.
“I’m sorry I’ve let things come to this,” Crunard continues. I’m not sure what I could have done… but it’s my… my responsibility. I just wanted to say that I am proud to have such a collection of fine.. people.. helping out with… things. Yes, you should go soon. They’ve had a long head start, haven’t they. Could you go… tomorrow?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” says Dranko..
“Good. Good. Thank you,” says the King. With effort he focuses his eyes on the Company. “I’m sure it’ll all work out for the best.”
…to be continued…
