The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)
(contact)
Explorer
Wealsun 18, CY 593
46: Sunshine and Brunch in a Den of Iniquity
As Heydricus helps Urin load the supply-wagons, Prisantha returns to her quarters to rest. After a brief sleep, she studies her spellbooks and teleports herself and Heydricus back to Maskaleyne’s former manor in Stoink. As it is already midday there, they decide to walk to the Lord’s stronghold and confront him directly. The sun is shining, and the air smells of warm Summer growth and human waste. The city’s bustling sounds can be heard from every direction. For the first time since they began their adventuring partnership, Heydricus and Prisantha are completely alone.
“I never knew you were so fond of children,” Pris says. “Do you plan to have some of your own?”
“Of course, I love kids,” Heydricus replies cheerily.
“I would think it would be hard to rule with children underfoot,” she says.
Heydricus seems shocked. “How could you rule without a family? Family makes a man complete.”
“How many do you hope to have?” she asks tentatively.
“Oh, I don’t know, ten or so I suppose.”
“Gods above!” Pris exclaims.
Heydricus laughs. “I suspect their mother will share the same reaction.”
“I see. Do you have someone in mind?”
“Well, I’m in no hurry Pris. My life is pretty much blood and gore and death all the time—that’s no life for little kids. Once I stop killing things willy-nilly maybe I’ll settle down. No time soon, of course. I figure I’ve got another 10-15 years of killing in me.”
Prisantha pauses, taking in the sunshine, and listening to the distant sound of breaking glass. “I plan to do some settling down, myself.”
“But not for a couple of years, right?”
“I’m not going to abandon our mission, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s good to hear. You’re my right hand, Pris.”
They round a corner, and enter an open public square. Old people sit in the sun, napping or telling stories, while other folk come and go as their business leads them. There is no sign of the recent war, or the vicious gang-fighting that followed it, save for the unusual number of crippled and maimed people amongst the populace. As they walk out from the shadows into the center of the square, a small group of children flee from a doorway at top speed, casting caltrops behind them. The area smells strongly of urine and horses, and the heroes have the sense they are being watched.
Prisantha looks around, “Ah, Stoink,” she says. “How long has it been since we first came here?
“A little under a year,” Heydricus says.
“Why, then we’ve only known each other . . .”
“Two years, I suppose.”
“It seems longer,” she says as she bats her eyes.
“Well, Pris,” Heydricus begins, “when you kill as many things as we do . . .”
After a moment, the conversation turns to gossip, and political affairs in Chendl. Belvor’s tenuous position is discussed, along with his inability to reconcile with the Southern Lords. The Baron Butrain’s name arises, as does that of Gwendolyn.
“Gwendolyn?” Heydricus says. “I don’t know about her. She seems like the sort of lady who’d . . .” Heydricus shudders. “Well, nevermind Gwendolyn.”
“And what about the Duchess?” Pris asks through a thin-lipped smile. “What sort of lady is she?”
Heydricus looks confused. “Why, she’s the sort of lady you . . .”
“That’s enough!” Prisantha snaps. “I don’t want the sordid details!”
“Really Pris,” Heydricus sighs. “I’m not such a lout as to divulge events!”
“That’s not what I heard,” Pris mutters.
“Where’d you hear that, Crim?” Heydricus demands. “That no good . . .”
Pris sniffs and turns her head. “The whole town is on about it.”
“Ridiculous,” Heydricus scoffs. “I pride myself as a man of discretion.” After a moment, he continues. “This is the sort of unfounded gossip that happens in the absence of a good war.”
“Well,” Prisantha softens, “I suppose people like to talk.”
“Of course they do,” Heydricus says. “Very few people have lives as interesting as ours, and so they take note of our doings. It is a natural curiosity.”
“I suppose,” Pris says. “Still, it’s funny how they take much more note of what you do.”
“Well, I’m taller,” Heydricus states. “It’s hard to spot you in a crowd.”
“It is?” Pris asks. “Perhaps I should wear heels. I’ll ask the Viscountess.”
“Who?”
“Ah, I cannot say.”
“Prisantha.”
“I will not say.”
“Come now, Pris—how many heads have I split, and you scrambled together?”
“The Viscountess Trill,” Prisantha says. “She’s a fashion expert.”
“Really? Wow. That’s great, I didn’t know they had experts in such things. Could she help me out?” Heydricus glances over his shoulders at the hems of his stained and frayed traveling cloak. “I could stand to up the fashion, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps I’ll take you with me, but you can’t say anything. I mean it, Heydricus.”
“Didn’t we just establish that I am a Man of Great Discretion? My lips are sealed.”
------
The half orc slams shut the slot in the door with a muttered curse. Apparently, the Lord of Stoink does not accept uninvited guests. Heydricus narrows his eyes, and pounds on the door. After a moment, the slot ratchets open and the familiar yellow eyes squint out.
“What’d I just tell you,” the half-orc growls. “You deaf? Beat it!” And for good measure, he repeats the phrase in goblinoid and elvish.
“Just tell the Lord we are here to see him about Talnith,” Prisantha says sweetly.
After a few moments, the Lord of Stoink’s half-elven lieutenant arrives, a toothy grin plastered on his face. “Prisantha! Heydricus! It’s so good to see you, come in! I hope you haven’t eaten—I’ve taken the liberty to have a table set. Please, follow me.”
The lieutenant leads the party past the sour-smelling half-orc doorman, and through the entryway with the lowered lintel, forcing all three of them to duck before the gleaming statue of the Lord of Stoink. They follow a maze of passages that twist and turn on themselves within the hideout, and just when Prisantha and Heydricus are sure they must have traveled deep underground, they emerge in a sunny open-air yard, surrounded on all four sides by a gaily-decorated stone wall. A large table is covered with a crisp white cloth, and several over-stuffed chairs are set around the table. Bottles of wine are opened and breathing, along with fresh-baked bread and a platter of imported cheeses and fruit.
“Unfortunately, the Lord is away on business, I hope that’s not too much of an inconvenience,” the half-elf says through his unflinching grin. “Please, have a seat. Let me recommend the Rakers Mount sharp, it is a rare consignment.” The half-elf pours a glass of wine for each of his guests. “This will excite the palate when taken with any of the white cheeses.” He sips his own wine, closes his eyes slightly, then sits down, casting his arms regally across the back of his chair. “I trust you are here to discuss our offer? Of course you are. As chief architect of the plan, I can . . .”
“No,” Heydricus says. “Stop talking.”
“Er,” the lieutenant says, not sure if he should acknowledge the order verbally.
“We’re here about the Talnith heir,” Prisantha says. “And we mean business.”
The lieutenant’s grin slowly returns, as if through some unseen fog.
“We would like to see the body of the heir,” Prisantha says.
“Ah. Please accept my apologies, that is impossible. However, if you’re concerned about security, allow me to assure you that our double-blind disposal method is state-of-the-art.”
“No,” Heydricus says. “Take us to the body.”
“Unfortunately, as much as I would love to accommodate your request, I cannot. You see, I do not know where the body is located.”
“Then take us to who does.”
“Alas, though it pains me greatly to say so, I’m afraid I cannot. You see, we employ a double-blind method.”
Prisantha leans forward. “Are you telling me that no one knows where the body is?”
“Yes. That is what I’m telling you,” the half-elf says, beaming. “The body is safe.”
“Okay, we’ve got a problem, and that means you’ve got a problem,” Heydricus says. “We know what you’ve been up to, selling souls and dealing with the Hag, and it doesn’t sit well with us. We’re taking the kid back to his parents, and we’re fixing this mess you’ve created.”
The half-elf nods thoughtfully, smiling all the while. “I’d like to take this opportunity to say that I admire your dedication to your principles, and think that your hearts are certainly in the right place. However, may I suggest that you may not have thought this issue through. As things stand, the Talnith family has no target for their vengeance, and we have taken great pains not to give them one. It seems a shame for our organizations to work at cross purposes. Indeed, one might suggest that time spent on the Talnith heir is time that cannot be spent seeing to the liberation of the Tenha. So I implore you, think of the Tehna . . . think of the children.”
“You’re no help at all, are you?” Heydricus asks.
“No, I am not,” the half elf says with an exaggerated sigh. “I can offer you no assistance in this affair save for my most sincere advice: Let this matter alone. And do try the Cambion makers-mark port before you go. It’s exquisite. In fact, take the bottle with you. Compliments of the City of Stoink.”
46: Sunshine and Brunch in a Den of Iniquity
As Heydricus helps Urin load the supply-wagons, Prisantha returns to her quarters to rest. After a brief sleep, she studies her spellbooks and teleports herself and Heydricus back to Maskaleyne’s former manor in Stoink. As it is already midday there, they decide to walk to the Lord’s stronghold and confront him directly. The sun is shining, and the air smells of warm Summer growth and human waste. The city’s bustling sounds can be heard from every direction. For the first time since they began their adventuring partnership, Heydricus and Prisantha are completely alone.
“I never knew you were so fond of children,” Pris says. “Do you plan to have some of your own?”
“Of course, I love kids,” Heydricus replies cheerily.
“I would think it would be hard to rule with children underfoot,” she says.
Heydricus seems shocked. “How could you rule without a family? Family makes a man complete.”
“How many do you hope to have?” she asks tentatively.
“Oh, I don’t know, ten or so I suppose.”
“Gods above!” Pris exclaims.
Heydricus laughs. “I suspect their mother will share the same reaction.”
“I see. Do you have someone in mind?”
“Well, I’m in no hurry Pris. My life is pretty much blood and gore and death all the time—that’s no life for little kids. Once I stop killing things willy-nilly maybe I’ll settle down. No time soon, of course. I figure I’ve got another 10-15 years of killing in me.”
Prisantha pauses, taking in the sunshine, and listening to the distant sound of breaking glass. “I plan to do some settling down, myself.”
“But not for a couple of years, right?”
“I’m not going to abandon our mission, if that’s what you mean.”
“That’s good to hear. You’re my right hand, Pris.”
They round a corner, and enter an open public square. Old people sit in the sun, napping or telling stories, while other folk come and go as their business leads them. There is no sign of the recent war, or the vicious gang-fighting that followed it, save for the unusual number of crippled and maimed people amongst the populace. As they walk out from the shadows into the center of the square, a small group of children flee from a doorway at top speed, casting caltrops behind them. The area smells strongly of urine and horses, and the heroes have the sense they are being watched.
Prisantha looks around, “Ah, Stoink,” she says. “How long has it been since we first came here?
“A little under a year,” Heydricus says.
“Why, then we’ve only known each other . . .”
“Two years, I suppose.”
“It seems longer,” she says as she bats her eyes.
“Well, Pris,” Heydricus begins, “when you kill as many things as we do . . .”
After a moment, the conversation turns to gossip, and political affairs in Chendl. Belvor’s tenuous position is discussed, along with his inability to reconcile with the Southern Lords. The Baron Butrain’s name arises, as does that of Gwendolyn.
“Gwendolyn?” Heydricus says. “I don’t know about her. She seems like the sort of lady who’d . . .” Heydricus shudders. “Well, nevermind Gwendolyn.”
“And what about the Duchess?” Pris asks through a thin-lipped smile. “What sort of lady is she?”
Heydricus looks confused. “Why, she’s the sort of lady you . . .”
“That’s enough!” Prisantha snaps. “I don’t want the sordid details!”
“Really Pris,” Heydricus sighs. “I’m not such a lout as to divulge events!”
“That’s not what I heard,” Pris mutters.
“Where’d you hear that, Crim?” Heydricus demands. “That no good . . .”
Pris sniffs and turns her head. “The whole town is on about it.”
“Ridiculous,” Heydricus scoffs. “I pride myself as a man of discretion.” After a moment, he continues. “This is the sort of unfounded gossip that happens in the absence of a good war.”
“Well,” Prisantha softens, “I suppose people like to talk.”
“Of course they do,” Heydricus says. “Very few people have lives as interesting as ours, and so they take note of our doings. It is a natural curiosity.”
“I suppose,” Pris says. “Still, it’s funny how they take much more note of what you do.”
“Well, I’m taller,” Heydricus states. “It’s hard to spot you in a crowd.”
“It is?” Pris asks. “Perhaps I should wear heels. I’ll ask the Viscountess.”
“Who?”
“Ah, I cannot say.”
“Prisantha.”
“I will not say.”
“Come now, Pris—how many heads have I split, and you scrambled together?”
“The Viscountess Trill,” Prisantha says. “She’s a fashion expert.”
“Really? Wow. That’s great, I didn’t know they had experts in such things. Could she help me out?” Heydricus glances over his shoulders at the hems of his stained and frayed traveling cloak. “I could stand to up the fashion, don’t you think?”
“Perhaps I’ll take you with me, but you can’t say anything. I mean it, Heydricus.”
“Didn’t we just establish that I am a Man of Great Discretion? My lips are sealed.”
------
The half orc slams shut the slot in the door with a muttered curse. Apparently, the Lord of Stoink does not accept uninvited guests. Heydricus narrows his eyes, and pounds on the door. After a moment, the slot ratchets open and the familiar yellow eyes squint out.
“What’d I just tell you,” the half-orc growls. “You deaf? Beat it!” And for good measure, he repeats the phrase in goblinoid and elvish.
“Just tell the Lord we are here to see him about Talnith,” Prisantha says sweetly.
After a few moments, the Lord of Stoink’s half-elven lieutenant arrives, a toothy grin plastered on his face. “Prisantha! Heydricus! It’s so good to see you, come in! I hope you haven’t eaten—I’ve taken the liberty to have a table set. Please, follow me.”
The lieutenant leads the party past the sour-smelling half-orc doorman, and through the entryway with the lowered lintel, forcing all three of them to duck before the gleaming statue of the Lord of Stoink. They follow a maze of passages that twist and turn on themselves within the hideout, and just when Prisantha and Heydricus are sure they must have traveled deep underground, they emerge in a sunny open-air yard, surrounded on all four sides by a gaily-decorated stone wall. A large table is covered with a crisp white cloth, and several over-stuffed chairs are set around the table. Bottles of wine are opened and breathing, along with fresh-baked bread and a platter of imported cheeses and fruit.
“Unfortunately, the Lord is away on business, I hope that’s not too much of an inconvenience,” the half-elf says through his unflinching grin. “Please, have a seat. Let me recommend the Rakers Mount sharp, it is a rare consignment.” The half-elf pours a glass of wine for each of his guests. “This will excite the palate when taken with any of the white cheeses.” He sips his own wine, closes his eyes slightly, then sits down, casting his arms regally across the back of his chair. “I trust you are here to discuss our offer? Of course you are. As chief architect of the plan, I can . . .”
“No,” Heydricus says. “Stop talking.”
“Er,” the lieutenant says, not sure if he should acknowledge the order verbally.
“We’re here about the Talnith heir,” Prisantha says. “And we mean business.”
The lieutenant’s grin slowly returns, as if through some unseen fog.
“We would like to see the body of the heir,” Prisantha says.
“Ah. Please accept my apologies, that is impossible. However, if you’re concerned about security, allow me to assure you that our double-blind disposal method is state-of-the-art.”
“No,” Heydricus says. “Take us to the body.”
“Unfortunately, as much as I would love to accommodate your request, I cannot. You see, I do not know where the body is located.”
“Then take us to who does.”
“Alas, though it pains me greatly to say so, I’m afraid I cannot. You see, we employ a double-blind method.”
Prisantha leans forward. “Are you telling me that no one knows where the body is?”
“Yes. That is what I’m telling you,” the half-elf says, beaming. “The body is safe.”
“Okay, we’ve got a problem, and that means you’ve got a problem,” Heydricus says. “We know what you’ve been up to, selling souls and dealing with the Hag, and it doesn’t sit well with us. We’re taking the kid back to his parents, and we’re fixing this mess you’ve created.”
The half-elf nods thoughtfully, smiling all the while. “I’d like to take this opportunity to say that I admire your dedication to your principles, and think that your hearts are certainly in the right place. However, may I suggest that you may not have thought this issue through. As things stand, the Talnith family has no target for their vengeance, and we have taken great pains not to give them one. It seems a shame for our organizations to work at cross purposes. Indeed, one might suggest that time spent on the Talnith heir is time that cannot be spent seeing to the liberation of the Tenha. So I implore you, think of the Tehna . . . think of the children.”
“You’re no help at all, are you?” Heydricus asks.
“No, I am not,” the half elf says with an exaggerated sigh. “I can offer you no assistance in this affair save for my most sincere advice: Let this matter alone. And do try the Cambion makers-mark port before you go. It’s exquisite. In fact, take the bottle with you. Compliments of the City of Stoink.”
zoroaster100
First Post
Yea, Liberators!
Yea! The Liberators are back! I hope we get to see them reshape the political power structure of Stoink with the same subtle diplomacy with which they reshaped the political structure of the Temple of Elemental Evil or the mines at Curruth.
Yea! The Liberators are back! I hope we get to see them reshape the political power structure of Stoink with the same subtle diplomacy with which they reshaped the political structure of the Temple of Elemental Evil or the mines at Curruth.
incognito
First Post
"Hi, my names Prisantha, and I'm blatantly obvious in my affection for Heydricus-the-lackwit. If his brain was 1/4 as big as his...um...apparatus, we'd have 1/2 of those kids he's been running off at the mouth about!"
"Hi, my name's Heydricus, and...Damn that Duchess has a nice ass!"
"Hi, my name's Heydricus, and...Damn that Duchess has a nice ass!"
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Barastrondo
First Post
Oh, I think Heydricus is cannier than you give him credit for, incognito.
"First of all, I admit that I am more sensitive and nurturing than I might seem, to garner interest in a long-term relationship.
"Then, however, I state 'no hurry' — in order to emphasize that I am not the smothering sort.
"Then, of course, I insist that Prisantha be in no hurry herself, to encourage her to hang around and wait for me a bit more.
"And, of course, I insist that I tag along with her fashion consultation, just to make sure that she isn't making herself look nice for anyone else. Because that would have to be nipped in the bud. Because... um... of things that I might not be entirely willing to admit out loud."
Now, if you ask me, I say a line like "Family makes a man complete" just entirely reeks of something a guy would say to a girl to emphasize the deeper emotions he's capable of. Hell, if Heydricus is really as shallow as, well, he seems to be, he'd say something like that only as a pick-up line. It certainly strikes me as something a bit too... loaded for him to just drop into casual conversation as innocently as he pretends.
Heh heh. Much kudos to the players for things like this. Being able to engineer a conversation like this one, carefully having their characters engage in another round of romantic subplot without advancing the subplot too quickly (because who wants to see an early resolution? Bo-ring!) — that's good stuff. I applaud their creativity, and especially their restraint.
"First of all, I admit that I am more sensitive and nurturing than I might seem, to garner interest in a long-term relationship.
"Then, however, I state 'no hurry' — in order to emphasize that I am not the smothering sort.
"Then, of course, I insist that Prisantha be in no hurry herself, to encourage her to hang around and wait for me a bit more.
"And, of course, I insist that I tag along with her fashion consultation, just to make sure that she isn't making herself look nice for anyone else. Because that would have to be nipped in the bud. Because... um... of things that I might not be entirely willing to admit out loud."
Now, if you ask me, I say a line like "Family makes a man complete" just entirely reeks of something a guy would say to a girl to emphasize the deeper emotions he's capable of. Hell, if Heydricus is really as shallow as, well, he seems to be, he'd say something like that only as a pick-up line. It certainly strikes me as something a bit too... loaded for him to just drop into casual conversation as innocently as he pretends.
Heh heh. Much kudos to the players for things like this. Being able to engineer a conversation like this one, carefully having their characters engage in another round of romantic subplot without advancing the subplot too quickly (because who wants to see an early resolution? Bo-ring!) — that's good stuff. I applaud their creativity, and especially their restraint.
(contact)
Explorer
Wealsun 18, CY 593
47: People talk, and talk, and no one dies—My God, is this statescraft?
Heydricus bumps the half-orc roughly on his way out of the Lord’s hideout, knocking the guard into the wall. “Fine, they don’t want to help us, f--k ‘em. We’ll just get the kid on our own.”
Prisantha sighs as she leaves the Lord’s Hideout, her brows furrowing. “That was entirely pointless. Why did we even bother coming here? And was it necessary to just blurt out our true intentions all at once? Could you not have applied some tact to your tactics for a change?”
Heydricus scoffs. “Please – it’s not like these guys are the Boneheart. They’re a two bit backwater thieves guild. I’ll set Elijah on them and they’ll be feeding worms within a week. Who cares what they know?”
“It’s not always about who can kill whom, Heydricus. Sometimes its about doing things in a methodical way, step by step. Perhaps you’re familiar with the word; strategy.”
“Yeah, strategy. I’ve got one. Kill all the Stonefisters, then kill all the Iuzians. Strategy.”
-----
Prisantha’s teleport spell deposits the two directly in front of the Gilded Swan Boutique and Curiosity Shoppe, but even though the sun is still shining, the storefront is boarded up. There is an pungent smell in the air, altogether more Fall than Summer, and as they look around, they notice smoke rising over the rooftops to the South. More disturbing, the streets are empty, save for a quarter-column of light cavalry riding toward them at a canter.
“You there!” The Sergeant-at-Arms shouts from the back of his war-horse. “Back to your homes, at once!”
As the riders draw close to the adventurers, Heydricus pulls back his cloak, revealing the pin that marks him as a Knight of Veluna. “Perhaps you could tell me what is going on here, Sergeant.”
The Sergeant reins his horse, and nods his head briefly before motioning his men to stand clear. He dismounts from his horse and sketches a quick bow, muttering “Milord,” then sweeps his hand to the South.
“Didn’t you know? Curfew. The riots. We’ve put the city on curfew, and cleared the streets. It’s all rabble, mind, and we’ll have ‘em back to work or beggin’ or whatever they do by nightfall.”
“Riots!” Prisantha says. “Whatever do they have to riot for?”
“They’re hungry, mostly missus,” the Sergeant growls. “Mind, my copper says we’ll find agitation from our no-good Southern betters at the root of it.”
“You suspect Butrain?” Heydricus asks.
“Well, I ain’t the statesman my father was, but that rascal has done everything short of start a riot already, so what’s stoppin’ him? Don’t answer, I’ll tell you. Loyal Furyondians, that’s who. I’ve got good Velunan steel at my waist, thankee for it, and we’ll answer should it come to that. We’re ready here, sir and loyal to our rightful King.”
“Well done, Sergeant,” Heydricus says. “Carry on.”
-----
“Do you really imagine it’s Butrain?” Pris says.
“I wouldn’t put this past him,” Heydricus says through tight lips.
“Still, he has been unjustly accused before, as we proved. And he believes he has a legitimate claim to the throne anyway, so how would civil unrest serve him?”
Pris and Heydricus walk through the empty streets to the grand temple of Tritherion, and when they arrive, Heydricus asks the guards in the courtyard where they can find Halrond. They are led to an antechamber, where they find the high priest in conference with several adjutants. Halrond dismisses his men and embraces Heydricus.
“Our Liberator returns. What news from Tenh?”
“Well, there’s less Iuzians than there were last week, if that’s what you mean,” Heydricus says with a smile. “We’re killing the s--t out of them.”
“And the ore? My people tell me they’ve received no shipments form Cur’ruth. Is there a problem I should know about?” Halrond moves back behind his planning table, and removes a pair of maps, keeping an eye on the ox-like sorcerer.
Heydricus’ smile wavers. “No, no problem, we’ve just been busy with other things. We’ve put down another cell in the Northern mountains—they were digging up some sort of artifact.”
“Well that’s just fine, Heydricus. Just fine. But you’re a leader now, and you need to see the larger picture. Our war effort is counting on that ore. I’ve got my people at the ready, and all I need is you. So are you going to hitch up and pull with the team?”
“Well, I . . .”
“Damnit, Heydricus. There’s more to this thing than just hacking a few Iuzians to bits! We’re trying to hack ‘em all. One sword won’t kill as many of those sons of bitches as a thousand swords will.”
Heydricus raises one hand, as if to interject, but Halrond continues. “Now, I’ve got someone for you to take back to Tenh. She’s a slight little thing, but she’s got a lion’s heart, and she’ll get you organized.”
“Actually,” Heydricus says.
Halrond continues. “Whatever’s going on down there, you’re going to fix it, and I’m sending her along to light a fire under you.” Halrond pounds on the door behind him, and as it opens tells the rosy-cheeked and eager face that appears to “fetch Mialec.”
“And in exchange, we hope a little of your fire rubs off on her. I’ve never known any man with a bigger hard on to . . . excuse me, Pris. With a greater desire to kill Iuzians. And that’s no light thing to say, Heydricus, because I’ve been in this fight since you were crapping on your mother’s lap.”
“Thank you, but . . .” Heydricus says.
“But you kill more in the long run if you apply your resources. I mean to have that ore. You liberated it, now let’s put it to work.”
“You know . . .” Heydricus says.
“Here she is!” Halrond says. “Mialec, this is Heydricus Tritherionson, our Holy Liberator.”
Mialec prances into the room, youthful exuberance and excitement plain on her flushed, softly contoured face. She is tall and bears a suggestion of elven blood in her frame and feature. Her long red hair is oiled and plated, tucked away from her face in a neat bundle, hanging past her shoulders in a series of cloth-bound strips. She wears the garb of the Tritherion lay-clergy, and bears the scribe’s cloak-pin. She approaches Heydricus with an openly admiring expression.
“The Holy Liberator,” she says with a throaty voice. “This is such an honor, sir.”
“Please, call me Heydricus,” the burly sorcerer says as he takes her hand delicately in his own calloused and scarred paw.
“And I am Prisantha,” Pris interjects, removing Mialec’s hand from Heydricus’ and giving it a firm shake. “What are your qualifications?”
“She’s smart as a whip, for one,” Halrond says, “and a trained scribe. She’s a born administrator. She can organize a supply force like nobody’s business, and I’ve trained her personally. That enough for you? It’s a done deal, Heydricus, you’re taking her with you.”
Prisantha ignores Halrond, and stares into Mialec’s eyes. For all that only a year or two separate them, Pris seems many years the senior, and Mialec flinches under her gaze. “I’m not sure you understand, dear. You are traveling to Tenh, not Veluna. It is an adventurer’s life we lead. Are you prepared for any hardship?”
Mialec straightens, and says, “The harder the better.”
Prisantha rolls her eyes. “You won’t fit in.”
“I’m willing to do anything. Anything,” Mialec says.
“Works for me!” Heydricus chirps. He tugs on Prisantha’s sleeve, drawing her eyes away from Mialec. “Let’s get out of here, Pris,” he says.
-----
Prisantha teleports the trio within sight of gates of Cur’ruth, just outside of Dabus’ dimensional anchor. The air is warm and dry, the sky clear. A strong wind whistles across the scrub plain surrounding the bluff, and as they fully solidify, their clothes are taken on the breeze. Heydricus faces Mialec, and fixes her with a stern gaze, his demeanor suddenly deadly serious.
“Answer me this, lady,” he says. “Are you loyal to Belvor? Are you loyal to your King?”
“I am, sir. Oh, I am.” Mialec breathes.
“When you woke up this morning, you woke up Halrond’s creature. You lived in his temple and did his bidding. But tonight, you will sleep in my camp, and thus marks the end of your service to Halrond. What you see here stays here, and you must keep all of our secrets. Can I trust you to do this?”
“Of course! You can trust me with anything.”
“Do I understand that your loyalty will be to Tritherion, to myself and to Furyondy, in that order?”
“Well, you are the Holy Liberator,” Mialec says.
“Does that mean I can trust you to keep your word?”
“I am a woman of Honor and Distinction, sir.”
“Very well,” Heydricus says, and begins to march toward the fortress capping the mines. “I should tell you, you are going to find many surprises here. Not the least of which is this: Thrommel lives.”
“Oh. Oh, my,” Mialec croaks. Prisantha chuckles to herself.
“You must not tell anyone, especially Halrond. Now, where should you quarter . . .” Heydricus looks sidelong at Prisantha.
Pris’ eyes flash. “Don’t even think about it! I am a wizardess, and I need my own room!” Pris says, then under her breath, “Let her sleep with the Tenha. Or give her Jespo’s room while he’s gone.”
“We’ll quarter her in C’min and Elijah’s room for now. When they return, we’ll figure something else out,” Heydricus says.
-----
Grudgingly, Heydricus descends into the mines, to confront the stubborn Aiman about the ore. He is informed that the Tenha have not been mining—after all, they are free men now. Instead, the entire Tenha population has taken to visiting the Celestial emotes—allowing the beacons of Charity, Faith, Hope, Dedication and Rapture to descend on them and elevate their thoughts to lofty heights. Heydricus is led back to the emotes’ cave, and he observes that their numbers have grown. The Aiman tells Heydricus that the emotes have much to teach, and his people are eager to learn.
Interestingly, the presence of the Celestials has seemed to encourage the riotous growth of the native underdark fauna, and the Tenha have discovered the joys of laborless sustenance farming.
“Great, Halrond’s going to be super-pissed now,” Heyrdicus mutters to himself as he contemplates the birth of a new charismatic cult, in the dungeons beneath his home.
47: People talk, and talk, and no one dies—My God, is this statescraft?
Heydricus bumps the half-orc roughly on his way out of the Lord’s hideout, knocking the guard into the wall. “Fine, they don’t want to help us, f--k ‘em. We’ll just get the kid on our own.”
Prisantha sighs as she leaves the Lord’s Hideout, her brows furrowing. “That was entirely pointless. Why did we even bother coming here? And was it necessary to just blurt out our true intentions all at once? Could you not have applied some tact to your tactics for a change?”
Heydricus scoffs. “Please – it’s not like these guys are the Boneheart. They’re a two bit backwater thieves guild. I’ll set Elijah on them and they’ll be feeding worms within a week. Who cares what they know?”
“It’s not always about who can kill whom, Heydricus. Sometimes its about doing things in a methodical way, step by step. Perhaps you’re familiar with the word; strategy.”
“Yeah, strategy. I’ve got one. Kill all the Stonefisters, then kill all the Iuzians. Strategy.”
-----
Prisantha’s teleport spell deposits the two directly in front of the Gilded Swan Boutique and Curiosity Shoppe, but even though the sun is still shining, the storefront is boarded up. There is an pungent smell in the air, altogether more Fall than Summer, and as they look around, they notice smoke rising over the rooftops to the South. More disturbing, the streets are empty, save for a quarter-column of light cavalry riding toward them at a canter.
“You there!” The Sergeant-at-Arms shouts from the back of his war-horse. “Back to your homes, at once!”
As the riders draw close to the adventurers, Heydricus pulls back his cloak, revealing the pin that marks him as a Knight of Veluna. “Perhaps you could tell me what is going on here, Sergeant.”
The Sergeant reins his horse, and nods his head briefly before motioning his men to stand clear. He dismounts from his horse and sketches a quick bow, muttering “Milord,” then sweeps his hand to the South.
“Didn’t you know? Curfew. The riots. We’ve put the city on curfew, and cleared the streets. It’s all rabble, mind, and we’ll have ‘em back to work or beggin’ or whatever they do by nightfall.”
“Riots!” Prisantha says. “Whatever do they have to riot for?”
“They’re hungry, mostly missus,” the Sergeant growls. “Mind, my copper says we’ll find agitation from our no-good Southern betters at the root of it.”
“You suspect Butrain?” Heydricus asks.
“Well, I ain’t the statesman my father was, but that rascal has done everything short of start a riot already, so what’s stoppin’ him? Don’t answer, I’ll tell you. Loyal Furyondians, that’s who. I’ve got good Velunan steel at my waist, thankee for it, and we’ll answer should it come to that. We’re ready here, sir and loyal to our rightful King.”
“Well done, Sergeant,” Heydricus says. “Carry on.”
-----
“Do you really imagine it’s Butrain?” Pris says.
“I wouldn’t put this past him,” Heydricus says through tight lips.
“Still, he has been unjustly accused before, as we proved. And he believes he has a legitimate claim to the throne anyway, so how would civil unrest serve him?”
Pris and Heydricus walk through the empty streets to the grand temple of Tritherion, and when they arrive, Heydricus asks the guards in the courtyard where they can find Halrond. They are led to an antechamber, where they find the high priest in conference with several adjutants. Halrond dismisses his men and embraces Heydricus.
“Our Liberator returns. What news from Tenh?”
“Well, there’s less Iuzians than there were last week, if that’s what you mean,” Heydricus says with a smile. “We’re killing the s--t out of them.”
“And the ore? My people tell me they’ve received no shipments form Cur’ruth. Is there a problem I should know about?” Halrond moves back behind his planning table, and removes a pair of maps, keeping an eye on the ox-like sorcerer.
Heydricus’ smile wavers. “No, no problem, we’ve just been busy with other things. We’ve put down another cell in the Northern mountains—they were digging up some sort of artifact.”
“Well that’s just fine, Heydricus. Just fine. But you’re a leader now, and you need to see the larger picture. Our war effort is counting on that ore. I’ve got my people at the ready, and all I need is you. So are you going to hitch up and pull with the team?”
“Well, I . . .”
“Damnit, Heydricus. There’s more to this thing than just hacking a few Iuzians to bits! We’re trying to hack ‘em all. One sword won’t kill as many of those sons of bitches as a thousand swords will.”
Heydricus raises one hand, as if to interject, but Halrond continues. “Now, I’ve got someone for you to take back to Tenh. She’s a slight little thing, but she’s got a lion’s heart, and she’ll get you organized.”
“Actually,” Heydricus says.
Halrond continues. “Whatever’s going on down there, you’re going to fix it, and I’m sending her along to light a fire under you.” Halrond pounds on the door behind him, and as it opens tells the rosy-cheeked and eager face that appears to “fetch Mialec.”
“And in exchange, we hope a little of your fire rubs off on her. I’ve never known any man with a bigger hard on to . . . excuse me, Pris. With a greater desire to kill Iuzians. And that’s no light thing to say, Heydricus, because I’ve been in this fight since you were crapping on your mother’s lap.”
“Thank you, but . . .” Heydricus says.
“But you kill more in the long run if you apply your resources. I mean to have that ore. You liberated it, now let’s put it to work.”
“You know . . .” Heydricus says.
“Here she is!” Halrond says. “Mialec, this is Heydricus Tritherionson, our Holy Liberator.”
Mialec prances into the room, youthful exuberance and excitement plain on her flushed, softly contoured face. She is tall and bears a suggestion of elven blood in her frame and feature. Her long red hair is oiled and plated, tucked away from her face in a neat bundle, hanging past her shoulders in a series of cloth-bound strips. She wears the garb of the Tritherion lay-clergy, and bears the scribe’s cloak-pin. She approaches Heydricus with an openly admiring expression.
“The Holy Liberator,” she says with a throaty voice. “This is such an honor, sir.”
“Please, call me Heydricus,” the burly sorcerer says as he takes her hand delicately in his own calloused and scarred paw.
“And I am Prisantha,” Pris interjects, removing Mialec’s hand from Heydricus’ and giving it a firm shake. “What are your qualifications?”
“She’s smart as a whip, for one,” Halrond says, “and a trained scribe. She’s a born administrator. She can organize a supply force like nobody’s business, and I’ve trained her personally. That enough for you? It’s a done deal, Heydricus, you’re taking her with you.”
Prisantha ignores Halrond, and stares into Mialec’s eyes. For all that only a year or two separate them, Pris seems many years the senior, and Mialec flinches under her gaze. “I’m not sure you understand, dear. You are traveling to Tenh, not Veluna. It is an adventurer’s life we lead. Are you prepared for any hardship?”
Mialec straightens, and says, “The harder the better.”
Prisantha rolls her eyes. “You won’t fit in.”
“I’m willing to do anything. Anything,” Mialec says.
“Works for me!” Heydricus chirps. He tugs on Prisantha’s sleeve, drawing her eyes away from Mialec. “Let’s get out of here, Pris,” he says.
-----
Prisantha teleports the trio within sight of gates of Cur’ruth, just outside of Dabus’ dimensional anchor. The air is warm and dry, the sky clear. A strong wind whistles across the scrub plain surrounding the bluff, and as they fully solidify, their clothes are taken on the breeze. Heydricus faces Mialec, and fixes her with a stern gaze, his demeanor suddenly deadly serious.
“Answer me this, lady,” he says. “Are you loyal to Belvor? Are you loyal to your King?”
“I am, sir. Oh, I am.” Mialec breathes.
“When you woke up this morning, you woke up Halrond’s creature. You lived in his temple and did his bidding. But tonight, you will sleep in my camp, and thus marks the end of your service to Halrond. What you see here stays here, and you must keep all of our secrets. Can I trust you to do this?”
“Of course! You can trust me with anything.”
“Do I understand that your loyalty will be to Tritherion, to myself and to Furyondy, in that order?”
“Well, you are the Holy Liberator,” Mialec says.
“Does that mean I can trust you to keep your word?”
“I am a woman of Honor and Distinction, sir.”
“Very well,” Heydricus says, and begins to march toward the fortress capping the mines. “I should tell you, you are going to find many surprises here. Not the least of which is this: Thrommel lives.”
“Oh. Oh, my,” Mialec croaks. Prisantha chuckles to herself.
“You must not tell anyone, especially Halrond. Now, where should you quarter . . .” Heydricus looks sidelong at Prisantha.
Pris’ eyes flash. “Don’t even think about it! I am a wizardess, and I need my own room!” Pris says, then under her breath, “Let her sleep with the Tenha. Or give her Jespo’s room while he’s gone.”
“We’ll quarter her in C’min and Elijah’s room for now. When they return, we’ll figure something else out,” Heydricus says.
-----
Grudgingly, Heydricus descends into the mines, to confront the stubborn Aiman about the ore. He is informed that the Tenha have not been mining—after all, they are free men now. Instead, the entire Tenha population has taken to visiting the Celestial emotes—allowing the beacons of Charity, Faith, Hope, Dedication and Rapture to descend on them and elevate their thoughts to lofty heights. Heydricus is led back to the emotes’ cave, and he observes that their numbers have grown. The Aiman tells Heydricus that the emotes have much to teach, and his people are eager to learn.
Interestingly, the presence of the Celestials has seemed to encourage the riotous growth of the native underdark fauna, and the Tenha have discovered the joys of laborless sustenance farming.
“Great, Halrond’s going to be super-pissed now,” Heyrdicus mutters to himself as he contemplates the birth of a new charismatic cult, in the dungeons beneath his home.
Last edited:
Joshua Randall
Legend
See?! See?! This is what happens when the players ignore a plot hook. You've gotta nip these things in the bud, I always say.
Darn PCs. Figure the DM just made up all that detail about the emotes for sh*ts and giggles? HAH!
Darn PCs. Figure the DM just made up all that detail about the emotes for sh*ts and giggles? HAH!
zoroaster100
First Post
return of the emotes
I was wondering what happened to the emotes. I hope we get to find out why they are there.
I was wondering what happened to the emotes. I hope we get to find out why they are there.
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