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Message: <blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 1104847" data-attributes="member: 41">Patchwall 5, CY 59368—Gossiping is what happens when idle minds sling masterwork stones.“I will do this thing for you, Dabus Thriceborn,” Sonahmiin says, “and in return, you must make an oath to me; there is a young boy who even now sleeps underneath the High Prentiss. Swear to me that you will take him into your home and raise him in every way as if he were your own son.  Do you accept?”“Without hesitation,” Dabus replies.This seems to please Sonahmiin, who places a hand on Dabus’ cheek.  “Know you, that it is not because of any failing that you were not chosen to be the Liberator.  I heard your prayers, and you were an admirable candidate.”“You used to pray to be Heydricus?” Gwendolyn says, slightly aghast.“All the young men of our faith do,” Dabus mutters defensively.“But few with your zeal or sincerity,” Sonahmiin says.  “In this case, Tritherion chose to call his Liberator from outside of the faith, and we believe that this has made your role by the Liberator’s side of even greater importance.”“Excuse me, sir,” Jespo says to the angel, tugging on his robe.“Not now, Crim,” Sonahmiin says without turning around.“But, my familiar, sir,” Jespo continues.“Yes, I know who your familiar is, Crim.  I am trying to have a discussion with a  worshipper here.”“Wait a minute—you were the angel who appeared when we were fighting Zinvellon!”“Yes I was,” the celestial admits.  “Now, be silent!”“You were the angel who didn’t help us at all, if I recall.”Dabus is shocked.  “Jespo!” he scolds.“Didn’t help?  I raised your cat, Crim.”“No you didn’t, you pulled the old bait-and-switch!”“Crim!” the angel booms.  “What must I do to get you to shut up?”Jespo holds up his petrified cat, and with an exasperated wave, the celestial dispels the effect.  The angel turns his winged back on the wizard, who is snuggling his newly soft and fiercely purring familiar.“And what of this one?” the angel asks Dabus, indicating Lucius’ corpse.  “I have heard your frequent supplications for his atonement, and it seems a shame to let him pass into the afterlife before he has had an opportunity to redeem his soul.”“Well, I was going to ask for him to be resurrected, but I ran out of spells.”“Very well.”  Sonahmiin takes a knee in front of Lucius’ body, and gently scoops the assassin into his arms.  The little man looks positively tiny in his embrace, like a child’s doll, limbs hanging limply to the ground.  The celestial breathes once onto Lucius’ face, and anoints his brow with a single tear, wept in sincerity for the wickedness of the world.  Lucius’ eyes flicker open, and for the first time in their memory, Gwendolyn and Dabus see the cold-hearted assassin smile.“Actions are the currency of the simple,” the celestial scolds Lucius.  “You must learn the importance of motivations.  It is not enough to make your enemies from among the wicked—your cause to fight will be judged in the end.”  The celestial’s stern frown lightens, “and yes, she is still alive.”“Who?” Gwendolyn asks, but no one answers.“Which reminds me,” Dabus said.  “I had meant to commune, but perhaps I could just ask you?”The celestial nods his permission, and the spell vanishes from Dabus’ mind.  Dabus says, “What about the other members of the four?  Are any  of them alive?”“Yes, one is,” the celestial replies.  “The air elementalist Lizst.  He has been turned to stone, and his body hidden.”  After a pause, he says, “that’s four questions.”“Is Lizst evil?” Dabus asks.“Yes, but he is also dutiful and loyal to the throne.  Ivid is evil as well as a traitor.”“Whom?” Dabus asks.“Ah, you do not know,” the celestial says.  “Forgive me, I answer so many communes it can be difficult to sort out who knows what about whom.  Piscean’s real name is Ivid, known to you most likely as Ivid the Third.  That’s seven questions.”-----Ivid the Third is an infamous name indeed.  Called the King who lost his Kindgom, Ivid III’s name is synonymous with inept rulership.  Under his weak-willed and by all accounts uninterested rule, the Great Kindgom lost the province of Ferrond (which would later split into Furyondy, Veluna and Verbobonc), the province of Northroost (which immediately become the Sheildlands, the Bandit Lands and Tenh), and the province of Nyrond (which would over time split into the Kindgom of Nyrond and the Theocracy of the Pale).Ivid III’s reign was believed to have ended when  his own High Lords assassinated him, and placed a regent on the Fiend-Seeing Throne—the Rauxes line took the crown years later, and Ivid III’s great-great grand nephew’s great grandson Ivid IV lost a large portion of the remaining Great Kindgom during the Greyhawk Wars, some four hundred years after Ivid III’s fated rule.If Sonahmiin is to be believed (and who could doubt the word of a celestial-born, save Jespo Crim), Ivid III did not die by the assassin’s knife, but has lived on, and somehow come to be known as Piscean, fire elementalist of Furyondy’s Four.-----“So if Piscean is Ivid the Third—is he possessed, or of sound mind?” The celestial frowns.  “This is the sort of sloppy questioning that I’ve been scolding you about, Dabus.  That is a null result.  Eight.”“Sorry,” Dabus says.  He is eating a huge peach, and the juicy fruit is dribbling down his chin, distracting him.  The other Liberators are taking their ease in the glade; Jespo sleeps in the sun, Regda is stretching and practicing her handwriting, while Lucius and Fräs  are playing with a whirligig toy.  Gwendolyn has gone to the nearby creek for a bath, and has forbidden anyone to follow her.Dabus wipes his chin, and casts the peach aside.  “Is Piscean possessed?”“No, not in the sense that you mean the term.  However, his mother made bargains with an entity of power before the child was born—a creature somewhere between myself and the Old One in stature.”“Does Lizst know about Piscean’s treachery?”“He does not—he was petrified before he could see his attackers.  I suspect Piscean wants to keep him alive against some future contingency.”  The celestial smiles and says, “But my opinion does not count against your questions. Ten.”“Are agents of Iuz with Piscean?”“Spiritually, yes.”“Does the Old One know Piscean’s true identity?”“Oh, yes.  They have known about one another since before Iuz was born.”.“Has Belvor been soul-trapped?”“He has.””Does Piscean carry the gem containing Belvor’s soul?”  “At all times, yes.”“Is Piscean mad?”“As you understand the term, he is.”“Does he plan the death of the young regent Pelegrin?”  “Yes.”“Does he seek to create a new Great Kindgom?”“I’m sorry, you are out of questions.”  The celestial looks genuinely pained, yet resolved.“What’s your opinion, then?” Lucius asks without looking up.“Well, I suspect that Ivid seeks to recreate the kingdom—to undo with his extended life what he lost with his natural one.  But that is only a theory.”  “When you’re answering these communes,” Lucius looks at the angel, “how often do you just make sh-t up?”-----After Prisantha prepares spells, but before she has a chance to scry Dabus, the two Liberators receive a sending from Piscean;  “Will you accept the hand I have offered?  Will you rule for me?”Prisantha replies that she is not in the habit of making alliances with people who have had her assassinated, thank you for asking.  Heydricus, predictably, shares a similar sentiment.  He replies that he is a free man and a servant of freedom, and notes that all of Piscean’s power and achievement pales when weighed against Tritherion’s metaphysical truths.  He also mentions something about Piscean jumping long onto the end of a short holy spear.As they are congratulating themselves on their steadfastness and preparing to scry Dabus, the Liberators are interrupted by a knock at the door—Malwyn, cleric of Heironious is introduced by the suite’s major-domo.“Well, it isn’t pretty,” he says by way of greeting.  “The Lords are against you two, I’m afraid.  It’ll be a hangman’s court for sure.  But don’t look so glum!  I’ve been fighting to get this thing heard in an ecclesiastic court.  Your status as Tritherion’s chosen would normally do it, but the charge is high treason.  Nonetheless, if we can get you tried by my church, I’ll have more luck getting you off the hook.”“You are so kind,” Prisantha says, remembering her courtesies.“Yeah, great,” Heydricus says as he ushers the man to the door.  “Good job Mannin.”As Heydricus is scooting the cleric out of the chamber, the Viscountess Trill arrives, along with several items of clothing Prisantha had contracted on her last visit in Chendl.  The heavyset and diminutive woman bustles in, and begins delicately unpacking a bag of holding.  “I just want you to know,” she says conspiratorially, “that I am on your side, and I don’t believe a word.  Not a word.”Heydricus rolls his eyes, ignoring Prisantha’s admonishing glare.  “Well, I’m glad someone hasn’t rolled over,” Heydricus says sardonically. “Like Maia?” Prisantha says prettily.  “I asked the duchess here, thank you.”“Shall we try these on, dear?” Trill says, ignoring the tete-a-tete occurring several feet above her head.“Yes,” Prisantha says.  “Heydricus, would you please excuse us?”“F-ck no, I can’t leave,” Heydricus says.  “Are you crazy?”“Heydricus!” she gasps.  “Language!”“Never split the party, remember?”“Fine,” Prisantha sniffs.  “Turn around.”And Heydricus does so, facing the mirror Prisantha had asked the servants to bring in for her scrying.  As he watches his most stalwart (and most mind-bendingly dangerous) adventuring companion undress, he can’t help but compare her favorably to the Duchess Maia, and any other lover, for that matter.  “What on earth is going on here!” the duchess exclaims.  “Your hair is dry as a bone—why, it’s like something’s been sucking the moisture out of it!”As he watches Prisantha dress and undress, Heydricus becomes aware of a rapidly growing embarrassment. He begins to pace and tries to think about swordplay, or his other companions.  “Any day now, Dabus,” he mutters to himself.  But despite his best intentions, his eyes keep returning to the mirror, and Prisantha’s fetching expression of delight as she tries on her new clothes.As he is promising himself for the third time that he will be a gentleman and close his eyes, Heydricus notices a small birthmark on Prisantha’s shapely flank—one he explicitly remembers from a recent dream.  “Now how the hell could I know that?” he wonders aloud.“What is that, Heydricus?” Prisantha says.“I was just wondering when I would get some of that,” he says, then hastily adds,  “Fine tailoring, I mean.  Clothes make the man, you know.”“I will take your measurements next, dear,” the duchess croaks.  “You look like a ‘spring’ to me.”Heydricus rummages in his pouch.  “What are you doing?” the duchess asks. “I thought I’d just pay you now in case I die,” he says lamely.“I assure you sir, I am no mercenary,” she replies.  When she grows indignant, the duchesses’ diction thickens until the word ‘mercenary’ sounds just like ‘masonry’.  She is no masonry, she’ll heave you new.“I have heard the vicious rumors about you,” she says, “and I refute them all.  I am one who is of the opinion that gossip is a poor substitute for an education.”  She says this last in a tone that indicates it has been said so many times as to be worn thin at the credibility seams.“Rumors, about me?” Heydricus asks, warming to the subject.“All mischievous lies, I am sure,” the duchess lies.  “I don’t believe a word.  I am sure you are as virile as any other man, sir,” the duchess pats his arm.  “And someday you will recognize all your children.”“What?” Heydricus says.  “What?  All my what?  Virile?”  The Liberator is fuming.  “That son of a bitch!  He wrecks my plans, kills my friends, slags my fort, scatters my followers, kidnaps my King and spreads rumors that my d-ck is limp!”“Heydricus!” Prisantha gasps, embarrassed.  “It’s been a long week,” she says by way of apology.“Perhaps we shall get your measurements next time,” the duchess says, bowing stiffly.  “Something suitable for the execut . . . trial, I think.”  The duchess leaves, closing the door behind her.“About goddamn time,” Heydricus says, his embarrassment forgotten.“Children?” Prisantha asks, tapping her foot.“Just scry my goddamn follower, and let’s kill somebody,” Heydricus says.</blockquote>

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