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The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)
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<blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 1487224" data-attributes="member: 41"><p><strong>Ready’reat 4, CY 593</strong></p><p><strong>84—Breakin’ up is hard to do (Part 2).</strong></p><p></p><p> “You don’t hyphenate ‘Druid f-ckers.’” Prisantha hands Mialec’s minutes back, her extensive revisions in sepia ink. Mialec scans the notes looking for Heydricus’ handwriting, but returns the papers to her haversack dejectedly.</p><p></p><p>“Did you have a chance to review the export projections I sent over?” She asks hopefully.</p><p></p><p>“Oh yeah, they were great.” Heydricus smiles and clasps her shoulder firmly. “Great job.” He turns back to the hilt-etchings he and Prisantha are discussing.</p><p></p><p>“But, what do you <em>think</em>?” Mialec says. “Do we even want to operate in an overproduction phase, and if so, for how long?”</p><p></p><p>Heydricus pauses for a moment as he tries to recall the document. Failing that, he looks both ways for an ambush before leaning in. “Well, you know, I think your recommendation was perfect.”</p><p></p><p>“You do?” She says.</p><p></p><p>“Absolutely. Great job.”</p><p></p><p>Mialec glides back to her sunless cubicle, to revise and redraft the work orders.</p><p></p><p>“You never read her reports,” Prisantha says.</p><p></p><p>“I’m a ‘big picture’ guy, Pris,” Heydricus explains. “What’s important is that Mialec believes in herself. You and I have bigger fish to fry.”</p><p></p><p>Gwendolyn prances into the room, her diaphanous springtime dress billowing behind her. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks as happy as any of the Liberators have ever seen her.</p><p></p><p>“Gwen,” Heydricus says. “Is there . . .”</p><p></p><p>“I have good neeeeews,” she sings.</p><p></p><p>“Well?” Prisantha asks.</p><p></p><p>Gwendolyn waggles her eyebrows. “I <em>wish</em> you were standing over here, Pris.”</p><p></p><p>And suddenly, she is.</p><p></p><p>“Hey, Gwen!” Heydricus exclaims. “Great job.”</p><p></p><p>“You’re <em>wishing</em>!” Prisantha squeals. The two women clasp hands and jump up and down.</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>Hennet clasps his hands to his throat against the spray of blood and manages to look astonished before slumping face-first into the remnants of the afternoon’s paté. Kerwin is the first to react—he flings a fist-full of daggers in one smooth motion, striking Jespo in the chest and neck, and then tumbles backwards out of his chair, whipping a pair of long fighting-knives from wrist sheathes as he rises into a crouch. Jespo gasps once, clutches Regdar’s shoulders, and collapses to the ground.</p><p></p><p>Lucius leaps over the table and plants his boot on the back of the slumped sorcerer before springing at Kerwin, slashing him across the face and chest. Hastur charges past Regdar, overturning the table, a bloody rage evident on his face. Kerwin goes down under a flurry of axe blows and spit, even as the remaining patrons of the Terrible Two Linnorm begin to scream and flee for the exit.</p><p></p><p>Regdar starts to reach for his sword, but stops mid-draw. It has taken ten seconds for the fight to go from Lookin’ Good to Sucker Bet. He doesn’t recognize the angry little dwarf, but he does know what Heydricus’ assassin is capable of. He starts unbuckling his armor.</p><p></p><p>“You can have my stuff,” he says. “Just . . .take it easy.”</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>Jespo takes his first breath of the day and sits up on a rune-covered slab in the Halls of the Radiant Sun, his skin burned pink from the Light of Pelor. Lucius is counting coins into the fat hand of a rotund cleric. Fräs nuzzles Jespo and purrs.</p><p></p><p>“Look, Crim,” Lucius says over his shoulder as he drops the last of the coin. “This needs to stay between you and me, right? For your sake.” Lucius sits down next to Jespo and puts his arm around the wizard’s thin shoulders. “There’s been some talk, Jespo. Concern about you dying so much—you know, that you may not be . . . cut out to be a Liberator.” Jespo raises a finger to protest, but Lucius hushes him. “I know, I know. I told her that she was full of sh-t, but . . . Heydricus was listening.” Lucius shrugs.</p><p></p><p>“You told who? Who said I wasn’t fit for adventure?”</p><p></p><p>“Ah, you know I can’t say. Look, it wasn’t Prisantha, if that’s what you’re worried about. The point is, as far as the others are concerned, we never came here, we never killed nobody, and you didn’t die. Got it?”</p><p></p><p>-----</p><p></p><p>Jespo, Hastur and Lucius return to a Tenh capital abuzz with the latest news: Three weeks after the Liberators’ assault on Wintershiven, the Pale instructed their diplomats to release a statement blaming the assassinations of both the High Justicars and the former Prelate on Nyrondeese agitators. They subsequently made a formal declaration of war and invaded Nyrond, despite the snow on the ground. After seizing several key targets and positioning themselves well for a longer campaign come spring, they ceased their offensive and hunkered down for the winter. </p><p></p><p>Heydricus contacts the King of Nyrond via <em>sending</em>, and pledges his support. Come spring, Lynwerd assures him, Nyrond will call upon Tenh, and the Pale will learn to their peril why the lamb leaves the lion to sleep!</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="(contact), post: 1487224, member: 41"] [b]Ready’reat 4, CY 593 84—Breakin’ up is hard to do (Part 2).[/b] “You don’t hyphenate ‘Druid f-ckers.’” Prisantha hands Mialec’s minutes back, her extensive revisions in sepia ink. Mialec scans the notes looking for Heydricus’ handwriting, but returns the papers to her haversack dejectedly. “Did you have a chance to review the export projections I sent over?” She asks hopefully. “Oh yeah, they were great.” Heydricus smiles and clasps her shoulder firmly. “Great job.” He turns back to the hilt-etchings he and Prisantha are discussing. “But, what do you [i]think[/i]?” Mialec says. “Do we even want to operate in an overproduction phase, and if so, for how long?” Heydricus pauses for a moment as he tries to recall the document. Failing that, he looks both ways for an ambush before leaning in. “Well, you know, I think your recommendation was perfect.” “You do?” She says. “Absolutely. Great job.” Mialec glides back to her sunless cubicle, to revise and redraft the work orders. “You never read her reports,” Prisantha says. “I’m a ‘big picture’ guy, Pris,” Heydricus explains. “What’s important is that Mialec believes in herself. You and I have bigger fish to fry.” Gwendolyn prances into the room, her diaphanous springtime dress billowing behind her. Her cheeks are flushed and she looks as happy as any of the Liberators have ever seen her. “Gwen,” Heydricus says. “Is there . . .” “I have good neeeeews,” she sings. “Well?” Prisantha asks. Gwendolyn waggles her eyebrows. “I [i]wish[/i] you were standing over here, Pris.” And suddenly, she is. “Hey, Gwen!” Heydricus exclaims. “Great job.” “You’re [i]wishing[/i]!” Prisantha squeals. The two women clasp hands and jump up and down. ----- Hennet clasps his hands to his throat against the spray of blood and manages to look astonished before slumping face-first into the remnants of the afternoon’s paté. Kerwin is the first to react—he flings a fist-full of daggers in one smooth motion, striking Jespo in the chest and neck, and then tumbles backwards out of his chair, whipping a pair of long fighting-knives from wrist sheathes as he rises into a crouch. Jespo gasps once, clutches Regdar’s shoulders, and collapses to the ground. Lucius leaps over the table and plants his boot on the back of the slumped sorcerer before springing at Kerwin, slashing him across the face and chest. Hastur charges past Regdar, overturning the table, a bloody rage evident on his face. Kerwin goes down under a flurry of axe blows and spit, even as the remaining patrons of the Terrible Two Linnorm begin to scream and flee for the exit. Regdar starts to reach for his sword, but stops mid-draw. It has taken ten seconds for the fight to go from Lookin’ Good to Sucker Bet. He doesn’t recognize the angry little dwarf, but he does know what Heydricus’ assassin is capable of. He starts unbuckling his armor. “You can have my stuff,” he says. “Just . . .take it easy.” ----- Jespo takes his first breath of the day and sits up on a rune-covered slab in the Halls of the Radiant Sun, his skin burned pink from the Light of Pelor. Lucius is counting coins into the fat hand of a rotund cleric. Fräs nuzzles Jespo and purrs. “Look, Crim,” Lucius says over his shoulder as he drops the last of the coin. “This needs to stay between you and me, right? For your sake.” Lucius sits down next to Jespo and puts his arm around the wizard’s thin shoulders. “There’s been some talk, Jespo. Concern about you dying so much—you know, that you may not be . . . cut out to be a Liberator.” Jespo raises a finger to protest, but Lucius hushes him. “I know, I know. I told her that she was full of sh-t, but . . . Heydricus was listening.” Lucius shrugs. “You told who? Who said I wasn’t fit for adventure?” “Ah, you know I can’t say. Look, it wasn’t Prisantha, if that’s what you’re worried about. The point is, as far as the others are concerned, we never came here, we never killed nobody, and you didn’t die. Got it?” ----- Jespo, Hastur and Lucius return to a Tenh capital abuzz with the latest news: Three weeks after the Liberators’ assault on Wintershiven, the Pale instructed their diplomats to release a statement blaming the assassinations of both the High Justicars and the former Prelate on Nyrondeese agitators. They subsequently made a formal declaration of war and invaded Nyrond, despite the snow on the ground. After seizing several key targets and positioning themselves well for a longer campaign come spring, they ceased their offensive and hunkered down for the winter. Heydricus contacts the King of Nyrond via [i]sending[/i], and pledges his support. Come spring, Lynwerd assures him, Nyrond will call upon Tenh, and the Pale will learn to their peril why the lamb leaves the lion to sleep! [/QUOTE]
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