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Message: <blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 481726" data-attributes="member: 41">Wealsun 13, CY 59340:  Afternoon appointments.The next morning, all of the Liberators are gathered for a strategy session.  Jespo arrives sporting a newly crafted circlet (that looks just like Prisantha’s) along with a newly crafted amulet (that also looks just like Prisantha’s).  Thrommel exchanges hearty well-mets with everyone he hasn’t seen since yesterday, and pounds Pris on the back, stating how glad he is to have her “back on the team and pulling in for the big win”, whatever that’s supposed to mean.Heydricus announces that his hawk familiar has located several small communities of Tenha hiding in the mountains near Cur’ruth.  Heydricus has invited them to join the Liberators in the mines, or at the least to consider the place as a refuge in times of need.The group discusses their options, and decides that first things are first, and they need to complete their destruction of the Iuzian necromantic troika by putting Maskaleyne to the sword.  After that, who can say, but facing the entity known as Zeflen is definitely out for the time being.  The group debates disrupting the shipping route for Calibut ore, but finally decides that the first they want Zeflen to hear of any trouble is the sucking sound of a sword shoved between his ribs.  (Or whatever it is exactly that he has, since he probably does not have any ribs.)So Maskaleyne is promoted to #1 on the “to do” list, with Nevond Nevnend a likely second choice.After the meeting, Pris coyly mentions that she is off to Hommlet for an afternoon appointment.“What?” Heydricus says, and in case he wasn’t clear, says “What?” a second time.  “An appointment?  With whom?”“Don’t you remember Anon?” Pris asks, “the cleric of Tritherion who gave me that lovely silver dagger the last time we were in Hommlet.  I have a lunch date with him.”“Date?” Heydricus says.  “What?  The hayseed?  That country bumpkin?”“No, no,” Jespo says.  “You’re thinking of the commander there.  Prisantha is referring to that tall young fellow, with the cleft chin and blue eyes.”“They’re hazel, actually,” Prisantha says wistfully.“What?” Heydricus says.“If you recall sir,” Dabus says, “we left a contingent of clerics with Prisantha’s grandparents to guard them against our enemies.  Last we saw them, Prisantha’s grandfather had been putting them to work in his fields.”“Oh I remember,” Heydricus says quietly.  After a moment he perks up.  “That’s great, Pris.  I’ll go with you.  I want to see Hommlet again, and we can go to Chendl after.”“Fine,” Prisantha says.  “I have some research to do at the Academy of Wizardly Arts, anyway.”“I’ll cancel your schedule, then, sir?” Dabus asks Heydricus, but there is no reply, as the sorcerer has locked eyes with Prisantha.“Oh,” Jespo says, breaking the silence.  “I’d love to go, thank you, but I’ve so many things to see to.”“Like slaving over the magical forge for Thrommel,” Heydricus whispers to Dabus.“But do pass my warmest regards to your family, Pris, and . . . well, that one fellow.  Oh, you know.  The one who used to dig graves for us on commission.”“You stay here, Crim,” Thrommel says.  “I’ll go.”“No,” Heydricus says.“In disguise of course, to blend in with the common folk,” Thrommel states.“No,” Heydricus says.“Now look here,” Thrommel says loudly as his face flushes.  “I am your sovereign and your better, and I don’t take orders from you.”Prisantha quietly offers this suggestion:  “You should stay, my lord.  The men need you here.”Suddenly, Thrommel pauses in mid-rant and says “Well, you’re right again Pris.  No, no, I’m staying.”  He glares at Heydricus and arches his eyebrows.  “The men need me.”-----Within minutes, Prisantha and Heydricus are standing in front of her grandparents’ farm.  Grandma is nowhere to be seen, but Anon and another cleric are taking a break on the porch.  They have just come in from the fields, and Anon stands shirtless, one foot on the ground and the other on the porch steps.  He is sweaty and dust-covered, and as the duo approach, Anon is slowly wiping his brow with a cool drink.“Prisantha!” he says, setting his drink aside.  “Heydricus!”The other cleric is playing with a turtle, an unusually aggressive beast that keeps charging at the cleric, hissing all the while, only to be pushed back by a broom wielded by the laughing man.  When questioned, he says that the turtle was a pet of some adventurers who rented one of the farmhouses a while back, and was left behind.“It’s the damndest thing,” the cleric says.  “This turtle’s mean as hell, and all it does is drink whisky all day long and bite people.”One dispel magic from Prisantha later, Heydricus’ suspicion that the turtle is actually a polymorphed adventurer is proven correct.  The former turtle is a human male—a grizzled and scarred soldier, and claims that he was set upon by his companions, then turned into a turtle and forced to eat lettuce all day.“Arguin,” Heydricus says after a moment.  “Arguin Medfellow!  We served together in the Furyondian light infantry.  It’s me, Heydricus!”“Heydricus?” Arguin shouts.  “Well hang me for a deserter, look at you!” Arguin takes in Heydricus’ magical equipment.  “You’ve done well for yourself.”Heydricus wrinkles his nose at Arguin’s whiskey and lettuce breath.  “You have no idea.  So.”Arguin takes Prisantha’s hand and gives her his best charming leer.  “You saved my life, lady.  I owe you.  Wherever you go, I will follow, and your enemies are mine until the day I die.” “Why thank you, Arguin,” Prisantha says, removing her hand from his.  “That’s very kind of you to say.”  Pris turns to Anon.  “You should clean up.  I’ve come to take you to lunch.”“All of you,” Heydricus says, “We’re taking you all to lunch.”“Does the inn serve lunch?” Anon asks.-----As it turns out, the inn does not serve lunch, but for the Heroes of the Temple, the staff at Kelanen’s Rest will make an exception.  A grand feast is hastily prepared, and the motley crew of adventurers, former turtles and farming clerics sits down to a meal.  Arguin throws back shot after shot of dwarven whisky, and regales the assembled group with stories of his soldiering days trying to defend the Shieldlands during the Great War, then his service in Geoff against the giants.  As he grows more intoxicated, his stories become more melancholy, and he starts listing the names of all the soldiers who died under his command.“Have you ever been face down in mud that you know isn’t all mud,” he slurs, “too scared to put your head up out of the filth because the gods-damned wizards are disintegrating everything in sight?  Well have you?”  He pounds on the table, and a lone tear runs down his cheek.  “Do you know what it is like to try to keep the guts of your best friend inside the poor son of a bitch only to look up and see giants overrunning your gods-damned cavalry position?  Do you?”The clerics of Tritherion nearest him reply that they do not.“Well, do you?” Arguin asks again.  “Do you?”Pris tries her best to corner Anon amongst the general chaos, and lavishes attention on the young lad, but Heydricus has interposed himself between Prisantha and the young cleric.  Anon seems unaware of the tension, and spends his time pressing Heydricus for news about his Great Crusade, and asking for stories about recent battles.  Heydricus keeps a wooden smile on his face, but his knuckles are white, and he holds his glass in a death-grip.Anon mentions that Prisantha’s grandfather insists that each of the clerics guarding the farm work in the fields as well.  He goes into some detail about the farming life, and says the life agrees with him.“Yes,” Pris says.  “You look well.”“Yeah, farmers are great,” Heydricus says.  “We can’t all be adventurers, can we.  Shall we go?”  He leans in to Prisantha.  “Let’s ditch the drunk.”As she prepares the teleport, Pris pats Anon on the butt.  “See you soon,” she says and disappears.-----Prisantha teleports herself and Heydricus to Chendl, just outside of the Great School of Magic.  She tells Heydricus that she must begin her Important Research, and he agrees to meet her back at in front of the School at sundown.  But once inside, Prisantha pays only a token visit, dropping in to see her mentor Balin and ask him again about admitting Jespo Crim to the Great School of Magic.“Pris,” he says, “You know I’d love to, but my hands are tied on the subject.”“He’s gotten much better, Balin.”“It’s not an issue of his talent, Pris.”“I could tell him not to talk quite as much,” Prisantha says helpfully.Balin regards her squarely.  “It’s not his personality, dear.  Your friend Jespo has many powerful enemies and is disliked in Very High Places.  I couldn’t easily admit him even if I were the dean, which of course, I am not.”“Then some other school, perhaps.” Pris says.  “Somewhere nearby.”“Well,” Balin says thoughtfully.  “They have opened a school in Willip now.”“That’s wonderful!” “But it’s not a very good school.”“Oh, he’s not a very good conjurer.  It’ll be perfect.”After her meeting with the dean, Prisantha sneaks out the back way and takes a carriage to the Gilded Swan Boutique and Curiosity Shoppe, the storefront owned and operated by the very same Viscountess Trill whose Handbook of Ladylike Fashion inspired Prisantha’s most recent make-over.Inside, Prisantha undergoes a personal consultation, picks up several tailored adventuring outfits designed for her “season” (she’s a Fall, you know), and learns the basics of cosmetic application.  After a coiffure and manicure, the Enchantress of Verbobonc is ready to return to Tenh.Heydricus, meanwhile has been spending his afternoon smoothing his rumpled ego with an afternoon spent in the company of the Duchess Maia.As he arrives, Heydricus enters the Duchess’ sun-room and dismisses her staff. “Beory’s Gift,” she says, looking at his Flan clothing.  “You’ve gone native.”Heydricus takes a bite from a slice of fruit on the table. “How’ve you been, Maia?” “Lonely,” she says, leaning forward.“You should come to Tenh some time,” Heydricus says as he pours himself a drink.“It’s ugly there,” Maia says.“Not inside the fortress.”“It’s boring.”“Not in my room.”“It’s dangerous.”Heydricus regards her evenly, and removes his cloak.  “You’re never in danger with me around.”Maia smiles and says, “Oh, but my reputation is.  Still, I just might take you up on that offer someday.”-----When Maia’s carriage finally drops Heydricus off at his rendezvous, Pris is furious.  “You’re half an hour late!” She fumes.  “Where were you?”“You know, I’m in the process of raising some funds . . . for the boys.  Long term prospects.”“You look awful, Heydricus.  Your clothes are a mess.”“Oh yeah, you know these rich nobles,” Heydricus says as he tucks in his shirt.  “You have to take a turn at the tilts with them.  They love to talk money over their sport.”“You’ve been tilting.”“Yeah . . . tilting.  Are you ready to go home?”“Did you raise your funds?” Pris asks pointedly.“Well, you know, Pris.  Long term prospects, that kind of thing.”“Maybe you’re not pushing a hard enough sale—maybe you need some help.”“Oh, no.  No, it’s hard enough.  Let’s get back to Tenh before Thrommel dies again, shall we?”</blockquote>

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