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The Liberation of Tenh (updated April 24)
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<blockquote data-quote="(contact)" data-source="post: 781161" data-attributes="member: 41"><p><strong>Wealsun 18, CY 593</strong></p><p><strong>46: Sunshine and Brunch in a Den of Iniquity</strong></p><p></p><p></p><p>As Heydricus helps Urin load the supply-wagons, Prisantha returns to her quarters to rest. After a brief sleep, she studies her spellbooks and <em>teleports</em> 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.</p><p></p><p>“I never knew you were so fond of children,” Pris says. “Do you plan to have some of your own?”</p><p></p><p>“Of course, I love kids,” Heydricus replies cheerily.</p><p></p><p>“I would think it would be hard to rule with children underfoot,” she says.</p><p></p><p>Heydricus seems shocked. “How could you rule <em>without</em> a family? Family makes a man complete.”</p><p></p><p>“How many do you hope to have?” she asks tentatively.</p><p></p><p>“Oh, I don’t know, ten or so I suppose.” </p><p></p><p>“Gods above!” Pris exclaims.</p><p></p><p>Heydricus laughs. “I suspect their mother will share the same reaction.”</p><p></p><p>“I see. Do you have someone in mind?”</p><p></p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>Prisantha pauses, taking in the sunshine, and listening to the distant sound of breaking glass. “I plan to do some settling down, myself.”</p><p></p><p>“But not for a couple of years, right?”</p><p></p><p>“I’m not going to abandon our mission, if that’s what you mean.”</p><p></p><p>“That’s good to hear. You’re my right hand, Pris.”</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>Prisantha looks around, “Ah, Stoink,” she says. “How long has it been since we first came here?</p><p></p><p>“A little under a year,” Heydricus says.</p><p></p><p>“Why, then we’ve only known each other . . .” </p><p></p><p>“Two years, I suppose.”</p><p></p><p>“It seems longer,” she says as she bats her eyes.</p><p></p><p>“Well, Pris,” Heydricus begins, “when you kill as many things as we do . . .”</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>“Gwendolyn?” Heydricus says. “I don’t know about her. She seems like the sort of lady who’d . . .” Heydricus shudders. “Well, nevermind Gwendolyn.”</p><p></p><p>“And what about the Duchess?” Pris asks through a thin-lipped smile. “What sort of lady is <em>she</em>?”</p><p></p><p>Heydricus looks confused. “Why, she’s the sort of lady you . . .” </p><p></p><p>“That’s enough!” Prisantha snaps. “I don’t want the sordid details!”</p><p></p><p>“Really Pris,” Heydricus sighs. “I’m not such a lout as to divulge events!”</p><p></p><p>“That’s not what I heard,” Pris mutters.</p><p></p><p>“Where’d you hear that, Crim?” Heydricus demands. “That no good . . .”</p><p></p><p>Pris sniffs and turns her head. “The whole town is on about it.”</p><p></p><p>“Ridiculous,” Heydricus scoffs. “I pride myself as a man of <em>discretion</em>.” After a moment, he continues. “This is the sort of unfounded gossip that happens in the absence of a good war.”</p><p></p><p>“Well,” Prisantha softens, “I suppose people like to talk.”</p><p></p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>“I suppose,” Pris says. “Still, it’s funny how they take much more note of what <em>you</em> do.”</p><p></p><p>“Well, I’m taller,” Heydricus states. “It’s hard to spot you in a crowd.”</p><p></p><p>“It is?” Pris asks. “Perhaps I should wear heels. I’ll ask the Viscountess.”</p><p></p><p>“Who?”</p><p></p><p>“Ah, I cannot say.”</p><p></p><p>“Prisantha.”</p><p></p><p>“I will not say.”</p><p></p><p>“Come now, Pris—how many heads have I split, and you scrambled together?”</p><p></p><p>“The Viscountess Trill,” Prisantha says. “She’s a fashion expert.”</p><p></p><p>“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?”</p><p></p><p>“Perhaps I’ll take you with me, but you can’t say anything. I mean it, Heydricus.”</p><p></p><p>“Didn’t we just establish that I am a Man of Great Discretion? My lips are sealed.”</p><p></p><p>------</p><p></p><p>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. </p><p></p><p>“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.</p><p></p><p>“Just tell the Lord we are here to see him about Talnith,” Prisantha says sweetly.</p><p></p><p>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.”</p><p></p><p>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.</p><p></p><p>“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 . . .”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Heydricus says. “Stop talking.”</p><p></p><p>“Er,” the lieutenant says, not sure if he should acknowledge the order verbally.</p><p></p><p>“We’re here about the Talnith heir,” Prisantha says. “And we mean business.”</p><p></p><p>The lieutenant’s grin slowly returns, as if through some unseen fog.</p><p></p><p>“We would like to see the body of the heir,” Prisantha says.</p><p></p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Heydricus says. “Take us to the body.”</p><p></p><p>“Unfortunately, as much as I would love to accommodate your request, I cannot. You see, I do not know where the body is located.”</p><p></p><p>“Then take us to who does.”</p><p></p><p>“Alas, though it pains me greatly to say so, I’m afraid I cannot. You see, we employ a <em>double-blind method</em>.”</p><p></p><p>Prisantha leans forward. “Are you telling me that no one knows where the body is?”</p><p></p><p>“Yes. That is what I’m telling you,” the half-elf says, beaming. “The body is safe.”</p><p></p><p>“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.”</p><p></p><p>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 . . . <em>think of the children</em>.”</p><p></p><p>“You’re no help at all, are you?” Heydricus asks.</p><p></p><p>“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.”</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="(contact), post: 781161, member: 41"] [b]Wealsun 18, CY 593 46: Sunshine and Brunch in a Den of Iniquity[/b] As Heydricus helps Urin load the supply-wagons, Prisantha returns to her quarters to rest. After a brief sleep, she studies her spellbooks and [i]teleports[/i] 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 [i]without[/i] 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 [i]she[/i]?” 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 [i]discretion[/i].” 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 [i]you[/i] 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 [i]double-blind method[/i].” 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 . . . [i]think of the children[/i].” “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.” [/QUOTE]
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