Miomay purses her lips. "Under the noses of several, perhaps, but not in the Aerie. That is an Abode the likes of which I Dare Not Contemplate."
Eben shakes his head, both at Astraden and Miomay. "Let's be clear, Zalamandra is a totally different issue than the administration of Redhand, Astraden. Whatever else happens, we are not leaving her behind. I'm hoping that at the banquet we can butter up Zeech personally or maybe see if Lashona is willing to pull strings- she sounds like the type that might- but if that fails, we pawn all our valuable for gems and Astraden summons a small army of celestials to help us storm the Aerie." He returns his attention to Miomay. "I wouldn't have imagined you'd have a quick-fix for that. It's our problem, and we'll handle it. Hopefully we'll have a more politic solution in hand after the feast, though."
"Hey, I was just answering the question. That's the only thing that we could conceivably want help with right now," Astraden says, turning back to Miomay. "But I was assuming you could help us avoid 'unpleasant interactions' once we get to the feast."
"Oh, of course." Miomay gives a slight smile. "So is that where your answers lie, then? The banquet? Or is that merely a formality to cover your Genuine Directives within this Hollowed Seed?"
"We need to talk to someone there. But - I just want to be safe. Would you consent to a zone of truth and confirm your godly allegiance? I've been deceived by someone claiming to be Olidammaran before, is the thing."
"I'd be more concerned with her general trustworthiness than Olidammara-ness, honestly. Her being part of your religion and her being untrustworthy aren't exactly mutually exclusive. No offense."
Eben looks like he has something to say, then thinks better of it and stays silent. His eyes are very engaged, though, flitting back and forth between Miomay and his friends.
"Haven't you heard of honor among thieves, Farrukh?" Astraden's eyes twinkle. "I was trying to be tactful. One doesn't come right out and say 'We think you're a doppelganger trying to eat Carina's brain,' is all."
"We need to talk to someone there. But - I just want to be safe. Would you consent to a zone of truth and confirm your godly allegiance? I've been deceived by someone claiming to be Olidammaran before, is the thing."
Miomay grimaces. "Ordinarily I...prefer to avoid such Unimaginative Fields. But I can grin and bear it for a time. I trust you know the spell?"
Having been quiet for a while, Carina purses her lips and shakes her head. "Astraden, she's clearly not comfortable with that sort of thing. We shouldn't do that to her."
"If she's that uncomfortable with the truth I'm not sure we can afford not to."
"I get the reluctance, really, being in a similar line of work. You know, theatricality and all that. Maybe we could just prearrange questions Miomay is comfortable with so she knows we won't suddenly start asking her personal questions questions about, I don't know, screaming lambs and stuff."
"Sure. 'Do you worship Olidammara or Rudd? Are you working to arrange the Age of Worms?' and 'Do you want to party tonight (BYOD)?'"
If Miomay consents to the arranged questions, Astraden casts zone of truth.
The muscles in Zalamandra's throat tighten as the spell is cast, but she doesn't resist it. "Yes. I hope not, but I don't know—I don't keep up with prophecies. I always want to party every night."
"Good enough for me." Astraden looks to Farrukh for approval, then dismisses the spell and continues.
"We're currently following the trail of a certain scholar of the Age of Worms who went missing a while back. He came through Alhaster and was supposed to have spoken with Lashonna at some point. But we haven't been able to get eye contact with her yet." Astraden makes a sort of "what's up with that?" gesture with upraised hands. "From what we've been able to tell, the only way we can talk with her about what Bucknard was researching, apart from outright breaking into her house, is to go to this s@~%ty party the Prince is throwing. We're gonna buttonhole the s#!! out of her."
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"Buttonhole the shi....I never agreed to rape her!"
The muscles in Zalamandra's throat tighten as the spell is cast
Farrukh blinks repeatedly at Cuetzpalli's outburst.
"I...uhh. Should I even ask why that's the first place your mind goes?"
"I guess buttonhole means something else where I'm from?" Cuetzpalli replies, his face flushing. "Uhh...nevermind. Just ignore me."
Astraden looks shocked for a moment. "Ah. Yes, um, it means grab her by the buttonhole of her suit (or whatever), or less literally, get her attention and don't let it go." She looks down.
"Sometimes we used to call our little guys buttons...and buttonholing is you know....putting your button in someone's hole...." Cuetzpalli blushes even more darkly if possible, seeming to shrink in on himself. "I should have known you wouldn't want to do anything like that. I....uhh...sorry."
Miomay slowly blinks. "If it's of any Consolation, Dread Warrior, I, too, can only Weave Meaning out of every other word this priestess utters. Astraden, your rural dialect is charming, albeit obtuse. I had taken 'buttonhole' to signify 'extorting her fancy through gifts of fanciful cloth garments'."
She claps her hands together. "Well! Let us remain off-topic. I grow weary, and I have matters of Umbral Print to attend to. I will endeavor to Summate the Finality in Brief, rather than Expounding at Length regarding these most pressing matters.
"The offers I can make to you are, for now, sparse. I will, of course, wish to have each of you interviewed at length—both for the purposes of the theatrical adaptation and...well, general gathering of intelligence.
"Regarding the Angels, I can offer something a bit more substantial." Miomay flashes a smile as she spins towards the desk and starts dabbing at the rouge along her cheeks. "I happen to be a rather gifted specialist in the arts of illusions. Should it become necessary to skitter beyond their Pernicious Observation, I could part with a few tricks that could stand against even a Blessed gaze for a short time." She waves towards Eben with the rouge brush. "I'm sure MacTeague could use them more effectively than I, at any rate. My adventurous days are behind me. Too many scars for my liking."
Lowering the brush, she turns back to the group. "Regarding revolution, I must confess I have no plans for the moment. My eyes-and-ears are largely limited to the more 'urbanized' races of the city—goblinoids will have nothing to do with me. I am too much of the Free City to earn their trust. You might, however, want to send out some, ah, tendrils at the Banquet. Seeds can be sown now and reaped later. Be careful, of course. Wouldn't want any of your tendrils to get grabbed."
"And regarding Bucknard." She frowns, crossing her legs and clasping her fingers. "That name is familiar to me, of course. He was one of the better-regarded members of that curious Circle when it first began. A very artistic soul, one after my own heart. Nobody has heard from him in a while. But...well, if surviving the Banquet is what you require, I can certainly help with that.
"It would be my absolute pleasure to make time, over the next few days, to provide lessons—quite free of charge, of course—on, How Not To Get Killed At Prince Zeech's Parties."
"Real quick - what's this about goblinoids not liking people from the Free City? Is this some history I've forgotten?" Astraden yawns. "But yes, we would appreciate those lessons. Not today though. It's about time I prepared spells."
"No specific bad blood—I mean, unless you count the Vast Eons of goblinoids and humans being at each other's throats." Miomay shrugs. "Simple cultural divides. Aside from my good man Grin, few hobgoblins are willing to deal with my, ah, Theatrical Enterprises. I can't imagine they're such great admirers of Zeech, considering where the Great Project is being erected, but if there is resentment, they manage it internally."
Ebens ears and eyes perk up at the idea of enhanced illusions. "Oh, yeah, I would be interested in any way to get around their true sight. It's like they're cheating!"
"Perhaps I could learn a trick or two, also? Olidammara gives me many illusions. Or is this a spell you're talking of?" Astraden asks with interest, having zoned out a bit earlier.
"Less a spell and more a technique." Miomay gets up and leads the party out, though she stops at the stairs. "I shall explain the Absolute Totality when next we meet! My good man Grin shall, ah, show you the paperwork. Please do try not to trip him this time—hobgoblins age quite quickly, you know, and a man of his Pronounced Years can't take too many such falls." She winks.
Outside, Grin does indeed offer each member of the party clipboards with legal scribble explaining what rights they are signing away or providing Miomay's Playhouse with access to. They include:
The frost has come early this year. Icicles dangle over the edges of windows, from eaves and roof gutters. What remained of summer's glory has given way to flowers frozen in temporary glory—dead, but for now, crisper and fresher than ever, preserved within crackling ice.
The festivities—already extended past their expiration date by the delayed banquet event—have taken on an even more openly dour tone, and the Alhaster citizens are dressed in layers. Lots of layers.
"Ooh, I like that last title. Can we get them all changed to match it? For example, 'Encounter of the Killer Eyeballs!' for the first one?"
After eating an unusually early and simple breakfast at the Angry Rifter, Astraden makes the brisk walk to the Deluxury to meet her friends. When she arrives, her hands are shivering and her cheeks are rosy. She takes off her cloak and takes advantage of the luxuriously large braziers to warm her hands. "It's like midwinter already!" she exclaims to anyone passing by.
When Spiny's Six has assembled, she suggests buying some better winter clothing first. "Then we can head down to see this 'Great Project.' Or did you want a veil to visit the Kordians to do your exercises, Tanith?"
Cuetzpalli does not look happy to be experiencing cold for the first time. He's wearing all his clothes at once, in a very unfashionable pastiche of layers and still shivering. "I don't really have plans today except to babysit for the tailor lady."
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In negotiations with Miomay, Eben agrees to most of the copyright names (though winces a bit when Astraden tries to pitch them all being more in line with the final one), but does argue against copyrighting "The Whipering Cairn". "I mean, it's the actual name of a landmark in Diamond Lake. Though you might want to reach out to the current government there and work out some kind of deal. Maybe they could let you have it in return for their retaining merchandising rights in event the play becomes popular and people want to buy Whispering Cairn-branded clothing and dolls..."
The next day, Eben is not particularly pleased with the weather, his own clothing being more of the 'flashy entertainer' sort, with thin fabric, a low cut neckline, and lots of random slits for skin to show. "And my other set of clothes is eveningwear!" he gripes. "C-c-clearly we're going to have to go clothes shopping some more." Oddly, he doesn't seem genuinely displeased by this inconvenience, for all that he grumbles about it.
Perhaps it's because of her undine physiology, but Carina doesn't seem too fazed by the cold.
"Eh, if worse comes to worse, I can always brew up some potions that'll take the edge off the chill."
Accustomed to feeling a draft and bolstered by the Brawler's blessing, Tanith isn't bothered terribly by the unseasonable cold.
"How many kids did she have?" Tanith asks aloud as the party moves to meet their appointment. "There's no way it's going to take all of us to watch 'em."
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"She had like...you know..all the kids as far as I could tell. It's going to take at least three of us to avoid injury or death. Never split the party you know."
"Is use of charm or compulsion spells considered poor form when babysitting?" Eben asks contemplatively.
"Possibly, but illusions are certainly acceptable."
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Farrukh grits his teeth to prevent his teeth from chattering, quickly turning pale.
"The Hells is wrong with the weather? It's not supposed to get this cold while the sun's out. Did Zeech do something?" he half-mumbles.
"We may have to burn her clothes to keep the kids alive."
"Maybe the Great Project is a big portal to the Para-Elemental Plane of Ice," Astraden says, rubbing her shoulders.
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The winter clothes are purchased cheaply from a general store.
Approaching the site of the so-called Great Project, the party notices signs of a lot of demolition. For this truly massive structure to be built, scores of homes—maybe even hundreds—have been wrecked. Some were in the way. Others seem to have just been inconvenient to the view. Local construction workers are hard at work, tired and miserable. Some look like they've been working for far too long, but the comparatively quite cheerful bosses chat amiably with Watchers on the progress of the build. Tents for the workers to sleep in and stalls distributing products from company stores have been set up all over, creating a sort of shanty town where once stood permanent dwellings. The overall scene might generate for the Diamond Lake natives a slight sense of deja vu, though not even Gelch Tilgast or Balabar Smenk ever dared perpetrate quite so vast an operation on the citizens of the mining town.
The structure itself generates a slightly stronger sense of deja vu.
The Great Project is still very much underway, but even now it towers above the party. Carved of black stone, bearing massive staircases rising up to lead into the central tower, the Great Project easily dwarfs any of the churches the party has yet beheld. It stands on the very edge of the cape, overlooking the Nyr Dyv. Below, the waves roar, torn by strong winds that occasionally buffet the more exhausted workers above.
"That."
"That's Kuluth-Mar."
"Nah, can't be. It's way too short."
Carina scratches her head as she looks at the monument. "It's still a work in progress, clearly--but that does look like Kuluth-Mar."
"Why is he building that? Here?" Astraden asks, recovering from the shock enough to close her jaw. "Is his architect secretly a Triadist?"
"Maybe he thinks if he builds one the can become a god too?"
"One thing's for sure: It cannot be a coincidence. There's no way he just really likes ancient architecture."
Cuetzpalli shudders. "Something's telling me that allowing that building to be completed would be a Bad Idea."
"Definitely a bad idea. This is a f~$%ing monstrosity." Astraden looks at the shanty town. "You guys can head back - but if we're going to come back and break this town free later, I should build some contacts here, too."
Astraden slips into a gap between the tents, perhaps unobtrusively enough to avoid mundane attention, and starts talking to some of the workers. She mentions her friends at the Shipping Concern if someone seems particularly tough, but mostly just tries to listen to the tribulations they're enduring. If identified as more than just a random adventurer, she redirects the conversation to the unseasonably cold weather they're having and tries to slip away. But she comes away from the shanty town an hour or two later with a few acquaintances in her back pocket.