She turns back to look upon the storm priests and bows to them in the same manner she had Kawsag, hands clasped at the waist and arms fully extended.
''This one has the honor of being dubbed Satazia Zemrita. She is a mercenary employed by Scarth. She is new to the keep and heard rumors of a strange apparition. She wanted to examine it, to appease her scholarly curiosity.''
The Storm Priest likewise inclines his head, acknowledging both the Squawk and the Lamian in this fashion.
"A scholar and a warrior? The war bands of Scarnth have rare talent! Please feel welcome and come in by the side of our friend, the Templar Kawsag. Perhaps the scholars of his company now have a rival, and we knew nothing of it?
He fixes Kawsag with a quizzical expression, as if eliciting further information on this curious new arrival. However, as should now be expected, the Squawk continues to hold the same passive, unflagging expression.
The Squawk is instead utterly consumed with his contemplation of the Austorian in the ranks of the Savants. When he speaks, it is sudden, disturbing a penetrating calm and long-fixed glance and seeming, as in his recent conversation with the Lamian, to almost question himself,
"That is also curious. That this Dwarf is here, after their long absence from the Sundered Seas. And in the company of the Imperial Savants, no less? Master Kerberus will certainly with to know and think upon this."
He finally turns this interior conversation, albeit one voiced out loud, into a question,
"And who might this companion of the Savants be? I am the Templar Kawsag of the Darkriders of Kerberus. I would know your name and nation, as would the Master Kerberus. Unless I am mistaken, you hail from a people whose kind has not been known in these territories for many years."
Hrungnir nodded at Kawsag. "This Dwarf has a name. And it is Hrungnir, watcher of the waves, keeper of the faith, and emissary of the Austorian people. It is true, we have not been seen for many a year, and that is because it is our burden to stand vigil over the all-consuming evil that to this day threatens us all. For those of any wisdom, our presence here should not be seen as a curiosity, but rather a cause for great alarm." As he said this, he stood beside the Imperial Savants. He then turned and looked at Satazia. "Though I suppose for those of purely scholarly or monetary bent, our appearance might rather be seen as an opportunity."
''The one called Hrungnir said, his presence is an opportunity for this one. What manner of opportunity?''
Ah the Tower of Ghosts, impressive. Maybe just as impressive as the tower of dreams along with my hidden demanse in the sleeping city of Mourn.
When Ictaio's eyes meet black cloaked Nommos, his hand graps tighter around haft of his spear. To be so close to the ancestors of the men that destroyed his people civilzation, his blood began to boil.
Calm yourself fool, you're in hiding. There is precious information to learn, play not that part of a fool. Is that an Austorian? My my, what brings them out of the blacken abyss.
He walks towards the enterance, stopping before the group."Excuse me, I believe you're blocking the enterance. I'm to deliver some tools for my master in the audience room."
The Squawk squints slightly now as he regards Hrungnir with even greater attention. He places his hands on his hips, in a gesture that seems to accentuate the meditative expression emanating from his dark eyes. It is a pregnant moment before he begins to speak again,
"That is very interesting. Of what "all-consuming evil" do your people find themselves assailed? I am a representative of the Darkriders, the leaders of whom are the Dark Templars, an ancient order of lawgivers that has survived from ancient Aveendenaea. We serve Kasugoan, the Lady of Silence, and have preserved her teachings throughout the generations. She is the one who hold the scale of justice, and makes all right between men. The Dark Templars have kept the charge of the Silent Queen, and have endeavored ceaselessly, unlike other mercenary bands, to promote order and law in these benighted lands. The Master Kerberus is the most recent Grand Templar, and would be, I believe interested to hear more of your nation's plight. Our services are not inexpensive, in fact we are the most expensive army for hire in all the Sundered Seas. But we are also the best, and have on only three cursed occasions in our entire storied history failed to obtain our objective -- and these were all the result of the direct intervention of Kamatayon, the Dark Sister of the Silent Queen, the Lady of Torment. If your cause is approved as just by the Master Kerberus, and the requisite financial resources are provided, I believe I may have located the next commission of the Dark Riders. Please expound further on what you have said, so that I may effectively and accurately present your case to the Master Kerberus after we have concluded this business in the audience hall."
It is interesting, and notable, that Kawsag does not seem to contemplate any possibility that Hrungnir would be uninterested in procuring the services of the Darkriders, at any price, should they be offered. For a creature of such an evidently measured mind, this must speak to his great confidence in his order and their reputation in the Sundered Seas.
The Storm Priest standing in the center of the three clerics responds to the Deep one with annoyance, his tall conical hat trembling slightly in an almost comical manner as he sputters his reply,
"And you must be the sage-squire of Elehuddi! Rather tardier than one might otherwise wish in the execution of your duties -- your master is currently experiencing the greatest embarrassment in being unable to offer any greater insight than have any others who have contemplated the apparition. That or he is hiding whatever insights he has gleaned..." The Storm Priest sneers with a feral expression, "but rest assured we shall discover such deceptions if indeed they are attempted against us, for none can flee from the holy light of the Maelstrom."
He then regards the Savants and Moonwater Knights pointedly, each one by one, before concluding, as if seeming to direct his last comment, referring to the power of the Maelstrom he venerated as his only god to uncover deceit, particularly to his Devonorian compatriots,
"so, pray remember upon whose hospitality your welcome depends, and the etiquette attendant upon this relationship"
The Amphian's expression appears blank as it replies in an almost comical monotone,
"I have no name except "Mime," which I was given by the Red Right Hand of the Bright Master. I speak nothing but the Bright Master's words, which you shall have the joy of hearing now."
His voice assumes a kind of sinister reverie as he continues, proceeding to Zalona's questions
"The Bright Master is the Lord of Light, the Wonder Worker, the Prince of the Dawn, the Light Bringer, the One Who Brings the Dawn, the One Who Gives Freedom, the White Mage, the Shinning Lord, the Savior of Man, the Giver of Joy..."
The litany of epithets continues for dozens of such titles, and appears to be something he has memorized, as "Mime" recites these descriptions with a slight, but noticeable rhythm, like a ritual chant. After he has finished this long chain of epithets, his voice returns to a more normal cadence,
"He is the one who shall set us all free. We shall live in our bodies forever. We will no longer be slaves, but masters. He is sending his Red Right Hand to begin the Good Work shortly. You are blessed to witness the beginning of the Good Work. The Bright Master is older and wiser beyond length of days, and count of years. His Good Work will assuredly be accomplished. The Red Right Hand cannot fail to accomplish the will of the Lord of Light. He is the greatest weapon in the hand of the Bright One, and none can stand against his power."
Evidently, he considers this an adequate response to Zalona's curiosity regarding the identity of his mysterious master, for he then turns to address the matter of the Joyful Ones,
"The Joyful Ones are the servants of the Red Hand. He cleansed our minds and named us. He gave us purpose. We are the flaming fingers of the Red Right Hand of the Bright Master. We dispense the justice of the Lord of Light. We are many. I am the Mime, my brothers and sisters are the Joker, the Jester, the Jack, the Harlequin, and others. We are bringing the justice of the Bright Master to this place to begin his Good Work."
Zalona can only imagine Narrisca's bated breath, her eagerness to hear the first reply of the mysterious agent of the Bright Ones seizing the master spy's breath.
So, let me see if I understand. You are called the Mime, and you are one of the Joyful Ones, along with the Joker, the Jester, the Jack, the Harlequin, and others. Is that correct?
You were given your task not by the Bright Master himself, but by the Red Right Hand of the Bright Master, who cleansed your mind, and named you. The Bright Master is sending his Red Right Hand to begin his good work shortly, and his Red Right Hand is also his greatest weapon.
How did he cleanse your mind, if I may ask? Did you forget everything that you were before? And how does the Faceless Queen fit into all of this? Has her mind been cleansed? Is she a Joyful One as well?
Where is he sending his right hand, and where will his work begin? As I understand it, his work is to bring about eternal life in our current bodies? How would one achieve that? And if he is offering something so amazing, why does he need a weapon to accomplish it? It seems offering such a thing to people would get them to flock to you without any violence at all. Is it not so?
Looking at Satazia, Hrungnir said "That depends, if you are a mercenary, or a scholar. The maelstrom has churned, and with the power of the dragon, has devoured, for many a century. Entire cities, with the accumulated wealth of lifetimes of diligent work, lie empty, save for the monsters which swim out. It will take mercenaries and allies to take back which has long been lost. It will take scholars to appreciate all that is uncovered. Both will find profit, of a different kind."
Overhearing the Storm Priest's proclamation to Ictaiojh'Oc'Xylthixr, Hrungnir's eyes narrowed, but he kept his peace.
Narrisca's voice intrudes just as Zalona finishes, clearly excited by the answers she seems to be getting out of the strange creature known as "Mime,"
"I don't think he's ever met the Bright Master personally, based on what you're saying. He may not know any more than we do about who, or what he is. Maybe he's met the Red Right Hand, though I wouldn't necessarily assume that either... this all makes sense for such an incredibly reserved organization. There must be several layers to all of their cells' organization. I think he's at least one removed from any of the leaders. In any event, let's try to figure that out -- I'm not clear if we've yet to encounter anyone who's met any of the leaders, instead of received messages from one of their intermediaries, or so forth."
Mime continues his reply,
"I am the Mime, and nothing more or less. I have been cleansed in my body and my heart and my bones and my mind and my soul by the Red Right Hand of the Bright Master. I am nothing but his fingers, and the fingers do the will of the hand that fashioned them. We are the weapons of his fury..."
The Mime's voice again shifts into the odd chant that he had taken up when reciting the hundreds of names of the Bright Master, though it is even more noticeable now. This effusion of stylized expressions has a definite ritual cast to it, as if it is something he recited, or has recited on multiple occasions. It seems unmistakably pre-written.
Balh'Talkh's sneering expression then breaks the litany of per-rehearsed expressions,
"Ha. One of the Chosen. He is not a Thinking One. He simply does the will of the Thinking Ones. Slave."
The Mime objects in his now grating monotone,
"None who serve the Bright Master are slaves. We are his children. He rules by love."
Balh'Takh's only reply is a deep, guttural laugh which reverberates through the Rusalka's head, like a thunderclap.
Zalona receives the definite sense that Balh'Takh has disrupted the flow of the conversation with Mime, and that she will have to bring him back to her inquiry forcefully is he wants answers about the identity of the Bright Master, the Red Right Hand, the Joyful Ones, and their mutual connection to the Faceless Ones.
Kawsag, still un-moved in his calm, restates his inquiry to the Dwarf,
"Well, that is part of the answer. You mention the power of the Dragon and the Malestrom (). Tell me more of this, for the Master Kerberus will be most interested to know of any means by which the Templars can oppose chaos in this world."
Hrungnir has the definite sense the Squawk is the kind of creature who will ask the same question a dozen times if he fails to receive a sufficient answer.
Hrungnir shook his head. "I believe that I am getting close to offending some present. Come speak with me some other time. Perhaps we can share a drink, while we get to know each other and what we stand for."
Satazia smiles coyly at Hrungnir.
''Does this one have to choose between mercenary or scholar? Can't it be both?''
Shrugging her shoulders after a moment she speaks again but this time more seriously.
''Very well, is this one must choose, then this one is a mercenary.''
Looking over the assembly, Hrungnir said "Then you will have to join us for drinks as well. Mercenary, scholar, or ally..." he glanced at the Savants "...we will have much to discuss."
Ictaiojh'Oc'Xylthixr remains quiet when the priest spews his theological rant."I'd love to discuss more about your drake god or what have you. However I'm very busy, as one of Athanes true children and chosen, I have very little concern that whatever plots you Nommos are scheming."
Ictaio turns his attention to the other three."My my what a strange group we have here, here I thought Austorians left this world. This will keep things down in the depths more interesting, than again, the same thing could be said about my kin." He scanned the other two, having never met with any of their kind.
Zalona lets the recording drone on for now and addresses Balh'Talkh.
Is the Faceless Queen like this as well? And why does this one say that the Bright Master rules by love, but then claims to be a weapon of his fury?
Denaris flashes a capacious smile as Halim, somewhat grudgingly now it seems to Zelrim, indicates his ascent to the daring proposition. Indeed, the Pawguun buccaneer feels strongly that the Khazzanite Inquisitor’s presumptive enthusiasm for the enigmatic sommelier’s proposal has diminished substantially with the revelation of the Sea Folk and his unseen mater’s allegiance to the, in Halim’s fixed mind, wrong belief in the two Uwek Tazey Shabur Beck Tangri and Kheat Quill Tangri – or ‘Sabeccuranus and Emmesanna,’ according to Denaris.
To be fair to his scheming Calishmani employer, this was, indeed, an extremely unexpected combination of divinities to find worshipped as a pair, given that the followers of both in the Seven Lands of the Ruby Throne warred ceaselessly with one another in a conflict known as the ‘Assassin War’.
What more, it seemed very likely that Halim was no great devotee of being himself out-schemed. For that which he did to others, he did not, in his profound and slanted approach to justice, wish to be meted out in kind upon his own person.
”Excellent, most excellent,” says Denaris through his glistening smile, ”Now then, let us seal this agreement by the proper oaths.”
Having received the grudging affirmation of the Caeshaeyllian Inquisitor, hardly more than a bestial grunt, Denaris proceeds to lay his smooth, ivory-fleshed hands upon the altar, each one set respectively in the space before the rough-hew statues of Sabeccuranus and Emmessanaa. The slick black rock beneath his touch begins to glow with a piercing white illumination, revealing a heretofore concealed crevasse cut into the altar in exactly the shape of a hand.
He then casts his eyes up in a fixed gaze directed towards the face of each divinity, seeming as if to forget the presence of his two guests, as the Sea Folk begins to speak again, this time in a reverential, prayerful tone, one noticeably deeper than his ordinary intonation,
”By that which bends and breaks, finds and makes, sends and shapes, wends and waits, by that which calls and echoes, signs and portents tremble, by that which is both whole and absent,” and then he begins, in a slightly unnerving, high-pitched tenor, to sing, ”Sabaccarrao, Sebbecrai, Sobasharu, Succranus, Sacborshai, Shya’brak….” and many variations of his god’s name, before continuing in a similar list of the goddess’ forms of address, ”Emsia, Emesya, Kyia Tiya, Khesharah….”
The end of the last name of the goddess finds a welter of small shinning globules begin to ascend from a geyser positioned above the statue of Sabeccuranus, further up the altar stone. They descend in a stream down a rivulet cut into the rock beneath the statue.
At the same time, a sheet of glistening liquid begins to pour forth from another geyser above the statue of Emmesanna. It likewise steadily descends through a trench carved in the rock.
Both streams terminate in small facets that are directed into a pair of rough flasks that sit upon shelves cut into the black stone.
Denaris picks up both flasks, then hands the one filled with shining liquid to Halim, who then recites in a controlled tone, almost masking his annoyance,
”By that which bends and breaks…”
He finishes the oath before the recitation of the deities’ names, as Halim would refuse to use any except those titles approved by the Dark Triumvirate.
Simultaneously, the Sea Folk recites the same formula while holding the flask with the metallic globules.
Denaris and Halim then exchange flasks and each repeat the oaths, and then a third time.
To Zelrim, this is clearly some kind of ritual shared by multiple sects of those who worship the lizard god of assassins, poison, and vengeance, Shabur Beck Tangri, though Denaris’ statue appears to resemble more strongly a salamander, and thus an amphibian instead of a reptile. The question of how me might indicate his ascent is dealt with by Denaris, who upon concluding his ritual with Halim, turns a friendly expression to the Halfling, the palms of his hands open in a universal gesture of welcome.
“And how shall you swear, friends Zelrim and Praesidium?”
Kawsag turns pointedly to Satazia before speaking, still in his unhurried tone, and acting, for all intensive purposes, as if only he and the Lamian were present to hear his next remark,
"Well, I for one not only believe, but knowthat one may be both a scholar and and warrior. The Master Kerberus has taught me this path by his example, and the Dark Templars combat disorder in this benighted world as much by preserving the ancient wisdom of Aveendenaea as by raising our well-honed weapons against the forces of chaos."
He concludes with an admonition,
"Do not let any force you to choose one or the other, my new friend. It is a false fork of decision, and not one I believe you yourself actually accept. No, let us be both, in all circumstances."
Sending the projectile careening off towards some unexplored section of Denaris's back alley holy site, Zelrim's serious air fades alongside the bullet, and he reclines in his saddle. "That satisfy me good man? I 'ave no intentions o' betrayin' me word, fer wha' good be a sea man who's word has th' weight o' th' salty breeze?"