"Best he left now before we were too deep in to bear the loss."
"For something smaller to test our new powers...I need to track down a man. The man who betrayed me, Rudjek. If you would all like to accompany me back to the Oasis States, I would welcome the help in dismantling his organization, or at least the cell he works for."
"Wait Kostya. I thought we were staying together, in order to keep the world from being destroyed. If Kostya or any of us dies, the world engine breaks. If we're alright with Kostya just leaving, then why are we staying together?"
"We need to answer that before we discuss our personal revenges."
Beatrice springs up in outrage. "Well, I'm most certainly disappointed in you, messer Markov! I thought we all had agreed to work together to save the world! Oh, but we'd slow you down, that's what you think? You don't need you? Well, there is no way you're leaving us before we find a way to avoid what we mended, and I should remind you, we did it together, because I don't want Eistibus to call us back wherever we were to ask us why the world is collapsing again! I don't care if I have to knock you down and tie you to the mast of Jebat's ship!"
Jebat's face lights up in reply to Kostya. "Ha. Excellent compromise. That shouldn't take too long to find another god who can fix the world engine. In the meantime, what shall we do next? Razors, Oasis States, Iron Tzar?"
"We may as well deal with the Razors while we're here. And I'm still curious about this Red Lady."
I'd like to help him with whatever troubles he's having, but if he wants to be alone...
"Well, you'll need some details on the Razors, or rather the Order of Redactors, as they were originally called. They once were scholars, experts of history, mathematics and psychology. They believed that, by cutting off undesirable people, they would do like a gardener pruning bad offshoots, and shape the world towards a better future. They used elaborate science to choose targets, and blades in the dark to eliminate."
"I must say, for a while it worked. No tyrants rose in Vissio, wars were avoided thanks to a properly placed dose of poison, and even petty crime went down. Those who schemed to prevaricate and oppress their fellow men, those who preyed on the weak to grow strong, often found that the Razors were as surgical as their name implied. And yet, they killed very few people, no more than a score a year."
"Then, there was, apparently, a schism. Some of the members did not want to use their skills only for the betterment of the world, they sought to profit. They started selling their services to those with the money and connections to afford them, they became nothing more than murderers for hire. These are called the "pragmatic" Razors, unlike the old "idealistic" ones. They do not believe in a cause, they will attack anyone for the right price. Including my own fair self."
"It is sort of a moral grey area what to do with the idealists, but they harbor a deep hatred for the pragmatists, they might make good allies."
"Any way to contact the idealists?" Jebat asks.
"Look, I need to meet my factor and Girolamo. My factor is coming here soon, and I'm sure Girolamo would host us for supper, since you're gods and all. He might know how to contact the idealists and pragmatists and may even know more about the Red Lady."
"About the idealist, I wouldn't know. They usually keep to themselves, and the Lyrical Lodge is not exactly well-connected with the seedy underbelly of Vissio. All in all, Girolamo seems to be our best chance. If you trust him, I'll trust him as well."
The barber comes and goes producing a producing a perfectly coiffed Jebat. And by the time Jebat finishes his meeting with his factor and messages instructions to Jalak and crew, the large closed carriage arrives to take the gods to supper at Girolamo.
- Sell the loot.
- Make the new ships seaworthy
- Find cargo asap for 1 of the new ships to sail north and 1 to sail south
Jalak and crew
- Recruit new crew to fill out two new ships
- They've created a new persona for Jebat, because they've practice with the Dread Pirate Jebat. They're calling him the Storm Captain, the new God of the Seas
- When the new ships travel, they will dock in each port to spread the news of the God of the Seas
Jebat arranges for the gods to accompany him to meet Girolamo. Kostya stays back to repair himself, as does Stella.
He explains on the ride over, "Girolamo Riario is one of the wealthiest Vissian merchant-prince in Savona and a friend of mine. He already knows of my powers and is very clever. I trust him as far as I can throw him, and that's fairly far now." He says with piratey smile.
Before the carriage ride, Beatrice applies some makeup, and she carries the Starcloak in a bundle under her arm, planning to put it up for supper. She had always been a beautiful woman, but now that she is bound to the Word of Passion, she looks like a glance from her could make anyone fall in love. And that isn't far from the truth.
"I've heard about him, my father... didn't have too high an opinion of him. I wonder if he was at my performance here, a few years ago. I played the Countess in Le Nozze di Rinaldo, it was a nice performance even though the tenor stank of garlic."
"Do you trust him because of your abilities, or because of a long relationship? That is, do you count him as a fried and ally or a thrall?"
"We have been working together since before I received my powers. Afterwards, we discussed my powers, and he offered considered counsel. I trust him to act in his interests. Fortunately, his interests have aligned with mine. Let's see where he is on the Razors, slavery and the Oasis States."
Along the way to Girolamo's, the carriage slows down in traffic. The audience of the Red Lady clogs the cobbled street. Jebat beats on the ceiling to stop the carriage. He steps out to listen to the Red Lady's message for the masses.
In the park on the side of the road, there are a half-dozen knights in breast plate. Despite being outfitted for combat, the Knights are not in a combatative stance. They are, instead, helping people. Several are tending to people with various wounds, changing bandages, giving them medicine. One is checking a well made brace on a small boy's leg, his raggedy clothes indicating a poor or street urchin, and obviously a broken leg on the mend.
A couple of others are handing out food to those who look to be beggars or poor as well.
A small crowd made up of a mixture of regular townsfolk and the poor are standing in a circle around a tall woman in full plate. Her right eye is covered by a patch. Red hair flows down her head into the ermine of her cloak. Across from her are a couple of younger men in finery who appear to be well to do merchant's children or young nobles.
The one in the center, who seems to be the ring leader, makes a slashing motion with his hand. "That's utter nonsense. You're trying to say that someone like that filth over there..." He motions toward the boy with the broken leg. "...could ever be better at anything than one of noble birth? Other than being a flea bitten thief that is." He snears.
The woman smiles. "I am saying that there is always that possibility. Blood may indeed carry the seeds of greatness, but those seeds can also find root in the most common of dirt. And even the most rich garden in the world can have weeds. Blood is no more than a single indicator, and quite often, it is given much too much weight. It is important to find out what the talents and potentials of every man, woman, and child are, and that they be allowed to fulfill that potential as much as possible. And those that show the most ability should be the ones who lead. There are too many times when blood is used as an indication of skill, rather than talent and training. How many of you would, when your child is sick, take them to the untrained healer appointed by the Baron because he is the Baron's brother-in-law rather than take them to the talented young healer, trained by a master healer, yet not approved of by the Baron?" A muttering goes through the crowd, as several had heard of a baron doing just such a thing.
"You really believe that? If it weren't for a quirk of fate, you would still be under the heel of your masters. Reaching forward often just means the limb gets removed."
The redhaired woman ticks her head up, and laughs. "Don't be foolish, nobody has said that people should work hard to earn their places. I do not speak of equality of outcomes, only equality of opportunity. It is still up to the individual to work hard to earn what they gain in life. No one should be held back from being what they can be, but neither should anyone be given what they haven't earned. I would think that would be obvious by stating that someone shouldn't be a healer if they aren't trained. You think I am talking about someone deciding what you should be. I am saying that everyone must prove they are capable of the job they desire."
Beatrice doesn't know what brings her to speak. Perhaps some innate contrariness, perhaps a hint of patriotism.
"Good words in the wrong place, Red Lady. Those favors you speak of would be more common in Raktine, or perhaps the Patrian Empire, but Vissio is not feudal. A nobiliar title only means that one carries an estate, but doesn't grant any special rights beyond a courtesy title, we are far from the places where a noblesman's word is law. The Merchant Families are bound by allegiance, rather than by blood. We elect our podestà, and even there he's just a primus inter pares, a first among equals in the Council."
"It is not blood carrying weight here, it is thrift. Incompetence is punished and intraprendence is exalted: and even those born wealthy will find themselves spurned by the Merchant Families, should they fail to make a profit. There are countless tales of those who thought that their birth would excuse their lack of merit, and who found themselves, sooner or later, disinherited and thrown on the streets. The Merchant Princes would much rather have a beggar brother than a useless one, and corruption is bad for business."
"And on the contrary, those who are born poor but thrifty and crafty have a way up, since the Families know the value of investing in a youth's future. Those who show talent in a trade or in the arts are taken under a patron's wing, in exchange for their future service. It is not always easy, but it is always possible. That is how it is, here in Vissio. Because nobles come and nobles go, but greed, greed is eternal."
She laughs, a surprisingly sparkly sound. "Why do you think I speak here? The concept is less shocking here, and the local Merchants less likely to force me to kill their guards for speaking so. Is it not better, when speaking an idea that is somewhat radical in most places, to start in a place where it is not? Then grow the adherents to it, then move on to other places which will not be so happy to hear it?"
The knight then waves a hand at the young merchant princes, who were busy sneering at the street urchins. "And while everyone may have the opportunity to rise, given a little luck, it's also equally obvious that those born rich and entitled actively seek to promote themselves, rather than look for talent and potential in others. On the other hand, they may remember it in a few years, when they are dealing with their toady who was very loyal when they were just living it up as inheritors, but who wasted their masters money once given some responsibility. It is a truly closed and worthless mind that can't remember and learn from it's experiences." She chuckles. "While I think greed is a bad basis for ruling from, it does have the advantage of self-selecting against those who are too stupid."
Jebat opens the door to the carriage and steps out on to the metal carriage step mounted below the door. He leans against he door toward the Red Lady and laughs, "So, are you the Red Lady that people describe as preaching? Besides blowing against the winds of how-life-work, what gods will do what you want?"
The woman shows something other than smiling and calm for the first time. She spits on the ground. "There are no gods, and if there are, they can come down and look me in the eye before I run them through with my sword. If they exist, they are puling cowards who let demons run roughshod over the land, eating children and innocents. If I ever find one to actually exist, I'll spit in it's face and run it through." She says with heat and venom, and blood begins to drip from under her eyepatch.
"Damn straight, I want to taste some cowardly gods blood after what they let happen." A voice says from thin air, near her, and the sword on her side flashes a bloody red in the light.
"I've died, there is no heaven, no hell. Just darkness, whatever gods there are were too scared of me to send me to either, and they sent me back rather than face my wrath."
"Well, you are a right terror when you get angry, what do you expect? Nobody wants to be around an ginger mad dog." The voice says from thin air.
The crowd murmmers, several looking up to see if lightning strikes.
The sword is speaking? Magic? Even theurgy, maybe? Or just a trick?
"Even if we don't think of how effective it is to preach an idea where it is widespread..."
"Gods are not like that." Beatrice's voice is calm, sweet and steady, as the subtle gift of Passion flows from her, filling the populace with bliss and quiet. The murmuring crowd grows silent, peaceful smiles blossoming on their lips. "Since the Throne was found to be empty, there have been no all-powerful, all-seeing divinities. Only fledgling people, reaching out for some small sparks of divine might, trying to grow stronger, to save this world from destruction, to improve what they can. And of course, some who would instead abuse their power for themselves. And..." As her powers meet an obstacle in the form of the woman's granitic determination, Beatrice's eyebrows shoot up. "Numi del cielo. There is more to you than meets the eye, isn't there? Did you say you died?"
"If you feel the need, turn your blade on us. We are the gods of this new world. Of course, given the strange happenings around you, you will want to turn it on yourself afterward."
One of the knights steps forward, hand on his sword, stepping between Beatrice and Listrana. "Do not think to call her a liar, I watched her walk the battlements for 3 weeks, defending our poor survivors against first humans and then demons who sought to enter the city, day and night, the arrow of an enemy archer still in the eyeslit of her helmet. Only after she had seen us to safety outside the demon lands did she finally give up to go to her rest, but it was denied, and she rose up to protect us once again." He slams his gauntleted fist into his chestplate, a sound that is echoed by the other knights.
"Now now Montrose, she hasn't drawn a weapon nor offered insult yet. Don't turn this into a blood bath in front of the noncombatants." The woman says, standing to her considerable height. "And don't give potential enemies information they haven't earned." She chides softly, making the knight blush.
"Down puppy, down!" The voice at her side says, earning a slap of the scabbard by Listrana.
She turns to Khatef. "You are not the gods, no matter what you think. I have prayed in the temples of the gods, and they did not respond, nor lift a finger." She spits. "Claiming to be the gods is a bad plan to bilk the gullible, someone will spill your guts to prove your claim. I know not why death fears me, but I won't be afraid of anyone or anything, god nor man, any longer. Nor will I quit my speech about what should be, instead of what is."
For a second, Beatrice considers blinding the irreverent knight, but she chooses mercy instead. And if the Razors know about it, I don't really care. "As I told you, not Gods, but Godbounds. Far from omnipotence, but also far from humanity. And you are one of us.
For all your hatred, your bitterness, it was divine spark that kept you from dying. You wonder where the Gods were? One of them was walking the survivors out of the demon lands, with an arrow in her helmet."
Jebat laughs finding the scene entirely entertaining. "So, let me get this straight, m'lady. You died. You have a talking sword. And you want to make the world better."
"Hey Kostya, too bad you can't pass her your, uh..." The pirate clears his throat and turns to address Kostya inside the carriage. "Then, you can go home without the world depending on your survival."
Jebat replies almost daring Kostya, "I don't believe you. The angel said only us four. You think you can undo that? Prove it with her," nodding toward the Red Lady.
It wouldn't be the first time he dared someone to do something foolish just to see if something could be done.
"Calm down, both of you. She didn't even know to be Godbound, she should be given a choice at the very least."
"As much a choice as we were given in any case." Khatef turns away from Beatrice and addresses Listrana.
"Would you rather join our group or watch the whole world collapse in on itself? At least we're pretty sure that's the end result. It may be a bit bigger than that."
Jebat looks offended, "Hey now Khatef that's not the choice she has, because I've no intention to let the world collapse in on itself. We will make changes. The choice she has is whether she wants to actually change the world with us or just preach about it."
"The world won't actually end unless the four of us are destroyed. On the other hand, we didn't have choice about it."
Beatrice smirks in mockery at Khatef. "Oh, poor little me, I have been strong-handed into saving the world and possibly the things I love, what a terrible curse. Should we keep looking for other replacements, if working with us is such a burden to you?"
A ferocious glare at Kostya threatens to set him on fire.
Montrose looks from Listrana to the spot where Khatef is. "Ma'am? There's nothing there?"
Listrana laughs. "Don't be silly, Montrose, of course there is. It's a ghost. Granted, you may needs have been dead to see him. But ask yourself, why is the crowd avoiding standing in that spot?"
At the words, the crowd seems to notice that they are not standing in the spot indicated, and the spot they are not standing in triples in size as they move back away from Khatef.
Montrose's eyes widen. "Oh! I guess they can see the ghost too then."
Listrana cocks her head. "I am not sure what the ghost prattles on about, but I think we should talk in private, away from crowds. No need to unsettle the citizens unduly."
Her soldiers all nod, and begin to finish up what they are doing currently.
"Calmatevi, amici. Non c'è nulla da temere, siete al sicuro. Ora andate e rendete il mondo un posto migliore." Her words are soffused with divine power, so that all who listen will feel homesick and go away, hopefully off to do something good.
As the crowd starts thinning, Beatrice looks at Listrana with a hint of smugness.
"There. Now, will you also dismiss your knights? We have a proposition for you, and it comes with sort of a long story."
Listrana raises an eyebrow, but shrugs. "Montrose, you and the others gather up the supplies and determine if we need to procure more. Also, get a report ready on how things went with the people you were all helping. What is the state of the city, are there any issues plaguing them, and so on. Write up a report if you have time, but have an oral recount ready."
Montrose nods and salutes by bringing his fist to his chest, over his heart, again. He moves off to gather up the other Knights and begin packing things up and talking in hushed tones on the other corner of the small park.
The crowd turns to look at Khatef, and is confused.
"Wait, I see him! Does that mean I'm dead!?!" one starts to panic before being slapped by his friend.
"No you idiot, it just means the Red Lady's off her rocker. Like we didn't know that."
"So she's just been talking to this random guy and he hasn't been talking back?"
"Uh, yeah. That's what crazy people do, right?"
Khatef, for his part, looks very irritated that his ability to have a semi-private conversation with the woman has been blown.
Montrose looks from Listrana to the spot where Khatef is. "Ma'am? There's nothing there?"
Listrana laughs. "Don't be silly, Montrose, of course there is. It's a ghost. Granted, you may needs have been dead to see him. But ask yourself, why is the crowd avoiding standing in that spot?"
At the words, the crowd look and notice the man.
Montrose's eyes widen. "Oh! I could have sworn there was no-one there..."
Listrana cocks her head. "I am not sure what the ghost prattles on about, but I think we should talk in private, away from crowds. No need to unsettle the citizens unduly." As she realizes everyone else can now see Khatef, she grins. "Oh? Can't hide once someone points you out? Interesting..."
Listrana raises an eyebrow at the comments, but ignores them. She watches the crowd wander off.
"Look, we're late for a party, and we're trying to keep a low profile. Neither of which we're excelling at right now."
"Let's call Kostya's bluff; chit chat quickly; or invite her to the party.". Jebat goads Kostya and nudges his companions toward making a good impression on his business partner.
Beatrice rolls her eyes at Jebat's shenanigans. "Alright, Madama, here's the deal. Since the world was broken, there have been, apparently, shards of divinity flying around, binding themselves to people and granting them supernatural powers. My enthralling the crowd right now, for example. Khatef hiding in plain sight. And we have other, more scenographic powers that we should avoid using in plain sight, if we don't want to attract attention."
"An angel -yes, I know how it sounds, but it truly was one- summoned us to fix a sort of contrapture called a Celestial Engine, one that was keeping the world, or part of it, from breaking even more. We were bound to it, and tasked to be a pantheon, to keep Arcem alive."
"Now, one of our number has expressed a desire to leave, and be alone, and we were wondering whether you would like to take his place in the pantheon."
Standing on the threshold of the carriage door, Jebat looks down at them and slowly shakes his head through Beatrice's offer. "Beatrice, that just sounds like crazy talk."
"Look. This Red Lady obviously went through a similar experience as us by dying and all. She obviously wants to make the world a better place. So, she has my vote. Beatrice just seconded her nomination."
"Unless Khatef has anything to add, I want to see how Kostya transfers the burden. We may have to do this again to keep the world from breaking again. We didn't get a choice, so this Red Lady doesn't necessarily need one either.". The captain's jovial tone has turned more serious possibly in reaction to eye rolling. But maybe, he just wants to eat.
Beatrice faces Khatef, eyes narrowed to slits. "And maybe, the fact that we were slighted does not mean we should slight others in the same way, does it? Should I hire assassins to murder people, since assassins were hired to murder me? Should Khatef go on chopping hands because his was chopped off?"
Jebat smiles but sighs. "Beatrice, your examples make becoming a God who is responsible for the world continuing is a bad thing. She obviously wants to improve the world. Kostya's burden will allow her to do that more effectively."
"The fact remains that the world unravels if this particular burden is not passed on, and people like us aren't exactly common. We only have a few shots at this, and the next Godbound we meet might be another psychopath or broken doll like the last two. Listrana at least seems sane and capable."
Jebat's face lights up in reply to Khatef. "So, it's unanimous! Alright Kostya, show us how it's done."
Obviously from Jebat's point of view, Listrana doesn't get a vote.