The last several days spent in the luxurious yet tense repast of the Creste of the Spectre, the finely-provisioned inn contained by a savagely shaped stalagmite of enormous dimensions abutting the tower of the Keep known as the Shade Height, have furnished Zelrim with a completely new perspective on the world of the living.
Though his childhood in the marsh-bound Halfling village of Yzbanai had included Old Mother Yrrwigg's seemingly endless store of tales from the vast empires that ruled the infinite territories beneath the waves -- "How Misrande Forgot His Heart," "Why the Selkies Fear to Love," "How the Shark Got His Teeth," and many others whose names he has forgotten -- Zelrim scarce imagined he would ever personally be a witness to any of the lands of story and myth.
Yet, here he was, hospitably quartered on the treacherous border of the Hundred Kingdoms, seeing it all first hand for himself... and for his trustworthy shelled friend as well -- for surely the immense snapping turtle derived some pleasure from their new surroundings, mustn't it?
The Creste was a curious establishment, its furnishings strange admixture of incalculably valuable wares retrieved from the ship wrecks and ruins which littered the nearby trench which the ordinances of the Sea Elf Druids who had until recently taken responsibility for the Keep had remaindered outside the sacred perimeter traced by the fortress' main towers, as well as the bones and shells of ten thousand-thousand fossils, recovered from the self same deeps.
It seemed likely the structure had originally been a kind of mausoleum or shrine that had later been populated with unruly guests and ill-matched adornments to ease their rest, but this hypothesis had been neither confirmed nor denied by any actual words spoken by one of the proprietors over the last several days passed without the light of the sun.
Zelrim's enjoyment of the bar -- a vast, ornamented crescent of black marble, streaked with eggshell veins, and capped by an elaborate shelf that surmounts its base in a manner similar to the capital of a pilaster in one of the elaborate Kazzanite shrines of Calishman -- is suddenly arrested by the entrance of Halim Dezz-Khaniff, one of the emissaries of the Dark Triumvirate attached to the expedition by the order of the Pashulan, and a thoroughly unlikable gentleman.
Now, it had to be admitted that there was a certain unlikable quality to all adherents of the New Kazzanite creed. Ever since the raving seer Prusstaltain the Enraptured, also known as Prust Satalnis, had been purportedly seized with Kazz Sammar's new,extravagant vision for his loyal adherents, as well as those of the other Dark Triumverate deitie, lascivious Assadar and treacherous Shabur Beck, his servants had pursued their scheming without abatement.
So, truly Halim was but a symptom, and not a cause of the virulent zealotry quickly consuming all of Caeshaeylliya.
Halim's lavender toga, a symbol of the order he served, picked up some of the unnatural reflections from the lime-hued lamps set at varying heights in elaborately carved sconces along the walls of the tavern.
"I thought I would find you here half-man, well drink up, because it is time for you to earn your gold again. There's been some sort of upset in the audience hall of the Devonorian Embassy, and we're going to invite ourselves to investigate, and hopefully thereby succeed in meeting directly with any of the Princess' emissaries, which has thus far proven a thoroughly illusive task"
Before he can hear any argument, the garrulous servant of the God of Chance continues, as if anticipating any possible objection,
"Now, you might fear that we will be unwelcome, having not been invited, but I assure you the welcome of His Glorious Eminence the Pashultan of Calishman will be considerably more frigid if we return empty handed from this strenuous, and now delayed embassy, so you may put that concern aside and likewise put away any thoughts that I shall be content to live out my probably exile in the fetid marshes of your miserable little hovels. So, come, be spry, and let us make bold with the moment,"
Though he takes not notice of it, the rude command draws the attention of the hulking bar keep, who is little-willing to so quickly abandon a paying customer to this new guest.
.
The departure of the Moonwater Knight leaves the Savant alone with the Austorian, an absence which seems to make the usually talkative sorcerer positively un-quietable, as well as more solicitous.
Suddenly, his attention is drawn again to some important image he observes through the portal,
"Mother of the Stormwinds, that is quite an entrance -- do come here Master Hrungnir, and observe this thing for yourself. It seems the Legion of the Orchestra imagines it will intimidate the other parties into compliance with any imposition it may wish to propose in the summit three days hence"
Then he chuckles his strange, throaty laugh,
"What utter impertinence. Do come observe this remarkable spectacle"
The strange book appears to be a kind of manual for composing poetry where a line can be read as a continuous sentence, e.g. "the land rests as the sun rises over...". It seems to have been composed in the ancient temples of Athanes before the Isle of Adybassia was submerged, and was used to either create or decode oracles performed in the temple.
Much of the book appears to be written in this extraordinary style, and so will require some additional attention if it's mysteries are to be further understood.
At the arrival of the zealous Halim, Zelrim halted a budding sigh. "At least ye thought t' find me enjoyin' th' atmosphere o' this fine establishment, rath'r then prowlin' these unfamiliar lands. Giving his recently filled glass a remorseful glance, the canoneer twists in his saddle to face the New Kazzanite.
"Now, I 'ave no doubt ye wish t' scurry about 'n fulfill th' Pashultan's will, but ye got t' remember th' big picture. These people are nah familiar wit' us." Giving a respectful nod to the hulking barkeep as a coin or two find themselves besides his glass, the halfling continues, "See, I kno' we be unwelcome. I be jus' smart enough t' realize it."
"It would be mighty hard to serve the Pashultan's will with your body split a' twain. But, 'tis yer arse at stake. Jus' remember, I be nah riskin' me life nor Praesidium's t' pull ye out o' a mess o' yer owns makin'. I be here t' help ye get along wit' these nice sea folk."
Giving the armored shell beneath him a series of pats causing Praesidium to swivel about, the wild looking halfling pauses to ask the barkeep, quite politely, "Now, I don't suppose ye know a way t' kindly poke one's nose where it don't belong?"
As he waits for the obviously sage like advice of the barkeep, for how else did one become a barkeep, a single thought goes through his mind. I would sooner swallow a cannon ball afore I'd allow yer rotten influence on me home. Damnable fanatic
Hrungnir approached, slowly and cautiously. He was uncomfortable taking sides just yet, and it seemed to him that the Savant was looking to have Hrungnir share an enemy with him. In an attempt to shift the topic, he said [b]"Master Savant, now that we are alone, perhaps you could use this opportunity to illuminate something for me. I am, as you are well aware, a stranger to these waters. Might you tell me more of this Legion of the Orchestra? And your faith, I am unclear as to the particulars. My people venerate our ancestors in all things. What do
...what do your people revere? And where do these beliefs stem from?"
Despite every scale on his body, every fiber of his being begging him to continue reading the tome, he decided to close the book. Stowing the large tome in his pack, he gathered what supplies he was instructed to gather and makes his way to the audience chamber to as instructed by master Elehuddi the Swordsage.
The Halfling's earthly-familiar solicitation initially meets with a pregnant, exceedingly awkward denouement in the surging tide of conversation, whose concussive ebbs were the fleeting means by with which the preacher and his nonplussed guide had thoroughly disturbed the aqueous vibrations clashing in a confused sonic melee over the mercantile battlements of the golden countertops' cyclopean envelopment.
The attending bar keep, a massive, mottled half troll with skin the same hue as the forests of writhing kelp that surrounded Ghostlight Keep, grunts in a deep, bestial, but not unfriendly acknowledgement. Meanwhile, the wrinkled moray eel that had until that moment virtually camouflaged itself as a worn mantle atop the Troll's oiled leather epauletes extended its jaws and widened its piercing lemon colored eyes in a somewhat amusing gesture of anticipation.
"Unfortunately, Gramork here only understands, but does not speak our common tongue," the explanation arising from a Sea Folk male with what must assuredly be prematurely whitened hair arranged in prominent ridges by some kind of emollsive gel, and ringed by a golden band. His copper breastplate largely conceals a pink tunic.
"I, however, as the solemnly appointed sommelier of this humble establishment may be able to render aid in both interpretation and my own stores of advice on the matter at hand. I am Denaris, and wonder whether you wish to effect this unexpected entry by lawful or" he smiles a wide, conspiratorial grin,"unlawful means"
Zelrim easily detects that his new confidant prefers the latter option.
Bobbing his head in time as Praesidium returns the barkeep's grunted reply, the halfling responded, "'tis why I appreciate ye. Ye be an honest man. Nah t' mention some wicked style, I mean it takes a real pioneer t' do th' whole livin' mantle. Plus, I don't like havin' t' natter o'er others. Feels sorta rude."
Twisting around in a owl-like fashion, Zelrim takes the words of the salmon dressed Sea Folk before returnig to face the kindly half troll.. "Sink me, 'n here I thought ye jus' was a fellow o' few word. Suppose ye technically are, but semantics." Waving his hand dismissively, the gunner dipped his head in a oddly sincere bow"Me apologies, ye're still th' best barkeep I'd had th' pleasure o' fer some time."
"Praesidium, if ye'd rotate so I don't 'ave t' keep twistin' about in mimicry o' that oh so smart eel." The turtle radiates boredom as it shuffles about, slowly changing it's degrees until it's rider and the steward are in line, before slinking back into it's shell, dropping the already short halfling another foot in height. His face apologetic, Zelrim shrugs. "He gets that way when I natter too much. Sometimes I reckon he only stays cause he's got th' same fascination o' explosives as meself."
Leaning forward with his elbows propped on the cannon beneath him, the wild haired guide grins with the same wild passion often seen before he'd waste a week's worth of black powder on a simple gunboat just for the resultant fireball. "I greatly 'preciate this, Cap'n Denaris. I 'ave no doubt ye know jus' wha' me employer needs." At the question of legality, Zelrim gives a mockingly contemplative look to his chest, the four battered pistols sitting in alternating loops with the hemp tied to the handle to keep from losing them during wild battles. "I know I may nah look it, but I do appreciate keepin' me option open. Both me good sir, if ye would ." His jovial tone suggests some sort of depreciating comment, perhaps a remark of his pirate like appearance or his informal habit of speech.
A tone of veritably unbounded delight clearly reverberates from Denaris' speedy reply,
"Splendid! In truth, I have been desperately seeking a fine pair such as yourselves with which to trouble our uninvited and unwelcome Devonorian visitors. For you see, they have quickly driven off the kind circle of Sea Elven druids who once served as the impartial caretakers of these sacred premises. However, the profanation of the Tower of Ghosts by the Storm Priests' rituals has caused them to despair and abandon their long held tenure as keepers of the Keep's shrines. This event has also had the more important consequence of curtailing by a not inconsiderable degree the business done by this fine establishment. For on the one hand, the attraction of the Druids' sites of pilgrimage has been removed, and on the other the absence of the Keep's long-time defenders has left its premises perilously exposed to attack. It was only the beast-quelling power of their circle that protected us from many terrible things that live in the nearby deeps. Indeed, they are rumored to conceal creatures so terrible that even the new forces arrayed in the Keep will not be sufficient to withstand them should their attentions be drawn to us while we remain without the protection of the Druids. In any event, my business is suffering grievously, and you have arrived at an opportune moment to join in a delightful scheme I have concocted to set matters aright. It also involves the willful misuse of the Ice Elves' precious portals, which should doubly appeal to you, given their recent mistreatment of your embassy. Will you not come this way, and we shall discuss the particulars in a more... private setting? Gramork here can assuredly attend to the customers while I pursue this endeavor that should ensure the long term survival of our common employment."
Halim answers almost as speedily as Denaris' proposal has concluded, his remarks emphasized by his raising of the elaborate carved rod of bucote wood.
The extreme expense that the scepter must have incurred is reflected in its ornate embellishments. Its shaft is carved in the manner of a column, whose capital contains four figures, three minor and one greater. The three smaller images are imaginative depictions of the deities of the Dark Triumverate -- the River Otter Khazz Samar rolling his weighted dice, the lascivious hare Assadar luxuriant in his perfidy, and the mute Salamander Shabur Beck, his twin knives drawn in threat.
Standing before them is an image of the marsupial from which the Iristhirian race of Caeshaeylliya believes itself to have evolved, in distinction from the other human peoples. Whether this is a belief based in any fact is open to debate.
The ornamented head of the staff thrusts pointedly into the waters above the golden surface of the bar as it punctuates the preacher's excited reply,
"Indeed, this is also my preferred solution to our current predicament. For do not the holy words of the Lord of Chance teach that, "Do what thou wilt, and this shall be the whole of the law?" and "rules exist only for those do not know how to break them". The Prophet Satalnis has been particularly keen to encourage this sort of behavior as well, so there are many advantages for both you and us in the proposal. By all means, lead on, the half-man and I shall only be to glad to entertain all the particulars of your plan."
The banner affixed to the back of Halim's golden torque, the metallic laurel upon his brow, and three circlets of ebony affixed to his mantle all shimmer as the luminescent mint hue of the rooms' lanterns dim briefly as if to mark the moment.
Just as Denaris satisfied grin is about to disappear as he turns to escort Zelrim, his shelled companion, and the eager cleric, he is halted in his departure by Gramork's sinuous companion, who is surreptitiously attempting to follow the pink-garbed Sea Folk.
This action is promptly challenged by Denaris,
"And just where do you think you're going P'wheck? Was I not excruciatingly precise as to the terms of your employment when I, with some degree of unwillingness I remind you, extended you an offer as a favor to Gramork? No, you have no place here, and must continue to attend to the, to you mundane, but still crucial task to which your combination of a lack of thumbs and sharp fangs are peculiarly appropriate, and that is shucking the shelled entrees for our guests. If you prove reliable in this single task, then perhaps you shall be able to grow into more exciting duties in the future, but if I must restrain you but one more time, I fear our partnership will have to come to an end."
As the dejected eel returns to its kitchen labors, a octopus intrudes upon the conversation, also eliciting a sharp rebuke from Denaris,
"No I have not terminated his employment, and there is not presently a vacancy for monetarily compensated work in the Creste! You have barely been here a week! If you do not wish to prove yourself as a waiter, then you, sir, may depart as well! Not another word about it! If the garment is so dear to you, then you will endure this trial period patiently in the hope that I shall eventually provide you with the appropriate remuneration to attain your long-nurtured desire. Now go, and no loitering with P'wheck either, you're both lowering the morale of the staff the longer you work here."
His expressive eyes now bent in an unmistakable frown, the octopus retreats, but not before he lifts a single, bright orange tentacle in a rude gesture towards his prospective Sea Folk employer.
"Don't think I didn't see that," Denaris calls to the octopus' back, before addressing Zelrim and Halim once more,
"My apologies gentleman, we may now proceed to my study -- truly, one should never come between once of those creatures and a fancy purple plumed hat, it makes them insensible"
His pink tunic ripples slightly under his brass armor as Denaris withdraws, revealing previously hidden streaks of white the same color as his oddly-styled hair which had heretofore remained concealed in the folds of the garment.
The Savant extends the long, dark talons of his upraised hand in an ostensibly inviting gesture that is also somehow simultaneously quite threatening. His out-stretched fingers guide Hrungnir's eyes out the window of the Tower of Ghosts to the enormous Orchestra Dragon currently perched on the Nail, the abode of the Gorh'Tonh embassy at the Keep. The wyrm's immense horns create an impressive profile that casts the area around the spire into shadow.
May spectators have paused to observe, like Hrungnir and Vicuska, the arrival of this terrible beast. In particular, the Dwarf notices a Lammian and Squawk engaged in an intense conversation while they watch the beast from ground level.
The spectacle is only increased by the quick arrival of the dragons' train, a large pod of killer whales, some clearly evidencing bizarre mutations or admixtures of other species.
Following the Orchestra Dragon and its expected hunting pod are three hulking siege engines, each of which spews caustic steam into the nearby waters.
Hrungnir can barely finish taking in the arresting spectacle before the Savant begins his reply,
"The Legion of the Orchestra is the personal army of Nassiral Hate, the Pale Oracle who has recently arisen to unite the different Legions of the Gorh'Tonh Dominions in an unprecedented fashion. Hate is an albino specimen, the rarest of the Gorh'Tonh breeds, and one of the few which devotes itself to the magical arts. He has somehow acquired a uniquely powerful totem for his legion, a pod of immense Orchestra Dragons named Cynophantis, and has used it to conquer the solitary totems of the other Legions, one by one, until he has united virtually all under his single rule. Moreover, he has launched a series of ambitious conquests, including his seizure of Merceria only a few days in the past. The majority of the Gorh'Tonh divisions in this embassy are from the Orchestra Legion, including, so far as I can determine, all the war beasts, siege engines, and command staff. There are small divisions from the Legion of the Kraken, and perhaps one other, but they appear to be only common infantry units. It is almost as if Hate is forcing his former rivals to witness some new triumph he hopes to achieve at this conference."
He smirks, before continuing,
The scar on that dragon marks it as the personal steed of Kulh''Kanh the Traitor Mage, one of Hate's foremost emissaries. I imagine the Pale Oracle believes whatever victory he seeks is secure because he has dispatched one of his most powerful servants to lead the expedition. I assure you, he has sorely underestimated the power and resolve of our Imperial forces. We will not be put aside so easily as that!"
He concludes with a throaty chuckle,
"I will answer your questions, but pray do not express such interest in the hearing of the Storm Priests, or they shall seek to convert you, and not accept "no" as an answer! What particularly interests you about our faith in the Malestrom?"
Ushering Walks a Shadowed Path surreptitiously into the secure confines of a ill-lit alcove, Song of the Nightingale and Midnight theatrically lifts the shimmering ectoplasm of her cloak and mantle to call her confidante's to pay close attention.
This a distinctive garment that indisputably marks her as one of the Queen's revered Deathspeakers, the powerful magicians that severed as both sentinels and guides on the treacherous boundary between this life and the Spirit World.
Song of the Nightingale at Midnight begins to speak in a peculiar mixture of the language of warning and inquiry,
"Know that it has come to into my knowledge, O Pup of the Gray Wolf's Keening, that your recent journeys on behalf of the Daughter of the House of the Clipped Wings of the Hummingbird have trespassed upon the laws enacted by the Opener of the Ways, the First Queen of the People. It was her reverend person who forbade us to enter days that have past by means of the paths by which she taught us to travel to other worlds. But you have done this thing by her request, and in less peculiar times would have merited severe punishment for the deed. However, in light of the dark days that have currently fallen upon the People, the Mother of the People herself has bid me to extend to you her free and unalterable pardon. Fearing for the soul of her child, she wishes you to serve her will as you have aided that of the First Daughter, and thereby perhaps save them both from destruction."
The Deathspeaker continues in the more illusive and conspiratorial cadences of the plotting tongue,
"The Chosen Cub of the Great Hunter is by no means the only one to seek a greater knowledge of He Whose Name Was Lost. In truth, the Mother of the People Fears that his dark power may once more seek the Heart of the People. Moreover, the sickness of the First Daughter may have brought quickened his plans"
Song of the Nightingale at Midnight continues by speaking in the language of inquiry, this time unalloyed by that of warning,
"Tell me, Walks a Shadowed Path, what you know of the ways that were opened by the First Mother -- or should I enlighten you further in the manner that they are opened and one passes through them?"
Walks a Shadowed Path is slightly taken aback by the Deathspeaker's return to the language of warning,
"The matter that weighs especially upon this heart, O Prince, are the ways that are between the ways -- not the paths that connect the unnumbered worlds, but the darkness that lies between them..."
Blankly staring at the prophet, the canonner shares eye contact with his mount. "If doin' wha' ye wants be th' whole o' th' law, thar really aren't many rules t' break. Also, by th' great one's shelled backside, if he wasn't payin' me check I'd show 'im wha' bein' half a man be like."
Taking a moment to lazily recline in his saddle Zelrim glances at the hired help. "No worries, some folks jus' loose it when it comes t' th' fancier aspect o' life. Ye oughta hear about how I got me hat." Before entering the study, he asks, "Would ye be willin' t' accommodate me Pseudemys matey. "
”I thank you for your illumination. My curiosity comes from my own faith. We Austorians have been cut off from contact with all else since time immemorable. The idea of different beliefs was all but unfathomable until our ascent.”
After a moment’s pause, he continued. ”I wish you the sight of the waves on your present conflict*, and will indeed refrain from discussing matters of faith with the storm priests.”
* By wishing the sight of the waves, what Hrungnir is saying is that he prays for the ancestors to watch and judge the conflict fairly. It is a measured response given when one does not have all of the information needed to make up one’s mind. Of course, to anyone but an Austorians it likely won’t make sense.
Also will wait for the Sense Motive before going forward. :)
[ooc]Hrungnir has deduced from his current tenure with the Devonorians that they tended to use the Sea Folk of the Hundred Kingdoms as canon fodder in their battles with the Empire of Ashlaguttah across the Shattered Sea to the east. In this case, it seems very likely their attempt to create an 'alliance' to assist the Austorians in reclaiming their homeland is a ruse to attract a similar contingent to march in front of their ranks, the Hundred Kingdoms have long ago broken from their rule. The probable outcome would be using the forces from the other kingdoms as canon fodder to seize the Orabatium mines of the Dwarves and then taking control of the mining operations, supposedly for their mutual benefit.
"That is indeed true, and I believe it is precisely this that may prove his undoing -- overconfidence. In both my own experience, and my study of history, pride is the stumbling block upon which fall even the greatest of planners. May we pray that the Mistress of Humiliation will similarly cause them to stumble."
Narrisca then provides her final guidance before she and Zalona emerge into the light beyond the end of the dark, rough-hewed passage.
"Come, gather your wits, for you will need all your powers to face what is coming Zalona."
The hall opens into a large, bright-lit chamber sheathed in flawless marble panels on all floors, walls, and ceilings. Indeed, the already intense light issuing from the narrow eyelets placed in regular intervals around the walls of the oubliette is further magnified by the white surfaces which refract and burnish this illumination to an almost supernatural degree. It is as if Zalona now stands in a room outside which is the risen sun that warms the lands above the waves.
A diverse crowd mills about the center of the room, into the midst of which the Tolh now directs it's clanking mechanical steed.
The collected company part as if herd animals in the face of the whirring engines and belching smoke of the metallic monstrosity which Balh'Takh forces through their ranks as if they were not present.
The Tolh then brings his vehicle to a halt in front of a chamber on the far wall.
It, like all the holding cells, consists of a featureless marble alcove open to the room, and a wall of force dividing the prisoner from the visitors.
Within the chamber, swims the brightly colored captive of which Zalona has recently heard so much. The Amphians are said to be related to Cindarians, and are mermen who possess the upper bodies of men and the tails of Clown Fish. They are said to be distinguished from their better known cousins by their possession of powerful innate psychic gifts.
When Zalona enters the chamber, the Amphian is facing the wall, but slowly turns in her direction.
She sees easily what the Kali-lio mercenary meant by his reference to the Amphian's "terrible eyes."
For its pair of piercing, beady opals seem to drink in the intense light of the chamber, dimming its brilliance within the creature's vicinity.
Its face is marked with some kind of white paint, with dark spikes smeared from the corners of its eyes, as well as down his cheek and up his forehead -- appearing like a.... clown of some sort.
It begins to swim to the fall of force separating it from the rest of the chamber,
Zalona hears Balh'Takh's voice again,
"Hear, and truth he will speak."
Then another, new, and somehow more sinister, if lower, higher-pitched voice intrudes into her mind,
"Please come closer Zalona, I am so pleased you have come. Your daughter's great love has sent you to me."
He beckons for the Rusalka to approach the wall of force.
Narrisca's voice arises again,
"Don't worry, we're here behind you. Did he say anything yet?
Denaris swivels with practiced alacrity at Zelrim's final comment requesting permission for Praesidium to enter the private suite.
"By all means, gentle buccaneer, for assuredly my protestations to the squamous members of my staff in now fashion apply to so noble a creature as your trusty gun squire. Indeed, in all my travels, I have never heard an ill word spoken of their noble race. No, perish the thought, and usher him to an honored place by your side."
He looks off blissfully, before continuing,
"You see, Hruusulli, the cantankerous cephalopod whose presumption I was just forced to curb back there, is a curious case. His race hails from a vast territory, far to the east, beyond Tegeresin and the Daemon-ruled Empire of Ashlaughuttah. This Octopoid Combine is said to be of immense size, perhaps one of the few true rivals to Ashlaughuttah and its invidious Emissaries. They are an utterly collectivist society of tentacled beings, of which the awakened octopi are but one component, alongside merkoth and other, even stranger races. The odd member who wishes to acquire individual property must depart to other lands where such things are permitted. Which has led our unhappy eight armed service waiter to my door. They always desire some pointless bauble, and generous souls such as your humble caretaker are their only means to possess them. A curious specimen of a curious species, no question about it."
He turns back more pointedly as he concludes,
"Now, please, come, for I wish to inform you and the priest of many matters concerning Elven portals -- their uses, but principally their misuses, which is what we are soon to be about."
Making a noise of agreement, the halfling strokes his beard. "Takes quite a creature t' maroon 'tis ship fer some shiny baubles. Certainly would take more than that fer me..." Going quiet, the lively personality of Zelrim disappears, being replaced with a somber presence not unlike that of a funeral. A quick nip by his companion, and the gunner jolts into awareness. "Me apologies. Bad memories 'n all."
Gusturing towards the door with renewed vigor, Zelrim nods. "Misuse be me specialty, but enlighten me like a pirate's beard."
Zalona backs up a step instead of coming closer.
I can hear you just fine from here. What is your name? she says in Common.
The patient, still sublimely unperturbed Squawk replies to the Lamian with a slight inclination of his head,
"Satazia, know that I am pleased to meet the acquaintance of the second of your kind I have espied at this strange conference. I am Kawsag of the Darkriders of Kerberus, the most famed mercenary legion in all the Sundered Seas. We serve the Lady of Silence Kasugoan, the ancient and long lost patron of Aveendenaea, from whose line our leader Kerberbus descends in a line of faithful Templars stretching back millennia. His ancestors destroyed their home when they created the Gorh'Tonhs to serve as a race of perfect soldiers to fight their battles with the Devonorians. As it turns out, they did their work too well and succumbed to their own creations. Ever afterwards, the Templar orders that survived have striven to increase order and fight chaos in these troubled lands. At the core of our company is the greatest of these knightly orders of ancient Aveendenaea, though I have heard rumors that there are others. I myself am an Inquisitor of Kasugoan, converted to the faith by the hand of Kerberus himself, for whose sake I left my own people in my youth."
He then squints as he studies Satazia more closely,
"And you do not know of this other Lamian? It is indeed a curious thing, that at least one of you is not aware of the other. Most curious."
He turns to look back at the Tower of Ghosts, rising behind them, noting the Austorian and the Imperial Savant gazing down at him and the Lamian from above -- they also appear to be taking the measure of Kalh'Kanh's newly arrived steed.
Kawsag returns his attention to Satazia,
"Kalh'Kanh is one of the great servants of Nassiral Hate, the Pale Oracle who know leads almost all the Legions. This dragon here is his mount, as you can tell by the scar on its breast, which it received in a famous battle."
He seems to muse slightly before continuing,
"That is curious if your people are not usually associated with a group such as the Red Shields. Given the subterfuge of this conference, I wonder if someone has merely taken the appearance of one of your kind for some unknown end... or perhaps they are a betrayer of your values? In any event, I have little other intelligence on the matter to offer you. I merely observed one of your kind among their number in the last few days -- a female, perhaps your age, apparently a kind of swordsman. She bore a sword with a curious violet blade. You can then see my cause for assuming you were one and the same."
Kawsag returns his gaze to the Tower of Ghosts,
"Well, never mind that for now, I assume you are also pursing the rumors of a great apparition in the audience chamber above" he points up towards the pinnacle of the Tower of Ghosts.
"I have been dispatched by Master Kerberus to investigate the matter and return with a report. Shall we proceed together, unless you are actually headed a different way than the rest of the company gathered here...?"
He concludes by staring at Satazia pointedly, clearly eager to determine if she is about some business other than investigating the occurrence in the audience hall.
Denaris ushers Zelrim, Praesidium, and Halim past an alcove shielded with a dense curtain that appears to be made up of several hundred rows of tiny finger bones. The Sea Folk lifts this elaborate and unnerving barrier by pulling gently on a small chain, and the torrent of tiny ripples released by this motion raise goose pimples on Zelrim's exposed skin.
Behind the curtain is a small circular alcove whose floor disappears into a whole pulsing with a more intense form of the lime green light emitted by the lamps which surround the room.
"Come, my study lies beneath, and shall be the perfect locale through which to plot this delightful and, I anticipate, supremely effective pursuit of our various, though also shared, ends."
Denaris gestures for another of the Troll servants to close the curtain and guard the alcove as he descends into the lower reaches of the Creste.
Halim's zeal is entirely unrestrained, and he bounds forward, past Zelrim and his shelled companion, to catch up with their host.
"What incredible fortune we have secured by your company, Master Innkeeper, surely the Lord of the Dice looks favorably upon our endeavor. I can guarantee the generosity and perpetual friendship of the Pashultan for your aid in my diplomatic mission."
Denaris probably would have been less pleased to receive this assurance had he been informed of the fate of others who had made recently concluded agreements with the agents of the Dark Triumverate.
Indeed, fearsome Jungle Trolls of the Hornbreaker Jungle, would likely regret their decision to cease warring with the Caeshaeylliyan colonies, and instead accept transport aboard their vessels to conduct trade in far flung regions of Ishtauria alongside their new Irisithrian allies. At least it seemed probable they would be unhappy to discover the 'trade vessels' were in fact war hulks that were destined to disembark their cargo on the shores of the Salamander Kingdom, so that the Trolls could provide cannon fodder for the Pashultan's new war with Caeshaeylliya's powerful neighboring kingdom. The women and children left behind would be made into slaves of the Hornbreaker colonies, and over time bred for further fighting stock. All in all, not a great deal for any but the Caeshaeylliyans, and a typical example of the "generosity' of the Dark Triumverate's faithful servant, the ruler of Calishman, variously designated as the Pasha-Sultan, Pan-Sultan, or, most commonly, the Pashultan.
Zelrim's own people had always been wary of the Irisithrians for this reason, and taken care in any dealings with them to prevent sharing the fate of the Hornbreaker Trolls, or similar peoples who had come under the sway of the peninsular city states.
Denaris' voice rises again as the company of four enter the green-lit tunnels beneath the inn,
"Now that we have crossed into more discrete environs, let me query you as to your knowledge of the Ice Elven portals, so that I may tell you what you need to know, and not more, and thereby delay our action. Furthermore, do you know anything of the Devonorians' religion? This also is key to my plan."
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The Savant turns to Hrungnir as he begins to answer the second portion of his inquiry,
"Regarding the Malestrom, I must confess that the Imperator's Savants hold a less universally positive view than that of the Storm Priests and Surgechanters. Indeed, our orders existed before the advent of this religion, and have always sought to maintain our independence from its growing domination of all Devonorian society, an aim that has been less successful than its follower would care to admit."
"It is an open secret that the Maelstrom is the spirit of the Dragon rent from Her body after the Great War, though the Storm Priests will attempt to punish any who utter this well known fact in their presence. After being severed from Her body by the power of Athanes, the Dragon's spirit wandered the Sundered Seas for many years. Our people were charged, alongside other races of the Accord, to defend the world from one of the remains of the Dragon's power, and the Nommo of the Devonorian Empire received the task of hunting and containing Her spirit."
"For many years we faithfully pursued this end, until the advent of the warrior prophet Echan Seitman, also known as Yasol Zigmun. He directed our people to worship the Dragon's spirit in the hope of eventually controlling it with our prayers. I fear that instead it has come to dominate its followers. This faith quickly spread through the orders of the Cyclonic Templars and their allies among the knightly societies which once hunted the Malestrom -- principally the Templars of the Typhoon, the Hurricane, and the Tsunami. Our former faiths declined in the face of the power of this new religion, until it had taken over the temples of our silent gods, for they had ceased to speak to us, as had the divine patrons of so many peoples, in the days following the Great War."
Vicuska then turns pointedly to Hrungnir,
"My perusal of my order's sparse records of your people suggest that they have maintained their ancient task to guard a portion of the Dragon's power on behalf of the other peoples of the Sundered Seas. Is this true? I would know more of your society."
Satazia nods in confirmation of Kawsag's final two questions.
''The one known as Kawsag is correct, this one is on her way to see this apparition that has been said to have been seen in the tower. This one will be happy to accompany you.''
She is silent for a bit as she considers the rest of what she has learned from this Kawsag.
Finally she turns back towards Kawsag to address him.
''In answer to your earlier question, I was not aware of any other Lamian being hear in the city. This would not exactly be unusual as we are are often dispatched out into the world alone. It is possible that this one knows this other Lamian by name or possibly the name of their clan. This one would be most appreciative if you would share any other information you should hear.''
Though she appears calm, on the inside her mind churns as she considers this new information.
I thought that all other agents of Talashaku were dead! And certainly this one did not hear of another Lamian. And to think they would be serving a band of choatic beings!
Whether they were a rogue agent or an imposter or some deep cover agent, Satazia did not like it one bit. Her kinsmen should have made her aware if there was another Lamian operating inside the keep. either way she would keep her eyes open.
Turning back to Kawsag, she smiles slightly.
''Come Kawsag let us hurry and see about this apparition.''
With a swish of her long tail she started gliding through the water towards the tower.
The Squawk carefully listens to Satazia's question with evident attention before he replies, still in his patient, untroubled manner,
"Well, as I have already explained, I simply took note of a female of your species among the number of the Red Shields. She was similar in height, weight, and bearing, and bore a finely wrought sword with a curious purple blade. I presumed that it was the same weapon as this weapon of yours her" he points at the rapier with one of his two muskets,"only then under the empowerment of some supernatural enchantment."
He muses slightly, turning to regard the summit of the Tower of Ghosts to which he and his new Lamian companion are quickly ascending,
"I mentioned that the Red Shields are also referred to as the Blood Fangs. To be more specific about the matter, I believe they may have once been two groups who were joined under the single banner, consisting of a pair of crimson triangles on a black field. Further, I suspect, now that I consider the matter, that the Lamian may have been a part of the Red Shields portion of that union, and that they may be less chaotic than the Blood Fangs. I saw her in the company of a number of Kai-lio and mercenaries of other races, but they did not appear to be the Devilbinders, Bloodragers, and warriors of rare or demonic races that are common among the Blood Fangs. Perhaps that offers some insight, I cannot say."
Kawsage conclude by returning to another matter,
"You mention the veteran Yozaril -- I believe he was one of the few survivors of the battle in which the earthly form of the Great Tunbaaq, monstrous patron of the Ice Elves, was banished early in the conflict which this conference is intended to close. Have you heard of it? It is an immensely powerful demon that appears as a polar bear with a long neck and curious pyramidal head. Further, it is said to be invincible to weapons, can turn invisible, run quicker than light, and move between this world and those of the fallen gods with ease. By some great magic, it was banished for a time to whatever frozen half-world it had originated. This, of course, enraged the Ice Elves. Just as a word of caution, my new friend, I would avoid making any knowledge of your connection to one such as Yozaril evident in the presence of an Ice Elf. They have notoriously long memories and will assuredly resent the connection, perhaps so much they will seek to exact some form of retribution."
He kicks his flippers to rise alongside Satazia, and they speedily approach the entrance to the summit of the Tower of Ghosts, in which lies the audience hall of the Devonorian Embassy -- the site of some strange occurrence.
Kawsage gestures politely as they enter the narrow opening on the west side of the tower.
"After you, of course,"
As soon as they enter, the dark profile of a Nommo, the catfish-like breed of Sea Folk who rule the Devonorian Empire, comes into view. He bears a long black mantle that almost blends with the darkness of the entrance way.
An unfriendly, slightly sibilant voice calls out,
"Who seeks to enter the domain of the Empire?"
Two more figures begin to emerge from the darkness as the Nommo concludes his frost welcome.
The Amphian's slight, calm smile inverts slightly at the refusal of his welcome. It is not as if he were mad but... saddened.
His voice begins to emerge again in Zalona's mind, more haltingly,
"You... have no need to fear aught from me Zalona. Know that I am the "Mime" of the Joyful Ones. I have been sent by the Bright Master to prepare the way for his Red Right Hand, who is coming soon to dispense the Master's justice to the nations of this cursed world. Soon, you will come to see us as the best of all possible friends, I assure you. For the Master's servants are his children, and his children are the family of the anointed.
As he says this, Narrsica's voice again intrudes upon Zalona,
"Only reply to him, do not reply to me any longer, or he will detect that there are others, unseen, in the room alongside you. I will be able to detect the general drift of the conversation by your replies, and can also indicate questions to which you should intend to get an answer. The most important matter is to try and determine who the Bright Master is, and especially if this one has met him, personally. Try to give me a sense of what he is saying in your replies, like by restating what he said in what you say, e.g., "You just said that you are called by such and such name and hail from such and such, based on that information, I would like to know such and such." Do not be afraid, I and my compatriots are close at hand should anything go awry."
The Amphian waits calmly for Zalona's reply, hovering in an eerily still suspension.
Snorting at the holy man's comment, Zelrim couldn't help but let the morbid humor bleed into his expression Th' same alliance between a fisherman 'n his catch.
At the proper invitation to speak, the sea shooter spoke up in his characteristic drawl before Halim could run his lying tongue ashore. "I can nah promise t' know much. I always preferred th' topside o' th' sea, 'n stayin' out o' all yer business down here. I shall let ye be privy t' wha' wee I got though."Sink me, 'n here I thought a good casual vibe would let me loot up at least a bit more scuttlebutt. All's well though, I dunno if both could read me dead, 'n somethin' unknown always be dangerous.
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Zalona bows towards the Amphian. Thank you for telling me that I have nothing to fear. People getting into my mind makes me nervous. You say that you are sent from the Bright Master, and that you are the "mime" of the Joyful Ones, but Balh'Takh told me that I would hear the voice of the Bright Master. So, please help me to understand first of all, Who are the Joyful Ones? Who is the Bright Master, and why do you call yourself a mime? Also, do you have a name that I should call you?
Hrungnir smiled. "I thank you for your candor. It is true our people are guardians against the dragon. Many have tried to worship it, but that did not spare them from it's ravages. Every year more monsters come from the deep. Every year our fortresses crumble that much more. They come not for gold, nor for power, but to consume. To corrupt. And once my people fall, they will continue their ascent. And as you know, I came up in your lands. Which means that your people will be the first to feel their might. And worshiping their power will just mean dying without a fight."
He sighed, before continuing. "My apologies. But it is worrisome, no? My people are bred for war. It is all we have ever known. From the moment we can walk, we are expected to begin training. Because far too few of my people die of natural causes. Instead, it is the dragon. Now, from what little I have gathered...it seems like the Empire of Ashlaguttah is pressing in on your territory? Your people very well might be facing a battle on two fronts."
Looking wistfully, Hrungnir said "It is just sad. That all we have left are the smallest of our Orabatium mines. Our former capital fell to the forces of the dragon. The wealth within it...ah, it makes what we have now seem pitiful in comparison. Ah, but my apologies! Here I am talking about armies of monsters poised to devour your lands, and our lost mines, while you asked about my people. Well, for our faith, we worship our ancestors. It is our belief that when anyone dies, their spirits fill the waves. And those in tune with the flow can communicate with them. For example."
"As you can see, they lend me their power. My order, we are guardians of our people. Intermediaries for internal conflicts, and protectors of those who venture outside of our fortresses. In times past, my people were mostly miners, and merchants. For the richest of mines go down deep, so deep that few except us can withstand the pressure. But centuries of conflict have worn us down, to where we are but a culture of warriors. Our every resource dedicated to nothing but total war. Many are...resigned...to our doom. They seek a heroic death. I am the belief, that we can once again be miners and merchants. That we can once more control the fortresses needed to protect your southern border. I believe that we must discuss what our partnership would look like, no? For I can see that you are a reasonable man. A man with...ambitions? I believe that we can both be heroes of our people, though I fear that this will cause us to accept the creation of enemies, no?"
The Savant now turns to the Austorian with an intense interest, his beady ebony eyes flashing slightly, and his long prehensile whiskers twitching in what might be anticipation,
"That was indeed my understanding of your people's cause, though I had to hear it from you to directly to ensure that the old stories were accurate and that your society had not... changed as has mine. I mentioned that the Savants predate the ascendancy of the Storm Priests and their allies in the Empire. We are one of a small but powerful faction that would see our people freed from the corrupting influence of the Maelstrom, and are eager to establish ties outside the Empire that might bring about this revolution."
"As to your question about the Emissaries. Yes, that is the principle conflict faced by our people, but it is not my primary concern. The Storm Priests hope that additional stores of Orabantium will allow us to fashion an arsenal of weapons and siege engines that will turn the tide on the eastern front (). As for myself and my.... colleagues, we wish to use this new opportunity to dispossess the slaves of the Malestrom."
The Savant stares intently at Hrungnir, attempting to read his reaction to this statement before continuing,
"I believe you are correct that we may both, in some way, become heroes of our respective peoples -- each in our own realm defending it from the Mother of Monsters"
He purses his bloated lips before concluding,
"Do your people possess any magics or technologies that are especially suited to fighting the forces of the Dragon? My party will be outnumbered in our conflict with the Storm Priests and their allies, and will require some kind of strategic edge to triumph in this battle. What more, if Her children are truly about to pour into the surface world, then we will doubly need some ward against this incursion. Please convey the intentions of my party to your companions, and I believe we will be able to arrange a favorable alliance irrespective of the Storm Priests. The holdings of the Savants are ancient and rich -- we may do much for one another."
Hrungnir offered a small smile. "My people may not be numerous, but if there is one thing we are good at it is making weapons. Our engineers and smiths have worked for centuries, with but one goal, defeating the forces of the dragon. In whatever form they may take. I believe...that it would be in the interest of all, that the forges of my people and our wealth of Orabantium be kept secret from the Storm Priests. I do believe that the Savants' and the Austorians' fortunes are fated to be shared together."
The Savant nods sagaciously, clearly pleased with Hrungnir's response,
"I believe we are on the cusp of an alliance of great merit for both of the involved parties. I will distribute your intelligence among my fellow Savants and our allies, and I would ask you to do the same among your compatriots. When the time is right, we will meet to begin to discuss the form of this arrangement independent of the meddlesome presence of the Stormpriests, the Templar Orders, or the Surgechanters. We should be able to arrange a discrete convocation before the end of the conference in three days' time. I will send a discrete messenger later this evening after you have had sufficient opportunity to communicate with your fellow Austorians."
As Vicuska and Hrungnir rise through a portal in the ceiling to ascend to the audience hall (), they stumble into the middle of some kind of confrontation.
A Lamian, a rare half breed that represents the union of the serpent-like Benthic Nagas and the Sea Folk, and a penguin-like bird man known as a Squawk are facing another Savant, behind which are approaching two Moonwater Knights. The Lamian bears a distinctive black rapier, and the Squawk two guns.
Hrungnir hears the new Savant speak to the newcomers,
"Who seeks to enter the domain of the Empire?"
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Satazia nods at his warnings about the Ice elves.
''I appreciate the advice and will keep the connection to myself, though it may come up during the peace talks. Still if they decide to do something about I will be waiting.''
Unconsciously she pats the hilt of her sword as she mentions the possible confrontation with ice elves.
When they approach the door, Satazia smiles at Kawsag's show of politeness. She may be a living weapon and a killer but politeness and manners are to be appreciated whenever they are encountered.
''Thank you Kawsag.''
When the unfriendly Nommo 'greets' them, satazia crosses her arms over her chest.
''Satazia and Kawsag, seek to enter the domain of the empire. I heard that an apparition had manifested here in the tower and wished to see it. May we pass?''
Pausing as he scratches the top of Praesidium's head, Zelrim's pondering expression turns into a smile."Wait, those ice elves portal are suppose t' be similar. Am I gonna get a chance t' hop planes?" Fluffing up his tricorn, he adds with a roguish grin. "Cause that's a mad plan, 'n jus' me style."
Denaris leads his two new companions through a narrow portal in the floor of the alcove and downward. The wine-keeper, inquisitor, and halfling descend precipitously into a grotto beneath the stalagmite which contains the primary public areas of the Creste of the Spectre. Soon, a vast new space opens before them, consisting of a rough-hewed grotto in which their appear to be ancient monoliths, in the midst of which rises a craggy shelf of black rock.
The revelation of this new, seemingly quite ancient space beneath the establishment would seem to confirm Zelrim's initial suspicion that the Creste had originally served as some kind of a shrine that had later been re-purposed. This grotto especially reminds him of the sacred places of his people, the Swamp Halfings, or 'Pawguun' in their own tongue, of Caeshaeyillya's dense territory of coastal tropical marshlands. Their shrines to the ancestor spirits, the loalai or lolooai'paala, are constructed in similar grottoes placed slightly outside their stilt reed villages. Here, the holy women commune with the numberless spirits of the Cloud Worlds, including the Great Thunderer, Gannim the Shelled One.
Denaris leads the company to alight on a small outcropping in the ragged altar. Two elaborately, if grotesquely, carved statues frame a jagged indentation in the rock. It appears to form a sort of groove or rivulet through which liquid could run down the altar's side, into the dense bed of mint-green moss which lies beneath its shadow. The entire formation hints at a ritual purpose.
Denaris gestures extravagantly with a single outstretched arm,
"Gentleman, welcome to our humble place where we conduct important business such as that which we are about to pursue, the three of us, together, in what I am sure shall be an extremely profitable partnership."
He reaches for two roughly-carved flasks and raises them in some kind of highly-stylized, obviously per-rehearsed motion.
Halim squints at the statues before drawing back slightly in surprise,
"Luck of the Swindler! One of them is Shabur Beck Tangri"
Denaris, replies, utterly nonplussed,
"Well, we refer to him as Sabeccuranus, but, yes, it is a representation of the same divinity of the divine collection you drylanders refer to as the Uweck-Tazey, or Red Gods."
He then points at the other one,
"I am surprised you did not recognize this one as Kheat Quill Tangri, the Mistress of the Knife and the Lash. Indeed, I was led to believe that she, too, is worshiped in the lands above."
Halim makes a warding gesture with his staff, a kind of figure eight motion in the water above him. Zelrim easily recognizes this as the sign used by Dark Triumverate priests to exorcise hostile forces, and represents the eternal, interconnected power of the three gods to whom they are devoted.
"We do not venerate her in Calishman -- she is the enemy of Shabur Beck, and the hired killers that serve each divinity war ceaselessly with their foes. No, you are very mistaken if that question applies particularly to the domains of the Pashultan..." He pauses slightly, considering his next words, then continues, "nor do we venerate Shabur Beck outside of the Dark Trinity in which Assadar Tangri and, most importantly, Kazz Sammar Tangri are also necessary members. in fact, I fear I must tell you Denaris that, should you visit our fair port, you would find yourself in worse circumstances than the servants of other gods. These we harass and ignore, but you we would seek to convert or destroy." He concludes with an entirely insincere smile, "No offense meant, of course,"
"Assuredly!" Denaris beams "For you cannot imagine either that we care a whit for the local ritual customs of your little island domains, anymore than that our meeting was by chance. By no means! For our common prayers to the Stalker of the Night directed our attention to your very person. Fortunately for you, brother priest, given that you are currently not at home in the city where your own faith has arisen triumphant, but rather journey in lands where it is entirely unknown, myself and my associates are rather more accommodating of they variety of forms the veneration of Sabeccuranus may assume."
Halim winces noticeably at the repetition of the heathen miss-naming of his god. Denaris notices but only seems to derive amusement from the ridiculous spectacle, as his shiny grin only widens,
"And thus the master of this fine establishment charged me before his departure for... other matters to secure your cooperation in this scheme, speculating that our common subject of worship might form a readier bond of friendship than might otherwise be hoped from drylanders."
"But let me return to the matter of the portals. I have indeed heard that some inhabitants of your lands possess vessels capable of traversing tides of the 'Veins of the Dragon', as we often call them. But we are getting ahead of ourselves, and so let us return to the first principles."
The waters between the three companions erupts in light, and the image of a coiled wyrm of many heads begins to take shape. As the image finishes resolving itself, Denaris continues,
"I am gratified that your isolated peoples seem to preserve a good sense of the nature of the many worlds, often depicted as the 'Body' of the Dragon, though the truth of this representation is of course the subject of much debate by theologians and philosophers. In any event, the coils of the Dragon are the Elemental Holds, and the 'Heads'," he points out several horned faces with gaping maws,"are the various Heavens, Hells, and other Half-Worlds where the gods live, well those who yet live, and to which the souls of mortals aspire. Connecting them are the 'Veins of the Dragon', whose 'Blood' is white. Or it is said it is her 'Breath', the opinions vary. Finally," he gestures towards the small pinprick in the midst of the coils, highlighting a previously unseen darkness below,"there is another, more dangerous, as well as fleeter, aperture between the 'Minds' and 'Bones' or 'Flesh' of the Dragon which is 'Her Divine Shadow'. This perilous space below, around, and between the Elemental Holds and the Celestial and Infernal realms is known by various denotations -- Bozgash,Brogdash,Brogtadash, etc., -- and this Brogdash Darkness is said to be both the speediest, as well as the most secure crossing place between any two locations."
Though most of this is in some respect familiar to Zelrim, he notices that the Sea Folk has not mentioned an element of this dazzling cosmography with which all inhabitants of the Seven Lands would not fail to be acquainted -- that 'Her Divine Shadow' is also the source of the Dragon Herself. For the ancient stories say that, in the beginning before time or years, the Dragon was born of the entity known variously as Catlus, or Caltus, or the Caltus Lord.
The well-known creation story of the Palash Namqua, the holy book of Ishtaurian Pantheism, relates that this mysterious power of darkness birthed the Progenitors, who birthed the Dragon, who birthed a race in her image, who birthed the gods, who birthed the thinking and speaking animals, who birthed the mortals.
The details are less clear in the sundry oral narratives of the Pawguun, but many describe an enemy of mighty Gannim that takes the form of a spider, or a witch that can take the shape of an arachnid. This has commonly been identified as the same Catlus, who in every story, both of the Pawguun and the ‘Temple’, the common faith of Isthauriam Pantheism than embraces the pantheon of both Red and Blue Gods, is lulled into an endless sleep by the Dragon or similar power, such as Gannim. Many of the cosmographs of Ishtauria actually depict the coils of the Dragon strangling a spider, an element missing in Denaris’ present representation of the ‘Million Worlds’.
Curious, to say the least…
”The portals of the Ice Elves were opened by the First Queen, and are of several gradations. By far the most common establishes a direct connection between two points, one linked to each gate. More powerful than these, and correspondingly less common as well, are ‘great gates’, which can not only open a door into the ‘Veins of the Dragon’, but also create a new aperture in any location, and so are not limited to merely connecting to another lesser gate. There is one of these gates in the Spire of Keening, where the Ice Elf delegation is currently headquartered. Others are rumored to include the Gate of Heinares in the City of Merceria, as well as the Gate of Power in Oinosursruptas, the City of the Oinoloth in Ashlaggutah. In addition to an ability to open new gates outside of established portal rings, the greater gates can open them within fixed portals, which has the added delightful effect of destroying them. Finally, the Grand Portal of the unnamed Ice Elven city to the far north is said to possess even more extravagant powers, in that it can perform all the functions of the lesser and greater gates, but also open doors through the Bogdash Darkness – a feat which can also be achieved by aligning two greater gates to open portals within the respective ring of the other. The Grand Portal is said to be able to control all other portals, and thus to make other greater gates open portals within another. In any event, I propose we employ the Ice Elves’ greater gate to open a portal within the Maw of the Maelstrom, the fixed portal to the Half-World of the Devonorians’ elemental deity. This will simultaneously transport us to the heights of the Tower of Ghosts, destroy the Maw, annoy the Storm Priests, endear you to the Princess who resents the Imperials’ intrusion, perhaps cause the Sea Elf Druids to return, and also involve quite a bit of fun.”
Denaris regards both Zelrim and Halim seriously as he again raises the ritual flasks,
“Gentleman, is that all clear? Do you have any further questions. And, if not, do we have a deal?”
He smiles invitingly, clearly anticipating an affirmative response, irrespective of Halim's earlier protestations.
Kawsag squints again in his curious, intent, but untroubled fashion at the pronunciation of the Savant.
"That is an unexpected response given that a Storm Priest visited Master Kerberus in the Tower of Melee less than an hour ago, carrying a vellum role inscribed with an explicit invitation for our company to enter the audience hall and investigate the strange occurrence therein -- it would appear there has been some miscommunication, or lack thereof, with your arcane society, or do I guess wrongly?"
The gruff tone of the Savant does not mellow as he replies,
"Whatever they may think, the Storm Priests are not in charge of this expedition, and especially have no jurisdiction over the Imperial Savants, who answer only to the Emperor himself, and no other. Their invitation is there's, and my challenge is my own. What business do the Dark Riders have in our halls?"
Kawsag continues, still no trace of any concern or reevaluation in his tenor,
"Ah -- I see that I was correct. I might have suspected as much given that the Storm Priests have been our consistent contacts with the Empire -- you might not even want us here, or so it occurs to me. Not that this would deter Master Kerberus, but it is not something I would overlook by any means, you understand. We will assuredly register your complaint, even if we do not comply with its desires."
He then seems to try to look around the Savant and the two approaching knights,
"There must be a Storm Priest close at hand, given that this is the level of the Tower of Ghosts to which they have summoned a sliver of the Malestrom -- I wonder if you might fetch them and we can continue this conversation, the three of us, as to the matter of my entrance upon these premises?"
The Savant virtually snarls as several more figures begin to come into view in the entrance-way...
Hrungnir stood next to the Savant, his arms crossed. Given his companion's reactions, and the fact that a 'sliver of the malestrom' had been summoned here...he knew whose side he was on. He wondered if violence was about to break out? He mentally prepared himself to take arms if he had to. He hoped that it wouldn't come to that.
As he thought this, he glanced over at Satazia and Kawsag. Both looked as alien to him as all this high up. He wondered whose side of the palace intrigue they were on...
At the revelations of just what exactly the Sea Folk believed, and Halim's own reaction, the gunner leans back with casual ease, his right hand resting on Praesidium's back flipper. Ready yourself for anything, the series of pats and twitching finger movements tell the turtle. Smiling as he reclines, the sea man chortles, "Good t' see ye all can get along. This, Halim, be why I don't go runnin' about preachin'. Would 'ave been a real shame had they decided t' gut ye 'n leave me without an employer." Pausing, the pirate nods sagely at the comment. So he ain't th' master o' this galleon. Yet another mystery t' watch out fer.
As Denaris speaks of the innumerable pathways of the Dragon, the halfling voices his question. "Why do ye saw this Brogdash Darkness be both th' most perilous, 'n th' most secure pathway? Ain't that a bit contradictory?"
Making the symbol of Gannin, his hands cupped into a protective shell, Windsinger ponders why the Catlus arachnid is expunged from the story. Regardless, the halfling makes a quiet prayer to his patron god. May me steps echo wit' th' thunder o' yer might, 'n may me shield be as sturdy as yer shell. May Praesidium 'ave but a fragment o' yer spirit, 'n may we serve the Pawgunn well.
As the plan is voiced, Zelrim makes a point of checking his gear. His pistols, affixed with long hemp cords to that he can drop them after the shots and not lose the expensive weapons. His cannon was loaded, and the setup allowing Praesidium to fire the hand cannon hadn't degraded. Satisfied, the halfling voices his assent to the plan."'n these Ice Elves aren't goin' t' try 'n introduce us t' our guts? That's me only concern. Other than that, crazy plans are me specialty."
Finding herself quite uninformed about the major players involved in this little pissing contest, Satazia decided the best choice was to stay quiet for the moment and let Kawsag do the talking. He seemed to know what was going on better than she in any case.
The excited interruption of the Imperial Savant Vicuska Virag, who had been escorting the Austorian representative Hrungnir to the Audience Hall breaks in upon the conversation. One the one hand, it cuts off the anger riding perceptibly in the deep tones of his fellow Savant Agosoton the Exalted, noticeably deeper than the voice of Vicuska. That of the penguin-like Squawk is prevented from speaking any further by the Savant's interruption, but his manner remains entirely un-phased, and he appears to only observe politely so that he may continue his calmly-stated objection at the earliest possible moment.
"Pray, brother Agoston, hold your peace in this matter. Assuredly, the meddling of the zealous Church's Loper of Istillus, Lenci Lajos, and his representatives here in the delegation is a great impropriety which the Praetor should not have forced upon the Herzog. Yet, we must bear it for the moment, and cannot gainsay the Imperator's direct emissary of the Great Houses' will. What does it matter if they simply observe, in any event?"
Neither of the Moonwater Knights accompanying the Savant Agoston make any motion, their features, excepting their eyes, obscured by the visors of their intricately-ornamented great helms.
The Imperial Savant Agoston the Exalted returns Vicuska's entreaty in an even deeper tone than that which he bellowed towards the Squawk Kawsag.
"You remember of course, brother Savant, that I was once called the Implacable in the annals of the Empire, and have served under the previous Imperator, who did not bow to these inveigling priests so readily as does the current occupant of the Malachite Throne. This is no small matter to me, but the summation of a vast, and unrelenting tide of insults which our Order has borne for lo these many years. Surely, you have not forgotten when Istillus' mines were solely the possessions of the Savants?"
Before the Savants can continue their disputations, Kawsag interjects once again, still employing an entirely non-plussed tone, and betraying in his diction absolutely no alteration in his imperturbable manner,
"Whatever disputation lies between you and the Storm Priests, I now see the very messenger arriving to mark my entry, so this matter seems hardly worth further consideration."
The gun-toting Squawk raises his head to signal at the two three figures emerging from the shadows behind the present company blocking the doorway, consisting of the two Savants, the two Moonwater Knights, and the single Austorian Hrungnir.
Kawsag speaks again in greeting, his voice still utterly un-modulated
"Brother priests, your messenger was received by Master Kerberus, who has dispatched me, a fellow Inquisitor of Lady Silence taught by his hand, to represent the Darkriders' interests in this matter. I greet you by Her Law and Her Judgment. May Her Will be done and He Decree pass us by."
The Squawk inclines his head slightly as he finishes his ceremonial greeting of the Storm Priests.
As they emerge from the shadows, the distinctive garb of the Maelstrom's clerics comes into view. They are each attired in an identical, ankle-length tunic, the left half of which is black and the right side white. A bone breast plate, constructed around a giant saurian skull, covers the breast of each. Smaller skulls, apparently of the same design, serve as epaulets. Further, they each wear one as part of a hat, which is completed by a tall cone, divided in color, black and white, just as the tunic. Their arms bear scepters with the same sigil of the lizard skull, which also adorns their matching gauntlets, vambraces, and the armoring of their knee-caps. Behind each, a circular banner is affixed, divided into two tear-drop like swirls, one black and one white. A single black dot rises from the center of the white space, and vice versa.
The middle priest speaks,
"Templar Kawsag, you are most welcome to the hospitality of this embassy. I am sure we, all of us," he pointedly regards the two Savants and Moonwater Knights,"will benefit greatly from your expertise in matters of signs and interpretation, when you are able to make a full report of the manifestation to the esteemed Master Kerberus."
Kawsag nods,
"I have no doubt this shall prove to be the case"
The Storm Priest then takes note of Satazia,
"Does this one accompany you, Templar Kawsag,and who pray might she be?"
He turns his eerie stare upon the Lamian, who notices for the first time that the eyes of all the Storm Priests are an other-worldly, unbroken cloud of milky white, inside of which seems to stir a violent storm of light.
Kawsag turns to Satazia and continues speaking, still in an unhurried tone,
"You should probably answer that, don't you think? I mean, we only met a few minutes ago, so it seems presumptuous of me to summarize the little you've told me, none of which I have been able to verify yet."
He then seems to think for a moment and interject another suggestion, still completely controlled in his tone and manner,
"I would advise doing so rather quickly, instead of slowly -- the Storm Priests aren't incredibly patient, as a general rule."
He turns back to face the company of the catfish like Nommo and the one Austorian, who he know begins to regard with keener interest, apparently considering his advising to the Lamian concluded.
The path of the Deep One half breed in the wake of his master Elehuddi brings him before the Tower of Ghosts.
This is the eponymous spire from which the entire complex derives its name, and is by far the most striking of any of the principle towers in its appearance.
Whereas the others are, by various degrees, easily recognizable as fortified bastions of several levels in height, the Tower of Ghosts is a strange caryatid of massive dimensions.
It resembles a female Sea Folk with a strange headdress that forms the top of the tower, and it made entirely of undifferentiated white marble, streaked with delicate veins of pink and black. It is as if the massive column were carved by otherworldly means from a single block of stone.
The entrance of the Tower of Ghosts is already crowded with a small and varied company. There are two Nommo dressed in long black cloaks with high, pointed collars. Next to them stand two Nommo warriors completely garbed in weighty plate. Behind this group, which blocks the entrance to the Tower of Ghosts' uppermost level, stand three additional Nommo with high conical hats and distinctive clothing with equally balanced elements of black and white, as well as a skull-like motif that seems to be a constant feature of their armor and gear.
Ictaiojh'Oc'Xylthixr then notices a squat figure standing next to one of the black-cloaked Nommo. This, according to the ancient mosaics in Mourn, should be one of the long-vanished Austorians, or Sea Dwarves, who purportedly vanished from the Sundered Seas shortly after the Accord of Athanes was signed by the major parties who survived the Great War with the Dragon.
Outside the entrance of the Tower of Ghosts stands a Lamian, a mixture of Naga and Sea Folk blood, as well as a Squawk, a peguin-like warrior race native to the far north. The Naga half breed has a black rapier, and the Squawk two heavy looking guns.
All of these figures seem to be engaged in some kind of a debate that blocks the entrance of Ictaiojh'Oc'Xylthixr.