Acting before Dame Malphene could bring her fist down onto him, the ifrit struck first, imparting an insidious aura to the woman with a simple touch. She was clearly surprised at Riveh's speed. Her surprise was greater still as she felt the malignant magic going to work within her. Utilizing this moment of confusion, the ifrit dashed up to the senator to urge him onto his feet. The dark haired politician, young for his position, did so with clear anxiety. And not without good reason, as Riveh noted in turning back to the noblewoman.
Looking deeply vexed, Trant stood in place and shook her head, as if she was seeing spots. She blinked, once, twice, and then thrice. But having done so, the navy blue eyes turned to Riveh perfectly clear and absolutely furious.
"What did you do?! How dare you!"
Rushing forward with all the power her frame afforded her, Trant punched towards the insolent interloper.
But is seemed that where the spell had failed, the Dame's own rage had succeeded in blinding her. Riveh felt the fist sail right past his face.
Riveh's sudden up welling of frustration gets the better of him as his spell fails. What was he doing? Fisticuffs with an enraged noblewoman? The young ifrit cruses as he ducks the woman's hasty blow.
Well, he was in this now.
Riveh turns to the enraged woman, speaking loudly now, "I tried to end this without such idiocy. Do you know who I am? I am an gent of Martella Lotheed, although you may know her as Materlla Coufas. Not only that, I am personal friends with the next Exalted himself, Kalbio of Breezsy Creek. In fact he stands right outside this door, listening to this entire sorry display."
Riveh waves his hand at the snarling noblewoman and the battered Senator. The odd cloak shimmer in the dim light of the officer, dramatizing his movements.
"Not only that, I am an open ally of Count Zespire himself, whom I just left mere moments ago. Do you really wish to strike me, Lady Trant? Can you not see I am trying to avoid such behavior? For once, do not act like a mad dog and behave yourself!"
Another fist was already pulled back and ready to launch when something, some name or another, in Riveh's words managed to make the noblewoman pause. Incensed though she was, he could see that Trant's mind was hard at work behind the furious eyes, chewing on the risks and rewards of pummeling him. The Dame was evidently not completely without forethought. It was a tense moment, with the enormous woman directly in front him, fist still at the ready and nostrils flaring... but after a few seconds she lowered her hand.
"... Consider yourself lucky tonight, senator," Malphene said through clenched teeth to the man covering behind Riveh, although her eyes never left the ifrit's. "And you!" This was addressed at Riveh. "No one can hide behind their friends forever. I won't forget this."
Having said this, the woman turned so fiercely her skirt flared beneath her and stomped out of the room. The sounds of the gala flooded in as she flung open the door and Dame Malphene Trant was gone. A moment later Kalbio's broad head could be seen peeking in.
"Uh... Errything alright here?"
"Oh thank you! Thank you so very much!" Before anything more could be done, the ifrit felt his hand grasped by the senator who proceeded to shake it vigorously in gratitude. "That was a brave thing you did! Truly! I... I-I don't know how to repay you..."
The senator, a slight man of no more than thirty, had a timid air about him with a face unfortunately locked into what seemed a permanently apologetic expression. Honestly, he appeared the type to have been bullied his entire life.
"Oh, but do come see me in my offices tomorrow! No, please, I insist! I must repay your kindness and I will! I will have a gift for you! Something for your trouble! And uh..." A somewhat desperate light came into the man's eyes. "This affair stays between us, of course, no? N-no need to inform Count Zespire or Lotheed, eh? No need for them to know... As I said, I'll reward you!"
The pleading politician somehow seemed almost as afraid of Riveh now as he had been of Trant.
Riveh raises a hand to stem the tide of apologies and thank yous.
"Peace, my friend. trust me, I don't need a reward, it was worth it to see that look on Trant's face. I never cared for bullies." Although, Riveh is forced to admit, this man seemed like an easy target.
"Kalbio," Riveh says to the man at the door, "Would you mind getting our acquaintance here a glass of water." A pause as the ifrit scans the battered Senator critically, "or maybe something stronger? He has just had a bit of a fright."
Riveh turns back to the middle-aged man. "As for your office,t hat might be hard to do. I don't actually know your name, Senator. Mine at least, is Riveh Geminus." he stretches out his hand to shake, wondering if the somewhat rustic action will appeal or not to the man.
Maybe Kalbio was rubbing off on him.
"And of course, this is between us. Those threats were for our joint female guest, not for you, sir."
Eager to help as only an earnest country boy could be, Kalbio rushed off to find the senator something to drink. For his part, the nobleman just looked at his rescuer with obvious surprise when the latter professed no knowledge of him.
"Oh. Oh, but then... I-I see," he said, wringing his hands together nervously. "Well, it has been good meeting you, Sir Geminus. A pleasure!"
Riveh couldn't help but notice that the man was already speaking in the past tense, as if he was on his way out the door. His body language expressed every wish to leave as well.
"And of course, this is between us. Those threats were for our joint female guest, not for you, sir."
"Right, right..." Somehow this didn't seem to alleviate the senator's tense demeanor in the least, as if his fears were something wholly different. "R-regardless, you must let me repay you. I assure you I will find you a handsome reward! Please, Sir, I know how this game is played... T-tit for tat, heh heh... Oh! Forgive me! Amadorian Dou! I am Sir Amadorian Dou! Please ask for my offices in the morning and you shall be compensated."
The pleading tone was there again; it seemed really very important to him that the ifrit accept some compensation. "Oh, but look at the time! The senate will convene any minute now, I must be off! That is why Dame Trant, eh... cajoled me such after all, to assure my vote. I have to join the other senators, but thank you, once again, so very much, Sir Geminus! I will reward you! And, um, we do have an understanding, yes? No word of this will leave the room? Very good."
Scant seconds following the strange nobleman's retreat, Kalbio showed up holding a silver chalice full of something decidedly not water. The young man was a bit disappointed to see the senator gone, but not overly so - he found Malphene Trant's stature a far more interesting subject. He had evidently never seen a woman like her.
"I tell you, Riveh, I have no idea how you stood up to... to all that. Girl was tall as a termite mound. And nearabout as charmin'."
When the ifrit suggested going to watch the senate proceedings, he readily assented; one vote in particular was set to alter the nation forever, after all. To be able to say that they were there when Taldor's first empress was voted into power - that was one for the grand kids. Thusly agreed, the pair strolled their way back towards the senate floors, an easy enough task given that one simply had to relinquish control of one's feet to do so; the vast majority of the gala guests were heading the same way for the same purpose, after all, resulting in a stream of chattering silk and jewelry in which to get caught. People were clearly excited, very much so. The issue of the Princesses's proposal had been all anyone could talk about for the last few months. This was the climax to her campaign, do or die. Either her proposition, her coup as some referred to it, succeeded here or she was undone. And if she did succeed, then the morning sun would rise on a wholly different Taldor.
The vast circular amphitheater that was the stage for the Taldan senate was already fully manned upon Riveh reaching it, although his view wasn't the greatest; not with several hundred aristocrats competing for space. All 222 senators occupied the tiered seats, ready to issue their yays and nays on the items on today's order. Most of which turned out to be unfortunately dull to a spectator. The senate spent a good 30 minutes arguing and voting on rather banal formalities and spending bills, with dozens of senators intermittently interrupting to hold speeches that were nothing more than naked self-promotion. With such a powerful audience, how could they resist? The cacophony of voices was almost deafening, and it seemed like the ceaseless chatter would continue endlessly. But suddenly, the magically amplified voice of the senate speaker interrupted all else to announce the event not just the waiting aristocracy but all of Taldor had been waiting for: whether to abolish the long-standing law of primogeniture.
"Thank you all," the voice reverberated powerfully off the marble building. "I would ask that our observers please be silent and seat themselves where possible. We will now begin voting on addendum number twenty-two thousand eighty-seven: the repeal of the ancient law of primogeniture, the issuance of inheritance and aristocratic title solely through male heirs."
Following this proclamation, the speaker began calling on individual senators one at a time to support or oppose the repeal. It was a slow, but incredibly intense, procedure. One by one the senators voiced their thoughts in a single word, and between each utterance the ifrit had no doubt a dropped pin could have been heard. The gathering was following the vote with bated breath. Early declarations split evenly between the options, with many senators abstaining entirely. Riveh noted that Countess Pace, just as he had predicted, voted against the repeal. Only halfway through the process did the votes begin to favor Princess Eutropia’s bid to end primogeniture. Both Marquess Starborne and Count Zespire added to this count. By the end of the tabulations, it was clear that the repeal passed with almost 60 percent of the senate’s backing. The speaker took a moment to compose himself, seemingly shocked by the results, before continuing to formally announce the initial results in a distant monotone.
"And so, the final tally for addendum twenty-two thousand eighty-seven, the repeal of primogeniture, with thirty-six abstentions, the final tally stands at one hundred and two for, eighty-four against. The addendum passes. Among other business tonight, the senate recognizes Princess Eutropia Stavian I as the new heir to the Primogen Crown, and the first heir the empire has seen in twenty years."
With the declaration made, the chamber utterly exploded in a riot of applause and condemnation both. It took several minutes for the cacophony to die down. The speaker declared that a closed senate recount was to take place, an event signaled by the speaker declaring a temporary recess of the senate to outsiders. Kalbio looked gobsmacked next to the ifrit.
"Wow."
Riveh let out a long breath he hadn't known he was holding. What he had just witnessed had been an Event.
"Wow, indeed." Riveh echoes Kalbio faintly. "Quite the vote."
And indeed it was. Thousands of years of tradition and law had just be relegated to the dustbin of history. Precedent made subservient to mere voting. Curious. Still, Riveh was rocked by what he had just witnessed.
This....this was history, the type written down by scribes and pored over for centuries. Hundreds of years from now historians would talk about this day and the events that spiraled off of it, good and bad. And he, Riveh Geminus was here, a part of that moment. A small part, of course, but a part. After so long an exile, his family was returning.
The young ifrit looked down at the now somewhat subdued Senators, surrounded by a ring of steel. After the formality of the re-count finished (and who wouldn't demand a recount on a vote like that?) Taldor would enter a new age. What were those Senators talking about? Joy from the winners, regret from the losers, like every vote? Scheming to overturn or protect the new battlefield? Did any of them feel that weight of history Riveh felt? Or was this routine to those who held the fates of thousands everyday?
"Impressive." Riveh says again, aware he sounds dazed. He turns to Kalbio, "Still, not the biggest part of your day, eh?"
The earnest face turned from the guard ringed senate to Riveh, looking momentarily confused.
"Huh? Oh right, yeah - the Exaltin'. Heh. Naw, I s'pose not."
Kalbio scratched at his thick hair for a moment. He appeared to have something on his mind, to be searching for some words.
"Listen, about all that... I been meanin' to say - I don't rightly know exactly what yer, uh, circumstances are, or even that I'd understand if you told me, but we've been hanging about together long enough for me to see that yer lookin' for... I dunno, would 'allies' be the term? As in, political allies. Don't matter. I just wanted to make it clear that once I'm made a proper blue-blood, then... well, if I can help, then I want to, Riveh. I mean, I reckon I'm gonna be busier than a moth in a mitten for a little while, adjustin' to, uh, nobility and responsibilities and all that. And more than anythin', I just want to make sure my ma and pa are comfortable. But if there's any way I can help, as Lord o' Breezy Creak, you just say the word. Alright?"
The offer seemed wholly genuine and even, to the ifrit's eye, a bit hesitant, as if the weaver was half-way expecting him to reject it, deeming the country bumpkin not worth involving in his schemes. Nary had anything been said, however, before a tall royal guard marched up to the pair, severe demeanor clashing terribly with his gaudy uniform.
"Master Kalbio. His Majesty requests your presence in preparation for the ceremony. Please follow me."
One could almost call the man's tone, which allowed for no objections, rather rude, but then he was merely representing the emperor's wishes: few were those who would deny Grand Prince Stavian III anything.
"Oh, be right with ya," replied Kalbio before turning back to the ifrit. "Guess I'm next on the docket, huh? Uh, looks like they want a word before the Exaltin' and all. I'll see you afterwards, yeah? Promise me you'll cheer for me? Calms mah nerves knowing at least someone will be."
The guard looked on still as a statue as Kalbio followed this with a boyish smirk. Behind them, Riveh could hear the senate dispersing; apparently the recount had been completed, and, given that the bureaucrats were leaving the amphitheater in a calm and orderly fashion, it could be assumed that nothing that changed: the Princess was and remained new heir to the Primogen Crown.
Riveh considered Kalbio's offer gravely for a moment, searching the weaver's eyes deeply. Then, without words he stuck out his (only slightly) callused hand to shake.
With a grin he says, "The same. A political alliance, and I believe our first for both of us." Riveh did not consider her relationship with Martella an alliance, doubly so after the revelation that she was a Lotheed. He battered that thought down and kept his smile up.
"May we both go on to have long and successful careers in this snake pit."
Then Kalbio was gone, whisked away by the bureaucratic wheels arm of Grand Prince. Riveh hoped their tender mercies would be gentle. Kalbio didn't seem the type to enjoy either pampered condescension or harsh political reality. Then again, considering how he had been played by Martella, was Riveh any better?
He shook his head, clearing the thoughts. No, he had to make this opportunity count. The young ifrit considered he had done well so far. Met with Senator Starborne, Count Zespire, and even made himself noticed by Dukle Talbot (although the old man probably dismissed him as a useless upstart). He had even humbled a low ranking Lotheed, all on his first day.
No rest for the weary.
Or was it wicked?
Riveh considered his options and after a long think, approaches
Landgrave Ogvai Jarlbjorn. While an outsider, perhaps that is just the sort of man to court. Besides, the man had shown interest in Riveh earlier that day.
Riveh walks over to the man and bows formally, "Landgrave. I am sorry we didn't get to speak sooner, I believe I saw you in the garden during the little incident with the bees?"
Riveh's grin was answered in kind as the weaver happily grasped the proffered hand, wrist quite limp but palm rather rugged.
"Let em'. Let there be snakes, so long as you know who your friends are. Thanks, Riveh. Thanks fer... Ah, never mind. See ya soon."
Looking into the smiling brown eyes, the ifrit couldn't help but believe that he had won an ally for life in Kalbio; whatever the reason, whether due to low self-esteem, lifelong shunning or what have you, the country boy was clearly immeasurably appreciative to have had Riveh to rely on for the evening. Another ally to House Geminus. As he and the guard 'skedaddled' as the young man might put it, Riveh was on his own again and faced with the problem of how to best utilize the remaining time he had at the gala. The evening was quickly coming to an end.
Deciding upon finding another co-conspirator, he watched the stream of senators leaving the amphitheater, their duty complete, for one particular man. And he wasn't difficult to spot either; there he was, Landgrave Ogvai Jarlbjorn, head and shoulders taller than any of his colleagues. It was a curious coincidence that the ifrit had come across people of such wildly varying dimensions throughout the evening, from diminutive Senator Starborne to lofty Baron Okerra and Dame Trant. Even so, in a certain sense there was nothing particularly unusual about the Landgrave's height. The people of the Linnorm Kingdoms tended towards the towering, after all. In fact, tall as he was, Riveh was fairly sure that the men of the emperor's famed Ulfen Guard seen earlier were just a bit taller than Jarlbjorn.
"Hm?" At the ifrit's approach, it seemed to take the Landgrave a second or two to recognize him. "Ah, the bee slayer returns! Hello, well met, knekt, good to see you! What was your name again? And where's your little friend, the weaver?"
Every bit as well dressed as befitting a senator, the Ulfen's fine clothes nevertheless looked just a bit odd on him, as if his was the sort of frame that wasn't made to wear anything other than stained and pitted battle armor. But if his appearance didn't already confirm it, the man's finery did include some unmistakably Ulfen trinkets: the distinctive braided jewelry, much like the braids in his blonde hair, were obviously of Northern make.
"Pah, no matter!" Jarlbjorn suddenly laughed, in answer to his own question. "I intend to drink tonight and am apt to forget your no doubt honorable name! Ha ha hah! Drink with me, bee slayer! We must toast our new Queen!"
The man was clearly in high spirits, curiously clean-shaven face dominated by a great big smile.
Riveh smiles, taken in by the Landgrave's good humor.
"Riveh Geminus, my lord." he says quickly, "And for my friend, he has been whisked away to be Exalted. I think it is taking place rather soon. Perhaps we can raise a toast to him and to the new Queen afterward? I noticed we both hold the same opinion on the matter."
Riveh lowers his voice, and the unease he felt about the troops and the Grand Prince enters his voice, "It all went rather smoothly did it not? Frankly I expected more of...well, more of a struggle about the whole matter. Considering the import of the vote, after all."
Unspoken is his concern that more traditional forces in Taldor are usually not so easily silenced.
The Landgrave merely nodded as Riveh introduced himself; if the man recognized the Geminus name and its associated scandal, he made no sign of it whatsoever. Then again, that incident was two decades old now and Jarlbjorn looked fairly young, in his early thirties by the ifrit's estimate. It was entirely possible, even likely, that he had never heard Riveh's name uttered before. Heck, had the senator even been part of Taldor at the time? His Taldane seemed perfect, but there was definitely a faint accent to it, like a cold Northern draft through sunny South plains.
There was also the distinct possibility, however, that the senator simply wasn't listening - even as the ifrit spoke he was eagerly waving down a waiter and grabbing two wine glasses, one of which he happily shoved into Riveh's hand.
"Smoothly?" A practically doleful look came over the senator's blue eyes for a second. "Áh helvete, if only you knew, bee slayer... It's been an ongoing battle for years now! All you saw just now was its culmination. Why, I can't tell you how difficult it was for the princess to even get the proposal to senate! Oh, it feels good finally being able to talk about this openly!"
The great big pink face momentarily disappeared as the Landgrave threw back his head to empty his glass, downing the fine vintage like it was cheap liquor.
"Ah, that's a good start! I'm been on the straight and narrow for her sake far too long... I need a refill, where did that waiter go? WAITER!" *SHATTER*
All eyes turned to Riveh and the Ulfen as the latter bellowed and hurled his glass into the floor where it exploded into a million minuscule crystal stars, all glittering with the lights of the gala.
"Ha ha hah, that got your attention, didn't it?" Jarlbjorn laughed to an anxious serving girl who hurried to his side. She did not leave upon the man grabbing himself another glass. "Hm? Oh, don't worry about that, bee slayer," he went on, now looking to Riveh and down at their feet. "When crystal this fine breaks, it shatters into sand. Trust me, I've tried this before. It's fine, completely harmless. But yes, you wouldn't believe the obstacles His Majesty put in the Princesses's path. Pah! Did you know he at one point banned all animals from government owned property, solely so that she couldn't see her dog anymore? Her own dog! Honestly."
The Landgrave shook his head. Then, as if noticing the stares for the first time, he turned to the crowd and said, "Look all you want, ye urbanites! You won't ever see me again! I'm finally leaving this place, ha ha hah! Long live the Queen!" This was followed by another emptied glass, although this one mercifully merely ended on the waiter's tray.
"Speaking of, where do you hail from, Sir Geminus? Somewhere south?"
Riveh is originally taken aback by the man's boisterousness, quite the change from the staid Talbot or cold Zespire. Even the bubble Starborne seemed as grave as a statue compared to the Ulfen. Clearly his day was going very, very well.
"Oh, are you close to the princess/" Riveh asks politely, then flinches as the man shatters a glass in his, drunken, grip. The fact they he says he has done this before has, perhaps, the opposite effect on the ifrit. Still, as the 'bee-slayer' he can't exactly show fear.
"You are leaving?" Riveh asks, trying to get the conversation back on an even keel. "For your homeland or some other post? Or perhaps, a reward from the future Queen for useful service in the voting campaign?"
"As for me, I hail from Taldor itself, My Lord. A small estate in the countryside but I have arrived here to win fortune and fame, which have eluded my family for the last few years despite being of good local stock." Raiding his very weak knowledge of Ulfen ways he adds, perhaps carelessly, "Is that not the way of your people as well? Travelling forth to new lands to win glory and honor?"
It was an Exaltation Day miracle. Something Riveh said actually managed to quiet down the senator. More than that, Jarlbjorn actually looked somewhat chastened and even embarrassed.
"Oh. Oh, you're Taldan. I apologize, I just assumed because of your, ehm... Áh helvete, I should know better. I shouldn't be making these assumptions merely on peoples' appearance. After all, I consider myself Taldan now too."
He took another gulp from his glass, albeit a considerably more moderate one.
"I hope I haven't caused any offense, Sir Geminus. And as for me leaving - no, nothing so drastic as leaving the nation. While it is true that I was born in the Lands of the Linnorm Kings, humble Neverrock is now what I call home. Do you know of it?"
Riveh had to admit that he didn't, by which he surmised that it must be one of the smaller settlements dotting Taldor. The Landgrave seemed neither surprised nor bothered at this. "No matter. All that matters is that I get to return there now! Ha ha hah! It's up in the Fog Peaks, you see, far from the capital. It's not much, but it is mine, my fiefdom. Reminds me a bit of the far north. And I haven't seen it since His Majesty made me senator. It, or my wife."
A darker aspect came over the giant man's face, but it dissipated quickly enough. "My duties have kept me confined here in the capital. But now... ha hah! Now we have an heir to the throne! An heir who values practicality over politics, and who has promised to demote me!" Demote him? This was the reward the Princess had promised him? "She will ensure that I am stripped of my senatorial rank, and I will return to managing Neverrock. Ha ha hah! Happy day! Toast with me, bee slayer! To the Queen!"
More wine disappeared from sight, but Jarlbjorn did not appear at all inebriated; it would take far more than a few wine glasses to affect a man of his size. All he was drunk on was joy.
"But what of you, Sir Geminus?" A scrutinizing look came over the simple Northern features. "What plagues your family? I might have advised you to throw your lot in with the Princess, as I have, but I fear that the time to win her favor is passed now that she has won her campaign."
Riveh does his best to make his face a mask as Jarlbjorn rambles on about his supposed racial markers. The young man had assumed the term 'somewhere South' had indicated Qadria but had done his best to be diplomatic. Clearly the Ulfen hadn't the same concern and said the 'quiet part out loud'. Still, despite the sting of it, the man didn't seem to have meant much by it. He himself was an outsider after all.
"So, retirement is your reward? A bit young to be sitting in the rocking chair watching the sunset, aren't you?" Riveh says, trying to be gracious. "Still, I suppose there is something to be said for the comforts of a quiet country life."
Not that Riveh say the appeal himself. He knew all too well what it was like to rot away in the rustic rural areas of the Empire, cut off from news, goods and information. Still, perhaps it was different for someone heading there after a long time in the center of things.
Moving along Riveh says, "Well, as for the Queen, I am sure she will need allies in the days ahead. This vote will not be the end of things surely. Still, you probably have a point. It is a poor ally that comes along after the job is done."
Riveh looks down at the armored circle of guards below, "Then again, who knows." The young man says. "These are strange times."
'What is the Queen like?" Riveh says, fishing for information.
The Landgrave looked at Riveh with surprise and amusement.
"Sit in a rocking chair? Sir Geminus, methinks you don't know what goes into leading a county. I intend to serve my people, love my wife and kill frost giants. In other words I intend to do my duty. And should I be so fortunate to find the time to fall asleep in a rocking chair before the fire every now and then, then by Aroden's ghost, I will do so with a clear conscience."
It was clear that Jarlbjorn viewed his senatorial rank as some sort of punishment rather than a reward from His Majesty, a means of keeping him away from his fiefdom for a perceived slight or as part of some political machination. The truth of the matter was difficult to determine for the ifrit, of course, only having the Ulfen's perspective to hear. But it seemed the entire gala was due to hear from the emperor soon enough: Riveh saw the serving staff hurrying to erect a small platform, no doubt for the king to conduct the exaltation ceremony from. The simple stage consisted of specially cut blocks of lacquered wood, all designed to slot into one another. It was a matter of mere minutes before it stood complete, even sporting a little podium.
As for the Landgrave, he was happy to entertain the bee slayer while they waited for Kalbio's big moment. He described the Princess as headstrong, obstinate, foolhardy, willful, bullheaded and every other word he could think of to describe someone stubborn, but from his smile it was obvious that he meant every one of these as the highest compliment. As Ogvai put it, she wouldn't have made it here without being so indomitable. He also emphasized her wish to overturn Taldor's floundering fortunes and invest heavily in its people. "You're right of course, bee slayer. Her struggles aren't over yet. With the reforms she's planning, a female emperor will be the least change to the nation."
He did not believe, however, that Stavian III would be an obstacle. "It's true that he has opposed her campaign as long as there's been a campaign, and harshly so. But His Majesty has been quiet the last year. Frankly, I think his health is failing." The northerner shook his great big pink head. "The Grand Prince is not a young man anymore. Happens to us all in the end. While he might not be happy about it, I think he has accepted her efforts. She is his own blood after all, his only surviving child."
Time had a way of flying with talk, gossip and drink, and sure enough, it wasn't long before trumpets were blaring: it was time for the Grand Exaltation. The Landgrave excused himself as he, along with every other guest, arranged themselves around the stage as appropriate, which was to say that the crowd was divided by rank. Not just anyone was allowed to stand so near the ruler of the greatest nation on earth, after all. Unfortunately, this meant that Riveh had no option but to stand at the very back, along with the other senatorial aides, looking over rows upon rows of powdered wigs and glittering headpieces. He managed to catch a glimpse of those striding to the front, however, led by the Princess and her entourage, of course, and among the pale faces he spied the warmer skin tone of Martella Lotheed. Apparently the viper had enough clout to secure herself a more than respectable position. Still, with the platform being fairly tall, he wouldn't have too much trouble watching the proceedings.
Grand Prince Stavian III arrived back into the hall with all due fanfare, and trudged up the platform. Sadly, his appearance had not improved since the ifrit saw him last; even at a distance this was obvious. Small, unkempt, an alcoholic pulled off the street and clad in the vestments of kingship - there really was nothing noble in his appearance whatsoever. Unless he was much mistaken, Riveh thought that the ancient Primogen Crown was even sitting askew on the balding head. Following the emperor were the hulking forms of the Ulfen Guard who arranged themselves into a ring around the stage.
The Grand Prince raised a single hand to calm the murmurs of the assembled crowd. Nothing was said. Instead, a member of the prince’s guard escorted an absolutely thrilled-looking young man, the pride of Breezy Creak, to stand several paces behind the king. Kalbio was all smiles and nerves; a blind man could have seen this from the other end of the world. It only served to accentuate the emperor's wrinkly frown.
"Quite the assembly we have here today," the grand prince said. His voice was surprisingly strong, if scratchy. "I don’t think I’ve ever seen the senate building packed so full, especially not for any of my previous speeches. Even my lovely daughter, now a woman, sits here among the players of Oppara’s greatest game. It's nice, having you here, listening. Of course, none of you are here for me." A pause. "No, today is about something else entirely. Today is about elevation. It is no secret that today is about exalting OTHERS! ...to a new status in life."
An uncomfortable silence filled the vacuum as the Grand Prince paused again. Was the man drunk? He looked into the gathered masses with accusing eyes, and seemed to be swaying ever so slightly.
"I’m sure many of you have had the opportunity to meet Kalbio here." His tone grew lighter as he slumped a pale hand onto the weaver's shoulder in what was probably meant as a friendly gesture. "He is a man of the people, elevated at the urging of ladies, lords, senators, and aides present in this chamber. I think we should all give him a rousing applause, to commemorate this momentous change in his life."
The room erupted into hesitant, then energetic cheers, the adience obviously relieved at adding something normal to Stavian's oddly hostile and awkward speech. The Grand Prince himself finally smiled, seeming to take in the adulation of the crowd.
Riveh does his best to remain interested when the Ulfen talks about the adventures of running his estates but honestly his attentions tarts to wander. Granted the jovial man seems easy to get along with but Riveh is looking for active allies and alliance. A man heading out tot he provinces to slay ice giants hardly seems useful. Still, perhaps he can finagle an invite to a prestigious after party through this man....
Such plans are driven from his thoughts when the Grand Prince took center stage. Jarlbjorn's suggestion the man was ill seems well-founded, he looks as unstable as a two legged stool (clearly Kalbio's country sayings were effecting his thought patterns). But worse then his appearance was his words. Rambling, disjointed and quite petty. This was the speech he gave to the greatest collection of his subjects? Maybe the ascension of the Queen would come sooner then anyone had expected.
Even the appearance of the obviously bowled over Kalbio isn't enough to shake the ifirt's feeling of wrongness. Something was going on here, deeper then just an eccentric King....
Then Riveh spots the armed men at the doors. Lots of them, all dressed in black, ready to burst in (or at least seal every exit) at a moment's notice. Instantly all of his other thoughts are driven away by one word.
Coup.
Clearly the Grand Prince did not mean to let his defeat today go without a fight. So, he would use armed force to march in and force a re-count? Or perhaps arrest a few Senators on trumped up charges? Such the sight of the guards marching in would probably be intimidation enough. How would the Senate react? Such a bald ploy hadn't been seen in Oparra for generations.
But aside from that, what should Riveh do? Shout? Scream? Run? Slink away into a dark corner? He had to do something.
In an instant he shouted, as loud as his young throat could muster.
"Princess! You are in danger, the doors!" Then, more for dramatic effect then anything he whips out his otherworldly cloak, the strange patterns flickering as it waves like a banner.
The fox was among the pigeons now....
Scandalized murmurs and anxious glances. This was all the young man's efforts yielded from the nearest audience members. That, and a very ornery royal guard wading through the masses towards him, seemingly intent on evicting a troublemaker. The senate building was simply too large, too grand for many beyond those nearest to register his call for alarm. Also worsening the situation was the fact that the Grand Prince carried on speaking.
"I understand your parents sacrificed everything to help you reach this day, my boy," said the emperor, clutching at the weaver's shoulder but never turning from the crowd. "Saving up for your apprenticeship and the tools you needed to achieve greatness. And today you are a grateful son, no doubt making them proud." Here he began nodding vigorously. "I too understand what it is to sacrifice." More nodding. "I have given so much for the people of this nation: a brother, a son, a lifetime of service. Even my own daughter’s loyalty."
He paused, licking his lips and pulling a now clearly uncomfortable Kalbio closer to his side. "But unlike you, Lord Kalbio, these Taldans - my children, truly - are not grateful. They scheme and plot, dream of hanging their dutiful father and placing a woman - a woman, sir! - on the Lion Throne! And they have seen fit this very day to induct you into their conspiratorial ranks. And that is why here, now, you, Lord Kalbio, will be the first among them to die."
It didn't really register with anyone at first, least of all Kalbio himself who simply let out a little gasp. But the mind could not deny the eyes for long: the Emperor of Taldor had plunged a jeweled dagger between the ribs of the astonished young man in his clutches. The crowd was stunned. Only when the weaver crumpled into a heap, mouthing something soundless as he fell, did the screaming begin.
And it never stopped.
Utter panic gripped the gathered aristocracy as armed black-cloaked men appeared, not just from the doorways as the ifrit had seen, but within the audience. Illusionary magic fell from silk-garbed ladies like water veils, revealing dark figures and sharp blades. A dozen? Two dozen? Forty? Fifty? It was impossible for Riveh to determine their number being inside the crowd himself. And without warning, without provocation, without any notice whatsoever, they attacked. Axes chopped into pearl-adorned necks, daggers pierced guts filled with the finest cuisine, and longswords sliced through skin guarded by nothing more than embroidery and gold. Within seconds the gala had turned into a wholesale slaughter.
In this chaos the ifrit was tossed to and fro. Everywhere around him people were shouting and pushing, desperately trying to escape the assailants that appeared to be inescapable and ever present. Somewhere not too far from him, he could hear someone yell, "Lion Blades! To your duties! Defend the senate! Defend Taldor!" and he caught a glimpse of the young agent who had nearly arrested him earlier. Far, far down the other end of the hall, however, was the podium, still visible over the masses. Riveh thought he could see the Ulfen Guard there, closing rank around their emperor and mowing down anyone who came their way, black-robed attacker or otherwise. Above them was Grand Prince Stavian III, just watching - his deranged eyes bulging with wonder and hands red with Kalbio's blood.
Suddenly some space opened for the ifrit to maneuver, but the reason why quickly became clear. A royal guard fell dead at his feet with a masked assailant pulling his ax free from the corpse, looking for his next victim. And his eyes landed on Riveh.
It was as if someone had thrown the world in a box, smashed it brutally and then turned it upside down. Time seem to have stopped and replaced by a series of sharp, painful images. Kalbio falling to the ground, stabbed by the Grand Prince himself. Killers storming the Senate crowd, cutting down everyone in their path. The Ulfen guard decapitating a black-robed figure who wandered too close. Lion Blades materializing out of thin air, entering the fray.
And blood. Blood everywhere, from all sides. The cool marble steps of the amphitheater are soon slick with blood. Little waterfalls of red, soaking into the very stones of Taldor.
It was too horrible to believe and Riveh's mind reels with the implication. This was not a coup or even a civil war. this was a massacre. And one he was about to be caught in. The exits were jammed with the dead and the dying, being cut down by the black clothed assailants. They were trapped, like rats.
Closer at hand one of the killers spots Riveh and clearly intends to add the young ifrit to his list. In panic Riveh summons a magical spell and flings it at the would-be attacker.
Target one living creature
Duration 1 round
Saving Throw Will negates; Spell Resistance yes
You give the target a mental urge to kill its nearest ally, which it obeys to the best of its ability. The target attacks its nearest ally on its next turn with a melee weapon or natural weapon. If necessary, it moves to or charges to the nearest ally in order to make this attack. If it is unable to reach its closest ally on its next turn, the target uses its turn to get as close as possible to the ally.
Riveh couldn't even hear his own incantation over the cacophony, the senate building's masterfully designed acoustics only amplifying the discordant screams off the vaulted marble. But the spell did not fail. He could see the sudden spring of confusion in his assailant's eyes, the only part of the man's face not obscured.
But alas. Shaking his head as if to clear away some annoying gnat, the black-robed killer approached, ignoring the ifrit's magic and stepping over the dead royal guard. Riveh could not back away; the constant stream of desperate people, which he himself was only a part of, allowed no leeway. There was no escape. The assailant lifted his axe with confidence...
...and brought the gore-soaked blade directly down onto the ifrit. The practiced swing would have split any firewood log cleanly. And that should have been the end of House Geminus - the operative word being 'should'.
Because everything was not as it should. Well, that much was obvious; the wholesale slaughter of Taldor's aristocracy was of course not according to procedure. But even so, what Riveh saw now was rather out of the ordinary: the axe blade had not struck him. Instead it was suspended a mere two inches from his face, held back by a glinting shower of sparks. What in the world? Judging by the eyes, the killer was every bit as surprised at this as he was. Bizarre, although certainly welcome, as this event was, the ifrit's attention was grabbed by a curious warm trickling sensation by his chest. Was it blood? Had he been wounded somehow?
No, it wasn't blood. It turned out to be his senatorial aide badge. The bronze emblem was overflowing with brilliant points of light. It was the source of the sparks; they were leaking out of it. Seemingly not content with stopping the axe, said sparks began hovering all about Riveh. They were too many to count, so bright and pervasive that he could barely see for them. And within the second, 'barely' turned into 'not at all'. Riveh couldn't see a thing. The blood-soaked gala disappeared as he was engulfed in light, blinded by sheer luminescence.
Suddenly, darkness. Darkness and silence. The light was gone. The sparks were gone. The gala was gone. The senate was gone. He was... where was he? He was standing, that much was clear. He was still hyperventilating with the panic of the massacre. He could feel the badge slowly cooling on his chest. But what was... why did it smell of cold earth? It took Riveh's inhuman eyes a moment to adjust to the pitch blackness, and as they did he began to make out... a room? A rock tiled floor? Was that a bed? By all the Hells, what was going on?
Slowly, through sheer force of will, Riveh untensed his body. His muscles are locked up when faced with impending doom and that full body rigor was not so easily undone. Meanwhile, his mind raced.
What was happening? How had he gotten here? He had been attacked, the blow stopped and the the badge....
The young man glances down at the bronze pin, that had grown so warm and sent out sparks. It had been the badge that had saved him from the axe as well as...sending him here? Was this some old safety protocol? If attacked, a Senate aide would be encased in light and whisked away to some safe room, deep in the bowels of the Senate? Was this a regular event, had Martella known?
Slowly, Riveh blinked away the blinding light and tried to examine the room. Where was he? How far from the blood-soaked Senate floor did he know stand?
Then the stress hits him all at once, an overpowering wave of adrenaline and shock. The young ifrit slides to the tiled floor, head in his hands.
So much violence, so many dead. The blood....how many had been killed? Dozens? Hundreds? What has happening outside the Senate building? Was there blood spilling in the streets, had Stavian ordered a massacre of citizens, how far did it go?
And the Princess, the obvious source of the Grand Prince's ire. What had become of her, just on the even of her supposed triumph? Had she been killed? Captured? Escaped?
Sighing, he finally looked up at the room, properly.
Grabbing hold of himself and taking action, Riveh looked up to at least ascertain where he was. Pity then that the first thing that greeted him was some rather unappealing wallpaper. Pitch black as it was, his supernaturally keen eyes were now able to take in the room. And that was all it really seemed to be: just a nondescript room.
Faded wallpaper lined the walls, measuring some thirty by thirty feet, peeling up at the seams. Not one but six humble beds lined one wall, each seemingly pristinely made but absolutely caked in a thick layer of dust. Everything in the room was covered in dust. This included the eight small wooden lockers that lined the wall-mounted counter set up in one corner of the room. Heavens above, the dust. The ifrit could even feel it in his lungs; the air in here was musty and old. Combined with the rather low ceiling and darkness, it added up to a claustrophobic sensation, like being underground. That, and the deathly quiet.
Three plain wooden doors led out of the ro... no, hold on; two doors led out of the room. Riveh looked through the third door, it being ajar, and saw that it led to nothing more than a bathroom. It was perfectly clean aside from the dust. Well, that was one worry he could put out of his mind.
It was strange though; the other two doors shared a feature: a small rectangle of brass and green glass set into the wall, just beside the doors.
The mundanity of the room calms Riveh's nerves, and the puzzle of what is going on distracts him from the horrors of the last few moments. Where was he? Still in the Senate building? Still in Oparra? Who knew?
Slowly, more out of reflex then anything, Riveh examines the doors. Were they locked? Did they have any obvious traps (although he couldn't imagine why doors in a safe room would be trapped)? Could he hear anything from the other side?
Then he peers at the strange rectangles, looking for anything of interest. Were they locks of some sort or labels?
No, nothing at all. Riveh couldn't hear anything at all through the doors, neither of them. And given that said doors were hewn out of plain wood, he could only assume that whatever space was on the other side of them was every bit as unearthly still as the dusty room. Nor could he find any snare or trick on them, although why there would be any such things here the ifrit did not know.
This only left the contraptions beside the doors, embedded in the wall. The brass and glass squares too seemed perfectly innocuous, if strange. Their purpose were quickly ascertained however, as Riveh carefully touched a finger to one: a rock tile within the ceiling began glowing, quickly growing in brightness to light up the entire room. Sadly the wallpaper was even uglier in color.
So the rectangles activated some sort of permanent magical light source set into the room? This was rather extravagant. Riveh had heard of magic used in such a way in select households, but indulgences like that were only available to the rich, powerful and, honestly, very wasteful. What sort of person spent hundreds of gold pieces on a permanent magical fixture where plain old candles would suffice? Curious to see it here.
With this mystery solved and nowhere else to go, the ifrit grabbed a door handle at random and tentatively saw what more fate had in store for him today. The result was disappointing. It was a short naked hallway followed by another door. But behind that door... a lounge?
Riveh was in yet another thirty by thirty ft. room, this one featuring a large wooden counter jutting from one corner looking nothing so much like a tavern bar. Actually, that was pretty much exactly what it was: he spied an extensive glass liquor cabinet behind it, seemingly quite full. Three tables with adjacent chairs completed the picture, although on the topic of pictures, several portraits of posing nobles and different scenes adorned the walls, all faded with age. It was a significantly more welcoming room than the earlier one, albeit also covered in dust. And lo and behold, a single door led somewhere further into the complex from here.
Spying yet another glass rectangle by the door here too, the ifrit tried putting a finger to it, now suspecting its function. Sure enough, the lounge lit up as well. Very convenient, rea...
'Riveh!'
Already on edge, naturally so, the sudden calling of his name couldn't help but startle Riveh. But he immediately recognized the voice for what it was: it was Martella, speaking to him through the telepathic link between their badges. Unlike earlier occasions, however, there wasn't even a hint of the playful or enigmatic in her tone. She frankly sounded like she was fighting for her life. Which, more than likely, was exactly what she was doing at the moment.
'Where did you go?! I just saw you and some others in the senate vanish into thin air!'
What an odd place. Why would this be the place he was teleported to. Was this once some kind of apartment? Dormitory? A place for Senate aides to live, in some distant past where such things were needed?
The paintings were no help, between the dust and the poor lighting. Still, it was clear this place had been unused for a long time. Which no one would mind if he took a nip from those bottles.
Riveh's hands were shaking as he carefully worked out the cork of an expensive looking bottle of whiskey and poured it into a (hastily cleaned with his robe) glass. The liquid runs down his throat like cool fire, and slowly his nerves settle down as the alcohol works it's magic.
He sprays the second glass all over the dusty bar as Martella starts shouting inside his head. The young ifrit jumps nearly a foot int he air as well, eyes going wild for a moment.
It takes him a long moment to calm down, breathing the dusty, mildewed air heavily.
Finally he manages, 'I do not know, some dusty room. The badge...made a protective barrier and then teleported me. Where are you? Did you escape? The Princess?'
Riveh's anger at Martella being a Lotheed suddenly seems petty now, a juvenile feeling from a distant childhood.
The reply returned within seconds, arriving inside Riveh's mind with faint echoes of clamor and shouting. Martella's voice reflected her thoughts, being tense and strained.
'Banded together. Fighting our way out of the senate. Princess alive. Watch yourself, Geminus!'
And with that the ifrit was left with the deathly quiet of the strange quarters again. Had the Lotheed actually sounded... concerned for him there at the end? That couldn't be right. Could it? Perhaps he wasn't thinking straight. Perhaps the last few minutes' atrocities were just catching up to him. Or perhaps this whiskey was messing with his head. Phew, this stuff was actually pretty strong. He should return the bottle to... huh. One of the cabinet doors was locked. The glass cabinet, a rather elaborate affair, featured three doors, two of which opened just fine, but Riveh now noted that the central one refused to do so. Curious. Looking it over, this door had both a lock and accompanying keyhole, and, it being glass, he had no trouble seeing what lay within. Here there were no bottles. Instead there was only one single item: a large crystal ball, the type of which one might expect an old gypsy woman to predict your future from. Curioser still.
Deciding to look the room over for anything that might tell him where he was, or maybe a key, Riveh spent just a few minutes searching. The only thing of note was found in a drawer below the counter. There he uncovered a stubby wand, of plain hickory and completely unadorned.
With it was also a porcelain bowl with an accompanying silver spoon, the latter of which radiated faint magic.
In trying to grab all three of these at once, the ifrit accidentally dropped the spoon. Fortunately, it landed into the bowl - the bowl which was suddenly full of a creamy liquid resembling... sniff. Was that lobster bisque? That actually smelled really good.
Martella had fought her way out? How? Was she a warrior, underneath the careful facade of socialite? or had she merely meant her hired guards have fought their way out?
And the Princess was alive? That was good news, for at least some core of resistance to the Grand Prince mad plans was around. On the other hand, it was looking more like civil war every moment, and those were rarely pretty.
Mind still whirling, Riveh found the wand and the obviously magical spoon. Distracted, he looked at both closely, trying to decide exactly what they were, hoping they could give him a clue to this very strange room he found himself in.
The wand he recognizes, one of Create Food and Water and while the spoon's exact type eludes him, the use is obviously plain. This place was well stocked with food, water, sleeping arrangements and even a bathroom. A safe room yes but....why so...long term? Was this shelter meant for long-term hiding?
Then a new idea came to him. Was this a cell? Some posh imprisonment for someone a bit too high-born to be tossed in the local prison? But no, why would the badge send him here? No, this was for his protection....somehow.
He dips a finger into the bisque and tests it.
Then, finding nothing else, he intends to open the next door and enter the next room. What will he find next? A fully functioning but dusty spa? A library? A way out, hopefully?
Mmh. Delightful. Whatever the nature of this no doubt magical spoon, the lobster bisque it had conjured was very nice. Wherever he was Riveh was clearly in no danger of starving. But being that ascertaining his location was still rather important, he forged on to the next room. Another naked hallway. Another door. And behind it... well, his guess of a library was half right.
It was a bedchamber and an opulent one at that. Heavy wooden bookshelves lined the walls, chock full of moldering books. Their musty smell added to the bad air. An accompanying posh reading chair sat in one corner alongside a small circular table. The center piece of the room was the massive bed, however, fit for a lord and looking very inviting beneath all the dust. Another bathroom was found here, with a bathtub matching the room’s opulence although a rather foul odor wafted from its drain. Another door exited from here.
In the midst of his cursory search of the room, the ifrit felt the bronze badge on his chest grow warmer. Another missive from Martella was incoming and he had the presence of mind not to be startled by it this time.
'Out of the senate. Morilla's Pathfinder allies come to our aid. Military and city guard stance unclear. Stavian's assassins still pursuing. Fighting throughout Senate Hill.'
The stressed voice faded from Riveh's mind. Apparently his patron meant to keep him updated on events.
Riveh is sitting on the floor, looking at the strange circular niche when Martella sounds in his mind again. Her words are welcome (any connection to the outside world is good) but the news is grave. A running battle on the Senate Hill? Cutting their way through a horde of villains? What a sight it must be. Crimson blood mixing with the gold plating of the capital. Terrible, but great. An image that tales and legends will speak of for a thousand years.
And here he is, sitting on a dusty floor with a spoon.
Only the Gods knew what he would find upon his escape.
Still, while he was here. Riveh fished out a gold coin, rubbed it with his fingers till it shone and then placed it into the perfectly sized niche.
What a strange room.
While he wasn't sure what to expect, this wasn't what Riveh had hoped for: nothing. Placing the coin inside the niche resulted in nothing at all. It was doubly disappointing seeing as the small indentation really had been designed to hold a coin. This was obvious with the thing in place; it fit so well that retrieving the gold piece was very finicky work. Strange. With nothing else to do, however, the ifrit tried the next door.
The room beyond did not impress. Stacked wooden crates covered an entire wall, with more crates occupying one corner. Shelves filled much of the other half of the room, each tier filled with dust-coated bottles, crockery, and glass jars. What was far worse was that part of the chamber seemed unfinished: from what little Riveh could see behind the stacks, the wall there wasn't fully tiled. It was little more than plaster.
A routine check of the shelves and a single case revealed some changes of clothes, condiments, pickled vegetables, preserved delicacies, salted meats, and a well-stocked selection of tools. The room seemed to be a storage area. Unfortunately, time hadn't been kind to any of the items here. Even the foodstuff designed to last had long since putrefied. Which only left one thing of interest: another door, identical to the others. Grabbing its handle, Riveh had a foul suspicion...
Yes, it was true. The door lead right back to the chamber he had first arrived in, the one with the beds. The rooms merely made a circle. There was no exit.
It took a moment to sink in, past the daze of violence and the haze of exploration. Then it hit him.
Riveh was trapped in here. This wasn't merely a curiosity, something to distract him as blood ran in his mind. Wherever he was, there was no obvious way out. There might be no way out.
Suddenly his anger, confusion and helplessly well up in the young ifrit. Picking up a rotting, dusty book he hurls it against a wall, demolishing the fragile tome instantly. As he does so he shouts, as lodu as possible, "Where am I?"
A ringing silence greets him.
Slowly, the anger fades again and Riveh sighs heavily. Shouting would be no help here. He only had himself to rely on. He had to find a way out of here.
First things first, he went to 'Fourth bed from the north. Comforter. to see if there was indeed a back-up key, and if so, compare it to the gold key he found on the desk. Then, back to the strange niche, fit for a Taldane gold piece.
Still feeling some frustration at his predicament, Riveh yanked the comforter from the specified bed with just a bit more force than what was necessary. A veritable cloud of dust was sent into the musty air at this, but it didn't matter; he didn't need his eyes to feel the material for anything out of the ordinary. And sure enough, after a few minutes of hands-on scrutinizing, the ifrit could feel a small lump of some kind lodged inside one corner of the comforter. Tearing the cloth saw his prize spilling out into his hand: another key.
This key was nothing the like the one found earlier. It was small, simple and made our of brass. Unlike the gold key, however, this one could conceivably fit the only lock he had encountered so far: the one to the glass cabinet. So with no other leads to go on, Riveh hurried back to the lounge. Success! The key fit. He could now reach what he had spied within earlier, the crystal ball. Which of course begged the question: what in the world did he need a bulky crystal ball for?
Best as he was ruminating this quandary, another matter entirely came to the ifrit's mind. Martella was transmitting him another missive, sending her own thoughts to mingle with his own. As before, she sounded highly stressed, as if she was routinely looking behind her back and expecting to find a raised axe.
'Military is divided. City guard in chaos. Chain of command decimated. Assassins seem to be collection of foreign agents. Lion Blades and Eutropia’s allies fighting back.'
A crystal ball?
Before Riveh can start to ponder this change in events, he hears Martella's words sound again in his head. Again, they paint a picture of red skies, bloody ground and burning cities. An image worthy of the great civil wars of the distant past. Deceit, betrayal and knives in the dark. Great deeds were happening above.
And Riveh was here, trapped in a moldering safe room (or private study?).
He needed to get out.
Riveh pondered the round globe of glass in his hand, wondering if it was the key. Would it perhaps reveal a way out of here? Display an image of how to escape?
Examining the crystal ball in the hope for something - anything - that would lead to an exit, Riveh wracked his mind for what such an item could be used for. Despite their use in magic, they weren't exactly endemic to Taldor; the orbs were far more closely tied to the exotic Varisians and their soothsayers. The ifrit couldn't recall any particular use for crystal balls outside divinations. Using his ability to detect magic, however, he could sense something of the arcane within it, like the faintest little heartbeat at its core. It was very slight but unmistakable.
But if this was the case... Riveh looked into the globe. Perhaps it was to be used like any other magical crystal ball. Perhaps it would reveal something, display an image, if peered into. Initially the glass revealed noting. The dark crystal was quite beautiful, but that was seemingly all. But then - gradually the ifrit began to see... something deep within. At the sphere's core were the tiniest dancing lines of light, continually blinking into and out of existence. They crisscrossed over and across each other in a rhythmic pattern, at times almost forming... letters? Riveh's pulse quickened ever so slightly. Was there a message inside the ball? He looked on. No, not letters. They were numbers. 2 4 0 4.
The bright lines offered no more help. Their pattern was apparently fixed. They formed the numbers, then paused, and simply began again. 2 4 0 4.
Riveh stares at the numbers for a long moment, mutters a mild curse then sighs. So much for seeing an image of how to escape. Instead of getting the answer he had merely received another clue. Riveh had to admit he was puzzled. If this was a safe room, why make the door hard to find from the inside? Surely even the most paranoid man wouldn't care about escaping easily? Who filled their study with clues?
Still, clue it was.
2404?
The young ifirt saw two possibilities for this number. Either it was a clue to find the way out or, more likely, it was the password that would open said door once found. Still, no harm eliminating the obvious.
Riveh patrols the four rooms, looking for numbers in general and 2404 in particular.
With no other recourse available, Riveh set to hurriedly looking through the four rooms that made up his prison in search of numbers, any numbers at all that could relate to the strange sequence seen in the orb. His search was less than fruitful.
The eight small wooden lockers in the room he had first arrived in? No, most of these turned out empty, containing only some threadbare clothing, a grooming kit and similar minutia.
The books in the opulent bedroom? No, while some were numbered volumes, none matched the code (and even if they were somehow related, the ifrit really hoped this wasn't the case as he managed to shatter several of the moldering tomes in his hurry).
Plaques by the paintings in the lounge, perhaps? No, brushing away the dust from the frames revealed that there was no informative writing attached to the pictures.
Sighing in frustration, Riveh surrendered to the inevitable: he would simply have to search every room in detail, slowly and methodically, no matter how precious the seconds. Outside time was of the essence, with what sounded like a full-blown coup in action. In here, however... time had stagnated. There was nothing to do for him but to comb through the dust and forgotten ephemera.
The only real option available to him was deciding where to start.
Deciding upon the storeroom and its many unexplored crates, the ifrit trudged his way there. Surely the boxes held something of interest. No, best not to hope for too much. But as it happened, he came upon something curious almost immediately. It was the southern wall of the storage, the one only glimpsed behind the stacks that had seemed unfinished and little more than plaster. Riveh now noted that said plaster was colored in places, as if painted. Was it possible - was it a fresco? He would have to move all the boxes to check.
It was back-breaking labor, but some minutes later he had most of the wall uncovered, enough to view it properly anyway. And it was true; the wall wasn't unfinished, it was a mural. Going the entire length of the wall, from ceiling to floor, the fresco depicted a rather dramatic battle. In it a lone woman had fallen to the ground and was watching a struggle between two legendary beasts: a unicorn and a wyrm. By the composition, it seemed as if the unicorn was protecting her, goring the snake-like dragon on its horn. But the wyrm was fearsome, spitting acid and enveloping the brilliant stallion. The whole picture was masterfully done. Even in its dilapidated state, the reptilian scales' luster and the luminescent white mane were very evocative.
But how did any of it help Riveh escape?
Best as he was ruminating this, the ifrit felt the bronze badge that had led him here warm again: it had been a little while, but his patron was contacting him once more.
'Stavian’s forces retreating, Pythareus seen moving with impunity through them.' Pythareus? High Strategos Maxillar Pythareus, supreme leader of Taldor's military? 'On my own again. Heading to safe house. It’s located at the Dignif- ...'
What? What just happened? Martella's voice had simply cut off mid sentence. Riveh waited. Silence. There was nothing more to hear from the noblewoman.
Riveh's blood goes cold as Martella's voice suddenly cuts off, mid-sentence. What had happened?
The obvious, she had been killed, arises instantly of course. A literal coup and civil war was happening up there. Martella Lotheed being cut down would hardly be the only blood split today. Strangely, Riveh felt himself deeply regretting the loss of the vivacious woman who had taken him on an..ally. Feeling sorry for a Lotheed? These were strange times.
Riveh comforted himself though, in admitting he had no idea how this badge worked. Perhaps she had merely stepped out of range or the magic had been blocked. It was possible....the ifrit hoped.
Meanwhile, he had to get out of here before he could grapple with anything else. This maze was suffocating him.
Riveh stared at the mural, instantly noting it had the same motif as his badge. Clearly whoever had made this badge was related to who made this room. Which made sense since the badge is what brought him here. Could the badge be the key out, as well as a way in?
Riveh shrugged, took off the badge and pressed it to the painted wall. Feeling foolish he also said, out loud, "Two, four, zero four."
He waited. Then waited another few seconds, not quite daring to hope. But no. Riveh had to acknowledge that his efforts resulted in nothing at all; the mural, with its legendary beasts, did not respond in any way to him speaking the four numbers. Drat.
*bzzxt*
Wait, what? Just as he lifted his hand, or more precisely the aide badge, from the wall in disappointment there had been a definite sound, a strange sparking noise. The ifrit looked to the bronze emblem. Sparks. There was a faint trail of fading sparks making a path through the air from wall to badge. He tried touching it to the fresco again. Eureka. There was a definite reaction between the wall and badge. As soon as it touched the mural, it began emitting angry sparks.
He must be on the right track. But neither wall or badge seemed to be actually doing anything. Was there something more to this?
Riveh nearly jumps when the badge buzzes and sparks. Finally, something is happening. For a few moments the ifrit expects a door to open or himself to be teleported somewhere but...not yet. Clearly there is something missing, another bit of the puzzle. The young ifrit took a deep breath and started to think.
Clearly the 'password' idea of the numbers was wrong. The numbers were clearly needed, but not as an audible passcode. No, they must be used in some way to reveal the door (or other way out). But how, the mural itself? It held no numbers or other guide. On the other hand, the badge clearly reacted strongly to the areas of the mural of the wrym, the unicorn and the woman.
But without numbers, how could you...suddenly, staring at the image, the thought struck him. Two, four, none....a woman, a horse and a snake. The number of legs!
Hurriedly, with growing excitement, Riveh quickly pressed the badge, in sequence, following the pattern and the number of legs. Surely this was it and hed be released!
Riveh touched the badge to the figure of the woman. A spray of magical sparks. Then to the unicorn. More sparks. The wyrm. Sparks. And finally back to the woman. No sparks. No, instead there was a rumble as the entire mural began shaking. Before the ifrit's eyes the fresco pulled itself apart in a most unnatural manner, dividing as if no more solid than clay, and in that moment he knew he had finally outwitted his little prison. The exit surely lay behind... Where was the exit?
The jump from elation to disbelief was sudden enough to cause whiplash. The wall parted only enough to reveal a small alcove in the bedrock behind, one only large enough to house its content: a leather purse. There was no exit to be seen. Riveh leapt forward to open the bag. Money. It was merely some gold pieces, twenty or so in all. This couldn't be right. He couldn't have worked out this elaborate puzzle for a mere twenty gold pieces. Surely there had to be some means of escape. Surely?
Before the despair could kick in, however, he noted one other thing in the bag amongst the gold, something to give him hope: it was a fragile little piece of paper - a note. The ifrit unfurled it carefully.
'Please only take what you need. Be considerate of future aides caught in your situation. Don't thank me, blame your madman of a lord - The Architect.'
What? The young man stopped to consider the words. The architect? What architect? The one who had designed these quarters? Had he built this puzzle with the accompanying clues? Why? Because of something or other to do with this 'madman' lord? But the lord in question would have to be someone associated with Riveh's badge; the mural confirmed as much. And what was the purpose of these coins in...?
Oh. The ifrit suddenly realized. The coin shaped niche he had found earlier. Of course. Taking a coin and racing back to the bedroom, entirely ignoring how the mural began magically repairing itself as soon as he stepped away, Riveh bent down over the tiny indentation in the floor. Carefully placing the coin inside, it turned out to fit perfectly. And then, right before his eyes, the gold piece dematerialized. It was gone. But not without leaving something in its wake. A faint glow growing brighter caught the ifrit's attention and he looked up. Beneath the dust, glowing lines were snaking their way through the floor to form a complex heliocentric design. Within seconds they completed themselves and Riveh realized that he was now kneeling in the middle of a teleportation circle. Before he could utter a word a bright purple light consumed him, and Riveh Geminus was no longer a prisoner of the strange quarters.
When the light faded the ifrit didn't have the faintest idea where he was. It was completely dark and his eyes needed a little while to acclimate. And as they did his heart sank. This was hardly any different from where he had left. He was in the dead end of a simple hallway, comprising of a low ceiling and rock tiled floor. It looked despairingly similar to the naked hallways between the four rooms earlier. It even smelled similar. Unlike those hallways, however, this one did not lead to any door. No, instead there were stone carved steps, stairs leading up. With nowhere else to go he followed them. The walk through darkness was rather disconcerting. The steps ended at a bare brick wall, completely unadorned save for one feature: a prominent lever.
Riveh considered the lever for a moment. With no other options, he decided to pull it. The results were a bit more alarming than could be hoped for. A mighty rumble, like stone on stone, sounded as dust fell from the ceiling. The ifrit thought he could hear some sort of mechanical whirring within the walls, but the mystery solved itself as one of said walls, the brick wall halting his progress, revolved so as to open. It was a door. The ifrit looked through it. Now what?
He had arrived to a large, somewhat ominous hall with chiseled stone statues of Taldan Phalanx soldiers standing atop plinths in the outer corners. These were severe and dignified surroundings; the tiled floors, decorated walls and vaulted ceiling saw to that. Riveh spied several sturdy wooden doors leading... well, somewhere, surely. Here too it was completely dark, and dust dominated everywhere, but at least the higher ceiling had the young man feeling not quite so confined. But hold on, what was this?
The dust wasn't so all-enveloping after all. There were footprints leading through it. And the darkness too wasn't truly complete; he spied a bobbing orange glimmer around one corner.
Approaching as carefully as he could manage, Riveh tiptoed his way towards the light. And lo and behold, there wasn't just light and footprints here: somewhere ahead he could hear someone talking.
"No, I don't know what happened to the old fool, but whatever it was it's clearly gone now!" said a overbearing and rather bossy voice, clearly female. "Maybe he got himself killed somehow." A pause. "I don't know how! But whatever happened, we can't simply cower in these rooms! We need to get out of here! Who knows what's happening topside! We must figu... WHA-who's there! Reveal yourself!"
Turning around the corner, Riveh saw the owner of the voice just as she noticed him. Wheeling around on her heels to face him, lit lantern held high, was a young noblewoman in a green dress and done-up blond hair. A very tall noblewoman. He could have recognized that figure anywhere. Dame Malphene Trant's blue-eyed stare calmed from fright to scorn as she too recognized the ifrit.
"Well, if it isn't the red-headed runt with all the important connections. What are you doing down here? Don't tell me someone bothered to try to kill you? More's the pity they didn't succeed."
The giant Dame looked like herself, albeit noticeably agitated. Her cheeks were flushed and this wasn't the only bit of red on her; a streak of blood adorned the hem of her dress. She did not appear injured, however.
Riveh's rising tide of relief and self-congratulation blows out like a candle when he is faced with the unwelcome sight of Malphene Trant. Running into a crass bully was not exactly what the still rattled ifrit needed right now. Granted, her petty brand of evil seemed pale now after witnessing a literal massacre but....it smarted all the more so in contrast. Was she really going to bother with childish insults while the city burned around them, while Lords and Ladies were being cut down in a mad frenzy?
Or maybe the Dame did not know what was going on? He wouldn't put it past the thick woman to miss a mere civil war happening.
Riveh shrugged, "Today is a day full of disappointments. Do you know what is happening in the Senate? The attack and the killing? Where are we?" He adds, looking around the building, "Am I..are we still in the Senate?"
The Dame rolled her eyes at Riveh as if his questions were the most unreasonable things ever asked. One hand on her hip in a huff and the other outstretched with the lantern, she was the surliest of teapots.
"Oh, is Mr 'I-have-friends-in-powerful-places' asking little old me for information now? Not so clever after all? Hmph! We're somewhere below the Senate, in some stupid old safe rooms. It..."
"Who's that you've got with you now?" asked an old, shaky voice suddenly. It came from the closed door nearest Trant.
"Never you mind who I've got with me. If you came out here, you could see for yourselves, you cowards! As I was saying, it..."
"Tell him about the badges!"
"I was getting to the badges! Stop interrupting, Heaven's sake!" Although not injured, the Dame was clearly at least somewhat affected by events; she took a few seconds to calm herself before turning back to the ifrit, nostrils still flaring. "It's the senate badges," she said, pointing to a bronze example fastened to her own chest. "Apparently it used to be common practice for senators to weave some protective magic into them. This was... I don't know, hundreds of years ago. Fell out of style or something. If they or their aides were in mortal danger, the magic would transport them to specially built safe rooms somewhere below the Senate. But apparently the ancient fools forgot to include a way out, because I can't find any exit!"
Her frustration echoed off the vaulted walls.
"I was brought to this place when the... attack happened, along with the others, but..."
"Shush, girl!" came the old voice again, sounding properly afraid. "You must get back to your rooms, both of you! It's not safe out in the hallway! It already got Lord Manshum! It will get you too!"
"Will you please stop it?" an exasperated Trant sighed. "There's nothing out here. He must be here somewhere, or perhaps not. Perhaps he managed to escape. But there is definitely no stupid monster or ghoulie out to eat us."
Riveh didn't see it in time. Neither of them did. But he certainly felt it when its claws tore their way over his chest, ripping fine cloth and flesh alike.
What? What just happened? The ifrit looked to the stone gray, now bloodied, clawed hand before him. Where had it come from? It had come out of seemingly nowhere. But ascertaining its owner should be simple enough, his pain roused mind reasoned; the extremity was neither discorporeal nor invisible. Riveh's eyes followed the hand to its arm to... why was its arm so long? The grey arm of his assailant stretched all the way from himself to the wall, at least 6 ft. long. What was this creature standing by the wall in the darkness? No, hold on, it wasn't standing at all. It was... it was the wall.
Reaching out of the stone wall was a featureless humanoid torso. It's skin was brick, exactly like the wall itself, making it difficult to follow. It moved in an unnatural, liquid fashion, passing straight through the architecture as if it itself was simply part of it. Similarly malleable were its limbs apparently, as the elongated arm slowly returned and took on more sensible proportions. But it seemingly only did so to launch its claws straight at Riveh again.
Throwing his midnight black cloak up, the ifrit managed to deflect the creature's second strike. Its blank face stared at him as the limb returned.
Riveh narrowed his eyes as the wall came to life and attacked them. With reflexes born of sheer stress, he dodges the second attack, the weird claws just missing him. If only he had dodged the first one, as blood runs his chest, burning with pain.
Thinking as fast as he could, he reached into his pockets and pulled out the hilt-like potion vial given to him at the front doors of the Senate.
"Trant! Here!" Riveh says, breaking it open. Instantly a glittering blue blade appears in the ifrit's hand, long and sharp. Brittle maybe, but it looked wickedly sharp. Considering Trant would know her way around a blade better, Riveh tosses the blade to the tall woman.
Hoping he wouldn't regret it.
It was damn close. The only reason the Dame even saw the alchemical weapon flying her way was due to the frozen blade glittering in the rays of her lantern. Not being blessed with Riveh's supernaturally gifted eyes, and thoroughly startled at the creature's appearance at that, she hadn't even taken note of him throwing the weapon. But snap the thing out of the air she did, and thusly armed she seemed to regain some measure of confidence. The ifrit could see the tall woman grit her teeth.
He had to do the same as in flinging the vial the bizarre wall apparition took the opportunity to slice at him once more.
Mercifully it missed completely, awkward elongated limb flying by him.
"Raah!" Rushing ahead with the jagged blade held high came Trant, thinking to strike at the monstrosity while its attention was on Riveh. Unfortunately, the creature proved to be both quicker and more perceptive than either of them could predict. Swiftly lengthening its other arm, it swiped out in a great arch intending to intercept the young Dame, catching her in the side.
Undeterred even as the red of her blood mixed with the green of her dress, the fierce noblewoman brought down the crystalline blade onto the beast's shoulder. Riveh noted that despite the strange creature's skin emulating the brick it seemed to be part of, it nevertheless tore under the assault. Devoid of both eyes and mouth, the wall being could not express any pain. But it was clearly not pleased.
Expressing clear frustration through its unnerving liquid movements, the creature struck back, whipping its long arms back and forth to slice at both Riveh and Trant.
While the ifrit once again managed to dodge the claws, Malphene took another swipe to the gut. The entire front of her gown was soaked red. But there was still a defiant, almost madly so, light in her eyes.
Riveh can't help but imrpessed by his newfound ally's enthusiasm for battle. Faced with a bizarre and unsettling creature that is more wall then being, Trant charges toward it. Riveh was more focused on simply running but arming Trant then fleeing seemed..dishonorable somehow. No, he was now committed.
Besides, judging from the Dame's wounds, she might not win if left alone. Riveh wouldn't let someone die, even a bully, if he could avoid it. But what could he do? What spells would work on a creature made of wall? And it would have to be a spell, for he was unarmed. Then he thought of one trump card has hasn't played yet. It wouldn't be pleasant but...
In his mind's eye, Riveh picture that great pyramid he had encountered, the day he opened the box. That vast unknowable shape, with strange uneven edges and dimensions. Just thinking about it made his head hurt but he focused on it, eldritch colors against the sheer black of utter abyss...
Riveh pointed a finger at the wall creature and summoned the Great beyond. Instantly the creature was covered in a shell of utter blackness as a slice of Outer Space descended on it. A freezing cold from beyond the stars gripped it.
The black wayward orb of far-flung interstellar space came and went, but not without leaving its mark, much to the ifrit's satisfaction. Just like the brickwork its skin imitated, the creature was clearly not immune to the ravages of extreme cold. Its surface was now cracked and pitted, like stone splitting in harshest winter, and Riveh even saw splinters falling from the long arms.
But dead it was not. He could read pain and frustration in the wall being's strangely liquid writhing, but it was clearly still in the fight. Raising its claws, it seemed ready to launch the limbs at its two opponents yet again. The good Dame, however, was faster.
Chopping at the shoulder of the apparition yet again, Trant sank the crystalline blade deep into the beast. And then straight through it. The tall woman nearly lost her footing as the shard halfway cut, halfway broke the being's featureless head from its torso. More writhing. The head fell onto the dusty floor as little more than a stone bust, every trace of its malleable quality gone, while the now decapitated upper body began convulsing. The flexible arms first retracted and then disappeared into the shaking torso. Then it too, headless and limbless, just a torso sticking out of a wall, began receding. A low moan, the first the being had let slip so far, could now be heard. It was an awful thing, like the distant crying of a man locked beneath earthen floors. But within seconds it was gone. Receding into the wall, the only evidence that it had ever existed was the solid head resting on the floor and the cracks Riveh had inflicted upon it; these transferred onto the wall itself.
Well, that and a heavily wounded Dame Trant. The ifrit's attention was brought back to her as the tall woman slumped against the nearest wall, breathing heavy and clutching her bloodied stomach. The aggression that had marked her conduct in battle was gone. Now she was staring into empty space with an oddly anxious look on the blonde brow.
"Am... am I dying?"
Riveh wasn't entirely sure whether the breathy question had even been directed at him, but no, he didn't believe so. He could see now that the Dame was actually wearing some light, inconspicuous armor beneath her torn gown, and that while she had sustained injuries that might very well have put down lesser men, this had prevented the being's claws from sinking in too deep.
Riveh's elation at the defeat of the weird wall monster is replaced by anxiety as an injured Trant slips to the floor. true, she had been no saint but no one deserved to be disemboweled by a strange monster. Well, almost no one. Maybe Grand Prince Stavian...
Shaking his head the ifrit went over to the mumbling woman, looking at her wounds as best he could.
The wounds didn't look to be lethal, which is confirmed by Riveh's sharp eyes. They were nasty surely, and must really hurt, but Dame Trant was in no risk of killing off the family line. A standard healing spell would fix her up in no time.
Inwardly sighing, Riveh does his best to comfort the woman. After all, she had saved them.
'You...You aren't dying." Riveh says, somewhat lamely, "At least, no more then the rest of us. The wound looks worse then it is, you should recover without trouble."
Riveh swallows and adds, rolling his privately, "You were very brave you know, charging that creature with just a flimsy sword. Thank you."
Riveh looks up to make sure the older man was still there, "Are you also all right?"
Despite never looking in his direction, apparently preferring to glare into empty space, the Dame was seemingly listening to Riveh's words. As he assured her that she wasn't dying, she seemed to regain control of her labored breathing and the strangely far-away look to her eyes took on a more immediate light. Was it possible that she simply hadn't been wounded to this degree before and hadn't known what to make of the sensation?
Whatever the case, along with her composure the tall woman also regained her scornful demeanor. At hearing the ifrit's (hesitant) praise, she finally looked at him as one might look at incontinent house pet. "Oh, shut up, you upstart," came the dismissive reply.
This said, Trant gingerly turned and walked back to one of the closed doors, clearly trying to maintain her proud posture but failing somewhat with one arm over her wounds. Said door did not remain closed for long, however.
"Dame Trant! Are you alright?" said the elderly voice Riveh had heard earlier through the entrance, now revealed to be a liver-spotted gentleman of advanced years as he came out into the hallway. His immaculate clothing was complemented by a fine cane which he made good use of as he approached the Dame. "Oh, look what you've done to yourself, girl! Stupid, stupid girl! If your mother could see you now... Priest!"
Despite the harsh words, the man seemed to be genuinely upset at seeing Trant wounded. But the exclamation for a priest was directed towards the room he had come out of. "Stop cowering in there, man! The Dame is wounded. Use your god given abilities to help her!"
Stepping up to the others, Riveh could now see into the small room. It was a tiny space with little in it beyond a table, some chairs and a cupboard. Well, that and two men. One was a red-headed halfling dressed in the servant's uniform of the Senate, the other a straw-haired young man dressed in fine clerical robes. Evidently the latter was the priest in question, but he was clearly very badly affected by recent events: the young man was sitting in a corner facing the wall, rocking back and forth whilst mumbling to himself. The halfling looked to the ifrit and elderly gentleman apologetically, "I'm sorry, milords. I don't think the young master is going to heal anyone anytime soon."
"Bah, useless!" exclaimed the Lord. But he then turned his small eyes to Riveh. "You must excuse him, young sir. The young man is a guest of mine to the gala, the rector of the Arcadian colony I oversee, but it would seem the... unpleasantness that saw us all being transported here was too much for him. I thought he was made of sterner stuff than this, I truly did." The old man shook his head disapprovingly, and then extended a hand to grasp Riveh's own. "I am Lord Wilfen, young sir. Please, let me shake the hand of the man who fought alongside the good Dame. It was very good of you, sir. Very good. Blasted monster would have consumed us all, no doubt! I... don't recognize you. Do I know your parents?"
"Hear, hear!" boomed a rapacious voice down the hall suddenly. Out of the darkness and into the lantern's light came two more people, both clearly aristocrats. The speaker was a broad man with an impressively full beard, and trailing behind him was a thin woman who... well, her features were frankly difficult for the ifrit to discern; her face was so caked with makeup it was a wonder he could even make out her disapproving frown.
"Yes, well done, young man," the bearded nobleman went on. "I could have destroyed the beast myself, of course, but those blackguards took my sword in the scuffle above, you see. They rightly surmised that they could never best Sir Plastion in a fair fight, ha hah! Otherwise I would have fought beside you shoulder to shoulder, be assured."
"Easy enough to say now, Sir Plastion," the old Lord replied. "As I recall it, the only one of to dare set foot outside our safe rooms was the young Trant. And look at her now! Gods only know how we are going to get out of here now."
For her part, Malphene remained quiet, perhaps uncharacteristically so. She seemed content to lean up against a wall and ride out the discomfort of her wounds for now.
From being alone to being back in a crowd, in a moment. Clearly Riveh was not the only refugee who had escaped the cataclysm downstairs. But who were all these other people? Not other aides, that was for sure.
A few minor noblefolk. Interesting. No one of Talbot or Zespire lofty stature but still, not the help either. How many others had survived? Was this sorry band all that remained of the glittering expanse of Taldan aristocracy? God help her the Empire.
Riveh stood up, leaving Trant to wallow in pain. Maybe it would be a good lesson for her. He shook Lord Wilfen's hand but shrugged off the compliments. As for his parents...well, after what had happened today old family scandal seem to hardly matter.
"Geminus, my lord. My father was a Chancellor for a time?" The young ifrit offered, looking for and expecting the usual click of recognition of the scandal (or nothing at all).
Riveh instantly dismisses Sir Plastion as a loud blowhard, not what he needed right now. What they needed was a healer.
Riveh turned away from the nobles and sat down beside the seemingly catatonic young priest. The young man was non-responsive and mumbling to himself, clearly over done by the day's events. Which was fair enough considering the scale of the slaughter below. Riveh himself only kept his head by pushing it out of his mind...
How could he calm this young man?
"Geminus...?" the Lord said before that familiar light went off behind the elderly eyes. That uncomfortable moment of recognition was sadly becoming rather accustomed to Riveh. "Yes, well... *Harrumph.* B-but we don't hold the son accountable for the sins of the father, do we? You're as true a patriot as anyone, I'm sure."
Lord Wilfen said this through an awkward smile, clearly caught off-guard. The fact that the sentiment was wholly untrue and that both knew it only made the words more disingenuous; the ifrit's entire life had absolutely been shaped around his father's perceived sins. But then again the old man was most likely merely attempting to mollify any potential tensions, because as if on cue:
"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Trant sharply, seemingly roused from her silence by the exchange. "Who is he, Lord Wilfen?"
"Now now, Dame Trant," the anxious Lord responded, caught between a rock and a hard place. Given that the group's safety largely lay with Riveh and the young noblewoman, it was obviously not in his interest to stir any fires between them. "It hardly matters now. All that matters is how we get out of..."
"No, you tell me what you know right now! He's some sort of disgraced nobody, isn't he? He tricked me, I knew it!"
This discourse, the old man trying to soothe an outraged Malphene, became the background noise to Riveh's examination of the young priest. The subservient halfling stepped aside to give him space in the small room, but it was obvious that the priest was in a bad state. He offered no reaction to the ifrit coming up to him, merely continuing to rock in place whilst staring into the corner. The man was little older than himself and dressed in clerical vestments fit for a royal coronation, or rather they would be if not for the numerous sploshes of blood on them. He seemed unharmed, however, physically. Riveh wondered if being caught in the massacre had given him some sort of trauma. He had heard of some soldiers going a bit... well, a bit funny in the head after enough battles. Perhaps something similar was the case here. As for how to undo it...
"He refuses to look at anyone, milord," the halfling offered, trying to help. "Just keeps mumbling. If I may, sir, I think he's praying."
Riveh was no physician, but perhaps there was some way to shock the poor man out of his state, at least temporarily. Whether this was done best with kind assurances or harsh reprimands he couldn't say. The ifrit looked him over again; there were two items adorning his clothes. One was the senate badge, the pin that everyone here was wearing and the reason they were still alive. The other was a heavy golden key symbol hanging about the priest's neck. Hm. An Abadaran then.