Prospectus Logs #11: A Gathering of Fay +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | Of a great meeting of fay: invitations, decisions, and an ultimately | | surprising conclusion. Elves, trolls, zombies, goblins, talking | | critters, turtles, and merrows. Also, the lesson that all actions have | | consequences, some good, some bad. | +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ Dramatis Personae: Albus of Tytalus Magus (Shannon Appel) Catorse of Quaesitor Magus (Kevin Wong) Docilli of Bonisagus Magus (Eric Rowe) Fabricarious of Verditius Magus (Chris Van Horn) Frangere of Tremere Magus (Eric Fulton) Lorum of Merinita Magus (Chris VH as "Bill") Risus of Criamon Magus (Dave Woo) Viator of Jerbiton Magus (Dave Pickering) Xanti Ex. Misc. Magus (Eric R as "John") Alacinda Librarian (Eric Rowe) Cugat Fisherman (John Tomasetti) Lucindia Seneschal (Chris Van Horn) Miracle Cugat's Fay Daughter Roger Grog-to-be Muk Grog-to-be Tara Apprentice-to-be Julio Patrolin' Grog Sergio Teachin' Grog Steven Crusadin' Grog Xavier Fightin' Grog Anna Faerie Ally of Prospectus Locus Dux Aquil Faerie Duke of the Beaches and Shores The Bovine Seer Faerie Occular, Held Captive The May Queen Faerie Queen of Summer in Winter The Moss Man Faerie King of Decay Mercere Faerie Advisor to Lord Thom Natasha Faerie Sister of Anna Our Lady of Weasels Faerie Lord of the Weasels The Owl Sage Faerie Advisor to the Vole Queen Lord Thom Faerie Duke of the Dead and Dying Thom's Queen Corpse Duchess of the Duke and Dying Turtle Faerie Lord of the Sea Turtles Titus Zombie Roman Priest The Vole Queen Faerie Queen of Fertility Lady of the Wind Air Spirit The Mud Man Pagan Deity Spirit of the Oak Prophetic Tree Gamemaster: Shannon Appel - * - A Faerie Prophecy Recorded September 28, 1213 all ever turning fay trods are spokes of a wheel but where is the hub - * - Albus' Dialogues April 1, 1215 Mid-Afternoon Finally! My yellow coloration has faded! I feel liberated--able to go out and interact with humanity once more. I think I will take that Barcelonan church man up on his offer. In three days--when I finish my Sufi course on philosophy--I will head north. To immerse myself in humanity and churchliness for a few months. - * - The Council Records as recorded by Lucindia the Seneschal April 3, 1215 In attendence: Albus, Catorse, Docilli, Fabricarious, Lorum, Risus, Viator, and Xanti; also myself, Lucindia the Seneschal; also Frangere, an associate member. Absent: Aubrin, away on covenant business; Drake and Forticulus, both away on personal business. Newly Inducted: Frangere of Tremere. Quorum was achieved and Catorse called the meeting to order as elder. Points of Information: * Frangere reported his season of Moorish study done and was officially acclaimed as a full member of Prospectus Locus. * DOCILLI suggested to Frangere that he should investigating certamening in different auras, as a possible way to attain an advantage in such conflicts. * LUCINDIA questioned which topics she should place priority upon, with possibilities including: hiring, planning for a paper mill, building new laboratories, and teaching Latin classes. She was told she should hire an assistant so that nothing is overlooked. * Frangere asked about the current status of labs and requested a ground floor lab due to his infirmities. Curently there are no extra labs, though the second floor of our new laboratory building is under construction and expected to be complete by year's end. Catorse has agreed to move up to the second floor and give Frangere his first floor lab at that time. Catorse will consult with the builders to make sure the new second floor lab is built to proper specifications * Frangere queried about reserving books and was told to consult with Alacinda, the librarian. With all points of information and debate completed the council was concluded. - * - Albus' Dialogues April 4, 1215 Noon A flurry of activity today. Thoroughly unexpected. While I was preparing for my trip Lucindia came by my quarters. She spoke of her daughter, Tara--who I have noted about the covenant on occasion. I had never realized she was gifted. Lucindia told me this. She is the daughter of Centerin--one of the dead magi. The point of Lucindia's visit was that she was seeking a master for Tara. Docilli has already refused. He has an apprentice. I was the second choice. I told her I would consider the issue. Then I went to talk with Docilli. We had a nice chat. He affirmed my belief that the best magi are those who are taught the youngest. To do otherwise would be to squander a gift. I realized it would be wrong to make Tara wait five years. Or ten. She could still be trained but Docilli said she would never reach the same heights. There was no option. So I have agreed to train Tara. I am not competent yet. But it should be eight years before I reach the limits of my skills. By then I should be able to expand the rest of my arts. If not, Docilli will be done with his current apprentice. But I prefer Tara's lessons to be mine alone. +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | "You're not a diabolist, and I can walk by a donut." | | -Docilli, to Albus, on reputations | +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ I regret the taint that lies over my lineage. I regret the fact that I will pass it on to my new filia. But I have no choice in that matter. All I can do is teach her correctly. To not make the mistakes that Avitus made. Or Olennius. Or Ludwig. This one shall never find diabolic books among her pater's things. So now we leave for that church near Barcelona. A group of five where I expected one. Myself. Tara. Steven and Xavier--our guards. And Catorse too. He wishes to join in these church lessons for reasons utterly unlike mine. He is a good Christian. I wish to understand the enemy. And when we return I can start Tara's true apprenticeship. - * - A Gathering of Fay A Tale in Prose JULIO. April 8, 1215 ==================== Julio's eyes threatened to slip shut as he leaned against the covenant's main gates. At his feet his hound dog was curled up, already succumbed to the seductive sleep suggested by the growing warmth of the day. It was nice to be home, able to rest up against the old familiar covenant wall, not trekking across all of Iberia, to Hell, Heaven, and back. It had never been the life he expected, but Julio thought it one he could learn to accept, if only it involved simple wall duty and not more trips across the entire peninsula. Julio gave a sudden start as he realized he had nearly nodded off. He tried to stand more firmly against the wall, but the congested snores of his hound began to lull him once more. For a moment he thought he saw motion in the fields leading up to the covenant, but then it disappeared. Probably just mice amidst the rice. Julio had only been 13 when he was called upon the serve the covenant. It had been a surprise; he had expected to live as a hunter his entire life, as his father had, and his father before him. But then word came of the deaths at Las Navas de Tolosa. The magus Forticulus had gone among the people of Bercula to choose likely replacements. Julio had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Since then life been filled with long periods of very welcome boredom punctuated by very unhappy periods of real work. The battle with the giant beaver. The trip to the castle of corpses. The long and arduous journey to Oviedo. Julio much preferred the pleasant task of guard duty, protecting the wall. Julio started again, the warmth of the day once more having lulled him almost to sleep. He thought for a moment that he should sit down, so he wouldn't fall if he did happen to doze off. Then he felt a sense of cold dread begin to climb up his spine. He was being watched! Although he tried to appear calm as he looked about, Julio could feel his heart racing and the sweat dripping down from his brow. There was really something out there. A lot of somethings. A wall of unblinking red eyes peered out from the low brush that surrounded the covenant. And then, they began to advance. Julio should have felt relief when he saw it was only rats that stalked out of the foilage. The way they advanced together, though, slowly plodding forward, not a squeak of curiosity the whole time, that filled him with a whole new terror. Julio struggled to pull his long sword from his belt, and to recover his shield, cast so carelessly aside. The whole time the rats advanced and his hound dog slept on. "What... what... what do you want?" stammered Julio, waving his sword before him like a fan. Much to his relief the rats stopped at his shouted question. It was then that Julio saw a sight that astounded him even more than the rats themselves. Each was carrying in its mouth what appeared to be a rolled up scroll! One of the rats--a large rodent, colored dark gray--choose that moment to spit the scroll out of its mouth. Then it began to speak. "Lor-um! Lor-um!" This was magus business! Eminently pleased that he would not have to fight off a horde of rats, Julio scrambled over his dog, shouting "Stay!" as he went, and then streaked into the covenant. As he ran, he heard the single rat chanting behind him. "Lor-um. Lor-um. Lor-um." ROGER. April 8, 1215 ==================== One of the feasting tables was filled with tiny scrolls. Roger stopped for a moment to count them. There were eighteen in all. Each looking identical: rolled up tightly then bound with a bright red ribbon. A few had already been opened, but most were still tied shut. Roger was surprised to see his name written on one. He thought that was Muk's on another, though he wasn't sure. It explained why he and his brother had been called to the feasting hall. So many things had changed in the lost months. After The Massacre Roger had expected to be made a grog, along with Julio and his other childhood friends. He had thought it was his time to loyally serve gran'pa Aubrin, just as he had always wanted. But then he was passed over, as were all his relatives. Word spread that gran'pa Aubrin was avoiding selecting his descendents as new grogs. It had been a bitter blow. This winter that had all changed, when the magus Viator began his grog apprenticeship program. Both Roger and Muk were among the dozen boys chosen. It had been an unexpected bounty. And now there was this, this mysterious summons, and the strange note with his name on it! Roger had just begun to snake his hand toward his scroll when he heard the magus Lorum clear his throat. He turned around with a start and was sure his guilt was writ large across his face. But, Lorum had not noticed. He was simply calling the meeting to order. Glancing about, Roger recognized all those gathered. There were thirteen total. Lorum. The warrior Torp. The fisherman Cugat and his daughter Miracle. His brother Muk. A number of cousins, uncles, and aunts--all blood relatives to Roger. Roger recognized the fay in each of them--each but Cugat who held his daughter's hand like a fragile egg--and he began to understand the reason behind this gathering. "I have gathered you here because your presence has been requested," Lorum said, and he waved in a distracted way toward the pile of scrolls. "There is to be a great convocation of faerie in a week's time, and you have been invited to attend. Torp and I will leave in two days. We will head toward the castle of Lord Thomasco Centillius, a nearby faerie ruler, and we hope he will show us the way to the convocation itself. If any of you wish to attend we will be happy to take you with us." Roger's mind had already begun to spin. He had some interest in the faeries, true, but that was not enough to convince him to undertake this trip. The chance to prove his bravery and fearlessness before both a magus and grog, though, that was worthwhile. With such support his place as a member of Prospectus Locus' turb was guaranteed. Not even gran'pa Aubrin could forbid it when he returned. So lost was he in thought that Roger almost missed Lorum's next words. "I should warn you, there may be dangerous faeries at this convocation. In particular I expect there to be a certain sea turtle whose depths of perfidy are unplumbed. If you chance to encounter this fiend..." ROGER. April 12, 1215 ===================== Roger felt the gorge begin to rise in his throat as he looked about Lord Thom's hall. Zombies shambled about, bits of long petrified flesh occasionally dropping away from their frames. There were skeletons too, much less disgusting but every bit as eerie. At the edges of vision, Roger could see shades, ghosts, and wraiths, flittering in and out of reality. At the head of the whole grotesque court sat the Lord Thom, an island of life in a sea of death. He clutched his wife's hand in his own; it took Roger a moment to realize she was dead as well. He tried to breath in shallow gasps to avoid the stink of the deceased. It would not do to vomit in front of the magus. There were six of them who had accepted the invitation to the faerie convocation. Lorum and Torp had led the expedition as promised. Roger and three of his relatives had joined them. His brother Muk was not among them. The youngster had no sense of adventure. He'd rather sit at home then go out and find adventure in the world. Having finally reached a wary compromise with his stomach, Roger looked up to see that Lorum was completing an agreement with Lord Thom. In two days they would join the faerie's entourage, when it set forth for the faerie concovation. They would walk the trods, and the trip would be short. In the meantime Roger and the others were to help Thom with a bizarre ritual he was performing. At first it seemed senseless to Roger. He carried stones about the great hall; moved zombies to precise locations; rotated pieces of furniture; and sang sing-song chants the whole time. His first glimmer of meaning occured when he heard Lorum whisper something softly, half under his breath. "He's closing off his realm." After that Roger watched everything much closer. After all, knowledge was power. The two days passed quickly. ROGER. April 14, 1215 ===================== The trods were strange things. Sometimes it was like walking down a tunnel, a strange silver light suffusing it. At other times Roger could catch glimpses of reality. Green plains, brown hills, even a small village once. It was all very disorientating, with silver light and the flashes of the world blinking in and out. On occasion Roger could glance behind him and see all the way back to Thom's realm. At other times he was alone, and could see none of fellows. He was just becoming used to the fayness of the trods when the journey came to an end. Lorum had suggested they might pass through other faerie realms as they traveled from Lord Thom's realm to the meeting place, but such was not the case. They passed a nexus once--a meeting of two trods--and there was a strange fountain bubbling in that place; its water changed color as Roger watched. But that was the only distraction. Mere hours after the journey began it came to an end. Roger did not see their destination until he was almost upon it. Then it suddenly appeared before him, in the disconcerting way things did upon the trod. It was a grand tower, seven stories high, and upon the top was mounted a giant mirror. The trod led straight into the seventh floor of the tower. Looking about Roger saw that the sky was filled with trods, perhaps two score in all, and this tower was the center of their web. Lorum was walking just a little before Roger, and so Roger heard the magus when he exclaimed, "That's our tower!" Roger looked at the tower again, and felt his mind do a flip-flop as a new understanding of reality clicked into place. It was indeed the covenant's tower, the one at the center of the island, where gran'pa Aubrin and the other elder magi lived. It was different, though, for the real tower was only five stories tall, though gran'pa Aubrin still sometimes told stories of clearing ancient rubble from the roof, where it had once risen higher in long gone days. For a moment Roger saw reality again, as the silvery light of the trod dimmed. Spread out below him was Prospectus Locus. Then the walls of the faerie realm once more closed in around him. LUCINDIA. April 15, 1215 ======================== As she dips her quill into the ink well, Lucindia wonders if she should truly be taking notes. It is not a proper council meeting after all. With only six magi present there is no quorum. But this is clearly a matter of importance to the covenant. It should be recorded. Viator is speaking again, saying that young Muk can see the faerie regio too. It lies over the central tower, yet the regio tower looks different from the real one. It is seven stories high, not five, and there is a great mirror atop it all. The base is changed as well, with the windows and entrance in different places, as if someone had restructured it over the millenia. Viator goes on to explain that the regio seems unstable, occasionally flickering in and out of existence. Lucindia's quill continues to scratch across the vellum. Docilli suddenly stands and says, "I suggest no one mess with anything." Then he makes his slow way out of the council room, all drama lost by the speed of his departure. Finally they are decided. Frangere, Fabricarious, Risus, and Xanti will attempt to enter the regio tower, taking Hufar and Federico with them as guards. Frangere says the number seven is sacred to the fay, and Lucindia duly notes that fact. They stand up from their chairs and prepare to leave. Lucindia writes an almost standard closure: "With all points of information and debate completed the unofficial council was concluded." And then she lays her quill down on the table. As she sprinkles sand across the vellum, Lucindia's mind wanders to other things. She can picture her daughter's departure perfectly in her mind's eye. Julio stands at smart attention by the gate, his dog asleep at his feet. Tara waves from the back of a horse, a happy smile upon her face. Albus stands just behind her, a hand at her back to steady her. Catorse is several steps ahead, intent on the road ahead. Steven and Frederico trail behind. It had been so abrupt, that departure. And now with not even two weeks gone Lucindia misses her daughter dearly. But it is all for the best. Apprenticeship is the way of the world, and having a child apprenticed so nearby is a blessing most mothers could not ask for. ROGER. April 15, 1215 ===================== An amazing variety of beings have come to the faerie convocation. For a full day now Roger has seen them trickle in from all directions. He recognized most of them from gran'pa Aubrin's tales. There are dark elves, ice trolls, swamp goblins, sprites, mushroom men, black dogs, brownies, lizard men, and satyrs. A small family of merrows stood near the turtle that Lorum so detested. Aquil's dead things were there too, of course, but they could barely be smelled above the press of so many fay. There were also animals all about, some intelligent, others not, some giant, others normal-sized. Roger could not name all the lesser faerie lords that he saw. Roger turned his attention once more to the center of the room. It seemed that the convocation was about to begin, for the flood of noise that filled the room was beginning to ebb. One of the figures at the table that dominated the center of the room rose. The table itself was made of beautiful wood and perfectly circular. Four bright sigils were painted onto the table: a golden sun, a verdant tree, a silvery moon, and an autumnal tree. Each of the four parties at the table was seated between two of these emblems. It was the May Queen who rose. Her noble presence seemed to fill the room even before she spoke. To her left an old man covered with moss looked up at her with love on his face. To her right a cow-headed man looked down. A leash ran from a collar around his neck to the May Queen's belt. Their seats were between the moon and the verdant tree. Eight other members of the high table looked up as well when the May Queen rose. The Vole Queen smoothed her dress while Our Lady of Weasels whispered secrets into her ear. The Owl Sage simply looked on, unblinking. They were the representatives of Bright Summer, located between the sun and the verdant tree. Dux Aquil fidgeted as he watched, as did his high priest Titus, but still they seemed to note the May Queen's word. Of their party, only the Lord of the Sea Turtles seemed unworried--an irony considering the recipe for turtle soup painted across his back. It was clearly a nervous time for the representatives of Bright Winter. It was the represenatatives of Dark Winter who did not give their full attention to the May Queen. Lord Thom and his advisor, Mercere, each of them seemed to note their words. However, the head of Thom's queen lolled about. The faerie council was clearly of little interest to those fully dead. Roger found himself lost in the May Queen's beauty for a moment: her golden flax hair, her long-legged beauty, her dark-olive skin. Then she began to speak, and he realized that her voice was as beautiful as the rest of her. "Thank you for coming," she said, "to this convocation that the Vole Queen has called. I will grant her the floor in just a moment, but first I wish to offer thanks to he that made this possible. "It has been over seven hundred years since our last convocation. We had thought this realm forever lost to us due to the ancient magics of the Mercurians, who warped the faerie magic of our meeting place to their own ends. Last year, though, we were granted new hope." With an abrupt tug the May Queen pulled on the leash attached to the cow-headed man's collar. His eyes bulged for a second and then he scrambled to his feet. "That's Dervin," Lorum said in a quiet whisper. "He's the one that helped us last year with the Shadow Flambeau." "It was my Bovine Seer who rediscovered this place," the May Queen said. "He walked through the Mercurian wards without even realizing it. When he returned to me, I realized the import of his discovery, and so I had him show me the trods to this place. But, it was in vain. Only my Seer could pierce the Mercurian's wards. Though found again, this realm was still lost." "Then, something happened. On the third day of the risen unicorn--February tenth as the mortals reckon it--my Seer told me that he had felt a change, that the wards were all but shattered. I confirmed this fact, then sent word to the Vole Queen. So this convocation has been called." Since his grog training had begun Roger had heard all manner of wild tales from the grogs. There was also a magus who enjoyed talking with the grogs, hearing their adventures and telling his own. That was Albus, the pale warrior mage. Roger remembered Albus telling of the raid he and Lorum had made on Dux Aquil's castle: how they had destroyed an ancient Mercurian magic item which was binding Roman spirits to Aquil. Albus had said that had occurred on February tenth, he was sure. Could the destroying of one ward have weakened another? Roger leaned over to ask Lorum that question, but the magus only shushed him to silence. The May Queen was still speaking. "And we do not thank my Seer for just the rediscovery of this regio," the May Queen said. "He is also responsible for its very existence today. Though they have been weakened, the Mercurian wards in this place still exist. My Seer keeps them at bay, so that we may meet here today." "Now let me offer the floor to the Vole Queen, the chair of our meeting." And with that the May Queen sat down, a sly smile upon her face. It seemed to say, you may speak now that I have asserted my dominance here. The Vole Queen's voice was high and squeaky; Roger felt it to be an unwelcome and abrupt change from the May Queen's sonorous speech. "We'come fewwows," the Vole Queen began. XANTI. April 15, 1215 ===================== Settling himself to the ground, Xanti began his ritual of meditation. He cleansed his mind, emptying it of everything. He was no longer Xanti, Basque shaman and Hermetic magus, sitting before Prospectus Locus' great tower. He was now no one and nothing, and his mind was a void. Into that empty container there flowed a vision. Xanti floated above the island. It was barren, almost without life, but in the middle there stood a great tower. Now Xanti saw the tower as those with faerie vision had. It was the tower as it had appeared centuries before, proud in the glory of its youth. It was this ancient tower that the regio reflected, a picture of the past. The sun glinted off of a great mirror on the tower, and then suddenly Xanti was inside. There was a great gathering within the tower, a meeting of all manner of fay. At the center of the meeting there was a table, and at that table sat four that Xanti recognized by name and deed: Dux Aquil, Lord Thom, the May Queen, and the Vole Queen. They spoke together and then came to an agreement that Xanti did not understand. Then everything shifted once again, and Xanti found himself watching four scenes, not one. In each place followers of the faerie lords conducted some ritual. Dark elves chanted in a church as a creature of mud rose from the ground. An owl led an assortment of animals in a ritual to bind a great wind spirit. A family of merrows called up a sunken ship from the deep. A swamp goblin danced before a strangely shaped tree while six zombies watched in silence. Then Xanti found himself floating above the island again. As he watched, faerie plants sprang up from the ground and covered everything. Suddenly the container was shattered, the vision lost. As he opened his eyes, Xanti considered his vision with a sad sigh. Was he to see a second covenant destroyed? MUK. April 15, 1215 =================== Though not one to seek out adventure, Muk found it irresistable when one was delivered at his very feet. So he stood with the magi and their grogs, ready to enter the faerie regio when they did. It shimmered before him now, seeming to beckon, a phantom tower laid over the real one. Every once in a while it blinked, and then disappeared for a full second or more before reappearing. Muk found that rather disconcerting. He had never seen a regio do such a thing before. The group had been on the verge of entering once already. They had even marched into the regio to confront an ice troll and dark elf that stood guard before the regio tower's door. But, that was before Xanti had decided to seek for a vision of the future. Now, he was finally stirring. "They're planning to instill a faerie aura," Xanti said. "They'll destroy our covenant." He blinked for a few minutes after that, as if surprised by the brightness of the sun, then Xanti proceeded to explain his entire vision. When he was done Muk could see that the other magi were as worried as Xanti was. Muk sat down to wait while the magi debated what to do. He was in no great hurry, after all. Xanti repeated the specifics of his vision many times. Slowly the magi determined the location of each ritual. The church was in Mantiun. The grove of the winds was twelve miles north. The ship was one which the magi visited yearly, fourteen miles out to sea. The tree was called the Spirit of the Oak, and it was in a grove thirteen miles south. Muk was surprised by the speed with which the magi assigned themselves the various tasks. Xanti would journey to the grove of the winds alone. Fabricarious would head out to Mantiun with grogs in tow. Risus would take grogs as well, when he headed south to the Oak. No one felt able to journey to the drowned ship, and so that ritual was ignored. Viator and Frangere would proceed in to the tower. With an impatient gesture Frangere motioned to Muk. The boy stood up and carefully and assiduously brushed the dirt from his pants. Then he followed the two magi into the tower. ROGER. April 15, 1215 ===================== Roger looked up in surprise when he saw the three enter the council. The magi Frangere and Viator climbed the tight spiral staircase, and behind them was his brother, Muk. Stay at home Muk--never go out and play Muk--was here in a faerie regio. Roger was astounded. He leaned over to try and point out the arrival of his fellows to Lorum, but the magus just waved him to silence. It did not matter, for in just a few moments Viator and Muk had pushed their way through the gathering of fay to arrive at Lorum's side. Viator offered pleasant greeting and then began to outline the problem that the covenant faced. Roger was enthralled and allowed his attention to slip away from the central council table. Currently a sparrow was addressing the table, explaining difficulties it was having with sprites over nesting rights in a certain forest. The magi plotted for long minutes and Roger's attention did not stray from them until he heard a familiar voice out in the central floor. "I would like to welcome you all here." It was Frangere. He had crossed into the central circle to address the high fay lords. "So kind of you to welcome us to our old home," said the May Queen. Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Just a few minutes later Frangere had retreated back toward his fellows. Roger squeezed over to give him room to sit down. The fay convocation wore on for long hours. Toward the end Roger decided it was not quite the adventure he had hoped for. Sitting in a stuffy room filled with faeries discussing technicalities of law and minor nuisances was no way to spend a fine Spring day. He tried to at least look interested, for the magi's sake. Finally the last applicant had finished speaking to the table, and the May Queen rose. Could this be the end at last? Dusk must be nearly fallen by now. "I have one last issue before this convocation ends and the party begins," said the May Queen. "It concerns our place of meeting, so long denied to us. Mercurian rituals still bind it, and it is only through my Seer's magic that we are able to meet here today." The May Queen gave Dervin's leash a sharp tug, but the cow-man was already leaping to his feet in haste. "However, my Seer has revealed to me a great ritual, and by undertaking that ritual we may eat away at the Mercurian's final wards, and so free this place of convocation from the magical bonds that have been laid upon it. "Now the stars are right, and only now may we undertake this ritual. I put forth the proposal that we do so." The hands of each of the four high fay lords--the May Queen, the Vole Queen, Lord Thom, and Dux Aquil--rose in assent. The decision was unanimous, as every decision during the entire council had been. As the May Queen began to explain the specifics of the ritual--how each of the four high fay lords must send a contigent to a different place of power, and conduct a series of rituals over the next two dawns and two dusks--Frangere sprang to his feet. He rushed to the central circle so that he could address the circle once more. Roger shook his head. He knew any argument would be pointless. The fay were adamant once they had set their mind on a goal. Leaning behind Viator, Roger shook his brother awake. "Muk," he said. "Wake up. The party's going to begin in just a few moments." XANTI. April 15, 1215 ====================== An air spirit darted across the glade, just barely visible to Xanti in the late afternoon light. It was the fifth he had seen since he had arrived in the grove of the winds. It was an aptly named place. "Wind spirit, I would talk to you," Xanti said. Much to his surprise this one actually responded, stopping its crazed flight through the air to slowly drift down toward Xanti. "Yessss?" "I would talk with the Lady of the Wind." Before Xanti could speak another word the spirit was gone. Then Xanti could only sit and wait once more. After an interminable time, during which the sun kissed the horizon and slowly begun to dip below, Xanti decided that the spirit had forgotten his request. He was just beginning to look for another messenger when he felt a great looming presence, like an anvil pressed suddenly upon his back. A new wind spirit filled the entire grove, and Xanti knew without asking that it was the Lady of the Wind. Drawing himself up straight, Xanti pretended bravery. "I have come to warn you," he said. "To warn you that faeries will come here, and soon. They will summon you up, then try to bind you, and use your power for a ritual." The Lady seemed to considered for a moment. Then loud words rumbled forth from her mouth like a great storm. "I will call forth my greatest sons to protect me from this threat, and they shall drive these faeries away if need be. And, if you tell the truth, you shall be rewarded." Xanti offered a timid smile. A job done right. A task easily completed. It seemed almost too much to ask. "But," said the Lady, "If I find you lie to me I will bedevil you even worse than that fire elemental, whose mark you bear." Xanti's smile dropped from his face like a dead sparrow plummeting from a tree. DERVIN. April 15, 1215 ====================== Dervin stared glumly at the party around him. No food for the Queen's slave. No drink for the Queen's slave. No life for the Queen's slave! Everything had seemed so hopeful just a year ago. He had inherited the Seed Seer's power, but even more he had found new depths of power within himself. With new self-confidence he had escaped from the May Queen's clutches just before she fell back into Arcadia for the year. After that he had helped to bring down a power that threatened all of Iberia and journeyed further than he ever thought possible. But that was before Fall. Before the May Queen had returned. Before she had sent her ice trolls and dark elves and black dogs to hunt him down. Before he had been led back to the May Queen's court in iron chains and rechristened the Bovine Seer. Now he was once more the Queen's slave. With no food, no drink, and no life. Looking up, Dervin saw Viator approaching him. They had talked earlier--Viator had been the only person to extend Dervin that courtesy--and Dervin had explained to the magus that he was not here of his own will. At Viator's questioning, Dervin had revealed that he was the only one keeping this regio in existence, that if he left, the entire regio would collapse, bouncing all the participants either to Arcadia or the mundane world. Dervin had been less sure about what this would do to the planned ritual, but he had pretended confidence to Viator. After all, he wanted to get off of this leash, to free himself from the May Queen and this time to run far, far away. But then Viator had left. The party had continued, and Dervin had thought himself forgotten. Now, Viator was returned! Viator was holding a wooden platter which he carefully sat on a chair less than a foot away from Dervin--well within his reach. "If someone were to want to free Dervin, he'd probably hide a knife in this plate of purple mashed potatoes, and then arrange a distraction," Viator said. Then the magus casually walked away, leaving the plate behind. Plunging his hands into the purple, pulped potatoes Dervin was elated to discover that Viator's statement was not a hypothetical one. Dervin quickly tucked the knife into his shirt. +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | "I say we kill the turtle as a distraction." | | "So, should I kill the turtle?" | | -Lorum, on distractions | +------------------------------------------------------------------------+ Minutes passed. Dervin felt like the bronze blade was burning into his chest. Then, there came a shout. "Turtle! I challenge you to a duel!" It was the magus Lorum who spoke. Heads turned. Lorum advanced forward. The turtle stood still for a second, shell-shocked, then it pulled its head, arms, and legs back into his shell. Dervin took that moment to pull forth his knife and cut the rope. As he did he noted Frangere and Viator both casting spells at him. One caught the severed end of Dervin's rope, so the May Queen would not notice it go limp. The other changed Dervin's appearance. Looking down, he saw not a cow-faced man, but rather a pale-skinned magus. As Dervin casually tossed the knife back into the potatos he saw that Lorum still advanced upon the turtle. Then, quite suddenly, the turtle was hurtling through the air. The Lord of the Sea Turtles could fly! Faeries dropped to the ground and screamed. Some began to run for the trods. Lorum ducked too, as the turtle went by. Past him, it embedded itself a foot into the tower's wall. These Prospectus Locus magi didn't fool around when then planned distractions. After that, everything was utter chaos. Food and wine spilled as faeries tried to make their exits. There were curses, even fights, as hostilities broke out between opposing factions. Some faeries fell to the floor. Some flew to the ceiling. Others stood stock-still, stunned. Through this carnage Dervin casually walked, heading for a trod. As he glanced back, Dervin saw the turtle had freed itself. It aimed for Lorum once more, but missed. It was still blind, its head retracted. The tower seemed to shake as the turtle embedded itself even further into the opposite wall. With a smile Dervin stopped out onto a trod. Behind him the regio tower disappeared. LUCINDIA. April 15, 1215 ======================== Lucindia watches as Viator escorts the Vole Queen out of the covenant, arms linked like a noble and his lady. She lets her breath out in a long exhalation. They are all gone. The covenant has not been destroyed. When she heard the shout that faeries were raining down on the covenant she had worried for a moment. She had not panicked--that was not her way--but dark thoughts of possible consequences had touched upon her mind. Thankfully only a few had been able to pierce the Aegis, perhaps twenty in all. According to the magi the rest were probably thrown all the way back to Arcadia. The May Queen has already left with a large contigent. Now the Vole Queen's tiny court is gone as well. There is only one thing left to do: climb the real tower and survey the damage. She had seen flames up there shortly after she had emerged from her study. Now she climbs the five flights of stairs to see why. Her nose tells her before her eyes. Scattered across the top of the tower are a half-dozen animal corpses, a wolf, some large mice, and a sparrow. It is the last evidence of a disagreement between the Queens of May and Vole. Now Lucindia understands why the Vole Queen waited for the May Queen to leave before departing herself, and she understands the great ritual that the Vole Queen offered to Viator in payment, wherein she blessed all the people and animals of the land with fertility. Lucindia shouts for grogs to come clean up the awful, blackened mess. SERGIO. April 18, 1215 ====================== Sergio was well-pleased with his employer. For that reason it seemed inevitable that something would go wrong. He couldn't be sure what it would be yet, but there had to be something. Sergio rarely had good luck. Still, it had seemed like a boon when Fabricarious approached him. There were three fighting men at his back, but he claimed to need more. He had been willing to hire Sergio after just a few swings of his sword. If he'd heard the vile rumors circulating about Sergio he ignored them completely. Even better, Fabricarious seemed like a good man to serve. He talked casually with his men, not speaking down to them. He treated them like fellows, not servants. Sergio sat at the edge of Fabricarious' circle, not quite willing to enter, but wanting to. They had sat in a church for three days, waiting. Fabricarious had warned of a desperate battle against creatures of Hell. But, nothing came. Now, Fabricarious had finally announced that he was ready to go home. Sergio stood, feeling the stiffness in his old bones. He watched as Fabricarious reached to his money pouch. Perhaps Fabricarious would refuse to pay him, saying he hadn't done any fighting. Sergio thought that would suit his luck. His hand still at his pouch, Fabricarious stopped for a moment to look at Sergio, a speculative glint in his eyes. "You know," he said, "we could use some more warriors back at home, and a good trainer even more. You interested?" Sergio's heart jumped. Without a second's thought, he said, "Yes. Yes, sir!" He fell in behind Fabricarious as the strange swordsman ambled out of the church. Sergio was five miles down the road toward the delta before he realized that he still hadn't been paid. JULIO. April 19, 1215 ===================== Julio half-dozed, his back up against the tree that the magus Risus called the Spirit of the Oak. Dimly he could still here Risus' voice, peppering the tree with questions. It was an endless stream, an Ebro of verbiage. When it finally stopped, it took several minutes before Julio realized that Risus had fallen silent. With an effort of will Julio cracked open his eyes to see if anything was wrong. He saw Risus standing, looking speculatively up at the sky. Following his gaze, Julio saw a figure in the distance, flying toward them. Julio leapt to his feet, pointed, and said, "Something's coming, Sir!" Risus actually acted surprised. Julio was rolling his dog off his shield when he heard Risus say, "Viator's flying!" With a start, Julio looked back, and saw it was indeed Viator flying toward them. Julio finished freeing his shield, and then strapped it to his arm. Best to look good for magus inspection. Julio stood at attention for long minutes as the magi talked. First they discussed the fact that no one had appeared to conduct a ritual. Then Viator asked the Spirit of the Oak numerous questions. Julio finally decided to relax again when Viator announced he was going to retrieve the gardener to take trimmings from the tree. The next thing Julio knew, someone was kicking him. Time to get up. Time to go home. As Julio collected his belongings he reflected that he could survive covenant missions if they were all like this. The thirteen miles of marching had been hard work, but then there had been days of blissful waiting. On the downside, there was another thirteen miles of marching ahead. LUCINDIA. April 20, 1215 ======================== Lucindia scribes into her log books, recording comings and goings so that she correctly allocate foods and goods. "Fabricarious and Risus now both returned. Report no ritualistic activities at their sites. Likelyhood strong that ritual was not conducted due to disruption engendered by Frangere, Lorum, and Viator. Will instruct grogs to watch for increasing fay influence, but magi feel relatively certain we are safe." She initials the end of the entry, then pushes the tome back to the rear of her writing table, so it can dry. In a few minutes she will close the book on Prospectus Locus' latest adventure.