#owlcatober

“Should I not be?” Arsinoe asked as she stepped up to him, looking back at the perfectly workable dirt road being cobbled. “Tuskdale grows, becoming a well ordered city. I would thought you would be happy with this young community’s achievements. They have taken a bandit’s lair, and made it a respectable place to live.”

“You say it as if it was not already,” he retorted as he shook his head. “It was not a vanity project that protected us during the Bloom.”

Arsinoe nodded. “Yet stone will resist a charging owlbear far better than layers of logs. The old fort served its purpose, and now it is time to build something greater.”

“Greater?” Jhod chuckled. “Greater is a realm that forms new communities as it expands, rather than trying to stuff more together.” He pointed towards where one burgage was being deconstructed, the family within having temporarily been given shelter elsewhere and their possessions stored and moved, both at the realm’s expense. “Greater is a realm that does not need to tear down a home to rebuild it.”

“You were there when the baroness made the decree at Tuskdale’s chartering. You know that anyone who settled inside the Stag Lord’s old fort did so aware that one day it would be rebuilt from the ground up, and that this may require moving. And you know better than I that houses are rebuilt all the time.”

He exhaled and started to move on, Arsinoe walking with him as they passed by the market. It was becoming loud, Hassuf boasting of distant wares, Verdel testing the fit of a new armor harness for a young man-at-arms who had recently finished her induction into the baroness’ retinue, and Zarcie showing off goods from Mendev to one of the crusade veterans instructing such youths in the art of combat. All as peddlers and merchants shouted of their wares, making it hard enough to think let alone talk.

He could remember when it was just those three vendors and the occasional peddler, such as a hunter come to sell his wares. It was still a hub, but most people knew each other then. You knew who to go to for certain items to trade, and they knew you. Now, it was merchants selling to an effectively faceless mass and people looking for merchants frankly interchangeable with each other.

He finally answered Arsinoe’s implied question as they reached the other side of the market. “I am aware. It is not uncommon for a house to be moved should it be damaged or renovated, especially with simple construction making it a matter of labor. Still, it is better to form new communities than cram more into the old one.”

“Ah yes, we should follow Delamere’s example and chase out the fifty-sixth soul, isolating them from their family.”

Jhod rolled his eyes. “And the Taxmasters act no better than bandits, beating up the poor for the crime of being poor.”

Arsinoe’s golden eyes widened, then she recovered and asked, “Erastil loathes sloth, does he not?”

“It is rarely sloth that leaves one unable to pay taxes. Besides, it is not the number, but the lesson within. Even the best planned city can only hold so many people.”

“This is true. Yet, with too few souls they cannot build what is needed to face the dangers of the world.”

Jhod nodded. That was also true. And he supposed that Tuskdale needed to be a city for its purpose in its wider community. The baroness’ seat of power from which she could rally the might of the growing realm to defend it. The bulwark against the Bald Hilltop, now that they fully understand the nature of that threat. And, by necessity, where many labors needed to coincide. Where their talents could be directed to face the latest crisis.

“These were the words Saint Ember bore into the Abyss,” Toil continued, “Lessons that sound simple, yet so many forget. You are not stupid for this, as the world is harsh and cruel. It would tear this lesson from you, to make you part of the cruelty. Once you forget, it is difficult to see the way out. Yet the way out remains! We believed our saint to have perished in the Abyss with her disciples, yet she returned in our darkest hour!”

Tristian turned away, holding his silence with some difficulty given the complete misread of their saint’s relationship with her companions. When he was far enough away to not be heard, he managed to giggle as the image of the now-angelic Knight-Commander’s bafflement refused to leave him. Or perhaps the reactions of her other companions at the sight. He could imagine it much the way Nok-Nok’s veneration and claims of being a hero had been baffling, especially in hindsight. It was a welcome distraction from darker memories the sermon had awoken.

A young woman’s voice, soft and light, came from the direction of another alley nearby. “You seem happy. Yet, sad beneath it?”

Tristian turned to see an elven woman with blond hair, burn marks across her body with several of her fingers missing from the flames. She was wearing simple but comfortable clothes and a set of particularly fluffy boots, and a magical cloak of resistance all too common on Golarion. There was also a celestial crow on her shoulder.

“Sometimes, laughter keeps us from crying,” Tristian answered, glancing around. Ember had set up her tent by what used to be a jewelry store and the outer-facing wall near it, not far from the Wardstone plaza.

“What made it funny, though?” Ember asked, tilting her head as she was sitting on the ground. “I saw you listening to the Redeemed Brotherhood, to Toil. Yet, you seemed taken in. Bit strange for an angel, isn’t it? Though, I’m a strange girl.”

“Not as strange as you might think.” He had not expected his disguise to hold up under any sort of scrutiny anyways. “Angels can make the same mistakes as mortals, and have the same regrets.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Have you heard of the Stolen Lands?”

“The Storyteller told me about them! Showed me the book too…” she trailed off a moment before her eyes went fully wide. “Oh! You’re Tristian! So that’s why Arsinoe talked to you so much!”

She had been there to greet him shortly after he had been ‘summoned’, as the plausible deniability for his deployment went. Nominally, her assistance was what led to him answering a familiar call. In truth, he was sent because of his recent experience and that connection made it easier for it to be assumed it was by mortal hands.

“It has been a long time since I was able to visit,” he admitted as he looked around. “Do you mind if I sit down next do you?”

Ember nodded, scooting slightly to the side and letting Tristian sit next to her.

“I never answered what I found funny,” he started. “It was how Toil described the Knight-Commander as your disciple, and I was imagining her reaction to that statement, especially with how confidently Toil says it.”

“It is silly, but it seems to help them. I just don’t get why they call me a saint, though. Even if my patron is…” Ember trailed off as she glanced at Soot. “I mean, I just have normal tricks otherwise, right? Other than these mythic tricks…”

“That may be part of it,” Tristian offered as he considered it. “Though if I only heard of you, I would consider it mythical too. A woman whose tears broke one of Baphomet’s altars, even as she was the one to be sacrificed? Descending into the Abyss and convincing demons to reconsider their terrible existence? Giving hope to those who thought themselves trapped in sin?”

“You make me sound so special.”

Tristian looked at Soot, the crow shaking her head, then back to Ember. “Everyone is special in their own way. The choice given to us is what do we do with it.”

The wind blew gently, a soothing coolness washing over both of them as Tristian looked up at the light dancing in the sky, fading away as the night darkened. Perhaps much to the relief of those who wished to find sleep?

“It’s why I have to stay away,” Ember finally said. “I scared them once. What if I get angry enough to do it again? I could hurt them, hurt them the way I was, convinced I’m doing the right thing like the knights that tried to burn me. They’ll have each other, they’ll be okay. And one day, they’ll realize they don’t need to hold me up as some icon. That they’re already better than they think they are.”

“I hope you realize that as well,” Tristian added.

“Maybe one day,” Ember admitted with a shrug. “Do you think you will ever forgive yourself?”

He shrugged as well. “Maybe one day.”

Yet, unlike bootlicks such as the dwarf before him, Castruccio was not content with those scraps. He wanted to be the one giving the scraps. And he understood just how useful that was in shoring up his rule.

Without the constant praises of the bards he gave patronage to, without the Academy of Grand Arts becoming a feature of Pitax and ensuring that he had an ample supply of adulation, his rule would not be as secure as it was. It was a common trick, nobles patronizing the arts for that very purpose. Surely, his rival’s regent had realized why her father was such a generous patron to Shelyn’s church by now. Why, if she was willing to use her beauty, she could have had a host of admiring knights as numerous as long-dead Ravena’s!

Still, the addition of such an armored rose to his garden was not what mattered now. What mattered was how this bootlick was a tool of power. One that Castruccio had elevated to an art form, pun fully intended. He was well aware that much of it was of limited skill and talent, but that was not the purpose of it. This song he listened to, while having its own merits, was frankly off-tune and only really worked if one wanted to hear it, like he did. Yet, it was another mark on the bedpost in a contest of quantity.

Tell a lie once, and someone will question it but can ignore it. Tell it several times, and even if dispelled each time the idea remains. Disbelieved, but every time one thinks of it lent legitimacy to the lie. Sing the lie in every tavern, and eventually those that care will give up trying to challenge it, and those that did not would accept it. And a lie unchallenged would always triumph over truth.

A lesson he was reminded of at the Rushlight Tournament.

Annamede’s performance in the boasting contest had been one of her best, as was the work she had done to twist the nauseatingly genuine heroism of his rival into a cynical game of power (though he wondered how much of that was indirectly aimed at him). Left unchallenged, it would have been another stone removed from the tower before he played his trebuchet. Yet who challenged it but an Academy dropout, whose skillful display undid the damage before his eyes.

Castruccio… could respect Linzi’s refusal to be a bootlick and seek patronage from someone that she wanted to follow. If nothing else, it would make her a worthy foe to lie broken at his feet… or broken into a bootlick, if Briar worked that way on her.

He smirked, both at the possibility as well as the fact that the dwarf had finally finished his song. His court held their applause, waiting for the king’s judgment. It was time to play the part of the generous monarch: it was part of the performance that maintained his power.

“Rise, Lefrim,” he said to the bowing dwarf, “you have pleased your king today with your song. Pitax’s glory rises with every artist we are gifted with! We shall ensure a grant of gold shivs enters your purse, the gift of a patron to our artist!”

Lefrim beamed even with his unsightly nose obscuring it, almost kissing the floor as he said his thanks and matters of court went on.

Another showing of subservience, another debasing himself for the scraps Castruccio tossed. Where once he kissed the boot, now it was his boots that were kissed. The due reward for his grandeur.

Every prattle of praise, every aria of aggrandizement, every sonnet of subservience, was one more monument to the glory that was Castruccio Irovetti, King of Pitax.

This was his bardic magic in the art of ruling: music was his warden keeping order, his high priest building faith, his treasurer’s lament despite at a good bargain, his chancellor pacifying the people or inciting them to follow him in killing the beast. The power of King Irovetti.

“It’s like a shell game,” Seelah offered as she walked back, appearing to Elaina, Lann, and Regill as if she had just walked out of a stone wall. “Don’t play the game, play the player. And the Abyss is a dastardly cheat.”

“No wonder Woljif got it so easily,” Lann grumbled as he narrowed his eyes and tried again, then took a tentative step forward… and put a hand against the wall that Arueshalae could presently see was not there. “Nope, that didn’t work.”

“Try again,” Arueshalae encouraged as the wall shifted back into place to her eyes, “you need to look at what it could be, and accept that it could be that as well as what you see now. It’s a habit you have to learn, to shift with the isles.”

“How did you get around so easily?” Elaina asked as she looked at the wall. “This seems maddening.”

“This is madness,” Regill grumbled grumpily as he folded his arms, staring at the wall. “And trying to accept it is tantamount to treason.”

“In truth?” Arueshalae admitted as her wings flapped, ignoring Regill, “I flew around it, that gets you around almost all of it. And right now, only me and Ulbrig can do that unassisted.”

Elaina nodded, rubbing the back of her head roughly where her halo would be if she was not hiding it right now. Arueshalae found that it was something to see her putting her mind and will to the task, trying to broaden her insights without giving up the orderly way she saw things. Arueshalae could almost see her rearranging the blocks, trying to understand the rule (or lack thereof) at play

“Navigating the chaotic planes is no easy feat,” the Hand of the Inheritor added as he stood vigil over their training. “Even today I still sometimes stumble in Elysium.”

“Is it really like this elsewhere?” Arueshalae asked, frowning. “I thought it was a way for the powerful to lord over over the rest. The Upper City only really has this between islands.”

“It is more fair in that regard,” the Hand admitted. “The Maelstrom is just unpredictable for good or ill, while in Elysium it is usually to the benefit of the benign. Cayden Cailean’s city will always have enough room for visitors, and none for intruders. Or those who wish to rein in the festivities, even for good reasons.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, as if he was recalling some incident.

Arueshalae dared to ask. “Were you the guest, or the one with the reins?”

“Both, though I was able to discuss matters with Thais outside while the party continued.”

Elaina stepped forward, carefully putting a hand to where the stone wall was, only for her hand to go through. Arueshalae shifted her own focus, the wall moving away as Elaina stepped through and finally got it. Arueshalae felt herself lighten and smiled at the sight.

“Nice job!” Seelah congratulated at the other side as she slapped a hand on her fellow paladin’s shoulder. “Knew you’d get it!”

“Wings would still be easier,” Elaina admitted with a smile as she looked back. “Now, can I set it back…”

In the end, all of them except Regill learned how to do it, though Ulbrig offered to carry him around the ‘fey pranks’. Now that they could navigate the city itself, they had to figure out how to navigate its society.

There was something special about Radiance. He had realized it as the weapon’s power grew in Yaniel’s hands, but has misidentified the cause. He thought that it was a rare occurrence, perhaps mixing with the celestial spirit that Yaniel had bonded with to have the weapon keep some of the power of that bond between uses. It had made sense to them, and they had considered it a gift from Heaven against the demons. It was, but not the gift they had expected. It was not gaining new power, but reawakening what it once had.

It also explained the sheer power she had felt down in the Midnight Fane, when Elaina had presented the sword to her. If a sword could cry, Yaniel was sure they would have drowned in joyful tears as its old power surged. She certainly had to fight them down herself to get her fellow prisoners back to Galfrey and the Hand’s position, and once more she managed to get every one of them out. Perhaps as she had awakened Radiance, Radiance had awakened her own vigor for the task at hand.

It was an old friend, and both of them still had work to do.

Yet, she understood that it was also no longer her sword. She was no longer Radiance’s wielder.

Time had not been kind to Anthoclitus, that aging priest who had once convinced Yaniel to join the crusade in the first place. His mind was going with age, and unlike Galfrey his life was not being extended. Yet she could remember what he had said decades ago, when they were sorting out the wargear of the fallen to determine who would inherit what.

A warrior could fall in battle, but their sword could still carry on their cause in another’s hand.

It was why Iomedae’s faithful did not bury their fallen with their wargear, as most others often did. It was only if the gear was so broken it could not be repaired, or if magic had made it so that no other could wield it, did it go with the body. It was only now that Yaniel understood this precept of her faith.

She missed having Radiance at her side, and the masterwork of cold iron she had been provided by Targona was a poor substitute. Yet, would she feel better with it on her hip, knowing that she was depriving another sharing her cause of a weapon they had bonded with? Knowing that if she followed through this thought, it would lie buried and unused against other evils threatening people?

No. Radiance was the inheritance of the Mendevian Crusaders. It should have been wielded over the past decades to teach demonkind that they were not the only ones with power. To reveal the bullies and sadists as the cowards they are, to show the Mendevians that they could win. Instead, the sword had fallen into a depression, and let none wield it. The sword had felt none equal to Yaniel in its grief.

Yet, eventually it had found new hands. It had bonded with the then-future Knight-Commander, drawn to Lariel’s sword and the mythic power within Elaina. From what Yaniel could tell, the sword had sensed the dire situation and needed power to wake up. Elaina had unknowingly done that, even as Seelah’s humility and earnest desire to save it had first stirred the blade from its slumber. The rest, as they said, was symbolic history as the Knight-Commander inherited what was once Yaniel’s sword, what was once the sword of many other heroes, what was once Iomedae’s.

The sword’s future, who would inherit it next? That she did not know. Nor, perhaps, was she meant to.

They were the nearly same: the same light brown hair combed back and kept in place with a circlet, the same plate armor, the same weapon (a second Radiance? How?), the same grey eyes. Even Lynet back during Razmir’s Dance of Masks had to use makeup and magic to pull off such a perfect resemblance that fooled Razmir’s agent in the lookalike contest.

However, there was one difference that was immediately apparent. One that Elaina thought she would never see again without temporary illusion magic or looking at Sosiel’s drawings of the march on Drezen. There was no angelic halo, there were no angelic wings. This was Elaina without her mythic power, before her transformation into an angel. Or… transformed back into her mortal self?

Arueshalae broke the budding silence first. “How?!”

“Suffice it to say,” Areelu(?) said, “Axis meddled when it should have stayed away. And we are done being the playthings of gods.”

“Hold on,” the other paladin(?) said and Elaina could not help but tilt her head at how strange the woman’s voice sounded. “They may not be here to hurt us.”

“That depends on your motives,” Lariel warned as he took a step forward, a wary edge in his voice. “We came at the Lady of Valor’s behest, as she heard her paladin’s call in this twisted place. A strange thing, when her paladin was at her side in Heaven at the time. Her gaze is upon our quest: do not speak falsely.”

“I have nothing to hide from her. But, Iomedae didn’t sense anything from Axis?” the other Elaina asked, and Elaina herself was still processing what was going on. Why did the other her’s voice sound so- right, Elaina’s own voice was heard in her own head. Here, she was hearing it without that.

“Evidently not,” Elaina said as she needed to say something, and put a hand out to urge everyone to calm down. “But first, we should identify ourselves. I am Knight-Commander Elaina. To whom do I speak?”

“Not Areelu Vorlesh. Her,” ‘Areelu’ hesitated in choosing her description, “Her copy, if you would.”

“A parallel plane?” Arueshalae asked, tilting her head.

“Of a sorts,” not-Areelu nodded. “Valmallos had yet another imbecilic idea about restricting magic, and for once he paid the price for grasping too hard.”

Elaina tilted her head, looking to Targona. The tabellia angel frowned, like she was thinking, hammer still in hand and ready to use. “I have heard of trouble in Axis concurrent to us storming Threshold, but it has been kept quiet and no inquiries are answered. So, what did a Primordial Inevitable do?”

“It’s a very long story, and I think it would be better if we sat down for it,” not-Elaina answered, gesturing to the pedestal that would lift them into the air to a passage at the ceiling. “We have a return portal nearby that we were trying to get to when we ran into a dragon. If you are willing, you could come with us.”

“You would invite them so easily?” not-Areelu demanded. “We are trying to get away from these schemes!”

“If they were here to destroy us, they would have done it already. Neither of us have the excess mythic power anymore, and that’s before we consider this is two against five. They want to understand what is going on. I think they deserve to know. Besides, now that they know this means others will find us too. We may as well deal with it now. We can’t run forever.”

Elaina nodded to the others, sheathing Radiance and their weapons all lowered. Then she turned to her attention to her counterpart. “Will you swear that you would give us safe passage and hospitality, then?”

The other Elaina chuckled, sheathing her (copy of?) Radiance. “I would swear by the Inheritor, whether I am one of her paladins or not.”

A bit of warmth returned to the Hand’s voice. “Given she answered your prayers against these monsters, she will give you the chance.”

“Perhaps. Nonetheless, you have my word that this is no trap, and that we will do our part as hosts. Now, shall we?”

Elaina could not help but shake how strange it felt, but she did not understand enough. At the very least, they both seemed to want to know what they were dealing with. And, in the case of her alternate self, seemed to understand her main self would want answers. Though, did she want to know the answers?

Yes she did. And by the time she was done, she was in full agreement with her Excess’ (for lack of a better name) summation of the whole matter.

Next time, Valmallos needed to get a bigger battery.

Linzi had performed a few songs and listened to others, Regongar had shown off some of his new abilities (pity the electrocuted scarecrow), and Octavia had fun showing the kids (non-)magic tricks. And the groom’s brother had his own show too, the ranger playing a flute as his bear companion danced on a comfortable bed of soft straw to the delight of the village’s children. Even Harrim had the ghost of a smile at that. It was nice to see a dancing bear without the cruelty too many tamers used!

Or would have been, if these brigands had not shown up. How they got past the increased patrols after Irovetti’s stunt at the Rushlight Tournament was another matter for later. What mattered now was that they had ruined the party and already wounded the ranger when he had asked them to leave. His bear was growling as he stood over his wounded friend protectively. A few militia were arming up in the houses, but they had been caught entirely off guard.

Time to be the hero! Linzi decided as she did her best to stare down the gang. Up, for most of them. Well, she looked down on them morally! And rightly so!

“You?” the leader laughed, bending over as if he could not believe her defiance. “Why spook me silly and fear Calistria’s vengeance, you think you can take us on? With a lute?”

“You haven’t met a real bard, have you?” Linzi grinned. “Music has a magic of its own.”

“Oh, I know what bards can do, and not Academy dropouts,” he jerked his head towards the one in his party. “That’s why I’m not afraid. Why none of us are. What, are we to bow before you? We already bow to a great king!”

Well, that was not her initial plan, but now that he mentioned it…

Linzi hummed, drawing on an operatic dirge as the magic flowed through her body. She could hear the musical echo as it replied, providing her choral backing as she began to chant.

“Then in place of a fool king, you shall have a bard!” Linzi bellowed as her voice warped and darkened like infernal arrogance, her hair billowing up as the magic sent the air rushing upwards, “Not tall, but beautiful! Terrible as the dawn! Treacherous as the Tuskwater! Stronger than the foundations of Pitax!”

The brigands reacted, trying to charge forward as the magic enveloped and crashed against their wills. They all tried to resist, they all struggled, and they were all overwhelmed by her presence.

“ALL SHALL LOVE ME, AND THIS BEAR!”

Yes, she was pointing with her free hand towards the previously dancing bear, which growled in confusion at the noise and light show.

The brigands had all fallen to their knees, prostrating themselves to the power of her voice just in time for Regongar and Octavia to come out as the magic faded. Linzi was out of breath from the effort, but was still standing tall as the other two stepped up (taller) behind her.

The leader’s will had managed to recover enough to break the compulsion as the rest of his gang remained humbled, and he pushed himself back to his feet, hand on his wobbling head.

“Ugh, what did… that voice…” he blinked, seeing Octavia and Regonar, the latter of whom lacked a shirt and thus his draconic wings were on full display. “… oh.”

“Behold,” Harrim’s voice cut it, audible despite the soft tone he spoke with as he stepped around another corner, “one who witnesses his imminent end. If only we all could be so accepting.”

It was a very quickly resolved affair after that. Regongar was quite excited by the idea of what he had seen.

“You’ve got to teach me how to make my voice do that!” Regongar said as he clapped her on the shoulder, causing Linzi to wince from being pushed down. “I mean, dragons make people afraid, right?”

“Can we really ignore this?” Irabeth asked, gripping the letter tightly in her hands. She was not wearing any of her armor, just a simple woolen shirt and pants suitable for indoor wear, but the paper was still crinkling like she had gauntlets on. “Lives are at stake.”

Damn it. This was why she loved Irabeth, but lives were always in danger. Should they fret that they did not take a left instead of a right at a turn when a mugging was unbeknownst to them happening down the left lane?

“I’m not saying we shouldn’t do anything, but we’ll just be extra hands to clobber the guy. Rovus just needs advice on how to break it to the locals. And frankly, that advice should be ‘get the Order of Heralds and toss the guy to them’.”

Irabeth set the letter down, staring at it. Anevia shifted closer, putting a hand on her wife’s shoulder. “C’mon, Beth, you put Rovus in charge for a reason, and that was when the Worldwound was still open. It’s closed now. Give him the advice he needs, then let’s do something nice.”

Irabeth put a hand on hers and looked up. “That has been ‘nothing’ for a few weeks now.”

Anevia shrugged. “I mean, how long were we always doing something? C’mon, gotta rest to be ready for when the next real crisis hits, right?”

Irabeth’s eyebrows raised, then she exhaled and nodded. “Alright, I’ll give him advice. If this escalates though, we’re heading to Kenabres to help.”

“Deal,” Anevia agreed with a smile.

Pragmatically, Anevia knew that Irabeth would never truly relax, not when she could still do something. And even with the Worldwound closed, Golarion had countless other crises. Eventually, Irabeth was going to look for another cause just like so many of the other crusaders.

Much as Anevia just wanted to relax and enjoy their victory, she would not have it any other way.

Though, Irabeth was not wrong about it being ‘nothing’. Maybe they needed to go somewhere that wasn’t knee deep in total war for decades… perhaps take Sosiel up on that offer of hospitality, spend a month or two in Andoran?