Episode 24: The Snare
General Summary
Escaping arrest, Olette has managed to lead Valan to the Whalebone, an old tavern kept by Magis Stern, a human with a knack for getting things where they ought naught go. Olette has used him in her past escape attempts, trusting him with her life on more than one occasion. The Whalebone looks to not have changed a bit since the last time Olette needed to escape the city. As the two of them pushed the door open, a dusty bell dinged above it, and Magis stepped out of the back room. He's a little under six foot, scruffy blond hair that's beginning to gray, a worn brown leather fedora and duster to match. A five o'clock shadow has taken over the lower half of his face, and he has a bushy gray mustach that hides his upper lip.
"Olette Etienne, as I live and breath," he exclaims. "You swore you'd never come back here again. What can I do you for?" as he began speaking, he pulled out whiskey three glasses. "And who's your friend there?"
Olette greeted Magis and Valan introduced himself. Valan recognized the swagger of hospitality in Magis' voice, and asked whereabouts he's from. Magis responded that he's from Southeast Fulminaria, along the Thunderer's Coast, a small fishing town called Wimborn. The two nod at each other, and continue. Olette asks for a way out.
Ả̸̡̙͖̺̩̠͕̠̪͒̅͐̑̎́̀͝n̴̨̯̝̯̲͓̰̥͍̬̰̪̲̭͚̒̀̅̋͜d̵̡̳͓̹̪̗͚͎͉̝̞̪̤͆̏͂͆̎͋̀̕͝ ̵̛̝̤̳̘ň̷̟̥̤̯̩̞̈̽ͅǫ̴̨͇̜̲̠̺̻̦̞̜̥̤͇̯̋̑̑̓̐̇͜͜w̴̹͇̥̻̪͖͈̺͋̕͜ ̴̨̛̹̩́͂̓̏̅̌͆̀̽̅̆̅̑̚͝o̶͖͎̭͌f̴͎̳͕̝͙̮̖͖̘̰̤̜̤̲͆̈́̊ ̷̢̹͕̜͈͇̟̩͉̰̜̞͇͊͊͋̓͌̔͒͌̈̄̈́̅̊͘̚͝t̴̢̗̞̬̲͓͎̲͍͐̏͝h̵̖̣̻̬̻̺͙̬̩̹̭̩͖̖̃̚ͅe̶̲̹̘̦̤͕̟̅̽ ̴̛͚̊̽̂̇̓́̂̏̐̾͝͝A̷̖͉̱̭̜̟͓̳̰̯͎̜̩̮̟͊̋̒̍r̸̻̹̬̮̋̽͊̐͊͛ṭ̵̡̱͇͕̩̘̝͛̿̆͆́̓́͜͝i̷̡͖̻̪̹͇̠̮͉̺̖̜̰̬͒̈́̎̒͑̽̏͆ͅf̷̱͋͋́͛̇̔̾̈́̃͘͠i̶̤̖̗̩͚̘͂̉̐͗̅̀̕̚ç̶̲̭͈͉̙̳̖̌̈́̅̄̾̌̈̓̓͜͜͝e̷̢͇̗̊͋͌͐r̴̨̢̛̜̲̘̜̫̱͎̅̆̀͗́̀͋̋̓̍̈̂ ̶͖͇̬̬̫̝̇̔̽̎́̾̾͑̐͆͆͒̔͛͜F̴͈̠̅͌̔́͐̿͋̄̑í̸̢̛̱̻̫̯̝̩͉͓̳͇̩̻̼̦̘͌̅̈́̏͗̇̋͝r̸̡̨̠̙͇͉̳̲̯̥̬͜͝ͅs̶͉̗͎̩͍̟͈͉̥̦͈̣͖̙̉̄́̊̔͗͒̚̚͝͠t̶͉͓̣̘͗̔̆̈́̐͐͌̈̋̋̅͗͒͘͠͝ ̸̢̠̘̥̺̝̽̿͐̌̌̂̐̉͂͝ś̴̬̣̖̤̮̜͗͠í̶̝̮̥͕͖̦͈̉ṅ̴̨͎͎͔̲̫̜͚̬̪̭͆͂͐͠ͅg̸̛̖̫̤̠͙͉̜̩͔̜͒̓̌̏͌̿̓̈́̆̕͜ ̷̡̛͛̐̀̂͊̆̈́͛̔͛͂̀̕̚͝Ĩ̵̻͈̱̤͍͕̼͖̰̳̪͈̲̙̰͉̜̽̽̅̒̄̾͒̏̈́̃
"Well, the Inquisitors have shut down all the old ways. Business ain't what it used to be. But I can work something out. Just like I did when they shut down the waterway after your first escape. Or the bridge pipes after the second. Or the whirly burly after the third. Damn, you're really on your fourth escape attempt in this city, who do you keep pissing off?" Olette then took a moment to explain why they were trying to flee the city.
At this point, Magis poured the glasses. Instead of whiskey, a bloody red liquid poured out. "Anyway, y'all said you killed Arctiax? Damn, so he was no god anyway? Wonder who I've been sending my prayers to for this last decade or so then. Anyway, we better get going. If you've gotten the Inquisitors all riled up again, they'll be looking for you. We're just gonna have to go fast, they've gotten some time up on us. Let's knock her back and get going." He noticeably did not knock back his drink, waiting for the other two.
̵̧̢͓͉̭̺̫̤͙͈̼̳̝̙͐͑̌̾͊͌̅̈́̎́͑̈́̕͜͝L̸̨͕̫̟̝̭̳͍̱̝͔̙̰̲͓̣̙͂̿͌̾̔̉͐͂̏͌͐͝ằ̴̖̺̠͚͓͇̗̣̘͖̬̘̹̳̭̱̲̎͋s̶̛͎̮̣̟̲̞̠̜̬̜̯̲̼͓͈̩̹͌̎̔̏̀̋̿͛̽͘ţ̵͉͓͔̥̘̫̜̮̥̳̅̉̂̄̋̑̏̈́́̑͛̍̾̕͜͝ ̴̡̨̙̲̜̘͖̖͍̜̩͎̹̕ȋ̵̛̼̦͐̿̎̅̎́̋͂̑̍̐͝ǹ̶̡̧̨̤͖͖̻͍̱̦͔̠̝̤̭̟̽͗͠ ̴̡̧̢̛̹̭̹̞͔͖́͋̇̏͆̈́̾́̅̌̑̋̃̚͘ͅţ̶̡̡̳̰̜̞̖̯̟͇͈͕́͌͋̀͆̇̔͐̚̕͝h̸̟̹̰̘̒̄͆́͗ͅḛ̷̢̧̪͕͕̜̩̞͓̞͖͛͆̓̕͝ ̶̢̛̛̲̦̰̪͚̻̻̪̏͋͌̊̉̊̄́̒̐̀̉͘̚͘ͅl̷͈͉̀̍̐̎́͐̓͐͐͋̂͐̈́́į̸̌͐̋̏̀ṉ̶̢͔͈͇̗̣̰̼̘̍̇͋̍̆̄̆̏̈̿̉̕̕͜͝͝ͅẻ̴̘̫̦͖̺͙̅͘ ̶̧̞̼̖͉̙̤̝̩͓̯͉̜͍͇̰̓̍̄͌̕ó̵̧̪̰̮̅f̷̨̛̳̝̪͚͇̫̯̗̞͇̣̰̗̲̬͑̑̄͋̃̑̈́̿̋̅̚ ̴͇̠̳̜̱̣̙̩͖͖̀̋̅̒̒ő̴̡̯͎̺̬͎͉̘̘̜͒̆͋̽̍̌̓͑̈́͗̍͗̚̕ū̸̧̬̰͔̀̈́͒ͅr̸̢͇̩͖̿̾̊̒́͗͋ ̸̛͈͖͈̠̬̘͌̀̑̌̒̀͆̃͗̈́͆͘L̷͎̦̘̯͎͇̏̾̈́́̍̎̃̈́̕͘͘͝á̷̧͓̹̲̰̮̰͉̋̓̿̍̈̂͆͝m̵͖͇͇͉̈̈́̎̀̆͐͂́͐͘ê̷̜̟͒͑̿̕̚͝n̵̨̢̖̰̥̭͉̠̙͓̳͉̓̐͗̔͜͜͝t̶̨̜̙̄͋̇̉͌̎̆s̴̹͍̭̫̦̞̠̬̿͌̓̆̊̒̕ͅ ̷̨̨̹̞̟̭̦͙̥̙̖̖̫̼̰̆̀̾͆͌̀̃̈́̋͌͛̈́̀̀͜D̶̢̡̠͉̺̙̠̙̤̒̀̽̔̇͗͋̈̐̿͋͌͌̚͘ͅi̶̛̼̭͕̲̿̈́͒͛̎̐̎̃̊̽̀̅͑͗v̴̡̼͕̝̟̖͙̑͊̋͐̾̏̓ḯ̶̘̝̗͔̮͜͝n̴̡̨͖͔̰͎̭̠̜̭̝͉͒̂͛̌̂̋͋͒͐͐͋͝è̸̺̫͓̙̲̔̅̓̽̓͆̊͌̕̚͝
As Magis stood there, unmoving, Valan took a moment to examine his surroundings. The unraveling began with a thread, thin as spider's silk, stretching from Magis' wrist to the window of the tavern. As Magis moved, sweeping a rag across the bar to manage a small spill, Valan could see the thread tighten and slack, pulled by a second that ran in the opposite direction. As he watched, the thread split and intersected with other lines, quilting a pattern of deceit across his vision.
Threads wove the illusion of a bar. In truth, the bar is cracked and blistered with scars of arcane fire, the chairs are broken and held in place by the all encompassing web. As Magis moved to pour a dram of whiskey, withered and bare arms pulled by nigh invisible threads, docked fingers mimed the motion of opening the bottle wile the threads themselves pulled out the cork. Magis moved to pour the glasses of liquid, pushing fractured glasses that bled with it towards Olette and Valan, silken fibers forcing his sallow face into a smile as Magis pushed the glasses forward. The cavity where his nose used to be wheezed with each breath and his yellow, sunken eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them in fear as the Web lifted his own glass in salute.
̶̰͖̼͕̫̫̭͓̹̫̞͕̤̱̐̉͌͜͝V̵̨̡̧̛͚̹̗͓͉̝͈̥̣͉͍̟̜̆̓̈́̃̐̿͂͑̒͌͜e̴̥̰͓̦̘̫̜̳̰͔̫̋̐̌͋́̇̉̾͌͛̕͘͝ŗ̷̛̜̞͙̳̣̞̺̫̣̼̼̀̃͗̊i̵̛̛̩̊̐̽̅̔͛͠s̵̬̖͕͇͚̖̦̫̩̟̤̩̋̈̊͊̑͐̀̏̎̐̃̾̑̌̕̚͠i̸̧̛͇̜̩̖̰̯͉̲͕͕͉̥̦̹̱̦̒̈́͌̎̔̒̎́̃͒̓̑̎̕m̴̧̛̛͙͚̹̮͇͉̱̪͍͍͕̹̰͐̾̄́̆͗̈́̂̕̚͘͝ͅͅį̷̢͓̗͎̯͙̰̦̿͒͌͆͗̄͌͜l̶̦̣͆͑̈́͌̿̈́̇̈́̐̇͠i̵͈͓̺̞̻̻̹̖̙͇͙̹̭͈̥̜̾ţ̷̢͇̖͔̹͉̭̱̪̟̩̰͌͐̂̑͒́̇̋͌̄͌̓̂̌͊̾̚͜ư̸̺̫̜̄̀͛̾̆͒̊͋͒͗̔̈́̕͠d̸̪̬̥͛̋̓͗͑e̴͚͇̳͓̜̫̪̾̄̌̍̊͆͆̈́̔̒͛̀̎̃͝͝š̵̢̡̟̩͓͎̫͇͓̈́ ̶̩̱̤̟̰̠̪̯͍̥͈̝̱̈́͗̇͐̎̈́̕͘ớ̸͓̹͖̣̣̠̞̝́̏̇͐̈́̂̀͝͠͝͠f̵̨͖̳̪̼̥̣̩̲̭̹̟̳̠̍͊͌̇̊̄͐̀̚ͅ ̵̩͓̙̜̲̣̝͙̈̆͊̈́̀̑̏̃͆͝͠a̵̧͖̹̱̬̼̦̤̭͍̲̹͆̃̀̉ͅ ̶̣͇͔̂̊͊̈́̈̌̅͑́̈̅́̈̽̽d̴̢͂̽̋̾̐̍́͝͝͝ē̸̝̠̤̞̤̞̈́͆͆m̷̨̩̟̹̫̾̔̔o̷̢̖̯̙̺̚͜ͅṅ̸̞̹̱̫̲̣̯̞̘̜̄̐̓̊̓̋̍̇i̸̜̞̜͚̪͓̬̗̲̍̿͐͆̍͋̒̐͊̅̍̽̌͂̐̚ͅc̸̨̼̭͚̤͈̠̤͓̆̅͊ͅ ̸͈̺̓̄͌͊̈̎̃̅̔́̕͠͠͝k̵̢̠͉̮̞̯͔̪̪͙̩̹̝̠̯̃̈́̽͝ͅǐ̶̠͒̓͛̔͊̕n̸͙̝̖̈̔͌̑̅̂̆͌̃g̵͍̱̺̺͈̦͔̼͎̰͎̗̱͖̩̐͌
Olette began to pull the red liquid to her lips, but Valan's hand caught her before she could seal her fate.
...
On the ship adrift above the cavern, Pharos, Tyra, and Vanderlith can hear the approach of another ship as they take stock of their situation. Vanderlith begins to work his way towards the steering wheel, and Pharos began to kick at a cabinet of arcane siphon equipped weaponry. Vanderlith racheted up the throttle and the height, sending the gondola spiraling into the sky, giving it "the beans" as they say. The gondola of Inquisitors failed to keep up.
̸̧̱͓͕̻̲͓̗̘͍͚͋̆͜Ȁ̶̧͕̻̙̗͇̻͕̞̝̝̗͛̐̀̊̑̃̚͘l̸̨̢̯̦̲͚̝̗̠̠͉̤͙͙̱̞̈̀̓͊̍̎͆͐̈́̈́̏̂͒̌̚͝ͅl̶͕̝̖̞͍̀̐̅̃̀̍͒͌̐̾̂̚͘͘͠͝ ̷̗͈̔̃̔̈́̀̍̔̂̒̋̿͝t̸̡̑̈́̈́̄͑͒͒̍͘͘͘͠͝h̵̯̠͖͖̠̪͙͕̽̈́̉͑̌͝e̸̻̼̬̱̖͉̝̩͚̾̊̑͗͌̀̒͌̃̓̎̽͘͘̚ ̷̮̫̰̠͕̩̙͓̝̉̈́̇̉̔́̾̒̈͒͌̕̚͝t̶͓̼̺͓̬̰̻̭̲̪̘̫͙̪͒͋̓̑͌̑͜ͅr̸̛̝͍̙̙̪͖̟̞̤͎͚͍̊͒͆͆͋͗̆͋͛͐̓͋͗͛͌̕ả̵̡̢̼͍̞̠͎̤̯͇̱̤̭̙̫͕p̸͔̝̥͔̪͉͓͕̺̪̺̓̔̋̔͒͗͊͌͋̎́̈́̕̕p̵̨̤͋̑i̵̗̫̘̙̠̗̜͛n̵̡͊́̉͊̆̚͘͝g̶̨̱̬̙͙̘̩̩̤͕̈́͗s̴̱͊̍́́̈́̈́͋̌̑̾̅̕͘͠ ̴̧͈̼͈͓̬͙̩̥͚̺̲̩͈̝͕̽̐͆̄̎̓̈́͑̓̓͘̚͘̕̕͝ͅȍ̶̪͚͔̍̈́̒̋͝͝ͅf̸̡̳͉̈́̈́̏̏̇̈́͠ͅ ̸̠̮̤̯͚͓͋̈́̉͂́͆̂̎̂̓͂͘̕͠ͅȁ̷̧̨̢̟̻̬̼̺͔̪̜̪͈͖́ ̸͇̬͉͓͎͓̂̒y̸̼͙͇̼̯͎̬̼͇̣̪̠͔̿͌̈́o̶̡̡̢̫͇̳̫̺̙̭̰͉̮̲̪̠̎̔̌̍̏͑̐̈̒̍͝ͅu̵̬̦͕̩͓̻̦͓͍̇̉̈́͌̽̀̈̊̃̀͘͠͠n̷̞̮̉̅̒̆̀̒̏̋ǵ̶̢̧̗̦̈́̉̍̇̏͊̅̚̚ ̵̨̢̮̺̟̲͇͙̙͌̒̂̔͜͠l̴̪̟̦̲̱̹̦̻̣̤͊̆̽̔͐o̷̧̼͔̳̙̯̭̹̝̥̺̼̩̮͚͑̎̀̾̄̈̚ŗ̴̨͎̜̜͓̰̪̣̘̭͔̰̻̲̯̀̅́̓̎̍̈́͗͗͐̀̓͒͘̚ḑ̵̥̼̫͍̝̫̍͠
Vanderlith kept the beans on, sending the gondola skyward until gunning it forward, sending it precariously hurtling through the Gloamwood. The Inquisitors tried to follow, but they did not have the beans, and when Tyra unleashed a Storm Sphere on their ship, it was all over. They crashed, and the party members safely made it to the merchant's encampment outside of town.
...
"I'm sorry, Olette," Magis said as the illusion began to fade. "They came after the last time. They found me, my tools. They took my family. They've held me here, waiting for you to come back. I got away once, tried to find my family. My... my family doesn't remember me. I'm sorry, Olette. You need to run. Run!"
̴̫̲̱̈̋̏̒͒̋͗͠͠Ṛ̸̢͉̖̫̖̟̹̲̟̿̿͋̈́͋́̅͑͗͑̕e̸̢̼̝͛̈́̊͆̈́̋̂̒̽͂͘͘͘͝t̷͉̪͔̫̙̝̋̌̓̑̃̀͆̏̊̃͑͆͗͘͝u̴̩̣̯͇͉̞̿̂̇̋̓̂̆͑̕͜͝ŕ̷̨̢̺̹͙̯̜̗͈̪̖̜̘̟̤̰͐̕n̶̯̭̙͈̹̬̽̆̃͋͊͛͆̒̇́͆̚̕ẻ̴͍͇̖̞͖̦̟͖͔̝̰̞̦͕͚̈́̃̏̀̓͌͝͝ḑ̸̟̣͚̏̎̀̀̅͂̕͠͠ͅ ̵̛̞̣͔̭̘͇̾͂̍̀͗̿̉̆̿̿̕͘͘͘͘͜͠ţ̵̛͔͔̗͈̳̦̼͈̥̓̍̈̐͑̈͐͝o̵̗̰̘͑͌̐̚ ̴̡͙̺̫̫̻͍͑͆̀̃̇̍l̶̨̡̤͔͖̝̞̫̲̼̰̮̞̯͎̑͆̈́̀̿͊̀̔͜͝͠í̵̢̳̝̠͉͈̠̭͖̙̉̈́́̎̐́͂̓͋́̕̕f̷̢̛̛̯̯̺͈͓̪͉̱̺̱͇̭̖̳̮̩̽̂͐̅̏͋̄̔͐͘̕e̴̹͈͉̳̣̍̏̃̿͊̍̍͊̆̇̓̃̅̽̏͘̕ ̶̰̱̲̻̦̬̮̼͙͙̳̝̐̄͗̔͌̈́̅̈̄̌̍͗͘͘͠t̸͎̤̼̖͊̈̿̀̏̌̎͛̇͊̆̆̽̽̓͝ő̷̺̗̠́͘ǫ̶͔̖͎̙̫͇̼̥̲͔̙̥͚͚̿̎͂̆̃́̀̔̿̕ ̴̢̗͓͕̗͖̥̏̐̀͝͝l̴̲͗̀̂̓̇̊ȁ̵̧̯͙̩͇̼͕͇͈̠̩̠̳̮̖̑̿̈́̉͗̓̾̄͝ͅt̸̘͎͇̺̲͖͔̘̲̗̖̹̱̳̘̹͚̉̆̐̓͛͗́̀́̄͗͐͂̃͊̇e̴̩̣̯͔͙̹͙͈̻̬̰͎̺͂̿̈́̓͋͋̿̉͠͠͝
As he said this, another voice could be heard from outside. "Olette. Oooooleeette. Olette, my dearest, dearest darling. Won't you come say hi to your old pal Draxis?" The singsong voice came from a man standing outside, his pressed Inquisitor robes fanning in the breeze. Draxis is a tall man, burly but not strong, wearing immaculate robes. His head is shaved to draw attention to a set of two parallel rows of spider eyes that extend from his cheekbones to his temples.
"Oh, and who is your new friend? Is this the famed Valan Sildurflem Olivier told me about. Not quite the imposing figure I thought you'd strike, but you'll do. Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Draxis Bouvern. Ollete and I go way back," he said this last part with a wink, extending his hand. "I'd suggest you both come with me. Make this easy. For all of us."
They did not make it easy. Draxis was felled, claiming "Damn. Maybe you were all you're cracked up to be," before fading into a wisp of smoke and fog, returning to his roots.
̷̧̧̡̩̘̝̬͕͎̘͔͎͑͗̏̔͗̾͆̓D̵̛̳̬̣͍̋̐̋͆̇͌̀̀͊̉́̑͝i̶̡̢̪͎̬̱̪̱̱̺̗̓́̓̓̈́͒̀̈̏͒̋̚͘̕͝͠e̶̛̜̟̠̼̟̜̩̥̞̦͚̞̠̬̿̿̒͊͌̆̀̚͘ḑ̴̱̟̳̜̟̤͔̘̮̱̤̤͔͈̇̍͐̈́̂̇́̕͝ ̸̳͙̫̯̀̒́̀́̅͠t̷̨̘͙͈͓͉̞͍̥̝̼̞̬̭̮̖̦̽́̎ơ̵̲͍̫͈̳͔̺̤̳̟͈͆̐̓̎̏̓̊͒̉̓͗͌͊̈́̅̅o̵̮͈̥̙͐̔͆̿̂͆ ̵̧̜̦̲̫̤͚̹͖̟̘̈́͆́͒͜ë̶̢̟̦̓͐͐̈́͘͜͠͝a̴̢̧̺̠̯̣̝̲̠̲͖̽̈́͒̈́͗́̈́̾̀̈́r̴̨͈͇͖̥̳̹̳̼̐̍̊̋̒̓̒̌̋͝ͅḻ̵̜͔̱̱̤̥̹̯̠̯̮̫̖̥̼͗̔̿̍̍͂̈́̿̀̒̋͜y̶̢̤͍͎̫̮̹̭̹̫̐̆͆͐̋͑̓͒̾̽̀̔̓͂́̽̆ ̸̢͕͕̠͎͚̻̱͈͇̤͚͉͙̰̗̙̐͆̈́́̈́͌̋͗̆͊͆̒͠͠ţ̶̪̹̜͇̩̟͍̹̙͑͌͆̆̈́̏͑̾̾́ͅơ̵̡̥̱̠͓̟͔̮̥̝̻͉̞͙̺͜ ̷̛̞̣̌͌͑͐͒̐̈̍͌̃̿̈́̉̊̚͝ỉ̵̢̡̢̛̛̛̝̱͕͖̱̫̜͖͙̼̏̊͂̐̐̂̿̒̚͜͠͠ͅm̵̢̢̞̥̣͎̩̫͍͍̩͂̑͂͐͊͘͘͘ͅͅp̸̮̭͐͂̎̍́̆͂̌̀͐̈̄ǎ̷̢̝̭̤̥͉̭̲̺͕̤̝͆̒̇̊̽̐̓͐̋͒̚̚͜͜ç̸͚͔̯̬̠̯̓t̶̢̰̮̙͉̫͎͎͎͇̘̏̇̊̿̐̓̀̈͊̈́͜͠͝͝
Valan and Olette returned to the rest of the group, glancing out at the dock where their ship should be, but seeing nothing. As they're returning, they see that the gates to the palace have been sealed. Upon trying to get in, under disguise, Olette and Valan were turned away, with a house Bouclier guard stating that "The High Inquisitor is preparing for an event. We have been ordered to keep this area clear. It will reopen to the public at seven. Please return then." And so they did.
Walking through the grounds, invisible, the reunited party approached the palace. A party had begun, presumably to hang the three of their accomplices who were unaccounted for. Geysers of water sprang towards the sky with a cacophonous bang, lighting up the Tree of Silver Night where they touched with the colors of the Aurora, and settling back down to earth in a slight mist.
̵̢̡̧̨̨̦͎̜͖̭̟̱̭̮̟͛́́̏͆̆͐̍͛̽̒͆̕͠͝Ơ̵̥̻̈͐̎͗̽͘͠͠u̷̧͉̜̹͒̑̎͂̊̿̀͂̃̾̀̕͝t̸͉̟̲̦͑͆̆̉̾͊͒̉͒̈́̚ͅ ̶͈͇̼͚̰̝̯̼͈̀̒͑̓̅ͅͅǫ̷̛͖͋̈́̈́͑̒͋̽͋̓͐̓́̾̕̕͝ḟ̷̨͔̖͕̮̤͕̑͊̕ ̶̢̛̬͈̥̦̦̬̯̹̩̭̹̘̈́͊̎̃͑͂͑̓́͐̀̈́̔̓͊͘ͅť̷̨̨̜̤̞̗͚̻̙̬̳̲̻̥͊̀͒̂̈̿͋i̴̧͙̱͉̇̈͋͗͆̕m̵͇͍̙̻̙̠͉̫̞̾̿̃͊͘͠͠ē̴̢͔̥̠͉̤̱̣̹̫͔̬̼͛̍́̾͌̑̽̆̈́͗̇̆̋͐̕͜͠ ̷̢̢̬̥̟̖͒t̸̨̧̙̦̲̲̩̜̥̙͇̣̭̰̭͙̾͗̋̍̈́̄́̿̓́͊͘̕͘͜͠ô̶̫͔͝ ̶̢̧̧̘̝͎̺̜̰͎̹̙̈́̓̈ͅs̷͉̩̼̱̝̪̻͈̪̖̆͛́͑̈̌̑̂̕͘͠͝a̴̢̧̡̢͚̹̰͓͍̔̊̇̈́̎̋̃̓̈́͗͆̄̀ͅv̸̡̢͔̦̱͖̗̗̝͚̮̙͙̎̓̆̏̏̾̌̈̂̉́̄͘̕͝ẽ̸̱͖͔̟̖̀̅͛͗̾̈́͑͂̈͝͝ͅ ̵̧̩̠͉̹̳͕̦̱͈̪̤̯͎̆̇͛̒̎̈́̓͛̓͊́̅͜͜͝͝͝ͅt̴̢̨̧̩̻͈̹͎͍̜̰͋̓͋͒̒͌h̶̺̖͖̏̐̾̍̅͋̓̚͝ẻ̵̺͉̬͓͉̱̤͙̭̦̖̩͐͌̈̀̽̕͜͜͠͝͝ ̷̡̛̗̤̗̳̗̰̟͔̠͙͗͆́̎̅̈́̉́̍̒͌̓̉w̶̡̢̨̼͉͈̳͓̣̤͙̥̞̣̟̓̓̒͜͝ó̷̖̰̭́̑̅͗̉̂͂̎͋̀́̿̈r̶̡̠̣͔̳͎͌̄̌̈́̎̔̑͜ͅl̴̮̣͐̐͌́̏̏͆͐̔̊̆̔͠d̵̡͍̝̫̟̥̞̯̰͖̦͈̞̦̓́̓̍̃́̌̓̊͜ͅ
Guests could be heard whispering amongst themselves, "I just don't get it, forty years? No one thought to check if Arctiax stuck around?" one whispered. "If it were a false god, where did all our prayers go?" questioned another. "Thank the Divines for the Inquisitors," a third said. "Had they not kept the dragon's ire in check, the city surely would have fallen into the sea long ago."
After some sneaking shenanigans, the party pushed their way into the great hall, Valan still invisible, where an incredible feast has been laid out along the central table. House Bouclier guards stand back at regular intervals around the perimeter of the hall and along behind the seats of honor at the back. Several hundred cocktail tables are set up for closer access to the food, filled by chatting socialites, while around the perimeter are several seated tables, many of which are filled with groups already carousing.
An attendant approaches the group, announcing their arrival. "Welcome, guests of the Honored Deicides! Please, join us. Take a drink, have a seat. We saved you a table to the left of your friends. Enjoy yourselves!"
You can see a table, laid with the finest silver and prepared with delicacies from across the continent, with each seat fitted with a card that simply read "Reserved." The Matriarch, Dahlia, Heir Apparent, and Arkadeus are all nowhere to be seen. However, the party could see, seated along the back table in the place of honor, talking and laughing with the High Inquisitor, Callisto, Jules, and Lady Bouclier are all seated together at the high table. Above them, held aloft by heavy adamantine chains, is the severed head of the False Arctiax.
As the party took their seats, they were greeted by Jules and Callisto. Both seemed amicable with the situation, but they were confused with the party's hesitation to join in the festivities. They explained it was okay, everyone was hungover after the party. They understood when they turned down the Inquisitors plea. So when Jules, Callisto, and Lady Bouclier joined the High Inquisitor to finally rid the nation of the False Arctiax' Tyranny, they too were surprised that they were successful. But it's okay to be jealous, just don't be a square! Join in the festivities, have a good time, drink their fill. And then their friends walked away, back to their seats of honor.
"So, enjoying your party?" the High Inquisitor said as he took the empty seat an invisible Valan left at the table. "I've done all this for you, you know. Call it a peace offering. I've taken control of the narrative, and now we can each go our separate ways. All I ask is that you quietly take your leave in the morning, you can even take your friends with you, and never return. You get to keep burning your path across the continent, and I get to keep my city. We're heroes!"
After Tyra asked what had happened and requested the High Inquisitor fix their friends' memories, he refused. "No. Why would I? I need them like this to maintain the narrative. They just keep smiling and waving, and I'll send them out to 'find the real Arctiax,' and then we never have to see each other again. I'm sure they'd like you to be a part of that, but you don't have to be."
Tyra and Valan pressed the High Inquisitor to restore their friends. "No. So what if I don't. What? Are you going to kill me? Strike me down where I stand, in the midst of a party I threw for you? Let's do it then. let's light this fire. Because that's what you do, right? The emperor assassinated, the Tower toppled, is Arcanus next on your list? The Flamebringers, sundering pillars of society, burning the ashes and for what? Do you even know why you're doing this? No? Pitiful. Just sit pretty for the evening, and everything will work itself out."
"Olette Etienne, as I live and breath," he exclaims. "You swore you'd never come back here again. What can I do you for?" as he began speaking, he pulled out whiskey three glasses. "And who's your friend there?"
Olette greeted Magis and Valan introduced himself. Valan recognized the swagger of hospitality in Magis' voice, and asked whereabouts he's from. Magis responded that he's from Southeast Fulminaria, along the Thunderer's Coast, a small fishing town called Wimborn. The two nod at each other, and continue. Olette asks for a way out.
Ả̸̡̙͖̺̩̠͕̠̪͒̅͐̑̎́̀͝n̴̨̯̝̯̲͓̰̥͍̬̰̪̲̭͚̒̀̅̋͜d̵̡̳͓̹̪̗͚͎͉̝̞̪̤͆̏͂͆̎͋̀̕͝ ̵̛̝̤̳̘ň̷̟̥̤̯̩̞̈̽ͅǫ̴̨͇̜̲̠̺̻̦̞̜̥̤͇̯̋̑̑̓̐̇͜͜w̴̹͇̥̻̪͖͈̺͋̕͜ ̴̨̛̹̩́͂̓̏̅̌͆̀̽̅̆̅̑̚͝o̶͖͎̭͌f̴͎̳͕̝͙̮̖͖̘̰̤̜̤̲͆̈́̊ ̷̢̹͕̜͈͇̟̩͉̰̜̞͇͊͊͋̓͌̔͒͌̈̄̈́̅̊͘̚͝t̴̢̗̞̬̲͓͎̲͍͐̏͝h̵̖̣̻̬̻̺͙̬̩̹̭̩͖̖̃̚ͅe̶̲̹̘̦̤͕̟̅̽ ̴̛͚̊̽̂̇̓́̂̏̐̾͝͝A̷̖͉̱̭̜̟͓̳̰̯͎̜̩̮̟͊̋̒̍r̸̻̹̬̮̋̽͊̐͊͛ṭ̵̡̱͇͕̩̘̝͛̿̆͆́̓́͜͝i̷̡͖̻̪̹͇̠̮͉̺̖̜̰̬͒̈́̎̒͑̽̏͆ͅf̷̱͋͋́͛̇̔̾̈́̃͘͠i̶̤̖̗̩͚̘͂̉̐͗̅̀̕̚ç̶̲̭͈͉̙̳̖̌̈́̅̄̾̌̈̓̓͜͜͝e̷̢͇̗̊͋͌͐r̴̨̢̛̜̲̘̜̫̱͎̅̆̀͗́̀͋̋̓̍̈̂ ̶͖͇̬̬̫̝̇̔̽̎́̾̾͑̐͆͆͒̔͛͜F̴͈̠̅͌̔́͐̿͋̄̑í̸̢̛̱̻̫̯̝̩͉͓̳͇̩̻̼̦̘͌̅̈́̏͗̇̋͝r̸̡̨̠̙͇͉̳̲̯̥̬͜͝ͅs̶͉̗͎̩͍̟͈͉̥̦͈̣͖̙̉̄́̊̔͗͒̚̚͝͠t̶͉͓̣̘͗̔̆̈́̐͐͌̈̋̋̅͗͒͘͠͝ ̸̢̠̘̥̺̝̽̿͐̌̌̂̐̉͂͝ś̴̬̣̖̤̮̜͗͠í̶̝̮̥͕͖̦͈̉ṅ̴̨͎͎͔̲̫̜͚̬̪̭͆͂͐͠ͅg̸̛̖̫̤̠͙͉̜̩͔̜͒̓̌̏͌̿̓̈́̆̕͜ ̷̡̛͛̐̀̂͊̆̈́͛̔͛͂̀̕̚͝Ĩ̵̻͈̱̤͍͕̼͖̰̳̪͈̲̙̰͉̜̽̽̅̒̄̾͒̏̈́̃
"Well, the Inquisitors have shut down all the old ways. Business ain't what it used to be. But I can work something out. Just like I did when they shut down the waterway after your first escape. Or the bridge pipes after the second. Or the whirly burly after the third. Damn, you're really on your fourth escape attempt in this city, who do you keep pissing off?" Olette then took a moment to explain why they were trying to flee the city.
At this point, Magis poured the glasses. Instead of whiskey, a bloody red liquid poured out. "Anyway, y'all said you killed Arctiax? Damn, so he was no god anyway? Wonder who I've been sending my prayers to for this last decade or so then. Anyway, we better get going. If you've gotten the Inquisitors all riled up again, they'll be looking for you. We're just gonna have to go fast, they've gotten some time up on us. Let's knock her back and get going." He noticeably did not knock back his drink, waiting for the other two.
̵̧̢͓͉̭̺̫̤͙͈̼̳̝̙͐͑̌̾͊͌̅̈́̎́͑̈́̕͜͝L̸̨͕̫̟̝̭̳͍̱̝͔̙̰̲͓̣̙͂̿͌̾̔̉͐͂̏͌͐͝ằ̴̖̺̠͚͓͇̗̣̘͖̬̘̹̳̭̱̲̎͋s̶̛͎̮̣̟̲̞̠̜̬̜̯̲̼͓͈̩̹͌̎̔̏̀̋̿͛̽͘ţ̵͉͓͔̥̘̫̜̮̥̳̅̉̂̄̋̑̏̈́́̑͛̍̾̕͜͝ ̴̡̨̙̲̜̘͖̖͍̜̩͎̹̕ȋ̵̛̼̦͐̿̎̅̎́̋͂̑̍̐͝ǹ̶̡̧̨̤͖͖̻͍̱̦͔̠̝̤̭̟̽͗͠ ̴̡̧̢̛̹̭̹̞͔͖́͋̇̏͆̈́̾́̅̌̑̋̃̚͘ͅţ̶̡̡̳̰̜̞̖̯̟͇͈͕́͌͋̀͆̇̔͐̚̕͝h̸̟̹̰̘̒̄͆́͗ͅḛ̷̢̧̪͕͕̜̩̞͓̞͖͛͆̓̕͝ ̶̢̛̛̲̦̰̪͚̻̻̪̏͋͌̊̉̊̄́̒̐̀̉͘̚͘ͅl̷͈͉̀̍̐̎́͐̓͐͐͋̂͐̈́́į̸̌͐̋̏̀ṉ̶̢͔͈͇̗̣̰̼̘̍̇͋̍̆̄̆̏̈̿̉̕̕͜͝͝ͅẻ̴̘̫̦͖̺͙̅͘ ̶̧̞̼̖͉̙̤̝̩͓̯͉̜͍͇̰̓̍̄͌̕ó̵̧̪̰̮̅f̷̨̛̳̝̪͚͇̫̯̗̞͇̣̰̗̲̬͑̑̄͋̃̑̈́̿̋̅̚ ̴͇̠̳̜̱̣̙̩͖͖̀̋̅̒̒ő̴̡̯͎̺̬͎͉̘̘̜͒̆͋̽̍̌̓͑̈́͗̍͗̚̕ū̸̧̬̰͔̀̈́͒ͅr̸̢͇̩͖̿̾̊̒́͗͋ ̸̛͈͖͈̠̬̘͌̀̑̌̒̀͆̃͗̈́͆͘L̷͎̦̘̯͎͇̏̾̈́́̍̎̃̈́̕͘͘͝á̷̧͓̹̲̰̮̰͉̋̓̿̍̈̂͆͝m̵͖͇͇͉̈̈́̎̀̆͐͂́͐͘ê̷̜̟͒͑̿̕̚͝n̵̨̢̖̰̥̭͉̠̙͓̳͉̓̐͗̔͜͜͝t̶̨̜̙̄͋̇̉͌̎̆s̴̹͍̭̫̦̞̠̬̿͌̓̆̊̒̕ͅ ̷̨̨̹̞̟̭̦͙̥̙̖̖̫̼̰̆̀̾͆͌̀̃̈́̋͌͛̈́̀̀͜D̶̢̡̠͉̺̙̠̙̤̒̀̽̔̇͗͋̈̐̿͋͌͌̚͘ͅi̶̛̼̭͕̲̿̈́͒͛̎̐̎̃̊̽̀̅͑͗v̴̡̼͕̝̟̖͙̑͊̋͐̾̏̓ḯ̶̘̝̗͔̮͜͝n̴̡̨͖͔̰͎̭̠̜̭̝͉͒̂͛̌̂̋͋͒͐͐͋͝è̸̺̫͓̙̲̔̅̓̽̓͆̊͌̕̚͝
As Magis stood there, unmoving, Valan took a moment to examine his surroundings. The unraveling began with a thread, thin as spider's silk, stretching from Magis' wrist to the window of the tavern. As Magis moved, sweeping a rag across the bar to manage a small spill, Valan could see the thread tighten and slack, pulled by a second that ran in the opposite direction. As he watched, the thread split and intersected with other lines, quilting a pattern of deceit across his vision.
Threads wove the illusion of a bar. In truth, the bar is cracked and blistered with scars of arcane fire, the chairs are broken and held in place by the all encompassing web. As Magis moved to pour a dram of whiskey, withered and bare arms pulled by nigh invisible threads, docked fingers mimed the motion of opening the bottle wile the threads themselves pulled out the cork. Magis moved to pour the glasses of liquid, pushing fractured glasses that bled with it towards Olette and Valan, silken fibers forcing his sallow face into a smile as Magis pushed the glasses forward. The cavity where his nose used to be wheezed with each breath and his yellow, sunken eyes flitted back and forth between the two of them in fear as the Web lifted his own glass in salute.
̶̰͖̼͕̫̫̭͓̹̫̞͕̤̱̐̉͌͜͝V̵̨̡̧̛͚̹̗͓͉̝͈̥̣͉͍̟̜̆̓̈́̃̐̿͂͑̒͌͜e̴̥̰͓̦̘̫̜̳̰͔̫̋̐̌͋́̇̉̾͌͛̕͘͝ŗ̷̛̜̞͙̳̣̞̺̫̣̼̼̀̃͗̊i̵̛̛̩̊̐̽̅̔͛͠s̵̬̖͕͇͚̖̦̫̩̟̤̩̋̈̊͊̑͐̀̏̎̐̃̾̑̌̕̚͠i̸̧̛͇̜̩̖̰̯͉̲͕͕͉̥̦̹̱̦̒̈́͌̎̔̒̎́̃͒̓̑̎̕m̴̧̛̛͙͚̹̮͇͉̱̪͍͍͕̹̰͐̾̄́̆͗̈́̂̕̚͘͝ͅͅį̷̢͓̗͎̯͙̰̦̿͒͌͆͗̄͌͜l̶̦̣͆͑̈́͌̿̈́̇̈́̐̇͠i̵͈͓̺̞̻̻̹̖̙͇͙̹̭͈̥̜̾ţ̷̢͇̖͔̹͉̭̱̪̟̩̰͌͐̂̑͒́̇̋͌̄͌̓̂̌͊̾̚͜ư̸̺̫̜̄̀͛̾̆͒̊͋͒͗̔̈́̕͠d̸̪̬̥͛̋̓͗͑e̴͚͇̳͓̜̫̪̾̄̌̍̊͆͆̈́̔̒͛̀̎̃͝͝š̵̢̡̟̩͓͎̫͇͓̈́ ̶̩̱̤̟̰̠̪̯͍̥͈̝̱̈́͗̇͐̎̈́̕͘ớ̸͓̹͖̣̣̠̞̝́̏̇͐̈́̂̀͝͠͝͠f̵̨͖̳̪̼̥̣̩̲̭̹̟̳̠̍͊͌̇̊̄͐̀̚ͅ ̵̩͓̙̜̲̣̝͙̈̆͊̈́̀̑̏̃͆͝͠a̵̧͖̹̱̬̼̦̤̭͍̲̹͆̃̀̉ͅ ̶̣͇͔̂̊͊̈́̈̌̅͑́̈̅́̈̽̽d̴̢͂̽̋̾̐̍́͝͝͝ē̸̝̠̤̞̤̞̈́͆͆m̷̨̩̟̹̫̾̔̔o̷̢̖̯̙̺̚͜ͅṅ̸̞̹̱̫̲̣̯̞̘̜̄̐̓̊̓̋̍̇i̸̜̞̜͚̪͓̬̗̲̍̿͐͆̍͋̒̐͊̅̍̽̌͂̐̚ͅc̸̨̼̭͚̤͈̠̤͓̆̅͊ͅ ̸͈̺̓̄͌͊̈̎̃̅̔́̕͠͠͝k̵̢̠͉̮̞̯͔̪̪͙̩̹̝̠̯̃̈́̽͝ͅǐ̶̠͒̓͛̔͊̕n̸͙̝̖̈̔͌̑̅̂̆͌̃g̵͍̱̺̺͈̦͔̼͎̰͎̗̱͖̩̐͌
Olette began to pull the red liquid to her lips, but Valan's hand caught her before she could seal her fate.
...
On the ship adrift above the cavern, Pharos, Tyra, and Vanderlith can hear the approach of another ship as they take stock of their situation. Vanderlith begins to work his way towards the steering wheel, and Pharos began to kick at a cabinet of arcane siphon equipped weaponry. Vanderlith racheted up the throttle and the height, sending the gondola spiraling into the sky, giving it "the beans" as they say. The gondola of Inquisitors failed to keep up.
̸̧̱͓͕̻̲͓̗̘͍͚͋̆͜Ȁ̶̧͕̻̙̗͇̻͕̞̝̝̗͛̐̀̊̑̃̚͘l̸̨̢̯̦̲͚̝̗̠̠͉̤͙͙̱̞̈̀̓͊̍̎͆͐̈́̈́̏̂͒̌̚͝ͅl̶͕̝̖̞͍̀̐̅̃̀̍͒͌̐̾̂̚͘͘͠͝ ̷̗͈̔̃̔̈́̀̍̔̂̒̋̿͝t̸̡̑̈́̈́̄͑͒͒̍͘͘͘͠͝h̵̯̠͖͖̠̪͙͕̽̈́̉͑̌͝e̸̻̼̬̱̖͉̝̩͚̾̊̑͗͌̀̒͌̃̓̎̽͘͘̚ ̷̮̫̰̠͕̩̙͓̝̉̈́̇̉̔́̾̒̈͒͌̕̚͝t̶͓̼̺͓̬̰̻̭̲̪̘̫͙̪͒͋̓̑͌̑͜ͅr̸̛̝͍̙̙̪͖̟̞̤͎͚͍̊͒͆͆͋͗̆͋͛͐̓͋͗͛͌̕ả̵̡̢̼͍̞̠͎̤̯͇̱̤̭̙̫͕p̸͔̝̥͔̪͉͓͕̺̪̺̓̔̋̔͒͗͊͌͋̎́̈́̕̕p̵̨̤͋̑i̵̗̫̘̙̠̗̜͛n̵̡͊́̉͊̆̚͘͝g̶̨̱̬̙͙̘̩̩̤͕̈́͗s̴̱͊̍́́̈́̈́͋̌̑̾̅̕͘͠ ̴̧͈̼͈͓̬͙̩̥͚̺̲̩͈̝͕̽̐͆̄̎̓̈́͑̓̓͘̚͘̕̕͝ͅȍ̶̪͚͔̍̈́̒̋͝͝ͅf̸̡̳͉̈́̈́̏̏̇̈́͠ͅ ̸̠̮̤̯͚͓͋̈́̉͂́͆̂̎̂̓͂͘̕͠ͅȁ̷̧̨̢̟̻̬̼̺͔̪̜̪͈͖́ ̸͇̬͉͓͎͓̂̒y̸̼͙͇̼̯͎̬̼͇̣̪̠͔̿͌̈́o̶̡̡̢̫͇̳̫̺̙̭̰͉̮̲̪̠̎̔̌̍̏͑̐̈̒̍͝ͅu̵̬̦͕̩͓̻̦͓͍̇̉̈́͌̽̀̈̊̃̀͘͠͠n̷̞̮̉̅̒̆̀̒̏̋ǵ̶̢̧̗̦̈́̉̍̇̏͊̅̚̚ ̵̨̢̮̺̟̲͇͙̙͌̒̂̔͜͠l̴̪̟̦̲̱̹̦̻̣̤͊̆̽̔͐o̷̧̼͔̳̙̯̭̹̝̥̺̼̩̮͚͑̎̀̾̄̈̚ŗ̴̨͎̜̜͓̰̪̣̘̭͔̰̻̲̯̀̅́̓̎̍̈́͗͗͐̀̓͒͘̚ḑ̵̥̼̫͍̝̫̍͠
Vanderlith kept the beans on, sending the gondola skyward until gunning it forward, sending it precariously hurtling through the Gloamwood. The Inquisitors tried to follow, but they did not have the beans, and when Tyra unleashed a Storm Sphere on their ship, it was all over. They crashed, and the party members safely made it to the merchant's encampment outside of town.
...
"I'm sorry, Olette," Magis said as the illusion began to fade. "They came after the last time. They found me, my tools. They took my family. They've held me here, waiting for you to come back. I got away once, tried to find my family. My... my family doesn't remember me. I'm sorry, Olette. You need to run. Run!"
̴̫̲̱̈̋̏̒͒̋͗͠͠Ṛ̸̢͉̖̫̖̟̹̲̟̿̿͋̈́͋́̅͑͗͑̕e̸̢̼̝͛̈́̊͆̈́̋̂̒̽͂͘͘͘͝t̷͉̪͔̫̙̝̋̌̓̑̃̀͆̏̊̃͑͆͗͘͝u̴̩̣̯͇͉̞̿̂̇̋̓̂̆͑̕͜͝ŕ̷̨̢̺̹͙̯̜̗͈̪̖̜̘̟̤̰͐̕n̶̯̭̙͈̹̬̽̆̃͋͊͛͆̒̇́͆̚̕ẻ̴͍͇̖̞͖̦̟͖͔̝̰̞̦͕͚̈́̃̏̀̓͌͝͝ḑ̸̟̣͚̏̎̀̀̅͂̕͠͠ͅ ̵̛̞̣͔̭̘͇̾͂̍̀͗̿̉̆̿̿̕͘͘͘͘͜͠ţ̵̛͔͔̗͈̳̦̼͈̥̓̍̈̐͑̈͐͝o̵̗̰̘͑͌̐̚ ̴̡͙̺̫̫̻͍͑͆̀̃̇̍l̶̨̡̤͔͖̝̞̫̲̼̰̮̞̯͎̑͆̈́̀̿͊̀̔͜͝͠í̵̢̳̝̠͉͈̠̭͖̙̉̈́́̎̐́͂̓͋́̕̕f̷̢̛̛̯̯̺͈͓̪͉̱̺̱͇̭̖̳̮̩̽̂͐̅̏͋̄̔͐͘̕e̴̹͈͉̳̣̍̏̃̿͊̍̍͊̆̇̓̃̅̽̏͘̕ ̶̰̱̲̻̦̬̮̼͙͙̳̝̐̄͗̔͌̈́̅̈̄̌̍͗͘͘͠t̸͎̤̼̖͊̈̿̀̏̌̎͛̇͊̆̆̽̽̓͝ő̷̺̗̠́͘ǫ̶͔̖͎̙̫͇̼̥̲͔̙̥͚͚̿̎͂̆̃́̀̔̿̕ ̴̢̗͓͕̗͖̥̏̐̀͝͝l̴̲͗̀̂̓̇̊ȁ̵̧̯͙̩͇̼͕͇͈̠̩̠̳̮̖̑̿̈́̉͗̓̾̄͝ͅt̸̘͎͇̺̲͖͔̘̲̗̖̹̱̳̘̹͚̉̆̐̓͛͗́̀́̄͗͐͂̃͊̇e̴̩̣̯͔͙̹͙͈̻̬̰͎̺͂̿̈́̓͋͋̿̉͠͠͝
As he said this, another voice could be heard from outside. "Olette. Oooooleeette. Olette, my dearest, dearest darling. Won't you come say hi to your old pal Draxis?" The singsong voice came from a man standing outside, his pressed Inquisitor robes fanning in the breeze. Draxis is a tall man, burly but not strong, wearing immaculate robes. His head is shaved to draw attention to a set of two parallel rows of spider eyes that extend from his cheekbones to his temples.
"Oh, and who is your new friend? Is this the famed Valan Sildurflem Olivier told me about. Not quite the imposing figure I thought you'd strike, but you'll do. Allow me to introduce myself, I'm Draxis Bouvern. Ollete and I go way back," he said this last part with a wink, extending his hand. "I'd suggest you both come with me. Make this easy. For all of us."
They did not make it easy. Draxis was felled, claiming "Damn. Maybe you were all you're cracked up to be," before fading into a wisp of smoke and fog, returning to his roots.
̷̧̧̡̩̘̝̬͕͎̘͔͎͑͗̏̔͗̾͆̓D̵̛̳̬̣͍̋̐̋͆̇͌̀̀͊̉́̑͝i̶̡̢̪͎̬̱̪̱̱̺̗̓́̓̓̈́͒̀̈̏͒̋̚͘̕͝͠e̶̛̜̟̠̼̟̜̩̥̞̦͚̞̠̬̿̿̒͊͌̆̀̚͘ḑ̴̱̟̳̜̟̤͔̘̮̱̤̤͔͈̇̍͐̈́̂̇́̕͝ ̸̳͙̫̯̀̒́̀́̅͠t̷̨̘͙͈͓͉̞͍̥̝̼̞̬̭̮̖̦̽́̎ơ̵̲͍̫͈̳͔̺̤̳̟͈͆̐̓̎̏̓̊͒̉̓͗͌͊̈́̅̅o̵̮͈̥̙͐̔͆̿̂͆ ̵̧̜̦̲̫̤͚̹͖̟̘̈́͆́͒͜ë̶̢̟̦̓͐͐̈́͘͜͠͝a̴̢̧̺̠̯̣̝̲̠̲͖̽̈́͒̈́͗́̈́̾̀̈́r̴̨͈͇͖̥̳̹̳̼̐̍̊̋̒̓̒̌̋͝ͅḻ̵̜͔̱̱̤̥̹̯̠̯̮̫̖̥̼͗̔̿̍̍͂̈́̿̀̒̋͜y̶̢̤͍͎̫̮̹̭̹̫̐̆͆͐̋͑̓͒̾̽̀̔̓͂́̽̆ ̸̢͕͕̠͎͚̻̱͈͇̤͚͉͙̰̗̙̐͆̈́́̈́͌̋͗̆͊͆̒͠͠ţ̶̪̹̜͇̩̟͍̹̙͑͌͆̆̈́̏͑̾̾́ͅơ̵̡̥̱̠͓̟͔̮̥̝̻͉̞͙̺͜ ̷̛̞̣̌͌͑͐͒̐̈̍͌̃̿̈́̉̊̚͝ỉ̵̢̡̢̛̛̛̝̱͕͖̱̫̜͖͙̼̏̊͂̐̐̂̿̒̚͜͠͠ͅm̵̢̢̞̥̣͎̩̫͍͍̩͂̑͂͐͊͘͘͘ͅͅp̸̮̭͐͂̎̍́̆͂̌̀͐̈̄ǎ̷̢̝̭̤̥͉̭̲̺͕̤̝͆̒̇̊̽̐̓͐̋͒̚̚͜͜ç̸͚͔̯̬̠̯̓t̶̢̰̮̙͉̫͎͎͎͇̘̏̇̊̿̐̓̀̈͊̈́͜͠͝͝
Valan and Olette returned to the rest of the group, glancing out at the dock where their ship should be, but seeing nothing. As they're returning, they see that the gates to the palace have been sealed. Upon trying to get in, under disguise, Olette and Valan were turned away, with a house Bouclier guard stating that "The High Inquisitor is preparing for an event. We have been ordered to keep this area clear. It will reopen to the public at seven. Please return then." And so they did.
Walking through the grounds, invisible, the reunited party approached the palace. A party had begun, presumably to hang the three of their accomplices who were unaccounted for. Geysers of water sprang towards the sky with a cacophonous bang, lighting up the Tree of Silver Night where they touched with the colors of the Aurora, and settling back down to earth in a slight mist.
̵̢̡̧̨̨̦͎̜͖̭̟̱̭̮̟͛́́̏͆̆͐̍͛̽̒͆̕͠͝Ơ̵̥̻̈͐̎͗̽͘͠͠u̷̧͉̜̹͒̑̎͂̊̿̀͂̃̾̀̕͝t̸͉̟̲̦͑͆̆̉̾͊͒̉͒̈́̚ͅ ̶͈͇̼͚̰̝̯̼͈̀̒͑̓̅ͅͅǫ̷̛͖͋̈́̈́͑̒͋̽͋̓͐̓́̾̕̕͝ḟ̷̨͔̖͕̮̤͕̑͊̕ ̶̢̛̬͈̥̦̦̬̯̹̩̭̹̘̈́͊̎̃͑͂͑̓́͐̀̈́̔̓͊͘ͅť̷̨̨̜̤̞̗͚̻̙̬̳̲̻̥͊̀͒̂̈̿͋i̴̧͙̱͉̇̈͋͗͆̕m̵͇͍̙̻̙̠͉̫̞̾̿̃͊͘͠͠ē̴̢͔̥̠͉̤̱̣̹̫͔̬̼͛̍́̾͌̑̽̆̈́͗̇̆̋͐̕͜͠ ̷̢̢̬̥̟̖͒t̸̨̧̙̦̲̲̩̜̥̙͇̣̭̰̭͙̾͗̋̍̈́̄́̿̓́͊͘̕͘͜͠ô̶̫͔͝ ̶̢̧̧̘̝͎̺̜̰͎̹̙̈́̓̈ͅs̷͉̩̼̱̝̪̻͈̪̖̆͛́͑̈̌̑̂̕͘͠͝a̴̢̧̡̢͚̹̰͓͍̔̊̇̈́̎̋̃̓̈́͗͆̄̀ͅv̸̡̢͔̦̱͖̗̗̝͚̮̙͙̎̓̆̏̏̾̌̈̂̉́̄͘̕͝ẽ̸̱͖͔̟̖̀̅͛͗̾̈́͑͂̈͝͝ͅ ̵̧̩̠͉̹̳͕̦̱͈̪̤̯͎̆̇͛̒̎̈́̓͛̓͊́̅͜͜͝͝͝ͅt̴̢̨̧̩̻͈̹͎͍̜̰͋̓͋͒̒͌h̶̺̖͖̏̐̾̍̅͋̓̚͝ẻ̵̺͉̬͓͉̱̤͙̭̦̖̩͐͌̈̀̽̕͜͜͠͝͝ ̷̡̛̗̤̗̳̗̰̟͔̠͙͗͆́̎̅̈́̉́̍̒͌̓̉w̶̡̢̨̼͉͈̳͓̣̤͙̥̞̣̟̓̓̒͜͝ó̷̖̰̭́̑̅͗̉̂͂̎͋̀́̿̈r̶̡̠̣͔̳͎͌̄̌̈́̎̔̑͜ͅl̴̮̣͐̐͌́̏̏͆͐̔̊̆̔͠d̵̡͍̝̫̟̥̞̯̰͖̦͈̞̦̓́̓̍̃́̌̓̊͜ͅ
Guests could be heard whispering amongst themselves, "I just don't get it, forty years? No one thought to check if Arctiax stuck around?" one whispered. "If it were a false god, where did all our prayers go?" questioned another. "Thank the Divines for the Inquisitors," a third said. "Had they not kept the dragon's ire in check, the city surely would have fallen into the sea long ago."
After some sneaking shenanigans, the party pushed their way into the great hall, Valan still invisible, where an incredible feast has been laid out along the central table. House Bouclier guards stand back at regular intervals around the perimeter of the hall and along behind the seats of honor at the back. Several hundred cocktail tables are set up for closer access to the food, filled by chatting socialites, while around the perimeter are several seated tables, many of which are filled with groups already carousing.
An attendant approaches the group, announcing their arrival. "Welcome, guests of the Honored Deicides! Please, join us. Take a drink, have a seat. We saved you a table to the left of your friends. Enjoy yourselves!"
You can see a table, laid with the finest silver and prepared with delicacies from across the continent, with each seat fitted with a card that simply read "Reserved." The Matriarch, Dahlia, Heir Apparent, and Arkadeus are all nowhere to be seen. However, the party could see, seated along the back table in the place of honor, talking and laughing with the High Inquisitor, Callisto, Jules, and Lady Bouclier are all seated together at the high table. Above them, held aloft by heavy adamantine chains, is the severed head of the False Arctiax.
As the party took their seats, they were greeted by Jules and Callisto. Both seemed amicable with the situation, but they were confused with the party's hesitation to join in the festivities. They explained it was okay, everyone was hungover after the party. They understood when they turned down the Inquisitors plea. So when Jules, Callisto, and Lady Bouclier joined the High Inquisitor to finally rid the nation of the False Arctiax' Tyranny, they too were surprised that they were successful. But it's okay to be jealous, just don't be a square! Join in the festivities, have a good time, drink their fill. And then their friends walked away, back to their seats of honor.
"So, enjoying your party?" the High Inquisitor said as he took the empty seat an invisible Valan left at the table. "I've done all this for you, you know. Call it a peace offering. I've taken control of the narrative, and now we can each go our separate ways. All I ask is that you quietly take your leave in the morning, you can even take your friends with you, and never return. You get to keep burning your path across the continent, and I get to keep my city. We're heroes!"
After Tyra asked what had happened and requested the High Inquisitor fix their friends' memories, he refused. "No. Why would I? I need them like this to maintain the narrative. They just keep smiling and waving, and I'll send them out to 'find the real Arctiax,' and then we never have to see each other again. I'm sure they'd like you to be a part of that, but you don't have to be."
Tyra and Valan pressed the High Inquisitor to restore their friends. "No. So what if I don't. What? Are you going to kill me? Strike me down where I stand, in the midst of a party I threw for you? Let's do it then. let's light this fire. Because that's what you do, right? The emperor assassinated, the Tower toppled, is Arcanus next on your list? The Flamebringers, sundering pillars of society, burning the ashes and for what? Do you even know why you're doing this? No? Pitiful. Just sit pretty for the evening, and everything will work itself out."
Report Date
27 Aug 2022
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