Warhammer Fantasy: Thirteen Tolls - An Apocalypse Quest

You wait a few minutes before beginning your interrogation. Cassius has opened the kitchens – does he own this place? – and everyone was taking full advantage. Racks come out, hung with steaming flatbread, fresh tabbouleh, hummus, falafels, baba ghanouj. Wine flows freely – a sweet white – and you can't help but partake.

A strong sip gives you the confidence for your first question. You've decided to go from least to most escalatory. You turn to Floridus, and say, as casually as you can "Do you happen to know a Parlenius Patrocline?"

He grows a cruel grimace. "Unfortunately."

"You dislike him?"

"The few times I met him, yes. A most terrible habit of trying to answer your questions before you asked."

"Like he foresaw them?"

"If reading the files Catastrophic Risk keeps on you and then guessing constitutes clairvoyance, yes."

Kaginius interjects "I believe the Lodge of the Harvest Moon no longer has the gift of prophecy".

"At all?"

Floridus scoffs. "At the rate they were losing diviners, they better have or there'd hardly be a Lodge left to speak of. I've got twenty-three at Bimar alone, and who knows how many they've cooped up themselves."

"Are they mad?"

"Well, I do often boast of the qualities of our caretaking facilities, but Bimar is not yet a vacation destination – of course."

"How so?"

"Do you want a check up, o wise prophet? Do you have no faith that Morr will protect?"

You think of Sanguine and feel the scar on your nose. You look at Pelops, thin as a rake, eating a flatbread as big as his head. You think of Junius, and a cry to doubt.

"No."

Floridus looks genuinely surprised at that, which turns into the first authentic smile you've seen from him.
"Clever man. I won't humor you then, in both meanings of the word, I don't subscribe to that tart. From an autopsy – vascular dementia, at a massive scale. Curiously, no sign of stroke or any sort of reason for the deprivation. Through some unknown force, all the blood simply fled from their brains."

You suddenly recall that every time you wake up from your Tower dream, your mouth is full of blood.

"Have you seen anything like it before?" you ask.

"Yes, actually. With scryers, mostly, who try to see to widely and too far, mostly from my dear Flame – if we lack anything, it is not hubris. I theorize that the physical reaction to too much Aethyric energy trying to enter the brain – say, in the forms of a vision – is to try to preserve the mental structure by just flushing all the blood out of your head."

"Preserve it from what?"

"What else? Only one thing from an overrun of magic – even you clerics should know these things, you preach enough against them."

A daemon, then. A daemon in your head. You realize that every time you've fallen off the Tower in your sleep, you're always looking down, thanks to the Stranger's push. There is some great work happening behind you, that singes your back and makes your skull ring – but you always awake before you see it. You are suddenly very glad you decided to investigate the material before diving deeper into the spiritual. Is that what your brothers and the diviners of the Lodge tried to see? Something so great and terrible, it could manifest backwards through men's minds, something so fundamentally against the natural order the body's reaction was to try and kill itself before it was taken?

What the hell was it?

"Is there any way to stop that?" you ask, fairly desperate.

"Well," Floridus drawls. "In my medical opinion – just don't look!"

…

You're not sure you want to explicitly raise the Patrocline connection to your Order yet, so you decide to let the conversation wander a bit, then move on to your second question. You've got a decent idea of the man's motivation, at least. An inauthentic oracle at the head of an order who made half their money through telling the future, and suddenly unable to? You bet he'd be visiting anyone or anything that even hinted at foresight, just for a chance to figure out what they'd be doing wrong. Whether that would extend up to sabotage of a competitor, you're not sure – from what Floridus said, it seems seeing is enough. But speaking of sabotage…

"Have any of you read Siege?"

This time, Gregorius is the one who pipes up. "Horseshit!" he yells through a mouthful of hummus. "A perversion of the Red cause!"

You look about and see nobody else having taken any interest in your conversation, except Melissa. She is silent, but there is an odd gleam in her eyes.

"What would you say was particularly wrong with it?" you ask politely.

Gregorius pulls out a copy of the book – same binding and everything – and, flipping a page, thrusts it open towards you. You shut your eyes, and put your hand up to shield yourself before it's too late-

"What're you doing?" he asks.

"I was not aware the Morrite clergy did not so much appreciate the works of his Lady wife" says Kaginius, drolly.

Nobody seems to be reacting to anything but you. You feel no dark magic. You open one eye and see – a normal book. It's not blank, a totally normal text – some condemnation of Dwarven colonization efforts in the east, with various passages highlighted and disparagingly commented on in the margins.

Gregorius is looking at you like you're insane. You put your hand down, sheepishly.

"Forgive me – you just scared me."

"Scared you? Are people in the habit of attacking you with books?"

You pause for a second, and then make the decision to tell. Nothing good can come from more under a dark enchantment.

"Ditatis of Myrmidia –" and you see literally everyone in the room roll their eyes "gave me a cursed version of that book."

That perks interest. Gregorios has the grin of one experiencing great schadenfreude, Marcus of Solkan looks furious, and Melissa seems … thoughtful.

"In what way? Dark, chaotic?" Marcus asks.

"Dark – an enchantment to make me loyal to the Reds."

Gregorios spits out his drink, as Kaginius laughs.

"A miraculous show of support in recent polls, the papers said" the head priest of Verena titters. "Well, if you can't find a natural miracle, a home-made one is fine."

Gregorios has already turned to Salomon and Simeon and ordered the two gigantic men out of the restaurant.

"Find every copy we can – and for the sake of the gods, don't open them. It's late, so Furnace 16 in the Foundry of the Four Lions" he throws his copy to them. "Collect everyone you can find from all the members and burn the lot. Some of us" and he's clearly speaking to you, and moreso, Kaginius "have spent a lot of time on political education and can't have our authentic campaigning about our persuasive message go to waste because some two-bit enchanter had the dimmest idea this side of Ulthuan!". He stops, breathing hard. He's gone red as his party.

He turns properly to you. "Xenophon – thanks for the intel. We're in your debt. Ask for the UCACHM anytime, anywhere, we've got your back."

"Thank you" you say "but if I may ask – who?"

He slaps his forehead and sighs. "This is why I say we need more outreach with the temples – the United College of Apprentices, Conjurers, and Hedge Mages. Chief magical workers guild – you need something enchanted; we got you."

"Wonderful" you say, but you're mind's spinning a bit. This was targeted – Ditatis wanted you, specifically loyal. And not loyal to the Reds in general, you presume – loyal to his branch, which seems opposed to Gregorios' union side? Gods, you think, is there no organization in this city not beset by factionalism? You look to Pelops, now happily digging into a fig cake. Well, a win for Morr, you suppose.

…

Your rice is almost finished, so you decide to leap into the breach.

"I'll tell you what I've seen" you offer "on two conditions. First, you tell me what you know about what's going to happen to these Cities. Second-" and you give a hard look to Melissa "you tell me exactly went down that night."

There's a beat. "I accept." Melissa says, somber.

Loreley speaks up, clearly irritated "Hey, hey – I didn't agree to open my heart to this undertaker!"

Melissa turns to her, with eyes as hard as steel. "Then you can leave. If the world's ending, we must know. There's no point to revolution if we're all blown to high heaven the day after."

Loreley grunts but is silent.

Surprisingly, Ambrose is the one to speak next. His eyes are really irritatingly pretty. Gold-specks in dark green, like buttercups in summer fields. He's talking. You should pay attention.

"-so to phrase it in another way, the Princeps is doing a Great Work. That I'm sure of – a ritual of some type, beyond any that I or Floridus or Kaginius have ever heard of. He's been in major consultation with that Nekeharan statute-maker, the one making the Ushabti this week – S-nefer-Ka"

"A good man" Gregorios offers "a loyal Red."

Ambrose looks dubious. "Well, regardless of his political loyalties, he's involved, deeply so. You know anything about that?" He looks to you.

You choose to hedge. "The Funerary Cult has some similarities to Morrite practice" you guess "but I'll say what I know once you're done."

Ambrose seems mollified and continues. "Beyond the Princeps, there's what Kakram's told us" And the Dwarf in the corner, who has not said a word, simply nods. "The Sons of Skavor are digging to access – something buried, something powerful."

Kakram looks at you then, straight in the eyes, and a rune glitters on a medal hidden beneath his chain. You know then, somehow without words:

The Sons of Skavor want the Glittering Realm.

Ambrose continues, not noticing anything "They tried at Petrification Day – they've been trying for years – but they've failed every time. Fafnir's getting old, now, though, and pretty well stone. He's probably getting desperate."

You nod, faintly. You had always presumed, like Morr's Realm, the Dwarven Underworld was not literally underground, but beyond this realm entire. You think of Skavor, petrified, and an apology deep below. Wasn't Gazul his father? Were they trying to … go home?

Ambrose is still talking, undeterred. "Outside of that, there's the Elvish encroachments in the North, though that doesn't seem to be any sort of crisis yet – there's Floridus' monkeying in Temple-"

The Patriarch of Truth snorts "As goes all politics-"

"Speaking of, the election, which seems … uneasy; a lot of ratfucking going on, but no real violence, which is pretty good for Tylos ... and I guess, if Marcus or Cassius wants to speak about their plans?"

The two warriors look to each other. What appears to be an entire conversation is done with a single raised eyebrow from Cassius, with Marcus going from a totally neutral expression to a grin barely containing some maniac excitement. "Friend of the House – that's half why you were invited here, you know – come to the Casino, and we'll read you in."

"Duly noted" you say.

"That should be all then" says Ambrose. "A lot of loose threads. We're used to being rather the threat, I think, rather than seeing one coming up against us. The League's planning –"and he looks around to see if anyone's going to protest his giving of this intel, only for when no one to, to continue "er, ah … a contingency action after the election. Needless to say, it will greatly depend on who wins the result."

"Oh, out with it" Loreley shouts. "He's seen us all here, and Melissa's little song was not exactly secretive. If the Whites win, we're planning a coup. If the Reds do, we're planning a purge. That's all there is to it."

Kaginius looks a bit pale, but nods.

Ambrose sighs. "Yes, sure, out with it. We've got here, the Reds, the soldiery, the freedmen of the House, Temple, the Cloisters, most of the temples, and the working classes of Thunderdome, Summerland, and the Shambles. We think we have a good shot at it, all things considered."

"Why?" you ask.

Ambrose squeezes his eyes shut as if ashamed. "Ask the rest of these bastards separately. Me, it's dead easy. I want the Princeps dead."

What?

"I don't want to tell you why. But know that I swore it, and I will have it."

And some bit of divinity cracks around him to make you know that he means true.

…

"I suppose it's my turn now" Melissa says, her features carefully composed. She looks like she's trying hard not to cry, although you don't know if that's acting or no.

"My husband was … inspired by the Goddess Myrmidia. She whispered in his ear this play – the Righteous Spear. I had a part, of course – Adah - and the rest of our regular company – really, our family."

She pauses to take a breath.

"You were in it since it was written. I don't know what that means. I didn't know you – as far as I know, Junius didn't know you, I think, or at least he mentioned nothing till he made me sent you the invitation. It must have been the Goddess herself, taking an interest. But the script was the only thing that stayed the same. All our rehearsals; no violence beyond you know, acting. Junius talked about it waking up people – no, that's not quite right. He spoke of waking up the Princeps."

"Did he ever say what from?" you ask.

"Never. I asked, once, what the meaning of it was. I presumed, you know, something about the evil of war, that the Goddess Myrmidia compels us to peace. But you know what he said? He said the Goddess wants the Son of Tyleus to remember her love. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. But my husband was ever the temperamental artist, so I kept mum. The night before the opening, he comes to me – he didn't sleep the night before at all, terrible nightmare - and tells me not to come. I ask why, he says – he thinks the understudy was better! We argue. I leave. I don't come back until that night you see us, where I wish him good luck. He tells me to leave again. You see us, and that's the rest."

Gregorios speaks next "We were invited, too, until we were not, night of. Ruddy strange. He was a member of this group and all, but went silent, maybe two weeks before? Melissa said at the time it was pre-show nerves, so we thought nothing of it."

Floridus then says "I took the opportunity to study the enchantment while we were trapped in it. Everybody on that stage was ensconced just as we were – puppets."

"So Junius wasn't acting on his own accord?" you query.

"That's the very curious bit" replies Floridus. "He was and he wasn't. He must have been the one to set up the ritual, at least I presume, but it bound him all the same once the play started. And despite him starting the damn thing, I saw him resisting, wholly, until he broke the geas on him with that final monologue. At that last moment, he was free again, and could throw that spear where he liked."

"And he still chose to fling it at the Princeps?

"That's what it seemed like."

"And the redirect?"

"Perfectly divine."

You think of a dying Junius, and what he said.

"She changed it on me."

…

You have an idea now of what happened, or at least the vague outline, helped by Junius' own last rant. Myrmidia gives inspiration for a play to Junius "to show her love" to the "heirs of Tyleus", meaning the Princeps and his line, which claim direct male-line descendance. At some point, seemingly quite late in rehearsals, Junius learns something else about Myrmidia's intent, potentially from the Goddess herself. This, for some reason, means he sends most of his allies away (except Floridus?) from the event, but not enough for himself to participate. He willingly participates in most of the ritual, except for the last part, where he presumably redirected the spear away from its target, after which Myrmidia, presumably, or less probably, another divinity, redirects it to its original (?) target.

But why this rigmarole? Why the giant ceremony, why the play specifically about how power engenders terrible sacrifice? Was it a threat? A threat against what? The Princeps' project? And if that was so terrible, why not go for the Princeps himself? Was Myrmidia … trying to join the Princeps' work? What did that even mean? And why kill Marvos, of all victims?

You need to know what's happening in that Tower.

But before that, you have some cryptic messages of your own to give. You look at the awaiting crowd. "First thing, not a vision I had, I simply saw it – the Princeps consumes souls. Is this generally known?"

"Yes." says Floridus.

"No." says Marcus.

"What?" they say at the same time.

"I presume you mean you sensed some oddity in his own soul's composition?" Floridus asks.

"Yes" you say, not wanting to give anything away.

"That's Summerland's youth potions. Non-sentients, don't be alarmed."

"Oh."

"That's what's in them?" Loreley asks. "No wonder the bastards cost me an arm and a leg." You look at her, and her soul – though perhaps a little frayed at the edges, is not bright like the Princeps. You choose to keep your mouth shut. Melissa might actually be crying now, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief. You doubt the news that her husband might have been eaten would not be well received.

"Well then" you offer the awkward silence "my turn to share proper then. Here's what I know…"

WHAT DO YOU TELL THE LEAGUE OF SALVATION?

[-] the truth.

This would be Xenophon being absolutely honest. This would include the full content of both visions, and include no commentary on their potential meaning.

[-] a truth [Write-in].

This would be Xenophon giving the content of both visions, while redacting any information of your choice, and also giving any interpretations of anything you would like. This can be very general, from "the Fable vision means Myrmidia is opposed to the Princeps' project" to the very specific – "the Elf in the Tower vision is Lady Tophania".

[-] a lie. [Write-in].

This would be Xenophon fully making something up.