Raiseth
I Find Your Lack of Memes Disturbing
- Location
- Russia
This Most Familiar Chain: Tale of Spirit and Magician
- Thread starter Cetashwayo
- Start date
- Original Fantasy
AKuz
Been Better
- Location
- A Rising Tide of Horrors
- Pronouns
- She/Her
[X] Random Empathy Bursts. You admit that you don't have full control over your emotional state, but lately you've been even more erratic, with odd feelings and bursts of foreign emotions that you get only when you're near her...
King_Rule
The Guy With The Things.
- Location
- Yes
[X] Shared Habits. For whatever reason, lately you have developed a strange and inconsistent impulse to look proper and clean, along with a sudden rush of adrenaline when someone mentions the word 'coffee', and you don't know why...
Since Ariela doesn't have the at hand cooking power of Starfall she'd have to resort to preparing them the slow old fashion way. Even more so since she doesn't have the same distaste of fire. Maybe even think up some new ones as she knows more than five foods to mix with it.
Plan Grand Master Tater Chef Ariela is a go.
Since Ariela doesn't have the at hand cooking power of Starfall she'd have to resort to preparing them the slow old fashion way. Even more so since she doesn't have the same distaste of fire. Maybe even think up some new ones as she knows more than five foods to mix with it.
Plan Grand Master Tater Chef Ariela is a go.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Well in that case I think there are way too few people voting to give parenthesis a vacation home.
She's really anxious about only having the one place to live, you know? She needs somewhere to relax.
Kai Merah
Hound Hearted Hedonist
- Location
- Somewhere in the corners of my imagination
[X] Intrusive Thoughts. Normally, you are used to having someone talking inside your head (hi), but recently when you're near Ariela you have been getting odd thoughts in a mental voice you can only recognize as your magician's...
- Location
- Canada
[X] Shared Habits. For whatever reason, lately you have developed a strange and inconsistent impulse to look proper and clean, along with a sudden rush of adrenaline when someone mentions the word 'coffee', and you don't know why...
Interlude: Fool's Game
Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
Interlude: Fool's Game
The Grand Treasurer Etan Gannibal sat on the sofa and released a depressive sigh, putting a bandaged hand on bandaged face. In fact, he was entirely covered in bandages, save for the spot of dark skin around his severe green eyes that allowed him at least the sensation of sight, his uniform, and absolutely fantastic but also just tasteful enough for his position cylindrical military cap with crimson plumage, with two interlocking keys engraved into its center. That being said, most saw the bandages first, and that being said, few were foolish enough to ask. In the first place, as the head of the empire's police the Grand Treasurer had the power of life and death over many Imperial subjects, and would always become extraordinarily irate, far above his already above-average level of irateness, if you, quite dumbly, inquired about the bandages. In the second place, however, it was generally considered rude. Present company excluded, of course, given this was the internal narration of the Treasurer himself, and he was willing enough to share his plight with you, dear listener.
You see, my dear, the treasurer, in his younger, more dashing and exceedingly less wise time as a journyman, had decided without properly considering the consequences to do the impossible and make the sun his familiar. Sadly, in his impatience to experience the thrill of having your face burned off (he did not really want that thrill, but it was the foregone conclusion of the whole exercise) he had equipped that most terrible and unique combination of cleverness and hastiness, which has produced such monstrous outcomes as war, adultery, and interest rates.
Indeed, as the Grand Treasurer sat on that comfy sofa, his mind was entirely fixated on interest rates, and rates of exchange, and perhaps the entire concept of money in general. For you see, dear listener, the treasurer had, over the course of the last few days, been utterly humiliated by the personification of capital. No, that was not a mental typo, for it was none other than the accursed Maugus, the self-proclaimed Grand Prince of Commerce, who deserved never to be accompanied by a sentence with the word "grand" in it, except perhaps if it was in a military bulletin where it was next to the word "execution".
This tale of woe began on that miserable morning, when the promised princess Starfall was unaccountably stolen from her rightful place at the Empress' side, with not even a shred of indication as to where. Given the knowledge among the Council of Magicians of Maugus' role in the original agreement as one of her guardians, it was assumed he was responsible, and so an arrest warrant for him and his wife the fire harpy Kreska was issued...
You see, my dear, the treasurer, in his younger, more dashing and exceedingly less wise time as a journyman, had decided without properly considering the consequences to do the impossible and make the sun his familiar. Sadly, in his impatience to experience the thrill of having your face burned off (he did not really want that thrill, but it was the foregone conclusion of the whole exercise) he had equipped that most terrible and unique combination of cleverness and hastiness, which has produced such monstrous outcomes as war, adultery, and interest rates.
Indeed, as the Grand Treasurer sat on that comfy sofa, his mind was entirely fixated on interest rates, and rates of exchange, and perhaps the entire concept of money in general. For you see, dear listener, the treasurer had, over the course of the last few days, been utterly humiliated by the personification of capital. No, that was not a mental typo, for it was none other than the accursed Maugus, the self-proclaimed Grand Prince of Commerce, who deserved never to be accompanied by a sentence with the word "grand" in it, except perhaps if it was in a military bulletin where it was next to the word "execution".
This tale of woe began on that miserable morning, when the promised princess Starfall was unaccountably stolen from her rightful place at the Empress' side, with not even a shred of indication as to where. Given the knowledge among the Council of Magicians of Maugus' role in the original agreement as one of her guardians, it was assumed he was responsible, and so an arrest warrant for him and his wife the fire harpy Kreska was issued...
---
Gannibal examined the map of the city and its meticulously winding streets in his office, located in the grand treasurer's lodge only a few blocks from the Magician's tower. It was from here that he made orders to the hundreds of treasurers throughout the city as they prepared for a potential lock-down and stirred awake the city's guardian golems.
They had already captured Maugus, oddly enough- according to the report he received the spirit had simply walked into jail and did little more than declare who he was, revealing nothing about Starfall which was odd. Perhaps the man had gone mad, which hardly helped them any. Not to mention the impossibility of locating the lost princess. And worse, Kreska had escaped the Grand Duchess' grasp and was on the move, rampaging westwards with reckless abandon. Such utter chaos was unacceptable, especially given they had only three months to find Starfall and control her parents before Frost arrived for the season and discovered that the magicians had attempted to imprison his daughter. Without Starfall as leverage, and with the Grand Hatter in his typical depressive mood and unlikely to help, the carnage that the Winter Cossack could bring would be unimaginable. No, no. They had to find her.
They had already captured Maugus, oddly enough- according to the report he received the spirit had simply walked into jail and did little more than declare who he was, revealing nothing about Starfall which was odd. Perhaps the man had gone mad, which hardly helped them any. Not to mention the impossibility of locating the lost princess. And worse, Kreska had escaped the Grand Duchess' grasp and was on the move, rampaging westwards with reckless abandon. Such utter chaos was unacceptable, especially given they had only three months to find Starfall and control her parents before Frost arrived for the season and discovered that the magicians had attempted to imprison his daughter. Without Starfall as leverage, and with the Grand Hatter in his typical depressive mood and unlikely to help, the carnage that the Winter Cossack could bring would be unimaginable. No, no. They had to find her.
"Sir, if I may interrupt," a magician interjected as he approached Gannibals' side, a man whose name Gannibal could not quite place but who was impeccably dressed in the latest attire of the treasurers. Gannibal had thought to upbraid this young man for his sudden entrance, but was struck silent by the sheer style of his counterpart. The man's green coat and pants had not a fold out of place, and his black shoes had a sheen to them that even Gannibal could not hope to reach. The man's hat, too, was quite something, a tall cap with enormous green plumage. A strong perfume exuded elegance and professionalism, strong enough that even Gannibal could smell it.
Extraordinary. The man had a thick moustache, a recently shaven beard, and a face that Gannibal could not quite place, but was sure he had seen somewhere before. After all, although he was the Grand Treasurer, Gannibal could not be expected to keep track of every single treasurer in the city, given how often they came and went and how much of his time was usually taken up with secret investigations.
"Forgive me, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Gannibal said with a bow, once he had completed his entirely ordinary informal inspection of the respectability of the fellow's garments. "Your name is...?"
The man blinked and then shook his head, gasping at what must have been his own impropriety. "Sir, please forgive me, I am new to the capital and its sights. I am Durak Folsomov, a treasurer from Kolna. I was in Tishrei to visit family and had been informed that you are in need of assistance here? Your...secretary, I believe, charming girl, guided me here."
Gannibal's bandages shifted upwards above his eyebrow. He walked over and peeked out the window of his office where his teenage daughter (the "secretary") Rina was drawing something on her canvas at her desk outside. She sat in her white and gold bug-catcher's dress, her wide-brimmed straw hat bedecked with flowers. Paper butterflies fluttered about, some settling on her shoulder or her frizzy brown hair, others on her light brown hands. Each was painted, and obviously, named, with elaborate genealogies that Rina had constructed in her head. Vanelope Vodavonovich Babochka briefly landed on the window. As a father, Gannibal took great stock in learning his daughter's interests. So at that moment he knew exactly who this butterfly, who she was engaged to, who her past lovers had been, and why she referred to the Old Potemkin as the young Potemkin (it was due to Vanelope's impeccable judgment of character, as she had discovered that although he was old of body, in mind Old Potemkin was as youthful as ever).
When Rina spotted him, she gave him one of her terribly devilish smiles she always sported when she was caught doing something improper, and signed to him with her hands, you deal with him, I'm busy sending out butterflies to cover your sorry bum.
Extraordinary. The man had a thick moustache, a recently shaven beard, and a face that Gannibal could not quite place, but was sure he had seen somewhere before. After all, although he was the Grand Treasurer, Gannibal could not be expected to keep track of every single treasurer in the city, given how often they came and went and how much of his time was usually taken up with secret investigations.
"Forgive me, I don't believe I've had the pleasure." Gannibal said with a bow, once he had completed his entirely ordinary informal inspection of the respectability of the fellow's garments. "Your name is...?"
The man blinked and then shook his head, gasping at what must have been his own impropriety. "Sir, please forgive me, I am new to the capital and its sights. I am Durak Folsomov, a treasurer from Kolna. I was in Tishrei to visit family and had been informed that you are in need of assistance here? Your...secretary, I believe, charming girl, guided me here."
Gannibal's bandages shifted upwards above his eyebrow. He walked over and peeked out the window of his office where his teenage daughter (the "secretary") Rina was drawing something on her canvas at her desk outside. She sat in her white and gold bug-catcher's dress, her wide-brimmed straw hat bedecked with flowers. Paper butterflies fluttered about, some settling on her shoulder or her frizzy brown hair, others on her light brown hands. Each was painted, and obviously, named, with elaborate genealogies that Rina had constructed in her head. Vanelope Vodavonovich Babochka briefly landed on the window. As a father, Gannibal took great stock in learning his daughter's interests. So at that moment he knew exactly who this butterfly, who she was engaged to, who her past lovers had been, and why she referred to the Old Potemkin as the young Potemkin (it was due to Vanelope's impeccable judgment of character, as she had discovered that although he was old of body, in mind Old Potemkin was as youthful as ever).
When Rina spotted him, she gave him one of her terribly devilish smiles she always sported when she was caught doing something improper, and signed to him with her hands, you deal with him, I'm busy sending out butterflies to cover your sorry bum.
Sometimes he regretted teaching her the sign for "bum". He also regretted not getting a proper secretary.
Turning back, Gannibal patted Folsomov on the back a little bit too hard and led the hapless shorter man out of his office He felt bad that such a well-dressed treasurer had been led to false pretenses that he could simply walk up to him, but this would not do. "A fine man I am sure you are, Folsomov, fine indeed, but despite my appreciation for your attire I am not in the mood for introductions. A most serious matter, you see."
"But that's just it-" Folsomov said, stopping at the door, a certain energetic tenacity and earnestness in how poorly he understood why you do not stop when the Grand Treasurer is telling you do to do something. "It is about this serious matter! You see, I've just found Maugus!"
Gannibal withdrew his hand and did a double take, closing the door as he tried to process this information. "...What?"
---
Gannibal glared with a certain unbelief at the lineup of bearded men that had been gathered in the city's jail. They stood unnaturally bunched together, almost like dolls, wandering around and bumping into each other, saying nothing. One of them he thought he recognized from the jail cell when they brought him in, but they all looked almost identical so it was difficult to tell. "What is this?"
"It's Maugus, sir," One of his deputies remarked.
"There are multiple men in this lineup," Gannibal pointed out, counting them wordlessly. "Thirty-two, actually."
"That's the problem, sir," one of the other deputies said, "They're all Maugus. Each one of 'em matches the descriptions, but all they do is say they're Maugus and shuffle about. We've been finding them wandering into lodges across the city."
Gannibal's blood pressure rose just the tiniest amount as he began to guess at the game that the grand prince was playing, but he caught Folsomov out of the corner of his eye, seeming even more distraught. "What is it, Folsomov? Is there something on your mind?"
"He's mocking us," Folsomov spit. "He's mocking the treasurers, trying to overwhelm us with false positives. I had thought- I'm just a young man, sir, I'm not nearly your equal, my father was a northern sled driver and my mother had to bury potatoes for us to eat in the winter. But I had thought- I had thought that I could have captured this dreaded villain, when he came up to me and told me-"
"I'm Maugus!" One of the men exclaimed, and then another, and then the whole lot was squawking that they were Maugus. Gannibal sniffed. Even with his reduced sense of smell, something was wrong here, beyond that these men were intensely dull. His eyes watered a little. Was that...onions? He approached the lineup, waving his hand in front of the men. They gaped at him. He pushed one of them lightly, but there was still no reaction. Finally, he put an arm up, a layer of bandage unwrapping and turning his hand into the end of a spike.
"Sir...?" Folsomov asked as he saw the transformation, stepping back a bit in fear of the technique of one of the greatest magicians alive.
Without an ounce of hesitation, Gannibal impaled one of the men, and in a poof, the false image disappeared. Just as he thought- nothing more than a doppelganger using some kind of witch's magic. The treasurers gasped dumbly as Gannibal glanced down at was left. As the dust cleared, nothing remained of the man except for a raw onion and a note. Gannibal picked it up.
Hope I left you in tears. Nice Try!
-M
He crumpled the paper and cursed under his breath, anger rising at the blatant mockery and disrespect this spirit was showing him. No, showing all of the empire. Such insubordination from a creature whose designated task was to obey. His arm disintegrated into dangling strands of bandage. He lifted the tangles up and the strands darted into every direction, hungry for a kill, impaling the doppelgangers one by one. And each time, they poofed, leaving nothing more than onions and similarly irritating notes. Then, he turned back to the group of six magicians, arm reforming, and balled his hands into fists as he stomped off into the basement corridor, barking orders.
"Do not admit any more Mauguses! Especially if they smell like onions! Do I make myself clear!?" He asked, turning round. All but Folsomov bobbed their heads, rushing to follow him out of the basement.
"But sir," Folsomov said, cautiously as he trailed close behind, "what if Maugus sought to overwhelm us with his doppelgangers and then admit himself as an onion-smelling man, to throw us off?"
"Then he'll be treated like an onion," Gannibal replied, hands behind his back.
"But sir, what does that mean precisely-"
"IT MEANS IMPALE HIM!" Gannibal shouted at the top of his lungs before bursting into a coughing fit, the bandages around his chest constricting to calm the sudden rupture. When he finally calmed himself, he cleared his throat and said, "Folsomov- with me. The rest of you! Scour the warehouses! Investigate the richest industrialists in the city! Upturn the markets! I want him FOUND!"
As Gannibal watched five magicians scatter at his command, without question, his anger was displaced by a surge of pride. It had taken two decades, but he had taken a motley assortment of state bandits and turned them into an effective police, a true protective force for the Empire's cities. Against the Tilers' pride and the Empress' skepticism, he had ended the violence and rebellion that had plagued the old towns. Yes, he could trust them. He had confidence in the ability of the treasurers against this scoundrel, this creature, a monstrous host embodying a whole concept. They would not fail him.
---
They failed him.
It was insane. They had spent three days scouring every single part of the city, overturning the haunts of criminals, searching tunnels, checking bank vaults. They had a photo and a name, and yet no one in the city could possibly give them a place, a location, a lead. He had simply disappeared, and yet he knew that he had not left the city, because they were inspecting all shipments in and out and the Tilers were securing the countryside. Pariya had even been dispatched along with her apprentice and her new familiar (he had never been fond of the way the Solomon girl had been treated, so he was simply relieved when Pariya wrote to him a letter that she passed her exam but hadn't had the time to look more into the matter and congratulate her) to one of the spirit barges along the river in order to ensure that Maugus was not hiding there. He had dispatched Rina to a building block in the east, where she calmed a rogue building spirit that might have provided a fine hiding place for Maugus, and the tilers had the situation with the runaway train under control, even if a section of managed forest had been badly damaged. Maugus relied too much on crowds to leave; he'd be starved within a few days and found by peasants, whose poverty would weaken him even further. By all indications, he was still in the city. But where?
Gannibal had come to a warehouse along the river, one of the ones owned by Maugus' shipping company. Of course, he had not known it was Maugus' shipping company until this morning, when Folsomov had alerted him to a set of transactions that implicated a merchant guild with the spirit of commerce (the guild had no awareness of its association and Gannibal believed them). As for Durak, Gannibal had come to appreciate the young man quite a bit. He had a good eye for detail and had a surprising easy charm, and a good head on his shoulders besides. The other men had warmed to him too, and had taken to calling him "Folsa", affectionately. Once this investigation was over Gannibal would have to look into the man's past and perhaps recruit him into the lodge. As for the shipping company, it apparently specialized in long-distance voyages to a continent an ocean and a half away, which was odd enough, but even odder was the sight that greeted him and Folsomov when they finally opened one of the crates in the warehouse.
"Potatoes?" Folsomov asked as he held up one of the round vegetables from a crate full of them. "What could he possibly want with potatoes?"
A feeling of deep, incomprehensible dread began to curdle in Gannibal's gut as he opened another crate. Potatoes again. A third. More. Folsomov rushed by and opened another two, pushing them over; the crates spilled forth the fruit of the new world, more potatoes. Nothing was making sense. He had expected to find hoarded treasure, or perhaps gunpowder, but this...?
For the love of...why? The potatoes were just being stored here for no explicable reason. The merchants he had interrogated had never even mentioned the potatoes as something they were selling, and they didn't look like they were being prepared for selling. The place didn't look like it had been touched at all. For years. And yet the potatoes maintained their freshness, without spoiling at all. What was going on? He had no idea, and that was very bad. He was the one person in the empire who was meant to have an idea. He couldn't precisely go back to the empress and shrug his shoulders saying, forgive me, I didn't find Maugus, but I did find his stash of vegetables. Care for a taste? No, he'd have to keep following this lead. Were they poisonous, perhaps? Some kind of plot...? No, there was too many. It was in too high volume. It was a truly absurd number of potatoes. He certainly couldn't give them to the poor of the city to eat; what would happen if they were cursed, or if they ran out of potatoes to give and the poor had become accustomed to such a dole?
He walked through the warehouse. Crates were stacked to the ceiling, but there were pathways between the pillars of vegetables. Walking towards the back, Folsomov behind him, he staggered upon something new. At the very back of the warehouse, there was an empty area, still imprinted with the outline of where crates must have been. Taking up almost a third of the warehouse, this area was entirely empty. On the ground were numbers, engraved into the floor. 1, 2, 3...and so on to 50.
Fifty sets of crates.
And then, at the end, along the wooden wall of the warehouse, a note, nailed to the wall. Gannibal almost didn't take it, almost sent out a whip of a razor-sharp bandage to destroy it, but curiosity overcame the impulse to turn away, and he plucked it from the wall to read it, against his better instincts.
Hungry for Answers? Maybe these spuds will sate your appetite!
-M
Gannibal felt the bandages on his hand beginning to undo themselves, but he gripped on and controlled himself, breathing in and out. No, he wouldn't let this get to him. He threw the note to the ground and ordered Folsomov come with him. He couldn't allow this monster to break his spirit. He thanked Durak for his investigate efforts and the two of them marched right out. They would close the warehouse down and confiscate the stash, and think no more of it.
It was insane. They had spent three days scouring every single part of the city, overturning the haunts of criminals, searching tunnels, checking bank vaults. They had a photo and a name, and yet no one in the city could possibly give them a place, a location, a lead. He had simply disappeared, and yet he knew that he had not left the city, because they were inspecting all shipments in and out and the Tilers were securing the countryside. Pariya had even been dispatched along with her apprentice and her new familiar (he had never been fond of the way the Solomon girl had been treated, so he was simply relieved when Pariya wrote to him a letter that she passed her exam but hadn't had the time to look more into the matter and congratulate her) to one of the spirit barges along the river in order to ensure that Maugus was not hiding there. He had dispatched Rina to a building block in the east, where she calmed a rogue building spirit that might have provided a fine hiding place for Maugus, and the tilers had the situation with the runaway train under control, even if a section of managed forest had been badly damaged. Maugus relied too much on crowds to leave; he'd be starved within a few days and found by peasants, whose poverty would weaken him even further. By all indications, he was still in the city. But where?
Gannibal had come to a warehouse along the river, one of the ones owned by Maugus' shipping company. Of course, he had not known it was Maugus' shipping company until this morning, when Folsomov had alerted him to a set of transactions that implicated a merchant guild with the spirit of commerce (the guild had no awareness of its association and Gannibal believed them). As for Durak, Gannibal had come to appreciate the young man quite a bit. He had a good eye for detail and had a surprising easy charm, and a good head on his shoulders besides. The other men had warmed to him too, and had taken to calling him "Folsa", affectionately. Once this investigation was over Gannibal would have to look into the man's past and perhaps recruit him into the lodge. As for the shipping company, it apparently specialized in long-distance voyages to a continent an ocean and a half away, which was odd enough, but even odder was the sight that greeted him and Folsomov when they finally opened one of the crates in the warehouse.
"Potatoes?" Folsomov asked as he held up one of the round vegetables from a crate full of them. "What could he possibly want with potatoes?"
A feeling of deep, incomprehensible dread began to curdle in Gannibal's gut as he opened another crate. Potatoes again. A third. More. Folsomov rushed by and opened another two, pushing them over; the crates spilled forth the fruit of the new world, more potatoes. Nothing was making sense. He had expected to find hoarded treasure, or perhaps gunpowder, but this...?
For the love of...why? The potatoes were just being stored here for no explicable reason. The merchants he had interrogated had never even mentioned the potatoes as something they were selling, and they didn't look like they were being prepared for selling. The place didn't look like it had been touched at all. For years. And yet the potatoes maintained their freshness, without spoiling at all. What was going on? He had no idea, and that was very bad. He was the one person in the empire who was meant to have an idea. He couldn't precisely go back to the empress and shrug his shoulders saying, forgive me, I didn't find Maugus, but I did find his stash of vegetables. Care for a taste? No, he'd have to keep following this lead. Were they poisonous, perhaps? Some kind of plot...? No, there was too many. It was in too high volume. It was a truly absurd number of potatoes. He certainly couldn't give them to the poor of the city to eat; what would happen if they were cursed, or if they ran out of potatoes to give and the poor had become accustomed to such a dole?
He walked through the warehouse. Crates were stacked to the ceiling, but there were pathways between the pillars of vegetables. Walking towards the back, Folsomov behind him, he staggered upon something new. At the very back of the warehouse, there was an empty area, still imprinted with the outline of where crates must have been. Taking up almost a third of the warehouse, this area was entirely empty. On the ground were numbers, engraved into the floor. 1, 2, 3...and so on to 50.
Fifty sets of crates.
And then, at the end, along the wooden wall of the warehouse, a note, nailed to the wall. Gannibal almost didn't take it, almost sent out a whip of a razor-sharp bandage to destroy it, but curiosity overcame the impulse to turn away, and he plucked it from the wall to read it, against his better instincts.
Hungry for Answers? Maybe these spuds will sate your appetite!
-M
Gannibal felt the bandages on his hand beginning to undo themselves, but he gripped on and controlled himself, breathing in and out. No, he wouldn't let this get to him. He threw the note to the ground and ordered Folsomov come with him. He couldn't allow this monster to break his spirit. He thanked Durak for his investigate efforts and the two of them marched right out. They would close the warehouse down and confiscate the stash, and think no more of it.
---
He couldn't stop thinking about it. It was late in the evening but he was still at his office. Rina had fallen asleep on the floor in his office and he had put a coat over her as a blanket. As for him? Even with the slim crescent of the moon peering down he couldn't sleep. There was too much on his mind. The only other treasurer still left in the lodge was Folsa examining the accounting documents of several industrial enterprises they suspected could be Maugus'. It was a nightmare. If the Black Baron ever found out...the bag of bones would never shut up about it. He'd tell stories about Gannibal losing to onions as a way to raise the morale of Tilers on campaign. Gannibal the Stupid. Gannibal the Fool.
Wine. Gannibal needed wine. He uncorked a Rummi vintage they had seized in the last war and sniffed it. Ah, the aroma. Ah, the slight fruity taste. The chalky texture lightly tickled his nose, sending a shiver down his spine. Nothing from the south could compare to the Rummi and their wines. Sometimes, as in winemaking, their blind fanaticism was worth something.
Before pouring, he whispered a word of apologies to the wine for its coming defilement. Then, after he had carefully swished it in the glass, he put a metal straw in and started to slurp slowly, making sure not to move his mouth too much. At that moment, drinking a beautiful vintage with a straw as he stared at the confusing mess of strings he had attached to the map of Tishrei in his desperate hunt for Maugus, he was almost driven to tears. Such indignity, in so many ways. He took a look in the mirror and smoothed out his ornate embroidered black and purple suit worn loosely over his tunic and pants. That made him feel better. At least he had a nice suit.
Finally, however, the moment passed, and he turned back to the map, the nagging feeling of incompleteness, of missing pieces, coming back into his mind. He had no idea how to proceed. If he had Folsa's mind... Folsa was a genius at finding these documents, again and again, but every time that they managed to get there they came up short. He had been crushed again and again, and all Gannibal could do was comfort the poor man, who had managed to crack the infernal Maugus' accounting tricks over and over. It was amazing what a treasurer who had never distinguished himself in Kolna despite its trouble with mountain spirits could do, without an indication...of...prior...expertise.
Oh no.
Something horrible came to Gannibal's mind and scattered it into a million pieces. He burst out of his office, breaking the door without even thinking. He cursed internally for forgetting that Rina was sleeping and waking her up, but he was thinking too fast to give as much attention to it as perhaps a father should have. Even his bandages, which had gone silent years ago, were hollering out from his subconscious, all pointing to a single conclusion.
Folsa jumped, seemingly startled by the door breaking down, as Gannibal slouched, body limp and hanging as blood rushed to his head and his heart pounded with a feeling of utter betrayal.
"Sir!" He said, standing up. "What's the matter?"
Gannibal's hands were trembling. He couldn't believe it. All this time. No. He couldn't believe it. It was too good of a performance, it was too impeccable, it was too good. It would have meant that...He had to confirm it. "You said you were from Kolna. Who was your master?"
"...Sir?"
"WHO WAS HE?" Please, Folsa. Please just answer the question. Just answer the question correctly.
"Master Vopal, s-sir. I-I'm not sure why-" Wrong answer. Wrong- wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
"Master Vopal." Gannibal repeated, slowly, before his chest heaved and he began to cackle. Rina was awake and stood at the doorframe of his office. "Rina, go back inside," he yelled, and so she shrugged, yawned, and went back.
"Vopal died twenty years ago, Folsomov. You liar. You cur." He hissed, dropping his suit to the floor. His arms disintegrated into individual strands, hands unwinding. "You are an imposter."
"Sir. I don't know what you're saying-"
"I know what I'm saying. You're not Durak Folsomov. Durak. How could I be so stupid. The fool. You really got me good, didn't you, you bastard." Gannibal said dangerously, arms uncoiling wider, strands unwinding on his head and shoulders. "All this time I kept searching for you, searching for the moneyman, but you were right in front of me. Feeding me false information. Sending me to the wrong locations. Throwing me off the trail. Making me doubt my own people. Playing on my trust."
"Sir, you can't be serious, you must relent in these-" Still he toyed with him, and Gannibal nearly impaled him right then and there in the dark, but still he held back, perhaps because he had acted too rashly when he was young and had overcompensated now, allowing himself more pain by not just acting.
"You don't have to pretend anymore, Maugus. Just come out and end this charade."
And then, Folsomov's mouth contorted into a smile far too wide for his face, his posture shifted, moving upright, and all the pleasantness faded from the tone of his voice. "Well, you finally found it out, old boy. I suppose it's true. I did find our game amusing."
"You find treason and mimicry amusing? You find lying to the empress, to the Grand Hatter, to an entire country amusing? Depriving us of our royal familiar, our savior, in a time when the Rummi become ever more aggressive, ever more bold, ever more ingenious in their designs-"
"Now now, don't rush to conclusions. It's terrible for your complexion," Fols- Maugus said with an unsettling bemusement. "I didn't do any of that. Now, I was going to sabotage this all and let the rotten edifice burn for spite's sake, but I suppose someone else beat me to the punch. So now I'm just along for the ride, same as you. So if you want, you and I, we can become friends again. I had so much fun as Folsa. You are far too compassionate to be the empress' hangman, and such devotion to that daughter," he said with a wink. "It reminds me of my own- only yours wasn't on a lease."
"Don't you dare," Gannibal said with terrible, quiet menace, "talk about my daughter."
"I believe that line was crossed fourty-eight years ago. But no, no. I have no intentions towards her, even if her butterflies are a terrible chore to avoid. Clever little butterflies. Truth is, I don't want anything more than to live in peace with my own daughter, sitting beneath an oak tree and reading her stories about commerce that I know she absolutely detests. The way she frowns and tells me bluntly that if she had her way the only exchange would be money for potatoes- it ignites my cold usurer's heart."
Gannibal could say nothing to that. He knew the feeling, but that did not mean he was ever going to admit any commonality with this thing. "So what do you want, then. Now that you've taunted me. You've revealed your hand and stand right in front of me. You might be a spirit, but you're also a concept- destroy the host and the concept is freed. I could end you right now," Gannibal said, taking a step forward.
Maugus sighed, shaking his head. "No, you couldn't. Sniff the air for me, wouldn't you?"
Gannibal sniffed suspiciously, and then choked back a scream of impotence. The perfume has faded. Was it ever really there, or was it simply an illusion to trick his burnt-out nose? And all that's left now, the only thing he smells, is onions.
"Tata, Gannibal. I'm sure we'll see each other again, but as for me, I'm afraid I have a daughter to find and a wife to save. Toodles." Gannibal rushed forward, impaling the figure, but it did nothing but let out the incandescent rage he felt. The thing that was Maugus disguised as the magician Folsa poofed, leaving a bird-shaped sculpture of an onion behind, and a single note. Gannibal fell to his knees, almost ready to weep, and read the note without hesitation, accepting that this was his punishment, a torture that he would have to bear. He did not have a choice. And upon it, written once more in a flowery and elegant text,
Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.
-Durak M. Folsomov
And so ended the tale of the Grand Treasurer of Tishrei, a tragedy in three parts. Not with a whimper, but a broken man's scream.
Wine. Gannibal needed wine. He uncorked a Rummi vintage they had seized in the last war and sniffed it. Ah, the aroma. Ah, the slight fruity taste. The chalky texture lightly tickled his nose, sending a shiver down his spine. Nothing from the south could compare to the Rummi and their wines. Sometimes, as in winemaking, their blind fanaticism was worth something.
Before pouring, he whispered a word of apologies to the wine for its coming defilement. Then, after he had carefully swished it in the glass, he put a metal straw in and started to slurp slowly, making sure not to move his mouth too much. At that moment, drinking a beautiful vintage with a straw as he stared at the confusing mess of strings he had attached to the map of Tishrei in his desperate hunt for Maugus, he was almost driven to tears. Such indignity, in so many ways. He took a look in the mirror and smoothed out his ornate embroidered black and purple suit worn loosely over his tunic and pants. That made him feel better. At least he had a nice suit.
Finally, however, the moment passed, and he turned back to the map, the nagging feeling of incompleteness, of missing pieces, coming back into his mind. He had no idea how to proceed. If he had Folsa's mind... Folsa was a genius at finding these documents, again and again, but every time that they managed to get there they came up short. He had been crushed again and again, and all Gannibal could do was comfort the poor man, who had managed to crack the infernal Maugus' accounting tricks over and over. It was amazing what a treasurer who had never distinguished himself in Kolna despite its trouble with mountain spirits could do, without an indication...of...prior...expertise.
Oh no.
Something horrible came to Gannibal's mind and scattered it into a million pieces. He burst out of his office, breaking the door without even thinking. He cursed internally for forgetting that Rina was sleeping and waking her up, but he was thinking too fast to give as much attention to it as perhaps a father should have. Even his bandages, which had gone silent years ago, were hollering out from his subconscious, all pointing to a single conclusion.
Folsa jumped, seemingly startled by the door breaking down, as Gannibal slouched, body limp and hanging as blood rushed to his head and his heart pounded with a feeling of utter betrayal.
"Sir!" He said, standing up. "What's the matter?"
Gannibal's hands were trembling. He couldn't believe it. All this time. No. He couldn't believe it. It was too good of a performance, it was too impeccable, it was too good. It would have meant that...He had to confirm it. "You said you were from Kolna. Who was your master?"
"...Sir?"
"WHO WAS HE?" Please, Folsa. Please just answer the question. Just answer the question correctly.
"Master Vopal, s-sir. I-I'm not sure why-" Wrong answer. Wrong- wrong wrong wrong wrong wrong.
"Master Vopal." Gannibal repeated, slowly, before his chest heaved and he began to cackle. Rina was awake and stood at the doorframe of his office. "Rina, go back inside," he yelled, and so she shrugged, yawned, and went back.
"Vopal died twenty years ago, Folsomov. You liar. You cur." He hissed, dropping his suit to the floor. His arms disintegrated into individual strands, hands unwinding. "You are an imposter."
"Sir. I don't know what you're saying-"
"I know what I'm saying. You're not Durak Folsomov. Durak. How could I be so stupid. The fool. You really got me good, didn't you, you bastard." Gannibal said dangerously, arms uncoiling wider, strands unwinding on his head and shoulders. "All this time I kept searching for you, searching for the moneyman, but you were right in front of me. Feeding me false information. Sending me to the wrong locations. Throwing me off the trail. Making me doubt my own people. Playing on my trust."
"Sir, you can't be serious, you must relent in these-" Still he toyed with him, and Gannibal nearly impaled him right then and there in the dark, but still he held back, perhaps because he had acted too rashly when he was young and had overcompensated now, allowing himself more pain by not just acting.
"You don't have to pretend anymore, Maugus. Just come out and end this charade."
And then, Folsomov's mouth contorted into a smile far too wide for his face, his posture shifted, moving upright, and all the pleasantness faded from the tone of his voice. "Well, you finally found it out, old boy. I suppose it's true. I did find our game amusing."
"You find treason and mimicry amusing? You find lying to the empress, to the Grand Hatter, to an entire country amusing? Depriving us of our royal familiar, our savior, in a time when the Rummi become ever more aggressive, ever more bold, ever more ingenious in their designs-"
"Now now, don't rush to conclusions. It's terrible for your complexion," Fols- Maugus said with an unsettling bemusement. "I didn't do any of that. Now, I was going to sabotage this all and let the rotten edifice burn for spite's sake, but I suppose someone else beat me to the punch. So now I'm just along for the ride, same as you. So if you want, you and I, we can become friends again. I had so much fun as Folsa. You are far too compassionate to be the empress' hangman, and such devotion to that daughter," he said with a wink. "It reminds me of my own- only yours wasn't on a lease."
"Don't you dare," Gannibal said with terrible, quiet menace, "talk about my daughter."
"I believe that line was crossed fourty-eight years ago. But no, no. I have no intentions towards her, even if her butterflies are a terrible chore to avoid. Clever little butterflies. Truth is, I don't want anything more than to live in peace with my own daughter, sitting beneath an oak tree and reading her stories about commerce that I know she absolutely detests. The way she frowns and tells me bluntly that if she had her way the only exchange would be money for potatoes- it ignites my cold usurer's heart."
Gannibal could say nothing to that. He knew the feeling, but that did not mean he was ever going to admit any commonality with this thing. "So what do you want, then. Now that you've taunted me. You've revealed your hand and stand right in front of me. You might be a spirit, but you're also a concept- destroy the host and the concept is freed. I could end you right now," Gannibal said, taking a step forward.
Maugus sighed, shaking his head. "No, you couldn't. Sniff the air for me, wouldn't you?"
Gannibal sniffed suspiciously, and then choked back a scream of impotence. The perfume has faded. Was it ever really there, or was it simply an illusion to trick his burnt-out nose? And all that's left now, the only thing he smells, is onions.
"Tata, Gannibal. I'm sure we'll see each other again, but as for me, I'm afraid I have a daughter to find and a wife to save. Toodles." Gannibal rushed forward, impaling the figure, but it did nothing but let out the incandescent rage he felt. The thing that was Maugus disguised as the magician Folsa poofed, leaving a bird-shaped sculpture of an onion behind, and a single note. Gannibal fell to his knees, almost ready to weep, and read the note without hesitation, accepting that this was his punishment, a torture that he would have to bear. He did not have a choice. And upon it, written once more in a flowery and elegant text,
Don't cry because it's over, smile because it happened.
-Durak M. Folsomov
And so ended the tale of the Grand Treasurer of Tishrei, a tragedy in three parts. Not with a whimper, but a broken man's scream.
---
That's ridiculous.
Gannibal sat on the sofa in their apartment, wincing at his daughter as she glowered at him. "How could you be so cruel?"
First of all, I was there for most of it, so you didn't need to narrate that like some kind of amazing story that you totally needed to tell. Second of all, your woe is me routine is absolutely obscene. You are the GRAND TREASURER, papa, and you need to pull your chin up. Third of all, as I was TRYING TO TELL YOU while you FELL IN LOVE with Maugus-
Gannibal interrupted his daughter's furious signing. That was a bridge too far. "Do not say such things."
She hesitates for a bit and then throws up her hands before continuing. Fine. While you were enamored with your fashionable new cadet, I was trying to tell you that it didn't matter if we had Maugus. Because we're looking for Starfall. Remember? You told me to go look for her? You had me commit all my butterflies, even though the annual masquerade was approaching and it was the only time of year that Natasya would be able to meet Andre and the two could fall in love. Remember that. You're responsible for stopping the dazzling encounter of two star-crossed lovers.
"I sincerely apologize," Gannibal said, not too sincerely, but already happier listening to his daughter's strange butterfly matchmaking.
You'll have to apologize to them. But- what I was saying was that we only need to find Starfall, and then he will come to us. I don't have anything definite yet, but- Horatio Hottenflutter- one of my butterflies- was by the river, helping find her daughter. And the river told him that she had seen something miraculous the night before. A girl, on a barge, talking to the stars.
"On a barge..." Gannibal muttered, trailing off, deep in thought.
The butterfly was even able to describe her to me from the River's own description. Let me find it, I drew something up.
She rushed into her room in their modest inner city apartment as Gannibal leaned back into the sofa, pride returning to his body. Not for himself; he had utterly failed, and would probably drink a lot more wine tonight. But this wretch of a man, bandaged and broken, allowed in his heart the faint stirrings of pride that at least his daughter was not as much a fool as him.
She came back and handed her notebook over to him, showing him the picture. He squinted and brought it closer to the candle by the sofa. The first thing he noted was that his daughter's drawing skills were as impressive as ever, and he would certainly show this off to the Grand Milliner. But then he focused in on the actual picture. In it was the face of a girl, probably in her late teens, with blue eyes, an elaborate headdress, and a frilly dress, embroidered with symbols of the moon and the stars, leaning over the edge of a barge by the river. Not a perfect description, by any means, but one that matched the ones that they had been able to gather from the fragments spirits had informed them of Frost's excited photo-sharing.
On what seemed to be a spirit barge, where he had sent Pariya and her apprentice, along with her mysterious new familiar. Curious.
Beneath his bandages, Gannibal formed a smile despite the pain. Perhaps it was finally time to visit the Solomons and give them his proper congratulations.
Gannibal sat on the sofa in their apartment, wincing at his daughter as she glowered at him. "How could you be so cruel?"
First of all, I was there for most of it, so you didn't need to narrate that like some kind of amazing story that you totally needed to tell. Second of all, your woe is me routine is absolutely obscene. You are the GRAND TREASURER, papa, and you need to pull your chin up. Third of all, as I was TRYING TO TELL YOU while you FELL IN LOVE with Maugus-
Gannibal interrupted his daughter's furious signing. That was a bridge too far. "Do not say such things."
She hesitates for a bit and then throws up her hands before continuing. Fine. While you were enamored with your fashionable new cadet, I was trying to tell you that it didn't matter if we had Maugus. Because we're looking for Starfall. Remember? You told me to go look for her? You had me commit all my butterflies, even though the annual masquerade was approaching and it was the only time of year that Natasya would be able to meet Andre and the two could fall in love. Remember that. You're responsible for stopping the dazzling encounter of two star-crossed lovers.
"I sincerely apologize," Gannibal said, not too sincerely, but already happier listening to his daughter's strange butterfly matchmaking.
You'll have to apologize to them. But- what I was saying was that we only need to find Starfall, and then he will come to us. I don't have anything definite yet, but- Horatio Hottenflutter- one of my butterflies- was by the river, helping find her daughter. And the river told him that she had seen something miraculous the night before. A girl, on a barge, talking to the stars.
"On a barge..." Gannibal muttered, trailing off, deep in thought.
The butterfly was even able to describe her to me from the River's own description. Let me find it, I drew something up.
She rushed into her room in their modest inner city apartment as Gannibal leaned back into the sofa, pride returning to his body. Not for himself; he had utterly failed, and would probably drink a lot more wine tonight. But this wretch of a man, bandaged and broken, allowed in his heart the faint stirrings of pride that at least his daughter was not as much a fool as him.
She came back and handed her notebook over to him, showing him the picture. He squinted and brought it closer to the candle by the sofa. The first thing he noted was that his daughter's drawing skills were as impressive as ever, and he would certainly show this off to the Grand Milliner. But then he focused in on the actual picture. In it was the face of a girl, probably in her late teens, with blue eyes, an elaborate headdress, and a frilly dress, embroidered with symbols of the moon and the stars, leaning over the edge of a barge by the river. Not a perfect description, by any means, but one that matched the ones that they had been able to gather from the fragments spirits had informed them of Frost's excited photo-sharing.
On what seemed to be a spirit barge, where he had sent Pariya and her apprentice, along with her mysterious new familiar. Curious.
Beneath his bandages, Gannibal formed a smile despite the pain. Perhaps it was finally time to visit the Solomons and give them his proper congratulations.
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Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
fuck that's too good I'm taking that
Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
Given the volume of potatoes that Starfall eats, Maugus needed somewhere to store them
(only part of the answer)
BungieONI
Seven gremlins in a trench coat
- Location
- Lickwidget
- Pronouns
- She/Her
He is a masterpiece.
Crawkid
Lover of quests and community
- Location
- holed up in my room
caught this
He is a beautiful man. His sense of revenge burns brightly for such a cold hearted man XD But I do have to love a good revenge scheme.
Raiseth
I Find Your Lack of Memes Disturbing
- Location
- Russia
You know, I have an inexplicable urge to shout Yong! Lie! Fang!
each time Maugus enters the scene. Or is mentioned. Or sometimes just at random.
Also, potatoes.
I wonder how much of it is the reason and how much of it is the cause.
Imagine suddenly discovering your adoptive daughter had to eat food.
( I mean, spirit daughter, obviously, you'd be s terrible spirit being if you didn't know your adopted human daughter has to eat. )
And then Maugus goes
Hey, I have a stash of eternally fresh potatoes somewhere in the capital!
each time Maugus enters the scene. Or is mentioned. Or sometimes just at random.
Also, potatoes.
I wonder how much of it is the reason and how much of it is the cause.
Imagine suddenly discovering your adoptive daughter had to eat food.
( I mean, spirit daughter, obviously, you'd be s terrible spirit being if you didn't know your adopted human daughter has to eat. )
And then Maugus goes
Hey, I have a stash of eternally fresh potatoes somewhere in the capital!
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- Location
- St. Petersburg
These sentences go so well together.
...this Empire is doomed.
Both Gannibal and Maugus talk about Kreska as if she is imprisoned and needs saving, but it says it right there that she avoided capture (either in the first place, or right afterwards, depending on how you interpret 'escaping the grasp') and is having fun burning things with abandon.
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Cetashwayo
Lord of Ten Thousand Years
- Location
- Across the Horizon
Maugus is appreciating the rare opportunity where his wife is not in earshot and he can say he'll "rescue" her, and Gannibal is under the impression that her freedom is a temporary setback. The Duchess is good at her job, even if Kreska managed to escape for now.
Given the volume of potatoes that Starfall eats theres going to be a shortage of potato on the market pretty damned quick...that there is a big profit in it for the wise man who anticipated an unforeseen demand in potato products.Given the volume of potatoes that Starfall eats, Maugus needed somewhere to store them