Suspiro Keep: Banter
Suspiro Keep, in the forests of Empyrias, is a picturesque old ruin, crawling with ivy and roses and dappled with sunlight. Several small stone cottages have been built about a half mile away from it; Minimin can tell they're of newer construction, perhaps only a year old. Querida explains that these house new priests and acolytes of the Onieromancer, god of dreams. A narrow dirt path has been beaten from the makeshift village to the keep's ruined door.
Inside, the sun is warm on green grass, and bees buzz lazily from flower to flower. Several small tables have been set out, along with a number of chairs, all in a rough circle. A minute later Banter appears, distinctive with his striking brown skin and butter-blond hair, not to mention the beribboned clothes he wears, just like his -- twin? clone? -- the Onieromancer did, for so many years. He is carrying a large tray that contains three pitchers of lemonade and several short stacks of glasses that chink and jingle warningly against each other.
"Just a minute..." he sets down the tray with a sigh of relief. "Would you mind distributing lemonade for us?" he asks the nearest member of the Company. He vanishes back inside the ruined keep, only to return several minutes later with a heaping tray of cookies still warm from the oven. These, too, he distributes.
"There. Now we can talk." He waits until the party has seated itself with glasses of lemonade and stacks of cookies, then sits down, himself. Like the Midnight Circus, like Yvernu Gorge, like the Carnival of Shadows, there is something surreal about the setting; but for once it is a pleasant surrealism, as though all the world's cares have fallen away and this is just a carefree picnic with old friends.
"It's good to see you. Congratulations on your success so far; I've seen it in dreams." Banter smiles. "Malachi, are things progressing well?"
"We need one more sword." He looks at Banter's brown hands. "You've got it, don't you? The white one?"
"I do. The Onieromancer found it some time ago and gave it to me to keep until the other three were secured. It's under my bed -- we can fetch it later, when we go in for dinner. But now it's time to pause a moment and make sure we all understand where we are and what's going on and what must be done. I've been studying this very thoroughly since it was brought to my attention, and The Onieromancer has also been busily working on your behalf." Banter's lips twitch upward in a smile as he looks at Minimin. "Although I understand he's a little put out at your mage. He plans to be here for dinner tonight, so you'll have a chance to talk to him then."
Pip smiles. "Nice work Min.....you magic missile'd a god. You'll be dreaming about kobold cuisine from here until the end of time."
"First, I think we all agree that the next step is to have Malachi crowned. Magicbane will do that; I think he'll be happy to give the throne to somebody else, frankly. He's been kept out of the grave for a very, very long time. The Onieromancer will tell him you're here, so he'll have already started preparations by the time we get to Candor. With luck, Malachi, we'll have you on the throne within a week or two. That will make a great deal of difference in your ability to gather followers.
"Second, I'm sure you're all aware that as soon as Malachi is crowned, the Avatarchs will begin to prepare for war. How many armies have you secured? We'll need to gather as many forces as we can in the months to come, and as much intelligence as we can, as well. The Onieromancer has appointed himself intelligence central because it's easy for him to communicate to people who are widely separated. You'll be updated by dream."
He sips his lemonade.
"Now it's time for your questions, if you have any. I don't understand everything that's been going on, but between The Onieromancer and I, and a few others we've been in touch with, I think we're getting a pretty clear idea of what's going on."
"So what exactly is going on?" Pip asks Banter. "Now that the swords have been recovered, what must their wielders do with them?"
"Raise armies and recon the enemy. You may need to split up to do that. Many races participated in the creation of the swords, and now it's time to take them back to those peoples to remind them of their ancient promises and ask them for their assistance in defeating the Metal Gods. We also need to go to peoples Darion Sun-Blazoned never met ... the hadjjin, the kobkode, and any others."
"I talked to Pappa Lucco, and he says the kobkode will be with us," Malachi interjects. Banter nods approvingly.
"Good. You might even call on the satamharanthu for help -- they, too, have a vested interest in fighting back the Avatarchs. Although they have little love for the company that broke their power....
"In turn, the Avatarchs will be gathering their armies. Visionaries and prophets speak of a great battle to come, a clash of the world's armies and gods. They also sense that there are rules to this battle, some sort of code the Avatarchs place upon themselves to make their battles more interesting ... Because not only are they battling us, they're battling each other, too. "We will need individuals among you to try to infiltrate their armies, learn of their plans, see if we can determine the code they fight by."
Pip looks over at Minimum, his eyes locking onto the much-disputed periapt. "I guess we know who gets to volunteer to pay a visit to Mock." He loses himself in thought for a moment, "Which I suppose means that it is time for me to go check out the Iron Fortress."
He looks at his friends and then back at Banter. "So is this how it ends? We split up to go find out about the enemy and meet again at the end of the world? Or if not now, when?"
Banter smiles reassuringly and hands Pip another cookie. "After the coronation, I presume. Young Malachi will be dominarch then, and he'll give you your marching orders. But with the number of mages you have as friends, I doubt any of you will ever be more than a few Teleports apart at any given time. If the group of you wanted to get together for tea, I'm sure it could be arranged no matter where in the world you were. "Come now, Philip Ilzimmer: despair will do nothing to further your cause. Optimism may not, either, but it's more enjoyable. "I think I'll have you dish out the ice cream after dinner tonight. It's probably impossible to despair when confronted by a bowl of fresh ice cream topped with the keep's berries, still warm from the sun."
Pip says, "The Laughing Man belittled our ignorance. And who could blame him? We've been asked to do the impossible with nothing more to go on than a disjointed vision and our instincts. And anybody who knows us well will tell you what the latter is worth. We appreciate your being straightforward with us. What more can you tell us of the blades? How are four swords going to stop the Avatarchs?"
"I don't think the four swords _will_ stop the Avatarchs. But they will be the credentials you'll need to raise the armies that will. Many who might otherwise be skeptical of the 'return of the Destined King' will be swayed when they see a messenger come to them bearing one of the legendary swords of old. For many, the old days of Darion Sun-Blazoned are nothing more than myth, a timelost tale of better times. But when they see that the swords are real, I think they'll begin to believe again -- at least enough to come to Mynedd Palace themselves." Banter smiles again, looking pleased. "And there, they'll see that the legend has returned, and myth has become reality. "And don't forget, The Onieromancer will be seeding the way with plenty of meaningful dreams that will take new relevance once a Swordbearer appears!"
He leans back, looking benignly at the assembled Company.
"Don't doubt that we _are_ in a time of legends. You yourselves have already become legends, calling back the gods and retrieving the Four Swords. Once you set the Destined King on the throne, you will have assured yourself a place in history...." he glances with amusement at Pip, "no matter how short that history may be.
"The question is whether or not this legend will be one of triumph or tragedy, and no swords are going to tip that balance. Only people. Even the gods...." he shakes his head. "One is dead, the others under siege, old Powers like the Laughing Man are returning, new Powers like The Onieromancer and Ecclesiarch Darkangel are becoming. Heaven and earth are the prizes in this conflict, and, if you'll pardon me a moment of poetry -- I'm not a very good poet, but sometimes I can't help musing in the evenings by the fire -- it's the soul that will be the real battlefield." He breaks the solemnity by grinning, teeth white in his dark-skinned face.
"Oh, I hope none of you mind a vegetarian dinner tonight. We keep a pact of nonviolence in the Keep, and as a result neither The Oneiromancer or I have developed a taste for flesh." He nods toward a group of rabbits that are nibbling on the grass by the wall. "I doubt any of you are inclined to hunt, but if you are, keep it outside the grounds, if you would. I'd hate to see an old friend served up for dinner."
Pip looks at the rabbits and briefly thinks of the underdark. "I don't eat
rabbit anymore." He'll eat the cookie (and resist the tempation to Object Read it). He closes his eyes and attempts to savor its taste, remembering what a simple pleasure feels like.
"Perhaps I am too close to this to see it for what it is. I don't *feel* like a legend. I feel like a man. I have done what needed to be done, and what has been asked of me. And I will continue to do what needs to be done and what is asked of me. And despite how it sounds, I maintain hope. Without it I'm not sure I could go on."
Valere enjoys a refreshing drink of excellent lemonade. "This lemonade is fantastic." he says, putting the empty glass down, then picking up the conversation. "In our vision and research we have come to learn about a "Power" that I think resides on this plane. This "Power" has manifested before, and dismissed the Avatarchs in ancient history. I had come to believe that the four swords are somehow the key to awaking that power, and the sign for that Power to manifest into solid, perhaps human form to once more banish the Avatarchs from this place - or perhaps even to destroy them. Does this sound right to you? Or is the manifestation of "The Power" that we have run across a reference to the return of Legends, since legends have an innate power of their own." Valere can't resist helping himself to another cookie.
"Well," Banter says thoughtfully, "I don't know if we're talking about the same thing, but I've heard about sightings of a half-masked figure calling itself 'The Herald' and spreading prophecy rather like The Onieromancer has been doing. And of course anyone running around in a domino mask outside of a masked ball is inviting comparison to Dake Half-Masked. But Dake was never compared to a god, certainly not during his own lifetime. Most historians assume he was some sort of powerful bard or mage ... at most a spirit of some kind; a mendicant of Bel, perhaps. If he had godlike power, presumably he'd have used it at some point during his life, and nothing he did was ever beyond mortal capacities.
"Whatever else The Herald is, he's no ordinary mortal. The Onieromancer has tried to track down his dreams in order to talk to him, but with no luck ... and that indicates that whoever he is, he's another Power of some sort. But whether old or new...." Banter shrugs. "My guess is that he'll eventually be in touch with you. If he's Dake Half-Masked, then he'll probably want to see the new Swordbearers. If he's just some sort of herald for the Destined King, he'll drop by court, maybe even for the coronation."
"But hope is hard to come by these days Banter. Beyond all hope we have recovered the four swords, beaten back the Sacrament Sanguis, dealt the Punishments a serious blow and uncovered the Destined King. All our efforts have led us to what comes next, and what exactly is that? Besides tonight's dessert, what do we have to look forward to?" Pip asks.
"I assume you're not asking about the entire menu." Banter smiles. "Tomorrow morning we're off to Mynedd Palace to arrange a coronation. I expect that'll take a few weeks -- after all, it's a rather big event, the crowning of the Destined King. So you'll get to look forward to a lot of fussing around and being measured for appropriate clothes, with strategy sessions jammed in-between, most likely -- and then a long ceremony and a lavish feast afterwards. After that, well, why think that far ahead?" Banter looks at Malachi. "Besides, most of the decisions after that will be yours, Malachi Raventree. Consult with your advisers Gaetano and Olivar, and any others you choose to place on your council. Regent Magicbane Minor will give you as much advice as he can, as will we all, but ultimately the decisions are up to you."
Malachi nods.
"I know. The dracsadha told me. Mom and the rest of her company are gonna be on my council, and I got some others in mind, too. How about you?"
"I'd like that. But I spend most of my time here in Suspiro Keep, keeping an eye on things, so I'll have to send you messages unless you call me in. Don't do that too often, please; if I'm gone too long, the locals start getting ideas about poaching on keep lands!"
SUSPIRO KEEP: DINNER WITH THE ONIEROMANCER
When the sun is low over the crumbling walls of Suspiro Keep, Banter moves the Company inside. The keep's interior is well-worn and country-simple, its stone floors and wooden steps polished and smooth with centuries of use. Here and there the company sees small birds and animals nesting or playing, although the creatures scuttle away at the sound of intruders and watch curiously from the shadows and nooks.
Something strange happens as the group follows Banter to the kitchen: the shadows seem to lengthen and blur with an eerie familiarity; angles are just a little off; and the lighting and colors are not quite right. By the time Banter opens the door into the huge, firelit kitchen, each member of the Company realizes what has happened. They have entered Dreamtime again, passing into a dream version of Suspiro Keep much as, once, they had passed into a dream version of Candor.
But the Dreaming of Suspiro Keep is a warmer, friendlier place, like a dream of a favorite grandparent's house, of the warm, comfortable, safe places of childhood. Perspective may be quirky and things may rearrange themselves in the split-second an eye is averted, but nothing is threatening, nothing is disturbing.
And Banter's other self is already there, tossing a salad.
People say The Oneiromancer and Banter are clones, but if that's true, they are clones who have long led separate lives. On the surface they are remarkably alike, physically and in their choice of dress, expression, and in their demeanour. But The Onieromancer has an otherworldly aura that Banter does not; there's something in his eyes and face that makes him seem more like Banter's wiser older brother, a little more experienced, a little more regal. The Dreamtime reveals a person's true nature, and in Dreamtime he sometimes glitters a second with golden scales, or has a dragon's eyes, or a cat's tortoiseshell tail, or twitching ears, while Banter seems utterly human.
"Welcome," says The Onieromancer, setting the salad aside. His eyes see more than most of the Company feels comfortable with -- for this is the new god who knows what each member dreams.
Each member of the Company looks at the other. In the Dreaming, it is clear that Malachi has grown into his archetypical role as the Destined King, looking more noble and self-controlled. Olivar seems wiser and swifter, a fit Faithful Companion to the king. But Gaetano is shadowed; there's something shifty in his gaze, a low smouldering of resentment behind his smile, that makes his mother uncomfortable. What had the Jack of Tears call him? The Disloyal Retainer?
Each member of the Company looks much more like a hero than ever before; careworn and battle-experienced, certainly, but larger than life, too. Valere and Elianora are golden, heroic, marked by Bel, each revealing signs of being divine agents of a god. Caprice's dark skin glows with an inner light, and there's a disconcerting shadow behind her that sometimes resembles Persifal's wings. Minimin's intelligence shines through, and there is no longer the trace of a sullen adolescent around him -- only a grown and experienced mage. Halkem's eyes are clearer and his face set with purpose, though there's a glimmer of red highlights around him when he moves, as though to foreshadow the eventual spilling of his blood on his martyr-god's course. Phillip's eyes are more piercing than they ever were in realtime, and there's a light on his brow, but the light only serves to make the shadows around him deeper, for there seems to be something dark lurking around him.
"Banter, where's the fourth sword?"
"Under my bed." Banter laughs and leaves the kitchen as The Onieromancer glances at him reprovingly. When Banter leaves, The Onieromancer looks at the group again.
"Remove your weapons and set down your cares for a time; nothing can harm you here while you're under my protection.
"It is good to be able to talk to you directly. The Dreaming had enough influence in the Midnight Carnival for me to manifest and try to guide you -- though I did not do as much as I'd intended --" his glance at Minimin is also reproving -- "and The Laughing Man was kind enough to permit me to manifest in his realm, as it suited his pleasure as Lord of the Crossroads. But my ability to touch your dreams has been limited by your own defenses and the protection your gods have extended over you.
"Would you mind setting the table while we talk?" He gestures to a cabinet filled with dishes, glasses, and silverware.
Minimin's manner slowly relaxes as he goes about the mundane task
of setting the table. He glances at the others dream forms and
grins to himself slightly, sobering as he looks again at the
Onieromancer.
At that moment Banter returns and displays the blade, dark-skinned hands turning the hilt of the silver-white sword.
"Allow me to present to you the sword Palladios, young king-to-be," he says, offering the sword to Malachi. Malachi takes it, looking for a moment like a king, indeed. Even a crown seems to glimmer over his head a moment.
"Thank you, Banter." He carefully sets it on the kitchen mantelpiece -- low enough for him to reach one moment, high over the huge fireplace the next.
The table is set, candles lit, and everyone sits. The meal is excellent, if mutable, but it is always vegetarian, no matter what else it may be. Everything tastes fresh and in the prime of its ripeness.
"To avoid any difficulty contacting you in the future, I would like to ask you each to let me touch you and leave a sigil upon you, so that I can reach your dreams no matter what spells against detection you may be hiding under. It means trusting me," The Onieromancer concedes, "and I won't insist, but I think you will find that it will be much easier for us all, in the future, if I can pass you messages in your dreams."
"Your messages could hardly be any worse than my dreams." Pip offers by way of consent.
Min definitely allows himself to be touched. As the Onieromancer
comes close he speaks softly. "I'd like to apologize for my assault
at the Circus. I don't know what came over me, sir... uh, Milord,
um..." Obviously flustered, he finally blurts out, "How does one
apologize to a god?"
"As one would to anybody else," The Onieromancer says, a touch of
Banter's amusement in his expression. "Apology accepted."
"Now, the next step is to get Malachi crowned. I think things will begin to move swiftly after that. Not swiftly as in days," he cautions Pip, who is starting to look worried again, "but swiftly as in we may see war in the Cognoterre within half a year or so. War among the gods will come much more quickly, but there is little any of you can do about that except encourage worshippers to pray, for it's prayer from the faithful that strengthens the gods. So you must concentrate on terrestrial concerns. Other heroes will be doing the same -- have no fear, you aren't alone. You have one of the most important roles, as the messengers and bodyguards of the Destined King, but many others will arise to take charge of armies, temples, nations ... don't hesitate to bring them in to your cause."
Min eases a bit more as he begins to believe that the SRC isn't in
this all alone.
"At the same time," The Onieromancer continues, "villains will arise who have hitherto remained hidden. You have relatively little to fear from followers of evil gods. Although it may seem perverse to work with them, all of the gods of Samru must unite against the Avatarchs of Attrahent or risk destruction. No, whom you must fear are those the Avatarchs set into place - especially their Champions -- and those base or wicked archetypes who strive to achieve godhood.
"Not all archetypes are evil, although they are usually self-centered. They must be, in order to achieve their goals..."
"Even us?" Olivar interrupts.
"Even you. Your time spent on your own, studying, was necessary -- had it not been arranged by fate, it would have been by your own choosing. And once you take up your roles in Candor, you must work at them at the expense of all others, to succeed." The Onieromancer looks at Elianora, then back to them. "Including your roles as children and as sons. Being king and counselor and standard-bearer comes first, if you want to secure your archetypical status."
Questions arise, and The Onieromancer listens while he eats, then nods and sips some water before beginning.
"An archetype who is acknowledged in his or her role gains powers and is often considered much akin to a lesser god. From there, the archetype who gathers worshippers is on the way to full godhood. I know this is a heresy," he says to the paladins and priests, "but it's true. It is not the only way to godhood, but it is one way. The reason it isn't often successful is that, first, many who know this secret strive against each other, and as soon as one seems to be gaining power, the others try to thwart him or her -- even to the point of assassination. Second, those who know the secret are jealous of it, and have a secret society of powerful mage-assassins, the Hush, who kill any outsider who learns of the secret and is incapable of protecting him- or herself. If the outsider avoids or kills the assassin, then he or she attains the status of an insider, of course. And third, the churches have worked together quite well to stamp out the heresy. There are good reasons for this as well as selfish reasons, so I neither condemn nor praise -- it is simply a fact."
Min listens intently to this information. He takes particular
interest in the Hush.
"The archetypes that are currently active, from what I have been able to glean, are The Ageless Chronicler, who has powers of rewriting the past and erasing memories; The Wise Crone, who can see the future and use divining signs; The Ruthless Demogogue, who can sway minds and crush wills; The Unrelenting Hunter, who can track souls and travel with unerring speed; The Faithless Seducer, who can force charm and obscure qualms; The Drunken Master, who falls into painless fury and bleeds alcohol; The Smiling Turncoat, who can discover weaknesses and mask influence; The Amoral Merchant, who can elicit values and seal deals; The Soulless Researcher, who can protect laboratories and render speechless; The Sacrificial Victim, who can transfer death and hold life in the balance; The True King, whom we have here, who can unite armies and assume the mantle of power, and The Faithful Companion, who is also here, and who shares a bond in peril with the hero and is faithful beyond death." The Onieromancer hesitates, and stops there.
"To gain power, one who wishes to become an archetype accumulates the training and trappings of the archetype, and behaves as fits the archetype. When people begin to acknowledge the hopeful in the role of an archetype ... for example, begin to complain about The Amoral Merchant or seek the assistance of The Wise Crone ... then the hopeful's power grows. Eventually the hopeful begins to manifest the powers of the archetype and is well on his or her way. If another holds the title of the archetype, a confrontation may occur, and the winner will be even more powerful, because he or she will typically gain most of the previous archetype's followers. Too, eventually such power will attract mendicants, who seek to serve the powerful and thus increase their own power.
"Some archetypes stop there. Others go on to become gods. Halkem, your own god Carrick was one such -- The Wounded Healer, who takes others' wounds and transfers harm. He never strove to become an archetype, but so many turned to him for healing that he began to manifest the powers, and eventually people actually began to pray to him for help, even while he was alive. So he moved from archetype to godhood without actually seeking the role, as befits the archetype in question." The Onieromancer smiles. "Some archetypes can't be actively pursued.
"Now, I've named the active archetypes. There are other archetypes, but they have not been attained yet. For example, The Divine Fool, whose powers are to enjoy luck and elude death. Your own Gules Dragon had begun to walk that path, as he admitted to you, but he abandoned it when he took responsibility for this conflict. Others may be striving for it, but they haven't gotten as far as Dragon had, and I haven't encountered any other serious contender's dreams yet."
The inevitable questions are asked. He shakes his head.
"I won't reveal another's dreams to you, or use their dreams to betray them. I sometimes provide hints and premonitions in dreams, but I take advice before doing so, because I am no spy or tyrant. Yes, Llewellyn Finster is still alive, and yes, the stolen twins are still alive. But ask me no more; I offer my assistance freely, but not carelessly." For a moment the draconic version of The Onieromancer is in ascendance, and then it dissipates again.
"There are other paths to godhood, as I said. Raw worship is one such, and that is the path Ecclesiarch Darkangel has taken ... and, if you insist, that I have taken. It is similar to the archetypical path ... maybe it is the same, I don't know. Neither Darkangel nor I sought to become gods, but we did seek power, each for our own reasons, and we each came to be identified with a certain set of qualities." He pauses. "So perhaps we are, in a way, archetypes, ourselves. He is the archetype of the hierodule and coryphei, the protector of outcasts. He set himself up as such and has become a living symbol of that concept, to the point that people beseech his help by praying to him. I was a dreammaster long, long before I made the final change into a dragonlord, and so it seems I have become associated with dreams, as well. Certainly I am petitioned in that role." He looks thoughtful a moment, the catlike aspect manifesting, then fading.
"But archetype or god, the Avatarchs are still more powerful. They are part of the darkflux from which all things spring. So though even the gods fight against them, there is no guarantee of success. Our only chance springs from the Avatarchs' own self-imposed weakness, the 'game' they set themselves to ensure relief from eternal boredom. So like it or not, we must play this game, trying to learn the rules as we go."
Min pales slightly at the idea of the gods being out of thier depth.
"How can we tell allies of the Avatarchs apart from 'acceptable' evils such as your friend the Jack of Tears?" Pip asks.
"Not so much friend as elder. Dreams are a sort of crossroads, and thus fall under his purview. But as for your question ... That is why you are here. To make those choices; to decide what is the acceptable evil."
"Of these some sound like they could be useful to us while others seem quite unpleasant indeed. Why should we tolerate any of these 'questionable' archetypes? Some of them we probably already know. Shouldn't we stop them?" the company asks.
"If you wish."
"Must the archetypes be fulfilled?"
"No. An archetype is merely a possibility, and it need never be realized."
"Obviously we do not yet know what rules they have set for themselves in this battle. Is it known how they have played the game in the past?"
"The Avatarchs have never before come to Samru. Perhaps there are other crystal spheres that have felt their touch, but," The Onieromancer shakes his head. "I know nothing of them. That is, perhaps, where contacting the satamharanthu might be useful. They have had more experience with other spheres than anyone else on Samru."
