Tim laughed, in sudden relief. “So it’s true! I half expected you to run through the instant you realize you can’t fool the Cantoby.”
Brin grimaced. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to scare you, but I have an Achievent for it and I don’t know how to turn it off.”
He heard a slight chortle of good humor, and turned to see Tim’s wife. “An [Achievent]. That’s definitely it. I’ll leave you two alone.” She closed the door.
Brin hadn’t even noticed her following. Careless. He should’ve summoned new Invisible Eyes the mont he crossed the ward, but he hadn’t really wanted to invade Tim’s privacy too much.
Tim stepped over to a hard backed chair and sighed as he sat. “Now then. What am I going to do with you?"
Brin wasn't sure if that was a rhetorical question, so he didn't answer. He also wasn't sure if he should sit. How much deference did a Master of the Cult expect from his cultists? He hadn't rescinded his instruction to call him Tim, so he figured it wasn't all that much. Not knowing what else to do, Brin stood at parade rest, with his hands behind his back.
"Can you tell a bit more about how you were led to us?" asked Tim.
Brin nodded, having expected the question. "I was the sole survivor of an undead attack on a small town in the Boglands. The day after it happened, I was wandering around in a haze when I received so ssages from the System. Mostly, the ssages warned that what was happening to was real, and that I was still in danger because the undead were still around. I was twelve years old.
"I was eventually rescued by [Archmage] Lumina and [Mage] Hogg and so others who'd all co to investigate rumors of undead for their own reasons. After I was brought back to safety, I sought out a priest of the System, who inford that the ssages were from a godling nad Tenerer," said Brin. "A lot more happened, and I could talk all day and still only share a small part of it. He's tailored several of my System ssages over the years."
Tim t Brin’s eyes with a sparkle of good humor. “You’re being quite vague, which is understandable. We’re just getting to know each other, after all. But I’m Tenerer’s representative in this city, so at least for your relationship with him, there’s little you’ll be able to hide from .”
Was there more Brin could say about Travin’s Bog without leading to his Oath about System Quests? He honestly didn’t want to risk it. “I don’t mind talking about Tenerer. But talking about that might lead to talking about secrets that I really do need to keep.”
“I understand. In service to full transparency, you should know that I know that you’re an [Illusionist],” said Tim.
“Damn. Is there anyone who doesn’t know?” He’d ant to say it sort of flippantly, but it ca out more hurt than he ant. He didn’t regret sacrificing his secret for tlion and the war, but it still bothered him whenever it got shoved in his face again.
“Oh, quite a few people I’d imagine.”
“How did you find out?”
“We’ll get to that in a minute. First… well, like I said. I need to decide what to do with you.”
Tim sat thinking, with his fist against his chin. "Oh. By the way. The password is 'Tenerer'."
"What?"
"For when you're eting a mber of the cult you don't recognize and need to verify their identity. Tenerer, but spelled out in old Edelorian style without the vowels. The most important noun of your greeting should include a 'T', then the response should emphasize a 'N', and so on," said Tim. "You can see now why I was so confused."
Brin barked a laugh. "That's hilarious!"
"Quite," said Tim, and then went silent again, thinking.
After another long mont, he said, "I think I'd like so ti to consider how best to integrate you into the cult. There is normally a period of study, where you should have learned of the life and virtues of Tenerer. I can offer you so reading material to help you catch up. And there are many ceremonies that you bypassed by joining the way you have, and… yes. I'd still like you to go through the official process, even if you don't technically need to. As far as the utilization of the Cantoby, access to our Codex, and knowledge of other artifacts of Nhamanshal, I'd bid you wait until we know you better. You are already entitled to all of this, of course, but you need to understand our purposes before I’ll grant you our powers."
It was a disappointnt, but Brin didn't have a lot of room to argue. "I understand." He was starting to wonder if he’d really made the right move coming down here today.
"There's one thing I can show you today, though. It’s called the Shadow Pact,” said Tim.
“Oh, hell yes!” cheered Brin, coming out of parade rest to raise both fists in the air.
“Then you’ve heard of it?”
“No, not at all. But I’ve…” The whiplash between managing his disappointnt to the sudden excitent was leaving Brin a little breathless. “I’ve always wanted to be a part of a Shadow Pact.”
Tim laughed. “Oh, I’m just now realizing how this must sound. It’s nothing as grand as you must be thinking. See, the Cult of Og’Zash and the Cult of Azrael and we have an information alliance, of a sort.”
Brin didn’t know much about Azrael. One of Eridu’s godlings, he thought. Og’Zash, on the other hand, had a much more popular cult, where mbers could spill their own blood in exchange for real silver, though not at a rate that would tempt Brin.
Tim stepped over to a locked cupboard and withdrew a leather case. He placed it on a table, and opened it to reveal a series of index cards, just like you’d find in a library. The walls of the room were lined with bookcases, but Brin didn’t think there were enough here to justify this many index cards.
He forced himself to not let his spirits droop at the sight of Tim’s boring box of cards. With the na “Shadow Pact” it had to be cool, right? It had to be.
“So what am I looking at?” asked Brin.
“Go ahead. Skim through,” said Tim.
Brin started flipping through the cards. They each had a title, and then random holes all up and down, so kind of code, probably. Other than that, they were blank. Looking at the titles, he saw things like A Murder on Ash Street, An Actress Disappeared, and The Fate of the Red Knight. He thought they were the titles of mystery novels until, A Strange Occurrence in the Tower on Intake Day. What really hit it ho was one towards the end, indexed by his last na. Brin isu Yambul.
“These are all subjects of interest to the cult. If you believe you know sothing about one of these items, you can gain rit in the cult by providing information. Rank in the cult will entitle you to a certain amount of information on each of these subjects, and if you want to know more than you’re entitled to, you can also spend your rit,” said Tim. He pulled out the card with Brin’s na on it, and handed it to him. “Naturally, this one is a freebie.”
At Brin’s hesitation, he added. “Oh, the auto-scribe. Over there.”
There was a separate desk with a quill attached to a chain, and a box with a slot on top the exact right size for his index card. He dropped it inside, and it fell far enough to stop with the title still visible.
The quill imdiately started moving on its own accord, writing out Brin's life history on a sheet of paper.
No wonder Tim had been so nervous to see Brin appear at his door. Not only did he know who he was, he’d basically been spying on him.
"Now that you're a Fellow in the cult, or rather now that we know you're a Fellow, your information is entitled to our protection. We'll no longer share what we learn about you with the Shadow Pact. Not without your consent, at least, but..."
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"It would make more sense to share publicly available information or stuff that's about to co out anyway. That way they'd think you're still participating and I'll know when they get a hold of more of my secrets," said Brin.
"Ah. You've played this ga before."
The sheet filled out and the pen stopped. Brin replaced it with a fresh sheet, and it started writing again. The auto-scribe ended up filling three full sheets of details on Brin's life.
He was found under mysterious circumstances in Travin's Bog, how he grew up in Hammon's Bog with all the small-town drama that had involved. It detailed his hunt of the [Witches] and it knew everything about Siphani Peck and her ill-fated parents.
To his relief, the Shadow Pact called Hogg a [Rogue], and then a [Shadow Mage]. Nothing about him being an [Illusionist].
The first note about Brin being a possible [Illusionist] was where it talked about his attempted kidnapping, on the orders of Xander of Cobol. And there it was, confirmation. It was written like a first-hand account, possibly by one of the bandits.
The young man could not have been mist confused for soone else, as his scars had been described to us. He was bound sure and straight with ropes and by the provided paints against glass magic, which I have never seen fail. Those who witnessed his escape failed to return from the mission, but their shouting was heard and reported. They called warnings of an [Illusionist].
Then there was a note, written in a more chanical-looking hand. ref Painter of Cobol.
"Who's the Painter of Cobol?" asked Brin.
Tim lifted another index card with Painter of Cobol written on it. "We don't know much, I'm afraid. Many of Cobol's agents are trusted with a special paint, that when drawn on the skin of a [Mage], completely locks down their ability to cast magic of a specific elent. We don't know if it's generated by a Class or if Cobol just has a valuable [Alchemist] recipe."
"How much can we trust the accuracy?" asked Brin.
"Anyone who is found to knowingly deceive the Shadow Pact will be excommunicated from the cult. Permanently. The other cults enforce the sa discipline. The man who wrote that note, for example, really was an agent of Cobol and really believed what he wrote.
Brin would have to ask Hogg and Lumina about that "Painter". He turned his attention back to the pages on him. They knew about Aberfa, but not everything. It talked about Aberfa the noblewoman and [Enchantress], where she lived in Arcaena, and so of her known associates, and how she mysteriously disappeared with her husband and son shortly before Brin appeared in Travin's Bog. The interesting thing was that there was no ntion of her being a [Witch], and how many mundane details the report had about her life before she'd traveled to the Wastes. One of the cults had people in Arcaena.
It didn't know anything about Aberfa as a monster, and there was nothing about Brin's nightmares. The report had details on his achievents during the war, but most of that were just retellings of the story the Lance had agreed upon after the fact. It didn't tell about his illusion work with Zaff, only that they defeated the Wight and that Brin had returned injured and ntally strained. It confird that he was an [Illusionist] when he used the Great Conduit, but there was thankfully nothing about any of his Wyrd abilities. If the [Illusionists] had gleaned that through their connection to him back then, none of them had spilled.
It was troubling to see so much of his life laid out like that, but it was also a relief. Now he knew what they knew, and what they didn't.
Brin stepped back over to the box and tapped the card that read A Strange Occurrence in the Tower on Intake Day. "I want to see this one, too. Do I have enough rit for it?"
"More than enough. But let's not make you spend more than you need. What do you already know about it?"
"I'm pretty sure a lot of servants died," said Brin.
"That's not how it works. Give what relevant evidence you have, and then let the reader draw their own conclusions," said Tim.
Brin told about how they were letting personal servants in the Tower now, and how they were advertising work for dostic servants in the Tower. "My [Valet] told that it's a desirable position that they never need to advertise. Also, the Master was guiding us first-years through the Tower. He was interrupted, and promised he'd return but never did. And Lumina was involved. She was upset, but wouldn't tell anything. I think I'd like to hear what you know before I say more."
"Interesting. I hadn't considered the newspaper angle. We sort of knew about the servants' deaths, but only because we have soone watching funeral hos for trends. I'll give you full access to this topic, since you're in a strong position to find out more," said Tim.
"So do you now what happened?"
"I have one piece of evidence. The day after intake, the Tower received a large amount of Easterling corpses. From their wounds, they were almost certainly killed by magery."
Brin's eyes went wide. "Easterlings never leave corpses. If a whole raiding party is wiped out, they'll send another one to retrieve their dead. Again and again, as many tis as it takes."
"I'll have you fill out the Easterling topic as well, if you don't mind. Our information on them is sparse, to be sure. But you're correct. The only way that Easterlings would leave their dead would be if it were in so place they really couldn't get to. A place they could get to once, but then not return."
"I can confirm the Easterling attack. I heard it from the Master of Magic himself. He said he was personally offended." Brin skimd through the Shadow Pact again, quickly finding himself addicted. They had everything in here. No topic was off limits. There was a page on A Foreign rchant Cos to Steamshield that was about Sion, but Brin wanted to check with Sion first before saying anything. Hogg, Lumina, and the Master each had a file, and so did Duke Cobol. Brin was very tempted by that last, but he didn't want to pay his rit for sothing that he could probably get for free by being more persistent with Hogg.
Bia didn’t have a file. Tim offered to make one, but Brin wasn’t sure his personal curiosity had any practical purpose so he decided not to spend the rit.
He spent so rit for the full dossier on Hogg, however, and had the auto-scribe write it out. He was looking forward to a long evening going through it bit by bit, but from what he saw at first glance it had been heavily curated. It didn’t know anything about his full na or origins past that he ca from Hammon’s Bog. There wasn’t even a hint of suspicion about him being a forr [Illusionist]. Hogg was definitely in one of these cults and was using it to obscure himself.
An Excluded Zone in Cobol was interesting; that was the secret black site Hogg was interested in. Brin told Tim about the book in Vitor's bedroom, and about the na Motley Shroud, and Tim revealed he'd already known that.
Which ant that Hogg was totally in one of these cults. Wait, wasn't Og’Zash a subordinate of Nedramus? Hogg was totally a cultist of Og’Zash! Brin did not yet know how he was going to use this information to ss with the old guy, but he'd find a way.
The last topic that caught his eye was the Tower Ghost.
"I'd feel bad charging you for that information when we don't know anything you couldn't find out after a short elevator ride," said Tim.
"The Master of Magic doesn't believe in ghosts," said Brin.
"Are you referring to the Induction Day ceremony, or do you know sothing more?" asked Tim.
"Oh, no I just heard what they told everyone," said Brin.
"I would reward a good amount of rit if you asked him why he doesn't believe in ghosts in person. Because it doesn't make sense. Look here."
Tim led Brin to a corner of the room, where several frad paintings were stacked on their side, probably due to the lack of wall space. He picked one in the middle and held it up. It was slightly expressionistic so he was making assumptions, but from what he saw, a figure that was probably Tenerer was holding up a black cube, driving away a horde of floating, ethereal beings.
"In the first forty years of the reign of [Emperor] Iustus I, they were troubled with a plague of spirits, and it was honored Tenerer's research that finally drove them away. Also, necromantic ghosts are a well-established historical fact, and I might also cite the anecdotal. Have you ever t anyone that doesn't have a ghost story of so sort?"
"That's true," said Brin.
"But Chaos is not a stupid man. He may be the wisest and most knowledgeable man in the entire world on the subject of the arcane. He's seen all the evidence I have, and I'd bet much more besides. So why then, doesn't he believe in ghosts?"
Brin got a chance to ask that very night. After spending way too long delving the Pact of Shadows for its secrets, he arrived back in the Tower just in ti to wash up, change, and et Lumina and the Master for dinner.
She fretted a bit, before he arrived. She walked back and forth, picking things up and setting them down again, and overall getting in the servants' way as they set up the overly elaborate al for just three people, plus Marksi. The little dragon was making a ga of trying to get Lumina to trip over him, but she seed to have a sixth sense for him because she never once stepped on his tail even as she bumped the shoulders of the servants.
Hogg was otherwise occupied, and Brin didn't know with what. Perhaps giving his blood to Og'Zash? The thought made him grin every ti.
Lumina halted when she noticed the evil smile. "I hope you won't... that is to say, perhaps you should find a subject of mutual agreent tonight. You could ask the Master his opinion on your coursework, or better yet, ask him about his ti in Pollisia. He loves to recount his travels there."
"I'll be perfectly reasonable," said Brin.
"That's not quite what I'm asking for," said Lumina.
But before she could fret further, the Master arrived. Brin stayed neutral and deferential throughout all their greetings, not objecting to anything the Master said or arguing with any of his claims.
"Good to see you, my dear. You're as radiant as always! And young man. You are also present."
"Indeed I am, and I am most honored at your presence, Master [Archmage]."
"Well, perhaps you have learned a modicum of respect since last I saw you. Remind soti to tell you how things were back when the youth really knew how to treat their elders with respect. It's a lost art, I'm afraid."
"Right you are, and I should dearly love to hear it," agreed Brin.
They sat at the table and all complinted the first course, a selection of fried nuts and fruit. There wasn't any rot sll to it at all, but even the Master ate it. He seed to be a bit disappointed that Brin hadn't really engaged with him at all so far, while Lumina was starting to relax.
Sorry Lumina. Brin put down his fork. "I've got sothing to say." He jabbed the table with his finger, emphasizing his point with each word. "Ghosts. Are. Real."
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