Soul Bound

1          Soul Bound

1.2        Taking Control

1.2.4      An Artful Carnivale

1.2.4.29   The blooding

They carried on chatting with Ulpian. Bulgaria wanted to learn everything that Ulpian knew of the past. Ulpian offered Bulgaria an apprenticeship as a priest of Rac but, though tempted, Bulgaria said he couldn’t dedicate the time that such a role deserved. He didn't sound rushed, though. There was something about Ulpian's presence, and the gravitas he'd gained during the daunting number of decades that he'd dutifully waited, that made it hard for Kafana to worry about mere minutes being taken up by manner's measured courtesies. Alderney, however, seemed immune to the effect.

She wasn't standing with them to record the encounter as a participant, but constantly circled them like hunter seeking the right angle and moment to attack. Her chosen prey wasn't some speedy little bunny which even a child could capture, but faces as they express emotional reactions.

Fleeting glimpses into the soul can vanish faster than any disappearing rabbit yet they're still hunted with a desperation to match that of any kid with an empty belly, by those with the art to freeze a moment in time, because they usually get to be so creative when doing it that, to those hunting the Artist's Prey, it feels like getting a limited availability tickets to a lottery as a free gift - a lottery whose jackpot is rarely paid out but which lasts longer than any golden coin or diamond ring - finding an image that's a perfect fit for the times and turns into something iconic - something eternally etched into the collective memory as part of the shared visual language that shapes how people see world and express their thoughts about it. No wonder Alderney seemed immune - she was hunting; so totally focused that she never once looked towards the altar, despite the curiosity she must have about the secret passage that Ulpian had mentioned was hiding behind it.

Wellington asked the next question, possibly because trying to learn Bibliomancy had made him more aware of books or, more likely, because he'd delegated keeping track of such things to his personal expert system, Robin, and had just received a reminder: "Lord Guardian Ulpian, is there any more to the tale of the missing cart and it's cargo of scrolls, that you might rightfully instruct us upon?"

Oh, definitely a reminder from Robin. By habit, Wellington defaulted to trying to optimise everything he did, which was usually a good thing, or at least harmless. But when it came to social interactions, his initial reflex was usually to interpret "efficient" as meaning "using the fewest words needed to convey his meaning", and he had a tendency to revert to that mode when distracted or when talking to people he viewed as 'safe' unless prompted or forced by failure to consciously consider how his brevity might affect others.

Ulpian replied softly and with slow formality but, even though he was one of the undead, his voice carried more warmth and human emotion than Wellington's had: "Wellington Fiducia, boon companion of my Usignolino and Questing Spirit who bears the pendant of Divine Cov's as token of his vouchsafing your intentions, I greet thee and name you a benefactor of Rac's Library and its guardian, in perpetuity, with all rights and honours thereby entailed. As is your right, you have asked learning of me, and now do I give of it, as is my duty. And pleasure, though it would please me more had I more that two scraps of knowledge to give. Firstly, the name of the Journeyman in charge of the cart was... Rikel. Yes, Rikel, son of Jonas the farrier."

Ulpian made a little ice statue of a young man leading a pair of towering shire horses with matched glossy smoky-black coats over to a covered wain, tiny icy tears in his eyes, then waited for Wellington to nod or ask for clarification before continuing. Apparently the new skills Rac had rewarded Ulpian with, along with his new class and levels, came with an instinctive mastery that removed any need to practice. Kafana felt a little envious and wondered if Rac could do the same for her, but decided not to. She'd already received more that she deserved, and the attention had been a mixed blessing.

Ulpian: "Secondly, these words area the last order that I gave him... Shelter them, Rikel. Shelter them better than I have, where others will learn. No, not now, but in the future. The right learning to the right people at the right time. No, only Rac knows, you just do your best. No, don't tell me where or how. When I may be about to face torture is certainly not the right time for me to learn that. I don't care if that's a contradiction you fool, get going. Go on, I'll close it behind you. May Rac bless you and keep you hidden. Go! Go now, and never try to return. Bloody pen-pusher. Hope he can push carts too."

Ulpian sighed, freezing the air around him and leaving them shivering, before fading from sight and leaving his parting words hanging in the air: "I have often wished they had been better words."

[Quest available: “Solve the mystery” - bring word to Ulpian of the fate that befell the missing scrolls. Difficulty D.]

Wellington nodded to where the Spectral Lord had been, then stepped away and spoke in his normal voice: "I've designed a runic template for the spell used to find Antonio's body. If any of the scrolls Rikel left behind managed to survive the fire, we could use one to find the location of any others still surviving. If we split up, we can search the whole place in less than a bell. Based on height and agility, I suggest... " and he proceeded to rapidly assign them a sections.

Kafana managed not to giggle until she was a good distance down an aisle and well out of Wellington's hearing. The rebuilt shelving was absolutely empty, and clearly didn't contain so much as a charred fragment, let alone an intact scroll. Her train of thought juddered to a halt when she felt a piercing sensation in her neck. Had a sadistic brute of a nurse decided to give her an injection with a rusty cake syringe? Some had gone in, and it was stinging like crazy. Was it acid? Some mutant wasp? She used the healing vision aspect of Truesight upon herself, closing her eyes and trying to concentrate on identifying what the liquid was.

System: [You have taken 10 damage.]

System: [The paralysis poison has had no effect upon you.]

She heard a hissing sound behind her, and quickly opened them again while spinning to face the threat. No, not a wasp.

From the back of the building some of people were approaching the obsidian disk centered directly beneath the Library's new cupola. There weren't many of them and, though their walk was quiet and involved taking a swift side-step at irregular intervals, it was confident and unhurried. Yet, despite that, she struggled to count them; partially because every piece of their clothing was black, but mainly because they were grouped around something intolerably bright that turned them into a mix of silhouettes and looming shadows. She put her hand to her neck and felt her way up a wet sticky trail to located a small dart that was still stuck into her. She kept calm and, rather than removing it or singing a spell of healing, she brought up the map overlap and looked for the other Wombles.

Not good.

The three in her direct line of sight were all on the floor and had a paralysis icon for in the orglife status bars over their heads. It was up to her. The group were standing in the centre of the disk now, and after directing an intention towards her Truesight skill, she could make out the details. One, the bulkiest, was carrying a fulminating iron brazier on a chain that contained burning phosphor and gave off a sickly white light. The other four each had a bandoliers containing throwing darts, rope, knives, a neatly folded canvas sack and two sets of dark metal manacles wreathed in runes that pulsed red like living chains upon a giant's heart. Could she keep the attackers stunned while also removing the paralysis from the other Wombles? She wished she wasn't alone - it would be so much easier with one to heal and someone else to distract.

Hang on. She wasn't alone, was she? She grinned nastily.

Kafana: "Boys, today is not your lucky day."

They stumbled a little in surprise, presumably at her confidence, and turned towards her. Two more darts hit her, but she ignored them.

Kafana: "Ulpian, I summon thee."

The lead assassin scoffed: “You mean the petulant spectre? It can’t save you from the penalty for following one of our own. Indeed, …”

She didn’t hear what he was about to say because, while he was talking she’d been stealth casting cure poison on the party, filtering the aconite out of their blood and back out the wounds on their necks. Tomsk was the first to recover and all he did was produce a book from his stash and start reading it. He didn't attack, or even remove his sword from its scabbard.

He didn’t need to. Ulpian had built up years of frustration, and over the next five minutes he vented it with vigour.

Alderney cheered as one assassin slid along an icy ramp, knocking over two others frozen in a standing position. Ulpian drained the weakest of them down to 0 constitution, then took puppet control of the dead corpse. He paid particular attention to the one holding the brazier, hitting the man over the head with it, setting him on fire.

Wellington fished out some cards he’d drawn up back when the party had been fighting trolls with Fra Gamal, and when Ulpian finished, they each solemnly held up a card saying “10” except Alderney. Wellington had run out of 10s and had had to give her one saying “9.5” instead. Bungo and Bulgaria who were standing on either side of her looked at Alderney’s card, looked at each other, and simultaneously hit her over the head with their own cards until she grabbed a pen from Wellington and hastily wrote a “10” on the reverse.

[Group Skill “mime tableaux” has reached level 2.]

Ooops. Kafana released the gestalt she’d been holding them in. Then Bulgaria had to try explaining to the bemused spectral lord what they’d been doing. Meanwhile, Tomsk and Alderney went to inspect the bodies, with Alderney gleefully pocketing a number of lethal devices. Tomsk took the clothes off one and started going through the pockets and searching the lining.

Kafana wandered over to join them, leaving Wellington to do his own thing. The lead assassin had dark hair, crafty features, strong fingers and muscular hairless arms. There were faint marks on his face as though left over from something close fitting. Perhaps a mask?

What did that remind her of? Something she’s seen earlier. She pictured the assassins stepping back when she’d greeted them. Boys. Hubbard’s boys.

Kafana: “Tomsk, check the arms of the other ones. Do any of them have hair?”

A few moments later he shook his head.

Alderney: “You’ve found something?”

Kafana: “I think the reason why nobody sees assassins wandering around is that most of the time they’re something different. Hubbard’s boys are really the Lily.”