Rick, Jim, and Tom are alive and wounded. The Nameless Warrior is severely wounded and sitting down, still in shock, with two concert t-shirts as makeshift tourniquets tied around his bloody stumps. Dan's dead body lies in a corner.
Dude, it wasn't hard for me to post that- all that info is at the bottom of the blog. You failed your Gather Information From The Fucking Weblog check bigtime, my friend.
Dag, you and Tom kick back and watch 8 Mile. The Chums' Airship has satellite cable, so really you can watch whatever. The Chums watch a lot of Brazilian MTV.
Rick seems to be the Chum with the most.
"Yo, the Ambassador hired us to help him get that chick. Just make sure he survives and take him and the girl back to the Fairy Paradise Island, where we're headed now. Fuck with him and we'll kick your ass. Nothing personal, it's just business son."
The Chums all laugh when you use the word 'hero'. It seems like an in-joke with them. They don't really seem to give a crap what bad scene the Ambassador's a part of. Rick lights a cigarette of his own, and gives another one to Nameless.
"Hey, nice gobot spider thing. You made that thing, huh? You know what would be rad? Maybe you could make ol' Nameless over there a pair of sweet robot arms. With like, I dunno, a buzzsaw on them, or a mini rocket launcher. Shit, even a beer can opener would be better than what he's got now. Or doesn't got, haw haw!"
"Provided. you know, you ain't murdered or something."
You try talking to the Ambassador. He starts off dismissing you, probably about to say something snide. "Oh, go and..."
Then he pauses, and thinks for a moment. Opens his eyes, puts the Princess down, and looks right at you.
"Are you serious? Work together? I... yes, it could be just the thing."
"The situation here is complicated. Allow me to explain. The Prince back in the... hmm. I'll start back even further. Have a seat. Boys, break out the red."
Wine is served. The Ambassador sits down, sips his wine, swirls the dark liquid in the glass, considering it.
"I was born and raised on Onze to Jamison and Ms. Scylla Bekkers. My parents were farmers, but well-to-do, and co-owned their land on our little island kingdom. Growing up, I had aptitude in letters, and attended school at the prestigious Parthas Academy in Gorgos." He looks around to see if it means anything to you. It doesn't.
WTF? You didn't ask for this asshole's life story
. He continues with Remembrance of Bullshits Past
, as SV might say. The Chums aren't paying him any attention, and Tom and Rick play a bit of air hockey.
"After graduation, I returned to my- excuse me- our
homeland, where I fell in with the Court. Twenty years ago I became Ambassador and have been ever since. Little did I suspect the awful secret of Onze, the black core of its heart. Places like Twilos, Gorgos, the Paradise Island, certainly. Awful dens of human and demi-human misery, the lot of them. But Onze? Idyllic. So I thought."
"When the Princess was born, I was naturally chosen to be her tutor. Her mentor. Her... friend, god-father, more her Father than His Majesty the King
." Sneering, there, lightly. "I saw her grow up. I raised her. I taught her. I... worshipped her. I..." He looks tenderly at her sleeping form. "You'll have to believe me when I say we grew to love each other. You may imagine how that would come about, and you'll likely be right in essence if not in exact detail."
"I began to suspect something was wrong, or at least odd, the summer of her tenth year. All along, I thought it mildly curious that I had received little to no direction in terms of the actual instruction I was to impart to Her Highness. The chief concern of the court seemed to be her physical health and beauty. The horrible Doctor Trebort would routinely interrupt our study time for... diagnosis and examinations, at no small physical and emotional discomfort to us." He frowns.
"Six years ago, then, I thought it was high time that questions of lineage and genealogy be incorporated into curriculum. It was a natural extension of our history lessons, every good Princess should know her ancestry like nothing, and I was intellectually interested in the history of Onze anyway. And it struck me as odd that very few records existed in the palace."
"As luck, or maybe fate might have it, we were on the Grand Tour and visiting Mammon's Point. Much like, heh, we all did not but a few months ago for her younger brother. It was there I found some family records. At first they were merely odd. Repeated study only increased their oddity."
"I noticed a striking resemblance between... excuse me. Let me just say I noticed a striking family resemblance where there should have been little to none. Some subterfuge gained me access to older records. Records of the family of Onze that predated the foundation of Twilos, of the Paradise Island, and of Gorgos itself. Records of a macabre ritual that was to be carried out every generation by the Priests of Mammon's Point, part of a long-seated and long-ago sealed arrangement between the early priesthood and... and something unspeakable."
"What comes next is a secret so guarded, that to know it as I do requires slavish devotion to the family, or the mark of death upon your head. I will say only this now. It was no accident the sad lot of you were chosen to 'guard' His Highness. Half-catatonic priests? A psychotic suicidal knight? The ice cream man?
You were chosen as dupes, to die quickly and mercilessly if you were in the way. It would've been better for you had you never arrived at the temple those sad months ago."
"But now I am committing treason to the Royal Family and kidnapping the Princess. The options here, as I see them, are three."
"One, I conclude my tale here, I take the Princess, you go off to somewhere else. Perhaps you can convince the Chums to whisk you off to Ohio or some such place."
"Two, I finish my tale and you disagree, or perhaps you already disagree now and aim to stop me, believing erroneously that it is in the Princess's best interests to return with you. In which case, I will use all my resources to save her and kill you."
"Three, I finish my tale, or not, and either way you believe or at least accept that I am acting in Her Highness's best interest. And we work together to ensure her continued safety."
He drinks deep and finishes his wine. "Stay and help, fight me and die, or walk away. But know that to hear the rest of the story- the sordid, abominable truth of the damned House of Onze- will all but seal your fate. I am a walking dead man. The moment you returned to Mammon's Point, you stole precious time away, dooming me, Her Highness, and most likely yourselves. The Royal Family does not suffer traitors. Your fate is, at this moment, yours to decide."
Labels: god what a windbag