Lady's Grace, cutters!

 

"I do not doubt Aoskar's power. I revel in his secrets every day. And at the same time I rejoice in the fact that the Mad God is dead, no better proof of the Athar's philosophy can exist."

Factol Terrance, On Prophets and Madmen

 

 

Second Hive Day of Accordant, 126 HR

Terrance sat on a wooden bench under the Sacred Tree and waited for Ambar. By now, he was dressed in his long robes again, but just a few hours earlier he had worn a plain black cloak, as he always did when he moved around the Hive incognito. He was there more often than even many of his common faction members realized. His factors and some factoti knew, however, and not everyone was happy about it. They worried about his safety, but Terrance always just smirked when they raised their concerns. The day he feared walking down a dark alley alone, it would be time to resign as factol. He may have turned his back on his former goddess, but he still felt deeply committed to the principle of healing. And where in Sigil was healing more needed than in the Hive? He didn't actually do much, at least not compared to what his prayers to the Great Unknown could achieve. He healed the broken arm of a peon here, the fever of an impoverished tradeswoman there, the inflamed appendix of a child and the blurred vision of an old beggar. For him it was just a few words, just a gesture of his hands, but for the poor and destitute, for the broken and abandoned of Sigil, it changed or saved their lives. They didn't have the money, the connections or simply the courage to seek help in a temple, of which there were few in the Hive anyway. But which inhabitant of the Hive would have dared to seek help in one of the upper wards? And more importantly, would they have received it there? In all fairness, he had to admit that such a desperate person might actually get help. After all, there were enough temples of good deities in the wealthy districts, enough good clerics, paladins or other benevolent inhabitants, so that an indigent from the Hive would at least have a chance of getting help. But the point was, almost none of them would have even thought of it. The Hive clasped them like a dark, cold, suffocating hand, and most of them never really tried to escape its grip. So Terrance made his way to the Hive regularly - often in the evenings or at night, wandering the alleys and offering his help when it was needed. Most of the residents didn't recognize him, his clothes on these forays were too different from the noble robes he wore in public. And no one in the dilapidated houses and damp apartments expected such a distinguished guest. If he was recognized, he always asked his patients to keep quiet about his presence. He was not keen for his nocturnal excursions to the Hive to become public knowledge. Although he was not afraid to go there, it would have made him vulnerable to traps, ambushes and the like. Moreover, he helped for the sake of the people, and not in order to be held in higher esteem or be praised. Pride had been the downfall of more than just one factol of Sigil, and he would not succumb to that flaw. He lifted his head as he heard the faint crunch of footsteps on the path to the Sacred Tree. He immediately recognized the silhouette of the approaching figure despite the distance. As Ambar strolled towards the Bois Verdurous in the twilight gray of the Last Light, his gait was as bouncy and youthful as ever. That evening, he wore the simple robes of a ranger in shades of green and brown, his red hair tied back, but a few strands still fell in his face, giving him an almost boyish look. Terrance had known Ambar for thirty years, and at the time of their first meeting he had been in his early thirties himself. Now he was in his early sixties, his hair long since graying, while the half-elf still looked as young as ever. Their close friendship had never wavered, however, and Ambar was one of the few who treated him more like a friend than a factol or a high priest. That was one of the reasons why he valued the meetings and conversations with the bard so much. The half-elf greeted him with just a brief wave as he approached and took a seat next to him on the bench without waiting for a welcoming gesture.

"Sorry, I'm a little late, my friend," he apologized.

Terrance waved him off with a grin. It really wasn't as if he had expected anything else. "I'm glad you could come."

"Oh please, Terrance." Ambar laughed. "We've seen too little of each other in the last few months anyway. Outside the Hall of Speakers, I mean."

The high priest nodded, and his serious expression immediately caught the half-elf's eye. He frowned worriedly. "What's wrong, Terrance? You seem so thoughtful."

"I'm just having a few thoughts about the prophecy," the factol of the Athar placated. "What I'm thinking specifically is: Naghûl was a member of the Sensates long before we learned of the prophecy. And Kiyoshi came to Sarin deliberately to become a member of the Harmonium. Jana and Lereia ... well, you could almost say that we purposefully snared them, couldn't you? I hope that won't blow up in our faces."

The half-elf looked at him in astonishment, his green eyes virtually glowing in the soft light of the Sacred Tree. "But Terrance, what kind of dark thoughts are these? You always have so much faith in the multiverse as a whole. Don't you think it was meant to be?"

Ambar was right. He usually thought more positively, but there was something about this prophecy that made him feel uncomfortable. "Let's hope so, my dear Ambar," he replied. "Let's hope it really is meant to be. Especially since I'm currently trying to convince Jana that it is."

"Why?" The bard raised his eyebrows. "Doesn't she believe in the prophecy?"

Terrance swayed his head. "Jana still doesn't seem quite convinced that her vision has anything to do with the parchment and therefore the prophecy. She thinks it might just have been some kind of qualm that I shouldn't attach too much importance to. She was also surprised that I'm working with the Harmonium on this. Admittedly, I'm even surprised myself. In any case, I am relieved to know that you are also involved in this matter, my dear Ambar."

The half-elf smiled. "Believe me, I felt the same way when I told you about it and learned that you also have a part in this prophecy." He hesitated briefly, but then asked the question that was obviously bothering him. "How did you actually know that Sarin ... ?"

"I didn't," Terrance replied. "He came to me."

Ambar's eyes widened in surprise and a grin crept onto his lips. "No ... Sarin came to you? The paladin of the Iomedae came to the factol of the Athar?"

The exaggerated accentuation of the words paladin and Athar made Terrance smile. "Could it be a little less overstated?"

Ambar's grin widened. "And so you met him graciously?"

"Graciously, as if." The high priest was well aware of his sarcastic undertone. "The relationship between Athar and Harmonium is tense enough. And here I would make matters worse by not meeting their factol? No, Ambar, that would be a little too hot to handle even for me."

The bard nodded, put his head back and looked thoughtfully at the dense foliage of the Sacred Tree. "Well, to be fair, although the Harmonium is a rather extreme faction, Sarin is a moderating factol."

Terrance couldn't argue with that. "That's right. He knows that Sigil is a powder keg, and he doesn't want it to explode. He can solve things surprisingly gently - if he wants to."

"That's true. Despite his directness, he has a certain charm." At Terrance's look, Ambar grinned again. "Well, not in that amiable, easy-going way like me, of course. More of a rough, belligerent kind. But still quite chivalrous. In any case, he's apparently even made allies in normally opposing factions."

"If you are talking about Lady Erin Montgomery ... Yes, I've noticed that, too," Terrance replied. "Harmonium and Sensates haven't gotten along so well in a long time, it seems to me."

The half-elf nodded. "The man obviously knows what he's doing. You can accuse me of being prejudiced against primes, but in the Hall of Speakers I've been surprised at times at how he's taken on some of the other factols."

"Indeed." Terrance raised his eyebrows. "Us both too, if we're honest."

Ambar laughed good-humoredly, obviously over it already. "Yes, it's not so easy to mess with him politically."

"Unfortunately, that's true," the high priest conceded. "And you must never forget that he is immensely popular within his faction. The Harmonium ... well, they are downright adoring their factol. I pray that nothing ever happens to him here in Sigil."

This confession seemed to surprise his friend. "Hear ye, hear ye."

"Yes," Terrance replied seriously. "Because that would be ... disastrous, Ambar. I dare not guess what the faction would do then." He fell silent for a moment and his gaze followed the bard's to the crown of the Sacred Tree. "Strangely enough, my friend, and surprisingly even to myself, I am firmly convinced of one thing: If there is any factol in Sigil without guile, it is Sarin."

Ambar turned his eyes away from the Bois Verdurous and looked at him in a mixture of amazement and irritation. "Are you including us both in that remark?"

Terrance met the half-elf's gaze calmly but seriously. "Oh, yes."

The bard tried to cover his astonishment with a frown, but Terrance noticed it all too clearly. He understood his friend’s confusion. As both, the factol of the Harmonium and as a paladin, Sarin was not exactly a first-choice political ally of his. And certainly not someone he would usually pass such judgment on. It was rather a deep-rooted intuition that led him to this assessment, and he would be wary of expressing it to anyone other than his longtime friend. He was sure Ambar would come back to it eventually, but for now he left it at that.

"Terrance, that's going too far," he said jokingly. "You'd better tell me a little more about your Chosen. Jana, isn't it? What else did she say?"

Terrance grinned and willingly followed the direction Ambar was taking the conversation to. "She asked a very clever question. What if she didn't want to be a Chosen at all?"

The bard nodded. "And what did you tell her?"

"That we are often not asked what we want."

"Honestly, Terrance!" With a laugh, Ambar nudged him good-naturedly with his elbow. "How comforting."

The high priest smiled. It was precisely these familiar, friendly gestures that made him appreciate Ambar's company so much. "She said she was overwhelmed by the situation," he continued. "I explained to her that I am, too. She wanted to know what I expected of her. ... Well, if only I knew. But she agreed with me that as few people as possible should know about it. In our faction, apart from Jana and me, only Askorion and Jaya are informed."

Ambar became a little more serious again as he nodded in agreement. "And beyond that, what is she like?"

"She's very supportive of the prostitutes in the Hive," Terrance told him. "I've encouraged her to continue with that and to let me know if she needs help with it. As for etiquette and social interaction ... well, that's still a bit of a problem. On a personal level, it's not too important to me. But Sigil has rules, just like any other place, and it's easy to stumble if you don't know them." He paused for a moment, and when Ambar didn't seem to have any more questions, he redirected the conversation. "And Lereia? How was your first conversation with her?"

Now Ambar smiled. "She was lovely, really. The first thing she asked me was how she could help me."

"That is indeed charming," Terrance replied with a chuckle. "What did you tell her?"

"That perhaps the question was more about how I could help her. She said she hadn’t been in Sigil all too often, but that she liked the city."

The high priest nodded thoughtfully. "She's a weretiger, did you say?"

"That's right." Ambar couldn't hide his excitement and he didn't even try. "Imagine, she was bitten when she was very small and her parents abandoned her as a result."

At these words, his expression changed from enthusiastic to concerned, and Terrance was also moved. "That's terrible," he said. "They were probably completely overwhelmed. Not incomprehensible when you have no help with something like that. Not necessarily an excuse, though, either."

"True." The bard nodded. "She was fortunately taken in by monks and raised in their monastery, in the north of the prime world of Toril. That's also where she learned to control it."

"Remarkable," Terrance noted. "Not many non-born manage to control the curse."

His friend nodded, enthusiasm clearly showing through again now, both that of the ranger and that of the factol of the Believers of the Source. "Yes, it takes considerable inner strength to accomplish that."

Terrance couldn't hide a friendly grin. "Oh. The spark?"

"Of course!" Ambar laughed good-humoredly. "What do you think? That was a very long and tough trial for her. And she mastered it. You know, even if we've snared our Chosen a little, Terrance ... Well, I really don't know who would better suit us than Lereia. There's more to it. It is meant to be." Ambar's youthful enthusiasm was another reason why Terrance appreciated him so much. He smiled a little as the ranger continued eagerly. "I explained to her, of course, why what she accomplished is held in such high regard in my faction. Our philosophy seemed to appeal to her. She said that our faction could become kind of a family for her and that she would like to have the opportunity to encourage others in their will to live and find their inner strength."

"And then she wanted to join just like that?"

"What do you mean, just like that?" Ambar replied with a laugh. "It's not as if our faction doesn't have a lot to offer."

Terrance's grin was now mixed with quiet amusement and a well-intentioned hint of irony. "Including a factol who personally takes care of a new member, huh?"

His remark caused the half-elf to pause for a moment, his arms at his sides in mock indignation. "Oh, cut it out. As if you had done anything different."

"What I do differently from you, my dear Ambar, we certainly don't need to discuss in length and breadth."

Ambar raised a brow and was about to reply. But he paused and studied Terrance's calm and almost exaggeratedly friendly expression more closely. Then he waved it off with a grin. "Oh, you're just trying to annoy me."

"Yes, of course," the factol of the Athar replied with amusement. "And does it work?"

"Almost," Ambar laughed. "But only almost."

Terrance leaned back, satisfied that he had at least brought his friend out of his shell a little, and let his gaze wander over the tree again. "And now you have a new faction member."

The bard did the same and they both sat quietly, arms folded in the soft glow of the Bois Verdurous.

"Yes. I assured her I would always be there for her. I told her that her worries would be my worries from now on. I think that was the right thing to do. She said that for the first time since she found out about the prophecy, she felt reassured that she could handle it."

Terrance sighed softly. "I wish I could have given Jana that much confidence."

Ambar turned his gaze from the tree back to Terrance and gave him a comforting look. "Don't take it to heart, my friend. Every person is different ..." Then a certain mischievousness crept back into his gaze. "And doubting is in the Athar’s blood, so ..."

Terrance couldn't help but grin. Well, he probably deserved that. "Yes, yes," he replied. "Just pay me back in kind. - What's with this project for the Xaositects, anyway?"

Partly surprised, partly amused that the next friendly stinger came so quickly, Ambar raised his eyebrows. "Terrance, this is a goodwill visit! And you're digging into my wounds like that?"

The high priest raised his shoulders calmly. "I did not let Karan talk me into such madness when I was drunk, my friend."

"Just a little buzzed," the bard replied, then he had to laugh. "Or a little more, admittedly. But at least it's a creative project."

"Seven spokes across the entire ring so that Sigil looks like a giant wheel? Seriously, Ambar?"

The half-elf laughed even more heartily. "I said it was creative. Not that it makes sense or is feasible."

"Well, consider it one of your trials," Terrance replied with amusement.

The Last Light had now given way to a velvety darkness, surprisingly mild by Sigil standards. So they sat outside for a while longer, and the rest of the evening passed with more light-hearted subjects than politics and prophecies.