Chapter Text
It turned out this party was A Big Deal in a way that had absolutely nothing to do with House Malthra at all, or Tazennin specifically. Apparently House Blundyth was famous citywide for their parties, which included all kinds of food, drink, music, incense, and… other delights, often of ‘rare import.’ People started showing up several days in advance to reserve their spots in the guest accommodations. There was a loosely formed thought hovering unsaid over guests and household alike: this was the last one, and it was going to be a blowout.
Rhea summoned Xotchtil to one of the entertaining rooms near the terrace late one morning, a few days before the party. They were really, REALLY hoping it was going to be another labor organization request.
The elemental was still in a bad mood. She was not interested in being touched, spoken to, or asked to do anything, but the room Xotchtil was being received in was right next to the terrace, and that was sufficient motivation for her to tag along. She wandered outside while Xotchtil entered the entertaining room.
They entered the room to find three priestesses from major council houses, who had arrived among Rhea’s first round of guests. They had heard that House Blundyth was hosting a mind flayer and wanted to see one for themselves. The three priestesses were already seated around a low table with wine. Ilmra T’sarran was well composed. Zilvrae Nylrae was watching the room and its occupants with interest. Veszra Draeval was comfortably reclining. Rhea introduced Xotchtil and explained that the women wanted to play a game (somehow they hadn’t realized this situation could get worse).
The priestesses had played it together at temple school, but the game was much older, with rules that probably dated back centuries, if anyone remembered them correctly. What mattered was the ritual that enforced it: a specific magical binding that verified truth. One player asked a question, the respondent answered, and the binding measured whether the answer held. If the respondent refused, or if the binding flagged a falsehood, the other two players could impose a consequence. There were two types: a command, performed immediately, or a holy vow, fulfilled within a certain timeframe (apparently the divine consequences were very real).
The women would take turns in a fixed circuit. Each turn allowed one question and one follow-up. Once the respondent had answered the follow-up, Xotchtil had to rule, and the turn was over. Nobody could continue asking questions simply because an answer had become interesting. The next round would run in the opposite direction.
Refusal counted as a failed answer. If a response was ruled false, or a player refused to answer, the other two players would agree on a consequence. If they could not agree, each would propose one and the player taking the forfeit would choose between them. A command had to be completed immediately; a vow had to be fulfilled by the same time the next day.
The game had been an excuse for gossip, humiliation, and the occasional genuinely useful piece of information since long before any of them had attended temple school, but they wanted to see whether a psion could perform the ritual’s function.
And you’re just going to let me read your minds to do that?
Ilmra rolled her eyes.
“If I can’t compartmentalize enough to just give you the parts that matter, I’m not worth my salt as a priestess, and neither are either of my sisters in Lolth here.”
Veszra nodded. Zilvrae agreed that it was an entirely reasonable expectation of someone who had made a profession of divine service and political manipulation. To say Xotchtil agreed to referee was something of an overstatement.
Rhea began collecting her things.
Where are you going? Xotchtil asked.
The three priestesses looked at one another and laughed.
“It would be ridiculous not to expect you to lie for your de facto matron,” Zilvrae said. “Obviously Rhea can’t play.”
“Yes, well, I have wines and cheeses to pick out for the party. I’ll leave you to it.” Rhea moved toward the door. She allowed them to catch one thought as she walked through the doorway. Let me know if they say anything interesting.
How am I supposed to know what you find interesting!?
Xotchtil watched her leave. The priestesses were still laughing when the door closed.
Veszra placed a small snake-headed whip on the table next to her glass and announced that Zilvrae would ask first. Zilvrae turned to Ilmra.
“Why did your little sister really fail out of temple school that first time?”
Ilmra thought in a neat decision tree. She slowly and carefully whittled the answer down to the bare minimum information she had to give, for which she apparently had a rehearsed answer: “She really did get sick. She was vomiting and everything.”
“How did she catch it?”
“She didn’t catch anything. She just got sick.”
There was a pause as they awaited Xotchtil’s judgment.
Well, that’s only partially true. A curse is very different from a contagious illness, but it’s also not really spontaneous…
All three women spoke at once in a cacophony that roughly amounted to, “NO! You can’t tell us that! You have to only say true or false! That’s the whole point!”
They collectively sulked for a few seconds before Veszra broke the silence. “Well, let’s pick a command.”
“Ugh. But I just told you!”
“You lied first,” Veszra said.
“It wasn’t even a full lie. We never got a proper binary judgment because this thing didn’t understand the rules!”
All three looked at Xotchtil, who didn’t respond. They still didn’t really understand what was happening here.
“Fine. Give me the easy one.”
“The drink,” Zilvrae said. “Finish it.”
Ilmra quickly picked up the glass and threw it back before they could think of anything more interesting.
Zilvrae took her next sip of wine and indicated that Ilmra could ask. She turned to Veszra.
“Who started that market fire ten years ago?”
On inspection of her memory, it turned out that Veszra’s family oversaw the city guard. Her thought process was a lot more scattered and impulsive compared to Ilmra: “We don’t actually know.”
True.
“Oh, I knew it! There’s no way the Vhaeraunites can be responsible for everything.” She took a few seconds to formulate her follow-up. “Who was the most likely suspect?”
“There were no suspects for intentionally setting the fire.”
This was true, at least as stated, so Xotchtil provided the ruling. Ilmra looked dissatisfied but accepted the end of her turn. Xotchtil noted that the woman seemed more invested in confirming conspiracy than learning anything new.
Veszra took her place as questioner and turned to Zilvrae.
“Speaking of the Vhaeraunites, I heard the man of the hour had leanings.”
Zilvrae thought more like Ilmra, but faster, at the expense of being slightly less precise: “He wishes. They had him back on his mother’s doorstep by the next morning.”
“Sent him back? I could understand the son of a council house causing too much of a scene, but House Blundyth is just merchants.”
“Exactly. Who do you think is buying their raided slaves and goods from the surface? They’d be stupid to cross Selca.”
Xotchtil ruled the answer true. Zilvrae had heard the rumor, and her account reflected what she believed about the circumstances.
That completed the first round, and the priestesses took a few seconds to trade comments on each other’s answers. Xotchtil’s attention drifted out to the sylph just as she threw a garland of bioluminescent cave flowers over the short wall and watched it stream over the edge to the ground. A drow servant stopped and swore at her.
Ilmra had begun answering a question, and Xotchtil realized they had missed the start of the next round.
“Please repeat that.”
Ilmra looked at them.
“I had already answered.”
“I was distracted.”
“Yes, I noticed. And now I have to do it again.”
She repeated herself, using the same wording and attempting to reproduce the tone and inflection of her original answer. Xotchtil gave their ruling, but the women appeared generally displeased. What were they expecting? It’s not like they’d spent a lot of time refereeing party games. She appeared to be telling the truth, thankfully, so there was nothing more for her to argue over.
After the next turn had concluded, Xotchtil announced that the game was tiring and that they needed a short break. They went out to the terrace ‘for some air.’
WHAT ARE YOU DOING?
Xotchtil realized they were rushing at her and slowed their pace. As they approached she turned to them and stiffened. The exposed tips of the furniture and wall fixtures glowed faintly. They stopped a few paces short, and her rage simmered back down into annoyance.
Xotchtil looked down into the courtyard. The servant who yelled at her was gone. Nothing appeared to have been damaged.
They looked at the string of faintly glowing flowers splayed over the stone, then glanced around and found the basket she’d gotten it from. After a moment they walked over, grabbed another one, checked the courtyard below was empty, and threw the end over the wall after the other one.
The sylph jumped slightly at the movement, but her surprise gave way to fascination.
Xotchtil watched it fall. To their eyes it was a strand of bioluminescent flowers floating through the air and settling on the paving stones. Through her senses the flowers were much more colorful, and carried a pleasant scent. She also felt them twist and flutter the whole way down, every shed petal trailing its own small wake.
When it landed, she glanced at them, and they said nothing. After a long pause, Xotchtil turned and walked away.
“I saw you double check that no one was down there first!”
They didn’t turn back, and tried to pretend they didn’t feel the edges of her mouth twitching as she tried not to laugh.