BECMI Chapter 313 – The Crones
“The native tribes swear by this soup they call verscht, they’ve all got variations on it, and swear that theirs is the original and the best!” Brucall proclaimed as the big soup tureens were set down, and everyone was offered bowls. The patient Phantom Servant in its natty tux got to everyone smoothly and politely, while its aide in the maid’s outfit dispensed the sour cream to add a royal touch to the dish.
They had a really good cook here, and he was extremely well-versed in poisons. The Siricilan ambassadors who came here to pressure Brucall to turn to Siricil all had severe cases of indigestion and incontinence after their royal dinners, much to their discomfort. Two of the hired help had also died frothing at the mouth after testing the king’s food they thought they were immune to after they poisoned it, too.
Those particular Siricilan ambassadors had both suffered fatal heart attacks that night, alas, and the spymaster named Longtooth had to run all the way back to Siricil rather urgently to escape the knives coming for him.
He arrived there, and an hour later Pontius Treadtoes harvested his head regardless, rather upsetting Siricil’s actively subversive intelligence network in the north. There was a wave of the accidental deaths and strange disappearances common to adventurers among Siricil’s recruits, opening up many future possibilities for nobles, some of whom were seated at this table.
Brucall had gone recruiting for nobles, which we had vetted ahead of time. There were nearly a dozen worthy folk who’d come for the chance, ranging from a nomadic Tukhman steppe archer-woman seeking a chance to shine on her own, to the expatriate son of Verdain who was one of four Paladins at the table now. Sir Horn was here by invitation from Karameikos, three of the new nobles were from Federyn, two powerful barbarian chieftains had come to the wedding, and there were three elven, two dwarven, and two hyn clanholders here, too, their dietary preferences being carefully seen to.
Cirru was at the secondary table in her humanoid form, there because I was here, as she wasn’t truly draconic nobility or an elder at her age.
“How goes Eistree?” King Brucall asked me formally. Not all the nobles here were Marked or Oathsworn, but most were, but keeping up appearances was important. No one needed to know he could chat with me as if I was in the same room at any time.
“The line of Pyramids has reached its anchor point in Loha. I will begin work on the fourth shortly, expanding east along the Landsplit. Once the northern wall is complete, I will work on filling in, starting with Baycleft across the waters.”
“Some of my master merchants are becoming nervous, seeing the rapid development of your port there. They seem to think you will be taking all of their business away from them,” he remarked in good humor.
“Actually, they want to buy it all up and resell it, and make sure we never develop a merchant marine, judging by the moves some of them are making. Eistree will never be an industrial power as the rest of the Eismark Federation is working towards. The elven population demands a magical land, and if technology is not unwelcome, neither are we going to be the ones making much of it.
“But the native tribes are proud of their fishing traditions, and being strong-armed by Aetla will not sit well with any of them. In particular, Guildmaster Onnister is making some remarkably blunt moves designed to stir up hostility.”
Queen Dani looked at her husband, then rolled her eyes. “He sells a lot of fish down south…” she commented meaningfully, and Brucall frowned before sighing his understanding.
“He’s about to end up in one of his own barrels. You might wish to tell him that. The only reason he isn’t dead is because nobody has died yet in the net-raiding and waters-claiming he’s been haranguing his members to do,” I stated evenly.
“I haven’t heard of the engines being used there, but the place is developing rapidly?” Brucall inquired, clearly considering how to intercede in this matter.
“It turns out a lot of the fisher clans of the Shaden have expressed a desire to head to the surface. They are hollowing out the caves in the cliffs and working with the local fishing tribes on making new boats and modifying designs from both cultures to get something a bit better all can agree on.
“The tribes live close to the land as it is, and the Shaden coming through are almost naturally positioned culturally between them and the more traditional elven clans. Of course, everyone is overly proud of their own cultures and find that beating the crap out of one another regularly seems to solve a lot of problems.”
Martial cultures in a dangerous land, what are you going to do? The kingdom I was building was not going to be the epicenter of a pastoral and idyllic fairyland. There were plenty of hostile creatures, magical and Elemental and Fey and things beyond nifloids, giants, and dragons in the area!
“We will probably have to negotiate something fair in the way of fishing rights, especially as the capabilities of your people increase,” Brucall pointed out calmly. “The fisherfolk here are probably not happy with the idea of competition.”
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“We can certainly have something drawn up,” I nodded to him, and the conversation moved on to other trade goods, particularly elven woodwork and the fine furs harvested by the human tribes. There was also a good market for ivory work, taken from the mammoth and mastodon herds of the north, or the walruses. The hynfolk of Loha snapped a lot of that up, and had a thriving business in scrimshaw and fine ivory that took most of our current production.
Sustainable efforts were the key, and that meant protecting the lands we worked. Impromptu fur and ivory-harvesting teams from both Delpha and further south, especially the Urtho kingdoms, were plenty happy to rampage through the wildlife and slaughter all they could in pursuit of this season’s profits, not caring much about the next year, they’d just hunt elsewhere.
Shaden were very used to defending territory, and the ones immigrating here found the cold a new and bracing challenge, not a discomfort. The biggest challenge was getting used to the light and the lack of a ceiling, not fighting all manner of dangerous things they didn’t have familiarity with at the beginning… but which they began to get accustomed to very quickly.
---
Discussions of personal ambitions, territorial development, trade issues, political borders, and such entertaining topics dominated the conversation, although there was gossip over who was courting whom, as appropriate to the venue.
The feast moved on from soup to appetizer to main course and beyond, all of it done up wonderfully, a fine synthesis of skill, science, and magic combining to make this an enjoyable meal. Everyone was anticipating the dancing to follow as we dug into the fluffy and very light key lime pie that was the centerpiece of the dessert, when abruptly the room darkened and the mirror behind King Brucall’s chair began to crackle and spit, while thunder seemed to roll in the distance.
The reflection in the mirror faded, and smoke billowed within it, starting to resolve into other scenes.
“Another Delphan gift, Your Majesty?” I asked idly, as all eyes turned on the images starting to resolve themselves in the mirror. I felt no overt threat from it. “It looks rather old…”
“It’s not Delphan style, it looks like an antique piece set there to look impressive,” he replied uncertainly, risen with everyone else and turned to watch the mirror’s image come to life.
The cackling laughs that arose from it were sharp and harsh, and familiar enough that more than a few of us shot looks at Sama, wondering if this was something being done by her Aunties.
Her visible eye narrowed and her lips thinned, but she shook her head. Her Cursemark wasn’t feeling the presence of other Hags.
Which I suppose meant that the old women with rather long noses and extended features had to be called crones, instead of Hags.
There were three of them, white of hair, looking like they’d lived for centuries and the North had dumped all of its ire on them. But their eyes were sharp, they still had all of their teeth, and there was no doubting whatsoever that they held themselves with power.
They’d also arranged for this mirror to be put into place just so they could get past the Wards of the palace, which showed they were clever and insightful, too.
“Good evening, my friends!” the wildest-haired of the women spoke up, mouth stretched in a wicked smile. Her voice compared favorably to fingernails on a blackboard. “Enjoy your celebrations while you can, Your Majesties! Storm clouds are gathering on the horizon, darker than any you’ve ever known!”
“If you and yours are still alive after the passing of another summer, then you may be happy!” cackled the crone with one milky white eye in wicked glee.
“Until then, sleep lightly, Your Majesties!” the last, narrower-faced then the others, added in with a malevolently knowing smile, and then the smoke churned as all three of them cackled together again.
The sound effects faded, the lighting returned to normal, and everyone here looked at one another, then over at me.
“The Crones of Kraggul,” I announced into the silence, turning my eyes on Chieftains Brol and Ungvor. Both of the brawny barbarians nodded agreement, looking rather troubled. “Their legends in the north span centuries, advising, warning, and sometimes dooming the powers that play here. As you can see, their sense of style is taken directly from bad plays about wicked witches and untrustworthy oracles of the gods.”
“They basically told us nothing, except that danger is coming. Did they not realize we’ve just fought off an invasion of giants, dragons, broke the Archlands, and endured a Wolf Winter?” Sama smirked in response to my words.
“It’s a magical Mirror and scrying focus,” I pointed out with a shrug. “They didn’t know half of us were even in the room!”
There was some rough laughter and knowing chuckles. Vague warnings from oracles weren’t something that was going to disturb the sleep of anyone here.
“On that bright and cheerful note, it’s time to enjoy some proper dancing!” Brucall clapped his hands, and servants Phantom and real swooped in to carry everything off, people nabbing their goblets to enjoy the last of the king’s wine. “To the ballroom! I daresay the minstrels there will be able to chase away any lingering shadows these Crones have presented us, and I say we shall be happy this night, regardless of their warnings!”
There was a cheer and a salute to the new King and Queen of Aetla as we moved from the banquet hall to the exquisitely made Grand Ballroom of the Palace, truly a work of art that everyone could appreciate. The murals and frescoes, the acoustics of wall and domes and tiled floors, lovingly shaped pillars, and wonderful layout and subtle displays of light and sound truly made it a fine thing for everyone to enjoy.
My Sims naturally knew all about the Crones and their ferociously neutral positions in the North, never really taking sides, although they had a history of bringing down the wicked and greedy with grimly ironic predictions that worked out all too often.
They couldn’t possibly predict the vagaries of a Source being here. They weren’t a threat, never taking direct action, but they definitely had someone’s agenda in mind, as oracles weren’t their own masters.
A future problem, like the heads of the farans, waiting for attention in the freezer. Tonight, I was going to be dancing all night!