Divine Alliances: Tavros' Proposal

In which His Majesty Tavros Fontaine proposes an idea that everybody hates...
(This is, once again, alternating between my writing and my DM's writing.)

It was just after lunch and the meeting room was full. Tavros sat at one end of the rectangular central table, with Vigo The Whisperer on his left and the Abbess Hilda on his right. Geddy and Eva were seated just beyond the Whisperer, while Martini and Ruin were seated to the right of the Abbess. Lady Jacqueline Bouvier, in her guise as Tabitha Andiras, was seated next to the priestess Aesa in the row of chairs that had been placed along the walls. Clovis Cloverfield, the Chief Religious of Order of the Golden Sun, had taken a seat about halfway down the table, with Sacha and Leira beside him. Marshall Mercy was sitting across from them, looking surprisingly natural in his new scales. Other seats were occupied by other notables, from the local lords and the guilds and the mages; there was a liaison from the Iron Company, and a Blood Sister who'd come on behalf of the Wildlanders. Even Rita was here, though she seated herself in the corner behind him, as unobtrusive as it was possible to be in a room this small.

Lady Terra Windblade had obligingly taken the seat opposite his own, smiling pleasantly and waiting with patient good humor. Tavros was honestly grateful for that; what he was about to say might not be well-received by much of anybody.

When the last of the stragglers had made their way in, and Werendril and Anica had pulled the doors closed, Tarric cleared his throat.

The room gradually fell silent, as the last few muttered observations and bits of conversation died away.

"It has been three days," Tavros acknowledged, and offered Terra Windblade a close-lipped smile. He didn't want to show fangs, after all. "To be honest, I almost wish I'd asked for more, but a decision must be made at some point. I will tell you honestly that I did not intend for Sol Povos to have a state religion under my rule, not even that of the Titan King."

The Avatar of Demeter tilted her head, but nodded.

"Your offer has led me to reconsider... somewhat. You mentioned the Elemental Temple as a possible site for a temple of Demeter, and that led me to some interesting thoughts. The Temple of the Elements, as most of you know, is not a single temple; it is a compound containing multiple temples... or it was, until the necromancer Durest Inglorian destroyed the other three and re-dedicated the site to Indra."

He swallowed. "Now we reach the part where I become unpopular, but I tell you plainly: I think that this is necessary for the good of Sol Povos. Simply put, I was wrong to think that I could refuse to have a state religion. Official or unofficial, deliberate or accidental, we will end up with one. So I propose to have such a thing, but to limit its influence; and I propose to do that by rebuilding the Temple of the Elements as the center of worship in Sol Povos... but rather than a single temple dedicated to a single god, it will once again be a place of multiple temples and multiple gods."

Across from him, the lady Windblade considered that, and Tavros studied her, looking for some response. "What gods?" she asked, sounding curious.

"My first loyalty is to Amun," Tavros said simply. "He must have a place there. But the followers of Helios must have a place as well; they cannot be granted the primacy they had before, but they must not be set aside, either. Lady Demeter must have a place as well, since she wishes it -- and she will, regardless of whether or not you agree to help us. A temple to Corellan Larethian will go a long ways towards smoothing things over with our elven citizens," --no matter what becomes of Duendewood-- "and I cannot ignore the powerful assistance given to us by the priesthood of Artemis."

Halfway down the table, Marshall Mercy made a silent correction: Artem-hiss. But he didn't interrupt, and Tavros offered him a slight nod of acknowledgement. "I propose that the Templum Omnium will become the center of official worship for Sol Povos, with myself and members of my court attending various High Holy Days at each of the temples, and the funding that previously went to Helios alone pided among them. Court appointments would be equally distributed, though with careful consideration of the inpidual candidates."

Halfway down the table, Cardinal Clovis Cloverfield lifted a hand. "And the Great Temple of Helios?" he asked. "Where you were returned to life?"

Tavros offered him a gentle smile. "It will remain intact, but the Order of the Golden Sun must be responsible for its upkeep and the court will no longer attend services there -- officially, at least. Inpidual believers may do as they will. Official visits will take place in the Templum Omnium."

Cardinal Cloverfield glanced at Sacha, who nodded slightly, then gave him a this is your call look. Clovis swallowed and said, "That is better than having worship of Helios overturned entirely, Your Majesty. I would say that this would be acceptable to the Order of the Golden Sun, subject to further discussion of the details."

Tavros paused, then turned back to the Avatar of Demeter. "Lady Windblade, I don't wish to back you into a corner." He tapped his nose twice with a fingertip and smiled wryly. "I've seen what comes of that. So if you have a counter-offer, I am more than willing to hear it. But unless you can offer a better way, this is my intention. Otherwise, it remains for you to decide if this is enough to merit your assistance, or if your efforts are better spent elsewhere. I will include a temple for Demeter in the Templum Omnium regardless."

* * *

Tavros stopped suddenly. In the darkened hallway ahead, a tall man in black robes was slumped against the wall. He looked injured, or maybe just weary. The man raised a hand and Tavros instinctively reached for his weapon. To his relief, the man was only holding a glass of wine. The man took a long, deep drink, lowered the glass, and sighed loudly. When he turned his head to the light, Tavros nearly fell over from shock.

“Vigo!?” Tavros exclaimed.

The man coughed, wiped his mouth hastily, and looked frantically for a place to stash his glass. Finding none, he gave Tavros a grim look, “My deepest apologies, your majesty. I have no excuse, I will go pour this out immediately.”

“What?, Oh, no, it’s, uh… it’s fine, Vigo. I just didn’t know you drank.”

Vigo sneered, “I think I started earlier today.”

Tavros furrowed his brow, “But, I thought you were in negotiations with the representatives of The Lady today.”

Vigo raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“That bad, huh?” Tavros gave him a sheepish look, “I suppose things haven’t gone quite as well as I hoped.”

“Bean counters,” Vigo said.

“What?”

Vigo took another long drink, apparently intent on finishing his large glass of wine before the king rescinded his offer. He sighed again, staring into space, “Bean counters. They have literal… actual… bean counters.”

“Terra seems nice,” Tavros ventured.

“Ha! That’s a good one. No, my liege, she’s not the negotiator. After it became clear that you were taking the offer seriously, she sent word back to Mother Noori in Terra Povos, who promptly dispatched two of her top scholars to join us in talks. They showed up with a sack of special grain, which is more resistant to drought and disease. The gift greatly ingratiated them to the Abbess, who unlocked the door and let the two bastards in. The eights hours since have been some of the worst of my life.” He drained the rest of his glass and glared at it reproachfully.

“Hrm,” Tavros nodded, thinking. Then his face lit up, “Oh, I get it. Bean counters!”

Vigo nodded, “I’m not kidding. The intellectuals in the church spend their time cataloging the harvest – every bean, pepper, tomato, onion, or seed. I suppose the best of the best get promoted to high positions in the church, where they can bend their considerable talent for minutia to loftier pursuits. I’ve never seen such attention to detail. Every aspect is considered: How tall is each spire, how many square feet are the grounds, will the front door face east or west, which service will the king attend if it’s sunny, when it’s cloudy, and so on. Why, there’s no wiggle room at all, on anything! How am I to work if there’s no wiggle room!?”

Tavros wasn’t really sure what else to do, so he patted Vigo on the back. The man immediately stiffened, uncomfortable with such contact. Tavros backed up and tried to fill the silence, “Yes, well my fundamental terms remain quite simple: We split the commitment five ways, equally… why are you rolling your eyes at me?”

Vigo grimaced, “No, of course not, your majesty, I would never do that. A thousand pardons, please. I am quite tired, and shouldn’t have had this wine.”

Tavros planted his hands on his hips and gave Vigo a hard look, “Tell me. Tell me what you really think. I want to hear it.”

Vigo look at him skeptically for several moments, nodded, and sighed loudly, “Very well, if his majesty demands it. With all due respect, your terms are not going to work.”

“Why is that?”

“Because if you pide the table scraps five ways, you just end up with five hungry, snarling hounds. It’s enough to keep them coming back to the kitchens, but at that point you don’t want them there.”

“Snarling hounds?” Tavros was skeptical.

“Yes,” Vigo said emphatically, “Snarling hounds. And these hounds are going to eat, sooner or later. They’ll find something to consume, or they’ll eat each other, or they’ll turn on their master. But they’re going to eat something, one way or another.”

“So you believe I should keep fewer, but better-fed… hounds?”

Vigo wasn’t listening. Now he was ranting, “And for what? Almost nothing. Let’s take inventory: Temple of Helios, we get one avatar. Oh wait, nevermind, we already have him. Temple of Amun, we get nothing. Temple of Artemis, we get nothing. Temple of Demeter, we MAY get one avatar, although we’re offering far less than they asked for. And finally, the crème de la crème! A temple to Corellon Larethian, right SMACK in the middle of Solstar, where not only are there no longer any elves, but it will serve the dual purpose of inciting wrath in all the people who still live there. An empty building to serve as a crucible of rage to everyone who walks by, like a giant FUCK YOU on your morning stroll! That’ll heal the kingdom!”

Tavros looked down at the ground and kicked absentmindedly at the corner of an errant cobblestone, “There was another burning in the town square this evening.”

Vigo snapped out of his inebriation and regained his characteristic composure, “The same as the others?”

“Yes,” Tavros said quietly, “the likeness of Corellon Larethian, made of wicker, burned by anonymous protestors.” He looked up at Vigo, “How did this news spread so quickly?”

“You’re a king,” Vigo said simply, “people hang on your every word. When you make a proclamation, it spreads quickly. I have heard of similar protests throughout the kingdom.”

“So much hate,” Tavros shook his head.

“Don’t blame yourself, you’re not going to be able to undo 900 years of animosity.”

“I’m not going to turn a blind eye!”

“I’m not saying you should, but you have to be realistic. Healing the rift between elves and men will take generations. The best gift you can give your people is to lay a foundation upon which small amounts of trust can grow. If you try to force it, the peace will be a façade, and it will only last as long as you do.”

Tavros nodded his head. He hated to admit it, but Vigo was right. He had underestimated how deep the resentment ran. Since he’d made his declaration, everybody seemed to be on edge. There had even been fights in the temple dining hall, right under his nose.

“Okay, but do you have a counterproposal?” Tavros asked.

“Well, if you’re asking my opinion, your majesty…”

“Just spit it out, Vigo.”

“The cheapest option, of course, would be a single –“

“No. I’ve already told you, we will not have a single state religion,” Tavros declared firmly.

“Okay, okay,” Vigo waved his hands, “just making sure. In that case, I do not believe you can support any more than three.”

“Three?”

“Yes. I believe we could afford to double our investment in the church, but no more. Three religions on twice the budget means each is receiving approximately two thirds of the resources we used to send to the Order of the Golden Sun. That’s not enough to make your hounds fat and happy, but I believe it’s enough to bring them to heel. The additional funds I’m confident we could recover by raising taxes in a few territories – rebuilding from the war would be our excuse – and strategic re-working of the merchant charters. Of course, this would run off honest merchants and effectively cede more control of commerce to the Crime Lords, but on the balance, prices should remain stable…”

“That’s enough, Vigo, I get it.”

“And you have to actually GET something for these commitments, my liege.”

“You mean military help?”

“Of course. Our primary objective at the moment is to ensure that your ass actually sits on that throne.” A brief flash of embarrassment washed over Vigo’s face, and he looked at his empty wine glass, “My apologies, your majesty, I should not have spoken to you so.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Tavros waved him off and scratched his chin thoughtfully, “the problem, as I see it, is that we have more churches we want to ally with than we can support.”

Vigo cleared his throat, “If I may, your majesty?”

“Yes, speak, dammit!”

“Are you still intent on restoring this Mythrandril to his throne?”

Tavros’ mouth moved, but no words came out. He was, but he'd been very careful not to speak of it.


“Hrm,” Vigo said, his thoughts unreadable, “I thought so. Then I point out there is another kingdom that could bear part of this burden, one in an area much friendlier to elves and snakes. Perhaps it is time for you to finally hammer out your terms with Mythrandril.”

“You would have me give up entirely on a temple of Corellon Lorethian in Solstar?” Tavros was skeptical. Deep down, he knew that wasn’t the way.

“A simple correction, your majesty,” Vigo offered, “it was the people who misunderstood, not a fault of your own. You just need to clarify: You still intend to build a small temple in Solstar, but as part of some modest reparations, not as a state religion. It will be a small temple: Big enough to give the faithful a place to worship properly, but not so big as to stoke any historical anxieties.”

“And what about the others? If I can only support three, I must go back on my word for one other.”

“Back on your word?” Vigo looked genuinely scandalized, “Of course not, your majesty! You were merely making some suggestions -- examples as to the religions that might be allowed to take advantage of your grace; an easy misunderstanding. In implementation, you will, of course, take the ones that offer you the best deal.”

“To recap,” Tavros said, “I cannot support more than three state religions here in Solstar, and even that requires doubling our budget. If I insist on substantially supporting more than that, I should lean on Mythrandril to build temples in Duendewood. I should avoid building a big temple to Corellan Lorethian because it will just get burned down –“

“Too true.”

“- but I may be able to get away with a small one. And whatever I do, I should base my decisions not on faith or a deep-seated sense of right or wrong, but rather on who offers me the best deal.”

Vigo nodded like a proud father, “Yes, that is my counsel, your majesty.”

Tavros shook his head, “I hate the idea that it might be good counsel.”

“I speak only the truth, your majesty.”

“Very well, I will think on this.”

They stood in silence for a moment, Vigo leaning exhausted against the wall, and Tavros pondering his advice. If I choose three in Solstar, and ensure that the other two are treated similarly in Annon… then all five are covered, and nobody is unhappy… mostly.

A question popped into Tavros’ head, “Vigo?”

“Yes, your majesty?”

“Do you have a god?”

The question clearly surprised Vigo, and he looked troubled, “Not anymore, your majesty. The war robbed me of any such… inconvenience. When I go, there will be nothing but dust left behind.”

Tavros was sure he’d stumbled upon something deeper, but didn’t push it, or rather he didn’t have the opportunity.

“Tavros!” Aesa was practically running down the hallway.

“King Tavros,” Vigo corrected, emphasizing the first word.

“Yes,” Aesa panted, “King Tavros, there are some people at the gate, having quite an argument. I think you should come immediately, one of them is that storm priest, Ezra Cardon.”

“The other?” Vigo asked.

“A…” Aesa sized Tavros up, as if measuring the newcomer’s height against him, “A… dwarf? But the biggest one I’ve ever seen. He said his name is Verkander Stoneheart, and he claims to be the avatar of the Stone Cabal.”

Vigo let out a string of impressive profanities that made Aesa blush. Tavros realized it was time for him to exhibit real leadership.

“Vigo,” Tavros said, “Go to the dining hall. Find Marshall. And get drunk. That’s an order.”

“But, your majesty, what about the evil bean twins?”

“I’ll send Geddy in there to tell them stories. A few hours’ discussion about bunions ought to cool their enthusiasm, at least for tonight. As for me, I’ll greet this newcomer and try to defuse the argument. And pray to the titan king that he doesn’t want to spar.”

Vigo made to object, but Tavros cut him off, “Drunk, Vigo. Really, really drunk. That’s an order.”

The aging spymaster looked down at his glass wistfully, “Yes, your majesty. Perhaps that is… for the best, at least for tonight.” He gave a sharp bow and retreated down the hallway. Tavros turned and followed Aesa.

* * *

There was a great crowd gathered at the temple door when Tavros approached, and a man could be heard screaming in rage.

“You keep your bloody mitts off my king! I’ve been helping him for longer than any of you! And now I hear you’re whispering shit in his ears and making pacts behind my back. Oh, don’t I know that you - !”

Tavros could tell the man had turned to address a second person. When he pushed through the crowd, he saw it was Terra Windblade, crouched and poised with sword drawn. She was flanked by Werendril and Anica, who also had weapons drawn. The three of them formed a line across the entryway. It occurred to Tavros that he’d never seen Terra look tense before. Even in their fight, she had been very much at ease. Not good, he thought.

Terra turned her head, “Get back, T! It’s not safe!”

At this point Tavros could see over her and realized it was Ezra Cardon ranting outside the gate. He had just turned to address Terra, and was jabbing his finger vigorously in the air with every word.

“And YOU!” Cardon said accusingly, “You’re the worst of all! Some forest-faery floozy waltzing in here, taking advantage of the situation! Trying to slip into bed with the new monarchy like your fucking god-whore! Did you tell everybody about the Shame of Demeter!? Oh, that’s a fucking story!” He looked around the courtyard with some satisfaction; it was clear he had piqued the interest of the onlookers, and questions would be asked later, “Yeah! That’s right! And last I checked, the Storm God’s temple is the only one still standing in that shithole you all continue to call the capitol! So, all the rest of you are bunch of pathetic beggars at this point!”

“Last I checked, Indra’s temple is occupied by a fallen priest who no longer represents your order. And it’s overrun by the undead.”

The words were spoken in an incredibly low, tremulous voice, unlike anything Tavros had ever heard. He automatically took a step forward so he could see who had spoken, but nearly tripped when he saw the person. Gods, what is that? Aesa wasn’t kidding. It seemed to be a dwarf, but Tavros didn’t realize they could get this big. This one was almost as tall as him, with shoulders much broader. He had a weathered face, grey hair, and a huge, bushy beard, braided in two strands that reached down to his belt. He was standing with his arms cross and legs spread wide, with an enormous battleaxe strapped to his back. On his arm was a large shield that had so many dents and dings that it looked like it had been trampled by a stampede of dragons. The traditional, hemisphere-shaped helmet on his head looked similarly worn, and big enough to be used as a cooking pot. Tavros was filled with a feeling that this “dwarf” must have been through more fights than Tavros could ever, possibly imagine.

“That is an internal church affair!” Ezra Cardon marched fearlessly over to the dwarf, making clip-clop sounds in his ridiculous sandals. He only reached the dwarf’s chest, but that did not stop him from mercilessly unleashing his jabbing finger, punctuating each word with a poke in the chest, “A member of our flock has strayed, and I have come to set it right! It is none of your fucking business, you overgrown mutant! Climb back in the fucking hidey hole you came from and butt out!” He stopped poking, and a grin spread across his face, “Besides, not everything Durest has done is bad in the eyes of the church. It was about time someone leveled that sad little temple of yours.”

The dwarf, who Tavros by now had no doubt was Verkander Stoneheart, calmly drew his battleaxe and stared at Cardon, grinning up at him in his always-wet, tattered robes and floppy shoes. “You are a lunatic,” he said simply, “like your master.”

Terra cursed under her breath and braced herself for combat. Tavros was desperately wracking his brain trying to figure out how not to get the entre temple leveled by an avatar grudge match. Sometimes it was better to be lucky than good, because it turned out he did exactly the right thing – nothing.

Ezra finally noticed that Tavros had walked up, and strolled over, standing inches in front of Terra and her quivering blade. “Ah, your majesty! I have heard such terrible rumors. Thank goodness you are here to dispel them!”

“Ah, yes,” Tavros stammered, “you’re absolutely right, it would be best for us all to just sit down and clear up these misunderstandings over a tall pint of beer!” He tried to put on his best winning smile.

“Oh no!” Cardon replied, “there is no misunderstanding. It’s very simple, you need me, and I have been helping you before any of these shits showed up!” To his credit, he at least spared Tavros the jabbing finger. “You can’t put this kingdom back together with the Order of Secrets still at large, or did you forget that they were the ones who conquered Solstar? Perhaps in their absence you have forgotten the damage they caused, or the power they wield? Perhaps you were stupid enough to think that the likes of Duke Lamont and Giles Bouvier were your biggest enemies?” He spat on the ground, “Those people are fucking ants!”

Tavros patted the air with his hands, “Of course I haven’t forgotten that threat, or the aid you have provided, now if we could just all lower our weapons and have a nice, civil conversation…”

“No!” Cardon screamed like a child, “No, no, no, no! You tell me now, right here! Did you sell out MY temple to this bitch and a bunch of other gods? Or had you ALSO forgotten that the Storm God’s temple still stands! Were you going to tear it down with your own hands? While you are so conveniently forgetting things, I will inform you that I have been arduously pursuing OUR mutual goal, and I now possess the information necessary for you to find the Order of Secrets and end them! But if that is no longer your goal, if you have decided to occupy your time playing king with a bunch of mortal pawns and pretenders – if you have decided to declare WAR on Indra’s Stormchildren, then tell me now! Right here, in front of all these sycophantic bastards! I – was – here – FIRST!”

Cardon actually stamped his foot with the last word, and it would have been laughable if he didn’t have such a damn good point. Tavros had somehow overlooked the fact that the build site he’d proposed for five new temples was not entirely vacant. He looked at Verkander Stoneheart, the avatar of Belrab, with his sleepy brow hiding sharp, all-seeing eyes. That man is not pleased with me, either. And why would he be? I sold his temple as well, even if it’s currently in ruins… Shit.

Verkander crossed his arms again, stretching his shoulders and resting his weight back on his heels. As he stretched, the buckles and leather straps on his armor creaked and groaned. It was like the sound a well-built house made when creaking under the weight of a great storm. Somehow, the analogy fit the situation. He waited patiently for Tavros’ answer. Dammit, Vigo, you little shit. Why did you have to be right about this?

“Ah, yes,” Tavros began, as majestically as he could manage, “it seems some clarification is in order. I had, uh… merely proposed some various churches that might like to discuss terms with the crown… as, an example. Surely you can understand, my subjects sometimes get confused. The art of statecraft is quite complex, it is easy for them to make mistakes. I can assure you that no deals have been made.” Tavros attempted a condescending smile, because that seemed like what a king might do.

Ezra Cardon narrowed his eyes, “That better be true, Tavros. Remember: You NEED me. Don’t fuck this up!” In Cardon’s mind, this seemed to be the end of the conversation, and he began stomping off.

“Cardon!” Tavros called out, “Uh, your eminence? Surely you will stay for a drink?”

Cardon didn’t even turn back. He waved an arm in the air and continued his petulant retreat.

The house-creaking sound caught Tavros’ attention and he turned his eyes to Verkander Stoneheart, who had sheathed his battleaxe, but was taking slow steps toward Terra and Tavros. He stopped directly in front. There was a long silence, and everybody in the courtyard seemed to be holding their breath. Finally, the mountainous dwarf spoke, “I will take beer.”

Tavros waited to see if there was any more, but apparently those were the only four words Verkander intended to say, so he tried to invite the man in as graciously as he could, “Excellent, we would be honored to host you. This way…”

Terra relaxed and sheathed her sword. Tavros could feel a palpable chill come off her.

“Terra, will you be joining us?” Tavros offered, hopefully.

“Unfortunately, no, your majesty,” Terra replied formally, “This experience has been quite trying and I’m afraid I must retire to my quarters and collect myself. Please excuse me.”

That’s just great, Tavros thought to himself as she retreated. Meanwhile, Verkander had begun his slow, deliberate pacing down the hall, by all appearances feeling quite satisfied with the invitation for beer. Tavros looked at him, filling up the entire hallway, with people impatiently piling up behind him. He grabbed a nearby servant and whispered, “Bring another keg up from the cellar. No, actually bring several. Quickly!” The servant scampered off, and Tavros swallowed hard. Another day turning out VERY differently than I expected…