How Bewitching Is Home And How Unpleasant An Unfamiliar Sight
“My name is Dirant Rikelta, and our meeting is a blessing for me.”
“Aha! That sounds like a standard greeting. I'm afraid I don't know it, so here is one of ours. To yours as to mine. How's that? Penneram Densos is my name, Dirant Rikelta. What else? I am a Ritualist just as you are, and oh yes, you are on a continent over the ocean from where you started thanks to this Pious Convening of the World's End Ritual I developed. The name is an exaggeration, but I hoped people would infer that an emergency exists to justify its compulsive qualities I'm still trying to get rid of. What do you think of it? The old Pious Convening allows us priests to confer out of the sight and hearing of non-Ritualists, but this version allows me to call selected Ritualists to any place sacred to Holzd. Cross-continental confabulations won't go very far unless an attendee has the Divine Fellowship ability, but I do, and so can speak to you in the Holzd language humans can never learn but only borrow on special occasions. I want to hear your opinion before I brag about it more in case you have a better version over there.”
Later Dirant thought of that when he reflected on whether he was becoming a bit too accepting of unreasonable claims. He probably ought to have questioned the idea of being on another continent, though as for language, he could tell he was speaking something other than Adaban once his attention was directed to it. On the other hand, it may have just been his essential Ritualist nature that made him ask only, “Is this moment opportune for me to examine the ritual?”
It was. Penneram Densos handed him a scroll filled with expensive-looking directions. Crushed diamonds? How did you even get those? “The brawniest of Brawny Knights,” Penneram explained.
“And do they charge highly for the service? I must put that aside. I have never heard of any such wondrous ritual as this before. Perhaps in Saueyi they have something of the kind, and I hope they will not learn that I think it unlikely.”
Penneram Densos beamed with such pleasure that anyone must conclude he preferred hearing that to having silver deposits found on his property. “I'll boast without restraint now. Oh, I will be insufferable. That's enough time-wasting professional talk. Really I've kept you too long already, but I beg your indulgence. You see, I recently reached level 50.” He tried to keep going but could not resist pausing to examine Dirant for a powerful reaction, which the young Ritualist gave. 50? No one living had proof of topping 30 so far as he knew, and the few confirmed 35s of the recent past had to endure the constant presence of researchers specializing in the unanswered question of what XP actually was. People in the streets liked to put historical geniuses up past that, all in the same way they speculated the real ruler of Beriskirofen was a fish-man who held court in his capitol at the bottom of Lake Etimastizen or that the founder of Stadeskosken had planned his family life out with a view toward producing one son of each class in the world. One of those sounded more plausible to Dirant than the other, but regardless.
Penneram Densos, having been paid in the currency he hoped to receive, smiled wider than ever as he continued. The head portion of his status which confirmed his class and level just happened to hang in the air while he spoke, no doubt a side effect of the ritual. “You know as well as I do that only the first level really matters, but we just keep on gaining abilities for some reason. Well, at 50 I learned the ability Ritual of Delivery. The sole function its description claims is that I can now perform a ritual set above others in importance. It's called the Delivery Ritual and it slows the continuous degradation of reality. Tell me if you've heard of how reality is continuously degrading, because I hadn't. And I'm old!” He chuckled again. “Researching the issue was hard, but I found a few mentions about a Delivery Ritual performed some four hundred years ago that probably protects the world. I have no idea what the duration of it is or what the consequences of not having one active might be, but aside from anything else, I want to do it so badly. Why reach level 50 if you can't enjoy it?”
“I wonder that same thing about a much lower level,” Dirant answered, and both laughed.
“So I looked into it and soon saw I could never complete the Delivery Ritual without help. I developed another ritual, the Search for Pious Assistance, that widens the part of my Divine Fellowship that tells me which Ritualists are true servants of Holzd over the entire world, and more than that, gives me their names and levels. I have made requests of several, and now I make one of you.”
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“And how is it that I, a level 6, can participate in this great ritual?”
“You can't.”
“Ah.”
“You can help with the setup, though.”
“Ah!”
“My working theory is that to accomplish the effect, reality needs to sit still so I can insulate it. Apparently there's an ability called Edition Freeze that does that very thing, though normally to a much smaller target. Others of my colleagues turned up the fact that it's Pickers who can learn it. I'm not sure what the method is to get a Picker to Edition Freeze the whole world, but it doesn't matter because I haven't found a single person who has it. In my desperation I turned to Divine Guidance (Hunch), so now my gut tells me your continent has several. Will you find one to help me? I can't reward you in any real way of course, what with the distances involved. That scroll there will drop to the clean floor there as soon as I dismiss you. Maybe the Pious Convening of the World's End but Better Ritual will plaster that little crack, but as it is, I have to rely on the generosity of other peoples' spirits.”
“Now I don't mean it as more than a slight reproach to say you know well that the opportunity to have some involvement with such an exotic ritual is too much for any Ritualist to refuse a request related to it.”
Penneram Densos laughed. “I've seen enough that isn't quite as true as it should be to doubt everything, but I thought you'd take it that way. Of course I did, seeing as I didn't do this ritual because I hate money. I love it, moderately. Well, I've kept you long enough. Enlightenment for our colleagues and confusion for laymen!” He gestured and Dirant stood in his room.
He had missed breakfast, the staff regretted to inform him, but for a consideration they perhaps could . . . “Thank you. It is unnecessary, but I must remember your enterprise when I want inspiration. Goodbye.”
Fennizen had refrained from changing in his absence. It lacked incentive to do so. Wealth and news flowed into the city as always, and as for the second of those things, Dirant spent part of his last day off with some friends more interested in the doings of the condottieri than he. They were pleased to see some alteration in his attitude, for when they spoke about an offering of contracts by a collection of Ottkir states led by Baosnesk as well as the southern island nation of Stegzi to do something about pirates operating out of Eubosh Ashurit, a country uncontrollable by its own king, he joined in with more interest and knowledge than he had previously shown in similar discussions.
“And did Kelnsolt Aradetnaf take up one of these contracts?” Dirant asked.
“He did in fact, but it is nevertheless all quite exciting.”
Aside from that, citizens in the streets talked of the weather and the business climate as always. Dirant did notice, as he walked about that afternoon, that the word Stadeskosken frequently occurred closer to Wessolp than he expected. He started weaving across the street in an attempt to eavesdrop, or rather overhear, or rather provide opportunities for public conversations to become slightly more public.
His erratic behavior did not go unnoticed. A charming young woman with black hair arranged in the preferred style for the modern Adaban lady, straight bangs just over the eyebrows and long on the sides and back, waved him over. That would been more of a thrill had the young man not recognized her as Ridenad Bessahalpt, the daughter one his father's foremost rivals in commerce, Lofkant Bessehalpt. No doubt she was looking to wring information of financial importance out of him, he might have thought had he not heard rumors and personally seen evidence indicating a willingness on her part to exchange one set of familial allegiances for another provided a particular older brother of his tendered the offer. He tried not to smirk as he awaited her pleasure.
“Mr. Dirant, we've missed you here in Fennizen. It was a great mystery where you went, too, as if the fortunes of your family depended on it.”
“It is my belief that they do, Miss Ridenad, but I must plead with you not to tell anyone else that. They become so loud in their disagreement. I went to Wessolp and Amlizen as it happens.”
“Wessolp!” She threw up her hands. “There it is again, that name nobody had heard a month ago but can't stop discussing today. Were all these rumors of negotiations between your father and Wessolp something you caused? No one has given any explanation of it to me or anyone else, but we are all worked up over the matter regardless.”
“It is not then my imagination that I heard those two words, Wessolp and Stadeskosken I mean, closer than I ever did before. As neither of us knows nothing of what is behind it, I must extract the information from Silthree when I find him.”
“Silthree?” Ridenad cocked her head.
“Ah, forgive me, everyone, for revealing the family secrets! We refer to Silapobolt by that name, and you must not bring me into it when you call him that. I would like a report on his reaction however.”
“Silthree!” She laughed as she said it. “How appropriate. I remember I was told something about Ipni as a nickname?”
“Ah, that comes from his Duelist classmates, he says, but nowhere is there confirmation. Silthree is a term of familial import, and I again insist you debrief me after you test the effect of saying it yourself.”
“I will do just that.”