“So,” Antefalken summed up, “Anselm held that if a sentient being could go through this exercise of conceiving of such a being, they had to believe in its existence. Therefore, one would also have to believe that there were no greater gods than this single god. That all other gods were simply false gods.” He laughed. “As you can imagine, he wasn’t too popular among the priests of any religion.”
Tom tilted his head; Anselm’s god sort of sounded like the one he was familiar with. “I’m not sure I’m going that far. I am really just looking at good vs. evil and stereotypes. I’m not trying to define what a god is or isn’t. I think people are entitled to their own beliefs as long as they don’t try to impose them on others. I see Talarius as trying to impose his beliefs on me and other demons.”
Antefalken shrugged. “They do tend to evangelize via the sword.”
Tom smiled. “Even so, I want to try, however futilely, to change a few of his crazy beliefs. Who knows, maybe he can then help convince others in his religion.”
Antefalken turned to look at him strangely. “Hmm, you are from one of those monotheistic deist type cultures then?”
“What do you mean?”
“A world with a single god, one who is all powerful and stays above the fray?”
“I guess. I mean, there is no proof that God exists. People just have to have faith. If they choose.” Tom said.
“Yeah, well... that’s why your plan might work in your world, but not here,” the bard told Tom. “The gods are not hands-off in Astlan. In fact, they tend to be very hands-on. They are egotistical, power hungry, vain people who bicker and fight among each other and who stir up considerable trouble in the worlds of men.”
Tom felt the other sick feeling in his stomach return from this morning. The one he had felt when he had first seen the umbilical cords to the sky. “Yeah, those links went somewhere. The gods, so to speak, aren’t real in my world. But apparently they are very real here?” Antefalken nodded; Tom was getting his point. Tom continued his observation. “The mana stream coming from the heavens, or wherever, was extremely purified; possibly flavored, you might even say.” Tom paused for a moment, thinking. “So then Tiernon is an actual person that you can, at least in theory, talk to?” Tom asked.
Antefalken grinned grimly. “Yeah, Tiernon is very real, as are his avatars; we are probably going to find that out soon enough.”
Tom got an even worse feeling. “What exactly do you mean?” His stomach was now a total mess. Actually, he wasn’t even sure he had a stomach, but something inside him was upset. He was getting a very sick feeling from this conversation, beyond the feeling of indigestion and of being too wired he had been dealing with.
Antefalken snorted. “Are you telling me you don’t understand what you did?”
“Apparently not. At least not completely.”
Antefalken sighed. “Well, you stole mana dedicated to and destined for Tiernon; and then you actually started using his already collected mana in a way that only very powerful priests are permitted to do.” Tom grimaced. “He is not going to be happy and he’ll most likely send some avatars to investigate.”
“What are avatars?”
“Saints, angels, lesser divine beings. Sort of counterparts to demons, I guess. I’m not an expert, but from what I understand, they are sort of like demons in the service of the gods.”
“Oh. I’m thinking that’s not good,” Tom said. “I suppose they aren’t going to be happy about me abducting their champion either?”
Antefalken simply flashed him a grin.
Tom belched, his indigestion starting to turn to nausea.
Hilda was close to completing her circumference of the city and the two encampments. She was tired, dirty and sweaty. Her feet were killing her. She could have done a cleaning ritual, but that would have only lasted so long before the forest soiled it again; it simply did not seem worth the bother.
White silk was just a ridiculous fabric for marching through a forest; Hilda far preferred wool or cotton fleece, but no... avatars of Tiernon had to maintain an appropriate level of graceful appearance. Which, considering she was under the aspects of an invisibility ritual and a silence ritual made no sense whatsoever. Who was going to see it? No one. Who was going to have to clean or repair it? Her, that was who. Argh.
Hilda was distracted by a rather curious light ahead and to her right, a bit further away from the Rod’s camp. There was the typical sort of flickering of a fire, but also a strange, pale glow. Moreover, there was something else seeming to distort both lights. Clearly something to investigate. Hilda moved cautiously up on the small clearing.
Okay, that is a bit odd, Hilda thought. As she got closer, the first thing she realized was that there was some sort of light refraction spell around the lights. An invisibility shield, apparently. She’d been using her divine sight and so had not been tricked by the spell. Clearly, something worth investigating. It felt like something a bit beyond the typical sort of spell, something more complex, most likely harder for an ordinary practitioner to see through. Being an avatar, however lowly, did provide some benefits.
It appeared to be the camp of a single man. He was a rather portly gentleman possibly a few years older than Hilda appeared to be. He was dressed either as a monk or a very unkempt wizard. He was sitting in a hammock chair next to a rather nice folding camp table that held a selection of meats and cheeses, along with a very interesting-looking bottle of wine. The man was reading a book underneath a glowing ball of light. However, what was far more interesting was the fact that the wine was actually labeled and not one’s typical refillable bottle.
She zoomed in on the bottle with her divine sight: House Darryne: Old Vine Meryst; 405 PV. Hilda sighed; it was an excellent vintage. This man had taste and money. The meats and cheeses also looked delicious. Technically, being an avatar and thus “dead,” she did not need to eat or drink, but old loves were very hard to give up. There was a second chair on the other side of the table.
Hilda closed her eyes. There was nothing she wanted — no, needed — more at this moment than a place to sit, a bite to eat and a glass of that intoxicating wine. Surely, after her long, fruitless trek around the camp, she was entitled to a small bit of time off? Further, this odd man must clearly be somehow affiliated with the local goings-on. Perhaps a bit of inquiry would not be out of order? Technically, that wasn’t within the scope of her assignment, but how could anyone criticize her for taking the initiative to go beyond her minimal duties?
Hilda’s divine scent suddenly picked up the aroma of the meats, cheeses and yes, that refreshing hint that could only come from an Old Vine Meryst grape, sacrificed at its most luscious. That settled it. She quickly ran through a series of Seeings and the standard detection rituals.
There was no hint of the supernatural about him, no demonic influence, no ghosts, undead or other evil stigmata. Actually no darkness beyond normal, forgivable human vices that she could detect. His aura was quite earthy; most likely he was a thaumaturge. He was not of a clerical persuasion; she detected no real sign of excess piety, thus no significant religious affiliation. He seemed safe. Time to introduce herself.
Trisfelt looked up from his novel, a book about a young wizard whose parents had been slain when he was a babe by an evil wizard but whose innate talent had shielded him from the blast that killed his parents, leaving only a scar on his forehead. Trisfelt had a passion for “true crime” stories. His passion however, was being interrupted; something wasn’t quite right. There was a disturbance in one of his wards.