Thomas
Visionary Demetri Troiarus

Southern Pantheon house of Worship, Rikolto, Terresol


"So then that must put you in an awkward position, Magistrate, considering it seems the Wisdoms have had targets on their backs."  Oh how he did love a good turn of phrase.


"I do not think either of us can discuss 'possibility,' when it comes to gods."  He had seen Tiny Vik do amazing things, but here in this office it would be taken as hearsay and nothing more.  "In fact the god of the south seemed to ride a whale at one point, truly a magnificent feat."


He continued.


"The difference between here and there is permission, my dear lady.  I am here, asking *Nicely* To sanction an empty warehouse for Worship within the walls, if not to make it easier for the ruling class to make their commute.  Do you expect them to travel to a swamp whenever they wish to pray?  In any case you continue to show a lack of knowledge in our religion!  Rikolto was where our great lord took his bride some centuries ago!"  He was letting emotions get the better of him, so he paused to regain his composure.


"In any case, have you ever tried to build in a swamp?  I have heard of an amusing story about a Lord and his three attempts."  He giggled at the memory.


"If we must continue to question religious significance then I feel it only fair if we look at Rikolto and it's religious place in the Southern Pantheon.  Religions expand, people wish to have a place to go that's close to home.  It's that simple, my lady."
Betty
Magistrate Cassandra Melise
SP House of Worship, Rikolto, Terresol

Cassandras lips curled into a mocking smirk as he discussed the Wisdoms being targets themselves. In Rikolto they had only become targets because the Visionaries had pushed the people towards violence under the guise of their religion. The Southern Pantheon condemned violence and they would never cause anyone harm in the name of a god.

"A story to propel a man who inflicts pain for the sheer enjoyment of it to the people of the Southern Isles." Cassandra countered, considering pointing out that the religion of Tiny Vik was much the same. These stories thrown about to make him seem far more powerful than he was. Cassandra imagined she would be terribly underwhelmed if the two were to meet. 

"Lord Hecate before his tragic," She paused, locking eyes with Demetri, "Death did not adhere to your religion and neither does the Lady Elania whose education I have had the privilege of overseeing." She paused in thought. Lord Hecates death was suspicious - the Asters in Rikolto were not given the opportunity to study the body and confirm the brawl story. Cassandra had a feeling it wasn't a accident though she had no definitive proof to the contrary other than how much the death benefited Tiny Vik and his cult. She had sent word to the Abigreth in Terresol making note of her suspicions.

*'Hmm, you said just moments ago that your god had plans for the swamp.'* She thought, steeling herself against those ridiculous giggles. "And yet you'll find that despite your fanciful display outside this building many people in Rikolto retain their faith in the Southern Pantheon. They are welome to worship a large collection of gods, including personal ones in their own homes as every god is a reflection of Saris." Standing up, Cassandra made her decision known. 

"The followers of Tiny Vik can do what many others in Rikolto do with the gods of their ancestors - worship them privately or in small gatherings within their homes." Pulling her dark purple dress to the side she made her way to the door and opened it with a forced smile. 

"If Rikolto is not important enough for your god to grace us with his presence then a place of worship here is not needed. Should he desire to remedy that, I would be happy to return to the discussion."
Kenneth
Cleos Vortigon
Falsa Province, Terresol

"Bollocks," Cleos swore. He hadn't caught a single knucklebone after the throw. In fact, flipping his hand to the backside had struck one and sent it flying off into the grass.

"Unlucky, Cleos," Said Dus, showing him the mouth of his coin pouch. "That's my two silvers then, thank you very much."

As Cleos sighed and fished out Dus' money, their friend Furlos leaned in and looked between them. "I must say, Cleos, you used to be fairly good at this."

"It's that tutor," Said Dus with a sardonic smile. "He's taken all the skill out of his hand. The man here should be cutting hay and stunning pigs like the rest of us, but instead, he's learning how to write his signature and rub foreign cock."

Cleos snorted. "Maybe. Listen ..." He sat up straight, looking at the two of them. "Just because that old man's making me learn about dead people and how to read a dead language does *Not* Mean I'll stop being one of the boys."

"It's more than just that, Cleos." Dus frowned, a look of genuine concern in his eyes. Cleos felt a bite at the back of his mind and placed his hands firmly on his knees.

"Just because I'm being *Oiled up for the throne*," He said, "Doesn't mean I'll ever stop being one of the boys. I may've been raised in that palace over yonder, but I grew up *Here*, with you lot. I'm going to miss it."

"Stuff that," Said Furlos, tart and incredulous.

"I mean it! I'm going to miss the work. Hacking away at the grass, getting a good sweat out. Whacking pig's heads with a mallet just before winter ... You know, tossing a carrot at them first so they don't notice." His friends chuckled. "But I'm *Not* Going to forget it, nor any of you. The two of you and all the others are going to be there at my coronation. We'll drink the royal cellars dry."

"And you'll make me lord of the province, right?" Asked Dus.

"Of course. Who better to guard Terresol's frontier than the honourable Dus?" He rubbed his chin. "I'm not sure what the tradition is for that, though. You might have to fight Lutur for it."

Dus shrugged. "So? I can take that pup. I'll make *Him* King of the worms and all of his sisters my wives."

The three of them cackled. It was that wicked, profane, bittersweet mirth that only powerless young men could share. Cleos made sure to savour that feeling; his days of being a powerless young man were nearly at their end.