The Decameron 2.0

Day 6.7 Trickery - MATTER OF PERCEPTION EliseBlackpool

Once more the story goes over quite well and is accepted into the Tricksters' Library. It is quite a vast library, and it is constantly growing. This one is snapped up in a green haze of light and disappears in the massive robes. Kuma Lisa bows and disappears from the podium as swiftly as she arrived.

The air stirs as the leader acknowledges Kuma Lisa's contribution. "Well chosen indeed."

Hermes jumps up again. He lifts his hand. "I must be next. Let me go next!" The wings on his sandaled feet flutter with rapid energy.

"Hermes." Dionysius pops up from under his own hood and offers him a large skin sloshing with red wine. "Have some."

"In a minute," Hermes says.

Various recommendations for what Hermes could do to himself follow as Dionysius tugs his ankle. "Come down. Your turn will come. Have some wine."

"You'll all love my story," Hermes says. He gives another robed figure a good shake. "Come on, Susanoo. You have heard it already. It deserves to be heard this session."

Susanoo sighs, and with his breath crackles like a distant storm. But he smiles indulgently. "It is. Even if the one who wishes to tell it is overeager. Amaterasu and Tsukyomi heard it, and they liked it too. If we do not take it this time, they may attempt to add it to their own collection." He gives a half shrug, though I know he knows full well what import this adds to the hearing. It's a matter of pride among the Tricksters' Cadre to gather all the best stories and to gather them first and in their best formations. From what I heard, the battles over Shakespeare, Tolkien, and a few others even led to bloodshed and great demonstrations of trickery and skill.

"Very well then," the leader says. There's a note of amusement in the voice. "Bring forth the offering."

Hermes flies to the podium. He rips out a yellow book, kisses the binding, and sends it out above the flames. "This is one I found from a story weaver I like to call Elise. I like to call her Elise because that is what she calls herself." He gives a slight nod as his face is bathed in the warm yellow light emanating from the book.

"Brilliant," someone calls from the crowd.

"This is a story that she wove and that captured my attention from the first. I'm sure you'll feel the same." Hermes leans on the top of the podium, resting his chin on both his fists as his lower body floats. "It too is in a land quite different from ours."

Matter of Perception - @EliseBlackpool

"Look away!"a hushed voice warned.

Corris followed the words to the one who spoke them, a slender young mother clutching her overly curious little girl tightly by both arms. They both wore long flowing dresses the shade of forest moss, or perhaps their gowns were turquoise, Corris wondered. The toxin that turned her irises white sometimes made it difficult to distinguish colors. Keeping her eyes open hurt too, a sharp stinging sensation impossible to get used to. But it was a necessity, part of the act and part of her job.

The Prefect welcomed her with a nonchalant nod and a furrowed brow, but he was careful enough to avert his eyes when she approached the wooden dais where his high chair stood.

"The noble Seeress Corris has arrived as summoned," Dag announced in a ponderous tone and raised his left arm high above his head for everyone to see. The intricate spiral symbol of the Sorrowful Goddess was distinct even in the evening gloom of the hall, a vivid reminder to those wild Northerners of his lifelong bond and immunity from their lordship.

Corris suppressed a smile, he was still so very young, just a boy with childish squeaky voice. But he spoke for her, he was her guide.

"We trust you will bring us justice, Völva", the Prefect stated crisply. He used their local name for a female seer, "And we trust your loyalty to the Crown," he added with a clear emphasis on the last word. He never stood up from his chair though as was customary when welcoming a Völva. Corris regarded him appraisingly with her unmoving eyes. She took good note of the statues of proud winged wolves on two sides of the dais, the amber inlaid silver clasps in his bushy beard and the display of ancient, ornate armor at the back of the hall. This gods-forsaken city was rich and powerful, no doubt, but it was as far from the Crown City as one could get.