Silly merman-wannabee find way through fallen wizard-beerhaus to hole. Opens hole and almost gets sucked in to see me by himself! Oh darn! He runs, fishy-tail between legs, to his buddies and cries. They hug him and bring him back to show him it's not so bad. They were wrong.
Funny people fall into my little Hell and are so confused! Is big dark cave, taller than tall and wider than wide. So cozy. Flaming one looks around (he so scared!) and sees my torches, my big stone throne, and soon me!!! All-powerful me! I am Talar Tattletale, and I rule jack shit! I tell them one of my favourite tales, of The Zzzaburi and the Death Rune, and they all fall down laughing at priest with his naughty bits cut off. He was a snowflake and did not laugh though!
Now we talk Big Talk and it is sooooooo boring! Flaming one wants to find some priest and Fishboy wants some paper stuff but Hell is raining priests and their stuff so what can a boggle say? I just have to laugh and play. They tell a tale of their Prince Wormhead who got his little worm cut off by his girlfriend because he loved a prettier girl and it was not a bad story. But I get bored again, a little angry that they are not boggles come to join my King Dumb, and I decide it is Talar Time. My subjects must behave like proper fruit trees so I let them grow berries in their hair (those that have it-so silly that some don't!) and they all can grow leaves on their fingers-pretty! A little grove of grumpy fruit trees!
My subjects dance, and two have some good moves (sorry fish-boy and flaming one!) so I say it's round two: wrestle time, but that never happens. I get down off throne (is hard on my tushy!) and new Talar, the flaming one, climbs up. I wrestle the little guy who cannot dance and he pops off my head-hey that's not cool! Stop playing with that, guys! Not funny! Oh wait it was funny. Okay. Phew, got it back. So awkward…
Little guy gets tricky – they are whispering that they know I am a boggle and they can use my Disorder rune against me; who cares! Let them try! Little guy tells me not to do things so I do some of them; no problem man! They get bored, I am bored, so we take a break; good riddance, I tell them how to get out of my Hell and they sort of listen. They find the big staircase and go down-I didn't lie, it's very hot down there! You see, Hell is full of fire. Your myths are not all lies. They come back up stairs and go up and up but are not doing it right, did not listen! So they come back to me and we play some more.
Now, it's not nice to trick the boggle-Talar in his party-realm. Little guy does that and it hurts my all-powerful noggin! I go “poof” and have to spend a little time (haha time is so stupid!) back in Disorder. Or maybe I want to. They don't know boggles at all.
I think they left… it's cold in here. Won't someone love meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee???
[edited by Master Dalfgand, Rokari Zzaburi of the Fourth Age; accuracy of above history is uncertain due to infestation of timeline with boggle-magic]
The “Thralls of Granno” thence fled the site of destruction of the Monastery, knowing that the brilliant flash of Malkion's judgement that had lit the whole island upon its fall would soon bring unwanted attention. And it came quickly-first, the local Dronari girded their timid loins and confronted the “heroes” and Giranois down the hillside, brandishing what crude farm tools they could improve as weaponry. But, outnumbered and intimidated as they already were, they were quickly talked into reason and did not find Solace that day through their own violent suffering and deaths. The lead Dronari warned the assassin Miguel Silvestre that “bad men”; dealers in the Golden Poppy of Beauteous Dreams; had come looking for information about him at the Monastery lands and he'd told them about Miguel's family.
It became evident that justice was coming- the Giranois scouts noted far-off riders. Rather than meet that justice as the Dronari had urged, and submit to Rokari judgement, the miscreants continued fleeing to the east. And they fled well- even though they were on foot and their pursuers on horseback, they knew the route well. Bypassing a place where beetles and other small wildlife fled an ominous buzzing sound, they eluded pursuit long enough to get within range of their rebel encampment. A hasty ambush by crossbow-bearing scouts only wounded them, and those riders were themselves pursued away, back to the frontier, by the time the local heroes returned to their camp.
Their Giranois friend Jzhurte had spoken to them, summarizing their exploits: “We have done well, honoring the Sharde elders' wishes. I suspected but never knew you fought so fiercely-you truly are the Thralls of Granno; no slaves to simpering mercy or weak-hearted compassion! Together we have seen the rise of Yomil in his House in the Maggotweald, the Library, and you laid low your countryfolk who were left in there. Maybe some remain, but we did not see them. You took an evil dark book and destroyed it, along with some three-eyed demons sent to retrieve it. The book hinted at the rise of Umbrodriith of Tanisor but that is a different problem. We destroyed many undead, too. And now we have brought another place of evil down into rubble, slaying wicked sorcerors who corrupted the lands and people of Giraine. One of the sorcerors may have escaped, and he could be hunted, and another is my captive while I look into the mystery of his heritage and this woman of our people that he has lured into his misbegotten faith. So we have done our task of ridding this world of some sorcerors. I have helped you, but in doing so have severed ties with my clan. They will not kill me now, but I cannot live amongst them. My warband is here to bring ruin to undead, demons and wizards, and the invading wallmen that supposedly are different from the other wallmen. We will continue. But now-you have unfinished business, and this I cannot take part in. The elders will leave us be, and we can speak with them about that if we wish, but the only help we have for now is my band. You must speak on behalf of your people to the Sottogh and Huru, to get their aid. No others amongst your kind, even Aym Alamyn, will be heeded. Unless we have further business together, we should part soon and agree when and where we might meet again. If you wish to take me to speak with your contact among the wallmen, I might lend him my aid in killing other wallmen while you follow your own path.”
They met with their rebel captain Jett together with Jzhurte and reviewed their murderous, defiling actions. Jett admitted that the Monastery's fall was inevitable (True; it was in error; but that does not justify murder of my Rokari precedents! Malkion's judgement will find these murderers, though.). He was not told about the hole in the main abbey floor that led into the former crypt-Prior Mujahid the “Giranois” monk had told them that the former Abbot had killed himself by jumping off a cliff, and since then (and maybe before, too) the crypt had been a haunted place that the monks avoided. Such perfidy, that they withhold valuable information from their leader's trusted envoy, was typical of the Thralls of Granno. But Jett knew Prior Mujahid was a burden on the traitorous colonial rebels and Giranois alike, and said he'd watch this situation; and have his nefarious contacts watch for the missing Brother Quasim. Assistance of Jzhurte with Jett's camp was gratefully accepted and the Giranois warband took up an encampment on the periphery, free to pursue hapless Rokari or fearsome undead that were becoming an increasing plague upon the rebel lands.
There may, at times, be short-lived honour among some thieves, spies and assassins and their ally Jett may have shown that, wisely urging “The Rokari are sure to be furious and surprised. Their actions against you will be drastic. I urge you to seek safety off of Giraine, at least for this season; or at the very least far from the war frontier on Giraine or its ports.” Indeed, Jett gave Miguel Silvestre further information that had recently come:
“I bring you troubling news, Miguel… it is too soon for it to relate to this latest development but is woven of the same thread, and a sign of things to come, I fear. This came via our new contacts in New Arv, Gothrim of Peelo and the Friends of the Sinners' Saint, who had met the writer.” On a note handed to the illiterate Dronari, whose allies read it to him, was: “Miguel the murderer. Your little sister Micaela is a darling. Such a fragile darling, but she is unhurt for now. Come ALONE to the ruins in New Arv or SHE DIES, HORRIBLY. We have eyes on it. Don't dare any tricks.”
And so the assassin Miguel turned his heart with fury and vengeance toward the coastal port of New Arvonesse, and his allies backed him up. Logic tends to fail those in error at such times, and history would judge if this were true.
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