Speaker 1: Hi, I'm James, host of the Mystery Frequency podcast, and
you're listening to Tale of the Manticor.
Speaker 2: The following podcast is intended for a mature audience. Listener
discretion is advised. Welcome back to Tale of the Manticor
Season three. Like the creature from which it takes its name,
Tale of the Manticor is a mashup, a cross breeding
between two different species of storytelling. Here you will find
the unpredictability of old school paper and dice games with
the story craft of a dark fantasy novel. No character
is sacred and none will be spared if the dice
decide their fate is at hand. According to Laura, the
Tale of a Manticre is barbed with cruel irons bikes.
There will be much pain in the days ahead. Last
time on Tail of the Mantigor, the previous chapter begins
with Drenni solving the Sprite's riddle. His reward is double.
Speaker 3: First, the sprites tell.
Speaker 2: Them where to find a river, information that's badly needed
since the pieces have run out of water. Second, do
sprite speak of a magic item to be found in
some ruins on the river's far aside, of course, sprites
being sprites, they might have left out some important information.
The party leaves the fairies, following the directions until they
reach the river. Here they slake their thirst and spend
the night camped on his eastern bank. That night, Achillie
once again dreams of the little boy. In the dream,
she's in a room decorated with sun symbols and a
stained glass window. Unable to control her movements, she feels
herself walking out the door and crossing a courtyard on
its far She enters a second door and a corridor
leading to a throne room. Here, still a passenger in
the boy's body, she begins to search for something. All
the while she talks to herself, saying it must be
here and I just want to sleep. When she sees
her own true reflection in a silver goblet, the voice
says something different. Now it seems to speak directly to her,
and it offers her a secret. Unfortunately, Achillia wakes up
before she can hear it. In the morning, the companions
follow the river north. Along the way, they have a
stroke of luck and find some edible riverside plants. Ten
Tier and Achillia share more of their personal stories with
each other and their bond of trust grows. At the
end of the day, ten Tier spots a jumble of
stones on the river's far aside that he thinks might
be the ruin this sprite spoke of. They decide to
make camp and attempt a river crossing in the morning.
In the night, Achille's dream comes again, but this time
she is ready with a plan. She casts the spell
message in her dream and this allows me to communicate
briefly with the boy. He seems to believe that she's
a fairy send to help him find something, but when
Achillee wakes up, she still doesn't know what he was
searching for. The Next day, the companions cross the river
and investigate the jumble of stones. Achillie thinks it was
once a mill. No sooner do they figure this out
than Dernni spots a plume of smoke rising into the
air from somewhere on a nearby hill. Chapter sixteen, Part one,
Day sixteen Mourning mythic event meaning assist the innocent party.
Status achillea seven out of seven hit points, Cord five
of eleven, de Renni nine of nine, ten Tier six
of six supplies. The companions have five portions of food
and twenty one of water spells available. Achillie has memorized
message times two cord can cast, entangle and locate plants
and animals. Durnnie chewed his lip and thought, while the
rain fell.
Speaker 4: Do you think we should It could be.
Speaker 2: More orcs, Tintyer interrupted nervously.
Speaker 4: I do not think it is ten tier. We have
seen no sign of books for a couple of days. Furthermore,
we're on the far side of the river now.
Speaker 5: Can orcs have swim?
Speaker 3: Achillie wanted to know.
Speaker 2: I don't think so. Mumble ten tire in reply.
Speaker 5: But still, smoke means fire, and fire sometimes means food,
Achillie offered.
Speaker 2: Everyone knew that they were running low, and.
Speaker 5: That doesn't seem like such a lot of smoke. If
it's a small fire.
Speaker 4: It might be a small kimp. Only a few people,
and there are four.
Speaker 3: Of us, reason de Rennie.
Speaker 4: Five if we count you Robin.
Speaker 3: He added with this.
Speaker 2: At the sound of its name, Robin gave a bright peep.
Speaker 5: I think it's worth a look with your keen eyesight, Tintyre.
I'm sure we'll see them before they see us, I agree.
Speaker 3: Said der Anny.
Speaker 2: All right, said tin Tyr, a creek from Court signaled
his ascent, so the decision was unanimous. Off the companions went.
Tintyr judged that the origin of the smoke was only
a quarter miles distance. They'd be there in under ten minutes,
even if they moved slowly. Of course, they did proceed
with caution, moving from the shelter of one grove of
scraggly firs and boxwoods to the next, and making an
effort to be small and silent. Between the groupings of
trees were stretches of grassy sward, and hadn't gone far
before they started to notice that the vegetation looked somewhat unhealthy.
Much of it looked dead, and everywhere were brambles, stinging nettles,
and spiky weeds. After a few moments of furtive approach,
they came into view of the source of the smoke plume.
It was another ruin, and not the only one in sight.
The remains of others their buildings were here and there.
Most were just half buried foundations, but some retained the
squared off outlines of low and crumbling walls that suggested
their original shape. The ruin producing the spoke was by
far the most intact building of the lot. It had
two standing walls, both moss covered but fairly sturdy looking.
The chimney seemed entirely intact and rose to a height
of some fifteen feet. Of special note, there was evidence
of repair to this building. There was a poorly made
roof of sticks, mud and grass, and as the companion
sneaked around to view the building from a second angle,
they could tell that at least one of the fallen
walls had been rebuilt with rough cut logs. Clay had
been packed irregularly against the bottom, suggesting that the construction
was ongoing. Moreover, there was an axe planted blade first
in a tree stump nearby, and a wooden bucket as well.
Can you smell that whispered ten tear?
Speaker 3: There was no need to ask.
Speaker 2: Despite the rain, the smell of cooking fowl had reached
them even before they had arrived at the building.
Speaker 4: That axe is rather large, said Dorennie, like the one
Cord used to carry.
Speaker 3: He was right.
Speaker 2: The wood axe was certainly not of Elvin make, nor
made for anyone of their stature.
Speaker 3: Do you mean to say you think there are humans here?
Speaker 2: Tintyr was clearly excited at the prospect of meeting someone
of that race.
Speaker 3: He'd never even seen one before.
Speaker 4: I hear they grow hair on their faces.
Speaker 2: That's true, Achilia confirmed.
Speaker 5: I thought the man who raised me had a big
white beard.
Speaker 3: What are they like?
Speaker 2: Are they a friendly folk?
Speaker 5: I I'm not really sure. I've only ever met three.
Two were good and one was not as good. He
was dishonest.
Speaker 4: The race of man has a reputation for being warlike, greedy,
and unpredictable.
Speaker 2: Said Dorennie, repeating what he'd always been taught.
Speaker 4: Their short lives make it so.
Speaker 2: Achilia frowned at the comment, feeling ashamed of her own
comparatively rapid aging tender spoke again.
Speaker 3: What should we do? Said? And watch?
Speaker 1: Or go up to the door and knock.
Speaker 2: In fact, there was no door visible, but the young
elf guest there must be one on the side they
couldn't see. Dere any blink and ran a finger across
his brow to clear away the rain water.
Speaker 4: I think it would be wise to wait and watch.
Speaker 2: They waited for an hour. Nothing happened, so they waited
another and then another. By now it was some time
around noon. Thick cloud cover prevented the companions from knowing
exactly where the sun was. The rain, they had noted,
was getting worse. Those in the party with hair now
had it plastered to their heads and water dripped off
their noses. As they watched the building for signs of life,
the smell of cooking fowl suddenly intensified tenfold. And this
was enough. Ten Tier ran out of patience.
Speaker 3: Let's just go up and knock on the door.
Speaker 2: I've had this set piece of counter in mind for
a little while now, and so I know who's living
in the ruined building. What I don't know is how
they react to having strangers come knocking on their door.
Something to bear in mind is that the person will
first become aware of the PCs from behind a closed door.
All things considered, a minus one to this reaction role
feels about right. I'll do the role now, two D
six higher is better.
Speaker 3: Here we go.
Speaker 2: I get a four minus one is three. That's pretty bad,
but it also makes perfect sense. The things that look
around these old k More ruins, as we'll shortly find out,
are not pleasant and they are not friendly. Before I
go back to the narrative, I'm going to make a
second roll. This is because Achille will speak out in
the common tongue, something I could see changing the situation significantly.
This second role will get a plus one.
Speaker 3: Here we go.
Speaker 2: A plus one is nine. That's someone on the positive
side without indicating out right friendliness. Okay, with these two
reaction results, I think I can proceed with the story.
Ten two was apprehensive, but the rain and the the
smell of cooking fowl combined to spur his bravery. He
would be the one to knock on the door. After
the companions approached the building and walked around the corner,
Achillia noticed as they did so that there was another
much larger ruin behind it, though barely any of it
still stood. Whatever had once been here, it had been
reduced to a pile of toppled stonework and broken columns,
slowly being swallowed up by the earth, lichen and weeds. Still,
some of the original foundation remained and implied a kind
of square shape of about one hundred feet on each
side for attention to snapped back to the business at hand.
When ten tier knocked. Immediately they heard some shuffling sounds
coming from the other side of the door. Then came
a muffled voice.
Speaker 3: The you devil's walk in the day.
Speaker 1: Now, too, can a good man.
Speaker 3: Get no respite for the wicked?
Speaker 1: Be gone?
Speaker 3: Or be seared by set All's bully fire.
Speaker 2: This talk was incomprehensible to the elven brothers, who did
not speak the common tongue of men. Even to Achillia
it didn't make much sense. She had no idea what
might be meant by Sadal's holy fire. Still, the tone
was unmistakable, and amid the companions look at each other
with concern etched into their features. Achillie knew that it
was up to her to take the lead.
Speaker 5: We are no devils, but travelers hoping to find food
and shelter, she began.
Speaker 3: When there was no immediate reply, she.
Speaker 5: Continued, we saw the smoke from your chimney.
Speaker 2: Now she heard renewed movement from inside, and presently a
shadow passed between a narrow crack and the wall beside
the wooden door. Clearly whoever was inside was trying to
get a look at them.
Speaker 3: The voice returned, what are you speak plainly?
Speaker 1: For I can see you are no men of Satia,
nor men at all. The doors barred and shall remain
so if I dislike your answer.
Speaker 2: Achilia decided for the group that honesty would be the
best policy in this situation, and so she replied with candor, my.
Speaker 5: Name is Achilia Moak, I'm an else. I am on
a journey north with my friends de Rennie and Tenier,
who are also elves, though from a different region, and
court who is a man of wood.
Speaker 2: The shadow behind the crack shifted.
Speaker 1: Three elves and a woodsman. Eh, I could use the
help of a woodsman.
Speaker 2: A Chillier quickly translated to the others, and they stood
back a bit.
Speaker 1: All right, stand back from the door so that I
may see you clearly.
Speaker 3: Said the voice as they did this.
Speaker 1: Oh bless me, not a woodsman at all, but an
actual man of wood. Miracles of sitall. But you are
strange folk to look upon. Still your faces are less
offensive than those I'm used to seeing.
Speaker 2: Achillie didn't know what to make of that comment, and
so kept silent. Finally, after a few moments of what
must have been private deliberation, the man spoke.
Speaker 1: Again, I shall unbar the door. But no one advanced
that I have nothing worth stealings. So if you are
here to do missif you are wasting your time.
Speaker 5: Open the door in confidence. Then as we come to
you in peace.
Speaker 2: Said Achilie. There was the sound of the bar being removed.
Then the door opened to reveal a gnarled root of
a man. He was of middle years, with sun darkened
skin and not an ounce of fat on him. On
his face was an expression that could only be called
one of barely suppressed hope.
Speaker 1: Come in, Come in, please, out of the rain.
Speaker 2: He said, and beckoned them inside. Who is this weathered,
hopeful individual? Sometimes when I introduced an NPC, I'll determine
who they are at random. This was the case with
the ill fated Edo earlier in the story. Other times,
the NPC arrives in my imagination more or less fully formed.
Val Keene, Aldby and Fim are all of this type.
The men at the door is something a little bit
different for him. I had the basic idea of who
he was and why he was living so far from civilization,
but I didn't really know anything about his disposition or appearance.
I did have a good idea of the voice actor
I wanted for the role, however, and so when I
reached out to Dave Cooper, I asked him if he'd
liked to co develop the character. Dave did such a
great job playing King Colfrey in season two that I
knew he'd have great input when he replied to my
e mail the character of Brother Dalen Fairwind was born.
Fairwind is a cleric who ran away from the growing
troubles in his home kingdom of Solmoral to the west,
troubles that were increasingly looking to threaten his life as
a clerk of the deities at all, not to mention
his life on this side of the grave. Fairwind has
been living in these ruins for almost half a year
and hasn't had the company of anyone for most of
that time. We might hear all or part of his
story as the characters.
Speaker 3: Get to know him.
Speaker 2: We'll see Spring and summer have not been easy for
fair Wind. He is no servi, and it had to
figure out how to hunt, forge, build shelter, and cling
to his shaken faith all by himself. I could go
on and describe the man in more detail here, but
wouldn't it be better to let Dave do the talking.
Let's return to the narrative and meet this self exiled cleric.
It was a simple one room rectangle of thirty by
forty feet, enough light peeking through the chinks in the
makeshift walls that, combined with the glow of the hearth,
the whole space was illuminated. The smell of cooking fowl
came so strongly from a duck spitted over the fire
that had made Achillie afraid she might start to drool.
She self consciously wiped the back of her hand over
her mouth as she walked inside, with Duranie, Tantier and
Cord behind her. Before she had entered, Robin had flown
off to perch on the roof. The human was quite tall,
at least he seemed so to her. He had a
shock of iron colored hair on top of his head
and a salt and pepper beard. His bony frame was
wrapped in a robe that had once been cream colored,
but now was marred with blotchy brown stains. The bottom
hem was frayed, as with the cuffs of the sleeves.
In his hand was a hard wood cudgel.
Speaker 1: Come in, come in, please out of.
Speaker 3: The rain, he said.
Speaker 2: He indicated two log rounds on the floor that could
serve as chairs. A flat piece of slate resting on
a third was being used as a makeshift table. Upon
it was a knife, a wooden spoon, a tinder box,
and what looked like a jumble of colored glass pieces.
In one corner was a filthy pallet bed with a
wooden box by the head. Knew that, and hanging from
a nail on the wall was a silver medallion at
the end of a fine chain. Under it, a pile
of rushes had been placed. A pot of boiling water
was in the hearth. That would account for the savory
smell that started hours ago. The rest of the fowl,
the feathers and bones, had been neatly set aside for
some purpose or other.
Speaker 1: Bless me, my eyes have seen marvels.
Speaker 2: Said the man. While the three demi humans seemed to
have impressed him, it was Kord who made him gowk
in astonishment. He glanced back at the medallion hanging on
the wall and muttered to himself, providence, this this show
less be a slip, And then louder, he.
Speaker 1: Repeated, come in, please, please, do come in. Mind close
the door behind him.
Speaker 2: De Renni tent here and Chord sat cross legged on
the floor, allowing Achillia and their host to take the
available seats. Once they were all arranged more or less
in a circle. The man continued, Ah, yes, introductions.
Speaker 1: Ahem, my name is Fairwind, Dalen Fairwind. Once I was
called brother Dyleen Fairwind, but I suppose these days just
plain Fairwind will do. Welcome to the house of Sadal.
Speaker 2: Here, the man spread his arms out as if to
present the in mock.
Speaker 5: Formality, Sidal as Achillia, forgive me if I do not
recognize the name.
Speaker 2: Fairwind was unsurprised, and his reply came almost automatically.
Speaker 1: Sadal is the father of flame, lord of light, lord
of the sun, and all things of good and order.
I am his humble servant.
Speaker 5: Well met, Master Fairwind, said Achillia softly.
Speaker 2: Although she had given their names from the other side
of the door, it seemed only polite to give them again.
Speaker 5: I am Achilia, milok, this is my friend court. At
least two are dere any intenture of this stevy marsh
We are most grateful for your hospitality.
Speaker 2: Judging by the awkward look that crossed Fairwind's face, Achilia
thought he must be a man who was unused to company.
He coughed, as though unsure of what to say next.
Speaker 1: Then I think it is molting season, he said. The
dogs are much easier to catch nowadays. They cannot fly
away in the spring. Why had he use that?
Speaker 3: Here?
Speaker 2: Pointed to a sling on another wall, like the medallion.
It was hung on a nail. Under it was a
pile of river stones.
Speaker 1: I have little skill in using it, Ah, what hungry?
Speaker 2: More often than not, Tentyre had been staring at Fairwind
with the same kind of a wonderstruck expression that the
cleric had given Cord when they first came inside. It's true,
he muttered in Elvish.
Speaker 3: They do have hair on their faces.
Speaker 2: Fairwind couldn't understand the Elvish language, but gave ten to
an inquisitive glance. Achilia thought it was rude, but refrained
from reproaching the youth. Instead, she addressed Fairwind once again.
Speaker 1: What is this place a cursed land? Came the reply,
perhaps at the exception of this one building.
Speaker 2: Achilie quickly translated the question and its answers to the
brothers before returning her attention to their host.
Speaker 5: I don't understand who used to live here? And what
is this curse?
Speaker 3: Fairwyn's face grew long.
Speaker 1: This land is the original home of the cameos, my
own people. You have heard of Cambertine.
Speaker 5: I expect my master has mentioned it before. It's a
landed man from western Zaisha. Is that right?
Speaker 1: That is correct?
Speaker 3: Yes?
Speaker 1: Yes, King Murac founded Cambertine some six centuries ago and
built white Stone Castle. Later they built great churches to Sadal,
though some of these were given over to the worship
of Vessel Luna and eventually to purest Evil. But I
can see by your faces that you do not know
of these names, nor of any of the recent events
in that land. Yes, well, no matter, all shall be
Asadal wills it in the end.
Speaker 3: Actually, that is why I am here.
Speaker 5: I don't follow.
Speaker 1: No, I suppose you wouldn't be able to. Well, it
is enough to say that I am the instrument of
his divine will. I believe my destiny is to break
the curse of There.
Speaker 2: Was no need for Achillie to translate. It was clear
by her tone and expression that she was confused.
Speaker 5: She tried, again, what is this curse that you speak of?
What happened?
Speaker 1: The story of Murac's curse is a lamentable tragedy.
Speaker 2: Fairwind closed his eyes. He shook his head, as if
to banish your bad thought.
Speaker 1: I shall tell you the tale. First, let us prepare
our repast. Then you may listen.
Speaker 3: As we eat.
Speaker 2: The roped cleric stood up and went to the hearth,
where he removed the spitted duck from the fire.
Speaker 1: I'm afraid I have no dishes. Oh, we'll have to
use our hands.
Speaker 2: Nobody minded. Their bellies by now were gurgling in anticipation
of a meal. As Fairwind distributed portions to the companions,
he began to tell the story of Moroc's Curse. Chapter sixteen,
Part two, The Story of Morok's Curse. Almost six hundred
years ago, when King Morok returned from the Great Hunt,
the first thing he wanted to do was bed his wife.
Speaker 3: When he had.
Speaker 2: Left with his hunters a month earlier, Queen and i
A's belly had been so great and round and taut,
he knew that he might well be coming home to
a son or daughter if the gods were unkind. Although
he was looking forward to having another child, he hoped
that she and i had given birth. He loved the
way an eye's rounded belly looked. The sight of it
spurred his carnal appetite and lent him vigor. The hunt
had been a great success. They had brought down two
elk in the past week alone, and were returning with
a huge store of meats hastily salted for his people.
In addition, they had acquired a great pile of skins
for his tanners to work with. To night there would
be a great feast in a celebration. Tomorrow they would
begin preparations for the coming winter. They would be so
well stocked, he thought with a smile that even a
long winter would not thin their numbers this year. But
that was tomorrow, and this was now His needs required attention.
Moroc unbuckled his belt even as he entered the small castle.
In the courtyard, he had handed his great recurve to
his ballet, who had bowed low before hurrying off wordlessly
and looking pale, Morok paid him no heed. He let
his belt, weighed down by a pair of long daggers,
fall to the stone floor without breaking stride, and called.
Speaker 3: Out wife an eye on.
Speaker 2: He heard his own voice reverberate down the halls, but
it went not answered.
Speaker 3: Wife. He called again, your husband returns at long last,
and desire us to comfort of your touch.
Speaker 2: Still no answer. Moroc mounted the steps while undoing the
lace on the front of his tunic. His fingernails were
filthy with dirt and blood, and his boots tracked mud
behind him.
Speaker 3: At thirty and.
Speaker 2: Three years of age, Moroc was young and strong and
brimming with vitality. Perhaps Anaya was playing COI that was
not really in keeping with her personality, but perhaps she
missed his touch as well.
Speaker 6: My wife, are you in a chamber making yourself ready?
I hope you're feeling strong today.
Speaker 3: Ha ha ha.
Speaker 2: He laughed lustily as he opened the door to their
bedchamber and strode inside, expecting to find his wife a
bed with a red ribbon in her hair and perfumed
flowers on the side table in anticipation of his return.
The room was empty. Moroc was disappointed and a little vexed.
She should have been there ready for him, even if
she had not had advance word of his return, word
she would have had from the runners he'd dispatched two
days before. He left the bedchamber and checked the salon,
the common room, and the kitchen queen, and Aya was
nowhere to be found. He asked a scullery maid where
she was, and there was enough wrath in his voice
to make the maiden tremble and stammer, but she didn't know.
Neither did his valet. When he went back downstairs, he
checked the prince's old room. It was empty, so was
the throne room. Finally, he left the keep altogether and
strode across the courtyard to the chapel. It seemed unlikely
that she would be there. Anaya was no longer a
religious woman. Since their sons had died, she had lost
much of her enthusiasm for worship. Still, there were not
so many places she could be, especially in her condition.
She wouldn't be at the stables or in the village.
She was so pregnant that she could barely stand for
ten minutes without needing a rest. Of course, he thought
with a smile, for what he had in mind, she
would only need to lie on her back.
Speaker 3: Wife. He called again, are you and prayer?
Speaker 2: No answer came from behind the door of the chapel,
so morowc bounded up the steps and threw it open.
There among the shining copper sun, symbals, carved idols, and
flickering candles, bathed by the multi colored light filtering in
through the stained glass window above, was his wife. Naya
was standing a little behind the pasture a sallow skinned
man with beady eyes, stringy white hair, and loose jowls.
She held a fully swaddled bundle in the crook of
one arm and gripped a long dagger in her free hand.
She was no longer pregnant. Moroc noticed Aye. He began,
not knowing what to say.
Speaker 3: Tell me, is it a boy?
Speaker 2: He heard his own voice. It was flaccid and lame,
and he hated the sound of it. When Anaya did
not immediately reply, he corrected his tone.
Speaker 6: Answer a wife, And wherefore do you hold this dagger
out to me?
Speaker 3: Stay back, she hissed.
Speaker 7: You will not touch him, and you will not touch
me either, not ever again.
Speaker 2: A worry that had laid dormant for months began to
awaken in Moroc and it was not concerning the sacks.
Speaker 3: Of the infant. Show me that child, he.
Speaker 2: Rumbled, and the extreme menace in his voice made the
pastor shrink back, looking from queen to king in rising panic,
moroc thought that the priest had a golden symbol of
said all, the Lord of Fire in his pudgy hand.
He was gripping it so tightly that his knuckles were
almost white. Carried in his other hand was a little
vial of anointing oil. When he spoke, the tremor in
his voice was pronounced.
Speaker 4: Your majesty no longer has any claim over this child.
Speaker 3: A Naya, you will show me that child right now.
Speaker 2: Moroc took a threatening step forward, and the tip of
the Queen's dagger flicked up. Though her eyes betrayed her fear.
Speaker 3: Obey your husband, woman.
Speaker 2: Roared the king nay Are coiled, but still held the
dagger in front of her. Her eyes darted at the priest,
then back at Moroc, and the hint of a smile
touched her lips before they curled into a sneer look.
Speaker 7: Then how despair.
Speaker 2: The queen pulled the blanket from the child's face, which
had thus far been hidden from view. When Moroc beheld it,
he staggered, as if he had been physically struck. Blue
Moroc felt tears sting his eyes.
Speaker 3: It has blue eyes.
Speaker 2: Moroc had eyes of dark brown, as did Anaya and
both of his sons before they had passed away. Blue
eyes could only mean one thing.
Speaker 3: Will you make a cockbird out of me? He cried,
I'll not supper a thing to live? Give it here
a faithless wench.
Speaker 2: The Naiara coiled from his advance and brought the knife higher.
Speaker 7: You will not touch him, she intoned, not a single
hair on his head.
Speaker 3: Paw smash his head upon this floor.
Speaker 2: Returned Moroc, spit off, flying from his snarling lips.
Speaker 7: You will not and you will not touch me either
ever again, you're too late, dear.
Speaker 2: Husband, Annayas neared at him.
Speaker 7: I have already taken the oath, and I am promised
to Sadda.
Speaker 2: Still holding the knife in front of her, she tilted
the infant so Mora could see the dab of oil
on its forehead, shining wetly in the colored light of
the stained glass window.
Speaker 7: And the babe has been anointed.
Speaker 2: The pastor seemed to take this as his cue. Perhaps
she and an Ayah had rehearsed this part in advance
of this meeting. He visibly summoned his courage before bleeding
out his part.
Speaker 7: By divine law, none shall harm one of Saddar's holy servants,
neither peasant nor warrior nor king.
Speaker 6: To hell with those scriptures, Priest, how spill your brains
upon this floor as soon as I do, for the
bastard and my wife.
Speaker 2: An unstoppable wrath smoldered inside the king. His eyes were
as burning coals. The Pastor blanched. He had expected the
king to deflate.
Speaker 5: But to do so would be the most egregious sacrilege.
Speaker 2: The man was jiggling in fear by now, and looked
as though he would prefer to be standing behind the
queen instead of the other way around.
Speaker 3: To hell with your sacrilege as well, spat Moroc. You
would become reviled in his divine sight, whimpered the Pastor,
cursed forever.
Speaker 2: This threat of holy retribution finally took some small amount
of wind from Moroc's sails, and perhaps if the queen
had not said what she next said, the tragedy that
followed might have been averted. But for some reason arther
she did.
Speaker 7: Say it, don't you want to know who the father is?
Speaker 2: Naya was enjoying the look of anger and hurt on
her husband's face, and could not help but to twist
the knife. It was a mistake, for the mocking question
fell upon Moroc like a red mist, and he charged
into an ion baby in pasture like a mad ball.
When he was done, the chapel floor was awash in
their Blood and the King stood Alone, cut in three places,
and cursed for eternity. Thank you for listening to Tale
of the manticor if you are enjoying the show and
would like to help to support it, there are lots
of ways to do so. You could recommend the show
online or to friends. You can like and repost episode
announcements on social media. You can pick up one of
my offerings on drive through RPG. You can purchase a
Tale of the manticor T shirt at www Dot bear
Arts dot store. And finally, you can rate or review
the show on your podcatcher of choice. These ratings and
reviews do make a big difference, and I am grateful
for your support. Once again, I find I've let the
episode go on a bit long, so I'll skip the
review read and get to the credits. And this episode
features a big cast. De Reni, Tentire, and Fairwood are
played by Kayellen, Kevin Barringer, and returning to the show,
it's Dave Cooper. Listeners may remember David from his role
in season two playing King Colfrey the Terrible. You can
find David at that Dave Cooper on Socials, and you
can find him in the Netflix movie The Curse of
Bridge Hollow and PBC on YouTube. All three of these
guys have really come trud for me many times over.
I am eternally grateful. Also returning to the show in
his new role of Morok, King of the km Ors,
is another Tale of the mantigor favorite, Chris Hussy. Chris
is a part of the Bite Sized Tales podcast. Bite
Sized Tales is an audio flash fiction podcast featuring a
rotating stable of authors and covering nearly every genre in
short episodes of just ten to fifteen minutes in length.
You can find them at bite sized tales dot com.
In the role of Queen Anayah is Fiona K. T. Howitt,
host and g M of the What Am I? Role
in podcast The Kaymore Priestiffsidal is expertly voiced by Dan Falk.
To have a cast this big working in such harmony,
well I am. I'm spoiled for talented actors. Thank you
so much, Kyellen, Kevin, David, Chris, Fiona and Dan. You know,
I think six actors in one episode might be a
Tale of the Manticore first, I'd have to check anyway.
For listeners who are curious to learn a bit more
about Tale of the Manticor. I keep a blog where
I post all kinds of show and RPG related stuff
like art, maps, tables, crafts, and show notes. You can
find it at Tale Ofthemantacor dot blogspot dot com. To
get in touch with me, I'm at Mantacre Tale on x,
Tale of the Manticor podcast on Instagram, or Tale of
Themanticor at gmail dot com. I'd love to hear from you.
The adventure will continue on the next episode of Tale
of the mantacor the story We're Chaos Blow Wolves