Tucked away to one side of the room, chair turned sideways and one arm casually draped on the seatback, Crow feigns a moderate interest in Buchvold’s lecture whilst focusing his true (covert) attention to those in attendance. He’d once again arrived at the last minute – during the previous day’s incident with the Tarokka cards, “Brother Crow’s” habit of tardiness had been seeded when Quiret came to fetch him; today, he’s opting to reinforce that image – and found no empty places, save for one of the library’s study-carrels. No loss, that: watching from the side gives a better view of the audience than he’d have had, within their ranks.
In truth, the bard has already heard much of Buchvold’s speech: the Borcan’s tendency to show off his own brilliance has persisted, over the past months of their reluctant alliance, and Crow’s imposture demands that he pretend to foreknowledge of topics other than monster-hunting, music and espionage. Granted, the VRS spy isn’t yet convinced that the tall illusionist’s speculations on fiends are justified by the available evidence – given Van Richten’s own discoveries about transposition, the bard suspects any fiend which
didn’t embody a distinct form of sinfulness would find few conduits by which to access this Land, in the first place – but the concept of
belief as a tangible force, that can warp or create matter if properly applied, is admittedly of considerable interest to him.
If only it could work on our behalf,
not just against us…, Crow’s thoughts start to drift, before Buchvold’s demonstration with the amulet catches him by surprise.
What’s this, then? Something new?
Been keeping this part of your talk to yourself,
Raphael? The bard watches the volunteer’s reactions with interest, curious as to what the Borcan’s been hiding from “Mr. Crow”.
Afraid I’ll run off with your trinket, maybe? Still miffed about that wretched dagger?
Really, Buchvold, you should know I’ve better taste than to play the same prank twice, by now…
…or do
you know that? Just what are
you hiding, “Brother-in-Shadow”?
Filing the matter away for later consideration, Crow allows himself a mental chuckle at the exchange between Reuland and Buchvold. The spy’s provisional hypothesis as to the gray-skinned Brother’s unorthodox ancestry derives from correlated Richemulouise gossip and Tepestani folk tales, not from the Borcan; he’s not certain if his “ally” actually gets the
real joke behind the fiend-blood’s coy phrasings.
(
Another dossier-item, provisionally confirmed. The bard discreetly jots a checkmark in his shorthand notebook.)
Kingsley’s inquiry – both skeptical and prudent, hence entirely true-to-form – of course merits Crow’s notice, but Buchvold’s
reaction is even more curious. The bard knows, by now, what cues mark the Borcan’s words as less than wholly forthcoming; yet again, the illusionist’s conduct obliquely hints at something concealed.
Funny, that. He’s opted to attend this
particular lecture to make sure Buchvold, himself, isn't under suspicion – and, the bard has to admit, to get the Borcan worrying whether “Mr. Crow” was mad enough to
heckle his “ally” in public – yet he seems to be catching as many hints as to Buchvold’s
own duplicity, as that of any potential Fraternity watchdogs. The bard lets his gaze sweep the audience again, looking for clues to their inner musings and motives in the attendees’ body language, posture, and fidgeting.
Then – because he’ll look either bloody stupid or bloody useless if he
never speaks up at a lecture, and because the Borcan’s remarks to the Paridoner have gotten him thinking – Crow waves a hand to catch Buchvold’s attention, half-rises from his seat at the edge of the room.
“Beg pardon, Brother, for re-visiting the good Professor’s prior query,” the bard’s clear voice rings out, as he nods politely toward Kingsley. “But is your selection of a ‘fiend of fear’ – fear of control, specifically – predicated on the assumption that the Fraternity should create a
literal fiend, an entity in its own right, to employ its powers of domination on the Brethren's behalf? Or is it that the experiment should mimic fiends' hypothetical derivation of
power, by tapping the same wellspring of belief-based arcane energy as they? Is it your aim to become fiends’ master, or to emulate their abilities in yourself?
“If the latter, might that emulation not render the vessels of such power susceptible to the same
side-effects as a true fiend – to telltale distortions of Shadow within their immediate presence, for example – or to classical transposition, for assuming an inherently ‘fiend-ish’ state? Or alternately, if you pursue the former goal, would such a crafted entity’s power not truly be vested in the fiend
itself, rather than in its creators? Even if succubi
do arise from the concentrated urges of lust amongst the populace-at-large, they are not
beholden to those whose carnal yearnings create them … else, they’d never venture beyond their makers’ bedchambers.”
Crow pauses, to let a snicker or two from the audience's less-decorous members die down, then proffers a further point.
“Indeed, if a fiend’s powers truly
do stem from its own will – the will to exist, to wreak havoc, to spread that sinful conduct from whence it, and its power, might spring – then would a fiend embodying the fear of control not be the
worst possible choice, to muster into being? Folklore plainly testifies that most legendary predators exhibit marked
resistance to those powers which they, themselves, exercise against their prey: an undead creature’s strength, blood, and ‘life’ cannot be drained; the frost-breathing wolves of Sanguinia need fear no ice or chill; a doppelganger or lycanthrope, overcome by a polymorphous effect, may regain its prior form with scant effort. Is it not, therefore, plausible that a ‘fiend of control’ could well exhibit a comparable and disproportionate resistance to arcane domination … including, perforce, domination
by this very Fraternity?
“Those who employ fear as a weapon, Brother Buchvold, often direct
at others the very things they, themselves, most dread and resent. What means, then, would you propose to employ in subjugating such a fiend as your researches might potentially create? Surely, a fiend of control will no more savor
being controlled, than do those whose terror of same it embodies.”
The bard doesn’t remain standing, but settles back into his chair, his own gaze meeting the Borcan’s for just a fleeting - and pointed - instant, as he does so.
[OOC: Beat your Bluff, Moral, and tossed an innuendo-Bluff back at you. DC 27 Sense Motive for others to catch Crow’s hint that Buchvold
himself is very afraid of being controlled, if
that’s the kind of power he feels would prove most useful in a Fraternity-enslaved fiend.
]