A Sudden Glut of Gluttons

[Aerin~]

She is looking at him, judging him. He didn't answer why she had to leave. "The devil has followers, too. They don't just assault people and open portals and the such, they do more." She turns away from him, "I see you here, dressed like this, with motionless followers laying in their chairs unconscious..." A couple steps, before turning her head, to look at him. She looks over the entire party, gluttony everywhere. Gluttony is the sign of just one sin. After a moment of deep contemplation, "I need time to think. This is insane." There would be no more conversation. She had to judge for herself from here forward. Hand slices open a portal, extending from her head to her hip. "I love you. I pray that what I see here isn't what I think it is." as she leaps into the portal, into the abyss. It closes behind her. On the roof she appears, running across the roof top and leaping off the front of the building, taking flight. Where would she go? To Elspeth's house. To not mention a single thing, and to keep this moment a secret.

[Treadwell]

"Good heavens! Tubbius preserve us all! Why can't she understand?" With that, Treadwell shakes his head and plods his way through the hall, snacking on this, munching on that, until he's made his way through the church to one of the rooms set up already for sleeping. Onto a bed he sinks--a bed that's nowhere near as comfy as his at home!--soon enough snoring soundly in the night.

[Treadwell]

A warbling yawn, a stretching of the arms, and a sluggish rolling to the feet this morning, and Treadwell is awake. In truth, he feels quite splendid and energetic after a few moments of wobbling about to get dressed--the only man so feeling in the whole church, the rest waking up with hangovers or aching bellies. At noon, the new Lord Tubbian sees everyone gathered in the sanctuary to address them.

"Brother Tubbians! All is very well today, following our feast! Tubbius is exceptionally pleased at our devotion despite less than favorable circumstances! Today, you are to continue finding places to fit those round, blessed bodies into the holes here in Myrken Wood, though not for our glory, but for His! I wish to see all of you in turn about such."

So it is that he finishes his speech, kept short and rather sweet. Among the two dozen others, he finds there are a number of men--some half a dozen--with rather excellent skills as carpenters and masons, and they are formed into a business on the spot to go about Myrken Wood seeking employment. A quartet of moneychangers--all Kutch brothers, including his Second Tubbian Graham--are promptly enlisted into his own services as Councilor of Administrative Sanctions. The other fourteen are a mishmash of everything: five cooks, three fishermen, a shoe cobbler, two tailors, and three candy makers. All are directed to various areas of the city to look about working for others or to possibly set up shops.

Thus, after another gut-expanding lunch, blessed and blessed again in the name of Tubbius, everyone disperses to busy themselves as their Lord Tubbian, their Voice of Tubbius, asks, leaving Treadwell sprawled out on a pew, rubbing a bloated belly and holding the key to the new church home.

As he dozes off, Treadwell finds himself dreaming again, resting in a great fleshy fold of Tubbius's middle. Two days ago, this might have been rather distressing. Now, though, with that same warmth from before permeating all and easing him into peaceful rest, he finds pleasure and acceptance. He wonders not what the others in Myrken might think of him or of his newfound companions or of the existence of a new church in town. All that matters for now is that low, rumbly, merry roll of a voice that quakes through his blubbery dream blanket, saying, "Well done, Lord Tubbian. Well done, little Aloisius!"

[Treadwell]

Two days ago, the morning of the twenty-sixth, Lord Tubbian Aloisius Horatio Treadwell sent out the twenty-four followers of Tubbius now in Myrken Wood to find ways to establish themselves in the community.

Now, two days later, there have been some interesting developments that have kept that new Lord Tubbian busy!

The first concern was the acquisition of food and drink--a necessity for a faith centered on dining excess. A very little amount was left from what the followers brought with them or picked up in their travel from Westenford to Myrken, as a great deal was consumed the night of the twenty-fifth. Thus, Treadwell did the generous, intelligent thing any man in his position would do: he donated a very sizeable amount to the church's coffers and sent out four of the green-robed initiates to go buy as much as they deemed necessary, and he also sent others to go raid his own extensive private stores, instructing them to bring back enough for at least three days.

The second concern was finding places for them all to work. Some found employment with Myrken folks in dire need of help. Most, however, came prepared with the tools of their trades and some things to sell; they spread around the city, setting up shops after registering the property with Treadwell in his role of Councilor.

The third concern was that the new Lord Tubbian needed to learn the scriptures--titled The Folds of Tubbius--from cover to cover. This was certainly possible; apart from visiting his wife and spending time with her, all cuddles and coos and sympathies for her condition, all he himself really had to do the last two days was eat, nap, oversee things, and read! No taxes needed to be collected yet, at least by him, and the toy shop remained closed for a little while, which gave Treadwell plenty of time to immerse himself in the new life he has chosen.

Thus, all is well in the house of Tubbius today as Treadwell finds himself being served a hot, tasty, wonderful, and slightly late lunch by a pair of initiates.

[Treadwell]

Tonight, after a feast with the Tubbians to celebrate a new year's dawning in Myrken Wood, Aloisius Treadwell writes and reflects, left hand alternating between quill and hunk of mutton and mug of ale.

= = = = =
First month, first day, Anno Regalis 208.

Tubbius be praised! The other Tubbians have very quickly accepted me into the fold, especially with my being of like body and disposition. All is well as this new year begins for us in Myrken Wood. I no longer question my need to be in this new role; in fact, I rather welcome it, having spent the last days--nearly a week now, is it?--in study of the scriptures of Tubbius--The Folds of Tubbius, to be formal. In this document, I find a great many justifications for a way of life I, my father, and the rest of my family have accepted for ages already. I find acceptance, rational explanations, and enthusiastic urges to continue such. In short, I find myself wholeheartedly believing in all of this!

And yet, where some believe despite what they have not seen, I can surely say, with my being perfectly clear and sound of mind, that I have seen Tubbius himself. The others have held for ages that their Lord Tubbian, the title I hold, is a position for one chosen by Tubbius Himself, for one visited by Tubbius, for one who finds himself resting in the very bosom of the Great God. I here acknowledge that I am all three of these. I have found myself seeing Tubbius, feeling his warmth and comfort, resting in his flesh, and hearing His guidance from His own voice, sometimes when I would swear I was awake, though most often when I would be very much asleep.

Perhaps a month ago--two weeks ago, barely, and not quite that, in truth!--I would have thought myself mad. I would have never accepted the notion of such. At that time, I was doing Tubbius so-called lip-service, not entirely meaning much of the oaths I was spouting in his name, but now I see things in a very different light.

I must simply be rather honest, here.

In a rather ironic twist, given the emphasis that we Tubbians place on size, I understand quite well, now, that there is something--someone--bigger than I am. But, while I am here, and healthy, and alive, I am entrusted with the responsibility to oversee the spiritual growth of all of the faithful put under my watch. It is a responsibility I wholeheartedly endeavor to meet.

I am unsure what this might, or might not, mean for me here in Myrken Wood. Thus, I will do as holy Tubbius leads.

A. H. T.

= = = = =

[Treadwell]

This morning, the eighteenth, started very simply. Aloisius Treadwell woke next to his wife, cuddling and kissing and exchanging words of love, and then, he got ready for the day, taking a bath in his tub and getting dressed. He rode to the Church, there to join the others in a feast, a random celebration. That started around eight or nine.

The others in the dining room had fallen asleep or had been the ones working to feed the rest. That left Tready.

Tready was testing out a theory.

He had managed to singlehandedly finish what was left on the feast table on his own, and, with no thoughts of illness or fullness, even ordered more from the initiates who were making it all, much to their wide-eyed surprise.

In short, the Lord Tubbian fed and feasted and gorged all the way to the donging of the noon bells above the dining hall. Then, and only then, did he finish his current plate and toddle, with a little help, away to his bed chamber in the church.

The first sensation he felt after nodding off was a warmth all around with a gentle rumbling. Then, he'd heard a familiar, though this time gently restrained as not to wake him harshly, rolling, booming voice.

"Wake, my Lord Tubbian. We have much to discuss, and you have a new role to play."

[Treadwell]

Day of the twenty-second.

Treadwell had heard nothing more from Tubbius, the great and mysterious, after that observation of having a new role to play. A new role as what? Why? Where? And for how long?

And then he fell asleep, stretchily full and snoring, noon of the twenty-second, soon feeling that now familiar warmth and hearing that same rumbling voice.

"Good! Wonnnnderful, Little Aloisius! You have taken to your place as Lord Tubbian quite well, showing splendid devotion in your physical habits. . . and in your spiritual ones. I know of your all-consuming study of the Folds when your duties permit, and I know of your slight confusion as well. You wonder. . . you grow curious. . . about your new blessing."

"M-My blessing, great Tubbius? You--you mean my ability to eat and eat, now?"

"Indeed! I shall keep this simple. I have been grooming you, Aloisius, and in doing so, I have found you the suitable, perfect representative for me in your lands."

By this moment, Treadwell, humbled and dumbfounded, slumps sluggishly into a fleshy side of the gluttonous deity.

"'Let your faith in Tubbius swell as you do, and through His blessings you may grow in life.' You know this quotation, I should hope?"

"Y-Yes! The fourth Fold, fifth verse, from the Song of Swellings!" Pride warms Treadwell's face as he smiles warmly up at the faceless girth.

"Mm *hmm!*" And so the great, naked god chortles and quivers merrily. "Your new role is an important one, for it includes not only your current status but also something greater. Little Aloisius, you must be tested. You must pass a single examination of your faith, and, if you pass, you must accept my will for you, which is, while of course not neglecting your duties to your country, for no Tubbian may cause dissent toward his brethren from outside the faithful, a matter of uniting the six, scattered churches from Myrken Wood into Amasynia, beginning with the smallest: a church of five followers, in the tiny town of Orson, in the heart of Amasynia."

A pause follows for Treadwell to hear and take all of this in. As he nods, Tubbius's belly rolls with jovial laughter.

"Splendid, Lord Tubbian! Wake, and your brothers in Orson will explain all! They expect you with open arms!"

And so, with thunderous snorts rolling free in his sleep, in an eye's blink, Aloisius Treadwell fades from his bed in the toy shop at Myrken Wood, reappearing on an immensely cushiony, multi-layered bed, wrapped under the warmest of sheets, in--

"The Shrine of the Faith, brothers!" an elderly voice cracking with emotion pipes. "Our prayers are answered! The Chosen of Tubbius has been sent!"

[Treadwell]

Aloisius Treadwell yawwwwwwwns, and moaaaans, and rolls lazily onto his great-bellied side. Then he flumps again onto his back, scratching his enormous stomach under these oh-so-soft silken covers.

And then he opens his eyes.

There are five gray-to-white-bearded heads, all staring fearfully, reverently, in a circle down at him, a circle at the top of a circle of big, baggy, fat bodies. Two in blue velvet, three in burgundy velvet. Not a Lord Tubbian among them. In fact, that's the first thing one of them notices. And then the other four chime in, in turn.

"It's a Lord Tubbian!"

"A Lord Tubbian is the Chosen of Tubbius!"

"But there is only one Lord Tubbian right now!"

"Indeed! He is it!"

"The Lord Tubbian must be chosen by Tubbius!"

And then, the circle of voices resumes, starting with the eldest of the three wearing burgundy velvet.

"That is how the Folds dictate, Erik!"

"Praise the Folds!"

"A man after Tubbius's own blessed heart! May he grow forever!"

"But why is the only Lord Tubbian here?"

"Maybe he's on a mission!"

"A mission from Tubbius on high!"

"Praise Tubbius!"

"Praise his paunch!"

"His belly!"

"His thighs!"

"Praise Tubbius! Praise him for the sending of the Lord Tubbian!"

A pause. The circle of merry, jolly voices ceases. . . and the eldest of the five hazards a simple question.

"What name has Tubbius blessed you with, Our Lord?"

It takes Treadwell a moment to clear his head and worm his way to an upright position.

"Treadwell! Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, of Myrken Wood, and of Westenford before that!"

"Westenford!"

"Seat of the grandest, greatest church of Tubbius!"

"But not the largest! That's the church in Colmouth. Thirty-two members. No Lord Tubbian."

"They eat fish there."

"Fat finger in the pie of the seafood that comes in to the town."

"I do enjoy seafood, myself. I wish we could get it more here."

"We're in the middle of Amasynia, Derrick."

"Oh. Well, bother. He's here with us, though!"

"Praise Tubbius for bringing us the Lord Tubbian!"

"Ahem! Mmph mmph! Yes, yes! Now, err, good fellows. . . I was told the lot of you would know why I'm here, precisely." Treadwell chuckles and sloooowly gets to his feet, wincing as his left knee buckles up under his robes and trousers. He doesn't have his cane with him, it still being in his toy shop bedroom. Two fat, elderly men--Erik and Derrick--huffily waddle over to hold him steady.

"We are told, Lord Tubbian, that you are to unite the brothers!"

"Lead us!"

"Help us all gel into the great belly of Tubbius in this world!"

"Appoint Lord Tubbians as Tubbius leads you!"

And, in unison, all five exclaim in their squeaky and gravelly tones, "Praise Tubbius!"

Treadwell grins from ear to jiggly ear. "And I was told something of. . . a test! Tubbius spoke to me, personally, as he has before--"

"Wrapped in his bosom!"

"Snuggled into his belly!"

"Bathed in his warmth!"

"So the legends say! There have only been three other Lord Tubbians in many, many years!"

"A rare breed!"

"A blessed breed!"

"The Folds incarnate!"

"AHEM! And what, good brothers, mmph mmph, is this test?"

It proves a short, hasty shuffle through wide open double-doors, through a small chapel with thick and sturdy pews, and into. . . a great square room, with comfy chairs and tables overflowing with fresh foods--meats, cheeses, breads, soups, desserts, greens, and exquisite, exotic cuisines that Treadwell has never even seen involving pasta and noodles and warm, delicious-looking sauces.

The five men--brothers in the literal and spiritual senses both--look awestruck at Treadwell. Only one speaks.

"We have saved and prepared and cooked and fixed tirelessly, waiting for this moment. This holy shrine has kept these foods fresh and warm, as if they were fresh from the ovens, for ages now."

Another pipes up in his place.

"You are, Great Tubbius has dictated to us, to finish this room's contents, my Lord Tubbian, in but a single sitting, a single meal time."

There is a pause to take this in, to smell the smells and see the sights and quite visibly slather and drool. Ahhh, Tready.

A third squeaks out, "Praise Tubbius!" as the Lord Tubbian eases into a wide-bottomed chair and quietly prays. The five brothers bow their heads in devotion at the silent moving of the man's lips, and they step out, giddily, and close the doors as the meal time begins.

[Treadwell]

Burrrrr-urrrrrrrrrr-aaaaaaaaaaa-rrrrrrrrrrrruuuurrrrrrrrrrppppppp.

So it is that nine-thirty at night strikes, a rolling blast from Treadwell coinciding with the chiming above.

One of the five brothers hesitantly peeks his head inside the room. . . and promptly faints. Two of his brothers see to him. The other two stare, jaws dropped, at Aloisius, who sits in a chair across the room from where he started, his belly swollen to immense proportions for the time being, his breathing only mildly labored. . .

and every plate, tray, platter, and bowl in the room picked clean, and every mug and pitcher drained. Forks and spoons and knives lie abandoned all about, slurped clean. Bones litter the area, although no crumbs at all join them. In fact, even through his delirious haste--some might say possessed haste--his clothing remains spotless, perfectly clean.

One of the two men looking on at him barely croaks out the most obvious observation.

"All less than an hour!"

The others, having roused the other man from his unconscious state, step out silently, returning in short order with quaking steps, holding, in both hands, various parts to what will apparently be Treadwell's new clothing. Like his current outfit, it is layered with the same garments--outer robe, inner robe, padded waistcoat vest, shirt, trousers, pajamas, undergarments, socks, and so forth.

The same one of the brothers to be the last to speak makes a humbled request. "To the bedroom, the Shrine of the Faith, please."

The six men toddle back to the room, Treadwell bringing up the rear with his short-paced, pursy steps. . . and then, as one, the other five quickly see to his undressing from his Lord Tubbian outfit, down to nothing, and then from nothing to the splendidly brilliant clothes he now wears.

They are purple with golden accents and trim through and through--though, unlike the rest of the clothes worn by every single member of the Church, they are silk instead of velvet. There are exceptions, though. The pajama jumper--standard for every member, it seems--is white, as are the gloves, boots, and, the newest addition, a sash to be worn horizontally around the middle, which has the same gold trim as the rest of the outfit. The skullcap is reverently changed for a purple miter, and there, Treadwell is informed of a couple of facts.

"Your title, my Lord, as decreed by Tubbius, through me, though I am not worthy to even look on his glorious flesh, is no longer Lord Tubbian, but Tubbius Regalis. You are the first--by name Aloisius I--and may you not be the last! Praise Tubbius!"

A chorus of "Praise Tubbius!" rings out from the other four believers, setting Treadwell to grinning widely before, almost instinctively, regaining a considerably regal, imposing posture.

"So beautiful. . . ." The speaker whispers. . . only to gasp in harmony and surprise with his brothers when the first of the Tubbius Regalis disappears in the same brilliant flash he arrived in. Not in a dream. Not snoring. Simply. . . gone. But to where?

[Treadwell]

"Splendidly done, Tubbius Regalis, Aloisius the First. You have passed my test, little one, and now, I give you the knowledge of what you are to do in my name. Watch, learn, remember, and unite and spread the faith."

That familiar, loving, rolling voice sounds all around the newly garbed authority. . . and yet Treadwell's eyes see nothing at first. Then, they see what seems like everything.

First, landscapes. The flat, Amasynian plain with a scattering of buildings and a church on the edge of view.

"Orson, five brothers, all family, and all of great faith," is simply noted.

The view shifts, swirling dizzily off to the west, settling on a slightly larger hamlet amid some trees at the base of the Wekslos. "Mountain Grove, ten brothers, hermitic in nature. They remain isolated. This must be set right."

Back to the east-north-east, within a mile or so of a twisty coast of a shimmery river, on the other end of the plain, is "Chalmbury, fifteen brothers, open to occasional discussion and feasts on holy days with the faithful in Colmouth, to the northeast. These men are primarily the men who lead their town; thirteen of the fifteen comprise the entirety of their town council, their governor included."

And that gives way to a view of the spires and rooftops and docks of a port city, perhaps rivaling Westenford in size. On the outer edge of town sits a round, domed building, the top of the dome engraved with the usual two rings of Tubbius. "Colmouth! As you know already, there are thirty-two brothers, ranging in daily occupations from shipping merchants to bankers to bakers. Their connections in seafood and baking allow them a wonderful supply of food for their meetings; there, you find some of the largest of the brothers. . . although you also find some of the least faithful, seeking only to spread their names. . . not mine. This must be set right."

Further north, also on the coast, the town of Furt. A tower about a mile from town seems to be the focus. "This is Furt, and there are twelve brothers here. They live in a sort of monastic harmony, with each taking on the major tasks in turn, each month. However, they fail to acknowledge the proper order of the ranks of believers, for this, and they have long since cast off the traditional colors of their robes in favor of identical, simple brown robes. My name is little more than a word said from their lips, with as little sincerity as in Colmouth. For this, they disgust me. This must be set right."

And, finally, a most familiar church at a most familiar land. "Myrken Wood, my Tubbius Regalis. Your home church with its twenty-six faithful--you, the twenty-four who came from Westenford, and your newly joined cousin--is a beacon in the darkness, a warm and quivery roll of my side. This church is crucial. With you at its head, it will become the center of an expanding faith, with all brothers set to rights."

"You are to be disciplinarian and deacon, servant and superior. As the living moderator between men and me, you hold a special position, Aloisius. Men might call you 'Tubbius' in a shortening of your proper title, and that title--in short or in full--is to be loved and honored and remembered, for it is in my name that you are called, and it is through my name that you grow and live and preach."

"Now, I leave you to your decisions, your judgement, and your faith in me. You shall wake, rested, in your toy shop, where you left. Your first duty, however, is not to rush immediately to my church in your land. My guiding hand in its affairs is steady and sure and strong. Those brothers suffer little for such a brief absence of their leader, for he has trained them well, even in so short a time as he has held his post."

"Your first duty is to your wife and your unborn babe, Aloisius Treadwell. You are Tubbius Regalis, King Tubbius, Majesty Tubbius, or, my favorite of the titles now given you, Stomachus Tubbius. . . but you are also a man with a family, and you are a man with a toy store, and you are a man with duties to the Council of the country in which you--and in which your spiritual brothers--now reside. Wake, little Aloisius Horatio Treadwell, and see to your worried beloved."

With the words of his god still in his ears, Treadwell finds himself sitting up, feeling more rested than he ever has, amid the sheets of his bed in the toy shop. Pulling himself to his feet and finding his cane where he left it, he takes a look inside the full length--and full width, in his case--mirror by the door.

"By Tubbius's wondrous middle, Aloisius, this suits you! Praise Tubbius!"

A pause. An ear to ear smile.

"The miter's a lovely touch!"

[Treadwell]

This morning, before the Tubbius Regalis goes to his toy shop to tidy up there, he has a command to give and followers to send out.

The command is simple. Today, the twenty-sixth of the first month in A.R. 208, marks the first try at an experiment. The Tubbians, it is fairly well known, are given to gross overindulgences (the Governor himself said so much!). . . and, yet, even they can spare some, on occasion, for the needy. Part of The Folds of Tubbius indeed orders the Tubbians to help spread food and faith as much as their own bellies spread.

That means twenty of the twenty-five followers are sent out by Aloisius Treadwell, carrying enough food to supply breakfast to ten different families in the residential areas west of the marketplace. What cold, hungry, lower or middle classed families can pass up free, hot, tasty breakfasts and jovial company, even if they wonder about what these fat fellows in robes are doing giving away food?

[Treadwell]

"Very well. Governor, had I a way to deal with this Ashfiend fellow, I would have suggested it ages before now, stuffing my face or *not.* All I might ask to add to this, sir, is whether the usual throng of heroic types has been called upon to help deal with him as of late? Short of, mmmmm, hiring a mage or a priest or a whole regiment of Burel's Channeler folks, I really don't see a simple answer. In all actuality, sir, that might be a reasonable idea, in itself."

The Governor had replied with, "Are you not a priest yourself, sir? How would you rate your own chances against the ghoul?"

"Governor, sir, many faiths are founded on a mix of benevolence, self-preservation, isolation, and sacrificial, academic study. That of Tubbius is currently one such. We are not warriors, nor are we mages, mmph mmph, nor do we possess phenomenal mystic powers. Now. . . I'm afraid I ought to be going, at this rate."

After these words, Treadwell had left the Broken Dagger in quiet solemnity.

Are you not a priest yourself, sir?

So, with seriousness to his face and an urging in his heart driving him on, Treadwell returned home long enough to dress appropriately for a day, and a portion of the night, to be spent in writing one much-needed letter to Cambree Swinton, and five much-needed letters to the other churches of Tubbius scattered in Amasynia.

The one to Cambree would be delivered very shortly and would be meant for her eyes alone. It was an invitation, sincere and short and sympathetic.

But the other five. . . .

= = = = =

To the Church of Tubbius at Orson,

Greetings and praises!

Tubbius is pleased with you and finds you great in the faith. Blessings to you! However, for the Church to grow, to swell, to spread across Amasynia and Myrken Wood as our faith does the same, we must attend to our needs as a collected, united group of brothers. In total, we number one hundred; of that number, you are five. Tubbius wishes you to send the two eldest of your number to the church in Myrken Wood to participate in the First Council of the Round, which shall take place as soon as all on the Council will arrive. They will indeed arrive, and soon, or there shall be dire consequences. Prepare yourselves and make haste.

Tubbius Regalis Aloisius I
4 February A.R. 208

= = = = =

To the Church of Tubbius at Mountain Grove,

Greetings, my ten holy brothers.

I shall be brief.

Tubbius is disappointed with your isolation from one another and from your spiritual brethren. Therefore, Great Tubbius has seen fit to ask of us to send the two eldest of your number to the church in Myrken Wood to gather for the First Council of the Round. It shall occur when all of the elders are gathered together here at once, but this must be very soon. Hasten!

Tubbius Regalis Aloisius I
4 February A.R. 208

= = = = =

To the Brothers at Chalmbury

Greetings, salutations, and blessings!

You fifteen are known well to our Father and Lord, Tubbius. He holds you dearly to his side, yet he would hold you closer by keeping you nearer your brothers across the land. He has deemed it necessary to see the First Council of the Round occur. Send your two eldest to the church at Myrken Wood with all due haste, where they will be cared for dearly throughout the Council proceedings. A holy examination of ourselves and worship of Tubbius shall begin only when all are gathered.

Blessings to you all,

Tubbius Regalis Aloisius I
4 February A.R. 208

= = = = =

To all the Brothers in Colmouth,

Greetings.

Tubbius is displeased with your vanity and your uselessness to the cause of the Holy Body. You are a ripple of fat merely hanging loose, unsightly to the eyes and cold to the touch. These must be remedied. Tubbius decrees the need for the First Council of the Round, at the seat of the Stomachus Tubbius in Myrken Wood. You are to send your two eldest to the church here to join in discussion of how the Brothers might unite themselves as a healthy, round whole, and you are to do so quickly. Penalties for not appearing will be severe.

Tubbius Regalis Aloisius I
4 February A.R. 208

= = = = =

To those in Furt,

Greetings.

You, like some of your Brothers, have forgotten the name of Tubbius and the holy aspects of that name. You have strayed from your teachings shown in The Folds. These must be set right. You are to send your two eldest--in proper, official, holy attire--to the church seat in Myrken Wood, there to join with your spiritual family and discuss, with Tubbius's Chosen, how best to unify this church into a whole, happy body again.

Arrive quickly. Make haste, or there shall be danger visited upon your very souls.

Tubbius Regalis Aloisius I
4 February A.R. 208

= = = = =

No letter, of course, would need to be sent to Myrken Wood. The position would be discussed with Second Tubbian Kutch, and all would be well! The letters to the other churches, though, would need to be delivered. . . and so they would be, once instructions would be given to see them spirited to their destinations by magical aid obtained for a fee.

Are you not a priest yourself, sir? How would you rate your own chances against the ghoul?

[Treadwell]

Tonight, the twentieth of February, finds the Tubbius Regalis lying in a bed at the Rememdium, the victim of a barstool to the belly that left him in the floor, courtesy of Jirai the drow.

It will be a rather crowded room in the morning. Once word gets out, the five highest ranking Tubbians in Myrken Wood outside of Tready himself come to the hospital to see to their leader's needs and to help him to the church, there to rest and eat and rest. . . all in good time, too, for the various leaders of the other churches in Amasynia finally begin to arrive throughout the next few days, ready for the First Council of the Round.

[Treadwell]

Morning, the twenty-third of February, A.R. 208.

"Gentlemen, I thank you all for coming, mmph mmph, and I hope to assure you that all will be well during and after this First Council of the Round. But, first, our own unique brand of business?"

With that, the elders from each church--twelve old men, all round and well-aged, including Treadwell and his Second Tubbian Graham Kutch--find themselves digging into a feast overflowing and immense. What better way is there to begin a session about a church devoted to gluttony and indulgence? So it is that eleven burgundy-robed tubs in matching caps, and one purple-robed tub with a purple miter, feed as if they are a dozen pigs at an extended trough.

That much lasts for an hour and some. Thus it is around eight, perhaps, when Treadwell introduces the major topic for the meeting.

"My holy Tubbian brothers, mmph mmph, I have been demanded of in a vision from Great Tubbius to place a burden upon all of our hearts! Of our hundred in number who elect to carry the name of Tubbius into the world with our actions, only about half remain truly faithful to the Folds! That, my fellows, is what I care to speak to you about this day."

This, though, leads to a grunted, snorted disruption from a particularly stout fellow three seats down, the eldest of the church from Colmouth, sits on the the left side. He sports a great, hairy, gray mustache that droops down either side of his lips past his chin.

"What you care to speak to us about, sir? How do we know a thing about you, your supposed divine security or name, or much at all?"

From opposite him, Derrick Waistham, of the church at Orson, chimes in at the same time as his brother Erik, both in the middle of saying, "We saw him! He was sent to us from Tubbius, at Orson, and he passed the Great Test!"

And this only leads to an uproarious explosion from the other representative from Colmouth. "HANG the Great Test! We've all six churches been prepared for the coming of the Tubbius Regalis for years, and why ought yours witness his arrival, what with your backwater residence and your only five members, and all family, to boot? Why--!"

He, and everyone else in the room, is silenced quite suddenly.

At the head of the table, a transparent, shimmering, humanoid body appears, hiding Treadwell entirely and sitting there in the room, legs out to either side around the table as an enormous paunch, white-haired, quivers slightly, disappearing into the upper reaches of the sanctuary turned dining hall.

A voice, low and rumbly, rolls forth from seemingly everywhere in the room, making a simple, plain announcement.

"This is Aloisius, the Beloved, the King Tubbius, the Stomach of Tubbius. His word," a pause for impact, for emphasis, "is mine."

As the vision fades, eleven great bellies quiver, some in fear, some in reverence. Only one is brought to stand, that one aided upright by a stout walking cane soon resounding on the floor with a crack.

"Again, my brothers, as Tubbius demands, we have business to discuss!"

[Treadwell]

How does one begin a Council of the Round when its first meeting has already been interrupted by a shimmering, spectral appearance of the deity the church serves?

Quite simply, with a sermon.

Very little is left to discussion, for after this momentous beginning, Aloisius Treadwell seizes on the moment. For the rest of the twenty-third, faults are pointed out, faith is praised, and members are encouraged, all through the first portion of a verse by verse, chapter by chapter, book by book interpretation of The Folds of Tubbius. All this is done, of course, with food at the ready at all times for the audience--and speaker--to have as they wish. When the eldest of the six churches finally begin to doze off, well into the early morning hours, only then does the Stomachus Tubbius pause in his delivery for the night and find sleep himself, tired beyond measure.

Yet, come the next morning, after but a few hours of sleep, and after a more than generous breakfast, the Council resumes. Teaching from the scriptures continues, covering, over the two days, every subject from the creation of all things under the nature god Ploav, who would eventually reveal himself in human form as one Tobias, who would come to be known as Tubbius in time, to the roles the priests are to serve in their communities to family life and priestly devotions carried out relating to it, for themselves and for others.

It is in the early afternoon that an exhausted Aloisius finally stops, bringing the last page and the back cover of his copy of The Folds to a close. After a break, an early supper is provided for all, through which discussion of everything continues. Points are bandied about, questions are raised, and, with a newfound faith from all sides in Treadwell's leadership, a faith brought about by reverence at his apparent righteousness (at least in Tubbius's views!), questions are answered with certainty and, amazingly, brevity.

In the end, as the evening falls, the elders are given charges. To the smaller churches, expansion is necessary, reaching out to more than their immediate circles in favor of finding converts to help the faith grow. To the larger ones, and to those falling short of Tubbius's instructions, stern warnings and, at the same time, loving rules for guidance are given to set them right.

So it is, at the end of the second day of the First Council of the Round, the Tubbius Regalis brings all to a close, his position secure, his role accepted, even by the loudest, brashest, droopiest-mustached faithful. When one sits so close, so near, to his deity even after so short a time, what is a follower to do but sit there in awe and listen?

In truth, and in secret, the eleven gathered with Treadwell over the last two days begin to murmur and discuss as he nods off at the supper table, his belly grossly overfull, his eyes droopily tuckered out. He, they come to gather in their hopefully devout (and yet possibly superstitious) minds, certainly can't be a normal man. He has to be more. After all, did this holy fellow not say himself that the ninth Fold of the Song of Swellings discusses an unfulfilled prophecy of Tubbius's own return? Do the names Tubbius Regalis and Stomachus Tubbius not imply a greater power, connection, and possible divinity? What of that transparent, yet gleaming appearance of Tubbius's own round-bellied form the day before?

Would Tubbius Himself be testing them, appearing in secret and claiming mortal frailty, as His holy words say He did once before?

Through it all, as the faithful watch and eat and plot and agree on a certain, positive, "Yes" to all of these, their Aloisius--their Tubbius--snores at the head of the table, overseeing his concluded Council in a most peculiar way, even in his sleep.