Work Header

The Tridentearii

Chapter Text

THE TRIDENTEARII, Season 1, Episode 5 – transcript

[Jaunty intro music plays. Fade out into:]

CORONA: Hello!

IANTHE: Hello.

CORONA: Welcome, Ida-lators, to—

IANTHE: We agreed on Ida-lizers. Like idolize, not idolate.

CORONA: Oh, did we? I think Ida-lators has a ring to it. I like idolatry.

IANTHE: The emphasis is on the wrong syllable.

CORONA: Leave us a comment on the episode and let us know whether you’d rather be called Ida-lizers or Ida-lators. Or follow us on Instagram and comment on our latest post with your vote. We’re @thetridentearii, that’s t-h-e-t-r-i-d-e-n-t-e-a-r-i-i.

IANTHE: Welcome, Ida-lizers. I’m Ianthe Tridentarius, Princess of Ida—

CORONA: And I’m Coronabeth Tridentarius, Crown Princess of Ida. And this is—

BOTH: The Tridentearii.

[Sound effect: boiling water being poured into a cup.]

[Sound effect: somebody quietly going “mlem mlem mlem.”]

CORONA: For this episode, we find our circumstances drastically altered, and there’s been a bit of a change in plans regarding content. We were planning to give our take on Duchess Polyxena Trijada’s disastrous marriage to Diomedes Hexade and General Ruth Twain’s poetical public riposte—but it will have to wait.

IANTHE: We have some spicy takes, but you’ll get them in a later episode, dear listeners. If anyone still cares about it by then.

CORONA: Which you all will, I know, because it’s us. Our followers would listen to us read a dictionary, Ianthe. Anyway, our change in circumstances is a very good thing. We’re travelling!

IANTHE: Yes, that’s right, the Tridentarii are taking on the First House! We received a summons from the Emperor himself.

CORONA: He’s not actually even here, which is a bit sucky, but of course we are incredibly honored to be his guests here at Canaan House, on the First. We rolled up in full style, dear listeners, and let us tell you, it may not even have been worth it! The only people there to greet us when we arrived were a bunch of rickety old priests. And the place is crawling with skeletons, and they don’t even have eyes! So what did we even dress up for?

IANTHE: Splendor squandered.

CORONA: Who is here though, that’s the interesting part. House heirs and cavaliers primary from every single house—yes, even the Ninth, and we’ll get to them, stay tuned—all turned loose in Canaan House in the quest to attain Lyctorhood and become one of the Emperor’s Hands, his Fists and Gestures. [slightly muffled] Are we allowed to say this? We are, right? We didn’t sign an NDA?

IANTHE: Don’t worry about it, darling.

CORONA: And we have got a lot to tell you about. We’re going to go through every House, one by one—

IANTHE: And read them for filth.

CORONA: I wanted to say that part.

IANTHE: Too bad. Yes, all the House heirs are here and this is the first time all eight heirs—or nine, I suppose—have been in the same place for thousands of years.

CORONA: Possibly ever.

IANTHE: Possibly ever! Naturally we’re all sizing one another up, but only we two here on The Tridentearii are brave enough to say what we’re thinking. So, we’re going to go through everyone we’ve seen so far and spill this tea.

CORONA: Now, it’s only the first day, but first impressions are everything. First up: the Second.

IANTHE: Judith Deuteros and Marta Dyas, the No Fun Police. We’ve known them both for ages. Absolute sticks in the mud, both.

CORONA: Barely even said hello to us. We know they saw us. You can’t miss us. Anyway, the tea on them is that they can’t do anything without filling out a form first.

[A pause.]

IANTHE: That’s it?


IANTHE: That’s all we have for the Second?

CORONA: They’re really very hard to get a read on, and I can’t even drag their Cohort uniforms because let’s be honest, they look good.

IANTHE: The uniforms or the people in them?

CORONA: Both. Besides, we haven’t spoken to them in a decade and I would feel badly about bringing up childhood pranks. That tea is cold, and we are not in the business of heating up cold tea.

IANTHE: I have an idea, actually. Since you mentioned childhood pranks.


IANTHE: You know.

CORONA: Oh. Yes. Fair’s fair.

IANTHE: Next episode we’ll have some actual tea to spill on the Second. We need a day or two to gather intel.

CORONA: We’re not that good. A week, maybe.

IANTHE: Three days. Moving on to the next House—

CORONA: The Third!

IANTHE: The Third! God…what do we say about the Third?

CORONA: They’re gorgeous.

IANTHE: So talented.

CORONA: Nonpareil.

IANTHE: You really can have it all—the Third prove this unequivocally. Of course, it’s rare, and everyone else is probably gagging on their own spit for a chance to be them.

CORONA: The Third have attained perfection; that’s our tragedy.

IANTHE: No one else can ever hope to; that’s theirs. Now, the Fourth. Baron Isaac Tettares and Sir Jeannemary Chatur.

CORONA: Their tea is that they’re children. I feel a little bad saying mean things about children.

IANTHE: I don’t. I was a child once. Children are horrible creatures.

CORONA: Yes, you were proof.

IANTHE: We , darling. We . Don’t absolve children of their crimes just because of their age. I did some ghastly things before six.

CORONA: And I wish I didn’t remember what they were. These Fourth children are what, thirteen? Didn’t get to join the Cohort yet, even. And they’re so short. I feel sad for them.

IANTHE: They are in the midst of a battle with puberty, and they’re losing.

CORONA: Badly. And consoling themselves with bad piercings. So, not much to report there. Which brings us to the Fifth.

IANTHE: Oh, the Fifth. Lady Abigail Pent and Sir Magnus Quinn.

CORONA: I’ve been waiting for this. You’ll never believe it, listeners—

IANTHE: The Fifth necromancer married her own cavalier.

CORONA: Euch! It’s disgusting! It’s grotesque!

IANTHE: Could you imagine? Marrying Naberius?

[They laugh.]

CORONA: You’d have to marry Naberius.

IANTHE: No, if I do, you do too.

[A door opens.]

NABERIUS: Are you talking about me?

IANTHE: No, Babs.

CORONA: No, because why would we, ever. We’re doing the podcast.


IANTHE: Go and play with your knives.

[A door closes.]

CORONA: Anyway, I can’t imagine the Fifth would be any real sort of competition. They headed straight for the library today, and everyone knows you can’t learn Lyctorhood out of a book.

IANTHE: Sublime dunk on books out of absolutely nowhere, but you’re right. They do look like they singlehandedly invented twenty different shades of brown. The Sixth look much the same, only they specialize in gray.

CORONA: Ugh, librarians. Master Warden Palamedes Sextus, and Camilla Hect, the cavalier.

IANTHE: She probably has some title too but we didn’t bother to find out what. They’re both so skinny. Are the Sixth all right? Do they have food there?

CORONA: Has anyone told them you can’t actually eat paper?

[They laugh.]

IANTHE: You actually could stand to eat some paper once in a while, for the fiber.

CORONA: Oh, shut up. I can’t wait to get that Sixth cav in the training room.

IANTHE: We’ll have to put Babs up against her.

CORONA: Put me up against her. It’d be a waste of Babs. She’ll have no chance. And the Seventh?

IANTHE: Oh God, why did they bother to turn up at all? Dulcinea Septimus looks like she’s a single fart away from cardiac arrest at all times. That poor girl.

CORONA: And her cavalier, Pr—Pro—Prosilius—

IANTHE: Protesi—it really does not matter.

CORONA: —Ebdoma. I don’t like the look of him at all.

IANTHE: I have thoughts about him but they’re not suitable for the public. Anyway he looks suspect. Strong silent fellow.

CORONA: Muscled to the ears. Shaped like a bunch of bricks in a laundry bag.

IANTHE: Shaped like one of your poos when you don’t eat enough fiber.

CORONA: Was that really necessary.

IANTHE: It was extremely funny.

CORONA: I just think it was mean.

IANTHE: Maybe if you ever ate a stick of celery, I wouldn’t have said it.

CORONA: Do you know who eats celery, because it’s tasteless and boring? The Eighth.


CORONA: Look, you can’t not cooperate and then get mad when I segue. Now we have to cut out a whole chunk.

IANTHE: Fine, fine. The Eighth. Silas Octakiseron, the something something of the White Glass, and his cavalier is—

CORONA: Colum Asht. They’re the soul siphoners. They breed their cavaliers to be batteries.

IANTHE: Gauche.

CORONA: And the two of them are nephew and uncle. Or uncle and nephew.

IANTHE: Also gauche.

CORONA: And the much younger one is the uncle and the much older one is the nephew.

IANTHE: Unbelievably gauche. I don’t want to know how the generations shook out there.

CORONA: The Eighth play at minimalist aesthetics but they aren’t fooling anyone. It’s messy, and they try so hard to pretend it’s not.

IANTHE: Waste of time. And last of all, the pair everyone is dying to know more about—

CORONA: The Ninth!

[Both make spooky ghost noises, for example “OoOoOoOoh, spooky!” and “Aaaah!”]

CORONA: No one knows anything about them. This is the first time anyone from the Ninth has even left it in what, five years?

IANTHE: Five years, forever, what’s the difference. I forget their names but they’re probably called something like Deathella Ninety and Bonehilda Ninety-nine. The necromancer is very short and the cavalier is—larger, not as tall as me but taller than Babs—

CORONA: Babs is listed as 175 centimeters in the records but he’s actually 173.

NABERIUS [from other side of door]: I am not! It depends on the gravity that day—

BOTH: Shut up, Babs!

CORONA: —and anyway the Ninth both go around with these death’s heads painted on their faces. They don’t talk much either. We wondered if they could, frankly, and then the necromancer came out with this ghastly heretical prayer, which we can’t even repeat here—

IANTHE: They’re so theatrically sepulchral you can’t believe it.

CORONA: Macabre.

IANTHE: Grotesque. You feel like dying just to get out of looking at them. But maybe it’s just a special occasion thing. Maybe we’ll see them without all that paint and regalia tomorrow.

CORONA: Probably not, they’ll waltz around in all black and this crumbly old castle does not have the best lighting.

IANTHE [mean]: Use some of that animaphilia and we won’t miss a thing. Or just leave it to me, like always.

CORONA [absolutely Done]: She’s getting hangry, so we’re out of time for today.

IANTHE: Normally we try and guess which tabloid will break the next big news for us to pick at, but, well, we don’t get any news here and we won’t for a while, so our prediction this episode will be—what’ll it be?

CORONA: How many days before the Seventh kicks it? I give it two.

IANTHE: I give it tomorrow morning.

CORONA: Don’t forget to comment on our latest post with your predictions and don’t forget to like, share, and subscribe! You can also turn on post notifications so you get a notification every time we post. If you liked this episode, give us five stars, and if you didn’t—

IANTHE: If you didn’t, feel free to complain to us, but do know that we won’t care. This has been—

BOTH: The Tridentearii. See ya! Wouldn’t want tea be ya!

[Jaunty outro music.]