Telezia Fragmented (IC)

[Maxymiuk]

Misfortune or not, some traditions simply need to be observed.

So it is with Founding Day in Verga -- the holiday celebrating the 247th anniversary of the capital declaring itself to be a city and thus paving way for the eventual founding of the kingdom. And whatever else you can say about its citizens, they are immensely proud of their history. So rain or shine, thick or thin, trade or no trade, Verga will celebrate the day it came to be.

And so it is that this day begins with a procession starting from the bottom of Akath Deler Ascent, the city's officials riding at the front, followed by gaily ornamented trade wagons with dwarves standing on top, tossing pies, candy and stone carvings into the gathered crowds. The procession travels across the city to the Great Market Square -- today all the stalls are gone, replaced with a dais, from which Archbishop Wensel blesses the wagons and leads the assembled citizens in prayer, asking Senestra for fortune in the coming year.

With the official part of the celebration thus concluded, the entertainment begins. There are jesters, fools, comedians, plays and even a circus. There are tournaments and tests of ability, games of chance and skill. There is dancing. And, of course, there are licensed concession stands, selling all manner of food and drink to the crowds.

Though for some, the true celebration does not begin until late evening. As the tired citizens begin to disperse and pickpockets move freely among the drunken, distracted crowds, the high and mighty seek their own company for a quieter, more subdue celebration.

***

As every year, Lady Marianne Alvarion is the one with the largest and most prestigious party. As every year, anyone that is someone received an invitation and anyone who wanted to become someone but ultimately wasn't clamored for one -- only to be summarily ignored.

The mansion's great ballroom is filled both with guests and the loud murmur of conversation. Latest fashions and incredible wealth are on full display. Impeccably dressed waiters weave through the crowd, always there to offer a full glass in exchange for an empty one. A group of minstrels plays a pleasant, inoffensive tune in the corner.

Naturally, the main topic of every conversation is politics -- and money, of course. Representatives of every major faction and guild are present, all of them forming their own private groups, with little intermingling. Lady Alvarion seems to be the only one moving freely between any of them, stopping for a compliment here, a short exchange there, making sure that none of her guests think they're being neglected.


Needless to say, all of you received an invitation to the party. Here's your chance to present your character and begin establishing relations with the factions and one another. This will be it from me for today -- hopefully, enough people post overnight for me to pick this up first thing tomorrow.

[OneCalledBlue]

Yismin had spent the afternoon preparing for the part. She had worn a simple yet elegant blue dress for the afternoon parades, however she decided that more stately attire was needed for the social event of the year. Standing around cheering on the parade always made her stomach churn, her face was sore from the continued forced smiles. More to come tonight though. she thought to herself. These invaders celebrating the extermination of a noble and proud people. the theft of the land.
The Lady sighed out loud as her hand maiden finished preparing her dress for the evening. A gentle green outfit, the hues of the forest. Golden thread danced around the cuffs and sleeves forming together in a pattern around the bust that allowed her to show off her figure. The Lady Crahask may fight like a man and lead armies like a man, however she could dress like a woman. A bustle was used to enlarge her posterior and hold the large base of the dress out from the ground. A crinoline petticoat of black fabric showed just hints through the heavier green fabric of the dress and under-skirt.
Raising her arms to allow the garment to be fitted Yismin winced clightly from the chafing of the corset. This new fashion that had begun in some circles in the city had required this outfit be imported at great cost from the lands outside of Telezia. Yismin hated it, yet she knew that many of the ladies would be jealous of such expenditure. The more she out did them the more they would fall over one another to speak with her. Such are the vague passing fancies of many of the noble women of the town.
Though of course her reputation for riding on her pony for long trips in nothing but leathers and furs without bathing for days on end was not unknown among the ladies of the court. But here tonight the show is what counted and Yismin intended to put on as best a show as she could.

With the dress fitted her hand maiden attended to her makeup, The Lady detested heavy makeup so the work was very simple. Selecting a ruby bib necklace to cover her exposed cleavage and a matching set of gold and ruby earrings completed most of the outfit. Yismin's handmaiden selected two simple golden rings and a small golden circlet with a likeness of her heraldry beaten into a small plate on the brow. A cape of a very fine soft material, green on the outside and black on the inside, completed everything.

"How do I look?" she asked her hand maiden as she looked at herself in the smooth silver mirror. "You look beautiful M'am." she replied.

***

A short while later a rented coach buggy collected the Lady and two of her best bodyguards. Her guards were each dressed in a black tunics with white thread making a border around the chest and skirt section of the tunic. the central chest area contained the Heraldry of the Crahask family. Underneath they wore a tight black studded leather armor and the studded leather leggings. The leather was of high quality with small iron studs that had been coated in silver. Silver coated arm bands covered their writs. Neither man wore a helm however, each had their hair cleaned and braided. Both of them carried their battle axe but no shield or bow.

As the buggy pulled up outside the party the two guards helped the lady down and escorted her to the door. Returning to the buggy to wait for her return.

***

The party was already underway when the Lady Crahask entered and after a few quick greetings to the minor noble men and women who were clustered toward the door she moved into the crowd seeking to mingle as much as possible. Though not so far, as she still had to await a greeting from the lady of the party.

[iTookUrNick]

The day had been splendid, and not just because of the perfect, sunny weather that had blessed the procession.
The Family had gathered that morning to celebrate the birth of Don Vito Corleone's first grandson. Every underling and petty gangster had brought something to the newborn and the young couple. Even the bugbears had made an offering, which, although being graciously accepted, had not been put together with the rest.
Don Vito himself had been bustling with pride, enjoying the first Founding Day as a grandfather by watching the chariots pass on the street from the confort of the terrace of his fortified mansion.

The evening, however, was another matter entirely.
The Corleones arrived at Lady Alvarion's party as late as was to be expected of a prominent family such as their, but not so late as to make offense.
He wore his armor, exquisitely crafted but combat ready, bearing his official insignia: a puppeteering cross on a dark field, in honor of the nickname he had gained among his friends during his ascension to power (the unofficial one, the Black Hand, was reserved rougher occasions). At his side, his wife was garbed with a very traditional, yet elegant, black dress, appropriate for a lady past her prime and proud of it.
During the previous years, before the death of the dragon, they had not been assiduous in their frequentation of balls and other social events, but Lady Marianne's Founding Day's party was legendary and almost compulsory for all those worth anything. Besides, Don Vito realized that in this uncertain times it would be in the interest of the Family for them to increase their social interactions and make new and powerful friends.

Once inside, the couple is greeted by the Hostess herself, underlying to the other guest the cordial relationship between them. The exchange is warm but brief, for they are not that close, and the lady has other duties to attend to. However, that leaves the Corleones free to mingle and play the game of politics. Looking around, they localize Lady Hessenton's faction members all more of less huddled together with some unaligned guests, and that is the group they start their evening with, trying to win them over. Later, if it is possible to do it with courtesy, they will find the time to speak with the trade guild representatives, to whom an invitation had been extended for the first time this year in light of their newly found power and relevance.

[stack]

Doctor Morganheim had arrived extra early to his office, determined to not fall behind on his obligations due to his required attendance at the days festivities. Disease did not take a holiday after-all. Morgana, his assistant, came by repeatedly to make sure he did not slip away to his private lab, then later produced a disgustingly fashionable and uncomfortable outfit for his honored place in the parade. She even enlisted a pair of Ravens to ensure he did not try to slip away.

The parade was spent trying not to tug at the high, tight collar as he road Mouse, his grey destrier, flanked by one of his loyal Ravens on his dappled courser, bearing the emblem of 'Megerix's the Grand's Hospital for the Aid and Relief of Verda', dragon over crossed syringe and crutch. The doctor himself bore only a small pin on his chest, eschewing the medals and ribbons others of official rank seemed so proud of. Though his more interesting devices had to stay in the lab, at least protocol allowed him to bear his sword. It may be unique, but others carried theirs, so no one argued, despite the oddments dangling form its hilt.

Morgana accompanied him to the party as well, sagely having procured another jacket to replace the one covered in ichor minutes after returning to work. The stern young woman leading the doctor about the social circuit was a familiar sight to any who frequented such events and preventing him from expounding too long upon subjects that may make the party too interesting. Asking after someone health is polite, specific inquiries about that particular ailment that was treated last month less so.

Having made initial greetings, he settled down to speak with Archbishop Wensel about funding for more beds in the indigent mission, given the rumors of plague spreading in the south.

[Holocron Coder]

Dezz Piltover frowned at her reflection in the mirror. This is why she hated parties. Should deal with the lies, the hidden mockeries, the insincere flatteries, the shady deals. It was this one aspect that she couldn't stand.

The dresses.

All well and fine on other woman, but Dezz hated cramming herself into one just to be taken seriously. But it was the cost of high society and she grudgingly paid it with corset, gown, and lace (she shuddered slightly. Lace). She suffered through an application of makeup before making her way to the carriage that would bring her to the party. On the way, she selected two of her personal guards to serve as her retinue to the party. Once there, they would, of course, have to mingle with the guards and servants, but they would be at hand should something go awry.

She envied them, really. What she wouldn't give for a relaxing evening of cards and gambling; for anything that just didn't involve a dress. She glowered at their simple, servicable clothing, built for flow and finesse in combat. The two of them hid grins at their mistress's, and commander's, attitude.

She sighed and got into the carriage, schooling her features into those more acceptable for high society.

--- --- ---

The carriage arrived at the party in a timely manner. Dezz knew that the current fashion was to arrive late, but military families never stood on silly fashions such as those. Stepping out of the carriage, she headed in to the party that was just getting started.

Once inside she mingled appropriately, making polite, meaningless conversation with minor nobles, peoples of import, and the occasional church functionary. As she rounded the room, she kept an ear out for the various discussion of the factions that were forming in the city. She knew that she would have to begin working with one, or more, of them soon enough to establish her family's importance in the coming years.

[ForzaFiori]

Krodok looked in his mirror. His aide had just secured the last strap of his armor, and he was checking his work. The kid was new, hired only a few weeks ago, and still occasionally made mistakes. On this occasion, however, he had managed perfectly. Krodok's freshly polished armor caught the sun from the window and radiated. In all honestly, he found it rather outrageous that he was expected to take something made for battle and turn it into a form of high fashion, but it is what it will take to earn his place in the city. He sends his page to get a horse ready, While he finishes preparing. He sharpens his tusks, cleans under his fingernails, and checks to make sure his sword was hanging correctly before heading down and out of his small fort. Getting on his readied horse, Krodok heads into town.

---

Krodok arrives at the Founding Day celebration with a much lower opinion of dwarves. Their habit of throwing stone statuettes had left him with a headache, a new dent in his helmet, and a finely carved statue of his former boss, Megerix. Entering the Alveron manor, he allows himself to be introduced, then heads into the crowd, mingling appropriately, and actually getting engaged in conversations that turn towards warfare and battle.

[Maxymiuk]

Lady Yismin Crahask's entry can hardly be said to pass unnoticed. But while the nobility in attendance expected to disdainfully sneer at an uncouth barbarian dressed in fur and leather and stinking of horse sweat, they instead beheld a fierce, but radiant beauty dressed in the best finery Vergan tailors could provide.

One could almost hear the gathered women begin gnawing on their own livers in jealousy.

"Lady Crahask! I was beginning to wonder if you would even show," Lady Alvarion swoops in, smiling broadly. She wears a fetching, yet modest azure dress and a subtle, yet masterfully crafted silver pendant upon her neck. "I must say that this dress is absolutely stunning. I simply must get the name of your tailor."

After a few such pleasantries, the hostess is called away by one of the servants mentioning a problem in the kitchen. She excuses herself, leaving Yismin alone.

Almost immediately, she is approached by the man she recognizes as Baron Ernest Colmarion, one of the most prominent representatives of the Progressives faction. Hanging off his arm is Baroness Colmarion, a petite woman dressed in an opulent purple gown that goes poorly with her pale complexion. In contrast to her husband's open, welcoming smile, she is doing a poor job of hiding the jealous glares she is giving the hillfolk woman.

"Lady Crahask," the Baron begins genially. "I am so pleased to finally meet you. We've heard a lot about you and once I heard you were to attend Lady Alvarion's ball, I knew I could not pass the opportunity to converse with someone of such… legendary stature. Would you do me and my wife the honor of accompanying us? There are a few of my colleagues who were simply dying to make your acquaintance."

He leads Lady Crahask over to a group of men, most of them middle-aged or older and having an unmistakable military bearing. Retired officers, mercenary captains, even an adventurer or two. After a round of introductions, the men resume their interrupted conversation, which circles around the theoretical challenges of a military campaign in the valley, particularly the logistical difficulties of operating far from the dragon's highway.

This leads to the topic of the threat the rebellious hillfolk clans represent both to supply lines and to the city itself. This, in turn, leads to the group to turning their attention to Yismin herself.

"Lady Crahask, your domain lies on the edge of the territory still loyal to Telezia, does it not?" one of them asks. "Given both its location and your own experience with the hillfolk, how much of a threat do your rebellious kinsmen represent?"

***

Don Vito Corleone and his wife are greeted by Lady Alvarion upon arrival -- she naturally extends her congratulations on the birth of Corleone's grandson and inquiries if her gift has arrived on time (she sent an exquisite mahogany baby crib).

Once inside, Corleone's wife excuses herself from his company, citing a desire to catch up on gossip with some of her acquaintances. The Don himself proceeds to mingle with Lady Hessenton's faction. While many of its members are only dimly aware of the nature and scope of his "unofficial" activities, they certainly recognize his wealth and his value as an ally. However, in the end the conversation turns into little more than platitudes, inconsequential banter and reaffirming the existing status quo.

On his way to meet with the Trade Guilds representatives, Corleone passes his wife's group and she acknowledges him with a nod. Their topic of conversation seems to be "that barbarian woman."

After the usual round of greetings, introductions and congratulations on the new addition to the family, the conversation turns to a far more pertinent topic. The craftsmen voice concern over who exactly can claim to be in charge of the city right now. For now, the old Verga Council still holds the responsibility for making the city run smoothly and collecting taxes but, as a portly jeweler reminds everyone, the council elections are due in only six months, and with the dragon dead, there is no one with authority to swear in and take the oath from the new set of officials.

Another man glumly notes that whichever noble faction manages to install the most of their own people in the council seats will be the one putting its hands on the city's tax money. This produces a murmur of assent.

Finally, one of the men turns to Don Corleone and asks:

"What is your opinion on the matter, Don Corleone? Do you think that there's any hope of us little people having our own voice on the Council?"

***

"You could at least pretend you're enjoying yourself, Doctor," Morgana murmurs in Doctor Morganheim's ear as they walk into the mansion's ballroom. "The whole city won't come down with the mumps just because you decided to relax for a few hours."

After the prerequisite mingling period, complete with any number of nervous glances at the implement the Doctor carries in place of a common sword, the doctor heads towards the unmistakable gray-gold toga of Archbishop Wensel. After the greetings, Morgana decides that it's probably safe to leave her employer alone for a bit and heads off in search of a drink, allowing the two men some privacy.

"You know, Doctor, I never did manage to figure out why you carry this evil-looking thing around," the Archbishop indicates Morganheim's sword. "Best I could figure, it's either to cement your reputation as an eccentric, or to make mockery of the entire fashion."

The conversation then shifts to matters of health and hospital funding. And -- inevitably -- towards politics, despite the Archbishop knowing Morganheim's distaste for the topic.

"Come now, Doctor," Wensel chides gently, "politics affect everything. Even your work -- whether you like it or not. Take this plague in the south, for example. Say it spreads to our little valley. With no central authority, who will establish and enforce the quarantine? Who will make sure the sick are cared for and the bodies properly disposed of? Who will pay for all of it?"

"Political stability is desirable to everyone," the Archbishop continues. "While I strive to respect your decision to stand above all the petty infighting we witness every day, at the same time I am surprised that a man so in love with order and the proper functioning of his hospital can simply stand off to the side and do nothing about the chaos that surrounds us."

***

The reaction to Lady Dezz Piltover's arrival at the party is one of faint puzzlement. The gathered elite cannot understand how or why a daughter of a provincial noble family received an invitation to the event. And then there is the matter of her (ahem) prosthetics…

These two factors combine into a rather cool reception -- only because saying that she was snubbed would be impolite. After many fruitless attempts to mingle and being ignored in every conversation she attempted to join, Dezz finds herself alone at a refreshments table.

"Oh my! Are those fully functional?"

The woman addressing her looks very businesslike -- if not austere. Her hair is cut short and she wears an elegant, but subdued indigo dress and no jewelry aside from a pair of small earrings. Her eyes burn with interest as she indicates Dezz's artificial arms.

"Oh, I do apologize," she blushes with embarrassment as she realizes her gaffe. "I shouldn't be so direct, should I? I'm Morgana Sleiss," she turns the introductory handshake into an excuse to give Dezz's hand a fully thorough examination. "Wow, they're fully articulated. Masterful work… Oh, once again, I apologize. I work for a hospital -- or I should say, the hospital -- and my interest is purely academic. I've never seen that quality of work before -- my employer's interests lie more in the direction of bone, flesh and alchemical concoctions. Who made these for you? If you don't mind me asking," she adds hurriedly.

***

Krodok Kinslayer is the only one of his kind to be invited to Lady Alvarion's party -- it speaks volumes of the level of prominence he has attained in Verga that he was even considered for an invitation.

Money taxes and trade -- this is all that the conversations seem to revolve around. The hillfolk have yet to become a material threat for the nobles and merchants of the city. For now they are still a nuisance -- a serious nuisance, denying the rich their money from trade, but only a nuisance nevertheless. Few of them have fully grasped the full import of Telezia's fragmentation.

Eventually, Krodok spots a group of men wearing ceremonial military uniforms -- officers and mercenary leaders, accompanied by Baron Colmarion and a woman in a green dress. Just as he approaches their group, he hears one of them address the woman:

"Lady Crahask, your domain lies on the edge of the territory still loyal to Telezia, does it not?" one of them asks. "Given both its location and your own experience with the hillfolk, how much of a threat do your rebellious kinsmen represent?"

[OneCalledBlue]

Yismin curtsies (more of a stiff bob and nod in the outfit she is wearing) and manages a small blush at Lady Alvarion's compliments. "Thank you M'am." she replies, acknowledging the status of the host above her own. "My dress merely suits the wonderful parties you throw. I would be delighted however to share such information over a small supper some day perhaps. Some time when you are less busy."
She curtsies again and excuses herself as Lady Alvarion also departs for the kitchens.

Lady Crahask suppresses a slight smirk as the Baron accosts her. "Lord Colmarion. It is such a pleasure to see you here this evening." she manages once more another small stiff curtsy in her outfit. "Lady Colmarion, your dress is quite a lovely shade. I hope I find you in good health and times." she nods to the Lady.
She listens to the Baron's introduction for a moment "I would be most interested in meeting your colleagues Baron. Please lead the way." she replied.

Yismin listened carefully to the conversation on military tactics being discussed in the group. It was interesting to hear things from the other point of view in terms of the military. Her past conversations had always been on how the hill folk could take the city, not the other way around. When a question was fired at her she took a very short moment to think before replying. "My domain is in the heart of the most unstable region of the outer edges, in the foothills of the mountain horsemen. I can tell you for a fact that if anyone were to manage to unite even a tiny handful of the clans they would have enough horsemen to sweep aside any forces the city sends out into the plains. It would take most of the forces here, plus many many mercenaries hired from abroad to be able to effectively deal with my kinsmen in a direct military confrontation on the field. That or a genius of a commander. Indeed more and more of the people of the hills have begun to realise that the longer the cities and towns are starved of trade, the weaker they become. If stability is not achieved quickly then the hill folk could starve us out of here, or if they unify enough, they could even storm the walls and take the city." she paused to let the military reality set in for a moment. "To take the fight out to the hill people and protect the caravans would require a hard and fast campaign - always on the move - and a way to either prevent any of the clans unifying or to unify some of the clans in support of us so that we have enough fast cavalry to be able to stand head to head with them." It was clear from her confidence and lack of hesitation on the topic that military tactics and politics were her favourite topics, and that she had given this much thought already. "What you need is a leader among the hill people who can unify some of them, but whom is both friendly to those here in Verga and also is part of the established nobility so they have a stake in the defense of the status quo. But then the real problem here is not an issue of military conquest, but is a political problem. Verga first requires a strong ruler who can organise the military and economics of the city such that it would be worth the enobled chieftains throwing their support behind us. Else they would see no reason to go against the others of their kin in a war that would see many many hill people dead, and you would be back to square one." she finished answering the question. "However.." she continued "We must also think about the future results of any campaign. In my view the only way we can solve our problems is if we put a strong Monarch on the throne. One who can control the hill people. If they cannot control the hill people in some manner other than through a military threat, then there will be an endless cycle of recurring civil war in Telezia, peaking at every succession of the throne. Megerix's way worked, but he was wrong. He did not plan for a future in which he was not alive. We must correct his mistakes and plan for the future." she finished. Clearly not afraid to speak her mind.

She turned to face a newcomer who had approached the group as she had finished speaking. Met the strange sight of the Orc mercenary Krodok as he approached in his armor. Clearly the sight of the Orc did not bother her in the slightest. In fact Yismin appeared more at ease talking war with the generals and in the company of the Orc than she was with the ladies of the room.

[iTookUrNick]

"What is your opinion on the matter, Don Corleone? Do you think that there's any hope of us little people having our own voice on the Council?"

Ah! The question he had been waiting for since he had joined this particular group this evening had arrived, right on cue like they had arranged it beforehand. In fact, Don Vito had though about doing just that, but decided against it because he could not trust the other man to deliver the line with the appropriate spontaneity. It seemed his decision had been correct.

"Well, that is a good question indeed my friend. There is no doubt in my mind that the Trade Guild has the power, and thus the right, to have its voice heard on the council. Why, if you need any proof of that, consider the fact that you have been invited here at Lady Alvarion's top soiree! Yet power is nothing without control, and control is what will make or break your cause.

Your strength is in your numbers: without your skill the city itself would grind to a halt like a poorly oiled clockwork machine, and you should be aware of this bargaining chip in your pocket. You may not be personally be as wealthy as some of the other guest here tonight, but what others might need to buy you can probably make, and since the state of the trade roads is so poor right now you might even control price and availability of certain goods and services only you can provide, as long as you are united.

Yet what makes you strong also constitute your main weakness. Your high numbers make it difficult to find unanimity and to coordinate strategies, your wealth is diluted among your members and your organization is so loosely structured that it is impossible to move quickly and decisively in a single direction.

As a friend experienced with organizing people with different jobs and background, the first and most important thing I'd advise you to do would be to strengthen your organization's internal structure. Remember: more often than not, organizations crumble because of internal frailty, not outside forces. Select, by a method that would sit well with your people, a small group of people to take control: this group could be this very own, I'd say; set up a hierarchy, a way for requests and suggestion to go up the ranks and orders to get down just as quickly; identify goals shared by the great majority of the your members and build a strategic plan to achieve them; institute a fee to finance said goals and strategies. Follow all these steps and you will be able to through your weight in the direction of your goals.

But as a spear, even when thrown with great force, needs a sharp point to be effective, so you need one man with sharp wits to represent you collectively in the political arena. Politics is a craft, like weaving or smithing, but instead of cloth and metal you weave plots and forge alliances. I do not have to tell you that every craft is best left to those who have come to master it. Therefore, you need a sponsor, possibly a noble who is willing to put forth your requests and defend your position in the council. Ideally, it should be someone who understand the issues connected with craftsmen and who knows what hard work feels like. I will not presume to make this choice for you, of course, but I'd like you to know I would be honored to help you in this matter. As some of you might be aware of, I am a self made man, coming from nothing to nobility through hard work and an eye for opportunities. In addition, I already work with some of you, providing protection to your shops: it would only be natural for me to protect your interests as well."

[ForzaFiori]

Krodok approaches Lady Crahask's conversation, and bows low. "My Lady." he says to Yismin. "Gentlemen" he adds to the rest of those gathered around. Lady Crahask is correct for the most part. The hillfolk are amazingly good fighters, though not as good as we Orc. He flashes a slightly scary smile, his tusks almost glinting. "A good enough band can keep the hillfolk too busy to unite by burning out their hill forts. Give them no where to hide and no where to store their food, and they are too busy rebuilding to raid. The only way we would be able to rid ourselves of them all together would be to unite them under someone allied to us - an unlikely scenario, seeing as how they hate us only slightly more than each other - or to completely eradicate them and start over."

[stack]

***
"You know, Doctor, I never did manage to figure out why you carry this evil-looking thing around," the Archbishop indicates Morganheim's sword. "Best I could figure, it's either to cement your reputation as an eccentric, or to make mockery of the entire fashion."

The doctor rests his hand on the peculiar hilt. "My reputation is unassailable, as are, apparantly, the bonds of fashion." A finger brushes his high golden collar. "Or so I am told. Though in truth the blade started as a trial in field medicine. This here here," he indicates a collection of cylinders and wires, "was a failed attempt at using substantial reserves of galvanic force to induce motility and restore vital functions. Professor Shiesch's research and conductive plates in parallel arrangement, you know? Sadly it did not work as intended. Poor Yuri. Never hire a clumsy lab assistant. Anyhow, it proved to have more military applications. Or would if it didn't require constant adjustment."



"Come now, Doctor," Wensel chides gently, "politics affect everything. Even your work -- whether you like it or not. Take this plague in the south, for example. Say it spreads to our little valley. With no central authority, who will establish and enforce the quarantine? Who will make sure the sick are cared for and the bodies properly disposed of? Who will pay for all of it?"

"Political stability is desirable to everyone," the Archbishop continues. "While I strive to respect your decision to stand above all the petty infighting we witness every day, at the same time I am surprised that a man so in love with order and the proper functioning of his hospital can simply stand off to the side and do nothing about the chaos that surrounds us."
***


"I fear you mistake my caution for indifference, your eminence. Certainly order is needed, as you have so well stated, but as to which order...that is the question on everyone's lips, is it not? For any to throw in with the wrong faction may be personally disastrous, but to prolong the transition time by opposing the eventual victor, that would be unconscionable. How many would suffer if our work was interrupted? Blood of kings, dragons, or paupers makes little enough difference so long as there is a steady hand."

[OneCalledBlue]

Yismin nodded as Krodok spoke. "You forget Krodok that even the dragon was unable to eradicate them. The hill people are hardy, they are swift and most of their communities are semi-nomadic. They can vanish into the hills and forests, even the high mountains in the blink of an eye, then to return as an army of horsemen or swift runners to launch attacks. The only way to deal with the hill folk is to either keep them separated and pick them off one by one in decisive battles just as King Revaine did, or as you say, to unite them under someone friendly to our cause. The latter option would make for a stronger Telezia in the longer term and if they can be united well enough and included in Telezian society it would head off longer term civil wars and strife.
Do not think however that they are driven by hate, it is simply the way the hill people view the way of the world. Property is not such a concrete concept to them and they see the way of the wolf and deer, the way to survive is to be strong enough to take, else you are simply prey waiting to be eaten. This is why war shall never solve the issues with the hill people." she replied.

[Holocron Coder]

The reaction to Lady Dezz Piltover's arrival at the party is one of faint puzzlement. The gathered elite cannot understand how or why a daughter of a provincial noble family received an invitation to the event. And then there is the matter of her (ahem) prosthetics…

These two factors combine into a rather cool reception -- only because saying that she was snubbed would be impolite. After many fruitless attempts to mingle and being ignored in every conversation she attempted to join, Dezz finds herself alone at a refreshments table.

Dezz finds herself getting rather vexed and having a harder and harder time not letting it show on her face. Everyone seemed to rush any conversation along before begging pardon to move on or simply pretended not to hear anything she had to say.

Inwardly seething, she poured herself a glass of some unidentified refreshment from the table. Likely a faux paus of some sort, serving oneself, she thought ruefully even as she drank whatever it was.



"Oh my! Are those fully functional?"

The woman addressing her looks very businesslike -- if not austere. Her hair is cut short and she wears an elegant, but subdued indigo dress and no jewelry aside from a pair of small earrings. Her eyes burn with interest as she indicates Dezz's artificial arms.

"Oh, I do apologize," she blushes with embarrassment as she realizes her gaffe. "I shouldn't be so direct, should I? I'm Morgana Sleiss," she turns the introductory handshake into an excuse to give Dezz's hand a fully thorough examination. "Wow, they're fully articulated. Masterful work… Oh, once again, I apologize. I work for a hospital -- or I should say, the hospital -- and my interest is purely academic. I've never seen that quality of work before -- my employer's interests lie more in the direction of bone, flesh and alchemical concoctions. Who made these for you? If you don't mind me asking," she adds hurriedly.


Somewhat caught off guard by the exclamation, Dezz almost chokes on her drink. Quickly composing herself, however, she turned and looked over the woman quickly before replying, "It is not offensive to ask; many have."

Once the woman released her hand, Dezz gestured with her arms, speaking with her hands to some extent to demonstrate their flexibility and articulation. "They do indeed fully function. I was rather young when the procedure was done, but I've since met the man responsible a few times. A Doctor Molatius, I believe, last of Agland. Unfortunately, it has been a while since I have heard from the man."

At the potentially implied question, she responds with a quick explanation of, "Given the nature of my family, they believed a... somewhat experimental mechanical replacement would be cheaper and more beneficial than any attempt at regrowing the limbs."

[Maxymiuk]

Baron Colmarion listens to the exchange between Lady Crahask and Krodok Kinslayer with a barely concealed smile on his face.

"So if I understand you correctly, bringing order back to the valley will require a strong person in authority here in Verga," he says excitedly. "Someone who can show the hillfolk a united front -- a leader strong and decisive enough to bring battle to them if they do not submit. Lady Crahask, let no one ever say that beauty belies intelligence."

The Baron spreads his arms, addressing the entire group.

"It does make perfect sense, doesn't it? The hillfolk clans each have a single chieftain leading them -- how could they ever respect us if we named a dozen, each with their own idea on how to run the city. And Captain Krodok -- and all of you gentlemen -- warriors, soldiers, distinguished officers," he nods respectfully. "I can't speak of how an army would run with a roomful of generals at its head, but I imagine it would be quite poorly," this draws some polite chuckles from the group. "And yet, there are people in this city who clearly do not understand that. They would put us under the rule of a bunch of squabbling merchants who'd waste time arguing over their privileges while beyond the walls the kingdom crumbles. Gentlemen -- and lady," his voice takes on a somber tone, "I, for one, do not intend to let this happen. I cannot simply stand by and watch this city stripped of everything that made it great due to factionalism and inability to see beyond the end of one's nose. I intend to see Verga -- and Telezia -- prosper under a single, strong leader."

***

The Trade Guild representatives listen intently to Don Corleone's speech, but before they themselves can answer the offer, another voice sounds out.

"Indeed, Don Corleone, there are few among us who would not be aware of your remarkable history," says James Brand, joining the group. Despite his advancing age, the architect's voice remains as strong and his vision as clear as ever. "And I do not doubt that should we support your bid for Verga's Council, you would look after our interests. However," he pauses to snatch a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, "we are also, as they say, men of business. We know that nothing in this world is ever truly free -- we need to look no further than the protection you so graciously provide in return for a share of our profits to see the truth of it. So my question is, Don Corleone, what bill would you write us for your gracious offer?"

***

Archbishop Wensel grows thoughtful at Doctor Morganheim's words, weighing them carefully before formulating a response.

"But how much waiting is too much, good doctor?" the Archbishop asks. "Caution and prudence are virtues in most cases, but there are many who view an excess of caution as a flaw -- or an inedible stain on one's character. We need only to look at the history of House Baylon to see the proof of that," the Archbishop shakes his head sadly. "The world we live in demands that we define ourselves -- even if it leads us down an erroneous path."

***

"Oh! I did not mean to imply…" Morgana shakes her head anxiously at Dezz Piltover's implication. "I'm sure Doctor Morganheim would agree prosthetics were a much safer approach. He does a lot of mechanical work as well -- you should take at the sword he carries. I've heard people say it turns soldiers' hair white under their helmets just thinking about someone swinging that thing in battle," she giggles in a rather unladylike way. "Oh, I have an idea! I should introduce you to him. I'm sure you'd have a lot to talk about. Otherwise he'll spend the whole night arguing semantics with the Archbishop. So what do you say?"



Apologies for the delay. Things have a habit of suddenly coming up whenever I start a game.

[stack]

Archbishop Wensel grows thoughtful at Doctor Morganheim's words, weighing them carefully before formulating a response.

"But how much waiting is too much, good doctor?" the Archbishop asks. "Caution and prudence are virtues in most cases, but there are many who view an excess of caution as a flaw -- or an inedible stain on one's character. We need only to look at the history of House Baylon to see the proof of that," the Archbishop shakes his head sadly. "The world we live in demands that we define ourselves -- even if it leads us down an erroneous path."


A slight smile tweaks the corners of Morganheim's lips. "How much is too much? Why any more than just enough, of course. To remove a tumor, one must cut carefully. Too little and it returns. To much and the patient loses that which they rather require. Now, if your grace happens to know that the tipping point is at hand, I would be grateful for the knowledge." He pauses for effect. "It was much simpler with the dragon, was it not?"

"But your glass is getting light. Let me send my assistant...where did she wander off to? Ah, anyhow take mine. I've only held it for appearances. Alcohol mixes poorly with my humors."

[Holocron Coder]

Dezz smiles warmyl at the woman and nods, "I would not mind meeting this Doctor of yours," she replies, offering for the lady to lead the way. As they weave through the crowd, she asks Morgana to tell her about the Doctor a bit, since she seems to know him so well.

[iTookUrNick]

The Trade Guild representatives listen intently to Don Corleone's speech, but before they themselves can answer the offer, another voice sounds out.

"Indeed, Don Corleone, there are few among us who would not be aware of your remarkable history," says James Brand, joining the group. Despite his advancing age, the architect's voice remains as strong and his vision as clear as ever. "And I do not doubt that should we support your bid for Verga's Council, you would look after our interests. However," he pauses to snatch a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, "we are also, as they say, men of business. We know that nothing in this world is ever truly free -- we need to look no further than the protection you so graciously provide in return for a share of our profits to see the truth of it. So my question is, Don Corleone, what bill would you write us for your gracious offer?"


Don Vito turns to regard the man speaking with a genuine smile. He had had the pleasure of witnessing the spark of genius in the man's architectural work firsthand, and he did no doubt that he would be playing the game one level above the rest. Most importantly, though, he could be a valuable ally, and convincing him would make convincing the rest a trivial matter.

"Mr Brand! It's a pleasure to see you again. It's been quite some time, but I see age has yet to dull your sharp intellect.
Indeed, nothing worth anything in this world is ever truly free, as you say. And it does not mean just money, but time and effort and reputation and one's hard work as well. All of these things have value, and while you can put a price on each you can never truly make them justice. Beside, with the guild's objectives still so vague and a course of action up in the air, a hard number woul be meaningless."

Don Corleone scratches his bulldog-like cheek with his right little finger while continuing, speaking almost for himself now (or so it seems):
"In the end, though, I do not think money will make or break this partnership. Instead, ideology will be the decisive factor. Alliances and coalitions are forming everywhere, and the only thing worse than being part of an alliance with mixed goals is being left out in the cold. I believe our goals and objectives are too well aligned to pass up the opportunity of working together, and as long as we all pull together in the same direction with our best efforts and mutual respect, there will not be any problem, whatever the price."

With a slow but commanding gesture, the Don has the waiter serve him another cup of red wine. Before drinking, he adds:
"At least, this is my opinion on the matter. What is yours? What would you say the guild should consider as the most important issue to tackle?"