Total War: Broken City, Book 3

[Zemalac]

http://i.imgur.com/uau7g.png

This is the third in-character thread for Total War: Broken City. The first thread may be found here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=249643) and the second here (http://www.giantitp.com/forums/showthread.php?t=260404).


_____________________________________

The body of the sorceress is long gone, now, taken far from this place. Things have been reorganized since then--the papers cleared away, the chairs and table replaced, a new pane of glass found for the wall and the floor vigorously scrubbed where blood had stained it--but this is still the same place and the same city, in the midst of the same war that started the moment Desoui died from the assassin's dart. The room is not used much, not now. The new king who has claimed this palace is out and about his city more often than he is at home, trying to bring what he has declared his actually into his grasp. The high room where the sorceress died does not feel abandoned, however. There is no dust, no scurrying insects, no cobwebs or clutter. The stillness in the air that is of a creature waiting. It won't be long, now, before those below are done tearing the city apart and someone new will live in this place--not using it as a rallying point, not just placing their flags on the gate, but rising above the broken city below, living in and becoming the symbol that is Daisong Palace, beating heart of Sav Altulas.

Not long, now.

Welcome to Sav Altulas, once the capitol city of great and fabled Talidor, one of the three kingdoms that made up the Shattered Lands before the Zancharian Empire came and went, more than a thousand years ago. The city has gone through some rough stages since then, lying in ruin for a time before being found and rebuilt into the pit of refugees and decadent, bandit-bred nobility that it is today. It was, until almost two years ago, ruled by Burgravet Desoui, a sorceress that everyone thought was immortal. They were, almost two years ago, proven wrong. Desoui is dead, murdered by gods alone know who, and the power-hungry people of this ancient city are showing their true colors once again. For the first time in a hundred years, the natural-born conspirators of Sav Altulas are not held in check by the fear of magical wrath, and when the dust settles only one will rise above the nest of vipers to claim the now-empty throne.

A new page turns in the story of the old city. Wake up, my friends; there is, as always, much to do.


_____________________________________

Turn 21 Results
February, 1034 DR


The Sav Altulas Standard
All Glory to Neposh

Sponsored by the Bookbinder's Guild

______________________________

Clerics of the Church of Neposh, working in conjunction with the Fist of Neposh and EBSA Greycloaks and magistrates, have brought a new era of peace and order to Oldtown. All glory to Neposh!

The Guild's Watch, EBSA Greycloaks, the Fist of Neposh and a large mage contingent sponsored by the Esoteric Society of Gentleman Explorers has calmed the situation in the Triphage Untima. Citizens may now safely walk the streets once again.

Urso Bloodhand has taken advantage of the presence of a large number of mercenaries and fortune-seekers in the Triphage to recruit for his new mercenary company.

Rumors that the sorceress Desoui collected all of the elven treasure that many in the Triphage have been looking for brings many of them to Oldtown, plotting heists on Daisong Palace. Several attempted raids on the Palace are stopped by EBSA Greycloaks.

The Order of the Wren has seized undefended and empty Mercantile's Guild property across the Stacks district.

The Mercantile's Guild has moved operations to Lomb Circle, under the auspices of the House Laurier mercantile empire.

General Rhodarmer, formerly of Gregoria, has launched a campaign to convince his former soldiers (now working mostly for King James) to rejoin him and take back their kingdom. Desertion among the Champions of Sovereignty is reported to be at an all-time high, especially among the Gregorian levies.

The Gatekeeper's Guard has reclaimed Gateway Milanus for the Warden Order.

Mercenaries hired by the Wardens take Traitor's Bridge unopposed this month.

Deliveries from Verdan tinker companies are a frequent sight in both Gaspar Aeroyard and across Traitor's Bridge this month.

The Wrekan Family of Heartsblood has suffered a series of unfortunate accidents of a sinister nature. EBSA officials vow to investigate.

Rumor has it that the investigation spearheaded by the Order of the Wren into the Redeye killings two months ago has borne fruit.

The Technists Guild is working on some sort of massive construct in Gaspar's Folly, along with a fleet of bulky airships.

Rumors speak of divisiveness in the Wardens' Council of Generals, with the threat of a civil war in the Order looming on the horizon.

They say the orcs of Tregon have cornered the Traitor Legion in a fort formerly occupied by Mercantile's Guild guards.

Rumors that they were responsible for the sudden influx of foregin mercenaries, treasure hunters and other troublemakers in the Triphage Untima begin to turn people against the Champions, Wren, Wardens and orcs of Tregon.

A massive combined force from the Wardens and Champions of Sovereignty marches on Gilded this month, taking the entire district unopposed. The Commerce Hall and several surrounding buildings are consumed by an inferno, with rumors contradicting each other as to whether they were burned by the invading troops or a Guild booby-trap.

Fearing for their lives after being declared political traitors of the King, almost every Bloodhaven-certified doctor in the city has packed up and left. The Bloodhaven Clinics are now in the hands of the Church of Neposh.

Rumors of the Ram Revolution recruiting for its militia are unconfirmed at this time.

The Esoteric Society of Gentleman Explorers continues to feed a large portion of the city through magic.

An opera attended by Lord Founder and many other Society gentlemen quickly turns into the social event of the year.

King James has proposed to Amelia Matoff. Lord Matoff has accepted the proposal on behalf of his daughter.

The Heartspear Police have been more active in the city of late.


_____________________________________

Updates and Notes

University Control Numbers (ESGE, Bloodhaven, EBSA, Church of Neposh, Sausage Guild, Champions of Sovereignty)

Turn 21 Numbers

BH: 29 (+6 given by House Wallen) 35
CS: 2
EBSA: 8
ESGE: 103
SG: 4
CN: 6
TOTAL: 158

Daimot University now has 20 MAG

New degrees of control are: 65% ESGE, 22% Bloodhaven, 5% EBSA, 4% Church of Neposh, 3% Sausage Guild and 1% Champions of Sovereignty.

Which gives: 13 MAG to ESGE, 4.5 MAG to Bloodhaven, 1 MAG to EBSA, 1 MAG to Church of Neoposh, 0.5 MAG to Sausage Guild and none to Champions.


Districts Controlled

This turn the following districts were brought fully under the control of an entire faction:
Spicer's Circle: Wardens
Runner's City: Order of the Wren
Oldtown: Church of Neposh
Heavensgate: Silversmith's Guild


_____________________________________

Bounty Board
All prices listed are in t.WEL unless otherwise stated, and will be paid out immediately upon confirmation by the bounty poster.

Elias DuKree: Red hair, close cut. Reddish-brown eyes. Scar on left cheek. Possibly a scar on right leg, depending on how the wound healed--might have a limp. Wanted dead. 4 from Lord Protector.

Unknown Raiders: Whoever stole the Imperial weapons meant for the Wardens from the caravan delivering them to the city.
2 from Imperial Trade Ministry

Unknown Murderer: Whoever killed the people found dead at the opening of the Wallen Wing at Bloodhaven Hospital.
4 from Doctor Vassari

Any copy of The Truth of Sav Altulas can be submitted to the Bookbinder's Guild for burning in exchange for a copper piece.

Truth of Sav Altulas Press: 5 from Bookbinder's Guild. Also, we will give you a book deal. Doesn't matter what you're writing about.


______________________________

Turn 22 Begins
March, 1034 DR

[ForzaFiori]

Ram Revolution

To: Zemalac (GM PM)

Is the press I'm using to create the Truth the only press I have?

[Thelonius]

Wardens

''That's your full deployment? I admit, I expected something... larger. No wonder you need to use mercenaries to get things done lately. I guess the rumors are true. Warden commanders these days are more interested in making coin, then in fighting wars.''

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To ESGE
Greetings.
The scum that once inhabited Heavensgate, when they fled the city, left behind a temple to their evil work -- Heladuit mansion. Infested with devilish mechanisms, it sticks out like a festering wound in the city. Though the devils themselves have left the city, a part of their hell still remains. Would you aid me in removing it, in finishing the purification of Heavensgate?

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To Vassari [7]
As you know, my investigation has borne fruit, and all has been made clear.

Please, meet with me. I feel this is a discussion worth having.

The Wren.

[Thelonius]

Wren [6]

''As far as I have heard the murderer is still at large, and his or her identity unknown, but perhaps you have information, that I lack. What would you like to discuss?''

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren [7]

To Vassari [6]
Indeed. As I say, meet with me. Your safety would be guaranteed, and I will share what I have with you there.

[Ragnar Lodbroke]

To Orks of Tregon
Hey there; I think we need to strike a deal, don't we? Come by the Guildhouse and we'll speak.

[Eldan]

Technists to Orcs [PM]

Brigwa Stonecutter comes to the guildhouse alone, dressed in her work clothes: linen shirt and trousers, some simple pieces of mail, a small bearded axe balanced for throwing and a stonemason's tools, complemented with a small sledge hung over her shoulder.
"Well, then. Deals. If you still want it, I can offer you several outlying Gregorian villages for your base of operation. Georgetown proper and the open countryside would still belong to us, but you'd be under our protection.

I can tell you that the Wren intends to mostly clear the city of everyone who is not fully joining the Champions or the Wardens. King James listens to every word the Wren says. Sooner or later, everyone in that city will be a target for them. The Guilds, Bloodhaven, the Silversmiths, Neposh... they have contingency plans for all those. If you grow too big, you might be next, so a stable outpost outside the city might be worth much. There's your profit.

We can pay you up to 5 t.wealth every turn from our own coffers. The rest we would invest in restoring the economy of Gregoria, as soon as we see some proper growth, we should be able to pay more. We will also take loans from our allies, and as soon as the last remnants of the Traitor Legion are dealt with, we will have mercenary contracts again, which should bring in more money.

For now, we need help with infrastructure. The airship line we discussed comes first, but after that, whatever you can think of for production and transportation. Our economy has Sav Altulas to compete with, and we intend to be competitive. A secondary project, as soon as we are stable, is fortification. The Wardens have architectural experts for everything classical. Walls and siege engines. We look to you for more creative and modern solutions.

What else is there to discuss?

[HerbieRAI]

The Church of Neposh

To the Order of the Wren

The church would like to appoligize for the lack of aid in the Red-eye hunt, although you seem to have made a great leap. There were some clerical errors that misplaced our agents.
(OOC: I forgot to write that line in the EOT to give you my 4 ESP.)

[Thelonius]

Wren [PM]

Very well. Let us talk.

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren [7]

To the Church of Neposh[7]
Do not fret, the work has been done.

Vassari [PM]
The Wren receives Vassari in the small mud-bricked abode in which they had last met. The doctor finds the Wren in his study. A table, normally bestrewn with requisition orders, accounting, and other papers, now holds only a neat stack of notes, and beside it, two wine glasses.

The Wren sits behind the desk, and makes a quick gesture. "Good afternoon, Morden. Thank you for coming. Please, sit."

He pushes the papers across the desk towards Vassari. "This.. is a summary of the findings of my investigation. He allowed himself a small smile. "It seems I managed without your keen insight."

"As I suspected, the attack was political. SGA agents. Specifically, agents with ties to the Silversmith and Mercantile Guilds, using poison procured from Bloodhaven hospitals. And Bloodhaven covered it all up.
"

"I admit, I lack the vaunted mind of the cities greatest doctor. But I know the smell of truth when it comes before me. The question I wish to discuss with you, is what do I with this information?"

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild

Wardens
I must agree with Vasiri here. That was rather small for the full might of the Warden Order. In fact, that is even smaller than the deployment that opposed my mercs in Spicers Circle. Unless you were referring to King James own personal forces last month, but I would hardly consider them members of the Warden Order.

Laurier[PM?]
[Is this a PM? Not sure since we're not using a VIP, but we essentially share the same territory and everything.]

I am in your debt Lord Laurier and I shall strive to repay it. For now, please make full use of my Contacts and Merchant Cutters for your ventures.

I also have a proposal for you, if you're willing to hear it: As you already know, this city is getting more dangerous every month and the snakes that inhabit it are growing more and more bold. Wouldn't it be prudent to construct some defenses around Lomb Circle to discourage any trouble? I'm certain my contacts could help alleviate the effects this might have on trade.

[Ragnar Lodbroke]

Technists to Orcs (And Zemalac)[PM]
"You may not know it, but we are not the most... Politically inclined of the City groups. So thanks for the tip.

Honestly; we were figuring it was like that, which is why we're looking for a way out.

The 5. Wealth will be enough to start an airfield, but it will take some time before it's completed. We have a small project that will speed things up a lot if it works, but I won't make any promises until I have results.

We will have to look into Tregon to build a small airfield (Much smaller than Gaspar's. Mostly some landing platforms for the ships).

As for the Gregorian economy... Do you have any coal deposits? Iron deposits? The future of economy is in steel and steam. Give me plenty of both, and I will make gold rain from the sky.

Regarding fortifications; we have not had the chance to fully develop some designs. We'll see what comes up there, but I'm optimistic. We can at least offer some basic artillery pieces, and that's without further research.

I assume my territory will be fortified as well; and if it's not in your plans I will pay for it.

By the way; I have something to show you."

Matt rose from his chair, and went to the window. Brigma went with him.

They had a view of the airfield across. Several large ships were being constructed as they spoke.

"See those? They are the beggining of the "Gregorian Shipping Company".

We will use them to move stuff to the new territories in Gregoria, and afterwards to establish a supply line between Tregon and main Gregoria.

High capacity, relatively fast, and can be well equipped for combat."

ZEMALAC:I know the price of building something like Gaspar's Airfield. Big, complex, enough to build ships. But how expensive would it be to build something smaller? Just landing platforms and a few repair shops for servicing ships, but without shipbuilding capacity.

[Eldan]

Orcs to the Technists [PM]

Stonecutter nodded.
"Good. It's sensible to try and get out of Sav Altulas. We're doing the same. Tregon is prepared for siege, it will happen sooner or later, no matter who wins the fight for the city.

We have no steel or coal that we know of, but if you have prospectors, feel free to send some along with our patrols. What we have is stone, wood and meat. We can make charcoal from the wood, at least. Would that help?

And we have one other thing. Workers. We have as many orcish workers as you could possibly want. They will work in conditions human wouldn't even survive and thrive. We also have the human craftsmen of Gregoria. For now, they are poor and lack resources, but we are funding them, giving them credit. Something will come from that."

[Ragnar Lodbroke]

Technists to Orks [PM]
"Hmm, charcoal? Certainly. Tregon is well prepared, from what I heard. If we can build a small airfield ready, then food wouldn't even be an issue, since you could supply it by air.

Other materials; like steels... We will find a way."

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the Technists guild:
Might I inquire as to what projects you are working on? It is my hope to end this conflict in short-order, and return to the rebuilding of our fine city. I am not very familiar with the pursuit of technology myself, but it is my hope that organisations such as yours might push this city to new heights on innovation and understanding."

[Ragnar Lodbroke]

The Technists Guild

To the Champions of Sovereignity
Your Majesty, Sir... We are working on a new generation of airships, currently. That and giving the old shop`s a bit of a dusting, to get them to work better.

[HerbieRAI]

The Church of Neposh

To the ESGE (DESP 9)

The church currently has a lot of influence in Blacksage. While we may control the area, we have no interest outside of the university. If you are looking to move into the areas currently under the Churches influence, we are willing to trade you them for more influence in the university; Lets say bringing the Church to 29% control?

[Murska]

Wardens

Oh, and you would know? You didn't have anyone willing to oppose us. Every single one of your cowardly men fled, deserting the battleground that you had shed blood to take. The only reason for your attack was to cause more destruction and death. You know there is no hope of victory, and still refuse to cease ruining what you can.

As I said before the attack. I gave you a chance to meet on the field and be a respectable foe. You didn't. You've proven only that you can never stand in the light, can never fight in the open. You can only hide, lie and cheat, backstab people in the darkness.

Keep hiding, keep running. It's your destiny.

Wardens to Laurier

We are all right with the current situation concerning the Mercantile Guild, but would like to ask you to ensure that they do not try to attack us again, or utilize their significant espionage network against us.

Have a fine day.

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild

Why should we let our people get slaughtered by lying demons possesing the largest army within Sav Altulas, rivaled only by the largest of Warlords--Who I dare say are more honorable than you bastards--in the Shattered Lands? That would be suicide. I understand an uneducated highwayman like yourself may not ne aware of this, but there is a difference between a "soldier" like you and a merchant like myself. It would be impossible for us to oppose your massive army directly.

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Warlords of the Shattered Lands
The Crimson Company is a new mercenary company and we are yet unproven. And I personally have not participated in enough surface battles for my name to be known to you. But nevertheless we are a formidable company of warriors indeed. To establish our name I offer a proposal. Hire us to bring the balance in your favor in whatever endeavors you are planning. All we ask is half of whatever it is that you gain with our help, and enough gold to cover our losses.

- Urso Bloodhand, Commander of the Crimson Company

To the Commander of the Traitor Legion
I understand that you are currently being attacked by the Orcs of Tregon. No doubt your men can handle a horde of bloodthirsty monsters, but perhaps you want to give them a bit of time off and would like to hire my company. I have a proposal for you if you do.

- Urso Bloodhand, Commander of the Crimson Company

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Church of Neposh, Champions of Sovereignty
The Church of Neposh has proposed that they will cede control of the remaining territories in Blacksgage to me if I increase their control over the University. The Champions have offered me Sky if I give them my territories in Blacksgage.

Here is what I propose: I will remove Bloodhaven's influence from the university and give it to the Church of Neposh, and in exchange they will give me the remaining territories in Blacksgage.

I will give the Champions these territories in exchange for the remainder of Sky.

In this way, Each faction receives the desired number of territories resources, and the Esoteric Society gets control over our home district.

Is this acceptable to all parties?

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the ESGE, Church of Neposh
Negotiations are underway with Bloodhaven now. I do not want to commit to any more aggressive actions unless those negotiations fail.

To the Technists Guild:
Hmm... I don't believe I've ever flown in an airship. Would it be possible for me to see what they're like?

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champions
Is Bloodhaven no longer considered a threat to the kingdom? In light of this, I am willing to grant you the three neighborhoods we are administrating in Blacksgage in exchange for control of the three neighborhoods under your control in Sky.

We will, however, be retaining our ownership of the University, as well as the Opera House, the Art Gallery, unless you want to purchase the latter.

Church of Neposh
I am afraid I am not inclined to follow through on this deal. As our mages still represent the majority of the student body, it would be folly to upset that balance in the administrative board.

Silversmiths
I would be more then happy to aid in removing the last taint of that stain on our fair city.

Redeye Investigation [PM]
StigBalathad invited the others involved in the Redeye investigation into the warded room at the university, which he had gotten into the habit of using for meetings of this sort due to it's magical protection.
"Please keep the contents of this discussion contained to this room. Gentlemen, with the investigation resolved, it comes a time to act on the results. It appears the Silversmiths and the Mercantile Guild have conspire with Kylar DePoche to murder the citizens of this city." He paused dramatically.

"I have the opportunity to strike at the Silversmiths in their territory this month. We could first bring them up on trial for their crimes, but then we lose the element of surprise. Now, as you may know, I do not represent a military powerhouse, but I can strike at their morale with our highly-trained mages then annex their territory peacefully, removing their power base. I propose this as an alternative to military conflict. I would like confirmation from the others involved in this investigation that this is the right move to make. It is not strictly within the bounds of the law, but it is necessary in order to remove this threat to the city with a minimum of bloodshed. If any have an objection, speak it now."

[Ragnar Lodbroke]

To the champions of Sovereignity
A small airship arrives to the King's location. Matt rosen is on board, and invites James on.

"I hope you are in for some ride; this is just the beggining!!"

He points to a point in the sky. A point that becomes larger by the minute.

""I hope you didn't think we were going to have a ride in this boat. I'll show you a real ship. That is our Dreadnought; which I'll show you in a short time.

We'll have time to talk, meanwhile."

OOC: Unfortunely; I seem to already have used Rosen's action for a PM this turn.

I'll have to look for a new VIP (This is the second consecutive time this happens). But for now, we'll have to keep talking normally. I'll give you a PM next turn, if you want.

[Thelonius]

Wren [PM]

''I notice you conclude investigation, without finding the murderer, who actually used the Redeye's poisons. But he did kill mostly vagrants and people, who don't matter in the larger scope of things.''

''As for this information, it's hardly damaging to me, beyond a thin veneer of suspicion it may evoke in some people. Maybe Bloodhaven covered it up, maybe I mistakenly jumped to conclusion. It's rather difficult to tell. If you wish to publish it, I have no objections.''

[Imperial Psycho]

Vassari [PM]
"I think you underestimate the backlash. I think you overestimate the peoples ability to turn the other cheek where fear on the scale of Redeye is concerned. It would be your end. "

"However, despite your actions against me, and despite this war, I have no wish to see your end. Not yet, at least."

"It is time to end the conflict. There is no sense in continuing it further, and we weaken the city at the gain of only our enemies. "

"I have been authorised by the King to conduct negotiations, and the Wardens too have signalled their assent to this arrangement. My position is thus: Bloodhaven's leaders must recant any attacks they have made on the Kings character, and swear a public oath of loyalty to the Throne."

"The territory of Southside Black will be turned over to the Champions of Sovereignty. "

"Bloodhaven doctors will be returned to the city, where possible, and the clinics reopened. "

"In exchange, we will not release details of your involvement in covering up vile mass murder.

"The Silversmiths have already taken a deal to leave the fight themselves. "

[Thelonius]

Wren [PM]

''A threat lacking sting, as I've said. Flimsy to nonexistent evidence of something that few would think a crime. Vile mass murders? What of the dead in Gilded and Stacks? Ask the men on the streets and they'll call it, but another warlord's spat. Such are the ways of Shattered Lands. Of course I realize the existence of the unspoken threat of sword and fire, which to my mind is far more substantial.''

''You can be loyal to the Throne, to the bloodline. I can't. I need a leader I can follow. Every kingdom that has ever fell, was by very definition led by a King. This bloody conflict, the Orks, foreign looters, famine and abandonment of Gregoria. Royal blood is no guarantee of safety and prosperity. It must be strong, to be able to forge the foundations upon which the bloodline may grow. The roots are weak Wren. Too weak to support its weight. And the wardens of the cradle are unprincipled bastards, your persona excluded.''

''I had three requirements for the city's ruler - to be strong, to protect the city and to be of Talidor. Now I just want an honest man in charge. We are a city of liars, so let at least our leader to be an honest man. Alas, there are less honest men in the city, then there are fingers on my hand and I suspect that they keep their virtue by staying away from the thrones and crowns.''

''And even if I were to swear false Oaths. Maybe you'll keep your word, but I doubt Wardens will. I have been a thorn in their side for far too long and to let me live is not something their paranoid mindset will allow. For all their pretense of honor, they've helped starve the city and led mercenaries to loot Triphage Untima. There's no mercy in them. Why let me live, when they killed Sausage Guild? Why allow for possibility of me plotting against the Throne, when it would be easier to just quietly remove me, once I drop my guard?''

[Imperial Psycho]

Vassari[PM]
"Warlords do not kill like Redeye. Redeye is feared across a continent, just for the brutal method of his murder."

"James is an honest man. Truly. When he has lied it has mostly been by omission, and at my own insistence. His instincts are not to lie. Not necessarily the best instinct for politics."

"The wording of the oath is open to change. At the very least, you must recognise the legitimacy of the King, and swear never to betray him, or work against him."

"As for the Wardens, if they make an attack on you after this peace, and you have kept to the terms of the agreement, you have my word, I will stand with you. The Wardens would be in breach of the Kings Peace, and I would petition the King to join me. The ESGE, in their current state, would likely also support you, after the stain of traitor is removed from your name. No doubt the Silversmiths also would lend their aid to their old ally"

"You think the Wardens can stand against such an array? They can only act openly. Their military is their only strength, and you yourself spoke of the underwhelming nature of it's size. Their spies are a joke. I had more men remaining after your attack, than they do now."

"Tell me, what is the alternative? You fight until you die? Or you destroy the Wardens, the King, and me all in one great blow? Either way, the city is lesser for it. I want to build the Talidor that we spoke of once. I think any country we build without Bloodhaven, will be lesser for it."

[Zemalac]

ForzaFiori (PM)

You have the Hand Press trait, so your printing ability is rather limited. For better printing ability, build better/more presses.


House Laurier to Mercantile's Guild (3)

I am sure our cadet branch can handle any trouble that might come our way; they have thus far, after all. For those situations that cannot be handled with main force, well, the Craftsmen are always happy to accept new contracts.

You may construct fortifications in the area we have delegated to your operations, if you feel it is necessary, but please do not build up to an extent that it starts to affect people's ability to move about the markets freely.


Ragnar Lodbroke (PM)

Docking stations only is 5 WEL.
Refueling stations are 6 WEL.
Repair yards are 15 WEL.
Shipbuilding capacity is 45 WEL, or 30 if you already have repair yards.


House Laurier to Wardens (10)

I sincerely doubt the Guild could attack anyone with the forces we have observed under their control, or at least not effectively. I cannot speak to any espionage activities they may be conducting, but I do not think an organization devoted to trade would have much use for such things.

Either way, I have been given to understand that they will not be staying with us for long, so happily the issue of the Guild's ongoing feud with your order shouldn't affect our business in the slightest.


Maximilian Greeves to Crimson Company (Sausage Guild) (8)

To clarify your terms of engagement, what do you mean when you say "half of what you gain with our help?" The point of my campaign is to establish a true Kingdom of Maltin, and giving conquered land to mercenaries strikes me as a poor way of achieving that end.


Sakel-Doge to Crimson Company (Sausage Guild) (8)

I will give you 372 prime slaves, a chest of rubies and half a ton of uncut opium if you will strike at the pretender Greeves and make it look like it was the Lonecutters.


Agia Lonecutter to Crimson Company (Sausage Guild) (8)

My seers tell me not to work with the bloody men. Are you they?


Rhodarmer to Crimson Company (Sausage Guild) (6, Mercantile's Guild may read for free)

I would like to engage your services in order to retake Gregoria from the orcs.


Tinman to Crimson Company (Sausage Guild) (6, Orcs of Tregon may read as though it were 3 due to siege)

That would certainly help! We're flush with loot from Gregoria at the moment, and could probably afford to buy your help. What are your terms?

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to Maximilian Greeves (8)
You will surely be gaining loot from your endeavors along with land. We simply ask for a share in that. We are not especially interested in acquiring land, although we will require some form of recompense if you plan to go on such an extensive campaign.

GM: (What does the Kingdom of Maltin entail?)

The Crimson Company to the Sakel-Doge (8)
GM: (How much is that in Wealth?)

The Crimson Company to Agia Lonecutter (8)
We were once known as the Sausage Guild. The guild of butchers and meat merchants. Our trade was bloody, and we fed the city of Sav Altulas for many years. But we have been forced to abandon our trade for one even bloodier, and now pursue the death of men for coin rather than animals for meat. Whether this makes us the bloody men which you speak of is for you to decide.

Crimson Company to Rhodarmer (6)
That has the making of something of a campaign. We are capable, but we do not comprise an entire army of soldiers, and the retaking of an entire country may be beyond us. Are you willing to support us with forces of your own?

The Crimson Company to the Tinman (6)
The slight movement of the ground is lost in the roar of battle. With precision the rippling earth zeroes in on a small unused courtyard in the fortress that spies had found out earlier.

A burst of earth and two great shovel like paws flail blindly in the air for a few minutes before settling into the ground. A large head follows, heavily armored with thick leather padding. A snout assess the air, while tiny nearly blind eyes vainly search the brightly lit courtyard. Moving its head the creature lets an armored figure climb out of the hole it has made.

Taller than two men the figure is clad in heavy armor made of metal plates and the hide of strange underground creatures that have never seen the light of day. After scanning the courtyard for threats the giant warrior reaches down and pats the digging beast which has brought him here lightly on the head. "Good job Nevarr. Now go back to Keeper Stonebeard I'm sure he'll have some grubs for you."

Snorting the giant armored mole shuffles around and dives back into the earth to return to the beastmasters of the Crimson Company. The warrior looks around once more and then ventures forward to find a soldier of the Traitor Legion. Once he does he steps forward and says. "I am Urso Bloodhand commander of the Crimson Company. I have things to discuss with your leader. Take me to him."

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To the ESGE
Thank you. The Heladuit mansion is this taint that we have described, and it is present in Tailorway. Our full MAG will be focused on destroying the mansion this turn, along with a Ward-focused mage we have hired. We would work with you to ensure that the process goes safely and the threat is removed.

[Eldan]

Orcs of Tregon to the Crimson Company

"Aah, Bloodhand. Welcome to the Shattered Lands.
So you think you can move up from butchering beasts to butchering warriors? Change your friends from food mongers to tin soldiers and hide in forts instead of damp holes in the ground?

We own your tunnels, Bloodhand. We killed your men, Bloodhand. We will rape this little fort, Bloodhand and then we will nail each of your limbs to a different wall and see if you can come back from that."

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to the Orcs of Tregon
Your words would be more insulting if you had not hired your own forces out for coin in the past, and if you were not hiding in your own fortress which we happen to know you have fortified into the most heavily defended one in the Shattered Lands.

If you think you are strong enough to carry out your threat then meet me on the field of battle. No soldiers, no traps. Just you and me in single combat. And we will see whose limbs get nailed to the wall.

On the whole I would have preferred a simple cake as a welcoming present rather than a declaration of total war, but to each their own.

- Urso Bloodhand

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild-General Rhodarmer[PM]
Will we be continuing our campaign against King James this month? Though my own investment may be less, the news of the previous desertions should serve us well.

Mercantile's Guild-House Laurier
Of course, it was the same way in the Stacks. I would not dream of interfering with your trade.

I will be seeking arrangements elsewhere and should be out of your hair within 2-3 months. In the meantime, please do not hesitate to ask for any assistance I may be able to provide for you.

-The Trader

[Eldan]

Orcs of Tregon to BLoodhand

"If you wanted cake, you should not have offered your services to those who have raped my homeland, Bloodhand. But perhaps there will be some blood pudding later.
In any case, our beef is with the tin soldiers, not you. The Sausage Guild was just a job. We didn't lose a single soldier against you, so it's not as if we carry any kind of grudge, littlte butcher. Leave now, and we'll let you run home.

Oh, wait. We already own your home.

-Rigger Deerblood"

[ArcaneStomper]

Bloodhand to Deerblood
If you wish to avoid fighting us so badly I suggest you make us an offer. We are still negotiating to see who we will fight for this month. Make the best offer and we will join your forces.

As for owning our homes I disagree. At worst the Wardens and King James currently occupy the Gilded district, and even then we made sure to collapse every important vault before we left. More to keep the city safe from the things in the deep once we could not continue to hold them back than spite, but still the result is the same.

Now we make our homes where the road takes us, and you most certainly do not own that. Or perhaps you wish to discuss your ownership of the Shattered Lands with Greeves, Witchbrother, Doge, and Lonecutter.

- Urso Bloodhand

[Eldan]

Deerblood to Bloodhand

"Ah, I see the problem, now. We should have offered something valuable, not your life. Well, if you don't want to run, feel free to stay and fight. One more corpse won't make much of a difference.

As for the Shattered Lands, well, one piece at a time. So far, Stonecutter has two Kingdoms."

[ForzaFiori]

Ram Revolution

Zemelac (PM)

I actually had something different in mind - I was thinking about trading the press used for the Truth to the bookbinders and collecting the bounty, but wanted to know if that would cost me the hand presses trait. something tells me it would, but I wanted to be sure before I decide if I wanna make the offer or not.

[Zemalac]

Maximilian Greeves to Crimson Company (8)

Well then, that is something else entire! I may indeed have work for you sir, do not doubt it.

I would be willing to pay [2 WEL] per [1 MIL], with an additional [2 WEL] bonus for yourself.


ArcaneStomper (PM)

In reply to OOC in Greeves message: The Shattered Lands were made up of Talidor, Maltin and Desperante originally. No one really agrees where the borders used to be.

In reply to OOC in Doge's message: The gems would be equivalent to 3 WEL. The slaves and opium could probably be sold for another 10 WEL, but you'd have to find a buyer or buyers.


Agia Lonecutter to the Crimson Company (8)

Best not to risk it, then. Should the prophecies change I will contact you again.


Rhodarmer to the Crimson Company (6)

I am. I do not have much in the way of coin to pay you, but you will have the gratitude of a general and whatever small gold I can deliver.


Tinman to Crimson Company (PM)

Tinman is younger than Bloodhand would have expected, appearing no older than sixteen. He is clean-shaven and sensibly dressed, with a mop of mousy brown hair; he would, in short, look like any earnest young gentleman from any small town in the Empire, if it weren't for his eyes. Those twin green orbs betray his true nature, harboring a coldness and a deep-seated hate that tells anyone who cares to look past the surface that this man has more experience with the harsh world than would first appear.

"Ser Bloodhand!" he says. "What a pleasant surprise. Do, come in. I think we have a lot to discuss, yes?"

Tinman's grin is somewhat reminiscent of a hanged man's face, though it's hard to say why it gives that impression.


Rhodarmer to Mercantile's Guild (PM)

I would like to, yes. I have also contacted the Crimson Company about possibly hiring them personally to help me take back Gregoria from the orcs.


ForzaFiori (PM)

Alas, for gold sacrifices must be made.

[ForzaFiori]

Ram Revolution to Bookbinders


two men show up at the Bookbinders headquarters, with a cart. As one watches the cart, the other goes inside. "I have a bounty I'd like to have paid." he says, motioning outside. "One press, fresh from Ramston."

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild-General Rhodarmer[PM]
Very well, i'll personally set some things up then. Hopefully we can make good progress despite the lack of coin put in this month.

Crimson Company, eh? You could do worse. Bloodhand, and those who serve him, are quite effective.

GM
How feasible would setting up underground farms and the like in my territory under Allscross be exactly?

[Zemalac]

Bookbinder's Guild to Ram Revolution (7)

There is a flurry of activity around the cart, with engineers matching the type on the press against the letters in the Truth of Sav Altulas and finding it to be the same. The Guildmaster arrives from his office beaming, trailed by a disgruntled accountant and two men carrying a rather large chest.

"Splendid, splendid!" he says, looking like a kid on All Hollows Day. "Finally getting that drivel off the streets, what?" He beckons to the men carrying the chest. "A reward for our heroes of the literary realm! [5 WEL], as the bounty board says!" The accountant lurking behind his shoulder seems to be in almost physical pain as the chest changes hands.


oblivion6 (PM)

You'd probably need assistance from the Sausage Guild. They've done that sort of thing before.

[ForzaFiori]

Ram Revolution

Bookbinders:

"And a book deal." The Revolution member points out. "We will have the draft to you in a few days. Seeing how well you enjoyed the Truth, I'm sure you will enjoy our book just as much."


Technist Guild

Are you still in the habit of making hand presses?

[Zemalac]

Bookbinder's Guild to Ram Revolution (7)

The Guildmaster's smile falters a little at the mention of the Truth. "I...see," he says. "Yes, that was part of the reward, wasn't it? Of course. We will hold to our side of the agreement." He paused for a moment. "We said we would publish it no matter the content, didn't we? Hm. I don't suppose you will require editing services? The Guild will provide them free of charge."

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Tinman (PM)
"Greetings commander we do indeed have things to discuss. The first is payment. And that involves a bit more than simply a bargain over how much gold we will receive. Do you know much about me commander? Only a few months ago I was the leader of the Sausage Guild. It was our solemn duty to feed the city of Sav Altulas, and for generations we did so. But now our enemies, enemies we never even harmed have forced us to abandon our duty. But we have not forgotten and if we cannot feed the city from within then we will do so from without."

"How I plan to do so is why I have come to you. You see I wish to stabilize the Shattered Lands. I do not wish to rule it, that would unite too many against my plans. But if instead of squabbling warlords there were a set of stable kingdoms, then things would be different. Farmers could work in peace, trade could flow, our duty would be fulfilled if somewhat indirectly. If I am not to rule then who will though. Maximilian Greeves is one choice. Already I plan to help further his ambitions to kingship, but he cannot rule everything for the same reason I cannot. So I must help others to a crown, or non royal equivalent. And I have thought why not you. As far as I know you are no worse than any other warlord, and you are in something of a unique position to require my aid."

"So my proposal is this. My men and I will help you against the orcs, and in return you will ally with me in my ambitions. Not just in gratitude, but because it will see you with a country of your own for you and your men. Or if that does not suit you I am willing to negotiate a different payment for your aid later. Of course if you do not agree with my goal then you need not help me. I do not particularly like the Orcs. They have disrupted what few food caravans were reaching the city and then bragged about it openly. They need to be taught a lesson for that if nothing else. So if you choose not to aid me then I will accept gold instead, although it would not be my first choice of payment."

"What do you say to this Commander?"

[ForzaFiori]

Ram Revolution

Bookbinder's Guild

"Thank you, but no. we have several very literate citizens in Ramston that have already offered to edit it. We will deliver a manuscript, and will expect it to be published in it's entirety exactly as is." the representative smiles. "Good day. We'll be back with the book when it is finish"

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild-General Rhodarmer[PM]
Would you be willing to send your troops to support the Warlord known as Tinman? He is currently trying to hold the Orks off from a fort in the Shattered Lands. If we can deal a big enough blow to the Orks there, then the liberation of Gregoria will be that much easier.

The Crimson Company, as well as General Brador and my own soldiers and agents, will be out there as well, so we look to outnumber the enemy by a fair amount. We also have the advantage of the fortifications.

[Thelonius]

Wren [PM]

''I fear I can’t give an oath of fealty in a good faith. There must be a man on the throne, not a puppet. His reign has brought nothing, but disasters to the city so far and all of his own making. I doubt it’ll last long and any oaths given will only bind the men from saving, what can be saved.''

[Imperial Psycho]

Vassari [PM]
"What disasters there have been have not been of his own making. And James is no puppet. We discuss matters as if we were equals, but he is not our pawn."

"You know we can't let you stay without any guarantee that you won't continue to make trouble. At the very least, you must swear to that."

"If the good of the city is what motivates, surely you can see that any ruler, even a weak one, is better than continuing this futile fighting. The value of James is debatable, but he is well advised, and he can bring order to his city."

[Thelonius]

Wren [PM]

That... may be acceptable. I will do no harm, if your intent is truly to fix the damage and protect the city, though I fear Wardens won't leave things peaceful for long.

[Imperial Psycho]

Vassari [PM]
"Unfortunately, with Neposh seizing control of the law courts, one wonders if the peace will even last a month."

"Still, I assure you, the Wardens will not make trouble if you do not make trouble."

"You will need to convince your doctors to return to the city, of course. I believe the King may be interested in acquiring your territory in Blacksgage, but I will allow him to negotiate that on his own behalf."

"So, you will end the fighting, and recognise James. Swear not to raise arms against him again. It is probably best if the Peacocks keep their operations to a minimum, for now."

"I hope this peace stands, truly."

[Zemalac]

Tinman to Crimson Company (PM)

Tinman smiles as Bloodhand speaks. It is not a pleasant expression, though he tries to make it so. The impression given is that of a man who doesn't know how to look like he isn't about to really enjoy murdering someone within the next couple of minutes.

As the Sausage Maker's proposal draws to a close that hangman smile changes, and more honest emotions begin to bleed through. Greed, yes, and ambition; he is a warlord, after all, and these things are the base tools and drives of such men. But there is also a pervasive wariness, tinged with deja vu.

"I say you remind me of a certain colonel I once knew, in the Imperial Legions," he says. "Every man in the legion promised their own little plot of land just as soon as we drove the rebels out of it. A nice dream, yes?" Again, that hangman smile. "That didn't turn out so well, for us or for him. And now you come here and offer us a country, a kingdom, in much the same way. Fight for us, we will get you land. You may see why I am cautious about your offer?" He spread his arms. "You come into my fortress as a mercenary commander and ask for payment not in gold. Payment that I could easily, easily avoid giving you, if I wished, once the orcs had been driven from my door. It would be so simple for my Legion to walk away, as we have done so many times before."

He leans across the table. "You have given me all the cards and bet everything on an empty hand. What else is going on here, Red Man?"


Rhodermer to Mercantile's Guild (PM)

If necessary, though I am loathe to do it. Tinman and his deserters had been a thorn in my side for a very long time, lurking across the river and raiding Gregoria while pretending all the while to be friends. Fighting alongside him now sticks in my craw, but if it is against the orcs then so be it.

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Tinman [PM]
Bloodhand stares at Tinman with a look of weary patience. "I seek only one thing commander. I have told you what it is. And I will do whatever necessary to achieve that goal. If that means giving you a crown then so be it. Know that I do not particularly care for you. You are simply the most powerful warlord who is also the most in need of my force. The most likely to agree to my terms. If my terms remind you of your old commander what of it. The offer of land has long been one made to encourage soldiers to fight. And whatever you colonel may have meant I at least intend to deliver on my promise."

"If you do not intend to fight with me and aid me in my goals, then I do not take it as a personal affront. Simply pay me in gold and I will fight with you against the Orcs. But if you take my offer and then walk away then know this."

Bloodhand at this point leans forward looming over the other man. "I take my word seriously Tinman and I take those who give me their word seriously. If you walk away after promising me your aid then that will be a personal betrayal and I will hunt you down. You and all your legion. Do you think I am human Tinman. Do you think I have so little time that I cannot choose to follow you wherever you flee." At this point Bloodhand's eye begin to glow red and runes start tracing themselves out on his armor in what appears to be blood. "For a century I have lived in the deeps feeding the City, and now that my duty has been denied me I will spend centuries more seeking to regain it. But I cannot waste my time dealing with betrayals forever. If spending a century hunting you and your men warns others against betraying me in the future then so be it. I will follow you to the ends of the world if need be. Did you not notice how I entered this fortress. My men are past masters of the underground. No walls can stop me. No terrain can slow me. What will it be like living your entire life in fear of the ground under your feet. Always on guard against the very earth itself splitting open to reveal my forces attacking. I know you are traitor to your own homeland. That you have been hunted before. But you have never been hunted by one like me."

Then Bloodhand leans back straightening as the runes fade and his eyes dim. "But that need not happen Tinman. Honor our deal in gold or by oath the choice is yours and we will be allies not enemies. And consider this if I will go to such ends to hunt you down for breaking what is on the whole a relatively small oath, then what do you think my plans include for those who denied me my sacred charge. I am not yet capable of doing to them what I can do to you. But if I need to raise up a multitude of kings in order to achieve my retribution then so be it. It may not even be you who I call on for that, but your children or children's children. My betrayers are powerful, but I can be patient. I can afford to wait and build up my allies for as long as it takes."

"Give me your gold or give me your word Tinman, and I will drive these Orcs from your walls. But do not give me your word lightly if that is what you choose."

[Zemalac]

Tinman to Crimson Company (PM)

Tinman's smile breaks in the face of Bloodhand's speech.

"Well," he says eventually, "that was enlightening." He pauses to collect his thoughts. "My word is worth nothing, Sausage Maker. I swore on my life to defend the Emperor and carry out his edicts, and yet here I am as some petty warlord in this wasteland." His face is expressionless, now, a mask drawn out of some dark corner of his soul and slid over his features. "If you want to fight and put me on a throne as part of your plans, then I will not say no. If you can convince me that it is in the best interests of me and my men to fight at your side, we will do so. But I will swear no oaths and make no promises. If that means I must give you gold instead, so be it."

He gestures around him, at the soldiers invisible behind the walls of the fort. "We are the Traitor Legion," he says. "The Emperor alone has our sworn service, and he may keep it. Our oaths are given only to him. We make no more." He drops his arms to his sides. "My word is not a strong enough shield to put before my life. What is your price?"

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Tinman [PM]
"Fair enough. My price is [10 t. Wealth]"

[Zemalac]

Tinman to Crimson Company (PM)

"Expensive bastard, aren't you?" Tinman smiles again. "Still, what is gold worth to dead men, eh? Consider it done."

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Tinman [PM]
"Expensive, perhaps you are right, but I know the worth of my men and you will be getting your gold's worth from us. In fact you will be getting more than your gold's worth. As I said before, the Orcs have done harm to my goals and my guild and need to be taught a lesson that they cannot continue to act as they do. And so I offered my services more cheaply than I would against some other foe."

"Indeed that is another reason I approached you personally rather than some other warlord. Now tell me. What do you know of the enemy we face?"

To the Sakel-Doge (8)
My apologies in the delay in responding to your offer. unfortunately a more profitable opportunity has arisen that the Crimson Company will be engaging in this month. I hope this will not sour our relationship as once this contract is complete we will once more be seeking an employer.

- Urso Bloodhand

To Maximilian Greeves (8)
My apologies in the delay in responding to your offer. unfortunately a more profitable opportunity has arisen that the Crimson Company will be engaging in this month. I hope this will not sour our relationship as once this contract is complete we will once more be seeking an employer.

- Urso Bloodhand

To Rhodarmer [6]
I understand that you will be aiding me against the enemy. I realize that this does not directly help regain your home. But the tactical merits of meeting them away from their own fortifications are strong, and once this siege is lifted I will aid you personally in retaking your home.

- Urso Bloodhand

[Zemalac]

Turn 22 Results
March, 1034 DR


The Sav Altulas Standard
Denying All Responsibility

Sponsored by the Bookbinder's Guild

______________________________

The work of fiction titled "The Truth of the Revolution" that has been seen everywhere in the Lower City this month is in no way associated with the Bookbinder's Guild. It is also not on our forbidden list, so attempts to claim the usual bounty on them will not be paid out. Citizens are encouraged to remember that the book is a work of fiction, and not a true depiction of events.


______________________________
Excerpt from "The Truth of the Revolution"

The carriage took the corner on two wheels, horses frantic, as though they knew that the degenerate agents of a corrupt oligarchy were right behind them. Inside Cloaquia, Princess of the Blood, clung desperately to General Krodak as he leaned out the window engaged in a sword-duel with the foremost of the enemy cavalry.

"Why do they keep coming?" shouted Cloaquia, bosom heaving dramatically.

"Because they are afraid of the power of the people!" shouted Krodok manfully. "They have put themselves above all other men, but they remember what the common mob can do! They know our rights as well as we, but know that if we have them their power is shown for the sham it is! Have at thee!" He speared the horseman through the chest and let him fall, dismaying the remainder with his bravado. "The people, united," the General said, turning back to the princess, "can never be defeated."

The Revolution Lives.


______________________________

Order has been completely restored to the Triphage Untima, with the damages done during the past two months restored.

Warden patrols have arrested several bands of battlefield opportunists in Gilded.

All Mercantile's Guild traffic through Stacks has been halted by Warden patrols, leaving shareholders in those caravans irate over the disruption of commerce.

The Gilded district has been restored after the fighting of previous months.

Airships have been spotted moving between Gaspar Aeroyard, Tregon and Gregoria.

Orcs have been spotted in town purchasing strange pieces of machinery and magical equipment.

King James I has married Amelia Matoff in a private ceremony in Lodstrom, in the attendance of most of the city's nobility.

The last of the Gregorian levies has deserted the Champions' cause.

Recruiters are snapping up people for the Order of the Wren across the city.

Julius Lance, captain of the guard for the Esoteric Society of Gentlemen Explorers, has arrested Narar Rafin of the Silversmith's Guild on charges of conspiracy to commit murder. Thanks to good Silversmith public relations, the general public believes the move to be politically motivated, though other Guild leaders are beginning to distance themselves from the Guildmaster.

Silversmith's Guild agents, with help from Daimot University, have finally disarmed all the traps in the Heladuit Manor.

An orcish assault on the fortified Traitor Legion in the Shattered Lands was driven off by the unexpected appearance of mercenary reinforcements for the Legion.

Rumors that the Upside Circle has reemerged in the forest to the east are unconfirmed at this time.

Warden forces in the Shattered Lands have captured or killed a band of slavers who were taking advantage of the chaos in the city to acquire more inventory.


______________________________

Bounty Board
All prices listed are in t.WEL unless otherwise stated, and will be paid out immediately upon confirmation by the bounty poster.

Elias DuKree: Red hair, close cut. Reddish-brown eyes. Scar on left cheek. Possibly a scar on right leg, depending on how the wound healed--might have a limp. Wanted dead. 4 from Lord Protector.

Unknown Raiders: Whoever stole the Imperial weapons meant for the Wardens from the caravan delivering them to the city.
2 from Imperial Trade Ministry

Unknown Murderer: Whoever killed the people found dead at the opening of the Wallen Wing at Bloodhaven Hospital.
4 from Doctor Vassari

Any copy of The Truth of Sav Altulas can be submitted to the Bookbinder's Guild for burning in exchange for a copper piece.

Truth of Sav Altulas Press: 5 from Bookbinder's Guild. Also, we will give you a book deal. Doesn't matter what you're writing about.


______________________________

Turn 23 Begins
April, 1034 DR

[Thelonius]

Bloodhaven

ESGE [7]

''I'm curious about a rumor of you throwing Heavensgate craftsmen into the prison. Can you explain yourself, Lord Founder?''

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Bloodhaven
Well you see, he was conspiring to murder the citizens of Sav-Altuas. To scare off competition, I suppose, or perhaps scare off political rivals, it hardly matters. The evidence is quite well lined up, despite his efforts to cover it up. -In fact, this has posed a bit of a problem, as he seems to have convinced most of the public he is innocent, especially coupled with your (quite reasonable) efforts to persuade the public it was Redeye to avoid the allegations against you- but his guilt is quite undeniable. I have no doubt that once he is off the streets, the city will be a safer place for all.

The fact of the matter is that he had hired the Ensigarim assassin Kylar DePoche to assassinate citizens of the city and to disguise the murders as those of Bloodeye. Not only is this a disturbance of the peace, it is conspiracy to murder and is inexcusable in any form. My men and I agreed to take action immediately to secure him to prevent his further machinations- as you see what damage his dirty money has done, attempting to clear his name with petty bribery.

No, it has become clear that the Silversmith's guild, while good intentioned originally, has become corrupt to the core, it's leaders perpetrating this vile plot.

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild
Public Announcement:
The Silversmith's Guild would like to publicly denounce the Esoteric Society of Gentleman Explorers. Though they may claim that their actions are harmless, in fact good for the city, it is what they have done behind closed doors that show these not-so-gentleman explorers' true faces. Their cowardly kidnapping of our brave leader, Narar Rafin, was not the only move they made against the Silversmiths over the past month.
Even as we worked together to clean the Heladuit mansion out of its traps and defenses, ESGE agents were outside, trying to bribe humble smiths into selling their shops to them. Though they haven't managed to steal away these people's livelihoods yet, but if they do not stop stores that have been in families for generations may be stolen away by the ESGE. They also try to drive these people away from the Guild itself, to remove the last protection standing between these hardworking smiths and the ESGE.
So now they would plead that their kidnapping is to save innocent lives, even while they would seek to bring the guild that would keep Heavensgate safe to its knees.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

public
Well then, I suppose there is no more reason to be tactful, as it appears you have been reading my mail. I find it vile that you think you can escape justice by bribing your way through the beauracracy. No, the reason for his arrest is quite clear. Rafin has conspired with his associated to use the Guild's money to hire the Esaigrim assassin Kylar DePoshe to murder the citizens of the city and has used his agents to disguise his filthy deeds as Skeeve Redeye back from the dead. That, sir, is murder, and you cannot escape justice for your crimes.
My efforts this past month have been to remove Nafir's corrupt influence and stop these horrible murders, and though I fear for my life at the hands of his assassin, I will not allow my personal fears to come in the way of Justice.

Sir, if you keep heavensgate safe, it is a queer kind of safety, where not joining your guild is punishable by death. I have numerous witnesses to your crimes and be assured, Justice will catch you swiftly.

EBSA/James (whoever still runs the courts)
Ladies and gentlemen, I bring before you Nafir Rafin, head of the Silversmith's guild, who is accused of conspiracy to murder and treason against the crown. ,

Ooc:I should have done this sooner, but I am mind-bogglingly busy.

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the ESGE:
Thank you for bringing this matter to my attention. May we speak for a minute in private?

To the Silversmiths:
I request a meeting between yourself and my aides, to discuss these accusations the ESGE has leveled against you.

[Thelonius]

ESGE [7]

''Lord Founder. I had an extensive, private talk about the future of the city and restoring its stability and peace with Wren. I believe it would be for considerable benefit for Sav Altulus, if you and I were to have a similar private talk about keeping blood from flowing and letting the good people of the city to take a breath, before next disaster hits.''

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the ESGE, Vassari:
"Vassari, I believe I wish to have a similar chat with Lord Founder. Might I suggest we do so together?"

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To the Champions of Sovereignty
We would be amenable to that, and a representative will be on its way to your people in Gleamers.
((Do you want this PM, in which case I'll use Captain Zanch, or just a regular conversation?))

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the Silversmiths: [PM]
(Private message, Please)

"Thank you for coming on such short notice Captain Zanch. I will get straight to the point. The crown has conducted it's own investigation, and is aware of the validity of the ESGE's claims. Justice demands that I disband your organisation, and place your leaders in jail."

"We both know however that you would not go down without a fight, and my city can not afford any more bloodshed. Your organisation has displayed reason-ability in the past; withdrawing from the merchant guilds treasonous attack on the crown. I hope that now we can do something similar, for the good of the city."

"I ask if you would be willing to publicly affirm your support for myself as continued ruler of Sav Altulas, publicly confess to some measure of guilt in the Redeye incident, agree to an appropriate punishment for that crime, place the majority of the blame on the mercantile guild, and stand with me in condemning them and demanding their surrender for imprisonment for their crimes."

[Thelonius]

Champions, ESGE (?), Silversmiths [PM]

(OOC: I'm assuming Lord Founder has agreed to participate in the talks as well).

[EDIT: I've assumed it was four faction meeting, but if it's Vasari-Founder-James, and Champions & Silversmiths as in two conversations, then let's pretend this message never happened as I'm talking part only in the first conversation.]

''As far as I know about the issue, the peace was negotiated under the assumption of amnesty. If we start dredging up things from the civil war, in which both sides have committed crimes and treason against the city, then we might as well resume the killing.''

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champs, Bloodhaven [PM]
We all know the validity of my claims. Let us not delude ourselves. Vassari, I am giving you a chance for amnesty. Your intentions in protecting yourself from the allegations, while they could be considered obstructing justice, will not be held against you, at least by me. (politics is an interesting business, is it not?) The Silversmiths and the Mercantile are guilty, however, and must face justice. At the moment, I only have sufficient resources to deal with the Silversmiths.

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To Bloodhaven, ESGE: [PM]
"The Silversmiths have betrayed the kingdom, but they've also in the past shown themselves to be reasonable. We are negotiating with them now, to reach some sort of compromise, so we can turn our attentions to a more worrying threat."

"The mercantile guild are insane. They are a threat to the kingdom, and they can not be reasoned with. They consort with enemies of the kingdom, and plot to damage the stability of Sav Altulas. They must be dealt with."

"This is part of proposed deal with the Silversmiths; their assistance in dealing with the Mercantile Guild. In exchange for services to the crown, we would reduce their punishment to something they can accept without bloodshed. We ask if this is acceptable to you, Lord Founder, and whether you will stand with us in opposing the Mercantile Guild."

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Bloodhaven, Champs [PM]
That is acceptable, however I will not see justice unfulfilled.
That said, We still would like to expand our operations- we were looking into "diversifying our portfolio," as we seem to be "running at capacity."

OOC: Basically, I was hoping to get some territory, especially with your cancelling of the territory swap, as I am at (and have been at for some time) the stat cap. (though I haven't let that stop me.)

[Thelonius]

ESGE, Champions [PM]

''Please, Lord Founder. The whole city knows this is about politics and greed, not justice. I hope you won't insult my intelligence, by claiming otherwise.''

''In my opinion humiliating Silversmith's Guild by demanding they take the guilt, while your side takes no responsibility for your crimes, will lead only to resentment, but I guess it's up to them to decide and swallowing a bitter pill, might be preferable to losing head. I just hoped to see some examples of wise rule, that Sir Wren promised me would come with the peace, instead of new provocations.''

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To the Champions (PM)
Captain Zanch thinks for a few minutes, running through what Rafin would do in his mind. "We'll take those terms, but on a condition. If we acknowledge you as king of this city, we don't want your first royal decree be the one kicking us out of Heavensgate. If you give us a public oath that you will never do such a thing, or work to have us removed from the district, then we will give you a public confession implicating the Mercantile Guild, and some t. WEL or MAG for reparations. They wont be paid to ESGE though, they were not the ones affected by this. And, if you could, tell ESGE that if they step foot in Heavensgate again we'll treat them as if they were Heladuits."

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To Bloodhaven, ESGE [PM]
"Your desire for justice is admirable. I would have preferred you inform me you were investigating so we could work on it together"

"I'll include you in the discussions regarding the mercantile guild this month, Lord Founder. Are you able to spare anything for the defense of the city Vassari?"

"As to expanding your operations, with no fighting in the city, we can turn attentions to the shattered lands, and resume reclaiming and restoring territories out there. I'll also conduct the mentioned territory swap with you, if that's still agreeable."

To Silversmiths: [PM]
"That's reasonable. We'll agree to that oath."

"And yes, your reparations should be contributed to some public work for the good of the kingdoms citizens. What would you be willing to pay the most towards?"

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild-General Rhodarmer[PM]
Well, as far as I see it, we have two options this month, or perhaps find a way to do both. The first, is to, of course, retake Gregoria from the Orks. We absolutely slaughtered their troops last month and they are currently on the run. Probably to Tregon and their fortifications.

The second option is we can keep our momentum going and try to lure some of the Gregorian Mages and Intelligence Agents back from King James, now that we have the last of the soldiers.

Your preference?

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champs, Bloodhaven [pm]
"doctor, you wound me. You know as well as I that Rafin has committed murder. I-" Lord Founder burst out laughing. "Oh, you see right through me! Of course it's politics. Isn't it all?" He pointed an accusatory finger at James and Vassari. "You two have got to stop making treaties that involve me without telling me the terms. Good lord, how do you expect me to know what you negotiated with some this Wren person? Why would I have any reason to believe that I for some bizarre reason could not honestly persecute a man guilty of capital crimes? It is simply impossible for me to tell what I can and cannot do anymore.

"Perhaps I ought to expand my hunting preserve. Spend some time away from this nonsense."

[HerbieRAI]

The ESBA, dictated through the Church of Neposh

The ESBA and the Church does not have significant information linking the Silversmiths to the immitator Red Eye. If the ESGE has proper evidence of their involvement we ask they give their proof to the ESBA for prosecution rather than resorting to vigilantism.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

EBSA
As the EBSA participated in the investigation which uncovered the evidence, I was under the impresstin that they already have the evidence.

We saw no reason to present the evidence to the church of neposh because there is no reason, unless the courts are now controlled by a religeous entity? There's no possible conflict of interests there.

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To the Champions (PM)
"Glad to have your agreement. We'll put some t. WEL towards repaving the roads in Runner's city, it was them who were affected the most, wasn't it?"

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champs, Bloodhaven [pm]
I don't suppose you'd mind telling me what you've negotiated with the Silversmiths on my behalf?

[Zemalac]

Rhodarmer to Mercantile's Guild (PM)

My preference is to have my land back. It has been many months since I was driven from there by treachery; I want to see Georgetown again.

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild-General Rhodarmer[PM]
Very well, my friend; I already have support from the Crimson Company and my own soldiers will be present as well. Gregoria should be yours within the month.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Bloodhaven, Champs [pm]
Or you, vassari, I don't suppose you'd mind informing me on whatever it is you negotiated with the wren that is enforsable on me? I was unaware of any such truce.

Silversmiths
Excuse me, would you mind telling me what you've settled with the King? As it most surely involves me, I would very much like to know, and thus far he has refused to tell me.

[HerbieRAI]

The Church of Neposh

The courts are still controlled by the ESBA, we are combining our police force to enforce the laws. This process is still in the works, but the ESBA have since appraised us of the situation. I assume the king knows who is responsible as well, and if he would tell us whom they have pardoned so we do not attempt to arrest someone who has been cleared of guilt.

Your second statement makes no sense. While we are not overseeing the courts, no matter who oversees them has conflicts of interest. It is a law of the world that as long as someone has power to pass judgement on others there is a chance of corruption. If anything the church would be the best group to oversee them, due to our continuing goal and desire to remove corruption from the world.

[Thelonius]

ESGE/Champions [PM]

''Why, that's between me and Sir Wren.''

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Neposh/ESBA
Ah, forgive me, you must have misunderstood; I said that there is no possible conflict of interest. I agree.

I might note that I find it odd that we had to take action at all, however the EBSA's unresponsiveness to the criminal conspiracy forced our hand.

On the matter of the accused, it seems to have been settled out-of-court. I would love to tell you whether or not I am to continue pressing charges, however I have yet to be told of the results of the King's meeting; as such I have no idea if it would be reasonable (or indeed even legal) to continue to do so.

Bloodhaven, Champs [PM]
Well! I suppose I will have to continue blundering along in the dark hoping I don't violate some truce my friends have made. I'm sure you can't very well complain to me about being promised this-or-that by the wren and such nonsense about "unfairly prosecuting conspirators."

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the ESGE [7]
Since you must make your unhappiness so public, I will inform you of the information you are missing, so far as I am able.

The King forged a peace agreement with the Silversmiths around a month or two ago, whereby they would take no further part in the civil war, and in exchange would not be harmed in turn.

Last month, I was personally able to negotiate a similar peace with Vassari. My apologies if you were left out of the loop, but I suppose since you had not part in the previous fighting, it was assumed you would not take it upon yourself to take action.

Your personal crusade against the Silversmiths as the Redeye killers threatens to reopen the wounds of the civil war, plunging us back into war we can ill afford.

I like it little myself. I knew the men who were killed personally, and they died as a personal attack on me, in which an attempt on my life was made. But it is for the good of the city.

As for the Kings new negotiations with the Silversmiths, I cannot speak to them, but I expect some kind of plea bargain will be arranged, such that we can keep the peace.

Meanwhile, while the Silversmiths are at least amenable to negotiation, the Mercantile Guild appears to be romping up and down the Shattered Lands, fueling the endless fighting outside our doorstep with Mercenary swords, and allying with warlords and enemies of the King.

I think it is clear who the priority is.

The Wren

[Nyrt]

ESGE

The Wren
Ah, what a relief this is! You see, I had no idea that this matter had already been resolved. We did not take part in the fighting, true, but that is not to say we were not involved. We are not a military organization.

Champions
Now that that little matter has been cleared up, I would be perfectly willing to take management of Sky and cede Blacksgage to your administration (with the exception of the university, the opera house, and the Center for the Arts).

University Board
This month, we will begin construction of a High-Energy Magic facility outside the city for the testing of potentially dangerous magics. This will facilitate the further expansion of our magical arts and best provide for the safety of this city's citizens.

Silversmiths
It is good to hear that your punishment had been settled out of court.

[Zemalac]

Turn 23 Results
April, 1034 DR


The Sav Altulas Standard
Run This Town

Sponsored by the Bookbinder's Guild

______________________________

An attempt by the Fist of Neposh and EBSA Greycloaks to arrest Mercantile Guild officials in Lomb Circle erupted into violence when Laurier guardsmen denied them permission to search Laurier property.

A very large number of bodies have been found floating in the river with bullets in their heads, cut throats or knives in their backs.

The citizenry in Lomb Circle is beginning to embrace the worship and Guidance of Neposh. The Merdallan Laurier Family is not pleased.

An attempt by General Rhodarmer to take back his former kingdom of Gregoria failed when defenders proved to be more numerous than expected.

The Order of the Wren has released full details of their investigation into the Redeye-style killings in the Lower City several months ago, pinpointing the Mercantile's Guild as the perpetrator.

The Champions of Sovereignty and Esoteric Society of Gentlemen Explorers have exchanged control of several territories in Blacksgage and Sky, giving the Society full control over their home district.

A marked surge in decadence and foolish spending on the part of the nobility was curbed by Lord Founder and Lord StigBalathad, though not before many in the common mob began muttering about the excesses involved.

The Traitor Legion has been destroyed by the Warden Order, and their leader, Tinman, killed.

Daimot University has constructed a new High-Energy Magic building a safe distance from the city, for more dangerous research.

Ramston militia have been running war games out in the Shattered Lands.

The Silversmith's Guild has begun funding improved roadwork in Runner's City.


______________________________

Bounty Board
All prices listed are in t.WEL unless otherwise stated, and will be paid out immediately upon confirmation by the bounty poster.

Elias DuKree: Red hair, close cut. Reddish-brown eyes. Scar on left cheek. Possibly a scar on right leg, depending on how the wound healed--might have a limp. Wanted dead. 4 from Lord Protector.

Unknown Raiders: Whoever stole the Imperial weapons meant for the Wardens from the caravan delivering them to the city.
2 from Imperial Trade Ministry

Unknown Murderer: Whoever killed the people found dead at the opening of the Wallen Wing at Bloodhaven Hospital.
4 from Doctor Vassari


______________________________

Turn 24 Begins
May, 1034 DR

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren

To Bloodhaven [7]
I must insist you desist your efforts to support Rhodarmer in invading Gregoria. It is difficult to assure my allies that you are going to keep the peace when they see Bloodhaven troops marching alongside Mercantile and Sausage Guild men. The SGA is gone.

Neither Rhodarmer nor the Orcs are fit governers for Gregoria. Neither will be friendly to Sav Altulan interests.

[Thelonius]

Lord Laurier [8]

''Lord Laurier, the actions by Church of Neposh are completely reprehensible and I shall not stand and watch, as person, whom I hold in highest regard is assaulted so. Whatever resources I possess are at your disposal to teach the Church of Neposh a lesson, for daring to insult and injure the noble House Laurier.''


Church of Neposh [8]

''I must say that I have viewed you favorably until now, mostly due to the fact, that apart from action agaisnt Sausage Guild, where I believe you were duped into participating, you had not moved against people I hold respect or gratitude. This of course changed now.''

''I do not know what possessed you to take such course of action, but your actions against Lord Laurier made me into your enemy, in the time, when I don't think you lack for them.''

[Zemalac]

House Laurier to Order of the Wren, Champions of Sovereignty (5)

We would appreciate it if you would keep your agents out of our territory unless you have permission for them to be there. We understand that you were trying to hunt down the Mercantile's Guild, and now that the Order has released the results of their investigation we finally understand why, but the Guild has not been present in Lomb Circle for two months now. Which is information that we would have readily given you if you had merely asked for it instead of sending in assassins and thieves in some ridiculous attempt at mercantile sabotage.

We will comply with any legal, pre-arranged search of our facilities, but any further spies will be treated as spies deserve.


House Laurier to EBSA (9)

Your attempt to search and seize property belonging to House Laurier was blatantly illegal under your own laws. No officer of the Mercantile's Guild has been present in Lomb Circle for two months now, information that you should have known. Explain yourself, sir.


House Laurier to Church of Neposh (9)

Remove your preachers from our streets and pull your church back from Tremorous. We worship our own gods here.

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren

To House Laurier (5)
I understand your annoyance, but it was judged that a lack of forewarning would allow our men to slip in and out safely.

Though for absent men, the Mercantile Guild certainly seemed to kill a lot of mine. You know anything about that?

[ArcaneStomper]

Crimson Company to Maximilian Greeves (8)
As our previous contract is now over we are looking for a new employer. Are you still interested in contracting for our services?

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the Crimson Company (7)
I may be interested in engaging your new services, Bloodhand. What are your prices?

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to the Order of the Wren
It would depend of course on what you plan to hire us for. And what other offers we receive.

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren

To the Crimson Company
Hmm. Alright. There is a pestersome band of Rebels, who, led by a Merchant, call themselves the "Mercantile Guild." They are known by all in Sav Altulas to be as vile as the famed serial killer Redeye.

Eliminate them, and you will be paid well.

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to the Order of the Wren
I'm afraid the Company doesn't work on promises. We'll need a definite contract as to payment. Half of which either needs to be payed up front or the whole amount needs to be put into escrow with a neutral third part who we both agree is trustworthy.

So how much are their heads worth to you?

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the Crimson Company
Your system is not one I have commonly found when dealing with mercenaries. Generally their services are engaged for a period of time, and they follow orders during that time.

What price would you regard as fair? I believe you have some familiarity with the organisation in question, I am sure you know how hard they they are to kill.

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to the Order of the Wren
And we are not common mercenaries. You must recognize this for after all you approached specifically. So you must feel we have the qualifications you need. Otherwise you would have simply put out a general call to the mercenary captains in the Shattered Lands. Or even a simple bounty on the so called mercantile guild.

For killing an entire group such as them we ask for [20 t wealth]. As you said yourself they are not easy targets.

[Eldan]

A few days ago

The horse thundered through the gates of Tregon throwing up fountains of mud. Its flanks were caked in sweat and dust and the rider didn't look much better.
The figure, in a hooded travel cloak, jumped off. Two servants came running out of the stables to take away the horse. One of them was grabbed by the arm by a hand slender for an orc.
"YOU!" a female voice bellowed from beneath the cowl. "Why in all hells are you here instead of defending your homeland! And don't tell me you're looking after my horse, we only need one for that and a human could do that job just as well."
Despite the orc being almost a head taller than her and a good deal brother in the shoulders, she effortlessly dragged him along behind her to the armoury. A lumberjack passed her and she growled at him.
"You. You have an axe. Why are you splitting wood with it if you could be splitting the heads of Sav Altulians?"
A throwing axe with a worn wooden handle and a gleaming steel head caked in blood appeared in one hand, then burried itself several inches deep in the bundle the lumberjack was carrying, quivering.
"That's what an axe is for! With me!"

Ten minutes later and with five rather confused looking orcs in tow, she marched into the smithy.
"WHAT's going on here! What are you doing, smithing plowshares? Are you an orc or a farmer! Swords! Now! I want these sorry disgraces for orchood here armed by tomorrow morning! Get to it! You there, lumberjack, throw that wood into the forge!"

As she turned around and stalked out into the yard, a voice growled behind her. "Who're you to give us orders?"

"Someone who asks! Good! You're my new lieutenant here."
She lept up onto a five foot high wall, effortlessly.

"I'M BRIGWA STONECUTTER!"
Her voice rang loud enough to be heard in half the fortress.
"What have I done? Freed us from tyranny. Built the mightiest fortress in the shattered lands. I built an industry for us, quarries, lumber, cattle. Came back home a conquerer, to save the land of my ancestors from the tin man's legion.
And what do I find? The cancer of Sav Altulas has spread to Gregoria! They will not let us live in our homeland! They will not watch as we try and build a life for ourselves! Their armies and mercenaries work boot in boot with the Traitor Legion, who plundered Gregoria, where my father's father's bones are burried. They told me Orcs are only good for war.
I will do what must be done with any corruption. Burn it out, root and stem. They will not let us have peace.
So let me show them war. Not the war they play at, where their lords sit in meetings together while their mercenaries kill each other. Where they fight not for their homes, but for their gold. They have never even heard of proper honour or valour. Let us show them orcish war.
Remember what I did to the last human who tried to bend my knee? I bent his back down to the chopping block, instead, so that Rigger Deerblood could use his blade.
As long as there's a bone unbroken in my body, I will fight the infection of their kind.
And if you are orcs, true orcs, so will you. Cast aside your tools. If we are only good for war, we will given them war. Every last one of you. Take up a weapon, or leave Tregon and go to live with the humans. Go carry their sedan chairs like the animal you will become. Today, you are orcs, or you are nothing."

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the Crimson Company
That is one reading of events, Bloodhand. Though honestly, I've fought enough of your men to know they die like all the others.

I will consider your price.

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to the Order Wren
Precisely, it was not something I was going to bring up but to be frank your forces have fought mine just this month, and didn't show any compunction in doing so. To not take precautions to ensure that we do in fact get paid for our work by the people we were so recently fighting would be foolhardy.

If you want to hire mercenaries with less reason to mistrust your guarantee of payment then feel free. There is no shortage of men willing to fight in the shattered lands.

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the Crimson Company
Your men had no compunctions in firing on mine. Should my men just throw down their weapons and fall before you?

The fact that you hold a grudge shows your true nature. It is not the quality of my gold, but your willingness to take it, or rather willingness to fufill your task that is truly in question.

Thank you for the fine conversation though. Most enlightening.

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to the Order of the Wren
It's not a grudge to require a guarantee when you know someone does not trust you. And I know you don't trust me. Just recently you communicated to Bloodhaven that you equated my men to those of the Mercantile Guild. You even called them the forces of the sausage guild, which is somewhat telling of your regard for us as the sausage guild is well and truly dead. Just because I happen to have survived its destruction and formed the Crimson Company does not mean that they are the same organization after all.

This prompts the following logic. You dislike the mercantile guild enough to hire mercenaries to kill them. You regard the crimson company in a similar vein as the mercantile guild. The next logical equivalence is that once we have done your work for you in killing the mercantile guild you will hire some other mercenary company to kill us.

By no means is this an indication of any disrespect for you on my part. I find this to be perfectly logical and reasonable behavior. Just so it is perfectly logical that I am requiring you to guarantee your payment so that once we have done your contracted work we will be in a better position to counter the forces you send against us. And if you have no intention of sending forces against us, then you should have no hesitation as to meeting my terms as paying us would not interfere with your plans. In fact it would leave my forces both stronger and more willing to accept future contracts from you.

The fact that I am willing to accept your contract at all should show that I bear no grudge. I must simply take the actions which are best for the survival of the crimson company regardless of who pays and who the target is.

Also to be frank every mercenary I've ever dealt with in the area, and I have dealt with far more than you have, has required the complete payment up front and before they started working. So my offer of only half a down payment or even to put the entire payment in escrow is actually quite generous and reflects the fact that I know you don't trust me.

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren

To the Crimson Company
The Sausage Guild are dead. Of course. I mean, it must be so! I have to write a different name on my letters.

Mercenary companies I have spoken with in the Shattered Lands generally don't ask questions in the way you do. They give a price per company of men, and they go to their work.

I never expressed any dissatisfaction with your arrangements regarding money. Holding half the payment is entirely reasonable.

You are certainly willing to accept my money. Whether you would fufill your end of the contract is an entirely different question.

As I said, I will inform you if I chose to engage your services. You should know, however, that you do no good for image of seperation from the SGA by being continually seen fighting at the Mercantile Guilds side.

[HerbieRAI]

Church of Neposh


To House Laurier (public)

All information points that the Mercantile guild was and still is operating in Lomb Circle, whether you know about it or not. We were not attempting to seize property, just the people responsible for the murders and terrorism in Runners City. This belief is compounded by the abundance of poisoning that occurred to enforcers of the law when we tried to search for the criminals.

We know house Laurier holds themselves to a high standard and would never stoop to poisoning and assassinating servants of the city, which leads us to believe the Merchants are still in your area and looking for ways to destroy the city. There is no reason we need to be at odds when we both want the city to be a safe prosperous place, help us root out these men.


To Bloodhaven (DESP 9)

Through the combination of the ESBA, the Militia of Order and Justice, and the Church we have begun taking crimes against the city a great deal more seriously. We did not mean to take action against House Laurier, we were looking for the merchants. We have the evidence that they are responsible for the murders in Runners City and as the enforcers for the ESBA we are attempting to bring them to justice. We also have evidence they are still in Lomb Circle despite Laurier's claims. The Laurier family are protecting the merchants, most likely through ignorance of their crimes. Unless the King pardons them of their crimes like he did with you we will continue to pursue them.


To The Champions (DESP 9)

We see you are trying to unite Blacksage under the King. With our current focus of enforcing justice within the city, we find the people of Blacksage have different goals than the administration of the faithful. We are willing to trade you our Blacksage territories if you wish.

[ArcaneStomper]

The Crimson Company to the Order of the Wren
A fair enough impression, but as you said yourself the SGA is dead. If it appears otherwise remember that the Mercantile Guild's coin and that of their allies is just as good as your's. We have in fact offered our services to the Wardens in the past, but they never finalized the contract. And if you decide to decline our contract as well.

Well then we will simply continue to work with those who agree to our contracts and pay our fees in a timely manner. Regardless of who our clients might be.

[Thelonius]

Church of Neposh/House Laurier (Public)

''You accuse House Laurier of lying and harboring criminals! Knaves! I have little patience for those who would hurl accusations against an innocent man, especially one of such impeccable honor and integrity. How dare you!''

''Lord Laurier, I beg you, it would be beneath your dignity to address such grievance in the manner befitting it - blood. But being of the same station as these men of Church of Neposh, I would be glad to end their lies and lives in an honorable duel. I do not care that they have God on their side, I will make them regret ever besmirching your name.''

[Zemalac]

House Laurier to Order of the Wren (7)

We have allowed some Guild officers to operate in the district so that we could make use of their contacts and such. I assume you are referring to the defense their bodyguards put up when your assassins came for them. The Guild itself has, I repeat, not been based in Lomb Circle for some time now. We offered them sanctuary for one month and one month only.


House Laurier to Church of Neposh (Public)

Must we really resolve this in a public forum? It is a private issue.


House Laurier to Church of Neposh (9)

There are, indeed, some Guild officials who have been active in the district, to allow us to take advantage of their contacts in our own mercantile enterprises. However, the Guild itself was sheltered in Lomb Circle for one month, and one month only. I do not believe their core circle even remains in the city.

As for your request for assistance in searching for the Guild, I am afraid I must reject it out of hand. Your people did not stop when we made it clear to them that the Mercantile's Guild was no longer in Lomb Circle, and insisted upon searching property that they claimed belonged to the Guild but which was, in fact, owned entirely by our family. To all appearances, your efforts here have had nothing to do with the law or justice or anything of the sort; you were merely attempting to expand the influence of your church at the expense of our ventures. We responded, and if you do not stay out of our district will continue to respond, in kind.


House Laurier to Doctor Vassari (Public)

Please refrain from such outbursts, sir. They do not become you. This is not an issue that we intend to settle in a public forum.


House Laurier to Mercantile's Guild (20)

Sir,

I am afraid we are going to have to distance ourselves from your organization in the coming months. We can no longer allow your officers to operate in our district, not while the rest of the city now knows that we know you were responsible for the Redeye murders of the Wren's agents. My deepest apologies.

Regards,

Alexandre Laurier

OOC: They can't risk being associated with you, and are politely returning your Merchant Contacts trait.

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren

To House Laurier (7)
Very well. You have my apologies for acting rashly. It shall not happen again.

But we must set this issue aside, I think, for we have common ground. I do not know if you are aware of my Merdallan heritage, but I offer my support in protecting the worship of the Risen Gods here in Sav Altulas.

[Thelonius]

House Laurier [8]

''My apologies. I fear when it comes to personal attacks on reputation, I grow hotblooded, like some brash youth, not a man of my age and experience. The Wardens have once baited me into a duel like this and I should have learned my lesson then. As I've said, I'm at your disposal, when it comes to dealing with the Church of Neposh. Their grab for Lomb Circle is quite apparent and if my support can give you more leverage in negotiations to push them back, do not hesitate to call on me.''

[Eldan]

The Aftermath

Deercutter spat. He was sitting on the still smoldering wreck of some kind of war machine, oiling his bow.
"Humans. How long do you think it will be until they come crawling back with their sweet words promising us gold if we fight for them? And yet there's not a single one out of those so called leaders who has not insulted or betrayed us".

Stonecutter sighed. She was standing a bit further along on a small hill looking over the battlefield.
"Why are we doing this? I lead my people out of Tregon. They say we were bred for war, and it is all we can do. I wanted something different. I wanted to build a nation for us. A home. We would fight, for a while, to get the gold and then buy cattle. Quarries. Forests for lumber. Build an industry on raw goods. Use our toughness to become lumberjacks, rangers and wilderness guids. Not soldiers.
And yet... I invest half our treasury in funding new shops and tools for the craftsmen of Gregoria, our old home. An offering of peace.
And we are attacked. By everyone. We were bred as monsters, they will use us as monsters, never let us be anything but monsters. Warriors. Not craftsmen, miners, lumberjacks. Stonecutters.
There are days when I think there is no point, Rigger. That we should only forge swords. Log all the forests you see from Tregon's walls to make shields and arrows. Blast those quarries so that no enemy can build another fortress. To withstand us"
Her hands were tight fists now.
"Those aren't the really dark days. The really dark days, I think we should raze Gregoria so that no one can use those craftsmen and so that we will forget we ever had a home where we weren't soldiers. Poison the rivers and burn the fields from here to the salty seas so that all but the orcs will die. Wipe out the race of man with steel and sword."
She exhales a few times, slowly.
"Sometimes I think that only then we would find peace. But I must fight today because I believe there are still other options. That one day, there will be orcs who will live and die without ever wielding weapons in between. Not because they are slaves, but because they are free and at peace.
Maybe. One day.
But it seems it won't be this day. We will lose Gregoria. Maybe not while I live, but some day we will. Sav Altulas wants it. With it, we will lose the technists. We will lose our resources. Those vaults under Sav Altulas we bought have not yielded even one pound of meat to sell. There will be left nothing for us but the sword."

Deerblood shrugged. Those were too many words for him. He pulled a grindstone and sharpened the blade that had cost the head of a king.
"Perhaps that's better", was all he said.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Public Apology
The Esoteric Society of Gentlemen Explorers, on behalf of the Blackjack Boys, would like to issue a formal apology to the Silversmith's guildmaster, Nafir Rafin. Due to a clerical error and the unfortunate misspelling of Mr. Rafin's name, we placed blame upon the entirely wrong party. We would like to assure you that this will not happen again, and we are taking steps to ensure that no private citizen is wrongfully persecuted in such a manner again.

University Board
Regrettably, the research funds allocated to the High-Energy Research Facility seem to have dried up due to legal issues, and as such the facility will remain closed until they can be recovered. There will be a modest staff stationed there to maintain the facility, but research capabilities will be unfortunately limited.

[ArcaneStomper]

The University Board
If the High-Energy Research Center is not being used by the University directly the Shaper Circle retains enough researchers to be able to use it properly. And as it is located outside of the city it would not cause any problems with those that might have reason to view us with suspicion if we were granted access to it while the University proper lacks the necessary funds.

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild
Public Announcement
The Silversmith's Guild would like to announce that we support King James as ruler of this majestic city. We would also like to apologize for our small role in the Redeye incident -- the Mercantile Guild had swindled us into providing them aid. We agree that they must be brought to justice.

To ESGE (Public)
The leader of the Silversmith's Guild is named Narar Rafin, who traces his line back to the great Zev Rafin himself. There is no Nafir Rafin. Why should we trust with administrating justice those that can not even get a very public figure's name correct?

[Nyrt]

ESGE

To Silversmiths [public]
Ah, yes. Hm.

I have instructed Sebastian to find me a new secretary. I hope this little matter won't stop us from doing business in the future.

As for administrating justice, you will be glad to know that I have no hand in that. Evidently, the courts are the domain of the church (a fine and noble institution.)

StigBalathad to Bloodhaven
Would you mind putting a halt to your drug trafficking in Sky? It is disrupting business. A time was when you came to me with help in stopping exactly that, yet now I find you at the center of it.

But I will not hold it against you as another man would; you know my past. And I suppose funding must be difficult to come by without your clinics. If you like, I would be willing to sponsor clinics in the upper city- your expertise is sorely missed.

University Board
My apoligies, it seems I spoke too soon. The missing funds have been located, and the building will be up and running on schedule. The building will still be available for your research, though, as that is it's purpose.

[Thelonius]

Bloodhaven

Bloodhaven acknowledges King James as ruler of Sav Altulus and we shall not rise arms against him, Sir Wren or Wardens. I shall forgive the slight of false accusations, so this issue no longer stands between us.

ESGE [7]

''I came with that offer, at the time when I mistakenly believed that Lord Founder was an honorable man, who respected me as much as I did him. A notion I was disabused of, when he offered to kick White-Stripe Mages out of Daimot University, as part of some petty political deal. ''University should stay out of politics'', he said to me once. Ha. Didn't take long for it to become a negotiation chip.''

''I'll see into your offer, but frankly, I think boys will be boys. If some young noblemen wish to taste some excitement, is it really for the old grumpy men to spoil their fun?''

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Bloodhaven
That deal would never have gone through. I have neither the authority nor the desire to see you removed from the university- it was a deal proposed by Neposh which to be frank I am embarrassed to have considered at all. The church is a powerful institution, and for a moment I let my fear overcome my good sense and my friendship. You have my heartfely apology, sir.

I have no desire to see the end of this alliance, and I hope you believe so as well.

[HerbieRAI]

The Holy Church of Neposh

To Laurier (DESP 9)

We are willing to keep this private, but we must continue our search in Lomb Circle. The two facts are if the Merchantile guild are operating in the area we must hunt them down and make the city safe again. We have become the enforcers of justice and the Merchants must answer for their crimes. The poisoning of many of our men in the past month shows us they are still operating in Lomb. Therefore we cannot quit this pursuit. We do not wish to insult or be at odds with your family, is there a compromise that can be reached to both allow our search for the criminals and give you peace of mind?


To Bloodhaven

The Holy Church is focused on enforcing justice and saving lives. We never accused House Laurier of any criminal or lying. We believe they had no knowledge of the Merchants actions, and are not looking to attack or insult the Laurier family in any way.

If you still seek to kill people in a public forum the Church is willing to defend our honor. It will take us some time to get ready, since all our efforts are currently being used to heal the damage that has been done by the Merchants, something I thought the Doctors would understand.

To GM (PM)

What do I know of the strengths and power of Vassari?

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To Warlord Contacts
I am interested in hiring myself some sell-swords for next month. What kind of prices can you get me?

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To ESGE, Bloodhaven [5]
"I understand you are having problems with drug trafficking in Sky? Which drugs in particular are being dealt in? Obviously I will not be tolerating any illegal drugs in my city."

To the Church of Neposh:
"That is indeed our intention. What did you have in mind as an exchange?"

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Bloodhaven, Champs
Yes, it seems Vassari and Mr. Rafin have fallen in with the Peacocks and are endeavoring to seduce the nobility into decadence and corruption. I hope I've put an end to it, unless they continue their campaign to suck my coffers dry. It is quite irritating, and has cost me a good deal of resources. But don't let that worry you. As long as they stop I will call our scores settled.

A side note, I don't suppose you'd tell me what you negotiated with Rafin? I would hate to accidentally violate another treaty.

[Eldan]

Orcs of Tregon

To the Crimson Company

Are you interested in a proposal? I dn't think I could send you any message that wouldn't be read by every spy between here and Verdan, so how about we meet in a neutral location.

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the ESGE: [5]
"Rafin is pledging his allegiance publicly to the crown, confessing to partial guilt, laying blame on the mercantile guild, whose reputation is now firmly ruined, and paying reparations to the people of Runners City"

"I'm considering whether or not I need to meet with your house in private again this month to discuss current affairs. Would that be problematic for you?"

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champions
Your Majesty, that would be much welcome.

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild[25]

Ah, I see my enemies have finally managed to paint the Guild in the absolute worst possible light. I will admit to the brave men and woman of the Guild being a major part in the attack that crippled the Wrens network of spies and informants(a master stroke they should be quite proud of) all those months ago. However, I will not accept the charges that we willingly killed civilians, for that is simply not true. In fact, we had no idea civilians had even been killed until the City was already up in arms about it.

With that said, I would like to apologize to the innocents who may have potentially been impacted by these events and to wish them best wishes. That apology doesn't extend to the Wren or his inner-circle, however. They deserved what they got.

General Rhodarmer[PM]
Well, that didn't go nearly as expected. Damn James and his cronies need to be disposed of--which I am working on--before we make another attack upon Gregoria. They are already firmly entrenched.enough to withstand another attack at this time.

What did you have planned? I am all ears right now.

House Laurier[20]
Lord Laurier,

I understand completely, My Lord Laurier. Do what must be done to keep Lomb Circle safe, for I can not, being holed up as I am outside the City. I must thank you for all the help that you have given us already. I owe you and I will repay that debt beore the end.

One final warning though: Though I am responsible for the killing of the Wrens agents, not everything is as it seems. I would not trust anybody in this broken city. Those claiming to be on the right side of the civil war are in it only for themselves.

Your loal servant,

The Trader

[Murska]

Wardens to Imperial Chancery

Hello. I would like to enquire whether you have anyone in proximity to us for a meeting this month, or else if another branch of the glorious Empire has a suitable presence. I feel I have something quite important to discuss.

In related news, I would like to announce that I have eliminated the Traitor Legion and killed their leader. They are no more, and will no longer tarnish Imperial honour.

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren

See the degeneracy of the Mercantile Guild! He has no remorse in killing men, men whose only crime was loyalty to my cause and to the king, and does not see any problem in resorting to the methods of Redeye! I have killed men. It is a sad duty, but one that must be accomplished. But brutal, bloody, torturous murderers who see the madman Redeye not as a vile killer but as an inspiration! That is what we fight.

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the ESGE:
Very well then. I'll meet you at the palace.

To the ESGE [PM]
King James meets the representative from the Esoteric society in the main courtyard, leading them through the complex to the one of the smaller council chambers. Two chairs sit by a small table, on which an assortment of drinks and a plate of scones sit. King James picks a scone off the plate, and takes his seat.

"Thank you again for coming. Mainly I wanted to talk about the Crown's plans, but first, is there anything your society wants to talk to me about?"

[Zemalac]

House Laurier to Order of the Wren (7)

That is very kind of you. We are not religious people ourselves, but we understand the Church of Neposh demands a tithe from its followers that we do not particularly wish to pay. Say what you will about Orsag, Dominarin and all the rest, but they never demanded our tribute.


House Laurier to Bloodhaven (8)

Of course, Doctor. Your enthusiasm is greatly appreciated, but I think we can resolve this situation peaceably, or at least quietly.


House Laurier to Church of Neposh (9)

There were Guild officers in the district last month, yes, but they were merely there to serve as connections to the Guild's merchant contacts in other lands. Since the revelation of what, exactly, the Guild has been accused of, we have asked those individuals to leave. The Guild itself is, I say once again, no longer in the city.

We will submit to a legally pre-arranged search by the EBSA, if you think that necessary, but the Fist of Neposh and the itinerant preachers who follow in their wake are not welcome.


HerbieRAI (PM)

Scars on his face that he tries to hide. Rumors of mysterious murders at the hospital and elsewhere, some say by him, some say by someone trying to kill him. Little bit of magic, mostly healing-related. A very clever man.


Warlord Contacts to Order of the Wren (8)

Mercenaries are 2 WEL for 1 MIL. Due to your Transient Swords trait, any mercenaries hired by yourself do not have to make morale rolls in combat, and will not loot stat points that would otherwise have gone to your treasury.


Rhodarmer to Mercantile's Guild (PM)

The general has not yet recovered from his wounds enough to compose a reply.


Imperial Chancery to Wardens (10)

This is good news indeed, sir. Thank you for informing us.

Lord Agent North is still hunting a lead that might lead to the capture or death of the Mechanist, so we cannot spare you his personal expertise at this time. A small Chancery team could easily be dispatched, however, and we understand the Inquisition of the Imperial Mother Church wants to take a closer look at your city. Arranging for an Emperitor or two with their retinues would be easily within our reach, I think.

Unless you had something else in mind? We cannot send the legions that far north, of course, but in exchange for Tinman's body we might be able to arrange a small army of the soulless for your use. They are not the best swordsmen in the world, perhaps, but I understand you already have flintlocks, so equipping them would not be too difficult.

[Murska]

Imperial Chancery (10)

I would like to discuss with the Inquisition. And I believe the Soulless would be useful for the coming trial.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champions [PM]
Lord Founder is a bit disappointed to have been called away from his hunting, but he doesn't show it, greeting the king politely once he has disentangled himself from his flying machine and made his way to the council room.

"Your Majesty, always a pleasure. Congratulations on your marriage. The wedding was a splendid affair- I must say, having a small private ceremony was an excellent decision."

Lord Founder sat and picked up a scone, inspecting it carefully.

"You know, the university's efforts to stop the food crisis created a whole class of baker-magi. The best they've gotten is this hard, bitter loaf similar to that dwarven bread one can use as an anvil. Lord Pontiss won't stop trying to get me to eat it: he seems convinced it's the most remarkable foodstuff. I suppose he enjoys its convenience -he has taken to summoning up a loaf whenever he feels hungry- but frankly I tire of it quickly."

Founder enjoyed the scone, commenting on the skill of the palace's kitchen staff.

"There was a small matter between the nobility, Bloodhaven, and the Silversmiths in the last month- they spent an absolutely absurd amount of resources trying to goad us into drug use- we've lost quite a bit of funding to them. Hopefully it has been settled, unless they continue to dredge up old grievances.

The one thing I would like to address, however, is an irritating lack of reliable information coming from the palace. I was informed, at one point, that Bloodhaven was full of traitors and was an enemy of the crown- as you can imagine I was quite shocked, but set about my duty of attempting to remove such rot.
The instant I attempted to take action, I was abruptly informed that no, bloodhaven is in fact a good ally. My actions, based on your information, only resulted in offending Vassari (who I had once called a good friend) because we were suddenly allies again- and I had never been told.

This happened again when investigating the Redeye impostors. The investigation determined that the primary source of funding was the Silversmiths and the Mercantile guild, so I announced that I would be arresting Mr. Rafin. There was no objection, so I proceeded as planned only to discover once more that I had inadvertently moved against an ally.

These two events, so combined, have resulted in a truce in which my 'allies,' may move against me as they please, luring my men into decadence, and I cannot respond in kind without escalating the conflict. I am attempting, at this time, to defuse the issue peacefully so we can have the resources to spare to finish our research at the High-Energy research facility.

Sir, with all respect, you are what holds this alliance together. None of us can afford to let it collapse now."

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Orcs of Tregon

Very Well.

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the ESGE [PM]
"I apologize for not keeping the Esoteric Society up-to-date on the thrones decisions. It is a problem I fear has affected more than just yourself. This meeting should hopefully get you up to speed, next month I'll start holding monthly city meetings, so the problem doesn't reoccur."

"The Silversmiths and Bloodhaven are annoying to deal with. I had hoped they would not be quite so petty as they were this month, they seem to act purely on their emotion, which is not something I like, though we should be able to use it to keep them in check."

King James picks up a cup of tea, and takes a sip.

"The main issue I wanted to talk about was the Church of Neposh. I am concerned they may be a threat to the throne, and would like to discuss with you measures to remove them from the city."

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champs [PM]
Yes, I can see how our antimagic could prove useful in this. I'm afraid a number of our mages are occupied with research at the moment, however.Will this be a millitary invasion or something more... Subtle?

[razovor]

The Champions of Sovereignty:

To the ESGE [PM]
"I was intending for a direct approach. A military attack, supported by our agents, and Mages. The Wardens and the Order of the Wren are providing support, as we expect will be Bloodhaven and the Silversmiths."

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Champions [PM]
Ah, well then. We would be happy to help, but I will have you know that the university will, as always, remain apart from this- I would not want the university to be involved in military actions. The Gentlemen will provide all they can spare.

[Zemalac]

Turn 24 Results
May, 1034 DR


The Sav Altulas Standard
One More Chance

Sponsored by the Bookbinder's Guild

______________________________

A massive assault on the Church of Neposh and the EBSA was launched across the city this month. The attackers consisted of the Warden Order, the Champions of Soverignity, gyrocopter-flying guardsmen from the Esoteric Society, mercenaries from the Orcs of Tregon and militia from Ramston, with rumors of Wren agents active in the area as well. The Church, its forces concentrated in Heartsblood, managed to beat back one pincer of the attack by not being where the northern arm of the assault force expected them to be, but could not hold off the combined might of the armies arrayed against them once the encirclement was complete. Rumors that the Church has some means of detonating gunpowder remotely and that they called upon the dead buried in the Bleak Cathedral to defend them remain unconfirmed at this time.

The Technists Guild has left the city for parts unknown, ceding their territory to the Church of Neposh.

Professional mercenary companies working for the Wren have seized over half of the Smokeyards.

The Underdocks has been seized by Bloodhaven-aligned forces.

A gnomish Inquisitor from the Imperial Mother Church has been seen in Oldtown, driving out heresy and Neposh worship.

Rumors spread that the Mercantile's Guild has fled the city, heading for Merdallan and other foreign climes.

General Rhodarmer, one-time warlord of Gregoria, has not been seen for a month, leading to rumors that he died of his wounds in the recent fight to retake his kingdom from the orcs.

A small division of the Imperial Soulless Legion has arrived in the city and marched into Imperial First for an unknown purpose.

The streets of Heavensgate have been strangely clean of late.

Both the Ram Revolution and the Orcs of Tregon have liquidated various properties to fund other projects.

The Bookbinder's Guild has been trying to distance itself from the EBSA after the recent attack on their most valued patron.


______________________________

Bounty Board
All prices listed are in t.WEL unless otherwise stated, and will be paid out immediately upon confirmation by the bounty poster.

Elias DuKree: Red hair, close cut. Reddish-brown eyes. Scar on left cheek. Possibly a scar on right leg, depending on how the wound healed--might have a limp. Wanted dead. 4 from Lord Protector.

Unknown Raiders: Whoever stole the Imperial weapons meant for the Wardens from the caravan delivering them to the city.
2 from Imperial Trade Ministry

Unknown Murderer: Whoever killed the people found dead at the opening of the Wallen Wing at Bloodhaven Hospital.
4 from Doctor Vassari


______________________________

Turn 25 Begins
June, 1034 DR
FINAL TURN

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To House Laurier (ESPD: 7)
As you have noted, we would be interested in a potential partnership. I would like to speak to you in private about this matter, if possible, and would be willing to receive any representative at our offices in Artisans.
Thank you,
Narar Rafin, Head of the Silversmith's Guild

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the Technists Guild
Greetings.

I was saddened by the news of your organisations departure from the city. The Shattered Lands is a dangerous place, and Sav Altulas will always have need of innovators such as you.

If your organisation were to make moves towards returning to the city, All of Smokeyards, its resources and factories would be made available in the name of progress.

The Wren

[Eldan]

She hated it, but Brigwa Stonecutter was kneeling. She had told herself no orc would ever kneel again, and here she was, kneeling in a muddy training field outside the fort. Gritting her teeth, she told herself it would only be for seconds.
„This is the Shield of the Order. Hold it tight, so that you may protect the innocent.“
She gripped it. She had insisted on Tregonian Steel, forged by one of her orcs. The leather straps and coating were not properly cured yet. They had slaughtered all the cattle Tregon had, when they abandoned the farms, sold the meat. It did not matter now, she'd use her own weapons later, this was for show.
„This is the Sword of the Order. Wield it in its name, to do what must be done.“
The blade sank into the mud, two inches deep, as she leaned on it. The last ore they had extracted from those mines, before flooding them and selling the pumps and machinery. A skull for a pommel, to remind her.
„This is the Cloak of the Order. May it embrace you as you embrace the ideals of the Order. Its weight on the shoulder is the weight of your responsability as a an officer.“
The cloth was sodden at the hem already, from the muddy field, blood red but bearing her new insignia. It would do.
„Rise, Warden Stonecutter and take command of the first Tregonian Shock Infantry Division. Rise, Warden Deerblood and take Command of the first Shattered Land Ranger Divsion.“
Her knees creaked as she stood up. Orcish blood did not give long life. Had she done what was best for her people? No one could know that.
She realized there was cheering and stomping enough to shake the ground. She smiled, tried. Her boys. They, at least, saw this as a good thing. Few orcs were made out to be farmers.

She turned around, facing the crowd.
„I will keep this brief. We left our home and came to Tregon to build ourselves a new life. And for a time, we did well. We fed ourselves and built the mightiest fortress in the Shattered Lands. We had mines and quarries and herds. When the call came, we rode to take back our home from the Tin Man.
And our home was taken from us again. There are only broken promises in this city.
I have not made the best decisions. I was not wise enough to lead you alone. So we will join forces with the only humans in Sav Altulas who have ever stood to their word. Men of honour and steel and blood.
There is no peace, for orcs. But maybe there will be one day, for Wardens.“
Her cloak did not billow impressively as she turned, instead making a wet slapping sound, as she joined the demicircle of generals.
Deerblood took the stage.
„This is what orcs always did. This is what orcs do. This is what orcs will always do. Now we do it as Wardens.“

[Murska]

"Taking up arms can be done for a variety of reasons. Many of them are poor - for greed, for vengeange, even because of simple fear. Others, however, are necessary. To protect, to defend, not oneself but innocents. For honour, and to ensure that future generations can live in a better world.

Every man is fallible. Every soul is stained. Every sword can spill both innocent and villainous blood. There is no trusting the now, the good and noble intentions of shooting stars that spark once and then disappear.

The ties of ancient oaths of service, of justice and of brotherhood are lasting. Through them, the accumulated wisdom of our ancestors binds today, through heritage and tradition, to a sacred cause. To trust not in what is short-lived and easy to alter but the unbroken will to stand firm no matter the odds, through any kind of adversity.

The Orcs are a new race, culturally fresh and with vigour that shames the wasteful and decadent parts of our own, old system. But their youth makes them brash and impetuous, easy to incite into drastic deeds whether they be wise or not. Their strength, if not tempered by care and caution, is liable to hurt both us and themselves.

I hope that with guidance, we can teach them and assist them in finding their own way, their own balance that lets them grow and prosper not like a dangerous wildfire that flashes bright and burns out, but as a hearthfire that lasts for as long as it is tended to properly.

It is a sad fact that the times of today are times of war and fighting. But rest assured, citizens of Sav Altulas - we have been through these kinds of times in our past, and we are still here.

The Wardens protect."

[ForzaFiori]

Constantine stood on the steps of the new Parliament Building in Ramston, the majority of the population in front of him. Few of them looked happy, and Constantine doubted he'd be keeping his job in the next elections. But that was the future, and right now he had to explain himself. He took a deep breath, and stepped up to the podium.

"I know why you are here. Last month the Ramston militia, for the first time since our defeat in the city, returned to Sav Altulas. This time, however, they were assisting the Wardens against our former allies, the Church of Neposh and the EBSA. Many of you see this as turning coat, and I have heard the claim that myself and the other leaders here are traitors. Let me say that this is not so! Since our revolution started we have had one purpose - democracy and freedom. We made allies only in the pursuit of that goal. The Wardens have promised us both, within the walls of Ramston. We will vote and introduce our own laws, and elect our own leaders, and it will all be legal, for the first time in the history of Sav Altulas and it's people. We have taken the first step! Now we must gain moment and turn our stumbling steps into a sprint towards freedom for all, and the only way to do that is to survive. To survive, we must support winners, and that is what the Wardens have become. I hope that you will continue to place your trust in me just as much as you have in the past, so that I may continue to do my best to lead us and further our goals. Thank you."

With a bow of the head he stepped off the podium. As he returned to his seat and other speeches began, he reflected briefly, and decided that that had been the most difficult to give speech since he had begun his careers in a beer hall in Rot's Borough.

[Zemalac]

House Laurier to Silversmith's Guild (7)

Certainly. I will see if I can make time.

Respectfully yours,
Alexandre Laurier


Technists Guild to Order of the Wren (5)

We have already moved our workshops to a mobile base currently located in Gregoria, to give us a bit more flexibility when it comes to reacting to civil wars and the like. We had thought that with Desoui dead we could now work on the things long denied to us, but the chaos caused by her demise proved to be just as bad.

That said, the Foundry and the factories still remain in the Smokeyards, and we do miss their resources. Are you proposing to give us full control over their output and management? Because that would be a wonderful thing indeed.

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the Technists Guild [5]
Full control, as long as you aren't going to be say, blowing up or betraying the city. No doubt the King will have commissions for you, in time, but I expect you will be paid handsomely for such things.

And truly, you think you will be safer outside Sav Altulas? While you were in the city, the Technists Guild was not molested once, to my knowledge. Not a single involvement in the political dance the city has taken.

Gregoria on the other hand has been changing hands continually. Rhodarmer, the King, the Orcs, Tinman, who knows who may rule there next? While you were moving your operations here, Gregoria was almost overrun by the forces of the Mercantile Guild and the traitor Rhodarmer. Only intervention by forces of the Crown stopped that attack from overrunning the Orcish defenders.

I urge you to return to Sav Altulas. I will vouch upon my honour for your safety.

The Wren.

[Zemalac]

Technists Guild to Order of the Wren (5)

Yes, well. The orcs have also vouched for our safety, and thus far seem perfectly capable of securing themselves. However, an offer of the Smokeyards--the entire Smokeyards!--is not one to be passed up lightly for any reason. We will accept your offer and return, though I think perhaps we will keep our main operations in the mobile base we built. Would be a shame to go to all that effort to construct the thing and then not use it.

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To House Laurier (PM)
Upon his arrival in Artisans, Alexandre Laurier is escorted into a large building, where silver ornaments decorate every wall. He is shown into a large meeting room, where Narar Rafin rises to meet him.
"Greetings, Mr. Laurier." Rafin gestures for Alexandre to take a seat, before continuing to speak, "as you likely know, the Silversmith's Guild would be interested in a partnership with you. I believe that, working together along with Bloodhaven and others we could take control over the trade that is the lifeblood of this city. The first step would be taking control of Smokeyards, followed by slowly increasing the trade involving us while decreasing our reliance on Illarym imports and the like.
In the end, this would result in us dominating the city's trade, bringing in immense profits along with major influence in deciding the city's future. Though an outline has been drawn up by us and Bloodhaven of the necessary steps for the success of this endeavor," Narar gestures to a document on the table in front of Alexandre, "your contributions would also be helpful to ensure an efficient and effective plan. What are your thoughts on this idea?"
((For the full plan, see Thelonius' PM entitled "The Plan"))

[Zemalac]

House Laurier to Silversmith's Guild (PM)

Alexandre Laurier picks up the document written by Doctor Vassari, and says, noncommittally, "If you don't mind?" He doesn't wait for a response before looking it over.

"So this would, essentially, be an expansion on the work we did expanding the Merdallan trade last year," he says finally. "That is certainly something I can get behind. I supported increased trade with the east then, and I will do so once again, so long as the operation doesn't become overwhelmed by whatever political urges I suspect are driving the good Doctor."

[ragingrage]

The Silversmith's Guild

To House Laurier (PM)
"We are glad to have your support. I will assure you, as well, that I want this to stay apolitical as much as you. Politics, whenever it's part of a plan, always just seems to cut into profits."

[Zemalac]

Turn 25 Results
June, 1034 DR


The Sav Altulas Standard
Broken City

Sponsored by the Bookbinder's Guild

______________________________

King James I has been assassinated during fighting in Oldtown against the Church of Neposh. Bennet Founder has been declared Lord Regent until the Queen is ready to assume rulership of the city, and the Wardens have declared martial law at his command.


______________________________
Perspectives

The King

The Fist of Neposh had broken. They’d had too many casualties last month, and too little time to regroup, and so now they were streaming out of Pews, still fighting, retreating to the high streets of Heartsblood. The King’s men came after them, the Wardens and their Ramston militia and orcish mercenaries and the Champions themselves, fighting uphill but still pushing forward. The battle sounded strange to James’ ear, steel on steel replacing the thunder of the flintlocks that he had become so accustomed to in recent months. And everywhere, even now as the Fist’s line collapsed and the retreat became a headlong rout, was the chanting of the clerics. The smell of their incense cut through the air, overwhelming the scent of blood. It almost smelled like the inside of a church rather than a battlefield. In the distance an explosion sounded as some idiot disobeyed orders and brought a musket too close to the winding song of the chant, and the King winced. Learning that the clerics of Neposh could detonate gunpowder at range had not been a good surprise last month.

“Courage, men!” he shouted, though it was hardly needed now. “We’ve got them on the run!” A cheer went up, and the Champions surged forward, Wardens holding the flanks, pressing forward into Heartsblood. It had been hard fighting to get to this point, but now the Fist wouldn’t be able to draw them in and fight the royalists one at a time in the narrow, twisting streets of Pews. In Heartsblood’s wide avenues the weight of James’ force could be used to its full advantage. Truth be told, the King was looking forward to it; he was tired of trying to maneuver in alleys and on rooftops. Battles in the open fields of Gregoria had spoiled him, or so Bran had said, and he could not disagree. Soon enough he wouldn’t have to worry about any of this, thank the gods. Soon the fighting would be over.

“We’ve seen some of them slipping off into tunnels on the right flank,” Bran said now. “Don’t know where they lead, but we should keep an eye out for surprise attacks.” James nodded absently. Privately, he didn’t think that the remnants of the Fist would have enough men left to muster any kind of attack, surprise or no, but he didn’t voice the thought out loud. Bran liked to worry about things like that, and there was no real harm in being careful. They walked up the street just behind the thrust of the main advance, picking their way carefully over blood-slick cobbles, their bodyguards managing to combine a state of extreme boredom with a state of adrenaline-edged alertness. They stopped in a few places where wounded from their side were being tended to, James saying a few words, thanking the men for what they had done, for their sacrifice. He wished he could do more than that, but however much he tried words could not heal their wounds. But seeing him and hearing his thanks did seem to help a little, and so he kept on.

“You’ve done well, soldier,” he said, clasping the one remaining hand of one of his men. “Rest now. We’ll take it from here.” James stood, rubbing tired eyes, and looked to the fighting up ahead. A rain of arrows clattered against a nearby building, sending a few of the greener recruits ducking, but the King and his Commander did not move an inch. The fighting had rounded a corner and sounded distant, now, leaving them in a pool of relative quiet. It was just James and Bran and their guards and a smattering of others, taking a moment’s rest. A new column of Wardens was marching towards the front, led by Tara Jezel and a few people the King didn’t recognize, a pale man with a spear and black clothing and a man in an Imperial-style hat and longcoat, chainmail glinting at his wrists. James frowned as he saw the pistols tucked into the Imperial’s belt, somehow not being set off by the magic in the clerics’ chant. Must be too far from the effect, he thought.

A group of five soldiers passed back the other way, three of them supporting two wounded, all of them cloaked in the King’s colors. James stepped forward wearily to do his duty to his men, only for Bran to put an arm in front of him.

“They’re not ours,” he said quietly, hand going to the sword at his side. James had time only for the briefest moment of puzzlement before everything happened at once.

“Now,” said a woman’s voice, clear and calm, and the soldiers threw open their cloaks, revealing blackened leather and straps carrying an assortment of strange equipment. Two who had been supporting one of their “wounded” comrades stepped away, leveling squat little spring-bows they had been concealing under their cloaks, as the man in the center drew a small brass sphere out of a pocket and pressed a button.

Click

Commander Bran’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. James could still hear the fighting nearby, but it sounded washed out, drained of all meaning until it was just a constant, shapeless tone in the background, splashing up against the bubble of pure silence that now surrounded them. The man with the sphere dropped it at his feet, and it bounced off across the cobbles, vibrating at a different frequency every second, making no sound. It was followed by a thin orange-brown stick, lit with a flick of a flint striker, spewing out smoke in a line between the King’s party and the Warden troops

Bran tried to draw his sword but the assassins were too close, and one was on him with a short blade even as two others fired silvery bolts into the closest guards. The Commander slowed them down enough that the King had his own sword out by the time the assassins reached him. His guards were shouting soundlessly and already running to his aid. James parried the first lunge, and then Rigel, one of his bodyguards, was there in front of him, shoulder down, bodily throwing the man off of his king, shoving James back. The King hit the ground hard, sword almost rattling from his hand, as a silver spring-bow bolt folded Rigel in half where the King had been standing moments ago.

James looked up to see one of those ugly little bows pointed straight at him, silver point gleaming from its center and nothing to block its flight. The assassin—a sharp-faced woman he thought he recognized—pulled the trigger just as James realized he was about to die.

James had to piece together what happened next out of single-frame glimpses and a chain of improbable cause-and-effect. There was a pale man there, for just a moment, and then an eye-watering blur, and the silver bolt that had been meant for James’ heart was now there, where the pale man had thrown it into the throat of another assassin (had he caught it? James hadn’t seen him do it, but he must have) and then it was raining limbs as the man swept through the rest of them. The blade of the glaive he was using was dull, but at the speed he was hitting things that didn’t seem to matter. The air was misted with blood.

And then it was over. James stood, unsteadily, as sound began to filter back in; shouts from the Warden column, Jezel and Bran barking contradictory orders, the distant clash of the continuing fight against the Fist. King James and the pale man were the only ones standing still, James trying to put his sword away with shaking hands and the fast man leaning on his glaive, soaked in blood. Now that he had time to look James recognized Kylar DePoche, the Wardens’ mercenary assassin, and he felt vast relief that the man was on his side.

Jezel appeared as if from nowhere, hood up, scanning the area. Bran took a moment from haranguing his guards to toss a comment her way. “I think your man got all of them,” he said. “Would have liked one for questioning.”

“Not all of them,” said James, looking over what DePoche had left of the bodies. “I don’t see the woman. The Guild’s assassin, Cece or something. She was here. I don’t think…” he trailed off as he saw Jezel and the man in the Imperial clothes walking through the smoke towards him, trailed by a squad of Warden elites. If she was there, then who was…

“What,” he began, and then the woman beside him banished the illusion covering her face, and instead of Tara Jezel he saw Cecile of the Mercantile’s Guild, sparks already flying from the flint striker on the little tin canister in her hand. DePoche saw her at the same instant and was already moving, hands blurring at the edges, and then the world went white and James heard a ringing in his ears despite the lingering effects of the assassins’ silence, and DePoche was staggering past clutching at his eyes, completely incapacitated by the flash-bomb that had gone off in his face, and Cecile already had the knife coming in for James. He blocked the first thrust with his arm and tried to kick her away, but she was ready for him and the second lunge caught him low, dragging a long and painful line of fire down his side.

“Finally,” Cecile spat, James hearing the word as though from a great distance. She raised the knife for the final blow, and James could see Bran lunging at her blind, hitting her at a bad angle and being thrown off, and then the world was split by thunder. She staggered back, or rather was thrown back, a heavy lead bullet neatly punching her off her feet, and the man in the Imperial coat fired again, and then a third time. And then the real Jezel was there, with her Wardens, shouting that the King had been injured.

“We need to get him to safety! Clear a path!” The Wardens were keeping everyone else at bay, including, to James dismay, Commander Bran and his bodyguards. Bran looked liable to start cutting people down at random if he wasn’t let through, which wouldn’t do at all.

“Don’t worry about me!” James shouted. “I’ll be fine! Keep up the fight! Keep—”

He saw, silhouetted against the falling sun, a figure on the roof across the square, carefully aiming the double-armed crossbow.

King James, First of His Name, heard a buzzing like an approaching wasp, and then everything went dark; and then, a moment later, oh so painfully bright.

There was no pain.

The Gunslinger

Secrets, here, in the mind of the man with the gun. They will be known to you soon enough, never fear.

The Champion

They were wearing the King’s colors, but not his uniform. That was the first thing Brannagan noticed about the approaching party of wounded soldiers. The second was that one of the men being supported by his comrades was very bad at faking a limp. James, not really paying attention, stepped forward to do what he’d been doing all morning, comfort the wounded and thank them for their pains, and Bran automatically put a hand out to stop him, still studying the strange soldiers.

“They’re not ours,” he said quietly. James looked at him for a moment with startled eyes, and then back at the soldiers. Bran saw the shift in the posture of the “wounded” man as the party approached, and his hand went to his sword.

“Now,” said a woman’s voice, clear and calm, and the assassins threw open their cloaks, revealing blackened leather and straps carrying an assortment of strange equipment. Two who had been supporting one of their “wounded” comrades stepped away, leveling squat little spring-bows they had been concealing under their cloaks, as the man in the center drew a small brass sphere out of a pocket and pressed a button.

Click

Bran shouted for the guards, but no sound came out of his throat. He could feel the air moving, his mouth shaping the words, but could not hear them. He hadn’t quite gotten his sword out of its sheath by the time the first of the assassins was on him, a wiry man with a long knife. His thrust cut through Bran’s tunic and scraped across the armor beneath, and Bran punched him in the face with one gauntleted fist. But the two with the spring-bows had already stepped past him and were firing into the mass of bodyguards behind, and if any of them took it into their heads to lob a shot at the King it would be over.

Like a figure from his darkest nightmares, he saw her, a hooded woman with a stubby spring-bow, aiming it carefully at James. The King was just sitting up, having been knocked over by something, utterly unaware of the danger he was in. Bran felt time slow as he tried to reach out, sprint between the woman and her target—if he could even just get the thin blade of his sword in the way, that might be enough, but everything seemed to move as though the air had turned to molasses, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get there in time.

The bow fired, and he watched the bolt drift through the air, wobbling slightly, as he moved forward by inches, unable to reach it no matter how hard he tried.

A man stepped into view. It was very strange, from Bran’s perspective, because while the rest of the world seemed to be moving in slow motion, this man was real-time. He walked over to the arrow as casually as if he were on his evening stroll, and took a moment to examine it, leaning on a dull glaive. The man’s eyes traced the trajectory of the bolt as it slid through the air, and he used the shaft of his glaive to measure where it would eventually hit, taking great care to not actually touch King James with it. He studied the point of potential impact—left breast, right above the heart—and made a little tsk sound with his teeth. Bran could hear it clearly, despite the silence of whatever the assassin had dropped, despite everything else, and it startled him so much that he almost missed what happened next. The man plucked the bolt out of the air as though someone had just handed it to him, spun it around in his fingers, and pushed it off in another direction, almost gently, and that was when time caught up to Bran and he watched the bolt seemingly change course mid-flight and bury itself in the throat of the man who had tried to stab him.

Another assassin lunged at Bran, trying to get past him and get to the King, and the man’s outstretched arm flew off at the elbow before the Champion could react. Bran ran him through before he could do more than gape at his missing limb. By the time the Commander of the King’s Champions turned around, it was over, the last of the blood settling to the street, dripping from the heavy glaive held by Kylar DePoche. It was done.

It was about then that the King’s actual bodyguards caught up, and Bran began taking them to task for not being there. Yes, the King was safe, but at no thanks to you louts, we’re going to start running triple watches and extra details and all the rest. He shouted to disguise his relief that James was safe, and they accepted it for the same reason.

He saw Jezel standing by the King, and dropped a comment her way, his way of thanking her. “I think your man got all of them,” he said. And then, because he was not one to throw out a compliment without qualifying it, he added, “Would have liked one for questioning.”

“Not all of them,” said James, eyes on the bodies. “I don’t see the woman. The Guild’s assassin, Cece or something. She was here. I don’t think…” He trailed off, and Bran turned to see what he was staring at. Jezel and her man Pews were picking their way through the blood and the smoke towards them, trailed by what seemed like half the Warden column. Bran blinked and looked again. If Jezel was there, then who…

“What,” said the King, and then Bran was turning, sword already in his hand, and he could see DePoche blurring up to speed in the corner of his eye, and then Cecile dropped the flash-bomb at his feet and the world went white.

“Finally,” he heard her say, and he leapt at the sound, dropping his sword so as not to accidentally stab his king. DePoche was somewhere in the background swearing in a language Bran did not recognize, but he had ears only for the King and his assassin. He hit someone, something, and tore at it, feeling the cloak and the slender form beneath it. He didn’t have the purchase he needed, couldn’t get a hold of her beneath that slippery fabric, and she rolled him off her.

The gunshot tore through the remains of the silence-bomb like a knife through paper, thoroughly shredding the stillness of the air. Bran heard a dull thud, and a female gasp.

“Oh,” said Cecile, in a voice so small he doubted anyone else had heard it, a single word full of so much disappointment that for a moment he almost felt sorry for her. Almost. He rejoiced at the sound of the second shot, and the third, and the feet running to his King. James was safe. Despite all of his failures, the King was safe.

When he could see again he found the Wardens surrounding King James, Jezel barking orders. “We need to get him to safety!” she shouted. “Clear a path!” Bran moved to be by his King’s side, and found his way blocked by a hard-eyed Warden. The Commander gave the soldier a look so murderous that by all rights it should have killed him on the spot.

“Don’t worry about me!” James shouted from the middle of the crowd of people who were trying to get him away from the battlefield. “I’ll be fine! Keep up the fight! Keep—”

Bran heard a buzzing sound, like an angry wasp, and saw a flicker in the air. Time once again stood horrifyingly still for him as he watched the neat, dark hole open in James’ forehead, saw the thin trickle of blood begin to rise out of it, saw his old friend and sovereign slump bonelessly down into the hands of the Wardens who had been carrying him away. He didn’t remember pushing through the crowd of soldiers, didn’t remember how he’d gotten them to move out of his way; the next thing he knew someone was dragging him back from the body, shouting something in his ear.

“It’s not safe!” said the soldier who had a hold of him, eyes wide and afraid. “Good gods man, didn’t you see what happened to Alkie?” Nearby a man with a medic’s badge was convulsing on the ground, fingers and tongue tinted black, the tools of his trade spread out beside him. The medic had arrived before Bran had, he dimly remembered, and had reached out to check the wound on James’ forehead. It had taken mere seconds before the surgeon too had been dying alongside the King. Whatever poison was in there, it was powerful stuff. Bran didn’t care. He threw off the soldier and knelt, head bowed, staring into James’ open eyes. The King looked surprised, and a little annoyed. Bran remembered that look from when James had been younger, a ward of the Champions destined one day to be their King, and he could almost hear that youthful voice in his head, sounding now from times long past. Why do I have to leave now? I wasn’t done.

Bran stood, dry eyes burning. He didn’t know how long he’d been kneeling over the King’s body, but it had been long enough for the sun to go down a few more degrees in the sky. One of the King’s guard had found his sword for him, and he accepted the blade without a word.

“What now, sir?” asked the King’s bodyguard, his voice uncertain.

“What the King said,” said Bran. “Keep up the fight.”

Hours later, it was done. The Fist of Neposh was through. The Ramston militia had left with the death of the King, and half of his Champions had vanished, and Jezel had taken her column somewhere else, but none of that mattered in the face of Bran’s unfocused, undirected anger. He couldn’t remember much of the fight, just scattered fragments. Cutting down a screaming cleric with a mace. Dueling with General Kos on a street lit by flame. Desperate fighting in a tunnel somewhere. The overall, strategic view of the situation was forgotten in favor of grief-fueled rage. He was drained, now, completely spent, a rag washed up on some new unfathomable shore. A healer had patched up what few small wounds he’d gained in the fighting, but truth be told he had come out relatively unscathed, no matter how hard he had thrown himself into the melee. It didn’t seem fair. His job was to protect the King, to preserve his life, and now the King was lying in a guarded room at the morgue and Bran still lived, completely unharmed. That wasn’t how the story was supposed to go.

His soldiers were on guard at the Palace as he approached, looking much as they always did. The silver-and-white of the Home Guard was highly visible as well, and for a moment he worried that there might have been a coup or something in his absence; but no, Champion uniforms outnumbered the men of the Esoteric Society. Lord Founder was good friends with Matoff and the King—he must have come to help when he heard the news, to help defend the royal family. Got to guard the Queen now, of course, Queen Amelia and her unborn child. James had been so utterly confused when he had told Bran that his wife was pregnant, just a month ago now, a peculiar combination of excitement and worry that Bran had found funny at the time. It wasn’t so amusing now.

Wardens were encamped in the streets around the Palace, pickets facing outward. They let him through when they realized who he was, though in the dark that took them a while.

There was a collection of great lords sitting and talking quietly in a lushly-appointed smoking room that he passed on his way to the royal apartments. Lord Matoff was there, looking far older today than he had yesterday, and Lords Founder and StigBalathad from the Society, holding the pipes and brandy that always seemed to accompany those two. Lord Pontiss was in a corner, stretched out asleep on a couch, looking almost as exhausted as Bran himself. The Champion nodded a greeting and sketched out a salute when the lords greeted him, and then he walked on. His business now was not with them.

The guards let him pass without comment. There were three layers of them, he noticed with approval, each of them hard-faced veterans. That was good. When he reached his destination he hesitated, dreading how hard this would be, before steeling his resolve and lifting his hand. His knock at the door of the royal apartments was as quiet as he could make it while still being heard. When there was no response he opened the door and let himself in.

He found the Queen on the balcony, staring out over the city. Parts of Oldtown were still burning from where he had set them alight earlier today. He would have to organize repair crews tomorrow, or perhaps the next day. The thought of schedules and payments and fixing things intruded on his darker thoughts, and he banished them with an irritable shake of his head.

“My lady,” he said, dropping to one knee, “the King is dead.”

It was a long time before she spoke. “I know,” said Amelia. “Father told me.” There was another, briefer pause before she spoke again. “They’re making Lord Founder regent,” she said at last. “Apparently I’m overcome with grief and unfit to rule at the moment.” The edge of cynicism and complete lack of sorrow in her voice took him aback for a moment. Then he saw her shoulders shaking, and saw the bright wet spots on the balcony railing where her tears had fallen, and he realized what this was. He had gone and fought and spent his futile rage against the Fist of Neposh, but the Queen had no such release. Her voice was her armor against the tragedy of the world, the one thing she could utterly control, and she did not allow it so much as a quiver despite the reactions she could not help.

Despite that iron control, that will, she couldn't quite keep the pain out of her voice anymore. Bran saw her head bow, though she still stood straight. "They killed him, Bran," she said quietly, still staring out at the city. "Just like that. And tomorrow the people down there won't remember him at all."

“My lady,” he said, the only thing he could think to say, “I am sorry.” She turned to look at him, and the words came out in a rush. “I failed to save him. When we killed the Guild assassins I thought it was over—I let my guard down, I should have gotten him somewhere safe. He should never have been there, if only I had been doing my duty...”

And then he was crying, finally, his burning eyes overflowing. He had meant to come swear loyalty to the Queen and give her what comforting words he could in her time of grief, but now it was she who was comforting him, moving him gently to a chair in the sitting room and pouring drinks for them both. It was some of StigBalathad’s brandy, a wedding present to the King, harsh and tasting of apples. James had hated the stuff, Bran remembered, which Amelia had always considered a great moral failing of his. It went down his throat like hellfire and burned in Bran’s gut like it had a grudge against his nerve endings, warming him all over.

They talked, and plotted and grieved together for a time, and then when the Queen fell asleep in her chair Bran carried her to her bed, so empty now without King James, and laid her in it before returning to the sitting room. He set his scabbarded sword on the table and waited. Should further assassins come, should one of the King’s many enemies have decided that it was not to be only James who died tonight, they would have to come through this room first, and if they did they would find the King’s Champion ready for them.

In the end, though, no foe appeared save the forces of exhaustion that had been besieging him for the better part of the day. Bran slept, and his dreams were filled with knives and poison.

The Wizard

An arcane mind holds many mysteries; this one perhaps more so than most.

The Scout

Tara Jezel, chief of the Warden scouts, was not in the best of moods. She had long ago run out of profanity, and was considering inventing more. They’d had a plan, dammit, and it had been a good plan, but they hadn’t counted on the second assassin. A Craftsman, must have been—some of the men had mentioned seeing someone with a double-armed crossbow on a roof, but when they’d stormed through the building below they’d found not a single soul. Not that she would have expected to have found a Craftsman, if there had been one, but she still felt cheated. The bastard could at least have given them a running figure to shoot at before losing himself in the crowd, or something similarly dramatic. It seemed rude to just flat-out vanish like that. Seemed inhuman.

Thus did Jezel mask her bone-deep terror, by inventing complaints and giving orders. She was a master of small-unit tactics, of assassinations and ambushes and all the rest, and more than anyone else present she knew the scope of what the Craftsman had done. He hadn’t just escaped from the middle of the largest army in the city, though that would be reason enough to be impressed; he’d also put himself in exactly the right spot to take his shot, and then had casually reached out and ended the King’s life when the opportune moment arrived. No fuss, no flashy fighting or fancy equipment like the Mercantiles had tried, just a single fast bolt from one of those damned crossbows they used. Judging by what happened to the first medic on the scene, the King had been killed by a resurrection dart, which meant that he was irreversibly deceased. It had deployed its spring-loaded barbs in its target’s brain when it hit, releasing five-step poison like black tar into an already lethal wound, ensuring that no amount of healing or divine intervention could bring him back. She would have been impressed if she weren’t so busy feeling the terror felt by every covert operative in the city when they heard the news (What if I get sent to hunt down the Craftsman? Worse, what if I find him?).

But fear was a weakness that she could not afford right now. The King was dead, yes, that wasn’t good, and the rest of the plan was ****ed to hell and back, but maybe she could salvage something. She had her elites with her, and the Soulless legion that Tarmin had got off some Chancery fellow last month, and maybe that would be enough. Take control, keep order, declare martial law, the works. It could still happen. All they needed was Daisong.

They marched for the Palace. The Warden elites were quiet, marching in time, making no sound to drown out the clanking of the Soulless. “Articulated soldiers,” the Chancery man had called them, whatever that meant. They each marched at the same pace as Malcolm Exarn, who wore the control amulet around his neck, a hundred iron shadows stretching out behind him. It was creepy, to be frank. Jezel, though she was an Illarym connoisseur and lover of everything Imperial, still couldn’t bring herself to appreciate the Soulless in the same way that Exarn did. The prison warden was, in his own sour way, delighted to finally have soldiers without the weaknesses and foibles of his human troops, and had spent hours making them march around in formation after being given command of them, shredding so many targets with volley fire that Tarmin had taken him to task for wasting powder.

A shout came from the front of the column, and Jezel trotted up to see what the fuss was about. She frowned. There were soldiers at the gate of the Palace already, more than she had thought there would be, in the Champions’ colors and—here the frown deepened—the white-and-silver of Sky’s Home Guard. There were a lot of those white uniforms, actually, standing guard with bucklers covered in lead runes that shattered spells like ice, gyrocopters overhead laden with bombs and snipers. Normally Jezel would be perfectly happy to scoff at any local guard force and charge ahead with her Wardens, but they didn’t have their guns with them this time, just swords and bows. Her force was larger, probably, but the (potential) enemy would have the walls of Daisong, and quite a bit of the Home Guard was made of the remains of the Blackjack Boys. Fighting wizards was hard going, and fighting people who made a living out of fighting wizards was more so. Best see what was going on before jumping into action that might not be warranted.

A man she recognized stepped out of the gateway as she approached. “Jezel,” he said.

“Lance,” she said in return. “We’re here to secure Daisong. We need to ensure the safety of the royal family and the Palace.”

Julius Lance, captain of the Home Guard and formerly of the Blackjack Boys, cocked his head to the side and considered her words. She had to admit they didn’t sound very convincing in the face of the large guard force already protecting the compound. “That’s already being taken care of,” he said. “If you could see about spreading the word that we have things under control, that would be excellent.”

“Not happening,” said Jezel dismissively. She had to bull ahead here, she knew, if she slowed down for one second the game was over. They needed the Palace in their control or the whole thing, all the mistakes of the day, would be for nothing. Lance could deflect her all day with wordplay, but not if she just went ahead and ordered her troops in, and he knew that as well as she did. “Stand aside, Captain. We’re coming in to safeguard the city.”

“The royal family is perfectly safe, I assure you,” said Lance. He kept glancing off to the side, as though looking for someone in the mass of Wardens at her back, and for a brief paranoid moment she worried that he might have a planted assassin in the ranks of her troops or something. “The queen is in seclusion, mourning—her father broke the news to her very recently—and the closed council has convened to determine the proper course to take—”

“Closed council?” Jezel asked. She didn’t like the sound of that.

“Well, that’s what we’ve been calling it,” said Lance, backtracking quickly. “King James’ father-in-law is meeting with certain advisors to the throne, perhaps, ah, appointing a regent until such a time as Queen Amelia is up to the task of ruling—and then of course there is the matter of her child—”

“The Queen has a child?” Jezel asked, a moment before the full context of Lance’s words caught up with her. Her gaze sharpened. “A regent?” she said, and her voice was full of ice.

“Well, yes, the Royal Physician confirmed it,” said Lance. “She’s pregnant. They’re hoping for a…that is to say, um…” He wilted visibly in the face of Jezel’s glare.

“Let us in,” she said, very much not saying “Or we will come in anyway.”

She had a moment to see Lance’s face fill with relief, giving her just enough time to realize that something had gone drastically wrong with the script that she had playing in her head, before she felt the hand clapped across her shoulders. Her first instinct, flicking a knife from a sheath in her sleeve into her hand, was arrested when she heard the voice.

“Tara!” said Lord StigBalathad in her ear. “What a pleasant surprise! To what do we owe the honor of your company?”

Jezel froze, focusing entirely on that hand on her shoulder. Cornelius StigBalathad was known to wear poisoned rings with needles that could flick out and into someone he was shaking hands with or, in this case, clapping on the shoulder. She couldn’t feel anything, no pinprick or other odd sensation, but with the former opium smuggler that didn’t really mean anything.

How did he get behind me? she thought.

“Lord Balathad,” she said in reply, dropping the prefix as the only way she could strike back at him now. “Good day to you, sir. I was just arriving with my men to secure the Palace and ensure that the royal family remained safe. There were two groups of assassins who attacked the King, after all, and a Craftsman remains at large in the city…”

“Oh, absolutely,” said StigBalathad, smiling that shark-toothed smile of his. “Top priority, of course, and you are to be commended for thinking of it.”

“I’m glad you think so,” said Jezel cautiously, “but the Captain here wasn’t letting us in…”

“Of course not!” said StigBalathad. “So many people we don’t know, any one of whom could be a Craftsman incognito? They are masters of disguise, you know, simply astonishing at it. No, too much of a risk. If you want your men to guard the streets, of course, that would be fine, and I think I trust you yourself enough to think that you aren’t a Lomarian assassin, so you of course can come in if you want.” His eyes glittered evilly. “In fact, I insist on it. Would be good to have a representative from your Order here.”

If he poisons me, Jezel thought hard at her troops, you bastards had better figure out what happened and shoot him or so help me I will haunt you ****ers for the rest of your lives.

“Of course,” said Jezel, gesturing to her second-in-command, still acutely aware of that gentle hand on her shoulder. “I’ll be right with you.”

And then it was into Daisong Palace, through layer after layer of Home Guard defenses and soldiers in the Champions’ colors, men that she dimly remembered as being retainers of House Matoff, and then into the throne room, still escorted by StigBalathad. There, in that hall filled with light, was Lord Matoff, the King’s father-in-law, looking as old as these old lords ever got, and standing with him was Lord Founder, head of the Esoteric Society, flipping a thin crown around in his hands. Not the king’s crown, Jezel noticed, not the one James and the Wren had made for the coronation they’d been planning, but a much smaller, more humble thing made of silver and some white stone she didn’t recognize. The Home Guard’s colors, and the Society’s colors.

And now, she learned, the Lord Regent’s colors.

She fought against it, looking for ways to achieve what she had been sent to do, but there seemed to be no way to work it so that the Wardens came out on top of this particular meeting. StigBalathad had walked her away from her army with a few simple words and a touch, but Founder didn’t even need that much. He was the master politician that James had never been, genial where the dead King had been honest and smooth where he had been polite. All Jezel had going for her was the fist of the Warden Order, and in the face of Lord Founder’s mesmerizing voice that seemed a paltry thing indeed.

She didn’t agree to anything. She took that much away, at least. But she couldn’t stop the silent, bloodless coup that had already occurred, not without fighting people who were supposed to be her allies and turning the whole city against the Order. Lord Founder and his Society claimed to be working for the royal family and the bereaved queen, and the worst part of it was that from all appearances they were right. Lord Matoff was a member of the Society, in good standing, and had called on his old friend Bennet Founder to act as Regent while his daughter was incapable due to grief, so as not to look as though he were using the tragedy as an excuse to benefit his family. For all intents and purposes the Society was the royal family now, an extended network of nobility and money older than the city itself, wedded to the throne as thoroughly as Amelia Matoff had been wedded to King James.

Jezel still had the might of the Wardens backing her, though, and that was a powerful thing indeed, though she dared not flex those muscles too heavily. They had to listen to what she said, because to ignore her today would be to court raised swords and volley fire tomorrow. She still had some say, and indeed most of the say in the things that really mattered to her. She was a weight that could not be ignored, and which shaped the form the discussion took by her mere presence. And when she started taking advantage of that, ah, that was when Founder started to look annoyed, and StigBalathad started fiddling with his rings, reminding her that perhaps she shouldn’t push things too far.

Thus was the fate of Sav Altulas decided, in a room filled with light among people who long ago forgot how to trust, far above the bloody streets below.

The Queen

Poor thing, used by so many schemers for so many ends. I wonder what she is feeling right now?



______________________________

The Order of the Wren has taken over all of the Smokeyards, and then immediately transferred the district to the Technists Guild. While Wren troops were occupied in Little Veras and Gaspar's Folly, however, the Crimson Company managed to sneak behind them and capture Imperial Third, driving out the Wren's support structure there.

The Bleak Cathedral remains surrounded and closed, with no one going in or out for some time now.


______________________________
Excerpt from the Standard
Word of the Prophet

Archers fire from the shadows, carefully staying outside of the Cathedral grounds, but they can only do so much; the Bleak Cathedral towers above the surrounding neighborhoods, especially the low-set Pews, and reaching the upper levels where the high clerics gather is difficult at best. A poisoning project is begun and then just as quickly abandoned when it is realized that the Church were the only ones to send mages to the ESGE to learn how to make food out of magic back when starvation was a major concern. Poisonous gasses are suggested, but all of the ones that local artificers know how to make are heavier than air, not much use against the high arches of the Cathedral. And always there are the honored dead, waiting in their crypts, ready to reach out and destroy those who would defile their resting place. Swords, arrows, poisons, these things are of no use here. The only way this battle will be won is with words, and words are the weapon of choice for the Mouth of Neposh. Every day he stands on a high balcony, beyond the reach even of the longbows brought in from the forest, and every day his booming voice delivers another sermon to those below. You have come here to destroy the followers of Neposh, he says, but Neposh was stronger than the gods themselves. You cannot break us. You know this. We protect the mortal world from those immortal beings that would use us as their playthings, we protect you from the worship of false gods, we protect you from those who do not deserve your service. Why do you fight us? You think you have us trapped in here, but I tell you this is a lie. Here you have trapped your souls, and here you fight on the side of the demons.

Sir Ambrose and the Wren speak against him, try to deliver their own messages to those in the Cathedral, but the building is sealed tight. Only the Mouth is ever seen, every day looking the same, every day with a new sermon. All they can do is speak to their own men and make sure that the siege does not break; an easy enough task, considering those trapped inside show no inclination to leave. The Fist of Neposh has been broken fighting Wardens and the King in Pews, and all that remain here are the Bleak Orders, who will not abandon the Cathedral for any reason up to and including death itself, and the high clerics of Neposh, who think it sacrilege to bend the knee to any save the Godslayer himself.

And so it goes, speech and sermon and the occasional arrow pinging off of brick or stained glass, watched over by the tombstones of the honored dead. Slowly, as the month goes on, the barricades come down, the guards become bored, and the snipers take shots less and less frequently.

On the 26th day of the siege, a lucky arrow reaches the Mouth of Neposh as he gives his speech. The thunderous words do not stop, but the robed figure falls, off the balcony with that arrow in its neck, even as proclamations of the glory of Neposh still ring out. There is a burst of straw when the scarecrow finally hits the ground, and only then does the sermon come to an abrupt halt. There is silence in Oldtown for two days, and then another figure appears and begins speaking in the same voice. But the illusion is broken; they know this is just another façade. Those inside the Cathedral have no power to sway the world, not any more, or at least none that can’t be counteracted by those outside. The siege has succeeded, not through the destruction of those inside, but by making them simply not matter to the grand scheme of the city.

But the Mouth still speaks and the doors are still shut. This chapter has come to a close, but the story of Neposh’s Church is far from over.


______________________________

Rumors that the EBSA has been thoroughly infiltrated by criminals are strenuously denied by the brueuacracy, and should be considered to be unfounded.

Trade with Merdallan, Ver Arcana and the Merchant's Water is expanding as factories in the Smokeyards expand to create trade goods to deliver to eastern nations.


______________________________
Excerpt from the Standard
The Eastern Trade

Finding reliable trade routes through the mountains is hard. Finding good routes that aren’t occupied by some warlord charging an arm and a leg for passage is even harder. Eventually a reasonable one is found, some barbarian chief guarding some high valley who is willing to take payment in opium and furs for his troubles. It is a long and arduous trek, but worth it for what is learned. Technist Guildsmen walk along that high mountain pass taking tests with complicated instruments—atmospheric pressure, wind speed, air temperature. When they return to Sav Altulas they will adapt their airships to withstand such things, here on the top of the world, and then where others must go around they will go through. In the meantime the caravan winds down the other side of the mountains, into the wild north of Merdallan. They stop at Ver Arcana and do a brisk business in reagents and chemicals that cannot be found this far east, trading for minor enchantments and interesting sygaldry, before turning south for Merdal and the rare hardwoods and fine steel of that dour city. From there it will be further south still, to Chadrais, to arrange landing space for the airships that will be following them to pick up the wine and velvet that they are buying, making promises to deliver in exchange manufactured goods, furniture and plows and spoons and whatever else they think they can produce in high enough quantity. From Chadrais it is east again, to Arypso, City of Golden Towers, called the Gateway to the Continent or the Gateway to the Water depending on which side of it you’re standing on. To Arypso comes all the wealth of the Merchant’s Water, all the spices from the Boundless Isles and the silver from Buron-on-the-Water and the elegant knives of Lomar and the tea and silk and incense that makes up the trade that is the lifeblood of every Waterman born. The Altulans drink spiced wine and trade locks and rubies for sugar and coco, and everyone leaves richer than they arrived.

Meanwhile, back in Sav Altulas, the factories expand, more machines are built, and the soot blots out the sun as the Smokeyards prepare to drag the city forward into this new age of trade and prosperity. Some will reap vast rewards and live like kings, while others will die in the gutter with lungs full of ash; but such is the way of the world, and those who plan for the future pay the cost no mind.


______________________________

Bloodhaven clinics and hospitals across the city reopen, to vast relief and celebration from the populace.

The Blood Games at the Harrowing Fields have begun once again, this time with the introduction of crafted beasts created by sinister blood mages. They prove to be a major hit with the citizenry.

Rumors of an underground city being built beneath Sav Altulas abound, and some adventurous souls venture down into the tunnels to see what may be found.

Ramston holds a parade, which is totally celebrating the victory of their militia over the Fist of Neposh and not the death of King James.


______________________________

July, 1034 DR
Two Years after the Death of Desoui
Game Over

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Order of the Wren
A Crimson Company lieutenant moves up to the Wren lines. A tall hulking figure in massive iron plates and a bloody red cloak his face is obscured by his helmet , but a red glow lights up his eyes.

He seems unconcerned about walking up to the Wren militia's line of fire. He gestures towards the sentries and speaks in a guttural voice.

I wish to speak with your commander.

To the Wardens
A Crimson Company lieutenant moves to the heart of Warden territory. The long journey made at a faster pace than could be made on a horse. Far faster than should be humanly possible his figure blurs with speed as he follows the orders of his commander.

When he reaches Warden territory he states simply that he has a message from the Commander of Crimson Company.

The Watchers
In the edges of Silent Court a number of watchers gather and consider the Daisong palace. One group of them bears heavy armor solid armor. Their brilliantly red cloaks draws the eye. Making their silent vigil obvious to every passerby.

Which of course means no one is paying attention to the other groups. The ones cloaked in shadow instead of red.

[Imperial Psycho]

Order of the Wren

Imperial Third
The opposing commander wears the garish fashions that seem to be popular amongst the Warlords and Freebooters of the Shattered Lands. He shoulders his ornate musket, barrel still black from firing. "Come to surrender, have ya?"

"We'll let ya live if you go home now. Don't have no quarrel with you mercenary sorts."


Oldtown

The Wren hears the news of the death of James from a lowly guardsman. Apparently no-one had thought to tell the ruler of the Lower City that his King was dead. Apparently being the most trusted advisor of a dead man was no high position. Donning an old cloak, he turned to flee to Runners, where he would be secure. There was no knowing what despot declared himself king now. He had worried about the Wardens trying to rule for themselves for some time. And the nobility had never truly taken to James. Or perhaps it was the spectre of the half-dead Guilds, who thought a dead James would reinvigorate their dead cause.

In times of succession, the bonds of pragmatism and mutual benefit were flung in air in the name of naked ambition. Now was the time for bonds that were not so fragile. Now he needed to contact an old friend.

[ArcaneStomper]

Crimson Company

Imperial Third
The Crimson Lietenant laughs. A short booming sound.

"Surrender, why would we do that? There's only ten of us left in the district and we could still take you all."

"No we won't surrender, but we are leaving. Our contract only specified keeping you busy for a month. Seems someone doesn't want you lot interfering with whats going on up in the palace. But we were only hired for a month not indefinitely and not for conquest."

"Our jobs done and now we'll be leaving your land to you. It's too bright up here for our taste anyway. You can keep fighting if you like. It won't stop us either way though and you may want to save your ammunition for whats coming."

[Imperial Psycho]

Imperial Third

The dirty face of Simeon Lonecutter brightened up considerably. "So you are taking my deal! Well then, off you go, get out of our district."

"Didn't have no plans up in the palace anyways."
He turns to his men, mostly cultists from the Medicants field,armed with whatever they had to hand. "Good job boys! Lets get this district fixed up."

[ArcaneStomper]

Imperial Third
"You must be the only one in the city who doesn't then."

"We'll be going. But remember if you ever needs to hire someone dependable you know how to reach us."

With a casual salute the crimson officer moves back to the rest of his men. With quick hand motions he gives them their orders. For a few moments their is a just a frenzy of red as the soldiers move out in a blur. But in a few moments the last of them has disappeared into the streets and alleyways of the city leaving the Wren militia behind

[Thelonius]

Bloodhaven

The reports were flowing in. Every single piece of the puzzle was in its place.

The UAL Offices in the Underdocks controlled the rumor mill that could make a robbery in the open daylight look legitimate. The control of the Silent Courts and ESBA legal machine. The Bookbinders Guild giving the spin to the news they would be printing from this day. The control of most entertainment venues in the city, where mood of the masses can be easily read or influence. And then the impeccable reputation of Bloodhaven and his command over the most powerful spy network in the city.

He was certain that Laurier would support many of his ventures. And Technists could be counted on to be friendly-neutral. He didn’t have power to rule the city. He never aspired to anyway. But he was going to run it - the commerce, the law and civil authority, public opinion and it’s baser culture, though ESGE held monopoly over high culture.

The news of the assassination attempt were bound to arrive soon. He was offered to participate, but turned it down. The oath given bound him not to act against King. It didn’t compel him to aid him either, so he kept silent of the conspirators.

‘’King James is dead!’’ The boy was excited screaming atop his lungs. Was it a false rumor. Or false assassination turned real. The announcement of the Regency caught Vassari by surprise. Lord Founder... He thought the man either Warden’s or Champion’s supporter. But of course... How could he be so blind in face of the naked ambition the man displayed. His thought in turmoil Vasari set down to consider this new and unexpected turn of events.

James was dead... He always argued against SGA assassinating him. Until the last time, when he thought the assassination was a fake. He felt a pang of pity for the man. A tool that was going to be discarded and got broken instead. Broken City killed the innocence. What it did to the living was worse.

[Nyrt]

Lord Regent Bennet Founder's speechThe Lord Regent didn't wear anything flamboyant, and he exuded an air of venerable wisdom suitable for his age.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome and good evening. While I am sure we are all still grieving the loss of King James, the city continues and so shall we. I assure you we shall pick up where he left off and continue to ensure the prosperity and safety of Sav Altuas. The university will be expanding soon, and my associate, Lord Pontiss, has informed me that the new campus will be named after James, in his memory. An opera has been commissioned, detailing the last two years, and though it would warm my heart to be able to say it is a comedy, that all ends well, but you all know that it is not. James was a good man, perhaps too good for what this city deserved. It is a tragedy above all tragedies that the world is so cruel as to not allow us to have him as our king."
"And I promise you, as we come out of these tumultuous times, we shall see through his dream of this city as a shining beacon of hope to all the shattered lands so that maybe one day these lands so shattered can be made whole once more. This city is strong. We have survived fire, and floods, and lightning, and we have not faltered. This city is strong. We have survived war, and spies and politics, and we have not stumbled. This city is strong and we shall not crumble, not for men or gods or assassins or kings. This city is strong for we are driven not by greed or pride, but by a strength beaten into us over thousands of years. We are Sav Altuas, and we are strong. and we. shall. NEVER. Fall!"

[ForzaFiori]

Ram Revolution
Krodok, as usual, had been leading from the front in the bloody street to street fighting against Neposh. As the fighting began to die down, he called for the militia to begin falling back to the bridge, and was on the way himself when Colonel Bradford ran up to him, pulling him aside and quietly whispering the news of James' death. Krodok covered the emotion in his face - a mixture of happiness at his passing, sorrow for the loss of an ally, and worry over how both his and James' men would receive the news. He turned to Bradford. "Tell no one until the battle is done - find one of your swiftest runners and send him to Ramston immediately to inform the Mayor."

The messenger hadn't stopped sprinting since he had been sent back to Ramston by Colonel Bradford - the message on his lips spurred him on even when his legs felt as though they'd give out. A message insuring their eminent victory had been sent earlier, and so he burst through the crowd just before the start of Constantine's victory speech.

The crowd was silent as Constantine took to the podium, ready to deliver another of his speeches. He noticed the commotion in the back, most likely a child (or even grown man) attempting to shove their way forward to see him with their own eyes... Then the militiaman pushed through the ranks and began shouting. "James is dead! James is dead! The Tyrant was assassinated!" The crowd, already silent, somehow managed to become even quieter - deathly quiet. Then the cheering started. A few whoops and whistles, then full on cheering, and chanting - "James is dead! James is dead" and "Death to Despots" being two of the more common (and less vulgar) ones.

Constantine was left with a difficult choice. Officially, James was an ally to the revolution, though in effect they were more at odds with James than they were with the Church they had just helped to topple. Still, He was a politician, and knew what had to be said in order to keep the security of his city. He stepped to the podium, and managed to calm the crowd as only he could. When the quiet had resumed and the cheers stopped, he began.

"Until a few moments ago, I was prepared to step up and give a grand victory speech - to talk of the bravery of our soldiers, and the goodness of our cause. To talk of the great benefits that will come from a peaceful Sav Altulas. To talk of how today is a monumental day, one that will be celebrated for centuries in our city. Now it is marred by the death of our ally, ki... Constantine paused, and tried to give the man his official title, but had to stop when the bile rose in his throat. Swallowing hard, he tried again. "... our ally, King James, felled by an assassins blade. While I am sure that each of you feels as I do about this death in your hearts, you must not let it mar the celebrations of today. Our forces have won the day, and the city is one step closer to peace and prosperity again. And on that note, let the parade begin!"

Constantine consoled himself by reminding himself that he had tried. not hard, mind you, but at least Constantine TRIED to take the celebrations away from James' death and onto the victory over Neposh. By the end of the parade, however, effigies were already being brought out, and were lit as night fell. The entire city celebrated the entire night. Sometimes they even remembered to include a toast to their victory instead of just to democracy and the death of tyranny.

The consolation went fairly well, and by the time the first effigies were dying down, Constantine was full into the swing of the celebration too. He had already had to much to drink, raising his own toasts along side those of the townsman, though he passed when offered the honor of lighting an effigy himself.

Later that night, Constantine found himself alone in his house (which had finally been finished). Sitting alone with the last of his aged brandy, he sat, and drank, and reminisced. His mind kept returning to the first few meetings and correspondences he had had with James, back before he became so intent on people using his title, back before he forgot his upbringing... Back when the hope for cooperation was still alive, when they might have worked for a better future than the one they had now... Constantine lifted his glass. "Here's to you James. I wish things could have worked out better..." He downed the glass, tossing the empty bottle out the window onto streets covered in glass, dirt, soot, and other, less sanitary things.

After that the night passed into a haze and druken sleep, for Constantine as well as the rest of the crowd eventually. He wound up having to declare the next day a public holiday to recover from the hangover, and just like that, Ramston developed what would become one of it's most famous holidays - Victory Day. Celebrated each year on the anniversary of the victory over Neposh, the day after is also given off by all but the sternest bosses as a day of recovering. In later years, many travelers would be confused by the celebrations, unsure of how effigy burning and wild celebrations were appropriate for a military victory celebration... that is, until they hear what the locals refer to the holiday as - "Day of the Despot's Death", or "James' Day".

[Nyrt]

Closed Council [PM]
Lord Regent Founder sat down at the head of the table- only a few seats away from where he had been before, but he was still adjusting. The cushion had been removed from the chair as tradition demanded, making him appear slightly shorter than James had when he had sat in that chair. He shot a glance at Pontiss, whose red-rimmed eyes betrayed his sleeplessness, then at StigBalathad.
"Gentlemen of the council, this I hereby begin this meeting of the Closed Council and open the floor to discussion."

[Eldan]

Somewhere

An elderly, dark-skinned woman was standing in a kitchen, stirring in a large cast iron pot, humming to herself.

There were four men in her kitchen. One young, in a brown suit that he imagined looked good on him, leaned against the wall, swinging a stick in his hand, grinning. The one sitting in the corner, back to the wall was bland and unremarkable, in a grey shirt and brown, slightly mudstained paints. His jacket was just wide enough that the daggers weren't visible. The old man sitting at the table drinking tea wore the robe of a chaos mage now and staff, twisted and gnarled, but crowned by what seemed to be representations of parapets and a rooftop, half-molten and warped. The last one was standing half outside, huge muscles bulding as he split firewood with an axe.

"Now speak to me, boy", the old woman said. "We said we wouldn't meet. What are the big news?"
The young man just grinned even more and said nothing, instead tossing his cane upwards to flip end over end and then land again. The old man sighed and said nothing, but the woman spun around and whacked him over the bakc of the head with her wooden spoon.
"Don't you do those games with me, boy. Spit it out, or go home. I have things to do."
He rolled his eyes dramatically, but his grin didn't vanish.
"James is dead."
There was silence in the kitchen, only interrupted by the chunk-chunk-chunk of the axe and the bubbling pot.
"King James?", the old man asked.
The young man nodded.
"Yup. An idiot to the end. He trusted people and they shot him."
The old woman smacked him again.
"You will not speak ill of the dead in my kitchen. He was just a boy who didn't know who to trust or how to rule."
The old man carefully folded his hands.
"At least they have other things to think about than that tower. Some of the things the wild mages know..."
He shook, then forced out the next words.
"Who did it?"
The cloaked man shrugged. "Don't know. Don't have the network anymore. There's half a dozen theories. Someone in the city."
"Yes", the young man said. "The time is ripe! We should come back! The Wren, that snake, is still running around without a knife in ihs back. The people are starving and desparate, they will join us if we return triumphantly."
"No", the strong man splitting wood simply said.
"He's right", the cloaked man agreed. "The remaining players are too strong. We'd be crushed instantly."
The old man sighed. "WIll things be better now? A stable government, at least? A break, for the people?"
The old woman shook her head and began to serve.
"No. Things never get better in this city. But we still have to do what we can."

And somewhere, a Black Fist was painted on a wall.

[oblivion6]

Mercantile's Guild
Undisclosed Location

The Trader sat, feet upon his desk, enjoying a few minutes rest. He had just completed his assignment in the old Dr. Vasiri's scheme to increase the City's trade with Meralldon and the other Eastern powers. Similiar to their last attempt about a year ago before all hell broke loose. Luckilly this attempt was far more succesful. All in all, it had been a busy month, and it wasn't over yet--there was still one thing left unfinished...


Sir, it was General Brador--despite being in the safest place a member of the Guild could possibly be--wore his typical scale-armor with a broadsword hanging at his side. It had served him well over many many years and hundreds of battles. On the other side was an emberlock pistol. A grim smile was on his face. She's done it, James is dead!

Excellent. How was it done? The head of the Guild asked curiously. Though he had really regretted ordering the boy's death, he just had to go; he had originally shown great promise but he had proven himself to be too easilly manipulated by those such as the Wren. He had considered just killing the Wren, but simply put, the man was untouchable and one such attempt had failed already.

Brador shrugged. I don't have any clue. Some say he was killed by a knife to the heart. Others, a bullet to the head. Far too many rumours flying about right now; it happened but a few hours ago. I think it was in Oldtown, fighting with those damn fanatics of the Church.

The Trader grinned. The Guild shall rise again. With James dead, chaos reigns. Perfect oppurtunity to capitalize on this in the coming months.

Their good moods of course took a change for the worst the next day.

......

The man was dirty and disheveled. His slick leather suit looked torn in several places. The man had a knife at his side, but otherwise appeared unarmed. The Trader recognized him as a member of the Guilds intelligence arm--a member of the team sent after James--but couldn't quite place his name. Phil? Will? Yes, Will! That had to be correct. Its about time someone showed up. I was getting a bit worried. He had been present in the cavern when the man had arrived out of one of his tunnels.

I got bad news for you and General Brador, sir...

He frowned. That didn't sound good.

Once he had fetched General Brador--who had been drilling his soldiers unnecessarilly seeing as how the remaining men were all experienced veterans of dozens of battles and campaigns dating back to the first batttle against the Wardens. About the same time James was actually looking like a promising canidate for King, come to think of it--they retired to the Traders office, a small alcove cut into the side of the main Guild cavern. A clever shaper from the Sausage Guild--or Crimson Company depending--had, clearly trying to be funny, enchanted a small window of sorts to show illusions of the City despite being so far underground. He appreciated the thought. These Sausage Guild types were fine men if you just looked past the gruff exterior of a warrior who could tear you limb from limb.

Now what has happened? Where is Cecile and the others? he asked the man, taking his seat.

The man sighed. I believe she's dead...along with the rest of the assassination team.[color] Both the Trader and General Brador were too stunned to reply. Brador looked like he had just witnessed Urso Bloodhand get into a fist-fight with one of Brador's own men. That is to say, stunned and incredulous. The man continued. [color="granite"She got shot by that bastard who came across the Bridge months ago. The one with the weird ability to control fire-arm I think. I saw the whole thing.

Oh dear... The Trader murmurred, feeling no trace of yesterdays good mood. Cecile? Dead? How could that possibly be?

How is it you're still alive!? Brador demanded, the veins popping out of his face. Though he had always considered Cecile a friend--hence the reason she was in charge of the Guilds more secretive assets--the girl had always been like a daughter to the General since she had joined the Guild about 4 years ago. She had come back with Brador's company of Guild soldiers when he had dispatched them to protect an important convoy for Desoui herself. Apparently some local warlord had raided the caravan and had used Cecile as a hostage of sorts. The two had been close ever since then. You said the entire team was killed, but here you are!

I was not a part of the actual assassination squad. I was in more of a support role than anything. Let me start from the beginning....

[Somehow I expect i'll be writing another bit here within a few days. I can't let Cecile die without a proper 21-gun funeral, now can I?]

[Murska]

Crimson Company

The Commander is not long in arriving. He is not particularly busy right now.

"What is your message?"

Closed Council [PM]

Jezel is not sitting. She knows that this room is weighted against her, no matter what she does, so she stands apart. It is an attempt to make distance, separate her. She is confident that the weight of men and arms that whisper in her shadow will force the highborn schemers and politicians in this room to take her into account.

It is for this same reason that she does not speak, waiting for someone to make the first move. They will need to shape their words around her, not the other way around.

She knows she can destroy this City if she so chooses. But it is a question of whether she can hold it together.

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Wardens
The lieutenant hands over a short letter.

We carried out our side of the bargain, but it appears that your plans have been waylaid by a third party. What are your intentions now?
-UB

[Murska]

The Commander spends some minutes writing a reply.


We've fixed the damage caused. Our mutual agreement will proceed as planned: provide us with a percentage of output for the troops as well as training for pioneers, and you'll have your vaults.

[Zemalac]

Perspectives: Missing Pieces, Part I

The Gunslinger
Sinclair Pews walked beside Jezel, carefully maintaining his posture. His natural inclination was to slouch, to walk with his hands near his guns and his body already halfway to a firing pose, but that would not do here, not with these masters. Every employer needed a different face presented to them to make them think that they were getting their money’s worth even when there was no one who needed to be shot. With some it was a gunslinger’s lazy sneer, muscles loose and ready, making the boss feel as though he or she had a tiger on a leash; with others it was ramrod back and expressionless face and the cold precision of the blued steel. Greeves, when he had hired Pews, had wanted the former, while the Princeps of the Grey City had appreciated the latter. The Wardens, he thought, lived more in the Princeps’ world, a place of grim discipline and a ruthlessness that could see entire villages slaughtered if it was deemed necessary. And so he walked with a straight back and wore grey mail, though he knew no one could touch him.

He’d kept the longcoat and Grey City hat, though. There were only so many concessions he was willing to make to his employers’ Spartan tastes.

“There they are,” said Jezel, so quietly he could barely hear her. Pews cast a glance at the party of soldiers coming down the street towards the King and his retinue. “Places, everyone.”

Pews loosened his pistols in his belt and thought about conspiracies. He had worked for quite a few of them in his time, sometimes more than one at once. The ones that succeeded were always the simplest, while the ones that failed were always the ones that relied upon events that were not truly under their control. He suspected the Wardens’ plan might fall into the latter category. Jezel had laid it out for him shortly before they’d left headquarters—par for the course with plans like this, Pews was always the last to know and by then it was always too late to back out—and he went over it again in his head. Jezel, or the Wardens in general, had hired a local mercenary force to set up a fake assassination of King James, using patsies and hired scum who would not be missed. The Wardens and their hired help (this being Pews and Kylar DePoche) would valiantly save the King, and then drag him off to a safehouse to protect him against further assassination attempts and let him heal his wounds, thus putting the city completely under their control by “decree” of the now-missing king. The bit about the King being wounded was the part where Pews had wanted to raise some objections. Jezel seemed to think they could let the King be injured by an assassin’s knife to give them an excuse to carry him off to Treblin or Tehon or whatever the hell their stronghold was called, but Pews had seen too many men (and women too, let’s be fair) die of infection or blood loss or some arcane complication from some ignored scratch to fully trust that they could merely allow the King to be wounded. This entire plan, of letting killers who didn’t know they weren’t supposed to kill get this close to the principal, was ridiculous. Death was a hard certainty, something you could build a plan around. Rescue, on the other hand, was a far more capricious beast.

Not that he voiced any of this out loud, of course. The employer’s mistakes were the employer’s to make. His job was simpler.

From the corner of his eye, he saw DePoche moving, quick as a bird, speed increasing now as the assassins approached the King. Pews hoped the pale killer understood the plan. Jezel had explained it to him three times, after telling Pews that he had trouble with the common tongue, but privately the gunslinger thought the man’s lack of comprehension might have had more to do with the laudanum on his breath than any barrier of language. Pews wasn’t a particularly religious man, despite the coincidence of his family name, but he still prayed that DePoche understood enough to not get them all killed.

“Now,” said Jezel, clear and calm, and that was when things started to go wrong. Pews’ first pistol was in his hand already when the smoke went up and blocked any shot he might have had. He cursed. Normally he would have laughed at the obstruction and fired dead accurate shots despite not being able to see his targets, but right now most of his more esoteric skills were devoted to unraveling the chant of Neposh’s clerics before it could ignite the gunpowder he was carrying. Their sermon of the gun was good, yes, but Sinclair Pews was past master of any magic that might be weaved through black powder. That said, it did take some of his attention to counter the clerics’ spell, and it wasn’t the sort of thing where he could allow his focus to lapse.

He pushed forward cautiously into the smoke, Jezel and her Wardens right behind him. DePoche was already gone, and Pews could hear things tearing and people screaming from up ahead. Hopefully the Ensigarim was taking care of business for them, because he doubted that the reinforcements would get there in time. The whole operation, he felt, had an aura of the absurd about it. He’d known this was a bad plan the instant it had been explained to him, and now the whole thing relied on an addict who could kill people by stepping out of time and tapping them on the forehead. Not for the first time in his life he wondered why he always ended up in situations like this.

An arm dropped out of the smoke at his feet, thrown there by a blade that precipitated out of the air like a ghost, and Pews sighed, holstering his pistol. “He’s killed them all,” he said to Jezel as she caught up with him. He couldn’t see the entire scene yet, but there was enough blood visible through the thinning smoke that conclusions were not hard to draw.

“All gods dammit, the kid got through it without a scratch,” Jezel said, glancing at the King. “You couldn’t have let them get one solid hit in? Not even one?”

DePoche, leaning on his glaive nearby, only shrugged. “One was going to hit,” he said. “One arrow. Would have killed. I got rid of it.”

“You couldn’t have, you know, just nudged it a little bit?” Jezel asked, irritation clear in her voice.

Pews, who had been keeping his eyes on the King, began reaching for his pistol.

“His man was watching,” said DePoche. “The king’s…ah…hm.” He had noticed what Pews had. “One moment.”

DePoche blurred into motion. Pews rolled his eyes and pulled his hat down over his face, just barely before the flash-bomb went off. He could see the light even through the heavy black cloth and closed eyes, burning the veins in his eyelids into his vision. When he threw the hat back onto the crown of his head he emerged blinking into a changed world. Spots filled his vision where had tiny holes in the fabric had let the bomb’s flare burst through, but he could see well enough to tell what was going on. DePoche was off behind the King, stumbling into the royal bodyguards and shouting something in Amuran, of which Pews understood perhaps one word in ten. Jezel was right where she had been before, only in a crouch with a short blade out, one hand trying to find the catch on the lenses of her flash goggles, which had turned nearly pitch black when the harsh light of the flash-bomb had hit them. She was well-equipped for this, was Jezel. The King’s bodyguards and the Wardens coming up weren’t as lucky. Right now the only people who could fully see what was going on were Pews and the woman who had worn Jezel’s face a moment ago. She had the newer model flash goggles, he saw, with the lightning-fast shutter instead of the alchemical lenses. Expensive stuff, but perhaps worth it if you were planning on detonating flash-bombs at point-blank range.

It had been a noble effort, Pews thought, but not quite good enough.

He leveled his pistol and was just about to blow a hole in the assassin’s head when Commander Bran lunged in his way, trying to tackle her off the king. Pews swore. The man was tenacious, and loyal too, but right now he was just in the way. For a moment he considered trying to fire through the Commander to reach the assassin, but that would probably get his pay docked by someone, or at the very least lead to a lot of uncomfortable shouting.

And then the assassin threw Bran off of her and dived in for the kill, and Pews smiled. Sometimes all the stars aligned and things just went your way, and right now, pistol out and with that peach of a shot lining up almost by itself, it seemed like the universe might just love a mad gunslinging bastard named Sinclair Pews.

He fired. He’d loaded the pistol with boar-shot, which you weren’t really supposed to do with pistols, but Pews considered himself a special case. His will flowed into the gun along with the force of his hand on the trigger and slid along the barrel with the bullet and the flurry of expanding gasses, forcing the metal to hold against its natural inclination to burst, keeping the double charge of powder from blowing the whole thing to pieces. He reached out and gently tapped the ball with his mind, adjusting its course so it would fly straight and true, giving it the cheeky spin that such a lovely shot deserved.

Some called what he did magic, others psionics or ballikenisis or equally obscure names, and he scoffed at them all. Anyone could do what he did, if only they learned to really focus on the task at hand.

The big boar-shot ball hit the assassin and knocked her clean off her feet. Very neat, very precise. His Warden masters, lovers of efficiency that they were, would have greatly enjoyed seeing it, if they hadn’t been too busy clutching at their eyeballs. She heaved herself up to her elbows, knife still in her hands, and he lined up another shot. Technically, the pistol was unloaded right now, but he had never let such trivial matters get in the way of shooting people. It was all about patterns, the codes that were set into the world by the actions people took. The pistol remembered firing, the air remembered the feel of the fire and smoke and ball, and furthermore it all remembered firing at her, at the assassin, just a moment ago. All he had to do was convince the world that this small thing hadn’t happened a second ago, but was rather happening now, and that it should react in kind. It was somewhat akin to what DePoche did, really, and the basis for quite a lot of the sygaldry and minor magics that powered so much of daily life back in the Empire. Such a simple thing.

He forced his will through his gun, his wand, his instrument of magic in a world conditioned to obey sorcerers of any stripe, and the pistol roared once more. The memory of a boar-shot round knocked the assassin back down, and this time she stayed there, bleeding out from two wounds the size of a man’s fist, dagger clattering to the cobbles, forgotten. She was dead by now, probably, but he gave her a third anyway, just in case. Firing the unloaded gun felt easier than usual for some reason, and he was getting such beautiful shots lined up for him, that it seemed like a waste not to. It had something to do with the nature of the city, or of the fight, perhaps. Patterns like this seemed more set right now, easier to access.

He spun his pistol around a finger and holstered it in a showy move that no one noticed as Wardens rushed forward around him, taking advantage of the disorientation of everyone else to seize the King and carry him off into their protective custody. They’d done it after all. The plan, which he had privately thought of as completely bat**** retarded many times since hearing it, had worked. Maybe there was something to these Warden fellows after all—in all his time with them he had yet to see them miss a beat, which was a far cry from his usual employers, who were usually more about sacrificing the hired help and crafting elaborate schemes that inevitably collapsed under their own weight. The fighting in the city was dying down, now, and he had considered moving on before the Wardens decided that he wasn’t needed any more and terminated his contract, but you know, seeing something like this go off perfectly made him think that maybe he’d stick around, just for a little while longer…

He was ducking before he realized what he was reacting to. A slight buzzing noise cut through the air, a sound that he had heard once before, in a Councilman’s inner courtyard in Tahmoor many years ago, where no assassin was supposed to be able to reach. He heard the dull thud as the resurrection dart hit its target, and then he was standing straight once again, staring. He didn’t look at the King; he knew what the scene would be there. He looked at the rooftops, and there it was. A shadow with a double-armed crossbow, a gleam of a spyglass as the kill was confirmed, and then a flicker of movement and the figure was gone.

Everyone else was moving towards the King, which gave Pews some trouble as he tried to move away. He was trying to remember who among his long list of clients and targets might have had enough of a grudge and enough of a treasury to hire a Craftsman. Whenever the Guild had to leave the Merchant’s Water they had a disturbing tendency of combining contracts to make things more efficient, and Pews had a terrified, unreasoning suspicion that he might be on the list tucked into that assassin’s pocket.

Time to go, he thought. He’d heard Burnelli was wonderful this time of year. Perhaps he’d visit the City on the Rock, and finally drink some of that spring wine he was always hearing about. Come back to Sav Altulas when it wasn’t being haunted by one of Scrivener’s carnival of killers. Yes. That was a good idea indeed.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Closed Council [PM]
"Ah, so kind of you to join us. You would be Jezel?" Lord Founder said conversationally. "Your organization has done much for this city. And despite your rather questionable methods you had good intentions." His tone turned more serious. "Now, on to business, we have a distressing lack of information on the city's various annexes and territories in the shattered lands. James, gods grant him peace, had a habit of writing maps of the city's conquests rather before said conquering was complete, so while we have a good idea of his plans, we're not entirely sure which are up-to-date." Lord Founder unrolled one of the aforementioned maps on the table, and frowned at it, tapping a spot on the map. "That's wrong, those ruins are twenty miles farther west than that," he muttered, before commenting to an aide, "Remind me to speak with the Wren about their conquest of Gregoria."

"We need to know exactly what territory we oversee outside of the city because we need the income to the treasury," said StigBalathad.

"Yes, I was getting to that. The civil war incurred significant debts, and some parts of the city have yet to be rebuilt. We have some civil improvement plans in the works as well. In order to fund this, we were planning to make those officially part of the... kingdom, as James would have wanted. Equal rights but equal responsibilities.

[Murska]

Closed Council [PM]

Jezel crosses her arms in front of her, taking a moment to ponder. They couldn't seriously expect the Wardens to give ground here, in their dominance of the surrounding Shattered Lands, trade routes and river traffic. At least, not without something in return...

"I am rather well aware of the situation in the Shattered Lands, as I command the scouts responsible for it. Things are rather unstable, as it is.

Seeing as our men are under great pressures to hold the territory and keep it safe, there hasn't been much in the way of outright income from the region. After all, it is no use building mines and farms that are burned the next day, especially when doing so means there's no funds for shot and powder, or even provisions.

I am quite curious what you intend to do within the City, however... swathes of it are under control of criminals under the bare veneer of Bloodhaven, as you probably know. And there are certain interests unlikely to accept your..." Jezel frowns here, as if there's a bad taste in her mouth. "...expedient measures to secure succession."

She shrugs. "Wren, for one, was named Regent by James himself."

A warning of their precarious situation, and two careful mentions of things Wardens would be interested in - funding and removing crime. Not subtle, but then she wasn't a politician.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

Closed Council
There are looks of surprise around the room, apart from Founder and StigBalathad. StigBalathad seems entirely unfazed by this, and Founder simply frowns and furrows his brow.

"That is unfortunate. I have every desire to see his wishes obeyed, but he failed to create any document signifying this appointment, and as there is no written will, this authority defaults to his closest of kin- in this case Lord Matoff." Founder gestures to Matoff, who is also present, though he has been quiet until this point. "Indeed, it is troubling that I wasn't informed of this until now. I assure you I will do everything in my power investigate this unfortunate error." It is unclear whether the error Founder speaks of is him not being informed, or of the Wren being promised regency.

"At least the Wren wouldn't be the Warden's puppet," whispered one of the men at the table to another, just loud enough to be audible.

Founder shot them a glare, then turned and spoke to the aide again. "Reschedule the meeting with the Wren. I need to see him as soon as possible."

"In any case, I won't be regent for long. As soon the Queen is recovered or the Heir is of age I will recede to an advisory position."

"We've been speaking with Vassari, whom you seem to be aware is the head of the local criminal organization," said StigBalathad. "He agreed to keep criminal activity and drug trafficking to a minimum if we helped create an official Bloodhaven city hospital."

Lord Founder elaborated, "This would be of considerable benefit to the city, as his medical knowledge is unsurpassed, and the reduced crime could easily be kept under control."

"And the education system," said Pontiss. "There was an attempt to establish an official public education system that I will take back up and continue, so we can provide good education to everyone." StigBalathad shook his head quietly at this, but didn't say anything as Pontiss continued. "Education reduces crime, improves quantity of life, and I am told would benefit the city economically."

"The water system needs to be repaired as well. it's not exactly safe- most of the water comes in from the lake, but have you taken a look at some of what goes into the lake?" said some other politician Jezel didn't recognize. Lord Holfeather, or Holfheather was his name.

"In short, we're doing a lot of civil improvements. The chaos has left much of the city in significant disrepair, so we're going to do all we can to set things right."

The Wren
"I have just been informed that before his death, King James, may gods grant him peace, named you the Regent. This is entirely unexpected, but you nor any other witness pressed the case at the council meeting wherein regency was decided. As there was no appeal of this nature and no written will, that power defaulted to his closest kin, Lord Matoff, who had also not been informed of this.

As Regency has already been declared until the Queen or the potential Heir is fit to rule, I cannot offer you the position as you deserve, but I can invite you into the advisory, and to be present at the Closed Council meetings as Regent non indicavit.

I apologize for the lack of communication before now; we were unaware of the issue."

[ArcaneStomper]

To the Wardens
What sort of training do you wish us to provide for your pioneers? Also what kind of pioneers are you referring to. Military pioneers exploring and claiming territory from hostile forces, or civilian pioneers colonizing new lands.

[Imperial Psycho]

The Order of the Wren

To the ESGE
My dear Lord Founder
I have dealt with Councils of many sorts in my time, and I know well their value is only as great as the men that sit upon them. If you failed to inform me of this meeting, that is not a fault of mine, nor does it speak well of your skill in governance. I can present evidence of my claim, in the King's own hand and with the King's own seal.

I will not suffer a pretender.

The Wren.

[Nyrt]

ESGE

The Wren [PM]
Lord Founder arrived at the Wren's house by carriage, but when he gets out he looks haggard, his expression grim. He is greeted coldly, but admitted.

"You must think me a monster," he says when he finally speaks.
"You must see this as some horrible betrayal, but I assure you this was not my intent. I had my reasons, yes, but they were not personal gain. I want nothing more than to see you take your rightful place, but I can't. Not yet."

Lord Founder takes a moment to collect his thoughts before explaining.
"When we heard that King James had been murdered, we knew what was coming. We had been expecting the Warden's betrayal for months now. We knew what we had to do and took action."

"When they came for the Queen, they found guards already posted on her, keeping them from spiriting her away. When they stormed the palace, they found only order and a wall of politics and bureaucracy they could never penetrate. They could take it by force, but that would show their hand."

"What if you had been there instead? You would simply have been killed as well, or worse, made into their puppet. They would say, perhaps that you had killed the king after he had declared you regent, if they even thought they needed a reason. Their might against you? You would have been crushed."

"I mean no offense by this, as it is the truth. You have the moral high ground, but they have power like you would not believe. We needed someone legitimately in power who could oppose them. They have military might and a massive spy network, but politically they are weak. Still, given the chance, they would have taken power and implemented martial law. Before we knew anything had happened, we would have a military regime."

"Perhaps... perhaps it was rash. I can give you your power, step down as regent. But then what can we do against the Wardens? I tire of politics but I know I am the only one who can keep the Wardens from power. They manipulated the King, his allies, and his enemies. They started the guilds' war so they could take their territory. They played both sides, and I will not see another friend or ally made into their puppet or turned against me."

[Imperial Psycho]

Wren

Lord Founder [PM]
The Wren sits, face hidden behind his mask, showing only the eyes, haggard.

"The Wardens may have sought to take James. They overplayed their political hand."

"Someone caused his death, however, and I do not think it was the Wardens. They wanted him as their puppet, certainly, but they do not gain from his death. "

"Your concern is touching, but I have been co-operating with the Wardens for months now. I know how to handle them."

"I have friends in the city who can support me. The Wardens will take their men, and they will forge an Empire in the Shattered Lands. That is their nature. They want a strong ruler, they do not care whom."

"Hand over the Regency, Lord Founder. You shall have a place on my Council, as will the Queen, if we do this peaceably. I will rule as justly as I am able until the heir comes of age. You will have your input into my every decision. Then when the boy or girl is of age, I will hand over power."

"That is all I desire. I will not be shoved aside at the last moment."

"Please, Lord Founder, for the sake of the city. Make this easy. "

[Nyrt]

ESGE

The Wren [PM]
"It was the Mercantile guild, who else? The assassins' bodies that were recovered were clearly of the mercantile guild."

"But you're right. We kept the Wardens out of power, my duty is done. The city would gain nothing from out petty political squabble, and I tire of all this. Perhaps I'll leave the responsibility to my sons. They are old enough now I think."

Founder sighed, but much of the tension had eased off his face.

"My wife is going to hate me for giving this up. And StigBalathad won't talk to me for weeks, but you can have your crown, tarnished as it is."

Founder tossed the Wren the thin silver band of the Lord Regent, then frowned.

"Wait, give that back, this must be done officially."

[Imperial Psycho]

The Wren

Lord Founder [PM]
The Wren smiled despite himself, as he handed over the silver band. "We can make the announcement with the necessary pomp at the palace."

"I suppose I will also have to come clean about my identity, though I suspect I will still be the Wren to most."

"I thank you, Lord Founder. You have made a wise, and difficult decision. We shall have peace, and we will share the power."

"I am sure James would be pleased to see such an outcome."

[Zemalac]

Perspectives: Missing Pieces, Part II

The Wizard

Two years ago, a man came to Sav Altulas across Traitor’s Bridge. He was, by all appearances, no different from any of the others who had been treated harshly by the Shattered Lands or by life in general, the sort of person who might eventually make their way across the bridge and into the ancient city with vague hopes of a better life. On any other day he would have walked right past the guards and begun the long and wonderful process of learning that life in the city was no kinder to a man with nothing in his pockets and nothing to his name than life in the wilderness had been. On this day, however, things were different. The guards had been told to watch for foreign assassins, that the Thousand Voices thought someone was coming to try and kill the sorceress, and so they were questioning everyone who passed, and watching traffic with careful eyes. But that wasn’t what killed the man, not really; the guards were the symptom, not the disease.

A mile outside of the city, on the road in, some kind soul had shared lunch with the man and asked a favor of him, a favor backed up by gold. When the guards ask you your name, tell them that it is Nexaddo, and this coin will be yours. It was an odd request, but gold is gold and the lack of it buys no bread, so the man agreed, and that was what he told the guards when they asked who he was. The captain of the guard, being both paranoid and a reasonably well-read man, recognized the name as that used by unimaginative playwrights in penny-thrillers across the Merchant’s Water to mark the character who was secretly a Craftsman assassin, and called in the Heartspear Police, who made this poor man vanish. Down into their dungeons he went, that coin in his pocket never to be spent, and that was the end of his story.

That is not to say that is the end of this story, though it too ends with a death. For as the Thousand Voices and his mistress were distracted by trying to pull answers out of a man who genuinely knew nothing of what they were asking him, another person slipped into the city, a little gnome dressed in festive colors and a charming smile, with a case full of medical instruments, microscopes and other arcane devices. And as Bugravet Desoui was relaxing in her lounge with the big windows, writing in her journals about the capture of the Craftsman, this little gnome set up his devices in a loft in Mewlings and cast a few spells and carefully, with a filter mask on his face and two pairs of gloves on his hands, slotted a fat black dart into the notch on his newly-assembled double-armed crossbow. He sat at the loft window for a good fifteen minutes, watching Daisong through a telescope, before pulling the trigger and changing the face of Sav Altulas forever. Thus did the immortal sorceress who ruled the city die, at the hands of Master Philosopher of the Craftsmen’s Guild, and thus did our grander story begin.

This, thought Aberham Pontiss, was the essential difference between a sorcerer and a wizard. The common mob—even some of his own students, the ones who inevitably ended up with poor test results and would later be expelled for selling questionable love potions in an alley or some such thing—tended to use the terms interchangeably, which quietly infuriated the academic heart of the Society lord. Sorcery was the study of magic itself, the manipulation of the stuff in its purest form. The Craftsman who had killed Desoui had been a sorcerer, which was how his shot had gotten through the wards. He had simply reached out and changed them, putting a short-lived hole in the one spot where he needed it. The assassin’s meddling had probably contributed to the subsequent degradation of the Palace’s wards, to some degree or another. It all seemed so haphazard to Pontiss. The Craftsman had come into the city and within a day his target was dead and he was gone. It was fast, yes, and effective, but conveyed a severe lack of planning, of preparation, that the Dean of Daimot could never countenance.

Pontiss, on the other hand, was a wizard. His preparations had taken him several months, and he deemed every second worthwhile. None of the people working in the High-Energy Magic building outside of the city knew the full truth of what their rituals and research had done, none except him. Despite this enforced lack of communication, the results had been remarkable. He could feel the magic in him as he piloted his gyrocopter across the city, feel it vibrating against his bones, pooling in the back of his skull and threatening at every second to tear his mind asunder. This was no feat of sorcery, done in an instant without a thought; this was wizardry, ritual and summoning and runes carved deep down into the bones of the world.

It was all about the patterns, he thought. The world was steeped in so much magic and myth that it had become a little spongy in places, a little more reactive to the will of mortals and gods, a little more impressible. Patterns of events, especially important events that people attached a lot of significance to, became set into the fabric of reality, and if you had the will and enough raw power you could bring back what had happened and channel events into the course you chose. The closer you could get events to what the pattern already was, the easier it was for you to take it the rest of the way. Walking through the city over the past month with the power of dozens of rituals and dozens of mages in his head, Pontiss had started seeing the outlines of past events everywhere he looked. Here, if he reached out and tapped, a recovering alcoholic might fall back into his familiar pattern of abuse. There a store that had been robbed last week might get robbed again, if he cared to spend the power on it. In Dogma a thousand different things might be pulled from the past, spells cast by shaker magi or charges by the Society’s guard, to wreck fresh devastation among the newly-constructed tenements and cafes.

It had been worst in Runner’s City. He shivered a bit at the memory. When he had walked those streets, anonymous in rough clothing and a canvas hood, he had seen the marks that the lightning had made, smelled the ozone as though the Network were still burning, and had seen how easily he could make it happen again. He had always thought of Runner’s as a powder keg, but not quite in this literal sense, the memory of fire and death lurking in every repaired wall and dirt street. Not for the first time he wondered if this was why so many of the archmages of legend were said to be mad. Old Jack, Chaostongue, the Silver Mage, even Stirling Majus, all had that touch of insanity to go with their power. There were a thousand, a hundred thousand, near infinite ways of gaining that power, but going too far down any of those roads broke something, somewhere in an unwary wizard’s head. Pontiss had chosen his road, had marked out the ritual circles and stood at their center, had crafted mazes and symbols that were old when the world was new and tattooed dark runes onto his flesh, and now he could not stop seeing the patterns.

Perhaps it would be better when he had expended the energy he had gathered. Perhaps. Somehow he doubted it.

He flew above the Champions’ advance, invisible and silent. The air remembered being still and empty, and he fed that memory, always keeping his gyrocopter just a little bit out of sync with what the world perceived. A bird flew through him, all unknowing, and his concentration wavered for a moment, the vehicle almost flickering into tangibility before he caught his focus again. He couldn’t afford distractions. Best to set down somewhere and continue to oversee the situation from there.

He lowered the gyrocopter to a rooftop across the square from King James and his bodyguards. A Warden column was marching past, Jezel at its head. Despite the hustle of the soldiers the scene as a whole was remarkably still and quiet, as the fighting rounded a corner down the street.

Pontiss stepped out of his intangible craft and walked over to the edge of the roof, his boots leaving no footprints and making no sound. He inhaled deeply, tasting the air, and glanced at a pocket watch. Quarter past second bell. They’d found Desoui’s body just past third, he remembered, and she’d left court at two. Time to get things rolling, then.

He stretched, looked at the scene, and reached for the patterns. He’d been avoiding them thus far, resisting the impulse to change anything, but now he finally made his move. He saw the variables sketched out before his eyes, felt the flow of events, and with a thought he changed them.

Two blocks over, Cecile, assassin of the Mercantile’s Guild, hesitated as a new idea presented itself for her consideration. “This way,” she said, changing direction, a new plan forming even as the one they’d come up with back at the Guild unraveled in her head. Pontiss watched her thoughts move, saw her stepping into the role he had set, and just like that the Mercantile assassins were locked into the pattern.

Two years ago, a man came to Sav Altulas across Traitor’s Bridge

The Guildsmen were not meant to succeed. Pontiss knew this in the same way he knew that the sky was blue; all he had to do was look, and there it was. They guards knew they were coming, knew and were ready to step in and stop them, and as such the threat they posed to the King’s life was actually quite minimal. They had, in short, been set up.

A mile outside of the city, on the road in, some kind soul had shared lunch with the man and asked a favor of him

Pontiss watched, dispassionate, as the Guildsmen staggered down the street, playing at being wounded. He watched as the smoke went up, watched Cecile fire the dart that almost killed the King, and watched as DePoche caught it mid-flight. He watched the Ensigarim cut them down, and the King’s men surround their liege, the Wardens rushing to his side. The Guildsmen had failed, as he knew they would, as his pattern had set them on the course to do. He did not know if their original plan would have succeeded or not, and nor did it matter to him. He was too fully in the grip of the events that he had set into motion, too deep into the pattern.

He glanced at his pocket watch, and noted the time that the last assassin had fallen. Almost half past. It would have to do.

Down into their dungeons he went, that coin in his pocket never to be spent, and that was the end of his story.

That is not to say that is the end of this story--

He felt the disruption in the pattern, felt someone else’s magic at work, and looked back at the scene. In horror he watched as the illusion dropped from Cecile’s face—she had been one of his students, he recalled now, sitting in the back and taking extensive notes—and she dropped the flash-bomb. He filtered out the light automatically, and watched as she went for the King with a knife. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t part of his pattern. The duped man was not supposed to put up a fight, was not supposed to actually take a knife to the ruler of the city!

Afterwards, he realized that he could have just let her kill James, and it would have worked just as well. Better, in some respects. At the time, though, all he could think was that he was losing control, that she was breaking the pattern, that she was an error, and that she had to be corrected.

Pontiss cleared the spots from the eyes of Sinclair Pews and neutralized the friction between Commander Bran and Cecile’s cloak as the Champion tried to grapple with her, letting her throw him off easily. Little variables, but when you could see all the paths and patterns that would result from them they were powerful enough. Cecile lunged at the King, knife outstretched, and Pontiss carefully lined up a perfect shot for the gunslinger.

—called in the Heartspear Police, who made this poor man vanish—

Pontiss felt a vast sense of relief as he felt the pattern snap back into place. It was flowing smoothly now, his hasty alteration smoothed over and folded into the whole until you could not tell there was any imperfection. The third gunshot sounded, and in a cell in Orn Totre two years ago an innocent man slumped down on a rack, blood pooling at his feet, dying and not knowing why.

Time for the final play. With one last glance at his watch and a similar glance at the scene down below, Pontiss stepped forward into his pattern, and—

—set up his devices in a loft in Mewlings on a roof in Heartsblood and cast a few spells and carefully, with a filter mask on his face and two pairs of gloves on his hands, slotted a fat black dart into the notch on his newly-assembled double-armed crossbow.

The Craftsman’s Bow settled into the arms of Master Philosopher Pontiss of the Craftsman’s Guild, heavy with portent. It was not exactly the same as a true Craftsman’s Bow, of course, for Pontiss had never seen one in person, but it was what he imagined one would be like, all sleek lines and metal gleaming black with oil. It had two arms, arranged in a shallow X, and two strings made of wound steel wire pulled back to the nock. The bolt was inside the body of the bow, nestled among springs and stabilizers and poison wells and a dozen other arcane things, ready to be launched at a speed greater than even a siege bow could normally manage. When he set it against his shoulder he could feel mechanisms moving and cloth giving, making the weapon feel like a natural extension of his body.

He sat at the loft window for a good fifteen minutes, watching Daisong through a telescope, before pulling the trigger and changing the face of Sav Altulas forever.

He felt a momentary disassociation with himself as he wondered why there was no window here. And what was this? This was not Daisong.

Another part of his mind, the part that was overseeing the pattern instead of playing a role in it, corrected the variables with a thought, and Pontiss the Craftsman, given the name Master Philosopher by Scrivener himself, settled back and took aim. He waited for fifteen seconds, compressing the time and praying the world didn’t notice, counting them out with his heartbeat.

A clear shot opened, as he had known it would, and King James looked right at him. He pulled the trigger.

Thus did the immortal sorceress new king who ruled the city die, at the hands of Master Philosopher of the Craftsmen’s Guild, and thus did our grander story begin.

The magical backlash nearly took Pontiss off his feet, and for a very brief moment he saw a nondescript man in nondescript clothes standing there, holding the bow that Pontiss had in his hands a moment ago, looking up from his scope with a satisfied expression, before the flashback vanished. He had been wrong about the identity of the Craftsman, it seemed. In his research on the Guild he had come to the conclusion that it would have been the sorcerer, Master Philosopher, and had based much of his thinking on that premise, including the final, most important moment; but this seemed to be someone else. It hadn’t mattered, fortunately enough, for the pattern didn’t depend on the identity of the assassin, but it had been enough that Pontiss’ head was beating with a pain like the very drums of hell and he was seeing double. He staggered back to his gyrocopter, remembering just in time to take himself to the same out-of-sync state that it was in so he could board, and sat in the cockpit for a while, recuperating. Soldiers came and went, storming the roof and searching the building, sometimes walking right through him as he sat there intangible. Eventually he pulled himself together enough to turn the crank and throw the switch and get himself airborne, heading now for the Palace. The pattern that he had made had followed through to its end, and Pontiss was coming back to himself; as such, he knew that the Wardens would be arriving at the Palace shortly, and that Founder would want him there to face them with the rest of the Society lords.

Along the way, Pontiss looked over the city, and saw the patterns. He saw how close he had come to launching into another set course of events, and how the shock of getting the assassin wrong had broken him out of the pattern he had been forcing reality back into. He saw himself, clear as day, arranging for there to be another civil war. He saw how he could have done that, now, what little levers he would have had to flip in the minds of Founder and the Wren and all the rest, and he realized that if he hadn’t had that shock to the system he might very well have found himself trapped in the pattern he had created, forcing history to repeat itself. And then, two years later, when he tried to repeat the assassination of James, which was in itself based on something that had already happened, what would have happened then?

Didn’t bear thinking about. He studied the shape of events as they were, and judged it to be good, or at least good enough that he wouldn’t risk losing himself to the magic to correct anything. Some people would die, some would suffer, and some would be unjustly rewarded, and that was life. He watched all the little tragedies of the future play out, saw how easy it would be to correct them, and for a moment he felt as though he could reach out and right all the wrongs of if not the world than at least the city. For a moment, he saw how easy it would be to control every variable, to make everything go according to his plan. For a moment, he thought he might be a god; and then it passed, and he was just Aberham Pontiss again, a tired old man in a machine he didn’t fully understand, flying back to the realm of dark backroom deals and plots over brandy and cigars that his life had become of late. Flying away from killing a man he had, personally, held no grudge against, and had in fact rather liked. It seemed strange to him, now, that he had gone through with it, and he had to stop himself from examining the patterns of his life that had formed him into the sort of person who could reach out and end a King’s life as he had done. If he had, he knew he would have tried to change the patterns, not by breaking out of old habits and forming new ones, but rather by taking advantage of the magic, and down that path lay madness, and if he hadn’t reached that point already he would much prefer to avoid it.

Of course, if he had already gone mad, how would he tell? For this question, and this question alone, Pontiss had no answer.

[Murska]

Closed Council [PM]

Interesting. They aren't united, not really - can't be wedged apart yet with her resources, but perhaps over time. It's the way of nobility, once they see no external threat. Charismatic individuals as though their leaders may be, individual presence cannot create anything lasting.

The intent to contact Wren on the matter was also an interesting move. Bringing Wren into the negotiations was clearly giving the Wardens an ally. Perhaps Founder hoped to try and separate Wren and the Wardens... but still, this could only be of benefit to Wren, who was a clear opponent to his policies, while it wouldn't really inconvenience the Wardens. Maybe he was actually trying to cooperate to avoid his coup being seriously challenged. He might be weaker than he appeared... there was certainly no force within the City that could defeat the Wardens directly, even if the others united.

"Nice ideas. Of course, nothing will come of them if things are not stabilized quickly. Sav Altulas hasn't been the most peaceful town as of late, and the current upheaval will only make things worse, unless we act quickly to resolve things.

Initial efforts should go to ensuring peace, law and order - the promises of individuals won't last, and a justice system under the control of criminals will eventually, sooner or later, destroy the economy of the City. And we have hostile external forces lurking around as well. The only properly fortified location nearby isn't even in Sav Altulas.

Civil projects are long-term issues, in comparison. Commendable, of course, in their due."

Wardens - Sausage Guild

Military pioneers. People capable of handling the construction and, if necessary, destruction of fortifications, bridges, roads, tunnels and the like.

[Zemalac]

Perspectives: Missing Pieces, Part III

The Queen

Amelia Matoff had never really wanted to be queen, except maybe for once when she was eight. She had always known that the idea of a political marriage existed, theoretically anyway, floating in the background of the soirées and teatime chats, but it had never seemed like something that might actually happen. This was Sav Altulas. Her father might like to talk about their heritage and tradition of leadership, but Amelia had studied the history of the family enough to realize that her ancestors had, not that far back, been just another bandit clan coming down from the mountains. Political marriages were something that happened in places where real power was to be found, in the tales of old Merdallan and the byzantine politics of the Imperial nobility, not in Sav Altulas. Not to her.

And then, one day, her father had asked her if she would marry a king.

It was James’ idea, apparently, not her father’s as she had first assumed. The cold political calculus was clear to her; James needed to marry into the nobility so that the upper crust of the city would stop thinking of him as “that kid from Hopers” and maybe start respecting him like an actual monarch. He’d picked House Matoff because of how her father had spoken out against Lord Wallen back before the King and his Champions had fled to Gregoria. He’d thought that Matoff was on his side. And he was right, in a way, though she knew her father still thought of him as completely incapable of rulership. But as long as Lord Matoff thought that, through his daughter, he might have a hand in guiding the King, he would think that he could control the crown and run the city the way he thought it should be run.

Or at least that’s what Amelia had thought his reasoning was. Cold and calculated as it was, it was still something she could understand and perhaps support, for family if nothing else. She agreed to marry this king that she had never met, this boy from Hopers who was said to have the blood of ancient Talidor in his veins (as if that mattered at all these days, she thought privately). Her father was pleased, of course, and spent long hours talking with his Society friends about how they would steer the city into a new age now that the sorceress was off their backs and they could really get down to the business of governance. Amelia, meanwhile, had started collecting back issues of the Standard and reading the stories about the King, when she wasn’t being fussed over by her mother and her maids. The preparations for a wedding seemed to her very similar to the preparations for a war. You gathered the intel, marshaled the troops, and when the big day came you stepped out in your best battle-dress and hoped your plans didn’t fall apart when they met the enemy. She had played at toy soldiers often enough with her brother and read enough war stories in the cheap pulp novels that Uncle Ben smuggled in for her that she thought she would be able to handle the situation like a true general should.

And then the wedding came, and then she was Queen of Sav Altulas, and James her King. It didn’t take her long to realize that perhaps the war metaphor was not the best one for a marriage, and to try and work on a different tack, but it was difficult. She barely ever saw James, he was always out fighting or leading or doing something to consolidate his kingdom, so much so it felt like she was married to a man she did not know. She did not love him, or at least she thought she didn’t, but she did like what she saw of him when he was around Daisong, the palace where she now lived, and he did seem like the sort of person she might learn to love. It would have helped, perhaps, if she were the sort to think of things romantically, like so many of her friends and peers seemed to, but she had heard too many of her father’s passionate rants about the rights of the nobility and obligations of the people towards their superiors, so full of fury yet accomplishing nothing, to ever believe that pure emotion could make things happen. So she marshaled her armies and gathered her intel and laid siege to her own heart, and just when she thought that she might be getting somewhere with this whole Queen thing it came crashing down around her ears.

Her father and his Society friends had been talking quieter of late, their conversations becoming more worried. They never thought to include her in those conversations—it was the Society of Gentlemen Explorers, after all—but they never thought to have them where she would be entirely unable to hear, either. So she learned of their fears and their hopes, of how they thought James was a puppet of the Wardens and the Wren, and what they might do about it, and at the end of every conversation her father looked older and Lord Founder looked more tired.

And then one day much like the day he had asked if she would marry a king, her father had come into her chambers, looking as old and grey as she had ever seen him, and told her that her husband was dead.

She hadn’t known him well, or at least told herself she hadn’t. They’d been married a bare four months, most of which he was away. Leading the Champions against the Fist of Neposh, overseeing the rebuilding of some important structure, signing things, talking with Bran or Founder or the Wren or Tarmin. Little time in all that for a queen. Still, it broke her heart, for the loss of that polite young man who hadn’t really known what to do with a wife once he’d had his political marriage, for the loss of his careful kindness and that desperate desire to put away his sword despite being unable to stop falling into the next battle and those eyes that were always too old and tired for his face. She would miss him, which surprised her. She hadn’t thought she’d known her husband well enough for that.

She was on the balcony when Commander Bran knocked on the door of the royal apartments. She’d been crying, but in a sort of detached way. No dramatic sobs, just a suitably elegant wetness from the eyes. These tears were a necessary thing, as was the mourning black she would wear in the coming weeks (perhaps months? What was expected for the death of a King?) and the seclusion that would be forced upon her as her father and the Society lords and the Warden commanders and all the rest decided the fate of the city. Her city. It didn’t belong to her, of course, it didn’t really belong to anyone, but it was hers nonetheless, this crazy patchwork of conflicting beliefs and madmen and rebels who’d been driven out of everywhere else. The broken remnants of a thousand different causes and peoples and lives, come to Sav Altulas to trick themselves into thinking that they could build something great. The old buildings, the Cathedral with its dry monks and the great bridge that Imperial engineers made pilgrimages to see and the Palace shining white on top of the hill, these things spoke to people. We built this, long ago, they said. Perhaps your ancestors were the ones who laid these stones, you who were once Talidor, you who were once of Maltin and Desperante or the other kingdoms thrown under the Zancharian advance a thousand years ago, those lands that are nameless now but still remembered. Thus did the ancient, broken city nurture its garden of dreamers, and Amelia, fool that she was, had found herself becoming one of them during her four months of marriage.

Bran let herself in when she didn’t answer his knock. She felt a moment of irritation. Her father and her husband had decided her marriage, other forces had determined how she spent each and every day of her adult life, and now Brannagan couldn’t even let her choose if she were alone or not?

He approached her from behind, stopped. She could hear his armor rattle as he dropped to a knee. “My lady,” he said, “the King is dead.”

She took a while to respond to him, wondering what she should say in reply. She could hear the tension in his voice, and the exhaustion, and smell the blood on his armor. He’d come straight to her, not even bothering to clean himself up.

“I know,” she said at last. “Father told me.” A fit of amused cynicism washed over her. “They’re making Lord Founder regent,” she said. “Apparently I’m overcome with grief and unfit to rule at the moment.” It was almost funny, if you thought about it. She’d just married the King, after all—there was no precedent in Sav Altulas, but she still doubted that she was actually in the line of succession. Her child, perhaps, would be, but not her, never Amelia, always the wife and the queen off to the side, her destiny decided by her father and her father’s Society. And yet Lord Founder, the man she’d known as Uncle Ben when she was younger, still thought he had to manage her in this careful way, tell her that of course she was still queen, still in power, he was just holding it for her until the time was right. He needn’t have bothered, she thought. She was, if nothing else, her father’s daughter, and she knew what was going on, what Founder and Pontiss and StigBalathad had done. What her father had done.

“They killed him, Bran,” she said quietly, staring out at the city. The Society had set her James up on the throne he’d thought he wanted, used her to do it, and then when they realized they couldn’t control him entirely they’d taken him back down. Even if none of them had pulled the trigger, they’d been the ones to set it up, putting events into motion and walking away with hands they thought they could call clean. “Just like that. And tomorrow the people down there won’t remember him at all.”

“My lady,” said Bran, his strong soldier’s voice almost breaking, “I am sorry.” She turned towards him, surprised, and his words came out in a rush. “I failed to save him. When we killed the Guild assassins I thought it was over—I let my guard down, I should have gotten him somewhere safe. He should never have been there, if only I had been doing my duty...

And then, to her utter shock, he broke down crying. Commander Bran, the King’s strong right arm, the hard rock upon which the Champions were built, was on his knees in her apartment weeping. It was an experience so unearthly, so unexpected, that she almost pinched herself to check if she were dreaming.

When she was ten years old, Amelia Matoff had found a stray kitten in the garden behind the house, lurking among the lettuce with an injured leg. She’d hidden it from her parents, not because she thought they’d take it away but just so she could have a little secret from them. Looking back on it, they had obviously known what was going on, it hadn’t really stayed a secret, but at the time it had been exciting. It had been a skittish little thing, all nerves and shyness, and she’d had to handle it very carefully as she nursed it back to health. She handled the Commander now the same way, with a gentle hand, moving slowly, like he was made of eggshells and might break at any second. She got him to a chair in the sitting room and, feeling that the occasion was appropriate (and also that James was not here to disapprove of it), poured out two glasses of the brandy that StigBalathad had given her for her wedding. He’d winked as he’d presented the bottle, saying he knew how much she enjoyed the stuff, and she had a sudden vision of that same cheerful face looking up from a crossbow on an Oldtown rooftop. She shook her head, banished the thought. StigBalathad had been in the Palace at the time, she knew that. He had no more killed her husband than she had, or at least hadn't done it personally.

The brandy seemed to help Bran collect himself. “I don’t understand it,” he was saying. “The King had the Wren set to be regent if he ever died. He made the promise—I was there, we had papers drawn up and everything…”

“Really?” said Amelia, heart sinking. It seemed it wasn’t only her father and his Society who thought the Queen was unfit to rule. The Queen wasn’t in the line of succession, because she was not of the King’s blood; except this was Sav Altulas, a city without a ruler, and so the blood of whoever was on the throne didn’t matter at all. It could have been anyone, really. But no, the Champions had to put their trust in a spark of magic in a drop of otherwise unremarkable blood, as if it were lineage that made good rulers. Blood of the kings of Talidor, and so he must be king now, that’s how it went, and there would be no swaying them.

They were much like her father in that, she thought.

“Really,” Bran said, unaware of what she was thinking. “I must go to Castaways and speak with him, tomorrow. This is nothing more than a power grab by Founder in the wake of the King’s death, and I hesitate to wonder how he knew of it so quickly—”

“Does Ben know?” she asked. “Founder, I mean? Does he know of this promise the King made the Wren?”

Bran looked at her questioningly. “Well, of course he does,” he said. “Why wouldn’t he? It’s not like he wasn’t told, him being so close to the royal family…” He paused, thinking, and then finally sighed. “We never told him, did we.”

“It’s the first I’ve heard of it, too,” said Amelia, “and I was James’ wife.” Bran winced at the rebuke in her tone.

“It was…well, we made the agreement before he married,” he said. “It never really came up afterwards. Didn’t want to think about the possibility, I guess.” He took another drink of brandy. “But still, so far as I know that is what the King wished before he died, and so that is what I must now try to enforce. We’ll need a better guard for you, too, now, of course.”

“What?” The seeming change in topic threw her off.

“James’ line,” he said, gesturing at her with his now-empty cup. “Your child is still the blood of Talidor. As of right now, you are the most important person in the world to those who still wish to see a Talidoran sovereign on the throne in Sav Altulas.”

And what of me when the child is born? She didn’t say it out loud. Bran was not the kind of person to think that far abroad, to think that she might want something more than to serve the line of his ancient Talidoran royalty.

But she would take what she could get, and with that perhaps gain more. So she nodded and thanked him for the thought, and that seemed to satisfy the King’s Champion.

“Tomorrow,” he said, almost to himself. “Tomorrow I talk to the Wren.”

“And to Founder,” she told him. “Make sure he knows about the King’s will.”

“And Founder,” he agreed.

Now at least Lord Founder would know about Bran. Perhaps he would make the King’s Champion and his little bird vanish and keep his promise to see her to the throne. Somehow, she doubted it. The Wren had been James’ closest ally, and the man controlled half the city through his spies and thugs. Why the King of Talidor had aligned himself so closely with the King of Thieves, she might never know, but apparently they had been closer than she had realized. If the King were to appoint any regent after his death, she would have thought it would have been Bran, but apparently not, and apparently Bran didn’t seem at all put out by the arrangement. The Champions were very strange people sometimes.

Neither of them really said much after that. The day had been too exhausting for extensive conversation this late at night.


_______________________

When she woke it was already bright outside, light streaming through gaps in the curtains. Bran was asleep in his chair in the sitting room, a sheathed sword laid across his lap, looking as tired as any man can be; she left him to his rest and went out, dressed all in black, several guards peeling off of the post outside her door and accompanying her.

She found Bennet Founder in his usual spot in the old game room, the one that had been essentially taken over by the Society in the past couple of months. Cornelius StigBalathad and Julius Lance were in the corner throwing darts into a board with unerring precision, much to the dismay of Lord Heathfellow, who had much shakier aim. Aberham Pontiss, meanwhile, was asleep on a couch in the corner, embroidered robes draped over him like a tent, and everyone was moving quietly so as not to wake him.

They’d installed a bar since she had last been here, she saw now, a big heavy piece of furniture that must have been assembled inside the room, for it certainly couldn’t have fit through the door whole. Founder’s manservant Sebastian was tending it, and he offered her a drink as soon as she entered. She declined. Better to have a clear head today.

“Amelia!” said Founder, standing from his armchair. He looked like he hadn’t slept a wink all night. “My girl, I am so, so sorry for your loss. James was a good lad, and didn’t deserve what happened to him.”

“Thank you for your concern,” she murmured, giving all the right grieving responses, not sure if she meant them or not. She glanced around the room. No one but Founder was looking at her directly, but they were all listening, all distracted from whatever it was they were doing. Even as she watched StigBalathad missed the bulls-eye of the dartboard for the first time. “If I could have a word, Uncle Ben?”

“Of course, of course,” said Founder. His apparent weariness had not dimmed his booming voice in the slightest. “Gentlemen, if you would excuse me?” He swept out of the room, Amelia in his wake, and the door shut on the rest of the Society lords, all of whom were watching openly now. “What is it, Amelia?” he asked, after making certain that StigBalathad wasn’t listening at the keyhole.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, put off by how gently he was speaking. It was always unusual to hear Uncle Ben talking quietly. “I hear you’re regent now,” she said. “Congratulations.”

“For the moment, yes,” said Founder. He waved his pipe in the general direction of the Lower City. “I have been told that James promised the position to someone else, however, so I may not be for much longer.”

“Ah?” Amelia said.

“Warden Jezel told me he’d promised it to the Wren,” Founder said. His eyes gleamed in the dark room. “Which is good news for us, I think.”

“Really?” Amelia said, to cover her confusion. “I had thought you were going to step down in favor of me, and I would be Queen…not that I’m trying to snatch the throne away from you or anything, but that seems like it would have been your choice?” It wasn’t a question, not really, but she did want an answer.

“That was always going to be a long shot,” Founder said, looking as apologetic as he ever got. “But I didn’t want you to hear all the bad news all at once. And truly, I have tried to let you sit the throne, but…well, the Wardens won’t go along with it, and nor will the Wren’s people, and between them both they have more than half the city behind them. The Wren would end up creating a rival court in Runner’s, which Bran would undoubtedly back, the Lower City wouldn’t obey any edicts you or I made, laws wouldn’t be enforced and things wouldn’t get done. We want to fix the city, not split it into another civil war.” He shrugged. “So we let the Wren be regent, give him this tawdry piece of jewelry I found in the back of my closet, and what does that mean? It means we get someone who won’t just dance to the Warden’s tune, and also someone who, despite how the people love him and the large swathes of the city he effectively controls, doesn’t actually have enough forces to stand up to our guards and our mages if things become unbearable.” He pulled the silver regent’s crown out of the deep pockets of his formal coat. “Carrot.” He pointed at her with his other hand and pulled the trigger on an imaginary gun. “Stick.”

“And I get cast off, my only importance the child I bear?” she said, before she could stop herself. All the bitterness she felt, both at the murder she suspected this man had arranged and at the unfairness of the whole situation, came forth in her voice, as if bursting from behind a dam.

Founder, for some reason, was grinning at her.

“Ah, now see, that’s the best part,” he said, leaning in close as though confiding a great secret. “We’ll both be on his council, you and me. The Closed Council, a thing in truth instead of just what we called our little pack of conspirators and whatnot. And so’s Bran, who’s loyalty lies with you and your child more than the bird from Runner’s. That’s three out of five, with the other two being the man who started the Sovereign Guild’s nonsense and a representative from the people who destroyed them, so they’ll never agree on anything, and thus the table is ours. You’ll not sit the throne, but cast aside?” He chuckled. “No more than I, my dear. We’ve both still got some time left to us to try and change the world. Ruling the place was never the point of all this, after all.”

He tossed the crown up in the air, and caught it in his other hand before offering it to her.

“She’s a battered, broken city, my dear,” he said, “in too many pieces for me to make her wholly yours in the way that you or I might want. This little silver band is the best I can do, and tomorrow I have to give it to the bird and grit my teeth and bow. But at least for today it could be yours, for whatever it’s worth, if you want it.”

Amelia thought about her husband the King, and about quiet talks in smoke-filled rooms, and StigBalathad’s poisoned rings and Pontiss flying in late when he thought no one was looking, and the rich old men and their rich old families and those little aircraft they loved so much. Could one of those fly all the way to Lomar, carrying a chest of gold? Was the man she loved like an uncle, the man who understood her sorrow and was now offering her a hope for the future, was he the same man who had caused her such pain? And furthermore, if he was, did she even care?

Slowly, without really thinking about it, she reached out and took the crown. Founder gave it up willingly enough, but his smile held an unconscious wistfulness. It shone in her hands, bright against her black dress, just a simple band of twisted silver wires and delicate engraving. Such a small thing, to mean so much.

“And thus ends the broken city,” he said quietly, to himself more than her. “Tomorrow it will be Sav Altulas again. Whole. As it should be.” He leaned back against the wall, looking for a moment less like her larger than life Uncle Ben and more like a tired old man.

And Amelia thought to herself, half serious and half in jest, All this, just to go back to what we had under Desoui? One ruler, us with more influence but still part of the system instead of running it, afraid of Warden swords instead of spells in the night? Was that all you wanted this entire time? I thought you dreamed of grander things, Uncle Ben.

I wonder what it takes to become an immortal sorceress?

And then Founder’s smile grew wider, his expression more satisfied, and in his eyes was that familiar gleam that always meant trouble, and she realized he’d read her thoughts as they flitted across her face, her control forgotten in the moment of accepting his crown. She smiled back, grinning for the first time since hearing of the King’s death, for the first time in quite a while actually, and spun the crown around a finger.

“That’s my girl,” was all he said. He offered her a hand and she took it, and together they went back into the game room to face whatever was to come.

[Imperial Psycho]

The Wren's Nest
The Man who was almost King.

As Lord Founder left his humble abode, Edmund Sallen went to stand upon the balcony. He abandoned the paraphernalia of the Wren, casting aside the weathered old cloak, the silk wrappings that hid his face. For now, he was not the hero who slew Redeye, or the demon that attacked the Democrats and the Guilds. He was merely an aging foreigner living in a dirty slum in a backwater province, unrecognisable amongst the thousands of refugees, poor, and dispossessed. And yet, it would be just one sunrise more, perhaps two, before he would be ruling this city, this 'kingdom'.

He closed his eyes and felt the wind on his face. Below him, a thousand people slept, only vaguely aware of the struggles that those above them faced, just as those above were ignorant of their individual struggles. In the distance, the ominous shape of the Bleak Cathedral loomed, home to the Church that Lost its Meaning. Further still on the horizon, lay the ever-present silhouette of Daisong Palace, and beyond that, the manor houses of the High nobles, now united behind Lord Founder. He did not need to open his eyes to see it. He knew this city like the back of his hand, and he could play it like a harpsichord if he chose.

He would be ruling it tomorrow, and that would be no easy thing. The Guilds, under the sway of Morden Vassari. The Nobles, the Mages, under the sway of Lord Founder. And the Wardens, under no sway but their own. Each held their grudges against the others. Each would seek to rule, if he let them. But each could accept the Wren as a compromise. And while they might laugh that they could wipe out the tiny group of soldiers who served the Wren in an instant, the Wren would soon have the resources of a Kingdom at his disposal. And neither money, nor soldiers, nor thieves, were the true keys to power. True Power means Influence. And while each individual faction might pose him a threat, should they turn on him, he could play them off each other, and have them all dancing to his tune soon enough.

He would have to take residence in Daisong Palace, he supposed. He would have to bring his own guards, since those in the Royal service could clearly not be trusted. Perhaps the Lonecutter boy would serve as a captain of the guard. No. Too brash, too young, and there were other uses. Bran, perhaps. He felt only pity for Bran. He was a solid man, a dogged man, and he had an unbreakable loyalty to his master. He had pity for the Master too. When the gods chose to imbue one person with a Divine Spark, they could not have chosen a more unfit boy. He was petulant when he should have been contrite, and yet often surrendered where he should have stood his ground. He was young, and he was thrust into a role he simply could not fill. A world he could not understand, dancing a dance to which he did not know the steps.

More than pity though, there was another emotion. Remorse? Edmund had tried to show the boy the world of cuthroat politics. Tried to show him the ruthlessness he would need to survive it. Yet in truth, all he had done is make him an enemy of almost everyone. The name of an innocent boy was spat in anger. A parade danced through a village in celebration of his death. And behind him, stood the man in the dark cloak, blameless.

The Wren opened his eyes, and his expression hardened. "He could not have survived." Muttered words, spoken to the wind. True, perhaps. One man or another would have killed him. He held too much of a prize to ignore. The Guilds. The Nobility. The People. Himself. One would have gotten to him in the end. He had been a dead man from the start, and at the least, he had done his duty. The line of kings would continue, and the new heir would receive a very different education than James. He would see to the child's welfare himself.

He sighed. There was too much to do. A thousand concerns that to secure the new status quo. Taxes to decide and collect. He had an inkling he might re-write the law codes himself. Remove a thousand years of collected precedent. Let the Bureaucracy choke on that. But first, the political dance must be played, and order established. He truly did believe that he could use the concentrated power of the city to forge it on a new destiny, but it would come with sacrifices. More and more, as the fight to put a King on the throne had continued, he had thrown himself into his work. The evening conversations with the young thief Alden, wine by the fireplace with friends. Such things were of the past now. And Alden was dead, besides. Perhaps one day, when the heir comes of age, and he is settled, Edmund Sallen will sip fine wine in the green fields of Merdallan, and the time where the Wren ruled a Kingdom in the harsh lands to the east would be a mere memory. But for now, there was only tomorrow. A city to govern, a kingdom to forge. All in all, with all the regrets, with every sacrifice made, with every step taken, taken in blood... it was a good day, none the less.

[Thelonius]

Bloodhaven
The man who once dreamed

Vasari heard the news of the Regency. It was inconvenient, but hopefully the tensions between powers that ruled the city will remain. Could Wren forgive the murder of the King, he was so loyal to? Could ESGE abandon their ambition, after all they went through to achieve it. One controlled nobility and Sky, the other Runner’s City and the city’s poorest. He remembered the report of his agent. Lord Matoff being less loyal to the King then he appeared. Just how deep did the treason run? The divide between them was just too wide and in it Peacocks criminal empire could grow. He remembered meeting Lord Founder and offering him an alliance. The noble dismissed him, telling him to stop with crime. That was certainly not an option, so Vasari beat a hasty retreat, telling false assurances and blatant lies. He approached Wren to test the waters, but Wren was already planning to extend a hand to ESGE. Nobles stuck together in the end. There was only one power left to approach after that. How long it would take for ESGE to see his duplicity? How much effort would Regent Wren spend on restoring integrity of the law. Hopefully not enough.

Criminal Empire... It felt right to him, to support the vices of the city - the sweet release of drugs and warm comforts of ladies of the night. After so much blood, so much suffering, was it not time for the people of Sav Altulus to just relax and take it easy? In a way, he served the city, giving it what it wanted. In this way he protected it. And beneath that was his own selfish desire for a bit of peace and safety. What else could he do? Build dreams of Talidor? Clouds in the sky held more substance than those. Operate hospitals? How much good would they do him, when they’d start hanging his friends in political purges?

The ESGE, Wren and Wardens. Predators circling around, and looking for a weakness to pounce. One had to be strong to survive. One had to be selfish to be strong. Out of the major powers, Wardens looked like the safest bet. They've got their fill and would no doubt use the resources of the city to build their Empire. Whatever happened within the walls of Sav Altulus wouldn't matter to them. As long as they got their cut - the coin and blood of Sav Altulus to feed the foreign battlefields, they’d maintain status quo. That made them... he would not say the word ''allies'', partners in business perhaps? Not that he could ever trust them. But in the end that was true for everybody in Sav Altulus, the Broken City.

[Murska]

The Citadel
The Start of a Campaign

This small town, created by Orcs, built by a strange united force of labourers and engineers and architects into the strongest fortress in the land. Now the headquarters of the Warden Order, if not officially, then in practice. It would receive its name soon enough - the location was both practical and symbolic, just as the Wardens liked. Outside the City, but close enough to view its walls. And overlooking miles and miles of the Shattered Lands, to be unified by blood and iron. Outside, shots rang out as men practiced, shooting volleys at various targets. The clash of steel on steel, where riders used their momentum to crash through imaginary formations represented by metal and wooden posts.

Jezel, with her advisors, would handle the rest that was to be done in the City. They had a good position, useful allies - things were going to be stable enough. And if there was trouble, a Legion or two could march in one of the gates. Gates built and manned by the Wardens, known by the Wardens only. The City was done, a finished work, to be left to do its own thing. Scheming, and politics. Tarmin spat out of the high window, feeling soiled by all the plots he had been forced to sit through. Maybe those useless nobles and merchants would finally get their act together. The problem with such people was that they did not recognize their own purpose. Merchants were meant to deal with coin and trade, craftsmen to build goods to sell. Nobles, to bicker over various laws and lands, to administer and create a foundation for the structure that was a nation. Soldiers, to fight and to protect. When people overstepped their boundaries, things like the recent chaos happened.

But that was over with now. Some remaining confusion over who would hold the throne, some matters to solve about ownership of various neighbourhoods. Nothing worthwhile. Tarmin felt a weariness lift from him that had plagued him for months on end, a weariness of being stuck in an endless swamp where enemies preyed unseen. It was a pity that they had killed James - the Wardens' last ditch effort to save the boy hadn't succeeded. But it was done out of duty, and now they had no duty to anyone. They had sworn to serve this one King, no bloodline or any other ruler. As he was dead, they would serve no-one. And, to be frank, James wouldn't have made much of a King, at least not in times of trouble.

Tarmin turned from the window, back to the large round table in the middle of the tower room. On it was a map, centered on Sav Altulas and showing the regions around it and beyond. Various markings and symbols were on it, and several figurines marked the locations of known troops. The line of forts, the cluster of raw materials and their defenses, the allied groups. The Legions themselves, poised to his military mind for a far-reaching offensive. They were well-supplied, well-armed and with high morale. Thousands upon thousands of men, orcs and various others, ready to be unleashed upon his command.

The target had been chosen. Top secret for now, of course. The surprise, combined with the forces marshalled from his dependancies and the City itself, and the Illarym help he could leverage, would sweep the enemy from their borders, force them to retreat to their fortress for a siege... and then there would be no siege. There would only be a group of airships, filled to the brim with gunpowder, crew using those gliders that ESGE had crafted. And there would be an explosion to mark the beginning of a new era. No negotiations, no months of siege warfare. That enemy would be crossed out.

The reaction would be immediate, of course. The other three would band together, unaware of the snake in their midst. And they would die, the snake crowned a ruler of a plot of land, the resources used to bolster the Legions. That would be a start.

A tide of blood was coming, and fire, to force together the cracks that had splintered these once prosperous lands. And the Warden Order would not rest before it was done.

Tarmin signed a few slips of paper and placed them on the pile of orders to be delivered. Best not to look too far, lest you lose sight of what was in front of you. Right now, there was a campaign to be planned.

Again, a volley of shots in the yard, bullets crashing into splintered wood. A sunny day, just a little breeze of wind. A good day to prepare. A good day to march.

[Nyrt]

Lord Founder lounged in an armchair with a book Pontiss had recommended he read. Ordinarily he didn't much care for novels, but he was quite enjoying this particular one. Hearing footsteps approaching, he closed the book an looked over his shoulder.
"He hasn't convened the council, Ben" said Amelia Matoff crossly. "You said he would, that we could get things done."
"He hasn't, you're right. I was going to give him a few weeks to get used to his regency, but I suppose we'll have to do something about that, won't we. Tomorrow morning, I think. Good night!" Lord Founder stood and strolled off.

* * *
The runner knocked rapidly on the Wren's door, waking him.
"Sir," he said breathlessly when the Wren called him in. "They're meeting without you."

When the wren made it to the council chamber, he found every other member already assembled. Several of the representatives looked weary at having been woken by runners so early, but Founder was bright-eyed and clearly enjoying himself.

"Ah, so kind of you to join us!" Founder said as the Wren stormed in. "We were just discussing, you know, the legal precedent for what to do when a regent neglects to convene the closed council. Wouldn't you know it, there isn't one, so we decided that to hell with it, the council can convene anyway. Oh, and our job being to disagree with you, we also decided that you can't just have us arrested either. Nobody likes to hear an opposing argument, but that's really what politics is all about, isn't it? We were just about to call a vote on funding for repairs of the lower city, weren't we?" Founder directed this last to Amelia, who nodded confirmation.

"Care to participate in government, Wren?"

[Imperial Psycho]

The Wren arrived without the usual cloak and dagger accoutrements, instead arriving face unhidden. It was the tanned and scarred face of a man who had seen battle, and the greying hair of a man who hoped to soon be done with it. Despite his lateness, he maintained a relaxed manner. "I had understood that the council would convene at my leisure. Since you are here, I suppose we can meet."

"Voting, however, will not be necessary. The Council offers their advice to the Regent. The Regent makes decisions. And this matter requires no vote. "

"As for Runners City I have extensive plans on the matter myself. All Gods Hollow needs completion, and renovation of the slums is long past due. I shall make the plans available to peruse at your leisure."

"For now though Founder, we will discuss the matter of Regency. A public display is necessary, so that the people will not be confused by the handover."

"Ah, and Founder? You may call me Edmund. Lord Sallen, if you prefer. That is another announcement I must make to the people." He allowed himself a small smile as he took his place, nodding politely and pointedly at the Warden representative, Bran, and the representative from Bloodhaven.

[Nyrt]

Founder raises his eyebrows.

"Sallen? I recognize that name vaguely... Merdallan, if I'm not mistaken. Anyway, if you could make your plans for runner's city available immediately, that would be much appreciated. The university was going to sent an entourage of mages down to aid with construction. Dean Pontiss has some bizarre idea of community service from the University."

"The Justice system needs some work. I believe the EBSA had something going, but it's a bit... as you said to me, 'Neposh-y.' StigBalathad was going to shake some hands, I think. Clear out some corruption."

[Imperial Psycho]

"As you will, Lord Founder. I will arrange for the documents to be sent over today. Avoid Downline, however. The Wild Magic will not make for an enjoyable days work. "

"I am agreed in the matter of the courts. A suitable replacement must be found to head the operation. From there, he can strike at the corruption where it is to be found. I would be obliged if the Council would provide a list of possible candidates."

"As for Neposh, we must do what we can to endorse new gods for the city. For the citizens to cling to Neposh would promote unrest. I suggest endorsement of the Risen Gods and Imperial Mother Church both, with Avem-Sernad, God of Life and Death, as the patron Deity of this city. "

"We must avoid, of course, straying into the Avadin Heresy, but this way, we can promote unity, without being seen to be politically taking sides. "

[Murska]

A man in Warden armour has been sitting at the table, looking for all the world like he is ignoring the conversation entirely. An unwanted duty, for someone to be present at these meetings - usually several hours spent unmoving and in silence except for the rare comment on some actually in some way minorly significant matter. The announcement of Wren's real name and nationality does not provoke any movement in the figure.

At some of the suggestions, he does offer input.

"Avem-Sernad is good. But don't make things too obvious or restricted.

As always, the Warden Areas are policed by our men and follow our rules in addition to the City law. I would note that in those regions violent crime, tax evasion and theft are down considerably from City average." And, of course, superceding any City laws necessary. Taxes first to Wardens and from them to the Throne, suitably reduced. But that goes without saying, here.

[Nyrt]

"Yes, well done. It seems having a conquering army camped in your town reduces crime."

"Now Avem-Sernad is an insightful choice. That way we can avoid appearing to support a specific one of the two churches, yet still steer the people away from Neposh- though I have nothing against the religion, they do seem to have succumbed to corruption of late."

[Zemalac]

http://i.imgur.com/ujfkkQl.png

Soundtrack

Any one of these might be playing over the credits to this game. Pick one for your specific circumstances.

Petty Kings (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rU7d5pUqJjA&feature=youtu.be) (Original song written with this game in mind. Lyrics by Zemalac, chord progression by UntrainedMonkey, final piece by Nyrt. Might be considered a general game theme)
Archangel (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dJ-QLl5qjLg) (For those who won, and who are now expanding the new Sav Altulan Empire)
Short Change Hero (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l6eSksEp27U) (For those who thought better of themselves at the start of the game)
Gods of Misfortune (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2BjfLg1vSjU) (For those who won, but remember what they lost along the way)
Minotaur (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qYTXNyZrqYo) (For those the city chewed up and spat out)
Empty Chairs at Empty Tables (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=g_6TKPkQu2Q) (For the revolutions that never happened)

Broken City as a Whole

Welcome to Sav Altulas, once the capitol city of great and fabled Talidor, one of the three kingdoms that made up the Shattered Lands before the Zancharian Empire came and went, more than a thousand years ago. The city has gone through some rough stages since then, lying in ruin for a time before being found and rebuilt into the pit of refugees and decadent, bandit-bred nobility that it is today. It was, until very recently, ruled by King James, a man who everyone expected would sit on the throne for a long time to come. They were, very recently, proven wrong. James is dead, murdered by gods alone know who, and the tired people of this ancient city are showing their true colors once again. For the first time in two years there is no fighting in the streets, no civil war or religious purge or legal crackdown or wizards’ duel or explosive remnant of science gone wrong. The dust is settling, and the empty throne is empty no more.

Edmund Sallen, the man who was called the Wren and who, before his disgrace and exile, was known as Lord of Blatchly Point, respected member of the Merdallan Chamber of Nobles, reigns as Lord Regent for James’ heir, the young James II. He is advised by a closed council composed of Queen Amelia of House Matoff, Lord Founder of the ESGE, Commander Brannagan of the King’s Champions, Doctor Vassari of Bloodhaven and a representative from the Warden Order. The Warden Order has their supplies of coin, troops and weapons, and is thus happy to leave the city in the hands of the Regent and his Council, though everyone knows they could take it by force if they chose. Doctor Vassari and his allies in the Silversmith’s Guild try to play the Wren and ESGE off of each other at first, but though they have different personal interests both the Society and the Order have very similar goals for the city, so such efforts are quickly abandoned in favor of working to make as much money as possible. These are the power players of the city, and for the first time in quite a while they all seem to be getting along, at least to the extent that there is no fighting in the street. Another civil war would just bring the Wardens down on them, they know, so the battles become legal ones, clandestine operations and court cases and laws rewritten to favor one party over another. Plenty of comparisons are made to the reign of Desoui by those bitter about the way things turned out, but it cannot be said that things are quite so similar as that. Though there is still one massive threat hanging above everyone, though all the powers of the city are still working to maneuver themselves in the shadow of the Wardens now instead of the sorceress, there is a feeling now that the city is its own entity, that the power gained in those machinations actually matters. For people who so long found their own destinies determined by the whim of Desoui, it is a heady feeling indeed.

But telling the story of the city says nothing about the real stories, the personal tales of all the splintered peoples of Sav Altulas. The grand tale of the Broken City is over, but each of those stories carries on, all the Guilds and the Orders and the Brotherhoods, each striving to achieve their own destiny, whatever that may be. Perhaps some of them will even find it, some day.


By the Numbers

The City as a Whole
Total Influence supporting the new government: 26
Total Influence attempting to keep the city broken: 20 (due to circumstances in multiple EoG orders, this action cannot be completed effectively in its original form and has been split into contingencies)
Total Influence disregarding the city so long as it funds the Warden campaign: 19

Matters of War and Trade
Total Influence intending to improve the city through public works: 27
Total Influence for improving trade: 29
Total Influence dedicated to crime: 15
Total Influence supporting a Sav Altulan Empire: 37

International Relations
Total Influence leaning the city towards the Illarym Empire: 19
Total Influence leaning the city towards the Kingdom of Merdallan: 19

Kings and Ideologies
Total Influence restoring Rhodarmer to ruler of Gregoria: 14
Total Influence actively attempting to keep democracy from spreading from Ramston: 25

Religious Matters
Total Influence dedicated to restoring the Church of Neposh: 2
Total Influence supporting worship of other gods: 30

Old Grudges
Total Influence for assassinating the Heladuit Court: 20




Factionalism

The Warden Order

In the Shattered Lands the Wardens return their attention to the empire that had always been their true goal. They have already begun the lightning raids on the outposts of Sakel-Doge and Greeves, testing to see which of them is weaker. The soldiers are mustering for the attack, which will come swiftly; the enemy must have no time to gather their own forces. With the city willingly filling their campaign chest and supplying the weapons and men needed for the coming war, all the Shattered Lands might soon be within their grasp. But the warlords have their own cities and their own secrets, and they too buy from Mr. Neilson and his friends from Verdan. Even with all of Sav Altulas backing them, it will be a long road to Empire. A hard road, but not one that they are unwilling to walk.

Their hand with the city is a lighter one than they were expecting it would have to be. The Regent and his Council are more than willing to fund their wars, though the Regent also has a disturbing tendency to try and build up the armies loyal to the city itself. The Wardens respond by absorbing any such levies raised into their own ranks, bolstering their war effort even further, until the Regent stops trying. The Order is poised to begin a new era of expansion, and finally achieve their long dream of bringing peace to the Shattered Lands. By sword and by gun and by flame they shall bring it, and when they may finally turn over the earth they have scorched and plant new seeds therein by all the gods the Wardens’ peace will stay.

Such is the future that the Wardens see, and such is the future they will make so. Gregoria is easy to bring into the fold. Av’Dulas is a bit trickier, and they’re still not entirely sure if Viktor Av’Dulas is actually dead or just lurking in the forest somewhere plotting revenge, but eventually his haunted castle becomes theirs. The three feuding warlords on the other side of the Upside Circle’s forest fall soon after, and from there it is north and west, to Greeves and Witchbrother and Sakel-Doge, none of those three knowing that Lonecutter was having her court infiltrated by Altulan spies intent on bribing or replacing her soothsayers with their own people. The Wardens are nothing if not thorough. The dream of a united Talidor has been a long time coming. They can afford to be patient. Soon enough the Shattered Lands will have peace.


The Esoteric Society of Gentlemen Explorers

Lord Bennet Founder steps down as Lord Regent, handing power over to the Wren only days after taking the crown upon himself. He serves on the Closed Council for several years thereafter, grooming his sons to follow in his footsteps, before retiring and dedicating the remaining years of his life to exploring the old ruins he’d found on the islands in Brecombe Lake but hadn’t had time to examine in the midst of the various civil wars and other troubles. Both Lord Founder and his two sons, in their time with the Council, champion the new Bloodhaven hospital system, as well as various infrastructure projects meant to restore those parts of the city that had been affected by the previous two tumultuous years. Under their watch the Council Road is finally finished, leading from Traitor’s Bridge to the Factories and the Triphage, with a branch splitting off to go directly to the Palace itself.

Lord Aberham Pontiss spends the rest of his tenure as Dean of Daimot and on the Board of Education working to expand the city’s schooling system, creating both private schools for the elite and public ones for those less fortunate. This does not take up a lot of his time, however, and he spends most of his time on his magical studies, writing another book on the subject, this one far more cryptic than the last. Where Thaumic Energy had been precise, Magica Forma is mystical, arcane where his previous work had been logical. Some call it the product of a senile mind, but those who have studied it carefully have come to swear by it, finding that it describes a system where the ideas in his first book fit only as a tiny subsection, a broader theory as grand and complex as the universe itself. Forma has been published in twelve volumes, more than four times the length of Energy, with rumors forever circulating of a final thirteenth volume that Pontiss always avowed did not exist.

In later years, after his daughter had replaced him as Dean at the University, Lord Pontiss personally tutors the young James II in magic, and is possibly kinder to the boy than anyone else ever was.

Lord Cornelius StigBalathad is the Society Lord who works closest with the Lord Regent, working to try and drive corruption out of the justice system, with not quite the success he had hoped. His older son Samuel takes over the brewery, while his younger becomes a lawyer, shining star of the Courts of Final Justice, always somehow having all the right evidence he needed for a conviction. His daughter, meanwhile, becomes a soprano at the opera, famous for her performance in "La Città Della Menzogna" at the Sav Altuas Metropolitean Opera House, eventually claiming a starring role in the opera that Founder commissions to tell the story of the Broken City, which makes James out to be a martyr who brought the city together with his life and death.

In later years, when the city is prosperous and as at peace as it ever gets, Lord Founder can commonly be heard to say, “Not a day goes by when I don't regret some of the things I've done, but not an hour goes by that I'm not glad I did them.”


Bloodhaven

While the Wardens conquer their new lands and the Wren and Society rule over the Palace and Runner’s both, the long arm of the law and the vast merchant houses are guided by Doctor Vassari and his coalition of guilds. The Peacocks run the Triphage, and from there all of the city’s crime; the Order of the Wren is less of a den of thieves now and more an arm of the new government, so those who would break the Regent’s laws come instead to the gaudier birds. The nature of the city’s underworld has changed, and the best thieves and assassins are now all well-dressed and living in Triphage townhouses instead of bound in rags and Runner’s City slums.

Together with the Laurier Family, the Technists Guild and the Silversmith’s Guild the good Doctor transforms Sav Altulas into an industrial powerhouse, putting out manufactured goods on par with those from Imperial manufactories, selling to the Shattered Lands and to the kingdoms across the mountains, Merdallan and Ver Arcana and all the rest. He and his compatriots become, in short order, very rich indeed, though the wealth does not seem to make Vassari any happier. He is plagued by the demonic shadow that he inadvertently released from a Talidorian tower prison in Orn Telengrad, many years ago, moreso now than ever before. When he had been suffering as all his plans fell to ruin and his city burned around him it had been content to sit back and laugh, but now that he rules the criminal underworld and is seeing some potential for happiness in the future, or if not that then at least comfort, it returns with a vengeance. He is ready for it this time, however, and after his shadow commits a series of Redeye-style murders in Blacksgage at events he arranged for his Peacocks he manages to trap it in the labyrinth that the Sausage Guild built for him years ago, back when they still ruled in Gilded.

After that, the Doctor is a changed man. He still looks warily at shadows and keeps a good lock on his door and on his window, but he enjoys life more now, and might someday even be satisfied with what he has wrought. For all the crime and vice he has ushered in there is also Bloodhaven Hospital, and all the clinics, running again now, keeping the city clean and healthy. If the marvels of modern medicine must be funded by opium and prostitution, so be it; Vassari is not one to quibble over methods if the results are to his liking, not after the struggle of the past two years.


Order of the Wren

Edmund Sallen has come a long way from Merdal and his ill-fated attempt at making Alfred the Black into the King of Merdallan. Now he rules Sav Altulas as Lord Regent, advised by a council of those with more influence over the day-to-day affairs of the city than he himself has, trying to fix the damage that had been caused in the time after the sorceress’ death. His Order has become less of an organization of thieves and more an arm of the government, the secret and foreign service rolled into one. His support of infrastructure projects, along with the support of Lord Founder and his Society, goes a long way towards bringing the ancient city into some semblance of the modern age.

The Regent also devotes a good deal of resources to funding the Warden expansion campaign, though perhaps not as much as the Wardens would like. He walks a fine line between saving money for the use of the City and giving money to the Wardens for the creation of the Empire they so desire. His effort to raise levies for the city equal in strength to the forces deployed by the Wardens doesn’t go so well at first, but eventually he manages to train up a decent militia force that, using flintlock muskets and devices made by the artificers in the Smokeyards, might conceivably be able to defend the city itself. The Wardens are taking in most of the soldierly sort of people, though, and they have most of the coin to hire, so the quality of recruits for the city guard is rather low.

The Regent’s spies, meanwhile, work to bend the Lonecutter clan to their will, with the intent of subverting Agia’s soothsayers and eventually replacing her with her nephew, Simeon, who has long been in the Wren’s service. When the time comes and the remaining three of the major warlords band together to fend off the Warden army that had by that point overthrown the fourth, the Lonecutters would betray their allies, and thus the Shattered Lands would belong to Sav Altulas. Only time will tell how well that will work, but either way war is coming to somewhere far from the city for a change, and that can only be a good thing.


The Silversmith’s Guild

Narar Rafin is a man of many fears. He is afraid that his allies are getting the better end of the deals they have struck, he is afraid that the Esoteric Society might try to settle old scores, he is afraid that the Heladuits might come back, he is afraid of the Wardens. But as the years pass and it becomes obvious that the threats are gone, that the Society has legitimately forgotten that they ever tried to arrest him and that the Wardens will never come marching in force to Heavensgate, the fears ease, somewhat. Trade with the east is expanding, and Guild goods are showing up in marketplaces in Merdallan, in Ver Arcana and the Merchant’s Water, some even reaching all the way to the Boundless Isles. The coffers of the Guild grow fat, and with that comes complacency of a sort. Even the guard are becoming not as sharp as they used to be, for the wards now set into all of Heavensgate do most of their work for them. They do have some trouble with criminals associated with the Mages Ubiquitous from time to time, thieves who can bypass the wards, but aside from that all is peaceful and all is well for the Guild of Silver. They are rich, they are safe, they are prosperous; what more could be asked for?


House Laurier

The Laurier Family are the ones who benefit the most from increased trade with the east, controlling as they do Lomb Circle and having so many relatives and contacts in Merdallan and elsewhere. They do not run the city, no, but their emblem is on one out of every five caravans that leave the city, and one in three airships. It takes a very brief amount of time for Royal Court, and the Laurier manor specifically, to become like a little slice of Merdallan inserted strategically into Sav Altulas. Olive trees grow in imported dirt in the family gardens, Chadrais wines stock the shelves in the wine cellar, and the swords worn by every Laurier cadet are made of pure Merdal steel.


The Technists Guild

The Guild of Technology, after operating with so little for so long, has suddenly found itself with an embarrassment of riches. All the Smokeyards report to them now, and they have the backing of many of the most powerful factions in the city, including those that make up the new government and the trade network set up by Vassari and the Lauriers. It takes the small Guild quite a while to figure out what to do with all the resources now at their command, and to be honest they never quite manage it. They retreat into their experiments and their prototypes and their new designs, and for the most part let the Smokeyards run themselves. It is a curiously anarchistic sort of arrangement, which suits the laborers, many of whom still have Blackfist sympathies, just fine.


The Church of Neposh

The main body of the Church of Neposh has fled the city by underground means, joining Richard Hearthfeather across the mountains, where he has begun the Church of Neposh in Merdallan. It is a long journey, and hard; they are fortunate indeed that they must flee at a time when the passes are open to travel. In that distant Kingdom they reestablish their faith, and work once more to protect the world from the meddling of gods.

Meanwhile, those still inside the Cathedral seal the doors and begin research into the prolonging of life. They do not have access to their libraries, the ones at the University or the healing school in Pews, but they do have a hundreds of generations of the honored dead to consult. From them they learn ancient secrets, mysteries not to be found in the textbooks and works of arcane theory of the Daimot wizards, and with this new power they prepare for the day that they will once again throw open the doors and reclaim this city for Neposh. When that day comes Sister Serina and the Mouth of Neposh will still be there, waiting, as undying as the building that is now their prison.

These walls won’t hold them forever. Someday they will be back.


Sausage Guild

The Bloody Guild lives yet, in the Undercity they built. They have reclaimed the Vaults of Flesh and the behemoths grow there yet again, feeding the city with their meat. Despite Warden control aboveground in Gilded, the fact that the Guild has been secretly controlling the Exchange for quite a while now makes their operations in the district easy, and their unspoken presence among the banks and moneychangers is one of those things that everyone knows but no one comments on. They do not operate openly above ground, though, not anymore. The Undercity was built by the Guild for the Guild, and it will not fail them as Gilded did.

The Crimson Company is split into three parts. The Vanguard are those who are off fighting with the Warden expansion campaign, protecting pioneers and clearing out monsters and other nefarious things. The Reserve are held back, resting and being worked upon by the Shapers until their internal structure might not even be recognized as human. The Sentinels, meanwhile, consist of members of the Reserve set to patrol the Undercity, to ensure they do not become soft.

The Shaper mages also work with the Conductor to expand the Grid, the tracking system that the eccentric mage had spent the last few years working into every coin and now every sausage in the city. The Metro provided the basic magic circle underground, running in a loop around the outskirts of the city, and within that area the Guild knew the position of every man, woman and coin. This information was occasionally passed along to the spies of the newly-reformed SGA or their other allies, but just as often was not. The Bloody Guild had kept its own secrets for hundreds of years, and wasn’t about to start sharing them all now.


The Ram Revolution

There are many forces arrayed against Constantine and his Ram, many who wish for democracy to be kept securely within the walls of its village. The Ram, for its part, does not push too hard for it, though of course whenever people start thinking that there might be a better way to run things they might also find a Ramston man in the shadows, offering advice and wise counsel from those who tried this path before. As the village grows to a town, the people of Ramston try a different route to promote the principles of democratic government, one of example rather than force. The Wardens and the Regent and Vassari’s merchants all stop by occasionally to remind Constantine that he is not to push his ideals outside of the bounds of his town, to which he replies, quite innocently, that he hasn’t been, but if people see Ramston doing so well and that it’s people are so free is it any fault of his that they might think there’s something to this democracy thing?

The size of the militia is kept low by edict of the Regent, but Ramston intelligence is bound by no such laws, and their prevalence wherever their ideals might be supported quickly becomes something of a joke in the Shattered Lands. “The man from Ramston” is always the agitator, always the one who riles up the crowd and passes out the pamphlets and tells the people they should have a say in things, and he’s always gone before the dawn, before anyone can prove he was really there or ask him too many questions. People joke about it, but in those jokes the message is still passed along, and so Constantine does not mind. Let people laugh. One day they’ll see.


The Orcs of Tregon

The story of Tregon and its Gregorian orcs is only just beginning as the Broken City comes together once more. They serve as shock troops to the Warden expansion, led by Rigger Deerblood, the orc who killed the last Gregorian king. He revels in his new role. The only time he is away from the Warden campaign trail is when he must return to Gregoria to fend off another one of the near-constant attempts by General Rhodarmer and the remains of the Mercantile’s Guild to reclaim the tiny kingdom, and eventually he just lets them claim it, not caring as long as he had his war. All in all he is well pleased with his life, though Tregon itself is becoming more and more neglected in his absence and his inattentiveness.

Brigwa Stonecutter, former leader of the orcish rebellion, has retired now. Her dream had always been an independent orc nation that didn’t have to be dependent on mercenary work to survive, a dream that has been shattered by powers greater than her. She has gone back to the mountains, to carve stone and hunt far away from orcs, Wardens and this cursed city, living as a hermit. No one knows what has become of her since. Perhaps she has died, or perhaps she lives out there still, bitter at the way all her plans turned to dust; or perhaps she is simply waiting to try again. The orcs tell themselves that last one, sometimes, despite its implausibility. Orcs, on the whole, do not live so long as that. But who knows? Maybe someday she’ll be back, in one form or another.


The Mercantile’s Guild

The Guild remains hidden beneath Allscross, in a section of the Undercity sealed off specifically for them. Working through the Exchange they reestablish themselves doing what they have always done, arranging caravans and conducting the business of trade. This is the most successful part of their schemes; not even the Lord Regent, with his long arm in the shadows, knows they are there.

The rest of their plans do not go so well. The intentional starving of Gregoria and the arrival of Rhodarmer with food; the attempts to convince the populace that they wish to apologize for past actions, to make amends; the constant attempts to reintegrate themselves openly into the life of the city, each time shut down brutally by the Lord Regent or the Wardens. In the end they must content themselves with reinventing the Guild, becoming the Exchange in truth, an exchange of goods and services now as well as coin. Doing so is remarkably easy. All the Trader must do, after all, is take off his cowl and grow a beard, and no one in the city recognizes him. They have Rhodarmer's blessing and thanks, at least, after they finally restore him to his throne, and that lets them operate a little more freely in the greater Altulan empire that the Wardens are carving out. They didn't get everything they wanted out of the Broken City, but they are used to that, and perhaps now they can say they have enough.


The Champions of Sovereignty

The Champions, led now by Commander Brannagan, serve the line of the King, as they have always done. They are the royal guard, now, defending both the Queen and her son, James II, who’s side Bran leaves very infrequently.

The Commander, for his part, still has nightmares of the day that James the First died, of being unable to stop it in time. Many who were there have the same dreams, in fact, but never speak of them with each other. Pontiss’ repeated pattern has etched itself deeply into the fabric of the city, and only time will tell what effects that might have down the line.


The Executive Bureaucracy of Sav Altulas

The EBSA has been corrupted by the Peacocks, laced through with their agents, until some say “the Triphage Office” runs things more than Silent Court does. Nevertheless, the core officers of the Bureaucracy remain, and they work tirelessly at purging the corruption from their ranks. How successful they are, in the labyrinthine maze that is the Altulan legal system, is sometimes difficult to tell, but they seem pleased enough with the work they are doing.

The main concern of the Peacocks is the sudden resurgence of the Heartspear Police, who have, unbeknownst to any save a few key EBSA officers, been working for Dekan O’Vail and Kara Lythene for almost two full years before the crowning of the Regent. The Thousand Voices will not tolerate corruption in what he, or she, sees as his (or her) legal system, and slowly the criminals of the city are starting to remember why they feared the boot kicking down the door in the middle of the night, and the masked men with the Heartspear badge. The Peacocks manage to stay a step ahead of them, but not always, and not forever.


The Heladuit Court

Markus Heladuit and his family have spent the last year living comfortably in Arypso. Markus is a baron now, a title given to him by his new friends in the City Council, a fact that pleases him to his core. Arypso is a town that suits the Court’s sensibilities much more than Sav Altulas ever did, a place where their designs might spread across the world. It is the Gateway to the Continent and the Gateway to the Water, depending on which direction you come from, and from there the new baron can see all the world coming to pay him tribute. It is a heady feeling. The only real downside to his new status is the fact that it has alerted his old enemies in the Shattered Lands to his location.

In 1037 DR, Markus Heladuit dies from a drug overdose in his manor house overlooking the bay. The assassins from the Altulan Caretaker’s Guild, hired by the Silversmith’s Guild to kill him, decide to claim credit for the death and get paid anyway. Their repeated attempts at infiltrating the Heladuit manor had failed, usually due to some elaborate booby trap put there by the family, and they were getting rather tired of dodging poisoned needles from the bannisters or scythes swinging down gaudily-decorated hallways.

After Markus’ death, Meridia Heladuit has his brain removed and preserved, and becomes obsessed with running the family the way she thinks he would have. Javier, meanwhile, has been, as always, running the actual business of the Court, always barely getting income to keep up with his adopted family’s incessant spending. As time goes by he spends more and more time on a private island he had set up as a comfortable retreat with a few other rich Arypsians, and eventually he retires there completely. It is not long before Meridia and the others have driven the Court’s finances into the ground, making them at last no different than the other perpetually broke but still perpetually spending noble houses of the City of Golden Towers.


The Blackfist Brotherhood

When the Regent’s taxes are oppressive and the Wardens they fund march through your neighborhood in an unending, clanking stream, someone paints a clenched fist on a wall in black paint.

When the new Council Road needs to run through your tenement so that all the lines on the maps are straight and your home is seized by eminent domain, someone drops a pamphlet with a black fist on the cover in the street in front of you.

When the industrialists get rich off the sweat from other men’s backs and the soot blocks out the Smokeyards sun, someone burns the mark into the wood in front of the factory owner’s townhouse, where it will always be seen no matter how he tries to paint over it.

No one ever forgets in this town.


Final Numbers

{table=head]Faction|Player|MIL|WEL|ESP|MAG|MOR|REP|INF|Traits
Bloodhaven|Thelonius|4|11|20|3 (+4.5)|7|8|14|Bloodhaven Hospital (Expanded), Pharmacology, Phantom Slasher, Friends In Low Places, Imperium of Vice, Morphine Supply, The Bloody Art, Verdan Contacts, Commerce House, The New Library, Rare Poison, Citizen’s Militia, Black Powder Weapons IV, Triphage Scars, Civil Authority, Medical Certifications
Champions of Sovereignty|razovor|7|9|7|2|1|4|--|In The King’s Name, Royal Spark, Warlord Contacts (Gregoria), Subverted Military (3)
Church of Neposh|HerbieRAI|3|9|1|8 (+1)|9|3|6|Evangelizing, Fanatical, Symbols of Authority(2), The Honored Dead, The New Library, Poisoned Coin, Law Magic, Black Powder Weapons II, Sermon of the Gun, Symbols of Authority (2)
Esoteric Society of Gentlemen Explorers|Nyrt|4|4|5|10 (+13)|6|4|15|Realpolitick, Well-Traveled, Reckless Endangerment, Antimagic I, The New Library, Airborne, High Culture, Manna, Horn of Plenty, High-Energy Research, The Closed Council
Mercantile's Guild|oblivion6|1 (+2)|4|10|1|3|0|0|Merchant Contacts, No Doors Closed, Merchant Marine, Commerce House, Black Powder Weapons IV, Operator Equipment III, Bombards, Verdan Munitions
Orcs of Tregon|Eldan|8|1|6|0|6|-2|0|Survival, Engineered Race, One Race Faction, Fortifications 9 (Tregon), Black Powder Weapons II
Order of the Wren|Imperial Psycho|3 (+5)|7|10|0|7|5|11|Castaways, The Wren, Den of Thieves, The Bloody Art, The Legendary Hunt, Black Powder Weapons IV, Ever Hopeful, Operator Equipment III, Trading Hub, Protectorate Contacts, Warlord Contacts, Transient Swords, Militia (5)
Ram Revolution|ForzaFiori|6|2|10|1|10|5|0|Servant’s Ears, Uncouth, Quality of Life, Police Work, Citizen’s Militia, Fortifications 3
Sausage Guild|ArcaneStomper|9|6|9|7 (+0.5)|6|1|1|Bloody Business, The City Must Be Fed, Expanded Tunnels, Assault Tunnelers, Commerce House, Sav Altulas Metro, The Digging Beast, The Grid, Fortifications 5, Blood Knights
Silversmith's Guild|ragingrage|11|13|1|12|7|3|6|The Beautiful Trade, Professional, Loose Association, Warded, Commerce House, Sharp Dressed Man, New Coin Nobility, Nothing But Class
Wardens|Murska|17 (+4)|4|5|10|10|-6|19|Imperial Contacts, Legion Discipline, Bandit Grudges, Operator Equipment, Black Powder Weapons II, Jungle Contacts, Arun Contacts, Verdan Contacts, Tunneler Resistance, Checkpoint, Dragon Guns, Symbols of Authority (Gatehouse Prison), The Western Trade, Financial District, Mortars, Soulless (4)
[/table]


Final Word

Damien sat cross-legged on the floor of his meditation room, his tall lanky frame compressed as much as he was able. He was trying to relax completely, as the ritual book had said was necessary, and finding it impossible. He’d stolen the tome from an Everkragg lord up north, and he suspected that the dour people of that cold realm would have had just as much trouble forgetting their cares as he was. How this particular book had found its way into their uncomprehending hands, he could not begin to guess.

His thoughts jumped to a new subject, and then he remembered he was supposed to be relaxing. He sighed. Useless. He was never one to stop himself from thinking, and it had been stupid to even try. He picked up the ritual book and added it to the growing pile of rejects in the corner. There were many of them, now, testaments to either the impossibility of his chosen task or the fact that he wasn’t actually taking much time with any of them. There was really no way of telling which reason was accurate; fortunately, Damien didn’t especially care either way. This was a hobby, picked up for an hour or two once every couple of weeks, nothing more. He had dozens more projects just like this, set up around his mountaintop palace.

He picked up the next book from the small pile of prospects. This one had come in with the collection from that place in the Shattered Lands, the one with the fearsome librarian. He grinned at the thought of that little excursion. Such chaos, such mad adventure! And the name he’d come up with, Stirling Majus, that had been a grand joke. He needed something like that again, not this paging through books written by authors who thought they knew more than they did. Leave that to the sifters, that was what they were for. He had people for this now, didn’t he? Wasn’t that the whole point of creating the Mages Ubiquitous in the first place?

He opened the book anyway. The problem with setting yourself up as the head of an organization of criminal mages was that your underlings were, you know, criminals, on top of the usual power-mad insanity that wizards tended to gravitate towards given enough time. They were not the most trustworthy of people, and certainly not anyone he wanted to leave something like this to. They might think he’d gone soft and try to assassinate him again, and he’d just finished getting the stains from the last set of conspirators out of the drapes in the entryway. For the sake of his carpet, if nothing else, he must persevere alone.

He skimmed the table of contents and the first few pages, not really paying attention, waiting for something interesting to jump out at him from the pages. He had never actually understood other people’s insistence on reading all the way through a book that might turn out to be useless, especially when he could just glance at a page and tell if it were good or not. It wasn’t as if--

Hmm. That was interesting. That little passage, right there, and the ritual described beneath it. That could work. He focused now, following the chain of logic set down by the tome’s long-dead author. It was written in a crabbed, faded script, but he read it easily enough, and it seemed as though this old wizard, unlike so many of his peers, might have actually known what he was doing. Damien hummed to himself as pens lifted into the air behind him and began scratching out lists of ingredients that he would need on floating scraps of parchment. He’d send some of the apprentices out to find the more esoteric things, that was what he kept them around for after all…

Three weeks later, ten people were dead. Three of them had been warders in Ver Arcana who had objected to the liberation of certain items from their repositories, two of them had been sifter magi apprentices who had misjudged the threat posed by a manticore from the high mountains that they had been hunting, one had been a man who called himself an archmage but had fallen easily enough to the shakers, and the remaining four had been necromancers of one sort or another and therefore not worth speaking of further. The remaining sifter apprentice who had been sent out to gather the materials the Standing Mage had asked them to find had been elevated to the rank of full sifter, and was currently admiring her new robes and plotting as to how to kill her old master. Damien knew this, and did not mind. The apprentice had been trained by Brilgewott, and if she proved to be capable of offing the old bastard then he would have absolutely no qualms about promoting her once again. He had his reagents, that was what mattered, the manticore quills and the bones and the strange, otherworldly incense.

The ritual, once you had all the arcane components for it, was simple enough, and thankfully didn’t require anything as impossible as emptying one’s mind or achieving full peace with the universe or anything like that. It was old brute-force necromancy, of the kind so rarely appreciated outside of the Dead Continent these days, primitive and powerful. He liked it automatically. This magic had no pretensions.

He set it all up, the flakes of bone in the bowls of blood drawn with the quills, incense burning in each of them. Three bowls, one for him and one for her and one for the bridge.

Smoke filled the air as he chanted, weaving the old words into something capable of reaching beyond the world. His breath moved the drifting tendrils from the incense, and it drifted to the center of the circle he’d painted on the floor, coming together in a way wholly unlike natural smoke, pooling in the air until he spoke the final word. He blinked the acrid incense out of his eyes and looked at the result of his work.

There was a woman there, the smoke that had drifted casually into that shape suddenly defined, filled by a foreign presence. She was naked for a moment, which obviously irritated her, because with a wave of her hand the smoke reformed itself into garments, fine silk robes and a crown.

“Who dares,” she began in stentorian tones, but Damien interrupted her, his grin almost splitting his face in half.

“Burgsey!” he said. “How’s death been treating you?”

The smoke woman blinked. The effect was rather odd, considering everything was the same color and moving constantly anyway. “Damien?” she said. “What the hell have you done?”

“I resurrected you!” he said cheerfully. “Sort of. I mean, you’re not alive again, but…”

“Do you think me a fool?” she said, with much scorn. “I was sitting at my desk writing, Damien, and then I was here, in a form that appears to be made out of hallucinogenic smoke. This has your hand writ large across it. Reverse what you have done, or…” she trailed off, noting Damien’s uncharacteristically somber expression.

“You died, Burgsey,” he said quietly. “One of the gents from Lomar put a dart right through your wards, your window, and your head. Five years ago, now.”

There was quiet in the ritual chamber for a moment. “Oh,” said Burgravet Desoui, after a moment.

“Yep,” said Damien. He cocked his head to the side. “Interesting that you don’t remember anything of being dead, though. The book I was working off of said that the Reaper Man doesn’t like anyone bringing things out of his domain, but I thought it was just talking about how hard it was to retrieve a soul. I didn’t realize it meant experiences, too.” He grinned at her. “One would have thought that if anyone would have the force of will to overcome the god of death, it would have been you. Guess not.”

“Mind your tongue,” Desoui said absently. “You were my best student, Damien, but do not think that means you can take that tone with me.”

“Me? Your best student?” Damien put a hand to his chest in mock flattery. “I am honored, Burgsey! But as I remember it, you were my best student. Taught you all you know, so I did.”

“I was practicing magics you still do not understand since before you were born, whelp,” she told him.

“No you weren’t,” he said, still grinning. “Wolf when you were twelve, cough cough.”

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said innocently.

“Bastard,” she said.

“As always,” he bowed.

They both stopped talking, staring at each other.

“Why did you bring me back, Damien?” she asked, quietly.

The Standing Mage shrugged. “Missed talking with you,” he said honestly. “Have ever since the old band fell apart. You, me, Harrow, that Amuran guy who never said a word…”

“DeLouvrian,” she supplied.

“Yeah, him,” said Damien. “I started my Mages, he went back home and started messing with time magic, Harrow vanished and I doubt even the gods know where, and you decided to go and rule some little village off in what used to be Talidor.”

“Sav Altulas,” she said, and smiled for the first time since being summoned. “And it’s a bit more than a simple village, thank you.”

“Right, sure,” Damien said, waving it away. “Place is a goddamn pit, Burgsey. You know they’ve but a bird on the throne since you died?”

“What?” She stared at him. “You’re joking.”

“’Rin’s own truth,” he said, holding a hand to his heart. “Some finch or whatever. I assume they have a druid or some such to interpret its chirpings.”

“That’ll be the Wren,” said Desoui, “and despite your ridiculous theorizing he is very much a man. How the hell did he get put in charge of things?”

Damien shrugged. “How should I know?” he asked. “If you wanted me to pay attention to your city, which I feel I must remind you is a pit, perhaps you shouldn’t have told me to stay out of it on pain of death.” He paused. “Though whatever curse you put up to hit me when I entered the city seems to have vanished on your death. Shoddy work, that.”

“No curse,” she said. “I was just going to gut you myself.”

“Of course you were,” Damien said, chuckling. He looked her over, and sighed. “Why’d we ever break apart like we did, Burgsey?”

The question hung in the air.

“I don’t even remember what the argument was about, you know?” he continued. “I don’t remember why we were all so mad at each other anymore. How long can we keep a grudge we’ve all forgotten about going? I mean, obviously a pretty damn long time, but it’s got to end sometime, right? Like when one of us goes and dies?” He spread his hands. “The Mages, stealing the most powerful things in the world out from under the noses of the most powerful people in the world, that’s great stuff! I wouldn’t trade my MU for anything, and that’s a fact. And I think you felt the same about your Talidor town, though I will never fathom why. But there’s got to come a time when old friends can get together and talk to each other, and I figured, why not now? Maybe she’s forgiven me now that someone else has gone and hurt her worse than whatever I did.”

The smoke that was Burgravet Desoui, formerly-immortal ruler of Sav Altulas, swirled in the middle of his summoning circle. “Honestly?” she said. “I don’t remember why I was mad at you either. It was something unforgivable, I’m sure. It always is with you.” They watched each other for a moment longer, the Standing Mage and the result of his ritual, each trying to figure out what the other was thinking. “Five years, you say?” she asked eventually.

Damien shrugged. “Or thereabouts,” he said. “All the clocks here run at different speeds, so it gets kind of hard to keep track.”

“Well,” Desoui said, nodding to herself. “Then I guess we can talk, at least until you get me caught up on what’s been going on.” She stepped forward, and a flash of annoyance crossed her face. “Get rid of this absurd binding circle, will you? I can’t seem to move out of it.”

Damien put on his most serious face and said, “Burgsey, are you trying to get me to release you so you can kill me and usurp my power?”

She snorted inelegantly. “Of course I am, nitwit,” she said. Damien grinned.

“Ah, I’ve missed you,” he said happily, and broke the circle.