Union! Game Thread

Corsyr is clearly somewhat take aback by the question, and for the first time since he entered the room, doesn't seem to be in complete command of what is going on: "I... I honestly can't say at this point in time. While the press has been loud about this, he himself has so far not made a request to the Council. But I will try to give Cyre a voice in the proceedings, of that you can be assured. 

As for the disease, I received the information two days ago, and have since then been doing everything possible to mount a response. As much should be clear to you from the fact that the newspapers know about the disease at all. Or are you not sure you can trust your organisation to keep something of this magnitude under wraps if you had to?"

Tarian kept half her focus on the contract, and half on the conversation, so it took her a while to fully understand the role given to her. ‘Leader,’ ‘chief negotiator,’ ‘chief accountant.’ Rather than roles for me, it seems more like roles for Mister Spudsder, and since he’s gone, they just gave his jobs to his hireling. Tarian sighed.

“It seems the Magistrate isn’t as well informed as he thought,” Tarian muttered. When she realized her mutterings drew attention, Tarian clarified: “I don’t know about everyone else, but I’m a poor fit for every role you’ve given me. Accountant? I can’t manage more than a couple days of my own expenses. Negotiator? Perhaps if you’re expecting me to beat someone into compliance. And leader?” Tarian’s eyes flicked almost imperceptibly toward Arc and Thia. “I don’t think it’d be hard to find three out of five who’d rather I wasn’t in charge.”

Tarian waved the contract before setting it down. “If it’s in the contract, then whatever the role, I’ll give it a go—that’s just who I am—but there are smarter, better spoken, and more experienced people in this group than I.”

Tarian leaned back in her chair and slid down a bit. She folded her hands over her false identity papers. “Sorry, I interrupted. I believe you were talking about Cyrean representatives and epidemics?”

Thia would look over to Tarian, “Vocal self doubt in a full room doesn’t suit you Tarian. I personally do not question your role in this contract, whatever title they slap on it. Besides,  you weren’t interrupting, the conversation was pretty much over.”

She’d return her gaze to the Magistrate, sensing she sent him on the defensive. It bothered her to hear him confess that he’s known about the poisoning for two days, even before her, and his biggest concern was keeping it quiet. “With all due respect Mr. Corsyr, I’m not in the business of managing secrets and weaving lies to avoid the responsibility of caring for the people.” Thia would lean forward on the table, “and to be clear, the Veiled Valour is an organization of the people, not of mine. If they felt the need to whisper the news to the paper, it was their right.” She’d almost shrug as she gestured. Deep down Thia wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt that he actually was doing all he can to assist the peoples situation politically and not just covering it up. Thia would sit back in her chair, “Please understand that I appreciate the honest contribution efforts that occurs beyond my knowledge. I simply desired to know that the epidemic was recognized by our leaders and that our medical professionals aren’t going to be left to solve this on their own.” She meant no ill will or disrespect to Mr. Corsyr. She jus needed to be assured.

And without another word, assuming her requests will be met, Thia would pick up a pen, sign the contract and push it over.

Corti smiles at Tarian, missing her glance at Arc and Thia entirely. "Thia's right, Tarian. You're very capable, and I personally see no reason why you shouldn't take the lead." She watches Thia sign the contract, then carefully prints her name in the blank space. Corti then picks it up and leans across the table to set it next to Thia's.

Arc sighs and grabs the contract, reading it over, the perpetual hopelessness in his eyes remaining unchanged. He doesn't mutter a word for the moment, but signs the contract after ensuring there was nothing to be worried about. Then, letting his thoughts dance behind his eyes, he simply watches the room with an empty glass in hand that he twirls in his hand.

Brandt signs his name on the contract and then turns to Arc, who seems to be a completely different person from what he was when they met at the Velvet Glove. He doesn't say anything though, since Sparks and Corsyr are still present.

Tarian sighed and picked up the pen, and turned it over as she pulled her contract closer. “It wasn’t self-doubt, just an assessment.” Tarian tapped the tip on the line for her signature, leaving a splotch of ink at the start of the line. “If you said you didn’t think you could beat me in a straight fistfight, I wouldn’t say it was self-doubt.”

Tarian Rhydderch. Tarian’s signature wasn’t flowy or showy, nor was it a messy scrawl. ‘Legible’ was the best word for it. Tarian set the pen down atop her contract after signing, and pushed it toward the center of the table.

“But I suppose I might have been mistaken about the number who wouldn’t have me as leader.” Tarian leaned back in her seat. “There’s always time for people to change their minds. I wouldn’t fault anyone for that. If anyone does, though, be upfront about it. I won’t stand for taking a knife in the back again.”

Tarian looked to the rest of the group, then to Magistrate Corsyr and Derbert Sparks. “Well, gentlemen, for better or worse you have your group. And what name should our little band answer to, should anyone ask who we are?”

"You're a survey team, for the Corphyrean Railcar Company, and hoping to win a contract for your railway from the Council. What you want to call yourselves beyond that, I leave to you.

Lastly, a cart with your gear and a trusted operative posing as the driver will await you at the Mud Gate tomorrow at nine o'clock. He will also be testing a new piece of equipment , so do not be alarmed. He has received his briefing, and will assist you as he can. If there are no more questions, I consider this meeting to be over. And of course, never to have taken part."

With that, Corsyr and Sparks got up, getting ready to leave.

"I'll see you guys tomorrow." Brandt says as Corsyr and Sparks leave. "Kid, are you drunk?" Brandt asks Arc.

Arc glances up at Brandt, looks down at his hand, then shrugs, "Not yet....working towards it."

"Good luck with that." Brandt gets up and looks to Tarian, Corti, and Thia. "One of you make sure that he doesn't drink himself to death and that he gets back home. There's plenty of people in this city that would like to put a knife in his gut. I'd do it myself but I've got other things to do and no one's paying me to play babysitter for a rich kid." Brandt heads out to the Velvet Glove to spend the night with Colette before heading out.

Thia would sigh, “Rushing off so soon? Don’t care to stick behind to discuss a little before you run off to bed old man?” She’d call out to Brandt before glancing over to Arc, “I rented this room to accommodate all of us. There should be room for any one who cares to stay here for the night.”

Arc gives a half-smile to Thia and bows his head, "If you don't mind, I'd like to take you up on that offer."

Brandt sighs, but ultimately stops for a moment to speak with Thia, since she might have some valuable insight. "Sure. I've got a second, what's up?"

Corti stands after Corsyr and Sparks leave. "I appreciate it, Thia, but I think I'll spend the night at the Gear." She gathers her things and opens the door, "Goodnight, all! I'll see you tomorrow." With a wave, she leaves the room and walks out of the Inn, heading for the Golden Gear.

Tarian stood and made her way to the door. “Mister Brandt is right. Someone needs to take care of Mister Cannith.” Without saying anything more, Tarian opened the door and left. Her overstuffed bag remained conspicuously by her seat.

Downstairs, Tarian looked for the towering barkeep she saw earlier. He stood behind the bar, midway through a rather bawdy story at the expense of one of the patrons. The subject, a burly old man who was several shades redder than the others, laughed along with the group, and chimed in, “It’s true! It’s true!” whenever the barkeep’s story garnered dubious looks from the group.

Rather than interrupt the story, Tarian hastened to grab the attention of one of the servers fresh from delivering several tankards to a table half full of grizzled warriors. The boy, who looked to be a few years younger than Tarian, had just folded an empty tray under his arm when Tarian stepped in front of him. The boy stopped with a jump.

“I’ll need a large pitcher of water. Not too cold, if possible. And a mug.”

The boy nodded, and dashed off to the kitchen. Tarian sighed and looked around. A taproom like this just reminds me of Ol’ Barrow’s Nine Casks. It figures that I’d have to do the same for Mister Cannith here that my mother and I would have to do for father when he spent too much time at the Nine. I just hope Mister Cannith had the forethought to eat before drinking.

The boy returned with a large stoneware jug and a wooden mug. “Here you are, miss.” He waited for a moment before another table called him over.

Sorry, but I haven’t enough for myself right now, much less to spare for you.

Tarian returned upstairs with both mug and jug in hand. She took a long breath in and let it out slowly before she opened the door. She strode right to Arc and set the mug down in front of him, then poured the water in nearly to the brim. “Mister Cannith,” she began calmly, using the same serious I-will-brook-no-nonsense-tone she had to use with her father, “you will drink this. You will finish it before you sleep. You will finish it before your next drink.” Tarian patted the jug. “And you’ll finish this before the hangover finishes you. Alcohol is a poison; this is the antidote.”

Poison, that’s right. Miss Thia had mentioned something about that. For a brief moment Tarian’s head started to turn before she thought better of taking her eyes off of Arc. There’ll be time. I can ask later.

Arc spits out a small mouthful of water and wipes at his eyes, "I'm still able to function properly...enough. There was no need for that." He snaps his fingers and within seconds Arc is dry. He glances up at Tarian, more confused than annoyed, sighing he asks, "Tarian, I'll be fine, just....don't worry about me." He massages his nose then glances down at the jug, ".....what even IS that?"

Thia would stand from her seat when Brandt would stop to listen. Then Corti would speak up, desiring to leave too, and does. Then Tarian would walk out. Without noticing that Tarian left her bag behind, the students shoulders would slump a bit. I didn’t actually have anything special to say... I just didn’t want us to separate... or for them to leave alone... 

Thia would look to Brandt, understanding he’s fully able to take care of himself... and Collette. She also understood why Corti would want to check out the Golden Gear one last time as well. She’d purse her lips then sigh, wondering what to say. ”I suppose I’ve been with you and Corti most of the day so you already know my news. Just... be extra careful tonight. Make sure you eat and drink from sources you trust. Please.” Thia just felt worried, like her intuition was poking at her. Maybe I’m just getting worked up for the mission... she’d try convincing herself. It wasn’t just the poison she was worried with him, but the incident he was involved with that she knows little about. “Take care tonight.” She’d say her farewell to Brandt so he can be on his way and perhaps catch up to Corti so they aren’t alone for the whole walk back to their locations. 

Thia would turn her gaze to Arc and give a light bow of her head in return, “Of course.” She has already considered offering him and Tarian the comfiest (or only beds if there wasn’t enough) and she’d take her sleeping bag on the floor if needed. She was about to speak again when Tarian would return with a jug of water. Thia couldn’t help but smile, appreciating Tarian’s return. At least she’d have company for the evening. 

She’d blink a few times in silence when Arc sprays water everywhere, though more surprised that he didn’t recognize it. It’s water right? Suddenly jumping to conclusions that it could be tainted, Thia would pick up the jug and start sniffing and checking it over frantically. She’d sip it to test it... 

Brandt smiles at Thia. "I don't think that the staff at the Velvet Glove is going to try and take me out tonight. Not after all the business I've given them over the last few weeks. Thanks for your concern though. See you tomorrow." Brandt walks out the door and heads toward the Velvet Glove, and Colette.

Their Goodbyes taken care of, Corti and Brandt leave the tavern, both heading to the Forge. After a bit of inconsequential chatting and a brief stroll, Corti parts ways with Brandt, heading to the Golden Gear. Brandt carries on to the Velvet Glove.

On her way to the Gear, Corti spots an announcement plastered against the wall, across some old recruitment poster and an announcement for the Rider's Cup, the annual peak of the Skyskipper races. The poster read:

ALL WARFORGED UNITS RESIDING IN DUSKROCK ARE HEREBY ASKED TO REGISTER WITH THE BUREAU OF VETERAN AFFAIRS BY THE END OF THE MONTH TO BE ELEGIBLE FOR THEIR COMPENSATION PAYMENTS AND THEIR CITIZEN'S PASS.

Carrying on to the Gear, Corti can't help but think about Arc's mood. Does this have anything to do with that?

The tavern is fuller than usual, and the chatter is lively, if not to say heated. Between the typical bar room banter, Corti can hear several workers grumble about the lack of progress in the negotiations and the 'promises and lies' they were given. At the sight of her however, many get a tad cheerier, and Corti is quickly invited up to play on the stage.

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Meanwhile, Brandt is heading towards the Velvet Glove. He too spots a poster, for the simple reason that it mentions the swampy region he once called home. 

SKINS, SOLDIERS, SEEKERS OF FORTUNE: ALL ARE WELCOME IN Q'BARRA
The Q'barra Federation is looking for new settlers to help the fledgling nation. Anyone able to prove goblinoid or orc ancestry, or who already has living relatives in Q'barra is welcome to become a citizen. Every citizen will be granted an acre of land and a claim to any diamonds found on the property.

Applicants with engineering experience are kindly asked to report directly to the Bureau of Mining and Smelting, Hill District, Duskrock. 

Brandt also carries on, the words of the poster reverberating in his mind. What would this mean for his home? What about him?

Inside the establishment, Brandt quickly ordered his regular drink, and waited for Colette, as, he was told, she was with another client at the moment. Not willing to try his luck on the gambling tables, Brandt sat and observed the room. The clientele seemed average enough, but in the far corner, he spotted several individuals in rich winter garb, speaking in a foreign language. Although they had ordered a bottle of the house spirit, they seemed to be little interested in whatever else the establishment had to offer.

After about twenty minutes, Colette descended to the first floor, wearing a green silk dress with a cut on the side to reveal her long legs. She looked astonishing, but also surprised at finding Brandt here. "Oh, good evening dear. What are you doing here? I thought you had to leave. Did you bring me my gun?"