Union! Game Thread

To be honest, Brandt hadn't been to his home since leaving for the war and he hadn't had much contact with his family, save for a few letter to remind them that he hadn't died in the war. He didn't suppose that they'd be too proud of the man their son became during the war, or the fact that he spent a not insignificant portion of his time after it with courtesans. But still, when he saw that his home was being opened up to those of goblinoid or orcish ancestry, his primary thought was that the new arrivals better behave. His fellow Q'barrans might not have his aim, but they were still good shots.

When he got to the Velvet Gloves, he patiently waited for Colette and was stunned when she arrived in a revealing green dress"Not yet. I've got tonight and then I got to head off tomorrow morning. We wouldn't do much good traveling anyway, the Cannith kid got himself good and drunk this evening. He was kinda sad at the meeting, looked like his dog just died. But I didn't come here to bore you with details about him." He remembers Mendraxes and the ordeal this morning when she brings up the gun.  "That should be taken care of soon, I think." If the little shit keeps his word.

"Thank you so much. I know I keep going on about it, but I just don't feel safe in Duskrock anymore, and that would certainly help. Anyway, I don't want to bore YOU with ancient history. How can I take your mind off tomorrow?"

Colette's words make Brandt feel a little bit bad about not being able to get her the gun sooner. And it makes him recall his encounter this morning with those goons and he once again thinks that Mendraxes better stick to his word or he might not be so lucky the next time Brandt sees him. He unstraps his rapier and hands it to her. "Take this in the meantime and remember what I taught you. It's not a gun, but it should do until then. I'm not much of an up close and personal guy anyway." If she was still too concerned about him to take it, he'd show her the dagger on his belt, to prove that he wouldn't be totally screwed if someone got up close to him. "But I can think of a few things we can do to take my mind off tomorrow." He says, indicating to her that they should go upstairs.

"Not up close and personal, ey?" She said, with a wink, before accepting the rapier and taking Brandt's hand, leading him upstairs to one of the free rooms.

Arc eventually, to avoid being manhandled or otherwise lectured by one of the two women beside him, drinks some water. He gives Tarian a 'are you happy now?' look, and sighs, massaging his face, "Tarian, Thia, as much as I appreciate your desire to help, I'll be fine. I just....this task will help me take my mind off my problem, so don't worry about me. I'll do my part."

Thia would look to Arc questionably, "I wasn't questioning you. You're a grown adult." She'd look to the water, "I was questioning the water. People are being poisoned. That's what I wanted to update you guys on."

Tarian swirled the jug around. “This? This is just water.” Tarian took a long swig straight from the jug. “See? Plain, straight water.” She set the jug down and thumbed at Arc. “They do serve poison here, but the type of poison they serve is called alcohol. Alcohol’s usually a pretty weak poison, though; it takes a lot to kill most people. You can boost your resistance to the poison by eating beforehand, pacing yourself, and drinking plenty of water.”

Tarian looked at Arc a moment, took careful note of his complexion and state of his eyes, before returning her gaze to Thia. “Now, I dunno if Mister Cannith has done the first, but he’s not doing well with the second, so I’m just trying the third method.” Tarian returned to Arc for a moment. “If you want your head to hurt in the morning, you just go right on drinking the way you have, but you’re dulling your greatest tool, Mister Arc Cannith.”

Tarian leaned one elbow on the table and pulled off her gauntlets. “There’re other little clues that could tell you this water’s probably not poisoned. First, this seems a fairly reputable establishment. None of the other clientele are poisoned, so the poison wouldn’t be coming from the staff or the Rooster’s water sources. Word travels quick among mercenaries, and they don’t get too attached, so they wouldn’t be regulars at an unsafe pub. Second, if it was me that poisoned it, then why would I do that here and now, with plenty of credible witnesses in this room and downstairs who could point to me as the culprit? Third, I believe I mentioned I’ve done apothecary work. That includes knowledge of a variety of poisons. ‘Poisons are the predecessors to medicine,’ they say. I couldn’t knowingly administer someone else’s poison for the same reason I wouldn’t administer my own here: I’d be too obvious a suspect.”

Tarian briefly looked to Arc. Her face held a mix of emotions: possibly pity, empathy, hope—the mélange of emotions was hard to separate. “Besides, I’ve no reason to bring harm. He’s not all that bad.” Tarian leaned over the table and rested her chin on the back of her hand. “But if you say someone’s poisoning people out there, that means that someone has it in for someone else. What all do you know?”

Thia would blink, then sigh. She’d rub her face in her hands and just walk around, pacing in a circle. “Of course, you know all. How silly of me to be concerned in the moment.” She’d mutter before grabbing the paper she had this morning and tossing it onto the table.

”Look. You told me those people I was treating were a waste of time. Well I diagnosed the specific strain of poison they’re being poisoned with.” And now that I have, you’re suddenly on top of it... “The night I do, it comes out in the paper the next day.” she’ll point to it in the paper. “I think it’s pretty obvious if someone’s poisoning a large population of people, they’d have it out for someone.” Her brows would furrow at the obvious point Tarian made.

Thia would open her mouth to speak again but would know better and not bother at this point. She’d just swat her hand like swatting away what she’d say.

"Tarian dear, that was what I was aiming for. I need to not think right now....or at least think about something else." Arc sighs nad pushes the drink aside, knowing that she was right, even if he wasn't happy about it.

Lucky enough for him though, the next topic of conversation had the ability to occupy his mind. Arc raised an eyebrow at the subject of people being poisoned, "If you don't mind me asking, who or what group of people are being poisoned?"

Thia would look to Arc, "Cyrean refugees." She'd take a breath and look to Tarian, then back to Arc. "It's a well designed poison called Pale Tincture." The student would pull out her and Corti's notes from the night before and lay them out side by side on the table. "Corti came forward with a Shivering Sickness diagnosis. It matched all the patients symptoms. Except, we can heal that." She'd gesture to the comparison notes. "When you compare those symptoms to those affected by Pale Tincture, they are practically identical. The defining feature in order to confirm this diagnosis is the condition of the liver." Thia would point to the liver sketches. "The autopsy revealed a marmored liver, confirming poison."

"......" Arc looks over the notes and nods along with Thia's explanation, "...any leads or suspects thus far?" His gaze is still passionless, but he's focused, or at least not thinking about whatever caused him to try drinking earlier.

"That's where my expertise is non existent." Thia would gesture to Tarian. "Tarian's better suited to answer that. She's probably figured that out while I explained the poison. Honestly, my next step is to work on an antitoxin."

Tarian’s expression tautened and her brow knotted deeper and deeper as she read through the notes. On occasion she would shake her head, narrow her eyes and run her finger slowly along a line or two multiple times before moving on. It quickly became clear that she always revealed all her knowledge, and when it seemed she knew more than she let on, that was the carefully crafted façade.

“I know a few things about Pale Tincture. I can help with an antitoxin if you want. I don’t think that’s going to solve the problem, though.” Tarian stacked the papers she read and slid them away from her. “The thing about Pale Tincture is that it’s difficult to produce. The components are tough to cultivate and the manufacturing process is lengthy. It’s costly per dose. And… the Cyreans? You mean… that whole church was…?” Tarian leaned back and covered her eyes as she stared at the ceiling. “Even with an inefficient partial dose—and maybe with partial dosing, that might explain the inconsistent rate of affliction—that’s still a lot of Pale Tincture to go around.” Tarian started a tally with her fingers, and stopped when she finished her hand. “Yeah. You know all that money that this whole group is going to get from this mission? Increase it tenfold and you still won’t have enough to buy just the ingredients to make that much poison yourself.”

Tarian sat upright, looked to Thia and shook her head. “If you’re looking for culprits, you’re looking for someone with a lot of resources. The poisoner themselves is probably someone—or maybe multiple someones—hired. I don’t think someone with the resources to make this sort of… eradication happen is going to do it themselves.” Tarian tapped her thumb on her chin. “No, maybe they might supply the poison directly, and give it to someone who would administer it unknowingly… Food lines, and the like. Well, if they’re growing the ingredients themselves, it wouldn’t be out of the question for them to have land, and they might have other ingredients which…” Tarian’s speech devolved into mutterings as she tried to reason out who might be behind the poisoning. Hints of a rural Brelish accent crept into her voice as her focus went solely to the problem at hand.

At last, she stopped, staring at the floor. She tapped her temple with her thumb and shook her head. “I couldn’t say for sure who it is. It’s a person or organization with a good amount of resources and reason to want Cyreans dead, or suffering at the very least. There’s too many people and organizations with that level of resources—the Canniths, for instance—not that I’d actually think you’d do anything like this—“ Tarian quickly corrected herself. “Too many to sort through. And as far as people who would want Cyreans dead, well, the wounds of war are still too fresh. I’m sure we could find any number who still don’t look too kindly on Cyre or her citizens. And the number of people who’d gain politically from this is too big, too. I think I might need more information.” Tarian stood and stretched. “Or maybe, at the least, a night to think on it.”

Tarian walked over to Thia and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Look, about what I said at your hospital: I didn’t mean they were a waste of time. I just meant that you’re not a waste of time, either. And if you don’t look out for yourself, you won’t be able to look out for anyone else, either.” She gave a sharp glance at Arc. “That goes for you, too.” Her hand dropped from Thia’s shoulder. “Anyway, what I mean is… sorry.”

Thia would tense when Tarian would touch her. She still felt on the defensive. Although she knows Tarian means well as she speaks aloud, there are just assumptions being made on her behalf that rubs her the wrong way. Thia wanted to appreciate the apology, but truth was she didn't right now.

I feel like I'm being chastised by a teacher telling me what they know what is best for me. It's obviously unpopular opinion in this room to put those in need first. A sigh would escape her lips while she gets trapped in her own thoughts. I never assumed me making an antitoxin will solve the worlds problems. But at least it'll defend us against it if we came into contact with it. At least I could arm the church with some. I know I'm a pawn in this game of thrones. I hold no power. I also know that in this room right now, I'm obviously the most naive and do not bring unique knowledge to this table. She'd ball her hand into a fist, digging her nails into her palm. When you're done with the pity party Munchkin, you can join us. Thia could hear the words of her father chastise her this time. She'd release her fist, only leaving indents this time. Don't be childish. But it's exactly what she'll be.

Thia will brush passed, grab her own glass of strong spirits, lift it up in a cheers before chugging it back and setting it down on her own notes, smearing them. "Here's another dumb thought before bed then. What about the Spudster farm?" She'd pour herself a second glass, not caring if she splashes, before holding it up again to tip it in a farewell. "Goodnight." Thia would grab her new bag of holding that she was was proud of only a few hours ago, figuring this too is nothing special, and drags it into a separate room. She'd go to kick the door closed behind her, but it doesn't click shut.

It's been a long day... Thia would just plop herself in the middle of the floor. She'd place her bag on her lap and just trace the runes with her finger. She'd brush across a stain. Blood always stains. She'd take a drink.

Tarian sat at the table again, next to her pack. “You see?” she started, half to herself. “This is exactly what I was saying about me being a poor negotiator and us needing a different leader.” She looked to Arc for confirmation. “You think so too, right? You’ve seen me work. I thought I had made a pretty fair assessment: people skills are… not me.”

Tarian leaned back and stared at the door that would lead her out of the room, and possibly out of the Golden Rooster. Without thinking her hand slipped into her coin purse and she pulled out the locket and popped it open. Her gaze shifted to the image in her hand. Not that I know who I am anymore. Or who this is.

“If you decide you want another leader, Mister Cannith, she’s vote number two. It won’t be hard to find a third.”

Tarian looked at the empty space where the glass Thia took had been, and Arc’s emptying glass. For a moment Tarian considered getting herself something strong to drink. That Loch Morat sounds pretty good right about now.

Thinking about the brandy reminded Tarian that there was another drink offered at Old Shields: Marway Mash, from the Spudsder estate. ‘What about the Spudsder farm?’ Thia’s implication echoed.

Well, I have to admit, he has the resources. Production, hiding, and distribution of Pale Tincture would be simple enough. He said he wanted political power, and saving an underclass from a problem no one knew he created would certainly give him political leverage. Add to that some rather dubious business connections… Yeah, I can’t rule out the Spudsders. Add to that his sudden disappearance, right about the time that the ‘sickness’ came to light in the paper…

Tarian sighed. She snapped the locket closed and slipped it back into her coin purse, then grabbed the water jug and drank a great deal of it. She set it back on the table with a heavy thud. “I won’t make you drink any more water. You’re free to do as you will. I’ve… done enough damage for tonight.” Tarian grabbed her gauntlets and pulled them on.

Arc gave Tarian a sad smile, "I've met lots of people with people skills, many more without. Trust me, you're not as bad as you think. And even if you were, you're recognizing it, which is leagues better than half of most people who have rods up their butts." Arc gave a small chuckle, recalling many of the faces from the higher courts and many more from the lower ones, "...that being said." He pours out a glass for the two of them, "Since you're finally in a drinking mood, I shalln't let you drink alone." He raises his own glass, and with a sarcastic smirk, adds. "To our mutual misery I suppose." He politely clinks his glass against the one he poured for Tarian, "Cheers."

(guess I'll make a CON save since he's been drinking on/off for a while now XD)
CON save: 22

Thia, you’re so sensitive. She’d sip her drink as she stares at her bag alone in her room. No one’s going to want to stay if you keep pushing them away. His voice would continue to echo in her mind.

”Shut up. You’re dead.” Thia would mutter aloud trying to remind herself that the words of her father were just memories of a simpler time. She has to tell herself he’s dead so she stops trying to search for them. “Pity party for 1.” She’d cheers to herself and lean to the side to peek through the crack in the door. “At least when Arc and Tarian have theirs, they’re in good company, together.” The student would sigh and sprawl out on the ground, spread like a starfish, staring up at the ceiling. 

It’ll never be enough... I’ll never do good enough. Thia would hold her hands up away from her face to inspect them. No ones special. Stop expecting to be. She’d take her time to sit up again. Just do what’s expected of you.

Thia would absentmindedly start pulling materials and books from her bag, sprawling things out like she usually does when she studies. She’d free her tools from her belt and begin tinkering away.

It’s my turn to apologize.

The morning was overcast, bathing the city in a strange dawn penumbra. Tarian, Arc, and Corti all make their way to the meeting place from the Golden Rooster after a quick breakfast. Arc certainly feels one or two of the drinks yesterday, and Thia seems like she stayed up most of the night.

Brandt makes his way over from the Velvet Glove, almost buoyant. Corti already awaited them, standing next to a covered wagon bearing the logo of the Corphyran Rail Company. Next to Corti stood a diminutive gnome, with a red beard and shoulder long matted brownish- red hair. “Good day all. Name’s Njalgas, I’ll be yer coach driver fer this ‘ere expedition. I was told ta inform ye that I’m also the one responsible to contact Sparks on a regular basis with the telelith.” As he says this, you notice an apparatus about the size of a suitcase, with dials and a fist- sized jet, black piece of rock with circular runes around it. Seeing Arc and Thia’s interest in the apparatus, Njalgas explains: “This is a piece of technology Sparks developed a year ago. Would have done wonders in the war. The stone is calibrated to an identical set here in Duskrock’ with Mr Sparks’ offices. This apparatus allows us to transmit short messages over long distances. If yer interested, I can show ye how it works once we’re outside of the city. Now, lets get going.”

With that, he helps to load the party’s personal effects into the wagon, next to the geological survey kit and the medical supplies already stored there. Once everything is packed, he helps everyone take a seat in the wagon, and then invites Tarian up to the front. “Boss said yer the leader. Where d’you want us to head to?”

Tarian hefted herself onto the driver’s bench alongside the gnome. “Right, yes. Leader. Me. I am the leader.” Tarian sighed and pointed forward. “Toward the Silver Straight, then. Fehr… sehrvey things, I suppohse.”

Tarian considered Njalgas. Doesn’t he know where we’re going? Perhaps he’s just a driver, then. He might not know about the other mission. Which means he could be a liability should we run into trouble. Tarian thought about the odd suitcase device they were shown. Or he could be trouble if he’s an informant and this Corphyran Rail Company is some sort of front business. Mister Sparks has resources enough to fund this expedition, plus research and development on devices like the telelith, so he could have what it takes to fund a mass poisoning with Pale Tincture. If he could magic up an invention that seems to solve the ‘disease,’ he could gain the political support he needs, maybe even without negotiating with the Marshals. Then he’d have control over a high-speed trade route and… money and power, I guess.

Tarian wanted to lean forward with her elbows on her knees and rest her chin on her hands. Experience told her that riding on a wagon, even on the driver’s bench, was not good for that position, so instead Tarian fidgeted awkwardly then leaned against the seat back and folded her arms. Thia’s poisoning problem rankled her, and Tarian still hadn’t come up with enough information to call a pursuable lead.

I have too many problems running at once. ‘You chase two rabbits, you catch neither.’ Tarian fished in her coin purse for the locket. I need to decide which case I’m going to be pursuing, or I’m going to lose the leads on both. The locket sat prominently in her purse amongst three lonely coins. Tarian turned to Njalgas abruptly.

“Mister Njalgas, you wouldn’t happen to have our advance payment from Mister Sparks among the supplies there, would you? Because if not, we might have to make a trip to the Company office before we go.”

Thia would take her seat in the wagon, placing her bag on her lap. She'd yawn with an exaggerated stretch before slumping in her seat. The student would rub her eyes then pull her jacket hood up over her head and in front of her eyes. She'd cross her arms in front of her over her bag and close her eyes for the ride.