Union! Game Thread

As soon as the group steps outside of Othmar's tent, you are all faced with around twenty soldiers, all with a steely grey shield on their unit patch. Marshall Arcineaux stands behind them, her face as hard as stone. The most remarkable thing you notice though, is that the Arcanist isn't present. Brandt, with your keen eyes, you spot that the edges of her sleeves, though crossed in front of her like an immovable barrier, are soaked with a dark liquid. Tarian and Gyselle, you both intuit based on the Marshall's body language, that she is putting on a brave face, but standing isolated and with crossed arms, you can tell that she is deeply worried about something, but unwilling to show her vulnerability in front of her soldiers, or worse yet, any outsiders.

As you gather, she quickly approaches Othmar, who followed behind you, and says: "There's something I need you for in the East sector. Sergeant Torill will brief you on your way." Othmar looks shocked by her tone, nods and follows along. Gyselle, you can tell by how he reacts that the news are bad, but that it doesn't concern any medical emergency.

As Othmar departs, she faces your group, her steely gaze checking each of your faces. Seemingly satisfied, she speaks in a very controlled manner: "I have some questions for all of you, please follow me into my tent". Seeing all the soldiers around, you know that her asking is simply a show of politeness, and that you have little choice but to obey. Stepping into her tent, you notice that the arcanist is missing there too. Giving a nod to the two soldiers inside, they depart, leaving you and the Marshal alone in her tent.

She takes a few moments to gather your thoughts, before looking at all of you again and asking: "What do you know about my company and I?"

Thia has enjoyed seeing her fellow artificer sport some ink on his face and clothes. And she was content not telling him if he had not noticed. A little humility could be good. She was still aghast over the indifference for the sick and the willingness to flee. It felt cowardly.

And that wouldn't change when Tarian would address her. Thia would look Tarian up and down, from head to toe. Her face would be blank and expressionless, but yet she couldn't stifle the chuff that left her nose. Despite all the chastising and judgment Tarian gave her, here she stood before her battered, bruised and satisfied? Tarian had taken upon herself to be the reckless one. Considering the bandaging she sported, Thia knew it wasn't Othmar's treatment. It may have been distributed by him, but it was obviously instructed by someone who knew what they needed to have ready in advance. Tarian herself. She had planned to pick a fight, seeking out a soldier and to flirt with pain. Had she hoped for more?

Regardless of Tarian's attempt at positivity when she'd confirm that the letters pointed to the source of the Pale Tincture, Thia's mood did not change. In fact, her brows furrowed when her eyes would fall on her outstretched hand. This wasn't the first time Tarian was offering her some form of confirmation, and this wouldn't be the first time Thia wouldn't accept it. Though this time, Thia wouldn't waver in guilt. What did I do? Pass some test to see if I'm good enough to be worthy of assisting her? Thia knew by this point that she had nothing unique to offer the confident warrior. So what changed? This 'success' was not achieved by Thia herself. Thia was selfish and wanted to do it alone. It was thanks to Corti and Gyselle's honest and relentless desire to help. Corti got us in. Gyselle found the key.

Thia hated how much she felt like she had something to prove, it was a drive that frustrated her to her very core. And the pressure only amplified in the presence of confidence and talent. The artificer would take a step forward, as if sizing herself up to Tarian, fighting back the self-doubt bubbling up in her core, knowing she came up short in almost every aspect. What advice could Thia even possibly contribute to Tarian's personal case? She'd be lying if she said she didn't want to help. Her own core values are to assist when or as she can (even though that lead to being branded a terrorist...) But the way Tarian presented the opportunity?, Thia was fighting herself from taking it as an insult.

Her would look back to Tarian, truly searching her eyes to look deep within. The medics expression would harden. "People are still sick and dying Tarian." Thia was firm, trying to drive home her point from the beginning. There was no true success here. A positive, sure. But to Thia, the arcanist was perfecting the strain and she still had no cure or treatment. "I am no one." She'd say flatly. She was no fighter. No sleuth. No negotiator. No consultant. Just a kid.

Upon their exit and being ushered through formalities, Thia kept a firm expression, staying close with Corti. Upon the first briefing outside where the Marshal instructs Othmar, the arcanist's absence obviously didn't go unnoticed by her, and surely not the others as well. Immediately, the artificer grew suspicious and her eyes would search around. She believed she wasn't going to find him here. So then Thia would cast a glance to Brandt before looking to Tarian. She was willing to wager Tarian wasn't the only one who considered fleeing. The redhead would clench her jaw, almost grinding her teeth. She hated these formalities. But would stand still, looking the Marshall up and down, and then following Othmar with her eyes. She better see him again.

Finally, they'd move on once more, this time into the Marshall's tent. Sure enough her pet wasn't there. When the soldiers would depart, Thia would barely wait for her to speak. She'd stride right up to the Marshall, standing much closer than she should, almost nose to nose. Thia checked out a while back. She had very little care left to give. And it was all reserved for the sick and a couple individuals behind her. "Where is he?" The artificer would demand. And if she played dumb, she'd reiterate. "Your pet arcanist." She'd look the marshal hard up and down yet again, this time from up close. Thia's eyes would the shift once again, searching the woman's eyes before her. "I know you're intelligent and bare difficult decisions on your shoulders." Her eyes would narrow. "And I know I don't have the time for your games."

Tarian thought she was used to being subject to others’ wrath, but this time it stung. Perhaps it was too early to really trust anyone. Or maybe it’s me that can’t be trusted. She had been lost in those thoughts when Marshal Arceneaux had asked what they knew about her and her company.

“Ah, yes, ehh,” Tarian looked as though just now noting she was inside the Marshal’s tent. “Wehrd is yeh’ve ambition, and… put the objective fehrst. Yeh wehrked clohse wi’ th’ previous Marshal.”

Pull it together, Tarian.

“Yeh value yehr soldiers, else yeh wouldn’a cobbled setch a crew as what’s in th’ camp, an’ given setch preference t’ yehr Leech in these teymes. An’… yeh’re open about what punishment yeh’re goin’ t’ give an’ why. An’ rumors about you an’ yehr coompany in Duskrock are… less than… keynd…”

Realize where you are, Tarian. And who you’re speaking to.

The stream of speech shuttered to a halt, as though a child was responsible for plugging the dam.

“Or, y’knoh, what Miss Thia said.”

As the group makes their way into the tent, Corti looks around nervously. She takes Thia's arm, almost unconsciously, as the artificer speaks. Thia's outburst had concerned her, Thia hasn't been acting like herself the last couple days. She's been doing so much to help the soldiers here... she must be stretched so thin. Tarian's accent slip only rattles Corti further. This is bad for everyone. She squeezes Tarian's shoulder with her free hand. I need to say something. "Marshal, as my friends here have said, we know you are a dedicated individual, as are we. Our intent has been to help since the moment we set foot in your medical tent." She gestures to the group, "And we- that is, I know you are not the kind of woman to turn down a helping hand in a time of need." She finishes with a hesitant smile, It's a stretch, but we might need a stretch. Her gaze trails to the stains on the Marshal's sleeves, and extends a hand towards her, "I want to help." She repeats.

Gyselle stands near the entrance to the tent, quietly observing and listening to the conversation. Though she is wondering about the source of the blood on Marshall’s clothes and why no one has yet to mention it. 

To answer the Marshal's question, Arc gives her a once over before plainly stating, "Nothing outside what you have already told us or what we've seen." He was content to let the Marshal play out whatever role or explanation she clearly had prepared. However, to help her feel a tad more comfortable, he snapped his finger, and in a moment, the stains, and dirt that was on her uniform disappear as he casted Prestidigitation. He didn't comment on it but did make a motion with his eyes for her to continue with her direction for what she wished to say.

The Marshal looked at you all, before casting her eyes downwards: "I don't know. I don't know where he is." Raising her face, she has a look of determination that you've grown to know all too well. "You're right. I care for my soldiers. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said in return... You met the Crendilian Guard, so you can appreciate when I say that they are ... unruly... at times. They were the tip of the spear of our campaign against Cyre, and I am sure that without them, we wouldn't have won. Unfortunately, they still seem to think that they can use tactics and force to win a peace. When Viktor died, they were the last to follow me, and they have remained suspicious of my path ever since. Now, with us stuck here in Breland, on our way to the peace conference, they are agitated, chafing against guard duty and regular patrols. When Ishmael offered to keep them occupied with some errands, I was glad to delegate. Now, I'm not so sure anymore." 

She swallows hard, and against her better judgement, carries on. "The truth is, my last chance to get to Duskrock in a strong position just evaporated today. Someone killed Captain Dupont of the Imperial Lancers. Her riders were our best hope of finding a way to feed the rest as we progressed, but with her murdered in camp, they will likely refuse to do anything until the guilty are captured and punished... meaning more will get sick, and will die." You can see a shimmer of tears in her eyes, evidently Captain Dupont was a trusted friend.

"I've always trusted Ishmael, but lately he advocated for increasingly risky undertakings, and he has been very agitated about how many of our soldiers were getting sick. He even urged a raid on some of the nearby villagers to get the supplies we needed and push on... With him now nowhere to be found, I fear he may have had a hand in what happened with Dupont. He knows as much as I do that I have no other way to get food for my troops now..." She pauses, letting her words sink in.

"I'm stuck between surrender or war. If we strike camp now, we can go forward only as either refugees or as bandits. But if I decide to surrender my troops, then I'm a woman marked for death, and you're likely facing the entire Crendilian guard roaming the countryside as leaderless brigands. Whoever planned this made sure to leave me no good choices... With your help though, I might have found a way to avoid unnecessary bloodshed. I have written a letter to the Corphyrean Council, asking for them to recognise my force as a delegation for the peace conference. That way I can stave off the cries for raids, by presenting my troops with a new goal. If you could convince the Magistrate of Duskrock of the necessity of this, and get them to send us food and medical supplies along our path for our wounded, then we could make it there without further violence." Her eyes seem to implore you all.

We’re a survey team… with the secret task of delaying Arceneaux from arriving. Isn’t letting these events play out naturally the best outcome for us?

‘People are still sick and dying, Tarian.’ Thia’s words echoed in Tarian’s head. Tarian looked at her empty hands for a moment. It’s… not our job. Helping people you don’t know, just because ‘it’s the right thing…’ And what’s come of that back home, eh? Before I took it upon myself to ‘do the right thing,’ everything was fine. Everyone was happy. I’d be a guard back at home rather than on some trail in charge of folk I barely know…

‘Because any leader, even a good one, is going to have to make the tough choices at some point or another.’ Brandt’s wisdom came unbidden from Tarian’s memory. She sighed, and let her lungs sit empty for what felt like long enough to return to her hometown on foot.

The returning breath was bitter, but clear. “Then… I have mixed news… and a suggestion.” Tarian managed to cover her accent again, but this time, her voice just sounded tired.

She turned to Corti a moment, and nodded toward Arceneaux. “Corti, the notes.”

As Corti handed over the translated letters, Tarian continued. “Your right hand is a spy and a poisoner. I assume you’ll recognize the handwriting. Miss Thia here,” Tarian gestured, “is the doctor who identified his variety of the Pale Tincture poison in Duskrock… and your camp.” Tarian gestured to Arc. “Arc has identified something extra in our communication equipment. Give us time to disable that and then you’ll have time with Magistrate Corsyr without any extra ears listening in. If you let him know about the poison, and Kazzhan, I think he might be more willing to listen to your request. And if you still need to make a show to keep your soldiers in line or if you think Hadrari is somewhere watching,” Tarian bowed her head, “I’m ready for that punishment you said you’d give for getting involved with your troops. In the meantime, please consult with Miss Thia regarding what she’ll need for treating the Pale Tincture.”

Feeling Corti’s hand take her arm, Thia would tense in a new awareness of her demeanour. She’d take a step back to give the Marshall space, resting a hand on the warforge’s. I’m sorry Corti... She’d give her hand a squeeze in apology. This wasn’t the first time, nor did she believe it to be the last, that Corti’s reached out to calm the artificers erratic behaviour. Her nose buried in a book for studies feels like it’d be best for everyone. She was at least more complacent. 

Thia would hang her head in respect for the Marshall’s loss, whispering her condolences beneath her breath as to not interrupt the rest of her announcement. Though, the more she continued to confess, and the more she admitted about Ishmael, the harder it was for the medic to stand there and listen. If he’s our prime suspect, why are we here? Why are we still chatting? Deep down she wanted to trust and believe that the Marshall’s team is already on it, searching for him. If DuPont meant that much to Arsenaulx, the search should be priority. But to Thia, it truly didn’t feel satisfying enough to assume that. And did he take everything from his tent?

Thia’s mind was already moving on to refocusing on the antitoxin. The longer they stood here, the more anxious she got. And more precious time was slipping away from them. The rest of this conversation held no interest to her, mostly because she knew the others would have those logistics covered. She started to tune out, mind racing over her next steps.

Then Tarian would speak up with a bit better resolve than she had prior. Thia would finally glance up to at least lend an ear for her response. It appeared now was the opportune time to play their cards. But when Tarian would so easily present herself for a show, Thia’s teeth would clench and eyes would fall over the already battered and bruised warrior. She was literally asking for it. And now Thia was convinced it was in Tarian’s sights since the beginning. She wanted this. Practically begging for pain and punishment.

The medic would clench and unclench her jaw a few times. She’s heard enough. Again. It was clear her own interests and priorities did not align with their group. Especially Tarian’s. She felt like everything she did bucked against what Tarian desired.

Thia would side glance Tarian and mutter beneath her breath only for her to hear, “Did you brief Othmar for your grand climax?” She’d ask a bit facetiously. The medic’s hand would then find her side, where she absorbed the impact of a blow from the brute. The cracked ribs still ached. Thia spent that whole fight thinking she was protecting Tarian from harm, she even killed the man, when instead... “I’ll refrain from robbing you of any more of your pleasure.” Her eyes would look back ahead and then go blank, losing all emotion behind them.

All Thia wanted to do was leave. She should be with Othmar, or in the Arcanist’s tent. But instead of storming off, she stayed obedient and hated it. She was doing it for Corti. 

The Marshal's eyes went wide at Tarian's revelation: "Poison? That... Did Othmar know?" She looks piercingly at Gyselle, then at Thia. Hearing her chastise Tarian seems to be confirmation enough. "That would explain why the sick just kept getting worse... But Miss Thia,  and Corti, if you say that my forces have been poisoned for weeks, what is there that we can do? What do you need from me and the soldiers?" 

Thinking out loud, she's going through her options: "That bastard knew exactly what he was doing- food is scarce, if I go out there and tell my troops their food has been poisoned, they'll blame you or the surrounding villages. If I toss the stews and pour away our water, I'm sure to have a rebellion on my hand, with the Crendilian guard happily leading any dissenters on a raid of any nearby hamlets. Even more so, if I have no answers for them right now."

She turns to Arc and Tarian: "The device was put there by Ishmael and me, we didn't know whether we could trust you. I see that I missed the real snake for a false one... I'm happy for you to remove the listening device, and would happily take the opportunity to contact the council myself."

Then she looks at Brandt, brooding silently. "I understand you bear no love for the people bearing these colours, but I figure you care for the simple people of Breland, whose villages you passed getting here. I reckon you have experience tracking someone in the wilderness. I would like to use your services to hunt down Hadrari and bring him to me, alive if possible, dead if necessary."

The rapid shifts between thoughts is dizzying to behold, and you're all somewhat unsettled by seeing how her strategic mind shifts from worry about her troops to the implications of the revelation and back again so quickly.

Gyselle withers a bit under the Marshal’s stare but thinks better of responding to her question and speaking for Othmar. As the Marshal’s attention turns to the newcomers, Gyselle becomes very interested in a tuft of grass at her feet and begins toeing at it. 

Arc raises an eyebrow, genuinely impressed by the Marshal's intellectual capacity for strategy and multi-parallel thought. His personal evaluation of the woman rose by a few tiers as he cupped his chin, "While it's not the most stable option.....nor the most reasonable one. I can attempt to instill a wagon and its steeds with a form of speed enhancement, so that they can make runs to the villages for trade. Whilst it won't resolve the current situation, it should buy us enough time to lull over and execute a more proper plan." 

Arc excuses himself from the party and walks over towards the Marshal, passing her and quickly adding a, "Pardon me milady." As he pulls out the map that he and Captain Dupont were looking at earlier. Pointing down at the windmill and village they had passed in the past, "Whilst waiting for the pardon and exoneration from the council, which let's be honest. Can take anywhere between a few days to a few weeks with the current bureaucracy, and even then, you'll be wishing to work from a position of moderate strength. Thus, if you could move your camp to JOIN or implement the windmill, you'll be better provisioned and have the ability to make your own food." He looks back towards the Marshal and the rest of the party, "If anyone else has additional methods or another plan?"

“Well, they do have engineers in the support battalion,” Tarian offered to Arc. “So if you have a plan, the Marshal has the power to implement it. But you might need permission to move the army any further into Brelish territory.”

Tarian tapped her thumb against her jawline in thought. “But even if that solves the food problem in the long term—which I don’t know it will—it won’t solve the short-term food problem. So we’ll have to address the cause or the effect of the poisoning: either find what’s poisoned or find the antidote. Tossing everything that’s poisoned would be the safest option, but there’s little enough here as it is. And since we don’t know how much of what is poisoned yet…”

As Tarian turned to Thia her demeanor became more professional, detached. “Miss Thia, if you had full access to both the materials in Hadrari’s tent and your medical staff,” she indicated Corti and Gyselle, “would that help in developing an antitoxin? Assuming Hadrari didn’t take everything on his way out, that is.”

Her expression eased a bit as she turned to Brandt. “Brandt, would you be willing to go on a manhunt? Would you want resources? Backup?”

Finally she turned to Arc. “Arc, both short- and long-term solutions are needed here. You’ve dealt with large-scale projects like this more than I have—” At the brief look Arc gave, Tarian corrected herself, “Okay, I haven’t. So I know that’s not saying much. But I trust your judgment in what projects to prioritize. Just… try to keep the resources down. You don’t have as much to work with here.”

Arc nods at Tarian giving a small smirk at her praise to his talents, as if such a thing was obvious, but he reins it in, "I am aware of the short term problems, hence why I recommended the modified carriages. If we make them fast enough, we can send a rider to the village we're friendly with to trade for food. Like I was suggesting, it won't sustain the army for long, but it buys us some short term time to take larger actions.....as for the poisoned food, why not attempt to water it down?"

Arc looked over to Thia & the Marshal, "Milady, correct me if I'm wrong, but I assume most of your foods stores to be rations or military supplies yes? Then they're mostly dry goods, so long as it's not the water itself being poisoned, we might be able to dilute and mitigate the effects of the poison why boiling food or simply soaking it in water....that said it reduce the flavor and nutritional value of so we shouldn't rely on such a method to heavily or for to long." He then gives his attention back to Tarian, but motions politely and respectfully towards the Marshal, "If I am to make any more detailed for elaborate plans, I'll need a stock and listing of what we have to work with. Logistics, storage, manpower. The works."

As Arc is talking to the Marshal about diluting the food by boiling it or diluting it in water, Gyselle interjects, “Neither Othmar or myself have gotten sick from the food or water.” She pauses to watch the Marshall’s face as she continues, “I like to think that it’s because someone has been keeping an eye on us. I also have a ritual that I do before every meal that Othmar has taught me. I’m hoping that would help. Even if it doesn’t, do anything to get rid of the poison... a bright cheery smile from someone serving you food couldn’t hurt anything.” purify food and drink Gyselle waits for a response from the Marshall and looks at Arc, hoping she hasn’t offended him by interjecting... 

Thia would keep her eyes straight ahead on the Marshall as she'd share some of her thought processes out loud. And Thia would wait. She'd mimic Brandt's silence and stance with the help of Corti's presence at her side. Her breaths steady.

Arsenaulx may have lost a close friend and a pet today, but is perhaps quickly gaining new ones. When a lull of silence would fall over the tent, and if the Marshal was waiting for her response, Thia would simply gesture one hand towards Arc then the other towards Tarian. The Marshal had all the information beautifully summarized and neatly provided to her along with a healthy range of options presented for her consideration. She had the list of what she needed. There was truly nothing for Thia to add.

"I'd like to get back to work. Am I dismissed?"

Corti tracks the conversation, for the most part staying silent and supporting Thia. After Gyselle's comment, Corti will also cut in, "If worst comes to worst there's always hunting- although I suppose if a water source has been poisoned then the animals around here may have been affected too." If Thia leaves the tent, Corti will say her goodnight to the Marshal and follow.

The Marshal looks at the various proposals, before Thia's question gets her to snap her attention towards the yound medic and the warforged. "Yes, yes- go find Othmar, assist him in whatever way you can. You have free reign of the camp." Without a further word, Thia turns on her heels and heads out, glad to get to work on the patients again.

Turning her attention back to Arc, the Marshal carefully lays out the next steps: "Master Cannith, I am very happy to have your mind on our side- I'm happy for you to take five carts and ten of my engineers to develop carriages, we will need the food of the locals one way or another. I'll also give you five of my lancers to accompany the carriages. I want you to take materials with you both to trade, but also to reinstate the windmill you mentioned, to help the local population and ensure that we can transport their grain in a useful way.

I take it from your suggestions, and yours Specialist  Deephollow, that you are only aware that poison has been used, but you're not yet sure how?

I'm happy to try and have you do what you can to purify the food and the water, Specialist, but under no circumstances are the soldiers to know of the poison. Othmar was wise to keep things under wrap, while trying to find either the source, the cure, or both. They'd likely ignore the warnings due to their hunger anyway. So, that must be our first priority, while finding new sources of food will give us long term flexibility and likely help with the problems of the poison too...

We tried hunting, but the hills here are sparse, and with our underfed mares, the toll on the horses is too great. But the only sure way to secure enough for my force is through the local villages. I have a problem there though, one of a political nature. My funds are very limited, and the majority of the soldiers here are fighting with the guarantees of a fallen government behind them. We have some steel and other goods we can trade for the food, but beyond that, our means are limited. If Master Cannith could manage to extend us a credit, or if we could receive one from the Corphyrean Council in recognition of a peaceful future for the Garronian provinces, we could get coin to pay for our food as well. This could also go a long way in helping to keep the more fanatical of my troops at bay until we safely arrive before the council."

As Thia takes her leave from the tent, she’d pause at Brandt’s side. She’d place a hand on his forearm, leaning in to whisper for only him to hear, “If you decide to hunt, I’m going with you.” The medic would give his arm a gentle squeeze. “Come for me if you do.” She’d then take her leave. The artificer was speaking for herself, but deep down knew Corti would most likely come too. And Thia wanted that. She didn’t trust anyone else to look out for Corti now.

Thia would head to the arcanist tent first. 

Gyselle makes her way over to the camps food stores and seek out whomever is on duty at the moment.

”Othmar says my cooking for he and I is quite excellent and I was hoping you would allow me to prepare a delicious meal to help raise everyone’s spirits.” She looks hopeful at the individual in charge.