Union! Game Thread

Tiberius gave Arc a feverish look, his eyes burning with intensity: “A new code for the crystal core, a new set of laws- I’ve been working all night on these. We need to test them- time is of the utmost urgency, as we need to finish our units in time for the expedition. Volten is convinced it’d secure the family as a player on the council, but he doesn’t understand how dangerous it’d be if we sent them now, as they are.” Arc’s concern grew, as his uncle was speaking rapidly, jumping from one idea to the next, even mid-sentence. 

Despite the growing concern in the back of his mind, Arc pushed for details, "A danger how? Uncle, is this related to our interaction with...the unshackled awaken unit back at the tavern?"

"It's a long story that involves lots of details that would probably not be appropriate to discuss here and now. Let's just say for the moment that there was a communication breakdown." Brandt says, preempting Thia's question of whether he is responsible for what just occurred. "Is it salvageable, or is he going to have to get it amputated?"

“What?! I met one of them? I... I’m afraid I don’t recall”, the feverish glow had dimmed, giving way to confusion and vulnerability, “I feel like my mind is coming apart at the seams sometimes. The research, it’s so... stimulating, that I end up losing myself, brother always says.” As if trying to shake the mood, Tiberius shakes his head, and when steadying his gaze on Arc, the sheen had returned.

”If this doesn’t go well, our name and business would be ruined. But worse, the war could start anew. Before I continue, has Volten told you of his Bear Expedition?” Tiberius seemed eager to talk, but something about the current topic still made him hesitate.

Tarian pulled the locket from her coin purse, opened it, and set it portrait-side down. “I’m hoping I can find the goldsmith who made this piece. Hopefully they can tell me who it was made for. I couldn’t find anything that might look like a maker’s mark, though, and I checked pretty thoroughly inside and out.”

Villamov reached for the locket to take a closer inspection, but Tarian cupped her gauntlet over it, leaned forward, and spoke slowly. “I’d really prefer you didn’t look inside, but if you think looking inside is the only way to know more, then you do what you have to. Just know that the person who entrusted this to me died soon after. I don’t know for sure if this knowledge and that death are related, but I can’t say for sure my life isn’t already at risk.” Tarian patted the sword at her side. “I don’t carry this around for show, after all.”

That said, Tarian slowly removed her hand from the pendant and slid it, still face down, slightly closer to Villamov. She straightened her posture, folded her arms, and waited for Villamov’s next move.

Arc traces through every memory he had of the man, but couldn't recall him ever speaking to Arc of a Bear Expedition. "I'm afraid to say he's never mentioned it. Might I ask you to explain what it is? And what it has to do with the war?"

Villamov gave her a quick nod, before grasping the locket, and, with the lid closed, started turning it around and inspecting it through a watchmaker’s lens, muttering along as he kept examining the piece.

”Solid gold, not plated. Likely dwarven or gnome- made. The engraving is precise, reminiscent of ante-bellum styles, but the groves are too precise for that. The emblem on the back is imperial, and the laurels, olive, sword, and torch are old symbols of authority, wealth, judgement, and wisdom.” As he inspected the decoratively engraved initials, he drew a sharp breath. “Is this a joke? Or a test of my knowledge? I will not be made a fool.”

He looked at Tarian angrily, expecting a response.

It's good that they've gotten this stabilized a little. Hopefully Thia and I will be able to find what we need. Corti hovered around Thia as soon as she emerged from the back room, at least until Brandt comes. She notices Thia's proud look and sees her carrying the bag, and wonders if she managed to get the bag to work. Corti looks curiously at Brandt and the kobold as they walk through, but instead of following them into the back room, she wanders over to the two new patients.

"Hello! Did you two come in last night?" She wants to check in with them and see how they're holding up, and if they've heard about the cause of their disease.

“If this is a joke, then we’ve both been played the fool.” Tarian leveled her gaze at Villamov, returning his cold gaze with one equally icy. “The man who gave this to me is dead, Mister Villamov. And not by some random accident. Someone with a great deal of resources went through a great deal of trouble to eliminate him. As far as I know, all of his associates are dead, also under ‘mysterious’ circumstances. The way I figure it, the orchestrator of these murders is probably either the commissioner of this piece or an enemy of theirs. I need to know who they are.” Tarian jabbed the counter with each syllable of her final sentence.

In the silent gap while Villamov considered her statement, Tarian quietly, reluctantly, added, “If you don’t know, maybe the art style on the portrait would help.”

“‘Communication breakdown’ eh...” Thia would muse as she reviews the Kobold’s wounds. She’d fall silent. Her eyebrows would raise and then furrow, and her expression would suddenly harden. She wasn’t reacting to Mendraxe’s fainting, she was reacting to the wound. It reopened and he’s begun to bleed out.

Swearing under her breath, Thia would call out in an uncharacteristically demanding tone “I need that equipment and another set of hands here now!” She’d lift a hand in the air and snap her fingers before pointing to her passed out patient on the table. The attendant she sent to fetch her clean cloths, tools and water begins rushing over, fumbling a little bit at the sudden urgency. As the orderly sets out the equipment, Thia takes advantage of her unconscious patient and manhandles him by his clothes, sliding him around on the table so he’s laying flat and perpendicular to her with his bleeding hand held to the table over his head. “Keep it elevated above the heart.” She’d grab the assistants hand and have them apply a clean cloth with pressure to the wound, “Keep the pressure!”

With a flurry, Thia would begin snatching up supplies to prepare for a worst case scenario.  She’d provide her assistant with additional cloths to press to the wound if the blood continues to pool into the previous one and have a tourniquet by his forearm at the ready. “If the bleeding doesn’t slow soon we’re going to have to use a tourniquet to cut the blood flow.” She’d bite her lip in anticipation while she’d ready some cleaning and disinfecting supplies next to the patients head. ”I can’t clean the wound or determine any dying or dead tissue until this bleeding is under control.”

Brandt backed up to give some room for Thia while she treated Mendraxes. It's not that he particularly cared too much for Mendraxes (he didn't) or thought that he could help, he couldn't after all, he was in the business of hurting people, not fixing them up, but he wanted to see Thia in action before they went off on a mission together. And he liked what he saw. Thia proved rather effective, showing that she could not only get serious when the occasion called for it, but also take command of the situation. Smart kid. Brandt thought, smirking imperceptibly.

Villamov looked slightly taken aback, and then added, as part apology, part explanation: "These initials, they are the signature of Nathanael Theocaris Lorren, Duke of Ganovar and Brother to the Emperor, Hamid Lorren Belmoukdar I. It appears on other pieces I have here, like imperial plates and silverware." With some hesitation, he opens the locket, and looks at the picture inside. Though significantly younger, he immediately recognises the picture as showing a young Tarian. "How... how is it possible that your picture is inside this locket?" 

He studied the portrait a few minutes, until satisfied that the portrait had not been changed, and that this was indeed the true piece. "Just to make sure and to avoid any mix-up... What is your full name? I want to be sure that the initials couldn't be yours."

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Corti hears Thia's commands, and before getting a response from the two patients, hurries back to her friend.

Getting used to her style of operating, the orderly rushes close with the requisite supplies, and with the guidance of Thia, applies pressure to Mendraxes' wound. Soon, the bleeding stops, and Thia inspects the wound, carefully.

"Looks like you nicked an artery there... I'll need to tie that off, before I can take the bullet out and splint the wrist. It's not going to be easy, but I think I can save his hand." With that, Thia began the preparations for the procedure. She'd have to tie of the artery with some thread, then clean and open the wound, extracting the bullet, and lastly splinting the wrist to aid in the bones healing. 

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Tiberius gave Arc a long, unsure look. "I don't think I should tell you, if Volten hasn't let you in on the project yet. It was his idea after all, I'm not sure he'd be happy if I told people without his permission..." He sounds like he could be persuaded. Arc can however also glean some notes related to the project on the writing desk, and might be able to get more information from them, if he could get his hands on them somehow.

Arc feels a surge of curiosity and he makes a few steps parallel to his Uncle, "Uncle, you know your brother best. You do realize he's simply utilizing your gifts and crafts for the sake of furthering his own agendas. You alone are the reason our family can even be considered of significance to the rest of the aristocracy and hold any power over the present world. If you wanted to, I'm sure you could even take control of the family." Arc then looks out at the room, making a small wave to it with his hands, "Yet you chose to remain here, were people like us are happiest. At the center of your world, were you and your mind are allowed to work, unperturbed. Without unnecessary distractions. Free to work on what you desired. Yet, Volten for all his relation to you, simply uses the achievement and glory of your creations, allowing it to curry him power, while knowing you won't oppose him, squander in the background." He then looks back at his Uncle, placing a hand on his shoulder, "You are more than just my Uncle. When my own mark manifested, you took me in and treated me as not only your pupil, but a son. Where as my own father, cast me away and similarly to you, locked my away from the public in isolation, out of fear for what we could do."

The evident disdain is barely hid in Arc's voice, as the passion within his mind bubbles up and bleeds into his mind and words, "You are my master, my Uncle, and more of a father to me than the one who calls himself such. If you wish to keep on this path of the craft you love, I will respect it...however, sadly your brother's blood does run in my veins. I refuse to sit idle while he decides the course of my family's life. Especially when he does so with so little care for the wake he makes to not only his own blood, but the larger world." He looks deep into his Uncle's eyes, his own mark flaring slightly with passion as he ignores the usual restraint he exhibits. "Tiberius Aurelius Cannith. As both your pupil, and someone who shares your mark and passion for the work and legacy we are to leave on this world....do you trust me?"

“Rhydderch. It’s Tarian Rhydderch. So obviously not my initials, right? This has to be someone else. I’m one initial short, and just the T in common. Whoever she is, she looks an awful lot like me, though.” Tarian’s uncertain insistence made her shudder as cold sweat beaded on the back of her neck. “I mean, you’d think I’d remember sitting for a portrait like this. I had too much energy to be sitting still for that long.”

Tarian ransacked every dark recess of her mind, searching for a time when she had her portrait painted. Her mother had done some sketches of her in her notebook, alongside drawings of different plants of medical value. Yet those were line drawings, and never so small as to fit in a locket.

“So, Mister Villamov, the NTL makes sense now. Anything else you can tell me?” Tarian briefly glanced at the walls behind Villamov, laden with objects that even the cheapest of which Tarian couldn’t afford with the scant leavings in her coin purse. “I can’t say I can make it worth your while. The gratitude of a Docklands freelancer is about all I can afford right now.” Tarian shook her head. “And maybe that of the Dragoons’ Third Column, if there’s any left.”

Villamov gave her a glare, as Tarian mentions the Dragoons: “I apologise for the anger, but although I live here now, I am a Zhivargo at heart, and seeing what those Brutes did to my beautiful Magnidhzan... But of course you had nothing to do with that.” With a short jerking motion, he shook the bad thoughts out of his mind.

”The locket is still a puzzle though- and how an imperial item such as this would fall in the hands of a Dragoon? I mean, it’s possible that it was plundered, but the picture inside makes that unlikely... Beyond thst, you say that the man who gave you this was dead now, which also indicates more than just plunder.”

He remained silent for a while, pondering the implications. Then, abruptly, he changed the topic of concersation. 

”As far as paying me back, there’s something you could help me with, in the near future. In fact, you are particularly well placed for this. No doubt you hear of some of the events going on back home, and well, being a merchant, I have a certain network, so I have contacts both here and in the North. While I support the worker’s cause for liberty and self-government, the civil war is destroying much of my country’s rich culture and it’s art pieces. Many of the items on display here have been rescued already, but with the growing involvement of Breland in Zhivarg affairs, the free import of goods such as these is increasingly difficult. Having someone in the docks who could help me unload some cargo away from the eyes of the Broadsters or the magistrate would be highly appreci, not only by me, but by generations of people following us- for they still get to enjoy the beauty of these relicts. All I’d need is information on movements and maybe a palm or two greased, when the next shipment is expected.”

Tiberius looked at Arc, eyes wide in astonishment: “I... I guess you’re right. And I do. But why do you ask? Do you think that the expedition could be against our interests?”

"I only know, that it would be unwise to trust Volten blindly. If you can detail me on what it is he's told you, I'm sure we can both piece together his intentions and the repercussions of them."

(should I roll something for this?)

Corti straightens at Thia's shout and makes a quick apology to the patients before running to meet her. Corti pulls up short as she enters the room, taking in the scene in front of her. She watches Thia preparing for, and sees the concentrated look on her face. She looks to Brandt and nods, noiselessly offering help. She walks closer to Thia, and without really thinking about it, pulls her lute in front of her. She begins to play a soft song as Thia prepares, hoping to sooth her before the procedure. 

"Brandt, could you pin his shoulders down for me, in case he regains consciousness?" Thia would look up to Brandt. "I give you permission to knock him out if you must." She'd then look to see Corti who joined them. A huge smile would grow across her face when she'd begin strumming her lute.

Thia would close her eyes to listen to Corti's tune, allowing it to inspire her and calm her nerves. And with that, medical tools in hand, she would begin the procedure on the kobolds wrist. First she'd tie off the artery with some thread. Swapping tools out for some alcohol, she'd use it to disinfect the wound and her tools again. Now with a clean wound, she'd reach in to begin extracting the bullet. "Hopefully it didn't shatter... then we can move on to splinting." She'd mutter under her breath.

Brandt accepts Corti's help and holds down Mendraxes. 

Athletics: 20