Union! Game Thread

“’Near future’ is going to have to be a little more ‘future’ than ‘near,’ Mister Villamov. I’ve got work that will be taking me out of town for a while.” Tarian took back the locket and snapped it shut. “But gathering information is one of the many things I do, so I’ve no problem with that when I make it back.”

Tarian stopped and corrected herself. “If I make it back. If you’re right about this locket being of Imperial origin…”

That could explain the organization level and coordinated attacks on the Dragoons. Plus, they might already have all the information on where the Dragoons would be located. A cleanup. If that’s the case, then either Duke Nathanael Theocaris Lorren or Emperor Hamid Lorren Belmoukdar I could somehow be related to this. I should stay away from any of their strongholds while I’m out.

“Do you know of any places the Duke or Emperor might have frequented? I’d like to avoid approaching their strongholds if I can. Or at least I’d like to be prepared if I must.” Tarian flipped over the locket in her hand. “I’m not a big fan of the Dragoons, either. Every time they’ve shown up in my life, things take a turn for the worse.” She looked to Villamov, and held the locket next to her face. “I don’t want this to be the final turn.”

 As Tarian listens to Villamov's explanations, it dawns on her that the battle standard behind the counter is that of the First Imperial Lancers "Black Horse" Regiment, which had served as imperial body guards, but also more recently to break up protests and for some massacres in the growing Zhivarg civil war.

As far as she knew, the emperor lived in Zhivarg exile, as most of his forebears had done since the days of empress Jasmeen Lorren Elamer. As far as the Duke went though, he was the Emperor's brother, but officially the Duke of Ganovar, a formerly rich and fertile agricultural region in Garronia, close to the Zhivarg border. She had however no clue as to whether the Duke was also living in exile, or whether he had taken a more active role in the war, as some of the royal kin had been known to do. Though the emperors' last name- Belmoukdar- probably meant that they also had blood ties to the Silver shields, who had last been active on the Northern front against Thrane, though she knew of no further details about what became of the mercenary unit since the ceasefire started.

Villamov just looked at her, and in the light of her revelations about planning to leave the city, he simply says: "If you're staying within Brelish borders, then the Duke shouldn't pose a threat."

Persuasion: 21

“Alright, well,” Tarian started, and tucked the locket back to sit amongst the handful of coins that remained in her coin purse, “I’ll check in when I get back.” Tarian waved over her shoulder to Villamov as she stepped through the door back into the Souk.

Tarian gnawed on a chicken skewer she bought after her visit to Villamov as she wandered from the Souk toward Uptown. It was heavily spiced, overcooked, and the skewer threatened to leave splinters in her tongue. Still, it was better than an empty belly.

A duke well beyond Brelish borders, hm? And the possessors of the locket assassinated, though the duke’s power shouldn’t extend this far. Villamov didn’t think the Dragoons looted the locket, despite obviously not liking them. So, if Villamov, who hates the Dragoons, think they didn’t simply plunder it in war, then the odds of them obtaining it legitimately are high. If they obtained it legitimately, then…

Wait. Sergeant Riley said something about Captain Hector should have killed me, but didn’t. If they got it legitimately, that could mean they had orders to kill me to begin with. If that’s the case, then aren’t these murders just doing me a favor? Maybe Falcon’s right, and I’m kicking a hornet’s nest, and for no reason, at that.

Of course, ‘could mean’ doesn’t mean ‘does mean.’ Maybe their orders were just the opposite. If the locket was received legitimately, why would a duke have a picture of me, or someone who looks uncannily like me, kept in an expensive locket like this, only to have them killed?

Well, whoever is having the Dragoons killed might know the answer to that. And Davin Pendrell might know who that is.

Tarian threw her skewer at a burlap sack half-laden with a tavern’s leavings, waiting to be collected by the patrols of waste collectors. The skewer lanced into the sack and stuck there.

Off to Old Shields.

Together, Corti, and Brandt manage to assist Thia with the operation, and she is able to tie off the artery, extract the bullet fragments, before splinting the wrist. Mendraxes will be out for a while, but his wrist will heal and he’ll regain mobility in most of his fingers.

The tension in Thia's body would finally ease as she finishes splinting the patients wrist. Now complete, Thia would give Brandt a pat on the shoulder and may have left a bloody hand print on his jacket "Thank you. You can let him go now. He'll be out for a little bit, but his wrist will heal and he'll regain mobility in most of his fingers. It's not perfect, but it's better than I expected." She would wash her hands then prop the kobolds head on top of some clean cloth for comfort.

Thia would look to Corti before bowing, "Thank you. Again. You calmed my nerves and were the key to our success today. You make a great apprentice Corti." She'd smile.

And she'd begin cleaning up. The area around the patient and the tools needed to be cleaned and sterilized. Of course, Thia herself could use some cleaning up too.

Corti curtsies in response to Thia's bow, grinning. "I have heard as much before, but an apprentice is nothing without a skilled master." She straightens, sobers a little, and places her hand on Thia's shoulder, squeezing it gently, "You've been a wonder today, Thia. Truly, good work."

Seeing that Thia, as well as Brandt, need a clean up, she begins to search around the room for a couple clean rags. Upon finding them, she'll hand one to Thia and Brandt each. "And Brandt! I confess I don't know you as well as I do Thia, but a well done to you too." Corti is fully genuine in this, and it has not occurred to her to question the nature of Mendraxes's injury.

Brandt accepts thanks from both Thia and Corti. "Don't mention it, ladies. The three of us made a good team." Brandt is glad that neither of them chose to question him, not because he felt guilt over having done this to Mendraxes, if anything he had gone merciful by not killing him or shooting the hand right off. It's more that he didn't care to explain why he had gotten into conflict with Mendraxes.

Thia will flag down the same orderly from before and ask her to take care of the rest of the clean up and check on the patient from time to time.Thia will turn back to Brandt and Corti to exchange smiles while cleaning the blood off her hands with a cloth. "Now. I don't know about either of you. But after all this excitement this morning, I could definitely use a shower before the meeting today. I've done all I can here, for now."

Corti nods, "I'd like to check in with the workers one more time before the meeting as well." she turns to Brandt, "Anything you need to get done before tonight?"

Tiberius blinks, swallows, before continuing in a crackling voice: "Volten... he sees great things in the warforged, wants to use them to cement our legacy. I'm sure he will succeed, they are truly my masterpiece. Didn't imagine them to become independent though, and neither did Volten. The independence of the units is a... problem, to say the least. He's been trying to sponsor some new legislation with the Magistrate, wanting to get them registered, or using them as unpaid labour in factories, and many other such approaches. One of the most consistent opponents have been the military top brass, who have seen these units in action, and see them either as deserving of our respect and gratitude, or as killing machines that should be kept away from society as much as possible." His voice shook, at the last part. Arc was surprised, since he had never imagined that his uncle felt guilty about the fact that he had developed one of the most effective weapons of their age.

"Volten tried once more with a proposal for the expedition. And this time, he got the military on board too, from what I can gather. Since all warforged units are technically still members of the Brelish Expeditionary Corps, they can be ordered on missions, even if they are now considered legal persons. Any units that don't comply, well, they can be prosecuted as deserters, and then legally condemned to hard labour, for example. By creating a Northern expedition, he would be able to order the removal of all of the warforged units from Breland, giving us time to work on a new generation with improved compliance codes." 

At Arc's puzzled look, he added "The military leaders were interested, since they fear an escalation of the Zhivarg civil war. An official expedition is tricky, since the Council is meeting at the same time to discuss peace terms, and sending units to Zhivargo without imperial consent could be considered an act of war. On the other hand, getting official imperial approval for the troops would be devastating to Breland, as many of the workers here sympathise with their brethren in the north, as you no doubt have experienced yourself already. The Magistrate's workaround is to send the units as private assets of Cannith Industries to secure important shipping ports and infrastructure in the occupied areas. Of course, the number of units needs to remain closely guarded, since announcing to all of Corphyra that most or all of our Warforged are deployed to the North would be catastrophic."

Arc's furrowed brow at the flood of information has Tiberius slow down: "In essence, Volten wants to send the units away, so he can develop a better version. At the same time, he wants to use the units in the North to demonstrate their value to Brelish military operations, to secure future contracts and guarantee our family's position. The Magistrate is interested, since it gives him a way to deal with the tricky politics of trying to find or create a space for Warforged in Brelish society. And the military is interested, since private assets are used to ease the burden on the dragoons stationed in Western Zhivargo. Most of this is kept secret, and needs to be kept secret, because of the negotiations soon going to be under way for a Corphyrean Peace."


Arc is astonished, and can't help but wondering how much of this was true, and how much of it were Tiberius' conjectures. He hadn't known him to be someone too adept with politics, so it was likely that Volten mentioned some things… but a secret operation on this scale? If it was true, the ramifications could be enormous. But if he overreacted, not only would he be a fool, but he'd likely endanger his uncle and maybe even the family business by doing so. What had Volten gotten them into again? ...

Pondering the new information she had learned, Tarian made her way to the Old Shields inn in Uptown. She arrived after a brisk walk that helped get her gears turning, and after half an hour, she found herself turning into Liberty street, and found herself in front of the inn she sought. Having spent a lot of her past days in the Forge, she had come to adjust her expectations for inns accordingly, and was rather surprised by what she found here.  The old wooden building was in good repair, and had two stories, with a balcony overhanging the entrance. It was likely that that's were the clerk had his office. The right-hand pole holding up the small balcony bore an engraved symbol, an intricately carved sigil of sorts, combining several letters into one fluid symbol. Tarian wasn't sure if the symbol was a brand of ale, or if it stood for a particular student organisation.

Inside, the tap room was amply lit by wall sconces and a row of leaded windows into the main street, which allowed some light to enter naturally. The bar itself was located in the center of the far wall, with rows of barrels of wines, ales, and even brandies piled up behind barkeep. He was a portly halfling, with a broad smile and busy hands, eager to sell his daily specials, or to get customers to stay for a while. Interesting, could mean Darnell started here as a guest. Might be worth an inquiry...

The inn itself was almost empty this early in the day, and the old elven bar maid moved about lethargically. In the center of the bar, one academic sat with piles of notes, and a half filled tankard of ale, working his way through a large tome, with artistic illustrations of celestial bodies.

Brandt quickly jots down a note for Mendraxes, letting him know that if he's willing to let this unpleasant business end without further escalation, so is he. And then he heads out to the Golden Rooster Inn, hoping to not be disturbed again.

"Corti, if the forge is on the way to the Golden Rooster Inn, we should just tag along with Brandt! I could just rent a room and shower there." Thia would shrug.

With their immediate business concluded, and ready to head out of Duskrock in search of potential cures, Thia, Brandt and Corti head out of the church and to the Forge, to check in with the strikers.

Brandt, are there any preparations you still need to make, or are you headed straight for the inn?

Arc's composure was held together only by the many long years he had practiced it. However, a slight paling of his face, could be noticed by the more astute or perceptive eyed, as his mind and spirit paled with the dawning of this new information. Nothing he did or could say would be able to overturn or overrule his father. His propositions to the other leading members of the government, especially those of the military would solidify the favor of these families, as well as the family position, yes, but it would come at the cost of destroying the source for everything Arc hoped to achieve. The soul of the Warforged.

He tried to cement his thoughts, to find some angle, but short of killing his father & Uncle....no. For all of his disdain of his father, and pity for his Uncle, Arcius would never kill either of them. He was no killer. Still, what more could he do? Appeal to the opposing delegation? Rally another nation to stand against his homeland? Run away and try to start a new elsewhere? As the questions and answers, scenario after scenario played out in Arc's mind, a minute passed in silence as the slow agony of the intellectual's mind found itself burning dry at the excellent field his father had laid out. Eventually, his body could not find the power to keep up the mask, and he stumbled back into his's Uncle's chair, collapsing into it. Bringing his right hand to trace his dragonmark over his eye, he couldn't help but feel aged and forced to acknowledge his father's political cunning. "Volten Cannith truly is a fox when it comes to playing the game...." He had combined both his brother's desire, with that of the military. And while that wasn't innately a bad thing, Arc now had to figure out a way to continue his projects, or have to face the choice of, abandoning them forever….or leaving forever.

As the three walk towards the Forge, Corti turns over the recent events in her mind. The poisoned water, mainly, she can't wrap her head around the why. War, is the thought that first jumps to her mind, but the political machinations of it all remain outside her field of view, It's always the War. Could the generals be involved? This seems more up Brandt's alley, or Tarian's. That's what the meeting is for, I suppose. She loses herself in her thoughts for awhile, coming out of it only when they near the Forge.

Tarian strode to the bar and called to the barkeep. “So, friend, two questions: one, do you know a fellow named Davin with an office upstairs; and two, what are today’s specials?” Tarian tried a smile. An even exchange of favors—information in exchange for buying whatever near-expired foods a business had on hand—usually flowed more smoothly when both parties seemed amiable. The halfling seemed friendly enough, so it was on Tarian to meet his smile with one of her own.

She wasn’t good at it.

Still, Old Shields was easily an order of quality greater than what she was used to in the Docklands or the Forge. The fact that the bar lacked names and other graffiti carved into its wooden surface was one hint of that, and that what dings and dents were etched into it had been polished and waxed over after the damage was done was another. The specials here were probably safe: meats would be near or just past spoiling, but not rotten; bread would be tough, perhaps crunchy, but not moldy; fruits and vegetables would be bruised and brown, but not fermenting. The cook likely had enough skill and forethought to hide the food’s flaws with smaller cut pieces and a strongly-flavored sauce or gravy.

My guesses are: some sort of stew with a side of bread for dipping, or some sort of open-faced sandwich with finely-cut or shredded meat. A chipped beef could be nice. With that thought in mind, Tarian started reaching for her coin purse without waiting for the halfling to respond.

« The name’s Duncan, pleasure » The halfling said to Tarian with a broad smile. « We have an eclectic assortment of dishes. There’s the fish stew, served on a bed of local Brelish grains, or a platter of cut and dried meats, with a variety of cheeses and figs. Or could I interest you in some fried beans with Duskrock greenery on the side? As for drinks, there’s the Marway Mash, a potato liquor produced by the Spudsder estate, or the Loch Morat, a Brandy brewed south of the Glades. If you’re in the mood for some beer, we also have the Starsfield stout on tap. »

 »As per this guy... Davin? Yeah, there’s someone that has rented the room upstairs for a while now. I don’t know what they do exactly, think he’s a writer or something, but always pays his rent, and is quiet otherwise. An all-round pleasant guest to have. Why, what of him? »