Union! Game Thread

As you reach the factory yard, you see only the banner and three of the workers sitting there. Corti doesn’t recognise any of them by name, though she knows she’s seen them around. One of them approaches Corti, Thia and Brandt. “Corti, nice to see you, what are ye doin’ here? Oh, ‘pologies. I’m Screw, that’s Cog, and the large one over there is Manfred.” Following the goblins introductions, she made a note of the two others, before returning her attention to Screw.

”Most o’ the others are down at the Gear, they said sumthin’ ‘bout a slammer bout or sumthin’. Heard that Quill an’ Reichenplatz were gunna match up. I likes ta lissen to ‘em, but sumbody needs ta be ‘ere after all...” and in a quieter voice, he adds “ ... and t’ be honest, I dun always git what they mean. I prefer ta hear the others tellin me, so I kno what they meant.” Louder, he adds: “Yer welcome ta join us here, but ye look like ye have somewhere ta be. If ya wanna speek wit the foreworkers, I think they’re all down at the Gear.”

Corti glances at Thia at the mention of Reichenplatz, and a spark jumps deep in her eyes, but she refocuses on Screw quickly "Thank you for keeping watch here, Screw." she breaks into a light smile, "Sometimes the best stories are the ones that have been filtered a little. And you're right, we do have at least one more spot to hit. Keep up the good work, all of you." She shakes each of their hands and claps them on the shoulder before turning back to Thia and Brandt and heading out of the yard. 

As they walk out, Corti begins to chatter "My... Reichenplatz at the Gear! And this Quill..."

‘An eclectic assortment’ was right. Fish stew was a novelty that quickly lost its luster when Tarian first tried it ‘on special’ at the Chipped Coin in the Docklands. The day following was spent in such agony that Tarian vowed to avoid any fish she hadn’t caught and prepared herself.

“The meat and cheese platter and the—” Tarian’s instinct was to go with the brandy, but hearing the Spudsder name also in that list forced her to pause to think about what she was ordering. “—And a tea to go with it.”

Tarian nodded as she sorted through the locket’s chain to fish out a few of her remaining coins. “The Loch Morat was tempting, but I can’t meet a potential business contact smelling like alcohol. A little bird told me he might know something about a problem I have. Said ‘keep an eye out’ for him. Do you happen to know Mister Davin’s hours?”

Thia would accompany Corti silently, giving polite waves and nods to the workers as they’re introduced. Her ears would peak as well when the name of Reichenplatz is said, and this ‘Quill’. It re-fired up the thoughts and theories she had the day before and shared with Corti. Thia would exchange a glance with Corti before she concludes the conversation with the workers.

With a departing wave, Thia would follow Corti out of the yard, meeting back up with Brandt to continue on their way. “Have you heard of Quill?” Though, she would be guilty of thinking about taking the detour to the gear if Corti wanted to take a peak. “The Gear’s close right?” She’d look to Corti, wondering if she’s considering the same thing.

"Ah fine choice… Davin's usually an early riser, takes breakfast, and then goes for a stroll. He's usually back in the afternoon, and works well into the night, occasionally ordering some food up to his room. Other than that, I don't really know what he does with his days, but he seems to like his privacy. Occasionally, I receive a letter for him, or he sends one off, but in general he keeps to himself, and has only done more so since he broke off his engagement."

With that, the halfling left Tarian to prepare her meal.

Thia and Corti, you've not heard of Quill specifically. All you know is that slammer bouts, as they are called, happen usually with little notice and are an odd sort of intellectual amusement for the citizens of Duskrock, particularly the Forgers. Slammers usually adopt some sort of stage persona, hence the names. From your reading of the analysis of Reichenplatz and Slammer culture, you know that it's a cultural phenomenon that causes severe disagreement among bardic scholars. Some academics see them as a proto-urban art form, whereas others see them as useless rhythmic babbling to a "band" barely qualifying as producing music.

And indeed, the Golden Gear tavern is within a quarter of an hour from where you are. It's early evening, and you might manage to pop by, before your meeting with Sparks.

Corti looks up, making her best estimate of the time before speaking, “I would love to see something like that... I think we have time if you’d like to stop by and see what’s happening?” She makes sure to keep the option open to Brandt as well.

Brandt shrugs. "Sure, can't hurt to take a little detour."

Thia would look to Corti, "I don't know when our next chance would be. I think we should go. It could possibly answer some questions and give us more to discuss this evening." She'd smile.

‘On special’ Uptown meant something very different from what it meant in the Docklands. The cut and dried meats were an assortment of ends and near-ends, leftover bits in the preparation of other meals that weren’t enough to make something on their own. As for the cheeses, Tarian couldn’t tell where the mold had been cut off—rather, it was like there was no mold cut from these pieces to begin with. The figs were just dried figs. The fact that there was nothing unusual about them was unusual in itself to her.

The Docklands have really changed my expectations for day-to-day living. I’ve forgotten that this is what life is actually supposed to be like.

Tarian removed her gauntlets and savored her meal. The meats, cheeses, and figs balanced each other well. Her only regret was the reminder that the cost of eating in Uptown didn’t match her pay in the Docklands. Three coins now kept the locket company in her coin purse.

Near a day’s rent to eat here, though. I’ve got two and a half denars left. That’s about two days’ worth of living expenses. I need the job, but I can’t really be certain if that Sparks fellow is actually going to hire me. We were supposed to assemble a crew to run interference on an army. But Mister Spudsder’s gone off on business; last we spoke, Miss Thia seemed keen on never seeing me again, let alone leave her patients to go on a long trip with me; I couldn’t convince Mister Cannith to join; and Corti’s participation seemed contingent on a group going—not that I blame her. ‘Safety in numbers,’ and all that. Mister Brandt seems ready to go, but I don’t know if he and I will be enough to consider ‘an expedition.’

Tarian sighed as she finished the last morsel. Well, if nothing else, there’s always guard duty and infidelity cases. The crime rate in the Docklands never leaves a freelancer completely out of work.

Tarian thanked Duncan for the meal and headed upstairs.

When she arrived at Davin’s door, Tarian took a quick assessment of the situation. He might be paranoid or hostile, perhaps both. He could have a weapon. If there was time I’d investigate him first, but I can’t afford to wait. Tarian stood with her back toward the wall on the same side of the door as the doorknob, such that when the door was opened she couldn’t easily be struck by a weapon. She reached over and rapped on the door with the back of her gauntlet.

“Mister Pendrell? Falcon’s got an eye out for you. He said maybe you could answer some questions I have. Do you have a moment?”

Corti returns Thia's smile and nods to both her and Brandt, "Alright, let's head over there then." She takes the lead on the walk to the Golden Gear, and on the way starts nervously chatting with her companions and fidgeting with her head scarf.

Entering the Golden Gear tavern, the place is packed with workers, tenants, some students, and the ocasional bar maid trying to make her way through the crowd. Towards the side of the room, Corti saw what she thought might be a reporter from a newspaper, with a notepad and pens, taking notes. At the wall opposite the bar, a small makeshift podium had been cobbled together, on which they could see the tall slender figure of a drow male wearing an extravagant costume and a mask, and a gruff human wearing a cloak with a large quill embroidered on it. Between them was a halfling with a ridiculous tophat standing on a stool serving as promoter, hype man, and adjucator of the bout.

"Well well, with so many new faces here, let's explain the proceedings: both slammers are gonna present their piece, and the one getting the more reactions and cheers from the crowd will be considered the winner. What are they competing for? Well, today's prize is three-hundred denars, and just you imagine what that could get you down 'ere!!

Well, contestants, are ya ready?" With that, he flips a coin, and then gives a nod to some musicians off the side to commence drumming out a simple rhythm. "The moment you've been waiting for- Quill, show us what you got!" 

With that, the gruff human is getting up to the front of the stage, and after getting a sense of the rhythm, turns to his opponent and starts:

"Reichenplatz? Can’t help but laugh.

Place of the rich, so what you doin’ in a place like this?

You don’t belong - are a Forgery among the Forger breed, 

so let me forge ahead wit speed, no way to mess wit me,

I bring a whole clan to bear, and you’re runnin’ scared,

Like the Legion did, faced with Dusker elites!"

The crowd erupts in cheers, but falls silent as he begins the next verse.

"I’m Quill, yeah I’m a writer, sign of a future that is brighter,

All to do with will, but you wouldn’t know, never been a fighter.

From Roughneck corner to Hustle Row, to right here,

A workin’ class veteran, schooling you rich kids on the run, 

Quill was the winner, even before this battle begun!"

With a flourish, he finishes his verse to the cheers of many of the workers in the room. "Well well ladies and gentleman, what an opening. Reichenplatz, show us all what you got!"

With that, the ostentatiously clad drow figure stepped up, and in a precise and quick manner, began:

"Quill? You’re nothing but a tool! Try and get rid of the wool,

In front of your eyes, and you can’t deny that too

many of you Forgers died. You’re just a lucky fool, or maybe unlucky too,

but anyway you are left dissatisfied.

Left in crowds that cry: "don’t let more of my brothers die!"

Well I say to you, "Ever tried to write something political?"

I’m Reichenplatz, I’m pulling strings,

waiting to see what the seasons bring, 

From fall to spring, I’m not just a winner, I’m a king!

From the Forge to the Hill,

they’ll fear my words, when I give voice to the people’s will. 

Ain’t going to ask for kills,

they want labour for their skills! 

Meanwhile all you do is kill

time, with your rhymes that only help denyin’ 

what you know to be true, this place has foresaken you, 

and yet there’s nothing you do, only let your emotions cool!

Yeah, my choices are my choices, but all I’m tryna do

is give voices to the voiceless!"

At the end of his second verse, the crowd erupts in loud cheers, and the band breaks off, but the drow is not finished. Unerring he continues, clapping his hands to get the crowd involved, before continuing in a blistering pace, now addressing the room as a whole rather than his opponent.

"And let us talk about Taxes man, because I can’t let this stand,

When with axe in hand every lettuce stand

becomes the site of a street battle man,

and every official claims it’s for the betterment

of our city’s battlements. I mean, let’s try and reach a settlement

for the settlement of these settlers then!

But let me tell you, the prospect rattles them! 

Cyreans, Thranes, and other refugees against the city’s clans?

I know where the better chances stand!

So come on, raise your hands and welcome them!"


As he ends his piece, the room erupts in cheers and excitement, but before he can be declared the winner, the drow grabs the prize money and starts to toss the denars into the crowd, which literally falls over itself as everyone starts to scramble for the pieces. By the time that Corti, Thia and Brandt are back on their feet, the Drow has disappeared, leaving a confused halfling and the human slammer on the stage, and many in the audience asking them what they had just witnessed.

Tarian heard a nervous shuffling behind the door, and pressed flat against the wall: "Falcon? Oh no...Come in" With that, the door unlocked, and a spindly old human man, skin thin as parchment and eyes hidden behind thick spectacles that made them look enormous led her inside the room he had rented.

It was stacked from floor to about waist high in piles of parchments, scrolls, books and papers, with one of the walls covered in cut out articles, handscribbled notes, illustrations, maps, and other information, with pieces of string cconnecting certain elements. Tarian had occasionally seen detectives use similar methods to visualise connecting pieces of a case. Maybe there was more to this clerk than the outside world knew of him...

Apart from the stacks of paper and the walls, the place was kept tidy, and the man seemed nervous, but sharp.

"Falcon, you said? That means I don't have much time... I'll grant you five questions. What do you want to know?"

Tarian couldn’t help but try to understand what Pendrell was piecing together on the wall. She let out a low whistle, impressed by the scope of his findings.

“Five questions will be plenty, Mister Pendrell. My original purpose in finding you was to have one, maybe two questions answered. So while I try to put words to some of my other questions, let’s get those first two out of the way, shall we?”

Tarian waved a hand at the clippings and scrawled notes. “With all this information, I assume you’ve been at this a lot longer than I have, so here are a couple of questions you might have ready answers to: first, who has access to the Duskrock Dragoons’ personnel files—or, more specifically, their current whereabouts? And second, of those who have that information, were any at—or perhaps even related to someone who was at—the battle of Vulture Valley?”

"Personnel files are either kept at army head quarters, or they were either destroyed, lost or "misplaced". But, and with regards to your second question, I have managed to get my hands on some copies, but I'm sure that there are some of the Dragoons still in service, or now working at head quarters in Wroat. They may have fought at Vulture Valley, but only two regiments of the entire brigade fought there, the second and the third, supported by the regimental artillery. The fourth regiment and the engineers were stationed in the north, near Magnidhzan, to support the marines up there, and the first was on covert operations in Cyre or Garronia. It's the second that got flanked and that primarily fought at Vulture Valley, but both the second and third fought at Thelamyria. Between the Second and the Third, almost two-thousand people would have been at Vulture Valley, there are sure to be some survivors who still work with the army and are privy to the personnel files. "

As he explains this, Tarian starts to piece together some of the maps and the lists on the wall, and you spot several of the names of the now dead Dragoons circled, including Marcellus Riley. Arrows on the maps and different newspapers seem to track the route of the third regiment, and they point to Thelamyria, not Cypress Hill. Another cluster of notes focuses on the first regiment, trying to track its movements and including a list with hundreds of names, most of which are crossed out, with only about 50 circled in red, amongst them some that Tarian recognises: First Sergeant Marcellus Riley, Sergeant Blake, Lieutenant Ornell, and Captain Hector Blake of Rookhagen. Almost all of the circled names are senior personnel, with only two privates in the mix, Benedict and Humphreys. A quick look over to the other cluster, and she found the same names there.

Listening to Pendrell explain the whereabouts of the personnel files, and the remainders of the Dragoons, she could see him twitch a little, as he seemed to notice her furtive glances at his notes. Particularly as he got talking about the positions of the four regiments at the crucial time of the battle, she noticed a different tone in his voice, even if he told her what she knew had happened at the battle according to official records.

Two thousand names to cross-reference, give or take. If it wasn’t for the fact that I’ve maybe two days’ worth of living expenses, I’d love to spend some time with that list.

“At ease, Mister Pendrell. I’m not Nellie Cochrane. I’m looking into the deaths of the Dragoons because a few of these names I knew personally. Which brings me to my next questions. These will be more difficult.”

Tarian pointed to the name Captain Hector Blake of Rookhagen, encircled in red. “Question three: what was Captain Blake’s connection to the Rhydderch family? Or, more specifically, an apothecary named Owena who was exiled from Wroat?” Tarian pulled out her coin purse. “Four: what was the Dragoons’ connection to the Duke of Ganovar?” As she pulled the ornate golden locket from the plain leather pouch, Tarian stepped closer to the spindly Pendrell, and put him well within her reach. She raised the locket to level with his thick glasses, where it spun to reveal the initials NTL. “Last, why did the captain have this?”

Tarian’s voice lowered. “I think the answers to these questions are directly related to the cleanup you’ve been investigating. Have you put anything together?”

Corti grins as she hears the din of the crowd. As she squeezes into the tavern she stands at her full height to see over the throng of people. She soon loses herself in the battle, laughing at well-delivered lines and wincing in sympathy at the sharper insults.

As she notices Reichenplatz's disappearance she cries out in disappointment, "No!"  She whirls around the room, searching for any trace of him, and in a flash, without thinking, she sprints to the stage and jumps up next to Quill and the halfling. She surveys the chaotic crowd and plays a sharp chord to get their attention. Taking a deep breath, she whips her lute in front of her, flips it to its backside, and begins to drum out another simple rhythm.

Well, Reichplatz, I must say I'm let down,

The man I had heard of was brave, had renown

So you write about taxes, but is that your only mission?

These people want a leader not a flighty politician.

Since they can't even trust you to stay in one place

I doubt you have it in you to stand as their brace.

I'll save the rest of my words for folks who will listen.

But if you want my last and my only opinion,

You don't stand a chance with your limited dominion,

Work on getting some experience, expanding your knowledge

Oh and one last thing, Consider this a challenge.

Corti ceases drumming as she says the last line, and raises her hand to point abstractly into the crowd. I hope I didn't stoop too low on that one, but sometimes insults are all that men like him will hear. I doubt he's still here anyway, but with any luck, word will travel fast.

Comfused at first, the crowd goes wild at the surprise performance and at the gauntlet thrown to Reichenplatz. It takes a few moments for some of the crowd to realise that a real warforged stood before them, whereas some of the workers recognise her immediately and start cheering all the louder.

As she finishes, the halfling turns towards her: “Neil MacFergus, nice to make your acquaintance. It’s rare to see such direct challenges, but I like yer style, an’ yer impromptu performance will be spoken about, I’m sure. Frankly, I cannot wait to see one o’ our own takin’ ‘im on. Where can I get in touch wit’ ye, should he accept the challenge?”

Pendrell looked at Tarian with an intensity that served as a little reflection of the dedication he had put into his work.

”It’s good to see you’re investigating this out of personal reasons, and not to make a few quick coins with a sensational article. As per your third question, I’m sorry, but I have no idea, I don’t know the Rhydderch’s, nor do I know Captain Blake personally. 

As per your other two questions, I can’t tell you with certainty, but I have a theory. You showing me that locket, I take it it’s special to you. As you’re trusting me with knowing that you have it, I’ll let you know what I pieced together.

The official records show that Blake’s column was meant to be at  Cypress Hill, covering the flank of the second. We know the second got flanked and had to fight their bloody retreat through Vulture Valley. Now, where was the Third? For the same period, Blake and about thirty or forty others received their pay from the quartermaster of the first column. Now, there’s multiple explanations for this. The dragoons could have wanted to appear  more numerous and use elements of First Column to create a fictional column to tie down more enemy forces. While this was standard practice for much of the Dirty War in Cyre, it makes less little sense to dilute their strength in defence, since the enemy troops are already tied down by the storming of the city. Additionally, official records show that the first was on covert operations in Cyre. The fact that Blake and his men received pay from the first, found a locket, were missing for the defense of Thelamyria and are now being targeted- well to me it points to one possibility. Empress Selene had used Thelamyria’s libraries and labs for a variety of projects, driven by her desire to reach immortality. If imperial records are to be believed, it was her hope to make a bid for peace by establishing an immortal dynasty. Now, when Viktor took the city, it was burned to the ground and left in ruins, but we never saw the Garronians or Imperial Force switch to new tactics or hear anything from the emperor about that research. I think the first Column was ordered to retrieve or destroy what they could from the laboratories.

I assume that locket shows a child, but not Duke Theocaris. Am I correct? Now, Since I wasn’t able to answer your third question, you get one more, but I have to ask you to be careful. If I’m correct, then only very few people would know the true reason behind the missing Third, and unfortunately, the Magistrate most certainly did know. It could be that the Dragoons are getting eliminated by Brelish interests...”

"Bah!" Was all Thia could get out while she maneuvered and scrambled away from the frenzied crowd. She'd hold tight to her new bag, not wanting it to get damaged from the chaos, though it wouldn't be long before the crowd smartened up. The student would look up to the stage assuming the announcer was addressing the crowd, only to be surprised to see Corti took the stage!

Thia's look of concern quickly turned to excitement, then passionate enthusiasm from Corti's words. She'd catch herself bouncing up and down, cheering her on. When Corti would point to the crowd at the end of her song, Thia would start chanting her name for the crowd to join in with her. "Corti! Corti! Corti!" She'd throw an arm into the air as she chanted to encourage the crowd to chant with her.