Pomu clutched the rake more tightly as he picked his way through the woodland. The nights silence was vast and almost taunt him as he snuck through the trees. It was inviting his mistakes. He quivered silently as he held his breath, placing each foot carefully. Waiting. Testing his footing before committing. With each step he would wince and wait for the snap of a dried branch or loose stone to betraying him. He sighed as his foot found soft, silent, yielding moss. He exhaled slowly and continued onwards.
_____________________________________________
“Look, I’m just saying, I don’t think we are really sowing an
appropriate level of terror on this farmstead.”
“Why do say such things bloodkin, this is most unwarrior
like of you”
“She offered us tea”
“Tea is a noble drink, and hydration is important to all
champions who walk the path. Your enemies will be well hydrated. Their urine
will run clear – the colour of freedom and victory, and yours will be a mustard
yellow, the colour of cowardice.”
“Point taken about yellow, but I don’t think the colour of
victory is “clear”, I think you made that up. I don’t even think “clear” is even
a colour really. You can’t paint a war-shield “clear” brother. But what about
the biscuits? The little wafer ones with chocolate on one side. Every day we
stray further the hoofspringa.”
“… The great Khan and the heroes of suboptima need us
fighting fit. That includes maintaining our blood sugar”
“blood sugar … that sounds …. Suitably … barbaric ”
“I think it’s a type of hero-drink, created from fallen
enemies and sweetened with the tears of their keening women folk. I think I
heard Gritgoz mention it.”
“And its in these biscuits”
“I think so brother, the main ingredient after chocolate.”
Bathed in the blood red light of the moon, the centaur encampment lay at the edge of a tidy grove of pine trees, overlooking the old cottage. Only a few hundred feet now from him.
_____________________________________________
Pomu had grown onions predominantly (protip: they would grow in just about anything but thrived in owlbear dung. Expensive, but worth it.). Award winning onions at that, until his title had been robbed by previously unheard-of grower, known only by the mysterious moniker “Farmer Baggot”. Pomus heart pounded in his ears at the thought of the pimple faced weasel … he knew he was cheating but each time he confronted him at the annual fair he was laughed off and suffered a barrage of abuse and onion shaming. This year he was mounting a comeback, he had a secret weapon. Oh yes. He was going to beat Baggot at his own game. Or that was the plan. Until he awoke yesterday morning to find 30 steaming centaurs standing in his vegetable patch arguing about the best way to torture him. After a few minutes of cowering under this bed, he had mustered up the courage to open the door only to be promptly lifted clean off the ground by the scruff of his neck and placed back inside by an enormous trunk-thick hand. He was told to wait patiently as they decided the best way to interrogate him. He screamed in terror at them, explaining he had nothing to hide and would gladly talk at length on any subject but was silenced immediately. This had nothing to do with him apparently, he had best keep quite while they worked out how to make him talk. After some time, the consensus emerged that it might be more effective to break his limbs first to prevent escape, but the counterpoint was raised that he may not have had the constitution to maintain consciousness and answer questions. As Pomu finished his second breakfast ( toast and onion jam, he hadn’t the stomach for his usual onion omlette) the herd found itself at an impasse – split between a) breaking one hand to demonstrate how serious they were about extracting intel, or b) some gentle rough housing instead to get his adrenaline going and warm him up, so that he would be better able to withstand to impending broken feet. He was silenced again when he volunteered that he would in fact, tell them everything they wanted to know, and he was once more placed back inside his kitchen. After a handful of duels and three races to determine the new leader of the herd, they broke for tea and biscuits and retreated back to the forest. His onions were ruined. His life was over. As he sobbed in the mud, a familiar caring voice began to comfort him. Pomu grabbed his rake.
_____________________________________________
“Look brother, I strongly disagree. The orders were extremely
explicit – soften the place up for the impending invasion. We take this land by
force of arms”
“Respectfully bloodkin, I think silver tongued Clink will
have planned something a bit more subtle than that. We are reconnaissance, not
a vanguard”
“You would say that, you’re a total Clink fanboy. Mes is the
real powerhouse and if she decides to unite the workers here and build
affordable housing then were looking at a popular uprising”
“ Listen, I don’t want to get political. Im just saying that
Clink is alot more interesting than that walking sword rack”
A spearpoint flashed in the moonlight
“You take that back, Camelot has a singular focus and deep
passion, I respect him as a professional, nothing more. His looks are
irrelevant”
Sensing the changing mood and
impending arguement, the youngest of the centaurs carefully adjusted his
pauldron to obscure his Ernodal tattoo and attempted to wipe away his eye
liner. As he adjusted his officially licenced replica “Ernodal cape” he felt a surge
of pain race down his left arm. In a flash he span and ripped the rake his shoulder,
whipping an arc of blood across the campfire. His scimitar was in already in his
hand in and he instinctively flung it at the shadow as it crashed away from him
through the undergrowth. There was a thick meaty crunch it found its target.
The phalanx had already formed around him, a wall of spears unified and facing
the darkness.
“We all miss sometimes bloodkin. Even Ernodal.”
“I didn’t miss”
The scimitar was buried deep into the earth admist a patch
of delicate white flowers, like tiny cotton moons themselves. The young centaur
reached down and pulled the scimitar free, uprooting the plant. Something was
stuck to the blade. He lifted the steel to his face to inpsect, and his eyes
began to water.
Congratulations on your appointments all, Hellhest welcomes you. As dictated by the Kaiser, you are all granted the titles of Baron or Baroness under the peerage of Numburg. This is a slightly unusual situation I must admit, as we typically have had a ruling family rather than a .. erm.. band of… Ahem. Regardless, in his infinite wisdom, the Kaiser (praise be his name) has a rather excellent solution to this novel complication: You are to be a ruling council. This is particularly excellent sires, as following Godsfall, many of our experienced and well-regarded experts were assassinated by that traitorous Mario. Thus we have a number of key positions that require immediate attention and crises to be dealth with. My undersecretary shall explain. I would request that you pay attention closely, as these are decisions that will affect not just this council , but all of the subjects you now rule over.
Hellhest:
Read your strongholds and followers supplement to see your unique benefits – what exactly does the warlocks Thane provide? And the Druids grove?
Rules for mass combat exist now, and shall be provided by your faithful DM if/when required. They are ultra-streamlined and one page thankfully. It is very difficult for a single hero to kill a unit. Even you guys. To fight an army, you will need an army.
Hellhest has Stats! These are summarised on the Barony page in roll20, and below
A number of key positions are now available to be filled in the barony.
General – in charge of military
Master of coin – in charge of economic affairs
Magister- in charge of arcane matters
Regent – in charge of maintaining order and stability
Grand diplomat – in charge of foreign relations
Curator – deals with cultural matters
Decisions will need to be made by the responsible council member as issues are raised. Thanks to liberal use of the “message” spell this information can be relayed to you as you gallivant around Vaul and your decisions implemented in your absence. Thus these will predominantly feature on whatsapp as a “minigame” so to speak. The format will be roughly
The problem is presented to the relevant duke
Your advisers may suggest possible solutions. This will require a skill check if you are in the barony as you can see to it yourself. Failing this, you can assign one of your followers to perform the skill check if you are absent. If your followers are off adventuring, its just a straight d20
You can suggest your own solution, and the DM will generate appropriate reward/penalty/DC depending on the solution and proposed skill
The skills required will broadly align with the council position ( so military roles may require martial and strategic skills, arcane roles require more arcane , intelligence based skills) but if you can justify your skill of choice, its all fair game. If Camelot wants to be the cultural light of the barony, its entirely possible.
Huddled on the deck of the airship, the grey clouds rolling beneath you, the capital was still a days flight away. Teach pulled up a stool and passed around this hipflask. Somewhere in the hold below, clink toss and turned in the sweat soaked blankets. Irdizavonax cleared his through and began to speak.
Key pints:
There are an unknown number of these scholars, who travel between planets, harvesting the living, its unclear where they come from.
Following a harvest they then sow the seeds for the next harvest – each time a little different, with different variations. Tweaks. Maybe this cycle, there are no elves. Or perhaps no magic, or too much magic. Dwarves are 10ft tall with skin like ebony next, only to be covered in leaves in the subsequent cycle.
At the end of each cycle, as the world grows and begins to blossom and look beyond its skys, they come. They feed. They grow. We are at one such moment now.
The gemstone dragons fled from these scholars as they consumed their world many millenia ago, and scattered throughout the stars.
They tried to stop the scholars last cycle. They managed to make it to the moon. No easy feat as you cannot teleport or shift there, due to the surrounding barrier. You need to physically pass through it.
When they arrived, the found to their horror, that their psionics were useless. While a few arcane spells were known by them it was woefully insufficient and they were ultimately defeated in their neutered state
The moon itself is a vessel for travel, a fortress and maybe more. While inside the moon, a scholar can respawn or regrown after defeat. Like a gargantuan phylactery. This is the reason Moros trapped his younger brothers Namthar and Kossos on the surface of Vaul. Unable to simply die and respawn anew they were trapped in a limbo of sorts – one petrified in stone, the other, harpooned to the ground.
For this reason, the gemstone dragons had planned on destroying the moon to stop Moros returning, but were unable to venture beneath the first layer or so. Each layer was a period from Vauls history, a challenge, almost a dungeon itself to traverse. Moros lay at the centre. Most of the Dragons were defeated, some fled, and hid around vaul to escape the coming harvest.
You won’t believe it barbarian, but I’m writing from atop a monastery, its literally shrouded in actual mystical mists and I can hear the clacking of the staff kata below me in the training yard. Its almost straight from one of your books, has a few bald headed fighting monks and even an ancient wise greybeard who guides them. They allow booze to a degree, which got me thinking about how much you’d like it here, which got me thinking about how long its been since I wrote to you, which got me writing.
I hope youre well meathead and the axe is still hanging from the wall and not your belt. To be honest, this might not be the place for you – you might find their demeanour is a little lacedaemonian even for a hard nut like you. They call themselves “irlandi” and ive travelled long way since my last letter, and I know it has been a few years, so please forgive an old bitch for her rudeness. Ive had a few adventures along the way – I was “kidnapped” by minotaur raiders last summer and ended up needing to sail a ship back to port all on my own – I had to prop up and animate their corpses with the ropes and pulleys of the ship to make it seem like a functioning crew as I slipped passed the rest of the raid at dusk ( I was basically copying your kobald puppet trick from Natiri ! )
I have a brief foray into the feywild soon after, due to losing a bet with a rather stubborn water nymph who’s suitor just happened to be a mantis knight who thought they would teach me a lesson and impress their lady. They “invited” me along after they could not best me and I provided entertainment with my blade for a whole season! (I enclose an undying oak leaf which I won in a game of dice during their summer plum wine festival). Im looking forward to telling you the story of the sand-drake in person – think bobsledding down a sand dune, but the bobsled wants to eat you and your only weapons are his broken wings.
Oh Conan, not a day goes by I don’t wish you were all still
here with me, the gang back together, but I know how naïve that is. I know you
had to stop, just like you know I had to leave.
Anyway, I need to go, these irlandi are a bit odd and
starting to ask a lot of questions. I don’t really know what they actually do
here, but they seem to take it rather seriously, and disappear on “patrols” and
“expeditions” but I cant learn much else. It’s a bit of a mixed bunch I have to
say, it seems like they come from all over, but they were happy to take me in
and share their food with me. Ive got dinner with the high chilera today, he
seems to want to ask a lot of questions about our previous campaigning.
Probably more political bullshit.
I still havnt found a path forward, but Im told there are a family of trephination loving mystics called “Goran” nearby. I know Fionnlath thinks he can handle this himself, but I cant just wait around for them both to be taken from me. Fionnlath knows whats coming and wouldnt talk about it to me – says he signed up for it with his eyes open. I felt I had to help my boys the only way I know how – go searching for answers, and hopefully solutions. Leaving was the hardest thing I ever did, but it’s the only way I can think to help him. Anyway, look at me, writing sentimental crap like this . There must be something in the water up here.
Ill be back eventually, Give my love them both if you ever
cross paths again
Miss you.
R
(P.S if Etricht comes by again, tell him to go fuck himself in his Pious ass.)
2235 65th Winter
Conan,
Apologies its been so long – did you receive my parcel last year with the smokeweed? It was grown entirely under magical light in a wrecked galleon towed by the flotilla, one of their “floating farms”, hope you enjoyed it. Im currently about to leave Tamshaven, ive heard theres a traveller aboard an outbound ship that knows a bit too much about the winding path than is healthy. I cant seem to work out exactly who he is quickly enough ( sailors are surprisingly tight lipped under beatings, I suspect they might not even know themselves), but I think 2 months at sea is ample time to weed him out and learn what the hell a “navigator” really is.
I have been writing to Ernodal but have heard nothing back – do you know if all is well in the village? ( I would rather not mention any specific place names here)
Ill update you soon, I think Im close.
R
P.S. The beer here is complete pisswater, and they havnt had a decent brewer in a generation – there is no hope for this place.
2240 44th Summer – exceptionally calligraphic hand writing
Dearest Conan,
Apologies for leaving a note like this, but you weren’t in when I called and nobody as seen you for a week. Unfortunately, I don’t have enough time to wait for your return on this occasion, but I do sincerely hope your book tour goes well. I have taken the liberty of helping myself to two of your rather dusty tombs (“Of roads best forgotten – Journeys to the Abyss”, and “Phalanx Doctrine”), one of your daggers ( the black handled one ) and a modest portion of your ale ( 2 quarts), all are much appreciated.
Rosalynn has written to me last month that she has found a way to extricate us from a rather complicated and difficult family situation, but alas time is not on my side and I may need to execute contractual duties expected of me before we can be reunited. While I am eternally grateful of your offer of stewardship in my absence, I have left my son at home, hoping to spare him the trauma of difficult travel ( he is a rather special boy , and I don’t wish to remove him from his many close friends – I think the traveling would perhaps upset him some). My expectation is for all to be well, but I may be travelling a great distance and in unsavoury company, and it is an experience a father would spare his son of for as long as possible. I worry that should things take an unexpected turn for the worst, he yet may be following in my footsteps.
Regardless, I look forward to seeing you again soon and attending “the gun show” when youre next exhibiting your talents.
The face of the city has changed profoundly in the last few weeks: the great colossus has left smoldering crater, hundreds of meters wide, opening into the badly damaged sewer system. Guards are posted 24/7 now around the perimeter to protect the citizens from the subterranean monstrosities that intermittently emerge. Sometimes they successful in this endeavour, sometimes tragedy strikes as some sewer beast manages to gain access to the streets.
Much of that forsaken battle area is off limits now as the palace studies and removes any dangerous magical energies and materials. The remains of Namthar have burned continuously for weeks, bathing the city in a deep orange glow. A haze hangs over much of the southern city, limiting vision to a few metres during the dawn and dusk, and fraying the nerves of travelers on the streets as figures seems to shift and dart just beyond focus through the har. Between this ever-burning torch and the malignant red moon- now seemingly larger than ever (is it closer? Fuck I hope it’s not closer) -the city seems constantly bathed in a sickly amber light. Animals snap and bite at their owners, people have taken to hanging double sets of curtains to try and get some sleep behind the deadbolted doors ( keep a dagger under your pillow they say, not for the intruder, but for yourself). Some have taken to wearing coloured lenses in their eyeglasses so intense can the glow become. Plants and flowers seem to be blooming constantly. The streets around the fallen colossus are generally empty, and a self-imposed curfew exists for many other districts. A child hasn’t kicked a ball in an alleyway for weeks.
Large tracts of residential areas are now unliveable and reamin as rubble, the city’s homeless population has exploded and crime is rampant within the foggy maze of streets. Several business and shops suboptima visited in the past no longer exist.
Security
The craburai, Mario, Radokaf are in jail awaiting trial. Much of the Road was defeated at the castle, it was almost as if the soldiers and judges had been tipped off. (DM note: they had been, by Mario – the Road were going to be the “fall guys, along with suboptima once it became clear you weren’t cooperating – around the time you murdered Sofia”) The remaining resistance fighters are being rounded up and executed with extreme predjudice.
As Marios contacts were interrogated, and notes gathered during the post-ball clean-up, it became clear he had been planning the night of the masquerade ball for perhaps a decade or longer, the full extent of the evidence against him to be presented at his trial. Learning of the true nature of the twin moons and the “Gods” he had decided it was an opportunity both to seize power on Vaul, but become a hero, and if possible a God himself ( its unclear how he proposed to do this from notes, he has not buckled under interrogation as yet).
He had
used a number of adventuring parties to execute his plans, most of them unwittingly.
It seemed a particular speciality of his. On meeting the zealot Etricht (later
known as “the herald”), he saw an opportunity to finally access ashenkirk and
set things in motion, where so many parties had failed. Needing some way to
neutralise his unhinged new friend once he had served his purpose, he used
Fleetflesh his doppleganger ally to guide Sub Optima to cross paths with
Etricht, who assumed the form of a budding young adventurer (who he had
murdered and buried in a forest, later unearthed by Etienne) named Alistair
Bentbuck to help them on their way ( including bringing an essential key to
access ashenkirk with him lest they couldn’t do it themselves).
Evidence
of the enormous bomb he created in the sewers seems to show a plan years in the
making ( DM note: In episode 1 or 2 Ernodal found a merchants note with Aurite
being shipped to the capital in it, and later Throkk encountered the Road
moving barrels north on a cart ( see also the luca/donkey boys fiction), as
well as the red dragons mountain being a source and the miners shipping it
north etc). Palace experts suspect there were at least 1000 barrels of
explosive only a few inches below the statues feet when it was detonated,
although at least 100 were moved to the dragon wagon station at the last
minute. Its unclear to the investigators why Mario did this.
Some
felt the empire under Mario was more powerful, and there are voices of support
for him, saying he was betrayed by sub optima ( some even whisper he was framed
to cover up the campaigners antics), and his supports claim his vision and
ambition would have saved the empire, and Vaul.
The
castle itself is somewhat weakened, mainly via fire damage. It will take months
to repair.
The imperial airship fleet was badly damaged as the Black Flags stole the flagship. It is currently moored in the oilstains for minor cosmetic repairs and recalibrating the big gun, the tracking of which appeared to be off by a factor of 10, and the flags are … mandatory guests of the Kaiser. They may not leave the castle and are under 24 hour surveillance. Their fate remains unclear, it is something that needs to be discussed at an upcoming meeting.
The
Flagonborn Inn, and Taahirs tower both have a fulltime squad of Imperial
soldiers stationed outside for protection. The former has been closed for
business for weeks. The crowd constantly outside is a mixture of adoring fans
and bloodthirsty zealots who blame suboptima for everything that has befallen
them.
Attracted
by the destruction, minotaur raids have increased slightly in the northern
provinces, but none dare approach the capital, even now.
Economy
Supplies
are limited, and many luxury items and magical supplies due to be shipped to
the capital have been delayed, as the main route into the city for such
products is the dragon wagon. As a result, what supplies are arriving are by
land (a slower, and more dangerous route), and as a result, prices (especially
for luxury items) have almost doubled.
Medical
and healing supplies are exceptionally rare and sold at a premium. A black
market has sprung up for such items, as well as a vibrant and successful
counterfeit market. Some estimate that 50% of all the greater healing potions
in the city are fake right now.
Masons
are suddenly the most in-demand worker in the city, and everyone is claiming to
have extensive stoneworking experience as demand rockets.
House
Prices have crashed however as the middle class flee the city for now, and
nobody wants to purchase property admit the uncertainty.
Social
The causalities
were in the thousands. The graveyards were unable to cope with the influx, The
Kaiser has designated the slapclay as a mass burial site, all bodies are being
taken and interred there. Those unidentifiable (of which there were many ) are
added to an everburning funeral pyre at the mouth of the quarry. The mourning
line the street to the slapclay weeping at each passing body, lest it be their
loved one.
While it
might appear to be business as usual at first glance, unrest and fear
characterise the gossip of the capital now, many taverns are struggling as
people save what little coin they have or leave for safer lives to the South.
Frequent statements from the palace and tepid speeches from The Kaiser (whose
strength appears to be returning now he no longer drinks soup) and his son
Wilhelm go some way to ease the masses. But not entirely. Their brutal
treatment of the road after the failed coup was unpopular amongst the many who
supported the rebels, and their attempts to push the church out of much of the
politics of the city is unwelcome from the religious. While broadly speaking, they
are benevolent, they lack the charisma of Mario and the sense of fate and
grandiosity the church wielded. They maintain a tenuous power, but mainly
though their legal and inherited legitimacy, and crucially because no suitable
alternative has arisen. Yet.
The
Kaiser has dispatched multiple messages and missives to his few remaining allies
in Salt and Wounds that had survived Mario’s assassinations and is attempting
to establish peace talks. No response has been received yet. The Palace remains
hopeful, but this has understandably generated quite a bit of discussion on the
streets.
Given
that the defeat of Namthar has weakened the clerics and judges of the imperium,
it has allowed Salt in Wounds to claim a number of key victories, and he is
parleying at a distinct disadvantage now. Many may see this as weakness, and a
surrender to the enemy before the war had even really started.
Adventuring
parties have flocked towards the capital, and what taverns remain open are
usually full of all manner of sword wielding, magic slinging fly by nights. Opportunity
is in the air (or perhaps blood is in the water?) and there are contracts aplenty
for the industrious campaigner. Minor nobles consolidating politic gains, private
protection, searching for missing persons and academics searching for artefacts
amidst the beast stalked rubble, or tentacles of sewer dwelling beasts. When street
fights break out these days, they are swift and bloody affairs, with a tendency
to leave a few scored craters behind.
The church after Namthar: Rhea
She wrapped the child tightly under her woollen blouse as she huddled outside the infirmary, pressed up against the others. She could feel the heat of the fever, burning into her breast even through the damp rag she had carefully wrapped over the boys face. She glanced around at the crowd in dismay as the haggard faces stared blankly into the smog. Some sat silently, staring into the distance, hands clutched around grubby knees, the horror of the events having robbed them of words, or even sanity. Others simply groaned, the anguished guttural whine of those left behind. Woken in the middle of the night to a nightmare, their broken limbs twisted and gnarled like winter branches as they rolled over to find crushing loved ones beside them, pasted across floorboards in chunks, blood and shit seeping through their nightgowns. The loudest voices had fallen silent as the days went by. She began to see the pattern. They start loudly enough, shouting in pain or despair, calling for vengeance against the church, or the moon, or the adventurers. As the hours passed by, they became silent, as the wounds robbed them of strength and voice. Finally, they said nothing at all, and just waited for the end – in whatever form it would take. Jessop had not spoken in days. Rhea coughed violently into her sleeve and stared down at the mucus, dreading what she would see there. Amidst the blood floated the coal black globs of pigment, swirling in the phlegm as if alive. The air around the slapclay was still thick with ash as the godbody burned continuously for weeks now, an neverending bonfire that showed no sign of diminishing, and coating the district in a thick, oiling smog. Rhea guessed this wasn’t particularly good for her health.
A hush fell over the assembled peoples as a figure appeared in the church doorway, a thin and bleary-eyed priest of Namthar, his beard unkept and stringy, his robes stained with the blood of his patients. Rhea had never seen that before; healing spells were relatively bloodless she knew.
“We are full tonight my children, we do not have space to even lay a blanket down for you. I will send out our nurses with food and water and what medicines we can spare…”
An elderly man pushed forward, peering out from under his hedgerow of charcoal eyebrows as he swayed against his makeshift crutches. His right leg was heavily bandaged; the dried blood had turned black now and was crusting along the thin wooden splint that had been poorly bound across the joint.
“Please… Its just a broken leg brother, it wont take you long….. please, I have prayed everyday since I was a boy, and always pay my church dues. I know you to be a kindly cleric and a man of Namthar. Ive broken this leg before when I fell from my horse as a younger man, and you were so kind as you wove your magic to bind the bone. I know how quick it can be, please, heal me one last time – for I cannot rebuild with my …”
The old man fell silent as he looked at the cleric, tears streaming down the priests face as he stood infront of the crowd. He could not look the broken man in the eyes.
His silence told
them all they needed to know.
The child
whimpered in Rheas’s arms. They were on their own.
Intell:
Clerics of Namthar
seem to have lost their powers, and a judge was taken down by a group of angry
Road sympathisers. This would never have happened before, and rumours abound
now that they have lost some of their fighting prowess. The church are
attempting to keep this all under wraps it seems, statements released have
attempted to distract and claim the enormous creature in the statue was in fact
the work of the demonic allies of Kossos, as everybody knows that Namthar has
no material form. The cathedral was uncharacteristically empty for worship this
week, and churches around the city are having windows broken in and obscene
graffiti painted across their doors. Loyalist groups are taking shifts to
protect the buildings.
Some splinter factions have already formed, The “Church of Namthar Reborn” for instance claim his death was part of his divine plan to save his followers, and we must follow him. They indulge in ritualised suicide as a result, often taking their less enthusiastic families with them. In contrast the “Sacred order of the true Namthar” feel that all statues contain some element of Namthar now, and have taken Colossus-gate as sign that all statues should be destroyed, as is his divine will.
A small but
increasingly vocal cohort of Namtharites have petitioned to the Kaiser to have
sub-optima tried for treason (they are unwilling to use the term Deicide)
The
weaker judges have allowed some incursions from the sewers, for instance a
Malboro was sighted and engaged in lowtown, but thankfully a low level campaigning
wizard was able to assist 2 squads of soldiers in securing the street.
The Wider World of Vaul.
Vicetina is a free city, with a proud history of neutrality in wartime, but under Sofia’s rule had suddenly become exceptionally friendly to the empire, sending troops and signing a number of generous trade deals. Now however, Vicetina is a rudderless, ruler less city, the entire Ordelaffi family slain. An interim group have taken over for now, “Vox populi”. They are comprised of nobles and local tradespeople, but their ultimate power and direction are unclear.
Some
of the centaurs insisted on telling the Khan what they had seen, claiming their
Hoofspringa demanded it, and this unit is temporarily at half strength until
they return.
Porta Verde
has not responded to a formal request to send aid and financial support to the
capital – It is also an independent city, but has been a traditional ally of
the empire in the past
The
rain of objects from the moon has increased exponentially since godsfall and a
number of towns an cities have fallen silent, EMAIL no longer reaching them,
and wizards casting routine military message spells to watchtowers finding no
targets.
Power Vacuums: Tilly
“Im
sorry, it seems youll just need to kill yourself”
“What?”
“Yes.
If youre a traditionalist I would suggest chopping your own head off, but I
think we accept being hanged in section B15 as an alternative.. let me see..
yes, hanging is fine. So you could hang yourself too. But not both obviously
hahaha”
The prisoner stared at the woman in front of him. A simple pony tail, plainly dressed in a neat clean tunic, her thick glasses gleaming in the torchlight as she stared over her clipboard. She chewed a pencil nervously as she continued to study the execution form. It was a first draft but she didnt want to let him know that.
“I
have rights you know; I have a legal right to a proper execution”
“Yes well all the executioners are dead. They were having a moon party on. you know… that night.”
“What?! They all just happened to have a fucking party, in the rfucking capital, on fucking Godsfall?”
“Yes. And I think that’s an insensitive term for many Sir, and please dont curse so much in our dungeon”
“Right, so they are all dead. fine. Look, its not hard to cut a head off, just get somebody else to do it. I killed a man you know! His Lordship Hryon Ardeth personally sentenced me to death”
“Yes. Well, Im his steward, and unfortunately for you, that means I get to decide who does the beheading and when. And we are all out of executioners.”
The young woman was not prepared to be thrust into such a role. She worried she had no aptitude for running a barony and had shielded herself with the armor she wore best – impenetrable paperwork. Studying as a legal clerk, Tilly was a bright woman, a little bookish some said and really wanted nothing better than to keep her studies and office in tidy, well organised, highly structured (possibly alphabetized) manner. Lots of right angles and muted colours please. There was not a full stop out of place among her immaculate study notes, and her idea of a good time was a glass of wine and working through her tax returns with a really nice pen, maybe a high flex on a medium nib and expensive nicely flowing ink. Her thoughts wandered to the smooth scratch of the nib as it is dragged itself languidly self across the naked paper, like a finger tracing the outline of a lovers body, dribbling its stream of dark rich ink as it….
She shuttered as something shot up her spine and tickled her brain a little. She refocused her attention. The massacre at the ball had been ruthless and efficient. Lord Hyron lay dead, his heavily pregnant wife was in the royal infirmary, wounded but alive. Having no children, the stewardship fell to the commander of his guards, who was halfway through his seafood bisque when he was halfed himself by a craburais pincers in an act of cosmic poetry. Third in command, the head of estates was having an affair with the fourth in command, hyrons armsmaster. They were found in a closest, burned to an intimate crisp. Her own father, the master of letters, had managed to duck out of the fray and dash to the stairs only to slip on bat droppings and fall 3 stories into a fountain. So here she was. She wasn’t the only one suffering such a strange fate. Some great houses had been completely wiped out, and the baronies returned to the Kaiser to administration and redistribution.
“Anyway, times are tough. I cant afford to hire more executioners, so you’ll need to do it yourself im afraid. If you’re really good maybe Ill hire you, who knows? ahahaha. Thats just a little joke of mine.”
“Wha…
bu.. bu But I killed a man!”
“Wonderful,
you’re an expert, you can do it again. How did you do it exactly?”
“It was brutal your ladyship, I bashed his head in with a club for a few gold pieces, I deserve nothing but death” howled the prisoner.
“Wonderful
thank you. Now , can you sign here please? How does 11:00 tomorrow sound?”
The men the next evening would whisper of their new ladyship, “Tilly the Terrible”, and tremble as they though of the rein of blood that could follow. Their pints sat untouched on the table, flat and warm. Few would ever forget the image of their new Lady, calming filling in official paperwork at the pulpit as the prisoners were marched up one after the other and forced to mutilate and humiliate themselves infront of the agast and silent crowd. She seemed more interested in her documents and her penmanship as the landsmen watched a man beat himself to death with a club. Tilly refused to help or let him stop, explaining that appendix 4 was very explicit that nobody would help. It was a “unions thing”. He took 4 hours to die as he lapsed in and out of consciousness from his own blows. Tilly smiled absentmindedly, this was much better from a paperwork point of view, and really was more efficient and economical. She chew the back of her pen and smiled.
Crime
in the Ardeth lands dropped to zero almost immediately.
Bonus social Intel:
With the nobles of the empire dramatically diminished, many baronies lay weakened and power vaccums exist throughout. Mario had intended to commandeer and seize all such lands to extend and consolidate his personal power, but now many are in disarray. Recruitment to the army from the townships has almost vanished under the circumstances, and the borderlands to the west are losing ground rapidly to advancing armies of Salt in Wounds. Soldiers and Battle clerics are ineffective following godsfall, and the lack of magical artillery is sorely felt on the field.
The society of supernatural enthusiasts
Weekly Digest, vol 52 issue 4
A roaring crowd greeted Sir Singedham’s treatise on the great phoenix. Following the tale of hope, despair and love, subscriptions to the digest exploded, and we would like to welcome all our new readers. Sir Singedham has promised us , the novelisation of his journey to the Rowbel Ravine is almost complete and will be premiered at an exclusive book signing before years end. Stay tuned mystery hunters!
Creature profile no 9: The Alp
Few other monsters inspire so many myths and fallacies as the alp. Folktales describe their charms and their beautiful, seductive voices, as well as their loathing of virgins. What is true beyond any doubt is that they move without a sound and attack by surprise, rarely giving their victims as much as a chance to scream in terror.
Blood Addict.
As higher vampires, alps, or alpor as they are also called, don’t need blood to survive but are extremely addicted to it. Of all the higher vampires, alp are the weakest when it comes to controlling their darkest urges. They lack the restrain and manipulative skills of the bruxa or the cunning edge of the katakan, making it very difficult for them to hide in the midst of civilization. To indulge in their addiction alps rely mostly on the poor judgement or social isolation of their prey, hunting lonely men, drunkards or notorious perverts.
She-Devil.
Alps, just like bruxae, are womanoid, exclusively appearing as female creatures. They have the power to change into a beautiful female humanoid, often an elf, and for this reason they are commonly mistaken for succubi, people believing them to be lecherous and inclined to seduce handsome young men. Some even pretend they are able to turn into a black dog or a venomous toad, but this is pure nonsense.
Home Invader.
If cornered, alps are more than capable fighters, their natural magical abilities allow them to daze and feed on their prey easily and their hands end in dangerous claws. Truthfully though, alps prefer to attack unconscious victims. They will sneak into bedrooms at night, draining the blood of the sleeper and leave before dawn. The alp will then return the following nights to feed again on the same victim, until it’s caught or the victim dies. For some unknown reason, alps seem to develop a mystical connection with their sleeping victims, having a hard time to let them go.
This weakness can be used against the alp, for it makes its behaviour somewhat predictable.
Between Beasts and Men.
Alps are ambiguous vampires, they cannot stand to be too far from humanity, as they need to satisfy their blood addiction, nor can they hide directly among men, due to their lack of control. Therefor an alp is reduced to share the same refuges and lairs than lesser vampires, lurking between the world of men and beasts. To the contrary of lesser vampires, alps do care for comfort and will build their lair accordingly, garnishing it with furniture and accommodations, even art sometime
SS.
Popular request
A number of budding members of the society have enquired after the mythical gemstone dragons these last few days. A man of the people, and always keen to act upon the inspiration provided by his wonderful listeners, SS has performed some research and is crowdsourcing an expedition to uncover new information on these spectacular creatures and return to Namburg with stories to regale his supporters.
Preliminary research has provided a number of leads – Windsoar castle houses the last great transmuter Zarini who was known to be close friends with A particular creature who was reputedly made entirely of rubies – he will likely delight SS with his tales and we expect them to become fast friends.
Other chapters of this upcoming best seller include SS following up on rumours of a great saphhire beast spotted centuries ago by shipwrecked sailors on the great Knaru Isles, shrouded by impassable storms – they were rescued by court wizards who were able to both scry and teleport them to safety. Their tales were thought to be hogwash, but your discerning author suspects otherwise! Only a sailor extraordinaire such as SS could navigated the tempest to bring you the greatest stories known to Namburg! By the twins! (can we still print this? -editor)
Our journey will continue on a vaulwide tour de force as we visit the deserts of the east to hunt for around Rini where a mountain of amethyst was said to appear in the sands shortly after our victory moon greated us ! The e.m.a.i.l is as hot as it gets!
Dragons have been spotted at both the mountains east of Selegina, and a red dragon (ruby?) was allegedly seen swimming through the sea to the south of South Hallow.
Finally, The sunless sea is surely the perfect location for an ancient and mysterious creature to hide itself from our curious eyes, no? Your author suspects that deep veins of topaz found in the frozen north near Caer Mynn may lead to deep and excellent adventures!
Donations are now being accepted – expected cost for this expedition is 500,000 g. This will include the building of a custom airship, an accompanying fleet of sailing vessels, the battalion of soldiers and wizards tower for research and defence. The expected completion date is within the decade, so hurry fast! Applications are welcome to join the adventuring party, must have own health insurance, minimum 6 months campaigning experience, no magic items are provided, proven survival under extreme circumstances and any direct contact with gemstone dragons extremely desirable. Bards need not apply.
Tier 1. [ supernatural enthusiast] 1g-10g / year. – you will be thanked in our book series and receive easy access to the first draft!
Tier 2. [ supernatural obsessive] 10-20g/year . All the tier one awards, and your name will be emblazoned across the bow of our airship, working name “ The Supernaturalist”
Tier 3 [ supernatural champion] 20g+/year. All the tier 1 and 2 rewards plus. We will read your name to the first gemstone dragon we find and tell them you said hi.
___________________________________________
Date: The night of the Vigil, the day before the masquerade
ball.
Tensions are high. Multiple factions are vying for control
of the city, and either using the moon as convenient leverage, or ignoring it
completely. Suboptima have manged to ingratiate themselves to varying degrees
with all the key players. Things have become complicated in classic over
ambitious Eoin compounded by lateral thinking Suboptima. They can be
deconvoluted as follows:
The Kaiser Matiyias and his son Wilhelm:
Not a particularly popular or noteworthy royal family, but
the true heirs to power. Wilhelm has asked for your help in removing Mario and
if possible, disempowering the church, for which he holds no particular love.
It obviously needs to be a secretive and ideally “outside” job. He thinks he
has very few loyal guards remaining and doesn’t not think he has the popular
support of the people. His father was a peaceful ruler and maintained a calm,
passive state and status quo, until strategic assassinations in Salt and Wounds
removed his key allies within their city and he found himself alienated and
unable to control rising fear and tensions. Wilhelm was attacked by pirates en
route and seemed reluctant to speak much about it in the Flagonborn. He owes
you a bit of gold. Wilhelms sister used work with Mario, but they no longer do.
Details unclear.
Mario
Arrogant but a genius. First attempted frame the party over
a year ago IRL and has been pulling strings for the entire campaign. The party
are aware of the tip of what surely must be an iceberg of control. Having goaded
and ushered the Herald forwarded into summoning the moon for him, he then
managed to spy on the party, first using his initial plant of Jeremiah Trope
into a promising mercenary band and later via Madga’s scrying amulet. Having
sent his Doppler companion in the form of Alistair to ensure you had the key to
Ashenkirk and could carry out your purpose, he trusted you to remove his now unnecessary
tool – the Herlad, which you did wonderfully. Shame about Tulip.
He aided the church designing and disseminating the redrot
(via herald) and the necrophage and gained their trust and alliance, which he
has used to whip the populace into a resentful anger towards salt and wounds.
His goal, in so far as he has revealed it to you, is to
break this cycle of scholars and their moons, by first controlling and unifying
the entire world under his banner, and using his absolute power to save Vaul. He
is basically the cutthroat and Machiavellian Hero the world needs, in his
opinion.
Clinks exceptional intel hunt revealed however that he has a
secret lover, and you are aware of the location they meet in, a small
inconsequential tea house. Transpires you think you actually met his lover Sofia,
who helped him frame you, and who he presumably then installed into power after
murdering her father for her. Politics eh?
Clink suspects he is at the very least over seasoning the
soup, as it robbed Gritgoz of HP for 48 hours. Gritgoz was understandably frustrated,
but knows that the best poisons are odourless, tasteless, and difficult to
detect. This isn’t Marios first toxicity rodeo.
He has promised you a barony, and insane power and riches
should you help him. You would be his lieutenants.
The Road
Your main contact is Radokaf thus far. A jealous barmaid seemed
unwelcoming to Mes when she enquired at the usual recruitment site. A scattering
of cells, the road is a fairly vast network, and a thorn in Marios side. He has
told you he doesn’t know what they are planning, and wants you to find out. They
have spent the last number of years sneaking explosives into the capital – you first
became aware of this in episode one and two, but it wasnt confirmed until the barrels in
the sewers were found to be full of aurite. Thus they have a bomb set up somewhere,
and are preparing to begin the revolution during the maskerade ball. They have
quite a bit of support within the city, and Bardnet recons a civilwar would
divide families down the middle. It feels like a 50/50 split on the streets.
Radokaf agreed to hold off for a better plan after you rescued fingerless carlotti,
his failed operative , but you have promised to provide it before the ball, otherwise
its all systems go. He may have forgotten the password.
The Church
Interested mainly in consolidating power, they have had a
wonderful year, with the undead plague, and now war. Popularity is at an all
time high. The leader of the Church, the Cardinalis, has asked you attend the
vigil tonight to help him unearth the cause of annual murders that plague the
event and are hugely worrying and embarrassing for all. You come highly
recommended from Mario.
Key intel gathered:
Namthar did not die during the last war, but is instead locked
in the statue. It is unknown if this is against his will or not. This is not
public knowledge, and perhaps nobody knows . Radokaf will be wondering what you
found in that tomb.
Gemstone dragons were here once, left the intel re Namthar?
The last great scholar disappeared to his flying castle , Windsoar castle.
Ernie has asked the observatorium to be searched for intel.
Gritgoz is a solid jockey, having killed Seymour, Marios
last champion jockey. After arriving at a suspicious hidden room marked on a
map they discovered in the safe house, about 36 hours after ransacking the safehouse
and murdering the jockey who was supposed to turn up for work the previous day,
they found the room deserted.
Mes has the makings of a cracker of a brew now.
Ernie learned that city sized objects are dropping from the
moon onto the surface of vaul. Had Clink been present, memories of Bastion may
have flooded back.
The black flags await the signal to become m o o n p i r a
t e s
Donkey boys are working in the observatorium havnt heard
about your presence yet.
Your magic items are in stock should you want them.
Other goings on:
Bardnet: Whereitis remains an important strategic village
for the war, and it’s a key supply line to the lancers in the front. Most of
the buildings have been commandeered now by judge konstantine.
Ernie’s troubles grow as he is now powerful enough to summon
malignant demons sent my his.. patron. The big fella has grown sick of his
stealing and is trying to stamp him out.
Camelots sword collection grows, as does his deep connection
to the pony he rides. His desires and motivations remain mysterious , beyond
swords of course. His people , none of whom are sword masters toil miles below,
somewhere in the sunless sea.
Clinks Father stalks the corridors of the castle as bardnet
grows and clinks reputation of a datamonger and performer extraordinaire are consolidated.
A lucky scry last week revealed a slight problem in the network however. Clink
did not subscribe to Sir singdham’s newsletter.
Gritgoz walked into a tree.
Your centaur squad have returned to your tower on your
orders, in light of Marios veiled threats. Situation unknown.
You’ve got nothing to wear to the ball if your going.
You tour around those few bookshops in the area and learn
the best selection of scholarly tombs can be found in the library of the observatorium.
A few silver gets you a day pass –
“Gritgoz tags along with Ernie and trys to read up on dopplers and look for any information which could relate to the lost city of Zerul Guhk” . As your gobo pal finds related books he passes them your way, cutting down on the manual searching considerably.
Gem dragons
A long-forgotten branch of the Draco genus, draco crystallus
are primarily hexapods like their more common cousin draco metallus and draco
chromaticus. The seem to predate them by some millennia, and there is some speculation
that they may be the original prototypical Dragon, from which all other forms ultimately
descended. Scholars argue as to the exact original, but most agree it is
certainly not Vaul itself.
Many long ago abandoned their wings or let them atrophy,
relying instead on their innate mental powers to lift and propel them
telekinetically. They are now rare, those few that were known of from prehistory
seem to have disappeared from record around the time of the last century war.
The details surrounding this disappearance are unclear as they seem to have
taken part in the wars.
Details of the dragons abilities and powers range from awe inspiring to unbelievable, and anecdotes of people forgetting their entire lives and skills, having their minds permanently inhabiting the body of their friends, learning secrets from their future selves and falling madly in love with inanimate objects are only a few of the more credible abilities described. Needless to say, when cornered or provoked, the Gemstone dragons were possibly the most dangerous creatures on the face of the planet. Distant, disengaged, balanced, slow to anger, unstoppable.
There are a number of references to an ancient script associated with the Gemstone dragons, much like high draconic but with more intricate runeshapes which was at times adopted by the early church due to its utility for storying words of power and potent spells and glyphs.
The last great scholar and Gemstone Dragon expert was said to be Lord Olimonora Osmore, one of the last great transmuter primarchs, father of the school of wizardry. A rather raucous song ( sung by Brother Lardo the first, who would later found a great house of successful traveling minstrels) describes Olimonora descending into madness and retreating to his castle during the century war as he watched his beloved gemstone companions fight on and vanish. The second verse describes the castle uprooting itself days alter and flying high above the clouds. It was later dubbed Windsoar castle, the bards tongue firmly in his cheek no doubt.
Blackfort
The Legends of the blackfort are many – a pathway to the
sunless sea, the seat of an ancient civilisation of enormous humanoids, a
defensive structure to prevent kossovian armies roving south, a foothold of
deamons on the mortal realm, the last vanity project of a notorious necromancer.
It is hard to decipher the truth from the legend.
North of the flood plains and the dread swamp the blackfort remains shrouded in danger and mystery. The huge walled citadel had been built long before the first settlers arrived in the region, and had once been a beautiful slate grey structure, but slowly over centuries it seemed to char and discolour from the base of the stones until it was black as pitch from the foot of the walls to the tips of the towers.
Stranger still was the structure itself, for it appeared like a wall, but served no obvious function and besides, there was little in the way or north-south warfare across the planes. Some authors have speculated it instead was designed to keep something within protected , and keep assailants either out, or perhaps in.
The fort has been abandoned for centuries, but it is felt to be exceedingly dangerous. Most of the walls have fallen with the passing of time, yet few who pick through the rubble return. Adventurous campaigners speak of a huge subterranean structure, and at least one manuscript mentions Thesselar his interests in both deamonic research and genomic fusions (which reminds you of his work which helped propel the Judge project / Throkk )leading him to the fort. Unfortunately, that chapter has key pages ripped out , where his specific interests and findings in the blackfort would have been detailed.
The seat of power of Kaiser Matias, from where the Empire is ruled. The Great cathedral is built alongside and into the north wall of the palace, a symbol of the inseparable union of the two. Fronted by a beautiful garden ( complete with a maze for noble frolicsand the sunset incognito rendevous of course) overlooks the entire city. Wonderful view. Exceptionally well protected, as if you even needed to ask.
The Shipyard
Up until a few years ago was something of a slum, but with a territorial and cultural war brewing for years now, the farsighted Kaiser has been pouring money into the shipyard and is currently crafting the tip of the spear of his army, the flagship of his fledgingly armada.
The oilstains
The live in quarters of the engineers working within the shipyard. Dingy.
Kustenwand
The only thing between the capital and the waves, sometimes ambitious deepones venture too far inland or stray rivertrolls, drowners or waterhags emerge from the esturary. Claw marks decorate the outer wall. Property is cheap here, unsurprisingly.
Rauberwand
An important wall as it defends again northern barabarians and minotaur raids, more often than not trails of smoke would greet the townsfolk of a morning who looked in that direction. Another raid on the outsiders, who couldnt afford to live within the wills.
The littleberg
After the first halfing and gnomish immigrants arrived they were quickly ghettoised by the human and half elf nobles. Their own communities formed, and their own slang, law enforcement and customs sprouted – they were not afforded the protection on the city walls however, such that they were often the victims raiders and wandering creatures.
Goblinbarrel
So called as prisoners were taken here during he goblin wars and placed into barrels for locals to vent their frustration by beating, rocking or stabbing the barrels. A number of stories still circulate of political prisoners or simply fetisihists climbing into barrels to be suspended above the angry mob . The custom has long died out, but is still technically law.
The Great Colossus of Namthar
A towering construct that looms over the city, this sacred pilgrammage site attracts visitors from all over the empire. The Colossus came first, and the city grew in its shadow the tourguides tell you. Seems unlikely given the logicistics of building a statue taller than the walls. The upkeep employs hundreds of craftsmen and miners however.
The observatorium
A scholarly house under the personal employ of the Kaiser – a superstitious man, he has a number of astrological experts under his patronage who study the stars and moons for hints at what the future fortunes of the empire may be. It also provided advance warning of impending attacks from Kossos or other raiders when the court scrying failed.
The slapclay
Some of the stone that build the great colossus was brought from this quarry but for the last few generations, the earth has become soggy and marshy, and instead it is now used as a clay pit, the chalky grey extract of which maintains the ever cracking statue.
Klerusschlaff
Originally a monastrery, it now houses most of the local clerics of namthar , but also the masons and workers who maintain the great colossus. Does a nice trade in trinkets during pilgrammages. Excellent bagels ( the water allegedly) and but the sausage in a bun are the wurst.
Arcanhaus
An old converted lumbar mill, the building has gone through a number of iterations: lumbar during the clearing of the marshes and building of the city, driving a mechanical bellows to a great military forge during the goblin wars, and later grinding imported wheat and finally producing magical components in their rawest form for the tradespeople. A supplier of pigments and dyes, simple but stylish magewear and a bespoke item sourcing and enchanting, for those that can afford it. It also specialises in grinding crystals that are too tough to grind to a powder by mortar and pestle , as well as weaving precious metals and dimaterium.
Ten-silver
The Kaiser Krustenwulf once boasted to visiting diplomats that almost anything worth buying could be found in his markets for only a handful of silver. As if to humour their leader that winter solstice the shops and markets began to boast of the 10 silver deals on almost any produce they could peddle. The name stuck, although what with inflation the way it is, ten-silver is mainly old family shops now and a rather substantial blackmarket trade.
The Smokes
Spent most of the time under attack form outside, from within, or just engaging in a little light arson. The poorest of the poor, crinimals , maniacs, people who just want to fight, barbarians half orcs.
Low town
Lower class part of town, the working class live here – mainly humans. Watch yer wallet, but dont let them see you watching it cause thats pretty judgemental and part of the problem. The hardware store has a good supply of bootstraps which they specifically dont sell to these people, on a point of principle.
Thank you for the correspondence, we had no such technology when last I dwelled on the surface. Truly we live in strange times. Your messages are well received, and I am glad to hear your tea brewing is progressing. My condolences to Throkk over whatever he discovered in that mansion, he carries the weight of a stolen childhood on his shoulders and has more blood on those hands than will ever wash off – but I would hear how my good friend Throkk is faring now? Is he in good health? Fighting well?
It sounds like you’re better off without Karn to be honest.
Hard to trust a man like that. Finally, I detest swamps and I share your hatred
of such places. I am sorry you find yourself in such a location. I would be
careful placing a such a large, heavy structure as a tower onto soft earth , it
is likely to sink within hours – I’m sure they have thought of this, they are
some of the smartest campaigners I have ever met, but all the same, please warn
everyone accordingly.
I had arrived in Porta Verde to meet you as you suggested
but learned you had come and gone in the time it took me to travel from the
elves forest ship-city. I see you have left your mark on this place, the poor
excuses for stoneworkers here were already laying the foundations for a statue
above Shang’s Gate. It cast a dark shadow on my heart to learn it was to be of
Celeste and of the death that lay within the rift. It is now being walled off
for eternity, I hope, though none would speak of what lay beneath, or of what
their purpose was. I of course gave instruction to those who would listen and
helped select the choicest marble for the good ladys memory.
It was the next day that accursed moon appeared. The place
was in panic, many have fallen ill with some plague in the weeks prior and
there were days of rioting and looting as the shoguns officers struggled to
maintain control. Once it didn’t immediately fall on us, and people realised
they still needed to eat, drink and fuck, then things shifted towards some
normality- although horses are impossible to control, many escaped and fish
beach themselves on the shores in their thousands.
I had given up hope of hearing from you, and had made
preparations to travel Southwards , perhaps to Bulgan or Twin points to escape
the madness, until I overheard a conversation over the pint of ale ( a fairly
decent one too, “Carbarian Rage” – the brewmaster is decent fellow and got me
as pissed as a mattress when I told him we had travelled together for a while. Told
me to swing back in a season or two for a new recipe hes waiting on “Red
Setter”.)
Turns out some sailors had made port this morning in an
imperial galleon, bound for Namburg. A young prince was aboard and was racing
for the capital, turns out they had met none other than the infamous Sub
Optima. It took little convincing to allow me to join them – though in jest
they tell me they had a dwarf passenger on the southbound journey. The Seadogs
have a dark sense of humour it seems.
It might be the quarries of the capital are where I find
some solace and can work these old hands until they are worn smooth and I might
forget the horrors I escaped from.
