AMIA ARCHIVE • View topic - Diplomacy's Game Continues: Blood and Rebirth

Naivatkal wrote:

DustSpray101 wrote:

THE HARPERS INFECT CORDOR:
A PLOT FROM WITHIN?

If the Harper stories are to be believed, why were there so many Arcanum members in known Harper hangouts, and coming and going in peace no less!? Why were they not acting against them at all? Can we trust the Arcanum if they simply speak to terrorists and make no move to destroy the Commonwealth's enemies where they stand? Our very safety is at stake!

Is the Arcanum truly on our side, or have they defected to the Harper Menace and are attempting to lure out our very own Speaker and manipulate him to their own dastardly ends? Afterall, organizations may come to an end, but the individuals within them do not simply vanish or disappear. It is my fear, as a citizen of Cordor, that these men we once turned to for support, may already be corrupted by the Harpers!

-Drafted from the mind of Citizen Eli (doesn't that just sound peachy keen?)

Perhaps oddly, the excerpt is copied down and duplicated. Each copy is hand-written, some slightly rushed though in readily legible Common, and several bear signs of a person growing tired of such a fevered pace. Within hours of the original posting, they are quickly posted throughout Cordor. They are also found almost randomly through out Bendir, the frontier, Amia forest, the outskirts of Kohl, outside of Kohl's walls in the farmlands, on Wiltun's ground, in the settlements of Khem, on the island of Caraigh, on the slain bodies of orcs and kobolds and mylocks and trolls, and even on the back of one hapless beggar.

It seems someone was busy indeed.

// Crossposted in the PC Notice Board thread, [Amian Isle Cities] Triumvir Paintings

Despite the assistance of the paper, these flyers seem to continue to be spread. Across nearly all of Amia they are found, even to the point of finding their ways even deeper into known hunting aeas.

Perhaps ever stranger, however, they are suddenly found in the Triumvir as well. Whenever there is an absence of people, a smalle stack of them is found here and there, weighted down with a rock.

*Not in Wiltun however, as they are immediatly removed by the guards who are on a round a clock duty, taking shifts. Anyone who puts them up would find themselves immediatly clapped in irons and thrown in the dungeon*

*Posters within Cordor begin to be removed, simply out of to much clutter. As well Belalad keeps an eye out for the subject placing them up*

A certain crimson creature was kneeling on an overlook of Silent Bay, staring down at the Storehouse below..letting the Sun set on yet another day..

"Obscurity and wandering, or capitulation and living in step with humans.. I'm neither human, nor elf, nor dragon.. I'm something that has no home.. I tried to make one there.. tried to make one elsewhere. I could give in, and ruin... it would be easy.. easier for me..

...They want me dead, they do not care, nor wish.. not that the others do.. but what is it in this choice.. to choose what leads to what. Is this a conscience..? The cogs moving, things at play.. utterances of whispers on my ears.. even deep.. tugging feelings...

..the Creator would tell me to act in interest of what I wish. Act to destroy those who move against, to unmake any who would harm me, without concern. Crush them. To be the monster without care for others desires..lives.. To give into the greed, to ascend to be all that I can be... Why don't I do it? ... Why do I resist the call.. by standing in the darkness.. but pushing it away, not letting it take.. too much.. I become tainted.. become unwelcomed, unwished anywhere. Such things I am accused of .. such violence, the blame. Far more than even Darthion was given.. fate, people, everyone but me.. seems to be pushing me towards being what they wish to see me as..

..a monster. An evil they might hunt and slaughter.. why do I resist? ...Why do I not wish it.. there is much fame to be had, many would follow.. a home I could carve out with..what I am.. why do I fear being what flows in me. I am already judged for it.. instead of what I have done.. ...why do they say that fighting for things it is good, when it protects what they want, but what I want is different? Why must humanity be so blind... to the greater picture, so keen to look...

Something gave unto me... when I called.. when I begged... I know not who.. what.. it was.. why it gave unto me...

Why must the monsters which know what it is like... be unlike me. Why am ..I different? Is it because I have chosen? Vyashir can't be right..

Why haven't I sent this already.. Is it greed.. to want to keep from losing something... or is that love?.. Whats the difference?"

You have said to believe in what you are.. goddess.. ...I don't know who... what that is ... I cannot take another step..until I do.."

He looks towards the south as he rests on the rocky outcrop, then the parchment in his taloned hand...tensing his grasp.

A particular albino woman becomes very seasick in the coming days. She is seen boarding ships to Kohlingen, Benwick Hollow, the Nexus Falls, and even Djedet, where she covers herself in a dark cloak and long sleeves despite the brutal sun. Her travels take her over land as well, and she seems to hit every major settlement on the Amian Isles, always with a piece of high quality vellum concealed beneath her robes.

The allies gather to the howl of a wolf in diplomat's clothing.

The game continues.

A hin in red and gold armor is seen inside and around the outskirts of Wharftown, looking as if he is scouting out the area, taking notes of the landscape and so on.

Quote:

The message is left in the Nomad and throughout North, West, Central and South Cordor.

Are you a free man or woman of the Commonwealth?

Do you have any questions about your rights or what being a citizen of the Commonwealth entails?

Do you love Cordor?

I cordially invite all free people (and any government officials) to a free seminar in Cordor South, near the market. Here I'll be happy to help with any of the above questions, and more! At ((Monday 10/3, 6 pm CST / 11 pm GMT ))!

-Andrew Fryar,
Citizen of Cordor

The Amian Recorder, Clarion of the Commonwealth, has continued to spew propaganda across the face of Amia for several months under the continued direction of Chief-Editor-turned-Secretary-of-the-Press Bill Hurst. The entire readership base of the magazine, which extends through Kohlingen, the Dale, Wharftown and Uhm and even, every once in a while, a copy shamefully read and abandoned in the Iron Butterfly of Winya by a traveling adventurer, is treated to variations on a theme in each issue: a citizen of Cordor extolling the virtues of his or her life after the revolution, comparing the horrors of slavery under the thumb of Cordorian nobility to the "prosperous freedom" of living in the Commonwealth.

In addition to these human interest stories, there is always Bill Hurst's personal reports on the movements of the enemies of the Commonwealth, dubbed "The Noble's Army" and at several different times and in several different issues involved with several different disreputable organizations. In Eleint, they were busy plotting the assassination of community leaders with the aid of Harper spymasters; in Marpenoth they were in league with the Church of Bane, learning their secret and brutal military tactics in an effort do march in and dominate the city of Cordor (and possibly hand it over not only to the nobles but to the tyranny of Bane!); in Uktar they were selling commoners into slavery to the Thayvian wizards in exchange for magical trinkets that they could use in a siege on Cordor, trinkets that would bypass the counterspelling abilities of Mage Guards and MoM clerks; through Nightal and Hammer they were enlisting the aid of monstrous races across the face of Amia to make committed attacks on the city, allying themselves with beasts and doing whatever it took to put the people into slavery again and have their city back. Hurst bravely accompanied adventurers to the caves of kobolds and goblins and orcs and apparently had these claims verified by "reliable sources" within those monstrous tribes, each of whom were willing to spill their guts to the Secretary of the Press because, "to my surprise, they instinctively knew the evil these mercenaries of the Noble's Army and their deep-pocketed commanders represent!"

On the first of Ches, an old story finally sees a return, and the hope for some resolution...

*******

Ministry of Magic Charged With High Treason!

After rides of intense investigation in a joint venture between Secretary Jay Edgar Mover's department of the Ministry of Law and Kohlingen through their representative, Yaston Sylgerand, it has come to my attention as Secretary of the Press that the Ministry of Law fully intends to publicly announce a criminal charge of High Treason against a member or members of the Ministry of Magic!

Getting this information for your behalf, people of the Commonwealth and interested parties across the face of Amia, did not come easily, and I had to utilize all of the tools at my disposal, all of the tricks of my trade, pulling out every stop and putting my nose to the grindstone while keeping my ears open and close to the ground. I sniffed out this story while keeping my nose high in the air and out of trouble. I, Bill Hurst, premier investigative journalist genius of the Amian Islands and penman extraordinaire, could neither be buried by bureaucracy nor deterred by detriment.

After having lunch with a certain clerk in the Ministry of Law (a very nice lunch at my office where I have many of my meals catered nowadays, for the walk to the Otama or to the sweets vendor or to the market or to the Flowing Tide Pub in the Western District have all become so taxing on a man of my stature in the press, who verily has his hands full day in and day out managing the most important news source on the island!), and not one of those inconsiderate business lunches where the only topic of conversation is the most handily available topic of utility, but rather the kind of lunch where two men sit down to share their thoughts and opinions about the state of the Commonwealth, and by extension, the state of humanity and man's relationship with art, with nature, and with himself and his appetites (and what an appetite we worked up during our lunch conversation! where a coconut and cream custard pie liberally decorated bite-sized chocolate fritters proved a succulent dessert, graciously provided by Uncommon Cupcakes, the best bakery in the Central District, located at 18 Little Bridge Lane, after an appetizer tray of sugared blood oranges, ripe mandarin, mouth-watering pygmy sweetberries and an assortment of creamed cheeses and deli breads provided by the Party People, a catering service operating out of West Cordor for whom you can contact owner Opie Siti at CCC Box 554, as well as a two bottles of an august, pride of the vine vintage aged five years and imported from the distant Nappy Valley - yes, we skipped a main course for lunch because it is a lunch and one should only eat as a merchant eats, for 'tis breakfast that is reserved for the kingly appetite!) And after this lunch had concluded, I spoke the words in vino veritas (an old elfish phrase, if I am not mistaken) and lo, did this clerk speak.

This clerk, whose name is being withheld because he is a private resource, did relate to me in recognition of what he called my "personable character and unparalleled care and concern for the people of the Commonwealth" that Secretary Jay Edgar Mover, upon receiving the final investigative report from Yaston Sylgerand of Kohlingen, was already preparing a formal criminal charge against at least one, and possibly several, members of the Ministry of Magic for their involvement committing treason against the State by means of an unsanctioned attack on the Mystran Monolith, as well as what he said were "various and sundry crimes against the people of Cordor".

When I asked him to elaborate, he said further that "it is believed that these members of the Ministry of Magic were using a foreign mineral or possibly ore shipped illegally into Cordor in order to mount a magical attack on an institution suspected of fraternizing with enemies of the state with no cause or command given by the Council of the Commonwealth."

Since the beginning of the investigation, the Ministry of Magic has been inoperable, its members mostly barred from any activity within the Commonwealth Center, with their status as clerks representing the government revoked. This announcement I am making about an announcement that is to be made is the first pivotal turning point in a case that will hopefully see resolution and a return of the operations of the Ministry of Magic.

"Without an operational Ministry of Magic," Secretary Jay Edgar Mover said to me some weeks ago, before the breaking of this new story, "Cordor is crippled defensively. Any enemies of our state with magical capability have been able to undermine our arcane security freely so long as there is no one minding this very important tower of the Commonwealth Government. I did not personally agree with the decision to wholly disable their operations, but Speaker Maximillian, gods save him, believed it to be in the best interests of pacifying those whiny little wizards who used to live in a big rock no one gave a damn about across the sea."

I shall endeavor to do everything in my considerable and extensive power as Secretary of the Press to bring you, dear readers, beloved followers of the Clarion, a full accounting of the charges any proceeding trial! Even if it means I have to schedules a lifetime of robust lunches and hearty dinners with all manner of heads of state, staffers, foreign diplomats and representatives and people-in-the-know!

Last edited by Grymia on Thu, Mar 01 2012, 20:55 PM, edited 2 times in total.

From within Mayfields, the sudden spewing of tea could be heard issuing forth from a flabbergasted and utterly surprised Gnomish Wizard.

"They actually charged the Ministry of Magic with High Treason!" Tuomas said to himself in utter surprise at what to him was an implausiblity at best and near impossibility at worst.

~That Bill was silly enough to make the point that Cordor was defenseless against the Arcane however was inviting an attack... ~ he'd think to himself with a sigh as he cleaned up all which he had spewed his tea over, before retrieving another copy of the paper to bring to Ulrik's attention with all the speed a Gnome with two injured knees reliant on a staff to walk could muster.

~Need to send an apology to Maximillian sometime, he's not completely the thrall of the Ministry... and if how I predict the Ministry's going to react is right... ~

As news reaches the north of Amia, several letters are dispatched from Kohlingen keep. Each bearing a blue waxen seal, depicting the seven stars of Mystra. Late into the night hours, one mustached former Headmaster paces in his chambers. A moment is taken, to glance out over the sea and the star filled night sky. A quiet, confident resolve in blue eyes, and a contemplative tapping of his fingers upon his stave.

"Check."

A certain blue robed mage, clearly a wizard given the spellbook he was studying and the array of vials and wands on his person, pauses as he hears whispers of this. After a quick stop to the paperboy in Cordor Square, he departs from Cordor. Rather than via cart or portal rod, he contents himself with using the slower movement of a ship, finding comfort in the slow and steady pace. Over the short journey to Kohl, he peruses the paper, this article in particular, and his eyes widen ever so so slightly. Once the ship arrives in Kohl he sets out for his room in Mayfield's, replacing some possessions, and sets to looking for the other Mystrans once more.

Artum can be seen with several copies of this article and mutters under his breath a few things...

"Rather foolish. Telling Cordor's enemies that magical attacks can be successful when Guldorand was just hellballed...twice. Announcing before the announcement a charge of High Treason? What if the charge never come to light? He's already put it out there. Honestly, you would think he would know better. Head are going to roll for sure but now, the question is going to be who's and how many."

He will send copies of this to each division head, keep one in his personal files and send a few more to Mr. Eli, Ms. Zelly and Sir Yaston.

Richard flips through the Uhm edition, muttering to himself.

"...doesn't...concern...me..."

The Jarl-Warden swiftly crumples up the paper and storms off.

A big man in armor styled very similarly to that of the Wiltun Guard, but without any obvious badge to indicate his office or position, reads this in a copy he picked up while in Cordor. He just shakes his head and tosses it into a brazier, watching the charred bits of ash and smouldering paper float away in the wind blowing over the walls of the Fortress he mutters,

This is going to get worse before it gets better, but their fight better stay theirs.

A blonde lithe woman scoops up any tossed copy she finds in Uhm and reads it quickly with some concern or deeper thought written on her face.

"Hm. Interesting. I like this game. I can't wait to watch what happens next." whispers the woman to herself.

She tucks the copy away and walks quickly out of the city and into the woods.

*After learning of this turn of events from Artum, a certain young Hin in Guldorand grins wider than he has in some time. He murmurs a single sentence almost under his breath*

"I hope wherever you are in time, Mentaki, that you are able to see this..."

*He then departs, his tent remaining where is usually is, void of anything save his cot. He makes a point to inform one of Artum's men that he did in fact receive his letters and will respond to them upon his return. If questioned about where he is going, he simply responds:*

"I feel the need to toast some old friends."

*He swings past the Dale, fetching a bottle of fine whiskey and then makes his way north to Kohlingen's docks to start a journey back to where certain rocks sat out at sea. During the course of his walk he realizes it may well be patsies that are found guilty and not the true culprits, but to him, this was still a small victory well worth celebrating.*

Reading the news, a young genasi moves to seek out one of her superiors. Richard gets at the very least a copy of the article circled in red with the words below it in scratchy, tilted writing.

"I have a thought.
Yeke."

A young woman, seen selling meat around Cordor, stops to pick up a copy off the ground. She grinds her teeth as she briefly reads it, then tosses it in the nearest receptacle. She pauses for a few more moments, staring out at her city, before getting back to work.

*A certain paladin seems to have locked himself in his tower with books and he seems to write and lot.*

Xaviera is seen around the Commonwealth Center more often than has been usual lately, attending a variety of meetings.

*on her way to the visit Captain Redbeard and take a trip to Underport for reasons unknown a fairly seagoing looking individual dressed in upperclass shipmen garbs reads over the Uhm issue of the magazine shaking her head as she walks down the rain soaked docks. The rain luckily letting up long enough for her to read the document without it getting drenched. She mutters mainly to herself*

pshh We tried to tell 'em, I wond'ah what oth'ah groups will join togeth'ah like the 'orsemen did and try ta' stop the corruption goin' on in Cordor. Oh well more pow'ah to 'em, done beat me 'ead against that damn wall.

*nods to Redbeard handing him a bag of gold and takes the ship to Underport standing at the stern looking out over the keel as the sea mist sprays her face.*

::

Sitting on the floor of his home in Winya Ravena, Robert uncorked another bottle of a suzail red, drinking directly from it. He finally had arrived at "House Vaughn". He closed the large tome named "The Greater and Lesser Houses of Amia" and rubbed his eyes. He could name every noble house in Cormyr and the greater houses of the neighboring nations and more significant lands like Tethyr, Baldur's Gate or Waterdeep. He knew their sigil, their motto and their liege lords. Now he had begun the tiresome process of learning of every member of the local nobility.

Yet it has prooven more difficult to get his hands on books that well documented the history of the island and the region. His search has been met with a line of obstacles, as the Commonwealth had seen to that certain tomes vanish. Winya Ravena had a well stocked library, but while he now slowly mastered the basics of their spoken language, their written tongue remained a mystery to him.

His home these days reminded him more of the study of a crazed war wizard he had worked with in Cormyr. The space in his bookshelves had long been exhausted, now the tomes and scrolls piled up on every surface that could be found. "The History of the Military Orders of Amia", the ten part volume of "The Netheril Nation", "The Horde of Amia", "The Fall of Benwick and the Flight of Tiamat", "Great Sieges and Wars of Amia and Ruathym", "Of Golemns and Homunculis".

Dressing himself with a simple set of clothing, he made his way to the Iron Butterfly to dine over a copy of "The Plagues of Cordor, Wharftown and Uhm". He had long known all of the staff of the inn by their names, having in the recent months appeared almost daily there for his lunch and dinner. In the days to come, he is however seen less in Winya Ravena.

::

ARCANUM TREASON TRIAL OPENING ARGUMENTS BEGIN!

You heard it here first, loyal surveyors of the scene and purveyors of the press! I, Bill Hurst, Editor-in-Chief of the Amian Recorder, Clarion of the Commonwealth with a readership base all across the Amian island and as far as Ruathym, and acting Press Secretary for the Commonwealth Government of Cordor have been given exclusive privilege to sit in on the closed trial of 13 members of the Ministry of Magic, accused of treason for committing acts of war without consent. And this exclusivity on the inner workings of the Cordorian High Court is something I take delight in - nay, feel a duty towards - sharing with you!

And the Amian Recorder is the only place you're going to find it!

As every reader who religiously follows the Recorder knows, the Mystran Monolith, once located on the southern coast of the island of Ruathym, mysteriously vanished well over a year ago, during the first appearance of a unique meteorological occurrence, an aurora borealis that stretched from Cordor and northeastwards in the direction of Ruathym. To the country's shock, in the aftermath, the remnants of the Mystran Monolith - in particular, the former Headmaster, one Ulrik Valis, suspected Harper and thus anti-Commonwealth inciter - thrust a blazing finger into the face of our loyal government of the people and proclaimed that our government (and by extension, our people!) were collectively responsible for the loss of the Monolith! In short order, the nobility of Kohlingen were rallied to the cause, and even other settlements across the island began to increase political pressure on the Commonwealth, resulting in Speaker Maximillian's pledge to work with an independent investigator from Kohlingen in order to investigate these salacious claims!

After a year of investigation, Secretary of Law Jay Edgar Mover has brought treason charges against 13 members of the Ministry of Magic, who also belong to the global cabal known as the Arcanum, all in a surprise turnaround that simultaneously discredits the Mystrans' claim that Cordor is a city populated by corrupt ne'erdowells and also reveals shockingly substandard hiring practices within the Commonwealth bureaucracy!

"These 13 terrorists had been working for the Ministry of Magic for how long?" asked Frugo Till, owner of a General Store just outside of the district formerly known as Elftown. "Jiminy Joshua, if these 13 were capable of that, just how many more spies are there, right now, working in the government that haven't been found out?"

Indeed, Mr. Till, indeed! And to what agencies do they spy for? The Harpers, perhaps? Totalitarian Banite interests? Or the dreaded and fanatical Noble's Army? Only the fierce investigative prowess of Secretary Mover and the staunch vigilance and dedication to principle of Speaker Maximillian can tell!

One month ago, during the arraignment for the trial, there was yet another shocking development. These mysterious 13 Members of the Arcanum, hauled before High Court Justice Sandstead, could not be named! According to their dark horse public defender Mack Cain, even their Certificates of Citizenship do not display names, but rather, symbols. Yes, you read that correctly, symbols such as ¢ or ◙ or § or ╚ or σ (only I would guess with more mystical significance!)

I shall now attempt to recapture the dialogue of that arraignment as best I can with my journalistic capacity to recall extremely specific details in total exactitude:

SANDSTEAD: If they have no names, how can they be prosecuted? Are we certain we have the right men?
CAIN: Yes, sir! At least, the Certificates of Citizenship they have in their possession and the symbol upon them matches precisely the symbols held in the records department of the Bureau of the Census!
PROSECUTOR: Ah, well, thanks, Cain, if you want to do my job for me...
CAIN: What do you mean?
PROSECUTOR: I mean, my dear good man, that you should have shown merely a fraction of the kind of genius displayed by individuals like Editor-in-Chief Bill Hurst and simply claimed that you could not guarantee they were the same people. Would have been a good way to get your clients off!
CAIN: Oh, rats...
SANDSTEAD: Enough. First of all, this is a matter that needs to be taken up with the Bureau of the Census and how they maintain their records and how they control access to said records. The defendants in this case are government employees and it stands to reason they had access to the documentation all along to make any necessary changes.
PROSECUTOR: Your honor, every single member of the Ministry of Magic is marked by symbol rather than by name. It is not exclusive simply to these defendants.
SANDSTEAD: What? Why?
CAIN: I wish I could tell you, your honor, but...
SANDSTEAD: But what?!
CAIN: But I haven't had a single conversation with my clients!
PROSECUTOR: Ha ha ha ha!
SANDSTEAD: Why not?!
CAIN: Because, Your Honor, they refuse to speak to me! They simply stare at me and won't say a word!
SANDSTEAD: Then are they able to enter a plea?
CAIN: Regrettably, Your Honor, I cannot enter a plea on their behalf without any consultation.

At this point, Cain and the Prosecutor were called to the bench and deliberations began. In the meantime, the gallery, including myself, the Press Secretary, were invited into the atrium of the courthouse to enjoy the refreshments catered to the affair by Saul's Sandwich Emporium (located a block from the court house, at 713 Gavel's Path), as well as fresh kafe (or coffee, in the less refined vernacular!) brewed by Heathrow's Hot Spot, a cafe/bar/cathouse/lunch diner located at 8871 Main St. The sandwiches from Saul's Sandwich Emporium were cut into delightfully crustless squares or wedges, depending upon the consistency of the bread or the aesthetic the chef was going for, and I must say, they were very satisfying. Soft white bread with curdled pimento cheese with brined olives as a side dish, fresh tuna salad with crisp cut celery and onion on an 8-grain wheat, heartier rye with strips of salmon or anchovy and then something that truly tickled my palate. What is this dark bread, I inquired of an attendant, to which he said, why, my good Press Secretary, this dark and heavy bread is pumpernickel, and I said, why would it be called something so silly, and he said to me, simply taste it and you will know. And I inquired, what is this strange white paste within the sandwich? And he said, that, my good man, is roe in a sugared fluff. And I said to him, my gods, man, it looks like a disease! It looks terrible in the inside, why would I eat this? and he said to me, simply taste it and you will know. So I did, and now I know: it is to prove that in the same way you cannot judge a book by its title, or even by its content, you likewise cannot judge a sandwich by its silly name or how it looks.

The coffee was passable (and pass it I did! Literally, folks, it went right through me!)

Once back in the courtroom, the Justice Sandstead was prepared to force a plea of guilty if the defendants would not move to enter one themselves.

S. PELCZUKR: A moment, your Honor.
SANDSTEAD: What is it, Secretary?
S. PELCZUKR: Former Secretary, your Honor. The defendants are members of the Arcanum and as such have taken a Vow of Secrecy. It is their Oath not to speak with anyone outside of the Order unless compelled to do so.
SANDSTEAD: Is facing treason not compulsion enough?
S. PELCZUKR: Not even, your Honor. In order to provide them a fair trial, it is necessary to give them adequate representation, in respect of their previous commitments. As such, I encourage Mr. Cain to permit me to serve as co-counsel. The defendents will be able to speak with me.
SANDSTEAD: And why is that?
S. PELCZUKR: Because I am also Arcanum, your Honor. One who has been given special dispensation to speak on the Arcanum's behalf.
SANDSTEAD: Dispensation by whom?
S. PELCZUKR: ......
SANDSTEAD: By whom, Pelczukr?
S. PELCZUKR: ......
SANDSTEAD: I see...
CAIN: I will take him as co-counsel, your Honor!
PROSECUTOR: Your Honor, conflict of interests. Pelczukr is Arcanum, and so are the defendants!
SANDSTEAD: Very well, whom would you have serve as co-counsel instead?
PROSECUTOR: In all honesty, your Honor, there is only one name that comes to mind when I think of who I would want to have at my back, were I in as much trouble as these defendants. A man whose name is synonymous with courage, bravarism, duty, honor, intelligence, perhaps a little bit of madness but not too much just that right amount where they remain interesting and attractive to women without being ready for the asylum, and also a very good writer.
SANDSTEAD: And who would that be?
PROSECUTOR: Bill Hurst, your Honor.
ME: Oh, you are too kind, Mr. Prosecutor! However, it is that same sense of duty, honor, and perhaps that little bit of madness, too, that puts me into a position where I must decline that humbling offer. It is my responsibility to catalogue the events of this trial in detail for the public, and reproduce it as truthfully as I can in the following editions of the Amian Recorder.
CAIN: Aww.
SANDSTEAD: Yes, that is too bad. I was rather looking forward to hearing your incredibly eloquent speaking voice on a more regular basis.
PROSECUTOR: I see the wisdom in your words, Mr. Hurst. Therefore, I acquiesce. The prosecution has no objection to Pelczukr serving as co-counsel.

Opening arguments begin soon! Stay glued to the Amian Recorder for more!

Tuomas sat quietly in Kohlingen, as he was seemed to wont these days when not working on some form of project or other activity in his many days of research. When the most recent edition of the Amian recorder arrived, the Gnomish magician took his copy and looked slowly at it, perhaps expecting something to chuckle about.

His face took on a more worried countenance however when he got all the way to the end. Sighing to himself, the Gnomish Magician rose and quietly slipped off to a quiet room in the Academy, from whence the scent of incense might be heard not too long after.

Somewhere, a woman screeches and fills the air with sundered confetti of a newspaper.

"Is there a deficient of Mind Blank in Cordor or are they willfully that incompetent? Savras, turn your eye upon that travesty for a change!"

The hour was late by the time Ulrik had read the latest edition of the Recorder. Previous editions of ''that sensationalist tripe'' had found themselves tossed away, crumbled, and ripped up. One suffered the fate of being intricately folded into an animal shape to amuse the magician's young son. The variety of angles required to accomplish the task had been a half-distraction for the wizard to occupy a few idle minutes. The 'special edition' of the Recorder that covered the d'Mortrgaurde conflict had the special honor of being incinerated by an evocation in a display that was without a doubt the text-book example of 'over-kill.'

This edition found itself tossed lightly on the magician's desk, resting somewhere between a partial pile of playing cards and a stack of papers full of various mathematical equations. A hand swept over the desk, randomly plucking up one of the cards, the deuce of hearts. With a resigned exhale, the card was tossed down on the desk in a moment of discomfiture. There was a moment of hesitation, followed by a moment of consideration that followed. Finally, a blank parchment was drawn from the desk and an quill and inkwell produced.

In the morning hours, a letter would find itself delivered from the court wizard to Lady Cys'tana.

On the rain drenched docks of Wiltun a Warden boards a ship bound for Cordor. He limps slightly as he makes his way up the gang plank laden with several packs of gear.

"I really hope this is worth it..."

The last of the ship's lines had been secured on the docks of Howness, a gale had been blowing all day long, making it precarious to even attempt a docking. Luckily, Captain Guston knew these waters like the back of his hand and was able to use the current of the water to manoeuvre right up alongside the docks.

A gang plank was tossed overboard, landing with a thud on the docks, whilst the snow was more like a blizzard, blowing somewhat horizontal. From there a young boy with blonde hair, in a woolen tunic and coat, tore down the gangplank, not stopping to look back on the jetty, as his footprints in the snow, were quickly covered up or blow away just as fast as he could make them.

He ran through the town, almost knocking over a fire barrel in the process, heading for Gate Street. A local vigilante, told the young boy "She's not thar ye git! She's in tha' Carpentry Workshop!". From Gate Street, he took off across the bridge, past Temple Street towards the Snorrison's and Son's Workshop, reaching for the handle, he stepped inside.

The gale of frigid air blasted into the somewhat warmer workshop, snow blowing over everything as the young boy, now covered head to toe in snow, stepped through the doorway onto the wooden floor, where sawdust littered the ground. Looking around he saw who he had come for and reached for his mailbag satchel. The door slammed shut from the wind behind him, making a few people in there pause and look up.

Illithira was busy sawing away at a dovetail, with a fine rip toothed, 22pt dovetail saw, a delicate task, when she heard the door slam behind her. Grumbling she turned around to see who it was and was confronted by the young boy, holding out a copy of the Amian Recorder. Frowning grimly, she handed the boy some gold, probably more than he'd earnt the whole voyage, before he ran back out the door.

Unwrapping her copy of the Newspaper, she cleared some space on the assembly table in the centre, with the other locals gathering around. News round these parts, was scarce, so all the locals wanted to read it too. It didn't bother illithira...except for the reaction on her face after she read the Courtroom news. Something of a scowl could be seen on it.

"Tha' durn pigs!", she mutters a few curses, raising the eyebrows of the local lads. She reads it out aloud, so that they can understand it (most of them didn't know how to read) and they seem to not really get it and just shrug and return back to their work.

After having read it several times over, she keeps the page with the Courtroom news on it, and uses the rest of the paper, to oil a new table she had just finished the day before...

A certain knight receives the news in Kohlingen then immediately departs to Cordor.

Upon reading up on the events involving the disappearance of the monolith, Rente chuckles to himself and shows the educated-looking gentleman sitting next to him in the Nomad the latest version of the Recorder before telling him,"You know, where I come from they keep this sort political maneuvering behind the scenes, and nobody destroys anybody's tower either. If two groups come to the point of open conflict they send their best to the old mage-duel grounds outside of Halarahh- oh, that's the capital, beautiful city- anyway, they settle their dispute in a mage duel. No one get's hurt, no one dies, and no one get's their tower whisked off to who knows where."

"But what does this mean?"
A Hin asked himself, looking at the information he had copied down. The only thing he knew for sure was that thirteen pieces of the puzzle were still missing...

Kohligen's Court has grown somber lately as the daily affairs of the Justicar seem to have fallen upon the shoulders of Lady Cystana; only the most important meetings are kept by the venerable Justicar. The throne of Kohligen is occupied for the time being but the Lords absence is noticed by members of his Court.

Like the rest, Kohlingen's court wizard seems troubled yet unsurprised by the latest turn in the Justicar's health. The magician raised to the court by the Justicar himself takes keen interest in the health of the venerable Marinsbane closely, quietly inquiring with Cystana at least twice a day as to how the aged paladin and statesman is faring.

A magician with a keen interest in the passing of time, so is the state of the Justicar's health somberly measured by the magister of Kohlingen. The typically well-composed Ulrik can not hide the show of deep concern, at both the health of the Justicar and current events that avail the city-state of Kohlingen. He even requests a 'brief moment in private' with the ailing theocrat. However, it is a matter that is not pressed, perhaps the concerns on the mind of the court wizard are already known to the Justicar.

Upon the wizard's altar in the court magician's private study, seven candles are lit surrounding an ornate hour-glass. A quiet prayer is spoken to the gods of magic to whom the altar is dedicated.

"Now is not the time..."

A drowess, with signet ring around her slender neck on a silvery chain, can be seen checking residences around Cordor. All that she checks have one singular commonality; they are empty of residents. Then, heading back to the Commonwealth building, she can be heard to mutter to herself.
"This answers things...."

Late one night the throne room of Kohligen is a buzz with activity, messengers scamper out of the keep and return with a rather dishevelled Kellinanah. Hours pass and the priestess of Ilmater would emerge looking thoroughly exhausted. The keep would fall silent once more.

The flags of Kohligen are lowered. Justicar Marinsbane has passed.

::

"Saul, I am sorry. I am so sorry. You did so much for not only your people, our people but all people of this isle." As the lady held the hand of the Justicar, tears streaming down the face he lowered his gaze solemly to the stone floor. He had never seen her so sad and it pained his heart. Lord Yaston and Lady Cystanna were standing near to the dying Justicar, Ulrik by his own side a few feet away from the bed on which he rested. It was clear he would not survive the night. The priests had informed them of it a few minutes before.

Hours passed, and having stood guard throughout most the night in front of the newly occupied guest bedroom of the Keep, Sir Robert leaned his head against the door as he received the news of the passing of the lord Justicar. As he closed his eyes he spoke a prayer to lord Kelemvor for the safe journey of Saul Marinesbane into the afterlife. The times appear to have taken a great toll on the knight recently, one even he could no longer hide behind his reserved nature. He simply appeared older, battered and exhausted well beyond his limit.

::

::

As the sun rises over the city of Kohlingen, two men of the household of Sir Robert emerge from his estate. They bring out a ladder and cover the Lion Banner of House Caris with a thin black veil, a cormyte tradition, in respect and mourning of the passing of Justicar Saul Marinesbane. Wordlessly, the two men remove the ladder and return inside.

::

The archdruid returned to the Grove sooner than anticipated. She did not linger in the Grove though as she limped into it, averting her gaze to shield her teary eyes. This time she did not head to her usual spot under the tree by the water, but rather disappeared in a rootgate on the ground, seeking solitude at the Duir. The only one at her side was her feline companion Ipyana, as usual.

Once there the druidess sank to the ground, leaning against the great tree with her back, closing her eyes. She had feared it would come to this. The moment she saw the old paladin's condition as he stood before them. His eyes still determined and full of passion, but the aged body shaking with exhaution. His words got straight to her heart and she likely would never forget them. She was glad she went there to hear them, despite the terrible ending of that festival.

Eventhough she had somewhat foreseen this to happen, the shock was still clinging to her body even now as she saw the Justicar collapse in front of the crowd. At this point her body worked on its own accord as she shoved herself through the crowed, offering her healing skills to Ulrik and Yaston. The way through the keep and the Justicars room felt endlessly long. As they finally reached it, routine set in for the moment, pushing aside the swirling mess of emotions. Checking the vitals and looking over the man's over all condition, it was not a hard diagnoses to make for the experienced healer. While it was not one to make often on an isle like this, or the jungle she haild from, it was unmistakable that the man's old heart was no longer strong enough to bring him out of his comateus state.

The realization hit her hard and even breached her professional routine. This man would likely not make it through the night. No matter what she did. She quietly announced this to those present. It was hard to bear the disappointed expressions and to give the only answer she could to the young priest beside her when he asked if there was nothing they could do. "I am sorry my friend... but there is no cure against age."

When the priestess of Illmatar made her way to the Justicar she secretly hoped she was wrong this time. That the pristess would say there was still a chance. "The druidess is right. He won't live through the night. There is nothing I can do. I am sorry." While expected, the words still struck deep. Malandria spoke a blessing and draw a markless druidic rune of the circle of life and death on the ground with her staff. For a safe and peaceful passage. "Thank you" were the last words she whispered to the Marinsbane before she left the room, to leave him with those closest to him.

As she left the keep and Zelly and Kurchin gazed at her with their expectant yet worried eyes, she struggled with her own tears once more and could only shake her head ever so slightly. She could see it hit Zelly hard... and knew the few comforting words she spoke to the dragonkin before she departed were likely no comfort at all.

And now she was sitting here under the great tree... remembreing Ulrik's speech just before the Justicars. His speech was about hope. A fitting topic right now. She felt she was still hoping... hoping that she was wrong... and that the Illmatari priestess was wrong. That she would recieve a note from the keep that the Justicar woke up, no matter how unlikely it would be.

"Death is a natural part of the circle of life. We all have to face death one day. This is nature's way. This is how it must be to allow new life. The circle must always be fullfilled." She murmered to herself. Though the words brought her no comfort. How would this isle fare without the man who represented all that was good and right. The one man who had always been the shining example of goodness and honesty on this isle. Concern settled on her mind. Yes he was old and lived a long life. Longer than most humans would. But to this isle he was more than just a man. It was what he represented that would be missed terribly aswell.

Her thoughts circled some more around that evening. Replaying the scenes over and over again. Her prayers were with Marinsbane this night, which was a very sleepless one.

The news reached her fast the next morning and the chultan lowered her head with a deep frown. Her body merged into that of a large wolf as she sat in front of the statue of Mielikki, howling a sad song to mourn the loss of the man she admired. The wolves of the Grove tuning into the sad song, their howls carried through the forest for a long time.

The magician's voice was broken. Finally in the privacy of his chambers, the passing of the Justicar had devastated the Magister of Kohlingen and his family. They had prayed together. Prayed to the goddess Mystra. Beseeching her blessings upon a righteous and good man. A man who had done much for her faithful. Even little Gabria understood and knew 'the kind man' who had oft smiled to her when she was about her 'explorations' of the keep and courtyard was now dead. Even the young little half-elven girl cried and prayed with the rest of her family, in the loving arms of her mother and father.

Ulrik had retired to his private study after spending time mourning with his family. He had encouraged his children. Explained that he had passed peacefully, and that Torm himself had witnessed the beloved theocrat's passing. That he had lived a long and full life. It had helped, but the Valis family mourned with the rest of Kohlingen.

Sitting before the wizard's altar in his private study, the magician tried to convince himself of words he had spoken hours earlier. When he stood before the attendees of Wyrmfall. He had spoken of hope. Now hope increasingly fled from his view. Of course, a glimmer of hope remained. He had seen it in their eyes. The question that lingered on his mind was not on the existence of hope. No, it was on the strength of hope for a future that quickly precluded any chance for peace. There was always hope. Would it be enough?

Within the privacy of his study, a few tears were finally shed.

"I'm sorry he could not have been here. Like he should have. I know you wanted to be there. I will keep my promise, Saul. Mystra, help me. Azuth, guide my hands. I will keep my promise..."

A red-haired half-elf hears the news and slams her cup down on the table.

"If Cordor thinks they're moving on this, it'll be over my cooling corpse."

She travels to Kohlingen, and there she waits for Yaston, leaning on a wall and unmoving.

Muted communications are released by Cordor's Minister of Health & Public Welfare, one the day of the Wyrmfall celebration and, in reaction to news of the Justicar's passing, another the following evening.

A stately letter arrives from the desk of one Captain N. Tarvencia to the Clarion Office on Little Bridge Lane early into the wee hours of the morning.

Quite apart from the game of offices, a small, golden haired paladin finds herself on her knees before the altar of Torm, weeping quietly and praying for the Justicar's safe passage to the House of the Triad. Delia doesn't have much to offer, save her heartfelt pleas to Kelemvor, but she knows all in Kohlingen are less for the passing of their leader.

It would seem the Gnomish Magician whom resided in Kohlingen was quiet and contemplative during his past days, offering prayer to the Justicar both in his thoughts, and in his continued works even as simple as some shuffling and preparation of books to be copied.

Andrew releases two very different press releases through the Cordor press. The first one has a copy of the message sent to Kohlingen as well.

Quote:

Dear Friends, People of the Commonwealth and Amians everywhere,

The Bureau of Education of Cordor and the Blue Skies Academy wish to extend our deepest and most sincere condolences to Kohlingen, its statesmen and the friends and family of Justicar Marinsbane. We were honored to attend the Wyrmfall celebration. We appreciate the Justicar’s grace during his final speech when he extolled the virtues of cooperation and the importance of even the smallest contribution to the common good. We wish him a fond farewell to a well deserved reward.

-Chief Andrew Fryar,
Bureau of Education

The second one is kept to Cordor only.

Quote:

Attention Citizens of the Commonwealth!

The Blue Skies Academy will be opening its doors on the 21st of Elient! If you still need to register your child or request boarding accommodations, please contact Headmaster Fryar as soon as possible! On opening day I will be holding last minute registration.

Keep an eye for schedule changes and school closures.

Thank you for you support!
-Andrew Fryar
Bureau of Education

Xaviera might be seen by the staff of the Temple of the Triad in Kohlingen making an offering and prayers before the idol of Ilmater the evening after the announcement of the Justicar's death. The timing could be a coincidence, though, as she usually comes in once a month or so to pray for her deceased first wife, Lina.

*A messenger arrives in Kohlingen bearing a note and a small wicker basket, which is handed to the most accessible city official*

Dear People of Kohlingen,
The folk of Bendir Dale send their respects on the passing of Justicar Marinsbane. He was someone people of all races could look up to. It is our custom to celebrate ones life upon their death. Though I am uncertain if that is your custom, it is hoped the contents of the basket will be well received regardless.

Blessings of Hearth and Home,
Mayor Missus on behalf of the Citizens of Bendir Dale.

*the basket contains an assortment of fresh fruits and still warm baked goods*

The sun had not risen when the squire pulled the chainmail shirt over his head. Slowly in silent ceremony, as always, he began to fasten the plates and leather straps of his armor. He looked out of the window into the world that was still covered in the veil of darkness. He closed his tired eyes. He was exhausted.

"There's not a second goes by when I'm not thinking of you in some way.
I want to see your face, feel your hands in mine, feel you against me.
In these days more than ever.
But I know that will never be, you left me and I can't get you back."

In truth he had sought out the embrace of death ever since he had lost them. Yet somehow it was never him but those around him who departed, and he carried on as he had since two decades. He carried on as was his duty. He saw their faces, all of them. Those who had fallen beside him and those who had fallen before him. Death was his closest companion, and he welcomed his calming presence. Perhaps this was his last trial.

"I move like I imagine the damned do, cursed.
And I feel like it's only a matter of time.
I know I can't get you back."

For a moment he saw her again. He felt her hand move through his hair as he had his head upon her lap. The smell of her perfume. The sound of her voice and her laugh. He saw her smile as she watched him. There was a beautiful valley, the Alabaster Palace of Siamorphe, surrounded by perfect gardens and fountains.

"There is only one thing that I must do before I depart.
She reminds me of you and of what we had together."

He strapped on his sword, his fingers moving over the familiar feel of the hilt. The last time the crow had visited him in his dream was the day before his world had fallen apart. Now it had once more sat on the end of his bed, watching him in silence. With a nod he took the battered and paint chipped shield from his squire, binding it on his back.

Without rhyme, reason or warning, anyone trying to make use of their portal wand to travel the ley lines to Tarkuul, find that their wand simply fails to engage, as though it no longer knows where to go...

Diplomacy's Game Continues: Blood and Rebirth

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