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

"Yes. Yes, it is, isn't it?"

There is a genuine note of sadness in Chief Clerk Franton's voice, but he simply apologizes to Elorathall for any confusion and unnecessary running around and continues going about the rest of his business directing the commoner sorts of citizens to the ministries and the paperworks they need.

Those handful of seedier, shadier individuals are greeting with an unexpected and disappointing sight when slithering towards the Sanctuary of Sin beneath Cordor.

The doors are locked and barred, with a postage out front that claims the property is under an ongoing investigation by the Adventuring Division of the Ministry of Law.

A tattered banner hangs from the top of the door, broken in half.

One side reads, Welcome, Capt

and the other side reads, ain Tarvencia!

Malaguena looks out over the water, golden eyes dark as she loses herself in thought, the conversations she's had replaying over and over as she once more questions herself.
"Don't do this unless you're ready to die. Can't tell you how many times I've come close.
Torin couldn't have been more clear. Something about this...was different. Something about this spoke of -finality-. However, she had no choice. Her beliefs were too strong, too firm.
Freedom, child. It is our lifeblood, and the right of all people.
Her grandfather had been very firm about it. Over and over reminding her of freedom, of the necessity of guarding those she calls "friend". She had listened at his feet over many a dark night, to tales of how their people had banded with some of the giorgio to protect those who would have their freedom removed, who would be crushed under tyranny.
She had decided when she was eight years old, that she would be like that.
And so that brought her to now, staring at something called an Arcanum...that could very likely be her death. -IF- she was lucky. But she could not back down. Without honour, you have nothing, she had always been told.
With a sigh, she stepped away. Ulrik, and Emma. Torin told her to seek them, and so...back to Kohlingen she was bound.

Lady Emma receives an urgent letter from Sir Yaston, privately while at her home in Kohlingen.

She immediately writes a rushed letter to her Uncle in Cordor and sends Young Ballinore off in urgency to deliver it.

The steward of the Vaughn estate arrives in Cordor well after sunset and into the night, where he hastily steals from the docks to the dimly lit quarters where the Vaugns make their home in Cordor. The Eastern District is alight with the roving twin spotlights of the Waukeen Temple and its glittering bulwark, but the humble majesty of the Commonwealth Center casts a long shadow westward.

He passes by a guard on night patrol, who doesn't accost him about his citizenship and simply nods, allowing him to move on his way, which he does so with beads of sweat increasing on his brow. Lady Emma's urgency and worry may not have been written on her face, but the steward knows his craft. The whims and the worries of his lords and ladies are his primary concern.

At least, they were, until that moment.

"Hey, kid."

Ballinore skids on the cobblestones in front of the unguarded Vaughn estate, turning his head left and right. "Hello?"

The front gate to the Vaughn estate slowly swings shut, moved by a shadow's hand lurking in the browning grass just inside. Two more shadows detach themselves from a nearby alleyway, one that reeks of dry garbage. A man with broad shoulders and an even broader-brimmed foolish corsair's hat steps out of an open doorway. His leather boots grind dirt and broken glass on the ground. The tips glint with steel in the moonlight.

"You a messenger boy for the Noble's Army?"

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Ballinore asks, flexing his right hand smoothly. It would take him one and a half seconds to reach the dagger in his right boot and thrust it forward into the solar plexus. It wouldn't be enough to kill, but it would be enough for him to surprise and escape danger. Or at least long enough to scream at Sir Vaughn in the estate for help.

"Been watchin' you since you set foot on Cordorian soil. You look like you're up to somethin' clam-destined," the man in the hat says, closing the distance to Ballinore. The back of his right hand is visible, and he's gripping the handle of a weapon.

Ballinore's mouth goes dry. Adrenaline rushes through his body. Synapses fire. All he can think to say is, "I think you mean clandestine, sir. The word is clandestine."

The brim lowers in the darkness as it comes within two feet of Ballinore. "You little shit."

The steward reacts quickly! He bends his knees and his hand darts down to the boot, fingers grasping the cold steel hilt. But just as his right hand starts to lunge forward, zeroing in on his assailant's mid-section, a shock of pain not only paralyzes his arm, but knocks the dagger right from his grip. It feels like a shark's bite, grinding with razor-sharp teeth into his skin. He tries to jerk his hand back, but the motion only causes him to be tugged forward onto his knees in front of the man in the corsair's hat, his arm locked in the grip of a scourge.

"Please," Ballinore pleads, knowing when he is bested. "It isn't what you think."

"I'll be the judge of that." When his knee impacts Ballinore's chin there is the sick crunch of chipping teeth, and the young steward's vision goes into a bright, starlight white daze before a burlap sack that stinks of tubers is shoved over his head and he is dragged into a nearby building.

*******

Young Ballinore does not return to Lady Vaughn. If she writes to her family in Cordor, they have not received him.

*The Grandmaster seems to sail between the two cities rather often, which is rather odd from him because the people can tell that the Grandmaster is unable to spend five minutes in that city if it is not necessary to be there.*

Lady Emma does indeed pace -- in her home in Kohlingen as well as through the streets, hoping to find someone who can get word to her family or check on her steward. She tugs her lower lip with a frown, pacing like a nervous wreck.

Since no word got to her family and she fears to send another message til she discovers what happened to the last, there is no unusual activity in the Vaughn Estate in Cordor. Business at the shipyard and lights on at the home.

Last edited by Merrien on Tue, May 24 2011, 15:11 PM, edited 1 time in total.

In a sending to her Uncle, from a scroll Ulrik gave her, Emma formulates the words:

Dissolve household servants, get out of Cordor; warn any you can--it begins again and worse; find me in Kohlingen; I love you.

--Her Uncle, suddenly bolt upright in his seat by the fire at their estate, bellows: "Fitz! Simon!"

A sudden tizzy of activity at the house as servants are dismissed and told to lay low and leave the city if they are able to do so; A bundled up Lord Gregor Vaughn, with his 12 year old boy, Fitz, make their way in their plainest clothing, cloaks, and hoods to the ship that sails to Kohlingen. Fitz is instructed to get on the ship the moment it arrives, and against his son's quiet, pleading protests, Lord Gregor leaves his boy to attempt to move from neighbor to neighbor-- warning whatever is left of the noble contingent in Cordor to get out in hushed tones.

It is a brave attempt, maybe. A courageous man-- possibly a foolish one. But he attempts it anyway, and hopes he can find his way to the ships himself.

Last edited by dimension_w on Sat, May 21 2011, 0:52 AM, edited 1 time in total.

As the little brown man was invited in welcomely, the little fellow then pulled a special cord on the handle of the door from the inside, installed by the Lady Castiel Denoix. The house brownie was ever so delighted that the household would make it so comfortable for him and garuntee easy access to every room in this, one of his many chosen households in Amia.

His Lord of this particular household was Sir Robert of Caris. He turned around with a serious look on his face. Thimblepot knew, that what was about to be said was confidential and serious.

"A slight change of plans." he said sternly, looking way down at the tiny creature he had made his trusted messenger since the days of Careigh. "In Cordor Central, just south of the old station of the Amian Trade Federation is the residency of the House Vaughn."

"Mmmhmm?" Thimblepot nodded, politely acknowledging his full attention to the instructions.

"I want you to keep a hidden eye on it, and if the family attempts to leave, follow it." Robert continued.

"Yes, sir!" Thimblepot salutes and cries out joyfully and willingly. This sounded like the perfect job for a fellow of his talents. He was most pleased that Robert would trust him to carry out such a task!

"Do not risk your life... If something happens, I however must know what." Robert said seriously and with a somewhat urgent and nearly intimidating tone.

"I understand." the brownie nodded, he tipped his hat and sprung towards the door to proceed immediately with his mission.

"You have my thanks, Thimblepot." said the Master of the household as Thimble opened the doorway and faded into the night as only a good Brownie can do.

The dark-haired woman, now familiar to some, skulks about Kohlingen. Pacing, she looks for people, muttering under her breath now and then....
"If I were Emma...where would I be?"

Hearing of Ballinore's disappearance, Tuomas instincitvely makes sure to comfort Lady Emma, and the elder Ballinore , as he makes his way around.

At one point, he stops by Herrens' hostel to see if the Alchemical Lab's boxes were in a position they could be pulled out at least in part to compile the nescessary components for a lab in Kohlingen, even if he himself has to invest somewhat to establish it.

~..We can only hope Mister Ballinore the younger returns safe and sound.. I shudder to think of the effect on Miss Lady Emma and her family's spirit if he doesn't. Then again.. this is already a time for marred spirits. ~ Tuomas thinks to himself quietly.

A bundled up twelve-year old boy, green-eyed like his father and his cousin, Emma, but with his mother's blonde hair, in clothes that are plain but still descrying his wealth in how well they are made, carrying a bag of belongings, shows up on the docks of Kohlingen. Lady Emma's maidservant, Sarah, who had nearly fallen asleep a few times while waiting and watching--again--for their arrival, hurries over to him, relief all over her face as she aids him to Lady Emma's Kohlingen home, plying him with questions over if he is well and where his father might be?

Fitz is sullen, tired, afraid, and answers her tersely, but allows her aid into Lady Emma's home.

Some hours later, an exhausted and drawn-looking Lord Gregor Vaughn follows his son's footsteps in Kohlingen, finding his own way to the house of his niece, a grim expression upon his features.

Their lives safe-- something to be immensely grateful for. But as Lady Emma sits up with her Uncle far later into that same night and well into the next morning, they try to determine the very painful "What now?" for the future of the Vaughn House, away from a Cordor that no longer belongs to them.

Such lost ground may never be regained.

"I never thought we'd see this day," Lord Gregor rubs his forehead.

"I feared it," Emma replies.

"I'll write to your Aunt today and have her come with the children to Kohlingen. We'll be relocating here, then, it seems. If Waukeen still favors us, perhaps one day we can still--" --But he doesn't finish his sentence. Instead, he sets his jaw. "Gods DAMN it, Emma," he pounds his fist upon the table, causing the candleabra to shake and lights to flutter. "Gods damn it, but they've won."

Lady Emma does not reply.

* * *

Meanwhile in Cordor, the Steward of Lord Gregor, one Simon Buchard, now seems to be at the helm of the Shipyard business, and he is claiming to have purchased the Vaughn Estate. He even has papers that have been drawn up, signed by Lord Vaughn himself, a deed of purchase for both.

Shortly after sundown at the South Cordor docks, the emergency bells ring out sharply. Ones that usually alert the dockworkers and supervisors of a serious injury. It starts with a small commotion started by one dockworker who came upon a grizzly scene.

Within minutes, Doctor Karse Ignoma from the South Cordor Clinic arrives on the scene, followed shortly by onlookers and bystanders, who arrive by foot and by portal to the pier.

And then there is screaming. Shrill, horrible, hysterical, high-pitched, raspy screaming. And struggling. Frantic struggling and the wretched sound of vomiting and gagging, and harsh coughing amid more terrible screaming, all coming from a single source.

More minutes pass, and eventually, a bloody, swollen, pale-and-sickly looking redheaded woman staggers from the docks with the no doubt required assistance of a human man. Her seaweed-strewn armor is in no shape to be worn; it's twisted and misshapen, exposing large gashes on her actual skin and flesh, while her limbs are predominantly mangled.

She is taken to the South Cordor Clinic with necessary assistance provided by a small entourage of onlookers. Later into the evening, a handsome, raven-haired young man rushed through South Cordor to the hospice, worry-stricken.

Neither the redheaded woman or the raven-haired man leave that evening.

----

In the clinic, a pain-stricken woman rests with unnatural peace in an opiate-induced sleep, with a man at her bedside, until the morning.

----

On Moribund, a tall white candle encased in glass burns unhindered at a grave-site.

----

Captain Tarvencia does not go to work that following day.

The dark haired gypsy takes up residence in Kohlingen's streets, waiting. Sending spells go to another seer and the once and future Headmaster, asking for an audience.

As word of the certain red-haired hospitalised person spreads, a feathered hat-wearing blur zips trough Cordor's street as fast as his expeditiously retreating feet can carry him, straight to the hospital.

Working a late night in frustrated vain as he searches for information in Cordor's meager library, Citizen Ardelyn is mostly oblivious to the hushed conversations that come and go with the people having them through the little library. But a certain name in the buzz manages to catch his attention, and as he pauses to listen he first frowns, and then his face darkens and he lets out a snarl. His book is forgotten as he slams open the door of the little library with and excessive force and storms south.

A little ragged lump dozes on the side of Mayfield's Inn, her skin a bit pale from lack of real sleep, waist nipped in more than usual. She'd found that spot, where she could see most of Kohlingen, and simply sat, waiting.

If and when any of the Tower refugees come by, she bursts into motion, trying to get their attention.

The only time she moves is to try to get the clerics of the Temple and the mage of the Mythal store to send a sending spell (Will need DM for this, or at least DM response, plzthanks) to the Monolith Refugees; namely Lady Emma and Ulrik, consisting of the following:

"Please meet Malaguena in Kohlingen. It is urgent. Any time."

Unable to cast it herself, she has to make do.

The night of his vigile for his current House Master goes smoothly. Like a mythical cloud of leaves on the invisible breeze, the brownie sits at the former residency of the House Vaughn in Cordor Central.

Thimblepot's patience is paid off as he spies young Cousin Fitz leave the house first, quickly stealing off on the first boat at dawn to Kohlingen. Thimble stowed aboard and saw that he got to his destination at the Kohlingen residence.

With much relief he then returned to Cordor to make sure the house was emptied. There, hours later the Uncle is seen exiting the home, going from noblehouse to noblehouse to warn the nobles about something.

Thimble overhears something about. "Purging again and framed for absurdities." Pleased with what he has achieved he heads back to tell his House Master the news he had so desired.

Some time later, a rather-dispirited young gypsy walks out of Kohlingen and makes her way back to Cordor. She resumes her place on the streets there, but she still keeps her ears open.

Over the next days, Tuomas spent a fair amount of his time at the Triumvir in the Loremaster's chambers amidst research, taking breaks to check in back in Kohlingen, or alternatively to make orders on a list of needed supplies out of the Hinn Inn, or through the Mythal Centre in Kohlingen, if they would be amenible to ordering components in on his behalf.

He seemed to be amidst the process of putting together at the least the equipment for an Alchemist's lab slowly but surely. Even if it wasn't going to be capable of large scale production, what he was hoping for would at least fill in as an analytical lab and perhaps allow for independant alchemists to make their own wares.

The research he was doing however in the Triumvir, wasn't alchemically related, but something else, something which seemed to give his mind curious pause as he looked into it.

Swallow the Stars wrote:

Wherever a guard is stationed in South Cordor, just outside of his line of sight one could find a note tacked into place. Dozens of the aforementioned parchment are tacked to walls, doors, posts, wells, and market stalls - any place one could attach such a piece of paper. Written upon each in jagged, angled script is a brief poem.

Cordor is gray,
Her waters are blue,
Something is wrong -
And you know it's true.

South District's nice!
I can't spot one whore.
My only query
Is where are the poor?

Each coin is gold
That drops in the purse.
But where do they go?
Just ask Bill Hurst.

At the bottom of every note is scribbled a single word in the same knife-like script, almost illegible - a signature.

Grayfox

After a brief visit to Kohlingen to check in on the Guildhall and to visit with some friends who found him, Tuomas returned to the Triumvir to continue his tiring studies, a thought consistantly crossing his mind.

~.. What is the next move, Tuomas? What must be done next to unveil the darkness that the Arcanum represents? ~

Swallow the Stars wrote:

Wherever a guard is stationed in South Cordor, just outside of his line of sight one could find a note tacked into place.

Xaviera reads one of the notices in the company of a member of Sympathy for South Cordor, frowning at the text as she tries to figure out exactly what the author means. "Certainly there are still plenty of poor people in south Cordor and the city in general," she says to her companion. "Just because we've built some better houses for them to live in doesn't mean they don't have to struggle to get by. They're simply struggling in a bit more comfort now, I hope. Nor have the working girls disappeared - they're just no longer in plain view." She scratches her head at the last bit. "Is this person suggesting Hurst ate them...?"

More research at the Triumvir for Tuomas, he seems to have added a new topic to his queue which has taken the fore.

He seems to be looking at a mixture of Arcane texts and any tomes on magical creatures to try to find reference to something particular.

~.. I hope we'll be able to figure out a new home once this is settled but .. I can't help but feeling without getting the Arcanum away from any position of influence, we'll continue to be stuck hiding or fending off hostility. Miss Nev, why'd you leave? ~ he thought to himself, obviously concerned and thoughtful as he worked away at the Triumvir.

Through the various diplomatic veins that circulate information through the island, a message finally comes from Bendir Dale. Whether or not this comes with the recently released and revised evacuation plans is purely speculative, but the nature of the Dale's message seems to indicate that one probably lead to the other. It is also posted in the Town Hall

Various People of Amia,

The issues and scandals plaguing Cordor have been no secret to the public as propaganda has flowed forth from every entity with a mouth and a functioning brain. The Monolith and its allies have joined in condemnation of the Arcanum, rousing juggernauts like Kohlingen to its cause. The current leadership of Bendir Dale is not well known for its lengthy speeches. The Monolith has been good to the Dale. So have its allies which have joined with the Dale several times to push the various bastards who'd try to corrupt our land back. The Dale enjoys a close relationship with the Monolith.

We've been quietly discussing how to react to this since we are a town that respects the wishes of our people. It is my honor to announce that Bendir Dale did not let me down. Those who attended the meeting unanimously agreed.

Henceforth, Bendir Dale throws its voice behind the Monolith, Kohlingen, the Shrine and others in taking a stand to do what's right. While it is admittedly late and we've been slow in making preparations, we feel we can now adequately offer support to our long-time friends and allies.

May the Moon Maiden light our way,
Lyle Torrowfire
Mayor of Bendir Dale
Cleric of Selûne

*If she ever hears or reads the message Pilineth would smile and think to herself "About time" She'd then continue on her way*

"Just when Cordor might think folks have forgotten. Auspicious timing, and timely indeed, Lyle..."

A brief smile passes his lips, and Ulrik is certain to put his copy of the Dale's letter on the table in the temporary Mystran guild-house for the rest of the displaced to read.

Sometime later, a letter departs the city of Kohligen, sent southward, toward the Dale.

A lonely pier...a gypsy sits, listening to the faint whispers on the wind. Displaced herself, and forgotten, she simply...listens. Reads. Watches...and remembers.

In the temple of Gond in Ceyren's Mill, a woman in blackened armor enters beyond the smashed in door,
the scent of war already wafting in from the river. She hears the winding rumors in the proximity of that old island,
"Cordor's in some kind of war."-- "They claim you're some kind of terrorist?"
I came here for peace and quiet,
she told herself as she built a fire in the abandoned forge.
I wonder what became of the others, she thought for a moment and later,
Returning to that island would be a mistake,
why can't I silence the idea that he is still watching me?
She flinched for her axe.

In Wharftown, an albino woman sits cross-legged on a cliff overlooking the sea.

"I will show you what a pawn can do."

In the late hours of the night a man paces the street, limping every step of the way.

"sometimes I think I'll live to see the end of all this... Not tonight... back to work"

The redheaded Captain of the Commonwealth Guard's Adventuring Division is seen less about the city; perhaps some say she's reluctantly settled into a desk job befitting her position, and others say that she's operating largely from her apartment, though the location of her residence in the city is not public knowledge.

Her usual stops around the city--Alie's Cafe', the Finest Foods Grocery and Bakery in West Cordor, the Southern Market and the Orphanage, amongst other places, would likely mention seeing her around less.

For those who are aware of where she lives, there is quiet, docile activity in the apartment, most evident in the early to late evenings. The Office of the Captain at the Southern Watch House has less activity, almost always in the very early hours of the morning, though sometimes in the afternoon, though only for a short amount of time every other day. She, however, is not seen.

A wax-sealed letter is left at the Commonwealth Center, addressed to Cromwell.

"Esteemed Councillor Cromwell,

I am currently writing a comprehensive history of Cordor and the Commonwealth. As such, I would request a meeting with you to gain your perspective on current and past events.

Please leave your chosen time and place at the Nomad's Return tavern or at the Lodge in Triumvir should you decide to indulge my request.

Your sincerely,

Elor"

Leon, on having just returned to the region, would be startled, to say the least. After hearing the news, he sighs and proceeds to go about his usual patrols, clearly with less enthusiasm than before.

Elorathall wrote:

A wax-sealed letter is left at the Commonwealth Center, addressed to Cromwell.

"Esteemed Councillor Cromwell,

I am currently writing a comprehensive history of Cordor and the Commonwealth. As such, I would request a meeting with you to gain your perspective on current and past events.

Please leave your chosen time and place at the Nomad's Return tavern or at the Lodge in Triumvir should you decide to indulge my request.

Your sincerely,

Elor"

Having received no reply yet, Elor goes to check at the Commonwealth Center whether Minister Cromwell received his letter.

Belalad and his signs with light are once again a common feature about Cordor, his late night patrols with his faithful friend Archy, as are his long guard duties. Though he is rarely seen anymore without a enchantments and rarer to be seen without a mindprotection spell in place.

A certain painting in Cordor's theatre seems to have gone missing.

Belalad would take note of the change in this event and go off to speak with Mover. Speaking with him to find out more information on the movement, making sure it was made under the previous plans. Offering his aid in reestablishing the painting as well.

A man in the Nomad might be seen burning a letter.

"Like Hells you will..."

Ego680 wrote:

A man in the Nomad might be seen burning a letter.

"Like Hells you will..."

*Meanwhile, in a totally unrelated matter, a large half-orc in full-plate armor stands in Amia Forest, looking about him in a determined way, selling some fine booze and tobacco products*

Some long nights are spent in the Office of the Captain until the wick burns low, and beyond. Long hours are spent elsewhere in a few days interim.

Tuomas quietly regarded a lone Darkwood desk in the Guildhall, off to the side another is against the wall as the furniture has been moved to accomodate it within the confines of the Temporary home of the Guild's remnant.

He sighed to himself as he stroked his beard, murmuring.

~.. Diamond dust.. going to need a large amount of Diamond dust. ~ he sighed to himself.

*Xal can be seen in Cordor. He is often moving in out of the Short & Tall Inn, or in many other locations around the city.*

*Eli notices a notice of Zelly's and pens a reply as he passes through the city.*

Last edited by Naivatkal on Thu, Aug 11 2011, 23:17 PM, edited 1 time in total.

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

*Eli eyes the forged signatures with disdain and reports it to the Cordorian Guard.*

*In Wiltun they are immediatly removed*

Pilineth simply laughs at the posts in the dale and moves them into more noticeable places around the dale.

All at once, a foreign knight covered from head to toe in green plated armor can be seen taking casual walks around the Southern and Western Districts of Cordor. The knight can also be observed to plainly and blatantly ignore any and all jeers that might be hurled his way, brandishing proper citizenship identification where asked and needed. If anyone were to interact with him or engage with him in a dialogue they might also note his somber yet polite demeanor.

Wherever said knight goes, there are eyes. Two, now. The white-haired guard doesn't come close, and she doesn't speak. Unless one watches, it might even be hard to tell she's keeping an eye on him, but without a doubt, she is.

Diplomacy's Game Continues: Blood and Rebirth

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