EternalObserver
eYe Gaze baCk
- Location
- The Void
[X] You remember waking on the doorstep of a state nursery the day of your birth. Left by parents who could not take care of you, born out of wedlock to a highborn Testarossa and an Ilium man.
A Frigid War
- Thread starter Volfaren
- Start date
- Original Mature Fantasy
Vote closed
Chapter 1.5
- Location
- Manila
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
It was snow that you had found yourself in, the night lit up with the blaze of the village. The light of the burn hid the stars in its ferocity. You had blood on your hands, not sure who's.
You lift your bowl to your lips, commanding your hands to quit shaking. Take a sip, you tell yourself. You gulp down more than you should.
"My village was burned by raiders, lord Kell. In the war," you say, setting the bowl down on the comically huge tabletop. "My parents died in the raid," you add, stressing your aversion to using ``killed."
"Well you here now. You stronger than them. You live." The Mansion lord says.
He stares off towards the end of the hall, to the doors that protect you from the cold outside. The great hall was the first building in the settlement, an aberration by Iliad standards. The municipal buildings are always in the center of a town, built far from a main gate, in a defensible position. You try to change the subject towards this.
"Why is the great hall here? Near the main gate? Surely it would be sacked first in a siege."
"Great hall near gate. Great hall stands between Goli and enemy. Warriors stay here, defend gate. Simple."
Simple to him but misunderstood by your standards. A difference in siege doctrine, you must put it. The Iliad establishment has yet to understand their alien civilization properly. The briefer you received as part of your diplomatic dossier was sparse, information mostly gleaned through the war on the border. Most of the briefer was from the few captured Goliatun soldiers captured in the war. The Goliatun would rather fall upon their own blades than be captured. Battlefield loot revealed that all their soldiers carried a similar ritual dagger on the persons, serrated and poisoned.
The roasted moose arrives and the night fades into your memory despite all your telepathic power. The Mansion lord keeps forcing you to drink, repeatedly making toasts in honor of your delegation. You eventually find yourself leaning out the door of your carriage, having woken up to regurgitate all the consumed kurnis into the snow outside. The hot, alcoholic puke leaves a melted patch of snow, revealing the packed earth beneath.
"Honorable, are you alright?" The guard on duty outside your carriage asks. It's Giorg. One of your former comrades.
"You know you shouldn't call me that, Guardsman. We were equals not too long ago."
"Equals? Are you joking? Former third lieutenant and now the Honorable Consul to the Necessity? I'm just a lowly earth stomper. You were an officer." He still stands at attention.
"Just because I have a field assignment as a diplomat doesn't mean I'm different now," you say. "I'm going back to sleep."
Your vision swims with tears as you retch a little more. "Good night, Giorg."
"Good night, Honorable."
You wake in the morning with a splitting headache. You attempt to meditate for a while before conferring with Jarrod, to clear your mind of the pain. You won't let any amount of fermented drink conquer your mental faculties. The pain is mostly gone by the time you dictate your late report to Jarrod, one that you need to deliver every night. You missed it last night due to the amount of drink you imbibed. You can remember the important details, but the rest swims in alcohol-induced haze.
Kell regaled you with tales of his time in war, of his killing of men and rogue Goli alike. You for the most part don't have such stories, having enlisted two years after the end of the war. You did however, tell him of the time your cadre had to hunt down an illegal mage in the eastern fringes before a Silver Hand witch hunter stepped in to take over the chase. Your first time to meet one of the dreaded Argent men.
Sweeping your wool cloak around yourself, you exit the carriage and go out into the morning light. Giorg is standing outside, leaning on his spear, asleep. Ah, the life of a duty guard. You kick him in the shin with your boot.
"Ah, frack. Fell asleep again."
"You weren't relieved? You should have been rotated out by first light." You still have the sentry rotations memorized, a dutiful ex-officer
"No, sirrah. My replacement passed out in the hall."
"Barden. I'll tell the Sergeant."
He stands up straight as his spear at that. "No, Honorable, I told him to enjoy and that I'll cover his duty."
He doesn't get to decide that. You tell him so. "The Sergeant sets the watch, exactly for this reason, so we're not left unprotected because you fall asleep on duty."
You could lecture him about the directives of the Scrolls of Order, but the man might fall asleep again.
"Go to sleep, Guardsman. That's an order," you say, putting the foot of the law down. "No need to guard the carriage, I'm not in it and all my valuables are on my person."
"Yes, sir!" He salutes, then jogs off to his tent. You pull out your sword belt from the inside of the carriage, strapping it around your waist. The Goli will respect the display of a weapon. You stick a sheathed dagger into your boot. You'd be more comfortable with a spear, but it's not issued to an Honorable Consul. Not fit for the position.
You go find the Sergeant's eagle-marked tent, the aquila displayed proudly at the entrance of the command pavilion. He's asleep under a makeshift desk.
You gently shake his shoulder, not giving him the disservice of poking him with your boot like a regular Guardsman. You respect the man, he should have made it to the officer corps long ago, but he insists on staying a regular lineman. He prefers it to be among the men, not leading. But a great leader indeed. Your protective complement would normally rate a command under a Guard captain. The diplomatic complement to the Necessity's capital was shorthanded, having lost many able-bodied men to frostbite due to the ill-preparedness of the quartermasters for the frigid wastes of the Goliatun lands.
"Sergeant Tack. It's past first light, what are you doing still asleep, Sarge?"
"Ah, Kythe. You're finally awake. Mighty lot that you drank last night, eh?" He gives you a shit-eating grin that could consume a horse load. He rises from his bedroll and dusts his uniform off. A man always ready for battle, he is. He's a veteran of both the Goliatun and Belial warfronts, a fighting man since before you were born. He must be more than twice your age, and still not retired.
"You'd think a veteran like you would always be awake for an ambush at dawn."
"Had a good amount to drink myself, yeh?" His accent is gruff, a southerner. Must hate the Belial. You wonder if he sneers on the inside at peace with the Goli. How many has he killed himself? He's a short man – Kell is many heads taller than him.
"We had a problem with the watch this morning. Giorg fell asleep at his post because Barden didn't report."
"Oh, what do you want to do about it? The men hate the cold already. They'd rather sleep with a belly full of warm drink."
[] Have both men whipped publicly outside the settlement. Let the Goli see how the Ilium discipline their own. Make your own men watch what disorder is punished by on such an important diplomatic mission. You're well within protocol and your rights as chargé d'affaires.
[] Relegate the men to latrine and horse-duty. Make them shovel shit. It's a light punishment by any standards, but you don't want them to lose morale.
[] Let Giorg off but make Barden drink from waterskins until his system is purged of drink. He shouldn't have drank so heavily while part of the diplomatic complement.
[] Make Giorg stand double watches over the next week. He is to blame, not Barden, for falling asleep at his post.
[] Let both men off. You don't want morale to lower.
[X] Write-in
You lift your bowl to your lips, commanding your hands to quit shaking. Take a sip, you tell yourself. You gulp down more than you should.
"My village was burned by raiders, lord Kell. In the war," you say, setting the bowl down on the comically huge tabletop. "My parents died in the raid," you add, stressing your aversion to using ``killed."
"Well you here now. You stronger than them. You live." The Mansion lord says.
He stares off towards the end of the hall, to the doors that protect you from the cold outside. The great hall was the first building in the settlement, an aberration by Iliad standards. The municipal buildings are always in the center of a town, built far from a main gate, in a defensible position. You try to change the subject towards this.
"Why is the great hall here? Near the main gate? Surely it would be sacked first in a siege."
"Great hall near gate. Great hall stands between Goli and enemy. Warriors stay here, defend gate. Simple."
Simple to him but misunderstood by your standards. A difference in siege doctrine, you must put it. The Iliad establishment has yet to understand their alien civilization properly. The briefer you received as part of your diplomatic dossier was sparse, information mostly gleaned through the war on the border. Most of the briefer was from the few captured Goliatun soldiers captured in the war. The Goliatun would rather fall upon their own blades than be captured. Battlefield loot revealed that all their soldiers carried a similar ritual dagger on the persons, serrated and poisoned.
The roasted moose arrives and the night fades into your memory despite all your telepathic power. The Mansion lord keeps forcing you to drink, repeatedly making toasts in honor of your delegation. You eventually find yourself leaning out the door of your carriage, having woken up to regurgitate all the consumed kurnis into the snow outside. The hot, alcoholic puke leaves a melted patch of snow, revealing the packed earth beneath.
"Honorable, are you alright?" The guard on duty outside your carriage asks. It's Giorg. One of your former comrades.
"You know you shouldn't call me that, Guardsman. We were equals not too long ago."
"Equals? Are you joking? Former third lieutenant and now the Honorable Consul to the Necessity? I'm just a lowly earth stomper. You were an officer." He still stands at attention.
"Just because I have a field assignment as a diplomat doesn't mean I'm different now," you say. "I'm going back to sleep."
Your vision swims with tears as you retch a little more. "Good night, Giorg."
"Good night, Honorable."
You wake in the morning with a splitting headache. You attempt to meditate for a while before conferring with Jarrod, to clear your mind of the pain. You won't let any amount of fermented drink conquer your mental faculties. The pain is mostly gone by the time you dictate your late report to Jarrod, one that you need to deliver every night. You missed it last night due to the amount of drink you imbibed. You can remember the important details, but the rest swims in alcohol-induced haze.
Kell regaled you with tales of his time in war, of his killing of men and rogue Goli alike. You for the most part don't have such stories, having enlisted two years after the end of the war. You did however, tell him of the time your cadre had to hunt down an illegal mage in the eastern fringes before a Silver Hand witch hunter stepped in to take over the chase. Your first time to meet one of the dreaded Argent men.
Sweeping your wool cloak around yourself, you exit the carriage and go out into the morning light. Giorg is standing outside, leaning on his spear, asleep. Ah, the life of a duty guard. You kick him in the shin with your boot.
"Ah, frack. Fell asleep again."
"You weren't relieved? You should have been rotated out by first light." You still have the sentry rotations memorized, a dutiful ex-officer
"No, sirrah. My replacement passed out in the hall."
"Barden. I'll tell the Sergeant."
He stands up straight as his spear at that. "No, Honorable, I told him to enjoy and that I'll cover his duty."
He doesn't get to decide that. You tell him so. "The Sergeant sets the watch, exactly for this reason, so we're not left unprotected because you fall asleep on duty."
You could lecture him about the directives of the Scrolls of Order, but the man might fall asleep again.
"Go to sleep, Guardsman. That's an order," you say, putting the foot of the law down. "No need to guard the carriage, I'm not in it and all my valuables are on my person."
"Yes, sir!" He salutes, then jogs off to his tent. You pull out your sword belt from the inside of the carriage, strapping it around your waist. The Goli will respect the display of a weapon. You stick a sheathed dagger into your boot. You'd be more comfortable with a spear, but it's not issued to an Honorable Consul. Not fit for the position.
You go find the Sergeant's eagle-marked tent, the aquila displayed proudly at the entrance of the command pavilion. He's asleep under a makeshift desk.
You gently shake his shoulder, not giving him the disservice of poking him with your boot like a regular Guardsman. You respect the man, he should have made it to the officer corps long ago, but he insists on staying a regular lineman. He prefers it to be among the men, not leading. But a great leader indeed. Your protective complement would normally rate a command under a Guard captain. The diplomatic complement to the Necessity's capital was shorthanded, having lost many able-bodied men to frostbite due to the ill-preparedness of the quartermasters for the frigid wastes of the Goliatun lands.
"Sergeant Tack. It's past first light, what are you doing still asleep, Sarge?"
"Ah, Kythe. You're finally awake. Mighty lot that you drank last night, eh?" He gives you a shit-eating grin that could consume a horse load. He rises from his bedroll and dusts his uniform off. A man always ready for battle, he is. He's a veteran of both the Goliatun and Belial warfronts, a fighting man since before you were born. He must be more than twice your age, and still not retired.
"You'd think a veteran like you would always be awake for an ambush at dawn."
"Had a good amount to drink myself, yeh?" His accent is gruff, a southerner. Must hate the Belial. You wonder if he sneers on the inside at peace with the Goli. How many has he killed himself? He's a short man – Kell is many heads taller than him.
"We had a problem with the watch this morning. Giorg fell asleep at his post because Barden didn't report."
"Oh, what do you want to do about it? The men hate the cold already. They'd rather sleep with a belly full of warm drink."
[] Have both men whipped publicly outside the settlement. Let the Goli see how the Ilium discipline their own. Make your own men watch what disorder is punished by on such an important diplomatic mission. You're well within protocol and your rights as chargé d'affaires.
[] Relegate the men to latrine and horse-duty. Make them shovel shit. It's a light punishment by any standards, but you don't want them to lose morale.
[] Let Giorg off but make Barden drink from waterskins until his system is purged of drink. He shouldn't have drank so heavily while part of the diplomatic complement.
[] Make Giorg stand double watches over the next week. He is to blame, not Barden, for falling asleep at his post.
[] Let both men off. You don't want morale to lower.
[X] Write-in
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Alaric
⠀
Changing my vote to this, great stuff.
Kythe's Journal - Crime & Punishment in the Federation
- Location
- Manila
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
I remember the first time I attended a townhall meeting in Valla. A man had fled his post as a sentry for our sleepy little town and made tail to the next one over. He was quickly found out by the sentries of the other town, one who'd previously served in Valla. Once found out, he holed up in a granary and took a little girl hostage. The sentries of Balva stormed the building and captured Laden but not before he'd slit that little girl's throat. The people of Balva cried for his blood, but federal edicts demanded he be tried in the town of his desertion.
A magistrate was swiftly called from the nearest city to preside over the trial by a jury of his peers. The proceedings were done quite quickly, starting at the dawn of the day and ending shortly after the sun reached its zenith. By sunset, a gallows was erected in the town square in front of the municipal building and the local temple. He'd only been held in the sheriff's hall for two days.
As the sun casts its final rays across the horizon and cast the sky in shades of purple, yellow, orange, and red, a bell was struck. It called all the townspeople to the square, walking slowly and solemnly. A priest burned offerings to the ancestors, particularly to appease the forefathers of the convicted man. The burning coals of the brazier cast what little light it could around the square as the sun finally set. A man's death for a crime so grave could not be witnessed under the heavenly light of Dalfar.
Laden was led out of the sheriff's hall, a hemp bag over his head. He would not glance upon the Banquet of Heaven again before his last breath. The captain of the watch led him onto the gallows' platform, fastened the noose around Laden's neck, then read the charges for which he was convicted.
"...And he shall hang by the neck until he is struck dead."
A terrible way to go, the rope robbing you of your life's air until you've left for the next life. Most hangings, I'd find out eventually, are clean. You fall with the noose until it pulls you taut and your neck snaps. But the murder of a little girl... I steeled myself and said I'd watch. She didn't deserve that. The parents didn't deserve that. I should watch to see how Iliad society carries out its punishments. It wouldn't be the last time. This is how our society must function to keep order. So I watched.
There were no occurrences of another hanging again in Valla. There were floggings, whippings, lashings, but none again like that. Severed hands for thievery. An eye for eye, the like. Speaking of, you once heard of a man's eyes plucked out for adultery. His wife swiftly divorced him. He walked out of town the next morning and was never heard from again.
A magistrate was swiftly called from the nearest city to preside over the trial by a jury of his peers. The proceedings were done quite quickly, starting at the dawn of the day and ending shortly after the sun reached its zenith. By sunset, a gallows was erected in the town square in front of the municipal building and the local temple. He'd only been held in the sheriff's hall for two days.
As the sun casts its final rays across the horizon and cast the sky in shades of purple, yellow, orange, and red, a bell was struck. It called all the townspeople to the square, walking slowly and solemnly. A priest burned offerings to the ancestors, particularly to appease the forefathers of the convicted man. The burning coals of the brazier cast what little light it could around the square as the sun finally set. A man's death for a crime so grave could not be witnessed under the heavenly light of Dalfar.
Laden was led out of the sheriff's hall, a hemp bag over his head. He would not glance upon the Banquet of Heaven again before his last breath. The captain of the watch led him onto the gallows' platform, fastened the noose around Laden's neck, then read the charges for which he was convicted.
"...And he shall hang by the neck until he is struck dead."
A terrible way to go, the rope robbing you of your life's air until you've left for the next life. Most hangings, I'd find out eventually, are clean. You fall with the noose until it pulls you taut and your neck snaps. But the murder of a little girl... I steeled myself and said I'd watch. She didn't deserve that. The parents didn't deserve that. I should watch to see how Iliad society carries out its punishments. It wouldn't be the last time. This is how our society must function to keep order. So I watched.
There were no occurrences of another hanging again in Valla. There were floggings, whippings, lashings, but none again like that. Severed hands for thievery. An eye for eye, the like. Speaking of, you once heard of a man's eyes plucked out for adultery. His wife swiftly divorced him. He walked out of town the next morning and was never heard from again.
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Vote closed
Map of the Continent
Chapter 1.6
- Location
- Manila
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
"If they hate the cold, they can warm their bodies up with physical training and run around the Mansion," you say, gritting your teeth a bit. You won't lash the men, that'll get little done and put them out of commission for a day or two. No, not that. You'll have them be productive and train. "In full gear. That'll get them warm and sweaty. Burn off the alcohol too."
"Your will be done, Honorable." Sergeant Tack chuckles at this. He's used to following your orders, but usually he gave you advice back when you were third lieutenant. "Your stamp on the orders, please."
Tack brings out a scroll, scribbles down your orders quickly with a quill. He brings out a candle, lights it, then brings out a round of wax to melt for your signet. He sets the waxed parchment onto his makeshift table for your approval.
You hesitate.
"Quickly, Kythe, before the wax sets."
You rub the band of the ring on your left hand. You wouldn't hesitate to discipline the men and women under your command as a probationary third lieutenant, as one of the Federal Guard. You stare at the cut metal of the ring face. It carries the symbols of the Crown, the hands of the People, and the olive branches of the Peace, all set within a starburst. It's a new position for you, being part of the likewise new diplomatic corps. You're no longer one of them. Your authority comes from the position given to you, not your former belongingness and respect as a fellow Guard risen up through the ranks.
"Honorable Kythe…" The Sergeant says slowly. "The wax will set. Your orders are given. I will carry them out as your designated hand."
You press your ring down on the wax, setting into it the diplomatic seal. "My will be done," you say. "The orders are given, Sergeant."
"I will carry them out at the earliest, Honorable. I will talk to the men first, so they don't think this is unwarranted."
With that, you stride out of the command tent, bowing your head to duck through the flaps. You bow your head for a while as you walk through the camp, looking at the snow crunching under your boots. You miss the feel of the standard issue Guard boots, so you kept yours despite the new clothes to suit your station given to you by Ambassador Extraordinary Valt. Good thing the man is of a similar stature to you. Just a few adjustments to fit a bit tighter, as Valt has grown a bit of a belly in his station. He's a bit younger than Pa should be by now, a rising star in the Federal civil service. Are you a rising star as well, a young third lieutenant moved to the diplomatic corps at such a short notice? Many men in Valt's retinue were passed over for your assignment.
Speaking of which, your assignment. What you're actually here at this Mansion for. You're to set up a consulate in the border regions between the Goliatun Necessity and the Iliad Federation. The sealed orders are in your jacket's inner pocket, only for you to see. You've yet to open them. Instructions were to only open them upon completing your mission of setting up the consulate.
It's barely dawn past dawn. Seems like you woke up quite early. The pain in your head is gone but the harsh winter sunlight pains your eyes as you walk around. Looking down doesn't help, the morning rays reflecting off the snow. You consider reentering Mansion Hussa then dismiss the thought easily. You don't know much of Goliatun culture but you'd assume any race would not like to be disturbed so early in the morning.
The Alvs might, the odd pointy ears they are. You wonder if you really trace ancestry to them through the Testarossian lines. You may never know. House Testarossa protects its genealogical records fiercely, especially against "rogues" or foundlings like you with unknown parentage. If they got their way, foundlings with uncertain heritage wouldn't reproduce at all. You lack the genealogical tattoos that they imprint on all their youth, a stark contrast against your slightly pointed ears in regular company.
Enough of those thoughts, you must return to your studies. You head back to your carriage as Sergeant Tack exits the command tent. You pause for a moment outside the carriage as Tack reads the orders of the day, including the punishment training for Giorg and Barden.
"…in full gear. You have the orders of the day." Giorg and a groggy Barden groan as the pack up their sacks for their run. The other guardsmen say nothing, but you raise an eyebrow when they also pack up their gear to go on the run too. Joining punishment duty in sympathy to their punishees is nothing new with the camaraderie in the Guard. You even joined the enlistment men on their peedees sometimes as a probationary officer.
The men and women of the Guard complement are still on their forced march around the Goliatun settlement when the sun reaches its zenith above. You exit your carriage after studying maps and the sparse briefers given to you on the Goli. You triangulate your position on the border, here at Mansion Hussa. You're just off the main trail connecting your two nations. There's a mixed Ilium-Minoan settlement to the east, Chythrias, near the coast.
The Goli, like the men and women of Ilium, also wake up at dawn, you found. It's something you wouldn't have known, not having fought in the Third Imperial War at all. The Treaty of Nang Tolemani was 2 years into its effect when you enlisted. You decided to study and not head into the Mansion, not rushing your business of the day. You consider the opportunity of setting up your consulate here, in Hussa. It's the nearest settlement to the demarcation among all the settlements in the borderlands. Chythrias might work, but it will have the added complication of a Minoan population. The Federation has always been at peace with the Kingdom of Minos, but you'll have to attend to their needs as well if you set up shop in Chythrias. The peace of the Treaty of Nang Tolemani is still tentative, despite the five years that have passed.
There is, however, a large garrison of the Federal Guard in Chythrias. It might come in handy to enforce the border and protect any trade caravans crossing between the Necessity and the Federation. And besides Chythrias, there aren't large Ilium settlements besides the towns Manos, Oelea, Cythus to the southwest, and Males to the southeast. Those are nowhere near the border. Too far to respond to any urgent calls to arms. The Goliatun Mansion of Rhonamizi is to the east of where you are now.
You could always set up shop at the border crossing to the southeast. It would offer a neutral spot but you'd have to start a new settlement. Options, options. Ambassador Valt did give you autonomy on your assignment.
You take long strides towards Mansion Hussa, a way away down the road from your encampment. Stopping near the main gate, you declare to the sentries:
"I, Kythe, son of shipmaster Maxxon One-Eye, seek entry to Mansion Hussa!"
"ENTRY IS GRANTED. GO FORTH, KYTHE SON OF SHIPMASTER MAXXON ONE-EYE," the sentries, once again in unison, bellow. Quite a bit of discipline, that. They slam the butts of their spears into the ground twice and the gates part open without assistance once more. You'll need to figure out how they do that. How is magic practiced in the Necessity?
You find yourself again in front of the looming doors of the great hall of Hussa. Hmm. You stomp twice in the snow, trying to replicate the action of the sentries. The doors don't budge. You knock instead.
You hear two thumps from inside the hall and the doors swing open outwards, revealing the dimly lit, cavernous hall inside.
"Welcome, Consul Kythe," Kell greets you, just within the hall, a spear in hand. The tip is wicked, curved, and inscribed with runes. He carries an oval shield as large as you on his back. "We ready to defend hall, can see?"
The great tables of the hall are pushed to the side, Goli warriors drilling on the main floor. Some mill around, watching their peers clash in practice. Some eat on the side, at the tables near the sloping walls. Some rest on the floor, evidently still drunk from the night before. It's almost noon.
"I am glad your warriors still find the discipline to drill the morning after a celebration," you compliment the Mansion lord. "How is the day?"
Kell grins widely, his face no longer hidden under the hood of his cloak. His tusks jut out from his lower lip, adding a bestial look to his smile. His teeth are a bit small for his size, you remark.
"What business?" He asks, going straight to the point.
"The courtesy visit, milord. I wish to confer," you say.
"Then confer with me. Let sit." He turns and strides to the end of the hall, where the head table remains in place. His warriors part in the center of the main floor to make far for the two of you. "I see men of yours running around Mansion. Good. Must keep shape, yes?"
He chuckles the thought of small Ilium running around the towering walls of the Mansion. You feel his joy tickling your mind, along with nostalgia. He misses the war.
"I wish to know your wishes for your settlement, Lord Kell. This is peace and we must prosper. This entails keeping in touch, maintaining diplomatic relations, and establishing embassies."
"Hmm. Your words are hard. This is new settlement, see. We trade with…Chythrias, near sea. We trade with hunters near border. But my people hunger. Moose not enough, moose not like grasses here. They not grow fat on grass. They miss forest. We want…crops."
"I don't know if this…can be arranged. They will have to come from further south, nearer to the heartlands of the Federation," you say. "We barely feed enough of our own here near your lands."
"This not true! You have many fish in Chythrias! You feed many! I have ten thousand head to feed, and more come. We must have crops. You seek the starsteel, yes? We trade."
Starsteel. The elusive metal of the Goli. It's stronger than any steel produced throughout the Federation and maybe even the other nations. It could give the Ilium an edge against its other enemies. The Federation is large and wide, and keeping the Federal Guard well-equipped is a perennial problem. There aren't enough mines in the country to keep the ever growing Guard fully supplied within the next couple of decades, the College of Artificiers predicts. Barely enough rare materials to keep producing artifacts and reliquaries, either.
"We teach you magic, too. If only you feed and exchange as well."
This is going somewhere you didn't expect. Magic is a touchy subject among the Ilium, a centuries old taboo dating to the Argent Purge of 356 on the Federation Calendar.
But this is all too much. All you had in mind was setting up a consulate for now. You don't even know yet what your orders read.
[] Try to deflect him towards enforcement of the border. A shared garrison patrolling the border would help with trade. Once you have that set up, you can discuss a trade agreement.
[] Steer the conversation towards setting up a diplomatic outpost in Mansion Hussa. You need a permanent place to stay within their walls.
[] Pursue the thread of conversation on trade. See what you can get out of him just for feeding his people.
[] You don't know what to do. Maybe it's time to open your sealed orders. The Ambassador won't know, will he?
[X] Meditate for a few moments, and access your memories of the diplomatic talks of Ambassador Valt in Necessa, the Necessity's capital. (This will entail a long flashback and more character generation options.)
"Your will be done, Honorable." Sergeant Tack chuckles at this. He's used to following your orders, but usually he gave you advice back when you were third lieutenant. "Your stamp on the orders, please."
Tack brings out a scroll, scribbles down your orders quickly with a quill. He brings out a candle, lights it, then brings out a round of wax to melt for your signet. He sets the waxed parchment onto his makeshift table for your approval.
You hesitate.
"Quickly, Kythe, before the wax sets."
You rub the band of the ring on your left hand. You wouldn't hesitate to discipline the men and women under your command as a probationary third lieutenant, as one of the Federal Guard. You stare at the cut metal of the ring face. It carries the symbols of the Crown, the hands of the People, and the olive branches of the Peace, all set within a starburst. It's a new position for you, being part of the likewise new diplomatic corps. You're no longer one of them. Your authority comes from the position given to you, not your former belongingness and respect as a fellow Guard risen up through the ranks.
"Honorable Kythe…" The Sergeant says slowly. "The wax will set. Your orders are given. I will carry them out as your designated hand."
You press your ring down on the wax, setting into it the diplomatic seal. "My will be done," you say. "The orders are given, Sergeant."
"I will carry them out at the earliest, Honorable. I will talk to the men first, so they don't think this is unwarranted."
With that, you stride out of the command tent, bowing your head to duck through the flaps. You bow your head for a while as you walk through the camp, looking at the snow crunching under your boots. You miss the feel of the standard issue Guard boots, so you kept yours despite the new clothes to suit your station given to you by Ambassador Extraordinary Valt. Good thing the man is of a similar stature to you. Just a few adjustments to fit a bit tighter, as Valt has grown a bit of a belly in his station. He's a bit younger than Pa should be by now, a rising star in the Federal civil service. Are you a rising star as well, a young third lieutenant moved to the diplomatic corps at such a short notice? Many men in Valt's retinue were passed over for your assignment.
Speaking of which, your assignment. What you're actually here at this Mansion for. You're to set up a consulate in the border regions between the Goliatun Necessity and the Iliad Federation. The sealed orders are in your jacket's inner pocket, only for you to see. You've yet to open them. Instructions were to only open them upon completing your mission of setting up the consulate.
It's barely dawn past dawn. Seems like you woke up quite early. The pain in your head is gone but the harsh winter sunlight pains your eyes as you walk around. Looking down doesn't help, the morning rays reflecting off the snow. You consider reentering Mansion Hussa then dismiss the thought easily. You don't know much of Goliatun culture but you'd assume any race would not like to be disturbed so early in the morning.
The Alvs might, the odd pointy ears they are. You wonder if you really trace ancestry to them through the Testarossian lines. You may never know. House Testarossa protects its genealogical records fiercely, especially against "rogues" or foundlings like you with unknown parentage. If they got their way, foundlings with uncertain heritage wouldn't reproduce at all. You lack the genealogical tattoos that they imprint on all their youth, a stark contrast against your slightly pointed ears in regular company.
Enough of those thoughts, you must return to your studies. You head back to your carriage as Sergeant Tack exits the command tent. You pause for a moment outside the carriage as Tack reads the orders of the day, including the punishment training for Giorg and Barden.
"…in full gear. You have the orders of the day." Giorg and a groggy Barden groan as the pack up their sacks for their run. The other guardsmen say nothing, but you raise an eyebrow when they also pack up their gear to go on the run too. Joining punishment duty in sympathy to their punishees is nothing new with the camaraderie in the Guard. You even joined the enlistment men on their peedees sometimes as a probationary officer.
The men and women of the Guard complement are still on their forced march around the Goliatun settlement when the sun reaches its zenith above. You exit your carriage after studying maps and the sparse briefers given to you on the Goli. You triangulate your position on the border, here at Mansion Hussa. You're just off the main trail connecting your two nations. There's a mixed Ilium-Minoan settlement to the east, Chythrias, near the coast.
The Goli, like the men and women of Ilium, also wake up at dawn, you found. It's something you wouldn't have known, not having fought in the Third Imperial War at all. The Treaty of Nang Tolemani was 2 years into its effect when you enlisted. You decided to study and not head into the Mansion, not rushing your business of the day. You consider the opportunity of setting up your consulate here, in Hussa. It's the nearest settlement to the demarcation among all the settlements in the borderlands. Chythrias might work, but it will have the added complication of a Minoan population. The Federation has always been at peace with the Kingdom of Minos, but you'll have to attend to their needs as well if you set up shop in Chythrias. The peace of the Treaty of Nang Tolemani is still tentative, despite the five years that have passed.
There is, however, a large garrison of the Federal Guard in Chythrias. It might come in handy to enforce the border and protect any trade caravans crossing between the Necessity and the Federation. And besides Chythrias, there aren't large Ilium settlements besides the towns Manos, Oelea, Cythus to the southwest, and Males to the southeast. Those are nowhere near the border. Too far to respond to any urgent calls to arms. The Goliatun Mansion of Rhonamizi is to the east of where you are now.
You could always set up shop at the border crossing to the southeast. It would offer a neutral spot but you'd have to start a new settlement. Options, options. Ambassador Valt did give you autonomy on your assignment.
You take long strides towards Mansion Hussa, a way away down the road from your encampment. Stopping near the main gate, you declare to the sentries:
"I, Kythe, son of shipmaster Maxxon One-Eye, seek entry to Mansion Hussa!"
"ENTRY IS GRANTED. GO FORTH, KYTHE SON OF SHIPMASTER MAXXON ONE-EYE," the sentries, once again in unison, bellow. Quite a bit of discipline, that. They slam the butts of their spears into the ground twice and the gates part open without assistance once more. You'll need to figure out how they do that. How is magic practiced in the Necessity?
You find yourself again in front of the looming doors of the great hall of Hussa. Hmm. You stomp twice in the snow, trying to replicate the action of the sentries. The doors don't budge. You knock instead.
You hear two thumps from inside the hall and the doors swing open outwards, revealing the dimly lit, cavernous hall inside.
"Welcome, Consul Kythe," Kell greets you, just within the hall, a spear in hand. The tip is wicked, curved, and inscribed with runes. He carries an oval shield as large as you on his back. "We ready to defend hall, can see?"
The great tables of the hall are pushed to the side, Goli warriors drilling on the main floor. Some mill around, watching their peers clash in practice. Some eat on the side, at the tables near the sloping walls. Some rest on the floor, evidently still drunk from the night before. It's almost noon.
"I am glad your warriors still find the discipline to drill the morning after a celebration," you compliment the Mansion lord. "How is the day?"
Kell grins widely, his face no longer hidden under the hood of his cloak. His tusks jut out from his lower lip, adding a bestial look to his smile. His teeth are a bit small for his size, you remark.
"What business?" He asks, going straight to the point.
"The courtesy visit, milord. I wish to confer," you say.
"Then confer with me. Let sit." He turns and strides to the end of the hall, where the head table remains in place. His warriors part in the center of the main floor to make far for the two of you. "I see men of yours running around Mansion. Good. Must keep shape, yes?"
He chuckles the thought of small Ilium running around the towering walls of the Mansion. You feel his joy tickling your mind, along with nostalgia. He misses the war.
"I wish to know your wishes for your settlement, Lord Kell. This is peace and we must prosper. This entails keeping in touch, maintaining diplomatic relations, and establishing embassies."
"Hmm. Your words are hard. This is new settlement, see. We trade with…Chythrias, near sea. We trade with hunters near border. But my people hunger. Moose not enough, moose not like grasses here. They not grow fat on grass. They miss forest. We want…crops."
"I don't know if this…can be arranged. They will have to come from further south, nearer to the heartlands of the Federation," you say. "We barely feed enough of our own here near your lands."
"This not true! You have many fish in Chythrias! You feed many! I have ten thousand head to feed, and more come. We must have crops. You seek the starsteel, yes? We trade."
Starsteel. The elusive metal of the Goli. It's stronger than any steel produced throughout the Federation and maybe even the other nations. It could give the Ilium an edge against its other enemies. The Federation is large and wide, and keeping the Federal Guard well-equipped is a perennial problem. There aren't enough mines in the country to keep the ever growing Guard fully supplied within the next couple of decades, the College of Artificiers predicts. Barely enough rare materials to keep producing artifacts and reliquaries, either.
"We teach you magic, too. If only you feed and exchange as well."
This is going somewhere you didn't expect. Magic is a touchy subject among the Ilium, a centuries old taboo dating to the Argent Purge of 356 on the Federation Calendar.
But this is all too much. All you had in mind was setting up a consulate for now. You don't even know yet what your orders read.
[] Try to deflect him towards enforcement of the border. A shared garrison patrolling the border would help with trade. Once you have that set up, you can discuss a trade agreement.
[] Steer the conversation towards setting up a diplomatic outpost in Mansion Hussa. You need a permanent place to stay within their walls.
[] Pursue the thread of conversation on trade. See what you can get out of him just for feeding his people.
[] You don't know what to do. Maybe it's time to open your sealed orders. The Ambassador won't know, will he?
[X] Meditate for a few moments, and access your memories of the diplomatic talks of Ambassador Valt in Necessa, the Necessity's capital. (This will entail a long flashback and more character generation options.)
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Map of the Goliatun-Iliad Border
EternalObserver
eYe Gaze baCk
- Location
- The Void
[X] Meditate for a few moments, and access your memories of the diplomatic talks of Ambassador Valt in Necessa, the Necessity's capital. (This will entail a long flashback and more character generation options.)
Florin
Priest of Yech
[X] Steer the conversation towards setting up a diplomatic output in Mansion Hussa. You need a permanent place to stay within their walls.
He already skipped ahead a few steps in the negotiations, safe to assume a consulate or embassy would not be too much to ask for. Let's not refuse, but take it slow. To make sure trade runs smoothly we need people there to take care of the day to day routine do we not? Whatever agreement we may come to we need people to actually be there and make sure things run smoothly, to that end a permanent place within their walls would be perfect.
He already skipped ahead a few steps in the negotiations, safe to assume a consulate or embassy would not be too much to ask for. Let's not refuse, but take it slow. To make sure trade runs smoothly we need people there to take care of the day to day routine do we not? Whatever agreement we may come to we need people to actually be there and make sure things run smoothly, to that end a permanent place within their walls would be perfect.
Vote closed
- Location
- Manila
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Will update this weekend, just been busy this week. Meanwhile, if you'd like to join me in my small, cozy Discord community, feel free! I'd love to have you.
discord.gg
Discord - Group Chat That’s All Fun & Games
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Character Sheet: Kythe
- Location
- Manila
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Name: Kythe Maxxon Kiara, Testaross of the Foundling Line
Born: Unknown northern village, Federation Calendar year 469 (21 years old)
Hometown: Valla, Timasus Province, Iliad Federation
Status: Alive
Current Occupation: Consul to the Goliatun Necessity
Former Occupations:
- Section commander, Tsade Section, 2nd Ambassadorial Cohort, 1st Legion, Federal Guard
- Rank: Probationary third lieutenant
- Section sergeant, Alef Section, 3rd Cohort, 17th Legion, Federal Guard
- Trooper, Alef Section, 3rd Cohort, 17th Legion, Federal Guard
General
Agility
Defense
Fellowship
Intelligence
Leadership
Social
Telepathy
Weapon Skill
Willpower
Q: What do Aptitudes do?
A: Aptitudes make it cheaper to buy bonuses to skills using Experience Points.
Skills
Athletics (Strength, General) : Known
Blades (Weapon Skill, Offense) : +10
Command (Fellowship, Leadership) : Known
Dodge (Agility, Defense): Known
Intimidate (Strength, Social) : Known
Mind Reading (Willpower, Telepathy): +10
Navigate (Intelligence, Fieldcraft) : Known
Polearms (Weapon Skill, Offense): Known
Prescience (Perception, Telepathy) : Known
Riding (Agility, Finesse): Known
Survival (Perception, Fieldcraft): Known
Q: What do Skills do?
A: Skill Bonuses give you their listed bonus to dice rolls made throughout the quest, normally, a 1d100. Rolling higher is better.
Q: What if a Skill isn't Known?
A: You will roll a 1d100 with a -20 modifier.
Q: What do the Aptitudes in parentheses mean?
A: Those are the relevant Aptitudes that make that specific skill cheaper to upgrade using Experience Points.
Talents & Traits
Scorpion Duelist
Gain the Aptitude: Defense
Gain +10 to the Skill Bonus: Blades
Son of a Mind-Reading SailorGain the Aptitudes: Agility, Social
Federal Guard TrainingGain the Aptitudes: Weapon Skill, Leadership
Gain Known to the Skill Bonuses: Athletics, Command, Dodge, Navigate, Polearms, Riding, Survival.
Testaross of Unknown HeritageGain the Aptitudes: Telepathy, Willpower
Gain Known to the Skill Bonuses: Mindreading, Prescience
Mind PalaceYou possess eidetic memory, accessible from within a mental construct of your choosing.
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Chapter 2.1
- Location
- Manila
- Pronouns
- He/Him/His
Chapter 2
We study the past to guide the future.
Lord Kell takes a seat at the head table and waves over a Goli who brings the two of you bowls of kurnis. He takes a drink from his and looks at you expectantly to continue the informal negotiations.
"I must feed Goli of Hussa, consul."
You delay him by taking a drink from your own kurnis, despite your current aversion to fermented milk. You begin to take a series of gulps from the bowl as you turn your mental gaze inwards towards your memories. Perhaps your recollections of the diplomatic talks in the Goliatun capital will help you here.
Months ago...
It's the early afternoon, the sun on its slow arc in the sky towards the western horizon. The delegation's caravan has slowed to a stop for the day among the grassy hills on the Iliad side of the border. An eagle cries overhead as you help 2nd Lieutenant Vasili pitch your shared tent. You've nearly finished when a runner passes by and calls for all officers to report to the ambassador's tent.
"All officers? Even me?" You raise an eyebrow at Vasili.
"Probationary or not, you're an officer, Kythe. C'mon, help me get this up first." You and Vasili finish erecting the tent, dust yourselves off, then report to the ambassador's tent.
"2nd Lieutenant Vasili! 3rd Lieutenant Kythe! You're late!" is the first thing you hear when you enter.
"Major, we were" Major Isidora cuts Vasili off with a wide-eyed stare. "Yes, Major, won't happen again," you both chime.
Major Faidra Isidora, commander of the 2nd Ambassadorial Cohort, 1st Legion of the Federal Guard, strikes a cutting figure among her men. She's the only female officer in the cohort and the commander at that. She'd be beautiful if not for the permanent scowl on her face and the long scars on both cheeks that rumor says she got from headbutting a Goli bravo.
Major Isidora coughs and the meeting comes to order. The ambassador enters from another section of the tent.
"At ease, men," he says. "I may be former Guard but don't stand on ceremony around me."
Ambassador Valt takes a seat in a lounge chair and motions at the lot of you to stop standing as straight as posts.
"Major, if you will," Valt says. The Major sets up a table and rolls out a map across its surface.
This is your first time seeing the Ambassador Extraordinary in person. He has aquiline features, like those from a bust you'd seen in the People's Palace in Arcadia while assigned to the Home Guard. He lounges in his chair like a senator of old in a painting, just missing the wine, bowl of fruits, and boiled pigeons. Not that federal servants of his rank are like that anymore. The Argent Reforms of 356 did many things to reduce decadence among the bureaucrats and elected officials.
Don't think I've not noticed you staring. A foreign thought intrudes into your mind and you almost jump out of your boots. The Ambassador is a Testaross, like you!
Focus on the briefing, 3rd Lieutenant.
You forget yourself and blurt out loud, "Yes sir!"
"Huh?" Major Isidora barks. "What? Did you say something, 3rd Lieutenant?"
"Oh, no ma'am!" Shit, she'll think you were talking to her and called her sir. Promachos like the Major loathe being misgendered and you're certain she will find some way to punish you for such a transgression. You hear a small telepathic chuckle from the ambassador.
The Major huffs. "Anyway, as I was saying, we will be avoiding all settlements until we arrive in the province surrounding the capital city of Necessa. Goliatun memory is long, and the war is still fresh for those in the borderlands. We have maps but cannot trust their accuracy. We will deploy riders to deter ourselves from straying too close to any towns."
The Major doles out the watch and rider assignments then dismisses the lot of you.
"3rd Lieutenant, a word," the ambassador says, rising from his chair.
"Yes, Honorable." You stand at parade rest before Valt.
"Your left arm, if you would please." Oh. He wants to check you for a heritage tattoo.
"I'm sorry to disappoint, Honorable, but…" You pull back the sleeve of your shirt to reveal your left forearm bare of any markings.
"Ah," Valt says, his face warping into a grimace. "A foundling. No wonder. Dismissed."
As you leave the tent, you grit your teeth. This isn't the first time you've faced such treatment from highborn Testarossa, and it certainly won't be the last.
A few days later, there's some shouting to be heard in the center of the camp. It's near the central area, around where the senior officers' and diplomatic staff's tents are. The scouts reported in the previous night that there are no nearby settlements, so the top echelon decided it was safe to light fires. The biggest fire is in the direction of the shouting.
"C'mon, let's check it out," Vasili smiles and jerks his head in the direction of the hubbub. The two of you were about to go to bed.
You and Vasili push through a crowd towards the central bonfire. You make it to the front as Captain Vissarion of Bet Section is thrown to the ground, a dagger point at his throat. He grumbles out a yield. The man holding the dagger to the Captain's throat is none other than the Ambassador Extraordinary himself, Valt.
A mix of cries of triumph and loss passes through the crowd around you. Looks like a lot of men were counting on the loss of the ambassador. A friendly duel or spar, this seems to be. Money passes hands as the ambassador helps Vissarion up from the ground.
"Who's next?" Ambassador Valt asks, his hands raised in the air as an invitation for the next challenger.
No one steps forward.
"Really? Nobody?" Valt frowns. He looks around the crowd then points. "You! The Testaross lieutenant!"
You're the only Testaross in the ambassador's Guard complement, as far as you know. Cheers rise from the crowd as you're pushed forward by some of your own soldiers. Really, you?
"KYTHE. KYTHE. KYTHE." A chant goes up among the rank and file.
"Looks like you've got some fans, 3rd Lieutenant," the ambassador chuckles.
Vasili comes up behind you and whispers. "I'm willing to bet that the Captain lost on purpose. The ambassador may be former Guard but he's got a cushy federal service position and is getting old. C'mon. I've got money on you. Win this."
A page comes up from the crowd and offers you a leaf-bladed dagger, dulled at the edges and tip so as not to draw blood. But it'll still hurt to be hit.
"Do they still teach the Toleman blade dance in Guard? Doesn't seem like they do anymore," Ambassador Valt says.
"Yes, they still do, Honorable," you answer. Vasili helps you out of your coat and shirt before wrapping your forearms in thick linen. Both to keep you from dropping your blade and to let you use your hands to block. You'd normally be wearing heavy gauntlets for this, but the linens will have to do.
The ambassador is likewise shirtless, the central bonfire warming the two of you and making the sweat on the ambassador's skin glisten. Was Captain Vissarion his first opponent, you wonder. Valt takes a stance, placing both hands out in front of him, tossing his dagger between them. The Bear School of Nang Tolemani, it seems. He tenses his muscles, rippling under his skin in the firelight. Vasili might be losing money tonight. You'll have to pull out that card from out of your sleeve if you're to win.
Pick one:
[] Like the Ambassador, assume the Bear Stance. Suited both for offense and defense, with both hands out in front to block and attack. (Gain both the Offense and Defense Aptitudes, but only +1 to Blades)
[] Assume the Viper Stance. Biased towards offense, with blade forward, ready to strike, with the offhand to the rear. (Gain the Offense Aptitude and +2 to Blades)
[X] Assume the Scorpion Stance. Suited to defense, with the offhand forward and blade hand to the rear, ready to strike once the opponent has been wrangled or blocked. (Gain the Defense Aptitude and +2 to Blades)
Pick one:
[] Let the ambassador win easily and keep your ace up your sleeve for another day. (Unlock the Charm skill at +2)
[X] Pull the ace out from your sleeve and beat the ambassador soundly. (Unlock the Prescience skill at +1 and Intimidate at +1)
[] Fight the ambassador nearly to a draw then humbly lose. (Unlock the Leadership skill at +2)
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Alaric
⠀
[X] Assume the Scorpion Stance. Suited to defense, with the offhand forward and blade hand to the rear, ready to strike once the opponent has been wrangled or blocked. (Gain the Defense Aptitude and +2 to Blades)
[X] Pull the ace out from your sleeve and beat the ambassador soundly. (Unlock the Prescience skill at +1 and Intimidate at +1)
[X] Pull the ace out from your sleeve and beat the ambassador soundly. (Unlock the Prescience skill at +1 and Intimidate at +1)
- Location
- France
[X] Assume the Scorpion Stance. Suited to defense, with the offhand forward and blade hand to the rear, ready to strike once the opponent has been wrangled or blocked. (Gain the Defense Aptitude and +2 to Blades)
[X] Pull the ace out from your sleeve and beat the ambassador soundly. (Unlock the Prescience skill at +1 and Intimidate at +1)
[X] Pull the ace out from your sleeve and beat the ambassador soundly. (Unlock the Prescience skill at +1 and Intimidate at +1)
[X] Assume the Scorpion Stance. Suited to defense, with the offhand forward and blade hand to the rear, ready to strike once the opponent has been wrangled or blocked. (Gain the Defense Aptitude and +2 to Blades)
[X] Fight the ambassador nearly to a draw then humbly lose. (Unlock the Leadership skill at +2)
Humiliating both the Ambassador and Captain Vissarion seems be poor judgement. I also like the leadership skill.
[X] Fight the ambassador nearly to a draw then humbly lose. (Unlock the Leadership skill at +2)
Humiliating both the Ambassador and Captain Vissarion seems be poor judgement. I also like the leadership skill.
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Florin
Priest of Yech
[X] Assume the Scorpion Stance. Suited to defense, with the offhand forward and blade hand to the rear, ready to strike once the opponent has been wrangled or blocked. (Gain the Defense Aptitude and +2 to Blades)
[X] Pull the ace out from your sleeve and beat the ambassador soundly. (Unlock the Prescience skill at +1 and Intimidate at +1)
Time to prove our worth, The prescience skill is going to be more useful than the others I feel like. Let the old man have it, teach him the tattoo denotes heritage and not aptitude.
[X] Pull the ace out from your sleeve and beat the ambassador soundly. (Unlock the Prescience skill at +1 and Intimidate at +1)
Time to prove our worth, The prescience skill is going to be more useful than the others I feel like. Let the old man have it, teach him the tattoo denotes heritage and not aptitude.