Lords 2.03
[X] [ROADSMEN] Perhaps I may talk these men down?

"Can we not negotiate?" you ask. "Is there no way I may be allowed to pass by unmolested?"

The roadsman fixes you with an incredulous look as if you'd spoken a foreign language. "Hand over your purse and weapons, and you may pass however you please. Is that too difficult to understand, milord?"

"That's not what I mean; damn your eyes," you protest. "What I mean to say is—"

"You're not very good at listening, are you milord?" the roadsman replies with a look that's half a sigh and half a sneer. "Maybe this will help your hearing?"

Pain explodes across the side of your head as his balled fist crashes into your face. The force of the blow sends you tumbling to the side. Your balance is lost. Something grabs you by the collar and jerks you roughly forward. You fall from your seat and crash hard onto the muddied road.

A boot presses down hard between your shoulder blades, pushing your face into the dirt. The cold point of a bayonet presses into the back of your neck.

"Now then," you hear your assailant say, "I believe I've made my position clear, milord. I trust that you do not mean to object further?" He pushes his foot down harder until the spring mud begins to ooze into your mouth.

"No?" he asks mockingly. "Good, then I believe we're done negotiating."

The roadsmen don't take everything—they don't have the means. Instead, they satisfy themselves with a quick rummage through your clothing and coach. They make off with the coin you had on you for the journey, not a great sum, but no small change either.

They take your weapons, too - your pistols, of course, and your sabre as well.

By the time they finally let you through, you depart with dirtied clothes, an empty purse, and a feeling that you've been thoroughly degraded. Most of you cannot wish for anything other than to put the whole matter behind you.

Yet one thought tugs at your mind as you continue your journey, a line of thought which seems more and more distressing to you the longer you dwell upon it: those roadsmen had been soldiers and seasoned ones at that. Even if not for the way they spoke and the ragged remains of the uniforms they wore on their backs, you would have known by the way they stood and the way they moved, if nothing else. Less than a year ago, they would have been veterans of the King's Army, men you would have had to trust with your life—men who you might have actually trusted with your life during your time in Antar.

It gnaws at you, even when you try to put it out of your mind. How could men who risked so much in the service of their King and their country so quickly resort to violating the King's peace and robbing their fellow countrymen?

How could they have fallen so far and so fast?

[ ] [ROADSMEN] They're the same as they were. It is mere desperation that drives them.
[ ] [ROADSMEN] The army taught them no trade save war; how else could they live in peace?
[ ] [ROADSMEN] Whatever their reasons, they betrayed their uniforms; the noose is too good for them.
[ ] [ROADSMEN] Only the discipline of the army kept them in line. Without it, they revert to savagery.
 
[X] [ROADSMEN] The army taught them no trade save war; how else could they live in peace?

I think this what our MC would have thought. He have the same thought about difficulty adjusting back to civilian life after all.
 
Lords 2.04
[X] [ROADSMEN] The army taught them no trade save war; how else could they live in peace?

War trains a man - not only in how to fight and how to kill but in how to live as well. When one lives off the land of an enemy, one learns to take what is needed and that the only real law is that of the bayonet. For more than a decade, war has trained the men of the King's Army in such a manner, with a method no less expert and no less thorough than that of a master carpenter or blacksmith. It is from that tutelage that they've now graduated, and for far too many, there's no other way.

But those men are not in Antar anymore. The attitudes once so encouraged when inflicted upon the enemy have now been turned upon their own country. The behaviour which had been so necessary to their very survival at war marks them as brigands in a time of peace, and perhaps for such men, there's no other way of thinking.

There will be no way out for such fellows, save at the end of a noose, a destiny which they had unwittingly accepted the instant they enlisted themselves. Some part of you cannot help but feel sorry for them.

-​

Your ship docks in Aetoria on a rare sunny spring day to find the situation direr than it had been the autumn before. The vagrants and beggars which had seemed so thick on the ground before seem to have doubled in number, and your passage through the poorer parts of the city is marked with a distinct and tense unease. Your clothing and accoutrements may seem practical in your eyes, but to the gaunt faces peeking out at you from alleyways and windows, it is still the finery of a lord. It isn't difficult to see the jealousy in their expressions.

And yes, the resentment too.

You waste no time in renting out the set of lodgings which you'd taken up during your last visit, but as you cram all of your luggage into the series of cramped rooms, you know you'll have to set up a more long-term living arrangement before you can even consider getting seriously involved in the politics of the capital.

The renting of a townhouse means more than the acquisition of a more permanent address; it is also the establishment of a home base and headquarters for all your activities in the capital. Your townhouse is where you will entertain your friends and potential allies. Its location and proximity to the centres of power will serve as an advertisement of your political leanings and a demonstration of the resources you're willing to expend to aid friends and destroy rivals. A large, impressively decorated townhouse in a fashionable district of the city could win you allies, influence, and stature among the city's great and good—if you can afford the cost.

Naturally, you make the acquisition of such a residence your chief priority. You have inquiries made immediately, and within a day of your arrival, you're able to ascertain that there are four districts of the city in which a man of your class and means might be expected to rent a townhouse, each with its own characteristics and possibilities:

First, there is the Castle Quarter in the very shadow of the Northern Keep. It is the oldest and most distinguished part of the city, with many of its grand houses built long before the Unified Kingdom was even an errant notion in Edwin the Strong's eye. The Duke of Wulfram makes his city residence there, as do many of his faction, and although you certainly cannot afford the grand, free-standing palaces which dominate the Castle Quarter, you might be able to manage one of the slightly more modest terraced townhouses nearby—if only just.

There's also the area around what was once Greatmarket Square. It is Victory Square now, renamed and refurbished at the order of the King following the conclusion of the war with Antar, complete with a great bronze equestrian statue of King Miguel himself. Needless to say, the neighbourhood has already gained a reputation as a hotbed of Royalist sentiment, and the streets around the square ring with the sound of building hammers as fashionable new townhouses rise to handle the influx of well-heeled and fashionable newcomers—including yourself, if you are so inclined.

Then there's Saint Octavia's Park, a district that needs no new statues or great squares to cement its reputation as the most well-regarded part of the city. Only the most fashionable make their homes around the great park that gives the neighbourhood its name, and only the wealthiest can afford the exorbitant rents which such popularity has fuelled. Many of the senior officers who made their fortunes in Antar—Palliser, most noticeably—have moved into the area, drawn not only by its fashionable nature but the somewhat martial air that the close proximity of Grenadier Square provides, not to mention the opportunities which such closeness to the Army's general headquarters might offer.

Lastly, and perhaps least of all, there is Prince Robert's Street not far from the docks. A townhouse there would not be fashionable, and it would not get you noticed, but it would be cheap, or at least as cheap as a lord's residence can get without being an embarrassment. If you can afford nothing else, you might have some prospects there.

-​

[X] What does the Castle Quarter have to offer?

You find three prospects in the Castle Quarter, each located along one of the great old roads which radiate from the Northern Keep.

The first is a spacious townhouse on the main avenue leading up to the gates of the Northern Keep itself. Less than a block from the Duke of Wulfram's own house, it boasts an immense façade of marble and granite and is decorated in the latest style. It is a house meant to be seen and meant to be lived in by the sort of man who doesn't have any compunctions about flaunting his wealth—especially with its rent set at five hundred crown a year.

The second is a rather more modest abode, but only in relation to the first. Its façade doesn't sit within sight of the King's own residence, its furnishings are not quite as opulent, and its rooms somewhat less extensive, but it is still an imposing edifice meant for an owner set upon making an entrance into the world of Aetorian society. Rent is posted at three hundred crown a year.

The third possibility is smaller by far, almost out of sight. It is perhaps the sort of house that might be expected of a minor baron without a wife or children—which is to say, the sort of townhouse you might be expected to rent. Although it does not boast an imposing appearance or the ornate decoration of a more prominent residence, it is still a most respectable home and would be more than enough to get you noticed, if only a little. For a hundred and fifty crown a year, you might even consider it a bargain.

You put your notes on the Castle Quarter away and take a look at the prospects that await you in other parts of the city…

-​

[X] Take a closer look at townhouses around Victory Square.

Greatmarket Square has long been home to the headquarters of Aetoria's more prosperous merchant houses, but it was only recently that the area became a fashionable neighbourhood for the city's Baneblooded classes. Now, there's construction everywhere, as old counting houses and shops are turned into new residences for those with the funds to afford them.

The largest of these conversions is an imposing stone building facing the square itself. Once it was a market hall, but over the past year, it has been entirely refurbished inside and out. Now, like a poor labourer suddenly made wealthy, it has been entirely done over in the most opulent and fashionable style to hide any taint of its humble origins. Renting such a place would give you one of the most prominent homes in the district and a residence more than fitting of your station, although, with rent posted at five hundred crown a year, it would be a costly privilege indeed.

There are also entirely new builds - townhouses constructed from the ground up. They're considerably smaller than the conversions, but they still possess all the respectability of a house in a fashionable part of the city, with none of the lingering odour of trade clinging to their beams. The largest of these newly constructed residences would more than suffice for the city residence of a country baron. At three hundred crown a year, perhaps it is worth the price.

Lastly, there are the smaller residences for rent. These have mostly been converted from shopfronts and small offices. Unfortunately, no amount of refurbishment can disguise the coarse origins of such buildings, but nowhere else would you be able to get a townhouse of such size in an area as fashionable for a rate as low as a hundred and fifty crown a year.

You set your notes on Victory Square aside and take a look at the possibilities elsewhere in the city…

-​

[X] Examine the options available in Saint Octavia's Park.

No part of Aetoria is quite like Saint Octavia's Park, the most exclusive and expensive part of the city. There's no need to seek out townhouses of particular size or opulence here, for every residence is designed to impress, and even the most modest home is a palace in miniature.

Yet some of those palaces are less in miniature than others. Even here, there are buildings of greater and lesser stature, and one of the most imposing is currently available. It once belonged to Baron Tourbridge before he met his end at Blogia, and given the late baron's well-known reputation for lavish spending and grand entertainments, you do not doubt that such a residence stands head and shoulders above its neighbours—how else could it expect to justify its exorbitant rent of a thousand crown a year?

Of course, not all of the townhouses in the area are so princely in both size and cost, though only the most grandiose mind could ever condescend to call such grand homes 'modest.' Even the middling residences around Saint Octavia's Park are immense structures, boasting great ballrooms, immense banquet halls, and even open interior courtyards, like the atrium of a M'hidiyossi palace. Likewise, even the middling residences in the area command prices that would be ludicrous anywhere else. You cannot find any residence for rent of such a size that doesn't at least demand seven hundred crown a year.

Your only option below that point is to rent one of the smaller, less impressive houses, the ones with façades facing away from the park rather than the more fashionable ones facing towards it. They're certainly the least massive residences available in the area, but they're still far more than what might be expected of the city residence of a minor baron. Even the most modest houses by Saint Octavia's Park are set up in the most fashionable style—and cost at least four hundred crown a year.

You put away your notes on Saint Octavia's Park and consider, for the moment anyway, less ruinously expensive options.

-​

[X] Take a look at Prince Robert's Street.

Under normal circumstances, most would consider a residence on Prince Robert's Street unfit for a Lord of the Cortes. An untitled Baneblood, perhaps. The more prosperous sort of shipowner or wholesaler, most definitely. But for a Lord of the Cortes to stomach living alongside the common baneless, less than a few hundred paces from the harbour amid the stench of rotting fish and the calls of dockside whores? That is something else entirely.

Even the grandest and most imposing residence available seems fitter for a wealthy baneless merchant than a gentleman of the blood. It dwarfs its neighbours, true, but even so, it would only be considered a middling sort of home in a more fashionable part of town. The only thing you can really recommend for it is the price of rent, posted at a "mere" two hundred and forty crown a year.

There are smaller, even more economical options, of course, ones that straddle the line betwixt merely modest and downright shabby. Still, if you can stomach the cramped corridors, gaudy paint, and somewhat less-than-tasteful wallpaper, you suppose you might be able to make do, especially if it'll only set you back a hundred and twenty crown a year.

You almost dare not look for anything cheaper than that, but you do, and you find something, a wretched little set of rooms, the sort which might normally be rented out to the family of a grocer or a bookbinder or something like that. Still, it would accommodate you, plus a respectable complement of servants, and for a mere eighty crown a year at that.

Quite the bargain—if you don't mind never showing your face in public again. You put away your notes on Prince Robert's Street with a visceral sense of disgust. Surely you can do better than this?

-​

Living in the Castle Quarter will improve your standing with the Duke of Wulfram and his followers while calling Victory Square home will likewise win you favor with those that support the King's policy. Saint Octavia's Park wins influence with Grenadier Square, while Prince Robert's Street is the most affordable neighborhood if you can tolerate living among the...upper middle class. :eek2:

[ ] [HOME] Castle Quarter.
-[ ] I mean to make a real splash. I shall rent out the largest townhouse. (+250 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] The medium-sized townhouse seems best suited for me. (+150 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] I will take the smallest of the three. (+75 Townhouse Rent)

[ ] [HOME] Victory Square.
-[ ] Former trading house or not, a huge townhouse is worth the price. (+250 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] I will settle for the new build. It is more my style. (+150 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] A converted shop may not be ideal, but it is affordable. (+75 Townhouse Rent)

[ ] [HOME] Saint Octavia's Park.
-[ ] Money is no object. I will have the most extravagant house in the city. (+500 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] Something grand, then—but not too grand. (+350 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] I will choose something modest—by the area's standards, anyhow. (+200 Townhouse Rent)

[ ] [HOME] Prince Robert's Street.
-[ ] If I am to live in such a wretched hovel, it shall at least be a spacious one. (+120 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] I must be economical, even if it means cramped hallways and tasteless wallpaper. (+60 Townhouse Rent)
-[ ] I fear I can only afford the cheapest possible accommodation. (+40 Townhouse Rent)
 
Lords 2.05
[X] [HOME] Victory Square.
-[X] I will settle for the new build. It is more my style. (+150 Townhouse Rent)


With no time to be lost, you reach out to the appropriate agents and begin negotiations immediately. Marshalling all of the powers you have available, you go over the lease point by point, pointing out the unneeded surcharges and loopholes added solely to increase the amount owed without actually providing anything in exchange.

You haggle ferociously, with all the intransigence and insufferable expertise of a country solicitor, something which the land agents opposite you seem entirely surprised by. After all, such an affinity for matters as base as the wording of a contract is supposed to be beneath the dignity of a gentleman of the blood—that's what you hire experts for. But your solicitor is all the way back at your estate, and even in his absence, you make a pretty good show of it, managing to talk the price of your rent down by a tenth before you finally find no more fat to cut.

Still, not bad for a day's work. You begin moving in the next day.

The process proves both easier and more difficult than you imagined. You packed relatively light—a decision made as much by the questionable soundness of your coach's undercarriage as anything else—and it appears to have paid off. Your new residence boasts far more space than you need, and unpacking proves almost a childishly simple matter.

Unfortunately, this also means that while your new home is quite spacious, it also seems rather empty. While 'fully furnished' with tables, chairs, and the basics, your townhouse lacks much else. It takes another frenzy of frantic activity to see the remainder filled in with the appropriate decorations, accoutrements, and the not-unsubstantial number of staff needed to maintain such a home.

Thankfully, by the time your first visitors arrive, your parlour and dining room are, at least, in a presentable state.

A few baneless families remain in the area around Victory Square, most of them among the wealthiest of the city's merchants. However, the vast majority of your new neighbours are fellow Baneblooded Lords of the Cortes and fervent supporters of the King's policy at that. Needless to say, you find your own opinions rather welcome in this new circle, and you soon find yourself gaining notice in Royalist circles.

New neighbours aren't the only arrivals at your door. Two weeks after you move in, and just as the stream of callers finally begins to subside, you receive a different sort of guest: an Intendancy courier with the mail.

First, there is a battered missive, folded precisely but much abused. Its thin material is smudged with soot, ink, and some strange stain that smells faintly of ammonia. The emblem of Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott is stamped on the seam, making the message's provenance rather obvious.

Then, there is a message from Leoniscourt, its fine vellum scuffed and worn from a long trip at sea. Yet even so, you can smell the hint of vanilla perfume still clinging to its inner folds. You don't need to see the lion head of House Cazarosta of Leoniscourt to know who sent you this letter.

A carefully sealed envelope of thick, expensive paper follows, sealed with the wax stamp of House Welles.

Lastly, you receive a packet of reports and correspondences from your barony. You eye the parcel with some worry, anxious to know how your estate manager has handled his first few weeks on the job.

But that can wait. You have personal letters to go through first…

[X] Take a look at the letter from Garing.

In truth, part of you had lost hope of ever hearing from Edmund Garing again. After all, it's been five years since you made an investment in his concept for a new musket, and for all the potential of such a weapon to revolutionise warfare, the fact that both the man and his idea seem to have disappeared off the face of creation for all this time didn't offer much encouragement.

So naturally, it is with some trepidation and great anticipation that you open the letter and read its contents:

-​

Lord Reddingfield,

I must apologise, my lord, for not having written sooner. The demands on my time are great, and my chiefest priorities remain both the development of the project in which you have invested and my everyday duties as a partner at Garing, Gutierrez, and Truscott.

However, you might be assured that matters progress in a most satisfactory manner. With the funds invested by you and other investors, I have been able to establish a small workshop for the construction and iteration of prototype firearms, which may prove suitable for further experimentation.

You will perhaps be pleased to know that one of our current experiments involves an iteration of the system which you described to me during our meeting some years ago. The action functions well and is relatively reliable in firing tests. We hope to develop it further, alongside several other promising designs.

Going forward, we believe that we may see a model suited for production trials within four or five years. So long as Grenadier Square sees fit to adopt the weapon, I have every confidence that you shall see your investment repaid before long.

I remain your most obedient servant,
Edmund Garing


-​

So the project has seen some progress after all, an encouraging sign. However, that final sentence doesn't sound quite as reassuring to you as it might have been intended. Garing might create the finest weapon in all creation, but unless Grenadier Square has the funds and the inclination to adopt it in large numbers, it might as well be a baneruned butter knife for all the money it will make you.

You file the letter away. If Grenadier Square must adopt the weapon for you to see a return on your investment, then you shall have to do your level best to ensure that they do when the time comes. Until then, there's little point in worrying over it.

What now?

[X] Open the letter from Lady Katarina.

You reach for the envelope with no small amount of trepidation. It has been nearly a year since you last saw Lady Katarina. Her previous letter had been full of affection, but now that the two of you are in the same city, with all of the myriad restrictions and unspoken rules of high society in play, will she continue to be so inclined?

You pry open the seal and force your hands to steady as you unfold the letter.

-​

My dear Alaric, I had hoped to greet you when you arrived in Aetoria, but I fear events have a habit of disappointing hope.

I wish with all my heart that I could have written you sooner, but my business in Leoniscourt is of the gravest significance, and it cannot even be gainsaid by the strongest of affections.

I am sure you have questions. Take heart in knowing that you shall soon be able to ask them in person. I shall not be detained much longer here in Leoniscourt. Soon, I shall be on my way to the capital on other business. I shall send for you the very instant I arrive, and then you may interrogate me however you wish.

With my deepest affection,
Katarina


-​

Saints be damned. Is this all?

Why does she not write more? Not of her secrets but of her feelings. Can she not even say—

No, this sort of self-flagellation is pointless. You'll be able to see her again soon, in person. Any answers you might wish for, you may demand from her face.

At least you still hold a place in her affections. That is something, though perhaps you ought not to consider that to your advantage until you speak with her in person.

Until then, you have other matters to attend to.

[X] Read the letter from Countess Welles.

It's been years since you last spoke with Lady Welles, not since the height of the war in Antar. You imagine she must be busy; last you'd heard, she was hard at work compiling an analysis of the entire war for Grenadier Square, a sequel to the report on Blogia that had first won her such acclaim and royal patronage.

You pry open the wax seal carefully and read:

-​

My Lord Reddingfield,

First, I must offer my congratulations regarding one's elevation to one's title. I have little doubt that the tenants of one's fief already swell with pride at the knowledge that they owe their rents to a man of such distinguished service and demonstrated ability.

I am told that you recently decided to establish yourself in Aetoria. I am thus pleased to say this simplifies matters greatly for I have planned for some time to pay a visit to your estate, only to be frustrated by my obligations here. Now, instead of a journey of two weeks or more, a visit may be arranged and made in the space of an afternoon.

Alas, I fear that even an afternoon is too much to spare for the moment. However, I would urge you not to be too disheartened, for I am confident that my present work on my current report shall soon be concluded, and I shall shortly have the opportunity to arrange an invitation.

Until then, I remain your obedient servant,
Eleanora d'al Welles, Countess Welles


-​

An invitation, though little indication as to when it shall come.

You suppose there's little you can do about it. Lady Welles still serves at the pleasure of His Majesty's Government, and you're well familiar with how much of a mockery the exigencies of that service might make of any promise or oath.

Best to move on, for now, you suppose.

[X] Finish dealing with personal correspondence and move on to reports from the estate.

With your personal business dealt with, you go on to look at the parcel from your estate. Eagerly, you pull out the top letter from the stack: a personal message from your new estate manager.

Thankfully, it appears that for all of his foreign customs, Loch seems to have settled well into his new role. Though he admits that a few Tierran terms and customs remain somewhat unusual to his Antari sensibilities, he assures you that he believes himself able to maintain your estate with all the ability and diligence you might expect of him.

You move on, filing the letter away and turning to the formal reports your estate manager has sent you…

Your estate manager, Karol of Loch, reports that 5 households have left your fief in search of better opportunities elsewhere.

Your estate manager also reports that your fief's relatively low rents allow your tenants some measure of surplus coin, which invariably offers some small increase to prosperity and contentment. He also reports that the repairs to your house you ordered before your departure are now complete - something which will no doubt make it a more comfortable place to live, as well as a more respectable-looking centre of power for your barony. In addition, you receive a letter from your bankers, who inform you that in light of your current circumstances, they have agreed to lower the interest rate on your debt to their minimum rate of two percent a year. You've driven your interest rates as low as they'll go. Only paying off your debt in full could decrease it further.

With the latest reports taken into account, your current financial situation is as follows:

-​

Bi-Annual Revenues
Rents
: 435 Crown
Personal Income: 180 Crown

Bi-Annual Expenditures
Estate Wages
: 175 Crown
Food and Necessities: 75 Crown
Luxuries and Allowances: 150 Crown
Groundskeeping and Maintenance: 50 Crown
Townhouse Rent: 135 Crown
Townhouse Wages: 60 Crown
Interest Payments: 144 Crown
Special Expenses: 0 Crown

Total Net Income (Next Six Months): -174 Crown

New Loans: 0 Crown

Current Wealth: 1,881 Crown
Projected Wealth Next Half-Year: 1,707

What do you wish to do?

-​

[ ] [DEBT] I mean to ask for a modest loan; 1000 crown, perhaps?
[ ] [DEBT] I am in need of a sizeable loan, 2500 crown or so.
[ ] [DEBT] I shall require a great deal of money; 5000 crown, at least.
[ ] [DEBT] I'll draw upon my connections to arrange a new loan on more favourable terms.
[ ] [DEBT] I must try to renegotiate the interest on my loans.
[ ] [DEBT] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.

[ ] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts. (Write in)
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.


-​

[X] I should send some money home to help improve my fief.

Were you physically present at your estate, you would be able to order the construction of new additions and improvements directly. However, as you're in Aetoria, you shall have to rely upon the judgement and good offices of your estate manager to order what construction he sees fit.

Of course, your estate manager cannot order any construction at all unless he has the money to afford it, and as your manager has no substantial independent wealth of his own, the burden of payment falls upon you, as lord of the estate. Should you wish your estate improved in any way, you shall have to send him enough money to pay for it.

At the moment, you have 1,881 crown available to send to your estate manager. So far, you've sent a total of 0 crown to your estate in total. Judging by his current reports, your manager should have something like 0 crown currently available to him.

According to his report, your estate manager is currently planning on repairing your perimeter fence. To do this, he'll require an additional 500 crown.

How much will you send?

[ ] [LOCH] Build the wall! (-500 Crown)
[ ] [LOCH] Nothing!
[ ] [LOCH] I'll write in an amount to send home.
 
[X] [LOCH] Build the wall! (-500 Crown)
[X] [DEBT] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.


We can take out more loans next turn, IG, though this is bleeding us fast.
 
Yeah, the city bleeds you of money. You pay twice as much for every fief improvement, there's rent on the townhouse, and some other unforeseen expenses.

But the countryside bleeds you in other ways.
 
Last edited:
Lords 2.06
[X] [DEBT] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[X] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[X] [LOCH] Build the wall! (-500 Crown)


You draw up the appropriate papers authorising your estate manager to draw on your funds, then send them off. Now, you can only wait for the appropriate acknowledgements and hope that your estate manager uses the funds you've given him access to wisely.

-​

With your affairs at home momentarily resolved, it is past time for you to see to the final part of your establishment in the capital: the joining of a club.

A club is to a man of the city what a regiment is to a soldier, with its headquarters serving as an officers' mess. Your choice of club will determine your choice of companions, your place within the wider social world of the city, enemies and allies, and your patrons and inferiors. If you mean to make some motion in the Cortes or need some support in a financial venture, it will be the fellows of your club who will be best placed to support you. In times of scandal or financial need, it is they who will first close ranks around you. A gentleman of the blood in Aetoria without membership in a respectable club is a leaf in a storm. If you mean to do anything of significance in the city, anything at all, then you shall have to seek membership.

Of course, that doesn't mean any club will do. Aetoria has dozens, perhaps even hundreds of clubs: establishments for sailors, carpenters, for ironworkers, fishmongers, grocers, clerks, and even beggars. Yet out of the whole profusion, only four have traditionally been considered of sufficient prestige for a Lord of the Cortes: the Rendower, the Admiralty, the Shipowners, and the Reform.

You've already seen the palatial interior of the Rendower Club's headquarters and met its most senior members. Unfortunately, you don't meet their famous membership requirement: you possess no Rendower blood, as far as you know, though perhaps you may yet find a way around that restriction.

There's also the Admiralty Club, perhaps no less prestigious and influential than the Rendower. For the whole of its long history, it has been a bastion of influence for the Royal Tierran Navy—the "senior" service. Its membership will not welcome an army officer into its ranks.

The Reform and Shipowners' Clubs are perhaps less selective in their members. The Shipowners' Club is the only one of the four to allow entry to the baneless—though only ones of exceptional wealth. The Reform Club is one of the very few in the entire city to admit women. Their names do not, perhaps, carry the same amount of lustre, but a man of ambition may find himself more at home than in a more hidebound institution.

But there's one more club to consider: The Overseas Club is a new addition to the city's society and its membership is only open to veteran officers of the war in Antar. Perhaps you'll find a better home there, among your fellow King's officers, than in a realm which still at times seems far too removed from your many years at war.

-​

[X] Perhaps there might still be some way to join the Rendower Club.

Almost inevitably, your thoughts turn to the Rendower Club.

You saw what the Rendower had to offer when you dined there after your investiture: palatial quarters, excellent wine, the best chefs in Aetoria, and the chance to speak in confidence with some of the most powerful men in the Unified Kingdom. To become a member of the Rendower Club would mean gaining access to the Duke of Wulfram's inner circle; it could even mean a chance at joining it.

With such proximity, you could wield immense influence, perhaps even reconcile Wulfram and his supporters to the King's policy.

But this is all wishful thinking. The Rendower Club's single membership requirement is as ironclad as it is famous: every member must have a verified blood tie to the royal house. Without it, your chances of earning membership are no greater than an illiterate tenant farmer's. Without proof of royal descent, the Rendower is beyond your reach.

But perhaps…

[ ] [RENDOWER] I apply to join the Rendower Club.
[ ] [RENDOWER] Surely there must be some other way to gain membership…
[ ] [RENDOWER] No, I must consider other options.


-​

[X] Membership in the Admiralty Club appeals to me, perhaps…

There's no need at all to gather information about the Admiralty Club. It's one of the most storied institutions in the entire city; almost everything about it is known to just about everybody. You don't need to send your valet out to know how its imposing clubhouse serves as the headquarters of the Royal Tierran Navy, how nautical-minded Councillor-Militants in the past have made their offices there, as opposed to Grenadier Square. You don't need to make further inquiries to know that the careers of the navy's senior officers are made and broken in Admiralty House's back halls or how the Battle of Northern Pillars was planned out in the common room, over a plate of roast-beef sandwiches and dried tomatoes.

Everything about the Admiralty Club is common knowledge which, unfortunately for you, also includes their criteria for membership: only those who have commanded a Tierran ship of the line of battle might be considered for admission, and only senior officers of the Marines and Grenadiers are exempt from that requirement.

It's a restriction that has been held for nearly a century, and you shall have to make a very strong case indeed if the Admiralty Club is to allow you to violate it. You cannot help but keep returning to the prospect of the Admiralty Club. Yes, you know you do not meet their requirements and never will, but perhaps if you could argue a strong enough case; if you could show them that your achievements and reputation can make you an exception to the rule…

Maybe if you visited in person, spoke to someone there. Perhaps you could convince at least someone or at least find some clue that might help you build your case.

It's worth a try, you suppose.

[ ] [ADMIRALTY] I must visit Admiralty House in person.
[ ] [ADMIRALTY] I mean to apply for membership to the Admiralty Club.
[ ] [ADMIRALTY] Perhaps I ought to consider other options first?


-​

[X] The Shipowners' Club sounds like my sort of place. I should look into it.

The Shipowners Club is as much a financial institution as a social one. From their headquarters above Aetoria's shipping exchange, they watch over the economic heart of the city, pulling the strings that make and unmake vast fortunes on the trading floor below. A man could make an enormous amount of money as a member of the Shipowners—and indeed, many have. Even the baneless can aspire to true wealth as a member, provided they possess the connections to get in. For a Lord of the Cortes, the opportunities are even greater. True, there may be a fortune to be made, but there's also the ability to curry influence with some of the richest men in the Unified Kingdom, baneless and Baneblood alike.

It is an advantage that you ought not to overlook. Money may be a vulgar topic of discussion among the baneblooded classes, but it is a force to be reckoned with all the same. And what better place to amass such a force than a place where fortunes are seemingly conjured from thin air, as if by the Saints themselves?

For all you know, that might be exactly what it is. Fortunes may be made on the trading floor, but you have little idea as to how, let alone how the club members themselves derive profit from it when they seem to do little but loom over the proceedings. If you mean to consider joining the Shipowners Club, it would perhaps be best to learn what such a thing entails.

Perhaps a visit is in order? Your mind keeps returning to the mysteries of the Shipowners Club, the fortunes made and lost on the trading floor of the shipping exchange, and the men who somehow turn those fortunes into their own.

If you could make yourself understand how it is done; if you could find a way in and learn of its ways and means, if you could harness the influence of the Shipowners to your own ends, then perhaps you too could build such a fortune.

Perhaps it is time to consider investigating yourself.

[ ] [SHIPOWNERS] Before I decide anything, I must take a look at the Shipowners in person.
[ ] [SHIPOWNERS] I shall apply to join the Shipowners Club without further delay.
[ ] [SHIPOWNERS] I must reconsider my other options first.


-​

[X] The Reform Club might be worth learning more about.

It isn't difficult to find information on the Reform Club. In fact, the Reform may be the most gossiped-about institution in the city.

The problem, as you soon find out after your valet returns from a day of discreet inquiries, is that all the rumours and stories about them are wildly inconsistent at best and utterly implausible at worst. Some say the Reform Club is actually a pack of flaming radicals plotting to overthrow the monarchy and replace it with a government much like Antar's. Others insist it is a powerful conspiracy devoted to defending the Unified Kingdom from the threat of a Kian invasion. Yet others claim that the club itself is nothing more than a cover and that the Reform Club's true purpose is to allow some of the greatest names of Tierran aristocracy the privacy to commit acts so shameless and depraved that they would immediately be stripped of their good names if word got out.

There are even wilder stories, of course, ones that assert that the Reform is anything from a pack of sorcerers from before the fall of Calligia to a secret branch of Royal Intelligence. The only thing that all the rumours seem to agree upon is that they are by no means boring.

All you do know for sure about them comes from their rolls of membership, made public just like those of every other respectable club in the city. The copy your valet manages to obtain for you makes for interesting reading: Countess Welles is a member, which doesn't surprise you in the least, as is Lady Katarina. Victor d'al Reyes is there too, the rangy, energetic infantry officer who led the Experimental Corps of Riflemen. You recognise a few other names, acquaintances rather than friends, but you still must wonder what they actually do.

One thing is for sure, the only way to get an accurate view of what the Reform Club really is would be to visit in person.

[ ] [REFORM] Then I must visit and see for myself.
[ ] [REFORM] There's no need for that. I've already decided to apply for membership.
[ ] [REFORM] I best consider my other options first.


-​

[X] The Overseas Club interests me. I must investigate further.

You send out your valet to make a few unobtrusive inquiries about the Overseas Club. By the end of the day, he comes back practically bent double under the weight of all the information he has gathered, for Aetoria is still abuzz with talk about the nature of the capital's newest exclusive club.

Most of it is aimless speculation, of course. Some of it is outright slanderous. But there are common threads among every account, assertions that seem consistent no matter what else is claimed: for example, the club's members must arrive in uniform, address each other by rank, and seat themselves by seniority; that the footmen are drawn from the ranks of retired non-commissioned officers; that toasts to the King and the Valiant Dead are drunk before every meal, as if at a regimental mess.

You suppose there might be a certain attraction to it all. Though you do not miss the war, there are parts of the army you cannot help but miss. Perhaps it is a world worth living in again, even if only a little. You consider the Overseas Club again. Perhaps you were foolish to think it would be so easy to transition from a life in the army to one in a city at peace.

While the Overseas is not the active service, it is perhaps the closest thing to it for an officer on half-pay. Perhaps it is your best option?

[ ] [OVERSEAS] I must know more first; I will visit in person.
[ ] [OVERSEAS] Perhaps it is. I shall apply to join immediately.
[ ] [OVERSEAS] No, I left that life behind me. Best I look elsewhere.
 
[X] [SHIPOWNERS] Before I decide anything, I must take a look at the Shipowners in person.

Ideally we should at least visit any club that will let us, but I don't actually know if that carries a penalty.

If we have to commit now, I'd say this is the one. We don't have the Charisma for Rendower or Reform, nor the Soldiering for Admiralty or Overseas. But I'd bet we're decent at reading pages full of numbers.
 
[X] [SHIPOWNERS] Before I decide anything, I must take a look at the Shipowners in person.

We really need moni...

Especially since we are likely not charismatic enough to clear our debt by burning the bank.
 
Ideally, we should at least visit any club that will let us, but I don't actually know if that carries a penalty.

If we visit the Admiralty Club before applying for membership, we'll run into Lefebvre, who'll blackball us if he knows we're looking to join. If we apply for membership immediately, he won't have a chance to bar us from entry.

If we have to commit now, I'd say this is the one. We don't have the Charisma for Rendower or Reform, nor the Soldiering for Admiralty or Overseas. But I'd bet we're decent at reading pages full of numbers.
If I recall correctly, the stats are most relevant if we engage with the side stories associated with each club, which are optional.

We really need moni...
Oh, how miserable it is to be a land-rich, cash-poor member of the high nobility!
 
Lords 2.07
[X] [SHIPOWNERS] Before I decide anything, I must take a look at the Shipowners in person.

Aetoria's shipping exchange is a vast stone edifice, a hollow rectangle halfway between Victory Square and the docks. Even from the outside, you can hear the muffled roar of voices rising and falling like the waves of the ocean from within.

The noise is even greater on the inside. The exchange's trading floor is a vast paved courtyard, open to the afternoon sun. Yet for all its size, the flagstones are packed with men in sombre black coats, some murmuring to each other in pairs, some speaking with raised voices, others roaring at the top of their lungs. You can see small silver or brass pins on the lapels of a few, each in the shape of a ship's wheel. Great swarms of black-clad men rush to and fro, some waving papers in the air while others are hunched protectively over the bound ledgers under their arms.

Your ears are already ringing. The cacophony makes thought almost impossible. How you're supposed to learn anything about the Shipowners' Club in this pandaemonium is—

The sharp clang of a brass ship's bell cuts through the racket. The floor suddenly falls almost silent. The tremendous energy that had filled the courtyard just a moment ago drops away as if the bottom of creation had just fallen out from under it. Now the throng of black-coated men begins to file out, weary-eyed and limp-limbed. Some scowl as they pass you. Others trudge by with a look of satisfied exhaustion, like the victors of a prize fight.

Two such men pass by particularly close: a stout, greying fellow with a silver-topped cane and a spare, gangly young man barely out of boyhood. The elder of the two stops when he notices you, bringing his younger colleague up short with a gentle tap of his cane on the back of the boy's leg. The two look in your direction. The older man quietly says something to the younger one.

The younger man nods, then approaches you, a look of determination on his face.

"Good evening, sir," he begins as he offers an awkward bow. "Might you be looking to join the Shipowners Club?"

"What makes you think that?"

"Well, you're not dressed like a broker," the young man replies eagerly as if he were being tested—perhaps he is. "And you've not got a pin, either, which means you're not associated with the club already."

Your eyebrow raises. "And the pin signifies an affiliation with the Shipowners Club?"

The young man nods eagerly. "Indeed, sir, the pin denotes your position within the club: gold for members, silver for full brokers, and brass for assistant brokers."

You glance at the brass ship's wheel glimmering on the lapel of his rather shabby black coat. "By that reckoning, you are an assistant," you observe. "Am I correct?"

"Assistant broker, sir," he corrects, his friendliness edged with just the barest hint of touchiness. It seems the boy takes no small amount of pride in his work. "Assistant broker Mortimer Blanco, at your service, sir."

"I am Lord Reddingfield," you reply, "at yours."

Blanco's eyes light up at the mention of your title. "A Lord of the Cortes!" he exclaims excitedly. "Then you—er, my lord—is here to join the Shipowners' Club!"

Your eyes narrow. You have not mentioned a word of your intentions. "You seem very sure of that."

"The buying and selling of securities are considered a trade and thus closed to gentlemen of the blood by law," Blanco explains. "That means you cannot be here to do business on the trading floor, which could only mean that you intend to join the gentlemen on the upper floor: the investors, the men who give the orders."

"You seem very well-informed, Master Blanco."

The young man's slim chest puffs up with obvious pride. "I thank you for the compliment, my lord," he replies. "If my lord has any questions at all regarding any of this, I believe I am fit to answer them."

"I'd like to know how all this works for a start."

The young man nods. "Yes, of course," he replies before pausing for a moment to gather his thoughts and clear his throat. Evidently, this matter is quite a complicated subject.

"The first thing to remember is that trade, especially maritime trade, is an exceptionally costly enterprise," he begins. "To fill the hold of a merchant ship of middling size with grain may cost upwards of eight hundred crown. To fill a similarly sized ship with a valuable commodity, like coffee, tabac, or silk, may cost ten or fifteen times as much. Only the largest merchant houses can underwrite such a cost independently."

You nod, keeping your expression impassive as you stand quietly shocked at the sums involved. To think that a ship full of prime Butean tabac might be worth as much as the whole of your estate cannot help but boggle the mind.

Evidently, Blanco doesn't seem to notice. He carries on with an eager determination, a diligent schoolboy straining to show what he learned in class. "As most traders do not have the ready funds to pay for the whole of their venture, they instead split up their costs into what we call securities, each representing a portion of both the costs and potential profits of their enterprise, much as a banknote represents a certain quantity of gold. The same applies to other costly ventures: textile mills, for example, or iron mines."

"Is that what those pieces of paper are?" you ask. "The ones I've seen you fellows waving about?"

The young man nods, his eyes bright. "Quite so, my lord." He reaches into the inside of his coat and pulls out a sheaf of papers, each one stamped with what seems like half a dozen seals. "These are securities." He points at the top sheet. "This one represents one-five-hundredths ownership of a trading voyage to H'onneshanne, due to depart next week." He shows you the next. "This one is similar, but instead of one part of five hundred, it is one part of eight hundred; and instead of being bound for Kian, this ship is on the Takaran trade, due to return next month. The rest are much the same."

"And you buy multiple securities in multiple enterprises to spread the risk?"

"That is exactly so, my lord," Blanco replies as he stuffs the securities back into his coat. "Even in our times, there is still the threat of shipwreck, spoilage, or the simple hazard of misjudging the prices. If you invest in one venture which loses money, the loss would be far less bitter if you have already invested in nine more which profit."

You suppose that makes sense.

The young man is almost out of breath now, having spoken so much, so quickly, and with such great enthusiasm in so great a time, but he's proud of himself for it all the same. "I hope that was an adequate explanation, my lord. I'm sure the men of the Shipowners Club could explain the exact processes in greater detail once you join—you do plan on joining, I hope?"

[X] "What's the role of the Shipowners Club in all of this?"

"The Shipowners Club? They're the ones who put up the money to buy and sell securities in the first place," Blanco explains.

"So you put up the money and reap the profit?" you ask.

The young man puts up his hands and waves them frantically in denial. "Oh no, not me!" he exclaims. "I'm just a broker and an assistant broker at that. I just assist Master Lasalle with the transactions his investor directs him to make. It's the investors—the fellows with the gold pins—who actually put up the money and receive the profits."

That begins to make more sense: so the members of the Shipowners Club themselves do not dirty themselves with working the trading floor. Instead, they send these men, these…brokers to do the work for them. A sensible scheme, you suppose, no different from the relationship betwixt a gentleman and his valet or an officer and his soldiers.

[X] "Must one be a member of the Shipowners Club to invest?"

Blanco hesitates for a moment before shaking his head slowly. "No, not particularly. Some gentlemen engage independent brokers to manage their securities for them."

"So not everyone on the trading floor works for the Shipowners?" you ask.

The young man shakes his head. "Only the ones who wear pins, my lord. The ones who do not operate independently, as free agents. If one wishes to invest, one might easily walk up to one and negotiate a commission—"

Blanco realises an instant too late that he has perhaps spoken too much. "But you would not want to do that, my lord! I assure you!" he frantically adds. "Club membership entails a great number of advantages."

"Such as?"

"Firstly, you will never be cheated by a club broker: we are subject to the most rigorous criteria when it comes to our honesty, and our commissions are set at a fixed rate," Blanco explains. "Secondly, club brokers are required to pass a most rigorous examination before being allowed to operate, ensuring our competence. Lastly, the other members of the club would no doubt be willing to offer advice and other forms of aid, including collaboration in larger investments."

Those do sound like rather important advantages, especially that last one. If you mean to enter this entirely new world, you may need all the help you can get.

Blanco, on the other hand, still seems rather nervous regarding his verbal misstep. "I, uh—I hope I have answered the question to your satisfaction, my lord."

[X] "Pardon my vulgarity but, ah—just how much money can you make in this business?"

"I make three-and-a-half crown a month, give or take," Blanco replies. "Money is spoken of openly out here, my lord. I am sure nobody will find your question objectionable."

"No, I mean your master," you ask. "How much does he make from this?"

The young man scratches his head. "Master Lasalle? I believe he is entitled to the club rate, currently two-and-a-half percent of every transaction, though some independent brokers may charge as much as sev—oh! You mean how much the investors make!" Blanco slaps his head in irritation. "Usually, the riskier the venture, the greater the profit, assuming it succeeds. Most merchant voyages rarely return more than ten percent, but the last ships before the winter storms tend to average more around fifteen—"

"What about an instance of extraordinary risk?" you interrupt. "What's the most anyone's ever made on one of these ventures?"

The assistant broker purses his lips as he thinks for a moment. "I believe there was one venture, a load of steel from Callindria, right at the height of the crisis: three-hundred-and-fourteen-percent return, a record, I think. One member of the club made six thousand crown off his investments in that enterprise alone."

Saints be damned. Six thousand crown for a single ship's voyage. What you could do with a stroke of fortune like that…

"Not all investments pay off so handsomely, of course," the young man hastens to add. "But it remains one of the few ways which men without the tax exemptions granted by noble blood might aspire to the sort of wealth associated with a Lord of the Cortes."

You're not sure how much you approve of that.

Trade is important, that is true, but it ultimately remains the moving of someone else's work for someone else's money. True, the baneless cannot own a landed estate as a gentleman of the blood can, at least not without it being taxed to the point of unprofitability, but to imagine that a commoner might acquire an income equivalent to that of a member of the high nobility simply by buying and selling pieces of paper…

Blanco reads your expression closely, nervously. "Is there…is there anything else, my lord?"

[X] "Must I have a broker in the first place?"

"Of course!" Blanco replies immediately. "You couldn't do business in the exchange without a broker, er—my lord."

"Then what does a broker do, exactly?" you ask. "The buying and selling of these securities may be below the dignity of a gentleman of the blood, but surely not that of his servants. Why must I engage a broker, as opposed to simply putting a footman in a black coat and sending him to the exchange instead?"

The young man shakes his head. "I fear I may not have explained myself properly, my lord," he replies. "The process of investment is more complicated than the mere act of buying or selling. A broker is one who must seek out new opportunities for his client and inform him of them so that he may make informed judgements as to who to entrust his money to. The transaction itself is another matter; most brokers will only buy or sell from those who look like they know their business. After the transaction is made, it must still be registered so that all interested parties may be informed of it. There is a great deal of paperwork involved. It is all very complicated."

Very complicated, indeed. No wonder such men hold themselves so highly.

"There are, of course, some brokers who are more proficient than others, just as with carpenters or stonemasons," Blanco adds. "But the best work directly for the Shipowners Club, of that, I can assure you, my lord."

[X] "You seem very interested in knowing my intentions regarding the Shipowners Club."

The young man glances down at his shoes. "I fear I must confess that I, uh—I do have something of a personal stake, my lord," he replies. "The Shipowners Club assigns one full broker to every one of its members. When a new investor joins the club, the senior-most assistant broker is promoted to fill the vacancy."

"Might I safely assume that you are currently the most senior assistant broker in the club's employ?" you ask.

Blanco gives you a somewhat abashed look. "You may, my lord."

Ah, of course, so the young man is chasing after the prospect of promotion. That is a motive you understand quite well.

"Rest assured, I am fully qualified for the task!" he adds with some haste. "I have already passed the examination, and I am sure Master Lasalle will vouch for my abilities. I merely await a vacancy if—"

He stops himself. Perhaps he thinks he has gone too far, but you know well enough what he was about to say: he merely awaits a vacancy…

If you would be willing to create one.

[X] "I have already heard enough, thank you."

The young man nods. "Then I hope I have answered all your questions satisfactorily, my lord."

"Quite so, Master Blanco," you reply. "I believe I have all the information I require."

Blanco's eyes shift nervously. "Does, er—" He swallows hard. "Does that mean you intend to apply for membership today?"

[ ] [SHIPOWNERS] "I do."
[ ] [SHIPOWNERS] "No, I believe I have reconsidered."
 
Lords 2.08
[X] [SHIPOWNERS] "I do."
Since SeptimusMagisto and IamtooSleepy seem desperate for cash, I'll go ahead with the Shipowners Club.

"Oh! That is wonderful!" Blanco blurts out excitedly, only to catch himself. "Apologies, I only meant—I mean—" He takes a breath. "Shall you require directions, my lord?"

You nod. That was the whole reason you were speaking to each other in the first place, wasn't it?

"On the left, you'll find a large oaken door. The fellow there should let you in," the young man says. "There should be someone at the entry hall. They should be able to arrange an interview."

"My thanks," you reply as you turn to your left. "Good afternoon, sir."

"Good afternoon, my lord," Blanco replies, offering another bow. "And best of luck!"

-​

Your directions leave you in front of a tiny, richly panelled entry hall, its cramped confines filled with an almost unnatural quiet. A tall, bony man stands guard at the far end of the room. You inform him of the purpose of your visit. With an almost rude serenity, he nods and disappears through the door behind him.

For what feels like half an eternity, you wait in that tiny room, cut off from sound and sunlight. You're not even allowed the company of your own footsteps, the thick carpet muffling the sound of your shoes until they're little more than a whisper as you pace back and forth, your case of nerves growing with every passing moment. What is going on in there? Are the men of the Shipowners Club deliberating your fitness to join them at this very moment? Or perhaps they've already decided and are only discussing how to deliver it to you. Maybe—

The door opens, and your stone-faced receptionist returns. This time, he bids you to follow him. Perhaps there is to be an interview after all? You try to assuage your uncertainty as best you can as he leads you down a maze of corridors; surely, whatever the next step of the process is, it will be less nerve-racking than your interminable wait in that little anteroom.

It isn't.

You've never seen an interrogation chamber before, but the room you suddenly find yourself being led into fits your imagination's best guess distressingly well. The room itself is massive and high-ceilinged, and you're at the very bottom of it: a depressed pit surrounded by high, wood-panelled counters on three sides. The silhouettes of five figures peer down over the counters, their faces blotted out by the bright lights behind them, their heads wreathed in clouds of tabac smoke.

One of the figures, the one in the middle, leans forward, the long stem of a pipe clenched in his teeth. "Lord Reddingfield, I presume?" His voice rumbles through the chamber.

You nod.

"Good," the voice continues. "Then let us begin."

A second voice speaks out, higher and reedier, not from in front of you, but left and behind. "First, I would like to make one thing absolutely clear, my lord: this is not an inquisition but rather a negotiation."

You resist the urge to whirl about and face the second man.

"As one must surely know, trade is based on the exchange of mutual benefit," a third voice now says from the right. "One party possesses something which the other desires, so the other must offer him something he desires in return."

It is a deeply disconcerting sensation to be addressed from all sides. It presents something of the sensation of being surrounded. Perhaps that is the point of this entire room, the layout of this entire interview, to render its victim nervous enough to shake any fabrication he might otherwise mount to pieces.

But you do not yield to such an effect easily. You've been surrounded by deadlier things than the voices of other men.

It is the first voice who speaks now: "I have no doubt that one is well aware of the advantages membership within the Shipowners Club provides. If one did not desire them, then one would not be here. However, these advantages are not gifts to be given but goods to be purchased. As men of business, we could not in good conscience offer one membership without knowing that one might offer some utility to the club as a whole in return."

The other four men remain silent, but you can feel their eyes upon you, even if you cannot see their faces.

"In brief, my lord: we know what we might offer you. What could one offer us?"

Vote for as many (or as few) options as you'd like.

[ ] "My estate offers me a reliable source of potential investment capital."
[ ] "I am a Lord of the Cortes, surely that means something?"
[ ] "I have a great deal of influence in certain circles."
[ ] "I already possess some experience in regards to financial investment."
[ ] "No, that is all."


If you want to get off on the best possible foot with the Shipowners, go ahead and select every option. Lord Reddingfield has all the right stats to maximize his starting influence with the club.
 
[X] "My estate offers me a reliable source of potential investment capital."
[X] "I am a Lord of the Cortes, surely that means something?"
[X] "I have a great deal of influence in certain circles."
[X] "I already possess some experience in regards to financial investment."
 
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