- Pronouns
- He
[X] [ORDER] So long as the crowd remains peaceful, we can leave them be.
Let's Play: Cataphrak's Dragoon Saga
- Thread starter Rogue Attican
- Start date
IamtooSleepy
I came here to be an ant
Yeah, it has been mentioned very offhandedly.
Indeed, according to the Excerpts from the Journals of the Earl of Leoniscourt on Paul Wang's website, Count of Leannejouwe genuinely loves Tierra. However, this result in him overstepping his authority and over-promise more than what the actual Kian governments wish to. He already in hot water as it is, the instability as exhibited by the riot in the Old City would only give the Kian's anti-treaty faction more ammunition.
[X] [ORDER] So long as the crowd remains peaceful, we can leave them be.
We can do a repeat of Peterloo Massacre in this scene, given a right choice in the previous vote.
Let's not do that.
Lords 8.03
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [ORDER] So long as the crowd remains peaceful, we can leave them be.
Were you someone else, you might have acted otherwise. Were you more aggressive, or nervous, or simply less mindful of your place, you might have ordered your men forward, sabres sheathed and at the walk, perhaps—or at the gallop with bared steel.
But you're not someone else. You're well aware of your position, and of your situation. You're still the commander of a squadron of Queen's Dragoons, here to keep the Queen's peace. Despite the heat of their rhetoric, the mass of humanity before you are still the Queen's subjects.
So, you keep your men well in hand, trying to make sure that they keep a careful distance from the fringes of the crowd. If those in the square spur themselves to action, if they choose to turn seditious talk into outright insurrection, then your duty would compel you to respond with the harshest measures, but if they don't, you have no right—and no intention—to harm them.
After a few minutes, the demonstrators before you seem to realise it as well. After a few desultory jeers, they leave your Dragoons in peace, giving them little more than the occasional furtive glance, and then not even that. Your apparent willingness to let the demonstration carry on unmolested seems to have a calming effect upon it. Indeed, before long, the sound of shouting voices even seems to subside.
A few minutes more, and your suspicions are confirmed. The orator has quit the back of his speaking-cart, and at the fringes of the mass, small groups are already departing. Some even give your Dragoons brief nods as they pass by, though others are less friendly, bearing looks of proud defiance, as if they had beaten you in battle and not simply found themselves beneficiaries of your good sense.
They might think you weak for this, showing up with a squadron of cavalry only to do nothing. But if that's the cost of seeing such a situation end without bloodshed, then it is perhaps a price worth paying.
The Duke of Cunaris is less than pleased.
"A demonstration of such size and such ferocity, driven by clearly seditious rhetoric, and you sat there with a full squadron of cavalry and chose to do nothing?" he asks with a combination of exasperation and disbelief when you make your report to him the next morning. "What foolishness might have possibly possessed you to consider such a course of action well-advised?"
"Had they resorted to violence, I would have intervened," you reply, somewhat defensively. "They remained peaceful, so I saw no reason not to allow them to continue."
Your commanding officer scowls. "I am sure Wulfram and his compatriots approve of the gesture. Others have been somewhat less complimentary."
He reaches over to the side of his desk and pushes a large stack of papers towards you. "Letters from Lords of the Cortes, the owners of large merchant firms, ordinary shopkeepers, all claiming to be supporters of the Queen, and all demanding to know why the Queen's Dragoons did nothing but stand by in idleness whilst a gigantic mob gathered in their streets and cheered on an oration tantamount to treason." He picks up one of them. "Despite all promises to the contrary, the Dragoons have proven unable—worse, unwilling to defend the Queen's loyal subjects. What choice have we but to take matters into our own hands?"
You nod, the gist of the words ominously clear. "They mean to organise for their own defence."
"And if they do, the Duke of Wulfram's supporters will do the same," Cunaris replies. "Do you understand just how much more difficult it will be to keep the peace when both sides have armed militias shooting at each other in the streets?"
He shakes his head. "You must consider more closely the consequences of your decisions. If you continue to act as you did yesterday, we shall soon enough find our position untenable."
[ ] [ANSWER] "I cannot apologise for my actions. I did what I thought right."
[ ] [ANSWER] "I will ensure this does not happen again, sir."
[ ] [ANSWER] "I cannot see what else I could have done. The alternatives were worse."
Were you someone else, you might have acted otherwise. Were you more aggressive, or nervous, or simply less mindful of your place, you might have ordered your men forward, sabres sheathed and at the walk, perhaps—or at the gallop with bared steel.
But you're not someone else. You're well aware of your position, and of your situation. You're still the commander of a squadron of Queen's Dragoons, here to keep the Queen's peace. Despite the heat of their rhetoric, the mass of humanity before you are still the Queen's subjects.
So, you keep your men well in hand, trying to make sure that they keep a careful distance from the fringes of the crowd. If those in the square spur themselves to action, if they choose to turn seditious talk into outright insurrection, then your duty would compel you to respond with the harshest measures, but if they don't, you have no right—and no intention—to harm them.
After a few minutes, the demonstrators before you seem to realise it as well. After a few desultory jeers, they leave your Dragoons in peace, giving them little more than the occasional furtive glance, and then not even that. Your apparent willingness to let the demonstration carry on unmolested seems to have a calming effect upon it. Indeed, before long, the sound of shouting voices even seems to subside.
A few minutes more, and your suspicions are confirmed. The orator has quit the back of his speaking-cart, and at the fringes of the mass, small groups are already departing. Some even give your Dragoons brief nods as they pass by, though others are less friendly, bearing looks of proud defiance, as if they had beaten you in battle and not simply found themselves beneficiaries of your good sense.
They might think you weak for this, showing up with a squadron of cavalry only to do nothing. But if that's the cost of seeing such a situation end without bloodshed, then it is perhaps a price worth paying.
-
The Duke of Cunaris is less than pleased.
"A demonstration of such size and such ferocity, driven by clearly seditious rhetoric, and you sat there with a full squadron of cavalry and chose to do nothing?" he asks with a combination of exasperation and disbelief when you make your report to him the next morning. "What foolishness might have possibly possessed you to consider such a course of action well-advised?"
"Had they resorted to violence, I would have intervened," you reply, somewhat defensively. "They remained peaceful, so I saw no reason not to allow them to continue."
Your commanding officer scowls. "I am sure Wulfram and his compatriots approve of the gesture. Others have been somewhat less complimentary."
He reaches over to the side of his desk and pushes a large stack of papers towards you. "Letters from Lords of the Cortes, the owners of large merchant firms, ordinary shopkeepers, all claiming to be supporters of the Queen, and all demanding to know why the Queen's Dragoons did nothing but stand by in idleness whilst a gigantic mob gathered in their streets and cheered on an oration tantamount to treason." He picks up one of them. "Despite all promises to the contrary, the Dragoons have proven unable—worse, unwilling to defend the Queen's loyal subjects. What choice have we but to take matters into our own hands?"
You nod, the gist of the words ominously clear. "They mean to organise for their own defence."
"And if they do, the Duke of Wulfram's supporters will do the same," Cunaris replies. "Do you understand just how much more difficult it will be to keep the peace when both sides have armed militias shooting at each other in the streets?"
He shakes his head. "You must consider more closely the consequences of your decisions. If you continue to act as you did yesterday, we shall soon enough find our position untenable."
[ ] [ANSWER] "I cannot apologise for my actions. I did what I thought right."
[ ] [ANSWER] "I will ensure this does not happen again, sir."
[ ] [ANSWER] "I cannot see what else I could have done. The alternatives were worse."
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [ANSWER] "I cannot apologise for my actions. I did what I thought right."
[] [ANSWER] "I cannot see what else I could have done. The alternatives were worse."
Both of these are obviously true.
[] [ANSWER] "I cannot see what else I could have done. The alternatives were worse."
Both of these are obviously true.
Yeah, Cunaris knows he's demanding the impossible here. It's just that he can already see where all of this is going and he hates it.
Interestingly, whoever gets oppressed by us here actually gets stronger.
Interestingly, whoever gets oppressed by us here actually gets stronger.
[X] [ANSWER] "I cannot see what else I could have done. The alternatives were worse."
His priority isn't really the right thing it's keeping the peace and making sure this goes away, so saying if we did anything else things would be worse is the most logical argument and the one he's likely to buy.
His priority isn't really the right thing it's keeping the peace and making sure this goes away, so saying if we did anything else things would be worse is the most logical argument and the one he's likely to buy.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I dunno, he does have a streak of idealism, since he hates Cazarosta despite the man's efficiency because that efficiency is, as much as I love Caius, pointing towards brutal practicality.
Lords 8.04
- Pronouns
- He/Him
"Were this Antar, that might have been enough," Cunaris replies, a strange hint of wistfulness crossing his weary features. "But in Antar, there was an enemy, and there could be talk of a right way and a wrong way to fight him. Here, there is no enemy, and the only right way is the one which keeps the peace and preserves the country."
"And what way is that, sir?" you ask.
The Duke leans forward, elbows on his desk, eyes clear with resolution. "From now on, this regiment is to maintain a policy of strict and particular neutrality. If one side breaks the peace, then you must ensure that such a breach does not go unanswered. We must conduct ourselves in a manner which allows for no complaint or grievance from either faction. Only then may we restore to ourselves the confidence of the populace. Failure cannot be considered an option. Am I made clear?"
What Cunaris asks of you will not be easy, but you suppose that nothing worth doing ever is.
So you reply the only way you can: "Yes, sir. I understand, sir."
"Good, dismissed."
-
The next few days seem to prove Cunaris' dire predictions worryingly accurate.
Before long, returning patrols are reporting renewed demonstrations on the streets, degenerating into open brawls when a march from one side collides into one from the other. In the officers' mess, your fellow Dragoon officers speak in ominous tones about the sight of bodies of men armed with pistols, swords, and muskets mustering in the city's streets; assembling, parading, and even drilling in broad daylight.
Your own squadron's patrols have run into them too, half-trained militias filled so full to the brim with defiance that it spills out of their ears. About half wear the orange and blue of the House of Rendower. The rest, the blue and silver of Wulfram—and not just that, either. A few of them carry banners of Wolfswood's dark green and white, as well. It seems that your efforts to promote your old commanding officer's sainthood has brought at least some new support to the Wulframite cause.
You suppose that ought to be welcome news to you, but as much as you might be cheered by your own success, it doesn't change the fact it will only be a matter of time before the two sides clash, in a conflict which you have done no small part in stoking.
Perhaps thankfully, something quickly arrives to distract you from the deteriorating situation on the streets.
The rest of creation, it seems, has not ground to a halt whilst Aetoria descends into chaos. The mail still comes, and with it comes something truly unexpected: a letter not folded in on itself and sealed with wax, but one nestled inside an envelope so neatly folded that it might as well have been made by machine, marked with an oblong seal which no Tierran noble house possesses.
Yet you need only see the Takaran script written on its reverse to know its origin:
-
My Friend,
So, you have a woman on the throne of Tierra now. What a thought! I am surprised your Cortes even agreed to such a thing, even as provisional and conditional as it seems to be. Perhaps your country is finally joining the ranks of the civilised peoples of creation, at last! You have my congratulations!
Unfortunately, I fear I would be unable to accept any manner of congratulations in return. While your country is slowly advancing out of ignorance and bigotry, ours seems to be creeping backwards. No sooner did Lamar vam Kaien win the Chancellorship did he begin replacing the ministers of the previous government with new appointees, 'people of action over words,' he calls them. He and his supporters mean it as a compliment, but anyone capable of thinking for themselves knows that the sort of actions which these new ministers are best known for aren't the kind worth bragging about.
Take, for example, Irrivian, the bone-headed swamp creature whom Kaien appointed to replace him as Director of Imperial Intelligence, a former Commando who has never met a problem he did not try to solve with a truncheon to the base of the neck. Or the toady whom he has appointed as my successor as Ambassador to Tierra, Sept, who is more known for breaking treaties than negotiating them.
Takara will come to grief with such people in control, and we may well take much of creation down with us. I fear dark days may be ahead; I hope we shall both see them through unscathed and unbowed.
To a better future,
Cassius, Richsgraav vam Holt
-
So it seems that Tierra isn't the only country in a state of turmoil. Part of you is almost comforted by that notion, to know that your country is not uniquely benighted amongst the realms of the Infinite Sea, to know that even the wealthiest and mightiest of the Great Powers might also be in a state of such disorder that its own citizens must shake their heads and mutter at the absolute state of things.
Of course, any such comfort you might derive from such a sentiment cannot help but be tempered by the fact that Takara's disquiet may well serve to amplify Tierra's. Imperial powers in a state of insecurity do not often behave predictably—or civilly, to those whom they see as their inferiors.
It is not a topic which you allow yourself to dwell upon for long. One does not sleep well with such thoughts in his head.
Besides, you have other matters to address: Lord Cassius'—Richsgraav vam Holt's—letter is not the only one which arrived with the courier. There's news from your estate as well, word of a visit from a Royal Intendant on the lookout for sedition in the countryside, the passage of the planting season, the collection of the spring rents, and all the other minutiae of administration, waiting to be read and addressed…
Your estate manager, Karol of Loch, reports that 11 new rent-paying households moved into your fief in the past few months. He also reports that 2 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 he has ordered the repair of your stables and coach-house, both to ameliorate the living conditions of your estate's horses and improve the appearance of your manor as a whole.
With the latest reports taken into account, your current financial situation is as follows:
Bi-Annual Revenues
Rents: 633 Crown
Personal Income: 270 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: 160 Crown
Special Expenses: 60 Crown
Total Net Income (Next Six Months): 38 Crown
New Loans: 0 Crown
Current Wealth: 2,129 Crown
Projected Wealth Next Half-Year: 2,167
What do you wish to do?
-
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to pay off some of my family's debts. (Write in)
[ ] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[ ] [LOAN] I mean to ask for a modest loan; 1000 crown, perhaps?
[ ] [LOAN] I am in need of a sizeable loan, 2500 crown or so.
[ ] [LOAN] I shall require a great deal of money; 5000 crown, at least.
[ ] [LOAN] I'll draw upon my connections to arrange a new loan on more favourable terms.
-[ ] I will see what friends in the capital are willing to assist me.
-[ ] Perhaps the Shipowners can offer me some assistance here.
-
Were you physickally 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 2,129 crown available to send to your estate manager. So far, you've sent a total of 3,500 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 clearing out some additional crop land. To do this, he'll require an additional 1,000 crown.
How much will you send?
[ ] [LOCH] Loch shall have his thousand crown for the new farmland.
[ ] [LOCH] None. I could use that money later.
[ ] [LOCH] Let me write in a different amount for the remittance.
-
You currently have 0 crown in investments.
You can afford to invest 2,129 crown. Do not forget that larger investments may boost overall confidence in the Exchange as a whole—and improve the opinion of other Shipowners' Club members.
How much do you intend to invest?
[ ] [INVEST] I would like to invest 1000 crown.
[ ] [INVEST] I mean to invest 2500 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I am investing 5000 crown. (Requires loan)
[ ] [INVEST] I must think upon the matter more.
[X] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[X] [LOAN] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[X] [LOCH] None. I could use that money later.
[X] [INVEST] I must think upon the matter more.
We've got a stable financial situation and a net tenant gain, so I think it's best to leave the situation as it is.
[X] [LOAN] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
[X] [LOCH] None. I could use that money later.
[X] [INVEST] I must think upon the matter more.
We've got a stable financial situation and a net tenant gain, so I think it's best to leave the situation as it is.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [LOCH] None. I could use that money later.
[X] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
I remember all the times we needed to bribe our way to having decent supplies for our men. Even though we're in the capital... I want a steady source of ready money, and that means ceasing further expenses... unless we take out more loans, but that would just reverse the (limited) progress we've made.
[X] [REPAY] I wish to turn my attention to other matters.
I remember all the times we needed to bribe our way to having decent supplies for our men. Even though we're in the capital... I want a steady source of ready money, and that means ceasing further expenses... unless we take out more loans, but that would just reverse the (limited) progress we've made.
Not a great time to invest in anything domestic, to be honest.
Lords 8.05
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Of course, not all of your time is spent directing the functions of your estate from afar. On any given day, only half the troops in your squadron are out on patrol; the rest remain in the Southern Keep, where you put them through half-forgotten drills and regular inspections.
Blaylock and Sandoral, themselves still without commands, prove themselves a substantial help. Though it has been years since they led men into battle, it seems the lessons you once imparted upon them haven't been forgotten. You quickly find that you can practically treat them as trusted proxies, copies of yourself in miniature, allowing you to drill your squadron with more efficiency and flexibility than you could have possibly expected.
Before long, your combined efforts begin showing themselves off to substantial effect. Your squadron seems greatly improved in all aspects, and if anyone feels that your regimen is too harsh after so many years of peaceful indolence, they don't make any show of it. With the increasing breakdown of order outside the walls increasingly evident every day, there seems little need to convince them of the necessity of such measures.
And not all of your men see increased drill as the solution to the increasingly dangerous task of keeping the peace in a city slowly turning against itself.
To some small minority of your men, the answer is a rather more simple one: if the Queen's Dragoons are to be made to perform a duty which is not only risky and thankless, but likely impossible, then the best way out of it is to simply no longer be a Queen's Dragoon.
In the beginning, the problem seems minor enough, a few men absent when assembly is called each morning. Usually, most of them show up later in the day, ragged and bleary from overindulgence in one or more of the city's public houses and brothels. Then, some of the men stop turning up altogether. Sometimes for days on end. Sometimes forever.
It is the new men at first, those who joined up with the regiment after the war, drawn by its relatively high pay and the reputation it won in Antar. They no doubt expected peace and easy living in Fernandescourt's fortresses, and you have little trouble believing that their martial ardour might have cooled somewhat after being thrust into a situation the exact opposite.
But then, it is your veterans who start deserting. And it is then you begin worrying in earnest.
-
"Eight gone last week," Lord Renard reports miserably one evening in the officers' mess. "Two corporals and a sergeant among them." He frowns, pushing away his plate of lamb chops still half uneaten. "T' tell the truth, I ain't grasp it at all. Half of those were Antar men. I ain't understand why they'd run off now, when they'd stuck with the colours for years through so much worse."
"Because if they tried to desert in Antar, they'd have had nowhere to go," Garret replies in between bites of roast potatoes, his own appetite evidently unaffected by the problem at hand. "If they tried to make for Noringia to sail home, they would have been walking right into the hands of the provosts. If they tried to go to ground, they would have been lucky to survive long enough for the Antari to impale them. I'll grant that sleeping on the ground and getting shot at wasn't much fun, but it was a better option than a stake or a firing squad. Here, all they have to do is burn their coat and walk out the gate to put all the pleasures of the city at their disposal."
"Third Squadron hasn't lost anyone," Sandoral notes after having said barely anything for the past half hour. "I know, I've checked."
Captain Hawkins' expression is a grim breed of what is almost satisfaction as the rest of the table turns to him for an answer. "No secret, I assure you. A foul reputation and general disdain are things we are quite accustomed to. Everyone who wanted to leave Third Squadron left months ago."
So much for that.
The conversation doesn't end there, of course. The rest of it is devoted to suggesting ways of bringing an end to the desertions: tighter discipline, a doubled guard around the fortress gates, restricted passes, and everything in between. Yet you've all been in charge of fighting men for too long to believe any of it will work. Short of wearing your own command down to a hardened stub like Third Squadron, the only way to stop the desertions would be to change their circumstances, to take them out of what is increasingly beginning to feel like a battle without victory in a war without an enemy.
And since you cannot do that, you all know that the desertions will continue.
And they do.
-
As the weeks pass, the situation continues to worsen, with not even the encroaching heat of high summer serving to drive the now-commonplace sight of armed gangs off the streets. News of brawls betwixt Wulfram's supporters and those of the Queen become increasingly frequent. Even in the most rarefied quarters of the New City, there is the promise of something terrible in the air. The social events which so usually punctuate the city's customary social season are all but absent, and even the benches in the Cortes remain as sparsely filled as they were in the spring.
No one with any choice in the matter wants to be in Aetoria for when the cataclysm that almost everyone is expecting at last arrives.
The only real consolation left to you is that it hasn't come yet. The street fighting may have become constant, but they're at least done with clubs and stones rather than pistols and swords. It's almost a wonder how quickly the news of such clashes become no less part of the background than the heat or the regular routine of drill. Little property is damaged, no one is left with anything more than cuts or bruises, and no incident occurs which warrants the presence of a full squadron.
At least, for a while.
All that changes one afternoon late in summer, when a runner from Cunaris' staff catches you at carbine drill with half of your squadron not on patrol. Gasping for air from the furious sprint down from the colonel's office, he conveys immediate orders to round up an escort and head to an address in a not-quite respectable part of the city on Prince Robert's Street. Cunaris' instructions regarding the matter are both clear and unequivocal: you are to depart in as great a force as you can muster, with pistols and carbines loaded and the expectation that you may have to use them.
When you arrive at the scene, you quickly realise why.
-
A crowd has already gathered around the site when you and your Dragoons arrive, and some make way for you quickly. A handful even touch their fingers to their hats as you pass. Most, however, simply give you sullen looks and move aside with all the sluggishness of a low-burning, fearful antagonism. You're not well-liked among this crowd, though you cannot say whether that's because of your personal reputation or the uniform you wear.
Still, they do clear the way eventually, which at last allows you to see precisely what has called you here.
The address you were given was a not-insubstantial print shop. The neighbourhood it sat in isn't a poor one, and the front of the shop had surely been part of an elegant facade, its decorated stonework and dark wooden panelling still visible in parts.
Yet it takes one look inside, past the shattered glass of the shop window and into the dark cavity beyond, which wholly justifies any description of the place solely in the past tense.
The inside of the shop is a blackened ruin, as if someone had tossed a bundle of hand grenades through the window. The presses are smashed to pieces, and the table which might have once served as a front counter resembles more loose splinters than a piece of furniture. Jars of ink lie shattered along the walls, the splatters of black all but blending into the darkness of charred panelling and wallpaper. You begin to marvel that the entire building hasn't burned down. Only the splashing of your horse's hooves as it steps into a rather deep puddle, and your belated recognition of a small fire engine and a cordon of Intendancy constables not far away offers any explanation as to why it hasn't.
You find the printer and his wife being comforted by the crowd. They are small, almost undistinguished folk, soberly dressed and certainly no older than thirty, the very picture of the Aetorian middle class.
They're also beside themselves with terror and anguish, and despite the promises of aid from one half of the crowd and the equally earnest vows of revenge against the perpetrators from the other, they seem to grow even more distraught with every passing moment.
It only takes you the most cursory of questioning to discover why.
The printer and his wife were absent when the attack took place, but their two daughters and their maidservant hadn't been. They were taking their customary afternoon nap in their rooms directly above the shop. Through tearful sobs, they describe how they returned from an errand to already find the building aflame and a crowd gathering to put out the fire, how they heard not a single cry or sound of life from above the blackened stairs—and how they haven't yet worked up the heart to see why.
Part of you cannot blame them. You suspect you know what they will find.
It is not fire that kills, but smoke, and smoke always travels upwards, gathering in the highest portions of a closed space.
You don't need to say a word for the two anguished parents to catch your meaning.
The reason for the attack is easy enough to find. The shop floor is strewn with them, broadsheets by the hundreds, some charred to ash by the flames, some reduced to grey pulp by the water used to fight them. Some, however, remain intact, or at least, whole enough for you to recognise that this shop must have been one of the city's major producers of Wulframite literature.
It's everywhere: broadsheets decrying the Queen's 'tyranny,' ones calling for the restoration of civil order or demanding that the Duke of Wulfram be made regent until 'the questions of the Queen's powers can be decided by a reasoned body of men.' With such a revelation, a great deal is explained, from the relative hostility of the crowd outside to the likely identity of the attackers.
It also makes things considerably more complicated.
You may now have a motive for the attack, but it is one which implicates half the city. True, you could ultimately wash your hands of the whole affair and leave the Intendancy to investigate, but you suspect that will do neither your own reputation nor that of your regiment any good, especially when acts of violence like this are precisely the sort of thing the Dragoons are in Aetoria to prevent.
Yet you don't know how much good a vigorous investigation might do, either. You may find yourself turned astray by a thousand false leads and get nothing, or you might find yourself following the chain of culpability into places where country barons with poor estates ought not to tread, Dragoon commission or no.
It's clear that Garret is pondering the same questions you are, though his face shows none of the worry which you're sure must be marking yours. After all, though he may be faced with the same queries, he at least has an easy answer.
"What are your orders, sir?"
[X] "What do you make of this, Garret?"
Your second-in-command eyes the scene carefully for a moment. "It is something of a conundrum, sir, isn't it?"
"I wouldn't be asking your opinion if it weren't," you reply, a hint of impatience creeping into your voice.
"We could always ride away from it all," Garret suggests in an almost underhanded tone. "Arson and murder are Intendancy jurisdictions, and look—" He nods towards the set of constables by the fire engine. "They are already present."
You frown. "Cunaris won't like it. He'll think we've made the regiment look like do-nothings."
The other officer gives you a bland, innocent grin. "Then we shall have to investigate, I suppose, though—" He leans in, his voice dropping to little above a whisper. "It may serve us better not to investigate too vigorously. If our trail leads us to someone of influence among the Queen's faction, we may be compelled to make some…inconvenient enemies."
[ ] [GARRET] "These people deserve justice. I mean to give it to them."
[ ] [GARRET] "So what are we to do? Make a lot of noise to no end?"
[ ] [GARRET] "This crowd won't be pleased if we don't find a culprit…or manufacture one."
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [GARRET] "This crowd won't be pleased if we don't find a culprit…or manufacture one."
There's no actual good choice here, it feels like. I don't know if we really can do justice...
There's no actual good choice here, it feels like. I don't know if we really can do justice...
Last edited:
I played around the protest options before and there was an option where Cunaris approves of your choice but it involves dispersing the riot with zero casualties. You basically needed to leave them room to escape and have the discipline so your guys slowly move as one to disperse the crowd.
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Don't forget to mark your vote with an X.
It's possible to find whodunnit. However, we're in the wrong club for it.
He sort of approves, but still demands you do better since you piss off both sides.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [GARRET] "So what are we to do? Make a lot of noise to no end?"
[X] [GARRET] "These people deserve justice. I mean to give it to them."
It's not like Alaric knows he doesn't meet the requirements.
It's not like Alaric knows he doesn't meet the requirements.
Lords 8.06
- Pronouns
- He/Him
Garret ponders the matter for half a second. "It is an option," he concludes.
"A bad one," you observe.
"It will placate that crowd out there and convince them that we mean to do something," he replies. "It will also do nothing to garner the distrust of the Queen's party and their supporters. That certainly gives it some merit over certain other options which one might suggest."
You frown. "And what happens when we turn up with nothing?"
Garret answers with the twitch of a smile. "We don't have to. We could still arrest someone."
Your eyes narrow. "If we arrest a Royalist, that would rather defeat the purpose, wouldn't it?"
The other officer replies with a most catlike grin. "I never said we had to arrest a Royalist, sir. This city has men enough who very few would miss. It wouldn't be so difficult to subject this whole affair to what would no doubt seem like a most thorough investigation, and then snatch someone who would serve as a likely culprit."
It takes you a moment to understand precisely what Garret is saying: to abduct some poor fellow off the street and arrest him for a crime which he did not commit, a crime which he will almost certainly be hanged for?
"Captain, are you quite serious?"
Garret shrugs. "I am merely presenting an option, sir. It is still your squadron."
So it is, which means it is still your decision…
[ ] [INVESTIGATE] "This is an Intendancy matter, we'll let them handle it."
[ ] [INVESTIGATE] "Split up by troop, search for the attackers, but, ah—not too doggedly, mind."
[ ] [INVESTIGATE] "I mean to take this seriously. Seal off the streets, find me some witnesses."
[X] [INVESTIGATE] "I mean to take this seriously. Seal off the streets, find me some witnesses."
Same reasoning as last time.
Same reasoning as last time.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
[X] [INVESTIGATE] "I mean to take this seriously. Seal off the streets, find me some witnesses."
I do think we need to know when to fold if we wind up chasing down some real problems... but I don't see a better option, the situation just sucks a bit or a lot.
I do think we need to know when to fold if we wind up chasing down some real problems... but I don't see a better option, the situation just sucks a bit or a lot.
- Pronouns
- He
[X] [INVESTIGATE] "I mean to take this seriously. Seal off the streets, find me some witnesses."
Lords 8.07
- Pronouns
- He/Him
[X] [INVESTIGATE] "I mean to take this seriously. Seal off the streets, find me some witnesses."
If Captain Garret is at all surprised by your decision, he doesn't show it. Within seconds, he's relaying your orders to the troop commanders and sending them out to question the crowd, neighbours, or any other witnesses which might have caught a glimpse of the attack or its perpetrators. Within minutes, he returns not only with the direction the attacker fled, but rough descriptions of their voices, bearing, and appearance as well.
Then there's nothing to do but follow the trail.
Your pursuit takes you into the Old City, where you quickly set your men to finding further leads. It takes only another half hour of questioning to fully confirm who the perpetrators are: a small gang of thieves and cut-throats based in what is generally considered a rather dangerous part of town.
Or at least, it would have been, had it not been for the half squadron of cavalry at your back.
The thieves' den is deserted by the time you come upon it, with all signs pointing to its occupants opting for a hasty but long-term departure. Their neighbours, out of either fear or relief, prove quite tractable. They didn't see where the culprits fled to, but a few can recall them meeting with a rather unexpected figure: one dressed like a poor day labourer, but with the attitude and manner of a gentleman's servant.
The description is a worrying one.
If the man was indeed a gentleman's servant, then you very much doubt he was acting alone. Even if he had somehow amassed the funds needed to hire a gang of cut-throats, there's very little possibility that he acted without orders—and you have no doubt whatsoever where those orders must have come from.
If your suspicions are correct, then ultimate responsibility for the attack must lie with a gentleman of the blood.
Had it ended at the cut-throats, the matter would be simple enough: they did the deed, regardless of who had hired them to do so, and that alone would have made for enough evidence to fit them for a gallows.
But the cut-throats are gone, and the trail they leave behind seems to lead almost inevitably to a personage of your own class, which both narrows the scope of your investigation and makes it vastly more difficult. There are a great many Banebloods in Aetoria, and none are particularly well-disposed to being accused of murder. The task of uncovering the precise culprit would be nearly an impossible one, barring a truly magnificent stroke of luck.
And even if you do, things are bound to get more complicated, not less.
One cannot simply arrest and hang a gentleman of the blood as one might a common murderer. Even in the clearest and most unequivocal cases of guilt, such matters must be tried before the Cortes, and this is far from that. Even were it not for the massive scandal that the case of a Baneblood being accused of murder would necessarily precipitate, the current precarious situation of the chamber would mean that the matter would almost inevitably devolve into yet another battleground betwixt the two factions which now dominate it.
Instead of upholding the peace of the city, pressing the investigation will almost certainly worsen things, and put your own reputation and the reputation of the regiment at no small risk, as well.
Yet tomorrow, the bodies of three innocents are to be committed to the pyre thanks to what has been done here. Surely those who mourn them deserve some measure of justice?
[ ] [CONCLUDE] There is no profit in pursuing further. We must let the matter drop.
[ ] [CONCLUDE] Press the investigation, we must see where this ends.
[ ] [CONCLUDE] Arrest someone who resembles the description, someone who won't be missed. He'll do.
If Captain Garret is at all surprised by your decision, he doesn't show it. Within seconds, he's relaying your orders to the troop commanders and sending them out to question the crowd, neighbours, or any other witnesses which might have caught a glimpse of the attack or its perpetrators. Within minutes, he returns not only with the direction the attacker fled, but rough descriptions of their voices, bearing, and appearance as well.
Then there's nothing to do but follow the trail.
Your pursuit takes you into the Old City, where you quickly set your men to finding further leads. It takes only another half hour of questioning to fully confirm who the perpetrators are: a small gang of thieves and cut-throats based in what is generally considered a rather dangerous part of town.
Or at least, it would have been, had it not been for the half squadron of cavalry at your back.
The thieves' den is deserted by the time you come upon it, with all signs pointing to its occupants opting for a hasty but long-term departure. Their neighbours, out of either fear or relief, prove quite tractable. They didn't see where the culprits fled to, but a few can recall them meeting with a rather unexpected figure: one dressed like a poor day labourer, but with the attitude and manner of a gentleman's servant.
The description is a worrying one.
If the man was indeed a gentleman's servant, then you very much doubt he was acting alone. Even if he had somehow amassed the funds needed to hire a gang of cut-throats, there's very little possibility that he acted without orders—and you have no doubt whatsoever where those orders must have come from.
If your suspicions are correct, then ultimate responsibility for the attack must lie with a gentleman of the blood.
Had it ended at the cut-throats, the matter would be simple enough: they did the deed, regardless of who had hired them to do so, and that alone would have made for enough evidence to fit them for a gallows.
But the cut-throats are gone, and the trail they leave behind seems to lead almost inevitably to a personage of your own class, which both narrows the scope of your investigation and makes it vastly more difficult. There are a great many Banebloods in Aetoria, and none are particularly well-disposed to being accused of murder. The task of uncovering the precise culprit would be nearly an impossible one, barring a truly magnificent stroke of luck.
And even if you do, things are bound to get more complicated, not less.
One cannot simply arrest and hang a gentleman of the blood as one might a common murderer. Even in the clearest and most unequivocal cases of guilt, such matters must be tried before the Cortes, and this is far from that. Even were it not for the massive scandal that the case of a Baneblood being accused of murder would necessarily precipitate, the current precarious situation of the chamber would mean that the matter would almost inevitably devolve into yet another battleground betwixt the two factions which now dominate it.
Instead of upholding the peace of the city, pressing the investigation will almost certainly worsen things, and put your own reputation and the reputation of the regiment at no small risk, as well.
Yet tomorrow, the bodies of three innocents are to be committed to the pyre thanks to what has been done here. Surely those who mourn them deserve some measure of justice?
[ ] [CONCLUDE] There is no profit in pursuing further. We must let the matter drop.
[ ] [CONCLUDE] Press the investigation, we must see where this ends.
[ ] [CONCLUDE] Arrest someone who resembles the description, someone who won't be missed. He'll do.
- Pronouns
- They/Them
I don't fucking know. It would be in character to seriously harm ourselves for no end based on our principles, but it still worries me. But... arresting and killing someone who hasn't committed a crime is also horrific.
Yet... there's not. Like. Hrm.
[X] [CONCLUDE] Arrest someone who resembles the description, someone who won't be missed. He'll do.
[X] [CONCLUDE] Press the investigation, we must see where this ends.
Semi-null vote (dropping it entirely seems to get the worst of all worlds.)
Yet... there's not. Like. Hrm.
[X] [CONCLUDE] Arrest someone who resembles the description, someone who won't be missed. He'll do.
[X] [CONCLUDE] Press the investigation, we must see where this ends.
Semi-null vote (dropping it entirely seems to get the worst of all worlds.)
[X] [CONCLUDE] Press the investigation, we must see where this ends.
Since he's been established as highly principled and altruistic, I can't see Alaric not doing his best to catch a child killer.
Since he's been established as highly principled and altruistic, I can't see Alaric not doing his best to catch a child killer.