The QM also said we don't really have to worry about the wording of these options at the top of the latest threadmark, and that Valka will figure out the wording to avoid any of the obvious loopholes.
So I think it's a relatively safe assumption that that IC Valka will put in the work to make sure that the letter of the contract matches the spirit of this vote, is that right @Maugan Ra?
In the specific example of the wealth, Thorn could probably meet his obligations by putting pressure on whoever ends up on the throne to honour the claim and, like, calling up a squad of devils to go and murder anyone who violates the monopoly.
Alright, I think I'll call the vote there, on the grounds that I've gotten the next update 90% written and the Freedom of Faith option has been consistently in the lead for this whole voting period. Onwards!
Scheduled vote count started by Maugan Ra on Mar 14, 2024 at 5:22 PM, finished with 87 posts and 40 votes.
For a moment you consider asking for a Kingdom, or the wealth to forge one yourself… but no. You cannot build such a thing without the support of those who would be its citizens, and that you do not have. Perhaps you can muster it in the months and years to come, but if you cannot, it would be better by far to leave the Cult of Asmodeus uninvolved. The last thing you want is to have Thorn bound by contract to force your people into the mountains at the point of spear and spell.
"Faith," you say at last, "I want my faith protected."
Thorn raises one dark eyebrow in a silent expression of doubt. "A strange demand to make of a foreign priest."
"You'll bring the Adver… Asmodeus back to this land, break the Mitrans, establish your Church as the law of the land, fine. I'll help you do it," you say, trying to balance the importance of this boon with the danger of revealing vulnerability and failing miserably, "But I don't want to go back to how it was before. No charges of blasphemy for calling Grandfather our creator, no Inquisitors rooting through ancestral records, no royal commands for a church built in our neighbourhoods."
The devil's priest considers your words for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Acceptable, in principle. I will not, I note, accept a ban on all preaching. When we win, and usher in the new age, my faithful must be free to at least present their case."
You wince at that, but you cannot fairly say it is unreasonable. Your people have held to their ways and their faith in the face of a cult backed by law and royal decree for centuries now - they can withstand a lighter voice in a growing chorus, with the strength of their ancestors behind them.
"Agreed," you say, and so it is done. It takes another half-bell to fully workshop a framework that satisfies the both of you, one that offers protection to your people without making an enemy of the church you intend to aid, but soon the existing contract is joined by another few paragraphs of diabolic text in shining ink.
"Then we have a deal," Adrastus Thorn says with a smile, producing a small silver bowl and surgeon's scalpel that he sets down on the table next to the contract, "Let us make it official, shall we? Signing in blood is traditional."
You swallow, suddenly nervous… but no, you've made your decision. You will not permit yourself to falter now. Steadying your hand with an iron will, you pick up the scalpel and draw it neatly across the back of your arm, grimacing as it cuts through your skin with nary a whisper of resistance. Blood, thick and red, trickles down into the silver bowl, and after a moment Thorn whispers a word and your flesh seals itself up again.
You take a quill from the small stand on the desk, dip it in the bowl, and with exquisite care sign your name upon the contract in blood.
"Well done," Thorn says approvingly, and with a flick of his hand the contract disappears into nothing. "The first order I give you is this - rest. The Darians are seeking you and your comrades, and it will take me some time to misdirect them. So, for the next three days, you are to do nothing but remain in this manor and recover your strength."
You nod cautiously. Part of you wants to ask how exactly Thorn intends to solve the issue of your ongoing pursuit, but given you have no way to verify his words you might as well trust him to take care of it. "I could use certain supplies…"
"Ah, yes. A spellbook and so forth," Thorn nods, "They will be provided. Still, I encourage you to take the chance to rest. When I return your training will begin, and following that, your first mission. This is likely to be your last chance at leisure for quite some time."
You know a dismissal when you hear it, and so with a stiff-necked bow, you take your leave of the Cardinal and his office. As you depart you see Dorgo coming the other way, the mighty orc warrior led to this meeting by a downcast servant. As Lisara did before you, you consider speaking with him… and then you turn and walk away.
Article:
By Thorn's command, you have three days to spend in rest and relaxation in this manor. First, choose how Valka prefers to spend her time when she is relaxing.
[ ] Reading The library comes stocked with a variety of fictional works of various genres, and the armchair by the fireplace is very comfortable.
[ ] Feasting Cracking Blackerly's safebox reveals a dozen good bottles of whiskey, and the kitchens prove able to serve food from all corners of Talingarde.
[ ] Sketching A good pad of paper and some charcoal is all you need to occupy you, and there are no end of potential subjects to spy on and ambush in the manor.
Choose one of your fellow escapees to get to know better during this time.
[ ] Lisara, the elvish swashbuckler The charismatic noblewoman appears to be celebrating her freedom in excessive and perhaps slightly desperate fashion, which is to say by getting drunk, high, and laid.
[ ] Mikael, the human monk The former acolyte appears entirely unused to leisure, and does not quite know what to do with himself now that he has some. The chance to reflect on his situation does not agree with him.
[ ] Dorgo, the orc druid The northerner paces the halls of the manor like a caged lion, clearly uncomfortable and itching for an outlet, all too eager for conversation as an outlet.
-/-
Branderscar Prison
On a windswept cliff above the eastern seas, Mathias Richter ground his teeth and cursed every devil, saint and grasping relative that had brought him to this point. The strongest, most fearsome prison in all of Talingarde, breached - and on his watch! His subordinates murdered, his prisoners escaped, and his reputation in ruins. He'd been ready and willing to call this the single worst day of his life before the Inquisitors arrived.
"Tell me, Lord Richter," High Inquisitor Solomon Tyrath said, his voice dangerously gentle, "are you complicit, or merely incompetent?"
Damn you, Gaius.
The thought was not a new one, but in recent days it had taken on a new and virulent tone whenever it came to mind. Mathias hadn't sought out this posting, would have been quite content with a long and relaxing retirement, but his nephew wouldn't have it. He'd pulled strings, paid bribes, and ultimately gotten his doddering old uncle a prestigious posting to fill his last days. The fact that Mathias had no interest in or experience with the prison system meant nothing in comparison to the potential glory of House Richter.
"I'm not sure what you mean, my lord," he said, keeping his voice as level as he could.
"No?" Lord Tyrath voiced it like a question, but his expression did not move even a hair. He might have been carved from mountain stone for all the humanity he showed. "Old locks. Minimal guards. Limited equipment - even the food in the emergency supplies rotted and useless. If Branderscar were an active castle, I would call such negligence outright treasonous."
He spoke the word without any particular inflection, and despite himself Mathias could not help but shiver. At a single nod from the High Inquisitor the soldiers nearby would clap him in chains and drop him into the sea, and not a single soul for a mile around would dare to protest.
Damn you, Tomas.
It should have been the sergeant standing here, feeling his life hanging in the balance, but the escaping prisoners had left him dead in the courtyard when they escaped. He'd brought the man in for a private chat two days after getting the position, confessed that his appointment was basically entirely driven by political concerns, and generally agreed to stay out of the way and leave the management of the prison to someone who knew what they were doing. Until now, everything that he'd seen merely confirmed the decision as the correct one. For close to a year the prison had kept ticking along with Blackerley at the helm, and in all that time they'd never had a single problem.
Well. He might have been blind and also a fool, but let nobody say that Mathias Richter was a coward.
"I have no excuse, my lord," he said firmly, lifting his chin and staring his death in the face, "The failure, and the responsibility, are mine alone."
Solomon Tyrath stared at him, his gaze like a spear thrust through Mathias' entire body… then he nodded. "Indeed it is, Lord Richter. Fortunately, our Shining Lord is familiar with human weakness, and has seen fit to grant you a chance to atone. Sir Havelyn, step forward."
From the assembled ranks of the soldiery stepped forth a knight. His armour was polished silver and his tabard a rich ocean blue, and with a start Mathias recognised him. This was the young knight who had first brought that ogre in as a prisoner, having slain the rest of his bandit troop near single-handed before subduing the last of them for trial.
"Sir Havelyn here is one of our faith's most promising paladins," Lord Tyrath said, the merest hint of his acknowledgement drawing the young man taut like a string, "He has a theory that this escape is connected to an ongoing investigation of his. You are hereby seconded to his mission, to provide him with whatever aid your meagre gifts can."
Mathias opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a snap. Legally speaking not even the High Inquisitor had the power to command such a thing… but if Mathias refused, then Lord Tyrath would turn his baleful gaze on not just his own failures, but the whole string of influence and favour trading that had seen him rise to this position in the first place. Gaius might be an arrogant little shit, but he was still family.
"I understand, Lord Tyrath, Sir Havelyn," he said, the words sharp and bitter in his mouth, "When do we leave?"
[X] Reading The library comes stocked with a variety of fictional works of various genres, and the armchair by the fireplace is very comfortable.
[X] Lisara, the elvish swashbuckler The charismatic noblewoman appears to be celebrating her freedom in excessive and perhaps slightly desperate fashion, which is to say by getting drunk, high, and laid.
"Sir Havelyn here is one of our faith's most promising paladins," Lord Tyrath said, the merest hint of his acknowledgement drawing the young man taut like a string, "He has a theory that this escape is connected to an ongoing investigation of his. You are hereby seconded to his mission, to provide him with whatever aid your meagre gifts can."
Mathias opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again with a snap. Legally speaking not even the High Inquisitor had the power to command such a thing… but if Mathias refused, then Lord Tyrath would turn his baleful gaze on not just his own failures, but the whole string of influence and favour trading that had seen him rise to this position in the first place. Gaius might be an arrogant little shit, but he was still family.
"I understand, Lord Tyrath, Sir Havelyn," he said, the words sharp and bitter in his mouth, "When do we leave?"
