Live in Infamy

[Maugan Ra]

Spoiler: Winning Vote

Avarice won with 16 votes, while Satisfaction and Wrath came in close behind.

You look at this display, this assembled tribute to your master's power and resources, and in your heart of hearts find nothing but want. You want this, all of this. You want the power, the authority, the knowledge to summon up a horde of devils and light your halls with hellfire. The things you could do with such power boggles the mind - every slight you let pass unmarked, every enemy you conceded beyond your reach, every ambition you thought impractical… it could all be yours!

Truly, you are glad that you signed that contract. You have had your doubts over the past weeks and months, known moments of pain and despair where it all seemed pointless or unworthy, but for even the chance at power like this you would do it all over again a hundred times or more.

The Cardinal raises his hand, and in the span of a breath the cheers cease and silence falls. He looks over you all with a fond smile, then nods.

"The sharpest blade must be put only to the worthiest of tasks," he says, his voice rich and sonorous in a way you are no longer sure is entirely human, "And so to you I entrust this task. You shall bring war to Talingarde."

Your breath stills, and without conscious thought you find yourself leaning closer. War? You had thought to begin your service with some manner of assassination or smuggling, but it seems you underestimated the Cardinal's ambition.

"In the north, beyond Talingarde's borders, the warlord Sakkarot Fire-Axe has forged a great host equal to any the realm has yet seen," Thorn continues, visibly enjoying the way you all listen so very intently to his words, "As winter loosens its grip upon the land, he calls them to a rally point on the shores of Lake Tarkin, just a few days march north of the Accarian Line, there to receive a shipment of supplies and weapons. This shipment, you will deliver to him."

"The Accarian line?" Mikael murmurs quietly at your side, too low for any save your other comrades to hear.

"The fortresses to the north," Lisara replies just as softly, "What men now call the watch wall. King Accarius IV built it, hence the older name."

You nod slowly. On paper, Talingarde's northern border is demarcated by the shores of Lakes Tarik and Scardynn and the great rivers that connect them, but it is the dozen fortresses of the Watch Wall that turns written law into practical fact. Each castle sits athwart a major crossing point or navigable route between Talingarde and the northern wilds, ever watchful for bugbear raids or orcish incursions. Only the oldest texts still refer to the fortifications by the name of the Barcan king who built them, though you suppose an Asmodean cardinal might have more reason than most to be pedantic about names and titles.

"Sakkarot? I do not know this name," Dorgo grunts, folding his arms and scratching at his jaw, "He has truly united the tribes?"

"Many of them, at least in part, while others watch to see if he can live up to his promises," Thorn concedes, still smiling, "Which is where you come in. After you have delivered the shipment, you will be taken back south, there to infiltrate the town of Aldencross and the watch fortress Balentyne. The shipment contains weapons and munitions enough for Sakkarot to arm his forces and breach the castle wall, but even with such aid Balentyne remains no easy target. It will be your job to weaken the garrison and its defences enough that Sakkarot can win a convincing victory, and thus begin his campaign with all necessary momentum."

For a moment you think to ask why such a vital task is being left to you, why Thorn himself does not simply call upon dark miracles to shatter the castle and all its warriors, but then you think through the implications.

"He is not intended to win, is he?" you say, almost before the thoughts are shaped, "Sakkarot, the northern tribes. You want them to lose their war."

At your side, Dorgo tenses, as well he ought. These are his people you are speaking of now, and defeat in war is rarely kind, much less one born of a conflict as severe as this one promises to be.

"Very perceptive, Valka," Thorn smiles approvingly at you, "Sakkarot has been a loyal servant and will be rewarded appropriately, but my intention is to save Talingarde, not destroy it. To that end, it is imperative that none within Aldencross or the castle witness your treachery and live. Sakkarot's victory must appear to all eyes to belong to him, and him alone."

You nod thoughtfully. It makes sense, especially if Thorn intends to reintroduce the Cult of Asmodeus to the country at large in the aftermath. It will be a lot harder to gain acceptance if one is known to have been behind the war that recently ravaged the nation, and while Thorn likely could still make it work, he would need to take steps to distance himself from such a tainted reputation. Seeing as your team would make for ideal scapegoats in such a circumstance, you could hardly ask for greater motivation.

"You intend to humiliate them," Lisara notes thoughtfully, almost reluctantly, "The Darians. If they can't turn back the horde, if they can't save the kingdom, then the people will look to those who can. No matter who they are, or what gods they serve."

"Just so," Thorn nods again, visibly delighted, "You have learned your lessons well. Yes, by the time we are done the House of Darius will be disgraced, and a more palatable candidate hailed for all to see."

Dorgo relaxes slowly, doubtless working through the same logic as you are. Sakkarot might lose the war, but Thorn spoke of rewarding him appropriately - perhaps a negotiated settlement could see him return to the north in triumph, there to unite it under the pentacle's banner? Two kingdoms sworn to the Lord of Hell would be a powerful prize indeed.

"What of the Cult of Mitra?" Mikael asks pensively, "They won't back an usurper, especially not one open to devil worship, and you can't rule without them. They've made sure of that."

"Ah, now we stray beyond the bounds of what is safe or proper for even my sharpest blades to know," Thorn says, still smiling even as his eyes harden in warning, "The Cult of Mitra, and all of the King's supporters, will be handled appropriately. Focus on your task, and trust that the rest will be attended to."

Mikael swallows, ducking his head, and after a moment the rest of you do likewise. Adrastus Thorn may be pleased with your insight and proud of your progress, but he is still your master. He commands, and you obey.

-/-

The Frosthamar is not a Talirean ship. Long and lean, it sits far more shallowly in the water than those few vessels you are familiar with, and though human the crew are ruddy of skin and blond of hair in a way you've never yet seen. Currently they are loading the last of several dozen sealed crates onto the ship while you wait nearby. The Seventh, Elise Zadaria's team, are already aboard - apparently they are to be dropped off en route, before you cross the border, there to attend to their own tasks in aid of the overall mission.

"You know, I keep looking, and I keep not seeing cabins," Lisara remarks dourly, studying the ship and crew with a critic's eye, "Are we truly to sleep under the stars like a bunch of savages?"

"Hah!" Dorgo chuckles, shaking his head, "Would be good for you, I think. But no, look closer - those are tents. They put up shelter each night, I think."

Nearby, Grumblejack the ogre makes a vaguely discontent sound. He has been assigned to your team for the mission, from what Thorn said offhand, and is already looking at the coming oceanic voyage with some dread.

"Eyes up," Mikael says quietly, straightening up from where he was slouching against the wall, "The master comes."

Cardinal Thorn is indeed approaching, a sour expression on his bearded face, while beyond him you can see the blond-haired captain returning to his people with an obvious grin. There is nothing good to be gained from remarking on such a contrast, and so you simply wait in silence for the Cardinal to master himself and speak.

"There has been a change of plans," Thorn says in a deceptively mild tone, "The Seventh will accompany you to Sakkarot's camp and part ways at Aldencross. Once the Frosthamar has served her purpose, you are to kill the crew and burn the ship to the waterline."

Despite your attempt at discipline, you find your eyebrows rising to the sky. Mikael and Dorgo look pensive at the order, but Lisara just chuckles.

"Let me guess - he extorted you," the elf chuckles, daring a smile, "Ah, pirates. As stupid today as they were a century ago."

"Indeed," Thorn sighs, shaking his head. "If I did not need a ship to transport the goods, or if Sakkarot could afford delays… ah, well. Make sure you reclaim the good captain's windfall from his corpse before you burn it. We'll call it a supplementary budget for your mission."

There seems little else to say at that point, so you simply salute the infernalist and board the ship. Save for their captain, not one of the Frosthamar's crew speaks a word of Talirean, and most seem content to view you as more cargo to be transported and about as worthy of consideration. You sit in a small group near the back of the ship as it leaves the secluded cove where the cargo was loaded, the Seventh sit closer to the prow, and Grumblejack rests up against the central mast with a deeply unhappy look on his face.

The stalemate lasts for most of the morning, but around noon one of the Seventh sighs and rises to his feet, stalking over to your group and brazenly taking a seat on an upturned barrel. It is one of the twins - a slender human with long black hair all done up in an elaborate tale, his grey eyes sparkling with hidden humour.

"Well, I've had about all I can stand of this grim standoff, so I figured I'd break the ice!" he says brightly, whipping out a small pack of cards from somewhere inside his cloak and spinning them between his slender fingers, "I'm Trik, the broody git over there is my twin brother Trak, the tall fellow with the sword is Dostan, and of course you've all met our illustrious leader, the magnificent and incontestably beautiful Lady Elise Zadaria."

He's speaking loudly enough for both groups to hear, and so you are not surprised to see his brother scoff or Elise roll her eyes at the display, but both of them are smiling as they do. You are smiling too, you realise - there's something almost infectious about the human's optimistic charm.

"Well met, then, though you'll forgive us for skimping on the compliments," Lisara says dryly, "I'm Lisara, and these are Valka, Dorgo and Mikael."

"And our wonderfully greedy and deeply stupid hosts are Captain Kargeld and his grim marauders," Trik completes with a cheeky grin, and despite your brief flash of alarm none of the pirates give any sign that they recognised the words, "So, shall we start simple? How about… hometowns? Lady Valka, you seem a respectable sort. Where did you call home before you fell in with this collection of villains and ne'er do wells?"

Your smile fades slightly at the question, amusement dampened by sudden melancholy… but no, it is a fair question, and if you cannot hope to see your family again safe before this war is done, you have every reason to think that day will come sooner or later. So why not speak, and set down your cares for a time?

Article:

As a bookkeeper and aspiring wizard, Valka made her home in one of Talingarde's great metropolitan hubs. Which one does she call home?

[ ] Mathryn, City of Light
The capital city plays home to both the Royal Palace and the Church of Mitra. It is a city defined by its growth and ambition, having swollen from a small town to a thriving city in less than a century. Your family are architects and shipwrights, profiting handsomely from the city's relentless expansion.

[ ] Ghastenhall, City on the Scar
The old capital and most centrally located of the three cities, Ghastenhall is a proud and ancient place, home to the best of the nation's universities and the oldest of its noble estates. Your family are merchants and bankers, profiting from the city's central location and ancient wealth.

[ ] Daveryn, City of Waves
Always the second city, now demoted to third, Daveryn dismisses its provincial cousins and looks to the world beyond. The dockyards here send ships to lands few Talireans can even name, and the foreign quarter plays host to a myriad of tiny populations. Your family are artisans and metalworkers, producing quality goods for sale at home and abroad.

 

[Maugan Ra]

"Ghastenhall," you say with fond nostalgia, "My family is from Goldquarter."

"Bollocks," Trik says without a moment's doubt, shaking his head even as he splits the small deck of cards into two, "Nobody lives in Goldquarter."

You blink, then rear back, offence colouring your tone and breaking through the last of the shock. "Excuse me? I should damn well say I know better than you where my family is from!" Trik just raises his eyebrows at you, while the rest of your party looks awkwardly from one to the other. Then, once the point has been made, you concede. "Just because the house happens to be in Kingspeace…"

"Ha! I knew it!" Trik laughs triumphantly, "Gods, Kingspeace? No wonder you'd claim to live next door, who'd ever want to live there?"

You sniff, turning your face away, but despite it all you find yourself smiling. Kingspeace is perhaps the most boring of all Ghastenhall's many districts, and while you personally might like the peace and quiet, you'd be willing to concede it isn't for everyone. "And you? You'd best be a fellow Ghasten, to be talking about home that way…"

Trik snorts, flipping over the cards and dividing them on the deck between you. You recognise the layout immediately - Blind King's Bluff, a game that somehow never caught on outside your home city. Too many rules, apparently.

"Oh, Trak and I have god's salt in our veins, never you worry," Trik says with a cardsharp's grin, inviting you to claim your cards with a sweep of his hands, "Da was a scarper, back 'afore the salties got him, and we still remember our way around. You've a learned look about you - black or blue?"

You nod, picking up the cards. The Godscar is a freshwater river, the Cambrian Bay salty and connected to the sea, and Ghastenhall built on the rocky hills where the two waters meet. Scarpers fish the former and salties the latter, and while their rivalry usually stays civil, it wouldn't be the first time someone paid with their life for wandering across the dividing line while drunk.

"Black, obviously," you reply with a sniff, vaguely offended that he would even suggest you got your schooling through the church and its charity, "I worked as a bookkeeper, back before… all of this."

Off to your side, Lisara sighs and shakes her head. You think you catch her muttering something about 'fucking ghastlies', but it would be impolite to recognise it, so you don't. If she cannot handle the presence of two citizens from the greatest city in the kingdom, that is her problem, not yours. At least Dorgo and Mikael have the good grace to merely look a trifle baffled by the byplay.

"Makes sense," Trik nods easily, "Everyone knows them up in goldquarter don't much care where something comes from, but they'll tell you to the penny how much it's worth. Say, did you ever…"

The conversation meanders from there, falling into the easy back and forth of two neighbours speaking of home. You talk of your favourite places to eat along the waterfront, the strangest clients you ever worked for, and the most outrageous rumours about the mad old Duke. Trik has a seemingly bottomless store of anecdotes and jests, all delivered with a smile and a flick of the cards, and as you play you find yourself enjoying his company far more than you would have ever expected.

Even here, even among the forsaken, you have found a tiny piece of home.

-/-

Life aboard the Frosthamar is simultaneously peaceful and vaguely uncomfortable. You know nothing of sailing and the crew expect nothing of you, but neither is there much of anything to do. There's no privacy either - you sleep on the deck beneath improvised tents, and when nature calls you are forced to squat awkwardly over the side rail and hope that nobody is watching. You play cards and dice with your fellows, watch the countryside as it rolls steadily by, and try not to go out of your mind with boredom.

The first leg of the journey is entirely uneventful. Half a day's sailing down the Varryn River brings you to the sea, at which point the heavily laden ship turns north and hugs the coast like a drunk clutching his friend's shoulder. You see farms and villages by the dozen, small patches of forest and loose handfuls of fishermen, and whenever you pass the locals wave to you and shout greetings rendered inaudible by wind and distance. Kargeld always waves back, a surprisingly cheerful gesture from the bitter old pirate, and when he catches you looking just grunts and spits over the side.

"Wouldn't want them getting suspicious," he says, and will not be drawn to further conversation.

After a week on the waves you are surprised to wake and see the great port city of Davryn off your port side. The City of Waves is one of the great metropoli of the realm, visited by traders and travellers from all across the world, but despite the grumbling of his sailors Kargeld makes no move to put in at the port. You suppose you can understand that, for with a port city come harbourmasters, and there are no good answers to be had to questions surrounding your cargo of weapons and ammunition, much less the presence of Talireans of no fixed abode aboard a foreign vessel.

A few days later, as you approach the northern border of the kingdom, your fears are proven correct.

Article:

In this system, perception checks are only rolled if you are actively seeking for something. Otherwise, attempts to evade notice are rolled against a flat DC of 10 plus target's perception bonus, usually modified by environmental conditions etc.

In this case, no attempt at stealth is being made, so Dorgo - as the person with the highest perception modifier - is the first to spot the trouble.

"Ah, crap," Dorgo growls one day, rising from his position by the gunwale and staring past the aft of the ship, "Captain!"

Following his gaze tells you what the problem is almost immediately. You've seen plenty of other ships during this voyage, most especially around Davryn and the smaller regional ports, but the vessel following in your wake bears sails of white and blue emblazoned with the crowned sun of Talingarde. Kargeld confirms your impression a moment later, stomping over to the stern and spitting out a poisonous curse in his native tongue.

"Coastal guard," he growls to you as your team gathers, "Taxmen and soldiers. The Frosthamar won't outrun them, not this heavily loaded. They take one look at our cargo…"

You nod, hardly needing him to elaborate. There might not be any specific law on the books about shipping weapons to a hostile army, but at the very least they'll impound the ship and cargo and send word to their superiors in the capital.

"How many aboard?" Elise Zadaria asks in a cool voice, joining you at the stern with her staff firmly in hand. Beyond her, you can see all of your comrades gathering their weapons and working the stiffness out of their limbs, preparing for a fight.

"Ship of that size? A score, maybe," Kargeld grunts, running a calloused hand through his thickly braided beard. He's got a calculating gleam in his eyes now, and you know you're not the only one measuring the odds. Even with your team and the seventh it seems the Talireans outnumber you, but that is not necessarily the end of the matter. After Thorn's training you would certainly lay good money on any of your fellow agents against a mere soldier, but perhaps it does not have to come to that.

Either way, you need to make a decision quickly. The patrol ship is moving quickly, and you doubt you have more than a handful of minutes before it is close enough to board.

Article:

How do you wish to proceed?

[ ] Burn the Sails
With your magic you can ruin the patrol ship's sails and perhaps set fire to its deck as soon as it draws within range. The crew will be too busy trying to save their vessel to catch you. Minimal risk to you, but the Talireans will know an uncommonly capable group was seen headed north.

[ ] Ambush Them
Allow the patrol ship to draw alongside and send across a boarding party, then ambush them. Combat is always risky, but you are confident in your chances. The Talireans will only know that one of their patrol ships set out one day and never returned.

[ ] Deceive Them
Use magic to disguise your team and the Seventh as agents of Talingarde, then make up a story that will satisfy the patrol ship. If successful you may be able to send the Talireans off chasing a red herring, leaving your mission to proceed unopposed.