[MARS 21st, 1490, SUNDAY, MORNING//ELMYCION CASTLE CITY//THE EVE OF THE TOURNAMENT]Elmycion, an already bustling province in the northeast of the Wymund regime. Set upon the path of pilgrims early on a long journey to holy lands in the east, near enough to the borderlands for its major city to serve as the hub of trade, and rich with history for the myriad lords of Wymund or other kingdoms that have besieged, ruled over, and died for the region.Here, in and around the city that acts as the castle’s outer shell, a grand tournament is to be held. Organized by the kingdom of Wymund to celebrate the separatist knights who overcame the old empire and founded the illustrious kingdom, overseen by House Hayner, the current heritors of Elmycion’s beauty, it is a tournament of a different breed. The spectacle is not to settle feuds between lords, or merely provide entertainment for commonfolk. It is said to be more of a reenactment. Mock battles, fought by royal and noble orders of Wymund and those invited from lands beyond. In the grand battle that took place here, knights of warring factions came to respect their equalized strength and resolve, and joined forces against corrupt kings and their levied armies. Historians speak wistfully of how a new social class was born, then and there. While commonfolk beam at the hyperbolic rumors of a dragon slain during the battle long ago…Those knights realized they had a connection that could not be realized by language or race. Steel was their language. Honor was their blood. Could such an unspoken bond truly exist within the hearts of warriors…?
[MARS 21st, 1490, SUNDAY, MORNING//ELMYCION CASTLE OUTSKIRTS, STORK ENCAMPMENT//MAILE, AWAKENING]The call of a rooster from the farmlands not-so-far away brings your eyes to an opening. You feel slightly sore. Your sleeping position was more sitting up than lying down, it has been forever since you slept under the stars in such a way. Your escort, a royal knight from one of Wymund’s two distinguished royal orders, may have been keeping guard outside the tent, but you still felt like sleeping with one eye open.You slide the modest blanket off of your body and kneel, then stand and stretch. Even as you near your twentieth birthday, you find a childlike wonder for travel that you’re glad to be experiencing, even if there’s some anxiety to be had at the same time. In a haphazard pile in the corner of the tent, resting against the pole, a set of gambeson dirty from travel and some modest supplementary plates held together by leather. Next to your armor, a bag of miscellaneous supplies.You find yourself soon rummaging through that bag, looking for a pair of items that you’d been keeping clean and safe within. As you thumb through the contents, your eyes catch an identical set of eyes: a mirror…>—<CONTINUED>—<
>>6002383Your name is Maile Cecil. Should your brother, Milo, fail to be freed from the trouble he’s found himself in this day, then you suppose that might make you the heir to House Cecil. Otherwise, you’re an aspiring historian and an apprentice scribe, an apprenticeship put briefly on hold by your current predicament.Your hand finds the first object, and a small smile adorns your features, visible in the mirror from the corner of your eyesight…>A pendant received from your brother many years ago. Contained within, a small photograph of the two of you mock-sparring. Even as mere children, you both had fleeting dreams of becoming valiant knights. [+10 DC in general speaking rolls against soldiers]>A ring adorned with a red ruby, the symbolic gem of House Cecil. A gift from your father on your sixteenth birthday, he wished you never to be meek and to understand the responsibility of noble virtue. [+10 DC in general speaking rolls against nobles]>A harmonica that’s beginning to rust. A failed courier’s delivery that wound up in the hands of your uncle Metzen. He could not find the original owner. It reminds you of the plight of your uncle’s order, the folk it serves. [+10 DC in general speaking rolls against commoners]
>>6002384>A ring adorned with a red ruby, the symbolic gem of House Cecil. A gift from your father on your sixteenth birthday, he wished you never to be meek and to understand the responsibility of noble virtue. [+10 DC in general speaking rolls against nobles]
>>6002384>A ring adorned with a red ruby, the symbolic gem of House Cecil. A gift from your father on your sixteenth birthday, he wished you never to be meek and to understand the responsibility of noble virtue. [+10 DC in general speaking rolls against nobles]I’ll bite QM. And just so you know, all quests are “one-shots” until you catch the QMing bug permanently
>>6002389>>6002416(Locking in vote for the Ruby Ring. Writing.)
>>6002439>A ring adorned with a red ruby, the symbolic gem of House Cecil. A gift from your father on your sixteenth birthday, he wished you never to be meek and to understand the responsibility of noble virtue. [+10 DC in general speaking rolls against nobles]The sunrise’s light refracts through the gemstone, creating red marks where it passes through and touches the wall. The band is a silver link. You slip the heirloom onto your left ring finger, or begin to, before realizing you’ll be wearing gloves. Instead, you place the ring into the belt pouch that comes with your armor. It’s still your lucky charm, you’d just rather not risk losing it.You recall your father, the patriarch of your bloodline, granting it to you as symbol of your nobility. It is minor nobility, but its worth can still be felt in the honor you feel gazing upon the ring. House Cecil makes its home on the southern coast of Wymund. Your lands a few harbor towns. Reigned by a manor, not a castle. It’s always harder to sleep, without the sound of the waves from Gillian’s Landing there to lull you…You peek out of the opening of the tent flap. A banner has been erected, one of several, marking this encampment as belonging to an order of knights known as The Stork’s Transmission. They’re a noble order led by your uncle, Metzen Cecil. Though, rather than representing a region such as the one your father lords over, the Storks take after fraternal orders. Operating across the realm like nomads. This has made them rather controversial among Wymund’s knight-nobility. Their goal is to act as a sort of advanced courier service. Utilizing the rites and status of knighthood to make deliveries between nations, particularly in times when two kingdoms are on rocky terms politically. Some call them honorable servicemen, some call them rats circumventing foreign policy.You call them the group that separated you and your brother.Five years ago, Milo ran off to become a squire of the Storks. Now, just around ten hours earlier you estimate, you’ve sworn the same oath.Why? Why have you joined them, and why have you found yourself in lands north, in a region a bitter-rivaled house holds dominion over?You recall the ominous summons home your father gave to you, interrupting your scholarly travels, and the task the patriarch bestowed you with…<—>CONTINUED<—>
The office’s lights are dim in the early afternoon. The 10th of Mars, 1490. In your mind are two worries. Your father is aging. He’s worked tirelessly as the head of House Cecil all his life. Transforming the meager lands into a hub for the foreseen future where arts and literature thrive to further connect people to places far and wide, securing a higher position in royal court as an arts treasurer along the way. In that time, he and his wife only birthed two children. Your mother died as you came into life. He’s been balancing his need to give you a life of agency with his need to secure an heir for the house ever since.His letter was brief, and tonally grave. You expected Milo and Metzen to arrive, and for father to be in a bed tended to by doctors and clergymen. Fortunately, Micah Cecil is still in good health, though not in high spirits. Milo and your uncle? Nowhere to be found.Your father was looking north. You could tell by the way the sun was playing shadow games on his face through the window. It was like he was staring directly at your destination.<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6002461“Maile, I don’t want to hear your opinion of him. Remember what I told you when he went away?”You nod. You and Milo are connected, in spirit. Though your desires diverge, your souls are entwined by bloodline.“Around a month and a half ago, I received word that Milo had been captured-“Your brows furrow.“-by House Hayner. The rulers over Elmycion. They allege that in completing a letter delivery to Lord Gerald, the letter had been unsealed. Your brother complied with all investigation, and swears he had no idea the seal on the envelope had been broken.” Father’s eyes shut pensively.“They didn’t listen?” You ask, knowing the answer. House Hayner are ruthless when it comes to even merely perceived affronts to its name. “…What are they going to do to him?”“For now? Nothing. His status as a noble knight, and his compliance, keeps him out of a dungeon. They should have degraded him, if they wanted to do anything. Demoted him from knight back down to squire. It’s hearsay, on both ends, and for an ultimately moot cause, the contents of the letter were not found to be sensitive.” He rubbed his eyes. “But I must admit, I didn’t expect this old grudge to last. They’re holding him ransom, and due to our house’s potential involvement in a direct crime against another, no matter how unfounded, we aren’t allowed to pay it without counsel from the other houses of Wymund.”Your fists balled up. You caught yourself, unladylike, but you didn’t stop. “So what? You want me to proffer support from other houses, then? Why didn’t you tell me this as it was happening?”“I thought I could save him.”“Truly? And now what?” You scoff. “Father, this may be out of turn, but… I wouldn’t put it past him to unseal a letter addressed to a rival house. We know Milo, impulsive, romantic-““But not treacherous.” Father states calmly despite your rage. “As for what happens now? Milo’s master has a plan…”“Uncle Metzen?”“Yes, in just a short week and some days, Elmycion is holding a grand tournament… As a pseudo-fraternal order, he and his Storks no longer represent House Cecil. They don’t have the funds to bail out Milo, and I can’t give them those funds, but if they can win…” He takes a deep breath, and you conjure images of the last time you saw the Storks. They were not the picture of knighthood you knew from noble or royal orders.Your fist uncurls. “What do you need me to do, father?”
>>6002466The answer to that question was to join them. You know the basics of combat, Metzen trained you alongside Milo from a young age for self defense. Your father knew you wouldn’t be able to pass up the opportunity to see Milo again, and for Milo to be indebted to you. You suppose it’s time to test that “unspoken connection” once and for all.“Good morning, Lady Maile.” A voice greets, lifting the tent flap. You recognize the regal armor and tired eyes of Rishard Lambert, a knight of the Kingsguard and the escort to Elmycion that father was able to secure for you.He’s holding a plate of eggs and silverware, and you take them. They’re burnt, by the smell of things, but that’s not any matter to you as you dig in. Whoever cooked these is a much better chef than Sir Lambert.He sits beside you, though a considerable distance away, his eyes are scanning the outside as knights and staff shuffle to and from the mess tent. You read his expression well enough as he sees the state of their arms and armor: worn from long travel, and certainly seeing better days. He’s clearly not impressed. “Did you sleep well?”>”I did, yes. Thank you for taking the night watch, as always, Sir Lambert.” You can’t complain having such a competent companion for the trip here.>”You know, you’ve already fulfilled your duty. Shouldn’t you be readying to return to the Capitol?” You like this situation as much as he does, but you respect the Storks.
>>6002482>”You know, you’ve already fulfilled your duty. Shouldn’t you be readying to return to the Capitol?” You like this situation as much as he does, but you respect the Storks.
>>6002493(Locking in vote to push back a bit against Rishard.)(I’m off to go do some Mother’s Day things. Expect the next update in 4-6 hours. It’s gonna be quite the run around town for me.)
>>6002524(Update. Back from the festivities. Writing.)
>>6002738You pick up on the shrouded disdain in Sir Lambert’s voice. You can sympathize with the situation at hand being less than ideal, you can even understand that the chances of victory in the tournament for the Storks is quite low, but here they are, fighting to free their ally. That’s all the more admirable given the slim chances. But it occurs to you, Rishard is a knight of the Kingsguard. You’re unsure of his rank, but both the Kingsguard and Queensguard will be participating in the coming mock battles. It might make sense that he’d root for another order, to help increase his standing within it.“You know, you’ve already fulfilled your duty. Shouldn’t you be readying to return to the Capitol?” You maintain a polite tone, you’re pushing back against his lack of enthusiasm and respect for the Storks, but you don’t wish to spark any animosity.He smiles, it’s a barely noticeable curl of his muzzle. “I’ll likely return alongside those representing the Kingsguard at the tournament. I’ve actually never seen the clash of the knights at Elmycion, so I wouldn’t want to miss it.”“I see…” You murmur. This is a first for everyone here, it seems. From what you understand, the only support Micah was able to secure for the Storks was an invitation to the tournament. The anxious bones of your body vibrate in a way that sends the thought to your brain: the Storks are playing into the hand of House Hayner. Perhaps they want to make some kind of spectacle over the drama. For Metzen and House Cecil, this tournament is about far more than honoring the past and securing glory.“For the time being until the first Grandmaster’s joust, I’ll continue to swear myself to your safekeeping, my honor is akin to my king’s…” Lambert’s smile fades. You’ve met plenty of Kingsguard, they make a habit of stoicism that seems to act more as a mask than a true discipline.<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6003341You utilize your current leverage over Sir Lambert to get some help strapping your armor back on. You both exit your tent and part ways for the time being with a short goodbye.The moment you turn around after waving farewell, you bump into someone. About the same height as you, perhaps a mere centimeter taller. A feline, who wears an expression as stoic as Lambert’s if not as grim. He fixes his glasses (very strange looking glasses, you note), and carries what looks to be a ledger. He strikes you as a scholar.“Ah, apologies…” You nod, hoping that will suffice as atonement.“Nonsense, the fault was all mine.” The cat quickly corrected, but then his voice trailed off as he got a good look at you. For just a split second, there’s worry written in his eyes, but it’s swiftly replaced by calm once more. “Milo did mention he had a sister…”Your eyes widen, and you’re not sure how to react. Again, you feel your hands crumple into fists, a habit of anger. “How the hell-“ you swear, as if all you learned traveling to study among noble lords and ladies has flown out the window. “-do you know Milo?”“I did not mean to offend, Miss Cecil.” He takes a breath, as if he knew it would come to this. “You may call me Alphonse. I serve under House Hayner, today acting as the Liaison between this band of knights and the castle. If you must know, I’ve spoken to Milo on occasion. He is technically a guest of the castle, even if the circumstances are strange.” He squints again, and then quietly chuckles. “You do look quite alike to him, I had worried he’d somehow escaped.”Your fists return to their natural state as hands. So Alphonse here is just the messenger. “So, Milo is…”“Doing alright. I can attempt to answer any questions you may have, but there are some things I am not legally allowed to speak of, and pretty soon I’ll need to speak the Grandmaster here…”Questions. You’ve got plenty, but you realize you have not some servant but a liaison to House Hayner’s headquarters before you. Perhaps you can persuade him…>”He’s talked about me?” It’s been five years since you’ve seen eachother. How strong is this supposed “unspoken connection?”>”Could you bring him a message? From me?” You have a feeling he can’t. Time to work some pathos. (Persuasion check, 50 DC, best of 1)>”I don’t have a thing to say to you. I’ll ask for answers from Milo, once he’s free from this joke of a ransom.” As far as you’re concerned, House Hayner are the enemy, as are its liaisons.>Write-in
>>6003341>>6002493(Replied to the wrong post for the update. Oops.)
>>6003343>>”I don’t have a thing to say to you. I’ll ask for answers from Milo, once he’s free from this joke of a ransom.” As far as you’re concerned, House Hayner are the enemy, as are its liaisons.
>>6003537(Locking vote for dismissing Alphonse. Writing.)
>>6003537You didn’t come here to offer the Storks moral support. Civil warring in Wymund hasn’t actually gone anywhere, it seems. It’s just executed by talking behind backs and giving venomous stares when you pass eachother by. Your brother studied blade, but you can get behind doing some damage with a pen or a tongue.A war they shall have.You grin and glare. “I don’t have a thing to say to you, Alphonse. I’ll ask for answers from Milo, once he’s free from this joke of a ransom.”Alphonse gives a sad sigh, as if you’ve defied the expectations set by Milo’s more polite and compliant stance. (‘Good’, you think to yourself.)“Noted. I’m…” Your brow furrows as he forms the first half of the phrase: I’m sorry. The opening s catches on his teeth, and he seems to swallow it back down. He looks past you, and you glance over your shoulder to see where the majority of the Storks are gathering, a makeshift stage of containers and repair-wood. “Ah, there’s the Grandmaster now. Prepping a speech it seems. I’ll need to check in with him, go over the ruleset, schedule his joust arrival-“You glare at him again. He gets the idea. “Excuse me…” He says, walking around you.You consider that display a fine statement of your intent. House Cecil isn’t to be tread upon. Not by noble colleagues, and not by their goons either. You know Metzen well, he’d likely take the same stance. You feel pity, not for Alphonse, but for how difficult the task of “scheduling” with the enemy must be.You wait until he’s disappeared from view before making your way to the center, where everyone’s gathered waiting for their Grandmaster to step up and speak…<—>CONTINUED<—>
<—>CONTINUED<—>Fifteen minutes go by, and in that time, a few of the knights give you looks. Some are just incidental eye contact as they pass by, some are more fraught with wonder. You suppose Alphonse isn’t the only one who recognizes you off of Milo. Finally, up to the podium steps the imposing figure. Another one that you have not seen in five years. As he scans his audience for attendance, his eyes catch yours, and you remember the prior night. He was unhappy to receive you, and you’re not sure why. It’s not your capability, you’re certain some of the squires on staff aren’t as learned as you are, behind on training manuals. No, it was something more symbolic. Metzen is a blunt sort. If you were unfit to aid his company, he’d have let you know. You suspect his grievance lies with your father. There was resentment in his eyes, even as he tried to smile at you, then.Alongside him is Alphonse, who stands further back, eyes glued to his schedule forms and notes. He scribbles something, you can tell he’s not having the greatest of times in the company of the order his master is feuding with.“Storks! Look alive!” He clasps his gauntlets together, and the staff all stand at attention. “As you know, Elmycion’s Knights’ Clash is a prestigious event. A team like ours would be happy with the honor of merely being allowed to show up, let alone be one of the sixteen orders participating…” He paces left, lifting his fist as he articulates. “But we aren’t here for honor! By our creed, honor is earned in the eyes of the common, not the noble. They have goals, WE!” He lowers his fist and scans the audience again, flashing a confident smirk. “…Have a plan.” The Storks’ fatigue is routed by their cheers. Metzen hasn’t seemed to have lost an ounce of charisma since you’ve known him. He has to cease his loyal soldiers’ applause, gesturing to quiet down with both arms as his expression returns to grim reality.“In the walls of that city, in the walls of that castle, our brother, my nephew, lies trapped by the treachery of one Gerald Hayner.” He does not include any honorific. The bastard has lost the right, as far as you’re concerned. “He’s holding Milo, a truly exemplary knight of ours, for… ransom. You all know this. But it must be reiterated. We fight for the proliferation of truth and the sacred secrets of the common being! That creed of ours is a threat to him. In his eyes, the only ones with the right to free communication are those who have bought it with a blood-soaked inheritance!”There’s more applause from the knights. You notice Alphonse adjusting his glasses, shrinking away again, like he wants to say something of this...<—>CONTINUED<—>
“We are not interested in a crumb of that social currency he’s falsely labeled “honor,” we are not here to do our best and share in some historical moment he’s wearing like a thief wears a cloak to hide his misdeeds, we are here to WIN! And we have every intention of doing so. Our wealth? Lesser than any order here. Our standing? Nonexistent. Not a single spectator gathers outside our camp to wish us luck. What we do have, is far, FAR more endurance than any poor sod wearing armor around this city. We’ve traveled the realm and back, time and again. We know how to take a hit, and we know how to give one back TWICE as hard!”Thunderous applause this time. Alphonse visibly gulps, knowing that his time has seemingly come.“But of course, we are unfortunately beholden to the tourney’s rules. Were it up to me, we’d be breaking straight into that hellhole Gerald calls a “castle” and leaving with Milo in tow immediately. So, House Hayner’s sent us a lapdog to remind us all how the week’s going to go.” Metzen steps back, and grips Alphonse by the shoulder in a fatherly way. The feline flinches, and a few in the crowd snicker with laughter as the Grandmaster pushes him forwards gently.“Y-yes, well…” His expression is calm, but he looks between the audience and his notes four or five times before continuing to speak, he is clearly nervous. “The Knights’ Clash is a full-week long and comprises of four rounds. The first round, for instance, takes place tomorrow beginning at noon. The day prior to each round, however, is where the advantaged teams are decided.” He takes another pause, like he’s skipped over a detail, and finds it. “At noon each preparation day, the Grandmasters of each remaining order will joust. The winner of the joust will decide the format and location of the main battle for the round. Once the format and locale are announced, it is prudent to take this into account when preparing.” He flips a page in his notebook. “This is a double-elimination tournament, though, the method of redemption is perhaps different than simply having a bracket for redemption. Should an order face defeat, their option for redemption is to sponsor another order, and join them in the next round. An order can decline your offer for sponsorship, and if you fail to find an order to sponsor before the next round commences, you are considered eliminated. Furthermore, if the order you sponsor faces defeat, you may not sponsor any other order. As the rounds continue, the battles become larger and larger as a result of sponsorship… The winnings after the final battle are divided by priority between the winning order and its sponsors.” Alphonse looks up from his notes, and nods at the silence that greets him. “Any questions?”<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6003641Dead silence.“Okay then…” Something in the liaison’s eyes change, barely visible behind the glare on his glasses. A spark of passion. “Your first opponents will be the Lion’s Lineage, a noble order belonging to Lord Debliec of Wymund…” He pushes up his glasses. His energy really has changed, somehow. “Fiercer opponents? Perhaps they’re no Kingsguard, but they’re perhaps unified like no other here. They’re an order comprised of fathers and sons, controversial for how young their squires start…” He smiles a little. “I wonder if you all might send them back to their wives and mothers. Crush them, or claw your way back to get your revenge, that’s the only way to advance in the Clash!” And now, it’s Alphonse who’s roused cheering from the audience. Metzen looks extremely puzzled as they both walk off the podium, off toward the eastern gate of the encampment.Alphonse now strikes you as someone who’s waited a long, LONG two years for the return of this tournament. The enemy, yes, but that passion feels like it’s spreading among the soldiers here…<—>CONTINUED<—>A hand grazes your shoulder, and you turn to meet the most gleeful expression you think you have ever seen. The otter’s nearly-revealing armor catches your eyes then after, and reminds you of the false armor that might be worn during a theatre performance of a lady-knight, certainly not an actual one. “Hey, Maile, we’ve been waiting up for you! We’re gonna be late if we don’t get moving!” She says.“What’s going to start?” You ask.“An exhibition match. Metzen signed your name on the sheet, so you’re our new number five…” Says the otter, slowly coming to a realization. “He forgot to tell you, didn’t he?” She places a hand on her temple in a facsimile of dramatic anguish. She’s still beaming, though. “What a fool, our Master… Welp!” She immediately resumes the cheerfulness from before. “I guess I can get you introduced along the way. Here’s a start, my name is Isabeau Chamblais. Tourney Group B’s one and only acrobat! Let’s hurry!” She says, beginning to walk off toward the eastern gate.>”Hang on, Group B? I’m signed up for a match? What’s happening?” Try to keep up with Isabeau, you should get to know your fellow brothers and sisters in arms.>Don’t follow. Why would you want to be a part of an exhibition match anyway? You’re here to save Milo, not put on a show for the spectators who don’t know what’s at stake. You want to go with Metzen, wherever he’s headed before the joust.
>>6003642(This update was long. It’s cut a bit weird due to me underestimating that length. Apologies.)
>>6003642>”Hang on, Group B? I’m signed up for a match? What’s happening?” Try to keep up with Isabeau, you should get to know your fellow brothers and sisters in arms.Saving Milo requires winning. That means getting along and getting good.
>>6003750Your legs push forwards to try and meet Isabeau’s rapid cadence, greaves scuffling against the dirt as you avoid fumbling over yourself walking so quickly.“Hang on! Group B? I’m signed up for a match? What’s happening?” You ask, finally matching the bubbly girl’s pace. “I’ll answer in order. The Stork’s Transmission Tourney Group B, just Group B for short, is the main performative team for tournaments.” Isabeau states. You’re not quite sure you follow. “Performative?”“Not every battle is about brawn and technique, love! ‘Times you must reorient brawn into a spectacle, and technique into a flourish! You catch the drift?”You don’t, as made clearly evident by the silence between you and her.“This is a fundraiser exhibition. A side gig, you dig?” She giggles at her own rhyme. “It’s a king of the hill format, though in this case we’ll be the kings of the canal. The arena is one of the bridges over the city’s canals, no weapons, just shove the enemy off, yeah? But ultimately, the offered prize is paltry, tickets to some exclusive club in the city, who cares? The real prize, is the gold the spectators rain down upon the performance. It’s that kind of thing!”You’re getting it now. Fundraiser. Put on a show. Grab cash. Don’t fall off a bridge into the water. “And our opponents?”“Some local gang. We’ll probably handle them easily, but we gotta have our fun to maximize the profit, so don’t go too crazy!” A local gang? You get the feeling none of the other orders are participating in these “side gigs”, the Storks must really need the funding to have a whole unit dedicated to these kinds of events at tourneys…You make it to the east gate just in time to watch Uncle Metzen and Alphonse leaving. The two sentries in charge of the morning watch pull the makeshift gate ropes as the pair mount their own horses to ride off toward the castle city in the distance. Metzen meets your gaze before setting off at a trot with the liaison in tow, and you get the strange sensation from the way he smirks at you that he had a reason for placing you onto Group B for your first assignment.That gives you a slight pause. Shouldn’t you be training or sparring with the squires and knights, instead of getting your warmup from a performative sideshow? It would make sense. Metzen doesn’t trust you. Maybe he thinks you’ve gone soft from all those years at that academy out west, maybe he just doesn’t like that Micah sent you. But your body, it feels a yearning to get in the proverbial ring and prove its worth. You and Milo must be cut from the same cloth. He may have gone on to make knighting his adolescent career, but when you were kids training intermittently you were certainly no pushover for him. It’s all coming back to you…<—CONTINUED—>
>>6003797Three other souls sit in the bed of a simple wagon, hitched to two draft horses tended to by who you’re pretty sure is one of the Storks’ stablehands, a young collie. Upon turning to greet you and Isabeau, he salutes and jumps up, swinging himself into the drivers seat as Isabeau helps you onto the bench of the wagon bed. Isabeau smiles, somehow even brighter than before, as she gestures to the others. “Our number five for this one, the Master’s niece, Maile Cecil!”Two of the three other members of Group B nod, a rabbit with a wise old gaze about him, and a terrier who seems overdressed for this particular event. The third member, the tall hulk of a capybara, looks to be asleep.“EUGENE!!!” Isabeau practically screams, pointing at the sleeping soldier.The brick wall of a knight opens just one eye, and it gazes you, up and down, slowly, taking in every possible detail. “…Hey.” Says Eugene, immediately closing the eye upon the completion of his acknowledgment.Isabeau’s smile breaks, but quickly returns. “He’s like that…” She laughs, and you take your seat.“Yes, Eugene is quite… Capable. He may not look it. But his resting is a very calculated affair.” The rabbit explains. “I’m Group B’s captain, Sullivan Wayne. You’ve already met Isabeau Chamblais, and that’s Fernand Leopauld. A strategist, an acrobat, a giant, and a costume designer. Group B’s pretty specialized.”Fernand crosses his legs as he sits, trying to look regal on the back of a crude horse-drawn wagon is a difficult task, he’s not quite pulling it off, it’s the thought that counts. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Maile. I’m dishearted that your addition was so last minute! I could’ve had a custom tabard sewn, a gift for another day perhaps…” His voice sounds posh, that northwestern Wymund dialect of the cities, you heard it a lot at the academy. He’s definitely of noble blood.“It’s okay. I’m happy to be here.” You say, and you do mean it. They seem like a nice team, and you know that you’ll need to get along to have a shot at winning. Funding will be important for the preparation phase, after all.“Donnel, any idea why we aren’t moving?”The driver, Donnel, nearly falls off the seat into the grass below trying to address Sir Wayne while also fiddling with one of the ropes attached to the horse collars. “Sorry, sorry! Marzia ran off before she finished fastening this part… here… got it!” Something clicks, and he gives the thumbs up to the sentries who once again open the gate. He gives the reins a brief snap, and the wagon begins its journey toward the looming city of Elmycion’s Castle…<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6003798The country roads are smooth for countryside standards. A testament to how much traffic they field year after year. The encampment was west of the city, in the hills, so now you manage to see many vistas of the great lake, upon which sits the castle city. You pass by comers from and goers to church mass, other knights of banners you can’t recall off the top of your head, bewitched fans of their orders following them along, and the occasional unlicensed merchant set up along the roads peddling for the coin of tourney attendees.Donnel’s work is mostly cut out for him, he calmly holds the reins and lets the horses surmise the road for themselves as the city begins to loom large overhead. “We’ll be up on the gate in ‘round ten minutes I’d say…” He surmises.“Good a time as any to brush up on strategy. Did any of you do as I asked and scout our opponents last afternoon?” Sully asks, as you all sit straight and lean in for the huddle (all except Eugene).“I was a bit busy helping the squires get the replacement banners just right. I didn’t have time to leave camp…” Fernand waves his hand, as if acting like he’s above such a task, though you can tell he’s genuinely apologetic in his tone.“Izzy?”“I’ll be real. Got caught up racing some locals instead of asking around… My bad?”“Eugene?”A faint snore. Nearly silent.“Eugene!”The one eye opens.“Just some rabblerousers…” He murmurs. “They told me they started out as an architect’s union, The Construct Guild, but now they’re more like a gang, they’re supposedly…” A yawn. “Against the tourney entirely. Say that having the final battle happen in the city is too dangerous, petitioning the lord… That… Sorta thing…” The one eye closes.Sully scratches his chin. “We gotta win big if we want the lion’s share, but…”“They’re in this for personal reasons. Since they aren’t organized into an order, this was probably the best they could land as far as tourney participation.”It’s dicey. You want to make a strong opening statement to the spectators, but you don’t want to step on the toes of a potential benefactor to the city. But those words, “gang,” “militia,” something tells you they’re not all-beneficial…You feel the need to chime in.>”Our goal should be to make it a close game, but take the victory. That sounds like the most neutral course of action without looking weak.”>”Let’s make it a close fight, then let them win and show some solidarity in the post-game. An ally in the city could be beneficial against Lord Hayner?”>”We should try to make a mockery of them. Give the folk something to talk about, our order’s name coming out of their mouths could get us a following amongst attendees.”>”Let’s be jobbers.” You put it bluntly. “We’d not get much funding, but we’d certainly find some kind of audience with this gang of theirs…”
>>6003804>>”Let’s make it a close fight, then let them win and show some solidarity in the post-game. An ally in the city could be beneficial against Lord Hayner?”
>>6003804>”Our goal should be to make it a close game, but take the victory. That sounds like the most neutral course of action without looking weak.”I'd be fine with making it a close fight and letting them win if we talked with them beforehand to come to an understanding, but without guarantees I'm not willing to look weak, even in a exhibition match that isn't part of the tourney proper.
>>6003960>>6003914(Vote is tied. Going to wait 30 minutes from the time of this post and roll to break the tie if it persists.)
>>6003960>>6003914(Rolling 1d2 as tiebreaker.)>1: close game, lose>2: close game, win
Rolled 2 (1d2)>>6004005(I forgot the die…)
>>6003960(Locking vote for close game but gunning for the win against Construct GuildWriting. Sit tight, it’s a long one.)
You briefly wonder if there’s any chance this “gang” claiming to represent the commonwealth of Elmycion are patrons of the arts, such as your father. They strike you more as laborers, but architecture can be as much an artistic endeavor as it can be a functional one. You both have a passion, and a common enemy. You figure persuading them to aid your cause, should you need aid, won’t prove difficult. But the name of the Storks is not a beloved one. You need to prove the order’s might all the same, or you’ll just look like a bunch of beggars when the time comes for aid or sponsorship.“Let’s try to keep it up as long as we can, make it seem close, maybe make it truly close if we need to. But we should try to win, in the end.” You nod. “It’s not a sure bet that we’ll even get the chance to do so, but I’m willing to give it a shot. The worst that happens is that we get the funding, but we make another minor enemy, we’re already far from the company of friends in town…”“I like the sound of that, any objections?” Sully looks to the other members.“None here, sounds good, girl! If they don’t like our style, then you know what they say, if a dirt, a dirt!” Says Isabeau. But you are not quite sure if anyone says that. Like, at all.“Lovely. Can I request to be the last one standing? One less set of gambeson to wring out…” Says Fernand.Eugene says nothing. You get the feeling that the group has determined that this response suffices as a “yes.”“Then it’s settled. Let’s do our best to play it by ear, but if I give an order, I’m technically the captain, so it’d be wise to listen…” Sir Wayne gives a quiet laugh. “We may be a strange bunch but we still technically hold a hierarchy like any good unit!”“Gates ahead! Once we’re inside, the bridge you’re looking for is on the west end of town.” Donnel calls, as the walls of the city come into full view from the ground, towering above you up close. “I’d love to come cheer, but with Marzia on the loose again, someone’s gotta watch the horses…” He seems a bit wistful at that, and you grant him a reassuring look, there may be plenty of battles to lay eyes on. He catches on, returning to a cheerful demeanor as he slows the drafts to accommodate the jam of travelers flooding the western gate…<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6004110From this angle, you can no longer make out the features of the city, and yet, the spires of the castle peak even higher than the walls. You scan the windows, they’re impossible to gauge any detail from without a scope of some kind. You feel the need to search with a different instrument, your heart.You close your eyes. Milo, where could he be? Somewhere within. Not in a cell, bless the winds. Is he watching? Will he see you fighting for him? Will he see any of the battles on this day?You open your eyes, and you’re not sure how much time has passed. Not a grand amount, but enough that the wagon has just been given the all clear to enter the city. As you pass under the gateway, the city comes into view.A small flock of anima birds, the exact species of which you aren’t certain of, livens up your exclusive view from the depths of Elmycion’s castle city. The clouds have finally made themselves apparent in the starkly blue sky. Elsewhere, you think of Milo. You wonder if these excursions with Group B were ever something he had to go through when becoming a squire with the Storks, if you’re somehow following in his footsteps. You’re honored to do so. You wish you could do so more directly, that you could be him, know where he is, understand his plight from the source of its struggle. But alas, you feel such a connection between siblings has waned with adulthood…<—><—>[MARS 21st, 1490, SUNDAY, MORNING//ELMYCION CASTLE, GUEST ROOM//MILO, FIND SOME TIME]A small flock of anima birds, the exact species of which you aren’t certain of, livens up your exclusive view over the castle city of Elmycion. The sun has risen high enough that the red corona of the early morn has given way to the beginnings of a blue sky. Elsewhere, you know there’s another flock of birds, flapping their wings to try and meet you once more. You squint, wondering if you’ll see their banner, the crest with the compass and the iconic blue stork. But you are too high up to make out the details of much save for architecture…You give a heavy sigh, and smile at your faint reflection in the window. The mess you’ve got yourself in…<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6004111Your name is Milo Cecil. Should you somehow be freed from the pseudo-captivity House Hayner has placed upon you, that would make you the heir to House Cecil. Otherwise, you’re a rather sorry sight of a not-quite-noble knight, held for ransom because someone forgot to double check the wax seal on an envelope for a harmless greeting card wishing Lord Gerald Hayner well before the Knights’ Clash. All things considered, you could’ve had your armor and title stripped, you could’ve been brutally tortured like the rumors of Lord Hayner’s dungeon masters that you’ve heard from castle staff. Instead, you’ve been enjoying nice views, enduring the occasional petty lecture from His Lordship, and dreaming of home.You’ve also spent quite some time sparring with knights of the Kingsguard, Queensguard, and Lord Hayner’s own Order of The Hallowed Hunt. It’s good to have the confidence that your skills aren’t waning, even in the solitude of some hours. Today is the opening of the Knights’ Clash. The streets are so much more vibrant than any day you’ve spent here. But a thought fills you with a slight sense of dread.Your order has come to retrieve you. That’s what Hayner said. That fills you with this dread for a number of reasons. Hayner seemed quite happy to accept their request for entry to the tournament, despite all that talk he gave of the storks being nothing more than a “lousy ring of smugglers in plate and mail.” You fear there’s the potential for treachery afoot. The Kingsguard led an investigation into the unsealed letter, and found no involvement of Lord Hayner or any of his court. Still, the thought that he may be setting the Storks up for failure weighs in the back of your mind.In the front of your mind is a thought that haunts you far more. You trust your Master, your kin, Uncle Metzen. Of course you do. But, perhaps, you rationalize, it’s not that you’re untrusting, it’s that you’re too simple to understand. The deliveries, the struggles for funding, the days of travel across Wymund and beyond, the political haggling at play… In five years, you’ve barely seen battle in your squireship with the Storks. Their cause is honorable, and yet, you pine to put your training to a use that perhaps suits you more. The pain at that last thought. You feel like a horrible traitor, but you don’t know why. What the hell would you tell Uncle? Father?…Your sister, Maile?<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6004113Suddenly comes a signal to your ears. A knocking sound against the other window on the southern end of the lavish guest room. The sound belonging to friends, and perhaps more than friends, who wish to see eachother under orders which forbid them from doing so publicly…In less poetic terms, she’s tied a pebble to a string, and is repeatedly bashing it against the window from the floor above…>Open the window and make your way to the upper floor to greet her. Shouldn’t keep a lady in waiting, well, waiting.>Wait patiently for her to climb her way down, instead. Isn’t the boy supposed to throw the stones, anyhow?
>>6004114>>Wait patiently for her to climb her way down, instead. Isn’t the boy supposed to throw the stones, anyhow?
>>6004250She continues knocking the stone gently against the glass. “What’s all that racket!?” The guardsman standing outside of the guest room bellows beyond the doorway, and she must’ve heard it too, as you see the rock tied to the pink lace suddenly get pulled back up to its origin.“A bird pecking on the window, I shooed it away already!” You lie. “Mhm, good, I don’t want any trouble from you…” He buys it.You feel like you should probably wait for her this time around. She’s made a habit of helping you visit her every day, but last you checked, it was the knight who’s supposed to be throwing the pebbles against the window, not the princess.Soon, a sturdy rope is cast from the upper floor. There’s a wide balcony below, it’s not a particularly dangerous climb, but you still wonder how this girl managed to grow without an ounce of a fear of heights. How young was she pulling stunts like this?And then, she descends, and you see the face of your main benefactor.Elyanora Hayner is a far cry from her father. Kind, gentle, and willing to understand your simplicity. She’s been visiting you at least once a day for almost your entire stay. You’ve become good friends. But it’s been a week since you last saw her beyond incidental looks from across rooms. The last time you spoke, she made you a promise:“I’m going to take you across the city, I know the best spots to watch the tourney from, you simply can’t miss it, Sir Cecil! Simply can’t!”You know she’s a fan of reading fairytale novels and birdwatching. She keeps a journal, that you’ve been playfully reprimanded for attempting to peek into. She’s one year younger than you, twenty-three years old. She has never left the borders of her father’s regional holdings. She believes that fae and holy magic are real. You have not had the gall asked if she believes that dragons and black magic are, too. You can’t help but get the feeling the act of innocence is hiding something more, the sadness in her eyes when she speaks of your situation, she has contemplated the deeds of her bloodline for quite some time, it seems.You put a finger to your lips to warn her to be quiet, pointing to the door to signal that a guardsman is standing outside of it this day. She nods, and undoes the window latch slowly, pushing the dual glass windows inward and pulling herself through into your domain.Once safely inside, she greets you, as always, with a small and graceful bow that you return not-so-gracefully. Then, she turns and gently closes shut the window…<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6004409There’s an awkward silence as the two of you stare and smile.Then, Nora punches you in the arm. Not very hard, bless her soul, but enough to let you know you’ve done something wrong.“Why didn’t you climb up?” She whispers. “Would you rather be whispering here with that dolt of a guard outside, instead of just being able to speak freely upstairs?”“Er- I…” You begin, an embarrassed blush rising to your cheeks. “In more normal circumstances, I’d be the one throwing pebbles at your window, my lady…”“Bad answer…” She stifles a giggle. “Come on, I know you’re apprehensive about the Storks being here, but I promise you, leaving this place the end of this week or not, you simply must see the tournament. It’s a spectacle I’ve always cherished. Father’s going to be tied up with the Grandmasters’ breakfast and the subsequent joust. I can finally show you around the city…”“Just one problem, how are we getting out of the castle? They’ve got a guard on my door, and assisted security from the royal orders…” You ask.“You worry too much…”“You think too little.” You jab back, grinning to let her know you don’t mean it.“This time, I thought of everything, promise.” She retorts, producing a large bag from behind her back and placing it on the bed.She produces two articles of clothing from within it. One, a tabard with the crest of House Hayner’s noble order, a hood sewn around its neck to allow further shrouding of identity. The other, a sturdy looking bascinet with a slim visor.“Get your armor on, Milo. We’re going to walk out through the front. Nice and easy…” Says Elyanora, with a confidence you’ve come to know as a sign that today will be a good day.You think of where you want to be taken first…>You’ve not had anything to eat yet. Lord Hayner made it clear the night prior that you’d be stuck in this room for the duration of the Grandmasters’ breakfast. Ask Nora to take you to the best breakfast in town.>You’ve gazed long enough at these canals to know the romance people see in them. Request of Nora to secure a boat to row through the canals, you want to see the city from below, further below than the pedestrians merely walking.>You can see various points of interest, audiences piling up for exhibition matches and other sideshows. You want to waste no time, and get to spectating the tourney proper.>Perhaps you and Nora could just, spend some quiet time together in the guest room above. It’s been a while since you two lied down together, watching the clouds through that room’s skylight.
>You can see various points of interest, audiences piling up for exhibition matches and other sideshows. You want to waste no time, and get to spectating the tourney proper.Maybe we’ll run into our fellows?
>>6004597You recognize from way up watching the streets the major data points of the city. You’ve always called yourself simple minded, but it seems in your boredom you did end up grasping such a concept as population density. People are congregating around various points of the city to spectate and engage in tournament side-venues, an appetizer to tomorrow’s events. You also spy a number of moving specs along the rooftops, near the city square punctuated by the Saint Hendricks Cathedral. Mass has just ended, and the square has been closed as they ready it for the Grandmasters’ joust to take place at high noon. You need considerable status or a ticket to get an actual audience seat to the joust, Nora told you that once, but she also told you that the best seats in the city were not the crowded stands or even the boxes designated for attendees of importance. The best viewing angle with the least amount of surrounding chaos is the rooftops. You watch some of the rooftop specs begin pursuing another pair of them, until they disappear into the streets below, becoming indistinguishable from the rest of the rabble. Perhaps those were guards of the city, chasing away would-be freeloaders.You glance up at Nora, who seemed to be watching the same thing. She sighs with a hint of sarcasm. “Those fools, you can’t set up just anywhere… I know places with the perfect views of all the tourney’s best events… Sir Milo? Won’t you let me show them to you?”“Of course, Lady Hayner. Let’s get moving, but first…” You turn toward the door and give a shrill whistle.“What? What the hell is it!? Didn’t I tell you to shut up back there?” The guard once again barks. “Just letting you know, I’m going to be taking a nap. Wake me at your own peril.” You feign a yawn.“Like I care! Did you really have to alert me for that? You may have a guest room but that doesn’t mean you’re a guest!”“Just wanted to continue complying with his Lordship’s humble expectations, I don’t want to keep any of you in the dark…” You briefly glance at Nora, who looks like she’s about to crack up.“Whatever! Sleep well, I guess…” The guard huffs.Good. You figure that will sway him from making any major checks on you. “We’ll just have to slip back in right before the joust is finished…” She whispers.You slowly wheel the window back open and gesture to it. “Go, Nora. I’ll get the armor on and meet you outside the upper floor guest room.”She steps up to the frame and suddenly clutches one of your hands in both of hers. You raise an eyebrow.“Don’t think twice, okay?”You blink. She’s looking expectantly. “I won’t.” You say. But you’re not sure you mean it, yet.With that, she smiles, and ascends back up the rope as you quietly begin to don your mail and plate, along with the tabard and bascinet Nora granted you.You wonder what awaits you outside these walls…<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6004667[MARS 21st, 1490, SUNDAY, MORNING//ELMYCION CASTLE, OBSERVATION HALL//METZEN, GRANDMASTERS’ BREAKFAST]You wonder what awaits you beyond these doors…The foyer leading to the observation hall is adorned with lesser pieces from House Hayner’s collection of art. You come to understand, from the plaques of each, that none of these pieces originate from within Elmycion. For Elmycion, is a city of spolia.Spolia. The taking of pieces from an olden structure to aid in the construction of a new one. The word has a much different meaning than something like “recycle.” To use recycled material is to use the broken down foundation of something, a redundant support beam or brick perhaps, and utilize it with full efficiency for the construction of something new. To use spoliated material is to use the architectural hallmarks of a historical moment, an arch of an emperor you’ve overthrown perhaps, and display it with full intent to evoke the memory or idea in your new project. It’s not a practice native to Wymund, the late rulers of the old and long dead Kyran Empire were the originators. But it’s one that Lord Hayner has taken a shining to. The clashing opulence and lack of a single discernible philosophy that binds these works together pisses you off. It reminds you of your father, and a section of your mind awakened by the return of your niece pipes up suddenly: it reminds you of Micah. You know the thought is completely unfair, petty even. You push it back down to silence. But you won’t forget thinking it.Your name is Metzen Cecil. You are not the heir to House Cecil. You do not want to be the heir to House Cecil. Even if every other surviving member of the bloodline were to disappear, you wouldn’t dare sit upon the throne of any manor, let alone a castle or palace. You’re no child, you’re rugged, strong, true, you see things as they are and you have no desire to enter any sort of political ring. You’d only be hurting people you can’t even see. Leading a fraternal order is the way for you. A just cause, a life on the run from who-knows-what, and none of the cognitive dissonance that comes with the machine of court.And yet, you’re walking into a proverbial lion’s den of silver tongues and snake’s eyes. You’re way out of your goddamn element. But you try your best to keep a neutral expression anyways. You’re going to ask Gerald straight up. You want Milo returned to the Storks. And if he says no? You’ll fucking deal with it. Give ‘em steel, or get to stealing…<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6004749“Sir?” Asks the boy. Alfredo, or something, you’ve forgotten the name again. You don’t make a habit of remembering names of people you don’t like. You remember the names of all of your Storks. You remember the name Gerald Hayner because he spent a great deal of money and favor to the royal court to make sure you remembered it. You’d like to get this over with and not have to think about that smug fucking bastard anymore.“Sir, you seem troubled. Shall we go inside? Some merriment for your worries?” He asks again.“That’s exactly what I don’t want to do…” You hang with your mouth open, you felt cool not remembering the liaison’s name, now you kind of feel like an asshole. “Alphonse.”“Ah, yes, that’s exactly what I don’t want to do, Alphonse. But I suppose enough’s enough…”Alphonse smiles, with that same “how did I do?” sort of expression he wore after his puzzling little demonstration at your encampment. Maybe, he’s not so bad. “After, you, Sir Metzen.” He then turns and pulls open one of the two double doors, gesturing for you to enter.You scan the observation hall. It’s about three-quarters size of a typical ballroom. Along the southern and eastern walls are large glass windows, unadorned with any decorative flourishes and shined for visibility. It’s not the highest view of the city, but it’s the widest.Your eyes lock with the Dane sitting with his wife (presumably, scandal does love to find Lord Hayner) at the table nearest the eastern observation platform. He smirks, you scowl, and then you both disengage. The exchange lasted maybe one second, if not less. Shit. No way to blindside him anymore.Social engineering isn’t exactly going to fly here. All these Grandmasters are at least vaguely familiar with you and your order. You won’t be defying any expectations, but maybe you can walk away with at least a vague imitation of cordial companionship with some of them…How should you lead this off?>Stand off to the side to begin with, and converse some with Alphonse. Maybe he knows what‘s up, despite lacking status.>You spy the Grandmaster of the Lion’s Lineage. You should go say hello to the guy you’re going to defeat at the joust.>Go right up to Gerald. You don’t have time for this mingling shit. He already knows you’re here, and that you’re late. Don’t give him the satisfaction.
>>6004786>Stand off to the side to begin with, and converse some with Alphonse. Maybe he knows what‘s up, despite lacking status.
>>6004794(Locking in vote for speaking with Alphonse some. I’ll get to writing in an hour, gotta stave off this headache.)(Just a quick announcement. I’ve run the numbers. I’ve grossly underestimated the length of this. Consider the status of this quest as a oneshot VERY tentative. I suspect there will be at least one if not two more threads after this.)
>>6004794You step to an empty end of the room, swiping a glass of what you’re pretty sure is wine and a croissant plate from one of the the breakfast carts, muttering a low “Yes, thank you kindly.” to the castle staff member tending it.You can’t just walk straight up to people at a time like this. You need to act natural! Start by “graciously” engaging your team’s liaison in conversation…Alphonse nervously gazes around as you lead him aside. You give him a puzzled look, and try that trademark smirk of yours to get him to open up. “Come now, boy. You know my grudge lies with ol’ Gerald, nothing to do with you.”“Your niece, Lady Maile… She seemed to suggest otherwise.” He states in a whisper, as if she’s still somehow watching. “I know of your… Mission, sir. I can’t legally grant much information regarding Milo’s detention here, but…”Your smile falters. Why’s he so intimate with all of this? “But what?”“I think it makes a riveting story, is all.” Alphonse cracks. “There’s a certain storybook heroism to it. I’m not sure if anyone else feels it, yet, but I do.” He has this look on his face, like he’s sorry for the actions of his liege. But in his eyes, the wonder of a child being read the tales of the first Kingsguard.What a peculiar boy…>Ask the liaison about his strange glasses. They’ve been bugging you since he arrived.>Ask Alphonse about his outcry at the encampment. What’s got him so passionate?>Ask Alphonse for dirt on any of the other teams, or maybe he has something on Hayner… [3d100 40DC: Base 50 - 20 (Legal obligation to Lord Hayner) + 10 (Maile seemed to put some fear into him…)]>Ask Alphonse about Milo’s whereabouts. Maybe he knows something? [3d100 70DC: Base 50 + 10 (Maile seemed to put some fear into him…) + 10 (Alphonse is apologetic.)]>Write-in.
>>6006076>Ask Alphonse for dirt on any of the other teams, or maybe he has something on Hayner… [3d100 40DC: Base 50 - 20 (Legal obligation to Lord Hayner) + 10 (Maile seemed to put some fear into him…)]>Ask the liaison about his strange glasses. They’ve been bugging you since he arrived.
>>6006076(Apologies for the wait on this one. Had trouble breaking that headache, decided to sleep on it. Small family errand across town caught my attention this morning into the early afternoon. Nonetheless, we press on. If anything else comes up, I’ll state before the fact rather than after. As for the vote, we’re getting into mechanics. It’s a roll-under system. Modifiers may be based on traits or previous narrative choices. There’s a failure/success rating up to 3, depending on how many of the dice roll under. Rolls will be called for from players rolling 1d100, the first three will be the ones that count. Any critical failures (100) or critical successes (1) will override all other rolls and count as complete success or failure. If you have any questions, feel free to ask.)
>>6006084+1
>>6006084>>6006200(Locking the vote in favor of asking first about Alphonse’s glasses, and then attempting to get dirt on the other grandmasters or Gerald. I’ll write the first bit, then we’ll do some rolling. Writing.)
>>6006200>>6006084You take a gander into the eyes of the liaison. You? A storybook hero? You’d like to try those glasses on, you suspect the rose tint of the lenses is quite thickly lain. The words leave you conflicted. He’s trivialized your order’s plight, but has revered it all the same. Perhaps he’s caught in that conflict often?You squint. Those frames are strangely cut. It’s not just your imagination, is it? Rather than the circular frames of reading specs you’d normally see, they have this odd shape. As if the field of vision is maximized to reach the pinnacle ratio of style-to-sight. They also seem a tad bit too big for him, he’s adjusting them, constantly. You don’t lean in, you still need to sell this as a regular conversation to anyone who might still be watching you. You further strain your aging eyes. You make out text on one of the rims: “J.F. REY - Time is no border.” Some pretentious designer tag…You want to ask about the other Grandmasters, or about Hayner, but the ice is not quite broken, and you’re about to take a hammer to it.>”Where’d you pick up such odd-looking frames?” You don’t like them. You’re not stupid, this boy is in the pocket of those your order works to undermine. The noble tells the story of the soldier, and those glasses can only see the story… [Keep Alphonse on his toes. True allies don’t deal in “legal obligations.”]>”Wearable art?” You smile. The boy’s experimental, he wants to see new stories, not the spoliated corpses of old ones. (Somewhere, way down south, a brother patriarch feels a shiver down his tail. He examines his reading glasses. A breakthrough…) [Show Alphonse you might be the hero he’s looking for. Maile got her hotheadedness from you, maybe it’s time you owned up for such a mistake?](QM’s note, bracket text signifies that an option may factor into future roll decisions.)
>>6006364>”Wearable art?” You smile. The boy’s experimental, he wants to see new stories, not the spoliated corpses of old ones. (Somewhere, way down south, a brother patriarch feels a shiver down his tail. He examines his reading glasses. A breakthrough…) [Show Alphonse you might be the hero he’s looking for. Maile got her hotheadedness from you, maybe it’s time you owned up for such a mistake?]
>>6006393>>6006431(Locking in vote for playing the hero. Writing.)
>>6006431>>6006393“Wearable art?” It’s like nothing you’ve ever seen. It’s still way too gaudy for your tastes, and even the thought makes you feel too gaudy for having some kind of artistic opinion at all. But it’s unique. “You grew up here, in Elmycion, am I right?” You chuckle.He nods. “Yes, sir. How’d you catch on, exactly?”“You give far more of a shit about this tournament than I think most people would, boy.”“Indeed. This is my first time serving as liaison. It wasn’t easy getting promoted… As for these?” He takes the glasses off. “I was born with nearsightedness. These have been with me for quite some time. Back when I thought being a street rat was rad, I found them in some part of the catacombs, the drained portion of the canals… I’ve never traveled out of the city, but nobody’s ever heard of the designer, so I’d have to imagine it was custom. They were missing lenses, I spent quite the amount of pocket change to get ones fitted for them. They’re comfortable enough to wear full-time, but doing so comes with the occasional “four eyes” insult…” He tilts his head to the side and puts the pair back on. “See?”The lenses refract their image, seemingly duplicating his eyes. You nod, trying not to laugh, and failing. Thankfully, you’ve got the kind of hearty laugh that makes drunkards want to stay just a little more sober, so they might actually remember the story you were telling. “Pretty neat party trick, kid!”“Ah, so I’m “kid” now?” Alphonse grins. “Promoted from boy to kid. What an honor…” He jokes.<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6006492[MARS 21st, 1490, SUNDAY, MORNING//GILLIAN’S LANDING, CECIL MANOR//MICAH, RECEIVE SIGNAL]You feel it. A sensation you’ve not felt in what seems like ages. First, your heart begins to beat faster in your chest. Then, it seems to stop beating for a brief moment before resuming its usual cadence. Then, the gentle shaking felt in your spine, traveling down further and further, your tail stands straight up involuntarily, fraying itself, like an anima prey when meeting the eyes of a predator. You gently pull your reading glasses from your eyes, the sensation having completely interrupted your fifth for-the-lifetime reading of “Archetypum Quartet.”Why must these horrid things be so confined to a pouch or a satchel? Or carelessly draped around the neck like a not nearly as graceful amulet? The realm is becoming more and more literate, every moment since the advent of the printing press in 1418. Words, written on paper by adept hands or slathered on walls by new thinkers, you never know when you’ll need to make them out from the blur that comes with age when the future arrives… If you were to widen the viewing angle, and round off the design of the rims, why, you wager you could wear these infernal things for a whole day…It’s been forever since you last sketched, but now, yes, now, it’s time.Your excitement at the thought is underscored by dread you’ve long prepared for. Just when you were letting your guard down, it’s all coming back. This time. You want to understand. But the question is, can your body handle the signals like it used to? Or will your heart stop just one beat too long…?<—>CONTINUED<—>[MARS 21st, 1490, SUNDAY, MORNING//ELMYCION CASTLE, OBSERVATION HALL//METZEN, GRANDMASTERS’ BREAKFAST]You get the feeling Alphonse has become less anxious around you. Hopefully he’ll be less anxious around Maile, too, or perhaps he’ll continue avoiding her.Maybe it’s time to ask something more… Pertinent? Get down to business? You need to word this just right…[Persuasion Attempt: Alphonse]>Base DC: 60 (Higher social standing, determined that Alphonse is of common blood.)>Alphonse sees you as a hero. +15>Alphonse is legally obligated as liaison to House Hayner not to sow rumor of the tourneygoers. -20>55 DCCrit Failure: You spur for information too hard. Alphonse sees the heroic act as nothing more than a grift.0 Success: The kid doesn’t budge. Fat chance, anyhow.1 Success: Alphonse speaks of the current standings of each order, garnered from word of mouth.2 Success: Alphonse clues you in on what he overheard from another liaison regarding a rumor about the Grandmaster of the Lion’s Lineage order and the coming joust…3 Success: Alphonse can’t talk anything concrete of Hayner, but tells you something interesting about Milo with regard to Lord Hayner.Crit Success: Alphonse tells you something *scandalous* he claims to have witnessed of Lord Hayner…
Rolled 39 (1d100)>>6006494Ah, a ForgottenQM dice enjoyer.
>>6006494
Rolled 70 (1d100)>>6006494
>>6006494(Good morning. Going to make this post a last call for rolls, lasting one hour. If we can’t get a third player dice, I’ll roll it myself. In the future, to avoid heavy downtime, I’ll likely just roll the dice on my own, until I’ve got a more consistently higher playercount.)
Rolled 80 (1d100)>>6006494
>>6006738>>6006519>>6006499>1 Success: Alphonse speaks of the current standings of each order, garnered from word of mouth.(Writing!)
“Tell me about Hayner, kid. His order’s in the tourney, but his house is half of the oversight committee. Sounds like a raw deal for everyone else. There must be something you can say…” You ask. As usual, you’re blunt with the questioning. Alphonse gives you a look, and you know he’s not going to budge…“I can’t divulge anything relating to the Hallowed Hunt or House Hayner with respect to tournament operations. Rest assured, this legal obligation is for your benefit, it’s to avoid the collusion you’re fearing, not feed into it. The royal guards are also acting independently in oversight, they all keep eachother in check.” He says, cordially. You’re about to roll your eyes in defeat, but then, that spark in his eyes seems to appear once again. He lowers his head. “But, for the record, while I have a legal obligation to House Hayner, I have an obligation to you as well. Strategy, goings-on, I’m not allowed to relay anything unofficial about the Storks. However…” He pushes up his glasses. “It may be prudent to release some details, not now, but after the first round. Build a “narrative”, fuel that story. I can tell you with certainty. You’re unknown to almost everyone attending. Even the majority of the orders think the Storks are meant to fail, to spice up the first round by giving their opponent a big win early. Having no reputation can prove worse than having a bad reputation in this battlefield. There’s rivalries, and most of these rival match-ups are saved for the second and third rounds. As they say, the enemy of my enemy is my friend. If you make an enemy, you can have a friend, here.”Kid sure knows how to get your attention. “And what of these narratives? Do you have an opinion?” You emphasize the wording of opinion. He nods, understanding.“Your first opponents are favorites to win, as are Hayner’s Hunters.”“What about the royal orders?”“They never win. Popular sentiment always wants them to fight eachother. The Kingsguard and the Queensguard, bitter rivals, what a show! It’s always the rival battle of the first round, and the losers never attempt a sponsorship, could you imagine? A royal order sponsoring beneath a noble one? They’ve got too much pride for that. Someone always picks off the straggler. They’re formidable orders, but nobody ever has them down to win.”“What makes Hayner so favored?”“Nothing. He owns the city, I see the sentiment regarding him as the product of, well, a narrative he himself built. He’s been the house’s patriarch for some thirty years now. I know this sentiment well. Sometimes the Hunt performs well enough to win, and the story is that it’s the ethics of how he’s ruled his claim. Often, they lose, and the narrative becomes that his opponents were desperate and dishonorable. See? With the power of a lord and a repeatedly insistent narrative, it’s like you can never lose!”<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6006499>>6006519>>6006738You laugh, but it’s not as confident as before. “Unfortunately, this isn’t about honor and standing for us. We do have something to lose, and no narrative can reclaim it if we don’t get a victory here and now. Tell me who else I’m up against.”“Right, where to begin…” Alphonse gazes up, determining the best way to divulge the information. “The remaining orders. Let’s start with your opponent. The Lion’s Lineage.” Alphonse points to a figure sitting stoically at a table near the center, surrounded by knights of the same banner. Looks like you’re not the only one who can’t socialize with these nobles. “The oldest surviving noble order of Wymund. They’re strict and disciplined, and until now have never had much interest in the Knights’ Clash. They’re fearsome opponents, though, their squires may not look like it… That’s the point of contention. They’ve been at odds with every new king and queen for quite a few generations over the issue of their code. Sons of the order are squires of the order, from the age they can stand steady and hold a blade. Some say their historical significance is the only thing keeping them from being degraded entirely and outlawed. They’ve participated in two Clashes, and won both.”“Why’s an order of such high esteem granted runts like us on round one?” You ask, not meaning any offense to your own order.“I don’t know, and cannot say the inner workings of how the brackets are formed. Ironically, it seems both of your orders are tied up with family matters. Rumor among attendees? Sir Yvaine is looking to step down as Grandmaster soon, but the race for succession is tense.”You nod. You’ve always heard rumblings of the Lineage, even growing up. That every son is a squire under his father. There was always something sinister about that motto.<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6006826“The Librarium. An order of scholars.” He points a lady out of the crowd, speaking with what look to be some young nobles, students, perhaps. “Lady Frye’s noble order. In a way, they’re here to secure funding for a ransom of sorts too. Months ago, they failed to secure funds to purchase a set of crusade-era journals from one of the olden holy orders. The Wings of the Gale Church want an exorbitant amount for the right to print new copies.”You nod. A bunch of academy stiffs in platemail, fancying themselves knights. “An interesting cause, but they could do with a little bending of the rules from time to time…”Alphonse doesn’t comment. “Their first round opponents are the foreign order invite of this Clash. The Valkyries of Celand.”Celand, a province of the Yoril Isles southwest of Wymund. Once barbaric tribes who learned a thing or two serving Wymund’s lords in those infernal civil wars. When they returned home, they got to building keeps and fancying themselves kings.“An order of exclusively female combatants… I don’t see any of them here. No clue why. I hope they aren’t late for the joust…” Alphonse takes a sip of his tea and readies to continue.<—>CONTINUED<—>
>>6006838“The Hunt’s first round opponents are the Dragoons of The Flame. There’s not much particularly notable about them, they’re… Eccentric.” He points to a cadre of knights in armor adorned with the motifs of dragon wings and heads. The tops and sides of their helmets, the pommels of their sideswords. Not even Group B would commit this hard to a motif. “They’re the noble order of House Orville. But every so often, Lord Walter catches wind of a sighted dragon, and his knights will march a tear across Wymund. They always bid to compete in the Clash, of course, they believe a dragon really was slain centuries ago within this city, before the founding of Wymund. They don’t have any major rivalries, except perhaps an implied rivalry with the Librarium, over the proliferation of false information. It’s not so serious, many Dragonets are scholars too, more dreamy-eyed perhaps…”“You believe in dragons, kid?” You prod. He looks away with some small embarrassment. “Believe? No. Wish to believe? Certainly. Let’s move on… One rivalry that will definitely come to light in a later round is the rivalry between the Riders of Red and Gallants of Green. Lady Addison’s Riders, Lord Andre’s Gallants. Siblings, twins at that, and due to lost knowledge of their exact times of birth, they both received the honor of founding a noble order unimpeded. Most people see it as a childish struggle between the two, one that will probably never until one of them is named the true heir to House Erican. Who else…” Alphonse taps his foot.“I think that’s more than enough. I get what you’re saying, kid.” You interrupt. “Everyone here’s got their “story” to accompany them. We should own ours. That’s a good idea.”“Thank you, Sir. Yes, you have a real stake in this fight. I think that can be a blessing and a curse… Make sure it’s the former more than the latter.”“I’ll keep it in mind…” You say, finally looking over your shoulder…<—>CONTINUED<—>Another engagement. A surprise assault. Gerald Hayner is already looking straight at you. Now or never, you guess.“Alphonse, please excuse me, I’m off to go speak with Lord Hayner…”“Of course, Sir. Meet me at the door when we’re all excused to make ready for the joust.” Alphonse gives a small salute, and you return it.You wheel around and take confident strides toward the antagonist of your story.>”Hayner, you son of a bitch!” [Get the attention of everyone. Milo is a line in the sand, and you need to know which side these Grandmasters may be on.]>”Lord Hayner, a word, if you may?” [You’re representing House Cecil. You shouldn’t cause a scene here. BE. COOL.]>Say nothing. Continue “the engagement.” Who’s the more charismatic knight? Who’s winning in “the narrative?” [3d100 50DC: Base 40DC + 5 (Made a good impression on liaison) + 5 (Scrutinized Alphonse’s eyeline)]
>>6006868>Say nothing. Continue “the engagement.” Who’s the more charismatic knight? Who’s winning in “the narrative?” [3d100 50DC: Base 40DC + 5 (Made a good impression on liaison) + 5 (Scrutinized Alphonse’s eyeline)]
>>6006972(Locking vote for attempting to win “the engagement.” Writing. As a reminder, I’m going to end up rolling the dice for that check, to save us time.)
>>6007025>>6006972(Update, unexpectedly busy day at work. The new post will arrive in a few more hours. Apologies for the wait.)
