Turn 4 Results
September, 1032 DR
The Sav Altulas Standard
The Most Impartial Monopoly You'll Ever See
Sponsored by the Bookbinder's Guild
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What follows is the month's contents of the Standard, summarized in reports on your desk, with occasional excerpts included for context.
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Mercantile's Guild guardsmen have been patrolling Imperial trade routes through the Shattered Lands, keeping the worst of the bandit raids off of the caravans. It is said that while doing so they found signs of Skeeve Redeye's work, disturbingly close to Sav Altulas.
A massive crackdown on smuggling across Traitor's Bridge has left many smugglers looking for other, safer options.
The Fist of Neposh continued its fight against the Esoteric Order of Uncorrupted Designs, this month supported by the Ram's Republican Army. Despite having a significant numerical advantage, the combined efforts of the Fist and the Rams did not gain any significant ground against the machine-cult in Lead Ferrow.
Order of the Wren foot soldiers are now patrolling the streets of All Gods' Hollow, with the blessing of the Hollow Militia. It is known that they do not go out onto the streets in groups of less than three. Rumors abound that they have brought in Doctor Vassari to examine something that they found in the Hollow.
The Provisional Council, led by the EBSA, has begin clearing the remains of Desoui's enchantments from the Palace.
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Excerpt from the Standard
Into the Lair of the Sorceress!
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The EBSA has scrounged up some former palace servants to act as guides for the Council’s expedition, in the hopes that they will, perhaps, be better able to recognize patterns in the now-shifting nature of the structure. At the very least, the theory goes, they might be able to spot the more dangerous enchantments coming and warn those that they are with about them. The former servants are understandably nervous about going back into the Palace—most of them barely escaped with their lives and sanity intact in the first place—but they are also entirely willing to help get the place back to normal as soon as possible, though they do have a tendency to laugh bitterly when anyone suggests that the process will be at all easy.
The troubles start as soon as the party passes the threshold of the main gate. The gatehouse, which from the outside appeared to be no more than ten meters in length, takes the Council team a full two days to fail at getting through. The wide path beneath the portcullis and between the massive doors simply extends on, seemingly forever as they at first stride confidently, then march, then stumble through it. Finally, after nearly running out of food, they turn back, and exit the gatehouse after a bare handful of steps, stumbling out into the light approximately (according to the guards at the checkpoint there) ten minutes after they had left.
After day to recuperate, a second attempt is launched, this time with the mages carefully smoothing out reality as the party advances. It is surprisingly rough going, with the magic being used to restore the gatehouse to the usual flow of time interacting with the decaying defenses on the entryway in strange and very often dangerous ways. The walls close in suddenly, throwing people together; the floor jumps up a violent and abrupt foot; the portcullis begins to sing depressing folk songs.
Once clear of the still-unstable gatehouse, the Council team finds itself in Regency Courtyard immediately beyond. Careful observation of their surroundings reveals that the sun is traveling backwards across the sky, and that the hellish light emanating from the well in the corner may, in fact, actually be coming from Hell. General Krodok and Ser Wallenstein meet the first wave of demons head-on, giving the mages enough time to seal the portal. During this fight the location of Regency Courtyard shifts three times, twice to various points along the outer wall and once to the exact center of the Palace, where Desoui’s private garden usually resides. The courtyard itself seems to be holding together in one piece, however, and as such it is deemed suitable for a base camp. During the night the seal on the well-portal is breached from the other side; the second wave of demons is fought off mostly through luck, as Regency Courtyard shifts position back to its normal state in front of the Gate of Nine Crowns, leaving the demons stranded somewhere on the other side of the complex.
The next few weeks are spent solidifying the connection between the gate and the courtyard beyond, to stop the base camp from randomly skipping throughout the rest of the Palace. The mages describe working with the decaying enchantments to be akin to trying to hold back a poisoned waterfall; relentless, always pushing with enormous pressure, killing you by inches by the mere act of passing over your skin. They work day and night and during times that have no meaning outside the palace grounds, channeling incomprehensible energies and bargaining away years of their lives to mysterious creatures, slaving away under sun and moon and strange stars that burn with light darker than soot. The work leaves them exhausted and spent, but by the end of the month they have purged the wild magic from the gatehouse and the courtyard, giving the Council a path straight into the Palace grounds.
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Thanks to a relentless campaign of public works, those areas of Runner's City controlled by the Ram Revolution are now markedly better than the rest of the lower city.
The Technists Guild wins the football tournament organized by the Blackfist, and takes home both the trophy and the fame of victory.
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Excerpt from the Standard
The Blood Games Begin Anew!
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Welcome ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, to the game of the century! This is the final match of the Blackfist Football Tournament, and as such excitement is running at a fever pitch! On my right we have the team from the Technists Guild, who have thus far won every game they have come to with military precision! One might almost say that they play every match like clockwork! This team is a well-oiled machine, ready and willing to play in the finals today!
On my left we have the Guild's opponent today, the boys and girls from Annosus, sponsored by the Empty Blood gang! Thus far they too have not lost a single match, and, in fact, have been the only ones to survive every game they've played in! Give them a warm round of applause, everybody, as I'm told they've been taking down the names of everyone who doesn't!
And here we have the referee meeting the team captains in the center of the field, for one last going-over of the rules. These are very simple, everyone! No magic, no weird devices, no animals, no blades longer than six inches--
The Empty Blood team captain is making a move, ladies and gentlemen! It looks like...
And the ref goes down! That seems to have been the signal for the game to start, as I'm seeing both teams moving down the field towards each other now...
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Those prisoners that the Blackfist have deemed to be real criminals and not just political agitators or petty thieves have been given a choice: exile outside of the city, or remaining in prison. Very few chose to remain in Gatehouse Prison.
A new advertising campaign designed by the Heladuits and paid for by Doctor Vassari and the Peacocks is attracting many more visitors to the Triphage Untima. Painted Court, Elfwatch and Little Zanchar are quickly becoming the vice centers of the city.
It is well-known in the criminal fraternity that Bloodhaven Hospital has a good supply of morphine.
The Vilenus Tong has been absolutely crushed by the combined forces of House Laurier, the Champions of Sovereignty and the Militia of Order and Justice. The overwhelming nature of the victory has added to the already-impressive reputation of those factions.
It is well-known that the merchants and factors of Sellscroll's Maze now work for House Laurier.
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Excerpt from the Standard
Arcane Mysteries Await!
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Incense drifts through the air from bowls of jade and silver mounted in skeletal claws. The woman looming tall above the table wears an ornate robe, hood thrown carelessly back and sleeves rolled up in a businesslike fashion. On the table before her are the basic instruments of the magician’s trade; scrying bowl, a pair of wands, mortar, pestle, and a handful of mysterious and strange substances. On the wall behind her, carefully framed in brass and covered in glass, is a paper bearing the seal of the University Arcana, words written in shimmering ink proclaiming her to be a master magi of the third order.
She scowls at the interruption as you knock on the door. “What?” she snaps out, not moving from the table. “Come back later. I’m busy.”
Arcanan Contact discovered in Sellscroll's Maze.
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House Laurier now controls the entirety of the Lomb Circle district, and as such gains the district Influence bonus.
The Drovers Associations of Stockyards North consider themselves to be in debt to the Champions of Sovereignty, and are repaying that debt with prime beefstock.
New chapels dedicated to Neposh have been built in Annosus and Dozen Dancers.
It is known that the Church of Neposh has in its possession a powerful magic sword.
The Lodstrom Party is gaining influence and support among the nobility and middle classes.
Warden troops have moved into Orange Crown and Dragonhead, intent on clearing out the painted elf gangs and the Hath Poisoner's Society, respectively.
Gerald Neilson, executive assistant to Lucas Deplorian, has moved Deplorian's shipping operations from White Market to Little Zanchar. This has had less of an impact on White Market than it might otherwise have, thanks to an influx of Warden coin to take up the slack and attract other Verdan mercantile concerns.
Without investment and calming words from the Wardens, the situation in White Market could have had the potential to be very bad. As is, quite a few more locals than usual are unemployed as they are no longer needed to work Deplorian’s warehouses, but the Wardens’ coin is attracting others from Verdan to fill the gap—notably Kerriglass Messenger and Delivery, the Illum West Trading Company and one of Deplorian’s main rivals, Arthis MecLochire.
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Excerpt from the Standard
What Cunning Devices Are These?
Spoiler
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The equipment on sale here can barely be contained within the shop, and is mostly displayed under expansive awnings that crowd the street outside. Rickety engines, goggles of all kinds, respirators in both the Grey City and Verdan styles, and strange winged contraptions of dubious effectiveness jockey for space in front of the grinning, grease-stained man selling them. Each device bears its maker’s mark somewhere subtle, telling all the world which of the mad factions of Verdan created it. Here is Deplorian’s stylized half-gear, right next to the rising sun of the Ascension Monks, piled on top of MecLochire’s bear head and Gibbons triple claw and Elliphas’ circled E and dozens, if not hundreds of others. It is all, for the most part, trash, failed experiments or knock-offs of sparks of genius that are so commonplace now as to be considered mundane. Deeper in the shop, in a back room glowing with wards that threaten to strip the marrow from your bones if you put a foot down wrong, is the good stuff. The merchant shows it to you willingly, knowing who you are and who you are buying for. Here are emberlock guns emblazoned with gold and silver; here are Verdan cussor bombs, held suspended in casks of some strange gelatin in the hopes of absorbing the force if they detonate prematurely; here are clockwork birds and arcane locks and other, wilder things pulled straight from the fevered dreams of the tinker-mages and sold to anyone willing to buy. This, the merchant says with quiet pride, is Veras. This, here, is Verdan.
Verdan Contact discovered in White Market.
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The Ansigaris of Dovel are expanding operations into Changer's Row, backed by the Sausage Guild.
A man putting up posters for the Militia of Order and Justice in Annosus was publicly burned to death by the Empty Blood gang.
The combined forces of the Esoteric Society of Gentleman Explorers' Home Guard and the Blackjack Boys are known to have suffered heavy losses while trying to force their way into the Dead Campus. However, rumors of a larger assault are beginning to fly, and many mages are considering deserting the Librarian's side.
The EBSA now has official "favored client" status with the Bookbinder's Guild.
New EBSA field offices have been built in Silvathrien, Tailorway, Lodstrom, Gleamers, Elfwatch and Painted Court, as well as one floating on the lake just offshore of Old Face and Risen Court.
Fighting continues in Dappled Court for another month as the Heladuit Court breaks out the big guns. Silversmith Guild members present in the neighborhood are fortifying their shops.
Rumors of mysterious creatures tunneling through the depths beneath Gilded are unconfirmed at this time.
There are very vague rumors that an assassin from the Merchant's Water is in the city.
The Gear's Chosen have declared that the Ram Revolution is heretical, following a failed attempt to steal the Chosen's plans for whatever war machine they have been building. Violent plumes of steam can be seen issuing from Chosen workshops day and night.
Brief skirmishes have flared up between the Worldbreaker gang in Old Jack's Run and the Dreumont in Icy Mont.
Dark rumors are circling that someone has discovered the lair of Skeeve Redeye in the city. The thought of him in Sav Altulas is quickly beginning to cause panic to take hold in the Lower City.
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Excerpt from Nothing
we don't cry
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They opened the door more cautiously this time. Long sticks were used to probe every inch of the frame, and heavy gloves worn when the lock was picked and the handle was turned. Sure, it made the delicate work more difficult, but better that than what had happened to Olaf, who was still recovering in the clinic. One prick was all the opening that the poison had needed. A large part of their job today was to make sure that opening never happened again.
"Clear," whispered the point man. "Door's unlocked. Doesn't seem to be anything on the latch. Stand back, people, just in case there's something I've missed."
The other four people who had been crowding around him edged back. All of them were dressed in dark, comfortable clothing, designed for maximum maneuverability. The shrouded figures of hidden weapons could be seen on all of them, strapped in easy-to-reach places. They were professionals, and they were going to make damn sure that this was a professional job.
The point man turned the handle, and froze as a little click sounded in the alleyway. When nothing further happened he let go and gently nudged the door open, revealing a thin needle sticking out of the lock.
"I thought we disarmed that," said the point man, examining the pinprick where the needle hadn't quite made it through his gloves.
"We did," said one of the others, frowning at the handle. "That shouldn't have happened."
The point man waved it aside. "Be more careful next time," was all he said. "Get a runner to the boss. Door's clear and we're going in. Put your game faces on, people."
The team slipped past the open door and went down the steps, into the basement apartment. They moved like cats, with all the stealth of natural-born predators, no noise betraying their coming. It was not hard, therefore, for them to hear the sounds coming from the next room.
"Oh Taborin, uncaring judge, release me from these bonds," the voice was babbling, riding the ragged edge of despair. "Taborin, great and mighty, release me from this suffering, oh gods above, let me go, let this sight pass from me, let me go..."
Threat? asked one of the team, with hand signals.
Possible, signaled the point man. Hostage? Threat? Caution. Agent one, two, clear left, three, four, clear right. Go on three.
"Oh Taborin, what have I done to deserve this?" said the voice from the next room. "Let this sight pass from me, oh great one, oh gods make it stop looking at me!"
Three.
Two.
One.
Go.
Despite the dramatic go gesture, the door was opened very carefully, for fear of further traps. And, indeed, there was one.They cut the tripwire before proceeding, disarming it easily enough.
The room beyond was cluttered and dark, with no windows, the shelves lined with various knives and tools and alchemical equipment. A narrow bed had been pushed up against one wall, carefully made and unslept in, sitting opposite a workbench crowded with old experiments set aside. At a table in the center of the room was a man, sitting with his back to the door that the team came creeping through; and opposite him, seated in a chair on the other side of the table, was a simple wooden mannequin, with streaks of red paint running down from the brief hollows indicating its eye sockets. In the dim light pooling from the now open doorway, the paint looked like tears of blood.
"Oh gods," said the man seated at the table, not turning. "Hello? Is someone there? Sweet mercy, is someone there?" His voice was high and panicky, on the verge of hysteria.
"Who are you?" asked the point man, speaking quietly, a short sword in his hand. The team spread out behind him, weapons drawn.
"Voice. You aren't him," said the man, and gave a shaky laugh. "It doesn't matter who I am, man. I'm long damned. Get out of here while you still can."
"What do you mean by that?" asked the point man, scanning the room for threats. Aside from the man in the chair and the mannequin, there didn't seem to be anything remotely sinister--though admittedly, the darkness could be hiding a veritable army and he would never have known.
"He told me," said the man in the chair. "Told me what would happen. I can't look away. He was right about my son, he was right about the house, he was right about the sickness and death, he was right about everything, and he said that if I look away, it will kill me." His voice was matter-of-fact enough that the point man stopped examining the room and started looking at the table in its center. The mannequin, no matter how suspiciously he stared at it, did not move.
"Boss," said one of the team, staring at a map pinned to the wall, "there's a mark on Quarter Street. Right here. My old man lives there, boss. Why's this bastard got a mark on Quarter Street?"
"Shut up," said the point man. "What will kill you?" he asked the man in the chair, for formality's sake.
"There's one on Woodrow, too," said the agent at the map, sounding almost mesmerized. "Where those girls showed up with all their bones gone in '29...and another in the Burned Square, and you know what happened there...why's he marked the place my da lives?"
"Shut up," said the point man again.
"That," said the man in the chair, barely lifting his arm to point at the wooden head. There was not much meat on his bones--he'd been down here a long time. "You can see it watching me? I'm not crazy. I can feel its eyes, waiting for me to slip." His arm fell. "I have not blinked in years, it feels like. He pinned my eyelids back at first, and that was helpful--oh, he's such a kind man, to be sure--but the stitches have given out and I don't know how much longer I can last..."
One of the dark-clothed operatives moved into the man's field of view, stepping around behind the mannequin, staring at his face. His expression didn't change, but she recognized him just the same.
"Holy ****," she said. "Luke, it's him. It's the judge. Old Dreynor, the one who vanished last year--Ebsah's greyboys were looking for him all over, remember? I thought I heard that the Heartspears had taken him..."
Judge Dreynor, turned his gaze to the dark-clad woman and smiled, sadly, the expression obviously painful due to the cuts and stitching on his face. "Not them," he said. "That would have been easier."
And then he screamed. His chair toppled over and he was on the ground, writhing, hands clutching his throat, face slowly turning red, then purple, then blue as he tore at his neck as though being strangled, unseen hands choking the life from him, the mannequin still sitting in its seat across the table, entirely unmoving, watching, drinking in the screams...
for the gods that die
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Mail and Behind-the-Scenes
Warlords to Doctor Vassari (6)
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There are many letters received in response, and an equally varied number of reactions from the agents your people meet in person. Most of them are entirely favorable, with Sakel-Doge being the most interested in fantastical clothing and decorations. Of the rest, only Cord Witchbrother seems to think that purchasing clothing simply to impress people would be a waste of time; however, the people (and other, stranger things) he has working under him are just as receptive as the rest. Possibly more so, in fact, as many of his troops are bird-men that may have a few scraps of magpie in their blood.
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Bounty Board
All prices listed are in t.WEL unless otherwise stated, and will be paid out immediately upon confirmation by the bounty poster.
Skeeve Redeye: Poisoner, serial killer, alchemist, dollmaker and rumored demon.
2 from Agia Lonecutter, 6 from Illarym Empire (up 1 from last month)
Unknown Raiders: Whoever stole the Imperial weapons meant for the Wardens from the caravan delivering them to the city.
2 from Imperial Trade Ministry
Blackfist Press
1 from Bookbinder's Guild
Technist Press: 4 to anyone who destroys the press blueprints designed by the Technists Guild.
Posted by Bookbinder's Guild
Unknown Murderer: Whoever killed the people found dead at the opening of the Wallen Wing at Bloodhaven Hospital last month.
1 from Doctor Vassari
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Turn 5 Begins
October, 1032 DR