Midturn 1


Part 2

Blood and Fire
The stink of blood was steeped into the once quiet street of warehouses and quiet houes. It overlaid the once omnipresent smell of tea and exotic smells. This was the compound of the Leage of Fine Tea Makers. It was quiet now. A stark contrast to the screams of a few hours before and the bustling business before that.

Leather clad guards from the coalition roamed the streets looking somewhat sick at the scenes of violence and death. Occasionally a squad of veteran atheist league soldiers would pass by stern faced and armored in steel. No League guards joined the patrols. All the League guards were dead. Some cleanly and some torn apart by Reddinfel dogs.

For it was the Reddinfel who had done this. Grown bold over the years and strong from terrorizing the Under city they had decided to stretch their muscles and venture into the Commoners Quarters. The League of Fine Tea Makers had never expected to be attacked, and they had paid for their complacency in blood.

Now the chairman of the league, Sargon, already old and now aged decades in a matter of hours, led his surviving tea makers in the process of burying the dead and seeing what could be salvaged from the remains.

The Cathedral of Inspiration
It would be great. It would be grand. It would be a marvel and the finest attraction in the city. Those were the rumors floating around the city. The it in question was the proposed Cathedral of the Impure. Always enigmatic the Impure had not released details of just what the Cathedral would be yet, but they had certainly not stinted in gaining support for it's construction. Even one rumors alone people flocked to the City blocks surrounding the Impure. Many joined their ranks, while others simply arrived out of curiosity or the desire to gain some work from the grand project.

Whatever else might happen the Impure was certainly a name to know now.

The Stone Guards
It hulked larger than an ogre. It's massive metal bulk filling up the room. It was Golem 88, or just 88, so called because it had been the 88th golem produced by the master artificer Walrac. Walrac was long dead and reduced to a footnote in the history of alchemy. The other golems reduced dust and rust over the centuries. But 88 had survived. It had been a labor in the sewers, a dockworker, a soldier, an artisan its own right, and now it was the leader of the sentient entities union.

Hundreds of creatures of all kind looked to it for guidance and protection. Golems made by apprentice alchemists with their misshapen shells. Hives of proto rats created long ago by ancient flesh masters. War machines taken a life of their own. The ranks of the SEU had no two individuals in common. It was a place of freaks and oddities. But freaks that could think. Oddities that could think for themselves. There were few who would stand for them in a city of elves, and dwarves, and humans. So they banded together for support and common fellowship. And Golem 88 was responsible for them all.

Now the unlikely leader looked at the result of its latest project with pride. Ranks of guards stood before. Their armor was not standard. Humans wore leather, the earth golems were clad in shale plates, and the kobolds were clad in their own chitin. But what they lacked in uniformity they made up in unity of purpose and a shared vision.

These were the guards who believed in the welfare of the city above all else. Hand picked by Golem 88 each one was willing to treat each and every citizen of the city fairly and with an even hand. It had taken years of saving. Of careful donations and the cajoling of merchants to get even this far. They were still not ready to patrol the city, but just getting them all in one place and partly trained was a start. If Golem 88 had had a face it would have smiled in pride. Instead it gave the assembled ranks of guards a solemn salute.

The Closed Doors
The Shadow's Eye has closed its offices to all prospective customers and informants. No explanation has been given only silence guaranteed to spark a buzz of rumors.

Concert in the Commons
The Undaspire has spread the word. There will be grand festival in the Commoners Quarters. Music by the best undaspire bards. Bloody shows by the Pit Fighters. Bring your friends. Bring your family. Food, fun, and festivities will be available for all. Banners hang around the City and broadsheets line the walls.

Always up for a good festival the commoners have begun making plans to attend in earnest. Children vibrate in excitement and dockworkers already make bets on which Pit Fighter Champion will win the tournament that is sure to happen. Even the normally tight fisted merchants are looking forward to loosening their tunics for once and having a good time. The nobles are the only ones who aren't interested and regard the festivities as a vulgar display. But everyone knows nobles wouldn't know fun if it bit them.