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1408: The debut of gunpowder, manufactured in Trato, using techniques learned from the Far East, at the Battle of Sechy. The forces of King Borremond, some 230 cavalry, 350 archers, and over 4,000 men-at-arms, hailing from the Kingdom of Geromdia to the north, were beat back decisively by the combined armies of the Holy League. A priest present at the battle described the scene thus:

"...knights carried brass pots where before they held lances and spears. A holy light, and the roar of thunder fired forth from these pots and turned horses upon their heads, and scattered the pagans like so much dust..."

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The Masters are citizens elected to oversee military and financial matters, a practice dating back to the old Lassan Empire Governorships. These 'Masters of Veranth' are charged by the citizens to supplant the Council of Peers and oversee the daily tasks required to administer a city.

The Master of ARMS is in charge of military matters. Hiring, training and deploying troops. Since Veranth has a very small standing army, this is a rather cushy job with a salary of 1 WP per season. The official title of a master of Arms is Warden. Master of Arms receives the Military Report each season.

The Master of the COIN is in charge of financial matters. Paying the bills and raising the monies to pay those bills. Veranth offers no salary for this position, although Masters may petition for a salary. Master of Coin receives the Economic Ledger each season.

The Master of STEWARDSHIP is responsible for conducting diplomacy and securing and maintaining trade deals. The Steward is also responsible for overseeing the cities sizable fleet of merchant and war vessels. The Steward is payed 1 WP in salary per season. The Steward receives the Diplomatic Ledger each season.

The DOGE presides over all other offices and may veto any action for governance of the city with the support of at least (1) other Master. The Doge is paid 2WP per season.

Chairman Ignatius Cremini called for nominations to these positions as Masters of Veranth. If the Council of Peers fails to appoint citizens to the office of Masters, Veranth will be in jeopardy of being placed under direct papal control.

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Alessandro de Bladelli, Owner of Banco Bladelli, Head of the Bladelli Family

The Palazzini di Veranti, like the other abodes of Veranth, had long been infested with opulence and glutton. Overstretched and corrupt, the Duke dangled himself from the strings of overspending and wasn't far from meeting his maker thusly. Alessandro turned his nose up at the gathered hosts and kept mostly to himself on the periphery of the room. It wasn't to be for long, however. The emergency council initiated and Chairman Ignatius Cremini--at the head of the room--requested that nominations be held for the good of the city.

Few in the room knew not the name of the Bladelli family. Their centuries long banking prominence had long held Veranth in the balance when it might yet have fallen. While the Banco Mora was a worthy competitor, Bladelli's storied tenure of mercantilism and profiteering for the people had cast them in a most favorable light. Not mere moments that some gaudy dressed miscreant from South Verant stood to nominate himself for Master of Arms that Bladelli stepped into the center of the room. His tunic was plain and maroon, with a single golden stripe down the left side, and his stature no more graceful. He raked in those present with wandering eyes, finding--but never acknowledging--the likes of Giovanna di Mora, the heiress of the Mora Bank and Marquise of the Reach and Rodrigo Nantua himself.

"Good people of the City," he said at last, turning to address others to whom he had had his back turned. "Is this not but one of many grievances that has befallen us? Is this not.. merely another test? Have we not suffered enough? The Church may yet find further sinners among us, and damned be them; but the city of Veranth must not waver. For too long, my family has remained absent from the political sphere, free from it's temptations. For too long, we have allowed other--more deceptive--men to take hold of this once grand city." He tipped the embellished goblet in his hand to his mouth and from it, whet his lips. "For too long, brothers, sisters, friends; we have stayed in the shadows. No longer! I, Alessando de Bladelli, of the Banco Bladelli and head of the Bladelli family, would humbly bequest the nomination as your Master of Coin. Under it, I would see it Veranth be made a capital of trade and industry. Those under the auspices of sloth might once again find work, and those laboring under the delusions of poverty might be released from it. Chairman, Thank you."

Bladelli, per his custom, slipped from the fore back into the crowd almost immediately following his speech.

Noctus sat in the back in the room, kept from the front rows due to not being of any superior position. He simply decided to step back and watch the theatrics of nobility unfold.

A lesser man would simply watch the men, but that would gleam nothing of their potential. Instead he watched the crowd, seeing how they reacted to the candidates. Though the guild masters weren't present, the men is this room could be considered the drivers of the city's future.

Hearing the latest speech, he gave a glance around the room. The murmurings of his fellows marked him out as a suitable choice, though he would wait and see what options opened up.

Seated right in the front was the large Rodrigo Nantua, wrapped in a cape and taking up more space than anyone could deem necessary. The duke's seizure had brought a fury upon the residents of the Villa Nantua like none before it, and Rodrigo fanned their flame by declaring that he would return with an army at his back.

The Nantuas had never been friends of the church, hell, they were perhaps the most obvious evidence of the church's draining power, were it not for the duke, Rodrigo and his kin would have been burned as heretics before they could muster a defense. The duke's seizure was incredibly dangerous for the prestigious (and infamous) banker clan.

Rodrigo knew his presence would bring protest, but as the city's preeminent military mind, he was a shoe-in for the title of Master-of-Arms, though he'd still have to give a speech to convince those who still doubted him. Standing from his seat to a near-silent room, Rodrigo noticed a few clergymen in the audience whose collective glares were enough to bring a slight pallor to the banker's face. Looking over a few of the other eminent figures in the room, he nodded slightly, all men of coin or talk, no-one quite like him.

"As we've all been introduced, I'll spare you the long greetings. As all of us know, this council is against the law of our holy father," he said, giving a condescending snort. "If we are to survive in this world with our city intact, we can no longer rely on the protection of our religious leaders. My kinsmen in Trato may be looking down on our weak defenses like vultures looking down on a dying stag, those from across the sea may be looking at our city as a gold mine to pad their pockets.

"It is clear to anyone with half a brain in their skull that our position requires a change, if we do not change, then we will die, whether at the hands of our holy father or some opportunist. We need an army, not a ramshackle force of mercenaries and pirates, a real standing army. Whether of the Traton model or of some other. I will be the change that this city needs, to defend our homes, our coffers, our families. Do not consider this a power grab by a grasping fool like my father would have been. I am here to protect my interests, and yours. Whether you believe me or not is up to opinion, and frankly, I care for your opinion as much as an ocean cares for a lake. Veranth needs this, you need this. We fly, or we fall, and I hope to make damn sure that we don't fall. Thank you chairman," Rodrigo finished, standing a moment and staring at the chairman before sitting once more, pleased with his speech.

Again looking over the room, he tried to see how many were convinced, and how many still doubted him, he was sure the first camp would have to be getting smaller by the moment.

The day had started out relatively normal for the Palazzini di Veranti and the Shield of Veranth. Bartollemeo had been sitting in his office and doing some paperwork when an exhausted underling entered the room with news of the duke's current situation. The guardsman then told his commander that an emergency meeting would be taking place in the fortress and that the meeting's attendees would begin to show up within the hour. And show up they did.

People arrived in droves and quickly crowded the fortress. At its worst, Bartollemeo even had to send out a few guards to make sure the rumors spreading throughout the fortress about people being stampeded to death weren't true. Once everyone had settled in, the proceedings began. Bartollemeo sat close to where people were saying their peace and nominating themselves for positions as Masters of Veranth. It seemed that most people were set on the idea of having Masters. Even is it meant angering the god botherers. Frankly, Bartollemeo didn't care whether the city was run by Masters or by the church. Just as long as Veranth and its people were safe. Of all the people who spoke up though, it was Rodrigo Nantua who caught the commander's attention the most with his bid for the Master of Arms title. The man seemed to have a good idea of what he was doing and from what Bartollemeo had heard of Rodrigo, he had a military mind in that skull of his. Rodrigo certainly had Bartollemeo's vote.

The Palazzini di Veranti set a grim mood for the proceedings, no matter how flag-bedecked. Where the ducal palace soared, it crouched instead, a colossal grim toad wrought of massive granite blocks overlooking the Ottian estuary. The centrepiece and lynchpin of the city’s military district – and its formidable primary coastal fortifications, sheltering much of the merchant marine and the navy dockyards beneath its guns – the ancient and much-expanded fortress positively bristled with guards and cannon.

It was a far cry from the marble halls and perfumed courtyards of the Palazzo Ducale that Giovanna was used to, and rather than the silken whisper of power drifting on the air, here the atmosphere was positively electric. Small wonder: everyone was on edge, the guards with their arquebuses and swords at parade rest but with tension crackling along every line of their bodies; the functionaries and bureaucrats who kept the mundane business of the city turning over rushing frantically to and fro with piles of papers and ancient, crumbling scrolls; the lesser peers and greater merchants jockeying for position with only the thinnest veneer of politesse present…and over it all, the numinous, crackling electric cloud of uncertainty.

It had started as such a fine, normal day – springtime in the city, the sun warming the golden stone and dancing on the placid river Otium, sea breezes filling the sails of the merchant marine and filling the city streets with the fresh smell of the ocean. It had quickly proven to be no ordinary day, however; a flying column of the feared Inquisitorial troops – the axe which had decimated the ranks of the ancient high nobility in recent years, enriching the Church with centuries of carefully-husbanded wealth – had plunged into the Palace, taken the Duke and his family, and then retreated to the cathedral and the forbidding White Citadel even as the Cardinal assigned to the city began to read out his proclamation of heresy to a stunned and disbelieving population.

Giovanna di Mora heard of these things quickly; House Mora was a power on the peninsula and in the city both, and her employees were everywhere. Engaged in lawful activity, of course, but nonetheless with fully-functional eyes and ears – not that the Church was trying to hide what it had done, of course.

Information on the extraordinary gathering of the suddenly-decapitated body politic – at the heavily-defended Palazzini, no less – also filtered rapidly through to her, and she had been one of the first to arrive at the coastal bastion.

She listened carefully to the tumult as Ignatius, rotund and rubicund in equal measure, irrepressibly putting Giovanna in mind of a jolly street-corner butcher despite his wealth, called the meeting to order with some difficulty.

His proposal was…surprising, to say the least, and she hid her reflexive flinch behind her mirror-smooth mask of etiquette and manners, every inch the poised and elegant Marquise. She herself was a member of the Council of Peers, and to hear of its dissolution prompted an almost-instinctive reaction.

A second’s thought, though, a more tempered consideration, and her agile mind began to spot the advantages, the points in favour, the ways to massage perception of the power transfer. Giovanna remembered the ecclesiastical proclamation of Duke Fiore’s appointment, a richly gilded and illuminated thing of beauty in pride of place in the Palazzo Ducale’s library, proclaiming Carlo Fiore ‘a goodly and holy man, rich in virtue and absent of deadly sin’. For him to now be accused of heresy by the same Church…well. The commons of the city might hold the Church and Pope in veneration, but the wealthy and the educated – of which Veranth had no small supply – they were a different matter, and the Inquisition had been a growing worry for years.

Giovanna took the floor, then, a carefully-managed entrance. Her boots clicked loudly on the stone flags as she glided forwards, her purple gown glimmering richly in the light, and a path to the centre of the chamber opened up for her in the press of people. Black opals blazed and shimmered at her throat and ears, drawing the eye with their display of shifting colours and focusing the attention of the onlookers on her. She held the moment there, for just a second, judging her audience with a skill born of long familiarity, and then began to speak.

“Fellow peers, gentlemen and ladies…many of you know me. I certainly know many of you,” she added, with an arch, purring laugh that stroked wickedly up the backs of many of the listeners. “And I would hope most of you have fond memories of visiting my humble home.” It was anything but humble, and all present knew it – but such was the game, the delicate social dance at which Giovanna was so skilled. She had many friends as a result of it, from peers and merchants to artists, academics and artisans, worlds that would otherwise never meet gently blended together at the Palazzo Moravese with a master’s hand, all of it handsomely lubricated with the rich and heady wines of her estates.

“Thus, I will trade on such delightful currency and beg your indulgence a while,” she continued with a smile, lips curling upwards into a perfect Cupid’s bow, dark eyes dancing over the assembled pageantry of the great and the good of Veranth. ‘That’s it,’ she thought, in the privacy of her own head, conducting the refined gathering with the baton of her words and body both. “House Mora has prospered alongside Veranth since time immemorial. Long before the first foundation stone of the Bank was laid, we held the lands of the Reach and were-” her lips curled up at the mercantile metaphor hurrying to her lips “-invested here. The guilt, or innocence, of His Grace our erstwhile Duke is, of course, far beyond my ambit; I am no scholar of ecclesiastical law and jurisprudence, but from a secular standpoint we must acknowledge him as a capable ruler. Veranth and our ancient rivals of Mersolan remain as the last independent states on the peninsula; we, this great city, hold hegemonic dominion at bay by the depth of our coffers, the ingenuity of our artisans and academics, and the doughty resolve of our fine guardsmen and sailors – and I will not see that squandered!”

She strode the length of the hall in a flash of purple and turned abruptly on one heel to look out at the assembled dignitaries. A finely-tuned pause, a breath to fill the lungs and subtly adjust her pose, and she began again, speaking softer, now, the lilting cadences of her voice dancing into the ears of her listeners. “Make no mistake, the moment our rivals hear of today’s tragic events, they will come circling, looking to plunder us if we allow a moment of weakness, of indecision.” Another gaze across the hall, glittering dark eyes wide and serious. “Before the Dukes, there were Masters, and in these troubled times when we can no longer rely on ducal leadership, I fain we are right to cleave to our ancient tradition – for the good order of the City and the safety of her citizens. I do not have the fine strategic mind of Nantua-” a graceful half-curtsey to the blade-like presence of the man “-and freely concede him the martial arena. Bladelli, now there is a name all know, and his skill in all the arts of currency is indubitable. A worthy competitor and a fine merchant; had I a glass I would toast his talent even as our Houses cross swords in the markets. A finer man-” and let the more perceptive of the audience think on her choice of words, carefully innocuous “-to care for our great city’s fiscal health I cannot think of. However.”

A change to her mellifluous voice, throaty and rich, a rolling purr rising from the depths of her chest. “Two of our traditional seats remain unfilled, as yet. I put myself forward, therefore - as a servant of the City - for the ancient and honourable role of Doge, if this esteemed council will have me.”

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1299: More than 100 years ago, Crusaders under the mantle of the Holy Church of Karoleth, and at the urging of Pope Peter III set forth for the coastal cities of the Oghuz Empire carrying the banner of the Pointed Star. More than 45,000 Crusaders would eventually invade the province of Ocorum, besiege the capital of Makor and claim it as a Kingdom for the Karolethan Church. By 1385, the Kingdom had collapsed as generation after generation of Oghuzian Caliphs assaulted the Western Stronghold in the shores of their empire. The last crusader was expelled from Oghuz territory in 1401.

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Last Season:
The COUNCIL of PEERS was disbanded at the hour of the Star. With the ringing of the Bells of St. Martinus the city gates were closed to travel and trade for the evening. After lengthy debate by dignitaries, merchants and popular citizens of Veranth, a new Senior Council had been appointed by popular nomination. The final appointment was that of STEWARD of Veranth. Chairman Ignatius Cremini was nominated by a bevy of merchants. Cremini at first refused, then accepted his new role as Steward.

• The Title of DOGE was given to Giovanna di Mora
• Master of the COIN was bestowed upon Alessandro de Bladelli
• & Roderigo Nantua was appointed Master of ARMS.

The oaths to the protection and prosperity of the city were renewed rather unceremoniously.

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Rioting in Letta, Veranth
Outside the Palazzini di Veranti, word quickly spread of the appointment of new masters of Veranth, even before the session was officially closed.

Rioting broke out in the village of Letta, spurred on by a holy fervor decrying the appointment of MASTERS of VERANTH. The crowd called furiously for the appointment of a new duke, and rebuked the claim of Office of the DOGE. The mob, numbering in the thousands made their way towards the Cerno Gate, where they were repelled by the standing militia under command of a young captain named Fulo Galinarion. 3 men under the captains command were killed, their bodies stripped naked and brutalized. Members of the clergy condemned the act the following morning. The city guard has incarcerated 34 conspirators under charges of murdering a member of the city militia. They are being held in the lowest dungeons of the Palazzini di Veranti until sentence is passed by the DOGE of Veranth. Fulo Galinarion has been cited by Friar Betto Stornado, Senior Cleric of the Brazzi Chapel, as an exemplar of Veranthian valor & bravery in the eyes of GOD.

Cardinal Niccolo Paccio

Cardinal Paccio and his Inquisition have taken up residence in the Ducal Palace where they continue to gather information on heretical acts in the city of Veranth. Papal guards armed with axes and polearms guard the gates. All non-clergy have been barred from the palace grounds. Mass attendance is at an all time high.

Rumours of WAR
Word has spread to Lassa from the Oghuzian coast that Prefect SEBHIM OMAR has revolted against the SULTAN of Oghuz. Little is known about the Sultan or the prefect for that matter.

Raids on Trade Continue
Pirates in swift Carracks (single sail small craft) & Knaves (single sail rowed medium craft) continue to plunder trade along the coast of Mersolan and Veranth. Damage to trade and Income lost this season is (1WP)



Ignatius Cremini, Steward of Veranth

The new Steward of Veranth has taken quickly to his new appointment, sending letters of friendship and announcement of the appointment of Masters in Veranth, to the cities of Trato and Parmos. Cremini has suggested Guildmasters be sent to Trato to tour the Iron Works, where famous Tratan weaponsmiths mold cannon and further increase the potency of gunpowder.

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Turn Results

• Mersolan wishes to trade WOOL for WINE (1WP) (relations with the Parmos and Tratos decrease)
• Possible Ambassadorship for Noctus Turchii
• Pirate raids continue on merchant fleets from both Mersolan & Veranth

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The Villa Nantua held a modest banquet when Rodrigo announced his ascent to the Mastership, and very little changed in their routine despite the announcement. Rodrigo however, quickly took command of the army, confirming himself as commander-in-chief of all armed forces, answering only to the Dogaressa herself.

Rodrigo executed a new plan as to training of the men. The militia were to be given military training similar to, if not equal to that of the men-at-arms, he also propositioned a few noble's second sons as to the creation of a cavalry brigade. The main part of Rodrigo's plan, however, was a revitalized recruitment drive, as to achieve this goal, he stood himself on the balcony of the Palazzini di Veranti and attempted a speech to bring a sense of nationalism to the Veranthan youth.

"Good day to all citizens of fair Veranth, greetings from the humble council of peers. As has been said, our fair city is in dire need of an army, if we fail to defend our homes and our families, what will be left of our glorious city but mud and flame? The godly and pure kingdom of man on Earth cannot fall to infighting and division! We are Veranthans, whoever leads us, and who does not wish to be a Veranthan? If we grant those others a chance to live in the City of God, then it is certain that they will believe us the true successors to god himself. Our beauty cannot die, Veranth cannot be forgotten, but it cannot be kept this way without its people to protect it. If you are strong, pick up a blade, a bow, perform god's will on Earth! Do not bow low to oppression from our northern neighbors, if they are to step over us, they will have to step on the burning flame of our spirit, our faith, our fury! Live for Veranth! Veranth will last forever!"

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OOC: Speech check (Rank 1)

As he sent off this letter, he also sent off a lightly manned boat containing a cache of weaponry, as well as another letter marked for the leaders of the raiders. The boat's course was set to head right to the center of the raiding, with orders to abandon ship the moment they saw raiders approach.

Bartollemeo regarded the young captain standing before him with a gaze that gave away no clue as to what thoughts were in his head as he listened to what the captain had to day. Fulo Galinarion was his name. He had taken Bartollemeo's place a captain around 2 years ago when Bartellemeo himself was promoted to commander. Fulo had been overseeing the standing militia at the Cerno Gate when an angry mob from Letta attempted to storm the city in response to the reinstatement of Masters. While taking steps to repel the mob, he had given the wrong order at the wrong time. As a result, 3 of the men under his command had been seized by the mob. By the time they were pulled out, they were already dead. And as their captain, Fulo had to personally report their deaths to the commander.

So far, Bartollemeo was quite impressed with Fulo's report. Usually, the captains who made mistakes that god people killed blamed the dead men for not following orders correctly or made up some other kind of excuse. But Fulo was honest. He owned up to his mistake and accepted responsibility for it. That was something Bartellemeo found very admirable. "Their deaths were my fault, Commander" Fulo said as he concluded his report "And I will accept full responsibility".

Bartollemeo was silent for a moment. Then he took out a chest from under his desk and opened it. Inside was a considerable amount of gold he had received for 'honorable service'. Until now, he had no idea what he was going to do with it. "You've put yourself through more than I ever could, Fulo" Bartollemeo said "Don't be to hard on yourself about this though. You did a fine job. That mob could have done much worse had it not been for you. Now go round up 6 of the most honest men you can find. The we can't bring back the dead, but we can ease the pain of those they left behind".
"Yes Commander" Fulo replied.

Actions: Spend 1 WP on compensating the families of the 3 guards who died in the riot.