Dyelli Beybi

Smoke and Steel

Rodelkog: Konrad Louffen, Marius Panayi, Vicquerno van Szaalm, Krasimir

Cowritten with @TokyoPewPew & @Tesserach

Krasimir

The grizzled man looked tired. Both Krasimir's worn breastplate and the red cloth bands of cloth he wore tied around the muddled brown material that clothed the man were all caked in dirt. He sat, groaning as he fell heavily into the seat. "We second that. Skotinodasos and I, the others with us, we talked it out. Getting bogged down in a siege. Looking for another big fight. We just don't see the advantage in it; it doesn't play to our strengths." Krasimir's voice was low and gravelly as he nodded towards Szaalm. He leaned back in the chair, and removed his sword with its dented and beaten looking and set it across his lap. He shifted around in the seat, looking for a comfortable position for his leg before finally settling in.

@Tesserach

Louffen let out a guffaw of laughter, though Panayi did not look overy amused at the prospect of giving up on the city of Inbur, "Well if we could get the army through Jedgorsy territory I would say the same. Head home to Mitteland. We'd be in a better position to gain the support of the Independent human Kingdoms."

"We are here to restore the Inburian throne," Panayi replied testily, "Control of the city is as important to help establish the legitimacy of the heir.

"Leeeee-gitimacy." Enunciated such, the word had a tacky, chalky texture, scratching and raking Szaalm's parched throat on its way up like a vomit of pounce and sawdust. The way it stumbled out like he was wont to choke thereon; how his tongue smacked and chewed upon it—while his eyes roamed the erstwhile elf-lord's fine tabletop, seeking the reprieve of a tankard, craving ale. Still, despite their dry, croaking mouthfeel, something dripped from the syllables, wet and venomous. Contempt. A deep, potent aversion to the taste, nay, the very idea they represented as they lolled over his tongue and past his gleaming teeth. Szaalm hardly feared Panayi's scorn as did some at this table thus gathered, tiptoeing their words and their gestures around certain—delicate sensibilities. To him, coaxing and stoking and prodding flames from the embers of the moneylender's patience was practically a game. "This is why we should throw three, four thousand gentle-soldiers and nine thousand God-fearing freedmen into the grindplate?—so as they die fruitlessly they know they deserved better?—all this—this—'legitimacy' of ours?"

"Yes, Sir, it is," Payani replied boldly and without a hint of shame in his answer, "The good men of this country flock to our banner because the Lady Ariana has a rightful and just claim to the throne. We have an Empress," he said, pointing upwards towards the ceiling either because that was where Ariana was or as a gesture towards heaven, "We have laws and liberties but all have been suppressed for two centuries and many of the commoners have forgotten that this land is not the domain of the brutish elgafolk who have usurped all our titles and estates. This is not the natural order but it has stood for so long that they need to be reminded. So I tell you, Sir, legitimacy is important. It is how we encourage the common folk to continue to rise up. Capturing Inbur would send a message that God himself has blessed our task."

Krasimir made an effort to prop himself up in his seat, adjusting his leg three times as Payani spoke while struggling to find a comfortable sitting position. Finally he seemed to give up on the whole endeavour and drew still. "Forgive me if I misspeak sirrahs, but I've hardly slept a wink since the battle. We been in the field, pressing day and night. And from where we stand, symbols of legitimacy, taking Inbur - it's all well and good - but the legitimacy we desperately need now comes from having supplies, powder, weapons, and way more men than we do. The Whites and Blacks both have more professional fighting men than we do and the men we do have: you saw how they were. Let us speak plainly among ourselves. Another 'victory' like Rodelkog will be the ruin of us all. The Haltians are a leviathan: they can afford to lose men, lose battles, lose armies and still win. Us? We can't afford to slip up once. We do and we're all dead men. Rodelkog was their detritus, good sirs. If they put together a proper field army and come at us... what do we have? A handful of Owned Men? Some fellows who've never handled a weapon and hardly had a square meal these last few years? Legitimacy? We need supplies. We need powder. We need better weapons and we need more men and the time to train and drill them until they're ready to put the fear into them that mean to keep us down. And good sirs, I think if you'd seen what we been seeing out there you'd agree..." He twisted in a movement that looked like it greatly pained him in order to point outside. "All the things we need are ripe for the taking. We just gotta be smart about how we take 'em."

"This is what I have advised," Louffen replied, "Powder in particular is in short supply. It would be beneficial if we moved our base of operations to a more coastal location where we can purchase what we need from a nation inclined towards our cause," he paused momentarily, "Bear in mind I have not fully thought this through, but what if we march North to the North Coast near Grendell. Their forces there are unlikely to leave the defence of the causeway and we could seek a contract with the Brendahlanders."

Szaalm had listened well—mayhap not "intently" per sē, but respectfully at the least. It was nothing he hadn't heard already half a hundred times, oozing gormlessly from the table's more naïve corners. Apparently the high hopes and goodwill of the commons would, by Providence alone, make bread appear in the troops' bellies, and powder in their pans (or if not that, then it would see them in high spirits through all the starving and the fleeing and the dying). And that Morktree heretic—undoing, by his indiscriminate, wholesale savagery, Szaalm's carefully cultivated image of a gentlemen's army, an army which would only harm the longears and their cringing lickspittles—of course he did not even at that very instant blather in tongues through this "Krazimir," this skin-shifted freak of an emissary. And on and on. Usually Szaalm let the brim of his hat cast down over his eyes, that he needn't waste precious, finite patience on staying them in civilized places, keeping them from rolling away at the absurdity of it all. Usually a bite of his tongue sufficed to still that, likewise, "In all a most salient appraisal, general. I've but one concern," he said. But his was a seething sort of sneer, the foremost of many little tics which betrayed that statement as a falsehood. In fact his entire being itched with such tells, if a man was keen enough of eye to glean them. Something else gnawed at Szaalm, something which runneled deeper than the question he had bided so long to broach: "Will north truly deliver us from our demise, or fling us to its doorstep?

"The Haltians have made their fair share of enemies, there's wisdom in making common cause - even delaying Lady Ariana's claim until we're ready to march on Inbur if we can haggle supply from the other claimants. In the meantime we've been moving through the countryside. Liberating farms, estates. There's three dozen wagons laden with supplies, a few weapons, even some powder, arriving within the next few days. There's more behind them. The largest estate we raided added some 300 field workers to our force on it's own." The veteran groaned and twisted back the other way in his seat, reaching into the folds of his tunic to withdraw a piece of parchment that he stretched and set on a table between the men gathered there. "This a map of the lands east of the Morktree, marked with every major estate and work site we've been able to identify housing more than 100 workers. You'll notice one in particular we circled."

"The King in Brendahland has clashed with the Haltians for many years," Louffen pointed out, "He may support us with supplies, perhaps aid with the funding of a Jedgorsy host. At the very least he would place no obstacles to trade between us and his subjects. It works to his benefit to damage the Empire as much as possible. Should we advise her Majesty to send an emissary, perhaps?" the General suggested.

Once more Szaalm listened—once more with something itching at him. Something beyond the smothering heat within that stained glass-lit room, many-fingered with tendrils of milky smoke guttering from several colonels' pipes. (Another non-secret about the man: he had quit smoking, a lifetime's habit, just before joining up with the Crimson Wyvern. Something about the hypocrisy of a soldier of freedom indulging in a luxury watered by slaves' tears, nourished by slaves' blood.) Two of his chairlegs rapped the hardwood floor, next the heels of his boots. The cushions sighed as he relieved them of his weight. Now standing, his attention seared across the table, though his words remained civilized for the time; deferent. "An error, sir, methinks. If I may expound."

"Emissaries are cheap." Krasimir observed shifting the map around on the table and shifted back in his seat while regarding Szaalm with a wry smile. "But let's hear it, since you're like to tell us anyhow."

"Emissaries are cheap "Are they!" exclaimed the colonel. "Someone should tell your Mad Priest once he's returned from the latest rampage. He'll be most grateful to know he overpaid."

Krasimir remained silent for a moment fixing his eyes on Szaalm for a time before responding. "Thank you for your sober minded and well-rested opinion sir." He affected a grizzled grin of missing and darkened teeth. "I believe sirrah had an expositon?"

"Emissaries are not cheap," Payani put in, "They represent our Court to the Court of another ruler and must be trusted to do so with dignity and respect."

"My apologies. I'm a humble soldier and ignorant of the cost of such lordly dignities." Krasimir affected a conciliatory tone before muttering, under his breath. "Wait till you tally what fielding an army costs..."

"Even for an empire," Szaalm agreed. He looked once more to Louffen though this time with something vaguely resembling pity, almost apologetically. What was the use, he wondered, in installing a chain of command if no one would defer to his superiors, if clueless money men and cultists could shout themselves over those with experience and competence? If ruminating over the matter at hand only left one liable to be forsaken and forgotten at the war table, left behind like some codger, his silence buried under sophistry and blind zeal?

"Away with the suspense, then?" said the colonel, seeing no more reason to await permissions which may never come. "Look. Voron has four armies beating at his gates, four pretenders howling for his blood; and only half an army of his own, for as long as he means to garrison the rest at Grendell. I needn't tell you, gentlemen, half an army against four is a fool's calculus for any commander, and Voron is no fool at all. He and all his symbols and cities are not our chief concern right now. Not while he saves his strength for his brother and turns the rest of us upon each other like starving wolves. To survive this war, we must first survive the second army with whom he will break bread. And I'd wager hat and horse that I know who will soon so happen to be at his doorstep, groveling for audience.

"Yes," Louffen agreed with a nod, twisting the end of his moustache in a gesture of either nervousness or frustration, "Pray though, how do you propose we do that? We have ordinance but our powder supplies are limited. I would advise we head North, take a coastal town and attempt to secure a supply of powder and weapons," he repeated, "That way we allow the Calarians, Voron and that damned pirate D'Ambois grind their forces to dust while we train our troops and prepare for a campaign."

"That's the rub, general." Szaalm had that entire time been standing. There was no grand gesture chosen to accompany his words, no sweep of his hands or leather-squeaking grip around the trim at table's edge; nothing but grave sincerity. "If I'm correct, 'tis Coralie D'Ambois who will soon wear Voron's jeweled leash."

"Potentially," Louffen conceded, "What would you have us do? March South and attempt to catch her off guard?"

"If the chance presents. We mustn't allow jovial airs and a few priggish smirks to deceive us, however: hers is a desperate situation. Mercenaries eating up three times the pay of the average fellow-soldier. Mariners and pirates expecting their fair share of every hoard. And of course the gullible masses who have flocked to her. Each of these a mouth to feed. All plumped up by a few easy victories, aye, but knaves and cowards all; sooner to desert once the tides turn. If not mutineer outright.

"She, too, is no idiot—imbued, as she is, with her peculiar......low cunning. She knows she needs a steady income to satisfy the sellswords, which for now she satisfies by plunder. But she cannot for very much longer risk enraging the empire, and so she wants nothing better than a parlay, resulting in a letter of marque for our heads; whereby to keep drawing cheap victories from ambushed peasants, rather than take a welting from a trained army. An incensed, vengeful army, of course, after how many knights' estates she's burned."

Szaalm at last had set himself amarch; a slow, sauntering pace he kept around the table, once, then a second time. All the while dragging his fingertips across the backs of their chairs, the colonels and the merchant and the commander, with a gingerly tenderness which almost evoked a white-glove inspection for dust.

Twice, in all, had he circled the table. Nearly finished with his piece, however, he found himself returned unto the place he'd started. And so with a rakish fall and a rakish slump he restored himself to the creaking and mewling of his chair.

"A natural match, is it not? Voron ends the rape along the coast, and exterminates our darling Ariana without once troubling his numbers. Coralie secures silver for her cutthroats, and cherrypicks an easy campaign whereon to prop up her preposterous farce of a conquest. Of this I am convinced: she's our first great hindrance on the march to Inbur—and all that legitimacy we so covet."

"Skotinodasos and I talked about The Blacks before I come here sirs. If we go south we got two rivers to put between us and the Imperials and to help us manage supply. Between the Blacks and the Calarians, I think we can find leverage. Now we can go north, but we need something to offer - and no matter which way we go we think we found something people been overlooking in all their fixation on fortresses and armies." He lurched awkwardly forward again and tapped the map he'd previously laid out on the table again. "That circle, gentleman, is the largest mine in the eastern Empire. No walls. Local garrison's... maybe 300? No more than 500 fellas in barracks: there to keep all those miners in line, they aren't ready for us, that's for sure. They got a whole army of slave miners to run herd on. Plus supplies and..." He paused for dramatic effect, his crooked, broken smile growing wider. "Lots of powder stores, for blasting out a whole heap of rock. And while Skotinodasos and I been out there kicking up dust in the empire's faces: we already put out feelers to them there willing to help us. They're ready to rise, fellas. We do this, we can go north, we can go south. Oh, and do any of you learned gentlemen know what largest mine in the eastern empire pulls out of them rocks that draws so many fellas down below?"

"So we head South and face off against D'Ambois," Louffen scratched his chin, then nodded, "I had imagined D'Ambois might create a distraction to divide Imperial attention in Inbur, but you make a fair point. I would not put it past a woman of her character to join with the Empire if it served her purposes. I would not support a move against the mine," he added, "I would rather march against D'Ambois before she manages to secure her position on the Coast and if we capture the mine we can expect the Imperial forces at Inbur to counterattack in short order meaning we'd need to divide our army."

"I disagree," Payani shook his head, "We need the funds to purchase supplies."

"If we can take a position on the South coast and take D'Ambois off the board, we may be able to secure a supply from the Monchians," Louffen countered, "They are supporting her in a manner but I imagine it is more to destabilise the Empire than due to any particular love of her - she is a pirate after all."

His estimation done, his entreaty a triumph—yet paying the price in his mouth, his throat—the droughty Szaalm leaned back into his chair and endeavored to conserve the last of his voice (cursing, to himself, whoever had called for this summons without first putting out tankards). He nodded his capitulation over to the rest of the table, and over the finer details he offered little squabble, for they marched, now, in the safer direction; their convictions perhaps emerging yet from the kiln of battle without cracking. He reckoned he should be grateful enough for that, and leave the rest to God.

He did wonder, however. Doubtlessly had the pirate whelp forged few friendships in her years, and fewer still on steady grounds—allegiances wrought of fear and submission, hardly of any mutual trust between parties. Surely, ergo, if Coralie moored her ships at sea while rowing ashore to terrorize the manors, she risked any number of fates at the hands of the aggrieved. Navies and privateers and merchant fleets—any one of these could come up behind the occupied army, loot the unguarded holds; scuttle the ships, and leave her stranded aground with no good way of transporting her troops, nor guarding her plunder. She, for her part, had somehow avoided this fate for some weeks already.

She needed row inland, Szaalm concluded—hide her fleet upriver, as far as bank and bridge permitted. Until she'd bluffed her way into a pitying port of call. But what port would take pity on a pirate? And until that port becked her in, up which river would she cower? Again—he wondered.

To his right sat one of his fellow officers; Chauncey, if he remembered true. Yes, that was it. Colonel Chauncey. Szaalm leaned over into his elbow, gathered some much-needed spit on his tongue, and was seen croaking in a low whisper: "Were you there, sir, when they captured the ordnance on the field? If you shouldst chance to know it, what is the poundage on those four-and-thirty guns?"

The Colonel leaned across, keeping his voice low to avoid interrupting the others, "Mostly sakers and a few minions, from what I saw, Sir."

"Enough sakers fired in broadside, thinks ye, to sink a polacre at tenscore yards?"

"I would be surprised if her ships are carrying anything bigger," Louffen chipped in, "They are a mixture of small raiding vessels, not line ships."

Szaalm's head turned hardly a moment after nodding his thanks to his neighbor. "So be they," he ceded, small in voice and unfazed in demeanor. "Perhaps a worthy target, shouldst we learn where she means to lay anchor. Commandeer the ships if we can, solving our money dilemma by ransom; if not, scuttle them."

"If they're careless it might be done - but she's a risky gambit. Your people need time to drill, as it stands they'll never beat professional fighters in an even fight. Try and tackle the Blacks now, you're jumping head first into a back alley knife-fight. You're as likely to lose them big guns you're so proud of as not." Krasimir grumbled. "In the meantime, this..." he tapped the map for emphasis again. "... is legitimacy. Coin. Powder. Men. Let's take it, yeah? Keep the pressure on the Empire, send feelers out to the Calarians and the Blacks - and the Brendahlanders too if we like - keep our options open."

And so continued the bickering. Poured it steadily from the wellsprings of the table's more contentious members, while erupting also from once-quiet corners, stirring even some of the meekest of the thirteen colonels to petition. And so it would continue, for as long as Louffen and Payani would allow it; for as long as they, themselves, could not agree. One's pragmatic cynicism, and the other's ambitions—two cats of different coats, both recalcitrant and fierce.

And while they glowered and sneered across the table from their high seats, one chair sat higher yet between them, positioned at the table's very head—though vacant it was, and silent, and powerless to unite them.

Men muttered and whispered what they would about their girl-queen, but the general and the merchant harked when she spoke and that meant power, real, backed, cogent. Surely Szaalm was not alone in praying she would burst through that door, assume command from her two acting superior officers, and end this abominable stalemate. More likely she had other matters to attend to, however—remarkably important-seeming to young girls. (One could only hope she was not debasing herself like her sister.)

Alas. Their fates, for the time, left in the hands of the money man and the turncoat, there was nothing else for it. Szaalm steepled his hands, leaned over, and watched. Waited. Expected.

And almost as an immediate answer to that prayer the door at the end of the modest hall was pushed open by one of the veteran halberdiers who acted as guards to the Royal person. Ariana was a pretty thing who had, by all accounts, existed in the shadow of her older sister. She lacked Andronika's brazen confidence, relying more on her advisors to dictate a course of action for her. Right now she looked a lot like a hind who had wandered into a clearing only to discover a hunting party enjoying a midday respite.

Louffen and Payani rose politely then, as soon as the initial exchange of pleasantries was complete, immediately set about outlining their various viewpoints to her, clearly hoping she would weigh in on the discussion. Ariana looked distinctly uncomfortable, biting the corner of her lip in concern, though finally she raised a hand, "Gentlemen," she addressed the group, "There are divers opinions in this room over the right course of action, though it seems the two most favoured are to march against my Cousin on the South coast or to march on this silver mine. Mister Krasimir, Colonel van der Szaalm, I appreciate that I am not one with the wisdom to make this decision, but I pray I am able to discern wisdom when I hear it. Kindly, could you please put your best case forward for your course of action and I will decide from that."

Smoke and Steel

Trefgodwig: Andronika Hasikos, Vassos, Vestele, Jacinta, Loan, Kreznik, Elandär and Osonia

Cowritten with @Terrans, @Badarby, @Pangolin333 and @Demencia

---

Unless she had a specific need to try to impress someone, there was always something a little bit scandalous about Andronika Hasikos. On this occasion, she wasn't, and she had languidly draped herself across the armchair behind her desk, tapping a rolled up scroll of paper against her leg. She was wearing a cream-coloured satin dress with a plunging square neckline.

The room smelt distinctly of pipe smoke. Vassos was perched in the windowsill, his pipe clenched in his mouth. Vestele and Jacinta were also there, just to Andronika's left, apparently gossiping about something, indistinctly whispering as they stood in the corner, heads close together.

First through the door was Loan Klodig, the liaison officer between the King of Carnelfenny and the court of the White Wyvern. As he walked in, he glanced at the people already in the room, nodding at Vassos and Andronika before taking his seat. He was followed, with little fanfare by Kreznik.

Kreznik gave a hurried nod at the present White Court in the room before he took his seat and began to remove the contents of his satchel. Reports and dispatches to be reviewed while he awaited for Andronika to announce the agenda of this meeting.

Elandär entered next, a cautious nervousness about him. He glanced around the room, fiddling with the bowstring across his chest. He took his chair, voicelessly mumbling something to himself.

"Hello Andronika, lovely to see you today," Andronika declared with a slight smirk, shifting languidly in her chair, a twinkle of mirth in her eye.

“Hello Andronika.” Kreznik’s reply was perfunctory. Used to her corrections and prompting by now.

"Far be it from me to tell a lie." Osonia replied, wedged in the open window. She glanced down at Vassos sitting on the windowsill. "You're blocking my entrance." she commented even as she slipped in over him, landing with a silent impact.

"You know it's customary to use the door," Vestele remarked, wrinkling her nose in distaste at Osonia's choice of entrance.

"Speak for yourself." Osonia quipped. "I've been going in and out of windows longer than you've been alive." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Doors are predictable, risky. I don't like risks."

"Entirely possible," Vestele gave a shrug. While it was often hard to tell amongst her people, Vestele was not all the old, "I suppose being raised in a barn is probably more common in the older generation."

Osonia's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Adorable." she observed dryly. "You know I had servants like you growing up. They were a lot more quiet though. You never realize how much you miss it until it's gone."

Andronika ignored the sparing between the two elga women, shifting again so she was sitting, properly, in her chair, "So, thank you all for coming here. We have a developing situation that has forced our hand somewhat... the town of Ebengrenzstadt, not far North of here, has declared for us. Obviously, we are honour-bound to march to their defence, which means we will be crossing the border into the Empire. Sir Loan, will you petition the King to join us?" she asked.

“I can try and petition His Majesty but I’m pretty certain that he want that marriage pact between you and his younger brother, Prince Edwin, to be made official before making major decision for your support, including marching royal forces past the imperial border,” Loan replied.

"Even without the pact," Vassos put in, "It's still in his best interest to weaken the Empire while the opportunity presents itself."

"Even with Carnelfenney with us, we are not in a position to fight both Imperial brothers," Andronika said, bringing the meeting back to topic, "so I have asked Vestele to act as an emissary to Orrian and would appreciate someone with some military expertise to escort her. Any volunteers?"

There was silence. It dragged on for a few moments before Andronika looked over to Vestele, "We'll get you a fitting escort for an Empress's Emissary," she assured, "Which brings me to my last point, Elandär, you want to find your friend and, as it happens I need to send an emissary to my sister. If she and her people will pledge allegiance to us it will greatly favour our cause. Would you be willing to escort Jacinta to act as an emissary to my sister?" Andronika asked, "Jacinta will help fulfil my promiss to you to find your friend."

“I- yes, I should be able to,” the young Elga said, ceasing to mess with his bowstring for a moment. “If it means getting my life back and helping the cause, then I will do it.”

"Good," Andronika motioned for Elandär and Jacinta to talk amongst themselves.

Jacinta moved across to him, lowering her voice, "I was planning to head South and take passage with a merchant to Inbur along with a small number of guards - no more than a dozen. From there we head inland and try to make contact with Ariana. I'll be relying on you, by virtue of your race, to gain us uninterrupted passage in areas controlled by the Empire. When we move beyond their control we can unfurl the banner and move more openly."

“I will try, but I have rarely interacted with my race peaceably for almost… a decade now? I don’t know much about customs or any of that stuff…” he said, voice quiet as well. Sure, he’d spoken to other members of his race since then, but the vast majority of encounters were through hunters, slavers, and the like.

Kreznik took the news of the newest responsibility with weary acceptance. He was already mentally tallying who he could send to begin looking for the Imperial friendly elements when Andronika’s second statement caught up to him, “You’re sending an Elgan to meet with the Reds?” He sounded disturbed by the thought. His network strained to reach that far but the rumors and messages that he received from there; even the milder tales were disconcerting.

"No, I'm sending Jacinta Tassou to negotiate with my sister," Andronika replied, "But I have also given my word to assist Elandär, which will mean him needing to travel near her territory. But besides, he is an emissary of mine and my sister has been raised to understand the obligations of a noble host. She is Hasikos after all. I can't guarantee there won't be danger but I can say I imagine my sister would think twice before doing anything to someone under my banner."

"Wonder what kind of friend he has that makes searching for him that important in a middle of a war," Loan muttered under his breath. It better be someone with money or power, something this group will need especially if the King withdraws his support, "You may trust your sister but what about her bannermen?" he asked. "Rumors have it that they're a rowdy and vicious bunch that provide no quarters or mercy to his kind. Can she stop them?"

"Elandär does not have to go if he does not wish to," Andronika raised an eyebrow, "Like I said, I can't guarantee there won't be danger. This is a favour for a friend, not a strategic move in a greater game - Jacinta will be making the strategic move. If he would rather do this later, that is fine." She looked across to Elandär, checking to see what he wanted to do.

Elandär looked over to Andronika as she mentioned his name. “Yes, I would like to go. My friend needs my help, and this is my chance to. I don’t know when I’ll get my next,” he says, nodding carefully.

“Best of luck then….. But while you’re there perhaps you could take care of something for me?” Kreznik looked rather sheepish as he shuffled a few papers around. “I sent a Hound to your sister back before the siege. Quintus. Just after our discussion of priorities." A slight burning of his ears that the assassin suppressed as he pressed on, “I haven’t heard back from him at all. None of my agents or other Hounds have found traces of him either. If you could just ask Andronika’s sister if he made it there at least…… So we can at least know where to search for him.”

Elandär’s brows furrowed as Kreznik requested a favor. His look was one of concern as he nodded cautiously. “I am sure we can ask while we are there. I may not remember it, but I will certainly try,” he said, giving friendly smile. He wasn’t sure if he’d even remember the name Quintus once he arrived at his destination, especially if his other task was so pressing in his mind.

"I'll remember," Jacinta added forcefully, raising an eyebrow at Elandär, "And I'll get your answer."

"Thank you." Kreznik bowed his head briefly to show his thanks. To Jacinta that was. He wasn't sure what to make of an Elgan with memory problems or why he still hung around the group; but the assassin couldn't exactly throw stones given his history.

Wild Beasts of the Earth (Gothic Horror)

Adam Temple, Sonja Wickler & Theo Rautenbach

(Cowritten with @Tackytaff & @Terrans)

There was some considerable suspicion about letting the trio into the police station. The two officers stationed out front were carrying long rifles and clearly expecting trouble and eyed the group menacingly as they made their way up the steps. Temple tipped his hat politely, and it seemed one might have recognised him as their was a visible relaxing of tension, "Good day officers. I'm here to see Officer Leonhard Faerber again."

There was an exchange of nods, between the pair then the one who seemed to have recognised Temple opened the door into the lobby, "Wait here," he instructed, making his way into the busy interior of the building. It seemed to be swarming with uniformed officers in the state of hive-like business you might expect during a crisis. The officer at the desk gave them a wary look, but didn't say anything.

"Faerber, unfortunately can't properly investigate this case," Temple muttered under his breath, his voice only carrying to his companions, "The political unrest in the city is consuming all their resources... though its busier in here that the last time I was in. There did seem to be an unusually high presence of Freikorps on the streets."

"Well it's not as though he could give us any less information." Sonja replied just as quietly, brow furrowed and arms folded across her chest as she stared down the officer manning the front desk. "Is this Faerber being paid by your people? Or just eager to share information with any good Samaritan?" Theo remained at the rear of the trio. Giving a reinforcing tug of his jacket; making sure his shoulder holster was still covered, “Does it really matter? It’s not as if he has a reason to hide the facts.” Theo countered.

"It doesn't," Sonja admitted with a shrug. "I just wonder what motivates a lawman to believe in..." Her hand waved noncommittally, "All this."

"A few people have become aware of our association over the years," Temple replied quietly, "Often they are in police forces. A detective may find an unexplainable case and choose to enlist our expertise. They are the people most often required to stare into the eyes of the strange, terrible and unexplainable," Temple replied, "And come up with a safe, rational explanation... while remaining, perhaps, unsatisfied themselves."

“So we are a convenient solution then? Taking care of a problem out of sight and out of mind. All without wasting their resources.” Theo sounded slightly affronted. Whether at the fact someone would shirk their duty or the thought that people knew and didn’t care about this side of the world ; was not apparent.

"Everyone is stretched thin these days." Sonja remarked impassively. "Cases being rushed or passed over is hardly new, especially with victims such as ours." Her gaze shifted towards her two companions. "If we are the only ones willing and able, so long as we end it, that would be satisfaction enough I think."

There was a click of booted feet on the floor announcing the appearance of an officer in a blue almost-military uniform with a black police shako on, "Ah Mister Temple," he greeted him.

"Officer, Faeber," Temple returned the greeting.

"Any news," Faeber asked, cutting straight to the point.

Temple shook his head apologetically, "We are still in the preliminary stages of our investigation, but I wanted to ask if we could see the files you have on the first dead man?"

"Of course," Faeber didn't seem at all put out by the request. Grateful, perhaps that someone was taking an interest, "Sirs, Madam, if you will follow me."

A few minutes later they were standing inside a dusty office with high barred North facing windows. It smelled slightly damp and was awash with files. Open cases that Faeber had, it seemed, had not closed... at least not to his satisfaction. He went behind his desk, lifting a half-filled filing box from a shelf, before depositing it on the desk in the middle of them, "This one... there's photos from the crime scene... oh and this," he held up a small canvas bag with a string tie, tipping out the contents - a silver coin, "It's a medieval groschen. Clutched in the dead man's hand. Let me know if you need a hand finding anything."

Theo picked up the coin. Holding it the light with interest. He didn’t have the slightest education to place its origins but he rubbed a finger of the metal anyways. Feeling the indents beneath the remaining fingers of his left hand.

"Can I take a look?" Temple asked, holding a hand out before holding the old coin up to the light, "1529," he paused, turning it over, "one batzen... Ernest of Bavaria. Hmm," he passed the coin to Sonja, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I can't imagine you find those around very often."

“1529… Tell me. Does this secret social club of ours have records that go back that far? Perhaps, if there were attacks that stopped on this date?” Theo scratched his chin in thought.

Temple nodded, "There are archives. It's worth taking a look. It's also worth doing a dive into folklore to see what a coin might be used for."

“Might have to let someone else do that. Not really keen on the books.” Theo looked slightly abashed; maimed hand rubbing sheepishly at his neck.

While the men took turns examining the coin, Sonja began shuffling though the photos in the box. Only, she hadn't seen the scene fresh enough to make any notable comparisons, and the photo quality with her deteriorating sight made the attempt equal parts futile and frustrating. Eventually the batzen coin made its way to her hand, where she turned it over once, then twice before giving a single nod in agreement of their assessments, "Historical interest in the Roman Empire isn't uncommon, especially in Munich, it may have been part of a collection." She offered with a slight grimace, not fully believing the coincidence but preferring over Temple's reference to folklore.

The coin and photos were returned to the desk in-front of Theo, freeing Sonja's hands to reach for a file from within the box. "We'll add it to the list of research. For now, officer, could you tell us whose decision it was to list dogs as the cause of injury?" She asked Faeber, anxious to steer the conversation in a rational direction.

"The Polizeirat indicated that was his opinion and that we should let the matter rest," Faeber lowered his voice, realising he was being, perhaps, a little mutinous, "The rise in political violence is the main priority for policing."

Sonja's frown deepened as she began rifling through the file pages. "He is so certain the murders are not extreme acts of political violence themselves? That they will not lead to more?"

"The people dead or disappeared are not politically active," Faeber replied, "They are, shall we say, invisible. Nobody has been damaged by their deaths and no group is seeking to profit. This also makes it easier for the Polizeirat to close this case unsatisfactorily. But I still hope there can be justice found."

---

Nicola Hoffman

"Mister Rudeanu," Nicola replied, "Speaking as a woman, albeit not one who has turned to such a shameful way to make money as most of our victims, I can tell you I certainly would not be in this graveyard after dark."

"Even were I not concerned about disturbing the resting dead, there are too many dark shadows. Any manner of unsavoury person could be lurking in the darkness and I would never see them."

---

8pm, Saturday 3 November 1923, The Cabaret Club

The scarred bouncer was still at the door from the night before, but this time he let the group through without protest or comment, in down the strange and spooky corridor, into the Headquarters of the Night Watch.

There was, of course, brandy. Temple smoked a cigarillo quietly, leaning against the mantlepiece above an unlit hearth as he waited for everyone to assemble. He appeared lost in contemplation, letting the smoke swirl up around him, his shoulders relaxed. Eventually, when it seemed that all of the group were there, he spoke up, "So... what have we all to report?" he asked.

"Those of us who went to the police station found the city's police overwhelmed and unable to deal with whatever is occuring around the graveyard. Political violence is on the rise and there appears to be an unusual number of paramilitaries in the city at the moment. The Officer working the case was reasonably sure this was not related as the victims were not politically active.

"We saw some photos of the crime scene," he looked to Sonja and Theo, as if checking to see if their opinion was different before adding, "They didn't add much. The Police did, however, find a coin from 1529, which apparently the first victim had in his hand. I have done some reading and I believe the cemetery was first constructed in 1563 for victims of the plague."

He paused, taking a drag from his cigarillo, holding it for a moment before letting it out, "I have a theory some of you may find... discomforting, but first, what did the rest of you find at the Asylum and in the Graveyard?"

Empire of the Clouds

In the distance there was movement. People crossing the ridgeline in loose order, though who exactly it was was anyone's guess - the figures were so far away they might as well have been ants...

Arkadios nodded to Carter, "Once we've confirmed everyone is aboard." He paused, clearing his throat to address everyone on the bridge, "If I might have your attention," he said, in a tone that suggested he was being polite, but there wasn't really an option not to listen, "We're about to take off, but without the benefit of a ground crew this has the potential to get a bit bumpy, especially if there's a gust of wind, so if you aren't doing anything critical to takeoff, make sure you holding onto something!"

Smoke and Steel

Konrad Louffen and Marius Panayi

*
@TokyoPewPew

As Colonel van der Szaalm arrived at the modest manor house that was currently acting as the Headquarters for their movement, he passed a number of pieces of captured Imperial sakers arranged neatly outside and guarded by red uniformed men of the Imperial guard. There was ongoing debate over whether it was wise to use the cannon. Yes, they were fearsome and potentially demoralising, but they required a considerable amount of powder to be used to good effect, and supplies of powder were not as plentiful as most of the common soldiers believed.

The manor itself was modest - the seat of a country lordling rather than a place for an Empress... but it was a far step up from the farmhouse they had plucked Ariana Hasikos from. The girl had the blood of Emperors but she was more used to selling pigs at the market than noble dances.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, when the Colonel was ushered into the drawing room, he was greeted by Payani and General Louffen. The Lady Ariana was not to be seen, though doubtless she would appear shortly.

"Good morrow Captain," Payani greeted him, "I hope you and your men have rested well after the battle?"

"Good morrow," Louffen mirrored the merchant's greeted, doffing his hat politely, and giving him before proceeding straight to business, "We had been hoping, Sir, that you might be able to give your opinion on a matter. Mister Payani is of the opinion we should march on Inbur itself, with all haste. I am of the opinion that we should consolidate our forces in the countryside before moving against the forces in the city. As an experienced soldier, what would be your preferred course of action?"

Smoke and Steel

Indeed! Apologies for the slight period of inactivity

Smoke and Steel

Sidskold: Coralie D'Ambois, Alberto Grosso, Stefano Bene, Aghilas Jêle Doeli & Momin Assinger

(Cowritten with @Pragia12, @Badarby & @Tesserach)

---

The Black Court set plans into motion...

---

As the Captains began arriving, Coralie was sitting slouched in one of the armchairs by the hearth, toying thoughtfully with her pistol, one foot propped up on a drawing room table. When she wanted to she looked the part of a noble, though more often she looked like she did now... like a bandit who had found a pretty black dress and put it on. There was a large decanter of something amber, and probably highly alcoholic on the table next to her and flagons to go around, like she didn't quite trust the Captains with the glassware.

First through the door wasthe bloated form of the merchant prince Alberto Grosso, his body clad in a shimmering expanse of studded silk. He wore a wicked self-satisfied grin, his exotic leather boots clacking on the floor as he gets to the table and holds up the flagon appraisingly "Thank you for the invitation, Empress." his voice as silky as his shirt, dripping with the implicit praise before deciding the flagon was fit for his consumption but not yet partaking.

Behind the fat merchant prince was the much smaller but flamboyant Stefano Bene, the self-proclaimed legal expert of maritime and trade laws in three countries and Coralie’s negotiator. He snuck behind Alberto at the door, “Legal expert Stefano Bene at your service, your Majesty,” he said with an overdramatic bow while rolling of his left arm.

Before Coralie had a chance to respond to either of the gentlemen the distinct noise of a bawdy crowd washed over them as Aghilas Jêle Doeli, otherwise known as 'the Doel''s party arrived. It was hard to miss them, and it was clear they'd been drinking, heavily, in the lead up to the meeting. They seemed to be singing a jaunty melody that they must've worked out during their drinking down at the red-light district, which he and his company had barricaded and rebranded as their 'base of operations' through another of their now familiar and legendary bouts of celebratory partying.

The subject of the song seemed to be 'Going to Meet the Empress' and while some of the lyrics were difficult to make out, there seemed to be a refrain that involved the eponymous 'Empress' giving a spanking to each of the other claimants in turn.

Finally they seemed to finish up their signing just outside the door. Drunken voices could be heard outside, in raised tones that toyed with the affectation of being whispers despite plainly being audible to anyone nearby. "You're meeting an Empress right - you bunch of fucking degenerates - make yourselves presentable." There was a muffled guffaw of general agreements and some period of what sounded like people shuffling about just outside the chamber, some genuine whispers.

Coralie smirked slightly to the other's in the room, rising to her feet as she waited for the commotion to die down and the group to enter.

Someone in full-bodied voice was heard. "How's my sash look?"

Followed by. "You look good mate, yeah."

The murmuring slowly subsided and then, abruptly, a group of about sixteen heavily armed pirates spilled together into the room. The whole group was nearly as bedecked in mismatched finery and jewelry as they were bristling with weaponry - there wasn't a man among them with less than two visible pistols strapped to their persons.

There was an almost imperceptible stiffening from the two Iktani halberdiers who formed Coralie's guard. They knew the crew were unlikely to actually do anything to harm D'Ambois (not that the young lady couldn't handle herself), but drunks were always a bit unpredictable.

The largest of the crew, at the head of the group and he looked around the room and then to Coralie. He smiled from out of a great bushy beard and stepped forward and threw his arms wide in greeting. "Well if it isn't our little darling Coralie! Seems like just yesterday you were just a wee little sea cap'n still testin' your sea legs and now look at ya!? All grown up and Empress of the Haltian Empire!"

"You know me, Captain Aghilas, I've always had plenty of big ideas!" Coralie declared with a grin, apparently liking Aghilas's informal greeting. She paused, one hand on her hip as she eyed his men, before declaring, "We need more brandy!"

Which prompted one of the guards by the door to shuffle out to get some.

As Assinger shuffled in in the background, Coralie began a story, "So I recently received an emissary from Cousin Andronika - she wants us to 'form an Alliance' and bring her army over here. Now given she's also styling herself Empress, I'm not overly keen on that idea. Seems like we are getting into bed with an adder. However, I've said we'll do it if she swears realty to me and accepts being my heir," she paused before asking, "So what do you all think?"

Aghilas' smile didn't disappear but his disposition and tone grew more serious as he and his party filtered in and began looking for seating. "What I think? I think... they're a long way from the coast."

One pirate in The Doel's entourage whose eyes lingered a little too long and intensely on Coralie caught a big meaty hand upside the back of the man's from The Doel, hard enough the man's hat came off. No one said anything about it and the man whispered hasty apologies in both Aghilas and Coralie's direction as he picked both himself and his hat up off the floor and took his seat, keeping his head down.

Coralie favored the chastened crew man with a cheeky wink, that suggested she thought the whole thing was a bit of a game before turning to pour herself a flagon of brandy, "Mister Bene, I would like you to negotiate for us. We'll give them transport but only if they give me their fealty. Importantly-" she added, turning to face Aghilas's crew, "-this means we control the division of loot! Never let it be said I take more than my fair share!"

Stefano rubbed his chin. He knew that a man came by the encampment seeking an audience with Coralie. Perhaps this relates to the meeting they’re having right now, “Any information you have about your cousin that may be of help to this diplomatic venture?” He asked. “While I like to believe that I can think quickly on my feet, it would be better for me to enter another dragon’s cave armed with knowledge instead of going in blind.”

"I think she's my third cousin once removed," Coralie gave a short laugh, "Never met her. In fact I hadn't even heard of her before she raised her flag. So anything I tell you will just be repeating rumours. But here we go anyway. I understand she's merciful and honorable... or at least claims to be... so I don't think you'll be in any actual danger."

“Still, a good negotiator must have some knowledge of who he’s negotiating with so even rumors could be of some help,” Stefano replied, writing down a few notes on his sheet of paper. “But I will perform my duties as an honorable envoy of the Black Wyvern and her court.”

"Well, you've heard all the same ones I have," Coralie pointed out, with another cheeky grin, this time for Stefano, "She was a farm girl who tangled with the wrong people and got enslaved. She talked some guards into killing the others and helping her run away - so she's quite the charmer. The Dawnbringer's friend. Has hagical abilities," she scratched her cheek, "She's kind. Charismatic. Mercurial. A teenager. Likes the attention of men -" she grinned again, "- a lot."

Alberto had kept his mouth shut, taking a full drink from his flagon, amber courage being gulped down as if it were lifegiving water. "I think the Lady Andronika would be an... unwise ally at this time." his voice reeking of that fresh drink "Leading her along, however, could have its value as we get situated. Embolden her and force her to play her hand first, perhaps?"

The Doel grunted and nodded at that. "What are they even offering us?"

Coralie gave a derisive laugh, "Some vague promise of unspecified land and titles in the future. Nothing concrete. I did glean they imagine setting that girl who claims to be the Dawnbringer up as Queen of Favis," she grinned roguishly, "Any clever artificer able to make me a glowing sword?"

Alberto smacked his sausage-like fingers on the edge of the table with a bark of a laugh "Pah, if you think she is the Dawnbringer, then I have an orcish army to sell you!" he shakes his head "I could probably find something to that effect..." he muses in a lower tone, taking her jest entirely seriously. There were few things in this world outside the reach of a man of his... means.

Coralie nodded, her eyes twinkling with cunning and mirth in equal measures as she flopped back into her chair, "Stefano!" she said as she rested her foot back on the table, "Fancy being the Dawnbringer?"

"A lawyer becoming the prophesized Chosen One? I thought we want people to follow us," Stefano said with a chuckle. "I have heard that the Haltians are looking around for anyone claiming to be the Dawnbringer and well, I very much like to not be held captive by them."

"We know what this Dawnbringer looks like?" The Doel asked. "There's this story, back in Addonia, of a pauper that was a dead ringer for a deposed crown prince. Led a revolt for something akin to three years before anyone stopped him. Maybe we find a look alike?"

Alberto chortled at the Doel's suggestion "Hell, why not take it up yourself?" he offered to Coralie, "All the more reason to rally them around you!"

"I could," she mused, "But the peasants would lynch me when it inevitably came out," she laughed before declaring, "A new mission for you, Stefano!" Coralie seemed to find this enormously entertaining, "Study her likeness and find us someone who looks passably like her! Or we can give it to some handsome blonde stablehand with huge biceps and very little brain."

“I’ll see what I can do,” Stefano replied. “If the rumor about your cousin is true, perhaps her court’s Dawnbringer will be by her side, simplifying the assignment.”

"Well if you can gag her and throw her in the hold of a barge that would be super," Coralie mused, "She'd have more fun with me, anyway!"

"Or lure her to a port town. Really get her within a mile of the coast and we can make a go of it!" The Doel laughed.

“Maybe I should bring your cousin with her so this negotiation could be to our favor,” Stefano said, chuckling.

"Even better!" Coralie grinned roguishly before adding, "But on a more immediate note, we sit on the Coast with Calarians to the West and Imperials to the North. We have a similarly sized force to the Calarians though I suspect they're better equipped than us. The Imperials are weaker but not by much. If one of us fights the other and wins, the third will move in and take them off the board as well. So to prevent us from being a loser in that eventuality, I would like to open up talks with the Calarians and Imperials to form some kind of arrangement with one group or the other."

"The Calarians are fond of a good pirate hanging." The Doel observed dryly. "Maybe best not send someone you're overly attached to."

"Well we send someone who doesn't have a bounty on his or her head," Coralie shrugged, "Or we just talk to our good friends in the Empire and leave it at that. Any thoughts... other than the Calarians probably want to separate my head from my shoulders?"

The Calarian in the room would speak simply "Luckily for us, I still have plenty of connections in the Republic, and while some may want my head still, most still understand and respect tradecraft such as this intervention." he takes a swig only to realize the flagon was empty "I am sure I could come to an arrangement that involves paying off your bounty from hypothetical coffers and some much more real loot."

"I did capture a treasure ship," Coralie warned, "Though if you think you can convince them to settle for a fee, please feel free to organise an emissary. I, on the other hand, intend to invite our friends from the Empire over for tea."

"While hardly a write-off, many sins can be forgiven, especially in times like these and especially if forgiveness comes with certain... indulgences." He smiles darkly "Do make sure to entertain them properly, I can spare some of the Pride's stores if they are needed."

Empire of the Clouds

Arkadios & Zoe

"Mister Mirazdar," Arkadios nodded towards Zano, "Take a team and disconnect the cables. Report back when the ship is free and we are all aboard."

"Miss Ferrari, stand by the deflate the ballonettes and dump the ballast," he continued, "If it requires a second pair of hands, enlist the help of Mister Carter."

"If anyone needs me and it isn't too complicated, I'm here!" Zoe announced from the corner, "Otherwise I'll try to keep out of the way."

"Good," Arkadios nodded, moving to stand where he could watch the ridge where the horses had been, "Try to make it fast. We may not have overly long to get this ship into the sky... but we will be fine so long as nobody dawdles."

Smoke and Steel

This RP will stay open to new players perpetually, so please feel free to join!

And if you aren't there already, feel free to join the Discord Community!

Smoke and Steel

Theme Music

Smoke and Steel
Act One: Allies and Rivals

The Palace at Alveby: Orrian Corfina and Arel Elmys

The massive vaulted windows of the palace were an impressive sight, if one that symbolised all that was wrong with the current Empire to Arel, as did the obscenely large hall with tapestry hung walls, carved columns and frescoes on the ceiling. All commemorating the glories of the deceased Emperor.

Orrian was leaning on the railings of the balcony at the far end of the hall, wearing a simple but valuable blue tunic. He turned as Arel approached, though didn't move from his spot, motioning for Arel to join him. Outside smoke still rose from parts of the city that had been set afire when the army arrived. They had not been gentle on the inhabitants of the decadent city, "Sir Arel!" Orrian greeted him cheerfully, "Come to admire the view?"

"No Sire, I've come with an question," Arel replied, leaning on the railing next to his leige. Below them, in the courtyard, the guard were changing.

"Well," Orrian raised an eyebrow, "What is it? Out with it man!"

"What now?" Arel asked, continuing before the question had a chance to elicit a confused response from his liege, "We've taken Alveby and driven your brother back, but do we really want to conquer the East? There is an obvious need to bring your brother to justice, but I fear we'll whittle away our forces and find few people willing to fight with us the further East we go."

Orrian nodded. A short, decisive nod, "Same thing crossed my mind, but what option do we have? We can't let him rebuild in peace."

"My advice, Sire?" Arel offered.

Orrian nodded again.

"Ally with the Hasikos girl in Trefgodwig. She's not interested in the West - let her have the East. She has the Dawnbringer with her, it will strengthen both our causes. We bring out combined forces to drive your brother out of Mitteland, back to Inbur, then let her siege down the Mitteland cities," he proposed, "We offer her our support, militarily and financially. In return she agrees to pay a yearly tribute of thanks to you, the Emperor of Haltia."

Orrian paused, then let out a guffaw of laughter, "I hear she's got the temperament of a lioness - quite unlike the mewling coward you expect from a human leader... though this decision is one I'd rather take advice on from all of our Chieftains and other leaders - no offense to you of course, Sir Arel."

"None taken my liege," Arel replied smoothly, "Shall I gather them in the hall?" a nod from Orrian, "Call it an hour?" another nod.

---

The City of Inbur: Oskar and Eleuia Krawiec

"Darling," Eleuia rose as Oskar entered the drawing room, exchanging a quick kiss before he slumped down in one of the two plush armchairs.

Eleuia took a moment to pour him a glass of wine, which he accepted with a grateful smile, before taking a seat in the chair next to him. Iskar reached across with his free hand and Eleuia reached back, their fingers intertwining in the space between their chairs, "Long day?" she asked him.

"Long day," he replied with a sigh, "Rebels everywhere. They don't dare come too close to Inbur. Yet."

She smiled, "Well the good news is, that I've caught wind of no murmurings of revolt in the city itself. So you can rest easy on that front. Most of the people here are worried by what that Ariana girl might do if she gets across the walls."

Oskar chuckled, "Well the Emperor is camping out in Mitteland. Dardithas is camping out in the Grendell, though I suppose I can't really blame him. The Armies in the South and in disarray. And we are here. Holding the richest city in the circle sea. We need soldiers, but we," he took a sip of wine before motioning with the cup to indicate the two of them, "Don't have the money to buy any more. We have the host and the garrison and that is about that."

Eleuia gave a short squeeze his hand, a gesture Oskar knew meant she had thought of a solution to his problem already. He smiled, raising an eyebrow, "The people who are scared of the Hasikos girl," Eleuia said, "Some of them are from major trading companies with a lot of money. I think it is worth inviting them over for dinner."

"To ask them for cash?" Oskar asked incredulously.

"To ask them to invest in soldiers to defend their assetts," Eleuia rephrased with a slight smirk, "I'd say we start with the Elnorin-Liawraek Group and the Duke of Planina."

Oskar raised his eyebrow again, "All Elgafolk. They'll think they've been invited to a supper for worms."

"Perhaps," Eleuia shrugged, "But the Hasikos girl apparently enjoys impaling elgafolk. I think they might want to talk to a Hettman on this occasion.

Oskar held her gaze for a long moment then gave a chuckle, "Alright, send the invites out for tomorrow. For the rest of the evening shall we pretend we aren't in the middle of a civil war?"

Eleuia gave a coy smirk, "As you wish."

---

Trefgodwig: Andronika Hasikos, Vassos Costaou and Vestele Loralen

Vassos was sitting by the window, enjoying his pipe, looking out across the garden when there was a sudden, and quite inappropriate whoop of delight from Andronika. He sighed inwardly, turning to see what she was up to.

She was sitting behind her desk with Vestele, pouring over a letter, hurried whispers passed between the pair, followed by a snigged from Andronika. Vassos rose, taking his pipe out of his mouth, "What's got you so excited?" he asked, informally since it was only the three of them.

Andronika turned the letter around, triumphantly holding it up for Vassos to read, though it was far too far away for him to make out what it said. Thankfully she summarised it as he approached, "A certain General Maza in Ebengrenzstadt has announced he is opening the city to us. We've got an Imperial city without needing another battle or a seige."

"And we don't have an army," Vassos pointed out.

"The Carnelfennians have an army," Andronika replied airily, "And we'll have more troops when we meet Maza. I think we have ample for now."

"The King of Carnelfenney wants you to marry his brother before he gives you his troops," Vassos pointed out.

Andronika gave a smirk, cocking her head to one side, "But would he really want his brother's potential-bride-to-be getting herself hung-drawn and quartered because he didn't help her when she was honour bound to support her subject in his hour of need?"

Vassos groaned inwardly, "There are two Imperial armies in the vicinity."

"I'm hoping that Orrian might be receptive to a Treaty of one form or another," Vestele chipped in, "I come from the West. A lot of the nobles there think that Mitteland and Inbur are more trouble than they are worth."

Vassos wasn't overly keen on the elgakvinne. Andronika had adopted her, he suspected, more out of pragmatism than genuine affection... but that affection seemed to have grown up rather rapidly. Andronika had a tendency to trust the wrong people and Vassos was far from convinced she was a genuine ally. They barely knew her.

"Call everyone together!" Andronika declared before Vassos had a chance to vocalise any further concerns, "It is time to make plans to march North."

---

Rodelkog: Konrad Louffen and Marius Panayi

There were still far too many crows over Rodelkog for Konrad's liking. It meant there were bodies, somewhere out there in the woods, that nobody had found and buried. Still he couldn't detect the sickly scent of decaying corpses nearby and as the walked along the dry stone wall, a skylark singing somewhere overhead, it was hard to imagine this had been the sight of a battle just over a week ago... if it wasn't for the signs of thousands of boots churning up the freshly ploughed earth.

"We need to press onto Inbur," Payani repeated, "We can't rest on our laurels. Blast a breach with the cannons and storm the city."

"We're not strong enough and the troops need rest," Louffen repeated, "If we left now we'd be marching with what... 13,000 soldiers? The Imperial garrison and other armies in the vicinity can pull together double that number and many of our troops are untrained. We'd be massacred. What we need to do is build up our forces here and start looking at potential avenues of retreat if the Emperor enlists another Host or comes East himself."

Payani grunted, not seeming convinced, "We also need to decide on a plan for what to do if Andronika sends an envoy here."

Louffen raised an eyebrow as they reached the corner of the field, heading back towards the village.

"Oh don't be like that," Payani grunted, "Andronika courts elga favour. I for one do not like it."

Louffen didn't that much either, but it bothered him less than Payani, "We'll discuss it more over breakfast when we are back at the manor," they had occupied a small but modest manor outside of town, which was currently acting as their headquarters. "With the others," he added.

---

Sidskold: Coralie D'Ambois, Alberic Thorel and Momin Assinger

(Cowritten with @InfamousGuy101)

The camp was a large, sprawling affair on the edge of the village, though after being held on the outskirts of the camp for a while, Alberic was ushered through it, through the mud between the tents, to a large manor house on the edge of the town where he was wordlessly shoved into hall with a cheerful blazing fire in the hearth, and, wearing a black satin court dress, stood Coralie D'Ambois, hands planted firmly on her hips flanked by a pair of Iktani with black-feathered morions and halberds who had presumably been members of her crew.

She was a pretty woman in her mid twenties with dark brown hair, a fair complexion and striking blue eyes. Pretty enough to be remembered. The dress was a rich cut, with gold embroidery around the square neckline and fashionable lace trim. She wore a gold necklace with a particularly large diamond pendant that must have cost a fortune. She looked every bit the noble apart from the pistol in her right hand, "Ah Captain... I think I remember you," she said conversationally as she cocked the pistol, aiming it experimentally at Alberic's chest, before lowering it again, "Which is why I said I'd have a chat with you rather than approving your hanging as a spy. So, what are you doing here?"

Alberic barely flinched as the pistol was leveled at his chest, his expression remaining calm and unbothered. Instead, he took a step forward, his boots scraping softly against the wooden floor, his eyes meeting Coralie’s with the faintest hint of a smirk, “When I first heard tales of a Corsair noblewoman taking hold of an entire fleet and wreaking havoc on the coast, I thought it was just the usual tavern hearsay,” he began, his tone conversational, almost amused. “Stories like that have a way of growing legs after a few cups of ale.” He gestured faintly toward her, taking in her opulent appearance. “Little did I think it’d be the same girl who was, what, a mate-in-line a few years back?”

"I was never a mate... got the Vengeance by arguing I was Anquetil's common law wife when he died," Coralie corrected, her expression turning sombre for a moment, "But I let his, and now my, First Mate, Mister Assinger do most of the running of the ship until I learned the ropes... so to speak. He's an experienced and competent sailor."

“And yet, here you are. An entire fleet under your command, raiding the Haltian coast and styling yourself Empress.” Alberic's smirk deepened. “Unbelievable, isn’t it? Then again, I imagine you’ve heard similar unbelievable tales yourself. Stories of the return of the Hasikos Dynasty. Of the Dawnbringer. Legends don’t seem quite so far-fetched anymore, do they?”

Coralie gave a vague shrug, "Dawnbringers are a great way to excite the peasants when the Empire is on its knees and the Hasikos family never went away... haven't you heard, youre talking to one?" she declared, before adding, "On my mother's side."

Alberic’s smirk widened at Coralie’s words, his arms folding across his chest, “So a Hasikos by blood, then?” he mused, his voice laced with amusement. “Well, I suppose the name doesn’t carry much weight among our lot. Corsairs don’t bend the knee to mainland lines after all. But perhaps…” His eyes gleamed with a sharper edge. “Perhaps the fact that one of them, alongside the Dawnbringer, managed to beat back an entire Haltian army might make you reconsider.” He let the words hang in the air for a moment, pacing a few steps closer to the fire as if lost in thought. “That battle at Trefgodwig.

Happened before the Empire truly began to crack. It wasn’t just a victory, it was a rout. And maybe, just maybe, that rout was what sent the first real tremor through the Haltian Empire. Shook them so hard it started the infighting we’re seeing now. Or at the very least… ignited it. I was there,” he said simply. “I saw it with my own eyes. The Dawnbringer isn’t just some rallying cry for rabble. She’s something more. She can rally them.” He gestured broadly toward the direction of the camp outside, the Corsairs scattered across the shore, “Men and women like us. She can turn bickering factions into something stronger...”

Alberic took another step closer, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone, “Imagine it, Coralie. Our warring cities—Vich, Emmidly—no longer at each other’s throats. Instead, united. A single fleet. A massive fleet. One that could bring the Empire to its knees while it’s already staggering. And here’s the thing…” His voice sharpened, “It starts here. With your fleet. With you, ‘Empress’ D’Ambois. This is the moment,” he said finally, “The question is... will you seize it?”

"Oh I'm sorry, when you said one of them beat back an Imperial army, I thought you were talking about me," Coralie smirked, toying with her pistol, "We won quite the victory. Shot their cavalry to ribbons when they tried to outflank us through the marshes.

"And you know, now I think if it," she tapped the pistol against her cheek thoughtfully, "I think I'm doing a rather good job of inspiring the men all on my own. You have some prophecy and a girl with glowing swords - yes I'm heard of your lady. I, on the other hand, took a Calarian treasure ship. A real, genuine galleon... I managed to fool into leaving port witout its convoy. And I outfoxed the Imperial Army they sent to get me. So let me cut to the chase. What are you proposing? And what's in it for me?"

Alberic chuckled, nodding faintly in acknowledgment of her words, “It’s no small feat to take a Calarian treasure ship, let alone outfox an Imperial Army. I’ll give you credit, Coralie—what you’ve built here, what you’ve accomplished, it’s impressive. More than impressive, really. But let me ask you this: What’s next? You’ve carved out your own piece of the pie, sure, and it’s a fine one. But it’s still just a piece. What if it could be more? The truth is, the Dawnbringer and Lady Andronika? They’ve got the men. They’ve even got firepower. But they don’t have the sea. They don’t have ships. Not like you do. You’ve got the one thing they’re missing to truly tip the scales in this fight.

“What’s in it for you? Your own domain, once the fires die down. A fleet and a cause that would let you rule something far greater than a few scattered ports. Imagine it—your name known not just among Corsairs, but across every realm that fears the Empire. And when this is all over, you’ll have the power to claim whatever you want.”

"What I want is a nice manor outside of Vich, though I suppose I could be tempted by an upgrade," Coralie smirked, seating herself in a chair near the fire and motioning for Alberic to take the one opposite her, "You see the problem is, I have men and firepower. Quite aside from the crews we brought onshore, I have local peasants flooding in. We have two batteries of falconets and captured 32 Imperial sakers in the recent engagement," she declared, "Whereas your ladies are still taking tea with the King of Carnelfenney. You know, for all your nice words, I think they need my ships to get into Old Inbur because they don't fancy trying to march around the Morktree. Which makes this seem like a pretty one sided proposition given I could be wearing the crown by the time they even get here.

"But, Im a nice person and I'm not going to turn down the chance of gaining more soldiers and ordinance. So this is my message for your ladies: I will send you back on a ship and you can tell your them that I pledge to send however many ships they need to transport their forces here, to supplement my own. They wilm will pledge their allegiance to me, but I will name your young Andronika as my heir apparent. If she is helpful I might even agree to her as a 'Co-Empress' or some such nonsense. To be negotiated in person, at a future date... but for now I'm not pledging myself to her. From where I'm sitting she needs me a lot more than I need her."

Alberic eased into the chair opposite Coralie, leaning back as the firelight flickered across his face. Finally, Alberic leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees, his tone measured yet carrying a hint of admiration. “Now I see how you’ve come as far as you have, Coralie,” he said with a faint smirk. “You’ve got the sharp instincts of a Corsair and the steel to back them up. I respect that, and I think most would.” He paused, letting the compliment sink in before continuing.

“That said,” he added, his voice sharpening, “if you truly could take Inbur on your own, you’d already be sitting on its throne, wouldn’t you? Let’s not pretend the Empire’s just going to roll over because they’re in the middle of a civil war. A divided Empire is still dangerous, and their armies, even fractured, could bleed you dry before you ever set foot in the capital.”

He shifted his weight, folding his arms, “I’ll take your offer back to them. I’ll even tell them you’re open to negotiating this ‘Co-Empress’ arrangement. But make no mistake, Coralie—this isn’t about anyone swearing total allegiance to anyone else. This is an alliance, pure and simple. One forged out of necessity, where the terms of succession can be decided later, in a more peaceable context as I'm sure you'd prefer. Right now, there’s a bigger enemy at hand. And I think you, better than most, understand that it’s the united front that wins wars, not fractured claims.”

"I disagree," Coralie shook her head, "An Alliance of equals isn't possible when we're both claiming to be the one in charge. It would just be a matter of time before that leads to a violent disagreement that would lead to me regretting my decision. There is only one Captain on a ship. And since I have the ships... Andronika can accept being my heir or stay in Carnelfenney."

Alberic studied Coralie carefully, his expression tightening just slightly. He leaned forward in his chair, “With all due respect, Coralie, putting terms like that on Andronika—demanding she become subservient to you—isn’t strength. It’s fragility,” he said, “You’re right that there can only be one captain on a ship, but this isn’t just about your fleet anymore. This is about uniting forces to take on something far larger than either of you can handle alone. And putting her in a corner with demands like this only risks losing everything she brings to the table.” He gestured broadly, his voice more deliberate, “Andronika doesn’t come empty-handed. She’s raised her own regiments, has her own artillery, and the Dawnbringer has rallied thousands of troops and allies for her. The fact she has the King of Carnelfenney listening to her is not a small bargaining chip, that the firepower and legitimacy that tips the balance. If you’re asking her to kneel instead of stand beside you, you risk alienating all of that. And I don’t think I need to tell you what happens to a fleet—no matter how strong—when it’s standing alone against an Empire that’s still very dangerous.”

Alberic’s tone softened slightly, though his words remained clear and pragmatic. “You need what Andronika and the Dawnbringer bring to the table. And they need your fleet, your experience, and your cunning. That’s the deal I can take back to them: cooperation, not submission. Because if you demand too much now, you risk losing it all.”

Coralie leaned back in her chair, giving a small laugh, "I'm asking her to be my heir, that's not the same as bending the knee. Its accepting I'm in charge for now and she will be later. The other possibility would be to form an agreement to divide the Empire... because currently we're both claiming all of it. War between us would be inevitable."

Alberic nodded thoughtfully, “The latter agreement, dividing the empire that is... is one I think Andronika would find far more appealing. It avoids putting either of you in a subordinate position and prevents a war between allies before the real fight is done. It’s not ideal, but it's practical, and practicality wins wars.” He straightened, “I’ll relay it to her. If she’s wise—and I know she is—she’ll recognize that cooperation, even with compromises, is better than turning allies into rivals.”

Coralie waved a hand airily, "I'll send someone to negotiate on my behalf, but you have the start of something... perhaps."

---

After Alberic was gone, another man entered the room, he was a tall, muscular figure in a fashionable slashed doublet. He had a dark complexion, and a jet black beard and mop of unruly hair, "Momin," Coralie greeted as he moved to join her by the fire, "You hear all of that?"

"Enough," he confirmed, "You're not seriously entertaining that popinjay's ideas are you?"

Coralie gave a derisive snort, "Oh Lord no! I'd rather not invite a viper in to bed with me. If his girls can agree on me being in charge, I'll welcome them here. If not, they can stay in Carnelfenney for all I care. We'll see if Stefano wants to go to have a talk with them. I feel like this is his sort of job. For now though we have a bigger fish to land! Imperials to the North of us, Calarians to the East. We need to decide on a course of action."

"Shall I call the Captains together?" Momin suggested.

"Thank you," Coralie nodded, "We'll meet in here."