Antwaun, you use the word “tribal” a lot when talking about Halassur. What does it mean to you? I’m not sure I’ve written them as particularly “tribal.”
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Idk like Honestly it just became an way to disrespect them. Like if it annoys you I will stop.
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To a achieve the level of parity they have with the Hegemony despite the advantages we know about like the wards, they must have some key advantages of their own. What would you say the most important ones are?
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Well my guess to start with is a less isolationist stance in world affairs compared to the Hegemony to begin with which likely means a better trade network and vastly more wealth from trade. That wealth and the need to protect their commerce likely also fuels a possible naval supremacy for them and, when it comes to the rest of the world, they are likely also superior diplomatically. Again compared to the general inward focus of the Hegemony.
Their other advantage is the one we already know about their way of fuelling their magic is way more efficient and it means there is no pressing need for widespread (chattel) slavery and that institution’s corrosive influence on early modern societies. So that is some bullets they dodge there.
Besides that they may also have one or two advantages we don’t know or haven’t speculated about yet.
Their society also seems to face its own internal pressures and be in perhaps dire need of some reforms of its own but their emperor may have a chance to succeed where prince nippletwister can only fail because, no matter what happens to the mc and our own rebellion, the Hegemony such as it is appears to be on borrowed time already.
@Havenstone Thank you for pointing me towards mr. Devereaux’ essays on Sparta. The concluding essay gives me one more ignominous fate for post revolution Karagon and Aekos that I had not even considered yet…the impoverished tourist trap. That one may be an even worse fate to any surviving Karagond elites who remember the good old days compared to even just using a weapon of mass destruction on Aekos.
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Halassur does not need to divert resources to supress and prevent slave rebellions, so it is more stable.
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True but that probably isn’t really the only reason.
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When you walk away from a slave revolt with more resources in the form of blood, is that really a loss?
The problem with the hegemony is that they’re just getting too frequent to manage due to the breakdown in other factors.
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Actually what did Shayardenes before the Karagon locked them into the cage that is the archonate thought of the hellasurqs. Like did they view the Hellasurqs as they do now or they Occasionally traded with the hellasurqs and despite their tendencies were on good terms with them. The latter is more likely, the hellasurqs were and still are an Important power so it would be stupid for the old shayardenes to hate them or be distant from them. I have an headcanon in which after hera conquered shayard alot of shayardenes fled to hellasur and warned the emperor of the army of whitches which ruthessly slaughtered their way through shayard. After the news reached them they to form the alliance with nyr and the Vigilians(sry forgot their name) the last few who were not yet conquered. Vigilians disappeared lemuria style, and nyr Fought gurella war until hera dropped an fricking mountain. Eh Also since hellasur is soo massive I think, in its south we have Arabs or arab like people in the south and Aryans to the east. They shape too much like turkey for my mind to handle.
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Slave rebellions are a big net loss (even excluding the cost of prevention), but the net loss is much more small than of rebellions in real life (because they harvest rebel blood), so the Karagonds exploit their slaves much more than a real country can.
Edit: As an example of the cost of slavery, half of the Karagond Army is not on the Halassurian Front, mostly to supress slabve rebellions.
4 Likes
I paused work on this part last month to go write other endgame stuff, but came back to it a week ago…and I’m happy to report that today I finished the last of all 32 options!
(As noted before, on any given playthrough you won’t see anything like all of those options. You have myriad options for who you’re spending time with in Irduin, and toward the end, lady de Irde will ask you for advice on keeping her demesne from falling to bits. The possible advice you can give her will vary greatly based on what secrets you’ve uncovered, the problems of the folk you’re hanging out with, and whether you’re sympathetic to Irduin’s order or trying to break it down.)
This is one of the ways that the endgame has ended up bigger than I’d originally envisioned…and I’m going to need to ask for your continued patience as I keep getting it into playtestable shape. But as an end-of-month consolatory section: here’s how I’ve written your arrival in Irduin.
From Mesniel to Irduin
The main road bearing east from Mesniel is humbler than the Serdre highway, but still a marvel of the architecton’s craft. Horse-carts and coaches regularly roll by at full speed on the smoothly cobbled surface, ringing bells or blowing bugles to warn the trudging masses. During rainstorms the water sheets off the road into stone-lined drains, leaving scarcely anything worth naming a puddle, let alone a rut. And Theurges as well as master-craftsmen have been visibly at work here; at least once a day you cross a bridge that looks more grown than built, extruded seamlessly from the rock on either bank of a stream.
The road mostly follows the gently curving course of Mesniel’s Anoteros Canal, with some loops to avoid stretches of marshland. When you’d first entered the Southriding from the Xaos-lands through the Brecks, you’d seen hardly any canals; the estates there on the sour-soiled western bank of the Serdre are fewer, their harvests scant enough to be taxed by cart rather than barge. Here, you get your first real immersion in what Cerlota @{cerl_here coolly describes|had described} as the Hegemony’s bloodstream: the human-made waterway network moving vast quantities of grain and goods down toward the rivers, the cities, and the sea.
Even these lesser canals are fifteen yards wide, and dredged too deep for any fording. People dart across them at the locks: enormous gates of steel and timber, controlled by gearwheels on the bank, to float barges up or down to the next stretch. If the only ironwork you’d encountered was around the lock-gates, it would still have added up to more metal than you’d seen before in your life. But you also come across innumerable steel pilings in the channels’ retaining walls, holding back stacks of oaken beams (which must themselves have been borne a long way from outside the lightly forested Southriding).
In some ways, it’s more impressive and disorienting to see all this craft here, on the lesser byways of a minor district, than it was back in the heartland of one of Shayard’s grand riverways.
*fake_choice
#It shows just how dauntingly thorough the Thaumatarchy’s grasp truly is.
Ever since you reached the Serdre, you’ve been realizing how much difference it made that you grew up on the fringes of that grasp—and you were barely able to kindle a revolt there, in the Outer Rim. How is it even thinkable down here, where the Hegemony’s power is so tangible in every yard of road?
#It suggests how quickly and easily it could deploy Phalangites throughout the realm.
Now you understand how the Archon was able to get an army to you within months of your first uprising, despite the great distance from the Vaulens garrison to the Whendward. No one but the Theurges would have needed to fly; traveling on roads and waterways like these would feel like flying, at least compared to the forest tracks you grew up with in the Outer Rim.
#It shows staggering wealth. I can barely grasp the scale of mining, forestry, and transport behind the building of these canals.
From your time with the outlaws, you know too well the cost of a single sword or iron mace. Crafting these hundred-times-bigger steel beams must surely be far simpler and cheaper than weaponsmithing—but even so, you feel a kind of sick vertigo every time you see one rusting tremendously in the canal murk.
#It suggests how comfortably dependent on Theurgy most folk of the Hegemony will have become.
Even back in the Outer Rim, where most folk only thought of Theurgy’s benefits as keeping Xaos-storms and Halassurqs at bay, it was a struggle to win people to the cause of rebellion. Here, where you regularly see magi driving barges of food and precious wares along canals dredged out and shored up by their powers…how many fewer folk will want to rebel, let alone dare to?
The countryside around you continues to be thick with Alastors, @{(drap_sus > 9) some of them perhaps with your description in their hands|frequently leaving their watch on the helot harvesters to come skim money from merchants on the high road}. But
*if ((wonfight < 5) and bredenmity) or (plekrun > 0)
they seem not to give too much credit to the idea that the rebel ${lname} is hereabouts;
@{(drap_sus > 9) they aren’t closing the roads to hunt for you|you don’t look remotely prosperous enough to draw their eye}, and you’re well hidden by the crowds bound for Gelley, Parrit, and the rest of the Westriding. The blazing sun turns your fellow travelers into a dappled throng intermingled with the shadows of the roadside broom trees. With each week, you’re finding it easier to be one more anonymous silhouette among them.
If you just kept moving, you begin to realize, it’s possible you’d never @{(drap_sus > 9) be caught, however many informants came sniffing around|actually be questioned by Alastors or run into an informant you couldn’t easily outfox}. You’d always be depending on your luck, that you wouldn’t be the unfortunate stranger who gets dragged out, accused of vagrancy, and Harrowed.
But whenever you finally leave the open road and settle down to spend more than a night or two in one place, as you’re planning in this “Irduin”…that’s where your alibi will come under sustained pressure, and your risk of being found out will surge.
*choice
#I wish I could keep dancing the roads, from town to city to town.
But then you’d never have the chance to reconnect with @{(wonfight < 6) the survivors of your band|your rebels}. @{(g1_lesson = 9) Somehow they’ve survived and kept the revolt going; they haven’t given in to the despair that overwhelmed you in the Xaos-lands. You need to hear more of how they’ve done it before you’d be able to walk away|You’d be walking away from your part in it—away from any hope of an uprising at all. You’re not ready for that yet}.
*set roadfeel 2
*goto northward
#I’m exhausted, parched, and footsore. It’ll be worth some risk to have a place to rest and a roof overhead again.
You’ve almost lost count of the weeks since you left Sojourn, always moving, always insecure, sleeping in the wilds or crowded caskroom floors. The first days in Irduin will be the most dangerous; but once you’ve satisfied enough people with your story, you should be safer there than you’d ever be on the road. Or so you tell yourself.
*goto northward
#Relying on luck to escape being Harrowed as a vagrant is terrifying. Once I’ve convinced people of my alibi, Irduin could be a lasting refuge.
The first days are likely to be the most risky, with the most suspicion and probing of your identity. But if enough people accept your story, and your skills are able to win you a place in the community, every week after that will make you seem less of a stranger. Here on the road, you’d never escape new people asking for your history; once you’re even halfway established in a village, the questions will die down, and any newcomers or outsiders will assume you belong.
*goto northward
#All I want is to be home. Not on the road, not in some alien village. Truly home.
*set roadfeel 3
All too soon, it’ll be a full year since you crossed the Ward, and nearly two years since the autumn when you had to flee Rim Square. You’d scarcely ever left your hometown before @{(natlreal < 50) that, though you’d often dreamed of heading off to see what’s over the horizon|that—and never truly wanted to}. @{(srfeel = 5) Now, for all your fascinated affection for the Southriding,|Now} you’re so very ready to be back in the cool, familiar forests of the Outer Rim.
*goto northward
*label northward
*if cerl_here
@{(roadfeel = 1) You’ll hopefully also|At least you should} be able to speak wth Cerlota more when you reach Irduin. Since your encounter with the drapetekyne near Mesniel, your @{cerlover disguised lover|Theurge companion} has begun posing as a mute apothecary, to avoid any recognition of her ${erretsin} accent. Even on the rare lonely stretch of road, or late at night, she communicates with you through @{(me_lit > 0) gestures and short notes scratched on slate|a crude gesture-language}. Once you’re settled into a village, you’ll hopefully be able to steal more time for whispered @{(g2skillpick = 1) lessons and|}@{cerlover conversations, intimate and otherwise|conversations}.
Both canal and road bend slightly southeastward for weeks, skirting the rougher moorlands to the north. A couple of days after they begin to curve back northward again, you abandon the main way for a much smaller, rougher track winding directly up into the moors. For the last thirty-odd miles of your journey to Irduin, you find @{alone yourself|yourselves} suddenly almost alone. A mule train might pass you twice a day, and a handful of other travelers on foot every hour, but after weeks on the Serdre highway and Westriding road, the country around Irduin feels like wilderness.
*fake_choice
#I feel much more exposed up here, like my shields have been stripped away.
Or like a rabbit stranded on a barren hillside, plain to any hawk. All you can do is try not to look the part, hiding your nerves and setting a brisk but measured pace.
#@{(srfeel = 2) I don’t have words for the relief of no longer being|It’s a relief to no longer be} constantly surrounded by people.
Walking with long stretches of silence again is balm for a soul worn raw by months of unceasing hubbub. You can hear yourself @{alone think again|talk now, even without bellowing}.
#I have to remind myself that this is normal. More like the Outer Rim. I should be feeling relieved, not unsettled.
But the quiet somehow seems…loud to you now. Obtrusive, in a way it never did before. Having glimpsed how many millions of people live a life from which silence is largely absent, you’re not sure you’ll easily (or ever) go back to taking it for granted.
#$!{oath}, it’s boring. I just want all this traveling to be done.
If you could fly to @{(theuspec = 1) Irduin without your wobbling flight-arc drawing the eye of any Theurge nearby,|Irduin,} you’d do it in a heartbeat. Loud or quiet, the road holds little joy for you now.
There are far fewer helots working the land around this back road, you soon realize. The fields nearer to the canal-lands, with crops sped to maturity by Theurgy, have already been cleared; their harvesters are presumably off carousing in their camps until the post-Langday planting cycle. And with every mile you travel into the moors, you pass more land whose still-ripening stalks attest to landowners unwilling or unable to pay the Theurges for extra harvests. Their helots probably won’t be out working these fields for another five or six weeks.
To your relief, there are correspondingly fewer Alastors. The handful of tall-helmeted shadows you spot are in the distance, hovering around helot camps rather than troubling the minimal road traffic. Your first face-to-face encounter with one comes on the day when the haze on the northern horizon darkens into distant green hills, forested in oak and pine. “The Hethe,” you whisper to @{alone yourself,|}
*if not(alone)
@{gam ${gamgee}|Cerlota},
@{alone staring|pointing} up toward the easternmost district of the Rim with @{(roadfeel = 3) a yearning pang of homesickness.|relief. “Nearly to Irduin, then.”}
*if not(alone)
@{kal "Then I reckon that river’s|“Which would make that river} the Irdewater,” @{gam ${gamgee}|Cerlota} murmurs back, nodding to the gorge that separates you from the last high stretch of moorland. “And…is that @{kal a swiving|an} Alastor on the bridge with that little crowd?”
*if (alone)
Between you and the last high stretch of moorland lies a deep gorge: the River Irdewater, from what you’ve heard on the road. It’s spanned by an arched stone bridge with a small cluster of people gathered on it. That’s where you spot the enforcer.
It’s not just any Alastor; his high helm has a captain’s crest. And from the absence of even the slightest adornment on their drab, ragged kyrtles, you’d have guessed that the loitering gang around him are helots. Yet the Alastor isn’t chasing them back to their camp or rebuking them for laziness. He’s taking off his helmet and joining their game, hurling stones out into the gorge, while apparently exchanging jokes. Laughter and cheers rise faintly up to you.
The closer you get to the group, the more genuinely easygoing everyone looks. With his helm off, the captain is completely unarmored. If there’s tension on anyone’s face, it’s less than you’ve ever seen between an Alastor captain and his local yeomanry, let alone helotry.
*fake_choice
#Those must surely be ill-clad free peasants, not chattel. No helot would @{helot let their guard down this far|laugh with their oppressor}.
#Maybe the captain’s waiting for other enforcers to arrive before he starts cracking skulls?
#I don’t know what’s happening here, but I can’t believe it’s genuine goodwill.
You @{alone hover uncertainly at a distance,|share incredulous glances with}
*if not(alone)
@{(gam and cerl_here) Cerlota and|} @{gam ${gamgee}|Cerlota},
and wonder whether you’ll draw more suspicion by waiting here until the Alastor moves on or crossing when he’s there to interrogate you. Before you can decide, a song drifts toward you, lightening the turgid afternoon air.
I know not where I’m bound, my love
Nor how long I’ll stay when there
But remember me by the dawn’s fair light
And the cyclamen in my hair
Ah, the cyclamen in my hair
A young woman appears over the curve of the moors. She’s wearing a sky-blue kyrtle bound with a gray sash, and carrying a conical wicker basket on a strap over one shoulder. Stalks of rosemary and other fresh-picked herbs peep out above her head, but there are no flowers in her hair; it falls loose to her shoulders, framing a sharp-featured face with strikingly large and confident eyes. She pauses when she notices @{alone you,|you and your}
*if not(alone)
@{(gam and cerl_here) companions|companion},
tilting her head to the side and fixing you with a searching stare.
Before you can say anything, she breaks into a smile. “Well met, @{alone traveler|travelers}. It’s a thirsty season to be on the road, this close to Langday. Planning to break your travel in Irduin?”
*fake_choice
#“If it wouldn’t be a burden.”
The young woman waves a dismissive hand at your politeness. “Hospitality is no burden. Come now.”
#“Is it a welcoming place for outsiders like @{alone me|us}?”
“If the outsiders don’t bring trouble with them: most certainly.”
#“Is your Alastor captain as friendly to travelers as he is to…?” I nod down toward the bridge.
The young woman laughs at your expression of disbelief. “To the helots? More so, I’d have thought.”
She doesn’t offer her name or ask yours, just beckons you after her on the track down to the gorge.
When you step onto the bridge, it’s clear that the main span is Theurge-wrought, a single unbroken arc of stone the same gray-yellow color as the river cliffs. The low walls on either side are drymasonry, crumbling in places, and you wouldn’t want to trust them to save you from the hundred-foot drop to the Irdewater rapids. The helots lean out undeterred, gesturing excitedly downward. “It was my throw hit the log, not the Captain’s!” one of the younger ones is insisting.
“Yours might have touched it, Earith,” the unarmored Alastor counters with crisp amusement, “all feather-light and glancing. But you know it was mine that sent it into the Water.”
Above the mingled roar of laughter and protest, the herb-collector at your side raises her voice. “Will we see you at the Chesnery tonight, Captain Korren? There’ll be @{alone another newcomer|more newcomers} at table.” She gestures lightly in your direction.
“Hopefully the only @{alone one|ones}, with the taxman gone down-country.” The Alastor’s short beard doesn’t hide his grimace. He turns and regards you with dispassionate interest; nothing in his mien signals threat or predation. “What brings you this way, @{alone ${girl}|strangers}?”
You bow, slipping into your now thoroughly practiced character with @{(cha = 0) something resembling grace|ease}. “I’m a traveling
*if (sralibi = 5)
@{helot musician|rhetor} and
@{sralibi tinker and arrow-wright|apothecary|tutor|guard and weapon trainer|performer}, kurios. $!{alias} ${ird_name} by name.
*if not(alone)
My @{(gam and cerl_here) friends|friend} and
I found Mesniel too restive for @{alone my|our} liking…too close to the Commotion. @{(sralibi = 4) I’d rather guard folk against small outlaw bands than great swarms of them!|} @{alone I’ve|We’ve} been looking for a calmer place to ply @{alone my trade|our trades}, and heard these moors were quiet, and home to honest folk.”
“You have a Rimmer sound to you.” The Westriding twang in Captain Korren’s own voice is plainly audible, though softened and broadened by ample time in this part of Shayard. “What brought you @{alone |all} south?”
*choice
#“I lost everything to the blasted rebels.” The story will draw plenty of attention, but hopefully also sympathy.
“Indeed?” The Alastor raises an eyebrow.
“They tore through our town in outer Darridge one night, taking all the drachems and food they could find, and then set half the houses ablaze before fleeing.” You @{(g2nonvio = 0) grimly show him the burn-scars on your arms|shake your head, grim-faced}. “My sisters stayed on to look after my old father, but I’m hoping to find a safer roost and send what I can back to them. I lost a year’s earnings to those rebel bastards.”
“We’ve others here who could tell a similar tale.” Korren nods bleakly.
*goto tothechin
#“Things were getting ugly nearby, so @{alone I|we} left before it reached @{alone me|us}.”
*set irdstory 2
“How ugly?” The Alastor raises an eyebrow.
“A village two miles from mine was burned by the rebels, and a temple just a bit further north robbed for its gold.” You shake your head. “Didn’t want to wait for it to swing any closer. I know too many folk who lost all they had to the rebels.”
“You’ll meet some more of them here.” Korren nods bleakly.
*goto tothechin
#I don’t want to spread fear of the rebellion. “I’d always heard there was good work to be had down here.”
*set irdstory 3
“Commotion didn’t touch you, then?” The Alastor raises an eyebrow.
You shrug, trying to sounding neither too alarmed nor blasé about the revolt. “A number of the folk who’d usually hire me have left the Rim because of it. All in all, it seemed a good time to be elsewhere myself.”
“Well, @{sralibi I’m sure there are some pans that want mending.”|I’m sure some folk have pains that your powders could ease.“|perhaps milady Alasais or kurios Farrec will have use for you.”|there’s not much need for guards up here, but perhaps milady Alasais or kurios Farrec will feel otherwise. Or my lot could use a bit of training.“|perhaps milady Alasais will take you on for a season. It’s been some time since we had a jongler or troupe of players through here.”} Korren pauses.
*goto tothechin
*label tothechin
*if not(alone)
“And your @{(gam and cerl_here) companions|companion} of the road?”
*if gam
@{(bre and (bred_lover >= 20)) “$!{his} ${xspouse}, kurios,” ${gamgee} says with a warm smile.|${gamgee} speaks up.} @{cie "A gamekeeper’s ${daughter}, kurios. Archery, sling-work, tracking…I can do it, or teach it.|}
*if (bre and (bred_lover >= 20))
“And of the same trade. Wherever ${he} goes, I go with ${him}.”
*goto cerljob
@{bre "I’m of the same trade, kurios.|} @{sim "A guard and trainer in blades, kurios.|} @{(sim and (sralibi = 4)) Same as my friend ${alias}.|} @{kal “I’ve a good hand with livestock, Captain, including healing them.|}
Joined @{(sim and (sralibi = 4)) ${him}|my friend here} to seek my fortune.”
*label cerljob
*if cerl_here
@{gam “And as for kuria Lotte here,” you hasten to add, "she|As Cerlota bows, you explain: “Kuria Lotte} was the apothecary for our @{(sralibi = 2) town—my master and teacher.|town.} @{(irdstory = 1) She lost her speech when the rebels, damn them, struck her in the throat. But she|She’s always been mute, but} makes more potent xerions and potions than anyone else between here and Vaulens, I’ll warrant.”
Korren eyes you for a few moments more, then waves you northward past the bridge.
“Up you go, then. Welcome to Irduin. We’ll speak more at the Chesnery tonight.”
To your amazement, the young helot Earith is trying to draw his attention back to her: “Aye, Captain, and you’ll be treating us all to an ale then, unless you can knock that upmost pine cone into the Water before I can!” She’s tossing a stone in one hand, a broad grin on her face. Alastor Korren snorts, turning from you to squint back down into the whitewater at the bottom of the ravine.
You make it out of their earshot before the astonished whisper breaks free of your throat: “They drink together?” @{kal ${kalt} looks like ${zhe}'s about to strangle on ${zhis} own shock.|}
“Everyone drinks together at the Chesnery.” The young woman smiles in quiet but profound satisfaction. “Everyone.”
*page_break
It’s nearly a half hour’s walk from the bridge up to the village itself, most of it through wheat fields or lemon orchards. A lone oak looms over all the other trees at the top of the rise, first sentry of the distant Rim Hethe forests. It shades the open side of a courtyard ringed by five tall stone structures. Outside the open door of the largest building, helots and yeomen are mingled together, chatting in low voices.
“Head in there and ask for my father, Maurs,” your guide tells you briskly. “He’ll see you settled. I need to get these herbs to Salle for the even-meal. We’ll speak more later.” She disappears around the back of the main building.
Moments later, two dusty riders trot into the Chesnery courtyard. The younger one, wearing a sword at her side and a brightly-colored, high-collared jacket with fur trim, is surely an aristo; the other, a hook-nosed man with deep-set eyes, is still well-dressed but without any obvious signals of nobility. They both dismount and water their horses.
@{(me_lit > 0) Glancing up at the sign above the main doorway, you realize it’s not the name of the inn, but a command: Speak no lie within these walls.|You avert your eyes reflexively, and find them resting on the sign over the main door. Seeing your blank gaze, one of the yeomen at the door shouts: “It says, ‘Speak no lie within these walls,’ traveler. Maurs’s rules.”}
*choice
#I head in straightaway to find the innkeeper.
*goto intromaurs
#I want to hover around the door for a bit and hear what folk are talking about.
*set irdgreet 2
There’s a water barrel there for new arrivals to clear the road dust from their faces and throats. It’s a good place to quietly take in the peasant farmers’ conversation—but to your surprise, you don’t understand what they’re saying. They’re not speaking the Hegemonic Koine, and only every tenth word sounds Shayarin. Are we close enough to ${whendery} for them to be…but no, surely not?
“What’s your business here, ${lass}?” Another burly yeoman has ambled up beside you, and addresses you in Southriding-accented Koine.
*gosub introdoor
“‘Kurios’? Me?” The peasant almost doubles over laughing, drawing stares. “Hear that, all? I’m kurios Pouls! Lord of Dung Acre!”
Wary chuckles go up from the cluster of locals. “‘Goodman’ does well enough for us all, ${girl},” one of the others says, regarding you with guarded amusement. “You can save the kuri-ing for the highfolk.”
“Good to know.” Whatever they were saying before, you’d plainly rouse their suspicion as an eavesdropper if you asked them to explain themselves now. You run wet hands @{(hair < 4) through your hair|across your face} a final time, bow, then head inside.
*page_break
*goto intromaurs
#I approach the riders at the trough. Employment with some noble House is my best hope of staying here.
*set irdgreet 3
@{helot Even though you’ve rehearsed this moment in your mind a thousand times, approaching an unfamiliar noble still steals all the moisture from your tongue and throat. You cough, bow, and mumble,|Even before you had to fear discovery as a rebel, introducing yourself to an unknown fellow noble would always set your nerves on edge; some deep part of you is always expecting a mocking bully, like your Keriatou cousins. Taking a deep breath, you bow and say,} @{(skepreal <= 50) "Angels’ blessings|“Cool skies and good fortune} to you, milady.”
“And to you, good${woman}.” The young aristo glances briefly at you before tying up her mount. The saddle has some sort of blackbird emblem on it; @{aristo unsurprisingly,|that’ll be a family crest, like the Keriatou ram, but} you’ve no idea which House it represents.
Her hook-nosed companion steps briskly between you, favoring you with a much closer inspection. “What brings you through Irduin, stranger?”
*gosub introdoor
@{(cha > 1) Your efforts at winsome charm seem only to be putting the man further on his guard.|} “Mm. These days the roads are full of rovers in search of coin.” The retainer keeps himself, wall-like, between you and the noblewoman while walking toward the inn. “There’s food, drink, and rest to be had here…but for aught more than that, I’d advise you to keep on your way.”
You keep your tone polite, but you’re not going to be put off by some self-important minion. “Then perhaps the kurioi here could use someone who gives better advice.”
As the hollow-eyed man sputters in shock, the noble girl looks back with a smile playing across her lips. She’s a year or two younger than you, you’d judge. “And what advice would an insolent Rims${woman} give my mother, outsider?”
*fake_choice
#“To accept loyalty when it’s offered. Not turn it away for fear of strangers.”
#“To hear and correct the insolence in her retainers’ speech—not just in outsiders’ answers.”
#“To welcome those fleeing the Rim, and learn from us how to stop the Commotion from spreading further.”
“Hm.” The amused-looking young aristo stares at you a few moments longer, then beckons to her fuming retainer. “Let’s go in, Cômes. I need some refreshment before I’ll hear more of anyone’s advice.”
*goto intromaurs
#“Speak no lie?” I @{(helot and (int <= 1)) retort|ask one of the yeomen} incredulously.
*set irdgreet 4
The whole group breaks off conversation and faces you. “Too difficult a rule for you, outsider?” one of the peasants demands. Her aggressive half-grin isn’t hostile, but still some distance from welcoming.
You just @{bre laugh, with Breden a warm echo behind you|laugh}. “If everyone in my home town had spoken truth every time they saw each other in the wineroom, there’d have been too many fights for anyone to buy drinks.”
A few wary chuckles come back to you. “If @{(helot and (int <= 1)) the|Maurs’s} rule was ‘speak every truth,’ that’s how it would go here, too,” one man concedes. “He could have put ‘swallow what you can’t peaceably say’ up there, if he had fewer windows.”
The mood of the group is still decidedly @{cerl_here guarded, perhaps especially with Cerlota looming silent at your shoulder|guarded}, and you decide that’s as much talk as you’re likely to get before the ale starts flowing. “I’ll mind my tongue, then,” you offer with a parting bow.
*page_break
*goto intromaurs
22 Likes
Arrival Part Two (bc forum posts have a character limit, who knew?)
*label intromaurs
As soon as you step into the Chesnery, you’re met by a rush of blessedly cool air. The north-facing side of the main room is a portico open to the inn’s orchard. The breeze carries the smell of greenery and citrus to every corner of the caskroom.
A bellow from the portico draws your eyes to a grizzled, barrel-chested man with arms as broad and strong as your thighs. “Welcome, welcome, @{alone neighbor|friends}! Gyrn, lad, get in—we’ve @{alone a new guest|new guests}!” The man has been sitting behind a wooden merchant-sete; when he hoists himself over the front of the stall, you see his legs are missing from just below the hips. Swinging himself deftly to the floor, he grips a pair of wooden frames, pushes himself up on them like small hand-stilts, and crosses to you at a quick, lurching pace. “I’m Maurs Stonewright, keeper here. Did you ride or walk in today?”
He’s being generous; you don’t imagine any guest as tattered and roadworn as you has ever arrived by horse. You pull out one of your @{(roadthief > 2) hard-earned|stolen} drachems to show you can afford room and board. “@{alone I|We} came afoot, goodman. No @{alone mount|mounts} to stable.”
“Twice the sweat and dust, then, Angels a’mercy.” Maurs uses his head to beckon over the youth who’s just hurried in from the orchard. “Young Gyrn here will show you the well and the washing-stalls. After that…he and his mother Salle are stewing up a brace of woodcocks. Once you’ve refreshed @{alone yourself|yourselves}, come back and have a stoup of something as guest-gift while you wait for the meal.”
*if gam
@{sim ${simon} bows. “It’s finer hospitality than we received in any great lowland city, goodman Stonewright. You have our thanks.”|“Guest-gift?” ${gamgee} glances at you, then back to your host. “Haven’t heard that offered in any wineroom in the Southriding so far.”}
Maurs returns ${ghis} @{kal wry grin|smile}. “Up here, a guest is a guest, even for those of us who earn our living by hosting them. Off you go, now.”
An hour later, you’re clean, cooled down, and enjoying the finest drink @{helot you think you’ve ever had|you’ve had in a very long time}:
*choice
#Plum jerkum from the Rim Hethe, blent with local cider.
*set irddrink 2
A near-perfect balance of tart and sweet, with a smoothness that makes it dangerously easy to overlook its fire. You take the drink at a deliberate pace, savoring each sip; this is no night to run giddy.
*goto postdrink
#Wine from Bradingcot grapes in the Westriding.
*set irddrink 3
@{helot This isn’t the barnyard cheapwine you were sometimes given as a helot in Rim Square. It’s got a rich, fruity savor that’s unlike anything you’ve tasted before. With each mouthful, you find yourself putting off swallowing for the sheer pleasure of having it on your tongue.|It’s not your father’s prized Aveche goldwine, but for a common vinteur’s work, it’s surprisingly rich to the tongue. Have the aristoi of Irduin shared their cellar with their innkeeper?}
*goto postdrink
#The local yeomanry’s wheaten ale.
*set irddrink 4
It’s a little sour at first sip, but hearty by the time it reaches the back of your throat. After just a few swallows, the thirst of your long walk is gone, leaving behind a giddy-edged sense of wellbeing.
*goto postdrink
#Canewine with a mash of ginger and anise.
*set irddrink 5
One thing @{(srfeel < 4) you’ll grudgingly praise|you love} about the Southriding is that canewine can be had cheaply almost everywhere. The sweet, strong liquor has been a new discovery for you; the winerooms of the Outer Rim mostly worked with local grapes, rather than bringing up cane from the Serdre valley. Savoring the spices Maurs (or his cook Salle) has mixed in, you wonder if you’ll always link the taste with the relief of escaping the Xaos-lands.
*goto postdrink
#Cold well-water, with mint and lemon to purge ill humors.
You want to keep a clear head, tonight of all nights, and Maurs’s well is pure and chill. Through the riverlands and the lower moors there’s always been a faint, flat taste of mud to the water; between that and the months of sour or metallic springs in the Xaos-lands, you feel like you’ve never had a jar of water as refreshing as this one. The grizzled innkeeper cheerily accepts your refusal of anything fermented, and has Gyrn bring out a small sweetcake as your guest-gift instead.
*goto postdrink
*label postdrink
Tilting back your pewter cup, you let all worry and tension go for a moment. For all its reputation as a backwater, Irduin keeps a damned fine inn.
The Chesnery caskroom is full almost to bursting with people—goodly numbers of helots and yeomen as well as the village Ecclesiast, the Alastor captain, and a handful of well-dressed highborn folk. And they’re all smiling and laughing and talking…together. Not just in the curious knot of young helots around Captain Korren, but calfskin-booted nobles with unshod peasant farmers, merchant traders with the surplice-clad priest. You’ve been silently trying to fit words to the situation’s profound strangeness.
Growing up, the merriment you saw usually happened in places of like-with-like…free with free (@{aristo in noble masques, or|for example, in} Iarla Wester’s winehouse) or helot with helot. Even among the non-enslaved folk of Rim Square, people rejoiced most readily in groups of their fellow yeomen, merchants, or aristos, rather than all mingled together. On the great festival days, the real celebrations would start after everyone had left the Naos or agora for the smaller, less mixed spaces where they could finally relax into joy.
*page_break The Irduin Chesnery Is Different
Not that anyone in the crowd is talking to you just now; your @{(irdgreet = 1) first few attempts at conversation have been rebuffed, without hostility but also without any particular warmth|attempts at conversation have been rebuffed in the caskroom as swiftly and surely as they were at the door}. You tell yourself that a certain distrust of outsiders is probably part of the bizarre level of affection these Irduin-folk seem to have for each other—and not that it’s @{alone you|}
*if not(alone)
@{(cerl_here and gam) your little group|the two of you}
specifically found suspect, your @{alone alibi|alibis} failing even before @{alone it’s|they’ve} been properly tested.
The young singer from the road walks up to you, wearing a crooked smile and carrying a turned wooden platter with more drinks. Her hair is bound back with ribbons now, and she’s donned a mottled apron over her kyrtle. You’d guess she’s probably a year or two older than you. “Welcome again, ${kuria}. What did you say you were called?”
*fake_choice
#“My name is ${alias} ${ird_name}.” I’m not tempted, even for an instant, to try to keep to their no-lying rule.
An odd, half-disapproving look flickers across her face.
*gosub surelyimag
"Then that’s what we’ll call you. And
#“Call me ${alias} ${ird_name}.” A request isn’t a lie, is it?
*gosub smiletol
"Well met, ${kuria} ${ird_name}.
#“I said I was called ${alias} ${ird_name}.” None of that is, strictly, untrue.
*gosub smiletol
“Ah, that you did. And
I’m Tamran Innkeep. You’ve met my father Maurs.” Even beyond the general broad Souther accents, there’s a funny twist to their voices here: a nasal loudening on some vowels that continues to surprise you every time it happens. “What are you
*if not(alone)
and your @{(cerl_here and gam) companions|companion}
in need of? Besides a bit more in your @{alone cup|cups}?”
“Something of a guide to the folk in the room, perhaps, goodwoman Tamran…since no one else will talk to @{alone me|us}.”
*choice
*hide_reuse #“What aristo Houses live hereabouts? And are likely to be in want of @{sralibi a flecher|an apothecary|a tutor|a weapon-trainer|a player} for a season or two?”
*hide_reuse #“Tell me about your amiable Alastor.”
*hide_reuse #“Any other village notables? Besides you and your father?”
*hide_reuse #“And the helotry drink here too, without anyone chasing them out? How do they pay you?”
*hide_reuse #“Speak no lie…so if I ask how much you’ve watered the wine, you’ll always tell the truth?”
[…]
*label introdoor
“@{irdstory I’m a refugee from the Rim rebels, kurios, and|The Rim Commotion sent me|My vocation, kurios. I’ve been} in search of some peaceful place where @{sralibi a flecher|an apothecary|a tutor|a weapon-trainer|a player} can earn ${his} @{alone keep.”|keep. Likewise for my}
*if not(alone)
@{(gam and cerl_here) friends|friend} here." I nod toward @{cerl_here Cerlota|${gamgee}}@{(gam and cerl_here) and ${gamgee}|}.
*return
16 Likes
I have changed my protagonist so much that I have terminated my plans of what they will do in future games (except Karagond genocide), so I am exited for a chance to see where my protagonist will ideologically go to
6 Likes
Hopefully somewhere in this chapter there is an explanation as to why the local Ecclesiarchy does roll up in to Irduin and nuke all this heresy.
10 Likes
That explanation starts shortly after the excerpts I just shared:
What about your Ecclesiast?
Remembering Zebed, you ask, “What happens when your Ecclesiast goes haring after sedition or heresy @{aristo among the helotry|in the camps}, then? When someone needs punishing and the Alastor’s the one who has to do it?”
Tamran shakes her head at once, glancing at the balding man in the robe and surplice. “Ecclesiast Ulmey’s not that sort, either. He’s not Irduin-born, but he grew up just a little southeast of here, in the Couvis pasturelands. His ideas of order and peace weren’t set on the big riverland plantations. He and Korren are friends, and of much the same mind.”
“So you’ve ended up with an uncommonly gentle priest and Alastor…and the @{(tamtick > 19) de Irde|aristos} are happy with that? Not afraid that it’ll lead to the lower orders getting out of control?” Despite your nerves, something in Tamran’s candor evokes a measure of your own.
“Does it look like they should be afraid?” She gestures around the inn, lips quirked in a half-smile, before lowering her voice. “I don’t think it’s just good fortune that Irduin has the Hegemonic authorities it does. Lady Alasais knows what she wants, and spends her influence in Mesniel to get it.”
And toward the end of the intro scene, this capsule statement of the Irduin chapters:
Just before you pick your goal
If lady Alasais is to be believed, the cordiality between folk of different estates you witnessed in the Chesnery goes back generations. She’s somehow managed to find and retain an Ecclesiast and Alastor captain who approve, rather than treating that harmony as sedition or heresy. That’s probably only possible in an out-of-the-way village, and even here it’s surprising; but it’s kept the area’s traditional goodwill alive.
Only two things have strained Irduin’s equilibrium enough to put fear on people’s faces and anger in their voices tonight: Telone Baldassare, and the Rim Commotion.
15 Likes
Do the different Irduin jobs have differing stat requirements? Or can anyone do any job even if they should kinda suck at it?
7 Likes
There are some stat requirements to convincingly pass yourself off as some of the alibi jobs – especially if you want to get a job on the de Irde estate.
e.g. “To have a chance of serving as retainer to a noble House, you can’t pretend to be a tutor in history or geography, or anything at which you’re less than excellent.”
14 Likes
Those two aren’t mutually exclusive, right? More power to the individual!
4 Likes
What is the high int job if we don’t want to be a tutor? Apothecary like Cerlotta, pretend to be her apprentice or someting?
5 Likes
Right!
You got it. Either with or without Cerlota, a high INT MC can play apothecary.
13 Likes
“My proudest discovery is a species of mold that is most commonly found in decaying fruit or bread. It possesses remarkable medicinal properties that counteract infested wounds and other diseases like pneumonia. I have used theurgy to enhance these properties as well as its growth rate. Don’t dilute it though, it becomes quite toxic if excessively watered down.”
8 Likes