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Tayce Soldado walked into the smithy. She stood there awhile watching one Sandor Strongbellows do what he loved. He always came here when he needed to think, or relieve stress, which has been happening more and more as of late.
She thought back over the past few years since The Upturned Cup killed the evil Queen Illeosa, and Sandor kept his promise and hired the Soldado family. Not only that, he has personally apprenticed her older boy Charlo to be a smith, Tayce herself was put in charge of the forge business at The Keg & Eagle, but has since moved up to managing partner of the King’s bar.
Her visions took her to the first memories she had of the master smith, and his friends curing her daughter after being infected by money of all things. She remembered the shock that rumbled through the Korvosan Nobility when they learned that Glorio Arkona was really a rakshasa who blamed “The Upturned Cup” for going back on their word of supporting him for the throne. Also striking the Arkona name from the royal lines.
Then after the ascension, and transition of King Odric the dwarf worked long hours in support of “The Lad” fiercely defending and supporting him in all the manners against those who didn’t want the changes he wanted to make to the city.
She was lonely when the dwarf was away on city business. With him being a special envoy to the King he traveled many places. On his trip to the Shoanti to negotiate a treaty with the tribes. He did the same with the city of Vigil, and of course Janderhoff. Not that Sandor was doing most of the talking, but he did speak for the King, and knew his wishes.
After Korvosa was stable, Sandor returned to Scarwall with Grym, and a good sized Korvosan force and laid claim to it, keeping that seat of power away from the Orcs of the area. Wise King Odric knew he couldn’t support defending Scarwall, and Korvosa due to the distance, so Sandor was sent out again to negotiate with the Shoanti, Vigil and the Dwarves of Janderhoff.
With the pacts in place with the Shoanti, Vigil, and the Dwarves of Janderhoff, Scarwall was starting to become a beacon of good in the region. The Scarwall treaty imposed a rotating “ruler” with a council of advisors. Currently Scarwall was being led by a Korvosan, and Triana Sabor was Captain of the Guard there being in an “observed exile” there till the political winds would accept her back into the city. Clerics of several faiths are working to consecrate the castle away from Zon-Kuthon, and back to the good gods.
The memories faded, and she studied his movements. From them she knew he had news for her, and it would be news she wouldn’t like, but she knew better to push him, and quietly wiped a small tear from her eye as she continued to watch him work. She turned her head and smiled as her son wrapped his arm around her joining her in watching the dwarf work.
“He’s leaving isn’t he?” Charlo asked after a few minutes of watching.
“I don’t know, but it’s possible. Go take over for him. He has a busy day. The kind of busy he doesn’t like to much.”
Charlo nodded, grabbed his heavy smock, and hammer his large arms of corded muscle lifting it easily. “I see you’re making this with the Jandy technique”
“That I am boy that I am. Ya know ya might make a good dwarven smith someday laddie.” Sandor said with a smile.
Tayce sighed and spoke up. “Sandor, now quit picking on my son and let him take over. You’ve a busy schedule today we need to get you changed into your good doublet and boots. Meeting with some new dignitaries, and we’re unveiling a new brew today.”
He was about to grumble about it, but she was using her no nonsense tone, and one look at her and he knew he wouldn’t win the argument anyway. “Alright allright already I’ll go. Though I should stay here and make sure Charlo doesn’t mess up me work.”
“HA when’s the last time he messed something that simple up? Now c’mon lets get you bathed and ready.”
He nodded. “Fine I’ll clean and put away me tools ‘n be right there. I promise.”
It was the best she was going to get, and she knew he wouldn’t break his word to her.
It was tearing him up inside. How was he going to tell them he was leaving on personal business. How were they going to feel when he told them he was leaving to go find his dwarven family. It was killing him to tell this family, the family whom he has grown to love, and he thinks who loved him. that he was going to try to find his birth family. The one that burned his face, and discarded him to the world. How does he make them understand that he’s not replacing them, but all he needs is closure and an explanation why they did what they did. Also the chance to be accepted by his dwarven family, and a chance to forgive and accept them as well.
So Sandor left Korvosa on his personal pilgrimage. The party the night before was going to make for a rough first few days of travel. Morkelb offered to teleport him, but the dwarf refused. This was a journey not to just get somewhere, but to experience the road traveled to do it. He was easy to keep track of, orders for Stout came in from where he was. Stories of Sandors actions came with the orders. They ranged from small acts of kindness to larger acts of valor. Harold the Herald kept a journal of the stories, and there were pins on the map at the Keg and Eagle tracking the dwarf.
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Indeed, in the years that came, the mark of the Stouthammer came to mean something. Armo,r and especially shields, bearing the mark were a sign of station and success among adventurers.
In time Sandor's adopted family learned to accept his choice, and even to understand it. The tradition continued, and the mark of their forge stayed meaningful.
The dwarf's journeys after took him far and wide. If he found his family, no one in Korvosa knew.
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Many years later....
The lad, finally old enough to attempt a dungeon on his own, gathered his friends for the trip. They battled through goblins, traps, and puzzles. At the end of the dungeon they found a chest. Inside was a shield of exquisite make. The metal was lighter than cloth. The grip was perfect for bashing. The lad's friend said that it radiated a bit of magic.
That's when he saw the mark. Impossible! It was the mark of his great-grandfather. It was the mark of Charlo Soldado! But how did it get here? Korvosa was hundreds of miles away, and he knew everything his family had made, and this wasn't one of those pieces....
Unless...
Maybe...
Just maybe...
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Morkeleb the Mighty's return to the Acadamae sent ripples through the institution with alarming speed; it was not often an Alumnus returned from the field to trade a staff of considerable power for a diamond precious enough to cast Wish. His magical prowess was clearly something to be feared and respected; this seemed to be his childhood dream come true! Upon proof of his powers, the Acadamae staff bestowed upon him the very next day the Stole of Arch-Magi, along with an immediate offer of tenure. He surprisingly declined this offer, and countered with a desire to "teach when he felt like it," as well as offer up his spellbooks when he was available, for copying (for the going rates, of course). The Acadamae accepted, and Morkeleb was known to give classes & seminars approximately once every quarter or so. They always filled up the largest lecture hall, with spillover into the hallways.
It was only days after his return that he was wed to the genie Alwa, as was decreed by the Fates and the Drawing of the Three. The ceremony was an odd juxtaposition of comical (the bride was 16 feet tall!) and serious—who would dare do anything but take seriously a Wearer of the Stole of the Arch-Magi? It was also difficult to do anything but gape at the genie's beauty in her white-and-silver gown set off by the stunning mithral circlet at her brow. The members of the Upturned Cup stood at Morkeleb's side, with Gaius taking the spot at the wizard’s right hand.
Immediately after the wedding, the couple commissioned a home built in Korvosa. Of course they had it built; there was no other house with ceilings high enough! It was complete by the time they returned from their honeymoon. Within two weeks of their return, the couple could be seen from time to time strolling about the city, but she was now “normal sized;” the two had worked together to create a spell that would temporarily shrink a willing genie to human height. They both felt that her size intimidated other mortals, and that this was the obvious solution. She was grateful to experience this, and other, mortal cities as not quite as much of a distraction (blue skin notwithstanding), and he was ecstatic to walk about in public with her this way: “Now they’re only staring at you because of your amazing beauty!”
Over the ensuing weeks, months, and years, Morkeleb kept in semi-frequent contact with his friends from the Upturned Cup, usually via Sending spell. He was always ready to jump to their aid if it was requested, be that simple advice, travel, crafting of items, or whatever—but he was rarely called upon for these services. (For example, Sandor would typically answer to the effect of “Thank ye for checking in, me friend. Now mind yer own damned business!”) He did keep a close eye on King Odric--closer than the King realized, as the Wizard *did* have the crystal ball the company won from the erstwhile Queen. On those occasions where the King seemed about to make a questionable decision, Morkeleb was at the Castle gate, respectfully requesting audience with the King, offering sage advice and an even-tempered guiding hand. This was exceedingly rare, though, as Odric proved to be capable of a maturity of thought and action that belied his sometimes juvenile outbursts.
The one exception to his “semi-frequent” contact was Gaius, with whom he had a weekly visit to play chess, drink wine (Morkeleb’s cellar was easily the best in the city, since he could magically travel anywhere in the world—or in the Planes!—to stock it), and discuss events recent and past. Through these visits, Gaius saw a deep change in the wizard. No longer a power-hungry creature of ambition, Morkeleb had become practically obsessed with his wife, and she with him—though at first glance it was certainly difficult to see what the exotic beauty saw in the quite average-looking man. The couple travelled the world and the planes together, seeking knowledge, experiences, art, and light adventure. When not travelling, the wizard would do his easy work at the Acadamae, or his own research. He would occasionally assist with some plan of Gaius’ or another, always with as subtle a hand as he could manage. In short, Morkeleb was becoming a “family man.” And he seemed genuinely happy for it.
Over the years, the genie naturally never showed signs of aging, but surprisingly neither did the wizard. There were some whispers about this, but most in the Acadamae rightly guessed that Alwa had used one of her yearly Wishes to prevent the wizard from physically aging (in truth, she had given the Wish as a wedding present, and Morkeleb had wished for “the same youth & vigor of body I have today, until I am no longer wed to my beloved”). Some foolishly thought that meant Morkeleb was immortal, but he did not go out of his way to squelch such ridiculous rumors.
They did eventually produce heirs, much to the couple’s delight. It remains to be seen whether any of his children will follow in their father’s footsteps to embrace wizardry…
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For years after the archmagi's spellbooks became an urban legend. Supposedly they included more than simply spells. Morkeleb had experienced the magic of Ancient Thassilon, and certainly, there was more to behold than simple spells in the pages.
The wizard's undine children came to follow in both their parents' footsteps. Each child developed magic naturally, but learned to manipulate it like their father. They become powerful arcanists, travelling the currents both mundane and planar.
Oddly though, not a single one attended the Acadamae of Korvosa upon the wishes of their parents. It's not known why, but Morkeleb was unusually emphatic about it. The Enchanter said only "for reasons."
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Gaius Lirsiiv spent the weeks following the battle of The Sunken Queen calling in every favor and asset he could marshal. He worked non-stop pushing and leaning, tempting and pleading with the provisional governors of Korvosa for rapid and aggressive reform, all supporting his plan to make Korvosa a republic. Power had to be distributed among the peoples of Korvosa, and Korvosa ushered into a new era.
The Curse of The Crimson Throne, and what that really meant, were at the forefront of his mind.
Korvosa was not yet ready. The Magistrates and The Peerage Review were resistant to change and a Noble Hero--Odric, Hero of Korvosa—was pledging to rule. Dreams of democratic reform died, and Odric The Stout took the throne.
Once the outcome was clear, Gaius responded with heavy drinking and public demonstrations against The Throne and The Peerage Review. After a particularly venomous demonstration in Old Korvosa, Gaius was arrested, personally, by Field Marshall Kroft. Kroft dragged Gaius to jail and, after he sobered up and paid his bail, she dragged him home. The lamps in the house were remained lit throughout the night.
The next morning, Field Marshall Kroft again dragged Gaius, this time before King Odric The Stout. It was there and then that Gaius bent knee to King Odric, and swore oaths pledging loyalty to the throne. Field Marshall Kroft beamed the whole time, even if some say that Gaius carefully sculpted his words. Regardless, Gaius set to work undoing the damage he’d done and King Odric gained an ally.
Soon afterwards, Gaius Lirsiiv and Field Marshall were married two times—once in a private ceremony attended only by close friends, and again in a larger, state affair. Morkeleb The Enchanter stood by his right side at the larger ceremony as, “Best Man”. The Wedding was a pretty big deal for the city. To this day, when asked about the city-wide after-party that followed, any given citizen is likely to blush, giggle and decline to provide specifics.
The Temples of Calistria experienced an unprecedented spike in donations and tributes that week.
Afterwards, Gaius went to work for The Crimson Throne as His Majesty’s Spymaster and Chief Intelligence Officer. Gaius built a network of informants and spies that saw to the defense of Korvosa and her people. It is whispered that one could only keep a secret in Korvosa if Knight-Director Lirsiiv permitted it.
The outstanding charges against Gaius Lirsiiv were dropped, suddenly, shortly after his service began.
Gaius made sure to keep in touch with all former members of The Upturned Cup, but none more than Morkeleb. He kept a weekly appointment with the Enchanter, which usually included brunch and a game or three of chess.
Also during this time, Gaius studied and taught in the reformed Orisini Academy where he took Tea with Maestro Vencarlo nearly every day. It’s interesting to note that the vigilante Blackjack became active again during this time, and the people of Korvosa always had a champion in him--even if the vigilante’s methods became more lethal than in the past.
Blackjack was reported to be sporting new colors—his traditional black now accented by yellow bands, and a bull whip similarly adorned. In time, “Blackjack”, evolved into Yellow Jacket. It was said that any in Korvosa seeking vengeance or justice or both, could wind a yellow rose around a scroll and give it to a Korvosan prostitute. The Yellow Jacket would find you.
Officially a criminal, Yellow Jacket remains at large to this very day. Cressida Kroft, frequently criticized for her lack of zeal and success for capturing him, weathered those criticisms with grit teeth and saintly patience.
Gaius Lirsiiv continued adventuring when his duties allowed, making several attempts to get a party together for The Breaching Festival. That is another story.
Gaius Lirsiiv worked tirelessly to maintain freedom for Korvosans, particularly those without titles or wealth. Though this work was behind the scenes, he was always present, punishing those who needed punishing and advocating for those who would be left behind. His reputation was for madcap bouts of generosity and kindness and for an uncompromising sword in defense of the common people.
During his tenure, Gaius sought out the duplicates of him made by the Drawing of The Three. He found them extremely useful, once cowed, and easily discarded when their use was at an end. He successfully used them to fake his own death, woo a coquettish noblewoman to obtain evidence of her treason, hide his identity during an adventure that could easily be described as a bawdy farce, and on three separate occasions as an alibi. Fun diversions, all.
He was known to openly feud with a cleric of Zon-Kuthon, a certain Laori Vaus, who eventually left Korvosa. Kuthonites continued to leave Korvosa, die, or just disappear for decades. Flagg (the whip) grew contented as a fat cat and Kuthonite presence in Korvosa evaporated.
Notable as well is the mysterious case of Devargo Barvasi. The official story is that Devargo was killed in an escape attempt from a Korvosan Guard holding cell. Unofficially, a Bard who frequented the Keg and Eagle was known to sing a ballad. The ballad tells how Devargo found his cell door unlocked and so attempted to leave the barracks where he was being held for questioning. In the adjoining alley, he was confronted by veiled women, all prostitutes he had mistreated. They tore him to pieces.
That last part was Gaius’ favorite.
Gaius stayed in Korvosa, in his position, until the death of his wife. Shortly afterwards, he left without a word in the dark of night, leaving his key ring, and his mythologized ledger to a young spy in his service named Gwendolyn Ceradiss.
His final fate is unknown.
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For years after the Final Battle, the sacred of Calistria also included something on the "menu" called the "Double-Back Gaius." For some unknown reason, no one ever described what it was. Rumors as to why were as colorful as as the Yellow Jacket's vest.
It didn't take long for Yellow Jacket to get back in action after a short hiatus (coincidentally after the parting of Gaius for parts unknown.) Whoever Yellow Jacket was, there was the faintest hint of elven blood in his? her? features.
Years after Gaius left Korvosa, a faithful of Calistria in far off Casmaron began to offer a service, the دوبار برگشت, though no one talks about what it entails...
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Ferox considered himself a solitary person; by his will and Abadar’s alone he could accomplish all he needed to. He’d experienced enough of life, death, and humility to know that he needed no other company, even as he strove to fight for the prosperity and safety of Korvosa and its people. So, falling in with The Upturned Cup came as a great surprise for him. At first, he kept their company only so far as their goals continued to intersect, and though that remained true throughout their time together, he found a strong bond had grown with several of them where he had sought none.
Ferox was also no stranger to love and heartbreak. Again, he thought that his faith in Abadar could fill that void. He had no interest in romance and had thought that he couldn’t ever again. Thus, having saved the city from the Queen’s evil intent, Ferox returned to Korvosa with dread in his heart. Before any plans of his own could be set in motion, his bride-to-be came to him and set his life spinning. Before the week was out after his return, DaFia of the North Wind wed Ferox Kerr in as extravagant a wedding as Korvosa had not seen in a decade; the planning of which happened with such haste and inexorable momentum that Ferox could not find the time or breath to object. DaFia proved to Ferox that in this, the matters of the heart, that he had been woefully wrong, as her beauty, grace, and willfulness banished, sometimes forcefully, any reservations or doubts he had. His month long honeymoon found Ferox rejuvenated, happy in a way he had not felt in as long as he could remember, and returned to a rapidly changing city.
DaFia’s love emboldened Ferox’s faith in and love of Abadar. At the same time, Ferox found it impossible to reconcile that with the Bank’s support of the Queen. While he could not sever all ties to the Bank, he took little interest in its general business. He acted as liaison to the Bank as needed by the King, which was often in the early days of his reign. He would occasionally be asked to sit in judgement on crimes of the highest order. On the few other occasions that the Grim Inquisitor could be found stalking the halls of the Bank, he would leave having recruited the best of the aspiring Bankers for his own purposes, the other Bankers too cowed by his presence to object.
The death of the Queen and her supplicants had left a vacuum in the city. It would take time to build the City Watch back to full strength. Sable Company was in the infancy of its return. As the King set about establishing his reign, there were those who were not happy with the new status quo and who thirsted for power and influence they thought denied them. Thus entered two new heroes to end these emerging threats to Korova’s prosperity. Ferox and DaFia prowled the night, hunting all who sought to bring ruin to the city for their own gain. Ferox set about his ordained task with steely resolve, while DaFia found the entire endeavor novel and fun, happy to accompany her husband on his adventures, quickly making Ferox’s mission her own.
As Ferox hunted those threats within the city, his mind was ever occupied with those threats he knew of from without; the remaining relics of Kazavon, and the devil Sermignatto and his unnamed master. Ferox took special care to seek any clues as to the locations of the remaining relics and any whispers of Sermignatto. Ferox knew hunting down and eliminating those threats would take him far from home. Thus, he started recruiting his replacements, training a cadre of new Inquisitors to take up the task of keeping Korvosa safe. As the recruits started to mature, Ferox began venturing away from the city to track down each lead, DaFia always at his side. Often, other members of the Upturned Cup could be seen in his company, leaving for Ferox’s next hunt.
As the years wore on, Ferox’s travels occurred more frequently and for longer periods of time, confident that Korvosa’s prosperity was safe in the hands of his New Inquisitors, until Ferox and DaFia left one more time and the two were never seen again.
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For years the Ferocia worked efficiently in the city, shedding light where there was none, and spilling blood under that light. When the Lord and Lady High Inquisitors eventually left for good, it was always assumed that they finally had leads for the other relics.
Those who knew the complete story, and those who knew the power remaining in the Fangs, hoped with all their hearts and a prayer to Abadar of the First Vault that when the fangs finally went missing from the bowels of the castle, it was because Ferox had returned to make good on the final part of his mission.
They truly, deeply, hoped that's why they went missing...
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When Neolandus asked "Who is to be Korvosa's monarch now?", despite the misgivings of his companions Odric boldly stepped forward. He was confident in his vision for the future of Korvosa, and steadfast in his desire to steer the city in the direction of peace, prosperity, and virtue.
”Though I am but a poor son of Korvosa, I love this city and I submit myself to service as her King, if she’ll have me. I’m prepared to fight for the privilege to serve as monarch, and I have little doubt as to the outcome. I will not spill blood in this endeavor though, I know the wounds that steering that course would tear in the city’s soul… and I love her too dearly to let that happen.”
Odric’s posture had a nobility to it that few had seen before. His shield mates, brothers of dozens upon dozens of life or death struggles had seen it on occasion, but Odric had made it his habit to dress his persona in the foolish antics he so enjoyed. The gravity of his proposal made discarding the trappings of his youth an easy decision. His shoulders square, his back straight, Odric looked at Neolandus as a King would - with regal grace, an imposing inner strength, and compassion for his loyal subject. The nobleman who had been defacto ruler of the city saw relief from his burden as a drowning man saw a bit of driftwood.
The man simply nodded.
”Neolandus,” Odric said softly, but loud enough for all assembled to hear, ”you have done well in your duty to this city. Your service will not go unrewarded, and your wisdom is a commodity I will need in the coming days, months and years.” Odric gripped the older man’s slight shoulder, smiled at him warmy and nodded his approval.
In a louder, more commanding voice, Odric continued ”Summon the nobility, the leaders of the guilds, a representative for Abadarians and,” Odric turned to Morkeleb for his final invitation, ”one from The Academy.”
Within an hour’s time, Odric could hear the murmurs and excited chatter through the antechamber door, as the assembled elite personages of Korvosa’s upper echelon discussed what could be happening. When he received the nod from Grough Rumblestone that all requested parties were assembled, Odric passed the nod to Harold.
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”Lords, Ladies, Great Houses of Korvosa, Men of Import, Men of Infamy, Nobles, Scholars, Bankers, Arch Mages, Guildmasters, and assembled esteemed guests, it is my distinct honor to introduce the Upturned Cup!”
A flourish of drums, trumpets, and a solemn chanting from the officers and men of The Stout Legion filled the silence as Harold introduced the members of the party of heroes.
”Inquisitor of Abadar, Savior of Korvosa, and the Hammer of Justice, Far-Slayer of Foes, and Wielder of the mightiest bow in the city, Betrothed of Djinn, and the Conscience of the Upturned Cup, He of the inimitable and implacable meter of the Will – Inquisitor Ferox Kerr!”
With a refreshed flourish, the accompanying instruments and the throbbing chant was a compliment to the applause and cheering that greeted Ferox as he made his way through the antechamber door and into the magically brightened throne room.
Ferox bowed with a stoicism and humility that marked him as a true disciple of Abadar. He began formulating an apropos anecdote involving a family of Aristocrats auditioning for a talent show, but the applause was too great, and by the time he finds space to tell it, Harold had moved on, smoothly cutting off the Inquisitor before he could begin.
”With great pleasure, I introduce the Savored Sting of Calistra, Savior of Korvosa, the Dancing Shadow of the Horizontal Tango, Wielder of the Whip Flagg, The original Double Back, and the Visitor in the Night, the one and only,” Harold risked a wink at this last, knowing as he did about Gaius’ duplicates, ”Master Gaius Lirsiiv!”
With a resounding crack of the whip, Gaius strolled cooly out of the antechamber into the light and noise of the room, and grimaced with distaste at the proceedings, for he knew where this was headed. Gaius slipped into the shadows and disappeared, much to the delight of the assembled crowd, who assumed it was showmanship and mystery, rather than an exfiltration of silent protest.
Harold continued, booming his stentorian tenor over the wild cheers, ”A riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma – The magical mastermind and a penumbra formed by emanations from the mysterious forces of magic… The great Wizard and Savior of Korvosa, betrothed of Djinn, and honored by all, he who has literally escaped the jaws of death on two occasions, Morkeleb the Mighty!”
Morkeleb stepped into the light, and with a wry grin summoned a bit of his trademark green mist to accompany his entry. He nodded sagely to the men and women gathered, and made a small secret sign of respectful recognition to the august trio of archmages in attendance from the Academae, one of whom was the reclusive headmaster, Toff Ornelos himself.
Harold continued, ”And the master of the forge, the scarred, mute, fire-born and steel-spined, Master Smith, sage advisor, Reborn of Fire and Flame in the Desert Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael, Savior of Korvosa, and the father of the Mighty Kegerator, The dwarven brother and wise counselor of the Upturned Cup, Master Sandor Strongbellows!”
Sandor appeared with a frothy mug in hand somehow, and upon entering the room, raised it in toast to Korvosa first, the assembled ladies second, the assembled lords a begrudging third, and finally with a shout to the heavens, to the brothers he had fought beside, the Upturned Cup.
”The beastmaster, beloved and honored of Sarenae, who fell in battle and was raised in triumph, the man with two lives - who has dedicated his second incarnation to…”[b] Harold paused and looked around the room conspiratorially, as an aside he stage whispered, [b]”Who might say, if he can’t give the secret himself?“
The herald continued in a lusty voice, ”Savior of Korvosa, the silent but deadly ranger who stalks the streets or the city seeking only to right wrongs and avenge evil; Slayer of Sharks and blessed son of Korvosa’s urban wilderness… The honored bearer of the mighty blade Serethiel… Lord Ranger Thorgrym the Tracker - slayer of the foul usurper and sunderer of the Crown of Fangs!” Harold paused for effect, and stood slightly aside to avoid being bowled over, ”and his faithful hound, Bucho!”
The gasps of wonder tempered by fear as Bucho galloped through the door followed closely by Grym were comical to those men of the Upturned Cup. Thorgrym nodded and, though his fated muteness prevented his responding, his nature would have had him as taciturn regardless.
The crowd loved Grym, and was clearly terrified of Bucho. A mixed bag of cheers and frightened gasps underscored the point.
Harold held up his hand to request silence. He was after all in the employ of Odric, and his master had made clear his intent for this moment.
Upon seeing his hand, the officers and men of The Stout Legion lined the sides of the entryway and raised their blades to form an archway.
Harold the Herald, with impeccable timing, began his practiced recitation of Odric the Stout’s titular lines, ”Lord Vindicator Odric the Stout of the Upturned Cup - Scion of the First Cousin of House Endrin, Defender, shieldmate, and Brother to his fellows, Son, Servant, and Savior of Korvosa and Commander of the Korvosan Guard, Bloodsworn protector of lambs, The Lion of the Midlands - expert exsanguinator - the indefatigable colossus - known throughout the land as the Relentless Butcher, Master swordsman and Author of doom to his foes…”
Harold paused for breath and continued with a renewed vigor as his word flowed with near-magical power, ”He of the crippling cuts, who's might unmans the manly, who's strength saps the strong, who's nerve enervates the brave - he has the power to sicken with a blow, to deafen, blind, demoralize, defeat, and destroy. Bearer of The Strongbellows Masterwork the Kegerator,” a nod to Master Sandor here, ”a magnificent blade forged of steel, sweat, and Dwarven precision, esorcelled by
Morkeleb the Mighty with dweomers and mystical incantations,” and a nod to Morkeleb the Mighty here, ”…imbued with the power of the Netherworld with an unslakable thirst for the corrupted energy of the undead, and tempered by battle-spilled blood - quenched in the guts of the forces of evil.”
Harold took another breath, and continued to recite his master’s sobriquets, ”Blessed of the Netherworld, Bane of the Undead, and Necromancer's End, Purifier of the Red Veil and the Vampire's Death Knell, Slayer of Tyrants, having brought about the bloody death of the False Emperor Piltz, Killer of Giants, Twice-duped of Elfaba” Harold winked through the gateway to a startled Odric at this pronouncement.
”Delver of the Acropolis of the Thrall-Keepers; Tshamek-no-longer; Godswallowed and Reborn - as a brother to Master Sandor - of Fire and Bile from the cleansing gut of Cindermaw the Clan-Eater, the Mountain-that-Crawls and the Fire-that-Roars, Denizen of the Feeding Grounds of the Quah-Kael; Cleanser and Plunderer of Scarwall; Thrice Dragonfoe: first bloodletter and the Blood-Burned Slayer of Bellasham, the Terror of Scarwall, Heroic Bane of Zamgarof the Black, and One of the Upturned Cup who Stymied the mighty Kazavon’s designs upon this World; Master of flight and of self-transmogrification; Wind-walker who faced the Usurper and triumphed, who faced down Kazavon, and who smashed the Sunken Queen.”
Harold paused for effect for the space of three heartbeats, ”Liege of the Stout Legion” Another pause here while the Stout Legion smashed their weapons against shields of the thudded them against the stone floor as appropriate.
”Lord of Stout Manor” A third pause while the household staff with Grough Rumblestone at their head gave a bass exclamation of acknowledgement.
”He of the Legendary Bowels of Truculent Vigor,” Again a wink to Odric, earning a rolling of the eyes and a twirling finger to indicate that it was time to move on.
”The Armored Juggernaut, Three-Time Champion of Eldred's Hot Wings Challenge; Drainer, Become Filler-and-Drainer of Oaken Kegs; Inquisitor-Branded Brewmeister, Architect and Proprietor of the Keg & Eagle, Purveyor of Spirits and Brewer of Fine Beers… It gives me great pleasure to introduce, Lord Odric The Stout!!!”
The cheers were deafening after such a buildup, the assembled nobles were primed for Odric’s announcement.
With a silver tongue, and perhaps a bit of bardic magic woven into his oration, Odric staked his claim to the Throne of Korvosa with his speech. Not all in the assembled crowd agreed with his claim – indeed, not even all within the Upturned Cup supported it – but the momentum of the announcement and the zeitgeist surrounding the Upturned Cup meant that Odric’s coronation was very nearly a sure thing.
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The Coronation of King Odric and the three days of feasting that followed was a heady time for a young Korvosan man. Lasses, rich and poor, noble and common were in the streets at all hours, drink flowed, and the pickings were easy for good looking young lad of twenty summers. He ate, drank, loved, fought on a few occasions in good-natured brawls as young men of Korvosa were wont to do. On one occasion, Lucas even thought he caught a glimpse of the King as he was leaning on the crowded bar in the Keg and Eagle waiting to be served a mug of King Odric’s famous Stout.
The Upturned Cup had seemingly upturned the city overnight. What was a terrifying place with evil lurking in the castle, the alleys, and in the shadowy haunts of the city seemed brightened by the victory King Odric and the rest of the Upturned Cup had won.
The sky seemed brighter, the beer seemed better, and the ladies certainly seemed more willing than ever. His friends called him Lucky because when it came to the ladies, or gambling, or really anything - the lad was Lucky.
Lucky as any he supposed, as he smiled at a friend passing by. With a few sail in his pocket, he felt like he could take on the world as he walked down Field Marshal Avenue. He cut left through a neighborhood he had seldom passed through, trying to shorten his walk to a certain young lady’s loft he had just met. He watched the shadows lengthen as he crossed Harborview Boulevard and smelled the dank air coming off the river.
Checking his bearings, he started counting side streets off on his fingers as he walked. In his mind he was imagining himself in battle, standing side by side with the King, with Morkeleb the Mighty slinging spells overhead and the deadly arrows of Ferox raining death upon the foes they faced. He imagined Gaius slinking around behind the enemy, preparing to unleash Flagg on them at the most opportune time. To his left, Thorgrym was fencing with two men, Sharkslayer and Serethiel flashing with blurring speed. Beyond Thorgrym, Sandor’s rage was apparent in his silent warcry as the dwarven warrior shoved past his foe’s defenses. To his right, was Bucho was snarling and barking…
Lucky was startled out of his fantasy world when he realized that wasn’t Bucho, that was a mangy, crazed dog fighting its way through a broken down fence between two dilapidated houses and charging straight for him!
Lucas sprinted away, trying to keep count of the side streets. As he passed whatever boundary the dog deemed the edge of its feifdom, it stopped and the young man stood panting for a moment. He looked up and figured he was pretty sure he knew where he was. With a shake of his head, he turned toward what he thought would be an exciting amorous encounter.
In a flash, he was on the ground, a filthy rag stuffed into his mouth, and his hands being tied roughly behind his back. Lucas thought in a panic. Without mercy, and pulling the joints of his shoulders painfully, he was dragged across the street, onto the hollow-sounding planks of one of the Jeggare River’s many docks. By Gorum’s grundle, I’m being press-ganged!
The youth fought, but the rough men holding him had the iron grip of men of the sea, and they were as implacable as the tide. He tried to shout for help, but the gag made shouting impossible. A mast with loose rigging swayed gently in the current, and Lucky renewed his struggle as his fears were confirmed. The men laughed harshly and tossed him over the rail and onto the ship. He blacked out when his head hit the deck with a sharp crack.
It would be many hours before he came to. When he did he knew it was morning. The sun beat down and he could feel the gentle roll of the sea. He sat up, a chore with his hands still tied painfully, and looked over the ship’s rail. The pungent but friendly shores of the Jeggare, and the familiar skyline of his beloved Korvosa were out of sight over the glimmering horizon.
Water. Water everywhere. Lucky indeed…
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In the months that followed King Odric’s coronation, there were quite literally hundreds of tasks to undertake, thousands of problems to solve, and not nearly enough time to attend to all. The crushing workload supported Odric’s idea that distributing the power of Korvosa to the citizenry and the nobility in some form of parliamentary system would make rule possible, and help to buffer the danger that some future monarch would take the crown and bring the city to ruin, as Ileosa had.
After some initial friction with Gaius, Odric realized the importance of accelerating the transition from a single, all-powerful ruler to a more representative form of government. With the sage counsel of Morkeleb as a guidepost, and the subtle but undeniable distaste Gaius held at the idea of a monarch, Odric made significant progress to empower a House of Nobles and a House of Commons toward self-rule. He reserved only the Royal Prerogative in leading Korvosa in time of War, and in matters of Diplomacy in the region.
King Odric the Stout retained Master Sandor as an emissary of Korvosa, and over the years, the dwarven smith performed admirably with his unique blend of no-nonsense folksy wisdom and his steel-edged ferocity bringing allies and geopolitical foes into alignment with the city’s best interests.
With a subtle influence, King Odric relied on the Savored Sting Gaius to keep the ambitions of those who sought to undermine the transition of power from a concentrated few to the populace at large. The impact of Blackjack, and later of Yellow Jacket were invaluable to the cause.
With Thorgrym ensuring the Sable Company was rebuilt, the Guard was up to snuff, and the most humble sons and daughters of Korvosa had a voice and a chance at justice, Odric felt comfortable that his mandate to represent the small and voiceless of the city was met in spades.
Ferox and Morkeleb acted as liaisons to their respective organizations, and their alliances via marriage to extra-planar beings came in handy on several occasions.
King Odric married within the year, further solidifying his power over the nobility. His bride was a stunningly charismatic and beautiful Lady of one of the most powerful noble families. She was chosen from a host of likely candidates not for her charms though, but because she was as reform-minded as King Odric, and shared his impish irreverence for nobility, royalty, and birthrights. Her love for King Odric grew, as did his love for her. Together they worked tirelessly in service to the city they were entrusted to safeguard.
-
He had always imagined a statue of himself when he dreamt of the great deeds and noble fights he might one day be credited with. Those drunken nights bragging without cause in the dens of iniquity were lifetimes ago - quite literally in Morkeleb and Grym’s cases. The tales of greatness he had told in those bars faded in his memory. They had been replaced by the heroism of his friends, the dedication of the People of Korvosa to build a better city after the usurper’s reign of terror.
The statue he had always imagined, of himself in battle regalia with sword in hand staring out over the water from the heights was unveiled in a subdued ceremony with just King Odric, his family, close friends, and a few of the officers from the Stout Legion. Captain Oso had commissioned it, and the troops of the Legion had funded its construction under the watchful eye of Master Sandor.
The statue had a certain peace to it. The expression was watchful, as though Odric was poised to step in front of those in his charge to defend them if the need arose, but it also somehow captured the satisfaction of knowing those he loved were safe, for now. With one foot forward, the bright marble gleamed in the morning sun, and the smallest detail of Odric’s kit was carefully etched into the stone. His dragon-blood stained armor, his War Kilt, and of course, the mighty Kegerator were faithfully reproduced in the living stone.
With a mischievous grin, Sandor leaned in and asked the Queen if she wanted to see a late addition to the larger-than-life piece, that the master Dwarven craftsman had added in the darkest hours of the night, several hours before the beautiful dawn the little group was enjoying.
”Lass, if’n you wouldn’t mind, you’re the only one who kin vouch fer the accuracy of me work” the scarred face cracked into a healthy belly laugh as Sandor made use of his newly restored voice.
At the Queen’s quizzical look, Sandor beckoned her forward. He contorted his head and shoulders to turn upwards to peer up the bottom of the war kilt and pointed upward with a renewed guffaw. The Queen joined his rich bellowing laugh with a snicker of her own that soon spread through the group. As laughter pealed across the morning sky over Korvosa, Sandor quipped, ”Even in a sculpture of this scale lad, Yer swinging a wee dagger compared to a proper dwarven broadsword!”
”Look sharp there recruit! Who is your sergeant?”
A terrified mumbled reply later, Captain Oso drilled the young man relentlessly for a few minutes before turning on her heel and stalking back toward the rear of the formation. Safely out of view of the assembled men, Captain Oso smiled and nodded to the King, who was standing in the shadows observing. He gestured to her, and she approached. Her familiarity came from years of service, but more importantly from blood spilled side by side with King Odric. In dozens of campaigns, the King had fought beside her, leading the troops of his personal retinue in the vanguard of Korvosa’s forces.
”Your highness, these men look rough, but they are getting there. I think we’ll make a fine batch of roughnecks out of them yet.”
The King nodded and turned to leave. Captain Oso put her hand on his shoulder in what would have been a horrendous breach of etiquette had she and Odric not shared the unique bond of fellow officers who had fought, bled, led men, and lost men in service together. King Odric paused and looked at her questioningly.
”Thank you for the opportunity to train your forces first-hand. It is an honor beyond my ability to express.” She gestured to her disfigured left arm, which was shattered beyond repair when she shielded the sovereign from what may very well have been a death blow in a skirmish with a troop of Giants in the far north three summers past. The King merely patted her shoulder and nodded before retiring to the shadows once again.
”Eyes front you lily-white princess! Give me three laps and report back with that case of the looksies cured!”
When the man blanched instead of immediately sprinting off, ”NOW!”
As the coolness of night seeped through the massive stones of Castle Korvosa, the old dwarven seneschal approached the plain wooden door, empty of decoration save a carved wooden cup, upturned of course. Grough pushed the door open and entered King Odric’s chambers with a small serving tray holding two mugs. With his rolling gait, the old dwarf crossed the carpeted floor toward the stone hearth and the man seated before it. Grough stoked the fire a bit after setting the tray down without a word. The King stirred and snapped out of his reverie with a start. His infectious grin was unchanged after nearly three decades on the throne, and he greeted his old friend warmly. He gestured at the empty chair but the dwarf politely declined the opportunity to breach etiquette as he always did.
Odric sighed, stood and grasped his tankard while handing the second to Grough. The two raised their mugs and the King stated simply, “To Korvosa,” to which Grough rumbled his customary reply, “May her enemies wither and die, may her walls forever hold, May her daughters ever please the eye, And in battle her sons be bold”
The two drank deeply of the slightly chilled brew, and wiped the foam from their grey whiskers with satisfied sighs. They stared into the fire in amicable silence for a bit, until King Odric turned to Grough to bid the dwarf a good night.
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Before he went to join his aging but still beautiful bride in their chamber, King Odric thought of his Kingdom, really a Republic now. Korvosa had grown powerful, prosperous, and she enjoyed a peace borne of strength and respect from her neighbors. The people largely governed themselves. His sons and his daughter were nearly grown, and were good-hearted patriots who loved their city as much as their parents did.
As was his habit, Odric considered the business of the day and reflected on what he could have done to have better served his city. He thought through what he faced tomorrow, and looked forward to the day with a weary but genuine anticipation. He missed the days of high adventure, but he knew in his heart he had done his piece and done it well.
He sat and stared into the embers for a spell, then stood to go into the bedchamber to crawl into bed beside his Queen. He lifted the spartan crown from his brow and set it on the black velvet cushion of his chair.
There it lay, glimmering in the dying light, as the King slipped across the darkened room.
The life of a King is never easy, and the crown grows in weight over time. Still, the strong back of Odric the Stout wore it well.
Not all struggles could be conquered with words, and occasionally the Kegerator would be missing from the Great Mantle. It always found its way back. Over the years it vanished less and less.
Odric's reign was just, and the People grew to love their king (if they didn't already.) Thankfully the King's sense of humor never waned, as the plays that featured him cast him as both hero and comic relief.
-Posted with Wayfinder
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As of this post:
First post: 8 January 2012
This post: 15 July 2017
Duration: 2,011 days
Length, in posts, for this campaign: 13,017
Mean posting rate for campaign: ~6.5 posts per day.
Number of PbP campaigns on Paizo.com: 8,240
Percentile: 0.16%
Completing an AP in its entirety with a stable party via play-by-post is rare in the extreme. This has been an amazing game, with a group of my favorite players. From here, the party splits a bit. Some of us are continuing on to Strange Aeons and others to Skull & Shackles.
As kids, we started innumerable campaigns, and finished none. Curse of the Crimson Throne marks the completion of my fifth (Spirit of Kings, New Blood, Serpent's Skull, and Rise of the Runelords.) It's a good feeling, though bittersweet. At least with this one, we can go back and relive it.
Given my commitments as a Venture-Lieutenant, and another potentially large promotion at the Academy, I'm going to set the start date for Skull & Shackles as 21-Aug-2017. Keep an eye out for that thread, so you can build your party.
GRATIAS MAXIMVS VOBIS AGO MI AMICI.
Chris