Sophiel Medvyed's page

Turn 28 Lamashan 4712AR
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Balance=98 BP

Starting Size is 88

Ending Balance = 98 Size is now 96 - 8 More claimed with Drelev.

Event: 1d100 ⇒ 83 Dangerous Settelment Event
Event: 1d100 ⇒ 61 Monster Attack

Sophiel's reach extends all the way to Fort Drelev, and true to her word - she absorbs it, repairs much of the capitol, and builds a robust city wall. She also upgrades the small library to a formal academy in Tatzleford, and prepares to pave the streets in the capitol, which now houses 12,750 diverse souls.

Everything seems to be going well, when word comes that there is a portal which opened nearby and dislodged some dangerous fey creatures. Can assume the party went to fight them, or she hires some younger adventurers to deal with the problem. You'll have a month to head back and take care of them before Sophiel just solves the problem on her own.
1d4 - 1 ⇒ (3) - 1 = 2

Sophiel laughs quietly, ”I think you would fit in quite well at the university, Ms. Ravasz, but there’s no need for airs. I’ve gotten my hands dirty before and I’m certain they will become both dirty - and bloody - again, before my task is done.” She shrugs, ”secrets have their place - but not here, unless we have a compelling reason. Penny reports the truth, it is one of the finest bulwarks I have against subterfuge. A lesson learned, all. too. well.”

When Naomi speaks of Chrysa’s wit and effervescence, it’s almost hard for Sophiel to contain herself, but she does, ”mmhmm, yes, you are the very model of levity, aren’t you, Chrysa?”

Back in Gliocas

"Greetings and good fortune to you, your majesty," the richly, but tastefully dressed emissary from Pitax offers her courtesies, "and assembled worthies. I am Naomi Ravasz of Pitax, diplomatic minister both extraordinary and plenipotentiary, and I bear an invitation from His Supreme and Inimitable Magnificence, Castruccio Irovetti, by the grace of the gods the rightful king of Pitax, Marvel of Numeria, Master of Mormouth, and Prince Regent of the Sellen. His Magnificence bids you welcome to the Jewel of the River Kingdoms that you might celebrate and compete in this, his Rushlight Tournament. Witness and indulge in the wonder and grandeur of Pitax, and it is His Magnificence's fondest hope that this will bring about true amity and bonhomie with his fellow River King who has so ably piloted the ship of state with perspicacity that has captured his admiration from afar."

She rises, scroll and credentials at the ready to present to Sophiel should she request them.

Pitching her voice lower, a warmth bubbles up as Naomi ratchets down her formality, just a skosh. "And if I may, your majesty, it is not only His Magnificence who has become enraptured with the little wonders of your kingdom. I would be honored to serve as your liaison for your journey, and I hope that in so doing, we could form a bond as personal as it is political."

The prime minister has a serious look about her, and her temper has flared more often than would be normal. A spectacled androgynous elfin being hovers nearby, seemingly taking notes - who accepts the scrolls - and there is a young Taldan woman in her early 20s off to the side, seemingly also taking notes but with a winged helmet under her arm. She gestures to the elfin being ”it is a pleasure to meet you Ms. Ravasz. As I’m sure you know, this is Marcanth. But that woman is Penelope. A reporter.” She turns back to Naomi, ”we value honesty here. The truth.” When Naomi gives an explanation for all of Iorvetti’s titles, Sophiel waits patiently, though one eyebrow is raised slightly about halfway through the list, and doesn’t descend until Naomi is finished.

The prime minister is dressed in a suit, with a simple headband of lavender serving as a crown, of sorts. The ruler unabashedly shows off her pointed ears, her hair pulled back into a neat bun, and is unadorned except for a small, triangular pin on her left chest.

They were meeting in Sophiel’s simple office, and there is a red stain on the ground where Naomi stands - faint but noticable to the trained eye. Where someone had tried to assassinate her last year. The prime minister stands when Naomi finishes and Chrysa introduces herself, ”Kind words, and they are appreciated. You may bring word back to your King that Gliocas will participate, but unfortunately” she pauses, ”I am indisposed.” She moves over to the window and looks out. ”We’re installing water and sewer lines all over the city - I need to be here to manage things, magically and administratively.” She smiles slightly as she turns back to Naomi, ”with the tales of Iorvetti’s wisdom and foresight in matters of statecraft well-known, I hope he will indulge me on this occasion.” Pitax does not have water or sewer infrastructure, or paved roads. Naomi knows that much of the money goes towards Iorvetti, though he also does invest in the Pitax Academy as well.

She returns to her desk ”Chrysa may serve as a champion of the realm in my stead, along with some of my other agents and friends - Donovan and Tikroch at least, possibly others.” She sits down, ”but please send my regards to your King with a promise. I will attend the next festival, no matter what happens. Please - speak with Chrysa and get to know our… little country. Trinity University has a museum of wonders, and our shops, pubs, and restaurants are a taste of Andoran luxury rarely found in this part of the world.” She inclines her head as a sign of respect and waits for the woman to either excuse herself or ask any follow-up questions.

Turn 27 Rova 4712AR
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Balance=91 BP

Starting Size is 84

Ending Balance = 98 Size is now 88 - 4 More claimed.

Event: 1d100 ⇒ 81 Dangerous settlement event
Event: 1d100 ⇒ 82 Squatters

An empty settlement lot is taken over by beggars, troublemakers, and people unable to find adequate work or housing; they camp there with tents, wagons, and shanties. You cannot use the lot for anything until the squatters are dispersed. Fame and Stability decrease by 1, and Unrest increases by 2. You may try to disperse the squatters with a Stability check. Success means the squatters are dispersed and the event is not continuous, but if a House or Tenement is not built in that lot on the next turn, Infamy increases by 1 and Unrest by 2. Failing the Stability check means the event is continuous, and you may not build on that lot until the event is resolved.

Will prepare some stuff to do ASAP, sorry for the delay.

Sophiel smiles, slightly, ”there was a time when Mila was as home in the woods as you or I. Things have changed - but she’s not a neophyte.” She claps her hands together and nods. ”Well, this seems like as good a time as any to get to work. Let me know if anything comes up.”

Party’s together. Feel free to RP during the adventuring in the wilds part.

A few moments later, she ushers Mila into a conference room.

"Well, here she is - one of our assets. She can tell you more about herself - including her real name - if she's so inclined." She gestures, I'm assuming by now that Vincent has separated "Tikroch - who is a druid, Donovan - a veteran of the demon wars, the mercenary Mum, and you already know Governor Sootscale."

Sophiel is shorter than Mila, but somehow still manages to be imposing. She looks Mila over, ”no offense taken - but before you judge me, recall who we are facing and what they’re willing to do. At the least, multiple people have tried to murder me,” She stretches herself out, still catlike, ”your cover identity had run its course. I’ll read over the rest of your reports later.” Mila usually sends cyphered reports to Sophiel directly via animal messengers. The last report would have talked about planning at the Grand Academy for the Rushlight Tournament. It would be the reason why Sophiel knows in advance what the tournament entails.

She continues, ”I have a crew that I’d like you to join. Right now they’re planning on clearing out the Slough. With Drelev dead and Armag … agreeing to nonaggression, we have some breathing room, but I need the routes cleared to build roads and other infrastructure.” She smiles slightly, ”a break - from pretending to be someone else, for at least a few months.” She smooths down her hair, ”obviously, you can say no - but afterwards, I intend to take Pitax completely - it will be the last major external enemy other than Brevoy.” She clears her throat, her voice catching on the last words - as if there’s shared knowledge between the pair. A knowing, a reminder of something terrible.

Sophiel chuckles, "indeed. So, if you're up for it Donovan, they could use your assistance with the marsh and plains out west. I don't know what else you could do - I can't really send you out as a diplomat, and we don't have a problem with demons. But surely there will be enemies that will try to fight Tikroch, Mila, and Sootscale, and they'll need all the help they can get to stay alive."

"So, if you go, you should definitely go through the trees, at least to get out there. Much of the work of our Republic comes from exploration and bringing a bit of ... chaos to the wilds, so you may wish to prepare yourself for the exploration part accordingly."

She's making note of the fact that his heavy armor and horse makes trudging around a little hard. If he can get some way to improve his move speed or something, it would help. Tikroch may also be able to help by preparing things like Nature's Paths, or Donovan could also prepare spells himself for such a task. Otherwise, there's items.

Sophiel smiles, and looks at Tikroch and Donovan, "truthfully, the governor manages his people really well, and kindly, but the laws of succession in his tribe - they predate anything we came up with. Only the strongest survive. If any of them wanted to try they could vote him out, but they don't. His enemies keep trying to assassinate him and keep failing." She shakes her head, "a failure of imagination." She shrugs, "but all the subterranean people in Gliocas who are decent respect him, and follow him. Even the dwarves. Even the rock gnomes." She turns to Sootscale, "how you did that I will never understand."

Sophie considers Donovan's offer. "Well, Tikroch and you are the most visible people who are on our 'side' at the moment. Mila has an alter-ego that she can take on, and we have two mercenaries we hired. We had Oriol, as well, but I have him training the military." She turns to Sootscale, "Silvermine is running fine, can you join them?"

Sophiel nods, and adds finally, ”thank you all, again,” and she returns to the greenhouse to retrieve her spy.

********************

Whomever is Mika’s cover identity is a student at the Academy of Grand Arts. She’s sufficiently competent at her craft that she has advanced enough to be invited to parties, where she has gathered a lot of information. Mila is in her dormitory, and it’s late morning. The small city is bustling outside of her window, but the academy’s location - affords a small amount of privacy. Mila has the window open, and is practicing with her violin, when a greyish cat with violet eyes appears on the windowsill and stares at her for a moment. The cat proceeds to lick its right paw, nonchalantly.

Tikroch considers Sophiel's words for a moment before nodding. "Fair, in that case it shouldn't be difficult to find a tree outside the city limits that fits our needs for coming and going. Unless you desire to keep this contact's identity a secret, bringing her in the traditional method is probably best anyway. Maybe I should commission my own grove for such purposes so as to not give yours away. Or just use whatever is available in the wild. I would hope another with our skills wouldn't be working against us but you never know."

She nods, ”I agree. In fact, perhaps I am worrying too much. I can count on one hand the number of our order within 500 miles with such skill. And none of them know about this secret grove. But the Surtovas have a long reach,” she chuckles, ”as we’ve found. Even if they are listening, now they would struggle to find it.” She winks at nothing but the air. She looks back at Tikroch, ”when coming back, you could come through the university’s largest oak tree. It’s only a few minutes away, and if anyone tried to follow you somehow to attack them, the intruder would be in for a world of pain.” She places her hands together, ”well, thank you Tikroch. For trusting me. And everyone else. I’ll get Mila back, and start working on your feather tokens. Feel free to rest and relax for a few days.” She nods towards the corner, and to the mercenary, Mum ”thank you for your services. What’s left of your payment will be delivered in short order.”

Sophiel smiles slightly, ”you may find she’s more comfortable in the wilds than you expect. I can make tree tokens - but you must be extremely prudent about how you use this greenhouse - it’s a backdoor entrance to the castle that’s otherwise warded. I don’t want just anyone coming in here, for obvious reasons.”

Sophiel inclines her head, "very well - feel free to do what you will. If you have some free time, I would appreciate it if folks would help secure the slough. Since we took Fort ... Drelev," she looks like she swallowed a bug when she says this, "and... something should be done about the name - I'm open to ideas" she continues, "I need to link up with it, but I also need some of the other areas cleared out of monsters," She points at the map the map on discord shows a lot of areas that have question marks. Each has something of value - it might take time to deal with them - but they could provide BP, some other kingdom resource, or treasure, and if they are unclaimed too long, the country will be more vulnerable to attack. If Gliocas is connected to Fort Drelev with only a few hexes, they run the risk of losing the entire blue area. The Tiger Lords domain will be a few hexes to the northwest, near Armag’s Tomb.

Since this is a time for downtime, I don’t think folks want to run the combats especially, but we can resolve things with skill checks - as previously noted, diplomacy usually, and a handful of other skills depending on the circumstances. If it’s clear there’s no way to be diplomatic or you don’t want to, we can do a d100 roll to determine how successful you are. Depending on the difficulty, there’s a range of outcomes - some of it will be secret (low/medium/high difficulty - I’ll be fair!). Nothing should permanently kill a PC but there is the risk of death, which will be assigned randomly. The more people who go to a particular place, the easier the encounter, but you can also split up and try to do a few per day. The hexes are how they look - swamp, forest, etc., so your [u]13th level[/u] PCs should be able to handle the terrain and environmental hazards. If you choose not to care about the terrain - just a little bit of evidence of thoughtfulness is all that’s necessary - the difficulty shunts up higher. It should take as long as it’s noted on the exploration table here, but this assumes 4 PCs are working on it.

If anyone has a combat encounter they encounter they want to do, we can do that too, and as always, you can just skip this on a party or pc-wide basis. Vincent will be crafting, so he’s probably out for at least three weeks.

If the party doesn’t have time for this, Sophiel will either try to do it herself or hire folks to do it, but there may be consequences long-term, as it would pull her away from other tasks or make her expend resources she wouldn’t have otherwise.

She taps it, ”just some things I noticed flying around - interesting terrain and landmarks. In terms of time - well, my thought is that maybe we could get an invitation to this event in Pitax - the Rushlight festival. It’s a tournament. Archery, log splitting, boasting, and jousting - if you’re up for it.” She smiles slightly, ”even though Iorvetti is a snake, if we could diffuse this conflict with him before escalating to full-war, it would save a lot of lives and a lot of trouble, right? The contest is in three months.”

She sits down and staightens some paperwork down. ”So, Pitax. I haven’t been honest with everyone here, though - it’s more a matter of withholding. Since our country was … reputationally attacked by this rabble rouser last year, and even before, I have understood the benefit of spycraft. What does this mean? I have spies. In all the neighboring kingdoms, baronies, autocracies, etc,” she waves her hands as if simplifying, ”our best spy is a woman named Mila. She … spent a good amount of her youth living near my family’s estate. She knew my father - more than I did …” her voice trails, ”she can be trusted, but you will likely need to earn her trust. She’s been hurt. But much of what I know about Brevoy and Pitax has come through her reports. She is loyal to my family, and she is against the Surtovas, and as such - I trust her. Her work in the field is nearing the end - I can recall her and she can aid you all, if you’d like. She will likely need to be involved directly with the Rushlight and any work with Pitax, since she knows the country well at this point. Is this agreeable?”

Sophiel nods, and points at the exit, tapping on the book once. ”matters for another time, and things which we must consider. As for this, well - I think you and Tikroch will care about this in particular; it concerns the first world.” She gives Chrysa another quick hug and moves to leave the sylvan hideaway.

Once they are topside, she sends messengers to the others to have them gather in her office. When they’ve all done so, she explains, pointing at the book. ”Thank you all again for your help. This is research I’ve compiled, with the help of some others - regarding those portals that seem to have been opening between the stolen lands and the first world.” She looks at Tikroch knowingly, ”between all of us, we have some differences of opinion about fey in general - but I think none of us wish for any sort of permanent conduit to be made. Perhaps for different reasons, but we share the same goal, yes?” She waits for the others to confirm before finishing, ”that’s where this is leading. These portals seem to be opening for longer, and are occurring more frequently. If you do the math, and I have, it’s just a matter of time. I have divined what I could on the matter - but got little, except perhaps that if we do nothing, it is likely to happen. For the newcomers, you should understand,” she turns to Tikroch and Donovan, ”something has been … interfering with our group. Terrible misfortune has occurred for most of our party before you joined. I have spent many resources trying to figure out the source - and I have a theory - but it is at the edge of my knowledge, as if it is a piece of fruit hanging from a tree, just out of reach. Anyway, I think at this point, the portals and that interference is connected - Mum and Vincent can fill you in on the details about what happened - but I logged all the events, and made contact with many of my friends in the woods, and discovered that every time a misfortune occurred, a portal opened around the same time.” She turns towards Mum, ”the Lebedas, Annalla, and other events - they seem to have been connected. It was as if suffering was powering these openings.” She turns towards Tikroch, ”so - even if I were so inclined to have such a connection with the First World, which I am not - I would never, ever hurt anyone to do so. Something else is toying with you. With us.” She opens her hands, ”now - be mindful that everything I say has a reason. Every place I say it has a purpose. I have a plan to stop the portals, but it requires a book. An old book. There are only a few places that have it, based on my divination. Absalom. The first vault. And maybe, the bardic college in Pitax.”

She smiles slightly, ”Pitax - I hope - is familiar to you all. That wretch Iorvetti is scheming against us, and has been. I am trying to fend off his next attack. But I see this as an opportunity - what I’d like you to do is to head to Pitax, as soon as we find an excuse to do so, and steal this book. It may take a little while to come up with an excuse, but until then - rest, prepare, and muster what resources you can.”

She turns to Vincent, ”the resources you need will be delivered to your tower.”

Sophiel nods, gravely, "it could work. Let's talk to him. Meanwhile, we have work to do. If we can delay the attack a little longer, I can take Pitax. The other cities of the river kingdoms - they've been under Iorvetti's thumb too long. But..."

She sighs, "Daggermark. They run the Council of Thieves. They won't stand for direct assassination," and frowns slightly, "despite the fact that they tried to kill me. Iorvetti has an army, but I know there's unrest - and he's been worried about this... other nation." A dark look crosses her face, "that skeletal dragon - them." Her lips form a thin line, "I expect... such a thing would not be in alignment with most of Shadowfall's ideals, or at least your own, our friend Vincent excepted."

She waves her hand away, "anyway, this is complicated, let's gather the others together. Most of this, just keep it to yourself and Vincent. I'm compartmentalizing this information in case a possible operation goes south." She stands up, "the last thing I need to know is - how long do you think you can keep, you know, getting into the mix, before you want to rest, you know, for the baby?" She folds her hands in front of her, "we don't want anything to happen to them, and I don't expect any of the danger to be reduced."

Well, almost anyone. As her thoughts slip to who else has her trust so completely, she sighs. "Our separation is getting us nothing if my aunt is still targeting you."

Sophiel shakes her head, ”she will target me anyway. Her puppet- I suppose your cousin- will have to make a show of strength to quell the brewing rebellion. The Rogvarian loyalists have been making it clear they don’t care for the direction of the country, and the lords don’t like … my country.” She inhales deeply, ”like Taldor and Andoran before us, we threaten the status quo. It makes the serfs restless. So, what your Aunt wants is to turn you against me - with a carrot or stick - she does not care.” She smiles slightly at Chrysa, ”she knows I have a weakness for you, and cannot fathom that you could have warmth in your heart for me. This was only advantage - but something which will soon vanish. And - if rumor is true, your family has more than just troops at their beck and call. Any family that can cause the Rogvarians to disappear is not to be trifled with .”

She shakes her head again, ”and the Surtovas would rather let Brevoy collapse than give up what they’ve won.”

Sophiel considers the question, very carefully. "Trust them. That's a good question." She sits down at one of the stone chairs, and leans back. "I venerate one of the Eldest. Magdh. She sent Marcanth to me, and he has never steered me wrong. I trust him. I trust the paladins. But ... as much as I love Magdh, and what she's given me..." she blinks rapidly, as if trying to hold back some emotion, "no. I don't trust her. Not completely. The eldest are... complicated. They have their own goals, and their own morality." She looks up at Mum, "I don't know what her goals are, but I've seen glimmers of something wrong. Or really, intuited, kind of like... when you stare at the ceiling and start seeing faces." She considers for a moment, and then opens up her magic satchel.

She rummages through it, and takes out a book, with loose papers sticking out from the edge of the biding, "before I say more, I should show this to everyone, it concerns all of us."

She knocks it with her fist, "but - there's something going on here." She gestures towards the portcullis leading outside, "and there."

"It was almost... too easy for me to consolidate power." She shakes her head, "Things have just... miraculously worked out. I know Magdh has helped steer me to this point, through signs and portents - patterns." She sighs, "but why?"

No reason to hide this, but it's hidden from NPCs.

There's a piece of stone on the ground that seems somewhat untouched post-construction, but is hidden by some foliage. Sophiel brushes it away, and touches the piece of stone, and a small trapdoor appears. She sighs, and opens, gesturing for Mum to go inside.

Assuming they do.

Once they're situated in the extradimensional space, sylvan hideaway she moves over to Chrysa, ignoring the chairs and tables, and hugs the tiefling gently, "we have little time. Here's the status, Brevoy has spies in the country. Magical and mundane. The cities are warded against teleportation, but every gold piece I spend on warding is less money for... mercenaries, troops, defenses. Brevoy is trying to disrupt trade diplomatically - and Pitax has now blocked our trade routes west, to Mivon and elsewhere. They cannot track me easily, or you and Vincent, but the others - your Aunt has tremendous resources."

She steps back, "now, I do have some counters to their infiltration - for the last ... eight months, I've been hiding something from everyone - I have had spies in Brevoy and Pitax and elsewhere, of my own." She smiles quietly, "they don't know about our most important resource. Her name is Mila, and she grew up at my father's - in Stoneclimb. I didn't spend too much time with her, but my family vouched, and she's been very reliable. She has her own aims, and has suffered, but she's strongly against the Surtovas, for various reasons."

She tugs at one of her braids nervously and says, "our... our only saving grace is that Pitax is isolated. Iorvetti must go, one way or the other. Mila is there, now, in Pitax. Disguised as a student. I haven't heard much to threaten us, but our western flank is not well-defended. All of our troops are defending the northern border."

She looks worried about adding more context, "I got the Nomen to make a cavalry troop and... enlisted some aid..." She looks ashamed, "please do not be angry - Marcanth had some other gathlain, servants of Magdh, come from the First World. But they are all paladins - they have good hearts. Like him, they aren't ... they aren't like the ones that hurt you. I'm sorry."

She looks nervously for Chrysa's approval, "worst of all - Tikroch is right. 'Dimensional' Tears keep appearing in Gliocas, and fey-touched creatures come through. Some aren't aggressive, but ..." she trails off, thoughtfully. "I'll talk to him about it. Our library is extensive, but Pitax has been around longer. Their bard college has some old texts apparently. There may be a ritual he and I can do to stop this."

Waiting for Mum's reaction, she finally adds, "the worst development, though, is this - Imeckus Stroon - the mage from Drelev, he knew who Vincent was, and he saw them working with Sootscale. Your aunt knows he works with me. So his cover is blown. Vincent either needs to defect from Shadowfall, or we need to revisit Shadowfall's relationship to Gliocas." She's cautious, "or, or - you tell me what to do."

Assuming no one wants to head back into the tomb

Satisfied that everyone is done here, Tikroch turns back to the entrance of the resting place of Armag. Calling upon some of his most powerful magics, he summons a solid wall of stone across the entrance, sealing it from easy entry.
Cast wall of stone

He turns to Vincent, "That should at least deter the less determined from exploring the tomb. He admires the results of his spell for a moment before addressing the group as a whole. "Shall we return these prisoners to Tatzlford?"

All aboard that's coming aboard! Though I suppose we're depending of Sophiel to transport this many people quickly.

Sophiel nods, thankfully towards Tikroch, "well done, thank you" she says, as he seals up the tomb. "This Zorek seems like an interesting person..." She holds up her hand, "perhaps... let us make it a little messier." She summons a similar wall, over the outside and the columns that attempts to match the shape of the mountain, "there. I think having the wall a little hard to get through may be even better."

When he mentions Tatzlford, she looks up, "of course - let me take them there first, hopefully it won't take long." She moves over to the prisoners and shepards them to a nearby tree, taking as many as she can at a time, until all are through. After a short time, she returns, "they're settled and appreciative back at Fort Drelev. Lord Numesti has asked that you return when you can - they're quite appreciative."

She looks a little frazzled after having ferried so many people, and she cracks her knuckles, "and I think I have to go and help them build all of their walls up. It sounds like Drelev was siphoning off a lot of money to his own pocket - why the outer defenses never were finished."

She finally shepherds the party to a nearby larch, and has everyone step through. After short order, the party finds themselves in a large greenhouse, stepping out of a similar larch, within the castle of the Capitol, Tri Firinnean. She looks around carefully, and gestures towards a gate. At the gate she retrieves a small, nearly translucent key, and inserts it into the iron lock embedded within the door. With an audible *click*, the door opens, and she returns the key to a hidden place.

She ushers everyone but Mum out, and holds her arm before she leaves, "a moment alone, please."

When Vincent offers to make items for folks, Sophiel will extend the same opportunity, she is willing to craft rods and wondrous items, though it takes some time to do so.

Sophiel nods, "that's all that needs to be said, I think. If I have need for your services again, miss Mum, I will contact you. You'll find your payment waiting for you at home."

She inclines her head towards Vincent, "you're becoming a person of interest in Brevoy, young Vincent. Can I recruit you to my service? They are my foes - as loath as I am to say such a thing about my countrymen and women."

To the others, she waves her hands, "when you're finished, I can bring you back to the capitol, where you can rest. After, there are urgent matters to discuss. This fight is not over."

A reminder to level up to 13.

Now

Sophie listens carefully to Tikroch, and turns to Armag. ”He was just explaining the circumstances of the tomb.” She pauses.

Armag replies, in heavily accented Taldan ”yeah? What of it?”

The woman takes a step forward, ”this area has been the territory of the tiger lords for … how long?” She asks those assembled, and smiles slightly, turning back to Armag, ”at least a thousand years. Since the… other Armag lived. Brevoy is, what, 300?” She opens her hands, ”but that’s just history,” and waves them dismissively. She steps another half-step closer to the man, ”history is just… words. Stories we tell each other. To learn from. They don’t define us, but they can shape us.”

Armag is frowning, ”what’s the point lady?” he points at Mum, ”that lady said you could offer me something - spit it out. This is boring.”

Sophiel smiles slightly, ”of course - my apologies. My name is Sophiel, originally of the Brevian house Medvyed, and I speak for Gliocas and its people. As for the offer - our negotiation - well, what I want from you is - nothing.”

Armag’s nostrils flare, and he grabs his battleaxe, ”yeah? Why am I talking to you instead of fighting, why didn’t I die in battle? More tricks, woman?” He points at Mum.

Sophiel’s eyes narrow, and she flicks her wrist, and dozens of thick, thorny vines sprout from the ground, and wrap around Armag and his barbarian’s feet, crawling up their bodies. The vines are covered in sharp thorns that draw blood, but they restrain the Tiger Lords. Enraged, Armag struggles, and he starts to bleed. Sophiel sighs, ”blood is a wonderful fertilizer, but it doesn’t need to be wasted today. You and your men will listen.” There is an air of authority, of strength that Sophiel - often a diplomat, rarely expresses.

1d20 + 26 ⇒ (15) + 26 = 41

She takes a step forward until she is within the warlord’s reach. ”Nothing. I want nothing from you. In return, all of the ancestral lands are yours to rule.” She steps back.

Armag looks confused.

He winces, and opens his mouth, then closes it. ”What game is this now? The witches - they … fed me lies my entire life. Zorek said I was to be the next Armag. And, you, small, odd - with feathers - what power have you to give this? Why?”

Sophiel shrugs, relaxing slightly ”you listened to reason before, with my friends, and it’s your people’s lands. It always has been. As to my power, well…” She thinks carefully, ”it does not just come from magic. I know people. I know my enemies, and I know my friends. If you accept, I will protect your ancestral lands as much as is in my power.”

Armag looks on suspiciously, ”yeah but you get something out of it.”

Sophiel nods, and replies brightly, ”of course! Maybe a new friend. Maybe an ally. We would gladly make you a… “ she tries to think of the word, ”part? Like a state, of the country, if you wanted to. The Sootscale joined us. The Nomen joined us, and we have cities of dwarves and elves, and orcs - and fey, and… people. There’s benefits - but some rules. That would be a trade. But Tiressa, the dryad, has a sanctuary for Fey in the center of the Narlmarches - we protect her, and she runs her own affairs, though could join us if she wished.” Watching the barbarians carefully, she snaps her fingers and the vines descend into the ground.

Armag looks like he’s going to attack for a second, but he tightens his grip briefly before he puts away his axe, and his barbarians do the same, ”so that’s it? You leave?”

Sophiel inhales deeply, ”if you want us to. Though, we do need to seal up the tomb soon - so people don’t wander in.”

Armag’s brow furrows, ”this would not be the will of Gorum.”

Sophiel replies, ”that sword you found? It was Armag. His soul lives within to prevent Pharasma from claiming it - a concession she made to Gorum. If it gets out, she could. That pact should not be broken in this age - I think.”

Armag puts his hand on his face, ”okay. So, then you’ll just go?” She looks over at the prisoners, and smiles at them, ”many of these Brevians deserve to live here - they proved themselves, no matter what that scumbag Drelev said or did. That will not change. Gliocas will surround your lands - but what we set aside, they are yours and you may do as you wish.”

Armag nods, ”fine. Fine. I… uh… thank you.”

Sophiel turns around to go, and then turns back, ”though… you know. I am going to have to deal with Pitax in short order. Iorvetti is not as reasonable as you are. And, there’s the matter of Southwest Brevoy? That… was tiger lords land as well?”

Armag smiles slightly, ”ahh! So you do want something.”

Sophiel shakes her head, ”no - there are no strings, but if you and your people find they wish to aid us, we would gladly accept the help. It certainly would even the odds.” She turns around fully, ”Brevoy is… well, it would be impossible to take much of it with the forces I have, and knowing what I know. Maybe I could win - probably not - but the odds would be better with the Tiger Lords.”

The beefy man sighs, ”fine fine. Are we done? At the least, if you leave us alone we will extend the same courtesy. The rest is, this is… I will need to think carefully about what you say. For now, I need to bury my guard.”

Sophie nods and takes a moment, hesitating, but decides with a pained look to make Armag an offer, ”well, you know, you weren’t yourself. I can bring them back, in some regard, and nothing unnatural. Their souls in new bodies. Give them another chance to serve you. I just need a few days. What do you say to that?”

Armag replies after thinking, and hands over the bag ”aye - yes. I know that magic. I will wait here.” He considers her, ”Miss. You are strange. A witch who is queen.”

Sophiel waves her hand dismissively, and the edge returns, with an angry color, ”no. I am not a Queen, I am not a baron, I am not a chief. I’m just me, and I work for my people as long as they will have me. Understand?” Her back is straight and her eyes are clear.

Armag steps back slightly, and he shakes his head, ”yeah, yes. I understand.” And the barbarian and his men start to gather a few of their things.

Sophiel gestures for the party to join her separately, and when they do she asks, ”unexpected - but opportune. I think he helps us. Did anything else of importance happen?”

Sophiel looks similar to how she always looks, though on second thought - her form is a little heightened, her features sharper, and her white-feathered cloak ripples behind her as she walks. Her swan maiden form - since it's basically exactly like her with defensive powers. She smooths out her uniform, a smart green jacket with a triangular pin on the front, and the party spies a few plain-looking, but well-made items now worn, one can guess they're magic - notably her simple preserved darkleaf headband has even more complex runes scribe into it than the last time they saw her.

She inhales deeply, and blinks, shading her violet eyes as she takes in the scene next to the muddy river. She smiles at Vincent, nodding to him in thanks, and squeezes his shoulder, then turns back to the others. She sees the others in the party, and nods in a professional manner, Spying Armag, his barbarians, and the prisoners, she frowns slightly, and approaches the still-large barbarian chief. "So, you're Armag." She looks up at him, and then at the others in the party, then back at him, "they said you wanted to talk to me. Here I am."

Sophiel smiles slightly at Mum, ”less paperwork these days-“ and she tilts her head, and turns to Quintessa Maray, ”Galt? Interesting. Marcanth?” 1d20 + 15 ⇒ (4) + 15 = 191d20 + 23 ⇒ (19) + 23 = 42

The seneschal looks down at the woman, and holds out a hand ”if you would - madam, I would like to discern if you are hiding anything - we have had a problem with… spies in the past.”

Lady Maray looks nervously around, and nods. Marcanth asks her, ”is what you say true? Are you looking for aid?” Maray smiles, thankfully, and says ”yes - help, please. I don’t know where else to turn.” Marcanth inclines his head towards Sophiel, who seems to breathe a sigh of relief - ”come - stay in one of the guest rooms.” She pats Maray on the shoulder, and the grateful woman bows, as one of the guards leads her way. Sophiel watches for a moment until they disappear into a low building.

She turns to the others, ”well- she isn’t from Galt. I’d place her from Daggermark - she tried to hide her accent - well, mind you, but I recognize it.” She sighs, ”we’ll find out what she wants and send her on her way.” Shaking her head, she shrugs ”usually they’re from Brevoy these days - but Daggermark? I thought we had an understanding. And you say Drelev had her prisoner? What was THAT about…” she muses quietly.

Cheerily she looks up and says, ”anyway - you have important work - you can tell me about it later.” She starts unpacking the loot and goods, and a few guards move over to collect it, and she starts cataloguing the value. She’ll give the appropriate amount of crafting materials or currency to the party. If you want anything built, let her know and she can work on it in her spare time - otherwise Vincent can craft. If you want to shop, Tri Firinnean doesn’t have many magic item shops, the purchase limit is only about 6000, but you can always visit another city with her help if you really want something immediately.

Sophie looks down into the courtyard, and yelps - happily, then waves for Marcanth to get out of the way.

Marcanth nods and flits to the side, and out of the window Sophiel flies out, a feathered cloak flapping behind her and keeping her aloft. She has no visible armor - just a neat suit, though her features are slightly more - otherworldly. She descents from the tall tower with Marcanth following behind and alights onto the stone floor. She rushes over to Mum, and moves to embrace her, and once done, clasps Vincent on the shoulder, squeezing it - and nodding in thanks. She also nods at Donovan, and then looks over the newcomer, and extends a hand, ”good evening! I am Sophiel, formerly of the house Medvyed, of Brevoy.” Maray fumbles a bit, and curtsies, and Sophiel sighs and rubs her hands together for a moment - then looks back at Mum. ”What’s going on?”

”Got the job done pretty well, by my reckoning. Don’t have much time to chat, but these two have offered to help free Fort Drelev. This is Tikroch and Donovan, and that is Luca, Tikroch’s companion. I can’t stay for long, but I’ve asked them to work with you - be careful you three. I’ve only told them about the mission, not much about each of you Mum and Dos especially I’ve been circumspect about, so they won’t pry unless you want to let them know something, but as always, assume you are being watched.” She winks at the sky and nods at the newcomers briefly before taking a step, turning into an eagle, and flying away swiftly.

Sophiel looks up, and frowns ”eww.” She pauses ”and… anyway, that isn’t how trees shit, Oriol. Not really. They don’t make much waste at all - plants are much more efficient than we are at dealing with nutrients. But yes, come on - we have to find a tree. I can get you a few miles away - but the flora here isn’t exactly the same as that in Tatzleford so you’ll have to hoof it. Oh.” She pauses, ”you may have help in the town, I know some other people who help us from time to time. Don’t be alarmed - Sootscale can explain later.” She finishes packing up the wagon and looks around, spotting a large swamp cypress. She says to Marcanth, ”a few minutes, at most.” She touches the tree and a large crack appears, ”Come on.”

The trip is disorienting, as usual, and deposits the two about 8 miles south of the town, along the banks of a river. Sophiel follows and says, ”it’s just as good as teleport for people who know about the ecology of various places. And it doesn’t hurt the trees, thankfully. Thank you both, and try not to die.” She hugs the little kobold, and salutes Oriol with a crisply affected gesture, and then steps back into the tree, disappearing.

Coincidentally, it’s about the same time for Sootscale and Vincent and Oriol and Chrysa to arrive at Tatzleford at the same time!.

Sophiel says to the assembled dignitaries, "this is something we can resolve ourselves, but if my messenge was accurate - you all may find yourselves a liability to him. I recommend all of you head to Tatzlford yourselves, now. It is the safest, closest settlement. My troops will come when they can, and my trusted advisors will see to the defense in the meantime." She exhales, "it is the safest place. Otherwise, if you wish to return home, stick together. You are witnesses to his treachery. He will not forgive this. I apologize to you all for bringing you into this mess - but I do not wish any of you to be harmed. I'm sorry, though, I must, must go."

She returns to her wagon and moves to depart with Marcanth and Penny.

Vincent successfully dominates one.

Sophiel gestures her hand, pushing down as she exhales, "no, I don't care. He say what he wants. Thank you Oriol, I appreciate your help. You have both been valuable..."

Marcanth flies down, "administrator, during this parlay. It seems that Drelev - he's mustered troops to attack. The new town in the Narlmarches seems the target. A woman came - rushing to speak to the mayor, but they didn't believe her. Only when our scouts saw evidence - many giants I believe, this man has made powerful friends - coming from the northwest." He blinks as if relaying a message, and shakes his head, "it was all I was able to pick up - the message was provided to me through two intermediaries - the magic is not reliable. What shall we do?"

Sophiel runs her hand through her hair, "f~%%" she mutters, "we need to get back to Gliocas, to get our defensive forces mustered and move to the west, I don't have time to go to Tatzlford now." She turns to Sootscale and Oriol, "can you three head to the town, in my absence? I believe we will be very busy. It cannot fall. These people joined us, sheltered under our protection. And, ah... this is an inconvenient time but..." From around her neck, she retrieves a chain with two rings, "Sootscale - we need our friends to help. You know who I talk about. Slip them these rings, and only then can you speak to them about what's needed. Only then. I apologize Oriol, Hallana, all will become clear."

She shouts over her shoulder, "an attack? Drelev? While we are 'negotiating?' You see?" She gestures at the other dignitaries, "this was all a ruse to distract us. He moves against a settlement now, while we are here" She shouts, obvious bitterness creeping into her voice.

Sophiel clenches her fist, her violet eyes flashing with anger, her self-control momentarily abated, ”Sir,” she intakes breath sharply then let’s it out slowly, ”I would be harming my own people if I did this. They rely on whatever wisdom I may muster - they chose me for that reason. I cannot betray that choice. The answer is no, respectfully. You may, of course, expand as you see fit, and I will as well, per the charter, and we will respect your borders.” She inclines her head, ”I thank you for your invitation. It seems we have all learned something at this … meeting, at the least. Baroness.” She bows at Chrysa and then makes to leave.

Sophiel replies quietly, ”they can’t, legally. So either they have a way to get Brevoy to agree, this is a bluff or intimidation, … or they intended to kill us and make it all a moot point. Legality doesn’t matter much in the unclaimed wilds of the river kingdoms.” She takes a beat, ”or… some other trick. Be on guard.”

Sophiel is taken aback, as if she’s had the wind knocked out of her, ”Chrysa, this is entire time? You were never on my side? I…” She looks at a loss for words.

Marcanth touches her shoulder, ”this would violate the freedoms and the base laws, among various codes of ethics, miss. I advise against agreeing.” Sophiel blinks quickly as if processing the information, then seems to wait, thinking.

Sophie blinks slowly, then inclines her head, and approaches the main camp, hands open ”you have me at a disadvantage sir. It seems that I have done you some wrong - and I know not what it could be. Surely I can make amends somehow? Or if the people of Gliocas are at fault - they are not so arrogant that they can’t admit their mistakes. As their representative, I ask: what can we do for you?”

Sophiel organizes her things and then makes her way towards the camp, hopping off of the wagon and crossing the bridge with Marcanth. Chrysa is already in the area, but her eyes glide over the noblewoman- a look of hurt in her eyes that is quickly replaced with that of indifference laced with contempt. She gives a polite wave at the other dignitaries and looks to be approaching them, with Penny and Marcanth following (the gathlain having descended to be nearly level with the ground).

Sophie thinks and nods, seemingly understanding ”go on. But quickly, and remember there are eyes and ears unseen here as well. Enemies we do not even know of that seek our deaths, or worse. We talked about discretion, so I trust you to exercise it.”

She claps him lightly on the shoulder, ”thanks for the vote of confidence Hallana. Remember, I already killed one of their assassins, alone. Little me. And anyway, I’ve got a big bodyguard with me now, and his lovely wife.” She grins, ”If we came to blows I expect Chrysa and Vincent could help us too - she may be angry with us but … “ She looks like she’s going to add something but hesitates. ”Discretion. Remember, our country is outlandishly rich and we can make it worth their while. She’s extremely practical.”

”Well, most of these folks are pretty decent, they could be our allies if we worked on that. These are the ones I spoke to. That guy with the daggers is one of the bigwigs from Daggermark, in the assassin’s guild. He likely knew I was targeted or was involved. I expected someone from there would come - and his presence sends something of a message I think. Perhaps a wary apology? Otherwise why not watch from hiding? I think he wants a truce - perhaps we could try figuring out what could make that happen.”

She gestures at the quickling and pixie ”they’re an independent safe haven for the fey that we are sworn to protect - they deserve to at least know what’s going on. And I had no idea Chrysa would come either- we haven’t spoken in months. Are you getting this, Penny? Ezekiel?”

The woman has been scribbling curiously, some shorthand, ”er, yes miss. Zeke doesn’t catch the visuals so I need to build the narrative. Um. Am I supposed to leave out the scheming?”

Sophiel shakes her head, ”just tell the truth about what happens. We talked about this. Our armor against accusations of corruption is radical transparency. But I don’t feel as if I’m obligated to spill my guts about every little thing.”

Sophiel laughs, ”no, no! Of course not. Though I think that dagger guy tried to kill me, the dragon guy is clearly evil, and I think the people in the camp lured us here to a trap - that is the man who summoned us, Baron Drelev. The folks to the south I invited on a whim - thinking maybe we could make friends if I let everyone know about this… diplomatic summit.” She winks at Sootscale. She turns back to Penny and the others and explains who the people assembled are, though she can’t identify the nobles of Artume and she does note that some folks from Touvette are here. ”I would like to start trading with them, and perhaps create a military alliance against outside threats. Especially given how Brevoy has cut off contact with us, and Shadowfall seemingly looms at our borders menacingly. Plus this Drelev character I think wants to destroy the country too and rob us blind, though who he is working with I couldn’t say. Anyway, we are hear to speak to him in particular, so, let’s get at it.”

Sophiel responds quietly, ”that was the goal. That man - “ she points at the one in the camp, ”invited me, and it looks like my old friend Chrysa, only. But it was a matter of regional importance… so I took the liberty of telling some other countries in the River Kingdoms. I think I recognize most of heraldry or people themselves, but I’m not sure…”

Just before they leave, Sophiel and Sootscale put the finishing touches onto a project they seem to have been working on for a long time. She lifts the vial up to her nose, and sniffs it. "Well, Sootscale, bottoms up, I suppose" and with a smooth draught drinks the entire thing.

She blinks a few times, then says, "well, I'm not dead at least. Okay, you could probably drink yours. I'm sending Marcanth out with these two, then."

The gathlain appears at her side, and clears his throat, then says, "you must make haste, mistress. You have dwelled here too long; this testing could have waited until after the conference- you need me there."

The administrator says, sharply, "we will have time, in the end, I made my decision. If you go quickly you might even beat us to the spot."

She nods at Sootscale, "drink it when you will - and ensure that the one for Baltor and Oriel do not get mixed up. The reagents I added are particular, remember? Just a few more things to get together." She moves and finishes packing.

Earlier

Sophiel nods, "don't forget, everyone here is a weird creature in some way."

At some point she leaves Sootscale to his own devices and sends out the missive to the other countries of the river kingdoms - and then moves to gather supplies - harnessing Dictum and Mayhem to the trusty wagon. She leaves the other advisors in charge but invites Marcanth - as the primary foreign diplomat - to come along. As she explained to Sootscale, she asked one of the journalists at the Gliocas Gazette to come along to document what happens and report back to the people. They choose a young, energetic woman with ink stained fingers who hops onto her own horse and follows.

With some haste, she drives Sootscale, Oriol, and Marcanth to the meeting place, with the reporter following along behind, the trip west through the forest going somewhat quickly thanks to the roads.

Sophie nods, and responds in the same language, ”a good question. I suspect he’s a pawn of our enemy - whether he knows it or not. They’re trying to set the terms of any negotiations, to exert control and power. In any event, it sounds like I should show up - because I can’t show weakness. I’d like you to come too, as you’re the representative of the second largest province - though I honestly probably need help with keeping everyone safe. To that end, I’ll ask Oriol - he’s proved useful.” She ticks off people using her fingers, ”I need to let the newspaper know so they can send a representative and have Marcanth come too - he is our lead diplomat.” She grins, ”maybe they sent a message to Chrysa and we can see her too. I miss her … even if we will likely end up … arguing at any meeting. And Vincent, too.” She raises her eyebrows knowingly. ”We need any excuse to work with them on more exploration or tomb-raiding. Right?” She pats Sootscale on the arm.

With the first round of parliamentary elections over, the only candidates running seem to be old hands in their communities. There’s remarkably little acrimony - as the districts representation system seems designed deliberately to encourage compromise and comity. In results that surprised few - Sophie is elected then as administrator by near unanimous consent - a voice vote in the parliament. Slightly embarrassed, but obviously extremely proud - the administrator promises that the next five years will be as prosperous as the last few have been.

Unrest at 0, can’t fail any check, Minimum 80+ BP per turn even with full expansion…

She sets her sights on upgrading the roads in every city, providing waste disposal systems, running water, and other almost… luxurious facilities which will improve the quality of life of every citizen that chooses to live in the towns. She also promises to upgrade the road network extensively, and build fortifications in the wilds to support defensive armies and to guard against attack. She notes that if all goes well, in a few years she will try to have a fast-portal transportation system built - though the costs are quite extensive. She also promises transparency and accountability in all things.

She always watched over Sootscale and Vice versa. She had grown to trust Oriol and Hallana to some degree, and he was often nearby - though the strange Oracle was not always privy to her private conversations. She wakes up the sleeping kobold, holding a letter, and whispering loudly ”Sootscale! We have something to do. Look here - “ and she hands him a missive.

Turn 21 Pharast 4712AR
------------------------------------
Balance=72 BP

Ending Balance = 79 Size is now 52- Varnhold claimed

Event: 1d100 ⇒ 85

Oriol was freed, and given a job if he wanted it and the citizens of Gliocas seemed inspired that their justice system seemed to be working.

True enough to the promise and the plan - Varnhold swore fealty to Gliocas. All of the people that Sophiel saved from Vordakai, still living in the city itself, had already moved in - but it was a hard life. The threat of attack from random bandits was and possibly Brevoy - given the schism between the stolen lands and the northen country - was too great, and the people already trusted Sophiel because of what she did. She immediately connected the cities via road, and built out a connection to the last landmark in the area, along with a quarry, a farm, and new fisheries for the eel delicacy would serve as a tremendous export for the discerning folks in Mivon and elsewhere.

As for the settlements - a new Museum was built in Tri Firinnean, ready to claim interesting and valuable artifacts of history. She also directed another bardic college in the northern city, as well as a Barracks. The Barracks were to be a place of defense for Bogha so that the army could protect against possible attacks from Shadowfall. Now that the town hall was built, Gliocas began preparing for the first parlimentary elections which would determine the direction of the country.

Sophiel nods at the man, "well, I have survived trolls, vampires, liches, assassination attempts, mad fey, and all manner of personal indignities. I don't need a bodyguard, per se, but I expect what is coming will be worse than everything else that has come before. And I can't do it alone."

She leaves Oriol and Hallana to their thoughts.

*****************

Turn 20 Calistril 4712AR
------------------------------------
Balance=69 BP

Ending Balance = 72 Size is now 33- going to sieze Varnhold next turn

Event: 1d100 ⇒ 49

The month was a simple one - a gathering place for Tri Firinnean run the elections, and building up infrastructure in Bogha Fòirneart. The northern city is built mostly in the woods, suspended on platforms above the ground. The academic complex is sprawling, covering many, many stout trees, and the university was christened to study three major religious philosophies - those of Erastil, the Eldest, and of Pharasma. They intended to start the archeological excavation of the ruins as soon as possible, as well, before the temple is rebuilt.

Gliocas expanded somewhat, expanding to claim more landmarks within the stolen lands including the Shrike Cascades and Crooked Falls. Gliocas also built a substantial number of roads to provide to access these, and the sprawling road network was built to the very edge of the country, just next to what was once Varnhold.

Sophiel laughs in relief at Oriol’s appreciation, ”I think you got the wrong idea. We only have tribunals for very important reasons. You were simultaneously accused of manslaughter, and asking for sanctuary.” She smiles slightly, ”or did you think every offense was tried like this? Most things aren’t really illegal - we tried that and it drove people crazy! And all of this - “ she gestures at the hall, ”came about for a different reason. The country has evolved over these last two years. Maybe we will change them again! I know it doesn’t matter much to you, so I won’t go into detail...”

She sighs, ”the point is that the country is extremely diverse. It came to pass that my choice was between destroying my ‘enemies’ or working with them. This is the consequence of choosing the latter. We couldn’t figure out any other way. As for work, let me know if you’d like to stay. The work would be dangerous. More dangerous than anything you’ve ever experienced.” She drops pretense ”the fates of thousands. Possibly TENS of thousands of people rest on decisions that we will make in the work I need to do. There’s rewards too, but you may die in the process. I know it is boring but - think. carefully.” She shakes his hand and leaves the university.

The next morning Oriol managed to get himself to the lecture hall of the university, without assistance. He found the Ardent and the judges waiting, though the gallery was less full.

Marcanth came in a moment after he did, and he looked a little tired, wearily holding his satchel in front of him. The small judge nodded and said, ” the second day of the Trial of Oriol Argerich will now commence. This is the third meeting of the tribunal in 4712 AR. Please begin Marcanth.”

The little fey nodded and seemed to look for something, taking a few moments. So uncharacteristically disorganized was this behavior that the tension built - as if the gallery was waiting for something. Marcanth’s eyes found what he was looking for, and the small man got up.

In a resonant and melodic voice, the fey began, ” I had to work for much of the night to find this. Your honors, the prosecution submits into evidence the base laws, the constitution of Andoran, these two history books documenting conflict in this part of Avistan … and the treaty between the Outlaw Council and the Ruler of New Iobaria - dated 4328 AR.” A murmur went through the gallery.

He flew the documents over to the judges, ” as we all know - these lands were once part of a greater collective river kingdom ruled by the so-called Outlaw Council out of Daggermark. 4328 marked a minor apex of their organizational ability - and they ruled the lands on which we are now standing, to the eastern edge of the steppes and the border of Iobaria. Short-lived - for they were and are somewhat… disorganized.”

He retrieved a pair of small tomes and begins to read excerpts from them, making note of territorial claims, historical events, and what seemed to be a narrative of growing conflict between the council and New Iobaria. To finance their own luxury, it seems, the council would send out thieves and bandits - well supplied and armed, to nearby countries. The precursor to modern Brevoy eventually had the council over a barrel, and the council withdrew, and the attacks stopped. Other neighbors could do little to stop the depredation - given the wealth of the Council, it seemed difficult. But New Iobaria had not fallen to the drakeplague yet, that occured in 4519 AR - their king escalated the fighting to a full-blown war. Troops fought ambushes, cities were razed along the border.

Marcanth explains that the rogues of the council kept escalating the fighting until the losses on both sides began to be too great to bear. An armistice, or peace treaty, was signed - but so great was their disgust with each other that it was agreed that the border between the river kingdoms and Iobaria would remain closed in perpetuity. Trespassers from one country or other would-be returned - and any crimes committed in one country by a citizen of the other could be resolved by returning the citizen home - or by using the law of the home country to prosecute them.

He noted, ” for me, this was anecdotal until I found a copy of the treaty. This is the very one. Judges - you will note the language here.” He handed it to them, and they read it carefully. The young woman frowned and hands it to the lizardfolk, who read it expressionlessly, then handed it to the man.

Marcanth turns to the gallery, ” this treaty is unique - I have never seen anything like it. That extradition policy was to be tied not to the country, but to the land itself - the council and all successor states within both borders, demarcated by explicit land boundaries. He begins to read them, and then Marcanth retrieved a new map from a scroll case - and with an ink pen with a thick tip - he magically suspended the map in the air and drew the boundaries, based on the description. Ardent was watching carefully during this time, and objected, noting that many magical events had occurred in the intervening years and that the many historical descriptions are apocryphal. Marcanth conceded the point - but then brought out a series of old maps that show that the borders, as drawn, had in fact not changed. The fey then pointed out that the hamlet where Oriol killed the man would always lie within any configuration of borders, no matter what.

The lecture hall was silent. Marcanth's three hours of argumentation were finished. Ardent growled, "the defense concedes, with a minor objection, that a treaty was written hundreds of years ago - so what? Why do we have to follow it now?" Marcanth shook his head, "I'm getting to that, madam. But first, a break for water." He moved over to the desk and took a drink. Ardent whispered to Oriol, "this is not good, young man." Marcanth returned to the center and addresses the judges and the gallery again. "Unfortunately, the base laws - being written on the River Freedoms, were written in such a way to give precedence to all preceding laws, titles, grants, etc, where the base laws did not override them. This was important to ensure that the beings that have lived here for the last thousand years or more were not displaced. This was deliberate. What you didn't know when you wrote that, Ardent, was that there was this stupid treaty. And you certainly couldn't expect an Iobarian to mete out justice against another criminal within our borders." He points out the basis of their justice system is that of the Andoran criminal code, which explicitly tries to give deference to past precedent whenever there is an ambiguity with the law.

After four hours of arguments, he begins to concede that everything Oriol did was more-or-less justified, and would have been perfectly acceptable in almost any municipality, outside of the borders of the River Kingdoms. But here, because of various ambiguities, the minimum sentence would be three years in prison, regardless of all other circumstances. He also concedes that most of the other kingdoms would not even bother with this, being more chaotic and lawless than Gliocas. He goes into detail about what he knows Yarnnick did, conceding everything, and even notes that Oriol gave the man an opportunity to defend himself. "I understand what Oriol did. I empathize. But if he had simply gone to Hork, we would have apprehended that scumbag and given him a fair trial - like this. We would have probably followed the same law. We have an obligation to take emotion out of these proceedings. To find the TRUTH." Marcanth raised his voice, "that is the bedrock of our principles that we have built together. If we do not respect the clear, written, law, we are no better than the Bandit Council. We are no better than Daggermark. We would lose all credibility. Oriol Argerich must be, at the very least, exiled from Gliocas. Or, if we are being completely just - he should be imprisoned for a period no less than three years, should he choose that punishment. That is what our laws demand, and if we ignore precedent we get into a situation where we have no laws. What would we be then? Ask yourself, judges, if we wish to go down this path. We know what happened with Mariana when we were loose with enforcement. We tried to protect ourselves but we opened ourselves to a vicious attack that required months of concerted work to fix. People lost their jobs, some folks were angry and were injured in the fighting. We have an obligation to follow the strict reading of the law for the greater good. Vigilantism may be necessary for other countries, but not here." He inclines his head and returns to his desk, not looking Oriol in the eye.

1d20 + 11 ⇒ (17) + 11 = 28

The courtroom is quiet, and Ardent puts her snout into her paws and groans. The male judge taps his gavel, "well, Marcanth. As always, you have a penchant for the theatrical. We will deliberate now, the tribunal is in recess until tomorrow morning." He taps it again, and the young woman doesn't meet Oriol's eyes. The lizardfolk, on the other hand, is staring at the accused, considering him, though it's hard to tell what he's thinking.

Marcanth departs first, seemingly, quickly, and Sophiel descends again as the gallery empties. She makes a deliberation chamber again, and the judges climb down. She turns to Oriol and Ardent once they are gone, "Ardent, I hope you have something up your... erm... sleeve." Ardent snapped at the administrator, "NO. No. I don't, Soph. I don't. I'm going to try, but this... damn." She shakes her furry head, the flower in her hat wiggling comically - a surreal juxtaposition with the gravity of the situation. Sophiel squeezes Oriol's shoulder, "Oriol, Hallana, we will figure out what to do."

The oracle had been mostly silent, so Hallana hadn't really spoken to Ardent, or spoken up at all. Ardent blinked, "what? Who is Hallana?" Sophiel tilted her head, "Oriol's wife. After she was murdered, my understanding is that she joined her spirit to Oriol. Sometimes she speaks to us instead of him. She's a lovely woman." Ardent put a claw onto her chin, looking contemplative, and then excused herself, leaving the lecture hall and trundling off towards the library.

Sophiel shrugged, and turned back to Oriol, "well... I can also pardon you... but the last time I got involved, our country literally had a propaganda war about it. I really don't want to do that. I hope Ardent will come up with a good counterargument." Oriol nodded and returned back to his inn, alone.

**********************************

On the third and last day of the trial, Oriol was the first to arrive, dressed smartly - and as the others came back into the hall, the young female judge looked at him sympathetically. The other two were completely serious, but the lizardfolk seemed keenly interested in Oriol again.

Ardent came into the room last, this time, pushing a cart with a dozen books. Marcanth was sitting quietly at the prosecution's bench but did raise his eyebrows at the display. Ardent waved him off, "you aren't the only one with access to a library, Marcanth." She moved over to her desk and piled them, checking the spine and organizing them quite deliberately, then turned to the judges. "Judges of the tribunal," she began in a low voice, "the defense must concede what the prosecution stipulated. But - " and she raised a single claw, "that is not the whole story. Your honors, we request that these books be entered as descriptions of historical records and precedence for the case in question" Marcanth agrees, " such may be stipulated without question." The male judge notes, "agreed, but not all books are completely accurate histories, Ardent, so please be mindful that we have to examine them during deliberations."

She retrieved a book, and the book is a history of crime and punishment in Andoran. She begins to explain the development of the theory of innocence until proven guilty, one of the stipulations that are very explicit now in Gliocan criminal law. It talks about how the state began to organize and manage criminal punishment systems for the express purpose of protecting against unjust or hasty prosecution. To stop vigilantism. Ardent agrees that such a reading would have required Oriol to bring Yarrnick to prosecution.

She then goes into detail about the errors in testimony, summarizing that a number of books how varying perspectives may grant equally valid interpretations of events. She raises another book, which goes into detail methods that magic may cut to the truth of a situation, calling out the individual, useful spells for this purpose. She also goes into detail about the counter-acting spells which can block it, asking Marcanth if it seemed likely that the truth was being obscured but Marcanth concedes that none likely were used in this case. "So. We know the truth. We know this would be a gray area, morally, legally, and ethically. In almost every other circumstance, this man would have received nothing more than a fine. And we would punish him for something that he had no control over? That people long-dead wrote down, for reasons that had nothing to do with him?"

Marcanth got up, "what other choice do we have? The administrator can pardon him -" Ardent snapped, " she hasn't been elected yet, Marcanth! She has no mandate for that. Do you really want to set aside morality for just the law? This isn't his fault. He made a mistake - he can pay a price, but he has nowhere else to go. We welcome everyone here." Marcanth has no response, but shakes his head slightly.

Ardent then exhales, and picks up another two books, "even if you refused to concede all of that, we cannot punish him for this crime." She taps the first book, and explains that the tome was a history of spirituality, named On the Nature of Souls. It goes into detail about this, and she notes it's considered to be something of an authority on how the afterlife works. She points out that all good and evil religions all seem to agree with this, with minor derivations. She then picks up another tome, which is a history of famous oracles throughout history - those cursed, or blessed as it were, with different powers. She notes that from time to time, more than one being may inhabit the same body. She noted that, theologically, this didn't necessarily violate Pharasma's tenets either, as the conjoining of spirits or souls was not, strictly speaking, a haunting, or undead.

She pointed at Oriol - "there is substantial evidence that when Yarrnick and their crew murdered Hallana, instead of her soul departing for the afterlife - that it merely joined the love of her life. Isn't that right, Hallana?"

Oriol, who had otherwise not spoken more than two words during the trial, looked uncomfortable, but then their expression changed slightly, and a slightly more feminine voice spoke, "I don't know much about that, Doctor Ardent, but I know that I remain with my husband until he's ready to let me go."

There's a muffled gasp from the gallery. Marcanth stands, "what does this have to do with anything?" Ardent points at the previous books that she noted, "it has everything to do with the case. Even if you concede that Oriol must pay for his crimes - what possible justification do you have for making his wife, a victim pay for them as well? They inhabit the same body, for all intents and purposes! You would be punishing an innocent woman. The victim of this whole dark affair! Such an act would violate the core principles of this country. We agreed that it would be better to let murderers go than to ever. To EVER, punish the innocent unjustly. Innocence is presumed, and there must be a preponderance of the evidence that proves that the being committed the crime. Hallana was nearly able to stop the killing. She helped Oriol surrender to the authorities and convinced him to submit to our judgment. Her only crime was not being able to stop her husband from getting vengeance... for her own murder. That is not a crime!" She slaps the book she's carrying, "your honors. You can find a mechanism by which Oriol and Hallana may make restitution. But you cannot punish the body of Oriol with imprisonment or exile if she does not consent. Do you wish to be imprisoned, miss? Or exiled back to Iobaria?"

Hallana speaks again, "no, Doctor, your honors. Your country has been a salve on Oriol's troubled mind. We have helped more people here in the last month than we ever did in Iobaria. That place is a wasteland. It is dead and broken. In some ways, we are refugees fleeing the devastation of the land itself - a cycle of violence that plagues the population in a worse way than even the... plague that has killed so many." She inclines her head, "I do not wish to go back. Oriol and I wish to keep helping - as we can if it would please the court."

The judges watch carefully, Ardent looks back at them, "her rights are paramount. Marcanth - you agree that she inhabits his body, now?" The prosecutor blinks once, and nods, "by all accounts, that is accurate, Doctor." Ardent continues, "then we have no other choice - but the judgement, as always, rests with the tribunal. I rest our case."

1d20 + 20 ⇒ (9) + 20 = 29

The young woman with the shears looks troubled, and sighs, "well, this is particularly difficult, isn't it? Judges - let us confer once last time. Please, all, return in three hours for our ruling." With that, Sophiel made another deliberation chamber, but the guard did not order everyone out. Some of those in the gallery stretched and left to get food or drink, others chatted with each other in a low voice. Hork came down with Drimble, and extended a meaty, but relatively clean hand to Oriol. "Well, lad, er, and miss, ye showed excellent restraint after ye killed the man. When we gave our reports, they weren't exactly glowing but they were accurate and fair, and that was in your favor. Ye have done well here, by all accounts! Even Drimble wanted to show his thanks, right Drimble?"

The kobold shuffled forward and said, quietly, "... yes, Mister Hork. Thank you Sir Oriol for not killing us all. I hope you can live here and protect us ..." The kobold then scurried behind Hork. It was clear that Drimble was relatively young. Hork grinned under his beard, "no matter what, I hope you see, lad, we gave you a fair shake. Good people here. Trying to carve out some reason in a world that isn't reasonable."

Sophiel approached as well, and opened her hands, "though there haven't been problems along the way. Someone clever once made an adage about omlettes and eggs. In our case we literally obtained roc eggs for that purpose! I agree. I hope after all of this that you wish to stay, as well."

The judges emerged after the full three hours of deliberation, and everyone returned to their seats. The young woman exhaled, her expression neutral, and the other judges remained stoic. "In the matter before the court, by a vote of 2-1 this tribunal finds the defendant Oriol Argerich, guilty of the crime of manslaughter." There was a gasp, and a lot of talking from the gallery. The young woman's expression grew grave, "we are not finished. Order! We must have order." The lizardfolk scrached his claws on a piece of metal in his hand, a shocking sound which was extremely unpleasant.

He then spoke, a low, raspy and accented voice with sybillance "Miriam - it is time for me to sssspeak. Tribor, should anyone ssspeak again, remove them. Issss that clear, all of you?" The courtroom quieted down immediately, "assss sssshe said, he is guilty of manssslaughter. But the punisssshment may not be... meted out. Imprisoning Hallana or exiling her for hissss crime would violate the sssstandard of this country. It would bring ussss dissshonor. They are free to go. If they wissh to become citizensss, Hallana will be granted ssssuch without question, but Oriol mussst face jussstice of a sssort. He will be required to work for the executive - whether it be Ssssophiel Medvyed or sssome other person that is elected, in whatever capasssity they require, for a period of no lesss than three yearssss. There is ssstatute supporting this. Otherwissse, they are free to come or go assss they choose." He pauses "The judgement is final, but judgement may be appealed onssse we have ssset up the proper channelsss for thisss." He looks at the others, "next year? I do not know thissss. I return now to my home. Good honor to all, and glory to Gliocas. May the green mother protect us all." The young woman nods, and turns back to everyone, clapping her hands together, "that's it! An exciting and dramatic end." She then smiles at everyone, and hops down, her shears over her shoulder, though she does not dally within the court for long. The middle-aged man lingers a bit, and moves to Oriol, extending a hand, "erm, best of luck to you both," and he also departs. Marcanth approaches Ardent and Oriol last, smiling, "well played, Ardent. You countered my technicality with your own. But that was the fairest outcome, and the most moral one. I sometimes forget that is the most important goal. I am glad you won. Oriol, Hallana, I hope you are satisfied with the judgment, and that you consider making this your home. I believe you would fit quite well in our country's collection of oddballs and misfits." He collected his papers as Ardent put the books back on the cart. The bear yawned, and scratched herself, "alright, both of you, best of luck and all that. I'm off to bed." She trundled off, out of the room, as did the others in the courtroom.

Sophiel hesistantly asked ”well, you are back where you started- but you are free now at least. The burden of justice has been removed from everyone. All that’s left for you to do is decide if you wish to stay here. I believe you would both fit in well, but your fate is your own. Your choices now, are your own. Let me know what you decide.” She shakes his hand warmly, and moves to leave the lecture hall.

Oriol spent much of the next few weeks carousing and doing odd jobs around the capitol.

When the time for the tribunal came, a tiefling woman came to one of the inns where Oriol was staying to retrieve the oracle. Attractive, with dark hair, small horns, and a thin tail extending behind her, she introduced herself as Namara, Sophiel's consort and councilor. Her voice was velvety and relaxing, and seemed to put the oracle at ease as they travelled the short distance from the inn to the law school. Namara explained, there was no proper courthouse in the city, as crime was vanishingly low - but major questions of law or seeming 'capital' offenses had to be tried somewhere, and Trinity university had an one entire college entirely dedicated to legal matters. The judges in this case would be randomly selected from three citizens that had a minimum competency with the law. Minimum four ranks in profession: barrister or other appropriate skill as well as one rank in lore: moral philosophy. For this tribunal, the judges would also be required to know, or learn something about the history of Iobaria and its current state. Namara squeezed Oriol's shoulder with a gloved hand as she sent him into the largest auditorium of the college - one specifically built to house trials, and then turned and disappeared back into the city.

As was the case for all trials, such an endeavor was open to the public, and would take place over six hours, with the judges retiring for closed-door deliberations taking three additional hours per day. There would be three days of testimony. The first was to be dedicated to documenting the events which occured, and the context behind the actions. The second day was to be dedicated to prosecutory arguments from a representative of the state that argued for some sterner punishment (or in this case for the accused to be denied citizenship). The third day, due to the presumption of 'innocence' written into the base laws, was dedicated to defense arguments. The barristers for prosecution and defense also seem to be drawn randomly from the population of Gliocas, though Oriol noted when he walked into the room that it was clear that all parties were very well prepared. What must have only been described as a spindly-looking, small troll with tremendously sharp teeth, wearing a police-officer's uniform, brought Oriol into the room from the entrance, and in a raspy voice called out, "Defendant #3 for 4712 AR present at Tribunal. The tribunal requires silence from all in the gallery, on penalty of removal from observation - or worse!" He cackled, and a murmur of chuckles echoed within the gallery.

The public gallery was set above the trial floor, and was full, with a handful of folks sitting on steps or on aisles nearby. The population, like much of Gliocas, was motley, and barely a plurality obviously 'human' - with both typical and more exotic beings that Oriol could not quickly identify easily watching curiously and quietly. Hork, Sila, Drimble, Andrea, and even Sophiel are all in the gallery, watching. Hork gives Oriol a thumbs up, grinning, and Sophiel waves and smiles at the man, though the others seem to be pleased to see Oriol here as well, none says anything.

When Oriol entered, he espied the tribunal already seated on the raised platform. The man on the left was a clean-shaven middle-aged man with graying hair and a short smoking jacket. He wore spectacles and his expression was neutral. The woman in the center was smaller-sized, with long braided hair festooned with ribbons and large, slanted eyes of deep violet wearing flowing clothing. At her side is a pair of delicate gardening shears, and she smile kindly at Oriol. The last tribunal member appears to be a reptilian person, a lizarfolk wearing a vest with a few pockets filled with various tools and writing instruments, their form hunched over a little as if they were slightly uncomfortable. Their black scales reflected the light that magically illuminated the room, and the lizardfolk seemed somewhat expressionless.

Oriol's defense barrister was a small black bear wearing a broad sunhat with a flower in it, sitting on a mat in the designated area. The prosecutor seemed to be none other than Marcanth, one of Sophiel's advisors. Marcanth approached, along with the bear, who introduced herself in a low-bearlike voice as Doctor Ardent, of the philosophy professors at the university. They instructed Oriol to seat himself at the table near Dr. Ardent. Marcanth moved over to the doctor and Oriol and shook both of their hands, as well as bowing to the judges. Oriol and Ardent did the same. Oriol noticed there were a handful of other beings on this level with them, including, seemingly, a living, empty winged helmet that rested quietly on a nearby table, with glowing dots of light eminating from the shadows inside the helm. There is also

The small young woman lifted up her shears and tapped the small wooden disc at her desk, and in a clear voice called out "and thus the Trial for Defendant #3, Oriol Argerich of Iobaria commences. Good day, Mr. Argerich," she looked down, and smiled beatifically at the oracle, "our understanding is that you plead not guilty to the crime you are accused of, murder in the first degree?" Oriol nodded, "is this correct, doctor?"

Ardent raised a clawed paw, and in smart-professional sounding voice, agreed, "yes, your honor. We intend to prove that the death which occurred was not only justified, but was required by the law of both Gliocas and Iobaria, such as it is. A debt was incurred many years ago, and the 'victim' in this case had sealed their fate long ago."

The small woman gestured with her shears at Marcanth, who rose up out of his seat, his wings flapping slowly, and in a quiet drawl, responded, "your honor, we intend to prove that not only should Oriol be imprisoned for three years for this murder, that at the end of the imprisonment he should be exiled from Gliocas for a period no less than three years, based clearly on the base laws. We would also content that Oriol has proven that he is not well-suited to be a citizen of our country," he inclined his head towards Oriol, "with all due respect to you sir." The sharpness of his voice increased as he spoke until he ended with almost an air of menace and finality.

Ardent sniped, crisply replying ”stop being theatrical, Marcanth. I wrote half the blasted laws, twice don’t lecture us about what is and isn’t appropriate. Not in my den.” Her voice dropped to a growl, but Marcanth seemed unimpressed and looked like he was about to respond when the male judge tapped his own gavel with a tat tat sound. With a tired voice, he interjected ”there will be a time for this, both of you. Enough. Ardent, your presentation of evidence.”

For the next two hours the bear meticulously laid out the events that led to Yarrnick’s death. Marcanth objected to certain points, and on occasion the tribunal of judges had to overrule him on the inclusion of various items in the evidentiary record. The lizardfolk judge seemed to listen carefully, but did not speak, only raising a claw to signal affirmation or putting it down to signal disagreement But Marcanth was relentless, and managed to find a handful of arguments where the actions noted by Ardent were too sympathetic towards Oriol, though the fey creature was always fair if not charitable. When this ended, Marcanth took his turn describing the events, skilled as he was with rhetoric, his description of Oriol was subtly ungenerous. Ardent picked up on many of these, and had the characterizations overruled, but not all. The last two hours were dedicated to talking about Iobaria’s history and legal system. This was substantially less contentious, and even Marcanth agreed that there was little in the way of legal authority to turn to in the stricken land, for any purpose. He did nail down a potential location for extradition, a fort in the southeast near the lake, but even he was obviously unenthusiastic about the idea.

After six hours of arguments, the guard noted that the time for deliberation was to commence, and Sophiel flew down from the gallery, touching the ground and manifesting a small trapdoor in the natural stone that extended into the room. With a raspy cackle, the guard raised his claws, ”out you all, or I’ll gobble you up and use your bones for toothpicks!” Some of the observers chuckled, but others seemed somewhat nervous, and the room empties quickly.

Marcanth approached Oriol, while Ardent, sighing, popped open a jar of honey and began to devour the contents - comb and all. The fey creature noted, seemingly genuinely apologetic ”this is nothing personal. For my part, I hope that you get to stay. But we are all obligated to make the best arguments we can so that the Tribunal may rule in a way that comports with the nature of the situation. If I did not try to expose the true nature of the crimes, events, etcetera,” he gestured with his hand, making circular motions ” - the credibility of our system would be lost. Please don’t hold it against us.”
I Ardent licked her paws, adding ”and if we win it will put to rest all questions from any citizen.” Marcanth nodded and moved to his desk to organize his paperwork, while Ardent yawned ”I would normally be sleeping this time of year - still not used to it. Come back tomorrow morning. I trust you will know where to this time” and waved a sticky paw dismissively. Sophiel approached from the trapdoor and raised her shoulders, ”sooooo…” she asked, oddly expectant for Oriol’s reaction, ”a bit different than you expected I’d wager. Don’t give up hope! Ardent and Marcanth are both clever but I think you have the truth on your side.” She patted Oriol on the back and escorted him back to his inn while Marcanth packed up his things and respectfully bowed to Ardent, the fey creature simply flying over the roof with his briefcase, towards the castle.

Sophiel smiles slightly, ”we have a brewery that makes a number of different erm, styles. It certainly is the highest quality, and they have a tavern connected to the building itself where people may try out their new inventions. It’s operated by a kobold - one of my friend’s apprentices - and so some of the alcohol is strong, some has a kick beyond what you may be used to, and she also distills spirits. I could you and Hallana in the evening one day, perhaps learn more about Iobaria.” She looks like she’s remembering something, ”I believe it is called the Hoard Of Plenty, but people often call it HOPs.” She raises her eyebrows, ”Theres plenty of swill around the city as well - we have more than 8,000 people living here after all, but that’s what comes to mind to me.”