Session 20230928 Swearing to the Bull

General Summary

Bertrum's Journal

Upon the pages of this journal, I, Bertrum Blumenthall, inscribe the chronicles of our days in the opulent island of Larkbright, a tale woven with threads of ambition and intrigue, as if the very Fates themselves had conspired in our favour. The sun rose o'er Larkbright's noble spires, illuminating our path as we embarked on our inaugural day in this majestic metropolis. To secure shelter befitting our noble quest, we sought counsel from the wily locals, and Lyris, with his silvered tongue, prevailed upon a generous Baroness, her fortune faded but her tower still standing, to rent her accommodations for our party's use. A feat of persuasion, it was, as we haggled fiercely to establish terms most equitable. With each bartered word, our new abode's splendour swelled, for Lyris, skilled in the art of negotiation, coaxed even finer furnishings from our landlady. Thus, our lodgings secured, we turned our gaze toward the bustling city's underbelly, where the raw materials of warcraft and the forge lay dormant, awaiting our skilled hands. Lyris and Nightshade, like shadows in the dark, ventured forth to secure fabrics and attire for the latter, for Nightshade is ever the enigma, while Lyris, a master of panache, ensured garments of unparalleled quality.
Meanwhile, I, Bertrum, ventured to procure materials of steel and metal, the essential sinews of crafting. Ah, the merchant's song, a symphony of gold exchanged for steel, resonated through Larkbright's cobbled streets as I, master of the forge, sought the makings of future masterpieces. In the tea houses, Lyris and Nightshade, sipping the brew of secrets, stumbled upon whispers of treason, an insurrection that loomed in the shadows. The rebellion's heart stirred, they learned, in the discontented hearts of the upper crust, their anger directed towards Governor Raneth, who had vanquished a prior rebellion, leaving the royal family captive within the palace's gilded confines. With the sun descending beyond the horizon's edge, I, Bertrum, ascended to the grand palace, a pinnacle of architectural marvel, to speak with Governor Raneth himself. The Dream Loom, my creation, held his favour, and in exchange, I secured exotic materials and magical substrates to fuel the fires of my craft. In the warm embrace of night, Lyris and Nightshade, returned with tidings of the city's unrest and queries about Raneth's character. A conclave, they suggested, with more denizens would paint a fuller portrait. So, they ventured forth into the city, the pulse of its common folk, seeking perspectives diverse.
In the end, it was revealed that the commoners found favour with the Ice Walkers, the city's rulers, as their reign brought stability. It was the nobility who clung to their discontent, discontent that whispered the realm of treason. A few days waned, and a missive, an invitation from the Bull of the North himself, arrived. We, Lyris, Nightshade, and myself, attended a feast most grand, our finest attire donned. Amidst the revelry, Lyris, in a flourish, revealed his Solar nature, casting his caste mark as a beacon, a symbol of our exalted blood. The seats of honour, they were ours, at the topmost of tables, where Lyris, the master of audacity, held discourse with the Bull of the North, Raneth, and myself. Nightshade, ever shrouded in secrecy, seated further afield. We spoke of alliances and machinations, of the city's restive soul and the Getimian's elusiveness. The name 'Sidereal,' unknown to me before, now beckons as a riddle to unravel. As the night wore on, we swore allegiance to the Bull of the North, pledging fealty, and in turn, the Bull unveiled a quest: to secure the alliance of a neighbouring king.
In a land as foreign as it is vast, we embark as envoys, emissaries bearing the Bull's banner. Yet, ere we set forth on this new odyssey, I must complete my work, crafting creations of steel and sorcery to ensure our path is lit with the brilliance of the celestial sun. With fealty sworn and purpose defined, we, the Company of Exalted, press onward into the boundless unknown, seeking to shape the world's destiny with our own hands.
Yours, Bertrum Blumenthal, Sworn Vassal of the Bull of the North