Episode 10: The Book of Basr
Previously, on Tales of the Inner Council
Aided by the savvy cat-boy street urchin named Dez, ruling councilors Chodvar Taibil, the noble lizard-like Mahnkii Master of Commerce, and Jenta Hua'zur, the panther-like Arjeev Mistress of Whispers, located the hideout of the Kynekin bandit lord Suul'yah deep in Karnwood Forest, North of the capital city of Stoverj. After an intense and brutal confrontation, the three dispatched the bandit lord and freed his captives. Numbered among them was the being for whom they searched: a raccoon-like Vyrian known as Senior Historian Saklay'n; whom they believe holds the key to unlocking the truths surrounding the now deceased King Ga'jam's final decree.
Moving away from the main dwelling of the hideout, out of earshot from Dez and the rest of the freed captives, Chodvar and Jenta gather close around a bonfire to listen to Saklay’n’s story.
Former Bandit Camp, Karnwood Forest, North of Stoverj
Jenta's scowl deepened, her irritation close to the surface. Chodvar knew the pantheress' patience would only last so long. He needed to get the Historian seated between them talking before she decided to take more direct measures to "entice" the story out of him.
The fire seemed almost uncomfortably warm. Wiping his brow with the back of his scaly reptilian hand, Chodvar attempted a smile. "You're a hard man to find, Senior Historian Saklay’n.”
“Just Basr, if you please, Lord Councilor,” the ragged raccoon responded absently.
Basr Saklay'n, a Senior member of the Historians of Stoverj, stared into the fire, letting his eyes go out of focus. His small-framed raccoon chest rose and sank slowly beneath the soiled blue and brown robes he'd been wearing since he was forcibly taken from his home several days ago, as he searched for the right words. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat, betraying little emotion. "I'm not quite sure where to begin."
Jenta opened her mouth with a sharp inhale. “Perhaps,” Chodvar started a bit louder than intended, cutting her off. “We could start with King Ga’jam’s final decree?”
Looking to Vath'azen's Master of Commerce, Basr nodded slowly. “What do you want to know?”
Jenta’s patience waned by the second. “Did the King write it?” she questioned, making no effort to hide her impatience.
The Historian’s head turned to Jenta, his grimy face crinkling as he shot her a condescending look. “No?”
With quick understanding, Chodvar motioned for the Mistress of Whispers to stay calm and attempted to regain control of the conversation. “What the Councilor means, Basr, is were they his words? We understand he was in no shape to write them himself in those final weeks.” Jenta let out a huff of annoyance, bordering on a low growl.
“Mostly,” Basr sighed. “At least, what I could remember of them.”
Chodvar locked eyes with Jenta, shaking his head in anticipation of her ire and shooting her a disapproving look. ”Wait,” said his gaze. She clenched and unclenched her fists, standing and pacing to the opposite side of the bonfire in an effort to keep her frustration in check. They were so close to the truth.
"I guess," Basr’s words broke the painful silence filled only with popping and crackling of the fire. "Before I launch into what happened, you must to know that I am loyal to Vath'azen, to the ideals we stand for." He held his hands over the fire palms upward, toward Jenta, revealing ritual scaring upon his wrists.
Jenta's eyes narrowed as she unconsciously rubbed her own wrists. "You were an Imperial slave? And yet," she hesitated, her head cocking slightly to one side as she studied his wrists, judgement and disdain flashing across her face. "You somehow earned your freedom?"
Basr nodded solemnly. "Like you, Councilor Hua'zur, I understand more than most what Vath'azen means for our people." His eyes flicked accusingly to the green-scaled Mahnkii noble beside him, and back. If Chodvar noticed the slight, he hid it well. "On the day King Ga'jam passed," he continued. "I was on my way to the room in his chateau, where he'd chosen to live out the rest of his days. It was my task to be at the King's side should he require a Historian's services."
"Forgive me Basr," Chodvar interrupted. "I'm not familiar with what sort of 'services' the Historians provided the King."
"Capturing orders, missives, decrees," Basr emphasized without turning. "Or simply to document history as it happens for future generations." Satisfied, Chodvar nodded.
"As I reached the top of the stairs," Basr sighed, "I noted the two guardsmen normally stationed outside his quarters weren't there. In the moment, I didn't think much on it. But as I reached for the door handle, someone grabbed me and pulled me into a side room of some kind."
Chodvar's face contorted as he strained to recall his visits. "I've spent a decent amount of time in the King's chateau. I don't recall there being any rooms adjacent the master bedroom."
"Up until that point, I wasn't aware of one either, Lord Taibil."
Jenta plopped indelicately onto an old tree stump as she processed this new information. "Are you saying there's a secret room outside the King's chambers? In his own chateau?"
Basr shrugged and nodded. "Apparently so, Councilor." Concerned glances passed between the two Councilors for several long seconds.
"Go on," Chodvar stated calmly.
"Before I do," Basr countered, "I need to know the Ruling Council will protect me."
Jenta leapt back to her feet, seemingly ready to spring over the flames. "You're hardly in a position to negotiate here, Historian."
Basr sighed with a slight smile and shook his head dismissively, meeting Jenta's eyes with a spirit of defiance she recognized in herself. "Respectfully Councilor, I think you're hardly in a position to know what happened without me."
Chodvar placed a cautionary hand on the raccoon's thin arm, glaring at the Mistress of Whispers. Shadows and light from the flame flickered back and forth across her unflinching gaze. "Of course we will protect you," the Mahnkii noble declared. "Won't we, Councilor Hau'zur?"
Her eyes flicked from the raccoon to the lizard man and back, fury bubbling just below the surface. "If any loyal subject of Vath'azen needs protection," she spat, "they will have it."
Basr studied the pantheress closely and reasoned that might be as much of a commitment as he could hope for. "The one who grabbed me. It was one of the Hadymaar."
"The mute Elven librarians?" questioned Chodvar, awash with surprise.
Basr nodded. "The same. He held my shoulder in a firm grip with one hand, placing a single finger to his lips with the other, urging my silence. In the moment I didn’t understand what was happening. We waited. I listened. My heart was racing. But once I stilled, I heard voices and movement. Two, maybe three different voices. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but at least one had a thick Stormbreak accent."
"The Dwarves?" Interjected Jenta.
"Maybe?" Basr shrugged. "I couldn't see them and as I said, their voices were muffled. Once all was quiet, we exited the passage." Basr's voice quivered. "He... the King that is, had passed. His guards were missing, and it appeared whomever the visitors were took the final decree we'd been working on."
Jenta frowned. "So it's possible the King was murdered?"
Basr nodded his head. "It's possible, Councilor but I didn't see what happened," he emphasized. "The Hadymaar ushered me back through a maze of passages. We walked for what felt like quite some time before he delivered me to a small, circular stone room – I couldn't begin to tell you where I was - but at the table in the center of the room was a quill, ink, and parchment."
"The mysterious parchment?" Chodvar shot a questioning look to Jenta. Across the fire, the pantheress nodded in agreement. Basr gave them a slightly confused look, but before he could speak the Mahnkii moved the conversation forward. "What happened next? What did they want from you?"
"At first I wasn't sure, my Lord," Basr responded. "True to everything I've heard of the Hadymaar, my... captor? rescuer? I'm honestly not sure what to call him. He never spoke. Not a word. I ran through a litany of questions, to which he would simply shake his head yes or no. Yes, I would be fed and watched over. No, I would not be harmed. Yes, I was to stay put, but no, I was not a prisoner. It was clear from his insistent pointing he wanted me to write... something. I assumed it would be a ransom note of some kind, yet was thrown when he responded 'no' to having any specific demands he expected me to write. It took some time, but eventually I figured out he wanted me to rewrite the King's final decree, in the King's own hand - at least as much as we had finished, and to the best of my recollection."
Jenta spoke up, voice laden with skepticism. "Let's recap. Shall we? You're alleging that the royal guard was mysteriously absent at precisely the right time for a group of two to three shadowy individuals – none of whom you saw, one of whom may have been a Dwarf - to possibly murder the King and steal his final decree. And the reason you failed to see what happened was because fanatical remnants of the Elven Empire, who generally despise the animal races of the Kynekin and everything the Kingdom of Vath'azen represents, saved you - the only person who conveniently knew the King's actual yet unfinished plans for the future of our Kingdom - in order to have you recreate that decree to do... what... exactly? Ensure the King's true wishes were carried out?"
Basr nodded slowly. "I know it sounds unlikely, but..."
"Unlikely?!" She challenged, rapidly rounding the fire. "It sounds positively insane!“ She leaned into his personal space, finger in his face, voice rising in accusation. ”Let's say for just a moment we believe your outlandish tale, Vyrian. You say the decree was unfinished. What part of it was unfinished? What parts of the future of our Kingdom did you conveniently add? Dissolution of the monarchy? Was that you?"
Eyes wide with fear, Basr leaned back and shook his head, words falling quickly from his lips. “No! Never Councilor! That was the King's wish.”
"Promoting the Council to take over?"
"That was his plan, I swear to you."
“The fifth seat on the council, then?”
“Also his.”
“Then what!? What did you add!?“ She pressed forward, baring razor-sharp teeth protruding from pinkish-gums.
A hard coughing fit overtook Chodvar, breaking Jenta's verbal assault. Both turned as he gripped his side, face wincing in pain. A barely noticeable, momentary hint of concern played in Jenta's eyes. The reptilian Mahnkii noble inhaled sharply. Noticing the two staring at him, he waived his hand dismissively. "I'm fine." He forced an unconvincing smile, and cleared his throat. “Was it the Dwarf?“
Basr sat silent, unresponsive.
Chodvar sat up a bit straighter and took a strained inhale. His voice returned to its normal prim and proper tone. “Tashkerr, of House Dyber was the name, I believe. Was the name already decided or did you add it?”
The thin raccoon-man swallowed hard, beady eyes rapidly shifting between the two Councilors. He wished he could somehow make himself smaller, and less visible. Jenta grabbed the Historian by the lapel of his dirt-streaked robe with both hands. With surprising strength rippling down her lithe black arms, she hoisted him into the air. “You appointed someone to the Ruling Council without the King’s blessing?!”
"Yes! I did!" Basr responded fearfully, feet dangling from the ground. "But you have to understand! I believe it's what he wanted!"
"Why?" Jenta countered angrily, flinging the Historian backwards to the ground. Beyond him, at the House in the center of camp, the front door opened and a lone orange-furred cat-boy leaned against the door jam and watched intently, making no attempt at subtlety.
She lowered her voice to a growl and turned to Chodvar. "How does any of this make sense? What would lead the King to throw our hard-fought Kingdom of barely 60 years, his own father's legacy, into such turmoil?"
"Because, Councilor," Basr rolled to his hands and knees, his own ire rising. "He believed someone was conspiring against him! But he didn't know who! He felt like the only way to keep the Kingdom from falling into the wrong hands, was to ensure no one person had the ability to control it. He believed the best way to save the Kingdom, was to divide the power. And from where I'm sitting, it seems like he was right!"
Jenta stopped in her tracks, dumbfounded. A log in the fire hissed and popped, spewing orange embers into the night air. The Historian clambered back to his feet and dusted off his hands, trying to get his breathing under control. "It's true," he said to Chodvar, "I don't know for sure that he would have appointed the Dyber Dwarf to the council. But," he glared at Jenta. "He had me issue a summons for Tashkerr several moons ago. He was very secretive about it. He didn't say why, but spoke of wanting someone from the Dwarven Istoyaver available for 'special' counsel."
"Fantastic," Jenta spewed sarcastically. The look on Chodvar's face made it clear the name of the Dwarven Wayfinder's Guild held no meaning for him. "Prepare yourself, Lord Taibil," she explained. "A cultist is coming to dinner."
* * * * *
While Basr continued to relay specifics around his release, public delivery of the final decree, and subsequent abduction from his home in the Haajbruug district by the bandit lord Suul'yah and his men, Jenta only half-listened. Her mind raced, already sifting through what she knew of the members of the King's Guard and their leader, the Ja'nakh horse-man Captain Haruchi. She pondered their close relationship to Grand Marshall Pa'lakh. She mentally ran through the list of Dwarves and other suspects conducting illicit operations in and around the capital city of Stoverj whom she generally tried to keep under surveillance, though admittedly her resources were stretched thin.
With great concern, the pantheress contemplated the notion that the late King had explicitly chosen to exclude his hand-selected and most trusted Inner Council from his belief that there was someone working against the crown. Letting her eyes fall on the young Mahnkii Lord, the Kingdom's Master of Commerce seated just a few feet away, a more unsettling notion rose to the forefront of her mind: What if King Ga'jam kept this from his Inner Council because he believed one of them was among the co-conspirators? What if he hoped by enlisting the aid of an outsider, one trained in the mystical arts of the Myndikin peoples, he could uncover the truth and discern ally from adversary, friend from foe? There were just too many unknowns, too many possibilities to reason through. She needed to distill down to facts.
The idea this Vyrian Senior Historian had the skill to write the fake decree in the King's hand seemed more than reasonable. It was possible they might never know whether its contents were truly the will of the late King. The whole "Hadymaar rescue" seemed highly unlikely given the silent Elves complete lack of interest in Vath politics. It just didn't align what little she knew of the strange order. The secret passage in the King's chateau should be verifiable, but while that would add some semblance of credence to the raccoon-man's story, it wouldn't do much to help solve the larger issue at hand.
It was undeniable that someone had hired the bandit lord Suul'yah to kidnap the Historian. But why? She eyed the small-framed raccoon with renewed interest. With as much as he potentially knew about a plot against the crown, why leave such a dangerous loose end in play? I'd have removed him from the board, she thought cynically.
She broke from her thoughts and cut off some clarifying question Chodvar was asking. "How long ago?" She questioned.
Basr and Chodvar both had no idea what she was talking about. She shook her head. "How long ago did you say you sent for the Dwarf?"
The Historian considered for a moment, eyes searching the ground. "Maybe two moons ago. The letter had to go all the way to their familial home in the Northern Stormbreak mountains."
"Lord Taibil," she pivoted. "How long do goods typically take to move from Stormbreak to Vath'azen?"
He barely hesitated in his response, allowing a small bit of pride in his particular expertise to break through his facade. "Assuming they're moving through the human lands of Rohligav, then by ship, coming across the Upanje Sea?" He asked to no one in particular. "Without any significant weather delays or problems on the road? About one and a half moons."
She nodded thoughtfully, hand stroking the long white whiskers to either side of her face. If the Dwarven mystic wasn't already in Stoverj, he was likely close. A plan began to form in her mind.
"We need to get back to the capital. It's too dark to travel the Karnwood quickly now and," glancing to Chodvar, "you're not in any position to ride tonight. Get your rest, both of you. We ride hard at first light."
To Be Continued...
Show spoiler
What follows is an Ironsworn RPG solo session. My notes will generally be captured in the form of:
Character Initials: action
six-sider/ten-sider/ten-sider-result(Strong, Weak, Miss)
Effect
Show spoiler
Oracle: Construct Solution
Oracle: Manipulate safety
CT: Compel +heart
6/2/9-W-Demand Complication
CT: Compel +heart
4/4/10-M
Make a demand
PtP: -1 Stress
CT: Endure Stress
9/1/6-S-+1Stress
JH: Istoyaver knowledge?
50/50 - 42/Y
CT: Reach a milestone
Progress: 8/10
8/5/2-S +2 Legacy
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