Episode 11: The Royal in the Rubble
Previously, on Tales of the Inner Council
Meeting in the Council Chambers of Stoverj castle, ruling council member Lord Yahri Negdahe, the raven-like Shar'elum serving as Vath'azen's Chief Arbiter and Diplomat, listened as the reptilian Mahnkii noblewoman Lady Bolor Enebish brought charges against Lord Davu Pa'lakh, the fox-like Vyrian serving as the council's Grand Marshall. She sought justice for Grand Marshall's murder of her son. An Elven Lord of the court named Mirza stood in the Grand Marshall's defense. The meeting was cut short after Mirza drank from a poisoned decanter meant from the ruling council.
Saved from the poison by his own magic, Mirza identified one of the King's Guard as the culprit. The Guardsman used Lady Enebish as a shield as the battle spilled into the throne room. Davu ultimately defeated the Guardsman, but Lady Enebish took a life threatening wound in the process.
In repayment for his service to the Council, Lord Mirza revealed he was seeking a set of books about his Elven bloodline believed to be still buried in the rubble of the Great Library.
Chief Diplomat's Home, Alkivaan District, Stoverj
Lord Yahri Negdahe rubbed the back of feathered neck and stared once again at the growing pile of missives littering his desk from across the Kingdom. Food requests to combat overpopulation in the Jematukh delta where a mining boom occurred after the discovery of some scarce resource Yahri had never heard of. An ownership dispute over the discovery of a Elven artifact from the First Age at Delgash Vineyards. These were but two of the many asks. He exhaled wearily, pushing away from the desk and leaning back in his rich wooden office chair.
His gaze lingered on a letter from the Northern coastal city of Zajylia; a request for support in fighting a famine outbreak there. Yahri's mind wandered to his deceased younger sister, Naiyum. True to her name which meant "hope," she had been such a light to everyone she'd encountered. But that was before the disease took hold and ravaged her small body. Her life was cut short by an ailment the healers had called "arvarrex," more commonly known as "Varrex's Legacy." As best he understood, it was some type of highly contagious mystical disease unleashed by the Empire during the Great War, created specifically to infect the animal races of the Kynekin who had been slaves of that same Empire for nearly a millennium. It had something to do with rivers of energy that flowed through the world being turned poisonous. Beyond that, Yahri had little understanding.
Since King Gajam's final decree, missives from across the Kingdom of Vath'azen had only increased, as well as his own responsibilities. With Jenta and Lord Taibil's mysterious engagement in the Karnwood Forest, the Grand Marshall's murder charges of the young Mahnkii noble, and the poisoning attempt by a member of one of the most trusted groups in the Kingdom - the King's Guard - Yahri found himself feeling quite overwhelmed and alone in the four person Ruling Council of Vath'azen.
Five persons, he corrected himself.
He needed a break.
Whether because of the letter detailing the Elven artifact dispute, or perhaps the Imperial virus outbreak, Yahri's mind turned to Lord Mirza. The Elven noble had saved someone in the Ruling Council from being literally poisoned. In return, he requested permission to excavate an area of the Library of Stoverj buried during the Great War. Yahri had committed to considering the matter, and yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to know more. Perhaps this was as good of a time as any to seek counsel, he mused. Resolving to head to the Library Yahri rose, straightened his black and red tunic, and called his servants to ready his horse.
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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
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Oracle: Fortify Knowledge
The Library of Stoverj
The average citizen of Vath’azen’s capital city paid little heed to its towering library, but not Yahri. For years, his older brother had essentially banished him to the floors and floors of books with menial tasks to find this or that random tidbit of information. It was a cruel game to his brother, but little did he know how monumentally his joke would backfire.
Like an explorer taming the high seas, Yahri learned to masterfully navigate the endless sea of tomes, easily locating just the right piece of information he sought. It had always felt like a treasure hunt. His time in the Library proved invaluable in helping him craft superb arguments backed by fact, history, custom, and data to be used by his brother in court. In fact, it was this skill that caught King Ga'jam's attention, landing Yahri on the King's Inner Council (much to his older brother's dismay).
A slight pang of sadness fell over him, thinking about how his family believed he had intentionally undermined his brother's opportunity to be named to the council. Eyes downcast, Yahri ran his fingers across the words engraved on the front face of the wooden counter overlooking the library entryway:
"Aleatroo ma bijwara ghruzond"
It was old Imperial, and roughly translated to "The solace beyond the sunset." As the story went, two Elven friends constructed the original Library hundreds of years ago and had espoused that literature could figuratively carry one away from their troubles, beyond the horizon, to other places and other lands. It was a truly beautiful sentiment Yahri could related to and he was glad King Ga'jam had commissioned Elven craftsman to restore many of the smaller details of the damaged Library such as this. Unlike many of his fellow nobles, Yahri harbored no ill will toward the Empire. Though he also knew better than to believe the remnants of that Empire and his Kingdom of Vath'azen were friends or even allies.
A soft female voice startled Yahri from his thoughts. "Now there's a face I've not seen in a while." He looked up, suddenly feeling very self-conscious as he met the large, red-ringed eye of a fellow Shar'elum woman. From her modest, slightly-curved ash-colored beak, a well-defined streak of feathers the color of night neatly divided the snow-white feathers of her face. As the streak neared her forehead, it transitioned into a stunning red plume with slight black tips standing prominently. Rounding the curve of her head, magnificent black-tipped blue plumage swept back and away, drawing one's eyes back around to her own.
She set down a pile of books on the counter and brushed the dust from her blue and red sleeved tunic. She courtesied slightly, bowing her head.
"It's good to see you, Yahri. Or perhaps I should say, my Lord Councilor?" She asked, a coy smile playing in her eyes.
“Pwin!” Yahri chuckled nervously, all of his words deftly eluding him. "H... Hi," he managed to choke out. "How are you?" He swallowed, feeling the heat rise in his face.
Awkwardly, they exchanged pleasantries and made small-talk for several minutes. When the conversation lulled, Yahri eyed the stack of books Pwin had been carrying and changed the subject.
"New arrivals to the library?" he questioned.
"Indeed," she nodded, picking up one of the burgundy-covered tomes entitled Playing to Win: Volume III. "Apparently they're a series of research journals written in the past few years by a Human on various strategies and approaches to betting games played across the Kingdom of Sanysgal, in order to not only increase ones odds of winning, but also how to recognize different forms of cheating others might use to win. To me," she shrugged, "they read almost like tutorials on how to win by cheating."
Yahri chuckled loudly. "I can think of a few diplomatic trips where those would have been very helpful."
Noting a line beginning to form behind him, Pwin's voice took a more formal tone. "So, what brings you to the Library today, Lord Councilor? I would have thought you have people to handle your research for you these days."
Noting the shift, Yahri followed her gaze, glancing over his shoulder and nodding nervously to the newcomers. Meeting his gaze, they smiled politely with a hint of annoyance adding tightness to their faces.
Embarrassment set in. Yahri cleared his throat and leaned over the counter. Pwin leaned closure, matching his posture with a torturous smile and a playful look in her eyes.
Her closeness practically derailed his train of thought. "Well... Um..." It took him a moment to recover, remembering why he'd come to the Library in the first place. "Reclamation," he recalled. "Can you tell me where the Library reclamation project is currently housed?"
Pwin smiled and nodded gracefully. "Of course. Though I'll warn you Master Brumard tends to be a bit... prickly "
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YN: Make a connection
Foreman Brumard
5/8/10-M--2M
Reclamation Base Camp, Stoverj Library
Far below the main level of the Library and the bustling streets of Stoverj, the clinks and clangs of metal on stone rang out, echoing down through the lifeless stone catacombs as pick axes and shovels toiled to unearth long-lost portions of the original Imperial Library damaged in the Great War. Yahri paced patiently around the dimly-lit stone chamber, bewildered by the weathered and yellowing floor-to-low-ceiling sheets of canvas draped along nearly every inch of wall space. Upon them were intricate sketches and drawings, no doubt the dizzying labyrinth of tunnels beneath the city, with extensive annotations. The Chief Diplomat frowned, wishing he'd taken the time in his younger days to study the Kungaroun script of the Dwarves in which the annotations were scrawled.
Several sets of footsteps drew closer as an irritated Dwarven voice bellowed into the chamber. "I could care less if he is the very King of Rohligav! With all of the recent departures, I have enough problems on my plate without needing to entertain more Vath nobles. Unless this Lord is ready to swing a hammer or pull a mine cart, you will simply have to inform him I have work to do! "
A slightly plump, sweaty, middle-aged and gruff-looking Dwarf marched into the room, wiping his hands on an oily cloth he carried. In the Stormbreak tradition of the Kingdom of Kungaroun, an array of tattoos covered his visible skin. They decorated the exposed areas of his arms, hands, fingers, and the entirety of his hairless scalp. Just at the crown of his forehead was a prominent diamond-shaped tattoo with a simple weave pattern running through it. He had large ears and cold blue eyes that emphasized the notable scowl upon his face. He had a similarly-large nose, with a full, smoke-colored beard and long swooping mustache that extended beyond the sides of his cheekbones. He sported a worn blue or perhaps faded black tunic with sleeves rolled to the elbows, underneath a set of brown leathers - a vest with several pouches, a belt with a simple silver clasp, and numerous interweaving straps.
"Now see here, Master Brumard," exclaimed Pwin's delicate but clearly flustered voice. Close on the Dwarf's heels, her magnificent red and blue plumage stumbled into the room. She looked positively mortified.
Noting the Raven Lord’s presence in the room, the Dwarven foreman scowled even more deeply and shot a disapproving glare at female Librarian.
"What do you want?" He questioned curtly, pushing past Yahri to a stack of scrolls piled in the corner of the room. "I do not have time for tea or whatever it is you nobles drink these days."
When the Dwarf's taunts were met with a clang of metal he turned. "What are you doing?" He looked to Pwin. "What is he doing?"
Master Brumard and Pwin the Librarian watched as the Chief Diplomat of Vath’azen unslung his cloak and hung it from a hook protruding from the wall of stones without a word. He rolled up the sleeves of his fine quality black tunic and had collected a pick axe leaning against the wall.
Yahri smirked and tilted his raven-like head to one side, focusing one of his orange-ringed eyes on the Dwarf. You have to meet people where they are, Yahri mused to himself. "You said you needed help," Yahri squawked matter-of-factly. "I need answers. I think there's an opportunity here to help each other."
Shocked, Brumard looked again to the wide-eyed Pwin, who simply responded with a shrug.
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YN: Know Kungaroun script?
41/40 - No.
YN: Gather Information
4/5/9-M-1Sp
Oracle: Attack loss
Somewhere below Stoverj
The work to reclaim the lost catacombs of the Library wasn't terribly difficult, but for a noble diplomat who had spent most of his time these past few years traveling, reading, and negotiating, it was one of the more physically demanding things Yahri had done in quite some time. What he lacked in physical stamina, he compensated for with youthful persistence. In reality, he found immense satisfaction in the physical labor.
Though his muscles protested, he relished the immediate gratification of seeing debris-laden mine carts he'd helped fill, through his own sweat and hard work, being hauled away. And with every swing of the poorly crafted mining tools Foreman Brumard's personal walls broke down a little more. On more than a few occasions the Dwarven foreman gruffly chastised his people, who were gawking at the closest thing they'd ever seen to royalty toiling away in the rubble of the undercity.
After what seemed like hours of grueling work, the crew broke for a meal. Sitting around a fire with spits of sizzling meat casting succulent scents into the air, Yahri found himself smiling alongside the salt of the earth. Slabs of meat and mugs filled with ale were passed around to the hard working souls who so quickly had come to ignore Yahri's presence, as if he was one of their own. It was comforting, unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.
He glanced around the fire, noting almost every person present was a Myndikin. That is, nearly everyone present was a Dwarf, an Elf, or a Human. The animal races of the Kynekin were not well represented in this crew, a fact with sat wrong with the young Lord. He leaned closer to Foreman Brumard.
Keeping his voice low, Yahri spoke softly. "Master Brumard, where are all the Kynekin workers?"
Brumard's nose crinkled in a hint of disdain for the briefest of moments. It was barely noticeable, but plain as day to Yahri's keen observations. Brumard eyed the Chief Diplomat warily, then scanned the rest of his crew.
"You noticed this, eh?" He responded, nodding. "I agree. It is a problem. Since King Ch'luun passed," he continued, subtly raising his mug of ale, "the Kynekin have been less interested in this work." A somber, serious look played across the Foreman's face. "The events of the past few days have made the situation much more challenging." Yahri cocked his raven-head in a questioning glance.
"The appointment of a Dwarf to your council," Brumard stated, gauging Yahri's reactions closely. "… and your Grand Marshall's murder of the Kynekin boy..." His words trailed off as he stared into his mug. "They do not trust either of us, Lord Councilor."
Yahri sighed, knowingly. "What can I do to change this?"
"Ah, Lord Yahri," Brumard smiled. "You ask things far above my station. I am but a..."
"...don't," Yahri interrupted, taking a much sharper tone, catching the Foreman off-guard. "Please, don't," Yahri softened. "I may not be the Mistress of Whispers, but I've had enough relations with Stormbreak to understand how Kungaroun operates. More to the point, from your tattoos I understand the reputation of The Eclipsed Star."
Brumard's eyes narrowed and his lips pursed at the use of House Nazarov's nickname among the Kingdom of the Dwarves. It was a reference to his House's unflattering reputation as some of the most accomplished spies, saboteurs, and even assassins of the Great War. He drained the remainder of his drink and stood.
"Let us take a walk, Lord Councilor," the title wielded as though it were an insult.
* * * * *
Yahri lost track of all the twists and turns through which Foreman Brumard led. As mental images of being lost for days began to creep into his mind, the young Lord found himself questioning the wisdom of coming here alone. If things went badly, the Dwarf could easily toss his body down a hole and concoct whatever story he desired.
The narrow tunnels widened into some kind of chamber. Yahri could feel the change in the air and hear the sound of their steps reflecting off more distant walls. Lanterns stood sentinel just inside the entrance. As was common in the Stormbreak Mountains, they glowed not oranges, reds, and yellows, but various shades of green; the result of using a special stone called gyalzinite. As Yahri understood it, the green light was much easier on sensitive Dwarven eyes.
They had entered a modestly-sized chamber. Dust hung thick in the air, illuminated by the emerald light to give the room an otherworldly feel that sent a shiver down Yahri's spine. Large boulders and rubble covered one end of the room, piled to the ceiling.
Brumard stopped abruptly and turned to the Chief Diplomat. Bringing one of the lanterns close to the ancient stone wall revealed extensive runes carved all along them. "This, Lord Councilor. This is why I assume you are here. This is what they are all talking about."
Yahri leaned close, studying but unable to identify the language in which the script was written. He dipped his head, smiling and covered his beak in a faux "you caught me" gesture. "Of course," he nodded, feigning as though he had some inkling of what the Foreman was talking about. "What's the latest with... this?"
"Did you not receive the updates I shared with Lord Kirmani's people?" Brumard questioned with irritation.
Yahri racked his brain, scouring all the members of court he knew, but could not recall the Kirmani family. Too many damned nobles, he chuckled to himself and made a mental note to find out. Realizing Brumard was awaiting a response, he attempted to recover quickly.
"Sorry," he squawked, legitimately embarrassed this time, his voice pitching up in excitement as he sensed a courtly game afoot. "Let’s assume Lord Kirmani and I haven't had a chance to catch up yet. Perhaps I could trouble you to summarize?"
Brumard nodded. “The Historians still have not been able to determine the origin of these runes. The silent Elves become particularly agitated and underfoot when we try to clear this area, lending to some of the rumors there are perhaps sensitive Imperial secrets buried here."
"Imperial secrets,” Yahri pondered aloud, thinking of Lord Mirza’s request to launch an expedition in the undercity. “Such as bloodlines of Imperial families?”
“Perhaps?” Brumard countered. “If the rumors are to be believed it is not just families, but lines of succession for the Imperial throne."
Yahri’s mind raced to process this new information. Perhaps someone... Lord Mirza? His line? Perhaps one of his allies? Are looking to make a play for the new Imperial throne in Al'jmoor. Being the first to obtain that information could provide significant leverage in future negotiations with the remnants of the Empire.
In the lull, Foreman Brumard glanced around the chamber and nodded his head toward the fallen rocks at the far end. "There have been an increasing number of ’accidents’ and cave-ins the further into this tunnel we push. Some of my crew believe these runes are some kind of curse, and refusing to work. Superstitious fools."
The black feathers of Yahri's brow creased together as he tried to rapidly switch mental contexts. "You think someone is working to keep this information from being uncovered?"
The scowling Dwarf nodded. "I do. This problem is made worse by the appointment of a Dwarf to your ’Ruling Council.’ It has left many of your kind unwilling to work for me any longer. I suspect someone is fueling resentment toward the Myndikin, as though all of us are actively working to retake Vath’azen and usher in the return of the First Age.”
For the briefest of moments, Yahri's mind thought back to the angry mob of young nobles he and Davu had encountered before pivoting at the mention of the newest appointee to the Council. “And your representative, this Tashkerr of House Dyber… The Ruling Council has yet to hear anything from him. Will he be presenting himself at some point?”
Brumard's deepening scowl at the mention of the third House of the Dwarven Kingdom told Yahri he'd mis-stepped. Dwarven politics amongst their Twelve Houses were incredibly complex and sensitive affairs. He should have known better, but was trying to juggle too many different threads of thought.
It was impossible to miss the cold disdain dripping from Brumard's response. "I heard a rumor he may have encountered some problems on the way."
Concerned, Yahri questioned further. "What kind of problems?"
The Foreman waved his hand dismissively, clearly done with the sharing of information. "The Dwarven mystics are not known for their punctuality. He will be along when it suites him. And now Lord Yahri, I have wasted enough time and must be getting back to work."
The long trek back to the main level of the Library was filled with a tense silence, leaving Yahri to begin mentally sorting all the things he'd just uncovered.
To Be Continued...
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YN: Endure Stress
9/4/5-S+1Sp
YN: Knows Nazarov?
26/40-Yes!
YN: Compel
3/2/10-W
YN: Swear a Vow
Uncover the secrets of the tunnel
+1 (Diplomat)
Dangerous
5/2/8-W+1M
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