Episode 17: She Speaks from Shadow

Gokrenxia    Prose    Tales of the Inner Council      Episode 17: She Speaks from Shadow

Previously, on Tales of the Inner Council

Having sent out commands and directions to her network of spies and informants, Councilor Jenta Hua'zur and the rescued Senior Historian Basr Saklay'n boarded the dwarven skiff Placherbav in the river town of Ondwani, headed back to the capital city of Stoverj.
Meanwhile in Stoverj, as Chief Diplomat Yahri Negdahe uncovered a secret plot by Lord Kirmani to keep imperial elves infighting against one another, Grand Marshall Davu Pa'lakh narrowly escaped an assassination attempt in the harbor onboard the dwarven luxury auction ship, the Grewinruul.

Chief Diplomat's Home, Alkivaan District, Stoverj

Yahri's black-clawed fingers brushed along the spines of several dozen leather-bound books lining the shelves of his study. Settling on one with slight smile, he gently slid it from its place. The floorboards creaked as he rounded a bronze, armored warrior statue. On its foot-high pedestal, the unnamed, battle-ready hero stood at Yahri's height. He placed the book alongside a bowl of steaming broth on the rectangular wooden table in the center of the room and took a seat.
His shiny black beak hovered over the bowl, drinking deeply the keen, succulent scents of unusual spices his cook had prepared for breakfast. With great care, Yahri opened the leather-bound book, ready to escape into the author's world.
"I didn't know you were such an avid a reader," came Jenta's voice from a shadowed corner.
"Clouds and clay, woman!" Yahri exclaimed with a start, his shrill, scratchy voice pitching up in surprise. "You scared me half out of my feathers!"
Rising, her black and white panther features melted from the darkness like a phantom. "Sorry about that," she smirked.
"Somehow, I highly doubt that," he replied, attempting to regain composure. "What happened to you? You look dreadful."
Her eyes narrowed in familiar disdain. "Someone sabotaged the skiff I was returning on; sank it, in fact. Thankfully, one of my people snuck us off before anyone knew we were gone."
"I had heard you were coming back to the city, but how terrifying! Please, come and sit." Yahri moved around the room, sliding another wooden chair up to the table, across from his. "I'm glad to hear you and Lord Taibil made it safely."
Jenta shook her head. "No. Chodvar isn't here. He's been injured. Ideally, he'll be recovering in what was, until recently, a bandit camp in Karnwood." Raising a hand to cut off Yahri's questions, she continued. "We tracked down the Historian that delivered Ga'jam's final decree."
King Ga'jam, Yahri corrected mentally, his head ticking slightly to one side. Will you never demonstrate a modicum of decorum?
"Are you listening to me, Yahri?! This is important!"
Yahri paused, carefully weighing his response. "Go on."
"It's a long story, but here's the distilled version. According to the Historian, Ga'jam believed someone was plotting against him --"
"-- What? Who?"
Jenta shot the raven a disapproving look. "If you keep interrupting, this is going to take a lot longer. Now shut your beak and LISTEN.“
Yahri leaned back slowly, his chair groaning slightly as he fought down his own irritation at her tone.
“Good,” Jenta nodded. ”Ga’jam apparently had every intention of divesting the power of the throne to the Council and creating a fifth seat filled with an outsider...but, he had not yet specified who was to fill that position."
"But... but..." Yahri interrupted. "What about the Dyber dwarf?"
"The King issued a summons for him several months ago. The Historian believes it was to name him for the role. I'm certain there's more to this though. That's where I need your help. I know how the nobles love their gossip. I need you to find out what they know."
"As it happens,“ Yahri smiled, ”I did chat with some friends on the matter while you were off gallivanting through the forest." Much to his disappointment, her expression remained unchanged at the jab. "They said the Dybers are... 'unspectacular.' Uninvolved with the rest of the world. Caring only about alleged 'monsters' that live deep beneath their mountains out East. This Tashkerr fellow is some kind of negotiator and part of some unpopular group of mystics and philosophizers."
"That lines up with what the Historian said." She leaned forward on the table, massaging her temples with her thumbs.
"There's more, isn't there?" Yahri questioned.
"Much more," she conceded, carefully considering how to proceed. "The Historian stated he hid in the King's chateau as several individuals snuck into his bed chamber. He didn't see who, but believes they killed King Ga'jam where he slept. I suspect that means poison of some kind. The King's Guard were nowhere to be found, and..."
She paused, searching for the words. Yahri's mouth hung silently agape, eyes wide.
"...And one of the Hadymaar elves had enough foresight to aid the Historian in staying hidden. But then - and this is one of several parts I don't yet understand - this elven fellow forced the Historian to finish and deliver the final decree publicly. After its delivery, the Historian was abducted from his house."
"And to know his story you tracked him down in the Karnwood," Yahri surmised. "That's quite a lot to digest, Councilor. I assume you're working to locate this elf?"
Jenta bobbed her head side to side. "Yes and no. My people tracked him down and attempted to apprehend him. It didn't end well for them. I imagine he's gone to ground."
"Oh. I'm... I'm sorry to hear that."
"They knew the risks, but they believed in the ideals espoused by this Kingdom - ideals you and I are now tasked to defend."
"What are we going to do?" asked Yahri.
"We'll get to that, but first,” she pivoted, ”what's this I hear about you and Davu, and the dead son of a mahnkii noble family?"
Yahri lowered his head in shame, staring into the rapidly cooling bowl of broth. "I suppose it's not surprising you heard about that," he began. ”You recall the guards, notifying us of the mob of young nobles? They were burning down myndikin homes?”
Jenta nodded.
“They attacked me,” Yahri started, his voice shaky. ”Davu… He… He stepped in and…”
“…and things got out of hand,” Jenta finished. Yahri, filled with shame, met her eyes.
“The Enebish Family, do you know them?” He asked, swallowing nervously. Jenta shook her head. “Mahnkii family. Apparently they’re very well connected in the Kurzniert Freehold. When I mentioned their names, members of the court became very tight lipped. Even some of my staunchest allies refused to speak of them and warned me not to get on their bad side. I issued an arrest notice for the Grand Marshall, thinking if we could put him on trial it would show the new Ruling Council still upholds and respects the laws of Vath'azen. We would show the people his actions were warranted - saving the life of another member of the Ruling Council – and be able to move past all this.”
Jenta chuffed. “I’m certain that went over well with Davu.”
“As you might expect,” Yahri conceded. “He refused to allow himself to be arrested. Barged into the throne room and aired his ire for before the assembled court."
"Verbally, I hope? Without bloodshed, right?"
"Oh, yes!" Yahri's eyes went wide at the thought. "Storms! I shudder to imagine what would have happened had he gone down that path."
"Good," Jenta responded. "What happened next?"
Yahri's large raven eyes searched back and forth across the table, recalling the events. "The Lady Enebish demanded justice before the court. And an elven Lord by the name of Mirza stepped forward to speak on his behalf."
"Mirza? Are you sure?" Jenta's panther ears pressed back instinctively, suddenly very interested.
"I am," Yahri nodded, cocking his head slightly to one side. "You know him?"
"I've had people watching him for some time. I suspect he takes direction from someone high up in Shavomyr." Disdain dripped from her lips uttering the name of the Northern Imperial Kingdom where, if the rumors were to be believed, she'd been enslaved. Her voice took on a cold impartiality - a mask, Yahri thought, not unlike those worn by diplomats. "What happened next?" She questioned.
"We – that is – myself, the Grand Marshall, Lady Enebish, Lord Mirza, and the Guard… I wonder," he paused, "do we still call them King’s Guard?”
“Yahri. Focus.”
“Right. Sorry. We retired to the Council chambers to discuss the matter, but we didn't make it far. One of the Guard tried to poison Lord Pa'lakh - something to do with some past offense to one of the Ja’nakh tribes; I’ve not had a chance to think about that particular problem yet. A fight ensued. The Lady Enebish was grievously wounded."
"Isn't that convenient?" Jenta interjected.
Yahri shook his head is disagreement. "No, it wasn't like that at all. In fact, the Grand Marshall acted quickly and because of those actions she still lives.”
“Hmph. Interesting. And then someone attempted to murder him on the Grewinruul, I hear?”
Yahri nodded, ever surprised by the depth and breadth of Jenta’s awareness. "Yes, he managed to escape, largely unscathed. He had no desire to speak on the matter though, so I don't know much else. Do you know anything more?" He noted a hint of regret as she shook her head with a sigh, but chose not to press the matter. They both fell silent, deep in thought.
Yahri finally broke the silence. “It feels like everything is unraveling, Councilor. I worry if we don't do something soon everything our forefathers fought and bled for is going to come apart.”
“We need answers,” Jenta responded, her voice distant. ”The mysterious assailants. The missing Dyber dwarf. The abducted historian. Multiple attempts on Davu's life. The Enebish family and Kurzniert. Lord Mirza, the Hadymaar elf, and the interference of Shavomyr. There are too many moving pieces to this puzzle. We need to remove some of them from the board.”
“And how exactly do we do that? I hope you’re not suggesting taking peoples’ lives.”
“Not yet, Chief Arbiter,” Jenta replied with a devilish smile. “Given the losses my network has taken we’re going to have to get our hands dirty to unravel this mystery. I’ve already put several things in motion.”
He didn't like the look in her eyes. “What have you done?” Yahri inquired nervously.
Jenta leaned in conspiratorially and began to lay out her plans.

Disclaimer

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

Actual Play

Situation: Eliminate Price
JH: Secure an Advantage (+network)

4/1/2-S+2M+1 next

JH: Face Danger (+shadow)

6/2/10-W-1M

YN: Gather Info (+wits)

Courtier +1

8/2/5-S+2M

YN: Gather Info (+wits)

Courtier +1

8/8/10-M

Burn momentum

10/8/10-W+1M

JH: Gather Information (+shadow)

Lord Mirza

5/4/4-S-Crit!+2M

JH: Gather Information (+network)

9/1/4-S+2M

Located Hadymaar w/ring

JH: Gather Information (+network)

Grewinruul attack

4/6/9-M-1 network

JH: Face Danger (+network)

Apprehend Hadymaar

3/4/6-M-1 network

JH: Know Eneish family?

20% chance

89: Nope

YN: Gather information (Enebish)

Connected climber +1

6/10/10-Crit!-M

Ruling Council Chamber, Stoverj Castle

Lord Davu Pa'lakh, the fox-like Grand Marshall of Vath'azen, paused from his pacing around the Inner Council chambers, glancing once again at the hand-scrawled note.
"Davu - Need to speak. Council chambers. - Jenta"
What's taking her so long? He pondered. The Council's Mistress of Whispers had been gone for several days, along with the Master of Commerce, and rumors were running rampant through the court.
He placed a hand over the purple and gold thistle medallion laying against his chest, closed his eyes, and took a deep, calming breath, recognizing he was still too keyed up from recent events. It didn't help his prayers to the Lady Tembryan had been met with utter silence. There was no doubt his patron Celestial was dissatisfied with his allowing the theft of his favored pair of ancestral blades – by a human child no less - not to mention his fleeing from the attempt on his life aboard the dwarven vessel in the bay. The Purple Lady, as she was called, demanded perfection and his actions of late had been anything but.
The heavy double doors to the council chambers rumbled open and the small form of a yellow-feathered Shar'elum Historian stepped in. He waited in silence to be acknowledged, nervously shifting from side to side.
"Historian? What is it?"
"Lord Councilor Pa'lakh, sir." The poor man looked as though he were going to fall over from fear. "Lord Miahn is here, requesting an audience."
"You mean Lady Miahn, of course?" Corrected Davu forcing a warm smile, but the Historian shook his head.
"No, my Lord Councilor. Lord Jiaco Miahn. Cousin of the late King. Son of the Lady Miahn."
"Hmph." Davu tapped his lip in thought. "Tell him the Chief Diplomat isn't here."
"Of course, Lord Councilor," the Historian bowed slightly, before clearing his throat. "However..."
Davu sighed with a frown. "Go on, Historian."
"He requests an audience with you, specifically, my Lord Councilor."
The hackles on the back of Davu's neck started to rise. He disliked dealing with the nobility, the affairs of the court, and the constant jockeying for position. This can't be good, he thought. "Very well, Historian. Send him in then."
He'd barely finished the words before the shaking Historian disappeared back through the doorway. It was only a matter of moments before the doorway was filled with the long shadow of Lord Jiaco. The tall lion-man of some twenty summers, dressed in finery of dark blues and golds, stepped just inside the Chamber doors, hands clasped behind his back beneath a merlot-colored cloak. With a keen eye, the youthful arjeev began to survey the architecture and decor of the room.

Lord Jiaco Miahn by dream by WOMBO

Davu waited patiently, taking the measure of the young man. His rounded ears, slightly smaller than typical for his kind, were barely visible from within the tangle of his wind-blown, tan-colored lion's mane; a far cry from the regal persona portrayed by his mother. The white fur lining his golden eyes gave him a certain seriousness. A sizable, marquise-cut gemstone the color of ink, hung around his neck in an intricate gold setting resembling a lion's mane. As if suddenly remembering where he was, Jiaco turned his gaze to Davu with a condescending smile and bowed.
"Grand Marshall," he began. The bass in his voice was deep, echoing off the chamber walls. "Thank you for seeing me."
Davu nodded in response, motioning to the plush, crimson-fabric couch across from him. "Come in. What can I do for you?"
Jiaco moved slowly across the room with the weight of purpose. He flipped back his cloak, lowering himself awkwardly to sit. Folding gloved hands on his lap, Jiaco leaned forward locking eyes with the Grand Marshall. “I want to speak plainly with you, Lord Pa’lakh. It’s about the… situation… surrounding the Enebish boy.“
“Straight to the point then,” Davu smirked, crossing his arms as he reclined back in his seat. “Good. Let’s have it.”
“Know this first. I do not question the intention or motivation behind your actions. From what I’ve heard had you not stepped in, the frenzied mob may very well have seriously injured the Chief Arbiter, or worse.
But… Since my late cousin’s final decree dissolving the monarchy and handing reigns over to his - to your - Ruling Council, the city has been on edge. On its own, this single act would have left many of the kynekin uncertain, fearing the vision of our kingdom - Amari Wa’lah’s dream - the dream for which my late Uncle Batu fought as her first Grand Marshall, is at risk. But my arrogant cousin always thought he was smarter than everyone else and couldn’t leave matters alone.”
So much for getting straight to the point, sighed Davu.
“When Ga’jam‘s decree added a fifth seat to the council, one specifically dedicated to those smooth-skinned myndikin from whom we carved this kingdom, an undercurrent of anger toward the myndikin - one that, if we’re being honest with ourselves has always been there - became a raging river. While I can imagine he intended to send a message of hope and unity, my cousin’s incessant, naive idealism instead only served to exponentially exacerbate the fears of the masses. The nobility took the decree very hard, feeling this was the inevitable beginning of the myndikin’s return to power over us. Rumors began to fly that the decree was a fake, that Ga’jam would never betray his father’s legacy in such a manner, further stoking the fires of doubt.”
Jiaco studied Davu’s stoic face, choosing his next words very carefully. “On these broad strokes we come to your… encounter… with the mob of kynekin in the Spice Docks, burning down the homes and businesses of the myndikin - and anyone deemed sympathetic to their plight. It‘s not my place to judge your actions, Lord Pa’lakh, but the murder of a noble; one of our own; whether justified or not - was the spark to the tinderbox. Whatever your reason, your public and very vocal refusal to respect the Chief Arbiter’s order for your arrest sent a clear message. It said you hold yourself above our laws, that … perhaps … you intend to leverage the military might of Vath'azen to seize the power of the Kingdom for yourself.”
Davu closed his eyes, letting out a long breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. His heart sank as he turned the young Lord Miahn’s words over in his mind. Rising, he resumed pacing the ceramic tile floor of the council chamber, emotions walking a tightrope between anger and disappointment.
“So the very kingdom I have spent my life defending has turned on me. Is it so shocking they have made me, a vyrian, the villain; the root of all their ire? It’s ironic how blind they are. The same prejudice with which they condemn me manifests in their own distrust for my people. But I guess that doesn’t matter, does it?”
Knowing Davu’s reputation for volatility and sensing the dark path down which this sort of negative thought might lead, Jiaco interjected himself. “My cousin trusted you, Lord Councilor. He named you to his Inner Council and further, saw fit to hand over the very Kingdom he loved to you and the others. I have no doubt he did so with great consideration.”
“I think your mother would disagree with you that later point,” Davu chuckled.
Jiaco shook his head. “My mother… will never see younger generations as anything more than children playing at the throne. She cannot fathom a future where our generations, yours and mine, are leading this land.”
Davu’s eyes narrowed in suspicion as he took Jiaco in anew. “You sound as though you’ve given the Kingdom’s future a great deal of thought.”
“I have,” Jiaco nodded, sitting up a bit straighter and folding his hands gently in his lap; hoping to convey the least-threatening posture he could imagine. “Your actions forced me to, Lord Councilor. There are many among the Court who press me to wrest control from the Council; to claim the throne as my birthright since my cousin had no heirs.” Seeing the flash of emotion in Davu’s eyes, he added quickly, ”But I have no desire to do so. That is why I’m here, Grand Marshall; to see if together we might chart another path through this mess, for the good of all.”
Davu turned, running his fingers along the pewter filaments of one of the old opaque windows of imperial design. When he finally spoke, his voice was distant. “You know, I have often tried to imagine what conversations the elves held in these chambers; in the days leading up to the Great War. I wonder whether they knew the world they created was shifting beneath their feet and was about to come crashing down around them. I wonder how many moments there might have been where, had they made different choices, they would not have driven our forefathers - your Uncle - to cast down their oppression and destroy their precious way of life. The history books tell us arrogance and overconfidence were the Imperials’ two greatest enemies.”
His voice grew stronger, more resolute. “I will not repeat their past, Lord Miahn. This kingdom will not fall because I failed to stop and accept the truth of what’s happening around me. Clearly you’ve thought this through. Do you also have thoughts toward a solution to move the Kingdom forward?”
“Indeed I do, Lord Councilor…”

Actual Play

DP: Daily prayers

Secure an advantage (+iron)

6/7/9-M-1Sp

DP: Endure stress

6/4/4-Crit!-S+1Sp

DP: Oracle

Attack rumor

DP: Face Danger (+heart)

8/2/5-S-+1M

DP: Face Danger (+heart)

8/4/10-W-1Sp

DP: Endure Stress

8/5/9–1M+1Sp

DP: Face Danger (+heart)

8/5/5-Crit!-S+1M

DP: Oracle

Inspect Truth

Throne Room, Stoverj Castle

A hush fell over the clamor of the court as the doors to the Council Chambers swung outward, producing the dual forms of Lord Jiaco Miahn, and Grand Marshall Davu Pa’lakh. Much to Davu’s surprised, the blue-and-gold armored King’s Guard was situated in a horseshoe formation, serving as a very deliberate wall between the Council Chamber and the rest of the court. Clearly they were expecting trouble. Davu shot Jiaco a distrusting glance. All eyes watched intently.
“Good nobles of the Court,” announced the young Jiaco authoritatively. “As ordered by Chief Arbiter Yahri Negdahe, Grand Marshall Davu Pa’lakh of the Ruling Council is hereby placed under arrest for the crime of murder. He will be remitted to his home by the King’s Guard, where he shall remain until such a time as Lord Councilor Negdahe and the rest of our Ruling Council passes judgement.”
From the apex of the Guard’s horseshoe stepped the imposing charcoal silhouette of Captain Haruchi, his black horse’s mane pulled back in the wide, tight braids he wore when readying himself for battle. Davu descended the handful of marble steps, stopping just a few steps away. The two men, once mentor and apprentice, locked eyes. Haruchi made the slightest of gestures, only visible to the pair and without a word turned on heel. The crowd parted and King’s Guard closed ranks around the Grand Marshall, their footsteps echoing through the chamber as they lead him away.

To Be Continued…

Actual Play

DP: Protect the Vision of Vath'azen

Progress: 5/10