Episode 18: Of Players, Plans, and Pawns

Gokrenxia    Prose    Tales of the Inner Council      Episode 18: Of Players, Plans, and Pawns

Content Warning

Contains scenes of violence and misogyny

Previously, on Tales of the Inner Council

Having returned to Vath'azen's capital city of Stoverj with the rescued Senior Historian Basr Saklay'n, the Ruling Council's Mistress of Whispers - the pantheress Jenta Hua'zur - brought her fellow council member Yahri Negdahe into the tight circle of things she had discovered. With his aid, the two set in motion plans to locate the alleged traitors responsible for the death of King Ga'jam Ch'luun.
Meanwhile, Grand Marshall Davu Pa'lakh, in an effort to diffuse tensions in the city stemming from his unlawful murder of a young shar’elum noble, agreed to submit to house arrest at the convincing of a young Lord by the name of Jiaco Miahn, the arjeev cousin of the late King and heir apparent to the throne.

Throne Room, Stoverj Castle

A week had passed since Vath'azen's Grand Marshall and Ruling Council member Davu Pa'lakh had been placed under house arrest for the murder of the young noble boy, Annibus Enebish. Word have arrived from Karnwood Forest that Lord Chodvar Taibil, the Master of Commerce, was healing from the wounds he'd received in saving Senior Historian Saklay'n.
High above the floor of Stoverj castle's throne room, the raven-like Chief Diplomat and Arbiter Yahri Negdahe leaned quietly against the second-level balcony railing. From the shadows he carefully studied the interactions of the many members of the court; their fake smiles and forced laughter hiding their true intentions.
So many factions. So many agendas. He thought. And somewhere down there is someone – a group of someones even - who wanted King Ga'jam dead.
Jenta had counseled patience; that with Davu's arrest and the Lady Enebish recovering from her wounds at the hands of the traitorous King's Guard, someone would eventually come forward trying to force the issue of Davu's accountability. In the meantime, Yahri's primary task was to consolidate support for the Ruling Council, while trying to ferret out who was sowing the seeds of malcontent among the nobility.
Think Yahri. He chastised mentally. Who stands to gain if the Council fails? His eyes roamed the floor below.
Since successfully negotiating the Grand Marshall's arrest, the young arjeev lion-Lord Jaico Miahn had been summarily propelled into the center of Vath politics. As the cousin of the late king, he was the heir-apparent to the throne. Throngs of kynekin nobles hovered around him, seeking to maneuver themselves into his good graces. Drafting on the winds of his rise to power, thought Yahri.
Then there was the mysterious elf-Lord Mirza, who had come to the Grand Marshall's aid. He had ties to the Imperial Vice-Kingdom of Shavomyr, that wanted nothing more than to see the vision of Vath'azen fail. An obvious choice, thought Yahri. If she had her way, Councilor Hua'zur would see every Imperial loyalist cast out of the Court. Her past blinds her. We would be foolish to trust them outright, but if I were the Imperials, it would seem to make far more sense to simply... wait. Without a common foe to unite against we are our own worst enemies at this point. We'll eventually turn on one another like the rabid animals the myndikin believe us to be. That is, of course, unless we can unravel this mystery and unify the people.
No, he reasoned, shaking his head instinctively. Not the Imperials. Someone who had the King's ear. Someone with enough sway to convince him that forces were aligning against him. Enough to make the case that he needed someone outside the court to help reveal the traitor. Who benefits from the Dyber dwarf's ascending to the Council? Clearly the dwarves, but the King didn't kept many myndikin confidants.
A new line of thought began to form in Yahri's mind. Who among the kynekin nobility was close enough to have the King's ear, stands to benefit from a myndikin ascension - specifically a dwarf from Kungaroun - and is crafty enough to quietly assemble a coalition of opposition?
A single word leapt to the tip of his tongue with such certainty, he couldn't help but utter it aloud. "Sanysgal."
The Kingdom of kynekin that broke away from Vath'azen six years into King Ga'jam's rule. The Kingdom led by the vyrian peoples. Backed by the second great dwarven House of Vorgem.
King Ga'jam always saw Saynsgal as his greatest failure. He was desperate to bring them back into the fold. We're looking for a kynekin noble family the King trusted, with ties to Sanysgal.
Motioning for one of his attendants, he whispered, "Gather the rosters of all members of the court representing Sanysgal and bring them to my study at once."
"As you wish, Lord Councilor."

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

YN: Sojourn

5/2/8-W

Courtier reroll 8

5/2/8-W

YN: Hearten

+3Sp

CT (off-screen): Heal

Clear poisoned

+2H

DP: Heal

+3H

YN: Swear a Vow

Consolidate Council support (Troublesome)

Progress: 0/10

Diplomat +1

5/5/7-M-Significant obstacle

Oracle: Abandon Crime YN: Gather Information

Courtier 2 (+1)

5/8/9-M-Pay the Price

YN: Pay the Price

55 – A friend, companion, or ally is in harm's way.

Oracle: Davu or Jenta?

56 – Jenta!

YN: Protect the Vision of Vath'azen

Progress: 6/10

Lower Vaashti District, Southwestern Stoverj

Silvery moon- and starlight shimmered off the gently rolling harbor waters lapping against the shore beneath Kirmani Keep. Upon the docks a lone form waited patiently, holding aloft a hooded lantern that served as a beacon in the darkness. In the distance appeared the silhouette of a darkened rowboat bearing two cloaked figures passing quietly beneath the clear night sky.
"Shall I wait for you, ma'am?" Asked the ferryman.
"No," came her one-word reply.
As they neared the dock, she could make out the snake-like features of a mahnkii male. He extended his clawed hand, gently gripping her black-furred paw and assisting her onto the aging planks.
"Watch your step, Councilor. It's a bit slick."
Jenta nodded in appreciation, stepping up lightly and taking in the familiar Steward of Kirmani Keep. "Gaspar," she began. "How is it that even in the middle of the night your wardrobe is impeccable? That cloak, it's a Tahl design, yes?"
"Everything I do Councilor, reflects upon my Lord and my household. Unlike some," a hint of condescension playing in his otherwise smooth tone, "I am a firm believer that attention to the lesser things brings about success in the greater."
For as long as she'd known him, Gaspar had never missed an opportunity to inject some backhanded comment into every conversation, reminding others of his superiority and their shortcomings. Yet somehow he always did so without being directly offensive. She actually found the trait somewhat endearing.
With the most genuine smile she could remember in days, she shook her head and laughed. "It's good to see you too, Steward." She motioned up the docks. "Shall we?" Gaspar bowed his head slightly in deference, turned on heel, and led her into the keep.

* * * * *

Andro Kirmani, the bear-like vyrian Lord of Kirmani Keep, stood in his drawing room awaiting the arrival of his guest: the Mistress of Whispers herself, famed founder of the secretive Shaf Yadursmaj intelligence network, and Ruling Council member representing the arjeev, Jenta Hua'zur.
Gaspar held open the door. Before she'd even crossed the threshold, the tension in the room was palpable. With fierce eyes and a clenched jaw the bear-Lord stared past her, speaking in a low growl.
"That will be all, Gaspar." The mahnkii Steward slinked backwards obediently, closing the door softly and leaving the two alone.
"Andro,” Jenta began. ”I came as soon as I could get away. What’s wrong? Your message seemed urgent.”
He swirled the short, ornate glass of translucent orange liquid in his gloved hand and took a sip, before launching into his tirade. “What have you gotten us into? That ‘Hadymaar’ elf you sent us to look into? He murdered four of my agents here in the Capital.”
Taken aback by his sharp tone, she responded defensively. “I was clear in my direction that...”
“...Yes, yes, yes,“ he interrupted, waving the glass in the air dismissively. ”Tracked or apprehended. We received your missive. But that’s the thing, Jenta. All we were doing was tracking him.”
“You didn’t approach him?”
The brawny bear-man shook his head slowly. “We did not. He knew we were following him, and picked us off one-by-one.”
“So he’s trained?” Jenta asked, genuinely concerned.
Andro shrugged. “Or… we have a traitor in our midst. Either way you failed to give us any warning."
She bit back the sharp response on the tip of her tongue. "I didn't know."
"That's the problem!" He accused, his voice rising. "Since the King's passing, you've had no time for the organization! You’re becoming reckless! And now? Now lives have been lost. Years of training thrown away in the blink of an eye. And for what?! Why did my agents die?"
Jenta glanced back to the door, then swiftly crossed the room to close the distance between them. She met Andro's gaze, her intimidating panther eyes the orange of a brilliant sunset. He was a large vyr, used to being the tallest in the room, but standing fully upright she matched his height and evoked an air of authority.
"Because," she whispered. "That Hadymaar likely knows who killed the King."
Andro's breath escaped him as though he’d been struck in the stomach. He staggered back a few steps, leaning onto one of his intricate wooden sideboards, displacing several of the artifacts residing there.
"Killed?" He questioned, his voice barely audible.
Jenta nodded her head slowly, her entire demeanor hardening. All airs of friendly familiarity melted away in an instant. “So, Keeper," she emphasized. "If you’re done with your tantrum about the loss of my agents within the organization that I founded, in the city over which I am now ruling, we have much work to do.”
Andro raised up to full height, puffing out his chest. "Done?" He growled. "Yes! I think I'm quite done!" In a shockingly fluid burst of motion Andro rushed forward, his massive paws wrapping around Jenta's throat. He forced her backwards off her feet, slamming her head and back onto a table.
"You need to learn your place, woman!" He shouted, practically frothing at the mouth and tightening his grip. "It was my family's blood that helped forge this Kingdom, not yours! Before you were being whored out to your imperial masters it was Kurmani blood flowing in the fields and in the streets to carve this Kingdom from their hands!"
Jenta's vision wobbled as she struggled for air. Movement on the balcony above the main floor drew her eye. A cloaked form leaned over the railing, watching the scene unfold intently.
With her fingertips desperately stretching downward, Jenta snatched the dagger sheathed at her thigh. She brought it forcefully across the underside of both Andro's extended arms, eliciting a pained cry of surprise. The pressure around her neck loosened as he backed away clutching both arms, leaving her in a coughing fit. She gasped for air and pulled herself across the opposite side of the table, painfully collapsing to the floor.
From one of his antique displays, Andro lifted an ancient warhammer of imperial design. A strange blueish-white glow, like mist began to rise from the fierce looking spike protruding from the top. "I've always wondered how this might feel," he growled, making his way around the table. "I'm going to enjoy this."
Jenta crawled toward the door, willing her lungs to find her breath but Andro's attack came swiftly. She rolled towards the table hoping to use it for protection, but wasn't fast enough to escape the hammer crashing down upon her shoulder blade. She cried out, pain causing her world to flash red for a moment. An unnatural cold radiated out from her shoulder, driving a momentary shudder through her entire body.
With great effort, she pulled herself under the table. "That's right," Kirmani laughed. "Crawl away. Run and hide like the rabble you are." With one massive hand he upended the table, sending it crashing down behind her, cutting off further retreat. Desperate to create any momentum, Jenta sprang forward, driving her dagger through his boot and into the floor.
Andro unleashed a bellowing roar, bearing razor sharp fangs as he dropped. The warhammer slipped from his grasp, clattering against the wooden floorboards and leaving a ring of frost where it lie.
She scanned the room finding no good options for escape, when another of Andro's antiques caught her attention. As he struggled to remove the dagger pinning his foot to the floor, Jenta scrambled to one of the sideboards, snatching up a short, ornate handled blade.
With several frenzied hacks of the blade against a taught rope attached to the wall, the room's massive chandelier came crashing down on the bear-Lord, crushing several of his ribs. Jenta limped across the room, stepping one foot on the chandelier pinning him to the floor. He grunted and gasped in short breaths, unable to form any words.
She eyed the still-flickering torches of the chandelier warily. Her words came slow, dripping with venomous hatred. "You want to see what all of your precious noble blood amounts to, you treacherous cur?" She lifted a torch from its setting and brought it so close the fur on Andro's face began to smoke and singe. Terror filled his eyes.
"Ashes," she spit. "Everything you love is going to burn before your very eyes." She shoved the torch into a pile of old, yellowed maps and scrolls. The hungry flames devoured the dry pages, spreading rapidly in search of additional fuel.
"And you can burn alongside it all knowing the Kirmani family name will never be restored. Your line ends here."
The loud metal click of a closing door drew her attention up to the second level, and the now empty balcony as smoke began to collect along the high ceiling. She desperately wanted to pursue the shadowy observer, but knew she was in no shape to do so. She too needed to make her escape before it was too late.
Retrieving her dagger from Andro's foot, she wiped both sides of the blade on his fine noble trousers and fled from Kirmani Keep.

Actual Play

Oracle: Jenta's Situation:

Debate Hardship

JH: Face Danger (+heart)

6/4/5-S-+1M

JH: Compel (+iron)

6/9/9-M-Crit! (OH NO!)

Pay the Price: Kirmani turns.

JH: Enter the Fray (+wits)

4/4/7-M-Bad spot!

Lord Andro Kurmani

Dangerous foe

Progress: 0/10

JH: Clash (+iron)

3/4/4-M-Crit! (Well this is bad)

JH: Pay the price

-2H

Oracle: Gather community

Cursed die: 10! (Oh hell!)

JH: Endure Harm

8/3/4-+1H

In Control

JH: Strike

Blademaster +1

5/4/5-W

Progress: 4/10

Bad spot

JH: Clash

5/6/8-M-2H

JH: Endure Harm

7/9/10-M-2M

JH: Secure an Advantage (+wits)

8/7/9-W+1 next move

JH: Clash

Blademaster 1

Advantage +1

8/4/8-W-2M

Progress: 6/10

JH: Secure Advantage (+wits)

9/4/5-S-+2M

+1 Next Move

In control

JH: Strike

Blademaster +1

Advantage +1

5/3/8-W

Progress: 10/10

Bad spot

JH: Secure an advantage (+wits)

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

+1 Next Move

Oracle: Finish Family

JH: Take decisive action

10/2/7-S+1M

Alkivaan District, Western Stoverj

A shadowed form moved intently across the slanted rooftops of the Alkivaan District, his carefully chosen footsteps making almost no sound. Reaching his destination, he leaned over the ledge, eyeing the street below.
Two guards at the front door. He noted, before slinking to the opposite ledge at the rear of the house. One at the back. He studied the surrounding landscape and was relieved to see no sign of patrols. Good, he thought. They're not expecting trouble.
Carefully lowering himself onto the second-floor balcony, the intruder withdrew a rolled, black leather pouch. He unfastened the dull bronze buckle and unrolled it to reveal an array of assorted tools for opening locks. After studying the latch on the balcony door for several moments, he selected a particular instrument from the pouch and with expert precision had it unlatched with a minimum of fuss.
The door made a soft thunk as it pushed free of the door jam. Checking over the balcony once more, the guardsman remained unphased - blithely unaware of his presence. He slipped into the room, pushing the door closed softly behind him.
He'd taken two steps into the room when the razor tip of a sword set itself squarely beneath his left shoulder blade. He came to a dead stop, raising both hands in a gesture of surrender.
"You've three breaths to explain yourself," came the low voice of Vath'azen's Grand Marshall, the fox-Lord Davu Pa'lakh.
The intruder - roughly the same height as Davu - turned, face still shrouded in the folds of his hood. Much to Davu's surprise, the figure began to slowly make familiar gestures in his direction; Hand gesures, forming words known only to a very small group of people.
Enemy. Listen. You. Silent.
It was guard-speak - the language of the Grand Marshall's elite King's Guard. The intruder pointed to himself and gestured further.
Friend.
Speechless and trying to make sense of what might be happening, Davu backed to the wall, sword remaining leveled. With his opposite hand, he lit a lantern and lifted it from the desk into the air.
The figure drew back his hood, drawing an audible gasp from Davu who stood facing another vyrian fox-man bearing a striking resemblance to himself. In fact, they could almost be brothers.
A thousand questions sprung to Davu's mind, most of which were far too complicated to be expressed with guard-speak's limited vocabulary. It was designed for silently passing orders, not for complex dialogue.
The fox-thief smiled broadly, clearly satisfied with Davu's surprise and confusion. He motioned again, this time spelling out a specific word.
Friend. J-e-n-t-a.
Of course, Davu chuffed. This is one of Jenta's schemes. The pantheress was a shrewd and cunning strategist. It suddenly seemed far less odd to be standing face-to-face with a double that knew guard-speak. However, it did raise new questions about how long Jenta might have had access to this person, and why. Questions for another time, he chuckled, lowering the sword. The intruder's shoulders relaxed slightly as he signaled further.
You. Go. Me. Stay.
"Go where?" Davu said aloud in irritation, shattering the silence and drawing a glare and a sharp Silent gesture from the intruder.
Help. B-a-s-r.
Basr? questioned Davu mentally. Who's Basr? Noting his confusion, the intruder motioned toward the desk. Davu nodded and stepped aside. The double unstoppered the inkwell seated there, selected a quill and parchment, and began to write.
Basr the historian's life is in danger. Jenta needs you to protect him. Threat to Kingdom. I will stay here in your place.
Davu read the words several times, trying to digest the vague note and wanting desperately to ask for more details. If these words were true though, Davu needed to act on what little information he had. He set down the lantern and hung the antique sword back on the wall, motioning in guard-speak.
Where?
The impostor wrote down a location here in the capital. Davu read the note and quickly resigned himself to the task at hand. He traded his bed clothes for a lightweight traveling outfit and from a small stand beside his bed, reverently lifted the amethyst and gold thistle medallion of Lady Tembryan. As it settled against his chest, he closed his eyes and placed his hand over it, offering silent prayers to the Celestial.
All at once his fur began to stand on end, as though the air were charged with electricity. A shiver ran down his spine and the familiar intoxicating scents of lavender and lemon filled the room. He couldn’t stop the ear-to-ear fox smile from playing across his face, for this could only mean one thing: The Lady Tembryan approved of his intent. For whatever reason, she wanted this historian saved. That undoubtedly meant something very dangerous was at play.
As he opened his eyes, Davu found it was the intruder’s turn to be surprised, uncertain of what was happening. He collected an older pair of swords (mentally noting he still needed to track down the ones that were stolen), before extending a hand to the intruder.
Thank you. He gestured, before slipping out through the balcony door into the night.

Actual Play

DP: Face Danger (+wits)

3/1/3-W

JH: Gather information (+network)

Tashkerr

5/4/9-W-+1M

Complication

Oracle: Move stranger

Jenta knows Tashkerr is in the city, but needs Basr moved first

DP: Secure advantage

Devotant (prayers)

6/5/5-S-Crit!+3M

+1 next move

Oracle: Uphold history

Tembryan approves of protecting the historian??

To Be Continued...