# The Politics of Tirchond



## the Jester (Jul 24, 2003)

This thread will begin with sort of a repost of the final "Five Years Later" post from my old story hour (link in sig), but only one of the characters in the old story hour is in this one (at least at this point).

The pcs in this story hour consist of the following:

*Clambake (cleric/psyker 6/6)
*Sheva (high priestess of Coila; 19th level ranger/rogue/assassin/cleric/contemplative/monk)
*Montanah, called Fonzi (fighter 3/rogue 3/spymaster 5)
*Sontanah, called Sonti (rogue 2/fighter 4/spymaster 5), Montanah's twin brother
*Glaxo Smitkline (fighter 2/rogue 5/shadowdancer 4)
*Cicero (bard 7/sorcerer 4)
*Zeebo "the Mayor" Swayzac (wizard 7/sorcerer 7)

If you're interested in reading more about Clambake, you can read my old story hour (if you haven't already)- the one with the creative title.   

If you're interested in reading more about Sheva and Zeebo, see my story hour called Agents of Chaos.  

If you're interested in reading more about anyone else, well, sorry- except for Cicero they're all new characters, and Cicero isn't in any of my old story hours though he might pop up in an "early years" type thread sometime.

Anyway, here we go...


----------



## the Jester (Jul 24, 2003)

*The Return of Captain Clambake*

_2/1/368 O.L.G._

Captain Clambake, though not captain of the ship he's on, growls softly deep in his throat as the vessel heads through the medium-high waves into the harbor of the Shining City of Tirchond.  

_The Egg,_ he thinks with satisfaction.

The _Purple Whale's_ captain approaches him.  He's a grizzled veteran of the Forinthian navy, retired over a decade but still scarred from old battles.  "We're here," he says in his typical clipped tones, and Clambake nods.

"Arr, my thanks," the dwarf says, handing over a bag of coins.  The captain nods at him briefly, then stomps off to the foredeck, peering out at the elven vessels moored at the quay.  Soon enough he's barking orders at his crew to tie off and ready for inspection as the suspicious elves and dwarves of the Port Inspection Authority board and start examining the vessel's cargo.  Clambake doesn't bother to wait; he heads immediately into the city, seeking lodging, and soon he's got a meal of fish stew and vegetables in front of him, as well as a flask of rum.

Some tastes, even acquired under the influence of a curse, never go away.  "Arr," he says to himself quietly in satisfaction as his belly grows full and warm.  Some mannerisms, even acquired under the influence of a curse, stay with one for life.

A flight of stairs later and he throws his pack down in his room and doffs his coat and hat.  He's dry of the spray of the sea now, and he spends a few minutes passing his fingers through the tangles of his beard.  _Definitely needs some work,_ he thinks briefly to himself, then falls to his knees to offer his devotions to his God Na'Rat, the Chaos-Bringer, for whom he has come to this far-flung isle.

After his obsequies are done, Clambake flings himself heavily into the bed and soon sinks deep into a snoring sleep.  And dreams of old friends, companions long gone, events in the past...

_He dreams of the hat whose mark has never fully left him; he dreams of Horbin the Holy, with whom he sailed for two years after the terrible last battle that drove them from Dorla.  He dreams of Krunkshank, who went far to the west, perhaps even to Dorhaus, accompanying Anvar the Paraelementalist so long ago.  He dreams of Droidi, the small two-headed half-dragon, arguing with himself, head snarling at head.  

He dreams of recent times, spent on Pesh in meditation and study.  He remembers the bile that rose in his throat when he saw that the accursed Cluma had overthrown the local obelisk to his deity; he recalls the mission his masters at the temple had sent him on.  He dreams of the Egg of Na'Rat.

They whirl like a tornado, his dreams; they go back to times long past, to the Sea Wraith.  He recalls again the fight against the roper that left him drained and weak, and how he struggled madly as his companions pulled the hat from his brow and hurled it into the fire.  He remembers, in his night visions, the horrible thirst and hunger that came over him immediately afterwards- eating and eating, gulping down water, trying to restore himself.  And then....

The lich.

His mind whirls through a succession of images, his triumph over Alexis the lich among them.  Then, Clambake wakes up.  Morning has come, and he has an Egg to locate.

***

He remembers the two long years under the aegis of the temple of Na'Rat in Pesh, and the excitement of the high priest when he sent Clambake on this quest.  "The Egg of Na'Rat," he exhorted.  "A powerful item indeed!" 

"Arr, what am I to do with it?" Clambake had asked.

"You will know," the high priest had answered with a wide grin.

Not sure exactly what he's looking for, Captain Clambake walks out onto the streets of the Shining City.  



*Next Time:* Sheva meets Glaxo!_


----------



## Technik4 (Jul 24, 2003)

> Clambake (cleric/psyker 6/6)




Psyker = Psion?


----------



## the Jester (Jul 24, 2003)

Technik4 said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Psyker = Psion? *




Yeah, it's one of the psion subclasses.


----------



## SeldomSeen (Jul 25, 2003)

> _Originally posted by the Jester _*
> If you're interested in reading more about Clambake, you can read my old story hour (if you haven't already)- the one with the creative title.
> 
> If you're interested in reading more about Sheva, see my story hour called Agents of Chaos.
> ...




Since when is Zeebo new?  Don't listen to the Jester folks, you can see some of Zeebos' exploints in the Agents of Chaos story hour.


----------



## the Jester (Jul 25, 2003)

SeldomSeen said:
			
		

> *
> 
> Since when is Zeebo new?  Don't listen to the Jester folks, you can see some of Zeebos' exploints in the Agents of Chaos story hour.  *




Oops, my bad- thought I'd lumped him in with Sheva!  Fixed it.


----------



## the Jester (Jul 25, 2003)

Glaxo is a dark halfling.  When we say "dark," what we mean is dark complexion; dark hair and eyes; dark leathers; and a dark stained backpack at his feet.

"Can we take that for ya?" asks one of his hosts politely, and after only a moment's hesitation he nods.  He's a guest here, after all- here in the thieves' guild.  And he's trying to join up.

He glances sideways at the imposing redheaded woman in the chain mail bikini next to him.  He doesn't know her, but you might; it's Sheva, high priestess of Coila, rogue and assassin, among many other things.  She ignores the halfling. 

She's ushered in to Walther's office before he is, just as she was waiting before he was.  But she's been here before; she's already a member of the guild in good standing, and since abandoning the adventurers she'd traveled with over most of the last year* she's worked hard to advance her standing within the guild.  Now she's being brought in to see one of the 'second-tier' men- not quite the guildmaster, but one of his three main assistants.

Walther's an ugly half-elf at an impressive desk.  He tells Sheva, "You've been doin' real well lately.  You've come to our attention."  With a smile, he says, "We have something for you to do.  Keep this kid on the right track and make sure he don't get any funny ideas."  Then he calls for the halfling to be sent in.

"So I understand you been wantin' to get ahold of us," Walther says slyly to the halfling.

"Yeah," the halfling says, glancing over at Sheva cooling her heels in the next chair over.  "I want to operate in your city, but I don't want to step on any toes.  I wanted to make sure I got permission from the right people."

Walther nods.  "Very wise, my little fellow.  Of course, there's the standard sign-up fee- and the initiation."

"Initiation?"

The ugly half-elf nods again.  "Of course.  There's an item, we don't even know what it is exactly, coming up for discussion in the Extraplanar Affairs Commission.  We believe it would fetch a pretty penny if it were in our possession."

Glaxo nods in understanding.  "So you want me to get it?"  It isn't really a question.  "But you don't know what it is."  That one sort of is, but no answer's forthcoming, so Glaxo says, "All right..."

"Sheva," Walther calls, "stay behind a minute," and he tells her the scary little bit he _does_ know about it.

After, Sheva joins Glaxo and looks him over with a critical eye.  "How are we gonna get this thing?" the halfling asks, and she replies:

"I have friends in high places."



*see the Agents of Chaos story hour, link in sig.


_*Next Time:*_  The Council of Tirchond!  Meet Cicero and his entourage!


----------



## Welverin (Jul 26, 2003)

Yay, a real update!

Theft as politics, interesting.


----------



## the Jester (Jul 27, 2003)

*Crash Course in Tirchond Politics*

While Sheva and Glaxo are waiting for Walther to assign their mission to them, another of our principles is in Council.

Cicero, long a voice for neutrality on Tirchond, is a slick-looking politician.  He pumps more hands than almost anyone else, he sells his vote left and right, he makes all the friends he can and as few commitments as he can afford to.  He’s got the biggest entourage of anyone in the Council of Tirchond, and when he enters the room people notice the scribes and orators with him.  

Cicero’s a powerhouse, too, in the Council.  He holds three seats; there aren’t a lot of people with more than that.  Exactly seven, in fact; four individuals with four seats, two with five, and one- Estelias, of course- with a whopping eight.  Why, if she applied them right, she’d be a majority on a Commission all by herself!

Let’s digress for a moment.  The Council of Tirchond consists of 285 seats, divided amongst the various powers and interests of Tirchond; for example, there are ten seats reserved for administrators of the Silver College, fifteen more for Silver College professors, eight for Silver College students, one representing the administration of the rest of the schools of Tirchond (none nearly as big as the Silver College, of course), one representing the other schools’ professors, one their students, four representing the Hammerhead Halls, and so forth.  There are even seats representing the orcs and goblinoids (one each), giants (four seats) and fae (three, but they’re rarely in session).  Ultimately, the Tirchondian system was designed by grey elves, so it’s no surprise that the council members must be prepared to exercise a great deal of patience to get anything done.  Each week there’s an agenda, which is an actual physical book of one hundred pages; once it’s full- and the full text of whatever’s on the agenda has to be _in_ the agenda- that’s it til next week.  With so many varied interests and so little space to write things in, it usually takes cooperation to get anything moving.

Once an item is in the Agenda, it gets scheduled for discussion by the appropriate Commission, if there is one.  For example, tax reform goes through the Revenue Commission, while ambassadors are received by the Foreign Relations Commission.  Some of the Commissions are less active, more obscure or esoteric, or seem to have more or less influence than the others, but in general, the most active Commissions include those like the Farmers’ Commission, the College Commission, the Foreign Relations Commission and the Commission on War and Peace.  An item that goes from the agenda to Commission is discussed until the Commission, through a vote or consensus, makes a recommendation on it.  The Commission can recommend that the item go to the full Council for a vote; or it can recuse the item, leaving it for another time.  In general, the more stuff is on the agenda, the more likely items are to be recused in Commission for lack of time to discuss it.

All right; digression over, though I think you’ll find it’s relevant.  

Cicero is, as usual, shaking hands and smiling big at the other Councilors.  He’s working on drumming up support for a repeal of the taxes on artisans and performers, and of course a lot of his compatriots on the Council are giving him noncommittal answers, but you have to start somewhere.  He notices, on the agenda, something very unusual: a meeting of one of the Commissions he sits on.  But it’s the Extraplanar Affairs Commission.  

Cicero frowns to himself.  It’s an interesting one, that’s for sure, but the whole reason he sits on it is that it doesn’t meet often.  Oh well, he sighs to himself, can’t win ‘em all.  He looks the agenda over carefully; they’re due to meet in the evening.

With a sigh, Cicero signals to his entourage.  Two of them, a pair of twin brothers called Fonzi and Sonti hurry up to him.  They look definitely like men of letters.  Both are human and their joint heritage is clear as day.  “Come on,” Councilor Cicero calls to them, “we have other things to do.”  As they scurry along in his wake, Cicero rapidly dictates a series of tasks- “I want you to proclaim the need for tax reform, and I want you to start drafting those reports, and you to-“ and so forth.

Soon they’ve reached a local tavern.  Cicero sips at a glass of the local wine, but of course prefers not to be too intoxicated when working on Council- you never know what some people will use against you!- and spies an interesting looking fellow.  Dwarven, crude-looking, with thick arms and a dramatic shield.  He’s pouring over a series of maps with a slightly puzzled-looking expression.

Cicero frowns to himself as another figure catches his eye.  _Is that Sheva?_ he thinks, startled, as he spots the redhead from across the tavern’s long common room.  He remembers her well; she’s the all-time leader on Cicero’s kill board,* and in fact probably saved him more than once.  Plus...

Plus, he sees her sometimes when he pays his dues to the local thieves’ guild.  Not that he’s a thief; he just likes to be on the safe side.  And once in a while he sees her in the lodge of the Grey Brothers- not that he uses their services, but it’s always good to know where to find out whether anyone’s put a price on his head.  

Outside it’s afternoon; soon our heroes will be getting stinky.


*While he was adventuring several years ago, Cicero kept a careful tally of the kills his fellow adventurers made while he was with them, especially inside the mountain called Firestorm Peak.  Sheva’s still way ahead.



_*Next Time:*_ We'll be flashing back to give you a little look into Fonzi and Sonti's morning, as well as Clambake's mid-day; and then we'll get stinky in the sewage!


----------



## the Jester (Jul 27, 2003)

*Earlier in the Day...*

Let’s back up momentarily and talk about a few events that happened earlier in the day.

Fonzi and Sonti, of course, are not entirely as they appear.  They’re Forinthian spymasters, using their positions on Cicero’s staff to gather information on Tirchondian politics.  Unfortunately, things have gotten weird for Forinthia lately.

The Forinthian Empire has been the most powerful single political entity in the world for centuries.  Unfortunately, Emperor Prayzose vanished about six years ago and has not been seen since (at least, as far as anyone knows).  Nobody’s certain whether he’s alive or dead, but the Imperial administration has kept going faithfully.  He has no child; there’s no obvious heir for power to transfer to.  But now, over the last couple of years, things have started to break apart.  

Forinthia itself is a large island.  It once consisted of three Kingdoms- the West, South and North Forinthian Kingdoms.  After a long period of war, the three were unified under one Emperor.  But now that the leadership of the Empire has been thrown into doubt, ancient disputes have been reviving themselves.  There are new self-declared Kings of all three Kingdoms, each trying to claim the Empire for himself.  Civil war hold the island in a firm grip.  Things are getting ugly in ways that Forinthia hasn’t seen in almost four hundred years.

Worse yet, many of the Army’s generals and the Navy’s admirals are acting on their own, disregarding orders from those that they consider to have no authority over them, following their own interests or consciences.  The great Fleet of Law was perhaps the last time that the entire military apparatus of the Empire will work together- unless someone or something can pull it back together.  

Since things have begun falling apart, Fonzi and Sonti haven’t been receiving orders.  They’ve lost their contacts.  The Church of Galador has been outlawed in the Shining City, so they have few allies to turn to.  There aren’t even that many humans in the city- hell, on the whole isle of Tirchond, for that matter!  But they do have one man to turn to, one advisor who seems to be both moral and ethical, one true friend in a nest of enemies.  Fredric is his name.  

He doesn’t have much to offer them either, however.  Just this morning he told them that he was very limited in his resources; but something about him tells them he might know more and have more connections than they do.  So they’ve stayed close to him, keeping him informed of everything that’s going on that they know of.  It’s hard to evade Cicero’s suspicions, and in fact the twins haven’t; but at least they see more of what’s going on politically than most of Tirchond’s humans.  They know, for instance, that there’s a Forinthian ambassador due to be received in the evening by the Foreign Relations Commission (which Cicero sits on).  

Fredric has explained to them the state of Forinthian politics.  “This may be a chance for you to make an important choice,” he told them.  “Things are falling apart at the moment; if order’s to be restored to the Empire, it will require a strong man at the helm, so to speak.  Maybe you can help find out what’s going on?  Things are... unclear, to say the least, from here.”

A little later in the morning, though long before he reached the tavern where our heroes will all meet, Clambake had purchased some maps.  He’s ascertained that the Egg of Na’Rat is somewhere _below_ the sewers of the Shining City, so he’s got maps of the sewers themselves.  And after pouring over them for hours he’s found something very interesting indeed.

Clambake’s maps are on multiple different scales.  There are large overview maps as well as small-scale ones that show every connecting tunnel and grate.  Many of the small-scale maps connect to each other at various points, but the interesting thing is a connection labeled “See pipe 17b, map 23.”  Looking very carefully on map 23, Clambake softly exclaims, “Arr.”  The passage connects to nothing at all.  There’s no pipe 17b.  Nor is there an area 17b, a chamber 17b, or any other 17b at all.

Captain Clambake looks again, then a third time to be sure.  Nope, no 17b.

He smiles to himself.  _That’s got to be it!_ he thinks hopefully.  But he’s got experience with sewer adventuring- indeed, several years ago he went down below the town of Poppin and fought meazles and a weird priest of Juiblex.  He knows that sewers are often quite dangerous, and he knows better than to go in alone.  So now- several hours after finding the mysterious connection to a nonexistent 17b on the map- he waits in a tavern near the best possible entrance (according to his maps) and watches for any likely adventurer types or obvious sewer delvers to come by.  

Sheva, of course, had spent some of the day with Glaxo.  But then she’d left him behind for a quick trip to see the Grey Brothers- the assassins of Cydra.  They are not to be trifled with, and as a member of their evil order, neither is she.  She was looking for a way to multitask; if there’s a job she can perform while ‘acquiring’ the item for the thieves’ guild, she figures she might as well.  And she does indeed find one.  Though there are no hits out on any of the Councilors- not even Zeebo, for once, she notes- she does take a job involving scaring one Horly the Rabble-Rouser, one of the Silver College student representatives.  Apparently he’s been talking a bit too much about things that make certain of the Grey Brothers acutely uncomfortable.  “Loose lips sink ships” and all that- if Horly doesn’t shut up, certain crimes may be traced back to the Brotherhood.  The last thing the Grey Brothers want is for the Rabble-Rouser to be assassinated; that will only lend credence to his story.  No, what’s called for is a little intimidation.  

So Sheva and Glaxo got back together.  She’s been informed by the thieves that the meeting of the Extraplanar Affairs Commission is to take place in a highly unusual location below the city’s sewers, so they went to a tavern to have a drink and mull over their options.  

And that pretty well brings everyone up to date- to the point at which they’ll all meet in the bar.



_*Next Time:*_ Clambake declares himself to be an expert sewer delver!  Our heroes’ interests seem to coincide to some extent!  Stinky time!!


----------



## Lester (Jul 28, 2003)

*CISCERO'S KILL BOARD*

Friends, Countrymen, Adventures, lend me your ears!

I Ciscero, your humble compatriat, . . . one who has seen adventure on both far shores and here, on Tirchond, . . . must tell you that, to this very day, several of your favorite adventures still reign supreme on Ciscero's KILL BOARD!!!

Yes, it is true that Mistress Sheeva, beguiling High Priestess of Coila, reigns superior to all others upon my KILL BOARD at mine own Gladitorial Arena, Ciscero's Palace of DEATH (only 2 sp cover charge for most events!)!  Here is a tally of all kills for current adventures recorded by the epic Loremaster/DM the Jester during my travels:

1)  Sheeva -20
2)  Angel -8
3)  Ciscero -8
4)  Sybel -7

(All kills must take place in front of Ciscero, and Ciscero may declare higher kill  scores for the defeat of more powerful foes.)


----------



## Welverin (Jul 28, 2003)

*Yay, more real updates!*



			
				the Jester said:
			
		

> *the Commission on War and Peace.*




The book is so popular it even gets it own commission in Cydra!



> **While he was adventuring several years ago, Cicero kept a careful tally of the kills his fellow adventurers made while he was with them, especially inside the mountain called Firestorm Peak.  Sheva?s still way ahead.*




Kill boards are fun, I always liked checking how I was doing when I played Wing Commander.



> *Fonzi and Sonti, of course, are not entirely as they appear.  They?re Forinthian spymasters, using their positions on Cicero?s staff to gather information on Tirchondian politics.  Unfortunately, things have gotten weird for Forinthia lately.*




I take it this is why you held off on posting immediately?




> *And that pretty well brings everyone up to date- to the point at which they'll all meet in the bar.*




So who's fault is this?


----------



## Mathew_Freeman (Jul 28, 2003)

More excellent stuff! Pipe 17b, eh?


----------



## the Jester (Jul 30, 2003)

For the record:

Cydra: the Early Years

Haven't started posting the actual stories just yet, but I will soon!


----------



## the Jester (Aug 7, 2003)

*Below the Sewers*

Seeing Clambake pouring over his maps, Sheva, curious, walks over and talks to him.  "I'm a sewer expert," Clambake claims, "you'd be amazed what kind of treasure people lose down there!  Arr!"

He points out the mysterious pipe to nowhere he's discovered and Sheva's interest is piqued.  This could have to do with her mission- "beneath the sewers" and all that.  She winks at the halfling Glaxo.  "Need a hand?" she then asks Clambake, who assents in the interest before Cicero arrives, greeting Sheva eagerly (you must remember that Sheva's a hot redhead in a chain mail bikini with two greatswords).  They reminisce briefly about their old times adventuring together through hazards such as Firestorm Peak, and then- as old adventurers are easily persuaded to do- Cicero agrees to accompany his old friend into the sewers.  Especially because he has more than an inkling about something funny going on himself.  Fonzi, one of the twins offer to accompany him, and down our heroes go.  Sheva surreptitiously casts _find the path_ and soon our heroes find themselves drawn to a vile pit of filth and sewage, beneath which the dwarf Clambake stumbles upon a grate.

To which Sheva nods decisively.  It's just as her spell says.  Nonetheless, the party is distracted by a strange recessing stone button in the wall that doesn't seem to do anything for what seems an interminable period; but finally leaving the red herring being, down Clambake goes (for who but a dwarf would be dirty enough to swim in such a morass?), tying off a rope to the grate below the surface of the effluvia.  Then it's merely a matter of main strength to force open the grate- and our heroes have a fair amount of that! 

Then down they all go, disproving the dwarf thesis after all, and soon enough they find themselves in a slender tunnel that leads out into a large cavern- bigger than they can see.  They can hear echoes tapping from their footsteps, feel the gentle movement of air; the dripping sewage emerges from their tunnel and falls from the precipice they've emerged onto to spatter on the rock below.

Something feels weird in the air....


_*Next Time: *_What is the Egg of Na'Rat?


----------



## the Jester (Aug 7, 2003)

"Wow," Glaxo breathes softly to himself.

The cavern is huge.  Who'd've thought _elves_ of all people would have put something important down here, so far beneath the city?

Descending a narrow path, the group tramps down a good hundred and fifty feet before spilling out on the floor of the giant cave.  There are weird flowing formations and strange, calcified objects all around.  Slowly they start a cursory search of the huge place.  It takes only a few moments to discover that the center of the chamber holds a half-column, clearly sheared off at some point in the past.  On the approach our heroes find three pools of odd, iridescent liquid.  

Examination reveals the presence of abundant magic- and rapidly reveals that the place is at least partially filled with a wild zone.  Magic won't work right here; it's bound to cause weird issues to arise when casting.

"Magic pools," Sheva murmurs, and for a few moments the group debates whether to drink, wash in, or ignore them.  "I've heard all kinds of stories about these kinds of things," Sheva says, leaning towards drinking.  Cicero regales them momentarily with a few tales of the many and varied magical pools in the literature; unfortunately, here in the wild zone, there seems no way to determine the pools' functions.

So, tiring of debate, Fonzi drinks. 

There are three pools- one is purple, one red, the third yellow.  Fonzi drinks of all of them in sequence, and discovers that the purple one seems to make him smarter at the cost of wisdom; the red one, stronger at the cost of health; and the yellow causes him to gain charisma at the cost of speed and balance. 

Sheva drinks of the red pool as well, then the party moves on further towards the pillar.

At the top and center of it is a strange, crumbly rock.  It's half-recessed in the stone, and our heroes set to work posthaste to extract it.  Cicero by now is feeling misgivings; but he's cast his lot in with Sheva for the moment, and if all else fails he can try to rectify things later.  Clambake is nearly salivating as they come closer and closer to breaking the Egg free.  _I'll know what to do with it,_ the dwarf thinks greedily, rubbing his callused hands together.  

When it's liberated, however, Sheva and Glaxo take possession of it with promises that Clambake will get first crack at it.  Reluctantly, he agrees, wondering whether he should trust the word of a pair of thieves, but figuring that, all other options failing, he can try to take it by force later.

And, reascending, our heroes split up for the moment.


_*Next Time:*_ Murders in the Council chambers!  Loose lips sink ships!  Estelias starts acting funny!  What's the egg for, anyway??


----------



## the Jester (Aug 11, 2003)

Sheva, of course, has assassins’ business to attend to.  She thinks back to the job she took- _scare off Horly the Rabble-Rouser, one of the councilors-_ and smiles wickedly.  

She goes to the Council chambers, under the influence of both _invisibility_ and _nondetection_.  She follows Horly around for a few minutes until one of his aides is sent off on an errand, then follows the aid into an empty room and kills her.  Moving with grim efficiency, Sheva changes her appearance to match the victim’s, then cuts off her lips and hides her body.  

Soon she’s hunted down another of Horly’s aids and killed him, taking his lips as well.  A third aid will probably be enough, she presumes; and when Horly shortly opens the envelope with the lips and the message inside it, he’s clearly shaken up by it.

_”Loose lips sink ships.”_

Really, now.

Cicero, meanwhile, shows up for the Foreign Relations Commission’s reception of the new South Forinthian ambassador, Sir Alex Mayflower.  He makes a short speech in which he acknowledges that there have been many strains in the relationships between Forinthia and Tirchond in the past, and explains that Forinthia is undergoing a period of civil war.  “But we of South Forinthia will win; it is only a matter of time.  And when we do, we will remember our friends and allies.  And we would like to count Tirchond among them.”

“We have always been neutral,” objects Cicero.  “Why would we join Forinthia now when we’ve only recently gained our independence from it?”

Sir Alex smiles.  “We ask little of you; only that you agree to proclaim our faction the legitimate Forinthian authority.  Forinthia _will_ be back on top; it’s inevitable.  Right now there are uncontrolled generals and admirals with armies and fleets who are answering only to themselves.  I think it’s in everyone’s best interests to get them under control, wouldn’t you agree?  Furthermore, as I said, we will remember your aid in these trying times and are prepared to offer you a formal treaty acknowledging Tirchond’s independent status.”

Naturally, the Commission wants to chew this over for a while, and most have other business to attend to as well.  Cicero heads over to the Extraplanar Affairs Commission meeting with his traditional retinue, but is forced to leave them all behind.  “Councilors only,” the guard insists, an unusual bit of stiffness obvious in his voice.

So Cicero goes in alone, and there are most of his fellow Commissioners- and Estelias, who’s not technically on this commission.  

“There’s been trouble,” she announces peremptorily.  “The whole point of this meeting is _missing._  The item has been stolen.”  She gives Cicero a hard, suspicious look.

“Really?” Cicero says innocently.  “Well, we should certainly do something about that.  Let me get my aides, we’ll convene and-“

“There’s no meeting; the object is _gone,_” Estelias says emphatically.

“-see if we can get something done, I’ll send people to-“

“You’re not listening,” Estelias hisses, and says another word that leaves Cicero stunned and reeling, his words dropping to a low groan.  “There’s no meeting.  We’ll discuss this later, at greater length, but this item is of great import to our nation.  It helps to protect us; in fact, it’s driven off the Forinthian forces twice in the past, just by moving it up into the sewers or another place where its influence can extend into their ranks.”  She’s almost growling.  “But it’s _gone._”

“Oh, uh, well, any luck finding the perpetrators?”  Cicero keeps his face carefully blank. 

“We’re working on it,” Estelias snaps.  It sounds almost like a threat.  "We should talk about this."

"Of course we should," Cicero answers smoothly.  "Say, over lunch tomorrow?"  She nods; and though he's glad to have a date with her, he's a little worried.

Cicero slinks away.

Glaxo, meanwhile, is congratulated for his success.  He’s officially inducted into the Thieves' Guild, and Walther (his contact and handler) gives him a final piece of action on the egg: he’s to help guard it when it’s auctioned off at 8 pm tomorrow.  “And you’ll get a cut out of it, too, once we sell it off,” the ugly half-elf tells him.

“Don’t worry,” Sheva is simultaneously telling Clambake, “we’ll see to it that you get first crack at the rock.” 

Clambake is annoyed, but he lets it go for now.  He understands how these things work; he’s dealt with plenty of thieves’ guilds in his time.  So he just insists that they let him know when it’s to be sold, to which Sheva agrees (and Walther is more than happy to allow Clambake entrance to the auction as well).

Not long after, Cicero arrives at the guildhall, looking for Sheva, and takes her out for a drink at the same bar where they previously met Clambake, who they meet again.  “I’m not so sure we should’ve done what we did,” Cicero confesses.  “After all, that thing did help protect our island.”

Sheva snorts.  “It’s more trouble than help, and we’re going to help ‘protect’ our island by getting it out of here.  We’ll be doing Tirchond a favor.”

“I’m taking it to Pesh,” Clambake slurs happily over his beer.

“Maybe,” Cicero says.  “If you win at the auction.  I wouldn’t be so sure of that just yet.”  Glumly, he toasts “Tirchond as it was.”

“Still, it’s helped fight off the Forinthians before...”  The two old companions discuss it at length over a pitcher of beer, and Cicero goes home unsatisfied, his thoughts awhirl.  Has he betrayed his country?  Should he try to buy the stone back?  He doesn’t know, and it keeps him up worrying for more than an hour after he lies down in bed...


_*Next Time:*_ Debating the merits of Forinthia!  Metal hats!  Ambassador Mayflower!


----------



## Welverin (Aug 12, 2003)

the Jester said:
			
		

> *Next Time:Metal hats!*




Is this so outsiders can't read their minds?


----------



## the Jester (Aug 17, 2003)

*Metal Hats*

Sheva muses over Cicero.  She _naps_ an hour each night, but otherwise rarely sleeps.  She's amused by his peculiar ethics- always selling his vote and trading influence, but blanching at his reward from the thieves' guild.  He had refused, muttering, "A person like me can't take money from a person like you... here," he'd decided, writing out a receipt, "thank you for your donation to, um, some charity, we'll look that up later..."  And she was sure he would, too.  A rare smile plays over her lips.  Cicero could be useful.

In the morning, Cicero wakes up and dispatches a message to Estelias' home regarding their date, requesting her presence 'the sooner the better.'  Then, feeling it's time to tackle another of his problems a little less obliquely, he takes Sonti and Fonzi, the twins, into his study and sits down to talk with him.

"Look," he says, "you seem very interested in the Forinthian ambassador, and you seem very receptive to him."

"Well, he's a human like me..."

Cicero cuts whichever one that was off.  "Yeah, well, people around here largely don't feel the same way.  Now, I'm neutral on the subject- but not everyone around here feels the same way.  If you talk up Forinthia too much, you may invoke harsh feelings.  Keep in mind that these people have been in the center of several invasions here, with Forinthia being involved in all of them."

"Maybe they don't see the benefits of Forinthian civilization," Sonti suggests.

Cicero pauses thoughtfully.  "What benefits?"  He stares at Sonti.  "How would it benefit someone like me- _not_ me, of course, but someone like me, in a similar position, with similar resources and goals- to aid them?"

"Salvation," Sonti says with a deep conviction.

"It's great," Fonzi says.  "It will be powerful again.  You heard the ambassador.  Tirchond should be part of it."

"You can always go there," Cicero points out.

"Why go there when you can bring it here?"

"Well, you still haven't said how it would benefit someone who was substantially not me but was a lot like me to aid them, so I'll give you two a special mission: _find out._  But say nothing in public, you fools!"  Forthwith he dispatches Fonzi with an invitation for the ambassador to meet him at a seedy bar.

Fonzi departs, heading to the inn the ambassador is staying in.  Here he talks his way through the concierge, who goes to see if the ambassador's available.  When he returns, however, he tells Fonzi that the ambassador is 'indisposed'.  Fonzi therefore leaves a message for him, exhorting the ambassador to meet with Fonzi and his fellow humans.  He does not, however, deliver Cicero's message, for which he is upbraided as ineffective by Cicero.  This leads into a short debate on profanity and a sibling rivalry moment between the twins over who's the better diplomat.

While they're distracted, Cicero sneaks in a _detect thoughts_ spell.  The twins feel a mental intrusion but assume it's someone in the crowd, looking hungrily around for trouble.  Cicero wants none of that, so he encourages their confusion, presses ten gold into Sonti's hand and sends him to go buy metal hats for all of them ("to interfere with mental influences and mind reading powers," Cicero claims).  With a dubious look, Sonti goes.

When Cicero gives his aides their hour lunch break, Fonzi goes again to the ambassador's temporary residence.  The concierge, thinking he's his twin, motions for him to wait and then hurries away, returning with a dwarf.  "Are you Montanah*?" the dwarf growls.  Fonzi nods.  The dwarf gestures for him to follow and leads him from the inn.

Meanwhile, on the road to town, a small carriage drawn by garen is bouncing over the gravel.  Within it- the last of our principals to enter the tale, Zeebo Swaysac, returning to the Shining City fresh from his re-election as Mayor of Swayzeville.  A prodigious spellcaster, Zeebo is both wizard and sorcerer.  Blessed- or perhaps cursed- by Chaos with enormous fertility, he has at least two children (that he knows of) and needs that cannot be entirely denied.  Zeebo is another powerhouse in the Council, another member of the Commission on Extraplanar Affairs, and another old adventuring companion of both Sheva and Cicero.  In fact, he is recently slain; were it not for Sheva's giving up of her sword Chronovestis, the Blade of Time, he would be depleted, weaker than he is.  He owes her much and he knows it.

Zeebo sighs happily as he rolls up the town's road towards his modest home, but when he gets there he finds an ugent summons sealed in red wax- an urgent affair of state, and one that he missed, as it was set for last night!  So he heads to the Council Chamber...

*Sonti's real name, and the one he left on the note for the ambassador.


_*Next Time:*_ Military ideas, Fonzi meets Ambassador Mayflower, and a strange offer!


----------



## Welverin (Aug 24, 2003)

*Beware, Obscure cartoon reference!*

How often to you play this one? What about the main game?



			
				the Jester said:
			
		

> *"Are you Montanah*?" the dwarf growls.  Fonzi nods.  The dwarf gestures for him to follow and leads him from the inn.*




Is his last name Max?


----------



## the Jester (Aug 24, 2003)

*Re: Beware, Obscure cartoon reference!*



			
				Welverin said:
			
		

> *How often to you play this one? What about the main game?
> 
> *




We game virtually every week, almost always once a week.  I ran a short arc of this group and plan to have more stuff via email with these guys, since lots of the stuff will be secret and/or stuff like speeches that I'd like to be able to cut & paste in.  It's almost always the other group, except for that two session interlude for the story in this thread.

HOWEVER... we're gonna play a 1st-level group for a while here too, probably the next few games.  Will it get yet another story hour?  Maybe- after all, both this one and the v. Felenga thread are within one game of being caught up!!


----------



## the Jester (Sep 2, 2003)

*A Discussion of Military Matters*

When the prolific Zeebo Swayzac reaches the Council Chambers, he learns from Estelias of the robbery of a powerful item that has helped repel Forinthian invaders several times in the path, and learns of the meeting that he missed (well, it was cancelled anyhow).

He’s frowning as he heads bath towards the Council Chamber’s exit, but his expression changes to a smile as he spies Vulker Hammerhead, one of his old friends and allies.  Vulker is Thane of the Hammerhead Clan; Zeebo has known him for years.  “Zeebo!” cries Vulker heartily.  “Excellent!”  The dwarf and the gnome shake hands enthusiastically.  “How are things?” Vulker asks.
.
“Well, quite well,” Zeebo beams at his dwarven friend.  “Just got back to the city from Swayzetown, where I was naturally reelected Mayor.”  He chuckles heartily, pleased that his constituency remains intact.  “Come,” he adds, “let’s go talk.” 

Finding a small room unoccupied, the two settle in to catch up on certain matters.  Zeebo trusts Vulker, and tells him of the theft.  Vulker turns grim and growls, “We need an army for defense, not some strange magic.  Why, if you ask me, it’s only a matter of time before one side or the other invades- it always happens!  That cursed Chaos Fleet, bah!  They caused much more trouble than they were worth- though not as much as they could have, thanks to you.”  He nods respectfully at the Mayor.  “If not Forinthia, if not them, then Strogass.  Or who knows?  It could be anyone.”  He scowls.  “An army is what we need, with a strong head- like me.”

“Indeed, perhaps you’re right!” Zeebo exclaims.  “An army.  Perhaps a navy as well...”  The two discuss the idea of a military for a few more moments and then Zeebo takes his leave.

Meanwhile, Fonzi is led to a secluded park, where Sir Alex Mayflower, the South Forinthian ambassador, waits.  “Of course,” the ambassador says as Fonzi walks up, “you’re one of the twins.  I saw you in the Council chambers.”

Fonzi nods, not sure how much to say.  “We work for Cicero,” he says.

Sir Alex nods.  “I saw.  Can you arrange a meeting for me with him?”

“He wants to meet with you.  Come, I’ll lead you to him.”  Sir Alex rises, and Fonzi leads him away, telling him everything along the way- about being a spy, about losing contact with his handlers, about his conversation with Cicero.  Naturally, the wheels are turning in Alex’ head.  Soon enough, they reach Cicero’s office- not what the Councilor had in mind, exactly, but when he sees the ambassador enter he decides to seize the moment.  A cautious greeting is exchanged, and the two politicians sit to talk.

“What exactly do you want from us?” Cicero asks.  “You must know that the people of Tirchond prefer their freedom to the Imperial yoke.”

Sir Alex shrugs.  “We don’t want to take control.  We want support, especially with certain rogue elements of the Imperial Forces.  Look, I’ll be candid: there are Imperial fleets with no central authority out there.  The situation has grown grim, with the Emperor missing for these last few years.  Civil war has come to Forinthia; it’s split into its old components.  Some of the military forces out there have foresworn the Empire, and now operate independently.  What we want is help reigning in these rogue forces.”

“We have no navy or army,” Cicero points out.

Sir Alex nods.  “That isn’t the type of help we want.  What we want is Tirchond’s moral support- we want you to support South Forinthia politically.  We’re most likely to come out on top in the civil war; and you know that whoever wins, they’ll have the power to take you again if they choose.  Help us, and we’ll guarantee that doesn’t happen.”

“Provided you come out on top.”

“Provided we come out on top.”  Sir Alex nods.

Cicero contemplates.  “And what do you want from me?”

“Your vote.  I want you to vote to recognize us as the rightful Forinthian power.”

Cicero sits deep in thought for a time.  Then he says, “I’ll tell you what.  I run a local arena.  If you agree to fight in it, I’ll give you my vote.  You can show the strength of arms of Forinthia.”

Fonzi and Sonti both draw in breaths, but Sir Alex nods and speaks before they have a chance.  “I accept.”

“Done!” cries Cicero, grinning hugely, and they shake on it.  _Now if only I can find the right opponent..._ he thinks.  And he grins, thinking of several options, not the least inviting of which is a tall redhead with two greatswords...


_*Next Time:*_ Something Weird With Estelias!


----------



## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 2, 2003)

Clever plotting going on here...I like it!


----------



## the Jester (Sep 13, 2003)

*Arrangements*

Zeebo first feels an inkling of suspicion when he runs into Estelias twice in an hour and she’s changed clothes, but it doesn’t blossom into full-fledged worry until he runs into her a third time, only ten minutes later, and she’s in yet another outfit.  Worse yet, he tricks her into revealing that she doesn’t know the details of one of the conversations he just had with her.

_Is one- or more- of these an imposter?_ he wonders, and decides to inquire whether anyone else has noticed anything lately.   So he seeks out Adrophillinus the Alienist, who has in common with Estelias and Zeebo both a seat on the Commission on Extraplanar Affairs.

“Have you noticed anything weird going on lately?” Zeebo asks.  “Something seems kind of funny about Estelias.”

“I _always_ see weird things,” the alienist replies tartly.  “There are things, larger minds than we can perceive, squirming in realities beyond our vision.  I see these things, and more!  Yes, I see weird things.  Bah, from the vagaries of space and time our problems are infinitesimal, nothing.  Whatever strange duplicates, _simulacra_ of us exist shall surely amount to nothing in the cosmic scheme, however empowered they become!  And the pseudonatural, squirmous tentacles that extrude from a realm far beyond this one will caress everything we can see with ectoplasmic splendor, coating it all with the madness that spawns from them…!”  Zeebo lets Adrophillinus rave on, but he’s keyed into one thing.

_Empowered_ simulacra, he thinks.  _How brilliant- and dangerous._

At 7:00 pm, Glaxo receives a message from the Thieves’ Guild.  He is to report for guard duty.  The Auction of Shadows starts in an hour.

Cicero, meanwhile, has found his man, the opponent for Sir Alex in Cicero’s Arena.  This man is a dangerous one, a Bleak-worshiper, a friend of evil and chaos and an enemy of all that is light and good. 

”Sure I’ll throw the fight,” Brother Vordos lies.  He grins a shark-like grin, having every intention of gutting that Forinthian bastard and wearing his entrails for jewelry.

Fonzi and Sonti are simultaneously coming up empty while looking for Sir Alex; he’s off meditating and preparing for the coming bout, and they can’t find him.  Frustrated, they return to Cicero’s office and report in.

_Here we go,_ Cicero thinks. 

“Look, I know you guys want Sir Alex to win,” he begins.  “And you ought to know that I’ve turned up a very dangerous opponent, a follower of Bleak.  Well, this is your chance to help show the strength of Forinthia and to help Sir Alex win his fight!  What do you say, you wanna back him up in the arena?  I’m sure I can come up with more opponents for you…”

They agree, and as they leave Cicero exhales softly.  He was afraid he’s overplayed his hand; but no.  They’re going to do it.  Now to talk to Sheva.

The twins go to their friend, Fredrick, and implore him to aid them and- especially- Sir Alex.  “If he dies you have to raise him!” they say.  “Or at least arrange for it!”

“But I can’t,” he tells them.  

“You’ve got to help him!  He could die.  You’ve got to do your part to help Forinthia.”

“I cannot aid you,” Fredrick tells them again, firmly.

“Brother,” Sonti says somberly, “perhaps we should let him go.  We cannot do everything.”

“We can’t just let him die!”

“Maybe,” suggests Fredrick, “he’ll win.”

At the same time, Glaxo looks over a crowd of rough characters, some hooded to conceal their identities.  He recognizes a few faces- Cicero, for instance, and Sheva; but-

Where’s Clambake?


_*Next Time:*_ The Auction of Shadows!


----------



## Mathew_Freeman (Sep 13, 2003)

Looking forward to seeing how the Simulacra Wars affect this game, as well as the others...


----------



## the Jester (Sep 14, 2003)

*The Auction of Shadows*

The Auction of Shadows is almost ready to begin.  Several guards, Glaxo the halfling shadowdancer among them, keep careful watch over the crowd.  The people here are a mean bunch, after a mean bunch of items; and the bidding doubtless will quickly run high on them.  Sheva glances at the first item on the block.  It is called the Box of Shadows, an ominous name.  She studies it from the crowd with one eye; it’s not too big to carry in one hand, and it doesn’t look too remarkable…

“…I’m telling you, you can’t lose!” Cicero enthuses at her.  She turns back to face him, eyes narrowing.

“Let me get this straight.  You want me to fight this Forinthian ambassador?”

“No, no- I already _have_ his opponent ready.  What I want from _you-_” his voice drops- “is to fight against the _spies_ I’ve talked into fighting alongside the ambassador.  You’re tougher than them, I’m sure of it.”

“Why,” Sheva asks drily, “don’t you fight them yourself?”

“I can’t do that!  I’m in a delicate position, I’m in politics, I can’t go around fighting in arenas- only announcing the plays.  And besides, I’m not taking sides for or against Forinthia; I’m neutral.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll help,” Sheva says.  Then they’re interrupted as the auction starts.

The Box of Shadows goes first, and the bidding rises fairly high; it ends up in the hands of a weasely-looking fellow that nobody present recognizes, thanks to Clambake’s absence.  

The second item tears 100,000 gp out of a mean-looking man; it’s a _vorpal sword_, an item of immense power, said to decapitate any foes that it strikes squarely.  Sheva briefly considers bidding on it, but laughs it off as being unrealistic.

Then a hair of Galador is auctioned off; and this time, both Zeebo and Sheva frown at a face they know- Cluma, the Guardian of Order they’ve battled in the past and in Marius’ time loop.

Finally, the Egg of Na’Rat comes up for bid, and Cicero moans, “I’m a fool to do this but it must be done!”  He bids upon it, and another outbids him instantly; and soon they toss growing figures between them until Cicero seizes the egg for the outrageously low sum of only 62,000 gp.

Afterwards, the auction starts to break up.  Cicero asks Sheva to arrange for the Egg’s delivery later from the auction and then hurries away.  “I’ve a fight to conduct!” he shouts, and more than a few of the crowd follow him towards his arena.


_*Next Time:*_ The fight!


----------



## Welverin (Sep 14, 2003)

I'm still around, outside issues have just messed up my reading schedule.


----------



## Technik4 (Oct 4, 2003)

bump...bump....bump.....BUMP!


----------



## the Jester (Oct 10, 2003)

*Cicero's Arena of Death*

"Tonight only- the one and only Forinthian Ambassador, Sir Alex Mayflower, will do battle in the arena against Brother Vordos, self-proclaimed follower of Bleak!  Place your bets!"

The two opponents square off as Cicero works the crowd into a frenzy.  Brother Vordos grins like a shark, making sure to show Sir Alex his teeth.  The ambassador stares hard at the villain opposite him, and when the bell to start the fight dings the two rush together in the center of the arena.  The crowd goes wild as Brother Vordos' axe swings in a tight arc at Sir Alex; but he deflects the blow with the boss of his shield and swings a mighty blow at the Bleakist.  His sword shimmers in the light of the bonfires in the arena, ringing as it glances off Vordos' armor. 

The two dance together awkwardly in their heavy armor, Brother Vordos grinning all the while.  Cicero's calling of the fight seems to favor Vordos at first, but as the evil one presses his attack on the Forinthian it soon becomes clear to the Counselor that he has no intention of throwing the fight as he'd agreed.

_I don't want to get Sir Alex killed,_ Cicero thinks to himself, imagining the potential repercussions, and grimly changes his inspiring announcements to favor the envoy.  By now both men are flecked with blood, cut in several places.  The ring of steel on steel raises the crowd to the heights of blood frenzy, and they shout and holler wildly, a sound like an extremely loud ocean.

Finally Sir Alex wears his enemy down and sticks his blade solidly into Brother Vordos' side.  With a strangled cry, the follower of darkness falls to his knees, his axe tumbling to the ground beside him.  "I yield," he grimaces, holding his bleeding side.  His eyes narrow as he glares at Sir Alex.

Sternly, Sir Alex stares back at Brother Vordos.  With a nod, Alex steps away from the Bleakist.  "Leave my sight," Sir Alex snaps at his vanquished foe as he cleans his blow.

"The winner," calls Cicero from his booth, "Sir Alex Mayflower of Forinthia!"


_*Next Time:*_ Who knows?  We haven't played these guys again yet!    We're all caught up for now; but eventually these guys will come out again, and you'll know about it when it happens!


----------



## weiknarf (May 15, 2004)

please, sir.  may i have another?


----------



## the Jester (May 16, 2004)

weiknarf said:
			
		

> please, sir.  may i have another?





Unfortunately, this story hour is all caught up with the game.  We haven't played this group of pcs in months.  :\ 

If you like this one, though, you can check out Sheva and Zeebo's previous adventures (if you haven't already) in Agents of Chaos.


----------

