the coup

[groundrules]

Hello to our last Big Event of the year, covering 2-22 December and also subbing as our test drive.

Current players can play here or make separate logs & network posts. TDM tourists are confined to this playground, but can include network prompts in their top levels.

If you’re trialling a character, you can apply them until 21 December without a game invite. TDM characters can participate in the sign-up quests without taking up a slot, but cannot vote for event outcomes.

DO YOU HEAR THE PEOPLE SING?

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Taravast’s civilians take to spirited protests and seize the Palace of the Doxe. They intend to redirect Doxe Bonaccorso Spina’s attention and resources to his people, livelihoods suffered in recent undead attacks. The Merchant sends ‘help’ to oust the Doxe.

Amid the chaos, Vannozza Spina seeks to apprehend her grandfather. Her cousin Macaluso, Bonaccorso’s prisoner, can be liberated. Outgunned, outmanned and outnumbered, Bonaccorso orders the city burned down.


TDM TOURISTS | OLD TIMERS | COMMON: THE COUP | NOTES

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TDM TOURISTS: THE BARREN BONES

You wake up in shallow water, other supine bodies beside you. The nearby occupants of a desert outpost greet you with a coarse translation and communication device and introduce you to their leader, the Merchant. He rescues otherworlders who were summoned to serve as weapons for warring undead factions, sending them east — where forgotten beacons can return them home.

A. A FRIEND IN NEED

Unconscious new arrivals are delivered every few days, recovered from the dunes. They are submerged in oasis waters. Some characters wake weaker of body and mind, struggling to focus their thoughts or their supernatural abilities — effects that recede within one-three days. Others are plagued by a drowning sensation for one-two days.

■ Help fellow newcomers as they regain their strength with sparring, a calming voice or a warm meal.

■ Newcomers must share tents and carry out camp tasks: hold the night watch, man fires, kill viper nests and excessively large scorpions or, fate help everyone if you’re related to Xie Lian, cooking.

B. A FRIEND IN DEED

Soon enough, the Merchant reveals more otherworlders are assigned in the nearby magical citadel of Taravast, which is on the brink of civil uprising against the ruling Doxe Bonaccorso Spina. Your fellows need you, cavalry.

The Merchant sends the fresh conscripts on a three-day journey to Taravast across a desert canyon, granting supplies, horses or seats in shared carts.

■ Fresh horses wait at specific landmarks, but some suppliers trade steeds for the better coin of rich merchants evacuating Taravast. If you end up stranded, find help.

■ Weather forecast: frequent, cruel sand storms that challenge even expert riders. Collect anyone who gets lost in the dunes — particularly near wild cougars.

■ Some Taravast refugees crowd or pretend accidents to loot your horses. A select few diplomatic convoys offer assistance, or try to confiscate your rides.

» THE LOUD CROWD

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OLD TIMERS: THE STREETS, RALLYING

Dissenting necromancers, healers and civilians begrudge Doxe Bonaccorso’s failure to ensure their safety and distribute repairs funds fairly. Many believe that Bonaccorso has been manipulated by Macaluso and Vannozza.

The initially peaceful protests exacerbate into after several days: demonstrators frequently come to blows with city guards around the 20:00 evening curfew. Protesters carry sharp and blunt weapons, small explosive talismans or banners. Some are ghost-summoning necromancers, others are sorcerers who command a small array of elemental spells.

■ Protesters try to enthusiastically conscript passers-by to their cause. Some assume characters leaving the Doxe Palace are nobility and try to kidnap and ransom them for an audience with Bonaccorso.

■ Merchants and the last few of Macaluso’s foreign suitors begin their exodus from Taravast and ask you to serve as escort in exchange for compensation.

■ Palace guards retaliate with disproportionate violence when they catch crowds without magic users or experienced combatants. Rescue some demonstrators — but prepare to run — or scout the streets so they can escape.

■ The clashes separate some Taravast residents from food, commodities and healers. Be a friend.

■ In rare good news, protesters share with Wrathion and Slick their battle and coordination signs and passcodes.

■ Some crowd contingents are less spirited about this endeavour — try talking them out of this revolution business.

■ Characters without powers or weapons can resort to the arsenal Wrench and Aang recovered from looters: daggers, maces, swords, bows and five-six man-sized water serpents, who heed those who first summon them out of their Poke balls.

» » THE BANNER MUST ADVANCE

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ALL TOGETHER NOW: THE BARRICADES

Within a week of the first demonstrations, the protesters and Doxe Bonaccorso’s guards have devolved into vicious and regular violence. Civilian demonstrators have been joined by many necromancers wielding fresh corpses, minor sorcerers, healers and a handful of expert combatants, assigned by sympathetic gentry. Bonaccorso’s men conduct regular inspections and arrests. The demonstrators meanwhile set traps of magical ice and explosives.

Led by the lawyer Giacomo Zanardo and the healer Sebastiano Bianchi, the mob seeks to storm the Palace of the Doxe and persuade Bonaccorso back to his senses, which have surely been corrupted by his absent nephew Macaluso and niece Vannozza.

RISE ONE, RISE ALL

Existing characters are soon joined by fresh reinforcements. Everyone receives the Merchant’s transmission:

”It has emerged, vocally, that Doxe Bonaccorso Spina no longer serves the interests of his city, his people or our contingent. The most efficient recourse is to depose him. How, and whether you choose to instate one of his successors, is of no consequence to me. I send a wave of our new otherworldly associates to assist you. Fair fortune.”

■ Zanardo and Bianchi organise a last bout of midnight merrymaking before the Palace attack at dawns. Meet your reinforcements at a… large, cold, rudimentarily decorated warehouse in one of Taravast’s dodgiest district. Close your eyes and smell the salted fish.

■ Old and new characters can collect further plain weapons from rioters. Slick receives command of five NPC protesters.

■ Pacifists can scout the Palace of the Doxe to report back the watch patterns, or try to persuade servants to open the gates.

■ Come dawns, protesters seize the Palace, meeting fresh waves of Bonaccorso’s guards in the gardens before advancing inside.

■ The Merchant informs Eleven and Shen Qingqiu they are required back in Taravast. He cuts a deal with local warlord Anurr, who supplies two transporters orbs that will transport the duo immediately.

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PARALLEL QUESTS (OPEN TO ALL)

Because of overlapping timelines, your character can only be signed up for one of the three following missions. Each quest will be capped at 15 characters: first come, first served. You can vote on game polls irrespective of what mission your character pursues.

NOTE: TDM tourists can participate in the quests and do not need to sign up. They can include prompts for one of the parallel quests in their top-level prompts, or can tag around. However, TDM tourists don't qualify for the NPC RNG draw and cannot vote on Bonaccorso's fate.


A. LET IT BUUUUUURN, LET IT BURN

Counting the last hours of his reign, Doxe Bonaccorso Spina takes to the great balcony of his Palace to address the masses:

”My people, my loved ones. Twenty-two years ago, I came before you, a man ruined: my son and my daughter taken from me. Is there any pain greater than burying your children? Only today: to see the blood of your blood and the blood of your nation, united against you. To know your nephew made weapon of a blade and your niece of her gold, and your people are indiscriminate in their arsenal. You tear down my doors, sirs! You bloody my halls! And when you stand against your Doxe, you stand against Taravast. And why? Because I turned my eye from you for scant moments. Spoiled! Shameless! All I ever intended were more years in your service. For we must strike a permanent truce with the dead. To survive. Know that even now, I see you: you are strong, gifted, beautiful. How it breaks my heart to know I must bury my children again.”
After this, Bonaccorso orders the 20 court witches of Bessis currently at the Palace rain down fire from the northern and southern towers, unto the masses.

■ Current Bessis leader Margherita Moretti is instructed to call her sister witches to Taravast’s greater walls, where they might direct further fire upon all who oppose Bonaccorso.

■ Ten witches will climb each Palace tower, targeting protesters. Sign up and discuss how characters can slip the witches sleeping herbs with their water, kill them, feign fresh orders from Moretti, etc.

■ The witches of Bessis have historically received the patronage of the imprisoned Macaluso. Many recently retreated from court, embittered by Bonaccorso’s support for the rival Attaryl. Moretti is reasonable, if loyal, and possesses a conscience. She rides out to bring further Bessis assistance.

■ Team up, pursue and capture Moretti down the chaotic streets of Taravast. Two characters — chosen on 10 December through RNG draw from the signed-up crew — can participate in a NPC thread to talk her down.

B. OFF WITH THE OLD MAN’S HEAD

Informed by Wrath and Wen Qing’s faction that her grandfather prepared to possess her body, Vannozza Spina moves to apprehend Bonaccorso.

Following his speech, the Doxe holes up in his quarters, guarded by several dozen Attaryl witches — masters of illusions, telekinesis and mind control. They will try to briefly steal or dim characters’ senses, thrall them into seeing their allies as enemies and crumble walls and statues upon them. The witches are easily defeated through physical means.

■ Characters can charge in militarily or infiltrate by presenting as palace staff or Attaryl reinforcements. Those who previously assisted servants can receive spare uniforms and directions. Sign up here.

■ In-game characters can vote until 15 December to decide Bonaccorso’s fate. Two characters drawn via RNG can share a NPC thread for a short discussion with him. Wen Qing and Wrath can optionally have a separate talk thread, given their participation in Vannozza’s plotline.

C. SAVE THE HIMBO, SAVE THE WORLD

Macaluso Spina’s attempt to persuade his Doxe grandfather of the merits of retirement condemned him to house arrest, awaiting trial on charges of assassination. He is secluded in his wing of the Palace of the Doxe, guarded by two dozens of Bonaccorso’s men and by illusion traps devised by Attaryl witches.

Characters can hear footsteps, men giving chase, the muffled voices of Macaluso or their companions, all unseen. A mirrored hall leads you back to its beginning, as your reflection mocks you — until you break a mirror.

■ Characters who have helped Palace servants can receive tips on guard numbers and locations, or corridor shortcuts.

■ Sign up here. Two characters picked via RNG draw on 10 December can share a NPC thread to discuss Macaluso’s next steps. Alina Starkov can have an optional separate thread, for her involvement in Macaluso’s plot so far.

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QUESTIONS

TEST DRIVERS

OLD TIMERS

Comments

[chosenbylight]

[Anduin flashes the other man a sheepish smile. He supposes that it must be obvious, for him to ask in such a way, though he has to wonder what exactly it is that he sees in him to make him ask.

Still...]

I arrived in the city itself only a few days ago. I must say that it has certainly been quite the introduction.

[He turns back to the elder's leg, gently running his hands along the line of his calf to try and determine whether the bone has been broken or not, before holding his hand over the limb and calling on the Light to heal him. A gentle, golden glow surrounds Anduin, concentrating on the hand he has hovering over the elder's leg.

The whole spell takes only a few moments before Anduin opens his eyes back up again and gives the old man a gentle smile.]

There we are. Good as new.

[downswing]

( The elder heals, sparks and glow and abstract lines of light and a game of blinks — this is magic, born of mystery. Lan Wangji could attempt to grasp the specifics of the art and waste a lifetime at a master's feet. For the young man to complete his work so effortlessly after bearing the brunt of the city's demands for 'a few days' now — he is skilled. Must be skilled, or fortunate, or endlessly resourced in the way of child-cultivators possessed of a deeper-rooted core than their body can churn through in aimless exercise.

They've done well to select him, whoever's hand reaped him from thieved worlds. May he soon be returned, like an ill-placed rice bowl.

At long last, the elder groans again, in the rusty baritone of a man unaccustomed to speak, knowing he will not be heard. Better, when the body frails itself and all that lingers of meat is thin skins bound to the bone, that he should make himself small, humble, unobtrusive. Understandable. And he thanks them, but seems ill at ease to loiter, as if he fears the young man will reconsider and rescind the gift of his healing, or perhaps that one — if not both — of his benefactors will now invent a charge.

When Lan Wangji opens his door, it's with a slow hand, collecting one of the pre-packaged bags of pastries held out for the day's display. It is no theft, if the true owner will never return to claim the goods. And they will spoil and rot within days, besides.

Alone, Wangji turns, stares, absorbs the particulars of the young man's face until novelty and oddity become familiarity. Then, he nods his greeting. )

You wear a name.

( Consider sharing it with the man who also did not volunteer his own name. )

[chosenbylight]

[Anduin watches the elder all but run out the door away from him -- though he does not take offense to it. He understands that not everyone is comfortable around magic, especially those who might not understand how it might work. The Light does not discriminate against whether a person Believes in it or not. He is happy to have been able to help him either way.

He pushes himself to his feet and dusts off his knees, stretching a little and taking in a deep breath to collect himself. That little bit of magic was not too much of a stretch, but he has been doing this all day, and it is starting to wear on him.

He glances up at the question, smiling softly at the phrasing of it as he does.]

Anduin. My name is Anduin.

[He tilts his head at the other man.]

And you...?

[downswing]

( And he, a mote of dust, well-travelled. He feels compact, condensed. Too much for the chewing, the spitting, the breathing. A hardened thing, weighted. If he attempted to run now —

But he is still, breath-still, grave silent. The stubborn heat of fresh explosion, exacerbated by wizardry fire, warms the glass under his hand even here, at distance. The blunt moons of his nails rattle it, scratch. He turns once more, and this time, Anduin stands before him: a fresh face, withered by artisanal exhaustion. So deprived of rest and sleep, shadow wrinkles find even the cheeks and eyes of babes.

A better man might presume to ask Anduin if he can be relieved of service, but Wangji's healing qi is a crude instrument, ever best directed towards arts of hostility. It crackles mute and mired in the rush of it, the hunger to raid the streets again and meet blood with blood, shed streams on whimsy.

An animal would do so. He is here, tame. Courteous: )

Wangji, sect Lan. We came of Sa-Hareth. ( And the longest, most anemic pause. ) There, too, we were instruments of bloodshed.

[chosenbylight]

[Anduin muses slightly at the other man's curious turn of phrase. It reminds him a little of Velen, of his time with the August celestials, the careful choice of words and the sometimes delicate dance around a direct statement.

He hesitates a moment, before shaking his head slightly. He's considered what the other man has said to him, but he doesn't truly understand the whole of it.]

I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't follow you. Sa-Hareth, was that... Another city?

[Anduin offers a somewhat apologetic smile.] The Merchant did not offer much explanation before he sent us on our way to you. I suppose he did not think it necessary.

[downswing]

( 'Cities,' they name them. Jewelled citadels, the crowning glory of a foreign, ill bloomed civilisation. Spores of mould and plague, to Lan Wangji's tongue, but then perhaps it is better for a people to be sundered by the plain and visible wounds of the dead, assaulting, than by the tendrils of lace-bound corruption their festering gentry perpetuates.

But that is a bitter thing, and, perched still at the edge of the store, inspecting the curious play of splintered bright colours that blink brightness back from displays of confections — Lan Wangji must learn to be gentle and sweet. He must anticipate and accept thawing of the self, a rejection of his edges.

He offers Anduin the first peace token in a rasped but moderate voice: )

A frozen merchant fortress. ( Lost in a sea so gelid and stale-stormed, waves boasted thick translucence. ) Consumed by two dead legions. One vanquished before we fled. ( It stings, ginger and peppered spice in the back of his mouth, the acrid truth of it, what they allowed to pass, failed to prevent: ) Anurr now holds the citadel.

[chosenbylight]

[Anduin is grateful for the break from the endless stream of healing the wounded, here in this strange makeshift hospital that they have set up. He wonders how long the other man has been here -- it seems like it must have been some time, the way he speaks of this place.

A frozen fortress consumed by two dead legions. A frozen fortess of the dead which their forces were forced to flee from. To here, he wonders? From one disaster to the next...

Anduin frowns at that thought.]

Anurr... The other undead legion you spoke of?

[downswing]

( The nod is a sketch, prematurely aborted. In Cloud Recesses, an exaggeration of gesture is profligacy by any other name — Lan Wangji need not forget his childhood courtesies, only for having strayed into another world.

And he is tired past bone, into marrow. A stiffness chokes his throat and walks his spine, keeps his back arrested in a firm, unyielding line. He remembers home, lacquered floors, crisp grass blades and the gentle steps of disciples, never running. Taking instruction, while Wangji dictates in a voice as mild-weathered as this: )

Correct. ( No reward forthcoming. ) A son and vessel of the biting wind.

( Empowered by it, and strengthening it in return, in a curious cyclical relationship Lan Wangji cannot pretend to comprehend. )

Should have executed alongside his rival. We neglected to.

( Scurried like rats, a literal vessel drowned. )

[chosenbylight]

[Anduin frowns, nodding himself in as he tries his best to follow along with the explanation. His own movements may be exaggerated by Lan Wangji's standards, but there's also perhaps a telltale straightness in the way that he holds himself -- back straight, shoulders back, so on and so forth -- that speaks of his own set of manners drilled into him from infancy. A prince does not slouch. A warrior holds himself tall. A king looks his fellows in the eye.

He's trying very hard not to admit who or what he is, but he cannot help the way that some pieces of himself give some of it away regardless.]

Much like the circumstances we find ourselves in now, no path has a clear way forward. I imagine that you did your best with what you were given at the time.

[downswing]

( There are slivers and shrapnel of kindness in a heart so quick to spy excuses of mercy, where Lan Wangji'd hindsight only identifies negligence. They were indifferent to Anurr then, quick to assume his insignificance. A deadened, scantly supported creature, his recourses barren — no better than crumbling, husked bark.

But his roots grew strong, while they turned their heads and bared their throats and fought his enemies on Anurr's behalf, unknowing. And then, the death lord suffocated them. )

We know nothing then. ( A pause, then reedy and cold like shaved ice: ) We know little now.

( And yet they lead and entangle themselves in the petty, ill-stoked conflicts of a people they intend to abandon without stewarding them towards peace, once the coup they have assisted is done. They are cruel in this, shallow, irresponsible. Children, playing at godhood. )

Perhaps today's war is not ours to carry out.

[chosenbylight]

[Anduin crosses the room towards the window, crossing his arms across his chest as he gazes out towards the street beyond. He understands Lan Wangji's sentiment. As a priest of the Church of the Light himself, it is not easy for him to bring himself to violence. He is a man who truly believes in peace and justice. It is why he finds himself here in this hospital, rather than out on the streets himself. Still...]

I suppose that depends on your motivations for participating.

[He glances aside towards the other man, offering him a soft smile. He does look tired, and he is happy to offer him this shelter here for as long as he should need it.]

These people -- like the man you brought in. Where would they be left, without our assistance? Is it fair to say that we should not treat a wound because it was not caused by our enemy? Where do we draw the line?