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?

---

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

MACALUSO

[groundrules]

Long, startled minutes after his rescue, Macaluso Spina seems uncharacteristically consumed by instinct and impulse, the foot-tapping, finger-rattling urge to act. He is free, for the first time in days, and barely contains himself now that he has been rescued to walk his rooms and calculate his next steps.

He cannot simply present himself before the people, not when they scream to have his grandfather removed from Macaluso and Vannozza's influence. When they think Macaluso himself a beast. Still, frustration absorbs him, and he turns to his rescuers:

"He must be stopped. There is no other end to this." And he exhales, sharper than intended. "He must be stopped."

[blackscales]

"Naturally."

Wrathion is leaned up against a wall, body language affecting casual disinterest but the lines of his face pinched in a frown. Where Macaluso is all movement, energy, frustration, Wrathion has made himself quiet and still -- so that he might better observe. Pick up on clues, piece together the things they still don't know.

"You must distance himself from his actions, make a statement. Decide a path forward. Your people also need action, however. No doubt you care about justice, so do they, but they also care about practicality. Most of their discontent has been the lack of effort to repair damage to their homes. You have a head for figures, if you want them appeased now is surely they time to use it."

[aprescoup]

It seems to him, hands knotting and fingers twined and knuckles white-faint that whatever emboldened the people to act now should steer them well back to their senses.

"This is a fever. On the streets, they have a... a sickness. They will wake up from it tomorrow. Like from their wine. And then? What good is a statement then?"

[blackscales]

"Given that many of them don't seem to even fully understand what happened to lead up to this, or what happened to you to put you here, I think a statement would do a lot of good -- but if you have another idea already, please do share."

Wrathion makes an expansive gesture with one hand, folds his arms again thoughtfully. He seems focused on action, which is good if he picks the right actions.

[aprescoup]

This seems to still him, eyes bright and only fractionally lost. A statement. "What... what do I say to them?"

The people, watching, no longer waiting, banging at his gates. He looks out of golden windows and sees men who have never grasped enough bread crumbs to feed their children.

"What is there left to say?" No, worse. "What was there ever to say?"

[blackscales]

Wrathion considers that a long moment, head tilting back against the wall and brow furrowing in thought.

"I met the men who lead the rebels -- a healer and a lawyer. They believed, strongly, in Taravast. Taravast has always been safe, they told me. Bonaccorso has always been fair. Surely, he has become distracted by these political games? If only they could plead their case, surely he would listen?"

His eyes slide back to Macaluso again, and Wrathion gestures to the window.

"Now they have been betrayed. Outside these walls, fire rains down on your people. Their belief has been shattered. They want to know, what good is the conclave? Why did nobody stop this? What will you do now? They need organisation, practicality. Food and water to be distributed, dead to be buried, homes to be repaired. They need to know that you will not betray them, that this place will be safe again. That you will listen to what they say."

He pauses, considering.

"They suggested to me," he says finally, "a people's conclave, to help the interests of the people be heard. They may ask for that again."

[aprescoup]

"A people's conclave," he whispers and chases Wrathion with a tired glance, wavered. He seems, for a man not yet in his third decade, suddenly and inexplicably worn to the last spoonful of marrow in his bones. "What do you think the existing conclave is? If not people? And to make another, so that the new conclave might become as the old?"

The restlessness in him appears to dissipate, to settle. He raises a hand as if to stay whatever objection Wrathion has not even had the chance to whisper. "I have heard of this. Of people's voices. Elections. We have the piazza. We have... we have so many interests."

He counts them now, on his fingers: "Necromancers, witches, merchants, politicians, healers... we are a good citadel. A good people. This is Taravast, we are the sons of greatness. But we were born of many mothers. Can everyone's voices be heard without drowning someone else's?"

[binghua]

Despite whatever opinion he may have of Macaluso, Xingchen is glad the man has been rescued, or at least not immediately slated for the execution block. He probably didn't deserve that kind of punishment, though Xingchen can't say for sure if he doesn't deserve one at all. That's not important right now.

Instead, they are on the same page when it comes to Bonaccorso. "He must. What he has been trying to do behind closed doors is a benefit only to himself. Not to you, not to your cousin, and not to the people under his care." The people he now, mindlessly, showers with fire and vitriol. The people he would rather make disappear than actually try to understand. "What would you have become of him, if given the chance?"

[aprescoup]

It seems nearly to startle him in his step, as if Macaluso has plainly considered every possibility but the one that calls him alone to action.

"I don't..." Know. He doesn't know, never knew. So many years, wasted in uncertainty. He inhales, exhales, rolls his shoulders into a sketch of posture. "This is my chance. This is when I choose. And what if I choose poorly?"

[foxable]

Fox twitches on his own, watching Macaluso with a worried and knotted brow, fiddling with something in his pocket. For him, however, this is hardly new - he is forever twitching - but his gaze still seems pointed and worried.

"Look, um - you need to take a breath. Yeah? Just sit down for a minute. I'll make you something, okay? Before you start talking about how righteous murder is the only option."

He takes out a little bag from his pocket filled with tea leaves, and goes looking around for something he can brew in. No fire required - as long as it's ceramic or metal, he'll be able to heat it. He's just hoping not to use a chamber pot.

"Do you really think that stopping him alone would end all of this?"

[aprescoup]

"...murder? Who spoke of murder?" This, aggravated, lost. He stops only enough to gesture, a little too wild for comfort.

"He - he must be stopped. I did not say... is this the accusation? Because of that? You must know, I never intended him harm. Yes, I took the knife, I had the knife, it was on me. I always carry a knife, any gentleman will." He seems distraught enough to wave to his sash, where the empty sheath sleeps.

"He angered me. But I would not have used it."

[foxable]

Finding a decorative vase, Fox picked it up and muttered a couple words as he ran his hand over it. A tattoo under his clothes glowed out of sight, and the heat from his hand sanitized the vase. Probably.

He paused, though, looking back at Macaluso with genuine surprise.

“Wait - that wasn’t where you were going with this? Really? I feel like everyone here starts getting really dramatic and then suddenly murder is a viable option, it’s like being in a fucking noir film or something. I am way more on board with stopping him without killing anyone. So what is your idea?”

[aprescoup]

"I..." This, then, is the trouble of him — bright-eyed and smooth-tongued and easily fascinated by arts and sciences and the beautiful turns of phrases of master orators. He has thrived in foreign courts, loved to hear and learn the differences between civilizations. He has been, in all things, a man of notions.

...but not plans. Not concrete, final recourses. "I don't know. I've never had to ponder ousting family before."

Even with Vannozza, he had intended to compete fairly, equitably, without bloodshed.

[wooden_one]

He gave the man a sidelong glance.

"Was there ever any question about that?" He doesn't mean to be cruel--he wasn't even trying to be cold or mean. But he's not good at showing concern and (he feels) he lacks the gentleness needed to comfort someone.

So his expression is as cold as before and it makes him sound almost judgemental.

...but in the next second he sighs. "There is much to be done. A lot of it will fall on your shoulders."

[aprescoup]

Never a question, only an increasing, blood-curdling and stomach-turning inevitability. Macaluso Spina prefers debate to destruction, contemplation to heedless action. He passes his eyes over Chu Wanning and seems, for a moment, intent on retaliating with a biting answer.

Then, carefully, "What do you believe I can do now? I am the prisoner of their beloved Doxe. They let me to be tried by him. Who will stand with me?"

[wooden_one]

He's quiet for a moment and thinks, perhaps he had judged Macaluso too harshly. It was wrong to just throw blame at his foreign suitors, but no person is perfect.

At least, he seems to want to do what's best for the city. For that much, Chu Wanning's gaze softens just a little.

"Speak the truth and there will be those who will listen and know it is true." Still, there may be few of them, he knows this as well. "Maybe not everyone will care. Maybe those who find the truth inconvenient will continue to lie. But the truth is important and it is the only way to save the people from the man who would sacrifice them to keep his power."

And maybe that was difficult, but things worth doing alwa楚wanning. "At least, if you choose to stand against him, I will stand with you."

[aprescoup]

"The truth..." he whispers, and seems to look at the walls, his hands, the empty, bloodshot skies that peer past his windows corseted by golden filigree. His breathing tempers, like any bird awed by the sullen brilliance of her cage.

"Once, I believed truth and intentions sufficed." But they have not. Look at him, at his surroundings. At what has become of him. "I do not think all men listen to reason."

This... seems to have only now stricken him.

[wooden_one]

"...no, sometimes they do not."

It had been years since he was the fifteen year old first stepping out of Wubei Temple, who returned and told his teacher that the world wasn't a utopia as he'd been taught. The people are suffering and they could do so much good if they left the mountain.

He had thought truth was what was missing, that if his teacher just knew he would go help.

That belief had been crushed pretty quickly.

And in the aftermath of that, he'd been left to deal with the fallout on his own. He hopes that won't be repeated in this person (because it hurt so damn much).

"You were not wrong, to try to use words to solve the problem first." He turned to face the man directly. "Even if not all men will listen to reason, it is still important to speak up, to try for a peaceful resolution, but it is not turning back on your beliefs to take up arms either."

[aprescoup]

"As they have on the streets? Taking weapons to no purpose, no end in sight?" What have they achieved, but to aggrieve his grandfather? To burn down their own homes, condemn themselves to further losses?

"I think we have attempted every weapon: my words, and now the sword." A graceful conflation for the makeshift arsenals scattered across the city. From his poor vantage, Macaluso can nearly spy men with pitchforks.

"And still my grandfather has won."

[valeas]

"In this, we are united and you have my support."

Emilia comes to Macaluso not draped in fineries, but a uniform and apron that belongs to one of the kitchen staff. She's far more comfortable and familiar with this, in truth, than what her role has required of her.

"Are you prepared for that?"

All her plotting and her schemes. The dreadful things she's been willing to do in the pursuit of her mission. None if it has involved going up against her family. Her own blood. She simply can't imagine it.

[aprescoup]

A simple rescue, a straightforward recourse after. He knows what signals they await, knows what is expected of him. To bleed a man is candid business, foe or friend or kin or kind.

But he is not Vannozza. He does not wear her skirts, her composure. He cannot pretend easy cruelties.

"I thought I was, and now I wonder." He stops, shudders. Sees her. "I thought I knew who I was, and now I wonder."

Life is never as men intend it. It burns itself, and burns them also. "I am sorry. You have rescued a fool."

[valeas]

His anguish is so palpable that it brings her to stillness.

Emilia never did trust his earnestness, too full of betrayals and bruises to take it at face value in the midst of so much political deceit. But perhaps she is truly seeing him, as well, for all that it is too late to see.

"I know a thing or two of foolishness, you highness. And wondering."

With no time to spare, at that. A kinder world would allow for these uncertainties. A moment, just a moment, to catch breath and heart. To be ready. But they are not in such a world, and it wouldn't be a kindness to lie.

"Some part of you will always wonder. It will break your heart and churn your stomach. There will be nights where it feels unbearable. Your wonderings will matter little in the face of what you do."

[aprescoup]

"And what do I do?" he asks, and sounds to his own ear, childish. He is intended to have answers, possibilities, open doors. He has been raised for this, if nothing else: privilege. If he cannot claim it for his birthright, if he cannot hold his head high and know his direction, what use is he, as a soldier of the administration, a leader?

He thinks, foolishly, if he had an answer, any answer — perhaps even one he might blame on others, after — if he could but cheat and take no personal accountability for his fate or that of those around him -

"What would you do?"

[valeas]

Thing is, he's asking the woman who went straight to hell to preserve the mortal realm and protect what she loves. Her determination and ambition know little bounds, and it flares in her eyes as they meet his in warning.

"I would trust in myself to take the hand I've been dealt and play it to my favor. I'd prepare to do and sacrifice what I must in the pursuit of my mission. I would lead as if my life and everyone else's depends on it. Because it does."

There would be room for little else.

[aprescoup]

He means to stop her, to object, to stay her nuisance — but then comes the word, the only word, and his brows perk, his chin tips up. He is arrogant, in the way of his asking, but also briskly hopeful.

If she knows so much, she will know this, and she will afford him a fine and joyful answer.

"What would you sacrifice for that which you want?"