westwhere | serthica: war & peace

serthica: war & peace

Clockwork Serthica’s arrival event stretches til around 3 September. You’re welcome to hit up this log or make your own entries. Characters not assigned to a region can still access it, as long as they’re discreet.

Please share cool plot clues via network — and have fun!

WAR & PEACE

SUMMARY: The Merchant assigns the group to determine if the dead lurk within Serthica’s adversarial halves. Eidris and Minaras hold a summit to normalise trade within Serthica’s elusive Neutral Zone — while a resistance movements attempts to capture Minaras lead figure Arabella. In Eidris, locals must calm a maddened dragon and her cohort and retrieve her hatching eggs. Minaras hosts its eerie civic indoctrination that seeks to extirpate physical and moral decay.

FAIR FORTUNE | SWITZERLAND | EIDRIS: THERE BE DRAGONS | MINARAS: EYES ON YOU

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FAIR FORTUNE

The party at sea is smuggled into Serthica with help from false passport papers secured by their Mouse House companions. The two groups meet at Serthica’s port customs, in time for the Merchant’s private transmission:

”Good afternoon. I salute and thank the efforts of our recent additions. You performed exceptionally.

You will hear Serthica is sundered by war, sickness and irreconcilable differences. In truth, she is likely divided by the interests of those who weaponise fear and manipulate opportunity.

In Eidris, they claim Minaraians are not human. In Minaras, they speak the same of Eidris. Disgust, dismay and paranoia have created a… system of profound physical avoidance. If this is mere fearmongering, it is distasteful, but inconsequential. However… if one of the citadel’s halves has succumbed to the dead, who now know to feign they yet live… this marks a dire escalation. You must study this.

Your transportation beacon sleeps in the holy grounds of Vassarizhia. It will light within months, when the Heart’s clock quiets for its annual winding. You may visit the grounds during the upcoming trade summit.

While in Serthica, your only objectives are to survive until the beacon’s eye opens, and to discover the dead present. I pray but question you will prevail.”

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SWITZERLAND

After a lengthy inspection of their passport papers, the party is steered towards the Sanctuary of Serthica’s Neutral Zone — a vast institute near Serthica’s great clock tower. Here, representatives of Eidris and Minaras assemble at midday for peaceful negotiations to improve distant trade relations.

■ The Merchant recommends mingling to broaden your investigation into Serthica’s dead. Even Minaras leading figurehead Arabella will attend.

■ For peace-keeping, entrants to the Sanctuary must surrender their weapons or allow them to be sealed, if they want to carry them in. Weapons are released on departure. Physical enhancements that characters cannot remove (ex: vampire fangs) are excepted.

■ Those who are unwilling to give up or seal their weapons can head on to Eidris and Minaras.

■ Summit attendants receive badges reflecting their Serthica identities, or can divert the greeting droid and liberate the insignia of a delayed delegation. Higher-ranking badges earns you more lenient treatment and higher security clearance.

■ Eidris attendants receive golden armbands or scarves, those of Minaras dark blue.

■ In bustling halls, officials negotiate grain exchanges, new train railways, the currency exchange rate and the saddening conditions of Mouse House exiles. Alas, if only someone (not them) could help.

■ Those drafted into the talks are toasted with a green, mint-like potion — an unadvertised truth serum intended to keep negotiations honest. The potion’s effects last two to four hours, compelling truth but not speech. But do talk: candour wins answers.

■ Artisans display their finest novelty items in the main reception hall. Aggressively enthusiastic traders seek testers and investors for their wares — potent opiates, goggles that show you the world in 10 years’ time, even detailed plans for luxury teahouses offering droid companionship. Extricate yourself with as much coin and dignity as possible.

SLEEP, CHILD, SLEEP

■ The great clock of the Neutral Zone strikes 18:00, triggering a light three-minute earthquake and the rise of nocturnal Minaras.

■ The Sanctuary loses all electric power. As servants rush for candles, you might notice some native summit delegates behave peculiarly: their eyes look glassy, faces trapped in an expression of comical, exaggerated dismay. Many are frozen in tense positions. Others move in sluggish, uncoordinated and jerky spasms. One might catch your wrist and attempt to speak in staggered, guttural croaks.

■ Lights return once the earthquake finishes. Locals resume regularly and do not seem to have noticed any erratic behaviour.

SLEEP, CHILD, SLEEP
CONTENT WARNING: TERROR ATTACK

■ Starting her speech, Arabella of Minaras calls a tribute for those lost to the great Culling sickness that struck Serthica mere years before. The vigil is interrupted by a fusillade of rifle shots fired from outside, through the Sanctuary’s wall-long windows.

■ The bullets exclusively target Minaras delegates and do not contain gunpowder, but a thickened, pale liquid. Once shot, those wounded experience a hysterical, incontrollable terror and the certainty that their greatest fear is hunting them. Many of the shot delegates develop an instant flight response and seek to claw their way out of the Sanctuary, with no care for whom they trample in their path. This terror lasts 30-60 minutes. Please content warn if you graphically describe your character’s greatest fear.

■ As rifle gunshots die down, a voice from outside introduces the Remembrance coalition, pledging safety if the summit surrenders Arabella.

■ The Sanctuary activates emergency measures: protective magical wards start to slowly reinforce, while attendants risk their lives to return characters’ weapons.

■ You could team up and help Arabella’s few remaining guards to escort her to safety in Minaras. Drop a line if you take this route.

■ Outside, you find the Sanctuary’s grounds have been drenched in a thick fog that barely allows you to see steps ahead. Your senses dull, and you are gradually prone to sleep — while masked men close in with rifles and vicious droid hunting hounds.

■ Help Sanctuary guards take out the assailants — and submit your character for a RNG draw to interrogate a lone captive.

■ Characters who later investigate the Sanctuary can find some of its windows have been very carefully pricked, fissured or even minutely holed, easing the way for attack.

Crawl back to your home base in Eidris or Minaras — you need the beauty sleep.

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EIDRIS | THERE BE DRAGONS

Eidris’s relaxed atmosphere might balm your rattled nerves after the Sanctuary’s disasters. Startled citizens gather to offer you help settling in, while dragons seek you out to curl up and nuzzle.

Eidris is governed by natural order and harmony, achieved through firm etiquette, consideration and reminders to slow down. You can hole up in a room in one of the many abandoned and repurposed villas, or group up to take a whole house. Local technology is a blend of mechanical gears and magic that substitutes fuels. Sorcerers are frequent, boastful and admired.

Dig deeper, and you’ll find the people of Eidris are unwilling to linger on negative experiences and gradually lose memory of them. If queried, many natives have normalised intermittent amnesia, with some using their link to their dragons to stay anchored in the present.

■ Acclimate to your roles in Eidris and enjoy the sweet welcome of neighbourly gifted meals and knitwear and a personal, signed letter of support from king Thivar.

■ Eidris prepares for the rare hatching of dragon eggs, lain by the beautiful fire-breathing Aiva — one of the fewer martial dragons used by Eidris’ military. Two weeks into your stay (around 25 August, forward date at will), word spreads that Aiva’s mate has been deeply injured by a Minaras scouting ship during the 6:00-7:00 overlap period when the two citadel halves are both overground.

■ A panicked, distrustful Aiva collects her silver-shelled eggs from the formal nest quarters, hiding them on the rooftops or in the balconies of tall, dangerous buildings. Several other martial dragons assist Aiva by guarding these hideaways until the young dragons can hatch.

■ Eidris calls back most transport dragons to avoid altercation with their fire-breathing, paranoid brethren. This might strand some riders on the nearest decrepit rooftop, while testy dragons fly by. They don’t initiate attack, but are more prone to warning tail sweeps or light charring, if you come close.

■ Dragon lord Cain d’Ubiq urges riders that can reconnect with their dragons to help retrieve the 1m, 50-kg eggs and deliver them back to the dragon grounds nest before they hatch by sundown — terrorising the baby dragons that wake alone and ripping into local architecture. Other riders are needed to spread a trail of deep incense smoke in the air that can soothe dragons from their outburst. Lend a hand!

■ Characters who enlisted for dragon riding on arrival could be middling riders by this point.

■ Aiva’s children hatch moments before the clock ticks 18:00 and Minaras also surges overground. Characters linked to a dragon feel the birth: first as an overwhelming exuberance, then as an all-consuming and irrational dread that briefly reduces them to inexplicable tears.

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MINARAS | EYES ON YOU

A sharp departure from Eidris’ laissez-faire is watchful Minaras, where citizens obsess with schedules, orderliness and time — as if every second is both borrowed and wasted.

Newcomers can choose between one-person 2.5x2.5m ‘sleep units’ in packed industrial homes, or pool funds to rent small refurbished alcoves that once served as hospital or science halls. Space is a luxury, silence a myth: helper droids constantly fuss after their masters, steam engines cough outside, and the gentle thrum on the streets betrays the current-shifting omnipresence of large Watch ships.

Civic sound systems periodically bleat reminders for citizens to STAY HALE, STAY WHOLE, alongside tips for basic droid care, the latest in scientific discoveries, paid ads and reminders not to park your robotic carriage near hydrants.

■ Quickly learn the ropes of your assumed identity, as Minaraians have a duty to report peculiar behaviours.

■ Watch ships prevent lawbreaking while Minaras is overground. Crime rates spike rapidly when Minaras falls underground.

■ More than violence, Minaraians appear to fear their pocket watch times being wrong, filth and sickness. The smallest cough earns a stern glance and a wide berth.

■ As part of Minaras’ periodic social indoctrination, you are robotically escorted alongside your peers and other unrelated Minaraians to a civic integration centre. Here, you take turns before a mechanical droid sphinx labelled ASCLEPIOS that asks, ”What rots you? and compels an honest answer (this can be emotional, mental or physical sickness, minor or severe).

■ A painless tattoo appears on the back of your hand, listing your Decay (ex: ‘malnourishment,’ ‘a choleric temper’). Others in the indoctrination centre must help you mend through acts of care (ex: cooking you a meal, helping you meditate). The tattoo fades after 72 hours, or once sufficient acts of care have ‘cured’ you.

■ After one week (around 20 August, but feel free to forward date), a transmission from Arabella informs watch, aerial, military and health units that Minaras is changing the daily schedule of its scout ships. The last scouts will now be deployed at 4:15am and return to base by 5:00am.

QUESTIONS

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( she's not lonely, five, but it's a two-pronged thing: you both get to talk math and she gets to do something other than just watching the ships and keeping an eye out. lonely definitely isn't it )

I'm the "Vigil Officer". Gotta keep an eye out on... everything. ( what she sees, making sure this didn't crash, who knows. it was everything and nothing. though whether una was actually reporting it all was a different thing ) What did you get?

Supplies or kindness.

( donations and aide, even more hands would do just as much as supplies would, perhaps more in some cases )

I was given a role working with the children here, the orphans left behind. I've been trying to find what I can for them.

[ An officer. For a city that seems to exist to spy on their every move, they're awfully quick to hand that duty over to a newcomer. Just how good is the Merchant at faking paperwork?

Really makes his assignment feel like a personal jab. ]

"Animal Rights Representative". Should be pretty easy, considering the only animals I've seen around here are robotic.

[ He shakes his head. They could have given that to someone working with dragons on the other side, at least that would make sense. ]

Anduin is tired. This is nothing new, really, especially not after a long day on his feet, traipsing across the city, learning the lay of the land, the way of the Underground. He does not particularly care to fight with the door to get back into this apartment they are currently sharing, but he has resigned himself to the fact that he must.

Anduin finds himself resigned to a great many things in life. Like the fact that he has been assigned to be a droid bounty hunter here in the city, of all things. He glances down at the eerily motionless wolf-droid at his side, then back at Wrathion who is slowly being revealed through the cog door.

"It was -- illuminating," he replies, stepping in through the door and moving to shrug out of his own coat. The wolf-droid follows its way in behind him, mechanical feet tip-tapping on the stone floor, clockwork mechanisms quietly whirring as it moves. He really should think up a name for it. Perhaps if it had only something more resembling a personality...

The stairs.

( ...an estimate, as much as an instruction. He suspects the great outdoors will deliver them, though they lack for certainties or reassurance. Earlier, when they climbed through the building's groaning belly, he retained enough of the lay of the gilded land to speculate on their passage. Now, they will face interference: great, toppled ornaments, crumbled pillars, the many trampled dead.

He shudders, climbing to his feet, recovering balance — clutching a hand against a wall that shivers, then sheds rubbles in his handprint's wake. What lingers upright here cannot be trusted. But what fell — )

Seek blood. Those who ran and were culled would have fled to gateways.

( And Wei Ying who dared insinuate the dead did not answer them in this house. Perhaps necromancers are too sworn to their habits, blind and reduced by reliance on obvious, plain signs.

The wards will not travel with that. When they withdraw, they do so with empty shielding, paused defences. Projectiles rain brilliantly, skidding and scratching ground. He waits, waves Zhou Fei paused also with a raised hand, if she will heed them. Another fusillade. Yet more pause.

However their bows are armed, there is a pattern to the replenishment of their attackers' forces. They must act — soon. )

Unless you require more time to amend insults, we run at count of — ( More projectiles. ) Twenty, after this shower of arrow tips ceases.

( Now, there's laughter, brimming and bright. If he were holding himself back before, that appetite's long gone. And his grin, effervescent. )

What's it to you, eh? Pretty boy? Ain't your sheep servants got you nice and cozy after? You're looking pretty sorted to me.

[Moran simply stands and stares, until the hilarity might just start to become awkward. And then stares some more, for good measure.]

... I asked you a question.

( Right, right. Fancy man's got himself no humour. What's there better to expect of his kind? Alastair's shrug is languid, too easily given. )

Don't mean I gotta answer. What'll you do? Beat me up?

( Look at him, blued and bruised, all his hurts showing. He's lived through aches. )

Don't be crass. Others have already seen to that, for the good it did.

[Torture rarely wields good results, and this was just... people passing their temper.]

I guess if you won't answer, we can go and confirm your affiliation to Eidris, since you all seemed strangely intent on sparing them. This city has been surviving on such precarious balance. I wonder what would happen if it were suddenly tipped.

It would be so easy. The suspicion is already there, all that is left is to fan the flames and watch the whole place burn.

[Allison, as a robot inspector, comes running at the sound of screaming. The woman responsible seems so delighted at the possibility of the screaming makes her feel as though it's intentional but Allison can't help but be a little confused.]

Why is it important?

"Surely better illuminating than not?"

Wrathion sets aside his book, hands falling to rest on the arms of his chair as he watches Anduin undress. The outfit... doesn't truly suit him, but it is moderately entertaining to watch him try to pull it off.

His eyes lift to watch the door clack into place, pause, then switch directions and begin slowly sliding closed again.

Irritating.

He clears his throat, redirects his attention and tries to shut out the noise.

"Did you learn anything of note?"

"In hopes it gives a greater understanding of what occurred."

It isn't a bad idea altogether.

Recreating what occurred the other evening but in a more contained way may give some answers they did not have before. When he took the gun in, he asked to be shown how it was used as well. There are bullets within it presently, and he goes through the motion he was shown to open the chamber and check that there are bullets within.

"I dislike this type of weapon."

He prefers battles that are closer - to feel the fear of his enemies as he carves a neat path through their throat.

[Allison is used to all eyes being on her. Being famous lends to having everyone watching your every move, never mind a father who viewed them all as science projects. Heightened surveillance has been the story of Allison's life, so she glides through it, doing her job like the pro she is.

But that doesn't mean she can't have a little fun.

She finds a quiet, out of the way bar to tuck herself into, still mindful that they're likely still being watched, but she hasn't really been able to have a "night out" since she's arrived. She spots Kirk in the crowd, eyeing his outfit before flashing him a smile and raising her drink.]

Looking good, Captain.

Anduin hums softly in the back of his throat, moving to hang up the large dark coat and bending to unlace the heavy boots that accompany the outfit. Some pieces of his outfits from their voyages he has been keeping as they travel, adopting into his wardrobe as they continue on their journey. Little of this bounty hunter attire, he thinks, will wind up following them when they move on next.

"I cannot say for certain," Anduin allows. He glances up to watch the wolf-droid tap across the room before it curls up and effectively powers down for the evening. Shaking his head, he looks to Wrathion instead.

"I asked around where I could about the culling sickness today," he explains. "I thought it prudent to gain some understanding of what has them all so on edge." He sighs. "But I do not know if I am any closer to the truth than I was before."

Wrath does know. Envy enjoys making a show of his collection, his items. Wrath finds the best way to hide something special is to leave it in plain view as if was as simple as any other item surrounding it. No fanfare, nothing to make it stand out. He is still impressed and unsurprised she solved the mystery and found it herself.

Of course, knowing she has seen Envy's collection means he should be prepared for what she says next, but he isn't. His expression remains as impassive as ever especially here in public where they're surrounded by others. Not a hint of cold leaves him as he utilized his well sharpened restraint to gather in the anger that immediately shoots up inside of him.

Naturally, Envy would show her that. His brother does always like to play with fire and would certainly like for Wrath to be hurt in the way he hurt him.

"I cannot say that I am surprised," he says after the moment of pause it takes to cage his initial reaction, and then: "What were your thoughts?"

( Red lifts her gaze from the dragon helplessly - she can smell the aura before she even sees (orange blossoms, a garden of herbs, some flower she can't place, and something warm and good that's unfamiliar to her, it's a beautiful smell. It reminds her of Persephone immediately). In fact, she half turns expecting to see her there - part relief, part fear to think if she can come then so can he, but it isn't her at all.

No. It's someone else, and she stares, completely focused on what she sees in this young (but not) woman's soul.

It's someone with an incredible amount of power, rivaling Persephones, but it's- fractured, chained, buried? She knows that feeling of being chained, and it reminds her again of the goddess who helped her escape, who was kind to her. Fury and grief, so much anger that it is almost primal, but the comforting smells and the vines and the colors of violets and lavenders and silvery blue.

And now she's standing up to a dragon for her, and Red knows she's not going to be able to help so she stays still, tries to seem small. )

What are you- ( doing? ...protecting her. )

Wrathion hums in understanding, tilting his head in thought.

"My lead with the bullet has been a dead end so far."

So, he's sympathetic in that regard.

He unfolds his legs, sits up a little more as he studies Anduin.

"Tell me what you heard?"

Even if it's no closer to the truth, it sounds as if he did learn something -- and something is better than nothing, in Wrathion's experience. A baseline, at least, gives them something to compare other results to.

She sees him disappear and immediately tries to follow. She doesn't know where he's blinked to, but he couldn't have gone far. She hopes. With Five, it can be hard to tell. She leaves the facility, sliding her glove up over her tattooed hand, before rounding the corner and spotting him in the alley.

He looks like he's freaking out. Five freaking out isn't something she's accustomed to, but she's not going to leave him alone to do so. She steps forward, resting a hand on his shoulder gently.

"Five ..."

Wrath can tell it is Five who comes near to him. It would be impossible not to. No one else within their group has that unique cocktail of cursed-despair and rampant paranoia. He knew the post would do little other than to increase it in Five. All that he has believed about the group proven especially when they brought his family into it as a means of... convincing him.

"This world continues with its surprises," he says in agreement deceptively calmly, but he's certain Five feels the cold. Still he did not walk the other way. It isn't as if his anger is aimed at Five, but there were times when his wrath escaped him and many suffered for it regardless of whether or not they caused its explosion. He has a better grip on it now after centuries of practice, which is why this entire half of the city hasn't been iced over for its crimes.

None of the people flitting around have approached him. They take a wide berth to avoid him in fact almost comically so - the fear he can inspire in mortals by his simple existence striking more powerfully than temptation at the moment. "It may be both. They seem to have a compulsion to fix whatever they deem to be broken or sick." There's the slightest hint of a wicked, predatory smile. "I would half like to see them make an attempt."

To 'fix' him. His sharp, gold gaze finally flits to Five - he looks as horrible as he imagined he would, maybe even more so.

Thank you so much! :)

I don't believe anything is clear at the moment. Madmen rarely act with such precision and preplanning. ( There was a specific goal in mind though he won't follow lines of conspiracy without evidence of it. They are an organized group who carried weapons of attack ahead of time, left marks in the building itself to make the attack more easy to commit. ) It is my responsibility to find the culprit and prevent any further attacks from occurring, and I intend to do that.

I appreciate your cooperation.

Has anything like this happened before? I understand you have cared for the Sanctuary for some time.

Anduin sets his boots aside by the door and makes his way across the room to Wrathion, folding himself into the second chair with a sigh. It is nice to have furniture here, rather than cushioning on the floor as there was in Taravast. Even if it is paid for with Wrathion's cover, Anduin will not begrudge that so long as he can reap the benefits himself.

"It seems the sickness behaved not unlike some highly contagious form of consumption," Anduin says, moving to remove his gloves, setting them aside so that he can work on undoing the buttons of his vest. "From what I understand, the illness worked very quickly through the citadel, those affected ultimately perishing of some sort of internal rot or organ failure."

He raises his eyebrows at his companion. "Hence, it would seem, the mentions of rotting during our indoctrination."

You go'n'do that. One half or the other, means hell of a nothing to me.

( Less, it appears, by the moment, as he leans in to sit his chin on the ledge of his folded hands and waits for Beitang Moran to act out on the inspiration of his threat.

They never do. Fucking amateurs. )

Eidris, Minaras. Look around you. Two halves living like they can do without the whole. Wasn't five years, and we were proper people. Now, you got yerself family that can't leave the other side, you can't leave your job in the other spot, and what do you do? Meet an hour a day, if you begged leave from your master at the right time? Ain't you tired of that?

( And what a fine man he is, so very dutiful. Barnaby has seen him, watching the grounds, taking his evidence, all the signs of proper, diligent commitment.

They don't make men as duty-bound as they did in the elder days. He helps, does the gentleman. )

No... I can assure you, not at — ( But he stays himself, considers. ) Well... well, yes. During the war. Before the grounds were accepted as Sanctuary, of course, we... we suffered our grievances.

( Which a man of etiquette and taste will not reference directly. )

But the lands of the Sanctuary have been largely respected. We are, in many ways, the last bastion of civilisation. And the only guarantor of safety during talks. It benefits no one to rupture this channels, unless it's to... signal there is need for talk at all.

( Her rage is always with her. She's better at containing it these days: had she not learned, the Seven Circles would've had her at their mercy. She knows what happens when her wrath gets the best of her. So she holds the embers of it close. Lets them simmer underneath the surface, harnessing. Waiting.

A flash of it surfaces in her eyes, quick before she tames it. Serthica truly does remind her of Taravast, for all the ways in which it also differs. When the Huntress came to sunder its grounds, the nobles were safe in their towers, and the rest were left to fend for themselves. )

My own role involves this Mouse House, though not nearly so noble in ends. It involves the criminal inhabitants. ( She believes in accountability, no matter how powerful and privileged the culprit, but the methods ascribed to her role — brewing narcotics to keep criminals docile — is nonetheless unsavory. ) No doubt you've plans to use your role to this advantage.

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serthica: war & peace

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