The Campaign Builder's Guild

[ic=Hope]"The world has grown cold and dark. The heavens churn with violent storm, or lie still as death with unrelenting cloud. Below the seas grind with ice of unfathomable thickness, and the air is choked with poisonous vapors that life cannot abide. It is the era of Grey Skies, and men cower where they can to find succor from the perils that assail them. But this fate should not be, as it should not have been countless times before. And so to you I return Light, and Breath, and with it let the Outsiders see that Hope still burns with a fierceness that cannot be overcome."

~ Andronikos, the Lifebringer, the Radiance of Kephon[/ic]

Grey Skies

It is the eight-hundredth and eighty-eighth year since the light of Our Star was taken from us, and we grow only colder. It began with the Rift. A great wound gouged in the side of our world, belching ash and poison until the blue skies above were lost. Untold multitudes perished in this cataclysm, and our civilization was laid low. But we persevered. Our Science and our Will were such that we could not be destroyed so easily. We built cities the poison could not reach, we built new skies that we could look up upon and remember days gone by. And for a time it was thought there could be recovery, that the Rift could be sealed. We were wrong.

The Outsiders came, spewing forth from the Rift in great multitude. They came to claim our world for their own, as they said they had done to others so many times before. They are not as we are. They wear hundreds of forms, and speak in a thousand difference voices. But they are all set to common purpose, and none have mercy within them. Their Science surpassed ours in every way, and we could not fight them. The greatest of our cities were turned to ash or glass, or cracked like nuts so that the slaves of the Outsiders could swarm within and wreak terrible slaughter.

But that was centuries ago, and we are still here, if only for the indifference of the Outsiders. They waste little effort now to exterminate us, content to dig their deep mines, and carry whatever it is they seek back to the Rift and through it to wherever they come from. The Angels say there is hope for a new dawn, but they are so few, and they are blinded by their rage and lust for vengeance. I say there is no such hope, and that the race of men is already dead. We just don't seem to know it yet.

Themes

Memory Fades

Knowledge of the world as it was has grown lean with time, and what little there is is often contradictory or fragmented. Only knowledge that has helped men survive the eternal winter remains, and even that slowly erodes in the howling wind of years.

You Cannot Survive

Sen is a desolate and frozen wasteland. Every man, woman, and child must fight to survive against the elements. The vast majority of the world is brutally cold, resulting from the thick layer of cloud that smothers it. The sun's rays do not reach the surface, and the world is bathed in grey twilight during the day, and utter darkness at night. Much of Sen is coated in ice or drifting snow - present since the opening of the Rift, and never melting. The air itself is an enemy, poisoned beyond breathability. Outside the walls of the few remaining self-contained cities human beings can only breathe with the aid of their technological devices. Foreign biota have been introduced by the Outsiders - either deliberately or accidentally - and much of it is hostile to any other order of life. Fearsome and unfathomable beasts stalk unwary travelers through the snows, or lie in wait in icy mountain passes.

It Never Changes

War is one thing man has not forgotten. One thing that could not be forgotten. Resources are scarce, and what you do not have, you must take from your neighbour. Cities and Kingdoms are slaves to the needs of their people, they exist only to serve. If the people go hungry, they will not hesitate to demand that their armies go forth so that they might eat. If the people are cold, the armies must go forth so that they might return with valuable fuels.

The Syndicates war with one another beneath the sea. The Royalist enclaves war with one another above it. When their herds thin, the Clans descend upon the strongholds of the Stony Heights, the Misting Lake, and the Endless Plain to bring ruin to those that stand in their way. The errant words of an Angel in one city might bring war to another. An Outsider might obliterate a great fortress on a passing whim, or sow dissent within the walls of another out of perverse pleasure.  

Of Tiriol, and the Kingdom of the Frozen Sea, and its History Until Now

The line of the Kings of the Frozen Sea had ruled over the cities of the Frigid Shore, and the Windward Islands, and the colonies of the Brine for centuries. Their will was carried out from their Seat at Tiriol by their Knights, their Sorcerers, and their armies. In the Era of Grey Skies, tyranny is often a sad necessity. The cities were kept in line to ensure the proper distribution of food, and of essentials, and of those rare few luxuries. But as always, some received more than others. The colonies were rich with food, having access to the bounty of life still extant beneath the ice. But most among them had never felt the satisfaction of a full belly. And as the hungry are often wont to do, they rebelled, rejecting the authority of the King above. The Guilds fought, and they cast out those who would serve the King. They slew his Knights, they burned his Sorcerers, and they drowned his armies. They banded together in one great Syndicate, and with their banners held proudly aloft, they set out to bore through the ice and bring an end to the tyranny of the King forever. Without food, the armies he had left could not fight, and one by one the strongholds and cities of the Shore and the Islands capitulated to the Syndicate. As the grip of the Syndicate was felt ever more tightly in Tiriol, and the rage and madness of the near-powerless King soared to new heights, there were of course those among his Knights who began to question their own loyalties. They could not serve the Guilds and the Syndicate, only death awaited if surrender was begged for. Nor was there any hope of defeating the Guilds and the Syndicate, for such power had long fled. But perhaps one day the time would be right. And so, as the guildsmen flooded into the city above and cut the head from the King - and so too his loyal retainers - a cabal of Knights and Sorcerers secreted themselves away on the lowest levels. Frozen in stasis, they slept a dreamless sleep, awaiting their moment.

The Syndicate had achieved all it had sought. But tyranny is often a sad necessity. And so, the Guilds bickered among themselves, for none would submit to the other. Who should receive what share? Was all work truly equal? And so the Syndicate splintered, and where there was one, there were now many. They fought, and warred, and in truth things were much the same as before. The Syndicate of The Frozen Sea's authority had always been the weakest, and so - with the passing of a century - her client cities grew bold enough to defy her. The moment was right, and with the armies of the Guilds far and away, the monitor program the cabal had set to watch them in their slumber deemed it was time to end their hibernation. Again taking up their weapons, they stormed the upper levels of the city. Blood flowed in the streets to the staccato report of gunfire, and all those who resisted were shot where they stood. But some among the Guildsmen were eager to co-operate, valuing their lives more than their ideals. Fortunately for them, they prove more useful alive than dead.

The Royalists have control of the majority of Tiriol, a few die-hard Syndicalists retreating to fastnesses on the lower levels. And now Knights, and Sorcerers, and new Gentlemen sit shoulder to shoulder in Council - traitors-all, some would say - deliberating on their next move.      

How the Game is Played

This game proceeds in turns, each of which is equivalent to one segment in game. There are six segments per in-game year. Turns will take at least a week in real time; the deadline for turns is flexible and will change based on players' needs and availability.  At the start of each turn, I will post an "update" that will inform you of the outcome of your ventures from the previous turn as well as some details on events from the world around you.

You play as a member of the Royal Council, an entity formed by the greater Electorate to oversee the management of the City of Tiriol in the wake of the defeat of its former Syndicate masters. Essentially the Electorate and Royal Council governs for the King of the Frozen Sea in his absence. Since there is no such King, this system is intended by its creators to persist indefinitely (haw haw). Players that have been elevated to the Royal Council by the greater body of Electors are the strongest and most charming Knights, the cleverest and most powerful Sorcerers, and the wealthiest and most influential Gentlemen.  

The Electorate votes in the first segment of each year to determine which two members of the Royal Council will become Lords. A player who becomes Lord will be vested with executive power in one of two portfolios:

Lord Regent: The Lord Regent is responsible for the civil governance of the Kingdom of the Frozen Sea and its integrated territories, as well as conducting diplomatic relations with all foreign powers or entities.

Lord Militant: The Lord Militant is responsible for the organization, expansion and maintenance of the military of the Kingdom of the Frozen Sea, and it is at his or her discretion that the Kingdom embarks upon military endeavor. Additionally, the Lord Militant gains executive authority over any captured territories until they should be deemed stable enough to be integrated into the Kingdom proper.

The player who receives the most votes in each election is free to choose which Lordship they will accept.

Play is conducted by posts like so:

IC box text (Green) indicates what your character says; speeches can be directed to the Royal Council (just your fellow players), the entire Electorate (the players plus all NPC Electors), or to the public at large (ex. a public net broadcast or vidcast, or even an appearance in person at a major event or function).  Messages that you send to PCs and NPCs should also be in an IC box, as well as any other prose you decide to write for us (totally optional, but encouraged if you're feeling creative!). The world is a hostile place, and communications are spotty at the best of times, it may take an additional turn or more to receive a reply to a message sent outside the the vicinity of the Frozen Sea.

OOC box text (Red) indicates what your character does. This can be almost anything you can think of, from building a new factory, to designing a weapons platform or system, to spying on an enemy (player or NPC), raising your own private army, or fixing that really big annoying hole in the city's dome.  If you want to do something that absolutely must be kept secret from other players (e.g. trying to assassinate them), you can send me a PM, but everything else should be posted in an OOC box.  Please post only one OOC box per turn, with all your action orders.

Regular text (like this) covers general out of character comments, as well as clarifications on how the game works and questions about the game world.

Remember:

• Put everything you do in your OOC orders.
• If you have a spending limit for a project, note it; if you aren't sure how to tackle a big project, make a request in your orders ("find out what Assets I would have to liquidate to...")
• Orders may benefit from adding IC material, like speeches; though giving a speech isn't guaranteed to make a positive difference, adding IC material will never make things worse.
• Put in as many details as you think you need in your orders.  Though I don't encourage you to be needlessly wordy, I will never penalize you for too much detail or too many suggestions.  If your idea to cut costs or raise your influence doesn't work, it just doesn't work - move on, try something else next time.
• Seek allies when possible.  This is a cooperative game and you'll benefit from getting others in on your plans, whether it's PCs or NPCs.  If you do favors for people or groups, they'll be inclined to help you with your goals later.

On Metagaming: If a message isn't addressed to your character, your character doesn't know about it, period.  I have a very high opinion of the people on the CBG and I trust them not to abuse the forum format to metagame. That said, we can't always help ourselves, and I realize it may be necessary to conduct some business by PM - this is fine, but whenever something can be in the thread, it should be in the thread.[/quote]

How to Create a Character

Player characters in Grey Skies belong to one of three classes. You are a Knight, a Sorcerer, or a Gentleman. Each class has its own statistical advantages and unique features. Characters in Grey Skies have five statistics. A character may be male or female, regardless of class.

We would also appreciate it if you would write a bit of a background, or perhaps even a vignette, about your character.

Assets: Assets represent the actual disposable wealth of your character. Your asset income per segment is determined by your level of production. Each character class begins with five points worth of assets.

Charm: Charm measures your popularity with the wider populace, and your ability to maintain or increase it through the media.

Influence: This statistic indicates the character's pull with 'the-people-who-matter'. That is to say, the rich. If it becomes too low, the character may lose their seat on the Royal Council, or perhaps be expelled from the Electorate entirely! Each point of influence a character possesses is worth one vote come election time.  

Production: Your level of production determines the general potential wealth of your character. Thusly, your production indicates that which you contribute each segment to the economy of Tiriol. Production may be used to create any material or product you wish it to, be it tangible or intangible. However, once you determine what to produce, it is often difficult to change course. Your level of production directly determines your asset income per segment.

Power: Power represents how much physical force your character can bring to bear, be it through Sorcerous or more direct means. Your power will influence the outcome of physical confrontations or battles your character is involved in. Power can be increased by obtaining more advanced weaponry, physical modification of the body biologically or mechanically, or studies into the anomalies of the ultimate fabric of reality.  

Special Note: A character may take one point from any statistic (barring assets) and place it in another statistic at character creation if they so choose.

[spoiler=Character Classes]
Knight: A Knight is properly addressed as Sir or Madame.

Knights are darlings of the media, everyone wants to know whats going on in their lives (for some reason). Knights often participate in netcast melee combat with other Knights, either on foot or in Armor, ostensibly for the purpose of training for combat. This is the premiere source of entertainment for the people of Tiriol, and an undefeated Knight is popular indeed: A Knight starts with 4 Charm

Knights are well-regarded individuals in most circles, ideally being consummate warriors and paragons of chivalry; with the return of what remains of their estates they have considerable influence: A Knight starts with 4 Influence.

Knights control a decent percentage of Tiriol's means of production, having been granted it as Feudal holding: A Knight starts with 3 Production

Knights are physically fit, trained for combat, and possess personal modifications to better enable them to pursue their main vocation, that is to say, killing people: A Knight starts with 1 Power

Sorcerer: A Sorcerer is properly addressed as Anom.

Sorcerers can be frightening and are often not the most personable of people, however, those with a particular air of mystery or who pursue interesting (and often sensationalized) projects publicly do have some small amount of mindshare with the common people: Sorcerers start with 1 Charm

Sorcerers are the least influential. Though their power is immense, they are not widely trusted and are misliked by certain segments of the population. Nevertheless, they are regarded as useful, and the threat of their power certainly helps. Their influence is modest: A Sorcerer starts with 3 Influence

Sorcerers are not known for their business acumen or asset management. Still, many operate laboratories or foundries producing intricate and useful devices or products: A Sorcerer starts with 2 Production

Sorcerers possess incredible power, and are typically not interested in sharing its mysterious secrets: A Sorcerer starts with 5 Power

Gentleman: Members of the Gentry are properly addressed as Mr. or Ms.

Gentlemen are the most influential, being the largest and wealthiest segment of the new ruling elite: A Gentleman starts with 6 Influence

Gentlemen have control of a substantial portion of the means of the city's means of production, being former Guildmasters and Syndicate officials: A Gentleman starts with 5 Production

Gentlemen are not known for mystical powers or their prowess in combat, in fact, a Gentleman is more likely to be known for his prowess at the dinner table: Gentlemen start with 0 Power

Gentlemen are wealthy indeed, and wealth can buy popularity or devotion, though it only goes so far: Gentlemen start with 2 Charm

Additional Class Benefits

Knights: Only a dozen or so members of the Knightly class can claim the prestige and honour granted by the ownership of a true suit of Armor. You are one so blessed. This massive warmachine gives you utter command of the battlefield, and allows you to lay waste to innumerable lesser foes.

Upon character creation, if selecting a Knight, a player must choose a suit of Armor for their character from the following three archetypes. When a suit of Armor is in use, a character's power increases by 2.  



From left to right are: The Stalwart, which is a balanced Armor, possessing respectable speed, protection, firepower, agility and engagement range. The Sharpshooter, which emphasizes maximum engagement range and firepower. And the Predator, which emphasizes agility, speed, and protection.

Sorcerers: Few Sorcerers are powerful enough to attract another of Talent to study under them. However, through your mastery of the Sorcerous arts you have managed to secure your own Sorcerer's Apprentice.

The Sorcerer's Apprentice is a unique agent available only to the Sorcerer class. You will never have to pay your Apprentice in Assets, for the knowledge they gain under your tutelage is all the reward they seek. Each Sorcerer's apprentice starts with 1 Power. Like other agents, the Apprentice may be sent on missions by the Sorcerer, or may assist the Sorcerer in his own endeavors. Over time your apprentice will grow in Power, and become more useful to you. But be wary, for if their Power approaches your own you may not find them as loyal as they once were.

Gentleman: Members of the Gentry have neither the martial ability of a Knight, nor the terrible power of a Sorcerer. But most consider themselves above such uncouth things. A Gentleman makes sure of his own prosperity through more refined means, and you are nothing if not a master of refinement. Your friends all say it is so.

A Gentleman or Gentlewoman begins the game with an influential 'friend' that owes them a single Favour. This is no petty thing, your 'friend' will do his utmost to see your will carried out should you call in your Favour, or he will die in the attempt. You may invent an NPC character of some importance and place them in a suitable position of your choice at the start of the game. This may be in Tiriol, or an entirely different city. You may call in your Favour only once, and once it is used, it cannot be altered or revoked.  

[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Regional Map][/spoiler]

Note: Unless you have a giant monitor, you'll probably have to right click and hit view image.

Only cities, strongholds, features, and armies with testifiable existence and known location are marked on this map. As the game proceeds, more locations will be discovered.

Blue is the colour of Tiriol. Our city!
Cyan is the colour of fellow Royalists in rebellion against the Syndicate of the Frozen Sea.
Cerise is the colour of Socialists in rebellion against the Syndicate of the Frozen Sea.
Orange is the colour of the Syndicate of the Frozen Sea.
Red is the colour of other Syndicates.
Green is the colour of the Kingdom of the Misting Lake, and those Principalities of the Endless Plain and Stony Heights beholden to it.
Purple is the colour of Radiant Kephon.
Black is the colour of the Outsiders.

[spoiler=City Map][/spoiler]

Grey lines indicate major roads.
Dotted lines indicate tramways.
Surprisingly, blue indicates water.
Orange indicates areas under the control of Syndicate resistance forces.

The Factions

The race of man has not been united by the decay of the world, nor by the depredations of the Outsiders. Indeed, the innumerable catastrophes that civilization has faced have served only to sow further discord. A multitude of Factions with varying agendas, cultures and ideologies compete for scarce resources in this barren snowscape. It is eat or be eaten, and most prefer to do the eating.

Tiriol



Our city. One of the greatest left in all the world, yet still only a shadow of its former self. Perched atop the cliffs of the Frigid Shore, Tiriol descends over two kilometers beneath ground and ice, from the manicured lawns and wide by-ways of the Dome, through the verdant tangles of too-bright and too-humid Hydro, down to the cramped, frozen slums and the heat and cacophony of the foundries of Forge.

[spoiler=Our Forces]

Though our Knights are both skilled and brave, we have only a few true suits of Armour. Those we do have are of varied type and armament, at the least providing us with tactical, if not strategic, options. Our Stalwarts wade into battle in unified cohesion with all guns blazing, capable of dispatching the bulk of any Tank or Infantry thrust. Our Sharpshooters stay well clear of the main engagement, providing ranged support and high-threat neutralization from extreme distances with their powerful laser rifles and coilguns - though capable enough in a skirmish with lesser foes, a Sharpshooter is no match for another Armor in close quarters. Our Predators provide close support for our other forces, capable of delaying and outmaneuvering an enemy column possessing superior numbers or superior firepower.

 

Our professional infantry are some of the most capable and competent warriors on the Frozen Sea. It's too bad we don't have more of them. The loyal Retainers of our Knights, these men and women are heavily armed and armoured and have been trained in war since adolescence. They will not break, and they will not bend, fighting to the last if so ordered - and inflicting a terrible price on the enemy in the process. Their only flaws are perhaps their impetuous nature - believing so firmly in their superiority that they might attack at an inopportune moment - and their disdain for co-operation with 'lesser' elements of our military. They will march tirelessly in whichever direction we should point, and kill those they find at the end of their journey.



In contrast with our Retainers, our volunteer militia is not well trained, and certainly not well armed. For the moment they carry mostly second-rate Syndicate small arms and equipment, and many wear little in the way of armour. The men and women that have joined our militia - for the most part - are those that feel the most kinship with our ideals (or else that it is the best way to get ahead). They know first-hand the oppression of the Syndicate, and almost all have had friends or family members dragged away by the compliance squads of the Guilds. There is a deep anger within them, and perhaps they can yet be forged into a potent weapon. At least they come in bunches.[/spoiler]

The Syndicate of The Frozen Sea



Usurpers and pretenders to the authority of our Great City. The Syndicate of the Frozen Sea lays claim to all the Frigid Shore and the Windward Islands, and they enforce that claim with efficient brutality. Like their brother Syndicates beneath of the Brine they assert that they alone champion the rights of the common man. They would have all workers rewarded equally and have the worker govern himself. A noble ideal? Perhaps. But laughable in practice. Their government is hamstrung by the squabbling of the Guilds, and only maintains its functionality through the sheer momentum of its enormous bureaucracy. Still, they have kept their little empire alive for almost a century, and over a million yet toil under their rule - some even willingly! Their military machine is well-oiled, and we had best be quick to seize advantage of their momentary weakness.

[spoiler=And Their Forces]

The Guilds may not have Knights, but their Armour should not be underestimated. Even their greatest warriors have not the honour of our own, and fight with trickery and stealth. Their suits of Armour have been built to well match their treacherous nature. The Amphibian is not designed to stand and fight, or even to engage from a distance. It bears massive claws, capable of maintaining a temperature of thousands of degrees. The Amphibian can easily burrow beneath the ice, the better to wait in ambush. At close range its glowing talons shear through the toughest plating and overwhelm the strongest shields. A clutch of Amphibians may even melt all the way through the Frozen Sea and travel through the Brine, later to emerge where least expected.



The Syndicate does not rely entirely on its Amphibians. To give some backbone to their armies they have adapted one of our own suits of Armour. The Armsman has served for centuries. It's design is reliable, effective, and cost efficient. In earlier times, poor Knights or great Retainers would accompany Royal armies in their Armsmen. Though its armouring may not be so strong as that of a Predator or Stalwart, it provides ample protection for its user. Its ballistic cannon is of proven design, and will never be rendered unusable by cold or damp. Slow-firing, Armsmen are best used in groups for maximum effect.



The Syndicate Main Battle Tank provides the bulk of heavy firepower in Syndicate armies. It is well protected for a tank, and has complete environmental shielding. Its wide treads allow it excellent maneuverability over ice and snow. It is armed with a 90mm ballistic cannon of relative effectiveness, and this gun has even been known to punch holes through the more vulnerable sections of a true suit of Armour. We must be wary of these tanks, for they come in great numbers and could overwhelm us if we are not careful.  



The Syndicate Half-Tread provides the Syndicate with the ability to rapidly move its soldiers through hostile territory, or extract squads pinned down by enemy fire. It is a quick machine, and possesses decent maneuverability thanks to its steering skiis. However, its engine is prone to breakdown if the vehicle is heavily burdened and operated at high speed. Armoured against small-arms and bearing a 20mm ballistic chaingun, this Half-Tread provides effective support for the infantrymen and women that it carries into battle. It does not possess environmental shielding, and so its passengers and crew must operate with the additional encumbrance of protective devices and equipment at all times.



Guild Infantry are undoubtedly professional soldiers. While not as fearless or skilled as our own Retainers, these men and women universally belong to the Guild of Soldiers and as such are unswervingly devoted to their chosen vocation. Equipped with the best the Syndicate has to offer, and of firm belief in their own cause, Guild Infantry display impressive staying power and resourcefulness on the battlefield.



Devoted Syndicalists from other Guilds willing to prove themselves in battle. Guild Militia are generally poorly armed, but fight with tenacity seemingly beyond their means. This great mob is often sent in ahead of other elements of Syndicate armies to soften up any defenses. Notorious for their barbarism, they are additionally employed to occupy captured cities and strongholds to whip former rebels back into line. They will show no mercy to their enemies, and most massacres attributed to the Syndicate are the work of these militias.

[/spoiler]

Socialists, Royalists, and Other Syndicates

     

We are not the only ones who fight against the tyranny of the Syndicate. Many have tired of the oppression of the Guilds, and will tolerate them no longer. The greater part of these rebels are Socialists. They claim to champion the oft-espoused principals of equity and equality, but as far as can be told their main goal seems to be the unification of the means of governance. Their movement has swept through several cities already, leaving burning Guildhalls and piles of bullet-riddled corpses in its wake. Most differ little from the Syndicalists, and will likely have to be put down just the same. If these disparate movements should gain cohesion, they could be near as great a threat to us as the Syndicate. However, we may yet be able to convince some of these Socialists of the rightful authority of our Regency.

Inspired by our own efforts, other cities and strongholds have cast off the rule of the Syndicate and clamor for return to the days of the King. These fellow Royalists do not yet answer to us, but careful negotiation and subtle application of our power could see them be as putty in our hands.  

Syndicalism is as a great plague, and its diseased hands are multifarious and far-reaching. The Syndicates of Karcheronde and Syr Solon are said to make the Syndicate of the Frozen Sea appear as but a child, though few above the ice know the true extent of their power. It is rumoured that the two war incessantly with each other over whatever resources are to be found in the blackness of the Brine, and that they are constantly in search of newer and ever more terrible weapons in their struggle for advantage. It is relieving to hear it widely said that they care little for the troubles of the world above.

The Confederacy of the Four Clans, the Kingdom of the Misting Lake, and Radiant Kephon

   



City map and further setting details forthcoming!

The City of Tiriol
Segment One of 888

Peers: ~2600 (Individuals belonging to households of the Gentry, the Anomy, or the Knightly class)
Citizens: ~17 200 (Property-owning and tax paying Subjects, and from whence we draw our Retainers. Vested with rights above those of normal Subjects: Including the right to vote in referendum when a matter cannot be decided within the Electorate, and the right to timely and fair trial with representation)
Subjects: ~307 000 (Individuals who have officially registered themselves with an organ of the state and have sworn an oath of loyalty to the Kingdom of the Frozen Sea)
Foreigners: ~4000 (Individuals subject to or citizen of diplomatically recognized state or non-state entities)
Vagrants: 50 000+ (Individuals who are unregistered, have not sworn an oath of loyalty to the state, or both)  

Dramatis Personae

Player Characters

[spoiler=Phayn Xavid-Acherus - Played by Steerpike]
[ic=Magica Potentia Est]The condemned prisoner writhes and gibbers soundlessly, pounding bloody fists against the walls of the Chrysalis, the translucent flux-tank at the center of Phayn's laboratory.  As the miasmic, semi-sapient wraiths somewhere between shadows and piranhas sharing the Chrysalis with the prisoner slowly fillet him, Phayn taps at a console with manicured, long-nailed fingers, humming along to the nocturne whose brooding melodies filled the workroom.  The rounded walls of the flux-tank are now streaked with crimson; all that is left of the man are his bones, piled in a neat little heap at the bottom of the Chrysalis.  The flesh-eating shades hover above the prisoner's remains, wisps of hungry vapour tinted red from their gruesome feast.  Phayn smiles and activates the Chrysalis' vacuum pump, sending the voracious phantoms back to their cell.

"Tiberius!" Phayn calls, pivoting his chair on the spidery, mechanical legs radiating out beneath it.  "Tiberius, I require Mnemnosynex.  Bring me five hundred grams immediately.  Also, the Chrysalis needs cleaning."

"At once, Anom Xavid-Acherus!" a voice replies from elsewhere in the lab.  Phayn can hear the frantic footsteps of his apprentice as he scrambles to prepare the requested dosage.  Directing his throne with a flick of his fingers the Sorcerer crosses the laboratory floor and enters his study.  Strange curios fill the shelves along the walls: intricate clockwork devices that look as if they belong to an earlier age, Outsider artefacts scavenged from battlefields, homunculi cultivated through a mixture of science and sorcery and bottled in tubes of alchemical liquid, uncanny, murderous-looking things that might be art objects or weapons.  An enormous monitor, occupying most of the far wall of the sumptuously appointed chamber, dimly reflects his visage as he approaches the screen: a young face, androgynously beautiful if somewhat mask-like, porcelain-white skin kept unlined and smooth through a battery of longevity-enhancing drugs and occult rituals, framed by long red hair, straight and silky.  Only the eyes are old – bloodshot and dull, impossibly ancient, peering out from sunken sockets beneath slanting, immaculately shaped brows.

The screen flickers to life as Phayn approaches in his chair, displaying reams of esoteric data: experimental results, papers, strange anatomical diagrams, scanned pages culled from mouldering grimoires.  As Phayn prepares to immerse himself in research a silky digitized voice speaks from the screen.

"Anom Xavid-Acherus, excuse my interruption, but the Royal Council requires your presence."

"What!?" the Sorcerer snarls.  "I conferred with them only yesterday.  What could they possibly want now?  I need time to conduct my work!"

"It is my understanding that the needs of state require your attention on a regular basis, Anom.  During the last eighteen hours there have been three food-riots, two firefights between street gangs and law enforcement, thirty-three recorded deaths from exposure, and a level 4 breach of the quarantine zone in Sector 12.  There are reports on the state of the city's defenses, on recent meteorological activity in the Drowning, and on Syndicalist troop movements ready for you to read.  In addition, the vote for the Lord Regent and Lord Militant is today."

Phayn Xavid-Acherus opens his mouth to respond to the sub-sentient AI, then closes it again.  He sighs deeply.  This "governance" nonsense was going to be extraordinarily disruptive to his experiments...[/ic]

Name: Anom Phayn Xavid-Acherus
Age: ?
Class: Sorcerer

Assets: 4
Charm: 0
Influence: 3
Production: 3
Power: 5

Apprentice: Tiberius Vell

Note: Phayn has paid 1 Asset to possess a secret lair (his laboratory).

The enigmatic, oft-withdrawn Anom Phayn Xavid-Acherus had an ill reputation under the King's rule; rumours floated through Tiriol of the Sorcerer's unwholesome associations and less-than-reputable research practices, rumours which have only grown louder following his resuscitation from stasis in the city's sepulchral bowels and his subsequent appointment to the Royal Council.  In dingy backrooms of bars in the city's slums he is spoken of as a kind of bogeyman: hearsay holds that he's used his influence to requisition prisoners slated for execution to his laboratory for use in unknown experiments.  This negative perception is only exacerbated by the Sorcerer's rather sinister appearance: with a face of unearthly, surgery-sculpted beauty, skin pale as a grave-worm's, and dark, dispassionate eyes that would look more natural on a bird of prey than a human being, Phayn tends to inspire distrust and unease.  Despite his tainted aura, Phayn's power is undeniable and his expertise in the arcane arts all but unequalled; it is said that his talents were essential to the Royalist effort to retake the city from the Syndicalists.

Visual[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Ciara Romanova - Played by sparkletwist]Name: Ms. Ciara Romanova
Age: Has looked 20-ish for far too long
Class: (Not so )Gentle(wo)man

Assets: 5

Charm: 2
Influence: 5
Production: 5 [3 Graft, 2 Vice]
Power: 1

[ic=Philosophy]"Just because the world is ruined and everything's going to hell doesn't mean we have to act like it."[/ic]

To think this sable-haired, mocha-skinned minx to be a mere whore would be a gross underestimation. Not an incorrect estimation, mind, but a gross underestimation-- she is the foremost madam of the city, and the tendrils of her influence extend into all sectors. She has been "catering" the parties of the elites of Tiriol for quite some time now, and a great many of the prominent men (and a few women, too, not that she's naming names) have enjoyed her services. She also runs quite a few seedy bars, clubs, and other establishments, so that the common folk can also partake in the delights that she has on offer.

In truth, merely being the foremost purveyor of sin in Tiriol only accounts for 40% of her considerable wealth. The rest of it comes from political corruption, which she has managed to perpetuate at every level of Tiriol. Naturally, she's amassed quite a list of contacts in her business, and those contacts are often more than willing to do a few favors for her in exchange for some favors in return-- or simply in exchange for her quiet discretion. Those who would take issue with her are advised to notice the two gold-plated coil-pistols she carries everywhere; she is an excellent shot.

While she would normally prefer to do her work through proxies, in truth, with the Royal Council within her grasp, she is far too vain to let anyone else have the honor. So, she has had herself placed on the Council personally, having bought off, blackmailed, or otherwise subverted enough Electors.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Daedalus Sato - Played by Llum]Name: Mr. Daedalus Sato
Age: 31
Class: Gentleman

Assets: 5
Charm: 1
Influence: 6
Production: 6 [5 Armour, 1 Energy]
Power: 0

Favor:

Mr. Daedalus Sato is the owner of the Oceanus Corporation, Tiriol's premier provider of Armour repair and modification, and more recently branching out into Power Generation. Short, trim and with a slightly receding hairline that is slowly going to gray, Daedalus is not an imposing figure. After taking over from his father, a pro-Syndicalist, Daedalus has great plans for the future of the Oceanus Corporation, even if he is largely unknown amongst the cities plebian population.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Marle Lourdes Izar - Played by Sarisa]Name: Madame Marle Lourdes Izar
Age: 36
Sex: Female
Class: Knight

Charm: 3
Influence: 5
Production: 3
Power: 1

Assets: 5

Armor: Stalwart , named "Chaste"

[IC]
 The blade falls and the neon lights of the arena dance and flash, washing the gore in purples,yellows and greens. Madame Izar flourishes her blade, and casually tosses it to the arena floor. She casts aside her helm revealing long dark ringlets of hair. She smiles knowingly to the auto-cameras, her victory known to the masses even before the duel began.

 Offstage, her smile fades. A cigar lingers between her two perfectly pouty red lips. Whisps of smoke linger abover her head. A mouse-faced man bows deeply before the knight. He eyes the heavy sword laying across her lap, a great ornamental thing, yet deadly he knows.

 "You send me boys Terron," She says, smoke spewing from her nostrils. "Little things knighted before they can even fill their helms, let alone stand against me in the arena. I grow tired of your games."

 The smoke burns the arena stewards eyes. He wrings his hands together vigorously as he speaks. "Ahem, Madame, of course you are right. But what am I to give to your beautiful blade but boys? No true knights will accept your challenges, and none have been offered since you carved the Xuhai twins like pigs at slaughter. It grieves me to tell you but there are no more duels to be fought-"

The knight considers this. She continues to consider as she sets aside her ornamental sword and grabs the steward by the throat. Her decision comes as she jams her cigar into his mouth.

"You are right, Terron. No more duels." She smiles as the man writhes on the floor grasping his throat, his retching little more than a crackling whisper. "I believe the Royal Council could do with a little celebrity."

[/ic]

Undefeated in the arena, the Knight Izar was once the beloved champion of the people. After a rather nasty public affair involving a failed arranged marriage, Izar's brutality in the arena shocked the public. After the horrific (and legendary) Xuhai twins match, all of her corporate sponsors except for one shadowy entity disintegrated. With an offer to join the Royal Council, Izar had no choice but to retire from the Arena and take up public service.[/spoiler]

[spoiler=Phineo Trennan - Played by Polycarp]Name: Sir Phineo "Fin" Trennan
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Class: Knight

Charm: 5
Influence: 3
Production: 3
Power: 1

Assets: 5

Armor: Predator, named "Serpentine"

Other knights might be more influential than Phineo Trennan, but none can boast as many tabloid headlines as he can.  The knight the entertainment programs call "Sir Fin" has quickly acquired a reputation for a colorful, controversial, and very well televised social life; his parties are legendary, his style is sublime, and if there was an award for the most telegenic smile in Tiriol, he would have it.  Though he is only average in the arena (for a knight, that is) and his attention-craving personality often puts off his fellow knights, somebody apparently thought it would be wise to have knighthood's most recognizable face on the Royal Council.  If he turns out to be less than adequate for the job, no harm done - how hard could it be to manipulate some aristocratic playboy?[/spoiler]

Non-Player Characters

Basil Angelus- Member of the Gentry and Elector. Formerly a Master of the Administrat. Personally delivered the head of his immediate superior to our forces, allowing for the peaceful disarmament of a powerful Syndicalist holdout in the early days of our Restoration. He leads an influential faction within the Electorate, and narrowly missed securing a seat on the Royal Council. Rabidly anti-Syndicalist.

John Ethan- Sir John Ethan is a Knight in the classical model. As he would say, his obligations are to his family, his people, his Kingdom, and his church, and no other power holds sway over his heart. Cousin to the late Madame Anne-Elizabeth Xuhai and the late Madame Iovana Xuhai.

Leeward Green- Sergeant-Commander of our Gendarmery. Formerly a lieutenant with an internal Guild police force. Straight-laced, by the book, and possessing an astonishing commitment to her duty.

Hiram Isikos- Hiram Isikos has been Bishop of the Diocese of Tiriol for almost a century, taking on the role shortly after the rise of the Syndicates. An old and tired man by any account, he cares little but for the wellbeing of his flock and of his Cathedral. He has expressed his willingness to work with any polity so long as they respect the religious rights of his congregation.    

Angela Rossi- Blonde, beautiful and ambitious - a worrying combination. Angela Rossi is a reporter for NetNewsNow and is the host of 4N, Tiriol's premiere source for nightly news.  

Marcus Seren- Member of the Gentry and Elector. Mr. Marcus Seren is a true media mogul. The various networks of the Seren Group combined hold overall Net viewership ratings exceeding fifty percent. Mr. Seren himself expresses small interest in politics, and more often than not is to be found absent from the Assembly of the Electorate.    

Hector Valda- Spokesman and leader of the Forgers Union and a great bear of a man. Previously of no rank within the Syndicate. The Forgers follow his lead without question. Displays Socialist leanings, but his Forgers make up the majority of our Militia, and so it seems co-operation with his Union would be in our best interest - at least for the moment.

[ic=Magica Potentia Est]The condemned prisoner writhes and gibbers soundlessly, pounding bloody fists against the walls of the Chrysalis, the translucent flux-tank at the center of Phayn's laboratory.  As the miasmic, semi-sapient wraiths somewhere between shadows and piranhas sharing the Chrysalis with the prisoner slowly fillet him, Phayn taps at a console with manicured, long-nailed fingers, humming along to the nocturne whose brooding melodies filled the workroom.  The rounded walls of the flux-tank are now streaked with crimson; all that is left of the man are his bones, piled in a neat little heap at the bottom of the Chrysalis.  The flesh-eating shades hover above the prisoner's remains, wisps of hungry vapour tinted red from their gruesome feast.  Phayn smiles and activates the Chrysalis' vacuum pump, sending the voracious phantoms back to their cell.

"Tiberius!" Phayn calls, pivoting his chair on the spidery, mechanical legs radiating out beneath it.  "Tiberius, I require Mnemnosynex.  Bring me five hundred grams immediately.  Also, the Chrysalis needs cleaning."

"At once, Anom Xavid-Acherus!" a voice replies from elsewhere in the lab.  Phayn can hear the frantic footsteps of his apprentice as he scrambles to prepare the requested dosage.  Directing his throne with a flick of his fingers the Sorcerer crosses the laboratory floor and enters his study.  Strange curios fill the shelves along the walls: intricate clockwork devices that look as if they belong to an earlier age, Outsider artefacts scavenged from battlefields, homunculi cultivated through a mixture of science and sorcery and bottled in tubes of alchemical liquid, uncanny, murderous-looking things that might be art objects or weapons.  An enormous monitor, occupying most of the far wall of the sumptuously appointed chamber, dimly reflects his visage as he approaches the screen: a young face, androgynously beautiful if somewhat mask-like, porcelain-white skin kept unlined and smooth through a battery of longevity-enhancing drugs and occult rituals, framed by long red hair, straight and silky.  Only the eyes are old – bloodshot and dull, impossibly ancient, peering out from sunken sockets beneath slanting, immaculately shaped brows.

The screen flickers to life as Phayn approaches in his chair, displaying reams of esoteric data: experimental results, papers, strange anatomical diagrams, scanned pages culled from mouldering grimoires.  As Phayn prepares to immerse himself in research a silky digitized voice speaks from the screen.

"Anom Xavid-Acherus, excuse my interruption, but the Royal Council requires your presence."

"What!?" the Sorcerer snarls.  "I conferred with them only yesterday.  What could they possibly want now?  I need time to conduct my work!"

"It is my understanding that the needs of state require your attention on a regular basis, Anom.  During the last eighteen hours there have been three food-riots, two firefights between street gangs and law enforcement, thirty-three recorded deaths from exposure, and a level 4 breach of the quarantine zone in Sector 12.  There are reports on the state of the city's defenses, on recent meteorological activity in the Drowning, and on Syndicalist troop movements ready for you to read.  In addition, the vote for the Lord Regent and Lord Militant is today."

Phayn Xavid-Acherus opens his mouth to respond to the sub-sentient AI, then closes it again.  He sighs deeply.  This "governance" nonsense was going to be extraordinarily disruptive to his experiments...[/ic]

Name: Anom Phayn Xavid-Acherus
Age: ?
Class: Sorcerer

Assets: 4
Charm: 0
Influence: 3
Production: 3
Power: 5

Apprentice: Tiberius Vell

Note: Phayn has paid 1 Asset to possess a secret lair (his laboratory).

The enigmatic, oft-withdrawn Anom Phayn Xavid-Acherus had an ill reputation under the King's rule; rumours floated through Tiriol of the Sorcerer's unwholesome associations and less-than-reputable research practices, rumours which have only grown louder following his resuscitation from stasis in the city's sepulchral bowels and his subsequent appointment to the Royal Council.  In dingy backrooms of bars in the city's slums he is spoken of as a kind of bogeyman: hearsay holds that he's used his influence to requisition prisoners slated for execution to his laboratory for use in unknown experiments.  This negative perception is only exacerbated by the Sorcerer's rather sinister appearance: with a face of unearthly, surgery-sculpted beauty, skin pale as a grave-worm's, and dark, dispassionate eyes that would look more natural on a bird of prey than a human being, Phayn tends to inspire distrust and unease.  Despite his tainted aura, Phayn's power is undeniable and his expertise in the arcane arts all but unequalled; it is said that his talents were essential to the Royalist effort to retake the city from the Syndicalists.

Visual

Name: Ms. Ciara Romanova
Age: Has looked 20-ish for far too long
Class: (Not so )Gentle(wo)man

Assets: 5

Charm: 2
Influence: 5
Production: 5
Power: 1

[ic=Philosophy]"Just because the world is ruined and everything's going to hell doesn't mean we have to act like it."[/ic]

To think this sable-haired, mocha-skinned minx to be a mere whore would be a gross underestimation. Not an incorrect estimation, mind, but a gross underestimation-- she is the foremost madam of the city, and the tendrils of her influence extend into all sectors. She has been "catering" the parties of the elites of Tiriol for quite some time now, and a great many of the prominent men (and a few women, too, not that she's naming names) have enjoyed her services. She also runs quite a few seedy bars, clubs, and other establishments, so that the common folk can also partake in the delights that she has on offer.

In truth, merely being the foremost purveyor of sin in Tiriol only accounts for 40% of her considerable wealth. The rest of it comes from political corruption, which she has managed to perpetuate at every level of Tiriol. Naturally, she's amassed quite a list of contacts in her business, and those contacts are often more than willing to do a few favors for her in exchange for some favors in return-- or simply in exchange for her quiet discretion. Those who would take issue with her are advised to notice the two gold-plated coil-pistols she carries everywhere; she is an excellent shot.

While she would normally prefer to do her work through proxies, in truth, with the Royal Council within her grasp, she is far too vain to let anyone else have the honor. So, she has had herself placed on the Council personally, having bought off, blackmailed, or otherwise subverted enough Electors.

Name: Mr. Daedalus Sato
Age: 31
Class: Gentleman

Assets: 5
Charm: 1
Influence: 6
Production: 6
Power: 0

Favor:

Mr. Daedalus Sato, owner of Oceanus Corp, premier repair/modification of Armor[5 Production] and recently branching out into Power Generation[1 Production]. Short, trim with hair slightly receding and going to gray, Daedalus is not an imposing figure.  After taking over from his father, a pro-Syndicalist, Daedalus has great plans for the future of Oceanus Corp, even if he is largely unknown amongst the cities plebian population.

Name: Madame Marle Lourdes Izar
Age: 36
Sex: Female
Class: Knight

Charm: 3
Influence: 5
Production: 3
Power: 1

Assets: 5

Armor: Stalwart , named "Chaste"

[IC]
 The blade falls and the neon lights of the arena dance and flash, washing the gore in purples,yellows and greens. Madame Izar flourishes her blade, and casually tosses it to the arena floor. She casts aside her helm revealing long dark ringlets of hair. She smiles knowingly to the auto-cameras, her victory known to the masses even before the duel began.

 Offstage, her smile fades. A cigar lingers between her two perfectly pouty red lips. Whisps of smoke linger abover her head. A mouse-faced man bows deeply before the knight. He eyes the heavy sword laying across her lap, a great ornamental thing, yet deadly he knows.

 "You send me boys Terron," She says, smoke spewing from her nostrils. "Little things knighted before they can even fill their helms, let alone stand against me in the arena. I grow tired of your games."

 The smoke burns the arena stewards eyes. He wrings his hands together vigorously as he speaks. "Ahem, Madame, of course you are right. But what am I to give to your beautiful blade but boys? No true knights will accept your challenges, and none have been offered since you carved the Xuhai twins like pigs at slaughter. It grieves me to tell you but there are no more duels to be fought-"

The knight considers this. She continues to consider as she sets aside her ornamental sword and grabs the steward by the throat. Her decision comes as she jams her cigar into his mouth.

"You are right, Terron. No more duels." She smiles as the man writhes on the floor grasping his throat, his retching little more than a crackling whisper. "I believe the Royal Council could do with a little celebrity."

[/ic]

Undefeated in the arena, the Knight Izar was once the beloved champion of the people. After a rather nasty public affair involving a failed arranged marriage, Izar's brutality in the arena shocked the public. After the horrific (and legendary) Xuhai twins match, all of her corporate sponsors except for one shadowy entity disintegrated. With an offer to join the Royal Council, Izar had no choice but to retire from the Arena and take up public service.
 

Name: Sir Phineo "Fin" Trennan
Age: 30
Sex: Male
Class: Knight

Charm: 5
Influence: 3
Production: 3
Power: 1

Assets: 5

Armor: Predator, named "Serpentine"

Other knights might be more influential than Phineo Trennan, but none can boast as many tabloid headlines as he can.  The knight the entertainment programs call "Sir Fin" has quickly acquired a reputation for a colorful, controversial, and very well televised social life; his parties are legendary, his style is sublime, and if there was an award for the most telegenic smile in Tiriol, he would have it.  Though he is only average in the arena (for a knight, that is) and his attention-craving personality often puts off his fellow knights, somebody apparently thought it would be wise to have knighthood's most recognizable face on the Royal Council.  If he turns out to be less than adequate for the job, no harm done - how hard could it be to manipulate some aristocratic playboy?

Segment One of 888

Lords of the Kingdom: None! Vote pending.

[ooc=The Council will hear all Concerns and Complaints of the Citizens and Subjects of the Kindom, as is its Duty]
#1 - "I'm Hungry!"
#2 - "Burn the Syndies out of Forge!"
#3 - "Seritha fades! Someone has to do something!"
#4 - "The rights of the worker should be protected by law."
#5 - "The gangs run the streets. Where is the Gendarmery?"[/ooc]


Of the Far Reaches of the World

Rumour has made its way to our city of war in the Utmost North. The Kephriots have sent forth all their armies in a bid to bind the Kings and Princes of that land to the power of the Radiant Throne. They bear the Word of the Archangel, Andronikos, and those faced with the fury of his Blessing can offer but little resistance. It is said that many already kneel in obeisance.  

Conrad Alexander, Prince of the Endless Plain and Lord of Estra Angalas, has called a great council of his vassals and bannermen. Though the purpose of this council is unknown, Prince Conrad has long flouted the authority of his ailing King - whose failing husk has only survived the passing of the centuries bound to the arcane devices of his Sorcerers - and rules his realm with utter disregard for the Royal dictates of the Throne of Amasque.

Of the Frozen Sea

Reports of great fissures in the ice and immense bursts of steam from the depths of the Brine become increasingly common. Many guess that the Syndicates again bring their terrible weapons to bear against one another in their incessant struggle for mastery.

Though their dominion has been sundered, the Syndicate of the Frozen Sea remains the greatest threat to our rule. Socialist revolts have been put down mercilessly in Nesh Taris and Kep, with death tolls in the tens of thousands. The Syndicate has assembled a formidable army outside the gates of Absolon, and lay siege to the Royalists who now control it. It is only a matter of time until their city falls, and none march to relieve them.

Of Tiriol  

The Cathedral is filled daily with the wailing of the sorrowful, and a vigil has begun among the devout. The Angel, Seritha, whose visit to our city was met with much joy and celebration has fallen into a deep and fevered slumber from which she will not awake. The Bishop - Hiram Isikos - has petitioned the Anomy to come forward and lend the aid of their obscure talents in this hour of need.  

Slow progress is made by our militia in subduing the Syndicalist resistance in Forge. It would take a concerted push by our forces to dislodge these fanatics from their stronghold at the Five Corners, and so break the will of the movement.  

The hunger of our Subjects grows daily, and starvation is not far off for some. Food riots are a daily occurrence on the lower levels, and our Gendarmery cannot contain them. If our Subjects are not pacified, our heads might soon roll. Our efforts so far to increase food production have met with limited success. A hardened group of Syndicalists and one of their chained Sorcerers yet occupy the former Guildhall of the Providers. If we could secure its stores and systems, it might be that our people could be fed.

Financials

The Office of the Exchequer reports on the current status of our Kingdom's finances.

Exchequer: 0 Assets

Income:
- 10% sales tax on Luxuries: 3 Assets per segment

Expenses:
- Gendarmery: 1 Asset per segment
- Civil Service: 1 Asset per segment

Missives and Media

[ic=A Message to the Royal Council]Greetings to the wise rulers of Tiriol!

My master, King Ariam, has naught but praise for your glorious Restoration. Indeed, it was this that inspired him to to cast down the Socialists who had grown to infest Great Absolon like a plague of rats. I am sure you have heard of all his works to bring ruin to the tyrannical Syndicalists and the pestilent Socialists, and in this effort I know we are as brothers.

But tyranny is not so easily vanquished, and the Syndicate now squats outside our gates in foolish attempt to retake the city. To this end, my master seeks Alliance between our two great cities, and would have the aid of Tiriolian arms in repelling those who would lay us both low. He calls upon you to march in force to the defence of Absolon, and from there to wreak utter devastation upon all who would oppose us.

Duke Raynald Corlon, High General of Great Absolon[/ic]    

[ic=Hector Valda, netcast]We all remember the Syndicate. We'll never forget. We worked for their Guilds until we just couldn't work anymore, giving everything we had just to keep food on the table, and then they'd throw us out like trash. And did we ever share in any of the so-called prosperity that we were all working for? I sure as hell didn't. Because it all went to the Guildmasters. Syndicalism is slavery, plain and simple, and we should all remember that. Times are tough right now for all of us, and I've heard some of you say that we should never have stuck our necks out, that it was better before. But it isn't just about us right now. And it's not just about righting wrongs. It's about the legacy we leave for our children. Its about building a better society. I believe in our government. I believe they'll do right by us if we do right by them. So I'm asking you, all of you, to keep believing. When you see our boys and girls in blue, say thanks, because they're not just fighting for themselves or their families, they're fighting for yours.[/ic]

[ic=A Private Message to Marle Lourdes Izar]Madame Izar,

As you know, this arrangement only continues at our discretion. We secured the necessary votes for your elevation to the Royal Council for one purpose, the destruction of the Syndicates. It is our continued belief that your ability and temperament are most suited to this task. Your government will not survive if Tiriol remains divided between ideologies. Use the power and influence we have had you granted for this one task, and we will be satisfied, all other matters we leave to you. Kill or die, Marle, this is something we think you know well.

Sigma[/ic]

[ic=A Private Message to Phineo Trennan]Fin! Angela here. Congratulations! You on the Royal Council! Who'd have thought? We'd love to have you back on the show, just to pick your brain a bit. Maybe see where you fall on this vote that's coming up. No hard questions! Promise.

Angela Rossi, NNN[/ic]

[ooc=How to Vote!]All player characters are eligible to seek Lordship, though a character who wins an election may choose not to accept the position if he or she so desires. All player characters are eligible to cast a ballot, though casting a ballot is not mandatory.

Each character has a number of "votes" equal to his or her Influence score. When you cast a ballot, you must choose how these votes are allotted. You can send all your votes to one candidate, or split them between candidates. A ballot should be in a red OOC box like this one, and follow a similar format.

[ooc=Election of 888]
4 votes to Councilor X
2 votes to Councilor Y[/ooc]

The ballot is not secret. Who voted for whom is in-character information known to all. The entire Electorate takes part in this vote; our game simulates this using Influence, meaning that when you "cast a ballot" it actually represents your character and his friends and/or family actively cajoling and convincing NPC Electors to vote your way. You may modify your ballot at any time until voting is closed.[/ooc]

Votes are due by 12 PM EST on Monday, the 25th!

[ic=Message to the Members of the Royal Council]
Good day to my fellow council members
This message to so propose my candidacy for Lord Militant. While I am not a Knight ready to lead from the front of battle, I am familiar with martial industry, being the premier Armor mechanic in Tiriol. As Lord Militant I would ensure that we have a strong military front ready to repel any Syndicate attacks. Furthermore I would have a main goal of increasing the number of Armor that could be called upon by Tiriols Knights.

- Daedalus Sato
[/ooc]

[ic=Message to Daedalus Sato]
  Mr. Sato,
Your proposal seeking the seat of Lord Militant has weighed on my mind these past few hours. I would lend you my support in the coming election provided you supply me with the latest technology and expertise for my own Armor. I would of course supply the necessary funds for such upgrades. What say you sir?
-Izar
[/ic]

[ic=Message to the Royal Council]

Councilors,
    It is with great honor that I join this council and your company. I would give my sword to the city of Tiriol in service, to seek out the Syndicalists wherever they may hide, and give them bloody justice.

Absolon would call upon us to aid them in defense of their city, no doubt a worthy cause; But I fear we must first look to our own city. Syndicalists hold the stronghold at Five Corners, food riots plague Tiriols great underbelly, and the devout hold vigil for the Angel Seritha. If we give aid to Absolon immediately, we risk losing all. Let us give aid to our own cause first!

Regards,
Madame Marle Lourdes Izar

[/ic]

[ic=Ritual]Phayn flips through the reports that flicker across his screen.  Boring.  Irrelevant.  Tiresome... wait.  He lingers on the account of the Syndicalist Sorcerer, chained at their Guildhall.  While Phayn cares little for the suffering of the people, this Sorcerer might have valuable arcane apparatus with him.  But storming the Guildhall without proper intelligence would be folly.  He needs to see inside.  Carefully measuring out a cocktail of the eldritch nootropics known as Contingency 12, Mnemnosynex, and Fathom, Phayn administers the injection carefully, shooting the syringe of puissance-enhancers into the specially grafted uptake site on his left wrist.  As the drugs take effect the Sorcerer directs his scuttling chair to the conjury adjoining his laboratory.  The round, domed chamber is swathed in wires and cables, ancient machines salvaged from bygone temples and others scratch-built specially integrated together, their esoteric mechanical ganglia dangling down to the summoning-dais at the room's heart, a raised platform of polished black stone, perfectly smooth.

First thing's first.  A few rites of symbolic importance - not Sorcery in and of themselves, as most commoners might believe, but a kind of etiquette, a protocol to appease the forces he'd be working with.  With the aid of his apprentice he guts a vat-bred pig and burns its heart in a brazier of purple flame, arranges the entrails into the ritual pattern while muttering prayers to certain elder eidolons.  As usual this mummery strikes Phayn as farcical and crude - but spirits have a strange sense of tradition, and can be quick to take offense.  With the preliminaries complete, Phayn activates the projector on the ceiling, selecting the appropriate pentacle and hieroglyphs, and instantly the proper symbols appear on the summoning-dais.  Now for the tricky part.  He needs a minor spirit, something easily controlled, that can inveigle its way into the Guildhall without being detected and return with the information he seeks.

As Phayn speaks the words and channels the proper energies, something begins to flicker into and out of reality above the summoning-dais, and then to coalesce...

[ooc=Spycraft]Will spend up to 2 Assets (i.e. drugs, sacrifices, etc) to create a Sorcerous spy to investigate the Guildhall.  Specifically, he's looking for information on defensive capabilities, and whether the chained Sorcerer has any equipment/augmentations/paraphernalia that might be of interest to him.[/ooc]
[ooc=Election of 888]Phayn votes almost at random, with little interest in the actual abilities of prospective candidates.

2 Votes to Daedalus Sato for Lord Militant

[Phayn reserves his remaining Vote for the Lord Regent][/ooc]

[ic=Message to Marle Lourdes Izar]
Daedalus Sato is not a Knight. He has acknowledged as much. Instead, he is a businessman, a man in the business of war. There is a clear conflict of interest in putting the same man in charge of our military machine who also supplies it. What is to say he will not direct our military forces to ventures deemed most profitable to him, rather than the good of our city.

I would lend my support to a true, untarnished military mind to take the title of Lord Militant. You, for example.
[/ic]

[ic=Message to the Royal Council]
What of our domestic matters? Who shall be our Lord Regent?

If no others wish the title, I myself offer my candidacy. I am an experienced businesswoman-- a business providing forms of entertainment some of you may find objectionable, this is true, but my business experience is no less solid-- and it is experience that I will apply to the benefit of Tiriol.
[/ic]

Just so everyone knows, the Royal Council does actually meet in person in the Administrat on a regular schedule! So you don't have to just send messages if you don't want to. Though that is of course a perfectly valid means of communication and perhaps better suited in some instances. But if you want to like, speechify to your fellow councilors, you would be able to (you could also speechify in the regular assembly as well). Of course, note that Royal Council sessions are open to members of the Electorate to observe (though generally there isn't a huge turnout) unless the Lord Militant or Lord Regent declares a session closed.