Written By Duarte
Dec. 7, 2023, 12:02 p.m.(4/28/1021 AR)
Journal
The period following Duke Piero's death was marked by treachery and political manuevering. Belladonna's execution of untrustworthy vassals, including the Count of House Adimento, set the stage for a relentless search for the truth. Amidst the chaos, whispers suggested an assassin was behind Piero's demise. Marco Argento was conspicuously absent in Arx during the murder, and his men were seen in the Lower Boroughs conversing with those who consort with shadows.
As the walls were closing in around Marco Argento, he went mad. He burned down the Lighthouse of Nilanza, with his son (Salazar) inside, and fled. Salazar Argento declared his father a traitor and named himself Marquis. Lianne Pravus was installed as the Voice of Nilanza.
And thus began the hunt for Marco Argento, and the backdrop for my budding relationship with Orland Lowborn.
During this hectic time I was assigned to gauge the sentiments of nobles and the upper class regarding the escalating tensions between Nilanza and Setarco. It required a delicate touch and an ear turned to the subtle nuances of courtly intrigue. And this is where Orland's uniqueness began to shine.
I recall a particular soiree where Orland's sharp observation of a noble's furtive glances and tense posture unvieled a hidden assistant whose eavesdropping would otherwise have gone unnoticed. Orland positioned himself in my periphary and a single nod was enough to convey that I needed to change the subject. Shifting instead from inquiry to narrative, I composed some impromptu yarns of misinformation that proved adequate in thwarting an attempt to ascertain the coming intent of House Pravus.
Orland's cynicism and distrust - born of a harsh upbringing - provided a sharp counterpoint to my own approach. At my side, he saw through facades that I might have missed. His instincts were honed on the unforgiving streets of Arx. Indeed, he could gauge a man's trustworthiness from posture alone.
Simultaneously, I had taken it upon myself to teach Orland to read, a skill he quite embraced with a fervor that matched his streetwise acumen. His progress was remarkable and it wasn't long before he became an invaluable messenger, carrying sensitive information with a discretion that belied his years.
Initially, I had thought to mold Orland in the image of a courtier - as I had been. But imparting to him the lessons Belinha had taught me was much akin to teaching a fish to dance.
No. Orland's experiences had shaped him into something different. I shifted instead to nurturing the talents that were uniquely his. His keen observation. His ability to blend into a scene. Orland brought with him an unadorned honesty and a frankness that cut through artifices and duplicity. In him I found an anchor when the tempests of intrigue and conspiracy threatened to sweep me away.
But it wasn't all political intrigue and lessons.
Orland and I bonded not only through our shared work, but through countless conversations that ranged from the pragmatic to the philosophical. His perspective, so different from my own, challenged me in its intuitive simplicity. I like to think that my guidance offered him a steadying influence, but the reverse is the truth of it.
One late evening, Orland and I found solace atop the roof of Pravus Manor. The ward's noise and the distant sound of waves against the docks created a serene backdrop. We sat silently, each immersed in our own thoughts. The silence was our language. And I recognized the rarity of it.
Reflecting on this period presents a narrative challenge - try as I might to tell it in a linear fashion - for it was time where multiple crises converged. The aftershocks of Piero's death rippled through Pravus, spurring a frantic manhut for Marco Argento. Nilanza, along with its vassals, teetered on the brink of chaos. Amidst this, Shreve's ousting added to the tumult as the Inquisition found itself entangled in scandal. Lianne had her demons. I had mine.
But Orland was a simplicity. With him, there was no defining moment. The whole is what it was.
In very little time - very little time - I came to trust Orland as I trust myself, as he trusts me. Our friendship was forged in fire.
Age, circumstance, and his insistence alone makes him my son - as he puts it. But he is not my son. He is a touchstone that reminds me of the values that lay beneath the veneer of nobility and titles. He is a mirror that reflects what I forget and ignore. He is resilience. He is my conscience.
And I was going to need one.
The period following Duke Piero's death was marked by treachery and political manuevering. Belladonna's execution of untrustworthy vassals, including the Count of House Adimento, set the stage for a relentless search for the truth. Amidst the chaos, whispers suggested an assassin was behind Piero's demise. Marco Argento was conspicuously absent in Arx during the murder, and his men were seen in the Lower Boroughs conversing with those who consort with shadows.
As the walls were closing in around Marco Argento, he went mad. He burned down the Lighthouse of Nilanza, with his son (Salazar) inside, and fled. Salazar Argento declared his father a traitor and named himself Marquis. Lianne Pravus was installed as the Voice of Nilanza.
And thus began the hunt for Marco Argento, and the backdrop for my budding relationship with Orland Lowborn.
During this hectic time I was assigned to gauge the sentiments of nobles and the upper class regarding the escalating tensions between Nilanza and Setarco. It required a delicate touch and an ear turned to the subtle nuances of courtly intrigue. And this is where Orland's uniqueness began to shine.
I recall a particular soiree where Orland's sharp observation of a noble's furtive glances and tense posture unvieled a hidden assistant whose eavesdropping would otherwise have gone unnoticed. Orland positioned himself in my periphary and a single nod was enough to convey that I needed to change the subject. Shifting instead from inquiry to narrative, I composed some impromptu yarns of misinformation that proved adequate in thwarting an attempt to ascertain the coming intent of House Pravus.
Orland's cynicism and distrust - born of a harsh upbringing - provided a sharp counterpoint to my own approach. At my side, he saw through facades that I might have missed. His instincts were honed on the unforgiving streets of Arx. Indeed, he could gauge a man's trustworthiness from posture alone.
Simultaneously, I had taken it upon myself to teach Orland to read, a skill he quite embraced with a fervor that matched his streetwise acumen. His progress was remarkable and it wasn't long before he became an invaluable messenger, carrying sensitive information with a discretion that belied his years.
Initially, I had thought to mold Orland in the image of a courtier - as I had been. But imparting to him the lessons Belinha had taught me was much akin to teaching a fish to dance.
No. Orland's experiences had shaped him into something different. I shifted instead to nurturing the talents that were uniquely his. His keen observation. His ability to blend into a scene. Orland brought with him an unadorned honesty and a frankness that cut through artifices and duplicity. In him I found an anchor when the tempests of intrigue and conspiracy threatened to sweep me away.
But it wasn't all political intrigue and lessons.
Orland and I bonded not only through our shared work, but through countless conversations that ranged from the pragmatic to the philosophical. His perspective, so different from my own, challenged me in its intuitive simplicity. I like to think that my guidance offered him a steadying influence, but the reverse is the truth of it.
One late evening, Orland and I found solace atop the roof of Pravus Manor. The ward's noise and the distant sound of waves against the docks created a serene backdrop. We sat silently, each immersed in our own thoughts. The silence was our language. And I recognized the rarity of it.
Reflecting on this period presents a narrative challenge - try as I might to tell it in a linear fashion - for it was time where multiple crises converged. The aftershocks of Piero's death rippled through Pravus, spurring a frantic manhut for Marco Argento. Nilanza, along with its vassals, teetered on the brink of chaos. Amidst this, Shreve's ousting added to the tumult as the Inquisition found itself entangled in scandal. Lianne had her demons. I had mine.
But Orland was a simplicity. With him, there was no defining moment. The whole is what it was.
In very little time - very little time - I came to trust Orland as I trust myself, as he trusts me. Our friendship was forged in fire.
Age, circumstance, and his insistence alone makes him my son - as he puts it. But he is not my son. He is a touchstone that reminds me of the values that lay beneath the veneer of nobility and titles. He is a mirror that reflects what I forget and ignore. He is resilience. He is my conscience.
And I was going to need one.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 4, 2023, 5:35 p.m.(4/23/1021 AR)
*** Black Journal Entry ***
Submitted at Count Duarte Amadeo's request to the Whites for the purpose of his memoir.
----------------------------------------------------------
That most people don't know what is sitting across or beside them, is sometimes astounding. If they knew the peril, they would run. It still surprises me from time to time how much a smile can hide. Some day when I die, they will potentially know what they supped with, danced with, played with and loved with. In the end though, everything has a purpose. If they choose not to walk away, it is their fault.
It is at night though, I sometimes question. Myself. Others. I talk into the void knowing that nothing will answer back. Some day though, maybe something will. I will continue what I do, what I need to do, what I should do. There is what is right, and it may not always align with what others demand. What is right, is not what is always good, the same as what's good, is not always right.
She states that she's not looking for love, and I can understand. I of all people, understand. Love is too dangerous. Love gives someone something over you. Leverage. Love is a weakness, the same as lust. I don't know that I could find another who could stomach what I have done in the name of others with a higher purpose. I don't know if I would want to because that would mean I have found another who lives as I do. Solitude is better, necessary. Solitude is the reason for my smile.
Whats in the dark?
What's in the shadows that she looks at with fear?
Do I even want to know? Because I know, it's not me.
Submitted at Count Duarte Amadeo's request to the Whites for the purpose of his memoir.
----------------------------------------------------------
That most people don't know what is sitting across or beside them, is sometimes astounding. If they knew the peril, they would run. It still surprises me from time to time how much a smile can hide. Some day when I die, they will potentially know what they supped with, danced with, played with and loved with. In the end though, everything has a purpose. If they choose not to walk away, it is their fault.
It is at night though, I sometimes question. Myself. Others. I talk into the void knowing that nothing will answer back. Some day though, maybe something will. I will continue what I do, what I need to do, what I should do. There is what is right, and it may not always align with what others demand. What is right, is not what is always good, the same as what's good, is not always right.
She states that she's not looking for love, and I can understand. I of all people, understand. Love is too dangerous. Love gives someone something over you. Leverage. Love is a weakness, the same as lust. I don't know that I could find another who could stomach what I have done in the name of others with a higher purpose. I don't know if I would want to because that would mean I have found another who lives as I do. Solitude is better, necessary. Solitude is the reason for my smile.
Whats in the dark?
What's in the shadows that she looks at with fear?
Do I even want to know? Because I know, it's not me.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 4, 2023, 5:25 a.m.(4/22/1021 AR)
Journal
In the wake of the chaos that saw the end of Shreve's special few, I found myself confined to a bed in Pravus Manor. My body was a tapestry of pain and my mind a whirlpool of thoughts. The evisceration I suffered left me with a scar - a stark, constant reminder of the night's horrors, my guts meticulously re-packaged and sewn by Lianne herself. Each throbbing ache, every pulsing pain, was a ghostly echo of that fateful confrontation. The sounds, the sights, the feels of that evening, all swarm back when I regard that thick mass of scar tissue.
And truth be told, reader - knowing what I know now - remembering it at all is a sweet, sweet gift.
Laying in that bed, my mind wandered through a fog of pain and a daze of medications. In those solitary moments, I grappled with a grief that seemed misplaced but was undeniably real. It was not for the death of Shreve, but for the death of a purpose he gave me. Perhaps the grief wasn't about him at all, but about him just being the last of a long chain of departed father figures and mentors who cobbled a path to their own undoing.
Regret also gnawed at me. Regret for the things I did in service to the man, and regret for not seeing the signs of his fall. I promised myself to never speak or write of him again. Vellichor compels me to do so now.
The nights were the hardest. I questioned everything. I would speak into the void and half-expect an answer I knew would never come. I pondered the essence of my being against the nature of the company I kept.
Mostly, I thought of Lianne.
Before I knew it, I was back on my feet.
*****
The Lower Boroughs of Arx is a part of the city where survival often depends on quick thinking and adaptability. I would go there often. Either to walk or run the occasional errand for a Pravus noble. It isn't too much unlike where I grew up in Setarco, really.
Twilight hit with a peculiarly rapid setting of the sun that late autumn evening and those who didn't belong were hustling to safer quarters of the city before it dipped below the horizon. I, however, was strolling, with a coin purse carelessly tied to my belt and dangling. I'm sure it seemed like just a terrible oversight on my part to be carrying my silver so.
As I ventured East from the docks and began heading North toward the Uppers - a locale more heavily patrolled by the Iron Guard - I noticed I was being followed. It's not hard to notice when you are being followed - a fact that always eludes unskilled petty criminals, and unobservant marks just the same. The trick is to look behind yourself and see if someone is following you. A side-glance to a dark store window, made mirror-like by the reflection of a setting sun, accomplishes this nicely.
My tail, though, was at least clever enough to dart off into an adjacent alleyway. He was also clever enough to give me some stretches of street to cover before he re-appeared - hoping I'd quite forget, no doubt, that I had made him. And he was right, I did. And then he was cheeky enough to come careening right before me pretending to spill a crate of fruit from a nearby market store. Unconcerned for the plight of a careless storekeeper's assistant, I went to step around the lad. He pretended to hustle to collect the fruit he had spilled, and then he bumped me.
It only took a few strides to notice that my belt was lighter and that the patter cadence of my purse hitting my thigh with each step was now absent. But - you know - it wasn't a crowded street. There could've only been a single culprit.
So I turned around. The young man had already darted off, and there is no way I could hope to catch him. But stroll after him I did. Because I knew...I knew once he opened the coin purse he would simply stay put, and I would catch up to him then.
Following a trail of spilled fruit and muddy shoe prints, I cornered the lad in an alleyway - catching him just in time to watch as he threw my coin purse full of medicinal leeches across the brick-laid corridor in a fit of anger.
"I believe you have something that belongs to me." The rubicund glint of my beloved twin rondel daggers was a necessary pre-emption to his making any unwise moves.
Rakish, mousey brown hair and swarthy skin - the lad looked like a hundred if not a thousand other boys, were it not for his look of grit. He motioned where he had tossed my leeches and, obligingly (with very little impetus needed beyond request) drifted like some listless ghoul over to the pouch he filched, and gave it back.
There are a multitude of ways to get silver. Of those ways, pocket picking is a skill that one is trained for. So, I asked him how much his tax was and got a number. For his troubles, I counted it out of my actual coin purse - which I keep much closer to my person than dangling from my belt.
The boy seemed a shattered husk of a personality. So I tipped him a single silver coin for the service of retrieving my leeches (which he pilfered and then tossed). And then - he told a joke. "I could retrieve your leeches a hundred times over?"
The lad could be any lad and could have lived any life, but this is what he had: a shallow hope hung on a strange man with a weird accent carrying leeches on his hip. Why such paths are forged is up to the gods that set us each on our beginning. All I knew is I didn't feel like walking all the way across the city. So I gave the boy a chance.
Delivering a sack of leeches to Pravus Manor was the first honest job anyone ever gave Orland Lowborn. And he met me again later that night at Murder of Crows with a receipt of delivery.
In the wake of the chaos that saw the end of Shreve's special few, I found myself confined to a bed in Pravus Manor. My body was a tapestry of pain and my mind a whirlpool of thoughts. The evisceration I suffered left me with a scar - a stark, constant reminder of the night's horrors, my guts meticulously re-packaged and sewn by Lianne herself. Each throbbing ache, every pulsing pain, was a ghostly echo of that fateful confrontation. The sounds, the sights, the feels of that evening, all swarm back when I regard that thick mass of scar tissue.
And truth be told, reader - knowing what I know now - remembering it at all is a sweet, sweet gift.
Laying in that bed, my mind wandered through a fog of pain and a daze of medications. In those solitary moments, I grappled with a grief that seemed misplaced but was undeniably real. It was not for the death of Shreve, but for the death of a purpose he gave me. Perhaps the grief wasn't about him at all, but about him just being the last of a long chain of departed father figures and mentors who cobbled a path to their own undoing.
Regret also gnawed at me. Regret for the things I did in service to the man, and regret for not seeing the signs of his fall. I promised myself to never speak or write of him again. Vellichor compels me to do so now.
The nights were the hardest. I questioned everything. I would speak into the void and half-expect an answer I knew would never come. I pondered the essence of my being against the nature of the company I kept.
Mostly, I thought of Lianne.
Before I knew it, I was back on my feet.
*****
The Lower Boroughs of Arx is a part of the city where survival often depends on quick thinking and adaptability. I would go there often. Either to walk or run the occasional errand for a Pravus noble. It isn't too much unlike where I grew up in Setarco, really.
Twilight hit with a peculiarly rapid setting of the sun that late autumn evening and those who didn't belong were hustling to safer quarters of the city before it dipped below the horizon. I, however, was strolling, with a coin purse carelessly tied to my belt and dangling. I'm sure it seemed like just a terrible oversight on my part to be carrying my silver so.
As I ventured East from the docks and began heading North toward the Uppers - a locale more heavily patrolled by the Iron Guard - I noticed I was being followed. It's not hard to notice when you are being followed - a fact that always eludes unskilled petty criminals, and unobservant marks just the same. The trick is to look behind yourself and see if someone is following you. A side-glance to a dark store window, made mirror-like by the reflection of a setting sun, accomplishes this nicely.
My tail, though, was at least clever enough to dart off into an adjacent alleyway. He was also clever enough to give me some stretches of street to cover before he re-appeared - hoping I'd quite forget, no doubt, that I had made him. And he was right, I did. And then he was cheeky enough to come careening right before me pretending to spill a crate of fruit from a nearby market store. Unconcerned for the plight of a careless storekeeper's assistant, I went to step around the lad. He pretended to hustle to collect the fruit he had spilled, and then he bumped me.
It only took a few strides to notice that my belt was lighter and that the patter cadence of my purse hitting my thigh with each step was now absent. But - you know - it wasn't a crowded street. There could've only been a single culprit.
So I turned around. The young man had already darted off, and there is no way I could hope to catch him. But stroll after him I did. Because I knew...I knew once he opened the coin purse he would simply stay put, and I would catch up to him then.
Following a trail of spilled fruit and muddy shoe prints, I cornered the lad in an alleyway - catching him just in time to watch as he threw my coin purse full of medicinal leeches across the brick-laid corridor in a fit of anger.
"I believe you have something that belongs to me." The rubicund glint of my beloved twin rondel daggers was a necessary pre-emption to his making any unwise moves.
Rakish, mousey brown hair and swarthy skin - the lad looked like a hundred if not a thousand other boys, were it not for his look of grit. He motioned where he had tossed my leeches and, obligingly (with very little impetus needed beyond request) drifted like some listless ghoul over to the pouch he filched, and gave it back.
There are a multitude of ways to get silver. Of those ways, pocket picking is a skill that one is trained for. So, I asked him how much his tax was and got a number. For his troubles, I counted it out of my actual coin purse - which I keep much closer to my person than dangling from my belt.
The boy seemed a shattered husk of a personality. So I tipped him a single silver coin for the service of retrieving my leeches (which he pilfered and then tossed). And then - he told a joke. "I could retrieve your leeches a hundred times over?"
The lad could be any lad and could have lived any life, but this is what he had: a shallow hope hung on a strange man with a weird accent carrying leeches on his hip. Why such paths are forged is up to the gods that set us each on our beginning. All I knew is I didn't feel like walking all the way across the city. So I gave the boy a chance.
Delivering a sack of leeches to Pravus Manor was the first honest job anyone ever gave Orland Lowborn. And he met me again later that night at Murder of Crows with a receipt of delivery.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 3, 2023, 4:13 a.m.(4/20/1021 AR)
*** Black Journal Entry Dated Autumn 1006 AR ***
Submitted at Count Duarte Amadeo's request to the Whites for the purpose of his memoir.
----------------------------------------------------------
Maybe it's the concoctions given, maybe it's the lack of blood that by now has surely been scrubbed from the entrance. But I'm grieving for him. It's wrong, I'm sure many would tell me, but I am. Not for his death. Not for his life. There are those who saw what they saw, and maybe it is much more just the colour of youth that I remember it through but he gave me purpose. What life did not teach me, he did. To that shadows he liked to stay and there, he taught me the same. I know now why he liked them. There was a time that I would have died for him. But like those who were either father or I had considered father, they have taken steps that have brought them to their doom at their own hand.
I told Prince Laric one time, that I regretted and felt remorse for the actions that I did when I was the man's hand. I feel some remorse and regret now. Regret that I did not see what was happening sooner. Remorse that I did nothing before now, to try and correct it. I bear loyalty to Pravus, as I feel it to the inquisition. At one time, it was loyalty to him, for I thought that they were one and the same.
But now, he is gone. They are gone. Whether it is illusion or in truth, I don't know, but I know that there is a hollowness that I feel that cannot be attributed to the injuries I sustained. To the damage done to Pravus. At some point, the Duchess will visit, or call me before her and I will have to answer, I am sure, for the deaths of those in the house that I called on her to use and help.
This is the last, that I will say his name, write his name, think his name. As I lay here and use my energy to put to paper, I will do as is bidden. That which was, is no more. To fade into the ether, like the others who I called family or mentor.
May the gods give you compassion, may you find a peace that you could not here. I have to think, that somewhere you were once untouched and had good intentions.
Submitted at Count Duarte Amadeo's request to the Whites for the purpose of his memoir.
----------------------------------------------------------
Maybe it's the concoctions given, maybe it's the lack of blood that by now has surely been scrubbed from the entrance. But I'm grieving for him. It's wrong, I'm sure many would tell me, but I am. Not for his death. Not for his life. There are those who saw what they saw, and maybe it is much more just the colour of youth that I remember it through but he gave me purpose. What life did not teach me, he did. To that shadows he liked to stay and there, he taught me the same. I know now why he liked them. There was a time that I would have died for him. But like those who were either father or I had considered father, they have taken steps that have brought them to their doom at their own hand.
I told Prince Laric one time, that I regretted and felt remorse for the actions that I did when I was the man's hand. I feel some remorse and regret now. Regret that I did not see what was happening sooner. Remorse that I did nothing before now, to try and correct it. I bear loyalty to Pravus, as I feel it to the inquisition. At one time, it was loyalty to him, for I thought that they were one and the same.
But now, he is gone. They are gone. Whether it is illusion or in truth, I don't know, but I know that there is a hollowness that I feel that cannot be attributed to the injuries I sustained. To the damage done to Pravus. At some point, the Duchess will visit, or call me before her and I will have to answer, I am sure, for the deaths of those in the house that I called on her to use and help.
This is the last, that I will say his name, write his name, think his name. As I lay here and use my energy to put to paper, I will do as is bidden. That which was, is no more. To fade into the ether, like the others who I called family or mentor.
May the gods give you compassion, may you find a peace that you could not here. I have to think, that somewhere you were once untouched and had good intentions.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 1, 2023, 7:39 a.m.(4/16/1021 AR)
The name Shreve Tyde, once whispered in hushed tones throughout the city, now resounds as a stark warning of how power, when sought without conscience, leads only to ruin. Not ruin for the powerful, but ruin for all.
He was a man as enigmatic as he was feared. He met his end in a manner befitting the tumult he sowed. The allegiances of the former Master of Questions had long been the subject of speculation. It would only be a matter of time before he was outed as a traitor.
In hindsight, Shreve's rise to the role of Master of Questions was a dark omen. His reign was marked by ruthless efficiency and lack of moral compass.
The crux came when evidence of his treachery emerged. The High Inquisitor, Prince Laric Grayson, began a meticulous investigation, unraveling Shreve's web of deceit. A plot was then hatched. Duchess Belladonna Pravus would lure Shreve to Pravus Manor where he could be seized and dealt with. Leaning on my access to the man, I was to leak word to Shreve that the King's Own were planning to move King Alaric out of the palace. Assuming Shreve took the bait, the King's Own and Inquisition would ambush Shreve's loyal, while the Iron Guard barricaded the bridge to prevent retreat.
Both ploys proved successful - but at cost. Shreve was apprehended at Pravus Manor. After refusing to surrender, Shreve and some of his fellow traitors were cut down.
But I, I was at the palace.
At the precise time I had fed to Shreve, twelve of his most senior members of the Inquisition, led by Inquisitor Trevino, appeared crossing Sovereign Bridge. A summer storm had blown in from the Bay of Thrax and rain engulfed us and became torrential as Trevino began slicing open his own hand and asking for His Majesty.
Such is his way, Prince Alistair (before he was Prince, you know?) stepped forward and cut through all pretese and gave no pretext. "Let's just get to the part where you all die very painful deaths." He must've known there'd be no easy surrender.
Trevino proceeded to advance and lay accusations against Dame Leona Thrax - accusing her of treason! He began choke. The storm grew intense, shrouding the scenery with sheets of heavy rainfall. But the beating of precipitation against the stone ground could not mask the sound of Trevino's screaming. As he was overcome by some force within himself, he drew that very same dagger he used upon his hand and took it to his throat. He fell forward. Lightning struck. His blood pooled around him and refused to be washed by the rain. It drew together and congealed and - sure as I write this - began to take the shape of a man with large monstrous wings like those of a bat. The thing spoke, in a growl low and loud enough to cut through the pattering rain, "None of you will survive..."
Inquisitor Tikva drew her bow and with passionate voice belted a song that harmed and enraged the demon. The terrible creature bellowed and drew in the storm with winds so heavy they blew several Iron Guardsman off the bridge to their death. The rain turned to blood and beat down on the forces that guarded the palace and bridge: the Crimson Blades, King's Own, Iron Guard and Inquisition.
The 11 traitorous Inquisitors - those that were led by Trevino - donned looks of terror as they seemed to be controlled like puppets and were impelled forward in attack. The squall become overpowering. It swirled around the bridge turning day to night with a thick, ruddy opacity. Battle ensured.
The 11 inquisitors were quickly met upon by the swords of Alistair and Silas Whitehawk and the arrows of Narciso Artiglio, whilst Dame Leona with her sword, and Inquisitor Tikva with her arrows, honed on the demon.
But it was the song - Tikva's song - that enraged the thing most, for it gathered into its terrifying claw a great cloud and sent a searing streak of flame that cut straight through Narciso. It cried in fury that all Godtouched would perish!
And me, with my little daggers. Me - so ill-suited for combat and surrounded by heroes. It was only off some blinding, primal insistence for survival that I swung and parried at all. But Narciso's sudden demise was a shock that gave me pause. The skirmish resumed around me: Sir Roland, the stablemaster Tristan, Lord Tobias Telmar - and then others came! The Princess Reese Grayson and Abbas, formerly of House Thrax, along with Duke Harald Grimhall and Prince Ainsley Grayson. Heroes - all - descended upon the bloody demon.
The monster was wounded and the blood rain began to pierce the skin like poison. And yet, still, more rushed in: Luca Grayson nee Velenosa, Prince Fergus Redrain, Prince Aiden Grayson, the Blacktongue of Velenosa, Princess Serafine Velenosa!
Under the force of these heroes blades did the demon fall, rupturing into a black cloud whose expanse was diminished by Inquisitor Tikva's carol. It exploded outward, ripping and burning flesh of all it touched.
Others, still, came to defeat the remaining Inquisitors who were puppeteered by some unnatural force. But I lost track, for I was done. Sentenced to die upon that bridge by that abyssal monstrosity, my skin flayed by acidic rain and my abdomen lacerated to my innards.
Melena Black contained what she could, there on the bridge, before Abbas carried me over his back like freshly hunted game to the Pravus estate. "She's going to kill me," I told her.
He was a man as enigmatic as he was feared. He met his end in a manner befitting the tumult he sowed. The allegiances of the former Master of Questions had long been the subject of speculation. It would only be a matter of time before he was outed as a traitor.
In hindsight, Shreve's rise to the role of Master of Questions was a dark omen. His reign was marked by ruthless efficiency and lack of moral compass.
The crux came when evidence of his treachery emerged. The High Inquisitor, Prince Laric Grayson, began a meticulous investigation, unraveling Shreve's web of deceit. A plot was then hatched. Duchess Belladonna Pravus would lure Shreve to Pravus Manor where he could be seized and dealt with. Leaning on my access to the man, I was to leak word to Shreve that the King's Own were planning to move King Alaric out of the palace. Assuming Shreve took the bait, the King's Own and Inquisition would ambush Shreve's loyal, while the Iron Guard barricaded the bridge to prevent retreat.
Both ploys proved successful - but at cost. Shreve was apprehended at Pravus Manor. After refusing to surrender, Shreve and some of his fellow traitors were cut down.
But I, I was at the palace.
At the precise time I had fed to Shreve, twelve of his most senior members of the Inquisition, led by Inquisitor Trevino, appeared crossing Sovereign Bridge. A summer storm had blown in from the Bay of Thrax and rain engulfed us and became torrential as Trevino began slicing open his own hand and asking for His Majesty.
Such is his way, Prince Alistair (before he was Prince, you know?) stepped forward and cut through all pretese and gave no pretext. "Let's just get to the part where you all die very painful deaths." He must've known there'd be no easy surrender.
Trevino proceeded to advance and lay accusations against Dame Leona Thrax - accusing her of treason! He began choke. The storm grew intense, shrouding the scenery with sheets of heavy rainfall. But the beating of precipitation against the stone ground could not mask the sound of Trevino's screaming. As he was overcome by some force within himself, he drew that very same dagger he used upon his hand and took it to his throat. He fell forward. Lightning struck. His blood pooled around him and refused to be washed by the rain. It drew together and congealed and - sure as I write this - began to take the shape of a man with large monstrous wings like those of a bat. The thing spoke, in a growl low and loud enough to cut through the pattering rain, "None of you will survive..."
Inquisitor Tikva drew her bow and with passionate voice belted a song that harmed and enraged the demon. The terrible creature bellowed and drew in the storm with winds so heavy they blew several Iron Guardsman off the bridge to their death. The rain turned to blood and beat down on the forces that guarded the palace and bridge: the Crimson Blades, King's Own, Iron Guard and Inquisition.
The 11 traitorous Inquisitors - those that were led by Trevino - donned looks of terror as they seemed to be controlled like puppets and were impelled forward in attack. The squall become overpowering. It swirled around the bridge turning day to night with a thick, ruddy opacity. Battle ensured.
The 11 inquisitors were quickly met upon by the swords of Alistair and Silas Whitehawk and the arrows of Narciso Artiglio, whilst Dame Leona with her sword, and Inquisitor Tikva with her arrows, honed on the demon.
But it was the song - Tikva's song - that enraged the thing most, for it gathered into its terrifying claw a great cloud and sent a searing streak of flame that cut straight through Narciso. It cried in fury that all Godtouched would perish!
And me, with my little daggers. Me - so ill-suited for combat and surrounded by heroes. It was only off some blinding, primal insistence for survival that I swung and parried at all. But Narciso's sudden demise was a shock that gave me pause. The skirmish resumed around me: Sir Roland, the stablemaster Tristan, Lord Tobias Telmar - and then others came! The Princess Reese Grayson and Abbas, formerly of House Thrax, along with Duke Harald Grimhall and Prince Ainsley Grayson. Heroes - all - descended upon the bloody demon.
The monster was wounded and the blood rain began to pierce the skin like poison. And yet, still, more rushed in: Luca Grayson nee Velenosa, Prince Fergus Redrain, Prince Aiden Grayson, the Blacktongue of Velenosa, Princess Serafine Velenosa!
Under the force of these heroes blades did the demon fall, rupturing into a black cloud whose expanse was diminished by Inquisitor Tikva's carol. It exploded outward, ripping and burning flesh of all it touched.
Others, still, came to defeat the remaining Inquisitors who were puppeteered by some unnatural force. But I lost track, for I was done. Sentenced to die upon that bridge by that abyssal monstrosity, my skin flayed by acidic rain and my abdomen lacerated to my innards.
Melena Black contained what she could, there on the bridge, before Abbas carried me over his back like freshly hunted game to the Pravus estate. "She's going to kill me," I told her.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 1, 2023, 1:14 a.m.(4/15/1021 AR)
Journal
In the wake of the turmoil of Setarco that eventually prompted Belladonna's arrival to Arx, and in the shadow of the Inquisition, a sort of reunion beckoned. It was with Lianne Pravus. Though we both stayed at the manor in Setarco, we had hardly occasion to take notice of one another until now, when duty to family saw our paths cross. I had only known of her in those years previous as a bit of a bane to the Duchess who often complained that Lianne needed to be wed. Of course, once decided, she would then complain that Lianne was too indispensable to be married off. Such gossip is commonplace in noble houses, I hardly paid it any mind beyond the amusement that one of the nieces was getting the better of the Duke & Duchess.
But amidst the darkness that had settled over Arx after Duke Piero's murder, Lianne's arrival was like a light - an analogy I know she'd shy from. I am prepared to be soundly tsked for it.
Lianne was a woman of understated beauty and her mind was as sharp as a most honed blade. Her presence balanced grace and intellect with an air of mystery - for, you see, Lianne's subtlety and intelligence are not just in her words but in the spaces between them.
Driven by insatiable curiosity, Lianne was a seeker of truths. Not of the sort I often sought. Her pursuits were into the threads of the very fabric that holds our world together. And this would often lead her into the deepest of intellectual rabbit holes. She had a chilling ability to weave through the complexities of politics and governance - it did not take long for me to see why she was too precious an asset to be given away by marriage.
Our meeting in Arx was a confluence of minds - a blending of our distinct yet complementary talents. Lianne's brilliance in strategy and research, and my knack for the unseen and unsaid.
When a dear friend, co-author, and loyal, beloved servant of House Pravus, was under suspicion of dastardly deeds - and when it became evident that he could not possibly have been in two places at once - was when I began prodding at things that didn't want to be prodded. But Lianne had a thirst for this stuff that could not be quenched. And I was beginning to catch glimpses of what Shreve had promised revelation of in those months before.
From there we located a book of a particular and peculiar sort. Indeed, a whole piece of the world was being discovered that none knew existed as we tracked the bloodline of House Pravus.
How business blossoms into friendship, then to something more. Isn't that a tale old as time itself?
Together we would enjoy the balcony of the Pravus Estate. The bowls of summer berries that settled between us were in many ways symbolic of our time together - sweet, but fleeting. I don't remember much of our talks beyond that we had them. But I do remember how those morsels would stain her fingers all shades of red and purple.
This was 1005, and the world is only now coming to awareness of the terrifying nature of what we only began to (poorly) fathom then. Then - when our best foot forward was based on the ravings of madness from a prisoner in the Inquisition's panopticon.
I have some correspondence from the time which I revisit often. Mine were a mix of adoration and concern. I reflected on the darker paths my life had taken, and the effects of our particular studies upon me. Choices, regrets, and a life lived on one's own terms. And a vow.
Lianne's back was like a balm to my troubled spirit. Of me, she made a request. She also expressed her characteristic defiant will and her confidence that our efforts would either break or better the world.
Sixteen years later, my dear Lianne was right.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. There was still the matter of Shreve.
In the wake of the turmoil of Setarco that eventually prompted Belladonna's arrival to Arx, and in the shadow of the Inquisition, a sort of reunion beckoned. It was with Lianne Pravus. Though we both stayed at the manor in Setarco, we had hardly occasion to take notice of one another until now, when duty to family saw our paths cross. I had only known of her in those years previous as a bit of a bane to the Duchess who often complained that Lianne needed to be wed. Of course, once decided, she would then complain that Lianne was too indispensable to be married off. Such gossip is commonplace in noble houses, I hardly paid it any mind beyond the amusement that one of the nieces was getting the better of the Duke & Duchess.
But amidst the darkness that had settled over Arx after Duke Piero's murder, Lianne's arrival was like a light - an analogy I know she'd shy from. I am prepared to be soundly tsked for it.
Lianne was a woman of understated beauty and her mind was as sharp as a most honed blade. Her presence balanced grace and intellect with an air of mystery - for, you see, Lianne's subtlety and intelligence are not just in her words but in the spaces between them.
Driven by insatiable curiosity, Lianne was a seeker of truths. Not of the sort I often sought. Her pursuits were into the threads of the very fabric that holds our world together. And this would often lead her into the deepest of intellectual rabbit holes. She had a chilling ability to weave through the complexities of politics and governance - it did not take long for me to see why she was too precious an asset to be given away by marriage.
Our meeting in Arx was a confluence of minds - a blending of our distinct yet complementary talents. Lianne's brilliance in strategy and research, and my knack for the unseen and unsaid.
When a dear friend, co-author, and loyal, beloved servant of House Pravus, was under suspicion of dastardly deeds - and when it became evident that he could not possibly have been in two places at once - was when I began prodding at things that didn't want to be prodded. But Lianne had a thirst for this stuff that could not be quenched. And I was beginning to catch glimpses of what Shreve had promised revelation of in those months before.
From there we located a book of a particular and peculiar sort. Indeed, a whole piece of the world was being discovered that none knew existed as we tracked the bloodline of House Pravus.
How business blossoms into friendship, then to something more. Isn't that a tale old as time itself?
Together we would enjoy the balcony of the Pravus Estate. The bowls of summer berries that settled between us were in many ways symbolic of our time together - sweet, but fleeting. I don't remember much of our talks beyond that we had them. But I do remember how those morsels would stain her fingers all shades of red and purple.
This was 1005, and the world is only now coming to awareness of the terrifying nature of what we only began to (poorly) fathom then. Then - when our best foot forward was based on the ravings of madness from a prisoner in the Inquisition's panopticon.
I have some correspondence from the time which I revisit often. Mine were a mix of adoration and concern. I reflected on the darker paths my life had taken, and the effects of our particular studies upon me. Choices, regrets, and a life lived on one's own terms. And a vow.
Lianne's back was like a balm to my troubled spirit. Of me, she made a request. She also expressed her characteristic defiant will and her confidence that our efforts would either break or better the world.
Sixteen years later, my dear Lianne was right.
But let's not get ahead of ourselves. There was still the matter of Shreve.
Written By Duarte
Nov. 23, 2023, 3:09 a.m.(3/27/1021 AR)
Journal
Meanwhile, in Setarco, an intricate tapestry of politics and power was being woven. Its ultimate design would shatter the very foundation of House Pravus.
Duke Piero was a beacon of kindness and generosity. He ruled with a soft heart. And though his intentions were well-meaning, his altruism was regarded as a weakness to vassals who were long engaged in testing the waters to see just how far they could transgress against the kindly Duke.
In the bustling streets of Setarco and among his closest circles, Duke Piero was beloved. He would walk among his people as one of them and share in their joys and sorrows. He was quick to forgive. He calmed often turbulent moments with his wisdom and faith in his people. Yet, beneath the tranquility around him, the waters of treachery relentlessly churned.
Belladonna, eldest daughter, watched with growing concern. She, perhaps more than any, saw how the lesser vassals pushed her father's limits. How they mocked his kindness as naivety. Belladonna warned Piero, often, of an impending storm and urged him frequently to take actions necessary to secure his House and power. But her pleas fell on deaf ears.
As time passed, whispers of discontent and rebellion echoed. I heard them in Arx. How deafening they must've been to Belladonna, in Setarco.
Then, the unthinkable happened. Piero Pravus was murdered.
Belladonna, now thrust into the role of Duchess, faced the chaos head-on. With a fierce determination, she crushed a nascent rebellion headed by House Adimento - a vassal of Nilanza's Argento family. She showed no mercy to the traitors who dared undermine her house. The once quiet halls of Pravus Manor were now filled with the cries of betrayers meeting their ends. Belladonna's retribution sent a clear message: betrayal would be met with merciless justice.
The news of the assassination reached me with a crushing impact. My heart ached for the loss of Piero and with frustration for my absence in Setarco's time of need. A storm of guilt raged within me. Why was I not there? My usefulness, honed in the shadows and corridors of power, could have been a shield against the duplicity that claimed her father. Instead, I was in Arx - distant and detached - while Pravus faced its darkest hour.
My resignation from the Inquisition was swift. I vowed to stand by Duchess Belladonna - to be an unseen hand that would help safeguard her legacy.
Belladonna did what she could in Setarco to quell rebellion, but she was unrelenting in pursuit of the foes who ordered the death of her father. It was an inquiry that led her eventually to Arx. And it was not too long after she arrived that she sent for Lianne.
Meanwhile, in Setarco, an intricate tapestry of politics and power was being woven. Its ultimate design would shatter the very foundation of House Pravus.
Duke Piero was a beacon of kindness and generosity. He ruled with a soft heart. And though his intentions were well-meaning, his altruism was regarded as a weakness to vassals who were long engaged in testing the waters to see just how far they could transgress against the kindly Duke.
In the bustling streets of Setarco and among his closest circles, Duke Piero was beloved. He would walk among his people as one of them and share in their joys and sorrows. He was quick to forgive. He calmed often turbulent moments with his wisdom and faith in his people. Yet, beneath the tranquility around him, the waters of treachery relentlessly churned.
Belladonna, eldest daughter, watched with growing concern. She, perhaps more than any, saw how the lesser vassals pushed her father's limits. How they mocked his kindness as naivety. Belladonna warned Piero, often, of an impending storm and urged him frequently to take actions necessary to secure his House and power. But her pleas fell on deaf ears.
As time passed, whispers of discontent and rebellion echoed. I heard them in Arx. How deafening they must've been to Belladonna, in Setarco.
Then, the unthinkable happened. Piero Pravus was murdered.
Belladonna, now thrust into the role of Duchess, faced the chaos head-on. With a fierce determination, she crushed a nascent rebellion headed by House Adimento - a vassal of Nilanza's Argento family. She showed no mercy to the traitors who dared undermine her house. The once quiet halls of Pravus Manor were now filled with the cries of betrayers meeting their ends. Belladonna's retribution sent a clear message: betrayal would be met with merciless justice.
The news of the assassination reached me with a crushing impact. My heart ached for the loss of Piero and with frustration for my absence in Setarco's time of need. A storm of guilt raged within me. Why was I not there? My usefulness, honed in the shadows and corridors of power, could have been a shield against the duplicity that claimed her father. Instead, I was in Arx - distant and detached - while Pravus faced its darkest hour.
My resignation from the Inquisition was swift. I vowed to stand by Duchess Belladonna - to be an unseen hand that would help safeguard her legacy.
Belladonna did what she could in Setarco to quell rebellion, but she was unrelenting in pursuit of the foes who ordered the death of her father. It was an inquiry that led her eventually to Arx. And it was not too long after she arrived that she sent for Lianne.
Written By Duarte
Nov. 21, 2023, 4:41 a.m.(3/24/1021 AR)
Journal
I was not in Arx long before my path converged with a figure who would leave an indelible mark on my life: Master of Questions Shreve.
Our introduction was as unassuming as it was profound. Of course, the man's reputation preceded him, and of course, I knew who he was. Our first meeting was not happenstance. I had taken my time to observe his comings and goings from the House of Questions and waited it out, patiently, for my opportunity.
Shreve was a man of daunting intellect. Unfortunately, like so many others, I mistook his unwavering resolve in the pursuit of personal power for an unshakeable dedication to the cause of Justice. Hindsight is what it is, but I rest peacefully knowing I was not the only person to so mistake the man. He was appointed by the King, after all.
His demeanor was always calm, almost eerily so. I would later come to learn that beneath his veneer lurked a terrifying darkness. Had I joined the Inquisition for lack of a greater purpose, perhaps he would have been able to sway me to his side of things. But, my membership was a means to an end: access I believed would prove beneficial to the survival of Pravus. Loyalty to House and liege was my eventual guardian from what may otherwise have been a path to pure corruption.
But you do what you have to do to cozy up to whom you must. And you, dear reader, may find it despicable but I assure you, dear reader, that anyone who was ever in power the length and breadth of the Compact, and held it, did it because they had people like me. Whether it's the Treacherous Lyceum, or the Honorable Oathlands, intelligence is a game played by all.
I started off as a Confessor. If you do not know anything about the Inquisition, then you should know there are Confessors and there are Inquisitors, and they hold different functions. Inquisitors ask questions and Confessors - well... They don't always tend to ask too many.
Rumors swirled around Shreve and his select group within the Inquisition, known in hushed tones as his "Special Few". Word was this cadre, hooded and enigmatic, carried out tasks that seemed to fall outside the usual purview of the Inquisition. Their arrests appeared arbitrary. Sometimes it was a notorious criminal, and other times it was an innocuous elderly woman. There was no discernable pattern beyond the chilling aftermath: those taken were never heard from again, and quickly forgotten.
During my tenure with the Inquisition, I became a bit of a right-hand man for Shreve. It was a role that brought some prestige among my peers, but also a growing sense of unease. I witnessed acts and made decisions that would later haunt me. Shreve's methods were ruthless and in time his corruption became undeniable. But it was the undercurrent of something far more sinister that began to gnaw at my conscience.
Shreve was not just a man with a penchant for control and a lust for power. There were whispers of him being involved in something far darker than corruption or power plays. Demon worship and other sorts of profane talk circulated.
But the most chilling revelation came subtly, almost casually, from Shreve himself. He hinted at a darker world. One that he was willing to share with me, should I express interest. The mere suggestion of it set shivers down my spine for the thought of delving into the demonic - whatever that meant - was abhorrent to me.
Yet, there was a seduction to the promise of forbidden knowledge and power. Or was it not seduction, and was it fear? Shreve wielded his power with terrifying efficiency. He harbored secrets that threatened the very fabric of our reality. As days passed, it became more and more certain that not only was Shreve an unrelenting force who sought power alone, but indeed he may work for the very darkness his charge was meant to guard against.
Shreve was my first true test of balance. I was wobbling on a knife's edge. Could I find my footing?
I was not in Arx long before my path converged with a figure who would leave an indelible mark on my life: Master of Questions Shreve.
Our introduction was as unassuming as it was profound. Of course, the man's reputation preceded him, and of course, I knew who he was. Our first meeting was not happenstance. I had taken my time to observe his comings and goings from the House of Questions and waited it out, patiently, for my opportunity.
Shreve was a man of daunting intellect. Unfortunately, like so many others, I mistook his unwavering resolve in the pursuit of personal power for an unshakeable dedication to the cause of Justice. Hindsight is what it is, but I rest peacefully knowing I was not the only person to so mistake the man. He was appointed by the King, after all.
His demeanor was always calm, almost eerily so. I would later come to learn that beneath his veneer lurked a terrifying darkness. Had I joined the Inquisition for lack of a greater purpose, perhaps he would have been able to sway me to his side of things. But, my membership was a means to an end: access I believed would prove beneficial to the survival of Pravus. Loyalty to House and liege was my eventual guardian from what may otherwise have been a path to pure corruption.
But you do what you have to do to cozy up to whom you must. And you, dear reader, may find it despicable but I assure you, dear reader, that anyone who was ever in power the length and breadth of the Compact, and held it, did it because they had people like me. Whether it's the Treacherous Lyceum, or the Honorable Oathlands, intelligence is a game played by all.
I started off as a Confessor. If you do not know anything about the Inquisition, then you should know there are Confessors and there are Inquisitors, and they hold different functions. Inquisitors ask questions and Confessors - well... They don't always tend to ask too many.
Rumors swirled around Shreve and his select group within the Inquisition, known in hushed tones as his "Special Few". Word was this cadre, hooded and enigmatic, carried out tasks that seemed to fall outside the usual purview of the Inquisition. Their arrests appeared arbitrary. Sometimes it was a notorious criminal, and other times it was an innocuous elderly woman. There was no discernable pattern beyond the chilling aftermath: those taken were never heard from again, and quickly forgotten.
During my tenure with the Inquisition, I became a bit of a right-hand man for Shreve. It was a role that brought some prestige among my peers, but also a growing sense of unease. I witnessed acts and made decisions that would later haunt me. Shreve's methods were ruthless and in time his corruption became undeniable. But it was the undercurrent of something far more sinister that began to gnaw at my conscience.
Shreve was not just a man with a penchant for control and a lust for power. There were whispers of him being involved in something far darker than corruption or power plays. Demon worship and other sorts of profane talk circulated.
But the most chilling revelation came subtly, almost casually, from Shreve himself. He hinted at a darker world. One that he was willing to share with me, should I express interest. The mere suggestion of it set shivers down my spine for the thought of delving into the demonic - whatever that meant - was abhorrent to me.
Yet, there was a seduction to the promise of forbidden knowledge and power. Or was it not seduction, and was it fear? Shreve wielded his power with terrifying efficiency. He harbored secrets that threatened the very fabric of our reality. As days passed, it became more and more certain that not only was Shreve an unrelenting force who sought power alone, but indeed he may work for the very darkness his charge was meant to guard against.
Shreve was my first true test of balance. I was wobbling on a knife's edge. Could I find my footing?
Written By Duarte
Nov. 19, 2023, 11:41 p.m.(3/21/1021 AR)
Journal
Vividly I recall the meeting that would shift my life's trajectory. It was one hot summer morning when Duke Piero summoned me into his study. It was earlier than usual and the House page hastily interrupted my morning ablutions. To be fair, he waited a good twenty minutes first - but what can I say? A mustache such as mine requires a fair amount of tending to.
Duke Piero's personality stood in stark contrast to the typical underhanded ambiance of the Lyceum. He was kind and he was a gentle soul. He had the misfortune of being placed in a land where such traits are often perceived as weakness rather than virtues. In time, his desire to forge a reputation for his House which stood contrary to generations of legacy would place Pravus in a precarious position - a history we all know well. Were it not for his wife, Duchess Lucia, the Duke would not have lasted long as he did.
But Duke Piero, for all these faults, tied his House together and taught them to be true to themselves and to trust in family above all. For this lesson, he will never be forgotten. It is, as they say in Malespero, "from tragedy, strength."
But I digress...
When I met with Duke Piero that day I sensed the weight of the man's struggles. He had tolerated far too much and his leniency was beginning to embolden dangerous ambitions on the part of his enemies. Now was not the time to send his chief spy to a foreign land, and yet, "Duarte, I need you in Arx."
My assignment to Arx was layered with complexity. On one hand, the Duke and Duchess saw it as a strategic placement to ensure they were kept well informed of the goings on in the capital whilst they dealt with matters at home. On the other hand, his waning ability to command respect and authority within his holdings was precisely the reason I should never have been sent away. Perhaps, he was seeking to better fortify Pravus' position by sending me to a realm where he could not inspire fear or loyalty from afar - to have me keep a watchful eye over his representatives and ensure they were sticking to scripts and acting in the best interests of the House.
As my ship sailed in ear to Arx, I recall how the city presented itself as a colossal entity. The grandeur of its architecture and its division into its myriad wards - each with their distinct character and purpose - intertwined in such a way to present an irresistible testament to the shared stories and (dare I say?) destinies within its walls.
These wards each proclaimed a glory and heritage of the Great Houses and yet stood as a reminder of the fragile balance of power that pervades the Compact to this day.
The Lower Boroughs was where I found my home away from home. Though I served as Minister to House Pravus, the draw to of the boroughs, and its people the backbone of the city, reminded me of my beginnings. Life there is lived in a raw and vibrant form that none but the denizens can truly appreciate, or suffer - as the case may be. Often is.
Much like the court in Setarco, in Arx every gesture and alliance, and every whisper, held significance. But the game of power is played with much less finesse. It came as a culture shock. I had only known Setarco - a small fraction of the greater Lyceum. Living in Arx, beyond the Pravus Manor and Lyceum Ward, was much like starting anew. Like those days I stood outside the gates of the House of Silken Sighs, admiring the Suspires from afar, I was once again an outsider observing a dance not all the same as the one to which I had become so accustomed. Indeed, it was no dance at all, but a mishmash of waltzes and carols and ballets all being performed simultaneously, each to different music, at the same time and on the same stage.
In many ways, my life as I know it did not start until I set foot on Arx's harbor.
And to add to the intricate complexities of my assignment and the overwhelming confusion of being thrown into this melting pot of culture was also something else. For it was in Arx where I met Shreve.
And also Lianne.
Vividly I recall the meeting that would shift my life's trajectory. It was one hot summer morning when Duke Piero summoned me into his study. It was earlier than usual and the House page hastily interrupted my morning ablutions. To be fair, he waited a good twenty minutes first - but what can I say? A mustache such as mine requires a fair amount of tending to.
Duke Piero's personality stood in stark contrast to the typical underhanded ambiance of the Lyceum. He was kind and he was a gentle soul. He had the misfortune of being placed in a land where such traits are often perceived as weakness rather than virtues. In time, his desire to forge a reputation for his House which stood contrary to generations of legacy would place Pravus in a precarious position - a history we all know well. Were it not for his wife, Duchess Lucia, the Duke would not have lasted long as he did.
But Duke Piero, for all these faults, tied his House together and taught them to be true to themselves and to trust in family above all. For this lesson, he will never be forgotten. It is, as they say in Malespero, "from tragedy, strength."
But I digress...
When I met with Duke Piero that day I sensed the weight of the man's struggles. He had tolerated far too much and his leniency was beginning to embolden dangerous ambitions on the part of his enemies. Now was not the time to send his chief spy to a foreign land, and yet, "Duarte, I need you in Arx."
My assignment to Arx was layered with complexity. On one hand, the Duke and Duchess saw it as a strategic placement to ensure they were kept well informed of the goings on in the capital whilst they dealt with matters at home. On the other hand, his waning ability to command respect and authority within his holdings was precisely the reason I should never have been sent away. Perhaps, he was seeking to better fortify Pravus' position by sending me to a realm where he could not inspire fear or loyalty from afar - to have me keep a watchful eye over his representatives and ensure they were sticking to scripts and acting in the best interests of the House.
As my ship sailed in ear to Arx, I recall how the city presented itself as a colossal entity. The grandeur of its architecture and its division into its myriad wards - each with their distinct character and purpose - intertwined in such a way to present an irresistible testament to the shared stories and (dare I say?) destinies within its walls.
These wards each proclaimed a glory and heritage of the Great Houses and yet stood as a reminder of the fragile balance of power that pervades the Compact to this day.
The Lower Boroughs was where I found my home away from home. Though I served as Minister to House Pravus, the draw to of the boroughs, and its people the backbone of the city, reminded me of my beginnings. Life there is lived in a raw and vibrant form that none but the denizens can truly appreciate, or suffer - as the case may be. Often is.
Much like the court in Setarco, in Arx every gesture and alliance, and every whisper, held significance. But the game of power is played with much less finesse. It came as a culture shock. I had only known Setarco - a small fraction of the greater Lyceum. Living in Arx, beyond the Pravus Manor and Lyceum Ward, was much like starting anew. Like those days I stood outside the gates of the House of Silken Sighs, admiring the Suspires from afar, I was once again an outsider observing a dance not all the same as the one to which I had become so accustomed. Indeed, it was no dance at all, but a mishmash of waltzes and carols and ballets all being performed simultaneously, each to different music, at the same time and on the same stage.
In many ways, my life as I know it did not start until I set foot on Arx's harbor.
And to add to the intricate complexities of my assignment and the overwhelming confusion of being thrown into this melting pot of culture was also something else. For it was in Arx where I met Shreve.
And also Lianne.
Written By Duarte
Nov. 18, 2023, 3:41 a.m.(3/18/1021 AR)
Journal
As Minister of Information and Safety, I quite literally became the Duke's eyes and ears. I was tasked with safeguarding the House from internal and external threats. It was a role I embraced with both trepidation and excitement. It is unfortunate, looking back, at just how frequently my work would not be acted upon by the loveable Duke despite the urgings of his best advisors.
Unexpectedly, my new position gave me the unique opportunity to come to know the Duke's family. I would often meet with him around about noon in his study. Elonso, Nicia, Belladonna, Celeste, Allegra, and later, Renata. Each of them was a distinct personality, a complex tapestry woven from the threads of their upbringing, their ambitions, and the inescapable legacy of House Pravus.
Belladonna, the eldest, was a study in contradictions. She possessed a shrewd and calculating mind, perfectly capable of engaging in the ruthless political games that defined the Lyceum. Yet, there was a part of her that yearned to be different. She wished to honor her father's legacy of kindness and generosity - and did in her way. But she knew better than he the realities of the world. Watching her navigate the treacherous waters of court intrigue while maintaining a semblance of moral integrity was fascinating. Her actions often left many bewildered - unsure whether to fear or admire her.
Celeste was a rebellious sort. She always seemed to chafe under the weight of expectations. Her willfulness was the stuff of court gossip. Her defiance was not aimless. It seemed her way of carving out an identity uniquely her own. She was one that refused to be molded into a convenient shape.
Allegra, the youngest, was the scholar. She found solace in books, and a refuge from the pressures of her noble birth. Her intellect was sharp and her wit even sharper. I often found her insights on various subjects, from philosophy to economics, both profound and enlightening.
Then there was Renata, the adopted one. She brought a sense of calm and compassion to the often cutthroat environment. Her aversion to violence and her gentle nature were a balm to the often jaded souls around her. Renata had a way of seeing the good in people, a trait that made her beloved among the citizens of Setarco.
Nicia, always the pragmatist. She was impressive with her methodical approach to problems. Her debates and arguments were legendary. She had the ability to detach emotion from her professional life. Yet, in private, she was a completely different person - lively, passionate, and full of energy.
Elonso, the charming and likable son. He had a knack for making everyone feel important and heard. His sincere interest in people and their stories made him a favorite among courtiers and commoners alike. But I shan't say too much good about an eventual traitor.
I found myself becoming more than just an observer. As I built a rapport with the family - though I was really just a servant and an orphan - I couldn't help but come to regard them as my own. Anyone who's worked a House in any sort of stewardship, I'm sure, can relate. Ever the outsider, you can't help but feel drawn to your charges. To see them and begin to care for them as a family of your own. To forge a love so fierce and steadfast that you would step outside yourself to protect them. That sense of duty molds itself so quickly into a righteous sense of loyalty. One that does not abate.
Always ambitious without direction, it was here that I found a sense of purpose. I was no longer climbing a ladder just to climb it. I was a minister, a confidant, and a guardian of one of the most powerful houses in the Compact. They taught me about the nuances of power, the importance of perception, and the delicate balance between ambition and integrity.
As Minister of Information and Safety, I quite literally became the Duke's eyes and ears. I was tasked with safeguarding the House from internal and external threats. It was a role I embraced with both trepidation and excitement. It is unfortunate, looking back, at just how frequently my work would not be acted upon by the loveable Duke despite the urgings of his best advisors.
Unexpectedly, my new position gave me the unique opportunity to come to know the Duke's family. I would often meet with him around about noon in his study. Elonso, Nicia, Belladonna, Celeste, Allegra, and later, Renata. Each of them was a distinct personality, a complex tapestry woven from the threads of their upbringing, their ambitions, and the inescapable legacy of House Pravus.
Belladonna, the eldest, was a study in contradictions. She possessed a shrewd and calculating mind, perfectly capable of engaging in the ruthless political games that defined the Lyceum. Yet, there was a part of her that yearned to be different. She wished to honor her father's legacy of kindness and generosity - and did in her way. But she knew better than he the realities of the world. Watching her navigate the treacherous waters of court intrigue while maintaining a semblance of moral integrity was fascinating. Her actions often left many bewildered - unsure whether to fear or admire her.
Celeste was a rebellious sort. She always seemed to chafe under the weight of expectations. Her willfulness was the stuff of court gossip. Her defiance was not aimless. It seemed her way of carving out an identity uniquely her own. She was one that refused to be molded into a convenient shape.
Allegra, the youngest, was the scholar. She found solace in books, and a refuge from the pressures of her noble birth. Her intellect was sharp and her wit even sharper. I often found her insights on various subjects, from philosophy to economics, both profound and enlightening.
Then there was Renata, the adopted one. She brought a sense of calm and compassion to the often cutthroat environment. Her aversion to violence and her gentle nature were a balm to the often jaded souls around her. Renata had a way of seeing the good in people, a trait that made her beloved among the citizens of Setarco.
Nicia, always the pragmatist. She was impressive with her methodical approach to problems. Her debates and arguments were legendary. She had the ability to detach emotion from her professional life. Yet, in private, she was a completely different person - lively, passionate, and full of energy.
Elonso, the charming and likable son. He had a knack for making everyone feel important and heard. His sincere interest in people and their stories made him a favorite among courtiers and commoners alike. But I shan't say too much good about an eventual traitor.
I found myself becoming more than just an observer. As I built a rapport with the family - though I was really just a servant and an orphan - I couldn't help but come to regard them as my own. Anyone who's worked a House in any sort of stewardship, I'm sure, can relate. Ever the outsider, you can't help but feel drawn to your charges. To see them and begin to care for them as a family of your own. To forge a love so fierce and steadfast that you would step outside yourself to protect them. That sense of duty molds itself so quickly into a righteous sense of loyalty. One that does not abate.
Always ambitious without direction, it was here that I found a sense of purpose. I was no longer climbing a ladder just to climb it. I was a minister, a confidant, and a guardian of one of the most powerful houses in the Compact. They taught me about the nuances of power, the importance of perception, and the delicate balance between ambition and integrity.
Written By Duarte
Nov. 15, 2023, 3:08 a.m.(3/11/1021 AR)
Journal
The title cloaked me in a mantle of power and isolation. There was a transformation of myself from an observer of courtly intrigues to a key player in the most perilous games of the Lyceum. Completely aside from every other ambitious courtier having a target on my back, were the risks inherent in answering up to the other House ministers and the Duke himself. Whatever I thought of the courtiers and court, there was a whole elevated society with its own machinations. Here in this strata, what they lacked in cleverness and innuendo was made up for in power and raw influence.
The corridors of power, I learned, are not lined with gold but with shadows, and secrets. And with those came a gnawing solitude. No doubt my methods well learned and drilled served me well, but of necessity, I had to detach my true self further and further from those with whom I spoke - as the speaking was oftener than not to be to their detriment.
As Minister, I was privy to the whispers that echoed through court. They carried tales of ambition, deceit and sometimes desperation. It was my charge to sift through them and separate the truth from the fiction, to protect the House from unseen threats that lurk in Setarco's glittering facade.
Frequently I remember pondering Belinha's teachings. Her voice echoed in my mind often. As a boy, I was always so quick to judge character. I brought this naivete with me into Belinha's social circle. After one particular evening, I gabbed about the new acquaintances met, and how (as I recall) I rather liked them. "Every face you meet is a mask, Duarte."
In the labyrinth of power of the Lyceum - and Setarco in particular - each step is a gamble and trust is a currency in short supply.
The title cloaked me in a mantle of power and isolation. There was a transformation of myself from an observer of courtly intrigues to a key player in the most perilous games of the Lyceum. Completely aside from every other ambitious courtier having a target on my back, were the risks inherent in answering up to the other House ministers and the Duke himself. Whatever I thought of the courtiers and court, there was a whole elevated society with its own machinations. Here in this strata, what they lacked in cleverness and innuendo was made up for in power and raw influence.
The corridors of power, I learned, are not lined with gold but with shadows, and secrets. And with those came a gnawing solitude. No doubt my methods well learned and drilled served me well, but of necessity, I had to detach my true self further and further from those with whom I spoke - as the speaking was oftener than not to be to their detriment.
As Minister, I was privy to the whispers that echoed through court. They carried tales of ambition, deceit and sometimes desperation. It was my charge to sift through them and separate the truth from the fiction, to protect the House from unseen threats that lurk in Setarco's glittering facade.
Frequently I remember pondering Belinha's teachings. Her voice echoed in my mind often. As a boy, I was always so quick to judge character. I brought this naivete with me into Belinha's social circle. After one particular evening, I gabbed about the new acquaintances met, and how (as I recall) I rather liked them. "Every face you meet is a mask, Duarte."
In the labyrinth of power of the Lyceum - and Setarco in particular - each step is a gamble and trust is a currency in short supply.
Written By Duarte
Nov. 14, 2023, 3:56 a.m.(3/10/1021 AR)
Journal
Please forgive the near six-year absence from the continuance of my memoirs. The life of a hermit seemed to suit me as I struggled with a rather severe theological conundrum that drove me to the brink. Is it resolved? No. But at least I can venture beyond my chamber walls to the archives again. Yes, I could've sent my submissions via messenger. Alas, I hadn't the will to write them.
But now we continue...
-------------
The threat of being implicated in a scandal surrounding the Minister of Production's son weighed heavily on me. My intuition, sharpened by years of navigating the treacherous undercurrents of Setarco’s society, suggested that if I didn't take immediate action, I could very well become the scapegoat in this elaborate game of power and subterfuge.
I realized that my time spent in obscurity at court, my careful observation, and the unassuming persona I had cultivated might finally serve a grander purpose. The opportunity to demonstrate my value to House Pravus, beyond simply making people feel important, was also presenting itself.
I sought an audience with Duke Piero, a move that was bold, given my relatively low position. But the urgency of the situation demanded it. I revealed my discoveries about the Minister of Production's son, the premeditated nature of his downfall, and the potential defection of the Minister himself. My insights were met with heavy skepticism. After all, I wasn't the first thirsty courtier who sought to undermine well-established persons of power for their own elevation and benefit. But the earnestness in my delivery and the evidence I provided were compelling.
The Duke, perhaps sensing an opportunity to avert a crisis within his House, tasked me to gather definitive proof of the Minister's planned defection and, if possible, to uncover the identities of any other co-conspirators. This task required a delicate balance of stealth, persuasion, and a keen understanding of the complex social dynamics at play.
I thus embarked on a series of clandestine meetings, leveraging the relationships I had formed as the "courtly courier" and my newfound reputation at court. I navigated through whispers and half-truths, piecing together a puzzle that was as dangerous as it was intricate.
In a turn of fate, it was during one of these meetings that I stumbled upon information regarding Belinha. The revelation was unexpected and came from a source I had not anticipated. The truth of her disappearance, which had haunted me for years, was now in my grasp. It was a bittersweet moment, one that brought closure but also a deep sense of loss. The details of her fate would forever alter my perception of the city I thought I knew so well.
But I had little time to dwell on these personal revelations. The success of my mission for Duke Piero was paramount. My efforts paid off. I not only exposed the Minister's treachery but also uncovered a network of corruption that ran deeper than suspected. A potential disaster for House Pravus was averted. In doing so, I solidified my position within the House. After delivering up a few more would-be traitors, I was named Minister of Information and Safety (a title a bit too forward... it didn't make my job easier.)
Please forgive the near six-year absence from the continuance of my memoirs. The life of a hermit seemed to suit me as I struggled with a rather severe theological conundrum that drove me to the brink. Is it resolved? No. But at least I can venture beyond my chamber walls to the archives again. Yes, I could've sent my submissions via messenger. Alas, I hadn't the will to write them.
But now we continue...
-------------
The threat of being implicated in a scandal surrounding the Minister of Production's son weighed heavily on me. My intuition, sharpened by years of navigating the treacherous undercurrents of Setarco’s society, suggested that if I didn't take immediate action, I could very well become the scapegoat in this elaborate game of power and subterfuge.
I realized that my time spent in obscurity at court, my careful observation, and the unassuming persona I had cultivated might finally serve a grander purpose. The opportunity to demonstrate my value to House Pravus, beyond simply making people feel important, was also presenting itself.
I sought an audience with Duke Piero, a move that was bold, given my relatively low position. But the urgency of the situation demanded it. I revealed my discoveries about the Minister of Production's son, the premeditated nature of his downfall, and the potential defection of the Minister himself. My insights were met with heavy skepticism. After all, I wasn't the first thirsty courtier who sought to undermine well-established persons of power for their own elevation and benefit. But the earnestness in my delivery and the evidence I provided were compelling.
The Duke, perhaps sensing an opportunity to avert a crisis within his House, tasked me to gather definitive proof of the Minister's planned defection and, if possible, to uncover the identities of any other co-conspirators. This task required a delicate balance of stealth, persuasion, and a keen understanding of the complex social dynamics at play.
I thus embarked on a series of clandestine meetings, leveraging the relationships I had formed as the "courtly courier" and my newfound reputation at court. I navigated through whispers and half-truths, piecing together a puzzle that was as dangerous as it was intricate.
In a turn of fate, it was during one of these meetings that I stumbled upon information regarding Belinha. The revelation was unexpected and came from a source I had not anticipated. The truth of her disappearance, which had haunted me for years, was now in my grasp. It was a bittersweet moment, one that brought closure but also a deep sense of loss. The details of her fate would forever alter my perception of the city I thought I knew so well.
But I had little time to dwell on these personal revelations. The success of my mission for Duke Piero was paramount. My efforts paid off. I not only exposed the Minister's treachery but also uncovered a network of corruption that ran deeper than suspected. A potential disaster for House Pravus was averted. In doing so, I solidified my position within the House. After delivering up a few more would-be traitors, I was named Minister of Information and Safety (a title a bit too forward... it didn't make my job easier.)
Written By Duarte
July 29, 2023, 4:38 a.m.(4/4/1020 AR)
Relationship Note on Loramus
I'm right here. I haven't gone anywhere.
Written By Duarte
Dec. 5, 2021, 8:40 p.m.(9/11/1016 AR)
The Lyceum is not a monolith. Generalized conceptions aside, there is a wealth of diversity of culture among the 100 or so sovereign cities that comprise the Lyceum. (I wrote about this somewhat extensively in my field manual, Treacherous Waters)
So while Setarco has its share of poisonings, what I most often observed were disappearances. This I found was especially true at court which seemed to have a high, shall we say, 'turnover'?
You often hear of subtly in the Lyceum and this is doubly true for Setarco. So while Belinha prepared me for the social graces and proper addresses and so forth, there was a whole other aspect of navigation entirely. Nothing was above board here. There seemed to be an ever shifting and changing code of communication and certain gestures meant certain things but nothing was explained. Social Warfare among those at Pravus Court would look, to the perhaps unindoctrinated, much like a jovial, affable engagement. But there's truly nothing light hearted about it. Even outside Setarco, any courtier can tell you the stakes are serious and for keeps. We played to stay in the House's favor, to be useful, and most of all, for that most desired prize: security. If a courtier can make themselves indispensable at court to the ruling family, that is a meal ticket for life with lots of upward mobility.
Unprepared as I was for this game entirely, I yet managed a somewhat lengthy welcome by relishing in obscurity. I would not dress so as to stand out. I would not utter a word unless it was the most mundane and safe thing to utter. When I did speak, I was careful to generalize my utterance so that I might remain vague in the minds of others. "Some people said...", "Many would think...", "Everyone I know believes..."
I watched and I learned.
And of what I learned by watching and not engaging was this: a pattern! A scandal, of varying salaciousness, would break out and be whispered and gossiped about by rumormongers, staff, lesser nobility, courtiers, etc. House Pravus is almost famous for its scandals, you know? And in the midst of the tittering and chattering, something else entirely would be afoot and it didn't always correlate to those involved in the scandalous dealings. Sometimes it was used as a catalyst. But never was the scandal the thing. It was usually planned, or merely convenient, to effect something else entirely.
That period of muted ambition, where I took that time to just pay attention, to observe, paid off. For when a particularly embarrassing scandal hit concerning the Minister of Production's son - one that promised an ousting for one and the denobling of the other (the son's misstep was caused by a yet unnamed courtier lacing his tobacco with dust) - I had already noticed his shelves growing bare and his trunks being packed no less than two weeks prior. The man who had brought me in was defecting. And if I didn't act fast, I had a feeling I knew who the unnamed courtier was going to be.
So while Setarco has its share of poisonings, what I most often observed were disappearances. This I found was especially true at court which seemed to have a high, shall we say, 'turnover'?
You often hear of subtly in the Lyceum and this is doubly true for Setarco. So while Belinha prepared me for the social graces and proper addresses and so forth, there was a whole other aspect of navigation entirely. Nothing was above board here. There seemed to be an ever shifting and changing code of communication and certain gestures meant certain things but nothing was explained. Social Warfare among those at Pravus Court would look, to the perhaps unindoctrinated, much like a jovial, affable engagement. But there's truly nothing light hearted about it. Even outside Setarco, any courtier can tell you the stakes are serious and for keeps. We played to stay in the House's favor, to be useful, and most of all, for that most desired prize: security. If a courtier can make themselves indispensable at court to the ruling family, that is a meal ticket for life with lots of upward mobility.
Unprepared as I was for this game entirely, I yet managed a somewhat lengthy welcome by relishing in obscurity. I would not dress so as to stand out. I would not utter a word unless it was the most mundane and safe thing to utter. When I did speak, I was careful to generalize my utterance so that I might remain vague in the minds of others. "Some people said...", "Many would think...", "Everyone I know believes..."
I watched and I learned.
And of what I learned by watching and not engaging was this: a pattern! A scandal, of varying salaciousness, would break out and be whispered and gossiped about by rumormongers, staff, lesser nobility, courtiers, etc. House Pravus is almost famous for its scandals, you know? And in the midst of the tittering and chattering, something else entirely would be afoot and it didn't always correlate to those involved in the scandalous dealings. Sometimes it was used as a catalyst. But never was the scandal the thing. It was usually planned, or merely convenient, to effect something else entirely.
That period of muted ambition, where I took that time to just pay attention, to observe, paid off. For when a particularly embarrassing scandal hit concerning the Minister of Production's son - one that promised an ousting for one and the denobling of the other (the son's misstep was caused by a yet unnamed courtier lacing his tobacco with dust) - I had already noticed his shelves growing bare and his trunks being packed no less than two weeks prior. The man who had brought me in was defecting. And if I didn't act fast, I had a feeling I knew who the unnamed courtier was going to be.
Written By Duarte
Nov. 16, 2021, 6:40 a.m.(7/28/1016 AR)
Journal
Once it was done I knew what would come.
I had convinced The Merchant that the man was little more than a local competitor. His disappearance proved more trouble than it was worth but I was not available for the inevitable ire of The Merchant but I was well armed. It wasn't too long before inquiries turned up nothing in particular. In Setarco, people seldom talk. Not until the reward posters go up, at least. I knew who he would use for the abduction and I knew, as well, the schedule of vessels leaving the harbor.
It was the morning of Blood Moon when I first ever set foot on Pravus grounds - a far cry from the shy orphan boy I had been some years earlier. With document in hand I took my meeting with the Minister of Produciton.
Giovanni was austere and with an unforgiving mind for business. But he was also lycene, through and through. He knew what keeping a fleet meant in these waters and he was of course all too willing to let the merchants battle it out over territories and shipping lanes. But he would not abide the murder of someone so close. And while you, reader, might not consider the financial advisor of an underling's protege to be 'close' in on anything, in Setara a certain discretion is expected and maintained. Undercut and deceit are fine tools of competition, but if one wishes to simply exterminate a competitor outright it is expected the diligence is done to establish at least several degrees of separation from the nobility (5 is good, 6 is best) before any executions take place.
It only took one surprise inspection at the dock to find the remains of the man inside that barrel. It only took an hour after for The Merchant to be called to the manor. And it only took him three days to pass of thirst in the dungeon.
But what Giovanni wanted to know was how an errand boy positioned himself to not only have access to The Merchant, but also have his ear. "People like to feel important, my lord." And so Giovanni hired me to make people feel important.
---
The document I had to offer was the manifest of a ship that never left the harbor. I pointed out a rather odd item on the manifest - a careless code, truly.
Juniper berries. Really? No one drinks gin in Setarco.
Once it was done I knew what would come.
I had convinced The Merchant that the man was little more than a local competitor. His disappearance proved more trouble than it was worth but I was not available for the inevitable ire of The Merchant but I was well armed. It wasn't too long before inquiries turned up nothing in particular. In Setarco, people seldom talk. Not until the reward posters go up, at least. I knew who he would use for the abduction and I knew, as well, the schedule of vessels leaving the harbor.
It was the morning of Blood Moon when I first ever set foot on Pravus grounds - a far cry from the shy orphan boy I had been some years earlier. With document in hand I took my meeting with the Minister of Produciton.
Giovanni was austere and with an unforgiving mind for business. But he was also lycene, through and through. He knew what keeping a fleet meant in these waters and he was of course all too willing to let the merchants battle it out over territories and shipping lanes. But he would not abide the murder of someone so close. And while you, reader, might not consider the financial advisor of an underling's protege to be 'close' in on anything, in Setara a certain discretion is expected and maintained. Undercut and deceit are fine tools of competition, but if one wishes to simply exterminate a competitor outright it is expected the diligence is done to establish at least several degrees of separation from the nobility (5 is good, 6 is best) before any executions take place.
It only took one surprise inspection at the dock to find the remains of the man inside that barrel. It only took an hour after for The Merchant to be called to the manor. And it only took him three days to pass of thirst in the dungeon.
But what Giovanni wanted to know was how an errand boy positioned himself to not only have access to The Merchant, but also have his ear. "People like to feel important, my lord." And so Giovanni hired me to make people feel important.
---
The document I had to offer was the manifest of a ship that never left the harbor. I pointed out a rather odd item on the manifest - a careless code, truly.
Juniper berries. Really? No one drinks gin in Setarco.
Written By Duarte
Oct. 24, 2021, 3:11 p.m.(6/10/1016 AR)
Journal
The Merchant had been a very careful sort his whole career but (as so happens with those who deal primarily in criminal exchanges) succumbed to his own hubris.
It's one thing to murder common serfs and no-name cobblers and grocers - people who might owe you money, as long as they aren't well connected. Those who believe the Lyceum, and the city of Setarco in particular, to be a dangerous realm for conducting business either don't know, or have little appreciation for, the considerable planning and effort that goes into a good poisoning or removal of competition. Who are they? Do they have any potentially dangerous allies? Any cousins at court? Any second or third cousins at court? Have they ever received compliment from a favored courtier? Or the nobility? You see, every detail and angle must be anguished over and the potential blowback weighed against the practicality of the deed.
Well, the merchant simply got sloppy, that's all. I happened upon his office one eve whilst he was in quarrel with a well dressed, but poorly groomed, man. You know the sort? Flowing, fitted silk couture of fine tailoring, every detail immaculately pressed and color coordinated; with long greasy hair, dark circles under the eyes, white flakes on the shoulders and stubble? He didn't look like much but I remembered him for somewhere...
Belinha always insisted on name and face recognition. She was obsessive about it. She would have me describe and name persons I'd met or seen only once. She would ask quite suddenly, sometimes weeks later, "Who was the woman we met at the fall party in the gardens wearing the aeterna gown and a red flower?", "What color were her eyes and can you describe her nose?"
I had met this well dressed but dumpy looking man at a party two years prior. He was an unassuming man but a bit of a financial savant and he kept the books for a young shipping company whose principal was the protege of an underling to the Pravus Minister of Production, who reported directly to Duke Piero.
"He's undercutting our prices and moving in on our shipping lanes," the merchant seethed after the meeting had ended. "I know him - I mean, I've seen him before," I explained.
The Merchant had been a very careful sort his whole career but (as so happens with those who deal primarily in criminal exchanges) succumbed to his own hubris.
It's one thing to murder common serfs and no-name cobblers and grocers - people who might owe you money, as long as they aren't well connected. Those who believe the Lyceum, and the city of Setarco in particular, to be a dangerous realm for conducting business either don't know, or have little appreciation for, the considerable planning and effort that goes into a good poisoning or removal of competition. Who are they? Do they have any potentially dangerous allies? Any cousins at court? Any second or third cousins at court? Have they ever received compliment from a favored courtier? Or the nobility? You see, every detail and angle must be anguished over and the potential blowback weighed against the practicality of the deed.
Well, the merchant simply got sloppy, that's all. I happened upon his office one eve whilst he was in quarrel with a well dressed, but poorly groomed, man. You know the sort? Flowing, fitted silk couture of fine tailoring, every detail immaculately pressed and color coordinated; with long greasy hair, dark circles under the eyes, white flakes on the shoulders and stubble? He didn't look like much but I remembered him for somewhere...
Belinha always insisted on name and face recognition. She was obsessive about it. She would have me describe and name persons I'd met or seen only once. She would ask quite suddenly, sometimes weeks later, "Who was the woman we met at the fall party in the gardens wearing the aeterna gown and a red flower?", "What color were her eyes and can you describe her nose?"
I had met this well dressed but dumpy looking man at a party two years prior. He was an unassuming man but a bit of a financial savant and he kept the books for a young shipping company whose principal was the protege of an underling to the Pravus Minister of Production, who reported directly to Duke Piero.
"He's undercutting our prices and moving in on our shipping lanes," the merchant seethed after the meeting had ended. "I know him - I mean, I've seen him before," I explained.
Written By Duarte
March 7, 2021, 10:57 p.m.(1/26/1015 AR)
Journal
You'll forgive the brevity of today's entry. A dear friend was murdered this week. My ward badly injured. My attention has been dispersed across numerous projects as well. But if you wanted to know what happened to the Merchant Prince, I can't say. About a year after working for him he suddenly just wasn't there any more. And I found myself in the employ of House Pravus.
You'll forgive the brevity of today's entry. A dear friend was murdered this week. My ward badly injured. My attention has been dispersed across numerous projects as well. But if you wanted to know what happened to the Merchant Prince, I can't say. About a year after working for him he suddenly just wasn't there any more. And I found myself in the employ of House Pravus.
Written By Duarte
Feb. 28, 2021, 5:36 p.m.(1/11/1015 AR)
Journal
I quit my job with the merchant and carrying his missives to work instead with the Merchant Prince. Lest anyone feel this is morbid - I got more money. And he liked me. And, I believe, there is a saying about types of people and how you keep them close.
His business dealings were far more expansive and lucrative. He liked how I talked. He said, 'You have a way with people'.
He taught me quite a bit, actually, in how to parley. "This one is a squirrelly sort, you'll have to appeal to his anxieties." "This one is prideful, let them know how impressive they are." And so on.
Nothing will quite show you the colors of people like doing business with them. You'll have scoundrels and uprights. And the uprights are some times also inepts, and the scoundrels effective. One can't base associations in business on personalities. Only results matter.
Many remarkable things about people that I learned from the man who killed my father; including how far they'll go to keep something secret...
I quit my job with the merchant and carrying his missives to work instead with the Merchant Prince. Lest anyone feel this is morbid - I got more money. And he liked me. And, I believe, there is a saying about types of people and how you keep them close.
His business dealings were far more expansive and lucrative. He liked how I talked. He said, 'You have a way with people'.
He taught me quite a bit, actually, in how to parley. "This one is a squirrelly sort, you'll have to appeal to his anxieties." "This one is prideful, let them know how impressive they are." And so on.
Nothing will quite show you the colors of people like doing business with them. You'll have scoundrels and uprights. And the uprights are some times also inepts, and the scoundrels effective. One can't base associations in business on personalities. Only results matter.
Many remarkable things about people that I learned from the man who killed my father; including how far they'll go to keep something secret...
Written By Duarte
Feb. 28, 2021, 11:55 a.m.(1/11/1015 AR)
It reminds me of a joke:
A Grayson prince walks in to a bar with an Oathlands noble. The Grayson knows three jokes: one about a Pravus, one about a Thrax and one about a mule. Which one does he tell?
Neither because he'd just be made to apologize.
A Grayson prince walks in to a bar with an Oathlands noble. The Grayson knows three jokes: one about a Pravus, one about a Thrax and one about a mule. Which one does he tell?
Neither because he'd just be made to apologize.
Written By Duarte
Feb. 21, 2021, 10 p.m.(12/23/1014 AR)
Journal
I didn't mourn, per se, and I didn't slip into some dreadful state. But I did have a sense of resignation to the world and my place in it. It was a feeling that remained for another year or so as I dutifully swept up shop and assisted in transactions of various sorts.
I was still a fairly young lad, mind you. Young enough where the loss of an ally might not elicit tears, but rather leave one feeling desolated for some protracted period of time beyond what a grown person might consider appropriate.
So for a year or so I languished in this sort of unvarying routine. There were certainly good days, don't get me wrong.
The merchant I worked for, well, he grew rather fond of me. He liked how I spoke to his customers. I never gave up what I had learned from Belinha. How could I? I certainly practiced so much these things more or less became part of my interactions with anybody. But, you see, the merchant had needs beyond just sweeping his floor. He had various transactions and deliveries to be done, and he would pay a few silver extra if I were willing to take on those tasks. So I did.
(So, please, a kind word for the people who take our missives and pass them off all over the city - even if they might interrupt a dinner or two passing them off!)
You cover a lot of ground and meet a lot of people doing a job like that. It is considered inappropriate to speak at any real length with the person you are delivering to but...those who know me...
I soon became known to some of the merchant's more regular correspondents as the "courtly courier". Some of them and I even had a rapport. The little bell to their door would ring as I entered. They'd see me and we would bow to each other, and then gracefully step across the floor to pass off the note as if it were a champagne flute, twirl, and bow to each other upon my departure.
The merchant was rather fond of this notoriety, you see. Any merchant likes to have a thing or two that makes them distinguished. It's good for business. One of his perks was, now, to be served by the "courtly courier".
And there was one man that I would deliver to who seemed to like me more than the others did. A very wealthy merchant man. Some even called him a prince. And how he loved to be treated like a prince. He would tip me silver and say 'good to see you, Duarte'. And I would bow and smile and talk to him for some time.
He was always so gracious. Why wouldn't he be? He couldn't have known he had my father killed. And I was the courtly courier, after all.
I didn't mourn, per se, and I didn't slip into some dreadful state. But I did have a sense of resignation to the world and my place in it. It was a feeling that remained for another year or so as I dutifully swept up shop and assisted in transactions of various sorts.
I was still a fairly young lad, mind you. Young enough where the loss of an ally might not elicit tears, but rather leave one feeling desolated for some protracted period of time beyond what a grown person might consider appropriate.
So for a year or so I languished in this sort of unvarying routine. There were certainly good days, don't get me wrong.
The merchant I worked for, well, he grew rather fond of me. He liked how I spoke to his customers. I never gave up what I had learned from Belinha. How could I? I certainly practiced so much these things more or less became part of my interactions with anybody. But, you see, the merchant had needs beyond just sweeping his floor. He had various transactions and deliveries to be done, and he would pay a few silver extra if I were willing to take on those tasks. So I did.
(So, please, a kind word for the people who take our missives and pass them off all over the city - even if they might interrupt a dinner or two passing them off!)
You cover a lot of ground and meet a lot of people doing a job like that. It is considered inappropriate to speak at any real length with the person you are delivering to but...those who know me...
I soon became known to some of the merchant's more regular correspondents as the "courtly courier". Some of them and I even had a rapport. The little bell to their door would ring as I entered. They'd see me and we would bow to each other, and then gracefully step across the floor to pass off the note as if it were a champagne flute, twirl, and bow to each other upon my departure.
The merchant was rather fond of this notoriety, you see. Any merchant likes to have a thing or two that makes them distinguished. It's good for business. One of his perks was, now, to be served by the "courtly courier".
And there was one man that I would deliver to who seemed to like me more than the others did. A very wealthy merchant man. Some even called him a prince. And how he loved to be treated like a prince. He would tip me silver and say 'good to see you, Duarte'. And I would bow and smile and talk to him for some time.
He was always so gracious. Why wouldn't he be? He couldn't have known he had my father killed. And I was the courtly courier, after all.
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