Civilian Meeting in Fort Praesidum

[drowking]

*A few posters are pinned around the Hearth & Hale tavern and the Craft Hall of Fort Praesidium*


Greetings and salutations, fellow civilians of the First Province.

It has been far too long since we sat down and spoke. So long we may have forgotten why we are here in the first place: to reclaim the capital, Tor, and, perhaps, find the cure for Torment while doing so.

Every distress or turmoil assailing us is a delay on that front. And yet we grow apart as strangers sharing the same home. Fort Praesidium, one of the last few republican bastions in this province, is often mistook for a city. It is not a city. It is a fortress. And within a fortress we are all soldiers.

This is a call to arms, fellow soldiers. A reminder of our common goal and that there are greater enemies out there. With this in mind, I invite you all to, once again, sit down and speak.

A civilian meeting to take place tomorrow: [Tuesday, at 8pm EST], on the rooftop patio of the Hearth & Hale tavern. The goal is to discuss the latest problems assailing the Fort and its people, and inform the populace. Everyone gets a voice and a chance to speak.

There is help to be found in the hands of a neighbor. I am sure we can do more for our own sake here; for our stand as a community. No matter how strong or how skilled, everyone can contribute somehow. The first step is communication.

So let us speak.

Signed,

Magnus Empyrean, a concerned civilian.

* * * * *

OOC info:

Event type: roleplay, meeting, geared towards paving the way for follow-up events.

When: Tuesday, April 23rd, at 8pm EST.

Where: Rooftop patio of Hearth & Hale tavern (aka 3rd floor, external area).

Who: everyone who lives in or around the fort, anyone who could have read the posters.

[drowking]

As the meeting concluded, Magnus took it upon himself to head to the ruins mentioned. The old warrior still could find the adventurous spirit within himself. He ventured alone, in the dark of night, and found the place empty, save for the ancient collatian relics. With the help of a nightsight potion, he avoided the traps and found the tablets, as well as books and letters.

"I must make this knowledge public", he thought to himself. "The people must know. Maybe this will force the VIC hand to act and let us seal that bloody orb. I must try".

He copied everything and brought the transcripts back. Over night, he made other copies. He left some in the library. He gave some to his employee, Hairy Betty, to distribute for free. And other copies he distributed himself.

He had to try. He couldn't bear to witness another region falling to a plague. He couldn't bear to witness Drolund all over again. The people deserved to know. Social chaos would ensue anyways if the disease spread. The former legionnaire picked what seemed the lesser of two evils.

* * * * *

The texts are separated into three: two parchments and a book. It is up to you how your character came by them and how they use them.

Parchment 1, copied from a tattered letter: https://www.13thrones.com/wiki/doku.php ... red_letter

Parchment 2, copied from a ruined tome: https://www.13thrones.com/wiki/doku.php ... uined_tome

Book, copied from ancient tablets: https://www.13thrones.com/wiki/doku.php ... nt_tablets

[drowking]

The old warrior had looked death in the eye many times, but the only time the mistress ever looked back was through the gaze of Postulant Harlan Steyrn. Something was off with those eyes, their sternity, their lack of glow, and how few times they blinked. Those were the eyes of a predator.

And what's worse: a zealous predator. Nothing drives a man like the cogs of religion and superstition.

Magnus knew he was in deep drox shit. He had seen it coming, but to live it is entirely different than to imagine it. He set out to force the VIC hand. Here it was, in its forced movement, squashing him like a bug under its thumb. The thumb of a republican behemoth.

And the former legionnaire experienced a feeling he had long forgotten, a feeling he thought the republic had extracted from him, first in the Legion training, then again in the drodain campaigns to contain the afflicted. But the Postulant reminded him of the bitter taste of the most human of emotions.

Fear.

And the bastard did so smiling. That dry chuckle... Something was off about that too...

They made him spend a night like a caged animal, sharing a cell with rats and the vestiges of past tortures. Only Decus knows what else happened in that cell before his arrival. Maybe not even Him.

With the morning, also came his punishment. After long hours of interrogation the night prior and the evident threat laid before him, Magnus decided to play along. To pretend he was broken and willing to cooperate, if only to get out of this situation. He'd distribute their pamphlets and display his repentance publicly, like the bloody sinner he was.

That and the other ... assignments. But the old warrior saw an opportunity in those. If he played his cards right. Perhaps he could use this chance to rid everyone of that damned curse.

At the same time, the things Magnus said... perhaps... perhaps some of them echoed within the Postulant's mind. The mention of the chest where the orb was sealed in was the bait. And that lidless creature of a man, a fishman, bit the hook with avid eagerness. He tried to disguise it, but Magnus caught it. He caught the line and reeled the fish in. Maybe the VIC was finally considering sealing the orb again? Maybe they realized the danger of containing the thing within Praesidium?

Why wasn't Magnus so sure...? Why couldn't he stop thinking about that last thing the Postulant had said...?

Magnus had shared his theory, that he thought the orb was a weapon, a collatian weapon of mass destruction. Of course, to a soldier, everything is a weapon. The former legionnaire couldn't perceive his own limitation, but perhaps the Postulant did, when he refuted Magnus' theory of a magical weapon. Although Harlan seemed much more fixated on the idea of a conscience, a mind, within the orb. An entity he claimed to have felt himself the moment he was handed it the first time, like a shadow lurking just beyond the veil of perception.

And that chuckle... That dry chuckle... Why was the Postulant laughing, as he pointed out how some simply fail to resist the allure of the orb?

Where was Hairy Betty? What had they done to her?