Heirs to the Final Empire: Roleplaying Thread

[Curious Anamaximder]

Next cycle. Edit for more info.

[the winter system]

Next cycle hasn't started yet...

[Unodus]

Are we skipping a cycle this week? :/

[Wyrmhero]

Are we skipping a cycle this week? :/

 

We are/were, yes. The game will restart in just over four hours, so be patient

Edited October 25, 2015 by Wyrmhero

[the winter system]

Really? Yay!

[Wyrmhero]

Generation 4: Turn 3

 

"Well, I for one find them most frightful," Gracia Heatherlocke said. She looked around at the assembled nobility - Lord Uethorn, finishing his wine, Lord Penrod with his nose in yet another book, and of course Lady Urbain, though she had been briefly dragged away by her duties as host. She didn't need to state who she was talking about; Lady Urbain had thrown this ball in their honour, after all. "Skulking around in the mists at the dead of night like common thieves."

 

"Hardly common thieves, Lady Heatherlocke," Guadium Uethorn replied as he swapped his empty flute for another full of wine and swirled it round gently. "They are, after all, meant to be Mistborn."

 

"Really?" Gracia asked, turning to Lord Uethorn. "I am surprised. I had thought that the numbers of Mistborn in the world were dwindling somewhat."

 

"Perhaps in your House," Guadium said with a sly grin. "Mine still flourishes with the Allomantic arts. Why do you say that, then? Could it be that your own House is failing?"

 

"I shall choose to ignore that remark, for your sake, Guadium," Gracia said stiffly, turning her nose up a little. "And, as you so clearly desire, I shall ignore you for the rest of this event."

 

Guadium shook his head, a little bemused, as he watched Lady Heatherlocke's departure. "Can she not take a little gentle teasing?"

 

"I fear you are not quite up to date with the rumours in Luthadel, Lord Uethorn," Lord Penrod said, finally snapping the book shut. It was one of those damned histories that his House was so fond of producing, each revision slowly tailoring the past to be more in keeping with the Ministry's teachings.

 

"Are we to jump at shadows and pay attention to the mutterings of skaa these days?" Guadium shrugged. "What do they say that is worth noticing?"

 

"Precisely as your little barbed comment suggested. Supposedly someone nearly beat their child to death to try and get them to snap, but to no avail. It must be rather embarrassing for a Great House to have a child that is ultimately no different to skaa."

 

"Really...?" Lord Uethorn nodded in the direction lady Heatherlocke left in. "The Heatherlockes...?" He didn't bother to finish the sentence.

 

"Alas, as it is only a rumour, it is distorted by untruths and slander. It is impossible to say who the unfortunate House is."

 

"A shame, then... Though that does indeed raise a point. If Allomantic bloodlines are weakening to that extent, then what will the Inquisition do, if they require Mistborn to function?"

 

"Perhaps it would be best to ask Lady Urbain," Lord Penrod suggested, as the woman in question made her way back over. "Her brother has apparently been accepted into their fold, after all."

 

"What is this?" Lady Urbain asked, looking between them. "I heard my name being mentioned. I hope you only have good things to say about me?"

 

"We were just discussing that your brother has joined the Inquisition," Guadium said. "I assume he was Mistborn then? House Urbain appears to have lost quite an important figure, in that case."

 

"He is no longer my brother, Lord Uethorn," Grace said with a sad, but seemingly accepting smile. "He is of the Inquisition now, and no longer of House Urbain. It is best, I feel, to forget that he ever existed before now."

 

"That seems a little harsh, doesn't it?" Lord Penrod asked. "He is, after all, still your brother."

 

Lady Urbain sighed and took a small sip of wine. "Any ties he had to me were severed the moment he joined them. But you asked me whether he was Mistborn," she said, looking at Guadium. Then she smiled a little. "For what it's worth, the Inquisition only accept the best."

 

---

Generation 4, Turn 3 has begun! It will end on October the 31st, at 6PM GMT.

 

It's typical. You wait ages for a twin and four turn up at once...
 

Generation 4 Player List

• little wilson - Tamsa Wilson
• Gamma Fiend - Grace Urbain
• Unodus - Guadium Uethorn
• Adamir - Regnus Farrsolin
• Venture Mistborn - Vin Orielle
• Orlok - Nienna Tekiel
• Comatose - Valerie Elariel
• Aonar Faileas - Bronwyn Izenry
• Quiver - Senna Queade
• wblk - Den Wair
• phattemer - Dis Erikell
• Araris Valerian - An Penrod
• Renegade - Elden Garde
• Shallan - Vinda Vinid
• Haelbarde - Gracia Heatherlocke
• Mailiw73 - Rasdon Zerrung
• The Crooked Warden - Tacitus Protegat
• Kasimir - Kyrus Heron
• RadiantRaven7 - Ryna Ravir
• Winter Cloud - Cleo Venture
• IrulelikeSTINK - Leyton Domos
• TheMightyLopen - Owain Nohr

 

PMs have been sent out.

Edited October 25, 2015 by Wyrmhero

[Mailliw73]

Did the price of atium go up again?

[Kasimir]

Remember I said I owed some RP from Aniketos Heron and Anaximander Heron, among others? Well, have some of my stockpile:
 
Aniketos Heron #6: A Sword-Day, A Red Day

The sky was a pale shade of grey. A surprising colour: no clouds, no drifting ash. Just the merciless heat of the bloody sun above them, like the eye of the Lord Ruler of himself.

Speak of the man.

Aniketos Heron winced as a wave of powerful Soothing crashed through the assembled crowd, beating against him. He leaned heavily against his cane. The leg injury he had sustained from the assassins was getting worse, these days, and the persistent dull ache never seemed to leave the bone. Beside him, some of the other nobles fell to their knees, struggling to breathe. The Lord Ruler’s displeasure was very much clear.

“I raised you,” he said, his voice carrying effortlessly amongst the gathered crowd. Messengers in the colours of the Steel Ministry had delivered the invitations personally to the noble Houses of Luthadel; all were assembled to see justice done. Some, Ani thought, dismissively, even hungered for it.

It was a side-show.

“You were nothing.” The Lord Ruler continued. “Your ancestors I named friend, and I raised them to positions of superiority. I made you nobles! I made you superior and gave you dominion over the skaa!” He cast a weary eye at where the bound figures of Lord Erikell and Lord Vinid had been forced to kneel, surrounded by obligators. Ani frowned, and burned Tin to enhance his vision. There was something strange about those obligators, he thought. He’d seen Thales a few times after his entering the Steel Ministry, and he had a rough idea for the tattoos of the obligators by now, but these…

Finally, his tin-enhanced vision picked up on what was bothering him. There was a red line among the tattoos--something he’d never seen before. The Lord Prelan Benedict’s words, spoken a week ago at the trial drifted through his head once again. “The Lord Ruler desires the creation of a Canton of Inquisition for this purpose, filled with the strongest and most faithful of Allomancers…”

Were these from the Canton of Inquisition, then? They stood preternaturally still, almost eager, as they ensured the captives could not attempt escape. But, Ani thought, even if they did, where could they go? They surely had no metals remaining, and not even a direct descendent of more than one of the original Nine as Erikell was could hope to escape these many obligators, nobles, and the Lord Ruler himself.

The Lord Ruler eyed the kneeling duo contemptuously. “Instead, two among your number chose to squander my gifts, to foment rebellion in my empire. Today, they will be punished, before all of you. Let this be a reminder to all of you, that even the sons of my dearest friends fare no better than the lowliest skaa when they transgress against what is mine.”

The High Prelan called out an order.

Roughly, the obligators forced Erikell and Vinid to rise, shoving them onto the raised platform that had been constructed for this purpose. Already, another obligator was waiting. The sunlight glinted off the razor edges of the obsidian axe that he swung as if it were a child’s toy with pewter-enhanced strength.

Vinid was first.

The High Prelan said, “Cladent Vinid, you have been found guilty of high treason by an assembly of your peers. You have been stripped of all claim to your noble title and of your position as commander of the Lord Ruler’s armies, and have been sentenced to death.”

Loud jeers filled the air; some flung stones and bones and rotten baywraps at the man, as though by doing so, they were any better than skaa; as though by doing so, they could profess their undying loyalty to the Lord Ruler and his Final Empire.

“Enough!” the High Prelan barked, he, too, flaring brass. “This is an execution, not a circus. If you do not control yourself, my Lords and Ladies, I shall have you removed.”

That quieted them down.

The High Prelan nodded to the executioner, who stepped forward. Cladent Vinid made some small sound of protest--barely discernable through the gag that bound his mouth, tightly. His features were drawn with exhaustion, beatings, and hunger. They forced him down, onto the executioner’s block.

The axe came down.

The head rolled, off the boards, and down at the feet of a mass of screaming nobles.

“Silence!” the High Prelan called out, and it was a testament to the strength of the man’s will, or the severity of the situation that his fellow nobles fell silent. “Remove the Lord there,” he ordered the obligators, and two of them sprang to obey, roughly dragging out a noble lord who had fainted at the sight of Cladent’s head coming to rest at his boots, eyes staring sightlessly.

“Apollonus Erikell, you have been found guilty of high treason by an assembly of your peers. You have been stripped of all claim to your noble title, and have been sentenced to death.”

It was a show, Ani thought. It was a show to remind them to keep in line, a show to remind anyone with treasonous thoughts that those were best not thought at all, or at least not given voice to. And it was a reminder that they had brought it to this stage. The nobles of the Great Houses, after all, had cast the ballots determining their guilt. It was they who were, in a way, responsible for Apollonus Erikell kneeling before the gathered crowd.

Now, Apollonus Erikell struggled, having seen what had befallen Cladent Vinid. Perhaps it was knowledge of his impending death; perhaps it was fear, or simply a desire to not have fought his hardest against the inevitable. Whatever the reason, it was to no avail, as the unforgiving obligators dragged him to the block and forced him down.

The executioner’s axe swung again, in a clean, cutting arc.

Ani looked up at the sky as the blood flew.

It was a red day, he thought, with the sun glaring bloodily overhead, in the thick layer of haze. It was a day on which people died.

In that respect, at least, it was no different from any other day in the dangerous world of the Final Empire.

 
Aniketos Heron #7: Lost Stars

Ani dropped a clip on the roof and pushed off it, burning steel. He flared pewter to strengthen his legs before his steel-supported leap, and then once again as he caught a stone outcropping and cautiously hauled himself hand-over-hand to the rooftop of the highest tower of Keep Heron.

Despite the strength of his Allomancy, it was beginning to get harder to manage such feats. On days like these, the ache in his leg was barely-present, but it still threatened to disrupt his focus. He knew, of course, that it would be easy to flare pewter or to drop a clip to the distant courtyard below and use it to break his fall. But all the same, exercises like this challenged both his skill with his Allomancy and his physical conditioning.

His breath was beginning to come hard as he reached the roof and dragged himself atop it. He was getting soft, Ani concluded ruefully. Soft and older. Places he would have easily navigated as a younger man were now points of difficulty. For all that he trained himself, making sure that he maintained at least some of his skills and fitness level, the more sedentary life of a House Lord simply wasn’t as compatible with that of a House Allomancer as he would like.

He allowed himself to flop down on the cool tiled surface for a moment, breathing heavily, simply enjoying the feel of the mists as they cradled him, enveloped him. Eventually, he twisted about and hauled himself upright.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” Nax said. She was perched on the edge of the roof, gazing up into the night sky. He noticed that she was still dressed in ‘Nestor Heron’s’ tailored suit. She’d probably come from listening in at another gathering at a card session.

“It’s not a good night for star-watching,” Ani said, dryly. Most nights, the ash and the haze obscured any glimmers of light from the distant stars. Some nights were clear and crisp; on these, you could see patches of light in the night sky. Tonight was not such a night; the stars were lost in the darkness.

“I know,” Nax said. “Thought it was worth a shot anyway.” She nodded to his leg. “I saw you leaning on that cane this morning. You shouldn’t be here.”

He matched her tone to his. “Thought it was worth a shot anyway.” He yawned and stretched, slowly, deliberately trying to allow his bad leg to relax. “Seems like the only thing I’ve discovered tonight is that I’m getting old and stiff.”

“Soon, you’ll be an old and creaky House Lord, wagging your finger at Ky and Fianna and asking them why they haven’t gotten around to giving you grandchildren you can spoil.”

There was something that didn’t fit; a note that sounded odd in what Nax was saying. Was it regret?

“Do you regret not getting married?” he asked, lightly. He knew this was a dangerous topic, once, but the danger had receded with time. “You could’ve been part of a different House now, perhaps even with grandchildren of your own.”

Nax laughed and shook her head. “No, that wasn’t for me. I’m still glad Father took my feelings into consideration when he was dealing with all the offers from the various Houses.”

“Then?” he prodded, drawing his knees up to his chest.

She was silent for a time. “We’re both old, Ani,” she said. “Do you ever think about what you might’ve done differently?”

“Lord Ruler, yes,” Ani said, wistfully. He thought about Thales, gone distant, the son he’d never really known; about the last time he’d spoken to Araminta Estvaril, about the faces in Keep Wilson, where he’d grown up, about the things he’d never said, never asked of Kyril Heron. Perhaps it was doomed to be a cycle of distant Heron fathers and lost Heron sons. For all he thought about it, it never seemed as though he’d done a good job of finding his way.

It felt as though for more than half his life, he’d been wandering, drowning. And what, Scipio Amstell had once asked, marks the difference between the drowned and the saved?

“All the time,” he said, finally.

Nax looked at him. “So do I,” she said.

There was little Ani could say to that. Instead, they simply sat together in companionable silence as the mists drifted in around them, glancing at the patches where they knew the stars were, lost tonight, alone, in the enveloping darkness.

 
Aniketos Heron #8: If I Drown Tonight

The lobby of the Canton of Finance was full of sleek, blunt lines of stone and marble; in addition, Ani saw the glimmer of obsidian. He’d heard rumours that House Urbain was paying off the Steel Ministry in obsidian, though why they felt the need to do that, he hadn’t any idea.

Perhaps he should speak to Lady Glam Urbain sometime. He had no doubt that that conversation would be interesting.

It was a long wait today, it seemed. He leaned his cane carefully against the cushioned sofa in the private meeting room as he stretched out his bad leg and hoped that it would comply with him for the rest of the day and all the errands he needed to run. The obligator from the Canton of Finance his case had been assigned to had not yet made an appearance, but they’d sent along a skaa with a tray of biscuits and tea.

The tea was far too weak. He couldn’t decide if it was a calculated expression of disdain, or if the Canton of Finance was, paradoxically, the poorest branch of the Steel Ministry.

A rap on the door of the meeting room. “Lord Heron,” the obligator said, and then they both froze as he stepped in.

He hadn’t seen Thales in several years. Hadn’t spoken to him.

He was taller now, moved with more purpose. The trademark tattoos of an obligator had been painstakingly inked around his eyes, and although Ani scanned them, he could not find anything that indicated the scarlet line of the Canton of Inquisition.

He breathed a little easier. There was no way to explain it, but ever since the day he had seen Apollonus Erikell and Cladent Vinid kneel before the roaring crowd and executed, he could not shake the sight of the Lord Ruler’s new Inquisitors from his mind, much less the protective instinct that said that the further Thales was from them, the better.

“Thales,” he said. Awkwardly.

Thales inclined his head. “I am Prelan Thales of the Canton of Finance,” he said, “And I’ve been assigned to examining the proposal you have set out before us. As you might remember, Lord Heron,” he said, pointedly, “Those who have joined the Steel Ministry renounce their previous lives. This includes any claim to a family name or a title that they might have had.”

They looked at each other--father and son, after the intervening years. What happened? Ani wanted to ask, but he knew that question had no clear answer: in fact, it never had, since the day Thales had delivered notice that he was leaving to join the Steel Ministry.

How did you admit that your son was a stranger, much less that you had never truly known or understood him?

“How have the years been treating you, Prelan?” he asked.

Thales poured himself a cup of tea and surreptitiously helped himself to a biscuit. For some reason, Ani found the idea almost laughable: having tea and biscuits with Thales while labouring over a contract; a strange sort of inversion of the times they’d discussed the various Heron assets and how to improve them, or the times they’d talked about what needed to be done in Tremredare.

“Well,” Thales said, with a curl of his lip. “I was not aware this was a social call.”

Ani acknowledged the point. “I’ve never been opposed to a touch of small talk before business,” he countered. “In fact, in the interests of politeness, it’s far wiser, I find, to indulge a little before setting to negotiations.”

It was Thales’s turn to acknowledge the point. “I presume the Heron businesses are faring well, then.”

Ani nodded. “Reasonably,” he said. Another peace offering. “In particular, the ones to do with glass.”

Thales twitched. “I see,” he said. The flash of annoyance in his eyes, however, could barely be hidden. “I suppose that was only to be expected.” They had fought about this before; had exchanged heated words. Thales had claimed that Kyrus was squandering his time with glass. Ani had argued that with the strong base of craftsmen in Tremredare, they would’ve been fools not to take advantage of it.

Time had, it seemed, proven him right.

It wasn’t the kind of thing that was said, not here, in a small room in the heart of the Steel Ministry. It was too long past and presumed an intimacy he no longer had any right to.

Thales tapped the contract impatiently with his pen. “I have checked the contract several times. Our main question is what House Heron appears to gain from this.”

Ani shrugged. “Ministry endorsement of our timepieces,” he said, simply. “What else?”

“Product placement?”

“If you like. There are few sources as esteemed as the Ministry, and a contract with the Ministry to provide timepieces would, obviously, raise the profile of Heron timepieces in the eyes of all.”

Thales smiled. “And if the Ministry does not claim the provenance of its timepieces?”

Ani replied, “Then naturally, House Heron would still claim credit for it. The contract with the Ministry would be mutually beneficial, but the House does not lay all its eggs in one basket.”

All at once, Thales appeared to come to a decision. He nodded briskly and said, shuffling the papers of the contract, “As you can see, Lord Heron, this interview was more or less a formality. I have urged the Ministry to accept your contract, and we will be signing it today.”

He did exactly as he said, inking his signature onto the paper as the witnessing obligator, and then held out the contract for Ani to scan and sign. Nothing had changed, Ani thought. Then again, it would be beneath the Ministry to attempt something as petty as changing the wording of a signed contract.

“A pleasure, then,” Ani said, standing up. He bit back a groan as his leg protested the movement and he fumbled for his cane before he located it.

“What happened to your leg?”

The Lord Heron was gone now; scraped raw.

He looked at Thales. “A minor inconvenience,” Ani said, neutrally. “Some assassins got in my way.”

“And you did not report this?”

“Why?” Ani challenged. “Was I supposed to? They were not skaa; they were nobles. My only question is which House they belonged to. The Lord Ruler does not frown on that; neither is that the purview of the Steel Ministry.”

Thales looked as though he’d swallowed a sour piece of fruit. “You may want to have more regard for your personal safety, Lord Heron,” he finally managed, clutching at the contract papers as a drowning man to a board of wood.

Ani inclined his head. “And you, Prelan Thales. I hope you are faring well...and that you are happy.”

[the winter system]

"Dieter is handsome, isn't he?" The Lord Venture, rarely seen, came out of the shadows to talk to Lady Cleo. He wore a suit. 

"He will be strong." Cleo tucked a curl from behind Dieter's ear. He was still too young to resist such a gesture. 

 

"And that's Venture's bread and butter, isn't it? Strength?"

 

Cleo didn't respond, instead, whispering something to Dieter. Dieter sighed.

 

"Your cousin sent another letter." Lord Venture added. "He says the production in Fadrex is going very efficiently." 

 

"Tell Leo I'll catch up with him soon." Dieter's hairs was black and his eyes were grey. He was tall and lean. Already strong. 

 

"Why did your great grandmother chose that anyway? The Cleos? The Leos?"

 

"And why did I break it, you mean." 

"I didn't say that." 

 

"But you were wondering it." Lord Venture didn't respond. "I wouldn't know. Cleo Venture I was too paranoid to leave a written record of anything."

"And you're not? I'd think paranoia was a Venture trait- along with strength." 

 

Cleo chose not to deny that particular statement. 

 

"I just want our house to be strong. He's is the future, after all." 

"Stop talking about me as if I'm not here." Dieter pulled away from Cleo's hold. Cleo smiled at the independent gesture. "I'm not that young. I know what you're talking about." 

 

Lord Venture and Cleo's eyes met in understanding. 

 

"Go on then. Your tutors are waiting. And so are your cousins." 

 

Action 1: 

Who: All Venture children from now on, but especially Dieter.

What: Hiring tutors from the Steel Ministry, other houses, and the private Venture security forces to educate Dieter (and all other Venture children. This includes future children and Dieter's cousins.) in topics of religion, economics, military maneuvers, combat, politics, and etiquitte. Heavy emphasis on combat/politics for the boys. For girls, art, scholarship, philosophy and music in addition to everything the boys learn, but slightly less on combat/military maneuvers. Spending wealth per generation on this. (Cost as determined by Wyrm)

When: First Action

Where: Keep Venture, training yards, and some outside of the city. 

Why: To make my house and the steel ministry (heavy emphasis on the steel ministry) like me more. Also, making any future characters be better and more efficient at their actions than former me. 

 

EDIT: Changed.

Edited October 26, 2015 by Winter Cloud

[Wyrmhero]

Action 1: 

Who: All Venture children from now on, but especially Dieter.

What: Hiring tutors from the Steel Ministry, other houses, and the private Venture security forces to educate Dieter (and all other Venture children. This includes future children and Dieter's cousins.) in topics of religion, economics, military maneuvers, combat, politics, and etiquitte. Heavy emphasis on combat/politics for the boys. For girls, art, scholarship, philosophy and music in addition to everything the boys learn, but slightly less on combat/military maneuvers. Spending a maximum of 5 wealth as an investment on this from now on.

When: First Action

Where: Keep Venture, training yards, and some outside of the city. 

Why: To make my house and the steel ministry (heavy emphasis on the steel ministry) like me more. Also, making any future characters be better and more efficient at their actions than former me. 

(Did I go a bit overbord on details?)

 

For the record, I will need to talk to you about this.

 

Did the price of atium go up again?

 

Indeed. Someone(s) must have purchased some...

Edited October 26, 2015 by Wyrmhero

[the winter system]

Alright, I am editing my action. 

[Kasimir]

And have more RP from Nax. I'm almost done with both Nax and Ani now!
 
Anaximander Heron #5: Radioactive

As she ran, Nax took stock.

Stupid, she thought. Her shoulder still ached; she flexed it again, hoping that it would last her the night. The soldiers of Keep Malreaux were well-trained, she knew, and well-armed. She had her coin purse, and an obsidian knife tucked away carefully in its sheath at the small of her back, but she seldom resorted to it. She had brass knuckles in her pocket. Two of the three were liabilities when fighting Allomancers.

She would just have to hope she didn’t run into any tonight.

She skidded around the corner and ducked reflexively as an arrow--steel-tipped--flew above her head. Two squads of soldiers in polished armour, wearing the livery of House Malreaux, had the crew cornered. She saw Lenx, his jaw bruised and swollen, one arm hanging uselessly at his side, trying to fend off a soldier with a borrowed sword.

Pell was nowhere in sight; she recognised Javes and Kalvien but not the rest of the crew. There was no time to think: Lenx was a decent swordsman, but you didn’t win against a trained guardsman, and not with a single arm.

She burned iron and pulled, yanking aside the soldier’s sword, throwing him off balance. Lenx saw the opening and dove in, his sword flashing in the lamplight. Blood splattered on his face, and he wiped furiously at it as the soldier stayed down.

He turned and he saw her.

“Nax!” he called out.

Javes was gaping at her; in that moment, a soldier gutted him. Nax felt the anger, burning like the warmth of her metals. She darted in towards that soldier, using a light ironpull to lend herself speed and flared pewter at the last moment. She slammed a knife-hand block against the soldier’s sword-arm, forcing his weapon harmlessly aside as her metal-strengthened punch took him in the throat and crushed it in a single blow.

A steelpush had her springing gracefully backwards; she considered taking up his sword, but she was no swordsman--the sword was really not much of a noble’s weapon, and she was far better with her fists than a dueling cane.

“Nax!”

This time, the call was of warning; she whirled around, flaring pewter for balance and speed as a blade narrowly avoided dealing a blow to her neck. She went in beneath, hooking the soldier’s leg and jerking, and then hauling him off-balance and snapping his neck in one smooth, continuous motion.

The remaining skaa attacked, seeming to take heart from her intervention. Nax dodged another sword-stroke with the grace of a dancer and flung her coin-purse at the soldier’s face. He batted ineffectually at it with his sword, managing to split the cloth, scattering coins everywhere, blinding himself.

It was the moment that Nax had been waiting for. She flared steel, sending two of the coins ripping straight through his vulnerable eyes and deep into his head. The soldier collapsed to the ground, screaming.

“Allomancer!” one of the soldiers screamed, pointing towards her.

She whirled about to face him and gestured, for good measure. A handful of coins--clips, all of them--tore through his throat and chest. He went down. The man beside him had the good sense to raise his shield and a spare coin slammed into the wooden boards, quivering.

Part of her had missed this, being an Allomancer. It was a part of herself she buried deep because skaa weren’t Allomancers, or if any of them were, it was a well-kept secret Nax wasn’t privy to. She enjoyed the fury of combat, but fighting as an Allomancer was different: the metals turned you into a whirlwind of destruction as she turned aside blows that would’ve killed an ordinary person and sent coins and bits of discarded metal whipping through the air like arrows to take down their archers; as she pushed off pieces of armour and flew through the air with the grace and speed only a Mistborn could achieve.

She winced as she caught the flat of a sword against her forearm, and then killed the soldier with a flung coin through the eye. Her pewter store was getting low. She couldn’t afford to waste it.

She pushed off a fallen soldier’s armour with steel, flying into the air to shove away a soldier menacing Lenx. He grimaced as he looked at her. “You know,” he muttered, “You could’ve told me. Ain’t it polite to tell your mates that you’re an Allomancer?”

His sword whirled up and about, blocking a soldier who was trying to cut her down. For all the world had turned into a tracery of blue lines when she’d burned iron and steel, in the thick of a fight with so many people carrying metal, it was difficult to tell when a blue line indicated someone was attacking her and when it was just from a piece of armour.

It would’ve been nice to have had atium, but she didn’t.

Nax broke his grip on his sword, snatched it from the air, and stabbed him in the throat with his own sword. The Malreaux soldier fell to his knees, still gasping, lips still working. Blood bubbled from his mouth and oozed from the wound.

“Did you get what you came for?” she demanded, of Lenx.

He shook his head. “No time for that now.”

Kal dispatched the last soldier with a sharp stop-thrust, tearing through the man’s throat. It was always the throat with guardsmen, part of Nax thought. They were too well-armoured, although there were other points of vulnerability.

The most important thing was that none of them were left to carry the tale. She walked amongst the fallen with a purloined sword, slitting throats, making sure that none of the fourteen could recognise the Allomancer that had been here tonight.

“Javes?” Lenx asked. The question was not directed to her.

Kal knelt by the body of his teammate. “Gone,” he said, crisply. “We’d best get out of here before Malreaux sends more hounds.”

“You have a safehouse?”

Lenx nodded. “Leave them,” he said, addressing that last bit to Kal. “Be nothin’ we can do for them now, and they’ll only slow us down.”

“I’ll take point,” Nax offered, straightening up. She’d collected the remnants of her coin purse; while it would’ve been nice to retrieve the coins, they, at least, were not incriminating.

Lenx shook his head. “We go together,” he said. “You don’t know where it is.” He began to stride away from the scene of the crime, cradling his useless arm. With a last glance at the dead bodies they’d left in their wake, Nax and Kal followed.

 
Anaximander Heron #6: Storm Front

Lenx sat, quite still and quite calm, as the physician stitched his arm back together. He’d taken a sword-wound, the man explained, and the arm had been all but laid open to the bone. To make matters worse, part of the bone had been fractured. He would need a good amount of rest if he expected to regain the use of his arm and make a full recovery.

Lenx received the news with good grace, thanking the physician and promising to return to have the splint checked over. “I’d ask you to cool it if I could,” the physician said, shaking his head. “But I know these things are hard to come by. Settle for elevating it, will you?”

As the physician packed his bags and left, his payment jingling in his pocket, Nax cleared her throat.

“Well,” Lenx said. “I guess we owe each other an explanation.”

“What happened to Pell? What happened on the job?”

Lenx sighed and leaned back into the rickety wooden chair. “Pell’s dead,” he said, simply. “Far’s I know, he fell right inside the estate while we was lookin’ for the skaa dormitories.” His expression darkened. “Turns out that most of his Lordship’s soldiers were already there.”

“A set-up?”

Lenx just looked at her, his eyes haunted. “Sometimes, Nax, I wonder what’s goin’ on in that head of yours. No, it wasn’t a set-up. They were just doin’ things no one should do to your fellow skaa.”

Nax bit back a curse. It was moments like this that the differences between them stood out starkly: the way she’d always taken her family’s treatment of skaa for granted, the way she’d failed to remember that many other Houses regarded their skaa as nothing more than instruments of their pleasure. She said, because she had to say something, “Are they all dead?”

Lenx snorted. “Where d’you think all them hounds you helped us kill came from?”

“Good,” Nax said.

Lenx’s eyes softened. “Thought you might’ve felt as much. It wasn’t a set-up, Nax, but there’s only so much we could’ve done, even if we’d planned on nickin’ anythin’ that wasn’t nailed down.” He shook his head. “Ferska was right, curse him. We weren’t ready to be takin’ on anything like his Lordship.”

“What now? Malreaux isn’t going to be taking this lying down.”

Lenx rolled his eyes. “You think I don’t know that?” he demanded. He winced, and deliberately stilled his splinted arm again. “We raided his rustin’ keep, for his Lord Despot’s sake! We’ll be lucky if the only thing we see is a bunch of skaa with their heads chopped off as an example. But there’s nothin’ we can do about that.”

“Why didn’t you think of it before the raid?”

“What were we to do?” Lenx shot back. “You wanted us to let Malreaux get away with all the things he was doin’?”

“Well,” Nax said, clinically, thinking of skaa dragged out of their homes and beheaded and slaughtered for no other reason than that Lenx and Pell had dared to plan a raid on Keep Malreaux, “He certainly is getting away with everything right now.”

Lenx sighed, the fight seeming to go out of him as he slumped back in his chair. “Look, Nax,” he said, “Far’s I’m concerned, we done screwed up. I know that. You don’t have to rub it in. I wish you’d been there though. Things’d be much different if we had an Allomancer with us. Why didn’t you ever say anything’, anyway?”

Nax sighed. “Look,” she said. “Len, I’m just uncomfortable talking about it. You don’t hear very often about skaa popping up with these kinds of powers, do you?” She thought about the declarations the Canton of Orthodoxy had made prohibiting noble-skaa relations, uncovering the half-breed bastards, and continued. “You know what it means when one of us shows up.”

Lenx said, “Mists, Nax. You think I care that one of them nobles took your ma?”

She looked away. She didn’t have to feign discomfort with the idea. “It’s dangerous, Len. You know that. One whisper of this, and the Canton’s on my trail.”

“Let them come,” Lenx said. “You’re safe with us. I don’t rat on my mates, and neither does Kal.” He shook his head in wonder. “All this time...I mean, I’d done heard about some of them skaa Allomancers with other crews. I heard Petrin’s got a Thug runnin’ point for some of his jobs, and it ain’t easy to find a better man. But I never thought that you was one of them.”

“That’s the point,” Nax said. “You heard about Petrin’s Thug, Len. How was I supposed to think that it was safe?” She shook her head. “I made it on my own, Len. In all my fights, I never burned. I won because I worked for it. I don’t need those metals. I never asked for them.”

“It don’t matter what you never asked for,” Lenx retorted. “You used them to save us. Without that, we’d have died there, at the hands of his Lordship’s dogs.”

A sharp series of raps sounded on the door in a repeating pattern before Kal burst in. The safehouse was meant to look like an abandoned warehouse, with old, filthy broadsheets tacked to the glass-paned windows.

“Len!” he gasped. “His Lordship sent soldiers into their dormitories! They’re dragging out skaa to be killed publicly and rounding up the others to watch.”

So here it was, Nax thought, as she met Lenx’s gaze. They’d dared, and for all for all of that, they’d reaped a storm of ash and steel, and now it was already upon them.

“Let’s go,” Lenx said. He gripped the chair with his good arm and pushed himself to his feet, wearily.

“What for?”

Nax didn’t know if she had asked that, or if Kal had.

Lenx shrugged. “We caused this to happen to them,” he informed them. “Sure, we know that the real reason is that his Lordship gets his kicks out of pointless shows of cruelty, but we also know it weren’t goin’ to happen if we hadn’t raided his Keep and killed his dogs. ‘Least we could do is to watch them die.”

His words were cruel, but they cut Nax to the bone.

How long did you watch, living and partly-living before you became numb? His words cut all the deeper because she’d been living on both sides of the line, and now when people were being killed, she didn’t know on which side she belonged.

She’d spoken truly; she’d never been asked to be born Mistborn, but these powers were as much a part of her as Nax the skaa boxer and thug was. She couldn’t have cut them off from her and denied them any more than she could have stopped being Nestor Heron, Ani’s cousin thrice-removed; any more than she could have stopped being House Heron’s spymaster and Mistborn.

And if you could save people, even if you didn’t know how you could win against so many, did that make you a monster for sitting by and watching? How many times could you watch and die inside before there wasn’t anything of you to kill?

She said nothing of the thoughts racing in her mind. “Sure,” she said, affecting skaa-Nax’s bored growl. “Let’s go.”

 
Anaximander Heron #7: Eye of the Tiger

The first lesson Nax had learned at the hands of her Uncle Wystan was how to fall. In the training yards, he threw her many times, taught her how to take the weight of the fall properly. “In a fight,” he told her, as she listened solemnly, “Especially when you grow into your Allomancy, you’ll learn shortcuts. But shortcuts are dangerous because you grow lazy, and when you run out of metals, they kill you.”

She repeated that, earnest, solemn.

“So, Nax, why do we fall?”

“Because shortcuts kill,” she said. “Because they make you lazy. And because when we fall, we want to be able to get back up and kill that bastard who pushed us.”

-

She ran through the city with iron-enhanced speed, yanking at passing metal structures to give herself boosts, shoving off the same structures with steel as she whipped past them. Iron and steel burned slowly; not as slowly as tin, but enough that she had some of them left, unlike her pewter.

Everything in her was screaming that this was a bad decision: that all she was doing was lashing out blindly at the ones causing the pain. Everything in her was reminding her that she was Anaximander Heron of House Heron and that anything she did could be traced back to her and House Heron would suffer for it.

She knew that.

She just didn’t care. The realisation was slow but final: she hadn’t been Anaximander Heron for a long time. She wasn’t even sure she knew who Anaximander Heron was; and that the person she was going to be wasn’t the sort of person who could sit by idly and watch the skaa executed for no other reason than the fact that Lenx and Pell had tried to strike back and failed; than the fact that Aldan Malreaux was a vindictive whoreson.

The obsidian knife was cool against her skin, resting in its sheath at the small of her back. Obsidian was more expensive than glass but it didn’t protest as much when you dropped it. Right now, she was grateful for its presence.

They didn’t need a boxer now, a man skilled with his fists, occasionally hired as muscle for one of the many skaa thieving crews that worked the Stacks.

What they needed was a Mistborn: an Allomancer trained to be utterly deadly, to be a knife in the dark, to be an assassin.

That, Nax was determined to be.

Sorry, Ani, she thought. But some things had to be done.

-

The supply cache was one of the many she’d prepared in different parts of Luthadel; cleverly disguised to be nothing more than the thick brick wall of a dead-end alley, but the mark scratched on the adjacent brick proved it to be hers. Fortunately, she still had some iron and steel left. She flared her iron, pulling at the metal embedded in the brick until it popped out of the wall. She fumbled in the dark recess behind until she found the metals, floating in alcohol to preserve them.

She winced. This was an old cache, and the alcohol didn’t look particularly good. But as far as she could tell, there was no rust. That was the important part. A backup set of glass knives was also in the cache. She weighed then, considering, and then left them where they were. The brass knuckles, too, she shoved into the wall-cache, as she did with any bits of metal about her person. Fortunately, those were rare. She did not regularly carry much metal anyway.

She downed the first vial, wincing at the taste. The backups went in their bandolier.

At once, her metal stores expanded, flaring to life again.

There was still no atium. She’d never kept it, had never thought she would need it.

She almost laughed, now. Perhaps Aldan had atium. She didn’t know.

Why? A part of her wanted to know. The spymaster. What does this change?

It didn’t matter if she failed; if the new Malreaux Lord took out their frustrations on the skaa.

She thought she understood Lenx’s urgency now: it had to be done, even if you fell, even if you failed. Sometimes, the only reason you got up and fought back was to stop the other whoreson from doing what they did. Sometimes, it was the only thing you had left.

She looked at herself and nearly laughed.

A single, dirty, ragged Mistborn about to take on an army and kill another Allomancer. Perhaps she could pass it off as a Heron-Malreaux feud, although Ani would still be furious at her for antagonising a lesser House. If she didn’t get caught, the Steel Ministry would simply assume that it was an inter-House feud. They had, after all, been content to ignore the raid on House Urbain. They only drew the line at openly marching armies through the streets of Luthadel and marching on the Lord Despot’s cities.

Yes, she thought. Her chances were just a little better than she was giving herself credit for: enough to make her actions suicidally stupid instead of downright foolish.

She breathed, slowly, keeping her task in mind. It was not yet quite night; the scarlet sun was beginning to sink beneath the horizon, but there was still a little light in the sky. She cast the hood of her Mistcloak over her face, just in case.

It was time to focus.

She closed her eyes, burned iron, and leapt into the dusk.

 
Anaximander Heron #8: Night of the Hunter

Nax leapt from roof to roof, rolling to absorb the impact of each jump, clearing the obstacles with the half-in-flight grace of a Mistborn. She recognised the various buildings as she made her way towards the jutting towers of Keep Malreaux.

Some Houses preferred Keeps that resembled fortresses: with a short wall around the keep, bristling with sentries to deter intruders. In this particular case, House Malreaux had gone, instead, for the most sincerest form of flattery possible: imitating, if dimly, the spiked towers of Kredik Shaw.

She could deal with that.

From the roof of a distant building, she crouched and watched the sentries patrolling the courtyard of Keep Malreaux. The fence--for that was what it was, ornamental--did not deserve the name of a wall. The short shrubs were cunningly arranged to look like objects, and she saw where an intrepid intruder might conceal themselves from the patrols.

She counted to five, took a deep breath, and stepped out into thin air.

She fell; an exhilarating experience, wind whipping the tassels of her Mistcloak up and screaming in her ears, until she pushed against the metal fence with steel to slow her fall and hit the soft ground of the courtyard behind a series of shrubs meant to look like a horse and rolled.

From her hiding place, she could hear the receding voices of the sentries. Still, she darted out from behind the horse-shrubs, keeping low, and dove into a nearby pile of ash with a silent apology to the skaa-gardeners who had raked it up only this morning.

She tried not to breathe too heavily; the last thing she needed was to start coughing because of the ash and to give away her location.

She counted to thirty, until the footsteps of the sentry came close and then paused. This was the point where he would glance around at the gardens, making sure nothing was disturbed. She held her breath, waiting for him to go away.

Eventually, he did. The footsteps receded.

Nax burst out from hiding, not bothering to shake off the clinging ash. It wouldn’t hurt, after all. She moved, lightly and as noiselessly as possible towards the base of the tower and dropped a clip onto the ground and pushed, burning steel.

Slowly, carefully, she rose: with her tin-enhanced senses, she glanced for outcroppings at the side of the tower and found it. She caught hold of the jutting outcropping--an ornamental figure, what it was was half-buried in ash-stains--and released her grip on the clip. Instantly, she bore all her dangling weight on her arms. She grunted with the effort, and cast about for the next hand-hold.

She must have been more than half-way up the tower, now. A glance down; she could not make out the ash-smeared coin. All the better: the fewer signs she left behind her, the less trouble this hunt would cause.

Hand-over-hand, she hauled herself up the tower. For all it appeared to be smooth stone, it had worn away, and to an experienced free-climber, it was dangerous but possible to make their way up along the side of the tower.

Pausing for a moment, she whispered her gratitude to long-deceased Uncle Wystan, for his insistence that she learn proper technique before she learned the use of her metals. Without this, she would’ve had to storm Keep Malreaux, and the last thing she wanted was for them to realise a Mistborn was here and to alert their own Hazekillers.

Carefully, she inched her way up to the top of the tower, until finally, her callused fingers grasped what appeared to be a crenellation. She burned iron, now, and the tracery of blue lines sprang up around her. None of that was moving.

She dangled from the crenellation, waiting.

Eventually, she saw a blue line move--almost as though it was heading away from the edge of the tower, and smiled. She sprang up over the ledge, flaring pewter, in a smooth motion. With her other hand, she whipped out a clip, flung it at the retreating sentry and pushed.

It tore through his throat before he even had the chance to scream and the man collapsed where he was standing, gurgling futilely.

Nax strode up to him and retrieved her blood-slick coin, and then dragged his body to the side and out of the way. She listened, trying to see if she could pick up on any other sentries. There were none in the vicinity; neither was there any outcry of alarm.

Nodding to herself with satisfaction, she worked her way further into Keep Malreaux proper.

-

There were, Nax thought, two possibilities. In the first, Keep Malreaux’s security was disgracefully trained. It was child’s play for her to dodge sentries and guards, or to silently kill the few she could not avoid. She had shifted the sheath of her obsidian knife so it was quicker to draw.

The second possibility was that her childhood spent running rings around House Heron’s security and trying to evade Uncle Wystan was, after all, coming in useful. Perhaps it was a little of both.

Bit by careful bit, she’d worked her way into the inner recesses of the Keep, taking care to hide the bodies of guards she’d killed. It was regretful; either way, their absence would be noticed, and soon they’d realise they had an intruder, but there was no point in announcing her presence sooner than the inevitable.

She had never been this deep in Keep Malreaux before, but all she could do was to keep going. It was clear that this was where the family was quartered, and her best guess was that at this hour of the night, Aldan would be in his study.

So she headed for the stairs and crept up them, as silently as she could. A true Mistborn might have tried to access the study from the roof, but of course, that would’ve attracted much attention. Hazekillers or soldiers trained in counter-Mistborn measures were good at feathering anything that seemed to be moving in the air with stone-tipped arrows.

As she moved along the spiralling contours of the stairs, she heard voices. Quickly, she dropped back over the edge of the staircase, and then sprang. She caught hold of the stone one level above and held for all she was worth as the door at the top swung open.

“...we’ll find them, milord,” the voice said. It was likely the captain of Aldan’s household guard, although she could not be sure.

“See that you do,” that was Aldan’s voice; deep, dismissive. “I need not stress how much the presence of an intruder calls to question your competence, Captain.”

She risked a glance down; it was an awkward position she was in, but she saw them both: Alden in his waistcoat, and the Captain, his armoured breastplate gleaming dully in the candle-light.

The Captain swallowed. “My lord,” he acknowledged, pressing a clenched fist to his breastplate. “I’ll handle the search personally, but I’d like to advise you to stay with a guard for your own safety--”

Aldan cut him off. “Captain,” he said, his voice silky, “Your men could hardly spot or stop an intruder until someone noticed that the earlier shift wasn’t reporting in. I shall hardly feel more assured with such incompetence keeping an eye on me. Rest assured we shall discuss this issue in full once the intruders are found.”

“My lord,” the Captain said again, bowing his head in acquiescence.

Aldan turned and strode back into his study. The Captain looked at the door as it closed in his face, shook his head, and stoically turned on his heels and trudged down the stairs.

She had to be fast, she thought. She waited for him to turn the corner, and then released her hold on the wall, dropping on the surprised Captain in a flash and ramming her obsidian knife through his eye and twisting. Her other hand was over his mouth, stifling any outcry he might’ve raised.

Had this been too noisy?

She pulled out her knife and cleaned it, listening anxiously. There was no sound of the door opening; no query from Aldan.

Quickly, she stripped the Captain of his breastplate, bundling her hooded Mistcloak under her arm. His helm she strapped on, although it was rather confining; his sword she girt by her side. All in all, it was important that she pass for the Captain at first glance. At least the man was cleanshaven.

She waited for what must’ve been five minutes and then rose slowly, the knife carefully concealed and walked in the dead man’s boots to the door and rapped on it.

“Come in,” Aldan called out, impatiently.

She proceeded in.

“Captain,” Aldan said, glancing up briefly. “I trust you have not come back to me to report another failure?”

“My men have discovered the intruders, my Lord,” she said, pitching her voice low to imitate the quiet, deferential way the Captain spoke. “Merely a pack of skaa thieves.”

Aldan raised an eyebrow. “Merely?” he repeated, incredulously. “Captain, I think you are becoming remiss in your duties. This is the second time a pack of skaa scum have gotten past your men. Can your men do no better than a ragtag bunch of skaa?”

The Captain, Nax decided, would glower; then would appear chastened, would bow his head to acknowledge the Lord’s complaint. “They left behind this, my lord.” She hefted the Mistcloak in her hands, waited for him to approach and to take it.

Curiosity would lure him forward, of course. Aldan stepped out from behind the table and towards her, reaching out for the Mistcloak.

He frowned at it. “Preposterous,” he snapped, taking the Mistcloak in his hands. “This is a Mistcloak! Are you suggesting, Captain,” and there was the note of danger in his voice, “That the skaa are Mistborn now? I have never before seen such incompetence--”

Flaring pewter, Nax grabbed at one shoulder with one arm, and then stepped up close, far closer than any Captain had the right to be.

“You’re not--” his eyes widened; she did not know if it was with fear or with recognition. Perhaps both.

The obsidian blade flicked out from its wrist-sheath. She stabbed him through the throat.

“No,” she said, pulling the blade out of the corpse. “I am justice.”

It was a rough, bloody sort of justice, but it was the only sort she felt she could give: the only sort skaa could’ve demanded in this world.

Swiftly, she cleaned off the obsidian blade and stripped off the Captain’s armour once again; greaves and wrist-guards and helmet and breastplate clattering quietly to the floor of Aldan’s study.

Did she regret?

Nax didn’t know. She felt nothing; she’d killed before, and for all she’d known Aldan, for all she’d found him charming, once, she could not eke out any sense of sorrow at his death.

Instead, she whipped her Mistcloak over her shoulders, pulled the hood to shield her features, and leaped out the open window and into the enshrouding mists.

[Unodus]

Guadium threw the last letter into the fire, and sat back in his lounging chair. Tiredly, he watched the lazy embers gradually engulf and warp the text- a wine flute in one hand, and his reply to the message he had just burned in the other. Guadium looked out the window, the ashfall was particularly harsh tonight- too harsh for rooftop star gazing. Sighing inwardly, he turned back to the flute in his hand. After a moments consideration, he cast the wine flute into the fire.

Action 3

Who? Guadium, in his capacity as House Lord

What? Organizing a marriage for Guadiums daughter, Victel 

When? Third action

Why? Only one turn left before the end of the generation, and I don't expect that I'll be making any last minute alliances in that time. 

[Araris Valerian]

I have a couple actions here:

 

Action 1:

Who: An Penrod

What: Building the University of Fellise

Why: To attract scholars to the city and to increase the overall level of education among the noble families

Where: Right outside the central city square

When: Action 2

 

Action 2:

Who: An Penrod

What: Publicly announcing that any skaa that leave their own house to come to work in Fellise for House Penrod will be accepted and offered protection from their former house. Skaa attempting to leave a city can receive an official work notice from the local Penrod scribe in that city

Where: Across the Final Empire

Why: To punish Houses that mistreat their skaa and to boost the overall productivity within Fellise

When: Action 3

[Aonar]

Sorry. Lots of homework for me of late, so there's no time to RP. I will get an action posted this turn though.

 

Who: Lady Bronwyn Izenry, as Head of House Izenry

What: Accepting Lady Wilson's proposed contract regarding her services as Steward of Marriage.

When: This is my first action.

Where: ? Luthadel, perhaps? I doubt this really matters, for this action.

Why: To save on actions in the future, and ease some of the stress involved in arranging a profitable marriage.

Edited October 30, 2015 by Aonar Faileas

[Mailliw73]

Action 2: Rasdon Zerrung is also accepting the terms of House Wilson's Matchmaking services.

Edited October 30, 2015 by Mailliw73

[Adamir]

Rushed public action, sorry - internet problems for the last few days.

 

Action 1 - Trying for an Heir

Names: Thay, Lysen

[TheMightyLopen]

Action:

 

Who: Lord Owain Nohr

What: Upgrading a Hospital

Where: Fadrex

When: 2nd Action

Why: Improved facilities for improved health

[Kasimir]

I'm tired. RP later. I did deliver, didn't I?
 
Action Two:

•Who? - Kyrus Heron, in his capacity as House Lord.

•What? - Kyrus is going to sign Lady Wilson's contract: the one pertaining to her cool new powers as Steward of Arranging Marriages.

•Where? - In Luthadel. (Or, wherever appropriate, I guess.)

•When? - This is my second action for the Turn.

•Why? - Lazy Kas is lazy. It saves an action, and it delegates the organisation work to someone else. Whyever not?

Edited October 31, 2015 by Kasimir

[Haelbarde]

• Who? - Lord Heatherlocke is performing this action, in his capacity as House Lord.

• What? - Send out an expedition to the Southern Islands to create a settlement for imported troublemakers and criminals.

• Where? - Lansing City -> Southern Islands

• When? - This is my 2nd Action for the Turn.

• Why? - To reduce crime in Lansing City

[Quiver]

Who: Lady Queade, on behalf of her son, Saelm

What: Saelm is applying to the Steel Ministry (specifically the Canton of Hegemony).

Where: Luthadel

When: 1st Action

Why: Because farming our children out to the government is a Queade family tradition! More significantly, I'm hoping that having a young noble join the Ministry might gain me some respect from the Ministry (and the Inquisition). Yeah, he's young... which means that the ministry gets to take on the responsibility of raising and educating him. Specifically, I want him to try and climb the ranks of the Canton of Hegemony, since the Law was what House Queade focused on before the Canton's popped up, and this would let us get some of that influence back again.

[Renegade]

Work's starting to creep up on me, so I only have time for an action (or two) this turn.

 

Action 1: Elden Garde is purchasing another large shipment of lumber from an NPC House in order to manufacture the House's renowned bowls/containers.

Action 3: Elden Garde is commissioning a large wall to go around the Keep and Housing Districts, in order to maintain comfort and security.

[phattemer]

Action 1: try for an heir

Sorry for this but late

[Shallan]

Action 3:(public)

My military is going to expand the final empire as far as possible in the southern islands.

[little wilson]

Far too much craze to RP right now.

 

Who: Lady Tamsa Wilson, as Steward of Arranging Marriages

What: Arranging a marriage between Saldion Zerrung and Kyrien Izenry. As Sal is marrying into Izenry, Bronwyn Izenry has agreed to pay Rasdon Zerrung a dowry for their son.

Where: In Luthadel

When: Action 3

Why: because marriages are good and I'm the steward so it's what I do.