Heirs to the Final Empire: Roleplaying Thread

[Wyrmhero]

This chapter was written by Kasimir rather kindly, to boost his NaNaWriMo word count >>. for completely benign purposes.

 

Lady Vin Orielle stood on the edge of the observer’s platform, both hands braced against the smooth railing and smiled; a serene figure, watching the scrum taking place on the excavated arena below.

 

The arena had been ruinously expensive to create, but she felt confident that the expense had been well worth it. Skaa labourers had struggled to create an ideal place for war games to take place: a flat, sandy field, dotted with worked slabs of obsidian as ‘boulders’, and even a small stream ran through it.

 

“Really,” said young Wyren Heron. “One might think the live weapons unnecessary.” Below, a soldier in the the livery of House Wilson slipped on a patch of wet sand and lost his footing. He went down immediately; before his squadmates could pull him back into the protection of their raised shields, a soldier in Vinid colours broke free of the pack and cast a spear, ramming it straight through the fallen man’s mid-section.

 

He bent down and ripped the spear free, to the acclaim of his squadmates and the watching crowd of nobles.

 

“Are you a skaa lover, then?” Lady Bronwyn Izenry asked, her eyes flicking to the young man—a second cousin’s son, they’d said—whom Lord Kyrus Heron had chosen to send in his stead. All assembled nobles noted that he’d not bothered to send his heir; nor had he even sent any soldiers to participate in the games.

 

Wyren Heron laughed; a harsh, careless sound. “Hardly, my lady,” he said. His disinterested gaze flicked back to the frenetic struggle taking place below. Stricken skaa soldiers were screaming; some held their guts in with blood-soaked hands. Others were maimed and would have been crippled for life if they were in any way going to survive the war games. “House Heron prefers a policy of judicious management, if you will.” He turned around to regard Lady Orielle. “Lady Orielle, thank you for the invitation. However, business calls, and of course, it must take precedence over pleasure…”

 

Deftly—for all it had been clear that he did not quite take relish in the bloody proceedings—Wyren Heron extricated himself gracefully and left.

 

“Unfortunately,” Lady Vinda Vinid said, turning back to the games that raged beneath them, “Your soldiers, my dear Lady Wilson, simply do not appear to have the stomach for fighting…”

 

Lady Tamsa Wilson watched the slaughter of her men where they stood. Sheltering beneath their shields wasn’t enough; while her soldiers tried to tighten up their formation to make up for the missing man, they were too much on the defensive, and with a practised, efficient ferocity, the Vinid spearmen tore through their formation, forcing it open at the hinges under a withering hail of covering fire from men with heavy crossbows; bolts puncturing through shields like they were made of wet paper, and then ripping it to shreds.

 

It was, Lady Orielle thought, most amusing: to see Lady Wilson’s knuckles whiten as she gripped the railing, to watch her struggle to retain a semblance of glacial calm.

 

“Well,” Lady Wilson said, at long last; the light-heartedness in her voice forced. “I must concede, Lady Vinid. It seems I shall be needing new soldiers before long. And presumably, new trainers as well.”

 

The screams and cries and moans of the dying skaa drifted up to the observer’s platform reserved for the Lords and Ladies of the participating Great Houses. It was, all in all, a most diverting experience.

 

---

 

Olim opened his eyes at dusk.

 

It had all gone quiet now; eeriely so. No, he thought, in a few moments, as he heard the eerie cries of the feasting carrion crows in the night mists. He shifted, and strained, and managed to roll the deadweight of his squadmate’s body off him.

 

He clambered painfully to his feet. The wound in his side ached. He didn’t know how deep it was.

 

“Hello?” he called out. “Is there anyone here?”

 

Silence. It was an eerie, deep silence; a sharp contrast to the clamour and stench of battle. He was numb to it, now. It was as though he’d died, in the time he’d lain among the dead, concealed by them. There was no doubt in his mind that his squad had been slaughtered to a man: that the only reason why he’d survived was because Alun had fallen over him in death and thus, he’d been missed in the chaos.

 

He shivered. His uniform was mostly-whole, but it was a chilly night, in this place of the dead. There were all sorts of rumours about the mists, of course. Especially among the plantation skaa. They talked about how the mists drove a man mad, how they could devour his soul.

 

He shivered again. Mistwraiths, he thought. The last thing he needed was a whole bunch of mistwraiths coming here. Would they eat him too?

 

He bent down, cast about until his grasping fingers closed around the leather-wrapped hilt of a sword. He picked it up, and hefted it. The weight was good, even if the pommel was heavier than he’d have liked. He clumsily sheathed it.

 

He was tempted to laugh. A single man, alive when he should not be, with nothing more than a sword to defend himself. He was going to be dead by sunrise, one way or another.

 

A sound; a proper human voice, cursing. “Cursed mists,” said the voice. “Can barely make out your own hand in them.”

 

Olim blinked. “Hello!” he called out again. “Is there anyone out there? I’m alive and I need help!”

 

“Mists,” the voice said. “Melit! There’s a survivor here!”

 

He staggered towards the voice, stumbling over bodies and their gear. Once, he almost cut himself on a protruding sword-blade but threw himself away from it in time. He all but ran into the source of the voice; a heavyset skaa man with a forked scar above his left eyebrow and burn scars all over his well-muscled arms. The other had the bearing of one of the illegal betting ring boxers; there was a certain lithe grace to his movements.

 

“Well, there,” said Melit. “It’s a miracle you survived.” He shook his head. “We were just picking over the field for anything we could salvage. Didn’t expect to see any survivors.”

 

Olim felt his hand clenching about the hilt of his sword. He couldn’t seem to make his fingers let go. “Are you…are you with them?”

 

“The Houses?” Melit laughed. “Nah. Tell him, Bose.”

 

“We’re free skaa,” Bose said, simply. “We don’t bow to anyone; we don’t kill on their command, we don’t die for them. What they did to you, friend, was simply horrible. And we’re gonna make sure they don’t get to do these things no more, these nobles in their high Keeps.” He grinned. “We’re gonna shake things up. Change the world. How about that, huh?”

 

Olim tried to process it. Struggled. “You’re rebels…?”

 

“Rebels with a cause,” Melit said. “It’s all right, friend. You’re safe now. Everything’s going to be all right.” He held out a cotton handkerchief.

 

Olim’s knees buckled beneath him.

 

He knelt on the ground and wept; hysterical, convulsive sobs, wracking him.

 

He’d watched them die; squadmates, friends. He’d been left for dead; he’d fought, and done his best, and all of a sudden, now, it was flooding him, threatening to overwhelm him, at the sight of a mundane, clean, handkerchief.

 

“It’s all right, friend,” Melit repeated, kneeling beside him. “If you can stand, we know someone who can make sure you’re taken care of, that that wound isn’t going to be any worse. And us? We’re going to shake their world, down to its very foundations.”

 

---

 

The skaa would later whisper to themselves about this day, long after the purges; long after they were forbidden to breathe any word of it, to remember it. The rebellion, Olim would say, really began on a forsaken field, where the skaa soldiers of many Great Houses had been left to die. He would look at his rapt listeners, challenging any of them to disagree. No one did.

 

That was the turning point, he would say. Their soldiers started to think, to question. Now, at first, we were all right with it. Being a soldier was risky, yeah. But it was a good job. Paid well. But none of us had thought—until that point—that they would order us out there: in the absence of any kind of danger, to just slaughter each other for their amusement. And that they would stand and laugh and watch and just give each other prizes for how well we killed each other.

 

---

 

The rebellion, if it deserved that name, for it was far-reaching, and at the same time, very much dispersed, began in two very different parts of the Final Empire. In the properties of Lady Izenry, skaa miners gathered and whispered, for days, and then for weeks. Eventually, the story of the slaughter on the fields of sand spread the length and breadth of the Final Empire, racing like hidden fires beneath bales of straw.

 

And finally, the spark was struck; galvanised, the skaa acted.

 

With pickaxes and shovels, they assaulted the obligator sent to inspect them, and the member of House Izenry—a Lord Rian Izenry, distantly-related to Lady Bronwyn—as their guards stood by and abruptly turned their backs or lent their blades to the rebelling skaa.

 

Soon after, the mines—carts and all—went up in flames. It was only truly crushed when the main contingent of Izenry forces from the City of Urteau, so much better treated and fed than lowly mine workers, arrived and dispatched retribution with brutal efficiency. Tekiel Allomancers followed up, quelling the rage with forceful applications of brass.

 

In the holdings of Lord Den Wair, malnourished, famished skaa burned watchtowers and seized wheat fields, pilfering from storehouses. Some of their guards tried to stop them; their colleagues called them collaborators and ran them through. They were struck with farming implements: with sickles and rakes and hoes. “Wair feasts while our young starve!” was the rallying cry on the soft farmlands; in the mines, miners turned on their overseers, ganging up on them and shoving the bodies down abandoned shafts or thrusting them into the machinery, mangling them beyong recognition or crushing them to death beneath loose boulders.

 

The pockets of rebellion were few, at first, but somehow, despite the intervening distance of canals and roads, word spread. More skaa joined them, struggling to throw off the shackles and cruelties and indignities of their imposed overlords.

 

The rebellion was wildfire, and soon, most of the Final Empire was ablaze.

 

Generation 5: The Skaa Rebellion

 

Turn 1

 

Generation 5, Turn 1 has begun! The Turn will end on Saturday the 14th at 6PM GMT.

 

This Generation, it is more likely that skaa will revolt or turn to crime. As the flames of rebellion spread, the whispers and rumours that accompany them are likely to make skaa dissatisfied with noble rule.

 

Players may commit troops to the defence of The Final Empire and stamping out this rebellion. The more soldiers used in this way, the lesser the general chance of rebellion. But, at the same time, if you have less troops guarding them, who is to say your own skaa won't make a bid for freedom...?

 

A couple of players have had to drop out due to real-life commitments

 

Generation 5 Player List

1. little wilson - Allera Wilson
2. Unodus - Victel Uethorn
3. Adamir - Thay Farrsolin
4. Venture Mistborn - Anatax Orielle
5. Orlok - Nestor Tekiel
6. Aonar Faileas - Kyrien Izenry
7. Quiver - Samden Queade
8. wblk - Irim Wair
9. phattemer - Vulco Erikell
10. Araris Valerian - Hadrian Penrod
11. Shallan - Coanti Vinid
12. Haelbarde - Graeth Heatherlocke
13. Mailiw73 - Kler Zerrung
14. Kasimir - Jocasta Heron
15. Winter Cloud - Dieter Venture
16. IrulelikeSTINK - Phil Domos
17. TheMightyLopen - Ophelia Nohr
18. polkinghorndb - Elijah Lignum
19. DeathClutch19 - Soren Jormundgand
20. Creccio - Inor Haze Olimac
21. Sogaple - Cade Malroux

Edited November 17, 2015 by Wyrmhero

[Kasimir]

This chapter was written by Kasimir rather kindly, to boost his NaNaWriMo word count >>.

...Shh, not so loud, Chief. If my region mod knows I'm cheating to boost word count in this way for our Word Wars, I'll never hear the end of it... >>

[Wblk]

"The skaa are revolting, both literally and metaphorically." said Lady Minal, hastily appointed Attendant of Trade for House Wair. Beside her, the new Attendant of War Lord Ydna sighed to himself. They had been kept waiting for weeks to see the House Lord and he was not in the mood for wordplay.

 

In front of them sat the new House Lord Irim Wair, having replaced his father who had proved increasingly indecisive in the latter years of his rule to the point of inactivity. It had ultimately proved detrimental to House Wair, having allowed the skaa to successfully revolt.

 

"Our farms are holding, the extra guards your father posted have managed to rebuff several attacks so far. That said, without reinforcements I don't expect them to last the year. Something has to be done, Lord Wair," said Ydna, wearily.

 

There was a long silence, eventually broken by a weak voice. "How much money do we have?" said Lord Wair.

 

As one, Ydna and Minal sighed. It seemed they had gotten one of those House Lords.

[the winter system]

Who: Dieter, in his capacity as House Lord

When: 3rd Action

Where: All along the final Empire

What: Comitting a 3rd of Venture troops in protection of the entire Final Empire and another 3rd in protection of Venture land (while cracking down hard on any type of troublemaker at all) The rest just keep doing what they were doing.  

Why: Stability!

[Adamir]

Blade to blade, boot to shield. It was the exact same maneuver his trainer had used the last time they had sparred, and this time Thay was prepared, dropping his shield and spinning his sword, stepping around his opponent, and cutting an arc towards his foe's shoulders.

 

Master Bet regained his foothold and ducked beneath the sword, before planting a hand on the ground and swinging his foot behind Thay's shins. Half a second later, Thay was on the ground, his opponent planting a knee into his back, another holding down Thay's sword arm.

 

'Yield.'

 

Thay tried to spin around, but failed. He put all his weight on his arms and tried to throw off the weight on his back, but failed. He flicked his neck backwards in an attempt to slam the back of his head into Master Bet; a hand grasped him by the hair and slammed his face into the grass.

 

'Yield.'

 

Thay tried to pass his blade from his sword hand, pinned under Master Bet's knee, to his remaining arm with a light Push, pinned under his own weight. His opponent scooped it up before he could grab it.

 

'Yield.'

 

Thay sighed with resignation, feeling small bursts of pain from his nose; the blood dripping down made his pale skin shudder. Still, not broken.

 

'I yield.'

 

Master Bet rose to his feet, before grasping Thay's arm and pulling him up. Thay glanced for a moment at his trainer, past the pockparks and albino skin. There was no real satisfaction in those eyes, just a weary resignation of another easy victory. This wasn't even a challenge for the old swordsman, just another chore to get through the day.

 

Thay moved a sleeve over his nose to wipe away the blood. His servants would panic at the stain, but this was his sparring uniform, of no consequence. Still, there was something he had meant to ask the previous day, when Master Bet had first kicked at his shield.

 

'You cheated,' Thay growled, wiping away more blood from his upper lip.

 

Master Bet smirked. 'You won't win a fight following every rule. You won't win a war following every rule. The only way for you to win is to both use every opportunity and anticipate your opponent. Kicking in a duel, for you, is unthinkable; you can't imagine anyone else doing it.'

 

Thay nodded. 'I understand.' He understood, but he didn't approve.

 

This was only the end of his first week with his new trainer, and only the fifth of such arguments. Thay had learned long ago not to argue with Master Bet; it had as much effect as arguing with the tides. Whatever you said, nothing would change.

 

Master Bet took out a piece of cloth from his pocket and ran it along his sword, wiping away the few drops of blood on the edge. Sparring with real weapons still made Thay nervous, but his opponent had promised not to deliberately cripple or kill him. Deliberately.

 

Thay had initially been worried about accidentally killing his trainer. Those worries had been replaced by frustration at the end of the first day, when he had been struck three times with the hilt of Master Bet's sword in the first round. It would be nigh impossible for him to even get a single successful blow; the best Thay could hope for was to last long enough to learn something.

 

'You lasted longer today,' Master Bet said to him as they walked out.

 

'Nine seconds. I think I might have lasted about the same against one of the captains down there.' Thay tried to force a smile, but defeat still left a sour taste in his mouth, as it had every day for the last week.

 

'You'd last a single second, the time it would take him to unsheathe his sword and take the first swing. And he's not even an Allomancer.'

 

'And you are?'

 

'Took you long enough to find out; and let me guess, that was cheating?' Bet replied.

 

'I'm used to it, coming from you,' Thay said.

 

'If it helps, I didn't use any pewter strength, and just enough tin to keep my reflexes up to your level. After all, at my age, I'd need some outside advantage to keep up.' Thay didn't take the bait. Master Bet was trying to pull him into sympathy for his age; it wouldn't work. You can't exactly sympathise with someone when they slam your head into the grass.

 

 

The thought reminded him of the injury. The pain wasn't too bad, and his nose wasn't broken, but there was a small trail of blood leaking out. He raised a sleeve to his nose and wiped the blood away a second time, once again trying to resist Pushing Master Bet's sword hilt-first into his face. These "non-aggressive Allomantic contests", as he called them, were artifically binding and constraining, but Thay relished the challenge. If only for that, he would keep his iron and steel extinguished.

 

---

 

Action 1

 

Who: Thay, as House Lord

What: Ordering one third of Farrsolin soldiers to defend Farrsolin properties, one third to secure the Eastern Dominance, and one third to delegate themselves to the Steel Ministry on a ten year lease so as to lend their assistance towards subjugating the skaa rebellion in other dominances.

When: Action 1

Why: To prevent skaa riots in Farrsolin land, and to improve my reputation with the Inquisition.

[Sogaple]

Cade stepped into his mother's bedroom. It reeked. She hadn’t left the room for days.

 

“Mother… we need to get you a doctor. This sickness is serious, no matter how much you deny it.”

 

“Don’t bother…” she wheezed.  

 

He sat down next to his mother’s bed. The closed shutters and curtains allowed him to take off his blindfold. Cade could now see his gaunt, frail mother’s grey-white skin, which contrasted with the the wine red sheets surrounding her in the large four poster bed.  

 

“Mother! Why won’t you let me help you?” Cade clenched his teeth.

 

“Cade, my darling, what would happen if I was cured? You are the new Lord Malroux. I would just be… a burden.”

 

Cade gently took his mother’s hand. He could feel every wrinkle in her skin, along with how unnaturally light it was.

 

“Don’t say things like that mother… it’s not true!”

 

“You don’t need me to guide you anymore”. She let out a few long whooping coughs that wrenched her frail frame. Cade squeezed her hand and waited in silence

 

“That’s not true, without father, I need you now more than ever”.

 

“You’re wrong”. She looked into his eyes with compassion and pride.

 

“Do you really think so?”

 

“I do”.

 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, a silence marked by a shared understanding. Cade would be taking on his new role of Lord Morleaux with one less person to guide him. He began to cry, the sound of his sobs filling the room.

 

After his tears had dryed he stood up.

 

“Get some rest, mother…” Cade whispered. He put his blindfold back on and left the room.

 

He was unsure how long it would be until she died. He would have to have a doctor on hand to ease the pain. That would be expensive, but he owed her that much.

 

 

---

 

Cade was systematically searching around his father's office, rummaging through the bookshelves, looking for anything that could help him find the location of the skaa. The Malroux had been hunting them for quite some time, so they must have had some lead on their location. He was going to send his men to investigate, but without any guidance it would take them ages to find anything useful. Using his father’s knowledge would ensure that he did not have to go to outside sources, negating the risk of raising suspicions and jeopardizing his plan. Finally, in the the bottomost drawer of his father’s desk he found some scrolls that he calmly looked through.

 

“There, finally.” he murmured, as he read markings like “potential refuge, investigate” and “multiple sources confirm, send troops as soon as possible”. His father had hunted the skaa for years to appease the Steel Ministry. It was ironic considering the purpose Cade had in my mind for the maps.

 

Walking out of the office, he handed the scrolls to one of his attendants.

 

“Tell my soldiers to investigate the locations detailed on these maps. Have them report back as soon as they check them

all. Get to work.”

 

---

 

Public Action

 

Who: Lord Cade Malraux

 

What: Building a farm

 

When: Action 1

 

Where: One of the Malroux torched lands.

 

Why: To increase profit.

Edited November 13, 2015 by Sogaple

[Kasimir]

Thales Heron #4: Tidal Bones

Thales had made it as far out as Lansing, once: on the rugged coasts of the Southern Dominance, past the rolling hills and plantations that made up the breadbasket of the Final Empire. He’d come down to the beach, and waded out into the surf; feeling the waves breaking against rock, feeling the sharp yank against his ankles and then his calves as he pushed further.

Undertow, they called it.

He still dreamed of the beach sometimes; stark, ash-crusted rock, the smell of sea-brine, the impression of shells in the dark, coarse sand. The feeling of the undertow; the feeling of being dwarfed by the immense expanse of sea; of the titanic clash between waves and rock.

There were no plantations to inspect in Lansing itself: Lansing was a port city, with all that entailed (busy and a centre of vice and smugglers), but Thales had been instructed to head down to Lansing to inspect the trade practices at the port, and so he obeyed. He’d even begun to feel a little hope: if his Canton had sent him to Lansing, then perhaps his sojourn in the Southern Dominance, inspecting plantations and listening to the inadequate excuses given by sorry nobles, was drawing to a close.

The docks themselves were bustling; plenty of ships sat at anchor in the port, while their cargoes were being loaded and unloaded by busy longshoremen. All of them, of course, were skaa. Thales walked among the stacked cargo crates, examining them: one of them had split open--its supply of tea was half-soaked in seawater. He shook his head at the waste and moved on. The skaa muttered to themselves, fell silent as he drew closer to them, and then the murmurs began only after he’d walked off.

All in all, it looked as though there would be nothing particularly untoward to report. The Steward, Lord Heatherlocke, seemed to be running the city well. He resisted the urge to snort; he was certainly doing a better job than the Herons in Tremredare. Then again, it was hardly a surprise. Competence couldn’t, after all, be universally distributed.

The ships were unloaded efficiently, although some of the skaa had a tendency to malinger and to curse and yelp as they bore heavy crates off ships, but Thales had begun to learn that was expected. You couldn’t have everything: some human inefficiencies were to be expected.

If anything, Lansing was what he had seen in his childhood: writ large; instead of a small supply station (he’d heard they’d expanded it, after all, and dredged a secondary canal, exactly as he’d suggested), they had an enormous port--goods, and therefore wealth, was consistently flowing through Lansing. Seamen filled its taverns, spending their hard-earned pay, rolled dice, and fruit-sellers plied their trade, sometimes wearing as little as a thin, gauzy layer of silk.

Thales averted his gaze and kept walking.

Vice, he had come to understand, was a fairly common thing in port cities, but their wealth filled Lansing’s coffers; in more than one way, the ships in the port were good for Lansing’s economy and the local merchants.

Still, for no particular reason, he felt, for a single moment, a sharp longing for the organic contours of Tremredare; for the tasteful murals and mosaics on its walls.

Sentiment, really. And rather inappropriate for a prelan of the Canton of Resource.

-

His work was beginning to grind on him.

It was important, Thales knew. He yawned and stretched, thought he felt something pop in his back. Corruption in the Steel Ministry had, to no one’s surprise, been endemic. The Lord Ruler had been furious and had charged both the head of the Steel Ministry and the High Prelan of the Canton of Finance with rooting out the obligators lazy and stupid enough to take bribes and to turn their back on their lord and god.

What that really meant was a lot of work for prelans like Thales, who was going through stack after stack of expense reports and budgets, trying to look for discrepancies. It was exacting work. And it was boring work.

Many obligators and prelans were criminally careless with their reports: Thales made out at least twenty different errors in one particularly egregious example, and wondered irritably if the prelan in question even knew basic mathematics. He checked the name and the seal and shook his head in wonder: the fool came from the Canton of Finance. If he’d been High Prelan, he would’ve stormed out and had harsh words with the prelans in charge of managing the Canton’s recruitment practices.

Basic mathematical literacy. Was that too much to ask for, from prelans who worked for the Canton that managed the Final Empire’s banks?

He scanned the expense report before him again and scowled. The obligator in question had been tasked with inspecting the port at Lansing, and there were discrepancies with the budget. Turning his mind to the last time he’d been there, Thales remembered that the Lord Steward had informed him that if he wished, he would see to it that the dockworkers provided him with a trip on a tugboat to examine the ships at anchor. Yet here, the obligator had scribbled down the need to rent a ruinously expensive boat in order to inspect the ships in the harbour, particularly those waiting for their turn to be unloaded. And there: the obligator had described the need to rent quarters at an inn at such high rates that if he’d really stayed there--and Thales doubted it--the proprietor would’ve been able to buy himself a manor in Luthadel and to retire to live comfortably for the rest of his life.

He tapped the desk with his reed pen as he thought. Clearly, there was something quite amiss with this expense report, but he needed context. It described only the barest details: he did not know where the boat had been hired, or what the obligator had done out among the ships. The possibility that the man had asked for a bribe from the waiting captains crossed his mind. He could not safely ignore it.

Then there was the question of the inn. Of food. Of hiring a bodyguard for protection. Port cities were dangerous, of course. He’d even nearly gotten mugged in Lansing, when he’d foolishly trusted to the protection of his Ministry tattoos and prelan’s robes, before Lord Heatherlocke had provided him with an escort from his own guardsmen.

Thales shook his head, opened a drawer in his desk, and pulled out a fresh sheet of paper. Dipping his pen into the ink, he smoothly wrote out a request to retrieve the written inspection reports from the obligator in question during his time in Lansing. He signed off on it, and prepared the seal of the Canton of Finance, melting the scarlet wax.

He stamped it, firmly, impressing the soft wax with the symbol of his new Canton. He was beginning to get used to seeing it instead of that of the Canton of Resource.

He would get answers, Thales thought. And one thing he was beginning to learn: if you dug deep enough, you would find bones.

Thales Heron #5: The Way of Water

Ironically, a standard part of the obligator training Thales had undergone involved being taught to recognise when a Soother or a Rioter was playing with his emotions. But it provided a useful mirror; a useful way of recognising what the tell-tale signs were and then trying to avoid them.

Before that, he’d handled Soothing like a drunken cow: he’d flared brass and pushed when he especially wanted to damp down on something. With a little practise, he got better at targeting specific emotions. But it was always clear when he was Soothing someone.

He’d hadn’t much chance to get better, though.

And he was going to have to be better; he had only several hours in which to improve his skill. Balefully, he eyed the vial of brass flakes and downed it in a single gulp. Perhaps he would get lucky and discover that the alloys had been impure, although he didn’t relish the thought of the pain. How was he supposed to interrogate and Soothe a trained obligator? As far as Thales was concerned, the order asked for the impossible.

He wasn’t the sort for finesse; to sit down and slowly and carefully draw the truth out of someone. He preferred blunt, sharp questions that cut to the heart of the matter.

He was going to have to learn fast.

“He’s an obligator,” Thales objected, when the High Prelan had first told him what he expected of him. “You remember. We’ve been trained to detect when emotional Allomancy is in use. He’ll know.”

The High Prelan’s eyes gleamed with amusement. He said, “I have every confidence that you’ll find a way.”

Tamping down on his frustration, Thales said, “I spent more time learning to manage the House finances than I did learning my Allomancy.”

“Prelan Thales,” the High Prelan said. “How would you feel if I informed you that I’ve already Soothed you five times across the course of this conversation?”

Thales blinked. “I’d be tempted to claim that you never did, sir,” he said, cautiously. “I might suggest that you’re testing my reactions.”

“Unfortunately incorrect,” the High Prelan replied. “I did Soothe you. It’s easy enough, when you realise what obligator training primes an obligator to look for. Then simply avoid doing those things and attracting attention.” He added, a beat later. “It’s about reading your target and motivations. A skill I’m sure you already possess, Prelan Thales.”

Thales deflated. “Perhaps,” he offered.

“No ‘perhaps’ about it,” the High Prelan said, sternly. “We’re the Lord Ruler’s obligators, and he has ordered us to cleanse his Ministry. I don’t want excuses, Prelan Thales. I expect you to find a way, and I expect to have the answers from Wisanth by yesterday. The Canton of Inquisition is champing at the bit to be allowed to weed out disloyal elements in the Steel Ministry. I’ll allow that the day they accept my resignation.”

Thales frowned. “Canton politics?” he ventured, cautiously. It was well-known that there were rivalries between the different Cantons; they worked autonomously of each other, and while inter-Canton cooperation happened, Cantons were also highly protective of what they saw as their right to pursue anything that fell within their jurisdiction.

“Worse,” said the High Prelan, with some distaste. “As you may have heard…” he eyed Thales and shook his head. “Forget I said that. You wouldn’t have heard. Well, Prelan Thales, let us just say that the Canton of Inquisition is meant to function far more independently of the Ministry than your average Canton. For this reason, if there’s one thing the other High Prelans can agree on, it’s that we don’t want them mucking around in our business. And if we can’t show the Lord Ruler that we can clean our own house, he’ll formally put us under the Canton of Inquisition. Imagine that.”

Thales tried to.

“Would it be so bad?” he ventured, eventually. He thought about the corruption in the Ministry; the way it had penetrated even the highest ranks. Would it have been avoided if the Ministry had been run by vigilant officials whose dedication to the Lord Ruler was beyond question?

“Yes,” the High Prelan said, immediately. “Yes, it would.” He eyed Thales. “The Inquisitors exhibit...unquestioned loyalty to the Lord Ruler. But they are like an axe. We want to purge the Ministry of the corrupt elements: we do not wish to destroy it in the process. And make no mistake about it: they would do so. They would remove every single prelan or obligator who has not met their exacting standards; regardless of whether the prelan or obligator is doing an excellent job. No, this is a task for a scalpel, not for a ballista.”

So, Thales practised. He stole out to the Canton canteen, surreptitiously studied the servers and cleaners, and surreptitiously tried to Soothe away some of the exhaustion, some of the aches and pains they must surely be feeling, this late in the day.

The first few times, the skaa glanced up, wide-eyed. He hated them for it; hated his lack of skill even more. Gradually, however, he managed to refine his touch.

It was like pouring water out of a container, he realised. Or perhaps the more accurate description was that it was like pouring water into a container. You didn’t want to flood them with a gigantic wave of Soothing, battering down their defenses; the Allomantic equivalent of kicking in the front door. You wanted to trickle a little water, slowly; to allow it to fit the shape of its container, to gradually shift and bring them around to how you wanted them to feel.

It was the difference between painting a meticulous portrait and splashing paints onto a broad piece of canvas, Thales saw, now.

Finally, it was time.

He glanced down at his pocket watch--a small keepsake of his House, even if he hadn’t bought it with that intention at that particular time--and drew a deep breath.

It was time to see if any of his last minute attempts would pay off. Find a way, the High Prelan had instructed him. We need that information. He clicked his pocket watch shut. Unbidden, the thought arose in his mind that the Inquisitors would’ve regarded even his keeping of that watch as a betrayal of the neutrality of the Ministry. No connections to his previous life, after all.

He dropped the watch into the voluminous pocket of his robe, smoothing out the cloth half-consciously.

It was a different sort of fight he was preparing for; one of wills and minds and words.

Was this worth fighting for?

Yes, Thales decided. It was.

[phattemer]

Vulco Erikell sat on the hard bench, waiting. Typical. The Canton of Resource always made him wait, and this new Prelan was worse than ever. Despite that his House was their biggest customer, the Canton still made them wait longer than usual. It was what came with having... strained... relations with the Ministry, but to cringe just to satisfy them was something he and his would never do. His father had been better at this than he was, always able to simply raise an eyebrow and be shown right in, on the rare occasions that he'd had little time.

Vulco had wondered sany times at how he'd been able to, but eventually he'd decided it was just down to charisma. The door opened, startling him out of his musings.

        "Ah! Finally..." Vulco exclaimed. The prelan frowned.

        "Was there some problem, Lord Erikell?" he asked cuttingly. He would be well aware of the problem, but to comment on the Ministry just wasn't done.

        "No, of course not. I've come to inquire if you have the latest shipment of atium in?" Vulco cautiously asked.

        "Yes, as it happens, it just arrived earlier this morning. How much did you want to buy?" The prelan replied. It was strange to just think of him as 'the prelan', but that was just the way things worked sometimes in the Final Empire.

        "How much do you have available?" He asked. If he had a better relation with the Ministry, perhaps this could have been done in one visit, assuming he could have scraped together the money. The prelan looked at his paper, and replied...

Action 2:

Buying as much atium as I can from the Canton of Resource. I will determine why later.

Edited November 13, 2015 by phattemer

[Shallan]

Action 3:

I am showing off my military to my House to increase my House Rep. They are doing drills and other maneuvers.

[Wblk]

"What we really need is to corner the market somehow. For too long has House Wair stood aside, content with farming and delivering mail whilst our rivals Tekiel, Orielle and the rest each burrowed into their own little niche," proclaimed Irim, voice haughty and commanding.

 

At least, that's what he thought he sounded like. To Lady Minal he sounded like a whiny kid, too ignorant to realise his own failings. It was a good thing then, she thought to herself, that they had managed to convince the others to support Lord Ydna as he organised a force to fight back at the skaa.

 

For now though, it seemed she would have to go along with whatever brillant scheme that the Lord Wair had come up with.

 

"We will invest our wealth in...games!" Lord Wair grinned at her, as if he had single-handedly saved the Final Empire.

 

Lord Ruler preserve us from idiots.

 

Action 3:

What: Investing Wealth into the design and production of a board game (Chess or such-like) worthy of the Great Houses. Presumably it will involve the slaughter of pawns. Ideally it glorifies the Steel Ministry and the Lord Ruler.

Why: To sell and also to increase reputation with the Steel Ministry (assuming it earns their approval).

[Araris Valerian]

Just some actions for now:

 

Action 1:

Who: Hadrian

What: Declaring Fellise as a neutral party in the skaa rebellion. Any rebels that wish to have peace for themselves and their families can move to Fellise and they will not be held liable for any crimes they may have committed. Any skaa that come to Fellise that are found to continue serving the rebellion will be forced out of the city, unfortunately.

Why: To reduce the number of skaa threatening the Final Empire in a non-violent way, and to increase the capacity of Fellise to expand.

Where: Fellise

When: Action 1

 

Action 2:

Who: Hadrian

What: Building and upgrading Housing in Fellise for the (hopefully) increasing skaa population

Why: To increase the Order of Fellise, since there will be a lot more skaa coming in hopefully and they have to live somewhere

Where: Fellise

When: Second Action

[Mailliw73]

Action 1:

Trying for an Heir. Male: Quáit, Female: Ábryn.

Action 2:

Upgrading my training hard and building a new one in Fellise.

Edit: changed locations.

Edited November 14, 2015 by Mailliw73

[Kasimir]

Thales Heron #6: Riptide
 

Wisanth sat at the interrogator’s table, his hands bound firmly behind his back with silk cord. It was, more or less, a formality: according to their files, Wisanth had been a Smoker, and even a Coinshot did not require the use of their hands to kill with their metal.

Of course, there was, in theory, no guarantee that Wisanth was not Mistborn; it wasn’t as though they could check to see if he couldn’t burn a second metal, or if he had simply refused to do so, thereby guarding his secret. Still, formalities had been satisfied, and Thales took comfort in the fact that the obligator seconded to him was a Seeker, who had begun to burn bronze the moment Thales stepped into the meeting room-hastily-turned-interrogation room.

That, and the fact that Wisanth had been denied all access to metals for the past three days.

Still, the man sat there, with a calm smile.

Thales almost took a deep breath and then froze. The game had begun, the moment he entered the room. Wisanth was an obligator; he too, knew the tricks. He forced his tight shoulders to relax, made sure his expression contained the right mixture of boredom and contempt, and crossed the floor in tight, quick strides, hefting the stack of files (most of them paperwork unrelated to Wisanth) and slammed it down on the interrogator’s table.

Wisanth barely blinked. “Good morning, Prelan,” he said, reading the Ministry tattoos around Thales’s eyes correctly. “I see they’ve decided to send a Soother to talk to me.”

“What I am is none of your business, Obligator Wisanth,” Thales said, coolly. He looked directly at the man, willing ice into his gaze. Wisanth simply stared back at him, without any flicker in his own expression. “But the Canton is very interested in what you have been doing.”

Wisanth laughed, shortly. “Oh? Do tell,” he murmured, leaning back in his chair as though it had been a soft armchair, and crossing his feet at the ankles. “Go on, Prelan. Spin your story for me.”

“House Lemuel,” he said. “House Muran. House Talieth.”

“Really,” Wisanth murmured, “I can hardly be expected to remember the names of the many Houses within the Empire, can I?”

“Except they’re not just ‘many Houses’,” Thales countered. “Funds missing and moved, Obligator. Do you recognise this?” he flung the contract onto the table, withdrawing it from the set of files.

Wisanth barely blinked. “Why don’t you tell me?”

“A contract between the Canton of Resource and House Muran,” Thales said, “Paying in advance a sum of 500,0000 boxings for the renovation of the Conway as it passes the Innermost Supply Station on that route--I’m sure you remember it. Except that the repairs never showed up, and what work was done was slipshod and half-hearted. Your signature is there on the contract as officiating obligator, Wisanth.”

Wisanth sighed, and shook his head pityingly. “Have you never heard of forgeries?” he said. “I’m not the first obligator with enemies in this Ministry, Prelan. And I certainly won’t be the last.”

“Your expenditure reports indicate inconsistencies,” Thales continued, ignoring Wisanth, laying out each piece of evidence. “And we’ve had auditors from the Canton assess your property and personal wealth. Plantations in the southlands, Obligator? We already have Yuron in custody. It was a clever move; backing a low-ranking noble of House Jurivas to purchase property under his name. Of course, the giveaway was how you’d been living above your means--or at least, as indicated by your pay-grade.”

He nodded to the white lines on Wisanth’s fingers, where his rings had been removed and were presently being assessed by the Canton’s experts.

“The only conclusion is that you were paid a handsome sum to broker that contract, despite the existence of more reliable Houses such as Haught, who had also angled for the contract.”

Wisanth shrugged. “If you already think so, then there’s hardly anything I can do to change your mind, is there?”

“Your collaborators,” Thales said, his voice a fierce, low whisper. “We want them. Now.”

Wisanth laughed, again. “What makes you think I even had any, Prelan?”

“You’re not the first corrupt obligator in the Canton,” Thales said. “And unfortunately, I doubt you’re the last to take advantage of a network of contacts. How did you meet Nerine Jurivas, I wonder? And how did you get assigned to contractual work in the first place?” There were missing funds; as many as three of the auditors assigned to this case had signed affidavits attesting to that. He wasn’t about to reveal that to Wisanth though. Coupled with a few other discrepancies, the suggestion was that the missing funds had been paid to someone else involved with the transactions.

Cautiously, he burned brass, reaching out to dampen just a little of Wisanth’s suspicion; his will to resist.

Wisanth shook his head. “You’re really hopeless, aren’t you?”

“I’m not the one sitting in that chair,” Thales said. “I doubt you’re in a position to cast judgement.”

“You think I can’t tell when someone’s Soothing me? I had training, the same as yours.” Wisanth rolled his eyes.

“No one’s Soothing you,” Thales said, willing himself to appear calm, to not give away his annoyance. “I can’t help you if you choose to be paranoid about this.”

Try to find the emotion, he told himself. What did Wisanth have to be feeling, at this moment? Suspicion. Annoyance, perhaps. A touch of wariness and defiance. He imagined himself one of the fishes in the Lansing port, nibbling away at the thick mooring ropes that ships used. His aim was not to snap the rope in one movement, it was to gradually nudge Wisanth until he was feeling what Thales wanted him to.

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Wisanth countered.

A touch of pride, then. Smugness; gloating. He could work with that, perhaps. Strengthen it so it swamped the man’s good judgement.

“Perhaps,” Thales conceded. “The records show you’ve served the Canton for a long time.”

Wisanth snorted. Nudge. “I’ve been serving the Ministry since you were barely born, Prelan.”

He was one of the first generation, then. Or those who had followed them, after the Ministry had been restructured. Thales said as much.

Wisanth’s eyes narrowed suspiciously and he realised he’d been pushing too hard. Obligator Resar’s presence by the door was both comforting and frustrating; a reminder of his inability to coax Wisanth into the position he needed to be in.

“I’ve been at this for long enough,” Wisanth said, at last, and clammed up. No matter what Thales did, he could not elicit further information out of the man.

Finally, he sighed and opted for bluntness. “What do you want, Obligator?”

Wisanth said, “Amnesty. I want to be reinstated to my former position in the Ministry.” More triumph. Thales nudged that.

“So you can continue to skim contracts? Unacceptable.”

Wisanth said, “Do you want the information or not?”

Thales waited, silent. The watch in his pocket ticked away the seconds and then the minutes. Wisanth had a good playing face, he would grant, but he must be feeling impatience and uncertainty. He nudged both of those, carefully.

Finally, he said, “For all I know, you don’t even know who else is involved.” He folded his arms across his chest. “I think you’re wasting my time, Obligator. You’re just pretending to have information you don’t, and if there’s anything I hate, it’s having my time wasted. Obligator!”

Resar jumped to immediately. “Prelan?”

“Take him away,” Thales said, bored. “He has nothing to offer us.” A harder push this time, against the sudden influx of panic.

“Wait!” Wisanth exclaimed. “I do have information! I know who else is involved, and without my cooperation, you’ll never find him.”

Thales raised an eyebrow and held up his hand. Resar paused, at the gesture.

“Do elaborate,” he said.

Wisanth said, “I’m not that foolish. I want the amnesty and my reinstatement first and then I’ll give you the names.”

“And find out that you’ve been playing with us after that?” Thales laughed. “Hardly. I have better things to do with my time, and so does the Ministry. Good day, Obligator.” He nodded to Resar, who started forward again. Another nudge.

“He’s a Prelan!” Wisanth shouted. “He’s tapped for further advancement, and you will never take him down without me!”

“Lies,” Thales said, calmly. Yet another push.

Wisanth crumpled, abruptly, like a sand-palace under the force of a riptide. “All right,” he breathed, broken. “I’ll tell you what you need to know.”

This time, Resar did not need the gesture to pause.

“Do tell me, Obligator,” Thales said, silkily. “I am very interested in what you might have to say.”

Action One:

•Who? - Jocasta Heron, as Jocasta Heron.

•What? - Have fun times with Gustav. (And try for an Heir.) A son will be named Athán Heron, and a daughter will be named Athá Heron.

•Where? - In Keep Heron.

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

•Why? - In these unstable times, House Heron needs every Allomancer it can get. It also needs a secure line of succession.

[Mailliw73]

•What? - Have fun times with Gustav. (And try for an Heir.) A son will be named Athán Heron, and a daughter will be named Athá Heron.

•Where? - In Keep Heron.

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

•Why? - In these unstable times, House Heron needs every Allomancer it can get. It also needs a secure line of succession.

 

That's my brother you're talking about. I don't need to know that much detail.     

[Kasimir]

That's my brother you're talking about. I don't need to know that much detail.     

Sorry man, I tend to be more cheeky when submitting my orders. As I hadn't planned on this being my public order, I forgot to sanitise this one!

 

P.S. You're free to let me know what you're doing with Sofia

 

Also, since I'm already making this post: I'm considering asking publicly as a rough overture, if we could talk about how we are planning to deal with the skaa rebellion as such, or at least, if we know who is contributing troops, since not everyone who has publicly declared may be contributing. I'll add that I'm not contributing for this Turn, as I don't have enough actions and need to get something else done first, but plan to do so next Turn.

Edited November 13, 2015 by Kasimir

[Mailliw73]

Sorry man, I tend to be more cheeky when submitting my orders. As I hadn't planned on this being my public order, I forgot to sanitise this one!

 

P.S. You're free to let me know what you're doing with Sofia

 

Also, since I'm already making this post: I'm considering asking publicly as a rough overture, if we could talk about how we are planning to deal with the skaa rebellion as such, or at least, if we know who is contributing troops, since not everyone who has publicly declared may be contributing. I'll add that I'm not contributing for this Turn, as I don't have enough actions and need to get something else done first, but plan to do so next Turn.

Well, we're trying for an Heir too, if that gives you any sort of indication.  

 

I'm also planning on doing it next turn.

[polkinghornbd]

Who? - Elijah Lignum
•What? - Try for an Heir, either Oliver (Male) or Rosie (Female)
•Where? - In the bedroom
•When? - Action one
•Why? - Guarantee a successor for Elijah

[Unodus]

I haven't had time this week to write any RP, srry x.x

 

Action 3

Who? Guadium, in his capacity as House Lord

What? Sending an application to the Lord Ruler to apply for Steward of Skaa Relations

When? Third action

Why? The rebellion is a direct consequence of Skaa abuse, the people are angry because the people in charge aren't protecting them. Purging them is only a temporary solution, we need to maintain contact with the people we were given responsibility for. The problem is that there is a disconnect between the noble and skaa communities, hopefully me taking this role will help bridge that gap. If my application is accepted I'll be making it my responsibility to ensure that houses aren't maintaining negative relationships with their skaa, in order to prevent future uprisings.

[TheMightyLopen]

Just some Actions for now.

 

Action 1:

Who: Lady Ophelia Nohr
What: Committing half of my troops in the defence of the Final Empire and to assist in quelling the Skaa rebellion.
Where: Wherever they are needed I suppose
When: 1st Action
Why: To provide order and stability in the Empire.

2nd Action:

Who: Lady Ophelia Nohr
What: Trying for an Heir. Male(Inigo) Female(Lilith)
Where: ???
When: 2nd Action
Why: To provide House Nohr with an Heir of course.

[DeathClutch19]

Action 1: Try for an heir (Johanna/Johannes)

[Creccio]

Action 1:

 

Try for Heir

 

Male: John

Female Leona

[Orlok Tsubodai]

Action 2:

What: Hold a festival to honour The Lord Ruler

Where: Fadrex

When: G5T1A2

Who: Lord Tekiel

Edited November 14, 2015 by Orlok

[TheMightyLopen]

Action 3:

 

Who: Ophelia Nohr

What: Making a trade that will occur once a Generation with House Wilson. I will henceforth trade 1 Shipment of Weapons in return for 1 Shipment of Bread from House Wilson each Generation.

Where: I don't really know where the trade will happen. Luthadel I guess?

When: 3rd Action

Why: So that I am able to provide food for my Skaa or whatever else it is needed for.

[Quiver]

Action 1: Producing my Limited Edition Collectors Coin set

Where: Luthadel

When: 1st Action

 

Ten sets of ten coins.

One side of each of them has a picture of Rashek's face in profile. Each coin will have a different image on the other side of them, each representing a particular milestone of the Final Empire (at least according to House Queade...):

 

-The Deepness. Since we don't know what it looks like, I figure the coinsmiths can go nuts.

-Rashek's Ascension to the Slicer of Infinity

-The Lord Ruler "choosing" the original ten Noble, Mistborn Houses

-The Rebuilding of Luthadel (the first action I took at the start of the game)

-Taming the Dominances

-The Building of the Queade Courthouse

-The Cathedral dedicated to the Sliver of Infinity (built by the Queade family.)

-The "Mistborn Olympics" we had a little while ago

-The Establishment of the Canton's

-An Inquisitor (for the establishment of the Steel Ministry)

 

And if you would like to purchase one of these rare, collectors editions items, please be sure to have your servants send messages to House Queade right away! This is a LIMITED EDITION RUN, and once it's gone, it's gone forever, so be sure to collect your piece of the Final Empire's legacy TODAY!

[Haelbarde]

An Action!

First Action  (Public):

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

• What? -  Hold a festival in Lansing City

• Where? - Lansing City

• When? - This is my 1st Action for the Turn.

• Why? - To create a cheerful atmosphere in Lansing and improve standing with the Skaa

Edited November 14, 2015 by Haelbarde