Session 22: Fair Shake
General Summary
Crownsday, 11 Sunfall, 998 Y.K.
The morning after the party's return, Milli came down from her room and spat a copy of yesterday afternoon's Ledger, Breland's national paper. "Medya and I are going for our morning run," she said, tonelessly, as the words D'CANNITH JORLANA: THE NEXT GORGON? unfurled in bold type. "When I get back, please help me understand this." The unicorn then turned and left the room.
A moment later, Medya followed, the griffin bobbing her head in apology. "I'm really sorry she's in a bad mood this morning. I told her there's probably been a mistake somewhere, but... well, I don't understand what it means, either, but she's not mad at any of you, I promise." Glancing back, the bard fluttered her wings and took a step towards the door. "I... should go try to find her. She's probably really upset; she wouldn't have forgotten to wait otherwise. We'll be back soon with breakfast!" With that, she was out the door after her mate, wings already lifting to take her airborne.
In the moments of awkward silence that followed, Spark grabbed the paper, then started divvying up stories for everyone. While Zer devoured the stories of Riedra's increasing involvement in Breland's economy, Relic and Spark traded most of the rest of the pages. That left Bell to dissect the headline: that d'Cannith Jorlanna — her name awkwardly misspelled — had announced new research into the field of augmentation, the attaching of forged replacement limbs to those who'd lost their originals. She also spoke in her grand announcement of partnerships to be had with House Jorasco, perhaps even Vadalis, and certainly with Cannith South. Near the end, she seemed to remember her composure and spoke of how the veterans of the war would also benefit. The article went on to interview King Boranel's son Aejar, who had lost his arm in a tragic accident involving one of his father's exotic pets that had briefly gotten loose within the castle.
By the time Milli and Medya had returned from their run, saddlebags stuffed with muffins and oatcakes, the Ledger's pages had been scattered, but the group sat together, discussing their contents. The unicorn unloaded her bags and then her chest, hanging her head as she returned to the Heart and Hammer. "Sorry about getting so... rude... earlier. I'm sure you can see why. Medya asked me to wait until this morning to read it. I'm pretty upset and I'm not sure who if anyone I should be angry at. None of you, clearly, but I really need your help."
With that, Bell began to explain, as best as she understood, with a bit of help from the others. Jorlanna had indeed been granted a patent based on Morran's research, pending any claim of prior art filed in the next thirty days. Since Morran's work was a direct result of Milli's discoveries, that meant that d'Cannith Jorlanna — and presumably Cannith West — would have sole permission within Aundair to perfect and refine Milli's techniques. The article had even gone so far as to note that the Fairhaven Patent Office's head clerk couldn't imagine there'd be prior art of this anywhere, given how phenomenal the discovery was.
However, Milli's paper had actually been submitted a full thirty hours before Jorlanna's, and her own harmonized forelegs were proof of its correctness! Not only that, but her name was clearly visible in one of his diagrams reprinted in the paper: beside a stark cutaway sketch of Morran's left arm, the artificer had clearly written ask Millimax about transmutive sensoria. Armed with those two facts, Milli could very likely get Jorlanna's patent invalidated... the next time she returned to Fairhaven... once Milli's paper was formally published.
Besides that, the paper held even more bad news from Zer's perspective. Riedra's involvement in the making of Brelish blue would easily explain the origin of the possessory face masks, but the Swords of Breland were hardly the only — or even the biggest — buyers of such cloth. Given the new trade deal with Riedra and the rapid growth of Dar San, it was likely the quori had gotten tendrils into the Brelish government as well.
At that, Milli revealed to the rest of the group that she'd made an offering of chocolate and incense to one of her deities: Selene, the goddess of dreams, the Honored Moon. She'd asked if the quori and the winterwolves of pony lore were one of the same, and she'd had a vision that was an unequivocal yes. That meant that the ancient predators that had driven her ancestors from their home in the Old Green to Eberron were here, and that it would only be a matter of time before they found her home again if they weren't stopped. She swore to Zer that she'd help him fight these nightmare-horrors, but hopefully she'd get to finish harmonizing herself and Medya first.
Milli also said that she needed to go and see d'Tharashk Krayg. The pot of reedpaste that he'd sent to her bore the brand of destiny of her great-grand-aunt, who disappeared and was presumed dead some two-dozen years ago. She needed to know if Krayg knew of the family connection, and hopefully more about the mysterious Tender. After that, she needed to go to Morgrave University and figure out how to address the Congress' requests before sending off her response at the Sivis station. Spark mentioned wanting to go see Lead Design to ask him if his "tormented forged" and Relic's Children of the Last Wish could be one and the same, and Relic wished to go by the home of Kalphan Riak to learn more about the human who'd bought Sakonoko's journals from one of the Wayfinder Society's illicit auctions. Zer needed to speak with his compatriots at the Adaran mission. That left Bell to work with Transom on getting the orders caught up for the day, as well as beginning to stockpile sending stones for any forged that came to visit.
Lead Design was happy to see Spark again, and pleased to meet one of her friends, but Relic's news of Cinnarbar's possession visibly troubled the logistics agent. They told Spark and Relic that Perion—pardon, their employer—had said he'd gotten the information in a trade with the Tairndel of Valenar. The war-bands had spent over half the Last War harrying Cyre across the border, and after the Mourning the remains of their old foe served as a training ground for young fighters seeking a new battlescar. Lead had wanted to spend more time following up on the notes, but their job had kept them busy, and this wasn't work they'd wanted to offer to just anyone.
It was then that Spark asked if she could see Lead's paperwork, and Lead asked if that meant she was taking the job. She and Relic both accepted, and Lead agreed to send a copy of their employer's notes by the next day. That arranged, the two monks made their way skyward, to Upper Central and Riak Mansion, home of Kalphan Riak, the High Priest of Kol Korran of Sharn, and the current owner of Sakonoko's journals, which rightfully still belonged to Relic. The monk suspected he might have a hard time seeing Riak at home, but he was unprepared for the ostentation of his domicile.
Just outside of Mithral Tower to avoid the taxes, but close enough to count for all the right reasons, Riak Mansion occupied almost the entire top of a small tower itself. The grounds bore a sprawling manor completely with exterior servants' quarters and barracks, two pavillions, a water feature, and even a garden growing fruit and vegetables for his outdoor kitchen. Guards on horseback patrolled the ground, while pegasus-mounted riders watched the sky. The monks shared a laugh over the thought of Milli's opinions of the magical winged horses, but then they decided that meeting him at home would be unlikely. On their way back to the Heart and Hammer, Relic stopped by a Sivis Sending Station to send a message to High Priest Riak asking him for an audience, in hopes that he might prove reasonable.
As Relic and Spark shared their laugh over Milli's view of Eberron's pegasi, however, Milli was hastily crafting a message for the Arcane Congress' main publications center; the letter about her paper had been frustratingly vague, and time was rapidly ticking away thanks to House Cannith. The reviewers had mentioned corrections; what kind and how many? Spelling errors? Alternative proofs? Three? Three hundred? Please send word soon. Milli passed the letter to the gnome running the sending station, while Medya gently stroked her mane and withers.
The response came back quickly, after only fifteen minutes of pacing, and was comfortingly short. There'd been some contention over some of Milli's word choices, attributed to common not being her first language. Two of her intermediate proofs needed shoring up; some of the sources she'd cited had later been retracted. One of her draft reviewers had questions about edge cases cited in her review of literature that she hadn't fully covered. Aside from that, the review body considered her work to be of high quality and said that Renew, Mesh, Partial Self-harmonize: Three steps to bring the forged component and the grown body together could have final approval within a week of the Congress receiving those updates. Her publication number — #998.341-1804.130-1 — would remain unchanged.
It took roughly half a day for Milli to assemble the notes, an hour of which was wasted just getting to Morgrave University. The edge cases as mentioned could be proven not to apply. The replacement proofs were easily located and even simplified the process. The word choice was unfortunate; Giovanni's Sylvan Correspondences is no longer the recommended translation guide for magical references to gross physical anatomy; the school should consider replacing it with Golainyë Sairinyë o Noldorin. Once done, the unicorn and gryphon returned to the Heart and Hammer, where Milli finally was able to get the time she needed to finish enchanting Medya's talon-gauntlets, the shell that would help serve as a base pattern for later creating her final harmonized self.
Zer, meanwhile, returned to the Adaran mission with the relevant stories. The once-quiet halls of the building that served as both government office and temple, both office and home, to nearly a hundred citizens were gently abuzz, a murmur of disquiet that disturbed the stillness. The teenaged psion had not been alone in reading the news. One of the monks had heard a Brelish citizen call Precarious "Dar San" the other day. Someone had actually asked another about the Path of Inspiration! Riedra, not content to drive them from one continent, had come here!
The young monk strode into the dining hall and confronted the elder trying to calm the crowd. "The quori are hunting in broad daylight, turning our allies on each other in ways neither they nor we are prepared for. We cannot sit idle while they come for our friends, or we'll have no-one left to help us when the time comes."
The dining hall fell deathly quiet, until the elder monk cleared his throat awkwardly into the silence. "That may be, and the time may come for us to act. Until then, we're safe within these walls." He waited a moment, to see if any monk challenged that claim, then said, "Nevertheless, your message will be shared with the elders at the High House of Light. These events are troubling." Then, to Zer's retreating back, he said, "Akkus has been asking for you."
The young monk was already headed towards the older male's chambers. He'd announced himself telepathically as soon as he'd arrived at the mission, and felt the other psion's smile in return, along with an invitation to share space, and Zer took it the moment it had been acceptable to do so. Though the older male's physical chamber was sparse, there was a warmth and expansiveness to his presence that made the space feel comforting. Like home. The older male looked up from his meditation when Zer entered. "Welcome back."
Zer gave the same message to Akkus that he'd given to the elder monk, but the elan just shook his head. "It's not that they aren't listening. It's that they can't; they've been taught that the noblest good is to hold back the darkness, not to spread the light." He paused and smiled wearily. "Joturi still dreams of you, you know."
Zer' blinked; he wasn't surprised to find the elan could read his— The psion stumbled for a word when trying to describe the relationship he and Joturi had shared. Joturi's feelings had mattered, and sharing dreams with him was comforting, but the last time he'd seen Joturi the elf's face had been clouded by hurt, and when Joturi turned away he kept all of his thoughts to himself. He still didn't entirely understand how, but he got the distinct sense that Joturi, at least, felt that Zer’anthalis had hurt him.
The psion pushed those memories back into the past. He wasn't surprised that Akkus could still sense Joturi's dreams from here; Akkus was an elan, a psion with the power of a quori at his disposal, rather than the other way around. The Riedrans had trained Akkus from a young age to serve as one of their Inspired, but witnessing the torment the quori had inflicted on Akkus' future bondmate had awoken him to possibilities such as fleeing Riedra, which he did, with Zer's help. Zer had heard the elan's call for help from half a continent away; what was an ocean to an open mind? No, it wasn't the distance that startled him, so much as the realization that Joturi still dreamed of him at all. "Are they pleasant dreams, at least?"
"Most of them are," Akkus replied. "I saw you fight the quori; nicely done, if rash. That won't be the last, you know." Zer nodded, and the older male continued. "The Adaran mission here will fall; I saw it. And I have a last word of prophecy for you: beware the unbent blade."
"Is that a vision of what will happen, or what might happen?" The younger male asked.
Akkus shrugged and lowered his head, returning to his meditative pose. "All futures are possible; they haven't happened yet."
Thronesday, 12 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Bell's morning started with the first box of river rocks brought to the Heart and Hammer by a pair of confused couriers. The smooth stones would be perfect for sending stones, a tool she'd seen Rakela use to great effect in the field. She'd spent the previous day getting caught up on all of Transom's notes while she'd been away, scheduling the work that her assistant couldn't do in her absence, and sketching out the barest idea of a forged contact network built on top of attuned sending stones. They'd be a little more work to enchant than the basic person-to-person models sold in pairs in half the shops in Sharn; these would stay attuned, and maintain a list of signatures that could be used to send to specific people or groups, or even the entire mesh for true emergencies. She had a feeling her people would need a way to stay connected. The list of clients needing the battlesmith's well-honed skills had grown considerably in her absence, and Transom eagerly ran from stable to stackhouse, telling folks the smith was in. Throughout the day, forged dropped by to take a scheduled maintenance slot, or just to chat with those waiting. Several mentioned having gone to see a recent art showing, Cost of Repairs, at Councilmage Sava Kharisa's gallery, 6T2 in Granite Hill. Those who had gone to see it — only three coppers for forged and friends — spoke almost reverently of the work, albeit in chilling terms; words like chilling and harsh and potent came up often. To a one, they recommended it for any forged, but especially for everyone else. While Bell got to work showing Transom how to make the enhanced sending stones, Zer asked Spark to join him in a quick jaunt to "Dar San" to look around. The streets were clear of debris, but also of people. Lighted shop windows beckoned to the few guards on patrol through the area, but seemed otherwise vacant. Even the taverns and bars seemed subdued. A small shrine sat atop a small pedestal, a replica in miniature of the capstone of a great Tower of Dreams, as the plaque proclaimed. The only places in Precarious where anyone seemed to be were the three giant temples, carved out of the very cliff face on which Precarious had originally been built. They sat atop one another in a line, centrally located so that all might come to see them. The first they passed, near the top, had a sign nearby suggesting expected completion by harvest-time. The others were visibly less ready, but they were ready enough to accept an audience, and they were very clearly needed. It seemed that everyone in the district found the temples and their surrounding grounds the best place to gather, where acolytes passed out small refreshments and gifts of incense to ease sleep. In a flash, it struck the Adaran. The capstone sat above where the center of the uppermost Temple of Inspiration would be, were they finished. And all three temples sat vertically in a line, or close enough; hidden back in the rock, the three temples almost certainly connected to a central quori tower. If they finished construction, they'd have means to control everyone in Sharn, if not further. Spark grabbed Zer before he could march up to a guard and quickly hauled the two of them back to the Heart and Hammer. They had to stop the quori. They had to come up with a credible plan. But first they had an art showing. As they were getting ready to head to Granite Hills, a courier from House Sivis came to the house with mail. Lead Design's dossier of tormented forged was addressed to Bell, a form letter from the Korranath offering blessings and soliciting donations came for Relic, and for Milli, a note from the Arcane Congress to inform her that her paper had been advanced to "Provisional-Accepted," with final approval expected on Flamesday, 15 Sunfall. Zer's news of Dar San aside, the day seemed to be going well for all, and everyone spoke of going to the Red Hammer to relax afterwards and perhaps speak to Crucible about running for council. And then they reached 6T2, and Cost of Repairs. Beside a bold, almost stylized self-portrait hung a sign saying that the artist known as Mattock Nineteen learned sketching and brushwork as a form of therapy during twenty years of war. Beyond heavy red drapery painting after painting stood, devoid of frame, on cheap wood and metal easels. Beside every painting was an order for some work to be done on a forged at some kind of mobile repair station. Cyre, as the country most reliant on forged for soldiers during the Last War, did the most to advance the practice of forged repair, and these centers sat on or near the front lines, keeping fighters in the field. Each ticket meticulously detailed what repairs had been done, what couldn't be fixed but didn't prevent return to the front lines, and how much the repairs would cost in time and material. And every painting was of how damage that would've required those repairs would look on an organic body. Elves, humans, gnomes, dwarves, orcs. Male, female, and beyond. Teenagers, the elderly, the middle-aged, and even the odd child. Mattock had not discriminated in the slightest. Her work attested directly to the pain inflicted on forged bodies and the detached, methodical, and dehumanizing way in which they were described. What is a forged's life worth, every painting asked its audience, while suggesting strongly what society had decided it was, whether it admitted it or not. The party gaped at the representation, the detail. Her techniques were simple in places, her forms and shadows perhaps a bit primitive. And yet the passion and the intent of her art was unmistakable. It had been breathtaking, and awe-inspiring. Bell resolved then and there to see if she could meet the artist and talk with her. Fortunately for her, a public question-and-answer session had been scheduled for next Flamesday. The dragon-shaped forged put the date in her calendar, and then promptly declared the need for a drink. The Red Hammer was subdued that night, with a fair number of patrons at the Sands of Time trying out the newest high. Still, the talk among those who remained was lively, and Crucible welcomed the party with a wave and a handshake. Word had gotten out about the sending stone project, and lots of folks were interested. There was still the buzz from that show, and had you heard the latest about Nolan Toranak, that industrial tool? Groans and grumbles followed his name, and the crowd began to rumble unpleasantly until Bell held up a mug and called out, "So what are we going to do about it? Maybe we should have someone run for office!" The crowd cheered, and Bell turned to Crucible and motioned towards him. "So what do you think, Crucible? You up for running for office?" Crucible demurred, and the crowd roared again. "C'mon, Crucible, let's hear it. We think you should run for office!" They waved off the offer again, and the gathered forged began to chant Crucible's name, pounding on the table in time until she finally waved down the crowd. The owner of the bar held out a hand to Bell and said, "Let's talk about it. Tomorrow. I'll come by your place. We'll talk politics." At that, the crowd cheered, and Crucible declared the next round on the house. With that, the party returned home to get some rest.
Griffinsday, 13 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Right after her morning run, blueberry oatcake still in her teeth, Milli went to see d'Tharashk Krayg about the pot of reedpaste, and the note he'd sent with it. The half-orc seemed far too delighted to see her and asked if she enjoyed her gift. Milli said she did, but she needed to know where Krayg had gotten it, and why Krayg had gotten it for her. Krayg said that some of his housemates had reported seeing a unicorn and a gryphon at a reedpaste stall in the Distant Quarter in Fairhaven and thinking them an overly vivid vision. The trader, however, had reason to suspect it was them, and arranged to have the reedpaste delivered as a gift from the Tender's private reserve, very hard to acquire outside of Patrahk'n. Milli asked Krayg what he knew about the Tender, and he said only that she lives on the shores of Blackwater Lake. After a few moments of silence, he leaned in and suggested that it had been a great kindness he'd done for her. Milli looked about awkwardly and said if there was anything she could do for him, to let her know. The half-orc then smiled to reveal gold-capped teeth and said, quite earnestly, that he would. Crucible arrived shortly after Milli got home, asking after Bell. The larger forged stepped away from her fires and wiped the soot from her hands. Crucible looked around the group and asked if this place was private, that what they were about to share wasn't to leave this room. Bell agreed and invited Crucible into her office and locked the door, after which Crucible sat down heavily in a chair. Then he revealed that he couldn't run for office because he'd gotten his bar from d'Cannith Merrix. The second. The head of Cannith South. The one who fired all the forged that worked for them the day after the Treaty of Thronehold was signed, claiming a fear of "seeming improper." On their last day at Cannith South, on their way out the door, they'd managed to catch sight of Merrix. They'd asked Merrix what they thought the forged who worked for them would do now. Merrix asked Crucible, "well, what do you want to do?" Crucible said that she wanted a place where she could look after other forged, give them shelter from the world and help them forget their troubles for a while. Merrix said, simply, "okay," and then left. Three or four days later, a man she didn't know approached her, introduced himself as Fortune Marin Metrol, said he represented d'Cannith Merrix, and asked her to follow him. Fortune Metrol led Crucible to the site of the Red Hammer and just handed over the key to the front door, offering good fortunate and well wishes as he left her there, dumbfounded. Crucible had to ask the city for a copy of the deed; he's still never seen how much it cost or anything. Bell sat in thought for a moment, then said, "Well, I suppose the only thing we can do is go ask Merrix ourselves what to do about that."
Thronesday, 12 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Bell's morning started with the first box of river rocks brought to the Heart and Hammer by a pair of confused couriers. The smooth stones would be perfect for sending stones, a tool she'd seen Rakela use to great effect in the field. She'd spent the previous day getting caught up on all of Transom's notes while she'd been away, scheduling the work that her assistant couldn't do in her absence, and sketching out the barest idea of a forged contact network built on top of attuned sending stones. They'd be a little more work to enchant than the basic person-to-person models sold in pairs in half the shops in Sharn; these would stay attuned, and maintain a list of signatures that could be used to send to specific people or groups, or even the entire mesh for true emergencies. She had a feeling her people would need a way to stay connected. The list of clients needing the battlesmith's well-honed skills had grown considerably in her absence, and Transom eagerly ran from stable to stackhouse, telling folks the smith was in. Throughout the day, forged dropped by to take a scheduled maintenance slot, or just to chat with those waiting. Several mentioned having gone to see a recent art showing, Cost of Repairs, at Councilmage Sava Kharisa's gallery, 6T2 in Granite Hill. Those who had gone to see it — only three coppers for forged and friends — spoke almost reverently of the work, albeit in chilling terms; words like chilling and harsh and potent came up often. To a one, they recommended it for any forged, but especially for everyone else. While Bell got to work showing Transom how to make the enhanced sending stones, Zer asked Spark to join him in a quick jaunt to "Dar San" to look around. The streets were clear of debris, but also of people. Lighted shop windows beckoned to the few guards on patrol through the area, but seemed otherwise vacant. Even the taverns and bars seemed subdued. A small shrine sat atop a small pedestal, a replica in miniature of the capstone of a great Tower of Dreams, as the plaque proclaimed. The only places in Precarious where anyone seemed to be were the three giant temples, carved out of the very cliff face on which Precarious had originally been built. They sat atop one another in a line, centrally located so that all might come to see them. The first they passed, near the top, had a sign nearby suggesting expected completion by harvest-time. The others were visibly less ready, but they were ready enough to accept an audience, and they were very clearly needed. It seemed that everyone in the district found the temples and their surrounding grounds the best place to gather, where acolytes passed out small refreshments and gifts of incense to ease sleep. In a flash, it struck the Adaran. The capstone sat above where the center of the uppermost Temple of Inspiration would be, were they finished. And all three temples sat vertically in a line, or close enough; hidden back in the rock, the three temples almost certainly connected to a central quori tower. If they finished construction, they'd have means to control everyone in Sharn, if not further. Spark grabbed Zer before he could march up to a guard and quickly hauled the two of them back to the Heart and Hammer. They had to stop the quori. They had to come up with a credible plan. But first they had an art showing. As they were getting ready to head to Granite Hills, a courier from House Sivis came to the house with mail. Lead Design's dossier of tormented forged was addressed to Bell, a form letter from the Korranath offering blessings and soliciting donations came for Relic, and for Milli, a note from the Arcane Congress to inform her that her paper had been advanced to "Provisional-Accepted," with final approval expected on Flamesday, 15 Sunfall. Zer's news of Dar San aside, the day seemed to be going well for all, and everyone spoke of going to the Red Hammer to relax afterwards and perhaps speak to Crucible about running for council. And then they reached 6T2, and Cost of Repairs. Beside a bold, almost stylized self-portrait hung a sign saying that the artist known as Mattock Nineteen learned sketching and brushwork as a form of therapy during twenty years of war. Beyond heavy red drapery painting after painting stood, devoid of frame, on cheap wood and metal easels. Beside every painting was an order for some work to be done on a forged at some kind of mobile repair station. Cyre, as the country most reliant on forged for soldiers during the Last War, did the most to advance the practice of forged repair, and these centers sat on or near the front lines, keeping fighters in the field. Each ticket meticulously detailed what repairs had been done, what couldn't be fixed but didn't prevent return to the front lines, and how much the repairs would cost in time and material. And every painting was of how damage that would've required those repairs would look on an organic body. Elves, humans, gnomes, dwarves, orcs. Male, female, and beyond. Teenagers, the elderly, the middle-aged, and even the odd child. Mattock had not discriminated in the slightest. Her work attested directly to the pain inflicted on forged bodies and the detached, methodical, and dehumanizing way in which they were described. What is a forged's life worth, every painting asked its audience, while suggesting strongly what society had decided it was, whether it admitted it or not. The party gaped at the representation, the detail. Her techniques were simple in places, her forms and shadows perhaps a bit primitive. And yet the passion and the intent of her art was unmistakable. It had been breathtaking, and awe-inspiring. Bell resolved then and there to see if she could meet the artist and talk with her. Fortunately for her, a public question-and-answer session had been scheduled for next Flamesday. The dragon-shaped forged put the date in her calendar, and then promptly declared the need for a drink. The Red Hammer was subdued that night, with a fair number of patrons at the Sands of Time trying out the newest high. Still, the talk among those who remained was lively, and Crucible welcomed the party with a wave and a handshake. Word had gotten out about the sending stone project, and lots of folks were interested. There was still the buzz from that show, and had you heard the latest about Nolan Toranak, that industrial tool? Groans and grumbles followed his name, and the crowd began to rumble unpleasantly until Bell held up a mug and called out, "So what are we going to do about it? Maybe we should have someone run for office!" The crowd cheered, and Bell turned to Crucible and motioned towards him. "So what do you think, Crucible? You up for running for office?" Crucible demurred, and the crowd roared again. "C'mon, Crucible, let's hear it. We think you should run for office!" They waved off the offer again, and the gathered forged began to chant Crucible's name, pounding on the table in time until she finally waved down the crowd. The owner of the bar held out a hand to Bell and said, "Let's talk about it. Tomorrow. I'll come by your place. We'll talk politics." At that, the crowd cheered, and Crucible declared the next round on the house. With that, the party returned home to get some rest.
Griffinsday, 13 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Right after her morning run, blueberry oatcake still in her teeth, Milli went to see d'Tharashk Krayg about the pot of reedpaste, and the note he'd sent with it. The half-orc seemed far too delighted to see her and asked if she enjoyed her gift. Milli said she did, but she needed to know where Krayg had gotten it, and why Krayg had gotten it for her. Krayg said that some of his housemates had reported seeing a unicorn and a gryphon at a reedpaste stall in the Distant Quarter in Fairhaven and thinking them an overly vivid vision. The trader, however, had reason to suspect it was them, and arranged to have the reedpaste delivered as a gift from the Tender's private reserve, very hard to acquire outside of Patrahk'n. Milli asked Krayg what he knew about the Tender, and he said only that she lives on the shores of Blackwater Lake. After a few moments of silence, he leaned in and suggested that it had been a great kindness he'd done for her. Milli looked about awkwardly and said if there was anything she could do for him, to let her know. The half-orc then smiled to reveal gold-capped teeth and said, quite earnestly, that he would. Crucible arrived shortly after Milli got home, asking after Bell. The larger forged stepped away from her fires and wiped the soot from her hands. Crucible looked around the group and asked if this place was private, that what they were about to share wasn't to leave this room. Bell agreed and invited Crucible into her office and locked the door, after which Crucible sat down heavily in a chair. Then he revealed that he couldn't run for office because he'd gotten his bar from d'Cannith Merrix. The second. The head of Cannith South. The one who fired all the forged that worked for them the day after the Treaty of Thronehold was signed, claiming a fear of "seeming improper." On their last day at Cannith South, on their way out the door, they'd managed to catch sight of Merrix. They'd asked Merrix what they thought the forged who worked for them would do now. Merrix asked Crucible, "well, what do you want to do?" Crucible said that she wanted a place where she could look after other forged, give them shelter from the world and help them forget their troubles for a while. Merrix said, simply, "okay," and then left. Three or four days later, a man she didn't know approached her, introduced himself as Fortune Marin Metrol, said he represented d'Cannith Merrix, and asked her to follow him. Fortune Metrol led Crucible to the site of the Red Hammer and just handed over the key to the front door, offering good fortunate and well wishes as he left her there, dumbfounded. Crucible had to ask the city for a copy of the deed; he's still never seen how much it cost or anything. Bell sat in thought for a moment, then said, "Well, I suppose the only thing we can do is go ask Merrix ourselves what to do about that."
Report Date
27 Jan 2020
Breland Ledger (0998-12-10) by Electric Keet
transcription: newspaper: Breland Ledger, 0998-12-10
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