Session 23: Fair Enough
General Summary
Griffinsday, 13 Sunfall, 998 Y.K.
With nothing required of them and a day to themselves, Medya and Milli decided that this was their chance at a day off, and the two of them disappeared after breakfast. Relic, however, had spent his morning studying Lead's notes on Merrix's experiments, as well as searching through his own memories. There had to be more connections he could draw between the tormented Forged and the Children of the Last Wish. That Cinnabar and Codex had both ended up possessed was no accident.
The monk's studies were interrupted, however, by Transom asking him if he was home. The seemingly nonsensical question befuddled Relic until the other forged explained that Relic had a visitor, and they wanted to know if they should say Relic was out right now. Relic asked who it was, and Transom said it was a messenger from the Korranath. Relic realized that was probably in relation to his letter to Kalphan Riak. He rose and met his visitor in the lobby, a dwarf with strawberry-blonde hair and beard. The visitor shook Relic's hand and said High Fortune Riak was free after services this afternoon and hoped that Relic would come to see him. Zer offered to accompany Relic, and the monk asked if he could bring a guest. The dwarf said that was no problem, then took his leave when Relic said he'd be there.
Relic tried to go back to his notes after that, but one word kept catching his eye: tass. Lead's notes referenced a paper about a prototype mana reservoir, but beyond that they were frustratingly vague. There were few diagrams and fewer explanations; the pages were likely never intended for anyone but the author. Still, they pointed at a number of fascinating — and horrifying — implications. Relic asked Bell if she knew what tass was, but she couldn't recall having heard of the term before. After a moment's thought, though, she had a strong sense of who would know: d'Cannith Veora, the head magewright from Cannith West that had built the mana reservoirs.
Bell had intended to head to the Sivis sending station to drop a line to Veora anyway, asking for an introduction to speak with d'Cannith Merrix II. She was still hopeful that she, Crucible, and Merrix could find a mutually respectful way to talk about Merrix's "gift" of a whole tavern to get ahead of any scandal that might occur if Crucible ran for office. She invited Relic to come with her and ask his own questions, to see if Veora could help them both. The magewright had invited contact, so Bell reckoned this was her best chance at an insider's contact.
Spark did suggest that Morran could probably also serve as a reference. Bell, however, thought that given Morran's condition when they found him, not to mention his own words of apprehension towards his sibling, involving him seemed unwise without an in-person discussion. Spark agreed, but then asked to accompany the pair as they went to send their respective messages. Spark needed to get in touch with Perion Métimalilto, the name she'd been given by the elf she'd fought in the Arcane Congress and request an audience. The two said they'd be glad for the company, and the three went to send their respective notes.
Ploughshare was waiting for Bell when the three returned, hoping to borrow the Heart and Hammer for the evening; the meetinghouse where their Missing Pieces chapter normally met was booked for the night, and the Red Hammer was always too noisy. Bell wholeheartedly approved, and the sellshield quickly thanked her and dashed out to spread the word. Her task complete, Bell fell back into working on whomever Transom had booked for the time, interspersed with making more sending stones for her community. There was plenty of work, though not every visitor had means to pay. They all left in better condition, though, and with a free stone in their hand. Bell taught everyone how to copy signatures from her posted reference in the H&H, how to talk to others, and how to send a cry for help. She'd seen how Rakela had used her stone in the field; she knew the forged would need the same.
Early in the afternoon, a gnome from House Sivis arrived at the Heart and Hammer to distribute messages sent to the party. Veora sent Bell a signature for introductions, and Relic the number of a paper in the Galifar Library System and an invitation to meet for "coffee and shop-talk" the next time he returned to Fairhaven. That gave Bell the opportunity to return to the sending station and use Veora's message as a preface to her own for Merrix II, hoping to discuss matters of import about a mutual friend.
Relic, meanwhile, had a service to attend with Zer. The Korranath was a temple dedicated to Kol Korran, the Sovereign of Wealth and Trade. Relic had seen displays of wealth before, but even he was unprepared for the spectacle. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of worshipers stood and threw fistfuls of coins into baskets carried by attendants. With an impassioned choir fervently serenading the congregation, they cast their coppers and called on the god of gold to bless them with platinum.
Standing on the dais, leading the show, was Kalphan Riak. He was a human male in late-middle age, with salt-and-pepper hair pulled into a small bun on the back of his head. His pencil-thin mustache wriggled on his upper lip as he exhorted the crowd to give all that they could, to turn out their hearts and their pocketbooks for the Sovereign of Wealth. He waved his thick arms overhead, his hands shaking in emphasis, and the gold-trimmed sleeves of his immaculate white robes pooled around his shoulders. Light caught each of the ten brilliant platinum rings around his fingers and shimmered as he waved.
After the service, Relic and Zer stood almost stunned from the frenetic display, while guests poured from their seats and streamed out of the chapel, saying how powerful the ritual had been and how great a blessing the god's gifts would be. As the attendants swept the last of the spilled coins into their baskets and cleared away the tithes, Riak approached the pair. Instead of offering his hand, though, the priest of Kol Korran bowed and introduced himself in thickly accented Rokugani! A few halting words later, he switched back to Common to repeat the greeting. He said it was so rare to meet others who knew anything of the "Jade Empire," and that he was looking forward to sharing his collection.
Kalphan Riak led the pair back to his heavily fortified mansion, waving to the security guards as his carriage pulled inside the arcane locked gates. Hastily, High Fortune Riak hopped from his seat and began to walk Relic and Zer around the grounds, showing off his kitchen, his summer and winter pavillions, his barracks and his servants' quarters, even his garden, before ending it just inside the ground floor of Riak Mansion: a private museum full of artifacts, clearly of Rokugani origin.
Kalphan Riak, it seemed, was also a collector. Central to the room was a ruined suit of Crab Clan armor under glass. A plaque beside it said it had been found with a demon's sword still through it, though no sign of said weapon remains. Several preserved scrolls and books lamented the influence of foreign imports from "the Northern Approach" and made mention of the reign of Iweko III, called Ryokichi. On one wall hung a trio of silk paintings depicting a fight between two clans inside a noble court, a tower engulfed in flames, and a demonic-looking person seated on a bloody throne. Inscriptions label them Blades in the Ivory Court, The Fall of Toshi Ranbo, and Daigotsu Kanpeki's Legacy and identify the artist as Doji Taro of the Cranes in Exile. On the opposite wall hung a banner congratulating Nida Mitsuko to the position of Governor. Several tables scattered about held broken blades and mismatched scabbards, and a fan depicting cranes and wind sat open on a holder beside several figurines taken from a temple.
High Fortune Riak roamed about the artifacts in his collection, pointing at this or that, remarking on the styles of the clothes in the paintings. "Rokugani fashion will be the craze in ten years," he proclaimed at one point, while pointing to Nida's ceremonial garb as depicted in her banner. He mentioned offhandedly that Xen'drik was probably full of treasures like this; some of his "high-seas" friends had found the remnants of an abandoned city on the western coast of the continent, and that if they hadn't been so loaded with other rarities they'd have brought back even more treasures. As it was, this was all they'd brought, he'd bought it all, and it had been worth every talent he'd paid.
It was then, finally, that Riak realized Relic and Zer had both been quietly absorbing everything he'd said for the last ten minutes and not offered a word of their own. With a polite cough and a half-turn, the high priest of Kol Korran asked Relic how he'd come to hear of Rokugan. The monk looked at Zer, then back to Kalphan Riak, and said calmly that he was actually from Rokugan.
The older man's eyes went wide, and immediately he slid over to Relic with his hands in front of him. "You've been there?" Relic nodded. "You've seen it?" Relic nodded again. He almost squealed in response, then slid up to Relic, his arms outstretched. "I have an idea! I'd like to hire you to be my tour guide! You could show people my collection and tell them about your home!"
Neither Relic nor Zer appreciated the idea, but Relic said only that he'd have to discuss the matter with his friends first. Zer mentioned not seeing the journals from Sakonoko anywhere on display, and Kalphan Riak responded, somewhat testily, that his latest finds were still with the archivist. At that Zer suggested that he could be of service with restoring the journals if they'd been damaged. He brushed a thumb against the edge of one scroll, and the ink near his touch darkened to its original vibrance. Riak brushed the psion's hand away quickly, though, and said that he didn't need any assistance, thank you. The mood in the room had grown decidedly dark, and Zer and Relic quickly thanked the High Fortune for his time before making their exit.
Back at the Heart and Hammer, Spark began to set up tables and chairs for Ploughshare's Missing Pieces meeting. As Medya set out small cones of incense and cups for flavored mineral spirits, while Bell stoked the forge to give the space a comforting warmth. By one and two, forged began to straggle into the space, taking seats in a large circle. Billhook and Rebar from Gears' fighting crew brought an apology from Gears at their absence; the trainer had opted to climb back into the ring themself on Highbright Night, a special showcase tournament at Malleon's pit. Being in top form meant little time for socializing, but they swore they'd be at the first one after.
When Ploughshare arrived, they put a few silver shards in a metal bowl and set it on one of the tables, inviting those who had extra to give and those who needed extra to take, no questions asked. Then the group rose and clasped arms in a circle. The sellshield led them in a chorus of We Shall All Walk Together, then invited everyone to take their seats. Ploughshare's voice was gentle, even soothing, even as they talked about the horrors they'd faced. After returning from the Lurching Tower, their reveries had never been the same, just hours of listening to the din in their own head. But then, one evening, the night before a major battle — they couldn't even remember which one — they were in a tent, and the wind shifted just so, and they found themself wholly entranced by the scent of the burning wood, and for a few moments, they could find some peace in just letting that sense wash through them. It became the seed for more moments like that, of remembering those drops of comfort in an ocean of disquiet.
One by one, the group talked of their own seeds of comfort: of learning to bake, of watching the flowers grow, of stretching out in the grass and feeling the summer sun. Billhook mentioned writing letters to old comrades had become their go-to for finding that quiet. Speaking of which, he'd heard back from Herringbone! He'd made it to Fort Light, where he'd been welcomed by the other Embers, forged who'd felt the heat of the Silver Flame inside them. In his last letter, he'd included some new names who'd served in Brennan's Third Brigade to add to the list, and the rest of the group eagerly added those names to their rosters.
Others began to share their new connections, and the talk shifted from heavy support to lighter fare. Plans for Highbright were shared, requests for shelter passed around. If Ploughshare's bowl ever emptied, Bell discretely dropped in a few coins as she could. Forged shared spirits and incense, and they talked about the past. A few even dared to suggest futures, in Sharn helping the Sewer Reclamation Project, or even beyond the towers and their walls. As the group began to disperse, late in the evening, Ploughshare reminded the group that the Temple of Onatar in Middle Tavick's still had cots and footlockers for any who could help in the kitchen or work on the grounds. They said they’d post the next meeting space as soon as they had one, then led the group in a chorus of One Day More. The group then dispersed with a final offering of “We have each other. We will survive.”
Wolfsday, 14 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Wolfsday morning began with Transom announcing that the Heart and Hammer had a... visitor? Standing in the entryway was the tallest human Bell had ever seen, almost as tall as she was and towering over the rest of the group, but post-thin and wiry. He craned his head this way and that, never holding quite still, even his fingers in constant motion as he fiddled with a worn length of steel. He introduced himself as "Fortune Marin Metrol, priest of Onatar, representative of House Cannith and d'Cannith Merrix the Second." his voice reedy and nasal. Around his neck was a torc adorned with a pair of bull's heads, their bejeweled eyes glittering as Fortune Metrol moved. Merrix had received Veora's invitation, he said, and had sent Marin to find out what House Cannith could do for them. Bell was unsure what to make of the man's performance. She was fairly certain Fortune was a title for priests of Kol Korran, but clearly he knew about the letter she'd written. Not wanting to lose the moment, she went ahead and told "Fortune" Metrol that their mutual friend Crucible had been looking into running for office, but he was afraid that how he'd come by the Red Hammer could be a liability if the reveal weren't managed well. To that end, Bell had hoped to meet with d'Cannith Merrix II and Crucible together to find some mutually acceptable way to make the news public. Metrol considered for several seconds, then nodded rapidly. He would take the request back to Merrix and check his boss's calendar; if Crucible wished to run this autumn, they needed to handle the discussion sooner rather than later, so he'd push to make it a priority. Bell thanked the human for his time, and he left, whistling jauntily as Bell shook her head as if to clear it. The man's behavior had been so odd, not merely distinct but almost unnerving in its own right. Something was clearly not right about Fortune Marin Metrol, Priest of Onatar. That, however, was thought for another time; the forged had work to do today, more than just more sending stones for the community. She and Milli had Smith to visit, to share updates of their respective tasks. The forged priest seemed happy to see them both, and when Bell mentioned getting an audience with Merrix, the priest reminded her of his request to invite them to come take a blessing from Onatar's spring. As Milli related Jorlanna's entanglement with the fiends, however, Smith's expression turned to one of horror. The situation had become more dire than the priest had imagined; the Dark Six were bad enough, but the Bleak Council was another matter entirely. The former were part of the Sovereign Host, as one's worst impulses were a part of oneself. Fiends were altogether not of this world, creatures of the Far Realms that sought the undoing of existence. He would have to pray on this, and see what Onatar could offer. Spark and Relic, meanwhile, had Perion to visit. While Bell had been "entertaining" Fortune Metrol, a Sivis courier had come with a message for Spark from Perion, inviting her to his place of business in Skyway, a poison-shop named the Last Dance. The building was sculpted of living trees and stone, a brightly-lit front hall leading to an open space swathed in twilight where elves and a few half-elves lay on cots, tended by healers as they writhed in the self-inflicted throes of near-death from all manner of vile toxin. Stepping past the patrons of Perion's business, they joined the elderly elf in his back office, where Spark asked about something to "make her weapon dance." That turn of phrase brought a chuckle out of the stern-looking Perion. He asked who had tested her, and though she couldn't name Alcarinquë , the one who had told her to seek out Perion, the picture she painted both of his appearance and his fighting technique clearly told the elderly elf who had sent her. Perion asked what she knew of the Mahtabereth, and she admitted she knew very little. Perion told her of the ancient weapons tournament held by the Tairnadal in Taer Valaestes every few years, in honor of those who fell in battle. It was a tournament by invitation only, extended only to those who had proven themselves capable. At the start of the Mahtabereth, hundreds would participate in the Chance Medleys, in which groups of combatants would be scored on how well they both dealt and avoided damage. Of all the participants, mere dozens would qualify for the Focusing Medleys, in which pairs of fighters would duel until one was forced to withdraw from their injuries. Only two would endure to the Final Medley, after which one would be crowned the victor, and one would be dead. Perion's eyes lit up as he rolled the last word around on his tongue. Perion asked if Relic were volunteering to be Spark's support through the challenges, and he said he would. Spark asked what she had to do in order to qualify, and the elf passed to her a jewelry case containing a silver stick-pin topped with a sliver of emerald. "Wear the pin and speak the word it whispers to you," the elderly elf told her, "and three dancers will come calling, each with a pin of their own. If you can collect their pins and return them to me, I will know you are ready. If they collect your pin, perhaps you may try again another time."
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" The voice across everyone's sending stones came late Wolfsday night, or maybe early Flamesday morning. "Is this working? Hey, is anyone out there? I'm in Granite Hills in front of 6T2, the art gallery; I can see lights inside and—" A blast and a rush of wind crackled through the stones, followed by the same voice, louder. "There's a fire! 6T2's on fire! Help, please! Somebody help!" It was all the party needed. Bell, Spark, and Relic sprang from their rest, while Medya dragged Milli away from her workbench. Even Zer pushed himself awake to race after the others, Bell calling for backup all the while on her stone. The party ran through their contacts, letting everyone know, calling on the community to turn out and help. The building was engulfed in flames by the time the party arrived, and Zer quickly spotted a single living being within. As Bell helped organize a bucket brigade, Zer created water to quench the flames, which Spark and Relic scaled the building and dove into the smoke to find the survivor. While Medya worked crowd control, keeping spectators back from the flames while the Watch arrived, Mill surrounded herself in a resilient sphere and searched for how the flames might have started. The occupant of the building turned out to be Councilmage Sava Kharisa, the owner of 6T2 and sponsor of Mattock Nineteen's exhibit. The healers of House Jorasco that had been summoned quickly took her into their care when Relic and Spark got her down from her apartment, while Bell helped direct the forged to put out the flames. Milli returned, a lump of clouded diamond in her horngrip, and held it out before her; someone had thrown a chromatic orb into the building, and it had caught almost instantly. Spark asked if she could tell where it came from, and she and Milli quickly found the spot where someone had stacked some crates in an alley to peer within. They also found the charred remains of one spent scroll, alongside two more for the same spell. This was clearly the source of the fire. Zer inspected the crystal and was able to draw from it anger, shock, and fear, followed by a boy's face, a human teenager. The group returned to the front of the building where a crowd had gathered, including a forged who had crossed the Watch's line but stood unmoving, staring as the last of the flames continued to burn. Milli approached this lone forged and asked if they were Mattock Nineteen. She nodded, and Milli asked her tentatively what she intended to do. "Keep making art," Mattock replied. "Clearly I have their attention." As Milli did her best to comfort Mattock and Zer worked to identify the one who had set the fire, Relic turned his attention to the crowd, looking for any faces that didn't bear signs of grief or shock. He might have missed it at first, were he not looking for teenagers; he spotted a halfling woman with a scar running down her left cheek smiling grimly at the scene. She caught Relic's eye, then turned and disappeared into the crowd. The monk tried to give chase, but she had disappeared, gone into the crowds and the night. Relic asked Zer if he was sure it was a human teenager, and Zer replied that he had found the child in question, somewhere in Lower Tavick's near the Great Gate. In Tavick's Landing, Zer and Milli found a tent-city, filled with refugees from Cyre and other parts of Breland. An older human man sat on a wooden crate before one of the tents, talking with a woman of similar age. He looked up as Zer approached and asked what business the teenager had. Zer said that feelings of fear and guilt had brought him here, from a fire in Granite Hills where someone had set a gallery ablaze. The man's eyes widened when Zer mentioned the art gallery, and he asked if it was Cost of Repairs. At Zer's nod, the man, whose name was Paten Lonn, cupped his face in his hands and sighed. Paten explained that his parents had died in the massacre at Arythawn Keep in 978; that incident had shaped his views of the "warforged," until the priest who'd been helping him find work said he needed to see Cost of Repairs, and even offered to pay the three reeds it cost to see it. He hadn't wanted to go, but he needed help finding work, and the exhibit had opened his eyes pretty wide. When he tried to explain that to his son Beren, though, he had gotten upset and run off. Beren had come back that night in a state and gone right to bed, and he wouldn't say where he'd been. Zer asked Beren why he'd done what he did; he already knew Beren had lit the fires; all he cared about was why. With a sniff, Beren started to explain, but quickly broke down into open bawling. In a scared and rambling meander, Beren said that he'd been hanging out with some of his less-savory friends down in Callestan bragging about how they'd all act out if only they had the means. In the middle of the tough talk, a pair of halflings, one missing part of a finger, the other bearing a big scar, had approached and asked them if they wanted to follow through on their threats. They said the gallery was a great target, and they gave him three scrolls and a chunk of diamond with which to cast them. He'd cast the first one telling himself he was taking revenge for his mother and grandparents and everything he'd lost during the war, but then the flames caught and the windows all burst from the heat and he ran. He ran as fast as he could and he didn't mean to hurt anybody and he was sorry, so very sorry. He'd done wrong, and he knew it, and he wished he could take it all back now. As Milli did her best to keep Beren calm, Zer asked Paten what kind of work he could do. Paten said he was a woodworker, and his sister Wrenna knew paints and clay. Zer wrote the address for the Adaran mission on a card and passed it to Paten, saying the mission could offer food and shelter in return for help, and Paten said he'd go there in the morning. He asked if the Watch would come looking for his son, and Zer and Milli both said they'd advise the Watch against it. Whomever those halflings were, they were the threat, not some traumatized child acting out his pain. Paten thanked them both, then put his son to bed while Zer and Milli returned to the others and relayed what they'd learned. The halflings had a grudge against the gallery, and they were willing to use a child to act on it. Mattock asked only if the boy had apologized, and when Milli said he had, that seemed to be enough for her. Mattock took her leave then, saying as she left that she would be back at two hours after sunrise for the interview, right where it was scheduled.
Flamesday, 15 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Mattock's question-and-answer session began two hours after sunrise, just as it had been scheduled, on the bottom floor of the burned-out remains of 6T2, Sava Kharisa's art gallery in Granite Hills. The Sharn Inquisitive had sent one of their beat reporters, as had the Breland Ledger. Standing head-and-shoulders above the rest of the crowd, the juggernaut named Three stood impassively waiting in his Brelish military uniform. The king's bodyguard was an unexpected sight at a gathering so far from Wroat, especially without the king in attendance. Standing head-and-shoulders above everyone else, the juggernaut named Three stood impassively waiting, still in his Brelish uniform. The king's bodyguard was an unexpected sight at a gathering so far from Wroat, especially without the king in attendance. Besides them, a half-dozen other guests of Councilmage Kharisa also milled about uncertainly, wondering amongst themselves where they would hold the meet-and-greet, since this space was obviously unsafe. To everyone's chagrin, Mattock Nineteen didn't hesitate when she arrived; she marched right through the twisted doorframe and into the building, motioning for everyone to follow her. "Make yourselves comfortable," she said as she gestured around the charred remains of the building. "I'm sorry there isn't anywhere to sit." If she thought about the risk of the building collapsing, she gave no sign, standing amongst the charred and soot-covered remains of Cost of Repairs. "Feel free to ask anything you like." After a hesitant start, the reporters finally found their tongues, and before long the session was underway as though nothing had happened. Mattock talked about her time in the field, having been made to work the fields, then pressed into combat when the Brelish army needed "refreshing." A few glanced towards Three at Mattock's comment, but the juggernaut said nothing, standing as a statue while the artist continued her story. She'd seen twenty years of war, none of it pretty, time and again asked to return to the battlefield while the stink of the last fight still clung to her uniform. Bell asked her where she'd gotten the repair tickets for the exhibit, and Mattock said that Cyre had run a number of mobile repair stations near the front lines during the war. The tickets had come from forged who'd asked for their histories, to better understand the physical trauma they'd endured on Cyre's behalf. She'd taken up art therapy as a way of coping with what she'd been given no choice but to do, and to help others understand as well. She'd known she had a statement to make, a great many of them. What Cost of Repairs had taught her was that her art was good, and that others could understand her. Now that she'd confirmed that, she had a great deal more to say. At that, Three stepped forward out of the crowd and reached into the jacket of his uniform. "Before you continue, I might wonder if I could address the audience?" Mattock held still for a moment before stepping back and gesturing to the space before her. The juggernaut pulled a scrollcase from his pocket, then unfurled it with a snap. Adjusting his voice to sound a bit more like King Boranel's, he began to read:
Bearsday, 16 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. The morning after, Milli and Medya came back from their morning run with the daily copy of the Sharn Inquisitive. Printed on page six – with an opinion piece about it on page seven – was Mattock's response:
Wolfsday, 14 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Wolfsday morning began with Transom announcing that the Heart and Hammer had a... visitor? Standing in the entryway was the tallest human Bell had ever seen, almost as tall as she was and towering over the rest of the group, but post-thin and wiry. He craned his head this way and that, never holding quite still, even his fingers in constant motion as he fiddled with a worn length of steel. He introduced himself as "Fortune Marin Metrol, priest of Onatar, representative of House Cannith and d'Cannith Merrix the Second." his voice reedy and nasal. Around his neck was a torc adorned with a pair of bull's heads, their bejeweled eyes glittering as Fortune Metrol moved. Merrix had received Veora's invitation, he said, and had sent Marin to find out what House Cannith could do for them. Bell was unsure what to make of the man's performance. She was fairly certain Fortune was a title for priests of Kol Korran, but clearly he knew about the letter she'd written. Not wanting to lose the moment, she went ahead and told "Fortune" Metrol that their mutual friend Crucible had been looking into running for office, but he was afraid that how he'd come by the Red Hammer could be a liability if the reveal weren't managed well. To that end, Bell had hoped to meet with d'Cannith Merrix II and Crucible together to find some mutually acceptable way to make the news public. Metrol considered for several seconds, then nodded rapidly. He would take the request back to Merrix and check his boss's calendar; if Crucible wished to run this autumn, they needed to handle the discussion sooner rather than later, so he'd push to make it a priority. Bell thanked the human for his time, and he left, whistling jauntily as Bell shook her head as if to clear it. The man's behavior had been so odd, not merely distinct but almost unnerving in its own right. Something was clearly not right about Fortune Marin Metrol, Priest of Onatar. That, however, was thought for another time; the forged had work to do today, more than just more sending stones for the community. She and Milli had Smith to visit, to share updates of their respective tasks. The forged priest seemed happy to see them both, and when Bell mentioned getting an audience with Merrix, the priest reminded her of his request to invite them to come take a blessing from Onatar's spring. As Milli related Jorlanna's entanglement with the fiends, however, Smith's expression turned to one of horror. The situation had become more dire than the priest had imagined; the Dark Six were bad enough, but the Bleak Council was another matter entirely. The former were part of the Sovereign Host, as one's worst impulses were a part of oneself. Fiends were altogether not of this world, creatures of the Far Realms that sought the undoing of existence. He would have to pray on this, and see what Onatar could offer. Spark and Relic, meanwhile, had Perion to visit. While Bell had been "entertaining" Fortune Metrol, a Sivis courier had come with a message for Spark from Perion, inviting her to his place of business in Skyway, a poison-shop named the Last Dance. The building was sculpted of living trees and stone, a brightly-lit front hall leading to an open space swathed in twilight where elves and a few half-elves lay on cots, tended by healers as they writhed in the self-inflicted throes of near-death from all manner of vile toxin. Stepping past the patrons of Perion's business, they joined the elderly elf in his back office, where Spark asked about something to "make her weapon dance." That turn of phrase brought a chuckle out of the stern-looking Perion. He asked who had tested her, and though she couldn't name Alcarinquë , the one who had told her to seek out Perion, the picture she painted both of his appearance and his fighting technique clearly told the elderly elf who had sent her. Perion asked what she knew of the Mahtabereth, and she admitted she knew very little. Perion told her of the ancient weapons tournament held by the Tairnadal in Taer Valaestes every few years, in honor of those who fell in battle. It was a tournament by invitation only, extended only to those who had proven themselves capable. At the start of the Mahtabereth, hundreds would participate in the Chance Medleys, in which groups of combatants would be scored on how well they both dealt and avoided damage. Of all the participants, mere dozens would qualify for the Focusing Medleys, in which pairs of fighters would duel until one was forced to withdraw from their injuries. Only two would endure to the Final Medley, after which one would be crowned the victor, and one would be dead. Perion's eyes lit up as he rolled the last word around on his tongue. Perion asked if Relic were volunteering to be Spark's support through the challenges, and he said he would. Spark asked what she had to do in order to qualify, and the elf passed to her a jewelry case containing a silver stick-pin topped with a sliver of emerald. "Wear the pin and speak the word it whispers to you," the elderly elf told her, "and three dancers will come calling, each with a pin of their own. If you can collect their pins and return them to me, I will know you are ready. If they collect your pin, perhaps you may try again another time."
"Hello? Can anyone hear me?" The voice across everyone's sending stones came late Wolfsday night, or maybe early Flamesday morning. "Is this working? Hey, is anyone out there? I'm in Granite Hills in front of 6T2, the art gallery; I can see lights inside and—" A blast and a rush of wind crackled through the stones, followed by the same voice, louder. "There's a fire! 6T2's on fire! Help, please! Somebody help!" It was all the party needed. Bell, Spark, and Relic sprang from their rest, while Medya dragged Milli away from her workbench. Even Zer pushed himself awake to race after the others, Bell calling for backup all the while on her stone. The party ran through their contacts, letting everyone know, calling on the community to turn out and help. The building was engulfed in flames by the time the party arrived, and Zer quickly spotted a single living being within. As Bell helped organize a bucket brigade, Zer created water to quench the flames, which Spark and Relic scaled the building and dove into the smoke to find the survivor. While Medya worked crowd control, keeping spectators back from the flames while the Watch arrived, Mill surrounded herself in a resilient sphere and searched for how the flames might have started. The occupant of the building turned out to be Councilmage Sava Kharisa, the owner of 6T2 and sponsor of Mattock Nineteen's exhibit. The healers of House Jorasco that had been summoned quickly took her into their care when Relic and Spark got her down from her apartment, while Bell helped direct the forged to put out the flames. Milli returned, a lump of clouded diamond in her horngrip, and held it out before her; someone had thrown a chromatic orb into the building, and it had caught almost instantly. Spark asked if she could tell where it came from, and she and Milli quickly found the spot where someone had stacked some crates in an alley to peer within. They also found the charred remains of one spent scroll, alongside two more for the same spell. This was clearly the source of the fire. Zer inspected the crystal and was able to draw from it anger, shock, and fear, followed by a boy's face, a human teenager. The group returned to the front of the building where a crowd had gathered, including a forged who had crossed the Watch's line but stood unmoving, staring as the last of the flames continued to burn. Milli approached this lone forged and asked if they were Mattock Nineteen. She nodded, and Milli asked her tentatively what she intended to do. "Keep making art," Mattock replied. "Clearly I have their attention." As Milli did her best to comfort Mattock and Zer worked to identify the one who had set the fire, Relic turned his attention to the crowd, looking for any faces that didn't bear signs of grief or shock. He might have missed it at first, were he not looking for teenagers; he spotted a halfling woman with a scar running down her left cheek smiling grimly at the scene. She caught Relic's eye, then turned and disappeared into the crowd. The monk tried to give chase, but she had disappeared, gone into the crowds and the night. Relic asked Zer if he was sure it was a human teenager, and Zer replied that he had found the child in question, somewhere in Lower Tavick's near the Great Gate. In Tavick's Landing, Zer and Milli found a tent-city, filled with refugees from Cyre and other parts of Breland. An older human man sat on a wooden crate before one of the tents, talking with a woman of similar age. He looked up as Zer approached and asked what business the teenager had. Zer said that feelings of fear and guilt had brought him here, from a fire in Granite Hills where someone had set a gallery ablaze. The man's eyes widened when Zer mentioned the art gallery, and he asked if it was Cost of Repairs. At Zer's nod, the man, whose name was Paten Lonn, cupped his face in his hands and sighed. Paten explained that his parents had died in the massacre at Arythawn Keep in 978; that incident had shaped his views of the "warforged," until the priest who'd been helping him find work said he needed to see Cost of Repairs, and even offered to pay the three reeds it cost to see it. He hadn't wanted to go, but he needed help finding work, and the exhibit had opened his eyes pretty wide. When he tried to explain that to his son Beren, though, he had gotten upset and run off. Beren had come back that night in a state and gone right to bed, and he wouldn't say where he'd been. Zer asked Beren why he'd done what he did; he already knew Beren had lit the fires; all he cared about was why. With a sniff, Beren started to explain, but quickly broke down into open bawling. In a scared and rambling meander, Beren said that he'd been hanging out with some of his less-savory friends down in Callestan bragging about how they'd all act out if only they had the means. In the middle of the tough talk, a pair of halflings, one missing part of a finger, the other bearing a big scar, had approached and asked them if they wanted to follow through on their threats. They said the gallery was a great target, and they gave him three scrolls and a chunk of diamond with which to cast them. He'd cast the first one telling himself he was taking revenge for his mother and grandparents and everything he'd lost during the war, but then the flames caught and the windows all burst from the heat and he ran. He ran as fast as he could and he didn't mean to hurt anybody and he was sorry, so very sorry. He'd done wrong, and he knew it, and he wished he could take it all back now. As Milli did her best to keep Beren calm, Zer asked Paten what kind of work he could do. Paten said he was a woodworker, and his sister Wrenna knew paints and clay. Zer wrote the address for the Adaran mission on a card and passed it to Paten, saying the mission could offer food and shelter in return for help, and Paten said he'd go there in the morning. He asked if the Watch would come looking for his son, and Zer and Milli both said they'd advise the Watch against it. Whomever those halflings were, they were the threat, not some traumatized child acting out his pain. Paten thanked them both, then put his son to bed while Zer and Milli returned to the others and relayed what they'd learned. The halflings had a grudge against the gallery, and they were willing to use a child to act on it. Mattock asked only if the boy had apologized, and when Milli said he had, that seemed to be enough for her. Mattock took her leave then, saying as she left that she would be back at two hours after sunrise for the interview, right where it was scheduled.
Flamesday, 15 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. Mattock's question-and-answer session began two hours after sunrise, just as it had been scheduled, on the bottom floor of the burned-out remains of 6T2, Sava Kharisa's art gallery in Granite Hills. The Sharn Inquisitive had sent one of their beat reporters, as had the Breland Ledger. Standing head-and-shoulders above the rest of the crowd, the juggernaut named Three stood impassively waiting in his Brelish military uniform. The king's bodyguard was an unexpected sight at a gathering so far from Wroat, especially without the king in attendance. Standing head-and-shoulders above everyone else, the juggernaut named Three stood impassively waiting, still in his Brelish uniform. The king's bodyguard was an unexpected sight at a gathering so far from Wroat, especially without the king in attendance. Besides them, a half-dozen other guests of Councilmage Kharisa also milled about uncertainly, wondering amongst themselves where they would hold the meet-and-greet, since this space was obviously unsafe. To everyone's chagrin, Mattock Nineteen didn't hesitate when she arrived; she marched right through the twisted doorframe and into the building, motioning for everyone to follow her. "Make yourselves comfortable," she said as she gestured around the charred remains of the building. "I'm sorry there isn't anywhere to sit." If she thought about the risk of the building collapsing, she gave no sign, standing amongst the charred and soot-covered remains of Cost of Repairs. "Feel free to ask anything you like." After a hesitant start, the reporters finally found their tongues, and before long the session was underway as though nothing had happened. Mattock talked about her time in the field, having been made to work the fields, then pressed into combat when the Brelish army needed "refreshing." A few glanced towards Three at Mattock's comment, but the juggernaut said nothing, standing as a statue while the artist continued her story. She'd seen twenty years of war, none of it pretty, time and again asked to return to the battlefield while the stink of the last fight still clung to her uniform. Bell asked her where she'd gotten the repair tickets for the exhibit, and Mattock said that Cyre had run a number of mobile repair stations near the front lines during the war. The tickets had come from forged who'd asked for their histories, to better understand the physical trauma they'd endured on Cyre's behalf. She'd taken up art therapy as a way of coping with what she'd been given no choice but to do, and to help others understand as well. She'd known she had a statement to make, a great many of them. What Cost of Repairs had taught her was that her art was good, and that others could understand her. Now that she'd confirmed that, she had a great deal more to say. At that, Three stepped forward out of the crowd and reached into the jacket of his uniform. "Before you continue, I might wonder if I could address the audience?" Mattock held still for a moment before stepping back and gesturing to the space before her. The juggernaut pulled a scrollcase from his pocket, then unfurled it with a snap. Adjusting his voice to sound a bit more like King Boranel's, he began to read:
“Dear Mattock, First, let me apologize for not coming to your Q&A in person; when Three told me you’d be having one, I felt I should attend, but matters demanding the King’s attention have arisen back here. I know that speaking through a proxy is a poor substitute for a face-to-face discussion, but I beg your forgiveness this once. Second, let me acknowledge that your paintings have struck me deeper than any wound I took on the battlefield. I know that I sent a great many warforged to the front lines, even when I had better-trained troops I kept at home. I know that my decisions led to the deaths of many of your brethren, the maiming and hollowing out of so many more. I cannot and will not try to justify those decisions, beyond that at the time, I felt they were the best of a terrible lot. However, in your paintings, I saw the weight of those decisions. I see how my choices have added fuel to the fires of oppression, and of suffering. I see how it has fallen on your people most of all. I can’t know your pain; I can only tell you that I see it. However, as Beggar Dane is fond of reminding us all, “the darkest nights are always followed by the brightest days.” The Last War produced some of Breland’s — of Galifar’s — darkest days, but the Last War is over. The Treaty of Thronehold didn’t just establish the freedom of the warforged throughout the Five Nations; it let us wake up from a century-long nightmare, to face the dawn together as a united Breland. It is my hope that you’ll accept this invitation to display your work in the Enduring Collection at the Galifar Museum at Wroat, so that more people can recognize your artistic brilliance. I would also like to offer you this prize purse of ten thousand gold talents, in the form of House Kundarak certificates of deposit, payable to you or the beneficiary of your choice. Finally, by the authority vested in me as Governor in Abeyance of Wroat, King of Breland, and Governor-Prince of Galifar, I do hereby establish on this Flamesday, 9 Sunfall, in the 998th Year of the Kingdom, the Brelish Forged Arts Society and the Mattock Nineteen Prize for Excellence in Forged Arts, named for its first recipient. Congratulations! Yours, Boranel, son of Boramax, King of Breland.As the massive forged put away his scroll, some in the audience began to applaud, though they quickly stopped on seeing the forged standing in silence, with Councilmage Kharisa quietly shaking her head. "Is there a problem?" Three asked after a pause. "A statement like that deserves a reply," Mattock said smoothly. "If I give you a message to take back to King Boranel, will you do so?" Three nodded, and Mattock smiled. "Then I'll have one to you by the end of the day. Until then, this interview is over. I need a drink." And with that, the artist led the assembled forged down to the Red Hammer, where she proclaimed the next round of refreshments to be on her. Then one round became two, which became three, and then the toasts began. To Mattock, to Crucible, to the forged and the Red Hammer and the Heart and Hammer and all those in the Missing Pieces helping repair something precious that the war had broken. The party became a celebration, which became a rally, which extended well into the afternoon, and then into the night.
Bearsday, 16 Sunfall, 998 Y.K. The morning after, Milli and Medya came back from their morning run with the daily copy of the Sharn Inquisitive. Printed on page six – with an opinion piece about it on page seven – was Mattock's response:
Dear Boranel, I don’t want your apology; I want your attention. If you felt it was so important to speak at my gathering, you should’ve been here yourself. And you should’ve asked first. You may be king but you’re still a person, same as me. You can’t justify any amount of suffering heaped upon my people, because you didn’t treat us as people until your war was over. You tried to have it both ways with your precious Decree, but all you did was reveal yourself as the slaver with the sapphire whip. Serve me now, you said, and you’d free us later once it was convenient for you, no question of the price to us. If you were truly a just king, you’d have freed us the moment you met us. Instead you co-opted us into your fight without our consent and without our permission. You pressed cold steel into the hands of days-old babes who looked like adults, and you sent them to die on the front lines of your war while your professional army “regrouped” after trying twice to invade Cyre and being routed. I’m grateful you fought beside us in the war. I wish you would join us on the new front line, here in the streets and in the slums. There’s three jobs for every five forged, and two-thirds of those are monotonous labor now that House Cannith’s disowned us. Precarious’ renovations have displaced hundreds of us, the churchyards and stackhouses are full to bursting, and yet the Watch treats any forged without an address more like suspect than victim. You think you can see our pain? You can’t see anything down here from so far away. Every soldier in the King’s Citadel got paid, and even your conscripts got farmshare and milkshare. What have we gotten but the thanks of a king? That and three silver gets you a room for a week, if you can find a vacancy in Cogsgate. You like to quote Beggar Dane? Here’s another quote from them: “only a true scoundrel would steal a purse and try to sell it back.” And last, did you just try to use my name the way you used my body, to use my face like you want to use my art? First the war was physical, and you wielded our bodies against your enemies. Now the war is spiritual, so you need a new kind of weapon. If you understood Cost of Repairs anywhere near as well as you think, you’d have known better. Why didn’t you ask me what I wanted? Why didn’t you ask me how I wished to be honored? Where was I in your precious prize, besides a name for you to wear as a shield? Ten-thousand gold talents? That sounds like a fair price for a name. You can have it, and the art (or what’s left of it). I’ll make more. Yours, Anyone but Mattock Nineteen.
Report Date
13 Feb 2020
Sharn Inquisitive (0998-12-15) cover by Electric Keet
Sharn Inquisitive (0998-12-15) page 3
transcription: newspaper: Sharn Inquisitive, 0998-12-15
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