Event Founder's Advent

38th of Vhalar 724

Etzos, ‘The City of Stones’ is a fortress against the encroachment of Immortal domination of Idalos. Founded on the backs of mortals driven to seek their own destiny independent of the Immortals, the city has carved itself out of the very rock of the land. Scourged by terrible wars of extermination, they've begun to grow again, and with an eye toward expansion, optimism is on the rise.

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Founder's Advent

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Founder's Advent


There were four sections through which the marrows of the Four-Fold Servant milled about on their patrols, their duties, and their work. The Underground, for the upkeep of the water supplies, keeping it safe and free of tampering. The Outer Perimeter, to patrol and administer the law with their non-lethal methods, usually bearing stiff sjamboks crafted and provided by one of the foremost leatherworkers of the city, Drenick Lazslow, who'd had to expand his operation in fact and had taken on assistants that were shipped from overseas, refugees, ex-slaves, and the like taken from other places and finding them a home in Etzos. This influx of new blood was kept busy in various jobs and trades, so as to prevent the slow slide of an idle mind, into the more high-minded observance of the Immortals and other such frivolous concerns. They were kept busy, precisely to keep them from bringing any old religious or cultural habits from their homelands, to Etzos.

Basically anything a marrow couldn't do, the finer points of labor and trades were relegated to these new arrivals, while the natives of Etzos often enough were confined to whatever occupation they already had. There was some resentment, then, when the new arrivals began snatching up new opportunities, from young people who were coming of age to work.

Still, there were many hands needed, and the Guilds sought out these hands where they could, rejecting the offer by the Four-Fold Servant to fill these roles with their dead hands. Of course, the undead were largely uncoordinated and unsuited to anything but unskilled, or else highly-supervised tasks.

So there came a time, when the Masons and Smith's guild was beginning to lag in its duties, as they had largely rejected new, non-etzori hands into its Guild, in favor of giving new young up and coming Etzori natives a chance to try their mettle at mason work and smithing. Two of the most vital industries in Etzos, and required for more than just expansion, but also upkeep of the existing structures. Many of those structures had fallen into disrepair since the War with Rhakros. Lisirra's war had wiped out the majority of the population, thus necessitating the radical opening of immigration to all corners of the world, but even so there was much distrust of these newcomers. It was this distrust that informed Paxler's resistance to accepting immigrant help.

Thus, when the Four-Fold Servant and the Blackguard began employing the marrows for the purpose of shoring up vital infrastructure, a job that had previously fallen upon the Mason's Guild, it was a potentially explosive situation, that would threaten to break the tenuous peace the Etzori had won from their costly victories over Lisirra, and Sintra.

The Citadel's insistence that the Guild open up its ranks to the immigrant population caused much consternation within the Guild. And thus, Paxler instituted a general strike, across the city when Blackguard captains began supervising the Marrows' reconstruction of vital infrastructure that had fallen to neglect. In spite of the help of the tireless undead workers, this brought maintenance and the orderly institution of such to a screeching halt.

Yet the dead hands did not cease their work, conducted by Blackguard captains who had experience as masons. Some among the Guild decided this would not stand, and a group of workers, led by no one in particular, as a mob, carried their tools. They bore their hammers and picks, and chisels, and wielded them against the bones of the Marrows. The flash of action occurred at several points across the city. The Underground saw these marrows getting ground quietly to dust in the passages beneath the city, and their bone dust tossed into the water supply.

The Outer Perimeter Marrows were accosted, and here was the only place where they faced resistance from the citizenry. In the confusion of the battle, it was difficult for the mindless undead to distinguish rioters belonging to the Guilds and regular citizens, and so many suffered as these marrows fought back with sjambok whips, nearly cracking some heads and bruising the populace, although many marrows were destroyed by the tools of the Guild and others who took to fighting back.

Finally the Commercial Ring and Stations had their thoroughfares blocked off, congesting traffic coming into and out of those areas by the Guilds, and the Marrows alike. There was a tense stand off, as neither the marrow nor the Guild took to destructive conflicts in the latter areas. But stood back and stood by for commands either from the Four-Fold Servant, or Paxler himself to unleash destruction of the other side.
 ! Message from: Pig Boy
Okay, so this event will be running a little differently from others you may be used to as Etzos players. Basically the space of your post should involve the actions taken during a day. Up until the 11th day of the thread, which will be the ending, for better or worse as you all deal with the challenges that pop up, or the reactions from your own actions.

This is starting with the 38th on the break out of the riots against the marrows.

I want you to feel free to use whatever influence you have over this or that npc or npc group. Whether military, underground, government, or otherwise. Just ask if you're not sure. But don't introduce things that wouldn't naturally already be there, that's up to me.

Each round of posting will consist of a trial's events. No more than that, please. So feel free to go through your pc's trial in this way, until it ends.

PM/DM me if anything is unclear and I'll try to make it so.
word count: 974
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Kasoria
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Re: Founder's Advent

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He wasn't the only man dispatched to find Kasoria. The Mastermark had scattered a double handful of men across the Outer Perimeter, with orders to wheedle the degenerate little so from whatever hole he was in and make himself of use. The troopers in their worn but polished armor had listened stoically, gone about their work with the massed rustle of simultaneous salutes, then promptly forgot most of the vitriol in the older man's words. Some of them were too young to remember the more visceral, believable tales of the Raggedy Man. Some had fought with him in Rhakros, in the jungle, in the Crescent Arena, and were willing to let those stories slide based on what they had seen.

The rest weren't even Etzori. It was one of those recruits that walked into The Laughing Taper.

All that was missing from the image in his head was the music jerking to a halt the moment he walked inside. Smoke hung at the rafters. The rankness of stale beer and sweat just about covered the deeper underlay of dried blood. A dozen sets of eyes swiveled to him from the gloom, even though the suns were high in the sky. Conversations that ranged rom earnest to joking stilled as the unwelcome shaft of sunlight gained entry, followed by the dull gleam of his uniform. For a moment, Rialanus was worried. He felt like a doe walking into a den of lions and his hand started to itch closer to-

"Afternoon, young'un. Time fer an ale, or are yeh on business?"

The question was so devoid of malice that Rialanus' skin seemed to bleed of its heat in the space of a moment. Moreso when he saw the figure behind the bar, smiling politely as he polished cutlery. Behind him there was the sound of cooking coming from the window in the wall, chopping veggies and sizzling meat. The man was tall with dark skin and had the weathered look of one equally able to dispense wisdom and violence, if pushed. Rialanus was disarmed by him, though. There was no sneering undertones of aggression or sarcasm. No fierce looks being directed at him anymore. Everyone just want back to their business.

Unbelievable, he thought. Half the city's ready to butcher the other half and you'd never know it, walking in here. I suppose that's the point.

"Ah, no thank you, ser. I'm looking for someone."

The man's eyebrows shot up as he appraised the accent. Rialanus had seen the look before: somewhere between amusement and suspicion. Standard Etzori response, he was coming to understand. Especially now, with all the simmering resentment against people like him coming to the surface. First it would be the marrows, creepy and unnatual targets for their anger, but he knew who would be next on the list. An angry, violent mob rarely decided en masse that it had shed enough blood; it would keep going until someone made it stop.

"Yaralon?"

"By way of Rharne, yessir."

"No need t'keep wiv' the sir, mate. I ain't in armor. Who're yeh lookin' fer?"

"Kasoria."

Again, the air froze. Eyes glanced at him. Rialanus could taste the tension return, this time with a fission of fear rippling through it. The bartender didn't look too worried, though. More concerned, than anything else.

"Sure yeh wanna find 'im?"

"I have my orders, s... friend. My commander wishes to speak to him."

"Why?"

"I... that is confidential. But I would assume it's something to do with the strike and the riot and the violence against the skeletons. Surely you have heard the chaos outside?"

The bartender nodded again, sagely. Placing the latest clean knife at the end of the line with the others. "Of course. Hasn't come through that door, though."

Rialanus risked a knowing smile crossing his young face. "I'm guessing that's because he drinks here."

The bartender smiled back at him. "Aye... yeh'd be right." He tilted and turned his head back a little. "Kas? Yeh hear dat?"

"Aye, m'comin'..."

Rialanus' brow furrowed and then his eyes widened as the chef emerged from the kitchen. Not even five-and-a-half-feet tall, pulling off a clean(ish) apron and handing it to one of the serving wenches. A lady who looked remarkably like the bartender, now he thought of it. Sister, perhaps? Cousins? He blinked away the question and took in the black hair tied in a ponytail. The jet-black eyes and the pulsing veins marking him as mutated. But he wore no weapons... until the bartender reached under the table and handled him a long, clanking bundle.

"Thanks, Raand."

"Duty calls, eh?"

Kasoria snorted and looked up at the younger, broader man in the armor he no longer wore, and never would again.

"Dis is about youse lot fuckin' up the thing wiv' the marrows an' the Guild, innit? An' I don't mean youse as in foreigners, either. I mean the Council."
word count: 845
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Ulric
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Re: Founder's Advent


38 Vhalar 724
It had been a long trip to get back to Etzos. A long and slow trip. Ulric had been walking among the living again for a while and he still felt as if he fit in more among the dead. While others slept, he peered into the Beneath- even walked it from time to time. The energy he could rip from lesser, dangerous ghosts was often enough to sustain and revitalize him. There weren't many ghosts at sea. The Beneath sat empty. That should have been comforting... but it was always a little disturbing. Balon had received a letter from a friend and decided to go perform for them. He didn't mention that they were going to have to travel all the way to Etzos to do it.

They'd crossed out of the empire and passed through Yaralon to reach water and then they booked passage along the way. Elia remained behind to stay with her ship rather than joining them. She may have enjoyed travel but she wasn't keen on humoring Balon's whimsy. As soon as Balon was done in Etzos, they'd be traveling all the way back to the empire again. Yet, that was the life Ulric agreed to when he came on as security for the wayward bard. He wanted to see the world and learn to fit into it. He just forgot that sometimes you saw parts of the world that reminded you of terrible things you'd done.

Ulric couldn't deny that part of him wanted to see what had happened to the city once he left. He remembered it all in such dull colors. He remembered what the Beneath looked like around Etzos more than the city itself. He remember the alleyways and the hovels he had hidden in. He remember Arthur and the boy who died so Ulric could live. Alex. The boy had a name. He had a voice. He had a life. Ulric had taken them all from him in pursuit of vengeance that never came to fruition. How dare Ulric have the audacity to think of him simply as 'the boy who died so he could live.' It sickened Ulric the longer he thought about it.

On the trial of the riots, Ulric and Helena were sitting at a table inside of a tavern. Each of them had decided they needed a relaxing break from Balon's boasting and drinking. Balon himself was up in a room trying to sleep off the early morning libations he had enjoyed thoroughly. It wasn't the best tavern in the city but who could fault a little damaged construction? It wasn't as if the group was unaware of Etzos work to rebuild itself. Balon had been fussy but Helena kept him in line when Ulric's patience failed. It failed a lot. It was hard to be patient with people when you could possess them and silence them yourself. The old instincts weren't fading. Death had warped who he was and resurrection had done little to bring back the man he used to be.

"You alright?" Helena asked Ulric, shaking the living dead man from his thoughts. He'd been staring into his empty cup for a few trills too long and she'd seen something shift behind his eyes.

"I'm fine." Ulric lied. It wasn't a good lie. It wasn't even a good answer but Helena didn't have time to push the issue. A ruckus interrupted their conversation. A small man with little hair and a milky eye pushed open the door to the tavern in a panic and slammed it shut behind him.

"Block the doors! The dead are attacking!"

As it would happen, the tavern they were staying in was on the Outer Perimeter of the city and unfortunately close to where the mob met the marrows. This was probably due to the fact it was more a civilian's house that they sold drinks out of rather than a proper tavern... but Ulric and Helena hadn't told Balon that part. 'The dead are attacking' was an incredibly one sided perspective on what was happening. Ulric rose from his chair and his hands dropped to the pommels of his swords. He didn't get a chance to question the man before other tavern patrons cut in to do just that.

"Get to Balon's room, keep him safe. I'll find out what's going on." Ulric instructed. Helena gave him a worried glance but steeled herself and nodded. Protecting Balon was the job, not protecting each other. Helena went to the room Balon was resting in and Ulric slipped out of the building through the wall when no one was looking. Even if they were looking, how were they going to make it make sense to themselves?

The streets outside were filled with people and skeletons. The blunt workforce fighting the mentally stifled workforce. Ulric set out to see if he could make any sense of the chaos, but he hadn't drawn a weapon yet. Anything that tried to harm him would be met quickly by a tendril to sling it far away. In truth, he was going to use the tendrils to separate as many people from the dead as he could but if the dead tried to attack him in their confusion... so be it. With a deep breath, he pushed forward into the chaos.

word count: 916
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