• Closed • A Committee of Wee Faith [Kasoria]

[Pig Boy]

10th of Saun 722

Breaks before Kasoria's arrival at the Pillar of Society

It was storming violently outside in Etzos this day, making it one of the darkest Saun days in memory. A terrible front encroached from the coast, driving winds against the sandstone walls of Etzos, and nearly making as if to topple the high towers of the Citadel.

The meeting was to be held with the utmost secrecy, and that was why they chose the Pillar of Society, specifically the floor where the now defunct Lisirran shrine was based. Of course, given recent events, that Immortal who had once provided them with biological weapons against their enemies, had fallen into disfavor. To say the least. Presumed dead, and missing for near three arcs, those even in Vuda's inner circle had little use of the faithful of the Plague Queen anymore. Vuda's machinations had turned from Lisirra, to Sintra, and then onward to greater things as the wheels turned within themselves. Machinations that would make even the late, great Immortal of Secrets and Shadows blush in her tomb.

Patron Lerrik Calloso stood before the defaced and wrecked edifice upon which the face of Lisirra had once been impressed. Now smeared with the dried ichor of insects, and the blood of her followers who defended it to their bitter end when the war with Rhakros went into full gear. Just killings, to be sure, but didn't exactly help with the agenda of promoting the idea of an Immortal Sovereign over Etzos, to the people who dwelt beneath the Towers. The war with Rhakros, and the insurrection staged by Sintra had bled what appetite might have existed in the lower classes for Immortal relations. Now they were all fanatics, and the lonely ministers in the high towers, ruminating and philosophizing and driving policy to them below were isolated. Mostly alone in their tolerance.

Those that still remained of the Immortal sympathizers. Old men like Lerrik.

The meeting had been arranged by some twist of chance, a bird sent from the coast, from an undisclosed location. Thus Lerrik invited Shieldarm Bassett, of the Forbidden Post, to inform and advise him on Vuda's leanings. It'd taken much of the time before noon and after, but by the end Shieldarm Bassett was brought up to date on the state of affairs in Etzos itself. From Parhnes' liberation, to the rise of Martial Hinda Velora, to Vuda's seclusion to HIghbend. And of course the wars and insurrections that had precipitated a change in attitude and atmosphere in the Citadel itself.

It was a well kept secret, that Vuda, while not a sentimental person given to such concepts as loyalty, fealty, or much less submission, had courted the idea of Immortal involvement in the Etzori government. Purely a pragmatic attitude, mind. Immortals were only one power, a capricious and sometimes unreliable power, but one that could be counted upon so long as those relationships could be maintained.

So as Shieldarm Bassett bowed out of Lerrik Calloso's office, he passed by Kasoria, who was just entering it. They would likely reconvene before Kasoria left, but then he asn't about to make any assumptions about how this meeting went. Lerrik's face had blanched upon reading the name that Vuda provided, for the head of their delegation's security detail. A name that was barely spoken aloud. A thing of rumor, and of terrible and vicious deeds done in the back alleys of the outer perimeter.

"Mister Kasoria?" Lerrik put on a tense smile, as the Etzori killer entered the defunct shrine of Lisirra. "I am Minister Calloso."

He poured a pair of drinks, one for each of them, and then gestured for the other man to take a seat, perchance to relax. "As you may be aware, we have a task for you, should you agree to accept it. Security detail, for our Diplomatic Delegation. The first we've sent out in... well living memory." Lerrik eyed Kasoria carefully. Behind him, the backdrop of the desecrated bas relief of Lisirra. A number of blasphemous epitaphs and other slurs written upon it in the blood of her worshippers in Ithession.

"First, I'd like to know if this position interests you, and by your coming, I presume you're open to the possibility of employment?"

[Kasoria]

"Will you be requiring an escort, sir?"

The little man with the black eyes looked up and up at the two men guarding the door at the bottom of the stairs. They returned his look with steady resolve. They had been chosen specifically for this duty. Very little could rattle them. Not after all they had seen. The invasion, the siege, the war, he sacking of Rhakros... then the horrors that had been purged under the ground. No, they were very well-chosen. Kasoria could tell that much by meeting their eyes.

"Nah. I'll be fine."

With a curt nod from each, they let him through. The door took two keys to unlock, and they had to turn as one. There were things buried under the Pillar of Society that the normal, "honest" folk of Etzos could not know about. Relics and shames. Memories and evidence that could not be destroyed, merely... locked away. Buried under hundreds of feet of stone and ton after ton of bricks and steel and lock and key. Kasoria could smell it as he walked down the passageway. That old, familiar tang on his teeth.

Rancid copper and dried meat. Where so much blood had soaked into stone and grout that the flavor of it was always just at the edge of your palate.

Kasoria allowed himself a small smile as he strode. He knew what had happened down here. He was sad that he missed it.

Fucking Morty-lovers.

As he walked, he felt the letter in his pocket jostle and crinkle. It had been sent from this place, the Citadel above his head, to his commander in Westguard. By special courier, not just army mail. He'd been summoned and informed of its contents: he was to depart swiftly to Etzos, and meet with "interested and esteemed parties" below the Pillar of Society. Production of the letter and the signatures upon it would be enough to grant him entry, yet despite the reassurance, Kasoria had frowned.

"Didn't fink dey wanted me t'ever come back."

"You were pardoned, Mark Kasoria," Flightmaster Nader had said without looking up from his other paperwork. "Not banished. You are welcome to come and go as you please across our nation... although I'd suspect most hoped most dearly you'd never set foot back there."

There was a note of wry, stinging mocking in the man's voice. Several notes, in fact. More like a fucking symphony. Kasoria blinked and let it wash over him, for one simple reason.

"Aye. I was one of 'em."

Yet here he was, five trials later. Mud and dust from his journey still on his boots. His Transmutation Spark whispered incessantly about all the new qualities and sensations it was picking up around them. Rock and granite and shale and stone it had never seen before. His Abrogation growled softly, like a rattle in his bones. It didn't "Speak", in the way he supposed his Transmutation did. It had no curiosity about the world; it simply sought to protect Kasoria from it.

Steel clanged as he walked, too. Most of it unseen, and Kasoria smiled again.

Wasn't an issue before I was a mage. Even less now.

The door at the end of the passage opened, and a burly man with gleaming plate marched through. After a year in uniform, Kasoria saluted automatically, and got a look like he was a turd grown legs in return. Not because of the way he looked after his journey, nor his more obvious mutations. But the fact of whom he was, and the history his name conjured in the Shieldarm's memory when he recalled it.

He walked on. He was expected.

"Mister Kasoria? I am Minister Calloso."

Kasoria spared a flat, cold look for the old man behind the crowded desk. Not much of one, though. For his eyes were immediately drawn to the defaced, defiled, near-destroyed statue opposite the table. Ah, yes. This was where it had been. Where this... mere concession, to the harmless act of worshipping the Immortals had found a home. A single shrine, a statue, and in return, an outlet for the humble city folk's worship... and word had it, some potent poisons from the Lisirra cultist for use in the army.

Kasoria idly heard the sound of glasses being filled. He acknowledged the sound, but did not glance over. He forgot Calloso was even there, in fact. Instead, he marched over to the statue, replete with dried blood and foul language and a face caved in by hammers where all about those stone feet howling lunatic traitors had died and-

TOOF

-spat in the black chasm where once had been the face of the Plague Queen.

What fools they were. To let that fucking abomination get her foot in the door.

That pleasantry happily accomplished, he took his seat, and he listened. He'd come a long way after all. Something was in the offing, apparently. Some expedition to a distant land... and they wanted him to protect it. Well, the parts of "it" that mattered, he rather assumed. There was always a number of expendables on any such journey. He looked into the wine in front of him as he pondered. Must be quite the trip, if they'd lowered themselves to calling him back from his self-imposed exile. For a solid arc, he'd heard nothing from the Council. Which was exactly what he'd hoped for. He was an embarrassment to them, despite his utility. He'd been a useful asset during Rhakros, and then again when Sintra sought to subvert their republic.

But before all that, he was The Raggedy Man. To many, that's all he would be. Generations had been raised on ghoulish tales of this wraith from the Outer Perimeter. A walking abattoir, who they whispered would have a legion of sullen souls waiting for him when he finally made his Crossing. All slain by his hand, all waiting for vengeance. But then war had come and Etzos had nearly fallen. The Council, the Army, Parhn, even Vuda and he Black Guard, they'd ground their teeth and damn well made their bargains with worse than him. After the victory, they'd pardoned him for is crimes, tossed him out the gate and all but locked it behind him. He hadn't cared. He'd been free. To live differently, and try to be part of his son's life.

The old man sighed softly. Aye. And well went that fucking endeavor

Focus. There's more here than a job. Namely-

"Sent," he said after a bit or so of contemplation. His eyes flickered up to the Minister's as he finished, "to where?"

[Pig Boy]

The Dead Man's Scratch

Lerrik cleared his throat. There could be no doubt that this was the man who'd been sent for. The palpable air of intimidation without even trying, the menace of his obvious mutations and alterations to his being, and the way he moved. Even taking such a simple act as sitting down, apart from the rest, the normality and usualness of that act only seemed to emphasize the danger this man represented.

Lerrik and the other ministers had little doubt that Kasoria could fill the role they'd established for him, given all that.

"To Rharne City." Lerrik said swiftly. "Have you ever been? Finest drinks and wines and beer and spirits are made there, and I daresay you might enjoy their pugilistic culture, Immortal Sovereign notwithstanding. But we're not sending a delegation in order to acquire trade rights. Well not just that...."

"You may have noticed, Etzori streets have emptied, and as strong and dedicated as our people are, they cannot reach replacement rates by all our available models." Lerrik paused, possibly aware that he was boring Kasoria with details that he need not concern himself with. He wasn't getting sent to get a crash course in civil and social engineering, afterall. He was there for his talents, such as they were. To protect, yes, but also to act as a switch in case things went awry, as they were very likely to.

Vuda, by Lerrik's estimation, was almost counting on the venture failing in a way that would benefit them. "We've received word from a contact, placed high in the Rharnean Government, that there's a glut of refugees, arriving from places. Not just any places. But Kingdoms that have fallen into disaster, but share our common disdain for the Immortals. Quacian Refugees, particularly those with arcane knowledge that we might be able to use. Then Rynmerish, who themselves are historically no friends to the Immortals."

"We're meant to offer Rharne a place to send their poor, their downtrodden refugees." Lerrik licked his parched lips, "The simple truth is, Etzos will die, if we don't take in people. And the existence of these people, who share our hmm Immortal antipathy, presents a golden opportunity to do just that."

"Your role, will be to protect our delegation, and provide security and advisement on that count of things. Also, we may require you to gather intelligence from time to time, purely in the interests of sussing out any threats to our people."

"You would of course be given a generous stipend, for the purposes of running the security operation. We'd ask that you gather whoever you like for your security detail. Any soldier in the Etzori army would be at your disposal, to take along with you." Lerrik cleared his throat, coughing into his wrist, "In addition to whoever else you might find proper to such a purpose... No questions asked. Name the name, they will be either freed from jail, or given a pardon, and sent along with our delegation, as part of your crew."

Lerrik's brows rose at that, "Does any of this sound remotely interesting to you, or shall we fetch you back home to Westguard?"

[Kasoria]

We're a dying people.

The thought struck Kasoria silent for some time. To hear another say it, though it may have crossed his mind before... well, it's easier to ignore if they don't. But he had noticed. Westguard bustled and trade was resuming, all the activity that came with it, but still... an impossible number of his people were dead. A third to Lissira and her hordes; another third to the plague and famine and chaos that followed. Sintra's machinations had plunged his home into anarchy and division again, with pogroms and purges following her expulsion... and every episode, every chapter, every page in the recent history of Etzos was soaked in blood.

They had lost too much of it. They were recovering, but they were like muscles and bones shrunken in the body of a giant. They couldn't fill it out, be the strength that it needed. His home was crawling, gut-stabbed and trailing blood as it went. Unless they could stem the loss and give themselves time-

We still have enemies. We have to be practical. Towns will be abandoned as indefensible and unimportant. People will be unable to do business, find work... so they'll leave. We will shrink down to one grand old city and then... then all those bastards surrounding us will come in for the kill.

The little man opposite Lerrik fished about in his pocket. He spent some time withdrawing a wooden pipe and a pouch that... looked mostly like leather. Yes. Certainly. It had to be. Kasoria kept staring off as he packed his pipe, only looking up once, jet-black eyes finding a candlestick, gloved hands bringing it over to light the tobacco. He sucked down a mouthful and let it sizzle in his throat. It calmed him, or gave the illusion that it did

You know what needs to be done. He's just put it into words for you.

Kasoria sighed, and smoke drifted from his lips in a manner almost draconic.

You're not done yet.

"Yeh want a bodyguard, aye? Fair does. See why yeh'd need one. But yeh dun' jus' want that, do yeh? Yeh want a name. Someone t'scare away the wankers an' impress those Morty-lovers across the sea." He nodded curtly, amusement glinting unmistakably in his inhuman eyes. "Good plan... an' yeh want one thing more. Yeh want someone who can do the nasty shite yeh can't be seen t'do. Meet the folk an' deal the deals an', aye, shed the blood yer people can't be seen to in the light. So yeh send me... an' if I get caught, youse can have yer man clutch 'is pearls an' condemn the savage Raggedy Man a' the Oh'Pee."

Now there was true mirth flitting across his face, brazen in a smile of sharp, white and yellow teeth. His accent was enough to make a man like Lerrik wince: Outer Perimeter gutter rats through and through, regardless of the mind his vocabulary seemed to suggest. Kasoria kept puffing his pipe and gauging the man and the matter as he did. He was tempted, in a way. To go elsewhere in the world. See beyond Etzos and the exhumed corpse it had become. Depart from Westguard and it's drudgery, the men who feared him, peers who hated him, commander who despised him, and the son...

The amusement died. All it took was Martyn's face in his memory. Twisted in disgust for what he'd discovered his father to be.

"Heh."

The short, slithery sound was surprising. As if the old man had remembered something.

"Sussin' out, yeh said. Not a word yeh expect from a nob like yerself. Jus'... tickled me." Kasoria blew a smoke ring at the ceiling and dispelled Martyn's memory with it as he did. Focus. The matter. The task. The rewards. The risks. "Ain't heard mucha' the fightin' life in Rharne. Heard dey got an Immortal a'... brawlin', innit?" He couldn't quite keep the note of keen curiosity out of his voice. There was a reason Kasoria was so renowned for his... what was it... pugilism? Few men mastered what they did, because they did not enjoy it, on some or many levels. "I wouldnae mind findin' out more... an' I'd like t'know how yeh expect t'keep the Morty-lovers out, if yer lookin' to accept a whole raft a' new folk into Etzos."

He shrugged his shoulders and awaited answers to his questions. Even if in doing so, he'd answered Lerrik's own, about whether or not he was interested.

"We jus' got rid a' one, an' that ain't fer certain. We open the doors too wide t'too many, it'll happen again."

[Pig Boy]

Conciliator and Inquisitor

Lerrik was mortified, but not surprised that Kasoria had seized upon one of the fail-safes that they'd arranged, in case their delegation did not go exactly to plan. That one of the possibilities was the fact of Kasoria's extinction, and that of his security detail potentially. It wasn't the foremost possibility in Lerrik or Vuda's plans, but it was one among many possibilities. They had other contingencies in the wings, other ways of coming out of this a victor.

"We may fail, or we may succeed, Mister Kasoria." Lerrik said, his face paling but clearing his throat, "But whatever the outcome, we must prevail and survive. That is what victory looks like, at present. We don't have the luxury of the Eternal Empire's numbers, or the exuberence of the Rharneans, or the various and sundry supernatural toys the Scalvorites play with, or Viden's technological advancement. We have a rich land, that is ripe for the plucking, and attacks by our enemies must be forestalled, until we're ready again to defend ourselves!"

"We do have plans, common enemies and cause to take up with Rharne in particular. They are no friends to our enemies in Siorthelle. And even now our intelligence reports that Sirothelle is martialling what strength remains after Faldrun's death. For defense, or attack? We would not fare well from a war with Sirothelle, at this present moment, and the other powers nearby?"

Lerrik went on to listen to Kasoria, and nodded when he alluded to Ilaren, "The Immortal of Sound, Brawling, Lightning, and Alcohol."

Finally, Kasoria came to one of the issues that would surely arise from an influx of new people. Some of them would likely have been exposed to Immortal worship in their time as exiles. Lerrik nodded to his concenrns, "As a minister, and one tasked with strengthening Etzos, and maintaining a population without resorting to pogroms or public executions... at least until recently, I've often had to tread the fine line between Inquest and Tolerance. No doubt you know rumors that I was responsible for promoting Immortal tolerance. It's a very delicate line one must walk, if we're to maintain order in this society. But to your concern... We have an apparatus a system in place to investigate and stamp out over-zealous Immortal Worship in our city. People will have to be vetted as best they can, likely at the Port of Foster's Landing, before being allowed further into Etzori lands. Those who proclaim Immortal antipathy openly, will be given preference to take up residence in the city itself. Those who show sympathy or worship of the Immortals? They will see the error of their ways, I suspect, before long. Our culture is a proud and strong one, for all its people that were lost. I've little doubt that these lemmings will see the error of their ways, when they realize they don't need an Immortal in order to survive day to day life, or indeed, even the occasional war."

Lerrik leaned forward, and though Kasoria couldn't ignore his very palpable distaste for the assassin, there was a sense of ill-begotten comradery, such as the kind that made strange bedfellows of certain ministers, martials, and soldiers and Sintra's Webspinners. A whiff of the conspiratorial.

"You need not make a choice now, but inform the Shieldarm of any soldier or... other personage you should need. Their release will be arranged for you." So saying, Lerrik leaned back in his chair, and drank from his cup, waiting to see how Kasoria would take all of his talk.

[Kasoria]

Kasoria had an odd little smile on his face as he listened to Lerrik explain himself. The man had paled beforehand, when Kasoria revealed he knew of such an obvious "fail-safe". What was amusing was that he thought there was something to it that somehow offended him. Men like him had ever been assets to men like Lerrik. Even those feted and celebrated were coin to be spent, pawns to be sacrificed. All that differed was the stakes involved, and the level of feigned loss in the farce of regret afterwards. Kasoria had long since made peace with his place in this shadowy world, whether it be as Vorund's Hound in the underworld, or the Raggedy Man hunting down Morty lovers.

Now you'll play the role again, just in a foreign land-

No. We won't.

"We're a rich land, aye. An' dat's all the need those around us'll need t'ave a crack at us," he said eventually, after Lerrik had compared his homeland to others, and even mentioned those wankers in Sirothelle, apparently spoiling for some expansion. "No different fer kings an' councilors as it is gangers, eh?"

He chuckled when Ilaren was mentioned. His lips pursed as he pondered what such a... dynamic immortal might look like. He even managed to do so without looking disgusted. "Huh. Well, m'a fan a' two outta the four, anyways. Not bad fer a fuckin' Morty. Though I cannae imagine havin' to deal wiv' the cunt in person, aye? My trade an' truck'll be wiv' the mortals, an' dat's where I'll be best."

Why are you entertaining this?

He sat back as Lerrik spoke at length as to the real issue of immigration: changing the landscape too much, as it were. Kasoria didn't much like the idea of sheer numbers doing what Immortals and their cultists had failed to do. Swamping the towns of Etzos, changing it's identity, breeding out the wisdom and courage of his people and replacing it with just another petty kingdom in the thrall of soulless monsters. He was hardly a sophisticate, but he'd traveled the world to a degree. He'd seen other peoples, and how they fawned over the Immortals. He had spilled barrels of blood to stop such willing slavery infecting his own people.

Only when Lerrik mentioned his own role did his expression truly sour for the first time. Any trace of mirth or curiosity was bled from his face as if by a gutting wound. All that remained was hard lines in a tanned, leathery face. Pitiless black eyes that did not seem to blink. All framed by a frown that jammed his brow over his eyes and barely hid the simmering contempt the man felt for anyone who gave even an inch to the Immortals. Even the shared sense of purpose between them, the perfect understanding that the Immortals needed to be stymied from their city as much as possible, did little to assuage Kasoria's opinion.

"No gods, no immortals. Jus' free men, monsters, and slaves."

Kasoria smiled grimly after reciting an ancient Etzori maxim. Once that had enraged the Morties and their lapdogs, and given secret hope to their unwilling slaves. Etzos was the light of Idalos, when it came to living without the Immortals and proving it could be done. They were not needed, not really. The world turned without them, and for all their gifts and protestations of love and affection, they were ultimately transactional beings. No better than an Etzori merchant, really. Minus the magic.

"They'll learn. Or dey won't. If they don't..."

He shrugged, and there was a book of nightmares in the smile that followed the gesture. Lerrik did not need to ask for elaboration. He'd read the reports. Gather all the murderers in the Black Cells together, pile up all their confessions, and the body count of them all still wouldn't eclipse that of this little man before him.

This is not your war anymore, old man.

He sighed in something close to regret as the juiciest morsel was offered to him. Latitude. Authority. Picking his own band to be his underlings. At the mere mention a half-dozen names and faces sprang to mind. Hard, vicious sons of bastards and bitches he knew from Rhakros and the Oh'Pee and beyond. Men he trusted... no, wrong word... men he could rely on, to do as their natures and needs required. Men who hated the Immortals and their dogs, who would stab a man in the back for pennies but cut their own throats rather than sell their nation to monsters. Men he'd seen kill with an airy smile and take mortal wounds only to spit blood on their enemies and rise stronger than before. Even further afield, other names he could-

"No."

The word was so small and lonely it was almost missed, even in the silence of the room. Kasoria looked up and yes, there was regret in his eyes. Strange how much the man's look could change to fluidly and completely. The menace from moments ago was replaced by... what had to be resolve. Reluctant and even unappreciated, but there. He sucked on his pipe and smiled across on side of his face.

"I 'ave a son, yeh know? M'sure yeh do. Probably did yer research. Went t'Westguard t'be closer t'him. Wasn't around fer when he was wee, so I thought..."

The words trailed off. An arc of failure had been the fruits of his return. An arc of aborted meetings and brief arguments and his only son still hating what he was, and hating him more for lying his entire life. For making him feel like a fool for believing his father was a hero, a man of noble intent. Only to discover the legend of the Raggedy Man, and all that meant. Kasoria sighed again. An arc, and little progress. But scraps. Glimpses. Shreds. Enough to give a stupid man hope that more could be gained.

Aye, well, that's you, isn't it?

"... an' I dun' wanna waste anymore time away from 'im. I shed me blood fer Etzos, an' should some cunt come callin' again, I'll 'appily shed more. But goin' away across the sea, stayin', maybe not comin' back fer... two, three arcs?" He shook his head. The last time he'd swore to his son he'd come home, it had been two arcs before he'd made that true. And so much had happened in that time. "I ain't young no more, mate. Can't waste time adventurin'. Gotta take what time a can wiv' me boy."

The Raggedy Man finished what embers still glowed in his pipe and then tapped it out... into his empty cup, as it happened. After knocking back what wine was left in it, of course. Fates forbid he littered in the Great Man's office. He spread his hands as if the matter was decided, and had enough integrity to not look as if the decision pained him overmuch. It didn't. He'd done his bit, and made his mark, and made his city safer. Now he had to look to his own, while he still had a handful of arcs left.

"Can't imagine I'll be changin' me mind. But if yeh need a few names t'add to yer list a' skulky types yeh might need fer under the table type a' shite over there, I might be able t'help ya."

[Pig Boy]

Review Time!

Lerrik swallowed his fear as he listened carefully to Kasoria, hanging on his words. It was an odd thing, for such a highly placed minister and respectable citizen of Etzos to be hanging on the word of what amounted to a criminal, a lowly scratcher. But there they were.

Lerrik leaned back in his chair nevertheless, and shrugged, "Well, you may take your son with you. He is a soldier now, is he not? So name his name among those you would be taking with you, and he's yours."

This said, Lerrik dismissed Kasoria, to think about his proposal, and return with the names he required if that was his wish. Otherwise, they'd find someone else to fit the bill for this endeavor.

Kasoria

• Renown: 5 (none may know of this meeting, but certain highly placed ministers do)
• XP: 15
• Knowledges:
  • Intimidation: x2
  • Politics: x4
  • Deception: x2

Note: Thanks for indulging me here. I gotta admit I love playing political figures in this capacity, and Kasoria certainly brings his own twist on the entire process when he's involved.

We'll reconvene with this plot in the start of the Cold Cycle, but for now, feel free to scout out and play as you will with the information contained herein. I really look forward to this plot and getting Kasoria over to Rharne and other places .

Great writing by the way. If there are questions or concerns about this review, let me know.