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Event: Dreamscape: Part 3
Date: Sunday, January 22nd 2012
Time: 3:00 PM PST / 6:00 PM EST
Location: Great Hall of Castle Britannia
Additional Information: It is recommended that you do not use Night Sight for the Dreamscape events.
Event: Dreamscape: Part 2
Date: Saturday, January 21st 2012
Time: 4:00 PM PST / 7:00 PM EST
Location: Great Hall of Castle Britannia
Additional Information: It is recommended that you do not use Night Sight for the Dreamscape events.
Twelve-year-old Charlotte Christianson burst through the door of the servant’s quarters, startling Michael’s mother. Mary glared at her.
“May I help you, Miss Charlotte?” she asked through gritted teeth.
“Where is Michael?” Charlotte asked, foregoing all pleasantries.
“My son is not here.” Mary responded curtly, turning back to her work.
Now frantic, Charlotte sprinted back to the castle to find her grandmother.
Charlotte eventually found The Grand Duchess in her room, knitting and humming quietly to herself.
“WHERE IS HE?” Charlotte screamed at her grandmother.
“Where is who?” Aurora asked, not looking up.
“MICHAEL!” she roared.
Aurora ignored her.
“TELL ME!” Charlotte shrieked, balling her little fists up and shaking them in frustration. Her right hand accidently knocked a bottle off her grandmother’s vanity. Charlotte froze.
The Grand Duchess stopped, looking up at her granddaughter.
“That perfume cost more than you are worth.” Aurora sighed, standing up.
Charlotte cowered, realizing what she had done.
“I am sorry.” she whispered, backing up.
“Yes, you are.” Aurora responded, grabbing her left wrist.
The Grand Duchess tightened her grip on the squirming child as she brought one of her knitting needles down into Charlotte’s palm.
Event: Dreamscape: Part 1
Date: Friday, January 20th 2012.
Time: 9:00 PM PST / 12:00 AM EST.
Location: Great Hall of Castle Britannia.
Additional Information: It is recommended that you do not use Night Sight for the Dreamscape events.
Charlotte Christianson, High Councilor and Aristocrat of Trinsic, has fallen ill.
Urgent summons were sent out across the empire, to the Halls of the Vassals and to the Towers of the East, beckoning all able mercenaries and alchemists to the Great Hall of Castle Britannia. There the physician of Vesper, a woman regarded as both our foremost scientific mind and a demoniac of the first order, elucidated on the condition of the woman.
She had fallen into a coma, brought on by experimentation and self-medication. And though the physician did not elaborate further, the great throng in the hall testified to the concern of the Council: Had she been poisoned? Had the Black Thorn reemerged? If so, the search for a cure might soon devolve into a hunt for a murderer.
Leading us to Christianson’s quarters, and to the Councilors stuttering servant, we discovered what appeared to be a yellowed jar of Opiates. Though illegal in most cities, the byzantine strictures of our crumbling state often meant loopholes for the wealthiest amongst us. The handmaiden to the Councilor, in the face of sharpened swords and the promise of inquisition, broke and revealed the location of Christianson’s supplier.
Ellery, a strange and reclusive serf who eked out an existence in the western farmlands, met us with stunned silence and a refusal to offer more than a sliver of information: his snake oils and drugs were legitimate, clean, and if he wished to know more about what happened, or what enemies the woman might hold, we should take it up with the enigmatic King of Thieves.
Returning to Britain, we found the thief in his usual haunt. A master of information, the illustrious rogue offered little in information, refusing to pass judgment on the Councilor. (Wise, considering overlooking his misdeeds comes with a price.) He mentioned, rather than direct our attention in Britain, we should visit Trinsic. Perhaps her past is catching up with her.
As we turned to depart, he offered one final note. Things are stirring. The threats to Britannia are growing. We should be on our guard.
Traveling the roads of magick, we came upon a man of the cloth marching in the opposite direction. Stopping him, we inquired about Christianson, and discovered a little about her past. Her affair with a Michael of Trinsic, and the scheme of an Aurora, whom the priest had failed to stop.
Others offered other tidbits. Yosh, Guardsman of Britain, mentioned witnessing the Councilor thrust into a hallucination, screaming about “…caverns, and a portal.”
All further, legal avenues of information gathering exhausted, we returned to the physician and reported what we had discovered.
The physician seemed amused, as she tilted her head towards the Heavens. “Yes, dearie. I’ll tell them.” Turning to face the throng, the crone explained to us that she would require an alchemical fusion of science and magic to pluck her soul from whatever self-imposed hell she had wrought upon herself. And to do that, we would need help…
Word has reached us of the collapse in Eastern Ilshenar.
The Pagan Roma report bearing witness to a great fireball rising up over the southern range, parting the clouds and boiling into the heavens above. Bright as the sun, it echoed with the peal of thunder as the world ruptured below. Beasts of burden, panicked, tore free of their bonds and fled into the night. The ground swelled and buckled beneath them, sending shale and boulders raining down on the encampment below.
You may remember the encampment as the site of the Nocturne Sol Invictus festival last month.
In the aftermath, the heavens lit up with an evil red glow, ashes and embers raining down on the forests and glades of the Isle. All passes are blocked. Wildfires have begun to claim the woodlands to the north and east.
All told, twelve are reported missing or dead.
Contact between Britannia and Ver Lor Reg has ceased. And there is some concern for those trapped within the Stasis Chambers near the presumed site of the explosion.
The tents of Minoc billowed on the sides as the soft wind beat consistently against the tarping. Quill in hand, Cecilie sat cross legged on the wooden chair opposite her subject. Dark complexion, Dark eyes, plump lips and a little more than an evening stubble; Agostino was the epitome of ruggedly handsome. He regarded her with a soft smile and a lot of silence. As it happens this was trademark Agostino. At 6’1 he towered over her tiny frame. This thankfully was lessened by the seating situation.
“Now, Agostino is your name right?”
“Sĩ.”
“Is there a last name to go with that?”
“Demonté.”
“Aside from saving my tushy on maps what is it you -do- exactly?”
“Whatever it is I wish to?” Playfully he inclined his head in her direction before continuing. “I help take care of my clan, this camp, the one in compassion and others.”
“Where do you come from?” Gesturing with the tip of the quill to the surrounding tents. “Is Minoc home?”
“I was not born here Signora. I was brought in at an early age and raised as one of them. I am part of this clan by choice, not by blood. I grew up mostly here and in the Compassion camp in Ilshenar.”
“If you aren’t related to these people by blood who are you related to?” Tilting her head sharply to the right she leaned closer examining his response as a goose would a stray piece of bread. “How did you get here?”
“I was born in a place called Italy, Earth. When I was a boy myself and a few others were brought over.”
“Sì, Signora. I am from a place called Italy.” His smile was wistful but curled down at the end as if regret had found its way within his soul. “Through a portal not so different from the ones you have here.” His words trailed off into silence as he lifted his wrists exposing pale skin encircled by scars. Bindings had clearly left their mark from years of restriction. She didn’t ask. She didn’t need to. “Many of the children were treated as such. Servants.”
It was an agreement to leave the subject on the wooden table. Unspoken but unanimous. “You did an impressive feat at the Solstice celebration. Have you always danced with fire?”
“Sĩ. It was a passion of mine learned from others who did so before me.” Genuine and deep he radiated love of the art when he spoke.
“Are there other times in which you do this fire dancing?”
“Sĩ. A heart can burn or grow cold. I knew the path of mine.” He inhaled, pausing briefly as the weight of the statement lingered on both of them.
Becoming one with the flame. One with the fire. One with the spirit. It is usually done in private as a souls devotion. Public displays are only when warranted, like Solstice. There are other celebrations, such as the dedication of the land our new camp will reside on.”
“Will this be open to all?”
“Sĩ. Any who wish to come share in this revelry are welcome.”
Scribbling across the parchment she lifted the tip of the quill, bringing it to the corner of her lip. “There are some basic questions the general population will want to know.”
Another smile as if encouraging her to continue. “Are you married?”
“I think the general population has more on their minds than marriage.”
“Yes, they have hats. Hats are far more important.” Any other man would have pushed the subject further but Agostino, having dealt with her Boura issues, knew better.
“I am not married.”
Cecilie nodded once.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-seven.”
With that she rose from her position. “Do not forget you still have to help protect me on hunts.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Lady Charlotte Christianson was sprawled out on the floor of her loft. Clara, the maid, was anxiously trying to understand what had happened.
“Lady Christianson?” she called out again, the knot in her stomach tightening.
Clara knew it was futile – Charlotte had not stirred in the twenty minutes Clara had been trying to wake her – but she did not know what else to do so she kept trying.
After another ten minutes, which seemed like forever, Clara realized that she needed to tell someone. She looked down at the yellow jar in her hands and, with a twinge of guilt, hid it before she left.
Twelve-year-old Charlotte Christianson looked sullen as her parents kissed her goodbye before rushing out. They did not seem to notice her sour disposition. That was not surprising since Edwin and Gwyneth were going to spend the evening at a soup kitchen. Charity always came first. Charlotte clenched her jaw, trying to remember the last time her parents had dinner with her. Aurora waited until they left to speak.
“I wonder why they bothered…” The Grand Duchess mused aloud.
“Why they bothered?” Charlotte asked, turning to face her grandmother.
Aurora sighed impatiently. “…to have a child. Clearly, you are unwanted.”
The two stared at each other for a long time before Charlotte finally got up the nerve to respond.
“Someone wants me.” she said defiantly, crossing her arms over her chest.
“It is so cute you believe that.” The Grand Duchess replied, patronizingly.
Charlotte glared up at her.
“If he is so fond of you…then why is he leaving?” Aurora asked.
Aurora was pleased as she watched her granddaughter run off to find Michael.
The Court of Truth: Official PleadingsFor those who missed “Here Comes the Judge.”
Official Pleading
Name of Plaintiff:
Name of Defendant:
Allegation:
Contact Information (email):
Atlantic Mage Tower Annex
Sea Witch Tavern
Hearthfire Village
Magincian Zokalo