intro ♚ july

[boardmaster]

WELCOME TO CAISSA

We’ve all had those dreams: you wake up on a table, to blurry, ominous images and the certainty that you are absolutely buck-naked in a room full of strangers. This is not quite it.

Instead, you come awake to the sun on your face. The soft burble of water nearby. The hustle and bustle of a busy street and the faint, fortifying smell of bread. You open your eyes and there’s no one there at your bedside, but there is what appears to be the end of the world happening just beyond your window.

There’s a crack in the world across the sky, the “sun” is the totally unnatural light spilling from that crack straight into your eyes, and someone’s left a neatly pressed and folded uniform at the foot of the bed that isn’t yours. Somewhere in the room, there’s a strange clatter like beads, the click of claws on the floor.

Something’s in here with you.

Also, you are naked.

ONE ♟ Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo

Your Carriers and the floor nannies in your rooms relay, in unison and in the curt voice of Secretary Alexandre Verdoni, a public service announcement informing all Heroes of the Delphine Grand Ball, a masquerade hosted by the Gammonian Embassy to celebrate the Heroes’ successful defeat of Noir in the Lasker Incident and the safe arrival of international foccer superstar, Ryder Wreckham. It will be held tonight at 6 PM at the White Rose Multipurpose Function Building. There will be dancing, a live orchestra, a buffet and flowing drinks, and plenty of Blanc’s finest to schmooze with, so don’t miss it! The abrupt and lavish invitation might rattle the new arrivals, but those who’ve been here longer don’t seem surprised, and many don’t look very pleased, either.

Masks and formal wear are both said to be an absolute must, but if you’re strapped for cash or festive spirit, you could get away with wearing a clean Hero uniform. But why would you when Gammon’s elites are willing to provide Heroes with complementary masks, suits and dresses precisely for the occasion? And if you need any help with your clothes, hair, makeup, or date, don’t hesitate to ask your friends or the Hall of Glory’s maids and butlers for help.

As you get ready for the ball, your floor nannies may flip through a few radio stations to set the mood; one of them just so happens to be airing Voices from the Other Tide, a popular radio show based in Lasker’s The Shield. Its target audience is comprised of international refugees and immigrant communities, so you may have caught the show before during your stay in Lasker or your visits to Sparrow Towns all over the country.

Rocco Ricci: You are listening to Voices from the Other Tide! This fine Delphine evening, the suns are shining, the moons are just about to change color, and do YOU know where your trains are? I’m your host, Rocco Ricci, coming to you live from the center of The Shield! We’ve been looking at the fallout of the latest chapter in the war with Noir, the railway attacks that happened a few weeks ago right here in the heart of our very own city. I have with me today Nokoru Nokozaki, and it’s about that time. Time to let the survivors have their say, eh? What do you say, Nokozaki?

Nokoru Nokozaki: Ah, I’d like to say thank you for inviting me, and thank you very much for doing this show. I apologize if I am not able to give many clear answers, it was a very confusing time. A very confusing trip. I still don’t know how I survived, to be honest.

Ricci: Don’t sweat it, no sweat, eh? I’ll be asking all the questions and giving you half the answers, all you need to do is work with me and give our listeners a taste of what it was like, getting trapped in the middle of all that. Explosions and magic fireworks and what was that I heard, the Blanc military running around like chickens with their heads up their—

Nokozaki: Yes, thank you very much. It was a normal trip, to visit family in the— in The Shield, I believe you call this? I am not a refugee, but I know many who tried to settle in what we call the Blackest Empire, and tried to start again in the Lawless Lands, and failed. They came here, looking for something. I came here to see how they lived.

Ricci: Right, right, that’s how it always goes, isn’t it? Better bacon, better wallpaper, it’s what we’re all here for. Why, back when I was a— [ a sudden whine of feedback ] … Thank you, thank you, I’ll have that mic back. A recap for our listeners, a train with some 800 refugees was attacked and destroyed by Noir infiltrators just a couple weeks ago! Nokozaki here is one of the very few survivors. My condolences. Condolences.

Nokozaki: Thank you… It was lucky for me, I was in the mines in Shatranj. I have endurance, you know, I can walk very long distances without food, without water. No shelter. In the mountains we passed through, there is only bad weather. And when they blew up the train cars, we had to walk home on our own. Ah, but not home, you understand.

Ricci: I sure do. What was it, there was a rumor you came back with Commander de Lisbrand of the Blanc brass? There’s a firecracker if I’ve ever seen one — not that I’ve clapped my own eyes on her yet, may I be blessed — word has it she was stranded up in the mountains all on her lonesome for a while when Noir blew the whole army off the map, and she walked her fine self back to civilization! Why, we could do a whole segment on that alone!

Nokozaki: Is that not what we are doing? I assumed… I was to talk about my experiences marching with the Lady de Lisbrand, they are calling it the Iron March, I hear? She was not alone, but trapped in the mountain with a very small number of soldiers. And us, we were in the car with them when the bomb went off, but we did not know what had happened then. Only after we returned to Lasker…

Ricci: Oh, we know all about the Iron March! Is it true you all had to survive on rock moss and wild mountain cat?! Our listeners have gone wild with speculation! [ some rustling and clearing of throat ] But of course, of course you’re quite traumatized, I’m sure. A very difficult time. This is just one of many, many stories we’ve heard coming out of the Sorokina Mountains in recent days, and many more of them feature our Lady de Lisbrand. Stay tuned for some important upcoming guests, several of whom are still searching for family members gone missing in the chaos…

Despite the flurry of preparations and rumors flying about the ball in every alleyway, not everyone is interested in Delphine’s most prestigious event. Many of Caissa’s most eligible maidens have never danced at something so public! Some otherwise upstanding citizens just can’t be bothered to go, especially since they’re not the ones getting sponsored for free clothes. What’s the point in dropping half a year’s worth in wages on a fancy suit and tie or a ball gown?

For those who don’t wish to have anything to do with Blanc’s upper echelon or its martial celebrations, Uptown Caissa is abuzz with the biggest civilian event of the month: Festivale de la Ceinturonne, named after the sparkling, silver galaxy you can see on clear, summer night skies.

How about you, Hero? Which celebration will you choose? Or perhaps you'd like to double dip?

TWO ♟ Delphine Grand Ball

As two men in dapper suits greet you with synchronized bows and throw open the doors to the grand ballroom, the mellow strains of a live orchestral waltz flow out, filling the extravagant hall with the sound of soulful strings and whimsical woodwinds. Beautifully-dressed dancers move in pairs on the marble floor, swaying and gliding under a brilliant, crystal sky of chandeliers. The large, open arches that line the west side of the hall are decorated with massive velvet curtains that billow gently in the night breeze and hide both shyer dancers and small tables of finger foods. Young, passionate couples and colleagues in cahoots alike—sometimes it’s hard to distinguish the two—throng the balconies outside, enjoying the clear starred sky and the glow of Oubliette close at hand.

The crown jewel of the evening is, of course, the exquisitely bedecked and room-length tables laden with high-class food and drink the likes of which neither you nor the vast majority of ordinary Caissans have ever seen or heard. And they keep bringing out more! No spot on the table is to be left bare for the remainder of the evening! (Gerald, Hall of Glory Head Butler, highly recommends the champagne!) Some tables, however, might hold familiar dishes from French and British—er, Blanc and Gammonian cuisine. Most eye-catching are the tiered displays of pastel marshmallow cups and the tall and ornate fondue fountains of cascading chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla. They’re a homage to the mallow-colored moon of Delphine, the goddess of love, and tradition suggests you share a mallow with someone you care about.

Blanc’s richest and most influential are all present and accounted for. If they’re not waltzing or eating caviar, then they will be conversing among themselves over exquisite wine. Some try to catch the attention of Ryder, whose giant and suspiciously realistic fur coat and suit look wholly inappropriate for the weather. He smokes an expensive-looking pipe encrusted with diamonds while a small, diligent bodyguard serves as his very own footrest. Prime Minister Thierry Toussaint mingles with the noblest of families, his mask adorned with feathers that fall nearly to the floor. Both individuals are as sought after as they are difficult to approach… You’d have better luck simply mingling with other VIPs and soliciting their opinions.

Most are full of hot air and idle gossip, but some express open discontent with Ryder’s views; must be that speech he made a while ago. Others take issue with the Prime Minister’s handling of affairs; still others have whispered doubts of Secretary Verdoni’s loyalties to share with you; Commander de Lisbrand does not escape scrutiny either, despite not being present. There’s also talk of the new wave of Blanc leadership, though you can never quite get a name to go with the ambitious rumors. However, you will notice that, despite their poisonous tongues, Blanc’s best and brightest seem to be quite taken with you!

This is your chance. What you say to the VIPs can influence their opinions of Blanc’s leadership, the Lasker incident, and Blanc’s course of action from here on out, for better or for worse. (You are allowed to control the unnamed VIP NPCs. What did you tell them?)

THREE ♟ Wish Upon A Star

Maybe you looked at the people around you, the ones you’d be dancing and schmoozing and seen with in the papers the morning after, and thought, ”Not happening.” Perhaps the ballroom is too grand, the people too snazzy, or the music too classy; it makes your head spin right round. Some fresh air and eavesdropping on the veranda may just clear your head.

On the way out, you may notice a certain someone sitting at one of the veranda tables, surrounded by paperwork and a delicately stacked pile of beignets. Shouldn’t Secretary Verdoni allow himself to celebrate for once in his life? Upon closer (and discreet) inspection, it looks as if the paperwork is exclusively composed of reports on the Lasker incident. Does Verdoni look increasingly unhappy the deeper he digs into the stack? It’s also possible his face is just stuck that way.

It may be best to leave him to his work; though trying to engage him in conversation will lead to:

Verdoni Do I look like I have the time to speak with you? [ he says briskly, but relents quickly ] Perhaps just a moment. The situation in Lasker is improving, thanks to your efforts. Well done. Your work in reaching out to residents of The Shield has eased tensions, though it’s still a long ways away from what I’d consider good. Of course, our work is never done. [ his gaze flicks back to the paperwork before him; it’s clear by ‘our’ he means ‘my’ ] That’s not even getting into the reports I’ve been hearing from Petrosian. People disappearing, strange things in the river… it may be nothing, but keep your eyes open.

Should you leave the premises entirely and walk on through Uptown Caissa, you’ll find the chance to experience an entirely different aspect of Blanc culture. Around this time of the year, the week-long Festivale de la Ceinturonne is taking place in the streets and skies of the capital: the people of Caissa are heavily encouraged to write poetry about their dreams and desires so as to receive blessings from Delphine, goddess of love and the arts. These small wishes are folded and tied to trees around the Oubliette Temple Shrine.

Many commoners appear cheerful as they gather and offer their wishes to Delphine. The bright, star-shaped lanterns hanging from buildings and trees create a mellow atmosphere and attract crowds of lovey-dovey couples around who seem too happy to have wishes at all. Maybe you feel up to taking a peek at some of the local merchandise: colored cookies and good luck charms lovingly made in bird and mermaid shapes, or well-coveted couple bracelets with two parts that make one whole. But be careful! Losing your bracelet is said to bring bad luck!

The streets are also absolutely bustling with errant performers of all kinds, many of whom tell their own versions of the story of la Ceinturonne: said to be the sash of Delphine herself stretched across the sky in a river of stars, it separates the famous doomed couple of legend. The bluebird Ilatar and the mermaid weaver Geva are said to have been cursed by Delphine for their carelessness, and may only meet once a year at the mouth of the great river. Some performers may be looking for helping hands to play roles in the story! Let your inner thespian shine!

But not everyone can be happy, even once a year: the rumblings of civil unrest in Lasker have increased in volume ever since the train attacks. Many of the aforementioned street performers this year seem to have added a political or darker bend to our annual tale of great romance: in some versions, Ilatar and Geva backstab Delphine outright, while in others, the river itself turns against the lovers, and so on and so forth. A great deal of graffiti has been smeared over the pristine walls behind the temple, lambasting the Prime Minister for selling his country to the Gammonian and Noir old money.

If you wish to quell the unrest, you may put on counter performances, clean the graffiti, or invent your own, more creative means of quieting the people. Be advised, though: Blanc’s masses have had their eyes opened, and it will take some fancy footwork to close them again.

INFO ♟ Welcome!

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Comments

[arcanepower]

[He gasps at the touch, not because it's unwelcome or anything but because Sion is obviously using mana transfer to get his attention. And it works. He freezes midway through his ministrations, and after a moment, he sits back to listen.

Sion is right, as always. Belthazar finds he is wrong a lot of the time lately. Shouldering all of his troubles has been a survival instinct as much as anything else, and unlearning it is harder than pulling his own teeth. He isn't sure how to express that in words without sounding like he is whining, though, so he takes in the lecture, and files it away for later examination.]

I believe, [he murmurs.] I believe that us so-called Heroes are in the best position to help the downtrodden. But I... [His hand tightens around the little rag until his knuckles turn white, stark even in the soft yellowy light of the lamp.] ... I have seen the ugliness in the higher classes too much to believe anything they say. That is my own failing, and I know that, but I do not think I have the patience or the heart to convince them of anything.

[He wets the rag again, and presses it to the wall. This time he scrubs more languidly.]

I have never been very good at politics. I can say my yes-masters and apologize just enough to ensure I will not be killed where I stand for existing, but that has never spared me grief. [His voice grows quieter, and that brings out the roughness of his voice changing more.]

People are so cruel, Sion. Would it be easier if I was like them? If I was unable to care?

1/2

[sunderings]

Yes. [ —so seamless is the King's answer that it may very well be startling, but it is the truth as he has known and witnessed it to be, for so very many of those dear to his heart had attempted to sever themselves from a world which housed madness and cruelties they could not contend with.

"That's why, Sion, despite being alive, I'm actually dead at the same time. I'm a monster, you see, a monster who is only capable of hurting people. I can't have anyone remain at my side, I can't love anyone, and so... isn't it better if my life is meaningless? Why bother? Why care?"

For a moment, perhaps two, Sion falls silent, lashes lowering over the gold of his eyes in solemn remembrance—though more than half a year has passed him by in Enprise, he is still able to recite the contents of that letter, written by someone not so very different from Belthazar himself, a too-foolish man who feared what he was(n't) and isolated himself because of it.

But Belthazar is young, yet, his voice breaks with adolescence, and he's all the time in the world to learn that he needn't always stand alone. ]

It would be easier, by far, but you would no longer be the Belthazar I know. My friend who cares so deeply for everyone that saying the words themselves constrict his voice; my friend who...

[ Has weathered and endured so, so very much that Sion makes not to disguise his compassion for him. The King, too, had once been at the mercy of many after being discarded by his Lord father. He had begged upon the streets as a child to provide not for himself, but for his mother who wilted and withered away, unable to withstand her ailment, much less the attempts on the life of her son, the banished prince. ]

...walks on, despite his hardships and struggles, to ensure that others do not suffer as he once did.

[ Even if all there is to be done at the moment is cleaning a place of worship of defacement. ]

You were wronged, monstrously so, and you are not at fault for distrusting the nobility of this place— [ For even Sion himself does, and he has not the heart to tell Belthazar of his methods; how, in order to build his country anew, he'd purged the old nobility of his court, sparing none. ] —so leave the politics and pleasantries to others, and know that you need never to bow your head again.

2/2

[sunderings]

Everyone has the right to exist, to live in equality where they might spend their days as they would please, even if that pleasure should be something so simple as a lazy, afternoon nap.

[ "Sion... is it okay for me to live?" ]

Together, we've the ability to show the people that, and you, Belthazar, will have no shortage of allies in securing relief for those most in need of it.

[ Pulling back from his work, he looks to Belthazar, golden eyes locking with incandescent green: ] Though... I would ask that you promise me something.

[arcanepower]

[His breath catches at that answer. It is so-- so straightforward. He is not used to receiving such answers, but he is glad for them regardless, because it means he isn't being treated like a child. He is seventeen even if his growth seems to have temporarily peaked somewhere around fifteen; his legs are still getting longer, and he uses them to walk everywhere, to walk his own path, as he always has.

Something Sion so generously points out.

Part of him fears being found out, that the little spark of goodness he has tried so hard to hide will become his undoing. He doesn't want to be mistreated anymore. He doesn't want to swallow the bitter pill, as he has already done for many years. But there is truth in the telling, and in the way his expression worsens; there is a silent plea in his face for no one to hurt him ever again. Realistically it's just Belthazar being upset, because he's always upset, but that's what it looks like.]

That is what I want. [His voice only quivers at the very edges. This is something he believes in with all of his soul.] Everyone deserves to live like that. Everyone deserves to be free. How ironic that we fight for this, even as we are conscripted into a war that is not our own.

But I-- [And this part comes with his ears pink, but he tries to make eye contact, because it's important.] I am glad to call you my friend, Sion. I do not know what you see in me, and I suspect I will never understand, but I hope to someday be worthy of the words you choose to describe me.

[He lets out a shaky breath.]

What is it?

[sunderings]

[ I am glad to call you my friend, Belthazar says, his slender ears flush with a rosy hue which has little to do with Delphine's mallow-colored moonlight, and Sion... For the very first time in Belthazar's company, Sion is neither practiced nor poised. In fact, he is perfectly bereft of words to properly convey the sentiment which swells in his chest, a startled (delighted) smile breaking like day across his face, for he is is happy that Belthazar feels the same—they are friends, and even if the younger man cannot yet see it for himself, that spark of his is beautiful, a kindness worth far more than any beautiful picture which Sion could hope to illustrate or describe.

And so, the King will protect it (protect him), grateful for the chance for the chance glimpse such a light. ]

Promise me that you will not hesitate to reach out to others— [ As he reaches for Belthazar now, his scouring cloth set aside as he pulls the younger man into an embrace not unlike the one they'd shared in the midst of combat upon the train. Since that time, he cannot imagine that Belthazar has had any great number of partners in mana exchange, but more than addressing that need, Sion is compelled by something soft, heartfelt and sincere, a wish which bleeds through his mana signature: ] —and that you will call upon me, should you ever be in need of a confidant, sous-chef, mana, or otherwise.

[ And it is boundless, the care which manifests in Sion's energy, his mana which falls upon Belthazar like a warm swath of light, as protective and gentle as the King's embrace...!

Which really is a hug, a second one, far less profound than the first they'd shared, but hopefully better received, if not welcomed.

Lightly: ] I will worry after you relentlessly, if you do not.

[arcanepower]

[It feels strange to have friends, but he doesn't argue with Sion. He really does see the man as a friend, and he's surprised at how familial it feels. It has been ages since he had siblings, he might not have had any at all, but he thinks if his brother had been anything like Sion... maybe they would have had a chance at being a proper family.

Then Sion is reaching for him, and Belthazar glances at the movement of the cloth before he's yanked into an embrace. He squeaks in surprise but, again, he doesn't shove Sion away. There's always that initial stiffness; he's gradually relaxing, but sudden physical contact has always done that for him. It's as automatic as blinking when someone tries to poke your eye. And, really, his mana feels so nice, how can he ever say no?

He exhales shakily. That's a hefty promise. It might be easy for some people, but for a boy who has learned to only rely on himself, it might have been impossible. He's spent more than a year in the care of Adrasteius, though, and he has befriended the other children and acted as a guardian for them. Belthazar-- who only ever took care of himself before-- has seized the duty of caring for others with zeal.

Sometimes Adra needs to be taken care of. Is Belthazar not the same way?

He reaches up to finally return the hug. His fingers do not latch on like they did before, but the embrace is still as honest as ever. He's just trying to be mature about it, rather than when he was a sobbing mess on the train.]

I-- I will. I promise. [He will try.]

[sunderings]

[ Ah? Is there room for maturity here? Sion surely seems not to think so (or, at the very least, he is of the mind that they've spoken enough on weighty matters for the night!), for after they linger in embrace for a moment, perhaps two, he...! Rises to his feet, scooping up Belthazar (and his magicked lamp!) with preternatural ease and grace. Capricious as a midsummer's breeze, the Hero King has moments of both gravitas and play, and the latter is most certainly what his friend is most in need of—ridding the streets of the remaining graffiti can wait.

Rather unlike the train, they've all the time in the world, and Sion cannot say he is opposed to lingering in embrace for as long as it takes for Belthazar to claim his fill of mana. What's more... if the younger man is still growing accustomed to physical contact (and Belthazar is, Sion had heard that squeak of surprise and had smiled!), so too is Sion himself. In his own world, realms away from here, a curse had prevented him from feeling any true sensation aside from pain—it had been gone from him, the feel of sunlight upon his face, the chill of brisk night's air. For so very, very many years, he'd been robbed of this—the warmth of holding another dear, close, and safe—that he...

Is grateful, really, in ways he cannot express.

Turning once-about on the toebox of his shoe (...really, Sion knows how to maneuver in heels a little too well...), a light-as-air smile plays upon his lips as he whisks Belthazar away from the back of the temple and to the festival which hasn't yet wound down for the night. ]

I am heartened to hear it. Know that you will have this humble King's help along the way... [ (This is my promise to you.) ] ...and that I will return to finish the work you started.

[ (Do not fret over the graffiti, Belthazar.) ]

For now, we've more important matters to tend to.

[ But what on earth could those be...? ]