Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 21:03:06 GMT
Septus IM 1004
With so many carts lurching into the city the twisting roads of the city became clogged in places with lowing oxen and angry traders who entertained the locals greatly with fistfights and sabotage. Even the river was busy as skiff and sloops found places to tie up and unload the bundles they had brought from about the Empire. Some were rather roughly put together and it was clear that these had been put together almost on the run by rather surprised villagers in the Heartlands. There was a lot of raw foodstuffs coming into Deci it was only to be hoped that there would room enough to store it. Certainly many of the citizens were supportive of their city in that they would most certainly have stashed any amount of smoked, pickled and dried grains, roots and random flesh.
For the first time in a very, very long time the citizens were actually feeling well fed the rather dashing little pot bellies that were developing looked odd upon their otherwise skinny little Deci frames. It the time of year when people’s thoughts turned to more personal matters in any case, when people wanted to turn what grulls they had into more portable wealth, somewhere always got worked over about the time of Final Dawn, but with less effort having to go into making rat taste good this was only amplified the more. And of course people needed to get hold of boots, belts and other tackle once more since for the most part the citizens had already eaten theirs!
The Guilds were content also since the city was paying back a lot of the heavy loans that had been taken out from them over the last year, especially the rather sinister Toy Makers that had been planning on making a new line of ‘Dead Anath’ dolls. It was perhaps fortunate that the city did not hold with the otherwise spreading Guild of Fools as they would have done much the same, only restraining themselves to but one such figurine. Just one, perfectly to scale and nailed somewhere obvious.
Not that anyone would have mentioned anything like this to Jander. The people liked their Governor, most doubtless were a bit worried about professing any other opinion. With the weather still holding for fat old harvest season the city was actually in a surprisingly good mood. They got to watch outsiders beating each other up and tempt them with certain special deals concerning the foodstuffs being hawked. The city actually seemed to bustle when previously it had been more inclined to lurch about sulkily. Naturally, a more normal attitude would be restored come the deathly winter months but that was… a little way off yet.
Travellers told of the previously muggy Wetherbrook Stream showing signs of becoming a river. Further down the Spit the Wetherbrook wound its way, rather harmlessly, to the sea but it too had become encouraged by the city’s confidence and was eating up land either side of it. It swept ever onwards to the greater waters and away from the Spit’s more normal path towards Eartholme but no one really lived along its path.
No one that really mattered of course.
Flushed with his more recent success, Troy Majius walked somewhat nervously along the bustling lanes about the Gold and Silversmith’s Guildhouses. For a man who was so respected amongst his own class there was plainly an edge of nervousness to his actions now. The woman who walked with him had all the haughty grandeur of any Noble and being of Deci she wore her knives and sword well. A heavy veil hid her face and though her long dress dragged the ground about her feet it did not impede her otherwise stately progress.
“That all went well, eh?” Troy tried chirpy.
“Hmm? I suppose so.”
“Well, they all seemed to be rather on side with things. I seem to making my mark, oh yes. Don’t you think...”
She paused then to listen to what he said next.
“…Berina?”
She nodded. “Better. It’s not so very much for you to remember my name you know. Is it I or my House you were hoping to marry after all?”
“Oh you of course.”
“I am not sure you mean it, Troy. My father is a powerful man with a strong presence in this city. Despite this he still has a lot of influence in Halgar and business in Eartholme. My brother Vel is doing extremely well for the family in Bildteve. We are one of the Great Houses. You must admit that your own prospects are not so very great? You do not even have, let us be honest now, a title?”
“But I explained that I will soon! It is all in hand.” He rubbed his hands together nervously. “I am sure that I will soon be a landed Lord.”
Lady Berina waved her hand dismissively. “That is a start. But I think that if I were to accept your offer then the title that would be most suitable would be… Governor? That carries a Barony with it and as you are of the Blood that will convey through your landed title. When you have such a thing. Yes, I will marry Governor Troy Majius. Yes?”
Troy sighed. “Yes, dear.” He murmured. Under his lowered gaze though he allowed himself a small smile. At least there was hope now. Lady Berina was without a doubt the most eligible marriage in the city of Deci and such carried plenty of power with it. He thought on the Conclave he had called of the city’s Nobles and how they had listened and agreed to what he had to say. Then they had hurried away for tonight was a hunting night and little there was to stay their hand then!
*
“It is time,” Jander announced, “that you all looked to what you can do for the city. The city in paying out sacks of grulls to ensure that you can all avoid unnecessary starvation and what you have to ask yourselves is what you can do to repay this?”
There was a hearty crowd gathered by the Citadel to hear the Governor speak and only with his reputation was Jander getting through it all without being subjected to various pointed words in return. The people thought it well and good that the city paid out for lots of food as they were doing it with their treasure! In such a Quarter everyone dipped into their purses each month but their taxes weren’t some gift, they weren’t used to spend on stuff that they then had to earn? What was the Governor on about?
“Mines!”
Ah, they nodded, here it comes. “The North is ripe with ore and we need to dig it up! There is wealth and prosperity enough for all if we pull together. We have supplied schools, workhouses and foundries and soon even better mines.”
Workhouses and foundries weren’t pleasant places to be of course and the former certainly had a lot of people trying to leave each month. People, especially Deci people, didn’t see the bigger picture. They saw what was in it for themselves. The citizens had a lot of personal initiative and very little loyalty comparative to other cities and that was not ideal for getting everyone to pull together. They needed to be mad to do such, if not by the Council then by the Guilds. Of course, those there all wanted strong industry and wealth in the city, they’d just rather other people did all the hard work.
“I will be leaving you soon to expand our markets and smithies throughout the Empire!”
The crowd looked up in interest. Oh, reaaaallly?
“But you will be glad to hear that Don Argoth is once more part of the Council so I’m sure there’ll be no larking about in my absence!”
Oh… good…
It was fortunate then that within the crowd was one of the Reeves from the Miners Guild and when the crowd had parted a little he sought out Jander with a cheery smile and capping of big calloused hands. ”Well done, Governor.” He offered in congratulation.
The Governor managed not to scowl too much but accepted the man’s company as he turned towards the south. “They’re an ungrateful lot.”
“A colourful motley of characters, Governor! The very tapestry of civic life! Ripe as fallen fruit and playful as goblins! They aren’t very good at civic joy but my! Aren’t they ever the ones to take advantage of an opportunity.”
Jander looked at the man for a moment with narrowed eyes. “Is there a point to this? Baten isn’t it?”
The Guildsman bobbed a quirky bow. “An honour that you remember. Now, what was it you wanted to do with mines?” The Reeve listened as the Governor described Wuther Tithing and the problem of populace. In response Reeve Baten tapped the side of his thick, shiny nose. “That’s what you have Guild’s for. You should have just gone straight to the Guild Chambers, we’d have made sure the people did what they were told regarding our own areas. I feel sure that my Master can have a hundred worthy souls out there within the month. Leave it with us, Governor. Leave it with us.”
They waked a little further and having been steeped in the city’s emergent character that much more he added a final point to their discussion. “Look, I don’t mean to be rude but why would you do this? What’s in it for you as that seems to be what’s important?”
In response Reeve Baten laughed. “Why Governor, another mine? Somewhere a bit remote? That’s more power to my people! Naturally with such an expansion I doubt not that you’ll be expanding our Guild to cope with such extra responsibility. And if that were the case then…”
“Ah,” Jander finally smiled. “If that were the case then everyone gets to move up a bit on your own little ladder. Doubtless you think that the title ‘Master’ would suit you so much better?”
“Why Governor, the very thought had not even begun to formulate about the very fringes of my thoughts.”
In return Jander just patted the stocky man on the cheek. “Just sort out Wuther Tithing for me Baten and I’m sure we’ll all be so much happier.”
*
The Court of Victuals was as busy as it could ever be. Great sacks and parcels of foodstuffs were piling up and amongst it all Llewellyn moved. Though many had tried to help themselves the sort of people who worked, helped out and saw to the dealings of the Court were amongst those rarest of folk in Deci. They were relatively honest. Of course the city was not composed entirely of thieves, muggers and assassins; had that been the case there would probably just be one really fat lad stood on a big pile of bodies with a tin crown planted firmly on his head. Well, there’d be Argoth at any rate, and probably Anath as well, though in his case he’d be spending a lot of time showing how damn helpful he was to have around. It was true though that the people were typically selfish, guarded and wary of others. The Guilds of course formalised it all for their members but the Courts of Victuals were run by those few people in the city who were not totally dark of heart and had muscles to go with their morals.
“They don’t want the Ralynwort.” Crasper Vol pointed out to Lllewellyn. Crasper had been an adventurer for a couple of years himself, done rather well and returned home to the city that he loved. He despaired of his friends and family but ultimately it was home and that was important to Crasper. Somewhere in his heavy-axe days Crasper had picked up some sparks of religion from his former companions but wisely he didn’t talk about it much. “They say it tastes like your tackle-rags.”
“Well they aren’t allowed Ralynwort.” Llewellyn answered loudly. “It’s not for them. It’s special and only for the shadowy overlords of the city. Some say it, ah, turns your crap to gold. Some say.”
By the time the druid had gotten to the end of his declaration the crowds were muttering angrily and within minutes were angrily demanding Ralynwort – or else! It was a little harmless bunco but there were always ways to work with a city.
They got it a leaf at a time.
*
For a week now he had been outside the city and though he had little concerns about the weather, the generally poor ground or the wretches that made up the rural folk Fade was missing the dark lights of Deci. He could not complain about the company, for the citizens he had chosen were capable of feeding themselves easily enough and were possessed of the sort of personally-insulting humour that was funny to watch, if less so when involved.
The bold city workers of the cities grave scatters knew precisely nothing about agriculture but they did know about digging places up and Fade had rightly surmised that if there were fields close to the city, not being used but very fertile then there was probably a reason why. It had certainly been the case that the Hedging Field, the Wetling Field and the Algred Meadow had revealed a feast for his rotten little company. Indeed, so many bodies had been dug up in the Meadow that the night workers were suffering from the sort of but of gas that only a ghoul could muster.
Fade was a man who liked to preserve a little dignity and the constant, toothy giggles that resulted from the regular explosions of grave gas from undead bums had become wearying two nights before. Now it was just frankly annoying. It was fortunate that he did not need a fire to sleep by or the resultant firestorm would probably have been visible for miles about. He did not enquire as to who had planted such corpses but the source of the information had been such that it was clear he had nothing to concern him with any more. Besides, the night workers had disposed of most of the evidence even if they now all sat within a cloud of settling green air.
Glussock’s Mill though was different. The old structure had hardly any sails left at all and though at night was readily perceivable for what it was in silhouette by day it resembled nothing so much as a stump of age welded black wood. Naturally at this time his current followers hid in the darker places and had little opinion on the matter.
“Nothing yet?”
Two of the ghouls looked up at him. They had found a lot of good, dark earth but nothing they could eat. Not that they were hungry of course and indeed in appearance resembled more closely a set of immense, round and tattered balls with little stick arms and legs attached at odd corners.
“None of you remember this place?”
“Asssssem might, bosss.” Suggested one. Fade had restrained himself from binding their spirits with his dark arts as firstly even he would run out of such energies over such a long time and secondly, well secondly it just seemed so rude.
“Asem?”
“Old Assssem, bosss.” Another pointed vaguely in the direction of the copse in which they had most recently made camp. Fade nodded and stomped over to where he found the oldest ghoul he had seen in a very long time. He had been taken by the malady late in life and though his face had the drawn, hungry look of any other of his kind it was mostly hidden behind a beard, eyebrows and moustaches of such length that they dangled to his waist. Fade did remember him now, the old undead was mostly excused all the digging duties as a result of a bad back and achy limbs. He explained what the others had said and Asem admitted that this was so.
“Long time ago, bosss.”
“My long time or your long time?”
“Long time. Cerussss time. Before Empire?”
“I see,” Fade nodded, “everyone’s long time. Well?”
“Thisss wasss where hisss kin, one brother, worked. No one would let him in the city. Mad, bad, nassssty little bassstard. But here he came. Never been here, not me but I’ve been told!”
“It wasn’t grain he milled was it?”
“No bossss.” The ghoul admitted. “Thissss mill turned on other winds. Harvesssted magic, magic from the air!”
“Magic from the air? Useful. Why did he leave, I’m presuming that he did and he’s not lurking about as some lich ready to plunder my soul?”
Asem chuckled. This in turn made him cough and for several minutes he alternately bent over to wretch, cried out at the pain in his back, wretched again and so forth. Finally though, “Way I heard it he wentsss for sssssome Rite. The lightningssss ssstruck his mill though. Boof! Up it went. That’ssss what I know. Place wasss called ‘Glass Hillock’ back then.”
Another fit of coughing saw Fade wander off. There didn’t seem to be any problems with the ground in any of the places so it was probably time to get the Guilds toiling.
*
For days now the sound of hammering had come from the Citadel. None of the scribes had dared enter the Governor’s chambers until he called for hardy backs to carry the weapons and shields he had made to be stacked in a more open room to catch the seasonal wind.
One shield he kept for himself and this he had wrapped in silk, packed in clean straw and wrapped in supple leather for his journey. That one was a gift and into it he had poured all his determination, skill and heart. A gift fit for an Empress.
By Alan Morgan (CI6V7)