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The Prince of Pigeons "I am the Will of the People" A girl, barely five years old, slithered through the crowd at the Grand Leopold Plaza, her wild mop hiding her face, her body covered in soiled rags. She passed by many merchants, overlooked many a fat pouch, her nimble fingers guided not by greed, but by a Will not quite her own. There, she suddenly knew, him. A merchant from the Red Vale, remarkable only on account of his dress, was her target. She ducked into the stall next to his, held up her hands pleadingly to the annoyed apothecary, who made as to wave her away. Brushing aside her locks, she revealed the pocks that marked her face, to the great shock of the greying quack. Picking up the staff that came with his vocation, yet never drawing upon the compassion that was supposed to accompany it, he chased her out of his stall, and right into the Red Vale merchant's wares. In the tumult that followed, her fingers found the merchant's purse, her feet and eyes the path to safety. The coins she'd found were hers, but the papers, they were for the Prince. ~~~ Across the city, an aging beggar sat on the steps of the Cathedral of Saint Sahalnir I. He held up his bowl to receive the bread that was doled out there each and every day at noon. "May it nourish the body and the soul," said the priest that dropped a hunk of bread in his bowl. The soul overflows in gratitude, whispered the beggar's inner strength with just a hint of sarcasm, as his head bobbed and nodded, apparently witless and grateful. With a fluidity that belied his fragile body the old man tugged away his bread in a sack underneath his threadbare tunic and rose to his feet, following the procession of the Breadgivers as they ascended the stairs. They'd run out of bread and the hungry crowds thronged about the gates of the cathedral as they shut, the Gatekeepers warding off the desperate souls with clubs and sticks. An opening to your right, he knew without seeing, as he rolled reflexively between two of his fellow paupers who had almost too fortuitously blocked the vision of the guards. Inside, the man shadowed the Breadgivers, hearing their sneers regarding the weak and feeble, but also hearing their gossip. "Have you heard? Apparently the bread will be mixed with sawdust, so that more of the alms might be directed to the Pope's efforts to unseat the Gray Terror." "And better that it is so, good bread won't save them from their fallen state, but Sahalnir surely will." They all laughed and turned into the Priests' Quarters. The Will receded, and the beggar ate his bread by the light of several votive candles, saving only a scrap. He slipped out of the Cathedral only after he had left a little of himself smeared on the seat of the Pontiff. ~~~ A speck on the horizon drew nearer the city, quickly joined by many more as it reached the city's outer limits: a great flock of messenger pigeons flew constantly to and fro, both from within and from without Arks Landing. Many of the pigeons were of noble stock, bred not only for their accuracy, but also for their appearance. Not this pigeon from afar, though. It was as mottled as could be, with some bald patches here and there, and half the toes on its right foot missing. Still, it flew stronger and further than most, and it carried messages all the same. It knew where it was going, too, as it flew past the delightful smells of the city's richer quarters, something stronger than its meager instincts calling it, straight towards the heart of the Slums. ~~~ Another man, obviously stately even beneath the voluminous folds of his ancient grey robes, walked with confidence through the Slums of Arks Landing, his face hidden beneath the deep cowls of his robes. These were his people. This was his kingdom. If only it extended beyond the Slums. None of the news was good for the poor and weak of Sevvran: those able-bodied among them who hadn't been shepherded off to war found their infrequent wages severely curtailed by increased taxes. Alms became fewer and fewer as those with money locked their coffers and purses tight, wary of the long, hard times to come. Under the stewardship of Lady Beatrice, the militia's incursions into the slums had become more frequent and more violent, claiming seditious behavior, nefarious rumors and public health and safety issues as the cause. They hadn't penetrated to the very heart of the Slums yet, though, nor would they ever, for its labyrinthine reaches provided too big an obstacle for even the Wolf of Sevvran to face. Here, peace and order reigned through his Will and his Will alone. The little girl approached him as he drew near what he mockingly called his throne room: a three-legged stool which he had placed in one of the few paved and open spaces in the Slums. She knelt, held out the papers she had gathered for him. He ruffled her hair, his fingers brushing unworriedly past the pustules on her face. Human diseases did not bother him. They confirmed his suspicions: the Red Vale was rumbling. From one of the many hidden pockets of his robes, he produced a honeyed sweet and gave it to the little girl, sending her off back into the streets. From the shadows, many more approached to show their respects. Some brought tidings, some brought small offerings, often just scraps of bread the beggars saved for him from the daily Breadgivings. These he stored in a small woven hamper. He dispensed advice, wisdom and some orders, too. To the needy, he redistributed the coins he had himself received from the luckier inhabitants of the Slums, to the children, he gave sweets. He gave them purpose, he gave them worth. If only they knew. On and on it went, until it came time for him to check up on those denizens from which he took his name: his pigeons. Picking up the hamper, he bowed his head to the flock that yet remained. From the throne room, he ascended to the higher part of the slums through various hovels that had been stacked one on top of the other, until he found himself in his tower: a raised platform occupied by many haphazard coops. The sound of cooing was loud in the air, these birds knew him, they knew him well. From his hamper, he fed them the scraps of bread he had received this day. As they fed, he checked upon the new arrivals. Messages from all over Sevvran found their way here, sometimes stolen, sometimes copied, but often just sent to him, for he had many friends, and he knew many secrets. It was astounding what a Will as strong as his could achieve. People were weak. Yet an army of weaklings could be a powerful tool, for a Will as strong as his. He would rise on their tide, just as he had planned so many years ago. Failing that, at least he wouldn't go hungry. +4 - Illithid Psionic - Hiding beneath the hood of those ancient grey robes is a head that sprouts tentacles as manifold as the minds the Prince controls. The Prince of Pigeons --a name mostly chosen for its mystique and mass appeal-- is a powerful specimen of the most reviled race of Illithids. Sent to keep an eye on the affairs of the capital of Sevvran, the Prince's ambitions quickly got the better of him, and he established himself as a seemingly benevolent ruler of the poor and dispossed of Sevvran. His actual intentions are far more sinister: to gain the Throne of Sevvran and to make the nation very hospitable to his brethren --after they submit to him, of course. +4 - Prince of Pigeons - It wasn't all tentacles and psionics that got the Prince where he is today. Over the years, the Prince has managed to establish a network of informants and spies throughout Sevvran, who communicate with him by pigeon. The pigeons are of course heavily indoctrinated, but many of his agents are motivated either by self-preservation, greed, self-righteousness or plain old boredom, not so much by the whisperings of an aberrant mind. -2 - Keeping up Appearances - The Prince of Pigeons is not who --or what-- he seems. While his current goals align quite well with the persona he's created for himself, he might well find himself undertaking ventures that are not necessarily beneficial for his constituency, or in line with his stated agenda of social change. Though he might be able to persuade his followers of his good intentions when the masks slips once or twice, working against the interests of the poor too often might well erode his power-base, and expose him to scrutiny that might not be quite beneficial. The Slums of Arks Landing  The Slums of Arks Landing are famed for many things, their size not least among them. Lapping at the edges of the city proper like a fetid brown wave of ramshackle huts, stacked one atop the other, they always seem to threaten the city with an outpouring of diseases, fires and rebellions. To many, the Slums are an unwelcome, if unavoidable, part of the city: best avoided, unless travelling through them on the way to yet another place. But to its inhabitants, and to those true connoisseurs of this urban phenomenon, the Slums offer many things: community, shelter, opportunity. Having been built on the remnants of the old iron mines of Arks Landing, long since depleted, the Slums reach deep into the earth, incorporating tunnels and caverns into its labyrinth of dwellings, hovels, shops of all sorts, and confraternities of mutual support. One could get lost there easily, either intentionally or by accident, but one can also find there much of what is deemed too illicit or too dangerous for the civilized world. Truly, one of the Slums' greatest attractions is its Black Market, literally black, as its held within those tunnels and caverns that once contained coal besides the more desirable iron ore. +2 - Labyrinthine - The Slums consist of a vast network of hovels, streets, alleys, tunnels, caverns, and haphazard buildings stacked and leaning upon each other in seemingly random, haphazard ways. This quality has proven the Slums' greatest defense against outside incursions: streets can change from one day to the next, and there's always a hiding hole to be found. Incursions both by the city's militia and by preachers of the Church have proven futile. Entire squadrons of guards have been swallowed by the vast labyrinth, never to be seen again, and those few preachers that could stand the stench, quickly lost track of where their churches and flocks were actually located, sometimes having to pray, but most often just pay, their way out the Slums. +2 - Black Market - Deep within a long depleted coal mine, Arks Landing's Black Market is located. Supported by several dens of iniquity, thieves and smugglers, the Black Market offers both mundane and arcane wares that are often restricted or entirely illegal within the Kingdom of Sevvran, but can nevertheless be found in abundance here. The Black Market is an open secret: many have riled against it, but none have managed to overcome it, for gathering both the forces necessary to disperse it, and then to maintain its dispersement has proven hard, impossible even. Plus, some of its profits undoubtedly find their way into the hands of some of the Kingdom's bureaucrats, who might then feel obliged to turn a blind eye to its existence. -2 - Volatile - The Slums play host to a great multitude of peoples, from many races, descents, and nations. All these people bring with them their gripes, their customs and their diseases. Hence, the Slums are a breeding place of pestilence, of discontent, and also of urban fires, for its hovels are not what one would call fireproof. It takes but a little to ignite the powder-keg that is the Slums, and once ignited, there's no telling what it might belch forth. Edit: I have PMs Cambrinus fucked around with this message at 20:21 on Jul 9, 2016 |
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Jul 6, 2016 05:54
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The characters are looking great indeed. I have just completed my entry with a description of the Slums.
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Jul 6, 2016 20:20
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Yami Fenrir posted:The Prince of Pigeons It was great fun writing the app, so thanks, I'm happy you enjoyed it! I was worried about this for a bit, and though I intend to do a lot of things by proxy, it might indeed be a little too restrictive. I had been thinking about the following flaw instead as I was writing the app. It's quite similar, but it might be a little less restrictive: -2 - Keeping up Appearances - The Prince of Pigeons is not who --or what-- he seems. While his current goals align quite well with the persona he's created for himself, he might well find himself undertaking ventures that are not necessarily beneficial for his constituency, or in line with his stated agenda of social change. Though he might be able to persuade his followers of his good intentions when the masks slips once or twice, working against the interests of the poor too often might well erode his power-base, and expose him to scrutiny that might not be quite beneficial.
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Jul 7, 2016 03:27
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I'm personally plumping for: A Game of Goons, or, A Song of Vice and Liars (even despite GoT references going over Yami's head). If this was a Brian Jacques inspired game, we could go with a Song of Mice and Friars, but alas.
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Jul 8, 2016 18:56
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The Opinions of a Mindflayer Dragons? Dragons are intelligent, yet oddly instinctive beings. They are predictable in the most volatile of ways. Glaumdrang Wealth-Checker is odd in that he's managed to harness his short term greed in order to increase his wealth in the long run, which shows discipline, restraint. Rare things in a dragon. Glaumdrang is the exception to the rule exemplified by Prince Orignoxfes, perhaps the most self-indulgent dragon still left alive within Sevvran. I'd rather deal with the latter, for a self-indulgent mind has many cracks, where a calculating one just has turning cogs for my tentacles to get stuck in. Speaking of winged things, Kiris-Or is more like a gnat than a bird. Still, he knows too much, delves too deep. His regard for the lives of lesser beings is regrettable. Information is so much more powerful when it is not bound by fickle morality. His compassion makes him weak, and weak wills break. Soon, I will add him to my rookery. Perhaps after I've become a breaker of birds, I will try my tentacles at horses? Their Beylerbeyi Jalaludin I haven't heard of until recently, but the fame of his horde is well-known. I once tasted the brain of one of the outcasts from the Massif Steppes. It tasted unrefined, but with a feisty kick to it; unfortunately I was left with the taste of horse in my mouth for far too long after. Still, if I could harness or steer this horde, it might help draw attention away from me. Thankfully, the Kingdom's officials seem to be otherwise occupied. As long as I keep the Slums orderly, Lord Commander Von Voss will stay out of my business. I'm sure we'll run afoul of one another at some point, but maybe by then I will have him convinced that we ought to be friends, he and I; we both serve the people, don't we? Same goes for that thief turned tax-collector, Amerigo Hieronymus: there's no squeezing blood from a turnip, so he's mostly left the Slums alone. The man is renowned for his audacity, but also for his abundance of spirit. As long as I don't paint too large a target on my back, he will likely seek other, more challenging opportunities to prove his mettle. Verenas of Talrimas is the last of the Kingdom's powerful to make his presence known. Not a humble man, I hear, though fiercely loyal for now. With most of the military abroad, his power is more ceremonial than actual, especially with De Wulfe at the helm. I have naught of what he seeks, so for now, I will merely keep an eye on him. I suppose we must talk of the rebels, too, mhm? Lord Niloufar is an intriguing man, and his is an intriguing province. There rests a taint upon the brains of the people that come from his Duchy, a taint not quite of this world. It smacks of desperation, with a side of the Fel. His love for his people would make him a natural ally: we both represent the oppressed, the abandoned. His conviction, however, might make him a hard man to fool. The same could be said of "King" Kurt Hissin. My brethren have long since sought to explain the natural gifts of his lineage, for it matches our own in power, if not in subtlety or training. Human minds are too weak, too unaccustomed to such power. A man so tenaciously holding to his birthright, despite the seeming hopelessness of the situation, has a strong will. Whether fueled by anger or desperation, a will such as his might be hard to control. A rebel of a different sort is Petra Asfaran, the Wolf's Pup. Hers is not a politically, but personally inspired rebellion it would seem. Whomever so scorned can be a useful pawn, likely she'll be trapped in all sorts of machinations before the month is out. If some of those machinations are mine, all the better. Last, but certainly not the least of the rebels, we must discuss the High Sorceress Lavelle Ingernassa. Her power is great, even despite Sevvran's restrictions on the use of magic. No matter how much the simple-minded might try, magic always seeps through the cracks of mundane legislation and it empowers the meek and the bold alike. She is certainly bold, but also vengeful. I care not about her magic use, we all use the tools at our disposal, but she is a sharp knife best pointed at another. Another mage, has presented himself in the unstable political environs left by our dear King. That dangerous man, Artur "The Sculptor" Regios. Dangerous, for a man solely driven by discontent, vengeance, and a lust for forbidden power, is a man with little left to lose. Nevertheless, his particular talents could complement my own quite well, and his dislike of both state and chuch might well work to my benefit. Perhaps I'll have to send him some poor wretches for his experimentations, but that's a fair price to pay for his allegiance. I could do much much, much worse for an ally: Amporus walks the land again, and none are safe from his corruption. Best keep this man away from my dominion. There's only room for one monster in the Slums. There's also the various religious powers in the realm. Pope Sahalnir XI is a formidable man, with a zeal that has managed to ward off my cursory probings into his business. His war with the Gray Wolf is a boon to my cause, however, and his growing unpopularity, as well as his pandering to royal demands in regard to dogma, make him a perfect strawman for my movement. Who knows, perhaps I will be able to find someone of more popular piety to back as his inevitable successor? Maybe one of the two wandering prophetesses will suffice? The Windspeaker and Samarah Ka Qismah intrigue me, as do all who claim to hear voices or spirits. Their brains tend to be open to manipulation by more earthly powers as well, and their zeal and faith will certainly cause instability in the church, instability I might well exploit. Both are marked as heretics, however, but only one has a potential powerbase to back it up. The Red Vale, always a hotspot for religious sedition, might well become much less peripheral to Sevvran in the days to come. But I am more intrigued by this unbound Windspeaker for now: a lone girl, in a big and dangerous kingdom, hunted by the Church? The Slums would make an excellent place for her to hide, as well as for her to raise her profile. Her words would be assured many winds and wings to carry them forward swiftly --if perhaps a little censored, of course. Unfettered by political bonds, she could well be easily harnessed to my cause, but I am wary of overplaying my hand too soon. Piss off either the Gray Wolf or the Pope, and I may well get away with it, for the two seem too busy fighting amongst each other. But harboring a known and hunted heretic, this brings attention I don't quite crave just now. If only I knew more of her actual goals, then perhaps I would better know how to fit her into my schemes. If she's not the right fit, I may well have to become religious myself... Much hangs on the actions of the Court, perhaps the only place more chaotic and treacherous than the Slums themselves. Lady Beatrice de Wulfe is a godsent. She is as fearsome a warrior as she is inept a ruler. This makes it hard for anyone to overthrow her by force, but allows many intrigues to grow and fester unchecked. Leopold IV sure did the ambitious of his realm a favor leaving her in charge: I sure reap the fruits of the seeds of discontent that she continues to sow. One of these seeds might well be Leona Sevvran. One such as her will undoubtedly come to chafe under the overbearing presence of De Wulfe, and her hedonist nature, when indulged, will infuriate those that suffer the most under the wartime regime: the poor, the deprived, the overburdened. Whatever happens at court, it will only play into my hand, I'm sure. Finally, there are quite a few wild cards in play. Sasha Snowdrake is pretty far from my concerns at the moment: Ogre brains taste like the burnt rock that nourished them to life, not a taste I particularly relish. They're also notoriously hard to control with anything but gold, and even then, they're annoyingly prone to wrecking your plans alongside your enemies. May she find employ far, far away from me. Same goes for Marvelous Magnus's Magic Sword. No brain to speak of, only an animated will gone awry. What use have I for a gladiator? My people are too poor for bloodsport, too averse to magic to appreciate the charm of this thing. Nonetheless, I find it an entertaining phenomenon and look forward to the day when it's set free from the Colosseum. The same can not be said for Lucius. If only this extraordinary assassin had remained chained to the royal will, at least then you'd know who you'd have to piss to draw his attention. I have neither the coin, nor the desire to hire him --I prefer my brains fresh, thank you very much-- but if I could know more of his motives, perhaps I could keep him from coming my way. He's almost as inscrutable as Ludwig of Urios, a man that lives up to his name. I have no business with the Snake, but he's definitely a player, a man to keep at the back of your mind, and in front of your face. Never turn your back on either an assassin or a snake, is what ancient wisdom advises. Which brings me to Thanda. Too many have turned their back on him, think that his will is broken, his knee still bent. Never leave a half-tame dog alone with your children --how many useless old sage brains have I eaten this past month?--. Perhaps he'll do some of my hard work for me. There's also rumor that the Order Resplendent is stirring under the leadership of one Sudden Clarity. Clarity, among religious zealots, I hardly think so. Their minds are clouded by vague beliefs, their actions restrained by ancient rules. Legendary warriors though they might be, I don't think they'll be much of an issue for the foreseeable future; let them play catch-up to the times first. Finally, there's whispers that the Elves --oh, how bitter-sweet are their cranial contents-- have regained a Queen of Old: Anathema. I place little stock in old-wives' tales and the unreliable histories of men, so much less accurate than the collective memory of my people. Perhaps they've just conjured up her name in this day and age to bolster their own movement, perhaps she's actually here. If she is, she will make a fearsome foe, or a powerful ally. It all depends on where her sympathies lie. This grew and grew as more posts popped up, but I hope I've managed to get it up to date with the thread. I will edit my Flaw into my app!
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Jul 9, 2016 20:21
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| # ¿ Apr 29, 2024 09:43 |
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The Opinions of a Mindflayer cont'd Sitting among his pigeon coops, the Prince softly lectures his pigeons on the developing intrigues of the nation --they were just as likely to understand as the inhabitants of the Slums. "Ah, many more of you have come of late, bearing many new tidings. When the cat's away, the mice will play, it seems. The Inquisition has crept out of their little hidey-hole, led by Grand Inquisitor Karl Vondevan and is stirring up trouble. For now, the Slums remain impenetrable to his reach, for no overt enough heresies have sprouted here to warrant his attention. No one cares about old Menocchio's simile of the cheese and the worms, least of all the Grand Inquisitor. Still, if a bread trail could lead the Grand Inquisitor elsewhere, that would be beneficial to my cause. Mice blinded by hunger will pursue any food, no matter if it's poisoned, or leads them into to a trap." The Prince makes a disturbing gurgling sound, which passes for a guffaw among the Illithid. "Then there's news of a new crime boss in Brion, one Octavia 'Juice' Jagerpfaltz. Some of her brews have made it to the Slums through the Black Market, and they're like spices for the brain, quite intriguing. From what I've heard of her she's a bit of a brute, who hasn't quite fit into her new position all that well. If she manages to climb to the top of Brion, she'd be someone to work with. Up until then, no real concern of mine." He tugs away the message with her name on it into one of the deepest pockets of his robes --this is where he stored things of potential future importance. The pigeons cooed, expecting more food, but he silenced them with a mental glare. "Don't get greedy now. All in it's time. All in it's time." The Prince picks up another minute scroll, the handwriting barely legible. "Ugh, Kobolds. Their brains are barely big enough to serve as appetizers, and it belies their overall intelligence. That Kezak had been their former leader only belabors the point. Still, there's rumors that part of the reason why the iron mines were shut down when they were, is that they'd almost delved into the subterranean city of Ghaaz, so the Kobolds might well be easily contacted and cowed. Their kind naturally fears mine. Their recent acquisition of this many explosives makes me a little hesitant to venture out personally, and I abhor the use of black powder, so I see no need to trade with them. It's so messy. Even if a scrambled brain is nice every now and then, I don't want to have to scrape my meals off the tunnel walls." "Speaking of aberrant feeding methods," the Prince grabs up the final scroll, this one written in the strange, archaic handwriting common to Mistfall, "Valas the Last has risen from hiding to claim her piece of the bloody pie." Another disturbing gurgle. "I've lost count how many kings and queens we're up to now. Just enough, I reckon." The pigeons cooed in agreement. "De Wulfe's armies will be spread dangerously thin quelling all these rebellions, leaving the capital only sparsely guarded. There's no danger here. I should send this Valas a messenger to thank her and to encourage her to do all she can to free her poor provincials from the oppression of Sevvran. I doubt she drinks pigeon blood, though who knows what she must have endured in hiding for so long..." That being said, the Prince rises from where he was sitting and quickly checks the position of his hood and shawl in the small hand-mirror he always had on him. "Time to get out of hiding myself."
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Jul 11, 2016 22:26
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