Merril Background

A character background, for an online game I'm playing, and in a sense a rip-off of a character another person I know was playing in the game I used to run. It's a Elven druid, and interesting controller/striker class.

Originally, the character was meant to be a sort of Snafu-clone from The Pacific, but I've been playing it more like Sledge (i.e. tired Marine vs. cynical Marine, though by the end Sledge has plenty of both).

It was that smell and the sound. That combination of cloying sweetness that failed to mask the stench of putrid flesh. The buzzing of a thousand flies as they feasted on their bounty. In the end, goblin or elf, they all smelled the same.

"Another village destroyed," muttered hunter Selyse, kneeling at the edge of the clearing. There was evidence of the fires, set to the trees and dwellings of the elves who once lived here, cruelly put out by the rainstorms two days hence. Now, rather than having their ashes scattered to the winds so their spirits could rejoin the cycle of life, they rotted in the mud, part of a far more earthly cycle. "This was a raid in force. The Blackspears are getting bolder."

Without saying much else, we left the clearing, a spiritual dark cloud hanging over us to mirror that which roiled in the skies above. Inside me, I seethed with impotent rage. I had wanted to avenge my fallen kin. I had wanted to at least burn their mortal shells, lest they be defiled even further by the ravages of nature and time. Yet Selyse had spoken from wisdom and experience. We were exposed here. The massacre was still fresh, a few days old, and we were two-week's travel from the nearest Refuge. To have stayed, even to honor our dead, would have been folly. I wondered quietly why the goblins had not taken their victims for their cook-pots. We left in silence and returned to our 6-week ranging.

Four days later, Selyse came to me.

"Your first ranging?"

I nodded numbly, unsure of how to respond.

"It gets easier," she said. "The killing."

She sighed, that stony facade crumbling for an instant, only to return a moment later. "It's the hate that makes it easier. It's kindling for the fight, kindling for your rage. It's something you keep inside of you, a tool to use. You got your first taste at that village. It made that ambush all the more...satisfying."

I stared down at my hands. They began to tremble, and in my mind I saw stains of black goblin blood. I barely remembered my first fight, just that the desire to kill, the desire to avengy my fallen kin, burned so fiercely in me. The burned village, the awful white corpses feathered with black war shafts. As I let that Primal beast consume me, I remember savoring the hot, foul taste of goblin blood as I tore our throat after throat. I remember the fear in their inhuman eyes as I pounced on them, claws slashing. I remember standing in their stinking viscera, glorying in the bloodshed and basking the the light of justice.

Afterwards I retched in shock and shame.

Selyse took my hands in hers. I looked into her face. She didn't smile reassuringly. Nor did she look upon me with concern. Instead, there was a dull, tired look in her eyes. The war takes it's toll on everyone, it seems.

"You'll hate yourself for it. You hate that the faces of the dead, the faces of your friends, etched so painfully in your mind now, will begin to fade. Each fallen comrade, each innocent villager, will just be another unfortunate victim. Sad, but irrelevant to the moment except to fuel that fire in you. War makes the devil of all of us, and if we survive, we have many many years of anguish to look forward to until we find some peace. Not all of us do."

She held me to her chest that day as I shivered uncontrollably. Selyse was a mere 5 seasons older than me, yet it seemed that the gulf between us could be measured in centuries. How I envied her stoicism, her seeming indifference to the death and killing. Three days later, a black arrow took her in the throat and she died with that same tired look in her eyes.

I survived my first ranging, and as I participated in more over the next year, I learned. I learned to use the forest to my advantage. It is our home, after all, and the goblins are the invaders. I learned how to stalk my prey from the shadows, how to kill silently, how to pick off one goblin at a time.

And I saw comrades die, saw elves who followed me on raids fall to black shafts and cruel, hooked blades. When I returned from my 6th ranging, my mother cried out in sadness at the sight of me. I stood at first in confusion, before finding a wash basin to look into. I couldn't see what had so unnerved my mother.

Loremaster Felden summoned me some time later. The war, I had heard, was proceeding smoothly. We were still taking casualties, to be sure. But it seemed as if the goblin's initial surge had subsided. Now, for every one of my comrades that fell, 10 or more of the goblin would fall. There were few tales of massacred villages now; those remote refuges had wisely been abandoned for the safety of the larger tree-towns. So I was a little perplexed by the Loremaster's words.

"I would like you to venture from our forests, Merrill."

I nodded dumbly. What else could I do?

"The raids have died down, but I have my doubts that we near the end." He stood, circling the chambers, with their shelves of countless manuscripts and parchments. The scent of dust and brittle papyrus floated in the air. "I am not alone in this. The Council has felt something...darker...pulling at the strings for some time."

He returned to sit in front of me, unrolling an brown scroll, placing it on the table between us and weighing it down with polished stones.

"There," he said, his wizened finger pointing at the map. "I would like you to travel there, to begin with. To Nentir Vale. A sojourn beyond the Forest will help your spirit as much as it will help the Council uncover this mystery. There is much to learn in the human lands, things which you cannot learn here."

I started to protest, but the Loremaster waved his hands, quieting me. "You will come back to us, far stronger. I know you are loathe to leave your comrades here. But your inquiries outside the forest will contribute far more to our plight than your rangings in the forest. Killing every goblin that comes into our forest is a fruitless task if ten thousand more stand ready to replace them. You must find out if we are victorious, or if we are indeed entering some new phase. You must find the dark hand that pulls the strings."

Any objections I had were quickly put to rest. I could see the wisdom in his words, even as I doubted I was worthy of the task.

Before I left the Loremaster had one piece of advice. "Be wary in human cities. Deception and trickery are the stock and trade of many, and they will flock to your ignorance as insects to a moonglobe."

What would the world beyond the Forest bring? What sights would I see? Who would I meet? My heart was filled with trepidation,

Thoughts on the Anuirean Military

It's interesting what you can find lying around in old thumb-drive. It almost makes me want to write seriously. Sadly, I lack the focus or concentration to write anything other than short bursts of drivel.

What we have here is yet another dabble at chronicling Anuire and our Birthright game. I believe I wrote this while in the jury pool, waiting to be called up. In retrospect, I suppose I was still flush with recent events that had befallen our virtual state, and as such the names have, at least to me, a more authoritative impact.

As written, this is meant to be a work of non-fiction written by a fictitious character. It is, as well, meant to be evocative of the kind of report written by, say an officer writing a thesis paper. However, unlike most modern scholarship, the writing presented here is almost deliberately sycophantic. Perhaps not without reason, as the Vandeil character is somewhat of a cult of personality-type leader.

The part presented here, the whole of what I had written, is the start of an essay describing recent innovations in the military system adopted/created by the New Empire.

Progression of the Anuirean Military Structure
Since Reunification

Keiren Steele
Lord Commander of the Anuirean Army

For a thousand years, war has remained essentially the same in the Anuirean Empire. Massive battles, while not common, were still fought by companies of men—archers, foot, skirmishers, heavy infantry, cavalry and knights, artillery, sappers, and wizards—small groups of tactically disseparate men, each commanded by its own structure of officers, nobles, and landed gentry. Ultimate command was reserved for the member of nobility who fielded the greatest number of men, or by a lord appointed by his liege. While such a structure suited the fragmentary nature of battle prior to the Reunification, the integration and centralisation of all military command under the Ministry of Defence has lead to a progression in military structure, in both organisation and leadership.

Many of these changes are Mieren in origin, and were developed in response the rapidly emerging role of Mieres in Anuirean politics. The First Citizen of Mieres had, at the time, recognised that the bitter rivalries that could develop between leaders of soldiers could spell disaster for the outcome of a battle. At first, this problem could be alleviated by simply taking command personally, as Vandiel had done on numerous occasions. Yet as the size and scope of the Mieren Army, Navy and merchant marine fleet, and finally Mieren Guard increased, as commitment to the Khinasi Campaign and the Anuirean continent increased, Vandiel could no longer personally take command of the forces. It became obvious that some new system of command would need to be devised.

To this end, Vandiel created both the Mieren War College and the Meiren Naval Academy. Both were intensely personal projects for the First Citizen, who had until very recently been the long-standing (489 years) commander of the Free Lancers of Tuar, a company of Elven knights hailing from Tuarhievel. Vandiel opened both schools to Mieren citizens of all social status. Needless to say, this caused much outcry from the nobility, yet the First Citizen made clear that this was not an endeavour to award the rich second sons of Mieres easy posting in military command. Advancement would be awarded to men of quality, and all officers, regardless of personal wealth, would draw the same pay from the quartermaster in accordance to their rank. While officers need not renounce their landed titles, should they possess them, rank in society no longer guaranteed rank in the army. Such meritocratising of a military was unheard of, and as a result the first flood of students came from the middle class of citizenry.

Yet no one can train a General, or a Colonel, or even a Captain. All the graduates of the first classes from both College and Academy were commissioned by the Mieren government as Lieutenants and Ensigns respectively. The rest of the command structure was appointed personally by the First Citizen and the Mieren Cabinet, from the officers, captains, and commanders who had proven themselves in quality and loyalty to Mieres.

Yet even at this point, while command had been centralised, and Mieren units were mustered according to a standard structure, the units that were mustered were in spirit no different from those that had been mustered (and disbanded as needed) before them. True changes in this system would begin to emerge with the introduction of the first Guard companies in Mieres.

Again, Vandiel was at the forefront of this initiative, personally supervising the creation of this fledgling military service. Initially, it was an effort to prevent a repeating of the disaster that struck the Mieren province of Ghaele, where an incursion of the Shadow World caused the dead to rise and attack the citizenry. At the time, there were no Mieren units nearby to combat the undead, and as a result many of Ghaele’s folk were slaughtered. Intending to see that such a tragedy could never again happen, Vandiel set about implementing Guard companies.

In size and structure, these Guard companies were no different from a regular army company. What differed was that after initial mustering and training, Guard companies were deactivated until need caused them to be reactivated. Weapons were stored in centralised armouries, and mustering grounds and marching routes established to ensure speedy formation of the company. Initial enthusiasm for this new system was high, as there were many taxation breaks for families who could contribute sons to these new companies (indeed, tax breaks had already been established for those with sons or husbands already serving in the regular army), and for towns which could provide mustering grounds and armouries. Those already serving in the army also took heart to this arrangement, as they could now fight unfettered by worry for their loved ones at home when abroad. Authorisation to activate Guard companies was granted to the Governors of the provinces, by any member of the Mieren Cabinet, and of course by order of the First Citizen. For the Governors of the provinces, many from nobles houses shattered in the conflicts that ravaged Anuire before Reunification was complete, this was a gladly accepted authority, symbolising an entrustment of responsibility which began to foster a sense of Mieren pride. The stability and peace of Mieres, coupled with the initiatives undertaken by the Mieren government would give rise to a growing sense of national identity.

This national identity would be further strengthened by the professionalizing of the Mieren military. Whereas Anuirean tradition had seen wealthy (or at times not so wealthy) noble lords raise their armies from their own treasuries, the centralisation of command meant that such a system could no longer work in Mieres. While the practice of maintaining a standing army was by no means a new one, no realm had deliberately set aside a portion of its treasury for the maintenance, development, and growth of their army. No longer was the army a tool reserved for use in times of crisis or war, to be discarded once the crisis had been averted, nor was it simply a home for criminals or freeloaders or noble sons with no land titles. By introducing strict training standards and codifying tactics, by implementing uniform military regulations and punishment, by regulating and furnishing the weapons, armour, and tools necessary for a soldiers to perform his duty, and most importantly by establishing a non-commissioned rank structure (with accompanying pay scale), for the first time since the days of the Rhoeles the army became a viable profession for even the most common of citizens. For the first time, a citizen of the meanest birth could rise through the ranks of the military, and help contribute to his family at home. Many recognised that such a system could never have happened in the days when Mieres was simply a pirate haven; it was a system tied to the success and stability of Mieren policy.

With the Reunification of the Anuirean Empire, further changes would be necessary in the structure of military command. While the fundamental system had proven its worth in the years leading up to Reunification, the Avanil-Mieres Alliance would reveal new challenges in the coordination of both armies. While much of the fighting in Anuire proper had died down, the realms of old had disintegrated into ruin and chaos. The encroaching Elven forests had defeated the goblin hordes that had assembled for pillage and conquest of the northern lands, and the routed beastmen fled into Avanil. While Avanese forces, aided by Mieren troops proved equal to the task of mopping them up, initial response was sluggish. Despite a policy of joint command authority, both Avanese and Mieren forces suffered from problems relating to command, with questions of validity of orders rife on both sides. Mieren units did not at times recognise Avanese authority (they had been for the duration of stabilisation efforts placed under the command of Avanese Baron-General Bertram Davonelle), and several smaller incidents resulted in the execution of Mieren troops under charges of insubordination and mutiny.

These difficulties served to outline future problems that would plague a unified Anuirean military if steps were not taken to solve them.

Character Sketch #2: The Duchess

Arch-Duchess Serah Avan-ad'Hemar
No one would call the Duchess timid, for she once stood faced down her then rival (now husband) Vandeil ad'Hemar across the bargaining table during the Avano-Mieren cold war. Her support and subsequent marriage has given her control of the largest part of the Anuirean Empire, the Arch-Duchy of Avanil-Mieres. She rules with the wisdom and intellect that guided her through the tumultuous days following the death of her father. A convert to Vandeil's governmental reforms, she has come to a certain peace with her role behind the desk, for she now possesses much more power than she could have ever dreamed. Her marriage is unique for a royal one in that it is based not only on power and practicality, but true love, devotion, and dedication. She finds in Vandeil someone who matches her desire to govern in a manner that benefits their subjects and curbs the excesses of nobility. Her chief concern remains the welfare of the people, and her efforts have gained her an almost fanatical following, particularly amongst the Avanese. As chief-spymaster, she also has an unprecedented amount of power in her hands, a fact that she herself regards with a healthy amount of fear.

(Author's Note: This character developed as an NPC in the BR game we ran. While her marriage and relationship with the character played by me, Vandeil, is canon, it's important to note that initially, it was a marriage of convenience and a may of consolidating power. This is where the relationship effectively ended, as the marriage itself became a non-issue with regards to game-play. Her cooperation, which did serve to benefit her Realm, was taken to mean that their relationship was indeed a good one. The relationship was subsequently expanded on in discussions and idea-hashing with my friends as we planned future campaigns. I imagined, as much of my BR "career" ended up democratizing the ever expanding Mieres, that Vandeil and Serah were essentially the President and First Lady. The addition of Serah as effectively the head of a sort of CIA/NSA super-spy organization with intentional Stasi over-tones was and is designed to add moral conflict.)

Character Sketch #1: Meryl Fairweather

My recent analysis of Brendon Weeks' series has made me interested in the more technical aspects of writing. Stylistic choices, description of combat, narrative points of views, and other such devices noted as I was reading carried over to my new book, Matter, written by Iain Banks, who is in a completely different class than Weeks. I notice foremost that while Weeks uses a more neutral POV for his narrative, Banks narratives are driven essentially by the characters currently in that scene.

For example, regardless of who was in a particular scene, Weeks uses the same language and style to describe a scene, independent of the characters involved. In other words, the narrative is a device that describes Weeks' own voice, and as such is separate from the characters.

Banks however uses a more integrated approach. If a character is sort of flighty, then the narrative reflects that. If a character is more cynical, then the language shifts to incorporate that. Thus the narrative is a tool used by the author to explain how the character perceives the world around them.

I'm probably being unfair, but that's the major impression I got shifting from Weeks to Banks. So as such, I want to try to emulate the second of these narrative approaches. I've never really tried to write before in any serious capacity, so I've decided to give my hand a go at it during the next few weeks, while I'm relatively free at work.

The story will take place in the Birthright world, and will be a sort of techno-thriller. In an attempt to get inside the heads of the characters, I will spend the remainder of this week writing character sketches of the main actors for now. The character sketches will be intentionally short, designed to explain the character in a paragraph. However, I make no such claims about the author notes.

Meryl Fairweather
No-nonsense, serious to the point of being dour, and suspicious of almost everything, the main character of this story is a Rose of Avanil, an organization which can be termed as the Intelligence arm of the Anurean Empire. She has a tendency to analyze things, theorizing motives in peoples' responses. She speaks in short sentences, carefully guarding her words and giving out information only on a need-to-know basis. She works best alone or in small groups where her and everyone's roles are clearly defined, and she is not afraid to use the fact that she is a Halfling as a tactical advantage. Skilled with short-blades, daggers, knives, bows, crossbows, and poisons, she is dangerous because she is a believer.

(Author's Notes: I'm not yet sure which way I will take this character. On one hand, this character is logically similar to The Operative from Joss Whedon's Serenity. Yet that character is the film's antagonist, and seems unsuited to be used as a model for the protagonist of this story. So I am tempted to include a sense of morality, at odds with the blind and dangerous ultra-patriotism that Meryl exhibits. Indeed, we might justify the inclusion of morals as a point of conflict, as Meryl's dual idealisms are challenged by some sort of event which is morally despicable but vital to national policy [or what have you].)

SF Story

That's Special Forces. Not sure what else to call it, but it proves two things: 1) I am still unhealthily interested in America's fighting men and women, and 2) I am still unhealthily interested in my Birthright game from yesteryear. So the obvious step was to combine these.

That said, back in the day when we were still playing, it had always been my intention to create some modern/near-future version of that world. Not only as an interesting thought exercise along the lines of societal development in a fantasy setting, but as a possible game world to explore "alternate" realities to our own world.

I wrote this some time ago. I suspect somewhere at the beginning of summer this year. If you can see the parallelisms with our own world's modern history, good call. They're intentional.

23:30GMT
August 12, 2025
In the desert east of Diktari
Zikala

Rashad abn Massaui pulled slowly on his cigarette, savouring the heady rush he felt. It was rare that he smoked, and when he did it was always to alleviate the growing dull ache he felt building over his right eye and in his sinuses. It would rain tonight, a rare occurrence in dry Zikala, and the headache was an indicator. The change in air pressure affecting his sinuses? He was never sure if there was some sort of physical reason behind the headaches he would feel in the preceding hours of rainy weather. He had never followed up on that line of inquiry. Besides, doing so would take away from the mystique of his prescience. Afterall, he might in fact have derived his blood from one of the ancient Bloodlines.

‘Avani, no doubt,’ thought Rashad, though there were certainly aspects of the Great Azrai in his life. Rashad was above all a practical man. A dealer in weapons to a great many terrorists, insurgents, or freedom fighters depending on who you asked, he had no silly notions of Avani’s Embrace so sought after by the martyrs of the Order Pragmatic. It was money that controlled the fates of the world, not some intangible goddess or the vain dogma spouted by her fanatical adherents.

Still, those fanatics had money, and so he would make the appropriate movements, say the appropriate words, to appease their sense of righteousness when they finally arrived tonight. Yes, there was no doubt he would be going to hell to dine with Azrai when he left this world. It was a reassuring feeling.

Sir, Station 1 reports a convoy of vehicles incoming. It is time.” Rashad turned to nod to the large man who had addressed him, holstering the pistol he offered. Andrei was a massively built and ugly as a mule. A Vos from the deep south, where the blood of the ancient Northsea raiders mixed with that of the Eastern Kingdoms, Andrei’s almond-shaped eyes peered out from a mask of scars earned in the Adai’insalan War.

"Very good Andrei. Tell the guards to keep one eye turned back towards the camps. Escort our guests to the tent. I will be waiting.” Andrei nodded as Rashad turned away.

Very soon, the dull rumble of the diesel trucks stopped outside Rashad’s tent. With a last, quick sharp breath, Rashad stepped out, arms held wide as a sign of peace.

“Brothers!” he shouted. “Welcome!”

The men who dismounted from the trucks were a ragged bunch, dressed in an assortment of mismatched robes, turquas, and old Vos tactical gear. All sported long beards, and each man was armed with the ubiquitous AK-47. A few carried vintage Brecht-style potato masher grenades. Rashad doubted they worked reliably.

Their leader, the only man not visibly armed, came forward, his arms held similarly wide. Years of living in the harsh northern steppes of Adai had hardened his craggy features. His cheeks, barely visible from the bushy grey beard, were ruddy, while the rest of his face seemed like boiled leather. A floppy, squarish hat covered most of his head. “Ashai Avani,” the man said. Avani’s blessing.

“Avani akalla salim,” replied Rashad. Avani’s spirit fills me. “You men are most welcome, Lord Darvish,” he said as he hugged the man and delivered a kiss to both cheeks. Gods the smell.

“We have travelled far, my friend. Let us share some tea.”

Rashad bowed once more, then swept his arm towards his tent. “Please, my home is yours. Andrei, my manservant, will see that your men are given drink.” As Rashad followed Darvish into the tent, he could see Andrei waving forward two men carrying a cooler full of bottled water.

Once inside, Rashad saw the other man had already seated himself. Moving with practiced efficiency, Rashad brought out a silver tea set and porcelain cups. Water bubbled in an iron kettle set on a butane camping stove. Quickly measuring out two cups worth of tea leaves, he put them into the strainer before pouring the boiling water into the tea pot, ensuring the water ran over the tea leaves. Thirty seconds later, he poured a cup of tea for his guest.

Darvish nodded in satisfaction, sipping the bitter liquid. “A fine brew. Avani smiles upon you.”

Rashad nodded obediently, then asked after Darvish’s health. His answer was as inane as to be expected, and as the two continued to exchange pointless pleasantries until the last of the tea had been drunk.

“Now, my brother, shall we get down to business?” asked the Avani’s Righteous Hand leader. “What do you have for me?”

Rashad finished putting away the tea service and smiled. “My brother,” he said as he returned to the small table. “...what I have will help you and your fighters send many Anuirean infidels to their deaths.”


* * *


01:30GMT
September 30, 2025
25,000 feet over the Mt. Deismaar Proving Grounds
Southern Anuire

The dull, red-lit cargo hold of the MC-130 Transport Plane hummed with the steady drone of the four turbo-prop engines. Mitchell nodded as the jumpmaster, standing by the ramp controls, signaled the two-minute warning. Turning towards the rest of his squad, he held up two fingers and passed the message along. The men burst into a frenzy of restless activity as they switched to their oxygen bottles and double and tripled checked their harnesses. The PT, Physiology Technician, moved among the men with practiced efficiency, tugging on straps, checking oxygen readouts and keeping an eye out for any symptoms of hypoxia. Mitchell gave his own gear another check and nodded when the PT came around and gave him a thumbs-up.

It ends here, mostly because I don't know enough about real HALO ops to write any more. As the story progresses, it would be clear that Mitchell and his Swords team were on a training mission, so often conducted by Special Forces types.

Interjecting briefly, the Swords of Mieres were, in our original game, a group of elite soldiers tasked with the safety of the First Citizen. In concept, a King's Guard but recruited on the basis of ability, and would so fall under the bailiwick of modern counter-terrorist outfits like Delta or the SAS. As the Anuirean Empire was designed around a basic American political system (governors, National Guard, Senate and House of Representatives, Judicial, Legislative, and Executive branches of government etc.) the Swords are a Delta analogue.

There after would be a typical techno-thriller-type plot, where our plucky bank of bad-asses must thwart some sort of terrorist plot. Obviously not original, but the intention was to write such a story set in modern Anuire.

Meanwhile in the Duchy of Ghoere

Completely unrelated to the last story, this is set in the fantastic (no pun intended) version of the Birthright world Anuire that my friends and I, over the course of a 2 year long campaign, developed. It is perhaps the world closest to my heart, and when my friends and I get together and talk of gaming starts, we inevitably arrive here.

Some back story: This excerpt takes place after the unification of Anuire under my character, First Citizen Vandiel ad'Hemar. The current state of New Anuire is vastly changed from that presented in the original campaign book. The Baron Ghoere, who did not back the new empire, has split off and established his own Duchy, and a current state of cold war exists between it and New Anuire. Having only recently ended a war, neither side is particularly willing to wage a new one...or so Anuire's Grand Council thinks...

Baron Andal Ghoere sat upon his throne, staring at the odd pair in front of him. He didn't trust them, a fact made clear by the ten guards that flanked them at a "courteous" distance. He also knew that if it came down to it, the guards were dead men. Necessary evils, the Baron thought.

The woman was unlike any he had seen before. Silver hair and deep purple skin were clearly unnatural to Anuire, yet her sharp cheeks and pointed ears were familiar to any who had ever had dealings with the Sidhe. Yet despite her strange appearance, her physique stirred in him a powerful physical reaction. Perhaps it was her exoticism.

Her companion was a brute, literally. Surely the blood of The Ogre flowed through this one. At nine feet he towered over the elf and seemed to be made of muscle, leather, and steel. Though neither carried any weapons, the Baron doubted that it would be much of a disadvantage for the ogre.

Diende and Dagon. They, or the power they represented, were using him just as surely as he was using them. When time time came, he would deal with their inevitable treachery. Until then...

"Report"

Deinde spoke, a sing-song melodiousness that matched her mischievous smirk. "All goes as planned, my lord."

Adventures in Planescaping

Selena Valentyne stared intently into the box. The box wasn’t big, only about a hand’s-width high, and half again as long. But what it contained confounded Selena. Brushing her hand up against the clear orb nestled amongst the books and ledgers neatly arrayed on the sturdy teak desk, Selena called out in a distracted voice, “Khavina.”

Even the slight distortion on the orb could not hide the beauty of the face that appeared a moment later. Pale blue skin, emphasized by her almond-shaped kohl-lined eyes. A perfectly symmetrical, heart-shaped face, complemented by a pair of full, pouty lips. Khavina looked irritated, as if she had been in the middle of doing something eminently more important. “Yes, ma’am?” she said, a tone of exasperation in her voice.

“My sandwich.”

“Yes?”

“It’s got mustard on it.”

Khavina stared back through the orb, her golden eyes flat and clearly not amused by the emerging grin at the corner of Selena’s mouth. “Of course ma’am. I’ll have the servants flogged, ma’am.” Rolling her eyes, Khavina disappeared.

Selena grinned and slapped the table. Khavina, always so serious. They must not have a sense of humour in Baator. “Or,” said Selena as she kicked off her desk and rolled precariously away, “maybe they’re not as bored as I am.”

Business had been slow for the last 3 months at Valentyne Investigations. The mysterious disappearance of her partner and friend Numor had occupied a frantic three-weeks of her life. But as the leads had dried up, Selena had to admit that more and more it seemed likely that the eclectic wizard had disappeared for his own reasons. What really hurt was that he took with him her Spelljammer, Tymora’s Luck. Without it, Selena’s travels were restricted to the Portals.

Leaning back in her chair, she stared at the quill she had thrown up into the ceiling earlier that day, contemplating her financial situation. As it currently stood, she could afford another month of operations in the City of Doors before her funds ran out. She could let Khavina go, and that might give her an extra 2 weeks or so, but that might also put her Marilith secretary in danger. A pariah among her kind, Selena had doubts whether the Lady of Pain’s edicts that kept Tanaari and Baatezu demons from attacking each other within the confines of the city could be truly enforced in the aftermath of all that had happened.

This led her to the events of two months past, and their connection to her declining financial health. Perhaps, Selena pondered, the Lady of Pain was taking some sort of action against her, for her connection with the perpetrators who had broken the Ring of Sigil and allowed the Lower Ward to disappear into oblivion. True, she had rescued them from the Ethereal Plane, and yes she had given them their first job, which led, through a series of remarkable and unfortunate events, to the sundering of the City of Doors. But if it was the Lady of Pain meting out punishment, Selena would have expected something more immediate, and certainly not a slow, and possibly unreliable, descent into insolvency.

“I bet this sandwich is the Lady’s doing as well,” she grumbled. Selena got up, strapped on her sword belt, and walked out of her office and into the lobby, where Khavina sat behind her desk.

Her blue-skinned, 6-armed, snake-tailed secretary looked up. “Going out to flog the servants personally?” she asked.

Selena walked to the front door. “What else? No, actually I need to clear my head. I’m going to work out with the Ciphers a bit, then grab a bite to eat.”

Khavina nodded absentmindedly, returning to her knitting/reading/playing with a dagger. “Watch out for the Hardheads.”

With a tip of her hat, Selena walked out the front door.


* * *


Three months ago, on the way to The Tower, the Tymora’s Luck had stumbled across four bodies, floating in some sort of suspended animation in Etherspace. The incredible improbability of such a find in the vast expanses of the Ethereal Plane had only caused a momentary pause as her crew set about bringing them aboard. Trap or no, the laws of Spelljamming dictated that she rescue such stranded cast-aways.

Numor, the Luck’s pilot, had been baffled at first, but came to the conclusion that the cast-aways were under the effects of a powerful Geas. This alarming revelation had almost convinced Selena to dump them back out into Etherspace, but in the end she gave the order to have them moved to the infirmary and monitored. They arrived at the Tower, finished their business, and even throughout the return trip to Sigil the cast-aways remained inanimate. So in the end, Selena had them moved to the upper floors of her office building.

And there they had remained for the next month, through Numor’s disappearance and Selena’s frantic investigation. And one day, they woke up. Understandably confused, a few pointed questions revealed that they had no recollection of who they were, and certainly not how they had come to be floating in the vastness of Etherspace, along her ship’s jamming route. Though the implications of the Geas still bothered her, Selena put them to work, having them follow a lead in an investigation that had come across her desk.

The events that would unfold from that investigation would have profound consequences, leading to the unmasking of a Baatezu plot to attack Sigil and wrest control of the city from the Lady of Pain. Success would have shifted power into the hands of the Baatezu, allowing the Baatezu to use the City of Doors as a staging ground for attacks into Tanaari controlled Planes and forcing some sort of outcome in the timeless Blood War that raged between the two demon factions.

The climactic foiling of this Baatezu plot by the cast-away Primes had in essence saved the city. But in doing so, the Primes had also caused a chain-reaction of explosions that had blown an entire Ward away into void that surrounded the Sigil. The sundering of the ring-like City of Doors was felt throughout the city, and Selena numbered among the astonished onlookers as, bit by bit, groaning under unseen titanic stresses, the supports holding the Lower Ward sheared one by one. Those who had not been quick enough to evacuate to adjacent wards could only look on in despair as they fell to what most people agreed was their doom.

The Primes that had been responsible for this destruction had escaped the Lower Ward but were promptly captured by agents of the Lady of Pain. No one knew exactly what happened behind the closed doors of the interrogation chambers, but despite the public outcry for some sort of justice, especially from the Doomers, Signers, and Bleakers whose Faction headquarters had been located in the Lower Ward, the Lady of Pain simply banished the cast-aways to their respective Prime Material Planes and declared them persona non grata in Sigil. Just who or what had Geased them had never been disclosed.

And so the mending of the Great Rift began. The violence of the Sundering had thrown many of the Portals into disarray. In some cases, Sigil Daboos were hard at work rebuilding Portals that had physically collapsed. In other cases they mended the connections which had become scrambled, so that travelers could once again be confident that the Portal they entered lead to their desired destination. The Great Rift itself had started to shrink as Daboos and other builders worked to reconnect the ring. But the work was far from over, and even the best estimates put a structural completion at some 6 months away. From there, the long and arduous task of restoring the infrastructure would begin, and who knew when that would be finished.

These events had changed Sigil. Faction violence had surged in the weeks following the Sundering, which prompted greater numbers of Harmonium patrols. Yet the Hardheads, themselves a Faction, could hardly count on the Lady’s support. Her policy, it seemed, was to weather the violence and let the best Factions win. If this was a strategy to reduce the number of Factions within Sigil, then it had worked. Of the nine original Factions, only the Ciphers, Sensates, and Harmonium had emerged relatively unscathed. Both the Doomers and Signers had been all but destroyed, and the faction wars hit hardest amongst the remaining Factions, the Takers, Xaositects, Bleakers, and Indeps. It was no coincidence that those Factions suffering the most from the fighting had headquarters in the Wards adjacent to the where the Lower Ward had been, and those that emerged unscathed had their headquarters in the opposite side of Sigil.


* * *


Selena strode along Bluffer’s Boulevard, aware that for the last hour, pretty much since she had left her office, someone had been tailing her. Whoever it was, they were sloppy, and probably a Planar. Or, at the very least, not used to the cloak and dagger routine when the Portals weren’t working properly.

She had managed to catch a glimpse here and there. It was a male, young, human or human-sized. Unless there were others involved, like doppelgangers or other changelings, he was alone. There was always the chance that he was a decoy for a much more skilled surveillance team, but if that was the case there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

For now, it was time to turn the tables, and find out what her tail wanted.

Bluffer’s Boulevard was fairly busy. The lunch-time crowd was milling about, looking for a place to eat. Elsewhere, stores would be closing down for siesta, but here on Bluffer’s the eateries were winding up. Even in all the hustle and bustle of the last few months, the denizens of Sigil continued to demand quality fare at reasonable prices, as only Bluffer’s Boulevard could provide.

Arnott’s Bistro had been her destination, up until she noticed her tail. The street-side courtyard under a wide canvas awning was a nice respite from some of the stuffier places that lined the street. The prices were correspondingly high, to compensate for the property costs of having an outdoor patio in a trendy, upscale, middle-class neighbourhood. But the food was good and she could always count on a corner table. Arnott was a personal friend and former comrade.

The Thri-Kreen was at his usual post, acting as maître d’. Seeing Selena, he waved a chitonous arm and called out in his trill-filled voice. “No table today, Ms. Valentyne? We have a most wonderful roast hind, straight from the Happy Hunting Grounds!” Selena waved her apologies as promises to save the best piece for her return followed her down the street.

Two store fronts later, she turned suddenly into an alleyway. It was narrow, and dark, but surprisingly clean. Moving quickly away from the street, she jumped at the wall, kicking off and up, bounding up the walls before landing quietly on the roof. Her slight blue glow of her boots quickly faded as she peeked back down into the alley, just in time to see her stalker come rushing in.

The man moved halfway down the alley before realizing that it was a dead end. He looked confusedly at the single door that graced the left wall. It was metal and rusted, and moreover secured with a heavy padlock. His head already glancing about for other exits, he moved over and gave the lock a yank to confirm that it was still locked. He swore then turned around, then came to a sudden halt. The brief flash of anger had been replaced by shocked surprise.

Selena walked calmly towards the man, her sword Icebrand emitting a pale blue glow. Drawn but held low, it a formed a trail of frost on the ground behind her.

“No need for preamble,” she said quietly. “Out with it. Why are you following me?” Her tone clearly brooked no foolishness.

The man slowly closed his mouth, where it had been hanging open. He swallowed audibly. He was younger than Selena had imagined, barely old enough to be called a man. Slightly gaunt, he wore the sort of brown-tone non-descript tunic, slacks, and cloak of a traveler. He bore no weapons, strange regardless of his origins. But plenty of people had no visible means to defend themselves, but were dangerous nonetheless. Selena maintained her pose, a relaxed stance, non-threatening, which deceptively invited attack.

The man cleared his throat. “Ms. Valentyne. I need to talk to you.”

Selena snorted. “We’ll that’s obvious. Why didn’t you come into the office? Why tail me across the city?”

“I guess not much gets by you, Ms. Valentyne.” If he was surprised that he had been noticed, it didn’t show.

“Not when the person doing it is bad at it.” Selena raised her sword a hands-breadth. “Now, answers if you please, before I put this to good use.”

The man slowly raised his hands. “I just want to talk. I have a propo…”

Selena leapt forward, loosing her other blade. Her left foot kicked out, catching the man in the chest and slamming him into the wall. Scissoring her blades across his neck, Selena stopped, inches from decapitating the man. Though she had deactivated the magick that powered her swords, the residual cold was still enough to raise steam from the man’s shock-filled face.

“Tell your master to come talk to me in person. I don’t deal with incompetent lackeys.