In Progress [LP] Lord Captain, you've served your time in Hell! Codex plays Lords of Infinity, a text RPG of Politics and Warfare

[ERYFKRAD]

1b 2c

 

[Optimist]

1b 2a

For the record: what I'm seeing here is entirely different from the storylets I got in my playthrough (including the tonk). I guess 1.7 mil of words had to go somewhere...

 

[Non-Edgy Gamer]

There are even wilder speculations: that young Warburton's claim to royal blood comes directly from the man purported to be his real sire, the famously lecherous old King Edmund

For the record: while Alaric did not make the best impression during the dinner, it could have been worse. It could have also been better - at least one of the other options actually relied on a stat check that you could have passed, and there were others that could have made a good impression without relying on stats. Just wanted to make it clear that Alaric attributes, while tricky to work with, do not doom him to failing every social challenge he comes across.]

Noted. I guess I picked an intelligence answer when we have none to speak of.


Anyway, for this round:
1b 2b

Not really sure what to answer on 1. 2d might give us points with Warburton, but I fear we've already antagonized Wulfram enough for one evening.

 

[Storyfag]

1d
2a

 

[Kalarion]

1b) "I do not think I've the temperament for such activity."

Much as I'd like to tell him off for a fool and a wastrel, even we understand the proper relationship between a brand-new Baron and a Duke of the realm, and it's certainly not a moral dressing-down in front of company. Still, we must try to give the most politic notice of our position on the matter.

2c) "I must agree, more discipline will do him good." (>2b)

The only reason I'm not choosing 2b is because I'd much rather suggest exiling his sorry ass to Antarctica to contemplate the meaning of the words, "virtue", "fidelity", "chastity" and "discretion". Dumb faggot.

...

I must say, aside from the foolish conclusion that we can maintain neutrality once the eyes of the great powers of the world are upon us, that's pretty close to my reasoning. The idea that we could somehow hold our own in open battle was rightly savaged by Castermaine. Rather, the conclusion should be to proactively decide (and, if necessary, court) the power we will align with. A strong Army would be temporary, to buy us time to maneuver. Neutrality won't be allowed, and we don't have the means to force it.

 

[Non-Edgy Gamer]

I must say, aside from the foolish conclusion that we can maintain neutrality once the eyes of the great powers of the world are upon us, that's pretty close to my reasoning. The idea that we could somehow hold our own in open battle was rightly savaged by Castermaine. Rather, the conclusion should be to proactively decide (and, if necessary, court) the power we will align with. A strong Army would be temporary, to buy us time to maneuver. Neutrality won't be allowed, and we don't have the means to force it.

If two sides are in conflict, they're unlikely to want to engage in an additional war, even if they know they'll win, so long as the force they're fighting is significant enough to be a problem. You don't need to win, you just need to be more trouble than you're worth.

Having no real military just makes you a target. You're putting yourself in the position where you have no choice but to immediately capitulate to whichever side comes at you first. The obvious counter to Castermaine is that he offers no solution to the problem. So what do we do, surrender to the first side that challenges us? Volunteer to join one side or the other?

I'd almost suspect that Castermaine secretly wants us to support one side or the other, but maybe that's just my paranoia talking.

 

[Lithium Flower]

I'll call it in ~2 hours. In the meantime, here is a summary of my understanding of some relevant geopoliticool thingus:

As mentioned previously, Antar, M'hidiyossi, Kian, and Takara are all considered to be Great Powers.

Our Tierra is a minor power, the non-UK with shades of non-Normandy and such of this setting.

Beyond Tierra, there are 5 other minor powers not labeled on the map, as they have either a distant or small importance even to Tierran affairs.

In other words, the minor powers are basically surrounded by huge bois from all sides.

Now Antar had just been whipped by Tierra and, from what I've read, it seems like M'Hidiyossi is quite a divided nation that's got its hands full with a near constant state of civil war. Former clings to relevance because as I understand its basically the Sea's breadbasket, while the latter is a huge landmass that is home to 50mil humans. Regardless, it is Takara and Kian that most characters have referenced as potential threats thus far.

Now Takara is basically the Holy Roman Empire (that's the german one, not the italian one) except populated by, you know, 10 million Elves. Our point-eared friends are interesting in this setting because each and every single one is capable of magic (aka manipulating bane,) and able to cast said magic without preparation or restriction - meanwhile among humans, the ability to manipulate bane is restricted to a fraction of the noble baneblood population, which in itself represents a fraction of the total population, and the human way of casting is convoluted enough that it is usually reserved to very specific applications (we've seen human banecasters make magical traps and enhanced equipment, but not much else.) So Takarans are basically operating at a superhuman level at all times, hence Castermaine's claim that one of their companies can wipe out a Tierran battalion is no exaggeration (although Alaric could have countered with a valid point, had he sufficient stats.)

Kian on the other hand is The Orient (TM) (R) or something, with a population of >100mil humans. So Kian alone has a roughly equal or even larger population than the rest of the Infinite Sea combined, and due to said population, enough banecasters to contest Takara's magical capabilities.

So why haven't they taken over the rest of the world? I believe it may be due to 2 factors:

1. The geography of the setting means that almost any invasion attempt will have a high baseline of initial casualties for the attacking side, provided the defensive nation has passable military or naval capabilities. Perhaps the prospect of losing even a few hundred Takaran elves or an equal amount of Kian banecasters to cannonfire or the meatgrinder of contested landings alone, just for the sake of starting a campaign to capture a resource-starved island of 6 million, is enough of a deterrent against either of the respective sides.

2. Takara and Kian hate each other with a passion for a whole bunch of historical reasons, not to mention that they correctly see each other as primary compteition among the great powers. Should one stumble, suffer some unexpected losses, or get stuck into a protracted conflict, and the other may make such a mistake much more costly. Plus, any conflict that may break out between Takara/Kian and a minor power has a high likelihood of becoming a proxy war with the other major power, as opposed to a quick roflstomp of a minor nation. Hence both Takara and Kian prefer to use softer power, and keep their formidable army in reserve, as a deterrent against one another.

Although just to be clear I could be getting some of these details or conclusions wrong, this is merely a mixture of my own reading and conjecture, not the author's text as-written. There is a lot of information in the setting's wiki, and on Paul's blog, but a lot of it has unmarked spoilers for the events of Lords of Infinity (and the other 2 yet-unwritten books, even,) so I'll try to share relevant bits without spoilers when I feel it might be interesting to do so.

If anyone is curious about other aspects of the setting, let me know and I will try to fish them out from other out-of-game sources, sanitize them of spoilers, and share them here.

EDIT: Another relevant detail is the existance of the Houseguard, armsmen that may be fielded by Tierra even in absence of a standing army:

One of the rights of the noble classes is the right to field private armsmen. Of course, because these nobles are subject to the King, those armsmen may be called up in times of war, so long as they are trained and equipped to certain standards. In return for maintaining their personal guards and having them at the crown's disposal, the crown gives the overlords of these units "House Guard Commissions", which may be activated in times of war.

For example, the Earl of Quelquechose has extensive holdings, and maintains a force of two hundred and fifty private guards. He appoints his sons head of the various portions of his guards. If these guards are maintained to standard and war breaks out, the King can order the Earl to place his men at the disposal of the crown. In the meantime, the unit exists on paper as say, 2nd, 3rd and 4th companies of 2nd Battalion, 9th of Foot.

In the event of war, the Earl is allowed to appoint any baneblooded adult male he wants to the post of Lieutenant-Colonel of 2nd Battalion, 9th of Foot (because he would be supplying most of the men in 2nd Battalion). He would also be allowed to appoint the commanders of 2nd, 3rd and 4th companies, which would likely end up going to his sons. During this time of war, the men are paid, fed and equipped out of the State coffers. The Earl and his sons are subject to military regulations as well. In addition ,they are not allowed to sell their commissions. Should a spot become vacant through other means (death or disgrace), the post may be sold, with the money going to the previous holder of the commission or his families.

 

[Non-Edgy Gamer]

That map shows that neutrality would be difficult to come by indeed. We would need to be able to put up a pretty significant fight to present more of an obstacle than we would an opportunity.

 

[Lithium Flower]

"I do not think I've the temperament for such activity."

Warburton leans in with a look of mischief. "Eh? Not afraid, are you? A man who faced down half Khorobirit's army without fear, afraid of what's under a lady's skirts?"

"Warburton," Wulfram warns, "our guest is not here to be antagonised."

"Yes, of course," the younger Duke replies mildly before turning back to you, eyes still flashing with glee. "Or are you not a great lover of the ladies? There's no shame in that, there are a few—"

"Warburton!" Wulfram warns again, louder this time. "Enough!"

"Oh, very well," Warburton replies with an air of resignation too heavy to be entirely serious. "I suppose I've given you and Castermaine enough colic for the evening. When exactly is the next course?"

No sooner do the words leave the Duke's mouth do the doors to the kitchen open to yet a fresh volley of cheers, revealing an immense cart laden with a row of steaming roast ducks. All eyes are on the trolley as two cookservants wheel the trolley towards the centre of the dining room. A muscular fellow in a Kian chef's robe follows, a gigantic cleaver belted at his waist.

"Keep a close watch," Warburton tells you quietly with that same roguish grin. "One cannot see a show like this at the Admiralty Club, that is for damned sure."

You need barely wait a moment before the nature of the 'show' in question is revealed, for the instant that the trolley rolls to a stop, the Kian chef draws his cleaver from his belt, letting it glitter in the lamplight to the increasingly rowdy cheers of almost all present. The man's hand blurs, and the next instant, he is carving the first duck with a speed and precision which you doubt that even you could easily match. One by one, slices of crisp skin and succulent flesh appear on the dish before him, as if by magic.

Saints above, you could have done with a fellow like that in Antar!

In just a few moments, it is over. The first duck is little more than a skeleton, retaining only the barest scraps of meat. The cheers only grow louder as he begins on the second. By the time he finishes the last, the atmosphere in the dining room resembles more that of a common public house than the inner sanctum of a members' club.

It seems there will be no more serious conversation tonight.

---

Matters go on in an increasingly raucous manner. As the last courses of dinner are taken away and the serious drinking begins, the scene transcends any condition which might be considered 'proceedings' and advances well into those best described as 'antics.'

The dining room devolves into an anarchy of boastful anecdotes, half-remembered songs, and endless gales of laughter. Some part of you marvels as you watch men of immense power and influence jest and carry on with the informality of brothers. Even frowning Castermaine seems to join in, though he makes strenuous efforts not to admit enjoying it.

Warburton is at the very centre of it all, joking and chattering with what seems like half the men in the room at once.

Wulfram, by almost explicit contrast, seems to sit away from the action, having given up on any attempt to be heard entirely, and seems content to sip at a snifter of brandy and watch the goings-on as the night passes in mirth and merriment.

---

"I must apologise for Warburton," Wulfram says to you in his coach several hours later, as you rattle through the midnight streets towards your lodgings. "He has a singular talent for rendering almost any situation frivolous and absurd."

The Duke glances out the window for a moment, at the darkened shapes of Aetoria's buildings passing by.

He lets out a sigh. "Perhaps it would have done him good to listen to a serious conversation for once. I fear that without some useful occupation or steady influence, he shall merely dissipate himself and come to no good."

"I must agree, more discipline will do him good."

"What he needs is a wife," Wulfram opines. "Someone strong-willed enough to take him in hand and give him the resolve to make something of himself. He will not like it, at first, but once he grows accustomed to his new condition, he will find himself happier than he ever was and look upon his old behaviour with disdain."

"You speak well of marriage, sir."

"I consider it one of the foundational stones of human happiness, my lord," he replies, smiling just a little. "I believe I speak from my own experience when I say that."

The coach lurches to a stop. Wulfram peeks out the window as you hear the coachman dismount from his perch.

"I believe these are your lodgings, my lord."

You look out the window too; so they are.

The door swings open, and you step out into the cold night air.

"I look forward to continuing our conversation at some later time," Wulfram says by way of parting. "Good night, my lord."

You nod back. "Good night, sir."

Then there is the thump of a door closing, the shape of a coachman climbing back into position, the rattle of wheels against cobblestones…

And you are alone in the darkness.

---

It is hard going up the steps to the door of your lodging-house. Drink and darkness make you unsteady as you carefully step around the slumbering, rag-swathed heaps clustered around the entranceway. In these days, in this part of the city, the homeless and the destitute seem everywhere; entire families huddled against the niches and alleys like piles of refuse, desperate for the bare hope of some protection from the elements. They were there before the war too, as far as you remember, but never in such number.

You can only hope that they will find some more robust form of shelter before the weather turns. Tierran winters are nothing like the Antari variety, but even a mild frost can kill when one has neither food nor shelter.

You open the front door. From the corner of your vision, you glimpse a pair of eyes wrapped in the shabby remains of what might have been a fine riding cloak. For an instant, you seem to see those fugitive orbs staring hungrily at the door which you have opened; the door to warmth, shelter, to the flickering light of the fire still blazing in the parlour beyond.

You step inside, and look back out into the cold, perhaps—

No, but there is nothing now. Only darkness.

~What's the matter with you? Short of breath, knocking your knees together, balling your hands into fists... all because you've tried reaching for your sabre, only to realize that it is not there. Yes, lean against the wall and try to catch your breath, for whatever good that might do. Weakling.

There is no longer a facade of publick civility to distract you from your fearful thoughts. The Cortes and the club may have reminded you of a war-room, just as the crowd gathered by the engine bore some superficial semblance to a troop of men - but here, in the dark of night, under the scrutiny of all these hidden and desperate eyes and bitter stares, all you can think of is cold Noringia, of bloody Kharangia, of back-roads and frozen rivers, and partizans with their cloaks and knives, danger concealed and imminent, and you are alone, defenseless against their vengeance - so keep pawing at your belt, at those ridiculous trousers, you pitiful lost boy, you madman...

Don't try to shut it out. You should have damn well known that there is no safety nor peace for you here. Such things are absent not merely from the gloomy street but from your very mind. Where else will you bring your anxious inadequacies? Perhaps you will be found stumbling through the daytime streets before long, causing anyone passing by to quicken their pace just so that they can get away from your shivering, hyperventilating self...

You do not belong here, not any more than among the civilized men of the Rendower club. You are a mumbling, insecure embarrassment, retching into your blasted cravat- no, don't go further inside, you know damn well that little room of yours is a deathtrap, there are no loyal men to keep you safe from Antari knives, better go off into the woods, yes, or below a bridge somewhere, a nook in an alley, a corner you can press yourself into, where you will be safe, you bastard, you fool, y-~

You shut the door behind you.

---

Exhaustion begins to creep into your limbs as you climb the narrow staircase up to your temporary lodgings, your feet leaden lumps as you drag them up each step.

Most of your luggage is already packed and waiting in your rooms, piled in neat stacks by the wall of the parlour. Moving only by sheer will, you check the bed to make sure that the maidservant laid down a spare suit of clothes, as you requested.

You sit down on the bed next to them, taking only the time to pry off your unfamiliar civilian shoes before collapsing into the pillows, too tired to even pull the covers around you. Tomorrow is not so far away, and you best be rested by then.

For tomorrow, you will begin your long journey back to a place both strange and familiar, a place which you can barely remember, a place whose memories run in your very blood.

~For a dozen years now you have not seen it, not even in your dreams - and yet you did return to it, time after time, within your nightmares and fearful recollections...~

Tomorrow, you are going home.

---

CHAPTER I
Wherein the LORD OF THE CORTES returns
to the PLACE of his BIRTH and is reacquainted
with the affairs of his NOBLE HOUSE.​

---

"As you may have noticed, my lord, the roads remain in terrible condition—"

As if to prove the point, your family's rickety old coach chooses that moment to lurch violently from one side to the other. It's all you can do to keep your seat, but facing you, the cadaverous form of Efraim Saundersley, your family's solicitor, does not seem to shift at all.

"Yet the roads are not what alarm me the most," the lawyer continues, without even pausing to regain his breath. "As I am sure your lordship is aware, times have never been easy here, but the war appears to have made them harder than ever."

You nod along, trying to keep your attention and your seat as the coach trundles along the uneven track. Saundersley greeted you when the mail coach had deposited you at Montjoy, waiting with your coach to accompany you on the last leg of your trip to your estate. He had spent most of that trip in silence, leaving you alone with your thoughts, but now that you've finally entered within the boundaries of your own lands, he's been nothing if not verbose.

"—another fifteen tenant families left last year. I do not think I can blame them, to be honest. Every year, the Crown taxes seem to grow. Every year, more and more of our buyers in the big cities go bankrupt or are bought out by the Kian, who purchase only their own grain from their own country."

You cannot blame him, you suppose. Saundersley was saddled with much of the work of maintaining the estate after your father's death. Now that you've returned, it has become his duty to educate you on the state of the very lands and people which you have so recently become lord and master of.

"In truth," he admits, "those who remain mostly hold out hope that your lordship will be able to ameliorate matters. Now that you have returned, some will expect a great deal out of you."

1) "Rest assured that I will not let them down, Saundersley."
2) "I make no promises, but I will do what I can."
3) What brutes they are, to rely upon another to better their own condition!"

---

As of the Autumn of the 613 of the Old Imperial Era:

Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga, Baron Ezinbrooke
Captain, Royal Dragoons (half-pay)
Age: 25

Current Funds: 1754 Crown
Debts: 10860 Crown

Bi-Annual Income (Personal): 135 Crown

Soldiering: 75%

Charisma: 43%

Intellect: 5%


Reputation: 31%

Health: 65%


Idealism: 61% Cynicism: 39%

Ruthlessness: 39% Mercy: 61%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear Bane-hardened armour and wield a Bane-runed sword.

Friends and Associates

Javier Campos: Colour Sergeant, the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 583 OIE)

Victor d'al Reyes: Eldest son of Baron Reyes. Major, the 8th Regiment of Foot. Formerly Commander, the Experimental Corps of Riflemen.
(Born: 583 OIE)

James d'al Sandoral: Captain (half-pay), the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 592 OIE)

Enemies

Hiir Cassius vam Holt: Takaran Ambassador to Tierra. Eldest son to Richsgraav vam Holt.
(Born 527 OIE)

Eleanora d'al Welles): Countess Welles. Proponent of Military Reform. Friend to Isobel, the Princess-Royal. (Born 587 OIE)

---

AFFAIRS OF STATE:

Autumn, 613 OIE

The draft peace treaty is quickly ratified by the Cortes. The League Congress similarly agrees to the draft after a "mere" nine weeks of deliberation. The war between Tierra and Antar is finally over.

With the end of the war, the Royal Tierran Army is drawn down from wartime strength. The Houseguard regiments are disbanded into their component forces, and the permanent regiments are placed on a peacetime footing, leaving tens of thousands of officers and men without work, or on half-pay.

Displaced by the terms of the peace settlement and the vagaries of Antari politics, hundreds of thousands of Antari serfs leave (or are removed from) their homes. Many head for Tierra in hopes of rebuilding their lives.

Summer, 613 OIE

The news that the Crown's war taxes will be retained for at least another year triggers widespread demonstrations and disorder in major cities throughout the Unified Kingdom.

For his crucial role in winning the pivotal Second Battle of Kharangia, Sir Louis-Auguste d'al Palliser is awarded a victory title by the King. He is now Viscount Palliser of Kharangia.

The Tierran delegation to Antar, headed by the ailing Earl of Leoniscourt, reports that a peace agreement with terms generally in Tierra's favour has been drafted. Copies are sent to the Tierran Cortes and the Antari League Congress for ratification.

Spring, 613 OIE

Under Takaran mediation, peace negotiations betwixt the Unified Kingdom of Tierra and the League of Antar continue. A draft treaty begins to take shape.

Confident that an official end to the war is soon to be at hand, Grenadier Square begins the return of the King's Army's regiments from Antar.

Sporadic publick demonstrations against the Crown's war taxation continues in Aetoria and Tannersburg.

[I will post the updated Affairs of State at the start of every Chapter.]

 

[ERYFKRAD]

1

 

[Non-Edgy Gamer]

2

 

[Optimist]

1 all the way

 

[Storyfag]

2

 

[normie]

it's not a cog game without trannies
plz tell me there's trannies

 

[Lithium Flower]

Fuck off.

EDIT: Oh, and I'll be calling it in a couple of hours, figure ~=>16h is enough for this kind of choice.

 

[Lithium Flower]

it's not a cog game without trannies
plz tell me there's trannies

Actually fuck it, I will answer your super exciting and original inquiry by editorializing a little bit about one aspect I really appreciate about the series.

IMO, for the genre, and yes especially for the sort of declawed and overly politically correct stuff you can find on Choice of Games, this series does a great job of 1. presenting authentic historically-inspired attitudes about contentious issues and, more importantly, 2. presenting both sides of said issues relatively fairly. This is in contrast to a lot of fiction that either does not attempt to make any political point at all, or just superimposes modern values over the setting to avoid offending anyone, or takes the opportunity to preach obnoxiously about some pet issue. Paul clearly has his own opinions, but nevertheless his traditionalist characters actually express their views with reason and can use valid, sensible arguments, whereas the reformist types are far from being paragons of virtue and debate. This is also the approach I try to take when I am running my roleplaying campaigns, for instance.

For example, in Guns of Infinity, Countess Welles was promoting the idea of women joining the army. The position is nuanced in itself because she specifically advocated for baneblooded women exclusively (and Welles was still highly classist when it came to assuming that a great amount of merit came from baneblood alone) to be able to perform commissioned, non-frontline roles in logistics and command. Which was actually a sensible suggestion given one of Tierra's biggest issues during the war was a shortage of competent officers, given that they had to be drawn from the ranks of baneblooded men, and many officer roles had to be taken up to logistics and support duties anyway.

Her suggestion was met with a lot of outrage, particularly from older commissioned men (as it understandably would have been,) and the arguments presented against Welles were a mixture of completely reasonable points (Welles' short term solution may end up causing more harm than good in the long term, as even the officer roles suggested are not insulated from harm and society cannot absorb the losses of its women anywhere as easily as it can absorb losses of its men,) to patronizing-if-valid emotional appeals (people would not like to see the likes of their sisters and mothers die terribly in war) to chauvenistic and knee-jerk ("we must protect the gentle temperament of m'ladies who would swoon upon seeing their first drop of blood OwO.")

Moreover, Welles herself clearly wanted to be more than some sort of support officer and acted with hubris bordering on recklessness, as if to give instill some caution about the kind of behavior her ideas might inspire. Which is what ultimately puts her in mortal danger and, in our playthrough, kills her. Had you met her in a more intimate setting, you would know her as a woman of great conviction and genuine martial skill, yet one almost as idealistic and removed from the realities of war as Elson was as a cornet. And, in playthroughs where she survives the second battle of Kharingia, I believe the protagonist finds her bloodied, shell-shocked, and disabused of the idea that war is solely an exercise of glory and empowerment - she ends up holding onto her principles, but gains an appreciation for some of the cultural resistance towards her, and learns to respect the sort of war she proposes women should partake in.

Personally I really like this presentation of contentious issues. Paul is clearly a liberal progressive type but he is portraying both sides of the issue as having believable flaws and merits. You can see the same thing playing out in Lords now, with Wulfram's populist agenda being quite appealing at first glance, and addressing a genuine problem with widespread poverty and the burden of war taxes, but becomes more peculiar as the less obvious sides of the issue are examined. Yet how many of the men who oppose him are doing so out of sheer loyalty - be it opportunistic or knee-jerk - to the King and army, rather than out of genuine understanding of the nation's geopolitical predicament?

That being said, I have a feeling that the type of person whose first engagement with fiction boils down to "TROONS LMAO!?!?!" may have trouble appreciating such nuances.

 

[normie]

stop saying Paul
you're not friends

 

[Lithium Flower]

But Paul answered an email of mine, once. That is more attention than most people give me

 

[Endemic]

2. Better to under-promise and over-deliver.

 

[Endemic]

it's not a cog game without trannies
plz tell me there's trannies

Actually fuck it, I will answer your super exciting and original inquiry by editorializing a little bit about one aspect I really appreciate about the series.

<wall of text>

I'm not familiar with the Infinity setting, but are there not any female medics in any of the combatants' armies? That would be a logical and historically inspired role (and more likely than other types of auxiliaries).

 

[Lithium Flower]

it's not a cog game without trannies
plz tell me there's trannies

Actually fuck it, I will answer your super exciting and original inquiry by editorializing a little bit about one aspect I really appreciate about the series.

<wall of text>

I'm not familiar with the Infinity setting, but are there not any female medics in any of the combatants' armies? That would be a logical and historically inspired role (and more likely than other types of auxiliaries).

From a briefish look, I can't find much information on the wiki about auxiliaries of that sort in the Tierran military, looks like those duties are taken up by

ORDERS-SUCCORANT
ex: "It is generally accounted a grievous crime to fire upon a bane-healer of the Orders-Succorant."
A collective term for the orders of knighthood devoted to the Saints of the Blue, Saints who achieved martyrdom through the protection or material salvation of the powerless and innocent. Knights of the Orders-Succorant must swear oaths of celibacy, poverty, and non-violence. Those among their number with banecasting abilities receive training to use these talents to tend to the injuries and illnesses of others, and are referred to as bane-healers.
SEE: BANEBLOOD, BANECASTER, SAINTS

In general I can't remember much, if any mention of Tierran camp followers, or civilians outside of the army structure in general, in the chunk of the story that took place overseas in Antar. Not sure whether that is indicative of the army's regulations, or simply the fact that the war is taking place overseas on foreign land, thus making it harder to maintain a supply train of loyal irregulars.

The Antari did not have a standing army and were broadly assisted by their civilian population, so they would have had female medics in practice, though no such organization on paper.

I'm pretty sure Takaran allow their females into the military without restriction, given that their universal affinity towards magic makes physiological distinctions a far lesser factor.

 

[Kalarion]

2. Yes, our duty is to our land and people, to their weal and succor. Yet we must remain cognizant of our challenges, and our limited experience in government (not to mention our limited ability )

That being said, I have a feeling that the type of person whose first engagement with fiction boils down to "TROONS LMAO!?!?!" may have trouble appreciating such nuances.

Your feeling in this case is incorrect.

 

[Lithium Flower]

---

"I make no promises, but I will do what I can."

Saundersley nods, the threadbare flicker of a grin on his thin, craggy features.

"I suppose that would be for the best," he observes. "It is one thing to make plans, but it is another to put them into action. Talk may easily achieve the former, but the latter requires money, a substance which appears to be in short supply everywhere."

"Rest assured, Saundersley," you reply. "His Majesty's government has been most appreciative of my services."

"The war is over, my lord," the solicitor replies bluntly. "There will be no more ransoms to be had, and you've still your debts to think about."

You're past the fields now. Beyond the battered and cracked coach window, you can see the cottages of Ezinbrooke village, constructions of fieldstone walls and thick-thatched roofs like the images that still sit deep within the recesses of your memories, the images that the word 'home' had conjured within you during your long years in Antar.

Yet the scenes which confront you now seem different from what you remember. The figures who trudge from cottage to cottage seem duller and more stunted than the stout, happy folk you recall. Everything seems smaller, dirtier, tawdrier. Even the air seems to hang in your nostrils, heavy and foetid.

You cannot help but get the impression that this is not your home. Everything is off, everything is wrong. Even as your eyes register the dilapidated old village shrine, and the battered market stalls on the village square, and the remaining lengths of orange bunting from the just-past High Harvest Festival, you cannot shake the unease in the back of your head. The more familiar your surroundings become, the more alien you seem to feel.

---

"My lord?"

Saundersley's voice pulls you out of your thoughts.

"There is a further matter which we must discuss," he says as you pull the whole of your attention back inside the rattling confines of the coach. "As you are no doubt aware, your duties include marriage and the siring of an heir, an obligation which must be addressed at soonest opportunity."

Marriage, heirs. Those haven't been thoughts which were foremost in your mind for a long, long time. Their sudden reintroduction by this scrawny, baneless lawyer after years absent from your plans is one which you weren't expecting.


~Is it truly surprise that you are feeling now - or is it dread?
Did you truly mistrust Katarina back in Antar - or were you afraid of getting close to her?

Warburton leans in with a look of mischief...
"...a man who faced down half Khorobirit's army without fear, afraid of what's under a lady's skirts?"

Fear indeed, not merely of the carnal, but of caring for another, and submitting before the care of their own. A responsibility which you dread to bear; a vulnerability that no armor can negate. In the past dozen years, you've learned to kill - but for the whole of your life, you've been taught so little of those other, human matters, least of which by your late parents...

Or is that not so? Do you feel a sudden fancy towards romance, you fool-boy? Will you still feel it when your would-be beloved learns of your nature, when the facade of your humanity breaks down and your wretched self is exposed to her scrutinizing fear? And that fear of hers will be justified indeed, for what recourse will you have except to lash out in your brutish anger, to leave her as breathless as your dead comrades?

You should know better than to share your wretchedness with someone else now. Perhaps some idiot part of you pines for affection, without understanding that such a thing may only be granted to those who deserve it - thus do what you do best and hide from such notions, find some some craven excuse to discard the matter, the Saints know that you are good at that...

Then again, there is another option for the queer likes of you. What else was it that the fellow said to you?

"Or are you not a great lover of the ladies? There's no shame in that, there are a few—"~


If your solicitor has noticed the shock which his sudden change in subject brought about, then he doesn't show it. "I am given to understand that your father made certain arrangements before your departure, an arrangement with House Touravon?"

Yes, you remember, even though it was so long ago. There were certain negotiations for you to marry one of their daughters…


1. …negotiations which resulted in an engagement, entered into of my own free will.
1a) "The engagement will stand."
1b) "I must think on the matter more."
1c) "I will break the engagement and face the consequences.""

2. …negotiations which led to an engagement, one which I wanted no part of.
2a) "The engagement will stand."
2b) "I must think on the matter more."
2c) "I will break the engagement and face the consequences.""

3. …negotiations which came to nothing, in the end.
3a) "Cannot this business of marriage be delayed?"
3b) "Make no mistake, I intend to."
3c) "I cannot say I am much attracted by the prospect of finding a wife."
3d) "Rest assured, I already have someone in mind."

4. …well, "negotiations;" I whispered what lies I needed to in order to take the Touravon girl to bed.
4a) "The engagement will stand."
4b) "I must think on the matter more."
4c) "I will break the engagement and face the consequences.""


[Please vote for one numbered option and its lettered sub-option.
As Alaric did not get close to anyone in Antar, I think the Touravon woman may be his last candidate for wife.]

---

As of the Autumn of the 613 of the Old Imperial Era:

Sir Alaric d'al Ortiga, Baron Ezinbrooke
Captain, Royal Dragoons (half-pay)
Age: 25

Current Funds: 1754 Crown
Debts: 10860 Crown

Bi-Annual Income (Personal): 135 Crown

Soldiering: 75%

Charisma: 43%

Intellect: 5%


Reputation: 31%

Health: 65%


Idealism: 61% Cynicism: 39%

Ruthlessness: 39% Mercy: 61%

You are a Knight of the Red, having the right to wear Bane-hardened armour and wield a Bane-runed sword.

Friends and Associates

Javier Campos: Colour Sergeant, the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 583 OIE)

Victor d'al Reyes: Eldest son of Baron Reyes. Major, the 8th Regiment of Foot. Formerly Commander, the Experimental Corps of Riflemen.
(Born: 583 OIE)

James d'al Sandoral: Captain (half-pay), the Royal Dragoons.
(Born 592 OIE)

Enemies

Hiir Cassius vam Holt: Takaran Ambassador to Tierra. Eldest son to Richsgraav vam Holt.
(Born 527 OIE)

Eleanora d'al Welles): Countess Welles. Proponent of Military Reform. Friend to Isobel, the Princess-Royal. (Born 587 OIE)

 

[Endemic]

Eh, probably out of character but fuck it, I'll go with 1a.

 

[Storyfag]

1a