npc inbox: taravast

[groundrules]

NPC INBOX: TARAVAST

Reach out to your (not-so-)favourite NPC here, putting their name in the comment header. Try to keep it to just quick text/audio/written exchanges or inquiries that can accept summarised answers, please!

PREVIOUS NPC INBOX FOR ARC I: SA-HARETH & STAIRS OF SIGHS

	MACALUSO Earnest and moderate nephew of Bonaccorso, seeking to succeed his grandfather. A pursuer of astronomy, accountancy, diplomacy and elemental magic, with a long history of supporting the witches of Bessis. Champions firmer ties with foreign citadels to improve Taravast's access to armies and resources. Looking to choose a bride.
	VANNOZZA Beautiful and fierce niece of Bonaccorso, contending to become the next Ilia Doxe. Mind of a scientist and a lady of the hunt. A practitioner and frequent visitor of the necromantic and healing sectors. Has entertained and turned away more lovers than the heroine of a particularly sappy romance novel. Often indisposed.
	RIGARDA Lively, charismatic and gossip-prone lady of the highest echelons, received at every gathering. Can slaughter half a dozen reputations with the right twitch of her brows before breakfast. An associate of the Merchant's and old friend of the current Ilia Doxe of Taravast, Bonaccorso. Indifferent in the game of succession. Loathes crumpets and witches.
	THE LAVISH LOCALS From the witches of Bessis or Attaryl to academicians, politicians, nobles, servant folk, artists or protestors — if you’ve got a question, someone can surely supply an answer.
	THE MERCHANT The patron saint of etiquette and the eastbound getaway expedition. Seems to largely trade information alongside wares. Appreciates spices, strategy and collaboration. Has an eerie and overly cautious manner. Committed. Defends the benefit of the many, to the detriment of the few.
	KARSA Sorceress, young (?). Employed by the Merchant and deferential to him. Talented but fiery and frequently impatient, intolerant of fools. She will get today's job done yesterday. Struggles to sympathise with men, objections and those who cannot absorb information quickly. Enchanted the group's translation devices. Only available until 28/12.
	ASGEIRR The ghost of a scholar monk. Haunts the tattered execution cloak that the party stole from the La Rea bank in Sa-Hareth. Once a champion of equality and freedom, he faced ire for converting his followers against the regionally profitable trade of slavery. Soft-spoken but wise and just, slow to regain his strength. Will speak to those who visit his cloak in brief interludes. Favours necromancers.

SA-HARETH

"HALTHAM" | ANURR The undead warlord Anurr, previously posing as gentle-mannered giant Haltham. An embodiment of Sa-Hareth's cold storms and wind, who regained his territory from contender Unhalad with the inadvertent help of the party in Arc I. Frostily rational and amenable to some negotiation.

Comments

BONACCORSO | SEPTEMBER AUDIENCES

[aprescoup]

Health has ill favoured don Bonaccorso in his sunset years. The man presides over a room like a spider, half draped on his chair, half collapsed. He has requested his audiences, and, yet, by the time his summoned answer, he is — adrift. Nearly maudlin.

He asks, with a hand's waved flourish, for the recipient of his audience favour to sit, sooner than bend the knee.

"No need, no need. Speak, then. What do you make of our fine Taravast?"

ELEVEN

[aprescoup]

[bearshermark]

Well enough that he's asked to sit, as Eleven floundered through considering a bow before bidden to settle into his chair. He'd thought so much about what to say that he'd neglected to ask about gestures and mannerisms.

"It's beautiful," he assured, quietly relieved they were starting with this angle first. Hopefully by the time they graduated to the more political side of things, he'd have settled somewhat. "I love visiting the gardens and watching the gondolas drift through the water. I'm grateful for the chance to study magic a bit as well."

[aprescoup]

The wave of a hand, a flourish. Both seated, they nearly share a height, and the old man's frailty disposes him to leaning. They nearly converge.

"The gondolas, yes. I remember. When the waters warm, and a beautiful woman does you the kindness of sharing your boat." He laughs. "Yes, that I remember. It was not so long ago. Or perhaps... I suppose, you'll find out yourself. How the years fly, and you never notice you pass with them. Slowly. It's a slow thing. Until..."

Age is a cruel mistress.

"You are happy. And it pleases me that you are happy. But are the people?"

[bearshermark]

The look of a man that by all counts should likely be spending his time in bed. Concern for him touches Eleven's brow, but he's sure the man had able hands to assist him should he want them.

Talk of years and his relationship to time brings about an odd line of thought he dismisses in favor of Bonaccorso's query- a reminder that the man likely can only observe the city from afar.

"The people have concerns," Eleven says after a moment of consideration. He's spent a good deal of time among more than nobles. "But overall, they seem to be in good spirits. The taverns, gambling halls, and even noble parties are quite lively."

[aprescoup]

"Yes... yes, it is a fine thing, how we entrench ourselves in daily matters, until the small affairs consume us." Taverns, gambling halls, noble parties. He pauses, faintly piqued. "But I wonder... to what extent they do not simply distract themselves from greater matters. I wonder if they feel provided for. Perhaps safe."

[bearshermark]

Eleven hums shortly; he hadn't thought of it that way. Wei Wuxian's worrying observations rung between his ears.

"The city has a wealth of freedom and resources many others can only dream of." Primarily Sa-Hareth, but likely also however many other kingdoms now under rule by Unhalad's allies. ..Goddess, perhaps it's a good thing Archeval had left the city.

"But I think all of us feel the threat of the undead. Taravast feels safe now, but I worry for its future. I'd imagine many feel similarly."

[aprescoup]

"I see," and he nods with it, keeps his eyes on the boy and the youth of him. "I... I see. They do not trust that their liege will provide them. Although he has for... generations."

Heat should come with that comment, objections to 'their' distrust. He was — is — the bearer of the ducal power. All eyes and questions inevitably turn to him.

"Perhaps their confidences would be better served by a younger man." A pause, "Or a woman."

[bearshermark]

Eleven attempts not to visibly cringe. That's not how he'd intended that.

"I-I'm sure they're grateful for the prosperity they've enjoyed thus far," he says quickly, attempting to recover. "It's only the future that's uncertain- whether that threat comes in months or years from now. ..A show of strength may help to reassure."

[aprescoup]

The smile that breaks his face runs thin. He moves to tape Eleven's knee with a hand of wispy flesh and bone. "I'm afraid, my boy, the time for strength has long passed me by."

He retains, at least, the dignity to admit it.

"And I must choose, now, for the future." His touch withdraws, slipping back to sit in his lap, obediently. "You know, of course. The Doxe cannot choose an heir, but... the person he endorses has a considerable advantage. So I have the one card to play, and, wisely, this old man must play it."

He laughs, rather bitterly. "What a grandfather I must be, forced to ask a foreigner to lend me his eyes, as he sets them on my children's children. And still, I must. You work closely. What do you make of them?"

[bearshermark]

Eleven breathes quiet relief. He'd feared worse.

He nods, relieved too that Moran had appraised him of the political landscape so that the information isn't new. Though there's certainly a part of his mind that finds the situation an even stranger unreality than the one Bonaccorso expresses: that he's not only a foreigner in a foreign city, but from a foreign world, and now asked after his barely existent political leanings.

"..Lady Vannozza seems like a sensible sort who seeks uphold Taravast's strength. Lord Macaluso appears to have heart, though he certainly seems to be enjoying the wealth of attention from abroad in service of alliances."

Eleven offers a slight shrug and a sheepish smile. "But you must know I'm not terribly familiar with policy. At the moment, I feel Vannozza's decisiveness is a strength Taravast needs. But it could also be that Macaluso has an adept mind for strategy that I haven't heard tell of. In your position, I think the most pressing concern of mine would be which of them could serve better in Taravast's defence, should it come to conflict. I'm sure there isn't anyone living that would like to see the city fall under undead rule."

[aprescoup]

"We will not fall to the dead," he says evenly, old steel in his voice, the determination of a man who has ruled and would rule still, if not for the fallacies of his body. "We will not bow, we will not concede. We have witches. We have magic. We have fire. I would sooner burn down the citadel behind our closed gates than surrender to them."

A long silence stretches between them. Bonaccorso makes no attempt to fill it, but taps gently the arm holder of his chair. "Vannozza's decisiveness has made an impact, then. It is always, I fear, those who speak loudest who are heard foremost. She is a sword. And Macaluso is a shield."

He shrugs, emptily. "A pity that wars require both."

[bearshermark]

He blinks, the conviction in Bonaccorso's voice unexpected from a man so withered, but it's also heartening. The silence reigns while he imagines the strength of Bonaccorso's former rule and briefly shares the city's lament that he won't be around a great deal longer.

Eleven nods thoughtfully. "If they both love Taravast, then I'd hope they would be able to work together for the sake of it. If Vannozza is a sword, perhaps she leads the armies while Macaluso looks after the people. The politics of it all seem less important than the city's safety."

[aprescoup]

"That is a pretty thought," he concedes, but the smile never bleeds into his face, its deep-carved features. "But dual governance creates confusion. It is... like parenting a country. When the mother disapproves, disobedient will ask the same favour of the father and hope for an improvement."

He does not press. Only, softer, "My boy, if I could live forever and spare them the burden, I would. As things are..." More of the laughter. "As things are. Do you believe my people would turn against either?"

[bearshermark]

Out of his depth, Eleven hesitates. This isn't the sort of question he'd prepared for or holds a grounded opinion on.

"I don't know," he says finally, reasonably certain someone had told him it was okay to say as much- Moran possibly. "I'd like to think not, but I'm not wise enough to say for certain. I only know that I would look for a sword, in times like this."

[aprescoup]

"A sword." But his humour pales. "A sword, against witches. I don't believe you understand entirely the nature of what we've tamed."

He leans back into the chair, half transfixed. "All the same, I thank you. You have spoken your truth. It is a beautiful gift."

JIN GUANGYAO

[aprescoup]

[malicing]

He is attired as a simple shepherd, gripping a wooden walking stick, his face bare of any masks. When he is summoned, he gives the don the proper greeting, bowing low, respectful of the other man's position. However the motion is quickly checked and he seats himself gracefully, smiling warmly.

"Your Taravast is a gem that deserves proper leadership, my lord. I can see why it needs to be guided and protected by capable of hands." which will lead him into his discourse about what he has learned about the two prospective leaders, "Forgive me, I am only a humble servant, but events have made me question both candidates."

[aprescoup]

The bow receives a nod, flickered. If Bonaccorso did not request courtesies, he seems at least open to absorbing them, waiting out the gift of his guest's diplomacy.

"Please, speak your truth," he offers with a wave. "I did not ask you here to burden you with lies of civility."

[malicing]

"I was not one of those poisoned, so my opinion is not darkened or embittered by what the victims must have endured." Guangyao can empathize - somewhat. Then again, he is the sort of man who can watch the suffering of another with nary a frown.

"However I know my fellows - those who support Macaluso - have noted his despair and desperation. He seems...too easily swayed by the opinions of others." which could be useful if the don placed someone constantly at his side, "As for the Lady Vannozza, she seems...steadier and better able to handle chaos. Though I have to wonder: was she responsible for the poison?"

[aprescoup]

The question finds him poised, silent — residually composed. When his speaks, mouth dry, each comes weighted.

"They say poison is a woman's weapon. A coward's." Presumably for the inability to hold true a sword. "But you have just said, my niece does not lack in courage."

[malicing]

"Well said." Guangyao inclines his head, "I do not personally blame either the Lord or the Lady. I believe a third party is trying to ruin their chances and unveil their flaws."

Flaws are good to know, yet is now the time? With foreign visitors?

"The worst I have heard about Lady Vannozza is she seems...haughty. Hard to approach. Whereas Lord Malacuso is easy to speak to - even when opinions differ."

[aprescoup]

He seems, a little, tickled by the speculation, lips taut and pulled over a broad smile. "What would a third party stand to gain? There are only two candidates."

But then a shiver courses him. "Unless... one perishes."

[malicing]

Chaos can be payment to some, but Xue Yang is a special example, isn't he? Most want more than that; something lasting.

"Two parties could have a secret alliance." he arches his brows curiously at the shiver, "They are both healthy and strong. I do not foresee them perishing."

[aprescoup]

"To speak of otherwise would be a tragedy and treason," he offers carefully, and does not stray his eyes from Jin Guangyao's, does not falter. Let this be understood, a plain truth between.

But something startles him to a frown, appears to torture him. "Do you believe in either?"