My Brother’s Keeper Welcome to the county of Birming, the picturesque capital of Count James Hetherbee and the growing cloth industry of South Wessink. For the past nine years, the Count has brought in an era of peace and quiet to his province, at the cost of a crumbling military infrastructure and the declining power of the local nobility. Wealthy Calderligan merchants and Regalian bankers have received the greater part of the Count’s attention, filling his councils, receiving countless benefits and generous laws. The bourgeoisie of Birming’s towns fancied themselves equals to the old families in the countryside, with many of the economically struggling families having in-debted themselves to the textile tycoons. Count James is undoubtedly very popular with the middle class, however the same cannot be said for the old order. The Count’s younger brother Baron Frederick had an entirely different perspective on his sibling’s self-proclaimed golden era. He took on the nigh-impossible task of calming the neglected and surly clergy and nobility of House Hetherbee’s county. Complaints had reached a boiling point, and a devious plot to rein the lands back to the old ways had been concocted. The nobles and priests laid their ultimatum in the lap of Baron Frederick at a banquet, and their message was simple. Count James must die, or the whole House burns. Being a pragmatic and intimidated man Baron Frederick complied. Kinslaying was no small feat, and it laid heavy on the Baron’s heart, but his conscience was won over by the opportunity to prevent a bloody civil war between the lords and the tycoons. It must be done. The Baron had one nephew, at the spritely, innocent age of twelve years. He would not be eligible to take up the mantle of leadership for another three years, five should his uncle-regent wish it. The boy was no threat as long as the truth about his uncle’s betrayal remained hidden. Then there was the Count’s palest. A Lion Pelt knight of sturdy stature and frightening combat ability named Sir Ian Trusley. Sir Ian was a simple man of simple needs. He shadowed after the Count’s every move, only leaving his side to sleep or eat. Sir Ian’s one vice in life was the Count’s fishing pond a few stones’ throws away from the estate. A serene spot populated with the sounds of ducks and oft-bothersome summer flies. Trusley will spend his supper there on quiet days and in the evenings, sitting on the small jetty for twenty minutes to ruminate on his forty eight years. Count James himself was a more reclusive figure. His private quarters were an enigma to everyone but his closest associates, none of which were part of the conspiracy against him. Information is limited, but nothing that professionals in the underworld couldn’t handle. If the story wasn’t enough to captivate them, then surely the reward will turn heads in Regalia. Three hundred credits to whoever can claim his life, or so the Baron Frederick Hetherbee’s henchmen in Regalia would say to Crookback’s fixers and middlemen. Who wants to live forever? Rumour would have it that a godly invention has been made by an ingenious engineer from Verreland. A machine with the capacity to make death a fear of yesterday’s men and women. How it works is riddled with mystery, with the machine’s description being changed every time the rumor passes through a new pair of lips. The most commonly accepted theory has to do with wicked soul magic and genos seed jewels. Therefore merely talking about it is punishable by imprisonment in large parts of the Archipelago due to the blasphemous nature of the machine. That has not been enough to discourage conspiracy theorists from spreading word of this creation. The machine’s rumored existence has grown so exciting in the minds of the hopeful that it has overshadowed its magnificent creator. A man whose status is confirmed and recorded in the imperial archives themselves. Once a member of the prestigious Scholar Courts of Regalia he had helped helm the creation of a variety of the new technologies that brought the Empire into its modern age. Six months ago the man was publicly disgraced and dismissed after making ridiculous claims of diseases being spread by tiny creatures invisible to the naked eye who sleep on our skin. His epically owned theory was destroyed so hard it sent him into self-imposed exile on the poverty-stricken island of Verreland, where his presence is known, but his seclusion has been paid for and secured by mercenaries on steady pay. With that all said, having mercenaries on your payroll could turn even a Lord’s coffers dry fairly quickly. To find a solution to this problem the engineer has made arrangements with an Altalar scholarly society in Solleria to fund his research if they were allowed to inspect his machine. It is due to be sent off by boat in the coming weeks, buying enough time for other interested parties to get their hands on the invaluable creation. One such interested party is Gerhard Heerweg, a shipping magnate associated with the Kade House of Trade, who has offered a sizeable reward for whoever can bring him the machine. Intact. Know your history. Once upon a time, there was a living nightmare named Freya Lo. A mad queen who ruled an Empire through terrifying power plays and a flair of the dramatic. She was a wicked woman whose friends were rare-. No, wait, she preferred them medium-rare. A vice so grotesque it makes even the Dread Empire’s aristocracy think twice about the capability of humans. Many living nobles have had first-hand experience with the mad queen’s gruesome appetite, and it is most definitely not a memory worth reconnecting with. Despite this, though, there are those among us who see profit in misery. A Lorenthaus auction house has made the talk of the town recently as they’ve announced that they are in fact selling Freya Lo’s personal set of cutlery used when she first dined with and on her guests. The starting bid is as shocking as the news themselves, and yet hundreds of wealthy patrons of art and memorabilia have shown interest in coming for the grand event. Security in and around the localé has ramped up significantly for the big night, but not enough for some entrepreneurial crooks who have discovered weaknesses in the preparations. Word back home in Crookback is that there is ample opportunity to find the historical set of cutlery within the auction house, and the native thieves in Lorenthaus would gladly cooperate with Regalians as long as they get to keep a spoon from the set. To think, the price for the biggest score so far this year is a spoon. It is best to start planning quickly, for the auction is in three weeks. Good luck. Unpleasant Company Local Frederike lord Skjervald Gammen became the father of a beautiful daughter last week, prompting him to call upon all his friends and neighbours for a great feast in his hall. Six wagons of food, courtesans from the south, ithanian wine that could be measured with lakes. The guests started pouring into his hold on a warm summer’s eve, exchanging pleasantries with one another and offering their congratulations to the proud father. It would be a good week, with many good friends. Gods bless. The morning after the first day of feasting arrived, bringing forth many more memorable conversations and fantastic laughs. Well, that was until lord Gammen’s sister arrived. It was difficult for Skjervald to keep his frown down and his breathing settled. He had intentionally not invited his walking talking frustration of a sister, but word must’ve slipped across the sea and into her comfortable, temperate town estate in Regalia somehow. Regardless, he will try his best to tolerate her presence. The following day was better than he could have hoped for. The next was insufferable. Loud, obnoxious chewing. That horrible impersonation of a whining horse she has the gall to claim is a laugh. Her endless criticisms of his wife’s interior decoration choices. Never has he felt so inconvenienced and mildly annoyed. Sadly it would be a bad look if he were to throw his own kin out of his own home when she hadn’t actually done anything unlawful. And that is exactly why this story has been circulating around the streets of Regalia. This must be handled by an outside force, with no connection to the House Gammen court. No amount of gold has been promised, but a kind favor has been put up on offer to whoever would provide the excuse he needed for his sister to leave early.
