Moon: The Sprawling Halls of Remad

When Caerden became elevated to divine status his estate rose with him. It grew and expanded, its rooms and corridors multiplying and spreading. Soon all of Caerden's new divine realm was a maze of marble corridors, hanging tapestries and secret corridors. This new world was a perpetual mansion, its inhabitants lived in already existing bed chambers, they harvested crops from the many courtyard gardens scattered about the grounds, markets would spring up in ballrooms and the criminal underworld existed as more of an 'overworld' dwelling amongst the roofs and gables and running up and down chimneys.

The Sprawling Halls of Remad are a world in a bottle, the inhabitants villages being known by the wing they inhabit. The traditional roles of villages still exist, tanners, blacksmith, hunters (Who hunt the big game that prowl through the uninhabited wings) all exist, but so do jobs only found in this strange interior world. Pipe-men, who fix the plumbing running through the walls, Lighters who have learned to mend the rudimentary electrics hat power lights, and Patchers who ensure that walls and floors are mended and kept in good use.

There are also many rumors of spirits haunting the corridors and being spotted in abandoned places.

People: Revelers

The inhabitants of Remad are a well spoken and polite. The most notable traits of the Revelers are not their characteristics but rather their culture. All parties and festivals within Remad are masquerades, everyone from the highest lord to the lowest commoner all have a mask to wear to such festivities. Conflicts between villages are not typically resolved by open warfare, though it happens, but usually by duels conducted by a champion from each village.

Pale and slender, like the god that spawned them, Revelers have an affinity for the otherworldly and are sensitive to spirits and magics. There is often a Wise One in each village, a man or woman who is particularly keen to these strangeness and they offer council on how to deal with the supernatural. Sometimes they're even correct.

The party was going haywire.

Upstairs, Lord Markus was about draw Lady Anki into a tryst that would inveitably draw the House of Abelwirth into a spiral of mistrust and and suspicion that would paralyze their trade with the Mardukes, resulting in a death of quality iron at a time that clockwork devices were approaching the ability to act as engines, probably resulting in a terrible, avoidable disaster down the road that would result in a enduring negative opinion of the technology;

On the ballroom, an inelegant spin by Lady Karianne had resulted in her accidentally accosting Lady Pim - sharp words were being stage-whispered, ceremonial court-blades of men on both sides began to rattle in their ornate sheathes, and nobody was paying attention to one of servants unobtrusively slipping a powder into the host's drink during the carefully 'ignored' commotion.

And all of this was occurring, unbeknownst to Caerden, who was presently being surreptitiously seduced in a private alcove by an androgyne of unknown allegiance, dressed completely in white, who refused to communicate in anything other than sign language - likely to disguise a recognizable voice. The way they moved their hands was goddamn sultry, though, and they seemed to know things even Caerden hadn't been able to fully investigate without potentially ruffling the feathers of dangerous birds.

" . .  and that's the proof that Enki was the killer of the Margrave five winters ago. I still have the hard evidence secured in a little vault, in case that bastard ever decides he wants back the invaluable heirloom I took as payment for my services. Shame that he has no other means to prove that he's the heir, hmm?"
This message was last edited by the GM at 04:29, Mon 17 Dec 2018.

Through the haze of scented smoke and soft conversation Caerden read the flitting words that the enigmatic agent in white conveyed through their silent language. Running a finger along his chin in thoughtful contemplation the host of the party pursed his lips as he measured the words. Spilled blood and secured secrets. Fascinating. "Wise." He complimented. "But clinging to such dark mementos is also a heavy burden. If the wrong word gets out then that proof is no longer protection, it's a target. What you need for your peace of mind and own safety is distance, a third party who is not entangled in these bonds of murder and payment. Then you are not the one who is threatened if others come seeking your proof, you do not have to fear any time there is a bump in the night or a servant with sticky fingers, wondering if your insurance has been purloined."

Leaning forward, "Let me ease that burden," Caerden offered.

"With only a motion from you I'll shoulder some of that strain so you may rest easier. I can hold your evidence safe if you'll but let me." Caerden watched the soft features of his guest carefully to see how the words would be received. Whether an offer was taken now or not, the seed had been planted. If negotiations continued then perhaps the evening would end with a valuable new point of leverage to wield over Enki and a chip with which to bargain with the new Margrave. If this offer was not accepted then Caerden would need to move on. A gala was a dance, whether one was on the dancefloor or not, and one had to be in constant motion to ensure no potential partner was left neglected.

Of course one did not do all the work alone. A waiter appointed to pay particular attention to a lady here, a harpist positioned near the bar who knew to strike a sour note should a drink be spiked (A drink that was not intended to be spiked that is) or a fellow noble who was delighted to dabble in intrigues to distract from their dull existence. Managing a gala was a coordinated affair.

A sour note, and a fresh drink - proffered samples of rare Margravian brandy to mollify bickering Ladies, paired with a sly compliment to their exquistive curves - the young and frisky Espen propositioning Markus and Anki, prompting them both to see each other as rivals for his affections -

A smile came to their lips. "Your reputation is well-earned. You will find the trinket already hidden in that little box in the crevice behind the wardrobe in the east guestroom - the slightly damp one - where you were keeping this."

In their palm, a small white bone - the finger-bone of the old Duke of Remad, etched with arcane markings that showed signs of having healed over - proving it had been etched while he still lived. The very bone that was the anchor restricting the ghosts of this place to the Realm Lower, where they were invisible and powerless to harm the living.

"You have to retrace the glyphs every few years, Caerden, or you'll be inviting specters to your next spectacle. His anger grows stronger, and even the sturdiest shackles can be worn with the passing of time. I've done the honors - I know this magic."

They smiled, and offered the bone anchor to you.

"Consider that payment for your generous assistance . . .  from an admirer."

A moments hesitation, an extra blink of surprise, then Caerden composed himself and offered a warm smile and nod as he accepted the box that was his own by right. How it had been liberated from its secret resting place was a question that demanded answers. But demands were much more readily accepted when presented as gentle curiosity. "You are too thoughtful. Magic is a fickle thing, meddling with the arcane when one lacks a full understanding can have disastrous repercussions. You have saved me hours of work by seeing to the maintenance of the glyphs." More serious questions were left unspoken for now.

Tucking away the bone into a pocket of his lapel, Careden rose to his feet. "Now I'll take my leave and allow you to enjoy the other pleasures the evening has to offer, though I'm sure they will pale compared to my own company, rest assured your insurance will be safe in my care," he added with a small smile. With a half bow Caerden withdrew all too conscious of the weight in his pocket. Shifting nimbly through the crowd he slipped through the gala, offering a smile here and a word of acknowledgement there. For the time being his other machinations would have to wait. Retreating to the much quieter far hall he motioned to an attendant.

"See that I get a list of everyone who has visited the east wing this evening," he commanded, already he was on his way to the guest room himself. Hoping to find the place quiet and unoccupied for the time being, his current intent was to move the wardrobe and see what exactly had been left in the recessed alcove there. Caerden was not entirely sure what was afoot and he did not enjoy uncertainty, not in the least.

"We have had no visitors to this wing, Sire. The West Wing is the current destination for guests, given the recent remodel."

The room - which was, sure enough, in need of some maintenance, as small rivulets of water were seeping from the walls and would surely lead to mold and a sunken foundation if nothing were done, and soon - seemed entirely undisturbed, even the dust was unmoved.

Surely enough, within the small lockbox was the signet ring of the Margrave. There was also a note.

"If you would steal my heart, you will need to steal the show. Why stop at one lineage? With this bauble, you can claim two.

Yours in the shadows,

Xixi Arashimaru."

on the reverse side, there was a post-script:

The attendant you asked never saw me. He's sweet, but never thought to look up. People rarely do.
This message was last edited by the GM at 16:57, Tue 18 Dec 2018.

The servants claim that no one had visited the east wing were disappointing. Caerden did not let it show. Opening the lockbox he withdrew the copper and silver ring resting inside. He recognized the insignia readily enough. It was the Margrave emblem. So it was as the silent stranger had said. The missing ring of Margrave had long been a topic of discussion in the endlessly circling gossip of the aristocratic echelons. Rumor and hearsay had swirled for months before the murder, rumor that Enki, the cousin twice removed, had ordered his relative murdered, it did not help that rumor had it that the Margrave had visited Enki just days before the fateful night and was said to have reclaimed the insignia ring. The small bauble of copper and silver was not a piece of jewelry, it was a writ of power hammered into metal.

But after the murder the Enki still wore the ring on his finger, or what was clearly a very well crafted forgery, and so the rumors had slowly grown old and died one by one. But their ghosts still lingered and were sometimes murmured when enough wine had been poured. How very appropriate that one final ghost should rear its head in Remad. With the actual Insignia of Margrave in hand Caerden could level a true accusation against Enki and suddenly the entire legitimacy of a dukedom would be drawn into question.

But such accusations were not made hastily. There were letters to be written, important individuals to be invited to a new ball, jewelers to be consulted to confirm that Caerden himself was not the one being duped, then there were luncheons to be held with a number of officials to weigh where they would fall when an individual of Enki's stature was deposed. Those amenable to change could be used, those who were not would need their minds changed, or their rank, or their status amongst the living.

All of these thoughts ran through Caerden's mind as he turned the ring over slowly between his fingers. He did not bother to replace the wardrobe. Clearly more secure hideaways would need to be found. All of this begged the question, who exactly was this mysterious benefactor Arashimaru.

The attendant you asked never saw me. He's sweet, but never thought to look up. People rarely do.

Words inked before a question was ever posed. Caerden respected foresight, but this went beyond that. Yes, this truly begged questions.

[Private to The Empress: Unless some complications arises Caerden will be implementing exactly the plan he's outlined above, putting pieces into place before leveling a very public accusation against Lord Enki during a very crowded ball.]

There were eight greater families in the Sprawling Halls;

The House of Remad, first of the families to rise and the first to fall, and the only known practitioners of Thanaturgy. The current head was Caerden Remad, although he remained the only blood member of his house, having not yet taken a mate or produced an heir;

The House of Grave, talented warriors, now defunct since its heraldry was quartered with Marduke and become Margrave, resulting in Marduke gaining the advantage and becoming the Second Family and Margrave being third, the current head being Enki Margrave;

The House of Marduke, fifth to rise by second in power owing to their nigh monopoly on the iron and steam trades, the current head being Kerstan Marduke;

The House of Esquire, fourth to rise and fourth in power, which dabbled in clothing, geology, narcotics, and was known to a great number of skilled spies and informants that allowed to maintain it 'fourth place' position generation after generation. They had a female head, Fransica Esquire;

The House of Viceroy, seventh to rise and fifth in power but rarely involving itself in lower politics since their estate was on the 'surface'. They traded in foreign goods and naval services for the little-understood Remadian Sea. Their head was Bram Viceroy.

The House of Peon, sixth to rise and eighth power. Their line alone was completely pure, but they struggled with a congenital dwarfism among their menfolk that lead to their wives from other houses having to be paid high bride prices. This generational drain on their reserves kept them lowly, and lead other houses having undue influences in their internal affairs. Their current head was Elmo Peon.

The House of Ecclesial, third to rise and sixth in power, owing to rare knowledge and skill with Animancy - the ability to accurately diagose ills of the body by observing the spirit. They could also detect lies by observing auras, and invaluable trait that had ensured they were never allowed to be judges or attain their rightful power - a rare collaborative effort across all other houses. Their head is Dael Ecclesial.

Last of the enduring houses, eighth to rise and seventh in power, was the oft-forgotten house Arashimaru. Their holdings were unknown, the head of their house was unknown, the origin of their name was unknown, but their terrifying ability to influence politics at key moments via always-truthful messages delivered by courier while remaining absolutely unassailable kept their name alive. Owing to this, the number 7 is considered incredibly unlucky in Remad.

Ordering by rise:
1. Remad
3. Grave > Margrave
3. Ecclesial
4. Esquire
5. Marduke
6. Peon
7. Viceroy
8. Arashimaru

Ordering by power:
1. Remad (by assent to tradition and magical power)
2. Marduke
3. Margrave
4. Esquire
5. Viceroy
6. Ecclesial
7. Arashimaru (by assent to tradition and political power)
8. Peon

Given this information, please decide who you speak with and in which order, and we'll go from there to the scene of accusation.
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:01, Wed 19 Dec 2018.

While the party slowly unraveled in the early hours of the morn Caerden plotted.

First and foremost, Caerden would visit the master jeweler who had fashioned fine gold filigree, silver rings and platinum tiara's for noble families for decades and who created the Margrave ring itself. Only after the jeweler confirmed the legitimacy of the ring now in Caerden's possession would the next series of events come into motion.

For what was to come, a visit with the lovely Fransica Esquire was required. A mere letter would not suffice here. If the unmasking of a highly profile murderer was done and the family Esquire was not allowed at least a token role in the proceedings it would be a black mark on their honor to which they would feel obligated to answer at some point. So Caerden would visit the Lady Esquire, he would smile, kiss her hand and offer her a tantalizing prize. "A tantalizing truth has fallen into my hands. Should anyone ask, I would be happy to let them know that it was the expertise that brought the matter to light. The murder of the old Margrave. Solving such a long standing mystery would be quite the feather in the cap of a family known for dealing in secrets." And if anyone else were to turn up the information it would be quite the black eye. It would also add legitimacy to the accusations if they were tied to the widely known family of spies. Really there was no other option for the good lady but to agree to serve as the source of information.

But legitimacy was required from another source.

This trip too would be done in person. It would be a stop at the House Ecclesial. While nearing the bottom of respected aristocracy, they held a power which no one doubted, the ability to discern truth. Dael Ecclesial would be amenable to the proposition. Caerden knew that his current status rankled him, as did Dael's inability to truly leverage the families ability for discerning truth. The fact that Dael wouldn't have to lie about the truth in this case was just an added perk. "I have a luncheon planned and if you are able to attend I promise that you'll find the afternoon's activities entertaining, not to mention there will be a chance for renewed appreciation of your families gifts." would be he offer that Caerden would make.

Next to come were letters, visits in person would not be required, each of the other noble families would be visited by one of Caerden's personal stewards and each would receive a personal handwritten letter inviting them to the event. (The letter to  Elmo Peon would also request he bring a few of his most strapping sons. When the time came to accuse Enki it was not likely he would go quietly, but with Caerden's own retinue and the chance for Elmo to show off the virility of his sons by personally apprehending the Margrave no blood should actually be spilled even despite the reputation of the House Grave's warriors. Plus the humiliation of being apprehended by dwarf's would be an extra twist of the knife for Enki's reputation. That was important, reputation was just as powerful as coin.)

And to ensure the guest of honor themselves arrived? The luncheon would be held in honor of the Margrave name. (Though a careful eye would glean that this did not mention Enki himself. In the days following the luncheon this small detail would likely be a point of discussion.)

Let it never be said that careful thought was not put into Caerden's events.