Note: Section 2 is entirely in-character except section headings and endnotes; all other text is out-of-character.
Our story starts in Burkton, capital of the land of Elysia, thirty years after a bitter war with a kobold tribe called the Arobakra. The Elysian military, called the Scrough, was in bad shape until – so the official story goes – an ingenious Elysian engineer invented a machine called the Warforged that singlehandedly turned the tide. But, as is often the case, the true story was a lot more complicated and weirder.
The scene: The city is celebrating the 30th anniversary of the war’s end. My character:
Genevieve (drow, paladin, Neutral Good): My character. Her oath (which I wrote myself) is to protect life above all else (inspired by the Oath of the Ancients); for this reason, she served in the war as an unaligned medic. Her overall stance is what might be described as ethical hedonism: that is, apart from preserving life itself, she believes that the highest good is to make others feel good.
Being an adult elf, she’s several centuries old; for much of that time, she’s also known far more than she’s been letting on. This address will begin, but by no means end, a pattern of her revealing some of that information. She only talks when she has something to say, but if necessary, she can do so for hours with little to no preparation, and she’s perfectly happy to do so (it helps that her charisma stat is 18, the highest possible for a first-level character). The entire country of Elysia may contain no sapient being better suited to deliver her message to the governor.
Genevieve mentions two other player characters by name:
Two additional player characters round out our current party:
Alexander (human, wizard): An apparent shrinking violet of sorts who went to wizard school to distance himself from his family. They aren’t estranged, precisely, but their relationship is… awkward. His parents and Governor Silverstone’s were close personal friends; Genevieve studiously avoids mentioning him in her address since this connection visibly discomforts him. Their families’ connection also leads her to the distinct conclusion that Alexander comes from what they call Old Money. This also makes Alexander visibly uncomfortable, a reaction she entirely empathizes with (as do I).
He’s also only recently out of wizard school, and Genevieve gets the distinct impression that unlike Gregor and Finrod, he didn’t come in with fully formed political opinions. This is to be expected, since he’s only just starting to experience the world as an adult. Nonetheless, participating in Actual Adult Activities also clearly brings him a degree of satisfaction and even wonder that she’d almost forgotten experiencing herself: she’s sufficiently old that she’d almost forgotten how that felt as a young adult, and she’s enjoyed experiencing it anew vicariously through Alexander.
Incidentally, “Alexander” is a nickname he adopted when he got to wizard school; his full given name is actually Alex. I did not get that backwards. If the above didn’t make this obvious, Alexander is also almost certainly, although I don’t know if this term exists within the setting, neurodivergent.
Montgomery Silverstone: Governor of Elysia. Assumed office roughly four years ago after an unknown fate befell his parents, the previous governors and veterans of the war. Genevieve personally knew them both from the war, but this is her first time meeting Montgomery face-to-face. He was a teenager during the war and is thus in his mid-forties now. His parents were sworn to secrecy, so he only knows the story of the war from the history books.
Genevieve’s immediate first impression of him is that he’s a well-meaning but sheltered man who’s hopelessly in over his head and has absolutely no idea of the scope of the dangers he is sitting on. He’s maybe about fifteen pounds overweight, and Genevieve immediately notices his face is slightly but noticeably more wrinkled than it was in his official portrait, painted when he assumed office.
Besides Genevieve and Gregor, he’s also the only other person in the room, since she asked to have the entire room swept for bugs, soundproofed, and visionproofed, and then for everyone else to wait outside. She claimed this was because she didn’t want to give away their trade secrets; her true purpose was to protect national security.
I don’t believe we’ve directly crossed paths before, so I’d like to introduce myself properly. I’m Genevieve. I wasn’t born in Burkton, but I’ve happily called it my home for centuries – since my adolescence. Throughout that time, I’ve strove to preserve life, culture, science, philosophy, art, and joy in any way I can.
I know Burkton is now celebrating the Scrough victory in the war thirty years ago. I can’t judge people’s gratitude for their security and prosperity; this war could’ve ended far more disastrously, and almost did. I’m indescribably thankful that it didn’t. I am immensely thankful for our last three decades of peace and prosperity.
But I find myself unable to celebrate. Not now. Maybe not ever. I was an unaligned medic during the war, aiding wounded humans and Arobakra alike. I lost close friends on both sides. I still carry trauma from the war. I still carry trauma from its aftermath.
I apologize in advance for the bad news that circumstances have forced me to bear today, as well as for the pretenses I’ve used to do so. I want to make it abundantly clear that I take no pleasure in this; I’d just as soon not have to bring down the mood before this week’s festivities conclude. But I believe waiting that long to act would be too late; this information is urgent for national security, and I think we should both be seated for it. I’ll take a seat because want to make it abundantly clear that I’m not engaging in a power play here, and I advise you to sit because I don’t want any of what I say to throw you off your feet.
The other reason to sit: this will be long. I apologize for that, too. I’m usually a drow of very few words. If time weren’t so critical, I’d have had more time to prepare my remarks, and thus to shorten them.
I don’t know how much you know about the war; the full story of the Warforged is not written in history books. The Scrough were sworn to secrecy over it. I was not, since I wasn’t a Scrough member. Nonetheless, I’ve largely avoided discussing it, partly because doing so can cause me flashbacks that undo years of progress, but mostly to preserve the fragile peace we’ve known for three decades: some kinds of knowledge can be dangerous, and this is that kind of knowledge. I knew your parents; both were Scrough members. I don’t know if they told you the whole story; they’d have been violating their oaths if they did.
The official story that Elysian ingenuity built the Warforged is, to put it diplomatically, not the full truth. The Warforged was already in Azenth at the start of the war. For all I know, it has existed for centuries, even millennia. I don’t know who created it, or how, or if anyone does know.
I first saw it shortly after the fighting started in Azenth, just sitting motionless. I remember sensing something uncanny in its gaze, as if it was awaiting a command from the right source, and if someone found a way to control it, its power would be immeasurable beyond any contemporary implements of war. I remember this because I remember seeing it in several subsequent battles as well and getting the same sensation every time.
The war wasn’t going well for the Scrough – that part of the history books is accurate. The tide turned one day, though, when the Warforged stopped merely watching and started moving. The results were awesome to behold – and I mean that in its original sense: “causing awe or terror”.
I don’t know if you’ve visited the parts of Azenth where the Warforged fought at its full powers. I have. Entire areas were laid waste, cities annihilated in the blink of an eye. Where they once stood is now rubble and desert, fit for habitation by no sapient being. Even breathing the unfiltered air there would give you radiation poisoning. Breathing too much would kill you. Nothing beside remains. ’Round the decay of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare, the lone and level sands stretch far away.
If the Warforged is activated again at its full powers, large areas of Burkton may be destroyed, if not the entire city. I don’t know how much training you have in security principles, but an organization is only as secure as the weakest link in the chain. If anyone guarding the Warforged is compromised, the entire land of Elysia is at risk.
And this is where I think you’ll be glad you’re sitting down. Before I proceed, I must clarify that I have no intention of using the following information against you, nor am I attempting in any way to intimidate you. However, I need you to be aware of the full scope of the problem.
In the past twenty-four hours, using just an arcana check and a rat (not a fink; a literal rodent), my friends and I have reached the following conclusions: the Warforged is behind your parents’ portrait, and the stone in this room is the artifact that controls it. We already suspected this – your visible panic just now confirmed it.
This is the first reason I asked to meet privately, and to have the room soundproofed, visionproofed, and swept for bugs both magical and mechanical before our meeting. To reiterate: I’m not revealing this to blackmail you or in any way to take advantage of you. I’m revealing it because this entire town is sitting on top of a security nightmare of a magnitude I couldn’t even have imagined two days ago. The phrase “ticking time bomb” doesn’t even begin to cover it. My oaths require me to address this – peacefully, if possible, and failing that, with as little bloodshed as I can manage, but minimizing harm to sapient life is my highest priority.
And I regret to inform you that there’s more beyond that. I don’t know if you’ve had the… pleasure of making the personal acquaintance of Vinyamar’s Tyrant Leto Rabban II. I have. I happen to know him better than any other Elysian, for the same reason that I’ve never before revealed my full name: Cassandra Genevieve Rabban.
I’m sure you’ve already reached the correct conclusion: Leto Rabban II is my father.
I want to make this abundantly clear: Under no circumstances is this to be disclosed to anyone outside this room. This is the second reason I wanted the room soundproofed and swept for bugs. Gregor’s shock just now isn’t an act – he had no idea I was going to say that. I plan to reveal this to my closest friends and most trusted associates after this meeting, but to minimize friction or suffering, I wish to do so myself.
I’d never have disclosed this if I didn’t think it necessary to prevent an existential threat to Elysia. Leto Rabban II fancies himself a god and is not satisfied with the land he currently controls. Since my infancy, he has consistently expanded westward; my friend Finrod came to Elysia after Leto’s takeover of his hometown displaced him. Now, with nothing left to conquer to his west, Leto has turned his sights to the east, and I believe he wishes to control the Warforged through any means he can.
If the mere idea of Leto Rabban II controlling the Warforged doesn’t strike fear into your heart, I’ll tell you a bit about his character, since even here, most Elysian refugees from Vinyamar remain too terrified of his wrath to speak the truth. And if that, ipso facto, isn’t enough of an indication, here’s a personal story.
I came to Elysia because Leto bodily threw me over the Vinyamar border after I’d challenged him to his face once too often. He’d ordered me to slaughter a helpless civilian populace. Not only did I refuse: I called him a monster, to his face, in front of his troops. I still remember every word of his response:
Since you are Our own flesh and blood, We will not execute you for this blasphemy, but you are hereby disinherited and banished from the land of Vinyamar. If We ever see you again on our soil, either you will bow to Us, or We will personally kill you. Now get out of Our sight.
I got off lightly. As he himself suggested, anyone else who spoke those words to him would’ve been executed on the spot. I knew that. I also knew I’d get away with it. My brother died of a rare illness as a young child, and my mother perished of what, in truth, was a broken heart within the decade. I’m his only surviving family. I knew he would only exile me. I wanted him to exile me. I wanted a new life. I’ve found one in Elysia, for which I lack the vocabulary to express my gratitude.
But my inability to protect those civilians is one of my biggest failures and regrets. At perhaps the exact moment I crossed the border, I swore an oath to myself: in my new life, I would protect innocent life whenever I was able – and I resolved to become as able as I could. That is why I am now addressing you.
Our intelligence has brought us sufficient credible circumstantial evidence that leads us to an inescapable conclusion: Leto Rabban II has very likely recently allied with a hardline, hostile faction of Arobakra. I cannot stress this enough: They must not be allowed to control or reactivate the Warforged. If you’re unwilling or unable to destroy it entirely, or at least to strip its powers, then I urge you to personally ensure the sources of its control and its powers are entirely secure. I will gladly personally assist with this in any way you wish.
Over the past day, as we pieced together the intelligence we’ve now presented to you, we observed lax security practices among your guards (one of them actually blurted out something that strongly suggested something of immense value was in this exact room before being shushed by the other), and the guards number so few in number as to be sitting ducks for any attack Leto or the Arobakra might mount.
By contrast, Leto runs a tight ship. He is obsessed with his own security to the point of paranoia. I’ve only ever seen him display a soft spot for one individual: as I said, anyone else who spoke as I did to him would’ve been executed on the spot the first time they did so. That I call this a “soft spot” should indicate how harsh he is.
He also has a flair for drama. He traumatized me as a child by choosing the end of my birthday celebrations to flaunt his power, often at the expense of his political enemies, imagined or otherwise. I remember crying at the bloodshed at the end of my tenth birthday party (remember, for an elf, that’s toddlerhood). Leto believes it is safer to be feared than loved, and therefore his own daughter grew up not loving but resenting him.
He’ll almost certainly choose the end of this celebration as his moment to strike. That currently gives us very little time to act, but there is a loophole: In a few moments, take a deep breath, compose yourself enough not to alarm the public, and announce an additional week of celebrations, or longer. I suggest a bold step: revive the tradition of Saturnalia, which coincides with this entire month. Leto will be unable to resist delaying the attack.
I very much doubt any other Elysian knows him well enough to know this. Leto knows that too, so this action will tell him I’m advising you. I’m OK with this. He’ll undoubtedly be conflicted over this: I know he never wanted me dead, so he’ll feel partly relieved – but by choosing this way to tell him I’m still alive, I’m sending him a message he’ll understand loud and clear: This is my home now. You cannot have it. And someday, I’ll come for you. He has no idea what powers I’ve acquired in my centuries in Elysia, but he’ll see that for the threat that it is, and it’ll cause him to feel an emotion he’s accustomed to making others feel, but not to feeling himself: fear.
For domestic matters of the political kind, however, I feel compelled to quote an old Elvish proverb: “Trust, but verify”. I’m not saying to go in distrusting everyone around you, but Leto could have infiltrated the city guard, the palace guard, even the Scrough. It is absolutely essential that everyone that has physical access to this facility is trustworthy: a single weak link endangers the entire city. Therefore, you must personally verify their loyalty. The ones who are not loyal must be dismissed.
The rest must receive much better training in security practices. Otherwise, we are vulnerable to social engineering attacks that exert psychological influence on people to perform actions or divulge confidential information that would leave the entire city at risk. These attacks might exploit cognitive biases to lead people to think an action is legitimate: for instance, an official-looking (but fraudulent) flyer might state that an essential security protocol has changed. Everyone who remains on active guard duty must receive thorough training to resist this.
My own credentials are as follows: My oaths forbid me to lie unless doing so will save innocent life. They likewise forbid me to falsely claim innocent lives are at stake. I take my oaths seriously, and innocent lives are now at stake. If my reputation does not sufficiently precede me to vouch for my integrity, I know several veterans who’ll gladly do so. I tended to their wounds, and from the crucible of our shared experiences emerged close friendships that survive to this day. They will happily attest to my integrity and honor.
Honesty compels me to emphasize this, as well: I cannot swear utmost loyalty to any political entity; the oaths I swore to protect life supersede all political allegiances, and I’m spiritually aligned with Ma’at, goddess of justice, balance, and life. However, my existing oaths already require me to protect innocent civilians to the best of my ability – with my life, should it prove necessary. Since I live in Burkton, I’m best able to protect its civilians. Rest assured I’ll continue to uphold that oath. In malicious hands, the Warforged would be such an existential threat to civilian life that my sole priority right now is to prevent it from falling into such hands. I would prefer by far to do this with your cooperation so as to avoid unnecessary bloodshed.
Two final notes: Given how powerful the Warforged is, I find it extraordinarily concerning that the official history of the war leaves out so much, and likewise that, as far as I can ascertain, it remains so poorly understood. These are not concerns for today; but they are concerns to be dealt with once the Warforged has been secured from intrusion. “Security through obscurity” doesn’t work: it relies on the mistaken assumption that concealing the entrance will result in no one being able to find it. But a sufficiently determined attacker will simply find a weak link in the organization and exert pressure on it. They only need to be successful with one such attack, while the organization must successfully defend against them all.
Lastly, I wish to note that a photojournalist who supplied us crucial intelligence is missing in Arobakra country. After the Warforged is secure, I’d like to lead an expedition to locate him, because I believe he is in possession of further information that we cannot afford to lose. The Scrough can’t pursue him; a primarily human party that did so would likely attract suspicion. A party containing a drow, a gnome, and a wood elf will likely have far better luck. (I promise this is not the start of a joke.)
As a citizen of Burkton, I beg you now to heed my words. Please.
| # | Note |
|---|---|
| A paraphrase of Blaise Pascal: “I made this longer than usual because I didn’t have time to make it shorter.” («Je n’ai fait celle-ci plus longue que parce que je n’ai pas eu le loisir de la faire plus courte.») | |
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In no conceivable universe would I have been able to resist the Shelley quote. It fit too perfectly. If the above description reminds you in any way of a nuclear bomb, that’s entirely intentional. |
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| This is what Genevieve has been misled to believe, at least. Her mother did get very sick, and Genevieve was informed of her death in a misguided attempt to manipulate Genevieve into doing Leto’s bidding. What Leto and his minions had failed to understand was that Genevieve’s mother had been the last thing keeping her in Vinyamar. While her account doesn’t clarify this, these events occurred in almost immediate succession. | |
| “It’s a Vinyamarian message. It means, ‘Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes.’” (I think my mind jumped there because I wrote the word “message” within a similar phrase to “an offer he can’t refuse”.) | |
| I’m not comparing elves to Russians, but Russia doesn’t exist in this setting, and Genevieve needed a reason to know this proverb. | |
| I suspect this kind of thing is inevitable when your paladin has a cybersecurity degree in real life. | |
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Ma’at is Neutral Good in this setting. Some settings interpret her as Lawful Good, but I consider that overly simplistic: while she was the goddess of order, the ancient Egyptians held order, balance, and justice as indistinguishable and believed you couldn’t have one without the others. In case Genevieve’s actions haven’t given it away, she’s also Neutral Good: willing to work within power structures when it’s necessary to preserve life, even if she’s not the biggest fan of them, but just as willing to work outside them when it’s necessary. Her ideals actually tend toward Chaotic Good, but she’s pragmatic enough to see how difficult and even impractical being consistently Chaotic Good in practice is, while a Neutral Good alignment effectively affords her the best of both worlds by giving her just as much freedom to work within power structures as outside them. |