Kings of War: Vanguard - A story driven campaing

Brewing trouble

The heavy rain outside had faltered to a spattering of drops, cast about by the gusting winds and the hour was either very early or very, very late.

For Aldovius it was the latter and he suppressed a yawn as he twisted the elegant goblet in his hand, sending the crimson fluid within spiraling in lazy swirls. The evening had been one of negotiations masked as merry-making and the night had been more of the same, only with less of the mask and more of the actual business. It was a mare’s nest, and he was the one chosen to set it straight.

Aldovius looked up from the dark lacquered wood of the sturdy table in front of him when he heard the knock on the twin doors of his private chambers. Two sharp blows, too indiscreet to be servants, too inelegantly obvious to be any of his well-mannered associates.

“Enter”, his voice was a smoky rasp, burned with drink and loud conversation.

The doors parted and closed again, admitting a man of perhaps two score years, bearing both the armor and the colors of a Basilean veteran sergeant. He moved with the easy gait of a man-at-arms and his grey eyes showed neither the gleam of greed nor the vacuity of faith as he met Aldovious’s tired gaze. Aldovius supressed a shudder.

He hated soldiers.

“Good day, Lord Trader”, the man spoke as he crossed the room to the table. Aldovius grunted a response and motioned him towards a chair.

“Thank you for the kindness, Lord Trader, but the Lauds are not yet over and this night’s watch must stand. I am sure you understand.”

Aldovius shrugged, neither understanding nor caring to be enlightened, and pushed a goblet towards the man across the table. Foolishness, all of this. Had the ship taken by the pirates not carried a shipment for his Holiness the Hegemon of Basilea, he could have avoided this inconvenience altogether. The armies and the navies of the Hegemon were excellent at keeping the seas open to trade but the soldiers themselves were often stiffnecked and always a chore to work with. Too many questions, too many rules and far too many interruptions to trade.

The man took the cup with the barest of inclinations of his head and took a sip. “So, Lord Trader, might I enquire as to why I am here and why my company is hurried to the docks at this early hour?”

“I requested the aid of the Holy Armies because of a… complication regarding a certain shipment entrusted to our House. The Shimmering Pearl, the ship carrying valuable cargo for His Holiness was captured off the Greensway Isles and is now, presumably, held somewhere on the coast of the isles. The cargo must be returned and as it is of military importance, your involvement is required by contract.”

“Greensway, you say? That’s a seclusionist area.”

Ah, seclusionists. The nice word these Hegemony bastards use for the lands that would rather govern themselves. Aldovius shrugged in a display of indifference, a gesture met with furrowing brows on behalf of the Basilean soldier.

“So what is this cargo we are looking for? I presume you are well acquainted with the rates we charge for salvage operations and the consequences of our taking a hand in your business.”

Indeed he was. If these holier-than-thou thugs managed to secure the cargo, Aldovius would be practically done for as a Trade. The contract terms would see to that. He also knew that if he did not abide to the contract with the Hegemony and involve them in their missing shipment, he would, instead, be done for as a living person through ways that made his bowels turn to water.

“Yes, yes of course. The cargo is rather... private. So much so, in fact, that I myself am unaware of the precise nature of this delivery. All I can say is that it was… substantial.”

“Any contacts, friendly ports or so?”
“As you said, the isles are fiercely independent so I’m afraid I cannot help you with those.”

The soldier gave him a flat look.

“So a hostile area, with a mystery cargo missing. You know this will cut severely into your rates, Lord Trader.”

“Of course, of course. I have arranged for your passage to the isles aboard a trustworthy fellow, Baines by name. He says his crew is ready to sail.”

The soldier did not bow as he turned and left.

Aldovius took a heavy, inelegant swig from the elegant cup, draining the fine vintage. He gulped it down, paying little heed to the exquisite aromas. The contract had seemed too good to be true, and it was looking like indeed it had been and that was precisely why he had spent much of the previous evening and the entire night buying the services of every last adventurer, would-be hero and sinister thug he could scrape from this barrel bottom of a port. If it so happened that the cargo was returned by a bunch of corsairing adventurers before the Basileans could secure it, Aldovius could dismiss the whole business.

He would not give these pious tyrants the pleasure of seeing his house brought under the Hegemon’s light and that was why, at that very moment, other ships were already en route and well under way towards the Isles.

The die had been cast and now all he could do was wait and see how they’d fall.

A slow realization smoothed the lines on Aldovius’s face in the silence of the room. There was, in fact, something he could do.

He could drink, heavily, while he waited.

The chink of the charafe on the cup was soothing.

Aldovius closed his eyes listened to the rain.

--

Greensway Isles are two lush island surrounded by a veritable archipelago of lesser domains. They are both ruled over by the Duchess of Greensway, who is in turn ruled over by the trader council, at least in practice if not in name.

The isles, once a part of gentle highlands near the glory of Primovantor, are now a rich holding in deed, grown fat by both trade and industry. Ore from the steep mountain ridges of Greensway Isle is smelted and refined and worked into bright steel blades or sturdy armor and the vineyards yield excellent vintages almost as a rule. Many ships put into port at Trader's Town to fill their holds despite the pirate threat of the unclaimed seas surrounding Greensway.

The traders have done little to discourage the pirates, trusting their that their profits will flow fatter if they don't bother their trading partners with inconvenient taxes that would be required to fit and maintain a navy. Some say the traders themselves are responsible for the acts of piracy, for the prizes claimed are often of the rarest quality.

The Isles are also home to a myriad of old ruins, ancient vaults and standing stones of mystical powers and the island folk are used to strange occurrences. Ghosts and fey lights are seen sometimes, as well as the occasional goblin tribe that comes down from the mountains. Unlike the overlooked pirates, the Traders have long since armed a sturdy militia to take in hand the oddities of the islands as well as dampening the eagerness of the Hegemony of Basilea to consolidate its hold on the Isles.

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I'm throwing together a Vanguard campaing here in Finland and I aim to use this blog to shape out the stories of the warbands. Perhaps I'll even have the luxury of entertaining a guest writer!

Stay tuned!

AoW