The Syzygy State of Emergency

EDICT 3358, ISSUED BY THE COUNCIL OF ALLIRIA
ON THE DAY 13 DIAMANT, YEAR 374
Declaration of a Reach-wide Emergency and Invocation of Council Authority Relating to the Regulation of the Anchorage and Movement of Vessels Within and Near Allirian Ports.

Under the DRAGON PROTECTION ACT of 372, General Dreixmond is hearby given permission from the Allirian Council of Merchants to act swiftly and represent sensibly the Council in all Manners pertaining to the TRIENNIAL SYZYGY.

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1. PROCLAMATION to all WATERCRAFT - PRIVATE, NAVY, MERCANTILE, FISHING, and PASSENGER VESSELS

1.0 EFFECTIVE IMMEDIATELY, the ALLIRIAN NAVY reserves the right to CLAIM all PERSONS, GOODS and VESSELS in defense of the public. Failure to surrender PERSONS, GOODS, OR VESSELS to Alliria will result in arrest.

1.1 ALL VESSELS are required to respond to DISTRESS SIGNALS, regardless of origin. Refusal to Investigate an S.O.S is punishable by law.

1.2 ALL VESSELS, FRIENDLY or HOSTILE, who so seek anchorage within the PORT OF ALLIRIA must allow a full search before any crew or passengers disembark.

1.3 ENEMIES OF ALLIRIA, if flying the WHITE FLAG, will be permitted to anchor their VESSELS upon agreeing to the terms of SURRENDER and upon peaceful capitulation of the CAPTAIN to imprisonment.

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2. STORM WARNING IN AFFECT FROM 21 DIAMANT TO 24 DIAMANT: be prepared for UNSEASONABLY HIGH WINDS, SEA MONSTER MIGRATION, and LOW VISIBILITY.

2.1 All VESSELS must depart with two light sources: one of MAGICAL origin and one of MUNDANE. If a source dies, TURN BACK.

2.2 Magically powered navigation equipment is not reliable during SYZYGY EVENTS. Even compasses may be faulty. Navigate only by the stars you can see. Do not sail without clear view of the constellations.

2.3 Above all else, Trust in your CAPTAIN, and in the CITY of ALLIRIA. We will not leave you to the Dark.

In Service,
General A. Dreixmond

Alliria
Outer District Docks

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Dominic Valentino

There came a knock, knock, knocking on the door of the 'construction' company's warehouse. But before anyone could answer, the culprit would be long gone. A hooded figure walking swifly down the docks, hunched over a stack of papers to guard them from the rain that had begun to pour.

Nailed to the door was a missive, printed in the stiff lettering that marked official Council communications:

ATTENTION: THIS BUILDING HAS BEEN MARKED WITHIN THE SYZYGY EVENT ZONE.

LIMIT OUTSIDE ACTIVITY TO ONLY NESCESSARY BUSINESS. EXCEPTING THOSE VITAL TO OPERATIONS, ALL PERSONS ARE ADVISED TO REMAIN INDOORS FOR THE DURATION OF THE SYZYGY.

UNTIL 24 DIAMANT, SUB MAGICAL PHENOMENAE MAY OCCUR NEARBY. OPERATION OF ENCHANTED EQUIPMENT IS NOT PERMITTED WITHIN THE ZONE. MAGICAL INGREDIENTS MUST BE PROPERLY STORED AND WARDED. VIOLATORS WILL BE FINED.

SEE SOMETHING STRANGE?
DO NOT APPROACH! REPORT TO THE NEAREST GUARD OUTPOST.

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Alliria
The Foamstone Alehouse

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Roland Grayson

Kaskran the Wrought-Iron was a Dragon Guard, trained to defind Alliria against fiends arcane and unknown. The finest gear and weapons made to his specifications, and any and all requisitions filled by the coffers of the city itself.

All of that, just to sit at a desk in a shabby inn and stamp papers.

The woman in front of Kaskran didn't want her papers stamped. She slammed her gauntlet-covered hands down on the table, leaning in close and menacing. "I dunno who you think you are, but you listen 'ere! just because I'm shacking up in this city doesn't mean I went and agreed to die for it--"

"--Indeed you did, when you registered as a sword-for-hire and got your papers notarized at the Guild." With a hand, he flipped through the pages of an open notebook, until he landed on the passage he wanted. Leaned a bit towards the page and recited: "Section three of your contract with the City of Alliria: 'If Alliria finds herself in a state of emergency, as outlined under the Dangers and Duress Act of 358, all registered mercenaries will report to the nearest city official or guard house and be conscripted temporarily into the Allirian Army, Navy, or Guard until such time that the city and her citizens are deemed safe.'"

The woman balked. She'd become glazed over by the lengthy, and reasonable way in which Kaskran explained her situation. "W-well, I want out of the agreement!"

"Failing to fullfill the contract means forfeiting all rights to practice mercenary work within city limits. Meaning, you'll be blacklisted. From every employer in Alliria."

"That's absurd, you can't ban me from the whole port! I won't stand for this mistreatment--"

"Mistreatment? What mistreatment, is that? We are the city of free merchants. You either sign on the line, or you don't. Doesn't matter to me." He nodded behind her, where the heads of other equally disgruntled blackguards bobbed impatiently inside the confines of the inn, vying for space. "There's maybe fifty or so mercenaries right behind you, who will take your pay, if you don't want it."

A moment of weighing her options. He saw the anger bleed out of the woman. How had she lasted this long, with a temper like that? Sheepishly, she handed over her papers.

The stamp came down. APPROVED FOR WORK. Underneath the bold red lettering, Kaskran wrote a dock number and the name of an Allirian corvette. "Report to the Captain of the A.G.S. Ladybird for further orders. You will be sufficiently compensated."

Sighing as she left, Kaskran leaned back in his chair. Took the spare moment to grab his pipe, sitting unused on the table, and tap out the old ash. He packed more herb into it, and nursed the spark that crackled at the tip of his finger.

Least his magic wasn't going screwy, yet.

"Next!" he puffed out through the smoke.

Alliria
Outer District Shipyard; a continuation from this post.

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The carriage rolled to a stop. Rain beat down hard against its oiled canvas roof. The two men in the driver's seat dismounted, and came round to the side of the carriage. One cut a sleek figure in burnished guard's armor and a gilded white cloak. The other was marked by tattoos and scars, and had the salt-brined complexion of a sailor.

The brawny sailor opened the carriage door, and the guard reached in and offered a bracing hand.

Pale, slender fingers grasped the gauntleted hand, and Eden stepped out of the carriage. Her first step turned to bouncing stride as she set out across the rain-slicked cobblestone. Mismatched as they were, the two men fell into synchronous step behind her.

"Councilor Sinclayr!" A mousy little woman in scribe's robes called out. She tapped up to Eden in dainty white boots, now splattered irrepairably with sand and sea debris. The woman's coat was hoisted over her head, thrown on hastily to keep off the rain.

"Reports are comin' in from up and down the coasts. Dead Kivren washed up in Ormkirk, missing citizens in Dungannon. Strange beings armored in abalone have been sighted in Beachcastle, Lindow, and Coalfell. Word on the wind is that Virspoke will be hit next, but by what --"

"Yes I know, Alna. I read the reports on the way here." The rain stopped as Eden stepped underneath the canopy of an open-walled warehouse. It fell on clay tiles high above, and on any other day the clattering sound would have comforted her. "Tell me what you've done about it."

"Right, of course." Alna motioned towards a group of crates that had been pushed together to form a table. Maps and navigation charts were laid out across the flat surface. Crossing her arms, Eden eyed them passively.

"We've got guards on the ground, enforcing the edict and organizing assets. Most merchants are heeding orders, and volunteering their fleets. Those still withholding will give in soon - the pressure from the Council is too great."

"Greedy poltroons, do they not realize entire villages are going missing? We need ships out there now, not soon!"

"Y-yes ma'am, we're doing everything we can--!"

The warehouse stood at the precipice of a dry dock. Below them, a frigate was cradled in scaffolding, held aloft over the deep ravine -- a piece of the ocean carved away from itself. Eden looked down on the great ship, and the dark figures of the sailors that crawled about its scaffolding, their details obscured by the rain.

"Of course, Alna." She sighed, calmed herself. It wasn't the girl's fault that the Syzygy was upon them, and the city's highest officials were still scrambling about like chickens trying to swallow one last piece of grain before the slaughter.

"And what of the Chrysalis?"

"Well, the lead shipwright's not happy about it, but he says it'll be ready to launch by tomorrow morning." Alna looked out at the sunless grey of the sky, dark and pitted against the lanternlight of Alliria's streets. "...whatever morning will look like, tomorrow."

Tomorrow. the second day of the Syzygy. Would that be too late?

"Ma'am. What are your orders?"

"Gather the hired muscle and local fishers -- we'll have to rely on them to bridge the gap for now. Send anything smaller than a cutter out to scout the shores. Establish lines of contact with Ormkirk, Beachcastle, and Virspoke firstly. We'll cast our nets out wider from those points."

Eden made to leave. Paused, as she thought of something else. "And find me a priest."

"A priest, ma'am?"

"For tomorrow morning. It's bad luck to send a ship off on its maiden voyage without one."

Alliria
The Foamstone Alehouse

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Roland Grayson

Every excuse that Kaskran had heard over the past few days poured out of the mercenary's mouth all at once. He wished he had a chair instead of a hastily requisitioned bar stool, so that he could at least rest his back while the other man rattled off his 'expertise' and preferred working condition.

"Prior sailing experience is not required," Kaskran said flatly in response. The stamp came up, ready to assign the mercenary and his cat onto a ship. But before he could, a runner came out from a side entrance and knelt next to Kaskran. He set his pipe and the stamp down, and took the missive that the messenger offered. Read it without a word, then looked back up to the mercenary.

"Today's your lucky day, conscript. Some priest needs a bodyguard. I take it that's in your repertoire?"

Kaskran was not interested in the man's answer. He stamped the papers all the same, but instead of a ship name, he wrote:

Outer District; West Port
Escort Assignment

Kaskran handed the papers back to the mercenary. "Welcome to the Allirian Guard. You will be sufficiently compensated."

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Alliria
Outer District, West Port

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Kiros Rahnel

The guard that had apprehended Kiros would take him to an outpost along the West Port. Once a warehouse used for salting and drying fish, it was now bustling with guards and officials in Allirian colors. Not a soul milled about, as they moved supplies and made ready. Amongst the guards were plainclothes men and women, looking a rightful mix of worried, confused, and angry. Some of them were taking orders from the uniformed officials better than others.

The guard that led Kiros started walking him through the mess, but was soon stopped by another. "Hey, Ausper, where're you headed?" The newcomer guard said. He was a portly man with a long, reddish mustache that bristled out the bottom of his helmet.

"Putting this one with the other conscripts - he says he's a healer. Imagine we can't have enough of those."

"Hold on, don't you recognized a Godly man when you see one?"

"So's what? Just means he's got someone to pray to when things go tits up."

"Priests are getting pulled for a special assignment." The other guard pointed to a tent. It had been set up in the middle of the warehouse, nestled between barrels of half-processed fished. "Take him over there, and get him a handler."

Kiros would be dumped Inside, there were two other priests sitting uncomfortably on salt-stained crates. One was a Celestialist, the symbol of Metisa hanging from her neck on a silver cord. The other was dressed like a Bhathairk shaman, purple robes embroidered with the spirits of nature, and his tusks capped in gold.
The woman was too nervous to do more than glance sheepishly at Kiros, let along greet him. She gripped her holy symbol, her eyes downcast and her lips moving silently in frantic prayer.

"I take it they didn't give you an explanation, either?" The orcish shaman said. He waved at the crate across from himself. "Have a seat, we've both been here awhile."

OOC Note:
Kiros and Roland - you are both being conscripted to the same place, feel free to move the scene forward enough on your own to have your characters interact.

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Alliria
The Shallows, Meerkin's Barber Shop

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Marta Martigan Theodore Zurim Dominic Valentino

Every beastkin in the Shallows knew about old Meerkin - knew he was a reliable sort who would trim up your fur or stitch up a knife wound, whatever was needed at the time. The old bird didn't ask for much pay, either. Only what the neighbors could muster together. A warm meal from the family of bears down the road, the frohoggin's freshest catch, that hole in his overcoat finally patched up by Mrs. Avery's deft claws.

Meerkin had been busy, the past couple of days. Even before the darkness settled in, fishers and dock workers had been coming in with more cases of salt fever and wind burn than he'd ever seen.

Then there was this new illness, that he'd never seen before.

Beak bent low over the candlelight, Meerkin examined the foxkin that lay in bed. Her breath was shallow, her nose dry and crusted over. She refused food and water, and didn't respond to his voice. A scab like a barnacle grew from her neck, half-obscured by her thick red fur. Meerkin was at a loss - attempts to remove the growth only seemed to make things worse.

A pounding of fists rained against the barbershop door. "One moment!" Meerkin called out.

When he opened the door, he expected to see another neighbor asking for aid. What he got instead was a guardsman, already strong-arming his way into the entry.

"Are you the barber?"

"Yes, I am. And this is a rightful and registered shop, sir, if there's a problem--" Meerkin's feathers bristled, but he was no fighter. All he could do was squawk and move out of the way as the guard pushed forward and stepped his muddy boots onto the premise.

"We've reason to believe this establishment is harboring individuals attempting to dodge the new edict," the guard said.

"The only people here are sick or hurting, sir. They need to be cared for, not put to work."

"Then you won't mind if we take a look around and make sure that's true."

We? Meerkin's eye darted through the open door. Three more guards were close on the tail of the first (not that these humans had anything as graceful as a tail).

Meerkin didn't ask for much pay for his services, no, but he'd never turned down a favor from a grateful client. He hoped the one's he'd called in arrived soon.