#amwill flintstone

[npc-says]

Cliffside: The City Killers

“Hello? Is this thing working?” Rihan’s voice sounded clearly in Cliffside’s head, the Stone sitting at the center of the ornate mahogany desk.

“Yes.”  At the sound of this second voice, Cliffside could picture Flintstone’s smarmy grin.

“Quiet,” a third voice barked, unmistakably belonging to Huzhi Suliazhi, “we don’t want any unwelcome ears listening in. Hang on.”

Undeterred by the warning (and, in any case, the barb he had planned revealed no information), Cliffside said coolly, “Thank the gods these things aren’t limited by number of words.” He did not hide the disdain in his voice, though it was anyone’s guess at whom his disdain was directed.

Little did they know that Cliffside had disdain reserved for all three of them.

After all, Rihan had publicly withdrawn from civic life, citing the need to spend more time with his family. But Cliffside knew the truth; Rihan was scared of Kunt’s rise, of the extremism of Kunt’s followers, and of how far it had brought the nobles from their old ways. Rihan was afraid, as were many of the other nobles, of what was becoming of their class.

It was destruction from below either way, Cliffside had reasoned with the nobility repeatedly: from the rebels and their so-called Revolution, or from the human extremists who called for wilder tactics to put down the nonhuman rabble. Dissatisfied by the behavior of the latter but unwilling to incite their ire by explicitly rebuking them, Rihan and others like him simply vanished from the public. 

It was little more than cowardice, in Cliffside’s eyes. For Cliffside, there was only survival, at whatever cost. Flintstone and Suliazhi were the very embodiment of the great change, and it furthered Cliffside’s ire that he was now in a position of treating them as almost-equals when they lacked the decorum to deserve similar stature. But unlike Rihan, Cliffside found himself able to tolerate these meetings and this tenuous and temporary alliance, rather than, say, running into the shadows. 

He hardly approved of the methods of Kunt’s adherents himself, but he knew the power and influence Kunt held. He would not let himself be afraid of using it to save his people. His distaste with extremism could, for the moment, be reconciled with his usual comportment in the public eye. Though his enemies would characterize his actions as concessions to a new order, Cliffside would call it tactical negotiation. This was war, he was prepared to argue, and war called for different methods than peacetime.

“Nobody else,” Suliazhi said. “Our line is secure.”

“Yes...good,” Rihan started. Though he tried to remain steely and calm, his voice tremored slightly in the presence of Suliazhi and Flintstone. Pathetic, Cliffside thought. “Chancellor, the nobles ---”

“Acting Chancellor,”  Suliazhi and Flintstone  corrected in unison. Cliffside rolled his eyes at the constant reminder and perpetual power-play from these two. Just as pathetic. 

Rihan fell silent, which only further annoyed Cliffside, then cleared his throat. “Yes, well, Mister Cliffside, sir, the nobles are getting anxious again. They’ve been monitoring the situation in the cities and the unrest is worsening. They need reassurance that---”

“That we are in control?” Cliffside offered, a hint of danger in his even tone. “We are at war, gentlemen. Surely they know these things take time.”

“If I may, Acting Chancellor,” Suliazhi cut in. “That is precisely why we have requested this meeting with you.”

“Oh?”

“My colleague, as you know, has been very busy,” Flintstone said, picking up where  Suliazhi left off. “We are - how shall we say - sensitive to your concerns, which Mr. Rihan here rightfully raises.”

“Go on.” The grueling part about leadership was publicly assuming the concerns of those you spoke for as your own, as much as the two differed. 

“We are losing considerable manpower trying to hold the cities,” Flintstone continued. “The incident a few hours ago in Lossan, I am sure, speaks for itself. How many of our men did we lose? At least ten of our most elite fighters?”

It was a rhetorical question that Cliffside did not dignify with a response. Suliazhi could be heard audibly snickering from his end. Cliffside chose to ignore it. There was a point to whatever they were saying right now; he just wished they would get to it.

“With your authorization,” Flintstone said, “we have engineered and deployed a champion to fight in your honor. It bears the strength of an army and will target only the treasonous. It craves order in your name.”

“I like to call them our special little City Killers,” Suliazhi snarled. “One is en route to Southport as we speak and will attack on your command. You just have to give the word.”

Whatever “authorization” Cliffside had previously given Flintstone and Suliazhi, he did not anticipate it to be something of this scale and so soon. These two had surely been waiting for any reason to let something loose that they never had before. In truth, Cliffside hadn’t the faintest idea what these two had in mind. There was no way he could trust that these things would actually report to him. It wasn’t even clear that these things had actually been deployed. He would have to get eyes on them first to see how they worked before he would assume responsibility for whatever this was. 

Rihan’s voice broke in finally, but only timidly so. “Sir? Cliffside? Can we...ah...have a private word?”

Cliffside managed to stifle his groan. “Of course, Rihan. Gather our Stone. We’ll be back in one moment,” he instructed the other two before leaving the range of the modified Zechman stone.

“This thing only gives us ten minutes,” Flintstone reminded them. 

“Yes, yes, we’ll be back before then,” Cliffside said, finally stepping out of range. “Rihan, what is it?”

“I don’t like this, sir,” Rihan admitted. “What did you let them do?”

“Something that will save us all, I assure you,” Cliffside snapped. More than you’ve managed to do for us. Instinctively, he thumbed at the ruby amulet at his neck, identical to the jade one that Rihan undoubtedly wore right now as well. “We have all done things that have brought us closer to oblivion.”

Rihan said nothing, but he knew very well what Cliffside was referring to. The handful of them had ventured into that tomb together, had taken their oaths, had sworn their souls to the darkness for their own survival. Sacrifices needed to be made, but the gifts they bought for such a price were more than worth it. 

“What should I tell the nobles?” Rihan asked.

“Tell them our meeting has been moved to Southport,” Cliffside said, “for a...demonstration. A reassurance, if you will.”

[npc-says]

Petyr Cliffside: Mistakes in Allyship

After receiving a less-than-ideal update, Petyr Cliffside dismisses the Orange Battalion soldier who had the misfortune of bringing the news. Cliffside thought himself above public displays of anger at the soldier’s expense; this was war, and losses were to be expected. It was only incompetence that drew Cliffside’s ire (mostly). Whatever incompetence resulted in this loss was not this particular soldier’s fault. 

With a sigh, Cliffside hovers over the war room map and frowns. As per the soldier’s updates, he moves a few markers and tokens on the map to reflect the most recent changes on the ground. 

Sixth Terrace has been reclaimed by the rebels. 

Cliffside can’t say that he’s particularly surprised at this development, which perhaps helps soften the blow of the loss. The city had been prematurely and haphazardly taken, or so the reports claimed. 

The trouble was that Stefan Miller was a curious mix of both the old nobility and the new Kunt worshippers. Dangerously, he was younger and he adopted and implemented more controversial changes that aligned more with Kunt’s radical ideas. Miller still had the air and poise of the old nobility and carried out these controversial changes with that same composure. 

For better or worse, his tactic of sneaking through radical policies in a calm, steady vessel was very hit-or-miss. The paralyzing shock of the brazenness of these policies bought the government time to act quickly; after all, Kunt’s policies by way of Miller were initially met with widespread disbelief that anyone in the government would so plainly take a strong stance against nonhumans. But after that initial shock had faded, however deep into implementation of those policies the government was, the uproar in response may not have been worth it in Cliffside’s eyes. Cliffside himself preferred the old way, of enacting much subtler changes over a long period of time; he was not a fan of Miller’s boldness and would have dressed the policy up as something a little more diluted. 

Such a difference in strategy and execution was apparent in how Sixth Terrace was captured. Cliffside had assigned Miller as Ambassador to the city, to act as his surrogate and agent while slowly taking control from Sixth Terrace’s local government. With that same even demeanor, Miller had carried out his orders. But Miller’s underlying methods were worthy of Cliffside’s reservations. To take the city once and for all, Miller said, he had allegedly bought his way into an alliance with a trio of dragons who could help contain the city. It was an expensive investment, but Miller stood by it, despite Cliffside’s insistence that such an alliance could prove to be dangerous and unpredictable. Cliffside was unfortunately proven right, as he was informed that the dragons had attacked the city prematurely when Orange Battalion soldiers were still working on stamping out the last of the dissenters. The victory that followed was very brief; as per the most recent update, the dragons and Miller were killed by rebel forces that came in from the south, and the Orange Battalion was driven out of the city. 

Cliffside surveys the large map as he muses about such a loss. It’s fine. We still have Lossan. We will take Wells Pier, Southport, and Broadison soon enough. As long as the rebels within those cities could be subdued, as long as his other Ambassadors didn’t have any crazy ideas to effectuate those orders, all would go according to plan. 

Still, the Resistance is peculiarly organized. For weeks, Cliffside has been trying to make sense of their plans. Before, banks, debt records, and debtor’s prisons were targeted and subject to complete destruction. Those particular commonalities did not yield much of a pattern. It made sense, after all; the rebel leader had proclaimed an all-our war on the country’s financial institutions. But after their destruction? There didn’t seem to be much else happening there. The murder of Kunt himself seemed like mere collateral damage in the course of the rebels trying to rescue their leader. Cliffside had expected an attempt on his life soon after, waits for it everyday now, but there has not even been an attempt on his life to be foiled. What was the point of it all? And now that martial law had overtaken the most restless cities, other than liberating cities that the Orange Battalion occupied, the rebels don’t seem to have a discernible plan. 

But somehow that felt...intentional? It didn’t feel sloppy or careless as Cliffside had originally thought. No, there was a method to the madness. And it was maddening to Cliffside to not be able to make sense of it. 

Worse, what the rebels lack in numbers, they make up for in efficacy, it seems. They seem to operate in packs. Very effective packs that struck swiftly and left destruction in their wake. If there were more of these rebels and they carried on like this, Cliffside would have been worried. But as it is, martial law and locking down movement in and out of cities helped reduce the threat of the rebel groups. Their numbers were scattered and their most powerful were injured. 

The arrival of Amwill Flintstone breaks into Cliffside’s thoughts. Cliffside could not say that he particularly liked the man. He was a stocky figure of Cliffside’s caliber, of the same age, upbringing, and pedigree. But there was a devious hunger that no manners or noble breeding could mask; that much became apparent when he was willing to abandon the old ways and dive off the deep end to do Kunt’s bidding. That he still holds a significant post after Kunt’s death seems to be a continuation of Kunt’s dark, chaotic legacy. 

The mixture of dwarven and orcish blood slogging through Flintstone’s veins was only apparent behind closed doors, when he allowed the veneer of magic to drop among his peers. Cliffside wondered what he had done to earn himself the absolute pleasure of seeing Flintstone all but unmasked on this particular day. 

“I see we lost one,” Flintstone observes, looking at the altered markers on Sixth Terrace. 

“We are holding the cities and taking more by the day,” Cliffside says. “The rebellion will wane soon enough.”

“Ah, then how do you explain what happened in Sixth Terrace?”

“A mistake in allyship,” Cliffside grumbles, staring warningly at Flintstone. Again, reports from the city stated that the dragons, in spite of the generous offerings from the administration for their loyalty, had acted much too quickly. That careless alliance was the problem. 

“Don’t forget the rebel invasion from the south.” 

“An unfortunate and unexpected occurrence,” Cliffside says curtly, “one that would not have been effective if the city had been taken properly.” Flintstone does not say anything but looks on knowingly. Cliffside finds the amusement in his doubt infuriating, though he does his best not to show it. He is not accustomed to being undermined with such thinly-veiled mockery. 

“The rebels are giving you a little more trouble than you bargained for, Chancellor,” Flintstone comments with a sneer. 

“We are handling it, I assure you.” 

“I’m not sure your methods are quite cutting it.” Flintstone circles around the table slowly, dragging a finger along the edge of the map. “I do recall, Chancellor, that many under your influence sought to constrain some of Kunt’s directives.”

“I can recall no such thing,” Cliffside says, lips pursed. 

“Oh sure, I’m sure you only made some suggestions to your people, but they took the hints pretty clearly. They took steps to prevent some of Dunghill Kunt’s...plans.”

“To let those plans come to fruition too early in the administration  would have only confirmed the Resistance’s suspicions about our leadership. War would have erupted much sooner if we had been so bold so quickly. We have crept slowly into their cities to gain the upper hand, and they have let us because we have moved carefully.”

“Kunt is dead now.” Flintstone finds some stray, unused tokens at the margins of the map and places them southward, around the Golden Trident. “And perhaps if not for the constraint imposed upon him, he would still be alive and this war would look very different.”

“What are you saying?”

“You need our help. It’s about time you let us.” Flintstone moves the tokens from the Golden Trident to the newly-liberated Sixth Terrace. “Let us help in ways we deem most effective. This is war, Chancellor. Your old way is not always effective in war.” He brings a heavy hand onto the pieces he just moved with a thud. “War is quick. Unpredictable. Chaotic.”

“Go on.”

“My spies have gathered information regarding a rebel group that was seen fleeing the Golden Trident around the time that communications with King Sunry were cut off,” Flintstone says. 

“And?”

“Subsequent sources reported seeing an influx of rebels coming to the aid of Sixth Terrace from the waters. Over 100 of them, apparently. I do not think that is a coincidence, and I highly doubt they are the only group moving between the cities we’ve captured.”

“Perhaps not,” Cliffside grudgingly agrees, on both accounts. 

“It would be in all of our best interests to...reduce those threats.”

“Hm.” Cliffside knows that Flintstone is right, as far as positioning the Orange Battalion is concerned. It simply isn’t feasible to both hold the cities while also sending scouts out to squash those groups. The Battalions were by no means skilled trackers, nor were they able to move swiftly and subtly. 

And it was true, it seems to be the numbers moving between the cities that are becoming problematic. Those are harder to pin down. And as was obvious with Sixth Terrace, it is the groups on the run that could liberate captured cities. 

It stood to reason, then, that a few extra sets of hands would be needed.

Flintstone sneers, knowing he has Cliffside right where he wants him. Cliffside lets himself be had, but only grudgingly, knowing that the alternative could be repeats of Sixth Terrace and a humiliating defeat that he had ensured the other nobles would never happen. 

“You worry about holding the cities, boss,” Flintstone says, clapping a hand on Cliffside’s shoulder in a gesture that the latter man finds several levels of unwelcome. Flintstone seems to relish in Cliffside’s recoiling. “I’ll take care of the rebels on the run. Just give me the go-ahead and it’ll be done.”

“Dare I ask what you have in mind for them?” Cliffside asks as he reluctantly scrawls a quick note on some parchment before handing it to Flintstone.

“Better not to ask, no,” Flintstone says with a dark grin.