Fanaxia: a Set of Remarkable Coincidences

Some additional insight from our DM, provided after the last session of Trying To Find Out All The Things:

 

Count Fenwick Wallington was the most powerful man in Vrist.

That was because a woman ruled Vrist, namely one Queen Eleanor Duraine. And it galled Clifton’s father that he’d long ago been rejected as a suitor. Not that it hurt the noble man’s legacy – he had eight children to show for that – but the knowledge seemed to live with the man like a splinter under his fingernail.

Cardinal Anselm Richelieu pretended not to notice. He was a highness of Urgroth, the only religion allowed in this dreary, rainy land. He fawned over Clifton’s father and a silly deck of magical cards.

“Oh, these are most impressive, Count Wallington!” Anselm cooed.

“Thank you, Cardinal. They’ve been in my family for generations. It is said that my great, great – well, a lot of greats, you get the idea – my ancestor, Lawson Wallington, actually won the first of our lands using this deck of cards. It is said he drew a single card and became a noble! A ridiculous myth, to be sure –“

“I wouldn’t say that,” Anselm said, his eyes fixed on the leather pouch containing the cards.

“Well, needless to say,” Count Wallington continued, “they are priceless. I could never part with them.”

“Unless?” Anselm looked at the count knowingly.

Clifton Wallington rolled his eyes. His father was a sheep. The man hoped he could secure a kingship by sucking up to these ridiculous priests of Urgroth. With a sneer of disgust, he stood up from where he’d been spying on his father through a crack in the door. He looked out the windows on the opposite wall. The sun was low in the sky, but there was still light. If he hurried, he could catch Rodor on the practice field for some sparring.

In the distance, a horn sounded. They were under attack.

Count Wallington burst from the room with the cardinal on his heels. “Clifton, good, you’re here. Find Rodor and rally the men at arms. Bring them back to the house to protect your brothers and sisters.”

“Yes, father,” Clifton replied reflexively.

The count and the cardinal hurried down the hall while Clifton went the other direction. When he reached the courtyard, he was greeted by the smell of burning wood. With a cough, he covered his mouth and ducked under the clouds of smoke, sprinting toward the eastern door of the courtyard, which led to his mother’s quarters. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his brother Fendrel, of 14 years, fearlessly defending his mother’s quarters.

“Is mother inside?” Clifton asked.

Fendrel nodded, “And the other children.” He put a special emphasis on the last, as if to differentiate himself from the children.

“Good job,” Clifton said, cuffing him on the shoulder, “hold this position. I will join our father in the defense.”

Fendrel nodded, and Clifton slipped back out the door, creeping south across the courtyard, trying to remain hidden. A motion caught his eye on the northern side of the courtyard. A single dark shape dropped from the roof and landed quietly in front of the door to the main hallway. It quickly knelt and examined the door, disabling the defensive magics and slipping inside.

Is the attack a diversion? Clifton thought, This one is the real thief. I must stop them. He looked around the courtyard and, seeing nobody, jogged to the northern door leading to his father’s study.

Once inside, he looked around and immediately identified sound coming from the west, in the very study where his father had been meeting with Cardinal Richelieu. Shit, he thought, the thief is robbing us blind! Without thinking he ran toward the door and peaked inside. The thief was dressed in all black and had already picked the lock to his father’s armoire. Clifton drew his sword and carefully stepped across the room, inching closer to the criminal.

All of a sudden, the thief cinched his bag and turned to flee, directly into Clifton and his drawn sword, which impaled itself in the man’s chest. He looked at Clifton in shock, which must have mirrored Clifton’s own, and fell to the floor, with Clifton’s sword still in his breast.

At that moment, Count Wallington and his guards burst into the room. “Clifton! Are you hurt?”

“No, father.” Clifton stared at the man on the ground.

“Thank Urgroth!” Count Wallington ran over and stood beside his son. With his longsword, he reached down and lifted the thief’s purse. “The others fled as soon as we mounted a defense. It was all a ruse to cover this man’s infiltration, as much good that did.” He smiled, “You’re quite the hero today!”

Behind Clifton, the count’s guards sheathed the sword and started clapping and whooping enthusiastically. Clifton just stood in shock. He hadn’t done anything, the man just ran into his sword. But his father and these men didn’t seem to care. His father squeezed his shoulder, pulling him out of his dazed state, and the guards drug the thief out of the room. Before long, Clifton was left alone.

Except for the leather satchel on the table. He was standing immediately next to the table where his father had showcased his great, great – errr, some old ancestor’s magic cards, that had supposedly won their fortune. The exact same spot where the thief had run into his sword and made him a hero.

Before Clifton knew what he was doing, he grabbed the cards and stashed them in his pocket. There is a party tonight, he thought to himself, and there will be much gambling. It wouldn’t hurt to have some magic cards, and luck seemed to be with him this day. With a grin, Clifton strutted out of the room to be congratulated by the rest of the keep.

 

This was particularly interesting to me, because I'd concluded (and, by extension, so had Martini -- who isn't my character but I'm currently playing her because of the way we remixed the parties) that Clifton had very likely set the whole thing up himself, hiring one group to attack and create a diversion, and then hiring a thief to try to steal from them during the attack, all so that he could intercept the thief and come off looking like a hero. Apparently that isn't the case... which means that someone actually is trying to steal the cards, or the treasure, or both. Cardinal Richlieu? Someone in the Queen's faction? Independent entrepreneurs? Who knows?