Curse of Laughter: Cayden Cailean wins.  Asmodeus loses.

Curse of Laughter: Project Lawful is over.

Iarwain: Happy exact one-year anniversary of Planecrash / Project Lawful, everyone!

Here's some commissioned artwork of Project Lawful to celebrate!

Pilar : "How about fucking no."

Curse of Laughter: Pilar doesn't have any ability to do anything about it!

Pilar : Pilar has two wizard circles, five oracle circles, a curse with a mysterious ability to locate anybody in Golarion according to seemingly arbitrary queries, and her very own personal, what Dispater called a 'godling', strapped to her.

Curse of Laughter: Also a lot of credibility with the Most High Aspexia Rugatonn and the government of Cheliax!

Pilar : Snack Service LIED.

Curse of Laughter: According to Keltham whose authority upon the concept of 'honesty' obviously far exceeds the authority of anybody from Cheliax, it's not a 'lie' if you don't expect them to end up persistently believing false things nor do you exploit their false beliefs to their own detriment during the bounded short time they persist!

Though Snack Service would add that it needs to be about not exploiting their false beliefs to what they'd define as their own detriment in an immediate sort of way, rather than any complicated definitions of that, if you want people to still be able to trust you after you say intentionally false things that temporarily fool them.  Snack Service will also add an explicit time bound of one minute.

Pilar : Why is Pilar even still talking to this thing.

Pilar : "Message to Egorian, relatively urgent, I'm going to need six Teleports and a Crown authorization."

Cheliax: "What sort of authorization?"

Pilar : "Let's just say all of it."

Cheliax: "Say again?"

Pilar : "I want all of it.  All of the authorization."

Cheliax: "Lady Pineda, I don't think the system really has an option for that."

Mora of Maragall: Mora inspects her glass of beer.  The beer served in this tavern is piss, fundamentally, but usually tastes better than most of what passes for beer in Westcrown, unless Mora wants to put on nice clothes that make her a target and trudge over to the nice part of town and pay ten times as much per glass.

"Cayden Cailean must have cursed this city," she mutters to herself, and takes a reluctant sip.

Yep.  Piss.

???: "I doubt it," says the hooded figure sitting next to Mora at the bar of the tavern.  She'd already been sitting there, next to the only open seat, before Mora had arrived.

Her voice is that of a relatively younger woman.

Mora of Maragall: Yep.  Cloaked person is a melodramatic teenager.  Mora had privately thought as much, which was why she'd sat down there instead of turning around to go home.

"You don't think Cayden Cailean would curse a Chelish city so that all the affordable beer there is terrible?"

???: "I don't think he has to.  All he needs to do is withhold his blessing."

"Everything goes to shit unless somebody is constantly monitoring it.  One person, who's clearly responsible for it and gets held accountable for it.  There's no one person in Cheliax whose job is to ensure that there's affordable beer in Westcrown, and who gets their pay reduced if it's terrible."

Mora of Maragall: "I will fucking drink to that," Mora snarls.  She takes a swallow of her awful piss, slams her beer stein back onto the bar.  "I notice you're using mortal pronouns for Cayden Cailean.  Because you don't want to use god-pronouns for a god hated of Asmodeus, or because you're claiming sufficient personal acquaintance with Cayden Cailean to not need those?"

???: "Yes."

Mora of Maragall: "Fucking wizard apprentice who thinks she's clever, got it.  And here I was thinking for a second that you might work in project management."

???: "Not exactly.  I know a project that's looking for an excellent manager, though."

Mora of Maragall: "What happened to the last one?"

???: "Tortured-beyond-the-point-of-usefulness by someone who is... no longer with us."

Mora of Maragall: "Best luck finding a good project manager who'll take that job, at least voluntarily."

???: "What would it take to get you to take a position like that?"

Mora of Maragall: "I flatly wouldn't.  I stay out of the way of that sort of thing.  I work as an assistant to project managers who've heard of me, who have enough reputation that I know they'll keep a compact not to put the blame on me, in exchange for my services.  I serve them loyally.  I watch them get broken and discarded over minor shit.  I move on to the next project manager who took on a job too big for them."

???: "That's fair."  The hooded figure sips from its full beer glass, though Mora notes the level doesn't seem to have gotten any lower after several sips.  "I expect there's some part of you that chafes at never really being in charge, though.  Watching somebody else finally fuck up, refuse your advice, and crash and burn and take all your own hard work down with them."

Mora of Maragall: "That's half the cases.  The other half are people getting fired, or as the case may be, executed, over things that weren't their fault and where I wouldn't have done any better.  That's why I work the way I work.  Probably, any really sensible person in Cheliax with a talent for project management does the same."

???: "There should be some amount of pay that'd get you to step up to it."

Mora of Maragall: "Not even for a million gold pieces.  I mean that literally."

???: "I've known - three different people, in my life - who'd probably, if they were here, be able to prove there was something incoherent about that.  Some sort of mathematical proof about how, for any action there must be some number of gold pieces that'd make you do it, otherwise you'd be able to prove some weird inconsistency..."

Mora of Maragall: "Trust me on this one, wizard apprentice, you don't want to go believing everything that somebody's proven to you mathematically."

???: "You know, I'm pretty sure there's some way to get you to do this.  But, again just guessing here, you're the sort of person who'd be immensely offended if somebody used... a series of Auguries, say, or Commune, to figure out any more than being in the right tavern at the right time."

Mora of Maragall: "Oh.  Claiming to be a fifth-circle cleric, then?"

???: "No, but I work for a cleric who's at least that powerful."

Mora of Maragall: "Yeah, I mostly don't believe you, kid.  You dress like that, which is, no doubt, way more conspicuous than you just looking the way you usually look, whatever that is.  So you're also the sort of person who'd try to play along with me and pretend to have been sent to recruit me."

"But suppose I believe you.  This cleric - not a cleric of Asmodeus, I presume?"

???: "What makes you say that?"

Mora of Maragall: "The part where you're not just telling me to work for you."

It's something Mora has always felt some residual anxiety about, and she's always told herself that the Crown and Church and nobles don't work that way, they don't see a mere assistant and decide that she's the real talent and seize her to run a major project.  It's just not how Those People see the world.

???: "There might be some Asmodeans on the surface of Golarion who'd understand that there are some people where you can't get their best work from them that way.  It's an awful, awful fact but a true one.  I knew somebody like that too."

Mora of Maragall: "Yeah?  What happened to them?"

???: "It looks like suicide, at this point.  The person responsible for that is no longer with us."

Mora of Maragall: "Same person who tortured your project manager?"

???: "Actually, that was the project manager... sort of, arguably some of the fault lay with his manager, for not giving him different orders, and her manager, who thought it was a good idea to... go back to a more traditional Asmodeanism on the project... and now all three of them are gone."

"And it was also my fault, because I could have said something, or done something, and I did not.  I guess, in a way, I'm the last one left."

Mora of Maragall: "See, that is a management casualty rate that makes somebody not want to manage any project.  Let alone that one."

???: "Is the only reason you're still in Cheliax, and not being a full project manager in Absalom or Andoran, that you don't have an exit permit?"

Mora of Maragall: "Naive question.  I wouldn't have any reputation there, with project managers in Absalom.  Who's going to hire an ex-Chelish assistant to be the shadow manager on their project?  Or make her a manager when they don't know her?  I wouldn't know their system.  I'd have to start all over."

"And if the Church asks, I like the part here where everybody shuts up and obeys orders once they're given.  That's even true."

???: "Suppose hypothetically that I was on a very important Crown project... well, technically a Church project, but really more of a... let's just say both Church and Crown."

Mora of Maragall: "Pharasma help you."

???: "It needs a new manager."

Mora of Maragall: "After bad things happened to, if I was tracking that correctly, the last three people in the chain of command?"

???: "Yes.  That is our situation here."

Mora of Maragall: "Why isn't this hypothetical project drawing from one of the many proven, experienced managers already known to Crown and Church?"

???: "Because there's stunningly few people who could even try their hand at a Project like ours, when a fifth-circle cleric of Asmodeus with twenty years managing a Worldwound installation was not enough.  Because all of those people are busy and pulling them out from their current jobs would be injurious to the state of Cheliax."

"And because you'd be better at it than them."

Mora of Maragall: "Really.  Why would I be better at it?"

???: "Maybe you'd actually use the correct amount of torture or... no.  That's probably not it."

"You're probably somebody who can see what's real, and say what's true, and get along with others doing the same, in a way that would've been more difficult for somebody making their way up the traditional Asmodean system from inside of it."

Mora of Maragall: "Uh huh.  Well, for a wizard apprentice bluffing her way through all this, you sure know how to deliver the flattery."

???: "Splendour 21."

Mora of Maragall: "Buuuulllllllllllshiiiiit."

???: "Comes out of a headband and I'm still new to it."

Mora of Maragall: "If you persuaded me to take this hypothetical job, wizard apprentice, I'd believe you."

???: "There's some set of guarantees and bribes that would work for you.  Why not just tell me what that is?"

Mora of Maragall: "What, like, a compact personally signed by the Queen of Cheliax saying that at worst I get fired rather than tortured, a thousand gold pieces a week salary, and a Barony in Nidal if I meet clearly defined and reasonable project targets?"

???: "Would that do it?"

Mora of Maragall: "If it was literally that, yes."

???: "Well, I don't personally have the authorization to offer you that, because 'the system doesn't have an option for unlimited authorizations, or rather, the system does have that option and it's called "being the Queen of Cheliax"' and I am far too loyal to even think about that."

"So you're going to have to wait a few rounds until the person on the other end of this scry gets your request to the Queen for approval."

Mora of Maragall: Mora snickers, and throws back the rest of her awful piss.  "It's been fun, kid, but I've had my beer and don't really want another, unless you know where I can get a better one without paying too much.  What's your name?"

???: "Pilar Pineda."

Mora of Maragall: "The Dreaded Sorceress of Cake or Death, out of the Ascendant Three.  She Who Is Already Standing Behind You.  That Pilar Pineda?"

???: "Yes, although in this case it's She Who Was Already Sitting In The Tavern."

"And I've been informed that Her Infernal Majestrix, Queen Abrogail II of the House of Thrune, has approved your requested job conditions and rewards."

Mora of Maragall: "Aren't I supposed to get cake, at some point in this process?"

Pilar : Pilar Pineda reaches under the bar and takes out an entire chocolate cake to hand to her new superior.

"Welcome to Project Lawful, sir."

Roc de Castell: Roc de Castell.  Sixth legitimate son of a noble line of Taldor, first and last child of a mother who died in childbirth, ignored and shuffled away after he failed at wizardry despite apparent great promise, given enough of a stipend that he can afford to stay at a minor university forever if he supports himself and his position there by occasional lectures.

???: "Pardon me, sir, but might I ask you a mathematical question?"

Roc de Castell: Roc de Castell looks up from the library desk where he's revising his next set of lectures, frowning.  That was a woman's voice, or the voice of an exceptionally unfortunate young man.  Probably a woman, if she wants to hood herself like that to avoid trouble from people questioning what she's doing in a university.

It's not his place to enforce such matters, and she did say she had a math question, perhaps an interesting one.  "Ask."

???: "Suppose a repetitive random event which yields either RIGHT or LEFT, of unknown fixed frequency of LEFTs and RIGHTs where any RIGHT frequency between 0 and 1 seems equally plausible in advance of observation.  After observing two RIGHTS and one LEFT, what is the chance of seeing LEFT next time?"

Roc de Castell: He sniffs and looks back down at his work.  Not interesting, then.  "Two-fifths."

???: "That's a fast answer.  Did you see the combinatoric proof that quickly?"

Roc de Castell: "It's a known problem, young... person.  The proof I know of was done eighty years ago, though who's to say how long the dragons have known it."

"The proof I know is by calculus, though.  What's the combinatoric proof?"

???: "Imagine a ball that rolls to a halt anywhere between two bumpers, to set the frequency.  Rolling more balls, two stop on the right, and one on the left -"

Roc de Castell: "I see.  Clever.  I do thank you, then, that will be useful in lectures."

???: "Have you ever dreamed that your knowledge of mathematics would someday prove enormously valuable to somebody, and they'd suddenly appear at your university one day and offer you a ludicrous dream job?"

Roc de Castell: "Probably everyone who excels at mathematics, who is nonetheless not able at academic politics and so is condemned never to rise beyond the place of assistant lecturer, does dream of such a thing.  Why?"

???: "That day has now come for you.  I offer you wealth, respect, and power, in the service of a new employer."

Roc de Castell: "Really.  Is there a catch?"

???: "The job is in Cheliax."

Roc de Castell: "Who the fuck are you?"

???: The figure, silently, places a cookie upon his desk.

Roc de Castell: Ice goes through his veins.

"Pilar Pineda."

???: "I am She."

Roc de Castell: "They do say that you would harm not those who'd do no harm."

???: "Do they."

Roc de Castell: "Well, yes, it's what they say.  I don't attest to it of my own knowledge."

???: "I'd have you lecture of your mathematical knowledge in Cheliax, to students of the true Project Lawful that lies at the core of Project Chemistry.  You would gain access to the notes and transcripts of the lectures given there by Keltham, before he left Cheliax for Osirion; they are more foundational and enlightening than the technical knowledge he's since taught to the Scientific Revolution."

Roc de Castell: "One would naturally be concerned about both possible torture and inevitable damnation."

???: "And are you so sure you're not already damned?"

Roc de Castell: Freezing chills go through him.  "I don't know what you -"

???: "I'm sorry to inform that she was, in fact, pregnant."

"She knew you would not support her."

"She strangled her baby."

"Oh, and her life was generally ruined, as well."

"All your fault."

Roc de Castell: "I - I didn't -"

???: "You have not the funds to pay for an Atonement, nor would you ever earn it in this university, and there would, I think, be a question of your sincerity.  Even now, you don't mostly regret what happened to her, what happened to your son as he drew his first breaths, you mostly fear going to Hell over it."

Roc de Castell: "I - what am I to -"  His mind scrabbles at possibilities, turning up only horror for each of them.  "What are you going to offer me, sufficient salary that I could donate it to Iomedae's Church and earn my way back to Heaven or at least Axis?  I don't think that works, if you're laboring for Cheliax!  Your employment will do more Evil than any amount of Good you could buy with the salary they pay you!  If it did less Evil than that, they'd pay you less!"

???: "There's a question of how much Good versus Evil it really does."

"Do you know the true origin of My powers?  It is that I was made oracle of Cayden Cailean, who is god of the more informal sort of celebration.  Hence the cake and cookies."

Roc de Castell: "And - my employment will do more Good than Evil?"

???: "Even I do not know.  But there is, in true fact, a very legitimate doubt, there."

"When you go to the Boneyard then to be judged, you may tell them truly that you did not know, what the results of your employment would be.  You may tell them that, had you refused, I would have chosen another to lecture, one only slightly less useful than yourself.  And that other, perhaps, would not have donated such salary as you did, to Iomedae's Church."

Roc de Castell: "That - hardly seems like it would be certain to work -"

???: "Or you could always stay here, live a wretched life trying to donate enough to charity or save enough for an Atonement that might fail, eventually die in ignominy, and perhaps be damned.  That too is uncertain.  I cannot say of My own knowledge that it is certain you'd go to Abaddon, or that you wouldn't like any of your choices if you did."

"You know, I think, of the concept of expected utility.  I will not spell out the calculation for you."

Roc de Castell: "How long do I have to answer?"

???: "I am busy.  There are many demands upon My time.  It should not be a complicated calculation.  I will permit you ten minutes."

"Also in Cheliax you could have power, and respect, and women prettier than any you've yet had, not whores nor even concubines but wizards who've mastered Alter Self and whose pregnancy you need not fear, and in due time return to your family as a lord mightier than your father."

Roc de Castell: "At the cost of doing Evil."

Pilar : "At the cost of your doing what I'd otherwise fetch some other lecturer to do, very nearly as well, in your place, someone who wouldn't donate to charity either.  Whether it all amounts to Good or Evil in the end is not known even to I, who am oracle of a Good god and servant of an Evil one, in this world of shattered prophecy."

"Nine minutes, forty seconds."

Pilar : And for her penultimate Teleport Pilar finds herself directing her courier to the Whipcrack district of Egorian, which... makes sense, now that Pilar thinks about it.  If there's anybody who does know how to hurt people in a way that makes them stronger, who isn't already busy being Queen of Cheliax, that person is probably Chelish too.  Whipcrack would make sense for a slave trainer, even; oh, that's exciting.

So Pilar, following the impulses that come to her of her curse, casts back her hood to show herself openly, in this place, and walks down the streets of poorer Egorian.  Her courier follows her, invisibly, for he is Security and why trouble to reveal himself?

Pilar : They are poor, these streets, as poor as any in Ostenso where Pilar once ran.  Half the buildings are barracks obviously sized for halfling slaves, and the other half buildings from the textiles industry or other trades that depend heavily on slave labor.  Men leer at her as she passes, with only a few paling at the sight of her, for the meaning of a young lady with attention-grabbing pink hair is not as well-known in this part of Egorian as in others.

But a single whore-taker does dare step forwards to take Pilar.  There is no combat spell in her oracle's repertoire, nor wizard spell she has prepared, that would not kill him; so Pilar casts Mage Hand, and presses back against his face, about the eyes.  It's not enough to harm him, but he stops and does not dare further.

Security: "Merciful of you," comments an invisible voice behind her.

Pilar : "Would a Security have killed him?  He's a subject of the Queen and contributes to the economy, leaving a corpse there in the streets didn't seem Lawful, and I certainly didn't want to take the time to clean up after myself."

Security: "You asked me to tell you if I noticed you being Good, so I'm telling.  I'd have introduced him to Acid Splash, at least."

Pilar : "Didn't have it hung, and everything I did have prepped would've killed a commoner."

Security: "Amateur's mistake.  Always have something that hurts a commoner but doesn't kill them, if you're going to be traveling among commoners.  I'd volunteer to do it myself, next time, but don't want to worry about Invisibility."

Pilar : Pilar's steps guided of cursed instinct have taken her closer to the Imperial Stadium; though there's no games at this hour, by the temper of the streets around her, no distant sounds of a crowd bellowing.

Instead Pilar finds herself at what looks to be a warehouse converted into a fighting ring.  A legal one, hopefully, since a painted board over the door advertises its service openly, in letters and pictorial signage.  If Egorian is anything like Ostenso was said to be, it means they'll have less eager custom and less exciting fights; but then, people who are least trying to be Lawful at all sometimes want to watch pit fights too.

Pilar approves, obviously.  If the one she seeks is a slave-trainer then they had better be a legal one.

Cheliax: "Five copper, girl," says the doorman.

Pilar : She flips him a silver.  "Passage for two, then."

Security: Message from Security:  I suppose you're going to tell me that's Lawful.

Pilar : Return Message from Pilar:  I'm sure every bit of extra revenue for this place does more Evil than Good.

Security: Valid.