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Erik Van Rijn
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Cut Scenes

Post by Erik Van Rijn »

...forced conjunctions...Shroud...hm. It would be easier to begin again, but...

Skeletal fingers riffle the pages of the book and tap gently at the blueprint placed next to it, then flick it aside to reveal a different arcane apparatus.

That's the other option, of course. In fact...

The fingers seize a pen and flicker across a piece of parchment, sketching out a diagram and scrawling mathematical runes. Transference of energy would require a conduit of...damn. Impossible. But several smaller conduits?

Standing, the figure begins to pace. I wish I could talk to Hazan about this...this is the kind of problem he would have enjoyed.

A tapping at the door rouses the figure from his reverie. "Reveal yourself," he snaps.

"Cum mortuis en lingua mortua," a pleasant alto answers.

The figure nods, and the door swings open. No human observer could say what these two might look like as they converse, thirty feet below the streets; no light penetrates here, and they have taken steps to see that none ever will. To the dead, light is only a reminder of what they have given up.

"Fratella," the first figure speaks, in his smooth baritone. "The dead travel fast, indeed. Have you spoken to her?"

"I have. She is not yet convinced that she should take any side in this matter."

Shrugging, irritated, the first figure turns away and asks, "Surely she does not fear the Fraternity?"

"No. But they are not our only enemies, van Rijn. They are not even our principle enemies, although they may be yours."

"Huh. I see. Double the price."

"Double?"

"Yes. Double it. Have no fear; funds are adequate."

"Very good, van Rijn. I will meet with her again in two days."

"Inform me of her answer as soon as you have done so."

The second figure steps away, silent as a cat, and the door closes behind her; seating himself again, van Rijn looks again at the two apparati blueprinted before him and begins to draw.
My talk? You'll have to wait. It will be well worth it, I assure you.
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Post by Erik Van Rijn »

"Good evening, Miss...?"

"You may call me Mary, if you like, Professor van Rijn. Are all your meetings so theatrically staged as this one?"

"At present, I'm afraid they are. Wartime conditions, you might say."

"Yes, I had heard of your--exciting--departure from your former comrades. You seem to have a gift for the dramatic."

"Please, Miss...Mary, if you will have it so. I was not in charge of the tactics of the assault. My own inclination would have for an operation more along the lines of those by which you have gained your own excellent reputation; but I was outvoted."

"By Drakon and Martinet? Or by your true master?"

"...By our Lady. You are well-informed. I can see my money is well-spent."

"But of course, Professor. And that money is being spent for?..."

"I need you to obtain this. And plans for this."

"This? But--you're quite serious?"

"At the price I'm paying?"

"...Very well, Professor. But surely you don't intend to leave me without at least a clew to where I might begin?"

"Egertus, Nova Vaasa. Do you wish for the Fratella to accompany you...in loco parentis, as it were?"

"N...yes. Yes, I should indeed."

"Very well. I will instruct her to place herself at your disposal. I wish you the best, Miss Mary."
My talk? You'll have to wait. It will be well worth it, I assure you.
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

[Sigil of the Fathers of the Fraternity]
[Encryption sequence: Metaphysical VI]
[Key phrase: "Vengeance overcometh"]


To Viktor Hazan, Grabek Krakul, Kristoff Lutemmi, Anthony Reuland, Ambrose Skully, now of Souragne.

Brothers in shadow,

It is with great distress that we have received the full account of the traitorous assault of the former brother Erik van Rijn. It is our pleasure to announce the continuing recovery of Lord de Castelle from his injuries; we believe he will soon be restored to full health and the resumption of his duties as an Umbra. We have taken all measures currently available to us to find and destroy the malefactor. The umbrucha sent to deal with him have been unable to find their way; we hypothesize that he remains continually in darkness in order to foil their ability to track through shadow, as well as to make scrying attempts on him as difficult as possible.

We have employed Alanik Ray and Abelard Despadon, the noted detectives and thief-takers, to aid us in locating van Rijn. After discussion of his past habits and proclivities, the detectives offer the following guidelines for further search:

Van Rijn is almost certainly not in Necropolis; theoretical considerations indicate that re-activating the Device within the Shroud is impossible, and van Rijn and his master are unlikely to have brought the plans so vital to their probable purpose through the land of the Great King. For the same reason he is almost certainly not located in Darkon itself.

It is very probable that van Rijn has sought an urban center to conduct his research, both because of the greater ease of conducting research and in conducting interviews with his associates and because the presence of a surplus population will be useful in powering the Device. Van Rijn's intimate knowledge of the languages and habits of many peoples of the Land of Mists make elimination of the many possibilities more difficult, but it is the conclusion of Messrs. Ray and Despadon that he is almost certainly in one of the following domains: Richemulot, Falkovnia, Nova Vaasa, Nosus, or Paridon.

We would be glad to avail ourselves of any advice or insight you can offer into the motivations, motions, and plans of the arch-traitor; please believe that you have our full support in your new endeavor, and make known to us anything you may find necessary to run van Rijn to earth.

Count Wilhelm von Lovenhorst
Father of the Fraternity of Shadows
On behalf of the Umbra
Given in his own hand this 31st day of January, BC 760

Next key phrase: "The eye of the Watchers is on us"

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Cryptic allegiances...

Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Cryptic Allegiances


Ah... yes. Your... expertise.

But your resources.

MY plan.

But my methods.

Done.
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

The Great Library, Port-a-Lucine

Alanik Ray placed the tome he had been reading on the table and turned his attention to the next in the towering stack of books at his left hand. "Professor van Rijn wrote all of these?" he asked, arching a fine eyebrow in interrogation of the other two men at the table--the thief-taker Abelard Despadon, a mountain of a man, and the curator of the Library, Pierre Lacomte, tiny and wizened next to the massive Despadon.

"Yes," Lacomte replied shortly, taking his monocle from his eye and polishing it. "Not all of them are monographs, of course. On some he is merely a contributing author."

"And how has van Rijn drawn your attention, M'sieur Lacomte?" Ray asks, flipping open the book now before him and casting his eye over the table of contents.

"He is an associate of our employer, of course," Despadon answered, running his fingers through his luxurious red beard.

"Of course," Ray said. "The president of the University, the curator of the Great Library--I should have realized it immediately." His gaze lingers for a moment on the older man, as if considering other possible associations the curator and the university president might have, his eyes finally falling to the silver ring with its onyx stone on the curator's right hand.

"He covers quite a range of topics, doesn't he?" the heavyset man said, as if to himself. "On the Autochthonous Inhabitants of Kartakass...Regnum qui posse...Faith and the Arcane...Regional Dialects of Darkonese...Toward Purification of Metallic Quintessences in Quicksilver and Baser Metals, with notes on the Derivation of Phlogiston..."

"Professor van Rijn was a very great polymath, M'sieur Despadon," agreed the curator, shrugging slightly. "Whether this will clarify or obscure his whereabouts remains, I suppose, to be seen."

"It's an interesting task," the elf admitted. "To take a man's exterior productions and guess at his interior motivations--and then use those to run him to earth. It is not where I would usually begin, but I think it has value in the present case. Certainly an understanding of the malefactor's thought processes is necessary to apprehending him...of course, rather few seem to have done as much thinking as this van Rijn."

At this bon mot the other two men smile; the room falls silent again, except for the occasional turning of a page.
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »


[concealed by
secret page]
[encryption: Initiate Sequence 9]

Brautslava Institute
29 January 760

Dear Professor Kingsley,

I regret very much the delay in response to your inquiries early this month in regard to the information on the Doomsday Device and Requiem housed here at the Institute. A thorough search of our archives and records shows that we had several papers on this subject, mostly from one Salome Hightower, who was at that time applying for initiation into the Fraternity. To our very great surprise and dismay, we have discovered that all information on this subject has been misplaced or removed; this dismay was immeasurably compounded by our determination that the last person before yourself to ask for permission to examine these documents was, in fact, Esteemed Brother Erik van Rijn. We have informed the Fathers of the Fraternity of this disheartening discovery and are attempting to re-compile as much information on this subject as we can. We will endeavor to forward you the results of this process as expeditiously as possible.

Sincerely,

Magnus Wolfsbane
Assistant Curator of Records and Materials
Braustlava Institute
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Castle Hunadora, Invidia

The Ace of Coins reversed.
That was the last card, the card of the outcome. The Temptress (she winced again at the bluntness of the Fates—surely they might have considered something more subtle to represent her?) considered her compatriot carefully. The Swashbuckler is always an uncanny fellow…A rogue, a daring fellow, and a greedy one. No altruist he, when appearing in this aspect.

There was a sound behind her, and she whirled to find someone else in the room. The defensive curse on her lips died as she took in the broad shoulders, the bronze skin, the insolent yellow eyes staring into hers, as if daring her to employ her Vistani powers on him.

“Jan,” she said. “You don’t knock before entering a lady’s boudoir?”

“Never,” he replied, smiling very slightly as he seated himself at the edge of the bed. Annoyance and amusement struggled in her mind at the sheer brazen effrontery of the man; quickly she decided to make amusement the victor.

Shrugging, she chuckled low in her throat and sat again herself, arranging herself so as to make sure the candlelight would show her to best advantage and running one hand carelessly through her hair to create the effect of deshabille that was, as she had been told, so devastating to the male of the species. “No, I suppose you never did,” she said, smiling. “But this is such an unexpected pleasure. What business could you have with me, when it’s been so long?”

Mikkelson did not quite roll his eyes at this display of coquetry. “I would like your advice,” he said, and nodded significantly toward the deck still spread on the little table. “My…friends…and I are attempting a rather tricky piece of business, and it can never harm one’s business to have a little more information.”

“Information?” she said, not bothering to conceal the tiny pang of disappointment his brusque manner gave her. “Why, Jan. A reunion after all these years, and all you can think of is the cards?” Now to let him see the knife, if our meeting’s to be for business. “What will you pay me, little man?” she asked, her voice deliberately ugly. “If you hoped to do it with your favors, well, I regret to say you can hardly hope to meet the price that way.” Giving him a scandalously measuring once-over, she continued, “Or perhaps you can.”

“Don’t be tiresome,” he said shortly. “We have better things to do…at present,” he amended, almost involuntarily. “Your son is going to bring fifty men through the ford five miles above Tancos tomorrow night to meet with his men on the north side.”

She leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “How do you know this?” she demanded.

“I have my sources,” he said. “I have risen in the world since you saw me last, Gabrielle.”

“So I’ve heard,” she replied shortly. How much to reveal? How much to hint at? “I understand your new family has a great deal of information at their disposal.”

Nodding, Mikkelson replied, “So they do. But nothing can replace the eye that pierces the Mists, as well you know.” Making a seated bow, he continued, “Hence my presence here. One can always use another ally, don’t you think?”

Gabrielle leaned back, as if considering, letting her fingers twine through her hair; but her mind was already made up, and she was sure her visitor knew it. “Very well,” she said. “Allies it is, then. Seat yourself,” she said, gesturing to the chair on the other side of the small table, “and we will see what the cards reveal.”

Taking the deck, she shuffled it crisply seven times and laid it on the table. “Cut the deck,” she said, gesturing to it. Mikkelson paused and glanced at her, his hand above the deck of cards. “Tell me,” he said, “I wish to see what the deck says of the man I seek—not my own fortune. How should I proceed?”

So that’s the way of it. “Very well. Say his name as you cut the deck, and I will interpret the cards with that in mind,” she told him. Taking only a few cards from the deck and setting them aside, Mikkelson said clearly, “Esteemed Brother Erik van Rijn.”

Nodding, Gabrielle took up the deck and turned the first card; it was the Ace of Swords. “The Avenger,” she noted crisply.

Mikkelson snorted. “That’s whimsical, surely.”

"Not at all," Gabrielle replied shortly, tapping it once with her forefinger. "You asked for his reading; you will get his point of view. The man you seek thinks you have done him a great wrong. This card will reveal why." Turning the next card, she showed Mikkelson the Five of Coins, the Guildsman, reversed. "Well. It is because you have, in fact, done him a great wrong. He relied on his fraternal brothers to support him; instead, they turned their backs on him. The Guild has been set by its ears, turned against itself, and he thinks of this both as poetic justice and as an opportunity." Turning the next card, she saw the Two of Stars. A familiar card; all those to whom the Tarokka responded saw it regularly in their readings for themselves. But in this case..."He is not yet prepared; he is seeking greater knowledge before he makes his next move. When he does," she said, tapping the deck for emphasis and turning the next card to reveal the Eight of Stars, "this will be the result."

Mikkelson squinted at the card. "The Necromancer," he muttered. "Well, of course. But I'm surprised he had it in him, the old cheat." Looking back up to Aderre, he prompted her, "And the outcome?"

Shrugging, she turned the next card. The Ace of Coins, reversed.

Involuntarily she drew in her breath. Perhaps this was important to her, after all. But then…

Time for the greater pattern. Turning the next three cards from the deck, she was astonished—and frightened. The Torturer, the Horseman, and the Marionette reversed stared up from the table.

“Gods,” she whispered. “Who is this man, Jan?”

Mikkelson looked at her askance. “A former brother of my society,” he said. “Why?”

“I’ve never seen a past this dark,” she said. Never, except for… But there was no time to think about that. “He has murdered many times over in pursuit of his goals; he has befriended Death itself. Death intended to rule him, but he has escaped it, and thinks to make himself its master.” Surely this was intended metaphorically? And yet the cards were quite clear—that was what this arrangement meant. “His plans are a great tree, watered in blood and rooted in bones. The Swashbuckler reversed showed us the outcome is uncertain; the Swashbuckler’s coin is poised in midair, and may fall as crown or wolf. The outcome will be all or nothing.” Turning the next three cards, she was relieved to see that the portents of the future were marginally less awful than those of the past. If the Dark Master had appeared…Shaking her head, she pointed to the cards representing the three most probable outcomes. “Here, the Miser. Your man is seeking for power, and the Mists may not give it; his quest may very well end in frustration and failure. Here, the Charlatan. There will be much double-dealing; both the Guildsman reversed and the Marionette reversed hinted at it, and here the cards make it triply clear. The full outcome of this tangled web may never be known by any single participant; this will be a struggle of wit, not of strength, and he who can misdirect, manipulate, charm or dupe the rest will be the eventual victor.” Pausing over the last card, she touched it, then said, “Or, the Spirit, the messenger from another world, he who crosses the boundary. This is what your quarry seeks, who he hopes to become.”

There was a long silence; at last, Mikkelson stood. “I thank you, Gabrielle Aderre,” he said, strangely formal. “I will convey the substance of your reading to my fellows.”

Standing, she smiled and offered him her hand. “Until we meet again, Jan Mikkelson,” she said. “May it not be so long as it has been this time.”
“Of course,” he said, returning her smile. “If you will excuse me?” Stepping away, he made a strange gesture and whispered, disappearing like a pricked bubble.

He’s become much more…dangerous…than he was fifteen years ago, Gabrielle thought to herself, and was shocked to realize it had been so long. On consideration, she was not very surprised he had become so formidable; so few of her lovers had actually left her. She wondered what he would hold back from his associates, and if he suspected what she had held back from him. Turning the card she had palmed and replaced with the Necromancer (she had heard of what had happened at that manor outside Ste. Ronges), she examined it in the candlelight; it depicted a crown decorated by four beasts, the symbol known as the Artifact.

This is what he wants, she thought. Necromancy is a means to an end; but what is the end? Picking up the Spirit, she brought the two together, and a single word came to her mind: Transcendance.

Despite herself she shuddered.
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »



"We have two interlopers in custody who were detected by the blood test and are debating how best to reveal their imposture to the gathering at large. I continue to feel their absence should not be explained."

"And yet, would it not be well for the brothers to see that security measures have, in fact, been effective against van Rijn's cheats?"

"It would be well, yes, but we must do everything in our power to maintain the unity and the loyalty of the rank and file. To allow even the hint of suspicion of one's fellow-brothers will very soon cause divisions which may be irreparable."

"You are correct, of course, but there are other options available. We must emphasize the apple as well as the lash. Promotions to the right persons will do a great deal symbolically to reduce any feelings of ill-use among certain factions among the Fraternity which we know to have arisen..."

"Entirely unnecessarily, as the majority of those comprising these factions should never have been admitted at all."

"
Must you flog that corpse? At any rate..."

"Perhaps the learned Umbra believes the Fraternity would be stronger if none but illusionists had
ever been admitted? Perhaps he feels..."

"Fellow-Umbra! Please, let us confine ourselves to the situation at hand."

"Let's."

"Have you learned anything on which we must take action?"

"Yes. As we suspected, someone--van Rijn or another--is creating alchemical children to impersonate members of the Fraternity. This is in addition to his other allies, of whom we have spoken. Every effort must be made to verify the nature of any Fraternity member who can be reached at the present time, and those not able to attend must be warned."

"Is there any evidence of...?"

"Not yet. Esteemed Brother Larner's investigations may turn up leads on that score, and his advice will be sought for dealing with the difficulties we face at present, as his people are experienced with this...sort of thing."

"And of the greater difficulty?"

"We have some avenues of investigation opening. Better to make a cut which takes all the gangrened limb than to preserve too much and let the rot spread."

"Your conversation is picturesque as ever."

"Very well; we trust your judgement to lead you right. Remember that preservation of the limb, if I may borrow your metaphor, is a very valuable goal."

"We will certainly keep that consideration present as we proceed. May I suggest we draw to a close at present?"

"Is there further business? No? Very well. Fellow Umbra, the Fraternity of Shadows!"

""Scientiae et regnum sum nostra intro umbra."
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"Brother Roeccha."

"Father Shadowcloak."

The two cloaked figures huddle side by side in the mouth of a mausoleum, watching the rain sheet down. Far off in the night the lights of the Maison glow like phosphorescent sea-creatures in the ocean deeps.

"How stands the watch?"

"Well enough, Father. I have detected at least one additional impostor, over and above the two unfortunates revealed by the blood test."

"Who is he?"

"Brother Crow, as he calls himself; a psuedonym, surely. He is a bard; I do not know where he comes from, and he was reluctant to claim a place of origin. A quick-witted fellow, obviously bold, presumably desperate. A master spy."

The gray-cloaked Father sways slightly, fingers plucking at a lock of his shoulder-length black hair. "How did you detect the imposture?"

"He claims to have joined in the City, just before its demise."

"Huh."

"I feigned to believe him and mentioned I would verify his story with our Honored Brother Marchare..."

At this the Shadowcloak laughs, long and silently; smiling, the darkling continues, "And he asked me if I would allow him to speak with Brother Marchare himself, for the great admiration he had had for him."

At this the Shadowcloak laughs until he hiccups. "I suppose you sent him away disappointed," he says at last. "With whom is he affiliated?"

"I don't know," Roeccha says, shaking his head slightly. "Not the Unholy Order, I feel certain. What I don't understand is how he passed the ring test."

"Find out who administered it to him," the Shadowcloak says. "Although it may not matter. There are more to gleeman's tricks than sleight of hand and mummery; a skilled bard can mimic any number of effects."

After a longish pause, he continues. "Yet another reason we should...diversify. If this man is a master spy, and not with the Order...we want to keep him. Any stick to beat Death with, no? Take him in hand, and make sure we get more from him than he gets from us. I'll take it up with the rest."

"Very well, Father."

"Good."
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Are you there?

Yes, I hear you.

Do you have anything to report?

Not yet. They have not yet employed any means of detection we did not anticipate, which is all to the good. You did fail to warn me of the principle danger I would face here, however.

WHAT?

Indeed. I have been in continuous peril of being bored to death since my arrival.

...

Come now, I thought it rather amusing.

...

Oh, very well. I have spoken to the gentleman you recommended to me, but not to the other one.

What other...? Oh, him. Yes, you need not exert yourself to contact him; the Fratella is directing his actions, and he is definitely not an equal partner in this enterprise.

How many partners do you have in this thing, anyway?

No one you haven't been introduced to. So to speak.

Me, you, Janus, the Fratella. Any other...investors?

Not yet.

Anything about...

I'll let you know when I hear from her. You know we can't build it without blueprints, at least. Not to mention the missing parts.

True...well, back to the show.

Be careful.

I? I'm not the one they're planning to render down to his shadow

You will be if you're the one they find.

...

Until tomorrow, then.

Right.
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"The intruder you detected left this." The darkling wizard lays the silver ring on the table, taking care not to touch it as it leaves his handkerchief, and the shadowed man leans forward to look at it. After a moment he leans back, his mouth working slowly.

"Of course he did," he mutters. "Damn him black. Do you know whose ring this is?"

"No, Father...I presumed you could identify it, so I brought it here."

"Oh, I could not mistake it," the shadowed man replies. "I know them all. This ring was once the possession of Esteemed Brother Erik van Rijn."
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

It ought not to have come to the surface at all, of course; it had been carefully placed beneath a fallen log which should have held it beneath the surface until the swamp had had time to do its work. But the spring rain had raised the water all over the Maison d'Sablet, and the log was lifted and its captive freed. It floated to the surface, where it showed, pale and bloated, in the shadow of the willows and cypresses of the swamp. The old man had no difficulty in finding it, even though his eyes were (he admitted to himself) not so sharp as they had once been.

"So," he murmured to himself in the dialect of Souragne as he busied himself lifting it into the bottom of his small skiff and covered it in an old blanket he had brought for that purpose, "you fin' what you look for, or maybe it fin' you...nex' time perhaps you be quicker to believe dis ol' Chicken Bone when he say what the loa gives you, no? But now you gets another gif'. I hope you accep' dis one wit' the better spirit."

Laughing at his own joke, he took up his pole to begin the long, slow journey home.
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