La Maison Soulombre: Entrances

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La Maison Soulombre: Entrances

Post by Nathan of the FoS »

It is mid-April, and mid-morning; the moist heat which will smother the Manoir de Solumbre in the coming summer months is only hinted at by the sun's warmth, only just a little uncomfortable at present. The Maison looks cheerful, in a rather gloomy and dilapidated way; the wisteria and hornflower are in bloom, marking the bone-white walls with their red and yellow blooms, and the bright green vines caressing every pillar and wall of the edifice might serve as a pretty allegory of Life springing from Death.

Perhaps this is what the gray man watching from the mausoleum, set well back from the house among the funereal willows, has in mind when he says to his companion, "Busy as maggots on a corpse, as they say."

Nodding, his companion--an unpleasantly handsome man with dark skin and yellow eyes--replies, "A very Darkonese saying. But there will be no repetition of our last disaster."

"No, there will not be. In addition to the assurances of our host, which I found entirely convincing, you and I will see that it is so. This time there will be no unexamined guests."
Last edited by Nathan of the FoS on Thu Jul 20, 2006 11:53 am, edited 2 times in total.
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Post by Pamela »

Even now, the congregation wonder at his successor, but the old man remains, as usual, silent.

Gertrude Kingsley's eyes glossed over her signature as she proofread her article for the final time. She slipped it back into the folder, and sat back, still excited over Jeanne Larouche’s hints about the coming book. She believed in its existence; Lefebvre’s long interest in the Ezran schisms made much more sense in retrospect. She had doubts about whether he actually would reveal it this year; fiftieth anniversary or not, Pere Laissez-Faire wasn’t renowned for decisive action.

The last couple of months had been dedicated to her studies of the Ezran faith. It was an interesting time in that church; the centenary was six years away. Predictions were already arising that 766 would either be the arrival of the Fifth Book of Ezra, or of the Time of Unparalleled Darkness. I suppose it all depends on whether you see the glass as half-full or not, the professor thought irreverently. The educated of course knew that events didn’t always occur in such neat cycles. But religion was hardly a logical field…

She adjusted the white tulle veil attached to her broad-brimmed straw hat, making sure that there were no gaps upon her shoulders which the damned mosquitoes could crawl through. In deference to the climate, she was wearing a cream-coloured skirt and white cotton shirt and gloves. But her clothing was still pragmatically Zherisian, with no lace or any adornments.

Speaking of logic, she thought to herself as the Manoir came to sight. She’d avoided it so far, not wanting to draw any undue attention or to offend today’s hosts. She’d briefly met Professor Hazan, who had taken a break from his usual studies in order to dedicate his time to the coming survey. He’d been all over the island it seemed, charming his way into interviews and disclosures.

The Fraternity had done its best in the past few months to familiarize themselves with their new, strange surroundings. And their best was indeed very, very good. But is it enough? she wondered to herself, as flashes of their last meeting intruded upon her mind. And why a land so hostile to magic- at least the kind most of us practice? It certainly wouldn’t be the first place van Rijn would think to look for us, but…

She pushed her qualms aside; it was a beautiful morning, and she’d be able to meet some of her friendly colleagues again. Then there was her so-far unfruitful search for the Shadowcloak. She’d made a few enquiries, as discretely as she could. If he wasn’t here, she still had high hopes that she’d be able to find someone who would know where he was.

And after that, home, she thought fondly, but also with a little trepidation. She hadn’t spent this long a time away from Rupert before. The surgery had occasioned great delays in her schedule, and then there was the intriguing interviews at Port-a-lucine…A very good excuse, indeed…

But that was the future; now, the Brothers were uniting- or all those still believed to be Brothers. How many traitors might be present? How many are suspected of being traitors- and will anything be done about them? Most importantly- had anyone found out anything concrete about van Rijn’s whereabouts and what he planned to do with those Doomsday Device plans?

The carriage rolled to a halt, and the door opened; a hand offered to help her down. She nodded courteously to the brown-skinned servant, and glided up the stairs, carefully pruned of the ever-invading tendrils of the vines. She looked around one more time, taking in the heady fragrance of the wisteria as she breathed in deeply, and prepared for her second, and hopefully less exciting, meeting with the international Fraternity of Shadows.
Last edited by Pamela on Wed Jul 05, 2006 1:51 pm, edited 1 time in total.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Moral Machivelli »

And so, it begins Raphael Buchvold thinks to himself

La Maison de Soulombre, The ash from which we rise. The meeting should be interesting to say the least.

Smiling to himself, Buchvold adjusts the window of his carriage, so as it was fully open. He pauses in his thoughts for a moment to admire the view of the Maison and then descends with a huff back into his black velvet seat.

This whole affair will certainly keep me busy. He reflects. Everyone will have something to relate, some rumour, or piece of gossip as to which prominent member has betrayed us. Needless to say, nine out of every ten will be gossip generated by those who wish to exploit this whole affair as best as they can.. which means most of the Fraternity. Still, it is always best to make a note. Their is nearly always a tenth case, sooner or later. You can never be quite sure

Oh, and it may be as well to ensure that I am favourably regarded by ... one or two of my sceptics. Mr. Hartly, for one... A strange man, but loyal... I think. He might respect me a little more, before the day is out.

What about Serd? I still have not received that report Mr. Crow promised. Oh well, It can surely not be a negative to have him as an ally, now let us see...

It will certainly present me with business opportunities. That should take some of my time.

And, my lecture. I think the Brethren might very well be pleasantly surprised. Don't you? He fondles a certain little gold amulet, inlaid with brightest jade, (Which formed an arcane design which would be little known amongst the majority of the Illusionists of the Fraternity) with a blood red ruby as it's centrepiece. As he thinks his question, a small flame sparks from the amulet. A quick incantation from the Borcan shoves it back brutally into the centre of the ruby.

It would have worked all the better, of course, if I still had that dagger. A curse on Crow. Oh well, it still worked better than I expected.

With that thin smile still on his lips, Buchvold descends from the now halted oaken carriage, clutching his silver hawk headed cane. A gesture to the servants suffices as sufficient to tell them to unload the chest of items that has accompanied the Borcan. The far majority of my current stock. But it will sell here.

The tall Borcan Illusionist opens the twin doors, and enters La Manoir de Solumbre
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"Professor Kingsley."

There in the entry hall, Gertrude turns to find herself faced with the Countess von Lovenhorst, herself dressed in white silk with elegant nine-button gloves. Smiling, the Countess offers her hand.

"I am so pleased to see you," she says. "I hope I find you well?" By the slightest inclination of her head the Countess indicates a doorway leading away from the hubbub of the entry, now choked with academics greeting one another with varying degrees of cordiality and servants bringing drinks, taking luggage, and dealing with the various oddities which the Fraternity members have brought to display to their fellows in later lectures and symposia.
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Post by Pamela »

Gertrude turned at the mention of her name, as well as at the sound of the only other female voice in the hubbub. She warmly returned the Countess’ smile, and accepting her hand, said, “The pleasure is mine. I am very well, thank you- and yourself?” Her delight at the blonde’s presence was sincere. There were some women who thrived on being the only female in professional gatherings; she herself had never been one of them. The more, the merrier, and the better for all of us…

She began to walk towards the suggested entrance, neatly evading one gesticulating gentleman who was busily warning the servants about the delicacy required in handling his selection of magical curios- not that he was so foolish to identify them as such. The temperature was significantly higher in the lobby with the crush of colleagues; she was thankful that the meeting was held in this still relatively mild season. She gestured towards a servant with a tray of glasses, and asked with some amusement, “Shall we accept, or wait for Iago to see to our needs?”
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"Madame?" As if conjured, like the Pharazian afrit, by his name, Iago appears at Gertrude's elbow and offers both women a cup, with a slight nod of the head to his mistress. Raising one eyebrow to Kingsley, the Countess raises the cup in mock-salute and drinks.

She then leads the way through the doorway, with Iago falling in behind the two woman. "I have been so pleased to see so many of our fraternal fellows here--just upstairs, I have a suite--extravagant, I know, but occasionally one's sex does provide certain benefits...please, step inside."
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

As he crosses the threshold Buchvold's eye falls on the aged curator of the Library of Port-a-Lucine, Pierre Lacomte, a man he knows well; even a friend, perhaps, as much as one finds them in such a society. Catching his eye, the Dementlieuse excuses himself from his current conversational partner--Dirac, the young fop, one of the many useful idiots present--and hurries over to greet him. "Buchvold," he says, his smile showing his several gold teeth to advantage. "Such a pleasure. When did you arrive?"
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Post by Pamela »

The Zherisian pursed her lips in order to contain the smile which threatened to break free. It did, however, at the Countess’ expression, and Gertrude raised her cup in turn. She had not expected the Borcan’s service at all; after all, the Fraternity would have seen to their guests. Either the Count didn’t relax his staff’s duties, or Iago took them very seriously indeed. Probably both… She lay the folder on a nearby side-table briefly in order to have a hand free to raise her veil. She took a sip of the hot chocolate. A very good memory…

“Considering how few we receive here, a large room doesn’t seem too exorbitant,” she dryly remarked, stepping into the suite and admiring the surroundings.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Moral Machivelli »

Nathan of the FoS wrote:As he crosses the threshold Buchvold's eye falls on the aged curator of the Library of Port-a-Lucine, Pierre Lacomte, a man he knows well; even a friend, perhaps, as much as one finds them in such a society. Catching his eye, the Dementlieuse excuses himself from his current conversational partner--Dirac, the young fop, one of the many useful idiots present--and hurries over to greet him. "Buchvold," he says, his smile showing his several gold teeth to advantage. "Such a pleasure. When did you arrive?"
"Just now." Raphael Buchvold returns the cruator's smile with one of his own. He has always had a high regard for the old man. "I like to arrive to such a grand event in good time. How are you Lacomte? Any good finds for the Library since I was last there?"
The Borcan looks around, as a cluster of fraternity initiates enter, each clutching a wad of paper.
"Please tell me that there is something of interest in the program of lectures."
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

"Very true," the Countess replies, half-smiling. "So! First, Professor, I must ask that you remove your glove and show me your ring; then, that you activate it. After that, a few questions; and then, some news which I hope you will find recompenses you for any inconvenience."
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Moral Machivelli wrote: "Just now." Raphael Buchvold returns the cruator's smile with one of his own. He has always had a high regard for the old man. "I like to arrive to such a grand event in good time. How are you Lacomte? Any good finds for the Library since I was last there?"
The Borcan looks around, as a cluster of fraternity initiates enter, each clutching a wad of paper.
"Please tell me that there is something of interest in the program of lectures."
"Well, and do I not hear that you yourself are to regale us with your own program of research?" Lacomte replies. "And as to items of interest, I believe I may show you something you will enjoy very much--just this way--the library is not quite what it was at the Manoir, but Hazan is making a very creditable effort to renew it; of course, much more care must be taken here--the damp, the insects--a librarian's nightmare! He and I spent last night discussing what measure to take to preserve it..."

As the two men step into the library, Buchvold sees another man seated at a desk--an incongrous position for a man wearing a longsword, of all barbaric things, and with the mark of the Hawk on his forehead--and yet it fits oddly well with his cool, intelligent eyes.

"But I am afraid I must make one request, before we begin," Lacomte says, bowing slightly. "Your ring, Buchvold; you will activate it, please, and then Brother Vedarrak and I have a few questions."
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Post by Moral Machivelli »

Nathan of the FoS wrote:
Moral Machivelli wrote: "Just now." Raphael Buchvold returns the cruator's smile with one of his own. He has always had a high regard for the old man. "I like to arrive to such a grand event in good time. How are you Lacomte? Any good finds for the Library since I was last there?"
The Borcan looks around, as a cluster of fraternity initiates enter, each clutching a wad of paper.
"Please tell me that there is something of interest in the program of lectures."
"Well, and do I not hear that you yourself are to regale us with your own program of research?" Lacomte replies. "And as to items of interest, I believe I may show you something you will enjoy very much--just this way--the library is not quite what it was at the Manoir, but Hazan is making a very creditable effort to renew it; of course, much more care must be taken here--the damp, the insects--a librarian's nightmare! He and I spent last night discussing what measure to take to preserve it..."

As the two men step into the library, Buchvold sees another man seated at a desk--an incongrous position for a man wearing a longsword, of all barbaric things, and with the mark of the Hawk on his forehead--and yet it fits oddly well with his cool, intelligent eyes.

"But I am afraid I must make one request, before we begin," Lacomte says, bowing slightly. "Your ring, Buchvold; you will activate it, please, and then Brother Vedarrak and I have a few questions."
Buchvold blinked. He had expected some sort of test, but he had certianly not anticipated...

"Certianly." He snapped, withdrawing a shard of metal from the pack he had taken to carring since the Manoir

"Cognito ergo creo" He intones, touching the cold metal with his ring, then throwing the shard of metal just suficiantly far to the right of Brother Vedarrak , so as it could not be mistaken for an attack, but so as the brother was left in darkness

"You will forgive me, but I have rather growin into the habit of using it in that way. The tequnique has proven useful more than once, let me tell you. And these questions?" Buchvold inquiers, turning to face Lacomte
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

The Falkovnian curses once in his own guttural langauge and Buchvold hear the chair scrape. "Ah, yes..." Lacomte says, half-smiling. "You may terminate the spell now, Master Buchvold. First of all, where did you and I first have dinner with Lord de Casteele? Second, what advice did I give you after your first interview to advance within the Fraternity?"

The Falkovnian stares at Buchvold as he releases the spell, his hard face impassive. "Also," he says, in near-perfect Balok, "tell us where and how you have spent the last six months, including the names of any brothers who can vouch for your whereabouts and actions."
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Post by Pamela »

“Of course,” Gertrude replied, removing her glove and raising her hand towards the Countess, as if she were hailing her. She slowly turned it, so that it could be seen from all angles. “Cogito ergo creo.” she murmured, and the morning sun was instantly blotted out by the magical darkness.

A second later, she warned, “I will remove it now…?” and at the lack of contradiction, ended the spell. She blinked her eyes, adjusting to the light once more, and smiling, asked, “What would you like to know?” She was actually relieved by the procedure; the Fraternity were being thorough as well as discrete.
His only real danger is if stupidity is contagious and lethal. In which case, we’re all dead…-Gertrude
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

The Countess nods sharply as Kingsley activates and terminates the magical darkness; she replies, "Good. Now, for the questions. What opera did I recommend to you when we first met in Port-a-Lucine? What did you loan me at the end of that first conversation?"

"Also, please describe your movements and activities in the six months since the meeting in Richemulot, and any of the Fraternity who can verify them."
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