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Rotipher of the FoS
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Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

Initially, the bard's attention is divided between Paul Dirac's reaction to Chicken Bone, and his own budding speculations about the voodan's unexpected presence here. Thus, he does not turn to view the startling scene of multiplicity in the foyer ... until the more disheveled of the two female figures collapses in a swoon.

Alerted by the sound of Mme Trouvé (?) falling to her knees, both Crow and the Dementlieuse turn as one, abandoning their indirect observation via the butter-knife. The sight of two identical women, one in distress, the other in a state of outrage, affects them differently; while Dirac has little cause for concern about the Professor's welfare -- indeed, he knows the Zherisian so slightly, his first assumption could well be that this is her twin in truth -- the bard is quite alarmed by this abrupt duplication.

The Devil...?! What's that swamp-skulking wretch playing at? Or, if not Chicken Bone, then who?

Even as he rises, rushing to the foyer and kneeling at the fallen woman's side -- a veritable picture of the "Good Sanguinian" of Ezran parable, brimming with compassion for his fellow-man -- he looks first to Chicken Bone, then to Kingsley, his eyes questioning. One hand reaches to grasp the stricken figure's arm, supportive, while the limber fingers of the other weave a rhythmic pattern, as if in readiness to work a restorative spell-song upon this ailing soul.

"Pray forgive me this impertinance, Madam," he says, speaking ostensibly to the fallen lady, yet keeping his eyes on the other. "Your distress ... I could not stand aside ... perhaps, if you are unwell, a fortifying libretto may afford some assistance?" The bard's gray eyes are wide, his voice respectful and consoling; to those onlookers not involved, his actions seem naught but charitable.

Behind those eyes, his mind is racing. Who is to blame for this strange replication -- the voodan, the Fraternity, the other spy? -- and, more pressingly, which woman is the true Kingsley?



[OOC: Sorry about the holdup, folks; I figured the bard had better dive into things fast, to make up for it! :wink:

[FWIW, at the moment he's doing three things at once: playing innocent for the maitre d'hotel's benefit; checking if the ailing woman might be one of Chicken Bone's undead (by the temperature of her hand and, if necessary, by using a Cure Light spell); and using Sense Motive on the standing Kingsley, to check for indications that she's not the real Gertrude. (Sorry, Pam, but that's exactly the sort of thing Crow would immediately wonder about. :roll: )

[Oh, and Nathan, if this is a doppelganger, don't forget that the bard's thoughts are shielded.]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Post by Pamela »

Mme Trouvé lay on the floor, unresponsive to the bard’s offer. Her skin is warm to the touch, and her pulse erratic.
………………………………………….

There was a touch of relief at Crow’s appearance before Gertrude raised her shield of anger once more. She was however unable to hide the shiver of disgust and fear as the bard knelt beside her “twin”. Her hand rose to touch her own wrist as she stared, waiting for the other’s reply.

Realising that it was not forthcoming, she tartly remarked to the bard, “I’d suggest being careful that you don’t accidentally harm her but you’ll have to forgive me if I don’t muster the appropriate sympathy…

“Well? I thought I was supposed to offer a service, not my soul. ” The professor turned angrily back to Chicken Bone as she spoke, but her gaze was soon drawn, almost despite herself, to the image of herself in disarray on the floor.

Suddenly a look of horror and realisation crossed her face as she looked back to Brother Dirac in the dining room and the solicitous bard standing over the thing on the floor. “This is all a trap, isn’t it?” she said, moving towards the door, still facing the trio in the middle of the foyer. “Because of this morning…You’re not even Crow, are you?” she asked, an edge of hope in her voice.

[OOC: Sense Motive right back at ya, Sharon! :shock: ]
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 Rotipher of the FoS »

[OOC: Heh heh. Looks like you've struck the motherlode of PC paranoia with this look-alike stunt, Nathan. :wink: ]


Though marginally reassured by the distraught woman's pulse, deftly and discreetly felt for at the inner elbow, the bard's questions as to the origin of this possible duplicate remain unanswered. His suspicion of the figure whose table he'd briefly shared is diminishing -- knowing Kingsley, the last thing she would conceivably do in a crisis is to swoon -- but he still needs to verify the standing woman's identity: where one replica exists, another might as well.
Suddenly a look of horror and realisation crossed her face as she looked back to Brother Dirac in the dining room and the solicitous bard standing over the thing on the floor. “This is all a trap, isn’t it?” she said, moving towards the door, still facing the trio in the middle of the foyer. “Because of this morning…You’re not even Crow, are you?” she asked, an edge of hope in her voice.
(Correction: he needs to verify the standing woman's identity, and his own ... and fast, before the fragile rapport they've established is too badly damaged for repair. The recollection that Kingsley is Zherisian -- hence, heir to all the paranoia that heritage entails of late -- strikes home; perhaps, come to think of it, a future foray to Paridon will serve more than just his current mission or personal curiosity, if this is the measure of fear its hidden denizens' deceits evoke in the city's legitimate inhabitants.)

Blinking in evident astonishment, the bard looks up at the professor, eyes wide. He keeps his features and mannerisms non-threatening, raises his free hand in a calming gesture none could mistake for spellcasting.

"Why, Madam, I avow I am no less perplexed by this turn of events than yourself," he (quite honestly) replies, gray eyes darting from Kingsley to her fallen duplicate and back again. "I assure you, I had no hand in this untoward situation, none at all. Indeed, such confused circumstance strikes me as more befitting a play than a real event; it calls to mind something out of Fair Fortune Founders:

"'Forsooth, 'tis forged a fine fettle, by feigned folly', as Warden Ilyano alliteratively utters to Toret Vhexus, if I do not misremember the quote." He blinks again -- or is it a wink? One eye closes marginally before the other -- and tilts his head, subtly expectant.

[OOC: The bard's leaving an opening here for Kingsley to 'correct' his fake quotation, assuming she's the genuine article and can recognize the names of "Brother Crow's" supposed Darkonian associates. (Given the lack of literacy in Souragne, he's fairly sure the maitre d'hotel won't know there is no such play.) It's not a foolproof confirmation of identity, but it provides some corroberation and might calm her down.


[Bet you guys can't figure out what "Fair Fortune Founders" is an OOC reference to, BTW. :wink: ]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

OOC: Incorporating a little bit of the Sense Motive check information here:

IC: Something about the standing Kingsley's reactions is subtly reassuring to Crow; her posture, her reactions, even her sudden suspicion of her erstwhile comrades rings true to the woman he knows.

Chicken Bone, on the other hand, does not look at all pleased by this turn of events. Stepping forward, he keeps his attention focused on the standing Gertrude while he kneels by the side of the woman who accompanied him here. "Pardonez-moi, m'sieur," he says in a tone of voice that indicates that Crow is being welcomed to bow out. Speaking to both equally, he continues, "I don' know what dis means, m'sieur, who you are, who dese women are, but de Lord of the Dead and the Lady of Roads, dey bring us here, an' you be wise not to interfere wit' de business of de loa."
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Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

Turning to Chicken Bone, as if only just realizing the aged voodan is more than a chance witness to this incident, the bard blinks again. His reply to the swamp-conjurer's warning is guarded, his use of Souragnien suddenly more halting and inexpert than at their prior encounter:

"Excuse me... sir. This lady, she is... in your care? To you, I would leave that work... but first, we help her, maybe, to seat...?"*

Crow spies a padded chair in one corner of the foyer, and gestures towards it with scooped palm, indicating readiness to help Chicken Bone relocate the pseudo-Kingsley from her present less-than-dignified position on the floor. Noting Dirac watching the proceedings from the dining-hall entrance, he also mouths the word "Water" to the young Dementlieuse: if the voodan plans to warn the VRS spy off without an explanation, at least he'll learn what he can while the formalities of collectively aiding the professor's duplicate are still in progress.

[* - I won't even try to translate that in French -- let alone, an amateurish rendering of Cajun dialect :roll: -- but essentially, Crow's backing up the voodan's statement that he doesn't know the PCs, by playing the dumb tourist unfamiliar with Souragne. At the same time, he'll drag out the business of helping the fake Kingsley for as long as he reasonably can, without entirely alienating Chicken Bone; SM 34 to discern how long he can get away with that.]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Post by Pamela »

Gertrude froze in place as Crow met her eyes and her own hand began to rise, then stayed its motions at his reassuring gesture. There was no mistaking the suspicion that met his first words, but her eyes suddenly brightened and her lips pursed at the bard’s seemingly frivolous reference.

She was about to reply when the voodan finally did. Her annoyance at the lack of answers to her questions dissolved anew into distrust and confusion at the reply that Chicken Bone did provide. Doesn’t know who we are?! I suppose he thought that he was just escorting me home?! She said nothing aloud, not trusting her temper or the voodan’s potential reaction.

The professor’s mood softened once more at the bard’s concern, directed even as it was at her twin. Turning to the flabbergasted maitre d’ who has had the best seat during the entire spectacle, she said firmly but courteously, “Could you please bring that chair for them?” Turning to Crow, trying to avoid looking at the woman on the floor, she remarked, “I am sorry for having doubted you. Our colleagues’ skills are renowned in certain areas, but while they may be able to imitate charm and impudence, very few indeed would think to prove themselves by references to mawkish –”

Mme Trouvé jolts, head lolling back as she pants, “Cor…Corb…” Strange words pound through her mind and tried to emerge from her lips as she was seized by images of sunshine pouring through a large window; an exposed riverbed of red mud suddenly reminiscent of blood; the bard looming over her angrily then smiling seated across from her.

Gertrude recoiled as if a snake had suddenly reared in her path, face blanching then blushing as the display of weakness whetted her anger anew. Attention now wholly focused on the thing that dared to wear her face, she bitterly said, “Toret Corbil, not Vhexus. I particularly favoured the scene about Sentire Tao. You know that of course – what are you? How dare you?!”

She suddenly laughed, as if caught by the absurdity of the scene but remarked without humour, “Mrs Howarth would have loved this…” Looking up at Crow, trying to avoid the obsessive draw of her eyes towards her own doppelganger, she said tightly, “I cannot stay here. Question me all you want but not here – not where – I want my thoughts to be my own alone,” she finally managed.

She opened the door and marched stiffly across the street, hugging the carpetbag to her chest which contained her journals and notes; proof of her life, herself. She looked up and down the street; while she trusted Crow, she did not trust the Fraternity or the idea that this had all been coincidental.

[OOC: Roti, sorry but no idea at all about FFF unless it’s the Fantastic Four minus a member! :P]
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 »

Chicken Bone looks between Crow, the standing Gertrude, now leaving the inn, and the woman he is holding; he waves the maitre d' away (a gesture the unfortunate fellow is only too glad to heed). "M'sieur," he says, in a low voice, indicating the woman on the floor, "de loa is wit' you, yes?"
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Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

His own thoughts churning, the bard nods stiffly to Kingsley, not daring to speak. As much as he longs to caution her to be wary -- to stay in clear view of others, even as she seeks solitude -- he knows that doing so will only seem patronizing: so far as the Paridon-born professor is aware, it is she, not "Brother Crow", who is more acclimated to the convoluted perils of impersonation! And to state such self-evident warnings aloud would only diminish her credibility in Dirac's eyes... a trespass the Zherisian, already badly snubbed by her so-called 'Brethren' this day, is unlikely to appreciate.

Risky or not, part of him is relieved to watch her exit the hotel, thus tactfully excusing herself from the scene. Whatever its nature may be, the slumped figure's slurred words prove it can either read her thoughts or shares her memories; the longer Kingsley's proximity to her duplicate continues, the more traumatic and disasterous the consequences might be. All in all, he'd rather she not be present, when this creature that now wears her form is interrogated.

Nor, for that matter, when it has to die.

(Without falling into the damned Fraternity's hands....)

Keeping a wary eye on the pseudo-Kingsley -- Dazed? Ensorcelled? Can it even be stunned or enspelled? Is it feigning one or the other? Dash it, we really should know more about these things! -- and keeping his back to the dining-hall to conceal his actions from witnesses, Crow nods once in reply to Chicken Bone's query, pats the breast pocket of his jerkin, then slips the false 'quizzing glass' from it and peers through its lensless, serpent-scaled loop at the Zherisian's double.



[OOC: You do realize, Nathan, that Crow's gonna have to kill this thing, don't you? :roll: It knows all about his past meeting with the Professor, and it's a lot more likely to figure out what he was really up to than novice-intriguer Gertrude.

[BTW, if the spy happens to catch a glimpse of the voodan whose arm supports her, during the scanning process ... well, that could be by accident, couldn't it? :wink: ]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Rotipher of the FoS wrote:[OOC: You do realize, Nathan, that Crow's gonna have to kill this thing, don't you? :roll: It knows all about his past meeting with the Professor, and it's a lot more likely to figure out what he was really up to than novice-intriguer Gertrude.
OOC: That would be a pity. :misori: Still, if you feel you must...

IC: Crow raises the quizzing-stick to his eye and sees...nothing. Or, at least, only a woman in her late thirties, frightened and weak, supported by an elderly Souragniean man.

And then, a muttered whisper at his ear: "Il que a l'oeil pour voir, que voit!"

Now the woman on the floor is older--or is she younger? Crow cannot be sure--and darker, her skin the color of cafe au lait and her eyes a startling brilliant green. And the man who supports her...is emaciated, even skeletal, and points of red flame wink from empty eye-sockets. A black band circles the middle finger of the woman's right hand.
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Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

Though his training's first, ingrained impulse is to eliminate this potential calamity -- this entity, which has freely pulled information from another's mind -- as expediently as discretion allows, the bard quells this distasteful facet of his tradecraft ... at least, for now. He can't be sure if this duplicate is monstrous, or even mortal for that matter: killing humanity's predators is one thing, but killing fellow humans is quite another! A momentary flush of shame -- revulsion for his forgotten, renounced self of ten years past, who (presumably) would not have hesitated to act pragmatically in Crow's place -- colors his cheeks, behind their concealing masque of makeup.

Then the Oracle's words whisper in his ear, and his vision shifts to reveal the unseen. And, his initial hypothesis debunked -- for he must trust the validity of Brahmbei's revelations, if only because he has no choice: his facade would be doomed, if the mystically-perceptive loa were his enemies -- he is relieved, if perplexed, by the results. Not a face-stealing facsimile from Lady Scalpel's homeland, then. But what?

A brisk inspection through the quizzing-glass fails to alleviate the VRS spy's perplexity. The Zherisian veil over the revealed Souragnien form could be nothing more exotic than a spell -- an illusion, a transmutation, a curse -- yet in a realm like Souragne, Crow cannot even speculate what feats the local magic-users may, or may not, be capable of. The band of darkness upon her finger might be responsible, as might the voodan who supports her. Then again, both the Maison's current residents and the traitor they hunt might readily achieve such an effect.

(Really, there is only one thing the bard does grow sure of, peering through the viper-circled ring: that he and Chicken Bone have something more in common than the emotional basis of their respective magics.)

The part of Crow that is loyal to the Society and Van Richten recoils, unseen, from the ghastly visage overlying the voodan's. But the part of him that makes his wrists twinge in self-recrimination, whilst facing another who has served and bled for the darkness, lets him meet the swamp-sorcerer's eyeless-seeming gaze directly.

"With me... yes, the loa are with me, with things to show. And, perhaps, things to ask, or to bid."

He lowers the quizzing-glass, his gray eyes now pinning the voodan's own. The same gray.

"And not only with me, I think."



[OOC: Crow is implying that the loa may actually want him to get involved in the matter of this duplicate Kingsley. (After all, it'd be quite a coincidence for Chicken Bone to meet him and Gert here by chance, alone!) He's also suggesting that he may be willing to do things for the loa, or for Chicken Bone as their intermediary, if necessary to figure out what's going on ... and he's revealing that yes, he did see the image of the Lord of the Dead, and isn't (visibly) discouraged by that fact.

[Chicken Bone's gray eyes are canon, BTW, from RLMCII. SM 26 to see how the voodan reacts to the bard's hint, and how he feels about the situation in general.]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Rotipher of the FoS wrote:"And not only with me, I think."
Chicken Bone nods slowly, his grey eyes on Crow's. "Wit' you, an' wit' me, and wit' her," he says, indicating the woman on the floor. "But, m'sieur..." He shakes his head. "Perhaps we fin' a more private place. For de lady. Oui, m'sieur? Convenez-vous?"

This last is directed at the maitre d', who dithers for a moment and then, making a virtue of necessity, bows in assent. "This way, m'sieur," he says, gesturing to the hallway. Leading them to a small room, he opens the door, looks inside and gestures them in. Chicken Bone, displaying either unusual strength or a well-practiced knack for carrying a human body, scoops up Mme. Trouve without difficulty and follows, setting her on the bed within.

OOC: Chicken Bone got the hint, but doesn't seen very impressed/interested by it (at the moment). He's worried about something.
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Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

[OOC: D'oh! Your last post must've come while I was in the middle of juggling sea-monster submissions, Nathan. I completely blanked (AGAIN!) on the fact it was my turn! :shock:

[If I'm more than a few days late in posting again, please send me a pm to nag me about it, okay? Really sorry, guys.... :oops: ]


As the voodan settles the dazed woman (?) onto the bed, the bard nods approvingly to the maitre d'hotel. He gestures for the man to wait, pulls his ever-present notebook from his breast pocket, and jots a hasty note to Brother Paul Dirac:

Investigating foyer incident. May be what we seek. Do not report yet: observers/imposters likely. If K returns, watch her.

The bard ends this communique with an "ink blot" in the shape of the Isle of Ravens, a reference to the young Brother's presentation. (Not a sure guarantee, but it should reassure Dirac somewhat as to the note's source.) With a quiet word in broken Souragnien, he slips the folded note to the maitre d', along with enough coin to pay for the room's hire and the trio's interrupted dinner. Bowing anxiously, the hotelier backs out of the room, closing the door with a firmness that ensures privacy.

Turning back to Chicken Bone, Crow inspects both the witch-doctor and his 'patient' once more, this time without the benefit of the quizzing glass. He moves near, and gestures first to the supine woman, then to the hand on which Brahmbei's vision had revealed the band of darkness. His eyes briskly skim over the duplicate Kingsley's features, clothing and hands, in search of those slight discrepancies -- tiny blemishes and wrinkle-lines, perhaps, or such transient stigmata as ripening mosquito-bites -- that are every counterfeit's bane, as he well knows from his own tradecraft.

"So, m'sieur," he inquires, his grasp of the Souragnien dialect and accent suddenly much better. "What do you ... and the loa ... make of this one?"


[OOC: The note is intended to keep Dirac from either reporting back to the Maison immediately or butting in on Crow's conversation with Chicken Bone. If he's waiting for Kingsley, Paul can't do either, and he may be able to protect her if the Professor has been targeted for replacement by whatever-this-is. As the bard just paid for Dirac's meal, he might as well stay put anyway. :wink: ]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Rotipher of the FoS wrote:"So, m'sieur," he inquires, his grasp of the Souragnien dialect and accent suddenly much better. "What do you ... and the loa ... make of this one?"
"I know what I make of this one," Chicken Bone says grimly, chafing the woman's wrists. Even Crow's discerning eye is hard put to detect any sign of the imposture; the woman reclining on the couch appears to be a perfectly normal human woman, in her late thirties or early forties, quite indistinguishable (save for her dress, her relative deshabille, and a certain air of bewilderment and fright) from the Gertrude Kingsley he knows. "What I do not know is what to make of you, m'sieur. What do you and your friends mean by this imposture? You would do better not to take the help of the loa so lightly."

[OOC: Yes, Chicken Bone lost his accent--it's because they're talking in Souragnien. :misori: The Creole-esque French is fun, but for the sake of time and Joel's eyes we will forbear.

Sorry about the mix-up, Roti; I know you're busy and thought I would just not bug you...and next thing I know it's two weeks later. :P Next time I'll poke you after a couple of days.)
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Post by Rotipher of the FoS »

[OOC: Fair enough. For that matter, Pamela, you're welcome to nag both of us slowpokes, should things bog down again. :roll: ]


Briefly, the bard hesitates, necessity warring with suspicion; judging how much he can safely reveal to Chicken Bone isn't easy. Perhaps it is the voodan's state of worry which convinces Crow that this eerie old man is, for the nonce, the least of the numerous evils he's dealing with.

"I assure you, m'sieur," the spy begins, eyes still affixed on the dozing woman, voice slow and thoughtful. "If my ... friends ... have a hand in this, they did not see fit to explain their purpose to me. They do not ... always tell me all that I might wish to know. Friends ... they are not always so open as that."

Gray eyes flick to the voodan, and back again.

"Friends ... fall out, also. You've held the proof of that, sir."

(An empty revelation only, Crow is certain. The voodan is a diviner, and has had ample time to analyze the viper-ring left in his keeping. But he pauses, nevertheless, to let Chicken Bone weigh the implications of this admission of mutiny within the Fraternity's ranks.)

"Myself," he continues, "I am concerned for my friend -- my real friend -- and what this duplicate bodes, for her. But more ... I wonder who is responsible. And I wonder what their intentions may be, that make such abnormalities necessary."

A longer glance at the voodan, gaze open and steady. To the small extent he dares, the bard has chosen to level with Chicken Bone; his next words are as honest as a born liar's can be.

"I mean no offense to the loa, sir, nor trespass upon your business. But I owe it to my friend, and to others, to solve this puzzle. I will endeavor to do that, with or without your aid, m'sieur ... but I hope it will be with it, and with the loa's blessing. There will be answers neither of us can easily discover, working alone."

And he looks back at the dazed woman, letting his concern for the real Kingsley show in the wrinkling of his brow, the tension in his lower lip.


[OOC: The bard has indicated the existence of a renegade FoS member, who might be responsible for the duplicate Kingsley, and also suggested that other FoS members might have done this without his knowledge. He's stated his real motives as openly as he dares, while apologizing for appearing to take Brahmbei's favor for granted ... and hinting that whoever created the fake Kingsley is trespassing on Chicken Bone's and/or the Lord of the Dead's turf, in bringing their foreign intrigues (and forbidden magics?) to Souragne. Finally, by calling the real Kingsley his friend, and exposing his concern for her, he's revealed that he knows the genuine article well enough that his familiarity might help determine how accurate the fake one is.

[If Roeccha and the others are monitoring this, of course, he can always spin it that he's handing the voodan a load of bull, and that his hint about Van Rijn was actually a (bogus) hint that he might sell out the FoS, in exchange for information. :twisted: ]
"Who [u]cares[/u] what the Dark Powers are? They're [i]bastards![/i] That's all I need to know of them." -- Crow
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

Chicken Bone shakes his head and looks at Crow with a mix of annoyance, anger, and...fear?...in his face. "The Oracle always talks in riddles...no wonder he chose you. You say that friends are not always so open. Well, that is too bad that it should be so among your circle of friends, but you and I, m'sieur, we are not friends, and so I will be open, yes? The woman who came to my house last night is here." He gestures emphatically to the woman lying on the bed. "The loa is with her; the eye of the Oracle should show you that, at least. Who is that woman downstairs who you call your friend?"
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