The Shattered City: Chapter One

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"A trip to the museum sounds nice, profesor Lessard," Lia says, a slight smile on her lips. "It's been such a long time since we were all together ... And now it seems we will have an opportunity to get to know some new people together," she concludes with a gracious hand gesture. "But first, I believe I shall go and unpack. I shall see you all again later, I am certain."

Lia collects her room key and proceeds up the stairs, in search of her chamber.

[DocBeard]

"Hallo." Tomas says to the mysterious smoking man, because it seems polite. Really, both of these people are more friendly than Tomas is used to, so he doesn't mind the slowdown. "A Mister Agale, Ms. Viardot, more Ms. Viardot...Mister Mauganson insisted on carrying his own things." Tomas gestures his head behind him, giving Kerrian a smile to show that the young man was not intruding.

[Kaitou Kage]

"Your pronunciation is flawless, Ms. Viardot," Cyrus said smoothly. If the situation permitted, he would've taken her hand and kissed it. "Your home sounds like an enchanting place. If you are amenable, would love to visit it someday. My own home in Hazlan is too far to visit often but I long for it often. I think you would enjoy it, though. There are many, many gardens on my family estate."

He turned to Remy, and his tattooed brow rose. Ms. Viardot was going on his little museum trip. That made the trip much more palpable to the Hazlani cleric. Now if only he could bring that pretty whore-worshiping nun along too. She'd be so much more attractive if she took up the grey vestments of the true faith.

"I would be delighted to come, Professor Lessard, was it?" he said to Remy, the oil sliding back into his smile, "It is my duty to learn more about your city and nation while I am here."

[NeoTiamat]

The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 11:56 AM
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"I would be delighted to come, Professor Lessard, was it?" he said to Remy, the oil sliding back into his smile, "It is my duty to learn more about your city and nation while I am here."

"Well then you couldn't have chosen a better exhibition, Dommer." Professor Lessard said, raising a delicate blond brow at this statement. "It's about the founding of Dementlieu, about how Leon managed to unify the various peoples by eschewing force and instead using wisdom and enlightenment. They're supposed to have some artifacts there that haven't been out of aristocratic vaults in centuries. Private papers, things like that. The Modern History department thinks it quite a coup."

“I must say, I have been particularly entranced as of late by the sixth-century Richemuloise etchings in the rotating exhibition hall—such detail in the landscapes! Why, they have a Saint-Camille that simply…ah, but I do rattle on so!” She fixed an enthusiastic smile on the Junior Professor. “I should be most delighted to accompany you, monsieur.”

"And I would be delighted to show you around, Mademouselle." Remy said, a small smile flashing on his face at the discovery of a fellow historical enthusiast. He paused for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. "As a matter of fact... If you're truly interested in Richemuloise etchings, perhaps I could introduce you to Professor Georges Quenu? He's the man who assembled that exhibition, very proud of it. We could show you some of the etchings that didn't make the exhibition."

===============================================

"I'm..not interrupting, am I?" he asked, with a tilt to his head suggesting that if he WAS interrupting...he had NO idea what.

"Interrupting?" The man with the cigarette arched an eyebrow again, an odd glint entering his eye. Ignoring the clearly easier target of Mr. Agale's traveling trunk, the blond man hauled Mlle. Viardot's suitcases off of Tomas' shoulders and onto his own. Judging from the unpleasant noise this caused, this had an adverse effect on the man's spine, but he managed to straighten up and shake it off. With one hand, he picked the cigarette from his mouth, letting the smoke form a heavy haze in front of his face.

"Au contraire, monsieur, you are just in time. I am just about to liven up these banal proceedings for our superintendent," he said, letting the white tendrils curl hypnotically in the air.

He whipped the cigarette in a circle in front of him, the smoldering end leaving a trail of red in the air. Then there was nothing but vivid flames, surrounded by dazzling motes of sparkling light. They shimmered in the air for just an instant before vanishing, leaving nothing behind but a swirl of smoke. The man, the suitcases, and the flame had all vanished as if they had never been - fortunately so, in the fire's case, as burning the carpet would have violated even Devereux's lenient lease conditions.

"Voila!" the man called from the end of the hall. He was standing in front of Mlle. Viardot's room, the trunks neatly set in front of the door.

Cerise obligingly launched into enthusiastic applause. The man took a flamboyant bow.

================================================

Mr. Agale smiled sardonically.
"Perhaps it would. Lead on then Professor, show us the grand our."

"Oui, Professor, it would be wonderful not to get lost on our first day."

"I... certainly can show you... around," Devereux agreed. Peeking behind him to make sure the pair were following, the landlord bobbed down the entrance hall through the massive double door in the back. The smell from the kitchen wafted past him into the hall, the mouthwatering odor of some sort of wine sauce now evident to everyone.

"This is the... Commons room," Devereux said, pushing his way into the large chamber beyond. The music was clearer in here, floating beautifully through the room from down the hall. Light filtered in from the glass windows in the back, their white curtains giving the room a warm, peaceful look to it. From them, you could see out into the grounds, the grass nearly glowing in the sunshine. White marble mermaids glistened in a small fountain, with yellow daffodils swaying around it. A small patch for a garden had been dug near the west wing, currently barren of anything but earth.

"There's... not much here at the moment," the violet-eyed man admitted, storking his way between the card table and a green velvet couch. "The professors... have cards for whist, when they can... find another pair. I think there's a... cribbage board and a chess set in the right drawer, but... the white king's bishop is, er, missing. I set up the... billards table in the corner, which... seems to be popular." He paused for a moment. "I'm... not sure where the dartboard came from."

"You can have... free run of the grounds, if you like..." Devereux trailed off, as when he had mentioned the grounds, the back door to them had opened. A young, bearded, black-haired man briefly dusted off his lavender waistcoat before stepping inside, ducking very deliberately under the door frame to avoid running head-first into it. An alabaster shield of Ezra hung around his neck. He blinked a bit to adjust to the light, his misty grey eyes a striking contrast against his dark hair. He looked somewhat surprised to see he had company.

"Ezra's blessings to you, Warden," he said politely, bowing formally to Sister Nerit. He carefully straightened before bowing to the other two men, in turn.

"-almost forgot, Richard, could you get my pruning shears while you're up there?" a voice followed from outside. "I didn't think I'd need it this early on, but I must not have pruned the roses back enough over the winter- oh! Good morning!"

Not far on the young man's heels was a slightly older woman, her black dress rather dusty from the outdoors. Slender and long-legged, she dusted off the sleeves of her dress as she examined the visitors. Her face was a little too angular, the set of her jaw a little too strong to be perfectly fashionable, but she moved with assurance and grace. In her own way, she was a beautiful woman.

"Er... introductions." Devereux said, pausing for a moment as to how to best handle this. "Richard, Alice, this is Sister Doherty of Darkon, and Mr. Agale of Borca. Mr. Agale, Sister Doherty, this is Richard and Alice Blackwood, of Mordent."

"Charmed." Alice said with a polite smile, examining Mr. Agale briefly and then Nerit at length.

[yalenusveler]

"Voila!" the man called from the end of the hall. He was standing in front of Mlle. Viardot's room, the trunks neatly set in front of the door.

Cerise obligingly launched into enthusiastic applause. The man took a flamboyant bow.

"Impressive, I guess" Kerrian said with a bit of a smile, setting his own bags down in front of the room he claimed. "Can you do that with a statue? From downstairs?" It was a more practical set of questions than one might think, really.

[Nerit]

Nerit followed and listened vaguely to the slow ramblings of Devereux, far more entranced by the garden and the music than his hesitant voice. The appearance of Richard Blackwood surprised her as well and threw her back into focus on the immediate.

"Ezra's blessings to you, Warden," he said politely

"Mais non...really...je ne suis pas un prêtre..." Nerit gave up. Warden must be correct, in general, but she was no ordained priest. It would have to do in this country, and for now she would assume there was a slight language barrier.

"Enchantée," she inclined her head to both of the Blackwoods, regardless of what she interpreted as servile status. When she raised her head again, her eyes locked with Alice Blackwood's.

The nun's face went quite still, and she appeared lost in thought, all the while staring at the woman. A bit like a lost child, holding her suitcase in her hands at the corner of a crossroads. After a curious, awkward silence, Nerit swiveled her gaze to the shield at Richard's chest and offered a smile before nodding to him in recognition.

[The Whistler]

"And I would be delighted to show you around, Mademoiselle." Remy said, a small smile flashing on his face at the discovery of a fellow historical enthusiast. He paused for a moment, brow furrowing in thought. "As a matter of fact... If you're truly interested in Richemuloise etchings, perhaps I could introduce you to Professor Georges Quenu? He's the man who assembled that exhibition, very proud of it. We could show you some of the etchings that didn't make the exhibition."

“Oh my…” Celeste raised one hand to her mouth in brief surprise. “The Professor Georges Quenu? The one who—oh, I should be simply enchanted! Why, I had just read his most recent monograph—or the larger portion of it, at any rate—and the parallels he draws with the Borcan old masters…”

She nodded enthusiastically at Lessard. “It is settled: my appointment book shall be marked at once. I do hope the noble Professor will not mind a tyro amidst his exhibits—mine is a new interest, but most sincerely held!” She looked around the circle appreciatively. “Not fifteen minutes in my new home, and I am already engaged to dine with the brightest minds of our generation! I daresay I shall have to pace myself in the future, no?

The sound of teleportation, followed by applause, cut the reverie short; Celeste tilted her head towards the ceiling like a distracted puppy. “And on the subject of new homes, I really should attend to my belongings—I hope that my good assistants have not been overburdened! I have always found the placement of one’s most precious possessions within a room to be a task deserving of one’s fullest attentions—at least, so my staff has confided to me.” She cut a quick bow to all present, smiling all the while. “It was simply an unmatched pleasure to have met all of you; I cannot doubt that we shall become the dearest of friends. Au revoir!”

And with that, she was upstairs.

----

Celeste was a fast climber when she put her mind to it, but she didn’t reach the second floor hallway until after the performance was over. Still and all, there were people there, at least some of whom she had seen before. Mlle. Viardot counted this sort of thing as a glass-half-full situation.

“Ah, the errant Sir Eisenwald, unstinting in his quest!” She giggled. “I do hope that my little treasures have not inconvenienced you…mere trifles, I fear, but of such personal value. Ah, but I see you are not the only one so engaged!” She beamed at the other three movers. “Such pleasant company on such a pleasant day. Are the three of you to be taking rooms at the Chateau, as well?”

[yalenusveler]

Kerrian stood by the door to the southwest room, a bit surprised when Celeste made her way up the stairs. "Yes...I..didn't expect so many people. Or for them to be so.." He looked for a word in High Mordentish that meant different in a good way,unfortunately personal experience hadn't lent itself to picking up many with positive connotations. "Unique.." he finally settled on, deciding that was appropriately not insulting enough.

He then managed something fairly close to a smile "I'm Kerrian Mauganson." He said, walking over to Celeste and extending a hand, and then looking immediately like he was checking over his admittedly limited grasp of proper Dementliuese social etiquette to see if he was overstepping something terrible.

[NeoTiamat]

The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:05 AM
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Celeste nodded enthusiastically at Lessard. “It is settled: my appointment book shall be marked at once. I do hope the noble Professor will not mind a tyro amidst his exhibits—mine is a new interest, but most sincerely held!” She looked around the circle appreciatively. “Not fifteen minutes in my new home, and I am already engaged to dine with the brightest minds of our generation! I daresay I shall have to pace myself in the future, no?"

"I do not think Professor Quenu will mind at all. He's been dying for chances to show off his collection." Lessard said, the small smile still on his face. Celeste's enthusiasm was infectious. He bowed lightly to Celeste as she ran off. "Au revoir, mademouselle."

This left Professor Lessard and Cyrus Isfahani alone in the grand hall, as an ever louder commotion was forming upstairs and Devereux and company could be seen through the open passageway towards the common room. The philologist watched Celeste go, then gave Cyrus another small bow.

"I fear I must take my leave of you as well, Dommer." Lessard said picking up a long jacket from the foyer and putting it on. "As I've an evening's entertainment to arrange. Afsked."

The tall, pale academic left the building, though a heartbeat after he left Cyrus heard the sound of a polite "Guten morgen!" come from Lessard. The explanation for this utterance appeared promptly.

She was, without a doubt, an attractive woman, if not quite as dazzling to the eye as Celeste Viardot. She was also, without a doubt, as far as one could possibly get from the elegant Mlle. Viardot as was possible to be and still remain human.

She was of average height, with an athletic, wiry figure that wasn't quite concealed by the faded, olive-grey greatcoat she wore. Her long, light-brown hair was worn in loose curls, the bangs swept-aside to get it out of her eyes. Or eye, if one wished to be precise, as there was a dull, rose cloth tied around her head, forming a kind of impromptu eyepatch around the woman's left eye.

She was also carrying at the moment, one battered longsword (in a belt-sheath), one dented shield (strapped onto her arm), one military-style heavy crossbow (slung around her back), one short knife (stuffed into her belt), one handaxe (likewise), one short-sword (in a boot-sheath), and one halberd (wrapped in brown paper, in her hands).

"You are not Herr Devereux." The woman said in a Lamordian-tinged accent, after inspecting Cyrus for a moment. "I am here for my key."



===============================================

"Impressive, I guess" Kerrian said with a bit of a smile, setting his own bags down in front of the room he claimed. "Can you do that with a statue? From downstairs?" It was a more practical set of questions than one might think, really.

The man simply gave Kerrian a rather flat look. You had a feeling the magician preferred an unequivocally enthusiastic response from his audience.

“Ah, the errant Sir Eisenwald, unstinting in his quest!” She giggled. “I do hope that my little treasures have not inconvenienced you…mere trifles, I fear, but of such personal value. Ah, but I see you are not the only one so engaged!” She beamed at the other three movers. “Such pleasant company on such a pleasant day. Are the three of you to be taking rooms at the Chateau, as well?”

"Mademoiselle," the magician said, giving a sweeping bow once more. "You shall indeed find me lodging in this very manor. Call upon me should you ever require assistance again. Thierri Boucher is not troubled by mere trifles, and we must not allow Sir Eisenwald to be inconvenienced." He fixed Tomas with a sly looking smile.

"Cerise Rondelet," the cheery faced woman introduced herself as well, as it seemed to be the thing to do. A strange expression formed on her lips. "Say, did you say... Eisenwald? Tomas Eisenwald?"

She was into her room in a flash, sending metallic trinkets flying, from the sound of it. A bit of rustling, a loud crash, and one startled cat zipping out the doorway later, she re-emerged, holding a carefully pressed periodical in her hands. "Is it really you? I don't normally buy the Blue and Grey since I don't like the editor, but one of them had this article on Aggie I just couldn't pass up, and I happened to catch your short story in there. How did you ever escape from that carnival? I missed the next issue and I couldn't stop kicking myself for weeks..." She held out the yellowed magazine, giving Tomas her most winning smile. "Could you sign this?"

Grimmalken skittered around behind Kerrian's legs, giving the young man a small mew.

[Cronax]

"Enchantée, Monsieur." The nun bobbed her head to him and amended, "Au contraire! I am only une nonne, a lay monastic. Merci.

"My apologies for the inaccuracy. The intricacies of the church's hierarchy is something I had never pondered. Perhaps you could enlighten me, I find such topics fascinating."

Euh, pardon? I didn't catch that last part..." she trailed off.

"A title I do not technically possess at the current time. Let me see.. in mordentish the words 'barrister' or 'financier' come close. Although I do have plans to become more established in short order."

The professors... have cards for whist, when they can... find another pair.

"Perhaps... I am no doubt a little rusty, and will of course need to find a partner." Agale mused. Cracking a small smirk he added "To which Professors were you referring? It seems there is an abundance of individuals of that persuasion in residence."

"Er... introductions." Devereux said, pausing for a moment as to how to best handle this. "Richard, Alice, this is Sister Doherty of Darkon, and Mr. Agale of Borca. Mr. Agale, Sister Doherty, this is Richard and Alice Blackwood, of Mordent."

"Charmed." Alice said with a polite smile, examining Mr. Agale briefly and then Nerit at length.

"A pleasure to meet you likewise." Agale responded with an overly formal tone. " You are also tenants I take it?"

[Kaitou Kage]

Cyrus politely inclined his head to Remy as he departed. The predatory face tattooed on his scalp grinned at the professor. The Hazlani watched Celeste run off and grinned inwardly. First half-hour in residence and he'd already gotten a deliberate chance to see the beautiful debutante from down the hall. And there was no Darius present to screw everything up with his oafish ways. Besides, Cyrus concluded after his cursory inspections of the other tenants that he wouldn't have any real competition for the lady's heart.

Of course, he didn't expect competition for his own heart -- or his lust, as the case may be. As a result, the good dommer was surprised when another lovely woman approached him. This one looked challenging. Probably a mercenary, Cyrus surmised. In his experience, warrior women were often the hardest to sway, but also the most fun. They had such quaint notions that women could best men in physical trials. It really was charming, and it made the nights much more exciting.

The Hazlani smiled and bowed his head in greeting. "I am not Devereux," he said smoothly, "I am Cyrus Isfahani, son of Nezar Isfahani III. Our landlord is there." The priest gestured idly to Devereux. "It seems you and I are to share a residence. Perhaps we should spar sometime." Cyrus adjusted his dark glasses and grinned slyly. "What is your name?"

[The Whistler]

"I'm Kerrian Mauganson." He said, walking over to Celeste and extending a hand, and then looking immediately like he was checking over his admittedly limited grasp of proper Dementliuese social etiquette to see if he was overstepping something terrible.

For a sliver of a moment, Celeste checked herself at the gesture, more surprised than anything else. Then, with a bemused grin, she leaned in to return the shake—two-handed, and with considerable enthusiasm. It was rather as if she’d read about the practice without ever having successfully carried one off.

“Celeste Mirielle Viardot, of Bienassis—charmed, M. Mauganson! And my fondest thanks for your assistance. Had I but arranged to retain my hired men past the delivery of my Fimbria, I should extend the same courtesy to yourself!”

"Mademoiselle," the magician said, giving a sweeping bow once more. "You shall indeed find me lodging in this very manor. Call upon me should you ever require assistance again. Thierri Boucher is not troubled by mere trifles, and we must not allow Sir Eisenwald to be inconvenienced." He fixed Tomas with a sly looking smile.

“Oh! Yes, surely we mustn’t!” From the instantaneous diversion of her gaze to her pleasantly surprised tone of voice, it was clear that Celeste either responded well to theatrics or was incapable of attending to anyone for more than three sentences. “And I shall take up your invitation with the utmost pleasure, should I be needful of it! From the manner in which you have already transported my personal stationery, I can think of no better gentleman for the task.”

It was worth noting that Celeste’s “personal stationery” apparently constituted two separate thirty-pound valises.

"Is it really you? I don't normally buy the Blue and Grey since I don't like the editor, but one of them had this article on Aggie I just couldn't pass up, and I happened to catch your short story in there. How did you ever escape from that carnival? I missed the next issue and I couldn't stop kicking myself for weeks..." She held out the yellowed magazine, giving Tomas her most winning smile. "Could you sign this?"

…And one gilt-edged appointment book carried separately from the rest, which Celeste had produced seemingly out of nowhere and was now holding open several feet from Tomas’ face—though several steps back from Cerise, in a respectful acknowledgement of first priority.

“Heavens! A true, roving adventurer, under our very roof? Why, Sir Eisenwald...I had no idea that we were graced with such august company!” She turned to Cerise, wreathed in smiles. “And my dear Mlle. Rondelet, already so well-versed in his exploits! We shall have to plumb the very depths of his experience to sate our curiosities, shall we not?”

Back to Tomas. “That is the truth: I shall have no modesty from you, noble sir! Only endless tales of your most redoubtable deeds, to enlighten those who may only imagine the same!” She grinned. “…As well as the honor of your signature.”

[NeoTiamat]

Entry Hall, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:09 AM
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"I am not Devereux," he said smoothly, "I am Cyrus Isfahani, son of Nezar Isfahani III. Our landlord is there." The priest gestured idly to Devereux. "It seems you and I are to share a residence. Perhaps we should spar sometime." Cyrus adjusted his dark glasses and grinned slyly. "What is your name?"

"Katharina Zweibach. Most call me Katja." The woman said, the accent lending a certain harshness to her words that may or may not have been intended. Still, she didn't move towards Devereux immediately, instead planting one end of the halberd onto the ground and giving Cyrus a more thorough examination with her one good eye. "Perhaps we shall spar. You are a soldier, or amateur?"

Common Room, The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 9th, 770, 12:09 AM
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"Perhaps... I am no doubt a little rusty, and will of course need to find a partner." Agale mused. Cracking a small smirk he added "To which Professors were you referring? It seems there is an abundance of individuals of that persuasion in residence."

"Professor Lemercier and Professor Petrik... the scholars that own their own rooms here." Devereux explained, a small smile playing on his lips. "There is also... Professor Lessard, but he does not... play. Lia, I do not know if she... teaches, though she could. Myself... I am... retired."

"Mais non...really...je ne suis pas un prêtre..." Nerit gave up. Warden must be correct, in general, but she was no ordained priest. It would have to do in this country, and for now she would assume there was a slight language barrier.

"Oh, oh, sorry." The young man bashfully averted his eyes for a moment. His cheeks had turned slightly pink. "That is, my apologies. You are all the way from, from Darkon, Sister? Are you from Nevuchar Springs?" he asked, guardedly rubbing the back of his neck.

Insight Check

"A pleasure to meet you likewise." Agale responded with an overly formal tone. " You are also tenants I take it?"

"Yes, we are," Richard replied, nearly matching Mr. Agale for stiff politeness. "I'm in room five, near the end of the hall. Mr. Devereux has kindly let me stay here while I study at Mere Ste. Larmes."

"And Mr. Devereux has kindly let me stay here while I keep an eye on Richard," Alice added, a twinkle in her eye.

"Ah, c'mon, sis..." It was amazing to see how fast the young man's formality crumbled, as he awkwardly put his hand to the back of his head. "Don't say it like that..." Richard protested, trying to bite back an embarrassed grin. He was definitely flushing now.

"Oh alright," Alice smiled, with the definite mark of humoring her brother. "Only a little bit."

"I mostly work at the Hospice of the White Dove in the Quartier Ouvrier. These days they need what help they can get," Alice said, more somberly. Richard made a slight noise in the back of his throat, but said nothing.

[Kaitou Kage]

"Katja," Cyrus savored the word for a moment. He looked over her assortment of weapons and smiled again, and then patted the hilt of his greatsword. "A fan, you might say," he replied, "Or an appreciator of swordwork and a templar of the Lawgiver. Most of his clergy are trained in martial skill."

[DocBeard]

Tomas blinks, having been clapping lightly for the magic act. "Well, yes, that is my name..." G-golly! Tomas actually blushes a bit, which makes his pale face look a bit less corpse like for the moment. He stumbles backwards, unused to positive attention.

"Ah, er...that particular adventure..." Tomas looks behind the girls and down the stairs, hoping Lia cannot hear. "...is a bit, um, complicated..."

"But, sure, I'll sign!" Tomas grins a bit. "I'm not used to people without pitchforks or torches knowing my name, forgive the novelty."