The Shattered City: Chapter Two

[NeoTiamat]

Courtyard, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; Evening of March 24th, 770
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"Let's get in there quickly and get out even faster, then," Lia says. "Andre, I hope to hear from you soon."

"Good luck... and Lia? Wild dogs couldn't keep me away." Prof. Theroux smiled briefly, and waved as you departed. "Stay safe."

Museum, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; Evening of March 24th, 770
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The Guignol Museum was much as you remembered it from your last visit. It was still a grandiose building underneath a large dome, and as before, the highlight of the central hall was the Charge of the Marsh. The light glinted off these memories of a bygone era, a dozen knights in armor still repeating a single moment of folly from centuries ago. In that way, they were an excellent symbol of Dementlieu itself.

In other ways, however, the Guignol Museum was rather noticeably different. It was emptier now, quite nearly abandoned, and there were only a bare handful of people now, a few students or elderly faculty seeking solace amid the relics of ages past. The Museum, never very lively, now had a nearly sepulchral air about it.

"The, the exhibit from before, the exhibit on Leon is, is gone," Richard noted, sounding only slightly surprised. He craned his neck and looked down the length of the Museum to the Exhibition Hall. "I remember my, my uncle telling me the Lamplighters could keep crime scenes in, intact for weeks, but they're..." The young man tilted his head to the side, giving a small frown. "...uncommon."

It was as Richard said - the glass cases and brilliant banners had been stripped away, and replaced with a more earthy exhibit on what looked like Kartakan folklore. Wolf pelts had been placed on the wall as a backdrop, something that was likely to have made an actual Kartakan nervously boastful, but which the curator seemed to have thought gave the place a proper ethnic undertone. The room currently held some brightly painted furniture, carved in traditional Kartakan style, as well as a case of handsome musical instruments. A huge boar's head had been placed high up on the walls, as well as several racks of antlers. The room also contained a small, quailing woman, who was rather unfairly being pitted against the iron stare of Professor Petrik. It was pretty clear who was winning.

"What," Professor Petrik was saying coldly, "do you call this?" She thrust her conductor's baton at the offending instrument, a teardrop shaped string instrument painted in white, red, and green.

"I-i-i-it's a lute, Madame," the woman stammered, looking much how you might imagine a small, fuzzy rodent would look when it had something with large teeth bearing down on it.

"It is a mandolin," corrected Petrik, harshly. "Invidian occupation era, traditionally painted. Your label is wrong."

"O-of course, Madame, but this is why we wanted you to help a-advise us..." the woman tried, tenuously. It did not have the effect she wanted. Petrik's eyes widened, as if about to literally lunge forward and snap the woman's head off. "I will have it fixed immediately!" the woman said, fleeing the room as if it was on fire.

Professor Petrik sniffed, disapprovingly, and turned to look for other incorrectly labeled items, at which point she spotted you. She sniffed again, less angrily. "So," she began. "Someone else has you doing their job for them, as well?"

Rue des Epices, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Evening of March 24th, 770
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"I see." Agale said, taking on an introspective countenance. Visions of Abernathy the younger flashed through his mind, but were quickly dismissed as that gentleman's smile was undeniably untarnished by fillings. "I'm afraid I am not yet acquainted with his assistant. If you run into either of them again, I would be most appreciative if you would let me know. I can be reached at the Chateau Malchance."

"Of course." Marks said, nodding and making a little note on his ledger. There was a chance that Lecanu or his yellow-haired contact might one day return to the bookstore. In that case, there was even a chance that Randall Marks would remember Agale's request.

OOC: If you ladies and gentlemen are done here, you can make some Streetwise Checks to search for the Yellow-Haired Man. Alice is Trained and can assist.

Before Mr. Marks can respond, the Borcan changes the subject to one of a more definitive interest to the shop keeper, a sale. "Although perhaps you can assist me on an unrelated matter. I seek a book detailing the historical land holding records for the Quartier Savant. Do you have available such a volume?"

"Don't think so..." Marks said, chewing on his lip in annoyance as the prospect of actually selling books became ever more distant. "Not much demand for something like that. But you can check at the Ruling Palace, they've all the land records for Dementlieu dating back to settlement."

[DocBeard]

Hrm, Tomas thinks, reading a letter. He has not yet realized it is upside down.

Hey, its all Darkonese to him anyway.

(OOC: sigh. Got a 13 on the streetwise roll. Someone please make this I don't think I can stand another week of standing around because none of us can beat the DC.)

[lostboy]

"Enchante Mademouselle" Nicholas says bowing lightly to Mary "I shall count the hours".

Then back to the business at hand, the poet turned on his heel and followed Tomas, all the time he keeps one ear cocked to the conversation occuring between Agale and the shopkeeper.

Catching sight of Nerit flicking through the papers Nicholas pauses as another thought hits him. "May I Sister?" he asks politley and flicks through the papers with a careful eye. "I have had on occasion to conceal the true content of a document myself, priests of the Lawgiver and confessors of Diamabel both equally dislike any negative publicity, and such tricks served me well." He adds by way of explantion of why a disheveled lush of a poet might be good at cracking ciphers....

(OOC: Streetwise 30 on the re-roll and Perception 16 for looking over the letters for evidence of Secret Page being employed)

[The Whistler]

“Professor Petrik!” Celeste’s congenital inability to know when she should be intimidated by someone kicked in, and with force: the unbridled excitement with which she scurried up to the Professor and curtsied suggested a reunion with a beloved aunt, just back from some manner of harrowing ocean voyage.

“What a distinct pleasure! Oh, happy Fate, that brings together we of the Chateau even when such a meeting is least expected! I had no idea that you were employed in such august capacity as Curatoress—I daresay the Guignol shall be far the better off for your counsel!” She peered solicitously at the instrument that had until recently been the topic of Petrik’s conversation. “Why, just as we entered the hall, I confided to myself: ‘That, dear Celeste, is a Mandolin, and can indeed be no other instrument.’ Yet fear of my own inexperience prevented my making any comment to that effect! How fortunate the University, to have such a one as may give proper voice to such concerns, where the mere dilettante must hesitate to tread! They are in your debt, Professor Petrik.”

"Someone else has you doing their job for them, as well?"

"Why, yes! How characteristically perceptive, dear Professor." Celeste leaned in a bit. "If truth be told, we are on a singularly grave errand, at the behest of our City's chief Cathedral--for, Professor Petrik, we search for no less than the whereabouts of a vanished Anchorite! The humble prelate in question, one Warden Lecanu, was possessed of reading habits bearing an uncanny similarity to the exhibitions of this very museum--and thus, our round of investigation could only dictate our return to the Guignol! Oh, it is all so enchantingly Byzantine!*"

---

*Rough translation of High Mordentish term referencing the Borcan War of Silver Knives

[Nerit]

Catching sight of Nerit flicking through the papers Nicholas pauses as another thought hits him. "May I Sister?" he asks politley and flicks through the papers with a careful eye. "I have had on occasion to conceal the true content of a document myself, priests of the Lawgiver and confessors of Diamabel both equally dislike any negative publicity, and such tricks served me well." He adds by way of explantion of why a disheveled lush of a poet might be good at cracking ciphers....

Nerit passed him the papers without complaint. The two standing together were an odd pair, easily contrasted.

"Indeed, Monsieur, I would assume a poet must be good with words regardless of his reputation with the establishment," she chuckled. "I was just thinking, perhaps, that he was not proficient--lyrically--in Mordentish. If not, he is more intelligent than I can give credit for."

(lostboy's streetwise roll is pretty sweet. I won't bother trying to top that!)

[Cronax]

Agale thanks Mr. Marks for his time and returns to his companions. "So it seems we have a lead. We should all now follow Mr. Mauganson's lead and canvass the immediate vicinity for this yellow haired individual with the dental nest-egg. Come along then, the game is afoot." Once the poet has tried his hand at figuring out the Warden's mysterious letters, Mr. Agale tries his hand at the task.

Streetwise 26 to look for 'Mr. Grill' (Since no one else has, I'll take Alice's assist)
Intelligence 15 to decipher the letters

[Kaitou Kage]

"We live to serve," Cyrus smiled calmly at Professor Petrik.

He glanced aside at Celeste. The girl was beautiful, yes, but she talked far too much. She'd just shouted their entire purpose despite warnings of danger and gloom. Besides that, she was far, far too cheerful. It was starting to grate on the dommer's nerves. He unclenched his jaw and maintained his cordial smile.

Perhaps the girl was touched in the head. Even Cerise had the good sense to be appalled when something was cruel afoot despite her bizarre conspiracy theories.

"And what were the specific exhibits we planned to look at again?" he asked the girl. If she was going to talk, she might as well spill it all.

[NeoTiamat]

Museum, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; Evening of March 24th, 770
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"Why, yes! How characteristically perceptive, dear Professor." Celeste leaned in a bit. "If truth be told, we are on a singularly grave errand, at the behest of our City's chief Cathedral--for, Professor Petrik, we search for no less than the whereabouts of a vanished Anchorite! The humble prelate in question, one Warden Lecanu, was possessed of reading habits bearing an uncanny similarity to the exhibitions of this very museum--and thus, our round of investigation could only dictate our return to the Guignol! Oh, it is all so enchantingly Byzantine!*"

"So." Professor Petrik sniffed at you, maintaining her look of perpetual disapproval. "You volunteered to find this missing priest, did you? The Red Cap's threats had nothing to do with it? The Old Man's pet was very upset about them."

"Favonius told him about, about that?" Richard asked, raising his eyebrows. It was a rhetorical question, really; the fact Petrik had mentioned it at all answered the question. "He, he didn't threaten us," Richard corrected, firmly.

"He explicitly threatened that your lives were in danger," Petrik said. "He implicitly threatened to die in the chateau and bring trouble, if you did not help him."

"I, I think we have a, a different definition of a threat, Professor," Richard replied, folding his arms and frowning slightly. "In, in any case, he may be right, and the gendarme can't, can't come to the University. We're, we're the best chance for, for the Government to avoid more turmoil." He over-enunciated the last word, as if he had decided halfway through he didn't want it to leave his mouth.

The answer seemed to satisfy Petrik, in regards to the reasoning, if not the wisdom. "I have already agreed to fix the curator's incompetence," she sniffed at you, stalking back over to the mislabled glass case. "I will help you look for anything amiss."

[Perception or History to search]
[Insight on Richard or Petrik]


The Mutinied Sailor, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Evening of March 24th, 770
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"---listening is something of a lost art. Besides, Port-a-Lucine is not so very different from Mordentshire, when all is said and done." Alice was saying as you all entered the dockside tavern. She stopped, then stared at the center of the main room, blinking twice. "Although the tarred corpse is a little unexpected."

Finding the yellow-haired man with the golden teeth had proven at once both more difficult and simpler than would have expected. Simple, because in no more than an hour of canvassing the dockyards, you had a name to go by, that of Etienne Latour. Difficult, because in order to find Latour's present whereabouts, you had to talk to a particularly grimy (and possibly fairly drunk) dock worker who had a hard time putting more than three words together in a sentence. Eventually however, patience (and the promise of more alcohol) had revealed that Latour regularly spent his evenings in a dockside tavern known as The Mutinied Sailor.

It was immediately apparent just where the tavern got its name from. In the center of the common room, someone had carved a huge hole in the floor, at least three yards across, filled with black, brackish water. At a guess, the water connected to the sea, given how gentle waves carried along it. Directly above this watery pit, however, the tavern's namesake resided in a gibbet chained to the roof. It was hard to tell who the corpse belonged to any more, nor even if it was actually a human corpse or just some mannikin. It had been covered in tar, and only a handful of rags and a tattered red bandanna hinted at the body's previous profession.

The rest of the tavern was decorated in a similarly nautical, and similarly unwholesome theme. There were ships wheels and bits of mast alongside ragged old sea flags. Cutlasses polished so brightly they gleamed hung along the walls, as did mummified fish that added their own smell to the tavern's atmosphere. The stench, to put it mildly, was horrific.

On the bright side, however, you had found Etienne Latour. He was a bean-pole of a man, impossible to miss, with corn-yellow hair and two golden teeth that glinted when he drank. He sat near the center of the room, right next to the glittering pool of water, and managed to ignore the swaying, tarred corpse in favor of a tall pitcher of beer. He paid you no heed as you entered.

[yalenusveler]

"Although the tarred corpse is a little unexpected."

Low Mordentish"So it is true what they say about the Mordentish talent for understatement" Kerrian said in response to Alice's statement, sticking close to her and Nerit in a show of something perhaps resembling chivalry. "I..can't imagine a man of the church being here on any official capacity..."

[The Whistler]

“We're, we're the best chance for, for the Government to avoid more turmoil."

“Most aptly put, M. Blackwood! Where the gendarmerie is prohibited to set foot, the very citizenry they protect must take up their role. I cannot doubt but that our efforts will yet be fruitful!” Celeste gave Richard her most reassuring smile.

“As to the nature of our search—Dommer Isfahani, Professor Petrik—I can think of no starting-point more possibly well-situated than the very gallery before us! The good Warden did maintain an enthusiastic interest in Kartakan folklore, among other august topics…and well he should, given the bounteous artistic produce of that fair nation!” She nodded encouragingly at Petrik, doing her best to show her appreciation. “Only let us examine the implements before us, and I am certain that we shall…”


Mlle. Viardot trailed off mid-sentence, already deeply enraptured by the exhibit.

26 on History, 23 on both Insights

It wasn’t too long, however, before she piped up again.

“Ah, how jovial! Such a wondrous allusion…”

She beckoned the rest of the group over to one particularly ornately carved lute—it was definitely a lute, this time. The motif depicted was of a strapping young hero, sauntering his way through the forest with a sword and shield, and holding a sprig of some plant or other in his off hand. Celeste spoke again…or recited, more properly, almost to herself:

“…That they upon the doublets / embroidered cunningly
Of those soon to be knighted: / ’twas thus it had to be,
Seats bade the host for many / a warrior bold make right
Against the high midsummer, / when Brand won the name of knight.*”

She giggled. “How refreshing it is to see the story of Brand etched with such virtuosity—and on the very instrument that might be used to sing his praises! He has always remained one of my favorite Kartakan folk heroes…a heartening example, for those who would engage in such a deed as rescuing an Anchorite!”

Celeste stopped, and peered closer at the instrument. “Oh? But it appears that Brand himself has taken on at least one priestly aspect, himself…note how he wields a sprig of belladonna, alongside his noble armaments! The tales customarily have him carry wolfsbane…most peculiar.” She started, briefly. “Heavens! Could this detail...be significant? Perhaps it is somehow of a piece with the Warden’s interest in this exhibit! Oh, mystery…”

---

*Text borrowed from the George Henry Needler translation of the Nibelungenlied

[Nerit]

Nerit was, overall, unimpressed with the establishment, and glanced at Kerrian as if he had sprouted another head. The smell was impressive, however, and she lifted a sleeve over her nose.

So instead of talking, she peered around the tavern and waited for someone else to make the joke.

Perception just because: 25. Of course. When it doesn't matter...

[DocBeard]

Eisenwald smirks a little at Kerrian and by extension Nerit. "You need to meet more churchmen, mine freuind." Tomas wipes the grime off of his hands, wishing he had a little chalk because chances are he'll have to use them tonight. However, he looks to Nicholas and Agale, first, seeming to want to see if they had a plan before going into his preferred, 'Just walk up and ask.' strategy.

Belatedly, he thanks whatever divinities are out there that Cerise went with Lia. As dangerous as being near the University was, the girl's mouth could cause a riot here!

[lostboy]

Nicholas returns Tomas' look with a shrug and a grin "What else would one do in a tavern apart form drink?" he asks. "Besides as its obvious we arent regulars, might as well try and fit in a little" he adds subtley looking down at their clean clothes and the fact they had bought a nun with them."Fingers crossed it might even help us stomach the smell."

Heading over to the bar, he leans against it with some accustom and waits to get the barkeeps attention. "Evening mate" he says jovially "I'll have a large shot of whatever rotgut you've got and ummm well probabley a couple of pitchers or beer." He says glancing across at the others in the group speculatively. "Oh and better draw me another one for my friend over there" he says lighting a cigarette and waving it in Latour's direction.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"This sword is not Kartakan," Lia notes, looking at a different exhibit than the one that Celeste is viewing. According to the tag next to the wood carving is a tag that claims the item is at least one hundred years old. "A longsword and belladonna ... Two of the three elements of the Ezran escutcheon. Interesting. The Ezran faith has never made great inroads in Kartakas, as best I know. Puzzling."

[Cronax]

Agale sniffed the air warily. He seemed a fish out of water in these environs. Although given the fact that a direct conduit to the bay lay not a couple yards from where he was standing did detract from the metaphor somewhat. He whispers to Mr. Eisenwald "If you would be so kind as to cover the exits in case he decides to bolt?"

Then, following Mr. de Castigne's lead both figuratively and literally, proceeds to the bar where he smiles and nods in acknowledgment to the felon's order. Under his breath, he whispers to Mr. Castigne "How do you propose we approach him? The libations may loosen his tongue, or your gesture may make him more wary."