Café de Nuit

M. de Castaigne wrote:Still I was fortunate enough to have a guide with in-depth local knowledge, and unfortunate enough that said guide was the one who later decided I looked particularly appetising.

"Two of my dearest friends hail from Pakat!" Celeste cut in, contributing what she could without having ever been to the country--and blissfully sailing over the unfortunate subtext in Nicolas' last statement. "M. Benoit Jhandaphur and his enchanting wife Deesha, late of Mohapatra Dyes and Textiles. Lovely company...and M. Jhandaphur is such a talented embroideress! Perhaps you are acquainted with them, sirs?"

This final sentence was uttered in the timeless fashion of the perpetual tourist: the one who asks "So, you're from the Core! ...Do you know a guy called Wilhelm?" Celeste did not appear to notice.

Turning back to the larger conversation: "Perhaps the university? If the good Prof. Theroux is as unaware as we of the Market's location, perhaps we may seek out Prof. Marchand-Renier...or our noble landlord! I shall have to clear a space in my appointment-book..." Celeste proceeded to do just that.

Tomas tips his hat ANYWAY because appearances are important.

"We have two quarries, remember." Tomas adds, his voice a little scratchy as he puts his right hand, heavily wrapped in cloth, on the table. "The Woman in Yellow is our one link to the killer that is very real. As far as this Market thing goes...there was this man in the sewer. Seemed mad, but said something that reminded me of the whole situation."

"By my count that's three groups, if we sent one to the university, one to the sewer, and one on the street after the Woman in Yellow. Am I missing anything?"

MR. Agale got up this morning much as he had any other, bright and early with the dawn, a freshly pressed suit and freshly shined shoes before popping out for a broadsheet then settling down to a breakfast of sausage, croissant and largely ineffective coffee. All on like clockwork, all on automatic. Only when the conversation started to become heated was the Borcan entirely aware that he had been sleepwalking up until this point and chimed in.

Kerrian wrote:I think he's about as lost as we are sometimes, and doesn't like working through us.

"Yes, Despite Mr. Gauvin's influence when it comes to facilitation and his unique brand of persuasiveness, We will inevitably need to deal with him on less friendly terms in the future. Despite his gaurantee of Mr. Boucher's life, The so called Marquis' goals border on shortsightedness if not outright mischief. On that note, I feel I must point out once again was only a pledge to not worsen whatever state he was in when taken into custody, not any promise of restoration or resurrection. To that end, I suggest we devise countermeasures should our demanding executor come to the conclusion that we are of no further use."

Celeste wrote:Turning back to the larger conversation: "Perhaps the university? If the good Prof. Theroux is as unaware as we of the Market's location, perhaps we may seek out Prof. Marchand-Renier...or our noble landlord! I shall have to clear a space in my appointment-book..." Celeste proceeded to do just that.

"An excellent suggestion Miss Viardot, Mr. Lessard, were you not suggesting earlier that Mr. Devereux in his eccentricities would be a likely candidate for knowing about this mysterious nocturnal gathering?"

2 Days, 13 Hours, 42 Minutes
Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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Mecator wrote:"You are quite right that I do not forget an incident like last night's, monsieur Blackwood.  If you have finished your repast, perhaps we might perform the examination now, while the others deliberate on our course of action?"

    
    "That, that may be best," Richard replied, standing himself up. He seemed to move well enough. The young man went with Mercator to the Commons Room, out of the way but still within earshot - it seemed as good a place as any.
    
    

Lia wrote:"The Vistani might know, if we could find any. Possibly some clerics of Hala or Ezra might be aware. And then, of course, some members of University staff, I'd wager."

    

Nicolas wrote:"Well there's Bastion Pineau, although I wouldn't advocate that course of action, or perhaps the bookseller may know something or had a client who does, and talking of strange, there was that nun at the cathedral signore Agale and I conversed with.

    
    "Ah, the University. Professor M always said Professor Raubad was a troll," Lessard commented smoothly. "In all seriousness, it's the same pack of eccentric misfits that it was when we were students there. I think the title must attract them. It's certainly worth a look."
    
    "If any of Ezra's holy priests know about such a grotesque sounding place, you shall have a hard time getting them to admit it." Alice raised her eyebrows and pensively bit her lip, from where she stood by the door between the Commons and the kitchen. "The Halans would be more forthcoming. Though I work with them at the Hospice of the White Dove. They have cerainly not spoken of anything such to me."

Rock wrote:"That eerie girlchild we met at the cemetery," she says. "The one who claimed to speak for Ezra. How about that one? Urchins frequently know more than people give them credit for, if only to survive in a hostile environment."

lostboy wrote:"Of all the suggestions so far I'm most inclined to our little barefooted friend as suggested by the lovely Mlle. Mouneswaithe."

“I agree.” Katja said, looking up from her sharpening of lethal weaponry. Her brows narrowed, one good eye regarding Lia. “She found the thief from the museum, the one Tomas calls the Woman in Yellow, despite claiming never to have seen her. Perhaps she was lying. Perhaps not.”

Celeste wrote:"Perhaps the university? If the good Prof. Theroux is as unaware as we of the Market's location, perhaps we may seek out Prof. Marchand-Renier...or our noble landlord! I shall have to clear a space in my appointment-book..."

    

Agale wrote:"An excellent suggestion Miss Viardot, Mr. Lessard, were you not suggesting earlier that Mr. Devereux in his eccentricities would be a likely candidate for knowing about this mysterious nocturnal gathering?"

    
    "I did. I also seem to recall Professor Theroux informing us that was a perfect way to get our head put on pikes," Lessard replied mildly. "I'd say it couldn't hurt to ask, but it seems to have been suggested otherwise."
    
    "Professor M..." Remy pensively tapped a pale finger to his lips, furrowing his brow. "The Reniers have a well-known reputation for finding things out," he offered, non-committally.

DocBeard wrote:"By my count that's three groups, if we sent one to the university, one to the sewer, and one on the street after the Woman in Yellow. Am I missing anything?"

“I'm honestly doubtful how much of a lead we'll find on that lady after several months now.” Professor Lessard tapped his fingers together, his pale, icy blue eyes looking off into the distance. “On the other hand, you never know until you try. The group heading out into the street can look for this street girl of yours as well.”

“The girl's name is Reine.” Katja said, not bothering to look up from the knife.

“Reine.” Lessard said the name, committing it to memory. “Very well. Otherwise... I've nothing to add.”

Nerit watched the Blackwoods go then returned her attention to the table.

"And the woman's name is Perrine," she added to Katja's remark. "I am not sure what she can offer, even if we do find her."

After a pause she blinked at Tomas and put down her toast. "Herr, the sewer? Whatever for? Are there more subterranean peoples I really don't want to meet?"

Seating himself across from Richard, Mercator takes a pocketwatch from within his coat and says, "If you would?", gesturing for the Mordentishman to extend his arm. Richard obligingly unbuttoned the cuff of his sleeve, neatly folding the shirt sleeve back. The young man was left handed, leaving him to present the hand covered in scars - the Shield of Ezra, covered with twining belladonna that curled up his arm.

"Very striking," Mercator murmurs, taking his wrist and feeling for the pulse. "There...relax...very well." After thirty seconds by the watch he nods once and releases Richard's arm. "If you would look out of the window, please, directly into the light; I would like to observe the response of your pupils."

Richard obeyed, idly rolling his shirt sleeve back down as he watched Mercator with a genuine interest in the proceedings. He gave a faint upturn of his lips at the comment on the scars, but otherwise was quiet, not wishing to distract the half-elf in his work.

"H'm, very well," Mercator says. "There appears to be no sign of concussion. One moment." Standing, he leaves the room and returns a few moments later with his black bag in hand. Opening it, he removes a stethoscope. "If you would be so good as to unbutton your coat and shirt, monsieur? I would like to listen to your heart, and it is much easier without impedimenta."

"Certainly, Doctor," Richard mildly agreed, reaching for his collar. The clothing proved less obliging than the man, as there were a lot of buttons, and Richard seemed to work them ponderously when left to his own devices. A slight prompt form his sister got him moving faster, and eventually he was done. His bare chest was a dramatic sight, covered in the same thin, raised scars as his hand - a brilliant beacon of light surrounded by the swirling mists. It was certainly on a much larger scale than his hand. Not a single inch of what was revealed was free of the intricate, twirling patterns, and from the look of it the design covered his entire chest.

"A bit more striking, I would wager," Alice noted from the door, with something akin to mirth.

"Indeed," Mercator says, slightly puzzled and impressed. "I take it that there is a story here. Unfortunately my ears will be otherwise occupied for the present." Donning the stethoscope, he listens intently at Richard's heart for perhaps two minutes, then moves the stethoscope to the right side of his body and says, "If you would inhale, monsieur, quite deeply...and again...thank you." Removing the stethoscope, he says, "I am pleased to be able to say that there seems to be nothing greatly amiss, monsieur Blackwood, but your heart is still not quite what I would like...it is perhaps just a little weak even yet. I recommend that you avoid any unusual exertion for the next, oh, three days...no heavy lifting, no running, no long walks. A man of your age will recover quickly, but you are not recovered yet. Have you any questions?"

"I, I am pleased to hear it. Thank you," Richard replied, with a smile. "Actually, perhaps, perhaps you could explain the mechanic behind, behind the dilation of the pupils caused by a concussion-"

"Richard," Alice admonished, caught between exasperation and familial amusement. "There will not be any further mischief from this incident, I hope? Only that one can never be sure when such unnatural creatures are involved... do you think some manner of spiritual assistance should be employed?"

"It might not go awry," Mercator allows. "Now, mademoiselle, if I may examine you as well? As you have not suffered a coronary infarction, we may pass over the more extraordinary measures, but I would like to satisfy myself that you are quite recovered from your experience of last night."


Alice settled herself down with as much dignity as could be allowed, given her brother's rather cheeky grin. Richard kept any comments he had in check by buttoning up his shirt. Mercator gestured for her to give him her wrist, and took it in his hand, carefully counting out the pulse against the measure of his watch. "So. Very good," he said, glancing at her. "The pulse is perhaps slightly elevated?"

"You must be the better expert on that than I, Doctor," Alice answered with good humor.

Mercator smiles faintly. "Each individual requires a certain recalibration, mademoiselle...if you would look into the light?"

"Certainly, if you ask it." She did so, though she did narrow her eyes for a moment at the sight of a weed in her garden.

"Excellent. I believe I can say with confidence that you will not be much troubled by last night's unpleasantness going forward...you might put off any unusual exertion until the morrow, but I think you are quite well, given what has occurred. I will speak to monsieur Prescott about a dose of digitalis, monsieur Blackwood, in case of any unusual palpitation. Shall we rejoin the others?"

"I suppose we should, yes," Alice said. "Thank you, Doctor."

"Yes, thank, thank you again," Richard agreed, standing.

"You wanted weird." Tomas shrugs at this, trying to divide the group's resources accurately. Katja, probably on the street group, Remy'd have to be university. "There's some connection to this whole mess down there, and I aim to find it."

"As for Devereux, I'll have a word with him privately." Or, really, more likely, his wife. The last thing Charles needs now is another spiral of self loathing and defeatism..., Tomas rubs his bandaged hand a little, and continues, "I tell you what, I'll leave a little sign up sheet by the kitchen, and whoever's going anywhere can do so. We'll split up after breakfast, and meet back here after sunset. If a group doesn't come back, we wait an hour for some sort of communication, and then go looking for them. Fair?"

"Well, if that is all."

Rex wiped his mouth and hands on a napkin, then stood up.

"I shall be going to my shop now," he said and the nodded briefly to Mercator. "Doctor, if you leave the prescriptions on my door or have them sent to my shop, I will ensure they are filled. Thank you. I shall meet with the rest of you later."

And with that, the pharmacist was off to put his dishes in the kitchen and head to work.

"There being something odd in the sewers doesn't surprise me." Kerrian said, idly starting to look over the Journal Rex had been reading, if he hadn't taken it with him. "I mean, considering everything that's been going on with the catacombs? Between my vision, and Dr.Poincare's cult using them as their ritual space, it only makes sense. And Tomas, I think your idea is good, but we need to make sure everything is covered. If any group looks under supported, I'll go with them."

"Perhaps my own personal talents would be best suited to an investigation of the University..." Celeste chewed her lip thoughtfully. "...Though I was so looking forward for an afternoon in which I could justify wearing my vestito-speleologia...**"

---

**The Borcan "spelunking-dress", popularized briefly in the summer of 768 among the wives of well-to-do land speculators, for the duration of the Lechberg copper boom.

---

Those of you who were fluent in the Dorvinian dialect of Balok (and conversant with the international minerals market, and familiar with Core-wide fashion trends of the past three years) had a brief image of Celeste trekking through a sewer. It was a distinctly worrying image.

"...I shall be happy to lend my services to whichsoever group shall find them the most useful," she smiled. So: probably the University. You hoped.

2 Days, 13 Hours, 36 Minutes
Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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"Spelunking in the sewers, sounds great!" Cerise exclaimed, bouncing up to Eisenwald. "Let me just go get my walking shoes... and jasper warding bracelet... and a bunch of crumbs to appease the knockers!" She was off at the speed of thought, running upstairs to feed the cat and weigh herself down with a pound of mystic jewelry.

"Well. I suppose I'll head to the University," Lessard said, wiping his glasses as he watched Cerise vanish. "I should have been there anyway, but the Secret Police have a way of taking precedence. I'll take the opportunity to check in on Professor M." He stood up, neatly picking up his dishes and taking them into the kitchen.

"We found the girl Reine in the Quartier Ouvrier, and the flat of Perrine in the Vervain Rookery. They are squalid and unfriendly places," Katja informed, putting her sword away. She slid her eye over to look at Nicolas, rumpled, unshaven, and possessing no sign of fashion sense. "We should be fitting right in, ja?" she said, with something akin to humor.

The two Blackwood siblings looked at each other for a fair moment.

"I'll, I'll go to the cathedral, and Ste. Madeleine's," Richard finally broke the silence. "I'll take, I'll take a carriage, Sis," he said to placate her. "I don't know if, if it will be helpful, but it can't hurt. I won't exert myself talking, talking to priests. Perhaps I, I can find this, this mysterious Sister you mentioned."

"I shall go ask the Halans at the Hospice, then," Alice sighed, accepting what she could get. "It should prove itself to be a rather dull and predictable trip - though it seems such things never turn out to be! Given we were attacked just last night at that very place, I shall have to hope Mr. Boucher does not see fit for a return visit. Still, should Dame Fortuna choose to maim us, I shall at least take solace in that she had to work for it."


2 Days, 12 Hours, 25 Minutes
University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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The University of Dementlieu was nearly a paradise in the spring sun. It was green, vibrant, and filled with people going about their daily business. There were a few signs of just how grim things had gotten with the city, such as the rounded buildings containing the elemental guardians, but in general it was a peaceful, pleasant place to be in. A welcome respite from the catacombs and graveyards of yesterday.

You also found that someone, at least, was there to meet you. Professor Theroux, most recently seen departing very rapidly rather than meet the Marquis of Montmort, was outside when you arrived, sitting next to a tree and generally enjoying a pleasant lunch. When he saw you, however, he rose to greet you.

“Remy! Hello Mme. Viardot, M. Agale.. ah... M. Mercator, was it?” Andre said, giving Remy a quick handshake and regarding the rest of you. “I take it you managed to avoid having our pale-faced and slightly creepy superintendent of police throw you into Montmort? What brings you to the University, or should the high concentration of academic eccentricity lead me to guess?”

“Listen, I've been talking to some people. While I haven't come up with a better idea for separating our dancing friend from his new companions,” Andre said, taking a breath, “I have come up with an idea for preventing a repeat of March's catastrophic chaos. I think I know how to contain all those wraiths, if we can get them away from Thanatos.”


2 Days, 12 Hours, 25 Minutes
Vervain Rookery, Quartier Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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The Vervain Rookery was bad.

None of the Quartier Ouvrier was anywhere you'd ever want to live, but here and there throughout most of it you could see glimmers of hope. Volunteer hospitals, soup kitchens, poor houses, all were set up throughout the place - nothing special, but they had generous donors, and they were run by dedicated people. There was a sense of community humming in the streets, a sense of charity, a camaraderie between people who had little enough between them. You weren't sure if it had been there before, but it was now: a solidarity between Port-a-Lucine's poorest, and people doing what they could to help each other out.

There was none of that here.

Filth caked the broken streets. Urchins were digging through piles of rotting garbage looking for something to eat - they traveled in packs, some with makeshift shivs, looking to stave off other, adult predators. Dead animals lay rotting openly in the gutters, covered in masses of dark black flies. The stench was incredible; you suspected that the group in the sewers likely had better air than you. And worst of all was the people. Diseased, festering, sunken-eyed, hopeless, and wretched, glaring at you with desperation and hate. There was no community here, only boiling resentment. They were people who knew that life would give them nothing unless they took it at knife-point, and they were quite willing to do so. They knew you didn't belong here - you weren't broken.

You were standing outside the building where Perrine had lived. The room had been rented to someone else a long time ago, her possessions either stolen or sold. No one had seen her since March 11th, and no one knew where she had gone. No one particularly cared.

"Stay in a group, don't let anyone get near you, and keep any weapon you have visible and ready," Katja commanded you quietly, her blade blatantly unsheathed and her shield strapped to her arm. She regarded the Rookery with cold professionalism - it seemed Katja, at least, was no stranger to such ruin.


2 Days, 12 Hours, 25 Minutes
Sewers, Port-a-Lucine, Mid-Morning on April 22nd, 770
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The waterways beneath the city were not all that difficult to find, and Tomas at least had the advantage of having been there before. They were of impressively solid construction, heavy brick and stone, numerous walkways and arches. It all smelled about as bad as could be expected.

“This is fun. Maybe we'll meet a marikith? They live in the sewers, you know, though mostly in Paridon. They can impersonate your voice and crawl up through your water closet pipes though. That could get sort of messy.” Cerise said, wrinkling her nose. “Where are we going?”

This was a good question. The Port-a-Lucine sewer system was probably the largest and most elaborate of it's kind anywhere in the world. Moreover, it connected to the Catacombs, as well as to old limestone quarries and to basements all over the city. The Dementlieuse capital was quite simply riddled with tunnels and passages, all looping about, with blind-alleys and dead ends, which could lead one to get hopelessly lost beneath the city. It was a labyrinth, and moreover, it was as you had seen a most dangerous labyrinth indeed.

DocBeard, since you alone have been here before, send me a Dungeoneering Check.

"Te illumine," Lia says, raising her staff up high. The word sounds muffled for obvious reasons, but the crystal flares brightly. It is filled with a cold, white glow that dulls to a more comfortable gold, but still spreads its radiance over a large area.

The Mage has dressed well for the occasion: long riding boots snugged up over the legs of thick, leather trousers, a long-sleeved leather vest secured beneath a broad, leather belt. A shawl is wrapped around her hair, mouth and neck, its ends disappearing beneath the vest's collar. Colour-stealing gauze covers the small part of Lia's face that is left. The usual gloves cover her hands. At the very least, the outfit makes it clear that the Mage has no desire to get in contact with the sewers' more common discomforts.

After making the bright light, Lia looks around as if searching for something... but she shakes her head. "Tomas, I hope you will know the right place to go," she says, gesturing to the Lamordian with her free hand. "Or perhaps you could communicate with the local ah, 'wildlife', monsieur Mauganson? There should be plenty of it."

(OOC: I'm guessing my Arcana check of 14 isn't going to show too much of interest... If it does, I'd be happy to know. ^^)

"Keep an eye out for big rats." Tomas recommends vaguely, a worried crease in his brow as he leads the way down. His concession to the stank is to wear an older, worn shirt and set of boots. Those with particular psychic sensitivity might detect the slightest hint of outrage from the general direction of Eisenwald's sword, as though it were some grand dame who had been forced in a peasent's coach. "And don't joke about the marikith. It...agitates them."

If that was a gag, Tomas wasn't laughing. He keeps careful track, trying to retrace steps from weeks ago while keeping an eye out for 'big rat' ambushes all the way. He wishes the others had gone with the Blackwoods, both to keep an eye on the pair and because he smells less like lunch alone.

(22 on my dungeoneering roll.)

Before splitting up to investigate, MR. Agale approaches the Lamordian. "Mr. Eisenwald, given the precarious nature of our last outing to underground locales, I think it prudent we plan for the unfortunate." Producing a small smooth ring shaped stone from a silk handkerchief. "A clever artifice I happened upon from a Darkonese trader. One simply focuses upon the inherent energies, then speaks through the hole. Its fellow," He pats his breast pocket, "Resonates at the same pitch, allowing communication. Do be careful with it however, as they are not easy to come by." With that, he clasps Tomas in a genteel handshake, transferring the object in question and gives him a businesslike nod.

* * *

Andre wrote:I take it you managed to avoid having our pale-faced and slightly creepy superintendent of police throw you into Montmort?

"And good morning to yourself professor." Agale said with a lighthearted smirk. "Despite rumors to the contrary, the commissioner is quite a rational individual when you get right down to it." His tone left a trace of worry, not that he did not believe his own reassurances, but that there was more to it than that.

Andre wrote:I have come up with an idea for preventing a repeat of March's catastrophic chaos. I think I know how to contain all those wraiths, if we can get them away from Thanatos.

"It seems details travel fast in this quarter. Do not leave us in suspense, what scheme have you devised?"

Mr. Agale loans Tomas a sending stone (Basically a magical walkie talkie)

Prof. Theroux wrote:“I have come up with an idea for preventing a repeat of March's catastrophic chaos. I think I know how to contain all those wraiths, if we can get them away from Thanatos.”

"Oh, happy disclosure!" Celeste leaned in. "Do enlighten us as to your theory, Professor--and anything that we may do to assist you in its execution!"