The Shattered City: Chapter One

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Hazlani District, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 5:43 PM
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Tomas wrote:"It will be leading to a clever trap and I will be able to work herr kink in my back," Tomas stretches the muscle in question, "What has been bothering me all day."
"I could work that for you," Thierri suggested with a sly smile, waggling his fingers.

It was probably for the best Tomas was immediately distracted by balloons.
Cyrus wrote:"You are--" Cyrus paused and had to reconsider his words. "You keep the company of Canderli," he said. It wasn't a question. "Did you see the woman in yellow that bought the gal-zuur?" He fingered some coins in his money pouch suggestively.
Asil stared up at the interloper, tossing the mancala stones in his hands as he mulled over whether to respond. The other Rashemi shifted subtly, folding their arms as their leader deliberated. "No reason not to sic your likes onto her," he finally said, derision evident, but only half directed at the dommer. "But we don't know. We were elsewhere when she came by. If any of us had known where that woman might have gone, we'd have brought her back here to pay Mistress Canderli everything she owed," he stated vehemently.
Sister Nerit wrote:He slipped something from his overcoat. Something in a package. "Yellow, very good stuff, yes. Priest like?" he grinned and winked conspiratorially.

"Good Lady!" Nerit backed away and into Tomas at the food stand.
Katja drew her sword, which was enough to send the man skittering back into the alleyway, fully convinced "priest" did not like. The soldier smoothly sheathed the blade again, walking over to join the growing pile at the food stand. Nerit's shocked oath and collision with Eisenwald startled the salesman, who accidentally lost his grip on the string. The blue paper balloon, lifted by a spark of magical heat inside of it, flew off into the sky - trying to make its way to a better place.

The magician reached out and snapped his fingers, sending the balloon floating back down into his hands. "Tie it to your wrist or something," Thierri said, giving a disgruntled frown as he offered the string to Tomas.

"What is so important about this woman in yellow?" the food salesman hissed, turning stark white as he gripped his stand. It seemed Sister Doherty's questions had carried a little farther than she might have wanted. "You are not investigating Mistress Canderli's theft out of the goodness of your hearts. We've already told you people, we have nothing to do with whatever war you Dementlieuse are waging. Please leave us in peace!" he begged, deeply bowing.

"You people?" Thierri asked, raising an eyebrow.

"So, we are not the first to come asking," Katja stated, quietly.

The Rondelet Residence, Quartier-Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 6:13 PM
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Celeste wrote:“There are so few settings in which it is the politest course to speak unreservedly of politics—I have always held that, when such an opportunity presents itself, one must seize it with every possible enthusiasm. Especially when a discussion of that unfortunate Sunday is being conducted! How inestimably tragic the day…and yet, how encompassing a metaphor for our fair nation’s domestic tribulations.”
"What an absolutely dreadful day that was. Such wanton violence, such needless bloodshed, and all because the poor dears were hungry." Madame Loiseau said, her eyes growing damp. She looked... well, she looked like someone's mother, if one's mother had gone to a very private school and wore copious makeup. Coralie Loiseau was rich and attempted to be the elegant dame of fashion, but neither makeup nor clothing managed to distort the essentially matronly-ness of her form. "They should've just been sent off home with a hot meal, and none of this would've ever happened."

"There is a point beyond which a people cannot be lulled back into complacency." M. Evrard said. "A people awoken are not disobedient children to be sent off to bed without supper. If anything, there's the problem. We treat the working classes like children, and they're rebelling like children. What we have to do is bring them into the world of adulthood." Evrard glared at Mme. Loiseau. "The world of government, not the adulthood of a pack of prancing, pointless, peacocks. Right Hugo?"

"...sorry, what did you say?" Delarue looked up, clearly paying more attention to the window than to the ongoing discussion.

"What do you think about the current situation with the revolutionaries? Those men like Avril and those who support him?" Madame Elisabeth prompted gently. "Madame Loiseau believes that we can trace the current troubles to our nation's poverty, while Monsieur Evrard believes that only self-governance can stop the difficulties."

"Oh... uh....I think Madame Loiseau is right." Hugo Delarue said quietly, toying with the candy in his hand, letting a little sprinkling of sugar fall onto his clothing. He didn't seem to notice this. "The people who join the revolutionaries are the people who have nothing to lose. Nothing makes a person a staunch defender of the existing order than having a bit of property to worry about. Fix the poverty problems and no more revolutionaries. Just some hard cases you can sic the gendarmes on."

"Bread and circuses." Evrard said coldly.

"I suppose." Delarue shrugged, and returned to looking out the window, glancing regularly at the clock. After a moment, he added. "But if fewer people had troubles with money, you'd see a lot fewer troubles with revolution."

Absently, Delarue ate the candy.
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Tomas closes his eyes, rubbing his nose and taking a long, slow breath. This is an alternative to shoving his fist into a wall, no matter how satisfying that would be. So very satisfying.

"Look." Tomas offers, slapping his own hand down, "It comes down to this: Chances are, someone's going to get hurt because of what these people are doing. Someone decent, who doesn't deserve to be. This lead is our best chance of trying to stop that from happening. If you don't like that, fine, but I'm not going to apologize for it!"

A pause.

"And thank you for the balloon!" Tomas adds, because he is polite even when it ruins the moment.

(Rolled a 17 for Diplomacy.)
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Hazlani District, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 5:45 PM
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"I am sorry," the salesman muttered. "But I don't know anything about your woman in yellow. I don't know if the other people learned anything about her here, either. They left not twenty minutes after they came, straight down the street they came on." The man pointed east, towards the darkening sky.

"Did they say why they were looking for her?" Katja asked.

"They were even more tight lipped than you are. You'd have to ask them if you wanted to know. But I... wouldn't recommend it, sir," the man said, turning pale again. "The man leading them was not natural. He had a corpse's face."
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Tomas's eyes narrow.

"Thank you." He says, sincerely, and absent mindedly leaves an extra coin on the man's grill. "Have a nice day." Eisenwald smiles, sticks his hands in his pockets, and starts walking east. They won't learn anything here from the townspeople, that's clear enough, but maybe, Tomas thinks, frowning to himself once he's turned away from the food seller.
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"I assure you," Cyrus replied dully to Asil. The Mulani sounded like he was talking to someone who was annoying him and he wanted to go away. "The criminal will be found and dealt with. Vigilante acts are frowned on, but when I find her, I might be persuaded to give you a chance to, ah, 'convince' her to pay back your mistress."

He flipped Asil a gold coin. "Thank you," he managed to say, probably because the Rashemi wasn't entirely directing his derision at the dommer. "You have been helpful. I will keep your mistress informed."

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"Need I remind you that I am not one of 'you Dementlieuse?'" Cyrus loomed over the salesman with a frown that expressed his and his tattooed snake's displeasure. "What affects this city affects you, as well, as long as you live here. It would be in your best interest to pray for His stability to come swiftly to this region. Unless you would rather move back to Hazlan."

The dommer composed himself readily and ceased his looming, then assumed a more businesslike stance. "How many were there?" he asked, "What did they look like? Were they all Dementlieuse?"
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Hazlani District, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 5:48 PM
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Kaitou Kage wrote:"Need I remind you that I am not one of 'you Dementlieuse?'" Cyrus loomed over the salesman with a frown that expressed his and his tattooed snake's displeasure. "What affects this city affects you, as well, as long as you live here. It would be in your best interest to pray for His stability to come swiftly to this region. Unless you would rather move back to Hazlan."

The dommer composed himself readily and ceased his looming, then assumed a more businesslike stance. "How many were there?" he asked, "What did they look like? Were they all Dementlieuse?"
"Of course, dommer," the salesman said sullenly, in a voice that made it clear he simply wasn't going to argue in the hopes that Cyrus would just leave.

"There were three of them. I didn't pay much attention to the other two. They asked most of the questions, but their leader- I don't know what he was. He was a tall, terrifying man in black, and he was even paler than the nobles of Dementlieu in all their wigs and makeup. He wore a white scarf and walked with a cane." The man shrugged, having nothing else of note to add beyond that.

Quartier-Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 6:12 PM
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You walked east.

Soon, you left the Hazlani district, and soon the Quartier-Marchand was left behind you altogether. The tone of the city changed. Gone were the neat, orderly townhouses of the merchant's quarter. Gone were the mostly clean streets, the sense of life and safety. Gone was the sense of order.

Instead, squalid tenements rose up on either side of you, dirty, ugly conglomerations of wood. They were firetraps, which did nothing to prevent the choking smoke to rise from countless fires throughout the city. Trash rotted in the streets, adding the stink of decay to the noxious smoke of the Quartier-Ouvrier.

The people you saw fell into two groups. The prey huddled alone or in small groups, rushing from place to place and staying in the shadows. Children with sunken cheeks, women dressed in rags and tatters, very few people above the age of forty, even. And then there were the predators, who walked the streets festooned with knives and clubs. They traveled in packs, and the others of the city fled from them. It was only thanks to the swords that Tomas, Cyrus, and Katja bore that you escaped trouble of an altogether permanent kind.

"For the best Mlle. Viardot was not convinced to join us," Thierri said, uncharacteristically quiet. "People like her don't walk into this place and walk back out again."

"This place smells of war," Katja stated.

Eventually you came to a small square, where the street widened and a fountain of sorts could be seen. The water burbled, to provide water for the local tenements, though a dead dog was lying in it, fouling the fountain. Thierri walked over to it, reaching down and running his fingers through it's soggy, filth-caked fur, before hauling the sodden mess out of the water. It had bloated in death, and some scavenger had already been at it, opening up the guts.

Nearby, grafitti had been scrawled onto the wall, a crowned bird standing atop a pile of skulls, and on the stone pavement a skeletal serpent spread forth. Katja eyed the bird thoughtfully, though turned her attention soon to the other people in the little square. A lame child, not yet twelve, with a beggars bowl out before him, looked at you hopefully. Not far, a trio of hollow-eyed women in cheap and revealing clothing favored Cyrus, Thierri, and Tomas with very professional smiles.

Streetwise to try and pick up the trail of Mr. Corpse and his associates.

Diplomacy to try and chat up the beggar child or the soiled doves.

Perception to examine the square.


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M. Delarue wrote:"I suppose." Delarue shrugged, and returned to looking out the window, glancing regularly at the clock. After a moment, he added. "But if fewer people had troubles with money, you'd see a lot fewer troubles with revolution."
“Oh, I concur, M. Delarue!” Celeste’s attitude was entirely at odds with his indifferent air, though she hardly seemed to notice. “Though I have often been loath to admit it, I have lately come to the conclusion that such base matters as Finance and the lofty demesnes of Political Philosophy must be inescapably commingled.” She sighed lightly, mildly put out at the prospect. “Would that one could sculpt a government wholly from the realm of ideals! But perhaps—yes, perhaps it is for the best. Why, as matters stand, the lowly rustling of an hundred coin-purses may be transfigured into something grander than any pecuniary concern! How thoroughly poetic an economy may become, when viewed in such a light.”
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Cyrus paused and surveyed the square. His sharp-featured face pulled into a deep frown, an expression the dommer had been wearing a lot recently.

"This is disgusting," he muttered quietly. Only those close to him were likely to hear. "Abominable." The Hazlani's hand unconsciously clenched into a fist. "I have never seen so much Mytteri in one place. Have the insurgents already accomplished so much?"

He looked up and cast his head about. The dim, hazy light glanced off his shades as his gaze darted to and fro. Suddenly, he stopped and fixated on something down a nearby alley. The snake's eyes on his head bore down the alley like a predator fixed on its prey.

"Eisenwald," he said calmly, "Come here. And don't move suddenly. There is a girl down the alley there. Do you see her? She is rummaging in an ugly opera coat. You, ah, I am certain you are are better with children than I. Will you go talk to her? Be careful and be kind. She will run if she sees trouble coming."

Behind his glasses, the dommer's eyes scanned the area and he looked for another path.
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"I am?" Tomas adds innocently, but inwardly respects that Cyrus is capable of that sort of self-evaluation. At least sometimes. Stepping into the alley, Tomas is careful not to look directly at the girl, instead simply getting about halfway to her and squatting down against the wall, as though there was something fascinating on the ground.

Chances are, she'll get curious and once she's realized he's not a threat, come and investigate, or so Tomas's logic goes.
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Quartier-Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 6:15 PM
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As Tomas approached, the girl looked up at the approaching Lamordian. Her eyes shifted from him to the far end of the alleyway and back, ready to bolt.

This close, Tomas realized that she was about fifteen, though she was small for her age, a thin waif of a girl who looked to be all elbows and knees. Her auburn hair had never seen a comb in its life, the unruly bangs ending just above two large, brown eyes set in a tanned face. She wore a long tunic, almost a night-shirt, that came down to her knees, the sleeves shredded to keep her hands free.

For a time, she stood there, the hideous, bile-yellow opera cloak in her hands, eyes darting from Tomas to the end of the alley and back to Tomas. Finally, curiosity won out.

"You don't belong here." Her voice was soft, and lacking the gutter-accent of the Quartier-Ouvrier. "You're a someone. You're worth something. Why are you here?"

Insight, Perception checks.

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"Right now?" Tomas blinks, seemingly surprised by being called a 'someone.', even as he flips his little pouch of roasted chestnuts open. "Looking for someone to help me finish these nuts. Would you like one, young lady?"

Tomas popped one in his mouth, chewing quickly to prove it is not poison or anything.
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Quartier-Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 6:16 PM
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"Liar." The girl said without rancor, considering the offer of chestnuts. She threw the opera cloak over one shoulder, the long garment almost like a sash, and padded towards Tomas on bare feet. A small hand reached into the pouch of chestnuts and the girl pulled out a few of the nuts, popping them into her mouth. A hint of a smile appeared on her face, and she took a few more roasted chestnuts.
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"I never lie." Tomas corrects, winking at the girl all the same. It makes him appear harmless and little girls like being in on a secret. "I just don't tell the whole truth all of the time."

He doesn't fight or otherwise harm her while she takes a bit to eat. "I'm Tomas, by the way." Tomas offers, slowly chewing his own nut in a horrible violation of table manners. "What's your name?"
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Quartier-Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 6:17 PM
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"Reine." The auburn-haired girl said. She swallowed another chestnut, making them disappear with frightening speed. She also made very sure that she had a clear path away from Tomas, should the need arise.
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"Are you lost, Reine?" Tomas asks, honestly concerned. He makes no hostile or sudden motions, pretending to be unaware of the girl's escape route. "You'll forgive me for noticing, but those clothes seem a little...new...you know? Well, except that natty old cloak."
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