Café de Nuit

The Falkovnian Embassy, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:59 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tomas wrote:"Honestly?" Tomas rubs his chin and looks a little embarrassed. "It's none of those. Someone stole an artifact from the museum. Apparently it is sort of important. Unless you've gotten into smuggling, you don't really have anything to gain from stealing it, but you probably know who might benefit. So I thought the best way to get a short list of people to investigate is to see what you thought. I would've said so right away but if we didn't argue a little, it would've been suspicious, ja?"

Mr. Agale wrote:"As you say, beyond petty vendettas, any censure against you personally serves no purpose. In fact, your cooperation in a successful resolution would go a long way towards cementing the goals of stability and peace between nations that you espouse. Or, if preferable to your purposes, your involvement can be left anonymous."

"High politics is more interesting than I'd thought." The Duchess von Auerbach commented with a small smile. "Do these sorts of things happen frequently?"

"More often than you can imagine, Marie." The Ambassador said distractedly. "Particularly when Herr Eisenwald is involved. Don't take it the wrong way, Tomas, but life always seems to get more interesting when you're around."

"Can you help us?" Prof. Lessard said, sending an expressionless look Tomas's way. Still, he made the best of the situation. "You have resources that we don't."

Once more, Vedarrak leaned back and thought, rubbing a hand along his chin, considering options. After a moment, he spoke. "Jaeger? Assign Joachim, Annaleisa, and Klemens to it. Oversee it yourself."

"Jawohl, Herr Ambassador." The heretofore silent Lieutenant Jaeger said quietly. He had been standing by the doorway, quiet and all but forgotten, but the young man was obviously listening very carefully to all that was said.

"Good." Vedarrak turned back to Tomas, nodding. "I'll let you know if anything comes up."

"Er, no more of those leaves, whatever they were," Cerise suggested, a bit of a strained grin on her face. The look on Richard's face seemed to indicate he knew exactly what they were, but he left it be for now.
"It spoke to you once, and spirits can speak to people on their own," Richard quietly mused. "Perhaps there is another way to, to speak to it again?"
"Er, prayer is out... ooh! Here's an idea," Cerise said excitedly. "Try meditating a bit, Kerry. Just close your eyes... relax... breath deeply... block out all sounds and let your instincts guide you..."
"Al-alright. I'll stop you if you stray somewhere dangerous," Richard quietly reassured. "So don't, ah, don't worry about anything but what you saw."

It was a testament to common sense that Kerrian wasn't resorting to the leaves again, following Cerise and Richard's advice, closing his eyes and starting to let his mind wander back to the vision he had.

"The two skeletons beckoning came first....Then we're looking for a heart made out of skulls." Apparently, he trusted more in hallucinogenic shamanic states than things like following the path of flooding.

"This way."

Cyrus suddenly became quieter, more serious. The snaky oil and slime that clung to him before seemed to wash quickly. It left behind a surface rubbed smooth and sleek by rigorous discipline. His footfalls became quieter and he slid through the shadowy tunnels with practiced ease.

They got to a heart made of skulls and proceeded onward, following the water trail and bone landmarks. Through it all, Cyrus said nothing and made little sound. Both hands gripped the haft of his sword and his face was pulled into a mask of intensity and focus.

Perception was enough to get this far. Stealth check of 21.

The Catacombs, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:56 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


It was hard to say whether it was the divine that guided you through the unmarked tunnels, or the more mundane trail of water. Both seemed to be working in concert. Cyrus quickly stumbled across the circles made of shoulder blades from Kerrian's visions; Kerrian, eyes closed, walked straight down the water trail that Cyrus spotted. The dripping from the ceiling intensified as you walked further in. Richard took off his greatcoat, trying to hold it over your heads and shelter you from the water. Cerise continued her work, merrily tying the red sashes along your trail. Thierri did his best to keep the light shining as steady as he could, the miasma of tobacco providing an ironic respite from the foul stench of sewer.

"Look!" Cerise called out excitedly, shaking Kerrian a bit to get him to open his eyes. Up ahead a coat of arms sat over a stone entryway, a skull atop it grinning down at you. Two massive stone pillars held the door aloft, decorated in the manner of a grand entryway. And yet sodden pile of random bones lay scattered before the door, as if an entire wall had collapsed in front of it, leaving half-formed piles of remains in its wake. Heavy words sat etched into the stone above the door: "Nos ossos que aqui estamos pelos vossos esperamos."

"Our bones that lie here, await yours," Thierri translated, brushing a bone out of his way with his foot. The magician held the light upward, illuminating the rest of the alcove.

"Ezra's shield!" Richard swore.

There was a hand lying on the floor beneath the archway, still covered in human flesh - this hand lead back to an arm, neatly buttoned inside a drenched gendarme's uniform. The rest of the body followed: a bearded, middle aged man, his blond hair matted and plastered against his head, his face pale and his lips tinged blue. The fingers of his hand still pulled at a clump of tangled bones, fighting a battle that was no longer worth winning; the other arm lay tucked around an ivory tube, an object too important to let go of, even if a free hand could have saved him.

Thierri walked forward like a drugged man, his eyes only for the fallen man before you. He knelt down behind the stricken gendarme, placing two fingers to the man's neck. "Dead," he whispered, voice heavy with dark emotion. The light, drawn closer, illuminated the rest of the room.

Cerise gasped, her hands clasped to her mouth, and her eyes wide. "We just stepped in way over our heads..."

Nine more men lay scattered about the room, their faces all as pale as chalk. Behind the first gendarme lay a man who looked exactly like him, down to the rank insignia on his uniform. Further in another man lay behind his broken sword, the tip jammed futilely into one of the bony walls. Another man lay across the room, his hair the exact same color of burnished copper, his eyes frozen open as dead hands clawed at his throat. The remaining men all told the same tale - five pairs of identical twins, all gendarme, and all dead.

A piece of parchment, slightly damp from the dripping water above, was set cheerfully on top of one of the bodies.

Cyrus slid the ivory tube out of the dead man's grip and headed toward the exit.

"We should leave quickly," he said, "Very quickly. Collect anything that might look like a clue and go."

"I agree with Cyrus" Kerrian said, taking a look around. "Unless anyone wants to share the fate of the blackbirds..." Kerrian looked towards the bodies of the deceased Gendarmes. "Memento, homo, quia pulvis es..." he muttered quietly to himself, then set about to more active looking.

OOC:14 on a perception check for me.

(Earlier, during weapons-drawing)

“Oh…such a doughty display of preparation!” Celeste’s eyes sparkled with the romantic spectacle of it all. “Truly, I am in the most gallant company…oh, I simply must gird myself in like manner! Your courageous example demands no less.”

With entirely unjustified enthusiasm, she snapped closed her current fan—a tiny, canary yellow lace number—and returned it to her handbag, then dug around in the corners for a substitute. This was a cream-colored one, done in slightly transparent parchment, with an stylized setting sun painted in deep orange-red on the face; it was also a few inches longer than her previous fan, thanks to the needle-thin steel supports extending flimsily an inch or two past the edge. By certain criteria, it could have been considered a weapon—much in the way a teddy bear could also be considered a weapon, provided you lit it on fire and shot it out of a cannon.

Celeste flourished it in her most menacing fashion—which was not very menacing at all—and giggled. “How lovely! You must understand, I am afraid that I have precious little stomach for physical confrontation—having never yet experienced the like before—though, if the need arises, I should be most amenable to witnessing the noble deeds of those present! Nonetheless, it is ever so reassuring to possess such an implement. I am told that the knights of Rokushima treasured such devices as weapons of last resort, but I think that they are quite becoming as a tool of the Dementlieuse, no?

----

(Currently)

Mlle. Viardot’s passage down the tunnels was spent pleasantly enough—you were pretty sure that you caught her humming Richemuloise folk songs at one point. The sight of the room at the end, though…

To her credit, Celeste did not entirely play to type—no high-pitched scream here. This was repressed by her hands clasped to her mouth; then, after a few tremulous seconds:

“Oh…horror! Those poor, innocent… Oh!”

But a few more moments, and then: “Courage, Mlle. Viardot…courage. One must bear up under adversity…” She looked back up at the tableau—albeit out of the corner of her eye and through her fan—and managed to address Cyrus and Kerrian. “Do you see anything? I would gladly assist you, but I am rather…indisposed at the moment.”

Remy's look(And Agale's open faced shock) is quietly ignored, as Tomas is focusing on the reaction of the two people in the room. Huh, assign investigators-distance himself from the problem by not admitting to even knowing who might be involved, and conveniently have some goons out there covering up any tracks that he might have made.

"Just remember that I was straight with you, Vedarrak." Tomas lets this statement speak for itself, before tipping his hat to the Duchess. "Ma'am." Demands of etiquette met, Eisenwald steps back to the door, tipping his hat to the guard if the man is still there, or otherwise leaning against the wall and waiting for the others to finish and be ready to leave.

"Most obliging of you Ambassador. I am glad to see that the falkovnian reputation for diligence is well deserved.

I do believe we have also been extended an invitation to the Tessier. Perhaps we shall run into each other again before the day is out?" He stands formally, "Now then, we would not presume to intrude further upon your no doubt busy schedule. An unexpected pleasure to make your acquaintance as well you Grace." With that he makes two precise bows.

Lia ... quirks an eyebrow and smirks at the duchess' words on the benefits of elemental binding. "Maybe some day," she says, "Markos will see fit to confirm these two truths I will tell you. One: no spell is absolute. Two: the unavoidable harvest of slavery is rebellion. Think on that and on the unbridled power you are dealing with - provided you find the time from dealing with enraged workers who see their jobs disappear thanks to your great advances, of course. Good day to you, your grace. Interesting to have met you."

She casts a cool gaze on Vedarrak and slightly inclines her head. "Vedarrak. We are sure to meet again." And with that, the Mage heads for the door.

"Nothing, Miss Viardot," Cyrus said grimly. The dommer approached Celeste and placed a hand gently on her back to guide her out.

"Come," he said, "It is best if we leave this place now before something happens to us."

The Falkovnian Embassy, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 4:04 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lia wrote:"Maybe some day," Lia says, "Markos will see fit to confirm these two truths I will tell you. One: no spell is absolute. Two: the unavoidable harvest of slavery is rebellion. Think on that and on the unbridled power you are dealing with - provided you find the time from dealing with enraged workers who see their jobs disappear thanks to your great advances, of course. Good day to you, your grace. Interesting to have met you."

"I thank you for your lessons, Professor." The Duchess nodded, a chill smile on her lips. "And if you'll have it, I'll tell you one in return. Nothing worth doing is without costs. Some things are worth the risk."

"It was an enlightening conversation Professor Mournswaithe. I look forward to meeting you again."

Mr. Agale wrote:"Most obliging of you Ambassador. I am glad to see that the falkovnian reputation for diligence is well deserved. I do believe we have also been extended an invitation to the Tessier. Perhaps we shall run into each other again before the day is out?" Agale stands formally, "Now then, we would not presume to intrude further upon your no doubt busy schedule. An unexpected pleasure to make your acquaintance as well you Grace."

"And yours as well." Vedarrak rose to escort you out of the room. "And I shall look for you tonight. I shall be in the hawk mask, sadly cliche but it's expected."

Tomas wrote:"Just remember that I was straight with you, Vedarrak." Tomas lets this statement speak for itself, before tipping his hat to the Duchess. "Ma'am."

"I'll remember it." Vedarrak said quietly. "I'm only a danger to my enemies, and hard as it is for you to believe, I don't want to be your enemy."

"Neither do we." Remy said. He rose and bowed politely to the Duchess. "Ambassador, if I might speak with you in private for a few minutes?"

"Of course." Vedarrak said, raising a brow. "Jaeger?"

"Come this way, sirs, madam." The lieutenant said quietly. The Duchess rose as well now, deigning to favor you with a small curtsey. "Goodbye, Professor, Mr. Agale, Herr Eisenwald."

The Catacombs, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 4:02 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Rest in peace," Richard softly intoned. "Let our Lady guide you to the world beyond... let no worldly burden trouble your soul... we, the living, shall carry it now." The young man gave Cyrus a troubled look when the Mulani took the ivory scroll, but said no more. Very respectfully, the Mordentishman leaned down to close the dead men's eyes.

"If this is a trap, something may have altered our flags once we left them behind," Cerise whispered, her eyes flicking around, searching for eavesdroppers. "We should be careful going back. C'mon, Thierri, the light!" She ran to the still kneeling magician, who didn't seem to be paying attention to her. "Thierri, come on!" she said, tugging at his arm.

In a smooth, single motion, Boucher yanked his arm free of her grasp. Cerise backed up a few steps in alarm as the man abruptly stood. He looked back at her and frowned, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. Thierri only took a moment to light the end with his mage-fire before returning to the center of the group, gesturing you onward while he held his light up high.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Contrary to Cerise's fears, the handkerchiefs had not been moved from where you had tied them, leaving a blood-red trail back up to the surface. Thierri waved Cerise off when she moved to untie one, and so you left them behind. Given a straightforward path to follow, you quickly found yourselves back up the steps and into the church. Sainte-Madeleine's currently seemed empty, save for yourselves. Richard carefully steadied himself on a stone wall while Thierri extinguished his mage light.

"We should call the gendarme," Richard said, after a moment. "We shouldn't just leave them down there."

"We shouldn't... I mean, we shouldn't leave them down there, but, I don't know, Richard," Cerise replied, uneasily uncertain. "What if those bodies are bait for another trap?"

"If they were, our presence didn't trigger anything," Thierri said simply, folding his arms and leaning against the wall. "That would mean we were not the intended recipient of that note. Either way, the gendarme will know something has happened when their men don't come back."

"That's why, that's all the more reason why we should warn them," Richard said.

"Hoo boy..." Cerise breathed. "If we do tell them, whoever does it better be willing to answer a lot of questions about how we found them all..."

OOC: Decide who, what, and if you are telling the gendarme. Assuming you don't get yourselves arrested, we'll assume you take care of this before you return back home.


The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 4:26 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The faint noises of conversation trailed out to you, though no one was currently in sight. The main entryway, for all of its grandeur, was not terribly well set up for doing anything in it. Given how many of you were currently occupying it, the massive size of the room could not be said to be out of place, but it still came as little surprise that no one was in it when you entered. The piano was being played in the background, though you didn't think it was Professor Petrik playing it; there was a slight hitch when all of you came inside, followed by a sharp wooden rap.

"This is a kind of armor?" You could hear Katja asking from the commons room. "That is why there are bones in it."

"Well, not quite," came the reply, accompanied with a bit of a laugh. Alice was sitting on one of the couches, accompanied by a cup of tea. She was watching Katja dourly examining the excessive amounts of apparel that came piece and parcel of a Dementlieuse noblewoman's outfit. It was clear that the soldier was both confused and seriously displeased.

"It's a corset," Alice explained.

"What purpose does it serve?" Katja asked, eyeing the offending article of clothing.

"None," Professor Petrik stated absolutely. The music professor was standing all the way in the music room, hovering over a distressed looking student, but her voice carried a long way.

"The most impeccably fashionable Seiglinde wishes to say that such a garment, meant to accentuate the beauty and curves of a woman's figure, has no place on a woman such as yourself," Lemercier provided, from where he sat across from Alice. The elderly professor was framed in the doorway, a snifter of brandy in his hands and a gentle smile on his face. "Your beauty, my dear, is natural and untainted by the artifice of Dementlieu. But alas, the harridans of high society will not see it in such a way."

"Do not put words in my mouth," Professor Petrik commanded from the other room. Lemercier simply helped himself to his drink, tipping a wink to Katja and Alice. Katja just seemed a little confused, while Alice rolled her eyes, though she was smiling too.

Prof. Lemercier & Prof. Petrik wrote:"Your beauty, my dear, is natural and untainted by the artifice of Dementlieu. But alas, the harridans of high society will not see it in such a way."

"Do not put words in my mouth," Professor Petrik commanded from the other room.

“I hope that I do not intrude…good afternoon, fellow-lodgers!” Celeste swept into the room with a smile and mostly-renewed composure. It had taken her a good deal of the walk back to recover herself, but she was one to bounce back quickly—and besides, a tragic occurrence one hour is no excuse to be unfriendly the next. At very least, she was doing a good job of putting a brave face on it.

She cast an encouraging look in the mercenary’s direction. “Pardon my overhearing, but the good Prof. Lemercier undoubtedly has the right of it, Mlle. Zweibach! While one should always attend to the prevailings fashion in one’s formal dress, the effect is utterly lost if one does not hold true to one’s own aesthetic principles. In this latter regard, I can only acknowledge your own garb as supremely becoming—why, you cut the very figure of a latter-day Britomart!”

The grin was wide and sincere. “All that is necessary is a delicate touch and a well-chosen accessory, and it would yet be suitable for the grandest of processions—or gallery openings!” You could practically see Celeste’s attention span being yanked laterally. “Oh, do say that you are accompanying us to the Tessier opening, Mlle. Zweibach! It promises to be ever so broadening…and such a pleasant respite, after our band’s harrowing experience this past afternoon! When I think of those poor, destitute men…why, nothing could possibly set my mind more at ease.”

Kerrian was all too eager to arrive back at the Chateau, the encounter at the Chapel and the catacombs beneath quite a bit much, all things considered. Get a place more or less to yourself, and end up involved in the theft of national tresures and the murder of officers of the law, such that it was in Dementlieu. This sort of thing happend all the time...riight?

"Knowing our luck, something will happen at the Gallery" Kerrian said as he began to head up to his room to change into something a bit more appropriate to a gallery opening. "At least we won't be completely unprepared..."

As soon as the small group that went to see Vedarrak has left the Falkovnian embassy well behind, Lia beckons the other members of the group into an alley where she judges they won't be overheard.

"That was not the best decision you ever made, my friend," she tells Tomas in a calm, earnest tone of voice.

"If that snake was truly unaware of the theft, that happy state of circumstances has come to an end now. If the Falkovnians find the 'relics' first, they can cause a loss of political face by returning them and curry favour with large parts of the public in one fell swoop.

Still, I can understand why you did it. The man has not grown any less annoying over the years. 'Only dangerous to his enemies', my boot. I still remember the staked bodies of peasants when we first rode up to Muhar." For a moment, Lia's eyes flare dangerously behind her veil, but then she shakes her head. "It seems to me that Vedarrak will thrive on the chaos, both here and back in Falkovnia.

In the very worst case, he can curry favour with the people here and back home, by increasing Falkovnia's sphere of influence over Dementlieu. With the right amount of political spin, he could present the Dementlieuse government as weak and feeble, and convince some loud fools to start crying for 'assistance' from Falkovnia.

Now. I find the presence of that duchess rather ominous. She has ties to the high society of both Dementlieu and Lamordia, and a trade empire at her fingertips if she plays her cards right. If she's thrown her lot in with Vedarrak, then this country is potentially in even more trouble than it already was. ... And Vedarrak may be setting his sights on a position even closer to the Falkovnian throne, if he is gathering power. If not on the throne itself, perhaps ...?

... And the lady would be ideally placed to move the relics out of Dementlieu, if Vedarrak is already involved with the theft. Ship them to Lamordia all unnoticed, and then it's easy work to transfer them to Falkovnia."