Café de Nuit

Clearing in the King's Forest, Late Afternoon of April 21st, 770
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Agale wrote:"If you would be so inclined sir, our party is better situated to further investigate this lead as I assume it would be inadvisable for you to enter the city proper at this time."

Lia wrote:"Now. Before any of us go rushing off... what kind of help do you feel we could give you?" she asks directly of the 'woodsman'.

"It would be inadvisable for anyone to stop me," the hunter grinned, before grunting in acquiescence. "Hrm. Take them. A mausoleum seems too small for my quarry, but perhaps you'll find your cultists there."

He ignored Agale's gesture, handing the keys over to Lia instead. "I don't need to tell you to be careful," he warned grimly. "Anyone powerful enough to call up those hounds won't be easy to put down. If this is some kind of base for your cultists, they'll have the advantage over you. They've probably noticed by now that one of their men went missing. I wouldn't be surprised if they were expecting trouble."

"Good hunting," the man said, pulling the rapier from its sheath and saluting you.


Leon National Cemetery, Night of April 21st, 770
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Back when Port-a-Lucine was still a small town on the coast of the Sea of Sorrows, the dead had been buried in Pere Villon Cemetery, just south-east of the Cathedral of Ste. Meres des Larmes. All had been buried there, the rich and poor, the notable and nameless. But as time had gone on, it became too crowded, the city grew too much, and even the construction of the subterranean catacombs beneath the city had not been enough to stem the tide of dead.

So the city fathers of Port-a-Lucine had commissioned Leon Cemetery. Just outside the city walls, it was vast, stretching out into the distance, a dizzyingly large collection of tombstones and cenotaphs, graves and mausoleums and potters' fields. The dead here were beyond counting, for Port-a-Lucine was one of the largest cities in the world, and Leon Cemetery, though still new as such things went, had been collecting their dead for some centuries now.

There was a lichgate across the wrought iron fence surrounding the cemetery, an altogether larger and more imposing fence than the humble assemblage near Troischamps. But it was only latched, not locked, the gate more symbolic than practical. Nothing so large could be guarded with less than an army of night watchmen, and there was little reason to bother. But there was still a fence, and there was still a latched gate. The dead had to be kept away from the living.

A few moments of straining in the darkness undid the latch and let you inside. It was night time, past the tenth bell, most likely, and your voices echoed across the cemetery. You were alone here, in the quiet, and the dark, and the night. Or perhaps not alone, to be quite precise, but no other living hearts beat in the darkness.

"I wish to be absolutely clear on this before we proceed any further," Thierri spoke up from where he had been lingering in the back. The grey circles beneath his eyes had deepened as the day had progressed, and his skin had turned ashen from fatigue. "What, exactly, are we attempting to do here?"

"I would like to recommend that we, A: Find out whether the cult actually does have a base here," Lia replies. "B: If there is such a base, that we rout it if possible, or else spy, then retreat. And C: That we take one or two live prisoners this time and keep them for ourselves. It is high time we get some information directly from the source. A living source."

"Keep them for ourselves?" Mr. Agale asked incredulously, "While your intentions may be noble Madam, what you propose is nothing short of kidnapping.

In any case, if we are to engage the cult martially, I must insist upon caution. If the cult is indeed holed up in the Navarre crypt, we would be foolish to enter and engage them directly. Instead, I propose we start a small fire at the entrance, douse it in wet sod, then smoke them out. We have been involved in far too many ambushes for my liking. It is high time we engaged this cult in a manner and terrain of our choosing, not theirs."

"Yes," Cyrus said, "We will not be keeping any prisoners for ourselves. We shall question them before we deliver them to prison but we will not hold them ourselves. We lack the resources and the authority to maintain such an abduction."

The dommer drew his sword and approached the gate, glancing around for signs of life or unlife.

Perception 29

M. Agale wrote:"In any case, if we are to engage the cult martially, I must insist upon caution. If the cult is indeed holed up in the Navarre crypt, we would be foolish to enter and engage them directly. Instead, I propose we start a small fire at the entrance, douse it in wet sod, then smoke them out. We have been involved in far too many ambushes for my liking. It is high time we engaged this cult in a manner and terrain of our choosing, not theirs."

"A capital idea, M. Agale! Truly, a familiarity with the vicissitudes of Law must act as a wondrous boon to strategic thought...I should expect no less of one thus educated!"

Celeste looked thoughtfully at what might have been the Navarre mausoleum entrance, but probably was not. "Now...I am somewhat unskilled at the tactical setting of fires... I have read books on the subject, certainly! But, as I have always maintained, one should not trespass beyond the boundary of one's innate abilities...perhaps, in this particular metier, I should be better suited for a supporting role."

Eisenwald raises an eyebrow at Agale, a part of him loudly protesting that this simply isn't DONE that way, that you wandered into a haunted crypt, found a secret door, and chanced your skill against the engineering of the damned.

The rest of him is cold, and sick, and wants to lie down in bed, however, and it is a mighty struggle. Ultimately, Tomas says, "We don't know what's down there, Agale. It could be a small army, it could be something that doesn't need to breathe...I appreciate the idea, but for all we know the cult's behind a false wall and they'd barely notice the smoke. We need to at least investigate the crypt first."

"We don't know how big it is...how well-ventilated...if it has other exits," Darius mutters, almost to himself. Sweat shines on his scalp; absently, he wipes his forehead dry with a sleeve and shivers.

"We also don't have much fuel for a fire. It's not a bad idea, but I don't think we can do it quickly enough to make it practical."

Drawing his sword, Darius says, "Shall we have a look, then? See what we're after?"

"Fuel? Open your eyes, much of the cemetery is overgrown, there is ample kindling for our purposes. The last time we faced Dr. Poincare's ensemble, we barely survived. At that time we caught them out in the open while preoccupied. Engaging them underground in what is most likely a defensible position is utter suicide."

"Crypts are not designed for spaciousness Dommer, nor as a rule to the dead need ventilation. Still, you are correct. It would help to know specifically what were are up against. Although I think it best if only one of our number investigate so as to more easily remain undetected." He turns to Cyrus "Dommer, when we were stealing aboard the Acheron, your talent for the art of stealth was impressive. If you would kindly acquiesce to scouting out, it would be much appreciated."

Dungeoneering of 17
Perception 25

Leon National Cemetery, Night of April 21st, 770
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"Let us find this place before we pass any judgements," Katja said pragmatically.

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Searching through the Leon Cemetery at night was not a course of action for the faint of heart. It was, you soon learned, not quite as quiet as it had seemed at first glance. There was the buzzing of insects, the soft sounds of crickets, the occasional hooting of an owl or the scurrying of some out-sized rodent through the underbrush. In a way, it was worse than silence. Every sound might be the whispers of the dead, the voices of lost souls that walked. Everything about Leon Cemetery screamed haunted to you, a place where unquiet dead rose from their graves. Every whistle of the wind through a tree became a keening specter's wail, every twitch of the underbrush became a corpse preparing to grasp for life once more. It reached the point that when you heard a true voice, it took a moment to realize that the soul you were listening to was, in fact, alive.

• "Blessed Lady protect the lost souls,"

It was in one of the newer parts of the graveyard. Most of the tombstones were some three or four years old, not yet weathered away to oblivion. They were modest graves, by and by large, the resting places of those who were spared the mass burial of the potter's field or a pauper's grave, but not by much. In the distance you could see the rows of crypts rising up, solidly built mausoleums of stone and metal.

• "Hold them safe and keep them whole,"

She was perched near one of the graves, a huddled slip of a girl dressed in a short tunic, or perhaps a very long night-shirt. As you came closer, you saw that she wasn't actually that young, perhaps fifteen years old, a painfully thin waif of a girl with a mess of unruly auburn hair that looked as though it had not seen a comb in years. Or a pair of scissors, for that matter. The bangs came down to just cover a pair of large, brown eyes, moody, melancholy eyes.

• "And keep me pure while I draw breath,"

The grave she crouched at was very small, the tombstone very simple, like those stretching out to either side of it. A glance at the inscription provided the explanation. Edouard Thibodeau, March 14, 754 -- January 12th, 767. May Ezra Hold Him and Bless Him. It was a child's grave.

• "That I may join them in blessed death."

Thierri paused in your trek toward the crypts, veering a few steps off the path before stopping dead. "Reine..."

Oh, great, no one else is going to ask.

"Friend of yours?" Tomas asides to Thierri, remembering his odd behavior when they first met the girl in the alleys of Port-a-Lucine. Admittedly there was a lot of odd going on that night, but considering that it took a lot to break the magician's poker face, Tomas figured it might be appropriate.

Realizing that turning around from the grave of a loved one to see a posse of armed vigilantes stomping through a graveyard, even one as large and well lit as this, is likely to give even the hardiest alley veteran a bit of a shock, Tomas holds up his hand in a silent plea for cooperation from the others. He figures the innate ability of any squad of adventurers to argue over a decision will buy him a few seconds to make friends.

Stepping jauntily forward but not quite trusting the coincidence enough to put his shield away, Tomas coughs lightly. "Excuse me, miss?" Tomas offers sincerely, "I do not mean to interrupt your grief, but we happened to come across you, and I did not want I or my friends to startle you."

Eisenwald motions with his shield back to said small mob, smiling as nonthreatening a grin as he could manage and hoping the quick assurance was enough. It fades into something softer as he takes a second look at the grave. "I'm sorry. Were you two close?"

OOC: Rolled a 23 on my Diplomacy to make a good impression. Sorry to not wait for you guys, but I didn't want the girl to flip out.

The nun folded her hands under her habit cover and watched the auburn-haired girl.

"Dear child," she added to Tomas' words and smiled. She recalled her from the alleys, the one who heard Ezra. Supposedly. Hopefully the girl would remember her.

Kerrian was...distracted. Now this wasn't exactly out of the ordinary, but having a fever would compound things most unfortunately. So there might as well be a manifestation of Ezra present, he probably wouldn't notice. Now, if Ezra was manifesting as a greatform spirit, that was another matter entirely.

OOC:17 perception, 31 Nature

Most of the group was absorbed in other things to notice you lost Cyrus some time between when Agale mentioned scouting and when you met the girl. Indeed, many probably still didn't notice he was gone...

Stealth 32 to head off snooping.

Perception 32 to get snoop results.

Results tbd later.

Leon National Cemetery, Night of April 21st, 770
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Tomas wrote:"Friend of yours?" Tomas asides to Thierri, remembering his odd behavior when they first met the girl in the alleys of Port-a-Lucine.

Thierri blinked mildly as he turned to look at Eisenwald. "You were with us when we met, yes?" he replied in a quiet voice. "I often perform on the streets." The young man kept his distance, shoving his hands into his pockets as Tomas approached the girl.

Tomas wrote:"Excuse me, miss?" Tomas offers sincerely, "I do not mean to interrupt your grief, but we happened to come across you, and I did not want I or my friends to startle you." Eisenwald motions with his shield back to said small mob, smiling as nonthreatening a grin as he could manage and hoping the quick assurance was enough. It fades into something softer as he takes a second look at the grave. "I'm sorry. Were you two close?"

"You made a lot of noise earlier. I knew you were there." The young girl said, barely looking up from the grave. Cat-quick, she reached out to touch the gravestone, running callused fingers along the inscription. "We weren't. I didn't like Edouard much, he was a bully sometimes. He'd make Anne cry until Warden Arnoux made him stop."

Reine fell silent now, jerking her head towards one of the headstones just a few places down. Anne Michaud, June 20th, 756 -- January 12th, 767. Her Soul is with Ezra Now. Graves just like it stretched to either side, all with a little name written upon it, children's graves. At the far end of the row of graves was a larger headstone, though only slightly more ornate. It was too far to make out the inscription, but the Sword and Shield of Ezra were unmistakeable marks of a Warden's burial place.

"Why are you here?" Reine asked suddenly, turning her head to scrutinize Tomas with large, dark eyes. "You're somebody. You don't belong in places like this. Why do you keep coming?"

Her, then?, Tomas asks himself, unsure if he should say so or not. He lets the girl talk, it seeming sort of wrong to interject what is obviously a part of the mourning process. Or at least that's what he tells himself. And then...

"Everyone's somebody." Tomas argues gently, looking across the graves again. Just children. "...I want to help." Tomas finally notes, wishing there was more he could do than empathize. "If I didn't try and do something about the way the world is, I think I'd go mad."

Tomas wipes his brow, shaking off that disturbing thought and collecting himself. "More specifically, there are people...taking advantage of the plague, Reine. We think they have something that might help us stop them hidden here."