Café de Nuit

Tomas takes a longing look towards the kitchen, and resumes rubbing his eyes and nose as though he had a nasty sinus cold. ow ow ow ow ow.

((Sorry. School started up. I'll be back to normal soon.))

NeoTiamat wrote:
"Oho! One of the midnight sightseers returns!" The boatman grinned, standing up and sweeping his arms in welcome. "Out sightseeing again, tonight? Welcome! What can I do fhor you?"

"I'm afraid it's not so much sightseeing as business" Kerrian said, trying distinctly not to stare again. He then turned to the doctor "We met when dealing with getting onto a boat that we..well probably shouldn't been on. Let's just say what you walked in on the middle of..is about average for what's been going on."

Kerrian then turned his attention back to the grabenite with a bit of a smile. "We're actually probably going to need transportation again, unfortunately. However, we heard you might be an excellent person to turn to, for more than just sightseeing tours. Only issue is, first we have to find out WHERE we're going first. So..would it be possible to retain your assistance in advance?"

1 Days, 17 Hours, 37 Minutes
Carnival Game Booths, The Midnight Market, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Mercator wrote:"Doctor Mercator Melanchthon, at your service, Goodman Finnsen. I understand you are in the business of assisting travelers to reach their destination?"

"Indeed am I! The sea runs in my veins, her tides drive me to travel to and fhro. I share my black eyes with the Vistani, a fholk who never sleep in the same spot twice," Finnsen claimed, somewhat outrageously, his eyes twinkling. He flashed a brilliant grin. "Travel is my birthright, goodman, adventure is my calling. I can take you anywhere on land or sea, beneath the waves or in between these places. Where can I take you?"

Kerrian wrote:"Only issue is, first we have to find out WHERE we're going first. So..would it be possible to retain your assistance in advance?"

The boatman laughed. "It was good sightseeing, yah? You have a good taste for adventure! If you are going out again, I am with  you! But I cannot tell you a price until I know where we are going. And no more putting strange things in my boat." He stood up and leaned in, picking up a few errant pieces of scrimshaw as he did. "Only tell me, what business takes you out to somewhere you don't know? "


1 Days, 17 Hours, 37 Minutes
The Midnight Market, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Nicolas wrote:"If you don't want to see my guts splattered across the Place de Leon, make out you are delivering me an important message and walk away swiftly. Laugh at me later Monsieur, I will indulge you and buy as much brandy as we both can drink , but right now things hang by a thread. You know of course the part I play this night? .....Guy Benoit."

Bertram Renier raised a single, elegant blond eyebrow, regarding Nicolas with a look somewhere halfway between casual amusement and... to be truthful, mostly it was just casual amusement. Perhaps a smidgen of sympathy, but not a very great deal.

With a dramatic flourish, Bertram took the small, black box and handed it to Nicolas. It was a small thing, no more than a hand's span across and half that in height, made of ebony wood with hinges of dull brass. The kind of object that is not intrinsically valuable, but made so as to hold valuable components.

Bertram nodded politely to 'Guy', doffing an imaginary cap, before whispering through a nearly closed mouth. “Open it and I'll feed you to my sister.” He said it very calmly. “Au revoir.” With that, he turned and left.

Nicolas wrote:"You'll need to offer more than that Madame. Whilst the debt is acknowledged I am not stupid enough to walk blindly into anything. I owe you and I stand by it, my word is sacrosanct, but you will need to brief me more fully...Hush, not yet, I have other irons in the fire this night, not all of them conducive to company. Let me deal with this and you have my full attention."

A moment later, Athene arrived, looking over Nicolas's shoulder at the departing back of Bertram. “...A Renier?” That was as much of a question as Athene permitted herself, but she didn't press the point. Market etiquette, after all.

“It's a blow against the Triarchs. They're tyrants fully as bad as D'Honaire ever was, I swear to you.” Athene said. She spoke quietly, for conversations in the middle of the Market could always be overheard, but there was an intensity in her words that belied the calm tone. “The client wants to destroy the Winter Crone's burial chamber. Or failing that, bury it under a ton of rubble, he said. Benoit, this is the kind of thing I've dreamed of. Spirits bless whoever killed the Crone, but this is my chance to make my name. But I need to do it fast.”

“Help me.” Athene said, turning now to look Nicolas full in the eyes. They didn't shine now. Just large, liquid brown eyes, very pretty eyes, as a matter of fact. “Help me strike against tyranny. Please.”

1 Days, 17 Hours, 37 Minutes
The Hospice of the White Dove, Quartier Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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The hospice doors opened without a whisper as Lia's arcane ritual threaded its way through the locks. There was no one around. No one to see Lia, no one to see anything, really. This was not the kind of neighborhood which encouraged the curious to be about after dark. And even had that not been the case, the recent incursion of Thierri and his entourage dissuaded anyone from being about. Death was a frequent visitor to the Quartier Ouvrier, but none wished to invite him to stay.

The Hospice of the White Dove – Hospice de la Columbo Blanche – was on the inside as quiet and empty as it had been on the outside. There was some disarray, the marks of chaos that hadn't been visible on the outside. Doors left open, chairs tipped over. The Halans had had only a little time to defend themselves, and it showed.

There were no corpses, at least. Whatever other horrors, Thierri's spectral accompaniment had killed no one before Gauvain's presence had chased him off. It was a small mercy.

You may start rolling checks, one per post. Perception to look for secret chambers, Religion to find potentially useful information on Halans, Insight or Arcana to think of potentially useful information on the Lady of Winter's Chamber.

1 Days, 17 Hours, 37 Minutes
The Chateau Malchance, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Perception DC 25

Gauvain stared impassively at the people in front of him, his milky eyes firmly settling on Agale. Without looking down, the pale man stabbed at something on the ground with the ferrule of his umbrella-cane, lifting it up and crumpling it in his hand. The man looked down at it for a moment, creasing it between his thumb and forefinger, before returning his blank gaze to the lawyer.

Celeste wrote:"--and such are the capabilities of our band, here in this happy Chateau, that the tokens M. Agale so thoughtfully mentions shall no doubt be secured far before the final hour."

"Good," was all Gauvain had to say.

"That reminds me," Remy noted quietly, pulling the Inspector's search and enter papers out of his inner vest pocket. "You had better take these," he said, handing them to Celeste.

Agale wrote:"--though I think, if you would be so inclined, One of those very tasks might be particularly suited to your own unique talents where any of our number would falter."

Gauvain stood and stared at Agale for an uncomfortable amount of time, showing no sign of even hearing anything the Borcan had said. Minutes ticked by and the silence grew longer, as le Marquis remained unmoving, stroking the object he held in his hand with his fingers.

"Do you," le Marquis de Montmort finally replied.

Gauvain moved like a snake. Agale felt an ice cold hand wrap around his wrist like a vise.

"Then we will go now," le Marquis de Montmort said. It wasn't a request.

When the rest of you (everyone but Agale) finishes with this scene, move on to the relevant scene below.


1 Days, 17 Hours, 11 Minutes
Outside the Bergeron Residence, Quartier-Savant, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Following the directions on that Alice gave you led you through the Quartier-Savant. This was the district of the lesser nobility, the more prosperous merchants, foreign emissaries and upper class markets and galleries. This was the domain of those who were not quite rich or powerful enough to afford one of the estates just outside the city, but who nevertheless held the commanding position within Port-a-Lucine proper.

The map didn't lead you to the main thoroughfares or more prominent neighborhoods of the Quartier-Savant. Rather, you followed the quieter streets, wending your way amongst the second rank of the aristocratic dwellings, until you reached the discreet little plaque that announced your arrival at the Bergeron Residence.

The Bergeron Residence was not the largest of the estate houses that you had seen in the Quartier, though it did take up an entire small city block. Two stories plus an attic, it looked... comfortable. Normal. There was no glittering ostentation in this house, no grand piano position in front of a window. Most of the windows had their curtains drawn, or were outright shuttered, though such glimpses inside as you saw revealed a genteel interior. It reminded you of the Rondelet's home, actually, albeit of a slightly higher class.

Though most of the house was dark, there were a few lights still burning throughout the residence. Whatever else, it was not abandoned.




1 Days, 17 Hours, 11 Minutes
Rue de Mont-Noir, Quartier-Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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The falling of Inkeri's runes led you back to the Quartier-Ouvrier, to a street just north-west of the Rue Vervain Rookery and not far south of the Hospice of the White Dove. Rue de Mont-Noir was not a wealthy street. Mostly it was tenements. Three, four stories tall, with tiny rooms and small windows, people stacked inside not much unlike cordwood. Perhaps during the day time, the area bubbled with life, but perhaps not. This place seemed quiet. It was certainly quiet at night. Up the street, you could make out a church, though it was too distant to be the subject of Inkeri's rune. The only other landmark was the orphanage.

Former orphanage, one should say rather. The Orphelinat de Mont-Noir, as the weathered sign proclaimed it, had not been in operation for at least a year, and likely longer. It was a large, looming building made of stone and brick, with a number of broken windows running along the outside. No lights burned inside, and the entire orphanage had something of the air of a tomb about it. The large, wooden doors were closed, and there was a huge, if rather rusty looking padlock on them.

Nearby, in the shadow of the orphanage, an old beggar sat hunched against the wall. Perhaps asleep, perhaps awake, perhaps dead, it was impossible to tell in the darkness. When he was younger and healthy, he'd likely been a powerful man, broad-shouldered and muscular, but age and poverty had withered his frame to something near-skeletal. Clad in rancid rags and with a scraggly, off-white beard, he cowered by the orphanage, face shadowed hidden beneath a make-shift cap.

Lia makes her way inside the hospice and pulls the door almost, but not quite closed behind her. 'Might need to get out of here in a hurry,' she thinks, pausing a moment to let Grimmric burrow his way into his usual hiding place before she continues.

The Mage blows on the annoyed fly, making sure it sweeps any area she is about to enter first before she enters. 'Now, if I were a worshiper of Hala, witch goddess of nature and magic,' she thinks as she slowly moves deeper into the building, 'where would I keep a shrine to those annoying Triarchs...? And what else do I know about them?'

(OOC: With a Religion check of 18, I'm afraid the answers are going to be 'Dunno' and 'Not much', possibly with a side-order of 'Durr'. ^^; Still, I await our gracious DM's ruling.)

"I don't suppose you are acquainted with whomever lives here, Celeste?" Tomas asks, having recovered from whatever damaged him in the market proper fairly well. "Only, 'hi, we're looking for a metaphorical hailstone' seems like a great way to get thrown out."

DocBeard wrote:"I don't suppose you are acquainted with whomever lives here, Celeste?"

Celeste pondered. "I am quite closely acquainted with the Du Monts...but their estate is three blocks west of here." Irrelevant, though you were sure the Du Monts were very nice people.

She brightened, opening her handbag and digging around a bit. "Never fear, M. Eisenwald! Lest we forget, we are licensed to inspect even the most closely held property, by no less an authority than a Commissioner of Police himself." She brandished the papers triumphantly.

"So, gentle knight! Let us enter, and inquire--and let constabulary duty be done!"

Celeste was wearing blue, now. This was probably why. With the air of someone who could not possibly imagine any consequences for what she was about to do, she strode up to the front door and knocked.

"Coo-ee! M. or Mlle. Bergeron! We are sorry to disturb you at such a time of night, only that we are the duly deputized representatives of our fair City's police force! Oh, but we do come in friendship, good monsieur or mademoiselle! Might you find it within your hearts to allow us a brief interview?"

Nerit glanced toward Rex and shrugged. She pointed with her left hand, wrapped in a handkerchief, toward the beggar. She muttered, "Maybe he knows what happened to this place?"

With a light step, she headed for the wall. "Excusez-moi? Monsieur?" she called softly. She frowned at his withered frame but didn't move closer as she waited for anything--for him to stir, mostly. "Je suis vraiment désolé..."*


*Excuse me? Sir? I am terribly sorry

"Now, wait, Celeste, we shouldn't, ah, play that card until its appropra..." Too late. Tomas slumps a little, honestly impressed that the girl can gob faster than he could in the old days.

Eisenwald crosses his arms and attempts that subtle balance between 'not a monster' and 'could take your head off if you start trouble anyway.'. Nonverbal communication's an art.

1 Days, 17 Hours, 32 Minutes
The Hospice of the White Dove, Quartier Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Lia wrote:The Mage blows on the annoyed fly, making sure it sweeps any area she is about to enter first before she enters. 'Now, if I were a worshiper of Hala, witch goddess of nature and magic,' she thinks as she slowly moves deeper into the building, 'where would I keep a shrine to those annoying Triarchs...? And what else do I know about them?'

What else Lia knew about the Halans proved, on the whole, to be distressingly little. They ran hospices across the Western Core, but other than that the Halans kept to themselves. Never a majority faith in any land they dwelled in, always a quiet, insistent minority. They were secretive, in an unobtrusive kind of way.

Judging from the hospice's empty, uninhabited nature, it didn't seem as though Lia was going to be fixing this gap in her education anytime soon.

1 Days, 17 Hours, 7 Minutes
Outside the Bergeron Residence, Quartier-Savant, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Celeste wrote:"Coo-ee! M. or Mlle. Bergeron! We are sorry to disturb you at such a time of night, only that we are the duly deputized representatives of our fair City's police force! Oh, but we do come in friendship, good monsieur or mademoiselle! Might you find it within your hearts to allow us a brief interview?"

There was a brief pause, and then one by one, several darkened windows in the manor began to light up. Celeste's enthusiastic greeting appeared to have carried to the entire household.

There was another minute, and then the door opened. A tall, thin faced man, dressed in a manservant's clothing, stood in the entryway. Contrary to the abysmal time of morning it was, he didn't look tired. Contrary to the expectations of someone being woken at this abysmal time of morning, he didn't look terribly annoyed; or surprised, or curious, for that matter. He simply gave a rather small bow, as customary for Dementlieuse servants, and then looked down at Celeste and the papers she had.

Behind him you could spot the entryway, decorated tastefully but not ostentatiously, and another person: a woman better dressed than the manservant, but still underdressed for a noble, though given the time of morning it was this was hardly surprising - most Dementlieuse nobles slept in until noon. Her hand was still resting on the stair banister, and she looked out at both of you with no expression on her face.

There was something oddly familiar about the pair, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it.

1 Days, 17 Hours, 7 Minutes
Rue de Mont-Noir, Quartier-Ouvrier, Early Morning on April 23rd, 770
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Nerit wrote:"Excusez-moi? Monsieur?" she called softly. She frowned at his withered frame but didn't move closer as she waited for anything--for him to stir, mostly. "Je suis vraiment désolé..."

The bearded beggar lifted his head, a rather smooth movement given his age and general air of decrepitude. He squinted up at Nerit, taking in her nun's habit and her general demeanor, and that of her sometime ally as well.

“What do you want?” The old man said in a flat tone of voice.

Agale tilted his head slightly to the side to meet Gauvin's gaze with his own. "If you must insist, though my own talents lie in other directions." he said with a suppressed yawn. It seemed that rest would yet be a ways off this evening.

I seem to have overestimated his tact. No matter, if wants me dead, there are less roundabout means.

"Let us not dilly dally then, Shall we take your coach or shall I summon another?" He said with a smile and a sweep of his hand, a hand that up until the gesture, the commissioner had thought was still cleanly within his grasp.

Perception 23.. not quite

"Time for me to visit the bookshop, when we've finished here," Lia mutters to Grimmric as she stalks deeper and deeper into the abandoned building. "Knowledge is key. Knowledge is the first weapon. And so, let us turn once again to knowledge. Religiously inspired or no, a chamber dedicated to a Triarch should have certain dimensions, certain traits determined by the power summoned and bound therein, so... If I wanted to make a room fit for a Triarch, what would I do?"

(OOC: Hmm, the dice roller seems to hate me this week. 16 on an Arcana check for info on the triarch's room.)

"We are not intending to travel to a particular place, so much as we intend to pursue a specific quarry," Mercator says. "Specifically, the last breath of Death. An unusual task, but then, the Market is the place for those with unusual skills, is it not? We have been advised to seek an expert in travel in order to find this thing, and your expertise would therefore be invaluable."

Perception 28 against Gauvain

Rex folded his arms across his chest and gave the orphanage a thorough examination. Rusted lock, no lights, broken windows. The building looked easy enough to break into, either on this floor or the next.

The pharmacist cast a glance toward Nerit and pursed his lips. Easy enough by himself. Less so with company. He fingered the lockpicks in his gloves, but Nerit had already gone down to talk to the beggar. Fair enough, he supposed, the man might have something to say.

He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and approached behind Nerit.

"Come here often?" he asked quietly.

Perception 22, general glancing around for more clues.
Thievery 21 for the lock in advance.

"Hmm," Nerit said with a furtive glance toward Rex. She stood where she was. "I was curious if you might know something about this building here, Monseiur. I am sorry to disturb you." She clasped her hands in front of her politely.

Diplomacy 25

Bertram wrote:“Open it and I'll feed you to my sister.” He said it very calmly. “Au revoir.” With that, he turned and left.

Nicolas breathes a sigh of relief, at least the Renier had some sense in his head. Not that that stops Nicolas lowering himself, "and I thought you wanted me to not to open it? Monsieur I truly believe you underestimate me." He says with a wink at the departing Bertram's back.

Athene wrote:“...A Renier?” That was as much of a question as Athene permitted herself, but she didn't press the point. Market etiquette, after all.

Back in character, he could ignore that, Benoit probably would. But Nicolas playing a part and suffering from a massive sense of paranoia and an overly tight sphincter at this moment in time, feels the need to offer something of an explanation. "An emissary from an old acquaintance, occasionally things cannot be achieved through bullets and gunpowder.." It was cryptic yet hopefully gave Athene enough to believe "Guy" had his finger in plenty of pies some that he didn't want to share, besides it let him play the "man of mystery" air that Nicolas enjoyed very much.

Athene wrote:“Help me.” Athene said, turning now to look Nicolas full in the eyes. They didn't shine now. Just large, liquid brown eyes, very pretty eyes, as a matter of fact. “Help me strike against tyranny. Please.”

Crap. That was just the kind of appeal that struck to a poet's soul, it was also exactly the kind of impassioned argument against the social mores that stoked Nicolas' fires. The fact it was delivered by a woman, and in that moment a rather attractive if dangerous one was yet another red rag to the bull of his temptations. His mouth attempts to work on its own for a moment before he regains control, which he just manages to hide it behind a look of utter venom as he remembers ll that he knows about msieur Benoit.

"DO not speak the name of D'Honaire to me! The dog has paid the price for the crimes he committed, and this city and its land is better for his passing." His eyes blaze with what he hopes is fury for a moment, then with a shuddering breath he obviously resettles his emotions. With a tight voice he continues.. "Persuade me Mademoiselle, I agree with your sentiments, but you ask a high price. Tell me why these Triarchs are the epitome of tyranny and who wants them dead and.... more importantly why. I fight for freedom for the people of this land, but I will not lead them from one set of shackles to another."

"Name your patron, persuade me to your cause and I will do as you ask, you have my word." His eyes bored into hers, his gaze intense and...... hopefully persuasive.

OOC: Diplomacy 34 (takes a bow for his oscar....)