Café de Nuit

"No rest..." Kerrian didn't add the usual for the wicked to the end of it, instead starting right back for the door. "Come on...if everyone else is at the Morgue, we need to get there. The others might be in danger..." Might was an understatement. Danger was at this moment, a given, it was simply the degree of danger involved that was a question.

Dr. Melanchthon wrote:"Dust." "Well, that's that. Good evening, messieurs dames. Perhaps we had been re-convene early to discuss developments and what to do...next."

"Agreed, sir! With such a productive night behind us, I am certain that we shall meet with similar success upon the morning. Good night, fellow-lodg--"

M. Mauganson wrote:"Come on...if everyone else is at the Morgue, we need to get there. The others might be in danger..."

"--Gracious! Well, M. Mauganson, as reliable as you have proved in the past at detecting dangers to our little band, I for one am with you for the duration. When shall we start out?"

Celeste was apparently quite able to change course on a dime, and equally so to function without rest for the foreseeable future. Sort of like a very earnest weathervane.

"I simply have to research that ritual that allows one to summon phantom horses," Lia says with a heavy sigh. She turns away from the door. "Let's go, then. Oh. Somebody grab some candles, if we have any lying around. You can never have too much light when skulking around a morgue. Rope would not be an unnecessary luxury, either."

"This bodes ill." Agale mused to no one in particular. "Especially the elemental's absence. I do not recall M. Lemercier's pet ever exiting the Chateau."

Kerrian wrote:"Come on...if everyone else is at the Morgue, we need to get there. The others might be in danger..."

"Much as a spot of rest would be welcome, I fear you are right Mr. Mauganson. Assuming no burgalers have taken advantage of the situation to ply their trade upon our abode, I can get a couple alchemical flares. As for transportation, a horse of ordinary flesh will serve our purposes admirably for now." He nodded for the coachman to proceed with rubbing down the horses while everyone prepared, their service was not quite done this night.

Spending a healing surge under Nic's influence in case we get into the thick of it again.

0 Days, 22 Hours, 7 Minutes
Port-a-Lucine Morgue, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine, Early Morning on April 24th, 770
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Lia wrote:"Oh. Somebody grab some candles, if we have any lying around. You can never have too much light when skulking around a morgue. Rope would not be an unnecessary luxury, either."

Contrary to expectations, the morgue was not locked, nor darkened. Even at this ungodly time of night, the place was brightly lit. The front door was propped open, and inside you could hear the sounds of people: murmuring, yelling, even laughing, walking to and fro. It was, to wit, lively.

The Blackwoods were at the reception desk near the front. Having each forced the other to avoid strenuous activity, they were instead both helping a pair of bedraggled morgue workers, pouring over a pile of cremation records. A few tired-looking strangers were there as well, dressed in worker's clothing and looking quite bemused. But they were helping too, though they likely could not even read - setting the papers in neat stacks, as directed by the morgue employees. They all looked up as you entered; Alice raising an eyebrow and giving a farcical shrug, Richard saying something aside to the others.

You could hear Katja further in, barking orders in Mordentish and cursing heavily in Lamordian, which was a good language to be angry in. And she sounded angry. The majority of the noise was coming from her direction, so it was her direction you went. You met up with Cerise in one of the hallways to the columbarium, leading a small mob of mortuary clerks. "Bonsoir!" she cheerily greeted, flashing her snaggled grin. It seemed even Cerise was not impervious to exhaustion, though in her case, she seemed less tired and more like she'd drunk too much wine.

"Everyone has been really helpful!" she filled you in as she half-meandered, half-skipped down the hall. "Only it turns out Mme Chastel wasn't in the paperwork. They even called up the other morgue workers, no one recalls filing a thing for her. Suspicious, isn't it? Katja said it was just the morgue keeping sloppy records, but Paul told me the place has been really diligent about keeping things in order ever since the riots. He wasn't kidding, either, they had records on just about everything, even more so than usual. They're really concerned about doing the job right all of a sudden, you know? So I think there was some kind of mental aversion effect that wiped her right out of their minds." Cerise tapped her nose knowingly. "But then we had the bright idea that if we had the paperwork for everyone else, we just had to find the one urn without any paperwork! And we're lucky, people have been really good about getting their relatives back ever since the riots happened, so we only had to search through three thousand of them or so!"

The columbarium of Port-a-Lucine was an impressive place, servicing one of the largest cities in the Western Core. Not all in the city cremated their dead, the nobles especially not, but it was common enough practice among those who could not afford a grave for their loved ones. In the wake of the mass riots and the massive body tolls, the Council had ordered the unclaimed remains burned, to prevent a plague from following the disaster. Though the decree had caused widespread resentment, and they had failed due to magical intervention, it had not been for lack of diligence. The walls were filled straight to the top with small alcoves, each one filled with a small urn.

And in this memorial to death was a crew as motley as yourselves, painstakingly pulling down urns and searching them one by one. There were the morgue workers, in their uniform, and a few stray gendarme, and some average citizens that had been pulled off the streets, or had come into the morgue on their own business and been caught up in the fervor. By the door sat Professor Lemercier, having long ago resigned from doing manual work himself, instead directing Favonius from his borrowed chair. Professor Petrik was stalking about and sniffing around the urns, clearly displeased. Katja was browbeating a group of cowed clerks, who were moving to cluster around a very tall ladder. And at the top of the ladder was a dark clad professor, reaching awkwardly out to try and grab a particular urn without dropping it, or himself, onto a very hard floor.

"Try hold the ladder steadier than a plague-ridden man on an angry camel, which I have personally been and did not shake this much," Andre Theroux commanded dryly as he wrapped the urn up in his coat, not touching it with his bare hands. Despite his complaints, he managed to get down without killing himself, turning towards the assembled workers. There seemed to be a collective intake of breath.

"Given the importance of this, I can't say not to double check," Andre began, holding up the urn, still wrapped in cloth. "But there are some benefits to being the head servitor of an oracle... I think this is what we're looking for."

"Andre!" Lia exclaims. "You're a welcome sight, to be sure." The Mage's eyes narrow a bit at the sight of the urn. "So. These might be Mademoiselle Chastel's last physical remains, hmm?" For a moment or two, Lia fixes an intense stare on the urn. "Unfortunately, Cerise," she says while staring at the urn, "I can think of other reasons why the urn of the Grim Demoiselle was not properly labeled."

(OOC: Arcana check of 22 to scan the urn for any funny auras and such. And I don't mean funny as in "Ha ha". )

Celeste weaved her way through the morgue with something approaching the appropriate amount of solemnity for the environment--having shown the capacity to do "respectful", if not "aware of legitimate danger".

"Splendid!" It was a hushed tone of voice, but still enthusiastic. "...What do we do with it?"

Agale raised an eyebrow at Theroux's pronouncement.

"Forgive me my ignorance professor, but I am curious to know your methodology in determining the proper ashes. How does one differentiate M. Chastel's remains from those of any other unfortunate victim of the riots?"

Mercator gives Andre a rather peculiar look at his self-description as "head servitor of an oracle", then shrugs slightly. "Well. Let us double check, then, shall we? And let us hope Professor Theroux has the right of it."

Just in case it matters, Mercator used a surge back when Nic was doing his healing song and another since, so he's at 61 hp and has used 7 surges (I think, could be fewer).

Tomas still looks like he's lost a fist fight with a rogue steamboat engine, but attempts to carry himself with some dignity besides. He tales a look at the urn, but isn't willing to risk the massive spiritual backlash of trying too hard in here.

"Really, it was kind of brilliant, finding the one urn without any paperwork." Tomas repeats Agalewards, knowing how it can get when Cerise gets going.

Spend a healing surge to be a little less fragile right now. Got a 19 on my insight roll.

0 Days, 22 Hours, 3 Minutes
Port-a-Lucine Morgue, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine, Early Morning on April 24th, 770
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Lia wrote:"Unfortunately, Cerise," she says while staring at the urn, "I can think of other reasons why the urn of the Grim Demoiselle was not properly labeled."

“You mean other than mental aversion effects? I suppose it might be a conspiracy out to hide the ashes of death from everyone so that someone could use her ashes in some terrifying necromantic ritual to resurrect---” Cerise trailed off at the moment. It was a sad day indeed when Cerise's conspiracy theories veered off into reality, and it seemed that Cerise realized this. It threw her off her stride, at any rate.

Andre wrote:"Forgive me my ignorance professor, but I am curious to know your methodology in determining the proper ashes. How does one differentiate M. Chastel's remains from those of any other unfortunate victim of the riots?"

“Professional secret, Mr. Agale. If I told you I'd have to sacrifice you under a full moon with a serrated blade and dribbly black candles.... I'm not sure how I'd sacrifice you with dribbly black candles, but it's probably possible... Also uncomfortable.” Andre said dryly. He placed the urn on the table, looking it over this way and that. The morgue went in for very utilitarian urns, constructs of brass with only some rather cursory stamping of angels and so on to differentiate them from waste bins or spittoons.

This one, however, did have a rather curious magical aura, as Lia observed. In matter of fact, it did not have an aura. This would be unexceptional, except that as it passed by Andre's various arcane gewgaws, it doused their auras. This made it rather exceptional.

“...Curious effect, don't you think?” Andre said, making a point not to get closer to the urn than he absolutely had to.

Celeste wrote:"Splendid!" It was a hushed tone of voice, but still enthusiastic. "...What do we do with it?"

“Good question!... I have absolutely no idea why you want this thing to begin with.” Andre said, taking a pencil from his pocket and poking the urn with it in a rather dubious fashion. “Someone fill me in? Also, I have a present for you.... It is a box.”

"It could also be a twisted form of respect," Lia replies to Cerise. "Making sure that no mere mortal knows where the Grim Demoiselle mortal remains rest. I..."

Lia flinches back when she realizes the nature of the ashes' non-aura. "Anti-magic properties," she says in a grim tone of voice, "at the very least. If the power in these ashes is very strong, then its emanation may be inimical to more than just magic. Transporting them should be done with the utmost care." A small, not entirely kind smile twists the Mage's lips. "But it would seem that some trace of Chastel lingers here. That can be useful."

"A box." Tomas notes, crossing his arms and trying to pretend that he follows any of this high concept arcane science nonsense. "I realize this is a dangerous thing to ask, but could you maybe go into a smidgen more detail?"

"Everything dies...maybe that includes magic?" Kerrian suggested, relieved to see Cerise and the other housemates safe, but now quite perplexed by the mystery of the nature of the urn. "And...this box? Does it contain something? Or is it the sort of box we need to put something in?" It was a rather odd question, but considering that they had just hijacked a ghost train, aided in wrangling the last breath of a dead conceptual entity, and disembarked from the train without the customary grace of a station a bit of oddity could perhaps be excused.

Mercator sighs and rubs at the bridge of his nose. For some reason this very human gesture suddenly makes it obvious that he is only part-human, and much older than the rest of the group. "Thank you for your assistance, Professor Theroux. And all," he says, nodding vaguely to the mass of people who have been laboring at identifying the urn. "We must take this and the other...impedimenta...back to Mlle. Inkeri. We probably should do it now, in fact. We have less than twenty-four hours remaining. What's this about a box, Professor?"