The Unsettled House

[Rock of the Fraternity]

The place:

A Mortigny night in summer could be quite pleasant. The proximity of the river Musarde kept the temperature down, and in some areas of the city there were private gardens to scent the night breeze with the perfume of flowers. Yes, a Mortigny night could be quite pleasant. Surely once, they must have been pleasant here, at l'Avenue de Giacome, where la Maison Dulaponte stood, the 'ancestral home' of the noble Dulapont family.

The time:

Evening was drawing closer, but not yet here. The sun was a fiery ball on the horizon -- but that, you could no longer see. The great architecture of Mortigny stood between you and the horizon, and shadows stretched long before them. The last rays of sunlight might reflect in the windows of the highest buildings, but their radiance was lost to the winding streets you tread.

The scene:

Night was falling across Mortigny, and as its shadows caressed l'Avenue de Giacome and the river Musarde it stretched along, they teased a light summer's fog from both cobbles and water. As temperatures abruptly sank from sultry summer to chill night, the first tentative wisps of fog merged and swelled, becoming a river of white to shroud the river of black that the Musarde became after sundown. Beneath the fog, the water splashed and gurgled -- and perhaps things unseen frolicked in the water, confident in their ability to remain unseen.

The fog was slowly rising, its first haze already creeping across the cobbles, up the walls of la Maison Dulaponte. In the growing darkness and the fog, the old house looked less than its best. Gone were the flower boxes of old, which had graced the night with scent from their position under the windows. There were wooden covers over those windows now, the paintwork faded. The masonry of the noble house was still strong, but it was obvious that there had been some clumsy attempts at repair work, where time and the elements had worried at stone and mortar. The door had been freshly painted, true ...

Over the door, it was possible to pick out the family's motto, once spelled out in gleaming gold. Well, gold paint over letters of stout iron. The gold was flaking off now, revealing rust, and turning the family slogan into words of gold and dried blood:

'Toute fortûne est bienvenue.'

[Baron Zamedi]

As night falls and the mists rise in l'Avenue de Giacome, a set of light steps can be heard approaching the manor's door.

"Lovely night, reminds me of home."- Says Paul as he adjusts a glove to fit more tightly in his hand. -"Well, this seems to be the house, if the butler's directions are to be trusted. Some hole really."-

'Toute fortûne est bienvenue.'

"'All fortunes are welcomed' huh? We'll see what can be done."- Says the monk upon reading the message on the door. With out furder ado Paul Bentley gives a vigorous knock on the door and waits for a response.

[InVinoVeritas]

The heavy plod of a donkey cart can be heard. Clattering across the cobblestones, the vehicle approached the house.

Its appearance was even louder than its report--covered in blues and reds, the cart was emblazoned in strange signs and charms in many languages. The donkey pulling it was also decked out in an odd striped headdress and sand-colored blanket, over which many stylized pictures were drawn in indigo. The driver himself was also bizarrely attired, in a loose-fitting blue satin tunic and pantaloons, held down by a diaphanous purple cummerbund, and a large mustard-yellow turban, held in place by a large red stone and peacock feather.

Coming to a stop, the donkey brayed in disapproval.

The driver responded, his long waxed mustache wavering as he said, "Yes, Ramses, I understand. It's a haunted place, it's not going to have a pleasant aura. These people, the Dulaponts, have asked for our help. And we shall help them!"

Hopping from his seat, he approaches Paul. "You there, good fellow, are you here to assist the Dulaponts as well?"

[Baron Zamedi]

Paul cast's a mildly shocked glance at the cart, the beast that pulls it and to it's driver -'Weird fellow'- thinks the monk to himself as he moves his hand forward to shake the new arrival's.

"Name's Paul, Paul Bentley, indeed I've come to help the Dulaponts... And you sir, are?"

Coming closer one could notice that the Zherisian too was dressed in a rather 'uncommon' fashion, a loose, spotless white tunic and pants secured with an also white sash. Over these a gray tabard with the embroidered symbol of a human figure (perfectly correct, anatomically speaking) in bright red contained within a yellow square at the same time surrounded by a blue circle. This same arrangement hanged from his neck in the form of a holly symbol.

The man himself has a pretty notorious look too, although not as exotic as Ranjan's the celebrant of mankind's face is very sharp and angular and his blue eyes very penetrating and look in an almost predatory way, all of this is framed by the light brown strands of hair that have loosened from the pony tail the young man wear's.

"I think we are in for a very interesting evening, don't you agree?"- Says Paul looking directly at the old house.

[The Giamarga]

Somewhere on the road from Ste. Ronges to Mortigny

"Sacrebleu!" thought Francois Dulapont as he kicked his horse to a trot, "I knew i should have started earlier. Last Breath indeed, I should have left that sorry excuse for an inn earlier. Now I'm going to be late to the family réunion. Oh well, they'll have to wait a while longer. " He had planned to stay a day or two in St Ronges on his way to Mortigny, but he hadn't planned to be so utterly fascinated by the run-down alleys of the walled city. It was a sight to be sure. After three days of sight-seeing, carousing, drinking and gambling he had started to late to reach Mortigny before sundown. At least he had met some interesting people there who shared his way.*** Thus he was only mildly concerned to be out and about after sunlight, there was after all strength in numbers. Gripping the ornate basket hilt of his grandfather's rapier he felt a surge of courage, "Let them come, les légions de la nuit. J'suis prét."

But he could already make out the city in the distance, as the road bent towards it in a long curve. It appeared so sit square in the middle on the Musarde. "Finalement" he thought, wearily. His thoughts turned to his impending visit. His mother had sent him off with a comment along the lines of "It has come to our ears that our relatives in Mortigny have some problems. Mon fils, please go visit them and see what those backwater folk have come to now." Strange to meet the estranged part of the family after such a long time. He racked his brain for the things he knew about the Mortigny Dulaponts.


[OOC:*** Igor: ...perhaps das Fräulein Schreivogel?
Also some skill checks for more details: Know nobility: 21, know local: 24, know history 7 (a natural 1 ).]

[Marcon]

"As is often the case, there is nothing worse than an appointment too close to home", Samuel thought. Every time he had to investigate a ghost story in another city, he always made it a point of honor to get there right on time. Nothing like a première impression.

But with the Dulapont manor being just a few blocks down the Avenue de Giacome, Samuel lost that sense of emergency and realized he was an hour late. This probably had something to do with him trying to remind the cologne that seemed to have the biggest impact on Heloise. The young maid cooperation would be a valuable asset once inside the place as the family members may all have something to hide or even be behind those weird noises and supposed haunting.

Wondering if old Chalmers had any luck finding other mercenaries, Samuel finally left his parents' home, not before warning them he may not be able to help at the market tomorrow morning.

"Ghosts, or pranksters for that matter, usually come out at night. I may be too tired to handle the vegetables stand. Courges et patates can wait, I guess."

[InVinoVeritas]

The mustachioed oddity grinned broadly at Paul, eyes atwinkle. "I am the Great Swami Ranjan. My skills in mysticism led me to this place. I agree, we are in for an interesting night!"

Ranjan looks back at his cart, then at Paul again. "Would you be so kind as to give me a hand with my chest? It contains many of the esoteric secrets that allow me to contact the spirit world. We will undoubtedly need it tonight."

[Baron Zamedi]

"But off course, let's see to it."- Says the zherisian making his way towards the back of the cart and grabbing the chest in question.

"So, Ranjan (may I call you Ranjan? The 'great swami' part is a little long), what do you think is really happening inside this house?"- asks Paul with suspicion in his voice.

Upon getting back to the door Paul knocks on it a few more times. “Just in case they didn’t hear me the first time.” He says raising his shoulders.

[Igor the Henchman]

*** Igor: ...perhaps das Fräulein Schreivogel?

[OOC: Das Gute Fräulein could hardly catch up with Francois' mount, I'm afraid. But I'll let her jump into the story right about here. I'm assuming Francois is let into the city without incident]

At passing the gate into the eerie labyrinthine streets of urban Richemulot, Francois's horse slows down and neighs nervously. From a shadowy alley come the sound of metal-set boots resonating heavily on cobblestone. Suddenly, an imposing, broad figure emerges into the light of the street-lantern. The stranger seems to be deliberately hiding his face, one hand holding his heavy hood firmly down. With a heavy, brutal accent, the newcomer's voice inquires:

"You there. Tell me. Where can I find the house of family Dulapont?"

Did it sound like... a woman's voice? Francois' horse feels unrestful, as though it wanted permission to turn away from the hooded character.

[The Giamarga]

Yikes, Francois thinks, this must be what an ogre looks like. Even Gaspar, his trusty mount, seemed to be wary of passing that giant of a ...could it really be a woman? Halting and calming his horse with one hand and unconsiously touching the hilt of his sword, he looked closer. Yes, definately, and by Ezra, she was taller and broader than any man he had seen.

"Bonjour Madame, what business, if I may ask, might a fine young lady like you have with the Dulaponts on this lovely evening? Your accent sounds a tiny bit Falkonian, nicht wahr? What brings you to the beautiful Mortigny?" he chatters warily.

[Igor the Henchman]

Francois' remark on the accent seems to have struck a chord with the stranger. Composing herself to seem even taller and upping her chin she throws back:

"Good guess - I come indeed from fair Falkovnia, Richemuloise - here Francois notes the woman's hand slipping to the hilt of a huge sword dangling at her side, as though daring him to elaborate on the subject - And the Dulaponts? It is they who are looking for me. They say they've had a bit of trouble - I'm good at making trouble go away."

[The Giamarga]

I bet you are!, Francois mumbles to himself, eyebrows rising, as he slowy, carefully raises the hand from the pommel. And then louder he says: "Now now, mein Fräulein, you'll certainly find no trouble from me. " , while trying to look as friendly and benevolent as he could. Wait, what was that bit about trouble she had said ?

"Madame, you say the Dulaponts have a bit of trouble. Might I inquire what kind of trouble that would be, exactly? I am a friend of the family so to speak and certainly any trouble that concerns them should concern me too."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

At Dulapont Manor:

The doors of the manor house suddenly start to make an alarming, creaking noise. One of the door panels slowly opens before a push. A rectangle of bright light spills out onto the cobbles and turns the haze of mist into an impenetrable cloud where the two mingle.

Framed in the doorway is a thin figure, its features invisible with the light at its back, its limbs and back crooked. The tails of a long coat hang down behind it, flapping a little in the night breeze. And the very sharp, very straight line of a musket points out in front of it.

"What's this, then?" a wheezing, elderly voice asks. "Who's this banging on the door at this hour, when all Ezra-fearing folks should be abed and behind closed and locked doors? Speak up, eh?"

[Baron Zamedi]

"Well this is not the warmest of welcomes."- Says Paul tensing a little, most likely from having a musket aimed at his face.

"Pleas good man calm down, my name is Paul Bentley and this fellow right here goes by the name of Ranjan. We are here to help with your, shall we say problem."


OOC: Diplomacy check : 17 to try and make this guy lower the rifle.

[InVinoVeritas]

Ranjan straightens himself and adds, "We were to ask for a man named Chalmers?"

OOC: 1d20+2=17 to assist the Diplomacy roll.