The Shattered City: First Interlude

[NeoTiamat]

Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 9:39 PM
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The walk home only proved your worst fears. Every street held quarreling crowds at best, barricades and riflemen at worst. The slightest provocation seemed to spark a block-wide argument, and the smoldering remnants of quickly doused fires proved testament to this having occurred more than once. Everyone, rich and poor, old and young, native and foreign, seemed to have come out of the woodwork to contribute to the chaos. The merchant's quartier had become a bizarre sight, with half the stores suddenly reopened and trying to beckon you in for business; one street looked like a river of blood until you realized it had been a giant tomato fight. The skies above the Hazlani district were alight with magical fireworks, speaking of either trouble or celebration below.

People of all sorts came to help you through the madness that had descended on Port-a-Lucine. A half-deaf old gentleman gestured at you from his second story window, warning you about danger down in the streets; one woman ran through gunfire to help get you past the makeshift barricades in the streets; a youthful street urchin led you through back alley short cuts; a merchant offered you shelter in his cellar, and a hiding spot from any militants that were out for blood. Somehow, at some point, you managed to make it back home.

The Chateau Malchance was still intact, the area around it relatively quiet. Perhaps it was its position on the edge of town, or perhaps its reputation, or perhaps something more mystical althogether. But it was still intact, your logings safe, for the moment. The lights were all out, and without most of its occupants, the Chateau suddenly felt much larger and darker than it had in the morning.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Just before the party enters the Château's grounds, a small black form drops out of the troubled sky, whirrs around everyone's heads in a blur of speed, then attaches itself to Lia's mask. And crawls inside.

Lia pauses for a brief moment, then removes the mask. Her veil is still in place, her snow-white hair flowing down over her shoulders like milk. The little creature hanging onto that hair and starting to crawl under the veil is a mixture of the dark of the veil and the paleness of the hair: a tiny little bat, its body basically dark, but its back streaked with silver from age.

"Yes, yes, my brave one," Lia coos, stroking the bat with one finger before it disappears under the veil, into the hair. "The city is in shambles," the Wizard says, her voice quiet. "My friend tells me his kindred are disturbed. He has been disturbed. When we get back to the Château ... I would like to set up barricades of a sort. I can raise magical circles to hold out people, but they would not cover the whole area."

[DocBeard]

'More things to set on fire.' is Tomas's first instinct; as nice as barricades are, the people of Port-a-Lucine have already shown a dangerous disregard for keeping their own city from burning to a cinder. The seaside climate was probably...

Tomas looks at Lia; he doesn't expect the others, being amateurs in this sort of thing at best, to willingly get involved, but he can, he figures, count on Lia to at least give her professional opinion on things. "I need to find that sword." Eisenwald finally confides, sticking his hands in his pockets. "That's the only real correlation. Things shouldn't be this bad, even with the tension of the past few years; something's manipulating the character of the city."

This is said lowly, in that 'talking about the weather while walking home' tone popular among people looking not to get mugged, but Tomas is more worried about spies or scrying spells than his flatmates-if they're listening, they can hear.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"No, Tomas," Lia replies, a hint of sadness in her voice. "We need to find all of them. If the desecration of one can cause this madness, then what if the rest are also ... tainted?"

[yalenusveler]

"Really bad things." Kerrian said, seeming half distracted. "At the Chapel, the spirit of the place seemed..nice. But there was something there, something dark and angry. It didn't belong, it SHOULDN'T have been there." Kerrian said the last part with the same vehemence and anger one usually reserved for matters of grand import.

"We have three items missing that are really really historically important to Dementlieu. By magically attacking them, or ritually using them...it's not just manipulating the character of the city...it's the soul." Kerrian shuddered, as if a thought just struck him that he rather much wished had instead struck three feet to his left.

"We know what's going on here...what about elsewhere? Forget the city..what if things like this happened everywhere?" It was not a particularly comforting thought by any stretch of the imagination.

"And...why steal the dolls?" Another query, though most certianly one of those ones that was meant to distract from the gravitas of prior inquiries, though most likely raised distressing questions on its own.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Some spellcasters can tease information from the inanimate," Lia says, shrugging. "And if ... if the curator was their 'death', it is my thought that they might have been ... bone china. As in, pieces of bone from her victims. Teasing information from the body memory of the dead is also an option.

And then there is the very distant option that the bloody guard actually did as I asked and packed everything in the room up."

[NeoTiamat]

Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 9:39 PM
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'More things to set on fire.' is Tomas's first instinct; as nice as barricades are, the people of Port-a-Lucine have already shown a dangerous disregard for keeping their own city from burning to a cinder.

Katja tromped into the house with little fanfare, secured the door firmly shut behind her, and chucked her pink mask onto an end table. "Does anyone have a room window facing the city? It will do as a sniper's nest," she said, businesslike.

"I do..." Cerise said, grinning uneasily as she held up her key. "Here, I'll let you in. I should fetch Malky anyway. It'll be like a girl's slumber party! Only with weapons... please don't shoot any of our professors or Thierri, okay? I mean, they should be back, soon..." There was a slight uplifting of voice at the end of that, which made it sound like a question rather than a statement. The two girls headed upstairs, leaving the floor below even emptier.

"I need to find that sword." Eisenwald finally confides, sticking his hands in his pockets. "That's the only real correlation. Things shouldn't be this bad, even with the tension of the past few years; something's manipulating the character of the city."

"I can attest to that," the somewhat singed gendarme Captain, Cedolin, affirmed as he came to join you all. He had been doing his best to follow Eisenwald, and seemed to have done a decent job of it; fortunately, Katja didn't shoot him. He was halfway into the chateau before he realized how presumptuous he was being, and halfway out before he decided leaving wouldn't do him any good. He was clearly very aggravated, running a hand through his patchy black hair. "Pardon the intrusion," he began, "though as a duly appointed member of the gendarme, I have eve-" Cedolin clapped a hand over his mouth, cutting off the rest of that thought.

"It would be of great help to the gendarme if you could report exactly what you saw, and your apparent theories on it," Cedolin tried again. "I realize I am not acting very reliable at the moment, but I am afraid I may be the best we have."

"Which brings me to the other order of business I must confirm with you. I believe you are correct, monsieur, and that the people of Port-a-Lucine have been compromised, somehow. For fear of making this sound like an excuse, I also believe that I have been... compromised. You, however... I realize this may be a difficult question to answer, due to it's nature, but do you feel that anything is affecting your behavior or judgment? Have you felt any - compulsion is the only word I can use here to describe it - compulsion to act recklessly, beyond the scope of what this crisis would naturally cause?"

[Nathan of the FoS]

Before the question can be answered, the front door is slammed open, and then just as briskly slammed closed. Darius Isfahani appears in the hallway, looking positively frightful. His red-and-gray robes are now red-brown with drying blood past his knees, his left hand is caked in the same half-liquid and his sword (no blood there) is in his right. Something about the texture and color of the mud he tracks across the entry hall hints that that, too, has a sanguinary component. He has lost his dark glasses, and his bloodshot grey eyes peer from a death-pale face; his tattoos seem much darker than they did this afternoon against his scalp.

"Mytteri," he croaks. "Broder..."

Realizing that there are more people here than just his twin, he stops and visibly recalibrates what he is going to say. "Officer," he says, performing a salute with the drawn sword to the captain of gendarmes, "I must report a mass murder performed by a supernatural entity in..."

Coming to a confused halt, he says, "I don't know the street." After a long pause, he continues, "I'm not even sure I can find it again." Smiling in a way that makes the panther on his scalp seem to snarl, he says, "I am afraid it will be quite unmistakable when found, however."

[DocBeard]

To his credit, Tomas manages to keep a straight face when he says, "Captain, I'm sure I have no idea what you are talking about. Everyone who knows me will tell you I am being the model of restraint and caution."

"...and its fine." Tomas says, much more compassionately. He's hung his coat up and comes out of the kitchen with a pair of wet cloths; he sticks one on Darius's head, and hands the other to Celodin. "I understand how it is, Captain. -both of you, let those sit for a second before using them, and then let me know if you have any cuts or scrapes that look pink after cleaning."

"Big one?" Tomas asks Darius, not unkindly, as he judges quickly if anyone else could use a compress.

[The Whistler]

"Here, I'll let you in. I should fetch Malky anyway. It'll be like a girl's slumber party! Only with weapons...”

“Oh, how novel!” Apparently, you had Celeste at “sleepover”. “What a delightfully outré commingling of the sober and the diverting! I fear it untoward merely to ask, but would you mind horribly if I accompanied you, if perhaps only for a few hours? It would be a distinct comfort to spend a portion of the night with spirits bolstered by friendship…not to mention a unique education to observe the doughty Mlle. Zweibach at her work. Only say the word, and I shall instruct Favonious to prepare us a late restorative tea service—herbal, so as not to agitate the system.”

Have you felt any - compulsion is the only word I can use here to describe it - compulsion to act recklessly, beyond the scope of what this crisis would naturally cause?"

“A most intriguing question, Capt. Cedolin!” Celeste was content to skip over the whole “summarize the traumatic events of the night” topic, but she seemed to be thinking quite hard about this latter bit, to the point of mumbling a few sentences under her breath. “But how would one identify…Implications of…”

She looked up at the gendarme, a bit bemused. “Most intriguing. Kind Captain, I daresay I should be ill-equipped to respond accurately, were I so compelled…but no, in absence of any contrary evidence, I am pleased to report that I have no such impression. Why, I find myself no less well-disposed towards society than I felt at this time yesterday! Perhaps still more so, given the deep sympathies that this night’s trials have naturally engendered…”

...It was at this point that Darius wandered in. Celeste's deep sympathies were duly re-engendered.

"...Oh! Oh, M. Isfahani...oh, please unburden to us the nature of this new atrocity!"

[Nerit]

Nerit might have been surprised by Darius' dramatic entrance were it not for Celeste's immediate--and prolonged-- response. Was that a subtle twitch of the lower eyelid? Perhaps a slight downward twist of the mouth. No, the nun was merely exhausted!

"Are you hurt." Nerit might have meant this as a question, but it came out as more of a curt croak to Darius.

Mass hysteria, mass murder. It should be enough to make anyone want to run into a convent for cover.

[Cronax]

Eclipsed by the hulking form of a charbroiled Richmuloise youth with yet a third man slung over his shoulder, Mr. Agale took this moment to slide the rear doors open and sidle inside. After a brief moment inspecting the available furniture, he gestured to an empty couch and said softly to Cristophe "Anywhere will do." to which with third man, as yet still unconscious was unceremoniously and slightly maliciously dropped. Scanning the room, Agale's eyes stopped when they fell upon Cedolin.

"Captain." Agale began carefully. "As a responsible civic minded individual, I submit to your authority one of the perpetrators of the evening's excitements. Taking into consideration the state of the city at this time and the distance to a suitable holding facility, might I suggest retaining him in my custody until the situation can be rectified?" he left aside the fact that to get here from the gallery would entail passing by several gendarme stations on the way.

[Nathan of the FoS]

It is a measure of how overwrought Darius is that he takes having a damp towel slapped on his head with equanimity--in fact, he hardly seems to notice. "Yes. It was big," he says. "It was...very big. It jumped...fifty feet? Across the cul-de-sac. From one roof to another." Absently wiping his hands on the towel and leaving it smeared with rust-red stains, he repeats, "It was...very big. And there were so many of them. The blood was up to my ankles. I tripped..."

He shivers. "I need to change my clothes," he mutters to no-particular, plucking at his robe, now stiffening. "I'm...not hurt, no, just...I need to change my clothes."

Turning away, he goes up the stairs, bloodied towel dangling from one hand and sword still drawn in the other.

[yalenusveler]

Kerrian had thought home would be a bastion of normalcy. Apparently, he had forgotten the particular nature of his residence, or his housemates. Being confronted with Darius, who obviously wasn't in quite a good frame of mind, as well as apparently some rather injured instigators of violence was enough to raise just about anyone's stress level.

"I've..got a theory" Kerrian finally said, trying to find a place to sit down and calm down. "Everyone at the Gallery seemed mostly alright...what differentiated the guests from just about everyone else?" Kerrian tapped his Green Man mask.

"With the culprit being present, there would have to be a way to exclude them from the effect..and going by mask would probably be the easiest way...sure it excludes every guest, but with the rest of the city going insane, a small loss." Kerrian then frowned.

"Of course, I have no safe way to see if I'm right, and even then...we have no idea if this is going to be some ongoing thing, or if it's simply a matter of a single event that fades..."

[DocBeard]

Looking more barkeep than barrister, Eisenwald smiles a little at Celeste's overcompensation and Nerit's exhaustion. Conversely, Tomas seems the most...normal he's been in a while. "Why don't you take a seat, sister? I'm frying up a quick supper, best thing after a slightly traumatic experience." Tomas does not mention weather he is referring to the fire or Celeste's summary of the past few hours, and indeed a faint sizzling can be heard in the background, if you listen.

When Agale enters, he gets a nod; Tomas knows a professional when he sees one, even if Agale's obviously used to more courteous forms of chaos, and figures if he needs something he'll ask. "We've got some rope in the broom closet." Tomas instead says to one of the Reiners, "Might want to gag him in case he's trained to bite his tongue, too. This guy I knew who claimed to be Kar..." Tomas pauses, shakes his head, and pats the big kid's shoulder. "I turned der heater on when I got in, so there should be hot water in a few minutes."

He was going to say this to Darius first, but, well. "Okay then!" Tomas calls after him, waving a little. "...sounds like a slaad. Or a bullywug." Tomas taps his chin, and completely unasked, starts to explain. "The former is a demonic spirit shaped like a frog-man; it feeds off of psychic trauma, so they'd be drawn to the war zone. The specimen, see, will reproduce when its bodily humors are ruptured by physical lacerations, releasing thousands of parasitic eggs that attach to a living target unfortunate enough to have an open wound. Someone should check young Darius for egg marks, as the incubation and birthing process of slaad eggs is...uniquely traumatic."

Tomas blinks, and runs to the kitchen to check on his sausages, half listening to Kerrian's theory. He sticks his head back out and offers, "My loaner mask got broken." forcing himself to be cheerful for lack of other options.