The Shattered City: First Interlude

[NeoTiamat]

Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 10:07 PM
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"Professor." Tomas tries again, "I think you've been effected by whatever's driven the city mad. While some people are subject to their baser impulses, others are pushed to nobility-often dangerously so. Is going out in...that really going to help anyone?"

Charles Devereux turned a violet, unblinking stare onto Eisenwald. "You're not someone to say that... to me, Tomas," he said very softly. "Our... friends are out there."

Devereux was normally a man somewhat reminiscent of a small fuzzy rodent, or a comical stork, but at the moment he resembled more a coiled serpent, sitting in a crevice - not currently aggressive, but capable of becoming so in a very fast amount of time.

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"Aperio!"

The door of the Chateau, which had been closed after Devereux's arrival, slammed open now, borne open by a thrust of arcane power. The hinges rattled, and a nearby statue shifted a centimeter or so on its base. Framed in the doorway was the massive bulk of Professor Evariste Lemercier, his dinner jacket torn, mask lost, and his nose bleeding profusely, staining his shirt bloody. Normally, it was easy to dismiss Lemercier as old, genial, and decidedly pear-shaped, but his grim air now reminded one of another fact, that the old man was also a very large man. And other aspects were less apparent, but the penumbra of chilling shadows that swirled around Lemercier as he crossed the threshold was mute testament to the dangers of an angry mage.

He was followed closely by Prof. Seiglinde Petrik. Her mask was still on, and possibly miraculously, she was still in the high heels to which she had ventured to the Gallery. She surveyed the room for a moment, then looked curtly at Devereux. "Trouble may have followed us, or it may come on its own," she sniffed. "This house must be better secured."

"You're... hurt." Devereux said painfully, highly distressed. He began looking for anything to help, although medical care from Devereux would likely be more lethal than the injury itself.

Visibly, Lemercier subdued the flickering aura around him and bestowed one of his broad, beaming smiles on Devereux, though it was missing the rotund old man's usual joie de vivre. "I cannot argue with that, my good landlord, but I believe I am capable of managing it on my own," he said, waving off both Charles and Favonius, which had floated out of the kitchen and was trying to offer a damp cloth. "Very good of you, Favonius, but I have a more important task for you and your compatriots. Evoco prodigium." Lemercier snapped his fingers.

There was a deep rumbling from the foundation of the chateau, issuing forth from the elderly professor's room and moving under your feet, towards the door. Accompanying this was a rather loud sloshing from around the baths, as if all the water had run out into the floorboards and was now making its way through the basement. The twin trails of sound led their way over to the door and, after a worrying amount of noise, stopped.

"Now we are secure inside, and any assailants secured out. Favonius can remain outside as our doorman, to ensure our errant friends may enter our abode safely." Lemercier sighed, for a moment looking very tired and very old. "Now then, let us hope this wretched night has no more foul surprises for us. My illustrious Seiglinde, if I may propose a brief wash-up and change of clothing, as I do believe my shirt is ruined."

"It still serves its purpose," Petrik replied, pragmatically.

"So it does, but I believe both I and our new housemates would feel better if I were out of it," Lemercier said, with a tired smile.

Perception: DC 22

[The Whistler]

“What a lovely room! Mlle. Rondelet, I must commend you on your sense of decoration—perhaps selfishly, it being so much of a piece with my own.” She smiled winsomely at Cerise; this was apparently quite a sincere complement. “I always find myself all the more at peace when cocooned amongst those artifacts I most treasure…a Spartan* aesthetic may be well-suited to the gallery or the reception-hall, but the home invites a different standard altogether! Hello, M. Grimalken…” Celeste gave the cat a few affectionate pats on the head, then sat down on the nearest chair and proceeded to eat her muffin.

…It was unclear exactly where Celeste had acquired the china saucer, silver butter knife and pastry fork. Perhaps she had requisitioned them from the Chateau’s kitchen before coming upstairs. On the other hand, it was entirely possible that she kept an extra set in her handbag, on the off chance that it would become unexpectedly necessary for her to eat a muffin. After all, it never hurts to plan ahead.

”Hey, did you happen to know where Thierri got off to?" Cerise asked as she lit a stick of incense, trying to clear the smell. "I lost track of him in the gallery, I think you and I were the last to see him."

“Oh my…on reflection, I am afraid that I do not!” Celeste looked somewhat pained at the realization. “Tonight’s various excitements had entirely diverted my attention…though that should not have absolved me from my role as his escort to the Masque! I must apologize to him upon his return…he was quite the gentleman.”

She looked a bit nervously out the window. “One cannot help but think him equal to the City’s current unpleasantness, no? I am sure that he will rejoin us presently.” Her tone was not half as confident as she would have liked it to sound.

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* "Spartan" is only the rough equivalent of the Mordentish word used, which refers for its part to the ancient society predating modern Falkovnia.

[DocBeard]

Tomas's own hawkish features recoil a little at Devereux's sudden chill; though it is important to remember that some breeds of raptor consider even the most venomous cobra a staple of any healthy diet.

His voice, however, is strained, as though holding back a reserve of pain that the younger Eisenwald simply did not posses, "If I have to explain to that family of yours why their father's dead in some alley..."

Thank goodness for the half-dead wizards, Tomas thought to himself, stowing his suspicion of Petrik for a later conversation. "Not everyone is back, yet, Professors." Tomas says instead of finishing his sentence, "I've made a little supper, to help with the shock. I am not an arcanist, but if there is any...subtle way any of you could help confirm the status of those missing, it would save a great deal of trouble. If not..."

Another look at Devereux, "I'll go with young Christophe. There's less of me to miss. Excuse me, I need to get an old friend of mine." And with that, Tomas is walking up the stairs.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Charles," Lia says, approaching the professor again. "I think you could be more helpful to our as yet unaccounted-for friends here. This house is safe for now, but we need to make sure it becomes safer. You know this place best of all. You can tell us where its weak spots are, the windows that don't close right, the back entrances we haven't found out about yet. Trust Tomas to find the people still out there, Charles. Help me prepare this place so they have somewhere to take shelter."

[Cronax]

“…He does not look overly black-hearted…but then, I suppose, one cannot expect a true Rapscallion to conform to one’s expectations.” Drawing herself up to her full height, she met the sniper’s eyes, taking a few moments to compose herself.

"If my estimations prove accurate madam, he will turn out to be nothing but a pawn. I would not be surprised if he were not in control of his own actions." Mr. Agale replied. Clearing his throat, he glanced in Cristophe's direction. "Not that that is an acceptable excuse from responsibility for what he has done." the lawyer added.

* * *

"As we have not yet ascertained the precise nature of the mental malady plaguing the populace, I propose we take extra precautions. We cannot be certain that our own seeming immunity will persist. I would strongly counsel everyone to lock their doors while sleeping and remain in groups of at least three at all times while not doing so. Furthermore, our pantry here, while by no means meager is finite and we have no way of knowing how long this situation may persist. We'll be all right in that respect, but we should make plans to acquire more provisions on the morrow." Agale said.

Perception check of 7...

[Isabella]

Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 10:07 PM
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"We'll be all right in that respect, but we should make plans to acquire more provisions on the morrow." Agale said.

"Tomorrow," Professor Petrik confirmed. She sniffed, semi-disapprovingly. "The Old Man will send out his pets. The young woman has started a garden. We live near the city edge. There is game in the forest."

"I am not an arcanist, but if there is any...subtle way any of you could help confirm the status of those missing, it would save a great deal of trouble. If not..."

"Certainly, my young man," Lemercier said, with an attempt at his normal paternal smile. "I shall send Favonius out to scout the city. His corpus being composed of smoke, a substance which we unfortunately have in abundance, he will be able to move without drawing any undue attention to himself. He is exceptionally swift, and the barricades that would hinder those of us with more substantive bodies are no obstacle to him. We will have to make do without a doorman in his absence, but in such times, we all must make do."

"If I have to explain to that family of yours why their father's dead in some alley..."

...

"There's less of me to miss."

"And who's going to explain it to me the day you... finally fall, Tomas?" Devereux snapped, jabbing a finger at the bullet-holes in Eisenwald's coat. It wasn't a very intimidating yell, or even terribly loud, except for the fact it seemed so wrong coming from Charles. "Or will you even have the decency to die where they can find you, instead of just... vanishing like Carter did?"

The second the words left his lips, Devereux turned dead pale, his expression stricken. He started like he was going to say something, but emotion was choking him. Petrik, wordlessly, walked over and shoved Devereux into a chair. Charles slumped down into it, looking up at Tomas and Lia with baleful eyes.

"Fine," he croaked, utterly wretched. "Fine. Go to your death in my place... if that's what you want. The house will be secure for you... if you come back."

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She looked a bit nervously out the window. “One cannot help but think him equal to the City’s current unpleasantness, no? I am sure that he will rejoin us presently.” Her tone was not half as confident as she would have liked it to sound.

"A gentleman?" Cerise even managed a small laugh. "I bet he's never been called that before. You're right, he should be back before we know it. I mean, magicians do this sort of stuff all the time, right? Escaping burning buildings and crazy mobs with guns is probably tame for him, right?" Cerise's grin didn't quite seem as wide as it usually was. She picked up a squat wooden doll, painted to look like an ugly red man with blank eyes, and began rolling it in her hands.

"Rats always escape a sinking ship," Katja agreed, in a manner that even Celeste might be able to tell was not terribly complementary. She shifted herself into a more comfortable position on the bed, stretching her calves for a bit.

"We should set up shifts for sleeping in the morning," the soldier said. "We should consider rationing our food in case something unexpected happens."

[DocBeard]

The second the words left his lips, Devereux turned dead pale, his expression stricken. He started like he was going to say something, but emotion was choking him. Petrik, wordlessly, walked over and shoved Devereux into a chair. Charles slumped down into it, looking up at Tomas and Lia with baleful eyes.

To say that Tomas was pale was to say that the ice around Ivana Boristi's heart was uncomfortably chilly. He might be mistaken for the walking dead by a more superstitious crowd, breathing shallowly through his nose, hands squeezed into fists, eyes tight with a ruined palette of emotions. A lot of thoughts rage in Eisenwald's head, and a great many hurtful things almost leave his lips: there is nothing like a friend for producing a verbal knife in the gut, after all.

But that persistent, annoying voice keeps insisting that Charles is not himself, is not responsible for his actions, not entirely. And Tomas, for whatever reason, is. "If you want to go that badly." Tomas forces out instead, "Be ready to move by the time I get down."

With that, Tomas turns with a snap worthy of a Falkovian color guard, marching up the stairs.

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Half a minute later, the ladies in the sniper's den cum girly sleepover parlor will hear a CRASH, as though one of the sturdy oak chairs outside had been quickly retooled into several makeshift vampire slaying devices courtesy of a few hundred pounds of muscle and a boot shod with iron. A deep voice growls words in guttural Lamordian that, assuming a relatively normal childhood, Katja's mother(or similar stern mentor figure) would threaten the attentions of Mordenheim's monster(or similar boogeyman) itself upon hearing.

Seconds later, a door slam heralds the end of the noise.

[yalenusveler]

"Things just don't make SENSE." Kerrian said, with a bit of an exasperated huff. He was still pacing, to the extent that one would think that he would wear a hole in the floor, but fortunately quickly shifted to just motion, occasionally picking up a bit of bric-a-brac and setting it down, turning it over in his hands, anything to keep busy.

"No clear motive. People are missing, or maybe out doing things to try and calm things down, who knows. I can set something up if we need provisions, by the by..as long as people don't mind it just being plants..." He said as an aside to Professor Petrik, before resuming his motion.

"Was her death important, or could it have been anyone? And why the dolls unless it was to creep people out, and Lia I don't think she was practicing the dark art or whatever it's called. Or at least I hope not."

It seemed rather like this sort of pattern would continue, till Devereux had his moment of verbal outburst. That was more than enough to shock Kerrian out of things, bringing his focus on to his landlord. For a moment, he looked about to say something, but having the feeling this might be a situation where an outsider's words might just make things worse, he quieted down, actually finding a chair to sit in again, and TRY to relax.

"Professor Lemercier, the Blackwoods will probably be near either a Halan or an Ezrite church. And...do you know any reason why there would be a water elemental at the Gallery?" Kerrian said, recalling something that hadn't seemed terribly important at the time, but suddenly..did.

And..sadly, it seemed rather like one of those moments where one realizes many things in rapid succession, each fighting for prominence in the mind. Up out of the relaxation chair, and over to Professor Petrik.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, concerned, even though the wolf mask was more than giving him a bit of the chills. "That looks like an awful lot of blood..."

[Nerit]

Nerit quickly finished her small plate of food Tomas had whipped up for them. She did this with the grace of a penetant monastic, or one tired enough to take efficient but not overenthusiastic bites.

The food did not settle well, and neither did she. She took to her usual haunt by any number of the windows (when not doing Lady knows what official business in her study). The location didn't assuage the restlessness, surely helped by the buzzing drama and commotion about the Chateau.

Tapping her mask in hand, Nerit offered Kerrian a shrewd gaze at the mention of the Blackwoods. They'd escaped her in the crowds, though she had tried to follow them. Troublesome duo!

She stepped toward the group. "I highly disapprove of leaving our housemates out in the darkness," she announced. "Of what means can we contact them? Otherwise I will have to search for them myself."

Awkward of manner and gone frizzy at the edges, Nerit nevertheless sounded formal and forward at the same time. She was clearly asking for any idea at all.

A shadow, here and there, seemed heavier than it ought to under her feet, but it was hard to tell with a full-length gown.


(Perception 28! Yeah, I didn't believe it either then I stared at if for awhile. Natural 20. EDIT: Which Kerrian already pointed out. I love this roller. So much *breaks teeth smiling*)

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Charles," Lia says in a quiet voice, "please. Tomas did not deserve that. Has it not occurred to you that we, too, would be highly upset by the notion of you being out in a dangerous situation without us there to watch your back? And will you not hear my suggestion? Together, we could make a fortress of this place, one where we can all be safe."

(OOC: Perception check: 12.)

[Kaitou Kage]

"Ah, what it says of people when they do not trust those they call friends to stand on their own two feet," Cyrus drawled as he came back downstairs. He had changed out of his green silk zarong in favor of a simple cotton gray one.

"So many people mistake lack of confidence for being concerned. It's quite pitiful, really." He adjusted his glasses and then ran a hand across his tattooed scalp. "Do you really think Professor Devereux is so weak that he cannot survive on his own? What a disservice you do him." To his credit, the Hazlani managed not to sneer.

Those that had gone upstairs before Cyrus came back down might've heard some shouting in Vaasi from the Isfahani room. There might have also been some loud crashes and thuds. And that might've been a little bit of bruising on Cyrus's torso. But given how healthy Cyrus was, it was nothing that wouldn't heal up in a few hours.

I swear by all that's holy I have rolled more 1's on checks in this game alone than I ever rolled in all of EoA together -_- If I roll another 1 I am seriously going to punch someone in the soul.

[DocBeard]

"Thanks, Cyrus." Oh snap, its Tomas Eisenwald! Only, he looks a lot less like a giant goofball, and more like an actual armored soldier; he's wearing a thick black breastplate and brass harness, heavy iron shield, and a professional's long sword tied to his hip. There's even a gleaming silver and porcelain amulet shaped like a dove sitting in defense of Eisenwald's neck, and it almost looks like the swordsman knows what he's doing. Or he can fake it well. "I'll keep that in mind the next time I need terrible advice."

Tomas looks to Lemercer, and nods. "If you could do your thing, it'd be a huge help." He can't say what he really thinks out loud, but instead shifts a rucksack and backpack on his back, and nods to Christophe. "We're leaving. If we're not back by dawn, I've found some place to hide for the night." The thought that he could be walking to his death seems not to have occurred to Tomas. He considers giving some kind of advice or pep talk, decides that it would be a waste of time and breath, and starts his way out the door.

[The Whistler]

A gentleman?" Cerise even managed a small laugh. "I bet he's never been called that before.

Celeste returned the laugh a bit more enthusiastically. “Oh, but come now, Mlle. Rondelet! One must make allowances for background. As one whose principal training is upon the stage, and whose aim need only be to act the Noble Chaperon to a receptive Audience—even if only for a night!—I should say that his gentlemanly duties were admirably fulfilled. Heaven knows, I shall certainly not soon forget this past night!” She cocked her head thoughtfully. “…Though, upon reflection, perhaps its memorable nature may be owed more chiefly to other events.” This brought Celeste’s train of thought back around to arson and citywide riots; she looked rather disappointed that it had.

"We should set up shifts for sleeping in the morning," the soldier said. "We should consider rationing our food in case something unexpected happens."

“Eminently sensible, Mlle. Zwiebach—how eminently sensible!” Celeste elected to ignore the whole “Rats from a sinking ship” metaphor. “You will pardon my enthusiasm, but I count such counsel among the primary motives for my joining this vigil. To witness the sober puissance of an accomplished woman-at-arms—why, I simply have not yet had the pleasure! But as to your suggestion: when the schedule proper is enacted, I should be more than pleased to take a morning watch—that being the time at which I reach my greatest natural vivacity. While I am sadly ill-trained to wield a crossbow (in comparison to your experienced hand!) I can readily pledge my unstinting attention and solicitous gaze in its stead!”

[Nerit]

Nerit was busy eyeing the blood Kerrian had also noticed behind Petrik's mask when Tomas reappeared and nearly re-disappeared.

"Hang on, hang on! Tomas! If you please! I'm coming with you if everyone else is just going to sit here. But not in this thing." She gestured to the useless satin.

She whipped up the stairs to change into the notably thicker cloth of her habit. It did cross her mind that the insanity could spread to inflame the rioters against the Ezran institution, but anything was better than a slinky ball gown.

The nun returned two or three minutes later, sans her modest hood and red in the face. She hoped the impatient warrior would still be there.

[DocBeard]

Tomas waited, but he doesn't look happy about it. As Nerit closes in, however, Eisenwald's expression turns into something more composed. "A moment of your time?" Tomas asks, motioning to the side.