The Shattered City: Second Interlude

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The Shattered City: Second Interlude

Post by NeoTiamat »

Port-a-Lucine; March 25th-March 27th, 770
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The red-capped gendarme arrived the next day, efficient as they always were. They interviewed you thoroughly to the events of the previous evening, awarded you all with due compensation for your efforts, and, by the Bastion's request, took the Icon into custody from you. That seemed to be the end of it. The church bureaucracy accepted the Icon and set about investigating the damage done this time with their own restorationists. The higher ups became more involved with the affairs of the cathedral, and fewer people were admitted into the grand libraries. You heard a bit of political rumbling over the next few days, before Lord Simon de Casteele eventually allowed the government back onto University grounds. The incident with the elemental had sparked a low-grade outrage across the city, and resentment towards the University was beginning to simmer.

Hazlani Consulate, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; Afternoon of March 27th, 770
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It is said that Port-a-Lucine is one of the most cosmopolitan cities in the Core. In the Quartier Publique, one found the embassies of the great powers. Falkovnia, Darkon, Richemulot, all had their prominent residences, beautiful and majestic and invoking all the grandeur of their lands.

The Hazlani Consulate was not one of these. Hazlan was a country that, though wealthy, was distant, and so the Consulate reflected this. It was a comfortable, three-story building in the southern part of the city, opening up onto a small square. It looked more like a rich man's residence than an invocation of Hazlan's arcane magnificence, to be quite honest.

There were no guards at attention outside the Consulate. There was, however, an elaborate, bronze door-knocker, shaped into the form of a bull's head, with flaring nostrils and horns tipped with golden caps. It was curious that even in the recent unrest, no one had stolen the gold.

Guignol Museum, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; Late Evening, March 26th, 770
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Professor Theroux looked tired. The secular theologian looked as though he had been up without sleep for quite some time, and now, this was just one more thing for him to deal with. He slouched on the bench in the Guignol Museum, looking around for the fifth time to see that you were well and truly alone.

"You have no idea how ridiculously glad I am to see you." Prof. Theroux said, running a hand through his hair. Andre looked older, somehow, with just a touch of grey showing in his hair. "Which I never thought I would say back on the Expedition, but Lady knows it's true.

"Anyway, this is why I should not be allowed to be sleep-deprived." Prof. Theroux said, with a shake of the head. "Or desperate and sleep-deprived, which is something I only usually feel when dealing with graduate papers. Listen, Lia, you and Tomas are two of the only people in this city right now I can trust, and you can take care of yourselves in a way that Sebastian and Charles can't."

"I need your advice." Andre said, sighing, and pulling out a folded slip of parchment from his jacket pocket and showed it to you. "I managed to intercept this from getting to his esteemed and shadowy president-ship, Simon de Casteele. What do you make of it?"

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Cafe David, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Lunchtime, March 27th, 770
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"Excuse me."

The Cafe David was a respectable establishment in the Quartier Marchand, offering a nice blend of decent food, affordability, and a locale that did not impugn anyone's proletariat credentials. It also had the advantage of not tossing Nicolas out on his ear the moment he walked in the door, which made it an ideal spot to take lunch in. Currently, Nicolas was doing just that. The cafe did not serve hard liquor at this time of day, but that was what the hip flask was for.

He was also currently being approached by a woman, which was not that odd an occurrence. Roguish good looks and a bit of fame did work wonders, after all. She was built like a marble statue, full of curves and muscle, with dark hair and dull brown eyes. She was accompanied by a woman who looked just like her, the first woman tightly holding her twin's hand, and their arms firmly linked together. The woman's twin obviously did not care for this, twisting and turning about at regular intervals, and was looking very much like she would like to punch someone's nose in. In some ways, it was like looking at a female version of the Isfahani twins, if both twins happened to be Darius; one twin looking cool and stiff, the other furious. Both women looked down at Nicolas where he was sitting, the calm one repeating her greeting.

"Excuse me. Would you happen to be a... M. Nicolas de Castaigne?"
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Post by Rock of the Fraternity »

NeoTiamat wrote:"I need your advice." Andre said, sighing, and pulling out a folded slip of parchment from his jacket pocket and showed it to you. "I managed to intercept this from getting to his esteemed and shadowy president-ship, Simon de Casteele. What do you make of it?"
"An attempt to turn a bilateral conflict into a trilateral one," Lia replies after a moment of consideration. "Hell's bells. Someone is trying to stir up a civil war in which all the possible parties are at each other's throats, unless I miss my guess."

Lia herself takes a moment to look around and make sure no one is watching -- and in addition, she whispers to Grimmric. The little bat comes crawling out from under her veil and flutters off to scout the area.

"C for Clotho," she says, shaking her head. "And apparently the curator was Atropos. And just where is Lachesis in all this mess ...?"
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"Excuse me. Would you happen to be a... M. Nicolas de Castaigne?"
"That will depend entirely on who is enquiring" Nicholas replies, pushing his bouilabaise away, largely untouched. The daily special had seemed appetising when he had ordered , but now Nicholas didnt have the stomach for it. Lunch-time was usually far too early for food as far as the poet was concerned, but behind the scenes Nicholas had been seriously out of sorts since his brush with misadventure on that frozen pond.

As it is he lights a cigarette, takes a long sip of the glass of Chateau De Fille Ambre '65 (a young unpretentious wine from the south of Dementlieu blessed with a plummy nose, ripe mouth feel, a modest price tag and a hefty alcohol content, thus tailoring perfectly to Nicholas' requirements) and readjusts his smoked glasses, before regarding his visitors further.


"Although if your company is as conducive as your angelic appearence Mademoiselles then...... I am indeed the object of your enquiry, please join me if you will." He stands, gesturing to the other seats at the table, and calling a waiter across "may I offer you both a drink or some repas?" he asks with an air of chivalry, not that what is crossing Nicholas' mind right at this monent is chivalrous in the slightest.
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Post by Isabella »

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It was on this fine March day that Celeste's lunch plans were slightly interrupted by discovering Grimmalken in her purse.

Grimmalken himself was not that big of a distraction, to be honest, and if it weren't for the noticeable weight he added to the bag, there was a fair chance Celeste could have run out the door with him. The little tuxedo cat was currently asleep, curled up and looking adorable, as cats often did. The jostling of the purse as Celeste went around her preparations hadn't seemed to have woken him. It seemed living with Cerise as a master left the cat with a high tolerance for stressful situations.

What was a big distraction was that wherever Grimmalken was, Cerise tended to follow, and in this case she was not far behind. "Aha!" she exclaimed, spotting the cat and trotting over. Grimmalken opened his big green eyes. "I knew it! Trying to eat Celeste's soul while I'm not looking. You naughty little boy," she cooed, scooping up the cat and nuzzling his nose with her own. Grimmalken gave a tiny mew.

"Don't mind him, he always does this sort of thing," Cerise reassured cheerfully, tapping the cat on the nose. "I bet its because of your nice dresses. Cats are instinctually attracted to nice clothes, you know. Their fur sticks to the clothing and emits mind control rays. Oh, that reminds me!" Cerise suddenly lit up, breaking into a snaggled grin. She leaned forward conspiratorially, still holding the young cat in her arms. "Okay, so Nikolai, this Vaasi guy I know, happens to have a brother-in-law who works in estate sales, and he told me that the last of the Boisson family had mysteriously died late last week. The whole house is full of occult paraphernalia, and none of the relatives they contacted want it. They haven't even finished sorting through the stuff, and it's not technically supposed to be on sale yet, but he told me there were some really odd antique mirrors that were up in the attic. I know you'd mentioned those Levi mirrors you were interested in before, if you're interested Nikolai said he might be able to let us in early and look at the stuff. What do you say?"
"No, but evil is still being — Is having reason — Being reasonable! Mousie understands? Is always being reason. Is punishing world for not being... Like in head. Is always reason. World should be different, is reason."
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Post by The Whistler »

Mlle. Rondelet wrote:"I knew it! Trying to eat Celeste's soul while I'm not looking. You naughty little boy,"
Celeste had actually been spending much of the past five minutes petting Grimalken’s head and making “talking to an adorable kitty” noises (c.f. “Who’s a precious little pussycat?” “Who has a precious little nose?” “Is it you?”), so Cerise’s interruption was pretty much of a piece. Whatever plans Mlle. Viardot had been entertaining for the afternoon, they were clearly not so pressing as to qualify a cat and his owner as disruptive.

Celeste smiled graciously as Cerise scooped up her quarry, giving Grimalken one last affectionate rub on the chin. “I assure you, Mlle. Rondelet: if I should ever seek to have my soul consumed, I should trust it to no less utterly adorable a creature! Oh, he is a darling…”
Mlle. Rondelet wrote:"Don't mind him, he always does this sort of thing," Cerise reassured cheerfully, tapping the cat on the nose. "I bet it’s because of your nice dresses. Cats are instinctually attracted to nice clothes, you know. Their fur sticks to the clothing and emits mind control rays.”
“Then he shall simply have to split his time between my wardrobe and yours! Mind control aside, you know—I am not well-versed upon the subject, myself, but the point stands nevertheless. You must remind me to ask where you purchase your scarves…”
Mlle. Rondelet wrote:“Oh, that reminds me!" Cerise suddenly lit up, breaking into a snaggled grin. She leaned forward conspiratorially, still holding the young cat in her arms. "Okay, so Nikolai, this Vaasi guy I know, happens to have a brother-in-law who works in estate sales, and he told me that the last of the Boisson family had mysteriously died late last week. The whole house is full of occult paraphernalia, and none of the relatives they contacted want it. They haven't even finished sorting through the stuff, and it's not technically supposed to be on sale yet, but he told me there were some really odd antique mirrors that were up in the attic. I know you'd mentioned those Levi mirrors you were interested in before, if you're interested Nikolai said he might be able to let us in early and look at the stuff. What do you say?"
“An afternoon spent in the pursuit of my filial passion, alongside a dear friend and like-minded housemate—with the added mystique of a long-lost family legacy? Oh, Mlle. Rondelet, I call it an expedition!” Celeste looked more enthusiastic than she normally did, which was saying something.

“I have found some of the most prized works in my collection in the adventure-strewn throes of a bric-a-brac hunt: the search through the attic, the scouring of the cobweb-dusted hallway… Oh, it shall be marvelous! We must leave at once, Mlle. Rondelet, or at earliest convenience—I am utterly bereft of engagements for the day, so my schedule is at your command!”
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Post by Nathan of the FoS »

None of this is very striking to Darius, of course; the Isfahanis lived here briefly.

Very briefly.

They've probably gotten the smoke damage fixed by this time, but that carpet was a total loss.

At any rate, they've been here before and know the drill. You can't clap at the door in this country; the doors are thick enough that no-one will here you. So, the knocker it is.

Tapping briskly, Darius steps back and brushes an invisible dust-mote from his shoulder panel.
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Nicolas wrote:"That will depend entirely on who is enquiring...Although if your company is as conducive as your angelic appearence Mademoiselles then...... I am indeed the object of your enquiry, please join me if you will." He stands, gesturing to the other seats at the table, and calling a waiter across "may I offer you both a drink or some repas?"
"Tres bien," a lady muttered beneath her ironic smile. Her light ash waves were coiled into something of a bun at the back of her head, displayed for all the world.

Leaning back with her arms draped over the arms of the chair, Nerit had opted for one of Celeste's longsleeve muslin daydresses, with her permission. "I simply need an afternoon out of my duties," she had told the socialite. Whether Celeste thought it was a crisis of faith or thought to sympathize with a woman's desires, Nerit didn't stay to find out, though she had thanked her. At any rate, the number was pastel blue, and set well with the Ezran pendant that the Darkonian had refused to remove. A lady had her convictions, after all.

Nerit raised a hand to the arrivals, still smirking. "Enchantée, mademoiselles," she said in typical Dementlieu fashion with her formal lilting accent, though she remained sitting.

She had once been told, long ago, that what was not said between men and women was far more important than what was. And thus, she was quite amused by Nicolas' current charade. Did he expect them to be avid fans of poetry, easily susceptible to charm?

Nerit bobbed her head to the twins and toyed with her fork.

[Very good/Pleased to meet you, ladies]
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Post by DocBeard »

"Shaving shaving, shaving my face..." Tomas murmurs to himself, wipping the cream off of the razor and checking. Hrm. A bit of hot water later, and Tomas could almost mistake himself for human!

Hah hah! We joke around here. yep. funny.

Shaking his head, Eisenwald tries not to worry about Lia(Who threatened him with immolation if he got all chauvinistic on her again.) or himself(How did she survive anyway?!), Eisenwald fastens Ivorsen(Who's loving the attention.) to his waist and looks up at the mirror again. He taps it twice. "You're not faking to make me think I look decent, ja?" Tomas asks, like a frustrated pet owner.

Barring a response, Eisenwald throws his hat on, grabs the handful of violets he picked up earlier, and heads off on his first date in half a decade.
"Is there anything keeping us from checking that place out tonight?" Besides sanity, naturally.
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Post by Cronax »

Dementliu simply did not understand the importance of a proper antipasto. Its cuisine seemed under the mistaken impression that taking slices of the weeks entrees and pretentiously labeling it assiette de charcuterie a sufficient starter made. Sure, they were artistically arranged, and image did count for something in this day and age, but without a counterbalancing array of cheeses or fruits, the sliced hams and tenderloins were too heavy for a light lunch seeking pallet. Still, concessions could be made regarding the quality of its table wines, and it was with these that Mr. Agale sought respite from the bitterly brisk spring winds.

When the two ladies approached, the Tollere lightly daubed a napkin to his lips and quirked an eyebrow at Mr. de Castigne's solicitations.
Nic wrote: "may I offer you both a drink or some repas?"
As protocol demands, Agale rises to his feet and remains standing until the newcomers are seated. Perhaps it is the wine, but once the autonomic portions of proper etiquette subside, the Borcan cuts to the heart of things. "Much to Mr. de Castigne's disappointment, I doubt that the purpose of your inquiry is to play at innuendo. You clearly hold a degree of fear for the safety of your sister, but your hesitant identification of our fellow presumes a scandal is involved, or am I mistaken?"
"In normal times, evil would be fought by good. But in times like these, it must be fought by a different kind of evil."
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Re: The Shattered City: Second Interlude

Post by NeoTiamat »

Hazlani Consulate, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; Afternoon of March 27th, 770
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Darius wrote:Tapping briskly, Darius steps back and brushes an invisible dust-mote from his shoulder panel.
A moment later, the door opened, and a tall, austere looking manservant opened the door and peered at you. He obviously remembered you, as after a heartbeat he gestured and bade you follow him.

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You were well familiar with the Consul's office. It was a large, airy room in the back of the building, opening up onto a beautifully tended garden. The walls were covered in ornate tapestries and rich cloth, while heavily cushioned chairs and couches were scattered seemingly haphazard throughout the room, all done in the low and vibrant Hazlani style. It was luxurious, and you remembered that the chairs were soft enough one felt like drowning in them. Not that you were being invited to sit.

The Consul, Agha Mumtaz Aksoy, sat behind the only northern piece of furniture in the room, a massive writing desk the size of a small trading caravel. It was covered with dozens, perhaps hundreds of minor pieces of paper, all arranged in neat piles.

Mumtaz Aksoy was not so neat a man. He was an older man, in his fifties or sixties, and he resembled nothing so much as a shrunken toad in appearance. He was wrinkly and jowly, and his belly protruded behind the yards of brocade he wore in brilliant yellows and oranges. His fingers glittered with rubies and garnets in a gaudy array, and he clasped them together as you entered. His eyes, slate grey and unemotional, watched you.

Aksoy's latest lackey was a young man of perhaps nineteen or twenty years of age. Kocak was his family name, though his first name escaped you just at the moment. He lounged on a couch, feet up, and grinned unpleasantly as you entered. He was also clad, head to toe, in the scarlet robes of a Wizard of the Red Academy, so it paid to be polite to him.

"So." Mumtaz Aksoy said, his steel-colored eyes considering you. "What did you think you were doing?"

Fair-on-the-Red, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Early Evening, March 25th, 770
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Tomas wrote:Eisenwald throws his hat on, grabs the handful of violets he picked up earlier, and heads off on his first date in half a decade.
The Fair-on-the-Red was a small little taverna not far from the main markets of the Quartier Marchand. It catered to traveling merchants, and it was abuzz with a dozen languages and two-score accents and dialects when Tomas entered the morning after the battle at the Chateau de Tarascons.

Mary Collins was not a difficult person to spot, even in the evening crush. She was a tall, statuesque woman, and if her size didn't mark her out, her vivid red hair did. Mary was clad in an pale, pink dress that emphatically did not suit her coloration, and it took her moment to notice that Tomas arrived. She was engaged in people-watching when he entered, her light blue eyes observing the crowd dispassionately.

Guignol Museum, University of Dementlieu, Port-a-Lucine; Late Evening, March 26th, 770
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Lia wrote:"An attempt to turn a bilateral conflict into a trilateral one," Lia replies after a moment of consideration. "Hell's bells. Someone is trying to stir up a civil war in which all the possible parties are at each other's throats, unless I miss my guess."

...

"C for Clotho," she says, shaking her head. "And apparently the curator was Atropos. And just where is Lachesis in all this mess ...?"
"And here I was hoping I was being unduly paranoid." Andre shook his head, frustration all but pouring out of his ears. "But who would be stupid enough... or callous enough... to want to see the Brotherhood involved in this even more directly. Well, alright, I can think of a dozen names, but st---"

Prof. Theroux stopped in mid-rant, then turned to look at Lia with new-found curiosity.

"Lia, why did you just call Mme. Chastel the embodiment of death?" Prof. Theroux's intent eyes belied his flippant tone. "And who's Clotho, aside from a young lady who likes to spin?"

???, ????, Port-a-Lucine; ????, March 27th, 770
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Kerrian was no longer sure where he was. He had been escorted to a large government carriage, with blacked out windows and dark horses. He didn't know how long he's been driven around the streets, and wasn't sure how much of it had been spent backtracking and driving in circles. He had been accompanied by four dour looking gendarme, and had been well aware of what could happen to him if he had attempted to look out and catch his bearings. They hadn't needed to say anything. Just the looks they'd given were enough.

They'd blindfolded him before they'd let him out of the carriage, leading him by the arms down twisting pathways of marble floors. On occasion he'd hear the guards talk to one another, using some kind of code; most of the time they were silent. There were odd, mechanical sounds along the walls, leaving Kerrian to infer that there was far more going on then he could percieve.

The blindfold was removed, and he found himself before a huge metal door. It was heavily reinforced and inscribed, not with physical bolts, but with warding circles and inscriptions in tongues that Kerrian couldn't even begin to fathom. The door opened before him, moved by some invisible force. The guards held back, gesturing him inside.

The room inside was well lit, but made of jet black marble. Le Marquis was there, the silver raven skull of his cane leering at Kerrian. The man's white skin stood out against the blackness, leaving him hanging ethereally in the room like a ghost. His eyes were impossible to see from where he stood, but Kerrian was dead certain that Le Marquis was watching him like a hawk. He stood off to the side; in the center of the room was a deep, multi-layered circle, cut into the dark floor. The runes glowed dark red, like molten metal, an ominious glow that made Kerrian's skin crawl. Cedolin was at the center, his round eyes reflecting the light, staring and unmoving.

Both were silent, watching, waiting. It was hard to say which of the two was more unsettling.

Boisson House, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; Afternoon, March 27th, 770
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Celeste wrote:“I have found some of the most prized works in my collection in the adventure-strewn throes of a bric-a-brac hunt: the search through the attic, the scouring of the cobweb-dusted hallway… Oh, it shall be marvelous! We must leave at once, Mlle. Rondelet, or at earliest convenience—I am utterly bereft of engagements for the day, so my schedule is at your command!”
So it was that Celeste Viardot, Cerise Rondelet, and Malky set out to the Boisson Estate Sale. The cat seemed the most philosophical about it.

Boisson House was a looming, narrow townhouse in the Quartier Savant, a grim and unpleasant looking structure near the eastern wall. It looked, on the whole, as though it was getting ready to pounce on the street before it. It looked predatory, with its peeling grey paint and its shuttered windows.

Cerise, who utterly ignored the grim and gloomsome facade of Boisson House, walked up and knocked loudly on the door. There was a rustling from inside, and then after a moment the door opened.

"Lawgiver preserve me, there's two of them... I mean, hello Cerise!" His muttered prayer notwithstanding, the young Vaasi man who held the door open didn't seem too upset at seeing Cerise again. He was a lean, handsome looking young man with a long face and the beginnings of a mustache. "This is...?"

"Oh, this is Celeste. We're here looking for Levi mirrors. Also animator-ghosts, but first mirrors." Cerise said cheerily. Grimmalken, in her purse, let out a plaintive little 'meow'. "Celeste, this is Nikolai."

Cafe David, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; Lunchtime, March 27th, 770
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Nicolas wrote:"Although if your company is as conducive as your angelic appearance Mademoiselles then...... I am indeed the object of your inquiry, please join me if you will." He stands, gesturing to the other seats at the table, and calling a waiter across "may I offer you both a drink or some repas?" he asks with an air of chivalry, not that what is crossing Nicholas' mind right at this moment is chivalrous in the slightest.
There was an audible click of a hammer being cocked. Nicolas found himself staring down the barrel of a heavy pistol, leaving him with little doubt that what was crossing the woman's mind was also not chivalrous in the slightest.

"Your sister sends her regards," she told him, as if she was remarking on nothing more interesting than the weather.

It was only the fastest of movements on the part of Nicolas and his companions that prevented the bullet from catching him straight through the eye. Nicolas barely had time to stand out of his chair before the other woman plowed into him, furiously stabbing him with a drawn dagger with the insane strength of a madman.

There was the clatter of chairs and drawn steel as the other patrons flew to their feet, obviously shocked by the sudden attack. Some ran, many more drew weapons, bounding in to Nicolas' aid.

Combat Time! The lovely ladies get a surprise round!

Woman with Gun attacks Nicolas with Pistol Shot. Misses.
Woman with Knife attacks Nicolas with Berserk Slash. Hits with a 25 vs. AC, and deals 14 damage.

Roll Initiative. If you roll equal to or above a 15, you may act this turn, before the two ladies do. If you roll below a 15, you must wait until after the DMs post and the two ladies take their turn.


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Sister Nerit Doherty (nd): 47/47
AC 18, F 14, R 17, W 21
Mr. Agale (A): 48/48
AC 18, F 16, R 19, W 21
Nicolas Etienne de Castaigne (N): 42/56
AC 21, F 18, R 20, W 21


Woman with Knife (currently at Q14):
AC 19; Fortitude 20, Reflex 17, Will 19
Woman with Gun (currently at M15):
AC 19; Fortitude 18, Reflex 19, Will 17
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Re: The Shattered City: Second Interlude

Post by Nathan of the FoS »

NeoTiamat wrote:"So." Mumtaz Aksoy said, his steel-colored eyes considering you. "What did you think you were doing?"
"Assisting a highly-placed and powerful member of the government of this country in investigating a crime, Mumtaz Agha," Darius replies flatly.
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Post by Rock of the Fraternity »

"Please be aware that this is all supposition," Lia says, with a warding hand gesture. "But when we found Chastel, all her dolls ... spoke. They said things on the theme of 'death is dead'.

Later, among Chastel's documents, we found a little black book full of names and dates; birth dates and death dates. And the last entry in the book is named 'Atropos', who died on the night Chastel died and the madness erupted over Dementlieu.

Death is dead. Atropos is dead. And where one finds Atropos, Clotho and Lachesis are implicit. A 'C' who writes threatening letters, and since I have no desire to name this 'C' Cavendish, I thought I might as well theorize Clotho. And indeed, this person is spinning thread -- or rather, a web to catch people in so they can struggle and strangle themselves."

Lia shrugs. "As I said: it is mostly baseless supposition. Chastel certainly did not look as if she were born in the first year of Dementlieu."
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Post by DocBeard »

Eisenwald's eyes narrow for a minute, as though someone had whispered his name while walking over a grave. Or the name of his worst enemy...

...shaking the odd feeling off, he's all smiles again. Say what you want about Tomas, the man can be friendly! "Bonjurno! Guten Abend, Salaam, Hola, Aloha, Nihao, and how are you?" Tomas winks at Mary, faux-bowing because these people really are hilarious like that. The modest bouquet is offered-for some reason, Tomas figures he can assume that Mary knows the language of flowers, and he did his best to remember which ones weren't insulting or overwhelming.

They must look like a pair of mobile statues playing at being people, the more cynical part of Tomas thinks, noting their shared...stature. The rest of him is glad to be doing something that doesn't involve herding cats or fighting cultists. "I, ah, think we see the head waiter to get our seat...I hope you weren't waiting long! -gosh, I didn't get the wrong time, did I?"
"Is there anything keeping us from checking that place out tonight?" Besides sanity, naturally.
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lostboy
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Post by lostboy »

Initiative 5 - ugh
"I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space..."
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Kaitou Kage
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Post by Kaitou Kage »

Cyrus clasped his hands behind his back and remained in a stiff, rigid posture. He'd been trained at the monastery to stand like this when in a superior's presence.

The young man hated people like Aksoy. As far as Cyrus was concerned, Mumtaz was like all these other simpering Dementlieuse noblemen. Fat, a lot of talk, and had no idea how to properly wield his authority. Even more, Cyrus suspected that Aksoy had grown soft in his faith since coming here. Cyrus held little respect for Mulan that abandoned the Lawgiver but he took a perverse pleasure in dealing with them, even when they had the authority Aksoy had. The dommer knew Aksoy would get his.

Cyrus nodded briefly in greeting to Kocak, then turned back to Aksoy.

"We have been doing the work the Lawgiver bade us perform here," the elder twin added.

Please argue with His divine authority, Cyrus smiled inwardly, Attempt to place yourself above him. Try and suppress my brother and I. It will make the end that much sweeter.
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