The Shattered City: Chapter One

[NeoTiamat]

Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:34 PM
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"Who keeps this chapel now? Without knowing the buyer's appearance or identity it will be difficult to find her. But, Lawgiver willing, we will find a lead the sooner we talk to someone."

Wordlessly, Thierri gestured back outside, to where a man was selling the informational pamphlets in front of the church.

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The pamphlet-seller was an older man, ashen-faced and grey-haired, though on closer inspection Cyrus realized that he couldn't have been much more than forty. He dressed in the clothing of a laborer, somewhat neat but unimpressive, and leaned against the wall of the church, smoking an unimaginably foul-smelling cigarette. His breath could've been used to stun troops.

In front of him was a table full of knick-knacks and pamphlets, with plaster skulls, cheap holy symbols, and other little curios scattered about the table. It took Cyrus barely a moment to find a dozen holy symbols of Ezra, wood covered in cheap gilt, identical to the one that hung on the wall in that tenement in the Quartier-Ouvrier.

"Hello sir." The seller said, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and letting some of that lethal breath waff Cyrus's way. "How can I help you?"

[Kaitou Kage]

"Yes," Cyrus said distastefully. To the Hazlani's credit, he managed not to completely wrinkle his nose or curl his lip in disgust. "I understand you sell plaster skulls here. Do you sell many of them?"

[Isabella]

Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:35 PM
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"I sell enough, monsieur," the salesman answered, the vile tobacco stench unintentionally punctuating his words. He tapped the ashes off the end before taking another thick drag. "Would you care to buy one? Only five bits."

[Kaitou Kage]

Cyrus frowned. "No," he said, his nose wrinkling a little more. "I would not. Instead, perhaps you can tell me if a woman in a hideous yellow opera cloak bought one recently?"

[NeoTiamat]

Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:37 PM
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"Yellow cloak? Not that I can recall." The salesman said. He eyed Cyrus thoughtfully. "Care for a cigar? Just two bits."

[Kaitou Kage]

"No," Cyrus said bluntly. He paused to hold his breath as the man exhaled more foul stench and then gestured at Thierri. "He will by cigars from you. He smokes frequently."

The dommer paused thoughtfully for a minute. "Have you sold skulls to anyone that might go to the Quartier Ouvrier recently?"

This was a fool's errand, he was sure. Cyrus wasn't a master merchant but he knew enough about mercantile operations to know that salesmen only remembered repeat customers. People that showed up once were forgotten immediately. But since nobody else seemed eager to take the lead on this, Cyrus decided he'd prove them right or wrong.

Either way, he was certain these people wouldn't like him any better. Not that he much cared. Dealing with them was just an occupational hazard.

[yalenusveler]

Cyrus wasn't the only person dealing with Occupational Hazards. Though Kerrian's were of a bit more unusual nature to be sure. It took a few moments of fumbling to find the small pouch of leaves, pulling ten leaves, and rolling them up into what looked like a makeshift cigar.

"Just...make sure I don't stumble into anything?" He said quietly to the others with him, then put the leaves in his mouth and began chewing. A few minutes later...nothing. Another few moments, and more nothing.

It looked like Shamanism could be rather boring, then Kerrian...started to laugh. Nothing too disruptive, no grand cackling. Just a laugh as if he had been suddenly let in on a secret which was amusing, but if you laughed too much you shared with people who weren't ready. Everything felt like it was underwater, chapel, skulls and companions deep below an ethereal sea hundreds of miles down in a giant cave.

Kerrian swallowed the leaves. "M..ohkay...", said while taking a few stumbling steps forward, looking more like a stumbling drunk for a moment than someone having a profound experience. The skulls, his companions, his companion's skulls...all covered by a membrane between the world of flesh and the world of spirit.

Just had to find the tunnel.
It wasn't that hard, he had already been here, it just hadn't happened yet.
Floating forward, because here was the land of the dead, and although he was the skulls on the walls, Kerrian knew that you could only get so much here and it wasn't what he needed yet.

Another laugh, a little louder, followed by another. Silly me, there's the tunnel. It was right where it was the time when Kerrian was 15, and trying to get over the leaves, the first time he was brave enough to chew the leaves without getting sick. It was always right where you left it last.

Looking down at his chest, Kerrian saw something his companions obviously didn't, taking another step forward, not quite at the blundering into walls stage yet.

There weren't any walls here, it was that time in Mordent when they swore one of the Wolves that Walked Like Men had found them, trying to run faster than something wasn't there.

It was that time in Veberek when his great grandfather got killed, and his father was crying. He wasn't born yet, but he knew it happened. You didn't have to be born to be there.

It was Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:34 PM. He was in the tunnel, and almost there.

It was time.

[NeoTiamat]

Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:34 PM
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"No," Cyrus said bluntly. He paused to hold his breath as the man exhaled more foul stench and then gestured at Thierri. "He will by cigars from you. He smokes frequently."

The dommer paused thoughtfully for a minute. "Have you sold skulls to anyone that might go to the Quartier Ouvrier recently?"

"Most of my customers, sir." The salesman said, stubbing out his cigar on the wall of the church behind him. He eyed Cyrus thoughtfully, though this time he made no move to offer him something. "Be a bit more specific, sir? If you're looking for someone, don't know how much I can help, but we get plenty of weirdos here, that's for sure, if it's one of them you're looking for."

"Just...make sure I don't stumble into anything?" He said quietly to the others with him, then put the leaves in his mouth and began chewing. A few minutes later...nothing. Another few moments, and more nothing.

"I, now, hey, wait a minute," Richard protested awkwardly. "I mean, Alice is the expert on plants, but isn't that, that, this really isn't a good time for you to-"

Richard's voice seemed to fade into the background. It was still there, it just wasn't important anymore.

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The cathedral nave stands a mile long, the fan vaulting on the ceiling spiraling lazily as they bare down on you. The mirrors on the walls arc across your line of vision, flashing white as a spinning beam of light catches their faces, like the radiant beacon of a lighthouse warning passing ships. For a moment, your vision is blinded by the mirrored light catching you straight in the eyes, your body bursting into flame from the power. The skulls in the mirrors turn and bow to you, and you feel your blood run hot with desire.

Rain pours down on you as the chain drags across the floor to the altar. The shield is gone - in its place, Richard hangs, suspended from a red string around his neck. His black coat is made of red blood, dribbling off from his sleeves and staining his hands crimson. The skeletons around him reach out and hold him, caressing his cheek like a cherished lover. He reaches out and blesses you, watching you with misty eyes as the mirrors rain down around his lifeless form, shattering into crystalline raindrops of metal and broken glass as they hit the floor.

"Memento, homo, quia pulvis es..."

The doorway to the catacombs yawns open, the darkness within sucking you down. The taste of cherries sticks sickeningly sweet in your mouth. Five blackbirds fly by you and down the stairs, each one flying straight into a sharpened sword, its hilt the radiant sun. The birds split into two, but keep flying, the single wing fluttering into the blackness beyond before diving into a trickle of water in the floor. The tiny stream swallows them up, creeping along the stone floor and further into the eternal night. Looking into the water and the bottomless chasm below it, you can see lights flashing in the fathomless depths. A song echos forth from that endless pit, luring you to your death.

"Remember, man, that you are dust..."

Two skeletons face each other, each gesturing the other forward. A heart made of skulls peers out from along the walls. Six shoulder blades form a circle. A skull sits grinning from above a bony coat of arms. And behind you, stalking through the tunnels of the catacomb, is the inevitability of the universe, it's endless vastness crawling out toward you, its eyes a thousand glittering jewels. You can only catch it out of the corner of your eye, stalking ever closer to you on four black legs. You turn, and are consumed by twin glowing stars.

A deep chill, cold as hopelessness, cuts through your neck as inky black hands plunge into you-

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"-poisonous? It's poisonous isn't it, I don't even have my jasper bracelet for removing toxins... Kerry, don't pass out on us!"

"It, it shouldn't be poisonous, I mean, Alice would know for sure but I don't, I don't think it is. I don't know what's happening to him, I'll, I'll go try to find a priest-"

"He's not poisoned." It was Thierri speaking, Kerrian was reasonably sure. The shaman could feel strong fingers on his neck, checking his pulse. "This is some kind of magic at work."

The magician was holding one of Kerrian's eyes open and was peering into it, which made for a rather awkward moment. Thierri noted the younger man's eyes moving and quickly let go.

"Are you alright? How many fingers am I holding up?" Cerise asked, forgetting to hold up any in her concern. She was leaning over Kerrian's form, which the shaman was starting to realize was prone on the floor.

Kerrian loses three healing surges.

[Kaitou Kage]

"Perrine," Cyrus said simply. "Is that name familiar?"

[yalenusveler]

"Are you alright? How many fingers am I holding up?" Cerise asked, forgetting to hold up any in her concern. She was leaning over Kerrian's form, which the shaman was starting to realize was prone on the floor.

Kerrian meant to say "You aren't holding up any, and I'm alright.", but instead it came out sounding rather similar to "youarntholdinganymalrigwright", slurred out with a low mordentish accent that managed somehow to be thicker than roofing tar. It took a few tries, that whole standing thing, especially when Kerrian wasn't entirely certian that he was fully real yet.

Of course, which side of the wall was more real was a matter of debate.

"Saw...things." He managed to slur out, a bit more understandable, but only by a small bit. "Sawthings...need..to get it down before I forget. Just remember we're all dust." Finally back on his feet, and rubbing his temples, trying to get his brain to work in ways that followed cause and effect again, just not too much cause and too much effect, at least not yet.

Ah. Time was Linear again. This was a good sign. "I saw...it was different." Kerrian's eyes darted amongst the group, finally coming to rest on Richard.Low Mordentish "Your Coat is old Mordentish and you belong here, the spirit knows you as its own...but you're hanging by your neck with red string. " The last bit said with enough gravitas to indicate that that the last bit was probably not a good thing.

It was likely also a testament to an altered state of consciousness that Kerrian expected it to make any sense. "We have to go into the catacombs. It's where the Blackbirds are being cut in half by the sword, but they keep flying one winged till they land in the stream and the lights in the chasm where death lives with a song. I think the blackbirds are people...there are 5 of them...same with the Sword, but there's only one sword, and its hilt is the sun."

For a brief moment, Kerrian considered the possibility that this was all rambling. But it made FAR too much sense in that way that dreams do right before you wake up. "There was more..but I don't know what it means. A Heart made of skulls was on one of the walls..a circle of six shoulder blades..and a bony coat of arms with a grinning skull."

Kerrian gave the others looks, as if asking if that made any more sense to them. "I..think I would've seen more. But there was something else here. Another spirit..another something. I'm not sure. But I don't think it wanted me here, and I think its warning might have killed me for a bit. Twin glowing stars and Inky black hands that felt like hearing your best friend dying."

Kerrian shuddered, not finding the concept of a personal brush with death all that pleasant. At least not one significantly more potentially lethal than the usual interaction with the other side of the wall.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I'm a loyal servant of my country, Lia. Nothing more or less." Vedarrak said easily, running a finger unselfconsciously along the hawk-medallion. "All you see about you are the rewards of long service."

"But you are such a unique servant of Falkovnia, Markos," Lia says, her tone of voice light. "A man who rubs elbows with the Talons, yet an intellectual in your own right. You are quite the exception to the rule of the 'classic' Falkovnian, as they are seen in Dementlieu. No, I'm sorry. I simply can not accept your humility."

"Oh?" The Duchess von Auerbach raised one pale brow. "I hadn't imagined that my reputation had spread to quite so many areas of society. Well, life is full of such little surprises. I am charmed to make your acquaintance, Professor Mournswaithe."

"Ah, well," Lia chuckles, making an elegant little gesture. "Shall we say that I have a vested interest in Dementlieuse society? After all, so much of history - current, living history - swirls around and hinges upon the decisions that Dementlieu's aristocracies will make in the near future." Lia's smile turns a little ... sharp ... at the corners. "Living history is fascinating to behold," she says, "but sometimes nerve-wracking, is it not?"

The Falkovnian ambassador smiled briefly, reclining comfortably on the elegant couch. The onyx ring glistened in the lamplight as Vedarrak steepled his fingers. "How are the rest of the old band? I understand Martel has positioned himself rather nicely in Nevuchar Springs, give him and his lovely wife my best regards next time you speak."

"Ah, but you can not surprise me that way, Markos," Lia says, her tone still light and pleasant as she rounds of the Falkovnian. "But I will acknowledge that it is quite the feat for you to be so up-to-date on what goes on in Darkon. What was it again that King Azalin had done to the last Falkovnian ... shall we say, 'active researcher', who was discovered within his borders?"

The Mage makes a little throw-away gesture, as if to get rid of a distressing subject, and continues: "In any case, your bet is as good as mine when it comes to the people who left Dementlieu. Possibly, your gues is a bit better. But how have you been, Markos, apart from rising meteorically higher in the ranks of the Drakovs' armed forces? As I said, living history can be a bit tense. How are you dealing with it all?"

[Cronax]

"I am M. Agale, your Grace, Mr. Ambassador." he addresses each in turn with a perfunctory bow. Then with a mechanical smile, "I hope that we did not intrude at an inopportune time."

Putting his forefinger and thumb to the base of his chin and stroking a nonexistent goatee, he surveys the repartee going on. He winces inwardly the third time 'living history' is mentioned, fearing that this man so extensively described as canny and predatory would not read too much into it.

[NeoTiamat]

The Falkovnian Embassy, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:43 PM
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"Ah, but you can not surprise me that way, Markos," Lia says, her tone still light and pleasant as she rounds of the Falkovnian. "But I will acknowledge that it is quite the feat for you to be so up-to-date on what goes on in Darkon. What was it again that King Azalin had done to the last Falkovnian ... shall we say, 'active researcher', who was discovered within his borders?"

"It is less of a feat than it seems, Lia." Vedarrak said, smiling. "One of the advantages of high rank is the ability to delegate to your staff, and I have a very competent staff. Plenty of eager young men and women, very well trained in various skills. Some very clever new wizards, fresh from the Radiant Tower."

"The fabled Falkovnian thaumaturgical institute, yes, strange as such an idea is." The Duchess von Auerbach remarked. "I am told you are a mage yourself. A graduate of the Tower?"

"I'm afraid that I never had the honor. I'm largely a self-taught mage." Vedarrak said with a smile, spreading his hands. "And I fear that compared to the Radiant Tower, I'm only a gifted amateur. They've been coming up with some very exciting theories recently, particularly in the arts of elemental binding."

"The University of Dementlieu uses bound elementals extensively." The Duchess glanced at Lia, her expression unreadable. "Periodically courting disaster, perhaps, but with some success."

"It's a field in the midst of a thaumaturgical revolution. Mages are binding entities that weren't even known a decade ago, and doing it more safely than ever." Vedarrak quirked a lip. "Of course, there's a few blocks worth of charred buildings near the University that show that not all of the kinks have been worked out of the technique yet. Still, elemental manipulation will be the wave of the future, I think. Another twenty or thirty years and it will change the face of magic."

The Mage makes a little throw-away gesture, as if to get rid of a distressing subject, and continues: "In any case, your bet is as good as mine when it comes to the people who left Dementlieu. Possibly, your gues is a bit better. But how have you been, Markos, apart from rising meteorically higher in the ranks of the Drakovs' armed forces? As I said, living history can be a bit tense. How are you dealing with it all?"

"Carefully." Marcos Vedarrak said. "Very, very carefully."

The Duchess raised a politely cynical eyebrow at this.

"The Kingfuhrer and his Government extend wholehearted support to Lord-Governor Guignol and the Council of Brilliance." Vedarrak said blandly. "We understand that this is a difficult time for Dementlieu, and wish them well with regards to their domestic situation."

Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:43 PM
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"Perrine," Cyrus said simply. "Is that name familiar?"

"It should be!" The trinket-seller said, puffing on his cigar.

"A pair of gendarmes came over an hour ago, maybe two, though they bought tickets for ten. One of them kept yelling in my face whether I knew this Perrine of yours, what could I tell them, you know, the usual tripe." The salesman waved his cigar around, giving Cyrus a good sniff of that abominably foul-smelling smoke. It was, nevertheless, better than the man's breath. "I told them I knew nothing, and after a while they went on down into the catacombs. Haven't seen them since."

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"I saw...it was different." Kerrian's eyes darted amongst the group, finally coming to rest on Richard.Low Mordentish "Your Coat is old Mordentish and you belong here, the spirit knows you as its own...but you're hanging by your neck with red string. " The last bit said with enough gravitas to indicate that that the last bit was probably not a good thing.

Richard gave a bit of a bemused grin, doing his best to wrap his head around Kerrian's non-linear version of time. Low Mordentish "I'm, I'm not, my dress sense isn't quite that old fashioned. My coat, in, in the vision, you mean? I doubt the spirit of this place wanted to, to comment on my choice of clothing, but I'm afraid I'm not, not, I don't really know much about spirit visions. I'm certainly not surprised that it would come off a little, ah, a little macabre. Though I, I, thank you for not mentioning that to anyone else. It'd just give everyone the wrong sort of idea." He spoke the last bit with a mix of bashfulness and exasperation, though the latter didn't seem to be directed at anyone in particular. The syllables he spoke were more rounded and polished than Kerrian's, but the two men could understand each other well enough.

"It, it seems to accept me, does it?" he said in High Mordentish, grinning slightly like a schoolboy over a mild crush. "I, I, I feel this place is a special one, though it's a bit, a bit intimidating."

"We have to go into the catacombs. It's where the Blackbirds are being cut in half by the sword, but they keep flying one winged till they land in the stream and the lights in the chasm where death lives with a song. I think the blackbirds are people...there are 5 of them...same with the Sword, but there's only one sword, and its hilt is the sun."

Thierri folded his arms and raised an eyebrow at Kerrian's explanation. "I'll stick with magical divination from this point onward."

"Aw, c'mon Thierri, don't be so harsh, he's new at this! And nearly died from something inexplicable. I'm sure he'll get better with practice! Er, practice seeing visions anyway, don't practice dying any more, okay Kerry?" Cerise said, her normal enthusiasm tempered but still present in force. "I mean, the birds could be, um, freedom, or a good omen, in Darkon, or I think sparrows are psychopomps, so, maybe they're morticians? Morticians bearing good news? Like how your second cousin you never liked kicked it and left you a lot of money or something. Ooooooor maybe the sword is the sword of Leon? Although I think that one had a lion on the hilt with it's mane as the sunburst. So... whomever stole Leon's sword is cutting you out of your great aunt's will! Don't give me that look," she finished, cheekily poking Thierri in the ribs. "The catacombs bit was clear enough even for you. I'm sure the rest of it'll make sense at some point."

"No doubt after it would have been useful for us to know it," Thierri said dully. "The catacombs are downstairs, and you," he pointed forcefully at Kerrian, "will be staying upstairs. If you think this creature killed you for a moment, you will not do anything to encourage it to stick."

"What? We can't leave him alone up here!" Cerise protested, mockingly aghast. "When we come back he'll have been kidnapped or something! It's how these things work! You know Eyal Theran in Darkon even wrote a thesis about how random criminals with pistols spontaneously generate around investigators when no one's looking at them. You really should look it up."

"We might need him to be with us," Richard said, more reasonably. "He was the one that had the vision. He might notice something important that we, we don't."

Thierri regarded Kerrian, and the rest of the group, with his hands on his hips, completely unamused. "Well. Don't let issues like personal health get in the way of this little foray," he remarked snidely.

[Cronax]

Agale suppresses a smirk. "How very civil of your Kingfuhrer then. One might have anxieties that a more barbarous neighboring nation would take the opportunity to take advantage of the situation."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I'm afraid that I never had the honor. I'm largely a self-taught mage." Vedarrak said with a smile, spreading his hands. "And I fear that compared to the Radiant Tower, I'm only a gifted amateur. They've been coming up with some very exciting theories recently, particularly in the arts of elemental binding."

"The University of Dementlieu uses bound elementals extensively." The Duchess glanced at Lia, her expression unreadable. "Periodically courting disaster, perhaps, but with some success."

"Sadly, your grace, it is not a field of study on whose technical aspects I am able to comment,"Lia says, nodding to the duchess. "While I am a member of faculty, I was not present for the council deliberations regarding the deployment of elemental beings to guard the University. The first thing I heard about it was when that fire elemental went out of control. Moreover, it is not an area of magical expertise with which I would like to acquaint myself. Elemental beings, as far as I understand the theory, are free-willed creatures with their own realm and their own affairs ... and then they are magically bound into servitude by someone who knows how to, for no better reason than that they know how to. There is no contract, no reciprocity, only ... enslavement. And that kind of behaviour is something I find morally reprehensible. As the heiress to a major shipping company, I hope you can understand my feeling that services rendered merit reward of some sort."

"The Kingfuhrer and his Government extend wholehearted support to Lord-Governor Guignol and the Council of Brilliance." Vedarrak said blandly. "We understand that this is a difficult time for Dementlieu, and wish them well with regards to their domestic situation."

Agale suppresses a smirk. "How very civil of your Kingfuhrer then. One might have anxieties that a more barbarous neighboring nation would take the opportunity to take advantage of the situation."

"Now, now, monsieur Agale," Lia says, "the new Kingführer has his work cut out for him, considering his father's ... legacy. If he wishes to survive in a changing world, he might just be willing to let other people mind their problems while he struggles with his own. One is never as glad to leave others in peace, I notice," she says, glancing from Vedarrak to the duchess, "as when one is enduring one's own problems. Do you not agree?"