The Shattered City: Chapter One

[Cronax]

"Forgive my dwelling upon specifics, but when you found that unfortunate patrol, were their weapons drawn? Also, was there any sign of injury or battle prior to the drowning?" Agale inquired. "I would find it strange if this were not the case, for that would mean they recovered the charter without opposition. furthermore, might I examine this enigmatic note you found?"

[NeoTiamat]

The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 4:36 PM
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"Our own investigation was not as dramatic. You mentioned that they drowned as the result of some sort of trap. Could it perhaps have been the work of an over sized, aquatic analogue to our resident sous chef Favonious? I only ask because because the Duchess von Auerbach seemed unusually interested in their applications."

"Certainly plausible, as Favonius's fellows are not always the most moderate and temperate of the personifications of life's building-blocks." Professor Lemercier said, taking a sip of the brandy. "That said, two factors come to mind. The first is that very rarely do elementals of water choose to drown their antagonists. More commonly, they choose to make their displeasure known by means of bludgeoning people to death with excessive violence."

Professor Lemercier mused for a moment. "Very excessive violence."

"The second is that in my expansive experience, a rogue elemental is unlikely to remain unnoticed for any length of time. They are not a notably subtle race." Lemercier said. "Which means that either such an elemental would have been released recently, or else it is being controlled by someone, and is thus not truly rogue. Though its master, this 'C', may in fact be such a rogue master-mage."

"If this is in fact the case, it would stand to reason that a duplicate, or even the original charter remains unrecovered. Perhaps it is in the hands of this enigmatic 'C'."

"This is the true charter," Professor Petrik sniffed. She offered nothing further to support this statement, treating it as a statement of fact.

Lia hesitates, exchanging a look with Tomas and Remy Lessard, then shakes her head. "There was a C who was well capable of such deeds, but he is dead. Dead and gone. Or so I would have believed. And as for professor Theroux: did anyone ask him whether there had been an assassination attempt on his life? At the time, it probably did not seem pertinent to this theft, as it had not occurred. Nor had these most recent murders."

"He is dead," Remy affirmed, firmly. Then, with a wan smile, he added, "There weren't nearly enough zombies and bad music for it to have been him. No, he is dead."

"As for Professor Theroux..." Remy sighed, removing his glasses to wipe them off. "He certainly never told me anything of the sort. But then, you know how he is. He wouldn't tell us if someone carved out his heart with a spoon."

The last bit undoubtedly sounded like hyperbole to most people in the room.

"Forgive my dwelling upon specifics, but when you found that unfortunate patrol, were their weapons drawn? Also, was there any sign of injury or battle prior to the drowning?" Agale inquired. "I would find it strange if this were not the case, for that would mean they recovered the charter without opposition. furthermore, might I examine this enigmatic note you found?"

"Uh..." Richard looked exceedingly sheepish.

"Did someone else get the note?" Cerise asked, biting her lip. "I thought someone else was going to get it."

Thierri sighed heavily, exhaling from his cigarette.

"The gendarme had their weapons out, but there was no sign of blood on them," he said, idly. "Several had tearing on their fingers and arms from struggle. The wounds were inflicted by a rough, unyielding surface, such as the bone walls of the catacombs. A few had self inflicted fingernail wounds around their throats. They drowned less than an hour before we found them."

"A, one of them was holding a broken sword," Richard suddenly recalled. "The rest of it was, was stuck in the catacomb wall. I, I guess he was trying to pry open an exit."

She placed her hands within her sleeves and gazed through the windows, though sometimes she glanced back to Richard and Alice.

Richard moved over to join her, very carefully placing his arm against the wall by the window frame, as if frightened he'd slip and put a hand through the glass. "Are you, will you be joining us at the gallery, Sister?" he asked politely, looking out at the patch of bare earth that had been set aside for a garden. "It's been, things have been dangerous lately, and, well. I, I admit I don't know, that is, customs differ so much between sects, and I know there wouldn't be many, ah, very religious people there, so I didn't, didn't know if you would join us. I, I'd rather stay here as well as go, if you would rather be at the Chateau."

"Richard! After all the trouble you've given me trying to run off and risk your life and limb," Alice teasingly scolded, although there was a very real element of vexation in there. "You and I will have to be the best of friends, Sister, if you can get him to behave so willingly. Don't let that innocent face of his fool you. Still, we've soldiered on admirably without grand gallery openings in Mordenshire, we can do without one if you'd rather stay home. I feel as though none of us should be alone right now."

"Although," She said with an impertinent smile, "a masked woman in nun's regalia! The nobles would be delighted. Such a shocking and amusing story to tell, such speculation of who it could be! You would be the talk of the town for weeks."

[DocBeard]

"I will speak to Theroux." To lie to them is one thing, it was practically expected of Andre. It was part of who he was. But a lie that put them directly in Vedarrak's cross hairs?! Tomas has avoided the more important parts of the conversation; he's been silent since the meeting, actually, except for mentioning Mssr C(He does not reply to Lia's comment on whom that may be.), fascinated by the make of his boots. Lia, Remy, and other veterans of Tomas's acquaintance may remember the last time the normally boisterous Lamordian got quiet and withdrawn...

"Is that thing tonight?" Tomas frowns, looks at the wall, and shrugs, abruptly turning around and heading for the stairs. He needs, Tomas knows, to get his head back together.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I wonder, though," Lia says, "whether someone might be trying to take up the mantle of C. This note found at the site of the murder and the method of killing, leaving people in despair and fighting futilely for their lives, taunting the people who find the dead ... That would be very much like him. And if someone is trying to emulate the old C ... who are they actually targeting? Andre has already been attacked by assassins. It seems insane, but ..."

Lia leaves the thought hanging, then shakes her head. "I need to be somewhere before the gallery," she says in a stern tone of voice. "You will see me at the gallery. Tomas and Remy should have no trouble recognizing me, even in my, ha ... costume."

Shaking her head and muttering under her breath, Lia heads for the stairs.

[Kaitou Kage]

Cyrus folded his arms across his chest and gave Lia an unimpressed look before Lia moves for the stairs.

"Perhaps, Professor, you'd care to invite the rest of us to your exclusive little club," he said, "All this talk about a new 'C' and an old 'C' is useless blather unless you explain to the rest of us what you are rambling about."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia grants Cyrus a little smile over her shoulder before ascending the stairs. "Why, C was a priest. He was also a foul murderer, a mass-murderer if he could arrange it, a desecrator of the dead, raiser of the undead, summoner of dangerous entities ... Let's see, am I forgetting anything? Oh, yes. He liked to play with people's minds and bodies, torturing them for his own pleasure as well as his twisted schemes." The smile grows disturbing. "Does that answer your question?"

[Kaitou Kage]

"Then I suppose we should consider ourselves fortunate this 'C' of yours, this Mytteri-worshiping fiend, is long gone, shouldn't we, Professor?" Cyrus matched Lia's smile with his own.

[The Whistler]

"Although," She said with an impertinent smile, "a masked woman in nun's regalia! The nobles would be delighted. Such a shocking and amusing story to tell, such speculation of who it could be! You would be the talk of the town for weeks."

“How delightful the prospect! Oh, but you must attend, Sister Doherty—the event, though lovely in itself, would be inestimably bettered by your gentle ministrations! Though I am reluctant to admit it, the attitudes of our nation’s noble classes occasionally err on the side of the worldly—I am sure that, even incognito, the spiritual atmosphere engendered by your presence would provide a very balm to their beleaguered souls. And I should doubtless say the same of our gallant Mordentish crusader!” She beamed at Richard.

“Do say that you will accompany us! Should the pair of you lack for costume, I should be most eager to lend my aid.”

"Then I suppose we should consider ourselves fortunate this 'C' of yours, this Mytteri-worshiping fiend, is long gone, shouldn't we, Professor?" Cyrus matched Lia's smile with his own.

“We most certainly should!” Celeste’s tone revealed no indication that she had picked up on the subtext behind the exchange. “Having only now been informed of his existence, I can only count myself fortunate that I have had no opportunity to encounter the gentleman—though it is further comfort still to know that I never shall!” True to her word, she did not seem very perturbed.

[Cronax]

"If it would not be an unwanted imposition Miss Viardot, I would like to prevail upon your expertise in the acquisition of an appropriate guise for the evening's engagement. I fear my current wardrobe is not sufficient to the task." Agale said thoughtfully.

[Nerit]

The nun turned and smiled sympathetically to Richard, who, according to her, had some difficulty asserting himself. Catching Alice's eye, she offered a light laugh and nodded in understanding.

Before she had the chance to reply to the idea of attending the Gallery opening, Celeste opened fire. Nerit fluttered her eyelashes, appearing taken aback by the assault of attention.

"Ah, Mlles," Nerit hesitated, "you flatter me. I must admit, it is a delightful idea. Would you hold it against my devotion if I were to acquiesce to your fancies? After all, 'When in Port-a-Lucine,' they say?"

Should the pair of you lack for costume, I should be most eager to lend my aid.

Nerit shrugged to Celeste bashfully, the loose habit exaggerating her small stature. "It is true, Mlle, I have no practice or materials for such--well, the Church would call it extravagance."

Why, C was a priest. He was also a foul murderer, a mass-murderer if he could arrange it, a desecrator of the dead, raiser of the undead, summoner of dangerous entities ...

Nerit's conversation was quite light compared to the sharp-tongued one between Cyrus and Lia. She couldn't help be somewhat distracted, and noted especially Lia's description with a concerned knitting of her brow.

[NeoTiamat]

The Tessier Gallery, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 7:14 PM
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Darkness had fallen by the time Lemercier's hired coachs arrived at the Tessier Gallery. The Tessier Gallery a long, low building, located just across a square from one of the Quartier Savant's more beautiful parks. The broad, almost airy facade of the building was done in an architectural style that had been popular in Dementlieu some fifty years ago, back at the time of Donatien Tessier's grandfather. A banner had been cheerily hung across the front of the Gallery, announcing the Masque within.

"Here we are! Home of art, culture, and all the multifarious magnificence of Dementlieuse society." Professor Lemercier expounded upon your arrival, withdrawing his own mask from a coat pocket. Evariste Lemercier had only a small domino mask, black in color, with a silver 8 figure lying on its side in the middle. "Here the high society of Dementlieu will be gather with all of their associated hangers on and sycophants, paying homage to the ideals of art, culture, and beauty. This, my young friends, is what makes Dementlieu great. Culture!"

"Made-up stories, you mean." Prof. Petrik had provided her own mask, though one had to wonder just where she had gotten it. It was shaped like the head of a snarling wolf, and was almost alarmingly realistic and without embelishment. Merely grey fur and holes for Petrik's eyes, complete with a jutting muzzle with very natural-looking teeth. "Say what you mean, Old Man."

"I shall, my beautiful Seiglinde, I shall." Lemercier bowed to the music teacher, though he didn't so much fold in half as look like a bouy that had been tipped over and would shortly right itself. "And dare I compliment you on your magnificent choice of facial adornment? It possesses a feral beauty, a savage purity that brings out the best in you."

"Thank you." Professor Petrik said. She didn't even sniff.

"And here is Donatien." Lemercier said, moving up to the front door of the gallery without much speed but with the stately deliberation of an elephant.

Up close, the gallery looked rather less inviting than it had before. The large, formal doors were open, but the grand hall behind it was empty of life, dark and silent. Not a sound, not a whisper emerged from within the Tessier Gallery. A single dark-red candle burned in each of the Gallery's large windows, providing the very limited light emerging from within it.

Standing in front of the Gallery, meanwhile, were several men and women in very plain, unimpressive clothing. Clothing that just so happened to leave sheathed swords and holstered pistols completely unobscured, clothing that restricted mobility not at all. Very businesslike clothing, assuming one's business involved the occasional distribution of crushing violence. A young man in well-tailored clothing stood by the door along with the darkly-dressed guards, and he waved to Lemercier as the old man approached.

"Evariste, how good to see you and your... entourage." Donatien Tessier said, taking a quick count of the sheer number of people he had been talked into providing invitations for. "Are you sure you're not forgetting someone? A small village, maybe?"

"I'm sure I can provide one for you if you really insist." Lemercier said, smiling gently. "But I thought this would be enough."

"Sweet Ezra, no thanks." Tessier shuddered, then smiled and gave a small bow to Lemercier. "Still, good to see you. I've had three offers for Barovian Festival already, and there's a rumor going around that Councilor LaGrange is interested in Pollice Verso."

"Excellent. You do as good a job as your father, my boy, and maybe even a better one. You've talent, certainly." Lemercier said, smiling amiably. He withdrew a thick stack of invitations from his coat pocket and began to distribute them to you.

As you touched the invitation, suddenly the illusion of silence and solitude in the gallery fell apart like mist pierced by the morning sun. Instead, you could look through the doors to a magnificent celebration, a party in the finest high style of Dementlieu.

"Take an invitation, take off your masks, and step up to the door." Donatien Tessier said with the cadence of one who has said this a very long time. "The door-captain will take a good look at your face, and M. Lemercier will vouch for you then. I vouch for Evariste. Then step on inside and enjoy the Masque. Oh, and don't step in the puddle."

There was indeed a large puddle just in front of the door.

"We won't, and thank you, Donatien, for providing these invitations on such short notice." Lemercier said.

"Did I have a choice?" The young M. Tessier asked.

"Not particularly." Lemercier answered, unperturbed.

"Thought so." Donatien grinned. "Head on inside and have fun. I'll be joining you once the stragglers arrive."

Arcana DC 15
Arcana DC 20
Arcana DC 20; if you succeed at this, you are allowed an Insight DC 15.

Feel free to come up and create interesting masquerade costumes for your PCs. In fact, I encourage it. Go crazy.

[Kaitou Kage]

This happens before the Gallery post, but the post was snuck in while I was typing (just before I finished, too)

Cyrus watched Lia go and turned to survey his options. There was Nerit. Watching her threaten to tear him apart was absolutely thrilling, and the exchange at the ball might be equally so. Unfortunately of all the women the dommer had eyes for, she was most likely to turn him down. Too bad, too. She was quite pretty under that annoying green habit.

There was Celeste, the pretty debutante. She was charming, delightful, and absolutely beautiful, though she did talk an awful lot. She was also quite a challenge. The good dommer considered making a bolder move now, but the girl was consumed by girl-talk with Nerit and Alice, and women hated interruptions during girl-talk. Cyrus decided Celeste was a seed more carefully sown and watered.

And speaking of Alice, she was there, too, but so was her brother. Worse, her brother was apparently a devout Ezran. Cyrus grew up in a household of boys, but he knew enough about siblings (and sisters) to know that brothers were usually very protective of their siblings. The best way to get to Alice would be through Richard. The religion gap would be difficult to cross, what with the propaganda the Ezrans and the "enlightened" Dementlieuse spread about the Lawgiver. Enlightened indeed. If they were so smart, they wouldn't be in the mess they were in. Still, Richard seemed capable of appreciating martial prowess and Cyrus knew his own strengths. Perhaps a bit of friendly bonding over swordplay and tactics would open Richard up and thus pave the way to Alice.

With martial ability in mind, Cyrus's gaze turned to where Katja walked off. Calm, collected, distant, that one would be as tough a fight as Celeste -- and just as worth it. She probably had some dark or depressing past. She'd hinted at something like that once or twice. Might have even lost someone close and is afraid to get close again. Moreover, she was strong, confident -- to a degree -- and proud of her swordsmanship. Walking armories rarely lacked confidence in their skill-at-arms. Of all the women, she was bound to be the most exciting when push came to shove. But she was gone for now. There'd be time to learn about her later.

Then his gaze turned to the last (but not least), Cerise. She wasn't quite as pretty on the surface, but she had a sharp mind. Sharper than she let on, to be sure. Cyrus was confident that beneath all the conspiracy theories and superstitious blather was an intelligent and charming young woman just waiting to be let loose. Of course, Cyrus was the one who intended to let her loose. Even better, she was currently unattached. So he made his way across the room to her and bowed formally.

"Miss Rondelet," he said, putting on his best charm for the occasion, "May I have the honor of being your escort at the gallery tonight?"

This post is staying as it is because Neo decided he was going to ninja while I was trying to write it. So it's out of synch with the latest post >P So move along if you wish!

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia's costume is, perhaps, a little strange for the grand environment the group has been carted to. Instead of her riding skirts and trousers, she had come wearing the black robes of a desert nomad. Although the edges are a little frayed and worn, the cloth is of high quality, clean, and almost as black as the night sky. A very sharp eye might pick out the fact that some of the 'fraying' is actually damage caused by caustic acid. A very sharp nose may still pick up a ghost of a scent of sand on this garment ... and blood.

And yet, rather than make the Mage look ragged, it somehow gives her a stately quality. Lia glides in these robes, perfectly at ease in the embrace of the rippling cloth. The Mage gracefully accepts the invitation, looking it over before she gives it an odd little smile and presents herself to the doorman so he can look at her face behind the veil.

Once through the door, Lia leans her ubiquitous staff in the crook of her arm and raises the large drawstring bag she brought out from the carriage with her. Opening it, she withdraws a monstrosity of a mask. The thing is made of what looks like solid ebony, and fits over her head very smoothly still, even after nine years. Crystals in the mask's eyeholes reflect the light of candles with the shade of blood. The powerful jaws of a hyena are married to the sly eyes and ears of a fox. Silver stains dot the mask's neckpiece.

"Well then," Lia says, turning to the rest of the party and regarding them from behind the beautifully-crafted, ghoulish mask, her voice a few octaves lower than usual. "Shall we join the party?"

(OOC: Arcana checks: 17, 27 and 20. Insight check: 18.)

[DocBeard]

"But ho, Yugof, and come attend to me,
Tonight we show the old men their mistake,
With cold iron, warm bile, kinetic force,
Shall Nature herself determine my course!"

Out of the ever concealing shadows steps a dark-haired and grim faced Lamordian, a prominent stitched scar along his left eye, an aristocratic sneer upon his sinister face, hair wildly waving around a once noble brow. Wearing the grim brown suit of the educated class, this visage's appearance is tattered and torn as though it had been worn through blasphemous labors, strange scars and gleaming metal hinted at beneath the thin veneer of civilization, but the most obvious reference is the torn, ragged white lab coat, a condition no sane doctor would allow his or her coat to become. Striding forward, Mordenheim...or his monster?...forcefully takes his invitation, peering at it with vicious eyes over too-thin fingers, as though he were finally given the secret to life everlasting!

"Hunchbacked fool, can you not see,
All the world is science's prize to take,
There is no act too base, no plan too foul,
For knowledge, we must slay the sacred cow!"

"If hoary spirits do judge us from above,
And they'd deny me the company of love,
Let the heavens TREMBLE at the sight,
Of what Mordenheim shall create tonight!*"

There is a pause, as that most wicked of men does triumph in his defiance of the laws of man, nature, and god, before the grim specter hunches a little, as if somehow remembering a naturally amicable disposition, and checks his invitation a second time. "Gosh! Look at all that gold lettering!" The eager, cheerful disposition rather ruins the costume's effect, though it might be a little disturbing seeing Lamordia's most infamous villain(who does look startlingly like the current Doctor Mordenheim, it must be admitted.) cheerfully offer the host of the evening a handshake. "Thank you so much for going to all this trouble!"

[*The famous Vengeance Soliloquy, from, "The Tragic Journey of der Doktor-Baron von Mordenheim", by the play write known only as 'A.M.' and translated by le'Comte du Chaperote. ]

(Lesse, uh, 10, 7, and 3 on the rolls. Wow. Man, I'm a heck of a lot luckier on the WOTC dice roller.)

[yalenusveler]

Kerrian's choice of costuming was interesting to say the least, motivated perhaps more by practicality than anything else. After all, a laborer doesn't quite have the funds at hand to acquire a costume.

Instead, Kerrian had taken work attire, and embellished it with greenery, taking what he could to transform it from the attire of a common laborer to instead the sort of garment one might expect of a Green Man come fresh from making the fields of the world bloom once more with vibrant life.

His mask was, much like his costume, a bit improvised in and of itself, hand carved and following much the same theme, a pattern of green foliage, two oak leaves meeting over the bridge of his nose forming the bulk of it, secured with a sturdy leather cord.

"Thank you for the invitation." He said with a bit of a smile, trying to be pleasant, but something in the nature of the candles set him a bit on edge. "But...I have to ask..does the gallery have problems with..otherworldly beings?" He gestured to the candles for emphasis, trying to ignore the quiescent water elemental, as much as the earlier experiences of the day suggested doing otherwise.

Caution was one animal, Paranoia was another, despite how much their coats may look similar, one had a far fiercer bite.