The Shattered City: Chapter Two

[The Whistler]

"Mercy!"

This was not a command for forbearance, but an expression of surprise; Celeste, being unaccustomed to cultists as a rule, had very little idea how to react when presented with one. She did appear to be more interested in Anne-Marie than pure shock might entail, staring at the woman with the air of one who has forgotten the name of a distant acquaintance; you could see the gears turning in her head. After a brief interval, she turned abruptly toward Lia:

"I say, isn't that quite reminiscent of..."

...Lia was currently occupied with shouting things at people. Celeste gave up midsentence, not wanting to be a bother.

Mlle. Viardot did not appear to be entirely comfortable with the idea of subduing and tying up a living being (perhaps this was all a misunderstanding?), but on balance, seemed to think it the prudent thing to do.

"Ah...yes, let nobody overtax themselves; I am certain that we shall have this whole matter settled with a minimum of fuss. Discretion! Always discretion!"

She peered at the dagger by Tomas' feet; you got the impression that she would have picked it up in The Interests of Procuring A Clue, if she weren't made slightly queasy by the whole business.

[yalenusveler]

Kerrian just gave the now rather wet architect of the current events a look that dwelt somewhere between hatred and pity. Kerrian wasn't unfamiliar with the monstrous. He grew up with tales of the wolves that caused his people to abandon Veberek, was reminded of them each time he looked in the mirror.

But the sheer capacity of human beings to be monstrous to one another was something that still just utterly stunned him at times. He tried to listen to the spirits for some sort of vague understanding of what could motivate someone to orchestrate something like this. Likely cause untold loss of life.

But even a connection to the enormity of the primal realm sometimes simply failed to grasp the enormity of human wickedness, and perhaps in the grand scheme of things, the dance of stars and planets and the song of life between them, that was a good thing.

But now, it simply left Kerrian softly voicing a question directed at their latest captive, trapped between pleading for and demanding an answer.

"Why?"

OOC:12 on an insight

[DocBeard]

Tomas squats down, picking up the knife and, barring it catching fire, putting it in his catch-all adventuring bag. "Look, we went about this the wrong way, what with your trying to kill us and turning our friend into a monster. Hold on."

Eisenwald pulls a cloth out of his bag, and proceeds to wipe Anna Marie's face dry. "Look, I'd love to sit down and discuss your choices in life and how you ended up in a dirty flat in a cheap part of the city of lights, cutting yourself into a bowl and plotting people's deaths. I'm sure you've got reasons you think are good, like this woman's blackmailing you or your family, or you've been told that this is going to bring something besides misery in the world..."

"But we don't have time. If you do want to talk, though, I'll listen. But we'll need to move, and quickly. Darius is right; she doesn't need a hood, and where she doesn't look'll tell us what mirrors to avoid. She can see what her work has wrought." Tomas frowns a little, and takes a look over the flat. "Everyone, take a quick look for clues, and let's get going."

(The 'Tomas must suck.' trend continues. 20 on insight, 21 on diplomacy, 9 on perception.)

[Nathan of the FoS]

These people have weird ideas about what to do with dangerous prisoners. Or maybe it's just Tomas.

Darius communicates you go look to see if there's anything else here, I'll keep an eye on the prisoner by catching Cyrus' eye and nodding toward the door; that done, he mutters to Tomas, "I hope you have a better idea of what you're doing than I do." Now that things are a little more nearly under control, he inspects the ritualist's body language and expressions with a clinical eye as he speaks, meanwhile using the rope to keep her hands behind her back and raised slightly in a position that gives her a minimum amount of leverage and certainly can't be comfortable, although probably not outright painful.

25 Insight

[lostboy]

Rather than relieved at the resolution, Nicholas just looks irritated and not just at the woman in front of them. Sighing he uncocks and lowers the pistol.

Kneelling down he prods the bowl with the gun, as if turning it over will miraculously restore the water and allow him to see the point of the ritual that was recently enacted. "Something was at work here, something with an air of divinty, something of small consequence, but something I do not like nonetheless." He says softly, but loud enough for all to hear, then looking up addresses Anne-Marie.

"I will ask only once Ma Chere, in what enterprise were you engaged prior to our arrival? My patience is longer than some, but it is not exhaustive, I would highly suggest you enlighten us, and quickly."

OOC: Insight: 24, Perception on the bowl: 14, Diplomacy: 17

[yalenusveler]

Things occasionally made more sense than people, so for the time being Kerrian was doing as Tomas suggested, and making a quick look around for clues. For a moment, he tried to see if he could feel that unpleasant coldness that led to an abrupt halt to his vision, but perhaps fortunately whatever entity caused it was beyond Kerrian's senses at the moment.

Of course, he did have his supplies with him, but the chance he would meet anything friendly here was slim to none, and considering that he had already come unpleasantly close to death earlier in the evening, common sense thankfully overruled curiosity.

Well, at least metaphysical curiosity, the physical element quite in full swing as he made a once over of the room.

"I found something..well, two somethings." Said while inspecting a bookshelf, more for tomes of dark magic or the like than to get an insight into Anne Marie's literary tastes.

The first thing was a calling card, for a certian Dr. Nicole Poincare, with an address "#1 Route de Tarascons", and a word written in black ink on the back. "Revanche."

The second something was a note, apparently correspondence between this likely not so good doctor, and Anne Marie, reprimanding her for removing Cedolin too early, with a rather interesting postscript. Namely "We are beginning the ritual early, join us as soon as you are able."

Kerrian was about to get moving, when something else caught his eye, and it certainly wasn't a copy of A military History of Falkovnia. Instead, it was a schedule. A duty roster/schedule for what appears to be a checkpoint on a road to the University to be exact. At around 10 PM someone had written in "departure", and at around 2 AM, "return". The "return" was originally at 4 AM, but it was changed.

Needless to say, certain revelations did nothing to improve Kerrian's disposition towards the young woman they were so kindly "escorting" to the "safety" of prison, the look he gave her communicating "I hope you hang for this" far better than words ever could.

OOC: 32 on a Perception

[NeoTiamat]

47 Rue Foyle, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; Late Night of March 24th, 770
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But now, it simply left Kerrian softly voicing a question directed at their latest captive, trapped between pleading for and demanding an answer.

"Why?"

"You need to ask? You mean you wouldn't take the chance?" Anne-Marie said quietly, an odd gleam in her eyes. Somehow, for all that had happened, for all the fact that her life hung by a sliver and the prison of Montmort offered only a short future, she didn't seem scared. She had the courage of her convictions, whatever else. "A chance to be something more than a furry-faced laborer?"

"Look, I'd love to sit down and discuss your choices in life and how you ended up in a dirty flat in a cheap part of the city of lights, cutting yourself into a bowl and plotting people's deaths. I'm sure you've got reasons you think are good, like this woman's blackmailing you or your family, or you've been told that this is going to bring something besides misery in the world..."

"But we don't have time. If you do want to talk, though, I'll listen."

"Time. It's the Half-Moon, when the borders are thin and power is in the air. The Rite of Transfiguration continues apace. And I won't be a part of it." Anne-Marie said quietly, looking saddened for the first time since you had entered. Then she looked back up at Tomas. "It's not too late for you to change your mind. Join the Rite, take a chance at greatness."

"I doubt you'll take the offer." Anne-Marie admitted, looking all at once like just a young woman and not a fanatic. "But you're kind, so I owe you at least that much."

"I will ask only once Ma Chere, in what enterprise were you engaged prior to our arrival? My patience is longer than some, but it is not exhaustive, I would highly suggest you enlighten us, and quickly."

"You're already taking me to Montmort, if you don't kill me on the way. Chop-chop, snicker-snack, off with my head." Anne-Marie said in a sing-song tone. She smiled at Nicolas. "I'm sorry, M'sieu, but I'm not seeing much of an upside to talking to you right now."

[yalenusveler]

"You need to ask? You mean you wouldn't take the chance?" Anne-Marie said quietly, an odd gleam in her eyes. Somehow, for all that had happened, for all the fact that her life hung by a sliver and the prison of Montmort offered only a short future, she didn't seem scared. She had the courage of her convictions, whatever else. "A chance to be something more than a furry-faced laborer?"

"If the cost of becoming something "more" is murdering an officer of the law, and potentially spirits only knows how many others, I'll gladly remain what I am." Kerrian said, though with evidence in hand, and egress on his mind, he did stop to voice one last question. "What does joining the rite involve?" Not out of any real desire to transcend into a mirror being..more idle curiosity, and hey..divulging her strange fringe group's plan. Always a good thing.

[lostboy]

Nicholas sighs in an effected melancholic fashion and runs a hand through his hair, and holsters the pistol in one movement. Then there is a cigarette in his hands, smoke curling from the tip. "Your choice ma chere, I do indeed regret the choice of destination, for both our sakes, but trust me your fate at Montmort may be less severe if you choose more wisely now. No, your mind is made up? Well in that case I'd offer you my prayers if I had any, but as it is, one piece of advice; look forward to the fish stew on a friday it at least tastes of something other than maggots..."

The poet supresses a shudder, offers the lady a quick smile and turns away, apparently wandering aimlessly around the room, until he manoueveurs himself next to a certain wizardess.

"She doesnt know anyhting about the elemental, your comments were a shock to her" he whispers in Lia's ear "I think we perhaps need to re-evaluate before charging off headlong to the aid of the faculty." Thsi is finsihed with the obligatory salacious wink, Lia is afterall a memeber of the fairer sex, regardless of how prickly she might be.

[DocBeard]

"...you..." Tomas looks at Kerrian's evidence, his form growing almost unnaturally still. Is he breathing? "...let him out. They were going to use him to murder people to feed the things you have been fooled into worshiping."

"They won't thank you, or love you, or whatever it is you need someone to do for you." Tomas sounds almost sad, now, the fury bleeding out of him and a tired, resigned look settling in. "You won't even be 'Anne-Marie' anymore. The star-men cannot abide even repressed free thought. It is as alien to them as they are to us-as painful. You will be broken and used as an example to little star-mites as to why their ways are the best ways, why the alien must be feared, hated, and enslaved. You will be worked to death and then your body will be harvested for spare parts to construct trustworthy infiltrators and evangelists to further undermine sanity. The worst thing I could do to you, Anne-Marie, is to let you go to your ritual."

Tomas turns back around, and the focus on the cultist is really only noticeable now that he has taken that enormous pressure of personality off of her person. "Come on. If the Doc's starting early, we'll need to hurry."

[Nathan of the FoS]

Well, apparently Tomas' strategy has something to it...this murderess has actually evinced some willingness to answer his questions, which is more than she's done for anyone else.

Accordingly, Darius does not stick his oar in...merely steers the captive in the direction of the door. They will have to hurry to get the prisoner to Montmort and themselves to #1 Route de Tarascons in good time, and there's no reason to wait here for something else to come out of the mirror and attempt to eat them.

[Kaitou Kage]

This space for rent. Cyrus is going to look around the rest of the upstairs.

Insight 18, Perception 26

[Nerit]

Nerit quietly fumed behind the twins. Her jaw was tight, holding back a dire desire to speak. For now, though, it was a little too much to bear.

Instead of waiting for them to take the cultist downstairs, she veritably stormed off to find Richard and Cerise.

[NeoTiamat]

47 Rue Foyle, Quartier Savant, Port-a-Lucine; Late Night of March 24th, 770
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"If the cost of becoming something "more" is murdering an officer of the law, and potentially spirits only knows how many others, I'll gladly remain what I am." Kerrian said, though with evidence in hand, and egress on his mind, he did stop to voice one last question. "What does joining the rite involve?"

"Loyalty. Intellect. Willpower." Anne-Marie said shortly. Her lip curled. "Being there helps as well."

"They won't thank you, or love you, or whatever it is you need someone to do for you." Tomas sounds almost sad, now, the fury bleeding out of him and a tired, resigned look settling in. "You won't even be 'Anne-Marie' anymore. The star-men cannot abide even repressed free thought. It is as alien to them as they are to us-as painful. You will be broken and used as an example to little star-mites as to why their ways are the best ways, why the alien must be feared, hated, and enslaved. You will be worked to death and then your body will be harvested for spare parts to construct trustworthy infiltrators and evangelists to further undermine sanity. The worst thing I could do to you, Anne-Marie, is to let you go to your ritual."

"You don't actually have any idea what you're talking about." Anne-Marie said after a moment's looking at Tomas. "Do you?"


Montmort Prison, Quartier Ouvrier, Port-a-Lucine; Nearing Midnight of March 24th, 770
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There were few places in Dementlieu as singularly grim as Montmort. There were other places that were as somber, other places that had held their share of tragedy and death. The old opera house, the grand cemetery, the dark forest outside the city. But Montmort was designed to be frightful, to opress the spirit and crush the will. Once it had been a keep, and it still served as the Government's fortress within the city of Dementlieu. The city armory was stored there, for instance, and it could stand a siege if necessary.

But mostly it was a prison. No one except the wardens knew just how many people were kept in Montmort. By all accounts, there were prisoners who remained in Montmort for decades. In general though, for such crimes, there was a much shorter future in store, a future that ended in the yard of Montmort Prison, beneath the gleaming blade of the guillotine.

"It's the most haunted place in Dementlieu. Or the worst haunted, at least." Cerise said, a little more subdued than usual. She played with a loose bracelet absently, looking up at stark edifice. "I think Pere Villon cemetery has a few more ghosts, but they're mostly peaceful. The ones in Montmort, well, aren't."

"I, I can believe that." Richard said, looking up quietly. The Mordentishman kept his mangled hand close to his chest, hidden beneath the coat. He had paid little attention to the rest of you, though perhaps it could be said that he had good reason.

"They had to replace the guillotine last year. The old one started having a lot of 'accidents' and even began slicing when there was no one around to wind it up." Cerise said, glancing at Richard. "The new one was built in Lamordia, they had to ship it down."

"Something to look forward to." Up ahead, guarded by Darius Isfahani, your captive had lost some of her enthusiasm on the journey to Montmort. She still had very good ears though. Anne-Marie looked smaller now, a quiet, fearful young woman marching towards a grim fate. She thrust her freckled, unassuming face at Montmort, and allowed an ironic smile to cross her features. "I admit I hadn't expected to become a martyr."

Before much more could be said, one of the guards at the gate of Montmort saw you and called out, hailing you. He was one of four, an unfriendly-looking man in uniform, with a rifle in his hands and a saber at his side. "Who goes there? State your business, why are you here?"

[The Whistler]

Celeste had spent the walk to the prison in rather animated conversation with whomever cared to make it, punctuated by concerned glances at their captive. As was customary, she showed no noticeable signs of fatigue or exhaustion, lending further credence to the theory that Lamordian physicists had perfected an experimental fission reactor shaped like a teenaged Dementlieuse socialite. Come to think of it, none of you had ever actually seen her asleep.

The spectre of the prison before her, however, did do something to mute her personality, if only slightly; she looked up at the walls of the keep with a deep breath and an air of trepidation.

"Who goes there? State your business, why are you here?"

The interruption appeared to snap Celeste out of it—whatever “it” was. With a brief head shake to bring herself back to the present, she surged towards the guard post, brandishing the Commissioner’s writ with the confidence of someone who thinks she knows what she is doing.

“Merely a band of Community-Minded Citizens, dear Sir—upon special investigative business at the order of M. Gauvain, Commissioner of Police! What is more, in the course of our appointed duty, we have happened across…” (she glanced at Anne-Marie, then back at the guard) “…a Miscreant. Of sorts. I do not mind telling you, good Sir: we thought it the most prudent course to escort her directly here, that her guilt or innocence should be ascertained by the appropriate authorities!”

She paused, clearly unsure as to whom the appropriate authorities were.