The Shattered City: Chapter Four

[NeoTiamat]

1 Days, 23 Hours, 22 Minutes
Kasim al-Darwish's Pavilion, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"There are almost-dead who do drink, however," Lia says, not to be dissuaded so easily, "and of course all living things must drink.

Honoured Alchimist, have you ever heard of baltya, Poison For The Dead Who Walk? I had heard that it was a solution which could be imbibed by the undead, and would send them into the afterlife swiftly and painlessly, with no chance of return from that Great Unknown.”

“This one has heard of the baltya, but this one believes it a myth.” Al-Darwish said apologetically, spreading his clawed hands once more. “Is too neat, too great a panacea to exist. This one knows not the trick of it, and believes it false.”

There was a sudden pause as one of the things at al-Darwish's feet began to growl. It lifted its head, looking a bit like a particularly ursine hyena with dusky-red fur, regarding the Market crowds for a moment. Al-Darwish murmurred something, and the beast lay back down, it's fellow not even having woken up.

“This one begs forgiveness, Irem is nervous. Is nothing.” The merchant said, then continued. “What this one may do, however, is dissolve a bane in a liquid solution. Forced down the throat, this would harm one of the dead grievously. But this one may only do so if a bane is known.”

”As for scattering a tangle of spirits... What if they are tangled about a living soul? Or at least a soul that is alive as yet? Do you have any potions or oils that could free such a person from their unintentional guests, or at least strengthen their body and soul so they do not die from more traditional attempts at exorcism?"

“The latter, that is simple. Potions of life, of strength and healing, this one has many.” Al-Darwish said, musing. “The former... not so simple. This one may create a potion of bane, as said before, and perhaps this will make such spirits flee. Otherwise, this one knows not how to be of help.”

"Remy." Tomas instead asks while Lia is Liaing all over the place, lowering his voice noticeably, "Did you talk to Sebastian? I...well, frankly, I wasn't sure if he wanted me around his office right now, and I've been worried about him."

"To be honest, I think if Sam and Jervis walked in the door we'd welcome them with open arms," Remy admitted wryly. "Just to have someone who understands what it was like... but you're a friend, Tomas. Whatever quibbles we might have, the thing that troubles us the most is that you and Lia will leave again." The pale professor gave a smile, small and thin, but genuine. "I know it may not seem that way sometimes. Things have changed so much in nine years, and it seems like there's always something we have to do, always some excuse to make, never enough time... but no matter how much our responsibilities keep us from being the friends we should be, and no matter what might happen in this madness, don't forget that."

Lessard twisted the ring on his finger, and sighed. "He's bad, Tomas. He's really bad. I... look, I'll tell you later, alright?" He cast a significant glance toward the Hazlani merchant, and to the denizens of the market at large. "We have enough we need to focus on right now. Later, I promise."

[The Whistler]

"Several more than that. Perhaps we are looking at this from the wrong angle. Instead of exorcising a spirit from a mortal body, we need the mortal body exorcised from the mass of spirits. I'm sure if anyone was capable of devising such a feat, it would you."

"Well, they're not so much a person as maybe death itself, but then things got complicated, and I think things are going really wrong...well, they've already gone really wrong, and I want to make this less wrong, and I'm kind of in over my head?"

"There are rather a lot of spirits." Celeste looked a bit crestfallen, at this. "The...ah, the 'mortal body' and the person we wish to speak to are one and the same person...had we made that clear, Mlle. Halvari? I am quite uncertain...oh, it is quite a muddle of a situation, good Miss. I confess myself unequal to the task of describing it, far less unravelling it, I should not mind telling you."

It was at this point (the wink, specifically) that the subtext between Agale and Inky hit Celeste like a brick to the head. You could tell because of her quickly hidden facial expression, which read: "I have a chance to marry off my sober yet quietly charming housemate to a beautiful faerie shopkeeper maiden, and everyone will live happily ever after for my efforts, because That Is How These Things Work." Looking at this facial expression was the rough interpersonal equivalent of looking into the sun.

"...Though my Borcan friend should be more than qualified to offer that same, should you need any further detail! He is a lawyer, Mlle. Halvari." Celeste pronounced 'lawyer' like she was pronouncing 'Viscount of Levkarest'.

[Nerit]

Nerit approached Inky's Emporium, arm-in-arm with Alice Blackwood. It seemed they were chums, or amis as Dementlieuse would probably put it.

"Ah, of course, here they are," Nerit muttered to her friend. She watched the huldra's tail with a raised brow and then waited for Celeste to finish praising (read: aggrandizing) Mr. Agale.

Somehow, the nun wedged her way in with Agale, Celeste, Petrik, and Kerrian. "Might I be of assistance, my oblique conspirators?" she asked with a smirk.

Wheeling to the sweet-faced creature with an incline of her head, she explained, "Mademoiselle, we have an associate who ran afoul of powerful magic. Not only is he potentially fused with many spirits, but this led him to become their avatar, their leader and representative. We desire, above all else, to return our human friend to his human condition before his current deification becomes permanent."

When she finished she smiled at the huldra, her eyes twinkling. She just might have winked.

So, maybe Nerit and Alice had been standing there longer than anyone else had realized.

27 Arcana to identify the huldra, since Nerit missed that little tidbit.

[NeoTiamat]

1 Days, 23 Hours, 24 Minutes
Century Oak, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"If one of you would remain here?" he says, glancing at the Reniers and Katja.

“No.” Katja said curtly.

“We'll stay here and watch your stand.” Bertriz Renier said with a small smile. “You can trust us.”

There came a sound rather like a sniggering from a tree branch above you. Probably your imagination.

"If you would put two coronas on deposit, monsieur, let's away to your stall. I will make an initial examination and then we will revisit the subject of remuneration. Is that agreeable?"

“It is, and thank you for being so understanding.” Dior said, opening a money-pouch and dropping two platinum coins onto Mercator's stall. “It's close by.”


1 Days, 23 Hours, 16 Minutes
Dior's Stand, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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You followed Dior through the Midnight Market. The golden-haired man wove through the crowds with a talent born of long experience, slipping past people with only a whispered 'excuse me' to mark his passage. Katja, who followed immediately after him, was decidedly less gentle in her approach, bulling through the crowds and breaking a path by which you could follow her.

You soon reached M. Dior's establishment. There were three tents set up in front of the animal pens, set up in a rough semi-circle around what could only be an auctioneer's block. The tents were large, heavy things made of felt, something that likely would have been appropriate on the steppes of Nova Vaasa.

There were also guards. Two that you could spot, strange creatures that stood unmoving by the entrances of the tents. Tall, shrouded in grey-blue robes, and wearing what appeared to be steel helmets fashioned to look like the heads of plumed birds. They had polearms, wicked-looking halberds with curved hooks on the end.

Dior said a few words in a language which you did not recognize, then dodged into the smallest of the three tents, though it was still a fairly voluminous place. Inside the tent there were two inhabitants. Another one of the strange bird-masked guards, and a young woman laying on a pallet. Katja glared at the guard, then brusquely shoved past Mercator to take up a watchful position opposite the guard.

She was young, though after the first impression faded, not quite as young as she looked. Perhaps eighteen, nineteen, though small enough and scrawny enough as to look three years younger. She had curly brown hair and a dusting of freckles across her face. She was a bit too scrawny to be properly pretty, but at the moment she had worse issues.

“Perrine, wake up?” Dior said gently, kneeling by the girl and moving aside a blanket a bit. She opened her eyes, watching Monsieur Dior and Mercator with suspicious eyes. The golden-haired young man continued. “I've brought someone to help. This is Dr. Melanchthon.”

1 Days, 23 Hours, 18 Minutes
Inky's Emporium, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"I'm sure if anyone was capable of devising such a feat, it would you." he said, sliding a flirtatious wink in Inky's direction.

"Oh..." Inky giggled, trying to wave off his praise even as she blushed.

"Well, they're not so much a person as maybe death itself, but then things got complicated, and I think things are going really wrong..."

"Oh?" Inky questioned, raising her eyebrows and looking a bit confused.

"The...ah, the 'mortal body' and the person we wish to speak to are one and the same person...had we made that clear, Mlle. Halvari?"

"OH." Inkeri said. "HIM."

Both words were in a frigid, ice cold tone that could have etched stone. Socialite Celeste recognized well enough - it was the sort of frozen disapproval and horror that polite ladies used, usually when describing something on the bottom of their shoe, or alternatively the common-folk. Inky sounded like she'd been informed that her prettier, better-liked sister was crashing her birthday party, wearing the same dress as her, and had stolen her boyfriend.

"Mademoiselle, we have an associate who ran afoul of powerful magic. Not only is he potentially fused with many spirits, but this led him to become their avatar, their leader and representative. We desire, above all else, to return our human friend to his human condition before his current deification becomes permanent."

"Good!" Inkeri exclaimed. "Good! You are most certainly right, Goodman, things are going completely wrong!" With a fit of temper, Inky effortlessly bent the cast iron ladle she was holding in half.

"Goodness!" Alice said, obviously surprised. "I'd no idea you felt so strongly about it!"

"Of course I do!" Inky dropped the ladle, collapsing into Agale's arms - for comfort, of course. "The Lady of Winter is killed, and gone, like she never existed, and now this! This replacement! Oh, it is all such a mess!" She buried her face in Agale's grey suit. "None of this should have happened! How could this all have happened?"

"Well," she said after a bit, composing herself slightly, "he is beyond most of us. It is very tricky to do anything about him, or we would have! But you say you knew him in life? Then I might be able to divine a ritual to stop the transformation." Inky paused for a moment, getting that same fidgety look that both Kerrian and Celeste had gotten, that said she was having a good amount of trouble trying to properly determine how to say what came next.

"Would any of you be wishing to drink poison today?" she tried, looking extremely bashful.

[Nathan of the FoS]

“We'll stay here and watch your stand.” Bertriz Renier said with a small smile. “You can trust us.”

Mercator gives Beatriz a look which, in all probability, she has gotten many times before--the look that a rather stern tutor gives a clever, spoiled child who has promised to sit quietly and read her lesson while he steps out to attend to some other piece of business. Bertram gets just a flicker of the same look, before it is replaced with a very slight smile and a quarter-bow. "If anyone inquires, you may inform such a person of my whereabouts."

Hurrying through the crowd as if pulled by Katja's wake, Mercator eventually slips into the tent, giving the guard a wide berth and approaching the bed. "Good evening, mademoiselle," he says quietly. "I understand you are unwell. May I be of assistance?"

[lostboy]

And Nicolas follows sullenly in Mercator's wake. Whether the lack of verbosity from the poet was due to his Benoit impression (in case Athene happened to be about), or the fact they were wandering into a slavers den wasn't clear, but he was there nonetheless.

Looking slightly apprehensive in a very un-Benoit like way he enters the tent, appraising the scene his scowl is back in place. "Doctor's Assistant" he growls in explanation to Dior as he passes, before squatting down on the opposite side of the pallet to Mercator and looking at the girl carefully

OOC: Streetwise 20 on Dior, Perception 11 on the girl, and for luck heal 24 to assist ze diagnosis...

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"You have been most forthcoming and helpful in the face of my unreasonable questions, and I thank you for it," Lia says with a bow. "I wonder, do you have essence of garlic? The kind that can be stored for a long time and can be rubbed into wooden stakes?"

When the hyena-like creature growls, Lia raises an eyebrow. "What is it that disturbs your guardian, Honoured Alchimist?" she asks.

[DocBeard]

"I don't stay in one place too long for a reason." Tomas murmurs evasively, but nods agreeably to Remy's deferment. After a moment, Tomas finally decides that as cool as fire breath is he really shouldn't be spending money on trifles. Lia will inevitably...

Yep, there she goes. Nothing makes a merchant okay with having his time wasted like finding something to buy anyway.

[The Whistler]

"Of course I do!" Inky dropped the ladle, collapsing into Agale's arms - for comfort, of course. "The Lady of Winter is killed, and gone, like she never existed, and now this! This replacement! Oh, it is all such a mess!" She buried her face in Agale's grey suit. "None of this should have happened! How could this all have happened?"

"Oh, unhappy circumstance!" Celeste, looking nearly as broken-up as the Huldra, rushed to Mlle. Halvari's side to aid in the consolation, all the while trying to stay out of Agale's way. It was a tricky maneuver, but she managed to pull it off.

"It may be small consolation indeed, good mademoiselle, but we are quite as ill-favored by this drear state of affairs as yourself! To witness such a noble personage so spiritually discomfited by his involuntary office is nigh-insupportable, given the mortal virtues to which he had heretofore laid claim! Ah, if you could but see him, Mlle. Halvari, and converse with him, in his original form, you would hold only the highest opinion of his person--I assure you, Mlle. Halvari!" She offered a spare handkerchief, in sympathy.

"Would any of you be wishing to drink poison today?"

"...Pardon?" Whatever Celeste's mood had been previously, this was enough to surprise her out of it. It was a short moment, though: she collected herself rapidly, taking the statement as the helpful offer that it was apparently intended to be. That was not to say that there weren't reservations involved, though.

"My apologies, Mlle. Halvari, for my incomprehension...that is to say...ah...would it be of use? I should risk a great deal to rescue our friend from his distress, though the method...I should be most grateful if you would elaborate further. Ah...would it be quite fatal, then?"

[Nerit]

"I believe the Mademoiselle needs to use one of us as a conduit; a gate to death," Nerit replied, her mouth a thin, flat line on her face. She said nothing else, as Celeste had already asked la fée to elaborate.

[Nathan of the FoS]

The source of the fever is soon apparent--a long, shallow laceration on the unfortunate Perrin's lower left arm, which has become rather nastily inflamed, with red lines running beneath the skin upward toward the elbow. It is warm to the touch, and weeps a clear yellow liquid; slight pressure wrings a gasp from Perrine's lips and a small quantity of pus. It was obviously tended to, not very expertly, when it was made...a few days ago, by the look of it. There's no sign of bruising or abrasions of the same age on the hands...it would seem she wasn't fighting off an attacker. Still, there are certain odd characteristics...there is rather more tearing than Mercator would associate with a knife wound, but no sign of the crushing that would indicate a bite. Perhaps a very dull blade? Well, there's an easy way to find out.

"How did you acquire the wound, mademoiselle?" he asks quietly. "And how have you been treating it?"

[Kaitou Kage]

Would any of you be wishing to drink poison today?" she tried, looking extremely bashful.

"Perhaps."

Rex's voice floated out of nowhere. It wasn't until the wiry, sharp-eyed fellow detached himself from the wall that anyone noticed he was there. Whether he'd recently arrived or whether he'd tagged along the whole time, nobody could say.

His piercing gaze suddenly locked onto Inkeri like a snake sizing up its prey. His eyes normally darted to and fro, even when the pharmacist seemed at rest. But now they saw Inkeri and nothing else. He slowly walked closer, slipping through the shop like a shadow.

"Explain to me what it entails and what purpose it serves toward our ends. Then I shall decide if I take it."

[yalenusveler]

If Kerrian was troubled by Rex's sudden and previously unnoticed entrance, he didn't let it show. Never mind Nerit and Alice, who had also made entrances, but perhaps ones not quite so subtle. "I..I have the Lady of Winter's book. I was hoping it might be possible to talk to her, find out who killed her. We've..run into people trying to take advantage of her absence, and I don't want that to keep happening."

He had ignored the whole drinking poison comment, at least in the moment. Perhaps it was one of those things where his mind was taking a bit of extra time to process what was said. "What kind of poison? I'm..getting kind of used to interacting with otherworldly stuff, but there's a great dark death thing that might try to kill me, and I'm not sure it'll respect the rules here. But if it'll help us save our friend..I'll do it."

[Cronax]

On an intellectual level, Mr. Agale was aware of the hideous strength a Huldra was capable. Seeing it firsthand was however an entirely different matter. Suppressing his surprise, he barely caught the improbably light Troll-wife. He had to resist his on curiosity in probing her back to check the rumor that her kind were hollow on that side. Instead, he patted her reassuringly, not wholly committed to the amorous implications she had bandied about earlier, but neither resolutely opposed to them either.

"Perhaps we had better start at the beginning, or closer at least, mon petit chou. Do you know whence the Lady of Winter, whom we know as M. Chastel appeared or anything else about her position for that matter?" Knowledge is indeed power. Miss Halveri's exchange with Petrik implied she is at least old, if not immortal as her kind are said to be.

That Miss Viardot was oblivious to Inkeri's purpose behind the subject change was understandable given the socialite's usual demeanor. That Mr. Prescott and Mr. Mauganson suffered from similar naivete lowered them somewhat in the lawyer's estimation.

[NeoTiamat]

1 Days, 23 Hours, 12 Minutes
Kasim al-Darwish's Pavilion, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"You have been most forthcoming and helpful in the face of my unreasonable questions, and I thank you for it," Lia says with a bow. "I wonder, do you have essence of garlic? The kind that can be stored for a long time and can be rubbed into wooden stakes?"

“This one does.” Kasim al-Darwish said, returning the bow, causing the light to glint oddly off his tattoos. “Concentrated garlic, most pungent. Its smell should keep the Vrykolakas at bay. Forty solars a jar. This one also has stakes to sell, in yew, ash, or hawthorn, should the Honored Scholar wish to purchase them, at ten solars for five.”

Garlic:

VIEW CONTENT:

Power (Consumable * Zone): Standard Action. Make an attack: Area burst 2 within 5; targets each vampire in burst; +13 vs. Fortitude; the target is pushed 2 squares. The burst creates a zone; all vampires within the zone take a -2 penalty to attack rolls and saving throws. The zone lasts until the end of the encounter.

Staking

VIEW CONTENT:

Staking is treated as Coup-de-grace attack (standard action, only versus a helpless target), save that the subject vampire takes no damage but is rendered unconscious until the stake is removed. A more permanent means, such as beheading or fire is necessary to permanently remove the vampire. Staking a non-vampire is a regular coup-de-grace with a base damage of 1d6.

Rubbing garlic concentrate on a stake is a standard action. You forgo the initial burst-attack, but create a zone which will follow you.

When the hyena-like creature growls, Lia raises an eyebrow. "What is it that disturbs your guardian, Honoured Alchimist?" she asks.

“This one is uncertain.” Al-Darwish said, with a glance at the red-furred beast. He went down on one knee and ran his clawed fingers through the creature's fur, causing the monstrosity to relax a bit. “Irem is young, perhaps he saw nothing. Perhaps something, this one does not know. But the Midnight Market is safe. Irem need not guard this one here.”

For all his calming words, the Hazlani watched the surroundings very carefully. There was little enough to make note of.

1 Days, 23 Hours, 12 Minutes
Dior's Stand, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"How did you acquire the wound, mademoiselle?" he asks quietly. "And how have you been treating it?"

“She slipped and fell, down in the catacombs.” The ever-solicitous M. Dior supplied promptly, looking over Mercator's shoulder. Perrine seemed to withdraw away from him, eyes racing to find something else to focus on, settling on Mercator's half-alien face. Dior continued, either unaware or simply heedless of the girl's fright. “I had the wound bandaged, and then just generally gave her plenty of rest and plenty of food. Right, Perrine?”

Wordlessly, Perrine nodded, still looking away from Dior.

Meanwhile, Nicolas felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him gently back. It was Katja, the stoic swordswoman gazing at the wounded and sick girl with rather intense interest. Soundlessly, Katja mouthed. “Perrine!”

1 Days, 23 Hours, 12 Minutes
Inky's Emporium, The Midnight Market, Just past Midnight on April 23rd, 770
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"I should be most grateful if you would elaborate further. Ah...would it be quite fatal, then?"

"I believe the Mademoiselle needs to use one of us as a conduit; a gate to death," Nerit replied, her mouth a thin, flat line on her face.

"I fear I must," the Huldra agreed with Nerit. "You must understand, it is very tricky. HE is already beyond most of us. To simply destroy him would be very hard. If he is a friend and you wish him to live, it is even harder. If I can divine upon the mortal anchor for these spirits, I can create a ritual drawing upon his own nature. But I must have a connection to him to try." She did have the decency to look rather abashed at all of this. "And it must be a connection to him. A random death will not get beyond the spirits within him, but he will be drawn to someone he knows."

"It does not have to be fatal? But the person must remain very close to death while I perform the divination, so it may likely be so," Inky explained.

"I..I have the Lady of Winter's book. I was hoping it might be possible to talk to her, find out who killed her."

"You can not," Inky said regretfully, still clinging to Agale. "When they Lady of Winter dies, she returns to the spirit of the land, and the Mother of Summer steps up to take her place. But now there is no more spirit of winter, no more role for the Mother of Summer to fill. It is almost as if they died with her. But that is impossible!"

"Hah!" Petrik snapped from the tent doorway. "The fey are the first to dismiss the unknown as impossible."

"Perhaps we had better start at the beginning, or closer at least, mon petit chou. Do you know whence the Lady of Winter, whom we know as M. Chastel appeared or anything else about her position for that matter?"

"She was one of the Triarchs, the spirits of the Land. Mother, Maiden and Crone; birth, growth, and death. They are ancient roles," Inky replied, giving Agale a favorable smile.

"A trio of Fey Lords with delusions of grandeur, more likely," Professor Petrik sniffed.

"Jealous?" Inky suggested, with a smug look toward the austere professor. "They cycle as their seasons suggest. The Maiden of Spring matures into the Mother of Summer, the Mother of Summer grows into the Lady of Winter, the Lady of Winter dies and is reborn as the Maiden of Spring. But our kind live on a different scale of time than yours. The Lady of Winter... Chastel, had been there since long before I came here."

"I recall Chastel from her curations. She was negligent in her duties and apathetic to her work," Pertik said, harshly.

"I am told she was cool-headed and wise," Inky huffed. "Given how the land acted without her, I believe that more so."