The Shattered City: Chapter Four

[yalenusveler]

Kerrian was about to call on the spirits to assist a certain drunkard poet in making his egress, which would have the unfortunate side effect of causing Kerrian to be in the path of rather large explosions. Fortunately, Kerrian didn't have to join the ancestral spirits QUITE so soon. And amazingly, in what was a surprising show of grace for the young Shaman, he managed to disengage from the train without seriously twisting anything or getting in the path of onrushing foliage.

OOC:Acrobatics 21 to make the dismount

[NeoTiamat]

1 Days, 0 Hours, 36 Minutes
Somewhere in a Forest, Late at night on April 23rd, 770
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Player Actions
Mercator Escapes with elegance.
Agale Escapes with slightly less elegance, taking 9 damage.
Nicolas Escapes elegance.
Rex Escapes with elegance.
Lia Escapes with elegance.
Kerrian Escapes elegance.
Nerit Escapes elegance.
Celeste Escapes with slightly less elegance, taking 4 damage.
Tomas Escapes with extreme elegance.

One after another, you jumped from the train, braving the darkness and the Mists to escape the spectral locomotive. You hit the ground and rolled, feeling the damp grass under your hands, feeling the bushes and the ivy, and in a few less fortunate cases, you felt the trees. The scent of the forests rose in your nostrils, even as the Ghost Train rushed by soundlessly. Were it a normal locomotive, it would have set your teeth to chattering at this close a distance. But you felt nothing.

Finally, as Tomas rumbled off the edge of the train, the last of you all, there was a brilliant flash of light. A ghastly off-white light, it consumed your vision for an instant, shrouding everything from sight, hidden behind a brief glow. Then it passed. And the No. 5 Lamplighter was gone as well. Without a sound, without a breath, with nothing to mark its passage.

In the distance, an owl hooted, and there was the steady chirp of insects through the night. It must have rained not too long ago, as the grass was damp, and you were similarly damp from your landings. You couldn't make out the moon in the trees, but at a guess you must have been somewhere in the King's Forest, northeast of Port-a-Lucine. Assuming, that is, that you were still in Dementlieu.

In the silence, you heard the vague cry of “Ahoy!” It sounded rather like Finnsen, and as you looked, you saw the man digging his heels in as he was pulled along by a rope. At the far end, the Breath strained against it, a flickering wisp of a horse, pale and perfect and ghostly. Finnsen wound the end of his rope about the tree trunk. The Breath reared, but it moved no further. You had done it. You had caught the Breath of Death.

VIEW CONTENT:

Combat is over, but I'll keep this up for a few more posts so people know who needs healing and such-like.

PCs

Tomas Eisenwald (T):
13/71; Bloodied
AC 26, F 19, R 19, W 22; Resist All/3

Prof. Lia Mournswaithe (L):
40/54
AC 21, F 17, R 19, W 18

Celeste Viardot (Cv):
30/61; Bloodied
AC 19, F 19, R 21, W 23

Kerrian Mauganson (K):
46/64;
AC 19, F 21, R 18, W 22

Kerrian's Spirit (Wolfish Outline):
Special
AC 19, F 21, R 18, W 22

Mercator Melanchthon (M):
25+3/65; Bloodied
AC 20, F 21, R 20, W 23

Rex Alistair Prescott (R):
59/59
AC 23, F 17, R 23, W 19

Mr. Agale (A):
36/52
AC 20, F 17, R 21, W 23

Nerit Doherty (N):
53/58
AC 18, F 15, R 18, W 22

Nicolas Etienne de Castaigne (Nc):
15/67; Bloodied
AC 23, F 20, R 22, W 24

Friends

Remy Lessard (Blue R):
AC 23, F 21 R 22, W 21

Eric Finnsen (Blue F):
AC 25, F 19 R 23, W 25

[Nathan of the FoS]

Mercator straightens at last and walks back toward the train tracks...or, at least, the path where the train tracks would lie, if the Number Five were bound by such mundane considerations. "Is everyone off? Everyone all right?" he calls. "Do you need any assistance, M. Finnsen?"

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia starts to limp towards the others. It is only a slight limp, and she has her staff to lean on in any case. "Well," she says once she has rejoined the group. "That was bracing. Not to mention mortifying. Everyone's still alive, I see no permanent disfigurements, so all in all, I'd say we ended this particular caper on a positive balance."

[lostboy]

"That was bracing. Not to mention mortifying."

"I'll say" Nicolas groans. The poet was lying flat on his back beneath a tree puffing away on a cigarette, wincing at every breath. "Think I may have learnt a valuable lesson, although I do have the good Doctor to thank for giving me the opportunity to do so. Merci monsieur." He says rolling out of the mud and tipping a mock hat in Mercator's direction.

"Right lets get everyone up and moving, I don't think La Foret de Roi is the pace to linger at night, not in our state anyway." So saying he wanders vaguely around checking on everyone and humming that inane little tune, that for some reason buoyed bruised spirits and soothed damaged flesh.


I'm assuming this is a short rest? If so:
Song of rest - anyone who needs to can spend a healing surge and regain surge value + 5 (CHA mod) hp

[Nerit]

Nerit allowed Rex to take her hand. She passed him a grateful, knowing smile as she straightened up. In fact, this was the first time in minutes her face had been visible and clear of shadow even in the King's Forest. The nun, or woman-in-Katja's-clothes-again, looked no worse for wear, only her hair mussed from so much wind and speed.

"Herre Finnsen, my word..." she said as she walked over the uneven ground to the tree by which the ferryman (fairyman?) stood. The pale horse was, to a word, breathtaking.

[NeoTiamat]

1 Days, 0 Hours, 36 Minutes
Somewhere in a Forest, Late at night on April 23rd, 770
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"Do you need any assistance, M. Finnsen?"

"You are plenty helpful already! That was impressive!" Finnsen replied with a grin, still keeping his hands on the anchored rope, as the ghostly horse stamped and reared. "Hand me the flask from my belt, would you? Unless you want to take this thing as it is?" The boatman seemed to assume not, as once he had the flask in hand he approached the creature, sloshing the water within it as he uncorked the top.

"Heard-you the old legend that horses come from the sea?" Eric asked, as a way of making conversation. "The thunder of their hooves is the pounding surf. It's Elvish, I think, from Vechor, and then to Nova Vaasa." As he spoke, he held out the flask to the horse's nose, as if offering it. And, after a moment, the spectral creature began to condense, becoming hazy and formless in the night air. A faint wisp was what remained, and it flowed into the flask and the salt water inside, as if drawn there by some strange force. With a twist of a cork the bottle was sealed, with an eerie, translucent mist hanging within.

The boatman noted the nun's look, and handed her the bottle, with a wink of his pearl-black eyes.

"Everyone's still alive, I see no permanent disfigurements, so all in all, I'd say we ended this particular caper on a positive balance."

"It does appear so," Professor Lessard noted, as he dusted the coal from his blue coat. He did not seem interested in removing his mask. "Let us hope our journey back is as fortunate. We seem to be a long way from home."

As if in answer, you could hear the deep hoot of an owl, and something howled in the distance. Whatever it was, it was not a wolf.


0 Days, 22 Hours, 41 Minutes
The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine, Early Morning on April 24th, 770
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You were nowhere near the river that had brought you out here, or the boat that could take you back. Somehow Remy stumbled across an old road in the wood, one of the many that had come out of Port-a-Lucine before the King's Forest had taken over. It was nearly overgrown and littered with leaves, but you could still walk on it without tripping over your feet. You wandered along, only vaguely certain if you were going the right way, or even still in the right country, when you heard the tapping of hooves. These horses were of flesh and blood, and they drew a wagon, which was having a rough time of it on the poor road.

The driver drew to a halt near you, and tipped his hat to Agale as he stepped from the driver's seat.

It was a very long, very bumpy, and very unpleasant ride back. More often than not, the horses would be spooked by some invisible presence. You yourselves couldn't shake a feeling of being intently watched, even from within the cab. The forest had eyes - it was a almost a living, breathing thing, and it seemed to have a deep interest in you.

The lights at the Chateau were all out when you arrived home. Embedded in the door, the silvered raven's beak buried among splinters of painted wood, was Gauvain's black umbrella.

Hanging from a string run through the skull's empty eye sockets was a small glass flask, filled with a measure of fine grey dust.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"I wonder whether this means the Marquis of Miseries was successful in retrieving the dust," Lia says acidly, "or our not-very-friendly-friend killed him and left this as a jest."

[yalenusveler]

"Did you have to bring up a worst possible case scenario? And someone should check if Celeste and Katja made it back alright." If no one moved to join him, Kerrian made his way inside, vial of dust pinned to the doorway or no, ready to check on his housemates despite the rather absurd hour of the night.

After a polite knock on their door, of course.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Oh, don't mind me," Lia says with a listless hand gesture. "Sour grapes talking. It annoys me that that... person succeeded where I failed. Would anyone like me to check this little gift for magics, or do we just take it?"

[Cronax]

*Rustle* *Rustle*

Mr. Agale landed with a dull thump. Brushing leaves from his coif, He produced a small stone from his vest pocket and spoke a few words.

* * *

"This is troubling." Agale said with some trepidation, prying the umbrella out of the door and pocketing the dust. "Not so much the fate of M. Gauvin, but the manner in which this piece of the puzzle was delivered. He could have as easily dispatched a constable to deliver it." Either the inspector lives or is dead. That makes no difference, though I doubt the latter. "I think it prudent that we make our final preparations for the next Midnight market to finally put this sordid affair behind us."

Perception 8 for any other signs of break in or infiltration of the Chateau.

[DocBeard]

Tomas, who has been walking slowly and rigidly as if afraid his body was going to fall apart, looks at Lia and shrugs. "If it explodes, say I died fighting the walking Franklin stove."

With that, Eisenwald reaches to take the vial of dust, and make his way inside so he can stitch himself back together. Figuratively.


OOC: Just a quick thanks to Neo and Izzy for being so patient with my schedule and messing up my password again. This should be, I hope and pray, the last time.

[Nathan of the FoS]

Mercator looks as if he's trying to care about the cane embedded in the door and failing; his customary gravitas seems to have temporarily deserted him, and he seems too tired to be interested in any developments at the Chateau short of it burning down around its occupants' ears.

"Dust," he notes. "Well, that's that. Good evening, messieurs dames. Perhaps we had been re-convene early to discuss developments and what to do...next."

Ending on this rather inconclusive note, he pauses, as if wondering whether to begin the discussion now, then shrugs, sighs, and enters, immediately going upstairs and to his room.

[Nerit]

Nerit had been intensely distracted--or focused on something else--during their mysterious journey home. Her eyes were trained not on the flask in her hands, but the trees in the misted Kings' Forest.

(Perception 32, a crit!)

****
Now, as Agale and Tomas juggled the Dust, Nerit tightened her jaw. "Sodal--" she stopped. "He is not dead. He is furious," she chided loudly and ran a finger over the dent in the door from the umbrella's beak.

She watched Mercator recede, a neutral mask playing over a careful gaze.

[NeoTiamat]

0 Days, 22 Hours, 39 Minutes
The Chateau Malchance, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine, Early Morning on April 24th, 770
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Kerrian made his way inside, vial of dust pinned to the doorway or no, ready to check on his housemates despite the rather absurd hour of the night.

After a polite knock on their door, of course.

There was no answer.

A quick tour of the house revealed that it was empty. Not a single one of your housemates was in their rooms. Not even Favonious, the ever present servant, was here now. The lights were all out. A kettle of tea sat, cold, on the stove.

There was a note sitting on the dining room table, hastily jotted, the pen and ink sitting next to the paper.

• Going to the Morgue. Professor Theroux is with us.
  • • Regards,
      Alice Blackwood.