Café de Nuit

"Ja, I'm sure the elementals would be appreciating your belief in their rights while they are snacking on your creamy insides, libschen." Tomas adds, crossing his arms and remembering a particularly brutal encounter with an ice monster. Tomas has to bite his tongue, then, as Vedarrak's reciting the party line is honestly worth the trip up here.

So, what's the plan here?, Tomas thinks, again looking at Lia and Agale. Because his is 'just straight up ask him' and Tomas knows that won't go over well. "We're sorry to interrupt your...breakfast?" Tomas is never sure about the time of day nobles eat. "I'm sure you're very busy, ja?"

As one with the uncanny ability to be two feet from the nearest center of attention at a moment’s notice, Celeste was among the first to rush to Kerrian’s side—first looking shocked, then deeply concerned, then, as he finished his narration, rather awestruck.

“Why…why M. Mauganson…how positively Delphic!”

If Kerrian wasn’t standing by that moment, he had the uncanny experience of being pulled instantaneously to his feet by what must have been some sort of extremely enthusiastic steam catapult wearing silk gloves.

“How poetic the utterance—how sober the conclusion! To witness firsthand your taking the burden of prophecy upon yourself—why, I had heretofore only read of the like in certain Souragnien ethnographies, but the authentic experience is—oh, but how completely I forget myself! Though the cause be noble, the sacrifice must be dreadful to endure…oh, do say that you are well, M. Mauganson!” This was accompanied by a particularly doleful expression. “Should it be necessary, I shall place myself entirely in the service of your recuperation. I am certain that I have a vial of smelling salts somewhere about my person…”

With that, Mlle. Viardot began rummaging around through her bag, apparently heedless of the fact that smelling salts were used for waking un-conscious people.

Mlle. Rondelet wrote:…The catacombs bit was clear enough even for you. I'm sure the rest of it'll make sense at some point."

By the end of Cerise’s explanation, Celeste had recovered something in a small crystal bottle. Visibly hesitating for a moment, as if unsure of how to administer it to someone who was already standing, she decided to compromise, simply proffering the corked container to Kerrian with a bit of a bow.

Turning to address Cerise: “Exactly the demeanor to maintain, Mlle. Rondelet! If stories of antiquity are any indication, mere deliberation simply will not serve. Try though we may to decipher this oracular metaphor, we must nonetheless have faith that the whole truth shall eventually reveal itself!” She grinned in anticipation. “Alas, Mlle. Rondelet, I have always been painfully ill-furnished with the virtue of Patience--as such, I find your hopeful attitude to be ever so bolstering.”

M. Boucher wrote: "Well. Don't let issues like personal health get in the way of this little foray," he remarked snidely.

“Why, M. Boucher! How…how singularly unromantic of you!” Celeste put her hands on her hips, leaning towards the magician with a slightly cross expression. “When faced with such portentious intelligence, M. Mauganson cannot fail to see the matter through—but neither can he be left unattended in his weakened state! Besides, I should think it quite unlikely that we should come to any physical misfortune…”

She hesitated for a moment, seemingly realizing that she had included a “we” in that last sentence—then laughed lightly as if pleasantly surprised by the fact. “Oh, see how swiftly the adventuring classes may become one’s foremost influence! Very well: M. Mauganson, in our communal quest to illuminate the fruits of your prophecy, you may count the force of the Viardot family name as the very wind in your sails!” She looked around the rest of the group, beaming widely at the prospect of sallying forth together—momentary annoyance at Boucher totally forgotten.

“…I shall have to change my shoes.”

The force of the Viardot family name scurried off to the dressing-room for thirty seconds and returned in sensible flats.

The general atmosphere of the ossuary was...curious. Nerit showed no fear over the grand display. It seemed, rather, to give her great interest.

Nerit swiftly sidestepped Celeste. The woman was kind, but had a manner about her voice that sent an intolerable itch down her spine. Similar to metal on bone.

Her eyebrow twitched upward at the repeated mention of Darkon, especially its omens.

She also was, surprisingly, not that affected by Kerrian's misfortune. "I am sure he is sufficient in his practice, and I am sure he can manage going below," the nun said as she gazed at Kerrian with a smile. "Yes, Monsieur?"

The Falkovnian Embassy, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:46 PM
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Mr. Agale wrote:"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."

Lia wrote:"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?"

"Tsk, Lia, I thought better of you." Vedarrak shook his head. "You anticipate. Vlad Drakov the Second is not Kingfuhrer yet, and to imply otherwise does his father a disservice."

"In any case, Falkovnia is not at war with Dementlieu, nor has it been at war for some years now. All of this nostalgic antagonism is pointless." The Ambassador waved Lia's and Agale's comments away. "We support the legitimate government of Dementlieu. Revolution and anarchy is the enemy of every right-thinking government."

"And of course, for Falkovnia to do otherwise and support the revolutionaries would be a provocative, possibly even aggressive act." The Duchess said smoothly. "And Dementlieu is doing a perfectly satisfactory job of disintegrating without Falkovnian effort at the moment."

The Falkovnian Ambassador adopted an exceedingly innocent look and observed a suddenly very interesting piece of the ceiling. He didn't smile. He probably wanted to, though.

Lia wrote:"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."

Tomas wrote:"Ja, I'm sure the elementals would be appreciating your belief in their rights while they are snacking on your creamy insides, libschen."

"Indeed." The Duchess said, favoring Tomas with a wintry smile. "I am given to understand that the overwhelming majority of elementals are, shall we say, of sub-human intellect. With few exceptions, they are beasts. So unless you propose renumeration for chickens and cattle..."

Tomas wrote:"We're sorry to interrupt your...breakfast?" Tomas is never sure about the time of day nobles eat. "I'm sure you're very busy, ja?"

"Just an afternoon tea in friendly company, no more." Ambassador Vedarrak said pleasantly, bestowing a smile upon the Duchess. "Though in a little while I'll be departing for a talk with Count Grasci of the Ghastrian Consulate shortly, and then a fine evening of cultural diplomacy at the Tessier Gallery tonight. You chose a good time, Tomas, never fear."

Eglise Sainte-Madeleine, Quartier Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:43 PM
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Celeste wrote:“Why, M. Boucher! How…how singularly unromantic of you!” Celeste put her hands on her hips, leaning towards the magician with a slightly cross expression. “When faced with such portentious intelligence, M. Mauganson cannot fail to see the matter through—but neither can he be left unattended in his weakened state! Besides, I should think it quite unlikely that we should come to any physical misfortune…”

Thierri did not deign to frown at Celeste's scolding, but the magician radiated displeasure. "It was 'quite unlikely' that we should encounter physical misfortune on a simple tourist visit to a holy chapel. Nonetheless, mademoiselle, physical misfortune has happened, and unless the spirit M. Mauganson encountered has decided to live and let live after nearly killing him, the threat of physical misfortune remains." The magician produced a cigarette from midair, twirling it in his fingers while not lighting it yet, fixing Kerrian with a dry stare. "As you will, M. Mauganson, but if I find your ill experience starting to catch up to you, I will carry you out myself."

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A small back room lead to a stone archway, the stone archway led to a long flight of stairs. The flight of stairs led down, past several alcoves filled with grinning skulls, silver coins glinting out from empty eye sockets. The light of day died away, only the light of torches remained, flickering in the wall sconces that lined the stone stairs. What it lead down to was a long corridor, the polished rock of the church melting away into piles and piles of human bones. An arrangement of skulls protruded from the wall at the bottom of the steps, the ancient remains stained bronze by time and the poor light. The sounds of Port-a-Lucine had been completely cut off from you - only the echo of your own footsteps and the occasional drip of distant water was audible. The smell was dank and extremely unpleasant.

Richard coughed slightly, holding his sleeve to his nose and squinting his eyes. Thierri lit the cigarette he held in his mouth, the smell of his tobacco cutting through the catacomb air, and formed a bright light in his hand, illuminating the tunnels beyond.

OOC: Roll one of Nature, Heal, Perception, Dungeoneering, or History.

Richard is trained in Heal and History, Cerise in Heal and Dungeoneering, and Thierri in Heal. Each NPC may aid one skill check made by a PC in a skill they are trained in.

Kage, if you wish to continue with the salesman, seek me out in side-RP.

The Falkovnian Ambassador adopted an exceedingly innocent look and observed a suddenly very interesting piece of the ceiling. He didn't smile. He probably wanted to, though.

Agale followed the Ambassador's gaze skyward. "Yes, I suppose that is the most sensible position to take. Avoid even the incidental appearance of agitation." The Borcan took a moment to study the ceiling, "Amazing how one can so easily miss the little treasures in life. Quite amazing scroll-work." Lowering his gaze to meet that of the ambassador he continued, "I wonder how they manage it. Most likely some sort of chemical etching process for the detail."

"Just an afternoon tea in friendly company, no more." Ambassador Vedarrak said pleasantly, bestowing a smile upon the Duchess. "Though in a little while I'll be departing for a talk with Count Grasci of the Ghastrian Consulate shortly, and then a fine evening of cultural diplomacy at the Tessier Gallery tonight. You chose a good time, Tomas, never fear."

"You are a fan of the arts then Mr. Ambassador?" Agale queried offhandedly.

Insight 24, looking for any slip ups Veddy might make (Can I get an assist from Remy?).

"There's enough of Ghastria to have a Count?" Tomas asks, frowning a little. Just giving titles out these days. "And here I am, still a mister."

Tomas pauses a long moment, cracks his knuckles, and shrugs. "Okay, we've done enough of der faking liking each other, ja? It has been a while since I have been in the, how you say, civilized lands, but I am thinking I remember this part."

Eisenwald takes his pipe out, chewing on the stub(he dare not light a match near the ambassador.) "I'm pretty damn sure you know why we're here, Vedarrak. If you know anything that can help, that'd be super! Otherwise, great seeing you again, glad you found yourself a lady friend, I'll show myself out..."

NeoTiamat wrote:"Tsk, Lia, I thought better of you." Vedarrak shook his head. "You anticipate. Vlad Drakov the Second is not Kingfuhrer yet, and to imply otherwise does his father a disservice."

"What chance does a weakening ruler have in Falkovnia?" Lia asks, her tone deceptively mild. "Or anywhere else in this land. From all accounts, Vlad Drakov is, if not on his death bed, then at least choosing the linnens. Unless there is some plan to extend his life by the foul arts, it won't be long before someone has to take his place. And the man has so many sons, so many warlike sons ... If the current heir designate is not scrambling already to secure his position, he is a dullard."

NeoTiamat wrote:"And of course, for Falkovnia to do otherwise and support the revolutionaries would be a provocative, possibly even aggressive act." The Duchess said smoothly. "And Dementlieu is doing a perfectly satisfactory job of disintegrating without Falkovnian effort at the moment."

"As with the slow dying of old men, the slow death of political and societal orders draws in the predators and scavengers," Lia observes. "In the predatory order, there is no honour. To see weakness is to try and take advantage of it. If it is not the Falkovnian regime currently in power, someone is sure to try and hasten the current decay. It is inevitable. And potentially very rewarding for those who succeed and gather power for themselves."

Lia does not look directly at Vedarrak when she says this. But she might want to.

Tomas wrote:"Ja, I'm sure the elementals would be appreciating your belief in their rights while they are snacking on your creamy insides, libschen."

NeoTiamat wrote:"Indeed." The Duchess said, favoring Tomas with a wintry smile. "I am given to understand that the overwhelming majority of elementals are, shall we say, of sub-human intellect. With few exceptions, they are beasts. So unless you propose renumeration for chickens and cattle..."

"They are fed, watered, housed and doctored, are they not?" Lia shrugs. "And I have met a great number of very hostile beings which boasted of higher intelligence. I have not bothered to enslave them, either. If something attacks me, I will kill it, not turn it into a tool of my own laziness and vanity."

Tomas speaks, and for a moment, Lia's eyes flare behind the veil. Then she just smiles a subtle little smile.

(OOC: Rolling an Insight check vs. Vedarrak and the duchess worth 10. Drat. Over to the rest of you.)

Kerrian's introduction to the catacombs was...interesting. Namely due to his immediately moving to cover his nose after taking a good few sniffs of the air. "This is wrong. " He said, starting to peer about in the dimly lit catacomb. "Remains this long dead do NOT smell like this. Even stale air isn't this bad, and I don't see anything that should be making things this foul."

Kerrian continued to look around, trying to spot the source of the miasma in the air, but didn't seem to be finding anything..which only compelled him to keep looking.



GMs: [PCs may roll a History or Dungeoneering check on this.]

The Falkovnian Embassy, Quartier Publique, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:56 PM
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Lia wrote:"They are fed, watered, housed and doctored, are they not?" Lia shrugs. "And I have met a great number of very hostile beings which boasted of higher intelligence. I have not bothered to enslave them, either. If something attacks me, I will kill it, not turn it into a tool of my own laziness and vanity."

"Very commendable. We shall all sleep safer knowing that you would rather sate your bloodlust rather than let elemental brutes be used for the betterment of humanity." The Duchess said smoothly, examining her perfectly manicured nails. "Now, personally, I've been interested in the applications of this new magic for trade. A vessel with a bound water elemental is several times swifter than a regular ship, is immune to the vagaries of wind and waves, and above all, is safer. I'm sure sailors dying after their ship has run aground on some otherwise avoidable reefs will spend their last moments thankful that at least their survival was not purchased with the service of a semi-sentient elemental beast."

"Do you know how long most miners live, Prof. Mournswaithe? Under thirty years. Or how many men die in accidents in foundries and iron works? Now imagine elementals of earth digging through the ground instead, or fire elementals creating forge-fires that are always perfectly controlled, that burn without smoke?" The voice of Duchess von Auerbach was cool. She sat back in the couch, watching Lia with an icy eye. "It is easy to deny the benefits of new technology because one finds the costs unacceptable. But before one basks in the self-satisfaction of morality, one should weigh the costs of inaction as well."

"All this is just purely my opinion, of course." The Duchess said suddenly, smiling towards Lia. "I'm sure someone of your learning knows much better than me."

Tomas wrote:Eisenwald takes his pipe out, chewing on the stub(he dare not light a match near the ambassador.) "I'm pretty damn sure you know why we're here, Vedarrak. If you know anything that can help, that'd be super! Otherwise, great seeing you again, glad you found yourself a lady friend, I'll show myself out..."

The Duchess gave a very lady-like snort of amusement at this, even as Vedarrak leaned back on the couch. He fixed Tomas with a very thoughtful look. For a full minute, he just watched Tomas, a musing expression on his face.

"You know, Tomas, I'm not actually certain. I've been wondering since you arrived." Vedarrak said finally. "I'm quite confident this isn't a social call. Nor do I think you're here just because your two friends enjoy dropping veiled insults about my country. If nothing else, I respect you more than that, Tomas."

"On a more practical level, I doubt you're here trying to provoke me into saying something you can use to start a diplomatic incident, despite your repeated attempts." Vedarrak continued mildly. "Admittedly, deSuis would be cunning enough to use old comrades-in-arms of mine if that's what she had in mind. But I've a good relationship with Councilor LaGrange, so I doubt the goal is to start an incident and declare me a persona non grata. Nor is it likely that deSuis is looking to score some popularity off a xenophobic stance, not when I'll be negotiating the next grain shipments starting next month."

"The idea of trying to provoke me into providing a casus belli is of course absurd." The Falkovnian Ambassador said urbanely. "Even if it did unify the country briefly, it would fall apart worse than before unless you won several victories in rapid succession. And frankly, I think Chantreaux knows better than that."

"A third possibility is that you're here from Andre regarding the assassination attempt." Vedarrak continued, tilting his head a bit to the side as he continued to watch Tomas's every reaction. "And through some peculiar mental processes have decided that I'm responsible for it, evidence notwithstanding."

"Assassination attempt?" The Duchess von Auerbach said curiously. Nearby, Prof. Lessard looked as though he had been too close to an exploding cannonball. Recovering from his surprise a little, he looked at Agale and nodded subtly. He's telling the truth!

"A small incident a few months ago." Vedarrak said, waving it away. "I was in a position to provide some assistance to Professor Andre Theroux of the University of Dementlieu when a pair of extremely determined gentlemen tried to ventilate the Professor. Andre had tried to keep it quiet, but it appears his secrecy is moot now."

"If that should be why you're here, then you're wasting your time. After all, I would hardly have saved Andre if I had been trying to kill him. Not to mention I should like to think I wouldn't have been so incompetent as to fail." Vedarrak steepled his fingers in front of his face and was silent for a moment. Then he smiled suddenly. "Anything else, Tomas?"

Celeste showed remarkably little trepidation at the journey into the catacombs; the only signs of acclamation were her lifting her skirts up so as to avoid the dust. Other than that, she maintained the same pleasantly interested expression belowground as above—other than a few concerned looks at Kerrian, and a gracious bow and smile towards Thierri when he lit his arcane lantern.

She stepped back slightly upon reaching the wall of skulls—not shock, you realized, but an attempt to get a good viewing angle on the whole piece. She was not unmoved, though; after a few seconds consideration, there was a rueful air to her voice as she spoke.

“So many poor souls…their stories so sadly forgotten, save for this display; only living on in our own appreciation! Such an affecting reminder of our own fragility…one cannot help but be inspired by the example.”

"A, a pattern made of skulls in the catacomb walls," Richard mentioned, tracing the strange symbol in the air in front of him. "Didn't, didn't Kerrian mention a, a heart made of skulls in the catacomb walls?"

Her hourly reverence allotment tapped out for the moment, Celeste turned towards Richard with a surprised smile. “Why, he most certainly did, M. Blackwood! How astute your reasoning—I should rightly despair of my own investigative deficits were I not among such intelligent company!”

She raised a gloved hand to her chin, tapping it thoughtfully. “But unless our sepulchral artist is entirely too much the modernist to be respectable, one cannot claim that this poignant display is meant to represent a heart. Perhaps…” She snapped her fingers triumphantly. “…A series! And we happy few to discover those works that remain!”

M. Mauganson wrote: “Remains this long dead do NOT smell like this. Even stale air isn't this bad, and I don't see anything that should be making things this foul."

19 on a History follow-up check

“Oh, courage, M. Mauganson! Though the trials of our exploration be arduous, we must soldier onward!” The tone would have been more suitable if the Verbreker had been mortally wounded and under enemy fire, as opposed to woozy and in a bad-smelling corridor, but hey, she was concerned anyway. “My woefully brief passion for civil engineering should be no solace whatsoever in these trying times, but I am sure…no, I am quite certain that the present atmosphere is merely an effect of some nearby sewer! No further menace assails us—oh, do say that you are comforted!”

"Dementiluese." Tomas shrugs, his features oddly neutral as he assesses Vedarrak's hand. "They feel like they're letting down the nation and Ezra if they don't throw a few insults at you and expect it to be taken like polite banter."

"Honestly?" Tomas rubs his chin and looks a little embarrassed. "It's none of those. Someone stole an artifact from the museum. Apparently it is sort of important. Unless you've gotten into smuggling, you don't really have anything to gain from stealing it, but you probably know who might benefit. So I thought the best way to get a short list of people to investigate is to see what you thought. I would've said so right away but if we didn't argue a little, it would've been suspicious, ja?"

(24 on my insight check to gauge Vedarrak and Duchess's reaction.)

The sound of Cyrus's booted feet clicked and echoed through the catacombs as he walked around to survey the scene. He occasionally waved some of Thierri's smoke out of his face, and then paused.

"This place has been flooded," he murmured, "Recently, it seems. Or perhaps only in some parts. It would be hard to flood the whole catacombs without someone noticing."

He sidled over to Cerise and flashed his best smile at her. "What do you think?"

"If it only flooded one bit of the catacombs, maybe we could follow the water trail?" Cerise suggested.

Cyrus's smile widened. "An excellent suggestion, Ms. Rondelet." The priest drew his sword. "Catacombs can be grisly places. We may encounter trouble."

"Oh wonderful, and it likely got flooded by a sewer." Kerrian made a face suggesting that Thierri's cigarettes might be the most pleasant smell down here. "Though...that does make a great deal of sense. Find a way to flood, or create a way in..use it as a tunnel to come up in another part of the city."

Kerrian's reaction to Cyrus' decision to go about this armed was far less dramatic than drawing a blade, instead simply retrieving a carved wooden figurine from roughly the same pouch that his...botanical assistance...came from, taking it in hand, ready to progress onward.

Agale cringes at the Lamordian's admission and gives him a look of incredulous. His jaw literally drops for a full five seconds. "I see fully now the source of your reputation for cunning Mr. ambassador. It is all a matter of perspective." he added, glancing at his garrulous associates.

"As you say, beyond petty vendettas, any censure against you personally serves no purpose. In fact, your cooperation in a successful resolution would go a long way towards cementing the goals of stability and peace between nations that you espouse. Or, if preferable to your purposes, your involvement can be left anonymous."

Diplomacy 15 (Remy assisting again?)

The Catacombs, Port-a-Lucine; March 11th, 770, 3:47 PM
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Celeste wrote:“So many poor souls…their stories so sadly forgotten, save for this display; only living on in our own appreciation! Such an affecting reminder of our own fragility…one cannot help but be inspired by the example.”

"Indeed," Thierri said ardently, his eyes glittering gold in the mage light. "One cannot help but feel inspired..."

Cerise and Thierri didn't make any moves to arm themselves further than they were - which was to say, not at all - although Cerise regarded Kerrian's carving with great interest. Richard noted Cyrus' preparations and drew his own sword, a steel hand-and-a-half blade that he had strapped to his back, though the sword seemed more like a longsword in comparison to his great height.

"Should we leave a trail of, a trail of breadcrumbs?" Richard asked with a trepidatious smile, wincing as a drop of foul water caught him on the cheek.

"Ooh, better not," Cerise warned. "It attracts fire-breathing albino Richumolise sewer monsters." Richard gave her a painfully perplexed look. She pretended not to notice. "Thierri, can I borrow one of those handkerchiefs?"

The magician reached into his collar and yanked out a string of red handkerchiefs, more than really should have been concealable under his plain cloth shirt. He wordlessly tossed them over to Cerise, who in defiance of poor aerodynamics, managed to catch them. With a great flourish, she neatly tied one into a bow around one of the protruding femurs. "There," she said, looking overly pleased with her work. "It'll have to do. Let's hope the snorkles don't come by and eat them while we're gone."

"You're not even trying now," Richard smiled quietly. Cerise stuck out her tongue and punched him in the arm.

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It wasn't long before the group encountered an intersection, the tunnel branching out three ways ahead of you. Impressed into the walls on each side of you were a pair of skeletons, each one gesturing the other forward.

"I left my divining rod at home," Cerise pouted.

OOC: It's Dungeoneering or History to try and navigate the catacombs, Perception to follow either the water or the "series" of bony landmarks, or you can just pick a direction at random. Kerrian can roll Insight instead to try and follow his Vision.

Richard has History and Insight, Cerise Dungeoneering and Insight.