The Shattered City: Chapter Four

[Nathan of the FoS]

Mercator leads the way from the Chateau Malchance to the burned tenements as if perfectly informed as to their destination.

Perhaps he is.

The group having arrived, he gestures to those carrying the runestones. "Now we lay them out...and, I suppose, we wait."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"Before we do," Lia says, "would it be prudent for me to lay down a protective circle? Just in case we need a place of semi-safe refuge once things start to happen, of course. That blasted mog might be back to try and muck things up, for one thing. And the dead are going to be unruly no matter what we do for another."

[DocBeard]

"Not a bad idea if you can do so quickly." Tomas admits, willing Ivorsen to light itself so as to get a better view of the area; specifically the places that a mob of angry dead people could get in and out in order to run riot. "Chances are someone is going to see this, but I think we're just going to have to take our chances with that."

If he ever missed the Hazlani twins, its now. Both were competent swordsmen and Darius's ability to move very quickly across a short space would be invaluable here. Still, work with what you have.

[Kaitou Kage]

They may not have the Hazlani twins, but at least they had Rex. Or did they? At least he didn't argue with everyone and snap at the slightest provocation. And unabashedly hit on Celeste.

The pharmacist had, as usual, been quiet. He shuffled along with the group, still quiet. Once the party got to where it was going, Rex found a comfortable spot to hole up in and wait. If everyone's guesses were correct, something would happen and Rex would be waiting.

Stealth of 34. Rex is finding a hidey hole to wait in.

[The Whistler]

"Oh, do let me know if I can be of any particular help...aside from simply being present, that is. It is a most onerous task, to be a component! I should rather like the opportunity to take my mind off of the whole affair, perhaps by some show of industry...ah, but would it be thaumaturgically disruptive for me to so disturb a ritual in which I am a central focus? I confess myself to be quite out of my depth, mesdames and messieurs!"

Celeste appeared to be helping the team by using up their weekly dithering quota, presumably so that nobody had the resources to be flighty and unproductive in case things went pear-shaped. Most of this was likely to take her mind off of the impending procedure, but you really couldn't blame her for that.

[NeoTiamat]

0 Days, 3 Hours, 49 Minutes
Rue Vervain Rookery, Quartier-Ouvrier, Just after dusk on April 24th, 770
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"Before we do," Lia says, "would it be prudent for me to lay down a protective circle?"

“One can never be too prepared.” Prof. Lessard said, rolling up his sleeves and withdrawing a black quill from a pocket. He smiled faintly, a pale face in the darkness. “Best hurry though. It's only a few hours till the witching hour, after all.”

Lessard was right, and you hurried to assemble your preparations in the darkness of the Rue Vervain night. It was dark in this part of the city, far from the glittering lamplight of the Quartier Publique. When night fell, it fell black as the inside of a sack, ready to carry you all off. Given your surroundings, lighting candles was something that had to be done with utmost care to avoid attracting attention. Despite the conditions Remy and Lia set up their circle, and the stones were spread out in a broad star on the street. Now came the second part of preparations – waiting for the antagonist of the piece to arrive.

**********************************************************

Nothing at all heralded Death's arrival. He was simply there, standing far above you on the burned out roof, his eyes burning like gas-lit flame.

[Rock of the Fraternity]

Lia draws a circle on the ground with her staff, then plants it firmly in the centre thereof. She takes her ceremonial rattle, fills its receptacle with the gritty alchemical components so crucial to this kind of casting, and starts to shake it in the prescribed rhythm. In her other hand, she takes her wand and starts to write letters of blue fire on the air while she paces around and around the circle, chanting her ritual:

"In the east stands a Dark Lord
With iron chains to bind you to the earth
He says his chains will keep you safe
But Mytteri dances out from between the links
Who can dance when wrapped in chains?
The Dark Lord can only bring sorrow and strife
If you want to be bound, stretch out your hand
And I will hold you fast.

A song is sung in the south
The Bards say the dead sing forever
Among them your voice will sound in death as in life
But some voices sing less sweetly
Others are stained by deeds in life
To some voices, they will not listen
And as in life so 'tis in death
If you need to be heard, raise your voice to me
And I will listen to your words.

The Sun rises in the centre
The new Sun rises as did the old
Though they be different, their light shines as brightly
And they swear to shine upon all
Sweet is the light, but time turns, night comes
Hearts quake in the embrace of darkness
But you need not fear in my embrace
If you cry, I will kindle light.

The dead press heavy upon the north
The living fear to move lest they tread upon them
Or that they be trod upon
Beetles crushed under uncaring heel
Honour the dead, they say, or be their prey
And life becomes a grey shadow of the grey realm
If you want to live and be free, just call
I will stand by your side and fight for life.

The Lady of the Mists stands in the west
In the centre, she rose in marble
In north, as in south, as in east, a struggle
With forces of iron, of death, more
Which of her faces must be adored?
Which faces will she show us more?
I do not know, I say no more
But for you, I will try to always be the same.

Forces light and forces airy
Forces dark that bring the tears
Your names I know, but will not speak
Your powers I know, but do not request
In this place I tread the circle
In this place, I build my wall
In this place a place where, by my will,
Less evil may befall.

No goddess I, no fiend, no fey
Mortal be I, Mage, is what I say
By Power earned by Mind
By Art built upon Power
Let the circle be drawn upon this space and day."

As the ritual draws to a close, the glowing letters lazily spiral down unto the earth, burning themselves into the soil. Lia sags for a moment, breathes heavily, but then reasserts herself and takes up her staff. "Best I can do right now," she says.
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The appearance of Thierri/Death has Lia grit her teeth and grasp her staff more firmly, one hand already on the hilt of her wand. But she holds position, eyes flicking left and right for the appearance of the Wraiths.

(OOC: Arcana check of 24 on the protective circle. Can you guys spot me some bonuses? )

[lostboy]

"You missed a bit" Nicolas adds possibly rather unhelpfully to Lia, pointing at a slight gap in the circle with his cane. Before dropping his cigarette and grinding it out at the indicated point, it may have seemed artless but there was something about the movement his foot makes as he stomps the burning ember into the ground, something that causes the other symbols to glow even more brightly for a second. "Hocus Pocus and all that" he adds with a wink to Lia.

"Now perhaps a short ode to the insanity of the situation?" The poet proclaims and seeing the generally poor response to his suggestion, mutters "Philistines" under his breath and confines himself to a few dramatic chords on his lute, a stirring sound designed to lift the spirits without annoying the heck out of the party..

---------------------------------------------

Deaths arrival catches the poet mid-swig on his flask, coughing Nicolas quickly puts the booze away and flips Therri a casual salute in welcome.

"Right umm what do we do now?" he says out of the corner of his mouth in a theatrical stage whisper to the others.

OOC: arcana 30 to add Lia.
Prior to death turning up Nicolas uses a song of rest and the daily power on Fochlucan Bandore to grant Tomas +2 power bonus to damage rolls

[Nathan of the FoS]

Mercator stands very still, his gazed focused on some distant point, as Lia performs her preparations. As she begins her chant, he begins to tap the ground with his cane, not quite in synchrony with her voice, but forming an odd double cadence--a portentous echo of her words. High overhead, a star winks, and a purplish light flickers along the symbols the wizardess has inscribed in the ground.

Arcana to aid Lia: 30

Mercator turns to Thierri and bows. "Good evening, Monsieur Boucher," he says, with a reasonable approximation of cool confidence. "If you are ready, we hope we can be of assistance to you." He then steps back and glances at Celeste.

[DocBeard]

WIZARD STUFF.

It all sort of goes over Tomas's head. He focuses on the immediate, which is to say the dead man who probably wants to kill them. "Thierri." Tomas greets, shamelessly holding his sword and shield at the ready while doing his best to keep alert for potential threats from within and without the room.

[The Whistler]

Celeste freezes, then shivers all over, her gaze darting immediately upwards towards Thierri. She touches her neck.

With unusual vehemence: "I...I spurn death, M. Boucher! But I do not spurn you!"

[yalenusveler]

Kerrian chose to remain quiet with the arrival of the guest of honor at this little convocation. Because what really could he say, "I'm sorry for getting you turned into an incarnation of the concept of death? My bad, but we can fix it!" ? There really weren't words for what he needed to say, and if they were, he'd probably mangle them anyway, so instead there was a pleading look. Not necessarily towards Thierri, but the world in general, as if begging all existence to please PLEASE let this work.

[NeoTiamat]

0 Days, 1 Hours, 22 Minutes
Rue Vervain Rookery, Quartier-Ouvrier, Night of April 24th, 770
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"Good evening, Monsieur Boucher," he says, with a reasonable approximation of cool confidence.  "If you are ready, we hope we can be of assistance to you."

    
"Bonsoir. My audience has preceded me," the shadowed and disheveled figure said to the unfamiliar half-elf. "It would indeed be a tragedy for such a performance to go unseen. Now, watch carefully, monsieur. The trick you are about to see is a once in a lifetime affair."
    

"I...I spurn death, M. Boucher!  But I do not spurn you!"

    
The blue eyes smoldered and flared brightly, illuminating a dark smile, and even in the night chill you could feel a thick heat radiating down from the rooftop. Thierri exhaled from his lips, and though he was not smoking anything, steam blew forth from them, curling around him like tendrils of opium smoke.
    
"You contradict yourself, mademoiselle," he breathed.
    

"Thierri." Tomas greets, shamelessly holding his sword and shield at the ready while doing his best to keep alert for potential threats from within and without the room.

    
"Eisenwald," Thierri greeted in return. The dark expression turned slightly disapproving, slightly amused. "You have been taking care of yourself in your usual manner, I see. Do you simply like the scars, or are you trying to get those burns infected? My ascension must give you reason enough to avoid dying."
    
"Whatever your motives, I will not stand for it. You are a wreck. Rest."
    
You had all slept - or tried to, as much as you could - before coming here. But it had been a frantic three days. Now your bodies seemed to turn on you, your eyelids hanging heavy like lead, the stifling mist rolling from the rooftops smothering your reason. The siren call of sleep was beckoning.
    
Everyone is currently Slowed.

[Nerit]

Nerit seemed indifferent to Lia's ritual until she heard the verse of the north, and the following. It held her rapt attention until Thierri, or what was left of him, spoke.

She groaned as a fatigue unlike any other came upon her. Her face twisted into a grin, and she laughed. In a groggy voice she cried, "Why, M. Boucher, we hadn't thought of leaving. Is that entirely necessary?"

Under her breath, Nerit said to Lia: "He is far too powerful for your warding, Madame."


Diplomacy: 22, oh well!

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"The warding was not meant so much for him as for his entourage, belle-soeur," Lia replies, teeth gritted against the unnatural lethargy gripping her. The Mage leans heavily on her staff, but fights to keep her shoulders from slumping. "Get... ready." Those closest to Lia can feel a chill stirring in the air, the hair-raising sensation of arcane energies being drawn in and focused.