Mists of Winter: Chapter One

[ewancummins]

December 18th 762 Barovian Calendar
Pont-a-Mouseau
THE MARBLE FAUN


Evening light seeped in through four small, tinted panes set in the storefront, filling the dusty interior of the shop with sickly green light. A balding, slump-shouldered man paced the floor, hands thrust in the pocket of his moth-eaten winter coat, crossing the small rectangle of open space hemmed in on three sides by tall shelves packed with manuscripts, printed broadsheets, and leather-bound tomes.

The man muttered under his breath, “Damn it Benn, what’s taking you so long?”

[Adam]

The Lamoridan moved briskly down the street, his cane tapping against the cobblestones and keeping time with his rapid pace. He wasn't running, no, that would be unseemly and frankly reckless. He'd seen too much, had too many close calls to dash headlong through the night. Caution had become his friend more and more, and there were more than enough places in Pont where barreling blindly was a quick trip to losing your wallet at best and your life at worst. But, you couldn't survive the things Bennedict Gehrman had seen without gaining some confidence as well. When you've stared demons in the face and grappled with the living dead, a backalley mugger never really seemed to contain the same menace.

To be honest, the greatest menace he would face tonight would be when he returned home to Charlotte.

Things had been different since the island. How couldn't they be? She had never come forward and fought to get him off of the streets, but there was a coldness now that intensified more and more whenever there was a late call or a late-night case that he took on personally rather than acting through intermediaries. She would not be pleased with this late-night call, Bennedict was certain. But this was what he did, what he was best at, and if Mattheo had sent a message for him at this hour it was something that was worth pursuing.

He looked relieved as he rounded the corner, seeing the familiar twinkle of candles burning in the windows of the Marble Faun. He hurriedly crossed the street, opening the door and stepping inside.

"Hello my friend," he said, pulling his hat off and hanging it unconsciously up on the coatrack next to the door. He pulled the piece of paper from his vest pocket. "It says here you have something for me. I'm hoping a cup of coffee, or perhaps something stronger, comes along with it."

[ewancummins]

“Coffee? Ah, well I have some hot tea and rum in the back room, if that will do. But first-”

Mattheo locked the door. Before turning back towards Benn, he pushed a short, heavy reading table across the doorway, blocking it.

“Did you see anything strange on the way here? Were you followed?”

He cast a nervous glance out the window before pulling down the shutters, closing off the view of the frosted streets in the failing evening light.

“We’ve got to be careful.”

[Adam]

Bennedict narrows his eyes as he slides the heavy coat off of his shoulders, draping it over his forearm.

"Of course," he says, "You know better than that. What's gotten into you?" He quirks the corner of his mouth. "You're not trying to sell me anything that's been, *ahem*, misappropriated are you? I'm not in that business anymore."

[ewancummins]

Mattheo led Benn into the small, cluttered office in the back of the shop, where a wood stove spilled heat into the narrow room.

“No, I’m not selling you anything purloined. I’m the victim of crime.”

He gestured about the messy office—though Benn might have a hard time saying if this was a crime scene or a job for a chambermaid.

“Perhaps I had better give you the whole story, from the beginning. Two weeks ago, a Borcan horse-trader came into my shop with a parchment sheet. He wanted me to read it for him. I looked it over and discovered it was a palimpsest, scraped and rewritten several times. Underneath the modern Mordentish script—nothing more exciting than a couple of layers of river-merchant’s ladling bills and tax collector’s notations—I found traces of Old Barovian script in fine style—names, a few dates, the rest unclear.’’

Mattheo poured hot tea into two cups, added a tipple of dark rum to each, and handed one cup to Benn.

“Intrigued, I paid him a few pence more than the cost of the sheepskin and sent him on his way.”

The bookseller leaned forward.

“Right afterward, some big Barovians came in, asking about the Borcan. I smelled trouble so I kept my mouth shut. They left and I sort of forgot about them, distracted by the business of the day.
Over the last fortnight, I cleaned and restored the palimpsest in my off-hours. I found it was a table of genealogy. It shows, or purports to show, the true lineage of King Barov of Ancient Barovia--and his heirs. I sent you the note this morning, hoping you could help me determine its authenticity.”

Mattheo grimaced.

“But it’s gone, Benn! It was here in my office, locked in my desk drawer. The lock’s been picked. Same with the back door. Nothing else is missing.”

[Adam]

"Hmm," Benn responds, sipping idly at his tea. He sighs contentedly as he feels the liquor warming his chest.

"Have you disturbed anything in the room?" He asks, reaching inside his suit coat and pulling out his trusty spyglass. He gives the room an once-over from where he's currently standing, making certain he hasn't inadvertently trod on any evidence. "Have you alerted the gendarmes?"

[ewancummins]

"Hmm," Benn responds, sipping idly at his tea. He sighs contentedly as he feels the liquor warming his chest.

"Have you disturbed anything in the room?" He asks, reaching inside his suit coat and pulling out his trusty spyglass. He gives the room an once-over from where he's currently standing, making certain he hasn't inadvertently trod on any evidence. "Have you alerted the gendarmes?"

''No, I haven't moved much in here. I thought you'd want a look.
As for the gendarmes....no, not yet. Perhaps tomorrow."

He sets his empty cup down and refills it.

"I've got some items here in the shop that might be claimed by previous owners-- wealthy owners. You know how that is.
The gendarmes work for the rich citizens. It's quite possible one of those moneybags sent the burglar to snatch that document from me. That makes sense, doesn't it? A collector? Who else would want it? And know about it..."





OOC: Present tense, then? So be it.

[Adam]

He nods. "Oh yes," he responds, "I haven't been legitimate for that long, old friend." He smiles.

"It could be that this Borcan took something that didn't belong to him, and these men came to simply fetch it back," he shrugs, "There's also the possibility the family tree shows something that someone wants to keep under wraps. Who can say? I don't care to speculate without data."

He turns, setting the cup down on a clean surface and begins his close inspection of the room.

"As much light as you can get in here will be appreciated," he mutters.

*OOC: That's how I always used to post. Old habits die hard.

[ewancummins]

Mattheo goes into a closet and returns with several candles. He opens the stove, fans away the smoke, and lights each candle in turn. He sets the tapers in a circle so that the whole room fills with light.
Shadows play on the walls, small dark splashes darting around the overlapping circles of warm candle-glow.





OOC- Present tense works fine for me.

[ewancummins]

...

Benn searches the room and finds damp shoe-prints near the back door, almost evaporated from the heat of the wood stove.
The marks are not large, but not so small as to belong to a child.

[ewancummins]

THE GUNDARAKITE QUARTER


A mass of forty-odd Gundarakite men processes with unsteady tread down the sleety lane, fir boughs fastened to their ragged green cloaks so that they look like a forest on the march. A drunken forest—ale mugs slosh in fists at every lurching step. They sing a rustic carol as they stagger through the cold mud.

Women and children--some holding burning rush lights-- hang out of house windows or peek from doorways, cheering on the marching men with merry laughter.

Someone calls out. “Where is the Priest?”

[Adam]

BENN

Bennedict pulls a ruler from his pocket, quickly getting a rough measurement of the shoe size and jotting it into his notebook before moving to examine the door.

[ewancummins]

BENN

Bennedict pulls a ruler from his pocket, quickly getting a rough measurement of the shoe size and jotting it into his notebook before moving to examine the door.

Benn finds nothing odd about the interior panel.

Is he going to open the door?

[Adam]

"Are you certain that this door was closed and locked when you came in?" Bennedict asks Mattheo.

[ewancummins]

"Are you certain that this door was closed and locked when you came in?" Bennedict asks Mattheo.

"Yes, I locked it. I always check twice, out of habit. "