The Shattered City: Chapter One

[NeoTiamat]

Konak Resteraunt, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 5:21 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The fork clattered from Katja's hands as she clasped her finger to her mouth. For a few minutes, she was unable to make anything except undignified meeping noises. "This isn't food!" she finally exclaimed, knocking a few dishes aside as she reached desperately for the yogurt. "This is... foul... magical poison!"

Thierri couldn't quite stifle an amused noise. He neatly speared a piece of his own curry on his fork, popped it into his mouth, and exhaled a tiny gout of flame.

The tiny restaurant of Konak was little more than a hole in the wall with six tables - the four indoor ones already full, leaving you to eat outside - but the dishes were clean, the restaurant was neat, and the servers were prompt, which put it heads above most cafes in the same price range. The blue-clad Rashemi trotted out plates piled high with roasted lamb kabobs, saffron rice pilaf, vegetable curry, and cool jasmine tea. The sun was still high, the air still warm, and the sounds of the Hazlani district provided an interesting backdrop to your meal. A lively flock of red sparrows made for your table entertainment, as they scrabbled for the scraps of pita bread Thierri threw them - much to Katja's disapproval.

"It is a waste of food," she told him, rather sternly. He didn't seem impressed in the slightest.

"I don't think so, and they don't think so, so I fail to see why you should have a say in this," he replied dryly, tossing a whole piece of the bread to the birds to spite her. "You're wasting curry."

Katja fell silent - winning the argument was not worth another bite of that dish.

"We'd best pay and get going. Mme. Canderli's shop doesn't stay open that late, and we'd best give ourselves leeway if we get thrown out again," Thierri said, with a bit of an annoyed look. "I sometimes shop at her store. Since I wasn't with you before, my acquaintance will not start out quite as sullied." He waved to the Rashemi server. "Monsieur, the bill, if you please."

"I already put it on tab, sir," The servant replied. Thierri started in surprise, and stared at the server for a long moment. The server simply shrugged, continuing, "Your friend was here just this morning. Didn't you know? I think he even went to the same magic shop you did."

"Really," was all the response Thierri had. For a moment, it looked like the magician was going to argue the bill, but eventually just settled into his seat, looking vaguely dull-lidded again.

"Well. Get skin-and-bones here some Kasefe, then," Thierri conceeded, jabbing his fork at Tomas. "He could use some dessert."

Pelay Residence, Quartier-Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 4:29 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She turned to look at Pelay again. “But I digress. M. Pelay, we cannot possibly be unaware of your prior masterpieces, but today, we come to you as creatures of the moment! Such turbulent times as the present must only inspire the greatest of artistic triumphs, you agree? Nothing could please us more but to hear you hold forth on the subject—and if Starlight serves, then we should gladly hear of Starlight!

"Milady, you know the way to an artist's heart." Pelay grinned boyishly. "Starlight is a collection so far, something less grand in style than Halcyon, give me time to think before I plan another great project. This poem is called the Grave and the Rose."

• The Grave said to the Rose,
  'What of the dews of dawn,
  Love's flower, what end is theirs?'
  'And what of spirits flown,
  The souls whereon doth close
  The tomb's mouth unawares?'
  The Rose said to the Grave.
  
  The Rose said, 'In the shade
  From the dawn's tears is made
  A perfume faint and strange,
  Amber and honey sweet.'
  'And all the spirits fleet
  Do suffer a sky-change,
  More strangely than the dew,
  To God's own angels new,'
  The Grave said to the Rose.

"The one thing one might say in favour of the 'age' of Dominic D'Honaire," Lia says in a quiet tone of voice, "is that the unrest which wracks this country was pushed deeper into the shadows than it is today. What the privileged call stability is all too easily revealed to be stagnant water, poisoning those who must dwell within it, rather than sit in golden palaces upon its shore."

"Careful, my lady, or else you'll outshine the poor poet in his own home!" Jacques Pelay laughed, then sobered very quickly. "But you are right, and the sooner people realize it, the better. Then once we get over our case of national self-delusion we can attempt to actually solve these problems instead of sweeping them under a rug."

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

"He seems like a rather...difficult...man to work with. You've no other help?" Kerrian asked, moving to assist her with fetching a tray. "Or has his charming personality led to resignations?"

"How did you guess?" Madeleine said sourly. "I get some help from the neighbors, and Jean the gardener comes in, but mostly it's just me putting up with Master Pelay's... eccentricities. The only reason I'm still here is because he'd refuse me a reference if I just left, and then where would I be?"

"The tall fellow seems like he'd be easy enough to work for. Calm, his type." Madeleine said with just a hint of wishful envy. "And you'd get to see actors and actresses all the time. You... did say your master worked for the theater?" The maid paused, a little uncertain. "I hope it wasn't a publishing house, M. Pelay thinks the world of his publishers, he'd never switch."

[yalenusveler]

"The tall fellow seems like he'd be easy enough to work for. Calm, his type." Madeleine said with just a hint of wishful envy. "And you'd get to see actors and actresses all the time. You... did say your master worked for the theater?" The maid paused, a little uncertain. "I hope it wasn't a publishing house, M. Pelay thinks the world of his publishers, he'd never switch."

"He's an employer...and it isn't bad. And...unfortunately you'd be where most are." Kerrian said , helping tidy up the kitchen a bit. "And I wish it was something like the theater" said with a look that was nigh on wistful. "They're with the university. So it's more academics talking about things they only half understand...still probably feed his ego..maybe so fat it'll burst if you're lucky."

An actual smile crossed his face. "I wish it were the theater though..I collect discarded playbills, and sometimes pretend that I actually got to see the productions, instead of just read about them. I know it's silly..but it's still nice sometimes to think if only." The wistfulness in his voice suggested that Kerrian could all but picture the stage in his head, the actors speaking their lines in grand fashion when needed, and the utmost subtlety when called for, convincing all and sundry that for a moment what was on stage was truly real.

Kerrian then grinned an almost conspiratorial grin. "So..besides being generally unpleasant...is there anything else to M.Pelay? I can't imagine someone can be that awful all the time."

[Cronax]

"Too true." Agale was quick to agree. "Although I fear Mr. Pelay that our sentiments alone will not be sufficient to the task. Eventually, actions will be needed as well. Now would be a prime time if you ask me. The city is on edge, its people demand accountability. If history is any judge and the initiative remains untaken, the council will in time reestablish a veneer of civility. Your truths will fall on deaf ears, despite their chronic corruption." His every spoken with a practiced casualness, carefully modulated to lull listeners into a sense of security. So meticulous was he in trying to elicit a response, that he completely overlooked how the poet reacted.

Insight 11 to detect any reactions

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"That but depends on how far back you are willing to go through the corridors of history," Lia notes. "Social disorder sometimes breeds heroes -- and at other times, it breeds great villains. There are sometimes men and women who ride society's chaos like a horse, whipping the beast into a frenzy and leading the people to go from unhappiness to civil war. At the end of their mad ride, all too often do they see a throne beckoning to them. One must hope that it is a hero, then, who rides the beast of chaos." While she speaks, the Mage looks the group's host in the eye - not in a hostile manner, but a direct one.

(OOC: Insight check: 16)

[NeoTiamat]

Pelay Residence, Quartier-Savant, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 4:37 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


"Milady, but I have a question for you." Pelay said with a remarkably sour smile. "How do you tell a difference between a great hero and a great villain? Outside of a poem, they look most terrifyingly alike."

"Words without actions amount to nothing, but actions without words are meaningless." Pelay offered. "Take the example of the great and glorious saviour of the people, the romantically mysterious Guy Benoit. Who is he? A great hero, or a great villain? We know him to be a murderer and assassin, since he killed D'Honaire back in '61, but other than that? A petty aristocrat from the hinterlands, now the Dementlieu's salvation? But he writes nothing and says little, he stands for nothing. He's an elemental of destruction and poorly-written popular songs." Pelay finished with a genteel sneer.

"Of course, the opposition is little better. The good lady Chantreaux, Dementlieu's defacto dictator, along with the lovely Helene deSuis. Foul and fair, the brawn and the tongue." Pelay waved a hand. "I grant them short-term cunning, but have they a goal? Have they a plan? No, they just run things so that one day follows the other. No vision. I swear, LaGrange's decamping to the University faction was the most bravery I've ever seen from one of the council's ilk. Though LaGrange is such a dreadful bore of a man he does nothing with his new position!"

"Is any of these men and women a great hero, milady...? Or a great villain, either?" Pelay spread his hands. "I sometimes mourn that we are past the time of greatness, when all the world is ruled by little men with little plans. No vision."

"And why is this? It is because the people ask for nothing. They don't care about villains or heroes. They don't care for what happens to this country, they don't care who leads them, I swear, they wouldn't care if the Falkovnians came in next week and took over this entire country!" Pelay said, warming now to his subject in truth. "They're like a tortoise, with its head stuck inside its shell, refusing to see."

"Just like a tortoise, the Dementlieuse people respond only to action and blows. The blows of the Sevrigold Laws, or those revolutionary bombings." Pelay said. "Just like a tortoise, they care not a whit for wisdom and thoughts, only for what fills their belly. And just like a tortoise, soon they will be tortoise soup if this is not changed."

"That is why I write, M'sieur." Pelay said, turning to Agale. "Action, this world has a surfeit of. But if I can give the people vision, if I can give them words, maybe I can create out of the tortoise a mighty lion, to lead Dementlieu to greatness. I am not a leader nor a hero. But if I can set the stage for the lion to vanquish the tortoise, I shall be content."

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

Kerrian then grinned an almost conspiratorial grin. "So..besides being generally unpleasant...is there anything else to M.Pelay? I can't imagine someone can be that awful all the time."

"No, I'll give him that." Madeleine said with cold charity. "When he's being creative, working on some mangle of words of his, he's almost decent. Doesn't pay attention to anyone or anything else but his words, worst that happens is that his schedule gets rather odd. It's only when he's at loose ends that he starts snapping at everyone."

"Not even the servants either." The maid sniffed. "Just the other week he got into a downright vicious argument with Mme. Chastel, from the University. Started out as a disagreement over something with the Tessier Gallery. M. Pelay wanted Mme. Chastel to stop wasting time with the aristocratic displays and work to bring these displays to the Quartier Ouvrier. But then there came insults and name-calling. M. Pelay called her a lazy turtle, I think. Not sure what Mme. Chastel called M. Pelay, it must've been something choice. M. Pelay was prowling about in here like he was a cat and someone had stepped on his tail."

[Rock of the Fraternity]

"That is simple enough a question to answer, monsieur Pelay," Lia replies quietly. "One tells the difference by what someone does, how they do it, and why. Though it is sometimes difficult to gauge a man's - or a woman's - motivations, they are what mark the line between hero and villain."

When Pelay mentions the uselessness of words without action and action without words, Lia smiles a little. 'And that is your problem, isn't it? You do not actually dare to act,' she thinks. 'So you hope to inflame someone ... Tcha.'

"Those who do not care about greatness," she muses out loud, "are, in my experience, of two varieties. One is that of the fattened folk. They have wealth, they have food, they have prestige. The current situation benefits them, and they see no need for change of any kind, so neither heroism nor villainy is attractive to them. The second variety is that of the folk oppressed to the point that every day is a bitter struggle for survival, and no energy is left to spend on anything but survival.

If one wishes to light the fire in their bellies, show them the path that a great hero might forge toward a better future, one should first put some fuel in those bellies. Open soup kitchens that actually serve food fit to let a man work a full day, give them bread enough to fill the mouths of their crying children, grant them cloth, wood and leather to repair homes and warm bodies. Blankets and medecines are the best weapons for one who wishes to raise the oppressed masses to war with the evil and inequitous.

I do not speak for those who are too fattened on the status quo to act. When the acts of great heroes or villains touch their lives and leave an impression, that is the time when they will start to move from their resting places. Where they will move to is anyone's guess.

Planting bombs and such leave an impression, true. But it does not breed lions - a nasty animal in its own right, one that steals from hyenas more often than hyenas from lions; a lazy and opportunistic brood which has no mercy for its own young - it breeds gutter rats. A people oppressed who are also subjected to random violence and military repercussions grow sullen and likely to lash out in the wrong direction. Violence begets violence, and all spiral down into the dark. If one wishes to breed heroism, one must plants seeds of light in fertile soil.

As long as all 'reform efforts' are chaotic attacks that reap nothing but death and fear, there can be no improvement. There must be positive actions taken.

Of course, this is but my opinion."

[DocBeard]

"Just a bit spicy." Tomas grins at Katja, finishing his own curry off with a flourish. "I mean, it's not dwarf bread." No, there is nothing quite like real dwarf bread.

Tomas keeps the smile up for the waiter's sake, but lets it drop once dessert is ordered. "Dare I ask who your friend is?"

[Kaitou Kage]

"Ah, this is an excellent restaurant," Cyrus crooned as he finished off his second plate of curried rice. "A delicious taste of home." Even the viper visage tattooed on his scalp seemed subdued and content.

"More meatballs with lemon sauce," he ordered as the waiter swung by again, "And a sultan's pilaf. With extra pepper." He smiled broadly. That'd make his fifth and sixth dishes, total. He had to be at least 20, but he could put in a lot of Once his order was placed, he turned his smile at Katja.

"I have heard that my homeland's dishes, like many Rajian dishes, are hard for those with blander tastes." He scooted closer to the warrior-woman after his next dishes came and took a large scoop of sour cream off one plate and dumped it onto Katja's curry. "Try that. The cream cools the fire without ruining the taste. I promise you our food is edible."

He grinned broadly at the warrior-woman, waiting to see if she liked it.

[Nerit]

"C'est dommage!" a voice said behind Thierri. "I am missing some exquisite cuisine, looks like. But I am glad I have found you."

Nerit smiled to the group at the table. She looked much the same as before in her light robe and veil. And she probably stuck out as much as them in the Hazlani District, if not more so for her clear Ezran tendencies.

"Have you spoken with Mme. Canderli yet?" the nun looked to each in turn.

And that was that. No explanation where she was or what she'd been doing. Who needed it? She was probably off doing her midday prayers.

[NeoTiamat]

Konak Resteraunt, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 5:26 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Tomas keeps the smile up for the waiter's sake, but lets it drop once dessert is ordered. "Dare I ask who your friend is?"

"A very stubborn man," Thierri muttered, kicking back and lighting a cigarette. "Suffice it to say he took our last argument over the dinner bill rather seriously."

"Try that. The cream cools the fire without ruining the taste. I promise you our food is edible."

He grinned broadly at the warrior-woman, waiting to see if she liked it.

"I prefer blander food," Katja replied, politely. "I have heard that wizards-" she spoke the word very cooly "-can conjure fire from powder. Do you use such magic powders in your kitchens as well?" She picked at the food, not spitting it out this time, but eating it without any particular signs of like or dislike - much like her reaction to Cyrus himself.

"C'est dommage!" a voice said behind Thierri. "I am missing some exquisite cuisine, looks like. But I am glad I have found you."

"Have you spoken with Mme. Canderli yet?" the nun looked to each in turn.

"Au contraire, mademoiselle. You have arrived along with our dessert," Thierri said, blowing a few stray smoke rings as the Rashemi set the ordered food on the table. "Baked apricots in cream sauce, served with roasted walnuts. Eat," he commanded, shoving one of the dishes at Tomas.

"Certain members of our group have spoken to Mme. Canderli, much to the detriment of everyone involved," Thierri answered her, grinding his cigarette out rather viciously on the table. He immediately produced and lit another one. "Now we are going back to see if she's willing to let us back in her shop. We'll go as soon as the human-pit over there finishes his dishes, which should take about thirty seconds. Her shop closes at six. After that, we're not getting let in, even if she had any reason to."

The Apothecary of Sevgi Canderli, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 5:34 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


The sun was sinking towards the horizon as you returned to Canderli's shop. It looked much like it had when you left it. The door sat closed, the colorful banners in the windows blocking any view inside or outside. The Rashemi that had been in the shop were now hanging around outside, playing mancala on the shop steps adjacent to the magic store. They very conspicuously did not pay you any mind as you approached.

[DocBeard]

The apricot and cream spills, cream getting on the crotch of Tomas's pants in an embarrassing manner just as Sister Nerit makes her entrance. Needless to say, Tomas has enough blood in his oddly-proportioned body to flush wildly, as he looks for something resembling a napkin. "Gotterdamnerung!" Tomas's oath is more traditionally Falkovnian than Lamordian, the former not having the latter's occasional luxury of pretending that the supernatural is just an unpleasant, easily ignorable segment of reality, like poor people and immigrants, but occasionally used on both sides of the border simply for being toe-curlingly vile.

It's all humiliating enough that Tomas ignores the unusual circumstances of Nerit's timing, though the ghostly image of Charles Martel is whispering into his left ear, "You're missing something! You're missing something! Start paying attention, dumbo!"

That's one, Tomas concludes, standing up and wiping at his trousers with his coat, trying to ignore any snickers at the action. "Thank you for the meal, M. Boucher." Tomas jerks out with only slightly hesitant politeness, before starting to move.

LATER,

Tomas has simply gotten around the faux pas by pretending it didn't happen, and not making eye contact with Katja or Nerit, even when doing so ment walking into a street lamp. Rubbing the red welt on his nose, Tomas looks at the not-ominous-at-all young-neighborhood-men, steps to the side, and motions for Boucher to do whatever the heck his master plan is.

[Kaitou Kage]

"I have yet to meet a Hazlani wizard who conjures fire into his food," Cyrus beamed slyly, "I have yet to meet a Hazlani wizard who cooks."

----

"I would like to attempt to convey my intentions better this time," Cyrus said, having grown more rigid as they drew closer to the shop. "I have no quarrel with this woman and do not wish to cause trouble for her. The law applies equally to all, and I will not persecute her unjustly."

[The Whistler]

As long as all 'reform efforts' are chaotic attacks that reap nothing but death and fear, there can be no improvement. There must be positive actions taken.

Of course, this is but my opinion."

“Hear, hear!” Celeste clasped her hands together, nodding her approval—and looking quite appreciatively at Lia. The past several monologues had appeared to have left her rather confused: her gaze had just been flicking back and forth between Lia, Agale, and Pelay, rather as if she had been brought on to judge a badminton match without having been apprised of the rules. On your reflection, her silence could have been due to one or more of the following reasons:

A) The gist of Pelay’s argument had gone completely over her head.

B) She did not at all agree with Pelay’s argument, finding it altogether too pessimistic a view of human nature, but considered it more polite to say nothing at all than to vocally disagree.

C) She thought it best to draw Pelay out into a more explicit confession of his revolutionary tendencies, which precluded interrupting him.

D) She was honestly surprised that everyone wasn’t still talking about poetry.

Regardless, Lia’s argument appeared to have been something she could confidently agree with. “Mlle. Mourneswaithe, I heartily applaud your outlook on country and citizens alike! What more may we fortunate souls do, after all, then set our actions as example to those about us? In such times, those who are able must give wholly of themselves—and those capable of inspiration, why, they must perforce inspire! It is the future of our fair nation that rests on these rarest of individuals.”

She beamed in Pelay’s direction, seemingly having forgotten his dour outlook on the nation. “And M. Pelay…the one soul in this parlor most capable of inspiration, if my perusal of your works is any example! I should be most eager to know what august future you would wish upon our land, had you the wherewithal to shape it as you shape your art. I imagine it would be quite splendid!”

The fact that this could have constituted a leading question was probably accidental. Probably.

19 on an Insight check, for kicks.

[yalenusveler]

"Not even the servants either." The maid sniffed. "Just the other week he got into a downright vicious argument with Mme. Chastel, from the University. Started out as a disagreement over something with the Tessier Gallery. M. Pelay wanted Mme. Chastel to stop wasting time with the aristocratic displays and work to bring these displays to the Quartier Ouvrier. But then there came insults and name-calling. M. Pelay called her a lazy turtle, I think. Not sure what Mme. Chastel called M. Pelay, it must've been something choice. M. Pelay was prowling about in here like he was a cat and someone had stepped on his tail."

"A...lazy turtle?" Kerrian raised a brow, not having heard that particular insult before. "I'm not sure if that's incredibly cutting...or incredibly stupid." It was quite fairly obvious that Kerrian was certian that it was in fact, the latter.

"Do you think he'd actually DO anything about it...try to make her look bad, or is he more the type of person who just makes a big fuss, shouts a lot and then thinks up all sorts of things he could do, but doesn't have the courage to actually try?"

OOC:Insight Result of 25

[Isabella]

The Apothecary of Sevgi Canderli, Quartier-Marchand, Port-a-Lucine; March 10th, 770, 5:35 PM
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Rubbing the red welt on his nose, Tomas looks at the not-ominous-at-all young-neighborhood-men, steps to the side, and motions for Boucher to do whatever the heck his master plan is.

"I would like to attempt to convey my intentions better this time," Cyrus said, having grown more rigid as they drew closer to the shop. "I have no quarrel with this woman and do not wish to cause trouble for her. The law applies equally to all, and I will not persecute her unjustly."

Thierri looked at Cyrus, raising an eyebrow, and then looked back at the rather sorry mess that was currently Herr Eisenwald. "Well," he sighed, somehow managing to lower his voice to the point that the Rashemi couldn't hear, "I can't say it would be a good idea for the dommer to remain outside, either. If you could refrain from such corrections until after we've explained our business, it would be most appreciated. Under the circumstances, a bit more of the truth this time will do better to further us with Mme. Canderli. Obviously, we can't give her the exact chain of events. However, bonne sœur, your shield and habit gives me an idea. If a bit of creative misdirection - for a good cause, of course - would not unduly tarnish your soul, we can whip up an alternate scenario that will do for the truth, in a pinch."