Johnathan smiles at Falko. "I'm relieved."
"So, I'm going to go ahead and suggest that one of his surviving allies got in here and killed him. Unless one of these guards here can afford Nicodemus?"
The horrified guards come in and say, "'The Mayor seemed fairly amicable, as if he was looking forward to the trial. But then he swayed, slumped onto his cot, and started whispering to himself for a few minutes."
The guard shakes his head. 'I just thought he was trying the 'sick prisoner' trick - you know. So we laughed at him. It lasted a while, him mumbling and shuddering and all funny; then all of a sudden he stood back up and asked me if he could borrow a cigarette." The guard shows you his pack - eight missing, and the matches.
'He smoked slowly, and didn’t talk to me again until he finished. Then he thanked me for it - cool as a cucumber - stretched his shoulders and arms like this', the guards acts out someone getting out of bed and stretching, 'then... killed himself. Smashed his head again and again against the wall'. The guard looks away at the horror of the scene.
Johnathan listens, then nods and whispers to Cretien. "Maybe we should detain him."
"Who?"
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With the key suspect dead, the actual trial wraps up fairly quickly. There are still threads of leads in the case, but Lady Inspectress Margaret Saxby, concerned that the notoriety of your group after the Macbannin Case does not disrupt the other investigations, assigns Carlao and the Bad Pennies to those. You are instead buried in enough bureaucratic red tape to keep you busy for months. Sarya was dismissed by Delft due to her contacts not bearing much fruit and the "Goblin King" requiring her time more and more. The RHC gives the Dreamies a barrel or two of Witchoil for their experiments.
The city can’t yet rebuild the damage on Cauldron Hill. The Nettles was completely emptied out after the earthquake warning and Nevard's speech, but over time the empty houses attract poor workers and unsavory types. It grows more restless and lawless, and Lieutenant Dale from The Battalion (who you met when you came down Cauldron Hill the first time) takes over as interim mayor. Violence between factory workers and bribed police intensifies. The Ragman takes another few victims.
Gale, the terrorist, kidnaps Guy Goodson a local industrialist during a wedding and flew him to the Cloudwood where he is presumed missing or dead and then after about two weeks he stumbles out relieved of his valuables.
But on one somber day, a week after Macbannin commits suicide, the city holds a moment of silence. Thousands attend Nevard Sechim’s state funeral. The king and the governor are also in attendance. You are offered a place by the druids carrying the coffin. Johnathan is given special deference in this regard. This is the first time the group have met again since the suicide. As the four of you lead the cortege through the procession to view his body, you spot Gale, observing and approving from afar; a little canary hovers around Angus and pecks him on the cheek. That night, the sky over Flint is clear, and the stars shine brightly, as if promising there is still a future yet unknown.
Chretien receives a letter from Lebrix on the first day of the second month of Summer from Cherage, the capitol of Danor written in Danoran Common
Angus
Johnathan points at the guard that told them what happened to the mayor and lent the cigarette.
Johnathan accepts the honor graciously, but says nothing and avoids eye contact with everyone at Nevard's funeral, keeping to himself when possible.
"I think you're right, he does need to be questioned."
Cretien makes sure to show up in his nicest uniform to the funeral, and does his duty solemnly. He holds no sadness for the man's passing.
He was ready to die, and unafraid. For the people who needed him... they'll just have to find someone else to look to.
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Cretien reads the letter from Lebrix before tucking it away in the drawer of his writing desk. Too suspicious, but no angle to question him from...
He turns to face his current major project. Of all the things to ask for, something so complicated... The royal carriage was in an infant state, but it had undergone some encouraging progress. He had taken his personal carriage to be the skeleton, as he had known no carriage of sturdier craft. Rather than strap the mechanus in as one would a horse, he had cannibalized the parts to form an arcanomechanical engine. As the Coaltongue would be known among the militant sort, so would his creation be known amongst the nobility as Lya Jierre rode around in it.
A self-driven carriage... Cretien thought to himself, the first of its kind. A proof-of-concept, of sorts.
Though sturdy in base construction, Cretien knew he would need to consult an outside source on the more decorative embellishments. Adjustable wheels, user-friendly control overrides... so much left to do.
Three months down, approximately six to go...
Forcing himself out of his reverie, Cretien wipes the oil off of his hands off onto his apron. Adjusting his sleeves, his clothes transform into normal clothes typical of an off-duty constable. He buckles his belt around his waist, and two bandoliers complete the load-bearing harness from which hang his myriad tools. A crowbar, spanner, and hand-drill hang from fitted loops over his right thigh, each implement looking slightly outlandish compared to typical specimens. From the left thigh hangs a gauntlet of sorts, teeming with wire coils placed with careful purpose. One of the bandoliers is a stretch of tiny loops, each containing a metal cartridge.
Cretien reaches down to grab a pack resting on the ground next to the desk to pick up his pack. It is of exceptional make, and barring the pads included for comfort, is entirely metal. His trained fingers course over the buttons needed to open each compartment, where he takes inventory of his traveling belongings. The way it housed each belonging in the perfectly ordered place suited his perfectly ordered mind. The fact that it had an extradimensional space to throw things he picked up in his travels similarly appealed to his adventurous yet pragmatic side. His turret prototype was already firmly in the grasp of external clamps on the left side of the pack.
Adjusting the straps for optimal load-bearing, he reached for the pièce de résistance.... the rifle he had put together a month ago. Cretien had copied the design of an advanced rifle, and modified from there. The end result would look like the result of the average gunsmith's fever-dream... Over the standard barrel, he had placed a larger-caliber barrel capable of firing custom bullets. In addition to that, a small box full of cartridges protruded from where one would normally load shells; and a small box covered where the casings exited the device, saving them for later. With a practiced maneuver, he placed the modified rifle next to the side of his pack, and clamps extended to hold it in place.
Time for some more practice.
Though he knew he shouldn't, as the compound was not conducive to target shooting, Cretien stopped by Cippriano's place for espresso. Cippriano wasn't there, but he left regards for the man with the barrista. His nerves simultaneously calmed and put on end by the drink, Cretien ordered a pastry to go, and hopped on a carriage.
"RHC HQ, please."
In a brief silence between hammering and clanging on the carriage, Cretien hears soft knocking on the shop's door. Who knows how long Johnathan had been standing out there, knocking quietly.
"Wow!" he says as soon as he sees the work Cretien had done since his last visit, peering at boilers and belts, gears and pistons--then the avalanche of questions begins.
"What is this?"
"How did you fix the overheating problem?"
"Where does this pipe go to?"
"Does it need coal? Water?"
"Will it be bulletproof?"
As Cretien gets ready to leave, putting on all his gear, Johnathan is still by the carriage, shouting questions at random intervals.
"What's this thing with all the tubes behind the wheels?"
When Cretien leaves, he sticks to his heels, giddy with curiosity and fresh knowledge.
"It'll drive itself? Like your mechanus? I need to practice with my musket too, if you're going target shooting. Can I come?"
~~~~~~~~
Finally he breaks off on his own, leaving Cretien with some relative peace and quiet after pestering him all day. He walks to The Nettles, which were eerily silent and abandoned since Nevard's warning. Winding between old shacks and huts, he finds Liria's. The ravens and gulls that normally perched everywhere were gone. Even a nest with a couple eggs in it had been abandoned. It felt entirely lifeless.
He reaches between two boards and finds the key Liria always left for him, and goes inside, door creaking loudly in the ghost-town. Johnathan almost expected Liria to walk out from the kitchen at any moment, offering him food and drink. He slumps slightly, realizing that would never happen again. Clearing his throat in the silent shack, he walked a slow tour, looking at all the curiosities Liria collected, wondering their stories. Wondering if their stories died with her.
Trying to calm down, he takes a slow breath and sits in a familiar comfortable chair. When he sees the empty cup from his last visit, he breaks down, curling up on the chair and sobbing.
After grieving, he takes a necklace of carved bone-beads, shaped into animals and arcane symbols. He had never seen Liria without that necklace. Strange that it was sitting on the table by his old cup.
On 87th day of Summer, as you typically do, your group meets at RHC HQ, you notice a Sylphan man breeze into the office dressed in Drakran attire and seems to be having multiple meetings with Delft and Saxby. You seem to recall this fella in the office a few months back before he was sent to Slate for training and then he came back briefly and left again with nary a word. Of course, he may have gone to Bole or Shale or Elfaiver but he does looked dressed in Dwarven fashion. Since the majority of the population of Drakr are human, it is not that the clothing does not fit him.
Cretien does his best to answer Jonathan's stories, seeing the youth in a less dour mood is always welcome.
"Come on, I'll show you what I have learned. I'm no soldier, still, but there are things to be learned about these machines just by looking inside. After all, that is how doctors learned about the living body."
After their shooting practice, Cretien heads over to Pardwight to give the students advice on their projects. The ones staying late into the evening are the ones best suited to my guidance, he thought to himself, sipping his last cup of coffee before he switched to something more suited to relaxation. His in-person duties at the university complete, Cretien takes the papers from his inbox and heads to the lounge to look at them over some wine and light music.
"Hard to believe, all that excitement, and deprived of our trial," Cretien wonders aloud to no one in particular. He looks around to survey any obvious changes to the department and their procedures that have been engendered by the high-profile case he had last worked.
LaMond walks through the room with a straight bearing. Smelling of salty air and firedust, he carries a folder of papers with him, as well as a long, rigid container that he clearly had a small amount of trouble carrying. The container is one used to transport technological devices and weapons in.
Between meetings, he shuffles through several of the papers in the report folder, and lets out a brief impatient sigh. Pulling out a small square container, and lights up a nicodeamus cigarette, he looks around the room through the haze of his smoke, and recognizing the others in the waiting room and rises and nears them.
"You're from the Coaltongue incident, right? Glad to know the ship survived because of your work. It's a marvel" he says all of this without breaking his cool, unemotional manner.
"Indeed. Cretien Dufrene, erstwhile Professor of Arcanomechanics at Pardwight, and RHC consultant of the same." Cretien introduces himself. "You've been in and out of the department for some time. How are things these days... er, Sergeant?"
Asher pauses with obvious discomfort. He stands, momentarilly stunned with some internal distress before responding
"Yes, well... formally a leitenant in the naval military. My current rank is..., he looks over to the closed office door of his superiors and stares for a moment longer than is comfortable, his brow furrowed. "... an ongoing matter..."
A breeze rushes through the room, stirring hair and clothes, before dying again. "LeMond Asher." he says tight lipped, and takes another long drag.
"I had an air elemental once," Johnathan says, smiling like they have all the world in common.
"Ah, well, thank you for your service. Are you familiar with the fort on Axis Island?"
LeMond gives each person a look in turn as they talk, but lingers on Johnathan and his strange statement. Without making any additional expression or comment to address the young man, he speaks to Falko and Cretien.
"I haven't been briefed on these things, no. You'll have to ask ACI Delft. My last assignment has been unrelated to these things, and before that I was a civilian and not involved." Another drag and exhale, with the strange wind surrounding Asher blowing the smoke away from all of you.
"What news of the homeland?"
And Greetings to you. I am Angus, i currently serve on this team as melee specialist says the elf in full plate armor
Angus
Delft hears the conversation and walks out and says, "Lemond, Saxby needs to debrief you some more."
Once Lemond goes to Saxby's office, he walks towards your group and spits a 30 ft tobacco juice at the spittoon in the corner making a loud ding and says to Falko, "I know what the hells you are doing and I agree with you but dammit son you need to be a lot more discreet. The big boss ordered you off the case, you cannot be just flaunting insubordination so openly."
He then puts an arm on his shoulder and whispers, "Keep digging but be quiet about it."
Asher nods to Delft and puts his cigarette out in a metal case from a coat pocket before hefting up the rigid container.
He nods to the lot of you, a single, short motion and enters the office.
Johnathan says quietly, "He seems fun," and wanders off towards someone's desk, flipping through the papers and notes on it.
"ACI, What's next for us?" Cretien asks. He is dressed in a much more rough-and-tumble manner than he was before. Thick, high-topped s++*-kickers with steel toes. More bandoliers and belts with pockets and loops carrying more strange devices. A heavy leather duster, and on the inside an obviously fine-wrought chain shirt. Not to mention the rifle-like contraption.
It was clear that venturing into the heart of darkness had changed the Danoran, though not in a bad way.
Delft smiles and says, "Well, I have a couple things I am working on."
3 days hence: Lemond has been cooped up in intense time consuming, minute detailed debriefings with all sorts of upper echelon types. He spoke with governor Stanfield as well as PM Lee, who came by rail to become appraised at the Drakran developments.
Chapter 3: Digging for Lies
RHC Flint Local Headquarters, Central Quarter Flint, 1st Autumn 500aov, 8.30am'. Rainy Season.
After the climactic defeat of Macbannin and his mysterious suicide in custody, a savvy investigator might conclude that the case isn't closed. That was certainly the opinion of your supervisor, Assistant Chief Inspector Stover Delft, who wanted you turning over every stone to get to the bottom of the mystery. Unfortunately, his boss, Lady Inspectress Margaret Saxby, is head of the Royal Homeland Constabulary in Flint, and she has ordered you off the case. She claimed she had missions 'more suited to your talents', but all she’s done is assign you banal investigations and busy work.
Delft grumbled and fought for you, but everyone knows what motivates the Lady Inspectress. She has her eye on politics, and she’s ended the careers of more than a few constables who got too much positive press too fast. Lady Saxby’s in charge here, and your job is to take orders. If reporters ask you any questions, you’re to politely suggest they talk with the Lady Inspectress. 'Don’t worry', Delft assures you. 'It will all blow over in a month or two'. No use arguing, anyway. The Bad Pennies are on the Macbannin case. Your job, for the next month, is to be a gang of glorified security guards.
Lemond is already in his office when Chretien, Angus, Johnathan and Falko are called in. Delft says, "I would like to introduce LeMond Asher, reserve Lieutenant of the Risuri Navy. He has been working on an ultra important acquisitions project in Drakr and has just returned and will be temporarily assigned to your group during The Kaybeau Armament and Technology Exposition which will be in Flint for the next month or so. The outdoor festival will be showcasing amateur inventors and giants of the new industrial revolution as they display their creations with great pomp and spectacle. Vendors and fair-goers of all nations and races will be cramming the aisles to see wonders once limited to the workshops of wizards and the vaults of kings. We are not expecting anything to happen but we have been requested to have a presence at the exposition to make sure some of this hi tech gear doesn't fall off the back of a wagon and end up with some criminal organization or terrorist group."
It is hot, crowded, and littered with experimental weapons. What could possibly go wrong?
He continues, "The police are charged with mundane concerns, like pickpockets and rowdy drunks; it’s up to you constables to look for greater threats, such as arms smuggling, and foreign spies, many of whom might use the fair as cover for espionage,"[/b]
Delft points at you with his cane 'You’re to coordinate your efforts with Sergeant Sara Lockheart, lead officer on site from the Flint Police. Each day, from the crack of dawn until the afternoon rains disperse the crowds, your job is to make sure everything is orderly.'
'Chretien and LeMond - you two in particular keep your eyes open. You are the RHC's experts on guns and technology, which is why I wanted you for this mission. LeMond since you have just returned from Drakr, keep your eyes peeled for any crazy Eschatologists'
He grins, spits out a chewed blob of tobacco. 'Johnathan, I think you should speak with Heward Sechim, owner of that factory you saved. See what he's up to - ask him if he's reconsidered my offer of a job.'
'One more thing', Delft concludes, with a meaningful look that rests on Angus for a little while. 'The Chief Inspectress never explicitly gave the order, but I strongly recommend you try your damnedest to keep out of the papers for once.'
"ACI, you mentioned Eschatologists. Any other leads on suspects? I'll ask Sergeant Lockheart as well, just wondering if you had insights from a strategic level, as I imagine her view to be more of a tactical one."
Delft spits into the spittoon and says, "Nurp, Sergeant Sara Lockheart is a good apple - very capable. Sometimes a bit over-patriotic', Delft advises. 'You can trust her. I have no leads, but she might.'
Delft eyes the official RHC portrait of the high-brass, and fixates on the Chief of Chiefs. "You may be interested in the visitor we are expecting either tonight or tomorrow morning, The Lord Viscount Inspector. Well, I have some news about him. Saxby filed the report on me for encouraging you to investigate Macbannin against her orders. He's on his way. Stay low is my advice. He is a good man but best be wary' He sighs. 'I doubt anything will come of this, so don't worry about me.'
Asher nods along to the briefing, and makes a note when Delft mentions their police contact.
"I have a contact within the inventor community." Asher says simply, his voice neither congenial or bitter, just a neutral, professionally detached tone. "I could ask her is she's heard of any inventors bringing something that could be particularly volatile."
To Falko, he gives a smile that could be either a dissatisfied one, or genuine. "Only if you wish to be a truly effective marksman", he says in a lower voice.
"Well, you can feel him out over the course of this case, but keep your extracurriculars to the times he is separate"
When you say the Bigger threat do we have anything that can point that any of those happening during that festival ? he ask the ACI
"Hmm, could be. I'll have to check with her first, it is possible that she's not competing this year, but as a competent and prideful gunsmith, I doubt it."
Asher turns his cold gaze to Delft. "Sir, can I share these suspicions with a civilian? I can vouch for her, and if briefed she might be able to yield more insight on what we should be keeping an eye on. She's been in the trade long enough, she might at least be aware of who the more... Reckless and advanced inventors would be so we can mark their work as higher risk."
"The factory owner, yes sir," Johnathan responds curtly.
Delft says, "We really have nothing to go on. But the teachings of the Heid Eschatol are always a bit off putting. Hmmm, you can tell her to be extra wary but other than that I am not sure what else to say."
Lemond
Johnathan hurries over to Asher, staring at the ground, and holds up a tattered journal, open to a particular page.
He quickly closes the journal and clutches it to his chest, then gives Delft an apologetic smile for interrupting.
As Johnathan shows Asher the picture inside of his journal, his expression changes from cold disinterest, to muted surprise, to quiet horror, and finally to a slack-jawed and stunned silence. His eyes dart around the page, from the splotches of eye-catching red, the fanatical scribblings of a madman, to the black lines of macabre shapes and back all over again.
Several breaths pass before his eyes slowly, almost reluctantly, drift sideways to the downcast face of the... kid? Shutting his mouth, and then opening it again in a vague attempt to formulate a word, he silently looks around the room at all others standing there for someone, anyone, to say something. The wind that continually breezes around Asher dies, utterly still.
Johnathan notices Asher's expression and adds quickly, "They were already dead. He wasn't killing them. Thats-that's my air elemental. Was." He forces a smile but still looks worried by his reaction.
Delft shoos you out of his office and says "Get to work!"
Kaybeau Arms and Technology Exposition.
You hoof it the two miles southwest of the RHC Headquarters, in the largest public park in Flint, the expo resembles a small tent city. Dozens of small booths, a score of modest tents, and a trio of huge pavilions house the various vendors.
You find Sergeant Sara Lockheart with a small team of police at the gates near the subrail station. 'Honored to meet your team. I've read all about how you saved the king in the Coaltongue, saved Risur from war at Axis Island, and caught the necromancer Mayor Macbannin and the 'Bleak Gate Killer!' Despite being quite overwhelmed by such famous heroes (she asks Angus to sign a newspaper clipping) she remains generally professional.
She continues, 'I don't have any leads I'm afraid, so you'll just have to explore the fair looking fro trouble. I have a squad here at the station in the center of the fair, and we check on the three major pavilions to handle any sort of petty theft or vandalism here, so I suspect if anything goes down it will be in one of the peripheral tents and booths.'
She's happy to explain the fair layout.
Might indeed be, our order is to be on the lookout for the bigger threats such as arms smuggling, and foreign spies. Is there any booth or items in the fair that could fall in either of those categories ? he polity ask the Sergeant as he signs the paper clipping with a warm smile
Sergeant Lockhart says, "You guys got to understand, I am strictly PO-lice, this spy jive is not my beat. I normally walk a beat, get to know the people in my neighborhood and develop CIs. But I digress. When it comes to arms smuggling the whole damn place can be used for smuggling, shoot there is enough weaponry here to sink a fleet. I will give you the names."
She then flicks through a notepad and starts reading off for you, " Let me see, the center of the park has three semi-permanent structures near the recently completed and lavishly appointed Kaybeau Subrail Station which host the fair's centerpieces: the Military Tent, Rail Tent and the Industry Tent.
In a ring around the main pavilions, twenty large tents anchor the swaths of smaller booths of individual vendors. These tents belong mostly to local factories, with a few national and international arms manufacturers. Some of the more interesting-sounding or familiar ones to me include: Apex Tower Construction; Colleen Fuel Prospectus; Gonzel’s Cannery; Liontamer Mechanical Orchestra; Pemberton Industries; Sechim’s Alkahest and Alchemicals; and The Trinket Stand. Several other vendors sell more mundane arms, or offer gun-themed accessories like holsters, bandoliers, paintings, and ten-penny novels about gunslingers.
On the northern edge of the park is a stage that hosts daily performances of local orchestras, international celebrities, and the occasional military re-enactment."
She then looks up at Falko and says, "A guy like you may be interested who is playing here this afternoon, Rock Rackus the famous singer. Anyway, this area also hosts a series of alleys for experimental guns and other exciting sounding weapons."
A loud barrage of bangs and whirring is just beginning from there.
She smiles a bit and says, "I would love to enjoy the concert but I have my duties. You guys are lucky you are in plain clothes and can blend in and stuff."
Knowledge Local on Rock Rackus DC10
through his wild stories and rowdy behavior. He claims to have looted treasures in the
Malice Lands, traveled to the moon, and cuckolded the fey king of the Unseen Court.
Conservative elements in society view him as a menace, while the dockers see him as a
rising star, but no one knows his personal politics.
"Tell me, do you have a list of names for the independent venders? I'm looking for a Delilah Washer, most likely here to show off her firearms." Asher turns to the others and elaborates. "She works locally, but would probably be representing her work independently."
Narrowing her eyes at the name Rackus, Asher speaks with a satirical sting to his voice. "Luckily for us, he's already being watched by the public. That should be enough eyes to alert the rest of us if he does anything strange."
If Lockhart is able to tell him where to go to find Delilah, he'll do so. Otherwise, he'll head off in an attempt to find her based on his own intuition and some asking about.
Cretien is in the clothes of an independent inventor.
Angus will turn toward his friends lots of potential stuff and dangers. Do we want to split up in order to cover more grounds or stay not to far from each other in order to play on our different skill sets? We could also split in smaller team too.