DM Vord's Zeitgeist Act I - Portents of a Starry Sky

Game Master Vorduvai

81 Spring, Ethelyn's Tower, Slate City

”I know you weren’t expecting to see me again, but there are some things I needed to ask you about…and some apologies to be said.”

These were the first words Gemma could think to say when given a secret audience with the former Duchess and currently imprisoned, Ethelyn.

Ethelyn had already gone through her trial and had been given the sentence of life imprisonment. Gemma had to pull strings and call in favors to see her. But it was necessary. The thought of talking to her had been turning over and over in her brain since they got back to Slate and then again when she was in Flint. All through the accusations. All through the trial. Every time she saw Anneca’s plot board. Too many loose ends and unanswered questions constantly nagging at her. As much as Gemma wanted to hate the woman for what she had done and for who she had aligned herself with, her analytical mind needed to solve the puzzle. So here she finally was. To get to this point, she had to volunteer and get the okay from Delft to ride shotgun on a prisoner transfer from Flint to Slate. Then she had to wait until she got an audience with Principle Minister Lee for his approval. After a few cups of strong tea and more than a few questions, permission was granted. The meeting would be “off the books”, as it were. Any information potentially gleaned from it would be privately shared, if asked, with the Minister himself. Any conclusions that might be drawn from said information would arise solely from “good, old-fashioned detective work” and not hearsay or speculation. Any conclusions that might implicate or defame King Aodhan in any way, directly or indirectly, would be brought to Minister Lee personally and with all haste. Anything that might cast aspersions on Lady Lya Jierre, directly or indirectly, were to be brought to Minister Lee personally and with all haste. The Minister was very specific and very clear.

But Gemma was indeed granted her audience…just her and Ethelyn…and a few guards…and no weapons of any kind.

Gemma looked at the once great warrior. She was still a proud woman but now worn down by time and worry. Gemma almost felt sorry for her but couldn’t quite bring herself to it. However, she was able to manage deference to her former station at least. ”My behavior on Axis was…uncharacteristic. Clearly emotions were running high, things were said, things were done…but I haven’t come to you today for any regrets. I have none of those. I do apologize, however, for my unlevelled outburst in Axis Fort. That was…unfortunate. And I have come prepared to listen, if you are willing to talk. Despite my disagreement with your actions, me and a few of my fellow constables are trying to piece together how all this happened. More than anything, we want what’s right for Risur, just as you do. But now we’re trying to figure out what that is. We took an oath to protect that and that is what we intend to do. No matter what. Some of us have unspoken concerns about some of the upcoming events. So I ask you, if you are willing to tell me, what started all this?"

Gemma’s words are true and contain no subterfuge or intimidation. She truly just wants to get to the bottom of it all and get it sorted out. To a lesser extent, she just loves a good mystery. The bigger problem is the thought of Aodhan allying himself with the Danorans, particularly Lya Jierre, and throwing the country into a huge and costly mistake.

56 Spring 500 A.O.V. | Emerson Hill’s residence
64 Malmesbury Road | 11:34pm

To say Emerson was tired would be an understatement. After the initial debriefing on the 14th Constable Hill made it a habit of stopping by the various Hospital wards to lend a hand, help with healing, or just sit with the various Risuri veterans wounded in the Axis Island action. Of course he had his normal work load at the R.H.C. But thankfully, things had settled down into a somewhat normal routine. It seemed as if all the populace were so engaged with the trials of Ethelyn and the others as well as the King’s marriage announcement that most of the normal arguments between citizens had subsided.

That was great for Hill, because if he wasn’t at work, he was at Hospital. If he wasn’t there, he was spending time with Talyssa and Devinn, usually at the Thinking Man’s Tavern. Lastly, if he wasn’t doing any of the above, he was here, in his fourth floor flat, working on Vera.

He was excited to get the carbine from his Uncle before Axis. It certainly helped them out there. But he had noticed some stress cracks in the metal at the breech and one larger one at the muzzle. Uncle Aidan had never been one to properly clean nor take care of his arms and armor. Whatever the reason for it, Emerson knew that he would have to repair it or risk it blowing up in his face.

So a week after they returned to Flint, Emerson started taking his carbine apart and acquiring all the items to make it like new, better than new. Taking it apart had reminded him of some of the lessons his father had taught him growing up. Angles, geometry, processes that lent more strength to metal while simultaneously lightening it. He was really enjoying himself.

Problem was, his neighbors started to hate him. All the late night tinkering had worn on the other tenants but they were much too nice in person as he was known as one of the Constables that helped save the King and avert another war. Instead, they made the owner of the building, Mr. Watkins’ life miserable. Mr. Watkins had been very diplomatic with Hill, but never really came out and said that he needed to stop his late night work…

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’And……that’s it! Finished! Now, I can finally get a good night’s rest.’ Emerson sits back in his chair, dozing off, the acrid smell of solder still lingering in the air. Bang Bang Bang!/[b]

The knock at the door wakes him up like a bucket of ice water over the head. [b]Bang Bang Bang!/[b] it repeated. Emerson limps over to the door pepperbox in hand, wondering if Anneca’s warnings of reprisals have finally come true. ’Ah, it’s just Watkins.’ Emerson opens the door and begins with a greeting. [b]”Good evening Mr. Watkins. What do I owe?”

The landlord enters his apartment without an invitation. ”Do not take that pleasant tone with me good sir! Everyone is fed up! Fed up, with your carrying on up here, what with your strange sounds and smells wafting down the hallways. I tried to be courteous. Tried to be polite in my urgings to keep it to a minimum, but no did he listen? No, you didn’t!”

”But I thought you were truly interested in the revival of my family heirloom? It’s finally done.” offers Emerson as he walks over to his work bench to left up the now magnificent firearm.

Mr. Watkins eyes light up at the sight. ”That is truly remarkable work Constable Hill” he says before he manages to remember what he was doing here in the first place. He sighs and takes a step back towards the open doorway. ”I’m sorry Hill. It is a beauty, but it has cost you your flat. I appreciate all you have done for Flint and Risur for that matter, but this is your formal 3-day notice to vacate.” He hands Emerson a letter then turns on his heel and quietly exits the apartment.

81 Spring 500 A.O.V., Ethelyn's Prison Chamber, The Bridge Tower, Slate City

Ethelyn Lesterman, the former Duchess of Shale and one-time heroine of both the Third and Fourth Yerasol Wars looks upon the young constable with a mixture of contempt and resignation. Spared from execution by her brother in a last-hour reprieve back on 49 Spring, Ethelyn now lives in a relatively comfortable and well-furnished set of prison chambers, with no view of the outside. It has been said that Ethelyn has been moved several times already, but these chambers which are undisclosed to the public are in the Bridge Tower, which sits as an arch across the Great Delve River straddled by two fortress castles. Obvious to Gemma - and not unlike the holding cells in the basement of Flint Branch Headquarters building - are the the gold-lined etchings across the glasssteel viewing panels to the chambers, as well as the stout iron prison chamber door which appears to be the only entrance from the highly guarded and secured hall where Gemma now stands. Ethelyn can no more cast a spell or summon an incantation from her prison as surely as if she wore magecuffs. No doubt gold rings and iron bars are set inside every stone of this place and reinforced with magical wards, not unlike the inner and outer walls of Axis fortress.

Ethelyn coolly regards Gemma for a long moment, but perhaps she finally decides to answer her out of curiosity of the impromptu meeting, or the notion that Gemma may be the first person that has talked to her aside from the usual tower prison guards which bring her food and remove her chamberpot. She shrugs and answers with a tired voice of an old woman now, much more frail-sounding than what Gemma recalled in their last encounter upon Axis.

"I care nothing for your apology, your feelings or your disposition to me, constable. Whether in the past, current or future, short as that shall be. You and yours have sealed the Doom of all of us. I only wait here now until that Doom is fully realized, ready to accept my own failure at averting it."

With a sigh Ethelyn turns away from Gemma and closes her eyes, but continues to speak to her. "The "start" of it is irrelevant now, but the vision of the late Skyseer Mallin Lorcas confirmed my need to act. His words to me last Winter can never be forgotten to my mind, and I shall repeat them to you as I have already to many others: 'A globe spins upon the Axis, and a steel ship of embers sets off to war on a sail of shadows. The world passes into eternal night, and blackness grips all of Risur as the stars fall from the sky. The king’s eyes turn a soulless white, and he moves as a puppet, his strings pulled by a man who has already died a thousand times.' That Mallin foretold of the ending of the world was as certain to him as it was to me. Other Skyseers of the Conclave saw much of the same, though bits and pieces of the whole, and other visions besides. Only by my foolish and misguided brother gone from the Land, all ties to Danor refused and removed, and the industrious stain of Flint eradicated utterly could we possibly avert the cataclysm that would swallow us all. Even then it was uncertain, but I was willing to try. Now, nothing will save us from the pull into that vortex of darkness..."

Gemma takes out a small book and piece of graphite and begins writing down Ethelyn's exact words about the prophecy. She's never been one to put too much faith in the Starseers' visions. Like dreams, they can be interpreted many different ways by many different people. But she knows there are many that do put their faith in them and the Old Ways, like her parents. And she knows that there are some that would be willing to lay down their lives because of those visions. There was one such person standing not ten feet away from her right now. Foolish but fact nonetheless.

"I'll remind you that we were following orders, just as you had orders given to you to do things in the war as a soldier. We had been given no reason to dispute them. We had no prior knowledge of the union between Risur and Danor through marriage. Not that it makes any difference to you, but I have a great disdain for Lya Jierre. I felt it was highly inappropriate and well beyond proper protocol to let her into the R.H.C. headquarters the way she was. I was suspicious of it from the beginning and I voiced my opinion as such. Of course, it fell on deaf ears."

Gemma looks to her book and then to the Duchess again without emotion. "But with all this prophecy of the end of the world and your brother being a large part of it coming true, why didn't you just kill him? No subterfuge. Just you and him and it's done. Brotherly and sisterly love aside, if you're trying to save your country, why not? That would cut straight to the heart of it. There would be no union, ties would be cut with Danor for at least a time while we got things sorted out and you may or may not have become a martyr. It would throw everything into a right mess but the Doom of the world would be averted, right? I'm truly meaning no disrespect if any is taken. I'm just trying to get all this sorted out. And if we did indeed help the end of Risur as we know it by our actions, I would like to try and fix that if I could."

62 Spring 500 A.O.V.| All day | Around Flint

A sound like muffled wind chimes heralds the arrival of the Utegg family as they traveled Flint seeing the sights, each of them tapping their gold rings against their iron necklaces without so much as a thought.

"Yes mum, I'm acutely aware that both Harry and Liv have children." Tobias says, rolling his eyes even as his older siblings stifle laughter behind him. Each of his hands is gripped by a smaller one, the youngest Utegg's each fighting to grab his attention.

"You'd think between Slate and Flint my youngest boy would be able to find a wife!" His father says chuckling as Mrs. Utegg takes the bait and continues questioning Tobias about his love life.

Turning to his sister in law, Palomine, Tobias puts on a mock frown. "I wish you'd never planned this little surprise." He whines even as she punches him playfully in the side.

"You haven't seen your family in forever Constable Utegg, and you know damn well you missed us."

Chip had still not officially arrived in Flint, though he'd finally found a couple to take the apartment so they weren't voiding their lease. So Tobias had been spending far too much time alone in his new place contemplating the far reaching implications of the events on Axis Island. The surprise family visit had been a welcome change, though he had forgotten how comfortable the rest of the Utegg family was invading personal space. They'd taken to calling him "city boy" whenever he complained.

He couldn't show them around the office but he did walk the Utegg clan around the general area, occasionally lecturing them on how it's rude to stop in the middle of the walk way every time they saw something impressive. They even stopped at a small restaurant advertising farm fresh food, then laughed their way back to his new flat to use actual farm fresh ingredients for dinner.

Tobias realized that night how fiercely he'd missed his family, and part of him wished to go back to that small farm town, but the visit also renewed his desire to do best by the people of Risur. He still felt that the RHC was the best place to do that, despite its inner politics and recent scandals.

63 Spring 500 A.O.V.| Madame Isha's | 49 Habersham Lane, The Nettles District, Flint

Having seen his parents off that morning before heading to the Flint Office, Tobias spent most of his day looking over paper work, making sure reports were written and filed correctly. Thrilling work. He thinks to himself as he realizes he'd been relegated to the same tasks he felt were stifling him in Slate. He worked late, hoping to give himself room for an interesting assignment soon, not that he expected much.

Looking at the scrap of paper on the palm of his hand he double checked his location and turned around the next corner.

That must be it. The shop in front of him is half built into an old tree with a faded wooden sign that reads Madame Isha's or it would, if some enterprising individuals hadn't altered it to read Mad Isha instead. Shaking his head, Tobias pushes open the front door, rattling the curtain of beads directly behind it, and a young half-orc woman briefly peaks out from behind a cabinet full of books with esoteric titles and worn bindings.

"Shops closed hun. Isha doesn't sell books after dark." She doesn't wait for an answer before retreating back behind the cabinet. He rubs the back of his head nervously and almost stuttering speaks the phrase he'd been given. "Yeah, but books are best read in the dark, er, after dark. Books are best read after dark."

After some shuffling, the woman steps back out from behind the shelf. Tobias is stunned for a moment, having never seen a half-orc he'd consider comely, but he can't deny an attraction to her slight frame and piercing eyes. "Oh, here for crystals then? You're not a regular ether, how did you hear about us?"

"Pierre, in Slate. I'd been purchasing them from him, he told me you usually have a decent supply." The power crystals he used to supplement his psychic abilities had been a boon in Slate, but the shop he'd discovered them in rarely got new shipments. When he'd been reassigned, Tobias had been afraid he'd have to pay extra to have them delivered, but the old shop owner had happily provided the Constable with the name and location of Madame Isha's and thanked him for his longtime patronage.

"We mostly just have warding crystals right now. Haven't seen a healing stone in months and the love stones are even rarer!" Says the half-orc as she leads Tobias into a back room full of strange powders and talismans. Most people were under the assumption that the stones would give them good luck, or protect them from harm. Tobias had yet to meet anyone who actually understood the latent psychic spell power that was held within, or if he had, they'd been too cautious to reveal themselves.

"That's fine. I'm not really shopping for any at the moment. I wanted to come check out the shop though. I'll probably be coming by fairly often, I'm, um, something of a collector." He smiles convincingly as he looks around the rear of the shop. "I'm Tobias by the way, new to the city."

"I'm Roksana, Isha is my mother. We're always excited to have new customers. Since you aren't shopping today, I don't suppose you'd be interested in a psychic reading? My mother says I'm the most powerful psychic she's ever met!" The half-orc pushes a lock of brown hair behind her ear and blushes a little, Tobias almost finds himself blushing in return. First Lyra, and now a half-orc? Maybe mother shouldn't be so keen on me finding love. He frowns and mentally kicks himself for the ignorant thought and Roksana, misreading the change in countenance, immediately retracts her offer. Never one to say no to a pretty face, Tobias accepts and sits through the biggest and most elaborate ruse he's ever witnessed. However he finds himself too enamored by the display to call an end to it, and by the time he's headed home, he's already secured a dinner date with Roksana in a few days time. Maybe Flint isn't so bad after all.

Excerpt of Jesselle Wesmere’s Journal (A more reader friendly version here.)

81 Spring 500 A.O.V., Ethelyn's Prison Chamber, The Bridge Tower, Slate City

The glare of contempt Ethelyn casts towards Gemma still shows some measure of pride and ego in the old woman, her eyebrows raised in surprise at the constable's words to her. "A dutiful lapdog to Aodhan I already did know, but that you could be so naive after all of your supposed training and evaluation..."

Ethelyn shakes her head dismissively, and Gemma thinks the conversation is ended between them. Yet perhaps because of the lack of discourse the former Duchess receives in her prized magical cell, she chooses to answer abruptly after a moment.

"You may see an old man behind the mantle, but make no mistake that my brother is still powerful as one of the most skilled warriors of our generation. That, and between the protections of Harkover Lee by day and Dame Jillian by night, even I could not have hoped to 'just kill him' as you so crudely put it. Foolish girl..." She shakes her head at Gemma and raises a finger at her in instruction, adding, "...even if I had managed to murder him by my own hand, doing so would have voided any possibility of being accepted by the people as the next Queen of Risur. Killing Aodhan would not have averted our Doom in and of itself, but what would have come after with my ascension to the Land. That your pack of dogs not only foiled my twin attempts on 1 Spring, but revealing my actions in the process necessitated the fall of Shale and all that came after, at Slate and Axis and elsewhere. The blood of hundreds...nay thousands...stains you and yours as much as it does my own soul, constable. Live with that, as long as you can live before the Doom of the world takes you."

With that, Ethelyn firmly sets her back towards Gemma at the glassteel wall and makes it clear their conversation is at an end...

Gemma drops her head and smirks to herself. She knows that she has failed in getting the information that she wanted, but knows that she at least tried.

She stands and puts her notebook and graphite away in a side pocket. ”Good to know that pride and ego don’t fade with age. I’ll be sure to remember that. I’m sure it will be something to look forward to in my older years, should I reach them. Something to keep me warm as I sit in my rocking chair, sad and withered, thinking about all the lives I’ve taken. Although if the Doom is coming, I don’t really have much to worry about then do I?”

Even though her words seem inflammatory, they are said with measure and consideration, not anger.

”Honestly, the only thing I have to worry about right now is figuring all this out. Oh, and not getting taken again by your fey friends in retaliation for our meddling.”

She turns to walk away but then can’t help but add a thought. ”You know Duchess…I’ve always been impressed by your legend and even more impressed by how you managed to pull all this off…tactically speaking, of course. It’s a shame you’re ending your days with such a tarnish. I truly feel bad for that. But you got sloppy. Somehow your ends weren’t all tied tight. Things popped up that you didn’t prepare for and that cost you your fight. It may have even cost us all. Me trying to tie up those loose ends will keep the thoughts of the dead at bay for a while. Unfortunately, you have nothing but time to think on it. Good day, Duchess.”

With that, Gemma leaves, already mulling things over in her head, trying to figure out what to tell Anneca that would even make any difference.

91 Spring | 500 A.O.V. | Anneca's Townhouse | 18 Amelia Court , Central District, Flint

Gemma makes her way towards the former residence of Makala Fileccia and current residence of Anneca Summers. She’s been there a couple of times since arriving back at Flint, after the events at Axis Island and at the invite of her fellow constable. The residence is quite nice, but Gemma figures it makes Anneca just as uncomfortable as she is herself when she’s there…although probably for different reasons. Nonetheless, she finds herself at the door once more, waiting to be let in.

Once inside, she realizes she’s not the first one to arrive and doesn’t say much in the presence of Serena Taflis at first. She’s painfully aware of how she acted the first time she ran into her at headquarters, in the gardens, and has made it a point to keep herself more in check since.

After a couple of cups of tea, and some very reluctant small talk, she starts to speak more openly. ”So I hate to say it, but I don’t really have much to add since we last had a go at this. One new thing though…I did make my way to see the Duchess…sorry…Ethelyn just last week. Amazingly, I was able to gain a private audience with her, with the exception of the guards. She wasn’t much help though. She was quite reluctant to say anything other than the same prophecy that we’ve all heard before. You know…the one about the doom of the world. I wrote it down this time, word for word as she said it, in case I missed anything before. I must say, I’ve gone over the words again and again, a million different ways, and I still can’t come up with anything. The only thing I’m fairly certain of is that the king should absolutely not align himself with House Jierre. Although, I don’t need a prophecy to convince me of that.”

Anneca reads over the prophecy, mulling it over in her head. "I don't really believe in prophecy. No evidence for it, except after-the-fact squeezing and stretching of meaning to make a vague and portentous announcement into some semblance of truth. 'A globe spins upon the Axis, and a steel ship of embers sets off to war on a sail of shadows. The world passes into eternal night, and blackness grips all of Risur as the stars fall from the sky. The king’s eyes turn a soulless white, and he moves as a puppet, his strings pulled by a man who has already died a thousand times.' That could mean anything with enough interpretive greasing. It hardly seems enough to launch a rebellion on." She pins the words to the wall, still unclear as ever. "If that's all that she had to go on, she really must have been insane. To murder the king and potentially thousands in civil war, based on something so vague? I'm sure the Skyseers knew that the ship was being built, and that we were moving for peace with Danor. Perhaps the skyseers heard a rumor... What about this bit at the end, about the man who has died a thousand times? I'd wager that they're talking about a deva. Where is Rhegalion Arbalistre stationed now? Maybe he would have some insight, not that I would want to spread this investigation out more than it has to be."

"I would agree with you about the deva part, although I don't know about the current status of Arbalistre. The stars falling from the sky could mean during a time of shooting stars. There are certain times of the year when you see large groups of them. There have also been times past when the sun is darkened and "darkens the world" so to speak. So that could all point to a certain point in time. As far as the king goes, I feel fairly certain that he will become a puppet once Jierre gets her claws in him, I don't care what anyone says. And there may be something about Axis being a key in this because of the ruins. It's all speculation, of course, but Ethelyn truly believes that we are all certainly doomed. More has been done with less based on the prophecies of Skyseers. She doesn't seem insane. She seems wholly convinced. And she mentioned it wasn't just one Skyseer that had the vision. It was a number of them at the same time."

Gemma takes another sip of tea and speaks in a lower, quieter tone. "I'm not saying I'm ready to go against my king. My loyalty has always been above reproach, but what if we've been wrong, Anneca? What if we're on the wrong side of this and Ethelyn is right and we've just caused our own doom? What do we do then? My loyalty is with the current regime but it is to the whole of Risur before that."

She looks to Serena nervously. "I think it can go without saying that I'd like to keep this off the record, but I have no authority to enforce it. But if you were still looking for female bonding through our profession, I've just jumped into it feet first."

80 Spring 500 A.O.V. | Emerson Hill’s residence
12B Canton Street | 8:15pm

Emerson seats the last two roll pins into his newly custom made pepperbox and then leans back in his work chair. This was the third time in as many weeks that he had stripped it apart and started almost from scratch. He tests the action of the barrels, hammer, and trigger and likes what he sees. ”Perfect” he says to no one in particular.

As he closes his eyes the constable reflects on the last few months. Since the incident of losing his flat in Central, Emerson made a conscious effort to be a little more cognizant in regards to his neighbors. Although as luck would have it, all his new neighbors consisted of businesses which would be closed when he was working his craft after hours.

When he had told Talyssa of his apartment troubles, she told Devinn. Lamont knew of a man who inherited his father’s machining business and had an apartment upstairs for rent. The presence of a Constable kept the more undesirable characters away and in return, Emerson was allowed access to the shop at all hours provided he kept a record of and paid for all items used in his tinkering.

Muhnee was over on and off perfecting a new style bayonet that let the operator fire his rifle or use the affixed bayonet without one impeding the other.

In regards to work, the Axis Seven had seen their schedules settle to something resembling normalcy. They were often cooperating on investigations, and Emerson had a chance to work with each of the three transplants from Slate. He liked them all, and valued their presence. It was a much better working arrangement than before the Coal Tongue incident.

Putting away his tools, Hill decides to clean himself up and have a drink at the Thinking Man. He can’t wait to show off his newest addition to Dane and Lamont.

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Persons of Interest to Emerson Hill

Ruari Kingston: Emerson’s new landlord at 12B Canton. He inherited his father’s machining business and decided he could do worse than to rent out his father’s old upstairs apartment to an up-and-coming Constable of the RHC.

Samuel Eccleston: Lieutenant in the Risuri Navy. Emerson helped Samuel recover from his wounds from the Battle at Axis Island. He had been suffering from intermittent internal bleeding which the local surgeons had missed. On one of his visits, Emerson took one look at him and almost involuntarily laid hands on his wounds. Eccleston was discharged immediately and they’ve kept in touch ever since.

Clara Edwards: A young woman living in the Strand. Emerson rescued her from a couple of dockers one night leaving the Thinking Man. Now she’s enamored with him, much to Talyssa’s chagrin.

Vastra Darvill: A sometimes street rat and pick pocket in Flint. Emerson arranged for leniency from her last arrest as she was a material witness to a double murder on the edge of Parity Lake.

91 Spring 500 A.O.V. | Anneca's Townhouse | 18 Amelia Court, Central District, Flint

Serena comes back to where Anneca and Gemma are as they discuss the notions of Skyseer prophecies and visions, sipping from the tea she has just made. She peers at the board that Anneca has spent hours adding to and reviewing, a studied look upon her face. With a quick dismissive wave to Gemma’s comment she answers, ”You have nothing to fear about reports and records from me, dear. Certainly not this, though as you both suspect there is really nothing from these observations that we could bring forward to the Inspectorate. So we wait, observe and keep each other apprised informally of anything disturbing…and otherwise go about our duties and assignments to keep Risur safe.”

With a sigh and a sad smile she turns away from the board and moves to a lush cushioned and decorated chair that was once Makala Fileccia’s when she owned the townhouse, sitting down and smoothing her skirts as she places her teacup on a fine mahogany side table. ”I understand the nuances you speak of Gemma regarding the King and the Land, though as you suspect many would not understand the difference and view your words as seditious or treasonous. I myself shall trust King Aodhan…until there is evidence and action not to. Whatever Ethelyn’s words and beliefs are, her actions were to murder and plot and betray…and I simply cannot believe those actions support a cause for the ‘greater good’ as it were. I have discussed this with Kaea and she agrees. Also, it is up to you two of course but Kaea believes in Fethryth Teldanona and supports you bringing her into your fold on this, as she would be of similar mind.”

Taking another sip of her tea, Serena looks then to Anneca and says, ”In answer to your question on Constable Arbalistre, I only know from R.H.C. reports that he and our other resident deva, Constable Ettevand, are with Basil Dawson and Unremitting in Shale City. Yet I have heard little whispers with my connections in Slate that they have visited the prison cell of Garys Tranth on more than one occasion – your assessment of that part of Ethelyn’s prophecy has not been lost upon the Directorate, and they hope Tranth would provide some insight on that point, though with his death and loss of memory I do not know how.” She sighs and adds, ”And though Anneca dear it is not surprising that you would doubt and scoff at Skyseer prophecies, I tell you that it is no charlatan’s trick or ploy by the Skyseers when they have them. Kaea is but a fledgling in the art, yet her waking vision of our Makala’s death was true that day when Gemma here helped to get me a carriage. Yet it is also true that their visions have become fewer and faded since the Third Yerasol War, and there are but a few aged masters of the art left now that are able to interpret them with any degree of reliability.”

The conversation between the three constables goes on for some time into the late watch hours. Serena informs them that her team will be delving more into the tracking of a radical group of Eschatologists from Drakyr, and will be less accessible over the first days of Summer as a result. With the rash of recent arsons of factories in Parity Lake and the occasional continued attacks against industrialists by the terrorist Gale, Serena surmises they will have plenty to keep them busy in the coming Season. Finally, she encourages them to keep her apprised of any developments they might come across that clarify Anneca’s conspiracy puzzle, and then takes her leave, with Gemma following soon after.

Late Spring, 500 A.O.V. – before dawn
(A residence in Flint)

The dying old man wakes with a start.

He is dressed in simple robes of linen that lack finery or embroidery. His bed a simple pallet that he prefers to keep upon the floor in the corner of the otherwise fine and spacious sleeping chambers prepared for him. His bones ache and his breathing is labored and raspy, but the pain and discomfort of age is not what wakes him. Rather, it is what he sees in the fragmented nightmares that are now his nightly torment. The old man wheezes for breath and shivers from the chill of sweat that dampens his robes across his back and arms. He reaches for the walking stick beside the pallet, grasping it for familiarity and comfort. Yet he does not rise, instead squeezing his eyes shut to remember the fragments of dream and nightmare, the voices and visions that revealed the past, present and future to him.

The stars! The stars shine on a field of blackness that moves…like a bird? The blackness takes the stars…or they snuff out on their own? I cannot tell! Always the stars and the black that moves, but where? High…so very high…not then a wave from the lowly waters though it seems to me that it moves like water, terrible and dark and foul. And the screams! The screams come from either the darkness or the stars, but screams they are. Terrible and pitiful. And the stars are snuffed out like the candlewick, and the darkness descends, and I feel…death approach. Ahh but I know that my journey to the Bleak Gate comes soon, and so this is but a final glimpse? No no, the death is everywhere, and it is sudden and brutal, not the gradual demise of an old man who has lived too long. Something else, something else…but I cannot move in this murk, this fog, this poison. Too little that is clear, and too little time now...

The dying old man opens his eyes and starts to move his walking stick to get him to rise. He does not have much time now, that much he knows well. His weak old bones creak in protest as he moves to rise, even as he hears the footfalls of another hurriedly coming towards him now, the creak of the wooden floorboards a familiar friend to one whose eyes are failing and has learned to appreciate the other senses in compensation.

”Uncle? Uncle!” The younger man opens the door to the room and enters in a worried rush, the concern of a devoted nephew to his elder kin. The old man realizes that he must have been moaning again in his so-called sleep, and woke up his nephew in the start that woke himself up. Answering that he is unhurt, the young man that is his nephew moves to his side and helps him to rise, the calloused hands and strong arms a familiar and welcome comfort of needed assistance. The young man himself is old enough to have children of his own, though he never did so, never did take a wife even. That pang of regret the old man feels for his nephew is made worse by the other dreams he has had once again, cryptic and murky like all the rest but with a feeling of dread that makes it more than a fleeting dream. After all his years upon the Land he knows well the difference.

”Uncle? You had them again tonight? The same ones again? That is three nights consecutively now, uncle.”

”Yes, though the feeling of impending doom comes beating at me through them, heralding the approach of time. It grows harsher in the foretelling.”

”They are killing you, Uncle.”

”No, no I am dying of my own accord dear nephew, and the toll they take upon me just reveals this body’s frailty to the inevitability of that final journey.”

”Please don’t say that Uncle…”

”You must not fret for my passing, dear boy. Yet there is one that you should look to if you can, though it may be too late to avert it.”

”You have seen another vision of her, Uncle? You think it is her you see?”

”Yes, nephew. Unchanged is the vision and my interpretation of it. ‘An adopted daughter shall blindly ride the wind to her demise.’ I know it to be familiar, though as terrible as it sounds it is not the worst I fear that is coming.”

”What can we do Uncle? Was there anything else that you can see to act upon?”

The dying old man considers the question for a moment, then shakes his head. He knows the lens through which he sees is too clouded, too murky, too poisoned in this place to be of any more use. He knows where he must go, though he is too weak and afraid to do so. Still he must try. Before the last journey comes upon him. ”I must see our friends up in the high places, nephew. The fog and fumes are too much here. Too much to feel the Land on my bare feet and witness the Heavens in the sky. I must make the trip, though I fear it is not high enough to pierce the veil even then. Yet I must try. For the sake of many, I must try.”

The young man considers his uncle’s words and the urgent tones of his raspy voice which carries them, and nods his assent. He flashes an assured grin, the smile of one who has achieved much in his shorter lifespan and whom others rely on to see them through their own troubles. ”Well then Uncle, let’s get you ready for the trip. I shall make the arrangements at dawn with our friends, and by nightfall you shall be there. Perhaps you will even find her waiting for you.”

”Perhaps, my boy, perhaps indeed.” The dying old man is so very proud of his nephew. He knows the young man which carries his blood is capable and steadfast, trusting his own mind and hands to do what can be done, believing in his uncle to see what needs to be seen, and trusting in the Old Faith for all else that is beyond their meager power to control. It is the Risuri way after all, and the old man is only saddened that his nephew may not have children of his own to carry on those fine qualities of their family. Yet regrets of that sort can wither the soul like a blight upon the vine, and there is no time left to dither in the prospects of what might have been. So he sets it aside, pats his nephew on his broad youthful shoulders and turns to begin gathering what he needs for the journey.

_______________________________________________Z E I T G E I S T
_______________________________________________ACT I: PORTENTS OF A STARRY SKY
_______________________________________________THE DYING SKYSEER

1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. – Morning (just before eight o’ clock)
Front Gates, R.H.C. Flint Branch Compound, Flint City

The walls are twenty feet high and as drab of a grey colored stone as one can imagine, varied only by darker soot stains from the days when the belching smog of the Parity Lake factories drift southeast around the Nettles and Cauldron Hill. Just outside the twin iron-wrought gates to the R.H.C. under watchful eyes of Risuri Army soldiers on the flanking towers and walls, the line of researchers, scribes, kitchen staff and other civilians forty deep stretch well down the sidewalk of Gladson Way. Gladson. Named for the first Flint R.H.C. director at its founding over forty years ago when the then-new King was crowned. The road parallels the front compound walls which could easily be described as a small fortress in its own right, made all the more formidable with the protection of a half-company of Risuri Army soldiers garrisoned here at all times.

”Next. Next!” The line of normal staff advances slowly as only a couple at a time are let into the right-hand front gate, at which point just beyond that first checkpoint their identification is painstakingly identified by more soldiers before being granted access past the entry block into the “outer yard” beyond it. A tedious affair really for most, forcing the rank-and-file of the R.H.C. to arrive a half-hour early in order to get to their appointed duties on time. Yet that is not the case for the highly regarded constables of the R.H.C. Fortunately for the constables, they may approach the left-hand front gate for faster admittance, whereupon they can expect to be greeted every morning by Sergeant Hunley Stiverson and his broad, crooked-toothed smile, knowing each one of them by name with but a glance, though he still follows procedure to check badges and names on his checklist board.

Just another morning at Flint Branch, though the date marking the formal beginning of the Summer Season is met with more hustle and bustle in the city it seems than most days. Already the morning’s overcast grey sky is lit by an obscured sun that has already past its dawn. So too the morning air is warm and touched with a muggy quality to it that begs for a fair breeze which never comes this far into the districts apart from North Shore or the Ayres. All about the grey woolen coats and livery seems stifling for the warm weather, with cloaks and extraneous layers of clothing an oddity, though scarves of various quality are still in appearance to provide a small measure of fashion…and the wipe away the sweat from a sweaty brow.

For the occasional constable that approaches the left-hand gate and bypasses the much-larger line of the rest, Sergeant Stiverson eagerly awaits to open the gate and give his usual-but-sincere fair greetings, his job well understood to get the constables on past the entry block to the sectioned compound areas beyond and ultimately to the headquarters building for their morning briefings…

Please start your post with an ooc tag starting from your respective living quarters, starting with a viewpoint of your place and ending with arriving at the R.H.C. HQ Briefing Room for routine morning briefings. How much or little detail from start to finish is up to you…

1 Summer 500 A.O.V. | Anneca's Townhouse | 18 Amelia Court, Central District, Flint

Anneca diligently checks the traps on the windows of the townhouse before she leaves for the morning. If anyone tries to force entry, they'll receive a crossbow bolt to the gut or a flask of acid to the face. If an intruder makes it through the window safely, the various traps throughout the residence would spell doom for them. While she's sure that Makala would frown upon turning her house into a series of dangerous traps, it helps Anneca concentrate during the day. Satisfied that all of the traps are in good working order, she moves along to the front door and puts aside the reinforced bar so that she can leave. She shuts the door and locks it behind her, setting in motion the arming of the remainder of the traps. Her eyes run across the sign - No Trespassing - that she holds as the sole warning to others before leaving. She carries a heavy bag over her shoulder with her uniform in it, looking warily in each direction as she decides which route to take to the R.H.C. compound. With her hood raised over her head, she makes her decision and walks quickly. If her precautions have been successful, hardly anyone should know that Anneca Summers claims that as her home. This route will take some extra time, doubling around the King's Station before changing into her uniform and arriving at the headquarters. It's a good thing she left before dawn.

1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. – Morning (just before eight o’ clock), Apartment 9 - 903 Latimer Lane, to RHC Hedquarters

Jesselle was startled awake by a loud knocking on her door. As she turned over to look the door opened and called to her,"Jez! Get up or your are going to be late, it is almost Eight."

Jesselle was up in a instant as she started gathering up clothing for the day. There was laughter from the doorway, "I told you to take it easy last night."

Jesselle looked to her friend, "Was that before the party that you arranged started or after the dancers arrived?"

Jada shrugged, "Quit being a whiner, you liked it... all of it."

"Enabler" Jesselle tossed back as she dressed in the uniform that she picked up off of the floor. It did not take long for her to dress and before she called upon her arcane magics and just liked that her clothing was clean and pressed.

"That... is never fair!" Jada exclaimed in a mock huff.

"Don't be a hater Jada. We all have our own gifts. You will find yours... one day." She says with a bit a laughter.

"Be nice, or maybe next time a good friend will not wake you up and let you be late." Jada says in serious tone meant to joke.

Jeseelle grabbed her new magical backpack, which can contain much more than a normal one would allow. She strapped on her weapons belt, and then grabbed up her bow. She than dashed out of her room, through the living space and past the kitchen. As she opened the door Jada called to her, "Would you like something to take with you... or just go hungry?"

The woman stopped and stared back at her dwarven friend, "You are such a mother.

"Someone has to to be... the gods know you have trouble looking after yourself."

Jesselle stuck out her tongue.

"Real mature!" The dwarf called and stuck out her own tongue.

Both woman let out a laugh and Jada came over and handed Jesselle a bacon and egg biscuit wrapped within some waxed paper. "Now get."

"Yes Mom." Jesselle quipped and rushed out the door and three flights of stairs to the ground floor. She exited the apartment and headed north and than turned east down Gladson Way. She ran the five blocks to the RHC Headquarters.

As Jesselle arrived most of the support staff was already through the main gate... Not a good sign, it meant she was bordering on the late side of when she was to be present for briefing.

She rant up to Sergeant Stiverson to whom she could hopefully quickly pass within. "Sergeant. Another fine day."

The Sergeant's brow raised, "Not if you do not hurry, Constable Wesmere."

"Don't I know that." she answered back as he waved her through. It was then a full out dash across the outer courtyard through the block house and some mildly annoyed guardsmen, "Sorry she called after herself, And through the inner courtyard to the Headquarters and quickly ducked within.

1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. - Morning, 42 Bellington Way, East Side to R.H.C. Headquarters

Gemma stands in front of the full length mirror that sits in the corner of her one room flat; a flat that she’s shared with her sister since they first moved to Flint. She can hear the muffled clanking of dishes and the low murmur of early morning breakfast conversation coming up through the floor boards. It’s become a comforting sound to her and her sister. At first, the near-constant sound was beyond aggravating, but now to not have it there throughout the day would be odd and unsettling. And neither Gemma nor her sister would have ever complained to the owners about it in the first place. Madeline and Torval Gunnersmith, proprietors of The Barking Dog, were two of the nicest people they had ever met. The arrangement was perfect. Bliss and Gemma had to pay a nominal rent, help clean up from time to time and got breakfast for free every day. In return, the Gunnersmith’s had police presence all night, every night living upstairs. To boot, Bliss had a way with the city that couldn’t quite be explained and had contacts in every district. Some of these contacts gave the Gunnersmith’s some inventory advantages. Madeline was also kind enough to give any extra pastries or meat pies to Gemma, who would, in turn, take them in to Fin Wraggle, a janitor at the R.H.C. Gemma had befriended him early on and enjoyed his quiet nature. She started bringing extra food (and sometimes a bit of coin) to him once she learned of his family’s predicament. She made sure that he understood that it wasn’t out of charity, but instead because he was a kind soul and that he and his family deserved some good in life.

”You’re fine, you know.” Gemma’s sister, Bliss, poked her head out from behind their changing screen. ”Keep adjusting your jacket and trousers and you’ll make them threadbare. You do this every morning.”

Her sister’s words were true, but Gemma had a routine. Things didn’t feel quite right if she didn’t stick to it and check herself over at least two or three times before going into work.

”You should talk." Gemma smiled to her sister before getting bumped out of the way so Bliss could look herself over as well.

”Yes, but I have people that actually care about how I look.” The two sisters smiled at each other and after Gemma cast Bliss a look of feigned hurt, they moved downstairs to grab a bite to eat.

After a bit of conversation and some pastries with strong tea, the two women give a quick hug and kiss and go their separate ways for the day.

From the front steps of 42 Bellington Way to the outer gates of the R.H.C. was exactly 23 minutes at a brisk walk, 32 minutes at a leisurely stroll and 12 minutes at a dead run, give or take a minute here or there depending on foot traffic. Gemma had timed it…repeatedly. And since she was running just a stitch behind, according to her pocket watch, she decided a brisk walk would be in order. It would put her at the R.H.C. gates right on time provided there were no obstructions.

1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. - Morning, 234 Lower Bay Court, to R.H.C. Headquarters

The sound of conversation in the kitchen woke Tobias up early this morning. He tried to eavesdrop a bit as he dressed and rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but he was too groggy without his morning coffee.

Stepping out into the kitchen he was greeted by both Chip and Roksana as they sat at the table, each nursing a cup of tea. "I'm sorry Chip, we don't sell anything that will make him a better player." The half-orc says with a laugh. "Maybe you could buy him some private lessons?"

Shaking his head, Tobias poured his own cup and kissed Roksana as he sat next to her and smirked at his roommate. "Jons not getting any better then? Too bad, you guys sounded so good before Carl left."

Chip shrugged his shoulders, and when he did, Tobias marveled at how muscular his young friend had gotten since starting work at the docks. He cut an imposing figure, even just sitting at breakfast, but his attitude was always the same, cavalier.

"We'll figure it out. It's not like we'll ever be Rock Rackus so I'm not worried, anyway, I need to get to work. Don't forget, we're throwing a party out by the docks tonight, you two should come!"

Grabbing his hat from the rack, Chip headed out, leaving Roksana and Tobias alone, unfortunately neither could really savor the moment as they too, had to get ready to leave, but they were at least both headed in the same direction for a little while.

"I'll swing by the bookshop tonight if I can make it to Chips party. Tell Madame Isha I said hello." With a parting kiss, Tobias lingered for a bit and watched as she headed toward her the Nettles at the edge of the Central District.

He was still a little early when he made it to the R.H.C. HQ, but not too early for Stiverson who checked his list, noted his badge, and sent motioned Constable Utegg in with a smile and a wave. Tobias made his way toward the briefing room, wondering what today had in store.

1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. | 6 o-clock to just before 8 o-clock | 223 East River Street to R.H.C Headquarters

The early morning finds Fethryth in her usual position; hunched over the big table in the boarding house’s common room, a large mug of coffee in her hand. It’s been weeks since she moved to Flint and she’s still not used to working earlier hours; she put in a request for later hours, something that would allow her more time to stargaze, but so far nothing’s changed.

Today finds her particularly sullen. Last week she put in another request, this time for an introduction to ‘any and all’ expert Skyseers the city uses. It’s been three weeks since the dreams started. They’re always the same; a never ending blackness rising to swallow her up, and the old man asking for her help. The Old Faith temples she’s visited haven’t been any help. They’ve all given her some variation of ‘We don’t know what the heck’s going on, sorry’. It’s been enough to drive her crazy.

Fethryth’s broken out of her thoughts by someone pulling out the chair next to her and plopping themselves down. A quick glance confirms that it’s Ada, the woman who’s the closest thing to a new friend Fethryth’s made since she’s moved here. The two share very blunt and straightforward attitudes and have paired up together as a sort of defense against the more chatty and outgoing residents.

”Morning Ada”

”Morning. Sleep good? Ada finishes pouring herself a cup of coffee and refills Fethryth’s without having to be asked. The elf raises her mug to Ada before taking a long swig.

”Eh. Fell asleep on the balcony trying to watch the stars last night. Woke up to some drunk prick shout-singing on his way home from the bar. Sun was coming up so here I am.

Ada shakes her head. ”Too much damn soot in the air for a proper look at the sky. Shame, that.”

”Yup.” Fethryth grunts. The two women finish their breakfasts in companionable silence before heading off to their prospective jobs.

Living this far from R.H.C headquarters makes walking the whole way out of the question. Since the River district hosts most of the city’s visitors there’s a constant stream of carriages and wagons into other parts of Flint. Fethryth’s discovered that the R.H.C badge pinned to her chest generally makes people willing to either split a fare with her or let her ride on a cart. Today she shows up at the constabulary sitting on the back of a vegetable wagon.

Once Stiverson lets her into the complex she jogs through the complex and into the offices. She lines herself up for the morning briefing, but not before pressing a small packet of cookies into Jesselle’s hands.

1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. – Morning (precisely eight o’ clock)
First Floor Briefing Room, R.H.C. HQ Building, Flint Branch Compound

Even as Anneca, Jesselle, Gemma, Tobias and Fethryth all arrive to the R.H.C. Headquarters Building and the main briefing room on the first floor, they can see that they are not the last to arrive. Constables Alastair Rayne and Wilhelm Coin are already in the room in their usual seats reading the morning dailies; Alastair cheerfully says hello to each of them as they enter, whereas Wilhelm predictably ignores them all.

Each constable can see at a glance that the main stories of 1 Summer seem to be on the ongoing mystery of the minor quakes that have occurred in the city since mid-Spring, the last two tremors occurring just days prior in the Thirteenthweek of Spring. Other news seems to be about an upcoming wedding of the son of the fabulously wealthy financier Guy Goodson, as well as continuing speculation on the attempted murder of industrialist Kane Westman by the fey terrorist Gale and her ilk, as well as the ongoing speculation of now eighteen factory fires in the Parity Lake District…also reported to have been caused by the notorious Gale and her terrorist cell of operatives.

Absent from the room are Constables Talyssa Dane, Devinn LeMont, Emerson Hill and Willem Muhnee. And the “elite” team of the senior constables, of course – that the four senior-most constables (Ven, Taflis, Sorginson and Than’dil) are absent from the briefing room assembly is no surprise to the rest, as Chief Inspectress Saxby routinely meets with them in the seven o’ clock hour directly in her office, having them report on to Inspector Delft only when they are finished with her review and instructions for the day. That Constable LeMont is late is also no big surprise, having a knack to arrive right at the moment Delft wants to begin the morning briefing. The others, however, are a bit of a mild surprise – some would say the last night of Spring may have kept them up beyond a reasonable hour and made them late.

Assistant Chief Inspector Delft limp-walks into the room with his cane and usual brusque entry that requires no fanfare from the rest. He seems more irritable today than usual however, and his thin-lipped expression turns more to a frown as he succinctly scans the room and notices the four absences. ”Hill? Emerson? Did they fall into the sewers or am I to conclude they got lost along with LeMont and Dane on their way then?” He grunts sourly and takes out his R.H.C. golden timepiece for emphasis, marking the time before closing it again with an audible click and placing it deftly back in his vest pocket. ”Well no time for stupidity this morning – Summers, Utegg, Atherton, Teldanona and Wesmere. With me upstairs to my office – something’s just come in this past hour and I need to send you right away out again once I give you what specifics I have.”

Looking over to Alastair and Wilhelm, Inspector Delft then says, ”Rayne, do me a favor and tell the stablehands to prepare one of the larger six-passenger carriages to leave immediately. Coin, if Hill and Muhnee arrive in the next few minutes tell them to kick their own backsides thrice and haul up to my office immediately, will you? Oh, and once I’m done with this I’ll brief you two as well as Dane and LeMont as normal before you go on to your known assignments.”

”Right Chief, I’ll take care of it,” answers Constable Rayne with his usual positive demeanor, setting his paper aside and jogging out the room to call a carriage for the rest.

”Oh, don’t you worry Chief, I’ll tell ‘em just right and proper I will,” says Constable Coin with a creepily delightful smile and a nod to the chief, relishing the prospect of what he’ll say to the two lackabout latecomers.

”Right. The rest of you, with me.” Stover Delft nods curtly and proceeds out the room to his office with the five other constables in tow, urgency clear in his voice and mannerisms. It doesn’t take for them to ascend the eastern stairwell to the second floor and walk the hallway back to his offices on the west side of the Headquarters building. There they each take a seat as he sits opposite them at his fine mahogany desk, tapping his finger and glaring at the doorway, waiting for the last two constables to arrive…

Gemma finds it curious that any constable, let alone Emerson or Willem, would be late. LeMont...now...that's entirely understandable, but the others?

"Sir, assuming the others are on their way and will be here shortly, is there anything you can tell us in the meantime while we're waiting?"

She looks around to the other constables, raising an eyebrow as if to silently ask if they have any idea what's going on.

"Not to press, but you seem a quite bit more perturbed than the normal this morning."

Tobias was surprised to find that, despite arriving early, Constables Rayne and Coin were already waiting in the briefing room. He says hello back to Alastair and waves at each of the seven when they arrive as well. He doesn't speak much, having never been a morning person, and just enjoys a moment to relax before Stover Delft comes, particularly ornery this morning.

Despite the Chief's mood Tobias can't help but to stop, just before leaving the room and smile at everyone not ordered to the office.

"You hear that guys? No time for stupidity, guess that means you'll have the day off." He winks at Coin, then bows deeply, flourishing his hat before making his exit. He follows the rest of the group to the inspectors office and adds his own nervous tapping to the room. While Gemma asks her questions Tobias considers what he's heard so far and speaks up as well.

"A six passenger carriage? And you expected to have the full Seven of us here in your office? Constables don't usually work in bulk orders like this on a normal day, unless I've read the environment wrong here in Flint. So, what's up Chief?"

1 Summer 500 A.O.V. | Emerson’s Flat | 12B Canton Street

Emerson was up early. He was itching to try out his new firearms at the range to make sure that the sights were true. He dressed in his usual greys except he decided to switch to linen. It was a little more expensive but it helped greatly with comfort as the temperature steadily rose.

He strode down to the end of Canton and purchased some honey cakes from a sandy haired boy named Duncan. The boy seemed to eat as many of the sweets as he sold and Emerson laughingly wondered how he always looked hungry.

It was typical for Hill, Lamont, and Dane to share a coach into Central as it was too far to comfortably walk. After more than a few minutes of standing by Duncan’s cart it was apparent that Lamont and Dane were not coming. They must have left earlier, or perhaps had an urgent assignment.

Emerson flags down the next carriage and decides to purchase what’s left of Duncan’s first batch for the rest of the constables.

The driver was slow, and the traffic into Central seemed unusually bad. He knew he was probably going to be late to briefing. Stiverson waved him in with a cursory examination of his credentials and Emerson left him with one of the cakes.

In the main building Emerson rounds a corner to be almost bowled over by constable Rayne. Hill barely saves the honey cakes but manages to toss one in Rayne’s direction. ”Hey Alistair, aren’t you running in the wrong direction?”

”No I’m not. And you better get your ass up to Delft’s office on the quick. He’s got Coin waiting to tear you a new one.”

”Thanks for the warning. I’ll skip the briefing room.” he all but shouts back to the retreating Alistair.

Emerson does just that. He passes the briefing room and makes his way up to Delft’s office just as the door is about to close. ”Sorry sir. Looks like Lamont and Dane left me high and dry this morning. Had to take my own carriage.” He walks to the rear of the office and drops the sack of honey cakes onto Jesselle’s lap.

Inspector Delft is just about to answer the questions posed by Gemma and Tobias when Emerson barges into the office, giving his brief contrition while dispensing morning cakes to Jesselle. Delft looks hard at Emerson for a moment, but simply says irritably, "No excuses, Hill."

There's a brief moment where all there wonder if the Inspector will unleash his sharp-tongued commentary on the constable's tardiness; though seldom used with experienced constables such as themselves, his barbed scathing retorts laced with well-placed expletives and harsh inflections are a rare thing to behold in Flint Branch...usually administered before a severe penance of paperwork and menial duties overseen by Dima Sorginson. The last time they witnessed such an occasion was about Eighthweek in the Spring when Devinn LeMont "mentioned" in briefing that he had spent two-hundred crowns worth of seed money in a single night at the Thinking Man's Tavern buying rounds for "potential contacts" partial to Gale that he couldn't quite name. Some say Delft had him scrubbing grime off of mage-cells in the basement all the next week.

This morning however, Delft's often-displayed wry sense of humor shows he's not completely irritated. "After all Hill, I made it up here and you're still faster than I am." Tapping his cane for emphasis he reaches into his top drawer to find the fine-quality leaf that he often enjoys chewing out of habit, and works at preparing a pinch even as he eyes the door once again. "Don't suppose you limped past Muhnee up the way here did you? No? Well fill him in on your way over to North Shore, as you lot are headed to the Danoran Consulate."

Putting the pinch into his mouth he looks to Tobias and Gemma principally, answering their initial inquiries. "That's right Utegg, I need the 'Seven' of Axis Island to stuff yourselves in a carriage and get up there immediately. There's been a very public death just this morning over at the Danoran Consulate. Or I should say just outside it. Just came in from their security chief by fast-post carriage, so it's over an hour old now. Young woman, identity unknown, jumps out of the fourth floor window and impales herself on the spires of the compound fence."

With added emphasis he says to them, "Did I mention the fence is forty feet from the windows of the consulate building itself? I suppose I just did. Seems like the young woman thought she could fly."

Jesselle was just about to partake of one of the honey cakes Delft lets word of the what has happened. She stares blankly for a moment picturing the scene in her head and then blinks a few times before she now seems to be considering the matter.

'First guess... Minister Jierre was overly jealous of something this woman could do or had done and than picked her up and... No, she would have one of her minions... aides as she calls them do it. The big one, Goncala, could handle something like that. I just wish might ghost sight could sometimes see what happened to some of these victims in their last minutes of this world. Perhaps it would make others consider their actions if they knew others knew what really happened.'

Jesselle took a bite out of the honey cake as she held the others up for the the other Constables to take advantage of.

"So... consider carefully now what you want me to ask this one's spirit, I only get one question." Jesselle asks of her companions, most who know of and how her gift works.

Gemma politely refuses the offered honey cake and thinks on what's been presented by Delft as well as Jesselle's statement.

"Let's hope the girl's Danoran." As soon as the words come out of Gemma's mouth, she knows she needs to immediately clarify her statement. "I mean...for politic's sake. If she's Danoran it won't be nearly as much of a mess as if she's Risuran. A Danoran throwing a Danoran out the window...that's more of an internal affair. A Risuran jumping or being thrown from a Danoran Consulate window...that's just bad business all around. It'd be a shame if something like this were to muck up the king's upcoming marriage." The look on Gemma's face shows that it clearly wouldn't be a shame at all.

She looks to Jesselle. "The questions is, though, do we go for the obvious question of 'Who did it?' or do we try for something more obscure in case the young woman doesn't know that answer?"

"Well, there is probably a fifty fifty chance that she didn't see her attacker. Maybe, how did she end up on the compound fence?"

Tobias almost whistles at Gemma's comment but keeps himself in check. Nice save Constable Atherton. He thinks to himself.

Still munching on a honey cake he follows up on Emerson's question. "Or maybe we asks her what she knows?" He raises an eyebrow at his friends and colleagues as he wipes crumbs from the edge of his mouth. "If we're assuming this wasn't some deliberate and dramatic suicide, then it means someone wanted her shut up. We find out what she knows, or what she knew I guess, then we've got a clearer motive. Hopefully anyway."

"On that same note, we might not want to assume it was another Danoran, we must have some Risuran's that work with or even within the consulate for diplomatic purposes. If we keep that in mind we can clear any potential Risuran involvement as a matter of course during the investigation."

Stover Delft looks pointedly at them with a raised eyebrow, as if they are obtuse or missed something obvious in his initial description of the event. He looks around to see if they pick up on what he's thinking. However, he does comment openly to the rest in general.

"People die violently every day in Flint. Though more so in Parity Lake and Pine Island, and less so in the North Shore. We are not interested in routine murders or accidents - that's for the North Shore Police to clean up. But this happened on Danoran Consulate grounds...and with the upcoming peace treaty that means the R.H.C. has both jurisdiction and a good reason to understand what this is all about."

Fethryth eyes Emerson’s gift of Honeycakes like a general sizing up an opposing army. They looked good, but they couldn’t possibly be better than the cookies she made. Jesselle’s left all of the cookies in the bag; she must be saving them all for herself. The observation makes her feel more confident so she turns back to the problem at hand.

”Hill, the answer to your question is ‘Gravity’. She starts taping her fingers on her armrest. ”I think it’s premature to think up questions. We gather all the info we can and then pick something that fills a hole.”

She turns her gaze to Inspector Delft. ”Nobody just lands on a fence forty feet out from where they jump. Either somebody with the strength of a giant punted her out, or she had some way of propelling herself. What makes you say she ‘thought she could fly’? Did she have some ridiculous Danoran invention strapped on?”

1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. – Morning (eight ten)

Willem runs into the briefing room and looks around to only see Constable Coin there, Constable Coin looks up at Constable Muhnee, "Well there you are! YOU'RE LATE! Assistant Chief Inspector Stover Delft, order me to tell you to give yourself (3) lashes with the 9 and report to his office immediately. A fair warning, DON'T BE LATE!" Without arguing, Willem high tails it up to Assistant Chief Inspector Stover Delft's office and quietly rushes in to quietly sit down in the back of the office making sure to not disturb anyone. In Willem's hand is a chit from the Armory accounting his RHC Equipment Check-ins, Check-outs, and update to privately owned gear. The time stamp on the chit is for 7 AM this morning and signed by the armorer. Willem remains quiet until spoken to and trying to catch up on the briefing.

Even as Willem makes his way into the office under a hard stare from Stover Delft, the ACI replies back to Fethryth's question. "No, I'm apparently failing in my not-so-subtle attempt to infer that maybe the jumper is Gale herself if we were extremely lucky today." Delft shrugs and pulls over his brass spittoon to spit the first bit of his nicodemus leaf into it. "Which it's probably not as we're never that lucky, but perhaps it's one of her terrorist lackeys - you all should remember from the briefing reports by the Seniors last season that there was some evidence Gale could train her talents of flight somehow to her junior operatives. Unconfirmed of course, but perhaps it's Gale's sister's-brother's-cousin or some-such that can lead us to her principal camp in the Cloudwood."

Returning his stare to Willem, he bitingly says, "Muhnee, I know since Crux and Wellingham transferred that you're angling to prove the greatest marksman inside the four walls of Flint Branch, but unless you want to become a target dummy for Instructors Durrance and Lescane when the greenhorn crop of candidates are training this coming Fall, I suggest you get in the building when I come looking for you."

Turning to Tobias and Emerson he says pointedly, "Since only six can comfortably fit in the carriage anyway, make sure Muhnee stands on the back post for the trip up to the consulate, will you? I want to make sure he gets plenty of fresh air that he finds so refreshing - if you were taking one of the R.H.C. boats up to the Shore I'd have you make him man the rigging, but with no notice to Fleet Harbor I'd say by the time you push off you'd not save any time compared to the carriage."

Willem quickly smiles then becomes serious, "Sorry sir, I was here on time and then lost track of time in the Armory. It will not happen again." Constable Muhnee nods to Inspector Delft acknowledging he will take his lumps like man.

”All right then,” says Stover Delft as he takes another spit to his spittoon, and leans back in his plush high-backed chair to regard the seven constables with a scrutinizing gaze. ”For now you’re all off any supporting work with the other cases on the board, so go impress me and find out what this is all about. I’m making the assumption here you lot won’t start up the Fifth War at the Danoran Consulate, but don’t just bungle about and be led around like a Beran bull with its nose ring either. Tomorrow morning I expect some sort of legible update on my desk before eight o’clock briefing, and then we’ll see if this goes on the board formally as a tiered mission assignment. Clear?” Delft waves a hand at them as if brushing off his desk for dust. ”Right. Out of my office.”

With that, their chief busily rummages around his desk for some papers before he leaves to start the formal briefing downstairs, with the seven constables heading out in quick fashion to make your way down the western stairwell. In the downstairs hallway leading towards the guarded entrance foyer of the building, they pass by janitor Fin Wraggle, who smiles and gives them all a stammered but genuine ”Good morn, good day.” greeting to each. Outside to the main R.H.C. open courtyard area, the usual activity of guards, R&D support personnel and the more common serving staff passing by is heightened by a large carriage with a team of four horses being pulled up to just outside the headquarters building front doors. A R.H.C. driver named Mavery in dark grey R.H.C. livery doffs his cap and nods respectfully to the seven constables as he sits alone on the three-person front bench; a runner-board on the rear of the carriage provides the “rear post” standing room for two more guards, though they have none assigned to the detail from Captain Umurn’s army guards. Apparently, seven full R.H.C. constables plus their driver is well enough to make it up to North Shore without incident.

”Ready when you are, constables,” says Mavery in a curt but respectful tone of one who’s done this for constables all his working life. As the seven take their seats…or stands on a back post as it were…Mavery gives a quick thwack of the riding crop and the team of horses starts moving the large carriage with the familiar clop-clop-clop of hooves echoing in the walled courtyard. Soon enough they are at a trot and heading through the main gates of the R.H.C. compound onto Gladson Way and through Central District.

Mavery has placed a few copies of the various morning dailies in the carriage, giving those constables within something to peruse aside from just staring at each other or out the window. For the most part the dailies all have various news and gossip on matters that they’ve seen before in prior days: crime and violence rampant in the various poorer districts (with various opinions of outrage or bloat-headed ideas on how to solve it), protests by factory laborers and dock workers for cruel treatment and lack of safety by factory owners, violence against factory laborers and dock workers for “preventing progress” by those same factory owners and their hired guards, mockery by the Dockers (particularly Rock Rackus and Gibbs DeJape) on the ineptness and corruption of city officials to do something about the crime and worker conditions, and the quotes of various district mayors that they are doing “everything possible” to work out the myriad of issues the city faces. Added to this are more unique articles of news or gossip that have touched on the various active cases of R.H.C. Flint Branch: the mystery of eighteen factory fires with forty laborer deaths goes unsolved (with most blaming Gale and her ilk), the continued threat of Gale and her “terrorist” bands as they sabotage factories and railways with impunity, the “aerial sighting” of Gale in her recent botched attempt to murder financier (and district tax collector) Kane Westman, the strange advent of minor earthquakes in the city since mid-Spring and rampant speculation on what is causing them, the four most recent ritual murders of the Ragman in the last two weeks, the reporting of smaller crime syndicates being merged (or wiped out) with the notorious Kell Guild with rumors of a new unnamed syndicate moving into the city, the rise of Drakran-based Eschatology in Flint and clashes with other philosophies and traditions in Risur. Added to this are the numerous pages devoted to gossip and idle fancy: the upcoming wedding of wealthy financier Guy Goodson’s son to a Crisillyirir noblewoman (and how much money in the Ayres is being spent on it), the fashion trends of Summer Season, the latest results of the rackets tourneys and caid ball leagues as well as the boxer bout standings, the arrival of Slate composer Randal Pell to the Navras and upcoming auditions for his new performance, and the usual news from the capital on King Aodhan and his impending wedding next year after the historic Peace Summit in Flint is concluded.

As they look out at the smoke and soot-stained streets and buildings of Flint, it is not lost upon them all that the crisis of Ethelyn’s Rebellion in early Spring and her threats against Flint that brought so many together in common unity has now all but evaporated into the smog that blankets them, with the usual corruption and conflicts resurfacing as before. If anything, it seems the push to greater industrial progress in Flint – once cited to do so for the protection of Risur against the Danorans – is on an even faster track now for goals that are even less clear….besides profit of course. The mighty Coaltongue sits completed in the harbor, but two more keels are being laid now for its sister ships. The Docker movement has taken on a biting edge against the corruption and hardships of the poor that toil away for Flint’s mighty industry, with more vocal protests – and backlashes of violence – on the rise. More immigrants from rural Risur and beyond come to the city and build new slums on the sides of the city’s steep hills in the Nettles and elsewhere, the vast majority joining the ranks of poor urban workers, with some joining more depressing ranks as prostitutes, homeless beggars and orphans. As Lady Saxby or Inspector Delft would say, the crimes and petty welfare of the citizens of Flint are for the police and politicians to resolve, not the constables of the R.H.C., who have an entire kingdom and society to protect. Still, with the heat and humidity of Summer now baking under the soot and gloomy clouds of the city, the tensions between the typical factions are growing into cracks, threatening to strain the overall peace.

****************************************
1 Summer, 500 A.O.V. – Morning (after nine o’ clock)
Grounds of the Danoran Consulate, North Shore District, Flint City

The early summer morning is warm and muggy, with a foul breeze from the south’s Parity Lake factories blowing a cloak of smog over the normally clear-skied North Shore district. The street that runs past the Danoran Consulate has no buildings on its opposite side, just beach. Already there is quite a crowd formed on the street in front of the gate and blood-stained fence of the consulate, with what appears to be four North Shore District police footmen trying to keep the crown in check and block off access to gawkers. The R.H.C. carriage pulls up just behind a black-painted undertaker’s wagon from the city, its back door is open and its driver sits on the slab where a dead body should go inside, looking positively bored.

As the seven constables exit the carriage to the street, they see one of the policemen step away from the other three with the crowd of onlookers, apparently the officer in charge. He looks at his cheap timepiece as he approaches and tucks it back in his uniform coat pocket, impatiently coming forward.

”Finally. Well I’m First Patrolman Bellastair, North Shore District station house. We responded to the scene after word came in from some panicked witnesses, about two hours or so ago. By the time the first of our men got here the Danorans had taken the victim off the fence and carried her inside. But everyone had pretty much the same story: they heard gunfire, saw the woman jump out the window, and she landed on the fence. One scoundrel from the street apparently stole stuff off her body and ran away as she was bleeding out.” Bellastair looks over at the bloody fence where his three men are mostly keeping the gawkers away, looking up briefly at the shattered window on the forth top floor of the consulate building, snorting some level of digust. ”Those Danorans wouldn’t let us inside, but I yelled at them that you’d be showing up and they’d be in for it, and they said they wouldn’t get rid of the body until you arrived. The bloke you want to talk to is their security chief, I guess, man named LeBrix.”

Looking around again at the constables, the bored undertakers’ wagon, and then back at his timepiece that he’s just taken out again, Officer Bellastair says bluntly, “You all can handle the investigation from here without my men, right? We’ve got better things to do than sit around for another hour while the ‘special constables’ drink up the hospitality of the Danorans.”

Even as Bellastair finishes his so-called explanation, the constables can see a Danoran man in the blues and blacks of his uniform coming down the stone pathway of the consulate towards the front gates, a finely tooled and engraved pistol at his belt. In a Danoran accent that briefly reminds them of their last day upon Axis Island, the man calls out to them from behind the closed gate.

”I am Julian LeBrix, Chief of Security for the Danoran Consulate. You are from the Royal Homeland Constabulary, yes? I have been given instructions by Consular Methan du’Nadria to bid you admittance and provide you escort, if you are and can prove your credentials.”

At this point I would like for you to respond to Officer Bellastair and sort out what you want him to do (if anything), as well as entreat with Chief LeBrix of the consulate. I will lay out more parameters for your initial investigation after the next scene, but start thinking about what it is you want to cover and do here.

Willem grabs his double-barreled musket before leaving HQ, slings it with the barrel pointing up to avoid road grime getting inside the barrel, and steps on the rear step of the carriage. Growing up on a ranch, Willem knows where to stand without getting splashed and he is nose blind to most smells as the result of growing up on a ranch and fighting on the battlefield. Regardless if Inspector Delft meant what he said or was trying to drive a point home, Willem felt it would be better that he was outside the carriage cabin any way giving his colleagues more room and besides, the cabin traps those same smells that Inspector Delft mentioned in his scolding. In addition to avoiding road spray, Willem keeps on his guard and toes for anyone who may want to throw their chamber pots at him from street level or from a window above. He will even go so far as to point his double-barreled pistol at anyone who tries since throwing chamber pots is a felony attack on a Constable because of the potential for disease and brings poor reputation to the Kingdom if the Constable smells like a sewer.

When they arrive at their destination, Willem dusts and wipes any road grime that may have still attached itself to him and he reverses his rifle to point barrel down for safety. He looks at First Patrolman Bellastair, "Sorry Patrolman Bellastair, we need your men to continue to secure the area so the crime scene is not compromised any further than it already has been while we gather our evidence. Also, we need a reasonable list of all who have transit the crime scene besides us so we can either add them as suspects or rule them out as innocents. Also, any word on the thieves and did they leave tracks? Don't look now if you haven't noticed them, we don't want further contamination of the crime scene. As for any relaxation, I am out here with you until the evidence is gathered so no sitting on my rump drinkin' anythin' until the job is done."

While giving instructions to First Patrolman Bellastair, he shows his badge to Julian with a nod. He will be more cordial after he has given his instructions to the patrolmen.

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (19) + 8 = 27

Emerson is the first one out of the coach behind Willem. ’Man, some of these patrolmen are so sour’ Hill limps down the short stairs and saddles up next to Willem. ”Thank you for controlling the scene Bellastair. I agree with my fellow constable. We should make sure to interview each of the witnesses and take their statements. If you could point out the direction in which the thief was said to have fled we can also search for signs of his or her passage.”

He turns back to the coach as the rest of the constables emerge. ”Willem and I will remain outside while the rest of you investigate the interior. Good hunting.”

Emerson will start interviewing witnesses using Diplomacy and to help the patrolmen contain the area. Perhaps Willem can use his tracking skills to good use?

Jesselle exits the carriage and she can see that Willem and Emerson appear to have the local constables in hand. She nods to Bellastair and approaches the Chief of Security, she removes her credentials, "Chief of Security LeBrix, Constable Wesmere." She lets the man examine her accreditation.

Knowledge (local) re LeBrix: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (13) + 9 = 22

"Have you ever tasted Danoran hopsitality?" Tobias asks adjusting his hat as he speaks with Bellastair. "It's a little bitter." He smiles wryly then lets Muhnee put the man in his place.

When LeBrix arrives and asks for credentials Tobias presents what's necessary and introduces himself before starting his own questioning.

"Has anyone left the building since you heard the gunfire? How many shots were fired, and from what location? Did the body have any bullet wounds?"

Gemma is quiet on the way over to the consulate; watching the houses and people go by, wondering what they'll find when they get there, readying herself as they pull up and get out.

There is indeed a large amount of blood pooled up and dripping off the iron-wrought fence with a large amount of people craning to try and get a better view.

I wonder if she landed face up or face down. And that's a pretty damn far jump to make.

Her brow furrows slightly when she hears that someone already looted the body.

That doesn't bode well. Evidence already running off down the road. Body moved inside and more than likely tampered with. Nothing here to make our job easier, huh? It figures.

She makes her way over with the other constables, showing her credentials in turn. She listens as Tobias asks his questions, waiting to hear if the question she wants answered comes up. When it doesn't, she decides to wait to see if Mr. LeBrix answers any of the other ones first before she asks hers.

Officer Bellastair has a scowl but puts up his hands in acquiescence to Willem, Emerson and Tobias. ”Fine fine, if you actually need us I’m not one to be a burr to the likes of the R.H.C. – let’s just get this moving along.” He looks wryly over to Tobias and adds, ”I guess you’d have to know eh? With all this ‘peace treaty’ talk goin’ on? I’ll tell ya constable, straight and true I will, they’re just as arrogant as they ever were, with a pistol behind their back as they smile at you and offer their hand. Just like these sods coming to clean the…HEY YOU TWO STAND FAST NOW! DO NOT TOUCH THAT FENCE UNTIL THE R.H.C. TELLS YOU OTHERWISE!” Officer Bellastair points directly at two Danoran laborers in consulate livery who have just come down from the main entrance with buckets and rags to start cleaning the blood and viscera off the spiked fence by the street where the woman was impaled. Looking at the police officer in charge with defiance, the servants look pointedly over at Security Chief LeBrix, who nods and gestures with his hands for them to wait for the time being, at which point they take seats on the courtyard ground.

”See what I mean? Arrogant sods.” Bellastair turns back to Emerson and Willem then, giving them short answers in clear irritation as if they were asking him to build a ship that could fly across the Avery Sea. ”No, I don’t know where the “thieves” went and no, I don’t know if they left “tracks” on a cobblestone street – wasn’t like we were standing here ourselves when it happened! As for all this business about witnesses and names and bothering the citizens of North Shore…”

”Excuse me sir,” interjects one of the three footmen who seems to be younger and more taken with the majesty of the constables than Bellastair is. ”Beggin’ yer pardon constables but those three craftsmen sittin’ on the far side of the gate saw the whole thing happen as they were passin’ by…glaziers they are and were waitin’ to see if they could land the job to repair that window up there. They might have somethin’ for ya.”

”Aye,” says another footman who’s focused on keeping some citizens back from getting too close to the bloody fence, ”and there’s a group of beggar-children not far off who work these parts that were here earlier, and I know a couple of the carriage drivers that were droppin’ off important-folk to this here consulate when it first opened at seven…”

Bellastair looks irritated at his two men being so helpful, but sighs and says to both Emerson and Willem, ”Fine, so we can round up a few common-folks for you to interview all right – just know that even if some of the household servants of the elites who were passing by after night shifts were witnesses…or the wealthy-types on their way to check the commodity markets or head to their morning clubs for that matter, well they ain’t coming back here to talk you understand, so I’m not wasting my time on that. Clear?”

With that, Bellastair gives orders for the three footmen to round up anyone they think was here at the scene earlier that could give real accounts and bring them back for questioning, even as he waves a hand at the three glaziers to come over and relate what they know…

At this point Willem and Emerson are staying outside on the street to conduct the investigation from this location – assuming the other five are headed inside.

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

”Thank you, Constable Wesmere, Constable Utegg,” answers Security Chief Julian LeBrix with a professional yet beleaguered voice in the clear accent of a Danoran, returning their credentials and essentially accepting the other three constables without close scrutiny. He unlocks and opens the front gates for each of them to enter in single file, shaking his head slightly at the scene just outside on the street. ”What a mess.” He turns to Tobias and says, ”Please constable Utegg, I shall answer all of your questions as best I can, but it has been a trying morning for me. I shot and killed the woman. She was a thief and attempting to steal prized valuables from the consulate. Now if you would follow me, I will take you inside and to the body of Miss Hume.”

As the party of five constables with the security chief pass through the meticulously manicured courtyard gardens, Julian LeBrix shakes his head and begins to speak to them. ”What a mess, I tell you. You know I took this diplomatic post to avoid blood and death, after the war. It has our people shaken - none of them ever saw war—and so I hope you can take the woman’s body and go quickly. Better for everyone I think if the consular doesn’t have to be bothered, yes? He has given instructions to not be bothered - he was not a witness to the incident after all, and has more important things on his mind than a burglary. We have treaty negotiations, trade contracts…you don’t want powerful men thinking about death when they’re deciding our fates, no? This way, please.”

Opening the front doors to the entry hall of the consulate building, the constables step inside what can only be considered Danoran terrority, with their flag and emblems draped across one richly decorated wall with glorious paintings of warships and other technological or architectural landmarks from their homeland on the other walls. Walking down a fine hallway towards the main receiving area of the consulate, Julian continues his lamenting account of the incident to them. ”The victim went by the name Nilasa Hume. She’s been in a few times these past few months. Seemed nice enough. She brought us breakfast this morning in fact. One of our security personnel you see, Braden, was stepping out with her for several weeks now. Yet now I understand she just used him to case the building, and must have overheard someone on staff talking about upstairs and the valuables there in the gallery. I noticed she slipped out while everyone else was eating the food she had brought. A suspicion of this led me to the upstairs gallery, where I found her slipping gold forks and spoons into her pockets.”

LeBrix pulls out a small padded felt bag, then pulls from it very carefully a tiny ceramic egg, beautifully decorated with gems and gold. “She also had this. It’s worth thousands, and we had it sitting out on display upstairs. I saw her, drew my pistol. She ran. I realized she was about to jump out the window. I thought she was trying to kill herself, so I fired and hit her in the leg to stop her. Then she jumped. Flew straight through the glass. Now I’m thinking she’s about to escape, so I reload and shoot her in the back. Two shots in total. That’s when she fell upon the fence outside.”

LeBrix sighs as they reach the main receiving hall of the consulate’s ground floor, with a carpeted stairwell to their right leading to the upstairs floors. Several of the consulate staff and uniformed security guards are sitting or standing around here, with little to do as they have no citizens to service or speak to with the place completely vacated of non-essential personnel. They straighten up and avert their eyes as the constables enter with LeBrix, looking like they are trying to show they are busy or involved with normal business. Julian LeBrix leads them over to one of the largest desks off to the side nearer to an adjoining room with cabinets and neatly ordered papers, where a middle-aged woman with her brown hair done up in a bun-and-braid. ”Ah. Constables, this is Miss Tia Jedeau, the consulate’s first secretary. She can corroborate the events of this morning. My misguided young security man, Braden, is currently in with the body through the hall over there, and you may speak to him as well of course.”

There is an awkward silence at that point in the room, and Julian speaks next to break the silence. “This all happened within the consulate grounds. I am within my rights to have taken these actions, though I wish I hadn’t had to.”

Tia Jedeau continues to watch the constables as they stand there, looking with unblinking eyes from them to Julian LeBrix and then back to them, licking her lips slightly but saying nothing. LeBrix tosses a sidelong look at her, at which points she murmurs an excuse to get back to her paperwork and starts writing with an inkpen. The security chief then gives a look to the other guards and staff there, as if to spur them on to doing something useful aside from staring.

”Ahem. This way, constables.” LeBrix takes them down a side hallway and after some moment stops outside a storage room.

“My apologies for those that are not used to dealing with this regrettable violence. We are all professionals here,” LeBrix says, “and it has been a trying morning. It would help me if you can take the body and leave quickly.” With that, he opens the door to the storage room. Inside the storage room, a bloodied white tablecloth covers Nilasa Hume’s body. Braden, the young uniformed security guard who was the most acquainted with her, sits in a chair beside the table, stunned and grieving.

At this point Jesselle, Tobias, Gemma, Anneca and Fethryth are inside the consulate on the ground floor, in the storage area where Nilasa Hume's body is. You may stay together in that room or split up to conduct your investigation in other areas inside the consulate, as you see fit (within reason). Roll (or provide your Take10 score) for a skill check that you deem appropriate.

***********************************
Outside on the Street (in front of the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately half-past nine o’ clock (thirty minutes since arrival)
Willem Muhnee and Emerson Hill

Over the next half-hour, the squad of four policemen are relatively good on their word, the two footmen heading off to retrieve known witnesses for questioning, while officer Bellastair assists the constables in the questioning of the three glazier craftsmen, and the final footmen continues to keep gawkers from the fence or the questioning efforts by the others. Soon the two policemen bring over a small group of children who apparently are beggars in the area – though better-dressed than most beggars given their panhandling in the vaunted North Shore District. Two carriage drivers who had dropped off wealthy patrons for business at the consulate also are brought back, as is a cleaning woman from a nearby estate that was on her way home after her shift.

As Emerson and Willem speak to the prospective witnesses, they get from each a general picture of the woman jumping from the fourth-story window and landing upon the fence in gruesome fashion, as well as apparently one man who had approached the woman in her dying moments and then running off abruptly. As usually expected in a sudden and dramatic event such as this, the accounts vary and at time contradict one another, with some witnesses trying to embellish parts of their account or simply remembering the event differently. Yet the crowd is generally willing to talk to them, and several speak forth other names of potential witnesses in the area who could be retrieved for their accounts should the constables deem it necessary to spend the time to do so…

At this point you may take another half-hour to roll Diplomacy checks to interview available witnesses, complete your interviews and explore the area w/ Perception or other suitable checks, or split up and do both. Checks must either be rolled or provide the Take 10 score, as you deem appropriate.

((Jesselle would/will be using Sense Motive on just about anything anyone says. No take 10s or 20s, just going with her gut as to what people are saying is honest or not. Sense Motive is at +7 if the GM wishes to roll along the way of what people respond with and behave.))

Inside the Danoran Consulate of Flint
Shortly after 9 o'clock

Sense Motive on LeBrix's story: 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (12) + 7 = 19

Jesselle takes a mental note of Lebrix's story as he is telling it. At his comment of his action are allowed Jesselle responds in an understanding tone that she is trying to conveying a caring tone with the man, "Of course Chief Lebrix, we are aware of consular law, not to mention protecting ones home."

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 9 ⇒ (20) + 9 = 29

While Jesselle is trying to be diplomatic she does consider how steeling and being shot in the back equate.

"If we could have a moment to look at Miss Hume's body, I am sure that we could have the mortician take the body away?" She asks of the Chief of Security.

Inside the Danoran Consulate--Shortly after 9 o'clock

Once they've made it inside the room where the body is being kept, as Jesselle is speaking to LeBrix, Gemma starts a cursory examination of the body. She makes sure to stand in such a way as to block the line of sight of the young security guard, Braden. She has no doubt that the young man probably did have feelings for this girl and doesn't feel the need to openly upset him. She quickly and quietly checks the gunshot wounds and the hands, avoiding the obvious gaping wound from landing on the fence. She looks to see what direction the wounds entered and exited and if there is any debris under the nails, like skin or wood. Are there any defensive wounds on her hands or arms? Are the cuts from the glass concentrated more towards the back or front? Anything that might give her clues as to what really happened. Whether it's her dislike of Danorans or her inability to readily believe the first story she hears, she gets the sense that the whole situation is off somehow.

Perception: 1d20 + 6 ⇒ (18) + 6 = 24

Gemma looks to Fethryn and Tobias and speaks to them quietly. "I think we need to interview as many as we can and view the area where she went out the window before the body is moved. No one should be coming into this room in the meantime so holding her here temporarily shouldn't be a problem."

She then looks to LeBrix, trying to be as professional as she can. "I agree with Constable Wesmere. We can easily have the body removed, but if you could just bear with us a bit while we conduct our investigation. As uncomfortable as the situation is, Miss Hume is in no hurry and we need to get this sorted out for you. Could you please show us the room where it happened?"

Gemma clearly lacks the diplomatic skills of Jesselle but is not trying to be intimidating either. She just prefers to get to the point a bit quicker.

"Oh, and in answering to one of your earlier questions...I absolutely think powerful men should be thinking about death, or at the very least, casualties when deciding our fates. Honestly, having the least amount of casualties of any sort should be a top priority."

Outside on the Street (in front of the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately half-past nine o’ clock (thirty minutes since arrival)
Willem Muhnee and Emerson Hill

Diplomacy: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (18) + 8 = 26

Emerson insists on waiting for the last few witnesses to return to give their statements of the events. During this time he continues to chat with the woman with the clearest details. He tries to coax any additional information possible, small details of the man leaving the scene, if she could see the figure in the broken window clearly, did the person reload in plain view, etc.

Once the remaining interviews are complete, he asks Willem to join him at the alley. He affects his best Danoran accent and says"Perhaps there is still some evidence left, yes?"

Perception: 1d20 + 4 ⇒ (9) + 4 = 13

Knowledge: Engineering 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (8) + 10 = 18

'Is it uncharitable to simply assume that they're lying and move on to proving the lie?' Anneca wonders to herself precisely what lies are being told by the Danorans. She doesn't say anything while the others try to talk their way to the truth, instead focusing on the things that cannot be faked or lied about - the evidence. "I'll handle the scene side," she tells the others as she begins. She starts at the location that the woman hit the fence, meticulously measuring everything with the measurement tapes that she snatched from the quartermaster when they received the details of the assignment. She jots down a number of notes and equations, trying to posit some theories about how the occurrence is possible. She touches the coin a few times, knowing that there is magic that could have catapulted a person this far, but not assuming it to be the truth.

Knowledge: Local 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (4) + 10 = 14

She returns to the room where the other constables are, listening to them as they discuss the body. "Do you mind if I take a look at that before I head up to where she jumped from?" She gestures to the egg that the thief was trying to steal (according to the official story). She analyzes it methodically, trying to figure out what it is and what sort of value it might have to a thief that she would be willing to risk her life. "If she had it on her person, and it's so delicate, how is it unharmed? Did she put it down nicely before the gunshots started?"

Outside on the Street (in front of the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately half-past nine o’ clock (thirty minutes since arrival)
Willem Muhnee and Emerson Hill

Working with Emerson, they devise a plan to investigate the outside as fast and as accurate as possible. Once Emerson interviews each person in and around the crime scene, Willem takes physical evidence by making sure his gloves are on and he takes the evidence collecting kit out of the carriage to gather the evidence...

Perception + Evidence Collecting Kit in carriage: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (7) + 8 = 15
Profession Constable Evidence Collecting Kit in carriage: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (17) + 8 = 25

Since the crime scene has been so disturbed, it is hard to determine exactly how and why the murder happened. However, the evidence collected may paint a clearer picture once processed. After evidence is collected, he asks that person to leave the area down a path that Willem and Emerson designate. After the bystanders are processed, he processes the crime scene, then the Patrolmen who guarded it from further contamination. Since the scene and the patrolmen were the last to be processed, they were released and sent back on patrol or their station down a designated path. The unknown tracks are either from the medical response or the criminal. Those are marked as Jane Joe Doe 1+ until they can be identified and processed.

(Joe Jane Doe = Unknown Male or Female evidence collected)

Willem begins to track the thief or thieves that hopped the fence and sped away from the scene with something in their hands. Slower than a ranger or any slayer, Willem looks for tracks and signs of these runaway suspects.

Survival - Track w/ Evidence Gathering Kit: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (11) + 8 = 19

Willem nods to Emerson, "Yes, let's begin searching for the suspects and most likely, perpetrators?" He then looks for anyone still outside that is part of the consulate or the local police station, "Good Sir, please tell our colleagues that Constable Hill and Constable Muhnee are going to make the attempt to track the suspects. Also please tell them to collect evidence from the medical response while we track. Thank you, Good Sir!" Willem grabs a few containers from the kit and gives it to person he was speaking with to give to their colleagues inside. He then looks back at Emerson, "Let's go my friend."

Inside the Danoran Consulate - Shortly after 9 O'Clock

Tobias nods at Gemma. While she asks LeBrix to show them the scene of the crime he looks at the body, and, feigning disgust, mutters to to the room.

"If you'll excuse me a moment. I've seen bodies before but it takes a little preperation, I just need some fresh air for a moment. I can meet you upstairs if you don't mind." Holding his mouth he exits the room and steps away.

Bluff: 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (19) + 11 = 30

Once out the room Tobias moves to questions any of the nearby workers or guards about the days events, trying to see if anyone can corroborate the Cheif of Securities story. He does so as quickly as he can, trying to get as many answers as possible before his colleagues leave the storage room and head toward the scene of the robbery gone wrong.

Gather Information: 1d20 + 10 ⇒ (18) + 10 = 28

Inside the Danoran Consulate - Shortly after 9 O'Clock

Fethryth mulls over LeBrix’s story. He shoots the girl in the leg because he’s ‘afraid she’s going to kill herself’, but as soon as it looks like she’s going to get away he nails her in the back. Either that egg’s worth a lot more than he’s letting on, or LeBrix had no compunction about killing her.

Sense Motive: 1d20 + 8 ⇒ (10) + 8 = 18

”Did she use magic on her way out the window?” Fethryth studies LeBrix’s response. ”Jumping far enough to land on the fence, that’s not natural. Do you think she made off with anything else? The First Patrolman said some jackass grabbed something off the body before anyone could stop him.”

Outside on the Street (in front of the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately half-past nine o’ clock (thirty minutes since arrival)
Anneca Summers

Anneca surveys the grounds around the fence where the woman apparently met her end, the measurement cords that she remembered to bring along confirming in her mind the perceived distances and mathematics involved in such an incident. Nearby the two Danoran cleaning staff sit near a small hedge in the courtyard gardens watching her, seemingly as bored now as the undertaker outside at the street with his black wagon; the Danorans neither seem anxious nor eager for her to get gone, but they clearly aren’t interested in offering any help either. As Anneca finishes her initial analysis of the area inside the Danoran courtyard grounds up to the fence, she notices the rather humorous attempts of the North Shore police footmen trying to bring witnesses to Emerson for questioning, keeping curious citizens away from the already contaminated fence and walkways besides the street…and Willem trying to work with evidence kits rather futilely in the contaminated cacophony of a ‘crime scene’ outside the fence. Emerson, at least, seems to be making some degree of progress with some of the alleged witnesses brought back to him for questioning.

With more gawkers arguing with a poor footman trying to hold them at bay, and a rather loud group of beggar-children all clamoring for Emerson’s attention to be heard first, Anneca shakes her head and makes her way into the consulate building to find the others inside…

***********************************
Inside the Storage Room, Ground Floor (within the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately quarter past nine o’ clock (thirty minutes since arrival)
Jesselle Wesmere, Gemma Atherton, Fethryth Teldanona and Julian LeBrix

After a few minutes of discussion, the constables see that Security Chief LeBrix seems to have taken a bit of a fancy to Constable Wesmere, seemingly pleased that his actions are understood and acknowledged by the attractive younger constable. A middle-aged man with a bit of balding to his otherwise dark hair, LeBrix seems to adjust his uniform a bit more than usual and gives his replies more to Jesselle than anyone else in the room…which seemingly is just fine to Gemma, Tobias and Fethryth. While he does not leave the room for them to inspect Nilasa Hume’s body without supervision, he does send the broken-hearted Braden away back to the main room and tells the man with an overly-authoritative voice to act professional and get hold of himself. When Braden leaves, LeBrix sighs grandly and says to Jesselle with an affected air to his voice, ”As I said before Constable Wesmere, these ones under my command have not seen war, and are much more delicate than those that have. Yes yes…” He barely pays Tobias any mind when he leaves shortly thereafter to ‘get fresh air’ other than a nod and a wave, focused as he is on impressing Jesselle.

He does, however, take more notice as Gemma thoroughly starts checking Nilasa’s body, absent-mindedly speaking out loud that he’d rather not disturb anything further on the fourth floor, as that is where the consular keeps his private offices outside the display gallery, and he doesn’t want the consular to be disturbed. ”If you insist I shall of course oblige you, constables, but I must escort you at all times directly, and we must be as brief and unassuming as possible, yes?” Gemma continues to examine the body even as he continues to talk on, watching her examination intently.

At Fethryth's abrupt line of inquiry he sighs and shrugs his shoulders. "Probably some opportunistic thief grabbed some of the golden forks and spoons from her - a thief stealing from a thief, yes?" He looks briefly over at Jesselle to see if she thinks his quip is amusing, but at the lack of reaction he continues on. "The consular's dinnerware has not all been accounted for, so either it is that or something she wore that only a despicable person would steal on a dying woman. As for any "magic" she used, well, who can say such things? Magic is a province of you Risuri, not those of my people."

The physical scrutiny of Nilasa’s body by the constables present reveals the young woman was very pretty - and definitely of mixed human and elven parentage; Fethryth can tell immediately that Nilasa was at least part Risuri "common" or sylvan elf by her ears, hair and complexion. Concerning the wounds, Nilasa is beset with glass shards and lacerations on her arms, three ghastly puncture wounds through her abdomen and out her back, two gunshot wounds to her back left thigh and upper back just below her left shoulder…and an unusual wound on her scalp that is devoid of glass and unlike the lacerations on her arms. Gemma examines her clothes and pulls two pieces of paper from a hip pocket, with LeBrix intently trying to discern what they are but smiles at Jesselle and does not press any demands to know further. There’s a moment where Gemma pauses in her search of Nilasa’s clothing, but other than a look to Jesselle and Fethryth she finishes her search and steps away a moment to confer with her fellow constables…

Anneca enters the room soon afterwards, and upon formally meeting Chief LeBrix she starts asking her pointed questions at him, which he answers with a halting stiffness, looking back to Jesselle as if for help or reassurance from her. ”It was…very lucky indeed that the prized work of art was not crushed or harmed when she jumped through the window. It fell from her hands just before she hit the fence…landed in a hedge nearby.” With a slight huff he then says, ”If you must see the gallery I will escort you then, but as I said it must be brief, yes? This way then, Constable Summers, Constable Teldanona...”

***********************************
In the Receiving Hall, Ground Floor (within the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately quarter past nine o’ clock (thirty minutes since arrival)
Tobias Utegg and Consulate Staff

”I just…I mean to say that I know that she had true feelings for me, you know? Even with…with what happened…and what she tried to do…well…I just cannot believe our love was a lie for a few pieces of…” The young security guard, Braden, cannot continue any further and breaks down in front of Tobias Utegg, sobbing terribly. A few of the Danoran staff come over to comfort him and one offers him a linen kerchief, which he blubbers into with clear need.

The consulate’s first secretary, Tia Jedeau, seems less sympathetic to Braden’s explanation of why he was duped into letting a thief into their midst to steal from them, even though many of the staff seem to suggest to Tobias that they liked Nilasa Hume just fine. Apparently her arrival today to bring them breakfast pastries and make them coffee was not the first time, and she had been here several times before to meet with Braden at the beginning or end of his work shift.

Tobias is slightly surprised at the Danoran staff of the consulate being so friendly with him…almost downright chatty in fact. Perhaps it is less of a surprise to Tobias getting the impression that the middle-aged Miss Jedeau seems taken with the dashing and fit constable, and she relates to him several pieces of information in a manner that feels more like gossiping than answering an inquiry.

Only when Security Chief LeBrix comes down the hall with a decided frown and both Summers and Teldanona in tow do the staffers grow quiet once again. LeBrix sees Utegg near Miss Jedeau’s desk and his frown deepens, but he only says to her, ”I am headed to the fourth floor briefly Tia, so that the constables can make their observations of the gallery window.” With that the three of them head upstairs, leaving Tobias by himself once again with the Danoran staff in the room…

Tobias can keep on inquiring with the staff, or he can join one of the other groups of constables (Anneca and Fethryth soon after they head upstairs, or Gemma and Jesselle in the storage room with the body).

***********************************
Inside the Storage Room, Ground Floor (within the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately quarter-till ten o’ clock (forty-five minutes since arrival)
Jesselle Wesmere and Gemma Atherton

With Julian LeBrix and the other constables now out of the room, Jesselle turns her attention to the poor young woman’s body, feeling the potential pull of her mind and spirit to the area that is there but not there…the bleak mirror-world of the Bleak Gate that Jesselle knows she can briefly bridge to speak to the recently departed. Not a small thing certainly…and it has its risks as Jesselle knows all too well.

Meanwhile, Gemma returns back to searching Nilasa’s body where she felt an object hidden in a part of the young woman’s bodice that would usually never be touched casually – a partially sewn inside pocket that seems to have been ripped open to get at the object inside. Gemma pulls a glass vial out from that location, and holds it up for she and Jesselle to examine.

***********************************
The Display Gallery, Fourth Floor (within the Danoran Consulate)
Approximately quarter-till ten o’ clock (forty-five minutes since arrival)
Anneca Summers, Fethryth Teldanona and Julian LeBrix

”As you can see, there is simply the mess of the shattered glass window here in the viewing gallery…through that open archway there is the consular’s dining room. Reserved for only persons of importance that are invited to dine with the consular, of course. The gold dining ware was stolen from cabinets in that room, and that is where I caught her pilfering when I came up here from the main stairwell.”

Julian LeBrix seems much less interested in entreating with the likes of Anneca Summers and Fethryth Teldanona than he did Jesselle Wesmere, and he clearly is working to hurry and usher them through here as quickly as possible without being completely offensive. Aside from the viewing gallery where the egg was supposedly on display in a glass case on a pedestal that is now lying on its side on the floor, with the gallery window smashed out as expected, the area opposite the dining chamber is a closed door of fine wood, with Consular Methan du’ Nadria’s name engraved on the front of it in a bronze plaque.

”I must insist that the consular’s office is off-limits, constables. In any event, nothing happened there to be of any concern. I’m sure you understand the delicacy of the situation, no?”

You can describe what you are looking at with any skills you deem appropriate, but note that any attempt to open the consular office door will be aggressively denied by Julian LeBrix.