Come Sunday, you return to his offices at the Society, and he hands you the sheathed sword, now covered with a thin blanket. When you unwrap it, you find the sheath to be cold, almost as if the sword was left outside in the winter weather. On inspection, you find the blade rather chilling to the touch, and a bit pale, almost white. “Needs a command word is all. Got anythin' in mind?”
A bit into their conversations, when both mugs were near drained of their black-brown liquds, Estelle looks down into her hands. “I am hosting an event with a bit of help from Augustine Langlais, Verrill Blightguard and the Durants. We are hosting an auction to raise money to open education centers across the city.” She stirs the remains of her drink. “All sorts of fun guests. Two Durants, Mirabelle, even a member of Council if they hold to their word.” She pauses for a moment, "Emile as well. Care to be my date?"
She sits at a stool, hours have passed since her last song. She seems to still insist that she is done for the night, though a few of your patrons seem intent on seeing one last performance. “Charities… Hmm. I never gave it thought. Nothing besides my paintings are political. What causes do you support, Marcus?” Beatrice listens intently, focusing with wide, brown eyes centered on you.
When confronted on the cacti fact, Vincent begins to blush. “You, um, needn’t need to, if I understand what you mean.” He walks close to one, placing his finger on it’s spiny thorn. “Part of the wonder comes from not knowing.” He smirks, turning to Halcyon. “If you knew everything about me, would you still think of me as you do?” Vincent stares at you, still smiling, awaiting your answer, before turning to Gardinier’s personal garden. Inside the room, Vincent waits for Halcyon to first respond. “Not our last, I am sure though. Gardinier?”
“Adhmad Iochloro. Head Caretaker of the Gardens. Are you expecting to see Luc?” He brings his hand to his chin. “'Expecting.' Wrong word." He bridges the gap, taking strides towards Halcyon. He doesn't seem to notice, or at least act on, her blindness. "Do you know him personally, little flower?” It is clear he addresses Halcyon, almost clearer than the fact Vincent is irked by the druid calling her what he did. Both men still their tongue, awaiting Halcyon’s response.
"I haven't given it much thought to be honest." Seth thinks for a moment. "Something that really won't be said often to accidentally have it activate." Seth looks as though he thought of something, and then he shakes his head not liking the idea. "I have a no idea what to use. I've never had a think of a command word for something before."
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** spoiler omitted **
must everything be a competition. May we not simply eat, drink and be merry?.. As to the charities I usually support, I tend to favor charities that help those less fortunate an accident of birth rather than some fault of their own, ones that improve the life of the rat folk of our town or ones that provide gainful employment for those without a place to lay their weary heads.
"Politics are dehumanizing for everyone involved. It's why I've stayed out of it, for the most part, though, in retrospect, I wonder if it was designed that way to keep people like us out in the first place." Gill offers a small smile, before continuing, "Still, with how rapidly your people are growing in number, it sounds like you will need to go both up and out. Roland alone cannot bear such a burden, but Durendal may. Of course, in either case, I suppose the obstacles remain the same. I am not sure how we might overcome these obstacles, but I am ready to render assistance in any way I can."
"It isn't my place to value one sort of life above another. The preservation of life is my calling, regardless of whom that life belongs to."
"The idea certainly intrigues me, though I hope it's not too close to my own. This city needs more clinics where the less fortunate can be treated, but spread out to maximize accessibility. Still, I would be honored to work together with you on such a project, wherever it might be."
”Mirabelle’s been doing it for only a year, and she’s tackled most of the untouchable names and families. In a way, you should be honored.” Vincent smiles. “My first death was made known because of her. Hopefully my second one won't be worthy of her magazine." Vincent pauses. "So it was true, the news on Arthur. Who reached out to who?”
"Your first death? Did you really die or are you referring to someone you were protecting died or did you kill someone in the line of duty?"
Regarding Mirabelle, she says, "I had never heard of her or read her ... onesheet. After the events of New Year's Eve, I was concerned about Arthur, for reasons I won't go into, and I visited the counsel building, thinking he had an office there and I could talk to him. The guards questioned me and I said I had an urgent message for him. I guess I was too convincing because next thing I know I'm being ushered into a full counsel meeting. I didn't mean to appear in front of the whole counsel, but by the time I realized what was up, it was too late to do anything."
When confronted on the cacti fact, Vincent begins to blush. “You, um, needn’t need to, if I understand what you mean.” He walks close to one, placing his finger on it’s spiny thorn. “Part of the wonder comes from not knowing.” He smirks, turning to Halcyon. “If you knew everything about me, would you still think of me as you do?”
"Possibly not. Or I might like you even more. There are things you don't know about me that might shock you. But it's okay to have secrets. I can tell most of what I need to know about a person in the first conversation." She smiles mysteriously, and walks down the path.
“Adhmad Iochloro. Head Caretaker of the Gardens. Are you expecting to see Luc?” He brings his hand to his chin. “'Expecting.' Wrong word." He bridges the gap, taking strides towards Halcyon. He doesn't seem to notice, or at least act on, her blindness. "Do you know him personally, little flower?” It is clear he addresses Halcyon, almost clearer than the fact Vincent is irked by the druid calling her what he did. Both men still their tongue, awaiting Halcyon’s response.
"I have never met him," Halcyon says, ignoring Admad's flirtatious tone and Vincent's response to it. "But I met a gentleman named Pharamond, who spoke so highly of Luc's garden that I felt I must see it. I can come back when you expect him to be here, if you don't think he'd mind the visit."
Once her conversation with Admad is concluded, Halcyon will sit in one of the seats and ask Vincent if he'd mind if she concentrated on the ambiance for a minute or two in silence. She then concentrates and attempts a focused trance to answer the question, "What was the last thing to happen here that connects to Luc's disappearance. She hopes the proximity to Luc's favorite activity will make this possible.
rounds.
If the check should be with knowledge (nobility), the bonus is +9 instead of +12.
Raphael returns Emile's smile with a grin of his own. He looks over each of the options a moment, pondering as he does so.
After a moment's thought, Raphael begins to think aloud, gesturing to each in turn as he does so, "I believe that the geases are perhaps too much in every way for what we wish to accomplish here. There is also matters of magical detection to be attended to, and on the whole am I disinclined to pursue that option. The parchment shares some concerns, but to a lesser degree that I believe may be agreeable, but let us consider the final option. The rings draw my interest, but unless I am greatly mistaken, such rings will show signs of enchantment magic that may raise questions that are uncomfortable, at best. I assume you have some means of working around that particular shortcoming?"
Raphael returns Francis' gaze levelly as the man finally stops with the frantic searching for tells. He nods, rising as the guard captain does so, cigarette still in hand. He follows to the door, his calm smile slipping at the man's question. He takes a long slow drag on his cigarette, breathing out a cloud of smoke before he finally answers, "If I may, Frank, have you ever had an investigation that left a sour taste in your mouth, but that you had to see through anyway? Did the performance of your duty rankle and, perhaps, even shame you? Did it do so even though you knew your duty and the costs of not performing it were greater than your petty discomfort? I do not take any great pleasure in 'helping' these murderers, but the first stage of my work will be to ensure that Durendal's courts have the chance to see justice done. Turning the criminals over to the Galatines would be a death sentence without trial. I am an Abadaran, so you can perhaps understand my reluctance to allow that to pass when it is within my power to prevent it. Even for those who might not otherwise seem to deserve it, we have decided that a day in court, a jury of peers, and -yes- a lawyer are merited. We will each do our duties, Captain, even if they are sometimes unpalatable."
Raphael takes a last drag on his cigarette, then crushes it out in the provided ashtray and follows the captain from the room.
Raphael takes a seat opposite Estelle, smiling warmly and saying, "I am indeed busy of late, but I would be a fool not to find the time for you, Estelle. I hope I did not leave you waiting very long?" He orders a coffee as well, but does not take either cream or sugar. "It went more or less as I had expected, having some experience on that side of the chair and of course in service as a lawyer. Captain Albert is a formidable man, but an honorable one, from what I have seen of him." He accedes to her request to change the subject, though he makes a mental note to follow up on what the Captain had been asking of him.
He nods as the topic turns to the case he had closed the last week, unsurprised by the turn in conversation. "I had wondered if you had followed that. It was a difficult case, but I wouldn't have felt right were justice not done. It particularly rankles that a Guardsman would do such a thing to one of the more vulnerable in our society, who is the one most deserving of his protection. I did not take payment, though I did receive a portion of the city's settlement that I used to pay my legal aids and expert witnesses as is typically done. I have donated my personal proceeds, as it was not money I would happily keep." He thinks for a moment before answering her second question, "I believe it was the first, to the best of my knowledge, yes. I'm afraid I have been busy enough of late that I have had to turn away many who would otherwise seek my services. It is a meager excuse, but I have not had any others cross my desk before. Perhaps you would be willing to help direct such requests to my attention?"
Raphael sips at the dregs of his coffee as Estelle brings up the event which she will be hosting in the near future. He says, when she pauses, "It sounds like it has the making of both a remarkable evening and the catalyst for a worthy cause." Her mention of Emile surprises him, but his thoughts are quickly distracted by her question. With a smile, he says, "It would be my utmost pleasure, Estelle."
"Politics are dehumanizing for everyone involved. It's why I've stayed out of it, for the most part, though, in retrospect, I wonder if it was designed that way to keep people like us out in the first place.”
Verrill nods excitedly. ”Look at Council. All man and their offspring, none like us at all. The Colonel a woman of fire, yes, but a human-looking one. Things will change in time, Verrill is sure. Perhaps not in Verrill's lifetime, but certainly in yours.”
Upon accepting his offer, Verrill has to place his tea down in order to show his enthusiasm. He claps his hands together, and smiles widely. “Certainly, certainly. We can find somewhere just outside the city walls even, if you'd prefer” He gets up out of his seat and opens a bureau, flipping through pages of note paper.
“Verrill is friends with chemists all over the city. We have created a, um, let’s say “stockpile” of potions that we can give to your facilities. Verrill could move a bit over, hmm, four hundred potions by tomorrow.” He says the number like it isn't a lot, despite the costs of just producing such potions.The mouse-man continues to flip through pages until he stops, reads over an entry, and rips it out. He dashes back to the seats, and passes Gill the paper.
It seems to be assorted notes, a plan of some sort for an event, an auction. Two sets of handwriting, one cursive and immaculate, the other almost chicken scratch. A series of names are jotted in the corner, Langlais, Ravenhall, LeBlanc, and many others are crossed out underneath. A list of locations for the event is written in the center of the page, with one, “Docks Warehouse?” Underlined and circled. “Small event planned to help Verrill’s kind next week. Verrill doesn’t like working with partisans, but Mlle. Bellerose is an exception. Mercier is also attending, another do-good chemist such as ourselves. Verrill will be clearing out much of Verrill's old chemist gear, attend if only to strike a bargain for a good cause.”
Adhmad walks past Vincent and Halcyon, hands together by his back.
"I was dead for three days after protecting the now-Head Priestess from an assassin. We both ended each other’s life, he had me in the heart, I had him across the throat. I’ll show you the scar later." He smirks as recounts the two wounds. The grin then disappears. "My sister Evelynn was never more proud than when I died a warrior’s death. Mirabelle did me the “luxury” of highlighting how my family wanted to, hmm, let’s say remember me as a hero rather than being happy for my return."
Vincent’s brow rises when you mention your secrets. He smiles, and you can tell that it takes much of his restraint to not start guessing. “Then let’s keep secrets as they are, until we want to tell the other, or when Mirabelle inevitably dredges them all up.”
The door closes, Halcyon, Mako, and Vincent now alone. “Druids. What strange people.” You enter a trance, and Vincent takes a seat beside you. His glance looks over the room, admiring the man-made wonder that the druid spymaster had created. Mako curls by your feet, resting for the moment. The room is silent, save for the trickling stream. The babbling waters grow louder, deafening as you focus on a series of images in your mind.
Hundreds of quick glimpses flash. The same room, but different. A wall of vines. A center pond. Large boulders. Luc is here, Liliane Morgane beside him. They weave vines like braids. He smiles, she fakes one. They talk, but the sound of water covers their words. A third of the wall is braided, their mouths move. Two-thirds of the wall is braided, Mako yawns beside a small, moving mound of thorns. The wall is finished. The spymaster looks contemplative. He says something, and Liliane leaves the room without another word. The water begins to quiet.
The visions end, and you are back in Gardinier’s Garden. As your vision returns, you realize that Vincent is looking at you, face crossed between intrigue and worry. “Are you, um - all is well?”
On accepting her invitation, Estelle puts her coffee down. “Most wonderful. It isn't overly formal, needn't worry.” She gives you a small card, the details already handwritten on. "Don't dress for appearances, dress for..." She trails off in thought, sipping her coffee. "Hmm, dress for me, how is that?" Estelle smiles at you. "Just no surprises."
Seth listens to Ernest's suggestions and then an idea comes to his mind. "How about frostbark?" Its a play on words with frostbite, and don't think I have ever heard frostbark before."
“Are you, um - all is well?”
Halcyon emerges from her light trance. She nods in answer to Vincent's question, but focuses for a moment on remembering the vision. She looks around the area, to see if she sees the wall of vines in the area. If she sees it, she will inspect it to try to get any clues as to how long ago it was arranged. Before she does anything else, however, she sets a hand on Vincent's and smiles sincerely. "All is well, at least with me. Thank you for putting up with my seeming such a scatterbrain. I assure you there is some method to my madness. Let's continue our tour of this strange and amazing place and you can tell me more about this auction."
"Such an extreme is not necessary. I just worry: you mentioned the southern part of the city, and I was not sure if you were referring to my own location, or the future location of yours. If we are too close to one another, it will be inefficient. Your people are concentrated beneath the city, so outside of the city walls would also be inefficient. My infirmary is in the southwest, so the southeast or northwest would be have a greater need for an infirmary."
"I would be greatly appreciative of such a gesture. We could certainly put such potions to effective use."
"I would love to attend such an event. I do not know if my purse is currently deep enough to make a significant contribution, but perhaps I can donate some equipment to be sold?
"There is another matter that comes to mind, as well. This talk of infirmaries and accessibility has got me thinking. Perhaps we could set up a clinic in the sewers to provide immediately accessible care for the ratfolk, and any others who find their homes beneath the surface? While the ultimate goal would remain integration with the surface, I believe that such progress will take time, and this could serve to alleviate some of the hardships your people face in the meantime. What are your thoughts on this?"
“”
A white vein cracks across the center of the blade, from crossguard to tip, and the edge of the blade begins to shimmer with a pale, blue light. Ernest gives it a swing, and the room seems to cool for a moment. He brings his face close to inspect it, and his breath chills, a visible cloud when close to the sword. He sheathes the weapon, giving it to you. “Roland needs more boys like you, Varianna. Seldom help make a fine blade no more.”
The wall of vines seems to no longer be in the room. Much of what you saw is no longer present, even the grass seems rather different. You aren’t too sure how long ago that was. Liliane looked no younger than when you first met her, the event was likely close to New Year’s.
Vincent is relieved when you speak. “The auction, yes.” He gets up, wrapping his arm around you. “The proceeds of the event are going to building education centers around Roland. Langlais is playing the host and auctioneer, and is matching any donation of any of the guests in full. There are over four dozen confirmed guests, a private warehouse from Alexander Ravenhall, even support from Estelle Bellerose.”
Vincent goes on as you walk the Botanical Gardens. It seems that half of each bid goes to the chartities in question, but Augustine’s match to each bid goes entirely to supporting the cause. He discusses how they’ll likely earn enough to set up over a dozen schools across the city, and if they have volunteers to teach, they could even pay those being educated to justify missing work. Vincent seems fascinated with the idea, if you hadn’t known his occupation already, you’d swear he was a teacher. The entire time he talks about helping the city his voice is enthusiastic, and he wears a large, excited smile. Almost too excited for someone who didn’t organize the event.
You pass through Gardens, each room a different theme, or possessing a different climate for the growth of certain plants. Vincent leads with a deliberately slow pace, extending what could have been a small meeting to hours. He tries to read some of the names of the foreign plants to some amusement, jokingly threatens to steal fruit from the gardens, throws a fallen branch for Mako to fetch. He walks home with you, insisting that it doesn’t add much to his own walk. When arriving at your apartment, Vincent first says goodbye to Mako, but struggles with a salutation for you. He nervously settles for “Well, until the auction.”
It seems to be a map of the sewer system. While it mostly consists of tunnels of varying widths, there appear to be a few dozen larger structures of varying size on the map where multiple junctions meet. He reaches into his robes and pull out a pen, marking a spot under the city market. “This would be a good spot. Accessible, central. ” Verrill looks up, eyes gleaming at you. “Verrill has several friends who may be able to volunteer. Are any of your staff willing to work neath the city?” Verrill cocks his head, still grinning. “Are you? Fret not if not, not all are, and most aren’t, say, welcome.”
It is a bit warmer this week, temperatures steadily above freezing during the daytime. The paper’s mages predict neither snow nor rain for the entire week.
- A lawsuit filed on behalf of those responsible for the New Year’s Massacre seeks to have the caught assailants tried in Durendale courts rather than given to Greater Galatine officials. A council vote (five in favor, three against, one missing) approved the appeal. The case is scheduled to begin on the first of Calistril, allowing time for Greater Galatine to procure an attorney and move them to the city of Roland.
- Spymaster Missing. Council has released word that Councilman and Spymaster Luc Gardinier has not attended a council meeting for two weeks, and has been declared a missing person. The article urges any and all with information to speak to an officer of the Guard at Guard Headquarters.
- Galatian Guardians to Look Over Embassy. A battalion of Galatian soldiers are to station themselves over the Roland Galatian Embassy, taking over the mercenaries hired by the kingdom. A side opinion piece accuses the act as a micro-invasion of the capital, an insult to Roland’s Guard, and an attack on the ancestors of those who died in the Galatian-Durendale War hundreds of years ago.
- Missed Fortunes. A small series of interviews with various wizards, oracles and clerics debates the concept of luck. The article ends with a lengthy encounter with a Guardsman who believes in luck more than anything else.
You have two new available missions.
Completed Jobs:
Embassy Guard Mission,
Reward gold.
While the opposing lawyer has not yet been chosen by the kingdom, you know the judge to be Armand Rousseau, Judge of the Higher Judicial Affair building, Grand Judge of the Roland Courts and member of Council. You were informed by one of your colleagues that he voted against your appeal. It is certainly going to be an uphill battle.
-
Intersession Action (Contact 1/1)
Research Person - Estelle Bellerose
roll
Difficulty Class: 20
2^( ) + 100 = 1124gp
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Deceive or Lie (Free Action)
Obfuscate a half-truth to Verrill
roll + ability + rank + class skill + trait + feat + circumstance
Successful Sense Motive: The sewers remind Gill of home, and she is a dwarf, but the two are unrelated.
Failed Sense Motive: The sewers remind Gill of home because she is a dwarf.
To Ernest
He watches Ernest do his magical stuff and waits for him to finish. "Not many can enjoy a fine blade, and not many can say they have one worked on by you." He takes the blade from Ernest. "I have a feeling we will turn this blade into something special in the future."
For Intersession
Action 1: Hire normal mercs
Not sure what others actions I want to take beforehand but here are the mercenary missions that are going to be done.
Construct Delivery
Dauber, Siren, Cave Fisher, Audley Griffin, Gwenda Bowbreaker, Happyu Emeline, Celestina Amatore, Theirn Oathbreaker.
Storage Protection
Bullete, Beauregard Lum, Nobuyoki Blackbeack
Your friend who pointed you towards the meadery and vineyard two weeks earlier (who is now under this alias) once again has answers for you. The bar he owns is rather humble, a small place jammed between a spice emporium and a steel forge factory. The region has a distinct smell, burning metal and foriegn spices create an interesting invitation to the bar. It’s the kind of place that doesn’t seek to thrive, but rather make it each month with the regulars it has gathered.
Alderic appears around thirty five, and it is clear he doesn’t share the same circles as you. His face isn’t well shaven, and a bit of dust and grease covers his skin and outfit from hard work. Messy dark hair dances over his brow, and passes over his ears. While growing wrinkles make him appear tired, his eyes are brilliant, shining with life. He pours you one on the house, he always did for bartenders, never seeing conflict between businesses, but rather an opportunity for a good talk, or a good friend.
“Here’s what you need to know on those Far Away drinks,” he begins, passing the cop to you, “they aren’t real.” He grins, pouring himself something now. “Trick is to get something cheap and strong.” He cuts the foam from the glass. “Then throw in an ungodly amount of berries. Raspberries, elderberries, whatever have you. Paint a fancy label, charge a silver a cup, and there’s your gold.”
Alderic takes a sip of his drink. “Won’t trick men like us, nor a nobleman I’d bet. But the everyman and them merchants? Fall for it every time.” He doesn’t seem to agree with the practice. He takes another sip, sizing you up. “Ever have something from Far Away, Tamarin? I’ve got real stuff somewhere below if you got the time.”
Verrill goes at lengths about the logistics of it all. Expected booms in activity, lulls he anticipates, names of those who he imagines will help, names of those that may oppose the clinic. His planning seems rather extensive, with goals that go far into the long term, possibly even passing his own life expectancy. He is quick to tell you that most of his musings are hypothetical, but you feel as though that most all of this information is grounded in some fact or research he has conducted. He speaks too assured to be speaking from the top of his head, the numbers and percentages for estimated service and cost too exact to not be calculated in some way.
Towards the end of the meeting, he insists on giving you something for your time and as a mark of partnership to come. He hands you a large wad of clay, molded to be shaped like a pyramid. He explains the use of it, stating that putting a chemist’s mutagen in the clay brings it to life, and is perfect to serve as an impromptu assist in the lab. He insists that you take it, stating that he has several of his own, and that you’d get better use out of it than him. He says that he will see you again on Wealday, and that is excited for your shared futures.
Roland - Docks Warehouse, 1:05PM on Wealday, the 18th of Abadius
Unobstructed by the manors, homes and offices in the heart of the city, the wind blows stronger by the city’s ports. Hundreds, maybe thousands of warehouses pack into the south-eastern corner of the city, all of varying sizes, with varying owners, storing goods ready to be delivered all across the continent, some even across the oceans, awaiting lands known only to traders and refugees. Workers load cargo from the docks into the warehouse and secure merchant vessels to the pier. A gang of children dash along the winding, splintered paths forming between the storage containers.
By walking around the region, one could quickly assess which buildings held objects of value, and which were almost better forgotten. Large warehouses left almost unguarded, split and segmented into smaller lots within for individual businesses or persons. Here anything can be found, anything worth less than a few gold coins, for everyone knew the sentry wouldn’t chase after thieves. Not a building away are members of the Guard, all uniformed, standing diligent. Their insignia is painted on the metal walls of the building, the door they stand in front of locked several times over. Vagrants and prying eyes wonder what lies inside.
One warehouse is protected more than the rest. Eight soldiers stand with identical armor and weaponry, all polished, unmoving. Their helmets hid their gaze, and they wore red plumes atop their heads, matching the red tassels at their spear’s end. The eight soldiers guard a small gathering of aristocrats, a bit under forty had already gathered in the building. They haven’t a guestlist, but they all seem to have an idea of who belongs and who doesn’t. They give a caterer a bit of grief when he tries to enter, all the while allowing a well-dressed woman inside with a friendly wave.
As you all begin to enter, those who can see begin to notice each other. You were all invited independently of one another, and all arrived almost at different times. It seems almost unlikely that all of you would arrive at this one event, especially with you limited mingling with the nobles of the city. Either through fate, coincidence, or someone's ploy, once again you are together at a party.
It wasn’t a long walk, actually only about two blocks east of your apartment. When the red-plumed soldiers come into view, Vincent tells you that the two of you have arrived. The sentries let the two of you through without a word. In your immediate vision, you see around seven or so guests. On your right, a handsome, dark haired man speaks to someone beyond what you can make out, and a servant prepares food and drinks for two women conversing in front of you. There are many voices, many who stand outside what you can see, dozens more you'd guess. Vincent looks forward at the women, one clad in heavy armor, the other wrapped in what appear to be blankets, and his brow furrows ever slightly. “My sister, Evelynn, on the left, my chemist, Sibylle, on the right… Shall we?”
Inside the carriage, is rather warm. Two small candles make the space rather intimate, and the cozy pillows are much appreciated as the wagon is carried over the cold, stone cobbled roads. Beatrice can’t help but smile the entire trip. “This one will be perfect, I promise. And if there is a dance, heaven and hell won’t stop me from finishing it this time. ”
The carriage stops after twenty or thirty minutes. All of your attempts to persuade her to see the paintings early were met with questions of her own, asking if you've practiced for the duet she has planned. Beatrice opens the door to the carriage, and tilts her head for you to get out first. Afterwards, she exits, taking your hand with a beautiful smile. The sentries allow you to enter, they seem to recognize the two of you.
Inside the warehouse is a rather nice, if not simple set up. A stage has been crafted out of wood, and a podium stands atop it beside several large items draped in cloth covers. Rows of chairs stand in front of the stage, awaiting the beginning of the auction. In the center of the room, a small bar has been set up, with simmering foods behind the tables manned by hired caterers.
Many faces are familiar, a couple from Emile’s party a bit over two weeks ago, though many more are new. Seth Varianna and his wife stand by the table, and the friend who has been giving you contacts to expand your bar’s wares seems to be catering the event. Halcyon appears to have just arrived with Vincent Durant, and Raphael appears mid conversation with Estelle Bellerose and two other men. Valentina is in one of the corners, speaking with an Elf, a Halfling, and an Oread. There is a joke somewhere in there, but it alludes you...
Beatrice grins, wrapping her arms around one of yours. “Take the lead,” she excitedly whispers, “we’re going to charm every last one of them!”
You and Estelle have been at the event longer than most, an hour and a half now, maybe two. You helped oversee the catering, made sure that everything was fine with the venue, watched the mercenaries begin their job as sentries to the event. Nothing seemed out of place, nothing seemed dangerous outside a couple of the weapons and relics to be auctioned off. While there was a small scuffle with two of the guests entering the warehouse half an hour ago (a Galatian man and a young woman, together), Augustine Langlais allowed them entrance, stating they were just missing from the guest list. You knew he was lying, but he seemed rather intrigued by the pair.
Many faces are familiar, a couple from Emile’s party a bit over two weeks ago, though many more are new. Halcyon seems to have just arrived with Vincent Durant, same with Marcus and Beatrice de Beaux, though at different entrances. A ratfolk man, Verrill Blightguard Estelle told you, is with a dwarven woman by the podium. They were one of the few to arrive as early as you did. Seth arrived around twenty minutes back, and seems to want to converse with a heavily armored woman. Valentina has been here for ten or so minutes, and playfully popped her eyebrows up and down and gestured towards Estelle when she saw you. Valentina mouthed the word "cute," hiding a grin.
The head host, Augustine Langlais, was speaking before the entrance of your friends caught your attention. The host, you, Estelle, and a young, evidently Tizonian man, have been conversing. The last thing you recall was Augustine stating he’d be matching any donation, and that he is certain the event would be a success. Now, he looks at you, awaiting an answer for something you didn’t hear. Estelle begins to chuckle.
“The case for the sorcerer? So busy you can’t recall three weeks back?” She grins at the host and the young Tizonian, “Too busy doing the hard work no one else wants to. ”
The rest of the guests began to pile in after an hour or two. Many men and women, almost all well dressed, almost all that you’ve never seen before. Two individuals who arrived together, a Galatian man and a Durendale woman, almost got into a fight with the hired guard outside. Augustine Langlais, the auctioneer and evident head-host, let them in, saying he must of forgotten to add them to the guestlist. He was lying, almost clearly so, but seemed intrigued by the pair. Later, Seth entered the party, and though he seems to want to speak to a now-armored Evelynn Durant, she appears occupied talking to a small, blanket-clad woman.
Inside the warehouse is a rather nice, if not simple set up. A stage has been crafted out of wood, and a podium, where you are, stands atop it beside several large items draped in cloth covers. Rows of chairs stand in front of the stage, where you are, awaiting the beginning of the auction. In the center of the room a small bar has been set up, with simmering foods behind the tables manned by hired caterers.
Between you and Verrill, neither is quite tall enough to be trying to sort the envelopes detailing the auctioned items. The podium is almost at eye-level with the two of you, and Verrill swears that Augustine asking this of him was a practical joke. Still, the stage provides a nice vantage point, and after a while, he begins to point out the guests. “Vieuxponts,” he says, pointing at three individuals spread across the room. “Romane, Gerard, Gerome. Verrill does not work with them.” He points to a Sylph woman, drinking alone. “Mirabelle. Spreads rumors. Nothing to hide, nothing to fear.”
Verrill smiles, looking around for another he knows. The last envelope is sorted, the auction now just waits on the word of the host. “Well, Doctor, Verrill again thanks you. And again, apologies. Sorry, sorry, sorry.”
Inside the warehouse is a rather nice, if not simple set up. A stage has been crafted out of wood, and a podium stands atop it beside several large items draped in cloth covers. Rows of chairs stand in front of the stage, awaiting the beginning of the auction. In the center of the room, where you are, a small bar has been set up, with simmering foods behind the tables manned by hired caterers.
Many faces are familiar, a couple from Emile’s party a bit over two weeks ago, though many more are new. Halcyon seems to have just arrived, same with Marcus and Beatrice de Beaux, though at different entrances. Raphael and Gill both arrived before you, before the event formally began, and both seem to be guests of two of the organizers (Estelle for Raphael, a ratfolk man for Gill). It seems that Valentina was also invited, and talks to an Oread, Elf and Halfling in the corner.
The hired muscle outside is foreign to you. They aren’t Guard, but their matching armor and weaponry makes them seem military-minded. Their weapons were not conventional, their spears headed with thick, curved blades, and the tassels, while flashy, aren’t common to such weapons. You figure they must be mercenaries, though you don’t know of any troops in Roland, even Durendale, matching their outfit.
Dauber, Siren, Cave Fisher, Audley Griffin, Gwenda Bowbreaker, Happyu Emeline, Celestina Amatore, Theirn Oathbreaker.
1d6+1d4+1d4 (auto pass).
1000-252 = 748g if passed.
Storage Protection. DC 5, one week remaining.
Bullete, Beauregard Lum, Nobuyoki Blackbeack
1d8+1d6+5d4+13 (autopass)
100-35 = 65g if passed.
Reynaud Lylou and Maxence Porcher added to Varianna Mercenaries.
Intersession Action (Player 1/3)
Purchase/Sell Items
Spent 112pp
Purchased Scrolls, Crafted Potions and Oils
Free Action
Copy endure elements from Scroll to Formula Book
roll + ability + rank + class skill
Difficulty Class: 16
Free Action
Copy keen senses from Scroll to Formula Book
roll + ability + rank + class skill
Difficulty Class: 16
Free Action
Copy tears to wine from Scroll to Formula Book
roll + ability + rank + class skill
Difficulty Class: 16
Free Action
Copy youthful appearance from Scroll to Formula Book
roll + ability + rank + class skill
Difficulty Class: 16
Once she finishes, she draws out a quill, some parchment, and an inkpot, and begins writing a letter.
Dearest Bishop Charpentier,
I write to you to inform you of an event I will be attending
on the morrow, an hour before the sun reaches its zenith. It is to
be held at a warehouse on the docks, an auction with a most
charitable purpose of raising money for the unfortunate, especially
those currently dwelling in the sewers. It would please me greatly
if you would join me in attending this event. Indeed, if the church
has anything to donate for the auction, I am sure the organizers,
who I am told are very respectable individuals, would be very
appreciative. If you can attend, please meet me at my clinic, that
we might journey there together. It's easier than trying to draw a
map, you see.
Sincerely,
Guillaumine Sanz
Intersession Action (Contact 1/1)
Meet Person/Persons
Auction Event
Intersession Action (Player 2/3)
Meet Person/Persons
Auction Event
Having parted ways with Verrill, Gill makes her way to the table where Mirabelle sits alone, taking a seat not immediately adjacent her, but close enough to hold conversation comfortably. She rests her head against one arm, elbow on the table, but does not pay Mirabelle any mind, nor offer any conversation.
Sylphs are often rumored to be followed by a soft wind, though few in Durendal had met a sylph to prove it. When Mirabelle reaches her hand out to grab a drink, Gill feels a breeze.
The woman looks frail, unusually thin with pale, almost white skin. It almost appears like blue veins curl over her arms and body, but they seem to be markings of sort, spiraling faintly over her. Her hair is a silvery-white, gray at times in the folds of her curls, and seems to almost wisp away as it flows from her soft gusting. Her dress is more modest than many of the other guests’, a simple blue gown with a lavender sash across her stomach. She doesn't appear to have brought shoes, or at least has abandoned them somewhere in the warehouse. She takes a sip of her drink and sighs at the silence between her and the doctor. Like Gill, Mirabelle gives no attention to the woman now nearby, not offering a look or gesture in the doctor’s direction.
She speaks up, though doesn’t glance away from her drink. Her voice is quick and soft, though strikes a special emphasis on each "yes" or "no" she delivers. Her accent is strong, and seems to be a strange blend of a Roland accent and something else you haven't heard before. “Enough with zee silence, I will answer your questions: Yes, I am zat sylph, and again, yes, I was invited to zis affair. Surprise all around, I know. No, I will not be part of some publicity ploy of yours, and no, you like so many before are incorrect, what I wrote about you or perhaps a friend eez true, I assure you.” She breathes in deeply, recounting the frequently asked questions from her mind. “Yes, I am from lands Far Away, no, the accent eez not me having fun despite how cute you think eet eez, on that, no, I am not looking for suitors, and even if I was, no, wooing me does not give you a free pass.” The sylph lets out a breath, and feigns exhaustion from the speech. She takes another sip. "Despite all that, it never stops zem from trying." Mirabelle smiles. She seems to enjoy giving her own introduction.
She turns to Gill for the first time, but focuses more on the dwarf's clothing than anything else. “Well, aren’t you a breath of fresh air. Friends, or friend rather, call me Belle, so may call me Mademoiselle Zephirine. Tell me, who tricked you into thinking thees was a masquerade?”
Gill gives Mirabelle a sort of nod. "I am here on business, so I am dressed for business. Though 'breath of fresh air' is probably not the most apt metaphor for this situation: I get very little fresh air in this particular outfit, an unfortunate but necessary side effect of my profession." Gill pauses. She starts to raise her other hand to get the barkeep's attention, index finger half uncurled as she seems to change her mind and rests her hand back on the bar. "Another unfortunate but necessary side effect: I cannot drink with this mask on." She lets out a small sigh, and then turns to consider Mirabelle. "But I believe you misunderstand my intentions, Mademoiselle. I have little interest in publicity, you have not written about myself or any of my friends to my knowledge, and I'm certainly not a potential suitor." Gill chuckles, continuing, "As you might have guessed, given that you don't seem to recognize me, I don't run in many social circles, so I don't know many people here, and most of those I do know are either busy preparing the event, or... How do I put this politely? I don't much care for the Vieuxponts, is what I am trying to say. I hope you'll forgive my frankness on the matter, but I simply cannot think of a lighter way to put it.
"Of those that I at least know of, you are... Well, the easiest to handle, I guess? Again, I cannot think of a better way of putting it. You're dedicated to the truth, and you're direct, too. It is exhausting, maneuvering around people while trying to see through their maneuvering, and this outfit is already uncomfortable as it is. You're also one of the only people that I have heard of that I can also pick out of this crowd. So here I find myself." Gill offers a shrug. "I'm not much for conversation, which is why I did not speak until spoken to. It's not so much that I want anything from you as that I'm not comfortable around most of the other guests." After a long pause, she adds almost as an afterthought, "Oh, I am called Docteure Guillaumine Sanz, by the way."
Free Action
Arthur Blake
roll + ability
Free Action
Sibylle Mercier
roll + ability + skill rank + class skill
"The Beating", Strength, NE
This is for her daily "harrowed" bonus to one roll.
Halcyon has her magical cloth armor embellished with some festive flourishes to disguise it's true purpose. She brings her other items: +1 quarterstaff, Ring of the Sophisticate, heirloom harrow deck, Eyes of the Eagle, Traveler's Grandiose Carrying Case, as they are part of her normal attire. She also brings her potions of Speak with Animals and Mako.
Seth and Lucia have been standing by the bar conversing amongst themselves as people entered the auction. When Gill left the stage, Lucia perked up from her conversation. While Gill speaks, she goes over to her friend and stands between her and Mirabelle Zephirine. As Gill finishes speaking, Lucia puts an exaggerated pouting face. ”You could have come up to me first. I haven’t seen you in a while.” She stops the pouting face. ”You have always been so business oriented. One day I will get you to have a little fun.” She then goes in to hug Gill.
Gill awkwardly accepts the hug without rising from her seat. "Ah, Lucia! I didn't recognize you two from up on the stage. How have you been? How is Seth healing?"
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Marcus laughs at his friend's exuberience and excitement at such a simple thing as a carriage. He boards the vessel as he wraps himself up in a long scarf. He then puts on airs of overly dramatic false scandal "but why my dear would he assume such a thing as that, it's almost as though he assumes that we would be in ... Close .. Intimate.. Contact" he says, nearly purring as he wiggles his eyebrows.
When they arrive Marcus gives a flourish as he opens the door for his female companion
He then leads them to mingle with the partygoers ending up next to a Lucia "why hello ms Varianna, lovely to see you here, do hope I'm not inturupting anything, are you enjoying the party?"
Lucia speaks as she releases the hug. "It's fine, and I've been well. The first day or two he winced from time to time but after that he has been well. How about you, how have you been?" As Lucia waits for Gill's response, she is jumps a bit as Marcus approaches her. "You startled me." She takes a few breathes to relax from being startled. "Oh, you aren't interrupting anything. Just some old friends catching up. I have only been here for twenty minutes or so. Did you just arrive?"
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Raphael looks back and forth over the options provided and finally gives a resigned sigh and takes a ring. He nods to Emile and says, "I suppose the ring will do then. I will have to look into what options I may have to conceal the nature of the ring. I'll share my findings, should they prove useful. I don't suppose you know the provenance of these rings, as that may prove useful. In any case, shall we finish our business? I believe you mentioned something about one of your excellent vintages..."
A rueful smile is Raphael's only response to the guard captain's amusement. He nods politely to the man as he leaves the room, mulling over what he had said. He says, distractedly, "And you, Frank. I wish you well in your searches."
"I would be delighted if you'd send further cases my way. I normally do not shy away from controversial lawsuits, but I may be representing certain members of the Society in the near future and it would be improper to have a conflict of interest there. Even should I be unable to take the cases themselves, I can recommend them to my colleagues."
Raphael accepts the card with a nod. Pocketing it, he chuckles and replies in a faux thoughtful tone, "Not too formal, but I should dress to impress you. I'll have to give that some thought. And I think there needs to be at least a small element of surprise, if only for fun. I'll send a runner with an idea on colors, at the least."