Blades in the Dark (GM Sarah)

Game Master Sarah 'queen' B.

5 APRIL, 847 I.E.

Ditching the Silver Nails' costume is probably a good idea, and people seem to buy your actions - although Min (and to a lesser extent, Casia) don't really belong in this part of town. The locals might be a little more inclined to wonder what you are doing here, right in the middle of Grinder turf on a night when all hells have broken loose; but you are saved from such inquiries by the unlikely assistance of Hutton himself - or rather, the ghost currently joy-riding Hutton's body. There's a crash and a snarl as the figure - still wrapped in some of the wire that Min set up to delay it, with silver nails studded in various parts of its body - bursts (literally) through the front door and out into the street.

Fatally (not for you), it takes a few moments for the gang to realise it's not their boss: as they crowd round him, trying to tell him and/or ask him what's going on and what they should do, their first clue that something is off is when he grabs his closest bodyguard, jaws unhinging impossibly wide as he swallows the man whole! Hutton's entire body distends enormously as a result of this, the flesh bending and shaping in eye-watering ways as clothing rips apart under the impossible demands Hutton's new owner is making of them. Two more Grinders are dead even before someone can draw breath to scream, but the screaming starts soon enough anyway. Everyone runs as far and as fast as they can away from the ghost, who now - at almost 8 feet tall - towers over them. Several more people are crushed underfoot as it sates its bloodlust, feeding with an appetite that hasn't fed in a long, long time.

With all the fuss, it's a simple matter for you to slip away in the endless dark of Duskvol.

Score over! Well done, you survived

8 APRIL, 847 I.E.

Hutton's death and the gruesome, grisly aftermath thereof is the beginning of the end for the Grinders. Rumours that it was the Silver Nails who did this prompts a couple of lieutenants who are eyeing the vacant leadership position to launch a "reprisal" attack - only to find that the Silver Nails, smarting from what they think was a Grinder attack on them, are all too eager for war.

The Grinders are tough, but they find out shockingly quickly what it means to tangle with real soldiers. In a matter of days, most of the key members of the gang are out of action - most dead, but some having the wit to seek passage on the first boat out of the city.

Either way, the Grinders are no more.

14 APRIL, 847 I.E

Word gets out, somehow. Word always gets out, somehow, in the Dusk. Nothing is said, exactly; or at least, not out loud; or at least, not to you out loud. But several - not completely coincidental - things happen almost at once.

The first is that you receive several gifts from Lady Phroiag; she doesn't deliver them herself, but it's unusual for someone of her standing even to admit that a district like yours exists. For her to send things to you, here, rather than waiting on you to come and collect them at a time and place of her own choosing, is a message almost as valuable as the gifts themselves - whatever her earlier displeasure, the Dusk Mites have patronage from someone of status.

The second is that both Bazso Bazs, of the Lampblacks, and Mylera Klev, of the Red Sashes, take some time out from their interminable, months-long feud with each other to offer you a gift of their own. Not personally, of course. Bazso rarely leaves his headquarters these days, and Klev is holed up somewhere near the Iruvian embassy. They are both marshalling their remaining troops for the 'one last push' that will, they promise, wipe out the other gang and leave them victorious. But be that as it may, they each send representatives to offer (free, gratis and for nothing, Bazso would point out) a slice of turf. They are both very quick to point out that this is a mark of respect; but the truth is that both gangs' reach now exceeds their grasp - offering the territories to you is less of a loss of face than admitting they can no longer control them.

The third is that, by a sort of osmosis or electroplasmic motion, individuals are starting to converge on the streets around your (hidden) headquarters. You get nods of respect when you walk past them, and they are quick to offer word on what is going on in the surrounding territory, or deliver messages, or keep watch. They are mere lackeys, unlikely (without a bit of effort from you) to be much use in a scrap or anything requiring significant thought; but they are willing to help out as they can.

You haven't made it, not by a long shot; but you have at least, it would seem, arrived.

END OF SEASON ONE

Jonah wasted no time looking back even as the screams started to echo through the damp Doskvol night air. He'd seen the kind of havoc and destruction a feral ghost could manifest. And he was much too tired and sore to care about anything except getting back to their small, drafty, damp hideout where he would sleep until he simply could not sleep anymore.

In fact, he did sleep for nearly forty eight hours straight. A slumber interrupted only by the occasional need for food and nature's business.

Later, as the news of the Grinder's demise slowly trickled in through the various gossips and information dealers, Jonah found himself rather torn over their success. On the one hand, Hutton was a slaver who traded on his own people. For that alone, his death was well deserved in the whisper's mind. Dari's death added to the gangster's ledger. The fact that Hutton ordered her death was just another sign of the man's incompetence. She'd nothing to do with his daughter's death. Wasn't even a Duskmite when it happened. The girl's death wascaused by a sad twist of faith and her own stubbornness, the later likely a trait acquired from her father.

On the other hand, how many more died? How many Skovs? He didn't really want to know, but he kept track nonetheless. Recording the names reported in the broadsheets of those innocents killed by the ghost until it was finally put down by the wardens. Should he have tried to stop the rampaging creature? He'd have likely died. And if he did, then what would happen to Naty? She'd become yet another creature like the one that took Hutton. A constantly starving, feral, killer. More would die. And so another rationale for his surviving is born. A rationale that sends him back into the labs and archives to find something to save his sister before it was too late.

Surprisingly, Casia balks once they return to the hideout, hesitating at the thick wooden door that's partially concealed by a fallen shed.

"Hey, uh ... Jonah?" she asks, her face pale. "Could you watch after Fin for ... uh ... a day or so? There's ... there's something I need to do."

What she's ashamed to say is that she's afraid that she'll see judgement in her twin's eyes. She's now a killer. An assassin. She took coin to take someone's life. How far she's fallen in just a year weighs on her and the idea of what she might be a year from now is more than she can bear.

Without waiting for a response, she turns and vanishes into the dark alleyway.

----

When she shows up an hour later at Cinna's doorway, drunk enough to barely stand, the woman doesn't question it and brings her inside. Disposing of Casia's blood-covered clothes without question, she prepares a bath for the girl who can't decide whether she wants to break down in tears or drag the courtesan to bed. Eventually the tears win out and Cinna joins her in the bath to hold her in her arms as she sobs.

Once the water has cooled to a point of intolerance, Cinna dries off Casia's shivering form and sequesters her in the woman's bed, covered with thick blankets. To the sounds of Casia's brokens snores, Cinna garbs herself against the cold night and heads out into the darkness.

----

Finding no one at the twins' flat, Cinna considers her options before making a decision. Casia has shown her where the gang's hideout is, but she's never been bold enough to visit on her own. This seems like a good enough excuse, though.

Slipping past the heavy wooden door, she makes her way down the crumbling stone hallway to the inner door and knocks firmly.

"A friend of Casia's," she answers when a voice within questions.

When the door opens to reveal Jonah's suspicious gaze, she smiles.

"Hi. I shouldn't be here without Casia, but I was hoping that someone could contact Finraeth to let him know that she's with me. She's ... not in a good place right now, but she's safe."

At the sound of Cinna's voice in their hideout, Finraeth stirs; still feverish, but aware that something must be badly wrong. Gritting his teeth, he summons his reserves of willpower and muscles himself out of his cot, staggering to the door. Sweat beads on his forehead as he hears what Cinna has to say. "Thank you - for - letting me know. Please - take care of her - pay you extra - anything - just..."

He gives a hiss of pain and puts his hand to his side. As he does so, Jonah can see that the veins in his arm are shot through with red streaks.

Sepsis. Late-stage, and fast-acting.

He gives Cinna and the whisper a weak smile. "Don't - feel so good myself - actually." It's a slow collapse to the floor.

Almost out of electroplasm but I should be able to afford a batch from Stazia if she gives me the usual discount. I have plenty of alcohol and Kellen won't cut me off anytime soon; not after I saved his granddaughter's life. I can substitute trance powder for black lotus if I have to, and only use standstill for the most complex operations...

Ranna carefully finishes inventorying her stock. The Grinders certainly won't be using her clinic anymore, and if her other clients don't drastically increase in number she has enough supplies to keep going for a month. Maybe two, if she buys medicine instead of food. It wouldn't be the first time.

It had taken her four months to get steady work with the Grinders. Four long, brutal months of trying to find that illusive combination of people who needed her services and people who could afford to pay her for them.

"Hutton you bastard. Why couldn't you leave well enough alone?"

There's no answer of course. The Spirit Wardens had been called in to take care of the ghost the Silver Nails had set loose on the Grinder's headquarters. They'd taken care of Hutton in the process. His body had been dissolved in electroplasm and his spirit destroyed. He wouldn't be coming back.

She wouldn't miss him. She would miss the stability his patronage had provided.

With a sigh Ranna goes to flip the small sign Ivar had carved for her. Desperate people would bang on the door whether Engine Clinic was open or closed, but the sign made it obvious for the less desperate that she was home and not otherwise occupied.

Hopefully it will be a slow day. She could use the time to think through her options. Maybe the Dockers? They were allied with the Grinders, and they're always getting injured...

At the Mite Nest...

"Ahhh s%$t!" Jonah exclaims seeing Fin slowly sink to the floor and unconsciousness once again. His own leap toward his more youthful companion is really more of a slow motion stagger made to look and sound more active and energetic by a string of Skovlandic curses.

Finally reaching the young noble, the whisper immediately recognizes the red streaks running up the arms. He'd seen enough of it take root in the medical stations and hospitals during the war. And he knew enough to realize he had neither the skill or the formulae to deal with it.

With Casia...elsewhere and the Iruvian disappeared to where ever Iruvian disappear to, Jonah pins Cinna with a hard gaze. "Looks like it's up to you and me lass." He says stifling a grimace from his own battered body. Will it ever stop feeling like I'm being gutted by a fish knife with ever step?! His mind exclaims. And while he'd much rather be lying in bed sleeping off recent events, he couldn't just let Fin die.

"There's a clinic, not too far away. I saw it during a recent...errr...walk along the docks." He didn't know what Cas might have told her friend. If she didn't know about the Duskmites involvement in recent events, he wasn't going to be the one to inform her. "Only leech to set up a practice in these parts as far as I know. What was it called? Errant...Erstwhile...Engine Clinic. That was it." He waves to Cinna to take one of Fin's arms and then grabs the other. A sense of pride as only a tiny scream slips past pale, pursed lips. "Setting up down there, whoever's running the place must either be desperate, hiding from someone, or the worst damned healer in the city. For Fin's sake I her they are just desperate."

He takes a deep breath. Immediately regrets doing that. Then nods to Cinna. The stoic look on her face and expert move to prop Fin up on her shoulder gave Jonah the sense that this wasn't exactly her first time hurrying someone to a cutter's office.

The Engine Clinic...

"Are you gonna be okay?" Cinna whispers to the whisper who's face was pale as the ghosts Jonah usually dealt with. He can't really spare the breath to answer so instead just grunts and tries to prop Fin's unconscious weight a bit higher on his shoulder.

It had been quite a journey. They'd received a few looks, but a stern glance from Jonah or a quick, knowing smirk from Cinna usually turned any truly curious folks aside.

Finally the little rundown building appeared out of the mist and damp. Trying not to openly shout with relief and joy, Jonah staggers forward and starts banging on the door.

BANG BANG BANG

Ranna shoves her concerns to the back of her mind as she rushes to the door. Flinging it open she sees two people supporting a third between them. "Bring him inside!" She holds open the door and directs them to her "office," which doubles as the kitchen. There's a surprisingly large table in the middle of the room, long enough for even a tall man to lay down comfortably. (More of Ivar's work.)

As the two mobile people are settling the barely-conscious man onto the table she asks, "Do you know what's wrong with him?" It's always best to ask. It can save a lot of time.

"Sepsis. He was stabbed a few days ago by a blade coated with jester's cap." Ranna freezes. She knows that voice. For the first time she takes a close look at the non-injured man. Salt and pepper hair, thin angular face...for a second all she can think is He's a lot paler than I remember.

"Jonah?" She has a lot of questions but now is not the time to ask. She can see red streaks running along the injured man's veins and feel the heat radiating off him. Jonah's correct in his diagnosis, which means every second counts. The surprise fades from her face as she slips back into doctor mode.

"Jonah, get his clothes off. There's water in the bucket and rags in the second cabinet; wet some and put them around his neck, armpits, and groin." Ranna points at the blonde woman. "There's a water pump two doors down. Take the empty bucket by the door and fill it; we'll need more." Without another word she heads for her basement. She doesn't have the room (or supplies) to grow all of her own ingredients, but there are a few she couldn't get any other way. Carefully she gathers a tiny amount of a particular fungus into a mortar.

"One part threin, one part electroplasm, ten parts alcohol..." Sepsis was (unfortunately) common enough during the war that even two years later she could treat it in her sleep. She mutters the recipe aloud anyway as she works. It helps her focus on what she's doing rather than the odds.

Once the solution is prepared she heads back upstairs with a syringe. The blonde woman is back and Jonah's currently slipping a wet rag under the injured man's neck. From the small pile on the table it's not the first time he's changed the rags. Good. He remembered. "Under better circumstances I'd drug him before doing this. As things are I need you both to hold him down."

She barely needs a tourniquet with how pronounced the veins are but uses one anyway. The second she starts injecting the liquid the man thrashes and screams. "Sorry ljúfur, I'm sorry, just a little more." As soon as she's done she checks his fever, (still way too high), pulse, (too fast but not as weak as it could be), and breathing, (unsurprisingly ragged). "Good job, ljúfur, you're going to be just fine." She replaces all the wet rags one more time then gestures for Jonah and the woman to follow her into the next room.

"I refined the concoction we used to use. I'd say he has about a seventy-five percent chance of surviving the night." Her tone is matter-of-fact but her eyes soften as she looks at Jonah. During the war the odds for anyone presenting with advanced sepsis were closer to fifty/fifty, and that was if they had a Leech nearby who knew what they were doing. "If he has any other next of kin I'd fetch them, but he's got a decent chance. I just need to keep his fever down."

She takes a deep breath and shakes her head. "Jester's cap. Never thought I'd have to deal with that poison ever again. Jonah, just what have you gotten yourself into?" She doesn't wait for an answer before heading back into the office, leaving the door open in case Jonah or the blonde woman wants to follow her.

@Jonah: I wrote this up assuming Jonah would go along with Ranna's instructions, but if you want/need to retcon something we can. Also you'd know that "ljúfur" is a term of endearment roughly equivalent to "honey."

"If he has any other next of kin I'd fetch them, but he's got a decent chance. I just need to keep his fever down."

Cinna frowns and then nods. Moving closer, she leans down and presses her lips to Finraeth's burning forehead. "Now you can't go anywhere until Casia's here. You hear me, Handsome?"

She looks up at the others and nods again. "I'll bring her." Pulling her hood up over her head, she slips back out into the darkness.

----

Less than an hour later there's a soft knock at the door. As it's being opened, Casia shoves her way into the room, stumbling on the edge of a cloak that's too large for her.

"Where is he?! Where's Fin?!" she demands in a slurred voice. Garbed in a dress that's too large as well, clearly donned in haste, she tugs one of the sleeves back up over her shoulder.

Finding her brother, pale and sweaty on the table, she fumbles to his side, letting her cloak drop to the floor. "Oh, gods, Fin," she sobs, reaching out to touch the side of his face. Her eyes snap up to see Ranna. "You! You're a doctor, right? Do something!"

Cinna reaches out and puts her hands on Casia's shoulder.

"She's done what she can, Luv," she says softly. "And she says that he's got a pretty good chance. All we can do now is wait."

"But we have to do something!" Casia argues, tears streaming down her cheeks. "He's all I have."

"I know," Cinna soothes. "I know."

Pulling the teetering girl into her arms to hold her steady, she whispers quiet words into Casia's ear.

Jonah let's himself be dragged indoors by the proprietor of the little run down clinic. Blurry eyed from pain and exhaustion, he answers the woman's questions with all the emotional hoopla of a brick. It isn't until he hears his name slip from her lips that he really looks at the medic treating Fin's wounds.

Recognition slips through his mental grasp until she begins rattling off orders like precise, efficient sniper fire. Then, watching her work, the Skov endearment, the muttered repetitions of formulae. It slowly comes to him. Just like Whispers and nearly anyone else involved in the arcane or alchemical arts, each practitioner has their own unique manner, style, and way of conducting their craft. The difference between Min's elegant and ancient weaves versus Jonah's much more hard-nosed force-of-will methods. It was a better identifier than looks or signature, for such a thing is much harder to disguise or hide.

He didn't say anything while the woman, Ranna, worked on Fin. Recollections of harsh rebukes and dire threats if he interrupted her while she was working flooded back from memories he'd often tried to forget.

"Jonah, just what have you gotten yourself into?"

The words snap him out of his reverie and he offers a tired, thin smile. "Just business as normal in Doskvol, Ranna" He says, his eyes looking up to meet hers. She'd aged a bit. Of course they all had. The war aged everyone well beyond their years. But she still had that demeanor of concern for others and compassion for those in need that made her more attractive than any Imperial concubine.

"I didn't expect to find you in these parts. How...errr...how have you been?" The question is barely out of his mouth before Casia comes staggering in stinking of booze and worry.

"'Business as normal.'" Ranna huffs something that might be a laugh. "I suppose you're not wrong. Seems like the gangs have decided to fight the Unity War all over again, why shouldn't the poisons make a return too?" She sits down next to Fin and begins methodically checking his vitals. So far so good. The fever is going down and his pulse is getting stronger. He'll need another dose of threin in a few hours, but she's tentatively hopeful.

"I've been surviving, I suppose. Same as everyone else." She might be about to say something more when Casia bursts into the room and she sighs instead. Dealing with hysterical family members had always been her least favorite part of the job. "He's doing well. He's strong and was clearly in excellent health before all this happened." She refuses to outright lie to family, but given the state Casia is in now is not the time to go into detail about just how dangerous sepsis could be.

She drags over another chair next to the table for Casia. "If you don't mind, you could help a lot by switching out the wet rags whenever they get too dry or warm. That will leave me free to monitor him and make another batch of medicine when he needs it." Giving her something to do might help calm her down, and it's a simple enough task.

For the moment Ranna herself doesn't need to do much of anything, so she busies herself making a pot of tea. (After a quick sniff, she adds several herbs known to help ease hangovers into the mix.) "Have a cup, everyone. It's going to be a long night."

Jonah does his best to simply stay out the way while Ranna handles Fin's bereft and intoxicated sister. Excusing himself into a quiet corner of the clinic, the battered whisper gingerly eases himself into another chair and slowly sips at the offered tea. Although he tries his best to cover up his own discomfort, there's little chance of hiding his red and blistered cheeks. There's really only one explanation for such a burn and it wasn't from getting too much sun. Then there is the constant, involuntary wincing and shallow breathing caused by his still sore ribs.

Seeing Ranna's arched, questioning eyebrow, Jonah replies with a shy smile. "I guess Fin isn't the only one who's got himself into a bit of trouble recently." He says with a quick shrug of his shoulders that he immediately regrets.

Her mention of the Unity War helps bring back a few of those memories. He couldn't count the number of time he'd shown up in the deep dark of Ash or Coal scratching at her door like a wayward mongrel. Bloody and broken and with some comrade or two in even worse shape. There was always an argument, always the risk of getting caught, and always a helping, steady hand.

"I guess nothing ever really changes does it?" He adds carefully sipping a bit more of the tea.

Casia pushes the tea away, but Cinna accepts the cup for her with a thankful nod.

Once the girl finishes fumbling her way through changing the damp cloths keeping her twin's body from cooking his brain, Cinna presses the cup into her hand. "You need to drink this, Luv," she insists. Casia accepts the still-warm tea, taking a sip and frowning at the bitterness. But at the blonde's raised eyebrow, she dutifully drinks it down.

As the hours pass, Casia continues her labors and her movements become more sure and steady as the effects of the alcohol slowly fade leaving her terse and short of speech. Once it's clear that the girl has better control of her faculties, Cinna takes her leave.

"Thanks for looking after him," she says to Ranna, giving the woman a quick hug. "He's a good man even if he gets into some shady shit at times."

She whispers some words into Casia's ear and the dark-haired girl simply nods, her red, tired eyes continuing to watch Finraeth's chest rise and fall. A last nod towards Jonah and the woman vanishes out into the darkness.

Ranna had been focused first on Fin, then on Casia, and only noticed Jonah's discomfort once she had a few minutes of peace. Stupid. A score goes wrong, it goes wrong. Of course the kid's not the only one who got hurt.

She studies Jonah's breathing for a moment, eyes narrowed. "Broken ribs again? I warned you after Rúndiamhra that you'd need to be careful of those. Bones you've broken before are always a little weaker than the rest. I'm also going to guess you didn't have anyone around who could wrap them properly." At Jonah's nod, she starts rooting through her cabinets for bandages. "Shirt off, arms out, you know the drill."

By the grace of whatever dead god looked after children and Whispers, all of Jonah's ribs are still in place. It makes the wrapping process much simpler, (although still painful). "There. You'll need to make certain you remove those every couple days so you can take some deep breaths; the last thing you need is pneumonia. I can always rewrap them for you." With the ribs taken care of, she eyes the burns. "First degree electroplasmic. Could be a lot worse, but I've got some cream that will ease the discomfort."

Yet another cabinet has her supply of premade medicines; the ones she can make in bulk because they're used frequently. She offers a small jar of a foul-smelling cream first to Jonah, then to Casia. "Don't worry about the smell; it goes away after a few minutes. Any other injuries I should be aware of while you're here?"

Finraeth dreams fever dreams

Beyond the pain of what the tall, rake-thin blonde woman is doing to him in her efforts to save his life, Finraeth is barely conscious of much that is going on in the waking world. Behind his eyes, another world flickers, much more real and filled with conversations; both with the living and the dead.

A long and light-heartedly frivolous discussion with Dareia on the topic of sweets and their correct placement at the dinner table: caramel, it is swiftly agreed, is a dessert and thus its disposition among the dessert spoons is clearly straightforward (so much so, that he wonders why she consulted him on the matter in the first place); licorice, however, proves to be altogether more troublesome to place correctly. Is it something to be served between courses, as a palate cleanser, and thus omitted from the table setting altogether? Or is it more of an appetiser, belonging on a side plate? This proves to be a far weightier matter and is still unresolved when Dary has to leave unexpectedly, pleading a prior engagement. It is only after her departure has sunk in that Finraeth, experiencing what the Tycherosi refer to as l'esprit de l'escalier, suddenly remembers what he wanted to say to her.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry I let you down, that I wasn't paying attention, I didn't see it coming, I couldn't protect you... should've been more careful..." He's the cutter: taking the hits so others don't is his gods-damned job. Tears spill out his eyes, remorse, regret and anger and hitherto-unexpressed grief.

A conversation - extremely one-sided - with his late, unlamented father in which Finraeth expounds at considerable length on the rage he expressed in their last encounter within the ghost field. No mumbled words escape his lips for this round, but the clenching of his muscles and grinding of his teeth might be enough to (only briefly) make Ranna wonder if her diagnosis has missed the mark and whether this could be tetanus rather than sepsis.

The living and the dead continue to pass before his eyes, some meriting conversation, some a laugh and a nod, some a cold sneer; but eventually it becomes clear that the fever is going to break and the worst is over.

"Gah! That is a surprisingly....er...potent cream." Jonah says, barely stifling a painful coughing fit. Even the whisper, who's alchemical and aethereal experiments can often run on the more pungent and foul smelling end of the spectrum wasn't ready for the aroma belting him in the face like Wine-hour bouncer. Still what must be done, must be done. With watering eyes and trying to breathe as little as possible, Jonah follows Ranna's orders and begins to apply the cream. His gingerly application of a meager amount of the stuff elicits a stern frown and a quick, much more generous application applied by the Leech.

Handing the cream to Casia, Jonah eases his battered body back into a chair and does his best to ignore the odor. And the tingling. And the warm feeling that slowly turns into a more, much more, robust burning sensation.

"Uh...is it supposed to burn like this?" He asks sucking in a breath while considering the potential downsides to draping a weave from the icy cold embrace of the ghost field over his over heated chest.

"Uh...is it supposed to burn like this?" He asks sucking in a breath while considering the potential downsides to draping a weave from the icy cold embrace of the ghost field over his over heated chest.

"No?" Ranna looks questioningly at Jonah then swears. "Of course you'd be the one person in a thousand allergic to cutleaf..." She grabs one of the damp rags and starts wiping the cream off. "I'm sorry, I should have warned you about the possibility of an allergic reaction." She finishes wiping off the cream and grips Jonah's chin to tilt his head towards the light. After studying him for a minute she nods. "No harm done, but I am sorry. I'll mix up something else that doesn't use cutleaf. It won't be quite as potent but should get the job done. I think I still have some neilyce left...?"

She starts to head towards the basement then pauses, noting that Casia isn't moving to apply the cream herself. "I promise that's an extremely rare reaction. Put a little on the back of your hand and wait a minute if you're nervous." When Casia still doesn't move she sighs. "Martyring yourself won't help your brother. Quite the opposite in fact. He'll need your help over the next few days, and you'll need to be in good enough condition to offer it. So put on the damn cream, and if you have any other injuries tell me."

-------------------------
Next Morning
-------------------------

"He's going to be fine." Fin's fever has broken, his pulse is strong, and the sepsis has retreated. Ranna smiles as she sponges his forehead once last time. "He can stay here for another day or so until he recovers enough to walk on his own; I've got a second bed specifically for this situation. Or you can carry him back home if you prefer." Her eyebrow arches as she looks at Jonah. "Although I wouldn't recommend you do the carrying, wrapped ribs or no."

Her smile fades. "Unfortunately there's still one thing left to discuss. I didn't talk about this last night because I don't turn away people in need, but I can't keep this clinic running on good feelings alone. Some people take advantage, but most pay what they can, either in coin or favors." She shifts uncomfortably.

"There's a particular favor I'd like to ask, if Jonah's still as good at infiltration as he used to be. I need supplies. Medicines are too expensive for me to afford on my own. My usual patron...well let's just say he isn't around anymore. But I happen to know of a place that has a lot more than they need. Enough to keep Engine Clinic going for months, with some left over so you wouldn't be walking away empty-handed. Does that sound like the sort of thing your crew could handle?"

"Martyring yourself won't help your brother. Quite the opposite in fact. He'll need your help over the next few days, and you'll need to be in good enough condition to offer it. So put on the damn cream, and if you have any other injuries tell me."

Casia glares at the woman for a moment, but then looks back at her brother and Ranna can see the defenses crumble as tears collect in her eyes to be roughly brushed away. She nods. Pushing up the sleeve of the loose dress, she rubs a dollop of the cream along her left arm that shows the redness of a burn that's not healing well.

Once that's applied, Casia gives Jonah a nervous glance before turning to face away from him and towards the older woman. "It hurts ... inside ... here." She indicates an area of her abdomen just above her hip on her left side. "But it's not ... you know. I fell and ..." She shrugs.

-----

The next morning ...

The fact that Casia's twin is no longer in danger of imminent death has improved Casia mood. No doubt sobriety helps as well.

"What's the place?" Casia asks. There's no hesitation in her question and no doubt that she and Jonah will assist in whatever way they can. This woman just saved Finraeth's life and there's not much that Casia wouldn't do to repay that debt.

Although still a bit red and itching from his earlier reaction, Jonah wakes the next day feeling the various pains and wounds starting to ease with the alternative ointment provided by Ranna. When the healer mentions the need to cover her costs of upkeep and treatment, the Whisper immediately drops a handful of slugs into the healer's hand.

"Hopefully this will help cover some of what we used up last night." He says clearly wishing he had more to offer. "Your aide is much appreciated and certainly if there's some way we can repay your kindness, both past and present, and keep you in business I think we are happy to help." He shifts in his seat, still wincing as he discovers the limits of his still healing ribs before scratching at the remnant of the allergic rash on his arms.

-----------------------
Previous Night
-----------------------

Ranna nods as Casia describes her injuries. "May I?" she asks before gently palpating the area, eyes closed as she feels. "Have you noticed any blood in your urine since falling? I suspect you bruised a kidney." Her tone is noticeably more gentle now that Casia is accepting help.

Her eyes reopen as she finishes the examination. "Rest is the best treatment for an injury like that. I do know of a tonic that will help ease the pain though. You should only need it for a few days before the bruising fades enough to no longer cause noticeable discomfort."

-----------------------
Morning
-----------------------

Ranna relaxes when both Jonah and Casia seem willing to hear more about the job. "Thank you." She looks down at the slugs Jonah passes her. "That honestly covers most of it; more than I was expecting. But if you're still willing to consider helping with supplies..." She waits a moment to hear any objections, then smiles slowly.

"I won't lie, it's not going to be the easiest score. I'm assuming you've heard of the Silver Nails. They're always running excursions into the Lost District where they run into all sorts of nasty things. Which means they keep their Leeches very well-stocked. In particular, I've heard a Leech named Kohana has been bragging about needing a second hideout just for medicinal supplies. That's probably an exaggeration, but it sure sounds like he has a lot just laying around. I've also heard that the Silver Nails are distracted right now by wiping out what remains of the Grinders." She tries to keep her tone matter-of-fact despite a sudden surge of rage. Hutton you bastard!

She takes a second to collect herself before continuing. "If we can find out where Kohana is keeping these extra supplies of his, I think the people of Charhollow could use them a lot more than the Silver Nails. Any thoughts?" She huffs a slight laugh. "By the way 'Ranna you're crazy and we're out of here' is a perfectly reasonable thought that I would not blame you in the slightest for having."

In the interest of smoothing out the timeline I'm going to say that "previous night" was 7 April and Morning is 8 April

10 APRIL, 847 IE

Ranna

*Thump thump thump*

This is not the urgent banging at your door of someone desperately in need of help. It's the slow, deliberate knock of someone who knows you're there and is going to keep knocking until you answer. The hour is late, although in the near-perpetual darkness of this world it doesn't really make much difference. It just means there's slightly less in the way of passersby outside.

When you open the door, it's the smell that hits you first: the reek of embalming fluid, as a mask for other more... let's say, more pungent odours and leave it at that. A shaven head gleams with perspiration even in the chill April air, and the light from your doorway illuminates a grin filled with golden teeth. "Hey there, doc. Don't say you're surprised to see me, eh?" It's Eckerd, the corpse-thief who avoided the Spirit Wardens some time ago (to be fair to them, the living are the least of their concerns. They probably passed the matter onto the Bluecoats, who were willing to look the other way for a suitable fee.) In the shadows behind him, two or three figures lurk close by; Eckerd smiles, his golden teeth gleaming. "Don't do nothing stupid, see?"

He pushes past you into the front room of your house/clinic, bringing that smell with him. He looks around appreciatively. "Very nice, this. Be a shame if something was to happen to it." He gives you a glare. "We both know them Grinders ain't around to protect you no more, and the Nails ain't got no love for you Skovs." He spits that last word. "Bet they'd be interested to know who's been patching up their enemies, or failing that maybe your little friend Stazia who's been supplying you? Yeah, I know about that. So, I could go and talk to them, I'm sure they'd give me something for the information - plus the satisfaction to me of payback, of course."

He tilts his head to one side. "I come here first, though. Maybe you can make me a better offer."

Previously ...

Her eyes reopen as she finishes the examination. "Rest is the best treatment for an injury like that. I do know of a tonic that will help ease the pain though. You should only need it for a few days before the bruising fades enough to no longer cause noticeable discomfort."

Casia nods. "Thank you," she says, her voice brimming with emotion. "For everything."

She takes a second to collect herself before continuing. "If we can find out where Kohana is keeping these extra supplies of his, I think the people of Charhollow could use them a lot more than the Silver Nails. Any thoughts?" She huffs a slight laugh. "By the way 'Ranna you're crazy and we're out of here' is a perfectly reasonable thought that I would not blame you in the slightest for having."

"That actually sounds like the perfect job for us and we can pay you back in the process," Casia replies with a nod. "And I think I know who to ask to find out where he's stashing them."

-----

10 APRIL, 847 IE

Casia casually peruses the wares of the brasssmith's cart. She isn't really paying attention to the mismatched pots and pan, but rather the old woman across the lane. Various scarves of colorful patterns hang from the crossbeam over her simple stall, advertising to anyone walking by what goods are for sale.

Salia's real trade, however, is information. She knows people and she knows what they were doing. If anyone would know where Kohana's stash was, she would. When the gray-haired old man finishes chatting with Salia, plucks a scarf from one of the baskets, tosses the old woman a tiny coin, and then walks away, Casia moves in.

"Morning, Gran," Casia offers by way of greetings as she pretends to examine a blue and grey piece of fluff.

"Morning, Spit," the woman replies in a voice like rusty nails. She takes a deep draw on the long stemmed pipe in her hand.

"Looking for something specific today. Maybe you could help?" Casia asks as she picks up a different scarf. "Leech by the name of Kohana. Need to know where he keeps his goods."

"Kohana's a competent leech, if not a little handsy with those he takes a fancy to," Salia replies, her eyes roaming the passing crowd. "Where he keeps his bits and bandages, though, is a secret."

"Aw, Gran, you know all the secrets," Casia argues, throwing a grin towards the old woman.

A croaking sound that stands in for the woman's laughter echoes across the lane. "You can't flatter an old woman like me, little one," she says. "I know lots, but I don't know all."

The conversation pauses as a woman stops, gushing over a small piece of cloth in a vivid green. Once the transaction is completed, Salia leans back in her chair and comtemplates her pipe for a moment.

"I may know someone that has the particular color of scarf you're looking for though. I could arrange a meeting if you'd like."

Casia picks up a scarf of a light pink color and hands the old woman a small coin. "I would appreciate that."

10 APRIL, 847 IE

"Eckerd. I'd heard you were skulking about this area." Ranna forces herself to act casual. Men like Eckerd thrived on the fear they inspired. If he knew how terrified she was it would encourage him to escalate further. "I think you overestimate just how much the Silver Nails would care about one Leech. Sure, I patched up some Grinders. I've also patched up a few Bluecoats, some Crows, and a bunch of Dockers. When a new gang takes over this area I'll patch up their people too. That's business."

She leans back against the counter, arms folded in front of her. It helps hide how much her hands are sweating. "Even if I believed the Silver Nails would care I've got no incentive to pay you off, because you've got no incentive to not take my slugs and then go straight to the Silver Nails anyway. So what exactly do you want from me, and what reason do I have to believe you'll leave me alone if I give it to you?"

10 APRIL

Ranna

Eckerd runs one hand over his bald scalp. "Huh? I don't want money from you, like as not you've got nothing anyway. You got something more valuable, something I can't get from the Nails - heh, not in one piece anyway. B-o-d-i-e-s." He spells it out for you, literally. "You agree to the deal I proposed a while back, and you're useful to me. If you're useful to me, I got no reason to go to the Nails. You're a Skov, remember. That lot don't need a reason to come after you. They just need an excuse."

10 APRIL - LATE AFTERNOON

“Another one of hers, my usual and two Passage.”

The voice makes Casia jump, given that its directly behind her. She spins, hand dropping to her knife, only to see a young woman who seems to be even skinnier than her. That isn’t the most important thing though – the other girl is also wearing one of Salia’s scarves, the yellow a bright spot of colour at the neck of an otherwise utterly drab outfit.

“Spit. Gran said I should meet you here.” The other woman takes the stool next to Casia after a moment’s consideration – apparently weighing up whether the rickety contraption was worth the effort.

“I’m Shadow. And you want to know where you can find bandages and other things that a leech might want.”

Casia looks the woman up and down with narrowed eyes as she drains the last of her mug.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people," she says, ignoring the woman's words. "They might question your upbringing."

As the fresh drinks are placed on the bar, she reaches out and takes a long draw of hers, still looking at her contact.

"Not just any leech," she says finally. "We're looking for Kohana's stash. Do you know where it is or not?"

"Straight to the insults already?" Shadow replies. "We're either going to be friends or very bad enemies."

She sips her drink, something light which comes in a tall mug. "I do know where it is. What are you offering for this information?"

The woman's attractive, Casia will admit to that and in other circumstances she might consider ... But that's irrelevant. Keep it professional. "I can offer coin for the information. How much will it cost?"

"I want in." Spider replies, cocking her head as though she can read the thoughts running through Casia's mind. "I have people of my own to take care of. A one-time pay off is all well and good but regular coin is better." She pauses. "I have plenty of knowledge and skills which will be useful, as well as my friendship with Gran. I'll be an asset to the Dust Mites... and I could be for you too."

"Dust Mites?" Casia's eyes narrow again and a hand drifts towards her waist. "Where did you hear that name?"

"The same place I hear most things." Shadow counters. "Around. Look, if my being here isn't enough proof that I'm on your-"

There's a hammering on the door and someone yells "It's the Blues! Run!"

Casia's eyes snap to the door and then back to Shadow. "You b!%*@! You set me up!" A blade appears in her hand and she seems quite ready to go down fighting.

"Because that would be a wonderful audition." Shadow replies, not bothering to restrain the snark in her voice. "I knew this would happen. Come on."

She ducks under the bar and heads for the back room where, if Casia follows, she finds the barkeeper standing next to a concealed door in the wall. Shadow exchanges nods with the bartender and slips into the passageway beyond. The barkeep frowns at Casia.

"She's paid your fee, so you goin' or not?"

Torn between distrust and the obvious threat of apprehension, Casia slams her knife back into its sheath and ducks through the low opening, following after Shadow.

The passage emerges about a street away and Shadow turns to the Lurk and spreads her hands. "So, we met. You escaped the raid and a certain informant for the Reavers has been caught trying to sell a batch of stolen property - causing difficulty to the Reavers and awkwardness for my brother-in-law. Seems like a good day's work to me. Look, if you still want to knife me you can - I'm not a fighter, I couldn't stop you. But this is what I do - I see things, I make plans and I get the people I care about out of the way. Sometimes they even get a bonus."

She produces a small bottle from behind her back and offers it to Casia. "Brandy - the good stuff. Took it off the shelf on our way out. Yours. My treat."

She stands there, bottle half-way between the two women and a slight smirk on her lips.

"So? Am I in?"

Recognizing the bottle, Casia's surprise is quickly concealed behind a mask of indifference. She reaches out and accepts the bottle.

"If you're in," she says, pulling the cork from the bottle. "Then you do the same work as everyone else." She carefully sniffs at the bottle before taking a test sip. "But as a one-time contractor, you get a half-share of the spoils."

"Which will go very nicely with my finders fee for the information in the first place." Shadow replies coolly. "Normally I'd insist on twenty percent of the take, but allowing for the half-share on the job why don't we just even it out and admit I get a full share, same as the rest of you? I'm very good at acquiring brandy." She adds.

There's an awkward pause before Shadow speaks again.

"Or you can insist on being a b*&+# about it and I'll leave now." She makes no threat but everyone in Doskvol knows there's always an angle to be found. "Besides, Gran's expecting me for dinner soon. Hate to think what would happen if I didn't make it."

Casia considers the offer for a moment and enhances the consideration with another drink of the brandy.

"Fine. A full share."

She holds out her hand.

Shadow takes the offered hand in a brief grip - her fingers are rough from hard work but not strong. "Wonderful. Now I don't know where your lair is, so you can choose the time and place for me to meet the crew. I'll dig up everything I can before then and present you all with a plan." She grins, not a smirk but a genuine smile of pleasure that makes her momentarily pretty. "I do like plans."

-----------
10 APRIL
-----------

Ranna thinks it over, keeping her face impassive. If Eckerd had come by a few days earlier she'd tell him to f+*+ off and risk the consequences. The Silver Nails probably do have bigger fish to fry than her, and they're even less likely to care about Stazia.

But if her name gets brought to the Silver Nails right before there's a score targeting one of their Leeches, a score that they'll be able to deduce had a doctor involved just from what gets taken...

Ranna's traded away pieces of her conscience for survival before. What's one more time?

"Fine." She doesn't even try to keep the defeat out of her voice. "You've got to have some way of keeping the Spirit Wardens away, otherwise they'd have stopped you long ago. Let me in on it and you can have your damn bodies."

After Eckerd leaves she flips the sign to "Closed" and heads for her basement. She keeps the alcohol Kellen's given her down there so it stays cool. It's supposed to be for medicinal use only; on the rare occasions she drinks it's in public and with friends.

She uncorks a bottle, sits on the floor, and takes a swig. It tastes terrible and burns going down her throat. She keeps drinking anyway.

Half the bottle is gone before she finally lets herself cry.

10 APRIL

Ranna

Eckerd nods, gold teeth gleaming as he gives an approving smile. "That's the smart move I was hoping you'd make. See? Ten minutes ago, you was all alone, no friends, your old gang support gone, nobody to help you - and now, we're working together. I'll look out for you."

As you mention wanting 'in' on something you have guessed at but don't fully realise, he sucks his teeth in the manner of a tradesman trying to tell his client that what they want can be done but it's gonna cost. "That's... not my call to make, sweetheart. But, fair do's, it's an understandable ask." He runs one hand over his shaved scalp again. "Tell you what. I'll take it under advisement, yeah? Someone of your talents... Yeah. Like I said, not my call. But I'll put in a word for you, OK? Best I can do."

That seems to close the matter, for him at least. He returns to the business at hand. "Anyway, once you got a body for me, put a black ribbon up in your window, OK? Until then, sweetheart."

Then he's gone, leaving you to drown your sorrows in medicinal alcohol.

10 APRIL

Rest was what the doctor ordered. Rest is what Jonah did. For the first time in what seemed like months, Jonah actually started to feel reasonably well again. His ribs still bothered him, but with the help of Ranna's other ointment, his burns had disappeared and all the other minor aches, pains, cuts, and bruises had faded into memory and obscurity just like Hutton and the Grinders were starting to do.

For the first few days resting had mostly meant sleeping, but as time passed and his body recovered, Jonah plunged himself once again into the task of helping his sister. Before everything went completely sideways with Hutton, he'd managed a lead on a group calling themselves the Reconciled. Were they mystics, ghosts themselves, whispers like himself? He really had no idea, but it was a solid line of inquiry. Mostly confined to his bed and some light exercise, he read, organized all of his random, sloppy notes, and did his best to keep Naty occupied.

The temperature in the rail car drops several degrees forcing a shiver along Jonah's spine but a rare smile crosses his face. "Hello Naty." He says as the aethereal form of his sister slowly resolves itself in the center of their leaky hideaway. The rumble of a heavy freight train leaving the loading yards echoes in the background.

"Hiya Jo." Naty's replies a bevy of rainbow colored butterflies flitter about her ghostly form. Dipping and diving in an utterly random manner. Jonah watches the creatures with puzzled curiosity.

"Where'd you come up with something like that." He says tilting his head toward the flying insects.

"Oh. These are..." Her face scrunches into a frown while her hand comes up to rub the back of her ear. The gesture was something she'd done since she was a young girl whenever she was concentrating or trying to remember something. Seeing the simple, mortal, move brought a bit of warmth to Jonah's heart. His sister was still here. He'd not lost her entirely to the ghostly realm. At least not yet.

"...Butterflies!" She exclaims, her eldritch eyes alight. "Apparently they used to be really common before the sun broke. I was reading about them in the library earlier. Or well, some student was reading about them and I was looking over his shoulder."

Jonah's smile quickly disappears. "Naty..." She waves his concern away.

"Don't worry, I was careful. Nobody saw me and it's always cooler in there because of all the scrolls and books and stuff. So nobody was wise to my being there." She says casually trying to ignore the look of worry building in her brothers thin features. "And I kind of like the peace and quiet. It helps keep me calm when...when...I well you know."

Jonah sighs. The trouble with the Grinders had been hard on Naty. She'd felt responsible since it was to keep Qwuellyn away from her that they'd taken the job that led to Hutton's daughters death. Then Dary's. Then the war. Then the involvement with the Silver Nails. Naty hated the Nails for obvious reasons. But she was also deathly afraid of them, again for the obvious reasons. It'd taken Jonah hours, days, to calm his sisters spirit. And while he didn't think ghosts could dream, they could apparently get lost within their own memories or past. They'd found that out the first time Naty saw Jonah in his Nails disguise. She'd practically brought the entire rail car down around them before he could convince her who he was.

Since then he'd taken to letting her 'ride along' more often during his research trips to the library. The time together seemed to help her and in some odd way it even eased his own tattered nerves. He'd not realized she'd started going on her own. But if it helped her. A sigh as he nods his head. "Just...just be really careful okay."

His lack of opposition causes the butterflies to dance and swirl and twirl in even greater excitement as Naty's own form spins in delight. "Thanks Jo. You're the best." She suddenly stops her twirl and pulls at her lower lip. "That reminds me, I saw someone else looking at those same musty old tomes you were so interested in." Her thin hands rise and wave down Jonah's renewed concern. "Don't worry, I didn't try to get close or sneak a peek. But I thought you should know. He smelled...weird...and just having him in the library kind of made me uncomfortable."

Jonah's concern turns to a puzzled frown. Who could it be? Was it just coincidence or was someone tracking his own research? Either way, best to be more careful when he'd time to really look into the Reconciled."

"Yes, steer clear of that one. Could be he's another Qwuellen or someone much worse." He says.

"I know Jo. And I did. But he's not here now, so how about you deal the cards. I promise I won't look at yours this time."

Jonah chuckles, his sister had become a notorious cheat. A simple boon of her condition. Still he grabbed the cards and soon enough the sound of shuffling and dealing echoed within the railcar. It was a good distraction. Problems and concerns and mysterious library patrons. It could all wait. For now, they were able to rest and relax with a small semblance of peace. A happy moment. Something they'd had too few of thanks to the Unity War and its aftermath. Jonah wasn't about to give it up.

13 APRIL

Luce

There's an old joke that you're reminded of right now: I went to a vicious brawl where people were actively trying to maim each other, and it turned into a Severosi street-party. It's a bit of a stereotype but in general the Severosi reputation for hard living, hard fighting and hard drinking is well-earned. The Silver Nails are no different.

The noise, in this part of the district, is overwhelming - the raucous shouts and cheers almost enough to drown out the deep notes of the throat-singers and huge, buckskin drums almost as wide as you are tall. (The rumour that in Olden Times the drums were stretched with human skin flayed from their victims is no more than a calumny. Ranna would be able to tell you that human skin simply isn't that durable.) The smell, of garbage-dump fires and spit-roast eels pulled out fresh from the canal, is possibly even more violent an assault on your senses than the noise. It's a tough call.

You, an Akorosi (and a well-bred one at that), would normally stand out at this sort of gathering like a severed thumb; but the ceremonial sash you wear (obtained from a helpful contact) proclaims your status as guest. You get some hard stares, sometimes hostile, sometimes over-friendly, but so far you are left in peace. There are rules about hospitality, after all.

Which raises the obvious question, of course: what is a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?

Luce hasn't been a 'nice' girl in years. Even before Light's betrayal she was never 'nice', just the one in the background, overshadowed by her dazzling sister. Now she does what she has to, to survive, to live and maybe, with a little bit of luck, to thrive.

For now that means information, using her painstakingly built connections for something new. It's actually exciting, enough to send a small shiver down her spine, although the huge figure leering at her who only has three teeth in his entire mouth might have something to do with that last part. She nods, raises the mug she's been carrying all the way down the street (part prop, part camouflage) and moves on quickly.

It's another fifty feet before she finally catches sight of the people she needs. The Silver Staff is firmly in the Nail's territory, despite being on the physical edge of their zone of influence and that makes it a safe place for a gang leech looking for some extra coin to moonlight. But of course leeching means supplies, and Kohana isn't the kind to carry his own stuff half-way across the district. So that means he has a stash nearby, well away from the heartland of Nails power. Which makes it vulnerable and an easy target for her new crew.

What remains though is the exact location, and Shadow has a plan for that. Which starts with the scantily clad men currently lounging outside the Staff, dancing with the women in the street and leading/or being led customers inside for more 'privacy'.

"Hello my Lady," A tall, muscular man in a waistcoat that shows off his well defined chest, greets her. "An honored guest at our little party - how can we make you comfortable?"

Shadows lowers her eyes and giggles a little, before sipping the weak ale in her mug and giggling again. Nothing to see here, just a young woman getting drunk and taking a walk on the 'wild side', nothing important.

"Well..." She says, keeping her voice higher than normal. "I have such a terrible ache sir, almost a hole inside me. I think you might have the right... tool for the job?"

She sounds ridiculous and she can see it in Torban's eyes above the practised smile as she makes a deliberately sloppy grab for his large and colourful codpiece.

"Hey there Little Missy, why don't you come inside and we can do something about that ache huh?" He asks, taking a hand and guiding her inside the brothel.

*****

"So that's where the stash is." Shadow concludes, looking around at the Dust Mites leadership - what little there is left of it. "Obviously we can enter through the Silver Staff but that would be obvious so I propose we go through the sewers instead - there's access nearby that we can use and my man inside has promised me a distraction tomorrow night so Kohana and whatever security he has will be busy at the brothel rather than actually on guard. I can't guarantee a completely smooth ride, but I can tell you that there'll never be a better chance than tomorrow night. Oh, and I have these."

She holds up a small keyring and smirks at the man and two women on the other side of the table from her. "Keys for the Staff's sewer entrance, the main door to Kohana's little cellar complex and the one for his medicine chest." She turns her attention to Casia, who definitely has the biggest attitude around the table and cocks an eyebrow.

"So, do you want to waste time talking or can I get your people started?"

"Sewers?" Casia asks with a weary expression. "If that's the best way in then that's what we'll use, but I don't think I've finished cleaning the shit out of my boots from our last trip through them."

She gives Jonah a knowing look.

"And hopefully we don't run into any more spirit-summoning idiots this time." She raises an eyebrow in Shadow's direction. "You've planned for that, right?"

"You do carry spiritbane charms?" Shadow counters, her tone suggesting that of course everyone performs such a basic precaution. "I haven't scouted the sewers - I'm happy to admit that isn't my strong point. If some of you can, excellent, but this area is frequently used between the brothel smuggling people out and Kohana keeping his stash down there so I wouldn't expect any 'spirit-summoning idiots'. I'm sure the city will prove me wrong though."

So she's arrogant, but at least she's not stupid.

"And you do know that spiritbane charms aren't a panacea, right?" Casia counters. "We're not children, Shadow. But being prepared for something is no promise that it won't rip you a new a$$$@$#."

She tosses the dagger she's been fiddling with one last time over in her hand before slipping it back into a partially concealed sheath. Holding out her hand for the keys, she raises an eyebrow at the newest 'Mite'.

Ranna sits up straight and tries to look like she belongs. She's never been involved in planning a score before, or running one for that matter. The Grinders preferred her in the clinic. For this particular score though she needs to be there to sort the actually-valuable from the worthless.

Her nose wrinkles at the mention of sewers but she doesn't complain. It can't be any worse than a gangrenous limb. Then the conversation switches to a topic that makes her feel like she's sixteen years old again and just asked a really stupid question in Bjornson's class.

"I...don't own a spiritbane charm." Talking quickly before the (real or imagined) condescending looks can be sent her way, she adds, "I carry black salt and electroplasm, but I've never felt the need for a spiritbane charm. Angry ghosts are rarer than you'd expect around doctors; we ensure that anyone who dies in our care is properly taken care of." You ensured they were properly taken of. Past tense.

Shoving away the intrusive thought she continues, "Most of my kit fares better against the living, which is what we're more likely to run into if the area is used that frequently."

"Yeah, that's what we thought, too," Casia says in response to Ranna' comment. She shrugs. "Besides, what are the chances it would happen a second time."

"And you do know that spiritbane charms aren't a panacea, right?" Casia counters. "We're not children, Shadow. But being prepared for something is no promise that it won't rip you a new a+&~$@%."

She tosses the dagger she's been fiddling with one last time over in her hand before slipping it back into a partially concealed sheath. Holding out her hand for the keys, she raises an eyebrow at the newest 'Mite'.

Shadow hands over the keys without demur but does raise an eyebrow in turn at Casia's comment. "Of course, but unless you have a Rail Jack in your pocket there's nothing better. Still, I bow to your greater experience." And she actually does, sweeping into an obviously practised curtsy that isn't the remotest bit sarcastic. (Well maybe a bit.)

The sewers. Of course it is the sewers." A frown races across Jonah's face upon finding out the best, probably only, way to reach Ranna's medical supplies is yet another trek through the dank, foul, rotten underbelly of Doskvol. He almost wanted to find a mirror to double check he didn't have whiskers and fur and a tail, because he certainly felt like he was becoming a sewer rat. Yet despite his grim mood at the proposition of another journey through the tunnels, Jonah breaks into a wry grin Casia so eloquently speaks to the effectiveness of spirit charms and the odds of finding trouble yet again in the underbelly. A soft snort slips from the old soldier.

"I'd say the chances are too blasted high it'll happen again." He says. "But long odds haven't stopped us before, I doubt they'll do so this time." He says, checking and quickly stashing a variety of gear in preparation for a quick departure. "Charms like that..." He points to the trinket hanging from Luce's neck. "They are good enough to hold off a newborn ghost for a little bit. Or some weak, barely relevant spirit. But a real rip-your-throat-out ghost, hungry, feral and at the height of its power?" Another quick snort. "That charm might last a moment or two. But it's not going to overwhelm, drive away, scare away the creature." He flashes a look at Casia. "Remember Wally? Fin tried to stop that aethereal bas$%#d with a charm similar to that." He shakes his head. "Mostly it just ticked him off I think."

21 APRIL, 847 IE

No plan survives contact with reality. Luce hasn't heard about it yet, but this morning her "man inside" who was going to provide a distraction was arrested by the Bluecoats. They're still processing the paperwork, so it's unclear whether his fractured skull and missing teeth were from resisting arrest or inflicted by other prisoners in the jail cell they tossed him into. Either way, her much-promised distraction is so much hot air.

You of course learn this the hard way: after several hours of creeping through the noxious miasma of the sewers, you reach your destination only to see - through the rusted iron grating of the access point - two very bored-looking thugs playing dice. From the snatches of conversation you overhear, it seems clear that they are waiting on Kohana to arrive with another delivery of something.

They haven't spotted you, but the chances of you being able to get Luce's key into the lock, and open the rusty grate, without them noticing, are somewhere between slim and none.

What do you do?

Flashback: 20 APRIL, 847 IE

After the meeting disperses Ranna sits at the table, lost in thought. Shadow's plan sounds good. Simple. But the promised distraction relies entirely on Shadow's "man inside" who none of the rest of them have ever met. Keeping an entire gang of thugs occupied requires a very different skillset than snatching a few keys.

Drumming her fingers against the table, she nods to herself as a backup plan forms. Also simple, or at least as simple as she can make it. All she needs is a workshop. Sparkcraft isn't her specialty, but she has steady hands and a quick mind. It wouldn't even be the first time she's built a remote detonator for a bomb.

The Dusk Mites have a small workshop. Ranna takes a few smoke bombs she finds there and carefully rigs them together. Once the wire at the top receives a small electroplasmic spark, the smoke bombs will detonate.

That's not the tricky part. The tricky part is how to make that happen from a distance. The ghost field isn't Ranna's specialty either, but she's learned a few tricks over the years. Like twinning. Two objects so closely attuned that what happens to one happens to the other, no matter how far apart they are. In this particular case, a second set of wire that serves as the "twin" to the first.

It takes the better part of the afternoon before she's satisfied. Once she's done, she hunts down Casia. The other woman seems to have a rivalry going on with Shadow, and she's far less conspicuous than Ranna herself would be. "Do you think you could hide these someplace a block or so away from Kohana's safehouse?" Ranna holds up the smoke bombs. "If we don't need them, great. But if the safehouse is still occupied for whatever reason, I can blow these up remotely. That should lure any remaining guards away as they try to figure out what's happening."

Current Time: 21 APRIL, 847 IE

At the sight of the two guards Ranna exchanges a knowing look with Casia. "Be ready to move." She reaches into her bag and pulls out the twinned wire. Laying it on the ground so she doesn't accidentally shock herself, she carefully zaps it with a small electroplasmic spark.

Flashback: 20 APRIL, 847 IE

"You can set them off remotely?" Casia asks, taking the small bombs and looking over them carefully. "How does that work?" She listens attentively as the leech tries to explain 'twinning', but the explanation quickly moves beyond what the young woman understands.

"Well, as long as they're not gonna go off in my hands, I guess it doesn't really matter." She shrugs, slipping the devices into a pocket of her cloak. The first device goes behind a pile of trash in the alley behind the building. The second also finds its home in an alley, but about a half-block away.

Currently ...

Reigning in her frustration over the presence of the guards, Casia nods at Ranna and pulls a small vial from her belt, ready to down it at the first sounds of a disturbance.

Of course something went wrong - Luce isn't surprised, even her best plans seem to go awry on a regular basis. It's almost like a higher power enjoys playing with her for its own amusement. But the nice thing about working with a team is that there are other people to help make things work out. If she was by herself she'd have to pull back right now and work out another course of action.

However she has a tinkerer and a sneak on the team now, so instead she covers her ears and waits.

Jonah tried not to consider the olfactory crisis being suffered upon the realization that he was actually getting used to the smell of the sewers. The vile stench of black water, offal, and who-knows-what alchemical refuse and waste that flowed through the tunnels beneath Doskvol still burned his eyes and nose and occasionally causes a slight revolt in his gut. But the physical discomfort, was becoming comfortable as he made his third, forth, he'd started to lose count, journey through the muck.

Skulking along quietly with the others, he can't help but wonder about the choices he'd made in life. After all, it wasn't really a boyhood dream to travel the foul underbelly of an Imperial city in order to stuff and build enough of a reputation and threat so someone didn't steal his stuff.

The sight of the guards comes as little surprise. Immediately his mind turns to the ghost field and the power flowing through it. There for the taking. A part of his mind hungers to dive into that rich, frightful flow. A part of him yearns for that feeling he gets weaving, channeling, manipulating that aethereal energy for his own needs and purposes. He stops mid-step everyone slipped closer to the guards. Closing his eyes, he reaches for what lays beyond. Opens the doors of his mind, only to slam them quickly shut again. Not the time. Not the place. He mentally warns himself suddenly breathing heavily as if head climbed a mountain. Suddenly the face of his cadre trainer was hovering before his closed eyes. The old man growling in front of the handful of trainees shivering and muttering in the cold, the rain and the muck of the trenches.

"So, you lot think the ghost field is your personal servant. Using it to do your daily share of work and labor." He unleashes a large torrent of chewing tobac onto the churned ground. "Well, you each better listen up, cause I'm only sayin' this once. You become dependent on the aether and it'll eat you alive. You think you're using it, you're in control. Bah!" A hand slashes through the rain. "Ain't nobody uses the aether. We're little more than ticks on its backside, leechin a bit now and then, but at any point it can reach right out a pluck you into the unknown for good. The more you use it, the more likely it'll draw itself into you. Make you into its own tool." His eyes grow haunted in memory for a moment. "Ain't none of you want to know what happens when it does." He grabs a shovel and tosses into Jonah's hands with a glare. "So the lot of you get to dig. Dig 'til I say stop diggin'. Dig so you don't forgit what a day or two of good solid labor feels like. Dig so you keep yourselves grounded in the here and now. Dig like you're lives might just depend on it."

A shiver runs through Jonah's mind as Ranna sparks a couple of wires. The old man had been right of course. He'd come close to losing himself to the ghost field during the war. Thought he'd learned his lesson, but clearly the pressures of the last several weeks, his research, the odd item from the before times with its grim goddess, all of it had him closer to the edge than he'd realized.

He waits with the others, wondering just how far he could still push himself and push the aether before it finally took its due.

Ranna's sympathetic spark-craft works, apparently. You're too far below ground to hear the detonation of the smoke-bombs, but after a few moments there's a hurried tread down the stairs and a rail-thin man with a droopy mustache bursts into the room and glares at the two men there as if they're malingerers.

"Watchu doin down here?! Didn't ya hear - oh, why do I bother. Some idjit's set off explosions streetside, I need you out there keeping an eye on it."

The two thugs look puzzled (which, to be fair, is pretty much their default expression). "But boss, we're supposed to be waiting fer - you know."

Mustache narrows his eyes. "He ain't here, is he? I am. Hop it!" He shoos them out the room, before following back upstairs himself.

A moment or two later, Luce's key gets the iron grating open and you are inside the cellar yourselves. Heading upstairs carefully, the dread smell of the sewers and the damp of the cellar gives way to musk and incense, the lighting dim and flickering. The Silver Staff clearly tries to provide an atmosphere of intimacy and discretion for its clients, and this is reflected in the layout: small niches in the walls, winding corridors and mirrors create a sense of separation from the outside world. It also poses a problem: Luce entered last time via the front door, and it's not clear where that is in relation to where you are now. The other problem is that the longer you wander the hallways to get your bearing, the more likely you are to run into someone - and you're not exactly dressed for discretion.

In fact, from one of the winding, branched corridors ahead of you, muffled voices can be heard approaching: someone with their client, most likely.

What do you do?

If Casia was by herself, she has no doubt that she would be able to easily conceal herself behind a nearby hanging drape, but with three others to manage, she has her task cut out for her.

She looks left and then right before pushing open a nearby draped archway and pushing Jonah through it into the empty alcove on the other side. Ranna is similarly rough-housed into the same small space and the curtain is pulled back over the opening.

Grabbing Luce's arm, Casia then slips into the space on the other side of the narrow hallway. Pulling the curtain mostly closed, she gestures with a finger over her lips to the dark-haired woman and peeks out through the narrow opening, waiting for the worker and his client to pass by.

She ignores the heady scent of incense and the warm presence of the other woman at her arm. Being annoying doesn't make her any less attractive, but this is work, dammit! And distractions cause mistakes.

Earlier

"Hold on." Luce says, stopping Casia before she sets out on the mission. "I know you're going to be carrying a lot, but if you'll just let me..."

She pulls out a small box, extracts a tiny pot of powder and deftly rubs it under Casia's eyes. "Stop squirming." She says firmly, before withdrawing a second pot and dabbing it on the lurk's cheeks. Finally a tube of bright red is applied to the girl's lips and Luce steps back and nods at her handiwork.

"It's not perfect but if you drop the obvious gear this should help you pass as someone who belongs at the Staff." She says, showing Casia her reflection in the silvered lid of her box.

Casia's quick reaction ensures that you go unseen, although it's Jonah who saves the day by noticing that the curtain isn't fully shut and gestures to Casia until she gets the point and moves further into the alcove. Concealed behind the lacy fabrics, you wait for what seems like an age as the tread of several people amble slowly past. Lavender and lotus-blossom, with underneath that the faint spice of illicit drugs; the slow rumble of a man's whisper, and the shrill, slightly drunken giggle of a woman's voice. Another figure - male, female, impossible to tell - stumbles behind them, taking long draws from a clove cigarette (well, mostly cloves).

Obviously preoccupied with one another, they don't notice you. It's only as they pass you by and head down another of these mirrored, maze-like corridors that Luce realises that was the route she needed to take you.

Luce says a word that no nice girl should know and tries to remember what the best route would be now. It takes longer than she'd like to recover - knowing that adrenaline is affecting her concentration doesn't stop it affecting her concentration - sadly.

Planning is much harder in situ!

As Luce's adrenaline-haze clears and her mind reasserts itself, she realises it's not actually that bad: the corridor those folks went down is not in fact the critical one - she's just got turned around. And yes, you've lost some time; but not that much... it just seemed like it.

Of course, that doesn't solve the issue that you don't quite have your bearings yet.

What will you do?

Jonah barely has time to catch himself after Casia shoves him into the small alcove containing nothing but a ratty mattress on rusty springs, an unlit oil lamp and a tiny side table mostly there to hold the lamp. Any vocal objections ready to burst forth from his lips are quickly squashed when Ranna comes stumbling through the entrance and directly into the whispers instinctively outstretched arms.

Cheeks flushing bright red, Jonah tries to untangle himself from the healer only to end up toppling them onto the mattress and nearly knocking the lamp over in the process. The extracurricular accident does nothing helpful for his ribs causing him to gasp in sudden pain. Ranna's flying elbows don't much help either.

The clatter of the lamp, gasping exhalations, shrill squeak of the mattress cause the passersby to laugh and giggle for several seconds.

"Don't rip the place down around us!" The man cackles much to the delight of the giggling woman before they move on down the hall.

Rapping his head on the side table causes another loud rattle and muttered curse quickly accompanied by another round of laughter from the drunken couple before they finally stroll around a corner and out of earshot. After several more excruciatingly embarrassing moments, Jonah is able to regain his feet and offer Ranna a helping hand back to hers.

"I...I'm sor...I well I didn't mean...Oh blast..." The whisper whispers in tongue tied consternation before simply flinging the curtain open and glaring at Casia before adjusting his hat and coat and setting off after Luce.

20 APRIL, 847 IE

Jonah stepped into the workshop to discover it was already occupied by Ranna. It didn't take the ex-soldier long to recognize the materials for the explosive device she was making. What he doesn't really recognize is the anger roiling just beneath the surface as the woman who has dedicated herself to healing and helping others, once again finds herself either directly or indirectly causing harm.

"It seems neither one of us completely trust Luce's plan to work as smoothly and simply as the shadow would have us believe." He says sifting through the variety of arcane flotsam that inevitably accumulate in any workshop.

"I've been thinking about our actual target." His eyes glance at a bottle of simple, clear rubbing alcohol resting near Ranna's elbow. The last bottle. "Now I doubt Kohana is just keeping his stuff out in the open. It's going to be hidden for sure and maybe not where everyone's been led to believe. The sewers, they're a maze in themselves. Plenty of nooks, crannies, and oddities down there where someone could stash some goods." He sighs, runs a hand through his salt and pepper hair which has been growing much more salty after his recent escapades.

"Way I see it, the longer we're there, the more chance someone's going to get hurt or worse." The tension in his voice is clear. He turns to Ranna offering her a weary, grim smile. "Cas and Luce, they're too young. The war is mostly just history for them. Killing isn't as...common place for them." His gaze grows distant. His hands grip the workbench. "We saw, some of us participated in, plenty of killing during the war. Every day. We were either death's harvesters or its chaff. I'd hoped once the war was over, the killing would stop." He sighs, his shoulders sag. "A fool's dream I suppose."

A deep breath. A refocusing of his mind and spirit. Pointing to the small stash of herbs and ointments at the far end of the workbench, Ranna's remaining stash. "I think if I can use a bit of your goods, I can craft us a way to track Kohana's stores once we're a little closer. Hopefully getting in and out quickly, we can avoid any real bloodshed."

CURRENT

Jonah pulls the long, finger-sized crystal from his coat pocket along with the bottle of alcohol. The alcohol wasn't exactly pure anymore. Several bits of herb and exotic mushroom bits float in the thickened mixture. Uncorking the bottle, Jonah quickly drops the aetherically charged crystal into the bottle and reseals it. Giving everything a good shake, the Whisper channels a slight sliver of the ghost field into the attuned crystal. A light flares to life within the clear bottle. A dim, pale yellow light, barely a spark. But as Jonah slowly turns in a circle the light grows a bit brighter and then fades again until he twists back.

A quick smile as the effort appears to be working. Hopefully it will be worth the cost of the last of their medicines. He tugs a bit more on the ghost field, tying the thread to the crystal within the bottle and letting the other end dance and twist free. Another quick shake of the bottle and the aethereal thread races briskly down the hall and around the corner.

"If all goes well, this should take us right to Kohana's hidden stash."

Flashback: 20 APRIL, 847 IE

Ranna stiffens as Jonah comes into the workshop. He's the second-to-last person she wants to see right now, which isn't fair to him and she knows it. It's just too much.

(The last would be in a mirror.)

She pointedly doesn't look at him while he talks, focusing entirely on the device in her hands. "It's always best to have backup plans, and backups for the backups. I hope I won't need to use these, but at least they're less harmful than the ones you...we...used in the War." She keeps telling herself that. These devices shouldn't hurt anyone. They're smoke bombs, not real ones. Distraction, not destruction.

"We saw, some of us participated in, plenty of killing during the war. Every day. We were either death's harvesters or its chaff. I'd hoped once the war was over, the killing would stop." He sighs, his shoulders sag. "A fool's dream I suppose."

"It never stops." Ranna's voice is small. When she finally looks at Jonah there are tears in her eyes. She'd managed to carve out a tentative peace for herself over the years since the Unity War's end and now it's all crashing down around her. The Grinder's destruction at the hands of the Silver Nails, treating a septic wound poisoned with jester's cap, capitulating to Eckerd's demands just to save her own skin, and now a bomb in her hands. It's all too much. "The war never really ended. I didn't suggest targeting the Silver Nails by coincidence. I did it because they're the enemy, because they're still killing Skovlanders, because it took them less than a week to destroy everything I've worked for over the past two years, because...because I hate them." Her fists start to clench and she carefully sets down the delicate tools she's working with before she accidentally crushes them.

"I'm a fool too. I thought after the war I could go back to who I was. That naïve girl who just wanted to help people. I should have known better." She wraps her arms around herself. "I still hope I'm helping more people than I'm hurting, but I don't know anymore. I don't know how to know."

She sniffles and brushes away a tear. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't...we have a job to do. I can do it. I can." She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, willing her hands to stop shaking. Forcing herself to think only of the problem at hand. "You're right. Kohana's stash could be anywhere. That tracker you're making...you'll need to attune it to something he'll have a lot of, correct? In order to get enough of a reading?" Her eyes unfocus as she thinks. "Electroplasm is used for too many different purposes. He's set up near a brothel so attuning to alcohol would also generate too many false readings..." It hits her. "That's right, he's working for a brothel. Which means most of his customers will be looking to either treat or protect themselves against sexual infections. Umo root. I guarantee he'll have enough of that to register." She digs through her herbs and produces a single small root. "Use this."

Current Time: 21 APRIL, 847 IE

Ranna has barely a moment to enjoy the apparent success of her smoke bombs before Casia is shoving her into an alcove. "What-" She cuts off a Skovic curse, (which would draw far too much attention), as she falls on top of Jonah. Her first thought is, He's running warm. A reaction to his ribs healing? Her second thought is, He's more well-muscled than he looks. Fortunately (or unfortunately) the process of disentangling themselves makes noises that convince passersby they're here for precisely the same, mostly-innocent reason as everyone else.

By the time they're out of the alcove Ranna's also glaring at Casia, albeit for a different reason. "His ribs are healing, not healed," she hisses. "Next time shove someone else in first so he has a softer landing." The absurdity of the demand catches up with her and abruptly she has to stifle a giggle. "Although hopefully there won't be a next time."

She's mostly regained control of herself and is back to business by the time Jonah pulls out the bottle. "For the thread to be that clear he really might have enough supplies to fill a second storehouse. It seems his bragging wasn't entirely exaggerated." That's good. Very good. Engine Clinic will need every last one of those supplies if she's to survive.