"Even if I weren't hungry, given how everything has looked so far, I hardly think I could pass up the opportunity," she says with a laugh. "We aren't likely to have another night like this for some time. Besides, I am eating for two." She puts her hands on her belly, beaming at Anton.
Irina:
"One can dream, Miss." He says in response, looking over the rooms with the particular hunger that comes from having come from nothing.
Richard:
The doorman takes the bottle from you graciously, promising that Mr. Carmichael will receive it (and that you'll receive credit for it). They seem professional and courteous, and you find it unlikely that they'll just toss it into a bin with a thousand other bottles, so you agree to part with it.
Susan is in good spirits, and has been for the entire ride. While many others find travel taxing, you get the sense that it has been quite some time since she has gone anywhere, and every sight and sound gets her full attention and sense of wonder.
Now, with the awkwardness of the shared room looming, one of the ushers steps forward to ease the situation. "Of course, we understand that not everyone will be interested in spending the evening, but we like to have rooms ready early to avoid confusion later for those who may... imbibe." He nods to the bottle of wine you brought. "I'm sure you understand." He continues chatting and explaining, suggesting that even if you aren't interested in staying, you should still have a room to put any items you don't want to leave in the carriage, and perhaps most importantly, as a place to be able to freshen up. Susan is interested in going for that alone, even if Richard isn't.
Leaving your rooms, you all begin the journey back from the cool and dark corner of the mansion towards the warmth and light of the lower rooms. It feels like it would be excruciatingly easy to become lost in here, and the scope of the place is such that you can't help but wonder how many days - how many weeks - it would take to learn the layout.
Still, though you haven't been here before, something does feel familiar about it. It's like coming back to the town you grew up in after decades away, and noticing that while many things have changed, it still feels exactly the same. It's a strange feeling for a place you've never been before, but luckily it ebbs away as you get closer to the main rooms.
Following others to a large ballroom, you're greeted at the door by Eustace Fishe, Anthony Carmichael's secretary. Fishe is costumed as Death, with a long scythe and a longer list - names he checks off as people hand him their invitations. He does so with a distracted air.
Those of you who have met Fishe know him as a nice young man, nicknamed "Red" because of his blazing red hair. Currently, he could also be called "Red Death". As you get closer, Fishe takes your invitations, passing them to a butler. He isn't cold, but seems very distracted, likely thinking of a thousand different arrangements for the party, and what could go wrong at any moment. Another servant stands on the opposite side of the doors, dressed plainly in black and white, and is handing out simple domino masks to anyone who arrived without something more elegant or interesting.
Entering the ballroom is like entering another world. The house was proper, and fancy, but the ballroom is all a glitter, filled with a gaiety not found in the rest of the house. Gorgeously costumed and arrayed people are dancing to music performed by a 16-piece jazz ensemble. Ornate chandeliers fracture the lights, splintering them into a thousand glassy reflections. The satin walls are lined with gilt framed mirrors, making the room look even more enormous than it already was.
And inside, quite a few people, nearly all of them in costume. There's a pudgy Egyptian mummy covered with magical symbols. A black cat embraces Mary Antoineette. A large frog dances with a laughing Tutankhamun. There's a portly Red Indian with a bandaged hand. There are Pagliaccis and Carmens, Brunhildss. At least three Sir Launcelots and a Napoleon. There's a Queen Elizabeth. A lamb dances with a sour-looking vampire in a red cape. Cowboys dance with ninjas, Indian nautch girls with queens. There's a pirate, complete with an eye patch and stuffed prarot on his shoulder. There's a pretty actress wearing an insipid fairy costume, one wing of which has already been crushed. All told, there look to be at least 200 people in the room.
To the left side, a refined female photographer takes flash-photos of those who wish to have their faces circulated to the selected daily press. She appears professional, largely blending in, and clearly has experience working with the upper strata of society.
On the right side of the room are several banquet tables, and a buffet, the likes of which you may not have ever seen before. On the far side of the ballroom, broad french doors open to terraces and gardens beyond. There is dancing and drifting, gossiping and guzzling, laughing and lounging, a veritable human sea of gorgeous costumes and masked faces, all ages and all times flung together in an unholy confusion.
The scene is at once entirely overwhelming and feels very wrong, in a way that is hard to pinpoint. Is the noise of the band too frenetic? Are the masked dancers laughing, a little too hard, as if forcing themselves to? The heat and babble of people's conversations shouted over the music mingles about your ears.
The lights shine off the mirrors, and in the reflection, you see a cloaked and hooded figure. It is hunched over, the black fabric of its costume tattered and dusty, with a baroque mask mostly hidden. Turning from the reflection, you can't spot it in the room itself, and there's nothing odd in the mirror when you turn back.
Okay, so! Feel free to knowledge-check about anyone of interest, mingle with people, and get to meet each other!
Finally, the big night has come. Your last few days have been stressful, with recurring nightmares and trying to ensure that every preparation has been made to allow you a night off from all other responsibilities.
Any of those traveling by train have an early motor-coach waiting for them at the station, others may be taking a carriage. Those coming with dates may be turning the hours beforehand into a sort of "date night". But as the party draws nearer, the exhalation mixes with fits of anxiety. Did we remember the invitations? Dear, is my slip showing? What if our costumes aren't good flashy enough? And where has Carmichael been for the last months?
No time to dwell on that now. The wrought iron gates of the Carmichael country estate loom before you. The lights of New York City glare, hours to the west but still lighting the sky. Four policemen guard the gate, and a few annoying journalists stand nearby, attempting to snap photos of attendees, knowing how wealthy and of what status many of them are.
The air is crisp and brisk - not unpleasant for traveling. The cold stars shine balefully down from a clear night sky. A thin mist swirls around the base of the trees, fences, and buildings, that makes them seem to soar upwards from nothing towards the sky. The moon encompasses the sky, luminous and orange. The autumn moon. It seems to follow them as they move around the grounds.
The trees lining the drive and surrounding the house are decked with Japanese lanterns, spilling yellow light onto the misty ground. Their leaves have all but shed, and the lanterns hang like some kind of strange fruit. Or like the rings on the clutching fingers of a drowning man.
Your vehicle moves up the gravel drive towards the wide-open front door of the house. You catch a glimpse of an ornamental lake to the side of the house, out of whose icy, black surface, the reflected shape of the moon gazes like a drowned and bloated face.
Cars and carriages are parked along the driveway, their chauffeurs gathered in groups, gossiping and sharing cigarettes. The mansion is patterned after an English country house - a structure of stone, with the main steps leading up to the second floor. Exterior ornamentation is sparse, but vines, moss, and small trees soften the building's lines.
Bustling, cheerful servants are at the door, taking bags and coats, and as you get near the door, you're ushered into a well-light hallway. The blast of hot air hits like a furnace. Peoples' cries and greetings ring out around you. Somewhere in the house, a lively jazz band strikes up.
Despite the many, many guests, there are rooms for all, and you're shown to yours to freshen up, to change if you need to. The rooms you move through are rich and grand. The works of modern Expressionists lien the walls. To get to your rooms, there are seemingly endless stretches of dark, shadowed passageways and narrow stairs. Portraits of less well-known and definitely less cheerful members of the family make their appearance, gazing somberly from their age-blackenend frames. The rooms you're shown to are pokey, little ones, right up the back of the house, on the fourth floor.
I'll pause there, for any impressions, anything you want to do to get ready, any conversations you want to have with your dates, before you head down to the Party Proper.
Anthony laughs but shakes his head, "No, not that kind of hospital. It was after "Sodom" failed, I heard he kind of, you know, snapped. But I'm glad to hear he's working on something new and having a party, he must be doing better!" Anthony adds quickly.
He shrugs, "I don't know what the new play is called, or anything about it. Unveiling it during an event like this is certainly in line with his typical theatrics..."
That night, Irina has a fretful sleep and terrible dreams.
Faces look up pooled and expectant. You sit with the others, the violin pinched between chin and shoulder as you’ve seen others do and done hundreds of times yourself. Your left hand is on the strings. The music starts up and the orchestra crashes into its brief life. But are you the only one playing a role? Isn’t the audience applauding and calling out in the wrong places? And the other musicians — they’re competing, sounding their instruments randomly. The conductor points at you. You glance at your music and the notes move around, forming a strange symbol. It looks almost like a triskelion with tentacles. The symbol writhes and squirms and seems ready to reach out for you. You must assuage it. Hastily, you start to play to its rhythm building the sound yourself note by note.
Anton:
Anton finds Maria's response, one of excitement. He knows that behind it there is some trepidation - would her dress fit now that she was pregnant? Would she look or feel unattractive? How long would she be able to dance before her feet became too tired? But it had been so long since they'd had a night out.
Richard:
Having the idea of the necessary intimacy at the same time, Susie turns a deep shade of scarlet. "O-of course," She says quickly, attempting to regain her composure. "I'll make something that goes with your suit."
That night, Richard's dreams are strange and unnerving.
Your window is wide open, and you arise, feeling the cold. The curtains sigh into the room. You move to the window to close it, and turning, see Richard still in bed, sleeping, wrapping the sheets more tightly around his shoulders. You see that the sheets are ripped, shredded into long streamers. You have the same around you, clad like a robe. You stumble out of the room, along unfamiliar corridors and across large chambers. You see marble, carpet, glass, velvet hangings, brick and porcelain, and gold wood. One of you is muttering,"It's all a distraction, all a distraction." There's a mask on the wall and you take it up, put it on. You sees a sword and pick it up. Clad in your robe of tattered cotton, you have a dignity commensurate with your task. Then you see someone in side corridor, watching you. Your doppelgänger, eager and worried. Suddenly furious, you hurry over, gripping the sword tightly: [b]"You think you can stand in judgment over me? You think this has nothing to do with you?!" You wonder just what you're capable of.
Ernest:
Madeline nods, always happy to help, and agrees that she has indeed had a hard day. She thanks Ernest for his help, and heads out for the evening.
That night, when Ernest goes to sleep, he has terrible and strange dreams.
You stand among finely dressed people, talking and laughing. Your surroundings are gracious and music plays and your eyes are upon a particularly lovely girl here in white lace and muslin. One by one men approach her but after a brief moment each quickly slips away and you notice they look panicked and lost. When the last has gone she raises her fan to her face and turns towards you. You walk over and then your fingers are against the small of her back, guiding her in the dance. Her perfume fills the room, and now the two of you are alone in a gallery with glass doors all along one wall. You realize you’ve not yet seen her face and suddenly you’re afraid. A chill comes off her, and you shut your eyes tight. You feel her hand on your face, cold and questing.
You can all respond to your dreams if you'd like, and anything else that you want to do in the coming days. Otherwise, let me know that you're good to move on, and we'll go to the night of the party!
Anthony shrugs. "I know he hasn't been around for a while. The rumour is he was in a hospital up state." Gladly, he took the drink, and the others that she put down before him. After a few minutes, his speech begins to slur, but he's holding it together. "I do want to come. It's the talk of the town! Well, our circles anyway. Don't you get it? Carmichael vanished." He shakes his head. "And now he's back, with a new play. It feels... destined."
Anton:
That night, you have a fretful sleep, tossing and turning. You dream that you're in the bow of a boat - a bright little vessel, of polished wood, and with a white sail. It moves gently across the lake, pushed by a caring breeze. You look down into the water, pats where your trailing hand disturbs the surface; It's spirit-thick and gray and... is that movement? You pull up your hand and a mottled shape balloons past you not far below, then another - huge marine creatures. Up ahead, the water slaps. The white and yellow back of one of the creatures clears the surface for a moment, and then dives. You see it still. It's coming right at you, bigger and bigger, and it rears out of the water fully now, looming above the boat like a cliff. You won't wait for this. You stand up and leap into the water. Falling. Falling. Eyes closed.
Ernest:
Nah, you're okay without rolling!
Madeline smiles at the idea. "I do love The Merchant of Venice." She replies.
"The quality of mercy is not strained.
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath. It is twice blest:
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes.
'Tis mightiest in the mightiest; it becomes
The thronèd monarch better than his crown.
His scepter shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptered sway.
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings;
It is an attribute to God Himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God's
When mercy seasons justice. Therefore, Jew,
Though justice be thy plea, consider this:
That in the course of justice none of us
Should see salvation. We do pray for mercy,
And that same prayer doth teach us all to render
The deeds of mercy. I have spoke thus much
To mitigate the justice of thy plea,
Which, if thou follow, this strict court of Venice
Must needs give sentence 'gainst the merchant
there."
"Ah, Portia." She says, almost wistfully, before snapping back to reality. "Gaudy and crass sounds perfect... It's true what they say about him, isn't it? The drugs, the sex - both men and women. This won't be one of those... degenerate parties, will it?" Though she asks with some trepidation, there's a part of her that sounds almost excited about the possibility, though maybe that's just residual anger from Harry...
Richard:
Susan's face lights up at the invitation. Though she hoped it was coming, a big part of her expected Richard to find a way to side-step it. She'd have understood if he had, and was already formulating an excuse to her mother.
A hard life and overbearing mother had worn Susie down a bit, but she wasn't unattractive. At worst she could be considered a bit plain. But when she smiled, as she was now, it was as though those years had never happened. Her father had never gotten sick, wasting away with her at his bedside. Her mother had never put the weight of the world and responsibilities for the building on her. She looked as she ought to be - a vibrant and joyous young woman.
"Yes, of course I'd love to accompany you! I'll begin sewing us costumes immediately." She pauses, having forgotten her manners in her excitement. "If that's all right with you, of course."
You can definitely just go with a tux / gown if that's your preference. The adventure does seem to suggest that this is more of a costume party, despite it being also a fancy gala / masquerade. A couple of people will be wearing things like fairy or pirate costumes, cats, centurions, and mummies.
It isn't to say that you'd be out of place in simply having a tux and mask - especially for those that are more reserved or "too good" for dressing up (as some of the wealthy will be), but there is certainly a lot of room if you want to go with something more... ostentatious.
But! Richard, you could definitely just pick up a mask for a few bucks, and Irina, you could certainly craft your Darth Vader helmet.
Apologies, everyone - I didn't tell you when the masquerade itself will be! Today is September 26th, 1923, which is a Wednesday. The party will be in 10 days - on Saturday evening, October 6th. This will give you enough time to consider costumes (more on that below). We'll likely just handwave any necessary travel (though I think you're all in New York now?).
There isn't anything super pressing for you before the Masquerade, so once you all decide on how to get your costumes, we can play that out a bit, and anything else you want to do beforehand. (for instance, learning more about Carmichael, or finding out who might be attending, and anything else.)
For obtaining Costumes you have a few options.
- You can rent a costume for 2d6 ⇒ (1, 4) = 5 dollars. It will be cheaply-made and ill-fitting. You will not cut a figure among the elite, and people there are very likely to look down on you.
- You can roll a Dexterity test (bonus for any relevant skills) to sew your own costume. This costs you nothing, but how well you roll will affect your standing at the ball.
- You can buy a professionally-made costume for the night for $20 which is "adequate", and will not give you a bonus or a penalty to your standing at the ball.
- You can go to the best costumer in New York - Bartlemeo Fiorani, who is attached to the New York Theatre Company. For a $40 fee, you can clothe yourself in the stuff of fantasy. This will give you a positive standing with any of the social elites who are at the masquerade.
Ernest stares at the paper, and the ink staining into the pages of "The Spirit of the Stage" seems almost to move, as if in response to his glare. When it settles, it is in the form of a symbol or letter, though neither Arabic nor Chinese, nor any human language you're familiar with has a letter that resembles this. It looks almost like a triskelion with tentacles. They appear to move for a moment, grasping at something unseen. Whether real or imagined, a great sense of foreboding fills Ernest.
--
Starting to read the invitation, Madeline shakes her head. "No, I think maybe I'd best-" Her voice trails off. She wanted more than nothing than to stay home, to curl up and forget the world. And she wondered, was that what Ernest did, too? She knew that if she stayed home, he would, too, and she couldn't do that to him. It was so rare for him to reach out, she'd have to meet him partway. Still shaking her head, she shoots a smile at him. "Why not."
"It says it's a masquerade! Do you have something in mind already?"
Richard:
His appointments for the day over, Richard is heading back to his apartment. Walking through the foyer, he begins to head towards the stairs to go up to his room when the door to the right, marked 1 opens, and Susie is pushed out of it into the hallway.
She looks up at him, foot on the first step, and blushes. "Good evening, Mr. Charleston. M-my mother said you had something you wanted to talk to me about." She phrases it like a question, but mostly as a formality - they both know her mother well-enough to know that Evaline has completely spilled the beans.
Irina:
"It's Anthony," the assistant mutters to himself, for the thousandth time. His shoulders starting to slump when she gestures with her cigarette, he nods, and starts the process of copying, jumping each time she swore. He'd heard she was eccentric, but nothing could have prepared him for this. "Should've been a newsboy..."
At the crack of the mirror, he completely freezes, unsure of how she'll react. When she cracks the others herself, he allows himself a sigh of relief.
His eye catches the invitation from Carmichael, and he looks at her, slightly transformed. "Are you going to Mr. Carmichael's party, too?" It's clear from his face what he's thinking - that seeing her in a social situation, it may change their dynamic. He could show her that he's an equal, that he fits in with the same crowds that she does. That he can be more than an underpaid assistant.
Anton & Irina:
I'm gonna skip the later part of Anton's post since it came about from a place of confusion - don't worry, you'll both meet up soon!
Anton:
The show goes well! It may be the biggest crowd they see for a while, with the cold likely to return with a vengeance, putting on a good show is more important than usual. They were competing with warm beds, something not to be taken lightly in New York winters.
Sylvia and Stanley are both drunk with the success of it when they come backstage, and likely to become actually drunk within a little while. Stanley takes down a bottle from one of the shelves, "Anton, you simply must have a drink with us."
Noticing first the bruise formed on Anton's face, Sylvia looks quite concerned. "What happened to you?"
Ernest wrote:
I had no idea Madeline existed when I wrote Ernest's sheet, mind if I add her as a person of interest?
The assistant you scared off comes back a short time later, still humbled by the earlier experience, but carrying both revised schematics and a small pile of mail. Some of it is fan letters, some bills, likely from previous performances that also ignored safety regulations. In with it is a letter in a crisp white envelope, with your name penned in a spidery hand. Inside is a gilt-edged card, handwritten (clearly by an assistant) but signed in Carmichael's distinctive bold, flourishing hand.
The card itself appears to be an invitation (with an optional +1) to a gala masked ball at Carmichael's Long island estate, the ball to conclude with a midnight supper, and preview performance of his latest (yet unnamed) production.
As you see his signature, you recall the last time you saw Carmichael himself, about four months ago. You'd disliked his last play, "Sodom", (finding it banal and masturbatory, and not the impressive works you'd come to expect from him), and in a room of theatre-goers, he'd staggered up to you, eyes blood-shot and a convulsion of fury twisting his handsome features. He accused you of always hating him, and hating his success. "You've always been jealous! JEALOUS!" He screamed, as his female escort dragged him away.
Coming back to reality, you note that you've been humming a sharp note, and a mirror on your latest contraption cracks. You can't help but glance at your own cracked reflection.
Richard:
Taking a few minutes to yourself between appointments, you decide to sort through the morning's mail and get your own invoices in order. Without removing your gloves, you flip through the pile of bills and letters, stopping when you see one in a crisp white envelope, with your name clearly penned in a spidery hand. Using your letter opener, you slice open the envelope. Inside is a gilt-edged card, handwritten (clearly by an assistant) but signed in Carmichael's distinctive bold, flourishing hand.
The card itself appears to be an invitation (with an optional +1) to a gala masked ball at Carmichael's Long island estate, the ball to conclude with a midnight supper, and preview performance of his latest (yet unnamed) production.
Upon seeing his signature, you recall the last time you saw Carmichael himself - perhaps 4 months ago. You were hosting an event for veterans, what was supposed to be a simple thing to help with rehabilitation - veterans and civilians mingling, talking about anything except the war. Carmichael was seated at the head of a long table, telling an anecdote that was making most of the guests convulse with laughter - all except the veterans. They looked incredibly uncomfortable. Despite the fact that you invited him, you were rapidly beginning to wish that he'd never been born. At the high point of his anecdote, you intentionally drop a crystal goblet. Taking advantage of the stunned silence, you begin your own speech. If looks could kill, he would have had you dead on the spot.
Coming back to the present, you notice that you didn't stop slicing at the edge of the envelope - the letter opener has cut through your glove and into your finger.
Ernest:
Before the young woman leaves without him - again - she tries once more for his attention, and places a small pile of mail directly in front of him. "Most of this seems like it could wait, but..." She pulls out one envelope in particular. It's a crisp, white envelope, with your name clearly penned in a spidery hand. "This looked like it might be important."
With a last look of concern, she leaves you to it. As you open the envelope, you see inside - A a gilt-edged card, handwritten (clearly by an assistant) but signed in Carmichael's distinctive bold, flourishing hand.
The card itself appears to be an invitation (with an optional +1) to a gala masked ball at Carmichael's Long island estate, the ball to conclude with a midnight supper, and preview performance of his latest (yet unnamed) production.
When you see his signature, you recall the very last time you saw Carmichael, about 4 months ago. He'd come to you, hoping that you would pen a positive review for his latest play, "Sodom". It wasn't being well received, and while you weren't a critic by profession, he hoped that your position in certain literary circles would lead to other critics listening to you. But you simply couldn't, in good conscience, write a positive review for that play. He'd reacted poorly, a cold rage burning ire in his eyes. His previous charm had turned to ice. "Your morals will cause you trouble." He said with a sneer. "But it is entirely you choice. I can always find someone else."
Coming back to the present slowly, your eyes focus back on the letter, and you notice that you've knocked over an inkwell, spilling ink onto an antique book.
Anton:
When you arrive back at the theatre that evening, Sylvia stops you. "I forgot to mention earlier," she says, "But a letter came for you." She hands you a crisp, white envelope, with your name clearly penned in a spidery hand.
Inside is a gilt-edged card, handwritten (clearly by an assistant) but signed in Carmichael's distinctive bold, flourishing hand.
The card itself appears to be an invitation (with an optional +1) to a gala masked ball at Carmichael's Long island estate, the ball to conclude with a midnight supper, and preview performance of his latest (yet unnamed) production.
When you see his signature, you remember the last time you saw Carmichael, perhaps 4 months ago. You'd built him a small device for his latest play, "Sodom", which was expected to do quite well. Who would have guessed that it would close after only 2 performances? You'd gone to the theatre to collect the machinery, thinking that if it couldn't be used elsewhere, the parts themselves would still have value. To your surprise, Carmichael was there, slumped head in hands at the edge of the stage. As he raises his pale, tear-streaked face, you're overcome with mortal embarrassment. What failure could do to a man. Explaining why you've come takes no time. "You want the device? Take it. I have no need for them, now". He helps you carry it to your workshop, but when you turn to thank him, he's gone. Going to the stairwell, you hear running footsteps retreating. You never even had a chance to say goodbye...
You come out of your distraction just a hair too late, and smash your face walking into a door.
"That is not dead which can eternal lie, And with strange aeons even death may die."
- HP Lovecraft
It's September 26th, 1923.
The last few weeks have been unseasonably chilly, yet the weather on this particular morning is fine and warm; balmy, one might say. Perhaps the weather is changing for the better? Despite the reprieve it may bring, you are all busily at work.
What are you each doing? What does your normal, average day look like?
Sorry, gang, feeling under the weather today but will respond more in full tomorrow.
Richard Charleston wrote:
Sorry for the delay. I bought Stardew Valley in the Steam sale and fell down a hole playing it.
That will very much happen.
Richard Charleston wrote:
What does "Credit Rating: 9-30" mean? 30 is the max value I can put into credit?
That's correct, and 30 would still be pretty "average" wealth, you wouldn't be poor or anything. I'd say any of you could push the max a bit if you wanted to be more famous, but it is unfortunately the case that some careers just pay more. (I also think you'd be better off putting points in skills over maxing your credit, but what do I know.)
Oh, here are Profession details for each of you, so you know what you have for Skill Points.
Richard Michaelson - Psychiatrist
Skill Points: EDU x 4
Credit Rating: 9-30
Occupational Skills: Anthropology, History, Library Use, Other Languages, Psychology, Science (Pharmacy) any other 2 skills.
Ernest Nuemann - Librarian
Skill Points: EDU x 4
Credit Rating: 9-35
Occupational Skills: Accounting, Library Use, Other Language, Own Language, and any other 4 skills as personal specialties or specialist reading topics.
Anton Roskuszka - Stage Engineer
Skill Points: EDU x 2 + DEX x 2
Credit Rating: 20-60
Occupational Skills: Art/Craft (Technical Drawing), Disguise, Fast Talk, Mechanical Repair, Science (Engineering), any other 3 skills.
Irina Ustvolskaya - Experimental Composer
Skill Points: EDU x 2 + POW x 2
Credit Rating: 20-60
Occupational Skills: Art/Craft (Instrument), Listen, Mechanical Repair, Operate Heavy Machinery, Science (Engineering), any other 3 skills.
Soaria gives some directions as the group begins flying towards Sector 943.
While once called "The Works" for its thriving manufacturing factories, Sector 943 is now mostly abandoned. Companies such as Nebula Manufacturing, Hunvicko, and Serv-O-Droid, Inc have long since left for cheaper and less restricted planets. The area is now nothing more than a rundown sprawl.
As you fly through the streets, the lights of the city are largely left behind, and the area seems surprisingly quiet. It's easy to see why the current population consists of mostly smugglers and bounty hunters - it is away from all the lights and excitement, away from the noise. Some place dark and quiet and treacherous. From one of the decaying structures crawls a 15-foot long Duracrete slug, a creature that feeds off of building materials, further suggesting why many people don't come to this part of Coruscant.
You make your way towards the western fringe of the sector, and see the Novacore kelerium processing plant. Really - it's quite difficult to miss, taking up close to a third of the sector all on its own. The building itself is quite plain, looking to be perhaps three stories tall, but taking up a lot of area all the same.
Amon puts the speeder down on the landing pad on the southern corner of the complex. Nearby exhaust ports coat the pad in waves of steam, but small lights shine through it, giving guidance for parking. A number of crates, boxes, and other neglected shipments sit on the outskirts of the landing pad, waiting for attention from the few factory workers still employed.
Behind where the speeder is parked, you can see three massive kelerium storage tanks that feed the refinery. In front of you is a ramp that leads towards simple glass double doors at the entrance to the building. The lights inside look to be on, and the outside shows no security systems.
"Soaria" The girl chimes in with when Hou gives pause for her name. Soaria looks concerned initially as more people file into the ship, and grips Hou's hand tightly. She smiles as Muhax gets down closer to her level. "Umbra Club." She answers politely. "It's dangerous. Lots of bad people." Seemingly to look between all of them at once, she adds. "Though you do have a lot of weapons..."
Let me know where you want to go, you've got a whole planet of options!
She pauses for a second, seeming unsure, but accepts Hou's hand and lets him lead her to their speeder. Amon flies them up towards the landing where the others are waiting, and they all hop into the speeder.
Muhax, Aralli, Tibs, Zagulo: You notice a young girl n the speeder who was obviously not there before. She's probably between 9 and 14, but narrowing it down below that is difficult since she's filthy. You notice she doesn't have eyes, there's flesh covering where her sockets would be. Roll Xenology with Difficulty 2 if you'd like to know what she is.
1 Success:
She is a Miraluka, a species known for being force sensitive. Thousands upon thousands of them have been wiped out by the Empire in the past two decades.
Also, feel free to roleplay meeting back up, of course, fill each other in on what happened, explain the girl if you'd like, and let me know where you're going!
The girl "looks" at Hou as he asks her about Kaa'to's whereabouts. "There's a club he goes to. Umbra." She fidgets, looking slightly uncomfortable, a movement that betrays her young age despite how self-assured she generally seems. "I... pick-pocket from people there sometimes. It's not a nice place."
Before she can elaborate, Amon moves over quickly. She seems startled by his movements and nearly bolts. Getting down to her level - despite the fact that neither of them can see - seems to settle her back down though. As Amon offers to take her with them, she reaches out a small hand to his face, touching his cheek. She giggles at his mention of talking more. "Nikto's not a person, it's Kaa'to's species." Moving her hand across his face, she touches a few areas "They have horns here." She says.
"Okay." She finally agrees. She takes her hand away and follows them towards the speeder. As Amon gets behind the pilot's seat, she works up the courage to ask the two men, "...What about Kaa'to? Are you going to kill him?"
Can I see or hear anything? From the two conversing outside, I mean...?
Yeah I mean, they're loud enough / you're close enough / your ears are good enough / whatever that you can hear them both just fine. I'll give you a bit in case you want to respond before the others come out.
As the group is leaving, Tibs bumps into one of the piles of crates, improperly stacked, and one tumbles off to the ground. Everyone holds their breath for a second, wondering if his mistake was noticed, but it's drowned out in the sounds of the Firespray's engines firing up.
Without waiting to be noticed, Aralli, Muhax, Tibs, and Zagulo begin making their way back down the flights of stairs, finding it much easier than their climb had been.
Are you going to the terrace you entered from, or to the ground? Also are you taking stairs the entire way or grabbing an elevator?
Outside
The girl seems to study Hou for a moment, despise not having any eyes, before speaking. "Nikto, yeah?" She asks, already knowing the answer. She cocks her head at Hou. "Do you know what they do here? They smuggle weapons to sell off-planet. They sell to Imperials, to Hutts, to Warlords, to anyone with enough creds. Kaa'to has black in his heart, even for this place."
She grins up at Huo. "You seem like a nice man, so I'll tell you a story." She speaks softly, but loud enough for both Huo and Amon to hear her. "Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was owned by a Hutt. Her people had been hunted near extinction and to him she was an exotic toy." Her grin quickly fades. "This Hutt, Morbiss, he was a slaver from Nar Shaddaa. Lots of black in his heart. He always had to have guards with him because so many people wanted to kill him."
"Eventually, they got what they wanted. A bomb was planted in his ship's docking bay. Killed Morbiss, his guards, countless slaves. Only two people survived: the little girl, and one of the Hutt's guards, a Nikto. She hid among the bodies, and followed the Nikto when he escaped. He had been wounded, lost a leg and part of an arm. The girl stowed away in his ship, and jumped off when he reached Coruscant."
She pauses, and looks at Huo. "I don't know who he was working for, or why he did it, but Nikto blew off his own leg to get his kill."
A few moments go by with nothing happening before the blade starts to lower, and a figure cautiously steps from the shadow, still keeping a distance from Hou. He can see that she's a teenage girl, though it's hard to pin down an actual age. She's filthy, and looks to have been living on the streets for a long time. Perhaps most striking of all, is that while she looks human, she lacks eyes. There is flesh covering where her sockets would be. To Hou, as a trained medic, it appears as if her species had outgrown needing eyes thousands of years ago.
Roll Xenology. Difficulty 2.
1 Success:
She is a Miraluka, a species known for being force sensitive. Thousands upon thousands of them have been wiped out by the Empire in the past two decades.
She watches Hou for a few seconds, keeping the knife between them. "How do I know I can trust you?" She finally asks, her voice quietly piercing the night.
.
Upstairs
Zagulo hacks into the system easily and begins searching for any information on the bounty hunter Kaa'to, quickly locating an invoice. It lays out a partial shipment of weapons, delivered one day ago. The address is listed as being in Sector 943.
Roll Kn Underworld, 2 Difficulty, to see what you know about Sector 943.
1 Success:
Sector 943 is also known as "The Works". It was once a thriving manufacturing area but has been abandoned and become rundown. It's something of a haven for smugglers and gangsters.
2 Successes:
There are actually many factories that are still in operation. While many industries have moved to plants with less restrictions than a Core world, there are some factories in Sector 943 that are automated enough to continue operating. For instance, the Empire has a relatively secret factory there that manufactures TIE Fighters.
3 Successes:
The actual address listed is for a Novacore-owned Kelerium processing plant. The plant has been in operation for centuries, and is a massive complex stretching across almost a third of the sector. It's almost entirely automated by droids.
It appears that the remainder of the weapons are scheduled to be delivered later this evening at the same address. Among the items listed on the invoice is a miniature thermal detonator.
While cross-referencing, Zagulo also finds a recall notice for miniature thermal detonators. Apparently they are defective, and rarely detonate when properly used.
Let's say 2 Difficulty. This isn't a terminal that's particularly easy to get to - being that it's pretty high up in the building in a big room, so security won't be too locked down on it. You actually need 2 Advantage to Boost yourself, but you could boost Tibs or Muhax with your Advantage. You'll get a Boost yourself anyway because Aralli is assisting you.
Zagulo, Aralli, and Tibs have no issue sneaking their way to the terminal, hiding behind boxes and moving in shadows. Muhax covers the rear, keeping ready should anything follow them up the stairs. So far, all seems quiet.
As Zagulo begins hacking the terminal with assistance from Aralli, while Tibs keeps an eye out, watching the scene in front of him. The workers, primarily humans and ugnaughts, are moving several large boxes on hover-lifts towards the Firespray. As Tibs watches, he sees what he imagines to be the Foreman arguing with another figure, wearing green Mandalorian-style armour. Tibs doesn't recognise the pilot. While too far to hear what they're arguing about, it seems to come to a head as the pilot stalks over to his ship. The foreman wipes sweat from his brow and yells at his men to hurry up.
--
Meanwhile outside, Hou rushes around the side of the building towards the loading dock on the ground floor. For a moment, he doesn't see anything, but his eyes quickly adjust to the shadow. There's a figure crouched down defensively, gripping a blade made from broken glass. Blonde hair shines in the darkness, but her face is still obscured in shadow.
Hou and Amon are waiting for the others, when in the bask of neon lights, Hou spots movement out of the corner of his eye, moving around the side of the building and seeming to vanish into the shadows.
Upstairs
Tibs opens the door quietly, sneaking into the room and crouching behind some large boxes. This entire floor seems to be one large warehouse and shipping room. The ceiling is quite high, giving Tibs the impression that floors 16 and 17 don't actually exist - save for a few catwalks that spread across the ceiling where floor 17 might be.
There are a few workers rushing about, moving some crates over to a Firespray-Class ship. It looks like they've got some kind of a last minute shipment going out. Tibs spots several terminals around the bay, the closest one being about 15 feet from the door, against the wall.
Alrighty, let's have everyone (not Amon or Hou) take 3 Strain for climbing several flights of stairs. Can reduce it by rolling Endurance against Average difficulty.
The group moves quietly up the flights of stairs, making their way from the fourth level up to to the eighth, the twelfth, and finally to the fifteenth. From the stairwell they hear some slight commotion inside - what sounds like a ship being prepared for a late-night takeoff.
"Strange, they are not answering. Perhaps they are closed? Must be a business holiday today."
It's late, sorry if I wasn't clear with that. The office seems to be closed for the evening.
Amon pilots the speeder up to hover by the balcony, with the hope that no one inside happens to glance out a window to see a large speeder floating adjacent to the building. After everyone steps off onto the terrace, he pilots back to the ground, where he and Hou wait for a signal from the others. Anything special you two want to do, or just keep an eye out?
On the Terrace, the rest of you find the door to be unlocked. A quick glance at the exterior of the building suggests that there are perhaps 20 floors total, and you're entering on the 4th.
Inside is a long hallway, with three elevators along one side. Various darkened offices and other hallways sprout off from this one as well, leading into a maze of the other parts of the building. In the distance, you can hear the echo of measured footsteps, from what you imagine to be some kind of security patrol.
Yeah, reset strain - You all had plenty of time to chill and relax with Chopper.
Also, a note since Tibs found the balcony - it's good to remember that you have Destiny Points that can be spent on things. Destiny Points represent the balance between the light and dark sides of the force. So when you use one, I gain another, and vice versa. Each side currently has 3, which are noted at the top of the Campaign tab thing. Definitely use them, they can be a huge help for things.
Here are some examples of what you can use them on:
- You can use them to give a helping hand. The next check a player makes, one of their dice can be upgraded.
- You can use them on various talents (as specified by the talent).
- You can use them for plausible dumb luck. Eg: "Oh, the password was written here on a post-it note."
- You can use them for Reasonable Extrapolation. Eg: Searching an emergency vehicle for a medpac. "It should have what I'm looking for".
- You can use them for luck / deus ex machina situations.
I bring this up now both because I'm trying to introduce some systems slowly, and also because if you did want to go in via the Terrace, you could "deus ex machina" to have some climbing tools / equipment. The logic is that you had it on hand for the earlier part of the job (the Black Sun facility)
Chopper waves farewell as you all pile into your stolen speeder, and head for Sector 1265, and the Zelcomm Tower. Your travel as you have before, quietly and attempting to avoid suspicion. If the Black Sun agents are still out looking for you, they're doing it inconspicuously as well, and travel to the Tower happens without incident.
Home to a profitable shipping company that delivers goods between the Core Worlds and Outer Rim, the Zelcomm Tower is huge, looming over its surroundings. During business hours, the building is bustling with visiting clients and trades, but now, with night having fallen, the facility is dark, seemingly closed for the day.
Keen observation notes, however, that there is still some activity going on under the cover of darkness, as a small shuttle departs from an upper docking pad as you arrive on the ground.
In the interest of actual planning, each of you just pick one thing to do: a) Investigate the Front Door, b) Check for a Side Entrance, or c) Search around the outside for even more ways in. Then meet back up to discuss your potential options.
If you're doing A or B, just read the spoiler. If you're doing C, roll Perception vs Difficult (3d8)
A) Front Door:
The large double doors appear to be securely locked, with a moderately sophisticated security system. Accessing the building through this entrance appears that it will take some hacking, something that may be obvious to any passersby...
B) Side Entrance:
On the side of the building is a blast door that leads to a maintenance hangar. There is a security system that will need to be hacked, but this entrance is out of the way and may be less likely to draw attention.
C) Search - 1 Success:
You notice a series of ventilation grates on the back side of the building. They look tight, but large enough to be slipped into...
C) Search - 2 Success:
Four stories up, you can see a small terrace overlooking the city. While the building itself looks difficult to scale, there's a good chance that the balcony door is easy to get through.
Chopper claps Muhax on the back, hard, but not unfriendly. "Excellent! I would be making the same decision, in your shoes." Reaching past her as she sits down, he presses a few buttons on the console, and a brief bio comes up.
The name is Kaa'to Leeachos, a Nikto, formerly in servitude to the Hutts, who has since made a reputation with a number of high-risk, unauthorized bounties. From reading his bio, it seems like it was only a matter of time before something like this happened. It explains why he took to using an alias with the Pyke family - they'd never have worked with someone with a record such as this.
Unable to contain his curiosity, Chopper leans over to look at the screen as well. "Ah," he says. "Kaa'to. I have seen him around." With a wink, he says, "I happen to know three places you may want to look: The Umbra Club, The Spyder, and Zelcomm Tower."
Make a Streetwise check (Average, 2d8) for each of the three locations individually to see what you know about them.
The Umbra Club: 1 Success:
The Umbra Club is a known den of criminals, mostly death stick dealers.
The Umbra Club: 2 Success:
You think that Speng, one of the dealers there, may have some ideas about Kaa'to.
The Spyder: 1 Success:
The Spyder is a sabaac parlour, frequented by many gamblers. The only thing wagered more than money is information.
The Spyder: 2 Success:
Many of the gamblers there are under the employ of The Black Sun.
Zelcomm Tower: 1 Success:
This skyscraper is the home of Zelcomm industries, a shipping company specialising in transport between the Core and the Outer Rim.
Zelcomm Tower: 2 Success:
You know that they're actually a front for weapon smuggling. You've heard that someone named Coruum Sa'dia is in charge of the operation, but don't know anything about them.
"Could do that." Chopper says with a shrug, before folding two of his four arms, not seeming to care much either way. A quick glance at the terminal suggests that the decryption has finished, and all that's left is for the files to be opened.
After a few minutes, Chopper comes back in, chuckling. "Brass balls on you lot." He says, somewhat to himself. "The Pike Family is pleased with your progress so far and understands your position. They would like business to continue in good faith. I can give you each 200 Credits now, and another 800 each when the bounty hunter is returned to them." He grins. "Not a bad haul, eh?"
"They have assured me that that will be the last of it. The stolen spice is likely long gone and untraceable. All they want now is to make an example of someone who wronged them."
He glances at the computer. "Decryption done. You have other concerns or questions before we learn identity?"
"You don't have to kill anyone." Chopper replies to Muhax. "Just retrieval and delivery. What happens to him after you drop him off, well.. that's not on you."
The Besalisk grumbles as they push for money up front, and he finally says, "Fine fine fine. I will call them. You wait here." He glances at the computer briefly to see how the decryption is coming on, and then says "Don't touch anything." before stepping outside.
I'll give you guys a couple hours in case you want to say/do anything while he's out of the room.
Chopper looks genuinely apologetic. "I appreciate your position, my friend, but that's not how the Pike family sees it. Until the Bounty Hunter is brought to them or killed, the job is not done."
He scratches his chin. "I could give you a fraction of the payment up front. Ordinarily I would never do such a thing, but you travel in good company." He gestures to Tibs and Zagulo. "Besides." A wide grin spreads across his face, "surely you wouldn't be stupid enough to steal from the Pike family."
Chopper looks enthralled with Tibs's telling of the story, his wide eyes following along with each complication, and finally claps his large hands several times when it's finished. "Marvelous." He says, with a satisfied smile, looking not unlike a junkie who has just gotten a fix.
"Ah yes," He replies to Tibs, with a large grin. "Coruscant has been good to me. There is always... interesting work to be done." He laughs. "You should have seen first workshop here. Little more than locker. Couldn't even fit entire speeder inside."
Pausing for a second to look at the others, he finally nods, and moves some more piles of junk, efficiently lifting with all of his hands, to reveal a computer on his desk. He holds out one of his large hands towards Zagulo. "Now. For my part in this story." Taking the datapad, he plugs it into his computer, and speaks to the others as he presses several keys at once, without removing his eyes from the screen. "I am to help with file decryption."
"This Bounty Hunter used an alias, betrayed the Pike family, stole from them. Always a risky idea to steal from those more powerful. We will find out his name." He glances back, the file starting to decrypt on the screen. "The Pike family appreciates your help this far. They would like for you to take care of this problem."
"Of course." Chopper says with a smile, before his look turns to mock disappointment and surprise. "But what is this? No juicy details?" He turns to Tibs. "Surely I can at least get you to boast, my friend."
The ride to Chopper's goes somewhat slowly but miraculously uneventfully, with Zagulo using the computers system to give Amon directions that circumvent busy areas of the city. As you park and enter the establishment, you see several groups of Ugnaughts, hard at work. Sparks fly from various spots throughout the large and cluttered repair shop. Everywhere you look are half-built droids, strange contraptions, and parts piled to the ceiling. The Ugnaughts ignore you, focused on welding parts on a disassembled airspeeder.
From being one of the piles of junk, a voice booms out. "My friends! It is so good to see you again!" A large, green-mottled Besalisk emerges, his four arms wrapping around Tibs first, and then Zagulo, in an enormous bear hug. To the others he smiles broadly, "Welcome!" As he scans them, his eyes fall on Zagulo's datapad, and his smile falters slightly. "Please, join me in my office." He leads the group towards a small room in the back, just as filled with mechanical parts as the rest of the shop. He brushes some equipment off one of the chairs where it clatters to the floor. Gesturing to the datapad again, he speaks more quietly. "How did you obtain this?"
