GM TWO's page

I'm open to you doing something to get the poison abilities you want for the bard, just propose something.

Considering the possibilities, I think I’d make them alchemical discoveries restricted to the eldritch poisoner and other poison-centric archetypes for other classes that can acquire discoveries, and keep the level requirements for 5th level for Hypertoxins and 12th level for Master of Poisons.

Indeed, enjoy the season. Again, sorry for crapping out these last months — computer and RL issues, and hitting a creative wall. I will be better in the new year.

Well, since everyone has their own thread ... it becomes a little wacky. And of course, I haven't managed posts in a while. Because stupid network, and stupid RL, and stupid computer, and stupid stupidity.

But back into the swing, yay. And no major holiday mayhem for me, so yay twice.

You need to post to it!! :D It's been too long. It misses you. ;)

Bernot frowns thoughtfully as he thinks. "No Bonfils here," he muses, "but the name does ring a bell." He thinks for a few more moments, then shakes his head. "No, not coming to me. But you have a good idea there, Fesch. Competition between troops, between the companies of different forts. Get us into fighting trim, eh?" A long glance sideways at you, then he nods. "Let me introduce you to my captain."

The fort is, of course, nearly identical to Fort l'Ouest, built on the same plan with variations only for the lay of the land; if you overnighted here, you'd barely need to open your eyes late at night when you needed to go to the jacks, and except for minor things -- a corner with still-sharp stone as compared to the worn-smooth ones at l'Ouest, the wear patterns in the floor -- you don't need a guide up to the captain's office.

But Bernot escorts you up anyhow, giving a sharp couple of raps on the door before opening it. "Capitaine Yount, Lieutenant Fesch, Ninth of the Third out of Fort l'Ouest, to see you. Mentioned Lieutenant Bonfils."

There are a few moments of silence, filled only by rustles of paper, and then a brutally-used voice rasps, "Enter."

Lieutenant Bernot steps in, salutes, then moves to the side, turning to face your entrance and coming to attention; once more, his hand is upon his sword, ready for the draw as he makes way for you to enter. Once you do so -- and salute, of course -- the middle-aged woman at the rough wood table within the room nods in acknowledgement of your salute, then gestures for you to stand at ease. "Out for a walk, Fesch?"

The age, the roughened voice, and the name finally all combine, clicking in your head to give you some idea of the woman behind the desk. Though not on the Council some twenty years ago, she was a swiftly-rising star in the military-centric Imperial Council, an officer very much in your own mold -- a field commission earned during the destruction of the witch coven known as the Eye of Law by the military junta that came to be called the Imperial Council, a rapid rise to colonel, her inability to secure the city with the reduced troops she had available for the task, her capture at the destruction of the gatehouse of Le Levant, subsequent trial, and -- in a rare display of leniency for the council -- 'mere' demotion to lieutenant. She has, however, stayed in the Army, despite the fact that in over fifteen years she has received only one promotion, that of the rank (and assigned position) she now holds.

Yeah, I apologize profusely -- events have not been kind to my ability to post. I am putting together things now, both for here and for the two games I'm in -- getting to y'all in order of 'waiting the longest'. :P :)

Jerome, Lily, Athanas, hope y'all are still about too.

In a bloody tableau, Jacques Barbeau keeps his innards from spilling out, looking up at the man who's already killed him; the sudden shock of the overwhelming violence keeps him from crying out again for the few seconds before the pain hits. And when the pain does hit, Le Boucher's sawbacked dagger is already poised at his throat, and only the barest whisper of agony emerges before that too is gone ...

A few minutes later, the Butcher of Sud Rivière emerges from the garret as the scent of death seeps slowly from the room. A single shriek is regrettably common in Isarn these days, typically as reported 'traitors' are seized from their beds and dragged off, soon to face a judge and, more often than not, Madame Margaery. One more howl of terror is merely a cause to wake up from an uneasy sleep, then to be glad it isn't you. And so Le Boucher can fade even as do the songs of the bells ...

Not a problem. My network's been a b&#@~ the last couple, so post when you're ready. And take care of RL first, as always.

It takes precious moments trying to figure out from whence those mindless shrieks come; the concealed La Marquise uses those uncertain moments to boost her defenses and speed, then starting to move in the general direction of where she thinks the origin of the sound is. Moving locations apparently helps, because she streaks across the yards-wide street and into an alley composed primarily of stairs ascending to the higher terrain of the next street over but which has, next to and behind the wide run of stairs, a more typical cobblestoned cul-de-sac.

It is deep inside this dark, dank, and fetid alley that the night-adapted vigilante finally spots a barrel-torso'd man -- human, maybe half-orc -- with his pants down about his knees, stretched out on top of and thrusting against -- into?? -- the source of the shrieking. Small fists beat at his shoulders and head, slim legs have been forced aside, a shift such as is worn by poor children from two to ten or even older has been torn off and discarded in the muck.

Thank you all for the reassurances. (And back at ya with posts.) I had an OOC post last time, and thought I'd posted it, but apparently not. And my stupid network is being stupid bloody nasty nonsense.

Okay, so a few things that came to mind ...

Attuned Weapons/Armor/Shields
In regards to the items you attune (meaning those to which you apply your Automatic Bonus Progression benefits), they must be items of quality, i.e. masterwork. I know some of you have done this to both items, some to one, some to none; no judgement right now, but if you haven't, and you have GP remaining, please add on the masterwork cost to whatever item(s) are not yet masterwork. If you don't have GP, I'll account for that in what monies you manage to acquire in the near future. ;) These are, after all, meant to be favored / exceptional items.

Na Na Na Na Na Na Na Na, Vigilante!!
So running around on rooftops and in sewers is par for the course for vigilantes; it occurs to me that vigilantes should, of necessity, be better at it than the ordinary decent guardsman, and that because of more than just having a better rating at Acrobatics and Climb. Both of these skills are really important for running around on rooftops in the city. If you don't have ranks in them, I will permit you to peel off at least a couple points from other skills to put a minimum of a point into each. If your vigilante determinedly keeps away from the rooftop thing, in your posts as a vigilante, please do me the favor of reminding me that you keep to ground level in some manner -- posting about slipping behind booths, ducking under awnings, pausing in the mouth of an alleyway, feeling cobblestones beneath your boots, whatever.

Otherwise, the skill that makes the difference between a fellow who is an acrobat and a rooftop-running vigilante is actually not an 'adventuring' skill, but instead a background Knowledge skill: Engineering. KS: Engineering involves more than just siege machinery amd fortifications, it also involves architecture, from bridges to buildings. With Catacombs navigation involving Engineering as well, that makes that knowledge skill pretty useful in this game. ;)

What I'm going to do is to permit as a move action (not the standard free/no action that a knowledge skill normally uses) the quick examination of a building's facade, with a DC equal to that of the Climb DC (for typical buildings, 25 for brick and stone first/second stories, 21 for wood/plaster higher stories) to identify gaps, grips, and a route. Success will result in a +2 circumstance bonus to your Climb roll; this bonus increases by +2 for every 5 you make the Engineering roll by, to a maximum of +10.

This use of a Knowledge skill will apply to other Climb rolls in appropriate circumstances -- Dungeoneering should you ever go underground outside the (mostly deliberately carved) Catacombs, Nature (or maybe Geography) for mountains and the like. Going off something Jerome has, however, (meaning Terrain Mastery) navigation on the rooftops and in the city in general (not the Catacombs) is going to be a KS: Geography check if/when it becomes necessary. Most often that will be a matter of you running for your life, or desperately trying to catch someone / cut them off before they can get somewhere; otherwise it won't really matter.

Also, remember the ancient adage of 'Always be yourself -- unless you can be Batman; then be Batman.'

Crossing the Road
The map of Isarn has plenty of roads on it, but those are the main thoroughfares, the biggest plazas; there are plenty of lesser streets and alleyways and courtyards within each block (and in some blocks, fields and orchards!) that you have to cross or go around. Particularly inside Le Carrousel, you can usually get around using only the rooftops in any particular 'block' area -- but you still have to cross those tetchy gaps.

In general, gaps are going to be between 8' and 15' across; 1d8+7 is a fair randomization, and of course the number of feet is the DC of the Acrobatics check to clear it with a running start. (And who wouldn't be running across a rooftop??) I believe almost everyone here can make that jump with a Take 10, though I'll point out that that is only going to apply to 'ordinary' traversing, not chase-scene stuff. ;) One rolls for chase scenes, and see above for navigation in the urban and above-urban terrain. ;)

Default Disguise / Gather Information
Unless specified, if you simply say 'a disguise' without any specifics, I will assume that your character is disguised as an individual of your gender, race (with human, if you are or can pass as human, being preferential), and targeted class. Jerome would be 'a human gentleman of some means', meaning upper class, while Manush would be a moderately prosperous gnome (middle/shopkeeper class), and Lily would be a working-class woman of some type.

Likewise, if you simply tell me you're 'gathering information', I'll presume you're doing so a) in your area of influence (if you have one) or your home district (if you don't -- granted, the two are typically the same), and b) in locales appropriate to your targeted class. Jerome might stop in at higher-end restaurants, semi-private clubs, and taverns catering to barristers and the Isarn City Guard, all within Vieille Ville; Manush would be going about the Industrial District into taverns and restaurants that cater to shop-owners and Master-level craftsmen. Lily, in turn, would be moving through the Theater District, stopping at food carts and taverns that cater to the working man (and the criminal).

If you want otherwise, just specify; these are only defaults. ;)

"What Was That??"
If I give you a cue of some sort, and you need to identify where it came from, by all means do not wait for me to ask you for a Perception check to figure out where that came from, or a KS: Geography check to determine the best/safest/fastest/whatever way there; just go ahead and roll. If you're on a rooftop, add in an Acrobatics roll, because 90% of the time you're going to have to drop down. In fact, if you're a vigilante, just add in an acrobatics roll anyhow, on the general philosophy that while swinging from chandeliers is for swashbucklers, you as a vigilante do plenty of it anyhow. ;)

Seperation of Powers Skills
While I understand wanting to keep your skills in fully alphabetic order, I would feel considerably better if everyone seperated their adventuring and background skills from each other -- and tracked their point expenditures seperately. If you borrow from your adventuring skills to add points to background, please track that lending in one place or the other (or both).

This has the added benefit of helping you instinctively know which skills are background skills. ;)

Hurrying to spot -- locate -- follow your niece is relatively tough amongst all these long-legged tallfolk -- a gnome amongst mostly humans -- but your quick eye keeps tabs on her for the block or so necessary for you to catch up. Whether you call her name or catch her sleeve, she'll turn and give a slight start of surprise. "Aunt Manush!! I - I - I didn't expect to see you here!!"

Her companion turns as well, dropping the copper coin that was in -- or perhaps on -- his hand at that moment, and scrambling after it. After he manages to snatch it back from between the cobbles of the street, he regains the sidewalk, blinking at you with an uncertain standoffishness -- you'd guess dubous servility (the lot of many smallfolk in Isarn) instead of banked aggression.

The soldiers at Fort de la Briche seem alert, at least; while there doesn't seem to have been any ready response when your troops swing into view from around one of the dozens of hamlets scattered around the city, by the time you reach the gate on Libertie there are two heads peering out from behind crenelations above the gate. While one stares (somewhat stupidly) down at the well-dressed lines of your approaching unit, the other glances at the first one, then down at you, then calls down, "I, uh ... I'll check. Wait there, um, Lieutenant."

It takes a few more minutes, and from the sound of it there's some amount of soldierly bustling occurring behind the gate; soon enough, the postern opens up and out steps another lieutenant. "Sir!!" he calls out smartly, his hand on his sword, though it is not drawn. There are, however, more soldiers on the walls at this point, just in case. "Please dismount, advance and be recognized." Ah, yes, the interminable 'papers, please!' request. Fortunately or not, it's a common thing -- almost critically necessary, when you leave your own camp and expect to encounter other officers -- as criminals and bandits have been known to create mock-ups of Galtan Army uniforms and insignia. Papers are, however, more difficult to forge than with just a needle, thread, and cloth that 'looks close enough'; one must be literate, first, and one must know what it should look like, which few enough outside the Army itself care to know.

The fort's lieutenant waits for your salute, returns it, and accepts the papers you produce; examining them for a moment, he hands them back, salutes you in return (and waits for your response), then says, "Lieutenant Fesch, you and your men are welcome to Fort de la Briche." He half-turns and gestures, after which you can hear the gate's braces being removed and the gate being opened. The lieutenant waits for you to retrieve your horse and, with your return, walks in with you. "Lieutenant Danial Bernot, Fourth of the Fourth. Training exercise, huh?" He eyes the men with interest as their formation marches in through the gate, and remains in formation after doing so. Bernot looks somewhere between approving and impressed.

Information is information -- someone has it, you want it. The only question is whether or not you can locate the 'someone', and what the cost of the information may be. After all, some prices are too high to pay -- or so they say. Unfortunately, the Grey Gardeners are a difficult topic to introduce, and talking with any amount of openness is even more difficult. By dusk at the seventh bell, the most you've managed to discover without tipping over the apple cart is that there is -- or perhaps was -- someone up before the senior appellate judges last month who allegedly possessed detailed information on the identities of the Grey Gardeners in Isarn at that time, as well as their movements. According to the morose and already-half-pickled late-twenties young attourney who murmurs this to you, said individual was found guilty of treason but died in the courtroom moments after the final verdict (and sentence of execution by final blade) was read.

Supposedly.

The bartender and the bouncer both say (or in Gabin's case, grunt) their farewells, the half-orc regaining his seat and glowering around at the room; just another night at the Flock of Doves, and for the proprietor of the tincture-shop down the street ...

For Le Fantôme, the night is just getting started.

Feeling the pressure of time -- fifteen, twenty minutes can be forever -- the elf avenger actually gives only a quick glance about before scaling the ruins of the burned-out shop behind her own little enclave, gaining the rooftops in less than a minute. Another swift glance to orient herself, and she is ghosting off across rooftops and past chimneys, avoiding the occasional cloud-gazer, leaping the six- and eight-foot-wide gaps across alleys with steely aplomb. Only a handful more minutes go by before Le Fantôme crouches on the roof of the shortest building that looks down into Rue le Potage, elven eyes picking out the three Caydogs slowly moving towards her through the alley-way, all three of them scowling as they root through piles of debris, trash, and refuse, clearly looking for something.

TRIGGER WARNING
For anyone reading along with Eponine’s story, the next GM post will include some rather nasty stuff involving a child. This has been cleared with the player, but I figured a warning here would not go amiss.

Glancing carefully downwards -- perhaps in an attitude of prayer, or even just a tired woman needing a moment to collect herself -- you peek at the gift given you by the afflicted girl. Nestled in your hands is ... a pebble. Just a small pebble about the size of your thumbnail, vaguely egg-shaped, smooth to the touch, warm from being held by the tidy girl. While an oddity of sorts -- you haven't the knowledge base to recognize the type of stone, but its particularly dark grey tone doesn't fit with those used in the city architecture -- it simply might be a security object, something she'd held onto to try to help control her distress at the strange mayhem of city life, a bit of rock picked up or given her that's been worn smooth and round by incessant use.

'... or it may be something different,' whisper the spirits inside you. 'Dangerous. Helpful. Useless. A good sling stone ...'

... well, it's certainly far too small to be a good sling stone, so that advice might be taken with a grain of salt.

Keeping out of the public eye is not child's play for you, but tonight you seem to be especially on point. Noticing someone turning your way, a long step moves you behind them and out of their view, and in another step, before they can turn back, you are past them and into the alley beyond. A rattle of someone undoing the latch on their shutters, and you scale the wall and ascend to the roof before the faded red panels swing wide. You pause to listen to a domestic argument that sounds like it might be turning violent, but the man swears, throws up his hands, turns and stalks to the window under which you are listening to give himself space to cool down, and you are already gone.

Night has fallen, the bells of the third quarter-hour of nine bells are a recent memory ... and a scream rises above an alley. It takes you a minute to figure out from where it's coming, but for that agonizing minute the screams do not dwindle; if anything, they become more shrill, more panicked, transforming swiftly from the screams of a person towards those mindless, agonized ones of a tortured animal.

In a tiny, unlit garret in Sud Rivière above three floors worth of flophouse, Jacques Barbeau crouches and peers out of its small window at the coming dawn. He's made it through the night, says his body language, which also says he's sure that if he can do that, then he can survive the day -- and the week, and the months to come. Nodding slightly as the ringing of the bells cascades across the valley in which Isarn sits, the haggard man stands upright, tugs straight his tunic, steps to the garret door and unlocks it, and opens it -- to come face-to-face -- or perhaps face-to-mask -- with the very horror he's spent his night evading. A shriek comes from Barbeau as he recoils, though he keeps either the presence of mind or just the coordination of body to remain on his feet. Though there's a bang of his head against a rafter, he snatches his dagger from its sheath, holding it in front of him with ... comparative expertise.

Not compared to you, though.

Well, that was meant more as a 'people who are waiting on posts', but hey. Checking if you're paying attention: Priceless.

For combat, as an experiment, I'm going to put up your opponent's AC, HP, saves, stuff like that. A few ground rules for posting, however:

If you reduce a target to negative HP greater than their Con (so -11 if they have a 10 CON), they die; feel free to describe how it happens, but it can't take more than one minute (if their death would end combat), and no information can be gained.

If you reduce them to negative numbers, unless they have that 'orc toughness' thing where they can really act while at negative HP, you can decide what happens next: describe their death-throes, falling off the edge behind them, collapsing to the ground, whatever. If them dropping ends combat, you may state what you start to do -- stabilizing people, running off, whatever. Stabilizing people can lead to interrogations, note. ;)

If you do not reduce them to negative numbers, you can post an approximation of the hit -- a 2 on 1dx+1 means a barely-hit, while a max roll means a good solid strike -- but not their reaction or anything of that sort.

If you have a 'save or die' effect (death attack, petrification, coup de grace, etc.), you can roll their save (because at least for now, I'll include their bonuses). If they fail the roll, you can describe the effect taking place (XYZ turns to stone, shudders as their heart stops, etc.); if they succeed, let me post the result.

Note that while I do favor the 'over 4 HP, HP are an approximation of will-to-fight, luck, etc. and not significant damage' version, I understand that it's just easier to acknowledge that real wounds-close healing takes place instead of a potion of cure critical wounds 'merely' revitalizing your spirit. ;)

Blach. Been putting together posts, keep tripping over RL and crap. Multiple posts tomorrow night. Sorry for the delays, hope everyone is doing well and still with us.

Stupid RL.

It takes a few minutes -- five, maybe ten -- before the crowd in the Flock of Doves returns almost to normal; the trio of Caydogs settle in to be the center of a mild sort of annoyance. There's nothing especially nasty about what they're doing, but it is a low level kind of harrassment of anyone who has to go past them. The servers have it the worst, of course, and in a certain way Gabin's reputation is suffering, but there's nothing really bad.

Until you catch the word 'corpse' in close proximity to the word 'dispose'. It isn't said very loud -- you'd be willing to bet that in this ruckus, you're probably the only one who overheard -- and while you can't tell just from their body language whether they were the one who created said corpse, there is definitely a certain kind of tension about them. Listening as closely as you can without, you know, looking like you're listening, you do catch one thing - 'Rue le Potage', which you know to be an alley-cum-street not too far from where you now sit.

Another ten or so minutes later, the dwarf turns and pushes himself off the stool he stole from Gabin, and stumps towards the door. The elf and half-orc straighten up, stretch, look around as if they owned the place, and start to follow.

Marching songs have a long, long, long history; it is entirely possible that during the War in Heaven, the hosts sang as they marched to seek a field that would give them the advantage over their foes. In Fesch's company as in others since the beginning of time, the veterans help teach the younger soldiers the songs, the stride, the drummer's beat that keeps spirits up and energy at a steady flow.

That their officer marches with them (in boots that, let us be frank, are likely not made for marching) gives them a bit of an extra boost; an officer should be willing to put his shoulder to the wheel, to move among his men, and yet must be able to command their respect and direct them into the teeth of Hell itself. It is things such as this that make that possible.

The Courts of Isarn
Oathday, 30th Desnus, 4719

You are not, of course, the only observer -- nor even the only legal observer -- in the courts. There are family (there are always family), and likewise the aides and students of the more than five hundred legalists that serve the courts in their various capacities; sometimes there are a few advocates themselves, there to observe proceedings, whether because they are interested in the outcome (rarely) or because they are studying the judge to see what techniques and tactics are more liable to sway him or her.

One notable aspect of Isarn's current judicial system is that there is no such thing as a jury; the judge of the case, advised by two barristers of the government, technically is the sole arbiter of guilt or innocence. While most judges listen to the barristers (who are not, it should be noted, the prosecutor or the defense attourney) who advise them on precedents and the tangle of Galtan laws, a few are 'hanging judges' (or their opposite) who generally need a really persuasive argument to turn them from their typical judgement. There are a hundred and one judges at various levels in Isarn; some hear (with due gravity) cases that are little more than complaints about petty debts and minor trifles. Others adjudicate upon greater crimes, while still others listen to appeals. With how the legal system works, you never know what kind of case you're going to be handed, so it behooves every attourney to study the judges when he can.

-------------------------

Clarisse Bertrand is one of the serious powerhouses of the Isarn judicial system. Though appointed only relatively recently -- within the last handful of years -- she is one of the ten senior appellate judges, a late-fifties grim and determined sort of woman who you'd best pray to the gods you don't get. She is the only senior judge who sees appeals cases of particularly intimidating individuals; it is sometimes said that if a vigilante is ever brought to justice, Clarisse Betrand is the last judge they'd see. Though not a 'hanging judge' by any means, she does tend to confirm guilty verdicts and reverse those of innocence; the barristers who assist her (you know from experience) had damn well be on point when they're working with her.

Unfortunately, because of the courtroom's small size, things aren't where they generally are supposed to be; it's tough to get a good look at what she's doing, though you do remember that she takes a fair amount of notes, many of which she uses in her formal judicial opinion. The trial you're at, the final one for a brutish half-orc Caydogs thug, results in a 'guilty' confirmation, and the howling (then gagged) prisoner is dragged off to spend a last few days in misery before going to lay with Madame Margaery. The gavel strikes, and though you're not absolutely convinced, you're reasonably sure she isn't the Gray Gardener.

-------------------------

Noemi Lambert, on the other hand, you have no personal experience with -- an elf is she, on the bench for longer than the Revolution (and one, so it is said, of the few who can still say that), but that may well be because of the cases over which she presides. In the much larger courtroom where the senior judge hears a morass of minor cases, young attourneys who have recently passed the bar and entered service act as prosecutor and defense for a series of cases brought up, argued, and decided upon all in the space of ten or fifteen minutes. She has kept her head down, as it were, and adjudicates ... well, relatively fairly, from what you can tell.

From your position you can observe the woman making brief notes, listening to the commentary and advice from the more experienced legalists to either side of her, but fairly clearly charting her own course. She does seem to focus considerably upon the two before her bench, as well as the accused and the witnesses; her gaze is almost hawklike, though you do notice it shifts in your direction once or twice. You emerge from her courtroom thinking that while her focus certainly matches the commentary about Sœur Glauque that Dolores gave and makes her a strong contender, you're not quite certain she matches. Call it a strong maybe.

-------------------------

The third of the day, Adelaide Olivier, is a bottom-rung criminal court judge. An inverterate note-taker, she seems to be able to write, listen, think, and question all simultaneously. More than the others -- far more than most judges of your experience -- she involves her judicial assistants in questioning and cross-examining, often listening to a comment from one of them, then indicating that they should ask their question of the accused or witness, or even of the prosecution or defense. The entire time, she continues to write notes, her gaze moving between the sheets in front of her and one of those before her bench.

For all that, however, she seems to be almost as well-versed in the complexities of Isarn law as those there to assist her; the case you watch her handle is eventually postponed, as she instructs those before her bench to look up two obscure references -- one such 'assist' given to the prosecution, the other to the defense. The two barristers are fifteen- and twenty-year lawyers, and though they look uncertain (and on the part of the prosecution, more than a little argumentative), they have little recourse but to obey and return three days hence to continue argument. Olivier's eyes watch them as and after she gives her instructions; all of this together give you a sense that she is a definite contender.

-------------------------

Naturally, it would be best if you could manage to actually see Sœur Glauque and her habits yourself; working with secondhand information is difficult at best. But it's Oathday and almost five bells, and who knows where the Gray Gardener might appear.

*facepalm* I oughta smack myself more often. Sorry, Jerome -- for some reason I consistently overlooked you.

It happens to the worst of us, like me. ;) Just thought I'd give you a bump, let you know I'm thinking of you, as it were. :)

Testnudge!

The dwarf female Kethe sniffs slightly, barring the extending of your hand for the ledger for a moment while she carefully blots and sands the fresh ink she'd just laid down; after a moment, she taps and blows off the sand, passing the ledger over to you while she eases herself down from the wide chair and goes to the front door to let in one of the herbalists, tapping on the door. She listens to your request as she comes back, meeting your gaze with a slight, almost archetypally dwarfish frown. While the dwarves do not revere Abadar as they do Torag, there is a primal level of respect for the Master of the First Vault; some of Torag's own works are held within Abadar's repository as perfect examples of craftsmanship; that Kethe is more a follower of the Gold-Fisted than the Forgemaster is unusual but not worthy of comment -- among dwarves, anyhow, and the dwarves rarely talk about their unusual members to outsiders anyhow.

For a long few moments, Kethe considers your expression, your directness, your words, and then nods thoughtfully. "Belmont. Hm. Rings a bell, but I can't say for certain. Want for me to ask around, pass a few notes?" She may not know Belmont personally, but she's willing to send a few messages to others of her faith to find out information for you -- presuming he actually is, as you're implying, actually an Abadaran.

Otherwise, of course, she concentrates on the business of the day and of the week. Though she is more than passably capable -- a merchant herself, and were Le Mélange Efficace her own she would be capable of slowly building it into something she could pass on to her own offspring -- you are, after all, quite a better merchant than she is, and she takes every opportunity to at least try to learn why you direct her to some of the less-certain activities and investments. That you're a gnome is often explanation enough; that you're an alchemist who experiments with psychoactive tinctures can explain others, but ... she still seeks to understand. After all, the striving to better yourself is important, is it not?

Takuhi enters in time to hear her assigned reading, and Manush will leave Le Mélange to the sound of the young gnome whining about how boring it is in counterpoint to the dwarven woman's iron resolve to get the girl set down in front of the oversized book and reading away. That paper, ink, and quills would be in reach is not something that Kethe quite manages to consider ...

----------------------------

For a gnome, travelling the city during the day is something akin to navigating a forest where the trees are moving and don't care of they kick you. Well, all right, that's an exaggeration, but only a minor one. With Crumb peeping on your shoulder, flitting to the ground to pluck up a beetle wounded by a passerby or other such fallen victim, her dark eyes (and often herself) keeping moving as you make your way along the streets from the Industrial to the Theater districts. Going to the Karapetyan family home, however, means passing the Isarn School of Fine Arts, the slow-crumbling edifices having seen forty years of disuse, misuse, and maltreatment. It's also the home of the Starving Artists, amongst whose ranks can be found your niece Farrah, Paramaz's daughter.

Who you just happen to catch sight of emerging from a doorway in the company of another gnome. With both you and they moving, the visual is impossibly brief, a sight-line past two humans, through a gap of a kiosk and a food-cart. The only question is whether you try to catch her and talk to her -- not to mention trying to get her to at least visit her worried-sick father and chronically-sick mother.

Testnudge!

Coming to the hole-in-the-wall bistro half a block down from Montaigne's townhome at which you sit, Odila looks less fresh-faced than one would expect an early- to mid-twenties young woman from the relatively nearby village of Monserrat. Growing up hungry due to the 'nationalization' of staple food production has added years to her, impacted her growth (she is short and still lean), and undoubtedly was the eventual cause of her coming to Isarn in search of a job -- or rather, food, which a job would enable her to get. One of the lucky ones, she actually found something, Montaigne seeing in her ... well, whatever Montaigne sees in her that pleases her, who knows.

Naturally, Odila doesn't wear an apron while out; that piece is meant to keep the unrelievedly black uniform of a housemaid neat and clean. But while the severe black dress is absolutely a uniform, it seems to be one to which the young woman has grown accustomed, wearing it with the ease of familiarity, which would suggest she's been in service for at least two or three years.

She acquires a servant's meal, half of one of the hours-old industrially-produced baguettes and a half-bowl of the fish-based soup that is today's offering; contrast this with your own hors 'doeuvres creations, which are various combinations of thinly-shaved meat and equally-thinly-sliced vegetable (less for artistry than to extend the meat and veggies as far as they can) upon thin slices of the very same baguettes. Taking her mid-day, she sits down at an empty seat a few tables to one side, sharing with a couple who give her barely more than a glance before returning to their own discussion. You yourself share with a starveling young man wearing black scholarly robes and reading a book of some sort, and while his companion is likewise lean, the rapier at his hip is, at the very least, finely-made -- which absolutely implies he knows how to keep it.

Not a problem. Take care, stay safe, get things solved. Rule #0 of all my games: Real Life Comes First.

That was for Barbeau himself, crouched somewhere “safe” and very much no longer drunk.

A quick note on how time is kept in Isarn:

The eleven bells of Le Temple Creux (all of them with names) are rung by obsessive timekeeping fanatics, and have been tended by the Timekeepers since the Hollow Temple was built. From First Bells (6:00 AM) to Last Bells (11:00 PM), they are rung every quarter-hour in very specific patterns; the hours are tolled on the hour but not the quarter-hour. From Last Bells to First, only the Hour Call (indicating that it is the top of the hour) and the Hour Count (i.e. what hour it actually is, immediately follows the Hour Call) are tolled.

While the bells of Le Temple Creux are able to be heard across Isarn and beyond -- on all but the most inclement nights the watch at the ring of forts around Isarn (such as Fort de l'Ouest where Lucien is stationed) use the bells for timekeeping -- during the day local churches ring their own bells when they hear those of Le Temple Creux (or a church closer to it than they are) ring. This results in a wave of bell tolling that spreads across the city every hour, serving as alarm clock for those (like bakers) who must rise and get to work early.

Only a few churches ring the quarter-hours.

(This explanation will be added to a section of the Galt Gazette, and referenced in Le Temple Creux. The Timekeepers will also be ... well, not necessarily _explained_ ... ;) )

Oh, Barbeau has escaped -- for now. Le Boucher has done his research, and though Barbeau does not go to any of his usual places -- sometimes a reputation can be a two-edged dagger -- he cannot somehow magically vanish all of the people who have seen him, the people who know him.

The people who hate him.

The Butcher is not strong, but Athanas knows that speed trumps strength, that knowledge trumps speed -- that you don't have to be able to one-hand a half-orc by the throat over the edge of a roof if you know exactly where the nerves come closest to the skin, if you keep your other knives sharp enough to slice leather for the asking -- and if you can do that without cutting the skin beneath. (Unless you want to; that's the lesson given there.) It takes time, though, to find a person who's seen something.

But sometimes it takes surprisingly little terror to persuade people to talk.

The half-orc grunts. "Doubt it," he opinions from his lofty age of twenty-two; Marco is almost thirty and is definitely one of Isarn's hot-heads, it being a minor miracle of some sort that he hasn't run his mouth off to the wrong people and is still alive.

Settling down and lending an ear to the casual gossip around you, the overwhelming majority of it is the gossip and concerns of the every-day city-dweller -- prices of food, the vagaries of various lives, incidents and accidents, hints and allegations. Talk about someone sleeping with someone else who isn't their spouse or regular lover, talk about a bauble missing, celebration at a lost item found. Politics, though most of the discussion is far from the controversial sort of debates that might be found in, say, Talmandor's Doctrine a quarter-mile away (as the crow flies). No, around here is like around most of the city, accepting that Citizen Goss knows what he's talking about: that Chelish spies remain plotting to seize power in Galt and turn it into a satellite state of Cheliax; that Andoran and Taldor, whether as rivals and as cohorts, are looking for the best opportunity to invade; that agents of the old pre-Revolution nobility seek to return the nation to their aristocratic rule "instead of proper rule by the Revolutionary Council the way it's supposed to be!!"

There is, to be fair, some amount of disgruntlement about the Caydogs and their handling (or mishandling as the case may be) of life in the District. Not long after the ninth bell, however, the Flock of Doves suddenly quiets down in a wave emanating from the door. Three bravos of the gang stand there, in what the Caydogs call 'silver and tan' -- typically tan clothing with silver (rare) or white (usually dirty) trim or accent item; scarves are popular, no doubt for their fast and easy removal and concealment in case of running into a problem they can't handle -- like an equal fight. This trio is a curious one, made up of a dwarf, a half-orc, and an elf, all males, and none of them can be far out of their adolescence, which to be fair is relatively common for the Caydogs; Cayden's Home is one of their main recruiting grounds. The elf might still be considered, at least by other elves, not yet an adult.

The three paused to watch the effect their arrival has on the common people in the tavern, then slowly swagger their way to the bar, apparently satisfied that their dominance is established. The elf makes a point of shouldering Gabin off his stool, onto which the dwarf climbs before pounding a fist on the planking. "Barkeep!! Ale!!"

Adrien hurries to serve the three.

You can see that Gabin is pissed -- you'll see his fist clench down at his hip, concealed from the three -- but he has enough sense to know that making a fuss would be bad for the Doves, not to mention that three-on-one is bad odds, particularly because he can't expect anyone to pitch in on his side.

You also get the sense that the elf knew that, and is deliberately screwing with Gabin, just because he can.

There are tunnels into which the average catacomb-crawler never go, passages they shy away from -- ones which have a stench that is just wrong, or from which screams echo, or which simply have a bad reputation. For obvious reasons, such dangerous tunnels have dangerous denizens who are willing to risk them, or in some cases stalk them, but a predator knows the sense of a predator. It is these passages through which La Marquise moves, bland grey cloak serving to mottle the shadows, blur the outline, confuse the eye for just long enough for her to move past unmolested and, often, unremarked-upon -- though not often utterly unseen. The wolf knows the bear, after all, and is wise enough to not fvck with it ...

Emerging from a sewer access shaft into the middle of an alley, La Marquise takes a moment to orient herself. The surprisingly loud and characteristic music of the infamous Moulin Bleu serves as both attraction and advertising, which must work because after two decades of operation, it makes enough money to remain both in operation and free of outside influence, especially that of the Caydogs and the Court of Bees, and that has to cost a pretty penny. For you, however, it is serving as orientation, establishing you as being just outside your target district.

The two share the space in companionable silence for several minutes, the boy across the street with his head turned into his mother's lap; you know the boy sheds tears of pain, even as his mother cries in helpless anguish at her child's distress. But perhaps the physician's experiment will work, and the boy will heal and grow stronger. For those souls whose cries you hear, cries which are subdued with the nearness of someone who perhaps hears them as well, there is work to do to free them. Work which will no doubt intensify those voices, push you to the edge of madness ... beyond, even.

Abruptly, Lèa stands and, crossing in front of you, walks away; there is less than an instant's pause when she reaches out to put her hand upon the top of your loosely-clasped pair. The feel of a pebble-sized stone falling through a gap between your hands and landing in the nest of your laced fingers is subtle but definite.

If they were a supplicant, it would certainly be difficult to find someone, but you are a legalist working inside the system, and the target -- well, targets -- of your inquiry are judges. Getting the list of their dockets for the next couple of days takes some finagling, knowing the right clerks to talk to, and a fair amount of walking (or running, in the case of your young errand folk), but well before you go home you have the list, and can figure out who to sit in on, and when. Now it's just a matter of figuring out how long you care to sit and observe, as well as how long it may take to get from one courtroom to another. Within the same building is easy, a matter of five or ten minutes, but outside of them is a bit longer of a walk.

A little bit of thought was, apparently, just the thing; before you know it, Sarenrae's light is framing the curtains, the first full bells of the day are clanging across the city. Bread is, no doubt, being delivered to shops all over the city from the massive industrial 'bakery' that is its basket -- bread that has no warmth by the time it arrives, no spirit, none of the life that a good baker, a great baker, can put into it. No, this bread will nourish only the mouths and stomachs that it goes into, not the mind and the soul.

Which makes for another reason to end this damne'd revolution.

"Relax," Perdu counsels, not even looking up from the papers he's examining and collating. "Takes a little time to be trusted enough to get information out of people. I'll check after lunch; they aren't right around the corner." He glances up at you, then smiles. "I'm sure they're all right. Go poke around somewhere, eh?"

Going out to winnow through what you can overhear, pick up, or just manipulate into being revealed, you move about Isarn's popular -- and powerful -- red-light district, speaking to old acquiantances and workers at new places, you manage to acquire two useful pieces of information. The first is the fact that Cadet has been seen today, and if he follows his usual movements, you know where he'll take his lunch; the second is Montaigne's household's rhythm, which means you know where the maid will be for her own luncheon.

The trouble lies in deciding which one to pursue, because both of them are some distance apart, and are liable to occur right around the same time.

The people of Isarn are not, unfortunately, good; it is the baying of their voices that keeps Goss in power, it is the bloodlust that a generation of Galtans have grown up with, from which a second generation will need to be weaned.

But that is not for tonight, that is for the future. It is not quite a matter of simplicity for you to locate Barbeau, to confirm he is in the place he frequents, but eavesdropping for half an hour helps to certify that he is indeed inside. The problem lies in the fact that it's, well, 'after hours', and he's likely to be in there for a while ...

... but you are here for him, after all, so a few hours' wait isn't too much of a burden, is it? A good hiding place with a view on the likely exit, shifting from time to time to check on the tavern's back door, and your patience is eventually rewarded.

Isarn actually shrank from the original Paris -- the Parisian map is 7 miles across, Isarn (for this game) is 5. The population increased from the original 42,700, granted, but both the size shrinking and the population growth were done simultaneously, mainly to change the original population density of 1110 per square mile to something that actually gave you the feeling of 'a lot'.

That said, I am also considering revising the speeds; going underground may involve going down and up a bit, but there's less traffic, and in some cases it's actually somewhat more direct; the current speed multipliers would improve by one level.

And I think I may have to consider creating 'major intersections' in regards to both the city and the under-city, just for distance and movement purposes; that way you might travel a Discreet route from your secret entrance to a 'Public' underground intersection, travel an Illicit or even Public route (because honestly, who in the underground is going to really screw with someone who wears a mask?) to another Public underground intersection, then select your exit and your route from there. It expands upon your decisionmaking (and your KS: Engineering or Survival rolls) but for some of them we can actually glance at the Take 10 result of your roll and just go from that.

Thoughts?

Sharpe
Having scanned the Wikipedia entry on the Sharpe books, I would have to say 'nothing like'. Sharpe is pretty clearly an adventurer and a cad; you need to be ... pretty much his exact opposite. :P :)

The Lost Spoiler
Y'know, I have no idea why it wouldn't show it. Anyhow. What follows is it in its entirety:

My suggestion? Spend some of Eponine's spare cash for a harrow deck. These have 54 cards, information about each of which you can find here. There just so happen to officially be 50 Quarters to Isarn. (See halfway down the Districts page for a cute lil' graphic.) Add 1 for La Rouille, add 2 for the Catacombs (one for each side of the river), and add 1 for pure chance, (i.e. 'just wander') and you have 54.

For now, I suggest just tossing 1d54, and if it's above 50 go for one of the above as appropriate. Otherwise, 1d9 for the district, then roll whatever sized die is appropriate for the number of Quarters in the District. As things go along, however, we'll want the cards to be associated to the quarters/areas -- which is something we'll probably all have to do a little work on together.

Easiest way to pull a card is to roll 1d6 for the attribute, 1d3 for Law/Neutral/Chaos, and 1d3 for Good/Neutral/Evil. So a 2 - 3 - 1 would be Dexterity, Chaotic Good, or The Juggler, which 'represents destiny, deities, and those who play with the fates of others.'

The next part will be somewhat more difficult -- deciding which district matches which card. That, however, I'm opening up to the rest of the players for some help.

--------------------------------------------------

Once you have that decided, though, you'll need to dive into the Game Information of the 'Les Catacombes' page.

First, determine what kind of path you're going to take to get to your destination: Public (where you don't mind people seeing you), Illicit (where you maybe break a few laws, trespass significantly on other people's territory), or Discreet (where you go out of your way to avoid contact). That gives you your base DC (10 / 20 / 30). Then, since you know where you're going (by the draw above), decide what kind of exit you're seeking -- Public, logical, unusual, or obscure. Again, this is about how difficult it is to find -- everyone knows about a public entrance, a logical entrance is one that you could 'find because it makes sense', etc. This can increase your DC by up to +15. Your starting point also impacts this, but fortunately, your own secret entrance is always considered Public for you, so that's a +0.

Finally, you need to determine how far you're going (using a point in or near your target area as a baseline to look up the distance on the Distance table found in the Discussions page header -- not sure if the new places are in there), and whether you're crossing under the river; these also add to the DC.

Once you have the DC figured out, roll your KS: Engineering. Success means you get there in (3 miles/hour times by your route choice's speed multiplier); success by +5 increases your speed as stated. Failure means you get lost!!

Agathe totters along, the old halfling's hand firmly gripping the knobby wooden cane she needs to walk as she listens to Eponine's request. "Well," she muses, "I don't know of anybody just offhand, but give me a few weeks, and I'm sure I can find somebody for you." The grand-dame gives you a smile, and concedes, "Finding someone you can trust is more and more difficult as the days go on, but we'll ... ask around." She gives you a pat on the hand, then waits as you unbolt and open the gate, revealing young Henri and a tallfolk male coming down the street. "It is good you're thinking of the future, though. Not everybody does. Good night, chère."

... wow. I only just now noticed how I massacred that last bit, a tag end of my working in a text editor before copy/paste/post. My apologies. :P

All right, doing some posting, and some other work.

The Quarters of each District were always intended to exist; Eponine's random draw got me to creating Yet Another Layer, which led to several more, etc. etc. The long and short of that, though, is that there is now a little bit of information about it on the Districts of Isarn page, as well as an example on the Vieille Ville page.

The idea which I'm hoping La Marquise goes with is to draw a harrow card. Harrow cards are easy to pull: roll 1d6 for the attribute, 1d3 for Law/Neutral/Chaos, and 1d3 for Good/Neutral/Evil. So 6 - 2 - 3 would be Charisma / Neutral / Evil, or The Betrayal (cards can be found on this handy-dandy harrow card page). There being 54 Harrow Cards, and 50 official Quarters (La Rouille is officially part of Le Commune I), this leads to 50 Quarters + 1 La Rouille + 1 Catacombs North + 1 Catacombs South + 1 'Just Walk as Whim Takes You'.

I've suggested on the Vieille Ville page the name of 'Le Creux' for Main Vieille Ville I; many if not most of the Quarters in Paris are named after significant buildings or places of interest, whether the building is military, government, or religious, or the place of interest is a park, garden, or plaza. I've also suggested 'The Betrayal' as the card La Marquise associates with that area; 'The Liar' (CE Charisma) would also work, for Citizen Goss's flexible relationship with the truth, and The Tyrant (LE Charisma) would be appropriate, due to the rulers of Galt generally harming those they rule, especially lately.

Suggestions encouraged!!

Bartender-and-owner Adrien gives Estelle a quick, brief smile, and amidst the rest of his activities produces a simple and cheap salt-glazed goblet for Estelle, filled about three-quarters full of her usual red. Gabin merely shakes his head, arms across his chest in such a manner as to emphasize his musculature -- not for you, but for the regulars who might've forgotten, and the handful of irregulars and new folk who never knew. "Couple-three nights ago, some young guy came around, got into a chat with Marco. Marco still can't keep any disagreement to 'a chat', so it got a little heated; had to thump him a bit." He shrugs. "New guy wasn't uppity, though. Otherwise, pretty quiet."

Lieutenant Dubois listens while she puts honey and a hint of cinnamon into her porridge, considering your intent and nodding in agreement; of such maneuvers are what a good and proper army should be capable, and it's training that makes it so. "For all the Chairman's bombast about foreign enemies," she sighs, "we really aren't in a good way to contest such if they did act. I think ... that your idea is a good one." She glances towards where the cooks are getting Humboldt's breakfast ready to be taken up, his servants a bit jittery to get it up to him. "Definitely," she repeats, the direction of her gaze a criticism which leaves nothing that needs to be said,"a good idea. I'll see if I can't attract interest from Verdun and Chevrolet before you get back, maybe ... hm. Formation movement around the fort ..." She trails off, clearly thinking about what she could (or should) be doing.

At your quasi-slip, she smiles, and says, "Fraternité works for me," she teases. "But yes, I agree. The more of our fellow officers we know, and the better we know them, the better ... we should be able to mesh with each other. You start work on making contacts elsewhere, I'll see if I can't get our two sous-lieutenants here interested and involved."

The two of you talk about a few other items, details of equippage and such, before one of your senior soldiers shows up and, saluting, informs you that the men are geared up and ready to go.

Indeed, good to hear you’re all right. As am I, just RL being a bear.

Done!!

Blgleah. Sorry for quietude. Two posts up, tomorrow I should have the full intended four. Dolores, stay safe; been down there, huddled under hurricanes, all that sort of thing. So stay safe. I'm somewhat wary as to whether or not the steering high-pressure systems aren't going to collapse.