Inspector Reginald Filby's page

Round 35, Initiative 14
hp 8/8; AC 16/12T/14FF; CMD 15
+2F/+4R/+3W
Effects; mutagen
Actions: Double move down stairs to AE33.

Satisfied that the attempt to destroy the ship has failed, Inspector Filby checks his list of priorities. He sifts through a rapid inventory of facts and visuals before he hurriedly says "Ifris..Sorkana...Ifris". He looks at Reghalion with urgency. "Ifris is on her own. Sorkana will not be."

The Inspector takes full advantage of his increased physical abilities, darting past Reghalion and bracing himself for a quick descent down the chute.

Climb DC 0 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (10) + 3 = 13

Filby braces his feet on either side of the rails as he descends rapidly. As he nears the bottom floor of the Coaltongue, he hears voices rising in pitch. Ifris. He pulls his left foot inside the rails and begins tapping the rungs to slow his descent. He let's go just a few rungs from the bottom and lands on the balls of his feet. His mind has already plotted his next course of action. As he turns to face Ifris and any oncoming threats, he drops his left hand to his side and thumbs the cap off a single potion bottle.

Simple Request, My A$$; Round 38

The moment offers an overwhelming number of stimuli for Filby to process. Most of the time, he absorbed shifting details in seconds, processing their significance, arranging them in groups of likelihoods, and drawing conclusions with boredom. But the mutagenic potion enlarged his muscles and flooded his body with violent energy. Still brilliant by most measures, he feels himself a step behind. The Duchess' betrayal, the infamous sea witch, whatever she is, and her monstrous conveyance. The failed standoff and Sorkana's attempt to escape, every detail flashes through his mind, but some are pushed back in his sudden need to act.

So act he does.

Filby bends his knees, a conscious effort to make a little room as he brings his left arm up and pulls the top of his cane with it. A thin steel blade slides out of the cane, revealed now as a clever scabbard. Filby looks down to the squat fire creature and grimaces as he brings his arm down in a slashing motion.

Attack red thingy 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (2) + 3 = 5

The summoned monster ducks warily and barks out a puff of gray smoke towards the Inspector. None plussed, Round 37 Filby twists the blade to the side and lunges.

Do better 1d20 + 3 ⇒ (6) + 3 = 9

The Inspector narrows his eyes, searching for details that will improve his tactics. Flammable and close quarters mean no bombs. The grate makes pursuit of the Duchess' accomplice impossible. His training with the sword cane was mediocre at best.

Filby looks out the window, trying to discern whether the sea monster is still visible outside. He looks at the burning menace before him again and mutters and oath.

Deck Two, Round 39

Filby nods at Talyssa's offer to Alastair. "I think it best if we all go in prepared for confrontation." He pulls a small, thin vial of bright green liquid not terribly unlike Mountain Dew and drains it. His muscles increase in size considerably, and the Inspector even grows in height a full inch. His look of determination remains unchanged.

"Allow me to help." he says to Alastair. "You'll get best results by kicking in the door here." The Inspector points at the doorhandle and latch.

Imbibe my mutagen for the day. +4 Str, -2 Int, +2 natural armor.

"She's stalling...out of breath. Break it down."

Filby takes up a position on the opposite side of the doorway and calls into the room, "Sorkana, you're breathing is heavy and your posted guard is gone. We are coming into the room if the Duchess doesn't order us away."

Perception 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (2) + 7 = 9
Sense Motive 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (15) + 5 = 20

"Actually, Ifris, I think that's very shrewd. One of us can handle fetching the Duchess, but there may be shenanigans. Then again, an orchestrated treason would wisely begin by sending the whole of Ravisante Wolf below decks while something untoward happened up here. And no, I'm not accusing anyone of treason, I'm pointing out a best practice on our part. It may be for the best if one sharp observer remained discreetly on each end of the ship until we return."

"Any volunteers! LeMont? Well shown, chap. You take the opposite end from Ifris and don't let anyone know we're not all together. The rest?"

For a moment, Filby considers asking the Duchess to remain above decks for a brandy and a few minutes of conversation, simply to put off the bon vivant wolf-in-disguise a bit longer. It occurs to him that LeMont may be on approach to accost the lovely Sorkana, so he kisses the gloved hand of the Duchess and promises to return her sniffer to the wait staff.

When LeMont chooses to approach Filby in the guise of his rakish alter ego, the Inspector finds himself longing for the Duchess' return, or perhaps the distracting presence of her associate, so that Filby could affect his escape while LeMont appraised her yet another time. It has the damnable effect of leading LeMont to believe Filby is starstruck over the attention he receives from the Duchess.

Still, the conversation with LeMont has its amusing moments. When the disguised man reaches for "yet another drink", he notices that the wolf only drinks portions, either finishing someone else's brandy or switching with an emptier glass after the first sip.

He wants everyone to think he's drunk. An obvious enough ploy for one of us, yes, but it took me most of an hour to realize it. Yes, that's why he moves around so much, trying not to be observed overlong, mingling with dozens of people, testing reactions.

He leans over to LeMont, who was busy commenting on the correlation between dresses with high thigh slits and unhappy marriage. Filby predicted in mere minutes he would make some sort of reference to the old conundrum. Which came first, the apple, or the tree?

Filby was not going to be there when that happened, but boring the man hasn't seemed to work thus far. Another sentence in, the Inspector notices he is about to take a breath. Filby pounces when he does, getting the opening he needs.

"Yes, I quite think you've mastered your technique, Mr., Kentworth is it?" Filby keeps his voice low and continues at his customary rapid clip. "To be sure, the Duchess seeks to use us and so she pays special attention to me. Also, I took careful not as to who watched her approach, speak to me and then leave. Fortunately, no one seemed particularly interested. Now you, you have the eyes of several ladies here, as you fly in and out of conversations and quarter-glasses of brandy. But I suppose if this disguise thing works for you we can use it."

He sizes up LeMont's reaction. No real surprise, but no real appreciation, either. Maybe he really was drunk. Even so, that could be part of a clever and well-practiced disguise.

"Tell me, then, what have you found of interest. There seems to be little going on...Kentworth?"

Kevin Kentworth walks directly toward a pair of young attendees in stylish party dresses, spinning with pomp to take two more glasses of brandy from a passing tray. At the end of the motion, he is walking between the girls, his arm around each, with them smiling and accepting both his embrace and his offering of brandy.

Filby stares open-mouth, in appreciation of the man's cadlike reflexes, before he realizes that LeMont simply walked away in the middle of the conversation, exiting abruptly and gracefully.

Filby marveled. "Why didn't I do that?"

Overhearing the elven woman's comments to Rhegalion, Filby keeps one ear trained on her story while he continues his talk with the Duchess.

Sense Motive Sokana 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (14) + 5 = 19

"Quite so, Duchess. I would be a fool to relax my concern over such a prestigious guest in an effort to avoid looking like a fool. The logical conclusion is to do my duty as if you were helpless and trust your experience to excuse any insult.

Sense Motive handmaiden 1d20 + 5 ⇒ (8) + 5 = 13

Filby looks around the room briefly before lowering his voice to answer. I am quite sure we can work an accommodation for you, my Lady. But we would have to have one of our guards wait on you, and we must surely find you a room where you can be left alone by all this revelry. If that suits you, perhaps your assistant and I can find a place that suits your needs?

Filby walks upright, confidently. The finely detailed cane he carries, the head trimmed to resemble a snarling wolf, appears to be a perfectly ornamental gentleman's toy. He does not lean on it at all. Rather, he uses it to describe his posture and to punctuate gestures.

He slows as the Ravissante cell nears the Principle Minister, taking up space on the walkway such that his associate Lamont has to slow to avoid bumping into him. The whole has the affect of allowing the female members of the cell to reach the Minister first.

As the members of Ravissante Wolf form a natural procession to meet the Minister, Filby takes his place in the line he helped create. Nodding to Alastair Rayne, he gestures toward those in line ahead of him. Ladies first.

The Inspector looks onto the crowd from a distance for a while. While his eyes scanned through dozens of minor distractions, one part of his brain considered them, while the other part tried to isolate the moment when the constables decided not to talk to him about anything.

It was strange, really, they didn't seem to not like him. Filby could always tell whether someone didn't like him, or was just nervous he'd catch them hiding something. Some of the constables had worked with him before, seen the men he'd have put away. Even seen him exonerate several innocents. It was puzzling that they put so much distance between him and themselves.

It was probably for the best, Filby thought. After all, I am in Ravassante Wolf now. Can't be thought to favor a constabulary I may need to deal with in the future. Best not to culti—

There. Eye contact. Dockers in a triangle formation. Standard for ranged assassination attempts, but no signs of ranged weapons. Maybe nothing.

But Filby's instincts were piqued. He had to explore the possibility. He reached into his coat and pulled a small vial of pale green liquid. Brewed this morning, the extract would heighten his senses, shrinking the time it took to draw conclusions from the things he'd see and hear. He downed the extract in one gulp, and looked again in the direction of the dockers he'd noticed.

Unmistakable. he confirmed. They were looking to one another for a signal.

Filby stepped into the crowd again, though the press of bodies caused him to lose sight of him mark, he imagined the space and mannerisms he'd already seen. Docker, medium build. There.

Filby approached the man, slipping the empty vile back into his jacket and squeezing in to stand beside the man. He watched intently, making slight adjustments in his footing to remain behind the man. With the close press of parade-goers, his movements didn't have to be perfect, but he didn't want to get caught staring.

Several glances, left, right, nod. Wait. Still waiting. Filby mentally catalogued every one. He could make out the location of one other in the triangle, but not precisely the third. Filby could tell it took a second for the docker to focus on his mark, so the last member of the triangle was far enough away his subject had to look for him each time.

Then, Ifris Lanvaldan, R.H.S.!. One of the pack had located someone else of interest. Sparing a fraction of a glance, Filby noted she was in the vicinity of the second triangle point.

Filby's mark looked up. Right to the disturbance perhaps a hundred feet away. He made eye contact with Agent Lanvaldan's subject. Got you.

Filby stepped forward, reaching his arm up behind the docker and signaling the constables to approach slowly. He didn't want to scare off the third man.

Some excitement, it appears, the Inspector said aloud. Crowd this size there's bound to be some trouble, wouldn't you think?

Round 2, Goal Three (Find the Suspects)

Perception (Observation): 1d20 + 7 ⇒ (19) + 7 = 26

DC 15 Intimidate - Brief the Troops 1d20 + 11 ⇒ (5) + 11 = 16

Some time earlier....

Bellastair raised an eyebrow. Really? he whispered.

Quite so, responded Filby. Check his cabinets. Absinthe. I'm sure of it. Go on.

Officer Bellastair nodded at another constable, who took one of the detectives out of the room. He looked back down at his papers. Methersby.

Filby nodded.

Sills, Levers, Dort, Meagle..

The Inspector's hand went up. Pass on Meagle. He'll spend more time staring at young women that he will watching the crowd.

The older man rolled his eyes. He's only joined up last week. How could you possibly..

Filby's voice did not lower when he interrupted. Protrusion, right pants pocket. Comb or brush. Why does a man bring a comb to scan a mob during a parade? SHarp outfit, looking to make an impression. He might just want to impress Head Officer Bellastair, but then just watch this.

Filby looked up to find a lovely young woman sorting out details for the parade. Agent Landreth? Could you come here for a minute? Thank you. Lower he says, Watch him. You'll see what I mean.

The young woman raises an eyebrow and holds up a finger. Just a moment please, I'm working. Filby nods his understanding and glanced at the young constable Meagle. Unaware he was being watched, the man stared at Agent Landreth across the room. He started biting his lips and rehearsing some sort of line.

Bellastair looked down at his papers again. I had hoped I wouldn't have to see this gimmick of yours for a while, Inspector. But I can't deny we'll miss its usefulness. I dare say people get along with one another quite well in your absence.

Well, that's to be expected. Most people spend their days lying to one another. Who could enjoy the company of a man that didn't filter out his private thoughts?

Bellastair looked over his spectacles, incredulous. Yes, who indeed?

Are there more names? Filby seemed pensive, as if the task of briefing the men and preparing them for their duty was beneath him.

No. Thank the gods you've only ruled out four. The rest seem to pass your muster.

Filby launched himself off the wall in time to pass an approaching Agent Landreth. He walked past her. Agent Landreth, I'd like you to meet Head Officer Bellastair, there behind me.

He appraoched the center of the room. Look at their faces, who's bored already? Who's looking smart? Who's organized and ready to begin?. He clapped his hands one time.

Very good, thank you. A moment of your time? Excellent. You've all been assigned your sections. Now, we're all very proud to work with such astute constables, and my friend Bellastair...

We're not actually friends, Filby.

...speaks very highly...of most of you. Now, we've considered a few of you and reassigned the ones who will really fall asleep at this sort of thing. Don't take it personally, it's hot outside, and Constable Meagle won't get many dates sweating in his uniform, so I've really just save some of you precious time. Now, please remember your assignments, your combat protocols, and please remember that street crimes in situations like today occur about once per twelve minutes per thousand folk. If a crime happens under your notice, you'll be sacked by Bellastair and lectured by me. If you uncover something suspicious, remember your signals and a member of Ravassante Wolf will investigate. I want to remind you that this event has a set duration, so there will be no breaks or shift changes. Remain alert until the streets are clear and you'll have done your city proud.

Filby swept the room with his gaze once more. Everyone attentive, no one losing focus. Good. He took one step away from the center of the room, before a thought took him.

Finally, Officer Bellastair wishes for me to remind you that the consumption of absinthe while on duty is unbecoming and illegal, and will certainly get you sacked. Good day,

Reginald Filby vacillated from elation to boredom. Here, at a crowded checkpoint full of huddled celebrants, there were so many things to observe quickly,

Woman, nearing middle age, nice dress but out of style by years now. Alone, not laughing with friends, but very sociable with strangers. More concerned with the crowd than the security. Conclusion: maid or widow hoping to meet someone special.

..but so very few of them worth noticing. Filby checked his golden pocketwatch, a gift from his companion Wrethu upon his selection for Ravissante Wolf team. Movement caught one eye as the other focused on the watch.

Shoes. Calfskin. Expensive for most in the crowd but not outside possibility. Not the sort one wears for a hard day at espionage in a mixed crowd. Uneven gate - he's not used to them. Trying to avoid soiling them and did not expect to feel every stone and crack under his sole. By evenfall he'll be limping and blistered and his expensive calfskins will be stained, maybe even torn. Conclusion: idiot.

Thirty-nine minutes. In that time, the shift change Filby had built into today's security protocol would begin. After a fashion. In truth, there was no shift change. Several soldiers would flood an unsuspecting constabulary, whispering that their relief had come. The whole should have the appearance that Something had been discovered. The indication that a plan had been disrupted, coupled with the interruption in the routine, would create indecision in anyone with ill intentions. If anyone behaved suspiciously, they'd give themselves away and Ravissante Wolf would suppress them.

But then, in thirty-nine minutes, Filby might simply drop dead of boredom.

Nervous young man. Came with one party, but slowly backs away from them, aware of his surroundings. Interesting. Wait, no. Eye contact with attractive female, also tied to another party. Suspicion: infidelity. Conclusion: Utterly common and boring.

Filby's gaze swept over the crowd, filtering one detail after another. Dockworkers eyeing one another with familiarity. The constant mating dance of young people searching for someone to enjoy the moment with. Merchants shouting out their wares hoping to meet their own goals, or their employer's quota.

So much to see, so little of it meaningful. Even a few events that might merit the constables' attention irritated Filby. A drunk man picks a fight and is subdued immediately. A boy wanders away from his family, only to be found sampling expensive licoriche, to his father's embarrassment. Five seconds of excitement, but ultimately insignificant.

Filby watched it all. Only when his new companions begin to criticize one of their own does he remember he is standing within arms length of Raynes and Landreth. He comments before thinking, relying on his subconscious recall to deliver words appropriate to the conversation going on without him.

Too harsh, my friends. The fool has the masses watching him so we can watch them. Supposing that you....were...

Fat man with skinny legs. Sampling the turkey before, no, wrong. Small feet with no callouses. Those feet have not been supporting that bulk. Unusual, people don't change feet like they change sho...oh.

Filby lets his sentence die there as he moves away from the group. He raises his right arm in the air, extending his little finger. From a hundred yards away, a trained constable immediately moves his direction.

Filby pays no attention. Too warm a day for that jacket, though it wouldn't be much of a jacket if he were really all that fat. No, he is carrying something. A knife? A pistol? What?

The Inspector moves in quickly as the fat man moves farther into the crowd. The constable nears on the other side of the fat man, perfect for a quick arrest. Filby watches the un-fat man as he moves ignorantly toward a collision with law enforcement.

Leather dangling below the jacket as he moves. A scabbard? A holster? Ah. A purse. Dark brown, double-sewn. Affixed golden pin. What..

have we here? Reginald Filby says, unaware he began his sentence without saying it. He lays a firm hand on the fat man's shoulder and spins him around. The fat-jacket opens to reveal two pricy purses.

differentstylesdifferentcolorsnotpursesforamanwho'dyoustealthesefrom

The dialogue prattle off in his head, dour and judgmental, but his officer training filters his words as his voice rises above the crowd.

Just kidding, of course. I already know. You are a purse thief. And these he reaches in and takes the two bags while the man finds his arms pinned behind him by a constable named (he was in my briefinggroupthismorningididn'tspeaktohimbuthispeerscalledhim),

Buckley. That's Constable Buckley, sir. He'll take you to holding where you'll plead and I'll testify, and you'll be sentenced unless you have a very good reason for having two ladies' purses hidden under an oversized jacket. More over, if one of the owners of these bags was harmed over your greed and laziness I'll see that you are hanged.

As if on cue, a man shouts from light breeze, large crowd, middle-aged voice, no buildings in the square about a hundred yards away. Stop thief! My wife's purse is gone!

Filby's eyes roll up and to the right as if to glance behind him. He raises an eyebrow and locks gaze with the un-fat man as Buckley wraps a length of cord around his wrists from behind. He begins his sentence facing the thief, but turns while speaking, having decided he'd wasted enough time.

Fortunate for you, brigand, that your mark lives and is easily found. You might only see a year at the oar for this.

Everyone checking there purses, good. Look at their faces, relief, relief, "I don't have a purse why am I looking", relief, panic. Good. Found you both.

He produces a silver badge and holds it up as he works through the crowd.

Boring.

Not finished yet, but progress!

For visuals and aurals, think of Moffat's Sherlock and then add a few points of personal Charisma. While Filby is kind of a know-it-all, he fancies himself a paragon of human virtue, and not a higher being looking down on his fellows. If we could talk above everyone like Sherlock, and be as personable as Tennant (though calmed considerably), we'd have a pretty decent picture of Filby.

However, when brooding or piecing together his case, he does tend to sound like Sherlock. A little less triumphant, a little more damning.

Finally, a question for THE BOSS: