In case anyone is into homebrew, I'm just going to leave this here.
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"Good, good," Le Voile cheers with a bit of a chuckle. "I've brought some of the paper I mentioned to madame Nyx," Emilien finds his satchel in the corner and begins fetching supplies. "I've plenty of inks as well," he grins as he lays out the fine papers necessary for creating a convincing transfer notice. "I cooked up one of these last night," Thisbe reaches into a simple satchel she has been lugging about. She draws a smaller, hempen sack wet with goop from inside. "I regret not having time to create more. I brought a few flasks that might burn an opponent, but I don't think they'll be especially useful in the 'cut and run' style of operation. I've got some healing tinctures too if things get bad out there." As Emilien opens his mouth to speak further, Le Voile urgently snaps her hands into the air, demanding silence. She shifts uncomfortably in her robes, and the floorboards above suddenly creak quietly. With no words and a few arcane gestures, Le Voile releases another illusion upon the room, this time rendering the same dank basement everyone is standing them, but empty.
The room looks kindly at Nyx as she mentions knowing the Gardener's route. "Amazing work, Madame," Emilien gives a smile. "I'm much more confident about our efforts now." Thisbe doesn't speak up, but gives a nod of approval. "Describe this place where you found them," Le Voile steps forward spreading his sleeves to clear the center of the room. He waves his hands about as he coaxes more and more detail from Nyx's memory of the busy street of Isarn and the alleyway where she saw the Gardener's cross. Illusions of the dimly lit street come to vibrant life in the basement of the bakery. With Nyx's help, Le Voile crafts an illusion all around the group of La Scène. Over the course of an hour, at Nyx's direction, Le Voile walks the four council members through the twisted alleys of an eerily quiet moving illusion of Sud Riviere. From a busy street running east across the district south of the river, the illusion passes through the room until everyone 'exits' onto La Rue du Pain within a bowshot from the Farmer's Gate. "From here, the Gardeners can usher Sister Pauline to Litran with ease. She'll be put to death, and no one shall be held to account for it." "I'd say we have a few options on where to meet them," Thisbe suggests as the gnome's illusion fades back into the basement ruined bakery basement. "We still have some time to prepare, but I'd like to hear more about the tools at our disposal. Material, knowledge..., monsieur Lev mentioned some agitators he can add to the mix. If we know what we have, we'll be able to choose the best place to attack." "I was able to map a couple of catacomb access points." Emilien excitedly raises his hand. "I would not say I've been thorough enough to navigate a significant distance, but somewhere to lay low could be beneficial." "Very good, very good," Le Voile offers more praise. "We else do we have at our disposal?"
In the evening, after whiling away the day anticipation, the evening of the rescue has arrived. The sun hangs low in the sky and curfew approaches as you've donned your disguise and make your way through the many alleys of Sud Rivière, avoiding the eyes of many. You finally find the location you were looking for in a mostly abandoned street hangs the faded sign of a cupcake with a cherry on top, and text below reads 'Cerise sur le Dessus'. The abandoned shop seems quiet, and there is little sign that anyone is within. Walking into the abandoned shop, you can peer your head into an alcove with a closed door. Opening the door, you see the same fog that was visible within the Cerulean Sanctum. Just as the last location, there's no sound coming from within. Stepping beyone the fog, you can see the Le Quatrième Voile seated on the hearth of an unused oven. Gathered around are the other recruits who've arrived already: Emilien and Thisbe. "Join us, join us," Le Voile calls everyone together. "Damien will be joining us before long. Thisbe was just sharing her local visits." Patiently, the racketeer Thisbe watches as everyone circles up before she proceeds. "Well I thought that an open bar for a gang of Caydogs would be a good way to keep the streets of Sud Rivière alive late into the night. The only problem was that I didn't know which bar to choose. I was still able to track down a few tabs from some of the friendlier of their members and make an anonymous donation. It may not be as loud as I wanted, but there will almost certainly be a smattering of drunks in the district tonight." When the Vice agent finishes, Emilien looks to Lev and Nyx with a nod. He seems pleased with his contribution before even speaking it, but offers to let the halfling and the courtesan speak first.
With a smirk and a knowing nod, Jean-André turns to address the masses. “Fellow Milanites,” Jean-André steals the attention away from Chantel. “It is our sincere desire to see Pauline returned safely to her Sisters. Indeed, that is why we bring this discussion to bear. But not one of you fails to understand the implications of failure in the endeavor. Our hope for the evening is to establish the good faith required to disclose this most sensitive of intelligence. But time is of the essence!”
We are nearing a full month since your last post, and we also have not received any acknowledgement about why. We certainly wish to continue with Thisbe, but 4 posts in the last two months is not sustainable to continue in the game. We will extend the rest of the weekend to engage again, but if you wish to continue we must see more engagement than we have recently. If you simply wish to withdraw, we will understand.
"Good thinking," Jean-André whispers his reply and gives you a smirk. "They've pried some fear out of these folks, maybe we can bring in some hope." "Fellow Galtans," Jean-André calmly lifts his open palms to the crowd, quieting the nervous murmurs. "These fine women are right to be cautious, to question motives and qualifications. Lev and I are in agreement with these two, that moving forward with a plan to organize deserves to be vetted thoroughly," he hits the last word hard." "What we posit to you is the same position the Blood Rose has been behind for years: No matter how we go about seeking reform, inaction is still a choice. Win or lose, our duty as Milanites is to stand against tyranny, to bring positive change. Will it be bloodless? Not in Galt. Will it solve all our problems? No. Not all of them." Jean-André lets the silence sit in the crowd's minds for a moment. "A chance at a better life is just that: a chance. But Lev is fighting for that chance," he points confidently at Lev. "The Blood Rose is fighting for a chance. And we want you to join us. We want to fight for meaningful change that uplifts us all, and we need everyone to come to the table."
You mentally audit your known contacts for a Milanite connection several times over before reaching Vice headquarters. With the exception of the Sisters, the lay-worshipers of the Everbloom are strictly tight-lipped, and their clergy hidden. If the meeting were within Vice territory, there may be some folks you might reach out to in order to learn of a gathering happening tonight. As is, you figure it’s unlikely you could turn up a location in the next couple hours. While the partial privacy of Anton’s back table offers your boss an edge in scrutinizing employees, your ruse seems to work fairly well. Florimond eyes you with his very characteristic suspicion, and Anton is unsurprisingly distracted by the Moonday’s hefty take. So focused on not betraying anything, you’re unsure if Florimond has picked up on anything, or is simply being his typical shifty-eyed self. Anton finishes counting the day’s take quickly, far too quickly for him to have come up with an accurate number. He waves you away rudely and turns his attention back to his evening entertainment.
“Well, the Milanites are in a tizzy, if you haven’t heard,” Gabrielle shrugs. Her interest is easily deflected as you shed your expression of stress. “We heard they’re meeting tonight, but it’s gotta be somewhere south of the river. I know Anton hates it when the Milanites get all up in arms, but the meeting happened too soon to learn more than that. Whatever’s going on, they sure rustled up their folks in a hurry. Wish I had more for ya, it’s been pretty quiet otherwise.”
Nightly revelry is in full swing as you round make your way through The Promise of Coin: the quickest way to the Honey Pot beyond. Each and every hand not placing a bet at a table holds a mug of swill or other spirits, a tactic the house uses to encourage increasingly foolish betting. Out the back, the Scum Garden is like a quiet valley between the two roaring venues. The scene inside the Honey Pot is a plain reminder of why you make every effort to leave before sundown. Packed with drunkards (at least two-dozen), the Vice operatives play cards, sing songs, and pour all manner of alcohol down their gullets. You spot Fat Man sitting far away at the bar; his eyes go wide as he spots you, seemingly surprised at your attendance at this hour. Deftly avoiding a few potentially wet accidents by other Vice members, you squeeze your way through the crowd to the back. You stand in the corner for a short while before Anton, who is similarly sloshed, manages to bring his eyes up from the scantily-clad ladies under his sweaty armpits. “Thisbe! You’re late,” he shouts, his loud tone more fueled by alcohol than anger at this point. Florimond, whose eyes were buried in his ledger, whips his head up to stare daggers at you.
“Keep your secrets then,” Tarynne replies with a smirk. As you move along, you notice with a quick look that she’s whispering to one of the other spotters on her team. Gossip is very much the norm within the Vice, and Tarynne seemed to always be in the middle of it, for better or worse.
You reach the end of your Moonday run almost an hour after dark. Gabrielle sits across from the Clerk of the Cork, and while she takes notice, she doesn’t seem to recognize you until you’re nearly upon her. “Thisbe?” she whispers as you approach. “It’s curfew now, you’re out late! I hope everything’s alright?” Unlike Tarynne, Gabrielle is a kind girl, and sounds genuinely concerned at the irregular hour of your visit.
"We'll be fine, boss," Little Boy reassures you. "I told Freddy here that he can have a hit from his stash if he behaves. I got some food and water, and Michelet is nearby if anything comes up. Could ye' bring us some croissants when ye' come back though?" Nervous as he was in the Warehouse District, holding hostages seems to make Little Boy a good deal more confident. It's been some time since Thisbe made rounds on her own. Although moving through the streets is much quicker without either of the boys, Moonday is the day with the most stops. Every tavern owner on your route hands over a handful of coins, most of them including a few gold. "You're runnin' LATE," a familiar voice calls out as you near the halfway check-in. Tarynne, another slight woman tough enough to make it in Isarn's toughest gang, and one you've know since you started in the Vice. She waves and calls out loudly to you as you come into view of her intersection, as she usually does. Heads turn in response to the call, and people begin to hustle away. "Where are the boys today," she asks as you approach.
Michelet's expression softens, and he returns a very genuine grin. "I know the safehouse he's going to," he says. "Not an incredibly well-kept secret, but not many in the Vice know of it. It'll buy you some time. I'll see what I can find out about the juane dealings from around here, maybe I can meet you later at The Honey Pot." While you've always been on good terms with Michelet, he seems to respond with a rare sincerity to your request for assistance. As if anticipating a skepticism, he extends an open hand.
Michelet’s expression turns completely from suspicion to understanding. “I’ve heard of no one called Jérôme, but the jaune, I have seen, quite a bit actually. The warehouses have always been a center for squatters and drug users, but the jaune is new. I’ve heard they practically give it away to try and get people hooked.” “It’s good you found Chauvin at least,” the watchman remarks, “but I’m sure that Anton will want to see him soon, whatever condition he might be in. And keep an eye on that one, eh?” he sticks his chin out at Little Boy, who is up the block admonishing the junkie for being lazy.
"We need a place to lay low," Little Boy suggests. "We gotta get this guy awake so he can face the big boss on his feet. I promised shakey here 5 silver to help me bring Gregorie in alive. We're gonna lay low in a spot I know. We don't want anyone taking credit for our work, if you catch my drift."
Opposed Checks:
"Yes, yes, of course," Michelet nods. "You can count on me. Let's get you on your way." The watchman helps Little Boy lift Chauvin to his feet and across the bridge spanning the Kantele. Once on the north side, he passes the load back off to the junkie. "We won't be far, I'll come fetch you if we need a hand," Little Boy says to Michelet before proceeding along the northwest bank. As the three begin working their way up the street, Michelet gives you a nod, letting the others get a little further away before turning his back to them and facing you directly. "I hope everything is okay," he says, suggesting the opposite. "Is there anything I should be aware of?"
Little Boy gives a little grin as you take his suggestion, but keeps moving along. As you walk along the river from a block away, the noonday sun is high in the sky, allowing you to see a dozen blocks ahead. As you come near the bridge where Michelet watches, you spot a pair in the distance strolling toward you. Quieting your companions, you can make out the familiar *clunk* of armor from the patrolmen.
Opposed Checks:
A nearby alleyway has large boxes stacked up, and it takes little time to fold Chauvin into a hiding spot before hiding the rest of you. Within minutes, you hear patrol pass the alleyway you’ve all hidden in. The junkie shakes and twiddles his thumbs, staring anxiously at the dagger in Little Boy’s hand. Another couple minutes go by before you’re sure the guards have passed. You confirm before continuing on your way. Michelet, spots your group easily from a block away, and hustles over to help. “Gregorié Chauvin,” the watchman remarks as he helps you set down your quarry. “Where’d you find this errant piece of garbage? And who is this smelly jerk?” with half a smile on his face, you can tell Michelet is not quite sure what to make of your situation. Little Boy looks to you, though you can tell he is eager to offer an explanation to Michelet if you defer to him.
The junkie leads the way as you heft the majority of Chauvin's weight. Little Boy helps a bit, but keeps dagger hidden in his palm and watches the junkie carefully. As you step out of the warehouse into the mid-day sun. Chauvin stirs a bit. "Where are we going?" he asks, his eyes still closed. To your relief, he begins to walk along weakly.
The rooftops look clear as you move through the streets. At each intersection, Little Boy springs ahead to double check. After only a few blocks you're clear of the warehouses, but you push on for a few more blocks before calling for a rest. "We should be at the river soon boss," Little Boy says to you, his eyes fixed on your shakey companion. "Doubt we'll run into any Caydogs this far west. We can cross here, or we can keep going north and cross at Michelet's spot."
"Well boss," Little Boy answers nervously as he begins to bind the other junkies in the room. "I can handle these scumbags, no problem. It's that tail that had eyes on us earlier that makes me think twice. Whoever's selling this junk is watchin’ their territory pretty close, and I sure hope they don’t stop by here before you do." "Honey Pot? What's a Honey Pot?" the dimwitted junkie asks, still shaking. The puzzled and strung-out look on his face tells you he may not be able to find the place on his own. “I know a spot that might work. It’s north of the river too, but not too far from here. We can take Chauvin and shakey here, and leave the other two.” Little Boy’s eyes shift down as he speaks, and you’re pretty sure he’ll go along with what you say, even though he’s scared.
With a sigh, Little Boy hefts Chavin off the ground to give you a better reach into his pockets. Your first search into his pockets doesn’t turn up much, mostly scraps of paper for storing contraband that have been licked clean. As you grit your teeth and cover your hand to dig a little deeper, you find five pieces of gold and an opal ring. A small oval-shaped stone set in a wide gold band. “M-m-my what?” Wide eyed and shaking with fright, the helpless junkie cowers against the far wall, into the other sleeper in the corner.
"Why it's the busy buzzing bee, taking a break from his buzzing to come to the hive," Le Voile appears at the north entrance. With a hand-wave, the dark room lights up from high in the center, casting dark shadows around the edges of the meeting room. "You've found your note, I see."
"I admit that I had a peek at the letters when I happened upon them this morning," the face is hidden behind the mask, but you hear the tone of someone smiling. "They were unsealed, after all.” Le Voile hops off the raised platform on the north, and sits across the table from Lev. "It sounds as though you are making progress. I'd avoid finer fabrics; you could find them I'm sure, but you'd pay a premium. Then you pay another premium for the seller not to rat you out. Not to mention the complications should you be found with finery. In the dead of night, it shouldn't make much of a difference." Lev gives an affable shrug at being told Le Voile read the note- not too surprising, and given the request inside, not anything Emilien would object to. Nodding at the advice, Lev says, "I hope I didn't endanger the sanctum by leading whoever that was back here! I'll obtain the fabric tomorrow, and begin with the modifications to the robes. Tonight, I'll be meeting with the Blood Rose to discuss a new front group- less inclined towards violence as much as transport and communication. We'll need infrastructure in place if we eventually hope to challenge Goss." "We know when people enter the sanctum. If you led someone to the building, they seem to not have disturbed the secrecy of this place. We have many methods for those who see or hear too much, some are even painless, but they are all costly. I shall show you the north exit, if you wish to have an alternative in the future." "I had heard about this meeting with the Blood Rose, in fact I have received a few invitations from my contacts, and was planning to attend. Only as an observer, of course. I worry that the secret of Pauline's imprisonment has made it to the streets. A word that is spoken cannot be unsaid, and I fear that her life is in danger now because of it. I hear whispers that she is being held in Litran, and while this is clearly wrong, the damage may already be done. I hope the Gardeners do not cancel her transfer, as we may not be able to predict when they will try again." "I'm encouraged to hear that you plan to champion someone to take up the chair when we remove Goss. You are, of course, welcome to pursue your own vision for Galt's future, but I must caution you to not interweave the Cerulean Council with these plans. Our Council opposes corrupt leadership and is sworn to remain above partisanship. Your views must remain yours alone and be separate from the Council." "Your fellow councilors may or may not agree with your new 'front group', or may have very different visions for the future of Galt. You've made your views clear, but, for example, I am certain you and Monsieur Martel will envision quite different futures. You are each welcome to work towards your own goals, however, the Council will remain neutral in whatever follows the fall over the current Revolutionary Council. Whatever befalls the next Revolutionary Council, or the next one, or the one after that, we must remain until the government of Galt truly represents its citizens. Please keep your efforts for this Council's goals insulated from your outside efforts." Lev shrugs sheepishly, acknowledging the chastisement, then looks towards the north exit. Nodding, Le Voile beacons you to the north exit from the sanctum. The passage off the basement is fairly long, and comes to a ladder that descends into the catacombs below. "I use these tunnels quite often," Le Voile remarks, as she leads the descent. "There are certainly dangerous places down in Le Vide, but this stretch is not one of them." Le Voile moves quickly ahead, the small ragged bundle making leading the way easily in the dark and cramped passageway. The smell of rot and mildew grows stronger as you pass well under the Kantele. Finally, when the rank smell fades, Le Voile stops at a ladder. The way continues on underground, but Le Voile points the way up. "The shop upstairs is abandoned. You can access the catacombs here too, but don't get lost, okay?" You exit through an abandoned wood shop, once a sprawling furniture maker. Outside, sun is has begun hiding behind clouds that roll in from the east.
“I don’t know where he is,” the crying junkie cowers. “He moves around, you have to ask his flunkies.” “The dealer contacts I spoke to last night told me there’s some shady group out here running the warehouses,” Little Boy moves in to whisper. “This Jérôme could be the guy in charge.”
"Alright, alright," he sobs. As the crying man composes himself to speak, Little Boy stops his prisoner just outside the door. He pushes him to the ground, and begins to bind his hands. "He just wanted a place to crash..." trough the tears, the junkie finally musters out a response. "We met him at Jérôme's spot, buying pesh. He spent all the money. He went out looking for more pesh yesterday, but he came back after dark with the Jaune. "They don't even have knives," Little Boy growls to disguise his voice. He tosses a simple club on the ground, and pockets a small handful of copper pennies.
"W...w...we don't even know this guy," the junkie stammers as the stench of urine grows in the room. From down the hall, you see Little Boy turn his prisoner around and begin walking him closer to you at knife-point. "He just wanted a place to lay out on his score! We spent our last silver on this. We don't have any money." The junkie's eyes dart as he talks, even as his eyes fall onto Little Boy, needing someone to look at while he talks. As he mentions Gregorié, his head dips toward his shrugging shoulder, betraying his lie. Scared as he is, the man's instinct seems to be to lie.
You reach out to grab one of the fleeing junkies...
His friend continues to flee, but Little Boy steps out from behind a box to intercept him. Hood up with a piece of cloth covering his nose and mouth, he brandishes a knife. "On the ground!"
The junkie near the stairs drops to his knees. On the other side of the warehouse, you hear a clatter, as the first man who fled crashes into something before slamming the door.
As you move the body, Gregorié Chauvin flops out onto the ground. His eyes flutter a bit, but he is completely unconscious. "W-wha?!" one of the junkies on the ground calls out.
The three behind you have their head down in their work, and leap out of their skin as your low voice strikes deep into their hearts. Screaming and stammering, they shuffle away from your position on the floor like mice. One of them stands clumsily before making a run for it, out of the office toward the stairs. The man at the tip of your sword doesn't move at all, nor does the other unconscious man across the room.
"The baker's man, it's the bakers," you advance silently during a pause, and the accustation from the man to the bare wind echoes through the empty building. "It's like, they make all the bread, but it's like they sold out to the state. The government, they just control all the food, and what are the people supposed to do? The bakers don't haven't...have, like, the power to rise up." "Shut up," one of the pair you followed calls as he enters the office with the others. "I'm serious," the rambler responds. "So am I!" As you creep nearer to the stairs and up to the second floor where the office is. As you get to the top of the staircase, you lose sight of the junkies in the office, but you can still hear them whispering on the floor, likely portioning their purchase. Finding a stack of boxes across from the open door, you get a good look into the office. The two you followed have joined the rambler, and sit in the center of a room of surrounded by squalor. The edges of the room are lined with straw sleeping pads, which are bursting apart and are covered in grease. You can see two other junkies passed out in the corners of the room, and when you reach the door, you spot the one in the southeast corner wearing a brown coat like Gregorié. The smell grows with each silent step you take closer. The three in the middle are intensely focused on their score, which is laid out on a sheet of butcher paper on the floor. Gauging:
The two unconscious men are in a deeply drugged state. The three murmerring appear to be frail commoners, that have visible signs of their addiction. 3 or 5 CR 2’s
I'm afraid we have waited long enough, and will need to move the game forward without Emilien. We wish you luck in the future.
The dealer turns back as you ask your parting question, but gives you a puzzling look, as though he were trying to remember who you were from half a minute ago. He remembers again suddenly. “They tell me where to show up,” he gives you a shrug as you head for the north. "That guy was completely out of his mind!" Little Boy gives a whisper-yell as he rejoins you from the shadows once you’re a safe distance from the dealer. "What kind of drugs are they giving these guys?' Little Boy’s knife was still held tightly in his hand as he walked, although he holds the blade down. He sees you notice the knife and puts it away. "Did the dealer say he saw our guy a few days ago? That gold might be gone, boss..."
Strolling casually, you get a light tap on your shoulder from Little Boy, who's been following quietly and inconspicuously, staggered a few paces behind. He silently nods at a pair of junkies who are skittering away from a dealer. They ducking into an an alley by empty grey warehouse on the north side of the street. As you reach the alley, you follow carefully through an open door and spot the pair already across the end of a vast, almost empty, warehouse. "They just scored," Little Boy whispers excitedly. "Gonna go find a place to squat for a few hours, I'm sure. Let’s follow ‘em." Little Boy seems confident about his hunch, and takes the lead as you stalk the pair from warehouse to warehouse. The junkies do glance behind every so often, but you both easily anticipate their moves and remain undetected. You eventually reach a smaller, mostly wooden warehouse where you can hear a voice from inside. Peeking into the wood building from the shorter eastern end, you see the pair walking west, crossing the empty warehouse floor. You hear the voice echoing from an office at the far end of the warehouse. Through the broken glass of the large office window, you can make out a man waving his hands as he talks, presumably to people unseen, sitting below the waist-high walls of the room they’re in.
"Oh yeah, yeah... okay," the dealer relaxes and puts the shiv away clumsily. He sways on his feet, nearly dozing off as he speaks. "Sorry, didn't mean to freak out. The last thing I need is to come up short." "If you're lookin' for a big spender, ye might be out of luck. There was a guy last week who looked pretty well-off, but he was looking for pesh. I sent him off to find Jérôme, of course. Saw the guy again yesterday when came back looking for pesh again, all jittery. I offered him some free Jaune, like we're s'possed ta when they come back. He huffed off and I ain't seen him since." The dealer goes on to vaguely describe monsieur Chauvin: the dusty brown bookie fedora and the opal ring. He mentions that he heard Gregorié might be crashing in the north apartments, but like most of what he’s talking about, the dealer assumes you’re in the know.
Jaune: In the last few years Jaune has become a street name for the dark yellow opium common to the Warehouse District.
Despite his addled look, the dealer scrutinizes you carefully. He has a look of confusion on his face; he clearly doesn’t recognize you but can’t seem to reconcile this with your feigned familiarity. “I don’t have any extra,” he says. He shifts defensively, obviously hiding something. “You get stuck up or something? Come to take what I got?” He hides his hand, but you see him reaching for something as he backs away. You seem to have convinced him you’re a fellow dealer, but that seems to be causing him to react unexpectedly. As he backs away, his eyes dart around, perhaps seeing something that isn’t there at all. He begins to edge away with his hand hidden.
Gaspard's expression turns, very subtly, from feigned interest to genuine excitement. Completely unflapped, Sabine takes a step back. "Gaspard, monsieur here is the proprietor of a shop," Sabine introduces the younger elf who gestures politely, somewhere between a bow and a curtsy. "We have been tasked with keeping him company until I can speak to the madame. I've assessed that he may be interested in some visual art for his place of business, but I think he might respond better to your more melodic descriptions." With a wink Sabine retreats to attend to the counter. "T'would be my pleasure monsieur," Gaspard gently takes your hand and leads you past the entrance into the gallery proper. As you cross the gallery to the first piece, your keen eye detects that the dark, hardwood floors were swept very recently. The gallery floor is quite spacious, perhaps the same size as the Clerk if you were to knock down all the walls. In the center of the room sits a metalwork sculpture surrounded by a half-dozen white pedestals. Three of the pedestals display vases of creative forms and colorings, the other three are bare. Whatever was on display has been removed recently. "The previous madame, Paige Ouilette, has quite a wide selection of artful pottery. If you prefer less traditional sculpture, you may be interested in Valentine's work." Carefully, Gaspard steps between the pedestals encircling the metalwork in the middle of the floor The central sculpture is made from reclaimed Isarn City Guard armor (formerly imperial armor) and depicts broken manacles thrown at the feet of a pit fiend wearing Queen Abrogail II’s regalia. "I love Valentine, but this is not my favorite work," he sneers at the devil. "His last piece, made of broken door signs, that was truly inspired. That ugly queen makes my blood boil, even if it is a statement" Despite the snide remarks directed more toward the subject of the art than the piece, Gaspard patiently waits while you take in the sight of Valentine’s work. Demanding your attention from the far wall hangs a large colorful tapestry. "This was sold at our show last night," Gaspard sighs, he stands ever so slightly closer to you as he very gently strokes the fabric. "Nikita is also quite talented. I never thought much about weaving being artistic before I came to the Melody. She really captures the hardships of her family life, escaping Cheliax to come to Galt." He waves his hand from left to right, the landscape tapestry tells the story of a journey of escaping slavery, hiding from captors, fighting back, and gaining freedom. You notice how very fine the threads are woven together, brilliantly detailed changes in color bring the story of tieflings in Galt to life in a way you never saw before. After viewing in silence for a minute or two, Gaspard begins to hum lightly to himself. Rhythmic at first, he keeps changing the tune and then starting over. He seems to be experimenting with a tune as you take in Nikita’s piece. When you’ve taken in the tapestry, Gaspard moves to a pair of paintings on the next wall. The painting on the left is of the Arodenama in Westcrown with a crowd gathered beneath it. The painting on the right depicts the famously public execution of Galt’s last Chelish Archduke, and Madame Margeary’s first victim. As you examine the brush strokes, which appear to be the same artist at work, the bell rings at the front door. You look to the dark-haired half-elf madame enter through the front door. She and Sabine exchange a few brief nods, and she looks to you and your new friend standing in the gallery.
GM pad:
"You're the boss, boss," Little Boy gives a nod and skulks away. Counting as you make your adjustments, you make your way over to the dealer. You have to go out of your way to make sound as you approach, and still the dealer responds. You pass two steps beyond a distance where you could lunge forward and stab him before he looks in your direction. The man's eyes are wide when he turns to see you. He looks quite disheveled, and though you are similarly dirty, the man is wearing far less clothing. His dark hair is wild, and likely full of something sticky. His once white shirt is stained all over, and his pants are torn above the ankles. He is barefoot, and ghoulishly thin. His stench hits you from outside arms-reach. "Oh...hey," he stammers. "Uh..do I know you?" He half-turns as he greets you, unsure if he should run, but ready to. Where pesh makes the addict jittery and nervous, this man appears to be taking something to dull the senses, probably opium.
“Je suis désolé, monsieur,” the corners of Sabine’s mouth turn down a little. “The Madame Illisha is out at the moment.” She pauses you for a moment with a gesture and retreats to the counter. She has a look at a ledger on her desk, and after a moment, she reaches out to a row of metal hoops hanging from the wall. She tugs the hoop thrice quickly, and you can imagine the bell in someone’s private room ringing in response. She jots down a quick note before giving an an innocent smile. “The madame has an appointment later on today, and she should be returning at some point,” Sabine rounds the desk, and folds her hands lightly as she rejoins you. Like any businesswoman, you get an immediate sense that the woman is trying to assess you. “I would very much like to show you our collections. The Melody is a trove of visual arts” Sabine elegantly directs your eyeline to a series of sketches hanging on the wall just near the door. Nine pieces in all, off-white paper two hands tall, each holding a rough sketches of a figure, a deity. Each such page bore two simple, full body depictions of the god, with the margins lined with smaller detail. As your eyes begin to shift focus, Sabine glides slowly behind you, an obvious but non-intrusive attempt to be enticingly secretive. Sabine’s sketches are indeed beautiful. You see Iomedae with a hound standing upon a staircase, defending the high ground from faceless creatures clawing at them from below. Irori sits in a simple meditation pose, but the flow of his robes are highly detailed. The water flowing over the feet of Gozreh has amazingly creative and realistic lines. The depiction of Brigh you notice for its intricacy, and also that the charcoal markings have faded the least. “My series on the gods has been quite popular,” she speaks softly. “Each sculpture is one of a kind, the sketches I keep here as a matter of pride. We have several more collections on display today, that we ” You hear some footfalls descend the stairs nearby. A male half-elf, perhaps a decade younger than you, lithe and fair-haired with rosey cheeks. He smiles. You can feel as Sabine steps away from the edge of intrusion. She circles you again, framing your view of the wide gallery perfectly between herself and the young elf, now seated at the counter. “Gaspard could watch the front if as we peruse the gallery, or if you instead prefer song, Gaspard is happy to show you around. It is our pleasure to curate any creative expression you wish to pursue.” Intentionally delicate and clear in her offer, Sabine or the Gaspard will happily show you around the gallery, but they delicately hint at their more sensual services.
Disguised under a layer of dirt, the two of you exit the building and begin walking about again. The people lying down are generally unresponsive, but the rare wanderer you find in the district tries to avoid eye contact. "Over there," Little Boy whispers as you step into an intersection. A block to the south, you spot a fidgety man in the middle of a handoff with another man. "If anyone knows, its a dealer." The dealer is a dark haired man, standing midway down the block between two large warehouses. He's leaned up against the wall, and the nearest doorway is across the street from him.
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The dark figure is careful to stay far enough away that you're unable to get any sort of detail. Without the bright sky you're not sure you would have seen it at all. Little Boy responds quickly, and the two of you start weaving through the streets and around corners. There's no foot traffic in the district; anyone in the streets that's on their feet runs and hides as soon as you come near. The tail is interesting. It vanishes and reappears in a way that would be impossible without, you figure, a magical effect. After a few minutes, you appear to have completely lost your pursuer.
It’s been quite some time since you disciplined Little Boy. In his addled state, slamming his thick skull into the table is easy. He puts up no fight, only nodding in response. He lags behind as you leave the Honey Pot, but catches up quickly. You walk through the Foreign Quarter in silence. Minutes after the noon bell sounds in the distance, the two of you come upon perhaps the most destitute neighborhood in Isarn. Block after block you spot someone in an unconscious heap. Few have even a sheet to cover themselves, huddled instead under scavenged debris. A few folks wander aimlessly down the streets, but shy away quickly when they see or hear you. Little Boy looked frustrated and bitterish on the way here, but is now on high alert.
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The drug addicts on the streets seem to be avoiding you or not paying attention at all, but every few blocks, you catch a glimpse of someone on a faraway rooftop. They appear to be tracking your movement from a distance.
Yvon interrupts your conversation for a moment. She hands Dany his coffee, and goes out to her post for the afternoon. Dany sits and dives in, talking like an old friend. You talk of the neighborhood, the strife of years past. You know that Dany is married with two young children because he occasionally borrows books on their behalf. When you mention the apothecary shop, he responds with a chuckle. “They don’t bother us much, they make too much money. We run the gamblers for the Arena through a sewer access over there, so shutting that down would hurt the precinct captain from too many sides. Have you ever been to the Arena? I don’t usually go, because it lasts until dawn, and ma chérie gets upset. If you would like to attend, there’s a match every Toilday and Starday. You can gamble if you like, or just watch the fights, drink, and have a good time. Just mention it to anyone from the team and I’ll set it up.” Dany chats with you for a few more minutes. When the mid-hour bell rings, signaling noon is coming soon, you both agree that it’s time for you both to be moving. With a bow, Dany leaves and you grab your belongings from the counter to go, when you hear a familiar voice burst through the door. “Emilien! Bonne journée,” the deep lilting voice of your most flamboyant regular rises booms across the Clerk from the door. As you look to see Terance Beauchemin, so does the entire common room. He is dressed in a typical Moonday outfit: his shaved head was covered by a pink hat instead of a wig; his custom-made golden engineer goggles with dark lenses kept the sun out of his eyes; a colorful silk mumu with a busy pattern under a dark matte robe; and enough attitude to make a Calistrian blush. Terance came to use the Clerk’s back room each week on Moonday afternoon, where he writes theatrical reviews for the Voice of the Revolution. “I hope you had a better weekend than I, mon chérie,” he gives each of the patrons sitting in the common room a big smile and a light pet on their shoulders as he glides over to you and Noel at the counter. He gives Noel a kiss on each cheek before turning to you and doing the same. “I swear, there’s hasn’t been a decent playwright in this town in a decade. Bleagh! They should all be given a date with Margaery. Oh, were you leaving love? Oh don’t let me keep you! I need to write the Chairman a letter about a few actors that need to be put to death for crimes against the theater. I shall be here until curfew, if you plan to return. Noel, if you please.” Friendly, but completely self-absorbed, Terance takes your compliments, but moves with the uninterrupted boldness of the Kantele and flows into the back room.
The streets before noon on Moonday are nearly as empty as they were on your midnight stroll. You get nods from a few spotters and messengers, but you know that noon bells will fill the streets again. If you weren’t already in a hurry, you’d be hustling just to make it before the hugry crowd erupts. The architecture in La Lumière Rouge is not so different than the Theater Quarter, but the decor is aggressive. Scantily clad barkers and multi-colored banners assault your eyes in a bid for your attention, and hopefully your coin. Two of the barkers have even thrust a flyer into your hand.
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Margaery’s Playhouse presents: The Third Crusade, which has a simple drawing of dancing knights and boasts music and dancing girls in armor. The Frisky Feline, this tiny slip is little more than a menu of food, drinks, and available courtesans. Arriving at the Unchained Melody is a relief. The four story building dominates the block, and has an elegant and inviting facade. When you enter, you’re immediately greeted by a tall woman with dark hair and soft features. She wears a flowing blue dress without sleeves but a modest neckline. “Bonne après-midi, monsieur,” she sets her charcoal and stack of papers to greet you with a kind smile. She wipes her hand clean as she comes around the counter to greet you. The bottom floor is quite open; a dark wood floor, bright white walls, and little furniture. Many paintings hang from the white walls. Several white pedestals display pottery, while other pedestals stand empty. A tapestry hangs near the front, intricately woven to depict a scene. “Je m'appelle Sabine,” the welcome to Unchained Melody.”[/b]
"I wish," flopping down onto the table, Little Boy groans and waves his had at Gunther. You're convinced at the severity of Little Boy's headache, not because he's not a good liar but because of the distinct signs of drug use. "Whiskey and water, Gunther!" Having seen your addled teammate enter, Gunther has already started to prepare a standard hangover remedy, which Little Boy doesn't hesitate to throw down his gullet when it's served. He shakes his head, and hits it a few times with his fist before he takes a deep breath. Finally composed he looks at you with a smile. "Sorry boss," he groans to a start. "Spent my evening with some unsavory folk. Had to get a little unsavory with them. No one north of the river has seen ol' Gregorié, and the Caydogs I talked to haven't seen him either. I doubt the Delons are willing to hide him: he didn’t get away with THAT MUCH gold, and they don’t stick their neck out for nothin’." "Were I a bettin' man," Little Boy continues to talk as he stands up to stretch his arms, "I'd put my money on the Warehouse District. Room to squat, reliable drugs, and absolutely no one asking questions. I'm happy to grease some more palms if ye want, though," he smirks. He looks hopeful for another night of 'interrogating' drug dealers on you, but not optimistic for it. "Either way, you're the boss, boss. What're we gettin' into today?"
Just in the few minutes together, you can see in Gunther come alight like a child. The long and busy hours of filling mugs with swill for the likes of Little Boy and Fat Man have made this display of his knowledge special for him. When you ask about the finer reserves, he cautiously looks around the room. Out on the floor a pair stragglers from the night shift still chat at their table, looking bloated and sleepy. The other teams left just before you started your tasting; you know that was exactly twenty-eight minutes ago because Little Boy is (so far) exactly that late for his shift. Satisfied at the level of privacy, Gunther steps back to the middle of the bar. He pulls out a ring with six keys. He finds the right one, and as he turns it over in his hand, you get a good look: a finger-length brass key topped with a crown. He opens the lock and undoes the latch the trap door on the ground. Before his head disappears, he gives you a nod toward the door, a silent plea to lookout. You sit and listen to the grumbling from the sleepy duo for a few minutes before the trap door opens again, and a cask filled with straw slides onto the floor behind the bar. Gunther steps out, and re-latches the door part way. He watches the table the whole way over to you at the end, setting down the cask which hides a few bottles in the straw. He whispers an enticing description of each of the wines, eight bottles in all. All but two of the bottles are pre-revolutionary, and although none of them are the 4424, the last two he shows are priced at two hundred gold a bottle. Gunther's tone as he describes each lead you to believe these are close to some of the highest priced vintages available.
Gunther pockets the gold coins, and begins to take away the dirty glasses. "The fine liquors are available by the drink, but what you must understand about wine, madame, is that breaking the seal means the product begins to age. Without a way to know who will be buying, the finer bottles must sold individually or by the cask." He lays out more empty glasses as he speaks, and begins to carefully pour out the smallest amount of the finer liquors for you to taste: another cognac, a 5 year rum, and a 15 year whisky. "If you like the red, I have a few bottles of a more robust wine that is twenty gold a bottle. We have plenty of selection in red, and the price goes up from there. We have a few casks of some whites in the same range as well, if you prefer. There's the sparkling white we send to the high roller's tables we keep back here, but that's pageantry so we can overcharge them. For you, those bottles would only be five gold." "If you're feeling VERY bold," he leans in very close to whisper. "I keep a select few that cost over a hundred. The Chelish prefer a spiced wine that is quite an experience."
"The Melody?" Noel asks suggestively. "Are you looking to spruce up the Clerk, or the clerk?" The raised eyebrow makes it clear that he's referring to both the coffeeshop and its proprietor, respectively. While he is teasing now, he has spoken before about hanging some art on the wall. He has also teased before, during long slow days, about how you work too hard and should perhaps pursue a more active social life. The morning goes by quick and easy. You are flagged down by a patron who offers last week's tale of La Maupin again, and you note the absence of Thaddeus Sharp as well. As is typical coming off the weekend, you hear plenty of general gossip: the always rising price of bread, the indicted attorney, the cruelty (or sometimes, the necessity) of the gangs. ---------- When the morning rush has truly come and gone, Dany and Yvon stop in, as they often do during the slower hours. While both are known agents of The Vice, they are the local spotters. Since the team’s primary focus is keeping down random violent crimes, they don't shed the same aura of fear as Thisbe. Dany pulls you to a quiet corner while Yvon gives Noel their order. "The Sisters are in an uproar about something," he whispers in close. Out of the watch team, Dany had been with the Vice the longest. The team requires little supervision, at least from what you can tell, but he is considered the team leader. He was quite tall and broad for a native Galtan, but his dark hair and pointy nose marked his heritage. The man didn't really make eye contact as he spoke, instead he was constantly looking about for eavesdroppers. "Some big buzz out of the Foreign Quarter," he continued. "For all the noise, we're not really sure what it's about, but it apparently is something all the Milinite groups are a part of. I know the Gardeners picked up a halfling yesterday: some barrister that was worshiping Milani pretty openly. No one I've talked to is sure if the two things are connected though." "YOU, don't know anything about this, do you?" Dany asked. He sounds hopeful, as though he is simply turning over stones for a clue. He does not seem expectant, as he has come to know your aversion to controversial rumors. If the many Milanites shared a common trait, it was controversy.
Your request for alcohol gives the bartender pause, but he obliges and sets a few empty glasses on the bar in front of you, leaving the bottles in a neat row. He begins with the higher end of his normal stock, pouring a finger of two red wines into two of spirit glasses from bottles behind the bar. A third bottle he pours is a fine cognac. After the three drinks kept under the bar, he grabs a stool to reach to the shelf above the mirror and fetches three more bottles. He fills more empty glasses, two more reds and a rare Galtan white. Observing the labels on the bottles, you see only Galtan wines, and only post-revolutionary years. Once he's restocked the bottles he's poured, the bartender has a look at your progress before continuing. "We have a few pre-revolutionary vintages, and a few foreign wines and spirits as well, but for those I have to start charging you." As he speaks of the finer drinks, the bartender makes a few subconcious gestures in the direction of the floor, betraying at least the direction of the finer wines. He looks to you before he continues.
Claudine gives you a long stare, letting the silence sit between you for a while. You easily read the gnome’s desire to appear thoughtful, and your confidence is rewarded as she breaks the silence first. "All right then, half," she crosses her arms, feigning her frustration quite well. She leans in closer for a moment. "Only for the first job! Guy will set up a drop point, between here and your home. We'll find somewhere where we can meet in private." "We've been chatting long enough, I think," she says, taking a big step back. "Guy will have lost the gold I gave him by now. We'll be in touch." She gives you a smirk before heading through the garden, up the wide stone steps, and into The Promise through the large ballroom doors.
“Mornin’ boss,” Little Boy arrives almost exactly an hour after your meeting with Claudine, and looks quite hung over.
So there are some things we want to discuss with everyone about communicating between your PCs outside of the group thread. We are assessing the best way to handle each of these as they come up, but it is imperative that you include us GMs when you want to contact another player. Before we dive into the in-character discussion of communication, I think we want to offer a chatroom we can use for the 6 of us. GM Renard and I are partial to Google Hangouts, but Discord would work too if the majority prefers that. ------- There's note leaving, and I think leaving notes in the Cerulean Sanctum (where the game started) works in general, especially since the note can't be scried on there and you can't be scried on when you write it. I think if players want a direct line of communication between themselves, they can work out a system of drop points themselves. Because players may be at different times in their day, it's important to loop us GMs in on that system, so we can post the information between threads. Using a messenger is an option also, and there certainly are people who would take up this task. A cipher does seem like a good idea, however, if we're involving outsiders in Council business. The Message spell is not an option anyone took, which is just as well, since it has a severe proximity limit. Sending is likewise unavailable, and is a few levels away, anyways. Lastly, the logistics of an in-person meeting is something we're experimenting with, so definitely let us know if you intend to meet up with another player in person. If you have any specific suggestions on implementing this, please share. And please weigh in on Hangouts (or Discord) if you want to be a part of that.
After your run-in with the guards, your trip from the west to the east side of the Theater Quarter is very slow going. Block after block of peering around corners, walking near the buildings, stopping at each little crash in the distance or chittering raccoon, brings you to the sewer exit you'd used in the morning almost two hours after leaving the guards. Once you return to the old furniture shop, and descend into the catacomb entrance, you find your way quickly and easily to the secret door that Le Quatrième Voile showed you this morning, and speak the password to bypass the Alarm spell: ‘The garden is full of snakes’. Beyond the door, another long passage takes you south to another Alarm, one you don't know the password to, but that Le Voile had explained lets them detect an authorized entry before the thick fog of the Mage's Private Sanctum. The chamber inside is starkly empty, the chairs at the big table are pushed in and the feast set out on the long tables from this morning is gone. You sit and take down a few notes from your journey through the dark streets, and write out a note for your fellow council members. With your work done, you make your way home again, thinking carefully on how best to communicate with these companions in the future. 9 Gozran, 4718 AR; Moonday
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"Problem?" the gnome retorts. "We don't have any problem, not myself nor Guy. These terms are pretty standard where our business is concerned. If you want assurances, my offer to lie to Anton and charge you for it might be the best you get." "What I'll say about my relationship with Anton, is that it's quite similar to my brother's relationship with Noelle Brochard. Both men have things they need seen or done on the side of the river they dare not tread. For example, if one of them were to get an offer to help eliminate the other, perhaps from a turncoat in their own organization. Well the the obvious place to turn to verify such an offer's....veracity," she smirks knowingly. Clearly, she has a story she can tell beyond this stroll in the garden.
You are certain that Claudine is hiding a good deal of information about her business, but what she does reveal seems honest but vague. Her tone betrays an eagerness to lie to Anton on your behalf. You suspect that she may have come specifically to meet you. "Coin buys my silence, you can trust that," she jumps to the next point. "And Anton may be able to get his hand into the deep pockets now and again, but his own pockets aren't so deep, and he is quite loathe to part with his auspicious jewelry."
Claudine pounds the glass of clear liquor the bartender had just brought over, when she sets it down without looking. As she gets up to exit the Honey Pot, you watch as the it spins slowly on the bottom edge before falling upright. Up close, the Scum Garden has a pungent smell of rotten vegetables, and its daytime workforce was truly depressing. Scum Gardeners were frail and generally useless folk, the maimed or the drug-addled unsuitable for proper work. Under direction of their taskmaster (a simpleton himself), they spent the day moving things around so as to give the appearance that The Promise of Coin complies with the thirteenth decree. Claudine walks the broken bricks of the garden's walkways, hands behind her back like a proper lord. "They'll have seen us speaking," she opens as you stroll side by side. "And if they see us again, they'll assume we have an agreement. They'll probably assume that no matter what, so setting up a drop for our real communications is prudent. You have a reputation for prudence. This conversation comes at the cost of a two hundred gold piece retainer, I manage the tabs myself, so not to worry." "Anton will know we spoke, and my relationship with him is one I can’t currently afford to lose. I expect about fifty gold pieces for each lie I have to tell him. I’ll charge him for the information though, so you’ll get a discount on those. I expect you to feed me plausible lies, because each time he catches me in such a lie, I charge twenty-five platinum. That could get expensive for you, unless he doesn’t have any reason to ask me about you." "For information on a place, we charge fifteen gold," she continues. "Information on a person is thirty. If the person or place belong to the Vice, or to the Caydogs, double the rate it. If you want something special, I can give you a quote. We're not the biggest fans of killing so we usually use third parties, if discretion demands that we can't, expect the price to go up quite a bit. We don't kill kids or courtesans. We don’t deal in slaves and we definitely don't deal with the Delons." "Last but not least," she stops here, in the middle of the garden. Her voice gets louder; not enough to rile of the Scum Gardeners, but higher than the hushed tones of the dealing. "My idiot brother gets the same respect I do. I earn it for him. If he finds himself in more trouble than you can handle, then you find me." "If all this works for you, then we're in business," her tone is hushed again. She pauses here, looking eager to give more details if she has your agreement. Her hands are still held behind her back, clearly not expecting an exchange of coins here in the open.
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You have a seat at the empty barstool where the regular bar drops off to the short bar. Claudine looks over and gives you a good sizing up before you see a smile crack out the corner of her mouth. "Sure," she says simply, tossing back her current drink and giving a whistle and a wave to the barkeep. Unlike many gnomes, Claudine doesn't dye her blonde hair, but the braid holding the right half of her shoulder-length hair is beautifully complex. She wears a cornflower blue vest over a cream colored blouse, both woven of fine cottons. Her brown breeches look nice, if a bit dusty. When she smirks, she looks cute as a button, which you imagine is part of the surly demeanor she tends to carry. Quick as it appeared, her smile disappears. As the bartender walks over with a fresh drink for Claudine in one hand and a mug of (clean) water for you, the gnome scoops up the coin deftly, and tosses the whole stack of 5 neatly into the apron pocket, complete with 5 satisfying *clinks* "You're the new protection racket, right?" she looks up at you, friendly, but stone faced again. "They must not like you much to put you in charge of the fat guy and the dumb guy, but I hear you've got them on the straight and narrow now." You've seen her speaking with Anton, so what she knows is not as surprising as her being so forthcoming about it. “I'm happy to drink with you, madame. Before you speak, however, you may wish to know the rates for my discretion.”
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