Muro closes with a comment. “Thems they, ah, facts. He, ah, ‘Mile I mean, sometimes warns us if there is, ah, bad blood ‘tween some the guests. Case things get, uh, outta hands so ta speak. Dint give us a warnin’ today though. He spits out a wad of tobacco to a nearby trash cannister. It smacks against the outside of the container.
Sacha remains silent, either by choice or lack thereof. He plays with the white buttons on his chest. He looks up for a moment when muffled shouting is heard from the foyer, followed by someone rushing down the steps, but after exchanging looks with Morgan, he ignores them.
Ludovic pushes the crate to the side of the wall with his leg. He begins to take the wines and place them on a counter. “Ya, two them talkin’ is all.” Footsteps from downstairs. “Well, here they come.” He takes a step to look down below, and his brow rises surprised. “Oh, ah, and I guess some servants are coming with ‘em.”
The first tiefling rises, the lights of the kitchen making her bald head seem almost polished. Her skin is maroon, and she has two small horns above her brow. She looks at Seth briefly, though her crimson eyes look to the floor embarrassed. The second tiefling rises the ladder quickly. His long arms reach the floor above after climbing only a couple rungs. His skin is vivid lavender, his eyes a smoky gray. The last servant rises, a small ratfolk man. He tips his small hat at Seth. He speaks, voice shrill but oddly slow. “Hey, ahh, gots a smoke or anythin’?
In the basement, Ludovic grabs a hold of his crate once more. “Doubt’cha want me hearin’ all this, Master Emile. I’ll bring up them wines.” He walks towards the ladder, holding the crate close to his stomach. He grips it close with one arm, and slowly ascends with the other. He holds on to the sides between the rungs, making sure to be careful rising.
“OI! UPSTAIRS! Give a hand, will ya?”
It is 11:13PM, there are 47 minutes until the New Year. Predicted nine minutes until Guard reinforcements arrive.
“Never was one for magic, cheap cooks use it to make better grub, but I was taught better. Older wines in the back room. Ya gotta’ kill the candle if you head back there. Light’ll damage the wines and I’m keep bein’ told they priceless.” Ludovic grabs an old wooden crate.
Raphael tours the aisles, starting from the ones closest to the ladder. Emile’s collection is rather grand, one can tell even without proper lighting. Some of the vitages date back to the early 400's. He reaches the end of the aisle, doubling back, with Ludovic in tow. Ludovic grabs the wines he listed earlier as he passes them and places them into the crate. This continues for the first two rows, but something is off with the third row.
The third row is without a candle at the end of it. The aisle extends into darkness, no clear end in sight. While the wines at the start of the aisle have the faintest of glow to them, its presumed end is pitch black. Ludovic looks down the aisle. “Don’t think none of the dinner wines were down there. Mostly ciders and such. Feel free to check though.” Ludovic takes a step to the next aisle.
It is 11:07PM, there are 53 minutes until the New Year. Predicted fifteen minutes until Guard reinforcements arrive.
Raphael grabs hold of a nearby candle, one from dinner most likely. He makes passing comments to Seth, urging him to stay above as a precaution. Seth agreess, standing vigilant over the basement entrance. Raphael descends into the cellar.
The room is a bit colder down above, and more humid. The floor seems to be natural stone, as do the walls. The walls have been worked on, the edges of the engravings softly glowing in candle light. While a large room, there are little candles, and the room is faintly illuminated at best.
Wine racks are arranged throughout the room in aisles, lining the walls and dividing the room into sections. A few of the aisles have candles at the end of them, their glow revealing the shape of hundreds if not thousands of wine bottles. One can make out a door at the opposite end of the room, though it is closed.
The room is dark, even with a candle things are rather dim. Without the candle, you would have trouble navigating, having to rely mostly on touch.
Ludovic waits a moment as Raphael scans the room. He then begins to scan the aisles himself. “Let’s see, we had the two sparklins’, the riesling, the Langlais Pinot Noir and Cab Franc, that chard, the barolo, the um, ice wine and I think there was another. How you want this?
Ludovic rises from his chair, spitting to the can once more. The glob of tobacco barely makes it in this time. He taps his heel down, and turns to grab the chair. He raises it and places it to the side of a knife-less cutting table with a thud. “Yeah, ‘spose you’re right. It’s dark, just a few candles though.”
He makes way to the slab of decorated wood covering the entrance to the basement. He lifts it, revealing a wooden ladder that leads down to a dimly lit cellar floor. “Wish it was stairs. Carryin’ wine up a ladder ain’t easy. Come.” He hops down the hole, climbing down under. He grabs one of the candles by it’s metal holder, and looks up to Raphael. His face glows softly, it is clear he isn't pleased. “I’ll show the wines, you can check for secret doors or whatnot you think is down here.”
Ludovic seems happy with Raphael’s explanation. “Ah hells, don’t go ‘pologizing. Emile told us one ya had it out for us servants, clear it ain’t you. He looks to Seth as he covers one of the doors, but his eyes dart back to Raphael as the next question is asked.
He turns to face the closed cellar entrance. “The, uh, wine? Yeah, its stored down under. Emile tells us what to bring out ‘heada time. We put the vintage ones down there, and one of us’ll go fetch ‘em for the meal and pour ‘em in front of the guests”
Ludovic continues to chew his tobacco, turning back to face Raphael. “I’m uh, not sure if Emmy’d like you down there, son. Ain’t as clean as the rest of the house, tarnishes that reputation he goes on about.”
The kitchen is rather large, and seems that despite the efforts of cleaning during dessert, there is still much to be done. Many tables cover the walls, either hardwood or marble, coated in layers of flour, sugar, remnants of fruit. Knives, forks, batter-laden spoons lie scattered around the room.
Raphael, Seth and the servant all enter the room. The voices from outside are muffled as the door closes. Seth begins to gather anything to be used as a weapon and pools them into a sink. Raphael begins his questioning.
The first servant seems rather relaxed for the situation. He is forty or so, light wrinkles across his face, small folds with a few days stubble. His white outfit is coated in a rainbow of stains, and while a light amount of flour powder dances across his face, his black, waxed mustache is spotless. He grabs himself a small wooden stool, sitting on it. His lips are plump from something in his mouth.
“Always the servants first, ain’t it?” He spits a wad of tobacco to a trash canister four or so feet away. It hits inside of it. “What you want?” Raphael opens his questioning. “Name’s Ludovic Rome. Remember all the nice food y’all consumed?” He taps his fist to his leg twice proudly. “My creation. Head Chef.”
(1)
He scratches at his hair at the mention of two hours ago. “Bit after Master Emile started today’s party? Guess I was preppin’ the meal’s first coupla courses. Probably seasonin’ the geese.” He looks at Seth gathering the utensils and kitchenware. “Hells if I know, I was here, that I know. After that we started on dessert. Don’t know when the lass kicked it, but most of us were in this room, cleanin’. Maybe a couple cooks tendin’ to the prep room.”
(2)
At the mention of talking to Abigal, he laughs. He opens a small cannister in his pocket, putting more tobacco under his lip. “Talk to a guest? You too serious to be a comedian, pal.” He shakes his head. “Cooks stay in the kitchen, one of the rules. Job pays too well to risk talkin’ to some blondie. Course, Master Emile had all us all join you in the foyer. ‘Magine we still won’t be conversin’ outside these question.”
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