Honestly, I'm not. I haven't been enjoying myself in game and I don't know if I really want to continue running this.
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Sorry for the delay in posting again. Wrestling with a sleep schedule that refuses to be normal. Will try to post as soon as I can.
The ballroom of the manor is evidently where most the Baron's wealth was spent--the large room's walls are carved of fine wood and its floor has been scrubbed & polished to a mirror shine. The room is brightly illuminated by a large chandelier hanging over the room’s centre, with several lanterns hanging from wooden stylized pegs lining the walls. Courtiers, both men and women alike, cluster together in little cliques along the walls while the bolder among them dance with each other as the vibrant humming of violins and cellos fill the air. A fair few of the guests turn their heads as you enter the room—and very few of them turn their eyes away afterward. One in particular, a gaunt-looking gentleman dressed in fine white clothes and with his dark hair cut short, approaches you. ”Greetings, madame. Might I bring you a drink?”
Sophia leads you down the corridor and through a roughly-carved door of solid oak. The kitchen is a drab-looking room of solid stone with several counters available for the preparation of foodstuffs and a pair of lit lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Various kitchen utensils and cookware are scattered about, some of them scrubbed and others bearing the telltale signs of cooked food still clinging to them. Several pewter goblets are arranged in a neat line on one counter, with a large pewter jug sitting nearby. A few plain-looking servants dressed in even plainer garb than yours hurry about, preparing small dishes. A nearby window lets in One of the servants, a haggard, older woman dressed in roughspun brown garb, nearly bumps into you as you enter. ”AH!” ”For f&!@’s sake, where have you been?!” She starts before grunting in annoyance. ”Never mind. Those goblets aren’t going to fill and deliver themselves!” She makes a wild gesture in the direction of the goblets.
You carefully make your way up the stairs, the darkened stairway holding no danger for one such as you. The air becomes colder as you reach the top floor. The long corridor before you stretches what appears to be the entire length of the house and is carved of darkened wood. A pair of men dressed in ill-kept mail and bearing clubs on their belts are standing before a grand-looking door in the middle of the hallway. They don’t seem to be paying too much attention—and more focused on not falling asleep at their posts than doing their jobs. Four other doors line the hallway—two on the north wall, two on the south wall, both on either side of the main door. Another staircase leading up to the fancy door runs down the south.
Post will come in the morning!
Sorry to see you go, Lucian.
Sophia points down the hall to the west. "The servants use the stairwell down that way to attend to Lord Albert and his guests when they stay the night. Follow the hall until it goes right, then upstairs."
The paunchier guard's brow furrows for a second before he turns his eyes back to the darkened path leading to the manor. The younger guard shoots him a dirty look before turning back to you. "Don't mind Torsten, m'lady. Misspent youth would turn anyone bitter." He says with a quick smirk in his colleague's direction. "Please, go on in." "The ballroom is through the double doors past the main hall's stairs."
The two guards share a glance at each other before the younger one's lips quirk into a smile. "Well, m'lady--" He says, his low-born origins coming through almost immediately. "--you've come to the right place. I'm sure Lord Albert will be quite happy to meet you. Normally, we only get grafs and--" The paunchier guard rolls his eyes at the younger one's enthusiasm. "Where's your husband?" He asks, his tone too dismissive for dealing with someone clearly of an aristocratic bearing.
GM Rolls:
The man's demeanour calms down greatly. "Oh, praise the Lord. You arrived just in the nick of time--Lord Albert's guests have been wondering when the drinks and hors d'oeuvres were going to be ready. The kitchen's already busy--you'll know what to do when you get there."
Your approach to the front gates of the manor go unremarked upon—the few glances you get from the other attendees are little more than cursory looks in the shadowy streets. You follow a couple of finely-dressed locals up the white marble walk to the front door, poised and assured as you were taught. Two men dressed in mail and chain coifs stand guard outside the manor’s front door, each with a sword belted at their side. One of them looks decidedly younger than the other one, and more fit—the other bears several wrinkles on his face and has a noticeable paunch. They let the two party-goers ahead of you in, but raise their hands when you approach. ”Hold there.” The younger one says. ”Who are you and what business have you here?”
Sophia turns and leads the three face-shifted Cainites through the darkened back gate and across the yard beyond. The rear of the manor does not appear to be as well-tended as the front—while it sports a fountain of an angel pouring water out of a jug, the grass surrounding the dirt path leading to the manor is rougher and longer than that of the front yard. The servant girl pushes the rear door of the manor open and hurries inside—running smack into a dark-haired older man dressed in drab brown garb. ”Sophia?!” He barks. ”Where have you been?! The guests’ drinks still need to be served!” Sophia yelps. ”I—Lord Albert had errands for me to run, sir—“ ”Of COURSE he did.” The man grumbles. ”Bad enough that we’re short-staffed, but—“ The man’s tirade stops when he notices the trio behind her. ”Who’re you?”
Sophia nods at her master and disappears into the darkness, taking the clothes with her. The sculpting of Cainite flesh proves to be not much different from the sculpting of that of mortals. Aside from the inherent coldness of death in vampire bodies, the dottore finds that, in this instance, the skin of the dead proves to be just as pliant and moldable as that of the living. Within the span of a few minutes, Lucian, Alexander and himself soon look like nondescript serving folk. The young servant girl returns barely a few moments after the last of the fleshly manipulations have been completed. "Master Alexandru? Your proper clothes are inside a crate by the warehouse on Wainwright's Walk."
Sophia tugs on Dottore Alexandru's sleeve. "M'lord, shall I go and fetch some servant wear?"
With no dissenting ideas forthcoming, the coterie take their leave of the cathedral's halls and take to the lightless streets above. The moon's light shines through a few cracks in the overcast night sky, barely even illuminating Magdeburg's main roadways. It's a simple matter to round up Young Sophia. The poor girl's face blanches at the thought of breaking into her mortal employer's domain, but she does lead the way through Magdeburg's shadowed alleys without a complaint. It takes some time, but before too long the group emerges from a particularly cold, cobbled side street onto Gold Street, just a short distance away from a large and stately two-story manor. Gold Street itself is perhaps ironically named--the low, squat and square buildings surrounding the manor home provide a very stark indication of the differences between social classes in Magdeburg. The houses and poorly-maintained tenements here are all in various states of disrepair and age, with window shutters on the verge of surrendering to the onslaught of the elements and crumbling to the uncaring earth below. The manor itself, on the other hand, would be considered needlessly opulent even if it were surrounded by the dwellings of its owner's social peers. A wall of carefully hewn sandstone surrounds the manor, with finely-carved columns of an austere brown framing a wrought-iron gate to its front walk. A smaller, more inconspicuous gate of iron is around the back of the wall--presumably, this is the gate the servants use to come and go. A fine rose garden takes up most of the manor's front yard, with a carefully-maintained path of white marble tiles leading up to the manor's front door. The entire building itself is constructed of fine wood and stone in the Romanesque style. Already, the coterie can see party guests in fine clothes and finer pretension trickling in through the manor's front gates.
"Whatever approach you decide, understand that time is of the essence. So long as the Silence is maintained, you may resolve this as you see fit. Now, go." Prince Jürgen dismisses the coterie with a wave of his hand.
Prince Jürgen looks over at Alexander. "Aside from being the official administrator of Magdeburg? His position means that he will have several guards on staff--though, assuming their ignorance of Cainites, they will not be expecting anything supernatural occurring on their watch." "I understand there may be a couple of noble families en route to the fete that you could perhaps convince to give you their invitations. Failing that, the guards have been known to accept bribes..." The prince's eyes fall upon Dottore Alexandru. "...and I understand your newest ghoul is one of his cleaning staff. Perhaps she could show you a way inside, if all else fails."
"Ideally, a simple one--but in practice, I suspect, one that will prove to be... complicated." Prince Jürgen sighs. "From what the priest has told me, Baron Albert was the one who sent for him and his little band of would-be Cainite slayers. For what purpose, I cannot yet fathom--nor do I know just who has compromised him." The cold-eyed prince finally turns his gaze on the coterie. "I understand that he is hosting a gathering of Magdeburg's aristocracy tonight--presumably to gather support from his peers for some foolish venture against me. You are to attend this gathering and discover who put him up to this--whether from his letters, his sycophants or the mortal himself." His gaze sharpens. "Mind that you observe the Silence while doing so--this is a task in need of a scalpel, not a hammer."
The coterie is led through Magdeburg’s streets, flanked on both sides by the Prince’s servants. The assemblage’s advance causes many of the mortals still awake at this hour to scatter like roaches—from the beggars cowering in the gutters to the leather-clad ruffians stalking the alleys near the city’s taverns in search of their own prey. A mild breeze follows them as they walk, bringing with it the dying heat of a summer well on its way to its end. Magdeburg’s Cathedral looks as stately as it was the previous night—the pews are dusted and polished, the altar immaculately set. But the coterie is directed elsewhere, down a side hall and a flight of stairs into the cathedral’s lightless depths. One of the attending ghouls lights a torch so others may better see.
The stairs wind down deep beneath the earth, with the surrounding carved stone becoming wetter with condensation as the coterie descends. At the bottom of the stairs is a large stone door—one that looks like it was hewn from a different sort of rock than the brickwork around it. Several odd sigils are engraved in a perfect circle around the door’s centre. Intelligence + Occult (4 Successes):
Those symbols are quite obscure—but they look like something one would normally find in a Tremere chantry. It appears Prince Jürgen has at least one Tremere on retainer. Standing by the nearby wall, staring at what looks like a stone mural depicting some manner of blasphemous arcane ritual, is Prince Jürgen, clad in a suit of well-oiled and well-polished mail with a plain white tabard. He doesn’t look at the coterie as they approach. ”The priest was… defiant.” The prince begins, his tone as cold as it was before. ”But he spoke all the same. It appears that my… peer…” The Cainite’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the word. ”…Baron Albert of Magdeburg, has not been as loyal to the cause as I had believed.”
Sophia doesn't verbally respond to the dottore--all she does is meekly nod.
The night passes, the clouds over the city soon breaking and giving way to the coming dawn...
Magdeburg awakens as the sun creeps into the sky. Shops are opened, streets are swept, beggars are kicked aside and mocked. The Grand Cathedral's bells toll as an aged priest leads a midday mass, speaking the word of God to those whose souls have not yet been touched by wickedness—or, so they hope. Indeed, the tolling of the bell almost drowns out the agonized wails coming from deeper within the church’s halls. Those few who hear them pay them only a moment’s thought—after all, a virtuous soul such as theirs is surely safe within such a sanctuary, are they not? And besides, whoever is making those… frightful noises of pain must be wicked indeed, that they would suffer so greatly within the house of God. Eventually, the day gives way to night, as it always does. As the sun sinks below the horizon, burning the sky into a brilliant, dying crimson, the first stirrings of unlife begin anew…
”The Swordbearer would speak with you.”
I'm also here. I'm sorry I haven't posted in a while--I've been struggling with getting up the motivation to post, and I'm not sure if it's just writer's block or a symptom of something else. I'll see about moving us along tomorrow. Once again, I'm really sorry to have kept you all waiting for so long.
Sophia mirrors the dottore's bow. Prince Jürgen nods at the coterie to dismiss them, but before he can leave the dottore's question reaches his ears. "There is a small home maintained by a couple of retainers--it's on the Street of Brass, three streets to the east, by the docks. It's the one with the polished green roof with the stone roses by the door."
Sophia reluctantly takes the dottore's hand, screws her eyes shut, and takes a tentative sip from the bleeding cut. Her eyes snap open as the vitae fills her mouth. The sip rapidly turns hungrier until the dottore pulls his hand away. Sophia's eyes are wide awake and her breathing has quickened drastically. She looks at Alexandru with an expression of fear--with a hint of a servant awaiting new orders.
Sorry I didn't post today. Got in after three hours of shovelling snow and I was too exhausted to post. Will try to move things along tomorrow.
I can run Sophia. No new avatar will be necessary.
The Prince ponders the dottore's request for a moment before nodding in assent. "Very well." He makes a brief pointing gesture with his hand, and the girl, Sophia, comes forth. Her eyes are wide and her body is trembling with fear.
Prince Jürgen looks over at the dottore. "So long as you ensure the Silence is maintained, I suppose I cannot object to such a request." "And I suspect you already have someone in mind."
The leader of the drunken roughs doesn't seem at all inclined to listen to Blaze's reasonable objections. Perhaps that should've been expected. "How about ya f*$# off, ya f#$+in' freakshow?!" The drunkard roars. "Either get me Saul or get the f$&+ outta my way!" At this moment, Crystal arrives, her eyes hardened and her posture ready for a fight. "Gents. That's quite enough. The gendarmes have already been called--they'll be here in a few minutes. Are you absolutely sure you want to meet them tonight? They're bound to be irritable after the nonsense that happened here last night."
Something about Crystal's words causes the ringleader to stop cold. "...wait, wha? You serious?" The other drunks are already starting to slink off like rats.
"Now..." Prince Jürgen stands and dismisses Lucretia with a wave of his hand. The lady knight drags the pain-wracked priest off down a side corridor and into the shadows. "...it may take some time before our priest finishes telling us everything he knows--why he came here, what he hoped to accomplish, who he truly serves." The Swordbearer looks the coterie over with a cold eye. "Until then, I have no further tasks for you. In recognition of your service, I welcome you all into my city--should you wish to establish a haven here, you have my blessing to do so."
Everyone has returned to the Cathedral.
Sorry I haven't posted in a bit. Will try to update tomorrow.
Sorry I haven't posted in a bit. Will try to update tomorrow.
The day passes by in a blur of activity, with shopping, negotiations and preparations for another night at the Goblin come to fruition. Father Padrik is confused at first by Blaze's overtures of sponsorship, but when the conversation gets underway it doesn't take much convincing for him to see the wisdom in accepting. Eventually, an agreement is reached: ten percent of the Goblin's profits will be donated to St. Casperian's Salvation for as long as the deal holds. River's investigation of the bar reveals that its stores of alcohol have survived the accidental arson attempt--most of it is a cheap local beer called 'keel rot', but some higher-quality liqueurs are available to discerning customers. Tamar comes in not long after River finishes investigating--he's a young-looking man with shoulder-length hair and a full beard whose plain-looking clothes are wrinkled from many nights of being slept in. If he has any objections to River's ideas for bartending and bringing in more customers, he doesn't make them known.
"OI! SAUL, GET YOUR CHEAP ARSE OUT HERE!" ...at least, by most people. Barging through the front doors of the Goblin are four men, each dressed in shabby clothes and swaying about like ships with two sheets to the wind. Their apparent leader, a bald-shaven man with large mutton-chops and a walrus moustache, strides forward and yells into the crowded gambling hall. The casino floor goes quiet. "YOU OWE US OUR MONEY BACK! YOU THINK THAT WE'RE JUST GOING TO BEND OVER AND LET YOU CHEAT US OF OUR MONEY?!"
"Maybe you should speak with him." Saul waves Blaze off. "He's bound to be more familiar with you than me."
Saul listens to your idea, taking a drag on his cigar when you mention the possible public relations opportunities for the Goblin. Perhaps out of courtesy, he blows his smoke away from you. "Some would argue that that old eyesore should've been torn down a long time ago, y'know." He wrinkles his nose. "But I suppose it can't hurt..." He gives an ambivalent shrug. "If nothing else, it'll send a message that I'm sincere."
After a couple of knocks on Saul's office door, the man emerges while puffing away on a cigar. "Yeah?"
Larur shrugs. "If he's awake, certainly. His home's at the mouth of Dawn Alley, a couple of streets down." "What about sponsoring that Sarenrite church the Pauper was in? Think the only reason they allowed the pauper in was because the Father had no choice. At the very least, it's good PR, might draw in a few clients, and we could hang a sign somewhere that says a portion of the profits go to good causes. Might make people spend more?" The dwarf runs a hand through his beard. "Hmm... most folk who come here are trying to escape their problems. That being said, if they're certain their gold's going towards a good cause, I can see them being inclined to spend more." He nods in agreement. "Sounds like a good idea. And perhaps we can hire a few of the unfortunates there, too." "You'll have to run that by Saul, though." Larur adds, his face turning a bit somber. "He's a stingy one, he is... had to fight him tooth and nail just to hire proper contractors to fix the Goblin."
Larur chuckles as he watches River's coffee-bending trick. "The barkeep's a scrawny boy--name's Tamar. Bit of a lazy one, but he's never failed to report in for a shift." The dwarf replies. "Got him dirt cheap after his old crew left him behind for the Devil's Elbow." DC 10 Knowledge (Local: Devil's Elbow): The Devil's Elbow is an island outside of Riddleport, said to be home to strange and vicious monsters. There's always talk around the city's bars and docks about people putting together expeditions to the island--mostly scholarly types who want to catalogue the island's ecosystem or treasure hunters who are convinced that an island with deadly monsters has wealth to loot by default.
"Right. To business." Larur waves off the workman. "I'm quite happy to say that the repairs to the Goblin's washrooms and roof are going apace. Cost us the entirety of the tournament's prize money, but at least we won't miss an evening of work today." Larur's tone turns business-like. "Your first shifts will be starting when the sun goes down, so if you have any business you need to take care of before then, it'd be a good idea to do so." "Also, with how last night ended, I'm damned certain we're going to have an influx of angry customers looking for their money back. I'll need you all to stay vigilant--if someone looks like they're about to start something stupid, don't play hero. Get a bouncer." The dwarf smooths out a wrinkle on his tailored green jacket. "One more thing--Saul's always looking for new ways to drum up business for the Goblin. If you can think of any, he'll be more than happy to hear them."
There's a harsh cracking sound as the priest's jaw is roughly separated, and he lets out a pitiable scream of agony. GM Rolls:
Perception + Empathy (3 Successes):
Prince Jürgen's eyes briefly narrow--likely out of discomfort. Perhaps it's because of the dottore's bone-shaping ability. The priest gasps for breath as Jürgen beckons Lucretia forward. "Take this one away. I'll see to him later." "As for the rest of you... you have all performed admirably." The Swordbearer nods.
Really sorry for the delay in posting. Will get a post up this evening.
"Of course she does." Larur glances underneath the table, then over to where Gale is hiding. "Though, if I may offer some honest critique, her technique would be a lot more efficient if she actually used her hands."
At the mention of breakfast, Larur politely waves Blaze off. "No need. Already had some before you woke up."
While breakfast (and its related shenanigans) are going on, Larur starts approaching the bar with one of the dwarven workmen in tow. The workman is dressed in modest working clothes and carrying a ledger in one hand.
Larur's eyebrow arches in the same way Blaze has seen it arch when he's caught sight of someone trying to pull a fast one at the Ghoulette table. The workman, on the other hand, notices Crystal's... gasps of pleasure with wide eyes and a bewildered scratch of his head. Larur lets everyone know of his presence with a polite *ahem*.
The night passes in a blur...
Larur and Saul are down on the casino floor, supervising a team of six dwarves as they take measurements, remove old, burned wood and construct new walls in their place.
The barkeep's eyes widen a bit before he ducks underneath the bar, returning with a short, square flask made of tinted glass. He pops the cork on the flask and fetches a couple of small cups from behind him. When he's finished pouring the drinks, he hands them off. The contents are clear... and very green. "That'll be three gold from each of you."
Lavender shrugs. "Oh well, I tried."
"Looking for another round, ladies? What'll you be having, then?" He asks, his voice high-pitched and warbly.
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