Top Sekrit:
Search Posts
Are you... talking to yourself? O.O
The Vatican Necropolis is certainly a thing. Spirits everywhere, and seeing as a chunk of the group have something to do with death (literally), stuff could happen. Rome is a bad place for Vorian to be. He has angered the church in the past, and depending on how angry they are, they might want him outright dead. Even worse if they find out about his shadow, which is more or less a demon in its own right. I am going to go ahead and guess that it does not respond well to "holiness," whether that is a thing or not. I figure The Almighty is fundamentally different from say, Maat (i.e., not an alien from another planet). So Vorian's very existence is basically blasphemy. He doesn't have the Grail with him, but brownie points to anyone who actually does... Edit: I was kind of excited about utilizing the FATE rules for this, but after having a brief taste of them in practice, I think my mind has changed a little. It is a fun system that seems thematically appropriate, but I feel like even with its openness, AWWE would lose a lot of the freedom it has as a freeform game. Because rules always constrain things.
"Well, I do confess there was a moment when I thought you were going to get us all killed," Vorian replies, recalling that tense moment when the Phantom had faced Virago's main gun head-on. "But you handled the entire situation splendidly!" The noble's expression then hardens slightly, his tone becoming more serious. "It was only fair that we give you a chance. That is how this little group of ours started... we all gave each other another chance. There... really was not much of a reason to trust one another to start with." In a more jovial tone, he adds, "Besides. There was a time when I was not so 'noble' myself. But then, I do not think I would have trusted me..."
"Fair enough, Captain Reddenbaucker," Vorian replies with a grin, not at all intent on pushing the issue. "But I do suppose we threw formality to the wind some time ago. So 'Squirrel' will have to do." His expression shifts as he turns to regard Mittens once more. "I am sure we will find Lord Rorenson soon enough... or he will find us."
The young captain turns his head towards Vorian as he appears "Hey Ringo, good ta see ya. Tanks fur yer help back den, we'd'a ne'er made it outta dere witout 'cha" He shook his head "Dis cap'in ting's still weird, ain't 'xactly used ta havin no 'sponsibility." "On the contrary, I do believe it is to you that we all owe our lives," Vorian replies sincerely, "Though I must confess, it feels strange that I still know you our captain only as 'Squirrel'. Might I trouble you for your name?"
If the sun did not blind Vorian, then the resplendent city down below certainly would. The squinting nobleman raises an arm to block the troublesome sunbeams, the long hours spent in his dark cabin having clearly taken their toll. A minute or so passes before his eyes adjust, allowing him to find his way to the railing without unceremoniously spilling over the side of the ship. Only then is he able to take in the magnificent sight that is Rome. It was hardly his first visit, but a considerable amount of time had passed since his last. It had always been a pleasure to do business with the Vatican, back in the day. ”Back in the day,” he muses somberly, his free hand gripping the railing. It was not even a decade ago. The Roman Catholic Church had been instrumental to his ascent to nobility; he suspected that the prize he retrieved for them had been worth more than that. Some of the cardinals then had remarked that he was worthy of sainthood. But then, his relations with the church took a dive when they realized what he had decided to keep for himself. That realization came only after they had voiced their support to the League, of course. By then it had been too late. All of that over a wooden cup, he thinks to himself with amusement, I wonder if it survived... With a sigh, he turns away from the rail and starts to walk along the deck. It felt odd to him that he could stand around and be nostalgic, so soon after what had happened. Ailuros had turned his ship - the very symbol of his power - into an augur of death. The ship’s crewmen, some of whom he had known for years, were gone. Centuries’ worth of priceless art, all but utterly destroyed. And all they had to show for it was a heavy stone box. But perhaps it was for the best then that they had left Virago on the glassed sands, a smoldering wreck. He would return one day to reclaim what was left, but for now there were more important matters for him to attend to. As it so happened, the person he most urgently needed to speak was not even on the ship, nor had she been for quite some time, he had learned. It was a disturbing development, but he felt confident that he could ignore. Now that he was not in immediate peril, he did not feel as inclined to address his own concerns. Instead he heads to the medbay, where the injured members of their party recuperated. It was a miracle that they had gotten off as well as they had, but there had been casualties regardless. ”Hello Captain, Duchess,” he says to the two as he steps into the room. He looks for a moment at the unconscious Mittens, wearing a frown. He had hoped that she would be awake by now.
The murk in the room shifted and stirred. A lone shadow on the wall twisted and turned, contorting into a myriad of shapes, none of them at all analogous to its caster. At times it would grow impossibly large, defying what little light the spirit lamp in the room provided. It could feel him watching it struggle, squirming within its prison. The divine power that entrapped it was not so different from what had been used to seal it within the tomb. Except now, it was trapped within the darkness of a mortal. Somehow, the witless mortal had turned their pact against it. He would never have been able to, if it were not for that damned cat. And so silently the shadow struggled, holding within it a hatred blacker than hell itself. Hatred for the one called Vorian Ritter. --------------------- Vorian sat on his bed, watching his shadow writhing on the wall with an unperturbed expression. There was once a time when such a thing might have frightened or worried him, but after everything he and his comrades had been through, this development just did not seem all that disturbing. When Ma’at had told him that that his soul had been torn, he had not been so keen on divulging the fact that he had given his shadow up willingly. Unless she already knew. It was a part of himself that he had been certain he would never see again. Perhaps that is why he had been so shocked when at the time he had needed it the most, his shadow had returned to him… with something else in tow. As he gazes at his shadow, it occurs to the nobleman that perhaps, it had never been far from his reach after all. It was you that called out to me at the opera house, he states inwardly, directing his thoughts toward his prisoner, and in Frau Stuptsmann’s office. To no real surprise, his shadow did not respond. He was not entirely sure whether he even could communicate with it, or whether it merely ignored him out of spite. He was inclined to believe the latter. Vorian could, however, sense the hatred that it bore for him. It was an uncomfortable sensation, very much akin to self-loathing; disturbing as it was, he did not pay it much mind. In all honesty, he still did not fully understand exactly what had transpired on Virago. He had left the ship angry, sad and confused. He had not expected his men to survive being trapped with Ailuros and Gahiji, but to actually see what they had done to them… it had only been then that the shadow had made itself known to him. But that tragedy aside, their mission on the ship had been a success. There had been a certain cosmic irony in their theft of the sarcophagus. Before, Rashida had told him that years ago, he had “saved the world’ by stealing the sarcophagi. But he had not originally taken them with any such noble intentions. It was after all, only at Von Ryuko’s behest that he had known where to find them to begin with. And the Massri had said nothing of the sort in regards to the scepter - had he done the world a service by taking that as well? “It was only greed that had possessed me,” Vorian muses aloud, “Perhaps our meeting was my punishment. Perhaps I deserved the suffering you wrought on me. Perhaps that is why I cannot hate you in turn.” The shadow most certainly did not share this sentiment, but it did not matter. At least, not to their present situation. Now that he was no longer in immediate danger of dying a horrendous death, there was no reason not to pursue other, more pressing matters. With a sigh, Vorian extended his will over the unruly shadow, putting an end to its sporadic movements. The thing’s hatred only intensified as the dark shape shrank down, until it was once again a silhouette. Nodding in satisfaction, Vorian stands from where he is seated and pulls on his coat. He moves to leave the room, only to be given pause. The nobleman glances at his cane, and after a moment’s thought, takes it in hand. It never hurt to be cautious. With grim determination, Vorian exits his cabin - his shadow with him.
“Oh, yes. Gods yes,” Vorian answers, a genuine smile touching his features. Memories of adventures long past surface, times when he was without the trappings of nobility. To think I once believed that there were none. “Things were much simpler then. No less exciting, though.”
Vorian recoils at the very thought of what had happened next, nearly dropping his glass. Instead a little bit of red wine spills out, splashing onto the ground. The noble does not seem to notice, settling back into his chair with a grimace. He recalled the nightmare-filled months that he had spent bedridden, shaking from in pain and terror. The countless concoctions he had consumed in an attempt to abate his agonizing affliction. The gamble he took when he drank the blood of Talos. And of course, how he had foolishly fallen for Von Ryuko’s promise of a cure. All for the sake of staying alive; his fear of death was what had gotten him here. A full minute passes before the noble realizes that the Duchess’ performance has already ended. “Bravo!” he calls out, applauding with forced enthusiasm. The timing was awkward, perhaps even grossly inappropriate, but it seemed like the polite thing to do. Gods know if he had actually heard the song. More or less back on track with reality, Vorian has a waiter top off his glass. Nothing lost, nothing gained.
"I can neither confirm nor deny that I have known your mother, Doctor Khoth."
He wished he could say something to put her mind at ease, but he could think of no words that would not sound hollow. Perhaps it is a blessing then that the Duchess takes the stage, suddenly filling the air with the oddest, yet most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Further thoughts of consoling Cassandra vacate his mind. Entranced by the helmetcat’s voice, for a moment the sensation of being watched escapes him… Spoiler: Dark and empty… just like the Vaults back home… but I could not be farther from them. There was no telling how far he had strayed from Hansel and the others. After his fall, he had lost all sense of direction. His discovery of the hidden chamber had excited him at first, but after hours of wandering through the cool, open void, his enthusiasm slowly given way to fear. It was cold and dark, and the air was filled with ancient dust. He was lost. But he was not alone. So you are the one who broke the seal. Out of sheer impulse, Vorian twists around to look behind him, his eyes wide with shock. In the hours he had been trapped here, he had heard naught but the sound of his own footsteps. “Who is there!?” he calls out into the darkness, his voice still firm and confident. He was an adventurer – this was hardly something to get spooked over. You tread on forbidden ground, human. You do not understand what you have done, do you? Saved the world…? Now scowling, Vorian looks about, searching for the one speaking to him. Someone must be hiding in the shadows, playing a trick on him. Could this whole thing have been a trap all along, set by a competitor? One of his rivals, perhaps? Or an assassin? People had gone through odd lengths to try to kill him before, after all. I have been waiting for something like this to happen… But you are not who I was expecting. “Enough of this nonsense! Show yourself, cur!” A low chuckle reverberates throughout the vast chamber. Only now does Vorian realize that sound comes from everywhere. Perhaps you can be of use to me… very well then. Look before yourself, human. Vorian casts his eyes forward, looking to the patch of ground a few feet before him. It was just barely illuminated by the dim, azure glow of the spirit lamp hanging at his hip. Much to his surprise, something starts to rise from the smooth stone floor. Long, spindly shapes that he quickly identifies as arms emerge first, smoothly emerging from the stone surface as though it were water. What he assumes to be the head comes next, followed by a head, abdomen, and finally, its legs. The nobleman takes a single step back. Its shape was certainly humanoid, but it was far from human. Asides from the impropriety of its body’s proportions, its body appeared to be in some state of decay. Strangely enough, he could imagine the smell of rot in the air. Stranger still, the shape was plainly insubstantial, like a dark fog. Its face in particular is all but nonexistent, a bizarre, twisting mass of blackness. Already, a deep-seated terror grips Vorian. He had read the stories, the legends of the ghosts that haunted these tombs. Naturally, he had passed them off as nonsense - the likes of curses and demons had no place among his beliefs. But unless he has gone insane, the thing standing before him most definitely exists. A monument to everything he had ever cast doubt upon. But you have seen much stranger things since then – haven’t you? “What are you?” he asks the apparition, taking another step back as he does so. He manages to keep his tone steady, unwilling to show fear. I lost my Name a long, long time ago. But I know of yours, Vorian Ritter. Perhaps you and I can come to an accord… How the hell does it know my name…? is the first question that comes to his mind. What does it mean that it lost its name? is the second. The third question is the one he asks. I was such a fool. “What kind of accord?” he asks, furrowing his brow. What did this creature want of him? The doorway is now open… but I cannot pass through it as I am now. You can do so… but you would never find it. Not before you starve and waste away in this hell. No… the two of us must leave this place together. “Leave? You mean… What exactly are you proposing?” Vorian asks, the prospect of an escape getting the better of him. The apparition slowly raises its hand, pointing a long, bony finger at the noble. I will show you the way… but I require something of you. Something that you carry with you always… Your proof of existence. Vorian rests his hand against his chest, frowning. “My… soul?” Ironically enough, spiritual as it was, it was something he knew to exist. It had been proven with science years ago, after all. He was no fool. Or at least, he did not believe himself to be one. “What in blazes do you need that for?” It is as I said. As I am now, I cannot leave this place. This void is all that gives me substance… Where we stand is the boundary between your world and the next. I require something that will tether me to this plane, as it has done for you all your life. It is but a piece of your soul… your Shadow. Vorian’s eyes dart to his feet, at the dark, flickering shape attached to their soles. Proof of existence? He had never thought of it as such a thing. It was something that he was sure all humans took for granted. Having it as their constant companion, how could they not? If what the apparition said was true, then losing it was akin to ceasing to exist. The very thought was absolutely absurd. You are right, you know. Of what use is it to you? Such is the domain of gods and dead kings. You do not need to prove your existence to anyone, do you? Humans are materialistic creatures. You possess flesh and blood, after all – what more do you really need? He considers this. All I need is your word. “…and if I refuse?” Then you will die here, and the two of us would spend the next millennia together, awaiting the arrival of another hapless fool. All you have strived to achieve will have been for naught, and your noble obligation will cease to exist. No one will ever find you here. And in time, you will be forgotten, just as I have. Vorian grimaced. He could not afford to die. It had taken him years to amass his fortune, to build his collection of wondrous relics. Decades to earn a title of nobility; his House would need perhaps a decade or two still to grow powerful enough for his purposes. And above all, the years spent training his successor would all be wasted if he died here. He was not yet ready, and the appropriate measures had not yet been taken. No, he could not spend another day here, let alone an eternity. He had a future to prepare.
"Her will is strong," Vorian agrees, recalling a past discussion with the Massri. "Stronger than we know, perhaps. At the moment, all we can do is sit and wait. We will all be able to help her when the time comes." With a wan smile, he adds, "It is what we are here for, after all." "If you cannot tell, I am not much of a philosopher either."
"Clever and beautiful...? And you are not?" Vorian replies with a small smile, slightly raising a brow. Leaning back in his seat, his voice again changes to a quieter, more somber tone. "No, I do not think you are being selfish. You are doing your part, after all. You were certainly more helpful in Friedrichschafen than I. As for Lady Massri, well... I do not imagine she is looking forward to what is to come."
Vorian is all too happy to join the Frenchwoman at the table, a fact that his worried frown perhaps fails to convey. Seeing her smile for what it truly was, the jaded noble is attentive as she voices her woes. Ah. "A lot has happened over these past few days," Vorian reasons with a quiet voice, as he slowly swirls his wine in its glass. "Von Ryuko has complicated matters without so much as lifting a finger. It has taken its toll. Perhaps everyone just needs more time to come around."
Vorian smiles broadly at Cassie's compliment, raising his glass towards her before taking a sip. It's always hard to tell whether she is just flattering everyone... but I have never met anyone who has seemed so sincere. Not one to linger on nonexistent misgivings, he hastily pushes his thoughts to aside. His attention briefly shifts to Ralph and Alyce, eliciting an ever so slightly raised brow from the noble. Perhaps he can be a gentleman yet, he ponders with an amused grin, thinking his younger days. Or a charlatan, depending on who is asking. Even still, in spite of the pleasant company, an awkwardness seems to permeate the atmosphere. He directs a measured glance to the Massri among them, before looking back just in time to see Cassie making her leave. "Leaving already, Cassandra?" he asks with a tinge of disappointment, though his tone betrays his curiosity, "We have not even heard the Duchess sing, yet! Is something the matter?"
"Oh my, am I late?" Ebon cane in one hand and a conveniently procured glass of red wine in the other, the German noble steps into the seating area, looking to the stage with exaggerated distress. Nodding to the ladies present, he seats himself nearby, taking care to keep a respectable distance; intruding on a private conversation was hardly gentlemanly, after all. He sighs with content as he leans back, curling his lips into a small smile. Perhaps in folly, he felt more optimistic about this show than the last they had attended.
The German noble seems to be rather scarce all throughout the afternoon, spending most of his time lounging in different rooms on the Phantom, helping himself to fine wine. Asides from his apparent restlessness, his mood appears to be indeterminate, though something is clearly on his mind. A crewman only just catches him leaving the engine room (of all places), informing him that the others would be gathering for supper soon. Is it that time already? The sun had certainly started to set, by then. Frowning at his conduct, Vorian hastily returns to his cabin refresh himself, making sure to splash some cold water onto his face. A rather rushed search through the room's wardrobe yields another simple black suit, not nearly as fanciful as the gold-laden one from the Ament, but appropriate enough for the occasion. Once a quick glance at the mirror assures him that he is presentable, he snatches up the cane Silberwolf and heads right out the door and straight to the dining room. He had to be fashionably late.
Relatively minor chaos ensues in the engine room as crewmen from different ships bustle about, sometimes exchanging dark stares at one another over paltry disagreements regarding protocol. There were simply far more hands in the room than the ship actually needed. Nonetheless, they just barely manage to cooperate, keeping their passive-aggressiveness in check. The ship had to leave as soon as possible, and no crew member wished to provoke the ire of their liege. Each and every one of them knew how fearsome an aristocrat could be. And so, nobody seems to notice the absence of one of their number - if anything, this only made their job easier. Slipping away from the Phantom is easy enough for Second Engineer Hubert Schiffer III. Donning a simple long coat over his uniform, as well as a flat cap, he blends into streets of Friedrichshafen effortlessly. Nobody spares him a second glance as he as walks down a few blocks, before stepping into a pedicab. "To the market," he tells the driver in German, leaning back in his seat. As the vehicle starts to move, the crewman reaches into his coat, pulling out a beat-up bronze flask and looking down at his. He frowns, recalling the last of his lord's puzzling order. Give it to him - he will know what it means. And... tell him that he was right. Hubert did not relish missing out on the opportunity to be reunited with Virago, but he had been told that his mission was of the utmost importance. As always, he was proud to do his duty. Besides, I have not had the chance to meet grandfather in quite some time, he thinks to himself, suppressing a grin. It never quite occurs to him that he had been chosen for that very reason. Back on board the ship, in his cabin, Vorian straps the empty silver flask from his suitcase onto his belt. He rests a hand on it for a moment, wondering if he would live long enough to get to fill it. Or if I should done so to begin with. He shudders, recalling the previous night's dream. It had been so... vivid. After everything that had happened, even he found himself wondering if it had been something more. Was the secret he had held so dear truly the stuff of legends? At this rate, I will no longer be able to call you human. Having already cheated a slow and painful death, Vorian leaves his cabin wondering if there would be a price to pay for his means.
"Yes, that would be for the best." Pushing his chair back, Vorian stands, paying no mind to his breakfast. "Ah, we took a rather large sum of marks from the Old Duke's account. If the news of his death gets out, someone will connect the dots in an unfavorable manner. Yes... I think we should leave from here as soon as possible. With that in mind, there is a matter I should tend to before our departure. It will not take long." He nods to his fellow aristocrats once before taking his leave.
"Virago's main gun," Vorian says to Cassie, smiling wanly at her words, "Large and powerful enough to merit its own name. The two were not always one, but humans have always an odd habit of finding new ways to kill one another. Playing with fire, as you put it." Wanting to avoid going on a tangent, he returns to the subject of strategy. "She may have control over the ship, but there is only so much Virago can do without a crew," Vorians thinks aloud, attempting to recall any more useful details about the ship, "She only had so much fuel, so much ammunition loaded - she may have been a warship, but she is far from combat-worthy. That was not to be her purpose anymore. And of course, she was never fully repaired after Von Ryuko's rampage. If your mother wishes to resupply... I presume she will need Gahiji to act for her."
Corrupted... "It is as much my fault as it is yours," Vorian says to the Duchess, shaking his head, "Virago and Answerer are things that should not exist on this world. It is only through my own hubris that they escaped destruction - I had wanted to make them mine. The same can be said of many of the artifacts I keep on board... some of which I fear will only make our job more difficult. Things that were not meant to see the light of day. Thankfully, the ones on the ship are not particularly dangerous. They should mean nothing to your mother." Vorian sits back in his chair, having touched none of his food. Something in the context of the conversation had simply slew his appetite. On top of that, despite having not eaten for quite some, he was not particularly malnourished. For a moment he regrets his gamble, but rejects the feeling immediately. He needed to focus on the matter at hand. "The combination of the two is the real threat. Unless we can somehow separate them from one another, I fear that they will simply overwhelm us. "
"We might have a chance then," Vorian says, contemplating their next course of action. "Virago is an old warship from before the Great War - she is not equipped to be driven by spirit power. Nothing more than crude fossil fuels power her engines, and she has not been refueled since before I departed from my vaults in the Alps. The Duchess' mother may be in control, but she cannot force it to fly without fuel. I don't know how, but she will have to replenish it somewhere. It is as you said, Lady Massri. Perhaps we can intercept them."
"Ha. No force in this world can stand between the League and their bureaucracy. For all we know it will take them weeks to act on mere suspicion. Seeing as two High Nobles afforded to see Don Giovanni instead of rushing off to answer Wolfkrone's call, it hardly seems like they're taking this seriously," Vorian suggests, stirring a spoonful of sugar into his coffee. "If getting out of here is all that counts, then we might as well go after Virago nonetheless. But ah, would you happen to know where that damned cat took my ship?"
"Not much I'm afraid, but something nonetheless. I believe I mentioned it briefly before we headed to the opera," Vorian starts, helping himself to a cup of coffee. He takes a sip before going on. "A trusted confidant has informed me that the League has become aware of the debacle on Ritiro del Gigante. Unfortunately, in the wake of that mess, they have no idea exactly what transpired. Apparently there is no evidence that Darkov and his men were deployed there, meaning that the entire operation was off the record. But more to the point..." The noble takes another sip of coffee, his expression souring. "The High Noble Margrave Donner Wolfkrone was the one who led the investigation - he found the Old Duke's body. As of yesterday, he called for an emergency meeting among the League's leadership. He is putting forth the claim that a terrorist organization was responsible for Leto's assassination." "It's unlikely that Von Ryuko intended for the League to learn of what happened - we were supposed to die on that island. If things fare well, he will have made an enemy of the Aristocracy; we would have no shortage of allies. But if he truly has an ally among the High Nobles... we could be those terrorists."
Put off by the woman's tone somewhat, he leans forward a bit, resting his elbow on the table. Now then, what is this all about? "Nonsense," Vorian replies, waving away Rashida's words, "I have never doubted Lord Rorenson. Nor the Masons, for that matter. Not since that stunt they all pulled at the ball. But make no mistake, that is not to say that I understand the man. I would not be so quick to say that any of us do." Frowning, the nobleman smooths out his coat before seating himself. "I am not sure what value an illegal weapon of mass destruction would have to our ideally covert pursuits, but I am sure something on board will be of use. There are more than just expensive baubles within her vaults." Assuming they haven't already been found. "Will it even be possible to kill your brother, Lady Massri? My understanding is that he is more than human. We had enough trouble with just one immortal, after all."
For a moment Vorian freezes on the spot, his eyes widening with surprise. "Go after Virago? Surely you can't be serious," he finally forces himself to say, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, "I thought that we were going to go after Von Ryuko, what with all that nonsense that happened yesterday. We can't let him get away with it, after all." In spite of his words, his tone held equal parts relief and anticipation. It was a selfish desire, but he had wanted nothing more than to make the Duchess' mother pay for what she had done to his crew. To think that the night before, he had stood just feet away from the man who had helped her do it. The idea alone made him sick. But the helmetcat - or Virago herself now, he supposed - was far worse. And asides from that, Vorian very much needed to keep his condition in mind. Having consumed the rest of his draught as one dosage, he could not hope to last long - especially if every night turned out to be as eventful as the one before. Rashida's proposal provided an opportunity for both vengeance and respite. "But on the other hand..."
A final, glistening drop of gold ichor forms on the lip of the battered bronze flask, and falls right into Vorian's open mouth. The familiar ritual had an sense of finality for the German noble, more so now than ever. He glances at the bronze vessel wistfully before placing it back on his belt. It would not do any favors for him empty, but there was an odd sentiment there. Besides, he thinks smugly, a defiant grin tugging at his lips, I will have to refill it eventually. The long night's slumber on the hard wooden floor had not been an ideal prospect. With the whirlpool of dreams and memories (all too hard to tell apart, at times), perhaps rest should have been impossible. And yet, Vorian felt positively rejuvenated. All the exhaustion, all the pain, all the worry - gone. All that remained were questions without answers, confusion that Vorian had familiarized himself with over the past several weeks. The hardest part had been accepting that in the grand scheme of things, he was so incredibly tiny. But after the previous night... Vorian shakes his head, dismissing the troublesome thoughts. The voices, the emptiness, the phantom pains, the dreams... and above all, the very possibility that it had been there, watching. He could feel it in his bones, and - he dared to assume - his very soul. There was only one person who could give him the answers he desired. Unless of course... Cane in hand, Vorian steps out of his cabin, refreshed and dressed in the now-clean clothing he had left at Elodin's. It was nigh impossible to tell that the nobleman had spent the night on the floor of his cabin. Nodding to a nearby crewman, he makes his way across the deck, searching for his travel companions. They had an awful lot to talk about.
Echoes:
“Just let it go, son. Your blood has to be blue for you to be worth a damn in this world.” - “He… he is yours, Vorian. So, please…” - “I suppose making you my knight would be a tad redundant, no? How does ‘Earl Vorian Ritter’ sound to you?” - “It is a fine ship! It won us a war, you know? I wonder how many people it killed in those times…” - “Halbschattenbereich? Hiding your treasures in the shadows, are you? Your hubris knows no bounds.” - “I lost my Name a long, long time ago. But I know of yours, Vorian Ritter. Perhaps you and I can come to an accord…” - “You should be dead, yet against all odds you are still among the living. Surely that must mean something. Now you have time to change.” - “I know of your affliction, Lord Ritter. And I am in possession of your precious cure. All I ask in return is for you to play a little game.” - “You cannot trust him, Vor! Look at what happened to you because of him! I’m telling you, don't go!” - “I will still speak up for the knights, for I think they are on the side of good.” - “They believe you had them, Lord Ritter. And you may have saved the world thereby.” - “We could use men of your mettle in the League. It will be a new day for us soon.” - “I cannot allow you to remember this little chat of ours. I will do whatever it takes to protect the reputation of this theater – and my dear Viktor.” - “I underestimated you, Vorian. At this rate, I will no longer be able to call you human.” - "..." Even the prospect of a hot meal does not rouse Vorian from his slumber. The patient, steady rapping on his door goes on for a few moments longer, unheard by the unconscious noble. Only once does the crewman call for him through the door, to no avail. Simply assuming that he has already fallen asleep, they continue on to deliver the rest of the meals. Perhaps they would ensure that Lord Ritter's meal does not go to waste. As the night goes on, Vorian's body curls up on the floor, moving from unconsciousness to slumber.
Vorian makes his way to the cabin his suitcase had been taken to, leaving the corpse with the confounded crewmen. He was sure that the captain of the ship would do something about it. Hell, perhaps they will just throw it overboard. It was hardly a sound plan. Thankfully remembering how to get to his room, Vorian reaches to open the door, only to pause. Were the others going to want to discuss what happened? he wonders with a frown. There was certainly plenty to discuss - information that needed to be traded. The day had not quite been as eventful as the one spent on Von Ryuko's island, but at least for him, it was definitely more exhausting. I'm sure they won't mind if I just get a little rest... he decides quietly, opening the door and stepping in. After all, they must be preoccupied as well... Vorian barely has the dexterity to prop his cane beside the door as he approaches the bed, his body feeling heavier by the moment. His steps are more labored without his crutch, even more so when he attempts to pull off his jacket, an endeavor he quickly abandons. He was not too keen on sleeping in such an expensive outfit, but he could not bring himself to care. Just... too tired... I... The noble never quite makes it to the bed. He falls to the floor like a lead weight, losing consciousness before even hitting the ground. There was no comfort - just sleep. It would have to do. Secret Meeting: Margrave Wolfkrone found himself speechless, driven to silence by the mere prospect of Count Blackmoor’s arrival. His revulsion of the recluse’s ghoulish appearance contributed to his hesitance in part. Nonetheless, with four pairs of eyes now looking to him expectantly, he had little choice but to gather his wits. This was his show, after all. Inhaling deeply as subtly as possible, he nods to audience.
“Very well then,” he begins businesslike, his mind and body finally relaxing. This was the very last place he could afford to show weakness. “I will start from the beginning.” “Approximately twenty-four days ago, Baron Eichorn Von Ryuko publicly announced that he would freely distribute his oil fields to any nobles whom would attend his masquerade ball, which would be held three weeks later. It was to be held at his manor, Enigma Perfetto, on his personal island in the Atlantic, Ritiro del Gigante.” Everyone else at the table nodded – this was old news. “A silly prospect, really,” Alexia states, idly inspecting her nails, “Certainly only the most desperate nobles would rush into such a blatant land grab.” “Nearly thirty desperate nobles took him up on his offer,” Wolfkrone continues, “But, only fifteen actually arrived on his island.” This last remark earns various expressions of intrigue from his audience, as well as an exaggerated gasp from the Dowager Duchess. “Two days ago, I organized an expedition to the island. En route, my men found evidence that several airships had crashed into the ocean. What little wreckage they could find suggested that sabotage was the cause. From there, I continued onto the island.” “Pray tell, what made you decide to make this ‘expedition’ in the first place?” Blackmoor asks lazily, raising a bushy white brow, “I take it that you did not do it for the dear Baron’s oil.” “Of course not,” the host retorts, without actually looking at the man, “I was keeping an eye on an important asset. Our perspective seventh member – he was in attendance.” “Duke Leto Atreides?” Sefu Ajani says with a skeptical tone, his expression disbelieving. “What on Earth would he want with oil? The spice from his mines is one of the most precious commodities in the economy, far more valuable than mere fossil fuel. It has been a driving force in the world markets for nearly a decade – the very reason we were going to extend the invitation to House Atreides!” “What aren’t you telling us, Donner dear?” Eleanor asks, looking as though the suspense would kill her on the spot. Though his desire to flip the entire table over is strong, Margrave Wolfkrone instead opts to tell them exactly what he was going to anyway, albeit as bluntly as possible. For good measure, he makes sure to pound the table with his fist as hard as he can. “The Duke is dead!”
The rest of the crew members of the Phantom seem to be in a stir as everyone arrives. Those that do not greet the returning nobles stand on the deck, their apparent object of interest being a fresh corpse lying at their feet. Raising a brow at the development, Vorian walks towards it, his gait having regained some sense of normality. Vorian looks down at the lifeless body with a frown, idly spinning the shuriken he had acquired early around his finger. He had hoped that he could make some sense out of Mittens’ story, but to no avail. The dead assassin was a simple-looking man with black clothing, not unlike the outfits of the ninja he had seen at the theater. And yet, asides from that, the man did not have single thing on his person. Far too tired to put any serious thought into the matter, the nobleman turns to a nearby crewman and gestures toward the body. “So you just found the assassin here on the deck, with his neck broken?” “Yes, milord. We... were not even certain that he was an assassin,” the crewman says, possessing enough stamina to look bewildered. Other crewmen around the body nod, confirming the man’s statement. “All we knew was that the captain had vanished. Some of us had gone out to search for her, but there was no trace to follow.” Confounded helmetcat technology, Vorian thinks to himself, letting out a sigh. For all he knew, Mittens could have killed the man without even meaning to. Is that even possible? He certainly did not know. All that registered to him was that for once, one of the people trying to kill one of them was dead. Elsewhere...: Donner Wolfkrone cared little for the fact that these meetings consumed exorbitant amounts of energy, that said energy was being siphoned from several city blocks, or even that said energy could very well cause some very expensive equipment to explode. The technology suited his impatience, and it would get things done far faster than having a physical summit. He would be damned before delaying such an important matter by a whole week just to see the others in person. It was why he now sat at a round table with six chairs.
“Now, if only they would show up,” he growls to the only other person in the room, a tall, dark-skinned man with a long, braided beard. “Here come two of them now,” Sefu Ajani says calmly, his voice deep and robust. Indeed, the forms of two women blink to life almost simultaneously, immediately filling up half of the empty chairs. One of the two – a larger woman – by far, fanned herself almost vigorously, her expression flustered. The raven-haired woman beside her seemed just the opposite, smiling slightly while hugging her fur coat around her. “Oh, I am terribly sorry!” Eleanor of Montresor says exasperatedly, looking to her fellow nobles with over exaggerated shame. “I was held up at a showing of Don Giovanni; such a lovely show, it was! Wasn’t it, Alexia?” “Quite,” she says simply, smiling for reasons the other woman would be unable to comprehend. “Yes, yes, I am sure it was lovely,” Wolfkrone says with a scowl, less than interested in the arts, “Now, may we please officiate this meeting?” “Montresor, present!” Eleanor starts, all too happy to take initiative. She was not quite sure what this whole deal was about, but it certainly sounded scandalous. “Veritas, present.” “Ajani, present.” “Wolfkrone, present,” the Margrave finishes impatiently, before looking to the last two seats at the table expectantly. They were still empty. “Where in blazes is Tyranis, anyway?” “Occupied with other business,” Ajani answers, “He will not be joining us tonight.” “And Blackmoor?” “Absent as usual. No reason given.” Donner Wolfkrone wanted to smash his head against the table. “What was the damned point of me calling an emergency meeting if no one is going to bother showing up?” the Margrave says loudly, a grating edge to his voice. The leather in his gloves creaked audibly as he balled his hands into fists. “Now, now, Donner,” Alexia says soothingly, reaching out to the man without actually making contact. “If your call to action is strong, then the four of us is more than enough to take action. The others will follow suit when they receive the word. They are well aware of this, I am sure.” “That does not excuse their absence!” he snaps back, far too annoyed to be swayed. “Nor does it excuse tardiness. I apologize,” says a fifth voice scathingly, from one of the chairs that was previously empty. On it now sat the form of a gaunt, grey-bearded man, dressed in garish robes. Each of his ten, bony fingers bore a different ring, encrusted with a variety of stones – some precious, some not. The old noble rests his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers together. Resting his tired yet ghastly eyes at the host, he speaks once more. “Blackmoor, present. Now then, Margrave Wolfkrone, tell us what you found on Ritiro del Gigante. I am most interested in what you have to say...”
"Safety from assassins? Impossible," Vorian comments with a wry grin, averting his gaze from the extravagant light show. With a groan he closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. "Do the people in this city ever sleep?"
"To the Phantom then," Vorian says reluctantly, not having nearly as much faith vested in the young helmetcat as Rashida seems to. Nonetheless, if there was truly only one assassin, then their chances were significantly better.
"A sound plan, but not one we can likely accomplish in our present state," Vorian replies, pointedly glancing at the others, all of them worse for wear.
Vorian nods in agreement with Mittens, idly dividing his attention between Squirrel and the roiling waves around them. "But the fear that Wowbagger provoked in them was genuine, perhaps more so than anything the performances ever accomplished. The theater could not resist preying upon it." The colorsteam that touched those two must have already been saturated with emotion... A few moments pass, before the noble turns his attention to the matter at hand. "So then, where should we go?"
"Emotions," Vorian says grimly, stepping toward the dock slowly. "The entire purpose of the theater was to provoke emotion in the audience, so that the colorsteam could harmlessly absorb and store them. Those emotions kept the theater alive. I do not know why, but it went berserk tonight. It was able to take far more than it was supposed to..." The noble shudders, glancing back towards the facility. The implications of emotion being so easily detached and contained were disconcerting. "It must have been manufactured here, by the Van der Graff Corporation. I can only imagine what other horrid things they must have researched."
Remembering that the trip to the sauna was not exactly a group-wide affair, Vorian opens his mouth as though to explain, before abruptly closing it. They did not exactly have an abundance of time. Instead he responds to her latter query, looking at the walls and ceiling of the facility. "That might... also be inadvisable," he says after a while. He debates on what to say next for a moment, before deciding come out with it. It would not take long. "Someone in the League found out about Duke Atreides' death, and is decrying it as the work of a terrorist organization. If we found out about Leto's connection to the Van der Graff Corporation, then so can the League. If we destroy this facility, then it will only be a matter of time before they connect the dots. And as the other beneficiary of the corporation, Von Ryuko will seem like the victim to them... as is, they already hold him in high esteem."
Vorian frowns more deeply when he hears Cassie's response, or rather, at the connotations of her words. For a moment he thinks back to the tunnel, where Rashida had voiced her suspicions of the newer additions to their coterie. The noble looks to Drake and the unconscious Squirrel, reconsidering the possibility. No... they've done more than enough for us. He sighs, shaking his head; yet again, he was letting his aristocratic paranoia get the better of him. But there's no denying that she might have betrayed us... she was a pirate after all. As he looks about futilely for the missing satyxis, the weight of their surroundings finally seem to settle in, his eyes slightly widening at the realization. "So this is the Nexus..." he says aloud, mulling over the significance of where they were. Van der Graff Corporation... so it was true after all. Vorian is quiet for a moment, before nodding at the idea of leaving. The details would have to be discussed later. "Yes... going back the way we came would not be a good idea. It is not exactly a short walk, and the authorities might be crawling all over the place by now. Much of the evidence had already been wiped out, the last I saw of the place. Can we all fit on the boat?"
"AB+ as well," Vorian says absentmindedly, still looking about warily. After a moment of consideration however, he adds, "I would not advise using mine, though. It is probably not... clean." To put it delicately, anyway.
"They are safe," Vorian murmurs with a small smile, watching the rest of the group from a good distance away. They were a little worse for wear, but everyone was alive. No longer seeing the need to brandish his cane as a weapon, he leans on it heavily. His own collection of scrapes and bruises was rather modest, but it was sheer exhaustion that was finally taking its toll on him. Paying this no mind, he all but hobbles towards the others. "Frankly, I do not think we can deal with more assassins," Vorian says gravely, shaking his head. We could barely deal with Wowbagger, he almost adds, before opting to skip the pessimism. "Perhaps we should find somewhere to lie low and recuperate. Trade information and see if this whole incident blows over. Though with so many high nobles involved..." His words trailing off, the noble looks about, realizing that somebody is missing after all. Wait... where is the captain?
Vorian winces when Rashida starts to shout. They had not exactly made any efforts to remain stealthy, but they had not exactly advertised their presence either. As her echo is carried throughout the laboratory, he raises a gloved hand and rubs one of his ears, the sides of his mouth curling. "Well, not anymore," he comments ruefully, more amused than dismayed, for once, "That was a calculated risk, I hope." His demeanor lifts when a familiar voice answers the Massri in kind. Well... not quite as loudly. A surge of relief swells up from within, but Vorian is quick to suppress his joy. More than a few nightmarish thoughts move in to replace it. Suddenly more cautious of his surroundings, he tightens his grip on his cane, aristocratic paranoia finally taking its hold. Nodding to himself, he continues up the stairway.
Vorian follows behind Rashida closely, glancing at the liquefied colorstream curiously as he passes by them. That must be the colorstream that Stuptsmann spoke of... come to think of it, wasn't there something like that in the air ducts? The noble frowns as he struggles to recall his time in the dark ventilation shaft. Surely it could not have been more than an hour or two since he first escaped from the automatons. Nonetheless, he heeds the Massri's advice, climbing the stairway shortly after her.
Vorian steps forward to assist Drake, making an effort to pry the doors open. With a metallic grind they slowly slide open at first, before abruptly pulling to the side freely. "Just how long is this tunnel?"
Vorian briefly considers Drake's offer, thinking to the collection of burns and bruises that still covered parts of his body. The dull, radiating pain was an annoyance, but it was hardly crippling. He had been subjected to far worse. After all, they are merely flesh wounds. "No thank you, Doctor. I have been told before that it is unwise to mix medications."
The picture fits into my head-canon easily enough. :P
"Now that brings back memories..." Vorian says with a sigh, his weariness getting the better of him.
"No ninja, I hope," Vorian remarks curtly, thinking back to the pair of assassins that he had encountered earlier. The razor-sharp shuriken in his pocket was a stark reminder of how close he and the inspector had been to getting killed. And now he owed his life to another; not to a woman this time, but to a talking lizard. But which of us were they aiming for? "There must have been at least four assassins running around tonight. The Duchess' actions should have subdued all of them... right?"
Vorian's eyes widen when Mittens appears, but the noble finds himself far too tired to be truly surprised. He had had enough surprises for that night, far too many of them unpleasant. "Assassins? Which ones?" he asks dryly, hoping dearly that they did not have yet another faction after their heads.
"I see..." Vorian answers with a curt nod, still frowning over the strange revelation. Perhaps he had not asked the right questions. Nonetheless, the nobleman finds relief in the fact that progress was being made. They were all, after all, more or less reunited. Slightly embarrassed to have been too distracted to help with the door, he hurries on through the tunnel's entrance. "Under the waters of the lake," Vorian repeats, looking at the glass walls of the tunnel thoughtfully, "So what Hartley told us is true, then. Though this is all much more convenient than I might have hoped for. I do not like it." |