The Great City [IC]

[PersonMan]

OOC thread.

The sky is still hidden behind the clouds, as it usually is. From the occasional flashes of light you can tell that a storm is already raging in the heavens. It won't be long before the rain comes and you know that you'll need to find shelter fast, as the amount of toxins in the clouds above is abnormally high today. Despite this, a refreshing wind is blowing from the ocean, reminding those of you who bother to keep track that it is spring now. The best weather of the year is in spring and early summer, when great winds blow many of the toxic clouds into the mountains and the so-called 'farmer week' comes: the weather all across the city is almost as clear as it is for those in the agricultural region.

For now, though, the clouds are still thick, and their threat of rain is a serious one. Even though it isn't deadly, it will happily ruin clothing and make getting to the meting point a herculean task. Luckily, you should be arriving any moment now... There it is! As you turn the corner, the establishment comes into view. The streets are empty, apart from a lone woman frantically biking downhill to avoid the rain, nearly coming out of the bike rail.

A single order: Come to the Leaping Vine, at 2 AM on the 14th. Nothing more. No directions, no explanation, merely a seal of authority - this was a mission related to the War. Acceptance of the assignment was...not optional. Discretion was mandatory, and finding out which of 19 Leaping Vines the order was referring to was almost comically difficult.

Still, you're here, and it's not like standing in the rain will bring you anything...

OOC:

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Well, here we are. As an opening, a quick description (this is what the others will see, and will be their first impression if they don't know you, after all) of how you look and perhaps a bit on how you found the 20th Leaping Vine would be good.

[Nihilarian]

Maeve hurries forward, temperamental in the foul weather. She halts before the... establishment and adjusts her clothing, making herself presentable. She'd been all over the town, each proprietor of a Leaping Vine absolutely certain of the correct meeting place, boldly proclaiming as though she were daft while simultaneously attempting to wheedle her into buying their wares. She steps inside as though she belonged there, searching unobtrusively.

[Marlowe]

[5 or 6 error 503s later, here's Equus

Equus Verna, at least, has little doubt which "Leaping Vine" is referred to. It's the same place her sisters and brothers went to meet their "contacts" before they vanished into the smoke and mist of wartime. The place has more than a little fear for her.

I want answers. I believe I am strong enough I find them. Pride is stronger than fear. I will go..

Of course, she has to take the most convoluted route there out of some fleeting sense of secrecy. Leading to her gingerly descending down a dizzying steep and slippery stairway of uneven cast-iron rungs.
Cheap, cost-cutting wartime infrastructure, he thought. And then,I'm turning into my mother.. The pre-war military greatcoat she's thrown over her bardic leathers keeps catching on the handrail and causing her a few brief starts.

Reaching the landing, the door to the Leaping Vine opens up before her like an obvious simile. Last of the Verna girls. We go in there, we don't come out. Not back into this world.. She fingers the hilt of her rapier, and steps through.

First thing she sees is a slender figure in wetware over red. She cracks a confident smile she doesn't really feel, and steps over.

"Miss Maeve. Good day. Now it's my turn to tell YOUR fortune. You will meet some mysterious strangers, experience danger, possibly come into some money. Romantic prospects are unclear."

[Simba]

Yermalla

The small girl in her simple brown smock running towards the Leaping Vine seems out of place somehow. Her long redish hair is bound in 2 tight braids, her face friendly and almost happy.

"Almost there. Wasn't easy to find, but here we are...for better or worse."

As she reaches the establishment her hand closes around a small symbol she wears on a strip of soft leather around her neck. Murmuring something under her breath she straightens and opens the door, a resolute expression on her face.

[Marlowe]

Equus steps back and half-turns as she hears the door open."Sister Yermalla, I'm glad you're-"linked in with the rest of us in this great blind jump into the nacht and nebel with all its darkness and horrors? Yeah, that'll fly"-here. Miss Maeve, have you met the good sister? She's-" knowledge of Halfling ecclesiastical heirachies don't fail me now"-an Exarch". Damn.

[Nihilarian]

"... fortune?" Maeve would look flabbergasted if she were any less well trained. She remembered the girl before her perfectly well, but had no clue what she was talking about. Romantic prospects are unclear? She gives her head a slight shake. "Equus Verna, Sister Yermalla, what brings you to this... establishment?" At this, Maeve looks around dubiously.

[Simba]

Sister Yermalla

"The same as you, I guess. I was told to come here."

[Marlowe]

"Come to the Leaping Vine, small hours of the morning. Sure, why not? It's not like any of us have anything useful to do. Like sleep, or heal, or bone up on scansion and cadence. Or NOT risk getting murdered on a dark and rusty landing". It occurs to Equus she's got very little idea what Miss Maeve actually does.

"Miss Maeve, how are your studies progressing? Have your-"desperate pause what is it she can do again?"-talents been progressing apace? Have learned any interesting tricks?" Blessed Lord of Nightmares I said "tricks" and "talents" in the same line of questioning. I'm terrible.

[Nihilarian]

"I... huh?" Now Maeve does look confused. "What exactly do you think I do?" Maeve had forgotten just how exhausting the young woman in front of her could be. "Never mind. I'm here for the same reason you are, so let's find the person who sent the note."

[Marlowe]

She is direct. That saves time."Well, I suppose I could get up on a table and shout "Hey! Which of you gutter-runner government spooks have been sending messages of assignation to well-brought-up young woman?", but I suspect I'd be relying on you two to cover my getaway.", responded Equus.

"Or, we can find the deepest, darkest corner, sit down, and let whoever commanded us here earn his pay grade finding us. In any event, this cavalry duster is catching on my studs and I feel like a Morlock Mafia princess standing here. Have you had-"loved ones"-people you know summoned here before?"

[Nihilarian]

Maeve looks haunted and wartorn. "I'd never heard of this place before. You don't know what I had to go through to get here. I've been running around this city all day. Why the hell are there so many places called the Leaping Vine?"

Maeve snaps out of it. "All right, let's grab a seat."

[Marlowe]

Equus nods politely and lets Miss Maeve and Sister Yermalla choose a table, while she keeps her back to something solid and gives the interior of the place a good look over.

Spoiler

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Spot: (1d20+1)[8]
Listen: (1d20+1)[21]

If nothing jumps out at her, she sits with the others, choosing a seat with her back to the wall. In spite of the comment about studs, she doesn't remove her coat, but does take the leather case with her shortbow off her back and let it rest against her leg.

She leans forward on the table and Gendos her figures before her mouth. "My brothers used to come here before they were "recruited"", she says quietly. "And when I was running with the Sons of the Cogwheel,"STUPID name" it was well known that the lieutenants would report back here after we-" instigated a vicious racial streetfight"-completed a mission. Also, they don't check for weapons and the service is obviously distinctly lacking". She's not happy with mentioning the ganger thing in front of Sister Yermalla, but it's not something she can keep secret.

"Of course, this might just be a really untoward prelude to someone inviting us to join their bookclub. Who knows? Drinks on me?"

[Simba]

Sister Yermalla

Yermalla nods at the idea of grabbing a seat, then moves to sit on the highest seat available. Still too small to properly see over the table, she frowns for a moment, then shrugs. "Why don't we see if they serve anything worth eating and drinking here?"

She looks around for anyone who looks like they might take orders from them.

[Marlowe]

"Food? Good idea. I always speak better on a full stomach", said Equus, because there's more than one way to spin an intimidate check.

"You know, I never have got a straight answer as to what this place actually does. Do you think they have DenJeng soup? I like to start with DenJeng soup. Everything else tastes so much better in comparison."

[PersonMan]

Looking around the small, fairly dark establishment you seem to catch the eye of someone who approaches you - a waitress, it seems. As she comes closer, you can tell that there's something off about her. She seems to be clothed fairly normally - a pair of sturdy trousers (probably once owned by an older brother), a patched-up shirt and a small band around one arm. The way she moves, though, is unusual, though you can't place precisely how. As she gets closer, you can see that her eyes have a sort of empty quality, as if she isn't really 'there'.

"Good evening, would you like anything to drink?" She asks, half-dropping half-sliding a menu* onto the table with surprising grace for someone who seems to be only half-conscious. "By the way, the person who you're here to meet will be arriving shortly," she adds suddenly, her tone that of one only barely awake, yet her words easily understandable.

*

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It's normal for there to only be one menu for the whole group, ever since the Restaurant Paper and Ink Tax.

The food is fairly lackluster, but it has more variety than you would find at most places. Rather than there being one very good thing, a few good things and maybe an additional option or two, there are a few dozen alright things.

[Marlowe]

Equus keeps her eyes on the "waitress" until she's out of sight. And keeps her eyes on the surrounding company for a long minute later. She doesn't touch the Menu, and finds herself regretting the lack of fingers on her gloves.

"Somebody's spent a little too long in the Cabinet", she says finally, keeping her voice low. "I'm thinking something clear and bland--if we get anything at all. Wouldn't want any extra ingredients sneaked in with the sauce' She raises her voice to carry across the room "Oh, doesn't this look lovely! And at this time of night! The wonders of the technocracy!". Having established herself as a loud innocuous twit, she switches back to a low voice to address the other two.

"If, hypothetically, we need to escape here, I will begin with an illusion of mist. Remember it will be an illusion. It might give us time to get to the door. If I use the word "convolutions" it means we should get out. Feel free to use the same signal if you get the same idea, if you see something I don't." Back to the public voice; "Shall we have the white? Or the red?"

She keeps her eyes out, looking for any clue to what's going on. Any clue at all.

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Spot:(1d20+1)[4]
Listen: (1d20+1)[16]
Spellcraft: (1d20+3)[21]
K/Arcana: (1d20+1)[10]

[PersonMan]

Equus:

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You don't see anything of note. Someone in the kitchen is singing an old song about working in a mine all day long.

There doesn't seem to be anything magical or related to your magical studies here, apart from the telltale signs of Mending on one of the lamps.

[Simba]

Sister Yermalla

At the behaviour of the waitress all good cheer vanishes from Yermalla's face as she considers what might be the reason for her strange state.

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Spot: (1d20+3)[8]
Spellcraft: (1d20+3)[22]
Knowledge (religion, just in case): (1d20+7)[19]
Heal: (1d20+8)[23]

[Marlowe]

"Their kitchen staff are off-key. They use cantrips to save on decorators' bills, and they employ somnabulists. That's all I've got", mutters Equus from behind her steepled fingers.

[Nihilarian]

"Well, it's not as though I don't have a few ideas on how to escape, but I believe there are simpler ways to assassinate us than luring us to a crowded... establishment and poisoning us." Maeve casually peruses the menu, losing her appetite. "I'd as soon not eat here anyway, however."

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Are you using magic/psionics transparency rules?

[Marlowe]

""It's not death I fear. It's "sleep"", says Equus, twisting her lips around the quotation marks.

She sits back and turns to the others. "Order something anyway. Order for four. It's still on me; just be careful."

First we find out how the waitress ended up that way. Then we don't do it. But I will not be eating or drinking in this house.

[Shunka Warakin]

Some of the City's 'Leaping Vines' were easier to eliminate than others. There were a number of places where it was unlikely even the most black-handed of city officials would arrange an underlings rendesvous -- too close-quartered for any degree of privacy, and too jealously-watched by their untrustworthy owners for any military business that required secrecy. And then there were a larger number where Vraudja's scarred and tusked face and the stained and patched leather of her hooded, brown greatcoat were as unacceptably out of place as a siege engine in a temple. And the doors of such eateries would be barred before their keepers noted the browned armor beneath her coat or the heavy, barbed and bladed chain looped at her hip.

Still, she checked a few, if only because they were on the way to other places which seemed more likely. No-one interceded on her behalf, not even when she raised a fuss after being halted brusquely at the door, so she moved on before they called the Guard. Bouncer needed a few bruises to be taken seriously anyway. Too damn pretty to guard a door.

By the time she'd reached the latest less-than-unreasonably likely establishment -- One which at least catered to a variety of late-nighters based more on their readiness to pay than their decorative faces or classy garb -- It was beginning to rain. Of course.

Vraudja flipped her hood up for the last few blocks, slogging determinedly up the steep street as the moisture -- water would be a generous term -- began to lift old oil and grime from the bricks. This is it. She told herself. Whether it is or it isn't. They can curst well give better instructions. I've made enough fuss tonight at enough curst Viney dives that they can't say I wasn't trying. Stupid Administration. Stupid orders.

The burly morlock woman plods into the last of the Leaping Vines, stolid and sullen but not without a certain predatory economy of motion. She tosses her head back irritably as she looks about, letting the wet, oily leather of her hood slide to reveal a half-tusked, mutant face that only a mother could love.

If indeed one ever had.

[PersonMan]

Sister Yermalla:

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The woman seems to be quite tired, but there's something else - you aren't sure what it is, which is surprising in and of itself. If there's some sort of outside influence, it's either too subtle in its symptoms or application for you to identify it - at least with only a cursory examination.

Nihilarian:

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Yes, I am.

Vraudja:

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Welcome to the IC thread.

Are you still outside the place, or do you go in? The door is unguarded and open. The windows are old and don't seem to be extraordinarily dirty or clear; it's still impossible to see anything more than light and vague shapes through it.

If you go in, you catch the momentary attention of a woman who seems to be a waitress (she also seems to be more asleep than awake). She examines you briefly, but doesn't say anything. You aren't sure whether or not to interpret this as a welcome, or a sign that she is closer to falling over than to talking.

There doesn't seem to be anyone else who might be staff there, but you can hear a muffled voice coming from beyond the (mediocre) bar.

(Also, be prepared to be mistaken for the Mysterious Quest Giver.)

[Marlowe]

"Ah", said Equus intelligently as the hulking figure entered the space and, against all reasonable probability, made their corner seem still darker. That looks an awful lot like something I put a couple of arrows into a couple of months ago on Tribulation landing, right after we ganked that Gnomish "alchemist". I will totally not be saying this out loud.

"This must be the girl who makes the tea", she said instead. She looked slanticular at the other two. This one sticks out like a whore in church. Up to me here isn't it

She stands up and spins around the table, heading towards the towering newcomer; "Hoy! Morlock! Like the chain!" Her voice drops lower as she steps under the other's shadow. "Mysterious letter of summoning ? 2am? Leaping Vine no specifics? We're over here, party of four, with you. We're ordering but things seem fishy, almost Sardinian. Come sit with us. Nice boots."

[Shunka Warakin]

Vraudja's brow furrows slightly as the apparent waitress maintains her distance, then she almost shrugs. If that's how it is, that's how it is.

The noisy human, in contrast, draws her attention more easily. Compliments? Really. "Yah, mysterious letter. No specifics and too curst too many Leaping Vines. You know what's this about?" She drops into an available chair, studying the others with a somewhat skeptical nod before glancing around the bar. "Vraudja. You are?"

[Nihilarian]

"You may call me Maeve. I don't understand anything yet either. Especially not her." Maeve gestures at Equus. Then she looks pensively at the Morlock woman's feet. "But those are nice boots."

[Marlowe]

Equus, having given up her seat to the Morlock, fail to find another that doesn't present her back to insecure space and leans against the wall instead. Next to her bow.Very causally. People who aren't Bards can never pull this off.

"Equus Verna. Just call me Equus. And I'm most definitely not a villain. And if I am I was Most Definitely not on a cornice overlooking Tribulation Landing two months ago at three in the morning with a masterwork shortbow and a scroll of Expeditious Retreat".

OOC: I'm not even gonna try a bluff check for that one.

[Simba]

Sister Yermalla

"I am Yermalla. Welcome to the club. So, now that we have stopped waiting on the waitress, what do we do?"

[Marlowe]

"Order four fried chickens and a piece of plain white toast. It's very difficult to poison chicken. Of course, it's so easy to make it toxic just by cooking it improperly there's scarce occasion to." Equus kept her eyes on the other tables, scanning the rest of the clientele.

"Any of us have any deadly enemies? I mean, of course we have deadly enemies, we're young women. But do any of us have any with official connections? How about deadly friends?"

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More spot checks on the crowd:
Spot: (1d20+1)[11]

[PersonMan]

As the rain outside grows heavier, the waitress eventually returns to your table, taking your orders and bringing them to the cooks before sitting back down and staring off into space. Before your food is ready, someone else enters the almost-empty Creeping Vine. Discarding a thick, rain-dirtied cloak, he glances around the room quickly, noticing your group and heading towards you. The waitress stands up to retrieve his dropped cloak, hanging it on one of the hooks near the door, showing far more initiative than she otherwise has.

None of you recognize the man, even as he comes closer. He's wearing light armor without any sort of insignia or other possible means to identify him. He's a bit older, perhaps around 40, and one of his eyes is an unnatural green color, the other light brown. His hair is cut short and is a similar brown color. He looks over the group once and the waitress wordlessly moves behind him, standing behind and slightly to his right. She rubs one of her eyes just as he clears his throat - as if he needs to do so to get your attention.

"You are the recipients of the mysterious letters we sent, yes?" He asks. His accent is clearly North City, but it's quite faint - he spent a lot of time speaking City.