The Tales of Bastion

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Oustide Falaeth Manor: Front Steps

The first thought to cross, Stray's mind was, 'Not again...' He managed a convincing, if slightly coy smile when he was accused of being handsome. Certainly, his time in Erebus had diminished his good looks. His face was gaunt from the starvation and his left cheekbone was still tinged purple from a bruise. The laceration on his cheek was healing well, but the scar across the bridge of his nose would never vanish. He was missing a piece of cartilage there and it looked as if he'd been branded.

"A farewell gift from the Inquisitors. Honestly... you steal one corvette and they start accusing you of this and that."

Resuming lying through his teeth, Stray said, "The late Marquis was a dear friend of mine. I should stay and comfort the widow. But, Lady Falaeth goes to bed early and I keep queer hours. After a day like this, I wouldn't say no to a sherry."

A wan smile as he took back his letter and deposited it within his breast pocket. "If your grace drinks sherry."

5th of Bargenholt, Night
Falaeth Manor: Elizabeth's Bedroom

Like clockwork, Scarlett slipped into the hall, gingerly closing Elizabeth's door with her foot while balancing a silver tray and washing basin in front of her. She padded gracefully across the cherry wood floor, sidestepping the spot that creaked. A smile spread over her, as she paused to regard the landscape painting on the left. She must have passed it a thousand times in her years of service to the Falaeths, but it was only this last week she'd paid it any mind. Something about the snowy mountains and crystal lake tugged at her heart and she desperately wished to go there in person. Wherever this was. The Brightcrest range probably held a hundred vistas like this. Maybe if she saved, she could go north one day. Perhaps Lady Falaeth would need a vacation after this terrible business. She smiled against in spite of herself. Try as she might, she couldn't summon up any sympathy for Andiron.

Just like every night for a week, Stray sidestepped the daydreaming Scarlett as she stared transfixed at the enchanted painting. He paused, taking note of the vial of laudanum on the tray. Thoughtful girl. Elizabeth needed a deep, long sleep to put her mind to right. Quiet as a cat, continued on down the hall and whisked his hand over the lock to Elizabeth's door. A muted click greeted him obediently and he slipped inside.

Elizabeth didn't startle. She knew the sound of Stray's bare feet and how he could open a lock just by asking it nicely. The two regarded each other in the dark and silence for a moment; Elizabeth peeking out from the between the drapes encircling her bed, her muss of red hair and the duvet that had been pulled up to her nose; Stray balanced on the balls of his feet with cuff of his fencing trousers falling over his heels.

"You're better off..."
"Maybe there's time for us now..."
"There's nothing to be afraid of..."

Nothing sounded right. There was little to say at a time like this. After a while, he turned to the door, relocking it. His fingers traced over the paneling, leaving faint, shimmering green symbols as he whispering in an old tongue. Crossing to the windows, he repeated the ritual one by one. While his spells wouldn't forbid access to the determined, they did make the chamber unexceptional to anyone looking in.

Stray's gold cufflinks went on the vanity and his shirt across the chair. Wordlessly, Elizabeth held up the velvet duvet for Stray to join her. Gripping him tightly about the waist, she pulled herself close and rested her chin on his chest. Another long look passed between them, but neither spoke. Tears began to well in the corners of Elizabeth's eyes, not from loss, but exhaustion and stress. Stray only brushed his fingers through her hair. At length, Stray sighed and forced himself to do something he had always dreaded of doing in front of her. He began to sing.

He was no performer, but the words were gentle and rich with magic. It was a song of the old places in the world, the wood's heart, the snowcapped peaks and the golden land beyond the western sea. Go into the west, he sang, beyond the path of the setting sun. Your father is waiting for you, in the white city above the cliffs.

Raisa had taught him the words, singing to him most nights when he was still little. Even now, the pixie would steal into his cabin when they were at sea and sing him the lullaby. She had a curious way to knowing when Stray felt far from home. All fey knew the song by heart, she said, and all fey knew where home was.

When he was little, Stray had asked if he'd ever seen the white city. Raisa had only smiled and told him, of course, one day we'll have a ship faster than the wind, and we'll sail into the west until the sun sets behind us. The thought always made him happy.

Story Element: Fair Speech

Spoiler

Show

The language of the Fey, is like the weather. It possesses the capacity for great beauty and terrifying woe. While the words themselves carry no power, enchanters and the Fey may use them to great effect, weaving them into song and sigils. The heartbreaking Keen of the Banshees and the fabled Siren's Song are both sung in the Fair Speech. "Fair Speech" is, somewhat of an unfaithful translation from the Fey name for it. However, "white-gold colored soul words" doesn't have the same impact in human tongues and requires a bit of transliteration.

[BladeofObliviom]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Shortly after Dawn
Bastion University

William starts writing notes furiously, seemingly just copying down a passage wholesale.

"Truly, gossip is the bane of reliability. If you'll excuse me, Dr. Welf, I'm about finished here. I've been studying since late last evening and from the light through yonder window I can tell that I've been out far too long. Good day to you."

With that, he starts putting his books away, soon finishing and moving to gather the rather large pile of notepaper he's accumulated over this long study session.

"If you have need of me for whatever reason, my room is on the third floor."

And with that, the student leaves, the Ghoul trailing him on the way out.

[GuyFawkes]

5th of Bargenholt, Afternoon
The Winter House

"Please. It is only to you that I shall give my body and soul, my mind and my heart. Why do you deny me so? Is it...is it because of my family? If so, then for your love, I shall forsake them!" Liam's voice filled the room.

"No, heavens no! It is not because of your family! And please, do not do such a thing! It is because...it is because..." replied the man wearing a long, straight, chestnut brown wig and heavy makeup in front of him in a high-pitched voice.

"Then tell me! Is there anything more I have to do? Anything more I have to give to prove my undying love for you?" Liam closed in, holding the man tightly on both shoulders.

"No! There is nothing you have to do. It is I who has to tell you something," the man said as he freed himself from Liam's hold and showed his back to him.

"The truth is...the truth is..."

The man suddenly put his hand on his head and spun and faced Liam, removing the wig on his head in the process; the heavy makeup and distinctly male features with the bald head made it ridiculous to look at.

While the words "...I am not Hilda." were still spoken in high-pitched voice, the next words were spoken in a deep, raspy, and distinctly male one, "It is I, Howard. Her brother."

The two looked at each other's eyes for a while, Liam's face filled with shock, the man-woman's filled with make up. And what seemed to be embarrassment. It did not take long for the other men in the room, who were sitting down on the couches in silence, to break into laughter. And with that, the two dissolved their characters and joined in.

"Man, I tell you! That face of yours when you remove the wig gets me every single time!" one of the seated man said in between laughs.

"Truly there is no one else for the part!" said another before, laughing again.

The man in question, Pepe, simply smiled and scratched his head before curtsying, and then proceeded to throw the wig on to the face of the man sitting down closest to his right.

"Now, now," Liam said as he was able to calm himself down. "Our friend Pepe here has his charms in his own ways. Why, if not so, it would have been impossible to have sweet Yolanda swooning over him and chasing him each time they meet!"

The men who had quieted down now resumed their laughter, including Pepe, who could only scratch his bald head. Yolanda, bless her heart, was a sweet girl, and worked as the dishwasher of the Winter House. But to describe her physically, she was, to put it gently, ugly.

As soon as the laughter died, Liam cut in. "All righty, boys! That is it for the day. We resume on the morrow, at around the same time. For now, I gather the usual is in order?"

"The usual!" answered the group, their voice as one.

Liam picked up a small bell on top of the desk beside him and chimed it a couple of times, whereby a lady opened the door and approached him. Liam told her "The usual", and she nodded and smiled before bowing and heading back to the door and closing it behind her.

"Well boys, enjoy the rest of the afternoon and the evening. Unfortunately I have some business to attend to, and so I shall be off now," Liam said as he fixed his tunic and his hair.

"Boo! You are always away for the good part. Stay for once," one of the men spoke up.

"As much as I am deeply touched by your words, Gregor, I think we all know that you need my purse to stay, and not necessarily myself," Liam replied, eliciting another round of raucous laughter from the group.

"But, in the spirit of those very words," he continued as he strode towards the low table near the couches and picked up one tankard of ale, "before I depart your company for the day, a toast! To Lord Hauser's Men! And to the benevolent and magnanimous Lord Hauser, who made this happen for us lot! Cheers!"

Liam raised his tankard as the rest grabbed theirs and raised them as well, shouting "Cheers!" back, before all of them gulped the contents down in one go. Liam finished his before the others, and slamming his tankard it down on the table, nimbly crossed the space from the table towards the door.

"On the morrow, boys!" he shouted before closing the door behind him.

In the hallway, Liam looked outside the window, and deciding there was still enough time, he took a left on the next corner and stopped on the third door to the right. It was open and so he peeked inside, knocking on the wooden door.

"Does Madame Anastasia have time for but a humble player, or shall this humble player pay some other time for a little talk?"


6th of Bargenholt, Morning
Outside Falaeth Manor

The sun shone down on the morning bustle of Bastion city. Liam wiped the beads of sweat that had accumulated on his forehead with his green satin silk handkerchief and tugged his tunic in and out to provide air circulation as he walked towards the ever-growing facade of the mansion of the now-deceased Marquis Andiron Falaeth.

He cursed under his breath, particularly at the whimsical Bastion weather. Yesterday had all been about rain, but now the sun claimed the sky, and the lingering humidity brought about by the previous precipitation made it unbearably hot and sticky to walk outside.

Liam looked up the sky. It was all blue and bright, but dark clouds loomed on the horizon, threatening to challenge the sun's authority anytime. How appropriate, he thought to himself.

He looked down and rubbed his irritated eyes that were dark on the edges and under his lower eyelid. He had been getting inadequate sleep lately. Liam closed his eyes and covered his eyes with both hands before shaking his head and opening his eyes.

Now is not the time.

Before he had realized, the front doors of Falaeth Manor stood before him, and so Liam stopped and wiped the remaining beads of perspiration on his face, quickly fixed his tunic and cape, and, as soon as he was sure he looked presentable, knocked on the door.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

Luke waved Grover's worries aside with a literal wave of his hand.

"Why, it'd be no trouble at all, my good man! In fact, Setselia and I were pondering taking up a rather mysterious-looking case which could very well bring us all around the city."

Setselia nodded in agreement. "Mm-hm! Just leave the investigating to us and enjoy the city! We can show you the sights while we're hunting down clues, and a delicate lady like me would certainly appreciate having such a tough-looking gentleman around if we end up cornering the culprit," she said with a playful smile.

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Noon
The Streets of Bastion
Challenge: The Baron's Son

"So, what's our plan for today's case, honey?" asked Setselia as she headed through the streets of Bastion hand-in-hand with her husband.

"Fantastic question, Cecily dearest! The case is a kidnapping, but the crime itself occurred quite some time ago. I'd imagine the physical trail has gone long cold by now, but what could be more enduring than the hearts of man?" he asked rhetorically, a hand placed dramatically upon his chest.

"Ooh, of course!" Setselia pondered this for a moment. "Actually, I'm not quite sure I understand, dear."

Luke looked back at her a bit sheepishly. "Ah. I suppose I got a bit caught up there, didn't I? Oh ho ho! What I meant to say is that the details of the crime may still live on in the memories of those who witnessed it or played some part in its events."

Setselia planted a fist in her other hand decisively and nodded. "Of course! I mean, that's only natural, since the beaten path is carried on by the whispering wind where flowers bloom with spring long past." Quickly seeing that Luke wasn't exactly getting her point, she hastily revised her statement. "Er, sorry, dear. I forget sometimes that not everyone can interpret visions. I mean to say that you'll most likely pick up the trail speaking to someone in the vicinity of... a florist, perhaps?"

"Brilliant deduction, Cecily dearest! Come now, we've not much time if we're to question every fellow at a florist, so onward!"

The married couple took off energetically through the streets, their investigation of the case now well underway in their own unique manner.

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Answering the call of her fellow diviner, Setselia and her husband soon arrived at a certain office in Bastion University. Stepping up to the door, Setselia gave it a couple of dainty knocks before calling out.

"Miss Maranis? It's me, Setselia."

Giving the verbal greeting was largely a matter of courtesy at this point, as Wynbi would already have been well aware of her intention to come after being magically subjected to the divination equivalent of an energetically delivered slideshow of honeymoon photos during the time she had spent heading to the University.

[Jade_Tarem]

5th of Bargenholt, Bastion University, Evening

"You could have come tomorrow." Maranis says wryly. Behind her, on a thread-worn couch, Wynbi sits massaging his temples as he tries to process a number of days' worth of bubbly newlywed bliss delivered in just under a few minutes. "But since you're here, welcome back to Bastion, both of you. Wynbi assures me that your honeymoon went well, so I'll cut to business instead." The elven commander pauses to consider her next words carefully as she sits at her desk, inviting the two guests to take a seat as well with a gesture. "The Evergreen Sentinels do allow for retirement and honorable discharges, although I don't think we ever got one from you... Strategist Emdrin doesn't keep me appraised of everything, so I don't know whether you actually left the Sentinels or just took a break. The first order of business, I suppose, is to clarify that."

[shorewood]

5th of Bargenholt
Midday
Clay Jug

Christophe fakes offense at Tilian's speculations. "I do not deal in espionage. These men work for my organization, will be looking for possible business partnerships in the Isles. Neither they nor I work for the government of Bastion."

turning to Ralin, he elaborates on his earlier comment. "I have a business associate who knows the wife of a noble. She is less than friendly with her husband, but is influential in her own right. She is almost certain to understand the usefulness of at least listening to what you have to say. That is as much as I'll say for now, because I prefer my contacts to remain unknown unless absolutely necessary."

"An unknown associate makes contact with an unnamed noble who might be willing to listen." Ralin let that sink in for a moment "Its a better plan than bribing lowly officers I'll give you that. I'll trust you to contact us whether or not your friend is successful in his attempts." Turning toward Tilian he continues "Tie and write up the deal we have an appointment at the University to keep.

Nodding Tilian produces five long thin strings and begins to weave them into the intricate pattern of the troll language. Handing it to Ralin Tilian produces a sheet of parchment and begins to write in the human tongue with a sharpened reed and small inkwell produced from one of his pouches while Ralin ties his signature into the string. Handing the string to Christophe Ralin takes the parchment and scribbles a much sloppier signature passing that to the merchant as well.

Anticipating any confusion Christophe might have Tilian shows the merchant how to tie his name in knots and although it is sloppy it is legible.

After everything was signed the trolls stood up and pushed in their chairs. "Unless there is something else you wish to discuss we will be off." said Ralin as he offered his hand to Christophe.

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Outside Falaeth Manor
Afternoon

"Of course I drink sherry. We Celandians practically invented the stuff. However, I have recently opened a cask of Vetreouvian Cognac that I think you might prefer. But we can decide which is better tonight. Until then..." And with a flourish Auguste turned away from Stray, mounted his horse and rode off to his manor.

Later at Chateau LeBlanc

"... and as you can see, that meeting went poorly. Make sure someone sends the Marquise a nice bouquet and a basket full of some of the expensive wines and cheeses I brought from home. It's a shame it's going to some half-elf who probably can't tell a brie from a Camembert, but it it smooths things over between the two of us, it is a small price to pay," said Auguste as he finished up filling Jonathan in on what happened inside the manor.

"What about this Stray fellow, it seems a bit suspicious that he would be close enough to Lady Falaeth to be there to comfort her, but would also appear to want to work with you. Can you trust him?" questioned Jonathan.

"Of course I can't trust him. He's probably some stooge working for either Elizabeth or the Lord Marshall. He could still prove useful to me. With any luck I can convince him of my sincerity and that will make it back to someone who matters. If not I'm sure I can find some useful out of the place project to put him on. The King got some use out of him so I'm sure I can find something for him to do without any trouble."

"Yes, your grace," agreed Jonathan.

Later that Evening

Auguste sat in his library reading while his niece was in a nearby room practicing her harpsichord, as a butler came in announcing the arrival of Stray. On the table next to Auguste several different bradies and sherries were laid out next to a pair of glasses. Obviously Auguste wanted Stray to enjoy himself tonight.

"Send him in."

[daelrog]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove Inn
Claire's Challenge

Ecks stepped outside, the fiery taste of the cheap rum made him more alert. He took a look around, before he pulled out a short sword, purposefully holding it backwards so that the blunt end would strike her. Ecks did not know any formal fighting stances, so stood there dumbly as his opponent raised her own weapon.

"So they say it's to first blood, no?"

"Indeed." Claire looked disappointedly at both the weapon he was holding, and the lack of skill he was already seeming to possess.

Ecks blinked a few times. "So... how does a duel begin?" He had never fought in a formal duel before either.

Claire stepped forward quickly and gracefully. Ecks backed up just in time as her sword flashed where his nose had been a second earlier. He continued to step back, side to side, to avoid her blows. her hair danced in the wind, and her colorful attire distracted him from the slender blade biting at him. He threw a strong upswing hoping to overpower the smaller girl, but she turned it aside, stepping on the fake noble's foot deliberately, and tussling his hair before pushing him away.

She was playing with him. Ecks knew that, and though his pride was starting to ache, he could take some humor in it. "My lady-" His voice cut off as he ducked under a casual swing of her sword, exploiting the face he let his guard down by speaking. She pressed her advantage. The demon hunter could not think, and instinct began to take over. Pull him in, let her strike and...

A flash of red, and then realization. Dennarius Mungle looked at cut wrist, a thin line of blood starting to form. Fool. He had exposed his wrist to draw her in, but this fight was to first blood. He had lost sight of it, and fought as he would any other day. It was not as if he was fair against her, but it was a poor way to lose.

"You say you are a noble?"

Ecks pressed his unwounded hand against the cut to let it close quicker. "Dennarius Mungle of House Mungle, if it pleases you." He has an apologetic look on his face for not providing enough sport.

"You fight like a common thug."

I am a common thug. "If I promise to attend your poetry lesson, will you spare my face a scar?"

Claire pursed her lips. "You were better than the last two."

Small compliment, they say the last two were piss drunk. I want to be piss drunk.

A minute later both were back inside, Ecks hearing the jeers from the patrons. Some hero he was. Trying to increase his standing, to have a chance... even a small chance. Now his exploits against the pirates would be forgotten, replaced by this. "Barkeep. I wish to become drunk. The next few drinks for the lady are on me too."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Midday
Clay Jug

Christophe is confused at first when the trolls bring out their string and begin tying knots, but understands once it is explained. "An interesting concept - I'll have to have my men teach me the language when they return..." he thinks briefly, before putting his signature on the written document with a flourish, attempting to make up for his lackluster knot tying skills. Standing, he shakes Ralin's hand, then Tilian's. "I will let you know either way. Should this method fail, I will continue to look for one, should you wish. I hope your business at the University goes well, and please keep me in mind if you need anything in the city."

5th of Bargenholt
2ish
The Winter House

2 men, clearly thugs, enter the Winter House. They are clearly not customers - their clothing marks them as too poor to hire any but the most ugly traditional whores, yet they walk up to the front desk as if they own the place, brushing the bouncers aside. They eye the lady at the counter, then the larger one speaks. "Youse gots a pretty nice little set-up here... very nice indeed... Looks like dere's a lot of expensive decorations, don't it, Nunzio?" the smaller (though still large) man looks around. "Yes indeed, dey's got plenty of expensive and breakable things. It sure would be a shame if any of it broke." They both give a look to the person minding the counter. "Our employer would like to offer dis place his protection. For a small price, say, 10 percent of what youse earnin', we would insure that nothing bad happens. If you don't accept the offer, well..." he reaches out and tips over a vase, letting it fall to the floor. "Who knows what would happen. We'll be back in a week for da first payment, capice?"

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

Franco had been let off of the on call list, and had decided to explore the waterfront of Bastion, see how the repairs were coming. As he walked the streets, still amazed by both the large areas still marred by charred wood and scorched stone and the amazing amounts that the city had rebuilt in the short months, he overheard a conversation about a female fencer accepting all challengers, at a bar called the Dragon's Alcove. Franco asked directions, and found his way to the bar just in time to watch the woman's current challenge. A man claiming noble birth was fairly quickly defeated in what was only barely not an embarrassing fight. Franco follows the too of them back into the bar, and stands next to Claire. Getting her attention, Franco dofts his large hat, taking a bow. I am Franco Fiore, M'lady. At your service. I would request the honor of being your next opponent, if you will accept."

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

"Hahaha, splendid!" Grover proclaims.

"And my dear lady..." Grover begins, gently taking her free hand. "...if I could not aid in the fight, take heart that I could at least offer cover from the rain." He says this as he moves the rather large toadstool umbrella over them.

"But now, we have a city to explore and demons to slay. Lead the way Mr. Crowley!"

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Noon
The Streets of Bastion
Challenge: The Baron's Son

Our leafy friend has continued to follow the two throughout the day, now tagging behind in an exploration for the lost son of some Baron. Ah well, perhaps if there were fiends who would do harm to his new found friends, he could fend them off with his might Oak.

[Ipphli]

Waterfront District
Mid-afternoon

Quinn scratched his head as he peered up and down the narrow alley. He had heard from a local yhat the boy had been seen on this street shortly before he disappeared. He'd heard of the Baron's bounty from a loose-lipped patient back at his home. The news had given the healer an idea: save the boy, and gain the sponsorship of a noble! With more funds he could expand, perhaps get out from under Christophe's thumb.

Sighing, Quinn walked up to the first door and knocked. No one answered. Shrugging to himself, he moved on to the next door. Shortly after knocking, a large, angry looking gentleman in a stained undershirt and ragged pants answered the door. Smiling, Quinn bows his head respectfully as he speaks. "Excuse me sir. I'm looking for a young man, a friend of -" The door slamming in his face cut him rather abruptly.

So it went all the way up and down the street. By the end, Quinn was very frustrated. This had been his only clue, and with no answers forthcoming, the healer was out of ideas. With another sigh, he started his way to the clinic, head down in a mix of shame and thoughtfulness.

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

"Hein?" The Celish syllable that bubbled out of Claire was a bit unladylike, more of a startled squawk. She was on her third victory shot of rum, but immediately lowered the lipstick smudged glass when she received the second challenge of the day.

"Mon diue! J'ai de la chance..."

The slim brown haired man sitting to her right elbowed her in the arm, prompting, "En Bastelle, cous!"

Claire blinked twice. Speaking to her cousin in rusty (if proper) Celish came easy after a few drinks, but changing back to Bastelle was like hooking up a fresh team of horses.

The man cuts her off, laughing, "Monsieur, you have surely made many mistakes in your life. This is one of them. If you were lucky, you will live to make many more."

Claire snickers, shoving at the man's shoulder, saying, "Sois gentil, Remy! Non, Seigneur Fiore, I will duel you. And, I will be gentle."

Still chuckling with her lips parted, she licked her front teeth. "For you? I'll even kiss your wound to teach my cousin manners . Tell me, where would you like it?"

Once Franco answers, she gives him a firm shove in the chest towards the door.

"No backing out now because I'm tipsy! You'll insult my honor if you do!"

Claire vs Franco
(1d6+6)[12]

5th of Bargenholt, Night
Chateau LeBlanc: Salon

After putting Elizabeth to bed, Stray had stolen back to the guest suite where he was supposed to be sleeping. Willingly and blissfully enchanted, she'd sleep a beautiful sleep until mid morning. After dressing, he donned one of Andiron's old cloaks and swiftly made his way up the road to LeBlanc's residence.

He decided to put his Sadah outfit to good use again, reasonably sure the Duke hadn't been in attendance. The obnoxious bells had been removed, of course. Excepting the emerald green cravat, the rest was just as it was months ago: a green coat with floral brocade in silver trim, a frilly white lace shirt and brown trousers tucked neatly into his tall black boots. They were the same boots he wore everywhere; he couldn't stand the dainty slippers the posh nobility found fashionable. He'd even gone to the trouble of combing his hair and tying it back with a black ribbon. Apart from the nasty cut on his cheek, he cleaned up nicely.

Entering the salon, he surrendered his estoc to a servant. The blade was exquisite. The man he'd stolen it from certainly thought so. It fit the dashing captain far better.

"Monsieur le duc," he spoke in practiced Celish, with a bow at the waist. "Thank you for receiving me, especially this late."

A rake like Stray didn't look like the sort to speak proper Celish, let alone do it with such canny proficiency. He had a scholar's accent -- technically correct, but lacking any regional nuisance. Come to think of it, his Bastelle accent was damned hard to place as well.

He grinned, adding, "This is your home, your grace. Will it please you to continue in Celish?"

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt
The Dead of Night

The image that was overlaid over the true horror of the creature before them smiled. It was a beautiful smile, fresh like a spring's breeze, yet the full red lips that curled upwards spoke of wordless promises, of pleasures to be had that no man could deny.

Her eyes turned towards Turel, meeting his gaze for a moment. As she did, the fuzziness disappeared for a moment and the image became more focused, revealing a woman of dazzling beauty with long blonde hair, fair features and green eyes, her shape very attractive and voluptuous, but not exaggeratedly so.

A brief pain behind the eyes, sharp and gone as quickly as it came. There was an impression of sharp teeth and claws, of something entirely inhuman, though that should hardly come as a surprise to the sudden intruders, sitting next to the man.

"Shhh," her voice rang out, sweet and melodious, as she placed one finger on the lips of the man who stared at her in adoration, the constant groans of a man in the throes of passion escaping his throat. He had not noticed the two people coming in, entranced by the woman who sat at his side, still caressing a lover he believed to sit upon his loins, the tent apparent on the bed-sheet a ready sign of his lust. A single drop of blood escaped his lower lip, evidence of a cut where the demon had actually touched him. That, too, he failed to notice.

Nor did he seem aware of the impeding danger when the demon placed a single hand upon his head, lovingly, caressing it for a moment. Abruptly, she twisted it around, snapping the poor soul's neck with a crunching sound. Her plaything now no longer worth attention of any sort, her gaze drifted back to her two guests.

"Nothing of consequence," she offered, her illusory eyes narrowing as she examined the two of them more closely. The so far silent Zhirad didn't seem to interest her as much as Turel, however, upon whom she immediately focused. "How curious. And daring." She paused, stretching languidly. "Envy and Pride, is it? What brings you into my territory?"

She was acting relaxed, confident; regarding the both of them with the disinterested manner of a cat that is currently deciding whether something is or isn't prey. Something about the way she didn't stop looking at Turel for a single moment, however, made it quite apparent that she wasn't nearly as uninterested as she pretended to be. As if she could sense that Turel, somehow, was different from the doctor beside him, even beyond the obviously greater power.

Their fellow demonic being and current subject of attention, on the other hand, had a curious aura indeed. Now that they were close, it was obvious that her fell powers were great; yet there was a certain freshness about them, the youthfulness of a demon still stretching its legs and coming into its power. It also had a chaotic element to it, one that seemed to affect the very space around her, stronger than usual. Most likely, this was the reason why even Turel could not entirely see through her illusions simply by merit of his status as a Pride Demon.

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

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Considering Claire rolled a 12 and Franco can't possibly beat that, I'm already posting this. Sequence-wise, it belongs after the next post by ForzaFiori.

In one of the four corner tables, the one closest to the entrance, sat a lone man who, so far, had been quietly enjoying his food and drink. His dress was impeccable, a white shirt with a respectable amount of frill tucked into a cerulean-coloured mantle, beneath of which he wore pants of the same shade. Black leather boots and a rapier, usually at his side but now strapped over his chair, completed the image.

His face had an unpleasant quality to it, even though he looked very neat and like a man who took good care of himself. This was mostly because his eyes had a cold gleam to them that indicated he would be more than happy to make the day of any person overly interested in him very unpleasant indeed.

Still, when the fencer woman had beaten yet another opponent, it appeared as if she had finally captured his interest. This man was obviously not someone who fought duels for fun, though as he rose and reattached his weapon to his hip it looked far too comfortable as to not indicate a certain level of skill.

Without producing a sound, he stepped towards Claire, a severe expression on his face as he took pains to actually enter the radius of her sight before getting closer. "Bonjour mademoiselle," he addressed her, his voice oddly melodic yet monotone at the same time. "Je vois que vous êtes très qualifié avec l'épée. Will you allow me to test it, as well, if your previous battles haven't exhausted you?"

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I refrained from describing his appearance in greater detail, since I kind of misplaced the picture I meant to use for inspiration and need to find a new one.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Early Morning
The Streets of Bastion

Setselia smiled and giggled at Grover's gentlemanly display.

"Hee hee! How delightful. Thank you, Mr. Dubois; I suppose in all the excitement today, I neglected to predict today's weather! How silly of me."

Grinning at Grover's enthusiasm, Luke seemed even more fired up than usual.

"Ho ho, of course! Er, it's actually not entirely clear if there are any demons involved with this case, but... ah, metaphorical demons, yes! Let us chase down the metaphorical demons plaguing the good residents of this city!"

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Afternoon
The Streets of Bastion

As the investigation carried on, Setselia peered up at Grover again, this time eyeing the mighty Oak he carried with him.

"So, Mr. Dubois? I know you said that you aren't a tree, but that hammer you're carrying - it really is a tree, right?"

Luke chuckled. "Yes, I confess I'm rather curious about it, too! It certainly is an impressive weapon. Why, it's perfect! After all, all the great heroes carried some sort of signature weapon, and it seems to me nothing could fit you better than a mighty tree-hammer." He looked down at the dueling rapier he carried at his belt and idly tapped his fingers along the hilt with a slightly concerned look on his face. "Come to think of it, all I have is my dueling sword, and it doesn't even have a proper name..."

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Luke gave a well-practiced bow as he entered the room.

"Pleased to meet you, milady. The humble Luke Crowley stands at your service," he said with a charming smile.

Setselia and Luke took the seats offered to them, Setselia smoothing out the frills of her dress before looking up cheerfully at Maranis.

"Oh, no, I couldn't make you wait any longer, Miss Maranis! When I heard from Wynbi, I just had to come straight away."

Seeing Wynbi seated behind Maranis, Setselia waved in greeting with all the innocence that only someone who failed to make the connection between his headache and her own actions could muster.

"Oh! I wasn't aware there was any confusion, but I suppose there's always the chance something like that might happen when I leave the city and shut out all the other sages for a while. Yes, I'm still a Sentinel, I think, so I'll help you with anything you want!" She put a finger to her chin for a moment as if remembering something. "A lot of people seem surprised when I say it, so in case I forgot to mention, I was the Senior Sage of my previous division. So while I really would try to help you with anything you want, you'd probably have the best luck if it was something I could divine."

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon
Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge

Claire turned to the newcomer and her drunk smile began to curl into a snarl. Something about the man's cold tone sobered her up like a bucket of water dumped over her head. She took an instant dislike of the man.

"Didn't your mother ever smile at you?"

Remy had nothing to add, apparently taking a sudden interest in his glass and avoiding Lester's uneasy gaze. Claire's nostrils flared. She looked Lester up and down. She swallowed once in hesitation, then quick as her namesake, she snatched up Remy's glassed and gulped down his double shot of rum.

She raised her voice so the room heard her boast, "Oh, monsieur!" she said, fanning herself. "You stir something deep within me... my lunch, I suspect!" With that she tears off towards the street, loosing her rapier and flinging the scabbard to a surprised onlooker with quick reflexes.

(1d6+6)[11]

[VonDoom]

Challenge: Phony Fortune, A Challenge in Two (or Three) Parts

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A fortune teller has appeared in the Docks, making a name of late because her prophecies are often highly accurate. That name is Madame Selene, after the moon goddess.

Indeed, she can tell the future: If not for her tip, the inn over at Bartram Way would have burnt down to a crip. The bartender was able to keep the fire that had unfortunately broken out from spreading, however, thanks to her advance warning.

Old Mac, the aged courier, broke his left foot stumbling on the way, just like Madame Selene had told him.

Yaren indeed had great luck and won a hefty sum playing cards. That his rival players later beat him up and took it back could hardly be something to blame Mme. Selene for, after all, the future is a fickle mistress.

Madame Selene is a woman of middle age who affects a foreign accent, but seems unable to decide which foreign country it is she actually stems from. She is neither ugly, nor pretty, with the lines of a hard life on her face, long black hair spilling forth under a red headscarf. Her fortune telling tends to be very dramatic … and utterly phony. A young group of thugs is helping her out in exchange for a bit of pocket money, though she is also rather adept at reading body language and picking up information from others. They set fires, trip people up, just so happen to rob a certain individual, they're nothing if not flexible.

---

There are three possible challenges, all involving a visit to Madame Selene and getting a fortune told for whatever personal reason the character may have. For the purposes of this Challenge, feel free to roll in advance and narrate accordingly.

Challenge 1 - The Phony:
Realizing that Madame Selene is, indeed, a fake via a Lore Check or actual Divination skill. To do this, the difficulty is 7. The character may be satisfied with the fortune telling if they fail and effectively end the challenge pre-maturely, receiving no reward. If they are not satisfied, then failure of Challenge 1 always leads to Challenge 2.


Challenge 2 - Thug Hunter:
This challenge is by default the result of failing Challenge 1. However, characters may choose to undergo Challenge 2 even if they succeeded at Challenge 1, though in this instance Madame Selene will likely have realized that the character knows too much and have sent her thugs to shut them up, rather than to provide a more convincing fortune telling experience. If they suceed, they receive a +2 bonus to the final challenge roll.

Those who get a fortune from Madame Seleme but seem unsatisfied with her regular tricks will receive a bad fortune and get a chance to become the victim of her thugs. They generally show up in groups of four against one but aren't actually very good fighters. They can be fought off with a combat challenge versus a difficulty of 7. They can also be tricked via a mental or social challenge, versus a difficulty of 8.

If the Challenge is completed after having failed Challenge 1, the thugs will accidentally give away that Madame Selene has sent them.

Challenge 3 - Resolution:
This challenge is fairly flexible. It basically is a test for the resolution of whatever the character intends to do about her. The difficulty for this is, by default, again 7.

If the character decides to opt to drive her out with physical violence and/or threats, she will have some more thugs to back her up. Social discredit or confrontation, blackmail, the sort involves a more diplomatic challenge. Proving her a fraud via fact-finding and bringing proof to the authorities is a challenge of Utility, mostly to mental advantages such as Intelligence and Cunning.

There are of course many further options, but since there are as many ways to handle the fake fortune teller as there are characters, the abstract is this: whatever your plan, post about it, roll, and then we will look over your advantages and deem which are appropriate to add to the result.

Reward: 1 AP
Defeat: If beaten by the thugs, a good bruising. If failed to deal with Selene after drawing her ire, she will spread bad rumours and advise people that the character brings bad luck.

[VonDoom]

The stranger stood before her, having followed without hesitation, but hadn't drawn yet. His cold eyes studied her, a somewhat puzzled look in them at her apparent rudeness. After a moment, something occured to him.

"My apologies," he reasoned in the same sing-song monotone, "I have forgotten my manners." He lowered his head for a moment, the emotionless expression on his face belying the soothing nature of his words. "Please forgive me, I haven't introduced myself. My name is Tamitee. Lester Tamitee."

The man inclined his head a little, not an ounce less unsettling than he had been while he was still an unnamed challenger. "They sometimes call me 'Spider'. Please don't make the same mistake, I do not like that name." Even as his nigh-hypnotic voice droned on, his rapier suddenly flashed out of its sheath, held up high in front of him.

His stance was that of an excellent fencer. As was his opening move, flashing into a feint right away when Claire hadn't yet gauged his real skill properly. The only problem was that the woman was faster than him. By a good amount, too, as soon became apparent once they started crossing blades.

There was a brief moment when it looked like Lester might well win as he stepped around another strike of Claire's blade, eerily silent throughout the encounter, but that was precisely when he made his mistake.

With a disturbingly enthusiastic (but still subdued) look on his face he aimed a stab right for Claire's stomach, but stopped himself at the last moment and switched it up to striking at her shoulder instead -- the problem was the splitsecond of hesitation, that his opponent took advantage of.

And quickly poked him on the cheek with the tip of her blade, spilling the first blood.

The man's cold eyes flashed oddly for a moment, in response, but he immediately relaxed and returned his own rapier to his belt. Then, Lester bowed slightly. "Thank you," he said, his voice still the same lyrical deadpan, without a hint at whether he was upset, disappointed or perhaps even happy to have fought another skilled fencer. "This was very instructive."

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Afternoon
In front of the Dragon's Alcove
Claire's Challenge - Franco's Defeat

"If the wound accompanies a kiss from you, signorina, then where it is scarcely matters. I will leave it up to you to attempt to strike me in the place you most wish to kiss."Franco says with a smirk before steping outside behind Claire. He draws his rapier and main gauche, coming into mid guard. He gives a salute and bow to Claire, and waits for her to do the same. "Shall we cross swords first, or just begin swinging for each other's head's?" he just manages to get out before Claire's first strike parry's his rapier aside and heads for his shoulder. Whipping up his blocking sword, Franco manages to avoid her blow, stepping to the side. Claire keeps up the attack, forcing Franco back down the street. Hitting a loose cobble as he back up, he trips, dropping his main gauche and only barely manages to roll away before Claire's rapier comes down. Standing, he manages to regain his composure, launching an attack. His first attack nearly makes it through Claire's gaurd, but her quick riposte killed the only chance Franco would have of winning this fight. Franco's second attack, a slightly wild swing, is stopped nearly as soon as it starts, Claire's epee reaching out, and with a flourish, tossing the sword from Franco's hand. She sheaths her sword, turning to head back into the bar. As she opens the door, she looks back. "No wound, no kiss!" she says with a laugh.
Franco picks his swords up off the ground walking back into the bar amid the jeers of it's patrons. Sitting down next to Ecks, he turns to the bartender. "Barman, I'll have one of whatever he's having," he says, motioning to Ecks. "And one for him as well. The vanquished must look out for one another after all."

[LongVin]

5th of Bargenholt
Early Evening
Manse Junker
Dr. Welf's study
Challenge: The Baron's Son

"The servants have been talking about how some noble's welp gone missing." Grumbled Holt in Vorarlan.

Frederick sititng at his desk composing letters paid the Crystal Sword no mind. "Might be good to go looking for him. His father placed a hefty reward out for him. Plus Pate said that some drunkard at the Dancing Horse saw the boy."

Finish a letter to be sent back to the order he places the quill down. "Hmm...I believe you are right, Holt. If we help rescue the boy we will have an ally within Bastion's nobility...we are going to need help though. I fear we don't know enough about this city yet to engage in the task on our own. We may need that student Knob's aid."

Taking up quill and parchment he scribbles a quick letter to the student before sealing it. Handing it to Holt, Holt stomps out of the room grumbling about pirates, and mere bodyguards.


Attention: BladeofObliviom
5th of Bargenholt
Early Evening
Bastion University
Outside Knob's Room


Footman Odo, sweaty and out of breath from running to the university knocks heavily on the door of William Knob's room a sealed and signed letter clutched in his hand.

The letter reads:

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Mr. Knob,

As you may or may not be aware a young nobleman has gone missing in the city and his father is offering a substantial reward for his safe return.

I am lending my services to the search and your help and knowledge of the city would be greatly appreciated.

If you would like to assist me please meet us at the Dancing Horse Inn.

Sincerely,

Frederick Welf, Doctor.

5th of Bargenholt
Mid Evening
Outside the Dancing Horse Inn

Welf and Holt waited anxiously across from the inn. They weren't sure if Knob was going to show up, but that wouldn't deter them. They were almost certain the drunkard with the information they sought were inside. Now, they tried to remain as inconspicious as possible. For Welf that meant he replaced his Robe of the Elements with a simple black robe and cloak...for Holt...it meant very little he still had his axe and there was no way a 6 foot plus bearded man is hiding in plain sight.

[have_a_cow]

5th of Bargenholt
Night
Chateau LeBlanc: Auguste's Salon

"That is like asking a fish if he'd rather swim through water or air. Of course I'd love to speak in a civilized tongue for once. So, what is it I can help you with?"

6th of Bargenholt
Dragon's Den
Morning

The docks were shrouded in a dense fog this morning. The rain had stopped but the sky was still covered in dark ominous clouds. The red slash across the sky was difficult to see. It almost felt as if the city was back to normal. Almost.

This morning a Lizard dressed all in brown leather walked into the Dragon's den and approached the bar. This was Cooper Harris, one of Analmalech's favorite alter-egos. The demon preferred to use him when he wasn't being particularly stealthy but still needed to be a bit underhanded.

"Oi, barkeep I have a bag of coin 'ere for your boss. Bring me a beer an' give your boss a 'oller and I'll make sure you see some o' it." yelled the Lizard as he slammed a bag full of coins on the table.

[ForzaFiori]

6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

The barman looks at the Lizard, cleaning a mug with a rag only slightly less dirty. Without stopping his cleaning, he starts talking. "Now, what would a Lizard like you need to talk to da boss about? Tell me, and it better be important, and in a lower voice than you just announced yourself, ya big mouthed snake, and maybe I'll go and get da boss man."

[TechnOkami]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Afternoon
The Streets of Bastion
Grover Dubois, The Crowleys

At the mention of his weapon, Grover pulled it out from behind his person, revealing the weapon in its entirety.

"Yes, it is a living tree! How perceptive of you miss. With this mighty hammer of mine, I can use my more supernatural abilities through it. It is a focus of sorts, as so."

He holds out the hammer, the wide, flat, root covered side of it held out for a brief moment as emerald light breaks through the tightly bound roots of the Oak. It shimmers, twisting and merging into a sprout, which soon develops quickly into some kind of flower. Sprouting out of the blossom are a pair of round shape that grows to naught but the size of about a palm's width. As the light dies, now fully grown and there for the two to see are two small tangerine. Grover plucks them and offers it to the Crowleys.

"For you, my friends."

"And don't look so crestfallen Mr. Crowley. My Oak came with a name as it was given to me, and I have called it such ever since. But to have a weapon by your side with a name is perhaps the highest form of belonging you can place upon an object. To name it makes it special, and should be named such for a good reason. My Oak, for instance, is named so because its handle is literally a small oak tree while it embodies the strength of nature. "Oak" is curt, to the point, and easily expresses the weapon in a single word. If you ever do intend to name your own blade, it should be for good reason, and with a choice word!"

Grover beams proudly at his explanation, complete with a wall of pearly teeth.

[have_a_cow]

6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

Cooper used his hand to shield his face from onlookers and said in a quieter but still much too loud voice, "Sorry about the voice mate, of'ntimes I forget me lung power." At this point he let out a loud laugh, as if he had just said something quite funny. "I've a business proposal fer yer boss man. I need a building to run my business out of, an' it looks like yer boss owns all the ones that have'n' been burned down. Now if'n you'd kindly fetch yer boss fer me I'd gladly give you this shiny silver coin." Cooper tosses a silver mark into the air and deftly catches it as he concludes his little speech.

Note:

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It doesn't matter too much, but he speaks with an amalgamation of Australian, American Southern Drawl, Scottish, and pirate accent.

[ForzaFiori]

6th of Bargenholt
Morning
Dragon's Den

The barkeep puts down the mug he's cleaning, and points to a door in the back corner of the bar. "Wait in there. Christophe will be in soon, if he decides it's worth his time. I'll let you know if he decides it isn't." He tosses his rag on the counter, and turns to a young barmaid. "mind the bar for a moment, dear." he tells her, before ducking into the kitchens. When Cooper enter's the room, he finds it to be an elegant private parlor, in stark contrast to the main room, the floors are of exotic wood, the walls adorned with paintings by some of Bastion's best artists, and the room lit by a crystal chandelier. Christophe enters a few minutes after Cooper sits down. He extends his hand. "I'm Christophe. I hear you wanted to rent a building?"

[Nefarion Xid]

5th of Bargenholt, Night
Chateau LeBlanc: Auguste's Salon

Stray rocked on his heals, again feigning nervousness. His eyes passed from the assortment of Celish liquors to the pastoral painting on the opposite wall, briefly wondering if the duke owned the land pictured, and how much the Disciples would charge him to fence the crystal if he stole it.

Beguiler Rule #3 - Always let them think they're the smart one

"Your grace," he began with a measured level of subdued propriety, "You needn't be coy. You're a man of tremendous means. And I'm a clever man. I know you've had your staff working all evening to prepare a dossier on me. You know I'm wanted by the Empire. Most men can only guess at what you have to do to merit a one thousand sovereign bounty. Though... I'd be surprised if it wasn't higher after escaping the capital prison. News moves slowly when you have one of the fastest ships on the seas. Truth be told, I'm anxious to see the new numbers."

Moving to the liquor, he pointed to the Verteoux, "That's a unique level of accomplishment, isn't it? Having a brandy named after your own duchy. All my father left me were his green eyes. The only uncanny thing I've ever accomplished is collecting my own bounty. I don't suppose I'll be able to repeat that. The next time the Inquisitors catch me, they'll throw me under the capital jail. There are easier ways to make money, I suppose. Of course, they don't make wars like they used to. Someone could make a killing in a war with Vivexia, if you pardon the phrase. Bastion needs more timber and a new shipyard, you know. I don't think I can steal a frigate all by myself. I've only tried the once, but..."

He'd poured two snifters by the time he'd finished rambling. Offering one over to the duke, he sighed, "I'm terribly sorry. Where was I?"

6th of Bargenholt, Noon
Waterfront
Phony Fortune

After a late breakfast with Elizabeth, Stray had made the trip down to the Alcove to fetch his first mate. Remy had only said he'd be spending the evening with his cousin, but if they were drinking at the Alcove, Stray knew exactly how much trouble they could get into. Luckily, Remy was only hungover. The slender Celish boy staggered after Stray, carrying the captain's shopping: a tall crate, a sack of potatoes, onions, and a wheel of cheddar.

"If you were going to buy so much, why didn't you take a carriage?" Remy growled, "And why do I have to carry it!?"

"Because! ..." Stray paused in the middle of the street, "... because I'm a man of class! I'm trying to make something of myself and I can't be seen carrying my own groceries. And because you got despicably drunk last night!"

"You could hire actual servants. And this from the man who once 'boarded' a passing carriage, claiming to be, what was it? Oh, yes, the infamous pirate, Long Dong Silver!"

"... it was Jack Rackhandler and you know it."

"You shouldn't be without adult supervision!"

"Read your fortune, Captain Rackhandler?" giggled the woman from the silk draped market stall.

Remy and Stray exchanged a look. "It's catchy," mouthed Stray at the incredulous first mate.

Stray had heard the rumor of a fortuneteller going by 'Madame Selene' the previous day when he'd been in the neighborhood, looking for signs of Andiron. The curious prediction of an inn burning to the ground has piqued his interest and his outrage. He was no fool; the gift of foresight was perhaps the rarest of of all magical traits, and no one with that ability traded their talents for silver marks on Drake Street. Nonetheless he put on a roguish grin and propped his elbows up on the table between them. In a flick of legerdemain, a silver piece appeared at his fingertips.

"Lay it on me, witchy woman."

[Aux-Ash]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Falaeth Manor
Early afternoon, prior to the Duke's interruption

When Elizabeth insisted on taking it all at once, Alric simply nodded. Though he wanted to spare one of the few people outside the First that he well and truly considered a friend, he realized that perhaps she was much strong than he had given her credit for.

So he sat down in a empty chair, rubbing his hands as he begun telling the woman what they had learnt.

"He was found in the Royal canal, washed by the current against the grate. A thorough examination revealed that he had been stabbed hard in the gut once, the knife still embedded in his body. It is unclear what exactly killed him, the knife, the fall or if he drowned.

It is an exceedingly brutal death in either case. Though he still carried valuables on his person, which suggests it was not a robbery. And comparatively clean, which suggest it was a deliberate kill and not an act of passion."

The soldier inclined briefly to Elizabeth, as if to gesture that is why he does not suspect her. If she had killed her husband, it would have been unlikely that there weren't any passion or hatred involved.

"So I must ask... does you husband have any enemies that you know of? Rival nobles? Old grudges? Business partners that he did not get along with? Please, do not hesitate to tell me even if they are dead or it took place long ago."

---

The golden carrack.
Later...

After his questioning of the widow and the interruption of the Duke, Alric had excused himself at a convenient time. He had another urgent matter to attend to, the attempted and failed assassination of the city's most prominent of the recently ennobled.

And so he and his escort ended up at the luxurious hotel in which the noble stayed. Sliding down from the back of his horse, he entered the hotel and announced his presence and requested to speak with Lord Meresin.

[Jade_Tarem]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

"Absolutely." Maranis leans back. "We have a curious case regarding the string of murders. However, the Lord Marshall is already looking into that - as are the two of you, I suspect - and there is a bigger problem." She sighs. "There is a man here in Bastion - either a blood mage or an abomination - who has stolen the Codex of Blood. He has already used it to wipe out an invading fleet, and worse still, was never caught or identified. He appeared in concealing black armor and calls himself the 'Shadow King.' Months later, one of my Sentinels witnessed the now-Duke Turel Meresin teleporting." She lets that sink in. "She was then injured by demonic spirits. In fact, it was only the secondary account of one of the students that let us identify Mr. Meresin, but before we could confront him on the matter, he was assaulted by a man in the same black armor, claiming to be the Shadow King. This figure did not utilize the Codex, or hellfire, nor did he teleport."

Maranis leans forward again. "It is possible that Meresin is a victim of circumstance and bad identification, and that this Shadow King is a completely separate entity with a diverse skillset. I find it more likely, however, that Meresin either is working for or is the Shadow King. That said, If this is the case then I would like to be able to prove it beyond a doubt to the Lord Marshall and the other nobles - not only to avoid the international incident that would result from us killing a duke, but to gather as much support as possible for retrieving the Codex." She looks back and forth between the two Crowleys. "I won't presume to tell you your job, Setselia, nor does everything rest on you, but if you see a chance to divine something about Meresin or the Shadow King, you should take it." She looks to Luke. "I cannot, obviously, order you to participate, nor can I pay particularly well, but the scale of this threat vastly exceeds even someone knifing nobles, and if you would like to volunteer your skills..."

"Don't forget about the festival!"

"Is this really the time?"

"Why not?"

Maranis blinked at the abrupt segue. "Ah, yes, and you are of course both invited to the Everbright Festival. It's coming up on the tenth this year, I believe."

Story Element: The Everbright Festival

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The Everbright Festival is a multi-clan tradition going back many generations, always occurring on the first day of spring. However, while the clan elves use the nearly-universal Javorian Calendar that most other nations use, their holidays operate on the old Sylvan Lunar Calendar, so some drift does occur. This year, the festival is coming a good ten days late.

Most people tend to think of Brightleaf celebrations as fairly exclusive affairs, and indeed most are. The Everbright Festival, however, is an exception. Those invited include elves, half-elves, anyone with elven blood, and anyone who has ever spoken to an elf. Similarly, there are special requirements on where the celebration can be held, so long as there is sufficient space.

The celebration itself is based around old, old Sentinel traditions, which have been bastardized throughout the ages but are still vaguely recognizable. Activities include singing, dancing, the Iron Elf competition, various other games (most involving some form of gambling), and telling embarrassing or interesting stories about the local Sentinel CO.

[A Rainy Knight]

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Afternoon
The Streets of Bastion

The Crowleys happily accepted Grover's gift and took a few juicy bites.

"Wow! I didn't know you were a mage like me, Mr. Dubois! Er, maybe not exactly a mage like me, since I can't pull fruit out of thin air, but you get the idea." She intently nibbled away at her tangerine. "Hrmm... I don't think I can do anything that exciting with my powers," she said with a hint of a childish pout.

Luke laughed. "Ho ho! You truly are an interesting fellow. At any rate, I suppose you're right about the weaponry. After all, the sword is only the extension of a hero's one true weapon - his heart!" he said, putting a fist to his chest.

5th of Bargenholt, 1218
Late Evening
Maranis's Study (Bastion University)

Setselia listened intently to Maranis' explanation, finally humming to herself as she pondered everything that had been said.

"Well, I suppose that is a bit of a fix," she said, twirling a bit of her long hair around her finger. "I mean, someone that scary-sounding is usually the type that sort of splashes around in the timestream instead of bobbing along quietly, so it's a little hard to just take a look and see what they're going to do next, unless it's really soon or close. If you happen to figure out any places or things with some significance to what you're looking for, it'd really help me clear up my predictions and my auguries a bit."

After a brief pause, she giggled innocently. "Of course, I'll let Wynbi know right away if I can tell you're about to get melted into a pile of goo or something, though."

Luke then laughed heartily and extended his hand for dramatic effect. "Worry not, milady, for you most certainly have my services at your disposal. After all, what proper gentleman would stand idle for want of trifling silver coins when his lovely wife ventures forth and heartless cravens threaten the good townspeople?" Losing himself in his fantasy, he practically beamed with enthusiasm. "Why, just think of it - a mysterious masked man stalking the night, and a stolen artifact of unimaginable value! I can scarcely wait to dramatically unmask the fellow atop the castle ramparts or some such place."

He quieted down a bit as he began actually considering the reality of the situation. "Now, that said, do you have any leads you might suggest we start with? If this Meresin fellow is really who we think he is, it seems rather ill-advised to simply confront him directly from the beginning."

At the mention of the Everbright Festival, Setselia perked up again. "Wonderful! We'll be attending, of course, as soon as I can pick a fitting dress for the occasion."

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, Noon
Waterfront: South Drake Street
Phony Fortune

After snatching up the mark from Stray, the fortuneteller had her tarot out in a wink. A great show was made of lighting candles and calling on the spirits of mind and air. As an actual practitioner and someone who evoked the power of the spirits of the mind daily, Stray slouched with his elbows on the table and chin cradled in his hand, half grinning and silently imploring the melodrama. A patchouli infused incense stick was waved through the air, nearly making Stray gag.

"The spirits tell me... your name is... Stray!" cried Madame Selene, massaging one her temple and pointing an accusing hand at the captain.
"You have recently returned from a long voyage by sea. Yes. And you have endured great hardships."

Stray, sporting his signature style and well loved blue coat, glanced down at himself, then turned his head south to where the famous Red Wind lay at Dock Seventeen. Touching his bruised cheek, he muttered, "Uncanny..."

Further mockery was curtailed when one of Christophe's lieutenants walked past, greeting them with "G'day, Captain!"

Undeterred, the fortuneteller took up the tarot deck and began a row of three cards, naming them as they were revealed. "The Red Man, ill dignified; the Priestess; the Seven of Cups. You have dealings with bad men. You abide them, but their actions weigh heavily on your conscience. Ambition, greed, illicit gain. It poisons you. You contemplate working for a higher purpose. You wish to be unburdened by your past."

"The King of Pentacles; you are a talented man, shrewd and cunning. You get what you want from others easily. You are beloved, but they do not know the man, only the mask." With that, she obscured the sinister Red Man with the King.

"The Fool; trust your heart, not your head. Look to..." the last card of the row, "The Queen of Cups, ill dignified."

Remy whispered with a snigger, "He already dated the ill dignified queen of 'cups'. It didn't end well."

"No, do NOT trust this woman!" shouted Madame Selene, "Your affections will lead you to ruin. She cannot be trusted. This feckless woman will use you for your own gain and discard you."

"And who, exactly, is beguiling woman?" said Stray through gritted teeth.

The cards forgotten, Madame Selene smiled wryly and stared back at Stray. "A beauty with red hair. Do not follow this woman. She only wants you for your gold."

Uncharacteristically shaken, Stray lurched away from the table with an angry gasp. "You! You... you. You! AGH! You stupid hack!"

Unfazed, the fortuneteller again picked up the deck, merely asking, "Shall I continue?"

"No need! I'm going to go **** a red-head out of spite!" he snarled, wringing his fists and storming up the street.

"You'll be sorry! Heed my warning, Stray!" she shouted after him as he shoved his way into the crowd, losing Remy in the process.

***

Still incensed, Stray stomped towards the Drake Street Market, determined to... well, find something to distract himself, likely rum. He was a grown man and if he wanted to get drunk at midday that was his right!

He sighed, remembering he'd promised to make potato soup for Elizabeth tonight. It was one of the few dishes he could reliably prepare. Drinking and napping in his cabin wouldn't accomplish anything and poor Elizabeth needed him around now. Even if they couldn't be together in the day, she looked to him constantly, reassured that he was just in the same room, even the same city. They were the fluttering glances of a schoolgirl at times. The thought made him smile.

Stray's reverie was broken by the fluttering, demure glances of a red haired young woman strolling along the sidewalk. She sucked at her lip and feigned embarrassment, looking down first, then back to Stray's eyes. With a blush and a laughing smile, she beckoned Stray to follow her down the alleyway.

He would have ignored her, of course. Despite his bravado, the real Stray was too sensible and too shy to really go darting after strange women who curled their finger at him. He went after her now because he had seen the woman passing north as he turned to look at his ship. She'd nodded in his direction, or rather to Madame Selene. Without a doubt, she'd been waiting on him. And the three rugged looking men exchanging ever such unsubtle glances between themselves and trying hard not to look at Stray or the redhead, they were here to rob him.

"Mon petit lapin!" he cried as the woman gathered up her skirts and dashed away around the corner, leaving him alone in the middle of the alley.

The splash of a boot stepping into the puddle he'd leapt over gave the thugs' approach away, though Stray was already loosing his sword with a laugh. "This is so much better than getting drunk..."

Stray vs Madame Selene's Thugs
(Cunning + Beguile III + Duelist)
(1d6+5)[8]

[ForzaFiori]

6th of Bargenholt
South Drake Street

When Stray emerges from his back alley duel, one of the Disciples is waiting for him. "G'day Cap'n. Would have 'elped you out, but ta be 'onest, seemed like you 'ad it covered. Christophe said to give you this letter - said it would explain everything" Inside the envelope the man hands Stray is yet another envelope, and a letter, written in a much more elegant handwriting than would be expected from a crime boss.

Captain Stray -

I have what may turn into an interesting business proposition for you to pass along. Recently a group of ambassadors from the Independent Isles - that new Troll nation that just finished it's war of independence - showed up in the city, looking to speak with our high and mighty. Do you still talk with Elizabeth Falaeth? I was hoping you could give her the letter included with yours, or simply bring up the topic. Her and her husband are smart enough to realize how useful trade and diplomatic contacts with the Independent Isles could be.

As to how it helps you, well, there will likely be ships carrying expensive and valuable trade goods from exotic isles pulling into our ports fairly regularly. Now, I am honor bound to protect these goods once they have entered the docks, but on the high seas? I will leave it to you to ponder what could happen to ships in such conditions.

-Christophe