Fantasy Delicious Friend... | Fallen London Roleplay

[0stinato]

"The Bazaar stole London three decades ago. Of course only anarchists and revolutionaries say 'stole' any more. Everyone who matters has grown to know and love the status quo. It's quiet down here. All those jewels and mushrooms and all that black water. What could be better?"

Information | Chat | Characters​

Ah, indeed, who knows what COULD be better? May you sit and sip your mushroom plonk at Caligula's with the other half-asleep patrons. Or perhaps you wander the dark Wolfstack docks quietly while the crackling of unwatched fire accompanies your light footsteps. Then again, maybe these backdrops aren't quite your desired environments... but unless you indulge in your own splendid honey-dreams or cross your dancing feet between the colonies, you're here to stay. This is the Neath, this is how it is down here.

But don't despair, there's plenty to do. You can write your own novels to be traded for your name whispered or shouted on street corners during public readings. Or unchain art for a friend and wait until she repays you for your time and sacrifice in private. Maybe the night is right for visiting the Carnival where things you've only ever seen in dreams or lust come to life in front of you. Just be sure to give the moist grey skin of a huge man beside you enough room to move should he need to.

Slip on your newly-pressed shirt, brush off every cat hair and let its secrets go with it, do up the cufflinks and bring the brim of your chosen headwear down low over your dark eyes. Debate whether the chill of tonight is enough for a coat, or if your back can take a good breeze. Lock your front door and give the hardened face of the constable outside a polite nod, as she stands static on the pavement. Will she nod back, or will her eyes narrow further? Tug the brim of your hat down again. This is the Neath.

We don't need to know your name to know what you are.

 

[Mr_DC]

A shiver ran down Fleur's spine. She wasn't sure whether it was the cold wind flowing across the shimmering surface of the black sea, the ghastly illusions of massive sea creatures under the surface or what she could see in the distance. She could finally see something. Something other than islands in the distance that seem to be moving. Other than lighthouses guiding them to... Something. She could see it. The lights in the distance. The flame is countless candles. London.


Fleur clasped her delicate hands together and smiled. She was there. The trip was short but it felt never-ending. When there are so many suspicious things on the steamer she boarded. Tiny eyes staring at her. She felt out of place. They knew she was out of place. It didn't matter, though. The lights of the Wolfstack Docks made her feel warm. Seeing tiny people moving around, carrying crates made her heart fill with hope. Life continued in the Neath. In spite of everything she heard, life seemed to continue in the Neath.


While the steamer she boarded felt small, there were countless others that were much smaller. Most were half under the black water and nonfunctional with people using row boats to get to them. Others passing by, sailors cutting up their fresh catch on board. There was even the occasional sea clipper speeding by. There was also something else on the sea. Something massive. Almost as large as the massive trade steamers. Like a glacier floating on the dark water, a massive yacht sat idly, ignoring the waves trying to rock it.

Fleur watched the yacht as they steamed by. Sounds of laughter. Silhouettes dancing on golden drapes. She smiled. Some people still enjoyed life, even in such darkness. Something snapped her out of it. A shout from the docks.
She turned just in time to see a punch land and knock a person into the water. Giving a flurry of swears, the man grabbed for the ladder when a flock of hands grabbed him. The next moment, he was gone. Under the surface. Whispers spread among the dockers. "Drownies..." Fleur could hear them say.


Before she could form thoughts about it, some of the other passengers pushed aside to get off the steamer, almost knocking her over. Fleur gripped the railing, her knuckles turning white and muscles locking until everyone passed. London seemed a lot more dangerous under the surface. A lot.

She joined the other passengers and stepped off the steamer. People fighting on the streets. Occasional eyes watching her unblikingly. People with the faces of squid walking around. Flocks of bats, sneaking cats, armed rats... She would need help.

​

 

[0stinato]

Hang the scent of cheap tobacco in the air, perhaps a few pieces of stray glitter and follow it closely. Keep behind it enough and you'll run into the straight-backed poet known as the Masked Deluder. The tobacco was from his recently-stubbed cigarette, and the glitter was from his mask, come loose and hanging in the Neath's air, creating the shimmer that seemed to follow him.

And tonight his careful strides took him down to Wolfstack Docks and, as he walked, it was clear he knew where he was going. Perhaps even recognised, as he received frowns from those with soot and scratches on their faces, but head-tilts from uniformed stick-wielders. It might be easy to make a guess as to who he supported down there.

Accompanying him on his left was his cane, but a closer look would tell the curious viewer that it's seen better days. The shaft was lacquered with numerous nicks and scars across its hard surface. It leads to asking what he's possibly been doing with it, that it should be this battered yet still remains slick and slightly shiny in his gloved hand. And, on his right, down by his ankle and frowning, was a limping Rattus-Faber. Occasionally, the little creature glanced up at the Deluder, but the Deluder's golden eyes never glanced downwards.

He stopped not too far from the water, but standing next to a brick wall more heavily decorated with illegible words than with paint. One day, those words might have been useful pointers towards gambling areas or important docking areas. But the words faded witht time and were painted over, over and over again. The Deluder looked at the words for a few seconds but turned his back on them before long. His eyes were needed somewhere else.

The newest polluting waterborne juggernaut was his subject, and his eyes traced its silhouette as it docked. On the word of his patron, he'd been sent to seek out certain people his patron had labelled as 'promising'. The Deluder's eyes were not as practiced at his patron's at picking out these people, but his hubris told him otherwise. So, as he stood, his head at a slight angle, his golden eyes stared at those departing from the steamer.

Rabble, noise and silence ebbed and flowed around the dock, but no words were apparently of interest to the slim figure by the wall. Gripping his cane in front of him, his figure was rather like that of a statue. Unmoving and unswayed by other walkers of the Neath. At one point, a Neddy Man approached him, and the two exchanged words briefly before the Deluder sent the man on his way. The Deluder was occupied. The Deluder was not to be disturbed.

The Airs of London say...Capitalising a single letter of a single word gives to it more importance than ever before.​

 

[StoneWolf18]

Valoire Moore

If asked a month ago, London, specially the Neath was the last place she would've expected to be. But now aboard the steamer with the candlelight flickering lazily not too far in the distance, it was unfortunately a reality. The stench of smoke that the vessel belched in combination of the unfamiliar salty brine of the zee as it was called was enough to make her stomach churn and the variety of shady (and wholly strange) characters on the boat with her, made her heart to rise into her throat.

She was here due to a small error on her part around ten years ago when she was just turning 18. While the details were difficult to recall (whether due to her not wanting to recall them or something else on his part) she knew that she had met someone and they quickly connected, despite how that word might be a bit too strong to describe what they had. The little jaunt had only lasted about a week or so, the two growing apart after not all that long. It wasn’t too difficult to deal with, until she had found that she was indeed carrying his child.

This… made things a bit more complicated.

Months later she did decide to keep him even against the disapproval of her family and began to raise him with the help of friends. It didn’t take all that long to get a sure footing, however she soon had the disappearance of Virgil (as that was his name, or what she knew him by) begin to gnaw at her unpleasantly. He needs to know that Emory, his son, existed.

And so she began to try and track him down, thankfully finding some of his relatives not too far from where she was living. Val couldn’t tell if they were taken aback, annoyed, or didn’t care that he wasn’t present but was able to inform her that he had went to London for whatever reason as he didn’t bother explaining. After learning this the woman was instantly hesitant about following him at this point, but was once again overruled by basic morals and pure curiosity.

Now she gripped her son’s hand tighter as they neared Wolfstack docks, preparing to dock. “Mum….” He muttered, squirming a bit as he tried to take in all the sights, clearly much more infatuated with their current location unlike herself. If she could’ve, she would’ve left him on the surface and not risk taking him to such a place. But with her family having disowned her and not trusting anyone else to care for him, she had no other choice. “Emory, stay close to me.” She responded as people began to push to get off, the woman being pulled into the flood while dragging the child with her.

Finally moving onto the street where the crowed as much thinner, the two would let their gazes wander the surrounding area.

Where would they start?

 

[Mr_DC]

The docks seemed more crowded than usual. A coincidence to someone who couldn't see the gears turning behind the curtain. Everyone was interested in the surface dwellers. The Masters sent their agents to find threats. Mr Fires sent its Neddy men to keep the peace. The Devils sent their most seductive to quickly grab some naive, fresh souls. Urchins gathered on rooftops, making faces at those who seemed particularly frightened. Of course, few would pay attention to a trio of nuns walking by.

A handful of moon pearls scattered on the ground as the nuns paused in front of a masked man leaning against a wall. The Urchins were first on the scene, gathering it as fast as they could before any other petty criminal could get it before them.
"A message for you." A nun whispered, holding a cigarette to her lips. "Stop brooding and get to work." She looked over her shoulder, giving the masked man a playful smirk. "A chest of Rostygold is in your cottage. Not payment." She looked away again as the Urchins scattered. "Resources. He said you may even get a bat if you do your job right... For once." As harsh as her words might be, she kept a friendly tone. After all, the words weren't her own. "Drink at Medusa later. Everyone's coming." She added before walking off with the pair of nuns.

The countless eyes from the dock workers, Devils, Urchins... The nuns weren't invisible but no one was interested in coming closer. The right people know who they prayed to. The Game in London was weaved by few players, after all. Players with countless pawns.

Fleur paused. Someone was summoning her. Had she done something wrong? Did they somehow figure out she had surface currency on her? Did that money mean anything more than scrap in the Neath?
Best not ignore the man. He did not seem like the type to ignore. No one she had seen thus far seemed like the type to ignore, though.

"Yes?" Fleur frowned. She didn't intend to allow herself to seem like a delicate flower. Not in a place like that. She has been through enough by now to resist any threat that he might portray. There were enough people around, anyway. Someone would step in if he tried anything.
Then again... A person did drown moments before and no one blinked...

 

[0stinato]

What was that scent on the air, caught first by the Deluder's nostrils before he sighted the nun approaching. Her eyes sparkled with a playful vigour and the Deluder had to wonder if she really held any ground in the church at all, or if it was simply an elaborate cover-up. On the one hand, she might do. She might have a position and do her duties on the side. Or perhaps it was the other way around, tending to her duties before she moonlighted as a sister. And her words were scolding, the Deluder first thought. Though, on second thought, perhaps her presence in front of him was simply a check-up. Send her down to the docks, check the Deluder is there.

At her mention of the Rostygold, the masked gent smiled slightly. The bat was also a tempting offer to do well, but the Rostygold was more precious to him at this point, even if it wasn't his payment. Lately he'd been running out of the stuff, a result of both gambling and paying to enter down at Feducci's. When he got down to Watchmaker's Hill, he felt as if he entered a trance-like state. It always seemed to happen; he could walk down there calmly, peacefully, yet find his pace picking up as he neared the illegal rings. Feel his fists aching for the pressure of someone else's cheekbones against them. He would go down with perhaps tens of Echoes in Rostygold lining his pockets and leave barren, without a clue to where it all went.

Unfortunately, it was clearly intended for something other than his own personal use. A shame, but unavoidable. As he stood with the stale zee air around him, he only smiled graciously at the sister, despite the jab at his capabilities that she delivered. Whether it was a joke or not was hard to say, but the Deluder knew he was certainly good enough. If he wasn't, he wouldn't be standing here.

"Medusa's? I prefer the Singing Mandrake, though who am I to suggest anything?" he lowered his head slightly, a sign he was giving into the invitation. "Very well. I hope to see you there... sister..."

Now, what could sister mean? That question's answer depended on whether she was a nun first, or a nun second. Would she call him "child" as a nun or "brother" as a colleague? The Deluder did not dwell on this however, as she moved off at her own steady pace, walking like a black ghost in the bubble of silence. It was hard to tell at whom the commoners eyes were pointing, but the Deluder remained with his back to the wall for a short time longer.

Until he felt a shifting at his feet. For once, he glanced down at the Rattus-Faber accompanying him. Sitting on his hind legs, it glanced up at the Deluder again before returning its yellow eyes to the ground. Although the expression was hidden by his mask to any outside viewer, the Deluder's frown was not lost upon his vermin companion. And the Deluder wondered why he'd named the grumpy animal after one of his most carefree and talkative lovers.

The Deluder sighed quietly, and to the careless onlooker it might seem as if the movement he made with his cane was just a shift in weight, to let it adjust comfortably in his hand. In reality, the end of it smacked hard against the Rattus-Faber's spine.

"Oi, ye nutter," it muttered, though the Deluder moved his stick away from it. In fact, his eyes had moved too, up to a meeting between a suspicious two near the steamer that had just docked. Defensive stance from the woman was confronted with a man with an unmistakable silhouette. The Deluder's cane tapped finally to the ground and stayed there.

His instructions were vague but clear, "Carrellés. Ask."

With the two words - one being the Rat's name and the other being the instruction - the Rattus-Faber reluctantly set off. His hunched figure on four-paws was slow as his limping shape advanced on the woman and man. He left his master behind, sidling up to the two and hearing the last few words the male said. From down on the ground, his view was clear, though he had been taught to make his small presence known before speaking in his short, simple sentences.

"Oi," he raised his gravelly voice, sniffed once, and said his short piece. "What you up to, yer talk? Yer talking loud. Yer heard," the rat firmly pressed against the man's leg. "An' 'specially you. Yer heard. Yer heard the most."

Back against the wall, the Deluder lowered his masked countenance. The man was Heroclaesius. And he was needed.

Mr_DC HarleyQuip

The Airs of London say...Pursue something you're good at. Not something you love.​

 

[Osthavula]

A bit further away on the docks, amidst all the noise and the moving crowd, there was a few small tables being set near where the ships dock. It was meant for the zailors to have some quick fun in between sails, so on and around the tables were large ale cups, dices and wine bottles. Today among the red-faced zailors, two ladies sat on the small chair of one table. It was a cleaner table, meant for talking business. If one look carefully, there was some suspicious redness on some cracks, but the table was the cleanest of them all.

Lady Viola lift the wine glass that she prepared, half filled with the wine she brought with her. She was dressed in a velvet red gown, very flattering against her golden hair and fair skin, but it wasn't her fanciest dress and she allow whatever was on the dock floor to drench the skirt. Beside her was her companion Bennett, also in fancy dress and wearing a tasteful jade earing. Sitting across her was an old zailor, wine spilling from the corner of his mouth when he down the wine in his ale cup. He reeks of alcohol and sea smell, but his eyes look awake as ever.

"So." He knocked the cup on the wooden table. "How did it go?"

"He agreed for a deal." Viola said after a graceful sip of the cup. Her eyes were not on the zailor but on the luxurious boat in the far corner, covered by a huge piece of sail cloth and ropes. "I'm just slowly gathering resources."

"Yer crazy. " Said the man, wine dripping from his beard. And he laughed like it was the funniest thing he heard tis day.

Viola, however, merely smiled. She knew it was a crazy idea. The yacht she was looking at once belonged to a master, and she offered a deal of gamble with him. Insane, but perhaps not the most insane idea she ever had. That wasn't her worry, but the amount of time it might takes to collect resources, the effort and the price, almost made her wish to change her mind.

If she wasn't so stubborn, that is.

Bennett was looking at something else. The charming companion looked far on the people coming to the dock with curious eyes. Perhaps she once was like the people on board, or she was merely fascinated. Viola never asked her too much questions if she didn't tell. She'd give her that personal space for her loyalty.

Time passed quietly as they gaze ships and the sea. It would just be another quiet afternoon if no one come to disturb.

 

[Mr_DC]

Wolfstack Docks.​

A small group of black-clad special constables arrived on the docks, making everyone hold their breaths. Everyone had something to hide and the appearance of special constables usually meant the hidden has been uncovered. That or that a Master sent its personal police force off to do its errands. Whatever it may be, silence swept through the docks like a gust of wind.

A murmur among the constables as they turned to face the group of sailors by some tables. No, the sailors weren't what grabbed their attention. It was something else. Someone else.
People surpressed their sighs of relief as the constables walked by on their way to the tables. They had nothing to worry about. At least, not with that particular group of constables.

The sailors cautiously watched the constables as they approached. Did any of them smuggle something recently? Souls? Red Honey? Heartmetal? Did they simply get in the way of a Master's favorite?
The lead constable reached into her pocket and extended her hand towards the well-dressed woman. In her hand - a note. A note carrying a seal of dread import. "Lady Viola." The constable stated. "Mr Hearts." She said simply, passing over the note and turning away to leave just as abruptly as they arrived.
The letter read, in a cobweb handwriting.

Lady Viola,
We would be delighted to have you join us. We gather tomorrow. Bazaar cellars.
If you are truly interested in winning what you seek, bring wine as your stake.​

The letter was simple yet carried an immeasurable weight. An invitation for a game of skill and chance. An invitation that is difficult to refuse.


Fleur frowned suspiciously. The man was something else. It gave Fleur the chills. He could tell where she was from. He offered money and advice in exchange for some of her money which he expertly noticed. And to top it all off, he promised to protect her. It woke up a feeling of panic in Fleur. A man who she never saw before offered all that without even giving or asking for a name. He seemed almost... Insane. Before she got the chance to reply, though, someone else spoke. Something else.

"A..." Fleur paused, looking down at the creature, her mind preventing her from finishing the sentence. The conclusion she reached was simply difficult to accept. Her eyes couldn't be seeing what they were seeing. There was no way she heard a voice come from that. Yet, there was no other conclusion. Standing before her, speaking was... "A rat?" She took a few steps back but stopped abruptly when she hit something with the back of her leg.

Rather than fall back on what she stumbled into, Fleur threw her balance to the side and fell on her hands. Still on her hands and knees, Fleur looked to the side to examine what was it that she didn't pay enough attention to. A child. A child and a woman.
"Oh." She exclaimed, quickly pushing herself into a crouch. "I'm sorry, I didn't see you there." She smiled at the child, giving a cautious look to the woman. Having a child almost trampled wasn't a great way to make friends. She just hoped it wasn't enough to earn a shove into the water.

"Sorry." Fleur gave an apologetic smile to the woman. "Didn't hurt you, did I?" She flashed a quick smile to the child. Sure, she wasn't great with children on the surface but maybe she could do better in the Neath. After all, kindness was bound to be appreciated a bit more down there than on the surface.

 

[Osthavula]

Wolfstack Dock

The arrival the the special constable gave some bystanders, especially the old sailor a fright, but Viola acted calmly. She curtsied as the constables was leaving, and as she read the written note her worried look ceased. To her, it was a relieve that Mr Hearts specified what would serve as a good bet, but it made sense to do so. When she looked up from it, she let out some pleasant laughter seeing the old sailor eyed her accusingly.

"That's not good for me heart, I tell ye. " He pressed his chest with his hand layered with calluses, "It's not me first time, but every time me heart drop lik an anchor. "

"So? What it say?"

"The bet is tomorrow, and it says I should bring wine."

The old sailor's eyes blinked. Was that a glimpse of familarity? Or amusement? But Viola got the feeling that it was not the first time this has gone down. Maybe Masters used to dispose other used boats too, and some other brave soul suggested the same deal. But he need not explain it, and he did not. He merely picked up another wine bottle from the box she brought, open it up, and chucked down more wine as some spilled on his rugged beard.

"Betcha regret givin these wines, m'lady?"

"No, please do enjoy, Johnny." Viola chuckled, "I should go now. I will bring you news of my result. "

The old zailor eyed her meaningfully while he continued to act like a normal drunkard in the port. The two ladies took their leave, ignoring a few of those who examined her with curiousity, fear and awe.



Bazaar Sidestreet

Before going to the Bazaar sidestreet, Viola stopped by her lodging and changed into her midnight blue gown, put on her necklace and mask, and called George and Garfield her two clay men to bring the Sedan Chair. With greetings and a polite apology, She got on with Bennett, all brushed up and ready, and in her hand was an envelop. Bennett brought on four bottles of liquid, carefully placed in a clean box. And together they proceed to the sidestreets. A sedan carried by Clay men may not be the trend now, but Viola had her reason of employing them. It was a twisted way of helping them, but it worked, and was within her power.

The Bazaar Sidestreets was wide, and could allow quite a few Sedan Chair to pass through. Everyone here was "people of significant importance", and Viola's name was too new for it to mean something here for now. So the four of them passed many people, some dressed fancier than Viola, and they kept going. The chair stopped and lowered finally, outside of a shop where you could here people laughing and chatting. Not the way Bohemians would yell and laugh in Veilgarden, but rather a more reserved, even pretentious sort of laughter.

"I'll be right back, George. " Lady Viola stepped down her Sedan, and Bennett followed. A few glanced at her, but not with too much interest. Her violet blue eyes scanned everyone, and set on the bartender wiping the glasses on the far counter. They serve beer, but the place didn't stink of alcohol and hops, but abnormally clean. If you look around, it was obvious that people were not too focused on their drinks, some glass even untouched, but they were in groups and immersed in conversations and even tamed arguments. This was Bridge Without, the very essence of it. People of some wealth and no doubt some good collection of drinks at their abode came here to find other people that's significant.

And as they head to the counter, the bartender in his tasteful bartending suit look up, knowing they were approaching. "Greetings. How may I help you?" He said, not really having warmth in his tone.

" Greetings. I need help with assembling cellars of wine the same as last time. Here is my address and my list of collection. Also." Viola nodded after handing her envelop, and Bennett handed over the bottles. Unlike Viola, Bennett was quite nervous being here, and was quite distracted by the people sitting at the table near her.

It was upon seeing the bottles the bartender seemed a tiny bit more lively, but just a tiny bit. "Do I wrap it up? M'lady?"

"Yes, that would be wonderful."

"The payment is the same, m'lady. "

 

[0stinato]

Wolfstack Docks

The little sudden absence of noise was not lost on the Deluder's ears an his head slightly tilted to the side. Words were impossible to hear from this distance, though it seemed he was uninterested in watching the interaction take place. Whether it was serving him as a distraction or as something else was difficult to judge. Either way, it didn't last long and the crowds took a few seconds to continue what they were doing. The Deluder raised a gloved hand to his hair and smoothed it back slowly, raising his head and observing the scene as he did so. Though he couldn't tell what the interaction was about, or who had caused it, he suspected it might be important.

Because of this, he allowed his expression to change from his usual subtle smile to a slight frown. He should have moved closer, perhaps picked up a bit of gossip at the Docks. All he could see were a few noble-looking ladies and one pointed at the ship draped in the shadows of the spray of the zee. That could mean anything. Lots of visitors here pointed at the big yacht, lots marvelled over it if it was gracing the piers. The Deluder watched the noble-ladies but, once again, heard nothing of their conversation.

A horn sounded somewhere, and something was leaving the harbour. Not the yacht though. The Deluder's eyes lingered on the ship for a few seconds, before looking at the noble-ladies as they crossed in front of him. Their arms were interlinked, lace gloves brushing together on occasion. Gaggling as only a duo could. The subject had left their heads, possibly. All the Deluder suspected was that the ship was undergoing something. If he ran after the two, perhaps he could ask. But then again... speculation was sometimes what a shallow evening down by the docks called for. Besides, he was here for other reasons.

Without moving, he mentally dismissed the two ladies and turned his quiet attention back to his Rattus-Faber. As he did so, his eyes narrowed through his mask as he spotted another lady on the ground. On the ground already? Being eyed by his little minion, no doubt. Maybe at any other time the Deluder would have been amused but, right now, he knew this woman wasn't someone he was looking for. At least there was a person very close to his Rattus-Faber who was actually on his list.

He kept narrowed eyes on the ex-Bandit, on his hunched shoulders and slouched back as the rat sat on his hind quarters. Carrellés knew who he was supposed to be fetching, so why was he sat there? The Deluder tutted quietly, leaning his back against the wall more fully. Shouldn't send a rat to do your business.

However, Carrellés was doing what he was told. He had simply been slowed down by the lady's clumsy topple over a young boy. No urchin, for he was standing next to Valoire Moore, a name the small mind of the rat was struggling to keep in his head. But, fortunately for the small critter's available dialect, it could be shortened. The rat looked up at the boy gripping Moore's hand and elected to forget about the woman on the ground as she apologised. The expression on the faces of the two upright humans was difficult to read, but at least Carrellés recognised the embers of fear in the boy's eyes.

"Wer lookin for you, Val," the Rattus-Faber said bluntly. "Wer lookin for you. Dunno about the boy. Got yer name. Yer needed, Val."

His voice, his repetition and his monotone timbre were practiced somewhat. There were lots of rats that could talk, and lots that could speak better than Carrellés, though he wasn't the most stupid of animals. He finished his piece and brought up a rough paw, swiping its back across one side of his short snout. After a few seconds, Carrellés repeated that same action with his other paw.

Mr_DC StoneWolf18

The Airs of London say...

It mightn't take more than a raindrop to extinguish a burning light.​

 

[ThaDruid]

Carousing through Wolfstack Docks...

The Unfinished Poet slowly strolled into Wolfstack Docks, his stony features locked into an emotionless visage. Grey eyes rolled around within clay sockets as he took in the sights. As always, the Docks were far too loud for his liking, and bustling with activity. A great crowd of zailors, workers and citizens signaled that one or more steamers had just docked. For him, it meant that he had arrived just in time. Clement did not happen to visit the docks very frequently, mostly because a Clay Person of his status would have no business with the filthy rabble that were the Dockers. However, in this particular day, he had arranged a meeting with some acquaintaces.

The Unfinished Man would soon find out that navigating through the dense crowd of humans was far more hectic than he had originally imagined. Too many small frames he had to worry about not pushing with too much force. However, it became apparent that time was his only enemy, and that Clement would simply have to wait and move slowly.
And indeed, after about a dozen glances down at his pocket watch and another dozen gentle pushes of the nearby men and women, the clay man's patience was rewarded. He found himself before a docked steamer ship, where a group of six clay men were awaiting his arrival.

Settling his heavy weight down upon a wooden crate, careful to not tip over the iron hat he kept on his head, Clement carefully eyed the group of clay workers. More and more servants, fresh from Polythreme. The Unfinished Poet's features twisted into a grim scowl at the sight of his brothers in clay being shackled to servitude by the Londoneers. Alas, there was little to be done for them. Especially when a group of Special Constables had appeared on the scene. Those were always a bad omen. What would they want here, the Poet asked himself.

Turning his gaze back at the six Clay Men eagerly awaiting his attention, Clement began making some... Unexpected inquiries. Mainly about Polythreme, and their memories of home. But more importantly, he asked if they had heard of any steamer ships sailing from London to the island where All is alive. The reason for these particular questions were that The Poet seeked inspiration. Inspiration that he believed could only be found "back home". His poems about the Nature of Clay were to be finally finished there. Funnily enough, Clement was rather known for stating multiple times in his works that he absolutely loathed the place. The irony of it all did not escape him.

In the end, The Unfinished Poet would consider himself rather satisfied, altough, apparently, none of the clay men had heard anything about tickets to Polythreme. With a nod to the workers he departed, quietly making his way to the edge of the Docks, where waves crashed against dead hulls of spent steamers. Silent as a statue and just as imposing, with the ghost of a frown upon his face, the Unfinished Man stared out into the endless Zee, mulling over his own thoughts or simply enjoying the sight of this Black Abyss.
It was almost poetic.

 

[Devious Dilbert]

Cassy P. Turner.
Location: Wolfstack Docks

Indistinct hollering and shouting could be heard throughout the grim dark of the docks faintly along with sloppy bangs and crashes. The bustle came from a section of the street that was set alight with a fiery orange glow. Passersby only quickly shuffled away from the source of noise, but a few were onlookers to the mess. A small explosion just now had lit some building on fire and now smoke rose from the ground. And then a new sound was echoing into the streets, the rapid pounding of heels.

A sleek figure clad in dark charcoal grey from head to toe broke from the clouds of rising smoke in an obvious hurry, sprinting right through the crowds of mumbling citizens. Covering a pair of watery eyes from the public, in the figure's other hand was a bulging bag, a simple burlap sap that was simply too large and hefty to be properly concealed. The individual was rather noisy, bouncing the bag in their hand with every pump of the arms causing whatever was inside to jingle like bells. Scuttling after her through the fire was a riled mob, torches in hand and little black balls of dynamite at the ready.

More unintelligible chaos was in the air, and a lit ball was shot at the fleeting shadow, landing behind their feet and rolling ahead of them. Quickly, the figure clutched at their long overcoat and slowed pace to then dart into a crevice between two low buildings. In London, it was dark, but in the maze of alleyways, it was pitch black. However, the cloaked individual knew where she was going. In fact, she could read the twists and turns of the back alleys like a book. The revolutionaries though- they couldn't.

"Split up!" Someone shouted. She kept running, shoving the bag under her coat to muffle the noise.
She turned right, left, then left again, and kept on a straight course. Then she gradually shifted into a walk and briskly turned right. She continued down the narrow path, catching her breath and calming her heart until soft light from a lamppost interrupted the darkness. Once to the end of the alley, she nonchalantly stepped onto the new road, patting down her coat. Unfortunately the bag left her looking a little plump, but if it only made her look fat, she could deal with it for now. It was likely worth the pounds of echoes that would save her business.

The woman slid the black bandanna down from her nose to her chin, exposing herself to be Cassy P. Turner. But that wasn't a name that was known around the docks. More people called her "Ms. Fantasma," if they even gave a shit. That name, although more popular than her own, was hardly known either. Because being a renown thief meant one had to be good at thieving. And after her little conundrum, she was clearly not. Her brother was better at their job then she was, she thought, and he paid no mind to subtlety or stealth like she did. He could afford to be bolder than her, and he was certainly. It was always him in the front while she scurried around in the shadows like a rat.
She gritted her teeth. Perhaps she needed a drink to forget about her screw up tonight.

 

[StoneWolf18]

Valoire Moore

Valorie kept an iron grip on Emory as she looked around, about to pick a direction and head that way when her son gave a small cry as a woman backed into him. She spun around quickly and began apologizing to him while passing her an extremely cautious glance. She looked different than those she assumed were residences of London, cleaner perhaps and if she remembered correctly, she had also gotten off of the steamer with her. "O-oh! I apologize for not watching where we were standing." With that Emory nodded. "I'm alright ma'am."

As she was about to continue with an apology when a small voice could be heard. Frowning slightly she looked to see where it could be originating from until the boy tugged on her arm a bit and gestured to the ground before her. And there sat before we was a moderately sized rat, speaking. But not only was it speaking, it was addressing her. Val's eyes widened as it said a message flat and bluntly, as if it were nothing more than trained repetition. Who was looking for her exactly? The woman had no clue and doubted it was who she wanted. She was about to respond to the rodent as it finished, wiping his snout on his paws, when she felt another tug on her arm. "What Em?" She asked, although not wanting to take her eyes off the creature as if he would disappear within a moments notice. The boy now had a stupid grin on his face, asking excitedly "Can I get a talking rat?" His mother had a strange look pass over her face before giving a her head a brief shake and ignoring the question. "Who's looking for me...?" She hesitantly directed towards the Rattus-Faber, not really all that convinced she was speaking to an animal of all things.

0stinato Mr_DC

 

[Kenji Jensai]

.

xWolf-Stack Docks

The distinct mixture of burning wood and bodies had created a penetrating smell to all in the surrounding area of the explosion was covered by the shouting of various onlookers who had heard the sound of a botched operation. The screams and shrieks of those caught in the blast could be heard throughout the docks along with the clicks and clangs of Zailors rushing to grab buckets to put out the spectacular blaze. A large sigh had risen from the depth of lips attracting the attention of some passerby, some recognized him immediately and readily scampered back to whatever hole they called home.

A wicked grin spread across his face as he made his way to the meeting spot him and his sister had chosen if anything had gone wrong. Who knew trying to steal the soul of a high level revolutionist would result in such disaster, well most people with some degree of normalcy would hightail it out of there as fast as they could but not him. He would gladly accept any challenger, but as much as he wanted to stick around he knew now wasn't the time to be overconfident, he knew his limits more than anyone. There was nothing more he could do to salvage the situation anyway but offer a prayer for their future success.

Having escaped to the main road after losing most of his pursuers due to them deciding his sister would be an easier target to capture, there was little incentive for Cheshire to rush. Despite the chaotic event that had just taken place, the streets were littered with various inhabitants of the neath all going about whatever business they had come to the docks for. The area was more than just a simple harbor. It was just a man made region crafted for the sole purpose of attracting the rowdiest of people. Various activities could be found anywhere in the area, from spider fights to bare knuckle bouts being fought in the streets, there was plenty of action for everyone as long as you had the stomach for it.

As he arrived to the meeting point he saw a woman slide a black bandanna from off her face, exposing herself to be Cassy P. Turner his beloved sister. As he got closer to her he suddenly leaped forward, grabbed her by the hair and kissed her. Pulling out of the embrace shortly after it began he thumped her in the head. " Silly sister, little girls shouldn't walk unaccompanied by their big brother now should they?".
.

 

[0stinato]

Wolfstack Docks

"Ehm," the Rattus-Faber paused and, in that pause, a substantial noise cut through the monotonous buzz of the docks. An explosion - nothing too perilous but something certainly worth turning your head to - sounded and light came thick and fast into the heavy air. Orange, flickering, and heat. The rat had seen his fair share of fire, though the fur along his spine still stood like spines at the noise. He swivelled his head, looking towards his master for direction.

However, the Deluder himself, from the rat's understanding, was seemingly fixated with his head turned in the direction of the fire. For a few long seconds, the Deluder was still as a corpse, his lips apart slightly. The rat, so unsure was he of how to correctly go about his movements, he stared up at Moore, then the child, then the now-upright other woman, then back to the Deluder. If he acted wrong, his master would surely punish him for his ignorance, and a low, reproachful grown escaped the rat's throat. He looked back to Moore, before taking a few unsure steps towards his master.

At that point, the Deluder's eyes flicked downwards and, in a fluid movement, he stepped forward, aiming the end of his cane at the rat. Carrellés' body stiffened, waiting for harsh impact, though what he felt was simply a suggestive nudge, a non-verbal "get out of my way" from the man. Impolite, but not abusive, and Carrellés fell into step slightly behind him, sitting on his haunches as the Deluder approached the three.

"Valoire," the rat heard him say, "I am unsure of what that... was, though I pray you follow me away from here. It's not safe, especially for a child. You have no idea the amount of urchins who get injured while the factions play seesaw with each other. Come, I'd hate to see either of you hurt. We'll go--"

The rat put his paws to the ground again, taking a few steps around the Deluder's feet, staring up at his jaw from below. Had he become infatuated by the thoughts of the fire again? Or was his gaze distracted elsewhere? The rat considered scratching the Deluder's ankle to snap him out of it, but instantly reconsidered as his own eyes fell on the cane end, slender and potentially painful and resting on the rough ground.

"Well," the Deluder's tone was less hasty than it had been before. "Miss, I propose you accompany me too. There is safety in numbers, and the streets aren't safe tonight. I would suggest we take shelter in a public house, though with the... manners of the people here I'd suggest Spite might be a better bet. But - no - let us go to Veilgarden. Much better crowd, only a slightly further walk. Miss Moore, master Emory, and the mistress whose name I have yet to discover, please allow me to suggest we move there. Given what's afoot, I believe staying here is much more of a risk than moving elsewhere."

The Deluder then looked over his shoulder, and frowned at the rat, "You'll stay here. I'm entrusting you this. Don't disappoint me."

Carrellés wiped his snout, and dug his claws into the ground, but made no sound to protest.

The M___t of London says...

The "stars" of the "sky" are hung up with long poles. But if they die out they're not taken down. There are lots up here oh GOD how did I get up SO high?​

 

[Mr_DC]

Wolfstack Docks​

Fleur recoiled from the explosion at first but she was on her feet and taking a step towards the action the next moment. There were people to help after something like that. She felt the urge to run into the smoke draw her towards the building but there was something else holding her back. It was the Neath. Someplace new. A place where the laws of the surface didn't apply. A place where running in to save people could be... A bad thing.

Fleur stopped, hesitating. She wasn't afraid. It was in her nature to run into danger. Never romanticised running into burning buildings or saw herself as a hero - there were enough things to counterbalance that title. She wasn't afraid but... She didn't want to cross some boundary she wasn't aware of yet. And, if the stories are true, whatever death or wounds that explosion should have caused wouldn't have much of a weight down there.

"Oh?" Fleur turned to face the masked man as he offered her a way to safety. A suspicious man and an owner of the talking rat but he seemed less suspicious than anyone else. Fleur could see. "Veilgarden." She repeated. It certainly sounded safe. Safer than Wolfstack docks. She didn't exactly breathe a sigh of relief when she heard the name of the port she would be heading to.

She could fend for herself... But she needed help. "Sure. Of course." Fleur quickly nodded at the offer, turning away from the explosion. "Thank you." She smiled. "And it's F..." She paused for a moment. No. The name she had on the surface wouldn't do. "Doctor de Lorraine." At least, not her first name.

 

[DoughGuy]

Wolfstack Docks - A New Arrival
Current Active Colour- Mr Blue
​

The man’s nostrils flared as he took in the … aroma of the London docks. It wasn’t much different from any other dock in England. Dirty, dangerous and full of polluted air. It was almost like he was still on the surface. If anything the air might be a bit cleaner with the fires burning everything. The docks were less busy either, filled with dozens of steamers ferrying people and goods back and forth. Though was there really a difference between the two? A man was only worth what he had in his pockets. Take it all away and he fell to the wayside, forgotten by the world that mattered. If there wasn’t a knife in his stomach already there would be one soon.

His eyes were drawn to a large vessel moored in the sea, unmoved by the waves that rocked many of the others. Golden drapes and a white hull, the colours of money. From the light within he could see the shadows of those moving around within. He memerised the description and location for later. Information was valuable, every small move a tell, every position significant even if it was only in how insignificant the move was. And when you were gambling with your life it was important.

The steamer finally arrived at the dock. Ropes flew to the workers and were quickly tied to the posts, anchoring the ship in place. He allowed the rest of the passengers to disembark before him. Let the vultures on the docks sweep into the mass of flesh and strip them clean, leaving him alone. It was one of the few times he wished Yellow was by his side. Their aura would keep the crowd’s at a distance even amongst the heaviest traffic.

The heady scent of power grew stronger. He looked out over the city. All these lives, worth so little that together they bought one, single person freedom. Was it inherent or perceived value? It was his job to figure that out before the cards went on the table. A lone condition he had demanded be included. It didn’t matter how many Pounds you had on the table when the other players were using gold.

He reached down and picked up the two bags he had carried on. The first being his own blue suitcase, and the latter Yellow’s duffel. The others had come down empty handed leaving him to carry around their equipment. Lazy buggers one and all.

With the gangway empty he finally departed the ship, moments before the captain gave him no choice in the matter. The last member of the Rainbow to arrive stepped foot in London. The Master of the Bazaar’s hopeful challengers were in place. Mr Blue smiled. He hadn’t lost yet.

 

[StoneWolf18]

Valoire Moore

Things were happening at a lightning speed.

There was a talking rat, an explosion, and a masked man approaching her and Emory apparently knowing her name and claiming it was safer for her and the apparent doctor to go with him. Did he refer to Em as an urchin?

'Welcome to the neath' Valoire thought to herself worriedly as she allowed her gaze to flick from the docks to the man and the other woman. Nodding hesitantly. "Alright..." She felt a tug on her arm and a pair of confused eyes that would met her own, giving him a look to remain silent.

If she herself barely understood what was going on, how was she suppose to explain it to him

0stinato Mr_DC

 

[0stinato]

Veilgarden

With her words of agreement, the Deluder tilted his head with a smile, tapping his cane on the ground to signify something akin to excitement. A regular visitor to Veilgarden, he would continue to traverse its grounds despite there being very little it could teach him. Perhaps a simple comfort thing, perhaps something more, Veilgarden always promised a friendlier tone than, perhaps, anywhere else nearby would. Sure, there would be the occasional drunken shooting, but it was all fun and games between friends. As long as one friend agreed to take the corpse home and tend to it until its owner returned, there would be no hard feelings.

"Veilgarden it is, then. Not a bad place to begin and, should we need to, we can take our shelter in the Singing Mandrake. In fact, let's definitely pop in there... I've developed a bit of a tab there I should begin to pay off..." and he spoke with a slight frown in his voice towards the end of his phrase. As if realising this debt was a shock. The amount he had to pay off, though, was probably larger than one might expect.

Still, the Deluder managed to shake off this insecurity with his own attitude, and he swept one hand across his hair, smoothing it against the dock winds. For a man so keen to get his flock away from the fire, he certainly was in no hurry. But, soon enough, he turned to lead the way, leaving his Rattus-Faber behind to sulk on the cobblestones. And those yellow sclera were glaring less-than-harshly at the Deluder's back, though he moved swiftly away.

Once the Deluder and his following party of Miss Moore, master Emory and Doctor de Lorraine - he'd mistakenly called her 'miss' but had elected to ignore that error in favour of retaining his dignity - were on a road lit harsher by the windows of Somebodies and Nobodies than it was by streetlamps, he allowed himself to make the causal conversation he felt was appropriate for such a journey as this.

First, he began with de Lorraine, musing over her occupation, "Not often I've seen a doctor down here. Not as rare as morticians but certainly as strange. What's the need for a doctor to cure your ills, or a mortician to bury your dead, if you can wake up from death in a few days? Still, there are types... those who don't wish to die, or those who fear it. Of course, you could always try your hands on the flesh of clay-people rather than on the flesh of men - now they're the sorts who don't recover from death. Either way, I pray your occupation brings you a good title and a good fortune, though excuse me if I'm sceptical that it will."

Whether his original thread was supposed to be charmingly praising or mocking is unclear; the tangent of death definitely distracted the man. For a few seconds longer, he mused over her name, repeating it to himself. At one point, he glanced over his shoulder at the woman, and, though he noticed something about her eyes, he couldn't tell what it was. Some strength somewhere, but not the same strength as Miss Moore had. Miss Moore with her hand gripped around Emory's, and Doctor de Lorraine, the veritable zeehorse of a woman.

"And strange you'd elect to host the company of a child down here. In my experience, children end up in two places - the gutters or the pampering arms of some rich aunt or another... I simply mean, you see a lot of women and men alight from the steamers, though children are... extremely uncommon. All I can say is, at least you seem protective. It's no bad thing, down here at least. Keep a good hold of him. Veilgarden is a more cheerful place certainly, but... I've lost echoes upon echoes over there. I'd hate to think who'd take a child, but it's a possibility."

He allowed a laugh to escape him; the tone now was certainly being brought down. He twisted in his step and began walking backwards, posturing with his free hand at the lighter area of Veilgarden. The streets were more alive, and the tone of the roads, although dark and brooding like the rest of the Neath, held a certain poetic twinge in the air. If one strained their ears, perhaps a laugh could be heard?

Mr_DC StoneWolf18

Wolfstack Docks

And Carrellés watched the Deluder go for a few seconds. Unhappily, certainly. But still, being free from his master's eyes felt... freeing. As if he had proper space to stretch and roll his shoulders. So the rat did just that, eyes closed as he contemplated his isolation among the crowd. So far, no one had stepped on him, though that may have just been because the Deluder and the other three two-legs were a crowd in itself. No one walked through a crowd. So, understanding this vaguely, the rat hastily scurried a few feet forwards, all the time keeping his eyes above his own natural line of sight. There were reminders in his mind of who he was looking for, though recent occupations had moved that information into an unreachable place.

The rat cursed his stupidity, though would soon forget why he had cursed in the first place, and squinted his yellow eyes. They didn't glint, not even when light caught them. And the rat himself felt a bit thirsty, especially being down by the zee so long. The salty air, accompanied with the visual of the water... torturous.

Ah but there, someone roughly unmistakable. Perhaps Carrellés would have missed him, if not for the fact the man in blue was carrying something so contrasting with his own colour scheme that it attracted the rat's attention. He was important too, was he not?

The rat could think of no reason to not approach the man, so he did so with caution, making sure he moved slowly and stopped upright a metre away. Not within range of the large formidable object in his hand, at least. He wouldn't get hit again tonight, he hoped.

"Awyeh, ya blue sod, got a message," he said, sniffing as he did so. He still eyed that big oblong object with concern. "Got a message for yeh. Blue sod."

DoughGuy

The M___t of London says...

There is a big, wet hole in my face, and it isn't my mouth.​

 

[Mr_DC]

0stinato StoneWolf18
Fleur chuckled. "Yeah." She smiled. "I've heard that people down here are having difficulty with death. And not in the traditional sense." She paused, thinking of her role in the Neath. She didn't come down to practice medicine. There would definitely be a lot to learn in such an environment but she had more important things on her mind. Still, if she was forced to stick around, there was always a need for a doctor. Always.

"Death might not be such a problem but I'm fairly certain no one would like to live through eternity with a hernia." She smiled. "You never needed the services of a doctor?" She asked and paused. Her mind got stuck on that scar on the man's forehead. Such an ominous thing. Especially since the man claimed he was trying to help them. Perhaps he was simply branded by their enemies... But it was such a specific thing.

"What is it that you do here, exactly?" Fleur's eyes frowned as she stared at the back of the man's head. He had a debt. And children were getting kidnapped. Was he, perhaps, leading them to an ambush? Sell the child, sell their souls. Could he take their souls? An awful fact of the Neath, that the people lived alongside Devils. Hellish creatures craving their souls. At least, that was what everyone else thought about the Devils. Fleur, however, was more open-minded. She felt there had to be something more. Something to understand. Perhaps she would take the time to do so, if the opportunity appeared.

 

[Mr_DC]

"Minster's Candles." The Elusive Intriguer whispered, leaning on the cold, brick wall of an alley. Her top hat was tilted forward, shielding her face from view. Her cloak allowed her to melt into the shadows, hidden from the candle light of the streets. If anyone was perceptive enough to notice her, they wouldn't dare to think more about it. They wouldn't dare to let it become a memory. The man around the corner folded his newspapers and, with that, she was gone.

The Intriguer had a particular disliking for the agents of the Masters. Most of them let their power get to their heads, forgetting that there was still a price to pay for their secrets coming to light. One of those secrets was in a squirming sack she dragged behind her. Even though they served the most powerful figures in London, those figures could cut any of them off if they turned out to be too troublesome to keep a secret. Those who were worth keeping, though, got their secrets hidden. Drowned. A muffled groan was the last noise from the sack before it disappeared under the black waves with a splash. Some deserved the privileges they got. The privileges she provided.

A swift Urchin almost knocked into the Intriguer on her spot by the chimney. Even his sharp, young eyes failed to spot the dark figure. Perhaps he was hoping to get her prize before anyone else. At least the Urchins weren't as mad as the Raggedy men. The Urchin turned and ran away just as fast as he got there. A Raggedy man might have even put up a fight. Even though she threw countless of the rooftops, they never learn.
There was her prize, marked by a gasp of surprise as the Intriguer stepped out of the shadows. The young unionist climbed up fast and was about to escape the Constables but she wasn't expecting the Intriguer. The Intriguer snatched the satchel out of the unionist's hands and shoved her back. A long way down, right into the hands of the Constables. She would be an orphan soon enough.
The Intriguer cast her gaze down at the satchel. An additional reward for her efforts.

The Intriguer cast her gaze down at the Bazaar sidestreets. A red-faced courier delivered the fourth message of the day. A brass cylinder containing a message to a Master. From a Master. The powerful machine works silently. Steadily. It was up to her to ensure it. Not up to her alone. The rooftops of the Bazaar had a few other spies looking down at the courier. Few dared climb to the heights of the Bazaar but those who were allowed were graced with an amazing view. A view they had little time to enjoy. Business awaited on the streets below.

It took just a few leaps across the rooftops for her to arrive back to Spite, where her day began. The Constables did their job. They did their job well, even. Part was her information but they managed to catch all who planned to raid the Bazaar strongbox. The Intriguer slid down the bricks and into the same alley she visited before. Stripping her cloak and wrapping her tophat with it, she cast a quick glance back at the street. The criminals were gathered in front of the store with a shabby sign swinging above it. Minster's Candles.
They would hang the lot of them by the morning.


The Deft Watchmaker picked up the tightly wrapped package in front of the shed she worked out of and carried it in. She managed to light a single candle before she heard a knock on her door. Quickly tossing a dirty apron over her outfit, the Watchmaker opened the door just slightly and poked her head out. "Ah, good evening, my lord." She gave a quick nod to the older, potato-nosed man standing in front of her door.
"Is it done yet? My daughter is becoming impatient!" The man boomed, spitting as he spoke. The people she had to put up with. It was nothing new and nothing she couldn't handle but they got on her nerves. Luckily, her annoyance lasted only for few short moments.
"As I told you, it will be done by tomorrow. Good night, my lord." She quickly said, shutting the door.

Her gift. Her reward. She examined the thick parchment paper. A permit. It's use was unlisted. Perfect for whatever she might have in mind. For whatever her needs might be. It was time to pay her respects.
The shrine. Draped in an impossible color. A color she couldn't remember. She got off her knees. She couldn't remember of she said her prair. She knew she did it, though. It was how irrigo worked. It was the life of a spy.

 

[Mr_DC]

Osthavula

A certain cellar of the Bazaar was filed with quiet murmurs and even quieter chuckles. Hushed laughs of the powerful. The influential. The wealthy. Gathered for a little game. Every so often, the conversation would pause when a certain subject reached its conclusion. Only dropplets of water dripping from the ground above making the occasional sound to fill the silence.

The players sat around a little baize table. Their eyes examining each other with hunger. There were only four players. Mr Hearts, of course, sitting on a chair which seemed tiny for his large form. A priest more interested in the treasures he could win than the players themselves. A tiger, huffing on a pipe, lazily shifting its gaze from one player to the other. The fourth player was a tomb colonist. A colonist known to the circles of high society, yet somehow shrouded in mistery. His dark bandages soaked the light as his thin form leaned back on the chair. Most knew him the merchant of wine which could rival Mr Wines itself. Others simply knew him as canon.

Behind each player was their stake. Massive piles of riches, transforming the cellar into a treasure-trove from a fairy tale. Piles of amber, artifacts uncovered from ruins of previous cities, priceless bottles, countless diamonds. Yet, none were there to win a fortune. They gathered to play. The rewards simply made it that much more interesting.

 

[Osthavula]

Mr_DC

The antique clock sounded. Viola lifted her eyelid, looked towards the source of the sound, and silently took a deep breath. Behind her was the sound of Bennett coming from her room, dressed in a new blue gown of velvet. Violet herself had a changed dress too, with a fabric reflecting light in a unique way, and embroidery of roses that ladies in london were so intrigued about. Her hairpin in her hair was of similar designs, in no way too flashy but gracefully emits its silver glow. All these were her treasured things that she rarely took out, but she wanted to look her best in the presence of a Master. She picked up the fan on the tea table, looking as stunning as she could be, and she smiled at Bennett. Her companion and best friend smiled back, with slight hint of nervousness in her eyes. Swiftly they went out the lodging and greeted George and Garfield, who came to help carry the cellars of wine.

And when she could no longer hear the muffled sobbing sound of her landlord, she took another deep breath. In that moment her heart pounded uncomfortably.

It was not the first time she met a Master, but in the countable times she had, she couldn't help but be nervous. It wasn't a nice feeling, being this tense. Here in london everything remind you the power of Masters and their involvement. Anyone who wouldn't feel nervous in front of Masters were largely fools.

But Viola was afterall, a 'Person of Significant Importance', and someone who had her position in the society. When she was looking at the door which she should enter, she already organized herself and appeared to be ready. As if she was supposed to be here all along.

For a place of a gambling game, the room was very quiet. Since Viola only gamble when invited to, and for the most time playing it safe, the bet piling behind each player was stunning. She didn't forget to curtsy as soon as she came into Mr. Hearts's view, and walked gracefully towards the table as Garfield and George put down the wine worth of three cellars. And when they were done, Bennett put down four individually wrapped wine bottles, and another four. The first four skillfully wrapped wine was obviously bottles of four city Airag from the distinct sculpture of beast head on top; and latter four were labeled 'Greyfields 1868, First Sporing'.

If that was not enough, in Bennett's bag were two scrolls, in which Viola didn't quite wish to give it away, but they recorded two very valued touching love stories of some nobles.

Now that she joined the table, she looked at the players who were at the table. A priest, a tiger, a tomb colonist, and of course, Mr Hearts himself. She may have seen the priest from afar in her days of frequenting the churches, but she wasn't sure if she knew the tomb colonist. It was her first time, however, to actually interact with a tiger. The excitment of introducing something new made her nervousness decrease by a lot, and she smiled to them politely. Not something overly friendly, matching the atmosphere of the room, but a restrained yet charming curving of the lips.

She joined the game without a hint of hesitation, and now for the high stakes game to begin.

 

[DoughGuy]

Wolfstack Docks - A New Arrival
Current Active Colour- Mr Blue​

As if his presence had been felt upon arriving by the city, it wasn’t too long until Mr Blue had attracted the attention of one of the inhabitants. Thanks to Yellow’s “interviews” with a few citizens that had returned from London he wasn’t too surprised to see a rat talking to him. The man had told them of far stranger things he had learned of. Still it would take some getting used too. He crouched down and eyed the rat, who was staring at the duffel bag in hand. He let it drop the last foot to the ground with an appreciable thump. It contained most of the group’s weaponry and had some weight to it.

“Blue sod?” he asked with a dangerous glint in his eyes, “Those your words or your masters?” He hand casually slipped into one of his suit pockets where one of his many knives was kept. Always keep the risks to a minimum. Did the Masters know they were here? Probably not. Would they care? Almost certainly not. Did they suspect their plans? He couldn’t believe they had any way of knowing. Were any of those answers a definitive no? A definitive no. “So Mr Rat, what is your message? And who is it from? Without any more insults lest I turn Red.”

 

[ThaDruid]

Swiftly leaving Wolfstack Docks...

The Unfinished Poet's silent musings were interrupted by a sudden noise. AN EXPLOSION! BRIGHT LIGHT! SCREAMS ALL AROUND! and so, hungry flames quickly began consuming some nearby building. Clement turned his head slowly, and regarded the unexpected conflagration with a raised brow. The Docks were unpredictable, as always. It must stem from the fact that they are home to some of the most violent groups of all London. Revolutionary cells, burly Dockers, brutal Neddy Men and Criminals of all kinds.

The bell tolls. It must be time to leave...
The Clay Man began lumbering away from the scene, moving people from the crowds out of his way with no more care for their well-being. After possibly breaking a couple of bones and pushing a dozen workers to the ground, he found himself to the other side of the docks, ready to move over to greener pastures.
Preferably ones that did not explode.
Veilgarden would do wonderfully. Also, there was the exposition of a certain Bohemian Sculptress at the Singing Mandrake that he had promised to attend to.


Making an entrace in Veilgarden...

Ah, these blessed roads... Smooth cobbles, bright gas lamps, even singing and laughing, if one were to listen intently. All things that The Unfinished Poet deeply enjoyed. It were these particular characteristics made Veilgarden his favourite place in all of London. These, and the presence of a certain lady with a talent for chisels and marble...
No matter about that. It was time to make an entrance.
As the Singing Mandrake got closer, so did the many voices of singers and artists... It was good to come back home.

With a gentle push, the Mandrake's doors were open. Heavy steps announced Clement's arrival, and many heads turned in his direction. Respectful nods and confident smiles were exchanged, as The Unfinished Poet made his way within the brightly-lit hall. A number of eyes followed the Clay Man's slow movements, analyzing his every move. Ah, that must be his audience. The ones who read his works. A lively bunch, always finding new ways of extracting the hidden meaning beneath his poems. He smiled. A painful gesture that created small cracks upon his clay skin, but meaningful for that same reason. Arriving near a table that he had reserved the same day, Clement took an empty wine glass between two of the stumps that would have been fingers, and raised it upwards, to where the sky would be.
"A TOAST..." His voice announced. A low rumble, similar to an earthquake that sent ripples through the air.
"TO THE SINGING MANDRAKE!" And with him, a significant number of gentlemen and noble ladies raised their drinks in unison.
For a Clay Man, he certainly knew how to make an impression. His acquaintaces knew that very well.