Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
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Exalted 3rd: Nexus
- Thread starter Cthulhu_Wakes
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Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
Chapter One: Clarity Rush
Ascending Air, RY 768, Nexus
@Blackadder
332B Cooper Street, Upper Cinnabar District
As the lamplighters snuff the wicks along Cooper, a caller arrived in the foyer. Coolie Joe, an informant of yours. Right wound up, the landlady said. An old hand at listening to the word crawling along the cobbles, the old man's dockside perspective dovetails into a special relationship with Nexus' criminal world. More often than not his activities are sodden with graft and not a little avarice, but there's a stern sort of honesty to him. Honor among thieves, etc.
He's been keeping an ear to the ground lately in pursuit of troubling rumors circulating in Nighthammer and the Undercity. Violent upheavals in the gangs. Savage internecine warfare in the tenements, the tunnels. This concerns you because your most current client's son is missing and typically ran with the Black Eyes, a noteworthy gang largely made up of Djala. The outbreak of violence may mean the boy is at risk and time is not to be wasted.
Mrs. Pearl glares balefully at the broad, scarred back of the man. A crisp breeze blows outside and there's only a hint of the river's putrid stink. He doffs his hat seeing you, suddenly all apologies. "Pardon the early hour, Mr. Daskin, but they's something afoot. I been keepin' an eye and ear out for those little panda spooks in the Eyes, right? Well, they's in the wind now." A dusky paw scratches nervously at the permanent sandpaper of his jaw.
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Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Esbilon
Dimau Cordon, Upper Cinnabar District
They are armed, these people. True enough, there are people wandering around with staves or dirks or even shovels on their persons, but these people are armed in the way cataphractoi were. They comport themselves in the manner of old hands at murder. They are the Hooded Executioners, a name learned from hearsay and whispers amongst locals. An arm of the local princes of government. Mercenaries. Nexus, if indicative of the rest of Creation, employs regiment after regiment of hardened men and women to police its neighborhoods. A city without rules watched by those any real watchman would draw steel over.
Commotion. Inquisitive faces peak out of windows and balconies along the street, from behind the milky glass of cafes, speaking in clusters along the paved walks. The hooded freebooters surround the adjacent block of tenements, bored and at ease, leaning against their longshields. An all-powerful silence settles very near the cordon. Like the rest of the world tolls away in a cave far away.
Something strangely familiar about that block of buildings. The potted plants hanging along each of the stringcourses... A building wrapped by greenery.
"What happens here?" A pair of roughs hiss at you from a nearby alleyway. Their eyes are the size of saucers and zeroed squarely on the mercenaries. "Come on, please! We live in that building..." Strangers.
Dimau Cordon, Upper Cinnabar District
They are armed, these people. True enough, there are people wandering around with staves or dirks or even shovels on their persons, but these people are armed in the way cataphractoi were. They comport themselves in the manner of old hands at murder. They are the Hooded Executioners, a name learned from hearsay and whispers amongst locals. An arm of the local princes of government. Mercenaries. Nexus, if indicative of the rest of Creation, employs regiment after regiment of hardened men and women to police its neighborhoods. A city without rules watched by those any real watchman would draw steel over.
Commotion. Inquisitive faces peak out of windows and balconies along the street, from behind the milky glass of cafes, speaking in clusters along the paved walks. The hooded freebooters surround the adjacent block of tenements, bored and at ease, leaning against their longshields. An all-powerful silence settles very near the cordon. Like the rest of the world tolls away in a cave far away.
Something strangely familiar about that block of buildings. The potted plants hanging along each of the stringcourses... A building wrapped by greenery.
"What happens here?" A pair of roughs hiss at you from a nearby alleyway. Their eyes are the size of saucers and zeroed squarely on the mercenaries. "Come on, please! We live in that building..." Strangers.
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Esbilon
Seven Thousand Club
Not deigning to respond to the hissing roughs, Twice-Blooming Flower approaches the cordon, looking to all the world like someone who belongs there so intimately that the street would not make sense without her on it. She is curious, though no more than is seemly, and with a face like hers to turn even the most stone-like heart to honey, who among them would notice if her eyes caught a little more than most would?
Activating Spurious Presence with 6 Personal Motes.
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Skrakes
Council Tower, Sentinel Hill District
The apartments are quiet, then a soft pop and--
"Boy." It is suddenly there where there was only echo and dust. That tinny, occluded voice. The voice from behind that strange silver mask always sounds as if it wails from a distant cave mouth and in the cup of your ear all at once. "The Council has decided to collect your services once more. Something has occurred in Cinnabar and the Executioners are making a botched show of it. A creature of...discretion and considerably increased brain power is needed. The mercenaries are simply doing their job, but they will be educated on methods of orchestrating contract raids in a quieter manner." A small caress of wind--one of its dismissive waves. "The whole thing is going awry. The perimeter hasn't heard from the raid team."
The Emissary sighs. "They were taking care of a gang-related issue. We've invoked the Civilities." Closer to you now. "'No gatherings beyond the thresholds held by landowners on Streets Dimau and Luna's Walk after the noon hour.' Clicks its tongue. 'Certainly someone bribed the Evening Master for that one. Siesta Civilities. I believe most Westerners would say to that, 'any port in a storm.'
"Your role will be that of a collector of voices." A smile tugs the end of each word. "The Executioners were contracted to break up another meeting of the gangs. Cinnabar rarely sees large outbreaks of their brand of internecine warfare, so the collegia use it as neutral ground. No longer as of this afternoon. Something happened. The Undercity is being papered in corpses and the communities are beating down our door for solutions. As above, not so below. Relative peace has reigned within the city gangs for nearly three decades. Sanctioned turf wars and the burning of Carbo's Union House aside.
"Get to Dimau Street and find us answers. Talk to Headsman Ferro and find out what is going on."
And like that, the Emissary is gone.
Council Tower, Sentinel Hill District
The apartments are quiet, then a soft pop and--
"Boy." It is suddenly there where there was only echo and dust. That tinny, occluded voice. The voice from behind that strange silver mask always sounds as if it wails from a distant cave mouth and in the cup of your ear all at once. "The Council has decided to collect your services once more. Something has occurred in Cinnabar and the Executioners are making a botched show of it. A creature of...discretion and considerably increased brain power is needed. The mercenaries are simply doing their job, but they will be educated on methods of orchestrating contract raids in a quieter manner." A small caress of wind--one of its dismissive waves. "The whole thing is going awry. The perimeter hasn't heard from the raid team."
The Emissary sighs. "They were taking care of a gang-related issue. We've invoked the Civilities." Closer to you now. "'No gatherings beyond the thresholds held by landowners on Streets Dimau and Luna's Walk after the noon hour.' Clicks its tongue. 'Certainly someone bribed the Evening Master for that one. Siesta Civilities. I believe most Westerners would say to that, 'any port in a storm.'
"Your role will be that of a collector of voices." A smile tugs the end of each word. "The Executioners were contracted to break up another meeting of the gangs. Cinnabar rarely sees large outbreaks of their brand of internecine warfare, so the collegia use it as neutral ground. No longer as of this afternoon. Something happened. The Undercity is being papered in corpses and the communities are beating down our door for solutions. As above, not so below. Relative peace has reigned within the city gangs for nearly three decades. Sanctioned turf wars and the burning of Carbo's Union House aside.
"Get to Dimau Street and find us answers. Talk to Headsman Ferro and find out what is going on."
And like that, the Emissary is gone.
Arashi
'Boy' indeed. Arashi stood up and stretched from where he lay. Sure, he had to chase Mei out of his apartment and get dressed, but best not to keep the boss-spirit waiting. Truth be told he was getting a dull out here. Born blind, Arashi let his other senses fan out through the room. He could sent his preferred form of tobacco over Mei's perfumed unmetionables. He shook out his robe, then his silk overcoat. Mei whined and complained as he sent her forth into the city.
Gangs, huh. The Council enjoyed sending him forth to clean up others' messes. The executioners this time. Arashi slipped Fujin through his belt, patting the sword affectionately. Well then. He could use a workout.
Arashi adjusts his jacket as he steps out into the wall of sound and scent in the great chaos of Nexus. It taxed all his senses to find a thread through the chaos of mortals and immortals shoving each other back and forth, to derive some sort of order from the chaos of smells. He had gotten used to navigating the city, however, bit by bit. To Cinnabar.
'Boy' indeed. Arashi stood up and stretched from where he lay. Sure, he had to chase Mei out of his apartment and get dressed, but best not to keep the boss-spirit waiting. Truth be told he was getting a dull out here. Born blind, Arashi let his other senses fan out through the room. He could sent his preferred form of tobacco over Mei's perfumed unmetionables. He shook out his robe, then his silk overcoat. Mei whined and complained as he sent her forth into the city.
Gangs, huh. The Council enjoyed sending him forth to clean up others' messes. The executioners this time. Arashi slipped Fujin through his belt, patting the sword affectionately. Well then. He could use a workout.
Arashi adjusts his jacket as he steps out into the wall of sound and scent in the great chaos of Nexus. It taxed all his senses to find a thread through the chaos of mortals and immortals shoving each other back and forth, to derive some sort of order from the chaos of smells. He had gotten used to navigating the city, however, bit by bit. To Cinnabar.
Blackadder
Inquisitor Ordo Hereticus
Gaspar Daskin
Gaspar's mouth tightened at this bit of unpleasant news. Reports had been getting increasingly concerning of late, and now this. This was pretty much the worst thing from the perspective of his investigation and timeframe.
And quite aside from the young boy's life, the disappearance of an entire gang was running a notable shift in the web and weft of the city.
"Start from the beginning. I want to hear everything, Joe."
Gaspar's mouth tightened at this bit of unpleasant news. Reports had been getting increasingly concerning of late, and now this. This was pretty much the worst thing from the perspective of his investigation and timeframe.
And quite aside from the young boy's life, the disappearance of an entire gang was running a notable shift in the web and weft of the city.
"Start from the beginning. I want to hear everything, Joe."
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Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Vanman
Traverse Canal No. 4, Lock A, Upper Cinnabar District
"Certainly travelling in style...aren't we?" Vilsh chuckles, a rag hard against his nose. The perfume is just this side of night soil and fish, but then the canals are fairly rank when coming uphill--or stream--in this city. Thirty others sit diffident in the canal barge with you. A breeze kicks up as the lock fills, water frothing, stench swirling away. Slowly, the sullen faces of stevedores and the ginger-haired lockmaster are revealed as with the street beyond.
The pilot turns to you. "All passengers looking to disembark for greater Cinnabar, Parko Llano, Player's Menagerie and the artisan districts, heave to!"
Vilsh rises, popping his back. "I hate sitting so long. Come, come." The street is like a warren. Picture a portrait of Creation's peoples in a sea of flesh from white snow to the darkest ink. "Silat should be on Dimau."
Silat is the first real slave merchant you've found within the city. Many of them, if not all, go by various titles in Nexus. Everything flows into Nexus, flesh, ore, foodstuffs. All of it. Silat, however, is one of the few slavers who trades and works in the open. Small-time. Maybe fifty or sixty sold a day. He keeps quarters in a tenement on Dimau Street. Vilsh has his way with people and the ebb and flow of conversations and rumor mills. "He'll be home today, keeping himself away from the chill on today's wind."
Traverse Canal No. 4, Lock A, Upper Cinnabar District
"Certainly travelling in style...aren't we?" Vilsh chuckles, a rag hard against his nose. The perfume is just this side of night soil and fish, but then the canals are fairly rank when coming uphill--or stream--in this city. Thirty others sit diffident in the canal barge with you. A breeze kicks up as the lock fills, water frothing, stench swirling away. Slowly, the sullen faces of stevedores and the ginger-haired lockmaster are revealed as with the street beyond.
The pilot turns to you. "All passengers looking to disembark for greater Cinnabar, Parko Llano, Player's Menagerie and the artisan districts, heave to!"
Vilsh rises, popping his back. "I hate sitting so long. Come, come." The street is like a warren. Picture a portrait of Creation's peoples in a sea of flesh from white snow to the darkest ink. "Silat should be on Dimau."
Silat is the first real slave merchant you've found within the city. Many of them, if not all, go by various titles in Nexus. Everything flows into Nexus, flesh, ore, foodstuffs. All of it. Silat, however, is one of the few slavers who trades and works in the open. Small-time. Maybe fifty or sixty sold a day. He keeps quarters in a tenement on Dimau Street. Vilsh has his way with people and the ebb and flow of conversations and rumor mills. "He'll be home today, keeping himself away from the chill on today's wind."
Vanman
Two Thousand Club
The Doctor
The Doctor's teeth ground as he thought of this Silat, sitting and openly flaunting his presence in the flesh trade. Nexus may be the trade hub of the River Province; some even say it's the trade hub of Creation. Whether that is true or not matters little to the Doctor. Merchants were free to trade in anything they wished - provided it wasn't human beings. Silat may be small time, but it is a certainty he knows of others who ply his trade. It was The Doctor's aim to get those names from this Silat - the easy way...or the hard.
The Lightbringer stood with Vilsh, studying the tenement. It was unlikely the slaver had any guards here, but he wanted to make sure the other denizens of the tenement were not put in danger. He sharpened his senses as he surveyed the building and those around them for unsuspected trouble. As he continued his scrutiny, he spoke to Vilsh in a low tone. "Okay, my friend. I don't seem to see any trouble waiting for us, but that doesn't mean it's not there. It may get ugly inside. Depends if he decides to cooperate or not. You have been invaluable, and for that, you have, as always, my thanks. I leave it to you if you wish to come with. Now. Which one is his apartment?"
The Doctor's teeth ground as he thought of this Silat, sitting and openly flaunting his presence in the flesh trade. Nexus may be the trade hub of the River Province; some even say it's the trade hub of Creation. Whether that is true or not matters little to the Doctor. Merchants were free to trade in anything they wished - provided it wasn't human beings. Silat may be small time, but it is a certainty he knows of others who ply his trade. It was The Doctor's aim to get those names from this Silat - the easy way...or the hard.
The Lightbringer stood with Vilsh, studying the tenement. It was unlikely the slaver had any guards here, but he wanted to make sure the other denizens of the tenement were not put in danger. He sharpened his senses as he surveyed the building and those around them for unsuspected trouble. As he continued his scrutiny, he spoke to Vilsh in a low tone. "Okay, my friend. I don't seem to see any trouble waiting for us, but that doesn't mean it's not there. It may get ugly inside. Depends if he decides to cooperate or not. You have been invaluable, and for that, you have, as always, my thanks. I leave it to you if you wish to come with. Now. Which one is his apartment?"
I'm spending 5m of Personal Essence to activate Sensory Acuity Prana, in case there are any hidden grobblers trying to ruin my plans.
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Esbilon
"Jaime, be dust, you moron." The second mooch motions at you. "Pardon us."
The perimeter guard don't eyeball you a bit--their gaze is on curious clutches of people well down the road. Soft! Most of the windows are shuttered, weedy garden sills brown in the afternoon light. But there is one yawning open on the third floor. There was something there. Movement. A brief glint of metal. Dimly, a commotion swells in your ears, builds in intensity. Something louder than the milling crowds or the cooing legions of pigeons infesting the Irimoya rooftops of nearby shrines. Sounds like a riot in there. Impassive gargoyles leer from the scarred cornices.
Some few Executioners emerge from the clapboard front doors of the tenement, pushing forward a few prisoners in manacles. Everyone is bloodied, shaken. One of the Executioners is being bodily lifted out by his fellows, weeping and gnashing his teeth.
"Jaime, be dust, you moron." The second mooch motions at you. "Pardon us."
The perimeter guard don't eyeball you a bit--their gaze is on curious clutches of people well down the road. Soft! Most of the windows are shuttered, weedy garden sills brown in the afternoon light. But there is one yawning open on the third floor. There was something there. Movement. A brief glint of metal. Dimly, a commotion swells in your ears, builds in intensity. Something louder than the milling crowds or the cooing legions of pigeons infesting the Irimoya rooftops of nearby shrines. Sounds like a riot in there. Impassive gargoyles leer from the scarred cornices.
Some few Executioners emerge from the clapboard front doors of the tenement, pushing forward a few prisoners in manacles. Everyone is bloodied, shaken. One of the Executioners is being bodily lifted out by his fellows, weeping and gnashing his teeth.
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Blackadder
Joe carefully stuffs his huge frame into a Morris chair, gratefully accepts tea from Mrs. Pearl. He takes a moment to savor the heat and citrus notes. The landlady lights a few of the oil lamps in your room--the dawn has yet to creep into the windows.
When his eyes open, the apologetic look is back. "I lost 'em. And that's pretty fuc--damned hard for me to do, Mr. Daskin. Every soul I kept an eye on in my time, I never lost. That's just singular folk, not three dozen panda dwarves." He palms his face, dragging his mouth in an exasperated gesture. "Never seen a thing like it. The boy was with them, you can be sure of that, sir." He sits there, so painfully out of place from his usual Nighthammer haunts. "Been on their trail a few weeks, checking their haunts. Tenement in Cinnabar, couple of stoops in Nighthammer, this lone warehouse in Nexus District. Right next to one of them crazy tombs.
"Anyway. With whatever's been flaring up amongst the gangs--this violence--seems to have gotten heavier. Vandal Gjedde, they say, is in hiding now. That man feared no one save the Council. Talk is someone or some people have been tearing through the Undercity gangs, taking on the coke and qat trade. Whoever they are took down the Bilgewater Syndicate in the space of a night. Whole core of the gang from Mama Jones to a bunch of their runners. Seventy people, I heard. I think, gov, whoever is pulling the rug out from the Undercity gangs is looking to play ball topside. I lost track of the gang near their Cinnabar stoop. They ain't so bad. Rough around the edges and cocks of the walk, but those shorties ain't so bad. I hope they ain't in the middle of it."
Joe carefully stuffs his huge frame into a Morris chair, gratefully accepts tea from Mrs. Pearl. He takes a moment to savor the heat and citrus notes. The landlady lights a few of the oil lamps in your room--the dawn has yet to creep into the windows.
When his eyes open, the apologetic look is back. "I lost 'em. And that's pretty fuc--damned hard for me to do, Mr. Daskin. Every soul I kept an eye on in my time, I never lost. That's just singular folk, not three dozen panda dwarves." He palms his face, dragging his mouth in an exasperated gesture. "Never seen a thing like it. The boy was with them, you can be sure of that, sir." He sits there, so painfully out of place from his usual Nighthammer haunts. "Been on their trail a few weeks, checking their haunts. Tenement in Cinnabar, couple of stoops in Nighthammer, this lone warehouse in Nexus District. Right next to one of them crazy tombs.
"Anyway. With whatever's been flaring up amongst the gangs--this violence--seems to have gotten heavier. Vandal Gjedde, they say, is in hiding now. That man feared no one save the Council. Talk is someone or some people have been tearing through the Undercity gangs, taking on the coke and qat trade. Whoever they are took down the Bilgewater Syndicate in the space of a night. Whole core of the gang from Mama Jones to a bunch of their runners. Seventy people, I heard. I think, gov, whoever is pulling the rug out from the Undercity gangs is looking to play ball topside. I lost track of the gang near their Cinnabar stoop. They ain't so bad. Rough around the edges and cocks of the walk, but those shorties ain't so bad. I hope they ain't in the middle of it."
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Skrakes
Fastest way to get downhill -- the canal. It switchbacks down Sentinel along with the main avenue, but went decidedly quicker than the yeddim clogged thoroughfare. The Council always kept a private skiff on retainer, if you needed it. Old Gongfu kept to himself and always had palm pine tea to offer on every trip. His grandson, Chaoshan, piloted the boat skillfully down the slips. The afternoon air is brisk and not at all cloyingly rank at the top of the hill as it is in the center of the city. Shit rolls downhill, after all.
Alas, it is short lived. Halfway down Sentinel, the city bouquet begins sensory assault. The hot sluice of canal water and sludge; a sharp hundred-spice wind from the Little Market; the thunderous stench of wild animal shit mingling with the sweat of teamsters. All of it rushes by. Voices rise and fall. A lover's quarrel in a canal-side window. Cats hunting mice along the jetty. Cut through the heart of Nexus to the airy avenues and artisan blocks of painted Cinnabar. Chaoshan maneuvers the boat hard against the docks and ties her off. The afternoon Sun pleasantly warms your skin.
"My good lord," Gongfu says, his voice a harsh rasp of paper, "we shall await your return as always. Go with Mela's Grace. Dimau Street is to your right and five blocks hence."
Fastest way to get downhill -- the canal. It switchbacks down Sentinel along with the main avenue, but went decidedly quicker than the yeddim clogged thoroughfare. The Council always kept a private skiff on retainer, if you needed it. Old Gongfu kept to himself and always had palm pine tea to offer on every trip. His grandson, Chaoshan, piloted the boat skillfully down the slips. The afternoon air is brisk and not at all cloyingly rank at the top of the hill as it is in the center of the city. Shit rolls downhill, after all.
Alas, it is short lived. Halfway down Sentinel, the city bouquet begins sensory assault. The hot sluice of canal water and sludge; a sharp hundred-spice wind from the Little Market; the thunderous stench of wild animal shit mingling with the sweat of teamsters. All of it rushes by. Voices rise and fall. A lover's quarrel in a canal-side window. Cats hunting mice along the jetty. Cut through the heart of Nexus to the airy avenues and artisan blocks of painted Cinnabar. Chaoshan maneuvers the boat hard against the docks and ties her off. The afternoon Sun pleasantly warms your skin.
"My good lord," Gongfu says, his voice a harsh rasp of paper, "we shall await your return as always. Go with Mela's Grace. Dimau Street is to your right and five blocks hence."
Arashi
He leaves a jade coin on his seat as ever, as he agilely leaps up to the docks. Nexus is always a chaotic smear of sight and sound. He picks up a prostitute arguing with his madame across the city. The rich sent of food stalls. He keeps a leisurely pace, wandering toward Mela's grace. It's a mess of sensation, but it exhilarates like rich tobacco.
He leaves a jade coin on his seat as ever, as he agilely leaps up to the docks. Nexus is always a chaotic smear of sight and sound. He picks up a prostitute arguing with his madame across the city. The rich sent of food stalls. He keeps a leisurely pace, wandering toward Mela's grace. It's a mess of sensation, but it exhilarates like rich tobacco.
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Vanman
"Two things." Vilsh says. "The open shutters there are on his floor. And..." Vilsh points to the front doors--a clapboard upright where once ornate doors stood--and a sizable cordon of mercenaries blocking said door. There seems to be a commotion somewhere in the building and the mercs coming outside have some rough looking perps in chains. Something off about some of the prisoners and the mercenaries. Some look like they've been in a rougher fight than a normal raid would warrant. "We go through the back?" Vilsh says.
"Two things." Vilsh says. "The open shutters there are on his floor. And..." Vilsh points to the front doors--a clapboard upright where once ornate doors stood--and a sizable cordon of mercenaries blocking said door. There seems to be a commotion somewhere in the building and the mercs coming outside have some rough looking perps in chains. Something off about some of the prisoners and the mercenaries. Some look like they've been in a rougher fight than a normal raid would warrant. "We go through the back?" Vilsh says.
Blackadder
Inquisitor Ordo Hereticus
Gaspar Daskin
No, that was not good news at all. And definitely a matter of many concerns, but the broader question of the underworld takeovers had to take second place to the client's son. The Black Eyes had to have vanished not long before, hence Joe's surprise visit. Meaning the trail would be still warm if he moved quickly. "Thank you for bringing this to me so quickly."
Gaspar rose up and gleaned from his desk a bag of silver dinars, which he tossed to Joe. "For good prompt work as ever. One more thing."
Gaspar strode over to the elegantly carved but relatively un-ornamented dressing cabinet, opening it up to reveal his trusty buff coat for investigations in... risky areas. And to equip his sais. "Once you're finished with Mrs. Pearl's tea, lead me to the stoop. Someone's starting a war and I suspect we need to move fast if we're going to find the boy in time."
No, that was not good news at all. And definitely a matter of many concerns, but the broader question of the underworld takeovers had to take second place to the client's son. The Black Eyes had to have vanished not long before, hence Joe's surprise visit. Meaning the trail would be still warm if he moved quickly. "Thank you for bringing this to me so quickly."
Gaspar rose up and gleaned from his desk a bag of silver dinars, which he tossed to Joe. "For good prompt work as ever. One more thing."
Gaspar strode over to the elegantly carved but relatively un-ornamented dressing cabinet, opening it up to reveal his trusty buff coat for investigations in... risky areas. And to equip his sais. "Once you're finished with Mrs. Pearl's tea, lead me to the stoop. Someone's starting a war and I suspect we need to move fast if we're going to find the boy in time."
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Skrakes
Flocks of heartbeats pass you in the street. They begin to thin out when you hear the first rush of heated voices, bored authority, and someone very faintly laughing. Like crossing over a man's grave, you know you're there. The entire street is suddenly sullen, crowds few and far between and voices hushed. The perimeter isn't too far ahead. The Executioners really are cocking this one up if the commotion inside is to be believed. They're gagging the laughing man, nervous flutters in all of their pulses.
Flocks of heartbeats pass you in the street. They begin to thin out when you hear the first rush of heated voices, bored authority, and someone very faintly laughing. Like crossing over a man's grave, you know you're there. The entire street is suddenly sullen, crowds few and far between and voices hushed. The perimeter isn't too far ahead. The Executioners really are cocking this one up if the commotion inside is to be believed. They're gagging the laughing man, nervous flutters in all of their pulses.
Esbilon
Seven Thousand Club
Twice-Blooming Flower
From her demeanor, one would never guess that this was the first time Flower had really interacted with the Executioners. She moves through them with just the right amount of wariness and familiarity, and first and foremost with the apparent utter conviction that she is right where she is supposed to be. Without any of the mercenaries making the slightest move to interfere, she walks calmly up to the door where the prisoners are being moved out which also neatly gives her a chance to look into the house.
"What have these men done?" She asks one who looks to know what's going on.
From her demeanor, one would never guess that this was the first time Flower had really interacted with the Executioners. She moves through them with just the right amount of wariness and familiarity, and first and foremost with the apparent utter conviction that she is right where she is supposed to be. Without any of the mercenaries making the slightest move to interfere, she walks calmly up to the door where the prisoners are being moved out which also neatly gives her a chance to look into the house.
"What have these men done?" She asks one who looks to know what's going on.
Vanman
Two Thousand Club
The Doctor
The Doctor nods. "We go through the back. Something is going on here, and it doesn't look peaceful. Hold on." He watches as a figure approaches those bringing out the wounded and starts a conversation. "Let us see if we cannot find out what is going on here..." The Doctor attunes his hearing, focusing on the conversation taking place at the building's entrance.
The Doctor nods. "We go through the back. Something is going on here, and it doesn't look peaceful. Hold on." He watches as a figure approaches those bringing out the wounded and starts a conversation. "Let us see if we cannot find out what is going on here..." The Doctor attunes his hearing, focusing on the conversation taking place at the building's entrance.
I have already activated Sensory Acuity Prana and I am spending 4m on Excellent Solar Awareness to try and listen to the conversation going on with the figure I see approaching the wounded men exiting the building. [dice]21365[/dice]
So. Seven successes. I imagine that will allow me to here Esbilon's conversation?
So. Seven successes. I imagine that will allow me to here Esbilon's conversation?
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Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Vanman
Yep. Listen away!
Vilsh looks to you and then to the scene unfolding. He has some inkling that you're listening in and so watches the street for anything else.
@Esbilon
Two of the hooded mercenaries peer back at the chatter and sudden shock of laughter. "Well, most of them are gangers--cutpurses, throat slitters, the like. Violated the Civilities, so they get the irons. As to what the shit happened to Litany there...hell if we know. Seems like they're finding more resistance than normal. Supposed to be an in and out sort of thing..."
Vilsh looks to you and then to the scene unfolding. He has some inkling that you're listening in and so watches the street for anything else.
@Esbilon
Two of the hooded mercenaries peer back at the chatter and sudden shock of laughter. "Well, most of them are gangers--cutpurses, throat slitters, the like. Violated the Civilities, so they get the irons. As to what the shit happened to Litany there...hell if we know. Seems like they're finding more resistance than normal. Supposed to be an in and out sort of thing..."
Arashi
Arashi walks forward, following the cadence of the loudest, most raucous man among them. The sharpest bark, the strongest heartbeat -- these kind of guys usually run the show. Arashi stops in front him. "Captain?" Hopefully he'll recognize the blind kenshi.
Arashi walks forward, following the cadence of the loudest, most raucous man among them. The sharpest bark, the strongest heartbeat -- these kind of guys usually run the show. Arashi stops in front him. "Captain?" Hopefully he'll recognize the blind kenshi.
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Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Blackadder
As I'm sure you've noticed, you're a little behind everyone else timewise in the day. We shall be catching up quickly.
The old salt counts the coins as he listens. "Aye, sir." With an old lush's practiced movement, he downs the tea in a solid gulp and thanks the landlady for her hospitality. "The game is on, sir."
The streets are sullen as the Sun rises over the metropolis. A cool breeze stirs the fragrance of rosemary bread stone-baked further up the lane mixed with the stink of Gimodo Apothecary's strange herbs and unguents. Winter begins its long descent upon the riverlands. The river polished marble of Gilbard Museum and Antiquities' portico cast a beautiful chiaroscuro as you follow the old stevedore. He pauses at several crosswalks, seemingly sniffing the air, taking in the scenery before jolting ahead. And after a time the Sun hangs just above most of the city's modern construction. Peaks out from between the towers of bygone ages.
You're there. An ashen stoop hidden hard against one of those old towers. A trade conglomerate operates out of the tower and this building once an artisanal tannery, judging by the smell. Shuttered and empty now. "Stoop there was where..." Joe pauses. "...that door there wasn't open last I came by, sir."
There, just beyond the stoop, a boarded up entrance to the tannery sits ajar, just enough for an adolescent to sidle inside.
The old salt counts the coins as he listens. "Aye, sir." With an old lush's practiced movement, he downs the tea in a solid gulp and thanks the landlady for her hospitality. "The game is on, sir."
The streets are sullen as the Sun rises over the metropolis. A cool breeze stirs the fragrance of rosemary bread stone-baked further up the lane mixed with the stink of Gimodo Apothecary's strange herbs and unguents. Winter begins its long descent upon the riverlands. The river polished marble of Gilbard Museum and Antiquities' portico cast a beautiful chiaroscuro as you follow the old stevedore. He pauses at several crosswalks, seemingly sniffing the air, taking in the scenery before jolting ahead. And after a time the Sun hangs just above most of the city's modern construction. Peaks out from between the towers of bygone ages.
You're there. An ashen stoop hidden hard against one of those old towers. A trade conglomerate operates out of the tower and this building once an artisanal tannery, judging by the smell. Shuttered and empty now. "Stoop there was where..." Joe pauses. "...that door there wasn't open last I came by, sir."
There, just beyond the stoop, a boarded up entrance to the tannery sits ajar, just enough for an adolescent to sidle inside.
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Skrakes
The woman does an audible rendition of what you've heard explained as a 'spit take.'
"Ah, ah, good of you to come, sir. Sir? I don't really know what we are supposed to call you... The contract stated..." He shuts up a moment. "Sorry." Professionalism returns. "Headsman Ferro at your service. It's been a hell of a day so far. It's a madhouse in there. After we found that room, my people have been scrambling to get the slippery bastards out in one piece. I've got men sick and screaming mad in there."
Beyond Ferro's voice you catch the upward lift of inquiry further down the cordon. There's someone else here asking questions. Small ring of authority to their talk, but...different. Not Council.
"...talk that it may be connected to a couple other incidents here lately." Ferro sighs, nodding to herself. "How can we be of service?"
The woman does an audible rendition of what you've heard explained as a 'spit take.'
"Ah, ah, good of you to come, sir. Sir? I don't really know what we are supposed to call you... The contract stated..." He shuts up a moment. "Sorry." Professionalism returns. "Headsman Ferro at your service. It's been a hell of a day so far. It's a madhouse in there. After we found that room, my people have been scrambling to get the slippery bastards out in one piece. I've got men sick and screaming mad in there."
Beyond Ferro's voice you catch the upward lift of inquiry further down the cordon. There's someone else here asking questions. Small ring of authority to their talk, but...different. Not Council.
"...talk that it may be connected to a couple other incidents here lately." Ferro sighs, nodding to herself. "How can we be of service?"
Blackadder
Inquisitor Ordo Hereticus
Gaspar Daskin
Gasper made a little 'hmm' to himself in thought as he moved carefully, raising a finger to his lips to caution Joe to silence as he approached the doorway and slipped inside.
[dice]21372[/dice]
[dice]21373[/dice]
Gasper made a little 'hmm' to himself in thought as he moved carefully, raising a finger to his lips to caution Joe to silence as he approached the doorway and slipped inside.
[dice]21372[/dice]
[dice]21373[/dice]
Arashi
"What incidents?" Arashi reaches for his pipe, lazily, but he cocks his ear toward this other voice. Merchant clans? Gang chief? Somebody else? Could be a problem. The Emissary didn't care for that. "The room, too. Keep it short, the Council is feeling impatient today."
"What incidents?" Arashi reaches for his pipe, lazily, but he cocks his ear toward this other voice. Merchant clans? Gang chief? Somebody else? Could be a problem. The Emissary didn't care for that. "The room, too. Keep it short, the Council is feeling impatient today."
Cthulhu_Wakes
Black Sun in a White World
@Blackadder
Not your smoothest entrance ever, but you manage to keep it silent save a squeaky floorboard. The place is murk and pulley belts and rotting scraps of old boot leather. Someone has been here and very recently. Bootprints in the dust. Average height, medium build, favors left leg. A bit of dust silently falls from the low ceiling. They're on the second floor somewhere.
Not your smoothest entrance ever, but you manage to keep it silent save a squeaky floorboard. The place is murk and pulley belts and rotting scraps of old boot leather. Someone has been here and very recently. Bootprints in the dust. Average height, medium build, favors left leg. A bit of dust silently falls from the low ceiling. They're on the second floor somewhere.