The Playground: Whispers of Taelarys IC

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Claye-Potts Machinery

As the sun reached it's zenith on the fourth day of spring, all of Taelarys was laid out like a vast children's puzzle. To the north, the bastions of nobility surrounding Lake Almistris glittered in the clear air, a wall of innumerable jewels surrounding a silent mirror. Following the river south, the jewels became crenelations, stones both bright and dark competing for their share of the sunlight beneath shingled roofs of every conceivable shade. The river bends, and the bright colors of the affluent commons turn to the drab greys of poverty. Here and there, a shining marble plaza or glittering fountain serve to remind the inhabitants of the wealth and power of their city, as though they needed any more reminder than the towering pinnacles of crystal, marble, and gold that thrust into the sky from the northern mountains. We must follow that drab expanse for a time, as the river slows to a sluggish brown and a dim haze covers the lowlands, where the poorest of the poor live among ruins and ramshackle hovels. But then, we curve south once again, and the signs of great industry appear. The sounds of working men and women fill the air, and a sea breeze clears the mist to reveal houses proud enough to stand tall, but with enough sense to discard colored trappings in favor of functional blue. Then, we come to it, the limitless expanse of the ocean, embraced by the port of Taelarys like a long forgotten lover, innumerable docks and piers piercing its black depths. Here, the smells and sounds of a thousand lands fill the air, and all shy from the mouth of the river that has become black and noxious beneath the churning wheels of the factories that line it.

But, let us turn away from the waterfront, and return to the bright neighborhoods of the elite, where smooth stone welcomes handsome carriages and the bare feet of palanquin bearers. On every horizon lies a symbol of Taelarys' greatness, whether the towers of the Sorcerous Houses that pierce the sky, the clockwork grandeur of the Machinist Guild Hall, or the fiery dome of the Alchemist College. Yet, we turn our attention to a single carriage, bearing the symbol of the City of Rhetiz, as it leaves the affluent quarter and turns down Exentia street. Within the carriage sat Ghedim al Rastrim, beloved Ambassador of Rhetiz, holder of the sacred trust of the Shadow City. He was not in the custom of leaving the noble districts at this time of day, but a report had crossed his desk recently that demanded immediate attention. As the carriage proceeded down Exentia street, a loose cobble slipped out from the wheels, rocking its passenger around before resuming a somewhat steady pace.

Sitting in his luxuriously appointed carriage rubbing the spot where his head had met hardwood, Ghedim brooded on the report that had inspired such a journey. One of his more prolific informants had reported the opening of a Machinists shop with the peculiar name "Claye-Potts," and though the man had done it merely to keep Ghedim apprised of the goings on of Exentia street the name was odd enough to catch Ghedim's eye. Claye was not a common name, and there was a slight possibility that the infamous Claye Kilnmyr had returned to the city of her forefathers. Such a move would have been either extraordinarily brave or extraordinarily mad, but by all accounts the Kilnmyr woman was both. And should she know the location of her family's ancestral heritage, well, it simply wouldn't do to let it fall into Taelarian hands.

Finally, the carriage pulled up before the finely painted sign of Claye-Potts Machinery, and Ghedim swept out into the street. He was dressed in the current Taelarys fashion, a frock so deeply green it was almost black, accompanied by cream trousers and a waistcoat of the same green. However, the snake-like fabric of the coat spoke to his homeland, and the scent coming from his slim pipe was the spicy intoxication of Black Lotus. Taking a moment to straighten his gloves (also cream), he entered the Machinist Shop.

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Noon

Claye emerged from the back room - the part of the shop where the real work got done - just as the well-attired man walked in. A noble here in person? That's strange... Usually anyone who could afford to dress like that would send a servant if they wanted to place a commission.

Claye pushed her goggles up over her headband and quickly moved behind the counter, locating her notebook and something to write with. "Well hello there. What can I do for yeh?" Claye had grown up in the large, fertile valleys to the north of the city, and had picked up a soft, drawling accent that was stereotypically attributed to naive farm girls as a result. She didn't mind - the more people assumed about her the better, as far as she was concerned.

She could see the carriage the man had arrived in through the large front windows. The symbol on the side didn't immediately ring a bell, but she'd been to enough places to recall it after a second. Rhetiz? What's a man from the Shadow City doing here?

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Claye-Potts Machinery

Ghedim gave the woman a long look with his golden eyes. She fit the description, what little description there was, at least. Still, a great many women were short with blue eyes. Exhaling a thin stream of blue smoke into the air, Ghedim paced the length of the counter examining the few show items on display. Picking up a clockwork novelty that appeared to be a children's toy, he pretended to examine it for a moment before returning his stare to the woman.

"I was wondering if you might have anything with the Kilnmyr mark for sale."

His accent was immediately foreign, a rolling tongue that lingered on the r's and stressed the vowels. Something about it seemed to put Claye at ease, blunting the implied threat in his words.

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Noon

"I put the Guild Seal on all of my wares, like a good girl," Claye states, wondering what her customer was getting at, "To get equipment with th' actual Kilnmyr mark you'd have t' find an antiques shop."

[Xondoure]

2nd of Bargenholt 3817 AoT
Evening
The Tower of Tramontae

The room was large, with a high ceiling and little furnishing. Gas lamps lit the room from above causing the shadows to splinter against the different lights and scatter across the floor in long paths that seemed to move when just out of sight. On the floor symbols in old tongues were scratched, painted, and sometimes burned into the floor in swirling circular patterns which gave the impression of turning and flowing from one to the next but all seemed faded as if their use had long past. The room smelled of incense, and blood with a trace of ozone hiding above.

Two circles were more clear in white chalk that stood out sharply above the mess of the other patterns. The words and runes however seemed far older, with crude shapes that no matter which way you looked at them did not flow together nicely but rather collided and kept on going without so much as an “excuse me.” Short candles melted into the lines, their wax dribbling along the pathways of chalk slowly but without error. The first circle was large enough for five men to stand comfortably with a great many wards placed along its length all pointing outwards away from the strange looking sorcerer with cold eyes. The second circle was smaller: the wards on the edge pressed in and held only a young boy dressed in slave garments kneeling upon the floor.

The boy was trembling, awed before his master and terrified of what was to come. Without looking up from the scroll in his hand the master spoke.

“Let us begin.”

After time reasserts itself

The boy gasped for air, heaving as the sensation of burning ice left his lungs breath by savage breath. His heart raced along with him trying to keep up with the demands of returning to life.

“Stand up.”

Forcing himself to calm down the boy rose to his feet eyes cast just below his masters face.

“Did it work?”

“I do not presume to know my lord.”

The master clicked his fingers and muttered below his breath. The words seemed to push all other noise beyond the walls of the room until only a deafening silence remained.

“Did it work?”

“Yes.”

Malharus Daemora ir Tramontae allowed a flash of triumph to overcome the grim outlines of his face.

“Name yourself.”

“This one is Dolen master, your humble tool master.”

“Not the vessel.” He snapped with a hint of annoyance. “Name what is new.”

The boy paused. “This one has no name master.”

“Then you shall accept the name I place upon you.”

“Of course master.”

“I name you watcher for you shall extend my eyes and ears beyond the reach of mortal grasp. Name yourself.”

“This one is watcher master.”

“Good. First you are to find the truth of Jallus Rae ir Tramontae’s rumored dealings with the house of Ostrim and report back to me on the strike of dawn two days from now. After that... We will see.”

The boy bowed before his god and left without further pause, pondering what was new and its new name. Its name was watcher, but was its name not also Dolen? He thought back to the ritual: the all encompassing roar of magic blinding him so all he could taste was the sensation of daggers piercing his chest. The horrible rending of thought and body as something new was born. He felt no different but wondered just what was new?

Midnight

As Dolen drifted into sleep what was new felt itself drifting away until what had been Dolen was now separate. What was new spun once again reeling at new sensations. This time though it was the lack of sensations. Dolen was still there, still a part of what was new but Dolen no longer seemed rooted as all of it. The watcher could recall his memories like distant mountains: vague outlines followed by jagged peaks of images and words descending back into blurred lines. Elsewhere was the pain of being alone where once it had been everything. But even over that like the pounding of a drum thrummed the orders of the one that had torn it until no other thought or action seemed to matter.

“Find the truth of Jallus Rae ir Tramontae’s rumored dealings with the house of Ostrim and report back to me on the strike of dawn two days from now.”

4th of Bargenholt
Tower of Tramontae

Malharus leaned against the wall his eyes lowered over an ancient manuscript. The boy stood in the other circle trying not to show his growing apprehension. They remained like this for several minutes without change, then suddenly the boy relaxed enough not to tremble.

“Well?”

“Jallus Rae ir Tramontae has no dealings with the Ostrim.”

“What else did you learn?”

“He has a mistress he keeps in the section of the city controlled by the Ostrim, but this is because he fears the retaliation of his wife were this to be public knowledge. She knows, and does nothing. Now that she has the name of house Rae behind her she has no use for him. He suspects as much but dare not risk her wrath.”

“How did you learn this?”

“Everyone knew. From kitchen worker to hand maid all of his staff, hers, and many scattered throughout the house were aware of this.”

“Did you actually observe him or did you leave this information to the idle gossip of vermin?”

“This one followed after a fashion and this one’s observations confirmed it.”

“Did any know of your presence?”

“While this one was with them, but after they seemed to forget.”

Malharus smiled approvingly but somehow the gesture was lost in the cruel lines of his face.

“Excellent you seem to truly be what the texts describe.”
Dolen sighed relieved that his god was pleased.

“Now.” Malharus said his eyes burning with fevered ambition. “You will bring my enemies to their knees.”

[the_druid_droid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Morning
Arch Magister’s Quarters, House of Levant

From the top of the Tower of Levant, the view of the city of Taelarys is almost indescribable, although none save a few trusted servants and powerful nobles ever have the chance to see it from the towering arched windows of the Arch Magister’s penthouse. The massive and opulent grounds of the Imperial palace are visible from that perch, shining in the dawn like mirrored glass. The houses of the great noble families of the city are there too, nestling around the mountain lake that feeds the river and competing with one another for attention in a bright confusion of white marble and gold filigree. The river itself winds slowly down from those fine high houses as it has for long years uncounted, until after many lazy turns it passes away from the realms of power and intrigue, and flows down through the hovels of the poorest of the poor before it is finally welcomed by the sea that glitters in the early morning light.

Tarin Ardalion stood beside Alistair Saryx, Arch Magister of Levant, one early spring day, as both men drank in this unsurpassed view of mighty Taelarys. In contrast to the glowing vista before him, Tarin was dressed in subdued tones, with dark gray trousers tucked neatly into shining black boots, and a black frock coat covered his charcoal-gray waistcoat, where a small silver chain was the only hint of a hidden pocket-watch.

“I have an assignment for you that I think you will enjoy,” the Arch Magister finally broke the silence, still facing the sprawling city laid out at his feet. Tarin, for his part, turned ever-so-slightly toward Saryx with an eyebrow half-cocked in silent inquiry. A heartbeat passed then, before the Arch Magister turned to face him, the impish grin of a much younger man cutting across his grizzled features. “Inquisitor Valeris is having some difficulty making progress with the newest piece of Defiant scum his men dragged in. Since you’ve been going mad with desk work lately, I thought you might like a chance to speak with him, Grand Inquisitor.”

A thin smile like a scar formed on Tarin’s face, and for all his composure, a note of eagerness slipped into his voice. “You are too kind, Your Grace.”

“There’s a carriage waiting for you in the street. I don’t expect it will take you long, so while you’re out, see if Revin has anything to report. When you return, I shall let you know if any other interesting developments require your attention.”

“Certainly, Your Grace.” With a low bow and a click of his heels, Tarin headed out through the heavy carved door of the Arch Magister’s suite, and was joined by his bodyguard, Marcos, on the way to the waiting carriage.

[DJDeMiko]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office

All things have edges, points at which they cease to be and something else begins. On one side, it is one thing, past the edge it is something else.

Humans have edges, physically the point where skin meets air, emotionally where their willingness to do or be ends. Where one stops being a moral and caring human being and where one becomes the monster they have always denied.

Cities have edges as well, thousands, millions, untold numbers. Physical ones where neighborhoods end, where turfs begin, where ladies do not walk alone at night and where those who live within have never known hunger.
There are sometimes places between edges though, a street that splits the good neighborhood from the bad, the act of courage that separates the docile man from the hero, the sin that damns the holy man.

It is within these edges that The Lord’s Arena rests, both physically and spiritually.

Physically it lies at one of the points in the cities where districts meet. Wealthy families to the north, to the east a shopping district, to the west lies industry, good hard working industry, owned by those to the north. To the south, a district of lower and middle class, the common folk who work their lives in the shops the wealthy frequent and in the industry the wealthy own.

Spiritually, Lord’s Arena offers the city all the things that a decent society should abhor. A place where the kind man cheers on the gladiator. A place where the holy man pays for a woman to keep him company.

Today, as the sun hits its zenith, a wave of sound, of humans roaring, pushes through the blocks nearby, the edges of this sound reaching for, but not quite finding the tops of the highest towers, the sound dieing in the place between the edge of its own vibrations and those opulent towers.

The crowd roars, they have ceased to be individuals and scream for blood. Two slaves circle each other in the middle of the arena on the packed clay ground. Blood drips onto the ground from their wounds, seeping past the edges of their skin and splattering onto the flat surface of the ground. Neither wish to be there, neither wish to kill and neither wish to die.

The trained eye can see and Jameson knows the truth. Neither is pushing the advantage, they are not prepared to kill. Soon though, Jameson knows, that one will reach the decision, that one will push through the edge of innocence, breaking their morality and become a killer. It will be a fine show indeed.

Jameson stands on his personal balcony watching the show. His clothing is fine, but not opulent. Trousers, a short coat and gloves in a rich dark purple and shirt of a starched white. He wears small metal rimmed glasses and his only jewelry is the large jeweled signet ring on his right hand.

A voice from behind interrupts Jameson’s musings. A small attractive woman wearing a simple dress, his secretary, one Miss Kathy Twill.

“Lord d’Milverton,” she says, speaking over the noise of the crowd, “your noon appointment is here to see you.”

“I see,” he says, “Mrs. Twill, how many tickets did we sell today.”

“Roughly 4,000 sir, but it is a work day,” she says. “Sir, your appointment.”

“With the lunch period pricing I gave,” he says, “it should be filled.” He sighs, at this rate the Lord’s Arena will go under within 3 months. “Fine, yes show them in.”

As his secretary walks away he catches the last moments of the fight. Below them, in the arena, one of the combatants lounges forward, catching his opponent square in the chest with the edge of his blade. It is over.

Jameson gives the man an unseen nod, it was the one he expected to win. “Congratulations,” he says quietly to the man far below. “You will never be the same, you have found your truth and if you are lucky it will keep you alive,” he continues, but his words are lost buffeted by the edge of the wave of sound rushing towards him from the crowd.

He leaves the balcony and sits at his desk as the door opens and Mrs. Twill ushers his appointment in.

[BladeofObliviom]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Morning
Taelarys Slums, Hideout

A pen stroked the image of Sir Gascard d' Rivain, creating a large cross through it.

Last night, blood had been spilt. A single Bloodguard recruit and a contingent of twelve soldiers of the guard, mowed down like wheat before a scythe. Each one was found with all of their possessions left intact, with a note nailed onto each of their foreheads - "Justice has been served."

The image was gruesome. It had happened on patrol, and one eyewitness, the only eyewitness, reported a metal man crushing them with his bare hands. It only confirmed what some members of the Guard had suspected with the last several killings: The self-styled "Bronze Crusader" has resurfaced.

Back in the hideout, the pen lifted from the paper. Gascard d' Rivain was dead, along with the bastard sons of Noblemen who felt that work in the Guard was their best opportunity. Thirteen deaths last night, by one man.

Thirteen down, only several thousand more to go. But Arlaan had plenty of time. In fact, he had all the time in the world.

[Kasanip]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
The East Entrance

Eris, the White Witch

After a long morning of walking, looking at the glistening, endless city in the distance, relief came when at last the path led to the imposing guardian statues that stood next to the gates of the arch. The East Entrance to the great Imperial City was impressive by design. It stood tall enough for a stilted man to walk beneath freely- though this kind of dumb scene would never happen. The stone arch was, like the city, proud and decorated with words and poetry, stories and sculptures. It was artistic and historic, and there was probably scholars who studied it endlessly.

These thoughts brought a small smile to Eris' face as she strained her neck to look up at them, following along with the river of people entering or leaving the city. The guards were watching closely as always, pulling aside suspicious marketeers with carts for inspection.

It was a hopeless task, to try to stop crime here. And no person would stop a young lady like as herself. She was not carrying much, but there were many coins in her purse. The only thing in the pack on her back were some spare clothes, a few gems and decorations. The spell-books she had left with she had long since mastered and memorized. The map she had traveled well, and it too was in her head. Trinkets and items that had been valuable she had grown bored with, or sold. The faded gray cloak she wore gave her the look of a merchant's daughter now. And that was fine. A decent disguise, for Eris, who lived many lives, and then let them die, and lived more.

It had been at least 50 years since she had last come this close to the Imperial City. And it had been 200 years since she had been forced to leave in banishment, from the North Gate.
And with the youthful smile turning to a grin of triumph and elation, she was back. A small victory maybe, but she had good reason.

The cobblestone was smooth and nostalgic. The talk of the people was sharp and rich. Her own accent changed when she moved, but she remembered the old style. And even the tongue of the Imperial City seemed bloated and squeezed now, much like it's busy streets. Eris nimbly avoided a passing cart, and paused by a farmer's shop. She returned to walking a second later, a new apple in her hand to eat.

The city had grown larger and larger since last time. But it was not all new and shining. There was a lot of mud and bad smells. Not a place for a merchant's daughter to wander alone.
But she wasn't a merchant. She needed information. To learn the state of things here.
She tossed the finished apple to the cats in the alley.
And the best place to find information was in the darker area of the city. Eris pulled her cloak hood up to conceal the rubies ornamenting in her white hair. She doubted she would be disappointed.

[Vadin]

3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Midnight
The Sewers

The last disciple had just received Hem's blessing, a calm hand on the kneeling man's forehead, when some angry, high-pitched noise came from just beyond the flickering candlelight. None of the Faithful noticed, of course, all still meditating and reflecting on the glorious peace that only their master could provide.

The obvious leader of this strange gathering did take notice, however. He was more on edge that night than usual. Big Things were happening. He could feel it. After further investigation, he found that this noise was not the Big Thing he was waiting for, it was simply an angry rat and a cat that didn't know it's own strength.

An hour passed and the first Faithful began to come back to their senses. One by one, Hem told them, "Go. Listen. Help." Wordlessly, each member bowed deeply and handed him their small offering that week. With the antechamber all to himself again, he assessed that week's take: enough candles to light the room next week, two marks, a few pennies, a dozen bits bits, a half-empty spool of vibrant blue thread, and a high-quality adjustable steel wrench. A good haul, certainly enough to feed the children for another week. Hem nodded to himself, hid his garments carefully behind some loose bricks, and made for the surface. The marks, thread, and wrench were all for the children, but those pennies and bits, Hem decided months ago, were his to spend as he pleased. That night, it pleased him to go the Knight's Bard and listen.

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Several hours until Moonset
The Knight's Bard

A tall, pale man with black hair down to his shoulders sat at the front of the bar with a mug of ale, a faraway stare, and open ears.

[Swordslinger]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Evening
Lord’s Arena, The Copper Blade Club

The sun sat low in the sky and cast longs shadows on the ground as Amandre entered the Lord’s Arena. Tonight he wore an old black cloak with its hood up. In his pocket were a dagger and several silver coins. He stopped outside the doors leading in to the Copper Blade Club and stood there for a while. Soon a big rough looking man with a scar across his faced appeared; he stopped and stood next to Amandre for a few seconds before moving into the club. Now, a few silver coins poorer Amandre moved into the tavern. A few hours later he was sitting by a table with a drink in his hand, and he watched as a young man wearing red fine but worn cloths entered, the tavern and settled down. Amandre had followed this man around for days, observing his habits. He usually came here at this hour to drink away his sorrows. His life was not going to well, most of his wealth had been ruined by gambling, but yet he came here every day to drink. Perhaps that was why he had been diverting some of the Varium shipments at one of House Darran’s operations which he was involved with toward increasing his own wealth. Usually this kind of behavior would be dealt with in different ways, however he had been sloppy in his attempts to sell the Varium on his own, and he had left traces that could be lead back to the Varium smuggling operation. That operation might be lost now, however Amandre had been busy the last weeks removing any and all traces from that operation that could lead back to house Darran. Just one more left.

In the middle of the tavern the big man with a scar across his face was arguing loudly with some other men. Soon a fight broke out between them, people in the room was drunk and easily agitated, and full scale brawl broke out. Amandre watched the man in the red clothes stand up and trying to avoid the fighters, but he was in the middle of it and could not get away. Amandre felt a pity for the man, for awhile at least, and then he quelled that and all his feelings. The only thing that mattered now was getting his job down. He made his across the room, walking slowly and unsteadily as if drunk. Under his cloak he drew the dagger, when he was close to the man he stopped. Everyone was fighting everyone and soon he was pushed hard, he stumbled forward and crashed into the man in red clothes. With a word Amandre walked onward trough the fighters, ignoring any blows or scuffles. Behind him the man looked shocked and he uselessly grasped around his chest, at the hilt sticking out of his stomach. He made a moan and fell to the floor, no one seemed to take any notice of it. By that time Amandre was at the exit, guards were flocking over there to put an end to the brawl, they walked passed him without looking at him twice. Still hidden under his cloak, Amandre left the club and calmly walked out of The lords arena.

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Morning
The Clockwork Griffin

Xavier had been up since near dawn, working on a new design that would spray a mist of water at party goers. He expected it to be a hit in the hot summer months when open-air gala's were all the rage.
Xavier took a short break from his work to flip the sign on the door to "Open". His sale started today, and he wasn't gonna miss a single customer due to forgetting his sign (which he often did). Afterwards he returned to his workbench, keeping his ear's open for the sound of the bell attached to the door.

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office

Xavier had just been putting on his coat when the stage had arrived. He hadn't expected one, making the ride to his appointment rather enjoyable. On the way to the Lord's Arena he racked his mind for what could have caused Jameson to ask him to come to this appointment. While they were friendly on those times when both had been at court, there was no spectacular friendship there. Clearly a matter mechanical. Perhaps he had heard the rumors of the cooling systems and wanted to be the first to use them...

It was at this point in his musings that Xavier realized with a start that he was sitting in front of his destination. He tossed the driver a couple pennies as a tip, and walked in, asking the first person he found where to find Jameson's office. After a few minutes, and a few backtracks, he found it a few minutes after noon. He paused to insure that he was presentable, and knocked on the door.

[DJDeMiko]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office

Ms. Twill shows Xavier into the room and quietly closes the door behind him. Jameson stands from behind his desk, a large heavy wooden affair and motions for Xavier to come and sit.

Xavier, it is a pleasure to see you, he says extending his hand. Both men shake and sit. Xavier cannot help but notice that Jameson seems very tall from this position.

I am sure you are wondering why I requested a visit. It just so happens that I have a need for one of your devices, a few of them in fact.

[BladeofObliviom]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Several hours until Moonset
The Knight's Bard Tavern

The man will likely hear the whispering of many voices, this night.

It's near Moonset, around the time when the tavern is most active. It's dangerous too, but only if you call attention to yourself. One corner is choking with smoke, from some fool who couldn't wait until he was outside to light his pipe. Another is filled with a group of tattooed men who seem to be negotiating the prices for Varish sales.

The group with truly interesting news, however, is a platoon of Guards here on break. While they're getting ornery looks from almost every person who enters, the eavesdropping man will be able to hear much. The murder of Sir Gascard d' Rivain is spoken of in hushed tones, and one of them mentions that one of the killed guards was his half-brother.

They don't reveal very much other than what is basically common knowledge by now, but they do offer one detail. They repeat the message nailed into the brow of each of the murdered men, and mention the "Bronze Crusader." No more of value is offered.

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office
Xavier de Forza

"It's good to see you too Jameson. I hope your doing well." Xavier replies shaking Jameson's hand. "Might I ask which machine? I have several that are wildly popular, as well as a few newer creations that have yet to be mass produced, though I could of course meet any order you need." Xavier asks, eagerly hoping for a large order. Anything in use at the Lord's Arena is sure to fly off the shelves.

[DJDeMiko]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office
Jameson

Jameson leans back in his chair and looks to the ceiling, his hand waves in the air as he speaks, its movement suggests he is speaking idly.

I need a machine that will cool off a large outdoor area. I will be having a . . . party within the week and I expect a great many guests to be standing on one of the upper decks of the arena, watching the fight below around 3 to 4 pm. It will be quite hot and I can't have my guests sweaty.

Jameson turns and looks Xavier in the eye, his eye brow raised quizically.

You don't happen to know of anyone that can make a machine like that do you?

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office
Xavier de Forza

Someday, I must learn how he does that. Xavier thought to himself (not for the first time, either).
"I believe I may have just what you need. they're still in the testing stage, but I should have them functional within a week. Assuming each can cool a 20' room, how many would you need? Xavier asked, calculating how much time he'd need in his head. I may need to get Claye in on this... It'd definitely help meet the time requirement, not to mention keeping them running... Have to get her to sign a non-creation act though, so I can keep the monopoly... Or perhaps a partnership if she's good at making them...

[DJDeMiko]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office
Jameson

Jameson smiles broadly, still playing coy.

How exciting! he says. I knew I was going to the right man.

His face changes from a friendly smile to a harder serious look, one that suggests business is at hand, but good friendly business. He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a pad of parchment, a quill and an ink well, fills the quill and sketches quickly on the pad.

20 foot area you say, he says as he sections boxes off on the drawing, I will need 10 then and they can be placed here, here and here. He notes 10 spots on the small map with an x.

Do you think that would work, with these placements they won't interfere with the guests views . . . . your devices aren't too loud are they, that wouldn't do at all.

He frowns and taps the quill on the pad. A week is too long, I may need them as quickly as 4 days from now. Would that be a problem? I would of course pay extra for the expedited costs.

[have_a_cow]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Almost Noon
Potentir Tower

The sun was high in the sky and the seagulls were cawing loudly as the dockworkers settled down to eat their lunches. Spirits were high; it was a wonderful day and the fishing this season was spectacular.

At the base of Potentir tower Michael was preparing to leave. He had heard about a new casino further inland in the city, and he wanted to visit. Finally the coach arrived and Michael and his soul-bound slave Peter climbed inside.

The dockworkers stopped their merrymaking when they caught sight of the blue, black, and gold standard flying from the coach; no one wanted to risk the wrath of one of the mages of House Potentir. Everyone knew stories about someone who slighted a mage disappearing in the night.

Michael didn't notice any of this going on around him. He was deep in thought.

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena

Michael decided to enter on the Golden Dagger side of the establishment; he had heard that the live music was excellent. He sat down at a table to listen to a beautiful woman play the harp. The song was sad, and it reminded him of the way his mom would sing to him when he was little. She didn't sing anymore. In fact, she hardly spoke to him at all. She was busy being in charge of their household with an ever decreasing staff. House politics were not going his family's way.

[VonDoom]

Three Days Ago
1st of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Taelarys Docks

The docks of Taelarys were a majestic sight, provided one didn't look at the wrong parts, or too closely for that matter. With the sun high already after only five hours since its rise, the sea glistened and the soft breeze carried the pleasant air from further out the ocean into the docks, an all too brief respite from the unpleasant tang of filth and industrial work that usually dominated most of the area.

The highlight of this morning was the arrival of a very peculiar ship, a freighter that looked very different from most ships that entered the harbor. Its make was very elaborate, very thin, almost like a blade cutting through the waves. There was no flag raised, but rather the very sail itself served to illustrate the origin of the ship -- the black sail bore, in golden filament, the Dragon of Ikoku, the stylized symbol of the exotic island-nation far across the sea.

The sailors were few and looked tired, their garb worn and dirty, their faces showing signs of attrition and sheer exhaustion. Their welcome, of course, wasn't exactly very warm, as the ship had arrived unannounced, but the trade goods and spices they carried would quickly change that once its contents became known.

This ship, later revealed to be named 'The Pearl of His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku' when translated into the local tongue, was a trade ship that normally didn't venture quite so far as Taelarys. Some powerful noble had apparently ordered them to deliver and sell a variety of goods for the local market, hoping to establish a trade route for oversea commerce. Looking at the state of the ship's men, however, it was sheer luck that they had arrived at all. Some improvements might prove necessary before any secure trade routes could be established


The Pearl of His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku also carried a passenger, whose arrival would likely bear far greater importance to the city of Taelarys than anything else in or on the ship. He was tall and well-built, but had suffered just the same attrition as the others and where he might have appeared the perfect athlete a year ago, he now looked malnourished, his arms and legs spindly. Hollow cheeks, an unkempt beard and dirt crusts marred his complexion as he stepped down the plank, setting a first foot onto solid ground.

His clothes were as dirty as he was, full of holes and even some dry blood. But as his filthy black hair billowed in the breeze, a smile slowly appeared on his lips. His eyes were clear and brimming with intelligence and determination.

The Ikoku native briefly raised the large bag he was carrying, testing its heavy weight to reassure himself, before moving on. He had no intention of waiting until whatever passed for a customs officer in this country would arrive.

"First, a bath," he noted to himself, using the tongue of Taelarys he had practiced and mastered during their long and arduous journey, speaking with only a very small, barely noticeable trace of an accent.

Three Days Ago
1st of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Afternoon
Taelarys Docks

The stranger who had stepped from The Pearl of His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku was currently savoring a bath, his expression one of bliss and relief as one of the scantily-clad female attendants rubbed shampoo into his hair, while another man was preparing a shaving razor for the strange foreigner who had entered their establishment in quite the state.

Against expectations, he had addressed them in perfectly understandable words, was perfectly aware of the kind of bathhouse this was, and offered them a rather expensive gem in compensation for their services -- and their tolerance of his current state, which he tasked them to improve as much as they were able. Thus, the stranger from Ikoku, Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, former leader of a vast criminal empire and a veritable army of thugs and shinobi-assassins, was now resting inside a large pool of scented water, as a guest of one of the better bathhouses-slash-bordellos within the district. And, as the Ikoku-man leaned back and sighed in relaxation, he couldn't be happier with his current predicament, even if it was rather beneath his station.


One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office

It was thus on the 3rd of Bargenholt that a luxuriously-dressed, if still somewhat tired-looking man with clearly foreign features arrived in the Lord's Arena. He was wearing a coat of red brocade with buttons of gold, accompanied by black pants and rather fine shoes, his raven-colored hair bound together into a ponytail by a thick red string. As he carefully studied the architecture of the place, the stranger began to politely but firmly inquire about the owner of the establishment and whether he could have some of his time. He didn't exactly refuse to give his name, but quickly dismissed the question by stating that they did not know each other, but that he wished to speak to Jameson nonetheless.

There was a measure of handsomeness to the native of Ikoku, but it was very underplayed due to his current bad state of health, but the way he spoke, his suave smile and piercing eyes made it clear that a 'no' for an answer would be difficult to give. With the level of confidence he exuded, if he wasn't granted an audience in an expedite manner, he might just attempt to walk into the owner's office himself.

[Kasanip]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Afternoon
Traveling towards Lord’s Arena

Eris, the White Witch


How many hours it had been was lost already to Eris as she walked the streets and taverns. Truthfully she didn't pay attention to time very much now. The walking sun was hidden behind the town buildings, and the sorcerous towers in the distance always left long shadows.

She had learned a lot, and also nothing in the time she had searched. More she aimed knowledge of the Sorcerous houses, and of her own Ostrim. Was it her own?
Maybe not. It would not recognize her now, and she would not recognize it.
But of the things she could keep, she had held this identity. Pride was something Eris never could abandon.
There had been some rumors from the peasants of course. Politics was always the game of the Sorcerous houses. But there were too many small pieces. A name, an act, a consequence.

To learn more though, she had to investigate the richer areas of the city. The gossip of nobles and merchants would tell her more than the common worker. But the one name she had learned was from the quiet whisper of a nervous man. A man who inspired some fear. Jameson. If the rumors were true, then she might learn what she needed from him.

Eris pulled her cloak around her. To be out at night was not safe.

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office
Xavier de Forza

"Four days should be doable, but I'd need to get right on it." Xavier said, rising from his seat. "It was good to see you Jameson. Take care!"

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
One-ish
Claye-Potts Machinery

Xavier eased the door to Claye-Potts open and slipped in. "Claye! You here? I might have a proposition for you!" he calls in the direction of the work room, the logical place Claye would be.

[DJDeMiko]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Ms. Twill enters Jameson’s office without a knock. She knew him well enough to know when she could and could not enter.

“Lord Jameson,” she said to him when he didn’t look up. She knew he knew she was there and was toying with her. When he continued writing she cleared her throat loudly.

He looked up, smiling Yes Ms. Twill, what can I do for you while you interrupt my work.

I just thought, she said, that you might want to know that there is a man asking for an audience with you . . . but he won’t give his name.

Really? How strange, do you recognize him? Some noble hoping his clandestine dealings won’t be noted? Jameson was curious now, the day had been dull, his financial analysis even duller.

Well, he is dressed well, but appears quite frail . . . but sir, he matches the description of one of the occupants of that trade ship . . . the one that arrived two days ago.

Jameson stands up eyes wide, his small smile growing wider. Oh, that is interesting indeed, please see him in.


4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office
Jameson

Jameson watches Xavier lead and is shaking his head and Ms. Twill enters the room. He lets out a short laugh.

Ms. Twill looks at him with a curious expression. What is so funny my lord?

It’s one of the things I like about Xavier, he says, the man is so dedicated to his craft that he didn’t think to even ask me about payment.

Jameson reaches into his desk and pulls out a piece of paper and holds it out to Ms. Twill. This is what it will cost him to create 10 of those machines.

Please draft and send a letter to him offering to pay the second amount in rental fees or the 4th amount as a partnership agreement with Lord’s Arena taking 10% of any future profits on the devices. Oh and for the fliers we are creating for the upcoming execution, make sure it notes that we will be showcasing a new device by the master craftsman Xavier de Forza.

Oh and one last thing, Jameson says as she is about to leave. Send a note to his raw material vendor and let them know that if they try to gouge him on the price that they will answer to me.

[Mono Vertigo]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Early Morning
Near the Slums – Eiko's house's roof



Sweet in its flavour but strong in its aftertaste, distinctly inebriating but not overwhelming, cheap but not watery. What more could she ask from a beer? With a burp followed by a sigh, she emptied the bottle, and threw it behind her; it broke near the chimney, joining a pile of glass. Someday, she should clean up that mess.
As always, Eiko looked up, watching the clouds and birds. In her soft haze, she found herself daydreaming about the sun, and the moon, and the future. And much less solemn and poetic things, too.
A small thud interrupted her drunken imagination, followed by a raspy “Hey, dumbass! Your nest, it's stinky. Do you hear me, moron?”
The Tengu always found crows awfully impolite.

Eiko grumbled, insulted the bird, and turned in its direction. “Oh, go back home. Gosh. Friggin' crows. Go back home and choke on a sardine.”
It flapped its wings, upset. “Can't! Too much ruckus. Instead, I've decided to come and have fun with you. Less stressful.” This particular bird's version of fun seemed to involve randomly insulting more intelligent lifeforms; all the better if they could understand it.
“What's the ruckus for?” asked the winged woman. “My dream came true, and hawks appeared and ate your family?”
“No”, replied the back bird, “There's a new wood-thing-on-water, and there's a whole bunch of humans running around.”
She groaned. “Why's a ship so special that you can't go away and leave me alone?”
It twisted its head at a peculiar angle for no apparent reason. “Dunno. Stuff there that smells unlike most stuff on wood-things-on-water. Looks weird, too.” And it flapped its wings again, and once again, its caws sounded clear in her ears. “Your nest also looks weird, dumbass. And it stinks. Give me leftovers, and I stop pointing out your nest stinks.”
“I don't have any bloody left-”
“Your nest stinks. It smells bad stuff. Did you know it smells like rotten purple berries? It smells, and my nest's better than yours! Stupid lazy you, your nest is ugly!”
A shard of glass flew right toward the mocking bird, who took off and disappeared out of the Tengu's sight. She had a couple new priorities for the day. First, after her routine at the Machinist Guild, she was going to check the docks for that “special” ship. Secondly, throwing away the mess on her roof. Bonus third: catch that crow and cook it for dinner.

[VonDoom]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

"Thank you, my dear," the man offered with a brilliant smile as he entered through the door, waiting for a moment until she had closed it again. He was indeed a native of Ikoku, and the description the owner of this establishment had been given of him hadn't been wrong; not exactly, anyway. The clothes he wore were indeed quite exquisite, but they were also obviously local and thus most likely recently bought. The man looked frail, malnourished. Pale, even for a man of his ethnicity. But the way he stood and carried himself spoke of strength and grace that belied his current shape. Clearly, if his travels had not been so taxing, the Ikoku-ian standing before him might rival any of his trained athletes in form.

The subject of Jameson's scrutiny briefly brushed off his red coat as he turned his attention towards his host.

I'm not sure if his official title is Lord d'Milverton or Lord Jameson since the House was disgraced and all, after looking through his entry. Assume he said whichever one was the correct means of addressing him.

"Blue eyes," he noted with a fascinated smile, clearly speaking of Ms. Will. "Almost unheard of in Ikoku." He shook his head, dismissing the silly train of thought, and stepped closer.

"I apologize, Lord d'Milverton, the customs and etiquette of your people are still as new to me as your language." Which was technically true, even if he did sound like he had spoken it all of his life. He had only really begun to learn it when he had boarded The Pearl of his August Personage, the Emperor of Ikoku.

He bowed, then. His demeanor was all quite natural -- he wasn't uncomfortable or stiff standing before the noble. It was hard to tell why he had come here and what he knew of Jameson at this point, but if he was aware of Jameson's reputation already, the man was quite brave.

"Thank you for inviting me into your office and granting me this audience," he began, smiling briefly. "After all, as I already told your charming assistant, you don't know me." The foreigner stood straight once more, looking right into his host's eyes. "Allow me to rectify this: I am Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, third heir of Clan Tatsudoshi. My apologies for not mentioning it sooner, but I thought it would be impolite to burden your assistant with excessively long foreign names and titles. Please, call me by my given name -- Mikado."

If Jameson had bothered looking into the ship from Ikoku, he might well have heard that there had been a passenger on this ship. A passenger who had, in the brief time he had been here, given away two precious gems of great value in exchange for relatively minor things except, most likely, the clothes he now wore, since this was obviously the man people had been talking about.

[DJDeMiko]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

On his nobility

House d'Milverton has not had any tarnishing (besides producing Jameson). It is simply a minor house and very low on the totem pole. His nobility is seen by higher ranked nobles as being a sort of novelty title award to a lesser family.


Jameson watches the foreigner enter. An interesting man indeed. He had entered the room as a man accustomed to respect and more interestingly, like a man accustomed to a respect hard earned. His entire bearing suggested power and cunning.

His body though, at first notice seemed weak and frail, like a wealthy lord not accustomed to work. Jameson's keen eye notes the hint of muscle now eroded, the poise with which the man walks. A well trained fighter, now out of shape.

So this is the rich traveler. He thinks. A very interesting man. He could either be a very dangerous adversary or a very dangerous ally.

Jameson returns Mikado's bow almost perfectly, his demeanor suggesting respect and a casual attitude.

Please, sit, your trip must have been arduous. If I am to call you Mikado, he says and motions for Mikado to have a seat.call me Jameson. I admit that I am not familiar with your customs or clan myself, but if I am not mistaken, your title would place you as nobility as well, so let us speak as equals.

I had heard of your ships arrival, you may not realise this but your arrival has caused quite a stir in some circles. Jameson continues in a tone that suggests he is well aware that Mikado knows exactly what effect his arrival had caused. I must say I was not expecting this visit.

Please tell me, what brings you are to our fine city and my office. I can't imagine you are here to try your hand at the dice tables.

[VonDoom]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

"Jameson it is," Mikado replied with a strange smile, accepting the invitation and taking the seat offered. He leaned back, assuming a comfortable and somewhat informal position as he studied the man in front of him with his intelligent, coal-colored eyes.

"Really?", the Ikoku native inquired when the fallout of his arrival was mentioned. "I hadn't noticed. Of course, I suppose it was inevitable, considering my means of payment. As I'm sure you're well aware, we don't exactly have a compatible currency between our countries."

The former Dragon Emperor shifted in his seat, leaning forward a little while lowering his voice. "That, incidentally, is one of the reasons I am here to visit -- after all, as an obvious man of lineage and wealth, I'm certain you're a man who would be willing to exchange some spending money for a ruby or three." As he spoke he indicated something about as large as an egg with his ends, allowing a fiendish smile to spread on his lips.

"After all, I've heard that you will have quite the festival here soon. Everyone is talking about it, really -- it's quite impressive. And attending the wealthy, the nobility, just the kind of local people I would be very interested in meeting," he chuckled amiably. "I want to set up shop here. A business, something of my own, away from the strict hierarchies of Ikoku, where people do not prostrate themselves on the ground simply because someone respectable passes by. And it wouldn't do to meet these people without a single coin to my name, would it?"

He leaned back again, folding his hands together lazily as his black eyes once again sought out those of the Taelaryian. "I'm certain we can agree on an exchange rate that will prove satisfactory for the both of us. After all, we aren't talking about copper pennies."

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, One-ish

A very young man behind the counter looks up as Xavier walks in. After Xavier calls to the back room, "Potts" offers a small bow. "Ah! A guild visitor. Would you like something to drink? We have water and... well, pretty much just water for now. We only opened this morning."

Claye pops out of the back room. "Xavier! How have yeh been?"

[DJDeMiko]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson's eyes widen at the suggested size of the jewel and then he frowns.

I am flattered that you would bring this to me and would be more than happy to help, but I must confess I know little of gems and their worth, nor is it the type of business I normally engage in.

He hands the gem back and continues "I am a simple entrepreneur, but I may be able to help. As it happens, I am lucky enough to know a good many people, he pauses and looks Mikado directly in his eyes to make sure he gets his point across, who do a good many things. I am always happy to point someone in the right direction, though I do occasionally ask for a small finders fee. If you ever find yourself in possession of goods and you are unsure who the best buyer would be, I will be more than happy to point you in the right direction.

Jameson leans back and appears to consider for a moment. I would recommend taking these to Rumpelstin's. Rumpelstin is an honest merchant who will give you an honest price, just let him know that I recommended you to him.

As to my little banquet in a few days, he says I am sure that a man of your stature and unique heritage would be quite interesting to have as a guest. I will make sure you are invited, at no charge of course. Perhaps we shall consider it a positive start to a fortuitous relationship?

[VonDoom]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

The visitor frowned briefly at this turn of events, but his expression quickly turned pleasant again when Jameson offered an alternative. "I find that people who repeatedly stress their honesty are usually anything but," he offered with a cat-like grin, but then quickly continued. "I'll trust your recommendation. After all, it's merely an initial investment -- I'll likely have to spread them out across multiple merchants, since I doubt any one of them would like to invest so much at once in stones they may not find an interested party for within an appreciable amount of time." Mikado furrowed his brow in thought, repeating Rumpelstin's name to confirm it and perhaps to better memorize it.

Jameson's offer was met with a wide, mirthful grin. "Delightful." A simple, positive-sounding reply that didn't actually commit to anything, but left everything on the table. Mikado had claimed to be only recently acquainted with the culture and language of Taelarys and there was no lie in his statement -- none that he gave away after any fashion, at least. Assuming it was true, he had mastered the nuances frightfully quickly.

His eyes suddenly widened, as a realization came upon him. "But, please, let's put talk of business aside for awhile -- I'm certain you must have some questions. Ikoku is pretty far and isolated, after all." The man with the slanted eyes looked down upon himself. "As my sorry state can attest. I fear the journey was rather harsh on me -- and the sailors, of course. Many died before we reached this harbor."

[Vadin]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late evening
Dibsy Street

It had been a long day and a good day. Tabitha, one of the older girls, had taken the money Hem made "working" and found an excellent deal on some shark fins down at the market while buying the week's food. The stew smelled excellent. Really, just perfect.

Hem reflected on how strange the children would find it if they knew he spent most of the day walking around the city in a tengu mask looking for a stranger's apartment. They wouldn't have thought it strange when he comforted the grieving guard, though. Each child was well acquainted with the feeling of peace and warmth that came from one of Uncle Hem's hugs. He didn't keep them hooked on it like he did his worshipers, instead using the power only when a situation called for it: night terrors, tantrums, the weepies. An angry or scared adult wouldn't have felt anything, but children were far more suggestible and sensitive to his most unusual ability. As long as they could trust him enough to compose themselves for just a moment he could always get them back to bed. They loved him, they really did. And it was so convenient. Children make the best spies.

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt
Claye-Potts Machinery
One-ish
Xavier de Forza

"Thank you for the offer, but I'm fine. I just need to speak to Claye for a moment. Is there someplace private here?" Xavier asks, looking around the shop. Assuming there is, he'll follow Claye there before beginning. "I have just come from the Lord's Arena, where Mr. d'Milverton wants to rent a cooling machine I've created. There's a problem though... it's a prototype, and I have to finish the kinks and have 10 created in four days. to put it simply, I need some help. I'd be willing to split the profits 50-50 with you and Potts if you'd be willing to help. I'd even be willing to work together to sell the devices if they take off. he flashes his best smile. "So what do you say?"

[DJDeMiko]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

I couldn't agree with you more about men who claim to be honest, Jameson says, For every one you can trust, there are ten with daggers behind there back. No, this is why I recommend Rumplekin, he has a very high reputation in town and I have dealt with him personally.

Yes, let us put business aside. Tell me, you must be hungry, the golden blade has some of the finest chef's in the city, why don't I have Ms. Twill bring us in something. If he agrees, Jameson will call Twill in and have her send in a large tray of assorted small dishes and he will join him for lunch. If he refuses, Jameson will not.

I would be very interested to hear more about your homeland Jameson says. Most of my knowledge of Itoku is based on rumors and it can be hard to put fact from fiction. I have heard that you follow an emperor like ours and that he rides on the back of a tamed lizard the size of a horse, that couldn't be true could it?

the conversation

Jameson will continue making small talk unless Mikado steers the conversation. Topics would include religion, government, games of chance they play (he does run a casino after all). And he is genuinely interested.

Jameson will casually drop in questions including
1. Will the city be seeing more merchants from Itoku
2. Learning more about Mikado's trade goods.

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Claye-Potts Machinery

Ghedim put down the clockwork bauble and placed his hands flat on the counter. He'd hoped for a more decisive reaction from the woman, but she was either an unfortunately named innocent or sufficiently experienced to quash any reaction to her own name.

"Well, then let me be blunt madame. My government would be most interested in a meeting with a member of the Kilnmyr family, and I believe you to be just such a person. If you are not, then I have no more business here, but if you are Claye Kilnmyr then I believe I have a proposal that would be mutually beneficial for all involved."

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Noon

"Ah am Claye Kilnmyr, but Ah'd need t' hear the proposal first." Claye leans on the counter completely, and then switches to the common tongue of Rhetiz - although hearing it spoken with her accent is a new experience even for an ambassador, despite her effort to enunciate. "Or I could save you some time. Are you here about the armory?" Normally this would have been a prodigious logical leap, but Claye knew from experience that governments typically only wanted to talk to her about one thing...

4th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, after 1 p.m.

Claye takes Xavier directly to her little office in the back of the actual machine shop. It was no larger than a prison cell, but darn it, she was proud of it.

Upon hearing his offer, Claye raises an eyebrow so high that it disappears under the headband. "50-50 for an Arena job? How could Ah refuse? Am Ah gonna be developin', testin', or just hammerin' 'em out?"

[VonDoom]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

"Oh, thank you," Mikado raised a hand in a dismissive gesture, shaking his head. "But I'm afraid it'll take awhile before I can stomach regular food again. In all likelihood I should be resting in bed, but I've never let that stop me before."

He laughed weakly, flexing his fingers as he briefly examined his current state in dismay. "I'd normally spend some time rehabilitating myself first, but I'm not one to let opportunities pass him by."

The Ikoku native nodded as Jameson spoke about his country. "Yes, 'His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku' to roughly translate his title. The living incarnation of a god, or so it is said. Chosen by the four dragons of the winds -- north, west, south and east. I've never heard of him riding a lizard or dragon before, though. I suppose he could, since his position places him as head of the Celestial Bureaucracy."

He briefly proceeded to explain that the various mystical creatures of Ikoku were all organized into the rigid structure of this Celestial Bureaucracy, ruled by ancient laws, binding agreements and oaths. Their culture is extremely formal and etiquette is pretty much required if one likes continued survival.

All in all, Mikado didn't seem like the average native of Ikoku, with the nonchalant and rather charming demeanor he had exhibited once the first formalities had been exchanged. When Jameson mentioned the ship and trade goods, Mikado merely shook his head. "I'm afraid I don't know too much about the cargo itself, it certainly isn't mine. I was just a passenger. The ship itself belongs to a higher-ranking noble and, presumably, so does the cargo. They'll likely be spices, drapery, that sort of thing. Goods from Ikoku that you can't normally get around here -- criminally overpriced, I'm sure."

The man leaned back, crossing his arms in front of his chest in thought. "I heard the captain talk about a special cargo he was keeping locked away in his own quarters, come to think of it. I wonder what it could be -- maybe some letters intended for local politicians? I suppose it could be something illegal." Mikado shrugged, clearly not very concerned. "Whatever they're doing, it's of little importance to me. I only brought a variety of gems, as a base investment to build upon."

Looking up at the ceiling for a moment in thought, the Ikokuian then added. "If my memory doesn't fail me -- and it rarely does -- the Pearl was supposed to be a test run, to see if trade routes could be established. Looking at the state of the crew, most in a worse shape than myself, I'd say it could use some work. An agreement with the local sorcerer guild might help. I'm sure between them and Ikokuian mystics, they could faciliate the journey quite a bit."

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Afternoon
The Clockwork Griffin
Mikado


The well-dressed form of Mikado walked through the entrance door that had, quite clearly, been marked 'open'. He was luxuriously-dressed, if still somewhat tired-looking, with clearly foreign features. His clothes consisted of a coat of red brocade with buttons of gold, accompanied by black pants and rather fine shoes, his raven-colored hair bound together into a ponytail by a thick red string.

There was a measure of handsomeness to the native of Ikoku, but it was very underplayed due to his current bad state of health, but his suave smile and piercing eyes belied that sickly state.

"Good afternoon," he offered to whomever he would find behind a counter or a similar structure. "I'm here to see the master of this place, Xavier de Forza."

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Claye-Potts Machinery
Oneish
Xavier de Forza

"All of the above most likely, though mostly just helping me hammer them out twice as fast. If you can come by after you close tonight, I can show you the prototype. It's mostly working. Right now, however, I need to get back to my shop. I've been 'Out to lunch' for almost two hours." Xavier shakes Claye's hand before heading out the door, where he takes the nearest taxi back to the Griffin.

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Clockwork Griffin
Afternoon
Xavier de Forza

Xavier was in the back when the door opened, but at the sound of the bell he hooked to it, he came out to the front. "I'm Xavier de Forza. How may I help you today sir?" he asks, wiping his hand on a leather apron. Once it's (possibly) less dirty than it was, he extends it to the man.

[VonDoom]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Afternoon
The Clockwork Griffin
Mikado

The man examined Xavier briefly as he introduced himself and accepted the handshake without protest. His grip was firm despite his obviously weakened state.

"I heard that you are the man to speak to regarding these wonderful steam devices, that you are quite a skilled craftsman," he explained. His eyes quickly focused on one of the devices visible from where he stood, examining it with great interest, before his attention snapped back to de Forza.

"Allow me to introduce myself," the Ikokuian began, "I am Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, recently arrived by ship from Ikoku. But, please, call me Mikado -- it's probably easier on your tongue." Briefly brushing a loose strand of his black hair back, the man offered a friendly smile. "I was hoping you might be available for some business."

[Kasanip]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Evening
Streets near Lord's Arena
Blue Pine Inn & Tavern

At last Eris pushed open the door to an inn, whose tavern was busy and bright with songs and the smell of alcohol and sweat. She wrinkled her nose at that, but stepped purposefully through towards the innkeeper's counter.
"Excuse me." She called loudly, trying to be heard over the noise of the tavern. The large, fat and cherry faced innkeeper waddled over, still drying a cup.
"Good evening young lady. What can I do for you this fine night? Here alone?" He asked, looking her over quickly. Eris forced a tired smile to her face.
"Good evening innkeeper. I would like a room, if there is one to spare. A bath as well, with warm water- I'll pay well." The innkeeper set his towel and cup down and flipped through his record book hastily.
"Yes, indeed... I can put you in for a room, miss....?"
"Eris. Just Eris." She replied.
"Miss Eris... Very good. It will be the first room at the top of the stairs. I'll send one of my daughters up when the bath is prepared. It may take a while, we're busy tonight." The innkeeper looked distractedly back at the tavern, where there was laughing and a game of knife throwing.
"I am patient." She replied. "Thank you."
"Will you be wanting supper?" The innkeeper asked, looking back. But Eris was already turning to go.
"No, it's ok. I will require breakfast in the morning." She responded over her shoulder. She would go out again now. More searching for now. Even if it was not safe.

[DJDeMiko]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson listens nodding, clearly interested in learning about Itoku.

Such a different place. Here we have hierarchys and what would look like rigid structures, but knowing the right person or where to palce a bribe throws a gear in the works. What of your criminal worlds, are they as organized?

Jameson pauses for a moment Look at me grilling you, please I have been rude, you are new to this city, you must have questions on our culture and business. Please feel free to ask.




One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late afterNoon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

After his conversation with Mikado, Jameson sits at his desk, his left hand drumming its fingers on the desk top. Open before him is a large book with names and sums listed. His right hand slowly slides down the names until it and the drumming stops.

He flicks a small switch on his desk, ringing a bell in Ms. Twill's office. She opens the door.

Yes Lord Jameson? she says.

I need you to send Bursop after two men for me. Jameson jots down two names. Talpst works for the customs department that would have inspected that ships cargo . . . the parts of it they put on paper at least and he has had a bad streak at the card table recently, owes us a few marks. Tell Bursop he can be rough if he needs too. This other man, Webble, he's a historian who has actually been to Ikoku, or at least so he claims. I'd like an audience with him to learn of his travels, Bursop may have to negotiate a fee. I want to know whats on that damn boat and I want to know more about my new . . . . friend.

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Afternoon
The Clockwork Griffin
Xavier De Forza

"Mikado it is then. I've never been to Ikoku, though I've always wanted to. Pleased to make your acquaintance." Xavier says. When Mikado mentions orders, he explains: "I'm currently accepting orders, but its likely that I won't be able to actually get the device to you, or even start on it in any major way, for at least a couple days due to a rather large order I wasn't expecting coming in today. however, any products out on the sales floor here are fully functional already, and for sale. In fact, in honor of the recent arrest of a member of the Crimson Cult, We're having a small sale. If you'd like to look around, feel free. there's a bell on the counter you can ring if you need me, or feel free to just come into the workshop. Just be careful of the machines. They'll take a hand if your not careful." he says the last with a laugh, raising his own metal hand as an example.

[the_druid_droid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Mid-Morning
Merchant District

As the carriage jolted through cobblestone streets, Tarin sat lost in thought. A little over two years ago, he had been involved in some of the most delicate and complex business he’d ever undertaken as an Inquisitor. The civil war then ongoing between Devin Fawkes and the Arch Magister had demanded his utmost cunning, and every day had been a whirlwind trip between Halls of Truth, his spies’ hideout and Saryx’s war room in an effort to keep things moving in the right direction. Tarin had managed some of the best work of his life during Fawkes’ rebellion, but he had begun to think that he might have been too successful.

Although threats to the House still lurked in the background, very few really interesting targets had dared to rear their heads after Fawkes’ execution. As a result, most of the day-to-day activity of the Inquisitors dealt with upstart slaves and beggars who thought themselves demagogues; the Inquisitors under Tarin’s supervision were more than capable of dealing with such nuisances by themselves, and the Grand Inquisitor had started to worry that two years filled with administrative work had made him soft.

The lurch of the carriage as it came to a stop brought Tarin back to the present, and as he looked up at the facade of the large warehouse the Inquisitors often used as a temporary holding cell, the gray-haired man smiled. Today at least, he would be able to get his hands dirty.

The warehouse itself was largely empty, save for a few stacks of boxes and barrels in the far corner, and as Tarin strode in, he was met by Inquisitor Valeris. Tarin greeted him warmly, giving free reign to his good mood. “So where is this Defiant rat you’re having trouble with, Valeris?”

A puzzled expression appeared for a moment on the younger Inquisitor’s face, but it quickly passed. “Ah, I think there may have been some miscommunication in that regard.”

“Oh? So you aren’t having any trouble?” Tarin’s voice remained even, but his heart sank a bit; news to that effect would be extremely disappointing.

“No, he's certainly being difficult. Thing is, he’s not actually one of those thugs.” Here Valeris paused and gestured to a scribe, who brought over a handful of parchment. “He’s actually a noble. A couple of men brought him in early this morning, and requested that we procure a confession. In exchange for our assistance, they provided us with detailed information about a Defiant safehouse we’ve been working hard to crack.”

The Grand Inquisitor’s brow furrowed as he reviewed the documents briefly. “Was the information any good?”

“My men confirmed it a few minutes ago. They’re setting up for a raid as we speak.”

“Excellent.” The ghost of a smile returned to Tarin’s face. Perhaps today was going to be a good day after all. “Since they’ve done us a favor, I suppose it’s only right that we reciprocate.” The Grand Inquisitor began to look over his prisoner’s documents in earnest now. “Hmm, noble family...ex-military, accused of...heresy, sedition, crimes against nature... Quite the set of charges, no?”

“It certainly is. The confession is all drawn up though; all we have to do is get him to sign it.” Valeris handed the older man another official-looking document, still bearing a blank signature line at the bottom. “They also stressed this point quite a bit,” as he spoke, the Inquisitor pointed to a certain paragraph in the official orders attached to the confession.

“They want him alive and intact? What does that mean?”

“I believe it means they want him to look presentable at his trial. No missing fingers or eyes; that sort of thing.” A black sarcasm lurked in the junior Inquisitor’s voice.

“They really think we’re monsters, don’t they?” Tarin felt himself sigh involuntarily. “Whatever anyone may think, I do understand the difference between eliciting a confession and inflicting punishment.” He let the anger pass with a shake of his head, and then handed the prisoner’s file back to Valeris’ scribe. The younger Inquisitor joined in step with him as headed for the maintenance room at the back of the warehouse where their guest, Davis d’Lupil, was waiting.

Leaving Inquisitor Valeris at the door to the little room, Tarin stepped inside, and took a good look at the accused man, who was currently sitting bound in a heavy hardwood chair. Although some bruises were showing from his capture and he was only clad in an undershirt and trousers, the man still possessed his former noble bearing, refusing to look at the Grand Inquisitor who studied him intently.

Without a word, Tarin crossed the room to a small table, and quickly removed his topcoat, cravat and waistcoat, replacing them with an old leather apron hanging from a peg nearby. He also slid on a pair of soft leather gloves, which might have been fashionable had they not been covered in deep crimson stains. At last, the Grand Inquisitor turned to face Davis, a stern expression set on his features.

“I take it you are the Lord d’Lupil?”

No response. Tarin hadn’t expected one, so he continued. “I am Tarin Ardalion, Grand Inquisitor of House Levant.” Davis’ jaw tightened a bit at the name. Clearly Tarin’s reputation had preceded him. That was good news. “You stand accused, among other things, of belonging to a cult which has been proscribed by the Emperor himself. I must admit, that makes you interesting; it’s been a very long time since I’ve dealt with a genuine heretic.” The Inquisitor permitted himself a quick smirk before continuing.

“The fact that this cult supposedly worships demons is even more interesting.” Tarin began to move away from his captive again, crossing to the other side of the room where a small boiler sat. “My mother used to tell me that people who made a pact with the Devil got a mark on them. She said he used hellfire to do it, and as a result, the marked man was almost immune to earthly fire from then on.” As he spoke, Tarin opened the boiler’s door and scraped the glowing coals around with a long iron poker. When the end had begun to glow a dull red, he moved back to where Davis sat.

“I’ve always wanted to learn if that story was true. What say we find out together?”

[Swordslinger]

It rang hollowly in the corridor for each step he took upon the water. The arched corridor, a sewer passage leading water away went on straight ahead, there was nothing but darkness to be seen in front and back of him. He did not know where he was going or why, yet he kept walking down upon the water step by step. At each of his sides by the walls there was a pathway that followed the water and now shadowy forms started to appear as he walked. They took the form of humans, pale people with dead eyes steering at him as he walked by, they seemed familiar to him, some forms where unclear and some had terrible wounds. Why where they here looking at him, judging him, he felt that he knew but the knowledge kept eluding him. He looked down into the water, there were people there too, floating downward with their faces and dead steering eyes upward. And his hands, he looked upon his hands and they were covered in blood, blood poured down from them and into the water, the water became colored crimson and he remembered. He wanted to scream but could not manage to. A hand grabbed his leg and the water he stood upon would no longer support him, he feel into the cold red water, he tried to keep a float but dozens of hands pulled him under and he sunk downward while he franticly waved with his hand trying to stay afloat but it was no use, he went down into the abyss.

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Too early
Darran manor, Amandre’s room
Amandre Nightheaven

He awoke with a gasp, sitting up in his bed. His heart was pounding and he was drained with sweat. He looked around the dark room, there were no windows but a big cloak in the corner told the time. It was very early, yet he knew he would not get anymore sleep tonight. He stood up, the room was in the basement with passageways leading further down into the under city trough a secret passage so he could easily leave and enter the manor without anyone taking notice of it. Around the room lay books of varying nature, building schematics and a large array of weapons and equipment. His closet contained a large number of cloths as well, clothes for any situation he would find. On the table lay a crossbow, partly dismantled, he knew he should get that oiled down and ready. Although he did not use it much, he had yet to need for anything that a short bow would not server just as well. He dressed up in green simple but well made clothes, he left his room and made his way up the stairs from the basement, maybe there was food to be found in the kitchen even at this early hour.


Story element(4/6):
Darran Manor: A sizable manor located at the outskirts of the noble district.

[Nefarion Xid]

At precisely 11:23 in the morning of the 4th day of Bargenholt, two, and only two, things happened in the city of Taelarys that were worthy of note.

Well, only two if you discount the fact that the immensely talented patissier of Dibsy Street Sweets burned a batch of orange creme rolls for the first time in thirty years of preparing artisanale baked goods. Though, this was only of interest to anyone on Dibsy street in desperate search of a sweet bun at the time. The baker, one Mortimer Right, was far too busy gawking out of his window at that moment and far too concerned with what he thought he saw to even care about his buns. His wife was meanwhile giggling fiendishly three doors down as the butcher sucked on her toes. And no, she didn't feel particularly guilty about cheating on Mortimer; he hadn't paid any attention to her toes or parts beyond in years. Honestly, what baker is still in the kitchen at eleven in the morning?

Now, far more important than a batch of burnt pastries was what happened far away at the Levant Children's Hospital. Though, sadly, fewer people took any notice at all.

At 11:23, little Cynthia Fairchild took her last few shuddering breaths and died alone. She had been a miserable two years in a near constant state of pain and this morning was no different spare the fact that she lacked the strength to climb out of bed today. She'd suffered from terrible burns over most of her body and had spent almost the entirety of ages six and seven in the confines of a small room with a single barred window and no mirrors.

Very fortunately for Cynthia, she had also spent the last two years in a continual state of delusion, completely immersed in a fantasy world. Like most little girls, she was a princess in her own imagination. Now, most children make decrees and condemn broccoli or throw lovely balls in their minds when they play at being royalty. Not Princess Cynthia, she was simply loved. Though, curiously, it was not the king and queen who cared for her; it was the dutiful steward of the castle. The steward was a man with kind eyes who was forbidden to ever lie. Every day, Princess Cynthia would ask the steward if she was beautiful, and, of course, the steward would say that she was. And every day she would ask if he loved her, and he would reply that he did. And every day she would ask if he would do anything for this love. He always spoke true. In this world of make believe, it was the steward who had been burned, not her. He was the one all wrapped up in bandages and it was his flesh, not hers, that cracked and rotted and bled. And he did this, he took her pain away, because he loved her.

Cruelly aware of her condition for the first time in memory, Cynthia choked out a sob, gasped her last, pained lung fulls of air and passed from this world, alone in her room. Her filthy sackcloth doll fell from her grasp and sat dutifully at her bedside. The doll, faithful and kind, had been loved far more these last two years than she had.

It was also at this moment that Anselme realized he was falling. You see, a lucky man hits the ground first and then knows that he has fallen. A less lucky fellow meets the ground and knows nothing at all because he's broken his neck. A very unlucky man, however, falls, continues falling, and then realizes this and comes to grips with his fate. All of this happens rather quickly of course, and you may be surprised to learn just how rapidly your faculties operate when you're falling to your death.

The second thought that crossed Anselme's mind was, "What did I do to deserve this?" He had no answer to that. The third thought was, "Haven't I done this before?" And he knew the answer to be yes, though he couldn't recall the circumstances, nor the outcome. As you might imagine, almost no one has occasion to repeat such an act.

He had only enough time to begin to ponder what he had been doing immediately before his current predicament before impacting the river, feet first. The tremendous splash could be seen from the corner of Dibsy street. And, by some miracle or just dumb luck, Anselme did not die at that moment, though he certainly thought he had. Several seconds after the splash, his unconscious form bobbed back to the surface and began to float unceremoniously downriver.

[VonDoom]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

Mikado blinked in surprise at the rather specific question regarding the organized crime of Ikoku. So far Jameson had been very discrete, but it was still somewhat obvious that he held quite a bit of interest in the trade ship the foreigner had arrived in.

Perhaps Jameson had suspicions that the riches he had arrived with had been acquired through illicit means and was gouging his reaction? It was a reasonable conclusion, after all, with some random person suddenly showing up in the man's office, throwing around precious gems left and right. A slightly exaggerated, but apt way of viewing it. But the former Dragon Emperor remained calm, not particularly bothered by the question, crossing one leg over the other as he allowed a brief smile to surface.

"Oh," he said, "I wouldn't want to hold you up with questions about the local culture. I'm sure you have more important things to do, and I don't mean to be so rude as to take up more of your time than necessary. You have been a very gracious host."

Mikado pursed his lips, as if something suddenly occurred to him. "Actually, yes, I believe there is something I want to ask you, after all." A slightly sad smile. "It's not as if appropriate housings are advertised in the streets."

He inclined his head to the side briefly, looking curious, though he absolutely expected the response to the following question to the positive and the slight sarcasm in his voice said as much. "You wouldn't happen to be acquainted with someone who might wish to part with, say, a small mansion or something similar? I would, of course, pay your fee for such a favor -- once the transaction is complete, of course. I'd pay in advance, but at the moment I could only offer you a ruby in return, and you did say you don't deal in precious stones."

Naturally, there were many ways Mikado could find and acquire appropriate housing, particularly if he resorted to less savory means to do so. But it never hurt to form some business relations early on and he didn't really want to appear too capable and knowledgeable about local customs and geography to the man before him. He had studied Taelarys quite a bit before he arrived, after all.

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Afternoon
The Clockwork Griffin
Mikado

"I see," the visitor replied with a small smile. "It is a rather difficult journey there. And, I fear, foreigners rarely get a very warm welcome." He looked somewhat apologetic, as if that didn't sit quite right with him, but there was little he could do about it.

An understanding nod followed De Forza's elaboration regarding orders, but when Xavier raised his own prosthetic hand, Mikado look at it with peaked interest. "Fascinating," he noted, transfixed by the device. "May I?" he asked, raising his own hand to indicate that he would like to have a closer look. "I assume you made some sort of improvements beyond ordinary functionality?"

[Jade_Tarem]

Fourth day of Bargenholt, 11:25 a.m., Claye-Potts Machinery

Claye managed not to jump as Julian burst through the door. “Miss Kilnmyr! There’s a man in the river – he’s right across the street from the shop!”

Claye snorted, not even looking up from the contraption she was working on or removing her goggles. “Lot’s of ‘em head upstream this time of year t’ spawn.”

“This isn’t the time to joke! He’s going to drown!”

“Why, is he flailin’ around?”

“No, he’s just floating there.”

Claye turned to her assistant and gave him a long, hard look, hoping the contradiction would sink in.

“I’m serious! He’s in trouble! A huge crowd has gathered.”

“Of course they have. Better go save ‘im, hero.” Claye rolled her eyes, though the goggles hid the effect, and turned back to her work, she heard Potts leaving the shop. He won’t do anything rash.

She paused and looked up, remembering that this was the young man who, upon learning that she was from the backwaters of the empire, asked her directly if she had ever kissed a cousin and if she knew how to play banjo. Common sense and discretion weren’t his strong suits – but on the other hand, he was too timid to actually go and do it, which mostly meant that he was going to go make a fool of himself. While she would normally be fine with that, she had responsibilities to him as the senior business partner/master Machinst.

“Dammit.” Claye got up and ran out the door.

****

Exentia Street, Riverside

The crowd had gathered much further up the river, and had migrated down Exentia Street as the man had drifted. Certainly, not everyone had stayed with it – a floating man is only interesting for so long, and watching him won’t put food on the table, after all. But some, through either pity, curiosity, or morbid interest, stayed with him. And then there was Potts.

Contrary to his claim, he was not "right across the street from the shop" - he was actually a good distance down the road, out over the next available bridge, and perched on a sturdy wooden box. “Alright. This time I’m really going to do it.” He would have jumped in sooner, but the distance from the railing along the riverside to the water was much greater than he remembered, despite the spring thaw raising the water level. He gathered up his courage and dropped…

…about two and a half feet. He lost his balance and hit the walk backside-first, looking up at Claye – a novel experience, to be sure – as she held up the box he’d been standing on, having yanked it out from under him. “I would have done it!”

“Ah know. Cripes, we’re downstream from the Machinist’s Guild! D’yeh know what’s in that water? Take a dip in that and yeh’ll glow in th’ dark for weeks.” Claye emptied the box and carefully closed it, then tied it shut. “There, that should help ‘im stay afloat when ‘e wakes up, if ‘e knows enough to hang on to it.” Leaning over the rail, she shouts down, “Hey! Hey, soggy! Grab this!” Claye then hurls the box into the river as hard as she can, making it most of the distance to the floating man. A small splash of water reaches as far as the unconscious figure. “C’mon… wake up…” If he didn't regain consciousness before reaching the docks, then he really would be in serious trouble.

[Mono Vertigo]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside



Fetch the custom lightbulbs order, bring the box safely, replace old lightbulbs in the Guild's main hall. Fetch the custom lightbulbs order, bring the box safely, replace old lightbulbs in the Guild's main hall. Fetch the custom lightbulbs, drowning man, bring the box... hey wait why am I thinking about drowning oh lords
Eiko's monotonous train of thought was interrupted as soon as she glanced in the same direction as everyone else.
She stared intensely at the shape. Then she took a few steps on the right to follow the man better. Then, she walked a bit again, pushing a couple she hadn't even noticed, by virtue of being already focused on the unfortunate guy (“Sorry sir ma'am excuse me”), and eventually found herself trotting steadily to keep watching.
No, she didn't know the guy, but it was a lot like watching a carriage wreck in slow motion. When she was a little girl, she'd witnessed one before; horses could get incredibly messy when magic was also involved. That, and she'd forgotten her task already.

Suddenly, her bony hand clung on to the railing. She couldn't just watch, she had to do something (and maybe get a reward), she, she...
… she remembered pebbles floated better than she did, and she wasn't strong enough to fly with an unconscious grown man. Well, not that Eiko had ever tried, but she wasn't eager to try, what with the river coming in the equation.
As she released the railing, she stepped back, and saw that someone else was trying to save the human through clever applications of a box. Well, she wouldn't get any reward, but she intended to watch that incident right through the end.

[VonDoom]

Fourth day of Bargenholt, 11:28 a.m.
Exentia Street, Riverside
Mikado

The commotion had attracted the attention of one Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, who was just on the way to the shop of Xavier de Forza.

"What's going on?", he asked curiously, as he tried to get closer, trying to get a proper look at the river as he carefully navigated through the crowd that had gathered.

"There's a bloke floating in t'water! I think 'e's dead!" An ugly little man with a big wart on his nose whispered to the Ikokuian with the morbid glee that only the overly frustrated and those who enjoyed watching misery ever exhibited.

Raising a delicate eyebrow at the local, Mikado moved closer until he, too, stood at the railing of the river, the one that usually kept people from falling into the damn thing.

As Mikado finally spotted the floating man, his eyes widened slightly. Was there any chance this man could still be alive? He wasn't sure, but as he watched the man floating with a very neutral expression on his face, an idea formed in his head. A small smile appeared on his face when it had fully formed -- his eyes quickly darted around as he looked for a rope. Luckily, it wasn't that hard to fine one in a busy street full of shops, and he quickly grabbed it, ignoring the protests of the stocky man from whose shop he had taken in as he darted towards the railing again.

While doing so, his eyes briefly fell on Eiko. "A tengu?", he wondered aloud, speaking in the tongue of Ikoku. He quickly moved closer until he stood next to her, trying the rope to the railing.

"Well met! I'd appreciate some help should the tie get loose, friend," he said, suddenly addressing Eiko in his native tongue, not having a clue that she likely didn't understand a single word he had said.

"Oh, and would you mind keeping an eye on my coat?" he quickly added as he pulled it off, threw it carelessly to the ground despite its obvious worth,and tied the rope to his right leg.

Without a moment of hesitation, he leapt onto and then over the railing, trying to get as close to the floating man as he could before hitting the water.

[Mono Vertigo]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
11:28 a.m.
Exentia Street, Riverside



Eiko turned her head toward the complete and utter gibberish she just heard. As expected, after two generations of mandatory integration in the local culture, the only Ikokuian words this Tengu knew were “yes”, “no”, “please”, “goodbye”, and twice as many swears.
“ 'scuse me, sir?” she asked, eyes wide with surprise. The man's feature, for reasons she didn't entirely grasp, distinguished him from the rest of the populace. Most probably a foreigner.
While she was opening her mouth to ask him to repeat himself in Common, he'd already jumped over the railing and thrown the coat at her feet. Reflexively, she took it, and looked at it, then at its owner, then at it again, and one last time at him.
Oh. He wants to rescue the human in distress, too? Good for them. The spectacle became a lot more interesting. “If I find out you've insulted my mother or something, funny man, you're toast”, she grumbled. With a little luck, after finding out who drowns in the end, she'll be able to get away with the fancy garment before he remembers her existence.

[DJDeMiko]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

Jameson scratches his chin and stands up.

I think I might have a few ideas, let me show you.

Jameson will lead Mikado over to a door set into a large sliding door set into the wall. He reaches over and unlatches it, sliding it to the side and revealing a room whose only feature is a large wooden table, roughly 6 foot by 6 foot. Set across the table, in what Mikado quickly judges to be fully accurate scale modeling, is a model of the city.

Jameson smiles and sweeps his hand across the table. With the planning and marketing that goes into promoting Lord's Arena, I find it helpful.

Mikado scans the model city and notes numerous small colored flags, of a variety of shapes, are stuck into the city. In other places small figurines stand. It is far too complex to be a business diagram, no not at all. Mikado looks up from the table and sees that Jameson is studying him carefully, his thoughts hard to read.

Jameson nods slightly when Mikado looks back up and takes a short stick off the wall, he points it towards a building on the northern side of town.

A residence here, a lovely mansion that I happen to know has sat unused for a year or so. The owner would likely part with it. Lovely neighborhood, very very safe, in fact there are guard patrols every 30 minutes all night long. He looks up at Mikado briefly. Of course, that has its downsides too. They ring these bells and call out all night "alls well" or some such.

He moves the pointer towards the west side of town to a building on the side of the river.

This is a nice place as well. Its on the smaller side, but it is waterfront and even has a small dock in case you feel like boating.

He moves the pointer to one more building, to the southern side of town.

Now, this one is a little different. Its located in an ok neighborhood thats started to go a tad downhill. Guards don't patrol it as often, but a small security force would be all you need. Its a large place, decadent and has some really unique features. For instance, it was built with a number of secret exits including a tunnel into a nearby building and one that leads into the sewers.

Jameson pauses for a moment, collecting his thoughts. It's technically not available, but I happen to know that the current owner Davis d'Lupil has been arrested for treason. I expect him to be found guilty within a few days at which point the court will likely seize his holdings. He lived alone and his house won't fight it, due to the embarrassment. They will pretend he never existed and not fight for any of his property. Best of all, it will come furnished and with staff on hand while you find your own. I know the man who would be selling the home and I can make sure you get a fair deal without all that bothersome paperwork. I think you could move in by the evening of the 5th.

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Clockwork Griffin
Afternoon
Xavier de Forza

Xavier seems taken aback by Mikado's question at first. "I uh...Yea sure. Can't say I've ever had the pleasure of explaining it to a customer." he says, unhooking a few wires from his arm. He braces himself and pulls on it gently. "This is always the hardest part. Do you take it off slow or fast? fast is more painful, slow takes longer. Of course, since you no doubt have a schedule, as we all do..." He pulls. Hard. The hand pops off with a small burst of steam (and a large grimace from Xavier), and he lays it on the counter. "Now, I haven't done all that much to it recently, due to some money costs, but it's built of the hardest alloy I could afford, mainly because it would be a waste if I just crushed it again, not to mention terribly ironic. It has a small hollow space in the palm as well, to lower the weight." He motions to a few circular indention on it. "These are a specialty. They allow my creations to link to the same engine, or modify each other. For instance..." Xavier walks over to one of his shelves, peruses it, and comes back with a whistle that has the reverse of the indention. "You put the two together and *SNAP* they're connected. Now I can sound the whistle though a part of the hand. Not very useful with whistles, I'll grant you, but there are countless other creations out there."

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside

Amid the subdued cacophony of altogether nonplussed onlookers and things being thrown in to the river and some things throwing themselves in, Anselme murmured, "... do over." And as the last of the air left his lungs and his head sank beneath the filthy water his senses flooded back to him and he felt an arm take hold of him about the waist. More or less rescued by Mikado (despite a brief struggle to stay afloat without aid) Anselme resigned himself to being saved by the guy with the rope. Always defer to the guy with the rope.

Still coughing up unnaturally greenish water and wholly drained of strength, Anselme consented to be towed ashore while in the rather compromising grasp of a stranger. Clutching wearily about Mikado's shoulders, he cleared his throat to say, "This hardly counts as a first date. You'll have to buy me dinner before you get any further with me."

Before having a bewildered look around, he rolled his good eye in a way that said, only joking and please don't let me drown out of spite. Catching view of the crowded waterfront buildings he blinked and asked, "Where the nether are we anyway?"

[the_druid_droid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Mid-Afternoon
Merchant District

A thin stream of gray smoke drifted upward from the tip of a long black cigarillo. Tarin inhaled, and the stream was broken as the tip glowed bright red. Currently, the Grand Inquisitor was sitting in a private room at Renault’s, one of the finer restaurants the merchant district had to offer, finishing his dessert. Marcos stood by the room’s small door, silent but vigilant, and a man in a loose-fitting gray cloak sat across the table from Tarin.

“Did the interrogation go well?” The gray-cloaked man toyed with a fork in an oddly calculating way as he spoke.

Tarin exhaled and a puff of smoke diffused out to join the general haze of the room. “He confessed rather quickly once I hit on the proper method of motivation. I was almost disappointed; I expected more from a military man.”

“Knowing the nobility, he probably only served as an officer to please Daddy and get in on the will. I could find out if you like.” The last part was certainly true, since the man in the cloak was in fact Jarik Revin, the head of Tarin’s personal army of spies and informants.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ve learned everything I needed to from him already, and soon he’ll be back in the custody of his original captors; once he is, I have little interest in his ultimate fate.” The Grand Inquisitor shifted in his seat and gazed intently at Revin. “I am interested, however, in hearing what bits of news you’ve been able to collect.”

The spy ceased playing with his fork and smiled; fancy restaurants and public appearances made him slightly uneasy, but laying out Taelarys’ secrets was his specialty, and it was supremely comforting. “There’s quite a bit to report. Do you want to know the gruesome or the exotic first?”

“The gruesome.”

Revin struggled to stifle a laugh; he should have expected as much. “Well, more guards have turned up dead. One of them was in the Bloodguard. All of them have a piece of parchment with the same message nailed into their foreheads; it looks like the Bronze Crusader is back in business.”

Another drag on the cigarillo. “Any first-hand reports?”

“There are some rumors floating around, but they seem far-fetched. Something about a mechanical giant fleeing the scene; we’ll keep an eye on things and let you know if anything more definite appears.”

“Good. I’m sure the Arch Magister would love to be able to assist the Emperor in eliminating a threat to his elite guards. Quid pro quo and all that.” A wicked gleam flashed in Tarin’s eyes at the suggestion; there was no love lost between Alistair Saryx and the Emperor, but the Arch Magister would never pass up a chance to assist the throne, in the hopes of calling in the favor later. “Also, if these rumors of a clockwork giant persist, it might be appropriate to suggest that the authorities take steps to reign in the dangerous excesses of the Machinists’ Guild.”

This time it was Revin’s turn to grin wickedly. “Of course; I’ll have a word with my contacts about it.” The spy made a quick note in a pocket-book that disappeared just as quickly. “I think that’s it for the gruesome. In more exotic news, an unusual ship put into the harbor this morning. The construction and sail markings identify it as hailing from Ikoku, and I believe it, considering that the crew looked half-dead from travel.”

“Ikoku...how interesting. I haven’t heard anything about them in years, aside from the occasional Tengu Defiant members that Valeris and the others have dealt with.”

“It gets better.” Revin leaned forward conspiratorially. “There’s word that the ship’s cargo is unusual too; most likely drugs, possibly Varish. In addition, I’ve personally confirmed reports that one of the passengers has been traveling around the city, paying his debts with precious stones.”

“A drug smuggler, then? The decision to travel so far in search of a market would be unconventional to say the least. In any case, keep me abreast of the situation with the ship, and get me samples of any novel drug if you can; there’s no telling what applications they might have in interrogations if we don’t experiment.” Tarin stubbed out his cigarillo before tapping his chin thoughtfully. “Honestly though, the city guard can worry about enforcing the drug regulations; I’m more interested in this mysterious passenger. He’s obviously wealthy, and he’ll no doubt attract the attention of more refined society soon enough; I want to have some idea of whether he’ll make a better ally or enemy by the time he does.”

Revin made another quick note before looking up to meet Tarin’s gaze. “Very well. I think that I’ve told you everything of major interest. There are of course the political stirrings of the other Houses and the movements of the Defiant, but nothing major has appeared in that regard, so I won’t bore you with the details. My full report will be in by the end of the day.”

“Excellent. You are free then, Mr. Revin.” Tarin inclined his head to the other man, then gestured to have Marcos show him out as he lit another cigarillo and began to contemplate all that he’d just heard.

[DJDeMiko]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Lords Arena - Jameson's Office
Early Morning
Jameson

Jameson stands in the center of his office and says to Ms. Twill Let them in.

She seems reluctant, but nods and walks out the door. A few moments later his two well dressed men walk in, his personal slave Bursop and Slave Trader Adworth Harper, each holding a chain, leading a barely dressed man in irons. Both men look tense.

The barely dressed man is huge, standing almost 7 feet tall and muscled to boot. The scars on his body tell a various obvious tale to Jameson. Old scars, small ones, show a very dangerous weapon training in his youth, no practice weapons for this man. The newer scars though, lash marks and full sized sword and spear wounds, a gladiator and a defiant one at that. His skin was caucation, but his hair a dark red color. His face is passive, shows no emotion.

Jameson examines him carefully, noting the mans eyes and face and then says to Adworth This is the slave you told me about?

Adworth nods "Yep M'lord, this here is Ralcious He grips the chain in his hand and gives it a small rude tug Say ello Ralcious.

The slave says nothing, his face remaining passive.

Jameson looks the slave in the eye and says Take off his chains and leave us, I would like to have a conversation with him man to man.

Neither Adworth nor Bursop look surprised but bursop speaks up Sir . . . are you sure about this . . . he has killed at least 4 guards at the Gerpolt Ludus.

Jameson turns to Bursop and gives him a pointed stare, Bursop returns the stare in a very unslavelike manor and begins to unchain the giant. Jameson moves and sits at his desk while the two men work and exit, leaving the half-dressed slave standing.

Please sit Jameson says to Ralcious. Ralcious doesn't move at first, but then slowly takes a seat. Even sitting in front of the desk, seats designed to be lower than Jameson, he towers above him.

You have quite the record in the Arena Jameson says 6 games won and 1 draw, one of your wins was against 4 opponents? 4 really? I hear they were well trained as well, not the normal riff raff you throw out. No these were the sort of men that your owner expected you to lose against. But I suspect you knew that.

Ralcious says nothing.

Ok, this is the game you want to play. Fine, I understand you are planning an escape attempt.

This gets the reaction. Ralcious' eyes harden, flick around the room and land back on Jameson. Jameson can tell the man is considering a lunge across the desk and wondering how high up the window is from the ground.

The fall wouldn't kill you, but you would probably break a leg. Hear me out first though. Your current master is planning to throw you up against harder and harder fights until you die, you will never win your 30 games. You know this, its why you are trying to escape. If you do escape though, the first thing the inquisition will do is take your wife and child and torture them.

Ralcious speaks for the first time, his voice is deep with inflections of the Barbarian accent of those to the north. Tell mah where mah wife an child are?

Jameson shrugs and flips open a file on your desk. Your wife is a slave at a large laundry in the northwest side of town, she has been well treated so far and your son is a slave at one of the large textiles, they take children there because they are small enough to fit inside the machinery to replace ribbon and such. He is fine right now, but those children rarely live more than a few years.

Jameson sees color begining to enter Ralcious's cheeks, rage.

Damnit Ralcious calm down, I had you brought here to offer you a deal. I want to buy your contract.

Ralcious interups him I dunno want teh fight for yeh either. There is no honor in killin men in the ring while my wife and child are held in irons.

You really have to stop judging me like that. I want to buy your contract, your wifes and child. I will then allow you to buy your contracts from me, purchasing against your future earnings. You can live within the servants quarters, a small room but its a room. Your wife can work in the kitchens or if she is attractive she could be a serving girl. Your boy can run fliers for my company.

And me?

You . . . a man like you is wasted in the Arena. You are not a gladiator at heart, you are a warrior and a protector. I want you to be one of my personal guards. It would probably take 10 years to pay me back, but that's ten years of freedom for your family and honest work. When you have paid me off you can stay in my employ or move on your choice.

An hour later

Ms. Twill and Jameson are alone in his office.

Ms. Twill speaks quietly, I am always amazed at that. You turned an incredibly dangerous man into . . . an employee.

Jameson nods, You just have to understand how to give a person what they want most. The barbarian tribes he hails from, being a slave is probably the worst disgrace they can imagine, for him to have known his wife and child were slaves was killing the man. I think he wanted to escape so that all three would be killed. Now I have given his family freedom and won his loyalty. He will always remember me as the man that saved his world.

Just like you did for me . . . .

Yes Ms. Twill, but I really hate to see talent being wasted.

Mrs. Twill blushes and then says on that note sir, d'lupil confessed and everything is going to plan. You have received the winning bid to host his execution and his house is available if that man wants it.

Excelent, get the fliers and invitations printed. Have Bursop find out who got the confession and make sure he or she is invited. Also have an invitation sent to the man who captured him. And last but not least have an invitation sent to our new foreign friend and let him know the mansion is ready if he wants it.

[Nefarion Xid]

3815 AoT

"You come in so rarely. Shouldn't you buy more than one book? I won't see you again for a month or two. Surely you must read more than one book a month?"

Suddenly emboldened enough to speak candidly with the handsome patron, even tease him, Emily shifted her weight nervously behind the desk and her protective barrier of loose books. Her thoughts turned straight away to the barely audible quiver in her voice. Whatever caricature of a man she'd drawn up in her mind over the last few months would have caught it in an instant and produced a debonair and off the cuff remark about it, perhaps to assuage her insecurities.

He said only that he had too little time to read nearly as much as he should have liked. She beamed visibly and sunk a rounded canine tooth into her flush bottom lip in spite of herself, and chastised herself for it a second later. The novella was for his fiancee, he continued. Though he went on to say how perfectly lovely and intelligent and well read she was, Emily had stopped listening. Instead, she desperately wished she could steal a glance at the clock on the wall; only a few hours more to endure before she could slink home and hide under her quilt... possibly until she died.

Two tickets had landed on the counter between them. Emily blinked, and read the emerald lettering to herself. She wasn't familiar with the title, The Count of Ordan.

Again, the customer asked if she'd attend the opera. Without waiting for an answer, he proceeded to inform her that it was the leading soprano's final performance before they went to summer in the countryside. You must have a boyfriend, he asked quite suddenly.

"No," she answered, slightly more sullen than a moment before.

He assured her that she'd have no trouble procuring one before the show tomorrow night. Emily had her doubts, but the kind words gave her the courage to make herself up and go to the theater, even if she was going alone.

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Claye-Potts Machinery

Ghedim's smile shifted from charming to rueful as Claye confronted him with the reason for his visit. That she was so willing to speak of the Armory meant she almost certainly did not know where it was, but the offer needed to be made either way.

"Indeed madame, it seems I am not the first to inquire as to the location of your family's legacy. Should you have knowledge of its location, the Three Houses of Rhetiz would be most pleased to compensate you generously for sharing. After all, it would do no one any good to have the Armory fall back into Taelarian hands."

Ghedim's eyes stared, piercing, into Claye's own. Though he hid it well, it was obvious he was weighing her reactions, trying to glean any hint of duplicity in her reply.

[HalfTangible]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Early Morning

Bloodguard are usually very easy to recognize on official duty. They walk with a proud, strong gait to their step, and wear extremely striking blood red armor and/or clothing. They glare everywhere as if searching for an adversary they know to be there, and there isn't a single thing about them that doesn't scream deadly, from their scars to their occasional metal limbs. Even their breathing seems harsh and laboriously in control, as if trying to keep themselves from bowling over buildings by breathing too hard.

Alair was not officially on duty.

That probably explained why the three men now groaning on the ground thought he'd be an easy target. Though why exactly they thought an easy target would be walking away from palace grounds baffled him.

He calmly reopened his original orders, kicking one of the men in the head.

Gaspard d' Rivain, a mid-ranking noble, has fallen under suspiscion of heretical activities against the Emperor. Normally this scenario would fall under the jurisdiction of the ordinary guard due to his own ranking. However, we requested this assignment for training purposes for our new recruits.

One of our Bloodguard is already within the noble's organization and will be monitoring your progress and technqiue. He will report back to us.

He then looked to his second set, which had arrived shortly after he had woken up that day.

Be advised: Your watcher is dead, as is Gaspard. While we have no one left to prosecute, the fact that the Bronze Crusader was after him means that there was something more to Gaspard's dealings.

Continue to investigate Rivain's house for further corruption but DO NOT seek the Crusader.

Alair calmly shut the documents. He then tore them to shreds, per protocol, before leaving palace grounds. He had some nobles to interrogate.

[Kasanip]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Middle Morning
Lord's Arena

Eris stepped out of the inn with a happy stomach and a satisfied look to her. Sleeping in a bed after a warm bath was certainly a luxury, she had learned a long time ago. The morning breakfast of sausage and soup was greasy and delicious. Even if she did not need to eat, the taste of food was another luxury. Once she had traveled for two weeks without eating, and the meal she had at the end of it was was small, but delicious. Her pack she left in the inn room, she would stay here likely for several days. This morning, she intended to find this 'Jameson' person. So she left into the busy streets, searching for the location, or at least, someone who might give her directions.

It was quickly becoming noon when she finally found the Lord's Arena Casino entrance. A good cover for an information gatherer. Gambling was money. Money was important. It made sense. The number of people already here by middle morning told Eris enough about it. She walked up to the entrance between the two guards. She wondered if it might be better to not announce her presence here. Inside there had to be a contact who would arrange the meeting.

The guard's big gauntlet landed on her shoulder and stopped Eris immediately.
"Hey there little lady. This is no place for children." The guard said in a deep voice. Eris turned quickly, trying to remove his hand from her arm.
"I'm here on business!" She declared as forcefully as she could. The guard's grip was like a vice. With one motion he dragged her back out of the entrance, stumbling to keep his pace.
"And I'm here to keep the peace. Now get out kid." The guard said with a laugh. Eris stumbled but didn't fall. She turned back to him.
"I'm here to speak to Jameson." She declared again. The guards exchanged glances.
"Do you have an appointment?" The guard asked. Eris grimaced and shook her head.
"Didn't think so." The guard said, and immediately began to ignore her. Frustrated, Eris turned to leave.

Yes, there were problems with immortality as a youth. She walked away down the street with as much dignity as she could. And at the edge, she turned down an alley.
There had to be some other entrance. Maybe she could climb a wall to a window...

There. She found a spot, and leaned against the wall, putting her boots up to make a brace.
If she could get inside long enough to find the Jameson, then it would be ok. His information had better be good. She thought, carefully balancing. This was not easy. On the wall, she turned and jumped at the window, and caught it with her hands. Grimacing, she pulled herself up to the window and paused there to catch her breath. Then she pulled herself into the room and closed the window behind her. She was in. Now, she just had to avoid getting caught... No disguise would save her within. As long as she could avoid the guards though...

ooc:
Because it is Jameson's place, if you would rather her become confronted by guards or have other obstacles, it is a fun challenge.:smallredface:

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Exentia Street Riverside, Late Morning

"There, y'see? He's already rescued." Claye pointed to where the Ikoku man was dragging the first to safety.

"Why didn't he care about the water?"

Claye snickered. "Doesn't look like he's from around here... maybe no one told 'im about the river? Or maybe 'e just has a heroic constitution."

"Alright." Julian sounded a bit disappointed. "Back to work, then?"

"Yep." Clay took one last look - she could get a better view now that the pair in the water were closer to shore - and instantly regretted not jumping in after him anyway. The man in trouble was impossibly good looking in spite of the eye patch he wore, and appeared to already be joking with his rescuer. She crushed that line of thought as best she could - between the shop and her extra duties for the guild, she didn't have time to hang around any longer. She turned and left the crowd behind.

[DJDeMiko]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Middle Morning
Lord's Arena - Jameson's office
Jameson

Jameson stood poised in his office as the doors opened and two large guards politely, but roughly, brought the young woman in.

Her hair was white and she appeared to be roughly 14 years old . . . but something about her eyes. Her eyes where not that of a child, they spoke of intelligence and knowledge. He suppressed a shudder of unease.

He smiled his best smile and said Not many children ask for me and even fewer try to break in after they are sent away. Tell me little one, how can I help you?

[Kasanip]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Middle Morning
Lord's Arena - Jameson's office
Eris

Eris tried to carry herself with as much dignity as was possible. But to be helped by two large guards ruined that. She dusted herself off and then put her hands on her hips as she looked up at Jameson and tried to match the smile.

"Excuse my interruption. I am certain you are a busy man, and don't need a child to take up your time.
I am however, in need of information, and I have learned that you are a gentleman who is of the best of such a field."

She walked over to talk a seat across from the desk, even though it was not offered.
She looked sideways at the guards and then at Jameson.　A small frown came to her face, and then was gone with an earnest look.

"I am certain you are not afraid I am an assassin...and your guards know I don't have a weapon. If you would, can we talk privately?"

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
A few minutes after Noon
Claye-Potts Machinery

"I was made to understand that this shop has an emergency shower."

Not particularly caring if he interrupted the well dressed gentlemen at the counter, Anselme called out softly from the doorway. He was still dressed exactly as he was at the moment he'd been fished out of the river, apart from his thick rubber soled boots which he carried by their straps. The boots didn't quite match the rest of his noble apparel. While fine boots, they were distinctly the sort that should have belonged to a rich engineer. An observant person might have guessed the man to be a machinist in the employ of a noble house, or else a noble who dabbled as a machinist. The same person might have also noted that the boots were rather large for a man who appeared to stand not an inch over six feet tall. Not many 6' men wore size 14 shoes, but, from the looks of his feet, he certainly needed them. Finally, he wore a handsome sword belt over his jacket, but both the sword and scabbard were conspicuously absent from the frog.

As his eye fell on Ghedim, he cleared his throat to inquire, "Oh... there's not a line for the shower, is there?"

[hi-mi-tsu]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Fortress of the Rose
Late Afternoon

Headaches upon headaches upon headaches. Raina Nessiel, "Boss Nessiel", stared broodingly at the stack of complaints in front of her. Understaffed, her patrols had been working around the clock to do what they did best, keep the peace and manage her more "illicit" interactions.

But now, this. Some madman was murdering people right and left; a noble and a round dozen of guards with him, dead, with some heavy-handed message pounded into their foreheads. Childish and overbearing and something that had her wealthier clients demanding extra protection from her, growing furious when she calmly informed them that she simply did not have the manpower to send a dozen of her people to their homes. Some claimed she was being ungrateful, that it was only through their support that her and the organization she now ran even existed; when she heard that, her lips had quirked up in sardonic amusement. They knew that wasn't true. They knew that the Blue Lions ran the Vale, and that the people were willing to trade a little coin and extortion in return for the protection, price regulating, and profit her group brought.

"Ness? Y'in here?" A head topped with dark mahogany hair peeked through the door; Raina stifled a sigh, and glanced up at one of the few people she could truly call a friend.

"Yes, Liza? What is it? Please tell me there's not another noble breathing down my back. I've told them until I was blue that I don't have enough people for all of them, and so won't be giving protections to any of them."

"Na, na, 'tis nothing like that. Just that there've been rumors about some strange things happening, men getting pushed off balconies and some odd ship--" She paused at the sudden, intense look Raina gave her.

"Men...getting pushed off balconies. Are you serious?"

"Ah..." The young woman fidgeted, a little. "They say that he fell right outta the sky and into the river, apparently he got pushed off a balcony...the strange man what came in on the ship apparently fished him out." She and the Eladrin both grimaced; the river, especially in the merchant areas, was not the cleanest of places. Sewer lines often fed directly into the water flow, and depending on how close he was to the toxic muck of the Machinists...ugh.

"He's here, though. In the Vale, I mean." That elicited another sharp look, and Liza blushed. "As near as we can tell, he's shopping for new clothes, not that we can blame him; even showered up he's still got a bit of an...odor."

Twenty Minutes Later, Haversham's Fine Wears

"Excuse me, sir?" A gentle touch on Anselme's arm, not commanding, simply alerting. A beautiful woman, with pale silver-grey eyes and two Blue Lions beside her; a shop assistant that was suddenly mysteriously absent from Anselme's side.

"I understand that you've had an incredibly trying day, sir, but I would very much appreciate it if you would come with me. Just for a little while, and then we'll bring you back here, I assure you."

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Vale: Haversham's Fine Wears
Late Afternoon

Pretending to (or perhaps earnestly) not hearing Raina, Anselme continued maneuvering the two coats one in front of each other as he tried to make up his mind as to which style suited him better. At length, he set his eye on the elf, let a slow and sheepish smile spread across his lips and asked, "... the green or the black? I mean... oh, I like the cut of the black one. But, I just wonder - is it going to be too much black? I don't want look like one of those guys, you know? Getting a bit late in to the year to be wearing such dark colors anyway. Ah! Green it is then!"

He spun on his heel and was half way to the counter before he about-faced and gave an embarrassed and apologetic look to Raina. Anselme pursed his lips for a moment before exclaiming, "White pants! White lining... white pants! Charcoal pants? Mmmm... tan? Eh... here, let me see how this looks on you..."

He'd already forced the jacket and hanger into the hands of one of Raina's guards, who was about to dutifully model it while Anselme matched up pants when he quite suddenly lurched back towards Raina. His eye flitted up and down her body and then shot twice between her decolletage and her rapier, once around her ears and then finally settled on her disturbing eyes. He raked his gloved fingers through his oily and mussed hair while resting the other hand confidently on his protruding hip. "Well, all right. But dinner first this time. I'm... not coming on to you, I really am starving."

[VonDoom]

One Day Ago
3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

The Ikokuian carefully studied all three on the map and listened to Jameson's explanations, but didn't really give any indication as to which one he might prefer. "Security is useful, of course," Mikado noted after awhile. "Though I intend to hire some bodyguards, sooner or later, it's always nice to have the city guard nearby." All the easier to keep an eye on their activities, of course.

He crossed his arms, cupping his chin in thought as he walked towards the window, looking out across the city with a calm expression on his face.

"You know, I think I'll have to get back to you on that," Mikado finally offered with a rueful smile as he turned around. "I'll need some time to consider it."


4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Clockwork Griffin
Afternoon
Mikado

The visitor looked fascinated, listening aptly all the while. He actually asked some questions, too, the very nature of which indicating that Xavier was dealing with a rather intelligent man, who had at the very least a good understanding of physics and the human body. Finally, he nodded, satisfied. "Very impressive," Mikado complemented with sincerity in his voice, "I would have thought such a prosthetic to move far more awkwardly. How long have you been working on it?"



4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside
Mikado

Mikado quickly pulled the stranger towards the box so that it would be easier to hold him aloft. With carefully measured movements he turned around, holding onto the box, while using the rope to get closer to the stone wall framing the riversides. At first he didn't reply to Anselme's comment, or to his question, desperate not to swallow any of the green-ish water -- it hadn't actually occured to him how filthy it was until just a very brief moment after he had already leapt off of the railing, and by then it had been too late to take it into consideration.

Still, as long as he didn't swallow anything, it shouldn't be too much of a problem, he decided, as he pulled more and more strongly despite his current state of exhaustion. This would have been so much easier if he was back in shape.

"Extentia Street," the man finally explained as they had reached the wall. He held onto the stone, slowly trying to untie the rope's knot that kept it around his leg. Holding the end out to Anselme so that he would grab onto it, the Ikokuian immediately began to climb up. "I'll help pull you up," he coughed, "hold on."

[hi-mi-tsu]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Vale: Haversham's Fine Wears
Late Afternoon

"...I'm sure you are, sir." Breathe, Raina, just breathe. Clearly the man was a bit addled, having just been pushed off a balcony and dumped into the river and all; she wasn't entirely surprised that he was starving...though she was a little surprised that he was in a shop like this at all.

Though, noticing his guileless smile and the way her guard almost unconsciously stepped up to assist with clothing selection, her own lips quirked, almost imperceptibly. Oh, he was a charming one, there was no doubt about that...which was, perhaps, what led to her next action.

"The green and the tan go together, and are in style this season. It is not done to completely match one's outfit. ...Also, tan is far easier to keep clean than white. Bradford, if you please...?"

She gestured to the bewildered Lion currently holding the jacket; he picked up the tan pants Anselme had been considering, and Raina looked over at the shopkeep.

"The pay will be arranged in the usual way. Now, sir, if you please. There is food waiting--"the other guard bolted out the door--"and there will be a bed and a longer bath than the one you took earlier, if you'll only come with me."

[DJDeMiko]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Middle Morning
Lord's Arena - Jameson's office
Jameson

Jameson eyes the girl up and down. Something about her read wrong to him, something strange about her and it put him at unease . . . but no he could tell that she was being honest and meant him no harm.

He waves the guards away and sits down at his desk opposite her, puts his elbows on his desk, folds his hands under his chin.

Well, you know who I am, might I ask who you are and what such a young woman is doing in my office? He smirks I hope you aren't looking for work in the brothel, I run a legitimate enterprise and you'd have to come back in a few years.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside

Hoisted on the cobblestone walk, Anselme sat on his hands and knees for a long moment, attempting to spit the taste of the river out while silently hoping his legs weren't as badly damaged from the fall as he feared. Wearily, he got to his feet. He wobbled a bit. While the chilly waters could sap a man's strength in short order, it was really the feet-first impact some minutes ago that had left him in a sorry state. No permanent harm done, he supposed.

Looking about the throng that had gathered on the riverside, Anselme became keenly and uncomfortably aware of the audience that had been drawn to his plight and rescue. As a number of them politely clapped, shrugged into a half hearted bow, nearly on compulsion. A vigorous shake of his head cleared his mind and his ears and he drew aside with Mikado. Publicly, loud enough for the crowd to hear, he said his thanks. But, as soon as the foreign man was taken into his confidence he leaned in close, whispering, "Exentia Street? We're in Taelarys then? What... what year is it?"

[VonDoom]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside
Mikado

Mikado huffed, his breath heavy as he dripped copious amounts of river water onto the pavement. Rather annoyed with this, he actually took off his white shirt in a more or less succesful attempt to wring it out, before quickly looking for the Tengu and, hence, his coat. The foreigner had no aspirations of running around half-naked in his current state; after all, he might just not survive a cold after the recent strain on his body.

He offered a brilliant smile, to both Anselme and the crowd as he was being thanked, but didn't push it and gladly went along when the poor fellow attempted to get clear of the little gathering. "Why, of course we are. We went here together, remember? You're my loyal bodyguard?" The confusing claim was followed up with a quick grin. "Not amnesia, I take it? It's 3817, if I remember correctly. Still getting used to the local way of measuring it."

[Mono Vertigo]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside
Eiko

You had to say, that was entertaining. People unfortunate – or stupid – enough to be sent flowing down the river rarely were rescued, or at least, not with such conviction. Those who did were even stupider and drowned along.
Huh, not that she often watched these events. Alright, actually, she did, but it's not like she could help anyway, right?
That's the moment the rescued man spoke up that the Tengu came to realize she'd kind of forgotten to run away with the precious garment. Now, there were too many witnesses, and the crowd was too thick for a comfortable sneaky escape. Ugh, one opportunity lost. Eiko swore to be more focused in the future.
Was there something in his pocket, at least? A quick check. Nope. The funny man was more savvy than that.
“Put that back on”, she said, shoving the coat forward with regrets, “Dunno how it works where you live. Don't care. But here, you're being indecent.” Such a great way to thanks saviors.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside

"Dazed," he assured Mikado, "And I've never been this far down Exentia; the city looks different from here." If Anselme's clothes were any indication, he was from a noble house, or else a well-to-do businessman who'd just escaped a formal event. Certainly, he was far too pretty to be a commoner.

"Besides, you wouldn't want me as a bodyguard -- my contract is outrageous. Oh, my swo-"

Anselme fumbled with the empty frog on his left hip and then wrung his fist impotently at the river. His hands fell limply to his side as he realized there would be no retrieving it. Then, quite suddenly, he looked for a moment as if he were quite surprised to see that he was still wearing gloves. Frantically he tugged the long, slick leather gloves from his arm and stood for a while marveling his own beautiful hand. He beamed in spite of himself and chuckled absently before replacing the glove and shaking his head with a smile.

"Still there," he explained to Mikado, whether he had noticed his curious behavior or not. "Ah!" he declared, eyes going wide as he fished through his pockets and belt pouch. The excitement faded when he was apparently unable to produce a single coin. This only caused him to laugh more and he shrugged while extending his hand, absent of any compensation, to be shaken. "Well, we'll just say I owe you one, eh? You may call me Anselme."

[daelrog]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
d'Morn Estate, Heart of the Grey District

In the dark halls of the d'Morn estate, the clattering of servants' feet created a soft calamity of sounds that lingered in the air. Deep with the bowels of this hated place the worse sorts of people resided. Portraits of madmen, scum, and tyrants lined the wall, and even though painted in a far better light than they ever had in life, one could still see something noticeably wrong within the eyes and expressions of the infamous Morn family from even long ago.

One of the Major Noble Houses, its origins were found back in the days of the demigod, where one of his greatest generals, and certainly the most ruthless, had helped him carve his empire in the grains of the earth. Ever since that day, the Morn family had been an invaluable asset against foreign threat, for what fool would dare tempt the wrath of the mad? However, domestically they gnawed away at everything that was decent. No one dared to stop this though, for who could bring about the support for the downfall of such an old House? Who could convince the people to snap the barbed whip in half when everyone wish to use that very whip against their enemies? And so the dark red wold of the House d'Morn still bared its fangs to the world in front of its dull grey colors.

Lord Geldran d'Morn, an aging, powerful, and cunning man stood restlessly on a brass throne. His eyes were bloodshot, and he was noticeably pale.

"Where is my son?"

A short woman with frayed hair, and pale blue eyes stepped forward and bowed low. "We are still searching my Lord. It is possible that the same culprit who slew Samael did the same to Sevran... or worse." She could not help but display a grin.

If Geldran was offended by the display, he did not show it. He looked to the others. How soft and complacent they had all become. In his time there were but half the members of their bloodline, so many more having been slain, most by his own subtle hand. Now there were dozens of them running around, the weak and the strong mingling amongst themselves. He looked to another.

"Devriel, surely you have not missed this opportunity to see if your dear cousin has been killed. I would think you would have one, no, two assassins looking for him, seeing if they can bury him in the sewers while I still doubt whether he is alive or not. No? Not smiling yet, nephew. You carry your true feelings with you as if it were a bright banner, making a mockery of you and glorious House of Morn. Sevran will kill you some day for it, boy."

Worms. Where was the pride? Where was the ambition? Who amongst his numerous kin had a degree of the true potential of the Morn blood, who could harness the madness, the curse which they had been afflicted with, and flourish in this decaying city? Ah yes, there was always Laquesh.

"Tell me daughter, does your yougner brother still live?"

Laquesh did not bother turning around. She was the only one in the family who dared speak to her father with her back turned. "The sky today says he yet lives, but it is dim as ever, for what life does a wild dog truly have?"

A couple of the more dim family looked up, wondering how Laquesh could read the sky, when no natural light shone into this accursed chamber. Laquesh paid no heed, simply continuing to write odd characters onto the parchment, using the blood of the dying slave as her ink.

[VonDoom]

Uh, guys, the idea behind noting the name in the first few lines is that it notes your own for reference ... I think. May be mistaken there.

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside
Mikado

Mikado offered a brilliant smile to the Tengu, noting with some surprise that the bird-like being was addressing him in the local common tongue. He had read that some of their kind had migrated, but the familiarity of Eiko's form had momentarily caused a lapse in his thinking. Still, he quickly realized his mistake and replied in the same language.

"Thank you," he answered, bowing slightly in the manner of Taelarys. He accepted the mantle and quickly placed it around his shoulders, feeling rather grateful for the warm -- and most of all, dry garment. "I appreciate it. I'd like to talk to you later -- tomorrow, around this time, in the tavern over there? You're not going to regret it!"

The Ikoku native briefly grinned, not really waiting for an answer as he was dragged to the side by the strange man he had just pulled out of the river.

As the rather charismatic foreigner listened to the man who had introduced himself as Anselme, he shook his head in wonder. Surely there were some conclusions one could draw from his strange behaviour, but alas, even a surprising amount of intelligence did not grant insight into the peculiar hints at Ansemle's plight presented here.

"Anselme, is it? You're quite the curious fellow. Almost drowning and joking already." A smirk appeared on the rescuer's face. "Should that hand not be where it is, then?" He was sharp and rather perceptive, apparently, but from the way things looked he had no intention of pushing the matter. "Anyway. You may call me Mikado, Anselme. I decided to dispense with the various titles when I came here, they're usually just a burden on the tongue around these parts." The man crossed his arms under his coat, studying the charming fellow for a moment. "And I don't need a reward, don't worry. But if you're intent on paying me back nonetheless, meet me in two days, at this spot. I'd invite you now, but I fear if we leave together some of these people might just decide to follow us and see what happens. It's probably easier if we each go our way for now."

He paused a moment, then reached into his pocket and pulled a small wet leather bag, held tightly closed by a string, free. "Here. Wouldn't want you to freeze to death after going to all that effort."

He casually threw the bag in Anselme's direction, expecting him to catch the thing mid-flight; perhaps a bit sharper than one normally would, but Mikado wanted to test his new acquaintance's reflexes.

[Kasanip]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Middle Morning
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Eris

Eris relaxed more as the two guards left. This Jameson seemed intelligent enough. He was not a coward to keep his guards in the room, which meant he was not afraid.

He is confident in his own skill and knowledge to keep him safe... Or he is foolish to think I am helpless.

The second option was possible. Eris had seen it a lot, though could not blame others. Sometimes when she looked in the mirror she almost forgot.
However, she was here for business. She played with her fingers as she spoke. It wasn't a nervous habit, but there was the one time she had negotiated like this, and come away with broken fingers. That had been an unpleasant experience, and at the least now, she unconsciously remembered. She remembered a lot of unpleasant things. But she forced herself to stop and put her hands in her lap politely.

"Let's answer the first question later." She said, her smile filling with mock cheerfulness.

"I'm not looking for work in a brothel...A shameful thought." She looked at him sideways with a sullen expression, but decided he was making a joke instead of a suggestion and relaxed with a faint smile.
"I'm actually interested in information on the affairs of the city. I understand that you might laugh at such a request. Actually I'm very interested in the Sorcerous Houses. Any...scandals that there are maybe, or unusual occurrences. Any... secrets about House Ostrim, for example. I...haven't been here in quite some time, so I am not familiar with so many things."

It was a risk to state her request so clearly, Eris knew. But she held back her other request until she could find out what Jameson knew. If she told him the other now, he could easily summon his guards and throw her out, or worse, to hand her over to the Sorcerous Houses. She would keep that secret until negotiation was finished.

Eris leaned forward, swinging her legs casually as she sat.
"I know that your business requires payment, and I will quickly admit I have little money. Though working in a brothel is not an option, I wonder if there is a way I can repay you." She studied him carefully again. "Though I admit you may be a dangerous man to make a debt to." A sly smile covered her face.

For Jameson, certainly she carried herself with intelligence and nobility. She was not a commoner girl for certain. But maybe it was her speaking. The accent was sharper than most of the city. It felt...aged, or rich. Like wine. From a young voice, it was fair to hear. But it was the kind of speech one didn't hear in the city very often, if at all. Perhaps it was foreign? Perhaps something else?

White hair was also unusual. Even if the young lady did not name herself at his request, certainly a youth with white hair should not be hard to find information about, right?

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, A few minutes after Noon, Claye-Potts Machinery
Claye

Claye freezes for a moment when Anselme walks into the shop. She starts to stammer something before finally composing herself. "No sir, there's no line. The emergency pipe's in the back room, right underneath the stairs - it's right over the drain, yeh can't miss it."

Once he disappears back there, she turns back to Ghedim, and switches back to his language to boot. "It's a generous offer. And I do thank you for being a gentleman about this - there's not too many left who are still pursuing the armory, and those who are tend to be short on manners and sanity. But no, I don't know how to get in." Claye very carefully does not add that Rhetiz would be among the last places she'd sell the information to - a nation famed for the skill of its assassins would probably abandon good business ethics in order to ensure *exclusive* ownership of something that sensitive. As the saying goes in the Shadow City, "Two can keep a secret if one is dead."

"Is there anything else Ah can do for yeh?"

4th of Bargenholt, Late Afternoon, Machinist's Guild Headquarters

The main hall of the Machinist's Guild Headquarters served as a terminal for all of the building's many branches. The cacophony of hammering, clanging, hissing, and a horrible metal-on-metal screech was punctuated by the occasional sounds of steam engines chugging to life or people calling out to one another, swearing, or laughing.

At five stories tall, the hall was taller than every building in Taelarys save the towering Sorcerous Houses and the Imperial Palace - and only the Imperial Palace itself surpassed the Machinist's Guild in square footage or defenses. Today, though, an odd gloom had suffused the main hall. Claye looked up and realized that a number of the overhead lights - electric, rather than gas like most of the city - were out. She frowned. Someone really ought to replace the burned-out bulbs.

It would have to be someone else, though, because Claye had been called in on business - adding another curiosity to a day already full of them. It wasn't long before she had reached the office of the Guild Master herself. The noise level dropped to barely a whisper as she shut the door behind her; most of the offices in the hall were soundproofed, and the Guild Master's was no exception.

That didn't stop the office from being an exception in most other ways, though. The office was like a window into the mind of the Guild Master herself. A workbench and table sat under the window, and both were cluttered with components, tools, and other odds and ends. Maps, notes, blueprints, diagrams, and sketches lined the walls. Impossibly, strings were tacked on top of that, linking diagrams, blueprints, and notes with points on the appropriate maps. Conversely, the desk and bookshelves, while packed to bursting, were organized and tidy. The lighting was well maintained, and the floor was clear. A sign near the door read, "It has been [0][4] days since someone triggered the evacuation alarm."

All of this paled in comparison to the room's most interesting feature - its occupant. Mirrim Pathric had graceful, if not necessarily pretty, facial features and had dyed her hair a deep shade of blue for reasons known only to herself and the Pantheon. If she had done so to make herself stand out in a crowd, it was a superfluous measure - Pathric had designed and built the artificial limbs that replaced her left arm and both legs, and had demonstrated a surprising amount of manual dexterity with them. They appeared to function on electricity and hydraulics, although the power source was unknown. In addition, if one looked closely enough they would find that her left eye had curious seams and lines running over it. Despite the replacement, she was still blind on that side - leading the guild members to speculate about what the eye actually did.

Claye's greeting to her superior and the master of her trade was a shining example of grace, formality, and maturity. "Ah'm here."

"Miss Kilnmyr! It's good to see you. How have you been?"

"Alright, Ah suppose. A bunch of weird stuff has been happenin' today. A dignitary from Rhetiz dropped in to ask personal questions, then a man dropped into th' river, and now Ah get your summons. What d'yeh need?"

Pathric leaned back, one corner of her mouth quirking upward. "Your day is about to get even stranger, I'm afraid. We have a confirmed report from the constabulary that a dozen guardsmen and a noble serving in the blood guard were brutally slain last night, with messages about justice literally hammered into their skulls. Witnesses report seeing a metal man running around behind the scenes." When Claye just raised an eyebrow, Pathric went on. "So either the Bronze Crusader is back in business, or else we have a copycat."

"That's not really our problem, is it?"

"It will be. The Bronze Crusader, from what I understand, hates senior machinists - but more importantly, Mr. Justice is a failed Guild Experiment. If he creates too much of a problem, the Guild's political enemies will begin to push for stricter controls on Guild activities."

"Even though he was created years ago? Sanctions won't make him less aggressive." Claye's tone was flat.

"While politics may enjoy the occasional one-night fling with logic, the two are not in a steady relationship, Miss Kilnmyr."

"Ah see." Claye didn't, but also wasn't going to argue the point. "So yeh want me t' track the Bronze Crusader down, and...?"

"We would prefer that he be brought in intact, but I am not going to demand it. The Guild will compensate you for whatever expenses you may accrue." Claye's face lit up, and Pathric clarified, "Relevant expenses, Miss Kilnmyr."

"Does a Big Iron count as a relevant expense?" Big Iron was the nickname given to the #13 Multitool - Generally constructed from 3.5 feet of solid Durium and enchanted on top of that, it made a decent weapon as well as a useful tool for disabling mechanical obstacles or constructing large machines.

"...probably not. Here are the official notes from the last time the Bronze Crusader was active." Pathric dug a bound sheaf of papers from one of her desk drawers and handed them over.

"Nuts. Alright then. Ah'll get on it." Claye got up and took the notes.

"Thank you, Miss Kilnmyr."

[Mono Vertigo]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside
Eiko

Eiko raised an eyebrow. Some kind of invitation? It went to prove her reputation hadn't preceded her for everyone. And what exactly did he want from her? Perhaps it was best not to dwell on it too much. Some foreigners could have weird ideas and obsession. It may be her race that caught his attention. A part of the population still was unfamiliar with winged people.
“The White Goblet? Alright, whatever you want, I'll be there. Don't catch a cold in the meanwhile, sir.” As the crowd dissolved, the aloof woman walked away, uninterested by Anselme and his antics.
Now, what was she doing before the rescue? Going to get... something for the guild. Screws... coils... ah, what was it again... lightbulbs! Hopefully, she hasn't been too delayed and will finish her job on time.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside

"It's drowned man who's incapable of joking. Death is serious... life is the joke." He nodded gravely to Mikado while continuing to check on the rest of his accoutrements and body parts, pulling at his cheeks and tapping his eye patch to see if it was still secure. "The hands though," he pulled his glove tauts about his fingers again, "Well, they do wander. But, today? Things are well in... glove."

Well in hand was the proper pun, if dreadful. It was entirely possible that the man was insane. Perhaps he'd fallen to the river while escaping from an asylum. Then again, perhaps you'd be a bit delirious too if you'd just eluded death twice in the span of a few minutes. At least he had a good sense of humor about losing his sword and money.

Predictably, Anselme's hand shot straight up when the pouch was lobbed in his direction. For an instant, his opposite foot whipped into position and his free hand went on guard. Or so it seemed. The bag hit him squarely in the chest and he had to fumble for it, finally securing it against his stomach. He mumbled something about depth perception and slipped the token of good will into his jacket pocket. It would have been impolite to examine the contents on the spot, so he just took it without question or thanks.

"Noon in two days," he repeated, already sauntering off in the opposite direction. Then, instantly distracted by someone in the remaining crowd, he inquired of the man who was unmistakably a baker, "Listen, you wouldn't happen to have any orange creme rolls in your shop, would you? I've just had the strangest craving..."

[Mono Vertigo]

4th of Bargenholt
Late Afternoon
Machinist's Guild Headquarters
Eiko

At first, the shopkeeper swore the Guild had not paid yet for the bulbs, and refused to let the carrier just go away with a box full of quality products. Ensued threats that weren't entirely appropriate for the situation. On the third warning, the merchant chickened out and checked his books thoroughly for proof of payment, which took entirely too long in her opinion again. Sheepishly, he had to admit he received the money the very day the bulbs had been ordered, but had noted it down on the wrong page, blaming exhausting weeks and complicated accounting for the mix-up. A few more insults were thrown in for good measure, but Eiko decided against carrying out her threats. Being arrested today would be the very definition of bad timing.
The travel back that ensued proved to be extenuating as well, with the box letting out threatening clinks at every step that wasn't completely careful. Short cuts she would have otherwise considered were out of the question, flight being all but smooth as a transportation mean.
In short? Most. Boring. Job. Ever.

So, right after Claye left the main hall, the carrier entered it with quite a delay. Eiko had expected to arrive two hours earlier. Opening the box, much to her relief, only one lightbulb had broke on the way to the Machinist Guild. One of the lights that was already there wouldn't be replaced, and she hoped that one would still last some time. This time, her red wings found their use. They flapped, lacking the grace of elegant swans but still gracile in their own way, and brought the bird-woman to the ceiling with effort. It wasn't as hard keeping enough stability to unscrew and screw bulbs back on with a hand holding the ceiling decorations.

[DJDeMiko]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Middle Morning
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson's sat quietly thinking for a moment. He was not the sort of man to let children play games with him, but he was also not the sort of man to take a child who made his nerves tweak lightly.

The way I see it, there are two possibilities here. He said leaning back in his chair. You are either trying to play a game with me and too naive to realize how dangerous that would be. Or you are deadly serious and understand exactly what you are asking of me.

I have information on many things that go on in this city, that's not a secret. What many people don't really consider is how dangerous holding that information can be. For a . . . girl . . . to simply ask me to turn over information on the sorcerous houses . . . some of the most dangerous groups in the city . . .

Jameson leans forward again and looks the girl directly in her eyes. Lets say that you are not playing a game, I do have much information, but it is very very expensive. How would you pay for such information? If you have no coin what services can you offer? What information do you have for trade?

[DJDeMiko]

3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson shrugs and turns to Mikado.

Of course, take your time. I'd be happy to put in polite requests with the proper people involved. Is there anything else I might be able to help you with?

[ForzaFiori]

5th of Bargenholt, AoT
Claye-Potts Machinery
Morning
Xavier de Forza

Xavier woke early, and arrived at Claye-Potts as it was opening. He went through the door with a box almost as large as himself. He sets it out of the way for now. "Claye! Got a prototype you may wanna look at." He announces when he sees her. With a flourish, he points at the large box behind him. When she has a moment, he takes out the machine (essentially a large steam powered fan that sprays a mist of water in front of it, like you'd see at a concert, but more steampunky). He explains how it works using many large, technical terms, and then explains his problem (also large and technical) to her. "So, any ideas?"

[Kasanip]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Middle Morning
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Eris

Eris was quiet for a moment. Being analyzed by Jameson's gaze was an intense feeling. No, it was not a game to be here. But the wrong action was dangerous. The chair Eris sat on was like a guard now, to prevent her leaving.
She had come so far. Waited so long. Eris kept her hands still in her lap and sat with stiff posture.
"I can do anything you would ask of me. I do not mind becoming even your servant for a time. I will work hard and honestly. I always keep my word." She looked away for a second, and then looked at him again with a sharp expression.
"I am very familiar with sorcerer fire. If you have need of magic, I can provide it. Of information... I have been many places and seen many things."
She leaned back in the chair now. This was a dangerous affair.
"...All I can tell you, is about myself. But that is dangerous information too. Until we have a promise and contract, I won't say anything more."

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Claye-Potts Machinery

Ghedim gave a slight sigh as Claye confirmed what he'd suspected to be the case. She could have been lying, of course, but if the promise of payment was insufficient to draw the truth from her then it was a matter of principles. And principled people were notoriously difficult to force into cooperation. In either case, such a denial implied that she would refrain from giving the location of the Armory to any other government, which satisfied him.

Looking back up towards Claye with his golden eyes, Ghedim allowed an apologetic smile to spread across his face.

"It seems I have wasted your time, Madame, and in a way that is not unfamiliar to you. I appreciate your grace towards my offer, regardless of your answer. Indeed, I cannot escape the feeling that I have presented a boorish and greedy picture of my entire nation. I must make it up to you..."

Instantly, Ghedim's smile brightened, and he vaulted over the counter to take Claye by the arm, as though they were strolling through some noble park rather than standing in the middle of a cluttered showroom.

"Madame, you must allow me to take you to lunch! I shan't take no for an answer - I must restore the honor of my people in your eyes!"

Before Claye had time to react, Ghedim began leading her towards the doors of the shop, motioning for his driver to fetch the door.

"I know of a lovely restaurant in the Vale. They serve the finest Rhetizian cuisine I have found outside my family's own kitchen. You simply must try the roasted swan. It is served with the most delightful combination of fiery peppers and wild onions. And honey wine, of course! You cannot have a decent spring meal without honey wine!"

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Shortly after Noon, Claye-Potts

When the ambassador vaulted over the counter, Claye had come impossibly close to cutting loose with Arcane Fire. She managed to restrain herself, though, and reacted with mostly-genuine surprise to Ghedim's sudden overtures. "Rhetiz is fine! That is, ah..." As she's guided out the door, Claye calls back, "Potts! Make sure the man in the back is alright! And then close up for lunch!"

Once in the carriage, Claye remains tense. Her experiences in Rhetiz had taught her that the skill of its cooks was surpassed only by the skill of its assassins, and Ghedim himself had just managed to take her by surprise. It was probably just a lunch - and maybe it was just the apology Ghedim claimed it was, but that didn't help.

To try to pass the time, she asks her host, "How long have you been in Taelarys?"

4th of Bargenholt, Shortly before Sundown, Fortress of the Rose

Claye was significantly better dressed than she had been earlier. That wasn't saying much - for Claye, 'well dressed' meant a clean version of her daytime wear without the black fireproof apron. She stood in the entrance hall - the mercenaries would allow her no further - and waited to see if she could meet with Boss Nessiel today or not. Claye was surprised to find herself actually nervous. She'd been to the Vale and even encountered members of the Blue Lions before (and without bloodshed, at that), but you didn't obtain and keep a reputation like Raina Nessiel's for no reason. Normally apathetic to the egos and opinions of even the nobility, Claye was on her best behavior.

5th of Bargenholt, Morning, Claye-Potts Machinery

When Xavier presents his prototype, Claye nods. "So yeh settled on evaporation as yer endothermic reaction? That's pretty clever, but the way the distribution is set up this won't cool anyone down any more than a light sweat 'n a breeze."

She can pronounce "endothermic" but not "and?" Potts wondered silently.

Claye hauls the prototype to the workbench. "What if yeh compressed the air in the building, ran it through enough coils to let the heat bleed off, let it condense, and then push it through an expansion valve back into the building? Yeh can use your fan to disperse it, and then use the extra water t' help run the compressor."

What Claye was suggesting wasn't something she'd come up with on the spot - it was an adaptation of the system her grandfather had described, used in the Dark Armory to keep the workers from dying of heat stroke. While more efficient than Xavier's spray machine, Claye didn't have the slightest idea how to make a compressor small enough to make the design feasible. She'd only suggested it because rumor had it that Xavier was a genius, and the prototype led her to suspect that he might already have a viable compressor...

[VonDoom]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, Riverside
Mikado

The foreigner shook his head as he watched Anselme depart, a smile on his face despite himself. The man he had just saved undoubtedly had a certain charm that was hard to deny -- still, Mikado felt that there was something more to him, despite the antics that appeared to be those of a madman, or at least a man who had just suffered a heavy blow to his head.

He briefly checked his pocket, to see if he hadn't by accident given the recently rescued the wrong purse -- after all, the difference between ten Silver Marks and ten Sovereigns wasn't exactly trivial, even to a fairly rich person. With a sigh of relief, he found that he had indeed measured the weight in his pocket correctly. Anselme had received the silver.

Now, the man with the slanted eyes would have to find some place to have his clothes cleaned and bathe, before he could proceed to the workshop of one Xavier de Forza. Briefly, he thought back to the murky waters he had just been exposed to -- a good thing he hadn't swallowed, at least. With some luck, the worst consequence would be a little rash once the foul residue had been cleansed from his skin.


3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Mikado

A smile played around Mikado's lips as he folded his hands behind his back, his bright eyes studying Jameson all the while. "You are too kind," the Ikokuian complimented. "But I think I've taken up enough of your time today." He uncrossed his hands, taking a step closer towards his host.
Demonstrating that he had already understood some of the local etiquette, he held out his hand for the Taelaryian to shake. "Rest assured, I will be in contact soon. And thank you again for the invitation. I'll be sure to make an appearance."

Once they had shook hands, the former Dragon Emperor headed towards the exit, though he didn't depart without a friendly 'Have a pleasant afternoon, Jameson. And, please, give your lovely assistant my regards.'

As soon as the door had closed behind him, Mikado's expression changed into a far more neutral one. As he passed Ms. Twill on the way out he once again called a dazzling smile to his lips before finally bidding goodbye to the Lord's Arena for the day.

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, AoT
Afternoon
Clockwork Griffin
Xavier de Forza

Xavier pops his hand back on and reconnects it. "I've been working on it since I lost the hand... just over 14 years ago. Just a little while before I got the store, long before Steve here was even an idea." He says, as the store's namesake walks out from the backroom. "I really need to rework the gears in him. He tends to get stuck in the back most of the time now... Is there anything else I can help you with?"

5th of Bargenholt, AoT
Morning
Claye-Potts Machinery


"That would probably work better. Might need to put a few holes in the wall of the Lord's Arena, but hey, who doesn't enjoy knocking holes in stuff?" He stops and thinks for a minute. "I have the perfect compressor back at the shop. It'd need to be cleaned off, probably made a bit bigger. Do you think you could handle the fans for a bit while I get the compressor fixed?"

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, Shortly before Sundown, Fortress of the Rose

A familiar voice came from somewhere behind Claye.


"You're not here for a shower, are you? It's not that I have anything against you showering here, it's just that I have a problem with this kind of circuitous symmetry -- gets a bit thin after the third go." If Anselme had been asked to give a definition of circuity, he likely couldn't.

He certainly had quiet footfalls for a man wearing such heavy boots. However he'd gotten down the stairs without making a sound was, well, if not a mystery, then perhaps something better left unsaid for now. Wearing new clothes and having the benefit of a proper bath, he looked considerably more presentable than he had hours prior.

"Em... Ms. Potts, was it?"

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Near Sundown, Fortress of the Rose

Claye manged not to jump. A lot of people were getting the drop on her today. Managing to grin as she turned, Claye shakes her head. "It's Miss Kilnmyr. Potts is my assistant. An' no, Ah'm not gettin' a shower. Ah'm here on guild business." She hesitates but then decides to ask anyway. "What's your name? An' what do yeh do when you're not jumpin' in t' rivers?"

5th of Bargenholt, Morning, Claye-Potts Machinery

"Yeah, I can manage that." Actually, that was perfect. The fans were simple enough that Potts could help her with the workload, which would leave enough time for her other task.

[Lady Serpentine]

5th of Bargenholt, AoT
Late Morning
Ostrim Tower
Kyranis m'Kybrae ir Ostrim

Kyranis m'Kybrae ir Ostrim, Sorcerer of House Ostrim and Firstborn of the Kyb, was pacing. More precisely, he was walking up and down his chambers, gesticulating angrily as he discussed the matter of his engagement. His anger is excusable, however, as they've been arguing about the matter for an hour.

His Bond Mate, on the other hand, was perfectly calm, sitting quietly on the bed.

"Liellia, you know that hiring the Lions to watch her would raise too many questions. For one thing, why would an Ostrim be hiring them to protect a member of another Sorcerous House? It's common knowledge that we're at each others throats!"


Liellia, when she spoke, had a touch of acid in her voice.

"Yes, but if we don't do something, then she's going to be completely vulnerable if anyone finds
out.

"It seems we won't reach an agreement anytime soon, and I have to get into the city. We can talk about this later. Agreed?

Kyranis, unlike most, didn't believe in being rude to his Bond Mate without cause, probably because he'd known, and liked, her since before he'd chosen her.

"Agreed."

5th of Bargenholt, AoT
Noon
Claye-Potts Machinery

Kyranis enters, and looks around for the owner. He's medium height, with brown hair. His eyes are green. He has several symbols tattooed on his face. He's wearing black and gray clothing, of whatever fashion is currently popular.

At least, he does so if the shop is open. She might be on a lunch break, after all. It is rather traditional.

[BladeofObliviom]

6th of Bargenholt, Just after Midnight
Near House Levant

Bronze hands flexed on the Bow's Grip, as he ordered it to strike true. It wasn't an impossible shot, but it had to be done from stealth. He'd made sure that there was an escape to the Undercity nearby enough for him to lose pursuers there, and he had planned this for months.

Finally, he would strike a meaningful blow against a Sorcerous House.

A sorcerer would die tonight.

Then he saw his quarry. Indeed, this was a Sorcerer of House Levant, simply going for a midnight walk. He would never again see the light of day.

The shaft flew whistling through the night, and a scream could be heard as it pierced the lung of the mage. The sheet of paper with his message was drenched with blood. Fire spread through the night as the Sorcerer attempted to gain revenge on his assailant.

Alas, he was gone. He had missed. This mission had failed, though at least a sorcerer suffered rather than any true disaster.

[DJDeMiko]

3rd of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson shook hands with Mikado and bade him goodbye. As the door shut his smile went from polite friendship to one of thoughtful concern. He waited a few minutes to ensure the man was out of the office and called Ms. Twill in . . . . .


*see backwards a few posts for his reaction*

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson drums his fingers on the desk for a few moments looking this strange woman in the eyes . . . yes he thought, woman was more accurate, not a child despite her body and apparent age.

He allowed his face to take on a trusting look, one he would use for a friend that he wanted to help. Allright, he said, I will offer you information on a case by case basis. You can repay me by working odd jobs and with whatever information you might have that I would be interesting. We will negotiate rates each time. However, do not expect all that you seek at once, I would like to work with you first, but I want to make sure there is something in it for me.

Before giving her a chance to reply, Jameson flipped a small switch on the side of his desk and the door to his office opened almost immediately as two guards attempted to push through together.

Jameson raises his hand Men, it is fine, please I just wanted Ms. Twill. Ask her to bring in the file marked os1b

Ms. Twill popped in a moment later with a few sheets of parchment and Jameson waved them all back out.

He places the parchment on the desk in between himself and the young woman.

This is every publicly known member of Ostrim, guard, employee or slave and their current residence. As I said, public, all of this information you could find yourself, but it would take you weeks if not months to learn it all. It is our starting point, tell me what you will and we will decide a price for you to work off. He allows his voice to grow darker for a moment as he finishes but mark me girl, if you are thinking to play with me . . . . He trailed off and looked to her response.

OOC

She and I are talking about this deal behind the scenes, so no rolling needed unless she wants to challenge him.

[Swordslinger]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Morning
Darran Manor
Amandre NIghtheaven

Amandre stood motionless next to the door leading to the office of the head of House Darran “…cargo…new markets… Ikoku” a heated conversation was going on inside and a word here and there slipped through the door. The door was open and a man in his 30s wearing very nice but casual clothing left, he stopped, turned his head and looked at Amandre with contempt. “Ah, my father’s dog. He wants to see you. I hear you finally sorted out that little thief issue, took you long enough” as Amandre walked past the man he offered a simple polite greeting “My Lord” but did not else respond to his taunts. The man looked annoyed for a brief moment before he walked off. Banyn d’Darran had been the head of the house for the last 30 years ever since the last one; Banyn’s father had been executed for participating in the Crimson Coup. Banyn was writing something and barely glanced up at him as Amandre walked up to the desk. “There is a Ikoku ship down in the harbor, go down there and scout it out, you might have to get on board later. Here is the location.” Banyn stopped writing long enough to pass Amandre a paper note; Amandre looked at it for a moment before placing it down at the desk. “You will know which ship it is when you see it… now off you go” Amandre nodded “Yes, my Lord” and walked out of the office.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, Near Sundown, Fortress of the Rose
The Foyer: Claye and Anselme

Anselme lowers his eye, apparently recalling the events that had led him to be tossed into the river. "One presumes I was pushed. My memory isn't as... secure as I should like. Perhaps I hit my head. All the same, the old faculties are still... faculting." He gave the briefest of smiles, which is as much to say that he hoped you'd pardon the neologism.

Catching on to the game, he added, "You heard about me drifting down the... ah. Mmm... well these things do happen. Don't tell me you've never been unceremoniously tossed off of something? You mean to say it's not some sort of local greeting?"

He smiled against to himself, as if bemused by his own antics or else his ludicrous predicament. "I do a great many things, Miss. Kilnmyr. I'm afraid you'll have to be more specific."

One could nearly hear the gears rattling away in his brain while he processed the name Kilnmyr. He was, perhaps, too polite to inquire further about the name, if it proved familiar. Conjecturing that your ancestor had sold his soul wasn't the stuff of polite conversation, certainly.

[the_druid_droid]

6th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
House Levant
Tarin

Tarin sat at his desk, a tight rictus that could just pass for a polite smile locked on his face. He had been sitting at the desk, wearing the same expression for almost an hour as Jareth Falan ir Levant, a relatively low-ranking Sorcerer of the House, had complained to him about his recent brush with death.

Apparently, the man had been ambushed in the early morning, and an arrow bearing the familiar message of the Bronze Crusader had lodged itself in his chest during a brief long-range scuffle. Despite the wound, Jareth had managed to make it to Levant’s hospital, and as soon as the last healing spell had been cast and he’d recovered enough to walk, the Sorcerer had sought out the Inquisition.

“...any further to the left and it would’ve gone straight through my heart!” At the exclamation, Tarin found himself lamenting the Bronze Crusader’s lapse in accuracy. Jareth Falan had provided no useful information regarding the Crusader, who’d attacked from hiding before darting away, and instead had chosen to waste the Inquisitor’s valuable time with a rambling, barely-cogent critique of the Inquisition’s methods and the current state of Taelaryian society as a whole.

At last, as the hands of the antique clock in Tarin’s office swept toward noon, the Sorcerer began to wrap up his monologue, and Tarin was quick to reassure his guest that all necessary steps would be taken to bring the mysterious Crusader to justice. At that moment, the Inquisitor would have said almost anything to hasten Jareth’s departure, but reassurances seemed the least likely to lead to further complaining. When the Sorcerer stood to leave, Tarin was perhaps too quick in rising to see him out, but once he had, the gray-haired Grand Inquisitor breathed a long sigh of relief.

On days like these, he really hated being an administrator.

7th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Afternoon
House Levant
Tarin

When Tarin returned to his office after attending to his official business for the day, he had been surprised to see a cream-white envelope lying on his desk. Picking it up, the Grand Inquisitor saw that his name was written on one side in a flowing script, while the other side bore the familiar seal of House d’Milverton.

Opening the letter, Tarin was slightly relieved to see that it contained only an invitation. As he read through the formally-worded document, a small laugh escaped his lips; Davis d’Lupil, the man he’d interrogated only the day before, had been sentenced already, and Jameson had won the contract to showcase his execution. The Inquisitor strongly suspected that Jameson had also been the one to notify the authorities of the nobleman’s crimes in the first place, and he might even have been the one to suggest House Levant as a means of obtaining a confession.

In any case, Davis’ trial by combat promised to provide an excellent spectacle, and Tarin quickly composed his RSVP. He couldn’t miss the opportunity to give Davis one last smug smile and wave as he was marched out into the arena, after all.

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Early Afternoon
The Indigo

As they entered the carriage, Ghedim helped Claye aboard before slouching into one of the overstuffed leather seats. Reaching into a black felt pouch, he pulled out a pinch of dried flowers, so deeply blue they were almost black. Tapping the ashes in his pipe out the window, he refilled it with the flowers, lighting them in a sulfurous flare of green flame. Drawing in a deep breath, he blew out a blue cloud before responding to Claye's question.

"I hope you don't mind if I smoke? To answer your question, I've been in Taelarys for three years now. You might think me young to be acting as a diplomat, but my predecessor suffered an unfortunate accident while visiting home, and most of our elder statesmen were involved in delicate matters at home, so I was given the honor. I find Taelarys a fascinating city, so full of life in one instant, so hostile and cold the next. But I'm far more interested in your view of the city, Madame Kilnmyr. Your ancestry makes you a native of the city, yet you have spent so much time abroad I can only imagine your own opinions of Taelarys to be much more complex than mine."

Ghedim continued to speak of Taelarys and lands abroad until they'd left Exentia street and had entered the Vale. Turning down a shadowy side street, the carriage clattered over the cobbles before finally stopping in an alley that allowed in only the faintest traces of the midday sunlight. As Ghedim helped Claye down from the carriage, she saw an intricately carved door recessed in the side of one of the buildings, the words "The Indigo" embossed across it in mother of pearl. Ghedim knocked on the door, and it immediately swung open with a whisper, revealing a diaphanous curtain of perfumed silk within. Pushing it aside, Ghedim led Claye into a small, smoky waiting room where a half-dozen people were lounging on satin setees. Their dress and demeanor marked them as nobles, and though they spared Claye a sideways glance they quickly returned to their whispered conversations. Ghedim spared a moment to breathe deeply of the perfumed air before coughing.

"Excuse me, may we have a table?"

Immediately, a woman appeared from what must have been a secret door in a swirl of silk. Her dress was several steps south of scandalous for Taelarys, but Claye recognized it as fairly typical of Rhetizian high society. A luminescent smile was on her lips, and she and Ghedim shared an oddly familiar glance.

"Ah, Ghedim! How good of you to come back to us. And with a lady, no less. Would you like your usual table?"

"If you please, Arienne. And with a bottle of honey wine, if you please."

"Of course, sir. Would you expect anything less?"

With a chuckle and a shake of his head, Ghedim extended a hand to Claye and led her through another silken curtain, through yet another secret door into what appeared to be the main dining area. Circular tables bordered a rectangular hardwood dance floor, while a grand staircase led to a balcony that circled the entire room. Ghedim led Claye up that staircase, through a final set of curtains, behind which waited a circular table of black lacquer, a pair of chairs, and a bottle of amber honey wine chilling in a bucket. Ghedim pulled out a chair for Claye before taking his own seat and pulling a menu out from a clever slit in the table.

"So, Madame Kilnmyr, what is your pleasure?"

Story Element 5/7

The Indigo (http://theplaygroundiii.wikia.com/wiki/The_Indigo)

[Kasanip]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Eris

Eris paused to consider Jameson's proposal, and accepted. She froze a moment as the guards entered. For one moment, she thought he had betrayed her, but relaxed and smoothed her hair as Ms. Twill entered.

When Jameson put the document on the table, Eris stared at it intensely. This was the start. It was so close, and only the beginning. She had to be patient. She had to be smart. Eris struggled to look at Jameson again. But he knew.

And with this, she had her own bargain to uphold. So Eris stood up, and bowed, touching her palm and fist together as a symbol of humility. For Jameson, he might know it as a Sorcerer's sign, though her style looked different than the current one.

"Thank you." She said first. "I am certain it will be profitable for you and me.

The first information I offer then, is this. Your list is incomplete. My name is Eris ir Ostrim. Of proof of my heritage, I will show you this."

She paused to adjust her belt and clothes, and turned around to show her back to Jameson. She hesitated, and then pulled the strings open, to show her back. There on her shoulder blade, there was a faint scar shaped like the seal of Ostrim. She spoke while allowing Jameson to study the seal.
"Perhaps you know of the bond-mates of sorcerers. This is the proof I am of House Ostrim. This was the mark of my bond, though it is faded and scarred from burning. That is because I was separated from my bond-mate, and there is only one way to do that."
She fixed her clothes and returned to stand and face Jameson again.
"There are reasons of course, and they involve a long story. But I will tell that story also, in exchange for more information."
A faint smile came to her face as she bowed again.
"If you would, please call me Eris. I suppose the servant girls have no last names here, and that is acceptable to me. I'll do what work you ask of me without complaint, I promise. Don't worry, you have purchased the best servant you could have." She suppressed a laugh and showed a coy smile.
"And...what should I call you? Do you prefer Sir, My Lord, Master, or something else?"

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko

Some people loved punctuality. Eiko wasn't one of these people. Some others were fashionably early to meetings. She wasn't such a person either, she was more of a drunkenly early kind of woman.
As could be attested from the two empty bottles on her table near the front door.
At irregular intervals in her soft haze, she would turn her head in direction of the door, wondering what kind of man would want to meet her, a complete stranger. Such a man might not exist. At any rate, she ensured that if he would not come at the White Goblet, her time would not have been completely wasted, thanks to the company of almost-decently-priced beer.

[DJDeMiko]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson kept his face from showing any of his surprise. The claim Eris was making was bizarre at best . . . but if true could mean some very interesting things.

Jameson, face still hiding, Sir or Lord d'Milverton would be best in public. For now you may call me Jameson in private. The claim you are making is a very dangerous one . . . but I think you know that. Please do tell me more.

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, The Indigo, Early Afternoon
Claye and Ghedim

Claye was, financially, more secure than she'd ever been in her life, and still couldn't afford to come here on her own. It would suffice to say that she had never been in such a fancy establishment before, with the exception of dashing through one in the city of Alashire while evading pursuit.

Fortunately, she can at least read the menu, but having never had any of the dishes before, chooses completely at random. After making her selection, she thinks back to Ghedim's question. He had made a fair point - she had been all over, and she had spent enough time listening to Mistress Pathric that she had a fair overview of the city's problems.

"My opinion on the empire?" Claye echoes. An objective observer might note that her diction was cleaner in Ghedim's language than hers. "Well, there's no objective measurement for the quality of a nation. They can only be judged by comparing them to other nations." She hesitates, then decides to go for it. "So I'll start with Rhetiz. In Rhetiz, you've got a curious dynamic going. It's the only nation I've been to where the nobles are in more danger than the commoners - yes, I know about the Shadow War. I don't know who did what and when, but I do know that it exists." Claye shakes her head and gets back on topic. "So you've got this nation known for the skill of its politicians and the skill of its assassins, and the two keep one another in check - except the twist is that the politicians and the assassins are the same people."

"And then there's everyone else. Oh sure, there are other class divisions, but the nobles provide all of them with the bare minimum necessary to keep people happy - prosperity and stability. Everyone knows about the shadow war, even if no one talks about it, and they know why and how the crime rates are so low. On top of that, as long as you stay out of trouble and work hard, you can get rewarded for that. There are poor and homeless - there's always poor and homeless, but they've still got a chance to move into the commoner group. The citizens are kept under control with contentment - even if it's achieved by knifing people on rooftops - and hope, coupled with beatings for those who break the law."

"Then we come back to Taelar. On the surface, it looks like it's superior to Rhetiz in every way. It has a bigger army, greater access to and control of magical talent, more land, more money, no official shadow war, a genuinely divine bloodline on the throne, and a higher basic level of technology." Claye's eyes narrow. "But any machinist will tell you that having more of everything doesn't mean you've built a superior product - it has to be balanced, and it has to be able to support its own weight. Taelar isn't in balance, and sooner or later it won't be able to support itself."

She begins listing points off on her fingers. "I don't want to sound like a pretentious accountant, but the distribution of wealth in Taelar is... insane. To say that the lion's share goes to the upper crust is understating it by half. Plus, there's not necessarily any hope for those at the bottom of society here. So on the one hand you've got children in the slums who have worked every day from age four, and you've got nobles over the age of thirty who haven't worked a day in their lives. Hope, contentment, prosperity, are not offered to the people of Taelarys - only the beatings. All they have is stability, but that means that anything that disrupts that stability has twice the impact that it would in, say, Rhetiz. And the stability is half illusion anyway, since the crime rate is much higher. The typical noble lifestyle doesn't help." Claye gestures around the Indigo. "But Rhetiz can get away with it. See, the commoners in Rhetiz know that the nobles do pay a price for the lifestyle - while they get to have fancy meals and clothes, they also have to live with poison and snipers. It means that they're not superior to the commoners in every way, and you'd better believe that it helps. To give another example, out in Lodaria, the nobles frequently partner up with dragons - and that's the core of their defense force! The nobility does a disproportionate amount of the fighting, and sure, they're better equipped for it than any commoner would be, but it's still their blood being spilled. Plus, punishments for criminal activities are twice as bad for nobles as for everyone else. The Lodarians love it. Here? There's no such thing. The nobility puts up a facade of perfection, and that gets old quick."

"Speaking of nobles, they may not have a shadow war, but they do plot and scheme and die - just less efficiently. They have magic, but the magic is fading as the iron grip of the four houses chokes it out. They have technology, but the technology is regulated by the nobles that are afraid of it, and it isn't available universally in any case. They have a huge army, but the army is funded by money that could better be spent elsewhere. They have big tracts of land, but the land has to be defended, which means a bigger army and more money spent on maintaining it. And while the Imperial Bloodline may be divine, it's not as divine as it used to be." She talks a bit faster, now that she has a rhythm going. "Saying that is a crime, of course, as is trying to alter the system in any way, or breaking free of your current status without the approval of someone in power. Are you a sorcerer? Better join one of the Four Houses quick. Are you a slave? You'll always be a slave, barring impossibly good luck. Are you a commoner with a job? Hang on to that job, and hope that you can keep up with taxes and tolerate being spat on by the nobles. Are you a commoner without a job? Now you're a slave, congratulations!"

Claye takes a deep breath. "So while in a place like Rhetiz, or Lodaria, or many other places, you can improve your station with enough hard work and planning, here there are only four ways to beat the system - become an artisan of some kind, become a servant - which is like a slave but with slightly more dignity, become a criminal, or die. And all of those problems are getting worse, not better. So the short version of my 'opinion' on Taelar is that it's collapsing under its own weight. It may not happen tomorrow. It may not happen in my lifetime, but if something fundamental doesn't change, the end is coming." She blinks. "You're a pretty good listener, you know that? But you're the ambassador - what do *you* think of Taelar?"

4th of Bargenholt, Sundown, Fortress of the Rose
Claye and Anselme

When Anselme makes his comment about being thrown off of things, Claye laughs. "More times than I'd care t' admit."

When he's done, Claye shrugs. "Ah was makin' conversation." If he doesn't offer anything else, Claye eventually asks, "So what's a nice facultin' man like you want with the Blue Lions?"

5th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Noon
Claye, Potts, and Kyranis

Claye pops out of the back. "Ah'm here! What can Ah do for yeh?"

[Lady Serpentine]

5th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Noon
Claye, Potts, and Kyranis

Kyranis looks up from the machinery he was examining.


"I came to inquire about the price of a mechanical guardian, if you sell such things."

[Xondoure]

4th of Bargenholt
Dawn
Tower of Tramontae

“You will infiltrate the sorcerous houses and report all relevant information to me. That is any information that could affect house Tramontae or weaken the position of the other sorcerous houses. You will do this silently and without attention, along with any and all other tasks I set to you.”

Malharus’ eyes seemed to bore their way through the boy and into the creature within.

“Is that understood?”

“Yes.”

“Since the death of their Arch Magister house Ostrim has begun to cave upon itself, fighting amongst themselves like dogs fighting over scraps, do not concern yourself heavily with their affairs.
House Ponentir is starting to gain power once more, however there is a man among them Michael Nicephorus ir Ponentir son of the former Arch Magister. He is a brat by all accounts, but one who has grown up nursing his families’ wounds. You will aid his cause, for the more the house can be divided the easier it will be to ignore it.
The real threat is house Levant. Their grand inquisitor Tarin Ardalion is a dangerous man and underneath him the inquisitors of Levant have become a powerful and far reaching force. You will watch him closely for anything he knows that we do not is a blow we can barely afford.”

The watcher understood, and the boy obeyed.

“Yes.”

“Your duty is not over outside of the sorcerous houses, the Bronze Crusader threatens the stability of the upperclass and seems to have a greater agenda against the sorcerous houses. Direct his efforts against the other houses if you can, reveal him if you cannot.
Lastly a ship has arrived from Ikoku. A dangerous journey for a small trading vessel, and only worth making if the cargo was of significant value. The cargo, or the passengers that is. And if the rumors are true hidden pockets may hold bliss, a valuable resource if trade were to become more permanent, the man that controlled such a trade would have great power at greater risk, unless he were to seek protection. You will discover this foreign vessel's secrets and report them to me.”

“Yes.”

“As it should be. You will report to me upon the closing of each day when summoned, and will return at any time should information be too important or too time dependent to waste.”

“Yes.”

Malharus smiled the same cold smile that never reached his eyes.

“Yes indeed.”

[Kasanip]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Eris

Eris nodded, her smile still on her face. She looked at Jameson carefully, though now hiding behind her smile, there was admiration.

He is not surprised, or does not show it. I must be very careful in this place. Maybe he is trying to make me worry my information is not valuable enough. She thought. But she knew it was.

"I understand, Jameson." Her smile became a serious one and she crossed her arms.
"I understand danger. I also know that I need time to study the information you are giving me. You will learn the full story before the end of our deal."
Her smile returned.
"But it is lunchtime, and I am sure there are other things you must concern yourself with."
She stood and stretched, and then turned it into a polite bow.
"If you would just direct me to a place I can stay, or whomever I shall report to for work, I will go. I am sure you can send for me when it is next convenient to continue our work.

Or shall I bring you lunch?" She asked.

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Early Afternoon
The Indigo

Seeing Claye considering the menu, Ghedim noticed her look of consternation. Clearing his throat, he leaned forwards slightly.

"Might I suggest the Ortolan? This time of year, they should just be coming into prime season."

Then, he sat back as Claye launched into her analysis of Taelarys. Leaning back into his seat, he swirled his wine glass, the liquid taking on the same hue as his eyes in the light cast by the Indigo's purple-paned lanterns. When Claye finished, he took a deep sip from his glass before responding.

"Your analysis is impressive, Madame Kilnmyr, but I think you have overlooked one crucial element. If you will allow a simile, the dance of nations is very much like a masquerade ball in Rhetiz, with every country hiding their intent behind a gilded mask. Taelarys has the most decadent mask, the largest retinue, but it is nevertheless the monster at the masquerade. No matter how elaborate the mask of civility and wealth, it is but a frail facade concealing a ravenous beast with few goals beyond its own survival. I agree that the empire cannot sustain itself indefinitely, but before it falls it will return to the old ways, and it will attempt to consume any nation it can to maintain its decadent life for another century, another decade, another year. And as you have so aptly pointed out, Taelar has the military, magical, and technological might to succeed. Thus, it is my duty to assure that when the time comes for another nation to be sacrificed to the gluttonous hunger of Taelar, Rhetiz is seen as too good a friend or too potent a potential nuisance to bother."

It seemed as though Ghedim was about to say more, but came a slight knock from behind the curtain. Turning his gaze from Claye's eyes for the first time since they'd sat, Ghedim bade the server enter, and another scantily clad woman edged through the silk.

"I believe I shall have the Ortolan, my dear. And you, Madame Kilnmyr?"

After they'd given their order, Ghedim turned the whole of his attention back towards Claye.

"I must say, Madame Kilnmyr, you fascinate me. I am not ignorant to the privilege I have been born into, and I cannot truly imagine what your life must have been like. How you've emerged from your trials and tribulations without a battery of psychoses is beyond me, and that you are as charmingly astute as you are fills me with admiration. Tell me - how did you manage it?"

[DJDeMiko]

1st of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
The home and private quarters of Davis d'Lupil
Jameson

Jameson enters through a back entrance, wearing dark clothes with a deep cloak hiding his face.

Davis, clearly in his drink, looks at Jameson with a snarl and says, What is it Milverton, I have better things to do than have clandestine meetings with you.

Showing nothing on his face, Jameson pulls the hood of the cloak back, It is d'Milverton, I am a lord as well d'Lupil. You seemed well aware of that when you took that loan last year.

Pfah, you minor houses don't count, street trash dressing up in finery, calling themselves royalty. Davis made a scoffing noise. As to your loan, I gave you that money back.

Jameson, forwning, D'Lupil . . . losing the money in my casino and spending it on my escorts is not the same as paying back the loan or the interest you owe on it.

Consider it a lesson learned in who your betters are then boy, now get out of my house.

d'Lupil, I am afraid I must insist, it was a large sum of money and I require it repaid as was agreed. I do not want to take this to the authorities.

D'lupil begins laughing Authorities, minor house skum. I am one of the d'Lupils! I eat worms like you for breakfast. Try to take it to the authorities, I will take you into the high courts for besmirching my name. I will drag your activities out in front of the court. By the end of the whole thing, you might have gotten your pithy loan back, but I will have ruined your name, your business and made you the laughing stock of the cit.

Jameson allows anger to show on his face, Davis, I am not a man to be trifled with.

Davis takes a step closer to Jameson, his face inches away, the smell of mead on his breath. Do you know what you are, skum. You are nothing, a blip on this cities grand history. My friends and I laugh at you, we tell tales of how I have taken your money, you are a laughing stock. The great Lord Leach in his little castle thinking he runs the city. The power that my friends and I hold. The real power of the city, laughing as you play king. It's disgusting and its about time you realize just how powerless you are.

Jameson takes a step back, pulls the hood of his cloak up and simply says Thank you for your time d'Lupil, I look forward to seeing you again soon. In fact, in about a weeks time I will be throwing a party and I would love for you to attend. With that he turns and walks out.



5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Jameson

Jameson stands as Eris does. Let Ms. Twill know that I have hired you and to find something useful for you to do. If you need lodging there are servants quarters, but if you would like a private room it will cost a little, but its a fair rate. As to meals, all employees get one free meal per day, I can't vouch to it being the tastiest, but if you require something better you can get a discount at The Copper Blade or Silver Knife.

[DJDeMiko]

6th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Afternoon
City at Large

Darting in and out of the throngs of people, scampering around carriages, a legion of young boys and girl run carrying heavy sacks full of paper.

“Extra, Extra!” they call out, straining their small voices. “Read all about it! Lord Davis d’Lupil to die in Lord’s Arena.”

The city is already aflame with the news, that and more. For the only thing that travels faster than news in this city, is rumor. The juicier and the more disturbing the faster.

“Well, I heard that when they founds him,” a dirty man says to a somehow dirtier man he walks with, “that’s he had chillun’s bodies draped around his bedroom so he could sleep with their dead eyes watching.”

Two other gentlemen, far cleaner, sip brandy while awaiting their meals at The Golden Dagger. “Don’t be absurd Francis, I hear Lord d’Milverton is only inviting Nobles and members of his special club, there is no way you will be able to get a ticket to a party that the empower himself would attend.”

In a darker corner of the city, a man with a nose that suggests not just that it has been broken, but that broken is its normal state of being, looks over a few rough looking men. “See here fellas, with all them people at Lord’s Arena, you gotta guess that Jameson’s gonna have more guards protectin the emporer and other fancy types. An I hear Jameson’s got him a lovely safe in his office full of gems and secrets.”

Too many rumors to count spread through the city. Jameson is the truly guilty party, Davis was caught on purpose so he can assassinate all the nobles, etc. etc.

One though, one above all others persists. One rumor passes through every corner, every office, every ear. Its form shifts, its wording changes, but the meaning is always the same. Something huge is going to happen, something amazing and horrible, something that if you miss, that if you don’t see, that you will regret, that all your friends will talk about and that you shall dream of having seen. The city hungers for it, for the excitement, for the blood of this nobleman.

Excitement it shall have.

Blood it shall have.

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Mikado

As the tengu was busy drinking, the barely familiar man from the day before walked up to her table. He was more or less on time, perhaps five minutes off on either side -- he hadn't actually checked the precise time they had met yesterday. The Ikoku native was looking friendly enough, a confident smile playing on his lips as he stepped up to Eiko.

He was looking more composed than yesterday, more well rested. Though still gaunt and clearly underfed, he was certainly looking a bit more healthy and less like he might keel over at any moment from exhaustion. The man was also distinctly less wet than the last time they had met, which was a plus.

"Good morning," he offered, holding out his hand. While he wasn't sure if it was a custom the local Tengu shared, it was certainly popular in the region itself. He'd take his chances. "I see I piqued your interest."

4th of Bargenholt, AoT
Afternoon
Clockwork Griffin
Mikado

"I'm certain there is," Mikado replied to the inventor. He briefly knocked on the desk, examining its structure with a curious expression on his face, before looking up to meet de Forza's gaze. "I'm purchasing some property in this city soon -- I'm still weighing my options, but I intend to stay in Taelarys."

"I'll want the place upgraded to modern steam technology standards," he continued, "security, comforts, the works. My funds aren't unlimited, of course, but aside from a few specific requests I might have you'd have more or less free reign to design and incorporate whatever you might find useful; technology past, present and new."

Mikado chuckled briefly, adding. "I'm of the opinion inventors work their best when you let their genius roam free."

[ForzaFiori]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Clockwork Griffin
Afternoon
Xavier de Forza

"I would be honored to take the job. When you purchase the property, I'll need to see it to be able to properly design however. Same with any buildings, though blueprints could work in a pinch. Standards for a large scale project like this is 5 marks a day, plus parts. If you want it done quicker than one person can, I can vouch for several mechanists, though you'd need to work out a payment plan with them on their own." Xavier tells the man. He tries to hide his excitement at ANOTHER great sale this soon.

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office

Two days after Jameson's fateful meeting with Mikado, a boy would arrive with a letter addressed to the Lord Jameson d'Milverton. On a first inspection, the writing looked extremely elaborate and clear, if stylized in a rather strange manner. It looked almost like a work of art and might actually have been drawn with a slim brush rather than a pen if the edges were any indication.

Dear friend,

allow me to once again thank you for your kindness as a host two days prior, to one who was but a stranger. As I am very interested in meeting with the local high society, I also thank you once more for your invitation to the event three days hence.

I have since had some time to consider our discussion, and decided to accept your generous offer. As it seems a unique opportunity, I request your assistance in acquiring the final choice; perhaps, as you put it, decadent, but it shall serve me with that very attribute. You need not be discrete about my interest. Indeed, experience tells me that some small daring and scandal can serve one well to be made a popular topic amongst nobility. And considering events-to-come, purchasing such holdings even before your grand show should count as a bold move, should it not?

Your friend,

The final two words were followed by a number of illegible symbols, presumably in the writing style and language of Ikoku. As it was missing any other mention of the writer's name, it was a simple conclusion to assume these the proper, native way to write 'Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado'.


4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Clockwork Griffin
Afternoon
Mikado

"Of course. You'll have full access." The foreigner looked satisfied with that response, nodding briefly. "A reasonable price," he offered in reply, though a thin smile formed on his lips as he continued. "For a normal project. Yes, to start with, that should be fine. But as I said, I'm willing to give you a lot of creative freedom -- once I've confirmed that you are the man for the job, we'll talk again about this arrangement."

Mikado folded his hands together behind his back, studying the inventor before him. "I'm sure we can find a better one, for both of us. I am looking for a profitable trade to invest in, after all."

The man inclined his head briefly, as if he had just remembered something, before an apologetic look crossed over his face. "For now, you'll have to excuse me, though -- I'll have the details sent to your shop once my new residence is ready."

He bowed with a flourish, then abruptly turned towards the door. He had no intention of allowing Xavier to ask any further questions, rather deciding to let his words, and the potential idea of a proper investment sink in to do the work for him.

[the_druid_droid]

6th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Afternoon
House Levant
Tarin

Again Tarin sat behind the desk in his office, but this time he found the company much more to his taste. Across from him, the fading light of afternoon illuminated a familiar gray cloak as Revin leaned forward in quiet conference with the Grand Inquisitor.

“As you requested, we looked into the matter of the Ikokuian ship that docked recently. With the help of a few marks in the right places, we’ve discovered that the mysterious stranger who pays with gems calls himself Mikado. Nothing’s turned up regarding his background from the usual channels, so it looks like this really is his first time in Taelarys.”

At this news, the Inquisitor sat back for a moment, wearing a thoughtful look. “And the ship itself? Have you been able to determine anything about its cargo?”

“I’ve been poking around the docks for a few days, but the sailors are so sick it’s hard to learn much from them. Hopefully I’ll get a chance to take a closer look once customs clears everything and they open up official trade.” Revin frowned sourly as he spoke; the spy did not enjoy having only incremental progress to report.

“Good. Do your best to get on board as soon as possible; contraband aside, it might have a few pretty baubles to amuse the nobles.” A note of derision appeared in Tarin’s voice at the mention of the nobility, and his expression hardened. “Speaking of which, have you begun your pursuit of this Bronze Crusader yet?”

“The search is being mobilized as we speak. We visited the site of the attack, and there’s a passage to the Undercity close by; it’s almost certain that’s where he fled.”

“It’s a pity you have such a large area to search. Still, your men have rooted out a number of Defiant strongholds down there, so I trust you will be up to the challenge. It goes without saying that I don’t want to deal with more foolish nobles getting shot and wasting my time.” Tarin paused for a moment, a glimmer of anger in his eyes. “If it weren’t for the Arch Magister’s very specific orders to play nice with House nobility until the bad blood from Fawkes settles, I would be sorely tempted to call Jareth in and finish what the Crusader started.”

Revin smiled at the Inquisitor’s insinuation; in truth, he had very little love for the nobility, even though he served them through Tarin. Of course, that may have been the reason he was hired as a House spy in the first place; often the most dangerous enemies were the ones under your own roof. “Is there any further business you would have me attend to, my lord?”

“Just see to the usual, along with these recent developments. With any luck, things in the city will escalate, and I’ll be able to acquire some new toys soon.” With another dark smirk, the Grand Inquisitor dismissed his spy, and let his mind wander from the events of the day toward the upcoming execution. He was starting to get excited.

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon, The Indigo

Claye nods when Ghedim makes his correction concerning Taelar. "That's one way of putting it. But there's a downside of being the beast at the ball. If everyone knows that you're a step and a half away from consuming them, then they start preparing for the eventuality. As you yourself said, your job is to ensure that Rhetiz is too friendly or too inconvenient to attack, and I can't imagine that there isn't some equivalent of you in every other country bordering the Empire. Whoever the Empire targets next may not need to win the ensuing conflict - they may be able to cripple Taelar just by fighting long enough."

When it's time to order, Claye changes her decision when she finally spots something she's had before - once, out in eastern Lodaria. "I'll have the Chateaubriand. Cooked... to medium, please."

With their orders placed, Claye listens to Ghedim's next question. He really was a charming man; she could see how he had become an ambassador despite his age - and his maneuver in her shop had shown how he had kept the position, she reminded herself.

She scratches the back of her head and grins. "Well, who's to say that I don't have a battery of psychoses? Mostly, I just kept following my Grandfather's trail until it disappeared, so I returned here and started over - I managed to catch the eye of Mirrim Pathric, and here I am."

5th of Bargenholt, Noon, Claye-Potts Machinery

"That depends on the complexity, quality, and firepower that yeh want for your 'mechanical guardian.' It also depends on what you're tryin' t' protect. Do yeh have a design or a schematic?"

5th of Bargenholt, Sundown, Outside The Knight's Bard

Potts looked dubious, to say the least. "We're going to get mugged."

"We're not gonna get mugged." Claye lit her pipe and rolled her eyes.

"How do you know? This has got to be the worst part of the Empire. It's the armpit of Taelarys, the sinkhole of common decency, the grime singularity!"

Claye blinked. "Well, if yeh keep that up, Ah suppose we will." She grabbed his shirt for emphasis. "I know yeh came from a 'good' family, so listen up. When we go in there, there's gonna be all sorts of people, drawn by the Bard's reputation for gossip an' really good spirits. So yeh can't judge by appearances. Some of 'em are gonna be cutthroats, others are gonna belong t' street gangs, some are gonna be regular folks that like hangin' out in places like this, and some might even be guards or nobles in disguise. The only thing they have in common is that they're there for drinks, news, an' maybe a song or two - an' the occasional fight. They start fights with anyone who won't leave 'em alone or are makin' a scene." She let the shirt go. "So just keep any opinions yeh've got to yourself, be polite, an' don't start anything, an' you'll be fine. Or turn around an' go home right now."

Inside...

Claye and Potts finally settled in at a table in the corner. "Why are we here again?"

"Info on the Bronze Crusader. He operates near this section of the city, or at least close enough that the rumors get here quickly. Now we wait, listen, an' relax."

[Lady Serpentine]

5th of Bargenholt, Noon, Claye-Potts Machinery

"No, I'm afraid I don't. Despite my interest in technology, I'm not qualified to design something like that. As far as the other points, I'm trying to protect a person, I'd like as much firepower as can be put in, as much complexity as needed to make good decisions about who's a friend and who's not, and the best quality."

[Kasanip]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Noon
Lord's Arena - Jameson's Office
Eris

"Thank you, Lord di Milverton. The servants quarters are acceptable. It is useful to listen to the talk of servants to learn information, as you know." She shrugged casually and collected the documents, hiding them in her clothes. Her precise accent again clashed. Saying 'di' and not 'd' was a strange precise saying. Maybe the sorcerers valued precision? Or maybe she was making a joke of him? Or maybe it was another clue to the mysterious girl.
"Excuse me." She said politely.
And Eris exited from the room.

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Afternoon
Lord's Arena
Eris

Meeting and explaining to Ms. Twill that Eris had become hired was not difficult, and soon Eris was following one of the chief servants on a tour of the building. Eris listened and made herself learn all of the names and locations. Then she was shown the servants quarters and her place to sleep.
It was small, but so was she. A small advantage of her age. The tour ended and she changed clothes to the colors of the uniform the servants wore. The chief servant put her to work cleaning and running messages to the other staff, and Eris quickly learned the names of the other servants and hierarchy.

There was a lot of time for thinking when doing chores, and Eris used that time well.
She had a list of the names and places of the house Ostrim sorcerers. And it was clear immediately there was no current Arch Magister. A very interesting development. She would have to find one of these sorcerers of Ostrim, and then she could plan her infiltration, and quickly. If there was a deciding for the Arch Magister, there would be struggle in the houses. Perfect. Jameson's information in the future would help her decide her target.

[DJDeMiko]

6th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Early Morning
Lord’s Arena – Jameson’s Office
Jameson

Jameson walks around the room speaking quickly, hands gesturing as he speaks while Ms. Twill writes furiously.

Mikado, a splendid decision, you can move in this afternoon, d’Lupil’s staff has all been let go or moved to other households. Have taken the liberty of temporarily hiring a groundskeeper who is waiting with keys and tiding up the house. Please find enclosed invitation, yadda yadda pleasantries. Clean it up, use my normal friendly tone, but make sure its polite. Have one of the boys bring it over.

Jameson ends his pacing looking out his window over the Arena, no fights are taking place now and the stands are empty, he can see the sun in the distance.

How are the invitations coming along?

They are set to go out tomorrow morning Jameson, but we have already received a number of acceptances already.

Jameson smirked. Good, if everything goes as planned this should not only get our sales into a profitable point but show my power. Too many people knew that d’Lupil had stiffed me on that loan. If I didn’t act, it would have made people think I was week.

My lord, I would never speak ill of your decision, but isn’t this a bit extreme. The 100 sovereigns he owed would only be enough to keep us afloat for an extra month. For that you had him arrested, stripped of his nobledom, his wealth, his family, his servants and friends. On top of that he is going to be executed brutally in public while thousands cheer him on and his former family and friends watch . . . .

Without turning from the window.

Actually, with interest it was 147 sovereigns. And yes, it was extreme, that is the point. A man slights me 100 sovereigns and mocks me to the major noble houses. The next thing people know, he is arrested and tried. Killed in the arena, the very home of the man he mocked. On top of that his home is now to be sold to someone before his body is cold and I’m letting it be known, confidentially, that I am helping broker the deal. A slight insult to me and a man’s life is ruined. Imagine what they think I will do if someone did more than just slightly insult me.

Jamesons face remained impassive, almost sadly unemotional throughout the speech, but at the end Ms. Twill sees a slight smile twitch the corner of his mouth. She knew her lord’s tastes where sometimes dark, but even this caused a small shiver to pass through her.

Please make sure all the arrangements for the event are in order and on time. Draft a letter to Xavier making sure the machines are on time, its going to be a hot day and we can’t let Darston sweat.


7th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Nearing Midnight
Davis Lupil's Cell


Pitch black, a darkness that he had never known. No candles, no lights. His detention cell sealed off completely. All he had to keep him company where the whispers.

No family . . . . . no . . . . friends . . . you have . . . only ussss The sound was awful, like 100 people speaking at once in whispers, but with a mixture of fear, pain and joy in their voices.

He moaned. no, my true brothers will come for me, the other cult members will save me. They will not let me die this way.

you . . . would . . . have let . . . othersssss, the ones . . . you call . . brothers . . rot here . . . why won't they

Deep down he knew it was true. He would have let them die, he would not have risked his money or his dreams of power to save them.

He moaned again. This conversation had been going in circls for hours.

Give me the power then! he cried out please I beg of you, save me, I will give you anything you want. Virgins, children, gold jewels. Just tell me what you want and I will sacrifice it too you.

The whispering voices made the sound of a laugh.

Your soul . . . your body . . . your everything

He shook his head, whispering as he could feel them pushing against his mind. Not that, not while there was still . . . hope.

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko

“Oh, there you are.”
The Tengu shook hands. That was one custom they shared, apparently. “Of course you did. I had the same effect on you, somehow, and that's not an effect I have on people I don't beat up.” Was that too much information already? Who cared? She sat down again and scratched her chin contemplatively. “So, why did you ask me to meet you, sir?”
Despite her slight but obvious alcoholic haze, she was quite attentive.

[DJDeMiko]

You are cordially invited to:
Join his highness Darston VI, Carrier of Law, Savior of Paltensa, Warrior of Light
and
Lord Augustus d'Milverton
at
The Diamond Club of Lord's Arena
for an afternoon of music, food, entertainment and the execution of former lord Davis Lupil
Please bring this invitation with you to speed up entrance. Due to space limitations, please bring no more than 3 guests, including any personal attendants.
Festivites will begin at 1:30 p.m. on the 8th of Bargenholt, 3817 Aot with the Maine even beginning promptly at 2:30 p.m.
Food and beverages will be served and attendees are invited to join us in the dining area of Diamond Club for a reasonably priced dinner by famed chef Harbot Nolton.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, Sundown, Fortress of the Rose: Foyer
Claye and Anselme

At first, Anselme wasn't quite sure if Claye had said falutin' or facultin'. He was in the habit of making up words and his own creations had a funny way of slipping past his ears when next they were uttered. Catching on a second later, his left eyebrow shot up (it was possible the one over his bad eye wasn't capable of expressing emotion) and he chuckled, "Ah! Em... forthwith, finding fault for fetid, fen-ish fashion and feeling froggy footwear ****ing uncomfortable, found I friend to freely furnish and feed one "faculting" foreigner for forwardness re: falling, fearing fiendish foes affaire."

Anselme folded his arms behind his back and rocked on his heels as if there was nothing unusual about a suspected mob boss buying him new clothes and offering him room and board. Politely, he didn't pry into what brought Claye here, so he was at least genial (if mad or just dumb).

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street

Without fail, Anselme arrived at the precise spot where he'd been pulled from the river two days prior and patiently awaited the arrival of Mikado, as bidden. He leaned lazily against the railing between the street and the water, hands deep in his jacket pockets, amusing himself with people-watching to pass the time.

[Lady Serpentine]

7th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Mid-Morning
Tower of Ostrim, Kyranis m'Kybrae's Quarters
Kyranis and Liella

"So, it says we can bring up to three people, including myself. You're going, of course, but should we bring a third?"

"No. I know what you're thinking, and it's far too risky."

"No-one would need to know who it was."

"Yes, but there are going to be nobles from almost every House, most likely including hers."

"Still, we could invite her as a guest, and then meet her there. It's not as though I'm saying we should bring her to the place from her Tower."

Liella shakes her head.

"It's still too dangerous. She'd be killed if they found out. It would be a simple enough matter to have her executed, given that we would already be at the arena."

Kyranis stands up from his seat on the bed, and begins rummaging through his desk.

"You're right. But in that case, we're still left with the question of whether we want to invite a third person."

"Good question. If we do, Mayna m'Tarnol would help solidify our position, if we made a good impression, but so would Tera m'Shal, or Aerna m'Tymbrel, and all of them are pleasant enough."

Kyranis pulls a fountain pen from his desk, and sits down to begin writing.

"The m'Tymbrel bloodline is probably the most powerful, but I don't like some of their views. Inviting Aerna, and getting their backing, would be seen as endorsing them. The m'Tarnols have been trying to get one of their bloodline as Arch-Magister for years. Mayna would promise support, then stab me in the back when I got close. I don't know much about the m'Shals in general, though, or Tera in specific, but she sounds like our best option."

"I'll try to find out more."

"Good."

Kyranis sets aside the sheet of paper he had been writing on, and takes another. After a short time, he hands it to Liella.

"Take this. I want it clear to everyone that I regard an insult or harm to you as being to myself, and they will be repaid in kind."

[hi-mi-tsu]

4th of Bargenholt, Afternoon
Fortress of the Rose, The Vale
Raina and Anselme

The trip back to the Fortress was uneventful, a fact for which Raina was grateful. She didn't need gawkers or hangers-on wondering about the strange man she was bringing with her, gossiping about him and if he was in trouble or a criminal. She just wanted to get him off the street and ask a few questions.

A swift discussion with the guard that had taken off assured her that, yes, there was stew and bread and wine to be had; the woman's shoulders relaxed, just slightly, and she even managed another faint almost-smile.

"If you'd like to get changed, there is a small antechamber here"--she gestured--"that will afford you privacy; after you've gotten dressed, food will be provided so you may eat during our chat. Does that sound acceptable?"

"Yes, yes, fine. Eh... Bradford, you'll let me borrow a shirt and trousers for now, right? I'd like to have a proper bath before I change into my new things. Oh don't look at me like that, she'll compensate you!" An accusatory look passed between Raina and her guardsman. "Fine. I'll talk to that clerk girl at Haversham's for you."

In short order Anselme emerged wearing his borrowed apparel and with freshly combed hair. He joined Raina at the dinner table while still fluffing out his newly tied ponytail. The scent of clove wafted across the space between them as he fell into his seat and surveyed the food. Tapping his fingertips together and pursing his lips he asked after a brief silence, "Grace etcetera?"

Raina inclined her head, a little. "If you choose to say grace, be my guest. I believe in a different set of morals." She broke bread with the man, but her own plate was different; while she didn't stop her Lions from consuming meat, she herself did not partake, and had a vegetable soup instead.

"Let's start with the easy things. My name is Raina. What's yours?"

He rolled his eyes subtly at the mention of morals. "The Powers care little about what we say, particularly before meals."

Reclining in his seat, he took his glass of wine and sipped it experimentally before continuing. In truth, he was starving, but thought it poor decorum to attack his meal right away. "You may call me Anselme," he repeated for the nth time that day.

"Anselme. An interesting name. And where are you from?" A carefully-measured spoonful of soup, eyes that never left Anselme's face.

"The rumors are that you were pushed off a balcony and fell into the river. But that doesn't tell me who you are."

Anselme's voice was dark, but brassy. Some men have a smokey voice, his was something more like mist. He drank from his goblet once again before tearing off a meager chunk of bread and chewing it a few times more than seemed necessary, pausing for contemplation before answering, "I've been occupied for some time and only just recently returned to the city. I lived here, before."

Another morsel. "In truth, I do not recall what happened immediately before I found myself falling." He swallowed. His one perfect eye regarded Raina calmly; there was no hint of deception in his words.

"...Really..." That was an interesting tidbit. He used to live here, and he got pushed off a balcony but had no memory of why? Or of even being on the balcony itself?

"Perhaps the fall has addled your mind, a bit. When did you live here, before?"

"Not far from here. I am familiar with the Vale... you're a new addition. I should ask you how you came by your position. But, I can guess... and I would be right. I... dislike sharing the position of smartest-person-in-the-room." He flashed a wicked grin at her before sampling the soup.

Raina's eyebrow rose; charming he might be, debonair and even handsome, but there was only so much of the "rakish rogue" mentality that she could handle before growing thoroughly disgusted. Not that she would be cruel! She was nothing if not civil, and she liked this character on a base level. But she was a firm believer in not putting up with any nonsense.

"...All right then." Ignore the comment about sharing "smartest person in the room"...being as she was not currently suffering from a lack of memory--though it was interesting that he had a clear grasp on language despite not remembering right before the fall, and remembered his past but little of recent events--she moved on.

"Do you have any plans, now that you've survived this fall? Is it possible that you have enemies, someone who may be coming after you after learning that you didn't die?"

“Plans? Hmm, insomuch as one does. Yes, I have some people to see in the city. As for enemies… well, none who are currently losing any sleep.” Hard to believe a man like Anselme would simply fly under the radar as it were.
He scratched his temple and reclined in his chair, his meal forgotten for now. “Do you make a habit of showing such hospitality and interest for just anyone who gets dredged from that darling water feature?”

"Not in the slightest." Raina's voice was dry, as she took another bite of soup. "But being as I am usually the one doing the throwing, I must admit that I was interested in a man who caused such a stir. Morseo when you showed up in my district. And if someone truly did throw you off a balcony"--she gave him a look--"I cannot believe they would not be interested in ensuring your demise."

“There’s the rub; you’re concerned about someone in your neighborhood engaging in the unorganized sort of crime eh? Mmm… to be fair I think it was a bit down-river from the Vale. Out of your, eh, jurisdiction.” He chanced another mouthful in between dangerous thoughts and quickly continued, wagging his cleaned spoon towards Raina. “I only said that it would be a good explanation for what happened. I never definitively said I was pushed, nor do I have a reason to suspect anyone would push me.”

Raina's eyes darkened, narrowing as she looked at the man. "My 'jurisdiction' involves anything I choose it to involve. You made yourself my business when you came into my Vale. And whether or not you were pushed..."

She paused, eyes going calculating. "I would dearly love to know how else you would suddenly be plummeting from the sky, into the river."

Anselme locked his good eye on Raina simply to keep it from rolling. Whether or not he was intimidated was hardly the point; she was perfectly capable of having him killed, laughing or not. After a moment he chose to focus on his wineglass. And a moment later he’d downed the contents. “Ms. Nessiel, if I recounted for you the events that lead to me falling in that river, I believe firmly that you’d throw me out of your manor suspecting me to be a damned liar.”

"And I believe that you know next to nothing about me, and making such an assumption is both idiotic and insulting." Raina's voice was cool, but her eyes flickered. "After watching my entire family put to death in fire and agony by strange things that I cannot explain, you will find I have a notoriously open mind about odd phenomena. Besides, I hate to inform you, but you are not the most interesting story of the hour, nor the most unusual. There is supposedly a man made entirely of metal murdering noblemen and Blood guards."

“Wonderful! Well, I hope we’ll all have brunch together then once you’ve located him. Hmm… condolences for your family though, I know exactly what that feels like.” For the entire evening there had been a light of mischief in his one, perfect eye. It wasn’t there now. He'd suddenly grown very somber and sincere.

"...Stay here." Those expressive eyes flickered again, and she almost couldn't believe the words when they came out of her mouth.

"Or at least...make this the place you return to at night." A sigh. "I am not a cruel woman, no matter what those who transgress against me would have you believe. I would rather you be here, where we can provide for your safety, than wandering the streets. ...There is enough death and decay in this wretched place without adding a strange, amusing man to the ranks."

Anselme’s gaze went to his glass. He suddenly wished it were full so he could busy himself for a moment. Instead, he stared for a moment at the speck of drink at the bottom before answering, “A man of my persuasion is disinclined to turn down such an offer of hospitality. Very well, Miss Nessiel. And eh… what would you have me to do to… earn my keep? I’m rubbish with a rapier, just so you know.”

Raina smiled, thinly. "I'm sure we can come up with something for you to do, Anselme. And, sometime soon, I would greatly enjoy hearing the actual tale of what happened to you."

“I hope one day to be so inclined to share it. Cheers.” He finally smiled in earnest and hoisted his empty glass in her direction, bad luck or not.


4th of Bargenholt, Sundown
The Foyer, Fortress of the Rose
Claye, Anselme, Raina

"Don't harass the guests, Anselme." Raina had been handling the new scheduling, substituting in the "alternates" for certain guard members--the alternate positions were useful, as they allowed all of her guards to get breaks every month or so--when she'd been informed that Anselme had accosted someone in the foyer. Sighing, she'd stepped out, glancing over at the woman; Raina recognized her as a machinist, though the name currently escaped her.

"My apologies, madam. I am Raina Nessiel, how may I assist you?" She did so hope it wasn't another minor complaint; she really didn't have time for that right now...

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Sundown, Fortress of the Rose
Claye, Anselme, Raina

Claye blinks at the man's wordplay. "Fortune favors foolish fair folks, for sure." She pauses. "Dammit, now yeh've got me doin' it."

When Raina steps out, Claye feels a mix of relief and disappointment. Meeting Anselme had been... an experience to say the least. "Claye Kilnmyr, Miss, at yer service. Ah'm here representin' the Machinist's Guild, an' we wondered if the Blue Lions might have information on the Bronze Crusader that popped up. Specifically, we want t' know if it's actually a homunculus or an imitator, and where he might've been sighted." Claye pauses, and her face scrunches up as though she's trying to remember something. "Oh! An' we'll pay for the information, of course."

5th of Bargenholt, Noon, Claye-Potts Machinery
Claye and Kyranis

Claye drums her fingers on the counter. "Alright. In that case it depends on what yeh wanna pay, and how long you're willin' to wait. Up front, Ah can offer yeh some pretty good traps, and an assortment of nonlethal gadgets that even the untrained can use for defense. If yeh want a permanent guardian, then yeh'll need t' apply to the Guild itself for a homunculus, an' then wait a bit for its completion. Ah'd be happy to build it for yeh, but it'll cost quite a bit. They aren't made cheaply or quickly."

She gives him a frank stare. "But for friend-or-foe identification? Yeh'll probably do best with a bodyguard - a human one."

6th of Bargenholt, after Midnight, Knight's Bard Tavern

Potts stared at the spectacle in disbelief. "This is keeping a low profile?" His voice, however was drowned out.

Claye hadn't meant to hang around the inn quite this long, but so far nothing had been said of the Bronze Crusader, so she kept ordering drinks whenever the innkeeper gave her a sour look. She'd kept the number down so far, but she was beginning to feel the effects.

Not that this was entirely a bad thing. She had started more than half the bar on a rousing improvised drinking song, where each line was made up by the next person around the room. It was a game her grandfather had taught her when she'd turned eighteen, right before he'd disappeared.

"Ooooooohhhhhh Aye dee dai dee dai dee dai dee dai dee dai dee dai!"
"I see him every day now!"
"I haven't missed him once!"
"He still thinks I'm a baron."
"He always was a dunce!"
"I hope he goes away soon."
"An' I won't see him then."
"I might get my wish here tonight..."

The door flew open and a man burst through. "The crusader's at it again!"

The Knight's Bard dissolved into laughter while the messenger blinked in confusion. "I'm serious!"

The laughter began to die down. "Who'd he kill this time?" Someone called from the back.

"He shot a mage on the edge of the district!"

"But did he kill him?"

"I don't know, the mage isn't in good shape."

The patrons went back to their private conversations, fueled by the news. Claye quickly got up and managed to make her way over to the young man. "Ah will pay you three marks just to take me there."

"Three marks? You've got a deal, lady." Claye nodded and slung her pack over her shoulder, following him outside. They hadn't gone far before Potts caught up. "Hey! What about me?"

"Stay here or go home Potts, it's your choice."

"What if I want to go with you?"

"That's too bad. If you want to spar against homunculi, do it at the Guild."

Potts hesitated, and then turned and made his way back to the Ex.

6th of Bargenholt, Well after midnight, Near house Levant

Claye thanked the anonymous man and sent him away with his three marks. Finding a secluded spot, she opened her pack and changed. When she re-emerged, she looked more like a ninja than a machinist. Her dark brown clothing was looser, although not so loose that it could be easily grabbed in a fight. A matching dark brown cloth was wrapped around the bottom half of her head and neck, disguising her features below the eyes. Her tool belt had lost those tools that weren't related to infiltration, becoming much lighter - and was partly hidden by the hooded cloak she now wore. Her boots were altered enough that footprints would no longer match, and her gloves had been swapped for jet-black bracers.

This was the battle mage regalia of House Kilnmyr, minus the proper cloak - prancing around with the Kilnmyr seal draped around her shoulders was hardly the way to remain anonymous.

She quickly surveyed the area. The Bronze Crusader was one heavy machine, so finding his footprints had been fairly straightforward - they were the heaviest footprints nearby. They hadn't gone far before he'd reached a section of street that would no longer show them, but Claye had a hunch that he'd want to go underground as soon as possible. Following from that logic, she'd moved in the direction of the footprints to the nearest Undercity access, and dropped in, where she had found more of the extra-heavy prints. Grinning, she set off into the darkness...

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Early Afternoon
The Indigo

Ghedim grinned at Claye's response, and laughed outright at her talk of psychoses. In doing so, he revealed teeth that were both abnormally white and sharp. He was of fine stock, plainly, a bloodline that stretched back centuries. Putting down his wine glass, he leaned forward with a predatory smile that was at the same time conspiratorial.

"While what you say may be true, should Taelarys make a particularly bad choice in their invasion, I don't think you'll find many nations willing to step up as sacrificial lamb."

Bringing his elbows down, Ghedim wove his fingers together and leaned his chin against them.

"I must admit, I've not had the full tale of your travels. I'd heard you were pursuing your grandfather, but that is where the specifics of my knowledge ends. What happened to necessitate this pursuit?"

[Lady Serpentine]

5th of Bargenholt, Noon, Claye-Potts Machinery
Claye and Kyranis

Kryanis shakes his head quickly.

"A human bodyguard isn't an option. The identity of the person to be protected, coupled with who I am, would raise awkward questions. But yes, a permanent guardian would be preferable. How would one go about applying to the Guild for a homunculus?"

[DJDeMiko]

7th of Bargenholt,
City at Large

Throughout the city young teens, all dressed in the d'Milverton house colors of white raced through the streets. Some carried invitations for those invited to the events to be hand delivered to mansions and homes. Others carried and hawked tickets to the event. Prices were good, many of the messengers found their supply of tickets gone before they had gone more than three blocks. It was going to be packed.

7th of Bargenholt
Late evening
Jameson's Private Balcony
Jameson

Jameson stands on his small private balcony over looking the dark arena. From around him, he can hear the sounds of the casino's and bars in full swing. Directly behind him he can hear the giggling of the two women he would spend the evening as they filled themselves with drink.

Enjoy your last night alive Davis, he thinks I know I am going to be enjoying it.

He turns and walks in, closing the doors behind him and heads back to the ladies.

8th of Bargenholt
Just before sunrise
Davis's cell


All night long the voices had whispered to him as he alternated between tears and rages.

Let usss . . . . in . . .

We sshallll . . . give you power . . . .

He shook his head, muttering to himself.

The night had been hard on him. Alone in the dark with only his misery and small hopes that he knew were only lies he was telling himself. All the while being whispered too by . . . . better to not even name them. To think that he had once been a decorated officer in the army . . . and now looking at himself he finally realized something. Maybe . . . maybe it would be best to die with what dignity I have left

He heard the . . . things begin to rage though, deep down he sensed that this was the truth, that this was the right move. To die with dignity, to die with what honor he had left, maybe he would even be able to restore something to his name and family.

He felt the creatures, barely noticeable, swirling around him raging and frothing like a wolf whose prey has just hidden itself deep in a borrow. He could feel their rage, their need, their want pulling them closed into the world, into his very cell.

Foolisshhh . . . to die . . . like an ant . . . when we can raise . . . you to godhood

a tasssste

yesss a taste

Tassste our power . . .

Tasssste it

And take all that you want . . . from this world


He felt a sensation on his neck, that of cold clammy hands pushing against his skin and then through it. Ice water running through his brain, his skull. Images flashing so fast too fast. Horrors beyond mention, terrors beyond name. Finally, the sensation withdrew and he felt . . . different.

It had been years since he had trained, but his body was hard and muscled again. His hours without sleep gone, his mind fresh and sharp. more than that though, he had never felt this strong, this full of energy. He felt like the pinnacle of strength.

Jusstttt a tasste

Give usss what we want

Give usssss

It was too much for the man, too much for the man who had spent his years with dark desires and dreams of wealth. Maybe he didn't have to die, maybe just maybe . . . .

The things swirled faster now, but they seemed less agitated . . . they felt his will beginning to break.

[ForzaFiori]

7th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Claye-Potts Machinery
Morning
Xavier de Forza

Xavier struggles to maneuver a large box through the doors of the shop. He realized that this was becoming something of a strange habit for him. Finally, he gives up, and simply sticks his head in the door. "Claye, got those fans ready? I finally got that d***ed generator running, so if we hurry, we can have this installed a day before schedule."

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon, The Indigo
Claye and Ghedim

Claye responds without smiling. "He disappeared. It's... not something I like to talk about. I spent years chasing him before the trail went cold. I don't even know if he's still alive."

She's saved from further expansion by the arrival of the food. Her eyes widen a bit when she spots Ghedim's Ortolan - it was, apparently, a new experience for her. Still, after everything she's seen it takes more than a maimed, fattened, and drowned bird to rattle her.

Her own dish is absolutely delicious, and she allows herself to enjoy it while it lasts...

5th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Noon
Claye and Kyranis

Claye straightens up and begins rummaging around behind the counter, eventually pulling out a slightly crumpled blank ticket. "Yeh just fill out one of these forms, take it t' the main office at Guild Headquarters, and they'll process it in short order. For a member of the nobility they'll probably push it through quickly. Is there anythin' else I can do for yeh?"

7th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Morning

Some women can manage to look radiant and beautiful in the morning. Claye has a hard time managing it in the afternoon. She emerges from the back room in the same clothes she was wearing the previous day, with extra creases and a few new stains. With the extra hours she's put in trying to hunt down Arlaan, Claye doesn't exactly look her best.

Fans, however, she had to spare. "Mmrph. Arright. Urgh. Sorry about the mess, it was a bit of a wild night. The fans're ready. Let's go."

[Lady Serpentine]

5th of Bargenholt, Claye-Potts Machinery, Noon
Claye and Kyranis

"I don't believe so. Thank you for the assistance."

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt
Mid Morning
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

Jameson stood back watching as servants, slaves and workmen prepared for the grand event.

The Diamond Club Terrace is a large affair that normally would offer a group of 20 or 30 people a grand view of the Arena floor with ample space behind them for food and servants. However, its walls were designed for events just like this and with a few teams of pack animals could be moved to allow for more space.

The walls had been pulled back allowing the Terrace to take up nearly 5% of the arena's seating and allow for a large banquet and music area. It looks like a large flat section of the Arena, with 3 tiers of seating below it. Comfortable cushions have been laid out on the seats. In the middle of the highest tier sits a large grand chair that could almost be called a thrown, with slightly less nice chairs flanking it.

Jameson spies the unusual Eris among those setting up the food serving area and waves her over.

Eris, he says in a voice low enough to not be overheard, I know you are in hiding from the sorcerers houses, will it be safe to have you out and serving food during this? Members of all 4 houses will be present.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, Sundown, Fortress of the Rose
Claye, Anselme, Raina

Claye blinks at the man's wordplay. "Fortune favors foolish fair folks, for sure." She pauses. "Dammit, now yeh've got me doin' it."

"Doing... what?" Anselme asked innocently enough before being brusque'd away by Raina. While the women were talking, he occupied himself with prudent silence, subtly pursing his lips and standing just off to the side with his arms crossed and big boot tapping. He had comments, of course, but his impish antics wouldn't earn him any points with his host while she was doing business. So, instead, he put his not inconsiderable brain power to work... for once.

After a moment in contemplation, he mused aloud to no one in particular, "It wouldn't be terribly difficult to acquire facsimiles of the Blood Guards' uniforms, would it? After all, the craftsmen who produce their armor... they are located in the Vale, are they not?"

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt
1 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

Xavier is working diligently setting up one of his machines and doesn't notice Jameson approaching.

Ah, Xavier Jameson says watching him fiddle with mechanical bits. Everything working I trust? It's still a tad warm out here.

[ForzaFiori]

8th of Bargenholt
1 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

"Why of course. I simply need to start it up. Didn't want to keep it running all night so as to save fuel and costs. If I just connect this... he plugs a hose into the generator he's working on."...and then fire up this..." he lights the generator. ...and the fans should start moving! They don't. Xavier gives the machine a sharp smack with a wrench, and moves a hose slightly. with a low "vmm" the fans slowly start to life. "I know it seems weird to light a fire to cool a room, but give a few minutes, and it'll drop down to tolerable in here."

Xavier steps away from the machine, looking out at the arena. "This is quite a get-together you're putting on tonight. I still don't see how you managed to put it together in the time you've had."

[Swordslinger]

8th of Bargenholt
11 AM
Darran Manor, Amandre’s room.
Amandre Nightheaven

Being a skilled fighter and being a bodyguard was not the same thing. Yet his master could not see that, whenever something important came up the master would bring him along, probably because he was the most capable fighter in most situations they would encounter, yet he was not trained to protect someone. Worse was it that he now would be the only guard brought along, there should be plenty of security and guards at the arena but in the end their allegiance laid elsewhere. He dressed in a simple white clothing of an elegant design which had been provided to him for this occasion, at least it was easy to move, not all clothes he had received for his jobs had been suited for anything else then looking nice. He walked over to the table and looked at the various weapons that lay there, he touched one of the Sais for a moment, he should not bring them, they were and very unusual armament and would be noticed by people. Throwing knifes however, it was surprising how many he could conceal at various places in his boots and clothes, however they where only a support weapon. He walked over to a wardrobe and searched it. He retrieved a long slender package, he placed it on his bed an unfolded it. Within lay a Rapier and a Dagger, both with and ornate design. Yes, they would serve as his weapons, the Rapier would draw most attention, but it was the dagger and his own body that was his main weapon. Although the Rapier had its uses, it would be especially useful if he were to face and armored opponent. After arming himself he left his room and walked up the stairs from the basement and to the main building, he would have to be there and ready by the time the master and his son decided to leave.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt
1 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

Jameson carefully reads Xavier's face, trying to see if the man was being sly or really that unaware. Jameson decides on the latter and gives the machinist a friendly smile.

Most of this Jameson waves his hand as if at a loss for words production . . . that you see is something Lord's Arena can do any time with only a day or so of notice. The rest is just a matter of being aware of the political land scape. As soon as I heard of Davis's confession I put my bid in and on the assumption I might win, I began making other arrangements.

Jameson admire the strange machine and feels the cool air beginning to blow out of it.

Xavier this is just amazing! As soon as Darston arrives I will bring him by to meet you.

8th of Bargenholt
1:30 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

Jameson takes his place near the entrance to the Terrace and begins to greet the various guests as they arrive.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt
1:30 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson, Kyranis, Liella, and Sword-Servitor

Kyranis m'Kybrae ir Ostrim arrives, along with his Bond Mate, Liella Mornstar, and a Sword-Servitor. If needed, he will present his invitation.

[TheDarkDM]

4th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Early Afternoon
The Indigo

As their meals were delivered, Ghedim flicked his wrist and a thin dagger was in his hand. The blade danced between his fingers in a blur until it finally settled and a thin sliver of Ortolan had been cut from one of the birds. Placing the dagger down on the table, Ghedim then placed his left hand pal down and began a sussurus of whispers. A slight ripple went down his sleeve, and as the whispering continued the white head of a viper emerged on his head. Skewering the sliver of Ortolan with his dagger, Ghedim fed it to the viper. Ghedim focused on the viper for a few seconds before allowing it slither back into his sleeve. Looking back up to Claye, Ghedim shrugged with a smile.

"Forgive me, but it behooves me to be careful, even here."

Returning to his meal, Ghedim draped a white cloth over his head before raising one of the tiny birds to his mouth. Biting down with a sharp crack, Ghedim pulled the beak from beneath the cloth and resumed chewing. Eventually, the muffled snapping of bones ceased, and another bird went under the hood. When they'd both finished, Ghedim ordered a bottle of port and exchanged small talk with Claye before driving her back to her shop. When they arrived, he leapt out to help her down.

"Thank you for an interesting lunch, Madame Kilnmyr. I hope to see you again."

[the_druid_droid]

6th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Evening
Sewers
Cyrus

Thank the Emperor for waterproof boots. The silent prayer ran in and out of Cyrus’ mind as he slogged through the Undercity’s maze-like sewers at the head of a small group of spies. He was no stranger to the fetid caverns twisting beneath Taelarys, but usually he and his men had more information to base their search on than a few fresh scrapes on old stonework and a set of large footprints in the mud.

The spies’ detachment had been sent out earlier that day to track down the Bronze Crusader and observe his movements, pending a full assault by House Levant. Their search had begun easily enough, after Jareth led them to the site of the attack and they’d uncovered the passageway down to the Undercity exactly where Revin had predicted. Unfortunately, the signs of the Bronze Crusader’s passing had quickly become harder to read, and they had been navigating more by intuition than solid evidence for some time now.

Just as Cyrus’ frustration at the cold, nauseous water was reaching a peak, the black-clad spy glimpsed an access tunnel at the edge of his glow wand’s nimbus of light. Thankful for a dry floor, Cyrus turned into the tunnel, his spies following swiftly and silently. The air was fresher in this new passageway, and he struggled to suppress a sigh of relief. Until there was something to report, the spies would risk Revin’s cold anger if they turned back out of the dark, and in the meantime, small comforts were more than welcome...

8th of Bargenholt
2 PM
The Lord’s Arena
Tarin, Marcos and Revin

When the shining black carriage bearing House Levant’s crest rolled to a stop, three men stepped down to the curb, assisted by footmen clad in House d’Milverton livery. Of the trio, Marcos and Revin were almost unrecognizable, as the former had forsaken his heavy black armor for a simple tunic over a mail shirt, while the latter was dressed in the finery of a minor noble of Levant. Both men followed a short distance behind Tarin as he strode through the gate, briefly flashing his invitation.

In contrast to his companions, Tarin appeared much as he always did, although in honor of the occasion he had donned the ebon-black formal cloak of the Inquisition, and a silver-tipped cane click-clicked at his side. Additionally, the Inquisitor sported a single bloom of color: a silken cravat dyed a bruise-purple hue was bunched at his throat.

As he reached the entrance to the Diamond Club, Tarin bowed politely to Jameson. “Lord d’Milverton. A pleasure, as always.” The Inquisitor’s smile was genuine as he continued, “I am sure, given your fine reputation, that we are in for a spectacular show this evening. I have been looking forward to it for some time now.”

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
Mid Morning
The Diamond Club Terrace
Eris

Eris made a small smile and bowed, to pretend to be taking order from Jameson, if others were watching.

"It should be no problem, Lord di Milverton." She pointed to her servant's clothes and made an innocent face.
"They will not pay attention to me probably. The attention of your event will make them ignore a small servant girl. Nobles do not pay so much attention to the slaves and servants you know. I am hiding from the sorcerous houses, but they are not searching for me. Don't worry." She looked around, with a satisfied expression.

"This is a large event. You have prepared for many people here today. I suppose it is always interesting to watch people die." She looked at Jameson again.
"Is there anything you want me to do, Lord di Milverton? I will of course be available."

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Mikado - Eiko

The stranger smiled in a rather cat-like fashion, the sort of cat that had just swallowed the proverbial canary, as they finished shaking hands. "Indeed you did. I was quite surprised when I saw you -- never would have suspected your people living in a city like this, far from Ikoku. Quite the oversight on my part."

He chuckled as he seated himself on the opposite side of his new acquaintance, leaning forward ever so slightly while studying her face attentively. On close inspection, it was quite apparent that city life had its effect on their kind; he certainly would not voice his impression that they had become rather wretched creatures when compared to their ancestors, though.

"I asked around and learned that there are large numbers of Tengu here," he continued. Suddenly, a frown flicked over his face and he briefly shook his head. "I digress. Allow me to introduce myself properly -- Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, at your service. But please, call me Mikado."

He had yet to answer her question; a fact he was well aware of. The former Dragon Emperor wanted to spur on her interest further, however, and stringing her along briefly about his intentions might just make that happen.


6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado - Anselme

Considering the lack of precise time measurement, Mikado managed to arrive at approximately the same time they had encountered each other two days before. However, the man stepping up to Anselme bore only a passing resemblance to what he had looked like two days ago.

The foreigner was wearing common clothes -- a white-ish shirt, black pants with the odd tear and stain, all accompanied by a pair of dirty boots and a short sword without a scabbard at his side.

"We meet again," the Ikokuian noted as he stepped close. He looked more well rested than last time, though still pale and malnourished.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt
2 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

Jameson continues to greet guests as the party goers mingle. An observant person might note that Ms. Twill stands next to him whispering names of the incoming guests. An even more observant person would notice that he only seems to need her help on a few occasions.

By 2 PM almost all of the guests have arrived, while not EVERY major noble in the city is there, every Major and Minor house are at least represented as are the sorcerers houses. In fact, its hard to name a major player in the city without seeing them about, drinking and laughing.

Around 2 a hush begins to fall over the assorted crowd as guards wearing the emperors colors enter the terrace. A few moments later Darston, third child and middle son of the emperor walks in flanked by two very dangerous looking men. He approaches Jameson as nobles attempt to nonchalantly push closer to hear.

Jameson bows deeply and while still bowing says Your grace, I am humbled by your presence in my Arena.

Darston looks around, even nobles trained and versed in etiquette feel themselves blushing briefly under his gaze, like children caught eavesdropping. When he speaks, his voice is human but with a subtle undertone that seems to tingle slightly through the minds of all listening. Augustus he says in a tone suggesting he knows the man well you put on . . . . quite the show . . .

Of course your grace, a traitor such as Davis should be put on display. I feel it is only fitting given his crimes.

Of course, of course. You and I have very similar opinions on a show like this. Some of the most fun to be had in this city in weeks . . . so convenient that he was caught . . . so suddenly

Jameson smiles How lucky for us all then, please let me show you to your seat. I hope this to be quite entertaining.

Indeed, I believe it will be . . . perhaps even more than you expect.

OOC -
At this point your characters will have had roughly 30 minutes to arrive and will have another 30 minutes afters Darston's arrival. Please consider Jameson and Darston NPC's to interact with, or there staff. If you with to PM me or IM (im only on occasionally) donjuandemiko on AIM and we can work out conversation to have.




8th of Bargenholt
2:30 PM
Lord's Arena

Davis Lupil, stripped of his rank, stripped of his friends and stripped of his family steps out of the gate with a strange confidence. The crowd hushes momentarily before those in the stands jump to their feet and begin booing.

Davis is wearing light leather armor covered in metal plates, he carries a long sword in his right hand and a large metal shield in his left. He carries them as if they weigh nothing.

As the crowd boos him and he raises his arms and bellows at them. Turning slowly as he roars.

Across the arena a small man, wearing only a loin cloth is pushed out of the gate with a small sword. He looks dirty and scared, but knows better than to not advance for his combat.

Darst

[Jade_Tarem]

4th of Bargenholt, Early Afternoon, Outside Claye-Potts Machinery
Claye and Ghedim

"Same t' you, ambassador. Safe travels." She waves as the carriage pulls away. Regardless of what were undoubtedly several layers of hidden motivations, Ghedim had been polite and engaging, if abrupt. Well, at least this day won't get any weirder...

4th of Bargenholt, Sundown, Fortress of the Rose
Claye, Anselme, Raina

When Anselme interrupts, Claye pauses and thinks. "But... how long would that take? Most sets of completed blood guard equipment are kept locked in the various armories higher up in the city - acquirin' a fake may mean orderin' from scratch."

6th of Bargenholt, after Midnight, Undercity
Claye and Shadowy Figures

Claye thought she saw something, or maybe multiple somethings, down a side passage. It didn't look like a giant metal man, but ignoring the other inhabitants of the Undercity was a good way to get dead. As the trail she was following was cold anyway, she went evasive, trying to stay out of range of whoever it was while getting a good look at them.

8th of Bargenholt, The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace), 2:10 p.m.
Claye and Xavier

Claye walks in, easily the most under-dressed person on the Terrace, and makes a beeline for Xavier while wiping sweat from her brow. "Whew! Potts an' I got the spare water an' fuel tanks to each compressor. Is everything goin' okay up here?" She hazards a glance around, finally spying Prince Darston, and whistles softly. "Jameson doesn't do anythin' halfway, does he? Seems like a huge turnout just to see someone get chopped up."

[ForzaFiori]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:10 p.m.
Claye and Xavier

Xavier lets out a soft chuckle. "You'd be surprised how easily you can get someone to don a suit and tie if you tell them someone famous would be there. Though you must admit, it's not everyday that a traitor is killed in the arena. he muses. "Especially not this arena." he add, looking around. Turning his attention back to his job, he motions to the main generator. "The generator is up and running, though it took some convincing, and I can hear fans going. We should know soon enough if our design worked. Considering the Prince is here, I sure hope it does."

[have_a_cow]

8th of Bargenholt, The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace), 1:45 p.m.

Michael steps out of the House Potentir carriage. He has a long-tailed dark blue suit with golden trim along the edges. He has a white silk cravat around his neck. Around his shoulders is a high-collared black cloak also with golden edges, the underside of the cloak is a brilliant crimson. Peter, his soul-bound slave, follows behind him, and is also dressed well in a white suit with golden cords and a red vest.

Michael approaches Jameson, nods curtly and enters the arena, taking his place among the many nobles gathered there.

"Excuse me sir," Michael addresses one of the nobles in the colors of House Rothschild, a minor house that was quickly gaining influence because of shrewd investments by its lord. I see that we have been assigned to sit next to each other, and it would be poor form if I did not introduce myself. I am Michael Nicephorus ir Potentir and this is my bound-slave Peter."

At this point Michael begins to weave a subtle web of enchantment into his speech, beguiling this man into believing they are old friends. By the time he is finished Michael knows many secrets of House Rothschild, including the secrets of the investment; they have begun selling Bliss to the underclasses.

After a while Micheal becomes bored with learning the secrets of such minor nobles, and leaves his seat to find a drink. Alcohol always makes public executions much more entertaining.

[Nefarion Xid]

4th of Bargenholt, Sundown, Fortress of the Rose
Claye, Anselme, Raina

"They needn't be precise replicas. From what I've heard, our assailant isn't exactly an eagle-eyed sniper, so anything passable would... well, by the time he was close enough to see they weren't real guardsmen..." Anselme wiggled his hands together in some way that was supposed to mean 'the trap is sprung', though it rather looked like he was pantomiming a pair of fighting hares. This though occurred to him midway through and he began wiggling the "ears" (his index and pinkie fingers) at himself with a hint of a bemused grin before suddenly becoming cross with himself and shoving his hands safely inside his jacket pockets.

Without excusing himself, he began to meander towards the kitchen, still undecided about preparing croissants now or in the morning.

"Now, if only there was someone who could provide an abandoned warehouse for the ambush. Oh, and I suppose you could use some sort of machination to animate dummy guards instead of using actual personnel... or criminals. Whatever's cheaper."

He waved overhead with the back of his hand before vanishing around the corner.

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

Anselme squinted briefly as if trying to figure out some inscrutable detail about the foreigner's face.

"Do we also narrate our actions? If so, we are intrigued..."

He grins, dismissing his own antics. Whether it was a genuine apology for his impish behavior or not wasn't clear. Though, it was certainly hard to begrudge Anselme anything. If he was mad (a real possibility), there was too much intelligence and insight flickering behind his eye to completely discount the man. But then, there was the chance that he wasn't batty at all, yet was every bit as calculating and aware as one might fear.

"We are intrigued," he repeated in a different context. "Fresh off the boat from Ikoku and building contacts? What are we up to?

It was hardly a secret; Anselme could have guessed the man's origins from his features alone. Then again, he also had casual access to a number of well informed people, never mind the fact that he'd been skulking behind Raina for two days now, acting the part of a very poor secretary.

[VonDoom]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

The now rather commonly dressed Mikado allowed a smile to surface, though despite his like of the strange man he had rescued, he wasn't entirely off his guard and understood quite well the implications of what Anselme was asking. And what he wasn't asking.

Mikado himself was quite the charismatic fellow himself and first hints of his silver tongue were there, indeed; but despite his seeming facility with the common tongue of Taelarys, he had still never actually conversed in it with any regularity before his recent arrival.

"We," Mikado replied, not missing a beat, "are currently playing dress-up to avoid being assaulted, robbed and whatever else the locals might have in mind for a handsome foreigner with a little coin to spend, like myself." He shrugged. "Though, truth be told, my other clothes are actually being cleaned right now and my wardrobe isn't that diverse just yet."

The Ikokuian chuckled, putting a hand on Anselme's shoulder. "You're a clever man, even if you do your best to hide it for some reason." A brief pat, and he drew back, the mirth briefly gone from his eyes as his expression turned more serious, though it was still quite friendly. "Let's assume I've no mind to pretend that you're wrong about that and do a little trade. You tell me where and how you learned about all that, and I'll tell you what I'm up to."

Of course, the recent arrival from Ikoku had no intentions of actually telling this man that he had aspirations of forging a shadow-empire of his own in this country, to once again rule with real power, but this time of his own making. However, Mikado hadn't actually excluded the possibility a proper empire just yet; after all, why limit yourself needlessly when he had just begun to move?

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko

Gears clicked in her mind, processing the words into a result she didn't know what to make of. “My... people. I see.” Was it even good or bad news? Her beak-like mouth distorted, betraying her interrogation. “Nice to meet you, Mr Mikado. The name's Eiko Shimang.”
A few seconds were needed before she could formulate coherent sentences. “Surprising? As far as I know, my ancestors didn't intend to live here. They had the Rukandt Mountains in mind instead. Y'know. Where they sell the overpriced alcohol and stuff for rich travelers today. My apologies we didn't manage to kick the empire's ass.”, she said, bitterly. Eiko could rant for hours on that subject if uninterrupted, especially when the listener turned out to know a bit more on her kind than "they have wings and they're pretty ugly".

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko, Mikado

The slant-eyed gentleman grimaced briefly as he listened to Eiko's rantings. "I've never been there," he was forced to admit as she spoke of the Rukandt Mountains. Not surprising, considering he had just arrived on the continent.

He occasionally piped in, proving himself very understanding of the difficulties the Tengu had faced, but didn't actually divulge much information about their cousins in Ikoku unless asked for it. Mikado had no aspirations of forcing details about a culture on someone who may not even be interested -- if asked, though, he would gladly answer to the best of his knowledge, which was quite extensive due to his education as a noble.

After awhile, a thin smile revealed himself on his lips, as he brushed a stray strand of his long black hair back into its proper position. "Eiko. Would you like another chance for greatness? For your people? For yourself?"

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:45 p.m.
Eris, approaching Michael

There were many guests here, even in the Diamond Club Terrace. It was busy for the servants to continue to show new food and drink, and serve the guests. Once the event started, it would become a little easier. Hopefully.
Even though she was very busy, Eris tried to learn the names of the nobles here. It would be useful later.

Another noble came with a distracted look. This one in dark blue and gold clothes. Eris made a polite smile and stepped in front of Michael.
"Pardon, sir. I hope everything has been acceptable. Is there anything you would like?"

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko*

The woman made herself more comfortable on the chair, barely hindered by her wings after a lifetime of dealing with their presence. That was one less weight on her chest, although there was no doubt the frustration would come back once she's reminded of the inglorious story of her life.
A small grin on her face, she replied: “You're a very funny man, mysterious to the end, even when you show your intentions at last. What sort of second chance are we talking about here?” Despite the question, she had no intention to refuse, unless the proposition was truly awful.

[Swordslinger]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:40 PM
Amandre

Amandre accompanied Banyn d'Darran and his son into the Arena. He walked to their side and a few steps behind them and while they were greeting the host he surveying the locations, he mentally noted down guardsmen, their armament and located possible escape routes all while keeping watch on the various people, all this would usually cost him no effort at all, it was second nature to him by now. However he needed to keep in mind the two persons he was escorting, that made it much harder. If things went wrong here none of his usual tactics would work. The two Darran noblemen went about mingling with the various people collected there. Amandre made his way to the back and stood by the wall keeping watch. Like with the servants hardly anyone even glanced at him. Crows could be useful to hide within, however this was different. He felt as if he was on display and everyone was watching him, even if he knew that was not the case. He found it difficult to stand still, his instincts told him to find someplace to hide from sight. He tried to ignore the feeling and placed his hand the daggers hilt while he watched the gathered nobles

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko, Mikado

A serious look came over Mikado's face as he leaned forward, apparently about to take the crow-woman into his confidence. He inclined his head slightly to the side, then held out his hand -- not to shake, but rather demonstratively, turning it left and right for a bit. His rake-thin forearms were almost painful to behold as he pulled his sleeve back. There was a faint, a very faint trace of what must once have been well defined muscle, from the way he still moved. The Tengu had witnessed it herself, when the Ikoku native had leapt into the river to save another -- he was well trained and, before the long journey, must have had the physique of an athlete.

His gaze was fixed onto his hand, clinical and attached as if he was looking at something foreign, slight disgust apparent in his eyes. "So thin," the man noted with distaste as he raised that limb; in such a way, that his eyes met those of his new acquaintance just so.

"Tell me, Eiko -- what do you think of humans? Be honest, you won't offend me."

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko

In contrast, Eiko's body was marked by time, whose hardships were more pronounced for the lower classes, and blows. A couple scars could be seen fading, becoming as invisible as the previous ones. While not a great warrior, her muscles and lack of fat showed an undeniable potential should she undergo proper training. Her upper body in particular, with the necessary strength accompanying the use of wings. One had the mental and physical discipline, the other, the raw material.
She couldn't help but make the comparison, as her own eyes surveyed his arm.
“Humans.” Eiko pondered. “They're lucky. That's what they are, above everything else. Th'world could've eaten them whole. But they got lucky and found nifty tricks, gods-know-how.” She didn't want to call humans smart, as she thought they had fundamental flaws that should have ruined that quality. Yet... “And they survived, and found more tricks. And here we are now. What I mean is that you're weak in many ways but survived, maybe because the gods pitied you. That wouldn't be so bad if you weren't so damn arrogant about it. At th'center of the universe, and too proud to let anyone else get lucky.”
Decidedly, that day was Rantday.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt
1:30 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

Jameson bows to Kyranis.

Please, it is an honor to have you both here. House Ostrim is always welcome within these walls. I'd actually love to speak with you about the house at some future point, such an interesting history the house has, I would love to hear more of it.

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Mikado, Eiko

"Interesting," the black-haired man noted, leaning back as a small frown worked its way onto his face. "You know, a waiter should have been here by now." The foreigner raised his hand, snapping his fingers loudly as he looked back over his shoulder, towards the bar. "Wine, and make it fast!"

"And quite insightful." A thin smile spread on his lips as he turned his attention back to Eiko, steepling his fingers on the table as he continued. "By all accounts, your species is superior to humans -- the same potential to use tools, certainly no less intelligent or strong." A careful eye studied the crow-woman before him, then briefly turned back to his own weakened frame. "Stronger, even. Blessed with claws, natural weapons no human can call his own, and wings to fly. Obviously, in many ways, the tengu are our superiors. Certainly, there are always exceptional individuals amongst any species, but in general? Absolutely true."

"Would you care to know the true trick behind humanities' ascent?" He grinned broadly, making ready for a rather banal truth. "We breed quickly. And often. Sure, many cultures seek to ... idealize and enforce monogamy, but true human nature is quite opposed to such a principle. Really, it's more a luxury we can allow ourselves, now that we already are so many and well-situated. People spread by multiplying their ranks."

When finally a cup with wine was placed before him, he snapped out of his theorizing and chuckled. "Well, enough of that. I mentioned a chance -- as I heard, your people are currently rather unorganized. Disrespected. Seen as a nuisance, not as proud warriors, cunning protectors, or honorable tricksters, as they are in my home."

The slant-eyed man leaned forward, lowering his voice a little. "I have come here, from the far lands of Ikoku, traveling a road most shirk for its length and dangers ... made a spindly scarecrow of myself in the process. Not to be a tiny cog in the wheels of the ages, but to forge a path of my own. To carry my name throughout the lands and unto history itself. It's a long and hard road before me, but one that will have its rewards. I would see the Tengu of Taelarys walk it with me, to gain the respect and name they, too, deserve."

Mikado obviously spoke with conviction -- and a confidence that was easy to get drawn into, his eyes clear and shining with both intelligence and determination.

[have_a_cow]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:45 p.m.

Michael eyes the young girl addressing him and raises an eyebrow in surprise. He hadn't expected to see such a young girl serving drinks to the city's elite.

She must be Jameson's bastard to be in such a prominent position thinks Michael.

He droppa the polite facade he had been wearing for the benefit of the assembled nobles. ""I'll have something cold and strong. Dealing with these... people drains me so," Michael says with a sneer.

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

"What, precisely am I supposed to have learned? You are from Ikoku, or at least a neighboring country, or perhaps both your parents were. But, if you were a native here, you'd have a regional accent instead of that finely practiced neutral one. Of course, the most damning evidence is that you're malnourished and currently recovering from the early stages of scurvy, indicating a long sea voyage. Unless you're a wretchedly poor Taelaryian native with two Ikokuian parents, with a well practiced neutral accent who habitually gives his last ten marks to a complete stranger... oh, well I'd say you just got off a boat."

Anselme hoisted himself on to the railing overlooking the river and sat there with his legs kicking freely.

"Was I not supposed to figured that out? Or is there some reason you'd rather not be associated with the vessel most recently arrived from your homeland?"

Without taking his eye from the woman in the red dress on the opposite side of the street, he absently adds, "... brittle nails, sunken eyes, pale skin, and I'd bet you have sore gums."

[the_druid_droid]

6th of Bargenholt
After Midnight
Undercity
Cyrus

As the spies continued to search through the maze of access tunnels connecting Taelarys’ sewers to the vague regions beyond, Cyrus pulled up short, and with a gesture, his men followed suit. Dimming the glowing wand in his hand to its lowest setting, Cyrus strained his ears; he’d heard something just a moment before, but no further sound came as he waited in the dank gloom for several heartbeats. Despite the silence, the spy felt certain that he and his men were no longer alone, and he signaled his followers to make no sound as they advanced.

With another gesture, two of the spies peeled off and headed down a side tunnel, moving obliquely toward the source of the disturbance. As their dark-clad forms receded down the hall, Cyrus and the remaining spy continued to move forward, eyes and ears straining against the eternal night of the Undercity.

8th of Bargenholt
2PM
The Diamond Club
Tarin & Co.

As Tarin entered the Diamond Club, he cast an appraising glance around the room. There were many nobles present, and the room was resplendent with the colors and patterns of their outfits; they seemed almost to be celebrating the downfall of one they had formerly counted as their own. Behind him, the Inquisitor could hear Jameson greeting the Emperor’s son, and he managed to interrupt his observations in time to turn and bow politely as the royal scion passed.

As the prince moved on, Tarin straightened, and taking a glass of rich red wine from an attendant, he moved forward, eager to get his first glimpse of the Arena’s layout through the massive windows of the Club. While the gray-haired Inquisitor took in the view, Marcos stood faithfully by his side, although Revin had disappeared into the crowd, likely in search of valuable information from drunken or incautious lips.

Sipping his wine, Tarin smiled; today promised to be quite the spectacle indeed.

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:45 p.m.
Eris, serving Michael

Eris made a curtsey. The sneer did not seem to be noticed as she politely spoke.
"Of course sir. You must be hot in this weather."

As Eris walked away quickly, she grimaced silently.

Ah, another arrogant noble.

The irony that she was also proud and arrogant at times was unnoticed. But behaving as a servant for the last few days had been humbling. Silently, Eris was bitterly thankful she had been born a sorcerer, even if her House had abandoned her and stripped that life away. Eternal Youth at her age without magic..would have been too frustrating.

Jameson's preparations were very complete. The best food and drinks had been prepared, and Eris had been instructed yesterday on all of the things she had to do. With so many people, it was a little difficult to walk through the crowd, especially being short. But Eris was very used to this. She had many many years of experience. She avoided two Darran noblemen, with a smile on her face. Then there were some minor lords who stood nervously with their drinks. Eris thought that was something. Perhaps they are gambling? Maybe she could ask later. She apologized politely, and moved between them.

Soon she was returning to Michael. She carried the drink on a silver tray expertly, even avoiding Kyranis m'Kybrae's Sorcerer. The colors of her clothes she notices, and feels her heart skip. But she smiles and apologizes to her, and continues.

Ostrim is here. I recognize the colors. If an Ostrim Sorcerer is here...

She had work first. Eris returned quickly and as gracefully as a servant can, and offered the drink in glass to Michael.

"Here you are, sir. I admit it is a draining affair for everyone." She shrugged with mock-helplessness.

It is dangerous to make jokes to a noble's to his face. If he is foolish as he is arrogant it will be fine. For a servant to speak freely to a noble however... I wonder how he will react? She thought, while smiling innocently.


8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:00 p.m.
Eris, White Witch and God-Prince

The arrival of the Prince was not unexpected. Everyone knew he was coming. But it was still an experience to see him.

It was said the Emperor was divine, and so his children had that blood as well. When the Prince's eyes crossed her, she felt a feeling she did not often have- fear.

She remembered kneeling on frightened legs in front of the Emperor, after that incident 200 years ago. She remembered the terrible power of his gaze, and she had looked at the ground to avoid them. It was her judgement and punishment that day, and the Emperor showed his mercy and judgement. She had not been executed, she had been exiled.

As frightened as she had been, it was relief. And then it was horrible pain and anguish.

Eris shuddered out of the memory. The Prince was walking on with Jameson.
She had prepared for so long. But now was not the time. Ostrim was first.

But today, she was a servant, not the White Witch. Eris turned back to continue with her work, a fake smile on her face.

[VonDoom]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

The Ikoku native, with the brittle nails, the sunken eyes and somewhat sore gums, stared at Anselme for a brief moment. A very brief moment, as he couldn't contain himself for very long before he burst into laughter.

"Hah! Yes, just so. Sharp as a whip -- was that the phrase?" He shook his head, highly amused. "And no, I'm not hiding it. Why would I? As you say, it's quite obvious to someone with half a brain. Truth be told, I just wanted to know how you'd react. But a promise is a promise."

"After all, what I'm up to is no big secret." Mikado explained, as he leaned against the railing next to his new acquaintance. "I'm not exactly well-suited to life in Ikoku, as you may have noticed if you ever met any of my fellow countrymen. If I was, I'd be standing before you, stiff as a board, expecting some sort of life debt and trying my best not to laugh at your jokes with a grim expression, no matter how funny I thought they were."

Mikado folded his hands behind the back of his head, leaning back just a little.

"Third heir of my house -- amounts to basically nothing in Ikoku except a fancy, pampered life, assuming things hadn't derailed just a bit, as they did. I want a life of my own, something people will tell tales about and write down in their history books as more than a footnote."

Absently scratching his ear, the former Dragon Emperor watched a couple of street vendors go about their business. "But since you're so observant, Anselme, may I return the favor? You've a keen eye and a silver tongue, true, but you also speak as an educated man. You pay attention to accents, which to me would suggest, perhaps, an actor? The clear pronunciation and sweeping, slightly dramatic gestures would support such a claim rather than maybe, say, an orator. With your attention to detail I'd figure 'spy', but if that was true you'd have to kill me, yes?" He chuckled. "I'd also wager that you don't have a permanent residence of your own in Taelarys, but that's more a feeling than anything else. I'd say you get around quite a bit."

Mikado was only looking at his new friend in a somewhat casual manner, but to Anselme it should be fairly obvious that the Ikokuian watched his reaction with a keen interest.

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

Anselme sat with his arms crossed, watching until the woman in the red dress had rounded the corner before glancing towards Mikado and simply shrugging.

"And for whom would I be spying? If I were a spy, one would think I should try harder to maintain a low profile."

His eye drifted towards his gloved hand. Wiggling his fingers, he examined the state of his fine gloves to assure himself that they had gone undamaged by the water. Feeling self conscious, he tugged them more firmly into place before continuing to amuse himself with speculation. One wonders if he ever spoke to anyone, or if everyone was perpetually audience to an unceasing soliloquy.

"You neglected to mention 'lawyer' in your list of professions. I'll take that as a compliment. Though, now days, that's closer to the truth. You did say 'silver tongue' and not forked, hm? Ha! Mmm... you might guess that I am a physician. My medical knowledge is superficial, cursory at best. A sailor would know the signs of scurvy. But, as a lot, they are not so eloquent. Then, an officer in the navy, perhaps? No, there's nothing about my bearing that would suggest I'm a military man. I suppose it is a good explanation for the eye patch. One presumes a noble would opt for a glass prosthesis, hm? Of course, one also presumes a man with an eye patch is missing his eye."

For a moment, it looked as if he was going to pull something from the inner breast pocket of his jacket. He fished around in the pocket, (which seemed deeper than it ought be) rearranged the contents and then, apparently, decided better of it.

"Oh, you're a good sport, Mikado. So, today, you win the prize! I will tell you as much that I have worked in the theatre... but that was another life, I'm afraid."

There was no hiding the sadness. His gaze shot effortlessly into the distance, piercing the brick and mortar and staring clear into the past. If Anselme had been an actor, he'd been a damned good one.

[VonDoom]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

A wry grin played on the foreigner's lips as he listened to Anselme's elaborations and theories about his person, taking them pretty much at face value. After all, as he knew all too well himself, the best deceivers rarely if ever let anything but the truth pass their lips. Rather, the more interesting part would be what such a person didn't say.

"I notice you didn't actually deny the spy part. Been doing some occasional spying, then? It's a fine thing, really, takes a lot of skill. Some of them gain great prestige back in Ikoku -- well, the ones that act as counter-spies, mostly, but I always thought the best spies are those who actually do attract attention. The kind that gets them into high society and makes people's tongues loose. A bard, or ... an actor?" He grinned, not entirely sure if he was actually onto something or not. The guessing game was rather intriguing, though, and after the long and arduous journey some harmless fun to exercise his intellect. It was obvious he was enjoying their conversation a little too much for the black-haired man to be entirely serious about it.

Mikado leaned back a little more, over the railing, perhaps further than might be wise. "Well. Speaking of high society, I just so happen to have been invited to an event of some sort in a place called the Arena. Apparently many of the attendants will be amongst the wealthy and nobility. There's a plus two to my invitation and I don't really know anyone I'd particularly care to bring along so far. Would the strange but funny man I dragged out of the river care to come along? You'd be popular, I'm sure."

[TheDarkDM]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Near Midnight
Taelarys Dockside

As mist rose from the bay of Taelarys and the clouds parted to reveal a full moon, a sleek black prow cut through the waves. On a private dock surrounded by purple lanterns, Ghedim stood in a dusky great coat, his coach barely visible in the gloom behind him. A puff of his pipe, and his golden eyes flared like stars, as he tracked the rippling reflection of the ship in the moonlight. The approaching ship slid up in a whisper, sails so darkly purple they were almost black falling as they were furled by silent sailors. A muffled command echoed through the night, and a weathered gangplank fell to the stone dock with a resounding thump. Straightening his posture, Ghedim extinguished his pipe and placed it in an inner pocket, all his attention fixed on the deck.

Minutes passed, and dew began to bead across Ghedim's face. His breath was slow, measured, turning to even more mist as it met the frigid sea air. To a casual observer, he and the ship could have been simple figments, ghosts summoned by the fog. But then, a distinctive voice cut through the silence, commanding yet feminine, it's cold assuredness only barely managed to cover an inner heat. As soon as Ghedim heard that voice, the mist seemed to clear from around him, and a genuine smile spread across his face. Without further warning, a luminescent figure appeared at the top of the gangplank, a young woman clad head to heel in a grey travelling cloak. She descended with measured strides to take Ghedim's waiting hand and be led back to the carriage.

Sitting inside as the carriage clattered through the streets, Ghedim and the woman stared at each other across a narrow gulf. She was unabashedly beautiful, delicate features highlighted by large eyes and heart shaped lips. Silence reigned for almost half an hour before both of them smiled simultaneously.

"I feel like a princess, Ghedim - a handsome prince come to sweep me off my feet."

"Really Azlian? I must say I'm flattered. You kept me waiting so long I thought I would be receiving one of your children rather than you."

"Darling, if I wanted to kill you I'd at least have the courtesy to announce my intentions first."

"Well, that consoles me greatly, but I must wonder what the purpose of your journey is? Are you here on...family business?"

"No, nothing so grim as that. Father merely wanted me to come and see Taelarys on my own, to experience all the Imperial City has to offer."

"He sent you to spy on me, didn't he?"

Azilan's smile quirked higher, revealing her upper teeth as her tongue ran along them in a predatory motion.

"Perhaps he did. You know how much Academy graduates love to gossip - he was bound to find out eventually. Better to think of this as his attempt to test my resolve in the face of recent events."

"Bad news from home?"

"My brother. He had the mad idea to eliminate your uncle Therynd in broad daylight, and when his first bolt failed...well, he died slowly. Sudel and Rastrim are moving against each other in force, and Mirzan is doing what they're best at and keeping to the periphery."

"For your sake, I am sorry. Should I expect trouble?"

"No. Even mother realizes your position here necessitates a certain aloofness from your house. When you return, I'd stay away from large windows, but until then you should worry more about how you'll entertain me in the coming days."

"Well..."

Ghedim's hand floated across the divide and slid up Azilan's thigh, until his palm rested comfortably in a distinctly intimate location.

"For the nonce, I imagine we could catch up on old times. As for later, there is something of a fete being held two days from how, and I'm sure one of Rhetiz's most influential ladies would be more than welcome."

Slowly, the carriage came to a stop, and Ghedim parted the curtains to reveal the high walls of the embassy towering above them. Taking Azilan's hand, he led her past the official meeting areas, up the grand stairs to his own apartments.

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
2:15 PM
The Lord's Arena

As the furor of the Imperial Prince's arrival finally died down, the crowd was treated to another exceptional sight. Stepping through the doors of the Diamond Terrace came a crier bedecked in the full regalia of Rhetiz. Surveying the crowd a moment with the distinct golden eyes of his people, the man cried out.

"Presenting her ladyship Azlian vir Mennoch al Sudel, third of her name, heir of the bloodline of Mennoch and the provinces of Alquesh, third of the heirs of Sudel and her escort, lord Ghedim vir Tesh al Rastrim, fifth of his name, heir to the house of Tesh and the provinces of Hushud, second of the heirs of Rastrim."

The crier stepped back, and Ghedim and Azlian stepped resplendent onto the terrace. Ghedim wore green scalesilk again, but this jacked was embroidered in delicate silver tracery. Beneath was a vest of such inky black it threatened to blot out the night save for its silver buttons, and silk trousers of the same hue as his jacket. His red-black hair was oiled to perfection, and a black cravat stuck through with a pin holding a luminescent emerald and shining black boots completed the ensemble. After a cursory glance though, all eyes passed Ghedim and fell on Azlian. Wearing an elaborate concoction of lace and white scalesilk, her gown was the norm for Rhetizian nobility, leaving far less to the imagination than Taelarys high society normally deemed appropriate. Her waist was cinched with a belt of platinum weave studded with pearls, and her black-red hair was caught up in an elaborate platinum and diamond netting that allowed it to fall in rivulets down to her shoulders. This was completed by a diaphanous shawl and a waterfall necklace of platinum, sapphires, and diamonds. Entering arm in arm, the two foreign nobles made their way purposefully towards the Imperial Scion and bowed.

"We wish to express our deep gratitude at you invitation, your Highness."

"Greetings from Rhetiz, Highness. I bring with me the well wishes of all out people for your family and empire."

Darston val Taelar looked down on the Rhetizians from his high chair, a contemplative glint in his eye. While standing, the Imperial Scion stood close to seven feet tall, and even seated he dominated the room. His impassive face seemed cut from marble by a master artisan, and the hair that glinted as metallic gold and eyes of ruby gave clear indication of his divine bloodline. Reaching a hand that could easily crush bone up to stroke a spotless chin, he nodded imperceptibly.

"Be welcome, friends from Rhetiz. Know that my family and I greatly value the continued friendship of your people."

Ghedim and Azlian bowed again and withdrew, and any who looked to the high seat saw the peculiar sight of another four members of the Blood Guard materialize. The Rhetizians gave it little thought, however, with Azlian diving into the social pool and Ghedim proceeding to the bar. On the way though, he stopped in the middle of the crowd and announced to no-one in particular.

"What in the name of the gods is that incessant humming?"

Plot Ticket

A Rhetizian noble, Azlian al Sudel, is visiting the city, supposedly to spread good will. However, certain segments of the city are on edge, as any ship from Rhetiz is as like to hold daggers as it is to hold riches.

[have_a_cow]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:45 p.m.


Michael was only paying half attention to the servant girl who handed him his drink, because of this the veiled insult went unnoticed.

This servant is small and less noticeable than most of the other ones. She'd be a useful spy to have. I think I can use to her a better end than that fool Jameson. A cold smile formed on Michael's lips as the thought flashed through his mind.

"Thank you very much my dear child," replied Michael when he received the glass. Then, he started to work his Suggestion, "I would appreciate it if you would use your cute little ears and listen in on the conversations of the scary nobles here. Someone of your age has much better things to do than watch this horribly nasty fight. And once the fight is over and your job is done, I would certainly appreciate it if you would come and tell me all of the important information you overheard the nasty old nobles discussing. Now be a dear and help the other people. It wouldn't be nice to keep the poor souls waiting."

Michael almost felt sick as the sweet words left his mouth, but he believed that it would be worthwhile.

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Eiko

That was indeed part of human's nature, and paradoxically, not an unique characteristic. Rats, rabbits, pigeons, all vermin. Were humans oversized vermin? Let's not go too far. For starters, they're much cleaner in comparison than rodents, and it's undeniably a plus when you're forced to live among them.
“Funny Man” Mikado was very insightful, and the Tengu would enjoy more discussions with him, without resorting to violence to make her time worthwhile, if philosophy didn't depress her.

Red wine was brought to the table. She didn't wait for the foreigner, and swallowed a glass quite quickly. “There's many of us here. Am not saying you should consider seeking someone else, 'cause I can do your job, 'specially if it involves protecting your person. It just all sounds too good to be true. Not that you'd tell me if there was anything fishy, of course”, she commented, half to her employer, half to herself, “and I'm in for the name and respect. And money, of course. Always helps.”
Eiko didn't even want to consider what could go possibly go wrong. Perhaps, the day before, at this time, somehow, she got lucky as well.

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Mikado, Eiko

Mikado accepted his glass, taking a slow slip as he looked up at Eiko. "Fishy?" The Ikokuian repeated once the server had gone on his way, looking rather amused. "Nothing of the sort. One man's crime is another's heroic deed. Well, a thing you may consider a downside right now is ... you'll have to get sober. Clean your act up. It's not easy work and a trembling hand and addled mind won't to for it, but it has its rewards." The human inclined his head slightly, studying the crow-woman's expression in good humor. "I'll help you, of course -- the right clothes and good work can do wonders for your disposition."

Tracing his index finger along the edge of his glass, the black-haired man continued to speak. "I trusted you with something yesterday, and you took care of it for me. That's something I reward quite well. I'll keep you as a personal retainer for now -- with training, and a little work we'll see if we can't make a leader out of you. Someone will have to unite your people, after all. And if it turns out you aren't fit for such a role, I'll find something else for you. I'm a flexible sort." He shrugged rather nonchalantly, then raised his cup and took another sip before placing the glass back on the table.

Reaching beneath the table, the former Dragon Emperor pulled out a small leather bag from one of his pockets. "Here, take this," Mikado noted as he pushed the pouch forwards on the table until it rested right in front of the Tengu. "An advance. Plus a little extra for any expenses you may need to cover on my orders -- I expect you to save it and use it for that purpose, I should note. I'm generous, but I don't waste money, either. Still, it's yours to keep. I find a little trust goes a long way and rest assured, any of my employees have far more to gain if they prove true, than otherwise."

"You'll also find a note with an address in the pouch. It's a tailor's. I ordered clothes made for you yesterday, they just need to take your exact measurements to finish it -- in three days time you and I will be attending a formal event."

Did he just say he had already ordered a set of formal clothing for Eiko in advance? Why yes, yes he did. Apparently he hadn't really considered that the Tengu might say no to his offer.

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

"A plus two? Did it suddenly become fashionable in the city to arrive with two dates? Either Milverton is attempting to start a new trend or he greatly overestimates the allure of his guests."

The omission of the prefix to Jameson's housename seemed to be purposeful. Either he thought poorly of the financier or perhaps just nobility in general. If it was the latter, that could explain the conspicuous lack of a surname for himself.

Anselme stalled for a moment, apparently checking his itinerary in his head. In fact, he was merely weighing the odds that Mikado was coming on to him and how comfortable he was with that prospect when free food and entertainment was on the line.

At last, he nodded and affirmed, "The event is on the night of the 8th, correct? Of course, how many well billed executions can there be in one week? Very well... it is a generous offer. How shall we arrive?"

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena (Diamond Terrace) 2:10-2:15 p.m.
Claye and Others

Claye continues to look around, nodding as Xavier talks. "It'll work." When Ghedim is announced, she grins. I wonder if he'll test *every* drink they give him here?

After a while she frowns and leans closer to the other mechanic. "Some of the nobles here look pretty nervous. You'd think they're the one's bein' executed."

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:15 p.m.

Everything has edges, everything has a place, physical or metaphysical where it stops and something else starts.

At roughly 2:15 pm the city of Taelarys reaches a metaphysical edge as excitement over the execution ends and a new emotion appears. The air changes, the sound changes, people's thought shift and those with an artistic flair might even try to tell you that the colors changed, darkening.

Like the nervous gasp of a man who has just realized "yes, this is really happening" the noise of the crowd, reaching almost the very edge of the city, changes. Happy laughter shifts towards nervous laughter. Excited yelling shifts towards demands for blood.

Even those outside the arena feel it as all about town people find themselves absentmindedly glancing towards the Arena.

Something is about to happen. Something big. Something horrible. Something amazing.

In the noble's section, Jameson sits next to Darston attempting to make small talk when this shift occurs. It is barely perceptible on a conscious level, but Jameson has trained to notice such things and apparently so has Darston.

Both men pause for a moment, Darston looks across the crowded stands and turns his eyes back to Jameson.

An interesting game you seem to be playing Augustus he says loudly enough for all those around to hear. I think this may turn out to be a very interesting outing indeed. I wonder if you even understand what sort of thing you may be about to unleash.

Jameson smiles and laughs uneasily.

Elsewhere among the nobles, the shift rubs on nerves. Body guards find their hands drifting towards weapons, while most nobles seem, or at least act, oblivious, a few begin to show signs of nerves clear enough to be recognized by even a casual observer.

Deep among them, unnoticed by all . . . . or at least unnoticed in the truth of who he is, Kanos smiles broadly as he feels the tension wash through the air. He plucks a canape off the passing tray of the young Eris and bites into it with his razor sharp teeth. The young woman feels a shiver run up her spine, but when she turns to look sees only groups of nobles chattering loudly.

Deep in the bowels of the Arena, Davis is suiting up. He feels the change in air, as do the unseen things swirling around him, and he hears the crowd chanting for blood.

He hefts the sword he had been given, its as light as a feather.

Blood he will give them. Oh Yes. As much blood as they could desire and more.

[VonDoom]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

The Ikokuian chuckled. "I'm fairly certain our good Milverton was less thinking date and more retinue when he made it plus two. As am I, really -- I'm not asking you to work for me, but I didn't bring anyone along and haven't yet made that many contacts. It's only been a couple of days, after all, and I'm in no particular hurry yet. And considering your bearing so far, I'm sure you won't embarrass me, at least. And with some luck, you'll manage to charm your way into some real money there. And on the plus side, whatever debts your personal honor may dictate for you, if you aid me in making a good impression you can consider them squared."

"While I'd of course prefer to bring a proper date along, I fear I've yet to meet a woman here I'd consider my match. I don't exactly go for the silly girl type; I prefer someone I can call an equal. To match me in wits, and hopefully in a sparring as well. With time, I'm sure I'll find some prospects -- and it won't hurt that by then I'll hopefully be back in shape, as well."

Whatever thoughts Anselme was entertaining, they apparently hadn't even occurred to the foreigner.

"And yes, the Eighth. In two days." Mikado noted, looking thoughtful as he took one hand from the railing, balling it up and rested it against his chin. "I'm not quite sure what exactly you're asking in regards to 'how', but I think there'll be plenty to attract the crowd already, considering I'm rather new and exotic to boot. And so modest, too." He chuckled, then paused. He seemed to consider something, then decided to continue. "Ah, might as well tell you, you'll hear about it soon enough. I already made arrangements for my new home that might make for a bit of a scandal. I happened to speak to this Jameson a couple of days ago and, wonder of wonders, he just so happened to know of a mansion that recently seems to have misplaced its noble owner and is hence available for far less than its actual worth." Certain that the sharp Anselme had caught on already, he didn't bother to mention that the noble this mansion belonged to was the very same that was being executed very soon.

"But back to the topic at hand. I'm staying at an inn currently, it's actually not that far away from here. Depending on where you've put your shoes down, I suggest we meet up somewhere in-between and walk to the Arena. Wouldn't want to frighten any fragile egos there by getting acclimated too quickly. Or do you have a better suggestion?"

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt, A bit before Noon
Exentia Street
Mikado, Anselme

"Hmm, on second thought, it may be easiest if I wait for you by the main entrance to the Arena. We'll go in together. I'll attempt to be there as early as possible. Eh... if you'll excuse me, I think I've just spotted someone I know and should say 'hello'."

Anselme dropped from the railing and bowed his head quickly to Mikado before scurrying off nervously. Perhaps it was someone who had just seen him.

Four hours prior...

Three small graves lay side by side. Two men had dug them in the span of an hour and laid down three slender bodies in the earth. They'd made jokes as they dug; theirs was grim work, even if they cared nothing for those they interred. A bit of levity helped pass the time and assuage the choking morning mist and the oppressive silence of the graveyard. When they'd left, each grave was marked only by a round stone with no name. There would be no one coming to pay their respects, not today, not ever. Eventually a holy man passed by to mumble the rites. His words were hollow and rushed, well practiced too. He nearly went up to see his god when he realized he was not alone in mist.

"My son... you nearly scared me to death! How long have you been standing there?"

"All morning," Anselme's reply was uncharacteristically cold and brief. He stood with his head bowed and his hands shoved deep within his jacket pockets.

The priest looked up and down Anselme's fine garb and smirked in spite of himself, "My son these... these are pauper graves." He acted as if the remark was helpful, as if Anselme had mistaken the part of the cemetery for another.

"I am aware, father. Why don't you run along and mumble some prayers for the beloved. I know the words well enough, the gods will not be offended if they come from my lips instead of yours."

Partly shocked, offended and scared for his life, the priest took a last look at Anselme and thought better of what he was about to say. He moved away from the spot as quickly as his legs would carry him without breaking into a run. His hands trembled and his breath short. He knew not why.

Anselme didn't watch the man depart, he only kept his eye on the center stone of the three. He said no prayers of his own, nor did he finish the rites. After a long, long time in silence, he merely kissed the back of his gloved hand, sighed, and departed.

[the_druid_droid]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
2:15 PM
The Lord’s Arena

“I believe we have the Machinist’s Guild to thank for that, Ambassador.” Tarin had appeared gracefully next to the finely-dressed Rhetizian, and there was a note of wry humor in his voice as he spoke. “Some cooling device they’ve been tinkering with for days, although I wonder if it’s truly the most...elegant...solution.”

A few feet away, a sour look passed over Marcos’ face as his master joined the representative of the Shadow City, but Tarin would have ignored it even if his back had not been turned. The people of Rhetiz were known for their brutal efficiency, and the Inquisitor was possessed of a deep respect for that rare quality; he wouldn’t miss a chance to pay his respects to Ghedim. “But forgive me, I’m being horribly rude!” Raising his wineglass in a gesture of good will, Tarin continued, “It is a pleasure to see you here amongst us, Ambassador, and I hope Fortune smiles on you and yours in these uncertain days.”

[TheDarkDM]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
2:15 PM
The Lord’s Arena

Ghedim returned Tarin's toast and took a polite sip from his glass.

"And to you, Inquisitor. I hear that you are to thank for the show today - impressive work, convincing a noble madman to confess."

Ghedim's eyes surveyed the entirety of the Inquisitor, and in the bright light they seemed to take on an almost reptilian quality. He knew of Tarin's reputation, but it seemed he was determined to judge the Inquisitor for himself.

"Why does it not surprise me that we have the Mechanists to thank for this distraction. If I desired an environment where I had to raise my voice for a polite conversation and contend with a constant wind, I would have scheduled a party on my yacht."

Ghedim leaned closer, allowing his voice to drop.

"Not that Milverton could afford a yacht."

Ghedim chuckled, flicking his attention to their host for a moment before returning it to Tarin.

[the_druid_droid]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
2:15 PM
The Lord’s Arena

Tarin smiled an acknowledgment of the ambassador’s compliment, and as the Rhetizian measured him, the Inquisitor offered an explanation. “I have found after many years’ experience, that all men, mad or otherwise, respond to properly-administered incentives. The true difficulty lies in finding the correct incentive for the occasion.”

As Ghedim leaned forward, Tarin mirrored his motion, causing a worried grimace to play over Marcos’ face for a moment. At the ambassador’s comment about their host, a wicked twist developed in his smile, before smoothing out as though it had never been. Glancing at the large cooling units scattered around the club, Tarin added, “It would seem that inconveniences are the least of one’s worries when dealing with the Guild, however. Perhaps you’ve heard the strange rumors of a mechanical thing attacking Sorcerers and guardsmen alike? I wonder if they’ll be able to pass that off as an accident, or fluke or some such?” The Inquisitor kept a watch on the ambassador’s face, gauging his response to his conspiratorial tone.

[ForzaFiori]

8th of Bargenholt 3817 AoT
2:15 PM
The Lord's Arena
Xavier de Forza

"You don't mingle with the nobles of Taelarys much, do you Claye? Everyone here, save perhaps us and the servants, is plotting against everyone else to try to raise the power of their house one little iota. Add in the sorcerous houses, and the nobles from Rhetiz, and there's a good chance that someone here WILL be dead by tomorrow." He shook his head at the oddities of the nobility. "Gods that hum is annoying. I don't suppose we have anything that could act as a muffler? Preferably something inflammable?" With this new idea, Xavier hurries off into a back room where they had stored their supplies. After a few seconds, he finds the box he had brought the generator in, and the packaging he had stuffed around the generator to protect it.

8th of Bargenholt 3817 AoT
2:17 PM
The Lord's Arena
Xavier de Forza

Xavier smiles as he looks at his work. It wasn't quite as pretty now, as being a large, generator shaped bag, but that was a sacrifice he had to make. On the other hand, however, the hum was much more bearable now, blending into the background noise of the crowd.

[TheDarkDM]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Prior to the Execution
The Lord’s Arena

Ghedim took another sip before responding to the Inquisitor, allowing his eyes to drift over the cooling units. Drawing his glass back, he turned his attention to it before placing it between him and Tarin.

"Well, Inquisitor, let us consider this glass. Granted, the glassblowers guild is nowhere near as powerful as the Mechanists, but their craft requires the same deft artifice to succeed at. Yet, even the work of the simple glassblower can be corrupted. I could shatter this glass on the table and slit your throat before your man could react. I could throw it at his Imperial Highness in a futile attempt to besmirch the Empire. I could even kill myself, and besmirch this entire gathering. If all that and more is possible by the misuse of the glassblower's art, we must consider how much more dangerous the Mechanists' art is. Such isolated incidents would seem unavoidable, even if they are barbaric and cruel. I realize you have a vested interest in hobbling the Mechanists, but I think you'll find that they will see to their own mistakes."

Just then, Xavier managed to muffle the hum from his generator, and silence spread between the murmurs of polite conversation.

"You see? The Mechanists may not foresee every consequence of their actions, but they seem remarkably adept at solving any problems that arise."

Waiting for Tarin to respond, Ghedim caught a flash of worker's clothes that stood out in the sea of satin and opulence. Focusing in on them, he sighted Claye moving through the crowd, and a smile spread across his face. Raising his hand, he called out to her.

"Madame Claye! I wonder if you might add your experience and wisdom to our conversation. The Inquisitor and I were discussing the recent outbreak of murders and the Mechanist creation that seems to be at the center of it."

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:48 p.m.
Eris, serving Michael

Eris smiled and looked honestly confused by Michael's request.

What? He wants me to spy on the nobles for him?

Eris thought about it for a second. But to betray Jameson was a terrible idea, especially for this noble. She was curious who he was. Very foolish if he thought acting like a nice grownup would convince her.

She smiled and bowed again.
"I see, my lord, ah... I apologize, but Lord di Milverton would cut my tongue if I was to do such a thing. All information is Lord's here. He would say I betrayed the guests." She responded. Her precise accent again clashed. Saying 'di' and not 'd' was a strange precise saying. Quickly however, Eris was already leaving.

"You are right sir, I'm sorry, I must see to the other guests now. Please excuse me." Eris used the excuse to her advantage, to escape the awkward conversation.

As she walked away, she frowned. And some of these nobles do look nervous. Perhaps something big is going to happen? I wonder if that nobleman knew something important. Perhaps he is looking for spies or traitors... But he didn't notice me, so it is fine. She realized then the Prince was supposed to arrive soon. Eris hurried through the crowd.


8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:15 p.m.
Eris

The crowd was getting restless. For poor Eris, it was getting more difficult to navigate. All of the guests were here, and many were starting to crowd. To get more food or drink before the event.

It felt like weather when it is before a storm.
And suddenly she was aware faintly a hand had taken a canape off of her tray. And there was a dangerously cold feeling around that hand. Something that made her shiver.
She turned quickly, eyes wide. Her body didn't want to see. It was a child telling her to curl up safely somewhere warm.
But she knew she had to see. Identify this evil.
But when she turned, there was only the crowd.
Eris blinked, taking a deep breath.
Her heart was beating fast. Her arms shook a little. But she was safe. She was in control.
She turned warily to work again.

Something was not right.
A small wild grin pulled on her mouth. She could still feel cold sweat and adrenaline. Always when this happened, the scar on her back ached a little, even though it was almost faded.
She as a sorcerer at heart, of course it did.

This was going to be very interesting. But Eris was now sure she would be prepared.
Would Jameson?
Eris could see him sitting with the Prince.
Surely he would have prepared for trouble.
But Eris was not so confident now. She would have to make her own plan.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt
1:30 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson

Jameson bows to Kyranis.

Please, it is an honor to have you both here. House Ostrim is always welcome within these walls. I'd actually love to speak with you about the house at some future point, such an interesting history the house has, I would love to hear more of it.

Kyranis makes no move, nor do his companions.

"Thank you for the kind welcome, Lord d'Milverton. I believe that could be arranged."

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt
1:30 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson speaking with Kyranis

"That would be quite excellent in deed." Jameson turns to the small pretty woman beside him.

"Ms. Twill, please contact his people to set up a meeting in the near future."

ooc - Jameson would politely listen to another comment or two from Kyranis, but would have to greet the line of guests coming in behind him.

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Mikado, Eiko

Yes, getting sober. That would help.
Carefully, with an economy of movements, she opened the pouch to take a discrete glance at the contents. She liked what she was seeing.
A bit less what she was hearing.
“Clothes?”
Eiko suspected he wasn't talking about practical vests and boots. More like something unnecessarily fancy or frilly. And she was in bad terms with everything frilly.
On the other hand, this man was about to be her new boss. A very good boss. And if there was one fact of life she was aware of, it was that of all the people you can threaten and punch to improve a situation, you can't improve anything with a non-violent future employer. Embarrassing. Nothing better to do that deal with it.
“Clothes”, she mumbled. “I won't be wearing them whenever it's not strictly necessary.” It was not a request, or even an order, but a statement of fact. As certain as the sun sets some time after it rises and crows are rude little twerps, Eiko Shimang won't put them on unless she has to. Incidentally, she also suspected she will often have to.
The pouch was shoved down in the safety of the deepest pocket. “Three days. I should hurry. Unless you have anything more to tell me, I'll get that thing done as soon as possible. Still have a couple things to do at the Machinist Guild afterwards.”

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt
1:30 PM
The Diamond Club Terrace
Jameson speaking with Kyranis


Kyranis nods to Jameson, and proceeds inside.

((If you want to not wait to contact them, I'm fine with doing two timelines. Or not. I don't really care too much either way.))

[VonDoom]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Mikado, Eiko

"Hah!" At that, the Ikokuian actually laughed out loud. His eyes narrowed slightly, his expression pleased as he watched Eiko put the pouch away. "Don't worry, it'll be something both functional and formal-looking. While it is important to keep a certain panache and sense of style, I believe that any clothes that hinder you in a fight are useless."

He leaned back on his chair, placing two leather boots onto the chair. Rather surprising from a noble, but Mikado looked comfortable enough as he stretched a little. "Don't get too excited just yet, I haven't even told you where I live. Or what event it is, for that matter."

Eiko's new employer briefly described the location where she should show up tomorrow to receive further instructions -- and some rudimentary lessons in etiquette for the execution, from Mikado himself.


8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:49 PM
The Lord's Arena
Anselme, Eiko, Mikado

Neither a carriage nor a herald announced the coming of the next invited guest, yet the presence of this small group of three would nevertheless draw a number of stares as the tall but thin frame of Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado stepped through the entrance. He was followed by two other individuals, whom might well draw quite a bit of attention on their own merit: the mysterious Anselme, recently dragged out of a river by the eccentric Ikoku noble and the Tengu Eiko Shimang, now dressed in formal clothing, whose very presence as Mikado's attendant was a curiosity in itself.

Mikado was not hard to spot, his skin tone and features clearly marked him as a foreigner -- the slightly olive complexion, combined with his thin eyes identified him as a native of Ikoku. With rumors abound about a rich person arriving on the trade ship, the Pearl of His August Personage, The Emperor of Ikoku, it was far from difficult to guess at his identity, for aside from Jameson himself, few present here would recognize his face.

Yet the rumors also said he had arrived and walked into Taelarys alone; now, he was accompanied by a tengu as well as a man who looked to be a native.

Clearly the Ikokuian had acclimated very quickly, for despite expectations some might have, he was clothed entirely in the manner of a Taelarysian noble. He wore a fine white shirt underneath a black vest, with silken pants of the same color. Polished boots completed the image -- not overly elaborate or fancy, but still quite fine and with a sense for practicality. His long, black hair was neatly bound together into a ponytail by a red string, keeping it out of his eyes as he slowly let his gaze travel through the room.

At the initial greeting by a servant, the new arrival nodded leisurely, naming himself and his 'plus two' before he turned his attention towards Anselme and Eiko.

"High attendance," Mikado noted, "as expected. I suppose the host will want to greet us before we can mingle without being insulting."

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:50 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson with Anselme, Eiko, Mikado

As the three walk in Jameson nods his head to each and extends his hand to Mikado.

“Mikado,” he says, “It is a pleasure to see you here.”

He extends his hand to Eiko. “And you have brought a Tangu, what a treat, I have only ever met a few of your people in the city.”

Finally he extends his hand to Anselme, not allowing his curiosity to show, he had no idea who this man was. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Anselme.”


8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson interrupts Ghedim, Tarin and Claye

Making his last minute rounds Jameson seems to coincidentally find himself standing next to the group all smiles and hand shakes.

“Ahh it is truly a pleasure to have you with us today Mr. Ardalion,” Jameson says with a large smile. “After all without your efforts we may not have seen justice served!”

He turns to Ghedim “Ambassador al Rastrim, thank you so much for attending. I must say that I am not as familiar with Rhetizian customs as I would like, are executions public events there as well?"

Finally to Claye “CLaye isn't it? Another mechanical genius. I understand you are part of these wonderous inventions, I would love to chat with you in the future about some ideas I have for improvements to the Arena."


8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson finds Xavier

"Xavier, a totally thrilling job on these machines. Some bugs to work out I think, but marvelous none the less!"

[ForzaFiori]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Xavier De Forza

"Indeed. I'm happy with it, considering the short time span. Now that you've provided us such an excellent testing ground, perhaps Claye and myself can work out the rest of the kinks and begin putting these in the homes of nobles." Xavier looks around, and Jameson can almost see all the nobles in the room turn into large stacks of gold in his eyes. "Of course, upgrading the one here would be included in the original price, and I'm sure we could work out some way of getting them in the other buildings for a discount." he adds.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson speaking with Xavier

Jameson smiles at this and says, "Once you have the noise levels worked out I will definitely be wanting a few for the Golden Dagger, the Diamond Club and the brothel that serves them. Perhaps we can contract on rental rates for events like this in the future, but let us discuss that another time as I am very busy. Have Ms. Twill set up an appointment.

Unless Xavier stops him he will walk off.

[Mono Vertigo]

5th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Late Morning
Exentia Street, The White Goblet
Mikado, Eiko

Eiko listened thoroughly, regularly parroting these information out loud to register them more efficiently, including the advices concerning etiquette. One couldn't accuse her of not taking her job seriously. She was also a bit reassured about the practicality of her new uniform. Again, people generally don't understand extra limbs need a little accommodating to be remotely useful.
The rest of the rendezvous went well, and did not involve physical violence or threats thereof. Mikado and Eiko left peacefully, and more discretely than the day before. True to her words, she went to put the encounter with the tailor behind her. Once there, though, her impulsive nature would show itself once again. Before even making sure of the presence (or absence) of frills and ribbons, she shared her negative opinion of them, implying she may strangle the unfortunate man if there are too many of them.

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:50 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson with Anselme, Eiko, Mikado

Anselme shook Jameson's hand gingerly, last to be introduced. Lingering just a moment after Mikado and Eiko had gone to mingle, he confided, "It's just Anselme. If I have any titles, I'd prefer they not be used; and family names for for men with families. Oh, and we've actually met... eh, it was many years ago and I can't say for sure when or where. Alas. Ah, well I'll say it's nice to remake your acquaintance."

He winced. It was a small thing, a sudden twitch of the eye and a jerk of the shoulder.

"An old curse..." he reassured absently. "Some afflictions never quite heal."

Anselme wore his new green coat with his trim khaki colored pants. His engineer's boots were there as always, but they were polished to a sheen and didn't clash with the rest of his ensemble unless you fixated on them. The smell of clove preceded and followed him as always. There was a brief whiff of something else, cheap pipe tobacco perhaps? It passed quickly as if someone with poor taste had drifted close before darting off.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:50 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson with Anselme, Eiko, Mikado

Jameson laughs unsure of what to make of this man and more unsure of why he had no intel on this person.

"I can say that I partially agree about family names," he says. "Without a family myself, I find little use for it. Sometimes though it comes in handy. It's amazing what power a simple name can have over some people. It is a shame I cannot place your face, a person such as you, I would expect to remember."

When he winces.

"An old battle wound?"

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, various points in conversation, The Lord's Arena

When the subject of the rogue homunculus comes up, Claye grins a bit sourly. "The name for him on the street is the Bronze Crusader, or just the Crusader. He's the first, last, and only known 'true' homunculus - that is t' say, there's a real human intelligence in there. He was made before Ah came back to Taelarys, so my information on him is a bit sketchy. They didn't repeat the experiment, for obvious reasons."

When Jameson interrupts and congratulates the machinists, Claye shrugs. "Xavier was the main credit on this one. The real beauty is the compressor, even if it is a bit noisy."

When she spots Anselme, she noticeably raises an eyebrow. Every time I go somewhere new, he's there. I guess this is just how the other half lives...

[the_druid_droid]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Prior to Execution
The Lord’s Arena

At the ambassador’s comment regarding the wine glass, Marcos took a rather pointed step closer to his master, but Tarin simply contemplated his own glass for a moment. “I cannot argue that a tool may be corrupted, of course. Nor can I doubt that the Mechanists are well able to attend to their mistakes; indeed I should hope we all would rise to the occasion, given the opportunity to address our past errors. In truth however, I was not thinking of the potential for corruption inherent in the Mechanists’ art, as much as the question of their original intent. After all, does it not seem strange that most of those targeted by this Bronze Crusader have belonged to factions which are on strained terms with the Guild? Perhaps if a sailor or slave were to turn up dead, I would be more amenable to the idea that it was all some grand coincidence.”

As Tarin spoke, he wondered momentarily whether the ambassador was simply a fair-minded man, or if he perhaps harbored sympathies toward the Mechanists’ Guild. It would be unfortunate if the latter were true, but in either case, Ghedim was surprisingly level-headed, given his lofty position in society. Of course, considering the rumors to come out of Rhetiz, it was doubtful if those prone to fancy long maintained their power, or their lives.

When Ghedim waved Claye over, the Inquisitor turned his gaze toward the young woman. She was quite obviously associated with the Guild, her utilitarian clothing and grease-streaked hands clashing with the otherwise over-refined atmosphere of the Diamond Club, but something in her bearing suggested that she had as much right to be present as any of them. When the Mechanist reached them, the talk quickly turned to the menace of the Crusader, and Tarin listed closely, though subtly, for new information. At the news regarding the Crusader's true nature, the Inquisitor raised an eyebrow.

"So he is in possession of a true mind, then? How fascinating...I wonder what such a process would entail, and whether the average psyche could be expected to survive the shock intact?" The expression on Tarin's face was one of a man lost in thought; he seemed quite entranced by the idea, despite his earlier criticism of the Guild.

The Inquisitor was snapped out of his strange reverie by Jameson's arrival. Shaking the man's hand, Tarin responded with a polite smile, "Thank you, Lord d'Milverton. It is a distinct pleasure to have aided the cause of justice, and your kind recognition is a delightful bonus."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:50 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson and Anselme

Anselme smiled wanly. "Torture, actually. Still plays up a bit... on rare occasions, thankfully."

He rubbed his temple as if trying to completely dismiss the sudden pain that had beset him.

"You'll forgive me if I don't elaborate..."

His fingers drummed across his forehead, summoning up a not-so-expert, yet still endearing change of subjects.

"What eh... what does one have to do for a drink? Do I have to hound after one of those tender young things or do you just snap your fingers?"

By which he meant his host would obviously be kind enough to summon a glass of wine. The smile returned to his flush lips. It was a challenge, sure, but how could a man turn it down? Anselme had to be a noble, or else an officer or... well, baring those two, certainly not someone you'd want to displease. It wasn't the Cheshire grin or the fine garments, just the way he held himself. If he wasn't a noble, he was no stranger to these events... else, he was a very quick learner.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:50 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson and Anselme

Jameson says "That's awful, I am so sorry to hear that."

With the request "Actually you can do either."

Jameson snaps his finger and a very young woman with white hair hurries over.

"Eris, please make sure this man's thirst is seen too," he says to Eris. Turning towards Anselme, "While I would love to continue this conversation, I am afraid to say that I must attend to my other guests. Please feel free to come by the Arena sometime if you'd like to have a longer chat."

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:51 p.m.
Eris, serving Anselme

A snap of Jameson's fingers. Eris starts to hurry over to him and another important guest.

"Yes lord di Milverton? How may I serve you?" She said as earnestly and politely as she could.

When the order was relayed, Eris looked over and made a curtsey to Anselme.
"Yes sir." She replied, taking a glass and filling it artfully with wine.
The struggle of a servant, it is that there is no time to drink here. Not that Eris enjoyed alcohol. Another unfortunate side-effect of youth.
She offered the silver tray and drink to this nobleman.
"Is there anything else I can do for you, lord....?" She actually doesn't recall his name. An unfortunate blunder perhaps. But she has not been in the city for so long either.
Though honestly, Eris does not care so much of that formality. However, this lord had...well, he was not like the others. Something about him... The unusual smell of clover... It was an unfortunate eye accident, because otherwise...

Eris caught herself staring, and turned her eyes.

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt
The Arena (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:51 p.m.
Eris, serving Anselme

Wry was the word. Anselme's lip curled up on one side of his mouth in a curious grin that showed amusement, plight and offense all. First was the uneasy, mock smile reacting to the implication that they (Anselme and Jameson) ought continue to speak of torture and possibly the events that lead to losing his eye. Then there was the invitation to resume the conversation at a later date, if Anselme was so inclined to make his way across the city and regale his host with a detailed account of the hell he'd endured. Oh, and he did want to tell someone. He wasn't the sadistic sort, but there was something distinctly funny to him about being invited, in a sense, to share the long and elaborate tale of his suffering. Of course, you must understand; had you been made to suffer like Anselme had, you'd have a curious sense of humor too. Well, you would if you weren't dead or insane; both were far more likely for any soul. Though, no one was sure Anselme wasn't insane.

He paused as long as he could, waiting until Jameson had slipped away before genuinely laughing. It was a beautiful, lyrical sound, though tinged with darkness. Always when he laughed, you could tell he thought life was just a little funnier than everyone else. As his lip curled over his teeth, Eris caught a glimpse of the man's cuspids; they were longer than normal, not unsettlingly or unnaturally long. But, it was just an elusive detail that a particularly clever person might catch.

Secondly, and the cause of his offense, was the idea of a young girl, a young girl like this, being made to serve drink to fops and ingrates.

"Please, just Anselme," he repeated, taking his glass from the girl. His eye fell on her and flickered about quickly like a jeweler appraising a gem he suspected to be made of glass. Squaring his shoulders to the girl, he folded his arms and daintily held his wineglass off to the side, suddenly finding something far more interesting than the drink.

The way people behave under scrutiny reveals an enormity of information. A common serving girl should have blushed and found an excuse to scurry away (and that is what he expected from a teenager), or else melted under the attention of the dashing man in green (and that is what he was afraid a teenager might do).

Softly, he asked, "You haven't been working for Jameson long, have you, Eris?"

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:51 p.m.
Eris, serving Anselme

The laugh was unexpected from the guest, and when he laughed Eris caught a glimpse of the man's cuspids. They were longer than normal. Unusual. But his laugh was beautiful, if with some darkness. But that darkness also had appeal for Eris, who knew much of darkness. Perhaps this man had suffered greatly- the eye-patch seemed it. But still he could laugh.
That was something admirable- it was a skill Eris liked to think she had as well. Though she felt like a child compared to him.
Actually she wondered about that now. What that darkness he had seen might be. It was a strange feeling, one Eris could not place immediately. And that made her more curious.

Until his gaze fell on her, and she found herself caught in it. Later she would want to say she had been unprepared, or it was her body betraying her. But her cheeks turned red the harder she tried to break free from the gaze.
That was the reason, right?
She was a caged bird being watched by an admiring owner. Or at least, that is what she felt at first. But that wasn't quite right. It was appraising, but not like the other nobles. he was attentive. It made her self concious, and flustered. Why me? She wanted to say. but it wasn't a bad look. She held the silver tray down in front of her. A small shield, but it did give her some courage to use her mind again.
And when she spoke, she surprised herself she answered with an awkward voice.
"Y-yes Lord Anselme. I've only recently began as a servant for Lord di Milverton."
Obedient servant, though her precise accent was there too. She knew she would be angry later at the risks. But she couldn't just run.
Then she would have to admit that she had gotten in over her head. she managed to look at her feet, trying with no success to hide her blush.
what's wrong with me?

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:52 p.m.
Eris and Anselme

"Do you... do you need some air?" Anselme stuttered, leaning in and trying to ascertain whether the white haired girl was only being demure or if she'd actually become faint. Beginning to fear for her health, he touched her under the chin to lift her face. His gloves were fashioned from the most exquisite leather; they were sinfully soft and whatever oil had been used to preserve them left a faint, but wonderful scent.

Looking down at her, he did his best to smile in a disarming way. His eyelashes fluttered apologetically. He realized he could be intense and his look said that he hadn't meant to be so scrutinizing with her.

His voice was unfortunately breathy, "Ah. You mustn't blush like that! Not here. There are less virtuous men than I."

[Xondoure]

8th of Bargenholt
2pm
The Lord's Arena

Among the lords and ladies gathered to witness the death of a traitor like so many vultures hovered around a dying animal Malharus ir Tramontae made little impression. His shaved head and dark robes marked him as a magic user but there were many more such here that it made no noticeable increase. If anyone were to make any comment at all it was that instead of a bond mate a young slave stood waiting at his masters side eyes absorbing the flashing colors and quiet roar of high society with dangerously intelligent eyes.

4th of Bargenholt
Noon
Taelarys

The watcher learned quickly that faces were not easily worn. The mind is a curious thing being so expressive a person trapped within such a small flat and it is not eager to share that space with a room mate no matter how temporary. The trouble was finding the keys that would open the right doors into the trapped little one bedroom apartment, because once you were in then it was as if you had always been there.

5th of Bargenholt
Morning
Machinist District (a)

Hilda spat.

“You think you can just demand anything from me? This is a business you’re supposed to be running. If you don’t got the money or a grant from the guild you don’t get squat.”

“Be reasonable all I need is a new boiler and I’ll be able to pay the guild back half as much as I’m asking for.” Gaius pleaded while scratching what was left of his thin white hair furiously.

“When you start pulling in a profit again you’ll get your new boiler you miserable sack of rags! You get nothing without a backer and if you keep whining to me about keeping up with safety standards I’ll toss you in the river and see how fast your life expectancy drops. And unlike that pretty boy who fell in yesterday you aint got the looks for someone to waist their skins in that muck.”

It had been a bad morning for the requisitions and supplies officer. It had been from the moment she woke up to a rat infested pantry and gotten worse from there. Within five minutes of arriving at her office she had received ten complaints five new requests and one notice to report stating that the b district’s requisitions and supplies officer had fallen ill and as such she would be expected to cover his stops as well.

Before catching the rail to the b district Hilda stopped by the butchers to pick up new supplies. Feeling a growl in her considerable gut she picked up a roast pork sandwich to hold her over. Biting into the bread and meat was the first real relief she had all day, and for that one bite her mind spun in a dizzying happiness. For a moment just before she swallowed it seemed as though something had gotten stuck in her throat causing her to cough a little after choking the pork down. If she wondered what had caused the disruption it was only for a moment before taking another bite of the sandwich and smiling slightly as she adjusted to her new face.

6th of Bargenholt
Evening
Tower of Levant

Inquisitor of Levant Maxis d’Selmont had had a very good week. He had busted a small group of cultists five days ago and as a result had been sent as one of few to arrest Davis d’Lupil. He had quickly found that success suited him, and his new dress clothes agreed as did the naked slave girl lying on his bed.

The girl could wait though because at the moment he was appreciating something much more beautiful: his own reflection. Maxis had always possessed a certain vanity which recent events had only increased. He surveyed his form with the glance of an artist admiring his own work then turned to the noble features of his face, looking appreciatively at every angle of his handsome jaw and noble brow. Flashing his teeth in a radiant smile he began to unbutton his shirt when much to his discomfort his reflection moved. It was a subtle gesture, a flick of the hand in the wrong direction. Nevertheless such things were not supposed to happen and seeing such things as that which were not supposed to happen is often a startlingly uncomfortable experience. Pausing to stare at his reflection he moved his head slowly side to side, flicking his hand in mild confusion. The reflection however remained the same. Laughing to himself in a carefree manner as if to shake off his discomfort he once more began to attend to his buttons. Only this time when his reflection moved so did he. It was as if the reflection and not himself was the true person and him only an afterthought. He raised his head in motion with himself and smiled winningly once more. Slowly he approached the glass until the tip of his new nose touched the glass at the same instant as his finger tips. His breath left a thin layer of fog on the glass separating the two as if by a veil of feeble habbits.

"Well aren't you just gorgeous."

7th of Bargenholt
Late at Night
The Knight's Bard, Taelarys Slums

Cat Scraps sat at his usual table listening to the idle rumors delivered as fact and uncomfortable truths laughed away as whimsy with the usual pint of piss for ale in his right hand and stolen coin tapping the table in his left.

“I hears he’s as tall as a bell tower and when he speaks its like the bell is inside your head.”

“No you’ve got it wrong” Says a man missing an eye and a chunk of his nose “He’s human the same as use or ise is. Just wears plate see, so they never seen his real face.”

“And hows one man in plate take out a dozen city guards in one night huh? And they says one was a bloodguard as well. That kind of thing isn’t possible for just one man.”

“I heard it isn’t, heard there’s scores of bronze crusaders, a whole league of them fighting to take back the city. Heards they was part of the crimson cult too, their underground army so to speak.”

A poorly dressed old man who reeked of booze more so than the average customer (which was saying a considerable amount) slammed his mug on the counter.

“To hear you people I’d think you were dreaming this up yourselves. I doubt you have an ounce of truth among the lot of you.”

“And what gives you the balls to say something like that old man huh?”

The newcomer scratched his thin white hair absent mindedly. “I’m a machinist. The guild doesn’t like to talk about it but the Bronze Crusader is their mistake. You all heard of a homunculous right? A mechanical recreation of a man? Most are just bound elementals with basic instructions that can do simple commands. But at one point the guild tried to make a real one and bound a human soul into steel and steam. But they couldn’t control it and it didn’t appreciate what it had become. It destroyed the reputation of the guild and its top machinists. The Sorcerous Houses used it to impose all sorts of new restrictions on the guild and take yet more power to themselves even though it was partly their magic which caused the mess in the first place. Meanwhile there’s a metal human out there who is nearly impervious and a whole long list of people to go through.”

The story was met with relative silence in the immediate area of listeners but was soon interrupted by mr. half-nose-one-eye who blurted out “I heard alf of what you said, and the alf I did hear was some of the most crazy bull I’ve heard all night.” And with that the usual order of shouting began from their corner of the tavern once more.

Cat Scraps made his way closer to the old machinist, gently touching him on the shoulder to get his attention before asking “Do you know where the crusader is? Or who he talks to?”

“Your guess is as good as mine, but most of the attacks have happened near the docks. Not all but most, of course that could be a ploy as well. Its hard to tell with such things.”

Nodding once before starting to leave the thief turned once more. “Thank you Gaius.”

The Machinist raised his eyebrows in shock. “How do you know my name?”

Cursing his foolishness Cat Scraps disappears into the crowd, and staggers disoriented out of the tavern. A few streets away a dog chained to a post begins to whine pitifully his tail curled up between his legs in fear of the partially existent whispers on the night air.

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:52 p.m.
Eris and Anselme


"Do you... do you need some air?"
"Ah, no. I-I'm fine. It is a little hot, isn't it?" She answered with interest in her shoes.
Why is he flustered? Eris was confused. It actually made her more flustered. An annoying thought. When Anselme leaned in, Eris wanted to step back. But her legs didn't let her.
Suddenly a soft and sweet scent glove touched her chin and lifted her face. Suddenly she was looking at him, but much closer. Her surprised and blushing face was not hidden by her hair now. Shoes weren't very important either.
And he smiled. That was a relief. She could relax. He didn't mind her childishness. And he looked apologetic.
200 years disappeared quickly under his gaze.
But when he called attention to her blush, she couldn't lie anymore. He was charming. It caused her heart to race.
But that fear was also an instinct that tried to free her mind. Maybe a normal girl would faint, or awkwardly turn to run from this kind of situation. But Eris wasn't. When Anselme spoke, she shivered a little, and allowed him to look down on her face. Even if it was red. She wanted to look away. But she couldn't. The glove was soft.
"Y-yes there are. V-virtue is hard to find. E-excuse me, I-is there anything you desire? She tried to take a professional tone. Control. But a professional tone in a smitten 14 year old's voice.

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:52 p.m.
Eris and Anselme

A hint of disappointment flickered across Anselme's face. Maybe the white haired girl wasn't as mysterious as he'd hoped. Still, he had to wonder why Jameson, with such a girl in his employ, had her serving drinks. She wasn't a slave, he deduced. Or, if she was, she hadn't been for long. Slave girls were used to men putting their hands on them and they didn't blush like that fiercely about it.

He stood up straight and attempted to sip his wine through the chortling. When he failed to get the goblet to his mouth he daintily covered his bemused expression with a hand. Desire she said? Maybe in a few years... "Eris," he composed himself and put on a kind smile, the way a gentlemen smiles at a precocious child, not a woman. "I desire that you remain careful, vigilant among these wolves. And if anyone gets 'fresh' with you, come tell me and I'll remind them of their manners. And if I call for a sword, bring me a longsword and not a rapier."

Slipping away from Eris with a wink (it was hard to tell since he only had the one eye) he drifted back to Mikado. He mumbled into his glass, pretending to sample the bouquet of the wine, "She's no common serving girl, the one with the white hair. I wonder what Jameson intends with her... or what he has on her."

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
2:29 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson

Jameson makes his way back to his chair as a number of servants take their places throughout the arena.

He raises his hands in the air, the nobles quiet and throughout the arena the sound of the servants quieting the crowd can be heard.

Jameson clears his throat and begins to speak in a loud.

"Citizens and friends" he says, the servants in the stands repeating his speech to the far sides of the arena. Thank you for joining us here today to see the traitor . . . Davis . . . Lupil . . . punished. He pauses for emphasis, the crowd roaring.

"Davis Lupil shall now face our gladiators, gladiators who shall deliver the punishment fit for a man who would turn his back on Taelarys, turn his back on the emperor and turn his back on you!"

"The gladiator who lands the final blow will be awarded 10 soveirgns! In addition, attendants are available to take your bets! Please place them now as payouts will go down as each round progresses. Ladies and Gentleman, without further ado!"

The audience roars as the criers finish and below the gates slide open allowing Davis to enter. He rushes out like a man half his age as Jameson sits down.



Somewhere amid the nobles a sharp-tooth smile grins. Unseen or at least unnoticed for anything unusual, he walks past a number of the Guards wearing Milverton's colors. As he passes each one, he reaches out a long finger with a sharp blood red nail and brushes it along each. To a man, the guards when touched give a shiver, as if a chill had moved through them, glance around and resume their posts.

When he is done he goes back to his seat amongst the nobles and prepares to enjoy the show.

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:52 p.m.
Eris and Anselme

When the look of disappointment flickered across Anselme's face, something made a sound in Eris' mind. She started to realize something was not correct.

And then he chortled, and her embarrassment started to turn to anger. He was looking down on her.
Eris didn't answer him, as he slipped away.
Only when he turned away, did she blink and shake her head.
There was the old frustration returning now. She wasn't a child! Even if she had acted like one just now. This Anselme was...
She was not sure. But he was dangerous.
Was it some kind of magic?
She didn't dare to think it was natural.
Eris walked away, looking down at the arena with her anger. She took a deep breath and calmed herself.
If he called her for a sword, she would make sure he unpleasantly received it.
But she was worried too. Mind affecting spells were dangerous. This place was certain to have more sorcerers. She could find herself in more trouble than being reduced to a smitten child (though maybe nothing as embarrassing and frustrating).
But she would watch out for that man again.
Eris returned to the crowds to continue her disguise.
I'll have to ask Jameson about that man later. She thought.

[Xondoure]

7th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Tower of Levant

Maxis walked into the grand inquisitor's office with an easy grace. Bowing his head to the black hand before offering a polite smile to his superior.

"You wanted to see me sir?"

[Nefarion Xid]

6th of Bargenholt
Noon
An Alley off of Exentia Street

Anselme took a last look over his shoulder to ensure he hadn't been followed before turning to the dusky silver haired man who had bidden him over. The hair should have belonged to a much younger man apart from volume. It fell, unbound, over his wide shoulders. The man, possibly in his early thirties snarled almost playfully when he Anselme approached, folded his crimson jacket casually over his shoulder and hooked a thumb into the pocket of his black silken vest. Had anyone seen the pair together, they might have guessed the man in red to be Anselme's taller, wealthier and more attractive half brother.

"My L-" Anselme spat out, uncharacteristically flustered.

His companion knew it was coming and was prepared to slice through Anselme's words before he even opened his mouth. "Not here, Anselme. We're out of uniform and behind enemy lines, as it were. Best not to salute your superiors. Please, call me Serafino." His voice was like a strained whisper, a hiss, but intoxicating. Most woman would love to sit and listen to a man like that tell her lies all night long.

Anselme laughed unabashedly. "Serafino? You don't think that's a little... " he pressed a finger to his own nose as if there was obviously something funny about the name, "Romantic?" He likely had more to say on the subject, but the icy stare from the man in red caused him to divert his thought mid sentence and find a suitable change of subject for the next.

"I assume there's a reason you're here."

"I like to see you suffer," Serafino quipped.

"I am aware," Anselme muttered back through clenched teeth. "And I suppose the um..."

"Yes, that was my idea," Serafino boasted. He didn't need to let Anselme finish when he always knew what he'd say. "You don't think it was too...?" he mimicked Anselme's gesture to tapping his nose.

"I decline to answer on the grounds that I might be immolated." Anselme hugged his arms about him, looking cross or bored with the situation. If a spy had been listening to the conversation in the alley, he would have been as confused as anyone else about their back-and-forth. The two men seemed to have a mutual talent for speaking at length without any meaningful content.

"Why are you really here?" Anselme demanded suddenly.

"To remind you that I can be, Anselme. Additionally, since I'm feeling charitable, I've decided to inform you that your accoutrements will be made available to you in time."

"Are they in bloody customs?" Anselme's eye flashed with anger as he shot a look between his open palm and Serafino. "I nearly died!"

"No you didn't, and dying is too easy for you," Serafino corrected coyly. "They'd do you little good now, anyway. You've forgotten how to use them. The same goes for your sword. No, it isn't at the bottom of the river. You'll get that back as well, once you remember." He cruelly punctuated the last three words.

"Of course, if you'd like them early, well, I'm willing to make a deal."

"Droll, very droll!" hissed Anselme, growing visibly exasperated.

Serafino flashed his teeth in a dazzling smile, laughing genuinely, "We miss you, Anselme! You know Lil does! Why don't you just return home with me and forget all of this business?"

"Go to Hell! You know I can't."

Serafino continued chuckling while he fished a small black leather bound book from his coat pocket and handed it to Anselme who shoved it into his own jacket without so much as looking at it or inquiring about its nature.

"We'll set a place for you each night all the same." Serafino began to slip into his coat, signalling that he was tired of talking. "One more thing. It will get complicated. You picked a tough city to play with! And something wicked this way comes... better remember. Fast."

The last thing Anselme remembered was a wink. Some time had passed before he picked himself up from the cobblestones, dusted himself off and made his way back to Raina's home.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:50 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson with Anselme, Eiko, Mikado

The Ikokuian native accepted and shook Jameson's hand graciously, a smile on his face as he met their host's glance. "A pleasure to be here," he replied, mirroring the other's greeting with a twist and emphasis of his own. He leaned forward slightly, moving a little closer to the man as the black-haired foreigner lowered his voice a little, as if imparting a secret. "Though I must admit, it is more the company than the main attraction that brings me. Please do send someone my way to point out persons of interest, I fear I'm a little overwhelmed at the moment. It is quite the spectacle."

At Jameson's reaction to his Tengu retainer, his eyes narrowed ever so slightly. Perhaps the mention of 'treat' had annoyed him, assuming that their host had meant it in a derogatory manner? Mikado was still new to the language, after all. The Ikoku native refrained from commenting, however.

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:52 p.m.
Anselme and Mikado, Eiko

In the two minutes that Anselme had been away, Mikado had already procured a glass of wine for himself and was idly wandering around, more or less presenting himself to the noble guests and making himself available if they had any interest -- but before anyone took the opportunity to talk to him, the dashing eye-patched man was once again at his side.

His brown eyes darted to the side briefly as he listened to the man's subtle message, merely inclining his head to the side in response while idly inspecting the red liquor in his glass.

"Eiko," he suddenly called out to the Tengu at his side. "They'll have a place set aside for servants, go there and see if you can find out anything useful."

The Ikokuian had already told the crow-woman in advance that this might well be the first thing he would ask of her, since servants always loved their gossip, no matter the culture involved. And, on the plus side, Eiko wouldn't have to bow and scrape to the proper nobles for awhile.


8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
1:56 p.m.
Ghedim, Mikado

After a number of rather meaningless conversations with various lesser nobles that showed an interest, the young man from Ikoku was slowly making his way over to Ghedim al Rastrim, the ambassador of Rhetiz. For a man trained in the art of assassination such as Ghedim, it was obvious from the way Mikado moved that the Ikoku native was trained in some way -- martial arts, most likely, rather than proper assassination techniques, considering that he was more or less unconsciously broadcasting it to those who had an eye for such things.

In his right hand were still the remnants of what was once a glass full of wine, now half-empty. Still, an easy smile rested on the black-haired man's lips that belied the attentive, controlled look in his eyes as he stepped closer.

"Ambassador," Mikado greeted him, inclining his head as one would to a noble of equal standing.

They had never encountered each other before, but luckily the Ikokuian had taken an interest in the man due to his similarly foreign appearance. Soon, once he had discovered who the man was by means of a handy servant, his interest had peaked. And he could be no other than the strange, rich man from Ikoku who had arrived but a few days ago and already had the rumor mill running high. The man who had already acquired the mansion of he whose death was to be made a spectacle this day.

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:03 p.m.
Tarin, Mikado

Unlike the Rhetizian ambassador the young noble from Ikoku had just spoken to, he had no idea who the Grand Inquisitor of the House Levant was -- or at least, what he looked like, largely because the Inquisitor had only arrived after the helpful servant provided by Jameson had listed the persons of interest to Mikado as they passed.

Nor was he currently aware that the Black Hand had quite an interest in both his own person as well as the ship he had arrived in.

As such, the Ikokuian passed the man with but a brief but respectful nod.


8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:12 p.m.
Jameson, Mikado

"Say," Mikado suddenly called out from the side, having made his way over to their host once again, "how does one go about requesting an audience with the Prince? It would be rather impolite not to extend my greetings, as a foreign noble."


8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:24 p.m.
Xavier de Forza, Claye, Mikado

"Ah, Master de Forza!", Mikado called out as he spotted the mechanist from afar, noticing him together with his fellow craftswoman. He walked over quickly, his expression brightening with honest delight at seeing someone he recognized who was not one of the nobles of wealthy.

"A pleasure to see you again," he offered as he extended his hand in greeting, not particularly caring if any of the nobles saw him shake hands with a 'commoner'. "I assume this was the project you had to get ready when I visited?" He chuckled, indicating towards one of the cooling units. "Quite a marvel."

Then, the Ikokuian inclined his head a little to the side, towards Claye. "Would you care to introduce us?" His brown eyes sought out those of the woman at Xavier's side. Despite his currently rather gaunt appearance, there was a spark there that spoke of confidence and the good old joie-de-vivre that clearly stated he wouldn't look this way for long.

Of course, the secretive Kilnmyr fire mage might just recognize him as the crazy foreigner who had jumped into the dirty Exentia river, all to rescue a drowning stranger.

@JadeWould the infamy of our Miss Inv-I mean, Spitfire have reached as far as Ikoku? And if so, would it be cool to recognize the name?

[TheDarkDM]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Ghedim, Tarin and Claye

As the owner of the Lord's Arena approached Ghedim, he noticed a slight flicker of the Rhetizian's eyes, as he was rapidly assessed with nothing more than a glance. Ghedim's warm smile cooled, and eyes that had moments before shined like stars now grew as cold as the golden coins Jameson coveted. At the minor noble's question, Ghedim's smile quirked - ever so slightly - before returning to normal.

"And thank you, Lord Milverton, for...providing the venue for this occasion. It is fascinating to me how some it Taelarys gleefully embrace the least bit of bloodsport - rather like vultures circling a corpse, wouldn't you agree? In Rhetiz, what ritual combat we have is an exhibition of martial excellence, not a charnel endurance contest. And we do not glorify the death of a traitor, we dispose of them in the darkness and misery they deserve."

Ghedim's smile never wavered as he sipped at his wine, but his eyes darted to meet Tarin's for a moment before returning to Jameson as he began speaking to Claye. Before she could respond, Ghedim let out a sharp laugh, a barbed razor of sound that cut through the conversation.

"Planning renovations, Lord Milverton? Are you expecting everyone to purchase drinks as well as dinner, or have you set up a collection plate somewhere?"

8th of Bargenholt
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Ghedim, Mikado

Ghedim did not immediately respond to Mikado's greeting, instead running his eyes up and down the foreigner in the clinical way a butcher might appraise a piece of meat. Finally, a languid smile appeared on his face, though he declined to return the nod.

"Greetings. You must be the stranger who's caused such a stir around the city. It is a pleasure to meet you."

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Ghedim, Mikado

"Indeed? I suppose I must be, at that." The Ikokuian replied, while keeping his smile up rather effortlessly, though for a brief moment it seemed more sarcastic than anything else. "Allow me to introduce myself properly, then: Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado, formerly of Ikoku. Charmed." The black-haired man refrained from inclining his head again, assuming that such was either not the tradition of Rhetiz, or that Ghedim was a rather reserved individual with little use for pleasantries. Or, perhaps, he was suspicious of a man of Ikoku, a nation with their own ancient and exotic tradition of shinobi assassins. Or perhaps Ghedim had simply sensed that he, too, was trained in the arts of hand to hand combat. Mikado dismissed the useless theories as soon as they sprung up, though, rather studying the bearded man before him.

"Am I correct in assuming you are here merely for the ... company, rather than the spectacle?", he proceeded to ask. What little he knew of Rhetiz didn't tell him much, but the man before him didn't strike him as the bloodthirsty sort who enjoyed brute blood-sport. More like a finely honed razor of a man. "I myself care little for public executions. But," he continued as he took a sip from his half-filled glass of wine, "the opportunity to meet certain people was too good to miss."

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
1:50 PM
The Lord's Arena
Jameson with Anselme, Eiko, Mikado

Jameson looks to the side and signals with his hand. A man dressed in a simple suit, but one of fine materials, a suit fit for a minor noble or moderately successful merchant steps forward.

“Yes lord” Bursop says.

Bursop is one of my most trusted men, Jameson says. "Bursop, please make yourself available should Lord Mikado need introductions or just to know who is who."


8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:12 p.m.
Jameson, Mikado

Jameson laughs. “I will bring you to meet with him after the show, hopefully it will have improved his mood!”

OOC – The prince is not my character, he belongs to dark and I’m just borrowing him for the event, if you want to have a chat with him I think you should arrange it with him.

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Ghedim, Tarin and Claye

Jameson does not allow his face to show anything but the wide smile of a man enjoying himself, most would not even think he noticed the insults.

"Ambassador", he says, "I think you misunderstand. Death by combat is not meant to glorify the traitor, but to humiliate them. They are put in front of thousands, stripped of rank, title and name and forced to fight, receiving painful injuries, until they die. It is meant to be a lesson to those who might stray, this is what happens, this is where you will end up. We like our justice in the open. But this of course is not our regular fair, you must come back another day when we have true gladiators fighting each other!”

(After the renovations comment)

Jameson laughs as if a jolly joke had been made, like a friend in on the joke. “Collection plates no, but with the stands as packed as they are, the clubs are filled as well. I am but a businessman, I make no pretenses otherwise. Today is my chance to serve the empire and make a decent profit. I've already had a number of nobles request membership. I believe this event will do wonders for my little business.”

[the_druid_droid]

7th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Grand Inquisitor’s Office
Tarin and Maxis

As Maxis entered the office, Tarin looked up from the papers on his desk and regarded the younger man for a moment with an appraising look. Behind him, afternoon sunlight streamed in through a wide window, silhouetting the Grand Inquisitor and giving his face a dark cast. At his side, Marcos stood unmoving, as always.

Finally, the gray-haired Inquisitor spoke. “Yes. I’ve been reviewing the performance of all the Inquisitors in preparation for the upcoming Magisterial Council. I note that you’ve had an excellent track record lately; you’ve spearheaded our efforts to investigate the Crimson Cult, and it appears I have you to thank for all the fun Davis Lupil provided during interrogation.” At the mention of Lupil, a smile passed over Tarin’s face, as though at a private joke. “All that considered, I wanted to take this opportunity to commend your excellent service to the House, and I’ll be certain the Council hears about your efforts on their behalf.”

For a moment the Inquisitor paused, thoughtful, although he didn’t take his gaze off of Maxis, and the intensity of his expression was a bit intimidating. “That is not all, however. While you're here, I’d like to get your professional opinion on something. You’ve worked most closely on the incidents involving the Cult, so tell me, are they a threat to be taken seriously? Intelligence reports are mixed, some saying that they are the dwindling remains of an ineffectual rebellion, while others hint at something darker and deeper at work. Before we commit resources to fully pursuing them, I want your input, so please speak freely.”

His question asked, Tarin sat back against his chair to await an answer, although the intensity he projected didn’t fade.

8th of Bargenholt
Diamond Club Terrace
2:03 PM
Tarin and Mikado

Although Mikado passed by quickly with a polite nod, the foreigner’s gaunt features did not escape the Inquisitor’s notice. The signs of malnutrition were second-nature to Tarin, and although the Ikokuian was clearly on the mend, he made quite the sight mingling amongst the Taelaryian nobles so unfamiliar with scarcity.

After the man had passed, a quick look exchanged with Revin confirmed the Inquisitor’s suspicions; the foreigner was the same man that had been paying for goods with polished gems and introducing himself as Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado. A second look was all Tarin needed to ensure that Revin would keep eyes on the interesting man for the remainder of the evening.

8th of Bargenholt
Before the main event
Diamond Club
Jameson, Ghedim, Tarin and Claye

As Jameson continued his greetings, Tarin swirled the wine in his glass, before taking a slightly exaggerated sip to hide his raised eyebrow at the ambassador’s implicit insult. Finishing his wine and lowering the glass, the Inquisitor met Ghedim’s eyes; in the brief flash before the conversation slid on, he tried to discern something there, but did not quite succeed. Doubtless, the silent communication was intriguing; there existed certain factors which made the Inquisitor’s relationship with Jameson unnecessarily complicated, and if Ghedim proved ill-favored toward the businessman, Tarin wouldn’t lose any sleep.

Regardless of his attitude toward Jameson, the Rhetizian had still managed to rise in the Inquisitor’s estimation with his comment about ‘darkness and misery’. Tarin was more than capable of providing traitors like Lupil with an excess of both, and the part of him that called for blood was upset that the rebellious noble hadn’t been remanded to his custody...he had only just begun enjoying himself when the man had confessed, and had been loath to surrender his newest toy so quickly. Just as the Inquisitor felt genuine anger start to rise, Ghedim’s laugh shook him from his darkening thoughts, and with the barest hint of a smile he looked on, waiting to see how his host would respond to the ambassador’s curious sense of tact.

[Xondoure]

7th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Grand Inquisitor’s Office
Tarin and Maxis

Maxis smiled politely while Tarin spoke suppressing the urge to dance with joy. The grand inquisitor was treating him with respect, and asking for his opinion on matters of grave importance to the security of the empire. It was as if a magical being had popped out of nowhere to grant all of his wishes. As he prepared himself to respond however a thought began to pull itself out of the back of his mind until it managed to float into consciousness. We want him scared.

"The cult? At a glance they are nothing more than dissatisfied nobles who have joined together in vain hopes of bettering their lot beyond that of their more successful neighboring houses. Yet one must wonder how foolish such men would need be if they truly thought such pathetic attempts would be effective? They failed once already during the attempted crimson coup and yet still they remain. They struggle against a civilization that has lasted for thousands of years. We drive them from one area of the city only to hear rumors begin in another.
What could possibly drive people to declare loyalty albeit in secret to a failed cause? Either these cultists are possessed of more faith in their beliefs than sane men can concieve of, or there is something they know that we do not, maybe both. Either way such devotion makes them more dangerous than the nobility would like to think. The throne especially would not like to imagine a threat to their security. But then that is why they have the bloodguard to protect them, and that is why the realm has us to cleanse it."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Minutes before the Main Event
The Lord's Arena

"To be perfectly honest, (and honesty is one of my better qualities) I didn't want to come tonight."

Anselme appeared in front of Claye quite suddenly as he rounded a column. If one didn't know better, one might have suspected him of waiting to ambush her. She, being a clever sort, likely knew better and should have properly suspected him of having better things to do with his time than getting a cheap thrill out of startling girls.

He offers over one of two pilfered champagne glasses and laughs, feigning nervousness. "Actually, I only came because I desperately hoped..." His eye flickered to Claye's throat. "That... there would be free food."

"Mmm, that and the fellow who fished me out of the river insisted."

He shrugged as a man does when bored of life and most of the people in the room. Perhaps he had been hiding behind the column to avoid everyone else.

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, Minutes before the Main Event

Despite standing directly in front of one of the fans, Claye found it necessary to tug at her collar even as her own face reddened. "Aheh. I'm surprised Mr. Mikado isn't purple or mutated by now. The guild dumped some nasty stuff into the river that day."

Because *that's* what he wanted to talk about. Think, Claye!

She hesitated for a moment while trying to think of a graceful way to change the conversation.

Did you think of anything to add to the fake Blood Guard plot?
Did my shower give you any problems?
How did you end up in the river?
Eyepatch!

She eventually managed to pick something on-topic. "Well, for free food yeh'd have t' ask a servin' girl. An' speakin' of servin' girls, ain't I a bit old for your tastes?" Claye jokingly gestures in the general direction of Eris.

[TheDarkDM]

8th of Bargenholt
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Ghedim, Mikado

At Mikado's introduction, Ghedim's demeanor warmed palpably, his sense of propriety finally sated by a proper greeting on the part of a stranger. Raising his glass in a silent toast, he sipped politely and returned the nod, though Mikado noticed it was calculated to be precisely a hair shallower than his.

"Yes, you must be indeed. My name is Ghedim vir Tesh al Rastrim, and I must admit that you have seen right through me. We have executions in Rhetiz, but nothing so grand or public as this. Of course, I can understand the narcotic draw of vengeance that has brought the Imperial Scion here along with a smattering of nobles, but the rest? They are here for the comfort of the mob, the warm security of being surrounded by others and indulging in savagery without danger. Yet I can understand that base desire. The worst aspect of this are those parasites who seek to profit from it, to turn a meaningless, barbaric spectacle into a source of ready coin. It does a disservice to Taelar, and to a nobility that is otherwise wonderful company."

Ghedim delivered his diatribe in a soft, pleasant voice, as though he and Mikado were discussing the weather or the season's fashions. But his levity never touched his eyes, and as he concluded they seemed to bore into Mikado.

"Allow me to give you a word of friendly advice, Lord Tatsudoshi - associating with men like Jameson di Milverton may lead to quick profits, but the stain on one's reputation could prove impossible to dispel. The nobles here may revel in d'Lupil's death, but all have their own private dreams that would see them thrown to the arena just as quickly. You purchasing his mansion before his blood is cold has won you no friends with the nobles who matter in this city, but you can repair the damage if you act with the alacrity and the tact I suspect you to be capable of. Just...distance yourself from our host, lest you tie your fortunes inescapably to his. There are others in this city willing to befriend a man of drive and ambition."

And like that, the cold seriousness melted from Ghedim's face and he toasted Mikado one more time. The foreigner could almost have believed he had imagined the lethal earnestness behind the Ambassador's eyes, if not for the lingering chill at the base of his spine.

"But now, you must forgive me my lord, for I must return to attending the guests. I look forward to seeing you again."

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Ghedim, Tarin and Claye

As Jameson refused to rise to the bait, Ghedim's smile only broadened. One would have been forgiven for taking the two as old friends engaging in routine banter, if not for the frigid disdain in Ghedim's eyes.

"You'll forgive me for failing to recognize the service you are providing, my Lord, but I doubt anyone in the lower clubs knows or cares what this man's crimes are. They will simply drink and gamble and whore as they revel in the most basic of bloodsport. It must simply be another sacrifice you make to provide us with such a...lovely venue."

Ghedim took a sip of his wine, his entire bearing relaxed in the same way a cat relaxes while contemplating a trapped mouse.

"As for punishment, I somehow doubt the clumsy insults of the commons and the infantile skills of a slave warrior could compare to what he would have experienced had men of talent been given the task of punishment. But, so long as you make a profit I suppose indulging in barbarism is understandable. After all, I can't imagine a dead man's house sells for much."

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Ghedim, Mikado

The manner with which Ghedim finally returned his greeting caused a very brief rise to the right corner of his mouth. The ambassador's conduct amused, at least for the moment. The man from Ikoku kept his gaze steady, not flinching away from the assassin's calculating eyes, but neither challenging them to a staring contest.

"Who doesn't?" Mikado replied, when the Rhetizian mentioned that they, too, had executions in their city-state. "Though they are rare in Ikoku. Usually all but the worst criminals are expected to end their own life with minimal fuss. Attracting undue attention after one's dishonor is barbaric, as you would put it."

The former, secret leader of the Ninkyoudantai mirrored Ghedim's blasé attitude about their dialogue rather well, listening to every single word al Rastrim offered. By the end of the advising words, a small smile played around Mikado's lips.

"Ah, but it has won their attention," the Ikoku native replied. "And that was all the use I had for di Milverton. It suits me to have people think I needed some aid, at least, to establish myself. I find that being too good at any single task, never mind many, causes needless suspicion. I won't insult you by assuming that you underestimate me, ambassador -- hence, my honesty. After all, I very much look forward to gaining you, specifically, as a friend. You give good advice, and often it helps hearing these things, even if one is aware of them already on some level." Was that a hint of sarcasm in his voice, towards the end? It was hard to tell, but perhaps the wealthy immigrant simply meant to indicate that it was a rather complete 'level' to which he was aware of such matters.

Jameson had instantly struck Mikado as a man of little honor, from their very first meeting, as a man who who would just as soon stab a loyal follower or true friend in the back as shake his hand if it suited him. While the former Dragon Emperor was not opposed to the occasional deception, however, he held a distinct dislike for betrayal and disloyalty.

Taking a sip from the glass of wine in his hand after his little speech, Mikado quickly returned the Rhetizian's toast. "So do I, ambassador, so do I. I imagine we will have much to discuss in the future."

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Ghedim, Tarin and Claye

Jameson’s smile never falters during the exchange, in fact to some watching it would appear that he is a fool, not even noticing the thinly veiled insults.

“Ambassador,” he says with a small shrug, “Those in the copper blade might not know his exact crimes, but they will know he has been punished for crimes against the state. Is this not better than simply having him assassinated in secret? With the lower classes knowing nothing other than that he has died? His crimes secret? Maybe our methods are cruel or barbaric compared to other countries . . . but it is what has worked here for some time.”

“Our gladiators may impress you yet Ambassador! The first few are of course infantile slave warriors as you said. All criminals sentenced to slavery and death. However, should Davis manage to survive long enough, he will face our true warriors. Expert gladiators and even freemen, mercenaries, hoping to claim the prize on his head.”

(Jameson would attempt to excuse himself from the conversation)

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson and Mikado

Jameson approaches Mikado.

“Mikado,” he says, “I have a few moments now and I thought it would be a good time to introduce you to the Prince.”

(assuming Mikado would follow him)

Jameson leads Mikado to the Princes seat, he is discussing something with one of his blood guard.

Jameson clears his throat politely and when the prince looks up says “Prince Darston, allow me to present a recent traveler to our fine city. Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado (I cant recall his full title, but Jameson would use it).”


8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
2:30 the main event
The Lord's Arena


Davis charges out at a speed surprising for all who knew him, after all on last inspection he was a middle aged slightly overweight man. Without hesitation he cuts the gladiators down. The crowd cheers hungering for blood.

Another set of doors open and two gladiators step out, they seem slightly better built but are clearly unsure of themselves. The end is the same, Davis, displaying incredible strength, speed and skill cuts them down.

Up in the Lord's area, Jameson frowns and waves Bursop over, he whispers "This is . . . unexpected . . . have the accountants crunch new betting odds right away, he is going to last longer than predicted."

Despite whispering the Prince laughs a loud deep laugh that reverberates through the near seats drawing the attention.

d'Milverton, he says, Is that really fair to the people placing their bets? He looks to Bursop and says, Cancel that order, keep the houses bets as they were and please place a 10 soveirgn bet for me that Davis will last until round 15 exactly.

Jameson laughs quietly, hiding his irratation, "Prince . . that is quite a specific bet . . . are you sure that is wise?"

The prince gives him a look so strong that those watching the conversation feel a desire to look away.

Milverton he clearly does not pronounce the honorific, allowing the empty space to hang in the air a bet like that is a mere pittance to me. As I said, you don't know exactly how entertaining this affair of your is going to be . . . I on the other hand have a good idea the level of excitement your guests will see today.

Jameson turns back in his seat, looking slightly paler.

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, Minutes before the Main Event
Anselme aside with Claye

Anselme chuckled nervously, blushing visibly and uncharacteristically. He covered his eye patch with the palm of his hand as he did when he was feeling self-conscious... which was seldom. At least, he wasn't inclined to let people know when he was. It may have been hard to believe the man has a consciousness or a conscience. Men with eye patches tended to enjoy a modicum of respect (or fear) but came with an air of nefariousness; people thought ill of you or your intentions. Anselme was many things, sly, too smart for his own good, batty and he possession of a uniquely dark sense of humor. But, no one could say his smiles and flush cheeks weren't genuine. Beneath the debonair facade, the fine clothes and intimidating eye patch, there was a real person. It was quite a lot to take in over a moment, but his one downcast eye said so much.

"Well, I just thought you might enjoy a break from that charmingly vigilant Rhetizian. You speak his language quite well, by the way. Oh, I overheard in the shop. No worries, I'm hardly fluent. I just though I'd inquire as to where you learned. And if you say Rhetiz and leave it at that, well... I'll just be disappointed, I suppose."

Though, he certainly recovered form quite quickly.

[Swordslinger]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Main event
The Lord's Arena
Amandre


At the beginning he had tried to listen in to the discussion between the nearby guests at the arena. However he quickly found that it was impossible to follow what they were speaking about. Their talk about various diplomatic and political matters might as well have been another language for him. Nothing he could understand was particularly useful. He did however hear one of the mechanics speak about the machinery that was humming away in the background, which he found interesting. What marvelous inventions they were, keeping the room much cooler then it would normally be which he was thankful for. Soon all the talk in the room blended with the hum of the cooling machinery and it all became background noise. He spent his time trying to keep track of the locations of his master and the son, annoyingly they did not seem to keep together much after entering the arena. Right now they were both seated at the other end of the room, watching out into the arena. He heard the cheers of the crowds as the main event started, some traitor was to be executed for participating on some cult thing, and he did not really know all that much about it. His master had not volunteered information about it and he had not asked, he was told what the needed to know to do his job and that was enough for now. He looked around, there were few people left at this part of the room now, and from where he was standing he could not see into the arena, it suited him fine. He saw death and murder often enough, usually dealt from his own hand. Yes, he saw too much of that. So he stood at watched as the crowds cheered.

[ForzaFiori]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:24 p.m.
Xavier de Forza, Claye, Mikado

"Ah, Mr. Mikado! I wasn't expecting to see you here. I'm amazed at how quickly you managed to get an invitation to the Diamond Club. Someday you must teach me the trick." Xavier says with a smile. How is the your search for a house going? He asks, before realizing that Claye hasn't been introduced. "Oh, please, excuse my manners. May I present Claye Kilnmyr, Mechanist 1st Class, and my partner in creating this." he gestures behind him to the generator and mass of pipes. "It's a prototype 'Air Conditioner'. My own name, could probably use some work. It's how Jameson has managed to put so many people here without the ladies sweating through their makeup. With any luck, we should have them marketable soon."

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Main event
The Lord's Arena
Xavier de Forza

Xavier found himself at the balcony as the match started. He had been slowing moving his way over, wanting a better seat, and was extremely glad to have it when Davis came out. The difference was amazing, and Xavier found himself getting more and more excited for the fight. As the first few fights, always boring, were taking place, Xavier found Claye. Can you handle everything for a second? I'm gonna go place a bet." He asks, heading off towards the bookies, and bets 10 marks that Davis gets through the 12th fight.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The main event
The Lord's Arena

A third round, a fourth, a fifth without slowing. Davis seemed to have no trouble and the crowd was enjoying it. The sixth, seventh and eighth. Each stronger than the last.

In the crowds some crowed his success enjoying the blood or with bets on a higher round. Others vented their frustration losing money they thought sure. Jameson manages to stay calm for he knows that starting round 10 the odds will quickly swing out of Davis's favor as he begins to fight teams of trained warriors.

On the field though, the gladiators who walked out could feel a wrongness as this tempest of steel rushed towards them. His eyes were mad, his mouth curled into a smile so horrid that one of the men had even wet himself.

Each one to the man, as their life slips from them with davis' steel and mad eyes gouging in, they seem the things swirling about and hear their chattering. The audience cannot tell that the men's screams of pain turn to screams of fear.

Davis chortles as the latest kill slumps to the ground and brings the blade to his face, licking a line of blood off of it.

Sooooonnnnn . . . you shall be free . . . .

Soooooonnnn . . . . the trap . . . dooor . . . .

Soooon our power . . . yours . . . .

The trap door . . . .

He smiles and for a brief moment considers that if he does flee he will miss all this fun, but his thoughts are interrupted as new gladiators walk out onto the stadium floor.

[daelrog]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Bleeding Wasp (Tavern and Whorehouse)
Grey District
2:27PM
Sevran Morn

The lights were lit dim in the dingy, sour-smelling pisshole called the Bleeding Wasp. One of a few dozen establishments within the Grey District known for its ill reputation, the afternoon proved to be a slow day. Many had gone to the surrounding area outside the arena to be the first to hear of some traitorous noble’s death, while some of the other repeat customers had recently found some work, now that murmurs and rumors were spread of potentially new players in the power struggle were coming out.

Still, the whores were lined up on the side, at least those who had the day shift. None of them would have been soft on the eyes under the revealing light of day, but in this place of shadow and dust, one could pretend their silhouettes surrounded a beautiful creature within. A rail thin barkeep sweated, leaning against the mirrored wall to filthy to see any reflection from. A couple, both scavengers, covered from head to toe to fingertip in rags sorted through their findings from the morning’s sweep of the gutters.

Then there was another patron, sitting at the far end of the bar. He appeared to be motionless, save for two fingers gently tapping on the wooden counter. Covered from crown to buttocks in a grey cloak, and covers below in black trousers, the stranger kept his face hidden. However, one who looked closely enough could see black line at the edge of his left cheek, a tattoo, or maybe a soot mark. The man motioned, and the barkeep lazily poured another drink, and left it just within reach of the man’s arms. As the man reached over, the hood of his cloak fell off halfway, but the shadows still covered his features to all but the two scavengers who were used to seeing the dark. Whatever they saw, the stranger’s visage caused them to hurriedly gather their belongings and leave the Bleeding Wasp.

The man started drinking his amber nectar.

[Andural]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The main event
The Lords Arena
Turin

Turin arrived as he had planned, just a bit late by usual standards. He had been briefed on his way in by an associate, so while he hadn't been there himself, he knew exactly who was present. Passing by the guards at the door, he takes in the room.

Quite an august gathering, this party. I wonder what they all want..., he thinks to himself.

Up ahead he sees his host. Apologizing to those he passes by, and nodding to those he knows publicly, he makes his way over to Jameson.

My dear Jameson. I see your event is progressing quite nicely! I trust your purse is feeling heavy as well. But, you look distraught, or am I wrong? I must say that I myself feel like something isn't quite right... At the risk of insulting you, I must ask: are you confident in the safety here?

[the_druid_droid]

7th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Grand Inquisitor’s Office
Tarin and Maxis

While the junior Inquisitor spoke, Tarin wore a thoughtful expression, and his eyes seemed to gaze past Maxis at something else. When the account of the Cult was finished, Tarin nodded slightly before speaking.

“You make a good point, Maxis; I too had wondered if the proliferation of cultists might speak to something deeper at work. As you know, it’s been a very long time since we’ve dealt with genuine heretics, and even longer since those heretics had the power to back up their schemes. If this group does, they merit our closest attentions.” As he spoke, the Grand Inquisitor scribbled a few lines on one of the papers at his desk. “I will bring up the issue at the Council meeting; in the best case, they may provide us with additional resources to combat any perceived menace. However, it is quite possible that they will request we continue to maintain a low profile and work within our current budget; I think some of them quite regret the unfortunate excesses of Fawkes’ rebellion even to this day. In any case, I appreciate your input; first-hand information is always valuable.”

Seemingly done with the conversation, Tarin returned his full attention to the cluttered parchment on his desk. Then, just as Maxis was preparing to leave the office, the older man spoke again. “One last thing Maxis. In contrast to what I’ve already said, I’m afraid it will seem harsh, but I urge you to think of it as advice rather than criticism.” Suddenly, the Inquisitor’s cold blue eyes were trained intently on the young man. “I understand that your noble birth entitles you to a number of...privileges; at the same time, I would hate to think that such pleasures could distract you from attending to the central purpose of our Order. Although it is unpleasant, I want to remind you of a truth about the Inquisition: the day you swore your Oath, you became a Disciple of Pain - a monster, a night-terror - and there is no longer a place for you in the waking world of men. Do not let the idle words of dancing girls and pretty slaves deceive you; others hate and fear you, and if you try to live like the man you were and not the monster you have become, you will soon find yourself locked in a madhouse.”

Tarin's eyes stayed locked on Maxis for a moment longer, until he gestured for Marcos to show the young Inquisitor out.

[Jade_Tarem]

23rd of Logiscae: 3814 AoT, Masurao Castle Dungeon (Ikoku), Shortly before dawn

Outside it was beautiful. Everything was just coming into bloom, even the cherry blossoms, and dew sparkled under the moonlight on the leaves of every still surface. It was quiet and still, with Masurao Castle rising peacefully and majestically from the nearby rise, overlooking the critical Thousand Sword Pass.

Inside the Castle's dungeon, the scenery left much to be desired. While well maintained, there are some stains that you just can't get out of old stonework, and the heavy iron cages didn't add anything to the decor. Weak, anemic torchlight spattered the walls with flickering and ghostly illumination, and rodents darted through the shadows, occasionally pursued by one of Lord Shigeru's many cats. And as for quiet...

"Nooooobohhhddddyy knowwwws.... the troubllles Ah've seeen! Nobody knows my sorrows! Nobo-"

Claye's off-key singing was interrupted by a slight cough from the shadows. She stopped suddenly - she had thought she was alone in here, and would be until her scheduled execution. She hadn't quite begun to panic yet - she'd been in worse scenarios than this, although she couldn't remember when off the top of her head.

"Who's there?" Claye rolled her eyes. Her knowledge of the local language was spotty at best, and in fact was part of what had landed her in the cage. She had yet to meet the Ikoku native that could speak her own tongue.

So imagine her surprise when the answer came back, tinged with amusement and an accent, but nonetheless clear. "A better question might be, what am I to you?"

"...what?" Maybe his grasp of the language wasn't as good as she thought.

"I do not mean to be cryptic, Miss... Claye, was it?" The hesitation suggested that he had gotten her names reversed on purpose. "However, I myself, like you, am not supposed to be here."

"That's not what that 'Lord Shigeru' said. At least, Ah think that's what he said."

"That is what happens when you insult a Samurai Lord with such a fragile ego, no matter how accidentally. Would you mind if I asked you a question?"

Claye snorted. "So long as yeh can spit it out before sunrise."

"Ah, you still have a sense of humor. Excellent. Now, here you are, scheduled to die in the very near future. You have traveled from a distant land to this country, thrown defiance in the teeth of a very powerful man, caused an amount of chaos and property damage far in excess of what a single woman should be able to, and now face, with rather considerable grace and poise, near-certain death via trial-by-combat with an extremely accomplished warrior."

Claye's eyes narrowed. "An' yeh want t' know why?"

"I do indeed, though that is not my question."

The corner of Claye's mouth quirked upward. "Someone important t' me came this way. I've been followin' him for three years. He's the last family member Ah've got."

"I do not remember any similar foreigners arriving, but I'll grant that you may be telling the truth. Now, you have to know already that the fight tomorrow is anything but fair. You are denied the use of your sorcery, which leaves you with a weapon that you can barely pronounce, let alone wield, versus a man twice your size who has used it all his life."

The prisoner sniffed. "Ah can pronounce 'noduchy' and 'wacky-sushi' just fine, thank you. What's the little sword for, anyway?"

The man planted his face in his hand. "They will tell you if you lose. May I continue?" Claye nodded.

"There are certain options available to a person in your position which the good Lord Shigeru has apparently 'forgotten' to mention to you. Among them is the ability to name a champion."

"A champion?"

"Someone who will fight for you. That is the correct word in your language, yes? I thought so. If you can name a willing champion, then he or she may take your place. The system could not have lasted this long if those with political power had no way to defend themselves from those with martial skill."

"An' yeh'll fight for me?" Claye sounded dubious.

"I? No. But I do have someone in my employ who will, at my order. I am confident that she can best Shigeru tomorrow - or today, rather."

"..." Claye sat there for a moment. It sounded too good to be true. Her eyes narrowed. "There's a price, I take it?"

"There is. I do not go around leasing out Chiyome for free."

Claye gestured at herself and rattled the door of her cage. Other than her basic battle-mage outfit, everything had been taken from her before she was imprisoned. "They took my pack. An' Ah wasn't exactly rich before that."

"I am not short of material riches - what I want from you is more abstract. I have heard some... interesting things about Taelarys. In particular, I've heard about a certain stockpile of powerful weaponry..."

"You're jokin,' right? Even out here people have heard 'bout the Dark Armory?"

"And the names that go with it. The others may have missed the significance of the name 'Kilnmyr,' but I did not. The price for your salvation is simple - should you ever find it, I wish to know. When the time comes, you will tell me, through whatever means you see fit, where, when, and how to get in."

"It won't be as easy as you're thinkin,' an' there's no guarantee yeh could even survive inside. Besides, how do yeh know Ah'll keep my end of the bargain?"

"Those are risks that I am willing to reexamine in the future, and after you see Chiyome fight, I doubt you would want to cross me like that." The man glanced out the window, noticing the slow brightening of the sky. "You wanted me to ask my question before sunrise, so here it is - do we have a deal?"

Claye grinned. "Ah'd like to know your name, first."

"Of course, how rude of me. Miss Kilnmyr, you may call me..."

8th of Bargenholt: 3817 AoT, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m.
Claye, Xavier, and Mikado

"Mikado!" Claye exclaims, momentarily stunned. She remembered him, oh yes, and not from the river, either.

She takes a moment to remember, but then manages to one-up expectations by bowing properly in the style of Ikoku - and to the correct height, no less.

"Ah'd hope yeh'd remember me, although Ah admit the lack of a cage might make me hard t' recognize."

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, during ongoing combat
Claye and Anselme

The mechanist grinned. "Would it surprise yeh t' learn that Ah picked it up from my grandfather? He taught me a lot of what Ah know, but for some things yeh just have t' get out an' about..." She gets cut off by the start of the fighting - the part she'd more or less been dreading.

Claye watched Davis plow through one gladiator after another, gritting her teeth. What a senseless waste of human life. Eventually, though, a worry began gnawing at her. "Anselme? Wasn't this Lupil guy a merchant? An' middle aged? When's the last time yeh've seen a middle aged merchant fight like a rabid tiger?"

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Jameson speaking with Turin

Jameson steps away from his seat as Turin approaches, he can't help but continue glancing over towards the arena where Davis is killing."Turin, I am glad you could make it, you have been missing quite the show. That fat bastard Lupil somehow got in shape and remembered how to fight. I am going to get killed in the long bets, the odds they were playing . . . the payouts."

He shakes his head sadly.

Jameson looks back to the arena and winces as Davis skewers a muscled gladiator with the mans own spear.

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Round 9

From his position Anselme begins to suspect that much is amiss with Davis, but despite the view he is not close enough to really see. Perhaps if he got closer?

Something had been bothering Claye for a few rounds, she had seen Davis not too long ago and he should not be able to move like that. By round 9 she is positive that his abilities have been enhanced with some sort of magic.

OOC - any character that hits a 4 with int/cunning/magic will suspect something is very wrong by round 9. Any character that hits a 6 will see it as a magic enhancement. Anyone that rolls well above that PM me. Those who want to get much closer may see more.


8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Start of Round 14

Jameson, sitting back next to the prince is feeling nervous enough that it is breaking through his normal self control. The prince however, looks bored.

"Is this to take all day d'Milverton?" the prince says. "I came here to see a lord killed, not watch a traitor slaughter your poorly trained warriors."

"Your highness," Jameson says, "I have more skilled warriors, each group fiercer than the last, I am sure one will put that dog down soon."

As he says that Davis nearly decapitates one of the gladiators.

"No, you are playing with forces you have no control over," the prince replies. "Allow me to show you how this is done, order your men to begin dumping extra weapons into the arena, everything available."

"Your highness . . . surely you jest . . .

"I do not Milverton, these people want a blood bath, let us give it to them." The prince snaps his finger at Bursop. "You are his man correct? Give the order to dump the weapons in, your lord is too busy sputtering, or I will have both of your heads."

Bursop moves quickley and before the round ends baskets of knives and swords, spears and other weapons are dumped into the arena, enough to arm a small army.

The prince looks to Jameson and gives him a bright smile, "This is the start of round 15 if I am not mistaken . . . I do believe I bet on this round."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, during ongoing combat
Claye and Anselme

Anselme had been more interested in Claye than the fight and it wasn't until concern crossed her face that he turned to peered down to blood drenched arena floor.

"I supposed I'd fight with abandon if my life was on the line. Or maybe he made a last minute deal with the..."

Serafino's parting words echoed in his mind. "One more thing. It will get complicated. You picked a tough city to play with! And something wicked this way comes... better remember. Fast."

Two days? Oh you've got to be kidding. Without returning his eye to Claye, he set his hand firmly about her wrist and whispered, "We should go. Now."

[Andural]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lords Arena
Round 9
Turin, Jameson

Turin notices Jameson becoming a bit nervous. Looking around, he sees a lady machinist's eyes open just a bit wider as she looks at Davis. Curious as to what she saw, he turns back to the arena.

Hmm.. now this seems unlikely... he moves like a snake, not like a merchant... he thinks to himself.

Jameson, are you sure you placed the correct man in the arena? Something seems very odd here to me...


After his conversation with Jameson, he will move over to Claye and Anselme. Claye has noticed something odd as well, it seems.

Turin, Claye, Anselme
Excuse me for interrupting, he begins, having noticed Anselme grabbing Claye's hand, but perhaps you can help me. My name is Turin, and that will have to do for now. I have a bad... let's say feeling about this execution. It appears to me you noticed as well, so I was wondering what you saw?



14th of Auravath, 3817 AoT
ATC Holdings Conference Room
7:00pm
Anres family

Turin surveyed the assembled Family. He sighed, inwardly. It was so unusual to see them all together. Aunts, uncles, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews... and his father. His father was proud of him, he knew. He only hoped that he would continue to do so in what came next.

"Nice to see you, everyone. Please have a seat, there's some snacks and drinks over there," he motions with his wine glass. "As you know, we have a new member of the Family Council today. You all know Melaine, she's shown she's capable and we're happy to have her voice join ours." Melaine, a girl of 16ish, smiles confidently. He was happy to have her, she was a strong supporter, but not afraid to voice her opinions. Many of the older members had been forced to silence for years under his Uncle Antas.

I have some things to say later on, but first, I'll open the floor to you. Does anyone have any issues they'd like to raise?

Most of the evening was taken up by minor, but important, Family issues and reports. Turin sat back and let the debates wash over him, only speaking to keep the discussion on track when necessary. He found it rarely necessary to contribute unless something pertained to ATC directly, or to him. The Family was fully capable to work out the small details.

When business settled down, he spoke up.

"Nice to hear everything is going well. I wish to discuss something different then the usual business. I've been perusing the Family records, and have come across something interesting." He looks around the room. "None of you, nor I, were around back then. As it turns out, we... played a bit of a role in the turning around of the Crimson Cult. I've checked with my grandfather, and he confirms the story. Now here's the interesting thing. We didn't turn this around via ATC, or via monetary means. The way we accomplished it was through a pooling of our strength in Chance. The Family murmurs. This had, as far as I can tell, never been done before. And, I feel that this can be used to a serious advantage. Now. And, here is how I propose to do it...

[Xondoure]

7th of Bargenholt
Afternoon
Grand Inquisitor’s Office

"I assure you grand inquisitor, such idle pleasantries are but a distraction of the flesh, my true purpose remains strong."

8th of Bargenholt
Lord's Arena
Round 9

Something was not right. Dolen remembered Davos, even if it wasn't his memory. And this man was not the same.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AOT
The Lords Arena
Round 9
Kyranis, Liella, Tera

The three Ostrim begin to push through the crowd, to get a better view. This was supposed to be an execution, after all, not a slaughter of slaves.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
2:24 p.m.
Claye, Xavier de Forza, Mikado

A brilliant smile found its way to the Ikokuian's face as the redhead recognized, and even bowed to, him. Rather than return the bow, however, he reached for her hand; in a gallant demonstration of his understanding of local manners, he took one step forward and breathed a gentle kiss onto its back, briefly looking upward to lock his gaze with hers. "How could I forget? It's a rare occasion one meets such a fiery woman in my homeland as Claye Kilnmyr." His use of the common tongue was without a trace of an accent, carefully practiced and clear.

He stood up straight again, inclining his head slightly. "I was afraid you would not recognize me, actually. After the journey here, I'm not quite myself."

The tall man -- surprisingly tall for the people of his native country -- chuckled as he indicated towards himself; though already on the mend, the signs of prolonged fatigue and undernourishment were still there. Even more obvious to Claye, as the image of Mikado in his prime still lingered in her mind. Gone was the powerful but lean frame that resembled the grace of a panther as he moved -- there was still evidence of his training, of course, as evidenced by his smooth movements. But he was almost painfully thin by comparison. "I'll remedy that, but it will take some time."

The black-haired man frowned briefly as a thought occurred to him; for a moment, he stared intently at the red wine in his glass, before his brown eyes sought out those of the mechanist before him once again. "I'd like to invite you to my new residence in the city, come to think of it. It has been almost three years, hasn't it? There is much to discuss." His eyes briefly unfocused as he thought back to his first inspection of the place, and the fact that there were far too many secret passages Jameson had happily pointed out for him. "It will need some work first before it's presentable, of course. But I already spoke to Master de Forza about that." He chuckled, patting the inventor next to them on the shoulder briefly.

Considering their past relationship, Claye was fairly certain that Mikado wouldn't be opposed to hiring her services as well; he likely simply didn't inquire right now because it would be impolite to do so. Plus, the foreigner had already made an offer to Xavier and he wasn't one to go back on his word. Perhaps he also considered it impolite to ask for her mechanist skill to fix up the place he had invited her to as a guest, but that was mere projection.

[Kasanip]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
Main Event
Eris

The fight was actually uncomfortable to watch. Eris did not pay attention to it very much. There was no interest in the fighting, she was a sorcerer and well above the pitiful level of these fighters. And there were still foods and drinks to serve to the guests.

She was not uncomfortable of the fight. Eris was still uncomfortable because of Anselme, and then after him, the stranger who had taken a canape off of her tray. That had been a dangerous, evil feeling.
More challengers were killed by the prisoner. It was a waste of life, Eris felt disdainful. Truly the city had changed if this is what happened every week.
There were games and gladiators when she had been young of course. But she did not go to see them.
Now she wondered if it always had been this way.
Eris maneuvered through the crowd.
Then the weapons began to be put in the arena.
Why?
Eris thought that was a stupid idea. But the Prince ordered, so many of the servants had to go to do the task.
Stupid Prince. Eris thought darkly.

[TheDarkDM]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Mikado, and the Prince

Darston looked away from his Blood Guard slowly, his fiery red eyes boring into the minor noble and the foreigner. The Imperial Scion made no attempt to hide his disdain for both of the men before him, though Mikado thought he caught a glimmer of curiosity in the Prince's eyes. Deliberately, the Prince's head moved down a sliver, clearly the closest Mikado would get to a gesture of greeting.

"So, this is our mysterious foreign visitor. How do you find our fair city, Ikokuan?"

8th of Bargenholt
During the main event
The Lord's Arena

As the main event progressed, Ghedim noticed a strange air about d'Lupil. The Rhetizian couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he'd seen all manner of men fight. Desperate men, foolish men, men with no place in combat, and the flacid, broken noble below him moved like none of them ever could have. Moving to the edge of the arena, Ghedim focused all his attention on the combatants, his eyes narrowing until they were naught but slits in his face. The dark spray of arterial blood and the bubbling foam of desperation painted d'Lupil's face like a grizly portrait, but that only hid something else, something deeper. The sixth round passed, then the seventh, but on the eighth Ghedim finally realized what had caught his attention in the first place. It was not d'Lupil's sudden prowess, or his sudden amazing strength. No, it was the simple fact that his skin seemed to be moving on its own, before the rest of him. It was a quick thing, subtle, the kind of thing one would miss if one hadn't grown up around vipers, but before every strike d'Lupil's skin would ripple towards his target, dragging his arm along almost as an afterthought. And the speed and ferocity of it were only growing more intense.

Turning on his heel, Ghedim surveyed the crowd. The Prince, surrounded by his Blood Guard, was addressing Mikado and Jameson, and Anselme and Claye seemed deep in conversation. Then his eyes lighted on Tarin and Ghedim moved forward. Feigning a trip, he bumped close enough to the Inquisitor to whisper in his ear.

"Prepare yourself. Something very dangerous is happening to d'Lupil."

With a meaningful look, Ghedim pulled away with a mumbled apology, his hand brushing against Tarin's as he left. As the Inquisitor processed his brief warning, he felt his hand close around something sharp, and on examination found a push dagger of dull black steel lying in his palm.

Making his way through the crowd, Ghedim eventually reached Azlian. Taking her by the arm and murmuring apologies to the flock of highborn ladies around her, Ghedim led Azlian into a shadowed alcove of the terrace. Away from the luminaries of society, Azlian's gay demeanor cooled to a languor that belied deadly professionalism.

"Ghedim dear, I do hope you have a good reason for interrupting this lovely soiree."

The sarcasm in her demeanor was well concealed, but it was obvious that Azlian found the proceedings near as boorish as her countryman.

"No time for banter Azlian. Something is going very wrong in the arena, and I fear it may become dangerous very soon."

"What's going on?"

"I think d'Lupil might be possessed."

Immediately, all relaxation melted from Azlian. Reaching to the back of her belt, she pulled a flat silver plate free with a soft click. Her hands moved with practiced speed to dismantle other discreet elements of her dress, until the silver plate had become a hand crossbow.

"Most of these nobles will panic if you're right. This place will become a madhouse."

"Get to a high place. I'll try and position myself to get them out of here as quickly as possible."

[Mono Vertigo]

8th of Bargenholt
The Area (Diamond Club Terrace)
Before the Main Event
Eiko

Eiko fought against the itch. On the bright side, there weren't nearly as many ribbons and frills as she'd feared, the clothes favoring the sheer quality of the fabric over excessively fancy details. On the other hand... silk, wool, whatever it was, the sleeves were made out of an alien material she wasn't used to. And the collar. And the long skirt.
Oh, and the upper class was annoying as well, but at least, she got to get away from them. At first, the gossips she gathered weren't relevant to anything at all, mentioning family members she had no idea even existed. Part of her wondered what the heck she was doing there; the rest brought back the promised rewards. The Tengu just sighed and went to look harder.
If all else failed... well, she could always ask a sparrow, or something. Hopefully, she wouldn't have to resort to that.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Before the main event
The Lord's Arena
Jameson, Mikado, and the Prince

Mikado sent a calculated look of disdain into the direction of Jameson as the Prince studied them, certain that the informant would take no offense by it if he noticed -- after all, to mirror the obvious sentiments of a prince was usually a good idea, and the man was certainly used to his business partners treating him like an unwanted pariah amongst company. Not that Mikado considered di Milverton a business partner at the moment, but they had indeed already done business, at least.

He had, of course, bowed quite properly and according to local etiquette when he had come into the Prince's sight, only raising his own gaze and voice when so bid by the royal scion.

"Your Royal Highness," he began, announcing both his respect and understanding of the man's station by using the proper form of address as a greeting. Mikado found the noble's red eyes quite curious, bit kept himself from openly staring -- it wouldn't do to look like a dumbstruck commoner before Darston.

"Dirty," the Ikokuan announced with a surprising amount of honesty. "But fascinating."

He inclined his head slightly, a questioning look surfacing to see if the Prince had any objections to him continuing to speak or wished to reply. If not, he continued in a formal manner:

"As a representative of Ikoku by merit of my presence here and descent of the first Emperor of Ikoku, Korei, by blood, I would like to announce our best wishes for your nation and its capital. I am Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado of the former Clan Tatsudoshi, now its sole descendant."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, during ongoing combat
Claye and Anselme interrupted by Turin

Anselme started when a voice came from behind. In the same instant he'd felt for the sword that wasn't on his hip, he instead pushed his heart back down from his throat, swept the left side of his coat back and slipped his hand down from Claye's wrist to intertwine with her fingers.

"S-saw?" he stammered, apparently having not heard the preceding remarks, "Please, sir... oh you won't tell my father, will you?"

He made an awfully good show of a desperate plea, "I know she's just a commoner, but, oh, look at those eyes! Can't you see that we're..." He yanked Claye's arm aloft and waggled the conjoined pair of hands at Turin. Already leading Claye away and towards an exit he continued his star cross lovers speech. "Think of my poor mother! You won't tell, will you sir? Oh bless you, sir! Bless you!"

Once out of sight he turns to Claye with a sheepish, if not altogether unapologetic look.

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m.

Claye nods. "Ah'd like that." Mikado certainly had changed, at least physically, although if he'd sailed straight from Ikoku then the voyage would take its toll on anyone. She brightens momentarily, the corner of her mouth quirking upwards. "But you're far too charitable. After what happened to Masurao Castle Ah'm surprised yeh'd want me under a roof at all."

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, During Ongoing Combat
Claye, Anselme, and Turin

Beet-red, Claye starts to stammer something out before being almost literally lifted off her feet by the taller man, but she manages to keep up with the charade, if only just.

Once out the door, she starts to resist earnestly, though. "Anselme!" she hisses, "The people back there are gonna get hurt. We've got to get 'em out of there!"

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, During Ongoing Combat
Claye, Anselme, and Turin

Anselme grits his teeth and finally releases Claye before throwing his shoulders exasperatedly into the adjacent wall and running his fingers through his hair, perturbed and begging for more time.

"Damn you woman. I gave up playing the hero a long time ago." He finally dared to looked at her from between his splayed fingers. "I don't suppose you have a plan for herding nobles calmly out of the building? Free shrimp cocktails in the mezzanine!?"

Running his gloves down the length of his face, he mutters to himself, "And I hoped to beat the rush..."

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena (Antechamber), During Combat

"What, yeh mean if my amazin' eyes don't win their hearts?" Claye snarks. "Ah'm not askin' yeh t' be a hero, but you... Ah've heard yeh talk. Ah bet you could sell seawater to sailors! If yeh help me, Ah think we could convince 'em."

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, Round 14
Moments after leaving Claye with a plan

Anselme, having climbed onto a serving table, unceremoniously nudged a number of glasses over the edge with the toe of his boot. After the brief cacophony, he cleared his throat and began speaking with a clarion voice, calmly commanding the attention of anyone who hadn't glanced over at sound of the shattering crystal.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I regret to inform you that there is a small, but very real fire in the direction of the kitchen. Should be under control quite quickly, but until it is, we," he gestured to himself in the royal sense, "Would appreciate your cooperation in temporarily vacating the premises in an orderly fashion. This is only a safety precaution and we do appreciate your cooperation in this matter!"

"Ladies first, of course!" he shouted while leaping from the table and taking the nearest noblewoman by the arm and gently urging her towards the door. "Follow me, everyone. Double file, if you please!"

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, Round 14
Moments after leaving Anselme with a plan

Her first instinct had been to follow Anselme's advice - to cut and run. But the image of her Grandfather's disapproving face had lodged itself in her skull and stayed there. She couldn't run - not while she knew she could still help.

"Those with power are expected to use it with integrity, Claye. It is far easier to live with scars than regrets."

Claye darted into the kitchen area - the place was packed, but she would soon fix that.

The place could have given the Machinist's guild a run for its money in terms of dangerous equipment. While Jameson tried to treat his employees well, things were backing up in the kitchen due to the sudden workload, hot surfaces were everywhere, and there were corners of the place that were nearly walled off by the many stoves, pots, pans, and other assorted cooking gear that had been piling up for the last three hours.

She made her way to the back corner of a kitchen, snagging a hanging apron along the way. She was a terrible cook herself - she had once burned a boiled egg, somehow - and knew that this new experience wasn't going to end well either.

She found an unoccupied spot in the back, crammed a bunch of assorted ingredients into the stove there, and timed the moment such that no one had a line of sight to her at the time of her shot. She concentrated. This is gonna be tricky. I need a fire big enough to scare people, but small enough not to burn the building down.

Holding out her hand, a small ball of fire materialized in it as her eyes took on a bright red-orange glow. She then stepped back and flung the ball of fire into the stove while slamming the door shut.

The result was more or less what she'd hoped for. She tossed her apron on top of the hot metal and darted out the back door seconds before flames began to shoot through the piping and the door slats. Smoke began billowing out - but so far, every flaming object was contained on or in the metal stove. If the staff moved quickly, they could probably put it out before too much damage was done.

Claye grinned as she heard the shouting within. Anselme would be getting everyone's attention any moment now. She turned and made her way back into the Diamond Terrace.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
Round 14
The Lord's Arena

Of course, Mikado hadn't exactly missed what was going on -- he had recognized that something was wrong with the supposedly old nobleman rather quickly once the fighting had started. The main question he had pondered, as the Ikokuan had watched the proceedings with a renewed interest, was how he might take advantage of such a development. Still, ponderances or not, Anselme's sudden announcement was hard to ignore.

With his realization of the current going-ons in the arena, it was fairly obvious what Anselme was doing. Mikado knew all too well that the man didn't belong to the local staff, and that Jameson was far more likely to keep such a faux-pas as quiet as possible if there was an actual fire.

As the former Dragon Emperor's eyes darted towards the man he himself had invited, he couldn't help but notice his female accomplice. He remembered all too well that where Claye was concerned, flames usually had a way of breaking out very easily.


Ultimately, Mikado stepped forward from behind a column just as Claye was making her way back into the Diamond Terrace, ironically mirroring something Anselme had done not so long ago as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Admirable effort," the foreigner noted leisurely. "I knew I dragged that madman out of the river for a reason." He casually glanced towards the direction of the arena, continuing on more quietly. "I may be weakened, but I can still hold my own -- if that goes berserk, I'll do my part. A flaming sword might help, if such a thing could be found in the vicinity." The confident grin that made its way onto his face made it clear what the man was implying, though Mikado himself wasn't sure if a quick enchantment was within the scope of magical skills Claye possessed.

While he wasn't really fully aware of the current problem around Claye's sorcerous abilities, he had concluded something close enough already. Xavier had not mentioned a sorcerer title, and in this city there were certain monopoles to consider. Hence the more subtle approach.

[Andural]

After watching the strange man and Claye disappear in a hurry, Turin judged his chances. Something was clearly going to go awry. Perhaps he should leave now, but there was something to be gained by staying, he felt.

"Hmmm, perhaps moving closer to the men with all the guards would beneficial."

Turin moved to stand by Jameson and the Prince, close enough to hear, but not just yet participating in their conversation. He gazed around the room...

[Mono Vertigo]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lord's Arena
Round 14
Eiko

The servant only really took notice of the fight because of her own experience. A few glances here and there, but only did the logic kick in. Hey, the guy wasn't very young. Or muscular. Having not paid much attention, she didn't remember what exactly he was there for, but she was fairly certain he hadn't been condemned for mass murder. Which he'd doing currently under her eyes since he started fighting.
What the heck.
And yet, while she was bothered by the sight – that man shouldn't be able to do that move so smoothly, she'd know it, she lost her balance last try she attempted that swing – she didn't register the event as particularly worthy of notice.
Mainly, because she didn't know enough about magic to be suspicious as to the cause, and she wasn't interested by things she didn't understand;and secondly, some warning made itself heard immediately. Where was Mikado gone? She left the area reserved to servants and looked for her employer, pushing not too ceremoniously the worried crowd. “Sir Mikado! Is everything okay?”, she shouted.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lord's Arena
Round 14
Kyranis, Liella, Tera

"Well, that was unlikely"

"Indeed. The Sword-Servitors probably couldn't have pulled off that move, and they're trained for this."

"So. That's not the real Davis d'Lupil down there."

"It seems that way. Stupid of Jameson to have substituted a real fighter, though."

Then there's a fire to worry about.

"And now it seems the idiot can't even get competent kitchen staff..."

The trio move over toward the line that's forming.

[DJDeMiko]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lord's Arena
Round 15

Chaos is a simple thing really. One minute order, the next too many things occur and suddenly chaos.

Near the exit on a table a charismatic man attempts to help, loudly, his efforts clearly moving those near to him. In another area, a small group notices the smell of smoke.

For a moment, order seems to hold and a number of nobles and their servants begin making their way towards the exit following the nice man with the eye patch.

And then it comes crashing down as The prince stands. Perhaps he had not heard Anselme, perhaps he did and did not care or maybe, those with more sinister minds might think, he heard him and had already expected something like this to happen.

The prince speaks, this is important because as those there could tell you, he did not yell, he simply spoke. Yet his voice carried loudly through the Diamond Club balconies, through the club and out across the arena, reaching the ears of all watching the spectacle and even Davis himself who stood watching his new four opponents moving in towards him.

"My countrymen," he said causing an audible hush to fall through the arena. "On behalf of our emperor, I offer a new bounty to any man woman or slave who enters the arena, 100 soveirgns to the person who kills Davis, weapons have been made available to you."

For a moment everyone stopped to process this, the nobles who had been starting to exit pausing, this idea so unexpected that even the threat of an unseen fire did not hurry them.

In the crowds of the Arena no one spoke as for the briefest moment as orders fingertips grasped for any hand hold. And then it fell with a roar as some began to scream in delight and as dozens of men, and even a few women, began scrambling to the arena and climbing down the inner wall to reach the weapons. While those who survived would suggest that the entire audience poured in, the reality is that it was only a small portion. But even 5% of a crowd of thousands is enough to cause pandemonium.

Men and women, some trained, most not, some sober, most not, grabbed for weapons and began charging at Davis, the thought of 100 soveirgns so powerful that most forgot that only moments before they had cheered this former noble on as he had slaughtered trained gladiators. Their ends where the same. Yelling with glee Davis began to cut them down.

Up within the Diamond Club, Anselme still had an effect. Wiser heads prevailed, fun was fun, but fire was fire. A good number of nobles continue to exit because of his and Claye's actions. Not all though, this new spectacle is too much, this scene of chaos, too much for their eyes too ignore, not as long as a more present danger did not present itself. Anselme though, will note a feeling of something darkly evil staring at him and gets the specific sensation that he has unknowingly interfered with somethings designs. He cannot place where the sensation is something from and as soon as it comes, it goes.

The prince stands with a smile on his face and deep down even Jameson shudders, for this seems cold and callous even to him.

"I told you he would fall in round 15," the prince says softly, "I just helped a bit."

No matter what one might think of the Prince and his morality, there is one simple fact, one man cannot stand against hundreds. For every three that Davis cut down, a spear would pass through, he began to falter and this was when it happened.

Nowwww . . . . . let . . . ussss innnnn

The trap . . . . dooor

A cloud of dust and energy erupts from around him as the swirling shapes begin to dive and push into his bodies. It sends the first row of living attackers flying back into those behind, the dust cloud it kicks up blocks all view. However, those in the audience and above can see that the fools rushing in for the kill have started running, running back and those closest see some attempting to flee suddenly being pulled back into the roiling dust.

The event lasts seconds and as soon as it had billowed up the dust begins to settle, dozens of people scrambling at the walls of the arena trying to climb back out and only a few in the stands remaining to help them up, most fleeing.

As the dust settles Davis is gone, but a large opening is seen in the Arena floor roughly where he had stood, the explosion seeming to have burst it open. In addition, some of the fallen seem to be twitching and trying to stand. Some of the more intrepid citizens seem to be ignoring this and climbing down the hole in pursuit of Davis.

Up above, in the diamond club, another type of chaos was about to be unleashed. As soon as the explosion starts, the rooms fill with the screams of men, screams of horror and pain, followed by numerous shocked screams.

OOC - Roll resuts

Diamond club notice checks -

2 - a number of men in guards outfits have suddenly fallen down screaming as their skin shrivels in, after only a few seconds they look like corpses dead a few days.
4 - a group of nobles have drawn daggers and are advancing towards the Prince, Jameson and Turin
6 - It is clear from the way the men are moving that Jameson is their target, not the prince.


Noticing in the arena checks -

2 - the people switching don't seem to be moving like normal humans and you think you can spot that a few seem to be very injured.
4 - Some of the switching folks trying to stand have clearly suffered mortal wounds. In addition, for a moment you clearly saw a huge creature, that looked like a grossly bloated human climbing into the hole in the arena
6 - You got a clear glimpse of what davis has become, nearly 9 feet tall and bloated like a gaseous corpse, his hands end in claws and his mouth seems filled with rows of huge teeth


Magicish checks in the diamond club

2- you can guess it was a magic effect that killed the guards
4 - you recognize necromancy when you see it.
6 - you can see a dark mark on the back of a few of the fallen guards necks, something infected them with this dark energy and then drew all their life force at once.

Special for Eris - You feel a chill as the guards begin to scream that feels just like the sensation you had when the stranger took the canape off your tray.

[VonDoom]

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m., Before Combat

A frown briefly showed on Mikado's face, as he recalled those events ...

23rd of Logiscae: 3814 AoT, Masurao Castle Gates (Ikoku)

As Claye made her way out through the immense, wooden castle gates, she found that the man who had arranged for her freedom suddenly stood next to the foreign woman, apparently having waited there for her release. To her credit, however, it really wasn't very hard to sneak up on someone passing through these huge, unwieldly and very loud things when they were opened outwards like that.

A confident smirk was plastered onto his face as he met her gaze, folding his arms behind his back as he indicated towards the road with a brief nod. "I realize leaving quietly is not in your nature, but I still suggest you do so, before Shigeru's son takes command and sends his samurai warriors after us."

It was a good thing that Shigeru had been a thorn in Mikado's side in his function as the Dragon Emperor for some time, being a direct retainer of the Province's daimyo he had always strongly opposed the general acceptance of the Ninkyoudantai as a necessary part of society and had actively hunted its members, rather than merely in retribution for too daring crimes.

Now, he was dead, slain in combat by Chiyome. And he had the heir of a powerful foreign house in his personal debt; not as the hidden visage of the Dragon Emperor, but as Tatsudoshi-no-Mikado. Life was good.

Or so he thought, until the sound of hooves became louder and louder and two small troops of samurai rode around the castle walls, heading directly towards them with grim expression on their faces. They were only four each, but the odds of eight trained warriors versus two still weren't something to casually laugh at.

"That was surprisingly fast," the native offered as his grin was quickly replaced by caution, his muscles going taut as he prepared himself for an imminent attack.

8th of Bargenholt, The Lord's Arena, 2:24 p.m., Before Combat

"What's life if you never risk it?", he then offered, as his memories of the past faded. He casually took a sip of his wine, then turned towards Xavier. "These 'air conditioners' are quite something. I'll have get you to install some of these at my place."

[Andural]

8th of Bargenholt
The Lord's Arena
During combat
Turin

Turin spins around at the sounds behind him, away from the impossible view in the arena below. That could be dealt with later, if at all. In the interim, something was happening up above. As he turns, he sees a guard screams in pain. The screams turn into bubbling as the guard's face collapses into a mass of goo. He falls to the floor, drying up before he's come to a complete rest.

"What the...," Turin begins, as something else catches his eye. A group of nobles, all known to him, are advancing along one side of the wall. Following their intent gazes, he notices they're focused on Jameson and the Prince. He looks more carefully, and sees that their eyes are locked on the Lord of the Arena.

Hmmm... I wonder whether the Prince will let them get to him or not. I wouldn't wager on it, myself. Better do something.

As the nobles make their way, they pass by one of Xavier de Forza's water-mist machines. de Forze is an apt machinist, this is for certain, but machines do have a tendency to break down. Perhaps that compressor has some faults in the metal. He focuses...

On the side of the room, a metallic whirring suddenly goes "Click," as one of the fans maintaining proper pressure in the compressors locks up. The pressure quickly builds inside the chamber, making a chugging sound speed up rapidly. The would-be assassins stop in their push, and look around to try and find the source. But it's too late.

KABLAM

As the compressor explodes, bit of metal are fired at high speeds in the direction of the highly unfortunate noble assassins. The metal buries into their legs, arms, and eyes, leaving them groaning on the floor.

Turin nods to himself, and looks around to see what else is going on...

[Swordslinger]

8th of Bargenholt, 3817 AoT
The Lord's Arena
Round 15
Amandre

From his place in the back of the Diamond club Amandre has a good view over events unfolding in the room. He watches as someone claims up to a table and yells fire. For a moment it looks like everyone will evacuate calmly, but then the prince announces the reward of a 100 sovereigns and soon after comes a loud explosive sound from the arena followed by scrams. Amandre wonders what to do, he guessed it was about time to find his master and get them out of here. Then he spots the daggers, nobles have drawn their daggers and advance up where the prince is standing. Well, the prince was not his responsibility however the men could be a threat toward his masters in the following chaos, and anyway, they were in his way. The men don’t seem to notice him, he sees two men walking up together a bit away from the rest. As a guard he was one of the few people here to openly wear weapons and the nobles seemed to be ignoring him, or they had not noticed him. Either way they did not seem particularly well trained. He would take out the two of them and the way would be clear to find his masters. His movements are very fast one moment he stands still leaning to the wall with his hands crossed, the next he is halfway across the floor toward the assassins. He did not bother drawing a weapons, his hands where weapons enough for this. He was upon them before they even had time to react to his presence.

[Swordslinger]

Maybe it is the screams or general noise of the arena or maybe they where to focused on their indented target. Either way the two nobles playing at being assassins do not notice the real assassin coming up behind them. It is over in an eye blink, without stopping Amandre delivers a strike to the first noble’s neck and he falls to the ground like a doll. He kicks the second noble from behind in the knee joint and he falls to his knees. Almost before he hit the ground Amandre puts a hand on the back of the nobles head and push it hard into the floor. Both noblemen are lying on the ground unconscious and it barely slowed Amandre down.

He quickly moves on toward the nobles gathered at this side of the club and located his master, Banyn d’Darran and his son speaking with each other. “This is a one of a kind opportunity”. As Amandre approaches Banyn looks at him “Ah, there you are” he grabs Amandre by the shoulder and speaks in his ear. “Listen closely, 30 years ago our house was disgraced for involvement with a certain cult. Now the same cult is moving again, this is our chance to come back into favor again. If one of our people help out here. Look down into the arena, the traitor Davis is hiding down in the hole, I want you to go find him and kill him”.

[TheDarkDM]

8th of Bargenholt
Chaos in the Diamond
The Lord's Arena

Ghedim's eyes widened visibly as the arena erupted into chaos. Though he stood his ground, he paled upon sighting what d'Lupil had become, and the ensuing tide of freshly blooded corpses. Yet even so, no Rhetizian could have missed the sudden glint of steel on the terrace, and time seemed to slow as Ghedim sighted the approaching nobles. The Ambassador had no time to asses the assassin's intent, only enough time to twist his wrist just so. Without a sound, a pair of needle-thin daggers slid between his fingers, before he whipped his arm towards the armed nobles. The shards of metal went whistling through the air, dancing within a hair's breadth of a group of panicking nobles. For an instant, it seemed they might miss their mark, but then with a spray of clipped fur and stray hairs they had passed the obstacle to bury themselves in the arms of two of the men. One collapsed instantly, his hand nailed to his belly, while the other staggered forward a moment before noting the stream of blood emerging from his groin. The moment passed, leaving the two men on the ground screaming, and Ghedim was reaching for another hidden pocket when the poisoned hiss of steam filled his ears.

Ghedim barely had time to duck before the compressor burst, showering a group of the assassins in blazing hot debris. As they became a steaming pile of wasted flesh and another guest barreled into the remaining assassins, Ghedim turned his attention back to the arena. It was at that moment a brutally mangled face crested the railing, a shattered hand groping blindly for Ghedim's throat. He jerked back, only for a bolt of silver to bury itself in the zombie's forehead and send it tumbling back to the bloodstained sand. Looking behind him, Ghedim spotted Azlian perched atop one of the terrace's marble statues, reloading her makeshift crossbow with another barb from her collar. They exchanged smiles, before Ghedim took a handful of diaphanous curtain in his hand and leapt into the arena.

All the while, the Prince looked on, his eyes betraying none of his reaction to the sudden turn of events. Looking down at Jameson, Darston smiled in the queer way of demigods.

"Milverton, you are excused."

Without another word, the host was manhandled away by the Blood Guard, thrown into the chaos as the Emperor's son was ringed in steel.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt
Chaos in the Diamond
The Lord's Arena
Kyranis, Liella, Tera


While Jameson is being hurried off, Kyranis, Liella and Tera return to the edge of the noble area, drawing weapons as they do so.

Kyranis moves to one side of a zombie, and Liella the other, while Tera comes in from directly in front of it. They should make short work of the creature.

[Nefarion Xid]

8th of Bargenholt
Chaos in the Diamond
The Lord's Arena

Anselme, having escorted a number of nobles into the mezzanine already, freezes in place, his neck prickling and venom flowing through his veins. It was the feeling of being alone in the dark wood and hearing a sudden crack of a branch behind you. However, Anselme didn't have the luxury of belaying his fears by turning around. For a moment, he thought he could smell the battlefield again - a melange of spilt offal, burning flesh and the sick of men unused to it.

Darting against the crowd he seized the wrist of a noblewoman who had ventured a step backwards with macabre curiosity as to the commotion towards the arena. Her eyes flared, clearly unused to such brusque treatment. There was a how-dare-you on her lips, but Anselme fixed her with a look. "Madame, would you risk your life to sate your curiosity?" then, with a crescendo in his voice, "Let me assure you all that whatever is causing those screams isn't something you wish to remember. To the streets, all of you! Return home and pray."

Without warning he slipped his fingers underneath the woman's frock and triumphantly produced a stiletto blade a second later. "Single, are we?" he announced with a lopsided and consummately roguish grin. Lucky guess.

Leaving the blushing woman he slips past the crowd and moves to return to the Diamond Club, periodically repeating his warning and urging people not to turn back.

[Mono Vertigo]

8th of Bargenholt
Chaos in the Diamond
The Lord's Arena
Eiko

Words of violence, of rewards, of battles reached Eiko's ears in spite of the growing uproar, and she smiled brightly. Panic? Fear? Horror? She would have none of these, no sir, she had better things to do!
The crowd was thick, and didn't let her take a good glance at the hole before the first wave was gone. Many weaklings there. Davis will be a piece of cake (even though she'd noticed moments earlier that his agility and strength were quite remarkable for a man of his age).
Other sounds reached her; they were coming from guards dropping dead. Literally. An explosion. More men were walking threateningly toward others. Think fast.
The well-dressed Tengu made her decision, and took one step away from the gathering, facing the hole. She spread her wings for the first time of the day. “Sir Mikado!”, she shouted as loud as she could, with thinly-veiled excitation, “You have five seconds to tell me if you need my protection, else I'm jumping down there!” Was such an emergency part of the protocol? Good manners were of no use in the middle of chaos, and she had to obey her nature.

[Swordslinger]

8th of Bargenholt
Chaos in the Diamond
The Lord's Arena
Amandre

Amandre looks down into the arena, there is a hole in the middle and around it is littered with bodies and weapons. Going down there and into the hole to hunt down someone who was possibly becoming a demon? He tried to argue that he was not probably equipped for this, and that he needed to stay here and protect them, all true. “We don’t need you, I can protect us” Banyn’s son more or less scream at him. “Give me that” he reaches for and draws the Rapier hanging at Amandre’s side. “I am better fencer than you, and this is far too good a weapon for you anyway” he strokes his fingers across the swords elaborate hilt. “What you call fencing is different from actual combat” Amandre retorts and receives a cold look in return, after a moment Amandre diverts his eyes toward the arena “There are plenty of weapons down there” although nothing that would server him as well as his dagger he knew, would that be enough? “Get going, come back with that traitors head, or don’t come back at all!” Amandre offers no replay and as he is about to depart Banyn again grabs his shoulder and look him in the eye “I have faith in your abilities, make us proud” for a moment Amandre struggles to find the right words before he replays “I won’t fail you” most people would have noticed the emotionless tone of Banyn’s voice and his cold eyes however Amandre happily jumps down from the balcony, grab hold of the wall an quickly climb down into the arena.

Amandre did not really know what this was all about, but he understood how important it was for House Darran and he would not fail, even if the reanimated corpses stood in his way. He quickly realized there was little point in fighting all of them, he should just use his speed and maneuverability to run past them, they looked kind of slow and if one or two got in his way then his martial arts should quickly take care of that problem. He removed the now empty scabbard hanging at his side and quickly went over what he had on him, a serviceable dagger and a good number of throwing knifes. He wished he had his pair of Sais and the normal equipment, but his would have to do. He started running.

[Jade_Tarem]

8th of Bargenholt, Chaos in the Arena, Round 15

A heavy hand landed on Claye's shoulder, and she grimaced - she'd thought that no one had noticed her sneaking back in. "Where are you going, lass?"

"Ah'm part of the staff."

Jameson's guardsman narrowed his eyes. "Nice try. If you have a ticket, you can head through the main entrance like everyone eleeeeEEEEEEEAAAAAAGH!"

Claye's eyes widen and she steps back in horror as the guard literally shrivels up and dies in a matter of seconds. It's begun...

She grabs the fallen guard's sword and ducks inside, near the pandemonium, but still notes the sudden change in pitch of the compressor - and any good machinist knows that when a large machine under high pressure suddenly changes pitch, you take cover and then investigate, in that order. Claye ducks back outside and behind the wall right before the compressor blows like a large, unwieldy grenade. Hoo boy, Xavier is gonna be pissed...

With the bulk of the compressor out of the way, though, Claye gets her first look at what's going on in the Arena. Sweet lightning... She'd suspected that there was one demon in the pit, but this looked more like utter, vicious netherworldly chaos.

Claye grits her teeth, intensely wishing that the compressor had picked a better time to kick the bucket - the pump would have come in handy. As it is, she opens one of the fuel tanks and rubs the contents onto the blade before setting a spark to it. It wasn't her usual type of fire magic - in fact, without the blade and the fuel to give it form it would be beyond her, but she manages to create a passable flaming sword. Checking Anselme's position and deciding that he was safe enough for now, she seeks out Mikado instead.

Once she spots him, she darts across the terrace. "Special delivery!" She tosses the blazing sword hilt-first toward the Ikokuan man. "Where's the source?" She shouts over the din, pointing to the Arena itself and trying to see what's going on.

[Lady Serpentine]

8th of Bargenholt
Chaos in the Diamond
The Lord's Arena
Kyranis, Liella, Tera


The zombie is nearly dispatched, but manages to avoid a slice to the neck at the last minute, though it staggers under the impacts of the hits made by Kyranis and his Bond Mate.

It catches Tera in the chest with the sword it still holds, the blade a not-so-subtle reminder of how it died. And who sent it down to do so. The same person responsible for the death of the Sorceress.

Worse, she wouldn't even die cleanly; the creature's blow stabbed into her guts, decreeing a slow and painful end to her life, unless she was healed by a mage skilled in such things.

The fingers of Kyranis's free hand flashed in a hurried message to Liella, who returned another in the same way, and with equal haste. His own message back to her was shorter still.

"I'll have the Sword-Servitors behead him in his own arena! He replaced d'Lupil with a trained fighter, and then hired a rogue mage on top of it!"

"Not before he's been questioned, I trust?"

"Of course"

((OOC: This exchange was in a private code developed by the Kybrae bloodline, and thus no characters not of that bloodline should understand it, and a roll of 6 or better would be needed to even tell it occurred.))