In the Shadows of Soluna: The Tales of Madame Baskerville IC

[Capt. Infinity]

Cities.

Throughout all of history, as far back as time can care to remember, cities and their inhabitants have been key focal points in all of the world's most pivotal events. For it is in these realms of stone and steel that all stories can lay a claim. A hero, born in the slums, rising to save the realm. A magi, filled with such raging avarice by the prospect of rule, that they lay siege upon its walls, hoping to stride towards its seat of power and lay upon its throne. Or even the humble pilgrim, who's trolley of dishevelled colonists would lay their claims in what they deemed fertile soil, unknowingly setting the groundwork for grand stories a thousandfold and more.

Many grand cities have risen and fallen in the realms of Monara. But, in all of the manyfold eons since the gods wrenched the prime materia into form, no kingdom has ever stood brighter, or endured longer, than Soluna.

The origins of this staggering metropolis are unknown to all but the most steadfast of historians, many records simply forgotten as the millennia sped past. It is widely agreed that whoever set up a civilization here, on the cusp of the Iridian Ocean, and at the mouth of the river Magnus, likely did so specifically because of those two geographical factors. The area was lousy with fish and fresh water, and the combination of being a coastal city on top of being at the mouth of a waterway upon which many, many others converge made it quickly gain renown as the trading hub of the majority of the civilized world.

Of course, all of this happened almost 3000 years ago, and in those many forgotten centuries since, the city has grown to become the greatest in all of the lands. With a population of around 100,000 citizens, a city limit that encompasses more land than certain small duchies, and a flow of gold throughout its commercial and trade sectors enormous enough to make a Great Wyrm blush. In no small way has Soluna earned its ancient title: "King of Kingdoms".

But what is growth, without its malignancies? What is progress, without consequence? And where is light, without a grand, sweeping shadow, engulfing everything in its wake? Not here, in this, this most hallowed of city-states. For it is in the quiet corners of this great, walled nation that darkness festers. Crime, debauchery, and evil. These things all find a place between the cracks of Soluna's grand foundation. Cracks which have been forming since before anyone can remember, and have now grown so large that there is little anyone can do to stop it.

The kingdom lays in a worried state. The old King, Asternian, is dead. The cause is unknown, though old age was stated, and other, less tasteful theories are mentioned behind closed doors. Now, the young Queen, Solaria, has taken the throne. Wrenched free from her self-imposed exile in the wake of ending her older brother's short but mad rule upon the nation, and who was content to let her father rule again for decades to come, but for whom duty had called all too early.

The Queen's ascension makes this time in the city's life a very important one, for it may yet cause shifts in the withering frame of the nation that could either rectify its course, or send it plunging into the abyss. For Solaria does not see it fit to watch her grand and ancient kingdom die, much less so after ten years of watching it rot from within, under the guise of a commoner. The Queen is making plans. Plans to save Soluna and its inhabitants from the savage darkness that gnaws at its edges. Her will is taking many forms in this effort, but perhaps its strongest is also it's most unorthodox, and it's most audacious. A single woman, scarred horrifically in the battle against the tyrannical prince all those years ago, and dedicated to rooting out whatever further corruption may still yet live within the city walls. This simple soul has been granted the chance to light the darkness within Soluna, and raise the realm out from it's tragic twilight.

May the gods have mercy upon her wounded soul.




The alleys howl
The windows shake
The bright lights die
And madness takes
The people fear
For all but fear's sake
When the shadows come alive


A dark wind howls throughout a forgotten corner of the commercial district as those that dwell in the night enact their dark intentions. There are old tales among the city folk that there are sections of the lower city that never see the light of day, the light obscured too fully by the mighty skyline above. And in places like this, it's hard not to believe them. For despite the time still yet being dusk, with the sun still a sliver on the horizon to the west, and the sky still set ablaze in majestic hues of crimson, this small remote block of warehouses between the commercial and industrial districts remains all but devoid of light.

And yet it is in this abysmal twilight that some men do their best work, as in the case of the group of a half-dozen or so brutish thugs that are currently relieving a particularly engorged storehouse of its rare and valuable wares.

As the mix of humanoid races work quickly to empty the area of anything worth more than the boots they wear out to remove them, a dark haired, sharply dressed human man, far and away a standout amongst the rather pragmatically dressed grizzled goons, stands watch over the whole affair. He speaks in a voice that is to the ear what a snake's movements are to a small mouse. Smooth and calming, to the point of almost being hypnotizing, but carrying an underlying layer of cunning and control that sends a shiver up the spines of those who can sense it. "Come on, people. Let's keep it moving! Every second here is another second closer to someone ruining all of our fun. So, unless you want to wallow away in jail, or feel like you're willing to explain to the boss why we don't have the goods, I suggest you speed it up a little." The mooks, for what they're worth, comply, and race to offload the material possessions into a cart behind the warehouse. A small humanoid, either a Gnome or a Halfling, though it could be either hidden beneath the myriad rags used as a makeshift hood and mask, walks past the charming man, only to be stopped dead. "Hang on for a second there, friend." The young human reaches into the open top of the crate the subordinate was carrying, and pulls out a beautiful golden broach. Its soft yellows glitter almost supernaturally, seeming to illuminate its surroundings by dint of its sheer wealth alone.

"Niiiiice. Very, very nice." The man and the smaller humanoid share a glance. "...Did I say you could stop working? Get a move on!" He points to the door, and the gang member rushes to complete their task. The wicked man smiles. Emerald eyes glittering with greed as he marvels at his personal take.

"Gods, I love this job."

Congratulations, Jasmine, you are officially SOMEWHERE IN THIS SCENE! :smallbiggrin:

You can be anywhere in the immediate area, either hiding within the warehouse, or waiting outside. Any points of stealth you begin in are assumed safe until questioned, and we can just say you made any checks necessary to get there (unless it's like, literally standing on a vertical wall. Though you CAN be hidden in one of the boxes). As for the location, assume your standard D&D fantasy warehouse, full of large crates everywhere, and with rafters and roping above. Feel free to ask questions if you need any further information on the situation at hand

[Doc_Maynot]

In this scene? Not yet shes not!

Bursting through the window is a woman, equal parts porcelain doll and firecracker. With silver hair, and lips painted blue, the glass surrounds her and her entrance almost refusing to touch her. Jumping through the air she flips and lands standing upside-down on a rafter.
"That'll be well enough now, gents." She pulls an ornate musket seemingly from nowhere and aims it in the miscreants' general direction. "Put your hands where I can see 'em."


Current Stance: "Lesson IV: The Ladder"
Martial Focus dedicated on the Guardian Sphere
And have Telekinetic Exoskeleton's Dampening Field in effect

[Capt. Infinity]

All around the warehouse, the various miscreants and ruffians offloading the loot stop dead, frozen in place like rodents in a hawk's line of sight. This pause only lasts a moment, of course, as everyone takes a good step back, cowering in fear at the sudden appearance of both Jasmine Baskerville, and her psionic firearm.

Everyone, of course, except the man in the suit.

The young man sighs, stepping forward with the look of a put-upon individual simply trying to get through the day. He absentmindedly twirls a black lacquered cane, spinning it's hilt on his hand with expert precision. "I had to go and jinx it, didn't I?" He shakes his head, chiding himself. "Miss Baskerville, so nice to finally make your acquaintance. I've heard so much about you between haggard tears and broken jawbones." The man gives the promethian a wry smile. "I'd love to have a long, protracted conversation about good and evil, right and wrong, or whatever it is you spout off to the average fair. But I, sadly, have a job to do." He glares backwards at his subordinates. "Get moving, you layabouts! I've got this." He turns to the woman high above, and grips his cane in two hands. "I get the distinct impression you aren't going to come down from there. In which case-"

Suddenly, in what looked to be a flash of smoke, the man was no longer on the ground below. Having disappeared in a fleeting drift of shadow. And a cursory look to her relative ground revealed that, through some mystic act, the man was now standing above Jasmine herself. Eyeing her with a deadly grin. "I guess I'm bringing the party to you!" In one swift motion of his wrist, the man clicks open the head of his cane, and draws forth a long, slender hidden blade. In the same motion, he thrusts downwards, attempting to pierce the woman's boot out from under her.

I'm gonna treat this as an instance of her being flat-footed, because let me have this.

Attack: Roll AC against an attack DC of 23!

Damage: [roll0]

[Doc_Maynot]

He stabs through her foot. "Really Blackworth? This is unbecoming of you. If you wanted to fight on even ground-" In one fluid motion she flips around the rafter, kicking him off as, in a glowing flash, she warps to meet him mere feet from where he landed. Her ornate musket now replaced by a large black sword she holds over her shoulder. She cracks an almost off putting smile. "All you had to do was ask."

Takes falling damage as appropriate.
Used Whirlwind Sweep to push him 10' diagonally upwards and inwards from where he was.
Spent a spell point to do the move action Teleport via Quick Teleport.
Swift action changed my stance to Sleeping Goddess (Battle Mantra), allowing me to change my weapon to one associated as part of the action.
Sleeping Goddess (Battle Mantra) grants a +3 Insight bonus to AC.

Also Weapon!
[Mirage Armoury]
"Shadowsbane" +2 Collision 'Mighty Sword' (Exotic, 2-handed, Heavy blade, 12 DP)
3d6 B or S, x3, Reach

[Capt. Infinity]

The dynamic force of the kick sends the thieving man flying off of the rafter, and leaves him utterly winded upon his impact with the ground. He looks up at the woman who struck him with defiant mirth in his eyes.

“Even ground? Oh dearie, you really don't know me at all.” He gives a low chuckle at his intrepid adversary, making a game of eyeing his own reflection in the black sheen of her blade. "Fair play is for suckers. Me? I like to fight dirty."

Just as the man says this, he disappears from beneath Jasmine's blade in a puff of shadow. Reappearing 20ft off to one side, his minions scrambling away from the fight as they work to offload the cargo.

"Allow me to demonstrate. Umbria?"

Just as Blackworth speaks these words, Jasmine can feel a shifting behind her, as if a piece of her very shadow had wrenched itself free. The woman barely has time to register the form of a small, sharply dressed young girl, the whole of her made entirely of raw shadow, leap outwards from the long dark behind her and lurch towards her, attempt to send a chilling touch through the whole of her form in the process.

Blackworth

Move Action to teleport 20ft away

Umbria

Move Action: Move in on Jasmine

Standard Action: Drain Ghost Strike on Jasmine! DC 25 Touch Save against 1 temporary negative level!

[Doc_Maynot]

"Umbri-" She feels the energy rush through her, now feeling her heartbeat in the open foot wound. "Ah!? Well, sorry love I'm not a fan of-" She takes a brief step back,her eyes begin to glow as a wave of light attempts and fails to push the girls upwards. "Hitting... Children. Heavier than you look, aren't you?" In another flash of light she blinks out for a moment. Reappearing in another flash, near enough to Blackworth to strike at him. "You look just fine enough though!" She swing down, cutting the false image of the man, now standing further away from her still. The frustration of this slippery man, and the pain in her foot begins to wear down upon her.

[Capt. Infinity]

One could call this fight many things.

It could be called chaotic, which it most definitely was. With all the combatants flying every which way in a matter of mere seconds, as those around them flounder desperately to avoid the crossfire.

It could be called gritty, as Blackworth and his umbral companion rip into the intrepid Mindblade. The young woman evidently having underestimated the two, as they cut and rend her body and soul in a relentless assault against her.

What one would not dare to call this fight however, is ungraceful.

It was almost as though it were a pre-prepared ballet. With Umbria rushing forward, trailing shadow as she all but flies across the ground. In one swift spinning motion, Jasmine's blade cuts into the being's shadowy form, though the inky half-presence of her body means that the blade's cut felt far less tangible than it should have, carrying though with ease. In the moments leading up to the girlish shadow's strike, time itself seemed as if to slow down to a crawl. In these moments between heartbeats, Jasmine digs her heel inwards, using the momentum of her swing to carry her around and past the blackened child's strike. As the Mindblade pirouetted around the shadow, she carried her swing even further, performing a full-force rotation as she tries to counter with a heavy upswing of her blade.

It is almost a tragedy when this dance is cut short by Blackworth's arcane strike.

A blast of raw magic, glittering and shimmering in the damp and strangled light of the warehouse, strikes Jasmine clean in the side. Throwing the woman off balance just long enough for Umbria to catch eye of her sword and kick off the floor, spinning away in a horizontal spiral jump as her shadowy spine all but brushes the edge of the equally ebony blade.

She lands to the warrior's side, grinning madly, but speaking no words.

"Hey now, Baskerville! What happened to not wanting to hit a child?" The man wears a smug grin as he withdraws his free hand, the tip of his index finger smoking. "Or am I really putting you that far off your game?"

[Doc_Maynot]

"Children are one thing." She takes off towards Blackworth. As she does so the girl tries to catch her, preventing Jasmine's progress. "Monsters, my dear, are another." She kicks the girl into the air, and using the momentum slashes at Umbria as she launches herself forward to Blackworth. Refusing to step on her still bleeding foot anymore, she sticks to using her magic letting her skate on the air above the floor. Because after all, isn't gravity nothing but a well meaning suggestion? "I'm tiring of your games Blackworth, this ends now!" She swings her blade, finally making contact with his smug, stupid face. Finally drawing blood. This battle was far from over, but she wasn't giving up yet.

[Capt. Infinity]

Umbria makes no noise as she is kicked upwards and slashed, and makes nothing but a light *thud* upon landing. She manages to compose herself just long enough to see Jasmine surge after her summoner. between shaded locks, she gets a look of crazed worry as she too blasts forwards after her vicious foe.

Sadly, the shadow girl was two seconds too slow.

Jasmine's slash comes in a wide arc across Blackworth's chest, a shimmering trail of warped light following the mirage weapon's path as it carve a gash across the dapper man's chest. And, with the continued force of the swing, Jasmine's blade doubles back, cutting once more at Umbria's shadow hide. This time leaving an open gash which, whilst bloodless, swung shredded in a nonexistent wind, like a ripped section of blackout curtain.

Blackworth, for a moment as he staggers back, has to force himself to hold back a scream of anguish as his blood drains to the ground. But, in mere fractions of an instant, his smile returns, restrengthened by the sight of his companion's swift arrival.

"End? Oh silver-hair, we've only just begun!" Blackworth cheers, as he lunges forth with a practiced grace. Failing to throw off the woman's balance, but still yet able to block her counterstrike with an ephemeral force buckler which appears around his free wrist. In tandem with his shadow aide, he lunges forward, Blackworth ducking to one side and slashing up across her midsection, his sword suddenly enraptured in glistening silver moonlight.

But now, it was Blackworth's turn to be surprised.

For just as the professional rogue swung upwards, Jasmine, still yet spinning, catches his sword on it's way up, and plucks it straight from his unexpecting hands.

Blackworth's eyes go wide at the sudden act of thievery. But his sudden need for some deal of backlash is quickly sated as Umbria, forgoing martial combat, simply lunges further forward at the woman, bearing a menacing set of fangs as she bites down on the her briefly exposed neck. Aiming more so to cause acute pain than she is to draw blood.

[Doc_Maynot]

Jasmine kicks the small creature off of her back, giving her enough time to try and finish her master. Shadowsbane, too unwieldy for her to swing with one hand is returned, and a whip, made of chained together ruby coloured plates takes its place wrapped around her shoulders. Holding Blackworth's cane she feels more confident. "Like I said Blackworth. This is-" She swings upwards with the cane, attempting to perform the very maneuver she interrupted. Blackworth easily dodges to the side, a smug grin returning to his face. "Damn it all, Blackworth! Stay still long enough for me to hit you!"

[Capt. Infinity]

The laughing man smiles. "Oh would you look at that. A little girl can summon up a personal weapon stock and suddenly she thinks she's an Armourist." The man chuckles as he completes his dodge. "I don't know what kind of riff raff you've been dealing with up till now, but this is the big leagues sweety. And I ain't even the biggest fish in this sea. You want to cut through the shadows, Baskerville?" Blackworth suddenly teleports forwards into a combination of a shoulder check and a headbutt. Staggering the Mindblade backwards as he effortlessly reclaims his Swordcane, twirling it triumphantly, before pointing the blade squarely at her, his body leaning into a casual en-garde pose.

"Then you best watch your back."

As if on cue, Umbria takes this moment of weakness to leap upwards onto the taller woman's shoulder's. Gripping on for sweet false-life as she tightens her grip on Jasmine's neck, the shade child giggling madly all the while.


"Because, Baskerville. A funny thing about the shadows."


His blade surges forward, running straight through Jasmine's middle with nary a sound to follow it.

"They'll cut you right on back."

Umbria's giggle turns into a full-tilt laugh. The shadow girl dissipating into a smokey fog as she too is left defeated by a sword through her torso. There is a brief moment of pause thereafter, the young woman staggered and breathless by the jutting piece of steal where her stomach should be. Slowly, painfully, and without a hind of remorse, Blackworth withdraws his blade. The sudden lack of support dropping Miss Baskerville to her knees, and then, unceremoniously, onto the floor.

"You know, I'm not sure what I expected, Baskerville." The shadowcaster flicks the blood off his blade, speaking absentmindedly to the lifeless woman's form. "But this is probably what it should have been." He resheathes his cane, stamping it firmly onto the stone floor beneath his feet.

"BUT, this was actually quite fun, so here." The young man pulls the golden broach off his throat, and drops it on top of Jasmine's body.

"Something to remember me by on your trip down the river."

As the colour fades from Jasmine's eyes, and a tinny hum rises into her ears, she faintly makes out one last statement as the dark suited man leaves, twirling his cane all the while.

"Goodbye. Baskerville."

"Maybe in your next life."



An artificial stomach.

It, alongside many other prosthetic organs, and a host of limb grafts around the whole of her body, were an effervescent part of the woman named Jasmine Baskerville.

Bitter momentos of a horrid deposition long past, these imitations of flesh were the best that could have been done to save her there and then. Her wounds too severe for common medicine, and too accursed for normal magic to heal.

They were scars. They were a burden. One might even call them a curse. But tonight? On this, this most ill-boding of shadow-stained eves?

It was the only reason she was still alive.

Jasmine awakens with a start, as if the life had more so been violently shunted back into her than simply slowly resurfacing after a long time under.

She lay face-down. A relatively small pool of her blood soaking her about the chest to the waist. She lays in an empty warehouse, the men and cargo long gone. Aside from a few choice boxes, and a strong weight between her shoulder blades.

The room is dark, the air is strangely chilled, and she lies in a staggering pain.

But the night? Well, I can assure you, dear friends.

It has only just begun.

[Doc_Maynot]

Jasmine sighs. The crates begin rising up into the air as she rolls onto her back and looks down at the blood. 'Not today.' she thinks, turning her gaze up the the ceiling, raising her branded hand into the air. She focuses on the Brand of the Justicar for but a moment and sighing. This thing that gave her authority and power many would give anything for. This simple little thing. After taking her short breather, she calls a small black cane from her Mirage Armoury, and pulls herself up, wincing with pain as she puts weight on the forgotten foot wound. 'I need a drink.' Finally having enough emotional composure to begin floating in place of walking, she returns the cane and makes her way out into the night. Heading to the closest place she knew of in order to get herself a scotch.

[Capt. Infinity]

It seemed simple enough.

The low end of the Common District was no stranger to vice. Many would say it thrived on it. So it was only natural that facilitators of vice would find themselves right at home in it's dark and dreary corners. And, as luck would have it, this proved true. As Jasmine levitated through the night, it was only mere minutes later that she came across what was undoubtedly a tavern, but was undoubtedly one in which no one of worth would choose to stay. But, Jasmine was injured, and tired, and (though she was loathed to admit it) in desperate need of a stiff drink. So, ignoring the large grievances and the scent of human disarray, she stepped in through the door, expecting the worst, and hoping for no better.

But nothing, but nothing, is ever so simple.


What immediately struck Jasmine as she entered the room were the smells. Not so much the ones she smelt, but the ones she suddenly and confusingly didn't. Gone were the smells of dirt, mould, and (for the most part, at least) vomit. Gone was any indication that this tavern was the hellish scum hole it had just now appeared to be. As Jasmine's eyes adjusted however, it was clear that appearances could be deceiving.

There, splayed out in front of her in a mockery of all sense and reason, was not a low-down tavern the likes of which you'd hope to never see, but a fabulous, expansive alehouse. With vaunted ceilings, and well-lit corners. Patrons around were in varying states of happiness. Laughing and cavorting in between massive swigs of tankards of glistening golden beer. Every race, gender, and age imaginable sat like old friends around large circular tables and in well-kept booths. Massive chandeliers above providing ample lighting and a pleasant mood.

The laughing and rowdiness dulls incredibly as Jasmine is noted in the room. Even an ethereal music, playing from somewhere, quieted and silenced when the Mindblade had made herself known.

All eyes were on her. Staring and, oddly enough, seeming to be waiting expectantly. The only ones in the room who did not pose an inquiring gaze were the Barkeep, who stood there calmly, a smile appearing behind a curtain of orange locks; and a single man with long, blond hair beside the door, whose eyes were hidden squarely behind a wide brimmed feather cap. He speaks monotonously, almost in an annoyed fashion.

"So you've finally arrived, have you? That's good to hear. You were almost late."

The barkeep jumped onto the bar with style and ease, and threw one hand wide to address the crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen?" She spreads her arms wide whilst giving Miss Baskerville a wide set grin. And from her back, as if for emphasis, sprouts a set of shimmering, gossamer wings.

"We have a new one! Welcome, Jasmine Baskerville, to the Grand Glamour Inn!"

The cheers were almost deafening, washing over the whole room both a sense of welcomeness and warmth. It smelt of wine, of lager, and of a great many stranger spirits. But more than anything, and most strangely of all?

It smelt like home.

[Doc_Maynot]

'So I did die? Good to know I earned enough punches on my card to go to heaven.' She muses and gives a meek smile. "Love the welcoming committee, really. And I'm ever so sorry to be straight to the point. But could I get a scotch?" She sighs, moving her hands off of her blouse to reveal the wound. "I'll be right as rain, but I could really use one to get me through this."

[Capt. Infinity]

"Vace, you heard the girl! Get her acquainted with the bar. I'll get started on her drink." The winged woman commands, hopping off the bar, and back into her place behind it. Her race was beyond a mystery. As her wings were indicative of a minor Fey, but her form was a size too large for even the largest amongst them. From his seat leaning back, with his foot on a small table's edge, the man in the feathered cap rights himself and stands at attention, walking briskly to Jasmine's side. With ice blue eyes locked squarely with Jasmine's, he speaks stoically but deliberately, speaking at a mile a minute and never missing a beat.

"Welcome, esteemed tenant to the Grand Glamour Inn. The greatest place you were ever predestined to find. My name is Vace, chief doorman, co-proprietor, and person you were going to talk to first. Would you like me to take your coat? Of course you don't, there's not a future in the realm where you'd agree to part with it. How about I clean it up though? You will accept, so allow me." The man waves his hand casually, and in an instant the blood on her coat is gone, and the grime cleansed from it in totality.

"Now then, please allow me to guide you through the tavern, to the bar, where Nittaia will explain everything to you in a calm and timely manner after handing you the drink you didn't ask for, but which you will drink anyways because you haven't quite dealt with your alcoholism yet." He explains in confusing and frankly unsettling detail as he guides her through the congratulatory rabble with an impossibly perfect precision. Moving past every table, tankard tray, and trundling drunk as if they weren't even there, Jasmine is sat at the front of the bar. In front of a seat in which there lay, embossed in curly golden font, a folded piece of card paper with her name on it. The man named Vace pulls it away and sits her down.

"She's going to have the drink now, Nittie." The man explains matter-of-factly, to which the Fey woman turns with a sarcastic smile, a tankard of ale in one hand.

"Well I can see that much, Vace. Don't you have somewhere else to be? I believe I'd enjoy a private chat with our fresh new face."

"No, not for another handful of seconds. So, I'll just stand slightly out of earshot and wait for when I'm supposed to add the next thing." The strange man states, before fading back behind a swarm of people until he was all but obscured from view.

The tall woman with long, shimmering orange locks behind a well-placed hairband rolls her eyes, then looks down at the silver-haired girl in front of her. She gives her a warm, knowing smile. "You clearly have questions. So speak-" She stamps the ale tankard down on the table, and moves it towards her, the dew from the cold brew within leaving a wet trail across the pristine wooden bar. "And drink. I know it's not a Scotch. But believe me, dearie. This is what you really need right about now."

If and when she drinks the brew, not only will the taste be the likes of which the woman has never before conceived, a deliciousness beyond measure, but it would also come alongside a sense of warmth and calmness which could only be aiding magic, as the wounds in her stomach and foot healed with astonishing swiftness and ease.

Welcome to the Inn indeed.

[Doc_Maynot]

In a flash, Jasmine grabs the drink and begins sipping. "So, is this is? What being dead is like? Or did I just win the lottery? Cause, other than the laundry man, everything seems just grand. Really. Though I was expecting more..." She twirls her hand in circles. "Feathery wings and a halo or well..." She takes some awkward chugs. "Either way, I certainly wasn't expecting this."

[Capt. Infinity]

Nittaia gives a couple of hearty laughs at Jasmine's questioning, evidently not unfamiliar to the question. "Sorry, hun. Much as I love to talk this place up, it's a far cry away from heaven. This here is just a humble little bar. Albeit one with the mother of all illusions stuck onto it. As for a lottery, well..."

"And this is when I start talking." Vace states, stepping forward into earshot and full view. "To call it a lottery is incorrect. 'Lottery' implies chance. There is no chance, here. Only probability and possibilities. You came here because you were supposed to come here because that's what you were going to do. Now, the exact specifics can change. Your wounds could've been elsewhere on your body, or you could've been slightly earlier or late. But the fact remains that you coming here was never a question. Merely a clarification and some lead-up questions." The man nods to himself. "And now Nittaia is going to explain it because a lot of that just went over your head"

The fey woman rolls her eyes once more. "What he was trying to say was that the Grand Glamour Inn is something of a... Focus point in history. Vace here told me where to build it-"

"Where you were going to build it."

"On the promise that if-"

"When"

"I did, it would become the convergence point for every single hero, ruffian, rapscallion, and fool this city has ever and will ever see. If you've got something about you, or are in any way important to this city's future history, you WILL find yourself walking through those doors."

"You will now have further questions."

"Oh come on! That one wasn't even a prediction."

"Doesn't make me wrong."

[Doc_Maynot]

"So here I sit a fool." Jasmine gives a small, almost exhausted chuckle and finishes her drink. "Vace and Nittaia, is it loves?" She sets down her mug, and for the first time in a while, relaxes, her body shifts, unveiling her deceptions. Scars cover her body, and her right arm pale and seemingly lifeless. She raises it and offers a handshake to whomever will accept it. "As you know, the name's Jasmine Baskerville, and I only have one question. Why?" She points at Vace with her other hand. "And I don't mean 'Because I was supposed to' or any of that rubbish."

[Capt. Infinity]

A surprised look overtakes Nittaia's face. Not necessarily because of the truth behind Jasmine's glamour, but because of the level of sudden trust dropping it meant. Happily, the fey woman extends her hand and shakes it. At the question of why, Vace looks as though he is about to speak before Jasmine cut him off with her advisory statement. "Heh. Worth a shot." The man smiles sheepishly, before motioning to the woman at the bar. "I suppose you'd have more to say to that then, Nittaia?"

The woman with shimmering red hair laughs quietly to herself, before turning to Jasmine with a look that could most accurately be described as "nostalgic".

"Because 3,000 years ago, I had a choice." Her words are heavy as she speaks them. Not from regret, as she spoke with a clear and positive lilt. But with some greater weight and magnitude that can only come when one speaks of events a lifetime ago. "My world was fading away. My forest given way in the face of a shimmering world of stone. At the time, I felt like it was the end of my life. That, from that point onwards, I would be devoid of purpose, my life bereft of meaning without the glades that I had called my home."

"But then, he came along." The fey woman point to the blonde man in the feathered cap, who can't help but crack a smile, even if one would assume he saw all of this coming a mile away. "He told me that this wasn't the end. That I had a purpose. A point for being. He told me that I could stand audience for every astonishing, immense adventure this city would ever see, if only I played the part fate asked of me. A part so simple, it seemed too good to be true: Run an inn, keep it clean, and leave the door open for those meant to find it." The woman looks down at the young heroine before her. "In case it wasn't obvious, the answer I gave was 'yes'. And I've been caring for the inn ever since."

Vace looks at Nittaia incredulously. "Hey, come now. What am I, chopped liver?"

"Worse. You're a doorman. At least chopped liver serves a customer for more than half a second."

"It's called efficiency, princess." Vace answers back, both he and Nittaia smiling furiously at their longwinded exchange.

Vace takes the opportunity to step forward. "Now, Ms. Baskerville. Much as I am loath to leave a good conversation, I am sadly due to go. Table 7 is about to spill half their drinks, and will need some refills because of it. But, if I recall correctly, I'm supposed to tell you that you're going to look at that medallion that was left on your corpse, and discover something very important from it that will send you on some high-flying adventure to save the city. So, best of luck with that, I suppose." Vace finishes, his face absolutely inscrutable as his practiced expression does a perfect job at giving nothing further away. "I bid you adieu, half-pint titan."

"Best of luck, man through forever." Nittaia smiles, before Vace smoothly steps off, grabbing a tray of four beer mugs out a passing waitress's hand with absolute precision, just as a man a few tables down spills the exact number of drinks. He curses from far off.

"Aww, damnit! Our drinks!"

"Oh don't be such a downer, Gallahein. You weren't going to finish it anyway. You thought that batch tasted funny."

"Hey, cut me a break, Vace. It ain't my fault if my mouth feels like a fish crawled into it." The voices fade out as the strange man walks into the distance.

Nittaia looks at Jasmine expectantly. "...Well? Go on, you heard the man. Get inspecting! I'll fetch you another mug in the meantime." The impossibly red redhead turns her curtain of waving fire to face the silver-haired Soulknife as she works on refilling the woman's now empty metal stein.

All the mugs appear to be at the very least alchemically casted in silver, if not silver the whole way through (could be either or, as they feel fairly dense).
The actual metal is known as Silversheen. An alchemical silver derivative that isn't quite as expensive or lustrous as the natural metal, but is still completely immune to rust, and holds most if not all of the physical properties of the standard metal itself.

[Doc_Maynot]

'Medallion...?' Jasmine pats herself down, checking her pockets before snapping her fingers. "Could I have...?" Holding out her hand, a swirling silver shimmer fills it, eventually materializing the necklace left on her person. "Blackworth..." She smiles and begins looking at it closely. 'I guess I won this one-' Taking a brief pause, she grabs the point on her torso where the wound was. 'Mostly.'

[Capt. Infinity]

PLOT ADVANCEMENT POWERS: ACTIVATE!!!

The medallion is all at once completely foreign, and wholly recognizable. At first, the symbol born upon its face seems nonsensical, and yet vaguely occult. A mishmash of sweeping, occasionally jagged lines that seem to form some kind of complete, esoteric symbol. It isn't until holding it upside down on incident that an idea begins to form in Jasmine's head, and it isn't until she cleverly places it over the refection of her newely refilled drink that that idea bears fruit.

The Church of the Resurgent Dawn is, at best, a minor religion that has taken root in some of the lower corners of the Common District. Preaching unity and brotherhood whilst keeping its doors fairly closed. At its worst, and as some would feel inclined to describe it, the Church is a shady cult with off-brand ritualism that strikes the discerning eye as something both wholly unsettling, and eerily foreboding.

The fact that, once inverted and mirrored, the symbol of this strange and ancient medallion mimicked their holy symbol down to the brush strokes, however, made the latter seem far more plausible than it ever had before.

You'd know where the main chapter of the Church is located by virtue of an impossible-to-fail DC 8-ish roll (they're new, but very loud). Anything further, however, and you'll need to roll me some Knowledge (Local).

[Doc_Maynot]

"Well... That's something." Jasmine sets the necklace down and calls a platinum piece to her hand similarly to how she did the necklace. She sets it down upon the table in a rushed fashion. "Looks like I'm going to need to pass on the next few drinks I had planned, love. The night is young-" She picks the necklace back up while shifting to a different form. Her hair now ravens black, her eyes a hazel hue. An unassuming form, but one that is perfect for what she needs. "Leaving me plenty of time to find god."

With no delay she leaves, taking back off into the night. Time passes and she finds where she was going. Looking over at the Resurgent Dawn's Temple from the rooftop across the street, "Jacqueline" pauses. 'You better be right Vace...'

[Capt. Infinity]

The Church of the Resurgent Dawn was a rather standard affair, at least by the metrics of Soluna.

It stood about three stories tall, with a massive set of arching double doors set below an illustrious stained glass window depicting the church's grand sign. On either side, a set of external archways extend outwards, stealing out land that rightfully should have gone towards more of the housing which encloses the building on both ends. The sides were yet more stained glass windows, outlined by illustrious, yet oddly generic stylized stonework.

A minute or two of casual observation was all Jasmine needed to find her means of incursion. A single window on the southern face of the east-facing building was left slightly ajar, and within Jasmine could partake of a most confusing and ominous sight.

Within the darkened hall of the (assumedly) slumbering church, there lay a toiling cluster of muffled action. Crates upon crates lay empty at both far sides of the chapel, with the gold and jewels that lay within spread out in a large pile between them. In front of this massive pile lay a pair of wheelbarrows, manned by black cloaked figures, and which were being repeatedly filled by the very same thuggish thieves that had assaulted the warehouse earlier. As a wheelbarrow filled, the cloaked figure vanished in a puff of ethereal smoke, before reappearing shortly thereafter, his barrow empty once more. Waiting to be further supplied by the mercenaries, who were constantly combing through the major pile for what appeared to be certain specific trinkets.

As Jasmine watches, the last wheelbarrow wheelbarrow is filled to completion, with the cloaked figure appearing thereafter empty handed, turning to nod to a pair of figures behind him.

Jasmine's eyes needed to adjust to the darkness further into the chapel. What little light there was that managed to peer through the glass on this darkened night only served to add unhelpful contrast to the two figures standing near the pews. The first, who was standing and twirling his cane in an annoyed manner, was undoubtedly the visage of Blackworth Abernathy, seemingly overseeing the work of his underlings. The one to his side, sitting calmly at the end of a row of pews out sideways, and looking out towards the groups working from beneath a slightly more elaborate, red-accented robe, was however an entirely unfamiliar sight. And the voice with which he speaks was equally unknown to the Soulknife beyond, though it bore an eery resonance which only stood to further add to his displeasing and unsettling air.

"We thank you for your work, Mister Abernathy. The Church is pleased with your efforts." The robed man states, standing up to give the rogue a quick and courteous nod. "You and your rabble may leave."

"Uh, excuse me? I think you left out the part where we were paid for the work we just did. Or did you think the efforts of my crew and I were done pro bono?" Blackworth inquires, the distaste for this man clear in his voice.

"Forgive me, Mister Abernathy. But I was under the impression that your payment was the rest of the gold you found after our anonymous tip as to its whereabouts."

"Yeah, see, that was BEFORE you had us sift through the crates like needles in a godsdamned haystack for your specific set of baubles." The anger in Blackworth's voice bubbled just below the surface, a discerning ear could also catch the hint of a grunt born from the lasting sting of Jasmine's last attack. He casually clutches his midriff. "Not to mention the physical pains we sustained in getting it."

"We asked for the relics of our holy master, Mister Abernathy. Having you complete your task in finding the objects which we asked you to gather seems all too reasonable in our eyes. And, you will forgive our ill-manner when we state that whether or not your efforts to attain this gold entailed injury is in no way our concern. Our terms were set, and now they are fulfilled. Any further attempts at dealings will be treated as the underhanded bargaining it is."

"You DO know who I work for, right? The Tridents? You know, that big bunch of scary folks who own your godsdamned cut of the city's streets? Do you reeeaaally wanna go pissing them off?"

"We are well aware of the identity of your employer, Mister Abernathy. Where we draw confusion from is your strange inclination that we are honour-bound to CARE. Our order lies on the precipice of ascension. In the times to come, your kindness will be rewarded in the sparring of your souls come judgement. A privilege I would be more than happy to revoke, should you press the issue further." The darkness in the man's voice deepens as he speaks, his voice less so resounding than it did echo within one's very skull.

"Nice try, pal. But believe me when I tell you I have been threatened by priests WAY scarier than you'll ever be. And believe me when I tell you that I am FAR past it having an effect on me. You wanna play hardball?" Blackworth draws his cane's blade, and menaces its point at the figure before him. "I'd be more than happy to oblige."

There are a few short seconds of tension. Blackworth's men drawing their blades in turn, with the two robed figures entering a battle caster's stance. The grand cloaked figure makes no motions to act, but a dark, billowing, red-tinted smoke begins to billow forth from the cloak's holes. And his hood darkens until not a single aspect of his face is visible.

This tension is cut abruptly short when, from the corner of his vision, Blackworth's eyes unmistakably lock with those of Jasmine peering in. And so intimate was the gaze that, despite all sense and mystic protections, a flash of recognition, clear as day, crosses his face. He turns back to the tenebrous man.

"...Aaaah f*** it. You ain't worth the bloodshed." He states, sheathing his blade.

"No, Mister Abernathy. I can assure you were are not." The cloaked man agrees, his lower face returning to partial view as the shadows within his cloak cease to spread.

"Gather up the goods, boys. We're leaving." Abernathy commands. And within moments the mooks were moving at a breakneck pace to gather up the goods, working to move it out to their cart, which lay hidden under a tarp behind the building proper.

Soon, there would be only the cloaked man, and his dark and mysterious disciples. Gathering their resources to an end which nought a man could fathom.

You can wait for Abernathy to leave, or make a move now. At your leisure.

[Doc_Maynot]

It took Jasmine a while to regain her focus. A mix of the drink, seeing her would-be murderer, and processing this whole ordeal she had jumped into took some time. But by the time the cold night air had sobered her up, and Blackworth had left her sights, she regained her normal, undamaged form, and formed a plan of attack. She took a deep breath in, called the Queensthorn to her outstretched hand, and prepared mentally. Then, in a blink of shimmering silver she teleported into the room inches from men, the window shutting behind her. Her cold gaze fixated upon the red robed man.

[Capt. Infinity]

The red robed man paused mid turn, having just then made motions to head down to the back door of the chapel. He freezes completely, his body motionless in the face of the blade menacing his backside. The two black-robed men move to take action, but their leader holds out a hand.

"Cease. You are needed elsewhere. Go down and alert the others of this intrusion, and prep the ritual immediately. You may send up reinforcements thereafter, but for now-" The man turns to menace the girl before him. "I shall handle the girl." He commands. Shadow frothing at his seams.

The two black robed figures look to one another, before nodding to their crimson-accented master moving to disappear once more. However, only the one to the south end manages to disappear, the other having been struck still by the overwhelming gaze of the Justicar before them. In that moment, his spell wavered, and the figure remained where they stood. The shadowy man grunts annoyedly, then stares at Jasmine with eyes unseen.

"I know who you are, miss Baskerville, and we needn't have this fight. Our efforts are on the cusp of bearing fruit, and the new world to come could use the likes of you." His speech echoes throughout the hall, chilling the very air as it passes. "I urge you to reconsider. For your own sake, if nothing more."

[Doc_Maynot]

Jasmine grimaces before taking the cracking the Queensthorn against the ground at her feet. It erupts in a shockwave of silver light, leaving like-coloured mist in its wake. The light revealing three Jasmine's in varying states of injury eah reaching out to the mist, a copy of Shadowsbane forming in each of their hands. Meanwhile, around them all the mist took shape. Large swords of cracked, misshapen crystal reach out from the ground, the mist forming figments of people wielding them. Each holding the sword in a different way, as if it were a different weapon. The figments each appear to be mortally wounded, each a different, distinct person.

Now floating slightly off the ground the three Jasmines, and the figments all focusing their gazes upon the shadowy man. "We're listening."

[Capt. Infinity]

The high priest... Seems genuinely taken aback. Not by the onrush of the ghostly adversaries, no. Such phantoms were not nearly enough to waver his hardened resolve. No, what brought the man pause was Jasmine's legitimate attempt to parlay with him. Not wanting to mess up such a golden opportunity, the robed figure speaks calmly and clearly.

"The realm is sick, Lady Baskerville. My kin and I can feel it in the air. The very soul of the city flickers and wavers as the darkness takes hold from its roots. The mad prince was merely a very public display of an endemic plague that has befallen our people. A plague of madness. Of decadence and decay." The man speaks deliberately, his voice vibrating with an impossible tenor. As if speaking from within a cave far away. "But our lord offers another way. He offers salvation. He offers cleansing. And should we allow him a ready path into our realm, by providing him a tithe of his long-forgotten treasure, we shall be spared in the end times to come."

"Make no mistake, Lady Baskerville. This land is doomed in its own right. All we offer is a means for it to end on our own terms. And, should you be willing, they may be your terms too." The darkened man extends a hand, beconing the girl into comraderie.

"What say you, Justicar of a dying light?"