Let's Play Arcanum

Discussion in 'General Discussion' started by friartuck, Apr 18, 2012.

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  1. Pyotr

    Pyotr Member

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    It's nice that you have pretty discussion here, but care to translate?
     
  2. Jojobobo

    Jojobobo Well-Known Member

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    Pyotr est jaloux de les chinoise, non?
     
  3. Pyotr

    Pyotr Member

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    Ни в коем случае!
    Вот только писать на англоговорящем форуме на языке, отличном от английского, как-то... не очень.
     
  4. friartuck

    friartuck New Member

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    First, Drog restated his question, asking if I had a girl who, like Jayna, really wanted a sense of security.
    I told him my wife's seven years older than I am, so it's not about security with her, but she does value safety, so she married her martial arts instructor.

    Then we talked about how that sort of relationship between an older woman and younger man goes over in China. In Hong Kong, it happens a lot. Drog mentioned a girl he knows whose mother is 9 years older than her father. In the mainland, it's more or less impossible; there's a strong traditional taboo against it and both parties would really lose face. Drog quoted Ban Zhao (the first woman historian of China, with whom I was not familiar but who appears to have been awesome in every way), who also wrote on the role of women in Chinese society. The following is a translation by Thomas Lee:
    I told him Taiwan's the same way as Hong Kong. I know a young lady who's seven years older than her new husband. Her father, who is eight years older than his wife, told her on the wedding day, "If you marry a chicken, follow the chicken. If you marry a dog, follow the dog." I also asked where his earlier quote came from, and he told me.

    Then Pyotr asked for a translation.

    Then Jojobobo asked if Pyotr wasn't jealous of the Chinese.

    Finally, Pyotr said (according to my wife) not at all, but that the only time one should write in a non-English language on an English-language forum... is not at all.

    Feel free to correct, but I think that brings us up to speed.
     
  5. Drog Alt

    Drog Alt Member

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    大哥,有必要對牛彈琴嗎?

    還是繼續你的故事吧。
     
  6. friartuck

    friartuck New Member

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    Ty'Ler Do'Urden: Dwarves and Depravity

    哈哈,知道了。

    #15 Ty'Ler Do'Urden: Dwarves and Depravity
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: What ho, minikin!
    [​IMG]: Oh gods, not again...
    [​IMG]: [The dwarf's eyes flash and his voice comes as a growl.] Best you just walk away now, stranger. I'm in no mood...
    [​IMG]: Come now, sir! We haven't even met! What could be the problem?
    [​IMG]: [To Virgil] Is this elf serious?
    [​IMG]: Sir, around here we don't call dwarves minikin.
    [​IMG]: Really?
    [​IMG]: People who do end up shorter.
    [​IMG]: By a couple of feet.
    [​IMG]: I beg your pardon, sir. I'm new to the area. No offense meant. Might I ask your name?
    [​IMG]: And who might you be to ask a dwarf his name? Bloody ignorant outlander, I'd say. As if a dwarf would give his name.
    [​IMG]: Excuse me. (You don't need to take such treatment from this dwarf. Bloody annoying little runt, if you ask me...)
    [​IMG]: Virgil! I can't take you anywhere...
    [​IMG]: (I mean, look at him! Putting on airs like he's some sort of native dwarf...I'd be surprised if he's ever been out of the city in his entire life. You can always smell a city-dwarf a mile away. He's probably got a manicure. His beard looks a bit scraggly, too. Probably out past his bed time...)
    [​IMG]: Enough, Virgil. Your opinion has been noted and will be duly ignored. Now what seems to be the problem, sir...?
    [​IMG]: I was saying that it was bloody rude of you to be asking me, a dwarf, for his name. It's not something to be thrown out and away like the day's rubbish!
    [​IMG]: Forgive me. I wasn't aware it was such a breach in etiquette.
    [​IMG]: Hmmm. I suppose you're none to blame, stranger. Perhaps I'm a little quick-tempered myself. Please, forgive my harsh words. You may call me Magnus.
    [​IMG]: A pleasure, sir. What were you saying about a dwarf's name?
    [​IMG]: Well, dwarves are an ancient race, and our traditions run deep. A dwarf's TRUE name, his family name, is a sacred thing, a thing of mystery and power. Magnus is my common name. If I knew you well, I'd also tell you my family name. But Magnus will do for now...
    [​IMG]: I see. I'm interested in learning more about your customs... Why are you so protective of your family name?
    [​IMG]: Dwarven names are symbolic...a reflection of our history, who we are. A dwarf who gives just anyone his name has no respect for that history...
    [​IMG]: I see. Thank you for the lesson, Magnus.
    [​IMG]: Its nice to meet an outlander who tries to understand our ways. Well met, my friend! Now, how can I help you?
    [​IMG]: What can you tell me about P. Schuyler & Sons?
    [​IMG]: Where would you like me to begin? P. Schuyler and Sons is the oldest business in Tarant, a trader in jewelry and the occasional rare or sought-after trinket or bauble. Their business reputation is untarnished, second to none...
    [​IMG]: Oh. Well, that's nice. So why are you loitering outside of this store, Magnus?
    [​IMG]: Strange? Strange doesn't begin to describe what they are. Do you know that no one has seen the supposed owner, Pelonious Schuyler, OR his sons, in more than 15 years? And even then, the gentlemen who saw them, a trader in gems from Arland, died a week later from what they could only describe as "consumption"...
    [​IMG]: What else is said about them?
    [​IMG]: Have you heard about the Eyeless Five? Eight years ago, there were five ruby pendants sold at auction through P. Schuyler and Sons...all of the ladies who wore them were murdered, their eyes plucked from their heads!
    [​IMG]: Why would P. Schuyler & Sons plot to kill their customers?
    [​IMG]: Why do madmen do anything? They're bloody madmen, that's why! If you're not going to use the sense you were born with, then I'll not continue... suffice it to say that P. Schuyler & Sons is an extremely unusual company, and I'm not the only one to think so.
    [​IMG]: I see. Have you heard anything else about them?
    [​IMG]: Who knows what atrocities are committed within these walls? People swear they hear strange noises within the building when the sun sets. Clanking of chains, moanings, muffled screams. Do you see the symbol carved above their name? The bird with the snake's head? Do you know what it is? The Derian-ka. The ancient Order of the Dead!
    [​IMG]: Please. A snake's head? It looks like a gryphon.
    [​IMG]: Virgil, please. I'm handling this.
    [​IMG]: A gryphon? Use your eyes, man! It's obviously a most dark and dreaded talisman...
    [​IMG]: I see. Then what are you doing here, Magnus?
    [​IMG]: I might ask you the same, my friend. You seem awfully curious about P. Schuyler & Sons. What brings you here?
    [​IMG]: We have our reasons. And WE'RE not playing conspicuous twits.
    [​IMG]: Damn it, Virgil, please! Sorry about that. He's taking medicine. I'm here to investigate a ring. It appears they were the sellers.
    [​IMG]: Interesting. I, too, am investigating one of their products. I saw it for sale in a pawn shop down in the merchants quarter, and it had their imprint. Would you like to see it?
    [​IMG]: Yes, very much so.
    [​IMG]: [The dwarf shows Ty'Ler a rather plain looking bronze bracelet, with some faded scratchings barely visible along its outer surface. The imprint of P. Schuyler & Sons is visible on the inside.
    [​IMG]: A rather nondescript piece, I'd say. What is its significance?
    [​IMG]: Nondescript? This bracelet is ancient! An unbelievable find! And the final piece to a puzzle I've spent my whole life trying to unravel...
    [​IMG]: What puzzle is that?
    [​IMG]: Don't you see? There...a cross...and there...a sunburst...! All of these are old dwarven characters, symbols in a lost language. These are landmarks in my people's history, milestones for the dwarven age...
    [​IMG]: What do you think is significant about this bracelet?
    [​IMG]: Do you see these dwarven gauntlets I wear? [He shows them to Ty'Ler.] They were given to me by my grandfather, who in turn received them from his. Do you see the symbol carved on them? It's the same as the symbol carved on the bracelet! These gauntlets are the only link I possess to my ancestors, my clan, lost to my family since before any of us can remember!
    [​IMG]: Who was your clan? Why was your family separated from them?
    [​IMG]: NEVER ask a dwarf the name of his clan! I'd sooner cut my beard than tell you the sacred name of my people! Such an action might be considered blasphemy!
    [​IMG]: (Oh, for the love of Mannox...)
    [​IMG]: And as for my family...that's none of your concern. We were lost to them, and I've spent the last 200 years looking for where they might have gone...
    [​IMG]: I'm very sorry, Magnus. And you think the Schuylers would know about this?
    [​IMG]: That is the point of this whole story... They sold this bracelet. I've tried on multiple occasions to speak with the Schuylers concerning where they got it, but I've been stonewalled by their employees from the very beginning. They're hiding something! I know it!
    [​IMG]: Oh? What sort of deception do you think they are perpetuating?
    [​IMG]: The sources behind their inventory, the reasons for their reclusiveness...who knows? But I do know that I'm going to find out where they got this bracelet, regardless of what is necessary to do so.
    [​IMG]: I see. Well, thank you for your time, Magnus. If we have any better luck in there, we shall let you know what we find.
    [​IMG]: Thank you, my friend. I'd appreciate any information you might uncover. Good bye.
    [​IMG]: [As they walk to the door, Ty'Ler turns and whispers to Virgil.] (Virgil, your behavior was unconscionable. Remind me to talk to you later about what we do and do not say to the mentally disadvantaged.)

    They enter the curio shop, though this is perhaps an indelicate term. There are no displays, no counters, nothing so crass and pedestrian as to indicate that the owners deal with filthy lucre. A single, bare mahogany table and plush chair sit on an opulent rug of elven design. A landscape hung on the far wall depicts the great, ancient Morbihan forest. Two third century dwarf-wrought golden Meloren candlesticks stand before a closed door, through which a slender, tidy human wearing gold-rimmed pince-nez glides. He locks it behind him, then stands before the three men, looks them over, and addresses Ty'Ler.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: Good afternoon. Welcome to P. Schuyler & Sons, dealers in the rare and beautiful. My name is James Kingsford. How might I help you?
    [​IMG]: Plead to make your acquaintance, Mr. Kingsford. My name is Ty'Ler Do'Urdern, of the, er, Arland Do'Urdens. I'd like to speak with someone concerning a ring that was sold here.
    [​IMG]: [He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced of the pedigree.] What exactly, can I help you with, Mr... Do'Urden? Did you purchase the ring from P. Schuyler & Sons?
    [​IMG]: Not exactly. I was given the ring by a close friend, who is sadly deceased.
    [​IMG]: I'm very sorry, but we don't guarantee the quality of our products except to our customers. Now if there's nothing else, Mr. Do'Urden, I really must get back to work...
    [​IMG]: I'm sorry, James, but I really must insist on speaking to Mr. Schuyler.
    [​IMG]: I'm afraid that's quite impossible. The Schuylers are extremely busy men, and I KNOW they can't be bothered with something as trivial your concerns with a product you didn't even buy...
    [​IMG]: Mr. Kingsford...
    [​IMG]: I'm so very glad you stopped by, though. Feel free to come again when you have business. Have a good day... [He turns to walk into the back room.]
    Ty'Ler steps smartly forward, between him and the door.
    [​IMG]: Mr. Kingsford, I recommend you let me in to see Mr. Schuyler.
    [​IMG]: [Ty'Ler's tone seems to concern him.] Oh, really? On what grounds do you RECOMMEND that I let you in here?
    [​IMG]: I'm from the Tarantian authorities. We're doing an investigation...
    [​IMG]: Bu--
    [​IMG]: [Virgil reaches up to cover Sogg's mouth and spins him around to look at the wall. Mr. Kingsford does not appear to notice]
    [​IMG]: [He seems a bit shaken.] T-t-the authorities...why...? [He regains a little of his lost composure.] I see. Well, if that is the case, I demand to see your credentials, sir...
    [​IMG]: Mr. Kingsford, you are in no position to demand anything. As yet, you haven't been mentioned in the files. Make things easy for both of us. Open these doors...
    [​IMG]: Uh...look, I have NOTHING to do with what's going on down there! I just work up here, watch the front door...
    [​IMG]: And what exactly is going on down there, Mr. Kingsford?
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: [The last of his resolve breaks and James Kingsford begins to sob. He clutches Ty'Ler's sleeve.] No! I can't talk about it! T-they...did something to me...if I tell you, then...please, don't make me say anything more! [He hands Ty'Ler a key.] Please, just take this and let me go...!
    [​IMG]: James, please. I won't let them hurt you. I need anything you can give me.
    [​IMG]: Oh god, no....[He draws nearer, whispering.] Please... They're in the basement... Don't make me say any more... There's magick... I only work for them because I was down on my luck, and my family needed the money. But if I would have known...I'd rather starve than know what I know!
    [​IMG]: Look, James...
    [​IMG]: It's alright, James. You can leave. We have more than enough to go on. We'll take care of this.
    [​IMG]: Oh, thank you! Thank you! I'm leaving, and I promise I'll never come back...!
    [​IMG]
    James Kingsford bolts through the shop entrance as fast as his legs will carry him. Later that week, in the process of moving with his wife and daughters to East O'Banion, he will be bitten by a venomous spider not usually found on the same continent. But we mustn't make too much of this.

    [​IMG]: Well, that was foreboding. Okay, you heard the man. His employers are in the basement. Spread out and let's find it.
    [​IMG]: Here it is, sir. There's a ladder down in the back room.
    [​IMG]: Right. Follow me...

    They take the rattling ladder down into the cellar. It's an unremarkable room of modern stonework, with containers of miscellany piled up in the corners. Near the far wall, however, are a number of sarcophagi.
    [​IMG]: What in the name of Torg...
    [​IMG]: Stop that. You're just doing it to annoy me.
    [​IMG]: True. But what is that--
    As Ty'Ler walks toward the sarcophagus, a decaying hand forces its way out of the earth and proceeds to drag up the hideous, crumbling bulk of a zombie.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: Nasrounds!
    Sogg immediately grabs the corpse by the wrist and swings. This would have cracked the creature's head against the wall if the arm hadn't torn off at the shoulder.
    [​IMG]
    Several more of the walking dead rise and attack, but the three living men make short work of them. When the fight is over, Ty'Ler surveys the damage, panting, and turns to Virgil.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: ..."Nasrounds?"
    [​IMG]: A Panarii curse. Short for "Nasrudin's wounds."
    [​IMG]: Sounds like some kind of biscuit. Well... Do you think those were the Schuylers?
    [​IMG]: No, Mr. James was afraid of his employers hearing him. I doubt those things could make sense of what they hear.
    [​IMG]: He may have lied. He said the Schuylers were here, but--
    [​IMG]: Down there, mebbe? [Sogg points out another trap door, leading deeper underground.]
    [​IMG]: Worth a look.
    In a chest in the corner of this first basement room, they find an enchanted robe which Virgil dons before heading deeper in. They walk in apprehensive silence through earthen tunnels dotted at odd intervals with shelves of densely-packed bones. Occasionally, another zombie climbs up into view and is quickly dispatched. Ty'Ler trembles with fury at every encounter.
    [​IMG]
    Rounding a corner, they can see a large crowd of the undead gathered around a ladder leading still deeper into the earth. Without a word to one another, they charge in and begin decapitating the desecrated deceased. Sogg is trapped in a magical vine no doubt placed by the same wizard that raised the zombies, but even without his help, Ty'Ler and Virgil are more than a match for these undead.
    [​IMG]
    Panting and shaken by the horrors they've seen, they take the ladder down.

    [​IMG]
    This floor is different from the others. A huge stone hall of shoddy dwarven craftsmanship lies beyond an arched doorway. Within, pale, lumbering dwarven zombies, their expressions blank, go peacefully about their work.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: Gods damn it, the dwarf was right. This place is an abomination. Come on, let's find the diabolical monsters responsible.
    [​IMG]: Sir, let's--
    [​IMG]: Shut up and follow me.
    [​IMG]
    Striding on through the hall, Ty'Ler trips several traps but ignores them completely, so consuming is his rage. Another broad arch leads to a smaller room, where three robed human men stand before a grotesque corpse rotting in a chair. Two of the men stand back slightly and look nervous. The third watches Ty'Ler carefully through half-closed eyes. Ty'Ler adjusts his gauntlets and fixes the nearest man with a cold stare.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: I'm looking for Schuyler.
    [​IMG]: You've found several, the more's your misfortune. How DARE you come into our business establishment unannounced?! Identify yourself at once!
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: Business establishment? Business establishment?! This is a house of horrors!
    [​IMG]: Sir, please, remember why we came here
    [​IMG]: You break into my home, and then have the gall to insult me? Do you have any idea of the powers I can bring to bear against you, stranger? Dark rivers of twisted image and dream, fragments of night-fear, the frayed and tattered screams of the desperate and the damned...!
    [​IMG]: You don't frighten me, wizard. I need the name of one of your clients. If you are anything but forthcoming, you will regret it.
    [​IMG]: Impossible! Even if you were here on legitimate business, we at P. Schuyler and Sons would never betray the confidentiality of our clients! To even think such a thing...
    [​IMG]: Sir, I'm sure we can come to an understanding here, but I feel we must better understand one another. If I may ask a few questions? What IS your business, Mr.Schuyler?
    [​IMG]: I suppose there is no harm in telling you now. I am Winston Schuyler, and these are my brothers, Edward and Niles. [He indicates the other two living gentlemen. Niles is bald and gaunt with intense, intelligent eyes; the other, Edward, is dog-faced and hulking.] The Schuyler name is an old name...one of the oldest families in all of Arcanum...we've traced our blood lines back to the Age of Legends and further. And always, from the very beginning, we have practiced the darker arts...
    [​IMG]: What exactly do you mean by the 'darker arts'?
    [​IMG]: Necromancy, my curious friend. Conjurings of the spirits, phantasmal speaking, the animation of the incurably dead. The Schuylers are a family who spend their time in the twilight lands, cowled in death and shadow...
    [​IMG]: Necromancy? Has this always been the family business?
    [​IMG]: Yes...for as many generations as have been recorded in our family tome, the Schuylers have walked with the spirits of the dead. My great-great-great grandfather was Conjurer-Witness to the chiefs of the Clan Wars, where the great machines of the dwarves leveled cities and mountains...
    [​IMG]: Go on...
    [​IMG]: I told you before, we can trace our history back to the Age of Legends, where the great Necromancers ruled along with the Elven Council. The days when mighty Kerghan, perhaps the first of our kind, battled the Bane of Kree in the Dead Hollows, and the very stones burned there for three days in their passing...
    [​IMG]: And how did your family end up in this business?
    [​IMG]: Oh, it's just the way things happen. My grandfather, Basil Schuyler, decided he was tired of the stigma which had risen around our family. You know, most people tend to stay away from Necromancers as a general rule...
    [​IMG]: I think I can understand why. Continue...
    [​IMG]: Well, he moved to Caladon and started a small business there. B. Schuyler and Sons. My father and my uncle were both still fairly young, but powerful in the arts. They used their powers to locate lost artifacts, and made a business of selling unique and rare jewelry. When my father, Pelonious, moved here to Tarant, he established this new branch under his own name. That's him in his favorite chair. As you can see, the business has done fairly well.
    [​IMG]: I noticed. Your family built this store over the tomb?
    [​IMG]: Yes...we discovered the tomb more than 150 years ago, before Tarant had become such a great city. And so our family left their home in old Caladon, and moved here. We weren't sad to leave there...some of the locals had begun to become suspicious of our activities.
    [​IMG]: And you can't see why they might be a little leery?
    [​IMG]: Sadly, I can see your point. The world, for ones such as we, is becoming smaller. So few people remember the old ways, when magic was a part of everything and everyone. There was a time when we were legitimate businessmen, and no one blinked an eye at our operations...
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: I see. There are a few rumors I've heard, and I'd appreciate it if you could clear them up. What about this business with the Eyeless Five?
    [​IMG]: The Eyeless Five were a strange case...one that was never solved by the authorities, and was only associated with us because of the sale of the ruby pendants. We had nothing to do with the murders whatsoever. It may have been done merely to bring us unwanted attention...sometimes businessmen are worse than the most hardened criminals...
    [​IMG]: I have to agree. And the gem dealer from Arland?
    [​IMG]: That man was sick before we ever saw him. Our meeting was a legitimate business transaction. His death following it was, unfortunately, an inevitability brought about by his weak constitution.
    [​IMG]: [Turning to Niles Schuyler] Is all of this true?
    [​IMG]: Address yourself to my brother, trespasser. He speaks for the family.
    [​IMG]: I would thank you not to question my honesty in my own home.
    [​IMG]: [Back to Winston] My apologies. And the zombies? They are your work?
    [​IMG]: Yes. It's not as cruel as you might think...these bodies are long past usefulness to anyone. They are spiritless and properly good for digging. And with the bounty we've discovered here in this dwarven tomb, they've been extremely useful...
    [​IMG]: I met a dwarf upstairs who is a descendent of this clan. I think he would be displeased to see what you've done with the place.
    [​IMG]: Oh, I very much doubt that. This tomb is from a clan long forgotten...the very fact that it lies here in the lowlands, and not the mountains, says that they were more than likely considered a lesser dwarven people. In fact, it's a strong possibility they were outcasts...you know a dwarves true home is ALWAYS in the hand-carved caverns of mountain stone...
    [​IMG]: How can you be sure?
    [​IMG]: I'm sorry, but look at the evidence. The quality of the stonework here is shoddy, most of the jewelry we bring up out of here is so poorly made that we have to melt it down for our own uses, and look!...there's no writing on the walls...these dwarves may very well have been illiterate... Then we have the dwarves themselves... all of their foreheads are sloped, many have physical defects like extra toes, the eyes are very close together. No dwarf would possibly claim these freakish dwarves as their people!
    [​IMG]: I see. You know, sir, I believe I know how we can resolve our differences.
    [​IMG]: Oh really? Enlighten me.
    [​IMG]: Yes, well, you see, I now have the full measure of your sins. Make peace with whatever god would have you, because we are going to resolve our differences with combat. Sogg?
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: Enough! You have brought this upon yourself! Surrender to the darkness...!
    The wizard gestures, and vines grow instantly from the floor, rooting Ty'Ler in place. This is just as well for him, as Winston's collar is within his reach. When the necromancer expires, the vines wither instantly. A gruesome few minutes follow, ending with a total of four corpses in the room, all sharing the same surname.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: Sir, really. That couldn't have waited until after we got the information we came for?
    [​IMG]: Virgil... These were the youngest of an ancient line of necromancers, they thought that profaning the dwarven dead was right proper so long as they are not attractive dwarves, and to round it off, they were every bit as wicked as any other businessmen. I refuse to deal with such people. [He goes through Winston's pockets.] Right. Virgil, take this key and look through their files. See if you can find any clients with the initials GB.

    As Virgil does so, Sogg raids the containers littered about the tomb, finding a reasonable fortune of magical items and gems. Ty'Ler, meanwhile, puts the dwarven zombies to rest by the only method he knows.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Sir! I've found it! You'll never believe it...
    [​IMG]: Well, spit it out, Virgil.
    [​IMG]
    [​IMG]: It's incredible. It's Bates. The ring belongs to Gilbert Bates himself! [Virgil extends his arms in a gesture of amazement.]
    [​IMG]: ...Who?
     
  7. Jojobobo

    Jojobobo Well-Known Member

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  8. Muro

    Muro Well-Known Member

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    Just catched up with the Let's Play. Looking forward to reading more.
     
  9. friartuck

    friartuck New Member

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    Lionel: Regular and Orderly in Life

    Sorry about the delay. Updates will still be scarce for awhile, as will I.

    #16 Lionel: Regular and Orderly in Life
    [​IMG]: May I help you, sir?
    [​IMG]: Yes, please. I would like to reserve some seats.
    [​IMG]: I can help you with that, sir. But first, company rules require that I ask you the following questions. Answer honestly, your safety and the safety of those who travel with you will depend upon it.
    [​IMG]: Certainly.
    [​IMG]: Are you, or is any member of your party, a practitioner of magick, elven, or of elven heritage?
    [​IMG]: Yes.
    [​IMG]: What best describes the most magickal member of your party?
    [​IMG]: We do not practice magick.
    [​IMG]: Are you carrying any magickal items? Have been approached and asked to carry any magickal items by people not traveling with your group?
    [​IMG]: No.
    [​IMG]: Which of the following category best describes your physical age? A - Less than 100 years old. B -100 to 200 years old. C - 200 to 500, D-more than 500 years of age.
    [​IMG]: Less than 100 years old.
    [​IMG]: Are you traveling with summoned elementals, animated dead, mind controlled, turned to stone, or otherwise physically challenged party members who will need some additional time and assistance in boarding the Train.
    [​IMG]: No.
    [​IMG]: Do you have either knowledge and practice, or enscrolled parchments, or charged magickal items with any of the following Magickal spells; Fireflash, Body of Fire, Call Fire Elemental, Jolt, Bolt of Lightning, Disintegrate, Congeal Time, Stasis, Hasten, or Tempus Fugit?
    [​IMG]: No.
    [​IMG]: Thank you for answering these questions. You're eligible for reservations in the First Class compartments. Would you like to make your reservations now?
    [​IMG]: Thank you, yes. I would like to reserve some seats for Black Root.
    [​IMG]: Reserved seats cost 75 coins each. How many seats will you require for your group?
    [​IMG]: [His face pales.] I… I'm sorry, I thought the rate to Black Root was 50?
    [​IMG]: Rates were increased two weeks ago to compensate for the recent change in tax law. Do you still want to reserve the seats?
    [​IMG]: Not at the moment. Sorry to take your time.
    [​IMG]: Not at all. Thank you for your patronage. Please come again. Next, please!

    Lionel and Jayna walk slowly out of the station, respectively dejected and concerned.
    [​IMG]: Are you sure we can't afford the tickets?
    [​IMG]: Not after all that shopping today. Leather is expensive. We've got just over a hundred coin to spend right now.
    [​IMG]: But, wait— how were we going to get back?
    [​IMG]: Oh, well, there's a, erm, job I'd heard of near the mine at Shrouded Hills. Pays rather well.
    [​IMG]: What job?
    [​IMG]: It's, ah, not important now. It looks like we'll just have to walk.
    [​IMG]: [Jayna's face falls.] Oh, but I was so excited about the train... Are you sure? Couldn't we look for a bit of work here? Even if it takes a day or two, we'll get there much sooner than if we walk.
    [​IMG]: [His mind still on the morning headline, he grimaces.] Yes, of course. What a good idea. [He sighs.] Well, as we're staying in town for the moment, what would you like to see now?
    [​IMG]: What about the University? I've heard great things about it.
    [​IMG]: Right you are, Jayna. This way.

    The two amateur technologists take the steamrail to the great, sprawling campus of Tarant University. A few of the buildings are open to visitors, though there's little enough inside to interest most citizens. Lionel has been there several times for public lectures and, in years long past, spent many apprehensive evenings prowling its alleys. He shows Jayna the empty public lecture hall, where such great minds as Hieronymus Maxim and Margolius Sen have for decades presented the fruit of their toils to the scientific community of Tarant. They then proceed to the museum of zoology and natural philosophy, where Jayna marveled at a display of draconic paraphernalia from the ongoing excavation at the last resting place of Bellerogrim, the last of the great dragons. She read the plaques with the careful solemnity of an Archaeonic scholar, taking notes in a small diary.

    [​IMG]

    Watching her, Lionel began to relax. There was no mention of a half-orc in the newspaper, after all. It went on at some length about ogres in strange machines. He hadn't seen anything of the kind in his lower berth, but he was prepared to bet that this elf had simply been too ignorant of technology to give an adequate description. Whatever the case, it seemed that no one would be looking for him in connection with the crash.

    At Jayna's insistence, they proceeded to the university's great library. Lionel braced himself, adjusted his jacket, and walked in with all the quiet dignity he could muster, but was still met with precisely the treatment he remembered from the librarian.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Pardon me, sir, but do you have a membership?
    [​IMG]: [Sighing] No, unfortunately I do not.
    [​IMG]: All of our scholarly patrons have memberships. The Library of Tarant requires membership for anyone who wishes to read our volumes. We find it keeps out the... bad element.
    [​IMG]: [Smiling brightly] What can you tell us of your facility?
    [​IMG]: This is the great Library of Tarant. It was created 60 years ago when the King chose to make his extensive library available to the public.
    [​IMG]: Tarant has a King? I thought this was an oligarchy.
    [​IMG]: Tarant no longer has a king. The tale is a heartbreaking one. Some would say that when technology began to come into power, it was the King's desire to industrialize Tarant slowly. Others thought the King was holding technology back from the people. Though the kingdom was thriving, the royal court was in turmoil.
    [​IMG]: Go on...
    [​IMG]: The League of Gnomish Merchants was gaining power rapidly. One day, the King was found dead. The Queen and the Prince were missing. Having no heirs, the royal court was disbanded and the Gnomish Merchants Guild took control.
    [​IMG]: A sad tale indeed. What was this about a membership?
    [​IMG]: [She looks from Lionel to Jayna, taking in her leather armor, and shakes her head.] Must we continue this charade? It must be obvious to you that this is not your element. The pub is located right down the street. [Jayna gasps. Lionel's knuckles whiten.]
    [​IMG]: Look, please just tell us how much a membership is.
    [​IMG]: [She smiles.] A lifetime membership costs a mere 5000 coins. [Jayna makes a soft choking sound.]
    [​IMG]: We are interested in a membership.
    [​IMG]: [Both the librarian and Jayna goggle at him.] Really!? Oh my...
    [​IMG]: Yes, but not at this time. We shall return later, madam. Thank you for your agreeable service. [He turns and strides out through the door, Jayna at his heels.]

    [​IMG]: I can't believe she...
    [​IMG]: Oh, she's always been that way. I'll tell you, though, if I ever have the coin for a membership...
    [​IMG]: But I thought the library was free for public use?
    [​IMG]: Oh, it is. The general collection, anyway. But you can only check books out with a membership. Otherwise, you just have read in the library and be prepared to suffer her scowling and pestering.
    Lionel decides not to mention that his own previous visits often ended with threats of calling in the guard. It hardly seems prudent, as he suspects that Jayna will not be accused of “soiling” the books.
    [​IMG]: Oh, is that all? Well, it still doesn't seem fair...
    [​IMG]: Never mind. How would you like to see the university's bookstore?
    [​IMG]: That sounds lovely. Let's.

    They proceed to a public lounge at the end of the university court that contains several faculty offices and the bookstore. Jayna pick over the selection and comments on the outrageous prices that students must somehow scrape together. Lionel, for his part, gives one word answers. He is feeling rather self-conscious after his treatment in the library, and considers how he may regain lost face. On their way out of the building, a portly gnome calls out to him.

    [​IMG]: Hoy there, hideous! How about some honest work, if the concept's familiar to you?
    [​IMG]: [Lionel turns to Jayna, whose expression is darkening.] Excuse me a moment. [He walks over to the gnome. Standing directly in front of him, he leans low and looks down even further, his hands in his coat pockets. His voice is low enough that only the gnome can hear him, and remains perfectly steady and reasonable as he says:] If you speak to me like that again, I will rip your tongue from your throat. Is my meaning clear to you?

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Er, y…yes…s-sir. I, uh, please forgive my rudeness. [Jayna smiles. Lionel straightens.]
    [​IMG]: It's beneath mentioning, really. Now, then. Perhaps you could introduce yourself?
    [​IMG]: I am Benjamin Gershwin, doctor of phrenology.
    [​IMG]: It's nice to meet you, Benjamin. Did you say phrenology?
    [​IMG]: I did indeed. Phrenology is a science of the head. You see, every man and woman's head is characterized by different bumps and ridges. Through studying these, I attempt to extrapolate the personality of the individual involved. It's dreadfully interesting, and phenomenally accurate...
    [​IMG]: Hmm. You don't say.
    [​IMG]: That sounds fascinating! Will you read MY head?
    [​IMG]: Surely, young lady! Here, if you'll just lower your head, and turn to the right... Ah...oh! Quite interesting! I would surmise, unquestionably, that you are indeed a half-elf!
    [​IMG]: An astonishing display, Benjamin. So, what was this about honest work?
    [​IMG]: Well, at the moment, I'm looking to acquire the skulls of Jin and Xin, the famous Ren'ar Siamese twins, for my studies. They were elven debutantes who were joined at the hip their whole lives! Scandalous characters as well...stories of their exploits still float around the elite Tarantian social circles...
    [​IMG]: And you wish to acquire them? Where can these skulls be found?
    [​IMG]: Well, that's going to be a bit of a problem...perhaps you could help me with it? They're interned in a mausoleum in the Tarant cemetery. I'll pay you 100 gold pieces for your trouble...
    [​IMG]: Excuse me, I must not have heard you correctly… this is your idea of honest work?
    [​IMG]: Er, well, in a manner of speaking… I just meant… well… [He gestures limply toward Lionel and mutters an apology.]
    [​IMG]: You want us to rob a grave for you?
    [​IMG]: No, of course not! It's just… well, this is in the interest of scientific progress, miss. Just think about the advances that could be made from just this one little..."indiscretion." I'm sure the guards could be persuaded to agree...
    [​IMG]: Thank you, Dr. Gershwin, but I think we'd rather stay on the right side of the law, if it's all the same to you. [He turns to go.]
    [​IMG]: Lionel, wait. This sounds like it could be truly important in the development of this discipline.
    [​IMG]: Indeed it would, miss.
    [​IMG]: Couldn't we at least talk to the guards?
    [​IMG]: [Scowling at Dr. Gershwin] Well, I suppose…
    [​IMG]: Wonderful! Let me know when you have found the skulls!

    Jayna has a new spring in her step as they leave.

    [​IMG]: You see? We've found work already!
    [​IMG]: Yes, well. I'm not entirely sure about this job. If the guards—
    [​IMG]: Don't worry. I'll do all the talking, and if they don't cooperate, we'll go no further.
    [​IMG]: Right. [He is clearly uneasy about this, but takes it no further as they continue their walk to the steamrail.]

    They arrive at the cemetery in short order. It's expansive, certainly, but nothing like as large as Jayna thought it would be. Lionel knows why, but says nothing. The vast majority of the dead are in the catacombs far below; with the exception of certain public and historic figures, most bodies remain in their plots for only a few years, long enough to be picked clean, before they are exhumed, divided by shape, and shelved in their final resting place. Unflinching though Jayna has been in the face of injury and death, he's not at all sure that she would find this a pleasant anecdote.

    [​IMG]: Excuse me, sir... This is rather awkward, but I was wondering if I could speak with you regarding the tomb of the Ren'ar siamese twins?
    [​IMG]: What, again? Look, if you're from the press, you're wasting your time. The captain's made his official statement, and that's all you're going to get.
    [​IMG]: I'm sorry? No, I'm not from the press. Why? Have they been asking questions?
    [​IMG]: You haven't heard? There's a resurrectionist about. Someone broke into their tomb and stole the skulls. Just the skulls! I ask you...
    [​IMG]: Why, that's horrible... I, er, was going to pay my respects. Just where is their tomb, sir?
    [​IMG]: Over there. [He points.] You can go on in, if you like. The rest of the remains have been relocated for their protection.
    [​IMG]: Thank you, sir.

    [​IMG]

    Jayna and Lionel stroll over to the tomb, the door of which has been broken in. Inside, the dust has been disturbed and the stone coffin lid has been cracked and shifted. There's a terrible miasma about the place, a stench of rot and a pall of rats so strong that Lionel nearly gags. Peering inside the coffin, something small and black nearly blends in with the shadows, but catches Lionel's eye. He pulls it out.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: “The Wellington...” That's the Gentlemen's club just up the road...
    [​IMG]: Well, what are we waiting for?
    [​IMG]: Do we really want to get involved in this?
    [​IMG]: Please?

    They soon arrive at the nearby Wellington Gentlemen's Club. It's a stately stone building with small windows atop the walls. A lone human man in a white dinner jacket waits outside, his arms crossed over his chest. He greets Lionel and Jayna as they approach.

    [​IMG]: Hello, sir. Madam. May I help you?
    [​IMG]: Yes, might we go inside?
    [​IMG]: Ah. You may, sir. But I'm afraid that this is a gentleman's club. No offense, madam, but females are not allowed in.
    [​IMG]: [To Lionel] It's all right. Go ahead and see what you can learn. I'll wait here.
    [​IMG]: We only ask you conduct yourself in a gentlemanly manner, sir. [He sniffs.] As best you can. Allow me to open the door. [He does so.] Please...enjoy yourself.
    [​IMG]: Thank you, I will.

    Lionel looks around the club. It's a single, opulent room with sturdy, ornate furniture and smoke-stained wallpaper. A bar runs along the right wall, a lounge on the left. A few of the patrons are making small talk; the rest are engrossed in their drinks or their newspapers. The crowd seems mostly human, though a stocky dwarf in fine clothes has a small audience next to one of the sofas and an elf in dark, hooded robes leans against the far wall, blowing smoke at the ceiling. No one looks his way. Lionel walks straight to the bar. He sits down and signals to the barman with one finger. The man next to him, a human wearing a smoking jacket, absolutely reeks of alcohol.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Good afternoon.
    [​IMG]: Huh? What? What ish it? Hic! Who you be?
    [​IMG]: Name's Lionel. And you, sir?
    [​IMG]: [He stares intently at Lionel, trying unsuccessfully to focus his eyes.] Why, I am the honorable -hic! Shir M...Matt de Cesare, esh-hic-quire. Now, if you'll excushe me...
    [​IMG]: Certainly.

    Lionel pays for his whisky and casts an eye about the bar, paying particular attention to the shoes and knees of the patrons. His eyes alight once again on de Cesare, whose shoes are in need of a good shine. The man has set down his martini glass and taken a cigarette from a silver case. He is patting his pockets and muttering to himself.

    [​IMG]: Damnation...
    [​IMG]: Pardon me, sir. Is this yours? [He shows the human the matchbook from the tomb.]
    [​IMG]: Huh? [His eyes seem to clear for a brief moment.] I do not know what, uh...thash not, uh, mine. Leave me alone. Hic!
    [​IMG]: Just being polite, friend...
    [​IMG]: Toss off, half-orc! I don't -hic- wanna haf ta get violent wit you, or call the guardsh...[he turns back to the bar, ignoring Lionel, but his right hand reaches into his jacket, patting for his matches.]
    [​IMG]: Right. Right. Fine. I've had about enough of this. [He downs his whisky, stands up, and walks out the door in one fluid motion.]

    [​IMG]: Well? Did you find the owner?
    [​IMG]: [His voice betrays his agitation.] Doesn't matter. This is over. We're not getting any more involved in this.
    [​IMG]: But—
    [​IMG]: Damn it, Jayna! [She flinches, but holds his gaze.] Do you have any idea what happens when the guards here talk to a half-orc?
    [​IMG]: No. I don't. What happens?
    [​IMG]: They find a crime to go with him. Jayna, I can't get involved in this. You understand?
    [​IMG]: Yes. I do.
    [​IMG]: [His tone softens.] I'm sorry, I—
    [​IMG]: It's fine. Let's tell Dr. Gershwin. [She starts walking away without looking at Lionel.]
    [​IMG]: Jayna, I really didn't—
    [​IMG]: Come on.

    Jayna leads the way back toward the university with quick steps, keeping her eye on the distant towering bulk of the dormitories. Her eyes thus occupied, she walks right past the steamrail station.

    [​IMG]: That was—
    [​IMG]: I'd rather walk. We should be saving our money.

    As they pass through Kensington park, an unfamiliar half-orc with a scar over his eye catches Lionel by the elbow. Jayna turns and waits when she hears them speak.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: 'Ello, bloke! I go by the name of Thom Grak. Say, you wouldn't happen to know a fellow name of de Cesare, would ya?
    [​IMG]: [Lionel glances about suspiciously.] Yes, I've met him.
    [​IMG]: You have? Would you know where I can find that old bugger?
    [​IMG]: Is there a reason you're asking?
    [​IMG]: He was meant to meet me here at the kiosk over an hour ago. We have some business to take care of.
    [​IMG]: Well, he's at the Wellington Gentlemen's club, sauced to the gills.
    [​IMG]: Good show! Could you deliver a message to him for me? Tell him to get his bum over here. I'd rather not, uh, go try to find him in the club myself on the off chance he's already making his way over here. I'd hate to miss him...
    [​IMG]: Do I look like a messenger to you? I don't have time for this.
    [​IMG]: Would 20 gold change your mind?
    [​IMG]: Look—
    [​IMG]: Yes.
    [​IMG]: Ha! Good on you, miss! Remember, it's the kiosk at Kensington Broadway. I'll give you the money when you get him over here. [Jayna nods and starts walking back toward the club, again not looking back. Grak watches her go and gives Lionel a salacious wink.]
    [​IMG]: [Defeated] Fine. We're off, then. [He hurries after her.]

    Jayna installs herself once more next to the entrance to the club. Lionel turns toward her, sees her expression, and turns away to talk his way inside once more. His usual cursory examination finds most of the same crowd in the bar. A human gentleman in a brown overcoat follows him in and walks over to the nearest sofa, where he picks up a newspaper. Lionel proceeds to the bar, where the inebriate he came for is still installed on the same stool.
    [​IMG]: De Cesare?
    [​IMG]: Wh— You again? I thought I told you to hit the -hic- bricks.
    [​IMG]: I have a message for you from Thom Grak.
    [​IMG]: Oh? [He barely looks at Lionel, but sinks down in his seat slightly and puts his right hand in his jacket, apparently fumbling for a cigarette.] What does that old tosser want now? Hic!
    [​IMG]: He's waiting at the Kensington Broadway kiosk for you.
    [​IMG]: Oh he is, eh? [He lurches forward, and steadies himself on the bar at the last minute before falling on top of Lionel.] Shtupid -hic- bourgeoisie businesshman! Let him wait!
    [​IMG]: Right. Well, he told me...to-- Get down!
    In the corner of his eye, Lionel watched the man in the overcoat slowly lower the paper, saw the glint of metal rising over it, and now pushes de Cesare's arm to get him moving as he himself drops to his knees from the stool. A knife shudders into the wall past the bar at eye height as de Cesare rises and expertly pulls a pistol from inside his jacket.

    [​IMG]: You're a dead man, de Cesare! You're a fucking corpse!

    The only answer de Cesare seems inclined to offer is a bullet between the fellow's eyes. As the body slumps to the floor and the club descends into pandemonium, he grabs Lionel's collar in one fist and pulls their faces into close proximity.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Who in the name of Halcyon's balls are you?! Why did you lead him here to me? Talk quickly, before I kill you!
    [​IMG]: What? What are you talking about?
    [​IMG]: You're one of Grak's men, aren't you?
    [​IMG]: I met him on the street. He asked me to do him a favor, that's it.
    [​IMG]: [He pauses for a moment, looking at Lionel.] I may be insane, but I believe you. Now get out of here, before I change my mind. [He releases the half-orc.]
    [​IMG]: Wait - what was all this about?
    [​IMG]: [He looks around. No one's approached him yet, and the club is still in an uproar.] We can't talk here...follow me.

    Lionel nods and Sir Matt de Cesare leads him out to the street, where Jayna bounds up to him.

    [​IMG]: Is everyone alright? I heard a gunshot. What happened? Who's this?
    [​IMG]: Come this way. I'll explain when I know. [He sees two guards running in their direction.] Quick!

    They walk briskly around the building and stop at the cemetery wall. De Cesare hoists himself up to look over it and scans the street before slumping against the wall of the club.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Okay, we can talk here.
    [​IMG]: What is going on here? Who are you?
    [​IMG]: Who's this?
    [​IMG]: A friend. Jayna, this is Sir Matt de Cesare. It was him who fired the gun, and this [he flourishes the matchbook from his pocket] belongs to him. Now he's going to tell us just what the hell this is all about. [He turns expectantly to de Cesare.]
    [​IMG]: [He stares at Jayna a moment, then seems to make a decision.] Well, this may sound strange to you, but I'm here in Tarant to recover the skulls of the Ren'ar Siamese twins. Their skulls are evidence that...well, I will fill you in if you bring them to me.
    [​IMG]: You mean you don't have them?
    [​IMG]: I'm afraid not.
    [​IMG]: But the matchbook--
    [​IMG]: Just what is your interest in the skulls, exactly?
    [​IMG]: We were sent to retrieve them for Dr. Gershwin, the phrenologist at Tarant University. [Lionel shuts his eyes and sighs through his nose.]
    [​IMG]: A phrenologist? Wait. Gershwin… Is that a gnomish name?
    [​IMG]: Why, yes. He is a gnome.
    [​IMG]: By gods… Then they don't have them… please, whatever happens, you can't give the skulls to him. I'm begging you!
    [​IMG]: Why not? What the hell is all this?
    [​IMG]: I can't tell you. At least, not yet. I need to know I can trust you first. But please, I know this is a lot to accept, but you must bring me the skulls if you find them.
    [​IMG]: But Dr. Gershwin said…
    [​IMG]: I don't know the man, I don't know anything about him. But if what I suspect about him is right, it would be disastrous to give him the skulls. And if I'm wrong, then you would be putting him in great danger.
    [​IMG]: I don't know…
    [​IMG]: Please! I swear, I'll tell you what I know if you just do this for me...
    [​IMG]: Do you have any idea where we would find these skulls?
    [​IMG]: Well, that's where this becomes difficult. The skulls had been interred in a mausoleum in the Tarant cemetery, but when I went looking for them, they were already gone. I… have reason to believe they are still in Tarant, in a warehouse somewhere, waiting to be shipped out.
    [​IMG]: This is absurd…
    [​IMG]: Is this really that important?
    [​IMG]: The fate of the world may well depend on who finds the skulls first.
    [​IMG]: [She turns to Lionel, her face a mask of confused interests.] Lionel?
    [​IMG]: Oh… very well. We'll try to find them. [His brows furrow and his voice deepens almost to a growl] But if this turns out to be some sort of joke...
    [​IMG]: I can't thank you enough. Please, return as soon as you can.

    Lionel begins walking briskly down the street toward the river.

    [​IMG]: Lionel? Where are you going?
    [​IMG]: The warehouse district.
    [​IMG]: But we don't know where they might be stored. I mean, he wasn't even sure they're still in the city.
    [​IMG]: I know. But there was something else in that tomb.
    [​IMG]: What?
    [​IMG]: Just... Follow.

    They soon arrive at a long, squat brick warehouse almost indistinguishable from the others.

    [​IMG]: This is it.
    [​IMG]: How do you know?
    [​IMG]: Trust me. [He looks around to make sure no one's watching, hefts a rock, and smashes the lock on the door.]
    [​IMG]: Lionel!

    [​IMG]

    The half-orc immediately slams the door inward and is rewarded by half a second of shock on the face of a full-blooded ogre within. This is time enough to aim, and the great oaf clutches its chest and releases a most satisfying wail as it begins hobbling toward the door. A high-pitched shriek off to the side alerts Lionel to his primary target. There stands a creature with a spine like a prawn, a hairy, lumpen form so hideous that even Lionel looked on it with disdain, a snuffling, plague-ridden snout holding incisors long enough and thick enough and sharp enough to sever wrists whole. A creature that reeks so powerfully, he could smell it from the street in passing. Without a moment's notice, the were-rat is upon him, its massive flanks propelling it halfway across the room before Lionel can react, its claws raking his already-disfigured face. He empties his revolver into the beast until it lets out its final gasp, then turns back to its accomplice, which has cornered Jayna. The ogre can't strike as hard as it normally could with its gaping wound, but she's fortunate all the same that she manages to dodge its blows and strike with her sword. One more round in the lummox's heaving back, and it falls to the floor, sputtering blood. Jayna stares at Lionel, wide-eyed and panting.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Are you all right?
    [​IMG]: [She pants for a few seconds, then nods.] What was—
    [​IMG]: A were-rat. They used to be pretty common in the city, but not any more. Best not to think too much about it.
    [​IMG]: Well, let's have a look at you. [She inspects the scratches on his face, cleans them with a stinging solution out of her pack, and pronounces them nothing to worry about.] And you're sure this is the place?
    [​IMG]: Positive. Let's find the skulls.

    The foul corpse of the wererat has a pouch tied to its waist containing a couple of hundred coins. The crates and barrels of the warehouse turn up several useful curiosities, among them a hunting rifle, a suit of chainmail that had clearly been worn by the wererat in human form, and two skulls, yellowed but well-preserved.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: Not so pointless after all. This is enough for the train fare there and back.
    [​IMG]: Lionel, how did you know the skulls would be here?
    [​IMG]: ...Tracking. You just need to know what to look for. [She looks on him admiringly. He sniffs, grimaces, and turns away.] Well, now. You have a choice to make. The phrenologist or the fop?
    [​IMG]: ...I think we should take them to de Cesare. He really seemed not to trust Dr. Gershwin, and I'm not sure why, but I believe he had a reason.
    [​IMG]: Fair enough. Let's go.
    [​IMG]: Yes... You know, that was amazing shooting. You really are very brave.
    [​IMG]: [Lionel's ears burn and he doesn't look at Jayna, but he smiles despite himself.] Er, thank you.

    In just a few minutes, they're back at the club. Sir Matt de Cesare hasn't moved except to start furtively smoking a cigarette. He flicks it away as he sees them approach.

    [​IMG]

    [​IMG]: What news?
    [​IMG]: We've brought you the skulls. [Lionel holds them up for him to examine.]
    [​IMG]: Excellent! This is the break we've been looking for.
    [​IMG]: You were going to tell us what's going on here, now?
    [​IMG]: I can tell you what I know, and a man named Arthur Tyron can fill you in on the rest.
    [​IMG]: Please, continue.
    [​IMG]: Some years ago, bizarre breeding experiments were begun in secret which would eventually effect the balance of power here in Tarant. The Ren'ar twins were the first viable offspring produced by these experiments. Their skulls are simply the first piece in a long chain of evidence we are gathering to expose them all!
    [​IMG]: [Jayna listens with rapt attention.] Who is doing this?
    [​IMG]: What was the purpose of these experiments?
    [​IMG]: No. I have told you all I dare...Tyron can fill you in on the rest. I need you to bring him the skulls, if you would. It would be far to dangerous for me to search him out...
    [​IMG]: We'll do it!
    [​IMG]: Good! He was in Black Root, last I knew. Perhaps you can still find him there. Go by the train, before they know where to look for you.
    [​IMG]: Who?
    [​IMG]: I can't say a word about it. Listen. If you need to contact me after you've found him, you can leave a message with the doorman at the Wellington.
    [​IMG]: We have business near there, anyway. We'll be on our way, then.
    [​IMG]: Thank you. And good luck...

    [​IMG]

    Lionel sits staring out of the window, blankly watching the scenery roll past at an astonishing speed. He'd heard that these locomotives could move as fast as sixty-five miles in an hour, and he is ready to credit it. He and Jayna have a compartment to themselves. Every traveler is equal on a train, even him. His wooden seat is hard and uncomfortable, and the train shakes so wretchedly that his thoughts keep turning unintentionally inwards and focusing on elements of his anatomy better left unmentioned. When he is not so occupied, his attention wavers between the weight of his revolver in his inner jacket pocket, a grim sense of foreboding about the morning paper, and a difficult conversation he foresees in the immediate future. He has been particularly taciturn on this journey, but now he looks up and begins to speak.

    [​IMG]: Jayna... I've been thinking... Confound it...

    He takes a deep breath and starts again.

    [​IMG]: Jayna, here's how it is. The mine deed cost me 250 coin, and this little train ride set us back another 150 each way. I'm not exactly a wealthy man, Jayna, as you may have noticed. Work doesn't come easy these days. Now, I feel for Sarah. I do. I think she's been dealt a bad hand, and more's the pity it should happen to such a nice girl. But she can't afford to give us one damned gold piece, however thankful she feels. Her brother offered me 500, and I'm pretty sure I can talk him round to covering my expenses, too. Now, look, this isn't the way I want it, but it's just the way it is. A man like me can't go around risking his reputation and his livelihood playing hero to every rustic whistle stop in Arcanum. I--

    The door to the compartment opens and Jayna comes in. Lionel lapses into silence once more.

    [​IMG]: You were right, the dining car's not worth a visit. Here. [She hands him a dry meat pie, then turns her attention back to the window, the Morbihan plains rolling past at an astonishing pace.] It's incredible.
    [​IMG]: Hmm.
    They do not speak again for the remainder of the journey.
     
  10. Jojobobo

    Jojobobo Well-Known Member

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    I could be wrong but I think this is an ogre guard. Another good installment none the less.
     
  11. friartuck

    friartuck New Member

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    Right you are, Jojo! Good catch. Fixed.
     
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