The Intoxicating Belligerence of Unification

[Gattletowne]

Welcome to the Parishes

This Intoxicating Role-Play is

Directed by
Gattletowne

Performed by

@Shadowwell playing Giostou Krystallou a.k.a Tristan Carver

@Average playing Artorius "Voltaire" Ellingsworth

@SedentaryCobra playing Simulacrum

@Nyx playing Sellibeth Isis Gardens

@ArQane playing Daniel Elage

@Oscar playing Gon Ashmiel

Also Performing

Gattletowne playing Melle Beselisk

Special Thanks
@Shadowwell for extensive world-building contributions
​

Soot and steel. Whiskey and blood. Worship the Sun and fear the Dark. The giant cogs of industry are born again in the corpse of an ancient civilization lost to the wheel of time. The hardened boots of soldiers march in step along the Hierophant's Way, and Ixe's Shadow lie in wait for the right moment to spark a revolution. This is the Greater Parishes, my friends, where a beggar can rise to be a god...for a price. It's here where folks can use their minds to perform fantastic feats, and where those who roam the wilds implant colorful crystals into their bodies with stunning side-effects. Don't get caught by the Nightwatch, because you might end up with a warning or you might find your name in the dead book. And then there's the ruins. To some they're the skeletons of lives lived too long ago, to many they are the mysterious keepers of unimagined treasure, but to most they're a cruel death waiting for an unprepared soul. Do you have what it takes to explore the Cita de Mortu?

The Greater Parishes don't cater to the weak, and they find a way to humble the strong. Welcome, and if you don't act with thought and care, goodbye!

 

[Gattletowne]

Role-Play Guidelines​

Most of these guidelines are pretty standard to many narrative-based RPs, but clarity is never a bad thing.

Clearly, Godmodding and power playing is a no-no. You control your character and nothing else. You don't control how your actions affects other PCs, NPCs, or the environment. I make those decisions. You can describe your actions to the inth degree, but I will decided how they play out. Sometimes things work out, sometimes they won't. I've said many times that it's our failures that sometimes makes the best stories and most interesting characters. Which is not to say it's going to rain down shit all the time. There's going to be plenty of 'cinematic cool moments.' Feeling powerful is fun and interesting too.

Now when I say you only have control over your character and nothing else, that does not mean there's no openings for being creative with the world. Many aspects of the world have been left vague on purpose so that we can, collectively, fill in the details. Ideas are welcome. Either post them in OOC, or if you want them to be a surprise, PM me. I am very open to creative suggestions. But I will also ask you to fix something that I find incompatible for my vision of this world.

I also encourage extensive OOC/PM interactions. You have a cool idea for story arcs between your character and someone's else's or multiples? Work it out. This is everyone's story, make it what you want it to be (within these guidelines of course).

Also don't be a Mary/Gary Sue. This goes with my opinion on failures. Though this is fantasy, these characters are based on our projections of how real people behave. No one is perfect and without flaw. Neither is your character. No one is beyond redemption or 'pure' evil. And keep your bios in mind. Make sure you don't veer off the path you've built for yourself. This doesn't mean that your character can't grow and change, but don't run around doing drastic things out of character. I'll expect a justification if you do and ask you to fix it if I'm not satisfied.

What this all is distilled down to is this. Respect your fellow PCs, respect the environment, and have fun. Novels, movies, and tv shows are all passive entertainment. Even gaming, though interactive, is more or less static. By RPing these story beats, we get to literally interact with and participate in the unfolding of a creative work of art. I think that's pretty cool. Hope you do too. Can't wait to work with you.

Note: I am very sweary. Fuck is one of my favorite words in all life, so this is a mature RP. That said, I'm not into murder porn or erotica in RPs, so steer clear of that stuff, please.

Posting will be free form. If there's an extended dialogue between two PCs, it should be worked out in PM and then posted all at once. Also, I plan to work your biographies into the narrative, so you most definitely will be encountering people from your past and present. I will PM you any relevant info you need when I choose to go down one of these paths.

The Setup​

Everyone will have been informed, outside the narrative, that they are to come to Hermingild Inquiries at a specific date and time. You can RP that if you want in your first post, but in the end you'll be at, near, or inside of H.I. It's a rather large three-story, brick building. Those of you familiar with the console game Dishonored, it's similar to the architecture of the buildings surrounding the Hounds Pit Pub. Turn of the Century American Industrial Revolution. As a matter of fact, if you google Hounds Pit Pub and select 'images' you will get an idea of what I mean. Gattletowne has the same tone. Factories and the giant Foundry dominate the landscape of the Parish capital. My NPC main, Melle, will be lounging behind a clerks desk, feet propped up and her hat covering her eyes. She'll appear to be sleeping. The lower level of the building is an oddities/book store. Hermingild sells stuff the treasure hunters bring back that are of no use to his studies.

 

[Gattletowne]

Coal stank. No matter how many days she spent in this god forsaken city, she never got used to it. It clung to her clothes like a beggar and stained her gloves like black blood.

The air was especially thick with it today. The opaque plumes belched out just as heavily from the Foundry stacks as ever, but today it seemed different. The air tasted different. Maybe it was just in her head.

Melle readjusted the wicker basket of goods she carried from the farmers market down the cobbled street from Hermingild's. It was full of last minute needs Lorn had asked her to get. He was cooking for guests today. Anytime Lorn was in the kitchen, fussing over a recipe, she felt henpecked and a bit childish. She was hard, blood and death didn't make her flinch, but Lorn had a way of making her feel like a little girl again, trying to avoid a scolding.

She nudged the back door to the building, she'd it left subtlety ajar, with the tip of her boot and made her way inside. She relieved her burden on a nearby desk and pulled off her gloves at the finger tips.

"I got the stuff you wanted Lorn, when are those people you hired supposed to be here?" Melle asked with a raised voice. A bespectacled man with very correct posture and neatly kept, white hair emerged from a doorway. We was smartly dressed and moved with frenetic energy.

"Was I right?" He asked.

"That man just don't take a hint well. I'd just as soon put my revolver in his mouth than have anything to do with his cock, or whatever he's named it."

"Druker, I believe I've heard," Lorn said barely containing his amusement.

"Yeah. Druker the Fucker, I've heard too. He gives me the creeps. I don't fear the man, but he don't seem put together well, you know, in terms of sanity."

"No one else has squid ink, however. I do love the pasta, but mostly I like the stories you bring home from the market with you," Lorn's eyes sparkled with laughter.

"So what time?" Melle asked.

"A few hours yet. You have time to do whatever else you will. I have everything I need, thank you."

She tipped her at to her employer and took a seat at he front desk of Lorn's shop. She propped her boots on the counter, leaned back in the wooden chair, and covered her face with her hat.

 

[SedentaryCobra]

Torch in a leathery, pitch black hand, Simulacrum walked through the undercity. The ruins of the old city. Built atop the ruins of the city before that. Built atop it's predecessors. Stone walls, mortar cracking and flaking away, slime and fungus growing slick across the crumbling walls. The undercity was a maze of tunnels, a labyrinth buried just under the ground, hidden away from the prying eyes of those who tried to watch over the border. Murky fetid water splashed up from the ground as Simulacrum strode across it, body tensed and ready, eyes flickering back and forth across the tunnels, by each and every point where something could hide. He listened well, but all he could hear was the reverberations of splashing boots and hoarse breathing. A grumble echoed out from Simulacrum's stomach, echoing through the tunnel system. Not breaking his stride, Simulacrum licked his lips and continued his walk. The undercity farther down had edible fungus, but the air grew flammable and thin, and the dangers grew greater as well. The rewards of the deep grew greater farther down, but monstrosities lurked in the shadows that set even an abomination on edge.

A tiny, light, and almost indistinguishable sound made Simulacrum stop dead in his tracks. He twisted his head, and ceased his breathing to hear better. He twisted his head once more and looked down at an unassuming stone. Kicking it over, a rat froze momentarily, startled he had been discovered. Moving down the wall, Simulacrum stepped after it, pinning its tail to the ground with the toe of his boot. It cried and squirmed, but Simulacrum noticed not. He reached down and picked the rat up, holding it around the neck to restrain its bites. He examined the mangy brown rat closely. A fine meal, indeed. There was no spit and fire to cook it, nor knife to skin it, but it was merely a minor inconvenience.

A while later, he resumed his stride, his desires sated for the time being. A long and thing tongue moved across bloody and lip-less teeth, attempting to free bets of flesh stuck between them. Simulacrum navigated the tunnels with the same readiness as before, body still taut like a bowstring. He made turns unhesitatingly, navigating by an innate sense of direction and a practiced ease. One final turn led him to a crumbling wall, mortar mostly stripped away by time. He climbed upwards a few feet, and placed his hands on a smooth stone ceiling. He pushed, and slowly, a large stone tile that made part of the ceiling began to move. He strained against it, eyes roaring with the strange light of madness, but body silent, breathing shallow. The tile was pushed up and heaved to the side, scraping across the stone floor.

Simulacrum licked his teeth over, and smelled the air. A basement. Thin beams of light shone through a wooden cellar door. Simulacrum replaced the stone tile, and prepared to ascend to the surface. He tied a thin brown square of cloth over his lower face, and pulled an old, wide hat from his coat. he examined it over, and placed it on his hairless head. He pulled gloves over his scarred black hands, and began to ascend the ladder out of the cellar.

The air was filled with a thick black smog, on account of the coal. Simulacrum rather liked it. Prey found it difficult to see him coming. The shadows were growing long, perhaps a few hours of light remained before the sun set. He would spend a night in the undercity again. It was a four hour journey to the nearest exit he knew. Simulacrum breathed deep, and bean his walk. He stuck to the edges of building, avoiding the people, with head drooped low so his hat covered him as much as possible. The simple action of maintaining the position took the majority of his self control.

Another maze, this one above ground, led Simulacrum to a three story building, made with red brick and a grey shingle roof. Or, at least, it would have been, had the entire building not been stained a darker shade by the industrial grime. He pushed the door open, and entered. He stood at the entryway for a long moment, examining the new environment.

"Strange..." He rasped.

 

[ArQane]

“The usual.” Daniel Elage said.


It was a quiet morning, there were little people outside and occasionally a carraige could be seen passing the street quietly. The man before of him was one he knew well— ever since the day he was discharged from the army, he would frequently stop by to get a drink.


The man was named James Coleman. He lived two blocks apart from his bar, in the second floor of an old, shabby building. He would start his day at dawn, in case there were early customers at the bar; Elage was one of them.


He had a sense of humor, James Coleman. He even got along with the stupidest of brutes— the ones who smelled bad and got themselves drunk before returning to their houses to beat up their wives. James would talk with Elage, on an occasion, but rarely did the conversations last long. Elage normally just pretended to take interest in the subject at hand, but his focus was on everything around him. The people, their voices, their stories… Information.


Today, Elage came to the bar much later than the norm. He had matters to attend to, but in ended the same as the others. He smoothly slid onto the stool and cross his hands as James deftly crafted his cocktail. It took a while, the recipe. The bartender would need to shave a slab of ice into a sphere before mixing the juices together. Elage was never the fidgety type, but he took a small photo out of his shirt pocket anyways to keep himself occupied during the wait.


The picture in front of him was a tall girl dressed in dainty clothing. She had flawless brown hair that went down to her shoulders. Her eyes were blue and her smile was invaluable. He couldn’t help but break a small smile. James noticed the rare sight and grasped the opportunity to engage in some small talk.


“Your girlfriend?” He asked Daniel curiously.


Daniel glanced up for a brief moment, then returned to the beautiful figure in the picture. He paused for a second before replying. “No, my sister.”


James nodded. “She’s beautiful.”


“Thanks.” Daniel said.


James passed Daniel his drink, and he carefully stowed away the photograph back into his pocket. He took a sip once the door of the bar bursted open. From the corner of his eye, he noticed a young boy jogging up to the counter, carrying a small knapsack. Pulling a rolled newspaper out of it, he placed it before James.


“Your daily subscription to the news, sir.”


James pulled out a couple coins and dropped them in the boy’s palm before shooing him off. Daniel watched the boy leave before returning to his drink. James opened the newspaper up and glanced over it to see if there was anything worthwhile to read.


“Here it is again.” He exclaimed.


The several people that littered the bar all scrambled to center to hear what he had to say.


“A young girl was found dead in the alleyway of Chestnut Avenue.” James announced. “Well, thank god it’s nowhere near here.”


“She has not yet been identified, but the Array have confirmed that she was found with a knife with the jagged design lodged in her back, which connects her murder, along with previous incidents including last week’s Timothy Warren and Elaine List, to the serial killer known as ‘The Backstabber’. Authorities found her dead just after dawn, whereas she had been killed only moments before. Although the motives of the killer are unclear, Array police are currently investigating more on the case. See A-6 for more on the story.”


“Another one, eh?” Daniel asked casually.


“Yeah.” James replied. “Take a look for yourself.”


Elage took the paper, and his eyes narrowed in recognition. The young girl’s eyes were still wide with fear, a trickle of blood ran down her mouth. She was lying on her back with a large wound in its center. The knife had already been removed.


He remembered her plea for mercy. When Elage didn’t reply, she ran. A knife sliced her leg, causing her to fall to the ground. She didn’t even have a chance to scream before the second knife hit home, killing her instantly. Elage recalled kneeling in front of the corpse observing her pretty face.


She angered him. Never have they spoken to each other, but she resembled Victoria. Victoria Elage. How dare she? What gave her the right to breath and walk when his sister was the one to die? As he looked at the same figure on the newspaper, he scowled.


“Sad isn’t it?” James asked, noticing Daniel’s expression. He looked up.


“Of course.” Daniel replied. “What a pity.”


He folded up the newspaper and handed it back to James. Taking out his wallet, he pulled out a coin and placed it on the table.


“Take the change.” He got up and slipped on his jacket. James took it gratefully.


“Going so soon?” James asked.


“I got things to do today.” Daniel said, waving a small parchment in his hands visibly.


As he left the building, he opened the paper up in his hands. In fine print, the letters read “Are you in need of an adventure?...”

 

[Nyx]

She walked upon the stone ground with confident strides. Her light and prominent blue eyes gazing clear ahead of her with the same confidence. A few folk she waltzed past recognized the cruel beauty; some turned away in terror, while others looked in disgust. She made a name for herself while she was in the Nightwatch, and being the daughter of a High Man caused her more recognition than she would have liked. However, she was no longer a Nightwatchman. Therefore she threw her past behind her and was now searching to become a new individual. That is not to say she intends on tossing aside all of what she is and stands for. She is still that cold and merciless being her parents created.

Sellibeth ceased from walking, taking in her surroundings for a moment. She glanced to the building she stopped directly in front of, and realized it to be a bookshop of sorts. She figured she had some time to spare and decided to take a quick gander. The shop was larger than she anticipated - many books and scrolls and strange encyclopedias littered the store. She examined one that was on "The Kryst" - or what she liked to name "The Touched". Her face shriveled up slightly in disgust. She was not too fond of these Touched abominations. They had no place in the Parishes; Sellibeth even had the mind to have them all beheaded... but just maybe that was a little too harsh. There were some who felt the same as she did, but not enough to do anything about it. She was no longer an Array soldier, so she figured perhaps was a better time than any to move past that way of thinking.

The former soldier picked up the Kryst book and flipped through the pages, for a moment she thought of purchasing it before sliding it back in its respective place. She was not keen on wasting her money here of all places, despite her hidden adoration for books.

"Need any help, ma'am?" An old voice croaked behind her. Sellibeth was well aware of the man who was on his way to aid her, far before he made a sound signifying that he existed. She turned to meet his gaze; he was rather tall and thin, dark brown eyes that showed he was wise and so full of kindness. They were the kind of eyes she had not seen in quite some time.

She gave a faint trace of a smile,"No, but I do thank you sir."

"Well if you need anything, don't hesitate to call. I'll be right in the back there," he waved his hand towards the back of the shop through one of the aisles. He smiled with a slight bow before heading off.

"Actually..." Sellibeth called out to him before he could walk any further,"do you by any chance have anything on legends?"

The old storekeeper turned and met her eyes,"come again?"

"Legends."

He stared at her for a moment, as if confused, but soon he understood and with an "ah" he signaled her to follow him. The two came to a section that was entirely based on legends, according to the old man. He then asked,"Is there a particular one you are looking for, my dear?"

Sellibeth thought for a moment, biting her lip as if nervous to be honest, but she realized her silliness and quickly replied,"There's this legend on a man who is said to be living among us as a reincarnation of a past god or entity... who is said to be entirely human, and many feel distain-"

She was completely cut off by a woman's high pitched shriek, and acting on instinct she rushed over to the scream. She found a middle-aged woman fallen over on her bottom, holding her chest and breathing heavily. The other people in the shop looked over to the woman as though she were insane. The woman began laughing and said with a hoarse voice,"Oh my, I am so sorry. For a second I thought I was done for," she started laughing again and tried picking herself up. Sellibeth was dumbfounded, along with the rest who were nearby. The old shopkeeper helped her to her feet. The two started chatting about nonsense and how she only tripped up on a rug, and that is why she yelped.

After their small chatter, the man turned back to Sellibeth,"Do you still-"

She stopped him with a hand and hurried out of the store without so much as a goodbye or thank you. She knew she was close by to her destination, and that is the only reason she stopped to glance at the store - now she regretted ever entering the bloody place. She continued her trek, and about five minutes later she had arrived.

 

[Average]

"...abandon your identity, and take up a new one. When time comes where you have established a name for yourself, come find us. We would be more than happy to offer you a home in the shadows..", the words hung in Artorius' thoughts as he took sip of the tea he was just served. It's only been about 2 hours since he woke up from his "rescue" by a seemingly random group of masked men. In that time-span the young lad was mostly dumbfounded as to what to do. Eventually, he decided it probably wasn't safe to stay inside whatever building he was left in. Moments after leaving he realized that "building" was in fact someone's home, to which Artorius had the awkward pleasure of greeting "Good Morning" to its owners as he left the premise. What was more strange was the owner's nonchalant response to his house intrusion, but at this point questioning the queer would probably leave Artorius' state of mind further into disarray.

And now he's here, in a well to do cafe to be exact. He attempted to orient himself of his surroundings beforehand, however he quickly found out that one does not simply orient themselves of a Greater Parish. The sprawling Industrial city was like a great stone maze, with every road and alleyway leading exactly where you don't want to be. After spending about half an hour in this fruitless endeavor, Artorius gave up and went to the nearest cafe to reevaluate what to do next. Luckily, his would be rescuers were kind enough to leave the lad his wallet, which contained enough cash to survive comfortably for a few days.

But Artorius knew those few days will go by as fast as his fate was derailed. So now, in that midtown cafe, he sat alone, with the view of the smoggy,bustling city of Gattleotwn being his only company. With one hand periodically sipping on a teacup while the other maneuvering a card effortlessly around his fingers. Sometimes he would even make the card disappear with a flick of his wrist. It was what Artorius did to ease his mind, for there was too many things weighing in head, his immediate situation being the heaviest. What to do, what to do, he thought. The obvious route at this point was to follow the flyer that was left to him. It was an advertisement calling on the adventurous to undertake on jobs of perilous detail. On paper, Artorius' predicament had an obvious solution. Do as the flyer instructs, and become a Treasure Hunter. However such a thing was easier said than done. For one, this was Artorius' first time setting foot outside of his hometown of Koose,Highhall, and it was already evident that he was hopeless in getting a lay of the land. Furthermore, the job would put the young ex-officer trainee outside the walls of the cities, an area dangerously above what he used to dealing with. Secondly, was there really any need for him to play this charade? Was putting his life on the line to appease some mysterious hedge group really the only option he had at financial survival?

Artorius pondered this question. He even gave the idea of becoming a street performer some credence, but quickly wrote it off with a chuckle. "Of course I don't have another choice.." he muttered bitter sweetly to himself. He realized right there and then that, quite technically, he was either considered missing or dead. If he were to find help or reveal himself now, he would be questioned as to why a barracks full of officers and trainees were found dead or gone. Even then the only answer he would feel right giving is "...because rape is something I would kill men for.." As the words were sounded his mind his heart steamed with a slow, boiling anger. Slowly, Artorius clenched harder on the handle of his teacup as the scene in the barracks started to resurface in his head. At that moment a window farthest from the boy emitted a loud crack. Patrons of the cafe and bystanders alike whipped their head at the sudden act of vandalism. Fortunately, no one was the wiser as to who caused it, and Artorius was quick to calm himself before the whole establishment became windowless.

I needed to let that out, the young magician thought. He even chuckled at the thought, realizing that this whole situation was ironic. For the longest time the boy has wanted a life outside the confines of having a predetermined fate. Being one of the wealthy in this world is one thing, but being free of it was another. Unwillingly or no, his life now was just that. Free to do as he choose. Free to die as he wills. Artorius let out a deep sigh, as if he was now accepting the ineffable.

This was his path from the moment he decided the save a life. Whatever he had before, however he knew how to live before, was null and void. Shadows or no, if he wanted to survive the days to come he had to hold his head up high, and start using the freedom he so desperately wanted. With that, Artorius put down his card, raised his hand, and called a server. A young waitress no older than he was dressed in a servers uniform bustled her way towards, him, trying her best to ignore that commotion that just transpired with the window.

"Yes sir?" She asked politely.

"This tea will be all today. I thank you for your service, and if you may aid me with this last request, may you point me to Hermingild Inquiries?

"Ahh yes sir. That would be down two streets and then a left."

"Why thank you, keep the change, a have a job to get" Artorius said hastily. He left an odd sum of cash on the table, gathered his cards and flyer, stood up with his walking cane and started his way to the exit.

Before he did the waitress, now bubble eyed with curiosity, stopped him and asked with combination of excitement and shyness "Oh, um, may I ask for your name? I heard only the bravest take on those jobs and well, I'd like to know the name of one of those brave men..."

Artorius stared at her for a moment, as if he just remembered a very important facet about his plan. "Voltaire, and I do hope you'll see me again somewhere." With that last remark, Voltaire strided out of the cafe with newly found confidence. He was going to become a treasure hunter.

 

[deleted]

Gon was running now. He had seen the building that was addressed from the flyer. When he reached the building he opened the door and went in closing it. He began to take deep breaths because he was running for a long time. When he was able to breath easily he looked around the store. He walked around it until he found a spyglass.

"Huh, this could be useful..." Gon said to himself. He took off his travelling bag and put it on the floor he made sure all of his weapons were hidden and took out a bag full of coins. Then he put on the bigger bag and took the spyglass. He walked up to the counter with the girl sleeping on and tried waking her up.

"Uh? M'am?"

 

[Gattletowne]

Melle drew in a sudden breath through her nose and let it seep out through the thinnest part between her lips. She resettled the hat atop her head and looked at the brown haired man with his breathless, heaving chest.

"You are mistaken sir, I am not the owner nor am I the clerk of this shop. I only chose this chair as a place to rest my bones. I could have him come hither presently, but he's busy at the moment. He's expecting guests," she said with her easy drawl and steel-forged eyes, "you may have to return to purchase that artifact at another time."

 

[deleted]

"Oh, ok. Another question there was a flyer for treasure hunters. Can you help me with that?"

 

[SedentaryCobra]

Simulacrum followed Gon in. The noise of the city set him on edge, and thankfully, the inside of Hermingild was much quieter. The din of the outside was reduced to a subtle drone through the brick establishment. It eased him slightly, but he still stood ready and waiting for anything that might happen, his stance in fair breach of social etiquette. He watched the girl at the counter, and the man talking to him suspiciously, as if they posed some hidden danger to him.

"Hunters, yes. Where?" He spoke in his rough, unnatural tone.

 

[Gattletowne]

Melle leveled her gaze speculatively at the newcomer with his harsh voice and his odd dress. She could smell something, was is sewage or was it pitch? She couldn't decide. He was strange in a way she couldn't place, but she didn't sense immediate danger from him. Her gaze returned to the brown haired man.

"Both of you gentleman are in time then. My employer will provide you with more information very soon. He is presently occupied with preparing a meal we will all share during his presentation. Until that time, you are welcome to look around the shop or otherwise loiter at your convenience," she said.

 

[deleted]

"Thanks." Gon replied. He walked back to the area where he found the spyglass and put it where it was. He then walked to a nearby wall and sat down along it. As much as he was excited he wanted to sit still. He took of his backpack and rummaged through taking out a book. He set the book down and put his bag of coins away. He closed the big bag and took the book. He opened the book continuing off of a page in the middle of it.

 

[Average]

Voltaire slowly entered the three story building, having lost most his previous bravado he had in the cafe. He was even panting as he walked into Hermingild Inquiries. Unbeknownst to anyone around him, as soon as he left the cafe and "followed" the directions given to him, the poor lad ended up getting lost. Some many twists, turns, an unfortunate tumbles later Voltaire, miraculously, found his destination.

With whatever pride his still had left the young magician, walked as confidently as he can towards the female clerk that just addressed two other individuals. Faintly, Voltaire noticed the strange stench that imitated from one of the men. Furthermore, he looked considerably..grubby..in the boy's opinion, but paid no head to it. Or at least he tried. Internally, he hoped such an odd individual wasn't for the same reason he was. Keeping with his stride Voltaire passed him and addressed the woman with a voice of attempted grace. "Good day Madam, might I inquire where this call for treasure hunters is at? I do hope I'm in the right place."

 

[Gattletowne]

"You have arrived correctly young man," she said as she looked him from head to foot, settling at last on his eyes with a skeptical look coming from hers. "However this work is not for the weak of heart or soft of hand. I won't discourage your presence moving forward, but be aware that death is a very real prospect on these adventures."

Melle stood and stepped around from behind the clerks desk. Her big and gaudy revolver hung defiantly in the open, dangling from its holster inside her jacket, and she took stock of the lonely souls that hovered in the dark corners of Hermingild Inquiries.

The man with the strange voice waited awkwardly near the door like he might bolt as if a spooked animal. His head was down so his that his hat shielded his face.

A pale haired young woman with a severe visage scanned book titles with the efficiency of the driven. Melle recognized her. Some called her The Executioner when she was out of earshot. She was a Gardens. Daughter of a High Man. Kalia had been the one who made Melle a Gun Dog, still tried to brow beat her into taking a more 'active' role in the Parish. A Gardens could mean trouble.

The runner sat cross-legged with his well-worn pack near him while he flipped through a book in hand. His features were weathered and his boots had seen
miles. The Wilds were likely not new to him.

Lorn had been hoping to draw one more, maybe two with the lure of adventure and fortune. It seemed, however, word was beginning to get around that these adventures often turned into extra work for the undertakers. Melle had barely escaped with her life a few times now. If she gave a fuck about anything in this world, besides sweet old Lorn that is, she'd probably pursue alternative opportunities. Treasure Hunting, as Lorn euphemised, seemed to be the life for her.

A white haired man, dressed neat with a dark vest and slacks, ducked quickly into the room and nodded toward Melle before disappearing as fast as he'd come.

"Gentlemen, the time is nigh. Follow me," Melle said as she turned toward the door the white-haired man disappeared into.

She led the group into a beautiful dining hall that glimmered with a crystalline shine and a polished oak warmth. Smells of pasta, meats, sauces, and fruit hung in the air like sirens coaxing sailors into treacherous waters. Stained glass windows depicted nameless warriors battling epic foes, and curio cabinets displayed odd wonders brought hither from untold adventures in the Parish wilds.

"Welcome gentlemen and madame," the white haired man said, "and please be seated. Please partake in the food I have prepared. It is an old family recipe that I hope you find agreeable. We will discuss business after dinner. Please enjoy."

 

[SedentaryCobra]

Simulacrum gazed at the surroundings. Nothing in particular held his interest for long enough to be worth a second glance. Entering the dining room, he nearly recoiled at the food laid out across the great oaken table. He took a step back when seeing the rest of the room. He muttered under his breath, nearly inaudible, mostly unintelligible. What little could be made out seemed to be the words 'excess,' over and over as his eyes wandered over the room. He stopped short upon seeing the curio cabinets, and strode over to them with purpose, as if all other thoughts had vanished from his mind. He stood still now, save the occasional move side to side as he examined the wonders laid out on its shelves. Nothing else in the room, save the treasures laid out on the shelf, took his attention. From his movement, however, it was apparent the fascination was hardly of a rapacious nature, and, rather, of a hopeful curiosity.

 

[ArQane]

Daniel opened the door to his room and briskly went to his closet, pulling out his jacket and tie. Normally he would travel abroad only wearing solely a shirt, but today was a special occasion. Meeting someone while taking on a business opportunity called for special apparel; that was how he was taught growing up. It pained him really, having to take excessively long time to arrange something that, to him, was insignificant. He wouldn’t have done it, had it not been forced. Daniel remembered countless times back at the Elage Manor where he would be beaten for not dressing up properly before going down to breakfast. Over time, it became something he grew accustomed to doing. The tie was trickier— Victoria was a wizard at it.


There was little that his younger sister was not good at. She had full marks in school, and always won her father’s approval. If their surname weren’t the same, Daniel wouldn’t even have been able to spot the similarities between the two of them. However, he loved her more than anyone in the world.


His mother died of disease once he was young, and he remembered himself, as a young boy, promising her that he would take care of Victoria. That was perhaps worst failure he ever made in his life. Not being able to stop her…


Daniel adjusted his tie a bit. The monstrosity he created was slightly crooked and had a arrangement of creases at the knot. It irked him, how it appeared, but he decided to keep it as it was. Turning his attention to his revolver, he picked it up gently by the handle and brushed off the dust. Opening the chamber, he noticed that there were only bullet shells left. Dropping them on the table, he went to the shelf in search of bullets. His eyes passed over the neat line of knives stacked on a neatly folded dark gray trenchcoat. The little display was kept in perfect condition, and stood out from the dusty planks that it was resting on. Elage was tempted to grab it, but the designs of the blades were all too obvious. Their sides were grooved to pass through the air, and flesh, with ease. The edges were jagged to ensure maximum penetration if it were to slash an object. The knives of the infamous killings of “the Backstabber”.


Daniel would wear it once the hunger hit. In that trenchcoat— in that mask— he felt free. Elage became perfection. There was his life surrounded by the ever growing pool of death. Elage was immortal... godlike. It was revenge against the world. For what befell his sister and his unit; for damning him to the detestable care of his father.


Daniel knew he couldn't bring the knives. They would prove to cause a commotion, with a good chance of revealing his identity. He ended up collecting six bullets that have been scattered about the shelf and loading them into the round. He snapped it shut and spun it in a circle before storing it into a holster, which he then strapped onto his belt. He examined his watch as he exited the door. Right on time.


On time, assuming that things went his way. As if it was so easy. The trafficking was terrible, and everybody was frantically completing their own agendas, ending up creating a nuisance rather than getting things done faster. Daniel must have waited tens of minutes just for his inept coachman to get him to his destination. He had recorded the man’s name down, for future reference.


The building was a large one, most likely owned by a wealthy individual— one that would match the description of his potential employer. Daniel straightened out his tie before entering.


The seat behind the counter was vacant. Daniel had expected it to be. But he could detect the faint scent further in the building. Cooked meats? Yes. Stew... but the one Elage was most keen in picking up was the fresh blood of the butchered livestock from the kitchen. He inhaled deeply before approaching the room.


It was brightly lit, and new faces had already situated themselves around an eloquent table, most likely handcrafted. It was a rich display for a rich man, and the food… Daniel hadn’t eaten a meal of it's scale since he left the Elage Manor. He walked to the empty seat nearest to the seated party and crossed his fingers together.


“It was unfortunate that I could not make it on time.” He said smoothly. “I had encountered some... issues while coming here.”


His eyes fixed on the man with white hair. If his nurturing under the Elage family could have made it any more obvious, the man was the head of the house. Hermingild. Daniel smiled.


“What's for dinner?”

 

[SedentaryCobra]

The unexpected tapping of shoes interrupted Simulacrum's trance, sharp and dissonant among the dining room noise. Sharp, clean and clipping against the floor. Shoes of a high born individual, and by the weight of the steps, a man. Simulacrum sneered and turned to examine the newcomer. Well dressed, with a revolver hanging obviously from his waist. Not a hound, and not a soldier, so why was he so obviously wearing his weapon?

Simulacrum broke into a cruel smile, hidden by his bandana, as he watched the newcomer sit down and speak. "Pretentious..." He muttered. Upon his final comment, Simulacrum responded in a near growl.
"Obvious answers. Speaking before thinking." He turned back to the artifacts upon the shelves, quickly slipping back into his reverie, dead once more to the world around him.

 

[ArQane]

Daniel smiled. So the ruffian in the cheap cowboy attire decided to cut formalities.


As if he cared for them anyways.


“No need for hostilities.” He said, picking up the knife on the table. The blade had been recently sharpened and could serve the similar purpose as the ones lying on the trenchcoat in his closet shelf. He could send the knife at over a thousand feet in a second with the mere flick of his risk. His eyes narrowed, and Elage eyed the stranger. “Especially since we just met. I’m sure you understand.” He set the knife back down soundlessly.

 

[SedentaryCobra]

"Hostilities?" Simulacrum pondered the word for a moment, leaving a long, uncomfortable pause in between. "Dangerous work. Smart allies... preferable." He mulled over the last word, as if debating internally whether that truly was the case. He chuckled to himself in his broken voice, all the while keeping his back to the group. He continued examining the treasures, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. He rocked his head back in forth, and then put forward one word. "Simulacrum."