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The Hunt is On- to Catch a Shade Messages in this topic - RSS

Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 368

12 days ago
"Alright, that's enough." Emma declares, before punching Gazter in the face. The noble goes reeling backwards, into the arms of the tomb-colonist.

"You've been cagey, shifty, and evasive. You have refused to answer our questions, and while you have surrendered your weapons, we cannot be certain of your intent." Emma states, before looking at Evensong and Timmel. "I want you to secure these two someplace, and take these police reports they have. Anyone with decent connections could get such documents. We will interrogate them later. For the present, we need to be coming up with a solid plan of action for now. These old reports won't tell us much without detailed examination."

Emma glances at the assembled crowd.

"Any objections?"
edited by Drake Dynamo on 4/10/2017

--
Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker & Matchmaker
Emma Dynamo- Pulled from the past, ready to make a splash
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A skulduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
Interested in hunting the Shade with us? Check out our google doc!
+1 link
John Moose
John Moose
Posts: 174

12 days ago
Noah raises his eyebrows at the loud smack. Oh well, that's one solution. I suppose there are merits to her direct feedback methods. If I'm ever out of line, my nose will surely know within seconds.

"Not at all. My Lord, a person might exist so devoted to public good that they would track a hunting party down and break into their heavily trapped hideout from only the goodness of their heart and a willingness to help, but you must understand that my battle-hardened friends find such a scenario unlikely to the extreme." Noah turns away and starts slowly making his way back to the coffee machine.

"The general consensus is probably that you have some ulterior motive in doing so. If that is 'revenge on Shade for a lost loved one', excellent. However, I fear my pessimistic friends here have surmised that 'slitting our throats as we sleep as Shade commanded you to do' is also a possible motive, and I cannot blame them for their healthy self-preservation instincts."

"Also" Noah turns to face Emma before resuming his quest for caffeine "as for interrogation, my offer stands, should it come to that. But I do hope we can settle this without such.... Unpleasantness."

--
Gone. http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/John Moose
A doctor with aspirations beyond his station, as well as an apiary enthusiast http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Noah Rache
+2 link
phryne
phryne
Posts: 742

11 days ago
Timmel Orosenn looms over Alexander, harpoon in hands. "If you want to make your situation even more unpleasant than it already is, go right ahead. I'm in the mood." She nods at Mr Stormstrider. "Where do you want us to put them? Does your lair come with a dungeon?

"As for these reports," she says to Emma, "let her have a look at them." She points towards Azoth, who has surveyed the whole Phryne/Gazter chaos without getting up, almost constantly shaking her head. "Smartest person in here, if you ask me. And I trust her judgement, spy or not."
edited by phryne on 4/17/2017

--
Eva May Canning, a Scarlet SaintLady Orosenn, a Monster-HunterPhryne Amarantyne, changed...
+1 link
Lord Gazter
Lord Gazter
Posts: 573

11 days ago
Lord Gazter pulls himself up from the ground leaving his spectacles on the floor. His hands still holding onto the head of the cane. It is now clear what emotion he was feeling few moments ago. Irritation gives way to anger. Lord Gazter's eyes look towards Drake Dynamo.

"It appears that you have let dullards take charge of your hunt Mr. Dynamo. Dullards who cannot tell friend from foe. I offer not my companion and myself to this hunt of your, but few of my resources like the ones that followed you here and told me about your whereabouts. Believe me when I say, if I can track this party down so easily than so can the Shade. You all left a bloody trail from Spite, to Veilgarden, to here. It is your decision Mr. Dynamo, whether or not fools ruin your chances of survival."

Lord Gazter eyes keep darting from Timmel to Emma.
edited by Lord Gazter on 4/11/2017

--
Lord Gazter: a genial and charming gentleman of noble birth.

Victoria Crow: a spirited la.. young woman and an expert troublemaker.
+1 link
Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 368

11 days ago
(Co-written with: JimmyTMalice, Phryne, Lord Gazter, Suinicide, Bertrand Lyndon, and ShadowCthuhlu)


Gideon furrows his brow. “Well, if incarcerating these fellows is really necessary, we could always lock them in the broom cupboard,” he says reluctantly. “It’s very secure, and there’s plenty of mop-water to drink.”

Drake looks at Gazter and, after a moment, shrugs.

“It’s not my show anymore, boyo. I’m afraid my sister is running this affair. Although, to be fair, you haven’t done much to help your case.” Drake admits. Emma nods.

“I am no dullard, Lord Gazter, if you even are a lord. I have acted in a manner that is prudent for our safety. My party was almost wiped out due to my brother’s foolishness, and I intend to avoid making the same mistakes.” Emma says sternly, dusting off her fist.

“You had us trailed and you are surprised to find we don’t trust you? Especially when you keep grasping your cane - are you even truly disarmed? Also, if you put that much effort into tracking us, I suspect you have more than an altruistic interest in our affairs. Especially with the whiff of Hell about you.” Evensong mentally measures the close distance between her and Lord Gazter in footsteps and single grab. Doable, quite doable if she doesn’t have to worry about the tomb colonist. But he should be in good hands with Timmel looming over him.

Henchard steps forward from the wall, where he had not fallen asleep. “Will locking these two up solve anything? If they mean us harm, our location would have already been reported to whoever they work with. The worst they could do is attack us,” Henchard looked at the gathering, “And if we can’t deal with two men, we lack the ability to deal with the Shade. On the other hand, if they are on our side, locking them up is actively harming us, depriving us of fighters and knowledge.”

Gideon nods in approval. “Agreed. We need all the help we can get, and despite an inauspicious beginning, someone of Lord Gazter’s apparent connections could be a great boon to the hunt.”

Timmel Orosenn lets forth a long-suffering sigh. Henchard and Gideon both had a point there. Having to watch captives will only put a further strain on their efforts. “Lord Gazter,” she says. “I think it would go a long way to making us trust you more if you would just explain to us how you found this supposedly secret underground lair in the first place; and how you - or your companion - knew to navigate the traps.” She looks at him significantly, waiting for a response. It’s probably his last chance.

Lord Gazter looks at Timmel. A moment ago she was about to put her harpoon in him. What has brought about this change? he wonders, but he does not have time to think on such matters. If he doesn’t control the conversation now, then she probably will anyway.

“I heard about a group of armed thugs-” he says as he pauses for a moment to correct himself, “Not my words, my informants’ - had fought with a shady group that had followed them to a shop in Spite. A few of my infernal informants in Veilgarden informed me that your party was in Seven Devils Square. I sent a few of my informants to follow you and they were able to follow your carriages to this place.”

“One question, if I may,” says Gideon. “How did you get past all the traps? I put a lot of work into those.” He sounds a little like a child distressed at his favorite toy being broken.

“My companion here has extensive knowledge of traps and such. He was able to assist me in getting past them. If you wish, at a later date I could have someone come and help perfect your traps.” Lord Gazter grins as amiably as he can in the current situation.

“How convenient for you to stumble across such a woefully under-defended safe-house. And easily enough, too.” Lyndon points out. “I have to wonder whether your helpers are as good as you say, or if our traps and discretion are really to blame. Or, maybe, there’s something else we’re still missing.”

Gideon pouts, seemingly upset at the notion that his traps could be improved, but says nothing. At this moment, Dirae Erinyes and Phryne return to the rest of the group. They immediately notice the tense atmosphere. Phryne excuses herself to the bathroom; Dirae takes up position next to Evensong. Emma takes a look around the room.

“Alright, if that’s that, I suppose we’ll let Azoth look over the documents, and anyone else who’s interested. The rest of us, for that matter, should get back on the streets. No point in sticking around an unsecured location,” Emma says.

Lyndon takes out the stolen lighter and returns it to the Dynamo girl. “Have it back. I guess there’s no longer any risk of you blowing us up right now. Besides, I’d like to view those documents as well.” He pauses. “If you don’t mind.”

Drake raises his hand. “I know someone who might be able to help us. She’s a bit shy, but I think she’d get along with Gideon quite well,” Drake remarks. Emma raises an eyebrow.

“If it’s who I think it is, this will be an interesting reunion,” Emma says with a sigh.

Gideon sidles over to the coffee machine and starts filling up spare cups. “Let’s get some coffee down us while we’re here, shall we? I don’t know about you, but I didn’t sleep a wink last night.”

--
Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker & Matchmaker
Emma Dynamo- Pulled from the past, ready to make a splash
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A skulduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
Interested in hunting the Shade with us? Check out our google doc!
+5 link
Shadowcthuhlu
Shadowcthuhlu
Posts: 1397

11 days ago
(Co-written with Bertrand)
Dirae Erinyes guides Evensong away from glaring at Lord Gazter, and back to their now cold coffee mugs. There is a hushed conversation as Evensong recaps the conversation, ending with another glare at Lord Gazter. Finally, Dirae Erinyes speaks up.

“Love, I know you are just trying to watch out for us - but trust me Lord Gazter isn’t much a threat. It’s true he works with Hell, and some of the current trade negotiations aren’t going the best, but. . .that man is more of a windbag then a bagpiper on the cliffs of Mutton Island.”

“I still doubt he’s here for altruistic reasons - what interest does Hell have in all this?” Evensong speculated - more into her coffee cup then at Dirae Erinyes.

“Permanent death is bad for business - every person with a soul who gets killed is lost to Hell.”

“Maybe, he’s working with other parties. The Shade is from across the zee. . .” Dirae Erinyes could recognize this - old fears wearing new masks, the eternal hunt that Evensong saw salivating around every corner.

“Do you want some coffee, too?” asks a voice from behind their backs. Jordan is standing right there a broad smile painted on her face and two cups of steaming coffee in her hands. It’s hard to say if she has just arrived or if she has been eavesdropping for a while - maybe the Sergeant has taught her some of his tricks. “Is the new guy a problem? He seems nice enough to me. He says he wants to help. Why is everyone behaving like Randy all of a sudden?”

Dirae Erinyes accepts the cups gracefully. “Thank you - our own coffee resembles something found at the bottom of well than actual coffee. As for what’s going on - well I suspect Lord Gazter’s famous charm fell flat with this crowd. I don’t think he’s used to London outside of posh salons and fancy clubs.” Evensong studies the coffee before taking a deep swig - it has a warmth that never fails to help smooth the edges.

Jordan frowns a bit. “Yes, he looks out of place - just like me, I guess - but some other people here don’t look like hunters, too. You think he could be in danger if he helps you?”

“Well, first it’s all about how you carry yourself - even a mite like you can make a good impression with the rougher side if you have the right attitude. As for being in danger - possibly. I would insist that he takes no part in any actual fieldwork - both for his safety and ours.”

Jordan lets out an amused giggle. “You really think I could make a good impression? I don’t know: when I end up being in trouble for some reason, Randy always shows up to help me out. I never found anyone who was scared by me. Anyway, I think I understand. You can’t take care of him and fight at the same time. But then wouldn’t it be better if those who can’t fight remained here where it’s safe?”

“Nah, not with his agents having sniffed us out - who knows who was watching them? The safest place would probably be a trip out of London - there are many pleasant islands close to London and I doubt the Shade will leave while Drake is still prancing around here.” Evensong will comment, breaking their soothing pattern of sips.

Jordan gives the woman a long, appraising glance. “You really sound like him, you know? You must be someone who’s always trying to outsmart others as well. Don’t you find it tiresome? You should try to take a break from all that over thinking things sometimes. I mean, that kind of thoughts can keep you up at night and stress you out - I’ve seen it happening.”

Dirae Erinyes gives a laugh. “It’s a professional hazard and a b-----y annoying one as well. It’s a hard habit to break. We found that warm milk before bed and large snake around your house helps with those nights. Though talking about your paranoid ward, I’m surprised he remained as calm as he did.”

“Do you think he’s calm?” says Jordan, tilting her head a bit. “Well, I guess he might seem calm to someone who doesn’t know him well. But he’s not calm at all. He’s just trying to hide his feelings, piling them up inside until they blow up. I’ve seen him doing this before. He becomes… scary if he keeps this up for too long. More than usual. And he starts to have bad thoughts. I hope this will end soon: I don’t like him when he’s like this.”

“Maybe he’ll feel better once we get out of this shed and back into the occasionally fresh air of London. Being proactive about one’s problems usually helps. Afterwards. . .everyone needs a place, a thing or even a person that they can feel safe around. I think you might be that for him - which is another reason to move out soon.”

Jordan is about to say something, when the Sergeant’s voice cuts in. “Having a little chat, are we?” He glances at Dirae and Evensong. “I hope she’s not bothering you. She has a bad habit to pester people - even those she doesn’t know.”

“Not at all. She reminds me of my own daughter when she was young,” Dirae Erinyes responds, with a touch of melancholy. Evensong avoids choking on her coffee.

Lyndon raises an eyebrow. Is there a sense of tension in the air, or is he imagining things? “A daughter, you say? Well, the kid’s not my flesh and blood, but...” he pauses, struggling with himself. “...she is family.”

“Mine was adopted too,” Dirae Erinyes beams. There is a new tinge of respect in Evensong’s eyes as she glances over at Lyndon. Both of them can respect a man who understands the word fully.

“Anyway, I should I go, yes,” blabbers the Sergeant. His face has become a nice shade of red. “I must take a look at those documents before the Dynamos hand them to the cat-lady. Yes, of course I do. I… I’ll leave you with them, kid. Don’t overstay your welcome.”
Jordan watches him go before speaking to Dirae again. “He must like you a lot. You got him to say I’m family. He never says that. He usually says I’m a liability.”

“Must be the stress you were talking about. If you are worried about being a liability, I can teach you few tricks as those bookworms work. . .”

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Dirae~Erinyes
+6 link
John Moose
John Moose
Posts: 174

10 days ago
(collab with Barren/Bertrand Lyndon and phryne)

Finishing his cup of coffee, Noah hears the thud a pile of papers might make were they slammed hurriedly on a table. Quiet steps pass Noah by on their way to the corridor, and a strong smell of blood, cordite and smoke wafts against his face soon after. The doctor sets down his cup, and follows the smell with steady and careful steps. Turning around a corner, he hears the flustered steps slow down as their cause escapes the sight of orphans and giants.
“Sergeant?” Noah calls after him. “I was wondering if you had a moment.”

What now?
Lyndon raises an eyebrow, wondering what business could he share with the blind doctor of all people. He’s not in the mood for idle chatter. “Of course, but try to be brief. What do you want? If you want to speak strategy, I’d suggest people who have more authority than me in those matters.”

“Not… Quite. Sergeant, I make no pretense of martial prowess; on the contrary, my usual approach to combat is to make sure it’s something that happens to other people. However, in my current condition running away is… Hardly an option. I fear I would end up on the ground within meters should I attempt to run.” Noah looks rather uneasy at this point. “Fight or flight, and flight is no longer possible. However, I do now have an excuse for always having this little poker in my hand. I was wondering if you could give a few pointers for a beginner on how to make sure the pointy end ends up in the other fellow, should push come to shove.”

Is he joking? He must be joking.
Lyndon suppresses a sigh. Most people there seem unconcerned by their lack of training, and the only one who is worried about it is unfit to be properly trained. However, that concern at least shows that the doctor isn’t just another fool with a death wish. He probably has joined the hunt without thinking of the risks, and it is obvious why he doesn’t want to back away now. Still, a blind man can’t be much of a fighter.
“Under any other circumstances, I’d tell you to keep yourself out of harm’s way and use that cane only to move around. However, I’ll make an exception this time, since you clearly won’t give up on this. There might be something even someone in your condition can learn. Something that will give you an honest chance in a fight.” Lyndon takes a few steps back and to the side. “First of all, can you poke me from where you are, following only the sound of my voice? If you can’t do even that, there’s nothing I can do for you.”

Noah frowns. Concentrate. Don’t screw this up. Don’t hold back, he won’t appreciate me trying not to hurt him, and I can keep the sheath on the blade. Around… 2 o’clock… And it always sounds like they’re closer than they are… So…
Noah glides his right foot forward, putting his weight on it, and lunges with the cane towards the sound.

Lyndon grabs the cane before it reaches him. It’s slightly off-center, but better than he had expected. Maybe the doctor isn’t entirely hopeless. “Good enough. Too slow, though. You have to work on this.” Lyndon frowns slightly. “You are a doctor, and your knowledge can help you hone your fighting skills.” He moves the cane to put the tip on his heart. “Heart.” Then it moves it up to his neck. “Throat.” Finally, it lowers it to his stomach. “Guts. You must learn to find your opponent's vital points. Focus on those you think are easier to hit. Since you won’t have many chances to strike, you must make every hit count.”

“Yes, that seems reasonable. I’d say… Gut for stabs, throat for sweeps? There’s probably no point trying to go between the ribs without visual aid.” Noah raises the cane back to where he thinks Bertrand’s throat is. “Thank you. I appreciate that you’re willing to do this.” The cane moves half a meter down, ending up at Lyndon’s hip. The sergeant corrects the position. “I realise that a blind man will hardly be an asset in a battle, but at the very least looking like I know what to do with this might make the enemy pause for a bit.” The cane keeps seeking out its targets, slowly speeding up, as Noah slowly and carefully steps left and right, to and fro.

“You’d be of no use if you die,” states Lyndon with a flat tone. “Anyway, you have to make the most out of your first strike. As you said, most people will underestimate you, and give you a good opportunity to land the first blow. If you can strike them down in one hit, you’ll be safe. Otherwise, you’ll most likely be dead. Show no mercy, and aim to kill. Or at least to disable.” Lyndon pauses for a moment. “When you’ll be more confident about this, try to learn to hit every vital point you can think of. You can’t count on people offering you their throat or their guts all the time. Sometimes, you’ll have to go for less obvious spots. Being flexible is just as important as being precise.”

Noah keeps moving around, swaying a bit to attempted ducks and weaves, his cane now trying to seek out unorthodox angles. He’s enthusiastic enough, but it’s clear not seeing his surrounding is holding his feet back, and the cane is already starting to become heavy in his hand, and that shows. “First... Strike. Yes. Sensible.” A wide lunge attempts to be a strong one as well, but the Sergeant easily catches it in the air.

“Don’t overdo it,” says the Sergeant.“ You can’t learn to fight overnight. It’ll take time and practice. Keep working on it every day, and you’ll get good soon enough. There’s no other way I know of.”

Noah stops, out of breath, leaning on his cane. It takes a while for the wheezing to quiet down. “Yes, of course. Thank you. Honestly, just swinging around and hitting something is already quite a refreshing feeling. I don’t think I’ll lack motivation to improve.” Noah straightens out, his breathing more regular now. He continues in a hushed voice. “Especially in our current… Company. Sergeant, if I may ask… What do you think of the addition of this... Miss Phryne… To our party?”

“You mean that glowing woman, right?” Noah nods. “She managed to stop the creature, and probably saved our hides, so I’m glad she joined us when she did. However, she’s not the kind of ally I’d like to keep close to myself: she’s too erratic to be reliable. Personally, I think she’s our best bet to take down our mark. I’d rather not be near her when she does that, though.”

Just when he’s finished speaking, Phryne is approaching them. She has spent some time in the bathroom, primping her appearance as much as possible. She still looks like she just escaped from a battlefield. The glowing has almost completely subsided though.

"I'd like to apologize for my hurried exit, and all the hubbub it caused.” She smiles uncertainly. Both men are visibly disquieted by her proximity.

“Please, relax. I'm not in any danger of blowing up right here and now, honestly. I feel much better." She looks around, at all the people milling around in- and outside the Scheming Chamber. "So, have you formed any kind of plan in the meantime?"

Lyndon turns towards the woman. Was she listening to us? Is she angry? She doesn’t seem about to attack them, but that doesn’t mean much. Anyway, there’s nothing he can do about her, and it would be unwise to be rude. “Only in the most general sense of the word, I’m afraid. We are focusing on finding where the creature is hiding, but we still have no idea how to destroy it.”

At this point, Noah has mostly stopped shaking. He turns towards Phryne, attempting a polite smile. “I haven’t thanked you for saving us back then, have I? Apologies for that, miss. Your strength was quite awe-inspiring.” Breathe, panic isn’t helpful… “Should it come down to that… Miss, what do you think of your chances against the Shade, should we find it? Based on what I heard of the previous encounter, it seems like the rest of us might simply end up being in the way. Should we leave the fighting to you entirely?”

Phryne considers how much she can say without saying too much. “I’m… not sure I could pull that particular stunt again. I don’t think I’ll be much help in any real fight, but if you could manage to get me alone with this guy, I think there… might be something I could do.”

Something of a real smile creeps up on Noah’s lips. Well, that’s a better answer than I dared to hope for. “I see. We shall be sure to bring this up with the others. Your courage is admirable, miss. We are all in your debt.”

Lyndon has to make an effort not to grin. It wouldn’t be wise to show that much happiness now, but that is definitely good news. “Indeed, we appreciate your offer, and I’m sure the others will be equally grateful. We’ll try to find some other way to deal with the creature as well, but our options seem to be very limited right now. Your help might be necessary.”

Phryne smiles. Yes, her help would be necessary indeed, from what she could see of this rather drawn-together party. How much of a help it would turn out to be in the end, she couldn’t say, of course. She might not be able to kill the Shade, but she was quite sure of being able to hurt him severely. Finishing him up would then fall to the others. “I will be glad to assist. I hate murderers, even the rather tame ones who play Knife-and-Candle. Murdering permanently is abominable. But now I think I should speak with your leader, Miss Dynamo. I haven’t had the chance yet.” With that, she turns away.

As she vanishes into the Scheming Chamber, Noah slumps against his cane, cold sweat dripping down his chin. Funny how fast confidence can vanish into thin air. Time and practice, indeed.

“Honestly, I’d feel so much better if she’d just breathe once in a while.”
edited by John Moose on 4/14/2017

--
Gone. http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/John Moose
A doctor with aspirations beyond his station, as well as an apiary enthusiast http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Noah Rache
+5 link
JimmyTMalice
JimmyTMalice
Posts: 148

10 days ago
(Co-written with Barselaar)

Gideon takes a seat at the table and reaches over to grab some milk for his coffee. As he turns back to his cup, he catches the gaze of the Scorched Sailor. The zailor’s eyes glitter beneath the bandages.

Don’t ask about the arm, says Voice 3.

“So, about that arm…” Gideon says. D__n it all. You had one job.

The Sailor snorts a little. Everyone had been staring at it ever since he’d reappeared, so an outright question is refreshing. He’s used to the staring - he’s been dealing with it ever since his scarring - and honest curiosity is always easier to deal with than furtive horror. People are never as subtle as they think.

“You prob’ly know as much about it as I do. Clay Man takes me to the Quarter - Unfinished, I think - I pass out from the… y’know, blood -” He’s still not comfortable remembering the pain - “and when I wake up I got this.” He waves it a little. “Works a’right. Past that, I’m not sure what to think. Not much time fer any kind o’ thinking.”

Gideon nods along, listening attentively. “A Clay Man, you say? I’ve heard about the sort of things that go on in the Clay Quarter - there was that terrible business with the Comtessa - but I’ve never heard of clay parts being outright grafted onto a human.”

He pauses for thought. “You are human, aren’t you? Apologies, but sometimes it’s hard to tell. Regardless, I’d very much like to take a look at it, if you don’t mind. Is that a Correspondence symbol I see there, where the arm joins your body?”

The Sailor regards the inventor curiously. This is the first time these kinds of enquiries have come so completely without judgement - he can’t see anything but inquisitiveness underneath the questions. “Human? Yes.” He pauses. “Might not be much of one anymore, but this here is human down to the core.”

The bandages have fallen away from the arm almost completely, and the edges of a sigil are just visible. The Sailor remembers the irrigo bomb. “Good eye. If you think ye can make somethin’ of it, take a look. Try not to blow us up.”

“I don’t tend to make a habit of blowing things up - I prefer to leave that to my more combative friends - but I’ll do my best.” Gideon walks round to the Sailor and gently unravels the remaining bandages around his shoulder.

The join between flesh and clay is red and bruised - although that may just be the Sailor’s usual complexion - but there is no seam; they are truly fused together. Under his touch, several Correspondence symbols flicker to life - they seem to be a random collection at first, but a theme soon appears: amalgamy. The primary sigil reads “forever circling, never drawing closer, never drawing apart.” The union of two links on the Chain, forbidden by the Judgements. The Red Science must be behind this.

Gideon aches to learn more, but he knows a little of what the Red Science can achieve, and the thought chills his bones.

Still, he makes a mental note of a few of the sigils he hasn’t seen before. A good scientist keeps meticulous notes, and one as good as Gideon doesn’t need a notebook.

“Fascinating,” he says, and steps back to give the Sailor some space. He strikes Gideon as the type who values it. “This type of sygaldry is beyond me - biology was never my strong suit - so I don’t think I can make any improvements to it, but I may well be able to replicate it if our group is in need of any more replacement limbs. I’d make the new limbs from scratch, of course - we don’t want any more hapless Clay Men going about with missing arms, after all."

A thought occurs to Gideon. "I believe your old arm is around here somewhere, but I doubt it’ll be of much use to you now. Actually, that’s why I asked about you being, er, human - it seems to be made at least partially of tallow. I’d ask how it happened, but I imagine it would be a painful memory to relive.”

The Sailor allows Gideon his short monologue - it seems that once he’s seized by a thought there’s not much to be done until the thought reaches its end - nodding every so often. Correspondence, bar the very basics, is a closed book to him, but he registers the impossibility of reattachment with a pang. It’s been so chaotic that he’s hardly had time to consider his arms - old or new - but suddenly he’s hit with the realisation that this is him now. Another lost piece of himself.

At the mention of tallow, his mood darkens further. “There are places that curiosity should not lead you, even if yer a man of science. Obsessions…” A long pause. “You’re right. Painful. And it won’t help us now. But mind you don’t let yourself get taken over by ideas. Control is harder to regain than lose.”

“It wouldn’t have anything to with this… wreck, would it? I’ve heard Drake mention it, and I saw the flyers… how many months ago? I was tied up with a project at the time, or I would have gone myself.” Gideon lowers his voice. “From what I’ve heard, not many people made it back from that voyage, and many of those who did vanished shortly afterwards. Did their obsessions get the better of them?”

“Reck’s my ship. My home.” The Reckoning Postponed. He looks around the Scheming Chamber. “If I had any sense at all, s’where I’d be now.” Gideon is disconcertingly well-informed. “Bad business, that whole trip. Business that still hasn’t ended. Damn Shade.”

He sighs deeply, and makes a small attempt to regain control of the conversation. “Whatever happened is in the past. If I know anythin’ it’s that there’s no changing that. I’d be obliged if you could let it lie.” His voyage with Drake and the others, his humanity, all of it - even if there isn’t any discernible malice in Gideon’s prodding, the Sailor is uncomfortable opening up about things that he still hasn’t come to terms with himself. “Dwell on the past too much and the present’ll dismember ye.”

Gideon hears the pain in the Sailor’s tone. Perhaps it’s for the best if he leaves this subject alone. “Quite a turn of phrase you have there,” he says, raising his eyebrows. “I prefer to always look to the future, myself. There’s no telling what I’d find if I turned around, and I have a sinking feeling that what I’d see in the past is nothing at all. Sometimes I remember things that I shouldn’t have any business knowing, and sometimes no memories exist where there should be some. It’s like my mind is a library with all the books shuffled around. Nothing is in its proper place, half of it is missing, and it’s haphazardly filled in with books from a different library. It’s maddening.”

He stops abruptly. Perhaps he’s said too much. The Sailor is hiding some trauma deep in his past, but he’s been honest enough that Gideon felt the need to reply in kind.

“Aye, I’ll drink to that.” The Sailor takes a swig of coffee before realising that it’s still the same cold cup he’s been hanging onto for far too long. The inventor is an inscrutable one, to be sure, but something about him inspires if not quite confidence, then something close. “It’s a mess alright. Still, could be a mercy. Ain’t nothing so awful as truth.”

“To the truth, then,” says Gideon, holding out his steaming coffee cup for the toast. It’s out there, if you know where to look.
edited by JimmyTMalice on 4/12/2017

--
Jimmy T. Malice (RIP)
Gideon Stormstrider, the Episcopalian Esotericist
Vela Marek, the Studious Intriguer
Locke Lockhart, the Bandaged Bruiser
+4 link
phryne
phryne
Posts: 742

10 days ago
(co-written with Drake)

As soon as she enters the Scheming Chamber, Phryne seeks out Emma Dynamo. “Hello! I don’t think we’ve even been properly introduced yet. You probably have some questions, and I have a lot to explain.” She smiles tentatively.

Emma eyes the undead woman suspiciously. “I don’t know what your game is, but my work with the Sequence will continue, once I sort things out with my brother. So you can tell whoever sent you here that things are fine,” she asserts.

Phryne holds up her hands defensively. “Please, listen to me. I have nothing to do with the New Sequence whatsoever. I was feeling very exhausted earlier, and then I was drawn to a… source of energy that turned out to be an Element of Dawn. I... “ Here she hesitates briefly. “I… incorporated it, let’s call it that. My little problem earlier was a... side-effect of that. Anyway, I think I have it under control now. And I’m not going to take yours away.” She winks. “Oh, and I’m sorry for mentioning it to your brother. I thought he would know.”

Emma frowns and shakes her head. “That may be so, but you have jeopardized my standing with my brother by bringing that up. Perhaps, if you could, you might speak with him, and tell him you made a mistake,” she suggests.

Phryne smiles knowingly. “I can do that. Everything else I told him was complete nonsense anyway, so it’s surprising he believed that part. Now, something else: I don’t know what you’re planning exactly, but I think your party is relatively ill-equipped to deal with the Shade in a one-on-one fight. I might be able to help you out there, so… well, figure it into your plans. I’d be only too glad to help.” Now let’s see whether she buys into the good-samaritan act.

“I suppose, if you’d be willing to help, and you can control your… transformation, I would not be averse to your help. Perhaps it will take a force of supernatural power to defeat this abomination,” Emma says, thoughtfully.

Phryne’s (mostly singed-off) eyebrows are only slightly raised. ‘Supernatural’, am I now? Well, it sounds better than ‘monstrosity’.
“I think I’m well enough in control for now. Though I’d really appreciate a tiny sip of Cider - just the very tiniest, really, and watered down. Just to help with my healing.”

“Drake’s got the Cider, I don’t keep any on my person due to my line of work. I’m going to find Lady Orosenn now, so if you’ll kindly excuse me,” Emma says with a curt nod, before walking off.

Phryne looks after Emma for a couple of seconds. Well, she certainly doesn’t trust me, but I guess I’m officially on the team. Then she goes off to find Drake, determined to be extra-friendly with him to make up for their utterly confusing talk earlier.
edited by phryne on 4/13/2017

--
Eva May Canning, a Scarlet SaintLady Orosenn, a Monster-HunterPhryne Amarantyne, changed...
+4 link
Azothi
Azothi
Posts: 21

10 days ago
Postulate: Any murder by the Shade's hands is not entirely without meaning. It is the hunter, hunting the most dangerous game. Its humanity is a twisted one, born from an immortality unlike any known to the broader humanity. Why it would kill is not the right question: why it kills who it kills is a better one. The deaths and disappearances of acquaintances of Drake's acquaintances indicate a desire to attack at the father, at the being responsible for its birth.

"You squander death, when the rest of us have but one death." A memory, one from a yesterday that felt so long ago. "And with your death, we are one step closer to restoring the natural order."

Why would the Shade guard this natural order, the laws that rule what is? It was born from immortality, hidden away from the light and law of the stars. The words gnawed at Azoth, hinting at still greater mysteries. On one hand, it could have been nonsense, meant only to distract and occupy the mind in the midst of battle. Still, there was a certain showmanship it seemed to carry itself with, an almost-playfulness in the way it fought. It was the behavior of someone who'd won the battle before it begun, who would gloat for the satisfaction. If it were telling the truth, then it was no madman, killing for the sake of killing alone. No, it was an extremist, driven by philosophy and ideology, one who killed with a purpose.

If it truly hated humanity, or at least the humans of the Neath, it could do far more damage than it had done. No, every murder was a chance for exposure, a beacon that drew attention to its activities. Staring at the files in front of her, Azoth considered the potential within them. It was always nice, the last moments before a reveal, the last moments where there still was hope for a good result. She doubted that the files had much of use, but every morsel of information could be useful.

She took a sip of her coffee and began reading.

It was equally amusing and sad to see the pages of notes on how to best keep word from reaching the broader public. It seemed the constables really did not want this information disseminated. Still, there were pieces of good information scattered throughout, notes on the identities of the deceased, descriptions of the bodies, notes on their discovery. Most were unknowns, people with no known connection to Drake, though she would have to ask him to look over them just to be sure. There were some connections - the file on one "Jimmy Mariner" was colorful enough, and the disappearance of one "Mr. Mauvais" left much to the imagination - but there were people of all ages, factions, even nationalities killed. There needed to be other patterns, a different connection.


In her mind's eye, she captured London, with its intricacies and twisted streets, and began pinpointing the sites of each body. The deaths were likely part of the Shade's twisted game, either to goad Drake or simply to eliminate liabilities on the Shade's part. Either way, she began labeling her mind's map, looking at the distribution of discovered bodies. To the north of the city, murders were few and far between, it seemed. Few bodies had been discovered and the reports focused mainly on informants, who often gave conflicting accounts as to the activities of the Shade. Most bodies were scattered near the Stolen River, on the bank across from the Forgotten Quarter and south of the palace. Reports of bodies washing up by the House of Chimes were common enough, and it seemed there were even informant reports of bodies still undiscovered, sliced to pieces and scattered across the city.


A few pages in, a particular paper caught her eye. An internal report, classified and not to be released even to the constabulary, one describing an incident in a high-security cell high above the city. The Dynamos' jailbreak. No witnesses were left, but enough threads remained for the constables to connect it to the so-called "Shadow of London". Whispers in the underworld of dark-spectacled strongmen working with the "Shadow", preparing for something. And there they are again, Azoth considered, taking another sip of her coffee. The New Sequence. Not a word was spoken about them, of course. Even the mention of spectacles would probably have been censored for any broader release, but there it was nonetheless.

The Element of Dawn with Emma, along with the Shade's previous mention of her "employer" made her affiliation clear enough, but this? This was the Shade, working in conjunction with her employers, preparing to break her and her brother free. Perhaps it was merely a deal of mutual convenience, but even the possibility of alignment needed consideration. Maybe it was this that gave the Shade its will, its desire to impose order. Laws were laws, and perhaps even it could be subverted. Or perhaps this was a disruption that the Shade sought to eliminate, just as it saw Drake and his fellow hunters. There was much to be considered, and much to analyze.

She set the papers down. Names, places, and ideas swirled about her mind, pieces coming together and apart again, working to find the connections between them. The files were unnecessary now. Right now, she just needed to sit and ponder.

--
Azoth I - Midnighter - Available Watchful Patron - Long History - Appearance

Daneri, the Nothingness of Everything: The call of the NORTH is still ringing in his ears.
+7 link
suinicide
suinicide
Posts: 1778

8 days ago
(Co-written with Barselaar)

Henchard surveys the room, counting the damage from whatever happened while he was not asleep. Fortunately, the damage seems to be minimal, limited to the tomb colonist he didn’t know, and a newly arrived woman in a torn dress. Both seem to be managing quite well, and the growing unpleasantness over the new arrivals has been dispelled.

What he needs to take care of now was the growing stench of...something. A freshly burned well, the smell of drought after rain, of pain through rebirth. He pulls out the Sailor’s arm, which had managed to become unwrapped. Chunks of tallow flesh hang from threads of thickening liquid, clinging to the inside of his coat. Henchard made a note to burn everything he is wearing, and reaches inside his coat again.

A short time later, a neatly wrapped arm lay next to him, and he makes another note to burn his arm. It was probably the only way he’d feel clean again. He laughs quietly under his breath. Only to regret breathing, the smell was still lingering, soaking into the walls and into his lungs. A shudder runs through him at the image, remembering the feeling of curdling fluids under fabric as he tried to scour everything off his jacket, back into the bundle. What had he been thinking to put that in his coat? H__l, what had he been thinking to even grab the arm in the first place?

Henchard spots the Sailor near one of the machines, in conversation with someone else. More importantly, he has two arms. A strange thing for someone who recently lost an arm to have, but it didn’t matter. One way or another, Henchard is getting rid of this oozing mess.

The Sailor puts down the coffee as Henchard approaches. They share a moment of awkward silence, and Henchard is the first to speak.

“I think I’ve found something of yours,” he says, suddenly nervous. Maybe this wasn’t the right way to do this, but it was too late now. Never back down. He takes the wrapped arm from his coat and offers it to the Sailor.

Perplexed, the Scorched Sailor peels back the heavy wrapping, stony fingers moving slowly and deliberately. Whatever is inside is sticky, and strangely heavy. The next few moments devolve into a series of shapes - he can see what’s there in front of him, but not parse it. The object refuses for a long few seconds to resolve into anything comprehensible. Then it hits him like a punch to the gut. His arm. All wrapped up preciously like a Sacksmas gift, wetly congealing from the stump, gore-rimed and stinking. Unmistakable, scarred in ugly welts and whorls, his own skin and bone and tendon and tallow lying there like a paperweight.

More than anything he is struck by how… dead it looks, limp and grey. He notices the strangeness of the form of an arm in a way that one doesn’t register when it’s attached to the rest of a body. It’s impossible to ever believe that this thing, this hunk of almost-meat and bone, was ever his. He jerks his own, new, arm back in repulsion, and half expects the scarred, fleshy fingers to respond and move with him.

They don’t. The arm is still dead. The Sailor turns his horrified gaze to Henchard. What on earth could possess a man to take such a grisly trophy? His eyes, half-obscured by cloth and bandage as they are, do the asking that he is too shocked to verbalise. Why?

The question is written across the Sailor’s face. Even under the bandages, even in the dark, the question is almost blinding. He hesitates, mouth half open. Why had he grabbed it? He thought back, trying to remember. A pile unbuilding, gaping mouths, a screaming shape. A blur. He rubs his temples, why couldn’t he remember?

“What did you do for a new arm?” He asks instead, his tone perhaps sharper than he intended.

Heavy footsteps and darkness and stone and the soft crack of chisels, the Sailor thinks, still reeling. A dismemberment healed from nowhere merits comment, sure enough, but this man seeks to question him after dropping such a payload? “Myst’ry to me. Someone thought I needed it, thank Storm.” His voice is flat, but it slowly rises, getting louder and more agitated. “What in the hell possessed you to drag-” he struggles for a word “- detritus, morbid waste, all this way? You ain’t no physician. There ain’t nothin’ you coulda done with it.”

Henchard glares, his irritation rising with the Sailor’s volume. He opens his mouth, a sharp tongue rising to the challenge. How dare this half man, this abomination question a favor, how could-

Henchard bites down hard on his tongue. The sword of wit crushed by the teeth of a lion. The taste of blood spreading through his mouth as his eyes close. There was nothing strange about the Sailor’s reaction. Or at least, not as strange as returning their severed arm a day later.

“I...” Henchard says in a small voice, then he clears his throat. “I was injured during the fight with the Shade, and was not thinking clearly afterwards. For quite some time afterwards.” He swallows, blood flowing down his throat, and continues in a monotone voice, distancing himself from what he was saying, “I grabbed this in the hope something could be done. I failed to realize you were gone until we arrived here. Now I simply wish to be rid of it.” He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry if I upset you, however I am,” he hesitates, then pushes out the next sentence quickly, “unprepared to deal with this scenario. I thought respecting your wishes on the matter would be the best way to deal with it.”

The Scorched Sailor feels the anger halt in his stomach and turn to bile. He’s surrounded himself with the criminal and the strange for so long that he didn’t see how much the last few days had affected Henchard, affected everybody. Henchard’s reply - sincere and reproachful - stalls him utterly. “You… Yer right. I’m sorry. This thing, this hunt… s’bad fer all of us. Couldn’t see past meself.” He reaches his clay arm down and covers old hand with new. “Thank ye. No clue what to do with it, but thank ye.” He makes to wrap the dead thing back up in the covers that Henchard had given it and looks the man up and down. “I didn’t mean anythin’ by it. We thought we were joinin’ a hunt, and now we’re in the middle o’ war. Whole group’s like a powder keg. Glad you’ve got my back - our backs. Crack shot with that rifle out in Seven Devils.”

Apology and gratitude have never been his strong points, but he hopes he’s managed to defuse the situation a little. “Besides. Way it’s goin’, someone else might need a spare ‘fore too long.”
edited by suinicide on 4/15/2017

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/profile/sunnytime
A gentleman seeking the liberation of knowledge, with a penchant for violence.
RIP suinicide, stuck in a well. Still has it under control.
+6 link
ForScience
ForScience
Posts: 62

8 days ago
Doctor Florence Garrison, for her part, has absolutely no clue that any of this is happening. The last she saw of the Dynamos, they were being dragged of to prison, but knowing them, they made their way out in short order. Of course, a visit from her friends would be lovely, but her career at the University has kept her terribly busy.

Right now, she's poring over a cramped notebook, scratching in her ideas about the unique lack of light reflection found in ganted objects. It's obscure, hypothetical work, and she loves every second of it. And her superiors at Benthic University are sure to love it, too. Perhaps they'll love it so much that they'll reconsider her bid for that professorship that opened up after the last fellow lit himself on fire in an experiment gone wrong, jumped into the river, and was promptly claimed by the Drownies.

Right now, her life is regular, organized, and above all, as safe as life in London gets. That will soon change.

--
http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/ForScience - The Intrepid Scholar. A dauntless yet melancholy scientist who would like nothing better than to unravel the deepest mysteries of the Neath.

http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/rainbowsprinkles- The Pathetic Seeker. She tries her best, really! It's just that she isn't good at anything. She can't even destroy herself properly.
+4 link
Bertrand Lyndon
Bertrand Lyndon
Posts: 84

7 days ago
Lyndon watches the water turn red as he washes the filth and blood off himself. He had been meaning to do that for a while, but things kept piling up. The strategy meeting that led almost nowhere. The whole mess about the newcomer. The kid being annoying. The blind doctor’s odd request. The glowing woman revealing her suicidal tendencies. So many things going on in such a short time have almost made him forget about his basic necessities.

His head has ached all day, but now that he is finally relaxing, it is outright killing him. The water prickles at his wounds as it flows over them. He runs his fingers through his hair several times to untangle it from the clots of blood. He has been in worse shapes, but not by much. A wiser man would’ve forfeited the hunt by now. But wise men rarely go places in London.

Most pieces are on the board by now, and it would be difficult for any new addition to turn the tables either way. The arrangement of their side of the board is quite clear, but their moves have been amateurish so far, while their foe is clearly a master of the game. The other hunters aren’t giving the right value to their pieces: trying to save everything is a sure way to save nothing.

Dynamo is clearly their King: powerful and flexible in theory, quite useless in practice, but important nonetheless. However, the group isn’t ready yet to balance out the need to protect him with the necessity to use him as an effective bait. In time, they’ll learn the difference between a ‘check’ and a ‘checkmate’.

Oddly enough, the glowing woman is their Queen: powerful, flexible, and central in every strategy he can think of. She’s their best option to bring down the creature, but unleashing her on the mark thoughtlessly is more likely to waste her than anything else. No, she must be sacrificed for a purpose, or their situation will turn from dire to hopeless.

The monster-hunter and the hulking masked fellow are their Rooks: they’re both powerful enough to cut through most problems, but they only move in lines, since they lack the necessary finesse to do anything else. By themselves, neither is enough to bring down the creature, but they might accomplish something noteworthy if they start to work as a team. Unfortunately, they don’t seem disciplined enough to do that.

The madwoman and the inventor are their Knights: they might have their uses, but they must be moved carefully to be effective. The inventor isn’t a problem: he seems a pretty reasonable man, if one overlooks his penchant for the odd and explosive. The madwoman is a much bigger issue. She clearly doesn’t think things through, despite her high opinion of herself. However, she is also the key to move the monster-hunter. He should be more careful around her: he could do without her, but losing Orosenn would be a problem. Not that he regretted anything. He would hunt the creature alone before allowing anyone to put the kid in danger.

Lyndon himself and the other Canon are clearly the Bishops: the opposite of Rooks, they move sideways all the time and they reach the peak of their power when they strike from odd angles. The cat-lady is a somewhat more orthodox Canon than him, if such a thing even exist, but his own contribution to the front lines has been lackluster so far. It is quite clear that the creature cannot be defeated with brawn alone. It will probably be necessary to make full use of both their networks.

Finally, the rest of the group is made of Pawns: some more promising than others, but he can’t see any skill that make them stand out from the group. The blind doctor and the grumpy sailor can probably be shaped into something useful given some time, but time is a luxury they cannot afford right now. The remaining ones might have some hidden qualities he still hasn’t figured out, but he’s starting to doubt it. However, they can all be useful under the right circumstances. They are more expendable than the others, if anything else.

The kid is a piece he needs to get rid of, though. If there was a chess piece that gave advantages to one’s opponent, that would be her. He needs her out of the way as soon as possible, at least by the time they resume the Hunt. She has already caused enough inconveniences to him as it is.

Unfortunately, the opponent’s side of the board is much less easy to read. They have already met the Pawns, and they are not to be trifled with. The creature itself seems to play the parts of both King and Queen very well. It’s hard to say if it has any Rooks, Knights or Bishops. They don’t know enough of their mark. That is a problem.

Lyndon gets out of the tub and starts to dry himself. His head is still giving him trouble, but that isn’t an issue as long as he can keep his mind clear. He reaches for the clean clothes the kid has brought him. He frowns when he sees the shirt.

Of course she had to pick the b____y yellow one.
edited by Bertrand Lyndon on 4/23/2017

--
Bertrand Lyndon, a former Sergeant of the 7th Dragoon Guards who deals in crime and secrets.

(My main profile: a Midnighter available for Orphanages)

Jordan Farchild, a kid who often meddles in things bigger than herself, and Bertrand's ward.

(I check this profile less often than Bertrand and I use it only for very light roleplay)

Call me Barren on the IRC.
+5 link
Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 368

6 days ago
(Co-written with Phryne, JimmyTMalice and Bertrand Lyndon)

Emma walks away from Phryne, and rounds the table to face Lady Orosenn. Before she speaks, she takes a moment to ensure the others are out of earshot—thankfully, everyone else is preoccupied with someone or something else.

“I don’t quite trust that monster woman. What’s your evaluation of her?” Emma asks.

“Honestly, I don’t worry about her any more or less than about everyone else in this party,” Timmel says with visible signs of impatience. “So, what happens next?”

“I suppose Drake will take some people to find his friend. One Professor Florence Garrison. Nice woman, Florence. A bit shy,” Emma remarks, recalling her brief time on the Reckoning Postponed.

“Yes?” prompts Lady Orosenn, “... and? What else?” Emma snaps out of her recollection.

“Oh yes, us. Well, I think you and I would best be utilized looking for the Shade. Snooping around alleys and such. Maybe find one or two others to accompany us. Perhaps whoever isn’t coming with us or Drake can do the same, but someplace else in the city. I think we should be looking more westerly, perhaps around the University, or the Forgotten Quarter. The others could go to Spite, or Watchmaker’s Hill,” Emma explains.

“Nobody accompanies us,” Timmel insists. “Send them out in pairs, or small teams. Honestly, I don’t care—if only I don’t have to see these jokers for a couple of days. Let the Midnighters use their networks, they’ll do so anyway.” A hint of a smile appears on her lips for the first time in this conversation. “I have my own methods, and I think you’ll be interested to learn them.”

Emma chuckles. “Eager for more alone time already? Alright, if you think splitting up into so many groups is best. You know your stuff, but should anyone get hurt, or even killed, I’ll hold you responsible, as I did with Drake after the battle in the square,” Emma says, turning grimly serious at the last sentence.

Timmel raises her eyebrows. “Oh? You’ll start slappin’ me, too?”

"Only if you're into that sort of thing," Emma smirks.

“Not really,” the monster-hunter smirks back. “Listen, if these guys can’t take care of themselves, what good are they against the Shade? Let’s see what they can do without you babysitting them. I’ve already overheard Dirae Erinyes planning to take a group, and I’m sure they’re able to look out for their people. And maybe send some others with the big guy over there,” she points at the Scorched Sailor, “whatever he is, he seems kind of indestructible.” She sighs, “I just want to get out of here. We’re wasting time.”

“Alright then, let’s go!” Emma declares, before facing the rest of the room and clearing her throat to get the group’s attention.

“Ladies and gentlemen, after discussing with Lady Orosenn, I’ve determined our best course of action is to split up. In two days’ time, we shall meet in the side-streets around the Bazaar, as it’s a populous area, and no doubt swarming with officers of the law—the Shade wouldn’t dare strike us there. Lady Orosenn and I will be traversing the western regions of the city. The rest of you should divide yourself into smaller groups to explore the rest of the city. I know my brother wanted to take a small party to recover a friend of his,” Emma announces to the group. Drake, who had been speaking with Phryne, nods and looks about.

“Gideon, I suppose you’d like to come along. Professor Garrison is perhaps the only intellect to rival your own. And we shall probably need someone with us for security,” Drake says.

“A rival? I’m not sure I like the sound of that,” says Gideon lightly. “But I’ll come along, if only to meet a fellow polymath. I’ll be back shortly - I just need to fetch my travelling goggles.” He turns and strides out of the room.

Lyndon returns to the Strategy Room in time to hear Drake and Gideon’s exchange. He chooses to ignore them. He’s not there for that. He just wants to find the kid, but she seems to have left the room. She’s probably exploring the place. Maybe I should ask the cat if it has seen her.

Phryne says to Drake, “I think I will accompany you. I need to get back into town anyway to take care of some… things. And this Professor Garrison sounds like an interesting lady to know.” Actually, she’s not interested at all, but better to play along for now. She is feeling slightly tipsy from the thimble-sized amount of Cider she has accepted from Mr Dynamo.

“If you say so. Anyone else before we depart?” Drake inquires. At this point, Emma and Lady Orosenn are already gathering their things and making for the door.

Lyndon glances at the Canon reading the documents. How could I forget about those? I must be more dazed than I thought. However, there is nothing he can do about it anymore. If there was something worthy of notice there, the cat-lady has probably already tampered with it. He might give them a look later on anyway, if he finds the time. “Where in London do they live? Your acquaintance, I mean.”

“If I’m correct, she has offices on the University grounds, near Ladybones Road. We’d love to have you along, Sergeant,” Drake says.

University. Near Ladybones Road. Not ideal. Close enough, though.
“I suppose I might as well,” agrees Lyndon. “However, I have to take care of something before we leave.” The Sergeant turns back and heads out of the room. “Let me know when you’re about to depart, and I’ll join you.”

Gideon pokes his head round the door. “The University, you say? Could be problematic. Bit of bad blood between me and the fellows at the Department of _________. And the medical school. And the philosophy faculty. And the Provost of Summerset. It’s been a while, though—perhaps the aggrieved parties are retired now. I certainly hope they are.” He pulls the goggles around his neck out on their elastic straps and snaps them onto his face with a big grin. He looks perfectly ridiculous in the bright green lenses. “I’d best go incognito.”

“Well, we should leave as soon as possible,” Drake says as he makes for the door. Before he’s out he turns around and addresses the Scorched Sailor. “Captain, would you like to come with us? See an old friend?”
edited by Drake Dynamo on 4/16/2017

--
Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker & Matchmaker
Emma Dynamo- Pulled from the past, ready to make a splash
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A skulduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
Interested in hunting the Shade with us? Check out our google doc!
+4 link
Shadowcthuhlu
Shadowcthuhlu
Posts: 1397

5 days ago
OOC: Inspired by Bertrand's tub post, I made my own.

The bathrooms were a pleasant surprise to Dirae Erinyes – previous experiences with mad inventors was that hygiene was usually low on the priority list, if it was on the list at all. What was an even bigger surprise was that the bathtub was big enough to fit them –- they had spent more of their life then they would admit breaking those fragile claw footed tubs so popular down here. Wading into the massive sunken cistern, they watched the water turn black.

Dirae Erinyes listen carefully during their harrowing ordeal of trying to empty out the tub and fill it with clean water as the worst of the grime was rinsed off. Through the frustrated sighs, cut-off curses, and that final SCHLORRRP, they could track their wife’s progress in undressing. Dirae Erinyes didn’t have the simplest wardrobe but petticoats and wax faces seemed like their own kind of hell. At least they finally relaxed enough to get a bath – with all the monster hunters and spies kept out due to battering ram proof doors and good old English manners.

Finally, Evensong slid in the soapy waters, resting their head against Dirae Erinyes and letting their limbs relax. Dirae Erinyes looked down at those blue eyes, the best part of Evensong’s face – no matter what mask she wore.
Watching the red brow furrow in concentration, Dirae Erinyes broke the gentle silence of lapping water. “An Echo for your thoughts?”

“The Thief of Faces.” Dirae Erinyes nearly dropped the sponge they picked up to scrub Evensong’s back. Snuffers danced around the subject of the Thief of Faces even more than a society matron over the Topsy King crashing their party.

“Why him?”

“I was thinking over the words that the Shade said, about bringing permanent death to the Neath.”

“I see.” Dirae Erinyes didn’t need any more. The memories were still fresh in their mind of the determined hunter with their stolen knife, vowing to take their game to the prison itself. The young snuffer, spending up prayers for mercy, made up of entrails and desperation. A family torn apart by the paranoia his name brought. The Thief of Faces and Murder walked hand in hand. The motion of scrubbing the dirt and sweat chased some of those memories away.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“Are you still thinking about the New Sequence? I believe that the Dynamos made it clear that he wasn’t part of them – just a relationship of convenience.”

“Well, the information hasn’t been the best so far, and it would give me a good laugh if he was a Sequencer. The whole bit about death could be him deciding to reinforce the possible new laws of their sun.”

“Doesn’t feel right. New Sequencers want everyone to join them, and that doesn’t fit the Shade’s actions. Like the deaths so far – they do seem to be as random as Drake described.”

“Not the best for making a point.” Dirae Erinyes followed up, catching on Evensong’s train of thought. “He could’ve target some of the notorious offenders of cheating death: bored adventurers, drunk hedonist, or just the plain unlucky.”

“Yes, it’s not like your newspaper makes a monthly special of it or anything.” Evensong dryly noted. “Turn around, so I can get your back.” Dirae Erinyes obeyed, their mouth still tracing the path.

“There’s been no screeds send to some of the weirder papers, and it’s not like London is lacking for those. No manifesto’s hot from midnight presses.”

“Exactly.” In an ordinary day, quite a volume of non-Master’s approved literature crossed Evensong’s desk. If she hadn’t read it, then no one had.

“So, why would it reveal his motivation to bunch of anti-social hunters who he was about to kill before Phryne arrived? You might as well be yelling it down wells.” Dirae Erinyes searched their memories, using Evensong’s touch as a guide back to the present. The light taste of cider, the garden that grew in your head. How mountain blood managed to taste more like blood then their own ichor, the way it set the veins on fire similar to lightening.

“That’s because it doesn’t understand what death really means.” The memories came unleashed now: Their first encounter with death, as a sibling failed to thrive, their own curiosity halted by their parent’s disappointment. The setting of Morning Glory’s pyre despite the disapproving looks from the vicar and the muttered jokes about suttees – it was enough for them that the soul was beyond the reach of resurrectionists. They weren’t sure what she would find – life everlasting up in heaven or lives never ending on the endless wheel. They only hoped that she would be waiting. Turning away from the Far Shore at the last moment, too scared to see if Morning Glories body was among the wailing, writhing horde. Their vow as Death nattered on to return and empty those shores.

“Love, stop gripping the tub. You are going to pop one of those stitches and electrocute us both if you don’t.” Dirae Erinyes looked down to the holes their fingers gorged into the stone floors.

“Sorry,” Dirae Erinyes gently removed their fingers, trying to avoid further harm.

“What were you saying about it not understanding death?”

“It probably doesn’t think it can die – being that full of the vigor from the South. Not even a temporary death. All of this must be a game to it – a child breaking its dolls.”

“A child?”

“Yes – one with great innate skill but little experience. Easy pickings for the London’s greatest spy.”

“That’s a rather significant exaggeration.”

“Well, you’re London’s best spy to me.” Evensong couldn’t resist a sigh at the sheer corniness. “Listen to me for one more moment before you descend to total nonsense. If you decide not to go out on the town with Phryne or babysit another of our crew, go to the docks and chat with the sailors. Discover if anything like the Shade has been encountered before. I doubt that our leaders have decided to check that avenue of investigation, and we will need everything we can. Especially if have to abort this mission.”

“As you wish.” For anyone eavesdropping, all that follows is in-fact nonsense and a great amount of splashing.
edited by Shadowcthuhlu on 4/18/2017

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http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Dirae~Erinyes
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John Moose
John Moose
Posts: 174

2 days ago
Noah has returned to the Scheming Chamber, covered in sweat and arms aching, but somehow very relaxed. He has stumbled his way to a rather comfortable chair, and listened with interest to the flow of the conversation. His mood is further brightened by the prospect of getting to move around a bit, without the encumbrance of the entire hunting party.

"Excuse me," he chimes in when there's a gap in the discussion. "I have some contacts in Spite I could check for news, if that might be helpful. Nothing like a network, but in my line of work one meets all kinds, and word travels quickly on the streets. I would also not mind dropping by my apartment on the way, to pick up some supplies, get a change of clothes, stuff like that." He stops to consider who he's so far heard talking, and spots a familiar sound, as if a large piston slowly hissing away. "I would naturally appreciate company, in my current state. Erinyes, might you feel like a stroll Spite-wards? I'll of course happily do any detours on the way and continue further anywhere you might have business. You do seem to have a knack for pulling me out of bad situations, after all" he adds with a wry smile.

"Mr Hamilton, if you could use new medical supplies as well, you're of course welcome to mine. Would you like to join in? Mr Frye too, maybe? A handful of people, not enough to attract attention but enough to subdue an assailant or two if it comes to that." Enough people to hide behind, and none too loyal to the leaders in case they see something I'd rather they kept quiet about.

"How about it? Of course," he continues, "if Lord Gazter and Mr Alexander feel like it, I'd be happy to welcome them as well. I'm sure a chance to get to know each other better would clear any lingering bad tempers after the... Entrance."

--
Gone. http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/John Moose
A doctor with aspirations beyond his station, as well as an apiary enthusiast http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Noah Rache
+1 link
Edward Frye
Edward Frye
Posts: 226

1 days ago
(Co-written by Mr. Hamilton)
Edward, who has been listening from his spot on the floor, responds to Noah's question. "I would love to join you" then glances at Hamilton "and I'm sure Hamilton would as well". To which Hamilton responds "Ah yes, I seem to be running low on bandages and such". Mr. Hamilton takes one long, last sip of coffee before getting up from his seat and putting down his cup while saying "Also I regret packing such a small amount of medicines, I've learned recently that I'm going to need a lot more medicine in my bag to help everyone else beat this foe".

As Edward packs, up Hamilton takes out his medical bag out and takes out a long sleek white weasel. He whispers something to his pet and the weasel scampers off. Edward finishes packing ans says to Noah, "How are we planning to get to your residence, are we going to walk... or do you have other means?", while Hamilton begins polishing his rifle (from supplies in his bag), and sharpening his knife.

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My profile, http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Edward~Frye
Edward Frye's Appearance http://community.failbettergames.com/topic9363-your-characters-appearances.aspx?Page=7
My alt http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Ulysses~Beechworth
My Mr. Eaten profile http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/profile/Laurens~Haymore
Edward Frye is currently open to pretty much any social options except loitering. He is also a conjurer and can perform at your orphanage. In fact, please do invite him to perform at your orphanage, I would appreciate it.
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Drake Dynamo
Drake Dynamo
Posts: 368

1 days ago
The Shade stirs. It sits up and rubs its face. Pain was not something it had felt since its fists had been bloodied and bruised pummeling Mr. Mauvais. The skin along its back is ragged- there's only so much healing powerful blood can do. And it seemed the more blood it gave to the Legion, the less effectively it could heal.

The Shade stands and looks about. It seems it managed to return to its home in the crypt below a temple of the Forgotten Quarter, even through the lancing pain of the gashes in its back. The Shade crosses to the small mirror it keeps hanging in a small alcove. A mourning candle highlights the gaunt contours of the Shade's face. The vitality of the Mountain is very weak here, and that is taking a toll on the Shade's body.

Living on borrowed time. So much to do. Finish off Drake and his party- make them all understand.

The Shade shudders as it feels its skin creep slowly across the exposed muscle and bone of its back.

There will be Hell to pay for this. I have but one life, and it will not be for naught.

The Shade steels itself and removes the tattered clothes from its back very carefully, before seeking out a fresh shirt and cloak from its wardrobe chest. It readies its scimitar and prepares to exit the crypt.

There will be no quarter for the people of London. All the other creatures of the world have but one death- man shall disrupt the state of nature no more.

The Shade departs from the temple in silence, not noticing the dried blood on the ground from its hobbled entry the evening before.

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Drake Dynamo -Correspondent, Hesperidean Cider Drinker & Matchmaker
Emma Dynamo- Pulled from the past, ready to make a splash
The Antioch - The Coffee God (I do not check this account often)
Mr. Mauvais - A skulduggerous fellow, chopped up for the time being (Only active during seasonal events)

If you need to discuss RP matters, I can typically be found on the IRC in #Argo.
Interested in hunting the Shade with us? Check out our google doc!
+3 link
suinicide
suinicide
Posts: 1778

17 hours ago
“Captain, would you like to come with us? See an old friend?” Drake said from behind Henchard. He half turned, reminded of the other business he had to attend to. A throbbing in his head rotated with his body, reminding him again of his injuries.

“A moment Drake,” Henchard said, stepping towards him. “I have not received any medical attention since our meeting with the Shade. To save time on treatment, I would appreciate any cider you have to share.” Henchard pauses, swallowing the blood filling his mouth. After a few moments, he felt confident enough to speak again. “Not to speak badly of the doctors here, I am sure they were preoccupied with more urgent cases. But if we are to meet with the Shade again, I would like to have my feet firmly beneath me.”

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http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/profile/sunnytime
A gentleman seeking the liberation of knowledge, with a penchant for violence.
RIP suinicide, stuck in a well. Still has it under control.
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