Best Of Calling Cards (+ Other Social Actions)

Fallen London
41

Aside from a missive from one Silas, I also received another from the Perative Archive.

&quotThe package arrives for you at the Parthenaeum, and a bit worse for the wear. She has done so to obliterate suspicion; items showing up at your club are without exception matters of the most mundane business. Your companions graciously allow you your privacy while you open it. You pour a snifter of spore-port and slice open the wrapping, beginning your cut at the far end to obliterate Miss Perative’s return insignia. * The metal cylinder within is as long as your arm, and twice as heavy. You knock it with your knuckles and it echoes mournfully. They’ll hear that in the k1tchens, damn it all. You twist the cap at one end and withdraw a sheaf of rolled parchment. Maps, full maps, immaculate maps so tightly curled you can barely flatten them. At the heart of the roll there is an impossibly slim telescope clad in brass and rosewood. A string is tied around the eyepiece and attached to a small, prim envelope. The note within reads: &quotSecure this vessel–the maps must be protected at all costs. I uncovered it on my way to the Shrine late last year, that expedition I told you about that cost me six henchmen. You will note that the sigil you translated, ‘an approach that leaves one further away’, appears in varying places on each map, in conjunction with the compass rosette. East, West, South, and N----: all four directions. Captain’s logs often laugh off the coincidence of whirlpools and steaming ice-dams near where the sigils appear. Superstitious fools. They won’t dare commit their experiences to paper. But without exception, each log reports the voyage ends on a heretofore nameless island, and the bosun always goes gray overnight.&quot

For those of you wondering about babel’s test there I’ve tried to post this before, falling afoul of an anti-spam world filter.[li]
edited by deadcrystal on 1/23/2014[/li][li]
edited by deadcrystal on 1/23/2014

42

The delicious Amélie Vaincoeur has sent me this lovely calling card:

&quotLate in the evening, there’s a timid knock at your door. It’s Stuttering Bill, who is now almost too tall to be called an urchin. You had not expected to see him again: he’s been missing for weeks. He looks wretched, but fierce - kind of proud, even. He hands you a small black card with a name and an address printed on it. &quotTh-that’s the one&quot, he says. &quotThe one you n-n-need to t-t-talk to. Sh-she knows the… th-the th-th-th-things you’ve been a-a-asking about.&quot You look at the card. Of course, you recognize the name at once: that d----d Frenchwoman who writes these racy adventure novels!? You had not known she was in the Game, especially not so deep. You hand Stuttering Bill the agreed payment. Yes, he definitely looks fierce - like a boy with a plan. &quotThanks&quot, he says. &quotY-you must know that m-m-many of us n-never make it p-p-past fift-t-teen. But this will g-g-give me a head-start. And I won’t forg-g-get what you d-d-did for me.&quot He disappears into the fog. You look at the card, pondering what you know about the lady. Not much, except that her latest novel was so scandalously successful that questions were asked in Parliament about ways to protect the British youth from foreign literature. Probably time to get in touch.&quot[li]
edited by Rupho Schartenhauer on 2/25/2014

43

Got this from from Mr Theodor Gylden and I love the message for the simplicity and how the text for me really does read like it could come from the game itself:

&quotA plain card, the colour of tea and cream. In the center are seven pinpoint stars arranged as in the Septentriones. Above is the name and address of a bookseller in the Bazaar, the author and academic T.E Gylden. Below is a motto: Septentrionem appetimus (translatable as We seek the Seven Stars, or We hunger for the North). Not ominous. Not at all.&quot

44

[quote=Helen Demeter]Got this from from Mr Theodor Gylden and I love the message for the simplicity and how the text for me really does read like it could come from the game itself:

&quotA plain card, the colour of tea and cream. In the center are seven pinpoint stars arranged as in the Septentriones. Above is the name and address of a bookseller in the Bazaar, the author and academic T.E Gylden. Below is a motto: Septentrionem appetimus (translatable as We seek the Seven Stars, or We hunger for the North). Not ominous. Not at all.&quot[/quote]

[li]
I’m flattered! Mr Gylden is a simple gentleman, but an esoteric one.

45

I recently received this lovely message from Ms Edlaine Saphburgh:

“A babble of rubbery men, their hats ornate with wax-violets and wax-roses, circle you in a secondary alley of Spite. They stare at you. Deeply. Obscene visages tremble in anticipation. Tentacled fingers move as rotten mushroom-pudding. Polypous heads bob back and forth, secreting amber-like slime. Why they smell of cinnamon and Surface Roses? Why they gesture with their appendages to the roof of the cavern? Why they moan, and parp in high-pitched tunes? In the background, one of them plays an abominable tune. It seems a tortured duck, the orgasm of a tortoise, and a gregorian choir blended together. The others use some of their interior organs to produce a flute-like melody. Suddenly, a handsome urchin runs in the middle of the group, singing the well-known Neathy song: “… I see my sky in the roof, red roses too, and mushrooms bloom, for me and you. And i think to myself, how much loves needs the Neeeath …” At the end of the disgraceful spectacle, one of the rubbery men extrudes from its (his? her?) facial pseudopods a little, flat silver box. How merry, a Card! It is etched with a Correspondence rune, and two letters: “As a moth to the light” E. S. The heterogeneous band clumsily bows. And, suddenly, they’re all gone.”

46

And this one from Snowskeeper:

“On your way to and from your place of work, twelve individuals bump into you. None of them are actively trying to pick your pocket, fortunately for them, but they do seem interested in making a point. You may have to do something about them later, but for now, head home. Your little spot in the cellars of Old Newgate is undisturbed. Your secrets are still hidden, and the–hold on, what’s this? A note on the table! “We apologize for invading your privacy; we understand the desire to be free of the vices that plague those unfortunate enough to live within the city. Unfortunately, the post is both unreliable and plagued with thieves, and besides, an opportunity to demonstrate one’s worth is not to be passed up lightly. We would like to add you to our network of informants and operatives. We will pay you on commission; you will not be required to accept any mission that you are not fully willing to take. We are involved in the Game but not entangled in it; you need not consider yourself a piece. A further note: count the number of times an individual bumped into you today. If we discover you have delivered this note to the Constables, your death will last as many hours. We hope that will not be necessary. -SF””

47

Roland Banning’s calling card:

A card on sharp-cornered stock the color of fresh lacre, framed with glossy black organic borders reminiscent of Correspondence sigils. Roland’s name is in the middle of the card, above the strange nonsense-letters that mark the address of his Spire-Emporium in violant ink. On the reverse of the card is a stylized version of the Masters’ mark in beetle-black ink. If one looks closely enough, they would see something like the symbol of the Order Serpentine worked into the Masters’ mark, just faint enough to be mistaken for a trick of the light.

48

Thanks for the mention, RandomWalker. =)

49

&quotThe impertinent whelp is smirking at you. You restrain an impulse to smash him over the head; that would be impolite, and it’s always far more trouble than it’s worth to clean up after that sort of thing. Besides, he seems fairly formidable; he might manage to scuff your boots or something. &quotYou’re a hard man to find,&quot he says. &quotI had to spend rather a small fortune on bribes. And rats, for some reason.&quot Of course. You should never have trusted the madman to keep your secrets. Not in a city so full of rats. &quotDon’t worry; I won’t turn you in to the Constables.&quot As if he could do any such thing. &quotI just wanted to give you this.&quot He tosses a small object onto your desk: a rectangle of neathglass, glimmering in your dim lodgings, with a word engraved on it: MARSHAL. When you look up, he has vanished. You are mildly impressed; the secret exit he used is one of the less obvious ones in the room.&quot[li]

Going to have to burn that hideout to the ground, but it was worth it.

50

[quote=Snowskeeper]&quotThe impertinent whelp is smirking at you. You restrain an impulse to smash him over the head; that would be impolite, and it’s always far more trouble than it’s worth to clean up after that sort of thing. Besides, he seems fairly formidable; he might manage to scuff your boots or something. &quotYou’re a hard man to find,&quot he says. &quotI had to spend rather a small fortune on bribes. And rats, for some reason.&quot Of course. You should never have trusted the madman to keep your secrets. Not in a city so full of rats. &quotDon’t worry; I won’t turn you in to the Constables.&quot As if he could do any such thing. &quotI just wanted to give you this.&quot He tosses a small object onto your desk: a rectangle of neathglass, glimmering in your dim lodgings, with a word engraved on it: MARSHAL. When you look up, he has vanished. You are mildly impressed; the secret exit he used is one of the less obvious ones in the room.&quot[li]

Going to have to burn that hideout to the ground, but it was worth it.[/quote]
Ah, I believe that one was mine. Thanks ever so much for deeming it worthy to post here.[/li][li]

51

OK, straight here goes this invitation by a peculiar individual apparently on his way to Nigeria (XD):

[i]&quotDearest Lord, I seize the opportunity to wish you my unalloyed compliments of the new season: Neath-summer is coming together with its merry killing sprees, and such events remember me of the romantic beauties of the fiery land whose rightful rule i had to abandon. Because of a certain Revolution, I had to flee from such blessed infra-princedom, and actually i exist as a refugee, hidden in the slums of London. Unfortunately, since the power that names holds on my race, I cannot reveal my own, but i can tell you that i am known among Londoneers as “the most luminous”. I would like to inform you, gentle Lord that, prior to the Great Betrayal, my father hid a certain number of cachet containing valuable materials in various parts of our own dominion. The easiest to reach among of them is situated in the Iron Republic, a beautiful resort later taken as an outpost for Chaos. Such cachet is the one which can be retrieved in the easiest way; no other person of being knows about its location or existence. Hence, being the Iron Republic the unruly place that it is, it cannot be found by them. Unfortunately the nature of the inhabitants of the place and the intrinsic nature of the place forbid me and any being once or actually in possession of a soul the finding of the aforementioned object. I found a good crew of solid men of Polythreme which would bring me back the box. In exchange, they ask for sixty (60) First City coins. &quot
&quotThe cachet consists of one thousand (1.000) brilliant souls, four (4) coruscating souls , Fifty-two (52) magnificient diamonds and a single (1) splendorous diamond, plus a (1) ornate box in glim and gold of the value of two hundred thirthy (230) Echoes, and one (1) map of london pre-fall. Unfortunately, i have no first city coin in my possession, but your fame as a “philantrope” convinced me in asking you to help in my mission. The box will be sold for the expenses incurred during the process, while you will be free to choose between the possession of the souls, of the diamonds, or of the map. Please, respond immediately by bat to “ London, Crooked lane, 64”, attaching thirthy (30) First City coins to your answer. I will fill you in with further details upon your reply. Because of the nature of my situation and of the treasure, i would remember you that the confidentiality of the conversation is of utmost importance. Yours Truly, L. S., once Prince of H___ &quot

[/i]By Edlaine Sapburgh (Andrea Serafini).

52

Thanks, i enjoy you appreciated it.

It happened me yesterday (in real world). I thought that a neathy version was obligatory.

53

Good gentlefolk, thus far you have been posting calling cards that you received. Would it be très gauche of me to post copies of the cards I have sent? Since encountering Mr. Sebastian Flyte, I have been striving to follow the fashion he has set for baroque and outré calling cards.

54

I say go for it! These things are always fun to read. :)

55

7/31, sent to Ryyme:

You wander into a curio shop you had never seen before. The proprietor, whose complexion is strangely sallow and waxy, appears to recognize you. It hands you a package; your name is inscribed on the brown paper in an extravagant script. At home, in privacy, you tear away the paper to reveal a plain wooden box with a small brass lever on top. You flip the lever. Part of the lid slides open and a wooden hand emerges and flips the lever back. You do this seven times, fascinated by the pointlessness of the mechanism. On the seventh time, the hand presents you with a calling card. It is made of mother-of-pearl, and fine inlaid wires of blackened silver spell out “Baubo”. Stuck to the back with a spot of green sealing-wax is a note, which reads:

I have heard murmurings at the bookstores about your unconventional research. Cartographers, presented with your proof of the Bermuda Parallelogram’s geometry, have died hemorrhaging from the eyes. I must hear more of what you have to say about Thomas Edison’s ‘hair’. Your work has hinted darkly at its unspeakable origins. I hypothesize that this is the cause of Nicola Tesla’s chaetophobia. Did they laugh at you at university, the fools? I dare say they did. I dare say they bitterly regretted it later. I am most desirous of making your acquaintance.

8/1, sent to Pinmissile:

The colony of bees living in your teeth has been exceptionally busy as of late. You awake to find a wafer of wax in your mouth, on which is engraved:

Buzzily, busily,
Bees in your bonnetry;
Madness’ toll is
Expensive, it’s true.

Well, Mr. Pinmissile,
Mad as a tinwhistle,
Care to engage in a
Folie à deux?

8/1, sent to Zann:

As you walk down Armitage Street, a student stumbles into you and backs away murmuring apologies. Later, you find in your pocket a postcard of the Rue d’Auseil. The un-cancelled stamp bears an engraving of eyes peering from behind leaves, and the words “les plus sombre des fourrés à flanc de colline”. In a fine cursive hand and verdigris ink, the postcard is addressed to you, and reads:

“The strange geometries of bow and string surpass what can be captured in the staves.
The madman who taught wood and gut to sing awoke the dread Nehemoth from their graves.
Yet beauty in the alien sounds perceiving, one furtively approaches, scarcely breathing:
A humble listener to unclean things, admiring you, whose company zhe craves.”

8/1, sent to The Deep One:

Out of a hazy sleep, you hear a faint noise in your bedroom. You get up to investigate just as the window shuts. Have you been burgled? No; the intruder left something behind. A miniature aquarium rests on your desk, its glass walls framed in fine brass filigree. Inside, a tiny blue-ringed octopus flashes a message with its chromatophores: “Greetings, traveler from many-columned Y’ha-nthlei. May Dagon watch over you and guide you to good hunting. A land-dweller in this deep yet strangely dry city wishes to make your acquaintance. This is the calling-card of Baubo, who seeks allies in the quest for strange knowledge. Iä! Iä!”

8/1, sent to Lady Sapho L Byron:

You come home to find a thing on your doorstep. It is a package wrapped in Florentine marbled paper. Inside is a music box in the shape of a trapezohedron. Its surface is decorated entirely in equilateral octagons. When you wind the silver key, it begins to play a haunting minor tune.

Your doll Asenath says, “Oh, I know this song!” She begins to sing:

Sing a song of secrets
Pocket full of sin
Three books of poetry
Bound in pretty skin

One was full of memories
About a sunny sky
One was full of marketplaces
Where the people buy

One was full of midnight
Wicked to the core
And that’s the one the lady likes
Who lives by the shore

56

Haven’t quite gotten around to responding to this Calling Card, but it’s a pretty entertaining piece of writing.

&quotThis a star-nosed mole. The mole is wearing tiny spectacles and a red waistcoat. It says in a Northampton accent, “Fine article you wrote about Baubo. You’ll go far as a journalist. Zhe’d like to be acquainted with you proper, chat you up about the goings-on in town. Do let zher buy you a coffee sometime, eh? Hope I’m not imposing too much. Saw the plaque on the door that said No Calling Cards, but there wasn’t one that said No Moles. Ahem.” The mole’s nose-tentacles quiver as it talks, giving it a faintly Rubbery aspect in miniature. It bows and thanks you for your time, then gets a ride home from a passing bat.&quot

This is from Baubo, and was prompted by my terrible habit of sending random newspaper interview requests without including any backstory in the text box.
[li]

57

I have just recieved a most delightful Calling Card from QuinineRose:
Dear Friend, It is with a humble Heart that I hope you will be so kind as to consider my poor Entreaty. As One who strives to improve in all Things, I have been advised by Those whom I trust to seek out your Aquaintance, in the hopes that you might help me to better those Skills that Fallen London makes most Needful for Success, Happiness, and most significantly a Rich and Long Life. If you would consider my Poor Plea, I would consider Myself always to be, Your most obedient servant, QR

58

I recently received a delightful package from Rababrash that I thought was well worth sharing:

288×761 27.7 KB

59

Another one from the Perative Archive accompanying her betrayal~

&quotAfter word came to me of what you had done, I told myself that I would rise above. &quotI am a better person than she, in all ways,&quot I thought. I brought your confession to the Ivory Door and waited in line like a penitent in need of absolution. And then I heard your laugh, floating merrily through the rank air while you betrayed yet another, a friend of mine who deserved better and who believed you trustworthy. And so I told your own secret, darker than any other confession I heard this Hallowmas. The Masters murmured among themselves and even Mr Pages was rendered speechless. Now they know you not only for a boundless gossip but as a… well. YOU know. &quot

Must say I quite appreciated the well thought out revenge betrayal message. (Not that it’ll stop me betraying any of you. muhahaha and such.)
edited by deadcrystal on 11/18/2014

60

ravelite just sent me an Illicit Volume of Unexpectedly Racy Fungal-Themed Poetry, and their message included this excerpt:
“on moonlit heath with pointy teeth and on the moor so demure and sensuelles was you among the chantarelles”