Particular Peculiarities

&quotJasna, kaj tu są Książki o różach&quot one black clad Agnieszka Maszyszoszyszoszyszoszyszsowska, better known as Agata Grym, muttered, entering the shop, hoping her English was good enough. A Shotgun, while Persuasive, sadly happens to be Mute deaf and blind. And she wouldn’t get the book she looked for that way.[li]

“Goodness gracious me” Cecy exclaimed, pushing past the sobbing Mr. Worsht. The woman, her hair in an untidy bun, was incomprehensible, and though perceptive, Cecy would never attempt to decipher such a statement. There were ink stains lining the woman’s nails. A writer. Cecy knew that much, and her mouth quirked up into a soft smile. She took charge.

“How can we be of service, madam?”

&quotBücher. Search Bücher about Rosen. Hiesige Rosen! Black Rosen!&quot She said, trying to speak English and quite failing &quotJasna why didn’t I take Rysiek with me. My brother could have explained it better. Or Ms. VonRavenscroft…&quot[li]

Nice artwork! I don’t fall into the category of New Player, but I wish you luck in your endeavour. However, that dark blue type has got to go.

– Mal

Dearest Aquaintences,
Apologies for a middle-of-the-story letter. It would appear my earlier page set up was deleted through nobodys fault but my own trigger thumb. That said, please join us for an RP set in Fallen London. Be aware that myself is one whose own qulalities are building, 20 or lower, and though you don’t have to be a new player to join, please be patient with those who are as this is a good place for us to learn lore and other wonderful news. Also, please do not interrupt the thread with talk OOC, that would be swimming! Play along, develop your character, make contacts, chat with NPC and PC alike and build a story!
Kind regards,

Particular Peculiarities

Part 1: Spite (Wherein our characters meet in a dusty bookshelf for some reason or other)

[As was stated earlier before it disappeared into the Aether… Our story starts in the bookshop of the Magnanimous Mr. Worsht, the melancholy proprietor who tolerate the somewhat shady Jane-of-Many-Trades Cecy Elliot to grace his upstairs apartments. As it happens, a somewhat inquisitive yet misunderstood Agata Grym has entered the bookshop…

play on! ]

Worsht raised his hands to the sky as if pleading. &quotGood heavens, Silesian! Why did it have to be Silesian!!&quot Then he ran, sobbing into his hands from the room.

Cecy watched him go, then shrugged. &quotApologies. Mr. Worsht is rarely well… ever. Perhaps I can help. Lets start with the basics, and you’ll forgive my ignorance but what the devil is &quotBlack Rosen?&quot. I’m certain we have a book on it, if I knew its nature… and you mentioned the name Rysiek and VonRavenscroft… I’d swear I’d heard them before, though the vision escapes me. My memory has been… compromised… Forgive me! I’m speaking to quickly, your English is slow. Did you get all that?&quot

Agata looks quite confused &quotA rose! A flower! One from here!&quot She says, answering to all she understands.

Cecy snapped her fingers. “A black rose! Why didn’t you say so!” She scrambled to the cluster of bookshelves nearest the window and plucked a booK from it. “Beleaguered Botany… that’s the ticket.” She placed the heavy tome in Agata’s hands

&quotDoes it have a chapter about mixing with rose from Hölle?&quot She asked quite happily. It was easier than she expected. Maybe it would help her to find Saras killer. She missed her lover a lot. But the killer can start praying already.[li]

Cecy took the book back and carefully balanced it against the edge of the shelf, rifling through it looking for the information on a rose from Holle whatever that was. Her own memory loss was confusing enough without the addition of new and cryptic information, but she hadn’t worked for the constables on Ladybones for nothing… she was excellent at the type of snooping that customers often required of her. She squinted at the page when she finally landed on it.

It was in a different language.

&quotHere…&quot she poked at where the entry was. &quotI can’t read it. Can you? what does it say about the rose?&quot
edited by CecyElliot on 2/27/2016

(OOC: Silesian isn’t a written language. That would be like a book in Texan or Cockney…)[li]

Agata read the page &quotUsed for some special honey… ga…ga…g… can’t say.&quot

(OOC: Sorry bout that. I’m still learning a lot of Lore in order to write more intriguing things, Im still new at the world :))

&quotgaoler’s honey??&quot She seized the book back, glanced at the unreadable text and then swiftly smashed it back into the gap it had previously occupied.

&quotThat won’t do.&quot She marched down the aisle, beckoning Agata to follow. Her mind was starting to whir with both the knowledge now of what the woman was really looking for, but also what the Cheery Man had told her a fortnight ago in one of his drunken rants.

The back shelves grew dustier as they neared the back and Cecy tried not to sneeze. She slid into a little crevice and slipped her fingers between two big black tomes to fish out a little one, quarter sized but fat as a thicket.

&quotI knew this was here… the Serpentine Inscriptions… &quot

She flipped quickly through the little pages before landing on one, and read quietly…

&quot…The rose which is called the Exile’s rose has a property of passage. So shall I brew a honey from its dusts and pollens, and the honey shall be sweet, and it shall bring those who taste it, here to your dwelling. And sometimes they shall stay forever. And the little snake was very pleased with all the new friends the honey brought.&quot

There was a wail from the back as Worsht cried &quotNever!! Blasphemers all!&quot

Cecy waived her hand dismissively. Then shut the little book and slipped it into the pocket of her smocked frock. &quotPerhaps we should go somewhere more private. I know… some things about this… but we’ll need to be discrete. Do you know a quiet place?&quot
edited by CecyElliot on 2/27/2016

Quiet place… I just arrived here a week ago, but what about a church or my lodgings on Ladybones Road?&quot She asked[li]