JimmyTMalice
Posts: 237
8/14/2016
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The call goes out across the seedy criminal underbelly of London, carried by nervous urchins and reticent couriers to only the most dependable master-thieves. An Episcopalian Cracksman is assembling a team to do the impossible, or at the very least the highly improbable. He seeks to breach the Bazaar, hoodwink the ravenous bat flocks, fiery Correspondence traps and the agents of the Masters, and recover its chiefest treasures from the deepest and most impenetrable vaults.
Can it be done? That remains to be seen. But the prize is nothing less than your heart's desire.
Gideon, the Episcopalian Cracksman, sits back in his lodgings like a spider waiting for the first twitch of his carefully-woven web. They will meet in the catacombs of St Meliflua's Church, that haunt of the most devout anarchists, in two days' time to lay out plans and make a compact that must not be broken on pain of death (or something approaching it). Perhaps they will even succeed.
(This is an RP with a semi-planned plot, with the Episcopalian Cracksman as the leader of the heist. There may be major events that are pre-planned, but the plot - and the success of the endeavour - will primarily depend on the actions and interactions of the players. If you want to hop in later, feel free.)
(While not necessarily encouraged, it wouldn't be a proper heist without at least one betrayal. Toadies of the Masters are also welcome to apply.)
(A Google document for planning and signing up can be found here, or you can post in this thread.)
edited by JimmyTMalice on 8/14/2016
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 Gideon Stormstrider, the Esoteric Gadgeteer
 Jimmy T. Malice, gone.
A Tale of Two Suns - Meeting Your Maker - A Squid in the Polls
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Hotshot Blackburn
Posts: 110
8/16/2016
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Robbing the Bazaar. Robbing the Bazaar.
A fine tale to be sure. The Bazaar as a symbol of capitalism, the new order of things in London and a paradigm shift of Empire from master to servant. Robbery as an act of change, taking from those that had to those that had not. To rob the Bazaar was to change the status quo, to enact some measure of power over that which had power over you. No wonder it held so much appeal. A fine tale.
Of course it was also the height of foolishness. A fine tale, but a terrible plan. The Masters did not mess around with security, and there were plenty of other tales of those who tried to rob the bazaar and failed. Terrible, bloodstained tales. Anyone who sought to steal from the powers that be in London would either need to be extremely confident or extremely dense.
...
Another figure stepped forward from where he had been lounging against a crypt statue. Though his attire was professional, a neat cloak-and-mask get-up that concealed any distinguishing features, the effect of it was somewhat ruined by the numerous ribbons wrapped around his arm and legs. Streamers of gold, black, and violant fluttered as he nodded pleasantly to the others and tucked a furled umbrella under one arm.
"Well now, this is all very fine isn't it? A secret congregation in a crypt conspiring at the stroke of midnight, very Gothic and so forth. Can't say I wouldn't rather have met somewhere nice to discuss matters over a bit of dinner and drinks instead of here, but it does add a touch of excitement to the logistical planning..."
"Anyways, you may know me by Citizen Blackburn: mercenary for equity. Anything that needs to be done with firearms, I'm your person."
edited by Hotshot Blackburn on 8/17/2016
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Hotshot Blackburn: Messidor, Aspirant to the Calendar Council. Paramount Presence. Seeker of the Name. A firm believer in kindness, solidarity, and sufficient use of force and firepower.
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Vavakx Nonexus
Posts: 892
8/25/2016
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Blabbing does not rise to the call, but scuttles on all fours towards Hark. It has plucked one of the 'leaves' of it's laurel, presumably one belonging to Hark. "TheDealTheDealTheDealTheDealTheDealTheDealHasBeenMade." The Ruler gibbers, looking upon the Calling Card, and not it's owner. "WeWorkWeWorkWeWorkWeWorkWeWorkWeWorkTogetherNow." It finally turns towards them, giving a repulsive smirk. "AndIAndIAndIAndIAndIAndIWillFeastToday." Blabbing lick their many teeth, and scratches upon the stone with clawed and gloved hand in anticipation.
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Amets Estibariz, the Moulting Eidolon: Cradled by a sun all their own.
Blabbing, the Hobo Everyone Knows: The One Who Pulls The Strings. A Clarity In The Darkness.
Charlotte and the Caretaker: A family?
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Hark DeGaul
Posts: 208
8/17/2016
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Hark sits near the entrance of the crypt, resting upon a huge rustling box as cats prowl around them.
"Hark DeGaul, friend of cats," they lilt, "My abilities include, but are not limited to: surveillance," Hark indicates the cats around them and a particularly grim looking kitten chuckles, "Breaking and entering, casing and just generally getting into places that aren't supposed to be got into. And then, of course, there's this beauty." They tap the box. The box taps back. "If we do need to go loud, then there isn't a building in London that can withstand one of these."
edited by Hark DeGaul on 8/17/2016
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The Dawn-Eyed Optician: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Hark%20DeGaul
That Vicar Who Ruined the Royal Wedding for Everyone (including himself): http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Hebediah%20Fix
The Dreaded Relative: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Your%20Aunt
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JimmyTMalice
Posts: 237
8/17/2016
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Gideon nods to each of the team members as they introduce themselves.
“A pleasure, I’m sure.”
He turns his head for a moment, as if listening to someone behind him.
“So, let us return to the subject of breaching the Bazaar. I’m sure you’re all wondering how we can do it. The plan is a work in progress, but the essential points are as follow:
“Firstly, we will need to enter the out-buildings surrounding the spires. A Shaper’s Pass will get you as far as the Side-Streets, but the deeper repositories clustered around the Bazaar’s base will be tougher to crack. Fortunately, thanks to my own larcenous activities in the area, I have found a way through.”
Gideon rummages in the folds of his bombazine cloak and extracts a segmented copper cylinder. When held up in the moonlight, it gleams. The portions of the cylinder still in shadow shine with a light of their own - a faint fiery glow like remembered sunlight.
The radiance forms the outline of sigils; letters of the Correspondence are inscribed around the three segments. It leaves a faint afterglow as Gideon places it on the marble surface of the coffin before him. Despite the faint slope, it does not roll off.
“I liberated this from a Special Constable on his way to the Bazaar. He was unwise to stop to relieve himself in such a secluded alley. I don’t know how it works, but I was hoping you could help me in that matter – particularly the Ticking Scientist. I believe it will allow access into the area directly around the Bazaar from the Side-Streets. However, we will need one each. Making a copy may be difficult; I tried copying down some of the symbols and found that my parchment burst into flames in short order. Perhaps it is better left to a Correspondent. Or we could just steal some more from the Special Constables, although they will no doubt be on the lookout.
“It will not, however, protect us from more physical threats. The bats that ever circle the spires and the other agents of the Masters are still a cause for concern. Even if we manage to enter undetected, they will surely know us for interlopers. Going loud would likely result in us all being killed as soon as reinforcements arrived, but there must be a more stealthy option.”
He turns his head again, falling silent for a long moment.
“Further matters of interest: the doors to the Bazaar. Copper, ivory, glass, ormolu, steel. One of them will be suitable, but I do not know which one. Opening them will require… payment. The Correspondence traps on the floors and walls may also require some attention.”
As Gideon continues to speak, his eyes burn with fervour and his voice slips from the well-practised cadence of the gentry into a guttural drawl like the last foul breath of a dying man.
“Once we are inside, no man knows what may await us. The interior of the Bazaar may be a battlefield, or a city on fire, or a ship crossing dark water, or a house of mirrors, or a windswept cliffside. It may bring a vision of the heart of the sun, or a sensation of such infinite melancholy that it crushes our hearts in sorrow. (Not in the false-summer, though; the lacre-pits will be much depleted while the Bazaar prepares to cry herself to sleep once more.)
“It is not a place for humanity. It is further above us than we can ever comprehend. How can we hope to understand it? The Chain separates us, as it always will. It is further above the Masters than the Masters are above us.”
His voice returns to normal. A light sweat breaks out on his forehead and he mops it absently with a surface-silk handkerchief.
“Terribly sorry. A… lapse in judgement. It won’t happen again. Suffice it to say, the passage will be difficult. But it will be well worth the trip.”
edited by JimmyTMalice on 8/17/2016
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Gideon Stormstrider, the Esoteric Gadgeteer
Jimmy T. Malice, gone.
A Tale of Two Suns - Meeting Your Maker - A Squid in the Polls
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Arcanuse
Posts: 89
8/18/2016
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The Ticking Scientist examines the cylinder.
"Creating a replica should be possible, though it will take some time. Having said that, it would be for the best to obtain a few more from the constables to compare. If they match, we're fine. If not, it will take a bit longer to make new ones that fit the pattern."
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https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Arcanuse
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Hotshot Blackburn
Posts: 110
8/21/2016
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Blackburn's gaze is both unwavering and composed as Gideon outlines his plan. He chuckles slightly at the crackman's last words. Very melodramatic, certainly. And a bit of a downer. But this Gideon certainly had character!
"Much like the Bazaar, humanity has a way of surviving in places it shouldn't. Given time and observation I believe I can create a plan for taking care of any bodily opponents that try to intervene. Bombing the Bazaar rarely works (I tried once - wasn't the first to try, wasn't the first to fail either), but enough force allocated in the right places..."
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Hotshot Blackburn: Messidor, Aspirant to the Calendar Council. Paramount Presence. Seeker of the Name. A firm believer in kindness, solidarity, and sufficient use of force and firepower.
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Hark DeGaul
Posts: 208
8/24/2016
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Hark nods and rises, a number of cats twisting their way out of Hark's cloak as they do so. The felines disappear into the darkness of the Neath in an instant and DeGaul offers their new compatriots a wide grin.
"They say there is a rat for every Londoner, but there are also around thirteen cats for every Special Constable in London. We shall have one with a key found within an hour, and then we wait. The eyes of the Masters may be tireless but their men have to sleep eventually. I know at least three gentlemen and a lady who spend the odd night in the Parlour of Virtue and access to that particular establishment is hardly difficult. I wouldn't even need to break in."
They cackle.
"If trouble does arise though I'm not a fighter and while my cats can be vicious they weigh about as much as a small sack of apples. A special constable will have no difficulty dispatching us. I will need an experienced fisticuffer. Perhaps you, Citizen Blackburn, or our Sky-Topped Ruler over there? Unless you have plans of your own?"
edited by Hark DeGaul on 8/24/2016
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The Dawn-Eyed Optician: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Hark%20DeGaul
That Vicar Who Ruined the Royal Wedding for Everyone (including himself): http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Hebediah%20Fix
The Dreaded Relative: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Your%20Aunt
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Hark DeGaul
Posts: 208
8/14/2016
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It is not quite clear when Hark DeGaul, the Enlightened Ailurophile, entered this particular scheme. It was probably when they appeared unannounced in their new employer's bedroom to offer their services.
Hark is known for two things: their hideous appearance and habit for smuggling cats under their clothing. Their last raid on the Brass Embassy ended in explosive disaster, but in all they are decidedly more subtle than a glowing-eyed lunatic has any right to be. They regard the Master's presence in London with some distaste and claim to have taken on the heist in an attempt to show the people of London their need to stand up and fight for a brighter future. The pay doesn't hurt either.
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The Dawn-Eyed Optician: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Hark%20DeGaul
That Vicar Who Ruined the Royal Wedding for Everyone (including himself): http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Hebediah%20Fix
The Dreaded Relative: http://fallenlondon.storynexus.com/Profile/Your%20Aunt
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Vavakx Nonexus
Posts: 892
8/16/2016
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Blabbing was informed. Of course the Sky-Topped Ruler of New Newgate fame was informed. Most information passes through them, be it from man or mouse. The Crime Lord crouch in the dark corner, mumbling to itself. At least you hope it isn't addressing you. That'd be a problem.
At the end of another's speech it rises and crawls to closer to the centre. It whales of a star-topped throne with a unquestionably unpleasant voice. "TheRoofTheRoofTheRoofTheRoofTheRoofTheRoofNewNewgate..." A pause. It is hard to judge what is worse, this critter's screech or the uncomfortable anticipation before it decides to conti... "IIIIIIBlabbing! TheRulerTheRulerTheRulerTheRulerTheRulerTheRulerAboveAll!" It swings it's hands and bangs upon it's chest as if a primate. Blabbing is mad, clearly, but the 'Ruler's' exploits are well-known among the little people.
After this disturbing introduction, Blabbing flashes a toothy and possibly smug grin to Gideon and crawls back to it's original position.
edited by Vavakx Nonexus on 8/16/2016
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Amets Estibariz, the Moulting Eidolon: Cradled by a sun all their own.
Blabbing, the Hobo Everyone Knows: The One Who Pulls The Strings. A Clarity In The Darkness.
Charlotte and the Caretaker: A family?
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Arcanuse
Posts: 89
8/16/2016
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When one works with devils and priests long enough, one tends to hear rumors. Rumors like somebody planning on robbing the heart of the bazaar. Put the pieces together, and a network of facts will form. Soon, a clear image. An opportunity. He stepped forward.
"Greetings. You may refer to me as the Ticking Scientist, or Ticker for short. My specialty is the language of stars, the correspondence." He says, sitting down once more.
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https://www.fallenlondon.com/profile/Arcanuse
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