S1: E4 "Pleasant Introductions"

The Faraday Cage

As the sun arched its way across the sun, reflecting behind large puffy clouds, a collection of  ringed, grey furred raccoons. He observed the house in the Guilded Row, the pride of Newhaven and the blazing reminder that not all men were equal. Hendrick, the smartest of the lot, watched from the cover of the park which surrounded the old estate of the famed eccentric Abe Faraday. A small child noticed the collection of raccoons "rooting" around (a word she had just learned in grammer school). She smiled to herself, wondering if perhaps she could adopt the collection of creatures into her managerie of pets. But she was distracted a few moments later and forgot about the raccoons. Well, almost. She was later scratched by a cat and somehow the memory was locked into her mind.

Mashell Faraday. A mystery almost as elusive as the science behind the constant current. The stories surrounding her created a fog which concealed her true nature. Mashell Faraday was said to be a aging Eldrin or a automoton created by the elder Faraday, a believable story based on those who had only heard her voice voice. Other rumors included that she was the best minds of electrochemistry, a influencial voice regarding its exploration, that she, unlike her father, was a entitled snob and believed one's social status directly correllated to their level of intelligence. Some held she was a reclusive oddball with enough private money to open a few banks. One popular rumor tells that she has created a monopoly on electrical research by buying up and hoarding componants, research and talented staff. 

In truth, Mashell was a young human woman of thirty-three, well beyond what was considered marriagable age, and had thoroughly invested herself in her scientific studies. Though well educated, she was more interested in business and showed a acuaty to running her father's business. In fact, she had salvaged her family's reputation, as well as her fortune, by marketing the first functional elecrical static generator. Her fame and fotune were made. Mashell was now a threat to the established guilds who had relied on the aether for so long. She was a triple threat; she could invent, market and was independently wealthy.

Mashell needed all her wits and cleverness to navigate a guilded world. Mashell had spent much of her life abroad, hunting for sport, attending esteemed schools and learning from the greatest minds, funding experiments and by the virtue of her nature, kept knocking down social and scientific barriers. Though a success, she was not without her own challenges. One of the greatest was her damaged windpipes. A defect from birth, years of therepy could never quite restore her voice. Learning to communicate with hand gestures and great effort, she got by. It made her a keen observer as she was unable to easily engage with people. She watched and learned. Her studies almost instantly shifted to understanding the Quintessense. Using grant money from several guilds, she funded her first invention, which was a delicate bronze clockwork device which acted as vocal chords, giving her a voice, albeit a stiff unemotional one.

But Roku did not know this. Especially that Mashell had earned two gold medals as a crack shot with a rifle. And so his approach was simple; find a opening and collect whatever looked important. He began by selecting a open window on a small balcony near the top center of the house on the second floor. It is not that anyone should have seen him. It is a simple truth that our brains block out impossible and excuse the illogical. A raccoon climbing up the lattice and shuffling across the roof was a impossible thing that some thought they saw, but ignored. 

As the trail of raccoons climbed sneakily over the railing into the shuttered balcony doors, a perfectly matching set of dapper men settled on a bench and watched, faces beaming and eyes twinkling with great expectation.

Glancing around the bathroom, Herold pointed out the beautiful design in the wood paneling, the porcelin and blue wall paper. Walter set to listening at the door while Lefty and Ralph got distracted with all the pretty, shiny things lying around. Round Craig, inquiring as to when they would have supper, was handed a silver mirror and wondered what it tasted like. He spat the hair out and stuffed it into his small bag, slung around his rotund form. Hendrick, sharp as he was, instantly set about examining the room. There were no ideal entrances, such as ducts. An odd idea, given that central air conditioning would not be invented for about 150 more years. But the idea was intriguing, none the less. He settled for scratching away the plaster, lathe and wallpaper over the bathtub and sneaking into the walls. With the aid of a small crowbar, they managed to create a opening big enough for them to climb though. 

Once inside the walls, the raccoons began navigating through the walls, over and under wall supports and around chimneys, and around windows, set into the walls. A few mice were startled nearly out of their wits by the sudden caravan of scrampering feet and twitching whiskers as the gang shuffled around the exterior walls, pausing from time to time to get their bearing. Some day, a very astute person will notice a collection of tiny peep holes in various locations around the rooms in the upper story. There was a moment when the impulse to steal more items from the bedrooms nearly overcame them. It was a small mercy that the walls were sturdy and refused to give up their treasures so easily. Lefty was very discouraged. To the far end of the house they marched when things began to slide out of control.

Hendrick had poked a small hole only to find himself staring into something solid and wooden. He reached his small arm out and with his magnificent tactile sense devined it was likely a bookcase. Now, the uniform concensus among the raccoons allowed them to work together. And there are times when their enthusiasm and greed does get the better of them. It was then, Round Craig, wanting to lend aid, threw himself against the opening in hopes of creating a opening. The other raccoons were distracted, thoughtful or attempting to find alternative means, and given the cramped space, found themselves pressed together beneath the bulk of Round Craig, who to his credit, did succeed in knocking the whole bookcase over. As the plaster dust settled, a dozens of books were scattered across the floor adn the case itself was laying at a odd angle in the thick carpet. Seeing nothing mechanical, they ventured to the next room. Hendrick, sensing they were near to their prey, opened another small hole and saw the prize. Working to gain access, they soon were staring into a large workroom which would have rivaled even Thomas' lab. Spread across polished tables, desks and shelves were dozens of mechanical bits and baubles. Several chalkboards had text and symbols scrawled across it. Books lay in piles, some half open and others bursting with scraps of paper and notes. But in the center of the room was a glass case, with a fully functional device inside. The frame was metal and looked solid. Deciding a direct approach would be necessary, Hendrick started in with crowbar in hand, when something like a cat screeching in a continuous manner. The terror induced by larger cats has been known to cause hardened men to loose all control of their bodily functions. Perhaps Hendrick's superior intelligence caused him to recognize that a sound such as this was merely a ruse. The same could not be said of the others, who unable to resist the allure of treasure, stuffed as much as they could into their bags and anything handy without any consideration for what was valuable or even needed. It should be noted, much to Lefty's embarrassment, that the sound was so overwhelming his fur was slightly more wet then normal.

Mashell Farady

As the gang of raccoons were about to leave, the door to the room was flung open and a woman with a rifle entered, flanked by two of her servants. Even if Roku knew what Mashell Faraday looked like, they probably would not have recognized her as a scientist or inventor. She was young and fit, her brown hair was streaked with blonde highlights from exposure to the sun, her skin a healthy dark tone. She wore simple clothing more becoming of a traveling woman and she handled the gun with the affinity some men in the military would lay to their own weapon of choice. The sight was so alarming, the raccoons did what came naturally. They looked to Hendrick who, when faced with such situations, stood there and pretended to be the dumb animal everyone always associated him with. The trio of eyes blinked at the intrudors. The servants were nervous, as their jobs were obviously on the line. They were equally baffled. The eyes of Mashell flicked from the hole in the wall to the bags of parts collected into bags. She had seen things, and perhaps this was less of a surprise as amusement. She was also no fool. She instructed her men to take the vermin and destroy them.

Survival is a strong motivator. And the raccoons which were red handed had a overabundance of self preservation. With loot in hand, they dove between the legs of the servants who were about to do their civic duty and the armed woman. They dashed down the hallway back towards the bathroom. Between shouts of surprise and curses, the raccoons had nearly reached the closed bathroom door, when part of the trim next to the door suddenly exploded in a shower of splinters and plaster. Hendrick caught the glint of a brass casing flight into the carpet and the woman, steadily advancing while loading another into the chamber of her rifle. It was then the collection of raccoons collided into the door just moments after Hendrick realized his age old bain of height might foil their escape. You see, Roku was tall, and had such advantages as opening up doors and walking down stairs on two spindly legs and looking people in their eye. But the others in their panick did not take the necessary time to appreciate their situation and by sheer force and desperation scramble up to turn the handle and knock the door open, sprawling across the threshold in a heap of fur and scrambling paws. Hendrick emerged only to find his snoot breathing into the delightful smell of hot gunpowder as the barrel of a rifle was leveled at the knot of raccoons.

I think for a moment Roku saw me, watching him from the corner of the room. It was only a glimpse as his life flitted past his eyes and swirled down the drain in obscurity and insignificance. You shouldn't judge him too harshly. Few men when faced with their inevitable fate rarely act stoicly. The majority die with little time to contemplate their unfortunate demise. Otheres get used to the fact they are dead and roll over into the afterlife with little more then a whimper. Roku was not going to let the silver thread that held his life and the life of his friends perish in such a terrible fashion. Mind you, I said not to judge too harshly. I did not say that to imply he was acting altruistically. He was selfish, impulsive and lived in the moment. That was when he decided to speak.

Beastmen were very common across Faerun. But there were certain beasts that had carved out a life among the lower classes. Raccoons were not such a protected class. It was why, as Hendrick opened his mouth and uttered intelligable words that Mashell hesitated. It should be credited to Roku that he did choose to at least attempt to lie. Unknown to him, the subject of his lie were sitting not 246 feet away on a bench watching the house. But if Roku had thought about his situation, he might have chosen his story more carefully. But at least he tried. But claiming a god made you do something has historically been a lousy defense for your crimes. The gold cigarette case might have persuaded some, but given he had proven himself a competant thief did not really help prove his "innocense."

Mashell Faraday let the raccoon rattle on with his story, turning the gold case over in her thin fingers. It was beautiful and made by someone who was a skill enchanter. Unfortunately it was not her area of expertise. However, she needed to know just how much of ratscallion this intelligent raccoon was; seeing he was willing to make a deal, leaving behind a prized possession for his freedom, she altered the deal and offered Hendrick his freedom in exchange for the fates of his friends. Hendrick realized this was a terrible deal, even if it offered a temporary solution, it was not workable in the long run. It was then he told Mashell everything. 

I watched as she processed the information. She didn't know this brazen inventor Thomas Thompson. The story of dieties tempting a collection of raccoons into some nefarious deed was a thing of fairytales. A clever inventor hiring a cat raccoon burglar to sneak in and steal a functioning prototype was bold and made sense. Mashell worked over the likelihood of the raccoons telling Thomas what had happened. She thought about the implications of these actions and thought a more prudent course of action was needed. When you were on the bleeding edge of scientific study, she reasoned, you must take risks.

While she distracted the raccoons with food and the stories that Hendrick was more then willing to share about his days as a private investigator, Mashell had two of her servants make inquiries. It just so happened that two business cards with Thomas' address and new business, TechEverlasting, came into her possession. A lab in the Guilded Row? But she had to know the man, to discern if he was working alone or if this was competition from the other guilds to derail her work. So Mashell gave Hendrick a functional prototype of her generator, secured a promise that this little interaction would remain between the...seven of them, and let Roku off. This Detective Roku might be useful in the future, resourceful and cunning as he was. She then addressed several telegraphs to get a framer, plasterer, a engineer and a guildman from the Company of Locksmiths.

Spilling the Beans

Hiram Barnaby sat at the small cafe, his tea growing cold as a corpse, and his mind preoocupied with sorrow, remorse and rage. There is a particular emotion different from annoyance and anger. It grips a man in a particular way; there is no temper or passion; just the cold, raw reason and purpose. Its called Justice. It has driven men and women to set cities on fire, scale mountains and devote their life to vengeance. Hiram Barnaby was fully in control of his reason and sanity. He desired justice. And justice, ever patient and blind, had weighed the scales and found it wanting. Constables, private investigators and a parish priest had told him there was little chance he would find his walking stick again after the cutpurse had scaped with it. It should be noted the parish priest, understanding the agitation of Hiram had offered a prayer to the Heavenly Host. I doubt neither the angels in heaven nor the priest had envisioned a orc bounty hunter to be the answer.

Ed Gurunkul swung a leg over the back of the chair, sat down and with the candor and straightforwardness of a child, pressed Hiram for details as to why he had spread his name around the city of Newhaven. Hiram had overheard two constables, who had previously brushed him off, talk about a singularly goodnatured bounty hunter who happened in from time to time, picking up bounties and always delivering the goods. The constables, though in jest, had identified a weakness of poor old Ed. He was a softy. But Hiram needed a sympathetic ear, and found it in this disheveled man with the surprisingly sunny disposition. Hiram related his problem and Ed fit in the rest from the information he had gleaned from Bean, the orc urchin who had supplied him with an address and information regarding the strange old man asking around about Ed. But Hiram was in earnest, and after sharing the details and pleading with Ed, he supplied him with a description. Ed was always good with faces. He remembered the strange appearance of the other PI, who called himself Roku.

Promising to give Hiram satisfaction, he departed, thinking over this new development along with the name of the man he was to visit very soon.

The Church of the Everyman

The series of events that followed the morning routine of Miss Lindion Mavienness could not have struck her as merely coincidental. Her grandmother visiting, telling her about this new religion, only to have a certain Reverand Simon Clark appear on her doorstep the following day and ask for an audiance. This "chance" encounter had already set Lindion on her guard, as the relatively handsome young clergyman entered, introduced himself and spoke kindly of Lindion and her aid in the community. Most would have been flattered and attempted to further aid the young man in his acts of charity. But Lindion was no fool, nor had her grandmother's warnings gone unheaded. She pressed for details about the religious nature of this new church in all the polite ways people of higher breading make small talk while collecting and sizing up the individuals sitting across from them. The minister gracefully avoided the more weedy topics in hopes of gaining a new prospective member. Simon Clark also realized that he was in direct contradiction to the Aluminat Church, a body most Eldren and Aristocracy bound themselves to out of necessity. But the tides were turning. There was discontent among the lower classes. 

As the dance came to a end, Simon Clark attempted to at least appeal to the young woman's curiosity. But he was unable to discern if she was merely being polite or if she really was disinterested in the Church. However it may have been, Lindion had learned much, and related this to her grandmother in a letter. 

Dear Grandmother, 

    Upon your last visit you had asked if I heard anything about the "everyman" church. At the time I had not. Since than however, I have heard more. If this is a religion it is a poor one indeed, as it sounds more like a charity. Their mission seems to be in helping the poor, to feed and to cloth them. Among what I learned they seek to have a building of their own. Apparently from the rumors I've heard, their religions services are held among the homes of the Lower Class. I hope this information pleases you. I see no reason to fear or worry about them. They seem harmless, albeit idealistic, but not worth our attention. I am content to forget the matter, unless by your discretion you see reason to keep on eye on this "everyman" church. 

    

    With loving regards, 

        

        Lady Lindion Mavienness.

A Benefactor

To say Thomas Thompson was elated by the presentation of a fully functional static electric generator would be a gross understatement. He was baffled. He was also excited. Roku's expertise had generally resulted in dented, broken or a random assemblage of parts. Roku had gone above and beyond anything Thomas had wished for. He felt slightly bad that he had not gotten Roku two explosive devices. But a deal was a deal, and Thomas was glad to feel like he'd gotten the better part of the deal for a change. He did not realize that a particular woman of renown was heading to his labratory to make his day even better.

He had managed to dissassemble the delicate and beautifully crafted generator when a knock was heard on the door. Taking a moment to wait for the door to burst in, he peak through the small lense fitted into the surface of the door and what he saw further astonished him; standing outside his door was the last person he thought he would ever see in person, much less standing on his doorstep. Mashell Faraday, dimly illuminated by the yellow lights of the street, stole his imagination and breath away for just a fraction of a second. He remembered he had not opened the door and, after sliding the bolts, chain and additional lock on the bottom open, he let this women enter. 

Mashell Faraday was nothing like he had imagined. Thomas had heard all the rumors and gossip, somehow in his mind justifying the theft from a person who was a extremely rich oddball who had monopolized the electrical research industry and hoarded all the good stuff for herself. He now felt a twinge of guild when he realized she was young, reasonably attractive, and as he was about to find out, handicapped like himself. They shared much in common, a point she made as she walked around his labratory and examined his mathmatical theories on the blackboard.

There was a flash of panick and suspicion as he realized that her visit might not have been just good luck and, spread out on the worktable, was her invention recently reduced to parts. But all of these suspicions were washed away for the time as Mashell Faraday told him that they should work together, combine their visions and common goals to create a functioning electrical engine for the upcoming scientific Symposium. If was at this moment that Thomas saw something of the higher plains of existence, as a mixture of adrenaline, mixed with a host of other chemicals flooded his brain and elevated him to such a high he was momentarily lost in the prospect of finally achieving his dreams.

Thomas Thompson, a indebted, troubled scientist, agreed. Mashell Faraday, departed with his binding word and a smile upon her lips, wondering if this really could have been any easier.

I feel the Threads of Time slowly being drawn together. Do you hear the Loom, oh man? Harmonia, Destiny and Justine cutting their threads and binding your fates? Beware, your choices, oh man. For your reckoning is at hand.

S1: E3 "Unexpected Guests"

A Bounty Hunter and a Cook

Ed Gurunkul slipped out into the Twilight. His feet fell into a easy rhythm against the cobbled streets of Low Park. He mused over the distribution of homes, built atop each other, older stone bricks and plaster walls crumbling beneath newer wooden stick homes. Its often the way of men to never look beyond the surface of the world and judge it. Perhaps he might have drawn some philosophical observation about life and purpose. But Ed was a simpleton. He passed by, pulled out his pipe and noticed his tabacco was running low. He wished for a snuff of his favorite tabacco but his coin was humble and he needed to bag a few more lowlife's and then he could at least have packet of Queen's to help him pass the nights in whatever bed he could find.

Despite a bleak existence, Ed was unusually optimistic. How easy his mind was, for he only had to think of today. Ed had dreams, like many of average intelligence do. But the dream was somewhere out in the abyss, unatainable but it provided a vague direction. Much like how a compass always points North. Its comforting, but useless to someone who flows with the current. Ed knew of many things. But he did not care about them as much as he knew them. Knowing was important.

Ed liked people who knew things. His job was about knowing things. Seemingly useless data collected into a computing machine and filtered through a series of experiences and knowledge kept Ed in things like tobacco, bullets and a few modest luxuries. It was why Ed found himself outside the Grey Minuet, a dressed up establishment that passed off cheap cuts of meat and poor vegatables as a dinner worthy of a poor man's daily salary. The worker of magic in the kitchen was a Orc woman named Borbtharz; or Borb to everyone but the police, an employment agency in High Park and a elderly Eldren landlady who enjoyed reminding Borb she was of low birth. 

Borb was a broad, heavy set orc woman with an equally heavy temper when it came to the running of her kitchen. Though uneducated, Borb had a way of knowing things. She was simple in perspective, but a nurturing and motherly woman to those she took a liking towards. People told things to Borb and Borb listened. It was how she learned how to cook. Once a simple scullery maid, she noted the spices the cook added to the soups and the chickens. She watched with keen interest as he blended flavors and crafted sauces, selected herbs for stews and savored the results. She also noted his taste for expensive whiskey, a vice she had since maintained when she could scrape together enough coin.

Borb was busy stirring in a abundance of cut onions and broth from some unfortunate fowls which had been under the false impression their lives were secure in their natural inclinations towards fostering chickens from eggs into other chickens. They realized their mistake too late amidst cries of betrayal and slipped into boiling water. She saw Ed and, between barking commands at the poor staff who had either become accustomed to her harsh demeanor or were laboring under the false impression their cries for help would be met with anything short of being added to the stew, flew through the kitchen with plates in hand, orders from customers or washing used cutlery and crockery. Borb dished out a bowl of steaming stew she had just finished making and shoved it in front of Ed.

Born knew Ed from the street. They'd both come up together in a way. Not friends. But there is a bond between Orcs. There is no going up, improving their way of live beyond a few more coin a week. Borb was fortunate, as was Ed. There was a unspoken kindred spirit and as much as Borb was unwilling to admit it, she had a soft spot for the bounty hunter. The characteristics mentioned previously, and those of being not entirely hard to look at, made Ed a favorite of Borb. But ignorance and pride have a terrible time trying to find that common ground. And so Borb did what most women do when they feel more then a natural effection for another; they fill their bellies, mend their wounds and keeping them out of trouble until they get a clue.

Ed asked Borb the usual questions. She abliged with answers. Ed learned that the young boy who was murdered the previous day had been one of Roald's boys. The police, used the the grisly business of senseless violence, had likened it to just another unsolved murder. Borb was equally unaware as to the reason for the boy getting shanked. Roald is a "business man" who deals in the exotic and rare commodities that usually go to well paying customers. He also controls a large part of the muscle in the city of Newhaven. He frequents a club known as the Swanky Gent.

In between bites, Ed also asked in Borb had anything on a new bounty for the arrest of another young man by the name of Lazarus Igglesden. A practitioner of Dark Magic. It was an amusing accusation. But Ed, being a simple man, failed to notice the tightness at the corners of Borb's eyes, the change of tone and the apprehension in her demeanor. A more cunning man might have supposed Borb was hiding something. But Ed was enjoying his soup and still working out why the kid from the Tradeway had ended up with a knife in his back. He completed this train of thought, wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve and left, attempting to find the mysterious man named Roald who somehow fit into this puzzle.

"A dime, a rhyme, a opportune time."

As the raccoons were relaxing in their shared appartment, a unexpected knock sounded on the door outside. Pairs of dark eyes met for a instant before everyone did what was most natural for creatures who were thieves and had a healthy survival instinct. Stowing their prosthetic suit behind the drapes, they dove behind potted plants, into and under furniture and behind doors. Walter then opened the door and placed himself against the wall next to the hinges. Perhaps, if these poor beasts had a ounce more humanity, they might have realized that there is a certain respect of personal space and maintaining a human form affords you a certain priviledge that not even a policeman can infringe upon without due cause. 

Eyes tracked the door as it opened, and three men entered the apartment. The group noticed the polished shoes, tailored pants and shiny tophats. Hendrick, being the most human of the gang, realized that this pair of men shared a uncanny resemblance. They might have been considered identical even. They entered, instantly spotted the strange bundle of arms and legs stored behind the drapes and attempted to communicate with it. Hendrick stealthily approached, unable to help himself to the contents of their pockets. Three pairs of eyes met his as his tiny paw felt the cold of metal in one of their pocket.

I will not attempt to recreate the strange way these three men spoke, how they strung together words as if everything were bad poetry or terrible lyrics to unwritten songs, but it alarmed the gang of raccoons. The three men were, to put it mildly, impressed with the shenanigans at the Ames Club the previous day. They offered him a chance to join them, and continue creating chaos. They promise to make his current ordeal disappear and give him a gold cigarette case. Though he had the good sense to not outright accept, he was helpless in refusing their extravagent gift. With a final farewell spoken in tandem, promising they would be watching with keen interest, they disappeared as quick as gas lights are extinguished. 

Bombs and Burglary

Roku was panicked as he fled his apartment and reached the residence of Thomas Thompson. The jumble of words flowing from Hendrick, the chattering of Round Craig, Walter, Herold, Lefty and Ralph would have driven any man crazy. The thought that they had been visited by a agent of the heavenly host or a demon of the Maleficium had set the 6 raccoons off. He even showed Thomas the cigarette case he had been given. Thomas examined the invaluable gold case, its chaotic filegree and consantly shifting design, and realized this was beyond anything he had ever seen. The workmanship was by itself a thing of beauty. He made a rubbing of this strange case and gave it back to Roku. As the raccoons calmed down, they settled on a favor from Thomas in regards to aquiring a explosive device. For safety. That's all it was for.

The question should have set Thomas into a serious scrutiny of the relationship he had profited from for so many years. Perhaps it would be better to create some distance from the collection of creatures before something literally blew up in his face. Despite Thomas' skepticism, the question was interesting and Thomas had larger problems on his mind, such as the Symposium of Experimental Science and Innovation in less then a month. Besides, what was one bomb to the praise and triumph of winning the Symposium and the future of electrical energy. Besides, if Roku could get him the parts he needed...

Thomas relented, agreeing to find him a bomb if Roku would steal all the parts to a elecrical static generator from the famed electrical innovator, Mashelle Faraday from her home in the Guilded Row. Roku initially balked at this request as he had just performed work for Thomas and wanted more in return. He seemed equally shocked at the thought of becoming a common thief, a point Thomas countered by pointing to Roku's new cane. Agreeing to the terms, Roku set off to find the home of the famed inventor and plan this caper, while Thomas returned to his plans.

Daisy Eyes, Iron Sides

Venturing once again to the lower realms of Newhaven, Thomas went to visit his old friend, Daisy "Iron Eye" Eoghan. Daisy had been like a mother to Thomas, taking the budding engineer under her wing and treating him with all the fairness and firmness of her own kin. She admired his natural intellect, his creativity and gifts to understand complex formulae. Thomas, for his part, admired the stalwart woman, who had carved out a place among the industrialists and artificers. But her current residence was not inspiring as he knocked on the back door to a insignificant warehouse. Daisy, upon seeing her little "Pigeon" hugged him in a neck hold and then released him into a chair and poured up some liquid courage for them both. Once past the pleasantries and motherly scouldings to write more and eat better, Thomas fabricates a elaborate lie about a rocket project demonstration to cover for his questions about finding someone who can fabricate explosives. 

Daisy was many things in her life. A prizefighting boxer. A brilliant engineer. She could make a really good leg of lamb. But Daisy was not a savvy woman. She had been taken in far too many times for her own good. She had learned the hard way. But she was oblivious to the deceits of a silvery tongue and a approving smile. It was why she was currently experiencing the pinch. She had taken a large contract, been bamboozled into terms she didn't fully understand, and was facing some hefty debts. But she was determined, resourceful and had a few favors she could call it. But it was for this reason, and her perticular fondness of Thomas, that she failed to penetrate the deceit. She gave Thomas a name of Frag Bruiser, a demolitionist who could discreatly handle a quick order and ensure it stayed between them. Promising to return soon, Thomas leaves Daisy to nurse a glass of whiskey and figure out how to get herself out of the mess of her own making.

Oh, Grandmother

It is true the wealthy have many idle pleasures to occupy their time. Lindion had, for better or worse, been facinated by the world outside of the guilded halls and sanguine environments since she was a girl. She had faithfully read Heart of the Empire since its debut in the Newhaven Times. It was a small "comic" which ran once a week, detailing the exciting adventures of rough rider and adventurer, John Flemming. The detailed images and exiting perils often amused her. 

As Philip entered, she set aside her newspaper and instructed him to assemple the staff in the dining room so she could speak to them. She then told them about the new Ward who would be staying with them for the foreseeable future. She gave them strict instruction for interacting with the young girl, expectations and goals. Dismissing them, Philip spoke to her about the long term implications. Assured by Lindion he departs to get her journals. He returns a few moments later without the journals and informs his mistress that she has a visitor.

Lindion enters the parlor and sees the thin form of her grandmother, the unflappable, inestimable, Dame Elvira Temperance Lorieth. The Matriarch of the royal family, mother of Lindion's mother, Ciseal, and the foremost critic of her granddaughter. Her quick gaze, withering expressions and sharp words had, before Lindion's own eyes, been reduced from proud to lowly before her grandmother. 

It would have been inproper to break from proper ettiquette and converse like common people. It was then, the two strong-willed women, drew up to the metaphorical chessboard and made their initial moves. Elvira made the first few moves, sacrificing some pawns in favor of sizing up her granddaughter, who accepted the challenge and easily navigated the bated words and glances, just barely maintaining her composure. Elvira went in with her prime move, inquiring as to Lindion's actions recently; being seen at a public house in the lower districts was tantemount to scandal. Lindion gracefully countered with the grace and charm she naturally possessed to reassure her grandmother she would never do anything to shame the Lorieth name. Elriva made the normal remarks about her father and his lower breeding, chides Lindion on still being single and her duty to make a good match. Seeing Lindion remained unchanged, Elvira made her crowning move, the whole reason she had left the comfort of the Palazzo. 

She asked Lindion if she had ever heard of the Church of the Everyman, a new religious faction gaining momentum among the lower class. Lindion, unaware of the nature of this new church, assured her grandmother she knew nothing about it. Elvira, knowing her granddaughter was speaking the truth, made to depart after completeing the proper social rituals. Lindion, however, took Elvira off guard as she again, reassured her grandmother that even though they don't always agree, Lindion always respected and admired her grandmother and was grateful for everything she had been taught. It was not the compliments. She had heard them all before. It was the sincerity behind those words. Tartly accepting them, Elvira left, mounted her carraige and thought of her next moves now that she had recruited Lindion into her larger game.