S1: E7 "Storm Brewing"

    The long, thin shadow stretched across the cracked earth, giving that cursed ground the first shade it had experienced in over 2 months. I am no judge, but it was a curious shadow, which led back to the distinctly feminine form of a woman. It was, to the expert opinions of the day, to much. Her ears were too big, she had too many freckles and her body resembled something closer to a coat rack. The loose skirt and baggy white shirt did nothing to help with this illusion. She tilted the wide brim of her hat down against the glare of the rippling orange ball of fire which was dipping behind the barren hills behind her. 

    She dug the toe of her boot into the earth, the red dirt staining the soft leather. She watched her shadow grow longer until it merged into the other shadows which spread from her small encampment of canvas tents and canopies. It is said among proper society that if a young woman lacks beauty, she can make up for it in pleasant social interaction. Or have a lot of money. The young girl had the latter. Everyone else kept telling her she would gain the other two, eventually. Her father had spent a fortune giving her the best education abroad. And she was only 18 years old. She had been given a name, title, fortune and knowledge. But against the backdrop of that falling sun, Mashell Faraday would have traded it all for someone to talk to her.

    A young man approached, dressed in a turban and white cotton shirt and pants. His blue sash identified him as a servant. He bowed and clasped his hands together. "Miss, your tea is ready."

    Mashell made a sign with her hand which meant she understood. He bowed, glanced nervously about and retreated back to the main tent. Everyone would be there; two servants employed for this venture, a guide, a squad of soldiers and her governess, Mistress Bleak. Mashell called her the warden. She was the starchiest, well-bred women Mashell had ever met. She bored her almost to tears.

    "There you are, Miss Faraday," she said with perfect diction and poise, each word measured, and vowel exacted with such perfection it would have made Mashell's language tutor cry. She reached for the pot of tea as if on cue, poured out a cup for her and her pupil and then set it back on the tray. Every word and action were like bad theater. Everything was over emphasized.

    Mashell took her cup, signed a polite thank you and sipped her tea. The aroma of cinnamon, black tea leaves and some vague sweetness which lingered on her tongue filled her senses. She imagined herself as the Great Empress in a foreign land, conducting some kind of peace treaty with barbarians in the Southern Sands. A hollow cough interrupted her thoughts. She straightened her back, set her cup down and tried to look ladylike. She watched her governess for a moment. The woman was a grey headed sack of wrinkles. She was so tightly cinched up in her corset Mashell was certain the woman would unravel the moment the lace broke. The only part that seemed sharp was her dark eyes which perched behind her thin nose like ravens. She wore a high collar and seemed incapable of doing anything that was fun.

    "It looks as though we shall have rain tomorrow," her governess said placidly. Yes Mashell agreed. 

It did look like rain.

The first few drops of rain splashed on the lower regions of the city as the clouds broiled across the sky, creating a beautiful haze which began to obscure the horizon. Yuko managed to break away from her company and find Lindion on the balcony as the young soldier sought out some drinks and more conversational topics. I observed Yuko and Lindion circle each other like predatory cats, each assessing the other in an attempt to know how to interact. They touched each other with words, careful to observe the other's reaction, adjusting their stance, faciel expressions and mood. Lindion talked of the city, of the high society she frequented and told Yuko of the many noble houses of Newhaven. Yuko spoke of her mission as a goodwill ambassador to the peoples of the west in the High Moors. She also told Lindion about the magnificent hunting of the white stag, the vicious black boars and the elusive Elk with the bronze horns. Someone would not have thought Yuko was the type to run with the grey hounds, longbow in hand as she stalked the tusked boar amidst a snowy backdrop. But she had many times. 

The conversation of course turned towards Yuko's personal goals. She was informed of Lindion's connection to the various inner roads that led to the palace. Yuko made her desires casually known of seeing the royal library and meeting Lindion's grandmother. Lindion, fully aware of the casual guise, of course suggested that she could be of service in guiding Yuko around the city, though she warned that her grandmother was not always the most accessible. As the servant arrived, informing her that the weather was taking a turn for the worst, Lindion bid her farewell and mounted her carriage as the full fury of the storm burst forth.

The rain. It burned like acid.

    Mashell pulled her coat around her and watched as the yellow tinged rain pattered outside the tent. Its a strange sound when water struck the aetherweave fabric. Like a orchestra randomly tapping symbols. It was beautiful in its own chaotic way. She knew something of the aether. She had quizzed her tutors, read every book on the subject and even convinced her father that a mage from the Consortium of Hermetic Guilds should be employed to instruct her in the art of utilizing the Quintessence. She had an affinity for magic. She had mastered a few small tricks and was eager to learn how to power a proper clockwork devices. 

    Her governess was perched atop a pile of pillows reading a book. It was probably something to "expand her mind and grow her knowledge." Not a book filled with "nonsense and frivolity." Mashell would have enjoyed some frivolity right about now. The trip into the borders of the Tortured Lands had taken every charm and wit Mashell possessed to get her overseers to let her venture outside the tent, much less the camp. Her father had footed the bill and said very little about it. It's purpose was educational of course. But in reality she wanted to hunt mythical animals, perform natural studies of the world and observe clockwork machines. It was for her pleasure. She drug everyone else along because that was the only way she could do it. She would have gladly sacked everyone, packed a suitcase and her rifle, and lived as a gypsy for the rest of her life. But she had a duty and responsibility. Mashell was often reminded of her priviledge. Responsibility be damned. She wanted freedom.

Freedom. Like lightning arching through the sky, reaching out its slender fingers to touch whatevery it loves, able to dance before the heavens in all of its brillience. In the blink of an eye...

They say the heavens weep. I say the heavens work, and by the sweat of his brow the earth is nurtured. Lightning is the power, the sparks of strength and ingenuity which orders the stratus and drives the winds, sending clouds rolling across the sky like a team of horses before its master who wields the whip.

As the first cracks snapped overhead, two scientists completed their experiements and stepped inside a gilded cage. If they had been more philisophical and had not been completely distracted by the storm, and each other, they might have drawn some grim metaphor from their current predicament. The two scientists, one a member of the aristocracy, the other over delusional guttersnipe clawing their way into golden halls. A woman constrained by expectation, the other a man constrained by debt. Both limited by their respective handicaps, but motivated by them to create and build. They relied on technology but found freedom in their shackles. They had more in common then not, and now, as Mashell and Thomas spoke of coils, currents and conductors, they realized a mutual connection beneath association. Was it ridiculous to think that two people might feel something for each other even after only a few days? Was the heart foolish to want more? It was not love. It was two souls touching. Wild thoughts passed between them and neither thought it mad. They spoke and were comprehended.

But Mashell was not a fool and Thomas had removed his rose colored glasses a long time ago. They knew their own hardships and survived, overcame them. But for a moment, they let their guards down and wondered about a future beyond inventions and the daily grind. They wondered about what life would look like with another person inside it.

And then Mashell remembered that Thomas tried to rob her with the aid of a gang of raccoons. To say her emotions were conflicted at this point would have been accurate. She would ruin him when the opportunity arrived. But something in his face and actions, the way he talked about electrical energy...she didn't see the monster she had envisioned earlier. Perhaps that was how he had seen her. A grumpy old woman hording all the treasures of the world in her clockwork castle. He was just taking from the excess and giving back to the people. Or perhaps he was selfish.

As she shivered in the rain, Thomas gave her his coat. After finishing their experiments, they retreated into the labratory dripping wet. Wrapped in blankets and sitting beside the fire, Mashell soon found her eyes growing heavy. Soon she was completely overtaken, her head finding purchase on something firm and strong, Mashell soon found herself drifting away from the mortal world, awash in her own sea of thoughts and ideas.

She was a boat bobbing along the a sea of dreams.

    Mashell started awake. She blinked up at the famil
iar convas of her tent. The rain had stopped. But her governess was gone. Groggly, she stood and found her footing. Something was strange. Pulling the flap back she stepped outside into a world turned upside down. The sand was drifting around in strange shapes, bits of stone orbiting through the sky like a set of planets. As Mashell watched, the sand began to part as a large worm broke the surface and spiraled into the sky.

    "Mashell Faraday, daughter of Abraham Faraday. Walking in the Void." The voice filled the air, the particles of sand which floated in the air pulsing with every word. Mashell felt her ears ringing. She grit rolled across her teeth and felt chaulky on her tongue. "A dream. This is a dream."

    "It is the Dream. A place of pure imagination," the voice intoned.

    "Who are you if this is my imagination then." Mashell asked, trying to hide the tremor in her own voice.

    "I didn't say it was your imagination. It is imagination." 

    Mashell was very certain she wanted to wake up. Maybe she had contracted some fever or eaten something which was messing with her brain. They tea did taste slightly more potent then she was used too. This was a dream though. Mysterious voices and strange shapes forming in the sand were normal, right? Like the one that had been slowly forming in the cyclone of sand which had been forming on her left. At first it had looked like a vague shape, but slowly it took fractal form, slowly becoming humanoid, their face obscured in broken, pulsing shapes.

    "The silent girl forgotten. The brilliant mind left to dream on her own. Dreams that could not be shared or appreciated. Dreams of a world seen through a Aetheric lense. Her tutors told her she was talented, gifted in the Quintessence. But the girl saw a day where the secrets of nature would produce power unknown to man before. Power given to the common man. The Fire of Talos."

    Mashell listened, thunderstruck, as the humanoid transitioned into engines of industry, towering cities and alien machines. Her ideas. These were her designs. It was beautiful. And like a wave across the shore, the sand was swept up into the humanoid form again as it walked before her, hands behind its back, head tilted forward as if conveying a secret. Mashell felt her thoughts take shape. The clarity and volume, as if it were her own voice suprised her. "My vision."

    "A reality," the figure replied. "You have been told from birth that you carry responsibility. You have been bred and instructed to walk a path set forth for you by society. But a girl minds her teachers and follows her lessons. A woman chooses her own path."

    The figure melted away into the sand, and suddenly she found two paths set before her, cutting a way through th endless wasteland. "No path is easy. There will be obstacles and people who will try and tear you down. But dreams are addictive. Dreams are shared by mortal souls." Mashell saw a new figure, a boy working in the sewers beneath a city, the boy growing into a man who tinkered with gears and dreamed of a world like her own. A shared vision of the future.

And she chose a path, and walked among the Dreamers.

A great mystery among modern philosphy is expressed in this question: if a king wages war, is he guilty for the death of all innocent life taken by the hands of his soldiers? Man can never know the full ramafications of his choices. To what end does a man live when he cannot see the end of things?

So many decisions were made on that morning. As the bodies were hauled from ashes, and firemen and constables combed though the ashes of the Shifty Whale, just a few doors down, a group of McNab's men handed around a bottle consumed with thoughts of vengence while growing more and more inebriated. There was little love lost for their foxy leader. But loyalty was a thing among those who lived on the street. You didn't have to like the man next to you. But he had your back. Your survival depended on it. More decisions were made in their drunken stupor, decisions which seemed sound at the time. The oaths taken, the bond of men attacked by a unseen foe created a comradery in those few who survived. As dawn broke across the hazy horizon, three members of the newly formed Whaler Gang beat a path to the most likely suspect in the conspiracy against their former leader.

It was why Thomas found the door of his labratory reduced to splinters as a bearman, a dogman and a human rushing in upon him with whiskey on their breath and murder in their hearts. The fog of sleep was replaced with the fog of confusion. No one can blame Thomas for being slow at putting together the peices of his choices, which had led to this point. Inwardly, upon realizing he was involuntarily involved in the murder of McNab, and his friends were the likely perpetrators, he became angry. But the only thing which stayed his hand which now rested upon his swordcane was Mashell. The Bearman, named Bastian, held her firmly in his paws. Prince, the nearby dogman, and the human, a man named Rod, presented the options available to Thomas; do what they wanted or someone was going to get hurt very badly. Thomas would have fought or fled, but he showed some courage for the woman who had fallen into this unfortunate business by no fault of her own. 

But her choices had led her here as well. Miss Faraday was not ignorant nor was she innocent. She made choices which had brought her to this point. She may not have known the full consequences, the consequences were her's to bear as well. Thomas could not see this as he walked along the street, prodded by a small pistol which reminded him he was at a distinct disadvantage. They weaved their way towards the home of Roku. As they approached, they failed to notice the elusive Roku as he left his flat, his own machinations filling his mind.

The Dreamers slumbered. And she walked among them, stealing their dreams.

    "Who is he?" Mashell asked to nobody in particular. "Is he my future?"

    "The boy is one of many potencial branches along the path that you may take." The voice replied as the images shifted, changed and grew out in a series of paths like arms on a beam of lightning. "Events are even now changing as your fates may yet be entwined together. But I see a moment in time where your dream dies or it blossoms. Free will becomes your greatest enemy, and your most kindred friend."

He reached out and snuffed out the dream.

In a estounding moment of clarity, Roku realized that if you can't beat a man, give him a woman to distract him. In actuality, the gang of raccoons thought that they would find a orc woman who Ed could fall in love. Then this woman would tell him just how much she loved raccoons and persuade Ed to give up the life as a bounty hunter.

Any sensible person would have discarded this plan as far-fetched, ill-conceived and logically faulty. But that had never s topped Roku before. Using his superior intellect and deductive reasoning he went to a small theater in Low Park called the Umbrella Cafe. It was frequented by the denizens of Low Park, and featured local talent from the streets who told stories, sang the old songs and could entertain. A rarity at the Umbrella Cafe was a orc woman named Jasmine. Having grown up in the slums, Jasmine had survived factories, the steampipes and eventually graduated into moderately nicer accomodations as a cook and house maid, all the while retaining some attractive features and a beautiful voice. A orphan, Jasmine had a less natural Orc upbringing, made to fend for herself more then most orcs, she developed a tenacity and unwillingness to ever give up. But her half orc outcast "mother" showed her a sweetness and care for the things around her as often as she showed her the the back of her hand. It was likely that Jasmine was a half-breed herself, which further drove her apart from her own species. But Jasmine persevered, learning whatever she needed to get by and never stooping so low as to embrace they streets she grew up on. Her adoptive mother told her stories of both the human world, the brave warriors and cunning orcs and gave her a sense of belonging in a world that didn't know what to do with her.

This was who Fate had thrown into the way of a raccoon who sought only to save his own skin from a equally stubborn orc bounty hunter. How Roku convinced the woman to go along with this scheme would have baffled in the hollowed halls of philosophy for decades. If was fortunate for Roku that Jasmine spoke a simple amount of Teran and had thought that this might be a kind of audition for a part. She had heard of such eccentric ruses to test new talent. Because Jasmine had enough self pride and was handy enough with her fists to make any man rue the day he made her a fool.

As Roku returned from his quest successful, he just managed to reach his apartment when the bulldog, Prince, shuffled up behind him and pressed something cool into his back. Roku had been waylaid on the street before by people who had mistaken him for just another easy mark. And Roku, like most philanthropic young gentlemen of his day, said hell with that, and fired blindly over his shoulder in the direction of the assailent. A few inches to the left and Prince would have been exploring his own afterlife. Fate is cruel sometimes. Prince was a simple dogman who lived by the code of the street; kill or be killed. So he thrust his knife multiple times into the back of Roku, stabbing multiple raccoons. He then pushed, half dragged, the bleeding gang of raccoons up to his apartment and deposited him with a wet thump onto his recently cleaned floor. 

Rod was of course very upset. Prince was indifferent as he wiped the knife on Roku's trouser leg. Jim, seeing his mater was injured, set about right at once, patching him up. Everyone else remained seated, frozen in place. Rod was very done with waiting and pressed the barrel of his pistol between the delicate pipes and gears of Mashell's magical voice box, placed around her throat. This was when Roku, perhaps delirious, forgot that he had never gotten the explosive device promised to him by Thomas, and began threatening everyone with permanant expulsion if they did not surrender. To his credit, Bastian was not the brightest in the bunch, and believed that Roku. It just so happened that he was loyal and would die with Rod and Prince despite his own apprehensions.

As this little group, protesting, pleading and threatening each other found themselves in these unforseen circumstances, the real perpetrator of this series of unfortunate events had arrived at the labratory of Thomas Thompson only to find it empty. Ed realized something must be off, and doing some truely amazing levels of deduction, arriving at a simple conclusion. His friends were in trouble. Running from the scene of the crime, Ed did not go to the closest constable. He did not mount a posse. He went to his new friend and benefactor, Roald.

S1: E6 "The Well Laid Plans"

Tick Tick Tick

Social Animals

The carriage rattled across the cobbled stones which wound around the glistening fountain, pulling to a stop before the wrought iron gates. A servant hastened down the wide steps, through the open gates and opened the door with a measured bow. Lindion emerged, adorned in the violet dress which Stacy had selected. That bit still puzzled her, the thought lingering in a stream of thoughts all connected to this day. Her taste was, however, impeccable. The sweetheart neckline, the v-cut bodice with black lace on the top and bottom, and then running around the hem of her dress. The color was perfect, fashionable and very much complementary. She would have to commend the girl on her good choice and ask Philip to discover the tardiness of Lilian's duties that morning.

Sweeping these thoughts aside, Lindion entered the vestibule of the Belabrante estate. The whole of the estate was magnificent. Trimmed hedges, flat topped trees in full bloom, a weeping willow and creeping vines which laced up in bundles on any surface which had purchase for their tiny little hands. The interior of the estate was a beautiful half-moon shape. The ceiling was domed, with a circular window at the zenith, with columns of trim running down to the base of the dome, creating a kind of frame for the paintings which had been vibrantly displayed across the surface of the plaster. Each "segment" depicted a  monstrous beast, some known to myth and lore, others very much real. Beneath these, as if forming a horizon along the base of the dome, delicate relief work trickled down into the half colonnades which flanked more statues, carvings and murals of the legacy of the Bleabrante house. Their wealth, influence and power were beyond reckoning. They were the foremost expects on man and beast. More specifically, man on beast. Griffons were their speciality. Every year they hosted safaris into distant untamed lands, trained and built their empire on the bones of the natural, and unnatural beasts. 

Lindion only had a few moments to enjoy this scene as she shrugged off her coat, hat and traveling gloves. Poised with her fan in one hand and her clutch in the other, she entered the sitting room connected right off the foyer. The large windows in the back had been set open, flooding the room with beams of pale light. The fireplace on the right was spitting happily. Leather couches encircled the hearth, upright chairs and tea tables, coupled with blue setees which matched the draperies, lined the walls. The dark wood paneling on the walls glistened as if recently polished. Lamps illuminated even the darkest of corners, driving out every shadow. Potted trees and leafy plants added a almost jungle like effect to the room. The red and gold carpet was thick and comfortable underfoot. There were doors on either side of the room, which, as Lindion soon learned, led further into the labrynth of sitting rooms, comfortable dens, parlors, a spacious dining area and several libraries. 

I'm getting ahead of myself again. Lindion hasn't been given the tour yet by the estimable host of today's social gathering. As Lindion moved politely among the guests, a casual nod, a polite word, she was soon situated in a prime position to receive other socialites. Social etiquette dictated that women not approach the men, but instead indicate with pose, position of one's fan and blush of cheeks that you were willing to engage in trivalities. The only exception was that a hostess, so as not to be rude, welcomed her guests and ensured their glasses were full and they always had someone near to converse with so as not to become bored. This form had created many opportunities for women to cleverly bend the rules and create situtations for engagement. Sometimes, quite literally.

Lindion, having the good breeding of a noblewomen and the beauty of the Eldren, never went long before someone had approached her with a greeting, a offer to fill her glass and a quick remark about the weather. Other appropriate forms of conversation were something of note in the local Times (avoiding politics and religion if appropriate), some new fashion or trend, a new discovery, a lament about some poor sod who ended up ruined or a scandalous affair (as long as it was not their relation or close friend), recent engagements or marriages, births and other such innane topics so as to avoid offence. 

This was why, when the host of the party and patron of the Belabrante family, approached Lindion and welcomed her to the party, Lindion was surprised and intrigued. Arthur Belabrante had strong resemblence of the peoples who lived down the Southern end of the Sword Coast, with dark brown hair, blue eyes and a dusky skin. He was instantly charming and affable, easy to converse with on a variety of subjects and moved with ease, both physically and socially. But this was not why Lindion was surprised. As Arthur gave her the tour o the lower parts of the house, weaving in and out of every room, he abandoned more mundane topics and ventured right into personal, almost intimate conversation with his guest. His questions were personal without venturing into a confidence. But Lindion found it hard not to want to talk more about herself, despite all her good training. 

Detaching himself after they reached the sitting room once again, Mary, the younger sister of Arthur, injected herself into Lindion's company practically dragging a younger woman behind her. The two women stood as starkly different as a hand is from a foot. Mary was the picture of gentility. She had a perfectly thin waist, bright eyes and hair that constantly bounced with every vowel that came out of her mouth. She wore a deep green floral gown, with long sleeves, and a golden collar that wrapped around her thin kneck. Gold was in fact peaking out of her hair, at her elbows, across her bodice and flashed almost as brightly as her perfect teeth. I was not the only person annoyed by her vibrant personality.

Yes. Contrast. Yuko was a northerner. Her skin was pale as ivory. Her hair was as white as the finest snow and soft like wool, tooled into a complex braid wrapped around her head so it appeared to form a kind of crown. She wore the traditional robes of her class, richly adorned with bright red flowers and beautiful hand stitched gold thread all across the silk. She was broad, average height and had beautiful golden brown eyes. She looked as timid and as uncomfortable as Mary was excited and comfortable with the world. But it was easy to see the confidence, the defiance in the face of an obstacle. There was a stregnth beneath the temporary circumstances. Mary made introductions, spoke for everyone and allowed very little to pass between them before whisking Yuko away to meet more strangers. There was a fleeting glance for mercy between her and Lindion before she was lost in the crowd. 

Lindion had barely enough time before the older woman approached her.She wore the darker shades of grey allotted to old maids or widows. She introduced herself as Eulala Roznar. The older women then asked Lindion to turn down the wardship of her granddaughter, Isabella. Lindion was well within her right to create a scene. It would have felt perfectly normal if not for her own self control. To approach her in public like this and make a request was highly improper. But Lindion gracefully explained that this was a question for Isabella's parents and it should be taken up with them. She might have said other words that were pooling at the edge of her tongue about meddling matrons but she realized instantly this was a personal issue and not one that was appropriate to discuss in such company. Fortunately Eulala did not push the issue. She displayed her dissapointment but released Lindion to enjoy her party. Lindion, taking note of this, retired to the balcony overlooking the lower districts of the city. 

As she let her mind settle on the familiar sights of the beautiful architecture of Newhaven, Yuko managed to break away from Mary and move at something of a less breakneck speed. That was when the twists of fate wove two lives together. Sir Telmadge Bertram Etherington was a socialite and held a coveted position in the highest places of honor among the Bourgeoisie. He had money, influence and made it is focus to know every person who had a story of interest. He was also a complete fop. So it was no wonder Telmage pulled Yuko into his sphere of influence. He always knew a person who possessed a story for him. She did not dissapoint. She regailed her audience with stories of her people, of the fabled Mother who went to save her child, and the story of the blue eyed Ilsa, the Voice of Order. Greatly amused, Telmage would have had her continue. But Yuko was more interested in the woman named Lindion. She was intregal to her plan, it seemed.

As Yuko looked for Lindion, someone else had found her already on the terrace. A young soldier recently returned from the North where he was stationed. Hector Clark saw Lindion leave and followed. Though bold, he thought she looked familiar. He was not particularly skilled with faces. But hers bore a resemblance to something that was on the tip of his tongue. Hector realized his impertinance as the conversation grew more awkward. Mentally kicking himself, he made small talk until he could excuse himself to refill their glasses. Perhaps he could salvage the conversation at some point. There was a lovely storm brewing outside...

Tick Tick Tick

Like Lightning 

The failure of the first experiment had proven harnessing the power of electrical energy was not going to be a simple matter. Failure was no foreigner to Thomas. He knew her from a young age and had come to a tentative understanding. It also brought him closer to understanding the problem. The particular problem was that his designs failed to sustain a substancial charge. To prove the theory of electical power, the battery had to be more then a paperweight. The problem was that Thomas had theorized about how it would work, but had rarely seen it function up close. This thought possessed him so thoroughly that he endeavored to create a means that he could see this power up close and observe its terrible nature. I think, in actually, Thomas wanted to look really cool.**

Perhaps Thomas was not fully expecting Mashell to think this a rational idea. Inversely, she suggested some ideas for making it work. As the two set their minds to the task, they decided a lightning rod would be ideal for catching the energy and then directing it down into the building where they could study its effects and find a effective substance that would hold a charge. As Mashell set off to bring something she thought would help keep them safe during the experiments, Thomas started to construct his lightning rod. He then realized he was out of one of the essential componants; wire. He had used up the majority in his latest rounds of experiments and prototype designs.

As the strom brewed, Thomas elected to station his experiments on the roof of his lab and hope that he could build the rod out of spare parts. As he finished the last of this assembly, Mashell returned with a large crate. As the workers unboxed it, Thomas saw a large copper mesh cage which gleamed like bronze. Situated beneath the rod, Mashell suggested setting water to the base of the system and connect their battery and observe the reaction to the different componants.

Tick Tick Tick

A Stroll in a Minefield

Across the cobbled streets and black chimneys, another storm was beginning to form as two forces began to collide. Standing behind a tree in a small part outside of Roku's flat, Ed waited patiently for his prey to emerge. His plan was simple enough; he would conceal a raccoon trap beneath some leaves and leave a pile of shiny objects which would be very hard for a sticky fingered thief to resist. Roku soon emerged, strolling casually through the park. Ed watched with a easy smile on his lips as the gang of raccoons walked directly towards it, pokes it and, after examining it, picks up the whole trap and retreats with the newfound garbage back to his rooms. Ed watched as the prey escaped. A adage about the best laid plans of Mice and Men might have been very fitting. But Ed was not one for platitudes. But this was not the first bounty who had out...raccooned him.

As the draw drew towards its peak, Ed put this aside and went off to complete his other job. For that, he needed someone with explosive talents.

As Ed left, Roku was enjoying his new found treasure. Jim, having finished his daily routine of cleaning and organizing Roku's home, inquired where he had found such items. Roku explained the situtation, and on this rare day, showed some extraordinary deductive reasoning. Grabbing up his cane, Hendrick began pulling together his masterful theory. It was logical to assume that Ed was trying to prove his case against him. It was also logical to assume he would be so rude as to assume a simple ploy like a snap-trap would ensnare the brilliant raccoon. Clearly a simpleton who fancied himself a detective. So how does the prey turn the trap onto the hunter? This was where the train of logic either derailed or found the perfect solution. Hendrick thought how brilliant it would be to trap Ed with something irresistable that could get him off the back of the raccoons once and for all. A principle distraction to brazen and bold that Ed would never guess he would be shackled for the rest of his life.

Conveying the plan to the others, they talked long into the night until they settled on a brilliant plan to draw the bounty hunter into their own clever trap.

Jim quietly polished the new found baubles and smiled with dutiful attention.

TICK TICK TICK

Paper and String Don't Go Boom

To say this was Frag Bruiser's businest week would be a grave exaggeration. But if anyone was the beneficiary, his art and craft was known as rumor and appreciated for the short time it was in one piece. Today, however, he was working on a new timing mechanism/trigger which needed a more stable, less detectable energy source. He was thinking on this problem when one of his least favorite customers arrived on his doorstep. More accurately, he was not a customer at all. Ed and Frag had a...complicated relationship. Ed never could get a official bounty on Frag even though he knew he was particularly talented in his craft. Today Ed was here as a customer, a detail Frag was happy to oblidge. Supplying him with a parcel bomb; a simple pyroglycerine tube set with a simple trigger connected to the inside flap via a small wire. If you avoided the explosion, you most certainly would burn to death.

After getting the package, Ed asked his various contacts about the whereabouts of Leigh McNab, the silver fox he had met previously. His whereabouts were either hidden or nobody wanted any part of him. If Ed had been more cynical he might have known something was up. But he continued on, faithful in his duty to fulfill his contracts. Honor had a way of complicating one's life, even when doing something as sensational as dealing death to a unsuspecting victim.  The chaos was palatable. Like the Harbingers of Justice, there were also the Arbiter of Death who brought all things to a resolute end. Ed would be most useful if he continued down this path. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

Ed boarded the hansom cab. His contact was an anonomous cabbie who gave Ed little bits of knowledge when he needed some tip or clue. They passed small slips of paper through the small window at the foot of the bench where the driver sat and directed his team of horses. In this instance he learned that Leigh McNab was likely at the Shifty Whale. Armed with this information and the special package, he returned to the public house. After trying to blend in, he asked the bartender where he should leave this package. He feigned ignorance and suspicion as to why the sender, Roku, had instructed him to bring it here. The bartender left and returned a few moments later with a few of McNab's boys, faces Ed recognized from his previous visit to the Shifty Whale. The two men, built like Ed and not very friendly looking escorted Ed up a flight of stairs, into a office overlooking the street below the public house. 

To Ed's eyes orc eyes the yellow light from the lamp on the desk, which strained against the shadows, seemed to him as if it were daylight. He noted the worn furnishings, perhaps the antiquated items of royalty long discarded for something more elegant and modern. The large desk took up the largest portion of the room, a high back chair almost comical by comparison. McNab was resting against it, the ornate faces of animals carved into the surface top where he rested his elbow like a menagerie of predators. It was hard not to see the fox with silver skin in a more ominous light as he grinned from the shadows. His men took up positions with their hands not far from implements of their trade in case this was some kind of charade. But McNab recognized the bounty hunter, and the Roku he mentioned. He remembered they were friends of Thomas Thompson. Ed produced the package for McNab, along with the names of his co-conspirators. Elated at someone delivering some good news, McNab paid Ed and sent him and his men out of the room. As the boys escorted Ed back to the barroom, a figure in a hooded black robe who Ed had not noticed yet, quickly ascended the stairs to the McNab's office.

Ed pushed through the drunken crowd and walked into the gaslit night. The rain had just began to fall as Ed tucked his hat down over his brow. He crossed the we cobbles and positioned him in an alley entrance across from the Shifty Whale. He waited as the ran fell and lightning flashed across the sky. 

TICK...TICK...

Ed flinched as a fireball tore through the ceiling of the public house, rattling his back teeth and causing him to squint into the enferno which now licked at the black sky. From my perch on the opposite corner, I watched him until he vanished from sight into the gloomy sheets of rain which covered him like shroud. What kind of chaos followed him, hidden in his shadow, and dogging his steps in the near future. A simple choice would unleash a torrent of consequences that could alter the Fates of many.

But for now you will have to pardon me. There is some business I must attend to. There are some people who have a unexpected date with Destiny. And I would hate to keep a lady waiting.

Speaking of ladies...

Read All About it, Bombing in Low Park

 THE NEWHAVEN POST

S1: E5 "Pepperbox"

Roku Meets Jim

There is something universally appealing in the comical nature of men falling prey to their own machinations; consider the sight of one slipping on his own banana, falling into his own snare or drowning in his own pudding. It satisfies a deep sense of justice and brings Fate full circle. This is why I found myself once again, seated in a corner behind a shadow, watching the collection of raccoons returning to their home only to find that once again, their well laid plans had started to unravel.

Roku had chanced to hear something human stir on the other side of the door to his flat. He was not accustomed to sharing his rooms, or the general knowledge they existed, with anyone else. His mind was singular then in this matter. He would venture quietly inside, procure his pistol which he had mistakenly left near his bed and shoot the intruder (or intruders, as the thought of his previous guests returning had crossed his mind). 

Moving with the agility of a circus troupe across the furniture they knew so well, into the bedroom, and emerged with determination and a pepperbox in hand...er, paw. To their surprise, and confusion, they found a man of average height, brown skin, greying hair and narrow features standing in their kitchen in a green coat and matching pants. To say the man was not thoroughly confused when summoned to surrender his immediate freedom and reach for the Heavenlies, only to turn around in complete compliance and find a collection of raccoons glaring at you from behind a well used pistol, would have been a gross understatement. He was completely frightened in fact, and would have lost control of his bowels had it not been for the assurance he was in the right place.

Roku's suspicions and confusion were not easy abated. As he demanded to know why this person was standing in his kitchen, the man identified himself as Jim and told Roku that a "Mr Six" had hired him though a pair of curious lawyers. After asking a few more questions, Roku theorized that the gentlemen's gentleman had been contracted under the collection of chaos gods who he had encountered the previous day. Roku was very annoyed at once again having his private life interrupted. This annoyance was actually the raccoon's false impression of what it was like to live as a human. He thought that life was easier somehow, that your life was not constantly pulled in multiple directions by employers, friends, family, and the various demands of necessity. Your very sanity was either reduced to a cinder or you learned a certain level of indifference. This was why men had butlers. Unable to grasp this, however, Roku was about to toss this intrusion into the street when Jim, who had already set about making his new master a proper breakfast, presented a picture of the divine. Thus Roku was not won over by logic, passion or pathos. He was won over by a plate of sausages and well done eggs.

Swanky Gents

Across the cobbled lanes and broad streets Ed had just reached the Swanky Gent, a club which catered to the more lavish lives of the middle class. The home was foreclosed by the banks years ago, sitting empty for the better part of 3 years. A enterprising company purchased the building, renovated it, and opened for business as a private dinner club for those willing to pay the monthly fees. The name, along with the experience provided by the club, was all about the latest in fashion and trends. Bronze fixtures, dark wood paneling, rich gold and burgundy carpets, and black curtains. The club was a mixture of tasteful décor and partitions to give every member a private experience. The guilded exterior of the house was maintained by the proprietors to give the air of superior standards while catering to the fast and frivolous within. 

This was why Ed, a low bred orc in shabby clothing, had very low chances of ever getting in through the vigilant doorman at the front. So Ed used the back door. Supplying the boy in the alley a few shillings, and entered the kitchen. Though he was no less strange in this place of pressed napkins and polished cutlery, Ed managed to get to the stairs before a waiter blocked his path. Using a combination of his size, tenacity and the ability to bull his way into any room, Ed soon found himself being escorted to the table of the man he hoped would have answers for him regarding the murder of the young courier.

Born Israel Cobb, the man known as Roald on the streets of Newhaven was a man who had distinguished himself as a powerbroker in the underworld. Muscle was money, and people were willing to pay top dollar for his ability to find the right person for the right job. He had fingers in all the pies, controlling gangs, factory workers, labor unions, prisons, beat cops, informants; there was very little in the town of Newhaven Roald did not have knowledge. He largely controlled the smuggling rings bringing exotic goods into the city.

But Roald was also clever. He ran his various interests as a business. Loyalty and trust were key. And he always had someone to take the fall if the caper went sideways. The Applegate Scandal, the Two-Penny Bag and the Labor Riots of '46 were all his handiwork. But nobody could prove Roald had any part in the crimes, though everyone on the street knew Roald was not a man to be dismissed. He could be your friend or have you vanish without a trace.

Ed had not known about Roald before now. Roald had a sizeable bounty on his head for some time for information regarding this man and his activities if it led to a arrest. The problem was that nobody bothered to post it since he was practically untouchable. So Ed approached the man seated by himself with a cup of tea in front of him, dressed in fine clothing and ornate cane. Ed was seated and asked, as forthcoming a gentleman as he was, asked if Roald knew anything about the young courier who had been murdered. Roald smiled, made a apology that he knew very little and began placing several royal pounds on the table. Ed was not smart. But he knew enough of the world to know when to accept financial compensation for his silence. Ed realized what a opportunity this was and even told Roald about his interaction with Leigh McNab, the package, and how the boy was running something for him; he left out any other details regarding his friends. Roald turned this over in his mind, sizing up the orc sitting in front of him. Roald decided, and subtly conveyed his desire to see Leigh McNab removed from the...menu. I must convey my inability to understand metaphors. I think Roald wanted Ed to kill McNab. Or he wanted shephards pie removed from the universe's menu.

Ed took the money. To most this would have been the simple answer. But money was not the ultimate answer. As altruistic as Ed may have seemed given his positive disposition, removing a criminal from the city was a simple decision. The means were perhaps not as important as the result. Ed was not above bending the rules, especially when it meant achieving something ultimately good. This was why Ed made his way to the Guilded Row to visit one of his friends, a inventor known as Thomas Thompson. It was here he bumped into Thomas while he was entertaining a female acquaintence. 

Ed did not know the estimable Mashell Faraday. Otherwise, he might have been impressed beyond his mere impression that somehow Thomas had the ability to woo a lady. Thomas, of course was preoccupied with his guest to give much thought to Ed's request for the address of Roku. Thomas, wanting to get back to entertaining Mashell, gave over the address without much thought and thought nothing of it until later when he was calculating a veriable in the negative and positve outputs would need to maintain a greater volume then what was required by the output in order to generate enough energy so as to not create...an outage? Yes. that was a good word, he decided, and forgot all about Ed and Roku. (It should be noted that Thomas was finding his labratory filled with a beautiful scent which he thought must be a delightful perfume Mashell was wearing.)

The Smoking Gun

There is a particular time when men require nothing but quite, a comfortable chair and a pipe. At least, this is what Roku thought. Attempting to smoke through the metallic face plate of a prosthetic suit proved less difficult if you accepted the limitations and enjoyed a smoking room experience where the walls are burlap and metal.

As the raccoons were thoroughly engulfed in a haze of tobacco smoke, Jim, the recently aquired butler, entered announcing a guest. Momentarily detached from his sweet reveries, Roku inquired who it was; a man named Mr Ed. Admitted into the private time of a up and coming gentleman, Ed got straight to the point. Give back the cane he stole immediately and then supply him with a hand held explosive device. There is a reaction common among all rodants (of the four-legged and two-legged variety) when cornered in which they revert to a basic survival instinct. Roku tried to act offended, denying the implications. To say the various parts of himself were also conflicted would be an understatement. Ed had shown that he was not altogether altruistic in light of recent events. But no man, however twisted or debased, likes having another tell a bold lie to his face. Ed was a straight shooter and like others to do the same. So Ed did what most men do when they realize the object of their frustration has ceased operate as desired; he hit it on the head. 

There is a small benefit. to have multiple brains all functioning in a small space, working together towards a common goal. One of those is that while the more mentally advanced is wise-cracking the other can be waiting for a chance to slap a fellow across the face. That is exactly what Ralph did, taking a roundhouse punch to Ed's stubborn jaw. Ed drew out his pepperbox, moving in close as Lefty managed to activate the pistol brace on his right arm. But Ed was quicker, pinning the pistol arm behind Roku's head and pressing the muzzles of his pepperbox to the smiling hat where a person's head should normally be. Thomas Thompson would have enjoyed watching the physics of two immovable forces attempting to break the other down. But alas, as guns, blasted and fists swung, the only result was a few new holes in the upholstery and walls.

This activity brought Jim into the private chambers of his master, frying pan in hand. Roku instructed his servant to assault the invader, which resulted in Jim taking a bullet to the foot. Round and round they went, each unable to get the advantage over the other, until Jim, in pain and realizing someone could get killed, managed to calm the situation and reason with the two men to lower their weapons. Ed, seeing the frivilousness of this situation, tried one last time to appeal to Roku to hand over the cane and perhaps gain some money with the explosive device, found Roku unrelenting. Using a excuse to get rags from the washroom to mend his bleeding foot, Jim even tried to reason with his master, but Roku, stubborn as he was, thought better of it and exited through the window until Ed left. Jim apologized, but loyal as he was, covered for his master and attempted to defend his honor. This further annoyed Ed, who left, determined to find a another way to fulfill his contracts.

They grinned from the shadows, their ears ringing and the delightful smell of iron wills battling over trivial agendas. Delightful. They inhaled the chaos and revelled in the sweet euphoria. Three hands simultaneously pulled out the matching devices, the bronze pendulums shifting ever closer to the side of total anarchy.

Violet or Royal Blue

Lindion was enjoying her morning tea, content in her newspaper as the only quiet part of her day. She had just finished her morning comic, a especially enjoyable cliffhanger in which the hero was in the throws of quicksand, a giant python and a hoard of naked tribal cannabals attempting to secure the hero for their next feast. 

Stacy, the mysterious maid

The clicking of shoes on the floor broke in upon her vivid imaginations of the scene in which John Flemming was fighting for his life. Mentally she noted it was not yet time for Philip to bring her journal. It was why she found, to her immeasurable surprise, Stacy, the deaf maid, standing in front of her with two dresses. Lillian, the housekeeper's daughter, was her personal maid and saw to Lindion's wardrobe, daily toilet and helping her get dressed each day. This was strange to have Stacy bringing down her daily outfits. She had selected a dark blue gown and violet gown. Just then Philip appeared carrying the daily journal. He turned crimson for the exact reasons he was a butler. Decorum. People doing exactly what they were supposed to do when they were supposed to do it; this was the bread and butter of a butler's life. Anything getting out of place ruined the whole flow of the house. Even as stace retreated with the violet dress for the party that afternoon, Philip was ready to storm after her and lecture her on the proper operation of a maid and the role she played in this house. Lindion found it amusing. She consulted her journal and found the party listed there for later that afternoon. Dismissing Philip to perform his duties, which he was eager to perform, left Lindion to think about the afternoon luncheon.

Crest of House Belabrante

The luncheon was to take place at the Belabrante Estate. House Belabrante was one of the oldest families who could trace their lineage all the way back to before the Great Devastation. They were known as famous hunters, animal trainers and breeders of the highest regard across Faerun. They maintained their fortune by hunting the fabled griffons for the Royal Order of the Forever Empress. The sponsored safaris, hunts in the wild and exploration of lands tainted by the Maleficium. Notable members of the family were Arthur, the eldest son and face of the family business. Following him was Julian, the recluse who managed the ledgers and used his brilliant mind to make the family richer with each passing year. Ginny, his younger sister had never lived a day in the shadows of her two elder brothers. nicknamed the firebrand, the redhaired tomboy had always prefered to ride and train the beasts they captured over wearing fancy dresses and attending parties. Her defiance of the standards of high society and preference for men's trousers has been amusing scandal for years. The youngest daughter, Mary, is the picture of gentility and enjoys all the advantages his station affords her. A darling to all who see her, she is engaged to some new sop every week just so she can break hearts and fall in love the next week to someone totally new. She basks in the limelight of high society, spending the family fortune on luxuries and priviledges as quickly as the others sweep a new fortune into the family coffers.

Beside the colorful family rumors and gossip, the parties the Belabrante's hosted always attracted the most renowned and famous of the aristocracy in Newhaven and abroad. Invitations were personal and engagements intimate. To be invited, much less attend a function such as this was a high honor and pride of any noble house. 

Lindion prepared for her day, aided in part by Stacy who seemed eager to assist her mistress today in preparing for the party. Lindion then set out for her appointment, enjoying the cool day as she rode in her carraige to the wrought iron walls of the old estate. Fashionably late, Lindion descended from her carraige, eager to mingle with her peers. But it was this particular luncheon that Lindion would find herself conflicted at the meeting of a someone who was also interested in the welfare of a particular young ward...