S1: E16 "Claws"

The Claws of the Efreeti

I simply must recount the affair which occurred prior to the events of the amusing evening at the Mavienness estate. It is not insignificant to our current catalog of events which now loom ever closer. Earlier on this day, Lady Sara Vyse received an urgent telegram summoning her to the House of Flags concerning a "matter relating to her late husband." She excused herself and summoned a cab to take her to the Palazzo at once.

The House of Flags was a grand recreation of a humble house, now dedicated to an ideal of the late Forever Empress. It was, she termed, "the embodiment of ideals and beliefs which guided me through some of my darkest days. Its purpose will be to unite all factions, peoples and creeds. It will be a council which will fight evil and combat the darkness that never rests in its pursuit to snuff the beacon of hope and freedom. It will be a place of sanctuary and respite for all."

Great care was taken in its construction. The Empress herself was instrumental in the painstaking detail of pane of glass, every stone and piece of metal. A guildsman once asked her why it was so important. She merely smiled and said, "I made a promise to a friend." Nobody knew who she spoke, but like everything she did, there is a subtle hint in a painting in a salon composed of glass and ornate woods, called the Sol Chamber. You have to look for the painting, hidden away behind columns of bursting plants, elegant carvings and tokens from the ancient city. But once you see the detailed image of the ship bearing the golden-haired Eldren, pinning on her blazing silver armor, the intense, wise look in her beautiful eyes, you will never forget her.

The rest of the building is stylized in an older fashion similar to the Basilica of the Archon. Where the Basilica is a court for the council and foreign courts, the House of Flags serves as a set of offices, private rooms and residence for foreign ambassadors, dignitaries and visiting royalty while spending time in the city. It is treated as foreign land, free from the purview of the Constabulary and jurisdiction of the Royal Family. It has its own charter, each city state or royal crown setting their seal of agreement long before they ever step foot on the grounds. The rules provide for conflict resolution, common laws and regulations to facilitate a peaceful existence for everyone who take up residence in the House of Flags. If there is any disturbance, elite members of the Order of the Forever Empress will arrest, detain and resolve any conflict so that order is restored. Some believe this gives the Royal Family far too much power over foreign affairs, but others prefer the ability to keep conflicts such as this within the halls of the House of Flags instead of debasing their foreign guests in the public courts.

It was through these hallowed halls that Sara Vyse walked, her heels clicking across the granite floors which shined like mirrors. It was eerily quiet, to the extent someone might have thought themselves completely alone. The man who had greeted her was given a flowery title of Seneschal of the Exchange, and was tasked conducting guests directly to their ambassador, host or rooms. There was a Primus, Secundus and Tertius who filled these roles. But few asked. Everyone was greeted by a middle-aged man with a slight accent and good manners who carried himself and his guest through the House with resigned determination. Sara was escorted to a beautifully wood-paneled room, brimming with exotic plants, overstuffed armchairs, divans and richly decorated with brightly colored curtains, tapestries and thick carpets. One might have thought themselves sucked into the tent of a genie or desert sultan. 

Sara entered this room cautiously. She noted the heavy scent of spices, notably cinnamon, and the unmistakable inch of sand. It was likely the incense native to the Emerites and burned in almost every home. She casually checked the windows to make sure they could be easily escaped through. It was a habit formed after many long years of survival. Soon the door opened again and in walked two men. They were both dark skinned, black hair with trimmed beards and mustaches. They wore suits, cut in a longer fashion with little to no lapels and wore long sashes around their wastes. The look was completed by their shiny, pointy shoes. The younger of the two took a seat nearby while the older man introduced himself as Rashid.

Rashid was careful and delicate in his questions. Sara was also cautious, as what she feared was revealed to her. The two danced around the issue, carefully probing and testing the waters to know if the person sitting opposite was trustworthy or not. Eventually, Rashid was compelled to reveal his mission to Sara.

In truth, Rashid was working a desperate gamble. He and his fellow members of the Claws of the Efreeti were a secret organization who concerned themselves with the political and civil stability of the empire. Some might have compared them with the Harpers, though with considerably more suave and religious zeal. Though independent, they believed in the sacred throne and swore fealty to the Sultpasha. They were, in short master spies. Through a series of contacts, they learned that Hadid Rehmann had gained the favor of the Sultpasha, and had been offered a boon by the Throne. He was preparing for a key position as an ambassador to Newhaven, a prestigious position as it afforded him connections and power outside of the throne, as well as being the voice and ear of the empire. It had also come to their attention that Hadid had used his own coffers and newfound grace to offer a significant bounty for a woman. The Claws decided that this would become their mission. Using the arts of a diviner and a simple portrait, they were given a vision. They knew because the Divination showed them actual events connected to the life of this woman, that she was indeed still alive. The vision showed them thus: three men who looked very similar, of various ages; a golden dome of a great city along the coast; a ship traveling the world bearing a man and woman locked by a band of gold; wealth in the form of gold, a beautiful estate and many luxuries; and lastly, a trio of tombstones at the head of a freshly dug grave. Over the course of a year, they determined that the three men carried the same ancestral name and had died at various stages of life. The golden domed coastal city was Newhaven. The ship bearing the couple had been bound in the sacred ceremony of marriage. The wealth represented wealth and position. The man of ancestral name had recently perished, as the woman was still alive. It took them many months yet to discover who their mysterious woman was, until, quite by chance, they spied a picture of a local socialite who bore a striking resemblance to the younger woman's dog-eared picture. Rashid knew it could all be a coincidence that Lady Sara Vyse was the girl Hadid so desperately wanted back. 

The final test was to confirm her old identity when she still lived in the Emerites. Sara reluctantly confirmed their suspicions. Rashid then revealed the truth of her previous husband and the danger now posed to her life here in Newhaven. But he promised that if Sara would help discredit Hadid in the eyes of the Sultpasha they would discourage anyone from finding her. She then revealed that there was a child, also hidden away safe. She assured the two men that the boy was safe. Rashid nodded and gave her his card, which was addressed to a special number of a telegraph office in Newhaven. Contacting the office with any news or information would alert an agent of the Claws who could aid her if she felt she was in danger. Securing these promises of aid and information, Sara parted from their company and returned to the investigation at hand.

Yellow Road Sweep

Our group of amateur investigators made their way to a hole-in-the-wall gin house located in the Low Park district. Monty and Boyd were nursing mugs of water and gin. Thomas approached and asked if there was anyone who could forge some documents for them. The two lackeys gave them the name of a forger on Yellow Road who could do the job. 

Shilman Sweep, a middle-class gnome, was not always a fabricator of false documents. He was an artist. Many who lacked imagination could not see the art form that Shilman labored so lovingly over. Gears and cogs were his pigments, and wrenches and mallets his brushes. He had, since his boyhood, tinkered with any mechanical device until he had unlocked all of its secrets. He never thought about the people who purchased this knowledge. He only thought about how many more things this enabled him to explore and discover. He was no genius. But he was a meticulous, thorough and had a delicate touch. This attention to detail and care for anything he put his hand to made him an ideal forger. It was like admiring a tune or a bit of poetry and copying it as best as memory served. He never thought about the broader applications, or implications of his various jobs. How Roald acquired his talents was not obvious, but maybe it didn't have to be complicated. Shilman was happy and the scrap kept coming. When presented with a simple document to copy, supplied with the proper details to add, and completed with the proper signatures as a flourish, Shilman obeyed and presented it with the pride of the purest artisan. Once paid, he returned to his gears and mechanical puzzles as happy as lark. Only the most observant or knowledgeable would be able to notice the fabrication. 

This was by far the most entertaining part of the evening. The trio of amateur detectives had some time before they would need to meet again with Mrs Parsons. They decided to try and apprehend the Spring-Heeled Jacks by using bait to lure them into the open. Thomas suggested utilizing the talents of Lindion Mavienness for this caper. They arrived at the estate just after Lindion and Yuko had settled in for a brief respite after their interesting time at the Vas exhibit. Normally Lindion would have retired to bed, but as it was still early, she performed her natural duties as a host for her guest. It also allowed Anastasia and Isabella to bond over what was surely and exciting evening. 

After being ushered into the sitting room, Thomas made the proper introductions and informed Lindion of their current investigations into the Spring-Heeled Jacks gang. While supplying all the necessary details and discussing a course of action to take, Roku made the mistake of using his words. While I could supply the discussion in great detail, the words used were least of all offensive. Normally, Lindion would not have cared as much, but combined with the embarrassment and the voices inside her own head denouncing the intrusion of this ill-mannered, pretentious dope who spoke to his superiors with such casual airs it was disgraceful. Lindion had enough power over herself merely to rebuke the tone that Roku used in her home, but unfortunately to no avail. Thomas, always ready to jump to into the fray, managed to pull a protesting Roku aside into the hall. He managed to persuade Roku to behave because they needed the upper class to gain important contacts and influence.

While they thus spoke, Lindion turned her attention to this new guest. She only knew what she had read in the newspaper about the affluent Lady Vyse. She asked her about her past and the rumors connected to her name. As Lady Vyse lamented the current state of reporters, rags and newspapers who besmirched the names of poor widows and wealthy folk, Lindion watched and listened carefully. She cared less for what she said but how she said it. If her behavior was any indication, Lady Vyse was overly dramatic, but sincere.

Yuko had been watching the proceedings with some amusement. She had been trying to listen to the conversation going on in the hall for the tall stranger with the strange manners and no face intrigued her. When the two men returned, Yuko asked bluntly what exactly Roku was. Thomas tried to distract with some lie about injuries and Roku being shy, stories which Roku unhelpfully denied. Yuko's curiosity got the better of her and she approached and began to pull Roku's hat off his head. Thomas jumped up and tried to pry Yuko's hands off the hat but was unable to match the surprising grip of the young woman. Lindion protested and Sara just watched with an amused smile. As Yuko lifts the hat off the head, she sees nothing but a raccoon staring back at her. Thomas doubles down trying to explain he is a beastman with unfortunate deformities. 

Lindion Mavienness watched the last straw fall. Her temper and good breeding were strained to the point of breaking. And it was now that she realized why Roku had always rubbed her the wrong way. For as his hat was pulled from his head, she realized it was he, a gang of raccoons who had stolen a valuable signet from her home which bore the sigil of Newhaven's royal house. She demands that it be returned to her. Thomas is beside himself and apologizes profusely even willing to take part of the blame and remove himself from her company forever. As amusing as that would have been, Lindion deferred, saying this wrong lay only at the door of Roku. For a moment they returned to the business at hand and completed their plan. The company would go to the place where these robberies had taken place and have two groups, one with a lady who would cleverly place themselves as bait while the others would wait to spring the trap. 

Everyone was sent home to prepare. Lindion escorted Yuko back to the Belabrante estate. As Yuko collected her private guards and her weapons, Lindion requested to talk with Arthur. She was ushered into the private study of Arthur where he and his sister Ginny were going over ledgers and records. Lindion asked for a private audience, which Arthur graciously complied and the two of them stepped out into the cool night upon the veranda. Lindion had calmed down but confronted Arthur about the behavior of Yuko in her home. It took some restraint for Arthur to compose himself, as he was torn between laughter and annoyance. Their discussion, though civil, was somewhat tense. Arthur countered with remarks about Lindion's own behavior at the Vas exhibit. This only annoyed Lindion even further, who countered with a cut about Arthur's sister Mary. This little tête-à-tête would have been made more interesting if the opponents had been given rapiers.

It might have ended here with two people storming off and hating the other. But both were shrewd and realized the potential of this situation. Lindion decided to be frank and come to a clear understanding. She wanted to know exactly what Arthur desired of her in relation to Yuko. Arthur in turn wanted to know what Lindion wanted in return. Dropping the facade of social norms, they came to an understanding as only two people of action and business can; Arthur wanted to mend the poor relations between the North and the people of the High Moor, specifically by way of restoring trade and political relations with Newhaven. Lindion, for her aid and help in guiding Yuko, wanted help in securing a place in the Newhaven Council and a network of people among the working class helping to right the inequalities of the lower class. Perhaps any other woman might have made a shallow impression on Arthur, but Lindion was both skill and naturally disposed with good looks, good breeding, and ample charm. Suffice it to say, she made an impression. It would be some time before she knew the fruits of this relationship. And thus, pledging their aid and forming a tentative alliance, Lindion left with Yuko to return to their nightly stalking of Low Park.

S1: E15 "A Fair Shot"

Mrs Jack-queline Parsons

I now must return momentarily to the club where Thomas had been waylaid by his friend, Richard Grier. Thomas was questioned as to his welfare, for Richard had by chance ventured to the laboratory of his friend only to find it full of dust and a few empty crates. Alarmed, Richard had promised himself to ask Thomas at the first possible opportunity. Thomas passed this occurrence off casually, weaving a story that made the whole situation seem trivial, while concealing the unfortunate events that had placed him in the current situation. Richard, thus having his concerns for his friend assuaged, he took Thomas into his confidence and told him of the recent rumor that had been flying about the guilds. While Thomas was aware of the general rumor about some unknown inventor promising to bring about some new marvel in electrical engineering, Thomas had chalked it up to his former partner, Mashell Faraday. But Richard told Thomas that it was in fact a new inventor based in Redsmith. He had learned from his contacts that this inventor was like Thomas and preferred a level of anonymity. He would divine his name soon enough and pass it along to Thomas. Richard supposed that someone with such care and cunning might make for an advantageous ally. In fact, Richard received a telegram which he passed on to his friend that very evening which revealed the identity of the inventor.

Thomas left his friend still mildly curious, but not so much that it distracted him from his current objective. He met with Roku at the home of Benjamin and Jacqueline Parsons to interview the inventor who they knew to understand and perhaps have built such technology as the Spring-Heeled Jacks used to commit their crimes. 

Our trio of investigators were ushered into the fashionable home by a beleaguered beastman butler; a basset hound named Olivier. They were informed Mr. Parsons was out, but they would see the lady of the house instead. Soon Mrs. Parsons entered, a younger woman who looked comfortable in her matrimonial role as a hostess and entertainer. Nothing about them seemed to bother or startle her at all. Roku, lacking the decorum of a true middle class, and started by outright insinuating Benjamin Parsons was involved criminally with the Spring-Heeled Jacks. Mrs. Parsons denies any such involvement and asks if the detective has proof of such claims. Thomas suggests that he has access to a police report which implicates Mr. Parsons of involvement. He claims one of the gang members was captured and confessed. It is this statement that could bring ruin upon the Parsons house. Mrs. Parsons told the two men that she wished to avoid any hint of scandal and would make it worth their while if they could produce the report and the witness, though she did doubt her husband was involved. This would surely result in his fall from good society. As they stand, Mrs. Parsons addresses her butler to have Turnball, her driver, to bring her carriage around.

Ah, Turnball. The elusive Orc that Gurunkul and Gooding so diligently sought out. Ironic how the wanted culprit was in the grasp of some of his associates and they unknowingly turned away thinking they had gained a solution to the problem of the Spring-Heeled Jacks. But Roku and Thomas left, with thoughts of blackmail, fabricating a police report and collecting their "fee." 

The Achilles Duke

Personally, I found the tour of the Collective to be exhilarating. So many stories trapped behind glass and ropes, small minds contemplating the mysteries of a prior age. Pompous seed-pickers gazing at some fabric, glue and scribbles while hoping to expound on its nature in a way another mouth-breather has never seen the world before. Damned fools. But I know the secrets of these items. Take, for instance, the beautifully preserved mandolin. It belonged to a bard of some prominence in Newhaven. The Smiling Guest was a particularly malicious moniker that earned the Bard a place in the lore of High Moor. In fact, he is credited with writing the drinking song "The Duel of King Antonio" and the ballad "The Astral Lane" which were acquired by the Collective some years ago. The latter was so controversial in its time that the Aluminat Church had it banned, making it a coveted item by any eccentric collector. To many in was a fantasy song about a bard who traveled the lanes of a world outside of our own, battling evils and overcoming great obstacles in search of something called "the King of Dreams" and ask him a question. Nobody knows why exactly the church forbid the song, but it was forbidden, making it even more famous.

"The Noble Savage" by Lightfeather

There were paintings of a particular nature that they will be relevant here. There was a small oil painting done by an artist that had an infatuation with the subject of the artwork and crafted it as a passion then for personal gain. The oil carefully depicted a woman with black and red feathers who stood atop a golden dome, looking out over the glistening sea. It is rumored to have been purchased by the Empress herself and kept in a private collection. The artist died in anonymity, but his work remains famous in the Collective.  Another painting of equal great
ness is a gigantic painting of a muscular woman, wearing rough clothing of furs and leather. Her tall stature is only outmatched by her dark green hair and glowing sun-burnt skin. One cannot help but admire the proud, smirking face as she stands atop what one can only assume is a pile of corpses, a double-headed ax over her shoulder. She was rumored to have a staggering number of demon scalps from the time before the Great Devastation. She actually had more than the 500 that has been credited her. She was never good with math. She knew she had many, some of which were displayed on her belt and one she wore as a hat. She said she liked the horns. 

I noted many more items of interest. There was the hefty tome with the intricate binding and embossed golden cover. Many had admired the craftsmanship without ever reading it. If they only knew what the ledgers inside contained, they would go mad. For it was one of the few magical books left from before the great war. Some astute observers might have noticed a few new entries on the last pages. But nobody bothered to look.

By now the young woman came down the hall, oblivious to my presence there. Their eyes passed over the flamboyant wide-brimmed hat with the feather which had seen better days. Lindion lingered over the set of blueprints of a small inn and tavern which was displayed as "a common example of such places of business from more primitive times." A charming description, for the Trollskull Manor and Inn was anything but common.

Lindion spent the better part of their time explaining the history and lore surrounding the bits and pieces of an older time, as best she knew it. As the young women tried to behave themselves and absorb what they could, Lindion attempted to direct people's eyes to the woman, calling out their best attributes and most positive traits. She succeeded. She was not so successful in engaging the upper class in the discussion of the elevating the lower classes. This was in part because the upper class was not concerned with elevating the common sheep into the fold of the shepherds. It was an academic question for politicians and a topic for the pious to discuss over tea when they needed to feel particularly sanctimonious. She did manage to start a rumor about an unnamed royal who was aspiring to gain a high seat in the Newhaven Council.

I spied the contemptuous form of Telmage in search of Lindion and the two young ladies. Lindion managed to avoid him for a time, until it was impossible not to acknowledge his presence. He found them among the paintings and felt compelled to share his unsolicited opinion on their nature, design and voice, as it spoke to him. He came to himself long enough to draw the trio back into his social circles to meet Duke Inglemeijer. They returned as the Duke and Yuko spoke together. The Duke was in good form this evening, brooding and casting his condescension upon everything that was taller than he. However the Duke attempted to get a rise out of Yuko or unseat her with some biting remark, she remained unflappable. Perhaps the Duke would have been able to create a flush or vague twittering if he had not been distracted by certain events in his life. Personally, I found him rather annoying and not very intimidating. But I should know, a good reputation proceeds you and does most of the work in the end. It is not what you can do, but what people THINK you can do that really sells the bit. 

As Lindion approached the Duke set his eyes upon her and their battle of words commenced. I suppose Lindion would have gained the pyrrhic victory had the voices which so often plagued her apprehended her better judgement, her unwavering self-control and pushed it off a cliff. Daverreinna instantly disliked the arrogant fool and attempted to mock the man who had gained her lowest of opinions by mimicking him in a dramatic and comical fashion. If you are curious how this must have looked, her impersonation, however contrived, was not at all a good likeness to the dwarf aristocrat. Various onlookers thought her drunk, others thought it a gag that was so common at parties, while others considered it mildly amusing. The snickering caught the keen ear of the Duke he turned his baleful eye upon Lindion who, perhaps under the influence of Daverreinna, was left unintimidated by the man. Lindion recovered herself long enough to sincerely apologize. I think it would be fair to say the Duke was begrudgingly impressed. She had not only withstood his remarks, remained unscathed by what some would consider a social scandal, she had recovered marvelously from it. Whatever the Duke thought of these two women, they possessed stuff beyond the normal stuffed shirts and quelled corsets. They had character.

Telmage, who had waffled back and forth between deciding if he was man enough to wear pants or if he should don a frock, rallied in time to offer his carriage to the woman and escort them home. Yuko was amused by the scene that had unfolded in front of her. Anastasia was disappointed nobody had proffered swords to resolve the conflict. Isabella, who was thoroughly dumbfounded by her guardian, followed along behind quietly. Lindion beat a hasty retreat, her fan covering more of her face then normal, retreated into the safety of the waiting carriage, eager to return home.

As glasses ran dry and bodies began to feel the weight of the hour, two courtiers carefully picked up the Vas painting and returned it to its special room, placing it under lock and key. As the two men left, one thought he saw a bit of paint drop from the canvas and crumble into ash. He had a stray thought about time and then closed the door.

S1: E14 "A Vas, Matey!"

Duke Cyrus Inglemeijer squinted behind the blue tinted goggles, attempting to penetrate the yellowish pea-souper which billowed lazily across the pier. He shifted his feet on the slick wooden planks and padded his overcoat for the flintlock tucked into the custom leather holster on his belt. The Dwarf's pristine mustaches had begun to droop in the wet fog. They almost matched the grim line of his lips now. He cursed and began to pace back and forth along the gently bobbing pier, his silver capped cane clicking on the surface. A long heavy horn signaled the passage of some ship moving along the river as it ventured along the waterway into the sea. Bells chimed in the distance. The hour had grown late. "Curse the fool," the Duke spat in his native tongue.

"I had to make sure you were not followed," said a voice that scraped across the Duke's ears like a knife across a soapstone. The Duke spun, his hand going instinctively to his side in general proximity of his weapon. 

"Damn these theatrics," huffed the dwarf, his mustaches fluttering. "If I had wanted to summon a devil, I would have gone to a show at the Empress."

"Just so, your majesty." the voice replied. And as if to play into the part, a figure slowly rose out of the shadows before the Duke. The figure could not have been taller than 5 feet, weighed more than a hundred pounds. He wore a dark robe with a hood that hung around his frame like an old coat on a scarecrow. The image of this man- the way he walked, moved - and especially his voice, burned themselves into the Duke's mind like a hot iron on flesh. The man was a low sort, poor, clearly a brigand of the highest order and not worth the time it would take to pick a stone from his shoe. But if he actually knew something...

"Speak your peace, sir, so that we might not waste any more of my time," said the dwarf sourly.

"There is a crate in possession of the station master. It is addressed to your Estimableness. You will take possession of this crate and return with it to Newhaven by the next train."

The dwarf waved his hand impatiently. "Yes, yes. Pray tell, you indigenous sop, why you couldn't have relayed these instructions via telegram? Or better yet, brought this oh-so-important crate to Newhaven yourself and spared me the tedium of your acquaintance?" 

The hooded head had been staring down. It rose slowly so that the dwarf thought he saw a pale chin and a thin outline of a smile. "Nobody must know of our arrangement, your Eminence. As far as anyone knows, you have come into ownership only recently. Nobody must know how or why. Do you understand?"

"Shirumund rukhs!" The Duke exclaimed, his face flushing with rage. "The impudence of a shrouded bootlicker who orders his betters around like they were his house slaves." 

"Then consider it a request of his majesty," the figure replied calmly. "You still have the ability to refuse, of course. But do I need to remind your Kingship that if he chooses to not carry out this simple request, he will have worse things to contend with then the inconvenience of a wasted night's sleep."

"Threats don't become a lackey, my sadistic apparition," the Duke said with a defiant tilt of his chin. "You have drug me out on a miserable night in the midst of the Glitterhold to force upon me a mysterious package of unknown origin and threaten ruin upon me if I will not be a courier for a rube of the lowest form. Tell me this, sir, if it will not tax you too much, what exactly am I to bear to Newhaven that requires such urgency?" 

The figure turned and with a low laugh evaporated into the night. "The future, your majesty."