Gambit on 20/10/2008 at 22:51
"He didn´t make it..."
Nights looked at his black mechanical watch. A mechanism to count time, and that also worked as a compass. A very intricate item indeed, "taken" from a mechanist forger before the fall of Karras.
He was calmly drinking a spirit in a very dark corner at "The Lucky Harpy Pub". His informant was supposed to arrive at the pub now... Nights wanted to know more about the Count. The keepers noted that his past isn´t well recorded for such a wealthy noble. But Nights was mostly interested on the new land where Dellamorte made his home.
"you might feel like reminiscing about our new Count Dellamorte...." Nights barely heard someone say. A quick glance and he saw an armed man with a weather cloak talking to Old Dave. Tibault, he recognised. Keepers often had an eye for the wisest of each faction or those with great potencial, and many became aware of the youngest inspector of City history.
Nights suddenly put his glass aside and naturally emerged with the shadows. A blind spot next to Old Dave´s counter served as a good place to eavesdrop the conversation.
NathanGPLC on 21/10/2008 at 01:18
Tibault noticed a shift in Old Dave's manner when he dropped the name 'Dellamorte;' it was barely perceptible, but it was there. The old man knew something, but getting him to give it up was going to be like pulling a burrick's teeth....
Heaving himself upright, an action which forced another squeal of pain from the ancient, stained bar, Old Dave gave one more of his unintelligible grunts. Then, after rolling up the sleeves of his coarse shirt to reveal arms clearly muscled like hairy steam-driven pistons despite his overhanging gut, he pulled down a mostly-clean mug and started to fill it from the tapped keg mounted against the wall behind the counter, his back to Tibault. A thoughtful rumble accompanied the pouring of the thin, heavily-watered beer. "Dellamorte? 'e some'n important?"
Old Dave didn't turn around, glance, or even twitch when he heard the sweet clink of another few coins going on the stack. His rumble changed pitch, however. "Ah, 's Count Dellamorte ye be meanin', aye? Folks've been gabbing 'bout him fer weeks, but---" here the old man turned and set the beer mug down next to the stack of coins, which Tibault kept covered; some of the contents slopped out onto the bar as Old Dave leaned toward the young Watchman and lowered his rumbling voice to a level that was merely gravelly---"the trick, Tibbs, the trick is knowin' which taffers 're gabbing the truth of it. There's jus' so much, 's hard to keep ev'thing straight, ye see."
The two locked eyes for a moment, each trying to gauge what he could pry out of the other. Then Tibault lifted his hand from the coins and moved it to the beer mug, as if he'd been about to do just that the entire time.
"I understand how some folk might have trouble with all that gab, Davey, but I've always known you to be a sharp berk." Tibault's voice is pitched low, but remains light and even as he speaks."I bet you even remember that, if I like the drink I paid for, I tend to leave a generous tip when I've finished. 'most as much as I paid, in fact."
OOC: Xenith, I understand we're fine to control most NPC interactions, but do you want us to begin inventing some 'facts' about Dellamorte, or is that part something you've got covered? If not, I'm happy to have someone else narrate/control whatever Old Dave actually knows, or I'll get around t it eventually. Just posted this 'cause I was bored and wanted to write something Thiefy :-)
Xenith on 21/10/2008 at 11:32
(check your pms ;))
- "You can't take another more pint of that ladd!"
- "Watch me old Jack!"
The sailor drops his head on the table before finishing his drink. Laughter rose from the tables around him as one boy snuck under the table and quickly snatched his coin purse.
- "Ahahahaha, I told you ladd! Hahaha, you can't put up against Jack the Howling Sea Dog! Hahahaha!"
There were many unfamiliar faces in the pub, though it seemed like they were a part of it just like any other man that frequently went there for a night out. True the city was big, but people weren't moving from one drinking spot to the other just like that. The streets also felt a bit more unsafe and with a heavy feeling of insecurity than usual. Of course with the guards came comfort... but comfort can be distractible.
NathanGPLC on 21/10/2008 at 12:32
Old Davey grunted again as the stack of coins on the bar disappeared. "I do seem t'member somethin' o' the sort, Tibbs. Ye al'ays was a gen'rous chap."
The old man took a filthy rag from under the countertop and used it to mop up some of the beer he'd slopped when setting down Tibault's drink. "Those taffers as sound the right of it been sayin' that Count Dellamorte is gonna hold a grand swar-ay soon---ye know, one o' them posh parties, with drinks t'aint more'n a mouthful. No one knows when, mind, 'cept those he's invited, an' there ain't many o' them, else somebod'ed blab it. Prob'ly just the top nobs, as have the most coin and the finest daughters. They say," Old Dave continued, done with the counter and now using the same rag to 'polish' some of the 'clean' mugs, "that if'n ye want to get to know the Count, that swar-ay is the place t' be."
In a calm voice, Tibault interrupted Old Dave. "They do say, indeed, Dave. That's all old news, and it doesn't help if I can't go to his soiree. I'll have to take my coin to another pub---the piss here doesn't sit well." He put down his mug and started to turn away, but Old Dave raised his voice slightly and continued, unperturbed.
"They say, an' this is the interes'in' part, that the Count's Head Butler, what's in charge of invitin' folk, is stayin' in the City fer a few days, at the Gilded Lily merchant's inn. Seems t' me, if some'n wanted to get the'selves invited, he's the man t' sweeten up to. Or trick, rob, swindle, or threaten."
Tibault tried not to smile too broadly. Old Davey was a sharp one, all right, and one of the most reliable informants the Watch (and the thieves, and the Pagans...) had. The Watch inspector turned back to the bar and nodded, satisfied.
"You know, the swill here does grow on you.... Mayhaps I'll finish my drink after all. You'll get that tip when I'm done."
*****
Meanwhile, in a darkened room not far away, a low voice from the shadows responds to Bradon while another man counts out a small handful of gold coins. "Count Dellamorte? Keeps hisself to hisself, an' that's about the whole of it. Not even a peep about this party of his; Old Dave down at the Harpy knows more'n we do, like as not, but he don't talk to me no more. On account of that liddle 'incident' last month in regards to his late protection fee..." This elicited another round of chuckles from the unseen watchers.
OOC: I figure this is as good an opportunity as any to start getting everyone in more-or-less a group who might work together, but if you don't want to hit the pub, Peanuckle, I figure Bradon can just have other informants you can take him to :-)
Peanuckle on 21/10/2008 at 20:46
(OOC: I imagine Bradon would be very wary of public encounters, but I'll see if I can work him around to getting near a pub.)
"To the Harpy we bes heading off to, then. I thankers you for your gold-chips." Bradon left without another word, pocketing the money and heading out into the street.
As he moved through the winding streets and close-built houses, Bradon felt stifled. He missed the open air and the feeling of the grass between his toes, and longed to mingle with the creatures of the wood alongside his friends. It would be half a month before he returned to the forest sanctuary, so he would have to tough it out and get as much information as possible on the Count, especially since the other pagans were counting on him.
Finally, Bradon came to the Harpy Pub. He could not enter, of course, unless he wanted to be spotted and arrested for being a pagan. Lt. Mosley held little sway in this area of the city, where most of the guards were still leftovers from Truart's regime. He would have to listen in and hope to find some useful information on this party the Count was throwing.
Bradon went around the back of the pub where it was even darker than on the streets and he was even less likely to be spotted. Bradon examined the wood for a way up, finding several notches from what were probably knife-throwing contests and swordfights. He used these to climb the wall, cursing the cityfools for their rampant destruction of the trees.
"Hmmm... I knows that the cityfools are no good with the treesie skins. There should bes a crack somewheres." Bradon slid his hands over the rough wood, feeling for any blemish or scar. "Ah ha! I knews it. This will serve perfectly." Bradon took a small knife out from his shirt and widened the crack in the wood until he could hear the people inside. He crouched over the crack and pulled back his sleeve, revealing several short scars on his arm. Taking a deep breath, he pressed the knife into his skin, letting the blood fall into the crack he had made. Once it was full, he cleaned himself up and wrapped his arm up with cloth.
"The Woodsie Lord, he always shows, what manfools see and what manfools knows." After the brief incantation, Bradon breathed on the blood and saw roots dig themselves into the wood. On the inside, a small plant grew and blossomed. The flower opened up to reveal two tiny leaves and a small eye, much like the ones in the Maw. This plant saw what the inhabitants did and felt the change in the air as they spoke, relaying the information to Bradon as he touch the roots on the roof.
"They say, an' this is the interes'in' part, that the Count's Head Butler, what's in charge of invitin' folk, is stayin' in the City fer a few days, at the Gilded Lily merchant's inn. Seems t' me, if some'n wanted to get the'selves invited, he's the man t' sweeten up to. Or trick, rob, swindle, or threaten."
Bradon had his next goal.
Gambit on 22/10/2008 at 02:48
Nights looked again at his watch, it was the hour of the wolf, as pagans would say. He kept wandering aimlessly at the streets to clear his thinking, always subcounciously avoiding the lights.
He left the pub not long ago after Old Dave spilled his hard earned rumors for the secretive ears of a young inspector. He finally had a trail to follow, but many loose ends... What happened to his informant ? Grisley was always reliable. What could possibly stop that resourceful street rat from getting keeper´s money? Grisley was just going to check the criminal underworld for clues about Dellamorte´s past. The thieves guild has many associations with the nobles, providing them spice, smuggled arts and artifacts... maybe something muddy about the Count could be found there. But Grisley was gone...
The Gilded Lily merchant's inn seemed now the best option for clues... Time to find Madame Lilian, she sends her girls to all the streets and rented beds of the inn´s district. She possibly could draw a map of that inn from memory, for a small payment of course.
NathanGPLC on 22/10/2008 at 11:54
After choking down the rest of his drink and paying out the second half of the ruinous bribe, Tibault left the warmth of the Lucky Harpy behind and stepped out into the chill night air. His hobnailed boots clinked off the uneven and loose cobblestones; this part of the City hadn't been re-paved in decades.
The Gilded Lily was a fair distance across town, being considerably more up-scale, but Tibault paced his way there in a slow, steady walk he could keep up for hours if need be. It was probably too late to hope that the Count's Head Butler would still be awake, and besides, he didn't feel that bursting in and accosting the man would do him much good. There was no rush; he'd see what he could find out from the servants and owners, and then return in the morning with a plan.
Of course, that was assuming everything went as expected. Tibault grinned mirthlessly, his breath a silent cloud of steam in the night. Of course.
KarrasEvul on 22/10/2008 at 17:28
(OCC: Sty for not getting into the intro, been away for awhile.. But now I'm here!)
Forza put his black cap on his head before checking the watch, hanging just above one of the counters in his shops. It was time too close and go home, maybe go by the nearby pub for a drink. Forza locked the safebox underneath the nearby counter, before hi pulled the lever beside it. The security-cam in the celing started to move and carefully scanned the room. Everything was okey, so Forza grabbed his bag and went outside, into the cold, dark streets of the city.
Forza locked the high-security-non-lockpickable (which really wasn't pickable) door to the shop before he went down the street, heading for the pub. His mind was full of wonderings and thoughts.
"Who might that Mr. Dellamorte be?" He said to himself. Everyone seemed to talk about him, and earlier today a custommer told Forza that the count's butler was staying at an inn, inviting people to Dellamortes estate. Forza had some thoughts about getting himself invited in some way. It was quiet a walk from Hightowne to The Gilded Lily, where the Butler stayed. It was worth it though.
Forza thought about Dellamorte. Ever since he had been a kid in the Hammerite curch he wanted to explore the world across the sea, and he still would do it if he had the gold. Maybe this was the oppurtunity?
The cobblestone road was slippery, and Forzas boots wasn't the steadiest in town. He nearly bailed a few times along the way to the inn, but finnaly he was in the right district. Forza suddenly stopped.
"Is this really a good idea? I have no idea who the butler or who the count is, and still I want their riches?"
Forza couldn't help it, but he felt a bit guilty in front of the Builder. Would thy builder simte him if he theft from a rich man? Forza thought about it until he began to freeze. He then started to walk towards the inn again.... with a bad conscience....
Dante on 23/10/2008 at 01:24
OOC: Apologies for the late entry. It's been a busy week.
It was cold. Each time it slipped his mind, taken as he was by the view of the City below. From his perch he could see everything: the ebony river, the high-walled castles, mints and armories whose chimneys gauzed the starless sky -- and now the house of Dellamorte, vibrant and bold in the face of the Great Houses, its stones and timbers humming with revelry ... with life. Something the Great Houses seemed to be lacking these days.
These days. The City was no longer accustomed to nobles of Dellamorte's ilk. Merriment was best left to the commoners, who could drain their flagons with a clean conscience. Aristocratic wine reeked of politics.
A fresh gust of wind rocked Sansum from his reverie. Cold, indeed. He rubbed his hands and folded them across his robed chest. At some point, the council would give Sansum more explicit orders. If this count was up to something, observation from afar wouldn't cut it. He'd need to get in close, to mingle -- invited or not -- with Dellamorte's visitors. To operate as would a thief, though Sansum's objective was far more precious than any housebreaker's. As for the risk ...
It was cold. Cold enough that he didn't mind taking that risk. Every Great House had hearths and lamps, and where there were hearths and lamps, there was comfort.
Comfort. Sansum chuckled. Small comfort for a Keeper.
He unlatched the trapdoor, slipped inside the clock tower, and made his way down to the heart of the City.
Xenith on 23/10/2008 at 17:12
Silence came for a brief moment as though to leave room for the clocktowers bell to ring. It was one hour before midnight. The wind gusts stopped suddenly as they were replaced with a calm, but frosty and humid thin fog.
The creeking sound of wooden wheels echoed through the crooked street lines.
- "Move yer legs boy! We got to get them barrels of wine fer the count on time!"
- "Moving sir, moving!"
- "If the count don't have drinks on time for them nobles, the count don't pay us right!"
- "But the party doesn't start until later sir! There's plenty of time for.."
- "Just shut up and move it!"
