The Campaign Builder's Guild

[ic]Alisandre throws back her head and laughs in delight, squeezing her sibling's hands back.

"Oh, Alphosine, it's... wonderful." She blinks as her voice comes out so deep and rough-sounding. "I'd wanted to drug him afterwards, but this... yes... let him think he's been abducted by the Sedaracs, as part of some grand conspiracy... with these as your armies, my sister, victory will soon be ours."

Alisandre listens to her sister's findings with interest, then relays the details of her own escapades last night; being taken by Xedric to the graveyard, the ritual combat, the grisly surgery, all of it. While they talk, their brother is left to impotently hammer against the coffin lid--in solitude, in ignorance, in pain.

When they are finished, Alisandre states, "Signal to me when the glammer becomes too much, and we'll return him to his coffin to further stew."

Where the Mei-Vourne half-sisters left Belphia's crypt, a magister of House Sedaracs and aproned torturer now return to a nightmarish dungeon. The torturer signals to the goat-thing, which opens the coffin's lid, pulling Xedric up by his hair.

The torturer tears off his victim's blindfold, letting him take in the awful sight that awaits.

"Good mornin', m'lord," he smiles.

He punches Xedric hard in his recently-stitched stomach.

"'Ere's 'ow this'll work, yer lordship," the torturer continues. "You'll 'ear a question. Or be asked t' provide an explanation. You anwer us, truthfully, and we'll move onto th' next question. You answer them all, and you'll be returned home. Unharmed and free as a bird."

"You don't answer, or you think fer one moment, fer one fraction o' an instant," he all but spits into Xedric's ear, "that you can lie t' me, then I'll just have t' give yer lordship some... let's say, incentive..." the torturer leers between rotting teeth, "t' act with his best interests in mind."

The torturer paces around to the other side Xedric's coffin, talking all the while. "And if you're real stubborn... well, most o' my subjects learn that's a bad idea quick enough. But let's just say it's awful convenient yer by a coffin right now. And that yer pa's got so many kids."

The torturer gently pats Xedric's scarred, stitched belly. "'Course, yer lordship don't look like he's in much state t' play stubborn." His ugly face splits into a lopsided grin, and cruel, throaty laughter echoes from the cold stone walls. The goat-faced demon laughs too, a horrid sound like meat being pushed through a too-small grinder, its entrails heaving and writhing between guffaws. The magister retains a cool detachment.

The torturer offers Xedric a nasty smile, dusting off his hands as if preparing for work. "So, m'lord, as y' can plainly see, yer fate's in yer 'ands."

He leans in close again, foul breath fresh against the prisoner's face. "But I 'ope you play stubborn, 'least fer a bit. More fun..." His eyes glint with malice that is not in the least bit illusory.

The torturer begins to comb through his rack of numerous implements. Some of them feature sharp blades, others blunt ends. The form and function of several is not readily apparent... save to cause pain. The torturer eventually selects a wickedly curved steel device ending with multiple barbs, hooks, and blades, but really just Alisandre's scalpel. He slowly traces the implement across Xedric's face, his neck, his chest, letting him feel the cold steel against his skin... then tears off his hose, letting him suffer the added humiliation of exposure, and tenderly traces the device over his loins.

Finally, the torturer removes Xedric's gag.

The suited magister's icy voice sounds. It is cultured, in control, and mercilness, that of a huntsman whose dog has cornered its prey. "Tell us everything about the events our agent witnessed last night. The origins of these ritual combats. Your history with the other individuals in attendance. Why you desired our agent to see what transpired."[/ic]

[ooc]Intimidation check, which is a specialty for me.

This dice roll has been tampered with!
Rolled 1d6 : 2, total 2

Also, if the low-class accent doesn't jive with Skein, let me so I can edit it into something more setting-appropriate.

Might 2/8 (0), Agility 4/11 (1), Intellect 6/17 (1)[/ooc]

[ic]"Your office will be fine," Catena indicates.[/ic]

[ooc]Apologies for my absence.

Catena will use the rickshaw ride to make a recovery roll:

Rolled 1d6+1 : 3 + 1, total 4[/ooc]

[ic=Alisandre]"Have it your way," Red Mei replies with a smirk. She vaults over the sagging cable, grabs her wig, and catches a towel mid-toss from a nearby Watchman. She wipes herself dry, then waves Catena to follow.  

The lieutenant's office is cramped, but clean. Two straight-backed chairs sit opposite a tin-plated desk. A single brass-framed heliotype of Chief-Magistrate Shenn hangs on the yellow-plastered walls. Crates of confiscated material lie stacked in a corner. A pendulum clock ticks off the metronomic advance of time.  

Mei ambles to her chair. She motions for Catena to close the door and take the remaining seat. She rifles through a drawer, pulls out a snuffbox bound in shark-skinned shagreen, and insufflates a hit of perfumed powder. Offering some of the snuff to Catena, she leans back in the creaking chair and smiles:

"So, Catena, what brings you to my parlour on this fine, thrice-damned day?"[/ic]

[ooc]Glad to have you back. Please include how you allocate those recovery points. Also remember Stoic gives you another point, so you should have 5, not 4.[/ooc]  

[ic=Alisandre]Xedric's eyes quiver with fear. He winces with each caress of calloused skin and cold steel. He gasps for air once free of his gag.

Slowly, he begins to speak. His voice is weak. He grunts with pain. Once or twice, he stalls... hesitant to divulge his secrets. One flicker of motion, though, from hex-guised Alisandre and words spill from the magister's blanched lips.[/ic]

[ooc]His confession brings several revelations:

What Alisandre witnessed was a gathering of the Chrysanth Ring, a secret society that meets once a month to host a ritual battle between Celebrants. Its members are known as the Pallid Mummers. They number 12 in total plus their seconds as well as the Grey Lanterneer and Florist of Gasps. Each month, another Mummer hosts the meeting, always at some burial site (the site is always tied to the host's genealogy).  Each Mummer, as an Observant, brings a prospective Celebrant. Traditionally, the host challenges another Mummer, and their Celebrants battle as Alisandre witnessed: inside the ring of chrysanthemum petals, illuminated by the gloam-moths (Xedric is unsure whether they are demons, oneiroi, or something else, but knows they seem to feed or be drawn to pain and their touch reawakens the memories of old and new injuries), stripped nude, battle with a pair of ancient ur-bone crescent blades (Xedric claims he is the newest member and does not know their origins), and that the loser is the first one to break the silence by scream, shout, gasp of pain, etc. The Lanterneer and Florist oversee the ceremony and its relics.

Xedric similarly says he does not know the Ring's origins, but believes that it is centuries old. Membership is for life (though he suspects that they are willing to strip membership/life through murder). Deceased members are replaced by whoever is hosting the next gathering, the prospective member being the host's special Celebrant. The prospective member needs to both survive and show the proper mien to be admitted. If the latter is lacking, the prospective member is slain. Turnover among the Mummers is rare. If a Lanterneer or Florist of Gasps dies, the other is ritually killed by the Mummers. Then, the remaining Mummers battle, with the winner becoming the new Lanterneer (and his/her second becoming the new Florist of Gasps). The identities of older Mummers is unknown to younger ones, save for their initial sponsor.

Each Pallid Mummer hosts a lesser ring, with typically the champion of the lesser ring becoming the Mummer's Second (attendes of the lesser rings are ignorant of the true Chrysanth Ring).  

Xedric's original patron was Xalmas Rasch. Both attended Vlerinn-Phoi, one of the 5 Collegia of Skein. Both belonged to the same mensur club, and it was from that connection that Xalmas introduced Xedric to his lesser ring years later. Xedric has been a member for almost a full year. Xalmas's ring was in the Ebon Ward near Swinehowl Alley. Xedric's was/is in the Canopic Gardens.

Xedric's reason for showing Alphosine's 'servant' the Ring? (not in his own words) pride. He wanted to snub his half-sister and show her what a big-shot he was by belonging to such an exclusive society –and that he was a doubly dangerous man to mess with. He doesn't mention how he wanted to be in control again, to have control, but you pick up those elements all the same.

As for the actual society –they gather and fight not out of any religious commitment, nor do they bet on the battles (at least not in coin). Instead, for them, it is to experience the razor-edge between life and death. You might even call them a theosophic cult, but whose aim and interest is experiential and exoteric. If they indeed have other goals, Xedric is ignorant of them. [/ooc]

[ic]Catena stands, arms crossed, implacable, ignoring the proffered snuff with wordless disdain. The way that Red Mei has adopted the ways of the Skeinites has always disturbed her, though it also stirs some vague envy, deep within her pallid breast; it is as if her fellow has escaped a set of chains from which, for all her freedom, Catena herself will never be unshackled.

"I seek the one called Pieng-Luc - a fence of some minor regard." Unconsciously, barely perceptible elements of the Chattelchatter grammar, the rhythms of the slave-tongue, begin to seep into Catena's voice as she speaks to one of her kindred. "Unless you know the one called Xalmas - born to the family of Rasch - seen in Pieng-Luc's company." She pauses for a moment. "My business is quite legal," she adds.[/ic]

[ooc]Pools: Might 8/13, Agility 9/12, Intellect 5/7[/ooc]

[ic=Catena]Red Mei grunts at Catena's aloof demeanor. Her countenance only sours at the mercenary's accented request, though she spares a chortle at the mention of 'legal' business. She waits, as if expecting Catena to say more, but when the mercenary remains silent, the gendarme-lieutenant takes her time placing her crimson wig atop her head, positioning it so her brow's tattooed eyes are firmly concealed. She then stows the snuff-box and locks the drawer with a prolix key chained to her belt. She leans back, chair groaning. In the dim-bulbed light, her sanguine wig and pasty-white skin give her the appearance of an overgrown circus mannequin.    

"I know Pieng-Luc," she says, accenting her Hellspeak, "-and I know of the disowned noble."

"I wasn't there when they pinched Pieng-Luc, but I made it my business to have one of my men assist with his interrogation. He's one of my cards, after all, so I can't have him spilling all he knows."

"So, yeah, I've read the report," she says cracking her neck, "Enough to know you're looking for the wrong person. Pieng-Luc wasn't the last the last to see Xalmas -it was a ghul streetwalker goes by a name of Tandy Suckle. I knew Tandy before she died. She and her kids used to be grease-fly catchers near Black-Souse, that is, before she ate some fluke-meat from the Maggotorium last Jubilee. Rumor has it her kids starved while she sat in her death-cocoon, that their little carcasses were her first meal. Might be true, who knows?"

"Anyways, Tandy's redacted from the official record. Higher ups called it in, not sure who. Could've been his family trying to cover up Xalmas' indiscretion. Could've been Miscegenationists not wanting to expose the scandal -the rags would have a sodding orgy with that one: magister sullies bed with nightfolk, then vanishes. It's almost as if they're afraid she ate him, afraid what else they might find. Election's only two months away, and the parliament knows the masses are hot."

She shakes her head, "Did you hear about the Rot-Briquette Riots? There was a crack-down near Baggerskin, the Watch swooped up a bunch of dissidents. But then the hit went bad, some fanatic unleashed a whole Hellsdamned horde of ashgeists. I wasn't there, but I read the report -it was ugly. Real ugly. Watchmen and seditionists infected by the dozen. Had to send in a Guillotine Squad. Used some kind of glyph-bomb to white-wash the area. Watch-Captain Yushen was killed -pompous, bigot-twitched mustache and all. He was a darling of House Verra-Qior as well as that wigged strumpet they're calling the Ambergris Debutante. They're furious. Can't interrogate geist-corpses, and a bunch of dissidents escaped. Stewards are head-hunting. Hence all the fuss upstairs. They're preparing for the fallout once word spreads. They're worried about real rioting -reprisals."

"So you can suck a gleet-sack with your 'legal business' -this mess is nasty. You don't want part of it. I don't know what happened to Xalmas. Don't want to know -and you Hellsdamned don't want to find out. And if you think I'm just going to pass on Tandy's whereabouts without so much as a song or dance from you, then you best go back to Verlum's ever-loving arms and beg for a lobotomy 'cause you ain't using what you got."[/ic]      

[ooc]Should you wish to continue this vein of inquiry, you'll need to roll a persuasion check of some kind (e.g., diplomacy, intimidate). You know Red Mei takes bribes, but also trades favors.[/ooc]

[ic]Hadric sits quietly for a moment, stroking a non-existent beard while Nibs twines itself about Hadric's torso. He stands suddenly - Nibs in tow - and seizes Otto Shamgarr's hand for a very enthusiastic handshake. "You have yourself a deal Mr. Shamgarr! Your prompt and friendly customer service has entirely convinced me of the virtues of your business. Why, I've scarcely heard a better proposition all day! We shall abduct these unsuspecting beasts and through their misfortune crowns shall pour through our delighted fingers like so much viscous, dripping honey."

"Crownssss! Honey!" Nibs exclaims.

"Indeed!" Hadric agrees."Now tell me more."

Hadric listens intently as Otto describes the docket of available jobs, variously sharing his own mostly unrelated anecdotes regarding strange and unusual creatures, and sifting through the notes and heliotypes while donning his magnificent lens - occasionally stifling a laugh at the antics of the tiny mischievous lens folk as they cavort about Otto's cabin.

Their business concluded, Hadric departs with a smile and a wave, promising speedy and efficacious hand-delivery of the delinquent oddities. With a spring in his step he sets out for the bazaars of the Crimson Ward, resuming the morning's quest for a doorman. Man, machine or beast - he will consider only the finest candidates the City of Silk has to offer. For under twenty crowns.[/ic]

[ic=Hadric]Hadric's task takes him from the piquant markets of the Tangerine Ward to the murder-bazaars of the Crimson. Traveling down the wide throughway of the Greate Souage and its shackled statues of St. Camnus, Hadric reaches his destination: the Myrmidon Souk. Located at the intersection of the Souage and Coistrels' March, far away from the gunsmoke of the Brimestone Markets, the Myrmidon Souk specializes in the sale of servants, both martial and mundane.  In the full daylight of Writhing, the Souk looks rather forlorn, barren of the teeming knot of merchants, manservants, and magisters that Gorging and Chaining bring. Still, several businesses remain open, manned by a skeleton-crew of bored shopkeepers and servant-mongers all-too eager to pass the time by hawking their wares to Hadric and his unbound demon.

So sought after, Hadric and Nibs are able to sample the Souk's various offerings. They pass by the Sexasgesimal Arms, unable to afford -or unwilling to employ- its mercenary demon-binders, goetic tomes, and argent collars. Similarly, Fetterglove's and its skin-carved, obedience-compelling garments are given only a passing glance. Across from such elite establishments, the Choler Exchange beckons with the pole-spiked heads of Dead Men from the Adumbral War. Inside, the offices of the Gold-Vambrace and Widow-Wright Merchant Company share space with ornamented training yards, a stable for itinerant Centaurs, and a half-abandoned contract-shop for the Pale Legion. Yet, it is further down the Souk, near the mercenary-favored taverns of the Sanguinary Fillet and the Gilded Poleyn, that Hadric finds more appropriate venues. Two shops in particular remain open and amenable to his needs and light-weight purse: Ratibor's Emporium of Manciples & Vadelects and the Petite Joug.

Ratibor himself presently runs his shop and happily gives Hadric a tour of his available servants-for-hire. After some fervent haggling, two options remain within the sheevra's price-range: a towering, melancholic, toothless woman named Fayre-Delun and an elderly man with a horned mynah respectively named Mr. Chen and Snitch. Ratibor introduces Hadric to both, allows them to explain their abilities and previous experience, and then quickly takes Hadric to his contract-scrivener to finalize an arrangement.

At the Joug, the proprietor Qiao-Fae –better known as Mother Manacle among the Ebon Ward waifs she collects- is absent. Instead, Hadric is serviced by a sleepy-eyed staff who languidly shows the sheevra a row of neck-shackled youth. Along the way, he gives his sales pitch between yawns. "Not slaves of course, willingly yoked." "Well-teethed, fair-faced." "All vaccinated, all deloused." "Looking for a better home, better life." "Eager to please, quick to learn." With a bamboo switch, he turns the youths around, has them open their mouths, parts their hair, and so forth to demonstrate their quality. After eliminating those already promised to other buyers and those whose "countenances exceed your purse," the heavy-lidded staff points out three youth available for employ: a straw-haired, heavy-boned prepubescent girl; a black-haired boy with distended stomach; and a slightly bow-legged adolescent boy. All three youth stare at the glowing sheevra in doe-eyed wonder, but remain silent. If the staff knows their names, he does not volunteer them.[/ic]  

[ooc]Make a persuasion check. With your expertise already added, you gain the following with results that meet or exceed the values below:

DC 1: [spoiler]Fayre-Delun reports she previously served as a bodyguard-governess and valet. Mr. Chen claims he has been a butler, manciple, cook, and sommelier. The children have no immediately relevant experience. Any can be employed by paying a 20 crown finder's fee to the Emporium or Joug. Ratibor's, however, requires that you also complete a notarized contract that includes the servant's initial duties, pay, and length of service. [/spoiler]

DC 2: [spoiler]Fayre-Delun specifically served Symos Mei-Vourne. She claims she was released when he outgrew her services. Mr. Chen has served a number of households, none of which were true nobles, but were wealthy merchants and bureaucrats. Mr. Chen has trained his mynah, Snitch, to 'speak'.[/spoiler]

DC 3: [spoiler]Fayre-Delun is recovered from stage-six blanchphage. Besides the evident melancholy, it also explains her relatively pigment-subdued skin and eyes. At this point, the condition won't worsen, but the remaining symptoms aren't likely to improve either. Mr. Chen's last worked for Antoine-Ru, who Hadric remembers served as a secretary for Chief-Magistrate Lian several decades ago. The blond, heavy-boned girl is Tatiana. Her mother disappeared ten days ago, her father was a Somnambulon mercenary who fought for the Sons of the Wolf and died during the Adumbral War. The black-haired boy is Gyo: he's one of the countless, starving guttersnipes of the Ebon Ward. He claims he served as a lookout for the Brass-Skulls but then became the target of Yellow Dragon reprisal. The bow-legged adolescent is Vieng. He was raised in a brothel in the Mooncalf Tangle, where he worked till Qiao-Fae gave him a way out.
Knowing the above info about Fayre-Delun, Tatiana, Gyo, and Vieng allows Hadric to haggle down the finder's fee to 15 crowns, but only for them.[/spoiler]

DC 4: [spoiler]Fayre-Delun was Symos's bodyguard and valet during his excursion to Dolmen. She was released after she protested his conversion to the Mourning Flock. Forced to find her way home on her own and without Mei-Vourne finances, she joined a band of traveling tomb-robbers. They met their demise in the Etiolation, save for Fayre-Delun and a shade witch who left the afflicted woman in a Skein hospital where she slowly 'recovered'. Mr. Chen has spent the past 20 years in the Painted House, Skein's main prison.
Knowing the above info allows Hadric to haggle down the finder's fee for Mr. Chen to 15 crowns.[/spoiler]

DC 5: [spoiler]Mr. Chen was sent to prison for murdering his wife and assaulting his employer (who was saved by another servant). For years, Mrs. Chen cuckolded him with his employer, Antoine-Ru. Mr. Chen discovered this by his mynah parroting his wife's orgasmic cries to the bureaucrat. Such a crime might have warranted a death sentence, but Mr. Chen's employer didn't want the publicity of an execution (due to the scandalous consequences for him) but also because he allegedly felt remorseful for his ill-treatment of his otherwise perfect servant. Chief-Magistrate Lian's son was responsible for the trial –who in addition to sentencing Mr. Chen to serve a year for each year he had been married, also proclaimed that he should have to keep the bird with him upon pain of castration.
Knowing this about Mr. Chen allows Hadric to haggle down the finder's fee to 5 crowns.[/spoiler]

DC 6: [spoiler]Due to sheer silver-tonguedness and haggling acumen, Hadric is able to reduce the finder's fee another 5 crowns for all the potential employees –on top of the above reductions (e.g., they let you hire Mr. Chen for free so long as you promise not to tell people they hire out ex-murderers).[/spoiler]
[/ooc]

[ic]Alisandre takes in each spilled secret with interest, pondering how it may be twisted to her advantage. The torturer only offers his victim a stony stare, something between disappointment and contempt flickering in his eyes... he'd clearly wanted to employ the tools of his trade.

The magister finally cuts off Xedric.

"We have heard enough. There are other questions for you to answer."

"He needs encouragement," the torturer whispers. "I know his type. Think they're top o' th' world, then turn into whimperin' babes on the rack. But th' moment they think things 'er goin' their way, they get cocky again. Think they can bargain. Think they can lie..."

The torturer grabs Xedric's testicles with a gloved hand and squeezes them crushingly hard.

"I hate liars," he breathes, eyes brimming with loathing, "and I hate yer kind. But here on th' rack, who y' used to be don't matter. Here, yer nobody. Yer blood's th' same color and yer screams sound th' same as anyone else's."

"Maybe y' need to see how. Only way your kind learns is pain..."

The torturer draws a massive butcher knife from his rack of implements. Spattered in blood and rust, it is clearly ill-suited for quick, clean cuts. It will take repeated saws and hacks to sever anything.

He positions it over the base of Xedric's manhood and presses it against his crotch, letting him feel how dull the edge is.

The torturer grins cruelly. "Y' look th' type t' rather enjoy 'avin' that, don't y', m'lord? Prob'ly never thought t' appreciate it. Maybe this'll be a lesson..."

"Enough." The magister's icy voice cuts in. "He has cooperated with us thus far. If he ceases to, you may employ such measures at your discretion. But not until that time."

"M'lord, it's fer th' best," the torturer answers, eyes (and hands) never leaving Xedric. "Jus' let me put some real fear in 'im..."

"No," the magisters answers curtly, his tone final. He goes to pose a new round of questions to Xedric, voice calm and even. The torturer once more withdraws to a mask of stony silence... though the blade never leaves his prisoner's crotch.[/ic]

[ooc]Alisandre/Alphosine now ask Xedric a series of questions related to Mei-Vourne family business dealings, past scandals, assorted dirty secrets its members are hoarding, and who Xedric is allies/enemies with. It looks like House Sedaracs is simply trying to gain an edge over a rival house. Assuming Xedric confirms he works together with Symos and/or Patrois (which I already know), subsequent questions are aimed at discovering what locations they meet to discuss clandestine matters, how they stay in communication, the identities of people they hire to do their dirty work... basically, I'm fishing for anything that gives me a lead to proving the botched funeral was a setup (like the identities of protestors, location where someone might've overheard their plotting, whatever), while masking it beneath a smokescreen of information that I don't really need. Since said information concerns Mei-Vourne family business dealings, I probably already know the answers to much of it; this is also a test to see how honest Xedric is being.

Intimidation check: This dice roll has been tampered with!
Rolled 1d6 : 5, total 5[/ooc]

[ooc]Seeing if A knows how daddy lost his digit, per AIM discussion...

[blockquote]Rolled 1d6 : 4, total 4[/blockquote][/ooc]

[ic=Alisandre]Xedric screams and whimpers in agony as Alisandre crushes his scrotum. He thrashes impotently when threatened with amputation, then shudders with desperate relief when his other guised sibling saves him. He chokes momentarily on his own bloody-spittle, then weakly lets it drool from his blenched lips. More than once, Alisandre has to check his pulse, or have Alphosine repeat a question. He falters and fades. Something must have retorn inside his ravage gut. Sweat once more prickles his naked skin. He becomes delirious –yet, in his pain-wracked state, he speaks the truth. He is too tired, too feeble to disassemble or connive. He spills his secrets without decency or restraint –just like the rivulets of red drool that slip from his corpulent jowl.

In the end, it is Alphosine that breaks first. Her head slumps suddenly, overwhelmed with maintaining the exhausting dweamor. The chamber ripples. Aetheric pigment begins to run like melted snow, revealing the true form of Belphia's crypt. Zeernebub leaps to its mistress' lap –no longer a lobster-clawed infant but a bug-faced feline. Alphosine moans –her voice once more her own: weak now, but womanly. She waves an apology to Alisandre, but says she is fine. So relieved, the outcast magistra turns back to her half-brother, ready to knock him out before he recognizes the collapsing reality as a farce. But she has no need –by the time she turns around, he is already unconscious. His breath is a fragile, shallow thing, like a moth's wing in winter. [/ic]

[ooc]He spills the beans. It's a big can, so I'll post stuff along the way. In the meantime, I'll let you respond to the physical reality and your next steps as discussed. For your discoveries, particularly those relevant to your goal of discrediting your brothers and regaining your title, you gain 4 XP, enough to gain a benefit of your choice as per Penumbra rules.[/ooc]

[ic]Hadric peruses the human wares on offer, variously poking and prodding at them. "Too tall!" he says of one.

"Tooooo fatsss!" Nibs says of another. Hadric sighs with mock exasperation.

"Well, at least tell me about your qualifications! Let's start with your greatest weakness."[/ic]

[ooc] This dice roll has been tampered with!
Rolled 1d6 : 4, total 4

Might - 10/13, Agility - 10[11]/14, Intellect - 7/9

And you already added my expertise? I don't have to?[/ooc]

[ooc]Correct, Hadric discovers everything from DC 4 down, and gains all the knowledge and cumulative benefits thereof. But he doesn't learn/gain DC 5 or 6 results -which for non experts would be DC 6 & 7.

So, based upon that haggling and line of inquires and their results, you can choose whoever you wish: the finder's fee for any of them is reduced to 15 crowns (or something of equivalent value). Of course, if you have the means, you can employ as many as you wish: the merchants certainly wouldn't mind the extra profit.[/ooc]  

[ic=Alisandre]In the moments that follow, Xedric's confessions echo and distill in Alisandre's mind.[/ic]

[ooc]By his own words, Xedric admits to his hand in Alisandre's banishment. He brazenly claims it was his plot, but she can read between his words and see the connections that elude him. They confirm her suspicions: Symos was certainly involved, and most likely the mastermind. What surprises her perhaps, however, is the depth of Xedric's motive...

Like most children, Alisandre's had grown up always seeing the Mei-Vourne family from her perspective. From birth –her birth- she was Caraumonde's scion, heir to the family's riches and promised inheritor of all its power and privilege. That had always been the truth that had ruled her world.

Yet, that truth had not always been true. Long before Alisandre was even a seed in Belphia's womb, Xedric was a man. He, first-born of Caraumonde, had been raised to believe he was the rightful heir to the family's riches and promised inheritor of all its power and privilege. It was a truth that had ruled his world.

When Caraumonde left to undertake his grand sojourn, Xedric -only seven days past his Grand Chaining and only two after his mother passed away delivering a still-born brother- had been appointed regent over his household's enterprises. He had been tutored and aided, naturally, but the transition of duties was difficult, abrupt. Yet, Xedric had managed. His studies at Vlerinn-Phoi had suffered. Several merchant-princes and nobles had tried to take advantage of his youth. He had been poisoned. Once he had been kidnapped –ironically by Lucilius Sederacs- and tortured out of pure sadistic whim before being set free. But throughout it all, unsure when, or if, his father would ever return, he kept his family's fortunes afloat –indeed, some enterprises even prospered.

Then, without warning, Caraumonde had returned. He did not thank or praise his son for his accomplishments –he simply snatched back the reigns of Mei-Vourne. He did not speak of his three-year absence, nor explain his sudden homecoming. He was aloof, cold, uncaring. With his father's return, Xedric was relegated to be naught but a child, cared for by a new governess and striped of all his hard-earned duties.  Within in the year, Caraumonde remarried. Alphosine was born shortly thereafter -and with her arrival, Xedric was no longer an only child. He was no longer heir.

But Alphosine was betrothed to Seviert within a few years, and the promised crown shifted back to Xedric. Whether by way of apology or boredom, Caraumonde ceded certain mercantile affairs to his first-born.  The extra time allowed Caraumonde to pursue his next bride -after Alphosine's mother died in a mining-accident of course.  Symos and Patrois came soon thereafter, and with their births, Xedric was shunted to the back of the successionary line. The boys' mother died soon-thereafter though, and just as suddenly, Xedric was heir. An entire year passed before Caraumonde married Belphia; nine months later, Alphosine was born: heir to the family's riches and promised inheritor of all its power and privilege. It was a truth that ruled her world –and destroyed Xedric's.

Though drugged, dying, and deluded by Alphosine's hex, Xedric had confessed, mere inches from Alisandre's face, of his hatred for the 'spoilt brat' who had a life all-too easy. No responsibilities, just privilege. She was protected, secure, and safe, able to indulge her flitting artistic whims while her older brothers –first and foremost Xedric- labored to keep the family's coffers flush.  She lived a charmed life –even when her mother died, Caraumonde went unmarried for more than a decade, only wedding Delepitore till Alisandre was disowned. When 'the brat' failed her Chaining Day, their father brushed it aside. She had done little better than he at college, despite her lack of any additional responsibilities. In his eyes, she was utterly unworthy of Mei-Vourne's crown –and even more unworthy to stand in his way after all he had done to earn it, again and again. Sometimes, as he had learned during his father's sojourn, a crime must be committed for justice to be done.  

Symos had always shared similar sentiments, Xedric related, especially after the shame of her first binding's failure was displaced to the shortly returned son. So Xedric confided in his brothers his yet-unpolished plot to do away with Alisandre. Patrois had allegedly pleaded to spare their sister. Symos proposed a compromise, one that involved his contacts with the political dissidents, the Inhumists, a group that protested the corporeal interment of Skein's dead, arguing that the dead should be burned and the cemetery's lands be converted for more profitable use. It was easy to supply the Inhumists the time, procession route, and guard details of the funeral Alisandre was perfunctorily overseeing –especially since Xedric had done all of laborious preparations. Then, when the dissidents succeeded in disrupting the ceremony and Alisandre was outcast, it was equally easy to provide the Watch with the location and identities of the Inhumists, once again, courtesy of Symos' connections.  With the Inhumists dead, their names were in the clear.

As Xedric answers inquiries about the family's finances and enterprises, Alisandre is frankly surprised by how much she doesn't know. Eventually, she stops probing those topics, as they give some merit to her sibling's aforementioned accusations.

But there are other confessions of note: he admits to poisoning Proserpine –and relates how he has been accomplishing it. He's been using the same trick used against him, back when he was first poisoned during Caraumonde's journey. He hasn't been poisoning the bottles –just the rim of her glasses.

There are other family indiscretions. Two concern the deaths of Caraumonde's wives.

First, the mother of Symos and Patrois –who Alisandre was always told died of a disease- had become infected with the Slow Plague. Xedric does not know how she was exposed to it, but the once-beautiful woman became a grosteque abomination. Caraumonde attempted to save her, her kept her locked away, paid ludicrously expensive physicians and chymists, but to no avail. In the end, her screamed pleas for death were answered by her husband. Xedric says it took the man several tries to stab all of her cancerous-duplicated hearts.

Second, Xedric claims that Belphia committed suicide. Most simply assume she was killed by Caraumonde, but Xedric says she took her own life, much to their father's dismay. Xedric does not know why she did it, though, but he is sure she died by her own hands.

Beyond maternal deaths, Xedric relates the cause of Caraumonde's severed ring-finger on his left-hand. It was part of his pact with Madam Fontanelle. She keeps the finger-bone as part of her skeletal make-up, alongside the milk-teeth of his children –all save Xedric's that is.

You also learn of a secret warehouse that Xedric owns under a pseudonym. It's filled with various riches and trade goods he smuggled and skimmed from the family's coffer: a nest-egg he developed after his birthright kept being stolen from him. It's in the Damask Ward, near the Southern Station for easy loading in case he had to flee. It's guarded though, but he passed out before he was able to relate its defenses. [/ooc]

[ic]Hadric reclines morosely on the curb outside Ratibor's Emporium, idly running a feather-comb through Nibs' sumptuous plumage. The demon purrs, its eyes half-closed. "I have become depressed, Nibs; just like that. Such tiresome and unhappy stories. Nobody seems to appreciate a happy ending anymore, not the way I do." he says. Nibs doesn't really seem to be listening. Hadric snaps his fingers, suddenly rocketing to his feet. "That's it! I'll just have to write my own story!" he proclaims loudly to the deserted street. "I'll be back in two shakes of a sphinx's tail, Nibs!" he calls over his shoulder, striding hurriedly across the road to the Petite Joug. Bursting through the door Hadric levels his finger straight at the blond girl. "You! We have a book to write!" he yells. "Well. Not literally," he reconsiders, taking in Tatiana's wide-eyed stare. Hadric scans the room. Passing over the proprietor with his gaze several times (and seemingly unable to hear the man's repeated queries) he shrugs and haphazardly dumps fifteen crowns onto the counter. Half-dragging the girl by the arm he rebursts out onto the street in a flash, Nibs excitedly slithering over.

"A new friend? What is its name?" the demon asks.

"Tantarella. No! Tatiana." Hadric answers, proceeding at a merry pace down the street back in the direction of the Tangerine Ward - and presumably eventually his home. "Now. I realize this must all be somewhat shocking," he confides. "But there's really nothing else for it. I was quite moved by your plight, miss - and let it never be said that I have left a lady in distress! - and so I must take it upon myself to see to your proper upbringing in order that this unfortunate city should be made more bearable. Nibs and I shall see to your education -"

"Bookssss!" Nibs exclaims.

"To your edification -"

"Bearing!" the demon cries.

"To your training." he continues, as Nibs grabs a knife from Hadric's bag with the end of its tail and waves it around. "And of course to your health and safety."

"Buttersss" the demon mumbles over a mouthful of half-melted butter apparently also produced from within the confines of Hadric's bag.

"Any questions?" the sheevra asks.[/ic]