Lugaash was Lugaash. That is, the city WAS the country... mostly. There were a few outlying villages noted for fishing and a few crops, but they weren't any place anyone wanted to be unless you had to.

There were a few bars, pubs, taverns and restaurants in Lugaash, including the Pink Palace, an upscale club and gambling hall that catered mostly to the rich... well, the would-be rich. It wasn't a place to visit unless you could afford to part with a hundred quid or so even if you didn't gamble.

No, the tavern of choice for most foreigners was the Elephant In The Cellar. It had character, albeit a strange character. It borrowed from the English design in that the 'ground floor' was the first one you stepped up into, while the 1st floor was the floor above that. What would, in the future, be built as a half-basement was a full basement but only sunk halfway into the ground. Thus, you had a half-flight of stairs going up to the ground floor and a half-flight of stairs going down to the cellar.

It was down in the cellar of a greystone that the tavern was situated. Technically, it was a pub, as it served food as well as drink, but the terms were getting already getting blurred as the new century fast approached.

The decor was a bit Arabian, a lot Indian (tassles and silk batique), and some new technological designs, such as brightly colored steam pipes, shiny brass knobs and fittings, and functionless gears.

And there was the elephant. There really was an elephant in the cellar. It was dead and stuffed, of course, but there it was. Large as life. Larger! The typical topic of conversation was everybody speculating on it was gotten into the basement.


So Charles X. A. Harris was having a spot of tea here because he had no intention of spending 2 pounds for it at the Pink Palace!

After making a few enquiries, Paul Smith learned that the only place in town that catered to the foreign taste of coffee was the Elephant In The Cellar.

Charles sat in a comfortable arm chair that was no doubt imported from England just for this pub. A cup of fine Nilgiri tea sat on a saucer on a nearby table.  He had pick up the taste for it while stationed in India.  A top hat and gloves also sat on the table. A polished walking cane leaned against the chair by his left leg.

He was reading old issue of the Times.  No doubt sent to Suez via the submerged cable and printed there.  It still took a day or so to make it to Lugaash.  He had heard that some folk at the Pink Palace would be setting up a printing press here as they could not abide by the delay of several hours.

Yes. I was just throwing this in to get you started. I'm pretty sure the game will still be here when you get back.

Paul makes his way to the bar hinting out the smell of coffee. It was a delightful smell at that too. He was wondering when he would taste the likes of grinded coffee beans and cold milk. The fragrance seeped into his nose when he stepped up to the counter. Paul spotted another foreigner in the bar, not very usual at this time in the morning as he could see, maybe they were all asleep... He saw only a man, seemed to be of a high status in an armchair a few feet away. Paul approached the man with coffee in hand to start a conversation.
"Hello, sir. What brings someone like yourself to Lugaash?" says Paul while taking a sip of his drink."I myself am here to see if they had any Indian mechanical parts. I've heard they're quite well made, but expensive as well."

Charles looks up at the American then stands and folds his paper.  He offers a slight bow while securing his cane with his right hand.  Charles Harris at your service.  The accent is, without a doubt, British.

You should try Faud's shop near the Rug Seller's bazaar.  I understand he can get some very interesting parts at times. 

The tone is moderated.  Not cold but more cautious as he sizes up Mr. Smith.

Paul observes Harris's cautious look. He feels a little bit of laughter come up. Englishmen don't seem to be as warm as the men back at home.
"Hey now Mr. Harris, I didn't mean to startle you. Just nice seeming someone just as off place as me. Now, could I have some information on that shop?", Paul says trying to make the stranger warm up to him. A nice conversation should do it. "I'm extremely sorry to bother you sir, but it seems this shop has quite piqued my curiosity."

I will happily walk with you to Faud's as I am finished with The Times. It will be good to streach my legs.   But you do have me at a disadvantage at the moment. Sir?

Again the tone is level with no annoyance that you might expect.  The caution is still there.

"Thank you my good sir, I owe you a favor", said Paul getting out of his chair. He walks back to the bar, leving his cup at the counter and walks back to leave the shop with his new acquaintance.

Charles stands there unmoving.  While I do realize that etiquette is different in America than England, I still thought it was common manners to introduce oneself so I might know how to address you. 

"Ah, right, yes, names. It slipped my mind. My name is Paul, Paul Smith. Nice to meet you Mr. Harris", Paul felt a ting of embaressment at his foolishness. Feeling his cheecks go red, Paul composed himself at stook his hand out for a handshake with mister Harris.

Charles takes his hand in a firm handshake.  Pleasure.

He picks up his hat and gloves.  Putting the former on his head and the later in his jacket pocket.  He leads out the door and turns to the south.

Faud's will tend to have salvage from many all around but can have newer things.  Depending on what you are looking for, of course. After a moment Charles continues. So what are you looking to build or repair?
This message was last edited by the player at 11:06, Fri 05 June 2015.

Once out in the street, the two of you quickly encounter a hubbub that would have intruded in the pub in a moment any way. It only takes a minute or so for the cause to become known: an airship has landed on the edge of the city!

There is probably only a dozen or so people in Lugaash who have even seen an airship, so this is quite a momentous occasion.

"More than build, I wish to investigate. Though I am working on a project based on the electric components by Nikola Tesla, mainly his electric generator. His technology is so past our age it's almost terrifying... But nonetheless, electricity is the future, I can feel it.", responded Paul. A few seconds later he saw the crowds forming up at the edge of town. Above the heads he could see an airship, French model. "What might be happening there? Should we investigate before going to the shop Mr. Harris?"

But of course.  It should be an interesting story to hear why it is landing here.

Charles Harris weaves between the crowd, not shy about moving someone slightly so he can get a view of the Airship and its crew.

Making your way through the crowd isn't too difficult, but you get about halfway there when you spot the group of people coming towards you. While there are other foreigners in Lugarno at the moment, these group of five men and two women stand out quite a bit. Add to that the fact they are coming from the direction of the airship and it's a good indication that these people were on the airship.


My original plan was to have you meet them in one of the shops since one of the characters, Mercy, would be looking for mostly the same things Paul is.

That may still work. As you approach them, they can stop in at tinker's shop.

Go ahead and post in the main thread now.

Now that is technology I could especially appreciate! Marian laughs regarding the teakettle.

Upon entering the Elephant in the Cellar she looks around in surprise and delight. Seeing the elephant all other thoughts disappear and she strides right up to it to examine it. Poor thing! she frowns though her fascination is evident nonetheless. It's so huge though! I had heard they were big... she trails off, looking at it again with scrutiny. When at last she'd had her fill she jots down a few notes on a small pad of paper and then sets about ordering tea and the usual accompaniments. If there is any local exotic food she will order a bit of that as well just to try it. Have you tried any of the local fare? I hear it can be spicy...what won't make my head catch on fire? she frowns, trying to decide.

"I would personally recommend the coffee. Especially for you Brits. I don't know alot of you who have tried it so it could be a new experience while still to accommodate your likes. They also have top quality coffee beans here. Well that's only my opinion."Talking to Marian with a warm tone. Paul thought that it would be good to be friends with people who had an airship. They seemed like a pretty adventurous group, and that was exactly what Paul was looking for. He walks up to the counter, familiar with the establishment and orders a coffee

As soon as you are seated at a table, a server approaches carrying a silver tray with a silver pot, silver cups and a silver dish laden with dates prepared in various ways.

He sets the tray on the table and pours coffee for everyone. There is no charge for this. In Lugaash, this is basic hospitality, akin to offering you a glass of water in other lands.

There are plain dates, dates covered in powdered sugar, dates covered in coconut, and stuffed dates--stuffed with peanut butter, a chunk of walnut and then rolled in sugar.

He then sets menus on the table. It is a single sheet, quite used. It does not have a lot of options. Besides a few 'foreign' dishes such as Chicken Marsala and Duck L'orange, local dishes include three variations of kabsa (chicken, lamb, and fish) and saltah (a dark meat stew) in which you can have over a dozen additional ingredients added based on time of day, personal preference, and season.

The Elephant In The Cellar definitely has an international feel to it, as there aren't traditional Islamic considerations (though pork is still absent).

As you are closer to the lunch period than to breakfast, you will get served salad and mezze (small dishes of appetizer; usually two types per person) as sides to the meal. Mezze include cheeses, sliced melon, a type of chili, yogurt, calamari, rice-stuffed leaves, artichokes, eggplant, garlic bread, sliced hard-boiled eggs and a small cup of nuts.

A basket of fruit is also included: bananas, mangos, tangelos, apples.

I confess I've never tried it she laughs at the recommendation and is pleased when it is so easily acquired. She thoroughly enjoys the exotic flavors and on the whole is very delighted with the fare, smiling and taking the occasional note on her notepad. The coffee is stronger than she had realized and she likes it a great deal better with sugar and cream, wondering how people could ever drink the stuff black.

In reply to Marian Holroy (msg # 16):

I think you will just find different spices.  More cinnamon, cumin and turmeric.  It is more flavorful.  If you ever travel to the Far East, then you will find more hot peppers and spices used.

"I've only done a bit of travel myself, mostly to collaborate with another engineer on a project," responds Mercy. "I'm not all that fond of foreign food. I can take it in small doses."

"Danish pastries and Belgian chocolate, on the other hand..."

"Some of this is okay."

A short time later, helped along by some directions by a helpful local, Connor found himself descending down the steps of the Elephant in the Cellar, doffing his flat cap and hanging it up on one of the coat-hooks by the door, then padded over towards the pub's bar counter, pausing briefly to have a look at the stuffed elephant, his violet feline eyes opening a skosh wider as he had a good look.

"So there is an elephant in the cellar after all," he mused quietly to himself, shaking his head in mild surprise and amusement, "I thought that chappie was pulling my leg when he told me about this place."

Churring softly in a catty chuckle, Connor padded silently over to the bar, having a seat on one of the stools and waiting for the barkeep to come over so he might order up a stiff pint of brew, all the hustle and bustle of having a look around Lugaash and getting some shopping done having worked up a good thirst in the furry engineer. Connor toyed with the idea of getting some lunch as well as he sat, his long tail flicking idly behind him like the pendulum of some strange clock, although for the time being, he really just wanted to wet his whistle...

Connor can't help but notice the strange looks he gets, though they don't seem to be frightful looks. He also hears the whispers that start--rakshasa.

Although the rakshasa myth is from India, there is enough cross-culture exchange that the Lugaasha locals have picked up some of the Indian stories.

Connor's ears perked up when he heard the whispers start going around the pub, a frown creasing his brow as caught the barkeep's attention and said, "A pint of your best, please, and no, I am not a demon." Fishing some money out to pay for his drink, the tiger shook his head and grumbled, "This could be a great joke if it wasn't a trifle annoying; A tiger walks into a bar..."

Letting that thought trail, off, Connor fell silent and brought out one of the books he had bought at the book-seller's stall and propped it open in front of him as he waited for his drink, pushing the thought of being called a rakshasa out of mind in favor of the penny dreadful adventure story instead...

In spite of Connor's appearance, no one seems to have guessed that Connor's hearing might be like that of a cat... or even a demon.

So he's a bit surprised to overhear a whisper from nearby.

"Perhaps this one would be more controllable," whispered one voice.

"And perhaps not. This one looks wilder," replied a second voice.

"Well, we should tell al'Kazar... let him decide. He may want to add another one to his collection."

"Excellent suggestion! You go and inform al'Kazar. I shall follow... it. We can rendezvous at the Cobra Club."

Connor looked up from his book with a look of utter indignation, his violet eyes glaring daggers as they searched the crowded pub for the owners of the voices his sensitive ears had picked up whispering unnerving things about him, and some chap named al'Kazar. Unfortunately, the busy pub hid the speakers well from Connor's eyes, eliciting a curse from him and an uneasy feeling coming up down in the pit of his stomach.

Could there be more fellow felinoids in need of rescuing? The tiger was unsure, if intrigued, since he had always considered himself a one-off prototype instead of one of many...But that wasn't important right now, Connor willed himself to be on his guard and alert, resolving to soundly thrash the fool who would try to follow him, or anyone who tried to get the jump on him as had happened in Marseilles.

"Best make up another round, goodman, I do believe I am going to need to limber up," He said to the barkeep with a bit of a sigh, shaking his head a bit...

Yes, pastries and chocolate are favorites of mine too Marian smiles at Mercy. Though I do have an adventurous palate, well within reason anyway. I've heard of some disgusting things eaten by other cultures and I'm not quite that brave...

Seeing Connor looking disturbed Marian watches him with concern. When she gets the opportunity she asks, Is everything alright Mr. Holmes?

Turning in his barstool slightly to look in Marian's direction, Connor flicked his ears back some as he replied, "No, everything is not all right Ms. Holroy. I seem to be attracting quite a lot of attention, and not all of it the good kind. In fact, I do believe I may have just overheard a plot to kidnap me for some rich fellow's exotic collection."

The tiger shook his head a little before adding, "Naturally I have no desire for that to happen, and I intend to teach a jolly good lesson to anyone foolish enough to try such a thing , but still, it seems just about everywhere I go humans keep wanting to throw me into a cage for one reason or another, either to make money as some bizarre sideshow or a vain wish to have an unusual pet for their collection to show off."

Bloody he-she stops herself from completing the curse, realizing they are in public after all and continues in a quieter tone, determined to not cause anymore attention to herself. That's the most ludicrous thing I've heard! The wretched nits! Well if they try anything I will happily help you pummel their brains into their boots! I may look helpless but my husband taught me well the art of defense. I confess I would welcome the chance to help you teach such churls a lesson. I think you're one of the most magnificent people I've ever seen and anyone who would treat you poorly deserves the most unpleasant fate God can scrounge up.

"Are you sure that's what they were talking about?" Mercy questioned, trying to look around to see who might have said such things while not being obvious about it.

"Sadly, as women, we know all too well about not being treated as real people sometimes."

"I doubt if that kind of sense can be pounded into their feeble brains, but I suppose it could be a bit satisfying to try."

"But they are only muscle... thugs. It's their rich man employer that needs the thrashing even if it's just as futile."

Perhaps a trap could be set for him? There has to be some way to find him.

"Wow! What's this we have here? A Demi-human, why I never guessed I would ever see one. I've heard stories of half breast half men before but I never thought I would have the pleasure to finally meet one. Hello my good sir, my name is Paul Smith. You seemed to be troubled? Prejudice is found everywhere isn't it. Well, I'll let you know that I am not one of those repulsive men. Anyway. What is your name if I may ask?",Paul walked up to the tiger-man at the counter and wondered why he was so preoccupied with the racist men. "Pay no heed to those gentlemen, if I can even call them that, for there are also good people out there willing to accept you just as easily as the people who despise you."

Charles listens in interest to the conversation.


Perhaps if we had a name then we could find out more about this man.

He stands and gives a slight bow to the man-tiger.  Charles Harris, at your service.

"Setting a trap is all well and good, but a trap needs bait!" Mercy mildly exclaimed. "I sure hope you aren't suggesting that Connor be the bait!"

"Mr. Smith, Connor is part of our traveling troupe. We helped liberate him in Marseilles from a similar monster to this rich man."

"Connor, may I present to you Mr. Paul Smith. We met in the store. I thought you were there at the time, but you must have been window shopping elsewhere."

"Connor Holmes, of Holmes Machine Works and Specialist  Fitters Ltd, nice to meet you," Connor replied with a slight nod in Charles' direction to return the introduction, then he looked to Marian and shook his head in a sad sort of way as he said,"even if I did agree and we did set up a trap, I didn't see the people who were making the plot, I just heard them since this establishment is so full of people, so I don't know who to look out for unless I hear them again.

I've got ears that can pick out a pin dropping in King's Cross station at rush hour and eyes that can see like a hawk even at night, but it's easy to hide in a crowd."

Marian blushes at Mercy's words. Well I didn't mean to put him in danger of course... she mumbles lamely. At Connor's explanation she scowls. Blast! Well, perhaps they will make a move on you and we can pummel them then? If you hear anything again let us know and we will look around for you, see who is talking and narrow it down. If you try to glance over you could give yourself away but perhaps the curious eyes of two women will not arouse suspicion. Of course, that is if they haven't left already...I advise not being alone for a while Mr Holmes.

Nice to meet you Mr. Connor. I see you own a business of your own, and that to you are an engineer, like me. There are a lot of engineers in your group aren't there. Paul felt much more comfortable around the group of voyagers now that he knew most of them he could relate to. It was a refreshing feeling. I could accompany Mr. Connor, I have sone military experience so I could help him out. I do t mean that Mr. Connor can't take care of himself, but if you are looking for someone, I may be of assistance.

"I've seen Connor in action," Mercy explains, "so I wasn't too worried about him. It's one thing to volunteer to be bait--it's a whole different thing when you volunteer someone else!"

"Did you get any sense of direction the voice might have been coming from? Behind you? To the left or right? We might be able to spot anyone looking suspicious."

"It sounded to me like it was coming from yea sort of direction," Connor said with a slight shrug as he mulled over his drink, jerking a thumb over his right shoulder towards one of the corners of the pub, "Might as well be on a wild fowl chase though, I daresay an establishment  with such an...international...leaning has a lot of people you might classify as 'suspicious', ourselves included, after all in other terms that might be called 'atmosphere' for a place such as this."

Again the tiger shrugged, "There's no sense raising an uproar and worrying about it, if these fellows are going to try some skullduggery there isn't much I can do besides be prepared for it and handle it when it comes. Miss Kincaid can tell you, I've made big burly chaps with mechanical enhancements scream like little girls when I've got my ire raised and my dukes up, right now you happened to have caught me in a more mellow temperament."
This message was last edited by the player at 10:41, Fri 07 Aug 2015.

Oh I would love to see that Marian grins gleefully. It must be marvelous! The downside of being a woman, well one of many, is that it is difficult to intimidate people. I'm capable enough when I need to be but even when I'm besting my enemies they aren't as properly afraid as I would like them to be. It is immensely annoying she sighs. But then I suppose people underestimating our gender has its advantages she nods towards Mercy.

"Did you find a lot of... difficulty getting published? I mean, with your gender?" responded Mercy.

"I was halfway to where I wanted to be before it finally sunk in that I was being treated differently because I was female... well, at least once I filled out a bit."

"It was kind of funny in a way... when I was young, it was strictly about what I could do. Oh, sure, the other kids would tease me, but all kids do that. When it came down to the actual doing, though, I could do it better than most boys, and that's what they liked and respected."

"As I understand it, more and more women are in a position to buy and read books nowadays, so you have a much larger audience now than you would have had 50 years ago. Improved publishing methods and increasing distribution also create a greater demand, so I'm sure the publishers are desperate to find talented writers to fill that demand."

"We're here in Lugaash--the closest thing to the middle of Nowhere without actually being in Nowhere--and Connor was able to buy a penny dreadful!"

"Penny, yes. Dreadful? Oh, I think not." Connor quipped with an amused churr-urr-urr rumbling in his chest and throat, an amused purr of feline chuckling,  for unless Connor really got a good belly laugh going and his voice was in it that was how he laughed, a soft, almost gentle churring sound.

He knew very well what the slang term for what we might call a "pulp" novel meant, but Connor couldn't help making a little joke as he voiced his opinion of what he considered an underrated genre of literature, one he considered a nice little guilty pleasure to indulge in...

Oh yes I did have my naysayers to be sure she nodded at Mercy's question. Thankfully I found similar success upon proving my merits. It is fortunate that we have encountered so many who appreciate our abilities rather then judging our gender. And thank goodness for my female readers! Not to say I don't have a fair following of men but I doubt I would have gotten off the ground without them. Hearing about the Penny Dreadful and Connor's joke she laughs happily. Really? How wonderful! I confess to enjoying them myself from time to time. Nothing quite like a thrill when life gets boring, not that any of you likely have a boring life but up until recently mine had its moments... she winces. I've often considered writing one of my own but wasn't sure where to start.

"Well, I normally read technical manuals for entertainment," Mercy comments. "I suppose I'll have to branch out a bit!"

"Oh, Connor, did you happen to see if any of Marion's books were in the store where you got your dreadful?"

"Did you say whether you were published under your own name, Marion, or did you use a nom de plume?"

"Wasn't really a store, per se," Connor replied with a shrug, downing the last of his drink in one solid go and shaking his head "no" to the barkeep when he made to try and refill the tiger's glass, the felinoid having had enough alcohol for his tastes at the moment, settling his tab as he continued, "Got this lot from a sidewalk stall around the corner, a very big one, but it wasn't a full shop. Can't say I saw any of Miss Holroy's books, but there was a varied and somewhat eclectic selection of books, newspapers, and the like on sale."
This message was last edited by the player at 05:28, Wed 19 Aug 2015.

I write under my own name, though I see the appeal of anonymity. If I wrote as a man I may do better than I am now she laughs.

"Yes, it's kind of a two-edged sword, isn't it?" Mercy commented. "Whenever I've written a monograph or even a small technical manual, I was advised to publish it under 'M. Kincaid'. The consensus seemed to be that no one would bother reading anything technical written by a woman."

"So how many books have you had published? Have all the books you've written been published? Are you writing a new book?"

Mercy seemed to have gone off on a tangent.
This message was last edited by the player at 17:03, Mon 24 Aug 2015.

Marian laughs at the rush of questions. I've published nine thus far and no, there's plenty I've written that didn't make the cut I'm afraid. Writing is easy but writing well...that's a bit trickier she admits with a grin. I'd like to think I'm getting better at it but there's always room for improvement. As for more, very much so yes. I actually am traveling for the purpose of gaining more inspiration for my next books. I think I've trapped my parent's dry about their travels and it was high time I had some of my own. Already I have more than I ever dreamed of and I've barely started! I'm very excited, I have dozens of notes already she beams.

"Nine!" Mercy exclaimed at the revelation.

"Are these... um, what do they call it? A series?"

"You've said the stories your parents told you are the inspiration, but do you write them about--presumably--fictitious people? I mean, the same people in every story? Like Holmes and Watson."

"Oh, we've got to go the bookseller! I've got to get one of your books! It's far more exciting when you know the author, rather than some person from another country that you've never met. At least I think it is!"

Mercy managed to curtail her sudden exuberance for a moment as she looked around.

"Charles, Paul... would you happen to know where our compatriots may have got to?"

"I've almost forgotten what we were doing. We probably should be getting back to the ship. There's a possible assassination about to take place in Bourbony by these nasty Vril. Have we told you about them?"

For the most part yes, I do have recurring characters though some are stand alone books. They also tend to have a bit of romance in them so be warned she laughs, delighted at the woman's enthusiasm for her writing. I would love for you to read one of them though I confess there are far better authors than me out there she blushes.

At Mercy's reminder about the Vril she sobers up a bit, listening. It was easy to forget why they were there in such pleasant company but villains were not only things found in books it seemed.

"The Vril huh? Never heard such a name before. Hmmm... But they seem dangerous if you're fleeing from them. Could I accompany your, team, of people? This is probably what I've been looking for, a way to get out of home and venture the world. Plus another engineer to the team wouldn't hurt right? I also see  that you don't have many fighters, and I have been in the military. Point is, I wish to accompany you all. Would that be possible? I haven't been in many airships either."
Paul thought to himself that the Vril sounded like an extremely strange... whatever they were. Anyway, Paul hoped the group would allow him his request and join the group of strange adventurers.

"Oh, we're not 'fleeing' from the Vril--we're pursuing them!" Mercy replies.

"They were in Scotland trying to take over a cavorite mine by assassinating Lord Kentigern in London. We not only thwarted the assassination, but we thwarted the mine take-over."

"Unfortunately, they escaped in a black airship, taking the cavorite ore and Professor Cavor with them."

"We found a list, though, that had Kentigern's at the top, followed by Princess Yetive of Graustark and the present ruler of Bourbony. Our brief stop in Graustark probably thwarted the assassination of the Princess, so we were heading to Bourbony to forestall yet another assassination."

"We made a slight detour here after fishing the new Grand Vizier out of the Mediterranean Sea. We think he may have been targeted by the Vril as well."

"Alas, we know little about the Vril other than their actions. There was a book published years ago. We think it was supposed to be fiction, but some folks have claimed it was true. In the book, the Vril was both a race of superior women that lived in some marvelous underground city and the mental power that supposedly wielded."

"We have no idea if there's any connection to the assassins we've been encountering."

"As for fighters, well, we have Connor here. And Grimsby, Bellgrove and Dash are competent enough. Then there's our captain, Remi."

"As far as I'm concerned, you and Charles are welcome to join us, but I don't speak for the whole crew."

You Marion and Connor are the only crew members I have met.  I can take you to other locations if you think they might have gone there or back to your airship if you would like.

Charles perks up when the Virl Society is discussed.

This group... The Vril,  do they deal with high tech weapons.  Lighting guns and the like?

"I prefer to think of myself as an inventor over a bruiser,," Connor said as he rose from his place at the bar and made ready to get going, "All the same,  I can hold my own, was trained since I was young how to fight in various forms, and I haven't let my skills get rusty. I believe the Yankee expression is 'kick ass and take names', if you'll pardon the language.

To answer your question,  Mr. Harris, the Vril Society has just as many of the latest fancy toys and things that go 'bang' as we do, so it's partly up to technological wizards like Miss Kincaid and myself to make sure ours are better so we all can stand a better chance."

"Yes, they had a lightning gun with which they attempted to assassinate Lord Kentigern when he was in Gas Lamp Club," Mercy replies.

"Unfortunately for the two Vril assassins, they weren't as quick as Remi, Viktor and Dash! Dash was able to push Kentigern out of the way, though not without getting struck in the back! Remi and Viktor shot the two assassins before they could fire again!"

"I was given the lightning gun. It was based on the same design as Nikola Tesla's gun, but the construction was... inferior. Matthew and I have fixed the problems with it."

"Then there's their black airship. We don't know much about it, having only seen it from a distance."

"Oh, and then there's there wireless telegraph device! We found it in Graustark."

I have been trying to gather information on a group of criminals that seem to employ a lot of high tech gadgets. It sounds like this Vril Society may be the same one.

If you are tracking them, it would be my honor to join your crew if you will have me.  I have served the Queen in many lands and have learned to speak many tongues.  I am also not bad in a fight. 

"I'm quite sure you'll be welcomed, Charles," Mercy replies, "but, as I said, I don't control that. To be honest, I'm not sure you does. I suppose Remi has final say, as he's the captain."

"Well, if everyone's ready to go, we should have back to the ship. Maybe the others will already be there. But I want to stop at the bookstore or stall and see if Marion's books are there."

Just as Mercy stands up and starts to head for the door, the others walk through the door looking for them.

Grimsby said "Glad to find you, Miss Kincaid. Are you ready to return to our airship, or do you still have more to do in this city?"

Bellgrove enters behind Grimsby and as he does so finds himself hopelessly distracted by the sight of the elephant. "The ambassador did say there was an elephant, but..."

Hearing the Englishman address Mercy he stops just before tripping over a chair at an empty table and turns towards her table and notes that there are new faces with her, Mrs Holroy, and Connor. He does not speak but nods in a friendly manner.

"Oh, hi, Grimsby!" Mercy replied. "We were just heading out to look for you! But I wanted to stop and look for Marion's books."

"Oh, and we've got some new acquaintances! Hard to believe we'd find someone in this out of the way place!"

"This is Charles Harris. And that's Paul Smith."

"Charles, Paul, this is Grimsby Baskerville, Bellgrove G. B. Wander, and Denholm Hawkesbury. We call Denholm Dash because of his initials, not his speed."

"I guess I sort of invited them along with us, but I did tell them that it was up to Remi and the rest of you. No expectations, though."

"Charles is investigating a group that might be our Vril Society. And Paul is an engineer. Can't have too many engineers as far as I'm concerned!"

In reply to Mercy Kincaid (msg # 61):

Grimsby looks over the newcomers carefully, particularly (as far as he can in the circumstances, which is not much) their wrists, but seeing no obviously suspicious  signs, he remarks politely,"Good day Mr. Harris, Mr. Smith. I am Grimsby Baskerville of Her Britanic Majesty's Colonial Office, presently on detached duty in pursuit of the Vril, of which I gather Miss Kincaid has told you. I shall be happy to learn anything Mr. Harris can tell me that might relate to them, and since they appear to be preoccupied with a variety of advanced inventions, I daresay Mr. Smith may be very useful."

In reply to Grimsby Baskerville (msg # 62):

"Gentlemen. Any friend of Miss Mercy is a friend of mine." Dash says with a distinct Yankee twang, and offers his hand to each.

"Denholm Hawkesbury, of Hawkesbury Trading Company, Boston, New York, and San Francisco. A pleasure, sirs. And as Miss Mercy has said, please call me Dash."

Dash is easily 6-foot tall with a trim and athletic look to him, his handsome, sun-darkened face holds bright blue eyes and a ready smile -- and a couple of days worth of stubble. He's wearing an open, rumpled, butternut-colored sackcloth jacket over a dark green turtleneck jersey and tan jodhpur trousers and brown lace-up knee boots. A rumpled and age-worn white sailing cap with black leather band and bill sits rakishly atop his close-cropped, light brown hair.

Marian blushes at Mercy's mention of her books. Part of her hopes they don't find them, the idea of someone as impressive and intellectual as Mercy reading her novels is nerve wracking. She would likely find them nothing but romantic drivel, all of her companions probably would. They had been on real adventures and here she was writing second hand about places she had never seen and foolishly thinking it was worth reading. She would probably come across as a complete fool. She only hoped the newcomers would distract the woman enough that she could forget this nonsense about the bookstore. Part of her wanted to run out right then and buy any copies herself before they could be discovered. She was starting to seriously consider it, frowning in thought as she wondered if she could slip away unnoticed but then if she did she would probably get lost in a place like this. Her face will indicate some level of discomfort but it is unlikely anyone would realize what it was regarding and equally unlikely that with the introductions many are paying attention to her.

In reply to Denholm Hawkesbury (msg # 63):

Charles bows slightly to Grimsby and accepts Denholm's hand.

Charles Xavier Augustine Harris at your service.  I have worked various posts in Her Majesty's Foreign office.

He hands Mr Baskerville his card that shows his affiliation with Diogenes Club.

I have been pursuing leads on a group of criminals that have a penchant for high tech devices to commit crimes.  The crimes seem to be of a political bent.

 I have had a report on your Scottish adventures as the Home office deemed it to be linked to my investigations.  When Miss Kincaid mentioned the Vril, I am guessing that it is a name that I have been missing.

In reply to Charles Harris (msg # 65):

Grimsby politely returns Charles' bow, takes his card and studies it with interest.
"Indeed, the Diogenes Club has some distinguished members. I am very glad the Foreign Office and the Colonial Office are cooperating on this matter. I will value your assistance in this case."

With everyone's business in Lugaash finished, the group heads back to the ship.

Mercy stops at the stall where Connor got his penny dreadfuls, but she doesn't find one of Marian's books. However, on the way back to the ship, you pass a bookstore. Mercy insists on stopping for a minute, and surprisingly, she finds a book by Marian.

Blast! Blast, blast! Blood and maggots! she thinks to herself with irritation. The more she thinks about it the more she is certain she is the worst writer ever published and Mercy would soon see her as a laughable oaf, never mind the fact that this particular book had done quite well. It was also one with a bit more scandal and romance in comparison to her others and this made her even more worried about how it would be received.

Mercy comes out of the bookseller's shop all excited and smiling, yet there seems to be dark look in her eyes.

"I found one!" she exclaims as she holds up a book. "At least, I think it is. It's in French. Can you read French, Marian? Anyone can throw a cover on a bunch of pages! I just want to make sure it's actually something you wrote, even it has been translated."

"It was with a group of similar books, so it may have been left by a traveler. This was in the group." She held up another book.

It was a rather plain golden brown leather-bound book. It only had a title: The Coming Race. No author was listed.

In reply to Mercy Kincaid (msg # 69):

Grimsby volunteers, "I can read French, though I am more accustomed to official documents and scholarly reports than light fiction."

He adds: "I believe The Coming Race may be by the writer who described the Vril."
This message was last edited by the GM at 21:49, Mon 28 Sept 2015.

Connor began to open his mouth to say that he could read French as well, then again he could read and speak virtually any human tongue, but the tiger 'oid thought better of it and clamped up his muzzle once more, leaning on his walking stick/fighting staff and narrowing his eyes some and laying his ears back, signalling his inner unease and perhaps a touch of indignance, still brooding over what he had overheard in the pub.

It was perhaps a failing of being a hybrid being, his face might hide what he was really feeling, but his ears and tail would often telegraph hints of it to those who got to know him well...

"I too read French, so perhaps I might contribute to the effort?"

"Wow. It's nice to know so many of you can read French!" Mercy says, as they continue on back to the ship.

"And I'm sure Remi can read French; he does speak it. Only Marion, though, is going to know if what is written is what she wrote... kind of. I suppose you gentlemen could read it and attempt to translate it back into English."

"I want to hear that! It should be hilarious!"

In reply to Mercy Kincaid (msg # 73):

Grimsby said, "Perhaps we can try translation to while away the voyage. Meanwhile, perhaps we had best board the airship and be on our way --who knows what the Vril may be doing in Bourbony?"

Everyone makes it back to the ship without incident.

Remi and Matthew have once again scavenged more coal, and added a few more supplies.

A small crowd has followed the group back to the ship, so there is a small crowd there to watch the ship take off.

"Last call!" Remi calls out when everyone is aboard. It's his way of saying that it's the last chance for anyone to get something from the city below.

He frowns a bit at the newcomers, but he's used to Mercy picking up stray dogs.

Introductions are made, and Remi enquires of Charles and Paul what skills they might have as it pertains to the ship.

Marian declines authorship of the Vril book but does admit the french book titled "The Sands of Time" is hers. The idea of Grimsby and Bellgrove reading it aloud to Mercy is even more horrifying. These were respectable men! Some of the violence and romance within her novels would be a bit scandalous perhaps. Oh dear, she should have just lied. Perhaps there could be an accident and the bloody thing would find its way off the side of the ship...

As pleasant as it was to explore the city it is nice to be back aboard. For one, she now can put all her things down. It was not ideal to cart around all her purchases. She glances at Connor, thinking on what he told them of his would be captors. At least he had avoided such things but what else had the louts done or what would they do to other innocents? A pity they had never been able to try her trap idea but then using Connor as bait probably wouldn't have been very safe.

Once they are back aboard the ship, Grimsby relaxes slightly, recognizing they are moving towards Bourbony as swiftly as they can. He suggests, "Perhaps Miss Kincaid and Mr. Holmes can tell our new engineer more about the devices we have found the Vril using and see if he can offer any helpful explanations."

In reply to Grimsby Baskerville (msg # 77):

Dash hadn't spoken much while in Lugaash; in fact, he'd had an odd feeling the whole time he walked through the city. Finally, as the ship began to lift away from the Arab city, Dash suddenly realized the source of his unease.

Although Lugaash was clearly an old Arabic location and the dress of the peoples was clearly a mix of Arab, Indian and even European styles, the age, sights, smells, colors and even the mass and closeness of the people had subconsciously been reminding him of the city of Santiago, Cuba -- and the insane charge up Kettle Hill.

Dash walked to the stern of the airship and watched Lugaash get smaller and smaller, trying to shrug off his memories of mud, blood, and "The Colonel".
This message was last edited by the player at 06:39, Wed 30 Sept 2015.

Charles answers with hesitation.
None in the running or management of the ship. I have only ridden in airships as a passenger or rarely scouting positions.  As an old soldier, I can aid in the defense if we are attacked.

In reply to Charles Harris (msg # 79):

Grimsby responded warmly, "Another stalwart feeder is always welcome. The Vril have shown themselves to be dangerous foes, as my own injuries could attest."