In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 170):

Titus holds up a finger in the universal sign that Ciryl can understand meaning...


One minute.

He makes gestures to Brennan.
This message was last edited by the player at 19:55, Fri 03 Aug 2018.

Ciryl slaps Titus again, this time in the back of his head, "Words dammit!"

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 172):

"Titus promised Jack that he'd not say a word. I've translated fully."

He frowns.

"I'm worried they know that you're a Chosen, and thus guess you're an associate. but if you're willing to try a diplomatic approach, I can't think of another way to do it safely."
This message was last edited by the player at 00:11, Sat 04 Aug 2018.

In reply to Brennan Otthild (msg # 173):

When Titus gets slapped he cocks his hand back reflexively as if to punch his other hand goes from the universal one minute gesture to one that is much ruder.  When Brennan chimes in he glares at Ciryl and lowers his fist.

Generally its better to try diplomacy before violence, as opposed to the other way around... it can always escalate if need be.

Don't suppose you know what limitations they have on this remote viewing?  Should we assume that... like if one of them knows at least one other knows?

Titus shudders

Thats creepy.  Someone should write a play about that...

"Oh," Ciryl looks at Titus after Brennan's explanation, "Fine then," he says with a short, apologetic nod,   "They can think what they want. I've sold more to skeptics than a story before," Ciryl says to Brennan once more, "You said yourself, I'm a businessman.  I'll deal with the inquisition.  You lot see what rules you can determine Jack plays by.  We need that if anyone's going to beat him.  Do you have any idea where in town the inquisitor is?"

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 175):

"They can't view us at will. Only at very specific moments," Brennan says. "Essentially, whenever I look at them, they can look at me. It doesn't seem to work that way in reverse though. One of many secrets I have left to unravel."

"So I can figure out where this guy is, yes, but at the risk of him figuring out where we are. Would you rather search the old fashioned way?"

"Aye, that's probably for the best.  Should we have some kind of signal or place to leave a message in case I don't get executed and can't leave them long enough to meet up with the rest of you?  Figure out what you can about Jack. If we can't divine any rules about him, what he's trying to accomplish might give us something to work with."

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 177):

Titus acknowledges Ciryl's apology with a nod and a quick smile.

The inquisition is bad for the brotherhood.  Dealing with them would be a good idea.  As for our part, I think it is best if we bent our collected will to finding out what he wants and his capabilities.

He has left me with significant slack to interpret his will, and I completed the task that has been asked of me.  I likely won't receive new instructions until tonight...

Titus looks to Deev,

Deev, will you go with Ciryl, watch his back and come find us if something happens to him? Ciryl any ideas on what would be an appropriate signal?

The priests house is now unoccupied, we can take that over as headquarters for a while if need be.  Or would you rather we meet somewhere else?

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 178):

Deev nods vigorously.

"I can do that."

"No," Ciryl shakes his head at the suggestion that Deev join him, "I'm going alone.  Brennan said the Inquisition can see what we are, if there's more than one glowing person together any suspicions they have of collaboration will just be confirmed.  Alone I have the chance of selling myself as just a coincidence."

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 180):

"If the Inquisition's search will eventually lead them to the priest and his home, I don't want to be there when it does. We'll meet elsewhere, after Cyril has returned from his errand."

In reply to Brennan Otthild (msg # 181):

OK, so no Deev, no priest's house.  Shall we meet by the pit?  Ciryl what kind of sign were you thinking of leaving?  Something by the Inn maybe we can check it if you aren't back by afternoon?

Shall I make preparations for a greeting committee for the inquisition or should I wait on that particular option?

In reply to Titus Blackwell (msg # 182):

"Let's wait and see how Cyril's meet-and-greet goes."

In reply to Brennan Otthild (msg # 183):

I've already had two breakfasts this morning... I think its time for a drink.  Ciryl, good luck.  How long should we give you before coming to look for you?

"Not sure.  if I'm not dead in a couple hours I should stay that way for some time," he says with a shrug, "I'll leave something for you at the tavern where we stayed the first night if anything's wrong.  Best of luck." With that Ciryl gives the three a nod and turns his cart back toward the gates to Ducktown.

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 185):

Ciryl leads his cart and mule up the bumpy road to DuckTown proper.

The increased presence and vigilance of the guard is immediately evident: and Ciryl is questioned intensely.  He eventually produces the old note given by the Guildmistress, and is waved gruffly through.

The people of DuckTown are on edge, that much is clear.  The streets are less busy, the talk more hushed, and many businesses remain shuttered.

The guards tromp around in groups of two or three, vigilant but not looking for anything in particular.  Many of these have little arms or armor, likely villagers pressed into service by the Master of Arms.

Ciryl is unharassed on his journey into the center of town, but finds getting into the town square might be difficult.  There is a large knot of armed men there, along with the Masters themselves and an ominous figure in familiar white armor.

The Master of Arms, Master of Hunt, and the Guildmistress are dressed in full armor less their helmets, wearing swords by their sides.  The Inquisitor has the telltale white leather cladded armor from tip to toe, face entirely concealed in a white leather helm and blank mask.

They appear to be talking, sending this or that soldier or clerk off on various tasks.  Ciryl can make out the diminuative form of Pika bobbing and hopping about like a squirrel with her books and quill.

The townsfolk, however, keep clear and Ciryl will not be able to hear the talk of the Masters without wandering directly into this impromptu base of operations.

Ciryl stops his cart outside the square and sighs at the sight that greets him, Well, there's that all gone to pot. He thinks as he lowers himself from the cart, Let's see what my charity's earned me then.  He begins making his way to the knot of the masters and inquisitor, cane in hand.  He does all he can to look humble about his approach, head bowed and pace slow, even for him.

Once he's within earshot, or one of the armed guards stops him he raises his head and calls out cautiously, "Lord Inquisitor?" his voice carrying with the practiced expertise of a professional barker.

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 187):

DuckTown Square

Ciryl is indeed stopped by a number of men who rush over and, albeit gently, bar his approach.

The Inquisitor turns slowly at the hips.  Although it's likely just psychological or a trick of the light, Ciryl has the distinct feeling that the gaze emitted through the dark eyeslit in the helmet is a very physical thing, a beam of probing energy that digs into his very flesh.

The Inquisitor does not speak, but gestures to the guards to deal with the situation, instead turning back to the Masters.

"I... what do you want?" a soldier asks, clearly caught off guard.  This man is a proper DuckTown soldier, clad in mail and carrying a heavy spear.  "The... he's busy you see, doesn't want anyone interrupting his operations unless they got leads."

"I was told you would be here, Lord Inquisitor.  That you would need help with the demon," Ciryl says, again loud enough to be heard.  He doesn't attempt to push past the soldier or resist him at all, but neither does he even spare the man a glance, "Th-there's no circle!  Does that mean anything to you?" Ciryl looks thoughtful for a moment, clearly trying to come up with something, "He's not bound to anyone, or they're bound to him?  Is that unusual?"

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 189):

Town Square

"Um..." the guard looks to the Inquisitor and the assembled Masters.

All hold their breath until the Inquisitor raises one hand and beckons to Ciryl with his finger.

The guards escort Ciryl into the open circle, beside a small fountain with an empty stone pedestal in the center.

The Master of Hunt and Master of Arms close in beside Ciryl.

"Speak, Alchemist," the Master of Arms quietly beseeches.  "Tell us what you know and how you came to know this."

"I don't," Ciryl begins, his tone carries far less confidence than his sales pitches of the last several days.  He does his best to play up uncertainty and nervousness even as he chooses his words very carefull, "I don't know much.  I was told, you see.  And how I know is... well that's another matter and I don't," he holds up a hand as if to silence an objection that hasn't come and takes a deep breath, "You'll think me mad but if this is what I have to do," he raps the end of his cane on the ground once and gathers up his well emphasized nerves.

"Spring Heel Jack is an old one.  He has no circle and he was not summoned.  He binds men to his pact, and burns the virgin sacrifices." Ciryl's tone is as if reciting something from memory and once finished his shoulders sag and he rolls his head in frustration, "I heard it in a dream," he confesses, clearly not expecting the statement to carry any weight, "I was told that, I was told to turn back, and I was told I would find one inquisitor in the center of town who had to know.  And now I sound like a right ass, but you," Ciryl points to the Master of Arms, "One of your men was there and he saw it.  Well, he saw the fire, at least, Ciryl's nervous tone returns, "Last night, or two nights ago?  I haven't slept since this damned dream.  He saw the fire and we were talking to something, and he couldn't see that.  It was a demon that called himself Jack.  Ciryl suddenly jumps and turns to the inquisitor, "Not to be misunderstood sir, he spoke in the common tongue, plain words.  I'm no demonspeaker.  I don't know fell from chicken scratch, I swear that on my life."  He sighs, looking at the inquisitor with the most pitiable expression he can manage, "In the dream, it also said... I was told you would be able to see too.  Do you know what's happened to me, sir?"

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 191):

Town Square

The Masters and the Inquisitor listen intently, while the guards cast one another worried glances.

The Master of Arms, resplendent in heavy plate, rests his hand tentatively on the hilt of his longsword.  The Master of the Hunt, wearing battered splint-mail covered with dark furs, thumbs the back of the axe at his belt.

The Inquisitor steps toward Ciryl, his movements stilted like an insect or a bird of prey.

"I may know," he responds without an ounce of compassion.  "And I shall help."

He gestures to the guards.

"Take him somewhere private.  I will follow shortly to speak."

The guards begin to jostle Ciryl from the square.

OOC: holding for objections or a fight.

Ciryl Jerks his free hand away from the guards as they begin to jostle him and glares at the man coldly, "I may have a cane but I can walk.  He said he would help me.  It's a good man who says he'll help a stranger, 'swhat I based my career on."  Ciryl looks at the assembled armed men as they finger their weapons and gives a sharp nod and 'hmph' before gesturing for the guard to lead on less forcefully.

In reply to Ciryl Fontaine (msg # 193):

Town Square

After getting some specifics with the Master of Arms, Ciryl is led out of the town square, through the watching throng and to a gatehouse on the eastern wall.  It is a tall squared structure built of logs, and from the top one would have a view down of the main road running around DuckTown, and of the mountain range that borders the Kingdom.

Ciryl is not taken up the ladder to the top, however, instead he is ushered into the bottom chamber, which is a simple room with a fireplace on one wall, bunks on a second, and gear and weapons stowed on a third.

A young guardsman stands to attention when the door is opened, eyeing Ciryl curiously.

Ciryl's escorts follow him into the room, then take the young guard and leave, noting they will wait outside and Ciryl should make himself comfortable until the Inquisitor arrives.

The top of the ladder leading up is closed off with a simple trap door, so Ciryl is very much alone for what he figures is a quarter of an hour.

Finally, the door snaps open and the Inquisitor swirls in with a gust of cold air from outside.

He gestures for Ciryl to take a seat, and sits down across from the Alchemist.

"Tell me your story," the Inquisitor directs, voice betraying no emotion.  "Tell me the details of your day prior to the dream, the details of the dream, and what you have done since."

OOC: And gee, roll Bluff

"Oh, uh, the day prior..." Ciryl scratches the back of his head, "Well, see I came to town three days before, y'see.  And the town were having trouble with girls gone missing, and I had some men who were traveling with me on the road, mercenary types, and while I was here they was trying to help the Master of Arms with the problem, right?  So the day before the dream, I'd sold out of most of my supplies, and the guildmistress said that was as long as I could work here anyway.  Um, I sold some fireworks, just little ones, to a boy who'd been pestering me ever since I came to town.  And when I was closing up shop, the men asked me to come help them with a trap to find the person responsible for all the kidnappings.  So we go, and one of them gets himself captured on purpose, and we follow along outside of town and wait until the man in charge comes to question him, I suppose.  And when he gets there we spring the trap and there was the Master of Arms's archer to help and so we have this fellow in charge on the ground with an arrow in his leg.  And I say we, but honestly I didn't do much, I'm no fighter.  I just kept watch, and there was some boys who might've been involved, just like urchins and the sort I think, but we have the fellow in charge and he tells us the girls were for Jack, and we'll have to deal with Jack now and as he says this everything gets dark.  But it was night time, so it got even more dark and the fires we could see sputtered and there was this sort of shape that was hard to see, but it grew a face.  Kinda like the gourds you see in front of houses, just holes in the dark with embers or fire behind.  And it starts talking, but like I said, the archer was confused and kept asking who was I talking to.  The thing, Jack, he spoke in questions, like riddles.  He talked about wanting friends and playing games.  I might've got a bit outraged at one point, my gut got the better of my head and in an instant there was a ring of fire.  He offered to make a deal and frankly that sounded much better than burning to death," realizing who his audience is, Ciryl holds up a finger and waggles it to the inquisitor, "But I'm a businessman, it's been several years now I make deals to keep my life.  I didn't swear my soul to a demon on the spot or something stupid, don't misunderstand m'lord.  I asked what he offered, what he wanted.  I know how to haggle.  I hoped I might strike a deal that got him out of town, or to return the girls, but he offered gold. He tried to make everything sound so simple, if I just agreed with him, but I wanted to know what he wanted in exchange for his deal and he wouldn't say.  Before I could do any more one of the mercenaries, he said he'd take gold in exchange for not burning, and then Jack was gone."

Ciryl shrugs and sighs, leaning back into his chair as he'd crept closer and closer to the inquisitor over the course of the story, "We put out the fires and took the injured man we thought was in charge back to the Master.  One of his men was killed, but had a dying request, so I wasn't there but I'm told the man was killed in the streets on his way, I'd blame Jack for that.  After that night we left, I didn't know what more I could do and I was low on supplies.  One of my men said the inquisition would be along, he seemed the superstitious type.  We traveled down the road a ways and made camp, nothing much happened.  But that night I had a dream.  It was strange, but it was just words, or a voice.  It told me what you heard me say back in town about Jack, it told me where to find you and that I had to go back and help.  After I woke up I packed my cart and turned back the way I'd come.  I went past town to where we'd seen Jack before, I wanted to check y'know, make sure I could remember, or that there weren't something important there maybe you could need, but it was all just the same, so I came to meet you." Ciryl shrugs and looks at the inquisitor dumbly with the conclusion.

There's a moment of silence where his eyes dart around before he ultimately decides that, being in private as they are his original plan might not be as impossible as he thought, "I might not have thought anything about it, but it's not the first time I've had such a dream.  Once before, when I lost my leg," Ciryl scoots his chair back so that he can reach down and rap on his wooden shin for the inquisitor's benefit, "I had a dream with the same voice.  I'd gone to church, I begged for God or angels or demons all what might help me, it was a bad time in my life.  The voice, it told me those who seek aid should give it, 'spart of why I started traveling and selling medicine, y'know trying to help more people.  It just felt like I could believe it, I suppose. Like it were truth, not just a dream.  Doing work like that I got my wooden leg and made good money here and there, but some years later I had a second dream, it said I'd done good work and good works would be done to me in return.  I woke up and, well it was very different after that.  The real reason I came back, is because the dream said you could see.  I've never met anyone who could see it before, I've got some suspicions but I'm still not entirely sure." Ciryl looks the inquisitor straight in his eyeslit, bearing the weight of his gaze as he furrows his brow, "Sir, do you know what color I am?"

((2x3 bluff))