The Palace of Broken Glass

It had been one week since Mirai and her caravan arrived in Champoor. The journey had been dangerous, but not half so dangerous as actually lodging in the city. The one bandit raid they'd faced on their way into the city had only lost them a single sell-sword who'd strayed beyond the wagons hoping to earn some extra coin for his heroics. His fellows shook their heads at his foolishness as they buried him. Since marshaling their carts in the shadowed city, however, two more mercenaries have been found dead in alleys, one turned up drugged and barely breathing behind the carts, and another disappeared entirely.

Rufar, the expedition's chief factor, had dealt shrewdly with these unfortunate circumstances. A quiet, dark-haired man from the near-south, Rufar's eyes never seem open further than a suspicious squint. Dressing well in tailored, but modest silks of deep indigo and crimson, the aging tradesman cuts and imposing figure, his piercing eyes narrowing on anyone who provokes his ire.

Two days ago, Rufar made the decision to move the caravan to a new venue. The Palace of Broken Glass purports to be the safest accommodations in the whole of Champoor. Ringed by a high wall of solid, white stone, the estate gives the impression of being older than much of Champoor combined. Its design owes much the great halls of southern spice kings, its buildings topped with rounded domes and the interior furnished in lavish rugs and lit with dangling lamps of orange glass. The most unique feature, however, are the windows of stained glass that are ubiquitous throughout the palace. These fixtures, with no lock, latch, or hinge, are the establishment's namesake.

Now, late into the night, a knock sounded at Mirai's door before the hushed voice of Rufar called out, "Mirai, we need to discuss business." The room was otherwise empty. Tears was nowhere to be found.

The Darktangle - The Den of Vapors

Beneath the city of Champoor, the Darktangle's tunnels run in all directions. Over the years, these catacombs have become a refuge and hive alike. Some find their way into the tangle when the cutthroat streets of the city above prove too dangerous. Others are left there, lost and forgotten. Whatever their reason, the people of Darktangle now share a common home, if no other bond. There are truces, loosely held, but truces nonetheless. In the winding black beneath Champoor, where the walls seep poison and an inhuman chittering haunts the deep, there are enough dangers without the unfortunate turning on each other.

It is for just that reason that many make their way to the Den of Vapors. One of the largest caverns in the whole network, the Den rests beneath one of Champoor's most well-known landmarks, a great hall of white stone adorned with windows of bright, stained glass. The den is so-named for the ghastly green vapors that vent up through the rents in the earth. Despite the sickening haze, many information brokers call the Den their home, so word travels fast when someone new settles in . . . particularly when they carry a pair of fearsome blades and walk with a manticore by their side.

It is here that the man called "The Brass Scropion" has found his reprieve from the hunters in the world above, and it is here that he will soon meet a young woman named Glint, the shadow that skulks these dark tunnels. Many rats have whispered in her ear, and he is not the first stranger to have found his way into her home of late . . .

OOC: Sorry that this is a bit of a rough start, guys. I'm working to bring you all together as quickly as possible, but it's going to take a bit. Mirai will have a bit of business on the surface as the rest are drawn together below in the Darktangle. I just ask that you bare with me as we pull the group together. Enjoy a chance to get to know each other (and establish yourselves with a bit of dialogue and background descriptions).

It stalked along the streets with a menace that cleared a path for the pair to fit through. It bore a human face, one of great beauty, framed by a shaggy, matted mane of russet brown.  Jagja glanced back and forth along the street, examining her new hunting ground with eyes desperate for a meaty treat.  Droplets fell from a watering maw and disappeared under her body to reappear from behind her swinging scorpion tail as she stalked forwards.

"I'm hungry," it growled in Old Realm, the language of the Gods.

"Mhm. I know," replied her taciturn companion.

Jagja sulked and continued to stalk onwards sullenly.

"I'm eating the next man that tries to kill you, then," she grumped.  Her companion simply shrugged.

She did not have to wait long.

Turning off the main tunnel, the pair paused to see if they were being followed in a side tunnel.  The inhuman chittering seemed to quiet and Jagja tensed as, without actually making a sound, a figure swathed in black robes tiptoed along the route the Manticore and her companion had taken. A dark hunger settled in her stomach - she was going to rip this man asunder and eat his heart!  She turned to look to her companion for permission.  But he was not there.

The sound of two drawing swords stopped the would-be stalker in his tracks, and the robed figure turned around. Jagja's companion made no move to attack, circling his shoulders and stretching his neck, making the vertebrae pop - first to the left, then to the right.  Jagja crouched low, preparing to pounce... and the stranger leapt at her companion with blinding speed.

She had travelled now with the Brass Scorpion for a little over two months, and in all that time, he hadn't shown an ounce of fear.  As she watched her quarry leap at her stocky, short companion, she wondered what amazing feat she would see him enact now.  He was a swordsman without peer to her knowledge.  She doubted even the Princes of the Earth were a match for him.

The assailant's blade flashed like burning silver in the dim torch light of the rough cavern tunnel, a blow that would have felled a man with little he could do to avoid it. Somehow though, one of the pair of blades in The Brass Scorpion's hands seemed to turn it aside easily - the flat blade. Jagja had faced these matched swords, so asymmetrical and strange: one wicked, barbed, hooked and fanged, a serrated killing blade - the other a smooth, straight-edged weapon for turning aside blows.  As the Manticore watched, her companion raked his toothed sword into the man's cloak and tore it back, ripping it away.

The fluttering fabric blinded her for a moment as it landed over her face. Jagja tossed her mane and freed herself from the pungent confines where her only sensation had been sweat, blood and darkness.  At last free of the robe, she saw The Brass Scorpion planting his foot in the man's chest and tearing his killing blade from the assassin's torso, rippling muscles making the self-inflicted, ritualistic scaring on his arms coil and squirm like a band if deadly serpents.

"Eat, if you must," grunted The Brass Scorpion, flicking blood from his weapon.  "Just, drag it out of sight if you do.  I don't want every petty criminal in a place like this as my enemy."

Reclined delicately in a deep, soft, fireside chair, Mirai was deep into a well-kept but clearly aged tome, writ in the beautiful, flowing, and to some, pretentious script of shogunate-era dragontongue. There was no tying Tears of Rainfall down - at least, when she wasn't intrigued by the idea, so Mirai relaxed in private, the scent of jasmine tea wafting from the pot next to her.

Torn from the engrossing tale of two rival Gens, competing for the hand of a shogunate lord's beautiful, well-blooded daughter. The intricately detailed battle on the fields  beyond Hollow would have to wait, however. The knock at her door drew Mirai's gaze, and she let out a soft breath, closing the book smoothly. "A moment, please." She announced softly, crossing to her desk to deposit the book next to a parchment sheaf which still glistened with a freshly-written account of their party's casualties and near-casualties... Mirai had taken very good notes, it seemed.

(just going to go ahead and throw out a wits+investigation to see what all she had the insight to record, if you're inclined to provide any more detail. If you want to handle interviewing the drugged one, we can do that in play :D If you aren't inclined to give any more info, that's cool, too: 10:28, Today: Mirai rolled 5 successes using 7d10 with the White Wolf Exalted system with a target of 7 ((9,2,5,4,10,8,9)). )

She crossed to the door quickly, and opened it, revealing herself in a comfortably soft silken sheathe, draped over with a warming robe in her usual, teal-aqua hues. Her hair was drawn back as ever, into her ponytail, fresh-washed from a bath earlier in the evening, and still faintly damp. That gleaming, slightly iridescent butterfly clip was back in her hair. "By all means. I was just reading. Would you like some tea?" She stepped aside to admit the factor, and closed the door in his wake, moving back toward her desk. "... Have your heard more from the company on the drugged man? I'd like to ask him some questions later - I want to find out exactly who is behind these... incidents." she was clearly making meaningful small-talk, as he got in and got settled. She fetched some blank parchment and a writing board, before heading back to the chairs by the fire.

If he wanted tea, she poured him some almost in sync with his request.