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[Blades] Stealing the Red Lamp (Fr 1.2, Ri 1.2, Va 1.2)
Frog, Ring and Vauri,
You set up a meet with Madame Tesslyn outside the Red Lamp. She sends back a coded message agreeing to see you the next evening. She met you at the Canalwalk in Bushview at dusk.
Tesslyn is in her late forties, with a face and body that was once incredible to behold, but now has sagged with age. She's still attractive, especially those lovely green eyes of hers. Many have fallen for her over the years. You have heard how she worked her way up the ladder to run the Red Lamp, rung by rung, from runner, the fluffer, to harlot, to hostess, to madame. It has been a hard life for a girl who was born in an alley and left to the orphanage, but she's not a complainer.
Here she is:
She's wearing a nicely tailored dress and overcoat in this pissy rain, smartly dressed, perhaps a season out of fashion, though. Her umbrella protects her from the patter of oily rain, plus the one of you walking beside her. Who is it?
Who's trailing behind, keeping an eye out for unwanted viewers or eavesdroppers?
Who's walking on the rainside of her?
Passers-by in the other direction nod or ignore you, just a group of people walking and talking from the look of it. Right?
"Your offer is quite tempting. My girls have enjoyed your Guild's services from time to time, a couple have attended Claude's services." Madame Tesslyn says politely, with a genial air, "My concerns are thus. Do you have the Bravos to protect my girls and house and the will to maintain a good working arrangement? And secondly, I have no wish to sign my name to Mylera's shit list. I would desire a forceful takeover... meaning the pair of Red Sashes currently sleeping in two of my finer beds and eating my best food would be eliminated, and as far as anyone else knows, you took the Red Lamp..." She bats her eyes suggestively, "By force."
You set up a meet with Madame Tesslyn outside the Red Lamp. She sends back a coded message agreeing to see you the next evening. She met you at the Canalwalk in Bushview at dusk.
Tesslyn is in her late forties, with a face and body that was once incredible to behold, but now has sagged with age. She's still attractive, especially those lovely green eyes of hers. Many have fallen for her over the years. You have heard how she worked her way up the ladder to run the Red Lamp, rung by rung, from runner, the fluffer, to harlot, to hostess, to madame. It has been a hard life for a girl who was born in an alley and left to the orphanage, but she's not a complainer.
Here she is:
She's wearing a nicely tailored dress and overcoat in this pissy rain, smartly dressed, perhaps a season out of fashion, though. Her umbrella protects her from the patter of oily rain, plus the one of you walking beside her. Who is it?
Who's trailing behind, keeping an eye out for unwanted viewers or eavesdroppers?
Who's walking on the rainside of her?
Passers-by in the other direction nod or ignore you, just a group of people walking and talking from the look of it. Right?
"Your offer is quite tempting. My girls have enjoyed your Guild's services from time to time, a couple have attended Claude's services." Madame Tesslyn says politely, with a genial air, "My concerns are thus. Do you have the Bravos to protect my girls and house and the will to maintain a good working arrangement? And secondly, I have no wish to sign my name to Mylera's shit list. I would desire a forceful takeover... meaning the pair of Red Sashes currently sleeping in two of my finer beds and eating my best food would be eliminated, and as far as anyone else knows, you took the Red Lamp..." She bats her eyes suggestively, "By force."
Comments
"I... can provide force, Madame Tesslyn. Tell me which rooms they occupy, and they shall no longer be... sleeping... in your beds."
Who me? I am just haggling with this apple vendor.
Who me? I simply must inspect this silversmith's windowfront by his arclight.
Who me? I picked up the flimsy with today's dog races, pondering today's bet.
Sometimes ahead, sometimes behind, but always on the move and always alert and watching. Frog and Ring will get me the details. Vauri is working.
I'm weird this way, but sort of enjoy the frequent rain. And it's recent enough that I was imprisoned standing in the rain still feels free and empowering. I'm paying attention to Frog's conversation with the madam, of course, occasionally nodding. This doesn't seem like it'll be much of a problem. Of course, we don't really have the Bravos to keep them safe, but we'll figure something out.
Vauri, if you're looking to pick some pockets, then why don't you make a Risky Move here?
Ring, how did you dress for this affair? How do you normally appear? You seem pretty classy to me. Do you have the duds to match your education and class?
Just now I'm at sort of a low point. The guild isn't rolling in cash and I just got out. I'd certainly prefer classy duds, but now I'm wearing little better than rags -- well, maybe not rags, but a plain grey scholar's wrap. But that's not what I'm meant for and things are looking to get better. At least so long as Frog doesn't burn up our profits indulging his vice...
I grin, slow and a bit feral but not intentionally threatening. "Madame Tesslyn, I believe you and I will make fine friends."
I straighten my shabby tophat. It has been a long, long time.
Ah, a dog. Man's best friend. But in this case, a woman's best asset. I'll quietly catch the dog's attention with a few morsels of steamed meat pie as the couple converses about mindless nothings. Of course, via shop window reflections, I'm still eyes on Mme. Tesslyn and entourage... that parasol, far too gaudy for me. I refrain from clucking my tongue. I shan't judge her taste. She is the client.
Then it's a simple matter of choosing the proper moment to toss a mouth-watering remainder of pie down the lane. The dog should slip loose its leash — what chance it's been partially cut! — and the gentleman caller should chase down the pooch for his lady fair.
Even with my skill, the earrings are likely to draw attention if they are removed. I shall focus on the purse, and slip it beneath my hooded cloak.
(Rolled: 4d6. Rolls: 6, 4, 6, 2. Total: 18)
You snatch the purse as the "gentlemanly" suitor takes off after the dog, then skulk away with your goodies. You find one Coin worth of goods, including a sealed invitation to a party in the governor's estate. What catches your eye among the items this young lady carried?
Some yappy dog takes off past you, and a dockworker bumbles past, not bothering to apologize for bumping you, Frog, as well as the Madame. Her eyes flare with irritation, but then it evaporates quickly. "How soon can you come, my dear Frog?"
The dockworker's brush past is insignificant. As with every interaction since the shackles came off and I could feel the Tempest in my throat and the spirit world in my pulse, I know I could end him if I chose, and, like a merciful god, I choose not to.
I ignore the Madame's innuendo... a bit crass and gaudy like the parasol, and it shows the wear at Tesslyn's seams a bit. However, "No time like the present, my love... no time like the present." The smile this time is more genuine, warmer.
"A party," I hungrily whisper to myself in the side alley, my eyes alight as a child's. I turn the heavy cream vellum of the cunningly folded envelope in my hands, its red and blue wax seal oh so tempting. I feel like the devil child this time. A whole Coin for finery and maybe a coach, my sister and I would command an absolute rapture of attention. And just think of the people we would meet! The governor's estate, the right sorts of circles, a small crew working the crowd in a number of senses.
I can't wait.
I make short work of the rest of the contents and the purse itself, disposing of items in trash bins, or the odd beggar's cup, or the waterway. I double back a few times to keep the crew in sight and to throw off the track.
I almost pass it off as a tin of makeup or patent medicine. but it faintly sings with music or power. I take a closer look, spotting the finely etched copper and silver runes, the sygaldry engravings glinting in the nearby spirit light. I wrap it in a silk cloth from the lady fair, tuck it away. I must share these with the Guild.
Madame Tesslyn gives a sly little smirk, and says, "Come to visit the Lamp tonight, Mister Frog. Bring coin... to allay suspicions. And perhaps some new clothing?" She nods her head, still smiling, then stops. "Thank you, gentlemen. I'm quite interested in future business with you and yours."
Unless you have more to discuss with her, she'll leave.
What do you do?
I am satisfied, and unconcerned with the sartorial insult.
"That went well enough but the proof will be when the coin starts coming in. You be careful tonight. Who should go along?"
"Careful. Yes, I shall be careful, cunning one. As to the company I'll keep, I am uncertain of most of these young people as yet. Any thoughts from you? Perhaps someone quick with a blade in case these Sashes cannot be made to see reason?"
My eyes flash with internal lightning. Just once, a flicker and gone.
Mme Tesslyn is on her way, and I spot along, seeing who takes interest in her. Ring and Frog are conversing also. I make my way underneath awning here and using a newspaper there. Is anyone watching my guildmates?
"Backup is good, to be sure. But do find out if these Bravos are open to a new employer. Might be you could help them see the future -- one where the only red sashes to be found adorn corpses in the gutter."
edited to add:When you want to know something that your character might know, but isn’t obvious, you’ll make an assessment roll. Choose a talent that relates to the situation at hand, and then roll your ability.
6: Ask up to three questions. 4, 5: Ask up to two questions. 1-3: Ask one question.
When you ask questions, start with one of the assessment questions related to the talent you’re using. If you have extra questions, you can ask more assessment questions, or ask any follow-up questions you like. The GM will answer honestly.
That's a Lurk roll.
(Rolled: 3d6. Rolls: 6, 5, 4. Total: 15)
What's hidden here?
There's a man watching Madame Tesslyn, and your compatriots. He's on the second floor of a building nearby, watching from the window. He has a rifle, but he's not aiming with it, you catch it in the reflection of the open window.
You don't recognize him. He's in his late twenties, thin, wearing a thick ruddy coat.
Does he look like he works for Mme. Tesslyn, or the Red Sashes, or some third party?
On the man's left arm is a red sash. He may or may not recognize your friends. But he's probably wise to something being up. If you want to keep this on the down low, you'll need to do... something.
What should I be on the lookout for?
Well, the rifle. I mean... it looks nice. He could shoot you.
But the real deal is, if he recognizes any of you three Eyes, then he'll know something's up, and then he'll tell his higher-ups, which means they will probably double up security, or maybe just burn the Red Lamp to the ground rather than lose it to another Guild.
Very well then. The thing to do is to quietly get up there and disable him- perhaps a sleeping draught or thrown out the window? Depending on his loyalty, mayhap he could be turned.
I'll signal discretely to my companions. I've not been made yet. A prime advantage.
Are you giving a heads up to your compatriots? Or going it alone?
I'm going to say this is a Risky Move and definitely a Lurk roll. Yes, charging off like this is probably "daring".
(Rolled: 4d6. Rolls: 3, 4, 4, 3. Total: 14)
Naturally, I shall signal my compatriots. But we mustn't all exeunt at once, lest we tip the enemy and show weakness to our courting client. If only our cant was superior... But a few handsigns that there's danger above and to stay alert are easily done.
With Tesslyn heading down the boardwalk and Vauri's signal to process, I stop, looking into the first shop, I begin appraising the fur-lined cloaks in a milliner's window. They're really quite nice. But I'm also taking advantage of the large window to search the reflections for the subject of Vauri's warning. And perhaps track Vauri's movement.
You break off from the group as Madame Tesslyn heads towards the closest bridge over to the governor's ward. Ducking into an alley, you move quick and quiet up a set of metal stairs to the second story and ease open the door into the hallway.
The hallway splits the small flats in this building, where many of the shopkeeps below live or store goods. The second door on the left is slightly ajar, and you push it open slightly to catch the rifleman at the window. He's moved back from the window and is hunched down, scribbling into a small notebook.
Ring,
You catch Vauri heading down an alley and up. Now that she gave you the heads up, you're able to spot the lookout. Looks like he's wrapping up, and may be trying to leave soon.
Sight
(Rolled: 3d6. Rolls: 2, 6, 2. Total: 10)
What is supernatural here?
Keeping an eye on his notebook, I want it, and his rifle. Tut tut, it would be most nice if Bricks were here to sort this fellow. I should think Frog or Ring would be better to make an offer to flip from the Red Sashes. A quick check of my frustratingly empty pockets — I must get with Ring and work up a supply of useful alchemical substances for the Guild — I daren't even touch the engraved item without careful inspection, yet I do have a set of picks and the like. Child's play to lock him into his room.
Along the canal here, this close to the Governor's ward, there is nothing of supernatural significance here.
Vauri,
Child's play? Maybe in a calm hall with nobody coming. I'm going to call this a Desperate Gamble here. Failure, and you're probably still working on the lock when he pushes the door open.
Once I've seen Vauri enter the building, I'll wait until the spook has turned away and then pull my robe up at the collar as if I'm heading out and start walking. When I attain a position next to the door Vauri entered, I'll follow her in.
(Rolled: 4d6. Rolls: 4, 6, 6, 2. Total: 18)
You ease the door closed, fiddle with the lock, and the rifleman had no clue. Moments later, the knob twists slightly, but doesn't budge. Then, he shoulder butts it, but no dice. either.
Ring,
You're able to catch up to Vauri, who is standing in a hallway above the hat-maker's shop.
Frog,
Ring heads down the alleyway away, and Madame is gone. What about you?
As it is, child's play. There's a wicked, self-satisfied smile on my face as Ring shows up. I glance at him, nod, and point to the door. I lean in to whisper. "One of the Sashes' riflemen. He's got a notebook." I look around, questioningly, for Frog.
I'll follow Ring down the alley and up the stairs, keeping a discreet distance.
I turn and look down the stairs I just ascended right as the door opens for Frog. And turn with raised eyebrows to Vauri. Whispering back as Frog joins us, "What's he up to?" I make a shooting gesture to ask if he looks primed for an assassination.
I point two fingers at my eyes, then jab them at Ring and Frog in turn. You've been made. I make a one-fisted tying motion at my bicep; Red Sashes; for Frog's benefit. Then I scribble with a finger in my palm, then close a book and tuck it into an imaginary vest pocket.
I draw a finger across my throat. It'll be cheaper to contain this here, with one guy. I gesture interrogatively at the lock and start considering other options. Is there a window at the end of this hall? If so, is there a ledge outside that one could travel along? Sadly, I'm not very useful here.
I begin whispering syllables that sound like a cross between wind and the hooting of owls in the distance, focusing my attention on the door. Tendrils of mist drip from the sleeves of the dead man's coat I wear, across my hands, and pool on the floor. The strands move through the gap at the bottom of the cheaply made door, questing for the rifleman. I envision him standing in the center of the room, uncertain whether we are coming for him, considering a move for the window. My will infuses the mist, reaching out for his wrists, his ankles.
(Rolled: 4d6. Rolls: 2, 6, 6, 5. Total: 19)
What do Vauri and Ring see?
Still whispering, I smile. I close my hands into a fist and beyond the door, the rifleman is bound. Vaporous spirit essence flows into his mouth, silencing a scream and replacing the breath in his lungs. From our side of the door, we hear something like a sigh and then a series of small thumps - the body falling to the wooden floor and twitching a few times before finally stilling permanently. The supernatural mist withdraws back to me, along the floor, across my hands, up into the sleeves of my coat.
I shudder slightly. "It is... done."
I pat Frog on the shoulder pretty hard, relieved at not having to climb out the window. "Good job, my man! Can someone open the door, then?"
I'm composed. But my opinion of Frog... I must take better stock of this odd man. I nod with appreciation of his competence, a tight smile. Volette could tell how I feel... and probably tease me for it.
"Naturally, Ring!" A supple twist of my wrist and the door is open. I hurry myself and my compatriots inside before anyone comes along.
Vauri opens the door and you three quickly enter. Inside is what appears to be a storage area, hundreds of small wooden and paper boxes for hats of various sizes. Some in rows, some less organized. On the floor, stone dead, is a thin man in a ruddy coat in his twenties.
Ring, you taught this man once, when you tutored. What subject did he learn? Was he a good student?
Who filches his pocketses?
Oh, it's this guy?! "Blainbus!" As a child, he was studying all the subjects of course, but he ignored a lot of them to concentrate on Cyclic Poetry of early Imperial Akoros. It was remarkable for such a young man to develop the hypothesis that the poetry was used ritually, accounting for the seemingly bizarre aesthetic.
I'll look for his breast pocket, where Vauri indicated he put his notebook. And peruse it aloud when it's found.
"Frog, did you siphon off the gentleman's spirit essence or is it still sitting here?"
I see Ring is on the rascal's pockets. I should like to specifically untie his Red Sash and tuck it away, should it be needed. Can the rifle be obviously broken down, or hidden in perhaps a coat box here? By chance, I happen to look at a few choice hats, in case one would match my sister's eyes. Or mine.
I'm worried about the spirit essence. I make a small sign with my fingers, poor final rites indeed. "Frog?" I don't know enough about what he can do.
As to his life before... "Ring, do you know anything of this chap Blainbus?"
I'm keen to hear about the notebook, but I murmur, "Should we read it elsewhere?"
"Quite right; he was an above average student though easily distracted. From a mercantile family, I thought -- must have been a cover. It's been ten or fifteen years since I was providing his tutelage."
I had forgotten after so long with no access to the preternatural flow and whirl of the world beneath and beyond, forgotten how it feels to be a vessel for that power. Forgotten also how little others understand and how confused and frightened they can become.
"Your... pupil's essence remains with his body for now. Perhaps with proper equipment I could extract it directly, but as it is, I only project."
Kneeling by the dead man, regarding Frog. Then back to this Blainbus, his essence... It never seems right to burn a body; that is, to destroy a spirit with electroplasm. I feel troubled. I know the value and the worth of that exotic substance. But it is not what I want when my time comes. "Frog, what do you mean, 'project'?"
I discreetly close the window and resume my search for a means of absconding with a rifle and two hats.
"This building isn't under our protection, is it?" I stuff the notebook into a pouch in my wrap and start considering. "Actually, this is perfect. I can see it clearly. We can move these boxes with their fancy hats into a great heap in the middle of the room, inscribe a circle about them, toss old Blainbus on the top and light the place up. A minute or two of ritual incantation -- Cyclic Poetry as a mark of respect and then we can skedaddle and let the place burn. With a little luck, his shade will rise, dedicated to our protection and with inside knowledge of the 'sashes. What a lovely opportunity!"
I start moving boxes as quietly as possible, to get things in order.
All the hats?
I know I'm going to have to go to services after this.
I raise no objections. I do, however, ignore Vauri's question. Pointless to make the attempt at explanation.
"This is so great. Usually the act of acquiring quicksilver, pearls, peacock feathers, etc is a boring and costly effort. But burning a hat-shop rolls that all into one operation. I can't believe I never thought of this before!"
"You know though, it looks like this room is going to be crowded once the pyre is built, I wonder if there's another room we can put the extra hats in, just to get them out of the way. Do either of you know this building?"
I put my finger to my lips, close my eyes, thinking, remembering what I saw from the street. "First a bookkeeper's, then this millner's, then a fortunetellers quorum, then last the stairs to these flats. I open my eyes, facing my cohorts. "We might get lucky with a room for let or storage for the clerks."
We can start by building the pyre from the nicest looking stuff, stacking box on box, leaving an ignition chamber in place to kick things off. And we can stack extra boxes up in the corners as much as possible. And then we'll see what we have to do to make it work -- cross the canal when we come to it. If we need to ditch more boxes to make rooms, we'll figure it out. Maybe block off the hallway or something.
And then I can sketch out the lightning-runes around the fire. Once we start the blaze, We'll travel the circle three times, each of us at 120-degrees around the circle, chanting.
I'm explaining everything in sufficient detail to get it moving, but doing so as I work. "You guys understand what to do?"
And then we do it!
Let's call this a Risky Move.
I will help however I can setting up. "Once we are ready. I can provide a breeze to fan the flames, increase the heat of the blaze. Tongues of flame licking toward the ceiling, consuming the dead, consuming..." Another smile.
I can aid with some backup planning; surely there are some exotic substances in these hats that have alchemical significance. Mercury certainly, perhaps some ghost dust...
Frog, are you doing anything before leaving?
Who fetched the journal? It's written in code, of course.
So we're clear - the cost of this is that this young woman, Primrose Harper, the eldest daughter of the shopkeep, will see at least Vauri and Frog, and the fire. She'll head off screaming, but it will be a few minutes before the Bluecoats show up. Even longer for a bucket brigade to form up.
What do you do?
I watch the fire for a few breaths, then walk to the door. The shopkeeper's daughter concerns me little. In a panic, running for for help, she is unlikely to remember enough about us to bring down the heat.
I grabbed the notebook, but we decided to investigate it later, after we've cleared the scene.
He's just a shimmer for now, heatwaves over the bread oven, only not where they ought to be. If he dodges danger long enough, could be he'll pick up more of a form when he wants it. He'll find a way to communicate with us -- whispering into my dreams, leaving notes scratched into the wall, or maybe possessing a friend and reciting poetry with hints; it's different for each of them. But now it's time to go.
If we happen to be accosted by Miss Primrose, I'll ape a mug and tell her "Sashes have a memory an' shouldna' be ignored!" before pushing her and departing. Otherwise, I expect we'll just skulk away home.
Skinner isn't there. In fact, the place is nearly empty, just Cinnamon Socks smoking a pipe and singing. What's the song, Frog?
Vauri, of the hats you took, which one is your favorite? And yes, you absconded with the rifle, too, of course.
I make haste. A little regretfully. Fire is not a thing to trifle with. I think of Miss Harper.
What, this? It's a fetching little number in dark red velvet, nearly black. Almost like a man's bowler, but smaller and meant to be worn askew, with a veil. Very flash. But wait til my sister sees hers — !
And Bricks will surely enjoy this rifle. But I'll present it to Skinner first, of course. Protocol.
Cinnamon Socks does stop. He's got his feet up on a table, an empty metal plate on the table by his right foot with a grease-covered fork in the middle of it. "Allo, Vauri, Ring an Frog." He sits up a little straighter, but tries to play it off like he meant to sit up anyways. "Ave a good night?"
(I'm thinking we can roll this to a Jobs set-up, if you like)
Cinnamon Socks should sing more frequently. I offer him a warm smile from a pretty girl to help his self-worth. "Could be better, could be worse," thinking of the rifle, the invitation, the hats, my sister, and the dead Sash. "How fares your night? Did the horse steer the gondola yet?"
Cinnamon Socks chuckles, "Not yet, Vauri. Still workin on it." He doesn't miss the rifle, raises his brows in a question about it,
Who of you stays in the Tower? Who resides elsewhere?
I have no place else, at the moment. I will curl up in a corner, if I have to. "Did your mother teach you that song, Socks?"
I pretend to be demure, but I can't hold it. "An acquisition," I say, placing the rifle down. "For the Guild armory." I should think it's a fair wedge better than a board with a nail.
"Ah no, brother Frog." Cinnamon Socks says with a dramatic roll of his hand. "My grammy taught me. Me mom died o' the plague when I's a wee one." He shrugs, like he's not asking for pity, just telling his tale. "From what I 'ear, grammy was a much better cook than me mom."
When you explain it's an addition to the armory, Vauri, Cinnamon nods approval, "Good, good. We all know the great and wondrous Bricks will approve."
I don't blush. "Cinna, what should I keep eyes out to nick for you?"
Cinnamon Socks gives you a wide smile, wide enough to show the missing upper tooth near the back on the left side of his mouth, "Oh, sweet little Vauri. If you could ever steal me a few moments with a lady as pretty as yourself who doesn't mind the comp'ny of a man of... my stature. That would do nicely." He chuckles, and gives you a sly wink. He's one of the better gondoliers in the ward, has the kind of genial wit and charm that he uses with self-depreciation and compliments to others to disarm them.
I stay in the tower. In the basement, there's a laboratory of sorts, across from the Well of Eyes. I have a bed-roll under a workbench.
I nod to Cinnamon Socks and let the others talk. I'm grabbing a bowl of stew from the common pot and sit down near the lamp to look over the notebook that Blainbus was using.
Decoding the notebook would certainly be a Cipher roll. Now I know you don't have that ability, so I'm going to call for a Spider roll and qualify this as a Risky Move.
(Rolled: 2d6. Rolls: 3, 1. Total: 4)
The journal isn't terribly big, and it's about halfway filled. Blainbus doodled in it, and you recognize some of the way he forms letters, even now the same as when he was young. Otherwise, the code is inscrutable. You know a couple folks who could take a crack at it, but that's pretty expensive.
I've got no good answer for Cinna's flattery, except a sweet smile like a promise. Again, no blushes here! "I'll keep ears and eyes open, Cinna. I doubt the lady for you would be findable by a mere dubber like me alone!"
Cinnamon Socks chortles, "If e'er you find a lock to 'er heart, wheree'er she may be, you do let me know, love." He adjusts his rump in the seat, then swings his big legs up and over the pie tin and stands up, still smoking his pipe.
I deleted the Jobs rolls and fiction, since the Red Lamp still needs to be resolved. Let's figure out how that Claim goes, and then you're probably in a Turf War with the Red Sashes.