Soulriders 5.0: Legend of the Unending Games

Tim, Tom, and Nathan are left alone in the palatial meeting room, aside from Molly, who is presumably there, just haunting the edges of Nathan's perceptions to decide how to proceed, and who to first question.  Some breakfast fixings remain, but most have been devoured (that tiny Bjorn can pack away quite a bit; apparently voodoo works up an appetite).

"Hokay. Let's think about where to start," decides Tom, leaning back against the chair.

"Firstly, your assaliants, Nathan. How'd it go again? They're dead, right? Did THEY leave spirits behind, or anything? And if not... any idea where they came from? They're thugs for hire, by the looks of it, so... might be worth looking into any gangs and stuff around the city."

"There's also tracing Balmer," Tim offers. "I don't have all the details of why Catherine suspects him, but he seems to have some connection with the attack on my family here - and given the relationship between Nathan and Catherine," Tim smirks a bit at this, "it seems he might have some connection with Hathoway as well. I should really fill Catherine in about what's going on - if you haven't yet, Nathan - and find out what she knows about what drove us underground."

"Well, if you're going to start by talking to Catherine, we may as well do that now... if he does have a connection with Hathoway, he's probably supplying him with anabaric tools, or something like that. What exactly was the work you were doing there about, anyway?"

"As best I understand it, the tower - and others like it - supplies anabaric power to the city. Part of what outed Catherine and myself was trying to keep up the tower output for the city defenses when the Starflare arrived."

"You might want to look into Balmer then," Nathan notes, "I don't have much on the thugs - the one they captured is dead, I killed another, and I think some others got away.  But if we can identify either of the dead ones, I have a starting point."

"I can do that, definitely," Tim replies. "The only question I have is whether you've filled her in at all about the fact that both of us are not exactly locals, if you know what I mean. It's going to look odd as hell for me to be asking about Balmer if she doesn't know, and if she DOES know there's no reason to cover the same ground twice."

"No," Nathan says, "I figured it would be wise to wait until you and I were *both* around for that bombshell."

"Just get her to explain it to Nathan or myself, if we need to preserve that particular secret," replies Tom, shrugging. "Do we need to?"

"Well," Nathan says, "We don't.  However, she's the person most likely to notice that something is wrong, and it would be damn useful to be able to ask her questions.  My biggest worry is honestly that she'll work out that something *isn't* right, and I'd really prefer to have come clean without that happening."

"Basically, yeah," Tim agrees. "From what I understand, Nathan's at least got an excuse for why he's not going to remember things he should know. I don't have that luxury - the holes in my knowledge of the world are going to show up in a big hurry, unless she's kept away from me entirely - and why should she?"

"And it'd be nice just in general to have someone who can fill us in without the weird looks, I guess. Gonna go talk to her now?"

"Probably the best plan," Tim says, glancing over at Nathan. "Since I really can't do too much on my own until I get the information about Balmer from her."

"Right. As for myself... I'm thinking of finding Hathoway and offering an alliance," replies Tom. "Fake, of course. I think I've got enough reason. I know Nathan supposedly betrayed me back in Windhurst, so there's half the motivation right there."

"He's not visibly or obviously against me," Nathan notes, "I mean, it's known, but . . . I'm not convinced that will work.  I won't stop you, though, and either way I think we need to track down Catherine and have that conversation as soon as we can."  He looks across at Tim.  "Shall we?"

"No time like the present," Tim agrees.

"Let's, then."

Nathan stands up and makes for the door.  "Are you coming, Tom, or are you going to start your own investigation?"

"I'll come for the time being," replies Tom, shrugging.

The troupe leaves the office, and makes their way into the hallway.  There's distant guards, but before they can be asked for directions, Molly reappears (though, faded in the light of day), and says in a cheerful voice, "Can I help you find anything, Master Shuker?  I've been poking about the palace ... naughty, I suppose, but I think I know where almost everything is, now."

"Hi Molly," he says, mostly for the benefit of Tim and Tom, "We were looking for Catherine; have you seen her?"

Molly gives Nathan a pout before smoothing out her expression.  "I thought you might ask that," she answers.  "This way, then."  She then begins gliding down the hallway until she reaches the entrance to Catherine's room, which is around a corner and a few more rooms down.  There are a few guards scattered around and patrolling the hallways, but none seem to be guarding her room specifically.

"This should be entertaining."

Nathan . . . knocks on the door!  Noises of announcement!

"...them in," Catherine can be heard saying from inside, sounding a bit tired.  A heartbeat later, a maid opens the door and curtsies, standing to one side.

Catherine's rooms are fairly nice, a small antechamber, a sitting room, and doors leading to (presumably) bedroom and study.  Catherine is in the sitting room on a large wing-backed chair, holding a teacup.  A wisp of steam is escaping the kettle.  "Please, have a seat," she says wearily, before looking up.  Her eyes brighten slightly at seeing Tim, but she blushes sharply when she sees Nathan, and nearly spills her tea as she rises to her feet.  "Oh!" she manages.  "Oh, dear, I'm sorry, I hadn't thought-"  She cuts herself off, taking a breath and closing her eyes before she recomposes herself.  "What do I owe this meeting to?" she asks, offering a bright smile, glancing at Tom and Tim before turning her attention back to Nathan.

Molly, at the very edge of Nathan's sight, blows a raspberry at the royal cousin.

Nathan can't help but smile in response to Catherine's reaction, but his expression quickly returns to pensive.

"Catherine, your brother and I need to speak with you - there are things you should know about the day's events."  He glances meaningfully towards her maid.

"Oh, of course," Catherine says, making a small gesture to the maid.  She curtsies, and leaves the room.  Molly glances after her, then crosses her arms and continues watching the scene expectantly.  Once the maid has left, she raises one eyebrow.  "What is it, then?"

I really should have thought this one out beforehand.

"You've . . . noticed that I'm not myself by now, I imagine.  I don't think I've been very composed, over the day."

She sighs, shading her eyes with one hand.  "I understand, entirely," she agrees.  "Truly, I do."

An awkward silence ensues after that, and eventually the redskin speaks up. "Uh, Nathan, I don't think there's a way to break this gently," opines Tom, shifting on his feet.

"So. Um. Catherine, he's not being what you'd call metaphorical when he says he's not entirely himself. He's a Nathan from another world, a pseudo-Nathan, you might say."

Catherine narrows her eyes and stares at Tom for a long minute, before her eyes go over Tim, then Nathan.  She blinks, then says, with unexpected desparation, "Oh, god, you're from Chicago, too?  Do you know how to get back home?  Please tell me you know what's going on!  This place is totally insane!"

"We... might," replies Tom. "It's a long story, one I'm not comfortable I can tell very well. But we do know of a way to get back home. It's just..."

He winces, and sits down on a nearby chair. It strains, slightly, under his weight, but for the time being it holds steady. "Do you know how you came to be here?" he asks, quietly.

"Well...."  She hesitates.  "I was just ... following a stupid impulse.  From a dream.  I was taking the subway, and someone pushed me, and the next thing I knew ... I was here."   She shakes her head.  "I thought I couldn't be the only one, you know ... especially with that creepy inspector guy, but I was never sure before.  What about going home?"

OOC:  </fail>

-

IC:  Nathan seems to have taken a long moment to digest this surprise.

"We didn't come here the same way as you," Nathan says slowly, "but different people get to these worlds in different ways.  The way home is to do something world-shaking.  Just why that works is a little complicated - it has to do with how this all works - but I'll explain in a moment."

"Can you tell us your story from the start?" Nathan he continues, with a slightly sheepish expression, "We were in Japan, not Chicago, so we don't really know how you got here.  Start with your dream?"

"Well," she says slowly, squinting.  "I think it was a Wednesday, but I remember it was August, 1962 ... that's two years ago, though.  I think.  Time seems very odd here, whenever the changes come about.  But I had dreamed every night the week before coming here about the moon as a pendant ... a girl with golden eyes was wearing it.  In my dream, she was trapped somewhere beneath a church, or a temple ... and she kept trying to tell me something, but I never could make it out, until the last day.  Then I dreamed that I went to the subway, and as soon as I stepped aboard, there was a man with a bracelet who told me that ... well.  I can't remember a word of what he said, honestly, just the meaning of it.  He could explain things to me, and wanted my help ... but I had to meet him.  So I followed the dream, but instead of meeting him, someone bumped into me as the train was coming in, and then...."  She shudders. 

"It was unpleasant.  The next thing I knew, I was here, and suddenly I had a new family, new responsibilities, new...."  She winces, glancing sidelong at Nathan.  "...obligations.  And this world is so strange, still....."  She shrugs, looking a bit forlorn.

Molly squints, visibly thinks, then says, "So ... then ... that means ... she's not really your fiancee!"  Her eyes light up before she tries to hide her smile.  "I mean, not really, right?"

Uhh.

"Much the same way as that I'm not the Doctor Shuker you know," Nathan hedges - before something clearly occurs to him.

"Do you remember the man's bracelet?  Can you describe it - and him?"

"Well," she begins, before all eyes go to the door; it allows a creaking and splintering noise, as a crack along the hinges splits it all the way through, and the remaining bulk of the door slams to the floor, revealing Bjorn, Phil, and Inspector Holmes in the hallway.

"Good day, gentleman and ladies, may we interrupt this fine gathering to discuss things of import?" Dracos took the cue of surprise.

"This door wants fixing," Bjorn adds.

"Oh, my," Catherine manages, eyeing Holmes.

The Inspector seems indifferent, glancing across the assembled groups.  "Yes, well, I'll have a guard report the door shortly," he says.  "Sorry to disturb you."  Catherine looks at Nathan questioningly, while Holmes glances at Bjorn and Phil again.  Awkward silence begins to prevail.

"So, anyways," Bjorn continues, "we were thinking, hey, it's been a long time since we beat somebody up, and we were wondering if Tom could come look at a picture of some guy, because if he looks familiar, he'd be a good guy to start with."

A pause.

"And how are things with you?"

"Is that why you destroyed the door? Even I've managed to avoid destroying any doors," replies Tom, coughing.

"Anyway, a picture? I can handle looking at a picture. I might even be able to discuss it!"

"Good grief man, it is a good thing we came to rescue you from such a non-destructive habit.  Next thing you know, you won't want to eliminate trouble before enjoying a good cup of tea.  That does sound cooperative."

  He turned to Catherine and Nathan, "Sorry...miss...?  Anyhow, Nathan, you should come too.  We're probably going to be having the ever entertaining destruction of the coup d'etat before picnic time."

Nathan gestures expansively at the newcomers, ignoring Dracos' question for the moment.  "Them too, Catherine."

"So . . . can you describe the bracelet?"

"It was silver," she says, focusing her attention on Nathan.  "There were links, but no clasp that I could see.  The man...."  She hesitates, momentarily, then says, "He was taller than me, a little, and he had long hair ... he was very dark, but it seemed like the people around us couldn't see him.  I have a small statue of him, actually.  Well, a piece of one, anyway ... it was in my hands when I came here."  She shakes her head.  "That's ... I should know more, but that's all that I can remember."

"That - I wonder.  I'd like to see that statue sometime, if I could, Catherine . . ."

Nathan turns his attention to Dracos and Bjorn.

"So aside from the fact that someone with one of our bracelets has been up to something . . . why are we knocking down doors again?  It's very impolite to do that to a lady's room, don'cha know."

"The door wanted fixing," Bjorn repeats, frowning at Catherine.  "It'd been sabotaged, the hinges tampered with so that it could be knocked down easily.  I promised to get it taken care of in return for it letting you know we were here."  He shrugged.  "Doors are direct thinkers.

"But hold up a second.  A bracelet?  A bracelet like this one?"  With a thought he pulls the bracelet through from his other-self, holding it up for Catherine to see.

Catherine doesn't hesitate, just nodding.  "Exactly like that one," she says, narrowing her eyes.  "Who are you?"

"Not the guy you dreamt of," Bjorn replies, dismissing the bracelet.  "I was sent this bracelet, probably by the man you saw.   Never met him, don't know his name, but have met his successor.  The statue... interesting.  We have a friend who also had a piece of the statue.

His eyes narrow, and his stance hardens ever so slightly.  "So you're also from reality?"

She nods.  "Chicago," she adds.  "But, I've been told you know the way back, so...?"

"So we need to get cracking on the beating people up bit," Bjorn finishes. 

Through the Waking Dream, he touches Nathan's mind.  Pax or Cabal?

I'm going to believe 'independent'.  It's happened before.

Or lying.  Keep an eye on her.  Just an eye.  Playboy.

"Definitely.  We can't really get to the picnic without the mandatory work being done first.  Is everyone ready to go?"

What are you, my mother?  You're just jealous!

"We'll explain this in a little more detail later, Catherine.  For now, we have work to do."

"Work?" Catherine asks, just before the earthquake begins.  Or at least ... it seems like an earthquake for the first instant.  Everything in the room begins shaking slowly, swaying from side-to-side, as though the entire crystal palace wereon springy stilts.  The effect is accompanied by a sickening blur that melts edges and colors, perspective and meaning from the environs into a mad, whirling blend of undefined reality.  "Not again," Catherine groans, covering her eyes with one hand.

Holmes looks a bit confused, glancing around as though nothing were amiss.  And just as suddenly as the oddity began, it stops.  On the walls, at least; where they were once polished and care-worn wood, they are now burnished steel.  The windows seem thinner, but no more fragile.  The paintings on the wall now have more severe frames, and their content has changed, but their messages remain the same.  Where there had been a man with a bow standing over a stag, now there's the same man with a gun, standing over a nearly identical creature in a different pose.  The thin rugs on the floor have been replaced by a single, very thick carpet, and the tapestry is gone, replaced with a complex tile mural.

But now, everyone's clothing blurs, shifts, and adjusts, as well.  Now the suits look right out of a sci-fi anime, very minimalist and stark gray.  Catherine's dress loses much of the needless flounces and hoops, becoming something only a bit more frilly than core-Earth fashions.  Those with watches find that they're still watches, but there's no longer a spring to wind them, and the display flickers with a tiny pulsing crystal, as though the hands were holographic projections instead of solid matter.

"What, again?" Holmes finally asks.  "Is something amiss?"

A glance out the window shows much more industrialized and less Victorian-era surroundings.  In the distance, a large swath of Victorian thatched cottages blurs into a row of more compact town-houses.

Once he recovers his bearings, the redskin speaks- "It's as if the entire world got hurled through one of those.. progression gates?"

"...What the hell?  Did nothing seem odd to you Holmes?"

Holmes blinks at this.  "What?"

"Maybe," Catherine says, rubbing at her temples.  "I don't know.  It happens every few days, here.  Every time it does, it takes me hours to figure out what my 'spark' is supposed to do now, or how everyone around me has changed."

"I noticed nothing out of the ordinary," the inspector says with a shrug.

"It must only be noticeable to offworlders.  Holmes, a dramatic change just happened to the entire city...possibly the entire sphere.  Indeed, it was as if you just leapt two hundred years into the future."

Holmes looks supremely skeptical.  "I see."

"More importantly, could this occur to the other spheres as well?" wonders Tom. "I'm willing to bet it does, which could pose all sorts of problems down the line."

Bjorn takes stock of his appearance.  "Holmes," he asked, "what do you know of my background?"

Bjorn is still a bit shorter than average, and is dressed in a suit roughly similar to Holmes.  There are no obvious differences, at any rate.  "Among you're people you're a form of anabarist," he says.  "You made contact with the H.M.S. Sunfire, and then arranged an anabaric conduit of some sort for the ship to return here.  Currently you are members of the Agency, reporting to me and investigating treason against the crown."  After a pause, he adds, "Or did you mean from your own world?"

"So not so much a spirit possessing the body of a semi-civilized voodoo midget?  Or are we just disagreeing on terms here?"

"Something along those lines of the former," Holmes allows with a shrug.  "I'm not an anabarist myself; I expect Maester Sondheim would know better."

"Catherine," Nathan asks, "Does it always change the same way?  Seeming to get more advanced?"

"Yes," she says with a tired nod.  "Every few days or week, another of these happens.  I've been here for years, now ... eventually everything jumps so far ahead it seems simple again."

"What do you mean seems simple again?  Does it loop around?"

"That's right.  In a month or so, it should all be crystal spires and togas again."  She sighs.

Holmes checks his watch, then decides, "I'll catch up on the investigation later," he says.  "I've got an appointment to attend."  He steps over the solid steel door lying on the floor, eying the cracked hinges.  "And I'll send someone to mend this."  With that, he vanishes down the hall.

"That's somewhat distressing... on the high end of the technological cycle, they're going to be quite dangerous in the same way anyone carrying a small pistol would be."

"What, have guns stopped you before? Pardon my shock."

"No, not really, but frankly, it's far more convenient to overwhelm a fancy scientist and group of neaderthals when they're wielding sticks or muskets than when they're armed with automatic weapons.  Remember we're trying to stabilize this country, and the ability of a small group to make vast incursions on a government increases with technology generally."

"To be honest, after the dreadmarch, a few pistols seems kinda . . . anticlimatic."

"So, Bjorn, where's that picture, and who are we beating up?"

"No one yet, and in the Greater Council Hall.  So let us get to the one so we can get to the other!"

Dracos leads the way to the greater council hall~

Phil leads the way into the hallway, and immediately becomes very, very lost.  The basic structure of the palace is different now, instead of long tree-like branching hallways, the corridors appear to wind in tight, overlapping spirals.

But Phil knows how to get results; the totally labrynthine construction of the palace means nothing for a man who can grab a random servant and demand instructions.  Shortly, after walking to an ... elevator?  It's more like a standing subway-car, in that it spirals down, too....  But that takes the entire party to the ground floor.  Catherine is following the group rather bemusedly.

The stables now occupy only a tiny segment of the courtyard, with parking spots and greasy maintainence equipment spread all about.  A shuddering, rumbling vehicle something like a large van is waiting, and wouldn't be terribly out of place back in the base reality, except for the trio of antennae protruding from the hood.  A slowly crawling surge of crackling anabaric force meanders across the three antennae aimlessly, occasionally connecting two as it jumps between them.  The driver nods and asks no questions when given a destination, and very shortly everyone's rumbling along the streets.

Tim notices Catherine doing ... something.  It tingles on the edges of his dream-senses, but mostly resonates with that mysterious 'Spark' that allowed Tim to repair the anabaric tower when the king's experimental ship returned.  A heartbeat later, Catherine touches a nob near the ceiling panel with no visible labels or instructions, and a divider rises to block the driver from the passengers.  That done, she flops back into her seat and asks, "What all does this entail, then?"

"Which scope are you interested in?  On this sphere?  This world?  The set of worlds as a whole?  On this sphere, this entails a group of nobles seeking to overthrow a boy king which would destabilize this sphere and prevent it from being of use in dealing with the church of the doors in other spheres."

"Well, yes," she says, frowning.  "I'd gathered that the King was important, but I meant the process of returning home.  He has the key?  Is it his ship?  More importantly to the task at hand, what do you need me for?"

"The way we get home isn't a specific key," Nathan answers, "What we need to do is change the world.  This . . . the simple explanation is that this world is the dream of a great spirit; if we take the world and set it onto a new track, then the spirit will notice us - and realize that we're not part of the dream.  At which point it will send us all home."

"As to what we need you for - well, if you're involved in it with us, the spirit will recognize you as well.  Aside from that - you have a rough idea of how the place works, and frankly, we don't and can't risk asking many people."

"Indeed...  even though we kind of bludgeon our way through things, having folks we don't need to explain things to is helpful."

"Wonderful," Catherine says, still looking uncomfortable.

Awkward silence prevails until the group reaches the Grand Council Hall.  Right now it's a large, boxy, stone building covered entirely in intricately carved statues and mosaics; at a glance, likely important historical battles in Anabara.  The driver pulls to a stop in front of the steps leading up to the building, then jumps out to open the door for everyone.

There are two guard-type people on either side of the door, but they're probably for appearances judging by the slow trickle of humanity in and out of the building, which only receive a cursory glance from the armed and armored duo.

"You know, I hope those pictures are actually still there," Dracos commented as he lead them to the guards and past them, briefly asking and acquiring directions if it appears anything but straight forward obvious where the main council hall is.

OOC: They are speedbumps, speedbumps I say.

The building itself is the hall, and there are many chambers ... at the moment, though, it seems that all of the portraits are in the main entrance gallery, which is a super-wide coorridor with art objects (sculptures, fountains, electrically crackling bric-a-brak, and so forth).  The walls are lined with paintings, and before directions to the specific painting to inspect are aquired ... Tom sees the familiar figure from the 'camp' where he and the other thralls were 'trained'.

He's standing just in front of his portrait, glowering at someone in front of him and delivering something quietly, but with obvious venom.  The recipient of this diatribe flinches and continues bowing his head, as though to physically deflect the words to one side; around them are a number of similarly dressed figures (in dark, almost judicial-looking robes) who are either nodding, or trying very hard to obviously pay attention to something else.

A vicious snarl works it's way across Tom's features; a trembling fist and a quickening of the pace mark a sudden change in temperment.

So! Vengeful forces me to make an ego check in this sort of situation, right? Remind me how that's resolved?

Roll lower than 9(+EGO/5) on 3d6 to pass an EGO check, barring the severity modifier of your vengeance level (+5,0,-5).

[18:27:21] <@Nao> roll 3d6 VENGEANCE
[18:27:22] * Hatbot --> "Nao rolls 3d6 VENGEANCE and gets 9." [3d6=1, 4, 4] aww

"It's that.. man-herder," mutters Tom, gritting his teeth. "Let's bring him in. Cathy, you know his name?"

Dracos glanced around, keeping an eye out for guards.

There are guards throughout the room -- six of them -- in pairs before various large doorways.  None of them are particularly nearby.

"Who?" Catherine asks, distractedly, before nodding.  "Ah, yes, that's Master Harold Massif, Greater Councilman of Agriculture."  She tilts her head slightly, indicating his name below his portrait; Tom has a hard time taking his eyes from the gaunt looking fellow.  In a quiet voice, she adds, "He's not terribly observant of people; I posed as a serving-girl in his household for a short while.  He's not in Hathoway's pocket, as far as I know, just another loyal lapdog to Jennings."

Massif continues berating his target until the entire hall -- which has a few people wandering around, theoretically attending business -- turns to look at the newly arrived group.  An awkward silent prompts Massif to break off his railing and glower around, but he freezes, eyes widening in alarm when he sees Tom.

"Ho there, Master Massif!" calls Tom, striding forward. His voice holds undeniable menace. "Just the man I wanted to see. Would you mind coming aside with us for a moment? There are some questions we'd like to ask you, in the name of the crown."

10 influence directed to removing my vulnerability to presence attacks... and that's all I have! If he goes to pull some kind of device out, I want to tackle him.

Dracos eyes Massif, quickly garnering surface thoughts from him.

OOC: Not probing, just grabbing the stack as it comes.

My guess is something like 'What? Whaaaaaaaaaaat?'

Still takes a roll, Drac.  You're just aiming for a much easier target.

Massif stares unblinking for a moment, his chastisement of ... whoever ... forgotten.  "The Council need not submit to the whims of the Inspector's brute-squad," he finally says, his eyebrows drawing closer together.  "I'm afraid I must question the legitimacy of your business here."

The nearby guards begin to look uneasy, avoiding eye-contact with anyone.

OOC: 6d6, 17.  I should look at my char sheet.  It's been a while. :)  Has it been too long since the subtlety of a trainwreck has been used?  :)
IC:

Dracos smiled too widely at that.  "Folks here like asking that.  I wonder who he'll turn into save his hide, given none of us are actually keeping an eye on this strange large foreigner and really, who could stop him if he decided to be physical about things.  There's no guards around, after all."  Dracos casually dropped the suggestion that someone else already turned him in, ignoring the present guards like they very clearly wanted to be ignored.

Failing his mind-read skill, Phil falls back on intimidation; roll me a presence attack vs. the guards to see if that scares them off enough to work ... or if they sheepishly find they have to get involved.

OOC: I've forgotten soo much. :(  Need more hero gaming.  Anyhow, I think presence is Presence/5 *d6.  So 4d6.  11.  If it's against 3d6, 15.  Ah dice.

Massif looks singularly unimpressed.  "Guards," he snaps, "have these men detained.  The Inspector can explain why they should be released in council."

Obviously unhappy about it, the guards who were trying to edge away (until they were pointed out) begin to approach the group.

Catherine looks at Phil askance, then rolls her eyes.  "No detaining today," she says, causing everyone to pause again.  "I am Catherine Maus, cousin of the king; we are here on official business, and the immunity of the Council does not extend to those accused of interfering with the lineage."  She holds a ring up for the guards to see; Tim recognizes it because he has one just like it.  "Harold Massif, you are wanted for questioning in the circumstances of my lord father's death.  Resistance is extremely unbecoming."

This managed to make the reluctant guards even less happy, but they slink towards Massif, trying to avoid eye contact all the same.

Massif sputters for a moment, then settles on glowering at Catherine.  "You'll find nothing; I'm innocent, and you're merely wasting my time.  The Council will not be pleased or impressed!"

"The Council will not be pleased," Bjorn repeats slowly, rolling the words around his mouth like an unpleasant wine.  "What a peculiar assertion.  To find that you, such an eminent individual, has no involvement in crime or conspiracy, would make them unhappy?"  He throws up his hands, and then begins to pace.  "Madness!  All men delight in innocence!"

He stops abruptly.  "Unless... perhaps you meant that the Council would not be pleased that such questions had been raised?"  His brow furrows.  "But how likely is this?  We are agents of the Inspector -- we ask questions, it is our purpose, our being, the blood of our thoughts and the hearts of our desire.  Our authority comes from the King himself.  We are all subjects of the King, ourselves and yourselves, to serve his will is our only joy!  What greater pleasure, to ask questions because the King wills it, and to answer them to satiate his curiosity!  So there can be no unhappiness here.  You are innocent, we will prove it, and all in the name of the King.

"So!"  He beams at Massif widely.  "We will show you evidence.  We will ask you questions.  You will answer them.  Thus the natural order will be filled.  I am glad this misunderstanding has been resolved, for when minds meet they should meet without confusion."  He pauses.  "I understand, of course, that a gentle soul such as yours, perfect, gentlemanly, is too humble to take pleasure for yourself when others are so denied.  So, of course, whomsoever you name we will also bring with us, and ask the questions of them, and hear their answers.  Why, if you so ask, we will present our evidence and ask our questions here, where all might hear and participate!  It was not our plan, but if you think it wise, why then, who are we to gainsay you?"  He turns to the guards.  "Go, then!" He proclaims grandly.  "Harold Massif has spoken.  Go forth, tell all you might find that here they may come, to hear Harold Massif give the Inspector his undivided cooperation!  Tell them of this festival of proper obedience to the King, let them come that they may pay their respects to this most devoted subject!"

OOC: Brian rolls some dice for Bjorn's presence attack, and the result is significantly higher than local egos.  Gogo situational modifiers!

The diminutive stateman's speech leaves Harold sputtering for a long moment; the guards are a bit stunned, too.  Harold's immediate party, excluding the poor guy who was being berated stands nearby him (in a semi-circle behind him; the formation was likely intentional to focus more attention on his victim).  There are five of them, three well-dressed ladies in garments almost as nice as Catherine's, and two men in smart, but simple suits (identical in fashion to Harold's, of course).

The guards stand in a loose circle just outside Harold's entourage, while his previous victim stands ramrod straight for a single heartbeat before bolting for the hall's gate, loudly shouting for everyone to come watch -- his exact words are, "Scandal!  Corruption!  Crimes against the Crown!  See the Councilman exposed!"

It does not take too long for over-inquisitive crowds to begin streaming in from from the streets, which show every sign of quickly becoming an unruly mob.  Harold's expression shifts quickly from incredulity to terror.  The guards take this as little more than a confirmation of wrong-doing and tighten their circle, pushing past the Councilman's 'friends'.

The doors on either side of the hall begin emitting what are presumably other Councilmen (a few match nearby portraits) who look on with curiosity, but make no move to interfere.

"To the palace," Harold says with sudden, stoic calm.  "As you wish it.  We can speak more directly to the Inspector -- that would be most efficient, and directly to the good of Anabara."

Phil has taken a moment to reassess the situation after his own attempts were shot down.  Whatever confidence Harold had in his social position, it's shaken now, despite his outwardly calm demeanor.

Catherine blinks a few times, then glances at Bjorn, trying to hide a smirk.  "Nice," she says quietly.  "Very nice."

Bjorn sigh sadly.  "So be it, Harold Massif.  Understand my hope, that you would in the manners and traditions of my people speak truth before all and the spirits, by words exposing the rot of corruption and then most directly cutting it away to leave our society pure, clean, content.  And then, a picnic!  Perhaps even with fruit!  But this is not the place of my people.  You say we should go to speak to the Inspector, and Harold Massif, I trust you to know the truth of your position and what should best be done.  So come, let us go!  You and I, Harold Massif, we will walk together like the friends that we are, and your friends," he indicates the six, specifically including Massif's victim, "shall walk with my friends, and in friendship shall all be overcome.

"As for the rest of you," he addressed the mob, "sadness fills my heart as it shall fill yours, because illumination must not yet be brought forth.  Have no fear!  When the talking in private places will be done, then it shall be time for the talking in public places.  For though it shall be silently done at first, there shall only be done obedience to the King, and of such glory are the greatest stories of simple men told!"

And with that simple message, he grandly gestures Massif to join him in departure from the hall.

OOC: "Simple message"?

Eyebrow ticking violently, Harold says nothing and follows with his entourage.  With the gathered crowd, it takes a minute or so to get everyone rounded up into the van to get back to the palace; in fact, it takes an extra van to fit everyone.  Catherine manages to find a seat next to Bjorn (in the same car as Harold, who glowers without meeting anyone's gaze).  Then the entourage begins to roll back towards the Palace.

"I do like the idea of a picnic afterwards," Catherine says, punctuating the awkward silence.

"Oh yes," Bjorn agrees, "picnics are always wonderful things.  Perhaps with iced cream.  His Majesty is fond of that, as I recall, which is only proof of his glorious wisdom."  He sighs.  "Picnics are best in a pleasant place. Like Windhurst, yes, Harold Massif?"

"I've always thought so," Nathan chimes in, Massif not seeming inclined to answer, "it's a beautiful location, and stunningly educational.  It's amazing what one can find there, wouldn't you say?"

One of the girls from Massif's entourage asks, "Is there really going to be a picnic?"

Massif sighs, and shakes his head.  "I will save my words for the Inspector," he says dourly, "since I have been afforded that much."

"So, then, no picnic?"

"You can save your words too," the Councilman adds in a growl.

Thankfully, the ride back to the palace doesn't take terribly much longer.  Once there, the group unloads in the courtyard.  Word has gone on ahead, and Holmes comes out of the palace doors at the same time everyone is getting out of the vehicles.  He frowns slightly, and eyes Bjorn and Phil before turning his attention to Massif.

"I will have your job for this," the Councilman snarls, stalking towards the Inspector.

"I confess doubts to your adequacy," the Inspector returns, nonplussed.  Turning back to Bjorn he furrows his brow and asks, "A picnic?"

"Oh yes," Bjorn affirms.  "A picnic.  The picnic, I think, shall be here and soon if Harold Massif cooperates.  If not?"  He grins, widely, with more and sharper teeth than a tiny midget should normally possess.  "Why then, the picnic shall be in the place of my people, I think, where both Harold Massif and I shall be much more comfortable."

"That does sound like a pleasant place to hold a picnic," Dracos agreed with a smile.  "I'm told they lack toiletries there though, so we may need to pack some for the trip."

OOC: I'm here/watching, just been having trouble finding an opportunity to get a word in edgewise :)  I think others may be having same problem.

"Oh, yes, undoubtedly," the Inspector agrees, shaking his head and gesturing to a guard.  "Show the councilman and his guests to an interview room; we will be along shortly to discuss matters."  The guard nods, and leads the glowering Massif (and his entourage) into the palace.  Once they're out of sight, Holmes shoots Bjorn a quizzical look, and beckons everyone to follow him.  In the palace, down the hall in another of the apparently numerous private chambers, Holmes asks, "What's going on here?  I hadn't quite expected ... well ... this.  But you must have discovered something to justify it, so...?"

"He was the one who was on the other sphere purchasing an army without going through the gates.  Tom saw and IDed him," Dracos gestured to the brute.

"Right," Holmes says, after a long, awkward silence.  "That's ... okay.  I would have liked to have handled this with more delicacy, but we'll work with what we must.  If he's allowed himself to be taken in by us, I can only assume that it's because he sees some way out of it.  Hopefully, that way is by cooperating with us and turning against his conspirators."

Holmes raises his pipe and pulls a small anabaric device out of his pocket -- a lighter -- made of wood and tiny brass gears, roughly cylindrical in shape.  After a puff, he says, "I will accept your allegation of his intent to purchase munitions as absolute truth."  His eyes lose focus, a tiny bit, his mind obviously elsewhere.  "Knowing these things, logically, Massif is unconcerned with your allegation either because the King will doubt it -- unlikely, given Maestro Sondheim's opinions.  The Councils are both unable to intercede at this point, so he cannot hope for help from those areas.  Not quickly, at any rate.  He looked into purchasing an army?  He had a way to cross between spheres without the Gates?"

The Inspector shakes his head, eyes focusing sharply.  "Either he already has his army -- or some suitable alternative, in his mind -- or he can otherwise expect assistance from the other spheres.  We cannot allow him and his entourage to remain unobserved any longer."  He rises to his feet, nearly toppling his chair.  "How does he cross to the other sphere?  Could he do so right now?"

"He used some form of anabaric device to do so. If he still has it, presumably he could use it again," murmurs Tom, after a moment. "It's not simply an army he's purchasing, though. By putting people through the regression gates, he transforms them into brutes, virtually identicle in body to myself. The transformation sapped them of their will, reducing them to mere slaves awaiting orders. Only I managed to keep a hold on myself.

"He doesn't have an army now, I believe, since the man he was working with on Windhurst is now dead, the slaves freed and, I hope, beyond his control for good. But it's possible he has some alternative planned."

"A device," Holmes says, frowning.  "Let's make sure he doesn't use it again, then."  Without waiting for any further discussion, the Inspector runs off in search of the Councilman.  A quick check with the guards shows that the Massif and his entourage are still in the conference room, awaiting their discussion.  At this, the Inspector hesitates, and turns back to the group.  "I can't imagine he has nothing planned for the confrontation to follow -- some card he's waiting to play.  If we're ready to speak with him now, let me know, otherwise, make any preparations you feel would be wise, and quickly."

"Everyone around here our folks?  If so, then really the answer is just haste.  And then we need to get his co-conspiritors before they get to put anything serious into motion," Philip responded, not really having too much in the way  of preparation.

"Very good," the Inspector says with a terse nod, scanning over his recruits.  "Let's go."  With that, he leads the way into the conference room.

Masiff and his gang are sitting at a rectangular table, all on the same side -- there are no seats opposite them.  Instead, a short distance across the room, a more imposing desk in the shape of a crescent is assembled, with seats for the Inspector and crew.  The seats are more comfortable, and there's actually a step up to the table, putting it a foot or two higher than Massif's desk.  Panels of heavy and intricately inscribed wood go all the way to the floor from what must be the interrogator's table, instead of the interrogatee's unadorned table.

Holmes takes his seat at the center of the crescent, allowing everyone else to fill in beside them; there's a guard in every corner of the room, and another two on either side of the door.  Once everyone's seated, Holmes raps his knuckles on the table.  A previously unseen aide scurries from behind the interrogator's table and takes a seat next to Holmes with a notepad, scribbling frantically.  "Order," Holmes intones.  "Councilman Harold Massif, you and witnesses have been called before the Inspectors of the Crown, and we beg the justice of your honest explanation for events of immediate concern to His Majesty and the state of Anabara.  Do you understand the gravity of this situation?"

"I do, Inspector," Massif says, though his teeth are clenched.

"Bailiff," Holmes calls, nodding at one of the guards.  He quickly steps forward and produces a well-cared for leather-bound tome.  The cover is a brass plate, and reads, 'The Integrities'.  When the guard holds the book forth, Massif bows his head, and places one palm on the cover.

"Your name, Master?"

"Harold Pennington Massif the third," Massif replies.

"Under oath of loyalty to the Crown and by virtue of the integrities, do you swear that your testimony will be true, just, and absolute to the limit of your capability?"

"I so swear."

This process is repeated for each of Harold's witnesses, as all are sworn.  Once they're done, the bailiff (who is exactly like every other guard, except for the book he carries) retreats to his corner, and Holmes raps on the table again.  "This inquiry is for discovery purposes only in this instance; I wish to reassure and remind you that sentencing, if required, is the duty of the Crown."

Catherine smirks, and pitches her voice low enough that only Tim can hear it, hiding it as a yawn behind her hand: "Or Sondheim, if he finds out."

"Understood," Massif growls.

"Then, for the record, we now begin," Holmes says, nodding, then glancing at Bjorn and Phil.  "You may proceed with questioning."

OOC: I have no idea what the spheres are named to these folks, otherwise I'd be specific on which one.
IC:
Philip eyed him, "Alright, let's start with something simple.  Please tell us what happened during your last trip off this sphere from your side?  As well as the reasons for such a trip." 

Meanwhile, he kept eye contact, drawing over his power to read minds.  He expected a lie, but wanted to begin keeping an eye out for any special technology or more indeed thoughts of partner's names.  It'd have to come eventually, even if he was trained not to say anything.

Massif furrows his brow, but doesn't hesitate in his reply: "I have been to Windhurst ... I think.  According to Dr. Humphrey Gladstone, who asked me to test his theory on an alternate method of travel between the spheres.  I suppose it's possible that he may have sent me somewhere else; I can only assume that he's in the game of deception if his device and its results have brought me here."


OOC: Phil's mind-read turns up: Unrolled dice.  The current sphere is Anabara.  Windhurst is the proper name of the sphere that voodoo-Bjorn and Mighty-Tom hail from.

OOC: 6d6 = 20.

Aside from the fact that Phil and Bjorn know that Massif is lying (Gladstone was way too much of a pushover to be the mastermind), Phil is also able to discern that Massif is lying through mind-senses.  As a pleasant surprise, for once Phil is able to skim the surface thoughts of someone who seems to be totally oblivious to it, AND knows something useful!

Massif is (at present) just buying time; anything he says is a delaying tactic.  Phil isn't able to discern (just yet) what for, but it's something.

Catherine raises an eyebrow.  "Game of deception?  Curious choice of words.  Could you elaborate on the nature of your dealings with Dr. Hathoway?"

Massif shrugs, glancing at his entourage.  "Aside from the work of the Council?  It is all in the record, there should be no need to repeat it here."  Phil does sense a spike of nervousness at the question, though.

OOC: He either went there only once and went to two places or went there twice.  I'm guessing twice instead of trying to drag it out of him to keep it moving.
IC:
Philip turns a brief glance to Bjorn.  ~He's lying and intends to continue lying as long as he can.  He's purposefully delaying for some reason.~

"The record will show that...once.  But that wasn't the only time you went to Windhurst using that method.  I was asking about your more recent trip.  More importantly, I wasn't asking that you'd been there.  You were asked to testify on what what happened while you were on Windhurst.  Your take will be contrasted against the witness testimony available on the time, so please avoid further perjory, and remember just as a skilled player will discard a pawn to build up the board, so will one discard a knight that is caught.  Please testify on your time there."

Philip remains listening to his thoughts.  It probably wouldn't shake him very much, but hopefully it'll bring more names to the front.

"What can I say?" Massif says, not visibly shaken.  Phil can tell that the man is straining to keep his alarm in check; the absolute details are still unclear, except for a single thought, before the councilman regains his mental composure: 'Hathoway must be warned.'

Beyond that, Harold is certainly worried that the questioning will end too quickly for his plans.  "I may have been a pawn of enemies of the Crown.  As for the events of my trip to Windhurst, I had established a rapport with a local, and was seeking a way to make headway for Anabara to move against the Church -- of course.  Over the course of three trips, I managed to convince him that I was wealthy, and trusted by the Church; then, I merely said that as an officer of the Church, I wished to peruse what weapons he had available ... to better warn Anabara, of course."

"Sound warning," Catherine mutters.  "Which is why this information is only known now?"

Massif hesitates, then shrugs.  "I was uncertain," he says.  "After all, until just recently, even His Majesty's Spark was not proven to be able to cross the distance between spheres without use of the Gate.  How much of what I claimed would be believable, and how much upset would there be to show that Dr. Gladstone was capable of creating something that His Majesty could not?  Truly, it was all from consideration to the Crown -- as should be expected of someone on the Council!"

"Inspector Holmes says that I should question," Bjorn says.  "This puts me in a difficult position.  On the one hand, Harold Massif says he knew of a way to cross between the spheres, and did not share it.  This is treason, I would say.  Did Harold Massif think the King's position so tenuous that the great Spark of another could threaten his rule.  What does Harold Massif know of threats to the crown, I would ask?

"Harold Massif says that he has discovered details of the threats from abroad against the nation, but did not share them.  This is also treason, I would say.  If Harold Massif knew of these things, I would ask: to whom did he give such power that he would not share with his rightful king?  For information is power, this we all know.

"And then I would ask: who are the friends of Harold Massif?  One does favours for one's friends, but not his enemies.  And then I would ask: if Harold Massif does favours for others, and not the king, is the king Harold Massif's enemy?  Or is the king the enemy of Harold Massif's friends?"

Bjorn sighs, and shakes his head, looking at the ground.  "This is what I would do, if I were to question Harold Massif.  But questioning for Inspector Holmes is but one of my duties, and among the least of them." 

When he looks up again, he's subtly bigger; the mist that replaces his eyes boils faster, and a deep fire-red.  "Because first and foremost, Massif, I am the war-spirit of the people of the plains of Windhurst.  My duty, my very existence,  is bent towards protecting them.  I will find their enemies and consume them; I will ensure their safety with words and steel and blood."  He grins widely and without humour, and the white of his teeth in his dark face is a knife in the night.  "And you, Massif, you have consorted with their enemies.  You, Massif, are a connection to their enemies, if not an enemy yourself.  And so I should not question you, not yet.  I should instead demand, as ambassador to the state, that you be surrendered onto me to... stand for your crimes before my courts, before my laws.  I should learn what aid you gave, what you learned from our enemies, what you promised them, and who you represented.  And what remains of you after our courts, Massif, I should only then return to your Inspector."

20 points of Nightmare Influence, also bringing over a point of STR to accomplish the size change.

OOC: You, Sir, are a monster.

Even the guards flinch at the change in Bjorn's demeanor, though Massif is the one who nearly falls out of his chair.  He struggles to form words for a long minute, working his jaw before tearing his gaze from Bjorn and turning to Holmes.  "I demand amnesty in return for my cooperation."

Holmes looks almost amused at this.  "There are small details concerning a plea of amnesty," he remarks.

"Not the least of which is conceding your position as Councilman," Catherine observes.  "Though, it would make this inquiry irrelevant.  One cannot help but note that this has the air of desperation about it.  What are you so afraid of, Councilman?  A ... credible witness knows of countless unsavory dealings in your past, even if most are pathetic, scarcely worth comment.  Save, of course, how they undermine that thing which a Councilman must possess to represent Anabara.  The same integrities you've sworn upon."

"Small...."  Massif trails off and squints at Catherine, then grimaces.  "Yes, well.  I fear for the sake of the Crown, as I should....  That is all.  But to risk surrender to some, some ... savage from Windhurst?  I demand the mercy of Anabaran justice, not some outlands mockery of it!"

Hollmes nods, then raps on the table.  "Guards, take the citizen into custody.  Alert the Council that Massif has resigned from his post.  On suspicion, he is to be denied any anabaric devices or contact with anyone."

"But," Harold begins, as the guards approach, and grab his elbows, almost hauling him upright.  "It wasn't supposed to be like this!"  The councilman struggles briefly, but isn't any match for the guards, and he doesn't put up much of a fight.  His lackeys stare in total confusion, lost without direction.

"The material witnesses should also be held with the same restrictions."  The guards also search Harold while he's standing, producing a small, hand-held device.  It's in a wooden case with brass fittings, a few dials on the front giving various readings.  Holmes takes it and eyes it speculatively, before handing it to Tim.

After a moment of examination, Tim is able to determine through the Dream (and his Spark) that the device reaches beyond the Dream itself -- just barely -- and then crashes back into the Dream in another location.  Currently, one of the dials indicates 'charge', and it's about 90% full.  In another ten minutes, it'll be completely full.  There's no obvious way to disable the charge, and if the device isn't used within a few minutes of reaching full charge, it will detonate.  It takes probably about two hours to generate a full charge, so Massif must have started it not long before he was brought in.

OOC: Now, hopefully, a Hal post to pass this info along?  Please? ;_;

OOC: The GM adjusts a slouch hat to try and get into character.  Tim is now IDLE.

Tim studies the device briefly, turning it over in his hands as he studies it.  Then he abruptly announces, "This device is almost fully charged, and must be used when it is, or it will cause an explosion.  It's currently set to take Massif...."  Tim trails off for a moment, and looks troubled.  "Well," he says, shaking his head, "somewhere in Windhurst, I would guess, but another sphere for certain."

At Phil's telepathy or Bjorn's mind-board inquiry (likey Phil given influence expenditure), Tim notes that the device actually takes the user slightly outside of the fire dream when it functions ... taking them towards the Dream proper before they are snapped back in a slightly different location.

"How long do we have?" Holmes asks, staring at the device, considering.

"Almost six minutes," Tim calculates.

"How large an explosion?" Nathan asks sharply, "Can we set it to go somewhere else, and will it only take one person?"

"It pulls everyone within a certain range," Tim clarifies.  "Thirty yards or so.  As for the explosion ... I think it would be very disruptive, but I don't particularly want to test that theory."

"Sounds fun.  It's likely a safety trap.  Brings Massif plus any of us questioning into a place where we can be readily dealt with.  Can it be turned off?  Or if not, is everyone ready for a wild ride across the spheres?"

"I could destroy the power source," Tim says after a minute.  "That would stop it.  I might even be able to keep it from exploding."

"I pity the poor bastard who tries to trap us," Nathan notes cheerfully, "let's see.  Holmes, Catherine, and any one else who doesn't want to come on this little venture, clear those idiots -" he waves at Massif's lackeys - "and find us as many guards as they can spare."

Philip nods simply, releasing the telepathy as he readied to take hold of the earth totem once they teleported.

"Oh yes," Bjorn replies cheerfully, his countenance back to midget-standard normal.  "Let us go and visit the friends of Harold Massif, and share with them his willingness to speak, to chat, to tell us everything he knows!"

"I was more planning on matching their hospitality with our own, but I suppose a picnic sounds nice."

There's a pause as Nathan looks around the room.

"YOU!" he bellows, glaring at the Massif-lackey types who are still milling around, "CLEAR THE ROOM, IN THE NAME OF THE KING!"

OOC: Tom is now IDLE.

"Right," Holmes says, glancing at the guards.  "Stay if you're willing," he comments, before dashing from the room, grabbing the guard who had the book, and the recorder on his way out the door.  The guards in the hall escort Massif and his entourage away, as Holmes shouts a few orders.

Catherine looks hesitant, but then shakes her head.  "I'm staying here," she decides.  "We can't afford to keep an eye on things here, and I'm not a front-line fighter."

Tim debates, and grimaces.  "I'm staying here, too," he says.  "Changing the location is fairly complex, but there's a 'return' feature."  He indicates a red switch.  "Just flip that, and then after about two hours, this dial will fill, and press this button to activate it."  The dial is almost completely full at the moment.  "Something about how the device is charged; it works like a pendulum.  Phil, you mentioned that you were having the Gatekeeper build you another one of these?  I'm going to investigate that."

"Good thinking, we should act quickly to ensure that something potentially challenging the King's Spark is carefully guarding," Catherine agrees.  "Well, good luck, I'm certain we will meet again, and I'm leaving the radius of that thing before it goes off."  With that, she curtsies to those assembled, and dashes from the room.

Not long after that, Colonel Riggins and Seven appear, leading a contingent of about 80 of the Palace Guard (the ones with the very nice guns).  The guards already in the room without comparable firepower sheepishly leave.  Riggins looks around swiftly, and apologizes, "I can't go with you; I need to stay here, even though I am supposed to be the acting liason; Nathan, my apologies, but I'm going to have to deputize you as an agent of the Investigator to act in my stead."  He hands Nathan a nice badge (it's got a shield on it, and bears the crest of Anabara; the lightning-spoked wheel with the eye in the center.  He then points to one of the more decorated guards, "This is Seargant Millhouse."

This guard is a bit short, barely taller than Bjorn, and aside from the familiar name, has familiar features to the apprentice Tim trained with.  His close-cropped brown hair is mostly concealed beneath his officer's cap, but he salutes smartly, a gravelly voice saying, "It'll be a pleasure to work with you, good sirs."

"Seven," Tom says, somewhat surprised.  "Good to see you here."

"Heard something was going on," he says with a shrug, shifting his shoulders.  "Didn't like the idea of leaving everyone else like us without help."

Tom nods, grinning and clapping the other red-skinned brute on the shoulder.  "Good to see you again, then."

Riggins quickly adds, "Millhouse is one of our best; he works frequently with the Lesser Council, so is very experienced at following orders from inexperienced or non-military personell."  In a more quiet voice to Nathan, he explains, "He won't disobey orders or do anything to make you look bad in front of the men, but my suggestion is to follow his advice if you find yourself at a loss."

Millhouse winks at that, producing a large cigar the second Riggins leaves the room, and biting down on it.  "Men," he barks.  "Attention!  It'll be close, but I want us all within 25 yards of this device when it goes off!"  It's a very close fit, and Nathan needs to move to the doorway with the device for everyone to have room, but it's managed.  A moment later, the device emits a soft chime, as the 'charge' gauge hits red.  Tim is the last one to leave the device's range, and Nathan presses the button before the device has a chance to explode.

There's a terrible wrenching sensation, along with a skull-shattering piercing shrill, just as Tom remembered from seeing Massif use the device to escape before.  A reverberating shock echoes, as everyone is subjected to an otherwise total lack of sensory input.  A heartbeat later, another shock reverberates -- a disturbing, difficult to describe sensation -- and then abruptly vanishes, leaving Tom, Bjorn, Nathan, and Phil standing in a traditional Japanese-looking room.  One of the fusuma panels implies being illuminated through trees, before it abruptly slides open.

The familiar figure of Shade steps into the room, dressed like a poorly defined period samurai (he keeps slowly shifting eras), with a crystal ball beneath one arm.  He closes the door behind him, then sits at a low table that wasn't there a moment ago.  "Hey, guys," he says casually, putting the crystal ball on a summoned stand.  "Not sure how you pulled this one off, but I was on watch, so, good to see you.  Oracle access, and we can hold for about forty-five minutes for Q&A, though anything much beyond thirty will cost us some time in the next trip.  But dream-weather could be harsh and make future trips difficult anyway, so up to you."

He sets out a timer, showing that about 20 seconds have passed.

OOC: NIGHT OF THE LIVING AFK.  Also, through laziness, assume that things that the AFK observe are automatically reported to you via mind-board abuse or just plain-old asides.

"This doesn't actually surprise me as much as it should," Nathan says cheerily, "but odds are we're going to be able to do this again - so we'd better keep it below thirty.  How're you doing?"

He goes to sit down at the table.

"And how is her Oraculousness today?"

"I'm feeling pretty good for a dead guy," Shade says, shrugging.  "It's eye-opening."

The crystal ball projects a large image of Relm's temple in the upper half of the room, where (slightly larger than life) she's sitting at the edge of the pool on the moonlight.  Flickering candles around the periphery of the pool don't shed any light compared to the full moon, but they flicker like twinkling stars in a passing breeze.  "Is that a Rez-baby I hear?" she asks, peering into the pool (or down into the room, from the group's point of view).

"Howdy Shade, Relm."

"Alright, the big win question off the bat then.  Do we know what's causing the sphere's to be regularly shifting forward through time?"

"Philip, Master of the Infinite Courtesies," Nathan chimes in, rolling his eyes to the ceiling.

"It's the advancement realm, right?" Shade asks.  "It advances.  I guess that follows; Alan's been here before to place Holmes to help you out, but this is a separate Dream, so the whole memory retention thingy until you guys bridge the gap."

"Pandora concurs," Relm says happily.  "The advancement realm advances."

"Then when it resets back to a very low technology level, is that 'working as intended'?"

"I'm going to say tentatively ... yes," Relm says, frowning.  "The trick is identifying what's left after a 'reset', I'd guess.  I mean, something should be continually advancing, right?  So, if it seems that everything is being swept away, then whatever is gone was really just a trapping of whatever the Dream's true goal is."

"So are we out to bring about the advancement that it's trying to reach?"

"I think you're looking for a more fundamental advancement than the obvious, at least," Relm says with a shrug.  "One way or another, it's all about the Gates."

"I'm not really sure what we're looking for in that respect," Nathan notes, "but then we haven't been through a reset yet.  I'm not really sure what else to ask, to be honest.  Anything of note happening back in the Real?"

"Tetsuo and Mark are still safe in Japan, along with Ginrai," Relm says.  "They haven't seen anyone else approaching Fuji, and neither have I.  Of course, that's no guarantee."

"I think I'd welcome the excuse for a brawl anyway," Nathan notes cheerfully.  "What about New Delphi?  How long's it been?"

"About a week," Relm answers.  "Things at New Delphi are going pretty well, actually.  Tetsuo's sister is up and about, trying to make herself useful; I think Victor likes her.  Then again, everyone from the Workshop has good reason to avoid him...."  Relm trails off.

Shade clears his throat.  "I still say he's got no patience," he says levelly.  "But I think the Dream is more important than the waking world at the moment.  Fail, and you may not get to go back to New Delphi anyway."

"It was a point of curiousity," comes the mild response, "as at this point, we still don't really know enough about the underpinnings of the dream to have really serious questions."

"We have met another outsider though.  She's from Chicago, and I think quite a while ago.  Apparently a man with a bracelet came to her in a dream and asked her to help, but it sounds like she was killed by a train - and ended up here.  She said it had something to do with a girl with golden eyes wearing the moon as a pendant - we haven't had the chance to really get that clear yet, but I don't think she really understood it either way."

"Hmm," Relm ponders, bowing her head and staring into the depths of her pool.  The rising smoke from the incense burners around her slowly thickens, turning the image blurry and indistinct.  A progress bar appears below on gold plate in san serrif: "Searching..."

Shade cocks his head to one side and blinks.  "Mystical," he opines, as the bar finishes filling.

"Hush," Relm, replies, coming back into focus.  "I just got a new version of Photoshop.  I'll work in sparkles and a shining sun chariot thing later.  Anyway, the golden bracelet sounds like typical Brotherhood of Morpheus interpretation.  Was she killed by the train, or did she dream she was killed by the train?  I'm not clear on that.  From what Pandora gave me, she came into the dream a few decades ago, and has been on the bad side of time compression ever since.  Timewise, from her perspective, if she's who Pandora believes, she's seen about 120 years pass, subjectively.  So, if she's an ally, that's great; if you can get her out here temporarily, like you are now, we could probably find out an awful lot more about the Dream."

"That's a lot of years."

"Yeah, and maybe see what we can do to help acclimate her to the reality outside the Fire Dream," Relm agrees, frowning.

"It sounds like she was actually killed by the train.  Can she even -be- brought back if that's the case?"

"Kind of," Relm says hesitantly, as Shade silently raises his hand.  "I mean, I don't have much of a presence in the physical world myself....  But don't you dare get the idea of assembling some dream-harem!"

"I wouldn't dream of it," Nathan drawls out the obvious pun, "and besides, I like being able to sleep."

"I guess I'll have to break the news to her that she's actually dead some time.  That's twice now!"

"Anyhow, let's save some time for the return trip and go see what's going on, eh?"

"Okay," Shade says, making a gesture.  With that, there's a lurching sensation, and everyone finds themselves standing on a hilltop, armed soldiers pressed in closely.  Down the hill, about forty feet away, is a man in a smart suit, attended by about twenty men who look identical to Tim.

The surrounding area is grassy, with occasional distant trees dotting the closer hillsides.  Phil suspects that this area isn't too far from where he probably met Tim initially.  Or at least, it has a very similar landscape.  "Greetings!" the man calls, waving an arm, scanning the group.  "Master Massif?"

"Obviously," Nathan says, his face conveying clear irritation.  "Let us not waste any time."

"Yes," the man says brightly, as the guards spread out and form up behind the group.  "There was a minor, ah, accident at the farm when you came last, so I apologize that your normal partner couldn't make it."  He shakes his head, gesturing at the dull-eyed red-skinned men behind him.  "But our production was not halted, so these soldiers are in good working order, of that I can assure you."

After a moment of fumbling, the man produces a rolled up contract, which he presents to Nathan.

Nathan's eyes widen, then narrow again as he fixed the man with a piercing gaze.

"Explain this 'minor accident'," he says sharply as he takes the proffered contract.

"Merely a ... dissenting voice.  But, I assure you that the church is no longer aware of our operations, and it shan't happen again."  The man's earnest grin seems believable, but his urgency is suspect.

Nathan doesn't verbally answer, but simply keeps his gaze fixed on the functionary.

No, no, that's not good enough.

OOC: Dice COULD be rolled for a presence attack here, but looking at the modifiers, and considering you brought a batillion with you ... yeah, you just win.

"T...there was a small problem," the man confesses.  "A training camp was destroyed, and...."  He trails off, glancing at Tom and Seven.  "W-well, the Church remains ignorant as to our true goal; this setback did not compromise us or our plans in the slightest."

The man's smile falters, and he actually tugs on the collar of his shirt.  "Regardless, w...we're prepared to offer you this, uh, meager contingent by way of apology.  We're convinced their ability will satisfy you!"  He nods quickly.  "These are high caliber volunteers, not convicts who have been sentenced to experimentation; no expense was spared!  I assure you, there will be no issues with rebellious nature with these; they've been trained very well."

Nathan's glare is only disturbed by Tom putting out a hand when Seven's teeth begin grinding very loudly.

"A...and there should be no more church troubles, so we should be able to supply the full army by the deadline you specified!  Did I mention their combat prowess?  As many as a dozen grasslanders have to band together to stop even one, and their savage fighting methodology is the cruelest known among any sphere!"  He flinches again, spotting Bjorn.  "Um.  So, how else could I serve you today, Masters?"

"You said," Nathan says icily, "first that the church was 'no longer aware', and yet in this explanation I see no explanation of how they came to be aware.  Who destroyed the camp, and were there any survivors?"

While waiting for a response, he unrolls the contract and turns his glare to it instead.

Victorian-era legalese.  It so flowery that it's practically indecipherable.

"Eh, there was a, um, heretic to the church; he's the one who attacked the camp," the man explains.  "So the church was chasing him.  In the meantime, he managed to acquire the service of our superb thralls -- Due to a failing on the part of the previous overseer, no fault of the product!"  Here, the man brightens slightly, finally having something positive to say.  "One of our eyes-and-ears in the church network monitored the dispatches.  As far as they are concerned, all pursuit of the heretic vanished without a trace.  Which makes sense!  Church knights are no match for our soldiers!"  He smiles and nods at this, as though this is great news.

In the meantime, the contract has small print and is very extensive.  It will take a lot of going over to be solid on all the details, but essentially outlines payment terms for an army of thralls -- 5,000 of them.  Payment will be given in terms of land in Anabara.

"So you're telling me," Nathan says, his tone maintaining the icy facade he's been using so far, "that there is a priest running around with a group of thralls.  While the results of combat would be encouraging had they been verified . . . you don't know who he is; where he is; or what he's up to.  You may not even know the possible ramifications."

"Precisely who deemed this situation to be 'under control'?"

"Governer Fawkes," the man sputters, his smile fading to a sick look.  "We're confident that this can't happen again; new measures were instituted...."  He trails off, then shifts his shoulders uncomfortably.  "The heretic hasn't been seen in some time, and even these soldiers must eat.  For all of their prowess, it seems most likely that he and his soldiers wander the grasslands ... and the savages there let few remain.  Certainly, they're scarcely a match for our soldiers, even in force, but once they starve...."  He shrugs again.

Dracos eyed the man with a fierce glare, casually skimming his surface thoughts.

"So how did that heretic come to take a set of these soldiers?  It would do little good if they were demonstrated in Anabara prior to the fulfillment of the contract."

OOC:
<freya> Drac-work rolls {6d6}[1,4,5,5,5,6] = 26

"We don't know the details," the man says apologetically.

Phil, experienced at reading the thoughts of weak-willed folks, is able to delve into the man's surface thoughts, and can even pull out a few deeper memories -- but for what it's worth, the man thinks nothing beyond the generalities of, "Please don't let this contract fail, please don't let this contract fail...."

For the specifics, he's in a tight spot; what he's doing is illegal by the laws of the Church.  Worse, he's selling weapons to the enemy.  He and his group desperately need to guarantee some form of asylum from the Church; land in Anabara would be the ideal solution (he is, of course, assuming that he'll be able to travel there without trouble).

"But even so," he says, shrugging, "you know more of events in Anabara than I.  Has the heretic appeared there?"

"If he had, we would not be having this discussion.  We would be erasing evidence," He simply stated.  "We will be forced to do so if such word somehow makes it to Anabara."

"Er," he says, wincing.  "Quite so.  But then, it seems it's well in hand!"

"I think we are going to need to speak to Governor Fawkes," Nathan says, frowning, "We need to verify one way or the other what has happened to the missing thralls."

"Eh ... well, yes!  Certainly!  That is no trouble whatsoever!"  He nods quickly several times, and then hesitates.  "The quickest--  No, no....  The safer way would be through the fields," he decides, pointing in one direction -- further down the slope of the hill.  "The church is about, and we'd best avoid the roads ... apologies, good sirs, but no sense putting ourselves at unneeded risk!  I, er, am certain that the Governer will be more than able to provide comfortable accomodations for, er, alll.  All the same, there's a wayhouse along the way where we train our, that is, your soldiers.  We can stop there for a brief rest!"

Grinning, he nods several times, "If you are ready, sirs?"

Phil, still touching on the man's surface thoughts, sees a quick plan forming in his head: When we stop at the training grounds, they'll be easy to distract with a few demonstrations -- a runner can go ahead and let the Governer know what they're upset about, and he'll be perfectly prepared to answer their questions by the time we arrive!

"Alright.  Though our time to dally here is simply limited.  Waste it at your own peril."

"Ehe ... of course," the man manages, his smile slipping slightly.  He leads the troop down the hill, and across a field, then through a thinly wooded area before something very familiar to Tom comes into sight.  Another of the 'farms' where the thralls are trained.  Currently, it's clear of the red-skinned men; those all seem to be following the man who brought them initially.  An estate house looking similar to the one Phil saw destroyed stands to one side, partially hidden behind a screen of trees.

"The governer is here," the man begins cautiously, peering towards the house, even though no one is immediately visible.

"You seem worried," Nathan remarks, giving the man a careful look, "Is something out of place?"

"N-no, of course not!  I'm sure the governor won't be busy at all."  He quickly troops to towards the house, shaking his head.  "I see no signs of trouble."  With that, he leads the way towards the estate's front door, where he hesitates.  "I won't ask you to separate from your men, so if you can wait just a moment, I'll fetch him for you."  he ducks his head and raps on the door.

"That's quite acceptable," Nathan says, nodding.

Much as I'd like to keep him off balance, we need to compare notes.

Dracos waited as well, letting him head inside, a glance at Bjorn and hopefully their mindboard was well situated.

~Pretty sure the governor isn't here.  He could do for a smack if he offers any demonstrations or training exercises.~

~Yeah, I'll keep that in mind, a good Bavarian Fire Drill doesn't let them stall.  Did you read him?~

~Yeah, he's panicky, doesn't know much, and they're pretty much utterly screwed if this deal doesn't go through.~

The toady slips into the house after the door opens; it remains a tiny crack ajar for a longer moment afterwards, before swinging back open.  The interior of the household is dark, but it looks like the front room has a set of stairs leading up.  The view is mostly blocked by a very large, not terribly attractive woman (blocky would be a good word to describe her, she looks like a slightly feminized brick) who steps out, carrying a tray covered with stacked cups, and a pair of empty pitchers.

"Right, then, sirs," she says, setting the tray down on the bannister surrounding the porch leading up to the manor.  "I'll just draw some fresh water from the well for you all."  She begins trudging across the yard towards the covered well near the tree line.

The soldiers eye her dubiously for a moment, but otherwise hold formation, waiting for instructions.  The red-skinned men simply stare forward, blinking only occasionally and not reacting to anything at all.

~They really need that land, then . . . that's interesting.  So he's not so much worried about the loss of profit?~

~They're doing heresy against the church effectively.  The profit is nice, probably but if they stay here eventually it won't matter how many thralls they have to back them up.~

~Any idea why they need it so badly?~

"Let the men get a drink," Nathan says to Seven quietly, "They don't think we're anything untoward, and I suspect we're going to have to do more walking."

~Dunno yet.  We'll see what will happen when I get to glance at the governor.~

Seven nods, and he and Millhouse help the ... woman? ... hand cups of water to all the soldiers and thralls.  After everyone has had a cup, the door opens again, and the toady returns.  "So sorry about the delay!" he says cheerfully, holding the door open, as a middle-aged man of average build steps out.  "This is Governer Fawkes!"

Fawkes is a bit shorter than the toady, and his balding spot leaves a crown of gray hair circling his head.  His nose is sharply angled, and a bit oversized for his face; he squints at everyone, making his eyes seem smaller, which gives him an uncomfortably weasel-like appearance.  "Yes," he says, eyes finally settling on Nathan.  "I am Governer Fawkes.  I'm afraid the sun isn't kind to my eyes, Master Massif.  Would you and a small handful of your business partners care to come inside?  I don't know that I have a room large enough to entertain everyone."

Dracos catches his squinting eyes and focuses on connecting with his thoughts.  "Well, yes, let's go in."  The smaller group followed Fawkes inside.


OOC: Mind scan.
* Dracos rolls 6d6
<freya> Dracos rolls {6d6}[1,2,5,5,5,6] = 24

Governer Fawkes is, to Phil's casual mindscan (which can only brush the surface of this slightly more willful mind), tired, old, and firmly convinced that his colleage has somehow screwed everything up.  He also seems confident he can make the deal that will save him and some trusted friends.

The maid(?) also fetches a large basket of bread and cheese for everyone outside while Phil, Nathan, Bjorn, and Tim go in.  Tom shifts his shoulders uncomfortably, but says nothing, just staying with the other thralls and trying not to glare hatefully at Fawkes and his aide.  Once inside, Fawkes slowly leads the way around a corner, down a hall, and to a large drawing room with plush chairs.  He laboriously heaves himself into a larger chair, and inclines his head to Nathan.  The house seems eerily deserted; other than the maid outside, no one else seems to be nearby.

"Now," he says, squinting at the toady.  "What seems to be troubling you, Master Massif?"

"Several things, Governor," Nathan says, his tone flat, "But first of all, I would like you to tell me of the recent . . . 'incident' . . . at one of your training camps, and what you've done to get the situation under control."

Fawkes grunts in reply and waves one hand, as though it were inconsequential.  "We're both allies to the same cause, Master Massif.  We both have reasons to be wary of the Church ... and the Church has reason to be wary of us.  We strive to be cautious, but at the end of the day, only so much can be done.  We don't have machines for ourselves to move people between the Spheres without the Church noticing, and this is ... for now ... their land.

"The Church is heading the investigation, of course, so our information is second hand," Phil reads: 'few spies', "but it appears it was mere happenstance.  A Church heretic decided to abscond with some of our fine product and use them for our own means.  I can't imagine it as a setback so much as a convenient diversion.  With their attention devoted to one of their own fallen, production has gone up by nearly double."

He shrugs.  "Beyond that, control lies in the hands of the Church ... hence the importance of relocating operations to your promised safe haven in Anabara."

"Indeed," Nathan says calmly, "But I'm still concerned as to, first, how a heretic managed to abscond with your product in the first place, and secondly, as to where he is now, and what will happen once the church tracks him down and decides to investigate where he got his troops?"

"You're perfectly welcome to ask the Church yourself," Fawkes drawls.  "But none have investigated us; all of the blame is on the Church.  Since the house and all records were burned, there's nothing remaining to link us to him ... and since knowledge of the Gates is required to make our product, then logically blame will go to the heretic.  And if he's captured and questioned, he knows nothing of us, so I don't believe there's anything for him to say."

The 'maid' enters the room and mumbles something inaudible, setting down a tea service.  Fawkes pours tea for everyone, putting a twist of lemon in his own.  Once she's gone, he nods again.  "To the remaining question, the soldiers had not yet been impressed with who was to command them.  They're easily controlled until we install that final safeguard ... upon purchase."

"Alright then," Nathan nods, looking somewhat mollified, "I can understand your logic in this instance, then.  You said that production had gone up nearly double; where are we at currently?"

"We have three thousand prepared, with another eight hundred to be completed by the end of this week," Fawkes replies, smiling slightly.  "At another seven hundred a week, or so, we could have slightly more than seven thousand of your originally planned five thousand ready."

He shakes his head, "But I am getting ahead of myself.  The contract was for five thousand, so that is what we shall have -- three weeks early, no less."

"That is more than acceptable.  Alright, a change of plans in light of the previous sabotage and the accelerated production.  We will take the readied three thousand now to ensure that no accidents occur with the readied stock.  In two and a half weeks we will return and collect both the remainder and yourselves to bring back to Anabara."

Fawkes squints at Phil, then shakes his head and turns to Nathan.  "However, I believe we could increase production significantly if we could relocate our operations to Anabara sooner; if the candidates you wrote me about are ready to undergo training, and given the ease of accessing the Gates in your sphere as compared to our own....  If you need more soldiers faster, then it's best handled in the safety of Anabara."

Nathan nods.

"They very nearly are.  How much notice would you require to move your operations?"

"We have eagerly anticipated the day; we could be finished in significantly less than a week, at the cost of additional training and conditioning time for the soldiers, or a fortnight to leave production undisturbed when we arrive," Fawkes says nodding as he sips his tea again.  "Compromises between these absolutes are entirely possible, of course; I leave that decision to you, since it is your transport we will be requiring."

"Hmm," Nathan says, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, "I'll make some final preparations.  This is good news, but will require some changes to our schedule - but as long as proper secrecy from the Church can be maintained, I would prefer the the fortnight.  At this point I would prefer seamless, and leave production undisturbed."