Sigil

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Road to Gretna Green (1 Mile Out, Ludwig's Path) -> Gretna Green, western edge of town
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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"Am not knowing, Constantin Firevalker," remarked Vladimir solemnly. "Dark Omening and things vanting to prevent us from noble qvest. Is bad." He shook his head. This was not the grand adventure that he had hoped it might be, but what grand adventure went off without a hitch? Not the death of a comrade; that was a tragedy. No, the long stretches of nothing happening, followed by surprises that alternated between annoying and destroying. This wasn't a quest. This was a pony ride through a firing range, and a random leaden ball could shatter them at any moment.

Vlad gave some assistance to the fuzzy little Dieter (the ferret, not the brother) so that he could ride in with his fallen master. Perhaps on his way back, Vlad would compose the words that he needed to tell Adam, Ludwig's apprentice, what had befallen him. That was a talk for later. Right now they were almost to the rendezvous point, the end scene, the apex of their travel. While The Great Bazhooli spoke through a veil of grief for their fallen ally, his words remained hopeful. "Come, Constantin! Ve must not allow adversity to make the tossing of cold vater on our adventure! Never! Ve are Circus! VE are vones who face darkness that gives the terror to others! Ve stand for those who cannot! Ve fight, FIGHT to see best of Humanities remain, and those vithout Soul retreat back into dark to die from vounds birthed of Russian iron!" He grunted an affirmation and reined his horse back in the direction of Gretna Green. "Almost there! So close, can taste the Greenness! And the Gretna! Cannot stop now!"

The thunder of hooves followed his last gush of speech as he brought his grand horse to bear down upon the town of Gretna Green. Whatever sort of ending marked the close of this chapter of his story was looming in their very near future. Vladimir couldn't wait.

Roll Request

Characters current location: Gretna Green, western edge
Characters attempted actions: Looking around
Any and all skills being used: General Observation
Why each skill is being called: To look for the familiar, the suspicious, or any place one might go to prepare for a wedding - or a Bachelor Party (equivalent)
Desired location: Same

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Sewing Room (2F) -> State Dining Room (3F)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 2
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Swamp was finally satisfied that his belongings were present and intact just about the moment that their escort arrived to take them to the others. It was a fine waistcoat and concealed blood nicely, as the occasion called for it. He slipped it on and fixed his lapel pin thusly with his new, borrowed shirt. It wasn't too unlike his old shirt, be it not as soft and numerous of thread count, it was strong, thick, and of a color that suited the man. Patting his vest pocket, he produced a pair of rose-tinted glasses. Smallish, round lensed affairs that he immediately rested on the bridge of his nose. "Now that the masks are no longer necessary," he explained. Swamp took up his cane and rested some of his weight upon it, nodding to Amaranthine. He was ready to go, whatever small adventure awaited them next.

Oh, and he didn't have to wait long for that small adventure. Lucky for him, he had a pretty good alibi with a the household staff and a couple of the uninvited-invited guests elsewhere. But sure enough, the Lord of the Manor was dead. He felt that it was quite a shame. Answers might have been had from him, eventually, of one kind or another. "Pity," he said plainly. "This makes the remainder of our visit more complicated." Ever the pragmatist.

The words coming from the man known as Justice Cobalt struck him oddly for a moment. Perhaps it was the sudden loss of his mask that threw off the good Doctor, or perhaps he just needed a moment to allow the corner of his mouth to curl ever-so-slightly as his deductions about the man from earlier were confirmed. Or some of them, anyway. "Thank you, My Lord. I believe that you are correct." Swamp cleared his throat and addressed the family and staff of the fallen Lord Bardolf, "With the permission of those in authority to give it, I would begin an examination." Far be it for him to overstep his boundaries in this place where death is so unilaterally handed out to its inhabitants.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 101 -> Backyard Area)
Skills: Emendator Knowledge/Perception

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Dipping back into the mostly reliable pool of knowledge of human history and events as the should have been throughout the various timelines gave Gilbert only a sense of unsatisfying blankness. Yes, the Great Goose Egg of usable, relatable knowledge on the topic at hand had reared its ugly head, giving Gilbert just as any answers about the utter, blatant uncertainty falling around his ears as he had naught but an hour before. Whether the others in the room were aware of it or not, Gil was absolutely filled with the same level of frustration about their situation as the other were, including the Paradoxes. He sat with a lack of presentable options to a problem that seemed to grow worse by the second, and moreover without the wherewithal to begin solving them. Giving this ample consideration, Gil lifted his eyes and looked about the room, curious as to WHY THE FUCK EVERYONE WAS GOING TO BED.

He stood, glancing about to see who exactly was still left and giving marginal thought to planting those who weren't into the ground with only their heads above the soil like so many human cabbages, when a ripple of concussive energy shook them all. His mouth stood agape, as he was about to yell something Gilbertish and without discernible use of contractions at its onset. With the look of a marathon boxer about to enter a late, punishing round of fisticuffs, Gilbert strode toward the door leading to the hallway, around the back of the Main House, and toward the direction of where he the ripple seemed to originate: The Swamp. Whatever fresh hell awaited them all was going to get a more than fair amount of attention from him.

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 209 -> Backyard Area)
Skills: N/A

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Well, far be it for James to take a single moment for himself in the proper memorial of a good friend, a lady who he had known for two lives now, a prolific drinker of tequila and lover of hot sauce. Yes, it was a little stereotypical of her, considering her culture of birth, but to hell with the naysayers! Tequila kicked ass. So did hot sauce. But that wasn't really the main topic swirling about in his head at that point in time. No, this was the finite nature of life, even one with the potential that this Paradoxical one had. It could end. It did end for Alicia, and also Alexandra, apparently. But the odd Russian lady just wasn't as close to him as Taco Belle was.

Oh yes, that one, single moment for him to pay respects. James had just slipped the Santa Muerte cameo back around his neck and was taking another hard pull from the bottle of tequila when the world around him seemed to give an extended hiccup. James fell to a sitting position on Alicia's bed, simultaneously spit-taking half of the dram that was mid-swallow. Coughing, he looked down at the bottle, hacking out, "Hot dayum that packa punch!"

His free hand rose to his face, wiping the droplets of burning booze that trickled from his nose. "That... that you, girl?" he inquired to the air around him. He looked over at the statue of Santa Muerte in the room. A quiet whisper addressed the image of Sainted Death Herself, "I'm sorry... was, um... was this f'you?" He then felt immensely stupid. This was something that happened inside of the Destrehan Plantation grounds, outside of this room. Like a plane crashed or something. It seemed to come from behind the house. Without bothering to set anything down or wipe his face further, James exited the room, made his way downstairs, and poked around outside.

"Um, that you, Mr. Hat?" he said, finding Gilbert just coming outside as well.

"Yes, Mr. Grady. Thank you for joining us."

"Hey, slow y'roll, Boss! I said I was coming back. For real!"

"Is that Alicia's tequila?"

"Umm... yeah," he admitted sheepishly. James walked fully into the backyard area, joining the Emedator.

"Excellent. I could use a drink." He held his hand out and accepted the bottle, took a respectable pull, and handed it back. "Thank you. It came from that way," he informed, pointing toward the Swamp. Gilbert continued forward. James followed close behind.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis
Skills: N/A

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"Yes, of course," agreed Reginald, speaking to Bella. "The sun in Egypt can be unforgiving, quite. Especially on fair, aristocratic skin, don't you know?" He went so far as to remove his very dignified officer's cap and use it to shield the worst of the sun from Bella's face as they walked along. "Sadly, I do not have present access to a parasol, madame. This shall have to suffice for the meantime." While Reginald could not see the physical reaction (if any) that affected Gene, he did see discomfort in Bella. Quietly, he spoke to her about just that. "Miss Bella, is there something which troubles you? Something for which I may provide assistance?" On the one hand, if they had to continue without their guide, then that was simply that. On the other hand, allowing a lady in obvious distress to continue without appropriate action was positively ungentlemanly. Reginald had many character flaws. That was not one of them.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, and while steering in the direction of shade for the betterment of their guide, Reginald spoke aloud, "Lad has quite the gift for distraction, that J.C.; though I daresay I do find it ever so slightly tedious to continually refer to the man by his initials. Ah well, it is a thing to which I must adjust if I wish to maintain his friendly acquaintance, I imagine. But I digress. Yes, gift for distraction! I do wonder how the boy managed to initiate a goat rampage, you see. We might have used that bit of tactic against the Boers back in Eighteen and Ninety-Nine! Goat Rampage..." He chuckled softly, "Credit due to you Americans and your outside-the-canister thinking, indeed." Funny bit of casual conversation aside, they needed to move, and preferably out of the sun for their guide. With these thoughts in mind, the Lord Major continued deeper into the site. "I do wonder how the remainder of our Fellowship fares back in Benha proper."

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Infirmary -> Elite Deck)
Skills: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage

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A slow smile spread across the Corporal's face. It was accompanied by a knowing look that he aimed in the direction of Josephine. He had to give the starlet this: She was handling everything that was being thrown at her remarkably well. A cool head in the face of uncertainty. Not to mention observational skills and a vindictive streak that, if well placed, made her an asset that only appeared to be a liability. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he whispered to her, "Miss Clarke, you simply must remind me not to cross you later on, hmm?"

It occurred to Reddish that this was the first actual miraculous event that he had witnessed since imposing himself onto the Fellowship. In truth, he didn't know what to expect from these people. The Corporal had his own reasons for being there. Seeing something like this for himself? It changed things a little bit for him. Definitely not something to put in the report later on. Curiously, it also made him feel like more of an outsider. Or a fraud. These people might actually be part of something much bigger then themselves. Meanwhile, he was just tagging along. Well, he still had his reasons. Just because magic existed, it didn't change that aspect of his presence. So to hell with it. If he was an uninvited guest to all this, he was at least going to help the ones chosen accomplish what they were supposed to. While serving as the right hand of the Lord Major, of course.

The Corporal ducked back into the Infirmary and closed the door quietly. "Capital idea, Miss Clarke," he said, traversing the Infirmary with purpose. He quickly slipped out of the back door and, holding his hand out for Josephine, surreptitiously made his way down the stairs. "If we are spotted by the staff," he reminded, "wave them over. The physician needs help, remember?" One of the basic rules about being someplace you shouldn't: Always have an excuse for your presence. It even helps if it's believable. The "sick doctor" routine, even if it worked, would nix this chance to investigate, but it would at least keep them in the game overall. Now, the trick was to not get caught.

Roll Request

Character current location: Boat, Elite Deck
Characters attempted actions: Being Sneaky
Any and all skills being used: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage
Why each skill is being called: Stealth - to move nonchalantly without being noticed, Investigation/Espionage - to continue the investigation/slather their presence with believable bullshit
Desired location of the character: Elite Deck, Room In Question

🦄 Darker Than Black - Merged With T.S.

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Caesar & Keystone

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Location: Road To Grimm I (Indiana, Amish Country)
Skills: N/A
Skills: N/A

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To quote the immortal words of David Mustaine, "Hundreds of miles, rolled off today. Roadsigns lose their meaning, minutes tick away." Maybe not hundreds of miles, persay, but when you're staring down the multitudes of square miles of corn and abandoned buildings that just seem to scream "Meth Lab", it begins to get tedious. Massively tedious. The sweet and salty popcorn does wonders to increase morale, such as these two man have morale that can be measured by the yardstick and/or litmus test of the common man. It gets to a point that, despite Keystone's hesitation to put on the musical stylings of his favorite performer (and fellow East Ender) in front of El Jefe, the big guy found his hand inexorably drawn in the direction of his playlist. Resistance growing fainter and fainter with the more rows of corn that they passed, it was only a matter of seconds.

The mixed blessing of a tire blow prevents this from happening. It gave Keystone something else to concentrate upon. A distraction, if you will, from the undeniable pull of Adele Adkins. He would have to come clean eventually about it, as if it was not something made clear by previous actions. But he could suspend his disbelief for a little while longer - at least as long as it would take to flip out a tire. It came standard with the vehicle, as most things did; MSS was not known for sinking a lot of money into extra perks in vehicles unless specifically requested for certain members of their fold, nor did they want to go cheap, either. A spare tire and the means to repair such a circumstance were positively within the realm of probability.

Both men hopped out of the SUV, glad to have the opportunity to stretch their legs for a bit. They ambled to the back of the vehicle, appropriating the spare and giving each other odd looks as if trying to use psychic powers to get the other one to actually change the damned thing. In the end, Keystone relented. He justified his willingness to do so with the explanation of, "Yuh huh there, Boss. You're a crack shot as compared to m'self. I'll do the heavy, you make sure none o' these buggers from Cousinfuck, IN sneaks up on the car, right?" He proceeded to set the jack and begin a'cranking.

Meanwhile, Caesar gave a quiet chuckle and did as asked. He gave the car a once-around, pulled a weapon but kept it hidden. A place in the middle of nowhere (though he did like the way in which Keystone put it, using the compound word "cousinfuck" as the proper name of a place followed by the state in question) with a blown tire is exactly a decent spot for an ambush. Perhaps it was unnecessary overkill, given the mundane nature of the obstacle upon which they tested their mettle, but 'safe' and 'sorry' rarely met in a descriptive without the promise of something quite negative otherwise.

Several minutes later, back on the road, the urge to play music returned.

🧚🏻‍♀️ The Walking Dead - Year 6 Part 1

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Ash Holloway

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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Air went in, air came out. Again. The again. Keep them deep and easy. Don't force it. It was a simple breathing exercise. Ash knew that he was going to have to deal with his feelings about losing someone. He just hated that it was so public here. The concept of privacy was a forgotten thing in this place, though he understood the reason why. They were quarantined, pure and simple. What that meant specifically could vary from organization to organization, but at its heart it meant isolation from a larger group and observation. As a side effect, Ash didn't have a spot he could go to and deal with his emotions away from everyone else. Well, what else was new? For the time being, just keep pushing air in and out. It was times like this that he hoped whomever was taking notes on them would slip on a stray crayon and clip their head on a table end on the way down. He didn't wish anything permanent, mind you, just a blunt reminder that they were still people who had been through a lot. Plus, it might be funny in a dark sort of way.

Being the center of attention was never his thing. This was doubled by the nature of why he was drawing to many stares. Tati actually was of amazing benefit in this matter; who wanted to stare at him when there was a giant, screeching bookcase to draw one's attention? The fact that it was headed in his direction notwithstanding, it seemed quite effective in breaking the overwhelming tension in the air. By the time the ballerina was done, Ash was sitting next to her on the floor, behind a bookcase, discussing the potential merits of building a pillow fort. There was a tense moment as Ash stared up as the bookcase, apparently someone had decided that then was he best time for a reading selection - but otherwise it was a touching moment that drew a polite nod from Ash and a thankful nudge on his part. "Thanks, Tati," he said quietly. "This ain't something I'm getting over immediately. Even though I braced for it." He even managed a dry chuckle, even if it sounded a little forced, "Wouldn't mind that fort, though."

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Thalia Carmichael

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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Thalia's eyes got a little wider with Tatiana's response about Ash and her cousin. She craned her neck over to give the Captain a glance, the glance turning into a nigh bug-eyed look of consideration. Before anyone noticed (she hoped), Thalia turned her eyes downward, processing the new information. She remembered that, in her agitation with the man's hesitation to speak with her, she made an offhand comment in Spanish about Ash being the kind of guy that her cousin would have "fucked for sport". The fact that he readily understood notwithstanding, Thalia finally realized why the man gave him a very reserved look that still managed to get across the basic message of "Go to Hell". Maybe she owed him an apology. Or maybe he needed to stop being a dick about the whole thing and answer a few basic questions, seeing as he obviously knew Alicia well.

Well, like with most of the conversations that she wanted to have these days, she was just going to have to wait for it. How long could be anyone's guess this time, though. No problem. They had time. And she had a way or two to spend that time, which sure as hell wasn't waiting around. Tatiana had asked if she wanted to practice more or play cards, and she had made her decision. Spoiler alert: It wasn't cards. Getting in as much physical therapy and brutal training was going to be paramount in her getting her shit together and walking out of this place stronger than when she came in.

There was just one tiny hitch - Tati had decided to postpone their training to help out Ash. Oookay... Well, the guy looked like he needed it. Unfortunately, part of that "help" involved a metallic screech that seemed to never end, setting her teeth on edge and causing her to cringe despite a valiant attempt to hang tough. Thalia always did hate loud noises. Until she figured out what she was going to do next, Thalia just kept looking at the home movie featuring the Martin Clan, including her lost friend Thana. It really sucked. Thalia had a hard enough time trusting people, let alone making actual friends. Good friends had a nasty habit of dying. It was not a great thought to get stuck on. Stuff like that might crack you. At that thought, Thalia glanced back at Ash once more before moving out of his line-of-sight. Remove the temptation to stare.

Luck was with her, in more ways than one. Atticus's appearance removed the video from the equation, gave her something to do, promised her a replacement limb, and got her out into the open air. Well, you go Preacher-Boy. She walked optimistically over to Atticus, though did raise an eyebrow at the man packing heat. A shrug and a mental "Yahwhatevah" later, Thalia called over to Alexander, "Hells yeah, Mugsy. Let's do this." She was more than ready to get an arm of some kind back. It meant that she could start getting some additional exercise in.

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Hank Wright

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Location: Quarantine (Conference Room)
Skills: N/A

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Hank kept a sharp eye on what was going on in the room, even if he was dead certain that he didn't give too much of an outward appearance of giving a rat's ass about it. There was an interesting sense of camaraderie with a lot of these people; some of it seemed like the ebb and flow of goodwill birthed of familial unity, while at other times a strange, trauma based reaction that looked like it had more in common with PTSD or Stockholm Syndrome, maybe. It was funny what brought people together in times of crisis. Even funnier what odd selection of people that otherwise would ever have looked at each other twice were suddenly all buddy-buddy in the face of common adversity.

Not that he really showed anything to the people around him aside from a derisive grin, especially when the legos made appearance. So it wasn't betting in the traditional sense. "Yeahp, maybe when we're done, we can build a tower for height, see who won that way, huh?" Well, it was better than nothing. A few people trickled over to the table, including two more of his shaven head buddies from the other group. "Hey hey, well there ladies... We get a few more of us baldies going over here, we won't have to spring for team shirts. So, what's the game? Five card, Hold'em, Blackjack? We going to pair off and get a Bridge tournament going? Hmm..." He leaned across the table a little, a mildly sarcastic smile playing on his face, "Any of you ladies ever play '52 Pickup'?" He nodded boyishly, as if to intentionally telegraph a bad joke. "Real character builder."

🦄 Soulless Regency - Merged With T.S.

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Vladimir Alexandrov

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Location: Road to Gretna Green From Port Annan (1 Mile Out, Ludwig's Path)
Skills: Fal'shbort (Passive), Tretiy Glaz (Passive), English

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The coming wisp of dark cloud took Vladimir completely by surprise. Such was not one of the things that he was expecting to find, apparently, as he had committed a high portion of his concentration toward his more travel-based skillset. Sadly, before any of that could come to fruition, the unimaginable happened. Instinct had Vladimir placing control of his horse with his heels and knees, settling the rearing yet noble beast as best he could. His hands were kept quite occupied, quickdrawing two of his larger knives underhand grips. Vladimir's teeth were bared and he let out a wordless roar of challenge, restrained only by the clenching of his teeth as he scanned his surroundings for potential threats. This "ill wind" could just be the vanguard of a fresh, new brand of Hell, and no one would catch The Great Bazhooli unawares - not this close to their destination.

It was at this point that Vlad noticed the fallen Ludwig. "AH!" he cried aloud, his hands rising to either side of his head though they still carried blades, framing his face with sharpened steel. "For vhy? For vhy does the fortunes take such beatings to our qvest? Vhy does silly German man, our most noble and loyal of allies, have to go on this adventure before ve?" Vlad shook his head vigorously. "NO! This I cannot accept!"

The Great Bazhooli kicked one of his feet from its stirrup ad sifted his weight to one side, rolling off the horse with gusto and landing promptly. The second his feet touched the earth beneath him, he walked with purposeful stride to the prostrated and prone form of Master Ludwig Zimmer. "I refuse accepting of this!" He sheathed his knives in one gallant flourish and dashed to he knees, sliding the remaining foot to the crumpled Ludwig. Vladimir flexed his hands and cracked his knuckles, followed by his neck, followed by his shoulders, each in rapid succession of each other. The man looked like he meant business. "I vill give you such the Krasnoye-ing, Master Zimmer..." he started, laying his hands roughly upon the man. His face was anger, frustration, and grim determination beyond the capacity of less dramatic men to summon.

Then it all fell away from his face. Looking quite surprised, even a little embarrassed, Vladimir quickly retracted his hands. "Ах, дерьмо."₁ He gave a very matter-of-factly nod, "Da, is dead. Okays! Town is that vay." He hoisted the man onto the flank of his horse, Tolstoy(!) and remounted, glad that they were traveling lightly. "Ve go!" The best arrangements were to be made in town one mile off, and the mission was supposed to be in there anyway.

Translations

1 = "Ah, shit."

🦄 Machiavellian Masquerade - Chapter 1

Dr. Swamp

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Location: Shadowell Manor: Sewing Room (2F)
Skills: N/A
Hit Points: 2
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"Yes," said the Doctor coolly, in agreement with Rhoda. "This should suffice nicely. The hospitality of the household is noteworthy." Whether this was by the insistence of the Lord of the Manor or the basic duty of the staff, it was appreciated. It wasn't everyday that Swamp had gotten shot. Point of fact, this was a very new experience for him. He had seen many a body mangled by ammunition though, enough to know that he had gotten off very lucky, all things considered. At that thought, he craned his neck to examine his stitching. Satisfied, he gave Amaranthine a polite smile. "Superior work."

As the shirt was held out, Swamp slipped his hands into the sleeves and carefully pushed them through. It was a decent enough article of clothing, if not the level of quality of the one destroyed by gunfire and blood. It would, as he mentioned earlier, suffice nicely. And he did like the color, even if it was the attire of the servants of the house. His bearing would undoubtedly distinguish himself, of course. "Thank you, Amaranthine," he breathed, looking to his vest next. The mottled crimson brocade of the garment was appropriate accompaniment, and besides that he still had some personal effects in the pockets. The next thing he did was ensure that they were still present.

🦄 The Paradoxical Emendation - Merged With T.S.

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Gilbert Summers

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, Room 101 (Sitting Room))
Skills: Emendator Knowledge/Perception

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A heavy sigh issued from Gilbert as, and very sadly, he began to realize some of what Siduri was communicating. The cryptic, deity-esque woman never liked to come straight with her news nor her advice, like it was a game somehow. Or a test of character. Or intelligence. Come to think of it, he didn't really have a clue as to what she was thinking at any given moment. It was a little unsettling. Even his ability to access things about human history had little to say on the woman. But, riddles or not, she had to have come here for a reason. When part of that reason clicked, Gilbert began to grow very concerned.

"Time is growing short. For us. We might not even have the time to properly train our people anymore. What if Siduri did not utilize a power to arrive here? That is to say, if she just knew that there would be a vulnerability that manifested on this cycle?" Gilbert, like the other Emendators and the older Paradoxes who had lived through the sundering of a Loop knew full well what happened when one broke. "Triage. As much as it pains me, and it does, it will take time to get Faith ready to find Evelina. She expressly said that she does not wish to be followed, and time is again a finite resource. But I believe that we all should be ready to depart at a moment's notice, at all times."

"Giosue, how long do you think this Loop has left?" He had other questions, such as, "Can it be repaired?", or "Have we a spot established for a new one?", or even "Might this have to do with 'Nibiri', as we know it?", yet the first question required answering before the others were priority in the slightest. Even provided that time remained, that talk with Babylon might not be a bad idea anyway. A creature such as her whose existence was tied to ancient lore, not unlike himself, might know something they did not. If they had the time yet.

Roll Request

Character current location: Sitting Room
Characters attempted actions: Figuring stuff out
Any and all skills being used: Emendator Knowledge
Why each skill is being called: Niburi - Culture of origin and probable meanings beyond the basics. Where to look. Related sources. Stories and prophecies of.
Desired location of the character: Sitting Room

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James Grady

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Location: Ville au Camp (Main House, East Hallway -> Room 209)
Skills: N/A

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Just as he promised he would, James began to make his way up the stairs and across the upper deck, above the main porch in the front of the building. He was barely cognizant of himself, mostly running on autopilot, let alone the grander strokes of his environment. He knew that something huge was about to change with his living circumstances, but considering the massive swings in the conversation downstairs he had no earthly idea what it could be. He just knew that he had made a promise to have a tiny ritual in the memory of a dear friend who ...ascended... just that morning. The bravado and smiles associated with the day really reflected an ebb and flow of processing how he felt about that. More importantly, who he wanted to be to reflect the positive influence that she had on him.

Just for a moment, just a single space of time, the Emendators and Goddesses could all do their own thing, separate from him. He wold rejoin and help as best he could, even if that just meant sitting in a corner and making fun of people who needed it. He was okay at that. But right now he needed to ponder things for himself and give honor where he said he would. Slowly, James opened the door to his room and stepped inside. There was, among the few items of his allowed from his previous life, a picture of a newborn baby and a mostly full bottle of tequila. He picked up both, weighting the importance of either for a healthy few seconds. Which one caused his friend to slip away into the Great What-Came-After? Surely not directly, but which one gave her the feeling of completeness or finality or whatever that led to her passing onward and upward?

James popped the cork out of the bottle and turned it up, taking a respectable swig. Looking at the picture, he repeated the name told to him: "James Sally." He coughed once, unaccustomed to taking straight spirits like that with the same familiarity as he once did. "Mmm. Ha-cha-cha... Always with the hard shit, huh?" he said to no one in particular.

🦄 Deeper Than The Sands - Merged With T.S.

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Reginald Keystone

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Location: Athribis
Skills: General Observation

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Taking to step at the direction of Bella, the unseasonably keen eyes of the Lord Major did not detect anything amiss in regards of persons from the train, boat, or crowd around them earlier attempting to follow this detachment of the Fellowship. It was for the best for a few reasons, the safety of all parties at the top of said list. Recent events had proven that unnatural fate spared neither the nefarious nor the merely curious. Besides, if more blood was needed to secure the success of their adventure, it could come from Reginald.

It seemed that, no sooner had he mentally checked off the lack of people following them, that Mahendra came to him with he observations. "Indeed?" He mulled over the new information. "Oh no, please do speak boldly, Mr. Zalil. Fortune favors the brave, and whatnot. Lord knows it has been painfully favorable to me... hmm..." Reginald appeared lost in thought for a second or two before returning to the present. "Given the improbable yet undeniable truths of our situation, dear boy, educated suspicions bear credibility. And if I am to recall, you are lettered in related pursuits? This should be related to our guide, I believe."

Reginald looked to Bella, who had chosen that moment to ask him for formal escort. "Upon my honor as a gentleman, madame!" he exclaimed, swooping off his cap and taking her arm. The moment he replaced his cap upon his silvery pate, a random goat began to cause havoc. The Lord Major had a pithy comment awaiting it's moment; sadly it was not to be as Bella identified that as the grand diversion for which they had waited. "Yes, well... with a mad goat about, I shall certainly escort you until your man J.C. returns. Let us be off, then."

With the horned, livestocky terror behind them distracting the locals as only a berserk farm animal could, Reginald did as asked and accompanied their sultry guide away to parts roped off and forbidden to the general populace. "Ah, Miss Ridgeway and Mr. Zalil both make compelling points," he commented, still making tracks onward, "What shall we look for first, and might it have anything to do with those untended areas?" He kept his speaking points brief as they escaped the area - partly for stealth and partly because he wasn't the young man he once was. Conservation of energy, and the like.

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Haring Reddish

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Location: Benha (Boat, Infirmary)
Skills: Investigation/Espionage

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Today had already shaped up to be an interesting and potentially noteworthy day. Reddish was certain that his portion in the mission at hand had reached its zenith the previous evening, but no, the hits just kept on coming. The bare moment that he figured this would be like any other assignment, escort, or information gathering expedition, something else happened that altered his perception of things in general. Not that the good Corporal needed a reason to have his perception altered from societal norms, seeing as he appeared to live in a constant state of ...whatever it was that afflicted him.

Case in point. While Reddish was using the opportunity of Josephine's injury to nose about and take in detail in hopes of furthering their investigation, he happened across a piece of highly pertinent information. It came in the form of paperwork inside of the Infirmary, as apparently the corridors and decks were mostly clear of personnel or clues at that time. But to point, the Corporal's inquisitive nature revealed to him the top section of a piece of paperwork - notes on another, very recent patient. He was just in the onset of committing the details to memory for later use when he heard a sound like a sack of hams collapsing onto the floor. Wide-eyed and potentially alarmed, Reddish turned around to see the ship's physician prone and unconscious.

He then got the most devious expression. Reaching back, he snatched up the paperwork and gave it a more thorough read, speaking to Josephine about his find. "Bloody fortuitous, this is. Miss Clarke, your antics, as you phrased them, just got us SWEET MERCIFUL BANGERS 'N' BLOODY MASH YOU'RE A WITCH one brilliant pip of a lead." Reddish had apparently just noticed Josephine's minor miracle and processed it within the span of his sentence. "We should be off smartly, before this bloke comes to, Miss Clarke."

Reddish carefully replaced the paper and cracked open the door to the infirmary. He peered out, gauging the best opportunity for moving with stealth and/or nonchalance. "Right then. Miss Clarke - I've a mind to speak with that man. Perhaps you might be as kind as to join?" Just before setting out, the Corporal asked with some humor in his tone, "Care to borrow a weapon just in case, Miss Clarke? Or would you prefer to use your witchy-powers on possible opposition?" The tiniest of chortles later, Reddish made his move. If caught, he could always use the excuse that he was going for help for the doctor.

Roll Request

Character current location: Boat, Infirmary
Characters attempted actions: Being Sneaky
Any and all skills being used: Stealth, Investigation/Espionage
Why each skill is being called: Stealth - to move without being noticed, Investigation/Espionage - to continue the investigation/slather their presence with believable bullshit
Desired location of the character: Sun Deck (or Elite Deck if still allowed two deck changes)