The Society Debut (IC)

Harding · February 22

Zefelle Copperspark, True neutral Lightfoot Halfling Druid 3

(Current HP: 27/ 27) | AC: 14 (16 shield equiped) | Spell Slots: 4 /2

Prepared spellsCantrip: Chill touch, Poison spray, Shillelagh

Lv1: Entangle, Detect magic, Fairy fire, Speak with animals

Lv2: Blindness/Deafness, Gentle Repose, Summon beast, Spike growth, Moon beam

Passive perception: 16 | Passive insight: 16

She halted in her tracks, heeding Sparrow's words with a nod of agreement. Indeed, maintaining her disguise seemed prudent; the mask afforded her a measure of anonymity in the presence of the inquisitor. She resolved to keep her costume intact for the time being, recognizing its value in preserving her identity. While she had thus far endeavored to comport herself in a manner befitting the situation, she remained acutely aware of the need to remain vigilant and composed.

Accepting the offered cup of tea from Sparrow, Zefelle offered him a grateful smile, her expression reflecting genuine appreciation for his kindness. "Thank you," she murmured, her voice warm with sincerity. "You are a true gentleman for your generous compliment regarding the dress. It seems fitting indeed for the forthcoming festivities. I had nearly forgotten the masquerade aspect of this gathering." With a conspiratorial wink, she conveyed her appreciation for his understanding.

However, their conversation was abruptly interrupted as the inquisitor stumbled to the floor, her breathing labored. Zefelle's concern was immediate and genuine as she approached the young woman, her healer's instincts kicking in. She conducted a quick assessment of Irata's condition, noting any visible symptoms or discomfort. "Are these episodes frequent occurrences for you? Do you experience morning nausea?" she inquired softly, her voice laced with compassion. "If so, it may be a sign of overexertion or perhaps even pregnancy..." Her tone was gentle yet pragmatic, a stark contrast to her earlier demeanor.

Inquisitor D · February 22

"I... err..."

Irata tenses at the question. The instinct to deny, to front, to hide her shame is buried deep in her. Still, it's not easy to keep up a tough façade against Zefelle's medical manner. At the pregnancy option, she snorts and her shoulders slump. That did it. She speaks slowly, hesitant with each word. "It's just... I had a bad experience recently. I thought I was past it. But..."

But clearly she isn't. She's no Inquisitor. She's a play acting scribe, trying to be something better than she is. And to think she'd had dreams of being a hero of the Seraphim. Now she's just making random people in the back of a shop worry about her. "Sorry. Sorry." Irata shakes her head. She can't finish that thought outloud. Still, after a second... she laughs, grinning grimly at Zefelle. There's a manic look to her, one that's barely holding itself together. "Stupid, isn't it? I'm supposed to be a monster hunter. Supposed to fight witches. I thought I was ready for this. I shouldn't be this... this."

Irata doesn't have the words, just gesturing down at herself. Surely her inadequacy should be fairly self apparent.

Harding · February 22

Zefelle Copperspark, True neutral Lightfoot Halfling Druid 3

(Current HP: 27/ 27) | AC: 14 (16 shield equiped) | Spell Slots: 4 /2

Prepared spellsCantrip: Chill touch, Poison spray, Shillelagh

Lv1: Entangle, Detect magic, Fairy fire, Speak with animals

Lv2: Blindness/Deafness, Gentle Repose, Summon beast, Spike growth, Moon beam

Passive perception: 16 | Passive insight: 16

Zefelle's expression softened as she listened to Irata's hesitant explanation, her heart going out to the young woman's evident distress. She could sense the weight of Irata's struggle, the burden of expectation and self-doubt bearing down upon her.

"It's alright," Zefelle reassured her gently, placing a comforting hand on Irata's shoulder. "No need to apologize." She offered a sympathetic smile, her eyes conveying understanding and empathy.

As Irata continued, revealing her inner turmoil and fears of inadequacy, Zefelle shook her head in understanding. "It's not stupid at all," she replied softly, her voice calm and reassuring. "I may speak out of bounds, but I think the inquisitor are forgetting that people, despite their divine mission, are still mortals and they don't have all the same level of mettle despite the best faith in the world in their ideals."

She paused, searching for the right words to offer comfort. "Monster need to be killed, and despite your doubt and your own weaknesses, you are still willing to sacrifice yourself for this thankless task. This is very honorable, and I truly respect that." Zefelle's gaze met Irata's, her expression one of genuine solidarity. She knew exactly the horrors and self-sacrifice that has to be done to destroy the creatures preying on those who can't defend themselves...

With a gentle squeeze of Irata's shoulder, Zefelle offered her a reassuring smile. "And who's to say what a hero looks like, anyway? Sometimes, it's just about finding the strength to keep going, even when it hurt like hell."

Edited February 22 by Harding (see edit history)

Inquisitor D · February 22

"... thank you."

Zefelle's words hit their mark. Irata exhales, taking a second to dab at her eyes. Looking a touch more composed, she nods to the halfling, "You're right. We're not all like Dame Reydan: charging into battle against the unclean. It's the ideal, but to be honest I'd rather spend time cross checking histories and compiling reports more than shooting anyone."

She glances at the gun behind her, a little ruefully. She shouldn't disrespect her weapon like that. But... well, she's not a born warrior. Better to accept that fact than lie. No sense in disrespecting Zabriel. "Not exactly what the fight needs. But as you say, it's just a question of being willing. Sooner or later I'm going to have to get use to it. And I have other skills. Even if I'm not the best hand with a gun, I'm still going to help."

Everyone doing their bit. That's why von Hoenheim had recruited her in the first place. Perhaps the old man still had something of his homeland in him. Irata glances around the room, finally better able to take in its inhabitants as individuals. They're a more diverse lot than she expected, but that makes her smile. "That's the Bürach way, right? Tolerance! Mixing all sorts of people with all sorts of different perspectives, to create something better. You have entire collages of magecraft, sanctioned by the crown! And the Empire's still around."

She should try to be friendly and positive to the locals. The order wants to be diplomatic with the city, right? And this really is one of Bürach's finer traits, if... questionable to most of the Inquisition. There's a reason a Certain Someone fled north. Starting to feel the benefits of a cosier atmosphere, Irata chuckles. "That's probably what drives the Blood Madder so crazy. Judging magic users in court? Having to prove wrongdoing? No one show her a history that actually talks about the Anchorages back during unification. The Inquisition kept arcanists on a short leash, but we used to be more... tolerant."

She sighs, more disappointed than angry. A familiar face is lingering in the corner of her mind's eye, smiling at her. Things would've been so much easier back then.

Edited February 23 by Inquisitor D (see edit history)

BobtheWizard · February 22

Sparrow (Wood Elf Specter, Soulknife Rogue 3) sheet song

AC: 16 | HP: 27/27 | Initiative: +4 | Passive Perception: 15 | Features

Sparrow is glad to see the inquisitor recover. He hates being people die, even an inquisitor, but her death would also have likely brought scrutiny onto whatever this meeting is supposed to be. when she gives him her name, he returns the cordiality, "My name is Sparrow. It is nice to meet you." He still thinks she has no suspicion for his true nature, but remains vigilant just in case.

He was moved both by Zefelle's genuine concern for the inquisitor's health and and by her speech on courage and perseverance. "Yes. Not all monsters are magical, either. I have met men, untouched by magic, as vile than any ghost, and I'm sure there are some, that we would call foul creatures, who still have a trace of kindness in their hearts."

He then nods at the arcanist's praise of tolerance, thinking that language is likely heresy, and concerned that the discussion of the Blood Madder might rise even to blasphemy. He is now concerned for her safety. He agrees with her sentiments, but given her profession, she likely needs to keep those thoughts silent. He tries to agree without directly questioning the inquisition's edicts.

"Sometimes the world can be too quick to judge, and too slow to try to understand."

Mechanics

Main Hand: Empty
Off Hand: Empty

Action: Your action goes here.
Bonus Action: Your bonus action goes here.
Move: Your movement goes here.
Manipulate: Your one free object interaction goes here.

Edited February 23 by BobtheWizard (see edit history)

rauhric · February 23

Zorjana Teodozja LN Human Noble, "Haunted" Sorceress | "Hexblade" Warlock [3]

• AC 11 • HP 19 • Init +4 • Passive Perception 13 • Devil's Sight 120' • Phantom Familiar

Zorjana found this collection of strangers interesting. While she is currently trying to regain the rightful position of her family in noble standings, and she would never willing socialize with these types unless they proved useful to her end goals, she is appreciative of this moment in their company. There is something refreshing being in company of this random collection of strangers from different walks of life; they are not at all like the girls of nobility she went to boarding school with.

As the tailor (seamstress) returned with her gown she tried it on to see if all the alterations were to her liking. The dress looks gorgeous on her and she is pleased with the fit. Thanking them she admired her new masquerade ball gown and mask and wondered what more randomness was in store for her.

OoC

OoC: Items purchased - dress, and cloak, mask is free

Phantom Familiar

Antonas Dragan Teodozja [Phantom Familiar | medium undead]
• STR 1 (-5) DEX 14 (+2) CON 11 (+0) INT 10 (+0) WIS 10 (+0) CHA 11 (+0)

• AC 12 • HP 22 • Passive Perception 10 • Darkvision 60' • Fly 50'
• Damage Resistance: acid, cold, fire, lightning, thunder, and bludgeoning, piercing, slashing from non-magic attacks
• Damage Immunity: necrotic, poison
• Condition Immunities: charmed, exhaustion, grappled, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned, prone, restrained, unconscious

• Incorporeal Movement: can move through creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain; specter takes 1d10 (5) force damage if ends turn inside an object.
• Sunlight Sensitivity: in sunlight specter has disadvantage on attacks and perception checks (sight).

• AVAILABLE @3rd Life Drain Attack (Action): melee spell attack +4, range 5' (1 target), 3d6 necrotic damage DC 10 Con save or target's Max HP reduced by damage taken (last until long rest). Target dies if effect reduces target's HP to Zero.

Edited February 26 by rauhric (see edit history)

RillaTaj · February 24

While the crowd inside was distracted by the wavering Inquisitioner, a figure in a well-worn brown cloak slipped in. The person in the cloak definitely looked a few degrees too shabby to patronize this establishment, but moved with the carriage and grace of a noble as they glanced about and made a beeline for a collection of masks styled after the Seraphs on the right side of the door. That apparently had been the easy part, for the figure proceeded to puck three -a lighter, a darker, and one in between- and stare at them as though the person's very life depended on a correct choice.

Mask 1:

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Mask 2:

%5Bimg2%3D200%5Dhttps%3A%2F%2Fimages-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com%2Ff%2F831013f8-d6e2-4422-910e-3176aa21ab26%2Fd5sg8zs-9eebbb79-f55c-4878-b3e7-7b27426b0774.jpg%2Fv1%2Ffill%2Fw_975%2Ch_819%2Cq_70%2Cstrp%2Fil_tempo_vola_mask__19_by_merimask_d5sg8zs-pre.jpg%3Ftoken%3DeyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9ODYwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvODMxMDEzZjgtZDZlMi00NDIyLTkxMGUtMzE3NmFhMjFhYjI2XC9kNXNnOHpzLTllZWJiYjc5LWY1NWMtNDg3OC1iM2U3LTdiMjc0MjZiMDc3NC5qcGciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTAyNCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.Fh-_eVEH7_J5ff8IY8uVTTrZwiSumw2HLnu-RcltLqg%5B%2Fimg2%5D

il_tempo_vola_mask__19_by_merimask_d5sg8zs-pre.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9ODYwIiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvODMxMDEzZjgtZDZlMi00NDIyLTkxMGUtMzE3NmFhMjFhYjI2XC9kNXNnOHpzLTllZWJiYjc5LWY1NWMtNDg3OC1iM2U3LTdiMjc0MjZiMDc3NC5qcGciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9MTAyNCJ9XV0sImF1ZCI6WyJ1cm46c2VydmljZTppbWFnZS5vcGVyYXRpb25zIl19.Fh-_eVEH7_J5ff8IY8uVTTrZwiSumw2HLnu-RcltLqg

Mask 3:

%5Bimg2%3D200%5Dhttps%3A%2F%2Fimages-wixmp-ed30a86b8c4ca887773594c2.wixmp.com%2Ff%2F831013f8-d6e2-4422-910e-3176aa21ab26%2Fd4y7pk0-b1d97676-e5ae-4e92-a68b-263aabe12305.jpg%2Fv1%2Ffill%2Fw_900%2Ch_704%2Cq_75%2Cstrp%2Fil_tempo_vola_v3_by_merimask_d4y7pk0-fullview.jpg%3Ftoken%3DeyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NzA0IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvODMxMDEzZjgtZDZlMi00NDIyLTkxMGUtMzE3NmFhMjFhYjI2XC9kNHk3cGswLWIxZDk3Njc2LWU1YWUtNGU5Mi1hNjhiLTI2M2FhYmUxMjMwNS5qcGciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9OTAwIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmltYWdlLm9wZXJhdGlvbnMiXX0.r5S_DGyFghlyxwogGikh6BgMTzL0I0QqKi9kNtK_Bfk%5B%2Fimg2%5D

il_tempo_vola_v3_by_merimask_d4y7pk0-fullview.jpg?token=eyJ0eXAiOiJKV1QiLCJhbGciOiJIUzI1NiJ9.eyJzdWIiOiJ1cm46YXBwOjdlMGQxODg5ODIyNjQzNzNhNWYwZDQxNWVhMGQyNmUwIiwiaXNzIjoidXJuOmFwcDo3ZTBkMTg4OTgyMjY0MzczYTVmMGQ0MTVlYTBkMjZlMCIsIm9iaiI6W1t7ImhlaWdodCI6Ijw9NzA0IiwicGF0aCI6IlwvZlwvODMxMDEzZjgtZDZlMi00NDIyLTkxMGUtMzE3NmFhMjFhYjI2XC9kNHk3cGswLWIxZDk3Njc2LWU1YWUtNGU5Mi1hNjhiLTI2M2FhYmUxMjMwNS5qcGciLCJ3aWR0aCI6Ijw9OTAwIn1dXSwiYXVkIjpbInVybjpzZXJ2aWNlOmltYWdlLm9wZXJhdGlvbnMiXX0.r5S_DGyFghlyxwogGikh6BgMTzL0I0QqKi9kNtK_Bfk

MidnightPoet · February 26

Zweitermon 24, Saturday Morning | The Red Masque Atelier | Lower Midtown, Altenheim

Weather: Heavy Fog

Soundtrack: Lapis Occultus (Lamia Vox)

A choir of bells rings out, starting gradually from the north and following the river before spilling out across the city, towards the west. With the announcement of the bells, a thick white fog rolls over the city. The tall stone spires of the city stuck out like the ribs of some great corpse mired in a bog. In the city streets below, the people simply turned up their coats to ward off the worse of the wet and they turned on safety lanterns before continuing with their work.

From inside the Atelier, the city streets appeared so thick with fog that a body might walk through the door, into it and simply disappear, never to be seen again.

Ithilien stood at the door and coughed loudly to get the group's attention. Her eyes, which before had been distant and preoccupied, now fell on the group with the sharpness of a blade.

"The Ringmaster is ready to see you now." The Elf announced, as she gestured the group to head outside, into the fog. "I will warn you to be careful of what you see and hear while inside."

Inside the Fog

As you walk through the thick fog, the colorful city streets fades into white and grey. It is so thick, that you can barely see the buildings or the person in front of you. You're uncertain how much time has passed, but the fog obscures your vision completely, grey shapes swirling like tendrils. And somehow in this moment, you could almost hear it whisper of secrets lost to time.

Suddenly, a shape loomed through the fog, stark and unexpected. It was a table, its surface worn smooth by the passage of countless, forgotten hours. The wood was a sickly shade of grey, the varnish cracked and peeling, like aged skin clinging desperately to bone. Upon it, a solitary candelabrum stood, its tarnished silver catching the faint light emanating from a single, flickering candle. The candle's flame cast grotesque shadows that danced across the fog, twisting and contorting into monstrous shapes as if yearning to break free.

With that thought, the shadows stilled and from it emerged a masked man: the Ringmaster.

"Welcome, Ladies, and Gentlemen." The voice sounded out, low and measured. "Thank you for responding to my invitation, and I wish you welcome to the Society of the Occult. I am the Ringmaster, and your liaison to our organization. Before I explain further, would you introduce yourself to each other?"

Edited February 26 by MidnightPoet (see edit history)

BobtheWizard · February 26

Sparrow (Wood Elf Specter, Soulknife Rogue 3) sheet song

AC: 16 | HP: 27/27 | Initiative: +4 | Passive Perception: 15 | Features

Unsure if he is supposed to keep his mask on in the fog, Sparrow opts to continue wearing it for now. He is disturbed by the fog, although he is always grateful for the cover that the fog gives when it rolls in. It is particularly thick today, with an ominous feeling even before he sees the old table, the lone candle, and the fleeting images of specters.

He looks around to try to find the others in the fog. He has only just met them, but compared to the whispers, fog, and their new host, the other applicants seem almost like friends already. He wants to cling to anything normal he can find, hoping not to get swept away in the damnation of the fog, afraid that he could turn into fog himself and just disappear.

He answers the question simply. "My name is Sparrow. I volunteer with the neighborhood watch on Gahenna Street, between Raven and Tenebraus." Everyone knows that the neighborhood watches aren't volunteer positions, but a protection racket set up by the Ebon Syndicate, but that is something people never speak of. The block in question is in a transition neighborhood a few blocks southwest, bordering Lower Midtown, The Ruins of Old, and The Dregs. It could be classified as poor working class, or just dangerously poor.

Mechanics

Main Hand: Empty
Off Hand: Empty

Action: Your action goes here.
Bonus Action: Your bonus action goes here.
Move: Your movement goes here.
Manipulate: Your one free object interaction goes here.

Harding · February 26

Zefelle Copperspark, True neutral Lightfoot Halfling Druid 3

(Current HP: 27/ 27) | AC: 14 (16 shield equiped) | Spell Slots: 4 /2

Prepared spellsCantrip: Chill touch, Poison spray, Shillelagh

Lv1: Entangle, Detect magic, Fairy fire, Speak with animals

Lv2: Blindness/Deafness, Gentle Repose, Summon beast, Spike growth, Moon beam

Passive perception: 16 | Passive insight: 16

Zefelle glanced up as Ithilien's cough cut through the heavy silence, pulling her attention back to the present moment. The thick fog outside seemed to seep into the room, casting an eerie ambiance over the Atelier. She exchanged a quick glance with her companions, noting the tension that hung in the air like a heavy cloak.

With a nod of acknowledgment, Zefelle rose from her seat, the anticipation prickling at her skin like a thousand tiny needles. The mention of the Ringmaster's readiness sent a shiver down her spine, but she pushed aside any trepidation, steeling herself for whatever lay ahead.

As she followed Ithilien's gesture towards the door, Zefelle couldn't shake the feeling of foreboding that settled in the pit of her stomach. The warning to be careful of what they would see and hear only added to her unease, but she squared her shoulders, determined to face whatever trials awaited them outside.

With a last glance around the Atelier, Zefelle took a deep breath, steeling herself for the unknown. Stepping out into the swirling fog, she prepared herself for whatever lay ahead, her senses sharp and alert as she braced to confront the mysteries that awaited them in the city streets. Hearing about Sparrow's origins, Zefelle felt safer staying close to him - those who grew up in his district had a knack for reacting to threats and danger, for surviving against unfair odds.

As the shape of the table emerged from the swirling fog, Zefelle's senses sharpened, her eyes darting around the eerie scene with a mixture of apprehension and intrigue. The candelabrum's flickering light cast eerie shadows that danced across the fog, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that sent shivers down her spine. The whispering sounds around her almost invited her, a dangerous invitation to knowledge beyond what simple mortals could understand. But she was not a simple mortal anymore, seeking knowledge and secrets that would elude the simple minds and souls.

Zefelle hesitated for a moment, her curiosity battling against the warning echoing in her mind. The temptation to listen to the whispers of forbidden knowledge was almost overwhelming, but she ultimately decided to heed the caution and focused her attention on the task at hand. This would be too easy, she thought to herself, as nothing in this world is totally free.

When the Ringmaster emerged from the shadows, Zefelle's gaze locked onto the masked figure, her features unreadable as she listened intently to his words. As he welcomed them to the Society of the Occult, she felt a surge of anticipation coursing through her veins, mingled with a healthy dose of skepticism.

At the Ringmaster's prompt for introductions, Zefelle cleared her throat, her voice steady despite the underlying tension in the air. "I am Zefelle Cooperspark," she announced, her tone firm and unwavering. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."

At last, she thought to herself, I'm stepping into this new life. There is no turning back. She waited patiently for the others to present themselves.

Edited February 26 by Harding (see edit history)

rauhric · February 26

Zorjana Teodozja LN Human Noble, "Haunted" Sorceress | "Hexblade" Warlock

• AC 11 • HP 19 • Init +4 • Passive Perception 13 • Devil's Sight 120' • Phantom Familiar

Zorjana raised an eyebrow under her mask when asked to introduce herself. "I will not" she thought to herself. "Who are these strangers and this Ringleader? If a name is what they need then I will invent one for them." Thinking about her masquerade gown and mask she settle on "The Jackal of the Underworld." She shakes her head convincing herself that it sounded stupid. Instead she would call herself ... "I am Lady Jacquelyn Underwood" and nodded politely to everyone in attendance.

Now, what had she gotten herself involved in? Repeating the name in her head that she heard spoken out loud, Society of the Occult", only brought up more questions. Who are they? And what do they want with her and these strangers? She wondered if her father knew of such an organization, and she wondered where he was at? He had not returned from scouting the shop they were in. It worried her a bit, but as far as she knew nothing could hurt a ghost. He would find her soon enough.

OoC

OoC: Items purchased - dress, and cloak, mask is free

Phantom Familiar

Antonas Dragan Teodozja [Phantom Familiar | medium undead]
• STR 1 (-5) DEX 14 (+2) CON 11 (+0) INT 10 (+0) WIS 10 (+0) CHA 11 (+0)

• AC 12 • HP 22 • Passive Perception 10 • Darkvision 60' • Fly 50'
• Damage Resistance: acid, cold, fire, lightning, thunder, and bludgeoning, piercing, slashing from non-magic attacks
• Damage Immunity: necrotic, poison
• Condition Immunities: charmed, exhaustion, grappled, paralyzed, petrified, poisoned, prone, restrained, unconscious

• Incorporeal Movement: can move through creatures and objects as if they were difficult terrain; specter takes 1d10 (5) force damage if ends turn inside an object.
• Sunlight Sensitivity: in sunlight specter has disadvantage on attacks and perception checks (sight).

• AVAILABLE @3rd Life Drain Attack (Action): melee spell attack +4, range 5' (1 target), 3d6 necrotic damage DC 10 Con save or target's Max HP reduced by damage taken (last until long rest). Target dies if effect reduces target's HP to Zero.

Edited February 29 by rauhric (see edit history)

Inquisitor D · February 26

Wait, now? They're doing this now? Irata jumps at the sound of the bells, but as the gravity of their situation becomes apparent and the mists swell, it becomes clear that the meeting she'd been summoned to is about to begin. This whole place was just a waiting room?

And now she has to go out. Into the mist-covered streets of this 'city of joy'. She gives Ithilien a long, almost pleading look before slumping her shoulders. There isn't an alternative option. With one final nod, an acknowledgement of the shopkeeper's help, the young Inquisitor steps out onto the street.

She's a few steps into the mist before she remembers. There were other people in the shop! She could've gone with one of them! Irata wheels around, looking for her new friends... but nothing. She's already alone. Dejected, the Castilleian turns and starts to trudge into the fogy, soup-thick greys of this other realm

The table is almost a relief. Irata falls against it like a rock, a scant few inches from knocking that precious candelabrum over. She takes a second to catch her breath, and uses that moment to inspect the relic, before trying to regain her feet and some trace of her dignity. Her eyes go wide at the Ringmaster's arrival, though thankfully she doesn't make a sound. She nods to Sparrow; she's not too familiar with the lower reaches of the city, but that sounded right.

At the noblewoman's introduction though, Irata blinks. She takes a second, turning the words around in her head, before asking: to make sure she heard that right. "Lady Jackel-in Umber Hood?"

An obvious pseudonym. Maybe that was the point. Trying to make the rest of them feel like they're not worthy of her time. Damned northerners, and their political games. That said, she... probably should try and think about how she represents herself too. Taking the next go for herself, the Castilleian breaks the silence with a cough. She crosses her arms, balling her hands into fists. A simple sign of Empyreus. "Irata Zabito. Representative of Grand Inquisitor Albrecht von Hoenheim."

Zabriel, forgive her soul. The deceptive wording makes Irata squirm internally. It's... technically true. She's part of that mission, so she represents its commander, her mentor. Acolyte Irata turns to the Ringmaster, bowing to the Society's representative. "He... sends his regards."

Edited February 27 by Inquisitor D (see edit history)

Rayth · February 28

Calder Ivarson (Goliath Giant, Rune Knight Fighter 3) sheet

AC: 19 | HP: 36/36 | Initiative: +1 | Passive Perception: 13 |

Calder Ivarson was normally hard to miss. Nearly twice the size of a normal man, he towered over crowds and almost wouldn't fit through the Red Masque Atelier's door. But fit he did; he was well-practiced at navigating a world built for someone smaller than he.

He managed to stay mostly unnoticed by keeping to himself, and by moving with a degree of care that belied his size. He spoke briefly with the young elven woman who staffed the counter; she took his appearance with only mild shock, especially once he started speaking to her in High Bürach. Calder found some of the Valikan masks quite fetching, actually, but upon discussion, the woman feared she might not have a mask that would fit his... dimensions.

He gave her a gruff laugh, and said he'd figure something out. When he started using a small knife to cut out a pair of eye-holes in a burlap sack, she convinced him to at least take the mask with him.

As the fog swept in and swallowed the world outside, Calder gripped his spear a little tighter; the woman had given him a look when he'd carried it in, but evidently thought better of trying to ask him to put it away. Pulling the sack over his head, he gave the woman's warning a nod, before wishing her well.

And so, through the blinding fog he trudged. He kept his focus ahead of him, and paid little heed to the wisps and tendrils. He gave even less to the whispers on the wind; the elf had just warned him to beware what his senses told him, and he paid heed to the words of the wise.

As he approached the table, his steps heavy and mail jangling in the quiet street, he saw he was not alone. Others who had left the atelier had arrived before he had, and were evidently waiting. They all stood, surrounded by monstrous figments cast into the mist and darkness. The sound of him likely preceded him, and he likely resembled a monster as he emerged from the fog; around nine feet tall, clad in scale mail and furs, carrying weapons and shield, with a sack over his head and a Valikan mask hanging from his neck.

Suddenly, the writhing shadows cast by that lonely candle stilled, and through it walked a man who he presumed was the Ringmaster.

At the mention of the Society, Calder smiled from within his hood; he'd come to Altenheim knowing he would fight monsters, and it seemed that the time had finally come. He was ready.

He waited for the others to go first; they seemed a varied bunch. This sort of work attracted that, he supposed. When it came to his turn, he spoke, slightly muffled from within his hood; his voice was deep and thickly accented, but quieter than you'd think. His size lent strength to his voice, but he seemed to make a conscious effort to not overwhelm with it's volume. He spoke in High Bürach.

"Hail, Ringmaster, and you all. You may call me Ivarson."

Mechanics & OOC

I hope to have a character picture and icon, as well as more concrete post format, by my next post or so. In the meantime, I've borrowed Bob's. Excited to get started!

MidnightPoet · February 28

Zweitermon 24, Saturday Morning | The Red Masque Atelier | Lower Midtown, Altenheim

Weather: Heavy Fog

Soundtrack: Lapis Occultus (Lamia Vox)

The Ringmaster chuckled as the group finished introducing themselves. There was a moment's pause as the fog stilled before he brought his hands together in light applause. As if given a command, the fog thinned and parted, fully revealing the table and the six figures standing around it.

"I applaud your honesty, and your courage to reveal your true names. I can already see you will get along well." The man announced with a showman's flourish. His High Bürach had the slightest hint of an accent, although it might simply be from the strong affectation of his performance.

"As you have read in the invitation, you were invited to the Society because an unsettling truth was revealed to you." He explained, "You have witnessed unspeakable horrors and the foulest tragedies. They have transformed you, body and mind, and yet you have not forsaken your humanity even as you depart from it. Truly, admirable."

"But, this is only the beginning of your journey into the Occult. For though, we may be considered heroes, we are also miserable wretches teetering on the edge of madness."

"To understand what I mean, you must have heard the voice whispering to you in the fog." The Ringmaster began his explanation. "That was the voice of madness and temptation. The Hearthkeepers call it 'The Beast' and suppress all mention of it, and for good reason."

"We in the Society do our best to fight monsters, but 60% of our targets are fellow Society members. That is why you are compartmentalized into individual cells. Corruption and destruction of a single cell, with only 5 members, can still be contained by the other Society members operating in the Empire."

"I must also inform you that the lure of the Beast only grows stronger the further you depart from Humanity."

Beast Dice Pool Tutorial

You have learned that adding dice to the Beast Pool will create risks for yourself and your companions. If the Pool reaches six, you risk having you or someone you know being inflicted with a Curse.

A curse will progress through four stages, inflicting increasingly serious penalties over the course of 21 days. If the curse is not removed or mitigated in this time, the afflicted will transform into a monster. The player may choose to take control of this monster and fight against the players as a co-GM.

The Ringmaster looks around at the group and asks, "Do you have any questions before I continue with the mission?"

Edited February 28 by MidnightPoet (see edit history)

Inquisitor D · February 28

Irata's inspection of the silverware proves less illuminating than she'd hoped. An overly close examination of the candles or mist would be rude, and getting in the society's good graces outweighs her needed to validate and understand her surroundings. Still, she has one card in her hand now. She's not sure what to do with it, but half from gratitude, half from instinct, she offers a brief aside to Zefelle under her breath.

The Ringmaster's speech hits well for Irata. She nods at his every word: facing horror, that made sense. It sure felt like she was different after that. And now, she (and her new friends) are on the start of a journey - learning to hunt this sort of darkness. The explanation of the Beast makes her frown, though she's not scared just yet. Other society members being a concern - of course. Contact with the darkness could corrupt anyone. The Inquisitor nods sagely at the Ringmaster's final words: best to hold on to your morality, your humanity, to resist something like that.

At the request for any further questions, Irata's silent for a second, pondering. Then though, she shares one idea that came to her after the Ringmaster's speech. "Does the Society keep files on its members?"

She doesn't sound angry at that idea. What Inquisitor isn't used to being scrutinized? Irata's more curious about the logistics of the Society's operations. She even manages a smile. "Probably a good idea, given the targeting rate. You want to know who you're hunting. If I'm right though, you wouldn't grant them freely to members. It would let a compromised individual identify and infect other cells. So they'd be provided on an 'as needed' basis... right?"

She's fairly sure on her logic, but if she's wrong, best to learn now. And with that subject raised... she does have one more question. "I'm curious about the fog, too. I suspect a full explanation would take a while, but given the presence of Beast's voice... it's not exactly a meeting situation that leads to trust." Irata winces. She doesn't like pointing that out, but... it can't hurt to ask, can it? She raises her hands, waving off any immediate need to resolve this. "If you'd rather, I'm fine with tabling that question for now. The mission takes priority. But I would appreciate some explanation, even if it comes at a later point."

Edited February 28 by Inquisitor D (see edit history)

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The Society Debut (IC)

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