MOD PLOT ↠ HOME FOR RIFTMAS

[faderifting]

WHO: Everyone (more or less)
WHAT: Rifter Show & Tell & Steal.
WHEN: Early Wintermarch 9:49 (forward-dated!)
WHERE: The Crossroads and BEYOND.
NOTES: OOC post. Please use appropriate content warnings in your subject lines.

Since Corypheus began opening the Gates, Riftwatch has been noticing pockets of instability in the Crossroads—crumbling platforms, paths newly blocked by rubble or broken bridges, sections where gravity has been shifted and altered in ways unusual even for the Crossroads, with new intrusions of green-tinged rock outcroppings or corners of temple walls. The barriers between the Crossroads, the Fade, and the world are thinning. It's a problem.

But more recently, Riftwatch has been made aware of an ancient artifact known (now; one hopes this isn't its original title) as the Sealing Stone, now in pieces scattered throughout the Crossroads, and the approximate locations of those pieces. If brought together and activated, the Stone may stabilize the barrier between the Crossroads and the other realms and may provide a model Riftwatch could use to reinforce the Veil elsewhere.

So Riftwatch ventures into the Crossroads to retrieve the pieces of the Stone. It's an intensive effort undertaken by large teams, due to the many now-familiar hazards of the Crossroads, the potential for encountering the Venatori that also use the eluvian network, and the need to cover ground as quickly as possible in hopes of finding the artifacts before the Venatori notice the increased Crossroads activity and come join the hunt.

It's not as simple as merely locating the pieces, however. Whenever a group of Riftwatchers get near enough to one of the artifacts, they're alerted first by the triggering of a sort of protection mechanism. In some cases—specifically, on teams without any rifters—spirits suddenly swarm from the metaphorical woodwork in numbers so great and with such hostility that retreat is the only viable option. The spirits chase the teams only as far as necessary to push them away from the artifact's location, then mass into a circling shoal, guarding the spot until they're left alone long enough to decide the risk has passed.

But for groups containing at least one rifter, something with the mechanism goes wrong. Or right, arguably. Rather than being overwhelmed by spirits, they instead find themselves abruptly engulfed by what appears to be a rift, opening suddenly and rapidly large enough to swallow entire masses of people before contracting again to lie in wait like a carnivorous plant for anyone else who comes too close. Those caught in its radius tumble out into what appears to be a new and unfamiliar world–for most. For one or more of the rifters in each group, it will be perfectly familiar.

The first group to encounter this effect will be one including Tony Stark and Stephen Strange, and will drop them and their compatriots straight into midtown traffic. Any groups attempting to travel to the same spot in the Crossroads to investigate the apparent vanishing—whether they have rifters with them or not—will find themselves drawn through the same "rift" almost as soon as they get within sight of the place, before anything can be discerned about their lost fellows. They will likewise emerge into Stark & Strange's United States.

Subsequent groups including other rifters will be seemingly drawn into their companions' worlds by the same effect. In each, Riftwatch will have to navigate local hazards and retrieve a distinctive lyrium-etched artifact, at which point the world will dissolve around them like a dream and they will find themselves back in the Crossroads where they began, in possession of a carved chunk of stone glowing with lyrium runes.

1 ↠ MCU Earth-199999

Alternate-universe Earth, New York and Los Angeles, 2012-2025, Tony Stark & Stephen Strange.

Earth-199999 is very much like contemporary Earth as we know it, featuring the same historic events, same nations, same conventions. For the average person, there is no difference, except that they know magic and aliens and gods and superpowers are all real and have been causing problems for a while now, with NYC as the hub for most of the shenanigans. MCU Earth has also made leaps and bounds in all science fields as compared to real Earth, although these leaps and bounds are not widely accessible, primarily exclusive to private organisations like Stark Industries, mad scientists, and the likes of SHIELD, but can range from interactive three-dimensional holograms through to biotechnology that turns people into supersoldiers.

It's commonplace to see or hear about criminals causing havoc in the streets with superpowers or gadgets, and crime-fighting vigilantes trying to stop them. The Avengers, as the world's first superheroes, became widely-known commercialised celebrities in-universe with merchandise, documentaries, book deals, and memorial murals to the deceased Iron Man.

Special Abilities: Everyone is nerfed to regular human, unless you want a sudden onset of mutant powers. 1 individual themed ability per character; like pyrokinesis, superspeed, superstrength, etc.

Arrival: One main rift opens in the middle of New York City, ejecting our rifters into midtown traffic… except thanks to Strange’s own multiversal mishaps, people in this world will seem astonishingly accustomed to this sight! Bystanders will be startled, but then the rifters will likely be dogged by strangers snapping photos and videos and tweeting about their arrival.

The Fade-constructed timeline will be a little off: the old Avengers tower and its penthouse is still standing and still accessible to Tony, and Strange will also offer up the Sanctum as a sanctuary, and these will be the main mission hubs while the team gets their bearings and tries to locate the artifact. In the meantime: relax, take in the sights, maybe check out a Broadway show, wrangle your new superpowers.

A secondary rift also opens up on Hollywood Boulevard, in case people want to do some helplessly stranded on Earth RP. Tony can very easily find out this has happened and go collect them, with various degrees of efficiency according to what people want out of that OOCly. As this universe will be available to explore for a few IC weeks, people can assume some degree of Stark-provided financial freedom for basics (i.e. clothes and food, burner phones, etc), and they can stay in the Avengers tower and/or the Sanctum.

2 ↠ Shifterverse

Original alternate-universe Earth, Midwest US, 2022, Jude Adjei.

Real-world 2022, but what if Shifters?

Special Abilities: All superpowers are unfortunately nerfed. However, everyone's a Shifter now. Your choice of animal. Enjoy.

Arrival: Everyone will arrive in Yellowstone National Park, which is wholly staffed and operated by Jude's pack, but... not in an area where tourists are routinely and happily welcomed. Welcome to the deep woods and canyons and plains, where Jude's pack has built their den for some several hundred people. Characters will immediately be found by scouts in fur and feathers, who will be guarded and curious, but not hostile. The wolves and ravens will greet the interlopers as equals, and if they aren't offered any violence, they'll be treated as guests. Hundreds of pack members live in a mixture of hand-built cabin homes and meeting places, portable tiny houses and various shared spaces. There is wifi, a greenhouse, lots of tasty food and warm clothing to wear. If they stay several days and prove themselves trustworthy, they might even start to see children out and about, and there's nothing cuter than a toddler who can become a wolf pup at will. (Mind the raven toddlers and the bear cubs. They're less cute.)

3 ↠ Tassia

D&D Original World, Loxley & Richard Dickerson

Tassia is an original Dungeons&Dragons inspired world, a single continent divided into four nations that is otherwise completely isolated from any other possible world beyond it. These nations are Lloryndell, Sylvica, Ifrin, and Promias, and at its centre lies the Cruxal, a university-city of diverse cultural influence.

While Tassia resembles Thedas in its day-to-day technology levels, including its anachronisms, it is more heavily laden with fantastical elements. Along with humans, elves, and dwarves, there are goblins, dragonborn, tritons, tieflings, sentient robots, bird people, centaurs, and more (https://www.dndbeyond.com/races) (but no qunari). There are many different kinds of magic users who wield their powers openly. There are shops full of magic items, potions, and spell scrolls. There are monsters of countless kinds that lurk just about everywhere. Most cultures in the material plane are polytheistic and worship themed gods from the default D&D (Faerun) Pantheon. Some smaller cults and individuals worship ancient fey, fiendish, and eldritch beings who dwell on the outskirts of their respective planes and may provide power to the exceptionally loyal -- for a price.

Special Abilities: You can choose to be a normal depowered person, but you are equally encouraged to take on magical abilities, whether you're a mage or not. In brief, you can be a wizard, whose magic comes from spellbooks and knowledge, a sorcerer, who have innate magical abilities, a bard, who draws their magic from music, words, and performance, a warlock, who has made a pact with a powerful entity in exchange of magical ability, a druid, who draws their magic from nature, and a cleric, whose divine abilities are gifted to them by a deity. (Other classes have magic too, but it might be easier to pick one of these major ones if you are unfamiliar!)

Rather than overthinking it, we recommend you pick whatever sounds fun to flavour your magic with, and then browse magical spells using classes as a filter. (Eighth and ninth level are off limits, and it may be easier to limit yourself further due to how many spells there are.) Given the temporariness of these powers, don't worry too much about how many spells you get or how frequently you can do them, but know that higher level spells (anything above fifth) can only be cast one or twice a day.

Your character may be Tassia-ised, in terms of their race, but in a limited capacity. All humans will stay human, but elves may adopt D&D traits like seeing in the dark.

Arrival: Rifts will open in the streets of the Cruxal. People will be startled by the sudden appearance of rifters and stand offish, but otherwise: they've seen it all before! No one will be calling the guard on you, unless you decide to start something, so please don't. Or enjoy jail.

The Cruxal is a labyrinthian melting pot built up in concentric rings around a massive central university and library. Goblins scarper among humans, elves, and dwarves in the street. There are tusked half orcs and horned, scale-clad dragonborn mixed in among more familiar silhouettes. This is a university town, but while a large portion of the population are students, academics, and staff, it is also self-sustaining, with taverns, shops, temples, brothels, residences, and marketways.

The university itself is guarded and degrees of entry closely regulated due to the school’s extensive collection of dangerous artifacts -- one of which just so happens to have gone missing last night. News of the theft has been suppressed, but every temple, tavern, and brothel on the outskirts of town is abuzz with the rumor. The entire corridor, they say, was scorched black.

Loxley and Richard won't be too concerned about herding everyone but can provide some coin as needed for inn rooms and food. They appear to have a near bottomless stash, at least as far as living costs go.

4 ↠ Sulleciel

Original fantasy world, Petrana de Cedoux.

What if magic was real and holy emperors still kissed the ring in Rome, until someone beheaded the fucking pope? Welcome to Sulleciel, and specifically to Lamor City, capitol of Lamorre and the seat of the Lamorran empire, ruled over by Empereur Marius IX and his consort, Empress Petrana Solene. A nation and empire in the throes, still, of great upheaval — think Versailles or Orlais, but lurching ungainly out of its dark ages into a theoretically more enlightened time, control of which is being actively fought in the halls of power and at grassroots levels of social influence. Power vacuums abound, thanks to the fall of the church and the rise of a conqueror who is less interested in ruling than he was conquering; women are still the often-illiterate property of their fathers and husbands, but now there are more alternatives to family and marital homes, and dedicated studies of witchcraft are being encouraged, with pilot programs across the empire primarily in those early sanctuary cities, figuring out how this is all going to work. Known for her efforts to lean on the scales in the people's favour Petrana herself is, in this era, rumored to be imprisoned; graffiti of her crowned likeness can be found in some places in the city, with the epithet ""la reine du malheur"".

Special Abilities: In Sulleciel, magic is a skill that may be pursued like any other — and there are those of more or less talent, as if someone were to attempt the violin, or swordplay. It is practised primarily through incantations and foci, with more elaborate spellwork for more ambitious results sometimes requiring particular items or a full coven to achieve. As magic is limited in Sulleciel only by the will, imagination and stamina of those practising it, no one coming here will be subject to any nerfs; all mages and otherwise magical or powered individuals will be able to use their powers as they're used to using them. In addition to this, anyone who is as magical as a chair-leg ordinarily can feel free to have a go at Sulleciel's magic — it's up to you if they have a knack for it or not. Simple spells like casting a light or telekinesis of small objects can be mastered by toddlers; a powerful enough witch or coven might be able to summon a thunderstorm and alter weather patterns, but ""can"" and ""should"" are different and it's generally advised that you try not to do a climate change.
"
Arrival: The rift will open into a spacious, luxuriously-appointed tower on the grounds of the imperial palace but not visibly connected to it above-ground. It was at one point the sole domain of the previous arciduc's personal astronomers, but is now the primary residence and working space of the Queen's Coven. The Queen's Coven is a particular group of women, so named for having been among the first witches to come beneath the new regime's protection in the first city-state to bend the knee where Petrana was first installed as Queen Regent; they are private, secretive, and increasingly cut off from the power-struggles of the imperial court, having been actively distanced from the Empress herself by a variety of other players in the game. Both relatively prepared for sudden magical happenings and inclined to keep shit in the tower on lock, they will be prepared to pass you all off as "foreign witches, seeking our enlightenment" and see both you and the sudden access to Petrana as potentially useful in their maneuverings. Which will make moving around easier, but will probably be an active hindrance to getting where and what you need. An underground tunnel connects the tower directly to the palace, though there are also pleasant, covered pathways to walk across the palace grounds; guards at the main, above-ground entrance to the tower will inquire about movements to and from, and will be skeptical but limit their interference initially ... as long as they don't see Petrana.

5 ↠ Kalvad

Original fantasy world, Wysteria Poppell.

Kalvad—specifically the city of Somerset, the magic capitol of the civilized world—is a mashup of Regency Era and Industrial-Revolution-But-Magic! Nebulously England (with the serial numbers aggressively filed off). When in doubt, default to Jane Austen vibes. But if it seems fun to do some weird magic-powered technological advancements, then go nuts.

Kalvad is an imperial island nation ostensibly ruled by three kings, though they're largely figureheads overseeing an upper and lower parliament. The country has made itself rich and powerful by doing a whole lot of war and colonization. As historically one of the most magically powerful regions in the world, magicians have long been a vital tool in the empire's efforts to do both those things.

Unfortunately for Kalvad, the strength of magic in the world has waned considerably in the last 40 years. Where once Talent was rare but reasonably powerful, magic users are both becoming more commonplace and considerably weaker. Even older magicians and hedge-witches who once might have manufactured considerable arcane feats have seen some diminishing of their powers. A popular, but unproven, theory in academic circles is that those with Talent all draw from the same "well" of magic. As more people are born with the ability to tap into that resource, the less there is to go around. Resentment for those with weaker Talents among older generations of magic users is A Thing.

That said, increased availability of minor magics has kick-started a 'minor magic' powered industrial revolution. Parlor witches who perform small arcane conveniences are growing in number; minor charms and enchantments have become more readily available to lower classes. Meanwhile, the non-magical population is slowly being shunted out of their respective cottage industry jobs and into factories powered by great enchanted machines. The empire as the world knows it is clearly teetering on the brink of major social and political upheaval, both at home and abroad. The consequences of all this change just haven't quite played themselves out yet, though you can bet there are people rushing around in an attempt to cover their asses before they do.

Special Abilities Characters will be nerfed of any abilities they had in Thedas, but can be Talented in Kalvad terms or not. Any Talented character under 40 is likely to be able to produce only minor magics (think lighting fires in fireplaces, being able to heal minor injuries, and temporarily being able to enchant objects to do one specific thing). Anyone over forty can be a little flashier (think appearance altering glamors, temporary invisibility, transfiguration and significant healing). General magic flavor is: Brothers Grimm fairy tales and Arthurian legends, except that someone somewhere made all that weirdly pliable magic adhere to a strict ruleset. Easy, thoughtless channeling of magic is a secret lost long before the arcane powers in the world began to diminish. Now, all magic must be carefully and deliberately designed and constructed. The magicians most accomplished by Kalvadan standards are methodical and patient. Think clockmakers and mathematicians, not wizards on the side of a van.

Arrival: Members of Riftwatch will arrive through a rift and find themselves on the wooded outskirts of a sprawling city. Luckily, no one will witness their initial arrival. Even more convenient: once they've gotten their bearings and made their way into the city, they'll discover they aren't the only weird strangers in town (although they may want to strongly consider indulging in petty theft to make themselves stick out less—particularly as it comes time to infiltrate places). It seems that a sprawling months-long academic conference turned party turned cover for political intrigue and cold warfare has descended upon Somerset.

In the aftermath of what everyone is claiming to be a major military victory somewhere, delegations from a number of implicated countries have converged on the city at the invitation of the Kalvadan Crowns in order to share and demonstrate their various technical and arcane achievements. The World's Fair-like atmosphere has drawn a number of non-Talented tourists, scheming politicians, and cutthroat spies along with the legitimately academically and/or magically inclined.

While Somerset is something of a city of wonders by the world's estimation, it's still first and foremost a dirty and crowded industrial hub in a world that has yet to bother with paving all its major roads. The conference has quadrupled that effect, transforming it into a riot of sights, sound, and (often to its detriment) smells. At this point, finding a room and board in the city has become less a question of where you want to stay and more one of how many other people you're willing to timeshare a bed with.

Luckily, it doesn't seem like Riftwatch will be sticking around long. Some snooping around the of pamphleting/gossip will reveal that the artifact they're after is likely to be found in the grand exhibition hall, and that there will be an opportunity to get their hands on it that evening.

6 ↠ Abeir-Toril

D&D Forgotten Realms, Astarion

The D&D continent of Faerûn is loosely based on Eurasia—if it ran entirely on magic, was roughly stuck somewhere in the 14th century forever, and was filled to the brim with elves, dragons, gnolls, faeries, gods, demi-gods, and just about any myth (or mythological creature) you’ve ever encountered in your life. For the purpose of simplicity, everyone from Riftwatch is going to get plunked down in the titular Baldur’s Gate: the city is massive, it’s known as the jewel of Faerûn, and its cultures, districts, trades and pastimes reflect that remarkable splendor. Still, think of it like Kirkwall in that there are some pretty damn rigid socioeconomic divides separating the city via districts. QUICK GUIDE.

The Upper City is the fancy part of town where nobles (known as Patriar) and their servants live, and it also houses the city’s government and key recreational buildings. There are no bars, pubs, taverns or drinking halls. Anything rowdy happens behind closed doors, and if you don't have an invitation, you'd better look for fun somewhere else. Magical enchantments and lanterns make it beyond stunning at night to stroll through. Lower City is more varied: you’ll find taverns, shops, tons of entertainment and ample trade, as well as pirates by the docks (and their ships), and the harbor waters are absolutely gorgeous for sailing on calm days. Doors are shut and locked during nighttime hours aside from taverns, inns or gambling parlors. Visibility is also lower at night when harbor fog rolls in, particularly where poorer residents can't afford oil, tallow or magic every night. The Undercity stretches deep (and hidden) beneath both the Upper and Lower Cities: it begins at its most shallow within the city as sewers and along seawall cliffs as open-mouthed caves. The deeper you go, the worse it gets: undead catacombs, cultists, temples, blood sport and bloody magic prevail alongside monsters too dangerous to clear out. Outer City sucks. There's almost next to no law or order, and is inherently dangerous to explore. Treat it like Lowtown for the most part, and you'll be pretty smack on (slavers and actual kind impoverished poor included).

CULTURE: Baldur’s Gate is primarily run by humans, and to a lesser extent, elves. Other races aren’t really considered a foothold here, but they’re more than welcome in the city and treated exceptionally well with a few exceptions here and there (ogres, trolls, more ferally inclined goblins, etc). This is not at all like Thedas: someone more familiar with discrimination against non-humans, certain pairings and particularly mages wouldn't find it here. Most of the time if you dress nicely and carry yourself well, you’ll be well respected. Or robbed. Or both!

Special Abilities: Characters will be adjusted to fit D&D, and powers are optional for all. For D&D’s magic/power/race everything, please take a look at some basic classes.

Arrival: Characters will arrive via rifts torn into the Outer City, just along its riverfront sprawl. They won’t be too far from the city gates, but witnesses to the scene will be inclined to gossip and gawk, assuming everything from a freak magical incident to believing the new arrivals are wealthy travelers from somewhere far and exotic, who simply missed their mark in teleporting to the Upper City for sightseeing. Anyone wearing Thedosian clothes will be fine to go without changing— wearing something more modern or say, nothing at all for some reason, will definitely require staging some kind of Terminator II style clothing (theft) acquisition in order to fit in.

Ideally, the team will at least want to make their way into Lowtown in order to begin snooping around, but it’s a big damn city to say the least, and information is expensive. Astarion will help within reason, but being a vampire means that he can only afford to fund so much on his own.

Might be a good idea to do some fetch quests or live your best Adventuring Party life, because you’re all going to likely be here for a (time distorted) relative while.

7 ↠ Orphan Black

Alternate-Universe Earth, 2014; Toronto, Canada; Cosima Neihaus.

Real-world mid-2010s, but secret unethical biology/biotech experiments including viable human cloning in the mid 1980s. Carrying out such technologically advanced work is a combination of international organizations including a private research company, at least one paramilitary organization and a shadowy organization that oversees both. (Orphan Black also features minor differences from our world typical of its genre, such as plot-convenient hacking and variably competent law enforcement, but the cloning project and related scientific offshoots are the most salient differences.) Relevant to this plot in particular, the Dyad Institute is a private organization, considered ""fringe"" by the mainstream scientific community, devoted to research related to human evolution and biotechnology. Some of its many employees had connections to the ""neolutionism"" community, the members of which believed human evolution should be actively shaped by scientific and technological intervention. The organization was responsible for the project that created Cosima and her sisters roughly 30 years before in-world present day. Also at the moment they're jumping to, Cosima works there, it's complicated. (If anyone is familiar with the canon, we're jumping in circa season two.)
A tiny pinboard.

Special Abilities: None, you're all just unpowered humans. Sorry/you're welcome.

Arrival: The group arrives at what turns out to be a nondenominational winter party for a local school; there are some mild shenanigans as Cosima clocks that it's a school attended by children she knows, and more pressingly, partially overseen by their mother, who has Cosima's face. Cosima press gangs one or more other people into helping her hide her own face while negotiating with Alison to borrow her minivan. She shuttles the group to Alison's large suburban Toronto home, which becomes the FR group's base of operation. (It is perhaps telling that while Alison finds this frustrating, she and her husband Donnie do sort of roll with it also.) If desired/depending on how big the group is, Cosima could also stow some Riftwatchers with Felix, the foster brother of one of her other clones, who has a big artsy loft downtown. She is not against taking anyone to her place, but she's a grad student; it's not huge. Everyone who knows how to use a phone or can be trusted to figure it out with a tutorial gets a burner phone for convenience. (Perhaps additionally telling how quickly Alison gets everyone a burner phone. She also decorates the protective cases for them. No, it's not optional.)

8 ↠ The Last of Us

Post-Apocalyptic Earth, Spring 2038, Seattle, Abby Lasterson & Ellie Williams.

This world was ours until 2013, when a worldwide pandemic broke out overnight. A fungus (cordyceps) that had originally infected mainly insects adapted to infect human beings. Anyone bitten by an infected person or who has breathed in a significant or concentrated amount of fungal spores becomes infected themselves. Over a maximum of two days, they utterly lose their humanity and deteriorate into violent monsters, eventually sprouting spores and fungal plates. There is no known cure, and the only human being ever known to be immune is Ellie Williams. 25 or so years later, humanity has crumbled into various factions in a struggle to survive. First came the Federal (FEDRA) response, resulting in Quarantine Zones and martial law. Life in the zones is highly regulated, with work assignments and rations that often aren't enough to go around. Many citizens are forced to turn to crime just to make ends meet. Orphaned children become wards of the state and are trained to become FEDRA soldiers by the time they're sixteen.

Various civilian groups rose up to rebel against FEDRA, forming factions such as the Fireflies (rebels who recruited scientists in an effort to find a cure), and the Washington Liberation Front (a militia-minded organization who overthrew FEDRA in Seattle). There are other smaller groups such as the religious zealots called the Seraphites, or the violent slavers known as the Rattlers.

Few and far between are independent human settlements like Jackson of Wyoming, where small communities have managed to gain self-sufficiency and safety with tireless group effort and highly vigilant defenders. They bolster their numbers by welcoming peaceful outsiders and engaging in trade with travelers.

Living outside of these groups, people are largely on their own, vulnerable to packs of hunters, bandits and even cannibals that prey on anyone brave enough to risk travel.

The infected are an ever-present threat everywhere, and the world is a ruin quickly being reclaimed by nature. (cw: body horror in the link) See board for world aesthetic and depictions of the Infected.

Special Abilities: Everyone is a normal human here. No supernatural powers, no magic, no non-humans.

Arrival: Welcome one of Ellie and Abby's least favorite places: Seattle. The Space Needle is visible in the distance, so despite the advanced state of decay, it's actually recognizable. Except it's been bombed, and rotting, and nature's reclaimed it for the last quarter-century. This adventure won't be for the faint of heart; there are no home bases and no safe space to be had. All clothing, supplies, weaponry and food are things you'll need to find yourself. Everyone can assume they'll get a quick lesson in gun safety and a rundown on various types of infected. Multiple rifts will open, so feel free to appear anywhere in the city (even apart from others) but expect to find no native allies. The city of Seattle is embroiled in civil war between the Seraphites (a religious cult who rejects anything "old world" and scars their faces, called "Scars") and the Washington Liberation Front (a ruthless mercenary coalition, called "Wolves") and both sides will assume you're with the other group and attack on sight. Better pick up a brick.

Comments

[katabasis]

The fabric is dark. If the blood should come prickling through, it will take some time to decipher the stain from the dye.

—Is a thought given to both the coat and the corpse as well as the strip of cloth stretched across John's palm, distant in relation to the more pressing matter looming before them where they now must acquire a boat and something heavy enough to carry Bertalan safely down into the harbor. It is a neat list of obligations. These are all problems with solutions and, for a brief moment, figuring the order of their arrangement distracts from the attention fixed solely back at him.

But only for a moment.

There is a blood on John's fingers and wrist. In the process of binding the wound, it has speckled Flint's knuckles and smeared under the pad of his thumb where the latter is set to the bone of John's wrist there just below the fabric's raw edge.

"Agreed?"

timeskip y/n

[hornswoggle]

Whatever John is seeking in Flint's face, the intent there gives way to the most simple of answers:

"Of course."

Yes, they are agreed on this. They are aligned in this. Even in the very inception of their partnership, the business of doing and obscuring violence came easily. Working in tandem is not difficult.

Can it be easy too, taking in stride all that they've wrought in this alley tonight?

y, you're stuck with this thread forever sorry

[katabasis]

The wind that finds them at the center of the harbor is warm, following after them from off the land across the dark water like the glitter of the city's lights. Indeed if there is one thing to be gleaned from all this walking through places they don't belong, it's that the Fade or the places connected to it have only one understanding of what the sea is like—salt and air, the push and pull of the tides; in daylight there will be flocking birds. Here, in the full dark of the night that's fallen in around them, the cascading reflective surfaces born of the wind across the water's surface transforms their way into an undulating coverlet of delicate lace work.

The borrowed skiff's sail glows white in the darkness, a ghost's form whose progress is delayed on briefly as the boat's nose turns up in the wind. The vessel stalls is a very obliging manner. The winds hums softly against all its parts, and there is only a little splash as Bertaland's body is tipped over the gunwale. The heavy paver levered up from the quay and lashed to his middle follows after with a more baritone slap, and then the matter is resolved. There in the swaying fishing boat, Flint pulls his coat back on.

Give it time. What parts of this will matter at all once the stone's fragment is recovered and they have all been dumped unceremoniously back into the Crossroads? The oily quality of this thing won't follow after them anymore than the notes in Flint's pocket will.

Even given this diversion, it takes just upwards of an hour to slice their way across the wide harbor and skirt around the larger vessels at their anchorages. Were they to have walked around the bay's edge to get here, it might have taken three times that. Regardless, the night has turned to a proper pitch by the time they make their landing and see the skiff secured. Were there fewer lamps in the city, they might require directions. As it it, the top of the wall which must bracket in Little Calimshan is easily spotted between the jagged teeth of various outer city rooftops.

No gambling house waits for them. What does, located with shocking ease in the crowded ward, is a raucous theater house built considerably longer than it is wide. The house has been partitioned into a half dozen stages and, if the proliferation of pungently sweet smelling smoke is any indication, is as dedicated to the bustling trade of some kind of narcotic as it is to the performing arts. It costs a coin each just to get them through the front doors.

what a hardship

[hornswoggle]

Should there be a moment, perhaps it was meant to be aboard this skiff. Sat in the fishing boat, watching Flint shrug back into his jacket, (Will the patchy splotches of blood vanish when they leave this place?) there is a moment where all the moments in which they've dredged out difficult truths. John senses some unspoken thing passing beneath them in the water, a dark shape weaving around the boat in the moment even as they make their way to shore.

Does it dog their steps as they pass onto dry land? Does it slip up the steps after them, follow the chink of coin into outstretched palm as the theater doors close behind them?

Having carried the bottle with them from alley to dock to boat to theater house, John spends a moment working the cork loose as Flint passes over coin. It can be passed between them as needed. Aside the stage, a pianist bangs out a raucous, jangling tune as the velvet curtain twitches open by degrees. John marks three men in the front row whispering beneath the music, as well as the way all gazes in the room seem to mark their movements over and over as all other action in the room reshuffles and shifts. A trumpet honks experimentally, followed by a thrum of a cello.

"I imagine the way down involves finding our way backstage," John suggests, pitched beneath the jangle of the discordant orchestra.

[katabasis]

"We should locate our guide first," Flint says, squinting sidelong after some other patron who's clipped his elbow on the way past.

It's crowded here in what constitutes as the Oasis's receiving room, and the hour is early enough that the house seems only to have recently hit upon its stride for evening. Spirits are high, and there is laughter, and whatever diminishing effects the smoke may possess have yet to take root in most of the clientele. Indeed the instant sense of the place is one of commerce, more crowded marketplace than production house. The curtains and stages, the dividers erected between them, the bray of brass, and the boy's head that briefly peeks out from the wing to survey the quality of the audience are as for color as a flapping banner advertisement or a hawker's raised voice is. The allure of being sucked down into the narrow building's vortex is instantly appealing. Likely there are people here already who will find themselves casually trapped until daylight brings other obligations with it.

Which isn't there concern. The proprietor, Bertaland had said. That's who they're after so long as they can come up with a compelling narrative to sway this person or if the contents of John's purse can.

[hornswoggle]

A moment's pause, taking in the flow of foot traffic within the room, how people are circulating. Eyes flick to the occupants of the table in the front, observe the passing of those paying homage there and their winding, circuitous route through the room to—

John swigs from the bottle in his hand. Tips the bottle down towards where a second musician with a battered trumpet is speaking to a tall, thick-bodied woman.

"Her."

If not important, than she will know exactly who is.

The bottle is offered, John's grip loose as he continues, "I'd say our opening offer should involve some coin."

[katabasis]

The bottle is accepted. It's of a cheaper quality than the bottle they'd split earlier on the little deck, but had for a steeper price—a last parting bit of opportunism from a woman they will absolutely never see again. The contents sit sharp on the tongue and linger there as Flint studies woman in question. There's something to the theory, he agrees, given a few additional measures. Even the members of the band not actively engaged in the conversation have their heads slightly tilted in its direction—

The bottle is offered back. The trumpet player is being dismissed and returning to his post now, but nothing about the air of the place suggests they'll be interrupting should they pursue their business past the imminent parting of the curtain.

"Suggesting we might be prepared to make her more might not be out of the question either."

What do the pair of them look like together? Fucking pirates.

[hornswoggle]

"Proposing a business relationship," John echoes, with a small wave of the hand. Refusing the bottle. "We needn't stretch ourselves too far to make that convincing."

The music clanks louder, a cacophony passing as a chorus hitting its stride. The woman in question lifts a cigarette to her lips, turns back to a shadowed ledger set on the high table beside her. John's expression sharpens.

"I'll leave the naming of our new vessel to you."

Ha, ha.

But being more or less aligned in their approach, there is little else to do but make their way along the edge of the bustling theater floor towards their target.

[katabasis]

A sidelong glance—ha ha—is punctuated by another pull from the bottle, and then they are on the move.

They lose sight of the woman almost immediately once they've passed down the four short steps that lead down into the audience pit. But she's a stationary target, and they've hunted trickier. That said, some tactical sensibility must be observed. To wit, the bottle is ditched on a passed table, much to the not unpleased bafflement of the two young men occupying it; the wrist attached to Flint's hand with the most rings on it comes to hook lazily on the pommel of the sword he hasn't seriously drawn in weeks. Most importantly, and perhaps least easily perceived, is something in the face and the sway of the shoulder. The most marginal adjustment in the length of his stride that when taken in combination with the jut of the sheathed sword sends the edge of his dark coat swinging. What is unconscious artifice and what is adopted intentionally is difficult to parse—the man who makes his way down across the floor is not unrelated to the one who was spat up out of the harbor and trudged up into Little Calimshan—, but the point of his intention has altered to such a degree that the angle from which he might be observed has altered with it.

They are people who belong in this place. It would be strange to question that.

That the woman doesn't look up from her ledger when they arrived at her table bodes well. Instead, she sucks down a pull of her cigarette, flicks to the next page on her little book, and it's only one she is exhaling her tobacco scented smoke around the elongated vowel of 'Yeeeees?' that she raises her face to them. "You have ten seconds before you'll be standing in everyone's way, gentlemen."

"Then maybe we should sit," Flint says without blinking to acknowledge the fact that she's occupying the lone chair at the table. "Captain Pearce of the Swift."—there is a ship in every harbor in the world (or worlds) with that fucking with that name; and if not that, then a Daring or a Quicksure or some other descriptive name that might easily be confused with something very like it—"This is my quartermaster."

She looks critically to Silver and takes another drag on her cigarette. Eyebrows raised.

[hornswoggle]

These are imperceptible changes to be sure. Minute shifts, as a particular mask comes twitching down into place.

John observes it with a sense of deja vu; a recognition of a thing repeating itself. (Is this how Captain Flint arrived in Nascere?)

But much like the trick John performed in that alley, this too is set aside in the moment. If John cares to ruminate on it, he will have to do so after their business is concluded.

“Malachi,” is not the first name that comes to John’s mind.

His hand sweeps from one side, presses over his chest as he bends, just slightly. An approximation of a bow.

“We were hoping to establish ourselves with the proprietor of the house. Word has it that this is the best house for a man to bring his hopes of partnership and business in this bustling city.”

Her gaze sharpens. A second plume of smoke is exhaled, clouding the air between them before she prompts, “Business?”

Not yet partnership. But John recognizes a start of something in this succinct query. Her eyes flick from him to Flint, assessing. Calculating. She is not no one, even if she isn’t the exact person they might need.

[katabasis]

"I have a suspicion," Flint says. He stands up reasonably well to assessment, and a anything that is less than convincing has a way of blurring in the smoky atmosphere given the added impetus of his raised eyebrows and certain knowing quality in the expression he's adopted. "That discussing the details here will take us out past your curtain."

On cue, there is a rasp of rollers as the heavy curtain behind them rushes to part. A shriek of a horn, the rushing of a drum to catch up, and the patter of soft soled feet as four dancers come hurrying out of the wings to catch their cue.

The woman sighs. With a flick of the hand, she makes to close the ledger.

[hornswoggle]

A flicker of old habit: what exactly is marked in that ledger, and how can he get a hand on it?

But it comes to nothing. A passing curiosity, turned over in his mind as this woman leads them along the edge of the room past the assembled clientele and otherwise, up a short flight of steps and through a side door.

Behind the curtain, there is still a buzz of activity. People mingling, fussing with items and costume, a man with a broken harp complaining in a guttural, unfamiliar dialect to a horned woman leaning against the edge of a crate. All dart glances to the woman as she enters, a moment of stillness fading as she strides past all activity.

Into a store room, where the tapestry across the back wall lifts aside to grant entry into another room. There is a desk. She seats herself at the far side of it, and the single chair across from it is left to their discretion.

[katabasis]

There is an echo of familiarity to this song and dance. A carousing public house, a woman with some measure of authority with whom one might wish to ingratiate themselves, a back room which requires the a specific kind of invitation in order to cross the threshold. Were the night not already so eventful (and maybe if the woman were a different sort of woman), the whole arrangement might inspire a certain measure of sentimentality.

Things being what they are, they are better occupations for their time.

A flick of ring-decked fingers as they duck past the edge of the tapestry suggests the available chair is John's if he care for it. There is a niche in the wall to the right and the cabinet built into it is that convenient height for propping oneself against if a man wished to strike the image of a particular version of comfortable. Turning back the edge of his coat, Flint settles naturally there.

"You must think you're very charming. Unless, of course, you have your log books hidden somewhere in that beard." This last part is for John.

[hornswoggle]

Here, the now-familiar calculation: the aches in his body alongside this woman's perceptions, how it would be read were he to stand, how it would be perceived were he to sit.

But in the end, John heeds that silent flick of fingers. By the time their host speaks, John has made himself comfortable as well.

"We have every faith in your ability to discern a promising opportunity when it arrives on your doorstep," John returns smoothly. "We may be new to these waters, but as I'm sure is evident, we are hardly novices."

They make a compelling picture, John is aware. The night's work has not made much mark on them, no, but the years of time invested in their profession have written themselves into each of them. There is currency there, telegraphed by the obviousness of their presentation.

"Care to make your own introduction, before we proceed in our attempts to charm you further?"

An invitation, maybe for the name she preferred than all the titles they (hadn't) heard.

[katabasis]

"I think it's best that we stick with Madame Kask for the time being, don't you?"

They are not so far removed from the main portions of the house; the music clanging on the various stages, relatively insulated from one another, melt into a dull shared jumble here—muffled and atonal. A distant drumming thunder, a tinny crash of symbol lightning.

(Somewhere in the house, a pantomime playa out of three scantily clad sailors struggle to balance on a little prop boat being see-sawed aggressively up and down by even more lightly dressed performers barely decked in various shades of blue and and the gleaming approximation of fish scales—)

Here, in the room, Flint studies John and then the woman behind the desk. It is therefore not without some consideration that.he says, "We've heard you have at your disposal a way into the Undercity."

[hornswoggle]

"And we believe we might come to a mutually beneficial arrangement in the use of it," John continues, smooth over the words.

Flint is a presence at his back, at the edge of his peripheral vision as they are positioned now. Here as he does in all places, all worlds, he burns coal-bright in John's awareness. The instinct to turn by degrees as he speaks is tempered by the necessity of keeping all his attention on this woman, shade though she might be.

"Let us tell you how we could manage such an arrangement," comes as John straightens in his chair, leans forward. Observes the narrowing of Madame Kask's eyes as interest kindles there.

She is human. She cares for profit. Flint and Silver have exploited these minor opportunities before, to great effect.

[katabasis]

In under an hour, they have reached something of an agreement. In exchange for a hefty cut of their valuable cargo looted abroad, Kask will lend them the use of her Undercity pilot. The man knows the ruins like the back of his hand, and will see their hard earned spoils smuggled safely in under the city's walls and brought to the surface. Ordinarily, Madame Kask explains, she wouldn't take a chance on them without some substantial form of collateral. Her claim that this is practically charity might ring less hollow where her percentage in the deal less outrageous.

It's possible that they strike her as a little desperate under the swaggering and the appearance of certainty—two men feigning confidence to while they whittle down the terms from outright highway robbery to a simply back alley mugging. But if that's the case, then they still leave her backroom secure in their actual aim, so what difference does it make?

Thus decided, they are unceremoniously restored to a familiar position: waiting, set up at a table, with a bottle of wine (and not a pipe or pan of the house's primary trade). If one were to ignore the rowdy crowd of this particular section of the house, which would be impossible, it might be possible to pretend they had found their way here directly. That there had been no addition to the bodies in the bay's bottom. That there is no blood on the inside of of Flint's coat front. That the flesh of John's palm remains intact.

There will be no travel to the Undercity tonight. Their guide is otherwise occupied this evening, to say nothing of the fact that it sounds as if the going will involve a considerable amount of walking over difficult, dangerous terrain. There are other members of Riftwatch here with them in Baldur's Gate who can both play at being the sort of crew secretly thoughtful, prudent men might send down into a ruin with a stranger and be trusted to extort the route to the auction house's smuggling route out of Kask's man.

Flint breaks the wax seal off the bottle. He fills their cups. The little flame tongue dancing on the wick of the snub candle melted onto the tabletop is left to its performance without interference.