Chapter 1 - Summer

Issac crouches low and makes his way below the window, easing up to see if he can see through the dim light. A multitude of shadows but no discernable shape that looks human. He slowly makes his way to the door and places his ear against it. No discernable sounds either. In fact, silent.

hmm, perhaps the question is not who, but what was the man guarding?

He places his hand against the door, and with a slight push it gives. Pressing more firmly it opens with enough passage for him to slink in. With a final look outside to make sure no one is watching, he gently shuts the door.

Elaine sighs quietly as she lets the card slide back onto the table, giving one last look to them as she gathers her thoughts. The attention of the crowd, while certainly pleasing to her ego, is also a testament to a grave miscalculation: this is hardly an inconspicuous reconnaissance mission at this point, and despite the observers being distracted by coin and bickering over lost and won bets, she doubts there is no one ready to eavesdrop nearby. Asking something too important is out of the question - so initial plan it is.

"Not as fond of observing as of playing?" She quirks her brow at Diane, a slight jab at the woman's sudden claims of boredoms just after losing a wager, and then gestures around them at the patrons of the establishment. "My question remains the same: do you know anything of Julia Sardou? You said the name sounded familiar, and I'd appreciate any information you have of her current location."

Elaine pauses, then clears her throat: "...Unless you want me to word it as a single question?" There is a hint of genuine hesitation in her tone, like she fully expects Diane to require a strictly worded question, like some mysterious djihn from a fairy tale asking for a wish.

The Gambling Table | Elaine ~
Diane plasters a fake smile on her face--not threatening, just trying to show she's unaffected by a woman she believes to be of lower station than her own.

"Julia Sardou. Indeed."

Seeing the gambling is over, folks begin to loose interest and drift away, or are pulled back to their own games.

Diane pulls a caped ink pen from he voluminous skirts, as well as a small card. She begins to write an address on the card. "Julia Sardou is the type of woman whom one would rather not have to associate with, but is forced to on occasion." She hands you the card."Her trade is in information. And she is honest, if lowborn." Her voice drops. "She is a safer person to do business with, than those who--um--own this establishment. But I would still not cross her if I were you. Well there you have it. Your winnings."






Elaine, a slight pressure in your head, like ascending too quickly in an airship...

"The Office" in the Gambling Den | Issac ~
The room is dimly lit from a bank of windows high in the side wall. Illuminated is a large, oak desk covered in sheets of parchment, paper, and an expensive looking ink well & pen. A portrait hangs on the wall behind the desk--it gives you the impression of a fellow of authority, perhaps the vain owner of this room!A safe is also on the floor behind the desk, with four separate tumblers! Expensive and sophisticated.

A door is in the back of the room--it's heavy with an iron bar locking it from inside the room you're in.

The Workshop of Vinicio Lorino, Master Leather Worker | Sans Visage ~
Sans, Mathis gently shakes you awake.

"Come now ( @Dr_B ) Sans. His finished his work."

If you follow Mathis out into the main workroom, you'd see the following:The master is putting away his tools, in the flickering light of a gear lamp. On the heavy table is a startling lifelike leather mask. It's displayed on a wooden head, showing its full shape and suppleness.

"Amando." Master Lorino turns to you as you enter. He points to an oil painting on the wall, of a young man, in his prime, handsome and full of life. There mask holds a slight resemblance to the painting.

"I must admit a truth. My reasons for helping were not fully selfless. You say you try to live honorably. And something compels me to believe you. I feel you are a quest of importance. Of significance."

"So was my Amando. He wasn't drafted into the Duchy Wars. He went willingly, 'to protect his people' he'd say--those who can't fight, or who shouldn't. I don't know if his cause was honorable, or foolish. But he was a good man. Sincere and strong. So please, take this small resemblance of him back into the world, and be kind and righteous in your dealings."

"There you have it. No charge, please."

Still a little drowsy from his interrupted sleep, Sans tries to grasp the significance of the master craftsman's words, and to comprehend the perfection of his leather creation.

His gaze goes from the portrait, to the mask. He steps slowly to the wooden display head. He tentatively extends his hand to touch the magnificent artifact, in which Lorino seems to have infused not only all his mastery of the craft, but also a level of artistry and emotion that only a deep personal involvement can render possible.

His fingers follow the exquisite contours, the detailed stitching, the clever folds creating almost an illusion of life. He admires the ingenious arrangement of the straps, conceived in angle and direction to alleviate the discomfort of the wearer.

When he speaks, his voice cracks with emotion, such is the powerful effect this incredible item has on him. "Master Lorino... this is... this is not a craftsman's item. It is more, like the sculpture of an artist... Or a spell from a master magician... You breathed life into this leather..."

He looks at the man, "Something tells me... this might be your best work... Something you should be remembered by. And you have done it for me, a perfect stranger? I couldn't possibly find adequate repayment for this masterpiece... Not in a lifetime! and you say you don't want to charge for it ?!?..."

He turns again to the mask, and delicately undoes the straps to free it from the wooden head. He puts the mask on with trembling hands, adjusting the straps. The fit couldn't be more perfect, it is as if the mask had been on his face for years, taking the shape of his disfigured features. It is nothing short of miraculous.

Just wearing it, he feels the weight of the hundreds and thousands of looks that rested on his countenance lifted in a single moment.
He turns to face a mirror hung on the workshop wall, and holds his breath. Because staring back at him in the mirror he sees a human face, and no longer a disfigured freak.

The tears he tried to suppress now flow freely, some finding their way through the mask eye sockets, making the masterpiece even more life-like with the tears running on its leathery surface.

"I will wear Amando's face with honor and respect. May my actions always be worthy of his memory," he whispers in a pledge.

"You have my eternal gratitude, Master Lorino. I suspected that much, and now I know for sure: it is the Clockmaker who led my steps to you."

Lorino's Workshop ~

Vinicio nods in agreement, though a man of a different faith. "It was our Ancestors, surely." He extends his right arm to Sans Visage, offering an arm that would wield a sword were he in a different profession. "And yes, I know your actions will be worthy..."

"If there is ever anyway I can help you, you know where to find me."

Mathis nods from the workshop doorway, where the sky has begun to turn orange over the rooftops beyond.

"Where to my friend," he asks Sans. "How shall we find the others?"

"We agreed to meet with our companions tomorrow," he reminds Mathis. "Let's keep a low profile and observe this town a while. It will give me a chance to get used to my new face."

He responds to Vinicio's arm shake earnestly. "Master Lorino, I will be back. One day, when I will be at liberty to tell you my name and to properly express my appreciation of your gift. Until then, farewell."

He follows Mathis in the streets, raising his hood without pulling its cord to tighten it, but simply to conceal the mask straps some.
Sans walks, observing the reactions of the passers-by to his new appearance, trying to take the measure of how much he can blend in with Lorino's masterful creation over his ruined features.

Issac looks over the room, whistling as he spots the complex safe, Either there's actually something important in there, or it's a clever ruse to make us think so

He closely rifles over the papers on the desk and through the drawers, seeing if there's anything of interest, perhaps a smoking quill that can clear our name

Isaac's eyes drift back to the portrait, at first examining the drawing of the man to see if he can ascertain who it is, then gently lifting it to look behind and see if there's anything hidden.

Lastly, he goes to the door with the lock, forcing it open with a heavy pull and peeking inside.

Elaine takes the card, examining and committing the address to her memory before pocketing it. "Thank you. Both for the answer and the additional information about Julia Sardou - while I do not plan on dealing with her myself, I'll be sure to pass your advice to my associates. It's never not worth it to be more careful when trading in knowledge..." She looks at Diane. "Something you seem to enjoy taking risks in, I must say. Regardless, this was a pleasure." Elaine stands up from the table, and after a slight hesitation gives the three women a slight bow. "I'll take my leave now, so have a nice night, ladies."

She is about to step away, starting to scan the crowd for Aloys so she can announce her new knowledge to him, when the sudden lightheadedness catches her off-guard.

The Back Rooms | Issac ~

Looks like the papers all over the desk are little more than accounts, numbers, and debt records...

You find the door leads to a short, dark hallway. At the end of the hall is spiral stair, that you can safely assume leads to the roof.

As noted, you study the portrait of the man......and as you remove the portrait from the wall your instincts prove to be good! A cleverly hidden compartment is set into the wall behind the portrait. Inside are rolled and bound letters. If you sift through them, it'd quickly become evident that there are compromising letters, likely used for blackmail.

And there, the last one you open: it's a letter clearly discussing the kidnapping of one Jonathan Jullien, a junior Gold Coat.

The Gaming Floor | Elaine ~
You lightheadedness lost for mere seconds, but is enough to cause slight vertigo. Your mental fortitude allows you to quickly regain your composure.

You're left with...an impression?... of someone having attempted to probe your mind, like a shadowing fingers trying to sift through the papers of your brain.

Aloys' hand appears at your elbow.

"Elaine, are you alright? What is it?!" He casts suspicious glances round the crowded room. The gathered crowd is now fully dispersed and the noble gambling women are gathering the winnings, chatting amongst themselves, and preparing to retire for the evening.

The Streets of Wichop | Sans ~
Mathis walks beside you, hat pulled low, and wooden pipe clutched in his teeth. He casts glances at you from time to time.

"I'd never suspect it was a mask, from any distance."

His words prove true, as walking down the cramped streets it's clear to you that none of the townsfolk give you more than a first, passing glance. Certainly nothing in their looks indicate that they're surprised or off put by what they see under your hood, should they look. The early morning folk you pass simply go about their tasks, treating meeting you in the streets as they would any of their neighbors.

Mathis comments, gesturing with his pipe at the folk you pass. "It's like they don't know a vast conspiracy is afoot, that could uproot their lives, and we're the only ones who can stop it." He chuckles.

He squints at you in the pale morning light. "Do you really have no memory of who you are? Come now, Sans; is that true?" He takes the edge off the question with a companionable smile.

"You wouldn't believe what a strange feeling this mask gives me... I grew used to people staring at me in pity... derision or even disgust... or averting their gaze altogether," he reflects, in an almost dream-like tone. "I can... blend in!"

He considers Mathis' question. "When the Acolytes of the Clockmaker found me, nearly dead," he begins, "well... the old me died on the flagstones of that alleyway. The thing they carried to their monastery to heal was an empty husk. My previous self had been killed, and with it all his memories. Had I still possessed a face... I would not recognize it in the mirror... My name, my origins... my family... all gone. "

He looks at his companion as they walk the cobbled streets. "Sometimes I pray that I didn't have a family, before... children. Or a woman. I cannot bear the thought of being alive and not being able to find them, tell them - to end their desperate search, or their mourning... Not being able to put food on their table... or help them." he shakes his head. Clearly, from the tone of his voice, he has gone to this dark place many times before.

Hands gripping that last letter more tightly as he continues to read it, he doesn't sense the grin on his face that's formed until completing the final, damning word.

smoking quill indeed. Hell, the thing is ablaze.

In the back of the compartment he finds a small leather case that's able to store the rolled up letters, ensconcing it in the small of his back.

He then enters through the heavy door, closing it behind him, and moves towards the spiral staircase.

Walking the Streets | Sans ~
Mathis listens to you, his face intent. He leaves a trail of pipe smoke in his wake.

"I must be honest; I'd not thought of that possibility 'til now--that there could be a family waiting..." He trails off for a moment.

"If you were half the man you are, I'd be confident that they'd know you'd only be kept away if it was against your choice. For what it's worth."

Your walking has taken you, unbeknownst to you, rather close to the warehouse gambling den... Roof of the Gambling Den | Issac ~
The spiral stair takes you up to a hatch that's unlocked. Opening it you'd find yourself on the large, mostly empty rooftop. The sound of cooing pigeons would catch your ear--followed closely by a grating voice, like grinding metal in a hollow tube.

"Halt. Please." A gear stands, still as a statue only a few meters from the hatch. It's covered in birds, and its carapace is fairly stained by their droppings. It sounds bored.

Elaine rakes a hand through her hair, then massages her temple against the unpleasant sensation of her brain being picked apart. "Ugh, I just... Got dizzy for a second. Almost like there was something in my head. Very unpleasant." She leans slightly on Aloys, thankful for the support while she regains her bearings, and then frowns at the implications of what just happened. "Maybe it's just the heat - this place needs better ventilation, the stink of the alcohol is going to seep into us for weeks at this rate, - or maybe it's the psionics. Can't say I ever had a questionable pleasure of being subjected to them, but it's what I would've imagined them to feel like."

Elaine sighs deeply and straightens up. "Anyway, I got the address of the woman you told us about, as well as a warning to be careful when dealing with her. We should return to Issac and then find Sans, before anything else... unnatural occurs. Hopefully I'm just imagining things, but with how our luck's been lately - probably not."