VoB - Warehouse District

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Konrad Ingmann
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Post by Konrad Ingmann »

The odour of a city is as much a part of the impression she leaves as her sights, and this one smells rotten. The wet reek of rotting ropes and weed encrusted wood wafted from the docks, intermingling with unwashed filth and heaped compost. Pipe weed, thick and acrid, clotted and clogged the air of the pub, masking any trace of the escaping putrescence within.

'That way,' Ingmann pointed in the direction of the pub. 'We'll only get in the way of the workers at the docks. Let us see these people when their guards are down'.

Ingmann caught the pipe smoke hanging thick in the air, and it made him feel uneasy. Another craving began to grow a little within him, and he felt his left hand spasm in anticipation of its many aches and pains.
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Louis de la Forêt
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Post by Louis de la Forêt »

Louis merely nodded his assent, and followed behind the Doktor as they made their way towards the common house. As discreatly as he could, he adjusted the fit of his sword on his hip, then checked that the sword was loose in its scabbard.

To himself, the thought "By all means, let us surround ourselves with the worst types of this foreign land when their guards are down. That sounds like a perfectly safe plan, I'm sure."

The idea that there were clearly females in the place did raise his spirits briefly, until he remembered that he couldn't leave Herr Doktor alone in order to take advantage of that fact. So, he resigned himself to spending the next several hours focusing his attention on potentially hostile men instead.
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Raphaelus the Younger
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Post by Raphaelus the Younger »

Dorian wrote: With this Nahl shut the door behind his new guests, and the clicking of the latch locking made a definite end to Raphaelus's book shopping for the night.

Down the end of the alley, Raphaelus could make out a carriage that he assumed belonged to the rich man he could see through the half shuttered windows of the book store speaking with the nervous Nahl.

Above his head, Lunarion neared the apex of her nightly crossing of the sky.
Raphaelus was speechless. He had thought he'd found a suitable source, but had it snatched from him. He silently cursed the fates. Whatever hopes he had had of finding "research materials" before sunrise had been dashed by the late caller.

He found himself wondering who the older gentleman was, a wealthy book dealer perhaps, or a famous artist. He certainly had poise befitting a man of wealthier position, and such garish attire! He glanced at the carriage. Perhaps what he was seeking lay in there, but it was far too late for thievery. There was a time however... His thoughts wandered to years past. The thrill of anticipation, the feel of it in his hands; cold and purposeful. The screams of the dark women following him into the night, as he escaped with his prize.

Raphaelus looked up at Lunas (he refused to think of the orb as "Lunarion", and had his own theories as to its origin and purpose), and sighed. He began the long trudge back to the warehouses, his feet aching dully. Perhaps he would be able to get some sleep tonight.
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Dorian
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Post by Dorian »

As the Doktor and his woodsman escort approached the bar, they began to get a better look at it. Very narrow but two stories high it was of rickety wooden construction and over the door hung a sign in Svalish tongue neither could read. Its doors were open, despite the chill in the air, and a warm glow shone out upon the dark moonlit streets.

Inside, pipe smoke creates a haze over a bar that can only be described as cramped. Despite the apparently size from outside, the bar seems quite short inside, which when coupled with the narrow width produces a moldy cramped space that one with claustrophobia would fear.

As the pair walk through the door, a large fire roars in the corner to their left, providing most of the lighting for the dingy room. Along one wall runs the bar, manned by a woman over middle ages missing many teeth, thinning grey hair and wearing a liquor stained apron and dress. Lining the wall behind her is dozens of bottles of different shapes and sizes, all murky with grim making their contents uneasy to establish for the two westerners.

Scattered around the bar is some two dozen patrons, in varying states of intoxication. Long benches line one wall and couches and tables fill all remaining space, with cushions and throws doing little to make such nasty wooden seats more appealing.

The patrons are mostly male, and the reason for this becomes clearer as the two notice that various girls make their ways through the thong, latching onto any man who will take notice, clearly plying the trade of the most oldest profession. Here a woman is topless, allowing a man to indulge in her curves. There one trickles alcohol down her arm so her man may suck it from her gentle fingers. The actions of some of the others in darker corners help remind Louis of what he so badly has missed out on during his journey over the bluttenburgs, and would make many a man blush.

Some of the people within make their way up a stair case towards the back of the room, no doubt leading towards more private lodgings. Next to these stairs, a door curtained off with a stained velvet curtain, around which creeps the smoke that gives the air its haze, leads towards the rare of the building. Louis can't help but notice the smokes odour is reminiscent of cat urine, while Ingmann barely contains his expression as he recognizes its more opiate nature. Standing next to this door is a large man, dour faced and dressed in breeches, with a thick vest. The hunter of the pair see's that none of the woman in the place seem to pay him any attention as he observes the room.

Off to one side a women, her companions face buried into her neck with passion, smiles at the pair seductively. Behind the bar, the old woman looks at them puzzlingly, clearly asking them some question, though neither have a clue as to what she wishes to know.
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Louis de la Forêt
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Post by Louis de la Forêt »

Louis glances around the bar further, looking for any sign of hostility, and careful not to be seen as hostile himself.

"Herr Doktor, do you also not speak the local tongue? I wonder what the barmaid wishes to know? Do you think they speak Gustaspeil?"
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Konrad Ingmann
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Post by Konrad Ingmann »

Louis de la Forêt wrote: "Herr Doktor, do you also not speak the local tongue? I wonder what the barmaid wishes to know? Do you think they speak Gustaspeil?"
'I don't need to be able to talk to them. Their faces tell me more than their tongues could. I've heard that people in this town can speak with outsiders'.

Ingmann approaches the woman and scans the patrons for anyone who looks as if they are drinking a weak ale. He points to the drink and then motions that he wants two, placing the coins on the bar as payment.

The doctor gives one of the drinks to Louis, and waits by the bar, getting a better view of the surroundings. The wafting alure of opiates tantalises his senses. Anticipating an involuntary twitch in his bad hand, Ingmann shifts it to a coat pocket.

'Observe that one,' Ingmann says to Louis, while pointing out a lone man. 'See how he watches these whores. No doubt he has no money, eh? You can perceive that his eyes are fixed to each whore in turn, as if nothing else here exists for him. Of course, the only thing that does in fact exist for him at the present is the burning sensation he feels in his loins.

'But it is not his eyes that portend his lewd nature and subservience to vice. No,' Ingmann has almost launched into a professional tone, one he was accustomed to adopt when giving informal lectures to junior anatomists. 'His face, indeed, his bone structure has already confirmed his entire character. Note the unusually far-set eyes on an otherwise narrow visage; the thick set of the brow, shadowing the rest of his features, and weak, insipid jawline. Alas for the poor man, his moral and intellectual infirmity were dictated at birth by the structure of his skull.

'Look about,' Ingmann gestures with his ale glass, before taking a revolted swig at the swill, 'you will see many faces like his'.

As the doctor spoke, the scent of sweet opium tugged at his nostrils. He privately wished that he had come alone, and was already inventing excuses to have Louis leave so that he could spend more time here . . . alleviating his ache.
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Dorian
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Post by Dorian »

Raphaelus the Younger wrote:
Raphaelus looked up at Lunas (he refused to think of the orb as "Lunarion", and had his own theories as to its origin and purpose), and sighed. He began the long trudge back to the warehouses, his feet aching dully. Perhaps he would be able to get some sleep tonight.
It is during his solitary walk along the cobbled streets that Raphaelus realizes just how late it is, sitting past midnight.

This land was strange to him. Its streets, the cold damp feel in the air, the sharp smell of smoke and the occasional person he passed all were different to the cities of Baloria he was used to.

The streets for example. Whilst Baloria had an ancient feel to it, this part of old town was more Gothic, with archaic overhangs and stone brick buildings. The new parts of town were long, straight and mundane, showing the Nissian pursuit for speed and mass production over character.

The air here was different too, not the warm dry winds blowing in off the sea like they had back home. Here it seemed to sit, still and damp. It was thicker, harder to breath in. Occasionally it would be dryer, with a warm blast and that odd smoke smell. In Baloria they had smog in the mornings, but that was more of a coal smell, this was a mixture of wood and other dry materials. It stung at the old scholars eyes too.

But most different were the people. They were quiet, and dark. Not dark as in skin colour, which was infact more pale than the olive skin found back home. No it was their features that were darker. Their brows were thicker and bushy, their hair almost always a dark brunette. They seemed to lean towards a more solid build and walked with the undeniable hunch of a working lower class.

Raphaelus's pondering gave way to discomfort as the warm smokey air got the better of him. It seemed that the more he walked the hotter the air got and the stronger the smell. Now, it slightly burned at his throat as well as his eyes. He wondered what could possibly cause so much smoke as he wandered on.

It was the glow down the road that gave away the source of the smoke as he turned a corner. There, further ahead, the street was a strong orange glow, and smoke choked the street and was stained golden by the unmistakable glow of fire. What exactly was on fire was masked by the thick clouds of the smoke however.

It was with a sinking feeling in his gut that Raphaelus realized the location of the apparent blaze was approximately that of the ventures warehouse.

Ahead, cries and yells could be heard, in various tongues, as people fought desperately to combat the blaze.
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Raphaelus the Younger
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Post by Raphaelus the Younger »

Raphaelus' eyes widened and he clutched his satchel to his chest. Quickly ducking into a dark corner, he frantically checked the contents. The Book of Qei'thuth was there of course, with its accompanying translation, and the chest holding the peugnaleus. He was horrifically tempted to open the chest and make doubly sure its contents were safe inside, but forced the thought out of his mind. He hefted the chest instead, and its solid weight reassured him beyond doubt. Raphaelus felt a surge of relief, before his face began to darken in realisation. He'd left his writing kit in the caravan. In the warehouses.

Raphaelus cursed loudly in Balorian. All the vellum, inks and fine quills he needed to finish both his translation and the Treatise were in that kit. He knew he would be able to finish the translation on borrowed vellum...but the Treatise was an illuminated manuscript, a piece of art. He could not allow the materials essential for its creation to be lost. They were irreplaceable. His pace quickening, he continued toward the warehouses, holding a kerchief over his nose and mouth to keep out the worst of the smoke.
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Dorian
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Post by Dorian »

As he fought his way through the smoke, Raphaelus's eyes stung and began to water. The heat was soaring as he pushed closer to the blaze. As he neared, horror hit his heart as the source of the blaze became clear. It was the ventures warehouses.

Flames licked out over the street as men from the venture fought the fire. Shorn's men could be seen here and there, organizing the men as best they could. Whatever water they could find was being thrown over the fire, with men running to and from the river with buckets of water, splashing the flames in vain.

Like a burning demon the fires roared and grew. Windows exploded as the fire sought desperately for more air. Some brave souls could be seen running in and out, rescuing what and who they could. Here and there, coughing smoking people littered the ground. Somewhere inside the fire, someone screamed.
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Raphaelus the Younger
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Post by Raphaelus the Younger »

Raphaelus wandered about in a daze, people running and screaming all around him. Despondent and non-communicative, he knew his precious dried vellum would stand no chance against such a conflagration. He gulped, fighting back the urge to cough. Casting his gaze around the surrounding area, he searched for the caravan in which he had left his possessions. Perhaps, by some twist of fate, it had been salvaged from the blaze already.

[Perception]
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Dorian
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Post by Dorian »

Perception Test failed badly

Standing amongst the throng, Raphaelus looks around wildly. The smoke burns at his eyes and his throat stings as his short sharp breaths contain less and less clean air. Panic hits him as he searches madly, stumbling around aimless amongst the chaos as men battle the blaze in vain, it growing bigger by the minute.

Some time later, a confused and dazed Raphaelus concludes that his belongings are not to be found without the fire, but within, as it brings the warehouse to the ground piece by piece.

Over ten minutes has gone by. With each minute the fire grows more and more dangerous to enter. If you wish to do something, it must be done soon
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Raphaelus the Younger
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Post by Raphaelus the Younger »

Raphaelus, eyes streaming and throat aching, makes a mad dash for the warehouse entrance. He remembers the approximate position his caravan was, and tries desperately to see a safe path through the smoke and flames. The heat is intense, so intense that he fears nothing will be left to salvage, even if he were to find it. The thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, more bitter even than the acrid smoke hanging thickly in the air.

[Perception, once more.]
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Dorian
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Post by Dorian »

[three tests, 2 fail and one pass]

Looking into the room is hard, due mostly to the smoke pouring from the upper half of the door. Ducking down a bit, Ralphaelus gets a better look, thanks to the warehouse's high roof giving more room for smoke to pool and giving him a clearer view.

Looking over towards the place where his wagon was, he fails to make it out. In the immediate area that he is looking at are several wagons, some burning heavily and some still relatively untouched. The path too these, however, is far from clear, as various things scattered around the warehouse burn, such as bedding, wagons etc.

His attention is soon diverted however. Over the other side of the warehouse a scream stabs at the Scholars ears. Looking quickly, he makes out a girl, one of the serving girls, trying desperately to brush off the fire on her skirt tails. She seems frantic and is desperately fighting to save herself from the fires harsh consumption. Much like the rest of the warehouse, no clear path to her presents itself.
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Raphaelus the Younger
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Post by Raphaelus the Younger »

Unwilling to enter the burning warehouse, Raphaelus feels hope ebb away. It is lost...all of it. Years of work will have to be re-transcribed. Suddenly, something within him snaps. Something, perhaps the desperate cries of the serving girl or the popping of burning maize, breaks Raphaelus out of his melancholic reverie. Ignoring the girl's panicked screams, he sprints to the nearest untouched wagon, his eyes glazed and tearful. He has but one thing on his desperate mind; the preservation of his future manuscript.
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Louis de la Forêt
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Post by Louis de la Forêt »

Louis nods his head, as if listening to Ingmann's lectures. He was now sure that someone here certainly must speak Gustaspiel, simply because his day wouldn't be complete without some drunk local taking offense to the man's admittedly offensive comments.

[Perception check to see if I notice Ingmann's heightened interest in the opium room.]

[Perception check to spot anyone taking offense / getting hostile.]

Louis will periodically raise his tankard to his lips and take the tiniest sip of the revolting stuff, just to maintain the appearence of being there to drink.
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Raphaelus the Younger
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Post by Raphaelus the Younger »

Raphaelus swerved around several burning wagons, narrowly avoiding the fiery death that surrounded him. The smoke was thicker and more intense in here, and the precious little air untouched by smoke was dry and hot. Making it to the intact wagon, he frantically began his search. The carriages next to him began to spontaneously combust as he rifled through the interior. Nothing. This was not the carriage he was looking for. He looked around, seeing no sign of a clear path through the smoke. His gut twisted horribly. The silhouettes of the other caravans all looked the same.

He heard the screams of the young girl growing louder, pleading for aid. Rushing through the acrid smoke in the direction of the other carriages, Raphaelus stumbled upon a clear area. Here, smoke was being vented upwards and away through a jagged hole in the roof. The ceiling looked dangerously close to collapse. His eyes stinging, Raphaelus suddenly spotted the wagon he was looking for. It had somehow been untouched by the blaze, but flames burned all around it. Miraculously finding a clear path through the fire, he practically leapt inside and began to desperately search the wagon.

He saw, to his horror, that someone had been there already. The carriage's contents lay in utter disarray, strewn about the interior. After a full minute of futile searching, Raphaelus had found only a few singed quills. The temperature in the wagon was rising, and he knew it was only a matter of time before it too became a raging inferno. He continued to search, fear rising in the pit of his stomach. The cries of the serving girl were quieter now, pitiful sobs of desperation.

The carriage began to fill with black smoke, making him cough violently and restricting his breathing to ragged gasps. He realised with terror that the carriage itself was on fire. He had mere seconds. Flames began to encroach around him as he tore the wagon apart. Suddenly, his hand fell upon something rough and familiar. The hard leather covering of his writing kit.

Not stopping to check the contents, as was his habit, Raphaelus quickly stuffed the writing kit under his robes and began to run in the direction of the exit. The smoke was now even thicker, and panicking he realised he couldn't breathe. Smoke came down all around him, obscuring his vision completely, and he ran blind, lungs starving for oxygen. He felt his consciousness begin to ebb away, the last vestiges of life slipping through his fingers. Then he was free of the fire and on the ground, clutching the kit under his robes in a death grip. Gasping for air, his vision faded and he passed into oblivion.
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Louis de la Forêt
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Post by Louis de la Forêt »

Louis' eye moves around the room further, then is drawn back to a single sight. One of the woman had, so he guessed, been instructed to dance for her paying audience. And surprisingly, she was quite talented. No prancing court dance like at Gévaudin's parties, this dance was based in the hips.

For the next few minutes, Louis stayed focused on those hips, silently thanking the man whose money was going to entertain both of them. Unfortunately, the man tired of simply watching and moved in to dance with the woman, effectively ruining her grace with his own drunken, off balanced pawing. When Louis caught a glimpse of the man's face, deep acne scars and only a few teeth remaining in his mouth, he had to look away. That she can even pretend to be attracted to that man is a testement to her strength of will.
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Dorian
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Post by Dorian »

Louis de la Forêt wrote:
[Perception check to see if I notice Ingmann's heightened interest in the opium room.]

[Perception check to spot anyone taking offense / getting hostile.]
You failed all except the roll to see if you notice Ingmanns interest in the backroom, although you failed the roll to guess the nature of the backroom horribly. So you notice something is wrong with the doktor but dont know what. Ill let you roleplay this as you wish.

Looking around the room, ever vigilant for any hostility, Louis notes that everyone in the bar seems to have violence far from their minds. In fact it becomes clear that the pair are the only ones not indulging in temptations of the flesh, bar the barkeep and the man by the door to the backroom.

Behind the bar, the old woman is cackling and mumbling to her self, clearly going insane with old age. The ever persistent smell from the backroom continues to pervade the senses and cause many a nose to curl, especially that of Louis, the man of outdoors not being used to such an acrid smell. The Doktor, however, almost seems to relish in it, perhaps being used to all sorts of smells in small offices and surgical theaters.

A man stumbles from behind the curtain and heads for the exit. As he does, both men catch a glimpse of reclined men everywhere, some well dressed, some with girls draped over them in a haze. The scene is a familiar one to the Doktor, but Louis fails to recognize the opium den for what it is.

The man exiting as such, trying to compose himself, walks towards the door in a haze. He seems far more well to do than most in this forward part of the establishment, perhaps a business owner or merchant. He half stumbles his way to the door, oblivious to his surroundings, headed out towards the night.
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Louis de la Forêt
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Post by Louis de la Forêt »

Noticing his charge's sudden glance to the back room when the curtain is pulled back, Louis leans over to him to say quietly. "Herr Doktor, I don't think you'll find what you're looking for, back there. All of those men seem to be well to do. Their heads would probably be just like yours or mine."

More confident that they were not at risk in this establishment, Louis relaxed a bit more. Instead of keeping an eye out for danger, he allowed himself to take note of the people themselves.
  • I will be in this country for some time to come. I should get to know the people.
He paid attention to how the locals were dressed, how they kept their hair and how they shaved, or didn't. He tried to notice their mannerisms, though frequently what he noticed were their whores. When the few upper crust from the back room went by, he paid special attention to them as well.

He also began to drink larger quantities of beer from his mug, though the amazingly poor quality of the stuff decreased the danger of intoxication severely.
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Konrad Ingmann
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Post by Konrad Ingmann »

Louis de la Forêt wrote: "Herr Doktor, I don't think you'll find what you're looking for, back there. All of those men seem to be well to do. Their heads would probably be just like yours or mine."
Moments that might have been minutes passed in the time after Louis talked, and before Ingmann responded. The pungent smell and taste of opium was having a calming effect on the doktor of anatomy, and he forgot the twitch in his hand.

'Oh?' Ingmann took his eyes from the other room. 'Not true, my good forrester. There is a slowly growing school of thought that all the various classes of man belong to distinct racial types. Within these types, there are gradations of men - a hierarchy of high to low. But even the high exhibit elements of the low, just as this glass would still have the hint of this swill if we emptied it and filled it with the finest wine.

'Will you be fine if I move to the inner room and make my observations in there? This place looks safe enough'.

Ingmann knew he was risking a lot by chancing a quick taste of opium while a member of the endeavour was with him, but pangs of something akin to lust were beginning to overtake him.
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