perhaps you have learned it without a book - MOONLIT RIVALS LOG 1

[libraryassistants]

Who: Readers and Actors galore!
What: The Story begins- and so do preparations for the Masquerade!
When: The three days prior to the Masquerade [ooc timeline: 1/23-2/5]
Where: The city of Montica
Content warnings: Please include any warnings in headers!

First Quarter Moon

Now that most of the Editors know what to expect, the draw into the Story is likely more obvious this time. There’s a subtle urge that encourages their feet to turn towards the Stacks; a slight shimmer in the air that thickens the closer they get to the book laying open on an innocuous library cart.

Those who resist the Story’s pull will be drawn in eventually. Whether the compulsion is successful, or whether the Librarian passes by to sweep them in - all Editors will enter, and all will experience the Story’s start together.

(Editors who have gained the skill Ex Media Res will be able to resist the Story’s pull and hang out in the Library. Drop us a note if they’re using this skill!)

Our Beginning

The Story begins as night makes its transition to morning. Montica is a city that never sleeps, and some Editors may find themselves taken aback at how the absence of sunlight has done nothing to deter the nightlife.

In particular, at the hour our Readers arrive, there is a clean-up going on at the centre of town. People are grumbling as they sweep debris from the streets, and those who are familiar with supernaturally-powered fights will recognise this scene for exactly what it is: the aftermath of some powerful entities having had at it. Hang around too long and you may find yourself with a broom or hammer thrust into your hands, the expectation that you’ll help having been made clear.

Those who leave the clean-up will find themselves welcome in the city’s inn, where visitors hover by the windows, chattering excitedly about the fight that had just broken up. Some people think they’re lucky to have seen it - others think they’ll be luckier if they go the next few days without seeing another one.

The inn is warm, full of gossip, and by some marvel still has private rooms available to rent. Readers will find themselves with enough coin in their pocket to afford quite a bit, this time around - but don’t go spending it all at once. Those who are astute will hear the talk of a masquerade going around, and if you want to attend, you’re going to have to dress appropriately.

Welcome to Montica

Montica itself is a city built from stone, with the buildings packed closely together along cobblestone streets. Flowering vines creep along trellises, their gentle fragrance perfuming the air. The sky is clear and smog-free, the water flows cleanly, and a sense of magic drifts comfortably in the breeze.

The city is almost evenly bisected by loyalties, a hard divide running clearly through the centre of the town. Only a small ring in the centre is considered to be neutral territory - though that’s becoming more and more disputed with each passing moon.

To the north, buildings seem to have a fondness for silver. It seems they’ll take any excuse to work the precious metal into everyday items, from cutlery to window fastenings; and some particularly zealous citizens proudly don silver jewellery and pins in their day-to-day wear. In this section of town you will find the dwellings of the old vampire clans, littered with antiquities and casual opulence.

To the south, the people are fond of spices. Garlic flowers pepper garden beds and the dried bulbs hang from doorframes, and there’s hardly a meal cooked without it. Some industrious workers are busy building small moats of flowing water through this half of the city – you’d better mind your step, lest you get in their way. Located amongst these homes are the dens of the werewolf packs, warmly furnished and brimming with life.

No matter where you are in town, whether you’re surrounded by silver or dodging moat diggers, whether it’s day or night or nebulous twilight, there’s one topic that’s on everyone’s lips: the Umbra Masquerade.

It’s a once in a human lifetime event, and the city is abuzz. Some of the elderly may have been once before, in their youth - but likely at an age where they were too young to remember. There are stories about these masquerades, of the favours that can be won and the deals that can be made. More than one wealthy family attributes their successes to parties of the past, and while the werewolves shouldn’t be there – who’s going to stop them?.

The Market

At the centre of the city are Montica’s most dreary buildings. Markets are held here during the day, bright banners and exuberant stallholders calling out their wares. People of all kinds shop here, and it’s the best place to find quality goods. Some patrons give each-other hearty side-eyes, some sneer and mutter insults under their breath - but by and large, this a neutral zone, and the regular citizens treat it as such.

Behind the fuss of the market, astute observers will note the broken and boarded-up windows hidden by the bold stalls. Some buildings are outright abandoned, damaged beyond repair. It becomes even more obvious as night falls and the number of stalls thins, the night vendors setting up with wary looks in their eyes.

Right now the market is bustling with vendors sending goods up to the Umbra Clan's mansion. There is a constant stream of traders passing back and forth, hurrying to get their contributions in place before the ball. Regular goods are still for sale, but the busiest stalls are those selling - of all things - masks with varying levels of decoration. They’ve cleverly set up outside of stores selling clothing; beautiful dresses and tailored suits visible through the cracked and dusty windows. Editors will find they have enough local currency to afford something modest. If their tastes skew toward the more extravagant then, well – they better get to work.

The Umbra Mansion

The sprawling building stands tall, overlooking the city of Montica. Vines budding with fragrant flowers grow up the sides of the building, curling around windowsills and balconies in a curated fashion. A large hedge maze sits at the rear of the mansion, behind the grand ballroom; and the gardeners are in top form today, brandishing tools at anyone who looks like they're about to enter it. It's one of many things being tidied up and decorated for the ball, so you'd better not get in their way.

The mansion's front doors open to a foyer that is connected to an upstairs level by two grand staircases. A gilded chandelier hangs down between them, casting rainbows across the wooden floors as the sunlight strikes its crystal ornaments.

Those wide, curved staircases lead to a mezzanine that overlooks the ballroom below. Doors to private rooms branch off from here; all of them locked.

During the daylight hours, the mansion sports large windows covered by thick curtains that are drawn firmly shut. Those who try to peer through them will find an additional layer of security in the form of tightly-fastened metal blinds that block any slivers of sunlight from eking through.

On all three days the mansion is crawling with people setting up for the masquerade. Over there, someone’s hanging strings of lights. Over here, a florist is carefully arranging flowers. The kitchen is busy, human cooks overseeing the production of hundreds of canapes – and on the third day, over in the ballroom, are a band of musicians getting prepared for the night.

Security is lax everywhere except the underground floors, where the clan sleeps. The doors that lead to the underground complex are barred from the inside, and human guards keep watch outside of them to redirect any wanderers.

[The info/plotting post can be found here!]

Comments

curze - reader (nominal vampire)

[curzed]

Getting Bearings - Spoopy Sewercrypts

This time, the Story's chosen to leave him, on first glance, completely unchanged. Konrad Curze is still a giant at ten feet tall, ice-pale and black haired, dressed much the same as he usually is in the library with ragged dark pants and cloak, the only real difference the addition of an equally ragged and equally dark shirt.

He'd retreated immediately upon realizing dawn is approaching, the pallor of the sky telling him this story was going to be obnoxiously prone to sunlight. Curze doesn't have to be a vampire to loathe the light. With a glance telling him most inhabitants here are of normal mortal size, being out in the daylight would draw far too much attention, he'll wait.

And so he does, far beneath street level, in the network of catacombs, crypts and sewers, where the garish light of day can't reach him.

The lack of light there save for the rare scattered lamp isn't a problem for his senses. And it's quiet. Surely no-one else will be down there while he uses the peace and silence to attempt to sort through the impressions he's immediately gotten of this place, like his visions but not - simply because it wasn't blinding agony.

He moves disturbingly silently for something so large.

After Sunset, Hunting Allies - Day 1-3

Once it's actually dark, though very aware that a good half the city is only active at night, Curze sets out to catch any sign of anyone he recognizes. Scent, sight, sound - there would be other Readers, though they may be disguised. Actors are going to be much harder.

He's spent over sixteen decades being careful about not being spotted, and even in this place, full of the supernatural, he's incredibly elusive, avoiding notice with patient deliberation while working on finding those he knows. His brothers are here, somewhere. His one friend. The handful of people he might generously call acquaintances.

Ever get the feeling you're being watched?

Urbex, baby.

[noonlight]

After having settled on a suitable (run-down) storefront with a roughed in basement, Illumination moves in and begins to ward the boundaries of the building. Above ground is risky, but necessary, but below? Out through the sewers? That's comfortable. Homey, even. (A bit of a strong pong to it, but nothing that they can't deal with later.)

In the heavy dark of the sewers, Illumination doesn't need any light to see by; although, a stranger might spot faint colours and light shifting over any visible skin.

[curzed]

The smell is just.. more scents to sift through, a constant endless source of information about things like the diets and general health of countless people living above of at least three different species.

Make that four.

Coming across Illumination's trail marks them instantly as something not like the beings above, and Curze detours immediately from whatever other path he'd been following to pursue this one instead. Darkness is no hindrance to him either, and there's no effort to seek out greater lighting to see what's ahead. In turn, with the right kind of vision, he's not terribly difficult to spot either - especially since he's not hiding.

"My. Aren't you far from home?" That sort of colorplay reminded him of certain deep-sea creatures, not surface-dwelling thigns.

[noonlight]

As Illumination turns to face the newcomer, the patterns on their skin that would be invisible under normal light flicker and shift in time with their speech. "Oh, you know, I'm the sort that likes to get around."

Behind them, there's a rough doorway that looks as if it once was well-maintained. They've started to invest it with charms for concealment and wards to keep out unwanted guests. Rats? Wandering primarchs? Either way, it's a work in progress.

[curzed]

That's not an effect he's seen before, and as words and patterns and color seem to align, he watches with interest. Doesn't comment on it; his nearly solid black eyes make it difficult to tell what, exactly, he's watching - but Illumination has his undivided attention.

If there's wards, they'll be put to the test sooner or later. "Is that so? From where do you come, I wonder? It's terribly dark down here." Not exactly comforting for most people. For Curze, it's perhaps the most comfortable with the lighting he's been since hte library snatched him up.

[noonlight]

"I'm called Illumination, of the line of Yunfin-Yufafin, of Qin's Get." They don't appear to be armed - no knives, or other visible weapons - but there's chalk, salt, and other magical reagents at hand. Illumination's body language is a forced casual pose. They didn't expect anyone else, don't fully trust the company they have, but aren't about to flee just yet.

"It's dark enough that I don't have a headache. A nice change, don't you think?"

Getting bearings sorry sewer cryptid

[not_scrap]

You know what's great about vents? A great way to go from place to place unseen, a great hideyhole and escape route.

You know what this stupid place doesn't *&%$ing have? VENTS.

So it's the creepy underground tunnels, which are dark, and dripping and wet and the smell? Not great. Not gonna lie, it smells AWFUL down here.

But hey, she's been through worse. All she needs is to map a few safe routes. Easy peasy.

And that noise, the one that draws her to a sudden halt and making her wish she'd brought something more than a torch (stupid stick on fire) with her? That...that was just a rat, right?

[curzed]

That is in fact a rat!

And its tiny beady eyes catch red in the light of her torch as it looks up from grooming its face with tiny, grimy paws, as if shocked and annoyed at being disturbed.

Then it scurries into the darkness with a squeak of warning to the rest of its rodenty kind. Surely that's all there is!

Except it isn't.

Nyla is utterly familiar. The sound of her heartbeat, the scent of her passage through the sewers and crypts, there's no mistaking who she is at all, unlike most who are in this village with delusions of citydom. Beyond the weak light of a single torch, Curze deigns to separate himself from his comfortable shadows.

Is she still an actor, but strangely undisguised? He'll find out quickly enough.

[not_scrap]

"Yeah you'd better!" She makes a vaguely obscene gesture with the torch after the scurrying rat, but she's not dumb. She wasn't why it suddenly ran off.

A lifetime of surviving being small and weak looking gave one, you know, instincts. SOME would call it paranoia but that was wrong. It's not paranoia if it's saved your ass more than once.

She turns in a full circle, looking in the opposite direction the rat had run off into. "Show yourself. Or else!" Or else...uh...something? MAN< this is why she had Seifer do her security work. He was better at it. If she ever saw him again, she'd actually tell him this time.

[curzed]

"Or else what?"

Now there's a familiar voice in the darkness.

hunting allies

[steelfeathered]

Jadis gets that feeling, and a sharp welling of crawling anxiety. She stops in place, peering out into the dark, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but increasingly sure of a small pool of possibilities narrowing until one is left. Slowly she runs an ivory bracelet charm carved into the shape of a feather through her fingers, rubbing it against the web of skin between her fore and middle finger. Touch is reliably part of the present in a way that vision and hearing aren't, so she tugs the feather through her fingers again and again until she's as sure as she's likely to get that this is now.

"Show time," she murmurs, and sets out her countermeasure to that effect some of the outsiders have. "Polaris, pole-star, guide me true. Hold me steady dusk to dawn. Polaris, fixed in place, anchor my heart." There's an invisible shift, and she imagines a pillar before her, intercepting and absorbing something radiating outwards. She can pull a strong, slow breath again.

Jadis knows that Polaris is actually multiple stars, and impossibly far away, and not aware of humanity at all, let alone able to hear and answer when called on. That stars appear to move because of the movement of the Earth. The traditional calling on the pole-star works because it helps the caster connect with a part of herself. ...This is why she can't teach, she's aware, it's hard for her to explain this without sounding dismissive.

"Come out?" It's not as confident as she'd wanted to sound. Her mouth is still dry and her heart rate is still up. She's still half hoping that this isn't real, that things will continue as they have for a little longer. Jadis clears her throat. "Come out... please. I know you're there. I've seen you. You're the... night heron. We should talk."

[curzed]

Where the people he knows could be any species, any face, watching and listening and sorting for any familiar scent among the tangle of unfamiliar is all he can really do. And, of course, be patient.

The werewolves, the vampires, they're the underpinning of this story, most should be tied up with them, but there's something that's made him hesitate here, with something neither dead nor canine. Curze remains silent and still, listening to her call on Polaris with dry amusement, the scent of unease, the sound of too-quick heartbeat, marking the effort as some means of self-comfort.

"Then talk." For something his size, and as inherently malevolent, his voice can be surprisingly gentle. Don't believe it.

But there's familiarity here, and he'd learned a painful lesson the last Story about ignoring that nagging impulse. He's careful to never step into the light, but he can allow a measure of knowing where he is, a deliberate sound of movement where there had been none before, the scrape of claws, the rustle of cloth. And of course, the sound of his voice. "We've met before."

[steelfeathered]

Jadis is not obviously Hisako in a more human form, but there are some shared features. Not least of which is that she has a ceramic ocarina pendant, albeit of a different shape and on a fine chain.

Yep. Yep, she'd forseen he was twice her height and could soften his voice to almost sound reassuring. Jadis fiddles with the ivory feather. Her connections don't protect her here, she knows. Her own personal defenses might not be enough either. The sense of danger is still pouring out, even if the pillar is parting the flow so it doesn't sweep her up. But she's had presentiments of this meeting and versions of it for ten years. The night heron has been her ally once, somehow, somewhere. He can be again if things fall into place the right way.

"I think so. It will- it was a long time ago - nngh-" That would make sense but it's not right. Several concepts scrape jarringly against each other, repel, and she can't resolve them. She casts metaphorical hands out into nothingness and bumps fragments that slip away from her fingers. Jadis does not flail for them, doesn't lose track of the current moment. She waits, and something brushes close enough to grasp. Slowly, a crease deepening between her eyebrows, she says, "We... conspired, I think, and were discovered. You told me to run."

There'd been an associated thought, a highly amused I didn't know he cared!, that seems entirely out of keeping with either situation. Anything she sees related to the outsider place is fragmentary even compared to everything else she has to deal with, she's become well aware that she can't get a good picture of any of it.

Not wanting to just wait and react, she adds, "I'm a seer. I've known about you outsiders for ten years." She's only confident of it being a clean decade because she's had scraps of herself talking to them and saying ten years so many times, and whatever else has changed the number has not. "If you let me, I can help you."

[curzed]

That's interesting. On one hand, there's the distinct impression that Hisako knows the Library and is in disguise much as he'd been in hte previous story, but on the other hand.. her knowledge of it seems associative at best.

The stormwing wouldn't be claiming to be a seer, or having done it for ten years now. But that would be something that would be in a book, isn't it? What was her part to play, that who she is has been taken away and replaced by this? "Mm. Not that long ago, by my estimate." But the Warp is strange when it comes to the flow of time. "You didn't escape in time. And now here you are."

He's reluctant to move into what passes for light down here, even such dim illumination is uncomfortable now that he's adjusted to the pleasant gloom, but he does, eventually. And if it wasn't for his size, could possibly pass for any one of the vampires far above. "What do you think you can help with, seer? Do you know why I am here?" Why the rest of them are, as well. Wherever they may be. He's found so few he recognizes.

Getting Bearings

[birdchasingecho]

It is approaching the night, and Amalia is walking home through secret ways.

Normally, she would avoid taking the paths through which only refuse is suited, but she knows all the secret ways, and has desperately searched every one but this. At least down here among the dark, her lack of shadow is not as noticeable.

Still, best not to invite trouble by shifting. If the smell was this bad in human form, she is loath to think of what it would be like as a wolf.

Even then... The scent of the recently dead. "... has there been such death already...?"

She stops. feels the air currents as well as... no. It is gone.

Her hand touches the iron of her blade. Some sort of glamour? Here?

[curzed]

There's more people venturing through these ancient pathways and crypts than expected. The sound of footsteps in the dark warns him long before Amalia actually appears, and he remains still and silent, listening and watching.

Sewers didn't throw off his senses much. Crypts didn't either. The breath of something alive though..

He can, when he puts his mind to it, suppress the unnatural aura of malevolence and terror that was part of simply being the VIIIth primarch, and he does so now to make hiding all the easier; the lack of needing to breathe, the lack of even his hearts beating is new and strange but useful. Nothing stirs as Amalia passes by, the shadows a comfortable refuge. But he can't help the impulse to follow on bare footsteps much too quiet for something his size.

Curze doesn't recognize her. He'd never met her other-self in the Library, and the werewolf she now was is a stranger. But what is a lone wolf doing down here, all by herself?

Is this the vampire-held part of the city? The werewolf? He didn't care, any more than she did. "Pardon me," is the eventual voice in the darkness, a surprisingly pleasant baritone, almost but not quite kind. "Do you happen to know what time it is?"

Inane questions too have their purpose.

[birdchasingecho]

"-- When I entered, it was bare minutes before the seventh bell." Hers is a lovely alto, though perhaps a bit affected. "Based on how long I wandered, it may yet be the eighth, or even ninth."

So mid to late afternoon. "A question for a question. Are you another visitor to this city?" Said in a way that implies that it would be hers, yet.

[curzed]

Not nearly close enough to night for his tastes. "Alas, I had hoped a little further along." He's not coming out of the cover of the dark, and by all rights he shouldn't even be able to hide where he's chosen to settle himself, but the things he could do with shadows made the effort simple enough.

Surely just some vampire trick. "Hm? In that I am visiting, yes. I am seeking family in these parts." Which is ...actually entirely true, he has no less than three brothers somewhere in this place, he's not sure where they are and what state of mind they're in. Curze is not happy. "You understand. It's so distressing, being far from one's kin."

Spoopy Sewerhogs

[thebluegumball]

It's not like Sonic's never been in a sewer before. And he wishes he could say that it was the first time someone had chased him in there actively trying to smack him with something, but, well. Two nickels and all that.

So some time in the late evening, there's the very obvious pattering of something running at high speed echoing through the sewers, its trajectory very clearly heading towards Curze - and when a blue blur appears suddenly around a corner, along with the mumbled but coherent comment of "There's gotta be another exit around here somewhere--"

Well, there's suddenly a hedgehog skidding to an abrupt stop, sending large splashes kicking up in front of it as Sonic slides to a very awkward stop.

Awkward because he's going to hydroplane directly into Curze.

WHAT IS THIS SMALL BLUE XENOS

[curzed]

Foresight has its benefits. He knows, for example, that he's going to encounter something small, blue and terribly quick down here. He doesn't know when, beyond 'soon'. And he has no real idea what that blue thing might actually be.

Until it hydroplanes into him in a wake of sewer water, a spiky shape less than a third his size and moving faster than his dulled reflexes can adjust for. It's like colliding with a now soaked, disturbingly pale brick wall; Curze doesn't even flinch.

He does however make a grab for Sonic with a growl, the urge to retaliate firmly squashed down to ... making sure the .. what, the xenos? Isn't about to fall over or stab him full of quills or whatever else it could get up to. You never know with aliens! Maintaining anything like civility is an immediate struggle. He knows what to do with aliens, and it isn't making sure they don't topple over and into the generalized sewer grime.

I THINK YOU MEAN NEW BEST FRIEND

[thebluegumball]

Sonic bounces, when he hits the brick shithouse that is Curze, and it's only because the big guy manages to grab his bare arm (not hairless, but a much finer, almost downy fur) that he doesn't topple backwards and land hard on his butt, and he gives a loud sigh of relief.

"Whoof. Thanks big guy." The growling doesn't phase Sonic whatsoever, funny enough. "Sorry about the collision course, still getting used to my new kicks." He bounces the toe of his boot on the floor, some Baroque-like boot with a small but distinct heel - and some weird fancy tech on the backs of his hands and ankles, glowing with a persistent bright light. "They make my tail look great but the break-power leaves a little to be desired."

EXTREMELY SUS TINY XENOS

[curzed]

It takes every ounce of his willpower to simply let go once Sonic is stable on his feet again. The light that comes from Sonic's fancy technology is enough to aggravate his senses, so comfortable has he gotten with the comparative gloom down here, but nothing is done about it.

He is the model of self control and restraint. "Especially on wet surfaces, I imagine." Oh it's a fight. He has heard of the hedgehogs in the library, and their occasional ... well what he assumed was rambunctious play, occasionally landing them on a certain yacht, this must be one of them.

Killing a fellow Editor wasn't acceptable. His fingers twitch. "And of course, the slime.." And mold and even more questionable things down here.. "But no apologies are needed. At those speeds I imagine even corners must occasionally be difficult."

Hunting Allies

[capital_asset]

Raidou gets that feeling a lot. Mostly from experience.

To his credit, he falters only briefly before resuming his travels through the Market like nothing's happened. Inwardly, though, he's still tense.

SO. does raidou smell the same! is he actor/reader?

[curzed]

Raidou isn't terribly familiar, but Konrad's memory is - for now - flawless. If he's come across the detective's scent in the library, he'll recognize it here as well. Assuming it's the same man.

It's best to be sure. The people here were varied, but knowing who Readers were versus natives or Actors was important for many reasons.

Which means Raidou continues to be followed. He doesn't use invisibility, that's beyond his remit and thoroughly in the area of a missing sibling, but the shadows and darkness do as well. He'll get closer by degrees, but approaching with others around won't happen.

He's a Reader, so he'll smell the same.

[capital_asset]

Raidou isn't without his own stealth training, although he hasn't had nearly as many years at it as Konrad. He continues through the Market for a bit, but eventually, he decides to take to the rooftops.

Hopefully that won't backfire on him.