unfinishedlibrary | perhaps you have learned it without a book

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!]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Some blood, to be sure. Her own, as well as others'. The smell of her usual tincture ingredients; then also spiritgrass and a few other things. It may or may not be a potion he recognizes.

She keeps to the shade of buildings, for a good while, and is strong enough to help him direct, though she does, indeed, help with guiding the sledge as much as she does pushing it.

It's hard to notice an absence, but in the long light of the morning, the sun still seems to strike Loic's back as they turn west towards a carpenters'... Though Amalia should be in the way.

Loic's used a few tinctures he's reasonably familiar with them. But the scent of the tincture isn't anything new. Whatever it is that is off, it's not that.

She's moving strange, though. Not how he expects her to.

And then there's that moment. Where the light hits his back, despite Amalia being in the way. And he stops, bringing the sledge to a halt. Stares at her. And growls, softly.

She's a werewolf too, so she'll know what he means; where the hell is her shadow.

There's a pause, while she waits for others to pass, ere she says, "I dearly wish I knew. You may make the attempt now, if you like, though recall our position."

Which is to say, in public, among normal people.

A deep, suspicious rumble. Loic's not sure if he believes that.

But despite her trying to egg him on, he doesn't take the bait. Loic might get involved in the fights, but he's not one to start them.

Having dropped the rope earlier, he picks it up, slowly. But he keeps his eye on Amalia the whole time.

Say this for Amalia, she is true to her word; she does not start a fight, and nor does she try any further to goad Loic into it. The wood comes to the carpenters, and she helps unload it, and take on fresh beams. "And I mean that honestly; I would owe you a favor if you knew to tell me where my shadow has gone."

It is a quest... But consider the source.

When it comes time to load and unload the sledge, being a wolf won't cut it. So Loic - reluctantly - shifts to human form so he can assist. As usual, he immediately looks far less comfortable in his own skin the moment he does so.

Then he pauses. And gives a short, sharp nod. More of an acknowledgement than an acceptance; he's not really sure what to make of this quest.

Though he is absolutely going to be informing Sigrid of it later.

She pauses, and looks at Loic. The nonchalant way in which he transforms always catches Amalia slightly off-guard. She has eschewed the painkillers most common to those who shift for the fight; she's made no secret of it. She'd prefer to have her head on straight, even if she buys it in pain at the moment.

Her mother made the same choice, herself. It was one of the things that, as she got on in years, made her a terrifying combatant.

... but vulnerable, in the moment of the shift. So. "How do you deal with the pain?"

She feels she must ask.

Loic blinks, surprised by the question. But he stops, and thinks about it.

Then his shoulders rise up, just a fraction. He makes a low hum, one that conveys something of a sense of stoic endurance.

There's pain, of course. But it's necessary, and nothing Loic can't handle. So it is accepted, and endured.

Whether or not she can discern all of that from his vague hum, however, is another question entirely. But she would know that Loic wasn't every going to give anything more detailed than that; it's well known that he's never spoken a word in human form, not once in his entire life. He's always been more comfortable with the subtle, non-verbal communication of wolves.

"So, we are the same in that much," Amalia says. "Good."

It might have been rare to see before recently, but more, now, it is easy to see that Amalia has an iron resolve, if she's willing to avoid painkillers for the transformation.

Loic had her respect before, but now, that much the more so. "If you need a minute, I will let you take one ere we return."

Loic stares back, his expression utterly blank. He doesn't need a minute. She can stare at him when he transforms or not.

And indeed he's still staring at her when he shifts, transforming back into his preferred wolf form. It's not painless. But he doesn't let any of it show.

She does avert her eyes. Just because it's impolite, either way. She sits down next to him. Were he amenable, she might push her head into his shoulder, but they are not kin, and she does not wish to presume. "I'd meant for the pain. Stoicism suits you, but there are limits."

Loic may not understand it yet, but if there is a way to save Amalia from what is to come, it's in moments like this: her love for the city and even her rivals.

Edited 2026-01-25 23:55 (UTC)

Loic doesn't push back, doesn't give her a friendly nuzzle in return. But after a slight hesitation, he allows the contact.

She's not an ally. But she is still a fellow werewolf. There's still something about the support of a fellow werewolf, even if they are one he's not at all close to.

Then after a brief period of time - not too short, but not particularly long either - he huffs, and gets to his feet. Pads back over to the sledge, picking up the rope once more.

Are they going to get this new wood back to where it's needed, or not?

"All right, let's." She calls to the carpenters: "Thank you! The usual place."

Investments wise and unwise (though mostly wise) had improved her family's fortunes. This, too, she assured herself, was a matter of her grand hunt, and had nothing to do with giving people hope.

And, for certain, return on investments come but slow, but left her with feasts suited to a merchant princess. Just as planned, and under the watchful nose of her father.

She would make a fine steward; a shame she wants the master's throat, eh?

A short, sharp nod. Then he grips the rope between his teeth, and sets off.

Maybe she would make a fine steward. Maybe not. Loic doesn't think much about those sorts of things. He leaves that to people who know more about it.

He just keeps the people he's close to safe.

And well she might say, that it is admirable, to find something worth defending, and to defend it.

Truly, a shame they are opposed by blood.

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

Our Beginning

Welcome to Montica

The Market

The Umbra Mansion

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Shall we wrap up here?

Sounds good!