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unfinishedlibrary2026-02-25 09:16 am
libraryassistants) wrote in unfinishedlibrary2026-02-25 09:16 am
rumour doth double, like the voice and echo, the numbers of the feared.
Who: Readers and Actors!
What: The aftermath of the Masquerade Night, the discovery of bad faith actors, and the repercussions of mischief. And the answer to a burning question: if all of Montica’s vampires were at the ball, who exactly was picking fights with werewolves out on the streets?
When: The week following the Masquerade, including the morning after the ball. [ooc timeline: 24th Feb - 13th March]
Where: The city of Montica, the sewers, and the woods on the outskirts of town.
Content warnings: Some bloodiness can be assumed, but please note specific content warnings in your tags. If your description of blood/violence will be more than a passing mention, give a heads up.
Due to the malleable nature of time, it will be the Waxing Gibbous Moon for a few days longer. The Full Moon has been postponed until Log 4.
Rumours are strange things. Some spring from nowhere, popping up like weeds through concrete. Others worm their way up from fragments of truth, growing wildly and twisting the reality at their core.
Like its loyalties, Montica is split into two (–arguably three) schools of rumours following the night of the ball. The gossip flows easily and steadily, and is just as often as wrong as it is right.
But there are two things to keep in mind with this kind of gossip:
The first is that it doesn’t matter if it’s right. Some things just stick. Whatever makes a good story is what will hang around.
And the second thing? Sometimes, it is true.
The first set of rumours are from the high-class in Montica. There's gossip aplenty around anyone who managed to speak to any of the vampiric elite, and those foreigners in Montica may find themselves suddenly popular with the families who are trying to climb the social ladder. Then there's the talk about the others at the ball - who drank too much, who snuck into a private room, whose performances were most favoured. In particular, there's a rumour that one of the performers may have a secret twin - though the persisting argument is that she’s just incredibly skilled at quick outfit changes. Those interested in politicking and gossip seem fixated on the idea that certain people seemed rather close at the ball, and they and are keenly interested in confirming who they are. If the speculation turns out to be true, then maybe there really is hope for a peaceful resolution to Montica’s feud.
But not all rumours are so hopeful.
There are those whose homes were targeted while they were dancing the night away. Frustration and anger drives their accusations and desire to find who exactly vandalised their homes - though more than a few of them are confused by the faint burn marks and charcoal left behind that appear vaguely garlic-shaped. Gossip here seems to range between vitriolic (those determined to hunt down the perpetrators) and the cautious (those who found evidence of someone having intervened). But they are closely aligned in their thoughts: they want retribution or revenge for the slights against them.
In the quiet of the neutral zone, it seems some keen-eyed witnesses saw at least one blood-covered guest wandering the streets in a daze. Whispers abound about whether the vampires mean to hold to their pacts, and the neutral population of Montica seem to be experiencing some sort of renewal of their religious beliefs - if the sudden increase of crucifixes is anything to go by.
Likewise, there are not-so-hushed whispers that the vampires were not the only ones taking a bite last night. There are accusations that the coming full moon will bring with it some brand-new transformations, unless those bitten can get their hands on the remedy for lycanthropy. With the full moon looming close, they don’t have much time at all to find one.
An even darker rumour weaves throughout these. There are people who haven’t been seen since that night. The morning after the ball, it’s assumed that they’re holed up somewhere with a hangover. But by the third day after the festivities, the grapevine is convinced they’ve been kidnapped - or worse.
Shops in the neutral zone seem to be on high alert, the people there seemingly less willing than usual to keep their stalls open past sunset. The usual bustle of the market is subdued, and as the week drags on, more and more citizens seem to take to carrying protective measures against both the lycans and the vampires.
There's a murmur throughout the populace. Mythical creatures have been sighted, among them a Nue - and there are some who are making their concerns about this well-known. If something isn't done to calm their fears, the threat of revolution is clear.
Of course, there’s damage to both sides as well. Garlic has mysteriously found its way into the vampires’ district, causing discomfort to many as they try to root it out, while the Guildulf household has seen better days, made all the more potent by their leader’s injury. There is an opportunity in this: the people could work together and help each other out, and prioritizing the neutral district would go a long way in helping mend fences (metaphorical and literal). But is there the incentive to do so? Especially since…
However, the city isn't strictly under Umbran control - and there are some who balk at the idea of leaving the search to them. Particularly around the Laurelthirst, some hardy werewolves are rounding up a crew of tough adventurers to strike out in their own search party. They intend to strike out into the woods that surround Montica, and since they aren’t hampered by daylight, they’re determined to head out the moment they have enough people.
Of all the visitors to Montica, not a few of them are adventurers themselves. Parties are being formed, some of which are determined to track the supposed mythical creatures rather than any missing person. While it’s wise to stick with one of the larger groups, there is nothing stopping anyone from taking a shot at it on their own.
Those who investigate the maze of the sewers in small groups will feel a sense of dread creeping upon them the further they go. Torches splutter and die, leaving them facing just a pair of glowing red eyes. Those who travel in large groups will find… nothing. Only traces of creatures who seem to have scattered at their approach, disappearing quickly into side-passages.
And of all of those people who explore the sewers, those who have pliable minds will find themselves hypnotised. Perhaps they’re about to become food, or be turned into a vampire themselves. Perhaps they’re being given orders to turn against each-other, or are being lured to the woods. Either way, they’ve had the misfortune of stumbling into a vampiric vanguard - a group of scouts skilled in mind games and illusions, who are more than determined to clear a way past that very blocked door.
Some determined trackers are keen to set up a camp for the night and see it through. Others plead caution and turn back to the city - though anyone trying to leave won’t get far from the fireside before a feeling of being watched sets in. The further they go, the more likely it is that the feeling of being watched very quickly turns to the feeling of being hunted.
More bats than owls seem to live here. They hang from every tree, their eyes seeming to glow under the moonlight. And they seem… hungry.
At night, any solo travelers will be quickly swarmed by bats, their leathery wings and sharp claws striking recklessly as they dive onto their target. Some with incredible aim may even latch tiny fangs onto exposed skin, leaving bite marks that will bleed profusely despite the small size of the wounds. It seems it's better to stay with the group for now, unless someone can come up with a plan.
What: The aftermath of the Masquerade Night, the discovery of bad faith actors, and the repercussions of mischief. And the answer to a burning question: if all of Montica’s vampires were at the ball, who exactly was picking fights with werewolves out on the streets?
When: The week following the Masquerade, including the morning after the ball. [ooc timeline: 24th Feb - 13th March]
Where: The city of Montica, the sewers, and the woods on the outskirts of town.
Content warnings: Some bloodiness can be assumed, but please note specific content warnings in your tags. If your description of blood/violence will be more than a passing mention, give a heads up.
Due to the malleable nature of time, it will be the Waxing Gibbous Moon for a few days longer. The Full Moon has been postponed until Log 4.
Rumours are strange things. Some spring from nowhere, popping up like weeds through concrete. Others worm their way up from fragments of truth, growing wildly and twisting the reality at their core.
Like its loyalties, Montica is split into two (–arguably three) schools of rumours following the night of the ball. The gossip flows easily and steadily, and is just as often as wrong as it is right.
But there are two things to keep in mind with this kind of gossip:
The first is that it doesn’t matter if it’s right. Some things just stick. Whatever makes a good story is what will hang around.
And the second thing? Sometimes, it is true.
The first set of rumours are from the high-class in Montica. There's gossip aplenty around anyone who managed to speak to any of the vampiric elite, and those foreigners in Montica may find themselves suddenly popular with the families who are trying to climb the social ladder. Then there's the talk about the others at the ball - who drank too much, who snuck into a private room, whose performances were most favoured. In particular, there's a rumour that one of the performers may have a secret twin - though the persisting argument is that she’s just incredibly skilled at quick outfit changes. Those interested in politicking and gossip seem fixated on the idea that certain people seemed rather close at the ball, and they and are keenly interested in confirming who they are. If the speculation turns out to be true, then maybe there really is hope for a peaceful resolution to Montica’s feud.
But not all rumours are so hopeful.
There are those whose homes were targeted while they were dancing the night away. Frustration and anger drives their accusations and desire to find who exactly vandalised their homes - though more than a few of them are confused by the faint burn marks and charcoal left behind that appear vaguely garlic-shaped. Gossip here seems to range between vitriolic (those determined to hunt down the perpetrators) and the cautious (those who found evidence of someone having intervened). But they are closely aligned in their thoughts: they want retribution or revenge for the slights against them.
In the quiet of the neutral zone, it seems some keen-eyed witnesses saw at least one blood-covered guest wandering the streets in a daze. Whispers abound about whether the vampires mean to hold to their pacts, and the neutral population of Montica seem to be experiencing some sort of renewal of their religious beliefs - if the sudden increase of crucifixes is anything to go by.
Likewise, there are not-so-hushed whispers that the vampires were not the only ones taking a bite last night. There are accusations that the coming full moon will bring with it some brand-new transformations, unless those bitten can get their hands on the remedy for lycanthropy. With the full moon looming close, they don’t have much time at all to find one.
An even darker rumour weaves throughout these. There are people who haven’t been seen since that night. The morning after the ball, it’s assumed that they’re holed up somewhere with a hangover. But by the third day after the festivities, the grapevine is convinced they’ve been kidnapped - or worse.
Shops in the neutral zone seem to be on high alert, the people there seemingly less willing than usual to keep their stalls open past sunset. The usual bustle of the market is subdued, and as the week drags on, more and more citizens seem to take to carrying protective measures against both the lycans and the vampires.
There's a murmur throughout the populace. Mythical creatures have been sighted, among them a Nue - and there are some who are making their concerns about this well-known. If something isn't done to calm their fears, the threat of revolution is clear.
In Town
After the Masquerade, the town is much more of a wreck than it was before. Unsurprisingly, the neutral zone has taken the worst of it; fences smashed, doors busted in, windows broken… few hurt, thankfully, but most of its residents are angry with both the vampires and the werewolves. The youthful wolves may have been the most visible, but there are claims that the vampires were out in force last night; and more than a handful of citizens are insistent that they saw people hypnotised – wandering away into the woods, heedless of the chaos around them.Of course, there’s damage to both sides as well. Garlic has mysteriously found its way into the vampires’ district, causing discomfort to many as they try to root it out, while the Guildulf household has seen better days, made all the more potent by their leader’s injury. There is an opportunity in this: the people could work together and help each other out, and prioritizing the neutral district would go a long way in helping mend fences (metaphorical and literal). But is there the incentive to do so? Especially since…
Missing Persons
The rumour is so convincing that a few harried-looking servants of the Umbra Clan can be seen in town, posting up flyers that seek information on the missing persons. Those with information are encouraged to attend an audience with the Umbra to relay it directly and join their city-based investigation. (Rumour has it that there’s something suspicious happening in the sewers - in the days leading up to the vampiric investigation, manholes and sewer gates will be receiving a greater amount of cautious side-eyes from the populace.)However, the city isn't strictly under Umbran control - and there are some who balk at the idea of leaving the search to them. Particularly around the Laurelthirst, some hardy werewolves are rounding up a crew of tough adventurers to strike out in their own search party. They intend to strike out into the woods that surround Montica, and since they aren’t hampered by daylight, they’re determined to head out the moment they have enough people.
Of all the visitors to Montica, not a few of them are adventurers themselves. Parties are being formed, some of which are determined to track the supposed mythical creatures rather than any missing person. While it’s wise to stick with one of the larger groups, there is nothing stopping anyone from taking a shot at it on their own.
The Sewers
Dank and foul-smelling, it’s exactly what you’d imagine a sewer to be. There are a few surprises down here. The first, as some Readers would know, is a giant of a vampire who has sought refuge down here since the Story’s start. His presence has had the unintended effect of keeping the underground entrance to the Umbra mansion secure up until now. For if you follow the sewers far enough, you find a set of long stairs that eventually leads to a crypt - one that was destroyed a long time ago, only rubble and scattered debris remaining now. The door to the Umbra mansion is made of swollen and rotting wood, held in place by wrought iron bars - and blocked by a heavy slab of stone. It isn’t advertised as being a passage to the Umbra - any text indicating who this crypt used to house appears to have been destroyed with targeted prejudice - but those who have a good sense of space will easily be able to identify where they are.Those who investigate the maze of the sewers in small groups will feel a sense of dread creeping upon them the further they go. Torches splutter and die, leaving them facing just a pair of glowing red eyes. Those who travel in large groups will find… nothing. Only traces of creatures who seem to have scattered at their approach, disappearing quickly into side-passages.
And of all of those people who explore the sewers, those who have pliable minds will find themselves hypnotised. Perhaps they’re about to become food, or be turned into a vampire themselves. Perhaps they’re being given orders to turn against each-other, or are being lured to the woods. Either way, they’ve had the misfortune of stumbling into a vampiric vanguard - a group of scouts skilled in mind games and illusions, who are more than determined to clear a way past that very blocked door.
The Woods
During the day, there are precious few tracks to be found. Trails of human footprints end abruptly amidst thick copses of trees; the scent of spilled blood disappears beneath the carrion of woodland animals. Broken branches are equally likely to be made by deer as they are to be the result of a stumbling person, and as the sun sets, it gets harder and harder to find one’s way.Some determined trackers are keen to set up a camp for the night and see it through. Others plead caution and turn back to the city - though anyone trying to leave won’t get far from the fireside before a feeling of being watched sets in. The further they go, the more likely it is that the feeling of being watched very quickly turns to the feeling of being hunted.
More bats than owls seem to live here. They hang from every tree, their eyes seeming to glow under the moonlight. And they seem… hungry.
At night, any solo travelers will be quickly swarmed by bats, their leathery wings and sharp claws striking recklessly as they dive onto their target. Some with incredible aim may even latch tiny fangs onto exposed skin, leaving bite marks that will bleed profusely despite the small size of the wounds. It seems it's better to stay with the group for now, unless someone can come up with a plan.
Roboute Guilliman | "Roberte Guildulf," Werewolf Master
The sun rises. It climbs. There are bodies laid out in Lord Guildulf's courtyard, all wrapped in bloody tarps, all with scraps of parchment pinned to them, bearing the names of the dead.
The lord himself, Roberte Guildulf, has given no thought to image -- he has given every thought to image -- and still bears the same proof of the violence he has suffered. Yes, he has been harassed into wiping the blood from his face and changing into clean clothes, but that's the extent to which he's let himself be made more presentable. Dried blood from the night before still clings to his hair and his hands, and has ruined that previously-clean shirt.
His right arm, the one that Appienne had savaged, has been attended to, and rests in a sling for now. It has been made clear to all of his staff that their lord should not use that arm for a few more days, at least.
(Their lord is not pleased about this.)
He takes all comers to his court. Families, come to take responsibility for their traitorous kin, and bring their bodies home. Werewolves and humans and vampires, any and all with knowledge of the goings on of the recent days, any and all who might request his help, or have help to offer.
He has not slept since the night before the masquerade. It's becoming clear, though, that he's working on borrowed time, and that he will run out, sooner rather than later.
Night.
...he is, though, pulled away from his dealings eventually. He is quite forcefully ordered to bathe and go to bed, and not allowed to leave until the moon has risen quite high in the sky.
He won't admit that he needed the sleep, of course. But at least he did sleep. Now, he washes his face. He dresses in fresh clothes. He drags himself down to the kitchens to grab a plate of whatever food is laying around, and a few mouthfuls of wine straight from the bottle.
And then he is right back to it, back to holding court for whatever men or beasts could not come to see him during the daylight hours. He will keep going until he has done everything that he can possibly do. Or until he is forced to bed once again.
Wildcard.
Or is there something else? Somewhere else he might be sought out? Quite possibly.
night ish
It had been a bone of contention between them before, the hours that Sigwulf keeps, spending many of the hours of dark in his observatory, resting during the day. Staying up and alert all night was second nature to him. Well, third nature, second being the wolfblood.
So when his father awakens, he might find his second child padding silently around the room, in his wolf shape, patrolling between the door and the windows. If there would be another assault, tonight, they would not find the Guildulf patriarch undefended.
no subject
He comes to quickly, cleanly, though the tight headache and the healing ache of his arm makes him wish for unconsciousness again. No time, though. He's already slept too long. Making soft, grumbling noises, he pushes himself upright, swiveling to hang his legs over the side of the bed.
"How long have you been at that?"
no subject
What does he know of the bloodkind anyway? Maybe they can, as the rumors have had it, manifest from mere shadows, find their way in through gaps in stone, like smoke.
He relaxes, upon seeing that it is just his father ('just' his father). "Since you retired. I would not leave this place unguarded again."
no subject
"How long has it been since you've rested, then? If I must be worried over by the whole house, I'll not exclude you all from the same treatment."
no subject
no subject
"You aren't wrong. We have held our ground once, but must be ready to do so again."
He stretches, joints popping loudly. Ooh, big stretch.
"Only a few nights ago, you said the stars spoke of change. I do not think for a moment that we're at the end of it. But what will come next... that's yet a mystery."
Morning
"Lord Guidulf, I bring news, such as I can,
And recettes that I hope should Jadis read,
We may at last see the cancer 'fore us."
no subject
"Speak, then. Much troubles our Montica. I would know what you know, in order to address what we may."
no subject
She pulls forth a folio. "Third, my own sources in alchemy have produced this set of recettes, and if Jadis find them well, we may be able to see the works of those who have done this thing, as well as steel ourselves against their influence."
She speaks nothing of her shadow.
night
So it's decidedly unusual to hear wet, messy eating and find her clutching a cold chicken and jerking her head back to tear chunks out with her teeth and gulping them barely chewed, breathing heavily. At the first sound, or just spontaneously after a few seconds, she jerks and stares frozen at Roberte for a long moment, her eyes wild and bloodshot.
She has put a smock on to protect her clothes. On the more typical side, the burn across her face is largely faded, her ointment is very good.
no subject
An utterly bizarre thought goes through his head. It is Jadis, isn't it? Not --
Not what? He may actually need more sleep, if his thoughts aren't making sense even to himself.
"What else is there in the larder?" he asks, instead, though he can't quite banish the uncertainty.
no subject
She puts the remains of the chicken down and wipes her hands on the smock. This is not the time, she decides, to explain herself and say oh the madness is getting worse, he has put enough trouble before him and hurling himself against it is bad enough. Roberte doesn't need her own bizarre personal problems atop it, it's not like he could solve them.
Well. The bodies being gone would help, they haven't and probably won't all be claimed in a reasonable timeframe. Jadis has worked a cold-preservation magic to keep them from decaying and causing the house to become unliveable which unfortunately also means they continue to register as meat. But she knows her lord's anger will outweigh any lesser concerns and she doesn't want it underlined, so she won't ask that.
Morning/early afternoon post-masquerade
She's found herself a more subdued, more practical outfit than her dancer's silks, clad in simple breeches, blouse, and light jacket, her long blond hair pinned back from her face in practical manner.
She's had a little sleep, but not much. Enough that she can actually be useful, that's what really matters. And she's going to start with checking in on Sigwulf, after their parting the previous night. Making sure he's well, and, in the aftermath of the attacks and increase in disappearances, offering her services more formally to the Guildulf clan.
So it's this slender blonde that finds her way to Roberte's doorstep, identifying herself as both a friend of Sigwulf's and a healer of some skill. Her scent is almost-but-not-quite human, the tang of deep smoke on her in spite of her relatively fresh appearance. The armor under her jacket is some light, impossibly fine silvery metal, nearly invisible under the fabric, but not actual silver, strangely enough. She waits patiently to be greeted...or turned away, as things might fall. Clearly, there is a great deal going on.
no subject
He knows the job he'd fulfilled was important; he wouldn't have ever wanted to leave Sigrid and Sigwulf at a vampire masquerade without backup. But still...he feels like he should have been here. Defending the mansion with everyone else.
Instead, he's here for the cleanup. He guards the doors, guards the hall where the Lord receives his visitors. He helps out where he can.
He does not, however, presume to impose upon the Lord's time. If the Lord wants to speak with Loic, that will happen when and if he chooses. Until then, he continues to quietly go about his duties.