IC - UtVoV - Killing Kiddaw

[tibbius]

You're in a dirty, smelly public house called the Nobel Camel Inn. The proprietor insists the place is named for an ancient aristocratic family. Of camels? No-one's clear on that.

You're sitting at a table finishing a drink of what? and having a think about what you've just been hired to do.

Umthucus Ludifim, a high-up of Philosophers' Guild No. 3, has contracted you to track down three Friends of Jak and serve a Crimson Warrant on them, for their breach of a contract they made with the Guild. Umthucus was not forthcoming about the nature of the contract. Here are things you know:

- the Friends of Jak are a cabal of ghoulish cultists, rumored in whispers. Some of the rumors say that they consume the brains and memories of victims.
- the Friends of Jak meet and act as cultists only when disguised by voluminous hooded robes that hide their faces and bodies. Some of the rumors say that, in addition to a desire for anonymity, the more "advanced" Friends desire to hide certain deformities imposed by the bizarre rituals they perform.
- PG No. 3 is one of more than a dozen competing Guilds that seek to uncover secrets of the Titans and better understand the world for the profit of their patrons.
- The PGs frequently intrigue to undermine each other and acquire each other's secrets and patrons.
- Serving a Crimson Warrant involves subduing the warrantee and delivering them to the Crimson Court for trial by Advocates. It is not uncommon for service to be fatal to one or several people.

What are some questions you would like to ask?

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret sits atop a stack of objects so that they can reach the table. They trails their fingers idly through a shallow dish of mineral oil, absorbing alkanes and other hydrocarbons through their digits. The small stellated dodecahedron that is their head rotates slowly in the warm light of the Nobel Camel Inn, and Foulqueret's thoughts take on a syrupy, incursive quality. Somewhere below their level of executive consciousness, a sub-routine monitors the establishment for the arrival of their business associates in this latest endeavor, but for now, the little synth is content to daydream.

[Urson]

Chones
Chones sips his beer, wincing at the taste. Whatever they used to brew it, it wasn't hops. He glances up at the rep from PG3.
Do we got some way to tell which Cultists we want? Or am I gonna have to beat it outta them?
The cyber hawk perched on Chones' horn clacks his beak, shifting his head to stare at the little synthetic with his camera eye.

[tibbius]

Philosopher Ludifim grimaces.

"We met with the Friends only in their ... uh ... official capacities," he answers, "id est, in hooded robes. We know that one was tall and had a bleating voice and wooly three-fingered hands. Another was short, very thick, deep baritone voice. The third was evidently female and of medium height. She did most of the talking." He frowns. "Perhaps you could learn from the ... clientele in here ... of where the Friends might meet to hold their secret rituals."

[tibbius]

Philosopher Ludifim grimaces.

"We met with the Friends only in their ... uh ... official capacities," he answers, "id est, in hooded robes. We know that one was tall and had a bleating voice and wooly three-fingered hands. Another was short, very thick, deep baritone voice. The third was evidently female and of medium height. She did most of the talking." He frowns. "Perhaps you could learn from the ... clientele in here ... of where the Friends might meet to hold their secret rituals."

It should be noted that Ludifim is a new-dog, part collie, with pale blue and green markings. His voice is growly and a bit whiny in the current dialog. It's as if he doesn't really want to be meeting with you. His neatly groomed fur does look kind of misplaced here in the Nobel Camel.

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret starts from their reverie. I'll have to rebuild that passive-monitoring subroutine. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I've missed their arrival and half the conversation! The little synth rewinds the past several minutes and catches up.

"You must be aware that dealing with anonymous associates limits what you can expect in terms of repercussions. We can take the job, but given the paucity of identifying information, we'll need to agree on a percentage payment in the event that we cannot find the individuals you dealt with.

"Robes are easy enough to acquire. Do you have additional evidence that they were Friends of Jak? How did you come to engage their services?"

Foulqueret will try to drive a hard bargain on the fee, but their real goal is to gain access to the Guild's research into the secret of the Titans.

[tibbius]

"You must be aware that dealing with anonymous associates limits what you can expect in terms of repercussions. ... Do you have additional evidence that they were Friends of Jak? How did you come to engage their services?"

Umthucus gapes his jaws momentarily, a doggie yawn of discomfort. "We connected with the trio through certain unsavory associates and hangers on," he answers. "Those associates arranged a meeting, here. ... perhaps you would like to speak with them, as they know how to contact the trio?" Again, he sounds like he does not want to be having this conversation. "I could ask them to meet you here. Or ... they can be found at 7 Dumptruck Lane."

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret's polygonal head rotates towards Chones to see if they are on the same page. "I would prefer to meet them on their own estate, as it were. The location itself may provide information, even if they are reluctant to do so. I hope you will provide us with a statement of introduction."

[tibbius]

Umthucus yips - in embarrassment? - and licks his chops. "Yes, you can use my name. Bring them a couple of good camel bones, too. They like femurs ... they're a pride of new-lions. They ride skiffs."

Do you do anything other than purchasing camel femurs and heading over to Dumptruck Lane?

[Pulpatoon]

After Umthucus leaves, Foulqueret follows his initial advice and schmoozes around the bar to see if they can pick up any information on either the Friends of Jak or this pride of lions.

[tibbius]

@Pulpatoon, scratch a water token off of Foulqueret's sheet please

Buying drinks gets the synth some info. The new-lions are a skiff gang, who call themselves the Foreigners. One of their less-expected modes of entertainment is to attend and heckle public philosophic seminars. Their clubhouse and repair shop is on Dumptruck Lane, next to the public roads department headquarters. They're not easygoing people. The chief of the gang is called Bitsy. "She's a mean bitch," some drunk old cacogen woman slurs at Foulqueret. "She gimme this scar, here." The woman's dark green shoulder bears a mass of paler-green keloids shaped kind of like a big bite. "Wash out fuh Bitsy. An her second, Lawahh. He quiet but ... he a mean one, too."

People look weirdly at F when he mentions Jak. "Don't see what you'd want with that," says a burly-bellied true-kin "gentleman" down slumming. "Heard they eat people, and, uh, you don't appear to even have a mouth?"

[Urson]

Chones
New-lions, huh? Used to date a new-lion. Always bitin' me...

While F is making the rounds and buying drinks, Chones will be talking to the cacogens in the bar, all smiles and charm. He's also looking for information, but he's relying on his good looks to get him through.

[Pulpatoon]

"Don't see what you'd want with that," says a burly-bellied true-kin "gentleman" down slumming. "Heard they eat people, and, uh, you don't appear to even have a mouth?"

"Even the depraved are yoked to the quotidian business of living; they must trade for water, pay their taxes, repair their robes, or visit the barber. Thus, they come into contact with upright citizens in the pursuit of legitimate interests. My inquiry is derived from such an interest.

"But I need hardly explain this to one of your experience and sophistication. No doubt you also," Foulqueret attempts to convey conspiratorial bon homie while looking around at the clientele of the Nobel Camel, "find yourself in company below your own standing and lacking your signature virtues.

"Did you say you'd have another drink? It would be my honor to pay for it."

[tibbius]

Chones
New-lions, huh? Used to date a new-lion. Always bitin' me...

While F is making the rounds and buying drinks, Chones will be talking to the cacogens in the bar, all smiles and charm. He's also looking for information, but he's relying on his good looks to get him through.

F got to buy his way into info, I'll need Chones to make a CHR EGO test - roll d20+bonus > 15 per the rules (I prefer Black Hack's roll under rule, but let's go RAW here to roll over

[Urson]

Chones
Ego: 18 [1d20]=14+6

Chones does his best to be friendly, upbeat, life-of-the-party.

[tibbius]

Chones
Ego: 18 [1d20]=14+6

Chones does his best to be friendly, upbeat, life-of-the-party.

Ahaha, Chones is here!

Talking a bit more to the scarred old cacogen, Chones learns that she personally knows a cousin to one of the Friends of Jak, a young cacogen named Kiddaw. Kiddaw is a would-be champion bowler, and spends most days and evenings down at the Brass Balls lanes on the far side of Gnomon. After the lanes close, he stays to "practice s'more," but really - Kiddaw's indiscreet when he's drunk - he's somehow gotten pulled into the Friends and sponsors clandestine (sometimes, gory and ghoulish) meetings in the pin-set area of the lanes. He's scared as anything, but doesn't know how to extricate himself from his new Friends.

[Urson]

Chones
Chones smiles, flirting with the green-skinned Cacogen. Thanks, sister. Maybe me an' my friends can help your cousin outta this mess he's gotten into. We'll go talk to him.

[Pulpatoon]

Foulqueret notes that Chones has found a good lead, and sets a subroutine to monitor their conversation, in case the little synth can be of use at any point. Until then, Foulqueret continues to make their way through the bar, following what they have determined is the most productive and efficient path among the various social clusters in the bar, buying drinks and engaging in conversation. "Ah, you're a chicha drinker, I see. I have never partaken, myself, but have read some interesting narratives on the history and semiotic value of the beverage. You know, I noticed the bartender had a golden blend on the high shelf. Perhaps you'd allow me to buy you a drought, and you could share your impressions of it? Yes? Oh, good, I take it as a favor. Now, I just overheard a rumor about the so-called Friends of Jak..."

[tibbius]

That's about all that you either find out. It's not that either of you is inebriated, but after a while, the social contact with so many strangers new friends begins to wear on you. Foulqueret's affectation of a light and friendly tone becomes increasingly forced and even starts to sound mechanical; Chones finds himself hoarse and his jaw hurts from smiling politely.

What do you do now?

[Pulpatoon]

As Foulqueret and Chones emerge from the bar, the tired little synth suggests "Bones and Foreigners first, Kiddaw second?"