Welcome to Roanapur
Day 1, Morning
Pierre Bourcet dried off his face with a hand-towel and stepped back from the sink. He ran a hand over his chin, feeling the dark stubble that grown in last night. It would be fine, he thought, and shrugged in the mirror before stepping back out into the bedroom.
He had a single room with a bed that was at least clean, a small color television with a handful of channels of programming he mostly couldn't understand, a refrigerator that barely worked, a microwave that didn't, and a tiny closet barely sufficient for even his light packing. On the bed he had laid out his usual black suit, though he would eschew the usual tie, a pair of comfortable black running shoes, and his trench coat. It would be pretty uncomfortable as the day went on, but then such was the price of fashion.
He dressed silently, and as he slipped on the trench coat he felt its too-dense weight as a reassuring mantle. It was a gift from the boss, a custom-ordered and all but unique kevlar-weave garment rated bulletproof against anything short of a machine gun. The wheres and hows of the coat's history were unknown to him but it was his most valued possession. It was a token of the esteem of his liege and of his service as a soldier, and it would aid him in avenging the destruction of the family. Eventually, anyway.
Pierre left, locking the door and slipping the door key into an inner pocket of his coat. Claude was waiting for him and he had no intention of wasting any time. The sooner he was out of Roanapur, the better.
There was a restaurant-bar on the ground floor, down a hall at the back of the hotel. It was mostly empty this time of day, though a breakfast spread was set out buffet-style for the benefit of guests. A couple of waitstaff looked on disinterestedly from the bar and a pair of obvious smugglers were piling their plates with watermelon, durrian, and gooseberries from the buffet. The sweet breakfast rice was mostly untouched, he saw as he passed by, heading instead for a table with coffee service.
Nescafe. He grimaced when he saw it, but fixed himself a cup anyway. It was warm and there was caffeine in it, and that's as much as he required.
"Pierre!" He looked around to his left, and saw Claude waving at him from a table by the window. The other Corsican was wearing a tropical white suit, with a rose-pink shirt kept unbuttoned. A straw panama hat covering up his wavy blonde hair completed the ensemble. It probably was a lot cooler than his choice in attire, Pierre admitted.
He walked over to join his comrade, cup in hand, lifting it as a greeting. "Morning."
"Welcome, welcome" Claude said. "I was up earlier. Had some of the fruit. You might want to grab something a bit more substantial yourself than that terrible coffee. And with your sense of fashion, I'd worry about dehydration."
Pierre shrugged, then sat down at the table. "I've faced worse. So tell me, why am I here?"
"Laconic as always," Claude replied. He smiled and shook his head, then looked around and lowered his voice. "I have a lead on those events years ago, and I need help following it up. You see, a contact of a contact of mine, who I believe can lead us to those responsible, has requested a favor. A very large favor. If we pull it off it we will be taking a big step toward a final reckoning."
Pierre nods. "I assume you know what you are doing. So what is this favor?"
"The contact of a contact is a collector of antiquities, you see," Claude explains. "There is a manuscript of great interest to them here in this city. They want it retrieved and will provide a handsome reward for doing so." Claude's eyes narrowed and his smile turned into a wolfish grin. "They can tell us what happened in Corsica. Who was responsible. I trust I can count on your support here, then?"
"Of course." He nodded in agreement. "So where is this manuscript? We should only need a couple of days for this."
Then Claude shook his head. "I don't know who has it is. Only that it will be up for auction here in Roanapur in sixteen days. I do know it was last seen in the city in 1944, since a Japanese officer reported about it in a missive to Tokyo, and the trail dies there. Neither does this contact of a contact know the precise chain of transmission, though I was told that it had taken by an Ottoman admiral to Aceh in the 1500s."
"This complicates things," Pierre said sourly. He much preferred to have a clear target to be pointed at. But this was not the first time he had been faced with a person or object to be found. And in the end he had found them. Save one. "What can we do?"
"We can wait for the auction," Claude replied, but waved his hand dismissively at the notion. "It will be heavily guarded and there are many parties who will be there with their own bodyguards. Not at all ideal. If they are storing it at the auction house beforehand we might be able to break in, but from my own investigations it seems likely it will not be brought over before the day it is to be sold."
"A last resort, then."
"Yes." Claude paused, then looked out the window beside them in thought. "Then we should look to track down the manuscript here in the city. There can't be too many gangsters with an interest in antique books and medieval objet d'arts. But first..." He pauses and looks back at Pierre. "What did you bring with you to Roanapur? How much money do you have on hand?"
"You know me, I travel light." Which was to say, almost nothing but the essentials. Claude obviously got the message, because he shook his head in exasperation.
"Well, to undertake such a task we need local connections, money, and equipment." He actually smiled a bit. "And the situation here in Roanapur is unsettled. That makes things both easier and harder. In truth, I'm not just going on that contact of a contact. I can feel it in the air..."
"Feel what?"
"It's just like the days before the massacre, back on Corsica. You weren't there, but I was in Bastia when it was going down. George, too. We felt a tenseness come over the city before the assassins struck. And I feel that same way. Whoever was responsible for it is at work here, too."
Pierre's eyes narrowed as he took in Claude's claim. Could it be possible that his vengeance was closer at hand than expected? "What do you think is going on?"
"Well, how much do you know about what has been going on in Roanapur of late?"
"Not much," he admitted. "There's that civil war in the other part of Indochina, and talk of a coup in Thailand, but since the family was disbanded I haven't had any interest in the region."
"I thought so," Claude sighed. "Well, four days ago the various local gangs fought a little battle in the city marketplace. Shot the place up with their Kalashnikovs and killed quite a good many bystanders. While this city is renowned for its violence, usually it only involves the big four international syndicates. For the local street gangs to act so out of control is rare and should normally bring down the bigger players on them, but it hasn't happened yet. Something must be staying their hands."
"That doesn't sound like Bastia, though. When I left for Paris everything was quiet."
"Dead quiet," Claude corrected. "Our rivals, even those Bonapartist bastards in Ajaccio were keeping their heads down. We were keeping quiet too after the Sicilians canceled the customary shipments through Marseilles. The independence movement shot up some police offices and carried out a dockyard bombing in the meantime, since we were not keeping their hotheads under control. It was as if everyone was afraid to act before the buildup of electricity in the air was discharged. As it was."
"I suppose," Pierre conceded.
"The Pattani Liberation Organization has also expanded operations into this province," Claude noted. "That might just be incidental, or it might speak to the major syndicates being unable or unwilling to keep them away. So that is why I think there might be something going on here underneath the surface."
Pierre drained the rest of his coffee and sat the mug back down on the table. "Then we need to be prepared. Even if there is nothing else going on here, we need to find that manuscript."
"Quite so." Claude laughed. "And even if this city is in the eye of the hurricane, there will be needs that require some mercenary assistance. I also have a lead on a top quality supplier of arms in the city. But perhaps what we really need is more information, first. What do you think?"
Prioritize...
[ ] Resources. (How?)
[ ] Equipment. (How?)
[ ] Information (How?)
[ ] Or do something else. Write in.
You may need to roll depending on what you choose. Stunts aka elaborate narrative write-ins will net bonuses and give you the chance to establish some things about the setting. Any particular elements that run afoul of plot can be adjusted or edited by myself when I use it in the next post, so don't worry too much about keeping it "canon" for the Quest.