To Glory or Damnation, a Dresden Files/Alt-Hist Quest
- Thread starter mouli
- Start date
You guys sure you want to be a female foreigner in India back in post-WWII? Yikes.
- Location
- Right Where I Am
World War One actually. We're in that period of time in between wars. We can confidently tell ourselves that the worst is past us, and that surely nothing that horrible will ever happen again. I mean, people must have learned their lesson from that. Right?
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The Lord and the Warden/Leaving Britain
mouli
Terrible QM
- Location
- United States
3.
The blades of the Wardens are enchanted steel, to cut through enchantments and curses. To better bring justice to the guilty. Gleaming silver, the Warden's blade bites through the neck of your oldest friend, your mentor and the man who saved your life.
"Arnaud de Lafayette was found guilty of breaking multiple Laws of magic by killing, by use of mind magic and by breaking the Masquerade. The penalty is death, and it has been served."
The Warden is a heavyset Englishman named Morgan, glaring at the assembled apprentices - you among them - as he delivers this spiel.
He continues after looking over the hall, uncaring of the blood on his cloak. "You have all broken the Laws, in one form or another. The ones too twisted have been dealt with, and you all remain. There have been mitigating factors enough that your lives are to be spared."
Amidst the relief and uproar that follows, the Warden's lips twist into a sneer as he continues. "Not least this is because the bulk of you have not the power needed to join the White Council. Nor the power needed to be more than a potential nuisance. All but one. Sophia Jones, with me."
That's that, then. Squaring your shoulders, you move towards this Morgan and hope for the best. You'd seen the war, from Ypres to Verdun - death was just icing on the cake as it were.
"Sophia Jones, Warden. May I know the nature of my crimes?"
He just looks at you, not in the eyes but almost through you. A look that says I'd like to kill you here but I can't. "Miss Jones, you have been found guilty of using magic to kill one's fellow man. Your use of
Pick one
[X]Illusions: Raises Evocation:Illusion to C, gain spells Veil and False Image at Journeyman.
[X]The elements: Raises elemental evocation to C, gain spells Fireball and Shock at Journeyman.
[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
has endangered the masquerade, and you know how dangerous that can be. As such, there is a vocal minority of the Senior Council wanting your head."
Yep, as you'd thought. "If they want my head, Morgan, why haven't you taken it? God knows I can't do much to stop you."
"Because you were led astray by your mentor, and that...mitigating circumstances apply, here." He looks as though he's sucking on a lemon as he speaks, but hey - you're reasonably in the clear.
Except, "One warning, Jones. Further endangerment of the Masquerade will result in penalties applied. Penalties you will not enjoy. Am I clear?"
"Yessir. What of areas like Siberia? Or India? Where the masquerade is paper-thin in any case?"
He again pauses, scrutinizing your face before speaking. "They are...acceptable. There are odd tales coming out of the subcontinent, and the Council is hard-pressed as it is. Magic may be used there, but not openly. Dismissed, Jones."
You walk back to your room in a daze, having brushed closer to death than you ever had in all four years of war. You'd talked back to a Warden, and survived. And all because Arnaud was dead and blamed for it.
Goddammit.
The tears come, and alone in your room you let them all out. For the men who'd died beside you, for the mentor who died so you'd live, and out of sheer relief and repressed fear. A toxic cocktail of contradictory emotion, all burning its way through your mind.
The night does not pass peacefully.
University of Sheffield
Sheffield, England
1919
The old man with the moustache sits in the pub looking distinctly out of place. Uncomfortable of his surroundings, and wary of those around him he waits. Arthur Balfour is his name, Foreign Secretary of England. Once Prime Minister, leader of the mightiest nation on the globe. At his word battleships sailed and regiments marched, and now he watches that empire crumble from within.
Where he waits, in this pub near Sheffield University no-one cares about his titles. His visitor least of all. The muscular, stocky man who appears in a gray cloak simply glares at him as he sits across from Balfour, clearly angry at what has transpired.
"You have forced our hand, Balfour. You and your damned occult units. Your people broke the Laws of Magic, not some petty code. There are very real consequences to that, yet you care not. Tell me why."
Balfour simply looks back calmly, sipping his wine and grimacing at the quality before speaking. "They are all British citizens, Our people, who fought for our country. You may have forsaken that, Donald, but do not think everyone has. Arnaud certainly thought otherwise. Kemmler did. Grevane did. There are many both evil and good who answered the call, and His Majesty's Government will not desert them."
Morgan snorts, clearly amused. "You mean the government wishes to have contacts in the occult community. You wish to have more resources."
The last word is almost spat, the Warden glaring once more at the mortal.
"Perhaps we do, Donald. yet you must acknowledge that the wizards in our employ did not break these laws. They merely faced other mages or created weapons for our use. Little killing was done, barring Miss Jones."
"Barring one of the only ones at a level enough to join the Council, you mean. She is talented and now perhaps twisted beyond recovery, Balfour." The wizard replies rather dryly, continuing, "She is your scapegoat for this affair, isn't she? I know Lafayette and while he was a rogue, his apprentice may be salvageable."
The politician raises a brow, "Twisted how, Donald? I believe one of yours once told me that magic was a force of creation and manipulation of energy. Not something that caused sin and damnation."
'Do not dissemble in front of me. You know as well as I that use of certain magics can cause mental disorder and corruption. Such individuals are often unsalvageable. Such as Brock, back in '16. You were there, Foreign Secretary."
In the face of the wizard's ire, Balfour is unmoved. "I have bargained for Jones' life as well as the others, have I not? My one stipulation is that she leaves England. You agreed, last we met."
"I did. She may be redeemable, but the sight of her crime scenes and her comrades can cause difficulties. It would be best to move her, but where? America is out, the Wardens have enough to do there after the Mexico Incident."
"India, perhaps? Your men and mine are both stretched thin there, Donald. She may yet do some good."
Morgan laughs, a short bark wholly out of character for such a dour man. "You mean you made a cock-up of the Empire, Minister. Plague, starvation and the mutiny have led to a fucking mess. It's a lethal area, but I agree. Trial by fire, for what it's worth. While me and mine put the genie back in the bottle."
The politician and the mage continue their discourse, but the fate of Sophia Jones has been decided in a dingy pub near Sheffield University. Perhaps the most influential thing to happen there, but time only may tell.
Plymouth, England
1919, boarding RMS Mauretania
India. Land of the exotic East, crown jewel of the British Empire. A land heaving with rebellion and strife, the British Army being deployed there after a grinding war in Europe. A land where few manage to go, and once again fortunes can be made.
The young woman near the Mauretania's boarding ramp certainly is not enthused. In truth, Sophia Jones thinks it's all a crock of horseshit, and wishes she didn't have to risk life and limb yet again.
Goddammit, Morgan, you may as well have just killed me then and there. You are Sophia Jones, formerly of the American Expeditionary Force, and you've been banished to England by a member of the Wardens. Better than dying, perhaps.
The Mauretania was a troopship, converted during the War and left in order to ship men and supplies to India. To:
[X]Bombay. The largest port left in British hands and the largest in India, a gateway to the South. A gateway threatened by Marathis and Sikhs from the north and the kingdoms of Hyderabad and Mysore in the South.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]Madras. The staging area for the British Eastern Force, and their main base in India. The beating heart of the Empire in the east.
Nonetheless, you're aboard a troopship to India, allotted a cabin thanks to the magic of the high command. You'll travel in reasonable privacy, and while magic can't be used here you can try to do something else. You can:
[X]Practice shooting, there's most of a regiment aboard. Plenty of company.
[X]Meditate. Try to concentrate on the feel and control of the water in your cups, try to learn its resonance.
[X]Read a book. You can try to learn another language, Hindi's mainly good in the North after all.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
Your character also had a cover in the Army - the masquerade was at least paid lip service to:
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
[X]An engineer's assistant, you always did like blowing things up.
[X]A typist and cartographer. Maps and hobnobbing with the high command was excellent for keeping you alive.
Votes open for 24 hours.
The blades of the Wardens are enchanted steel, to cut through enchantments and curses. To better bring justice to the guilty. Gleaming silver, the Warden's blade bites through the neck of your oldest friend, your mentor and the man who saved your life.
"Arnaud de Lafayette was found guilty of breaking multiple Laws of magic by killing, by use of mind magic and by breaking the Masquerade. The penalty is death, and it has been served."
The Warden is a heavyset Englishman named Morgan, glaring at the assembled apprentices - you among them - as he delivers this spiel.
He continues after looking over the hall, uncaring of the blood on his cloak. "You have all broken the Laws, in one form or another. The ones too twisted have been dealt with, and you all remain. There have been mitigating factors enough that your lives are to be spared."
Amidst the relief and uproar that follows, the Warden's lips twist into a sneer as he continues. "Not least this is because the bulk of you have not the power needed to join the White Council. Nor the power needed to be more than a potential nuisance. All but one. Sophia Jones, with me."
That's that, then. Squaring your shoulders, you move towards this Morgan and hope for the best. You'd seen the war, from Ypres to Verdun - death was just icing on the cake as it were.
"Sophia Jones, Warden. May I know the nature of my crimes?"
He just looks at you, not in the eyes but almost through you. A look that says I'd like to kill you here but I can't. "Miss Jones, you have been found guilty of using magic to kill one's fellow man. Your use of
Pick one
[X]Illusions: Raises Evocation:Illusion to C, gain spells Veil and False Image at Journeyman.
[X]The elements: Raises elemental evocation to C, gain spells Fireball and Shock at Journeyman.
[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
has endangered the masquerade, and you know how dangerous that can be. As such, there is a vocal minority of the Senior Council wanting your head."
Yep, as you'd thought. "If they want my head, Morgan, why haven't you taken it? God knows I can't do much to stop you."
"Because you were led astray by your mentor, and that...mitigating circumstances apply, here." He looks as though he's sucking on a lemon as he speaks, but hey - you're reasonably in the clear.
Except, "One warning, Jones. Further endangerment of the Masquerade will result in penalties applied. Penalties you will not enjoy. Am I clear?"
"Yessir. What of areas like Siberia? Or India? Where the masquerade is paper-thin in any case?"
He again pauses, scrutinizing your face before speaking. "They are...acceptable. There are odd tales coming out of the subcontinent, and the Council is hard-pressed as it is. Magic may be used there, but not openly. Dismissed, Jones."
You walk back to your room in a daze, having brushed closer to death than you ever had in all four years of war. You'd talked back to a Warden, and survived. And all because Arnaud was dead and blamed for it.
Goddammit.
The tears come, and alone in your room you let them all out. For the men who'd died beside you, for the mentor who died so you'd live, and out of sheer relief and repressed fear. A toxic cocktail of contradictory emotion, all burning its way through your mind.
The night does not pass peacefully.
University of Sheffield
Sheffield, England
1919
The old man with the moustache sits in the pub looking distinctly out of place. Uncomfortable of his surroundings, and wary of those around him he waits. Arthur Balfour is his name, Foreign Secretary of England. Once Prime Minister, leader of the mightiest nation on the globe. At his word battleships sailed and regiments marched, and now he watches that empire crumble from within.
Where he waits, in this pub near Sheffield University no-one cares about his titles. His visitor least of all. The muscular, stocky man who appears in a gray cloak simply glares at him as he sits across from Balfour, clearly angry at what has transpired.
"You have forced our hand, Balfour. You and your damned occult units. Your people broke the Laws of Magic, not some petty code. There are very real consequences to that, yet you care not. Tell me why."
Balfour simply looks back calmly, sipping his wine and grimacing at the quality before speaking. "They are all British citizens, Our people, who fought for our country. You may have forsaken that, Donald, but do not think everyone has. Arnaud certainly thought otherwise. Kemmler did. Grevane did. There are many both evil and good who answered the call, and His Majesty's Government will not desert them."
Morgan snorts, clearly amused. "You mean the government wishes to have contacts in the occult community. You wish to have more resources."
The last word is almost spat, the Warden glaring once more at the mortal.
"Perhaps we do, Donald. yet you must acknowledge that the wizards in our employ did not break these laws. They merely faced other mages or created weapons for our use. Little killing was done, barring Miss Jones."
"Barring one of the only ones at a level enough to join the Council, you mean. She is talented and now perhaps twisted beyond recovery, Balfour." The wizard replies rather dryly, continuing, "She is your scapegoat for this affair, isn't she? I know Lafayette and while he was a rogue, his apprentice may be salvageable."
The politician raises a brow, "Twisted how, Donald? I believe one of yours once told me that magic was a force of creation and manipulation of energy. Not something that caused sin and damnation."
'Do not dissemble in front of me. You know as well as I that use of certain magics can cause mental disorder and corruption. Such individuals are often unsalvageable. Such as Brock, back in '16. You were there, Foreign Secretary."
In the face of the wizard's ire, Balfour is unmoved. "I have bargained for Jones' life as well as the others, have I not? My one stipulation is that she leaves England. You agreed, last we met."
"I did. She may be redeemable, but the sight of her crime scenes and her comrades can cause difficulties. It would be best to move her, but where? America is out, the Wardens have enough to do there after the Mexico Incident."
"India, perhaps? Your men and mine are both stretched thin there, Donald. She may yet do some good."
Morgan laughs, a short bark wholly out of character for such a dour man. "You mean you made a cock-up of the Empire, Minister. Plague, starvation and the mutiny have led to a fucking mess. It's a lethal area, but I agree. Trial by fire, for what it's worth. While me and mine put the genie back in the bottle."
The politician and the mage continue their discourse, but the fate of Sophia Jones has been decided in a dingy pub near Sheffield University. Perhaps the most influential thing to happen there, but time only may tell.
Plymouth, England
1919, boarding RMS Mauretania
India. Land of the exotic East, crown jewel of the British Empire. A land heaving with rebellion and strife, the British Army being deployed there after a grinding war in Europe. A land where few manage to go, and once again fortunes can be made.
The young woman near the Mauretania's boarding ramp certainly is not enthused. In truth, Sophia Jones thinks it's all a crock of horseshit, and wishes she didn't have to risk life and limb yet again.
Goddammit, Morgan, you may as well have just killed me then and there. You are Sophia Jones, formerly of the American Expeditionary Force, and you've been banished to England by a member of the Wardens. Better than dying, perhaps.
The Mauretania was a troopship, converted during the War and left in order to ship men and supplies to India. To:
[X]Bombay. The largest port left in British hands and the largest in India, a gateway to the South. A gateway threatened by Marathis and Sikhs from the north and the kingdoms of Hyderabad and Mysore in the South.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]Madras. The staging area for the British Eastern Force, and their main base in India. The beating heart of the Empire in the east.
Nonetheless, you're aboard a troopship to India, allotted a cabin thanks to the magic of the high command. You'll travel in reasonable privacy, and while magic can't be used here you can try to do something else. You can:
[X]Practice shooting, there's most of a regiment aboard. Plenty of company.
[X]Meditate. Try to concentrate on the feel and control of the water in your cups, try to learn its resonance.
[X]Read a book. You can try to learn another language, Hindi's mainly good in the North after all.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
Your character also had a cover in the Army - the masquerade was at least paid lip service to:
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
[X]An engineer's assistant, you always did like blowing things up.
[X]A typist and cartographer. Maps and hobnobbing with the high command was excellent for keeping you alive.
Votes open for 24 hours.
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[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
Curry based potions!
More seriously you don't see the alchrmist type used much in DF. Everyone likes the evocators.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
Curry based potions!
More seriously you don't see the alchrmist type used much in DF. Everyone likes the evocators.
- Location
- Right Where I Am
[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
Edit: Well, damn.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
Alright, here goes.
Edit: Well, damn.
- Location
- Right Where I Am
I recommend that we throw the 9s and 8 into the Charisma Intellect and Willpower respectively. Divide the 3, 2, and 6 among the Strength, Reflex, and Constitution.
What do people think?
We do have Peak Human, and so our physical stats will get a plus 1 over what was rolled. Besides when dealing with the magical world your mind, your mouth, and your magic tend to be the important bits. Knowing how to use a mortal weapon, run, throw a punch, etc. are all useful, but magical stuff tends to either even that playing field or fight way beyond what a human's body brings to the table.
What do people think?
We do have Peak Human, and so our physical stats will get a plus 1 over what was rolled. Besides when dealing with the magical world your mind, your mouth, and your magic tend to be the important bits. Knowing how to use a mortal weapon, run, throw a punch, etc. are all useful, but magical stuff tends to either even that playing field or fight way beyond what a human's body brings to the table.
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[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
Barondoctor
The things I chase come to me.
- Location
- The other side of the mirror
- Pronouns
- He/His/Him
I'm always a fan of being able to Actually Run Away and Actually Take A Hit, but that's just me I suppose.
[X]Illusions: Raises Evocation:Illusion to C, gain spells Veil and False Image at Journeyman.
No opinion on the other parts.
[X]Illusions: Raises Evocation:Illusion to C, gain spells Veil and False Image at Journeyman.
No opinion on the other parts.
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- Location
- Right Where I Am
So, unless anybody has any objections we'll go with the following dice allocation.
Charisma - 9
Intellect - 9
Willpower - 8
Strength - 2
Reflex - 3
Constitution - 6
- Location
- nz
[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
mouli
Terrible QM
- Location
- United States
Votes called!
Winning vote:
[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
Update out in a few hours if I have time, else tomorrow.
Winning vote:
[X]The subtle art of potions and alchemy. Raises Alchemy to C, gain recipes Elixir of Escape and Revitalizing Elixir.
[X]Calcutta. A capital besieged, and the rumors of djinn and spirits among the less reputable papers make it seem more interesting.
[X]You have a sword-bayonet, one of the old French designs. Perhaps an officer can teach you something?
[X]A doctor. Dr. Jones sounded nice, and you finally put that (very basic) medical degree to use.
Update out in a few hours if I have time, else tomorrow.
The Smells of India
mouli
Terrible QM
- Location
- United States
Aboard RMS Mauretania,
Towards Calcutta, 1919
You're one of maybe three women aboard ship, and the only decent-looking one. Even the sword-bayonet doesn't dissuade idiots from flirting, and you almost take one officer's hand off before another hauls him back. These boys are going to die, and you have sympathy for them - just not that much.
On the other hand, your position as only decent looker means you can pull quite a lot of information from the officers' club and more from the NCOs handling drill on deck. Rumor abounds on what's going on in India, and when they learn you're a doctor - and Army medical corps at that, the rumors only intensify. After all, divisional medical are already there, why send more than a few orderlies?
"That, girl, is why you don't make those stitches. Who on earth taught you anyway? Some Frenchman?" Dr. Frederick Golding is an irate surgeon attached to the 46th Infantry Regiment, aboard Mauretania. He's also one of the more interesting conversationalists, even if a lot of it is ranting about abysmal French medical care. Understandable since the portly, graying surgeon had served at the Somme and later Ypres, seeing the war after decades of peacetime practice.
It doesn't change his skill, though. He's taken it upon himself to teach you 'good English surgery' which apparently involves preparation, cleanliness and ruthless triage.
Medicine +100xp
The other conversations with him are more interesting. "Now, Miss Jones, why do you think we're headed to Calcutta? The army's massing near Madras and Calcutta's under siege. Better supplies than men, would you not think?"
"Maybe." You're noncommittal here, the British are nuts, their officers more so. "Maybe you guys are making a breakout? The papers say that the Navy's bombardments have been quite effective."
He waves a hand and spills some of his tea, gesturing with abandon on the Navy. "The tars can't even hit a German battleship when it's four-on-one, how'd you expect them to hit a fortress or an ammo dump? We've only got pre-dreads in the Bay of Bengal in any case, so bombardment would be incredibly inaccurate."
"True. Maybe a breakout in conjunction with a drive north?
"No, no. I'll tell you. You've heard about the rumors, aye? The ones about seeing things, ghosts and demons near the city. The Black Hole suddenly blowing up?" You nod, and he goes on, "It's all bunk, no such thing as demons. They were testing weapons there, gas and the like. The facilities need to be held, so they feed us into the grinder."
The talk goes on, and you can't help but think if only you knew, Freddie. There may be an occult unit there, but there's sure as hell no research facility. Not with the wastes of Canada available for that purpose.
The remainder of the voyage, especially your early mornings are spent on-deck, doing bayonet drill and swordwork with the troops. The officers manage to teach you the basics of swordsmanship, one of them being a former fencer prewar. The men - the NCOs, rather - teach you bayonet-work, thrust and twist and stab. You practice on-deck and are quickly judged as a 'queer bird' by most of the men. You don't really care.
CQC: Bayonet at D
Calcutta, India
1919
Time passes in this manner until you reach Calcutta. The gem of the Ganges, glittering amidst the mud of the delta is now glowing from fire. The siege has taken its toll, as Mauretania noses up the Ganges delta to the Calcutta docks.
You descend from the ship as fast as possible, the farewells of Dr. Golding and the officers' club ringing in your ears as you meet the sights and sounds of British India. The smell hits you first, though. The stink of fish and cordite and smoke, of fire and siege fills your nostrils as you see a heaving mass of humanity near the quays.
Men, women and children stand near the ships, arguing over fares and fees and tolls. They're clearly leaving the city as the nationalists close the ring, judging by the bundles near every family.
You step down onto dry land, intent on finding a boardinghouse to rest and scout from. Unfortunately, a woman in a grey cloak has found you first. She's slim and short, barely reaching your shoulder. Her sword of office hangs from her shoulder alongside a rifle, and she waves to you from atop a shipping crate.
Making your way over to the Warden, you introduce yourself. "Sophia Jones, formerly of the British Army. Sent here as a mercy-kill by Warden Morgan. Any idea where I can leave my luggage and eat?"
She laughs and picks up your bags with little effort, speaking as she walks and you jog to keep up. "I am Sujatha Nair, little soldier. There's little danger in the city, miss. Morgan warned me, said you were a dangerous element and needed watching. Horseshit, given what's outside. The city is safe, the outskirts and the Sunderbans are not."
"How so?' She turns to you and stops walking, "India's waking up, Jones. There are gods far older than your church's existence, and powers that the Council would like to keep sleeping."
Well, damn. You knew of the older gods, any wizard worth their salt did. Powerful and capable of direct action, the Christian God had risen as they fell. Asleep and dormant they'd been while their territories taken and their people converted. If they were waking up, you really didn't want to be in British India right now.
Your musings are interrupted as Nair stops near a battered apartment building, opening a ground-floor door and beckoning you in.
"Come in, we can better speak in private." You move in, eyeing the surprisingly mundane surroundings with surprise.
"This is pretty normal for a Warden, ma'am."
"Not what you expected, Jones? It's easier to monitor the city from within, and a safehouse like this isn't my main base in any case."
"Yeah, I got that. Little to no wards, just a sensor web that you keyed me into."
She grins. "Well, I can't let the dangerous American have wards, now can I? This apartment is a Council safehouse, provided to you in exchange for your service near Calcutta."
"Service?"
"Help me keep the city clean - no warlocks, fae, or others to approach the warzone. Djinn and afrits have been sighted near the siege lines, and many going into the Sunderbans don't come out."
One question to ask now, "So I'm fodder, then? I can barely fight, I'm an alchemist, not an evoker. And what happens if I refuse?"
"One, I'm not expecting combat from you. Pinpoint bases from which the dervishes are operating and I'll deal with them. Make a name in the local occult scene and feed me intel. You're also a decent escape artist, or so I heard - perfect for scouting the delta nearby.
Second, if you refuse the house is yours for a week, after which I turf you out and watch you as long as you're in the city. The siege lines aren't porous, so it's in your best interest to accept until you find a ship or a contact on the other side."
You have been offered a position as informer for Warden Sujatha Nair in exchange for a dwelling and her favor.
Do you accept?
[X]Yes, I accept.
-[X]I want to know who I work with - ask questions, write-in.
-[X]I want to know my boss - ask for a soulgaze. Social roll d100+20(Nice first impression) for acceptance.
-[X]I'll scout the delta but no long-term spying.
[X]No, I'll manage.
Towards Calcutta, 1919
You're one of maybe three women aboard ship, and the only decent-looking one. Even the sword-bayonet doesn't dissuade idiots from flirting, and you almost take one officer's hand off before another hauls him back. These boys are going to die, and you have sympathy for them - just not that much.
On the other hand, your position as only decent looker means you can pull quite a lot of information from the officers' club and more from the NCOs handling drill on deck. Rumor abounds on what's going on in India, and when they learn you're a doctor - and Army medical corps at that, the rumors only intensify. After all, divisional medical are already there, why send more than a few orderlies?
"That, girl, is why you don't make those stitches. Who on earth taught you anyway? Some Frenchman?" Dr. Frederick Golding is an irate surgeon attached to the 46th Infantry Regiment, aboard Mauretania. He's also one of the more interesting conversationalists, even if a lot of it is ranting about abysmal French medical care. Understandable since the portly, graying surgeon had served at the Somme and later Ypres, seeing the war after decades of peacetime practice.
It doesn't change his skill, though. He's taken it upon himself to teach you 'good English surgery' which apparently involves preparation, cleanliness and ruthless triage.
Medicine +100xp
The other conversations with him are more interesting. "Now, Miss Jones, why do you think we're headed to Calcutta? The army's massing near Madras and Calcutta's under siege. Better supplies than men, would you not think?"
"Maybe." You're noncommittal here, the British are nuts, their officers more so. "Maybe you guys are making a breakout? The papers say that the Navy's bombardments have been quite effective."
He waves a hand and spills some of his tea, gesturing with abandon on the Navy. "The tars can't even hit a German battleship when it's four-on-one, how'd you expect them to hit a fortress or an ammo dump? We've only got pre-dreads in the Bay of Bengal in any case, so bombardment would be incredibly inaccurate."
"True. Maybe a breakout in conjunction with a drive north?
"No, no. I'll tell you. You've heard about the rumors, aye? The ones about seeing things, ghosts and demons near the city. The Black Hole suddenly blowing up?" You nod, and he goes on, "It's all bunk, no such thing as demons. They were testing weapons there, gas and the like. The facilities need to be held, so they feed us into the grinder."
The talk goes on, and you can't help but think if only you knew, Freddie. There may be an occult unit there, but there's sure as hell no research facility. Not with the wastes of Canada available for that purpose.
The remainder of the voyage, especially your early mornings are spent on-deck, doing bayonet drill and swordwork with the troops. The officers manage to teach you the basics of swordsmanship, one of them being a former fencer prewar. The men - the NCOs, rather - teach you bayonet-work, thrust and twist and stab. You practice on-deck and are quickly judged as a 'queer bird' by most of the men. You don't really care.
CQC: Bayonet at D
Calcutta, India
1919
Time passes in this manner until you reach Calcutta. The gem of the Ganges, glittering amidst the mud of the delta is now glowing from fire. The siege has taken its toll, as Mauretania noses up the Ganges delta to the Calcutta docks.
You descend from the ship as fast as possible, the farewells of Dr. Golding and the officers' club ringing in your ears as you meet the sights and sounds of British India. The smell hits you first, though. The stink of fish and cordite and smoke, of fire and siege fills your nostrils as you see a heaving mass of humanity near the quays.
Men, women and children stand near the ships, arguing over fares and fees and tolls. They're clearly leaving the city as the nationalists close the ring, judging by the bundles near every family.
You step down onto dry land, intent on finding a boardinghouse to rest and scout from. Unfortunately, a woman in a grey cloak has found you first. She's slim and short, barely reaching your shoulder. Her sword of office hangs from her shoulder alongside a rifle, and she waves to you from atop a shipping crate.
Making your way over to the Warden, you introduce yourself. "Sophia Jones, formerly of the British Army. Sent here as a mercy-kill by Warden Morgan. Any idea where I can leave my luggage and eat?"
She laughs and picks up your bags with little effort, speaking as she walks and you jog to keep up. "I am Sujatha Nair, little soldier. There's little danger in the city, miss. Morgan warned me, said you were a dangerous element and needed watching. Horseshit, given what's outside. The city is safe, the outskirts and the Sunderbans are not."
"How so?' She turns to you and stops walking, "India's waking up, Jones. There are gods far older than your church's existence, and powers that the Council would like to keep sleeping."
Well, damn. You knew of the older gods, any wizard worth their salt did. Powerful and capable of direct action, the Christian God had risen as they fell. Asleep and dormant they'd been while their territories taken and their people converted. If they were waking up, you really didn't want to be in British India right now.
Your musings are interrupted as Nair stops near a battered apartment building, opening a ground-floor door and beckoning you in.
"Come in, we can better speak in private." You move in, eyeing the surprisingly mundane surroundings with surprise.
"This is pretty normal for a Warden, ma'am."
"Not what you expected, Jones? It's easier to monitor the city from within, and a safehouse like this isn't my main base in any case."
"Yeah, I got that. Little to no wards, just a sensor web that you keyed me into."
She grins. "Well, I can't let the dangerous American have wards, now can I? This apartment is a Council safehouse, provided to you in exchange for your service near Calcutta."
"Service?"
"Help me keep the city clean - no warlocks, fae, or others to approach the warzone. Djinn and afrits have been sighted near the siege lines, and many going into the Sunderbans don't come out."
One question to ask now, "So I'm fodder, then? I can barely fight, I'm an alchemist, not an evoker. And what happens if I refuse?"
"One, I'm not expecting combat from you. Pinpoint bases from which the dervishes are operating and I'll deal with them. Make a name in the local occult scene and feed me intel. You're also a decent escape artist, or so I heard - perfect for scouting the delta nearby.
Second, if you refuse the house is yours for a week, after which I turf you out and watch you as long as you're in the city. The siege lines aren't porous, so it's in your best interest to accept until you find a ship or a contact on the other side."
You have been offered a position as informer for Warden Sujatha Nair in exchange for a dwelling and her favor.
Do you accept?
[X]Yes, I accept.
-[X]I want to know who I work with - ask questions, write-in.
-[X]I want to know my boss - ask for a soulgaze. Social roll d100+20(Nice first impression) for acceptance.
-[X]I'll scout the delta but no long-term spying.
[X]No, I'll manage.
Ave Anathema
Ave Imperator
- Location
- Jacksonville Illinois
[X]Yes, I accept.
-[X]I want to know my boss - ask for a soulgaze. Social roll d100+20(Nice first impression) for acceptance.
-[X]I want to know who I work with - why are you a warden and could i eventually get there myself if i do good work
-[X]I want to know my boss - ask for a soulgaze. Social roll d100+20(Nice first impression) for acceptance.
-[X]I want to know who I work with - why are you a warden and could i eventually get there myself if i do good work
- Location
- Right Where I Am
Well, we'll be shaping our MC's character, and how she grows from here. This would give us a where we are now, but I doubt that she'll remain unchanged throughout the course of this quest. On the other hand, I would like to get a look at who and what she is right now. Get a solid feeling of where we are as a person at this point. It's a tough decision.
I'll go with from our point of view.