The Puppeteer's Praxes (open)

[Wilfred]

Post away! This thread will remain open during its entirety. You can also find the OOC thread discussing this thread here.

Cadling Road meanders gently downhill towards the coast, situated at the base of a slope on the landward edge of the city. This affords a fleeting glimpse of the dappled ocean here and there, peeking out from between buildings and peering over terracotta-tiled roofs. The street is wide enough for two carriages to travel abreast over its well-swept cobbles, and is lined with a variety of middle class shops; book stores, butchers, a couple of ironmongers, a number of tailors and so on - the lifeblood of the bourgeoisie. It is midday, and the city of Serenti has emptied much of its populace to the coast in search of fish and pearls. Those who remain amble leisurely through the near-vacant streets, enjoying the sun and the quiet in their own time.

Every few minutes, one walks past a dark-windowed, two-storeyed shop on Cadling Road, without giving it much attention. To those looking for food and sundries, there is nothing of interest there. But to those who have found the flyers calling for help, this is their destination.

Should one walk up the few steps outside and through the door, they would be met by the jingle of a bell, and a softly-lit, cluttered interior. The front half of the shop is dissected by waist-height book shelves, display tables, and barrels of strange-smelling goods. The rear half, away from the street, is elevated by a couple of feet and separated by rich, mahogany balustrades. A wide staircase ascends through the middle to the upper landing. Taller bookshelves line the rear wall here, and a couple of chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Two alabaster statues, carved from shining marble, stand in contemplative poses against opposite walls. The only real sign of life in the empty shop is a wizened old man at a long table to the side of the stairs, scratching away at a ledger with his quill, peering intently at the paper through round spectacles as ink flicks intermittently into his long, bushy white beard.

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

The door to the small building opened, a bell above the door tinkling musically in the still air. The man sitting behind the small table a the edge of the dull room looked up to see who had strolled in.. and did a double-take as he saw the thing standing in the doorway. It wore a knee-length coat of blackest leather, light glinting against dozens of buckles across the garment. Underneath, just visible in the gloomy room, he wore what looked like a harness of blades and spikes. Everything about him screamed sharp.

Then a true abomination flapped in the door and landed on the.. man's shoulder. It looked like someone had taken a foetus, and sewn a pair of wings to it's back, before mutilating it in a dozen other ways. He would never know how accurate that guess was. The man behind the table swallowed thickly.

The tall, pale half-man stared straight back at the human, his slit pupils narrowing in the cold yellow irises. It.. he ran a hand over the shaved sides of his head, still sporting the bloody-red crest down the centre of his head. The short, balding man in the chair shifted uncomfortably, obviously not wanting to be the first to break the silence, but the thing standing before him seemed to be enjoying his discomfort. The horned man reached into his coat and took out a silver case, taking a hand-rolled cigarette out as his eyes roamed the room.

Rumours around Corone had been buzzing lately with all sorts of talk about the events going on here in Serenti; it was like there was a creeping madness seeping into the bones of the coastal city, turning honest citizens into maniacs, making pillars of the community go on vicious killing sprees. Perhaps that was why this creature had come. Finally, it turned his attention back to the man and smiled.

"You the one offerin' jink for chant on the murders?" it smirked a razor-edged smile, lighting the cigarette with a tiny flare of black fire from his palm.

The man blinked. "Um.. e-excuse me?"

[Wilfred]

Oh, no you don't. You're not intimidating this old geezer quite so easily, Aur :P

The man gave a dry cough. "Oh, do excuse me - I just finished macerating the newts. The dust tends to give me a bit of a tickle."

He blinked again, and squinted through his gold-rimmed spectacles at his guest. Then, satisfied that his eyes weren't deceiving him, the old man relaxed back in to his seat. "You didn't just come out of the basement, did you? Only, Wilfred tends to widdle on the magic circles, the little devil. Just last week I had a Baatezu making a racket down there for three days. Wait - murders?" The man stopped his rapid-fire rant, and slapped his forehead. "Of course! How silly of me. I'm sorry, I've been a bit tired lately. As you can imagine. Please, have a seat."

He gestured at one of the wooden seats opposite him at the table, and it slid smoothly out across the decorative rug by itself.

"You certainly look the part. I would recommend keeping an eye on your... pet, however. Tea?"

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

I was going for incomprehension of the accent and appearance, cutter, not fear. :P

Aurelius smirked to himself, liking the old bloke already. He took the seat offered, not questioning how the greybeard had moved it.

He waved a hand at the offer of tea, rummaging through his pockets before producing a small ivory flask with a flourish. "I'm already covered there, cutter," he smiled, tipping his flask in salute to the old man before taking a healthy swig. He didn't say a word about the Baatezu, but a small, wry grin touched his lips. Evidently he wasn't the only hellspawn from his old haunt in this neck of the woods. That would require some investigation...

Junior scurried down its master's arm, settling back on its tiny, pale haunches on the table top. It hissed a greeting to the ink-stained old scribe, the stitched shut eyes seeing him as clearly as the old man saw it. Curling its wings around it like a shroud, it settled down.

"So," the warlock started, tapping one fingertip against the table, "tell me more about these murders."

He leaned back in the chair, sucking in another lungful of smoke from the cigarette held between his lips.

[Krausus]

After three and a half days of wandering. And getting lost on the way to the shop he was looking for, Sirius finally found the two story building.

He tripped in, stumbled over his ankle length coat. After knocking over a few trinkets he hopped back to his feet and gave a smile as he smoothed down his frazzled hair. "I heard something about murders. "

When the man motioned for him to sit down, Sirius noticed that quill headed man he had encountered in a bar in that mining town. "Good, other than your- woeful entrance, i think you look the type. " Sirius settled down in his chair as the old man who had written the flyers was offering tea to the demon-man.

"Sir. Not to interrupt but, can we cut to the chase? I would rather love to have some fun"

As Sirius was saying all of this he had forgotten that he had no idea why he was actually here. He had only heard the "murders occurring, report to shop in this area" part.

"Actually, scratch that, and do you have coffee?"

[Prophet]

The Prophet had seen too much for many eyes but as he walked into the store and Looked around picking up books, the wizened looking old man sitting in the back looked at him like he had seen his type before.

"I heard and saw the murders. The flyers told me to come here "The Third Eye" right?"

The old man nodded as his eyes widened, he gawked at the small dragon that had just flew in. He perched on the man's shoulder and looked at the shop.

"Ah, Stormfire, good. Sir, I am Xaxan Ju-Nix'Tahn-Vaylk Horninx Asho Von Exuon. Better known as Prophet. This is my Dragon, Stormfire. Stormfire, say hello."

The dragon raised a clawed paw and almost waved. Xaxan walked up to the desk and looked at the man, he was pulling out some tea supplies from his desk when he looked up and saw Xaxan standing over him. He startles for a second before motioning to a chair which slid out of it's own accord. He smiled.

"Why, hello sir. Would you like some tea? But, please take a seat. It is so rude to leave my guest standing."

The Prophet sat down and took a cup of tea which had somehow heated up, he sipped it and looked at the man. Old, with the bushy beard. He had ink slops on his hands and beard but he ignored those.

"I heard about some murders"

[Wilfred]

"Still waking up, are we?" chuckled the old man to Sirius. "I can get you some coffee, but it's a bit early in the day for fun. At least, it is for me."

He closed the ledger and slid it towards the centre of the felt-topped table. The green fabric had a precisely-marked border chalked in about two inches from the edge, which the fellow rested his fingers upon. He began to tap upon the surface is a complicated tattoo, but halted part-way through.

"Would you mind extracting your, uh, your familiar from the table?", he asked of Aurelius, as the chalk outline began to glow. "I had a friend lose his tortoise in this thing a few years back. Still haven't found it, which is something of a concern whenever I use this table. Gods know where it's gotten to by now. Probably not very far."

He resumed his drumming after the short delay. The white border flashed, and the shadows of the table's contents faded out. A new set of items faded in - a small journal, a city map, an inkpot and quill, several spare sheaves of paper, and a silver coffee set.

"My name is Glofir Tormund", he said, pouring fresh coffee through a strainer and into a single porcelain cup. "Pleased to make your acquaintance, Xaxan. And...?", he finished, giving the tiefling and Sirius an expectant look.

[Krausus]

Sirius took the coffee and sipped it deeply. Turning to the old man he said

"Sirius Willfire, Blind Blade, The Equinoxian, so on"

He looked at the table as the new items appeared. He sipped his coffee again.

"And if you dare attack me you will not be happy, tiefling. Even if it was a past life, I remember you."

[Aurelianus Drak'shal]

Aurelius complied with Glofir's request, taking another draw from his cigarette as he hissed to his familiar. The albino foetus took to the air, perching on his shoulder with a savage hiss at the other two people that had entered after him. It gnashed tiny needle fangs at the pair, the tiny scalpels that made its fingers stroking the thick leather of its master's coat.

One of the addle-coves said something to him, but Aurelius wasn't here to mark every word that came from some leatherhead's mouth- he considered just setting the wanker on fire.. but it wasn't worth the effort. He claimed to recognise the half-demon, but the warlock didn't particularly care.

"Piss off," he sneered at the mouthy little sod, not turning his eyes away from Tormund.

The Cager kept his serpentine eyes locked on the old man, intrigued by the taste of lingering magick in the air- the old cutter was a spellslinger, which meant he might even have a few trinkets lying about that the half-breed could.. liberate. He blew a thin stream of smoke from his nostrils, swallowing another mouthful of T'keela, turning the possibilities over and over in his brain-box. For now, he would focus on the murders, and get some jink in his pockets. Then he could focus on larceny.

"Pleased to meet you, mate," he smiled amiably to the old man, not deigning to acknowledge the other two sods more than he already had. He finished his cigarette, stubbing it out on the sole of his hobnailed boot, and sticking the butt away in one of his many coat pockets- he could have just dumped it on the floor, but the old cutter kept a nice kip, and Aurelius was smart enough to keep in the man's good books until he was paid for his work.

He effortlessly slipped into using the Infernal language, native tongue of Baator. If the old man knew about Baatezu, there was every chance he knew the language of the Nine Hells. The tiefling didn't want the other two knowing his name.. didn't want anyone knowing his name. Not after the mayhem he had caused up north in Radasanth; the warlock was still a wanted man.

"You can call me Aurelianus," he said quietly, hissing the sentence in a language no-one else on Althanas (Glofir aside, he hoped) would know.

[Prophet]

After some time, a cup of tea, and no small amount of discussion about the killings and the afflictions causing them. Xaxan looked up and noticed he was still in his Eredar form, he sstood up and looked at Glofir.

"Eugh, this simply wont do. Excuse me sir. I must depart for a second. I would rather not set you fair shop on fire..."

He walked outside and with a flourish of fire, his features changed. His nose grew, his hair thinned, his skin lost it's red tint and gained one of a tea shade. He stretched and allowed his hands to be bathed in flame, cleaning them slightly. He walked back into the shop and let his dragon climb back up to his shoulder.

He sipped his tea as he said calmly

"Good, now where are these brutal murders taking place?"