Ribcage: Gymnasium of Steam

[EK - Shadow of Death]

The red-skinned woman looks at Martin with an incredulous look, as if that was the last thing she expected him to say. She looks towards the front door, back at Martin, pauses for a moment, and then shrugs her shoulders and quickly walks off without a word.

Just as she leaves the lobby, the Blackguard at the front door pushes away from the archway, pulling a dagger with his left hand and leaning in close to the yelling woman. His words begin to slur slightly, and his shoulders slump forward as he brandishes the curved blade. The woman doesn't seem fazed by the weapon, but takes a step away from him and lowers her voice. The Blackguard sergeant spits out a threat.

[Stik]

"Showtime" Martin mutters, putting away his toys and checking his weapons for the third time.

[Stik]

"Showtime" Martin mutters, putting away all but one of his crystals. He sets his bag and mandolin case next to the divan and lays his cloak over both. He checks his weapons for the third time: rapier slides easily in its sheath, dagger too. Miniature umbrella is in its proper place; ditto the silk bouquet. His plush juggling ducks are resting in easy reach in the outside pocket of biggest waist pouch. All that is left is to don his oversized hat, which he will do when the time is right. Hopefully, the “cavalry” will arrive before he is forced to intervene, but if the Blackguard makes any more moves with the knife, he will have to do something.

He hefts the two-inch crystal ball and eyes his shot. If he rolls it fast enough, and hard enough, and clears the next divan, then he should be able to bank it off the potted fern so that it rolls towards the men from the wrong angle. It should roll without cracking, but considering how hard he’ll have to roll it, it will be a near thing.

Then he waits, hoping the Spectrum soldiers will arrive soon, or barring that, his valiant corps of waiters.

[EK - Shadow of Death]

Martin bides his time, tensely reclined on the divan. The Blackguard sergeant gnashes his teeth angrily, spitting in the employee's face, but appears to has lost his drive. He even begins lowering the wicked-looking knife. His face softens slightly. The woman also appears to have lost the energy to continue the argument. Waving him away, she storms towards the center of the room, sits down on a divan, and glares at the unwelcome soldiers.

The sergeanto sheathes his knife in a fluid, practiced motion. He cocks his head to a side and lets out a mocking laugh in the woman's direction. Apparently done with her, he turns back to the rest of his troop and continues to lean against the archway. The soldiers do not seem to have any intention of moving.

[Stik]

Martin looks expectantly at the hallway down which he dispatched Miss Violet, and the one down which he dispatched Miss Scarlet. Which one will arrive first? His heart races in anticipation. "The suspense is unbearable," he mutters to himself, "I do hope it lasts."

[EK - Shadow of Death]

Martin does not wait long before two large, heavily armed men accompanying a skinny elf woman storm into the lobby and walk towards the doorway. The woman employee formerly arguing with the sergeant sees the hardened Vivek and backpedals as quickly as she can, not daring to face her back towards her superior. The Blackguard sergeant turns to face the oncoming cadre, motioning for his troops to gather around him.

The elf woman does not utter a word. Her face is emotionless and her motions unassuming, but the very air around her seems to flow with rage. The sheer power that seems to permeate her as she makes her way across the lobby makes it seem as if her bodyguards are more for show than to provide any real protection. Despite not facing him, her presence makes even Martin feel uneasy.

The Blackguard soldiers inch their way towards the doorway, loosely taking up a defensive formation as their emotions and their training conflict each other. The sergeant takes a few steps backwards, out of the doorway, and disappears into the shining outdoors. Miss Vivek stands there a few more moments, gazing outside. Without moving her head, her unearthly voice rips through the silence, causing shivers to run down Martin's spine.

Come to me, enemy of the Blackguard

[Stik]

“Enemy? Please, call me not an enemy of theirs, unless of course you are mindful of the wise man’s words, who said: ‘A friend is someone with the same enemies as you.’ I have only just met these unpleasant men and barely so, and have not had time or cause to become their enemy.” Martin says, as he jangles up to the elven woman’s side, his hands kept carefully away from his weapons.
“Instead, call me Martin, if it please you. I presume that you are she who is called Miss Vivek. I am most pleased to make your acquaintance, which I might have done earlier, had we not not met. I had not expected you to appear in person. Have you perhaps decided upon a tale or song you wish to hear?”

[EK - Shadow of Death]

You are not here to play songs or tell tales. snaps Miss Vivek Your employer, Lucius Ferrick, was killed not long ago, and my third steam room is a mess.

She leans towards you, driving her hard eyes into your skull.

I will be perfectly clear. Anyone who crosses the Blackguard earn nothing but a bounty. When that squad reports in, your thick little head will be worth 100 jinx. That's hardly enough to clean up the damages you inherited, but plenty enough to goad half the citizens in town walk the streets with a machete and a picture of you. The town is currently under lockdown, so running is out of the question. Hiding is probably your best bet to stay alive. Go where you wish, but you are no longer welcome here.

She leans up and tilts her chin up, looking down at Martin over her sharp nose with an almost condescending air. The two meat tanks step forward, making themselves a wall between Martin and the front door.

[Stik]

Martin throws her a deep bow. "I shall long remember the hospitality I have received at this fine establishment. Should I survive to do so, that is."

Then he turns to the two Spectrum soldiers who seem intent on encouraging him to remove himself from the premises: "How about you gents, then? Is your outfit hiring? I realize I probably do not make the height requirement, but I could wear lifts in my boots, and I've already got a fairly tall hat, and I....I didn't think so."

"Right then, I'll just be going." With that, Martin dons his hat, cocking it at a slight angle, throws his cloak around him, hefts his duffel and heads for the door.
Five feet short of the door, his duffel stops, jerking him to a sudden halt. He walks purposefully forward again, and is again brought up short by the duffel. And then again. He walks back around the bag, which he is still holding at waist height and sets about pushing it towards the door. It moves slowly at first, but gradually accelerates until he is rushing along behind it.

And now he is out on the streets of Ribcage; painted and garbed, with money in his purse and good blades on his belt. He makes no attempt at stealth, but instead walks purposefully along the street.

[EK - Shadow of Death]

Martin hastens out of the building, onto the darkened streets of Ribcage. The towering Gymnasium behind him appears like a massive behemoth sleeping amongst the ramshackle shanties and bungalows around him. The buildings in this part of town tend to be fairly well-made compared to the makeshift shelters and stalls he saw on the way in. Tall lampposts line the cobblestone streets, casting more shadows than light. Surprisingly enough, the streets are not too deserted, and Martin doesn't find it difficult to merge with the thin crowd that runs to and fro through the streets. Creatures of all shape and size walk and amble from place to place, many obviously nocturnal. Martin spots a few Blackguard patrols, but otherwise, they are nowhere in sight.

He wanders through the streets surrounding the Gymnasium for a while before turning towards a more well-lit district of the town. The crowd tends to thin, and the Blackguard become far more prevalent, but the inescapable pull of a certain, dark building draws Martin in. He sees it. A three-story glass and stone monstrosity colored entirely in black, as inert and solid as a beetle's shell. The image is not entirely unwarranted; a patch of razorvine grows around the edges of the structure, pruned in such a way as to resemble insectoid legs. A thick, ebony door set in the front is slightly ajar, letting out the rich sound of horns playing a deep ensemble, and the sharp smell of strong alcohol.

[Stik]

Martin grabs the nearest passer-by: "Tell me: I am looking for the Tower of the Antlered Hare. I am told that there are folk there who are in need of entertainment. Might this be it? No? Are you sure? Well, if it is not, then what is this place?"

Once he finds out the name of the dark building, and whatever else he can casually glean from the conversation without asking any specific questions, Martin continues his course of establishing false leads as to his direction of travel and possible destinations. In all cases, if he has an opportunity to sing, he will sing the "King of Elves" song he did at the Gymnasium, to firmly establish that the same man was at multiple taverns. If all goes well, he will have established he was in more than one of them at any given time, further confusing the matter.

Then, after that, he makes his way back to the dark building and cases it. If he is going to make an entrance, he is going to do it right. And if he needs to make a hasty exit, he does not want to guess where he is going next.

[EK - Shadow of Death]

<--- To Stik only --->


Martin takes note of the beetle-like building and wanders around the district, taking random alleys and stopping in a variety of establishments. His odd appearance gets him through the door just about everywhere, and his odd music and lyrics tends to get him fair praise in all but the most luxurious of places. It must be a lucky night. Martin thought he saw a small group of blue-shirted tieflings follow him out of one gymnasium, but a deft turn past a passing caravan followed by a dash down an alleyway got them off his back. There aren't that many places open this early at night, especially during a city lockdown, but not a few burly bartenders gave him a hearty slap on the back and a pinch of coppers for his work before he rushed off to another place.

As Martin walked back to the high district, he feels a strong wave of confidence wash over him. An evening mixing with the Baatorian populace has given him a good sense of the town, and a feel for its natives. Though he never left the Steam Ward, Martin has already found out that just about everyone walking on their on feet in town is wanted by the Blackguard for some reason or another, and that no one ever turns in their neighbor unless there's something other than money at stake. "Jink don't go as far out here as it do in Sigil, cutter", chimed one ash-faced human. Power is everything. It's no wonder, then, that the shiny, black building was the only on in town avoided by every Blackguard in the force. They call it the Korachon's Nest, a luxury parlor owned by Senator Ivlium, the only man with a power base comparable to Lord Paracs'. How the Ivlium family managed to buy up half the properties in the Steam Ward and utterly replace the Confing family, all in a single night, still remains a mystery.

Boldly, then, does Martin march up to the black door set in the cave-like mouth of the building, and knock twice, then once. The doorframe trembles momentarily and a humanoid face pushes out of the wood, shaped from the ebony itself. Its soulless visage is set slightly higher than Martin's head, and it looks down on him, with an almost condescending air.

Your name and your business, sir

[Stik]

"I am called Martin, and my business is wit and wonderment and mirth and miracles.
"And you are a door, a talking door, which I find curious, for where I come from, doors seldom converse with guests. But tell me, since you’ve started this conversation, your name and your business. Have you been a door long? And if so, do you enjoy it, or would you rather be something else? For I daresay I might be able to make that miracle happen before we are through. Were it up to you, would that not be worth allowing me entry?"