gideonpepys
Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain.
Session 211, Part Two - CSI: Ursalina
A few jumps more took them away from the immediate area, into a part of town with lots of drinking holes. They waited at one for the pacifying aura to burn out. (No bar fights for the next hour or so.) Meanwhile they tried to communicate with Gupta and Uriel, but got no response. (Leon pointed out that this effort was redundant, as by now Uriel would have already had sent four times if he was able.) Korrigan reflected that this city had taken a greater toll on his unit than all their other adventures combined. Now there was only him and Leon left! Leon now told them what had happened in the Cadagyr Estate, as he hadn’t had the chance before now. Glaucia said that Lord Cadagyr had no right to ‘reassign’ executores as he had claimed; they would have refused. She was outraged at the news that mind control was being practised here in Ber, in direct contravention of everything the nation stood for. “If this doesn’t provoke a response from the Bruse, then it is time for a new Bruse!”
Once Leon had rested up, and the king had provided him with some healing (to boost his reserves of energy – all this teleportation was draining!) they decided to reorient themselves and return to Flida’s Finest, so they could follow her directions to seek out Officer Durgle. They frightened the living daylights out of Flida when they appeared and she gave them an earful, accusing them of drawing all sorts of trouble down on her. When she had calmed down, they showed her the cerebral mesh they had found in the northern district, but she did not recognise it. Then they left her premises under a new illusory disguise that covered even Brakken and Glaucia.
The streets of the Troughs once again busied up as they neared the guardhouse. This ‘impromptu’ celebration involved lots of musicians, singing and dancing, and the pitching of bundles of streamers into the air. Once again, police officers oversaw the festivities and the participants’ blank, bored faces were at odds with their jubilant whoops and ululations. At the centre of all this sat the whitewashed, functional police station. They went in and asked to speak with Officer Durgle. The orc on the desk told them he didn’t work there, but was associated with the station, and kept a pigeon-hole for communications which they were welcome to use. Leon was considering what exactly he should write when Glaucia noticed that they were being watched by an old half-orc who was sat by the front door, leaning heavily on a walking stick, apparently waiting for an appointment. Korrigan knew at once that this ‘half-orc’ was none other than Agent Gregory Doran of the RHC: otherwise known as Salaadoor Saan, Don Zacuto, Dread Pirate Roberta and other aliases (including this old Ursalinian half-orc merchant, and Officer Durgle). Korrigan acknowledged him telepathically, and he told them to meet him outside. They followed his instructions and went out to watch the carnival. He followed and walked right past them. “Follow me,” he said, telepathically.
Once they had arrived at an inconspicuous spot, Agent Doran brought them up to speed. He had been in Ursalina keeping an eye on the Ob: Yes, they were here, down by the docks, operating out of a lighthouse (natch). In this half-orc guise, Doran was well known to the goliath businessman, Sergio Flores, the Ob officer who built the lighthouse (and whose name they recognised from the convocation). More Ob officers had arrived a few days ago. Doran did not think they were anything to do with the creepy goings on in the city, in fact they seemed taken aback, and their initial confidence had dissipated in the face of what they had seen. Doran could not explain the phenomenon either, but he admitted he had not probed too deeply. As a solo operative he thought it unwise to check out any of the key installations alone. But he had noticed the mesh (and chosen not to interfere with it, for the same reasons). Korrigan asked if he had come across any exploding heads. “Once,” he nodded, “when I pressed one of Cadagyr’s staffers for info. I didn’t try that again!” (That dispelled Korrigan’s theory that this level of intrusion was confined to the military.) Korrigan also asked about hiveminds. Doran shook his head. “A few, in the earliest days, before the ordnances came into effect. Since then, none. But most of the population seem to be subject to some sort of low-level mind control.” (Glaucia gnashed her teeth again). There were other citizens, besides him and Flida, that is, who remained unaffected – each distinguished by their independence of mind, stubbornness or strength of purpose. One was Dieter Cadagyr, the son of Lord Windslow Cadagyr, the governor of Ursalina. In the early days, he made a ruckus about the odd goings on and got kicked off his father’s estate. Now he was holding court in the Red Peacock, talking insurrection. Doran thought he might be worth speaking to – in particular because he was said to have made contact with Salome Nieves. “She's still alive?” asked Glaucia, taken aback. They agreed that this should be their next step, but Doran wanted to show them something before they left the Troughs:
He went for a walk around the block, and returned in the guise of Officer Durgle. Then he took them back to the police station, to the morgue: Layed out on the slabs, preserved by a ritual, were the bodies of five police officers who were viciously cut apart by the so-called ‘masked vigilante’, their bodies dumped in an alley. Close examination revealed that their bodies had been cut apart after death, and that the killing blows were a few surgically precise strikes that slit arteries or punctured lungs. Each of the bodies had its organs removed and opened, and further incisions were made all across the bodies. One guard, an orc, had his entire face – from brow to tusked jaw – sawed off. The lead sergeant of the patrol had a peculiarly deep incision into the base of his neck. The skin was heavily torn and disturbed, as if someone had stuck fingers in the hole to probe it. A faint magic aura of protection lingered there. Glaucia gave a shudder. “It’s cold in here,” she said. It wasn’t.
A few jumps more took them away from the immediate area, into a part of town with lots of drinking holes. They waited at one for the pacifying aura to burn out. (No bar fights for the next hour or so.) Meanwhile they tried to communicate with Gupta and Uriel, but got no response. (Leon pointed out that this effort was redundant, as by now Uriel would have already had sent four times if he was able.) Korrigan reflected that this city had taken a greater toll on his unit than all their other adventures combined. Now there was only him and Leon left! Leon now told them what had happened in the Cadagyr Estate, as he hadn’t had the chance before now. Glaucia said that Lord Cadagyr had no right to ‘reassign’ executores as he had claimed; they would have refused. She was outraged at the news that mind control was being practised here in Ber, in direct contravention of everything the nation stood for. “If this doesn’t provoke a response from the Bruse, then it is time for a new Bruse!”
Once Leon had rested up, and the king had provided him with some healing (to boost his reserves of energy – all this teleportation was draining!) they decided to reorient themselves and return to Flida’s Finest, so they could follow her directions to seek out Officer Durgle. They frightened the living daylights out of Flida when they appeared and she gave them an earful, accusing them of drawing all sorts of trouble down on her. When she had calmed down, they showed her the cerebral mesh they had found in the northern district, but she did not recognise it. Then they left her premises under a new illusory disguise that covered even Brakken and Glaucia.
The streets of the Troughs once again busied up as they neared the guardhouse. This ‘impromptu’ celebration involved lots of musicians, singing and dancing, and the pitching of bundles of streamers into the air. Once again, police officers oversaw the festivities and the participants’ blank, bored faces were at odds with their jubilant whoops and ululations. At the centre of all this sat the whitewashed, functional police station. They went in and asked to speak with Officer Durgle. The orc on the desk told them he didn’t work there, but was associated with the station, and kept a pigeon-hole for communications which they were welcome to use. Leon was considering what exactly he should write when Glaucia noticed that they were being watched by an old half-orc who was sat by the front door, leaning heavily on a walking stick, apparently waiting for an appointment. Korrigan knew at once that this ‘half-orc’ was none other than Agent Gregory Doran of the RHC: otherwise known as Salaadoor Saan, Don Zacuto, Dread Pirate Roberta and other aliases (including this old Ursalinian half-orc merchant, and Officer Durgle). Korrigan acknowledged him telepathically, and he told them to meet him outside. They followed his instructions and went out to watch the carnival. He followed and walked right past them. “Follow me,” he said, telepathically.
Once they had arrived at an inconspicuous spot, Agent Doran brought them up to speed. He had been in Ursalina keeping an eye on the Ob: Yes, they were here, down by the docks, operating out of a lighthouse (natch). In this half-orc guise, Doran was well known to the goliath businessman, Sergio Flores, the Ob officer who built the lighthouse (and whose name they recognised from the convocation). More Ob officers had arrived a few days ago. Doran did not think they were anything to do with the creepy goings on in the city, in fact they seemed taken aback, and their initial confidence had dissipated in the face of what they had seen. Doran could not explain the phenomenon either, but he admitted he had not probed too deeply. As a solo operative he thought it unwise to check out any of the key installations alone. But he had noticed the mesh (and chosen not to interfere with it, for the same reasons). Korrigan asked if he had come across any exploding heads. “Once,” he nodded, “when I pressed one of Cadagyr’s staffers for info. I didn’t try that again!” (That dispelled Korrigan’s theory that this level of intrusion was confined to the military.) Korrigan also asked about hiveminds. Doran shook his head. “A few, in the earliest days, before the ordnances came into effect. Since then, none. But most of the population seem to be subject to some sort of low-level mind control.” (Glaucia gnashed her teeth again). There were other citizens, besides him and Flida, that is, who remained unaffected – each distinguished by their independence of mind, stubbornness or strength of purpose. One was Dieter Cadagyr, the son of Lord Windslow Cadagyr, the governor of Ursalina. In the early days, he made a ruckus about the odd goings on and got kicked off his father’s estate. Now he was holding court in the Red Peacock, talking insurrection. Doran thought he might be worth speaking to – in particular because he was said to have made contact with Salome Nieves. “She's still alive?” asked Glaucia, taken aback. They agreed that this should be their next step, but Doran wanted to show them something before they left the Troughs:
He went for a walk around the block, and returned in the guise of Officer Durgle. Then he took them back to the police station, to the morgue: Layed out on the slabs, preserved by a ritual, were the bodies of five police officers who were viciously cut apart by the so-called ‘masked vigilante’, their bodies dumped in an alley. Close examination revealed that their bodies had been cut apart after death, and that the killing blows were a few surgically precise strikes that slit arteries or punctured lungs. Each of the bodies had its organs removed and opened, and further incisions were made all across the bodies. One guard, an orc, had his entire face – from brow to tusked jaw – sawed off. The lead sergeant of the patrol had a peculiarly deep incision into the base of his neck. The skin was heavily torn and disturbed, as if someone had stuck fingers in the hole to probe it. A faint magic aura of protection lingered there. Glaucia gave a shudder. “It’s cold in here,” she said. It wasn’t.
Last edited: