Paridon: The Dark Metropolis (Ravenloft)

Hieran barely glances up from the journal as Torhan heads for Sasha and the rest head to the madman's cell. He continues to read...

This question of simulated emotion vexes me. We have established that the different states we feel can be manipulated by outside forces beyond our control. For that reason, I am compelled to examine the eldritch effects of the School of Enchantment upon emotion. While undoubtedly there is a chemical aspect to emotion--we need only look as far as the tavern for proof of this--more precision would be had in magic.

Enchantment is divided into two disciplines: Compulsion and Charm. Classically, Compulsion is viewed as the stronger of the two. It overrides the will, and forces action out of the subject. Yet the emotional state of the subject is unaffected. It may be dulled, causing the subject to be unaware of the consequences of the action while it is performed, but such an entire suppression of consciousness implies that it cannot affect emotional states.

Charm, however, is much more subtle. It does not override the will and cause actions to happen; it merely alters the opinion of the subject on the matter. A charmed subject will respond as it would normally respond, given its perceptions of the environment. The secret to effectively using Charm is not in forcing action, but in reframing the subject's emotions. Here is where success might be had.

I shall ask Vitriol to provide me with an Elixir of Love to test the possibilities of Charm.


* * *​

Torhan walked into the room holding Sasha. The room was not a cell, although it was lockable from the outside. A window from outside let in light, and a sofa sat against the wall under the window. Sasha lounged on the sofa, the tatterdemalion tied scarves of her outfit a splash of bright color against the dreary grey of the stone in the rest of the room. She had taken off her mask, leaving the veils strewn about the sofa, as she sipped a deep red wine from a glass. Wine?

"Torhan! You're here! Grab a glass and sit. Interrogate me all you want, now," she brightly teases.

Torhan looks over to the table and chairs typically used for questions in the room. An open bottle of wine and a second glass sat on a wooden tray.

How thoughtful. How crass.

* * *​

The Elixir has shown incredible properties. Its ability to cause the imbiber to fall in love with the first person he sees is well documented, but the scope of the effects are substantial. A reduction and distillation of the potion results in a concentration of the effect, leaving a crystal that is supersaturated with Charm. Vitriol has tested the resulting substance, and has reported to me that it has greatly increased both the intensity of the feelings and the duration of the effects. The subject feels a wide swath of love toward the imprinted individual. Romantic love, filial love, companionship, parental, even faith and deific love are all increased. The imprinted becomes the subject's lover, parent, child, confidant, and god. Furthermore, the subject reports feeling fulfilled, with a strength of purpose and confidence that is all too lacking these days.

The end effect is similar to Compulsion, but with an important difference. Compulsion forces the subject to do as the imprinted asks. This substance makes the subject want to do as the imprinted asks.


* * *​

Ru, Fr. Berman, Darian, and Calahan descend to a darker, torchlit area of the complex. Rats scurry from the quartet as they pass. The sewer is near here, and its smells waft through the corridor, intermingled with blood and death. Two enforcers stand guard at the end of the hall, and let you into the cell.

The madman, stripped to his loincloth, leans chained to manacles set in the wall, with his arms outstretched. He still wears his mask, but his other belongings are arranged on a table beyond his reach. He is still hunched and hairy, about as wide as he is tall. He rattles his chains as the policemen approach, but does not attempt violence.

On the table, his belongings are sparse. Boots, shirt, pants, a grey cloak--simple, flaxen clothing. His bandolier of bloody scalpels is the only item that seems abnormal, but there may be more...
 

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Grinning evilishly, Calahan draws his Kukri...

"You alright if I give him a special treatment before we begin?" He says loud enough for the madman to hear him.

He turns around holding the Kukri in his hand, and winks towards the others. (Correct English Word? I mean this: ;) )
 

The striking of a match breaks the silence as Darian lights another of his cheap cigars. His chuckle is nearly inaudible at Calahan's blatant intimidation attempt, and the fact that it will probably work.

Darian moves through to smoke to the table with the madman's equipment. He picks each item up individually, inspecting it as an appraiser might a gem, and then sets it back on the table, placing exactly in the same position. Finally he reaches the belt-full of scalpels, and picks it up in one piece, letting it dangle in the pale light.

"An interesting choice," he says to himself as he puts his cigar between his cracked lips and begins a thorough examination of the bloody blades.

ooc: Ivid, I believe you got it right. ;)
 

Father Berman has become accustomed to playing the 'good cop'. In truth, if a knife could extract information from the madman like sap from a tree, he'd be happier for it. But given his experience with the other bird-man, he doubts they will get anything out of the lunatic.

"No. It's not right to use force unless we are left with no other choice. We should remove his mask, but I expect we'll have to pick the lock. Can you speak, bird-man?"
 

kinem said:
Father Berman has become accustomed to playing the 'good cop'. In truth, if a knife could extract information from the madman like sap from a tree, he'd be happier for it. But given his experience with the other bird-man, he doubts they will get anything out of the lunatic.

"No. It's not right to use force unless we are left with no other choice. We should remove his mask, but I expect we'll have to pick the lock. Can you speak, bird-man?"

Still examining the scalpels, Darian speaks through the cigar still hanging from his lips, "But who's got the key?" He's secretly hoping that he'll get some use out of the jeweled dagger sheathed at his side, as it's really the only key he's ever needed.
 

Darian, Calahan, Ru, and Fr. Berman

The madman raises his head to regard Fr. Berman. He lets out a muffled grunt, followed by a slow chuckle. He nods slowly, his eyes looking confident, ready for the challenge.

Apparently he can speak.

Very quickly, Darian loses interest in the garments. They are quite typical. The bandolier is much more interesting. The scalpels are all similar in manufacture. Small and delicate, very precisely cut--clearly of gnomish manufacture. And very, very sharp. It is almost shameful to see the blood that has been allowed to dry on them. Tools of this quality belong in a surgeon's case, protected from the elements.

Ru's neck throbs as Darian holds one of the scalpels to the light. Calahan's kukri, despite its beauty, looks like a crude instrument next to the diminutive blade.

Then, Darian puts down the scalpel. Examining a bulge at one end of the bandolier, he finds a small pocket. He inverts it, and out pops a small, silver key. It would probably fit the mask.

As Darian picks it up, the madman changes demeanor. His eyes fixate on the key, and fill with worry. He strains and pulls against his manacles, and he starts making noises, muffled pleas and shouts.
 

Darian cocks a curious eyebrow at the madman's sudden change in demeanor. He looks at the others and then at the key, holding it out for the others to see. A crooked grin finds its way to his lips, and his slow footsteps echo menacingly on the hard floor as he crosses the room to the chained man, the dense smoke casting dancing shadows across his weathered face. Without a word, he reaches out with the key and slides it in the lock.
 


Ru Brike, barbaric human monk

industrygothica said:
Darian cocks a curious eyebrow at the madman's sudden change in demeanor. He looks at the others and then at the key, holding it out for the others to see. A crooked grin finds its way to his lips, and his slow footsteps echo menacingly on the hard floor as he crosses the room to the chained man, the dense smoke casting dancing shadows across his weathered face. Without a word, he reaches out with the key and slides it in the lock.

"Looks like you found what the bird's afraid of, Darian," he says, finding himself content to watch their new companion do the hitting.
 

"I"m afraid I'm on duty," says Torhan as he sits across from Sasha, waving off the offered wine. "Now, why don't you tell me what you know?"
 

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