DiscoDude: ---BEGIN SESSION---
DiscoDude: Session logging commenced
GM: > 5th of Beliande, Evening
Laferty Estate, Upper Feybloom District
GM: The sun has begun its descent by the time you reach the Laferty Estate. Despite still being inside the city walls, the upper section of Feybloom is more forest than city, its plots being measured in acres. Some of the resident nobles have had sprawling gardens planted, and one enterprising merchant has a vineyard going, but most have left their properties to nature, content to simply live in their homes without neighbors.
GM: Sir Isaac Laferty, you're told, has taken up raising horses as a hobby - or rather, he's had his servants take it up. The air is certainly a bit more pungeant than at the other estates when your carriage pulls up to the front drive, but you're free of it once you're ushered in by a nervous-looking doorman.
GM: "Um… I'll go announce you, sirs." And the human leaves you in the rather posh parlor.
(What do you do?)
Quentin: (remind me why we're here, specifically?)
GM: (You were here to ask after Pearse Nickeltrine, the man who found the body. He works here.)
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta huffs; "Wi'd a' 'round'm, yet no closa."
Quentin: "Patience, Bretta. A lesson you'll have to learn is, sometimes you have to play by society's rules." He adjusts his collar all the same; he has no idea how well they're going to be received.
GM: "'Sometimes' is a concerning way of putting it." A tall, thin human in an impeccable suit is standing rigid not two feet behind you two, holding a purple handkerchief to his nose but otherwise appearing nonplussed. "If I may be so bold as to say so, that is."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "A' get that, but a' this green, 'n' sti' a' Prim and Proper." Bretta's full anunciation of "Prim and Proper" was accompanied by an tone as sarcastic as the local accent accurate.
Quentin: Quentin shivers a bit; hearing Bretta say such a phrase without leaving out half the consonants and vowels is downright uncanny. It makes him more jumpy than the sudden, unannounced appearance of the newcomer.
Quentin: "Oh! Oh my." Quentin tries to regain his composure and only partly succeeds. "Good day to you, sir. I am Quentin Trail, Royal Prosecutor" - he bows and presents his insignia - "and this is my assistant, Bretta. Might I ask, who might you be, and how might we be of service?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta turns to meet the new fellow. "Y'ave wo'd fo' it: Cu'cha Shock."
((Culture Shock))
Quentin: Quentin raises an eyebrow again. "Culture shock" is definitely not an expression he expected to hear out of Bretta's mouth.
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "La'nin' sha sound laak it a't fust."
GM: "Yes, now that I see you both in person, I don't doubt the doorman's claims." The dour man tucks his violet cloth into his chest pocket oh-so-neatly. "And I do say it is me who should be asking after 'what service' I ought to be providing." He does a curt bow. "I am Pearse Nickeltrine; I work as the head butler here at the Laferty estate."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "Y'fa'nda body 'f a ma'e gno'."
GM: Quentin, you're used to non-kobolds looming over you, but this Pearse fellow is positively towering he's looking down on you even as he bows. Bretta, meanwhile; you get the feeling you could easily throw this guy a fair distance, despite the top of his head nearly coming up over your chest; he's all skin and bones, to be able to fit well inside that incredibly narrow suit.
GM: He runs a hand through his slicked-back black hair.
"Yes, that unfortunate affair. Ask away, and may I request you be quick about it - I have my duties, as I'm sure you have yours."
Quentin: Quentin internally sweats. He'd understood they were interviewing a servant; Mr. Nickeltrine has the cut of a lord himself. "Ah...yes. Ahem. We were here to inquire about the murder victim - you were the first to find and report the body, yes?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: “Did ‘e ‘ave the light-box the’ got s’worry d‘bout?”
GM: "Indeed I was the one to find and report the body," Pearse says blandly. "I was on my way to pick up a glazed ham from the butcher's for tonight, and so happened to spy the crumpled form of a gnoll in the alley. I normally would not investigate such side-street matters, but seeing as I thought I recognized him, I confirmed for myself that he was dead and knew I ought to report his passing. And no, his camera and carrying case were missing by that point. A shame, really."
Quentin: "If I may be so forthright: any speculation as to motive?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretts can’t help but drool slightly at the mention glazed ham. A lot about high society rub’d her the wrong way, but their food was consistently excellent.
GM: "I don't wish to speculate on such things, though I believe the circumstances go a ways toward speaking for themselves." Pearse whips out a monocle and holds it up to his eye, bowing and peering straight into you with the other eye closed, Quentin. "The fact that you're here, however, does at least confirm that it was that Shutterblink I found, doesn't it?"
Quentin: "...It was," Quentin says, hoping the decisiveness with which he declares this doesn't annoy Bretta too much.
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta stifles a growl at the victim’s name. “W’know.”
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: “What e’se we get ‘e’e?” she say to Quentin, still looking away.
GM: "Indeed," he pulls up and puts his monocle away. "I won't mince words; I knew the victim, if only briefly. I had commissioned him for photography work, a job which he completed last evening - around this time yesterday, in fact."
Quentin: Quentin takes eager notes. "He delivered the finished work, correct? Would it be prying too much to ask what the nature of the project was?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta's head snaps towards Pearse, arms still crossed, with a quirk of an eyebrow. "Wasn't dead long?"
GM: "Oh, he was quite cold already," says Pearse - he has his monocle out again and has it trained up at you this time, Bretta. "I am no mortician, however, so I can't comment any further on this."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta's eyes lock with Pearce's; she can't break the old habit of the pre-combat staring match, but she's got just enough self-control not to attack when Pearce blinks (though, a slight grin still manifests).
GM: He quirks an eyebrow, but doesn't avert his gaze from Bretta's. "And to answer your question, Sir Trail; no, I haven't received the finished product yet. I hear it takes some time to develop a physical photo. It's quite vexing, as the outcome of a contest between a friend of the master and myself - and thus a wager between the two of them - hangs upon this photo."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "Wha' o'nly 'a'f glasses?"
GM: He doesn't dignify that with a response, Bretta.
Quentin: "I'm broadly familiar with the mechanics of photography, so yes, I can personally vouch that development as yet requires a significant investment in time, as well as skill." He frowns; now the death of Mr. Shutterblink is striking him as a personal loss. "Could you elaborate as to the nature of the wager? What exactly did you hire him to make a photograph of?"
GM: Only now does he turn away from Bretta, sighing. "He was to capture the conclusion of a horse race between myself and Sir Horace Kimberly, as all parties speculated it to be a close thing regardless of outcome. If it becomes apparent that Sir Kimberly won, Sir Laferty would pay to him the agreed-upon sum; it would go the other way if I, Sir Laferty's servant, am determined to be the victor."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "Y'didn't win; 'o'se won."
Quentin: Quentin's quill pauses for a moment. "How large a sum are we referring to here?" He scrawls "GAMBLING WAGER = MOTIVE FOR MURDER?" on the page, then double-underlines it.
GM: It is here that you get an actual frown from the butler - the most open display of emotion he's shown thus far. He raises his gloved hand to cough into it.
"I *ahem* hardly see how the precise sum is important. Between two nobles, it was hardly a ruinous amount, I'll say that much."
Quentin: "So...more a matter of pride than money, then." He adds that to his notes. "Do you know if he was taking any other, ah, commissions at the time? Any further side work?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((Agh! So close! Almost got in a "Sho't stuff la'ks numbuhs." quip.))
GM: You do get his unspoken implication: 'a commoner would balk at it.'
"Not that I know of. You'd need to ask his guild for that sort of information."
Quentin: An odd question comes to mind. "Forgive the implications of my question, but I just want to establish all the particulars of this case: the wager was between you and Sir Kimberly, but your master Sir Laferty would be the one to pay if you had been confirmed the loser? You would not have been responsible for the payout whatsoever?"
GM: "Indeed not. The wager was between the sirs; I was participating as Sir Laferty's proxy in the race. I regretfully admit my master rides more for leisure than sport."
Quentin: "Understood, then." Quentin taps the feather end of his quill against his chin for a moment, then asks: "One more question. Now, I imagine that the body quite had your attention in all matters, but...did nothing else catch your eye at the scene of the crime? Was there any indication, perhaps, that he had been in the process of making a photograph of something someone did not want such a record of existing?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta scoffs, "'N' y'just let'm take y'glory?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((Man! Real slow today; sorry.))
GM: "The bet was about whether I could take Sir Kimberly in a horse race. The master... got all the money that was wagered, nothing more." Another frown.
"To answer your question, Sir Trail, I don't believe I saw anything that suggested as such, and then, I'd know less than you regarding what I ought to have searched for."
Quentin: "...Fair enough. Just ensuring I left no stone unturned here. Bretta, any questions?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta looks confused, but lets it slide. She'd have been lock'd up for serial homicide several times over if she took such frustrations out.
GM: "I do hope we're done here. I have supper to prepare for the master - he does love his glazed ham."
(Okay, I'd like one of you to roll against Pearse's attempt to DEFLECT from the topic of the wager.)
GM: !roll 4df+2 (DEFLECTING)
DiscoDude: GM rolled 4df+2 for 0 [4df = [-][ ][-][ ]]
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((Pretty sure Quentin should take this up.))
Quentin: !f 3 (Clever)
DiscoDude: Quentin rolled 4dF+3 for 5 [4dF = [+][+][ ][ ]]
Quentin: (heh heh, SWS~)
GM: Okay, so.
GM: You notice that Pearse only became evasive and eager to end the conversation when you started digging into the sums of money involved in the wager. And if it is an uncomfortable topic for him, then perhaps his claims about having no stakes was less than truthful. It's up to you what you do with this information.
(Actually, what roll was this? I was thinking he was trying to Overcome, with you Defending, so do you get a boost?)
Quentin: (sure, i guess)
Quentin: "...Actually, I'd like you to clarify one matter. You had no stake in this wager, so you claim - you were, as it were, merely the rider, a 'proxy' by your own description. And yet...it does seem rather peculiar you would go to the lengths of securing a photographic witness for your - I mean, your master's - victory. Hardly a common practice, is it?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((It'd be a boost for any except Create an Advantage, so that sounds right.))
Quentin: (yes, i'm presuming here that a "photo finish" is not yet commonplace XD)
GM: Another frown. "... What are you implying, exactly? If you speak to either of the sirs, they can attest that they are the sole stake-holders in this matter."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: (("Photos" aren't commonplace, yet, so .... yeah.))
Quentin: Quentin takes a deep breath. "In this wager, perhaps. My amateur knowledge of horse racing is not nearly as extensive as my amateur knowledge of photography, but I am aware such events tend to attract gamblers, yes? It would be quite odd indeed if the two lords were the only ones betting on the outcome."
GM: "I assure you, it was a private affair, taking place on the master's property..." He sighs. "But now I realize that you intend to speak with the sirs. It would only be a matter of time until..." He seems lost in thought.
Quentin: "...there was a side bet involved in this somewhere, wasn't there?" Quentin can hardly hide his mirthful smirk at having spotted the glimmer of truth hidden in the lie.
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta quietly starts her signature trill out of boredom with the situation.
GM: "Not so much, no; the fault lies with me." He does a stiff bow. "I'm afraid that I needs must ask you to not speak of this to the sirs. As the one in charge of sorting the master's correspondance, I may not have been entirely truthful with him regarding the amount that was on the line; he still believes it was 200quin, while the amount Sir Kimberly actually agreed to was 500. I am dreadfully sorry."
Quentin: Quentin blinks. "This information will be kept in the strictest confidence, but...why, good sir? Why would you lie to your master about such a matter?"
GM: "... I ask that you accept that it was a grievous error on my part." Another frown, which doesn't let up as he continues with shifting eyes: "Emptying my savings to pay the difference, should the worst come to pass, was something I was prepared to do. I pay nothing to live and eat here, after all, aside from my labor. I am grateful to Sir Laferty."
GM: Somehow, you get the feeling it's a bit more serious than that for Pearse; whatever his motives, the Betting Discrepancy you're sure you could find evidence of with a few delegated inquiries implies that he seriously couldn't afford to lose the race.
GM: "If I may be so bold as to make a request, sirs." Another stiff bow. "I would like to ask that you search after that photo I was promised. It may be in Shutterblink's personal workspace, yet. It would put my mind at ease to know what the outcome of this incident shall be."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "Two is sma', but five is big?" Bretta notes the discrepancy with the previous use of the word "ruinous".
GM: "It's a matter of principle more than anything else; I don't wish to trouble the master with my... errors, and I assure you that, as a member of the working class, 300quin is not a sum I can sneeze at, personally. I'll... live, however." The deepest frown yet.
Quentin: "An honest mistake, then. Very well. I have every intention of searching Mr. Shutterblink's workspace and - should it be found - his camera as well. I imagine there are many critical truths to be found within."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta rolls her eyes. "Money makes no sense."
Quentin: Quentin closes his eyes for a moment. "Bretta, imagine if you will a fight against two strong gnolls each your equal. Now imagine a fight against five." He has no idea whether the analogy will take - or if it's even a good one; he has no idea of Bretta's (self-estimated) fighting prowess against her own kind.
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta gleams as she bellows, "HAHA! THAT SO'NDS LA'K GRE'T CHA'LENGE!" then actually processes the question, "If a'm 'lone, would be mo'e than cha'lengin'." She's actually pensive for once.
Quentin: "Now imagine I told you there were two, there turned out to be five..." He winces a little as he considers the scenario he's about to lay out. "...and because of circumstances, I'm the one who has to fight the other three."
Quentin: "That's the kind of situation this man is looking at here."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta's eyes dart towards Quentin, but otherwise, her face is unaltered. "Said the'd live. Y'wouldn't."
Quentin: "Yes, but I could say I'd be perfectly fine as well," he says.
GM: "Are we done here, sirs?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta stares down Pearce. After a brief moment she states, dryly, "Yet 'notha battuh-fe'd of lahs."
Quentin: "...Yes, Mr. Nickeltrine. Come on, Bretta. I think the Guild has our attention next."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta immediately turns away from the butler and follows Quentin, muttering, "Who ev'n gev'm battle-name? Just fuh laht-box?"
Quentin: "It's a form of artistry," Quentin says. "Gnolls have artists, no? Or any pursuit other than battle they might distinguish themselves with?"
GM: (So what's the plan? Turn in for the NIGHT and set out for the guild the next MORNING?)
Quentin: (it's that late IG? well, i guess we don't have a choice then)
Quentin: (unless idk, Bretta's down for a break-in, but let's see if we can get in by asking nicely XD)
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "Some wo'k on, uh, cave pa'ntin's," Bretta speaks the phrase with distain reserved for many of the city's terms she finds insulting, "but ta'kin' t'th'unbo'n as th'only thin' is .... ra'e."
Quentin: "...'talking to the unborn'?"
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: "Pa'ntin's la'k ta'kin', but th'wo'ds sta' fo'eva, so th'unbo'n can sti' 'ea' once the' 'e'e. S'wha' w'do it."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((Painting's like talking, but the words stay forever, so the unborn can still hear once they're here. That's why we do it.))
Quentin: "...that's...really quite a romantic way of looking at it," Quentin says, rubbing his chin. "I really like that."
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: Bretta give a smile softer than thought possible by gnollkind; "Only mo'e o'ya thought same."
Quentin: (so yeah, good place to move forward?)
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((Agreed.))
GM: (Yeah, I was planning on a "one scene a time slot" model - if you choose to either skip the next MORNING or become Tired [!] then, one or both you can continue investigating into the NIGHT.)
Quentin: (bit early for desperate measures methinks XD)
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾:
GM: So; where do Quentin and Bretta go after EVENING on the usual work day (to discuss the case so far and other matters)? Do they meet at a favorite eatery or the office before parting ways, or perhaps they live in the same home? Or perhaps something else?
Quentin: (dang, yo. i hadn't considered. i though we were kind of "out of town" for this investigation so we had rooms prepped for us at a local inn, or something?)
Quentin: (like we had to take a carriage to get here~)
GM: (It's a big city - think the size of London or Paris.)
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((I'm thinking Bretta turned down in-city habitation and stays with the rest of the Hour's Walk tribe.))
Quentin: (Fair enough. Quentin has an inn room in convenient distance from most of the places of interest, then.)
GM: (So if not a shared home, do they have a usual place that they talk among themselves at before "clocking out?" A prosecutor's office, or a favorite eatery, or some other haunt?)
Quentin: (i...didn't even think of this, either)
GM: (It's fine, we can do this scene next time, it's getting late anyway.)
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((Nor did I. While Bretta adores the higher class food, she'd still prefer her regular meals to be won as part of a hunting pack.))
;}"÷™+╎®^★█¬ˇ¾: ((But, yes, let's continue.))
GM: (Well, I assumed this scene was basically over, and it's getting late, so...)
Quentin: (yeah i'm good to call it for the night)
GM: (Then let us...)
GM: !end
DiscoDude: ---END SESSION---
