Chapter 1: Interesting Times

Hulbrad Fortesque


Q raises one finely arched brow, and gestures to Davore.


"Do be careful, honoured conspirator."
 



  • Davore


    The Library





    It's a pity that Davore's gloves are not made of latex. He could dramatically snap them into place...if he were into that kind of theatrics.


    Since he is not, he will quietly address the group, in Tradestongue.


    "I would very much like it if everyone were to keep their distance from the book while I open it. Against the far wall, and beside the door, strikes me as a good place from which to observe. Thank you."


    That done, everyone present might notice that his tunic has been roiling and rumpling again. Within a minute or so, something resembling a crab with a pale and moist, soft and unfinished shell clambers out of his collar, albeit with fewer limbs than one would normally expect from a crustacean. Trailing a very organic looking cord of about the same thickness as a mouse tail, the crab climbs onto the table beside the book. Davore keeps the other end of the cord, and in fact makes a tiny slit in the heel of his palm into which he inserts the cord. Wrapping a mask over his mouth and nose, and then pulling his gloves on (and covering the connection), Davore keeps forceps and scalpel ready.


    The crab opens the case and begins carefully extracting memory stones.


 



  • The lid of the crate clatters sideways, straining the already tense silence. Moving carefully in the dim light, the crab's pincers twitch once as they descend, gripping the handle of one of the slots tightly. The Memory Stone Sleeve is extruded with care, the small progeny trembling with the effort of pulling it out.


    A dull grind accompanies this, the twang of crunching gears reverberating through the box with the tinny echo of slender mechanisms. Finally, the box reaches the apex of its extension, and with a solid CLICK that vibrates through the box, it stops.


    As the crab moves to gain better leverage, it brushes the side of the metal sleeve. As soon as contact is made, it recoils so violently it falls from the top of the crate, twitching and spasming frantically.


 
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Andran


There is a brief look of smugness played out across her mandibles, Andran rolling all eight of her eyes. "Is Honored Lybar, master of fleshcraft still functioning?"


One of her large legs cautiously taps him on the shoulder, making sure to see if he was in any sort of peril.


The flesh was weak. Her father would have never had to deal with this situation. He'd have had the stones out via servitor easily or at the very least had mortals tug it out in sequence. Andran starts looking about, already considering alternatives to the flesh extensions.
 
Davore


Mid Operation





Davore strikes for his own flesh like a mantis shredding a butterfly. Within two heartbeats of the crab touching the metal, he has sliced the cord and pulled the remnant from his hand.


He clenches his fist and severs all ties, immediately letting the crab die.


Existence is iterative.


Davore turns to Hrune.


"Hrune, could you please bring me meat and water? I'm going to need to replenish."


Even as he speaks, the next version crawls from under his shirt. Davore's cheeks begin to look slightly hollow.


Death is the world teaching our descendants lessons.





This one follows his metaphor. It is less crab, more mantis. Its metabolism burns fast, and he barely endowed it with enough sugars to survive for five minutes. It stands on four stilted, elongated legs, its chitin hardening as it wobbles towards the table, its gait firming.


It stands, straddling the box without touching it, and leans down with a pair of thinner, longer claws to finish the extraction.
 
Hrune bows, silently gliding out of sight, sparing nary a glance towards the still cycling legs of the upturned crab, striving to right itself. It rocks valiantly, even as its replacement canters above it on stilt-like legs, but without the strength of Davore's life, it grows slow, curling in on itself. Soon it stills.


Of this pathetic struggle, the new progeny takes no heed. Its attention is focused upon the box, and it is far more cautious around the still exposed lionbrass slide and mechanisms of the container. Thin chitinous talons slide under handle to pull the extracted slide free, but it does not give any further.


Carefully, the mantis moves to another slide to pull it free. Again, the casing is pulled upwards smoothly, despite the sound of grinding gears rolling from the confines of the box. As it reaches the zenith, a sharp CLICK once again echoes through the musty rows, the twang of metal innards resonating through the box like the plucked strings of a harp. It goes that far and no further.
 
Cecilia Arrington





The blonde woman watches the process from where she and the others have backed off to, anxiously waiting for results. She covered her mouth with a hand when the first flesh construct fell twitching and dying on the floor, now very glad she didn't try to open and extract this thing herself. How dangerous! How thrilling!


As the second creature pulls the device up, she hesitates, not wanting to approach until everything is clear and safe as it can be.
 
Davore





It seems further intervention is required. I believe I may have appropriate tools.





Reaching into his bag, Davore retrieves a length of sturdy suture silk. Stepping over to the case, he uses forceps to loop the thread around the stone without touching it, before tying a complicated knot in mid air, then stepping back from the case to pull the knot tight. Allowing the mantis to brace itself and hold the thread up, acting as the chitinous fulcrum of a foot tall A-frame, he applies a slow, steady pull to extract the stone.
 
Davore





Curious little thing.





Dangling the stone on the end of the silk thread, he turns to Q.


"Conspirators need things to conspire over. If you would be so kind as to share the contents of this stone with us?"





@Grey
 
Hulbrad Fortesque


"At once," Q says, with a hint of glee, gingerly taking the stone and preparing to consume the contents.
 
Cled


It's almost too easy... they would have figured this out long before now. These guys are meant to be the smart ones of the lot of them.


The Orc's brow furrows, watching the goings on with glowering paranoia. He shifts his weight to be a meat shield for Little Miss should anything... violent, magical or otherwise, come from this bizarre contraption, his hand straying warily close to his rifle again.
 
Andran


The moment of truth had finally arrived. Not so secretly grateful for the incoming action, Andran lifts off her feet and onto equal footing with the Orc. While he no doubt was assuming she was assisting in protection of his ward, Her frame able to take more than one blow if it came to it, but truly a slender metal leg slips down beside the rifle. A pang of WANT wishing him to grab the appendage in his haste. There was no worry about the upcoming digestion by the Hulbrad, Andran only withdrawing some kit to record the results. There was after all, a profit to be made here somewhere.
 



  • With nary a sound, Hrune wheels in a trolley, its gilded trays holding a variety of snacks and beverages, in addition to a large boned ham, glazed with honey and gently steaming.


    "In addition to your request, Honorable Ascendant, I have procured additional foodstuffs for the other most esteemed guests," relays the servant, inclining her head in respect.


 
Hulbrad Fortesque


Q's face falls as only a Hulbrad's can - with a manner not unlike melting wax.


"This is going to take some time, I think. Next stone?"
 
Cecilia Arrington





She glances over to the tray of foods and beverages Hrune has wheeled up before glancing to Fortesque as his face falls. She moves to obtain a drink while they watch and wait, making sure she's not stepping in front of Cled who is standing so protectively by her. After all, that would undermine what he is doing. Her hand brushes the cool scales of the ice serpent still with her, reassuring herself she's still there.
 
Davore





"My Conspiratorial Cousin, extracting self replicating kidneys is a task to teach a surgeon patience. I would recommend it some time. Perhaps not with the variety which have learned to form a crude phalanx inside the body cavity, though. Bastards."


Davore returns to the task of extracting the memory stones, taking care with his method, aiming to build a neat row of stones on the table, arrayed in their order of placement and extraction.


If he is successful in retrieving them, he will turn to the trolley of supplies. Davore's usual porcelain poker face will crack a little into the smallest and most restrained of smiles.


"Thank you, Hrune. Should this investigation meet with extreme disapproval from the House leadership, I shall swear that you had absolutely no idea what we were up to until we started ransacking the archives."


As he speaks, his mandible begins to elongate. His teeth are more prominent, and his entire throat flexes a little. Peeps may not want to witness what is about to happen to that large chunk of eminently digestible protein on the tray. In fact, Davore will not want that. He will glance around at everyone while holding the carving knife, to see who wants any. (He carves several slices for Andran without even looking. It doesn't matter whether she wants to eat the meat, it matters that someone else is having some, so she wants some too.)


Once Davore is certain that everyone else is quite alright, he will borrow the tray, step over to a corner and tastefully stand with his back to everyone for about thirty seconds.
 



  • With the last slid extended with a final *CLICK*, there is silence. Moments of it in fact.


    Then comes the grinding, and ticking, a whirr of gears that-


    Stops dead. Then a hiss.


    The mantis by the box stiffens, calcifying at terrifying speed until its frail body cracks, crumbling beneath its own weight. The body of the crab, though minutes dead, acts much the same, splintering into stony fragments as its flesh turns to basalt.


    The wards keen softly, turning a light shade of magenta, signifying something harmful has been let loose within their protective circle.


 
Hulbrad Fortesque


Q's eyes are wide, even as he takes a smooth step further back, watching intently. A fascinating trap, but one that gives away the next clue. Sloppy work.
 
Davore





The moment the trap engages, Davore steps back, drops the silk cord, and relinquishes any connection to his remaining chitinous servant.


"Well. Either an elaborate order to keep off the old man's lawn, or an even more elaborate red herring."


The silk suture thread was the only thing of Davore's on the inside of the wards.
 
Cled


At the sound of the wards he stiffens, throwing his meaty palms out instinctually, shielding both Little Miss and - though unintentionally - Andran as well.


A long low canine-like growl rumbling in his throat.


"Well. Either an elaborate order to keep off the old man's lawn, or an even more elaborate red herring."


A brow raises, before the clockwork gears whizz behind his eyes again. Then there is an almost audible penny drop. Then a throaty chuckle.


"So it is smarter than that," he grumbles, "It ain't the stones themselves, it's the box,"


Where else would be better to hide a stone you didn't want read. In the first place you'd look. Can't see the wood for the trees.


"Book," he points to the tome in question, making a grabbing motion, "Um.. please,"
 
Andran


While normally a voracious eater, Andran's iron stomach was out of sorts and tied into knots after the letter she received and besides.... A pair of her eyes look over Cled again. There were other things to appease her WANT at the moment. That of course, went by the wayside as the Lybar began to help himself, Andran turning to take the graciously sliced pieces when the wards tripped. She jumps in place, worried that she'd be in the forefront of the trap if the wards failed.


Ignoring the food, Andran eyes the wards carefully and holds the tome out for Cled to look at.
 
Cled


"Thanks," he mutters offhand, turning the pages, "Okay, you two,"


Andran and Little Miss.


"You're... erm, well better readers than I am," he purses his lips, "Need you two to find the dates in this," - tap tap tap - "That numbers match the order on those," Jabs a finger at the stones.


"They ain't dates," he moves forward, "They're 8 digit numbers. It's a good old code to a safe. Just... with considerable more unnecessary bollocks in the middle. Cos, you know, you guys can't do anything simple. "


He waits for Davore to finish - startlingly polite of him, given his current emotional state - and approaches him.


"Hate to ask Doc, but if you have just one more a those wee... critters in ya, we can give it one last go... if not, I'm sure there's some kind big stick I can use,"
 
Davore





Davore returns to the group with some colour back in his cheeks. His watch serpent chirrups at the big Orc from just inside his collar....as Davore reaches inside and pulls one last servitor out. It's smaller than the others, more spindly, slower moving, but just about endowed enough with muscle fibres and sugars to run them to finish extracting bits and pieces of data.


"And with this, my reserves are just about drawn for a little while."


He gives a slight smile and offers the pale green mantid thing to Cled. Its pair of eyes wobble and revolve a little as it lifts its claws and waves them at him. It has no mouth, no mandibles, just a pair of glistening compound eyes and a pair of waving talons.
 
Cled


A hand pats the Doctor's back gratefully, "Good on you," he nods, "I'll owe you a pint or somethin' after this,"


He pauses.


"Or whatever poison you prefer,"


He cups the little mantid with startling gentleness, and sets it on the edge of the box, as not to touch the Lionbrass that caused the demise of the previous ones. Before retreating back to the safety of outside the Wards.


"Okay," he rounds on Andran and Little Miss, "Find the Date with the smallest number first, 1st of Foresight on the earliest year you can find. Work forward finding the bigger number that comes next. Whichever one matches the ones in the box, we pull them out on that order,"


He nods to Davore, making sure he understands his train of thought.
 
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