5363/Loyalists, True to their Name, Profess Much Loyalty to Each Over, Even in the Face of Harsh Consequence

Loyalists, True to their Name, Profess Much Loyalty to Each Over, Even in the Face of Harsh Consequence
Date of Scene:	09 July 2017
Location:	The Quilt
Synopsis:	The Concord get a lead on the loyalists and descend into the Opera Bibliotheca with the intent to kill them. But what they discover makes them stay their hand, for now.
Cast of Characters:	Starlight Bandits, Count Kord, 1094, Priscilla

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Starlight Bandits has posed:
    Flamel Parsons, after a short period of investigation (likely consisting of talking to everyone, and then again after fishing something from his pocket to prompt different dialogue) struck gold. A hooded figure bumped into him on the street, slipping a roll of parchment into his hand right before vanishing into a crowd.

    The parchment depicted a map of the Opera Bibliotheca, recently recreated based on the freshness of the ink. Starting from the large hole in the ground that forms the main entrance, a path has been drawn through the tunnels, one that terminates at a junction of multiple tunnels. However, there is something that Flamel, or someone else on the team, notices once they convene to go meet the loyalists.

    Their intended path is clearly drawn for them. However, it is not the optimal path. There is another route that would clearly take them to the meeting point faster. So why has this path been chosen? Was it a simple mistake on the behalf of the loyalists? Most of them were never in the mines, being the aristocratic class. Or is the intended path a trap? Have they laid an ambush on the path plotted for them? After all, it's still uncertain if any of them know that the Concord have thrown in their lot with the rebel government.

    Or is it a test of loyalty? Do they expect the Concord to adhere to what they have been told to prove that they're not turncoats? Is the trap actually the optimal path, and the act of navigating it the proof of the Concord's own skulduggery?

    Or is it simply that the optimal path is now blocked? But surely this freshly made map would be updated to show that... they've not even started and careful thinking is needed!

Count Kord has posed:
    When the group came together to discuss this, following Flamel's information gathering, Kord's feelings on what they should do were pretty clear. If they want the group to head to a given spot, and there's no overall indicator that they're going to be ambushed...

    "We should just follow the given path," he points out, "One of us should carefully investigate other paths along the way, and make sure that we are not stepping into an ambush. I believe it would be easiest if the individual with the most skill at moving undetected would be the best choice. That individual is not me. I can move quietly, but I cannot be invisible. I would need to incapacitate lookouts along the way, and that could get very messy and ruin our chances to improve our results here."

    And after that, the grim-masked warrior looks to the others, seeking their input on the matter.

Flamel Parsons (1094) has posed:
    Flamel Parsons gets to be a double agent!!!

    !!!!!!!!

    He seems unbearably excited for the prospect. His traditional methods worked just perfectly, mashing interactions against individuals at a high rate. And he let the others know as soon as he got the meeting arranged! "I probably can't handle the side-paths 'cause I need to be on the main one, for my part. 'Cause of my--" He takes a moment to make a few excited sounds and do a short twisty shoulder gesture. "Duties for this one." He's so excited!! Okay but seriously, he's back in that "royal assassin" getup, drifting along the path and any of its absurd platforming challenges along the way.

    "Could be our First to do it! Though I haven't seen her use--" Then he stops, snaps his fingers, and points at her. "Ohhhhhh." He says. Haven't /seen/ her stealth abilities. HEH. He winks. "Right." And then continues on! He's taking the designated path, at least, though he stays behind Kord just because that sounds like it would be more dramatic for things.

    But, on a hunch, he sets off a few pings of Clairvoyance. They might pick up things like footprints of passing workers, shades and silhouettes of activity that went on in the tunnel before... Generally, possibly, some hints about it that might give some insight into what's wrong. Or they might pick up nothing at all. This IS an ancient library, so psychic interference is to be expected.

Priscilla has posed:
    Lords bless Flamel Parsons and his doofy but bizarrely effective way of getting things done. Maybe it shouldn't be surprising, given the kind of chatterbox he is that is seemingly impossible to hate, but Priscilla is surprised nonetheless at the success he has in faking out the loyalists (to some extent or another) and getting a much better map of the buried library; the area that the rebels had admitted was their biggest weak point. Old, hand-inked maps are something she's pretty well used to by now, so it doesn't take a lot of staring over it in a group huddle to really figure it out.

    "It is entirely plausible that, as such is their retreat, most other passages hath been thoroughly trapped or guarded, and this is the only safe one, given as privileged information to insiders. It is likewise plausible it is an attempt at gauging loyalty, which is quite likely a more significant obstacle than what ambush they couldst prepare for the likes of thee." she just about sighs out loud. She can instantly see where this is going.

    "Very well. If at worst, I am waylaid by some manner of trick along the path, it is at the least entirely deniable that any resulting event hath anything to do with thee." She does her best to commit the two routes to memory (which is pretty sharp, all things considered), and then engages troll mode right off the bat. Unseasonable (and probably impossible, given the underground area) icy winds crawl up from the ground, embracing Priscilla in a gentle swirl of frigid air, handful of snowflakes and all, and then she just fades away on the spot. No predator shimmer. No foggy breath. No psychic signature, actually. For anyone could really tell, she might have teleported.

    Even with that kind of protection though, she takes it slow, going forward. Being invisible doesn't really help if you step on a pressure plate or bumble into a trip wire, to say nothing of walking into someone in the dark. She sticks to the edges of the extra route, keeping her senses sharp, and a metaphorical nose out for living souls.

Starlight Bandits has posed:
    And so a plan is put into place. Priscilla shall investigate the alternate path while Flamel and Kord take the intended route. The two gentlemen walk, and find their path lit dimly by lanterns placed upon abandoned crates. Using Clairvoyance... may prove to be a mistake on Flamel's part. This place has been carved out by workers who were left to struggle, suffer and die to advance the desires of men above. Their regret and rage is seeped into the very stones, and he might get a hell of a backlash from it all.

    Meanwhile, the First creeps along the optimal route, taking very cautious steps so as to not upset any traps left along it. This route is much darker, with only a few guttering candles to cast light. But there is just enough to see... something. Upon many of the struts she finds along the way, explosives have been placed. But they're not linked to any plates or wires. Indeed, they all have old-fashioned fuses you light with fire. Perhaps this path is not a trap, but an insurance policy for the loyalists?

    Either way, the First likely arrives at the meeting point first, simply due to the dimensions of 3D space. Their quarry is indeed here, standing around lanterns and looking grim. Dion, the elderly man with the scarred face stands in the centre to greet Kord and Flamel as they arrive. "Welcome," he intones gravely to the two. "We understand you were looking for us. Why?"

Priscilla has posed:
    Priscilla definitely recognizes old-timey fuse lit explosives. The lack of any actually obvious connection to anything doesn't assuage her concerns entirely (who knows what they might be using instead), but it goes a fair ways. Is this perhaps some sort of escape tunnel? One that they would collapse behind them? Or maybe something they would bring down in advance of entry. It's certainly not somewhere any of the loyalists would want to be when those wicks are burning.

    Having a little time to observe Dion, unless she can pick out anything grossly amiss, Priscilla proceeds to restrain herself from waving, and instead just uses the radio to tell the others that she's on the opposite side of the man from them. While she's at it, she informs them of her suspicions of the other tunnel, and suggests that it's probably best that Parsons lead and Kord play the part of bodyguard.

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord, being here in a Concord capacity, listens to Priscilla's orders. When he finds his place to stand, he doesn't say a single word to Dion. He just stands there in his dark armor and stares almost unblinkingly at the man until it's clear he isn't the one here to talk. The dark conditions of the tunnels mean that the glow of his eyes is especially visible, at least when someone is looking directly at him. He steps aside pointedly so that Flamel can advance, and carefully gauges the room. Anticipating violence is a normal state of being for him, so he makes a head count of those present in the room, whatever weapons they might be carrying on them, how they're standing, the ages and builds... He's trying to see if they came here expecting a fight, or if they're even prepared properly for one.

    His head slowly turns, and he is otherwise as still as a statue once he has found his proper bodyguard spot. It gives off an air of abstract aggression... like everything he does, thanks to his connection with such an adversarial god.

Flamel Parsons (1094) has posed:
    Parsons recoils from the sensation. It's a sensory overload of negativity, and his brain sputters and sparks. Literally! Every time he tries to access his clairvoyance, a fuzzy crackling on his scalp shows it's just no go right now. He looks nauseous and stressed by the impact, but he avoids dwelling on it too much. It's a hit, but he should be able to keep going.

    Thankfully, his uneven state is mostly hidden under the heavy draping hood, and secret under the shadowy darkness of his invisibility. He launches into his strange telepathic communication as soon as he reaches Dion. "Hey Dion! Sorry about the mess-up with the book. Lots of weird tumult outside this world." He says, in a voice that still manages to not be anything even /remotely/ close to what a secret agent, MIB, or royal assassin ought to be.

    A flicker of light under the hood. Parsons launches a low-depth astral push. He's not going to go after a high-depth sort of thing, no. This is more of a simplified hack, the kind meant to break willpower and instantly subdue someone. He reaches out, gently feelnig for Dion's lightly familiar mind, and tries to dive in. Maybe, MAYBE he can avoid Dion quite noticing what happened as he does... If things are bad in here, he thinks, he'll bring in Kord too. Can he? Can Kord's brain be brought in? He hopes. "I've been gathering information from a lot of sources! I wanted to see if I could go over a bit of information I had with you, and figure out how best to get Index back on its feet after that book fiasco." He says, lying through his teeth with just as much eager positivity as he always has!

    Meanwhile, his astral self, subtly rendered invisible on its way inside, tries to immediately swing in towards the willpower on the outer end, catching as much subconscious attention as possible, and SLAMMING into the surface of the mind, whatever it may look like, psionic energy built up and ready to go in huge aggression-blasts, intending to basically psionically knock out the schemer.

Starlight Bandits has posed:
    As Kord strikes his scary bodyguard pose, the loyalists close to him edge away, hands drifting towards their weapons. They're not getting aggressive just yet, but simply reacting to the man's intent. The way their wear their weapons, holding to them like safety blankets, indicate they're not too familiar with them. No doubt that if this comes down to immediate violence, they'll be little threat.

    Meanwhile, Flamel dives into Dion's mind quite easily. For his grizzled appearance, the man is actually quite soft, and his mindscape reflects this. It's all audacious stonework and chiselled tapestries of his life. As he looks around at the surface thoughts on his way to knock the man out, he finds that he's prepared some talking points. Trying to sell them on their side, grand offerings of regal titles and the like should they help put the king on the throne... and something for them to muse on. The explosives on the struts on the optimal path? The loyalists did not put them there, and they were not there when the library was active. He plans to convince them that it's the rebels that put them there, with intent to destroy the symbol of their oppression.

    But either way, the man slumps instantly just as he started to open his mouth. Immediately, the other loyalists are on-edge, several looking towards the path that Priscilla came from. They're about to run!

Priscilla has posed:
    Running away? Well we can't have that.

    Priscilla has spent literally over a thousand years around all kinds of men with swords, and is oh so very familiar with all the little cues and postures that betray their familiarity with, and disposition towards, their weapons. She doesn't feel as if she particularly has anything to fear with these holdouts. Without the inherent desperation that had driven the rebels to their coup, they strike her more as idealistic refugees than a true threat.

    So when they start going for the tunnel, she just reveals herself, stood in the way, armed with her thoroughly intimidating (visibly, and intangibly) scythe.

Count Kord has posed:
    The instant Dion slumps, Kord's weapon is out with a metallic snap and a dramatic spray of sparks. He does not, however, advance. He stands there with his weapon at his side, held like the staff of a religious leader, his clawed gauntlet tightly gripping the haft of the enchanted weapon. When he speaks up, his voice is deep, and loud, and quite clear.

    "Stay right where you are. You are not safe down here, with me, and I will turn the shadows to a storm of swords the moment you stop being worth keeping alive. We have not harmed this man, as there is no value in doing so. We are aware, now, that you had intended to deceive us about information we had discovered on our way into here. We know about the explosives, and we know that you were not the ones intending to set them off. That leaves the question of where they actually came from. I'm sure you want that answer as well."

    "We will be investigating this, and you will sit right there, quietly and obediently."

    He stares them down and waits for them to make a bad decision, his glare fixating on all the most spooked examples among them. As if to make his statements seem far less like a bluff, the shadows sharpen around him, and the one directly behind him, cast by the lanterns, elongates and the eyes open up, the edges of the shadow blurring and swirling like smoke. Just a parlour trick, but it helps prove that he can do weird things with darkness.

Flamel Parsons (1094) has posed:
    Parsons maintains that positivity for so long. Dion goes down-- distressingly easily? They should be able to capture him. The ominous sight of Parsons causing him to pass out might be terrifying the loyalists, but Parsons is just too caught up in the situation to really care, not that he ever had even one solitary ounce of social awareness. He just trucks on through to parse through the information.

    And then, as he talks over the radio, he realizes this: Someone, Perplex or otherwise, just tried to set them up, and not only that, they /threatened the books/. Parsons whole silly almost cosplayish thing immediately subsides. When he fwips his hood off, a soft red glow can be seen just under the sunglasses. All of the constant positivity is just absolutely absent. The loyalists aren't his problem. What is his problem is something entirely different.

    He strides towards the tunnel. No more levitation there, either. "Thank you." He says, to Priscilla, whether she stops the Loyalists or not. He goes right to the explosives, and just grabs his sunglasses and tosses them to one side like they're trash. He immediately needs to find who planted these, and without even an ounce of hesitation, he begins a high-depth clairvoyance search square onto the explosives. The intensity of the suffering involved in this is going to actually create a massive backlash into his mind, and Parsons just does not give one single solitary fuck. Yet again, it seems, it's time for this thing he does where he leaps headfirst into suffering and pain in an obsession over knowledge.

    He plants two fingers on each temple and beams pure red-tinted psionic clairvoyance energy square into one of the explosives, trying to conjure up an image or a fingerprint of whoever is responsible for planting them. The density of ambient psychic suffering slams back into his mind with enough visible wounding that it's actually possible to see pained sparks flying off of the back of his head, and a sort of "fire" lit on his scalp. He is visibly being mentally wounded, and it's quite possible even physiologically wounded. Still, he persists.

    Someone was going to cut him off from the information.

Starlight Bandits has posed:
    There are many reasons why men scared for their life will stop running. A giant woman clutching something sharp is very much one of them. As Priscilla manifests before them, and Kord strictly scolds them from behind, all fight and flight leaves their bodies. They take the floor and sit there, one moving over to put something under Dion's head as a cushion. Otherwise, they're placid.

    Meanwhile, Flamel scrutinizes a bundle of TNT. Focusing past the screams of despair and anger etched on every stones, he peers into its past, and sees... the Starlight Bandits. They've placed these at several points in the mines. But under such intense scrutiny, Flamel sees further back. Yes, they planted these bombs, but they were given to them... the figure that contracted them to do this is cloaked in a hood... but the raspy voice of the bearded man from the rebel council is familiar. He urged the pair, as they took the explosives, to be discrete, and ensure neither Perplex nor the loyalists ever find out the details.

Flamel Parsons (1094) has posed:
    Parsons comes away from this looking strained. His eyes are bloodshot. He looks like he's been through hell. His brain is actively /fizzling/. "YOU." He declares, pointing at the Loyalists with a shaky hand. "YOU didn't get between me and the books. That puts you on the high ground. THEY," He points at the explosives, as if they were standing in for the Rebels. "Did. You will be absolutely /safe/ until we figure out how much self-sabotaging /chaff/ the Rebels are willing to ditch to not get the New Council taken down by HIM," He gestures to Count Kord, who oozes a Dracula atmosphere that's likely to make them imagine heads on pikes. "And HER." And he points to Priscilla, whose reputation precedes her.

    He walks back into the main meeting area, and picks up Dion. Not with his hands, or at least not the physical ones, with a big telekinetic grasp, a large red hand. "WAKE UP." He declares, sort of shaking Dion and giving him an astral jab. "You have helped TREMENDOUSLY. GOOD. Depending on how this goes, either the First of the Concord," He jabs a thumb to Priscilla. "Is going to put /you/ in power in Chapter, or you're going to be exiled offworld to do something else incredibly useful to the Concord, maybe with a fancy title." Is this... Is this Parsons being thankful? Uh, is this what gratitude is? Apparently when he's in this state. "The rebel. Sounds like he's gargling gravel. Looks from brow to beard like he's never seen a razor in his life. You know people. TELL ME HIS NAME."

Count Kord has posed:
    Kord stands and watches them patiently. It appears that they are not here for a fight and they are more than willing to wait. The Count doesn't seem disappointed, he just nods approvingly when they settle themselves down and they wait for Flamel to continue his... rather aggressive psychic reading. There's a flicker of concern in the way Kord's eyes lid, because the furious psychic is not being subtle over there. When the psychic returns, the Dracula-alike seems ever-so-slightly startled by the shift from friendly to manic aggression. Yet he does nothing to stop Flamel.

    "I would listen to him," Kord asides, "He may pop your head like a ripe berry in this state." He doesn't actually know that, but he's seen what angry psychics can do and being the backup for the righteous intimidation factor.

    "... never seen him this angry," Kord remarks aloud, lazily shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Priscilla has posed:
    What Priscilla had hoped would be sufficient, is. What she sees out of Parsons is instead very far from what she had expected. Though they had not worked together for long, she had met the man on multiple occasions, and never once had she seen anything but bubbling, often completely inappropriate good cheer from him. Anger coming from Flamel Parsons is just way outside the scope of what her relatively shallow understanding of his personal profile. It catches her at a little bit of a loss.

    Still, when he explains the situation, there's no black and white about it. A certain, ambitiously idiotic bearded man thought he could turn around and take what is rightfully owed from her. He believed it appropriate to renege on a contract Priscilla had been /more/ than gracious with, and feasible that he could try to make a mockery out of both the Concord, and herself, in the process. Were this Lordran, glowing blue cops would be banging his door down right at Parson speaks.

    The only way she shows her particular brand of /displeasure/ is a circular motion that happens a little too quick to see, but winds up with the scythe supporting its own weight via its blade buried in the solid rock, so that she can move forward to Dion. "Thou hast mine apologies for this lack of transparency, but as it wouldst so be, I /very much dislike/ being thought of as one who can be tricked and disrespected without consequence. I very much recommendeth answering such a question. As it were, we had cometh here planning to be rid of thee, so taketh advantage of thine sole and fortunate opportunity to direct mineself towards the true villain."

Starlight Bandits has posed:
    This is a weird night for the loyalists. Some of them saw Flamel in action before, and he always seem a jovial eccentric. Seeing him out-and-out manhandling (mindhandling?) their leader and screaming has a lot of them on edge. Dion startles awake and wriggles as he finds himself squeezed by invisible hands. "The bearded man?" he croaks, shaking his head to clear it of what Flamel did. The offer he is made is... tempting. And the outcome of not answering too frightful. "Forester Houl. He was a pig farmer before the revolution, managed to snap up a few extra acres and become a minor landlord. Most of the meagre funding they used to rise up probably came from him. He hides behind Perplex because he's old and somewhat resented for being akin to us."

    As Priscilla comes over to listen and threaten, those sitting down are left attended only by Kord. One of them seems to think that one man is enough to slip by. "DEATH TO TYRANTS!" he bellows, unaware of the blatant hypocrisy of what he says and what his goal is. He stands and rushes at Priscilla's back, drawing a knife!

Count Kord has posed:
    There's no sound to announce what happens next. The man that charges Priscilla would have almost no warning but the almost effortless turn of Kord's head and lift of one of his hands. As soon as Kord makes the motion, as soon as the blade tastes the air, the dark around the man becomes hostile to him. Kord does not even think about holding back.

    Blades of solid darkness stab out from all angles, coming from the criss-crossing shadows cast by all the lanterns used to light the chamber. The blades lance out from several angles in front of the man like a storm of invisible spearman guarding their queen. The charging Loyalist has about a split-second to think to stop his path forward before he becomes a pin cushion suspended in the air by billowing darkness. His death or dismemberment is irrelevant to Kord, as he has no reason to care about their lives now.

    "She would only kill you faster than I," he says, as he does that, sounding exhausted because he would've prefered not having to do this. "Such a waste."

    Kord only had to lift his hand to do this. He was not kidding about what he said earlier.

Flamel Parsons (1094) has posed:
    The spikes. The death. Parsons remains ominously silent, eyes wide and just as red as the inevitable display coming up now. Parsons doesn't kill, not directly at least. Psychonauts know the psychological damage that comes of an action like that. He lets it go on just behind him, in view of Dion, showing off what incredibly violent displays his allies are capable of. "'Forester Houl'. Good. Now, if Perplex doesn't ditch him like the liability he is, then you'll be the last person around with anything resembling leadership qualities who put effort into helping the Concord. And that's a GOOD position for you. You hold on to that position TIGHTLY." There's that murder insinuation. Well, Parsons would mostly just aggressively -- VERY aggressively -- reformat Houl of all his dysfunctions, but he also would be okay with watching him get stabbed by Priscilla.

    Parsons knows everything he needs to figure this out. And all of a sudden, the cloak's hood flips back over his head, he puts on a new pair of sunglasses, and brightly says, "Thanks!" In a single moment, his whole posture goes back to pure positivity. "You've been a huge help! Depending on how this next part goes, I may be able to fulfill my promise to you from before. Some politics happened and I think the Concord was going to kill you, but you've been a huge help, so maybe that changes either way." So they're not going to kill him? Well, no, Parsons isn't going to actually SAY that. Priscilla will do it if she feels like it. "Oh, and don't let Perplex or the New Council in on this situation. You know what I've always wanted to be, more than a double-agent?" He makes a broad, eager gesture. "A triple agent!"

    He continues his telekinetic grip. He'll keep it while they head on out, if there's no further issues. He's hoping Kord and Priscilla have calmed those loyalists down. He wants to use them to get close to the rebels. But maybe Dion will suffice, if things get too bad.

Priscilla has posed:
    'Death to tyrants'. Isn't that a laugh. Priscilla has something quarter-formed regarding whether the people that man now fights against might have said the same thing earlier this year. In the end, there's no need to finish the thought. She doesn't even have to turn around.

    "I certainly supposeth that I hath picked mine subordinates well. Perhaps too well. This is almost tiresome." she says, when the quiet hits again, nearly bored for how good at their jobs Kord and Parsons are. "If thou believeth this Houl is the one responsible for funding such a rebellion in the first place, there is much to inquire of him, and much to learn of his association with Sir Perplex. Thus, of such matters, I believeth it best thou keep quiet; not that I wouldst expecteth any sudden desire of thine to parley with the rebels."

    She represses the urge to rub her forehead at Parsons' sudden enthusiasm for being a triple agent. "So long as thou becometh not confused as to thine eventual purpose, I shalt continue to trust thee." Finally, she goes back over to her scythe, wrenching it from the ground, and stepping over the body on her way out, absorbing that fleeting wisp of white fire. "For those of thee with limbs still attached, return to thine business, and we shalt hath found nothing here, and seen nothing of interest save these explosives. Consider thineselves fortunate that thine petty objections art the lesser offense, in this matter."

    Then provided nobody is stupid enough to try and stop her, she starts cutting the bombs out by their fuses, proceeding in an orderly fashion to each of them she had passed by, and gathering them up by their slashed wicks, tying them into a trailing bundle. Best to have those out of the way at the earliest available opportunity.

Starlight Bandits has posed:
    The loyalists wince and cry out as their man is cut down by the shadows themselves. If any of them had any intention of running, they've been dashed as badly as their comrade, who gasps a little as he bleeds out before slumping.

    The loyalists leave with the Concord, one of them carrying the bloody body with them. None are happy about this, but Flamel has Dion, and none want to leave him alone with them. Say what you will about this lot, but they are loyal to their own. More than what can be said of the rebels. "If your offers are genuine, then I will remain in touch," Dion reassures the group. He seems genuine, and any mental probing by the Psychonaut can back that up.

    On their way out, the explosives are cut down, leaving them mostly safe. But the issue remains. These are only a few of the many the Bandits were given in Flamels vision. Others are no doubt set up all over the place, and the only ones who know where they all are... well, it's the Bandits themselves. And anyone with experience with them will tell you that trying to cut a deal with them is only a fast track to headaches.