The Cardkeeper of Glantri

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 1, 2020 2:21:53 GMT 10

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Post by Laurnath on Dec 1, 2020 2:21:53 GMT 10

The Tower
On the day Tatienne Delacroix was born, her grandmother pulled a card in her honor.
It was the Tower.

In a city where gods have no power. Where magic reigns and where mysticism bridges the world between.

The card was turned, it was explained, it was cajoled into any term but negative. The family warred, the family brooded. All the while, the family ignored the new child.

She spoke, no one listened.
She danced, no one watched.
She killed, no one noticed.

Tatienne Delacroix does not have magic.

Tatienne Delacroix is a bad omen.

Tatienne Delacroix was born under The Tower.

Last Edit: Dec 1, 2020 2:59:15 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 1, 2020 2:40:46 GMT 10

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Dec 1, 2020 2:40:46 GMT 10

The Magician
On the day Tatienne met her first true friend, she had pulled her own card from an inherited deck. It is bad luck to pull the cards of others, it is bad luck to own the deck of the dead.

Tatienne is already bad luck. Therefore when death comes to call, the cards fall to Tatienne. She is eighteen. She has Forty Eight decks. She touches each of them gently with her clean hands as she prepares for her test. She is slender, skinny, a whippet of a girl. It is bad to be without magic. It is worse to be bad luck.

After pulling the card, she closes her eyes and whispers a quiet thanks. Kissing the card and returning it to her belt pouch, her carry-deck a gilt edged beauty. Worth more than her own life.

Or at least until that day it is. For that day is when she becomes one with the heart. When she begins to dance in all ways.

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2020 6:34:25 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 1, 2020 2:58:50 GMT 10

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Post by Laurnath on Dec 1, 2020 2:58:50 GMT 10

The King of Cups
For a long time Tatienne forgets her family. After all, after she picked up her cards and took them to a better place - nothing from the old world mattered.
New cards still found her, friends of friends, enemies of enemies. Pleased of the cardkeeper, to do this final respect and hold them close.

She thinks of them often, the different decks. Their illustrated lives, languages, the folds and dents. Did they ever cheat the cards, did they ever pull intentioned? Did they cheat their future, their past.

Tatienne is darkness in a pool of light, filmy silken clothes that fall easily. She moves around a chair that could be for any man or woman, dragging her legs along the floor, low - high. Dainty fingers walking along the spaces in between.

It may be breathtaking, it may be loved. Her heart though, is without true fullness.

As the gold rains down on her stage, and she is left revealing all. They cannot see her emptiness, not even in the unwavering smile of straight white teeth.

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2020 6:34:42 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 2, 2020 4:12:35 GMT 10

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Post by Laurnath on Dec 2, 2020 4:12:35 GMT 10

A faded excerpt from a defunct newspaper called The Glantri Editional

The Silken Moon
Glantri's own fully skin-approved, fully exposed cabaret.

Early show: The Giggle Girls & Cottony Claudia
Mid Eve: Bette Noir and Darkly Dancers

Late Show:
Tatienne of the Night Sky

Along with the message is a silhouette of a voluptuous woman on a chair in front of a starry sky and a crescent moon.

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 2, 2020 4:19:21 GMT 10

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Post by Laurnath on Dec 2, 2020 4:19:21 GMT 10

The Hanged Man
The first time Tatienne experienced the strong arm of the law, she had decided that her ambivalence was a worn thing - like a cloak one wore even though it no longer kept one warm.

The Silken Moon was the world of traveled men and women. Expensive to enter, expensive to drink at and the patronage of dancers and companions even more so.

In other worlds, divinity is something beautiful and revered. It was something she had never seen up close until she was running her leg along the shoulder of a fit young patron. They did something that filled her with light and joy, a spell that was like sunlight in her empty heart. It was the first time she had felt true emotion.

The next day, she went looking for them. Something one should never do for a patron.

She found them. They were no longer.
The Silken Moon was given an award for reporting heretical behaviour.

Tatienne watched. Tatienne Delacroix felt tears. The first.

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2020 6:35:03 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 2, 2020 4:25:04 GMT 10

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Dec 2, 2020 4:25:04 GMT 10

The Hermit
For many long years, Tatienne went through the motions. Performing. Training.

Flexing muscles, snapping nails as she stood on calloused and bloodied toes. Dropping to bruised knees, over and over as she returned to form.
Teaching her craft to new recruits, expending the pent up energy of the mind whirring nature of loss and confusion.

Living still in service to those with arcana, the deep bows, the hand over heart - inherent apologies, living for her tenuous position in the society of her birth.

Still, cards kept coming. Decks kept appearing. Tatienne reveres the history, the life, the love, the gift.

Though she is not sure that cards truly have an inherent reflection on life, she is compelled to pull a card. Compelled to mull it over, to apply it to the chaos of the world. To find why.. why The Tower meant that she was worthy of nil.

Secretly, in her heart.. she wishes for the bright glow of goodness once more. That forbidden warmth and safety from the hanged heretic.

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2020 6:35:17 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 5, 2020 10:54:46 GMT 10

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Post by Laurnath on Dec 5, 2020 10:54:46 GMT 10

Tale of the Cardkeeper: I

When Tatienne finally made it out of the Silken Moon in the early hours of the morning, wrapped in layers and layers of warm and thick soft clothing to soothe her aching bones - the last thing she truly wanted was on the doorstep of her basement apartment.

Or rather gathered around the delicate iron railing, crying and holding candles and some items. A quick glance of her tired liquid brown eyes told her that this was a family, and this family was deeply grieving for someone that was special to them in a way she could understand. After all this is not an irregular occurrence.

At the sight of her, the wailing becomes louder - but more relieved. In her gold and black hooded gown, she bows deeply to them - ignoring the pain in her back from performing a complex routine in the earlier evening, dressed only in shined paints that created a constellation on her dark skin.

"Please, be at ease. I apologise for my lateness, come down." She says in her thick Glantrian accent, tinged with that harsh Traladaran from her trainer.

Unlocking the reinforced wood and steel door with a large ornate key, she ushers them into one large room. A stone cellar that used to be used to store the kegs of the brewery that once was above. Now the heavy wooden planked shelving is stacked with packs and boxes and silk wrapped parcels of decks. Fortuna, hazards, premonitions, love, death, magic, divinity. Some are in common, some in languages that no longer exist in the living world. Each have a gently placed label with the name of the owner of the deck and the date of their life and death.

Seemingly, as she lights the room by hand - first from candle, to lamps - the family becomes quiet and awed by the sight of so many of the item they carry with them to lay to rest. This room, like the cemetery for those who have the gift, who use the cards for life, for death, for fame and for fortune.

"Please do not read out loud the names of the dead. Please do not ever touch the cards that are not yours, it is known to cause death to come for you." she says neatly, absently - a spiel, a sentence she has said hundreds of times.

They nod, and stay close to the door. Though one, younger child asks what is behind the curtained part of the basement. A thick black velvet curtain, aged with dust and regular use.
"It is nothing important. Please, let us talk about your loss." She feels apologetic as she is almost dismissive, but she has little to no time for children. Precocious and odd, she wishes they were not brought into her space.

A stern, hard faced and calloused working woman steps forward. Offering a wrapped bundle, rectangular, about the size of a palm. "My mothers." she says simply, the grief is etched into her face as honestly as the hard lines of a life of genuine work in the day is.

"Please, sit." Tatienne says, motioning to the only furniture in the room. A singular square table and two chairs, set across from one another. Rough hewn, simply made - smoothed with age and much wear. "You understand I do not have the gift. I cannot read for you. I cannot commune with your Mother, that would be heretical - even if I could." setting expectations early, concerned at the large group. Glad for the light wooden bat strapped to her leg.

"No, I understand. You have helped my cousin. I want... I just want to know her cards one last time." The woman replies, and as Tatienne produces paper and an inked pen - she neatly inscribes the woman's dead mother onto the white space. Respectfully, the family stay quiet. Heads bowed. A slight shock as the dancer realises that they are carrying the ashes, the urn of the deceased with them. A steadying breath and she unwraps the parcel.

Immediately the daughter across from her puts her hands down off the table, as far from the cards as possible. Smart woman, do not touch the deck of the dead - it is known.

Tatienne shuffles the deck, ignoring the gasps and concern from the room. Letting her elegantly manicured fingers feel for the softness in the card, the bends and dips in the spaces. Eyes closed, still lined darkly with cosmetics and accented with bright silver stars. She separates out the regularly pulled cards and the ones that are rarely touched. Setting aside the cold deck and spreading out the warm cards. The life lines that the mother was attached to, whether intentioned or not.

"This deck is old, the colours are muted and mostly using natural pigment. Possibly created by the Darine of Karameikos or ancient Traladaran, as the red is particularly strong - even in this climate. These nine cards were her lifelines, she had a fondness for these. They feel of her time and care." Tatienne explains gently, giving them time to move forward hesitantly and examine the spread. "I do not know of her gift or intention, I see neither good - nor bad. I see a skilled woman with good taste and careful hands."

They seem pleased by this notion. Of course, as is expected - respectfully, they make a donation to Tatienne for her time. As always, she does not look in the bag - she does not count it, not in front of them and not after.

She bids them farewell, gently, soothingly. Locks the door. Places the deck on the shelf with it's death card and then tips the gold into a lockbox, set into the wall behind a stack of decks. She puts out all the lights, except her carried candle. Rechecking the windows and door.

Finally, Tatienne pulls the curtain across and enters the small space of her apartment that serves for the living. A narrow cot, a small bath which she begins running the water and sets a magical heated stone in the bottom, a nightstand and a shelf of non perishable foods. Shedding her layers, and exposing her glittery silver and gold painted constellation on her body - she assesses herself in the mirror, checking her muscle tone and the growing slackness of her face skin. Prodding tiny lines near her eyes with a morose sigh.

Going to work with a pumice stone, sluicing off the expensive paint and a layer of her soft cocoa skin.

Last Edit: Dec 5, 2020 10:58:40 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 8, 2020 18:19:36 GMT 10

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Post by Laurnath on Dec 8, 2020 18:19:36 GMT 10

Tale of the Cardkeeper: II

On a rare night off, Tatienne strolls around her minute apartment. Somewhat pacing, somewhat dodging the furniture and a little lost in a way - she just pauses and begins stretching her muscles, trying to untense the unease that builds. Reaching for the taps on the bath, she presses the back of her hand against the brick wall - which serves as a chimney for the space in the two levels below. Realising it's warm, she puts a hand over her heart as she dresses in dark and dusty clothes and wraps her hair up in a scarf. Heavy steel capped boots and fireproof gloves, as she douses all her candles and all but runs out the door.

Not far really, through an alleyway and then - using her key - into the smaller side door of what looks to be a massive warehouse with triple doors. Filled with long wooden boxes and wrapped packages, Tatienne dodges around them with a few curious glances and then heads down the ramp system that has been built into the old cobble and brick building that houses her own apartment. Really, she is strolling down into the core of the apple that is Glantri City. The long spires in the center also have the chimneys from this building snaking up their edges. You'd know them if you looked for the obvious ancient runes carved into their stones that allegedly - though Tatienne cannot read them - are the reason that the world cannot smell the result of this cavern of last rites.

As she reaches the main chamber, she scoots to a stop and bows deeply at the sight of the huge brick room. Cathedral height, with walls washed white with lime and other treated alchemy, though the ceiling as black as liquid night from all the smoke. In the far side an oven the height of two men and as wide as ten, with metal racks all the way across. Several dividing segments crossways with brick are built to keep the temperatures as high as possible, something she learned as a small child.

"Tatienne! Girl, it is your night off. What are you doing down here?" A trilling voice that manages to be both welcoming and genuinely deafening. Emerging from behind a stack of coffins, another darkly dressed woman in similar clothing. The lady of the voice is short and a bit on the stout side. Though from experience of working beside Beatrice, she understood that there were incredibly strong muscles under the layer of tea cakes and funerial casseroles. She waits until she hears a laugh from her.

Tatienne stands from her bow is enveloped by the woman in a brief hug, their impact sending up a cloud of bone dust. The stuff that coats the entire facility and all the workers within. The latter of which, filter in to follow the sound of Beatrice and her incredible soprano greeting. Soon they are surrounded by people in the same uniform of black and bone dust.

Husbands, wives, teenage children. New faces, old faces. There are more clouds of dust as she re-familiarises herself with the Rites Family. Beatrice Rites being the fifteenth generation Crematory Conductress and the mother of the majority of the workers, including adopting Tatienne when she was five. Talk about how tall she is now, about how that good for nothing club is dangerous. Natter about the current deaths and problems with new fangled arcane drugs. It flows over Tatienne like the warm bath she almost took instead of coming downstairs.

Glancing off to the left, she noted the gleaming steel doors of the storage, boil room, assemblage and presentation areas. All is as it always has been, in the family business of life... and of death. She rests her chin on Beatrice's long, straight black dusty hair. "So, what needs doing Ma'am?"
Beatrice's husband gives an approving nod from shoveling more coal into the crematoria, his own greeting, a rare one that came with a smile. Solid gold in this world.

Last Edit: Dec 8, 2020 18:24:31 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Dec 9, 2020 6:47:06 GMT 10 Toroi likes this

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Post by Laurnath on Dec 9, 2020 6:47:06 GMT 10

Strength
For a time Tatienne balances her time in the Crematoria, preparing bodies, meeting with grieving relatives - holding hands, dead or alive.

It has never bothered Tatienne that her life often goes from empty to overfull, like the cups.

For someone with the curse she carries, Tatienne is simply happy to have worth. To be present, to not be a burden. Kindnesses are a curiosity, expressions of affection are simply accepted calmly.

Tatienne is solid, dependable. Except that she feels the ravages of age. She feels slower on her feet when she pirouettes, she feels the strain of her muscles when she holds poses. The sweat that gathers in the hidden line of her hair is unwelcome, infuriating.

Her trainer misses nothing.
Tatienne knows, her days are numbered like the cards. There is another brilliant dancer waiting in the wings, younger, prettier and probably capable of more.

Tatienne endures.

Last Edit: Dec 9, 2020 6:47:50 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Jan 4, 2021 2:12:45 GMT 10 Toroi likes this

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Jan 4, 2021 2:12:45 GMT 10

The Star

The Silken Moon, half to midnight. The walls are lined with nooks that have privacy curtains, booths for business, booths for pleasure. From back stage, Tatienne shuffles her cards carefully. Standing in the preparation area, four other dancers gently paint over her tattoos with silver pigment - ensuring that all her silver, black and gold tattoos are an even and matching tone. They have become incredibly adept at it, as it is almost a nightly requirement.

Returning her cards to the metal box that is strapped to her leg, her only 'stitch' of clothing.

"Are you ready, Sad Girl?" her trainer, Phillippe asks jokingly as he strolls in - smoking a cigarette in a long elegant holder. He is barely wearing leather pants and a shoulder wrap that holds up a waterfall of interlocking chains that show off his lean and athletic physique. His long ivory hair tipped with literal silver spikes that merrily tinkle as he tosses his head in response to the appreciative glances.

"Really need you on your toes tonight, got some heavy hitters in - you know?" and he blows smoke all over her.

Tatienne holds her breath a moment and then makes direct eye contact. Her molten chocolate brown eyes meeting the stark, icy merciless blue of Phillippe's.

"I am always on my toes." is her husky reply, in the corner of her eyes a movement. She knows he is making a mockery of the trainer. It makes her feel better, bolder, this peacock will not steal her calm.

She walks over to a dresser and applies the lines of glittery diamonds that create the illusion of tears on her dark cheeks. Her lids are lined with bright silver and the darkest velvety black, creating more of an upturn than her natural eyes can compete with. Lips wet with a mixture of alchemical waxes and fae dust, with deep purple pigments. Then, carefully Tatienne layers softly sheer glittering scarves of many colours across her body and neck. The result is a cloud of colour with the illusion of coverage.

Out on stage, she can hear the thumping beat of high heels and drums. The piano vibrating the walls, the band playing fast and free and whirling. Chairs scraping, picked up and slammed down. Canes and hats whirling. The expected experience of a nightclub dancer, smile, sweat, show.

The number ends to rapturous applause, and she pulls on her black block toed slippers. The ribbons crossing over and ending in big audacious bows that gently trail a little.

Things get hushed as candles are extinguished and the roof is opened to allow the moon to touch the mirrors that reflect onto the stage. The band put down their instruments, but gather to prepare their voices. The piano hits deep, sombre notes as she raises her head and begins to walk out.

A skeletal finger catches on her scarves, and she turns slightly. She smiles at Death. They're going to dance.
As she hits her mark, one finger crooked backwards - touching Death. She knows all they can see is her. All they can hear is "All We Do".

Death is also dressed beautifully, for a skeletal being with a crown of bone. Rows and rows of golden necklaces, bracelets, scarves.

Tatienne hears the intake of breath as she reaches her central position. A white chair reflects the moonlight onto her painted skin. Deliberately, she does not make eye contact with any of them. No, her eyes are for her partner. Unseen. Undetected. Undeterred.

"All we do is hide away

All we do is, all we do is hide away

All we do is chase the day

All we do is, all we do is chase the day"

Rising with all her body strength, she draws up on to her toes. Lifting her left leg as she leans down in a deep bow to her partner, the gold painted bottoms of her shoes winking in the light. A gently obscured view of her naked body among the scarves. The deep piano notes adding to her deeply emotional expression as she gazes upwards at /him/. They cannot see, but he traces her lip with his white fingertip. Then she unclasps a scarf and hooks it around his hand, twirling on her singular toe as he unwraps one layer of her. The lilac curls that cover her modestly at the top are flung into the air in a joyous motion of colour and an explosion of fae dust.

"All we do is lie and wait

All we do is, all we do is lie and wait

All we do is feel the fade

All we do is, all we do is feel the fade"

Planting both her feet back on the floor, she patters towards him as he drops the scarf and circles the chair. He had what he wanted, would he want more layers? This is their dance. Will he, won't he. Will she, won't she? As she extends her strong legs outwards and walks en pointe, running her darkly painted nails over the chair as if it were the back of a lover. Caressing them, walking them, digging in - before she steps over the entire chair and turns it - taking a seat and drawing away one of her scarves herself. Her chin tilted up, defiantly - the diamond tears catching the light and her quivering lip.

"I've been upside down

I don't wanna be the right way round

Can't find paradise on the ground

I've been upside down

I don't wanna be the right way round

Can't find paradise on the ground"

He returns, cupping her chin. They sway to the music, forward, back. He draws her out of the chair, reaching, caressing. She dances to him, twirling, whirling - a slow sinuous movement. Something in it is a little bit mocking, it is a dark hope. Death catches her and unclasps another glittering scarf, and pushes her away. Sending her pirouetting away - exposed further. The transparency lighting up her painted body further, glowing as she passes through the moonlit central stage. She reaches for the chair as she passes, but barely misses. Stubborn sadness envelopes her as she prowls the dark end of the stage.

"All we do is hide away

All we do is, all we do is hide away

All we do is chase the day

All we do is, all we do is chase the day"

Death mocks her, standing in a pile of scarves. He coyly curls a finger at her. She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself, sliding to the floor and then rolling upwards. Resting on her upper back, her legs scissoring outwards and upwards, hands on her chin. Resting in that awkward, broken position. He stalks towards her and pulls on her legs. Rolling back to her feet, she falls into the splits and refuses to move. He tugs at her clasps and drags another scarf away - throwing it into the air. For all the world, it looks like magic. He is only there for her. Only she can see Death.

"All we do is play it safe

All we do is live inside a cage

All we do is play it safe

All we do, all we do"

Dressed now, only in a single layer of filmy gauze, she embraces him. They dance across the space, his hand on her back, her arms around herself. Swaying on the spot. He walks, then turns, regretful with his hands out. Tatienne runs at him, lifted into the air - she is flying. Eyes closed as he gently spins her rigid, muscular body in the soft light. The gasps, of this illusion, this 'magic'. The gentle chorus of the singers remind her that she cannot stay like this forever.

"All we do is hide away

All we do is, all we do is hide away

All we do is chase the day

All we do is, all we do is chase the day"

He sets her down, and she does so on one foot. Spinning and catching him in the chest provocatively. Now her eyes are deep and fiery. There is one scarf between them. He pushes her off, causing her to pirouette away. They stalk around the chair now, she dances over it. Standing on the flat and raising her arms in triumph, one leg straight back. He does not come for her. She gazes up at the moon, drinking it in. Letting the moment sit for a moment before she unclasps the scarf herself and lets it drift to the floor. She sits heavily, naked on the white chair. Staring at the moon, the sparkling tears mixing with what could be her own.

"All I did was fail today

All I wanna be is whites in waves

All I did was fail today

All we do, all we do"

She does not hear the applause. But she does see Death, he bows to her - rolling his hand elegantly. For they will. Always dance.

Last Edit: Jan 4, 2021 2:32:09 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Jan 23, 2021 10:09:56 GMT 10

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Jan 23, 2021 10:09:56 GMT 10

The Ace of Swords

In the light of day, The Silken Moon is less beautiful than in her glittering evening finery. The shafts of sunlight reveal swaths of cobwebs and thick layers of dust over the ornate cornices. The stage is pocked and dented with marks from chairs, heels, bodies and props.

Still Tatienne finds a familiar smooth patch and patters across it en-pointe on her plain black training shoes. The scuffed toes are showing the wooden block at the edges, the ribbons trailing a zigzag of smooth thread that snakes behind her as she repeats the process over and over. Walk to start, dance across. Attempting to do so effortlessly, sighing at her arms and muttering quietly. "From below, pretty hands. Not claws, not claws. Not you, you're fine. Me, not claws."

The plain grey bodysuit she wears is already marred with perspiration that pools in the curves of her admittedly statuesque frame, tiny beads gathering in a sheen on her dark skin and repelled by her layer of shimmery body coating of coconut oils and healing salves. Flinging off as she stalks, yet again back to starting position with a quiet frustration. Her blocked shoes masking the sound of a side door opening and closing beyond the curtains.

In the corner of her eye though, she can see Death has cocked his head to one side. He is mimicking her, wearing ballet slippers and an old leotard from a previous performance. The mocking crown ever present on his head. He points at her thigh, where a leather harness for a weapon has been modified to hold the metal box which houses The Deck.

Assuming he means to pull a card, she opens it and shuffles quickly - trying to get it over with so she can practice. The card she pulls, hardly matters as a shadow falls over her. Automatically, Tatienne puts the deck away before looking up. The latch just clicking shut on the protective case as she is knocked off her feet by a giant fist to the lower half of her jaw. Literally, flying off her feet and tumbling towards stage left.

Her training of many sorts kicks in as she flies back and she goes limp.
"Fall with grace, fall with grace." she mutters in her thick, husky accent.
"What was that, bitch?" The hulking figure demands, seeking her out and stepping into the light.

A scarred bruisers face, intentionally unhealed and unmanaged. Mangled ears from physical combat, dark brown hair and pale skin, a black eye under the blues. Tatienne tries to remember everything as he comes at her again. Tucking and pushing forward, rolling between his legs and behind. Kneeing him in the kidneys. It does little to stop his physicality as he turns and knocks her aside with an elbow like a granite boulder. Hysterically, she considers that he will at least be trackable due to all the healing salve and fae dust he was transferring onto himself.

As the assailant pins her by the neck up against the backboard of the stage, Tatienne finally slants a glance to Death. What the hells does he even want in the middle of all this?
"Look at me." The brute demands, unreasonably angry by her lack of communication and fear.
"That's a good idea, but I can't get loose. I'm a bit busy here." She finally huffs through her strangled throat as her crowned friend stamps up and down and points at the crossed swords on the wall plaques. Weapons lining the wall from famed patrons.
"They said you were mad, talk to air. Better I put you down now." is his laughing reply as he crowds in on her, both hands on her neck.

Taking one last inhale through her nose, Tatienne slumps and lets herself go limp - surprising her combatant greatly. As he falters and loosens his grip on her and she puts her knee into the most important part of his anatomy, viciously hard and with all of her defined leg muscles. A reprieve enough to slip out of his way, grabbing the swords and importantly; snark at Death, "Some help you are."

Putting both blades into the gasping attacker, repeatedly from the back and ducking another brutal punch - she stands fully on her toes and knocks him down with the pommels of the swords into his ugly forehead. Standing above him like a bloodied, and avenging angel. Tatienne delivers the killing blow from above and then crosses the swords across her chest defensively - startled by applause.

In the darkened floor area, her trainer claps slowly. Not mockingly, but not appreciatively either. His face is, shadowed and ugly to her. He only looks at Tatienne and the body, he does not turn to acknowledge Death - as always, he is just for her. Relief and disappointment in equal measure, every time. Death moves to her side, sensing her mood.

"I knew you had it in you, Sad Girl. This changes everything." Phillipe says, with all the hunger and exposed teeth of a shark.

Death grasps his own bony forearm and then with the other hand gives the slender and dangerous dandy the middle finger with great prejudice.

Last Edit: Jan 23, 2021 10:10:57 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Feb 11, 2021 9:52:55 GMT 10

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Feb 11, 2021 9:52:55 GMT 10

Tatienne sat. The boneless drop of her body was so heavy that she saw the ripples in the blood on the stage. Watching it course across the boards and take the path of least resistance, between the cracks. She knew she had to let go of the swords at some point, but her hands had given up all intentions of moving.

Death stands silently in first position, stage left. The hollow sockets of his skull are deep with untold thoughts and feelings - but his aura is strong, fed by her murderous achievement. Fed by their teamwork.

Aware, dimly that the room was becoming more full. Every time the door opened and closed, it sent a shaft of light across the white opaque surface of the dead mans eyes. Giving them the appearance of life, briefly and with it a fear that she would have to do it again. Not the fear of killing, but the fear of coming so close to her own demise. After all, survival of the fittest. Isn't it?

"Isn't it?"

"Isn't it what?"

Surprised, Tatienne realised that not only had she spoken out loud - but a large robed figure stood in front of her with a large wooden case. The woman had a vaguely familiar Glantrian accent and a very gentle voice. It was lucky that she had spoken so clearly, as she wore the headscarf and almost completely opaque face veil of a Devotee of Death. Curiously, she also happened to have an eye patch.

"I see you have noticed my attire. That is a good sign you are not in shock. I am Ada." and with that, the shrouded figure crouches and emerges with a large pair of clamped scissors, a needle and a jewelry box. "Philippe is in a particular mood. What I do next is going to be discomforting, I suggest that you choose your battles." The voice is low, too low for anyone else to hear and a flicker in that one unobscured eye is something dark and unreadable. Something mutinous.

"I am so tangled that struggling now would just hang me, anyway." Tatienne replies eventually, trying for the same even and unwavering tone. Attempting polite eye contact with the employed Ada.

"I am glad you agree. Do not stab me." is the incredibly hypocritical sentence that comes as Ada clamps and pierces Tatienne's nose with extreme precision. Pushing past the flinch to stick in a piece of jewelry and then attach the backing without any disgust at literally introducing herself to the inside of a strangers nose.

The flinch came, not due to the pain. But due to Death deciding that it would be an opportune time to stand on his head by removing his leg and foot bones and using them to prop up his crown. Watching them from an entirely upside down position with a wide open and manic grin. An attempt a levity? Or just high on the life essence from the rapidly cooling dead body.

Using her fluent Cant, she motions to him "Fuck off." her hands moving, she thought out of the field of view.

Ada tsks quietly, once she finishes. "Wasn't bad enough to warrant that." but her words are mild, as if she is fully aware that Tatienne did not mean her at all. "It suits you." Then holds up a cracked hand mirror. Showing her the sum of the work.

There in her petite, upturned nose is a black adamantine spade. ♠

Setting her jaw and feeling the unwelcome click of her teeth, she just nods. There is naught left to do but nod.
Unwittingly, unintentionally - she has become an assassin and one that wears it on her face. Something she promised she would never do.

"Good work Ada, that's just right. Sets off her appearance perfectly. Ensure someone briefs her on the next task, strip this body, find out where his life force was transferred to - and see if he was resurrected and whether or not he can be kidnapped again." The slender dandy, her dance trainer and the assumed manager of the club rattles off tasks as those around him take notes. Ada simply nods and begins stripping the dead husk of belongings. "Look sharp, people. Clean and turn over for opening, stock checks and target lists. Go. go. go." with his rhythmic clapping.

And they scurry. They follow a routine that she had never learned before now. A process that had never been intended for her. Reaching down, she finally lets go of at least one of the swords. Unsnaps the deck box and reaches in to the bottom - closing her fingers around chunks of bone and hair. A quiet apology for this failure and breech of trust.

The body is slowly dragged out of view. Someone mops.

Death sits beside her, focused on the deck box. Aware, interested and lured by the contents at the bottom.

Sometimes the fittest don't survive.

Last Edit: Feb 11, 2021 10:24:42 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Feb 11, 2021 10:49:35 GMT 10

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Feb 11, 2021 10:49:35 GMT 10

Even though she knew she had to receive a 'task'. Tatienne knew she needed to eat her poison first.
Without asking for permission and with no intention of asking for forgiveness, she took the swords and hooked them into her belt after strapping it on. Normally she would throw on a full robe with hood. This time, just a belt, the swords, and her boots. The sweat, blood and dust stained black bodysuit seemed the least of her worries now. The deck box strapped on her leg seemed so much less obvious in this crazy state of dress.

It felt hazy as she walked from The Silken Moon to The Crematoria.

Word traveled fast, she could already see that too many people had walked the ramp to the vaults and the fires. There was always a quick response when someone killed, when someone could be killed. A family that converges on the hearth of the home. The hearth that disposes of bodies and gives them their final end. The home that only takes in the homeless.

Sensing her dark mood, Death skips in and out of her periphery - hopping up on crates and running along the railings. The click clack of his clawed boney feet was the only sound making it through to her. Rehearsing every possible option that could be an outcome, trying to assure herself that she could say it right - until she finally reached the large double doors.

What she didn't expect when she got there was just how many of them showed up. What she didn't expect was Yarik to be front and center. Beatrice stands far back, in a doorway. There is no welcome, only suspicion and something else... something that doesn't make sense.

She lifts her hands and beings to Cant to Yarik, 'Hello sir.'

He waves it off and speaks, with the thickened sounds of his lifetime of deafness. "We will talk properly today."

Beatrice stiffens, the sound of Yarik's rarely used voice is one never used unless it is urgent or for someone who cannot Cant.
All of them had learned from the youngest age to talk with hands, to talk well and to always make sure you stand before one another. That was how they respected each other, that was how they respected the plight of Yarik and The Rites.

Somewhere in the corner of her eye, Death makes movements. Tears cloud her over, unable to pay attention to more than this moment.

"What is the punishment?" She asks politely, speaking with as much clarity as she can. Knowing he and others of his family are reading her lips. Her hands struggle to still, trying to speak along with her.

"There is no recourse." Yarik says strongly, his voice is angry - but his eyes are again, unfathomably trying to tell her something else. Like Ada, there's an undercurrent that she simply does not understand. The thought of it spills the tears over her stoic expression. What is he telling her, what is he telling her.

Lowering her head, she raises her eyes slowly and carefully to look at Death. He is pointing to unfamiliar faces. He is pointing to people who stand too close to her family. He is warning her.

They have weapons. They are holding them. The undercurrent drags her, finally.

"You are correct. We have an agreement on this sort of behaviour." And pauses, to meet his gaze fully. Apologetic. "I have to leave forever. It's only appropriate."

It is only for a moment, but she can swear that he twitches out the word "Sorry" with his hands as he fakes out tugging on his beard. Even if not, it is in his eyes. Her father, her mentor, the one who stokes the fires. The one who is cursed to never hear. He is relieved, he is unraveled by her quick agreement and assessment of the situation. Suddenly, he looks so old... so tired.

Jerkily, she bows deeply to them all - resting her hands on the pommels of the swords. Unintentionally, she has created a war between her past and her future. Unintentionally she has put them in danger.

They don't ask for her keys. They do not demand her to sign anything. Anyone else would. Tatienne thinks as she turns on her heel and climbs the spiralling ramp towards the soft afternoon light. They are clearly not familiar with how the family works, except for the way they talk.

Except for the very public bloodline curse of The Rites. All males shall not hear, all females shall not speak.

For the first time in her twenty something years, she considers why someone would do that to a whole family forevermore. What sort of hate or fear drives someone to do what was done to Yarik and his bloodline.

These are the swirling thoughts that make her blithely unaware she is being followed and leads them directly to her apartment.

Last Edit: Feb 11, 2021 10:53:29 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Feb 11, 2021 11:37:55 GMT 10

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Feb 11, 2021 11:37:55 GMT 10

It became apparent when Tatienne was shoved bodily into her apartment by an elbow from behind as she descended the short flight of stairs to the basement of the row of townhouses that circle The Crematoria. Causing her to stumble into the darkened room as the door slammed shut behind them both. The curtains always drawn - it's what she expected in a way, the darkness, not the impending assault.

Ah well, swords out, why not?

"Are you insane!" the shrill voice keens out of the darkness. Causing Tatienne to lower her drawn swords slightly. It is a familiar voice, again. The day is full of them. The urgency seems to ebb away, with her adrenaline.

Especially as Death is busy standing at her overstuffed armoire, layering himself with all her jewelry - hooking rings onto his rib cage and stuffing his eye sockets with lengths of pearls. Unconcerned about the intrusion.

The stalker mutters an incantation and lights up the room.

'Fucking show off.' Tatienne motions behind her back, to Death - but mostly for her own amusement. He chatters his teeth like a manic squirrel, enjoying the epithet as he adorns his bones.

"You must be, because you're doing that thing again - smiling for no damn reason. I see you got my spot, again, this time with that nose candy." and Caliette shoves a sealed packet of documents at Tatienne. The petite redhead dancer, normally sweetly pretty - really had her true face on. "Lucky you're so old I'll probably get main dance spot and into the spades anyway."

Tatienne knew her brown eyes had slid sideways, she was not even trying to be subtle about checking on Death. Letting Caliette feel the full disrespect of not being answered. Her skeletal psychopath was making an aggressive wanking motion and then decided to have an explosive finish by throwing some gems onto the floor to fulfill the simulation.

The other woman whirls around to look at the fallen jewelry and makes the stupidest assumption that she could have made. "You just did that with your brain. You're one of those psyomics or whatever. You're so stupid weird Delacriox." and then to cover up her fear, she gathered up her cloak and ineffectively pulled it around herself and her top heavy figure with it's deep décolletage revealing gown and flounced to the door. Lazily casting to be sure that she was seen fully buffing up with protective magics in Tatienne's private space, before leaving without a backwards glance.

Giving a long, slow blink to try and clear her rage - she stares at Death. He stares back. They wait in companionable silence until a strand of pearls slithers out of his eye socket, giving up it's purchase.

"Putain de bordel de merde." she spits, finally. Sheathing the swords awkwardly in the ill equipped belt. Tugging on the edges of the envelope. He points at her excitedly, it is his favourite when she speaks Old Glantrian gutter trash.

Last Edit: Feb 11, 2021 12:06:49 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

Laurnath
Development Team

Posts: 1,222

Mystara Classic: Glantri

The Cardkeeper of Glantri Feb 11, 2021 12:56:18 GMT 10

Quote

Post by Laurnath on Feb 11, 2021 12:56:18 GMT 10

With the envelope divested of it's contents, laying open and as empty as she felt - Tatienne coated herself in a thin layer of the shimmery coconut mixture from a large glass jar. It glowed faintly from the healing properties that were alchemically brewed into it. Letting it work on every inch of her exposed skin after lathering it on thickly.

Afraid to let it fully dry, she wipes her hands on a rag and begins pulling on her leather armor. The extremely supple skin was bonded to layers of more protective fabric and woven with strips of bone and metal in the most vital spots. Unable to get the extremely fitted set on without the assistance of her private stash of healing oil, it always managed to make her feel both tragic and fearsome.

Tying the corded leather of the back corset to the bar on the window and then lurching forward as hard as she dared to pull it tight as possible, Tatienne tried to ignore the mocking dance of Death as he watched her in her preparation for the next task.

The top page visible, she felt, from space: "Delacroix. Go back to that club you go to in the blue awning district. Do your original thing, reintegrate. Keep an eye on the following ten names. I will follow up with you and tell you which one has to go first."

The whole body heat and sudden nausea when she'd realised that Philippe had been watching her since she first began dancing for The Silken Moon was unwelcome, but not unsurprising - knowing what she knew now. Not all nice people are good. Not all motivations are pure. Not all lives are private.

Stepping into tall heeled boots and fastening them quickly, before she lost consciousness from the tightness of the leather corset. Aggressively adding inches to her already offensively tall stature for a female. A gentle sense of satisfaction, as she examined her unapproachable golden leather bodysuit and spiked crown. Admitting, begrudgingly that the nose piercing was an effective addition to harden up her facial features.

Locking the paperwork in the box behind all the decks of the fallen, Tatienne retrieved a large bag of money and wrote down all the info she could remember about the man who died that day. Sliding the details into a separate bag of gold coins. Lastly, she cradled the Death Card deck box - examining it's engraving closely. That of a woman's silhouette resting her forehead against that of the unmistakable outline of death and his crowned head. Pausing to hold it tightly and say a small affirmation for the fallen before she strapped it to her thigh and ensured the lock was tight and that the usually safe sides had the spikes outward. Wandering thieving hands would never know the painful needle like injuries were for their protection.

They would never know what the cards would do in order to stay in their right place. Out of respect and because of her compulsion, she pulls a card. "The Lovers." Unlikely. Her expression unchanging as she slides the card away with a dismissive air, ignoring Death's aggressive wide legged dance with full eye socket contact.

This was not the time for his brand of foolishness. Too much hinged on doing this right... for now.

Carefully emerging from the miniature apartment, swords looped into the rigged up belt sheath. Refusing any eye contact, polite or impolite - Tatienne crossed town in the lowering twilight until she reached a storefront that had papered it's windows with beautiful inked drawings. Pushing into the establishment easily, with familiarity.
The hin at the counter smiles broadly. "Ms Delacroix. Our best customer!"
"Casper, everyone is your best customer." she replies with a smile, it feels like the first genuine one of the day.
"Then we must be doing well, if all are the best. No? What can we do for you?" He replies easily, undeterred by her comment as he takes out a pre-marked order form and a dog eared parchment line drawing of the front, sides and back of a body. Marked up already with many celestial markings. Notated with small shorthand notes.

"I need to find a birth orientation of the stars, for this person." She says slowly, giving him a very level look.
Casper takes the paper and does not indicate confusion or concern. "Black ink then?"
"Yes, it will be black ink."
"Ms, if you will permit.. I wish it was silver or gold. Can you bring me some silver or gold news?"

"I can give you gold. This time though, it's black ink." And she puts the bag on the counter. Fifteen thousand. "A downpayment for the information. I will bring the full payment for the work when it's ready."
"I'll send a runner when I know the celestial alignment. I'll mark some potential areas, it looks like you're on your way... out?"
"I am, yes. I also need to find someone who can give me scabbards for these at a fair price." Tatienne says, carefully motioning the swords that are looped in and twisted into the belt which clashes horribly as plain grey with her gold leather.
Casper nods in agreement and writes down a nearby address. "This is my cousin, she does good work. Should be able to rig something up. You be safe now Ms. Especially wearing that."

"This is just leather, I'll be fine." She stays stiffly, offended.
"The Spade on your face, kid. Might as well be wearing a kick me, sign." He replies, sliding the address across the counter.

Flushed with embarrassment, she takes the parchment and nods. "You're right, as always. I'm sorry. Thank you for this."

"Au revoir, Ms Delacroix." He says, unfailingly cheerful as the little bell above the door jingles merrily upon her exit.

Then once more, seemingly for no reason when she has already left. Casper doesn't ask. The answer doesn't seem worth it.

Last Edit: Feb 11, 2021 12:58:00 GMT 10 by Laurnath

But if the earth ends in fire
And the seas are frozen in time
There'll be just one survivor
The memories of our lifetime

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