the mouse house

[groundrules]

Welcome to Serthica’s Mouse House — a mini plot roll for recent newcomers, lasting until 11 August. Characters who opted in are in a different physical location but can contact the group at sea through their communicators. You can use the log post below to top level and mingle, or you can make your own logs and posts.

THE MOUSE HOUSE

---

Characters awaken in the dessert, unburied from high sands, recovering in medical tents or drifting towards a caravan. After a day to mend, they are presented to the caravan leader — the Merchant, who provides them translation and communication devices.

He explains they are outsiders who have reached the world of Akhuras, where undead factions wage war with each other and the living. The undead summon otherworldly conscripts, to enslave or weaponise them in the conflict. The Merchant finds and transports such newcomers east, where beacons might return the visitors back to their home worlds. Other otherworldly guests are currently travelling the haunted Crossing Seas — the Merchant offers their names.

The group at sea will reach the beacon-bearing clockwork citadel of Serthica within days. Caravan newcomers are supplied 10,000 coins each, blade weapons and ship passage to the impoverished Mouse House — the underground outskirts of Serthica and home to beggars, smugglers, contrived thief networks and mercenaries. Here, they must complete a set of tasks to wrangle, muscle, thieve or bribe coveted Serthica passport papers for themselves and their incoming comrades. Good luck!

Image source.

CHEESE FOR THE WHINE

■ The Mouse House is the literal industrialised underworld that surrounds Serthica. Coarse and labyrinthine, it has the gargantuan width of a very large vessel (50m). Here and there, crumbled makeshift stone roads show defunct rail tracks underneath. One train still runs in the outmost pathway of the Mouse House, taking daily imported coal shipments from the port to Serthica.

■ Often filthy, dangerous and entirely cavernous, the Mouse House comprises several crammed community homes — ‘rat mounds’ — some small illicit trade and forgery shops, and hideouts for opiate suppliers, slavers and thieves. Sleep lightly and watch your backs.

■ A pathway leads out to the ports. There are no windows, and the stuffy air is unhelped by limited ventilation. A strong scent of sedative incense blooms in the air to keep the criminal population tame(r).

■ Characters are taken in by Ma’am Mariol, the benevolent matronly leader of a ring of orphans who provide courier and espionage services for the various overlords of the Mouse House. Enjoy her hospitality: dried bread, questionable soup and a resting place in her breezy enclosures.

■ Ma’am Mariol looks after 12 valiant urchins. You can enlist their services but expect they’ll want pay.

■ Twice a day, at 6:00 and 18:00, the Mouse House suffers a dull shudder for a few minutes, as if suffering the echoes of a distant, rippling earthquake. Ma’am Mariol shares this is because the two city halves of Serthica are starting to swap places: Eidris comes up in the morning, while Minaras is overground at night. They only meet for one hour during the swap.

Image source.

✘ PRIME OPPORTUNITY

Win passage into Serthica by completing quests from the list below. Multiple people can tackle the same assignment. Report in by 23:59 GMT on 10 August for your gains.

PLOY & PLUNDER

Highly superstitious gang leader Artemius Bale is holding a festivity to celebrate conquering the territory of former rival Edward Three-Hands . The crème de la crème of the Mouse House’s underworl attends in a bustling, tight space. Despite his recent victory, Artemius remains heavily paranoid and keeps his cronies on guard.

■ Steal decent garments and function invitations from attendees to join the party.

■ Ease the pockets of the many criminal merrymakers, while they’re enjoying their fine wine. The more coin you can collect for later bribes, the better.

■ Pass for one of the many séance holders and ‘necromancers’ Artemius Bale has commissioned to entertain his guests. Coax attendees that the dead want them to patron incoming travellers — You may need to pair up and simulate a few ‘haunting’ tricks to persuade them of your great necromantic talent.

■ Why not pull a fast one on old fox Artemius? You could even persuade him he has been cursed by Edward Three-Hands and will fall deathly ill or unable to enjoy his gains if he does not make amends for his wrongdoings… to your benefit.

ALL ABOARD

A time-honoured fixture of Serthica, the single coal train typically enters the Mouse House each day at 11:00 without threat or trouble. Loaded to brim, it brings in fuel and smuggled goods.

Come early morning, Ma’am Mariol’s orphan scouts mention the latest 6:00 shake has toppled large pieces of stone and metallic debris over a segment of the railway. As the train approaches, Serthica officials send word that anyone who breaks their backs helps clear out the tracks by 13:00 will earn considerable good will with the citadel’s distraught customs office.

■ Grab a shovel. Use it wisely.

■ Careful with the various oversized rats that haunt the filthier depths of the Mouse House — they typically avoid groups of humans, but will jump you if you’re alone.

THE SCRIBE

Serthica’s most skilled forger, Rayssa is returning to the Mouse House after months of imprisonment in the citadel. She brings along decades of experience crafting passport papers — and a wealth of debt collectors who want the coin she owed before her disappearance.

It is widely known she will visit One-Eye Calliope’s tavern as her first point of call, to enjoy a first drink in freedom. Her pursuers will be waiting for her, armed, prickly and ready.

■ Win Rayssa’s good will and services by rescuing her from the inevitable bar brawl.

■ Head into her heavily watched quarters in the Mouse House to collect her tools of trade — inks, parchments, pens and stencils.

■ Hold her watch or her hair while a heavily inebriated Rayssa writes up your forged passport papers.

LADY LUCK LOVES YOU

If you’re no fan of honest looting, leave your fate to chance: the Mouse House’s various taverns and gathering places host nightly gambling games, from cards to bone dice, arm wrestling and a local favourite, mouse races.

Pair up to rig the games in your favour, and win coin, passport forgeries, clandestine passage or a crime lord’s patronage. You never know what favour the right name can earn you later!

QUESTIONS

NPC CONTACT

GAINS

GRAB A FRIEND

Comments

NPC CONTACT

[groundrules]

You can request a thread with one of the following NPCs for information gathering or your personal joy. The only ask is to please aim to finish the thread by 10 August and to consider sharing any big ticket information with the group at large.


Ma'am Mariol: jovial, maternal but crafty, Ma'am Mariol serves as the matron of the Mouse House largest urchin group and looks after her own. She's well meaning enough, but rewards recklessness with a sour temper.

Gavroche: come on. You just know this is an urchin.

Rayssa: only available if anyone rescues her and if your character is part of those efforts. A considerably skilled forger with criminally expensive taste.

Artemius Blake: only open if you're attending his party — the biggest kingpin of the Mouse House, after deposing his long-time rival, Edward Three-Hands. Despite his currently lavish dress, he was once a humble butcher.

DRAFT MA'AM MARIOL'S GANG

[groundrules]

You can pitch a good financial offer, and maybe one of Ma'am Mariol's many agile orphans will lend you a hand. Make it worth their time.

[sunnydaymonic]

Would snatching the invites to Blake's party be something urchins would do? Yuki would be willing to provide them medical services on stand-by and assisting with chores they have from Ma'am Mariol.

[groundrules]

They could help you with one invite, but you'll need a sweeter bribe — they're young kids, loot them something shiny.

[sunnydaymonic]

Would a lantern that stays lit without oil be considered shiny enough?

[groundrules]

Done.

[hatejakku]

Hello! I hope this is where I ask this but Finn would like to talk to Ma'am Mariol!

He's mostly wondering how he can help around the place, what kinds of things the kids need, etc. If that's better done with Gavroche or a handwave, that's okay, too.

[groundrules]

Yes, this is fine! We can either thread something out or, if you're more interested in just getting quickie answers, I can feed them to you here — whatever works best for you!

[hatejakku]

I'd love a thread, to be honest!

[sansdoute]

( She's a right old fox, is Ma'am Mariol, least she once was. Now, ragged and callused and a smile draining down the corners of her mouth, she's bustling, busy as a bonny bee, trailing after her horde of found children.

Most do honest work, toil she's taken trouble to vet, for their own health. They earn their coin, and give it for the family dinner, and she earns more from laundering and stitchwork, and so it goes. Another day in the Mouse House, another breath in her little claustrophobic haven.

And now they've got company, and in her makeshift jolly kitchen, pans and jar of grease and scarcity of coals for the hearth fire, this one — this young man who's stumbled upon her, he looks larger than the world. )

Right... right you are, have yerself a sit... no, not there, little one's had'imself a fit there... ( She waves to the left with a large, chipped pan, towards — ) Oh, not the stool, dear heart, the baby's left her rag dollie... ( Another wave, this time, this time — ) Oh, he'll be cross if you ruin'is chalk drawing, oh, he's painted a pupper this time in the dust, look at'im, got his whiskers! Isn't that sweet? Sweet as a lamb, he'll be a proper artist, when he's all grown, you watch, you see'im, we'll be reading about him in the papers, we will. Won't turn his head when we be crossing the street to see us, since he'll be himself a gentleman o'sorts, but I'll know... right... well, maybe the...

( At long last, her pointing pan lands on a great, heaving heap of... dubiously clean blankets, battered and wrinkled but passably assembled into a... nest. All the better to serve a man sitting down. )

You sit right there, poppet, that's your spot. I'll have me a little look at you, oh, bless, you're so tall, ain't you? So handsome.

[hatejakku]

[ Finn feels like he's bounced around this kitchen like a pinball and he hasn't been here for five minutes yet. Though, he does agree, the chalk drawing is pretty well done.

All the same, even though he'd prefer to stand at this point, sitting on the blankets has made his knees almost level with his chest. He feels like Ma'am Mariol could be a stern woman when she wants to, though, and he already never wants to be on her bad side. Her motherly nature, her clear strength, it all reminds him of Leia. And Leia Organa was scary.

But his face turns that much darker when she starts complimenting him, though. ]

Th- Thank you. I- Um- [ Right, clearing his throat, he came in here for a reason. But tall? Handsome?? Anyway- ] I was just wondering - I mean, since we're staying here and everything - was there any way I could... y'know, pull my weight? Bring in more money? Handle some chores?

[ Slightly flustered as he is, he's pretty proud for getting through that without stumbling too much. ]

[sansdoute]

( Oh, bless his heart, trying to be sweet, and Ma'am Mariol so keen for him. You see them young and making effort, you want them to feel rewarded.

Like so: with scraps of fat grease in the pan, to start a low sizzle and draft some potato cakes in for his break-of-fast. )

Now, what're you on about, you, little goose? You're plenty occupied, yerself, you're barely a bo...

( All right, she does stop for a heartbeat to cast her eye over the shape of him, long and lean and... perhaps overgrown. ) Why don't you lend one o'them hands and pick up all the things from a great tall distance? We got some dust no one's eased off the ol' cupboard, how's that? That'll do me, sorted.

( It's important in life to make children feel rewarded and valuable. ) You've barely just got'ere, what's there to do? You've already got yourself yer own troubles, your worries.

[thedreamer]

Hello! I was wondering if I could request a thread with Gavroche? Equal parts fact finding and basically just inserting himself in the daily goings-on, possibly tagging along on some espionage or courier service if allowed.

[groundrules]

Heya! So, shall we have the good Doctor accompany Gavroche on a paper delivery?

Happy to start something, but will have in a few hours/post work — alternatively, if you're okay to start before that, that works too!

[thedreamer]

Right up his alley! If I have a moment, I'll put something up here. Thank you!

[thedreamer]

[ Undead factions waging war, unsavory criminals lurking at every corner, austere accommodations, and a prescribed mission of reaching Serthica; all in a day's work for the Doctor. Different from anything he's ever faced before, certainly, although every adventure is. This one happens to be...a bit more complicated. More of a puzzle. All the more thrilling for it. He doesn't have time to be idle or frustrated that his TARDIS is nowhere to be found and the sonic screwdriver bearing weight in his pocket is nothing more than just a glorified screwdriver. He has work to do, and do it he has. So far, it's been his usual brand of fact-finding; asking questions, exploring, tinkering with any little gadget he can find.

He rarely needs to sleep, so in the evening, he takes to traversing areas around the Mouse House. Carefully, always. Oh, that's a lie and he knows it. It's inevitable that trouble will find him eventually, or the other way around, and he wouldn't know how to be any other way.

Apart from getting to know the others in his little group, and those of their immediate surroundings, the Doctor is particularly watchful of the young children under the care of Ma’am Mariol. She looks after them, clearly, and he's certainly seen children in far more unfortunate circumstances than they find themselves now. He can't help the protectiveness he feels in spite of that, though he's also keen to tag along on some of the tasks he's watched them carry out. Get to know the area better, and those who inhabit it.

On this particular morning, as he approaches young Gavroche, he's holding his sonic screwdriver - screwdriver, regrettably, just a screwdriver - and tossing it up and down in the air idly. ]

Busy day ahead, have you? Oh, we haven't been properly introduced. I'm the Doctor. [ Said all in an enthusiastic string of words without pause. ] Mind if I join you?

[ ooc: sorry for the tl;dr hope this works okay, let me know if not! ]

[sansdoute]

( They're hundreds, he supposes, or at the very least three. They've been overcome by visitors as if they're ants squirming, everywhere he turns and when he means to hide in his little alcove by the looming mouth of the fireplace, there's always the foot of one, or the shadow of the other. Life's difficult when you've not crossed into adolescence.

This one, he remembers him, yes. He'd meant — wasn't alone, they were three thinking it — to put pebbles in his shoes this morning. Only, he woke too early for it, and now there's sand and stone in the boy's pocket, chirping and knocking, and he stills it with a tight cupped hand when he sees the man come.

...taller, close. Can't be they're all a hundred of them this tall. And he's a do — ohhhhhh, but he's stepping back from this one. There's needles and cough syrups and all the wrong sorts of troubles with doctors. )

...I haven't got illnesses. ( No, ma'am Mariol's stubborn about their etiquettes, can't be skipping. ) Please. And, um. Thank you. How d'you do. Sir. Sir doctor. Haven't got illnesses, though. Just... off with the morning news.

( This here envelope of handwritten notes circulated through the belly of the Mouse House, from one rich man to the next. )

[thedreamer]

Of course you don't, you're the picture of health, why- oh. Right. Not that sort of doctor. Happens all the time. [ He tosses his sonic-less screwdriver up in the air one more time before pocketing it securely. ] I suppose I could be, in a pinch. Bandages, I know how to use those. Not today, though, no. Today, we're delivering news together - brilliant!

[ Being able to read the notes, well, that would be ideal. But, you do what you can within limits.

Impossible to know how much he could glean from a glimpse at the notes, but he'll never not try. Feeling around and searching his pockets suddenly, the Doctor speaks under his breath. ] Where did I - it must be - yes! [ Deep in his cavernous pockets that look outwardly shallow, he finds what he's searching for and pulls out a wrapped and perfectly preserved caramel apple. ] Right where I left it.

[ The Doctor holds it out, offering it to his young companion. ] Wanna trade? You carry the morning news all the time, why not something different today?

[sansdoute]

Mmmm... right. I'm... I think...

( She won't mind, will she? The ma'am. And she doesn't need to know, and besides, when the boy slips the great, groaning heap of hand-scribed letters in the doctor's hand, there's no witness. Only him to know, only the gentleman, and grown men don't gossip or lie or tattle. Ma'am says so. Good people don't do the sort, and why'd she be letting them live with them, if they weren't good?

So they must be. So he must be right, trading the doctor his burden for the strange glistened trinket and starting the early trot down the nooks and twisting hollows of the tunnel roads. Won't be light like they see out any time soon, but they start the lamps at a hard bun, come 'morning.' )

We take them from, um. From... ( And pointing, behind himself, towards the indiscriminate mouth of another labyrinth. ) The train man puts it there. And they've got... ( A wipe of his thumb on the corners of the letters, marked with different inks of stamp. ) That's Mr. Grove, that's Mrs. Ellis...

( He's learned each and every one, knows all sorts of shapes, except... except this strange predicament of a gift in his hand, which has earned the weight of his thoughtful frown. )

What... ( And whispered, lower: ) What's it do?

( Looks like a globe, he supposes, or... or maybe one of those fine toys he sees at year's end time, when the fancier folk bring their children out for celebrations. )

[matermali]

Would Vanessa be able to have an interaction with Artemius Blake after/during her divinations for partygoers, even just something in passing? Happy to keep it short or handwave if you prefer. She might try (and maybe fail?) to divine any hidden information from him if she can get him alone, since he seems important enough to garner her focus.

[groundrules]

Happy to either handwave or thread, just let me know your preference!

Re: divining anything for Artemius, however, I'd suggest faking til she makes it, or else the gentleman might prove less than sympathetic in his reaction.

[matermali]

I know things are busy/chaotic rn, so if handwaving is good enough to count this, then that's fine with me. If you think it's better to thread, though, I'm super down for taggies. Sorry if that isn't helpful, I just want to make it easier for you.

I don't think she would try to do it FOR him (unless he asked, then absolutely). She'd angle it as a friendly introduction, a cordial conversation with the host, maybe compliment him on the party and ask casually about his interest in necromancy but otherwise not verbally get too into his business. If he starts to act cranky, she'll politely try to bow out.

She'd be hoping that she can secretly glean info/visions using her clairvoyance about his rivalry or any hidden purpose related to current or recent goings-on, for her to share with the group. Like maybe a conversation behind closed doors, a feeling he has, a thought he had, something dramatic that happened or Will Happen.

Vanessa can definitely skip faking it, right to making it, but I wasn't sure if that would be too much too early. If successful, it wouldn't be something he should be able to sense unless he's also got the skill. If he can sense it or is just annoyed and gets pissed at her, I am OK with whatever consequences that entails.

[groundrules]

I'm up for whatever option you decide, threading or handwaved — anything you decide is fine, as long as we can finish the thread by the 10th. o/

If you decide on a thread, if you're okay to start, that would be A+ !

[matermali]

[ While Vanessa knows how important it is to remain clear-headed, the human in her struggles with going forward in this endeavor without touching any wine beyond the feigned sips from earlier in the evening. Any spirit (not that kind), or something to smoke, should be an exceptional stress release for her. She resists, insides coiled and twisted, while she carries on with a cordial smile.

He must know something that she's supposed to find out. She doesn't hurry it, letting her gaze linger when she does spot him. He doesn't look easy to approach, and so she mustn't be overly friendly, nor does she want to blend into the background. Vanessa carries on with her divinations, most frighteningly successful except for the one or two unlucky or stubborn client, until she catches their gracious host not far off about to depart a conversation.

It's only polite to greet the host, perhaps congratulate him on his 'victory', but she has no interest in his guards. Her steps are light, not that it matters in crowds like these, carrying her close but not too close, and she'll wait for their eyes to meet before dipping her chin in deference. She ought to hold out her hand, but caution keeps it near. If he hurries past, Vanessa hopes she can sense something of note, even if it's carries in a dismissive air. ]

I haven't witnessed such extravagant merriment and free-flowing libations in many years. [ It's the truth. Why lie? Appearances must matter to him, judging by his garb. ] Quite a magnificent gathering, sir. I must thank you for an unforgettable evening—yet to be concluded.

[sansdoute]

( It's a good turn-out, better than any gathering Ol' Ed might have summoned. Even croaked, he couldn't get the dead to show up for'im, but Artemius has done, done it right. The best of a mighty fine crop, here, having the time of their lives under his roof, and what will they do? They'll remember. They'll go home, and they'll tell their own, Artemius Bale is a man to know.

And he is. Ain't only the liquor easing him to the thought, the hard drink he's still twirling in the glass of one hand, the second long emptied but carried around listlessly. Truth be told, he's meant to give it to the servants, but he remembers days when he wore the helpers' apron, still barely a butcher's apprentice, before his fate turned, and he can damn well ferry his own drink.

He's not too much a gent for that. Not too much of one to ignore the pretty woman who throws'erself in his path, like he doesn't know her sort. )

Quite all right, s'all right, all of it... you're a guest here, my fine and honoured guest and... ( Well, there's a grin, there's no helping it. ) Not one o'the girlies, are you?