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westwhere2022-08-01 07:33 pm
groundrules) wrote in westwhere2022-08-01 07:33 pm
the mouse house
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.
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!
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.
✘ 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
- ■ 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!
NPC CONTACT
GAINS
GRAB A FRIEND
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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!
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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! ]
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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. )
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[ 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?
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( 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. )
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[ The Doctor is, of course, impressed with the young lad. He's clever, careful. He would need to be, given his circumstances. Had he the ability, he'd try to get him out of here, all of them. Or at least, improve their accommodations. Perhaps there's time enough yet for that.
Holding the stack of letters, the Doctor keeps them steady with one hand while running his fingers over the markings with his other. Yet again, he wishes he had his sonic screwdriver just about now. He could wave it over these letters and be done with it. Maybe there's nothing to tell in these stacks, nothing of note, but he'd rather be the judge of that. Looking back at the young boy, he finishes his explanation. ]
Try a bite, if you like. It's very sweet. Sticks to your teeth. Bit of an adventure to eat, makes it fun. [ Back to the letters. ] Do you know them all well? Mr. Grove, Mrs. Ellis, the others; do they talk to you, tell you anything?
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When he bites in, it's too soft at first, teeth gliding and leaving only a glimmered trail of mouth's wet. On the second turn, he bites too deep — but picks up his piece and grins, foolishly fond, around it to show his work. After a satisfied chew — it is delicious — )
They're good to me. Mr. Grove wants to teach me letters next season. ( Never mind that he has already learned the rows once before. ) Used to be a... a teacher. In a school. They say, up.
( Where all the pretty, glistened and chrome things live, where his eyes blight and bloom wild, when he chances a glance. Upstairs, where dust doesn't make its house in your soul. )
And Mrs. Ellis gives me pie trims. ( Another bite of the apple, still learning. ) We can ask her. For you. I'll give you mine.
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If I had my ship here with me, you could do all the reading you'd ever want. Big, beautiful library, goes on and on and on. When she finds me here, eventually, I'll show you around. [ He grins at the thought. He loves showing new people his ship. Of course, all of this is assuming quite a lot. That he'll be reunited with his TARDIS anytime soon, that he'll still be here. He's meant to be heading somewhere soon, and he intends to, but he doesn't like the idea of leaving those behind who've been so kind to them. ]
Up, you said. What's up? Have you been there before?
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( Only, he's frowning, brows carved in too deep of a furrow that imbalances his young features. In his hand, a second bundle of letters nearly slips, and he lifts it perfunctorily to hand back to the Doctor. Here, if he's doing the work. The boy'll just lead them on, between nooks and twisting roads and crannies. )
Ma'am says, they're just looking out for each other. I'm... I asked her, won't they be lonely? She says there're people there, plenty. I've seen some on their roads, didn't think they were... they were many, but not maaaaannnnnny. I didn't...
( ...think much of it. But never mind. With a nod, he signals the third door they pass by, tinny and painted dark, smell of fresh bread baking within. )
Slip Mr. Grove's under the door. And don't read it. ( Is what they're paid for, after all, not knowing their letters true. )
Some up's got big birds, big lizard birds. In the books, they call'em dragons. And the other's got... I don't go there much. They're meaner. ( And so, what's the use? ) Come on, let's do the round.
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What he needs to know, he'll gather from the boy himself. Two halves of a whole, trading places. Somewhere just beyond here. Very interesting.
Just before he slips the letters under Mr. Grove's door, the Doctor licks his thumb, swipes it over some of the ink stamps, then touches his thumb to his tongue quickly. Time was, he could sometimes collect information from taste alone, if there were anything of note. He could touch wood, plastic, gunpowder, all manner of various objects, and determine its origin, its composition, even its age. Sometimes ink is just ink, though. ]
Dragons. Oh, familiar, those. I knew a dragon called Herbert once. Loved chocolate pudding. [ He notes idly, continuing to follow the young lad dutifully. ] Would you ever leave here if you could? Could you leave here? All of you?
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( He murmurs back, ever the conspirator and a worldly boy, apparently now devoted to his apple and his duties of supervision. It's good what he's doing, the doctor is, passing his thumb quite proper on the letters' edges. Though, here's the boy nudging him when he dallies, so he doesn't wrinkle the ends. It's thin paper in the Mouse House, or coarse or stained. Can't be making it worse. )
I've been up. ( This, after Mrs. Kellaway's letters, and he can't help himself whispering when the doctor's asked to place her correspondence down — ) It's from her daughter, I've seen her. She smells.... nice.
( Sweet. Like the full-fledged vanilla pod they scatter in expensive pastries. ) She's up. We can't be... going up and staying long. When we want. Or don't. We haven't got... they think we'll make people ill again. But we won't. I'm very...
( Look here, pinning the apple between his teeth, while he holds up his palms to show where there's only a faint trace of toffee, and not a lick of dirt. After, he takes the apple in hand again. )
I wash every... most days. And between the toes and behind the ears. Ma'am Mariol says so.
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[ The Doctor listens with rapt attention. It's easy enough, this setting letters down business. It's the conversation that matters most, whatever he can learn.
A sickness of some sort, then? ]
Of course you won't, look at you, my lad. Picture of health! [ Of course, he's curious. ] Were you sent here, then, when people up there got sick? Did you used to live somewhere else before?
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Children, like tyrants, enjoy attention. )
I didn't come from up. ( This, as if survival is a feat, not an accident. ) Came from over the sea. Mom and dad didn't... ( Thin between his teeth, his lower lip's flushing. He looks away. ) ...Ma'am's nice.
( Makes big, soft cookies and spares a cot by the fireplace, come winter. And now, he's shrugging. )
Some others say they came from up. When the quarrels happened. Ma'am Mariol says, don't quarrel, but they quarreled up.
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He would wish a child so young didn't have to bear a loss like he has, but it's heartening to know he's cared for. ]
The very worst thing is to be all alone. We lose the ones we love sometimes, and then we find others, or they find us, and we aren't alone anymore. We're cared for. Your Ma'am Mariol, she's the very best sort, and very, very right. It's no good to quarrel.
[ Ma'am Mariol has a good heart, taking care of the children as she does. Were he able to do more for her and them, he would. ]
There are others crossing the sea just now, I've heard. Others we're to meet soon enough.
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( Well, if the doctor knows of them. Or maybe they're doctors, too? Will they bring needles? It's all so very complicated, only another bite of this here apple can ever possibly hope to resolve it.
...only, he's hit the core now, grudgingly grazing the edges, scavenging for the last morsel of fruit. )
You've got many friends coming?
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[ There's a balance in what he shares, he thinks. Not wanting to say too much and yet, say just enough to glean any additional information that he can from the young boy. ]
I'll find more of those apples for you. Somewhere. Wherever I go from here, I'll come back with heaps of these caramel apples. [ Quite a promise to be making, but he often tends to promise things in the moment that might bring joy, but which he might not ultimately be able to bring to fruition. ]
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Only, the doctor hasn't said — )
...and I'll have some?
( After all, him bringing the apples doesn't mean he'll be fast to share them. In fact, so few are. )
I'll be good. I'll... I'll... shine yer shoes? Or stitch your buttons? Your cuffs? ( What's a gentleman wanting? ) A hat, if you've got one. I'll clean it?
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You know, in all of this world and the next, the up and the down, the east and the west, the universe, in fact - I don't think I'd find a better shoe shiner, button stitcher, hat fluffer - oh, that's a thing I just invented - anyway. I wouldn't find a more talented person at any of that than you. But when I return, you will have all the caramel apples I can find. And you don't owe me anything at all. Promise.
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( He murmurs, and he can't say why and so, only the petulant turn of his mouth betrays him. A child, to the core of him.
He doesn't recoil, holds his ground. But wonders: )
You've never seen me shine a shoe, or... or stitch or... I am good, though. I am.
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[ Though, he has to make a very important point. ]
But some things can just be gifts, my boy. And you don't need to do anything at all to have them. You like the caramel apple so it was my gift to you.
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It eats at him, somehow. Grazes his fingertips to say something, as if fleas were riding his spine, dancing on his bones. He hesitates, then: )
I'll give you a gift too. Next time I see you.
( Like grown men do. He'll make this right between them, make it equal. Find... a pear, maybe. Maybe, even fresh. )
Promise.