|
Post by Strigus on Apr 17, 2018 3:32:43 GMT
It was an unusually quiet night. Or perhaps Melisse Ghiberti had simply grown used to the excitements of Venice and Milan, and now that she had returned home things simply felt quiet. Given that she had been called to return home by some universally felt stress in the Shadowlands, and some threat seemed to clearly be looming, it was perhaps foolish, dangerously reckless, even, to call things quiet. And yet, as she sat in her old family room after her time abroad, drinking out of her old favorite tea cup (though with new contents) and looking out the window at the clear starry night, the feeling seemed to be one of quietness.
But Melisse had long ago learned that feelings can be deceptive, and the quiet left with a knocking on her already open door. Standing in the threshold was Lethabo, a servant from a long line of servants stretching back generations. Indeed, some of those servants who offered particularly valued advice had their spirits bound to various items in the family's home. Lethabo primarily worked overseeing and advising on the human trafficking work of the family, but that didn't seem to be the business of this quiet night.
"My lady, apologize for interrupting you so soon upon your return from Europe. One Mr. Melokuhle wishes to speak with you." Despite the civil tone Lethabo held, as he always did, Melisse recognized the name Melokuhle immediately as the leader of a group of shaman who had competed with their family for spirits as long as they could remember- and they could remember for a very long time.
|
|
|
Post by Melisse Ghiberti on Apr 19, 2018 23:23:12 GMT
Melisse was still getting used to the fact that this sort of business was being brought before her now. It had been one thing to experience her new undead state in Italy, far out of her existence's usual context and surrounded by far older, more powerful Kindred, but it still felt odd being so revered in the places she had grown up. Her own parents were now her subordinates by multiple degrees, and family rivals came to seek audience with her.
Placing down her cup, Melisse thought a moment before replying, "Tell him that I'll see him shortly and bring him to the sitting room. Offer him refreshment then come wait outside the family room door."
After Lethabo bowed and departed to perform his assigned task, Melisse rose and cast a penetrating glance around the family room. She angled the chair in which she had been and would be sitting at an angle that would have her back to the door but allow her to comfortably turn her neck to regard it. This would convey strength; showing a rival her back communicated that she did not fear him. She then moved all other seats inconveniently far from her chair except for the smallest and least comfortable one. Whether or not Melokuhle took another chair or not, when he did it and why he seemed to do so would tell her volumes about him. Having done this, Melisse returned to her seat and spent a moment arranging herself in the most regal position available before calling on Lethabo to fetch her guest.
Once Lethabo had formally announced Melokuhle, and the man himself had entered, Melisse turned her gaze to the shaman in exactly the manner she had previously planned.
"Siyakwamkela, silumkileyo," Melisse greeted Melokuhle, "Please, have a seat." As Melokuhle approached, Melisse picked up her cup and, after swirling its contents to send out a coppery scent that would make its contents clear, took a long, luxurious sip from it.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Apr 20, 2018 4:12:15 GMT
Melokuhle was an older man, with a back that stooped forward and some degree of dependency on a tall, intricately carved staff to walk. We walked forward slowly but purposefully, and it was difficult to tell if this was from his advanced age or designed to create an air of deliberation. He spoke as soon as he entered, and continued through his approach. "Melisse, so good to again see you," his breathy voice said in a friendly tone, though she could only remember seeing him once as a child, where his wild appearance made him stick out in her young mind when contrasted to the proper, cultivated appearance her family put on. And this was only a glance before he broke away to speak with her father in private. "Your parents told me you are traveled to Europe! And here back soon, and safe! Wonderful!" He continued walking forward, moving past the closest chair and approaching her directly. English was beginning to strain him, evidently, and he switched to Afrikaans. Keeping the same, too-familiar tone, he continued, "Why, I haven't seen you since you were a baby. Has time really moved so quickly?" He took a deep inhale through his nose, then exhaled in a contented, almost nostalgic sigh through his mouth. Then, with his stooped back hunching forward, he leaned over her, "Perhaps it has. Even so, I still can see that little girl."
|
|
|
Post by Melisse Ghiberti on Apr 20, 2018 23:45:41 GMT
"Very bold," Melisse thought to herself as she observed Melokuhle, "But sadly for him far too bold to be convincing. To ask for a meeting in my home then strut about like he owns the place...now I know he's desperate to look strong."
How many of the condescending, backhanded words of affection were part of this overly optimistic gambit and how many were simply the natural product of the way a man with scores of children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren spoke was hard to parse out. It didn't matter though, either way called for the same approach, steer into the skid.
"Why thank you so much," Melisse responded in Afrikaans, smiling broadly and moving slightly closer to Melokuhle's looming countenance as she looked him in the eyes, "I'm so flattered that you can still see youthful glow in me...after all I have become. I can only hope your descendants will still see that glow when they look upon me centuries from now. But, I'm sure a man of your stature didn't come all this way just to inflate my feminine vanity, what is it one so young as I could possibly help you with?"
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Apr 24, 2018 14:33:15 GMT
"A ceasefire," he said, moving straight to the point. Moving back from her chair and hovering over the nearest one, Melokuhle slowly eased himself into the chair, gradually taking the weight off his walking stick. "Perhaps even a truce. You see, my dear, your family and my order haven't gotten along for some time. At the very least, it's exhausting. I'm an old man," he said, then let out a quick burst of laughter, "I've been an old man since before you were born. I'm sure the young buck who'll take over when I'm gone will be happy to engage in all the petty squabbling with his neighbors. I know I was, and I'm sure you are now. Nothing makes you feel in charge than an old rivalry, no?"
"Normally, I'd let him, too. Let you children have the fun of making some bad blood between each other. But you must be able to feel it, no? Something's changing down below. There used to be plenty of spirits to go around, even when we'd take digs at each other, but a storm's coming. I don't know how long it'll last, but in the mean time if you could let a tired old man focus his efforts on his work, and not on looking over his shoulder in case you folks are plotting something, we'd return the favor."
|
|
|
Post by Melisse Ghiberti on Apr 25, 2018 1:16:45 GMT
Melisse was silent for a few moments after Melokuhle spoke. Something wasn't right here. Yes, there was a rising tide in the Shadowlands and times were likely about to get difficult, but it was far more usual for such times to see increased hostilities between rival necromancers. It was tempting to think that Melokuhle's people were in such a weak position that they could not even handle what they once easily could, but Melisse dismissed this. If that were true then this wouldn't be how they'd handle the situation. What was it about this looming threat that had them so scared?
When Melisse spoke, it was one of the rare instances in her existence when she was both direct with and said what she meant to a rival, "Maelstroms come and maelstroms go, why does this one worry you so much? Last I checked, nobody has dropped a nuclear bomb, started a World War, unleashed a plague or sacked Rome recently; won't this just be yet another middling disturbance? You're talking like we're on the verge of a Sixth Great Maelstrom."
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Apr 25, 2018 1:50:49 GMT
Melokuhle shrugged. "Perhaps. In which case, this precaution is nothing of concern, we mutually prosper for a bit, then one of us will stab the other in the back and we'll be back to business as usual. But I think this is something more. The Ancestors are certainly preparing for the worst, and most other spirits seem to be as well. I'm not sure how things are on your end, but we've actually had a spirit give itself up to us willingly to avoid whatever is coming in the Shadowlands. And now that you're..."
He hesistated for a moment, despite her practically advertising her transformation into a vampire, before continuing, "Now that you're one of them, you can sense, no? Or is it only those down below, or even just diviners? We have some alliances with spirits who act as seers, and can help us hunt down any who've escaped our stables. It helps encourage them not to do so again. They've mostly cut off contact, except one who saw Mirzaba, the Red Star. It's hard not to be superstitious as a man in my position, and whatever's coming can't be good." He spoke wide-eyed, and unless he was a truly exceptional actor, Melisse believed him, or at least believed that he believed himself.
|
|
|
Post by Melisse Ghiberti on Apr 25, 2018 2:10:44 GMT
Melokuhle's mention of the Red Star instantly caught her attention. Melisse had specifically avoided mentioning the wild rumors starting to circulate among the Kindred, about the Star and what had supposedly happened in Bangladesh. She hadn't ever seen the Red Star herself, she had no knowledge of Auspex and her senses were thus far only trained well enough to see ghosts, not the Shadowlands themselves, but hearing the ravings of mad Gehenna prophets repeated calmly by a mortal wizard was disconcerting.
"Given what's potentially at stake, it would be utterly foolish of me to refuse your offer. I'd much rather be recalled as the woman who accepted an offer unwisely than as the woman who refused an offer that could have saved her family."
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Apr 25, 2018 2:41:22 GMT
Melokuhle gave a faint smile. "You're papa would never have been so rational. A credit to your European travels that the little girl came back improved. So, a ceasefire, at the least. We have a strong, central stable that we direct the abambo in our other locations to when needed. Our intent is to fortify it, and pack the abambo in until whatever comes passes. If it passes at all, of course- though if not, it's hardly our concern anymore, is it?" He let another burst of laughter, but this one didn't have the good-natured, social feel as it did before. He was laughing for himself, not for his audience. "If you'd like to consolidate the spirits under you to this fort, we can better build it up, and you can have yours weather the storm in it."
|
|
|
Post by Melisse Ghiberti on Apr 27, 2018 3:01:41 GMT
"I agree, consolidating our position makes the most sense. My family can provide additional security on this side of the Shroud as well. History does tell us that during maelstroms, the Skinlands are not immune to increased dangers. Many spiriti will undoubtedly seek to possess the living or corpses to escape the wraithwinds. They might come knocking if we have their loved friends or hated enemies locked in your bunker. My family's people can easily supply the firepower needed to deter such an assault."
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Apr 27, 2018 4:04:30 GMT
"Sounds like a mutually beneficial arrangement, then. We'll take care of security down below, you take care of it up here. Hopefully whatever's coming we can weather comfortably enough, and th-"
Melokuhle was cut off by when Lethabo, the manservant who had seen him in, rushed back into the room, swinging the doors open in a dramatic entry. "Back-stabbing bastard!" he shouted, before looking frantically to Melisse. "My lady, the slaves are revolting!" As he spoke, gunfire began breaking out in the background. "They're overwhelming the guards!"
Melokuhle looked at Melisse as well, with an expression of confusion, but said nothing.
|
|
|
Post by Melisse Ghiberti on May 5, 2018 1:44:34 GMT
"Not so loud, you'll hurt their feelings," Melisse cracked a grin at her own awful pun. The comment's flippancy hardly reflected Melisse's inward reaction to the situation, but the moment it popped into her head it struck her as an effective way to display strength to both her subordinate and rival present. "And don't be so rude, Lethabo, you insult our guest's character by saying he would strike at us in negotiation, his intelligence by saying he thinks he could escape after doing it, and his family by saying they would sacrifice their patriarch so; all without any evidence," she chided before continuing, "Now, then, bring me item #616 out of the vault and my purse as well; I'll deal with the slaves." Having instructed Lethabo, Melisse turned to Melokuhle, "How dreadfully embarrassing for this to happen while receiving a guest of your station. It's probably best you stay close to me...who knows what might happen to you if you tried to leave now." Not waiting for Melokuhle's reply, she arose and began walking away at a pace brisk enough to make it challenging for him to keep up. Melisse moved through the mansion's halls towards the balcony she estimated would give her the most commanding view of the slave quarters. Though she wanted to wait until she'd gotten a good look at the situation in the Skinlands before tuning her perceptions to find ghosts, Melisse expected her brother Henrico was, if not already by her side, on his way. She imagined he had likely been up in his old room, staring sadly like he always seemed to do these nights. Of course she knew no wraith would ever be the picture of vim and zest but she'd hoped Henrico wouldn't wind up like this. He hadn't been this bad in Europe, maybe it was being back home. Henrico uses the "Recenly Deceased" wraith stats on Pg. 385 of the corebook. I'm assuming since this is the Ghiberti mansion in Johannesburg that it has a bunch of bound wraiths in its bowels, 13 Ghosts style. Item #616 is meant to be a blood and guts encrusted machete which is the Fetter for a Specter (stats Pg. 386). Let me know if you want me to change anything
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on May 17, 2018 3:25:34 GMT
Standing on her balcony, Melisse held an imperious view of the slave house. An large barn had been converted for the family's human trafficking industry, which was now occasionally lighting up as .he gunfire she had heard before continued. Some of her guards fired from somewhere beneath her, suppressing the slaves while others moved forward to cover behind an old fence, though they were fairly exposed. Alternating fire with her men were the slaves, some at the large main door and some from the loft. As best she could tell, the slaves hadn't left the barn yet. How they had armed themselves from their place of confinement was unclear.
Though she hadn't confirmed it with supernatural means, she could also sense her brother. After taking in the scene, Melokuhle finally caught up, staggering behind despite moving as quickly as he could, and the three observed for a moment. Though certainly captivating, she was also able to make out the sound of glass shattering downstairs, roughly where she'd estimate Lethabo to be on his way to the family vault.
Perception 3 y7Y6e2cM ··
|
|
|
Post by Melisse Ghiberti on May 30, 2018 1:09:25 GMT
Something was wrong downstairs, Melisse knew it immediately. It didn't matter that there was a slave revolt going on, it wouldn't matter had the battle of Armageddon been going on in the sitting room, there was one reliable constant in the world: servants of the Ghiberti family don't break things accidentally. Not bothering to give any instruction or clarification to Melokuhle, she stalked off in the direction of the noise. Melisse began to feel strong ripples in the Shroud, as Henrico pulled his ephemera across the boundary until it took on the approximation of a flesh and blood body. Henrico is attempting to manifest, as per the rules on pg. 109 of lore of the Clans, with a permanent Willpower of 5. He's also spending a temporary Willpower point to get one automatic success on the roll. As ST you'll be setting the difficulty to reflect the strength of the Shroud in the location.
|
|
|
Post by Strigus on Jun 6, 2018 2:23:03 GMT
We'll say difficulty 4 because the shroud would presumably be pretty thin at a Giovanni base of operations. So Willpower 5:fy5sesJvp_p_p_p_p_ Gives 2 successes, plus another for the spent willpower for a total of 3.
As Melisse moved toward the commotion downstairs, Henrico pulled himself into existence beside her. In this particular instance, there was a sound akin to a forcible exhale as he simply appeared, midstride, and began walking beside her. Though he had a bluish hue and was somewhat cloudly, she could tell it was her brother even before he took physical form.
Following the path Lethabo likely took, the source of the clamor was immediately clear. Two large windows had been shattered inward. Given they were facing the slave quarters, it would have been plausible that the combat was responsible, but Melisse had arrived just in time to see a few men covered head-to-toe in black rounding the corner. Though she saw no sign of him, this would no doubt be where Lethabo was heading, and by extension the way to the vault.
One the men seemed to notice her, and with a rushed shout to his comrades broke from the group, standing defensively at the end of the hall with a large knife in hand. ····
|
|