Lady Selune

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

Not sure about leaving the quotation marks uncolourised. I'll have to think about that. That being said, Renee will be disparaging to any woman in fine dress without a cigarette holder. It's simply fashionable darlings.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

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"The feeling is mutual." Although a smile was impossible to behold with a mask in the way, the change it made to one's tone of voice was not. "Please, I assure you that the 'Noire' is for my colour of dress, not my attitude. The Great War, you see..." The humour left her voice, but she didn't offer any more details beyond that. Not many more details were really required. "Still, talking of the War when we're here! A world away and with such a... Wonderful abode waiting for us?" She had to try to make herself seem more sure of herself there- not much 'wonderful' here in the chill of the woods.

"Ahah, dedicated to the mystery I see! I will have to try harder to extract something from you!" She paused for a moment, then drew out a tortoiseshell cigarette holder, politely holding the wider end out towards Violet. "Ah, but perhaps you'll excuse me if I extract something of much lesser value from you now? Would you spare this 'dame' a cigarette?" One could almost hear the inverted commas around the word 'dame.'

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

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Ah, now this gentleman was more her speed. "An absolute pleasure to meet you, Mister Violet. I am Madamoiselle Noire, and this gentleman has yet to introduce himself to me." Reaching up, the heiress would stroke the whiskers that jutted from the mask's nose, her black gloves almost invisible in the darkness of the night. "But yes, absolutely the..." She paused for a moment to make sure she had heard him right, before contining with a "cat's meow," the amusement in her voice highly evident. The joke would be finished with a quiet little "purr," and then the Frenchwoman would allow herself a small laugh. The man was odd, but she couldn't fault him for that. He was a bit of amusement and class, a welcome contrast to the one that had approached her previously.

Still, the mud on his shoes left her with one question. "Say then, where have you come from Mister Violet? Are you a local to Massachusetts or have you travelled some distance?" Her mind flicked back to the footsteps going into the woods she had ignored, and then the dirt on the mans shoes. She was no experienced tracker, and her memory was hardly photographic enough to remember the exact shape of the footprints in the dirt, but when the equation was 2+?=5 and you were being presented with something that looked an awful lot like a three, it wasn't too hard to piece things together.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

I love Mr Violet's old timeyness. Really fun.

WH40K: An End to the Alien - A Deathwatch Narrative Roleplay

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"Burn." The undergrowth curled and blackened. The shriek of whatever insects hadn't gotten clear in time rang true, and then would fade. In the marine's armour, calculations ticked and whirred. Movement, 243. His servo arm swung around and lit itself with the whining hiss of plasma initiating, only to shut off when a squad of guardsmen burst through the undergrowth. They initially raised up their arms, only to drop them once they saw the towering figure standing before them, Flamer held almost casually in his arms as he continued to eradicate the growth that the xenos filth hid themselves in.

"Venerable space marine! Praise the Emperor!" The head of the guardsmen, a tall buzzcut man with a chainsword still whirring in his hand would shout out. "Please, mi'lord, do you happen to know the wherabouts of..." Before he could finish his sentence one of Lelandros' arms had come out, pointing back towards where the jungle path had been cleared. His arm would adjust itself back to his flamer as he let out another jet of liquid purity, watching as a tree's trunk was taken over and began to creak-topple towards the ground. He was not the only one assigned this operation, strictly speaking this was a guardsman's job, but the space marines had taken to burning out more of the undergrowth faster whenever they had the opportunity.

It was menial work, but essential, and the cybernetic parts of Lelandros' mind reminded him how essential they were. The enemy laid spores. Every square foot of scorched earth meant an average of 7 less enemy fighters to contend with in the future. This was the sort of vital operation that should be left to a skitarii incinerator team, but this would have to do instead. One last gout and his flamer would wail dry, the marine letting the weapon swing down and magnetically clamp itself to his leg. "I shall escort you."

He would turn and begin to stalk back through the undergrowth, guardsmen hurrying in his shadow. Here and there the sound of flames and occasional booming comment would mark out another Salamander searing the planet of its impurities, but as they drew closer to the central command station, he would quickly realise something was wrong. Holding a fist up, the guardsmen would stop themselves. "This is Forgepriest Lelandros, is ever-" He wouldn't even be able to finish his sentence before the radio would crackle its reply.

"Forgepriest Lelandros, Astartes Designation SLDT-54011?" The voice that crackled through was not the regular officer, nor a Salamander that Lelandros recognised.

"Correct. Speaking to?"

"Your oath is required." Deep within Lelandros' mind, something primal stirred. The forgepriest would indicate forward with his hand and press onwards, the guardsmen falling back into step with him. The prefabricated structure of the base would rise out of the jungle's undergrowth, the Salamander standing in front of one of the loading docks. A blast of cool air would send his cape fluttering out behind him, the space marine seeing his new comrades before anything else. Four of them stood there- three helmeted, one with his helmet under his arm, all in the black. A Blood Angel, the blue of an Ultramines successor, and the last with the beaked helmet and piercing gaze of what could only be a son of Corax.

Forgepriest Lelandros would bow his head slightly, hands reaching up to his helmet. There was a hiss as the locks that held it in place released themselves, and then he lifted it up, revealing skin as black as coals and eyes as red as embers underneath. The other unhelmeted marine would look at him, their eyes boring into Lelandros' own. Then, silently, he would hand over a scroll. Lelandros would take it in his hand and reluctantly open it, eyes scanning across the scratchy High Gothic slowly.

Then, he would clear his throat. "I, Forgepriest Lelandros, Son of Vulkan, bearer of the Fire of Ry'lan, give myself unto the Deathwatch. In doing so, I fufill the ancient oaths between the Salamanders and the Emperor's own Ordo Xenos, and in doing so give myself to the defence of the Imperium in a new capacity. This is my first oath." Once he had spoken, he would bring his hands up into an aquila, the four space marines across from him making the shape as well.

Idly, he realised, the gobsmacked guardsmen that he had been escorting hurried to make the motion themselves, the reduced squad shuffling away quietly once they thought the superhumans too occupied to care.

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He was thankful for one thing, and that was that there had been a significant contingent of techpriests aboard the ship that he was being transported on. Now, they stood around him, the forgepriest naked apart from a simple cloth wrapped around his loins. Heat buffeted around him, and he brought the hammer in his bear-like hand down over and over again. Around him, the red-robed priests chanted.

"01001111 01101101 01101001 01110011 01110011 01101001 01100001 01101000" The forgepriest mouthed the words. The litanies and cants drilled into him whilst on the red planet echoed through his mind, even as he brought his hammer down again and again. Frustration, perhaps, but also meticulous detail made every hit a precise execution of the machine's will.

"01000010 01101100 01100101 01110011 01110011 00100000 01110101 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 00100000 01100011 01110010 01100001 01100110 01110100" It reminded him of Prometheus. Of home. His fingers tightened around the haft of his tools. Another crashing hammerblow down onto the anvil, before the marine would put down his hammer, the chanting of the priests slowing as he did so.

"Is it done?" Said one, their grindingly mechanical voice sounding like a sweet melody to Lelandros.

"As close as it will be. I leave the finishing to you." He turned away from the craft and looked towards the door, where a figure stood, examining him. It was the Raven, he realised. The two space marines- one fully armoured the other anything but, would allow the infinite differences between hem linger, before the other figure would speak.

"We have almost arrived, Brother tec-Forgepriest." The self-correction would be met with a thankful incline of the Salamander's head, the latter padding across the floor towards the figure. Outside stood two serfs who would hurry to place a cloak around Lelandros' form, and then two more would step forward holding his Omnissian Axe. The symbol of his rank, and the only item he had left. He supposed they couldn't do anything to it that he hadn't already done, and so his midnight black fingers would curl around its shaft, Lelandros bowing his head slightly in thanks.

In silence then, the two would proceed towards the front viewing port. The only noise was the clank of the power armour on the metal floor and the far quieter chinks as the bottom of Lelandros' only remaining weapon tapped against the selfsame floor. When he reached the viewing port, he blinked a few times, initially believing himself to be looking at some abandoned moon, rather than the Watch-Fortress. The explanation would soon come though, and the forgepriest had to admit that it was quite the construction.

The craft they were in would come closer and closer to the seemingly lifeless lock, and then more serfs would arrive. An environmental suit. Of course. His armour was still not with him. Reluctantly giving his axe across to the strongest looking serf, he would don the suit without any complaint, his axe handed back to him. They would land on the surface and he would be escorted down towards the exit of the ship, noting his armour being borne by yet more serfs. His prized combi-bolter, his cloak... Good, it was being treated well. Then, the vaccum of space would open up to them, and he would walk forward, mag-locks in his feet keeping him grounded.

Down and down and down and down they went. The Tyranids had scoured deep... And he was reminded of his first deployment after Mars. The flames, the tunnels, the chitters and cackles, the tearing of metal and flesh. His grip tightened on his axe, the head rotating a single time. The door to the escalator would open, and... By the Omnissiah.

"Welcome to the Watch-Fortress." An emissary was already talking to him, before the marine had the chance to take everything in. "We are glad, as always, to have another familiar with the machine-spirits join our rank. Your expertise will be expounded upon, your knowledge lifted to further heights." The man would clear his throat, Lelandros's suit-covered face showing no emotion.

"For now, please, we will escort you to your quarters where you will receive further instructions."

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

If you want to impress Bellerose, the first sentence out of your mouth shouldn't include a cuss.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

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She heard the footsteps behind her before she turned to see who they belonged to. For a moment, concern gripped her that she might be accosted by a footpad or vagabond, but when she did move to see the figure, she was pleasantly relieved. Another partygoer. One a little more rough around the edges than her. Not exactly a difficult feat though- she prided herself on how her edges had been smoothed down. Frowning a little, she made the barest gesture of a curtsey towards the man. "Madamoiselle Noire, a pleasure to meet you." Her voice was slightly terse and significantly accented, and the way she moved her head caused the whiskers of her mask to quiver slightly. "Mais oui, I was hoping to attend the festivities" she continued, continuing to walk slowly as she did so.

Aside from the mask she wore, the rest of her clothing had been carefully and deliberately picked out. A woman's jacket, warm to fend away the evening chill and a wide brimmed hat, from beneath which the amber eyes of her mask peered out and in the shadows of which the true eye-holes of the mask were difficult to discern. Underneath were the usual assortments of petticoats, garters and other accoutrements required for a lady to look her best. "I suppose we ought to be going. Wolves there may not be, but there is no reason to dawdle."

@psych0pomp

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

The Woods grow around the walls of the House, but as any student of history knows, the House has no walls. The short phrase bounced around the woman's mind as she moved through the trees and along the path. This was not the Woods, and the Wilde Estate was not the House either... Although it did appear to have some mysteries of its own. The horsehair whiskers of her feline-styled masquerade mask quivered in the gentle breeze as she analysed the footpath. Muddy. Dirty. Leading off into the woods. Intruiging. Were she out for a normal stroll this was certainly something she would investigate, but tonight was not the usual night.

Tonight she was properly dressed and, most importantly, was going to an event. This meant that one, her clothes found dirt and mud most disagreeeable, and two, them becoming muddy could quite easily become something of a scene. Adjusting her mask and hat a little, she turned away from the path and back towards the gaslit path ahead of her. Onwards to the party then. This curious little path would not be followed today.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

@Romero

Consider my bit chomped.

In This Fine Town Of Arkham - A Lovecraftian Mystery

@sassy1085

Rosanna and Renee seem like two sides of the same coin, eagre to see how they get along!