March 4: The Casework of Llewellyn DeNonce, Assassin-at-Law

[Mister-Kent]

In which magic and murder help navigate the city's laws, and justice like Vorn's own wrath is terrible and swift.

***

In the middle of the Seventeenth Ward stands a white tower, like a pillar of justice. The pristine ivory and stone edifice has belonged to the Advocates Guild of Crowley, Waddell, and Wolfe for nigh-on two centuries and has been home to many of Vornheim's counselors, activists, and philosophers.

It's also home to Llewellyn DeNonce, who defies such categorization.

It's Woundsday, upon which the firm always sees a swell in personal injury cases. Today a moaning fop, a lesser nobleman, is carried in on a stretcher as he curses the ignoble haberdasher who pierced his flesh with a pin. A low-tier junior counselor takes the case while subtly rolling his eyes.

"Mr. DeNonce!" The call echoes through the tower halls, a shrill voice urgently searching.

Llewellyn, what are you doing when you hear your name bellowed?

[Zhym]

Llewellyn lifts his head when hears his name called. "Bellowed" would be more accurate but less politic, and at Crowley, Waddell, & Wolfe* even a partner must remain politic at all times. Merely thinking the wrong thing can be a career (and thus life) limiting move. DeNonce is not the firm's only attorney to dabble in the dark arts, and competition for advancement in the firm is, quite literally, cutthroat.

He was working on putting together an estate plan for a Mr. Wedknocker, a man of some wealth and influence. Technically, these things are supposed to be done before the deceased, well, dies, but then again, no one knows that Mr. Wedknocker is dead yet. Including Mr. Wedknocker. But that will have to wait.

Llewellyn immediately lays down his pen and hops up from his chair. He makes his way to the voice of the bellower—er, summoner (a term that might be true in more ways than one)—with all due haste, but not too much. A certain decorum must be maintained in a law office, after all.


* "Howard, Howard, and Fine" seemed a bit too silly for the tone of this game, so I changed the firm name to something a bit more demonic-sounding.

[Mister-Kent]

I like it!

The booming call continues until a stooped and fish-lipped man arrives. He bears a great brand on the side of his throat, placing him as one of the firm's indentured Drudges.

"Mister DeNonce!" he spews. "Mr. Dire requests your immediate presence in the Chamber of Friends. Impromptu performance review."

The drudge-slave shakes his head. "Miss Krier is in there now, poor thing..."

[Zhym]

Llewellyn allows one eyebrow to arch slightly as the only change in the otherwise impenetrable expression on his face. "Indeed?" he says. "Than I shall proceed to the Chamber at once. Thank you, Drudge." If the Drudges have names, Llewllyn has never heard one. As far as he knows, they are all simply called "Drudge." Still, Llewllyn feels that social graces are the mark of a person of a certain standing in society, and so he makes sure to call the Drudge the closest thing to a name he has.

He heads down the hall toward the Chamber of Friends. "Performance Review," hm? It could mean any number of things, he thinks to himself. Good news, bad news, cover story—he'll know soon enough.

[Mister-Kent]

You pass many co-workers in the hall to the Chamber of Friends--some friendly faces, others sneering and dismissive. There is of course the consideration that many of the seemingly friendly faces are in truth sneering masks of subtle betrayal, simply waiting to plunge the knife in your back and crawl over your corpse for the next promotion.

The thought comes to you now and then. A friendly-looking junior counselor waves--a pretty painted smile and long silver locks. She begins to approach just as you arrive at the doors to the Chamber.

A terrible shriek pierces the air.

"It seems Miss Krier's review is finished," the drudge snorts, and opens the doors to the chamber wide.

The doors pull back to reveal the review still in-progress--Miss Krier, back arched and writhing, hovering a foot off the ground. Still shrieking.

A man circles her, taking a deep breath, apparently unaffected by her horrible protests. As he encircles her, he grasps a pouch of ashes in his other hand, and tosses fistfuls of ash at her body. He makes a sign with his hands, and Krier crumples into a ball on the floor.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out my dear. However...you have your life, no? That's more than some people get." Mr. Dire snaps, and the drudge escorts Krier from the Chamber.

"She'll never practice law or magic in this town again," Dire laments. "Some people just aren't meant for success."

He then turns to you, his grin wide and sharklike. "But you--I have a very good feeling about you, Mr. DeNonce. Tell me--how are your cases going? That whole inheritance thing with Mr. Wedknocker worked out yet?"

[Zhym]

Llewllyn spares a glance at Krier. Unfortunate, he thinks to himself, but inevitable. She was a knockout, yes. Every man in the firm wanted her, and don't think she didn't know it. That brought her some measure of success. That's probably what did her in, too. Maybe an affair that ended badly.

Dire spoke truly, however: to escape with her life was an usually generous severance package. But even that was an insult. Had they any respect at all for her skills, they'd have killed her to prevent her from becoming competition. She'll never work as a lawyer again, yes, but mostly because every other firm knows what it means for a former associate of CW&W to be dismissed and yet live. Also because they destroyed her mind, of course.

"It goes quite well," he answers Dire. "I was just putting the final touches on Mr. Wedknocker's estate plan when you called me here. The standard terms are in place. The firm will be trustee of the funds established for Mr. Wedknocker's children, all of whom are still very young. His wife, of course, is dead after the, er, 'accident' last year." Llewellyn, in a spine-chilling sign of his truly evil nature, actually makes air quotes with his fingers when he says "accident." "Tonight, two hours after signing the necessary paperwork, Mr. Wedknocker himself will fall into a deep sleep from which he will not awaken. He also will not die until well after his offspring have reached the age of majority.

"This in accordance with the terms of the other contract we were involved in drafting, in regards to his immortal soul. As you recall from that agreement, which I need not remind you was largely responsible for his present station in life, Mr. Wedknocker will not die until he has reached the ripe old age of 105—quite a long life indeed for a human—after which our other clients receive possession of his soul." Llewellyn pauses just a moment to judge the expression on Mr. Dire's face. Some humans dislike being reminded of how little time they have on this plane of existence.

"In the meantime," he quickly continues, "we act as the executor of his living trust and his children's trusts. Not only do we receive fees as executors in addition to our fees for drafting the estate plan, but the plan gives us considerable leeway to direct the funds of all the trusts as we deem suitable and useful to our other endeavors—consistent with the purpose of the trusts themselves of course. We would not want to violate any ethical rules." Llewellyn smiles ever-so-innocently. "The benefits to the firm should be substantial," he says with a more serious expression. Then, as if it were an afterthought: "And to Mr. Wedknocker's heirs. Of course." The innocent smile returns.

"In short, the Wedknocker file will convert to maintenance status by the end of business today. As to the other cases, I will not bore you with details. Mrs. Frankenweller has decided to make her separation from her husband permanent; I have an assistant following his moves. Mr. Fudyon's appeal is set for a hearing in two months; our briefs are submitted. Our chances of prevailing are good despite the fact that he had the hen with him when he was apprehended. Other cases likewise proceed apace.

"None of these currently tax my time, so I expect to have the available bandwidth to add additional projects to my plate. I am eagerly looking forward to the possibility of expanding my portfolio. I am sure the firm has many other exciting projects in development."

[Mister-Kent]

Mr. Dire nods. The bag of ashes has vanished from his hand, and he instead sips from an ornate flagon of deep red liquid.

"Glad to hear it, DeNonce! Your performance review...is that you've been performing well. I believe you are prepared for some bigger cases, my boy. In addition to Ms. Krier's caseload, I'd like you to assist on a very special case...one hand-picked by the Partners."

Dire walks to the edge of the Chamber of Friends to look out the tall narrow window. There is smoke rising from the Old 19th Ward, a great fire consuming many of the standing structures. Dire leans on the windowsill.

"This city has been quite different since our new Regent rose to power. Her...moral stringency is even worse than Old Thrawl's--and he was no friend to us!"

"What if I told you that wheels were in motion to change all of this?"

[Zhym]

"I would not presume to feign surprise," replies Llewellyn, "and I would hope for some small part as a cog in the machinery of that change."

[Mister-Kent]

Dire turns back from the window. His flagon is now a writing quill, which he twiddles mindlessly in his hands. "Our agents afield have discovered a potential claimant to the throne of the Caligarian Empire. The bloodline is strong, and we believe he would be sympathetic to our business concerns. He isn't our client--not yet. But when he is, we will sue for the crown!"

"Of course, the first hurdle in this little project would be retrieval. He's being held in quite an inconvenient location, very much against his will..."

[Zhym]

"How inconvenient is this location?" asks Llewellyn. As used by Dire, the word could apply to anything from a reasonably well-guarded gaol to imprisonment on any number of hard-to-reach planes.

[Zhym]

I've played too many MMORPGs.

Oh great, thinks Llewellyn. An escort mission.

[Mister-Kent]

(Just you wait--Phase Two of the case requires the collection of a dozen bear asses )

Dire walks to the center of the chamber to a square wooden table, which you're certain was not present within the room a moment ago. Draped across it is a wide parchment map of the city of Vornheim. The old lawyer takes his quill pen--which is now a small dagger--and abruptly jabs the map where the 45th Ward is located.

"Within the twisted streets of Ward Forty-five, you'll find the Limehurst Sanitorium," Mr. Dire sniffs. "From time to time, I've been called upon to rescue a client from its clutches. It is the private institution of the Association of Alienists, and the base for all their…research."

"Our client is one Lord Vermillion Darkday, and our augurs have located him just recently. He doesn't yet realize he is our client, but our augurs assure me that once you present yourself he will surely take up the cause. He's apparently been within Limehurst for some time. Descended from some of Caligari's ancient rulers, Lord Darkday has a strong claim to the throne, I believe. We can no doubt rally support for his ascension. Of course, the Scarlet Regent won’t exactly appreciate that."

"I'll make sure you have all information we can obtain on Limehurst and the Alienists, as well as the royal line. Err, of course, if you'd prefer, I have other cases I could assign you to--perhaps some of Miss Kier's unfinished business…"

[Zhym]

"An interesting assignment," says Lewellyn. "I'll begin working on it at once."

[Mister-Kent]

Mr. Dire nods. "Limehurst is like the flytrap, Mr. DeNonce." He gestures with his fingers, pinching them closed quickly. "I daresay no one's ever gotten out--that is, not without our legal assistance, and even then we've had some difficulty. So covetous of new patients are these Alienists. You would need a good excuse to approach them to their face. You're so skilled in keeping to the shadows, DeNonce, I'll give you that. However you'd like to handle this is up to you. However, for a certain approach I think I know someone who can help you..."

The old lawyer-mage leads you outside the Chamber of Friends, where two black-robed guards sit on a long wooden bench, and rise at your arrival. Between them sits Ms. Kier, looking rather dazed.

She looks up at you, a man she's worked alongside for several years, prepared several cases together. Her eyes are wide and she smiles.

"Ah! Frederick, you're home! Is it time for supper?" Kier asks you with a pleased grin.

Dire folds his hands. Whatever pen or dagger or goblet he had been playing with has vanished now. "Poor Miss Kier. She certainly seems...out of sorts. Perhaps a visit with a doctor would be therapeutic for her, don't you think, Mr. DeNonce? I hear Limhurst has quite a reputable expert staff with regards to these matters..."

[Zhym]

Llewellyn looks at the mindless Ms. Kier and allows a thin smile to reach his lips. The under-performing associate will still be of some usefulness, it seems.

"I do believe you're right," he says to Dire in the most innocent of voices. "Ms. Keir does not seem herself at all. I should take her in for professional evaluation."

His tone turns businesslike. "What other information do we have?" he asks. "Do we have a map of the facility—preferably with Lord Darkday's location marked? What about staffing information? The more I know about, let us say, the 'proclivities' of the staff, the more effective I can be. Who is assigned to Lord Darkday's case, or spends the most time with him?"

"Our customary tools of pens, papers, and process are unavailable in this case, I presume? We no doubt want to keep a low profile on this project given that the Regent would oppose it."

[Mister-Kent]

"Indeed, utmost secrecy until we are ready to reveal our case fully formed before all Vornheim. The Regent will gladly snuff out our efforts in the premature should she hear of them.

Mr. Dire walks over and takes Ms. Kier by the hand, then leads her to your side. "I have my personal assistant Andromeda with the dossier on Lord Darkday's caretakers. She also is working on the map of the facility, but...forgive her if it's incomplete. A good cartomancer is so difficult to find you know, and she makes up for it in other ways."

"She's in the second floor Chamber of Discovery. Good luck, Mr. DeNonce..."

[Zhym]

Llewllyn nods his acknowledgement to Mr. Dire.

"Come along, Angela" he says to Miss Krier, taking the recently addled associate by the hand. "Let's go see Andromeda."

He proceeds immediately to see Mr. Dire's assistant.

[Mister-Kent]

The odd-looking Drudge servant returns to your side as you and Kier head to the Chamber of Discovery. "Mr. Dire has relieved me of my duties for the day, to enter your service for a few days, that you may properly prepare your case," he explains. "If you have commands, I am here to see them to completion."

As you approach the chamber, Kier and the Drudge follow a few paces behind you. You open the large doors to find the room covered in parchments and unfurled scrolls. Stepping gingerly around the paper is a woman with white hair piled up in a tight bun on her head. You recognize her as Dire's assistant Andromeda. She recognizes you.

"Mr. DeNonce. It's a pleasure, as always," she says in a musical voice. She looks at Kier and considers her a moment, a knowing smile appearing as she looks back to you. "You've come for the map. One moment please. I've only just now got the formation right." She point to the papers, arrayed on the floor in a circle around the center of the room.

She carries with her a little pot of black ink. She takes a mouthful, and hands you the pot to hold as she walks to the center of the parchment circle. Andromeda looks back at you before she begins. Her eyes are black pools now. She bends and twirls, and begins to spit ink out onto the papers. The ink soaks into the parchment, forming lines and angles.

She wretches up more ink, as if in some of trance. That is certainly more ink than she had in her mouth at first. Your Drudge looks like he's going to be sick, seeing Andromeda's process. He turns away and hovers near the entrance to the chamber.

Kier finds the whole cartomancy trance humorous, laughing madly as Andromeda twirls and spits. Kier was a cunning and ruthless tactical mind once--looking at her now, you see in her eyes that the old Ms. Kier is gone. Whatever she did to offend the Partners, it was great enough to earn her a special kind of punishment.

After a few minutes, the cartomancy is done, and Andromeda approaches you, ink smeared on her cheek. "There. They are somewhat incomplete--you know how these things go. I am not a great cartomancer, but…the ink is a factor as well. It is said, the more toxic the ink, the more reliable the ritual..."

"I also have a dossier on the Limehurst staff. What is your personal experience with doctors, Mr. DeNonce?"


I will have the maps ready tomorrow!

[Zhym]

Llewellyn has no trouble stomaching the revolting display. He's seen worse. He's caused worse.

"I have engaged the services of healers on occasion," he replies to Andromeda. "More often, of course, I have sent 'referrals.'"

[Mister-Kent]

Andromeda takes a quill, licks it with her inky tongue, and scrawls her own notes on the parchments. She then hands you the finished maps.

"When I make maps...they're not perfect. However, I do get certain impressions from the territory, and made some notes."

"The director of the sanitorium is Dr. Wulf. His great-gandfather founded the asylum, and it's sort of been a family affair ever since. He handles the highest priority cases, likely Lord Darkday's. The rest of the senior staff...we have limited information. The Alienists are a very close-knit and private group. Vrogel is a known collaborator with the Guild of Honest Brewers, and I suspect he takes to drink far too often. Dr. Shrike was formerly in training to be a priest of Vorn, but left to take up the medical trade. This...this is all we could discern."