Play@YSDC

Making a brief investigation and asking around about the count's house, no one remembers ever having seen a villa in a unique style. It has probably been long replaced with another building. However, more people suggest that the investigators go to Poissy's Town Hall and ask for information. The offices over there keep precise and accurate information on town planning and changes.

Poissy is seventeen and a half miles west of Paris and can be reached by train or hired car. In the winter months, the train from Gare Saint-Lazare will be favored, as the roads may be icy in patches. The train winds through small suburban towns and hamlets before entering the Forêt de Saint-Germain, a dense, brooding expanse of woods where animal tracks can be seen in the snow on either side of the rails. At last the forest opens. There are some fields, silent and desolate under the snow, and then the first small houses, and then on the right of the track passengers will see the Seine, just a few dozens of yards away. The banks where week-end strollers bathe and take the sun in Spring and Summer are bleak and desolate, as in paintings by Seurat near Asnières. The punts and other barks shrouded and covered or half-filled with icy water.

On the left side of the track, the wooden platform overlooks a town square, and waiting passengers press on the ramp from the nearby café-restaurant of the Hôtel de Rouen, where they have been keeping warm. The town is bustling despite the cold, with the atmosphere of an American frontier-town, hedged in by the forest. Three-story houses, some recent, some dating from medieval times, flank the paved roads which gendarmes on horses patrol. One, a grocery, is proudly marked Depuis 1420. There are carts, a few cars, and a tramline to nearby Saint-Germain en Laye. In the streets the urchins play under the supervision of vigilant mothers hanging washing to dry. The town hall is a two-story building with a few colonnades around the porch-entrance.

At the town hall, the group finds an old clerck eager to tell about the history of the small town of Poissy. The Comte’s villa was a well-documented architectural oddity. Accounts describe it as a potpourri of architectural styles, ranging from classical Greek and medieval buttresses to fresh-built broken towers imitating Gothic ruins, similar to the English fashion of decorative ruins on country estates. The three story building had a dozen bedrooms, a ballroom, and numerous sitting rooms. There´s a set of plans made by a Parisian builder and detail the layout of the house, down-leading stairs indicating the existence of an unmapped cellar area. A cameo etching of the mansion’s front view exists. The lines of the building are subtly crazed and seem not to be the product of a rational mind.

To get to the site, investigators must retrace their steps towards the station in the direction of the Church, passing near a large and grim building. The erstwhile Convent of the Ursulines is now a prison, the Maison d’Arrêt de Poissy. Wives and families of those imprisoned may be waiting outside in the cold for a chance to get a visit in the parlor.
The investigators pass the Church, the Collégiale Notre-Dame de Poissy, built 1130-1140 AD. It contains the worn font of Saint-Louis, worn from the belief that scrapings from the fontwhen drunk with water would cure fevers. The font is encircled by spikes of forged and twisted metal and is rather forbidding. Passing though a stone archway into what was once the enclosure of the Abbey of the Dominicaines, a priory, they find they are now walking up cobbled streets, insulated from the hustle and bustle of the modern town, surrounded by older houses and mansions, on the outskirts of a large park with age-old trees. The investigators feel as though they have stepped back in time.

Eventually, they get to the house of the Lorien family, as the clerck had informed them. The house is surrounded by a large crumbling brick wall, obviously of 18th century work. The walls are in-part supported by massive climbing rose bushes which cover them. The roses would be incredibly beautiful in the spring, their perfume filling the area. In winter they are grim and forbidding, having been pruned back and resembling twisted and knotted barbed wire. Through the gateway a small, two-storied brick house can be seen. Smoke rises from the chimney, and a warm, comforting light fi lls the downstairs rooms. The razed mansion of Comte Fenalik once stood where the small home now waits.

Looking at the humble dwelling, Andrew has a moment of doubt. 'Ought we really to be bothering these poor people. Could the cellar really still be here after all these years?'

"I don't see why it wouldn't be," says Felicity. "It's not like it could have gone anywhere. Shall we knock?"

'It is probably filled in,' mutters Andrew. 'But I suppose we're here now.'

“I wish we’d pressed on to Istanbul and started our search there. It would have been warmer.” Grumbled Clarence who was still cold from yesterday.
“Come on, let’s hope they’re hospitable.” He leads the way to the house and knocks on the door.

When the investigator knocka at the door, a man opens. He is a thin man in his thirties, with light hair. He greets the group with a mixture of caution and curiosity. He doesn't seem suspicious of anything, but he doesn't seem used to receive visits from strangers.

"Bonjour, Monsieur," says Felicity in French, all smiles and bubbly words. "We are researching Comte Fenalique, and we understand he had property in this area in the eighteenth century."

'Ah, the direct approach' whispers Andrew, just about making out the gist of what she has said.

The man raises his eyebrows in amazement.
"I´m sorry, madame. I have no idea who this count is."
Oh... my house has aroused enough interest in strangers, lately. Why are you interested, if I may ask?."
He smiles.
"Well... it is possible that another building existed here at that time, but it is not my house. My house was built ten years ago, a few years before I moved here. If you are looking for information about this count, I really don't know how to help you, sorry "

"It's mademoiselle," says Felicity, fluttering her eyelashes. "We've already found out some things about him, but we're interested in seeing what used to be his property. Perhaps the cellar is still intact beneath where his house once stood. We'd just like to look around."

Using Flattery.

Archie conferred briefly with the cab driver and then realized that the others had gone on without him. He tipped the gentleman and then hurried to catch up. He stood at the back of the group, murmuring a quick apology to his companions and then added, in French, "We won't be any trouble. I promise."

The man smiles and gladly invites the investigators in out of the cold. He takes them into the kitchen and puts on some coffee. His name is Christian. He introduces himself and his family. Christian is the town doctor. He moved here after completing his training in Paris. His wife Veronique married him while he was an intern and she studied history at the Sorbonne. Their child of three years is Quitterie. She is a bundle of energy, curious and beautiful. She stands by her father’s legs, watching the new comers intently. After a while, she sits on Felicity´s knee, demanding to be entertained.

Christian explains that his wife is resting in bed. The cold weather has bought on a severe attack of arthritis and he has given her a mild sedative to ease the pain. As Christian Lorien makes coffee, the visitors notice a particularly nasty scar on the back of his left hand which disappears up his sleeve.

As said before, Christian comments that his house has been of much interest lately, recalling a recent letter from Switzerland, which he shows to the visitors. Lorien explains that the letter is meaningless to them. He hopes that the investigator can help him to figure out what is all this about.

The letter is addressed to the occupants of the house, it is written in French, and was posted in Switzerland. It arrived six months ago, owing to one thing and another he has not yet replied to it. He is happy to let the investigators copy what they will from the document, it is not addressed to anyone in particular, after all.

50, Rue St. Etienne
Lausanne, Switzerland

To whom it may concern, I realize that I am a complete stranger and that this letter may well mean nothing to you. My name is Edgar Wellington, and I am researching the history of a statue known most commonly as the Sedefkar Simulacrum. I recently came into possession of an old scroll which presents an intriguing description of the item. This piqued my interest, and I am now endeavoring to trace the simulacrum. My search has lead me to your address. The name is probably meaningless to you but, through my researches, I have learnt that the last recorded resting place of the piece of art was in the house that occupied your land in the late 18th century. The statue was a unique Arabian artifact, lost during the events of 1789. Its last owner was a German nobleman who once lived where you live today. Please, I ask that if you have heard any local stories regarding this item, or maybe found any traces of the old house and its possessions on your land which might give a clue as to the eventual fate of the object, would you be so kind as to write to me with a summary of the information. I apologize for the rather strange nature of my request, but I feel that I should pursue whatever leads remaining to me. I hope that you will not go to any great length regarding this. Yours most sincerely,
Edgar Wellington

Christian asks the investigators how long they intend to stay. He offers to put them up for the night. He is flattered at the historical interest in his home, and believes that Veronique will enjoy the company.

"You remind me of myself when I was your age," Felicity says, smiling at Quitterie. "My parents could never keep up with me." She sings to her some English songs she probably hasn't heard before, starting with 'It's a Long Way to Tipperary."

The name does not sound familiar. However, you all recall that a couple of years ago, when Prof. Smith talked about an incoming journey across Europe, he mentioned he would also visit a friend, an English man, living in Switzerland.

Reading the letter and its references to the Sedefkar Simulacrum and the scroll, Andrew says to his companions, loud enough to be overheard, 'Ah, Monsieur Wellington, he is a friend of a friend, we were intending to visit him in Switzerland. We can convey all we discover and save Monsieur Lorien the trouble of writing.'

I think I saw Lausanne on the Orient Express itinerary before the Simplon tunnel

When Christian offers for them to stay, and this is translated for him, Andrew suggests they take him up on the offer and see if he will let them look around for any signs of a cellar. Andrew has some understanding of architecture and wants to get a look at the outside of the building to see if there are any signs suggesting another entrance to the remains of the old structure.

He looks the French doctor over. There's something not quite right about the man but Andrew can't quite put his finger on it. The scarred arm, the hidden wife, he wonders if there is something this man is not telling them.

While the adults are talking, Quitterie accidentally jolts Felicity´s arm. Hot coffee spills onto Quitterie’s left arm and Felicity’s lap. The coffee is not so hot that either is scalded, but the liquid is hot enough to cause discomfort. Quitterie screams like a demon, it is as if her arm has been cut off. Apologizing, Lorien fetches a cloth for Felicity, then hushes his daughter and takes her into the bathroom, where he cleans and soothes her, and puts sweet-smelling lotion on her arm. Remarkably, a long line of inflamed skin can be seen on her left arm.

"Merci," says Felicity, wiping the spill from her clothes. "Well, that's another excuse to go shopping. Of course, so is 'look, there's a shop.' I do hope Quitterie's all right. That burn really affected her skin. We'll have to ask her father about her condition when he returns. Perhaps she got it from her mother. It's a pity, I was going to sing 'Three Little Maids from School' next. That's my signature song. Of course, we'll probably stay here long enough that I'll get the chance."

In French, Archie responds "Well, Christian, I am a doctor myself back in London. It's a pleasure to meet you. I would love to talk shop sometime. My clientele is mostly older, and I see a lot of arthritis cases at my practice. I know how debilitating it can be."

Can I tell what kind of injury caused the scar?

Archie moves over to where Felicity. "You know, our club did a Gilbert & Sullivan revue, and I did Three Little Maids with a couple of my buddies dressed in kimonos. I can be Pitti Sing to your Yum Yum..." he grinned.

"That would be a delight, Archie," says Felicity with a smile. "I had no idea you were a thespian!"

Christian looks sad and worried as he replies to Archie.
"Yes, the opinion of a colleague is always welcome. My wife had never had problems with arthritis. It all started a few months after we moved here. While she was pruning the garden hedges she felt a sudden pain in her arm. Then, it has gotten worse and worse and now she can barely move it."

Examining the little girl's arm, Archie notices that the wound is a relatively serious burn, as if caused by boiling water. This is indeed inexplicable, because the coffee was barely warm. What is also difficult to explain is that, despite a little coffee also wet the child´s knee, there´s no trace of a burn there.

"Oh, I have never actually been in a show, but I sang in the glee club at Brichester. When my mates in the club learned about it, they insisted that I sing with them on the revue to raise money for the children's ward at Barts' ....I mean, St. Bartholomew. Couldn't say no to that, now could I?"

Archie pays very close attention to the girl's arm, but he decides not to bring it up to the father just yet.

Archie turns back to Christian. "I would be happy to take a look, but I wouldn't want to disturb her if she's resting. I know how hard it can be to get to sleep when you're in pain."

Can I tell what caused Christian's scar?

Clarence shudders at the mention of amateur dramatics and sits huddled at the kitchen table. When the coffee spills, he leaps up to find a cloth and wipes up the mess.
“Like Father like Daughter don’t you think?” He says when Christian is in the bathroom.
“That was far too much fuss, look this coffee is barely warm. Do you think it might be a hereditary nervous disorder, Archie?”

"Did you notice that all of their health problems have to do with their arms?" asks Felicity.

“Exactly.” Clarence agrees. “Too much of a coincidence.”

When Clarence pulls Archie aside, he shakes his head and leans in, speaking sotto voce. "I wouldn't know. That particular issue isn't in my bailiwick. The Austrians and Germans are doing some interesting things with the brain and mental illness right now, but it will probably be a decade or so before we catch up in London."

Then leaning toward Felicity, he adds,"Correlation doesn't always equal causation. The three injuries don't necessarily look that much alike, but it's definitely worth keeping in mind as we explore this mystery."

"I don't know what caused the injuries," says Felicity, "but I do find it interesting that a couple of the statue pieces are arms."

Andrew raises an eyebrow. 'Presumably any body part could be represented by the statue.' Then he realises the implication of what he has said, blushes crimson, and shuts up.

Felicity tries to suppress a grin, but not very hard.

When Felicity makes the remark about the Lorien's injuries, everyone notices that all the injuries are in the left arm. Dinner is cooked by Christian Lorien, and is excellent. Veronique Lorien comes down and is introduced to the group. They can see that her left hand is really bent and twisted by the arthritis. A pleasant meal is had by all, except for Quitterie, who goes to bed early. As the guests settle in, they notice an absence of religious icons in the house.

Christian's wound is an infection, initially perhaps caused by a trivial cut. The infection appears to have worsened due to neglect in disinfection. Mrs Lorien's arthritis is serious, but it is strange to find this state of arthritis in such a young person.

"Thank you for your hospitality," says Felicity. "The food was magnificent!"

“A home cooked meal- just what the doctor ordered!” Clarence finished his meal with great satisfaction.
“I hope we can repay you with some useful historical fact finding!”
He takes out his notebook and scribbles ‘statue arm in grounds’. And then apologies to the others.

Noticing the lack of Catholic iconography around the house Andrew realises that the Loriens are probably protestants. Like all right thinking Englishmen, Andrew is a member of the Church of England and therefore nominally a protestant as well, but in a more understated English fashion of course. He simply nods to himself in approval, 'At least they're not papists,' he mutters.

The rest of the night passes uneventfully. The morning is clear and relatively warm. Using the old gate entrance as a base point and making sense of the papers found in the catacombs, the group locate the position of the cellar steps. The top step is under nearly two feet of earth and charred brick, near the base of a large oak tree. They must dig. Excavating the long staircase takes the whole of this winter’s day. The sun is low and a cold wind is rising when they clear the last shovel of earth away from the 18th step and the old steel door reveals itself at the bottom. Chains and crowbars are necessary to budge the door, which has both rusted into its frame and become wedged under collapsed brickwork. Upon opening the door, damp cool air greets the investigators. The hall beyond leads back toward the walls and outer gate.

The foundations were made by excellent masons and is quite sound, although the roots of nearby trees have pushed through some joints in the stone work, bulging through like thick, pallid snakes, and making movement difficult at points. Exposed root terminates in a five-way juncture, like arms ending in hands. Rooms empty off the hall to either side, but there are no wine racks or mounds of old furniture. As the investigators walk down the passage, each room proves to be a prison cell. Some doors are locked, but through the peep holes skeletons can be seen beyond. This is not an ordinary cellar. Several larger rooms contain torture implements, cages, and yet more skeletons. Two skeletons are chained together, one in the rotting remains of a bridal veil.

"I'm glad the Comte is dead," says Felicity with a shudder. "Probably. Well, let's search for something that looks like a statue piece. Presumably the left arm."

“Oh my word.” Exclaims Clarence. “Just as well this has been buried. Let’s make sure Madame and Little Miss Lorien don’t see this. Are the doors still locked or can we gain entry?”
He tries to open the first door.

Shuddering, Andrew looks at the remnants of the infernal place, 'I am glad they burned it to the ground! If only the Count had gone down with the ship.'

By the time the passage is finally cleared, Archie's back and arms are aching. He hasn't worked this hard since he helped out his grandfather on his farm as a young teenager. He sighs with relief as they are finally able to make it down the stairway and into the old basement. With each new horror in the rooms, he makes a visible reaction, shaking his head. He gasps as he recognizes the bridal veil and the implications therein.

"Those poor wretches..." he said softly. He goes back to where Clarence has opened the door and goes in.

If there is a body in this one, can I gather any information from the condition or age of the skeleton?

As the investigators wander through this ghastly prison, they eventually become aware of dim light ahead, coming from the final room.
The faint glow comes from roses of fantastic colors: aquamarine, violet, orange, and grassgreen. These flowers hang from thick rose vines which have an oily black sheen and drip black ichor from long thorns. The vines have grown through the remains of those who died here so that they support the bent and twisted skeletons, which are thus tormented even in death. Flowers bloom in empty sockets, and the vines have pulled the dead into strange poses. At the base of the mass lies the left arm of a statue. It is human-sized, and glows faintly.

OOC:   OOC: Stability test (1D6, you need to get 4,5 or 6 to succeed) for seeing the whole ghastly prison. 1 Stability point is lost if the roll failed.

You can deduce that the bodies are at least a century old. More accurate dating require forensics.

Felicity takes it all in stride. "There's the arm," she says. "Let's get some gardening shears and cut it loose. I don't like the look of those thorns."

Stability test (no points spent):
1d6

“Incredible!” Clarence breathes. “The arm must have magical properties. Although I’d be hesitant to touch it myself.”

Stability roll: 6

Andrew crouches down beside Archie to look at the bodies. 'What do you think happened to them?' he asks, looking closer at their contorted forms. The way they are twisted and angled, what happened to them, what horrors did they endure? He shudders involuntarily at the thought and screws his eyes shut trying to block out the images that come into his mind.

At Clarence's observation he concurs, 'If that thing was really affecting the family, can we safely start collecting the whole statue? Perhaps there is some way we can store it without coming to harm?

Andrew has Forensics 1 if that will help examine the bodies. Can he think of any way that they might store/carry the Sedefkar Simulacrum without being harmed? Lead lined box?

L1d6

Archie shook his head and shuddered. He looked over at Andrew and said darkly, "There's not enough left of these poor wretches for me to tell. The skeletons have been here awhile, though. At least a hundred years." He finally turned toward the part of the statue and said to the others. "I am praying that getting this out of here will save the family."

Stability Roll

1d6

Cutting away the vines completely enough to avoid all damage takes about twenty minutes. As soon as the vines are cut and the arm removed, the rose blossoms begin to decay. The arm is smooth and relatively featureless, like china, and cool to the touch. Inspected carefully, a repeating pattern of arms can be seen in the ceramic. When taken away from the roses, it ceases to glow.

The bodies are of quite young people, but it is very difficult to deduce the precise cause of death or other injuries. One of them has a smashed skull. Others have joint injuries or minor abrasions to the bone, in several parts of the body. It seems they died under torture. Only two have clothes, now in tatters. None is carrying anything.

Keeping his voice low, Andrew points out the smashed skull to Archie. 'Look at this damage to the joints and bones. They were tortured, even if that isn't what killed all of them.' He takes a deep breath and looks away for a moment. 'See the teeth, they were young, and he jabs the tatters of clothes, most were naked. It's disgusting.'

He stands, 'I wish I had brought my camera with me, I could have taken some pictures of the scene, to capture these strange roses and to give something to the police when they come to investigate these bodies.' He looks closely at the decaying flowers but gardening is not really his strong suite. He has staff for that sort of thing.

OOC:   I'll try and pick up a camera the next time we're in a town/city!

“I’m not sure how we’d explain all this plus our presence here to the police; and we’d be here for days wading through all the bureaucracy. Plus I don’t suppose Monsieur Lorien will like all the hassle.
How about we take the arm and then suggest to the Loriens we cover the entrance and get out of here?”
Clarence wipes his brow.

Andrew looks at Clarence in disgust. 'The least these poor people deserve is a proper burial.'

"All of these unfortunate people died well over a century ago," says Felicity. "Nobody's going to suspect us of having killed them, though I may end up committing murder if anyone dares to claim I'm that old. We just tell the police the truth, or at least part of it. We came here to find the cellar of Fenalik's home, and we found it."

"Aye...the poor wretches do deserve a burial," Archie said sadly. "But we don't have the time or the means." Archie paused for a moment over the twisted bones, eyes squeezed tightly closed as his lips moved ever so slightly.

Then he turned to the others. "My vote is to leave the police out of the loop. There is no way they aren't going to detain us for a few days."

"They're not going to think we're responsible for torture and murder cases from the 18th century," says Felicity. "I'm quite confident I can sweet talk the police. They're only men, after all. At worst, they'll ask us not to leave Paris for a few days, and I can think of plenty of worse places to be stuck."

Clarence shakes his head.
“We’ll be snarled up in red tape for days. Plus, it will likely alert whoever it is who’s also looking for the statue.
As Felicity says, these poor sods died long ago. This isn’t much different to an Iron Age burial chamber in itself. There’s nothing we can do other than remove the evil presence of the arm.”

Andrew is clearly fuming. 'There is a thread of common decency that separates civilised man from the savages. We are British damn it!'

He says nothing more for several minutes, seemingly lost for words and overcome with anger until he eventually adds, 'May I suggest we seek Monsieur Lorien's wishes in his own house?'

"An excellent suggestion," says Felicity.

"We need to bring the arm with us," says Felicity. "I'm hoping the Lorien family will be healed now, but we don't want the same thing to happen to us. Perhaps we should avoid touching it with our bare hands but find something in which to wrap it. I suppose we can store it in one of my steamer trunks when we get back to the hotel, along with any other pieces we find later. I brought plenty of clothes, but there's still room left for all the things I was going to buy. I'll just have to save some room and get some of them on the way back."

Archie nodded, agreeing with Felicity. "Yes, we need to take it with us, and we need to avoid touching it at all costs," he said as he shrugged off his suit jacket and dropped it over the arm. He looked around nervously. "I trust you all know what you need to do, should this go terribly wrong."

Archie leaned over and slowly lowered his hand toward the cloth covered arm.

“Careful, old boy.” Clarence watches apprehensively.

Silence falls into the gloomy underground. The young doctor bends over to grab the object. As he picks it up, something seems to be different from what he expected.

Seen up close, the material of the piece is made of rock. The surface of the arm is slightly uneven. The stone has been finely decorated with very small representations of an entire human figure. They cover the entire surface and can only be identified by observing the piece very close. Although it is undoubtedly made of rock, the object is very light. Oddly light. Apart from that, nothing else happens.

Archie chuckles darkly at Clarence's admonition. "That's the plan, mate..." Then when there is no obvious energy emanating from it, he lowers his hand the rest of the way and picks it up using his jacket.

After all of the weird bollocks that Archie has seen since the ride on the bizarre train, Archie is genuinely stunned that there doesn't appear to be any immediate and catastrophic injury to himself or his arm. He lifts it closer to his eyes so he can see the design covering the surface.

"It's awfully light," he said as he gently lifted in the air, like a butcher or postal clerk might as they attempted to guess something's weight. "And there is a design that you can't see until you're right up on it."

"Take a look," he said, holding it out so the others can see.

Andrew peers carefully at the arm, making sure he doesn't touch it. 'I see, it is rather hard to make out...'

He'll use any of his skills in Archaeology, Art History, Cryptography, Languages, Magic, or Theology to try and make sense of the pattern.

Felicity also inspects the arm while taking care not to touch it.

I'll use Occult and Art.

“It’s fascinating.” Although apprehensive, Clarence can’t help but be absorbed by the antiquity and uniqueness emanating from the arm.

Seen up close, the material of the piece is made of rock. The surface of the arm is slightly uneven. The stone has been finely decorated with tiny repeating forms of a human body. They cover the entire surface and can only be identified by observing the piece very close under the flashlight beam. It changes color according to the strength of the light bathing it, from opalescent pastels to rich blues to inky blacks in full light. There are lugs and corresponding slots for the piece to fit with something else, most likely, the torso piece.

After taking the simulacrum's arm, Archie feels a tingle in his left arm. It is only mildly annoying, but persistent.

The human form does not resemble anything previously found in history and in known ancient or modern religions. The style of the human silhouette vaguely recalls the art of the Arab peoples before Islam.

The decorations in the pattern are tiny, almost microscopic. The tiny human figures that are repeated on the surface are identical to each other. There is no artist who could do such precise work manually. On the other hand, as far as Felicity knows, there is no technical means that is also capable of this.

After a while, Christian Lorien appears. He is shocked by what he sees here underground. He is determined to inform the authorities to give a proper burial to all these bodies. He affirms that his english guests shouldn't feel obligated to take care of that unless they want to. Archie will continue to feel piece as extremely light . However, when the stone arm is placed inside a bag and one of the other investigators picks up that bag, he will feel the weight of a very heavy block of stone inside the bag.

OOC:   Everybody recovers 1 point of Stability. The collection has begun. Before you board again on the Orient Express, let me know about your next destination....

"How was this even made?" asks Felicity. "Nobody has the ability to handcraft it with such precision. Even with modern machine tools, it would be impossible. And yet this thing is centuries old!"

“We can examine it on the train. Where do we go for the next piece?” Clarence is eager to find the pieces before their mysterious enemy does.

"There's also the scrolls," says Felicity. "At least one of them is supposed to be in Lausanne, Switzerland."

'This form doesn't resemble anything I've seen before,' says Andrew. 'Although it does have vague echoes of pre-Islamic art. Whatever this is, it is something very alien.'

OOC:   Isn't Lausanne the next stop?

Lausanne sounds good to me.

Clarence nods,
“Let’s collect our dunnage and get going.” As they leave He turns to M. Lorien,
“I have hopes you’ll be able to turn this horrible find into something more positive for your family. At the very least, I think Madame Lorien might improve her health.”

'Thank you for your hospitality Monsieur Lorien, and I apologise deeply for the inconvenience we have caused you,' Andrew gestures to the bodies. 'We have rather urgent business in Verona and the authorities will be able to send word to us there if they need any further information about this grisly find.'

He shakes the man's hand firmly. 'And do not worry, we have not forgotten our promise to call on Mr Wellington in Lausanne. We will have plenty of time on our return journey.'

OOC:   Obviously Andrew is trying to leave a false trail should anyone try to follow them. He will check the mail at the station in Verona though. He doesn't want to evade the authorities.

"I have a feeling you and your daughter will also feel better," says Felicity. "Thank you for all your help."