[CLOSED] Funeral for Elara Vanya - DataStream - Free Council Mage [11-28-25]
-
DOSBox
Dice Pool: Manipulation (3) + Empathy (1)
Action: Pretending to be a neurotypical human being at a funeral
Mana: 5/10
Willpower: 5/5I wipe my hands across my face like a windshield wiper going only one way, letting my elbows come to rest against my knees as if it were my shoulders rather than the chair doing their best Atlas impression, "Hey, Dante, my guy. Right now? Not the greatest time to scope me out for info. Yeah. I get it. The stuff I said to the police was kind of lacking in content since supernatural stuff is supposed to stay supernatural. But like, you have my personal phone number, ya dig? Call me later when I am NOT literally grieving for my friend. I'll tell you everything. I'll even buy you a 5-way chili and a coke. Skyline adds this cinnamon to their chili that is just, like, way different than Detroit-style, ya know?"
Ghostcode, the stereotypical Asian nerd tapping away at her phone like she wasn't at a funeral, gives me a solid kick to the shin from her position in the row of chairs behind me without taking her eyes off her screen. To the average observer, she seemed totally disinterested in the recently deceased, but in reality, she was hyper-focused on completing the ritual they would be using soon in order to track down the murderer. The reason for the kick was pretty obvious. Dante was the detective on the case: both mundane and supernatural. If he wanted info, I should become Professor Dumple Lore.
I sigh heavily, nodding a couple times as I assess the tissue situation for the two sitting on either side of me. ShortCircuit, the blonde tech startup founder turned mage, had dressed up in her best pencil skirt outfit. Picturesque was leaning on the more casual-side, wearing a sweater and baggy pants. Both were equally weeping at the loss of their friend. I'm sure there's a metaphor here about grief hitting both ends of the social spectrum or something like that, but my brain is a little too fried to process it.
I lean forward towards Dante and send some hushed whispers his way, "I really don't have much extra to tell. Picturesque is more likely to have insight on this because she was there during the assault, but like, I will tell you what I got. Whatever it was that was going on to DataDump when I found her, it was supernatural in source. And when I just tried to use a little life magic to figure out what was wrong with her, her chest exploded: like popcorn. I don't know if me using life magic was the trigger or if it was just me interacting with her at all, or maybe that was just a coincidence mixed with poor timing."
I scratch the back of my neck, "That's really all I got. If you have follow-up questions, I am down to answer whatever you got. Just... Maybe not right now, right here?"
-
Goal: Talk to Dante, find out what's going on.
Character Name: Caleb Sheridan, but most folks around these parts call me Chance.
Dice Pool: 3+3 Wits+Compsure (Perception). Find who doesn't belong, who is standing out, and who is important to this case.
Health: 7 - no damage
Mana: 6
Willpower: 6
Conditions: Charmed, Inspired, SteadfastRain clung to Chance’s coat as he stepped into the funeral home, the storm outside fading into a dull patter behind him. Warmth and the subtle pressure of dozens of leaking Nimbus signatures washed over him at once. Chicago’s Awakened community had grown so small since the Blackout that any gathering like this felt almost claustrophobic—too many familiar faces haunted by too many familiar losses.
He paused just inside, letting the Threads of Ariadne settle into focus. They whispered around him like faint, vibrating wires, each strand tugging gently toward the heart of the room. He had followed them across the city the moment he returned from out of town, guided by that quiet insistence; something broken in the pattern, something urgent.
The funeral reception was sober and curated: chairs pushed to the walls, untouched sandwiches, cheap wine sweating in buckets. Chance spotted his mentor, Agent Rhea Vale, exchanging stiff pleasantries with the Heirarch, Ironveil. She was composed, but her Nimbus betrayed strain. He made a mental note to catch her later.
But the Threads drew him further in, toward the open casket.
DataStream…no, Elara Vanya now…lay impossibly still beneath the mortician’s careful work. He hadn’t known her well, but she had always struck him as bright, fast, alive in a way Fate-touched mages recognized instantly. Even now, the Threads stretching from her chest shimmered faintly, thinning into the room like silk unraveling.
They led toward the bar.
Dante stood there, shoulders rigid, eyes shadowed. Chance followed the pull, weaving through murmuring cabalmates and strained condolences until he reached him.
“Dante,” he said quietly.
Dante turned, surprise flickering before grief overtook it. “Chance. Thought you were out of town.”
“Got back this morning.” Chance glanced toward the casket. “I’m sorry. She deserved more years than this.”
Dante exhaled sharply. “Yeah.”
A moment of silence passed before Chance asked, “Do you know anything? The Threads pulled me here, but…I don’t understand what I’m seeing. What happened?”
And as he stopped to listen, he couldn’t help but feel that same uneasiness settle as it always does.
-
Goal: Respond to Chance and Dos.
Character Name: Dante
Dice Pool: Wits 4 + Subterfuge 2 = 6 d10. Trying not to disclose too much information.
Health: see above
"What happened?" Dante asked, hopping on his soap box. "This City turned into the Wild West after the Black Out. Now all these New Yorkers are rolling into town like Carpet baggers...Present company excluded," Dante added last second, as not to offend Chance. Matter of fact. Dante wasnt sure where Chance was from originally. Hed have to ask sometime.
"I'll tell you what, though," Dante continued, "We've got our work cut out for us. Whoever or whatever did that," Dante gestures to the most assuredly closed casket, "its just the tip of the iceberg. And these barley awakened kids running around have no clue of whats lurking in the Shadows out there. Not saying I do, but you don't see me going on scavenger hunts either."
Dante said what he wanted to say. Now hed wait for Chance and see what info the other Guardian was fishing for. Best not to show your cards untill you know what boss is putting his chips in the pot.
Meanwhile Dante puts Dos Box at easy.
"I know you're no killer Dos. Heck im pretty sure the only thing you've ever 'murdered' is that tie. What, you get dressed in the dark this morning?" Dante tries to cut the tension with a joke. Probably badly.
"I guess I was just hoping you would have gotten a clue what happened. Why your spell backfired so badly. Thats not normal. And if it keeps happening, especially if its not isolated , that's bad. Very, very bad."
Dante pats Dos on the shoulder.
"Keep your head on out there, kid."
-
DOSBox gives a nod with a sigh, "Yeah, I mean, I'd like to know what went wrong, too. I mean, I'm not an expert at Life you know? Not mundane or magical. But I know something really funky has to be going on for that to happen. But we're gonna have to find someone who knows a lot more than me in order to find out why things reacted the way it did. Heck, I mean, it might have had nothing to do with me, and I just happened to do what I did when I did by coincidence. Can't rule out correlation over causation..."
-
Goal: Finish with Dante, then work the room
Character Name: Chance Meridian
Dice Pool: 5 Manipulation (3) + Socialize (1) + Attune (1)
Health: 7 - no damage
Mana: 6
Willpower: 6
Conditions: Charmed, Inspired, SteadfastChance sombered, taking a long pull of his drink. "Good ol' Dante, spitting facts no matter how bad it looks. But I get it. When you see a young candle snuffed out, you can't help but be a little melancholy. I'm just looking to see how I can help. I wasn't here when it happened, but I'm here now and the city is telling me I should be talking to you to help untangle what happened to her."
Something caught the corner of his eye. "Think about it" he said as he stood up "you know how to find me. This is your case, but I'm always happy to be some backup."
As he finished his drink, he started walking over to Praevidentia, his mentor. As always, she had a stern look on her face. Not that he would expect anything different at a funeral. She beckoned him over, "Chance, there is someone I would like you to meet..."
-
Update:
Praevidentia pulled Chance aside into one of the side rooms where two young women were talking. More like, one young woman with a nice sweater robe and dress pants that had pinstripes, a blouse, and flats, wearing thick glasses and a her hair pulled back in a bun, the color of her skin and shape of her eyes showing her Asian heritage, talking at another woman who had short dirty blond hair pulled up with a nice butterfly clasp, fair skin, a skirt, blouse and dress jacket.
The asian woman with glasses got quiet as the two entered the room and looked embarrassed, while the other woman turned to meet them, a half smile creeping on her face. Chance could see something in her eyes, something haunting her.
"This is Ashbriar. She is an up and coming Guardian of the Veil, and has been tasked with investigating a number of mysteries here in the city. Her latest caper was with Dante, and went a little sideways, didn't it?" The question was clearly loaded, as a 'bit off more than you could chew, didn't you?'
"She is Nightwatches pupil. I think you have met him a few times. I know he usually keeps to himself, tells everyone he is retired but has been organizing the Guardians here in the city and trying to keep an eye on the others." Praevidentia makes a sweeping motion to encompass the other mages in her statement.
"I think that she could use some help if you are willing to provide it. The two of you working with Dante could do a great deal to make the city safer for the other's work, and keep the Seers from finding the abandoned treasures first." She gave Ashbriar a pointed look.
"There is a lot you can learn from my student, Ashbriar, that you perhaps wouldn't learn from a retired epopt like Nightwatch. Afterall, rumor has it you've been made an Interfector, like Dante, instead of Cultor. That will bring with it new challenges you may not be ready for."
Whispering to Chance, "She is in over her head, but has potential. I think if you took her under your wing, she could be a valuable asset."
"And little Ash, we'd like to see you survive your next missions, and possibly gain some experience to act next time?" There were no punches pulled here. Ashbriar was getting a not so subtle asswhooping and having it done in front of Chance to make sure it had the right impact. Don't go alone, and grow a spine, lady, if you want to survive this town.
"Well, it is getting late and I have other responsibilities. I'll leave you two to catch up." Praevidentia put a knowing smile on her face and left quickly before a few of the others could flag her down.
-
Character Name: Chance.
Dice Pool: 6 - Manipulation (3) + Empathy (2) + Attune (1)
Health: 7 - no damage
Mana: 6
Willpower: 6
Conditions: Charmed, Inspired, SteadfastDescription:
Chance waited until Praevidentia’s footsteps faded fully down the hall before letting out a slow breath, smoothing the edge off the tension she’d left hanging in the air. The room felt smaller without his mentor in it; quieter, but also less charged. Ashbriar looked like she wanted to melt into her sensible shoes, eyes pointed anywhere but directly at him, while her friend hovered uncertainly, clearly torn between staying as moral support or making a graceful exit.
He offered both of them an easy, practiced smile; the kind that said no judgments here, even if he’d just witnessed a very public dressing-down.
“Well,” he said lightly, hands sliding into his pockets, “I’m guessing that wasn’t the conversation you were hoping to have tonight.”
Ashbriar’s friend muttered something about giving them space and excused herself. Chance stepped aside to let her pass, then gently nudged the door halfway closed. Not shutting Ashbriar in, just giving them a bubble of privacy.
He turned back to her, tone warmer now. “For what it’s worth… Praevidentia only unloads on people she thinks can take it. And from what I’ve heard? You’ve already survived more weirdness in this city than most novices do in a year.”
Ashbriar shifted, pushing her glasses up her nose. She didn’t answer immediately, maybe didn’t know how to, maybe didn’t trust her voice yet, so Chance continued, keeping things low-pressure.
“Look, I’m not here to judge your work, or Nightwatch’s. I don’t know the details of whatever went sideways with Dante.” He paused, softer. “But I do know this city is mean. And it’s easier to survive it when you’re not trying to out-stubborn it alone.”
He let the words settle, watching her posture rather than her expression.
“I’m offering an open door,” he said. “Not an obligation, not a partnership with paperwork. Just… if you want someone to compare notes with, or backup on the next thing the city throws at you, I’m around. And Dante’s already half adopted me, so you’d be in questionable company, sure, but not bad company.”
A small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Besides, my mentor seems convinced we’ll be useful to each other. And arguing with Praevidentia is a hobby I do not recommend.”
He stepped back slightly, giving her space to breathe, to choose.
“So, Ashbriar, where do you want to start?”
-
Ashbriar fixed her glasses. They were small and classy, like a model actress pretending to be a scientist. She had high cheekbones, a lean face, like someone who had lost a big of weight and now seemed alien in their own skin.
She had an aura about her, something soft, peaceful. It began to melt the tension.
"You're Chance, you were here before the Blackout, weren't you? I've heard some stories, more like, read some files," she lets her eyes drift sideways, somewhat embarrassed at either breaching into something private, or else being seen as reading up like a comic book fan learning about a favorite character.
She stepped a little closer, not intimately, but so their conversation could be private.
"I'm a cultor by trade you know? I think I fell in love with the idea of being out there, in the streets, on adventures with agents, rather than monitoring and managing people like a spy watching after assets. I did a lot of book work, a lot of research, a lot of op support, but I wasn't a field agent. When the call came through in New York that the Chicago hq wasn't just empty, but that someone had burned it down, blown out the inside, and ransacked it of everything, we had all thought that everyone had been murdered. I had worked with some of those people, spent time with them planning, listening, helping. They weren't friends, but they meant something to me, and I couldn't let that lie. I had to do something, something directly. So I signed up to come and put out the fire and get things settled.
That was 18 months ago. I'm still here, and now we know that none of them died. Well, not directly. The place had been nearly empty when whatever happened, happened. That's why we've been using apartments and boltholes, right? That place had been a fortress. Now, here I am mixed up with local legends trying to figure out the mystery of a lifetime, and me, i should be excited. I should be thrilled. But my hands won't stop shaking, and I can't sleep.
I need help. I know your mentor is known for being a bitc...well, being a bit much, but she's right. This is more than I can chew. But I can't leave. i can't run away. I need to stay and help get this fixed.
I have an idea about what happened to DataStream. I'm going to go look into and see what I can find. In the meantime, maybe you and Dante can get some answers? Put some of us Guardians together and find out what did this?"
You can do a final post if you want to ask Ashbriar anything. She seems very knowledgable about the direct aftermath of the Blackout, and the records of the Guardians for the city, at least the ones accessible in New York.
-
Chance listened without interrupting, his expression softening as Ashbriar spoke. The way her hands shook didn’t go unnoticed, nor did the quiet determination underneath it. When she finished, he let a few seconds of silence settle—respectful, intentional—before speaking.
“Yeah,” he said quietly. “That all tracks. Chicago has a way of chewing up people who care enough to stay.” A faint, wry smile touched his lips. “If it helps, you’re not wrong for feeling like this. You’re reacting the way a sane person reacts when the city starts whispering back.”
He leaned one shoulder lightly against the wall—not crowding her, just sharing the space. “For what it’s worth, you didn’t run. That already puts you ahead of a lot of people who should know better.”
Chance exhaled, gaze drifting briefly toward the door before returning to her. “I’m not here to give orders, or turn you into my project. Think of me as…someone who’s walked into the same bad neighborhoods before and learned which alleys echo back.”
Then, he lowered his voice just a bit, as if the hard business was just a little harder to get out. “And as for DataStream...in all the Guardian records you’ve reviewed since the Blackout—Chicago or New York—have you seen anything like what happened to DataStream before?” He shook his head slightly. “Not the who. The shape of it. The way it unfolded. The kind of thing that makes seasoned people nervous even when they can’t explain why.”
His tone stayed calm, grounded. “If there’s a pattern, we should know it. And if there isn’t—” a thin smile, “—that matters too.”
He met her eyes, steady. “Whatever you’re planning to look into, you don’t have to do it alone. Coordination beats heroics. Every time.”
-
Something clearly resonated with Ashbriar. She was a lost soul desperate for an anchor and a northstar.
Dante was fast becoming her anchor, but she still needed a North star. Chance wasn't trying to be it, but he was pointing to the sky, and she hadn't known where to look.She clearly made a decision.
"I do know something. I don't want to tell you here. It's...it might be really bad. I don't want to risk anyone using Space or Time or some kind of magic to listen in later. I'll tell you, but it has to be somewhere safe."
-
Ken(Kurotake)— Respect Paid, rumors overheard, make contact with lead investigator
Dice Pool: Wits(3) + composure(3)= 6D10
Action: Listen for clues from overeheard conversations. Try to find the lead investigator.
Health: 7 - No Damage
Mana/Vitae: 3/12
Willpower: 5
Conditions: None
Describe your action.
Rain beads on my white dress shirt, darkening the fabric where it clings to my skin. What used to be messy black hair lies flat and obedient against my scalp, soaked through and lifeless. I take a slow breath before stepping inside.The funeral home hits me all at once.
Death resonance coils in the air — thick, cloying, not violent but dense, like grief that’s been held too long. The kind that settles into walls and carpets and never quite leaves. My stomach tightens as I move toward the casket, each step measured, respectful. I pay my respects to Datastream and her family, bowing my head just long enough to mean it.
Death comes for us all.
An inevitable turn in the cycle.Afterward, I drift toward the bar set up along the hall’s edge — a quiet concession to the living. I ask the bartender what they have. Bud Light. Of course. The worst of the love-in-a-small-boat beers. I take it anyway, regret already blooming, and nurse it slowly.
Thankfully, my resting bitch face does its job. No one approaches. I listen.
About halfway through my water pretending to be a beer, two voices cut through the ambient murmur. Male. Low. Tense. One of them might be who I’m looking for.
Man 1: “I read your statement again,” he says. “You say ‘um’ a lot.”
“Anything else you remember from that night?”
“You were holding her when the magic popped. You must’ve felt something. A shift. A pull. Fear. Anything?”The other man exhales — sharp, frustrated.
Man 2: “I really don’t have much more to give you. Picturesque probably has better insight — she was there during the assault. But I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Whatever was happening to DataDump when I found her, it was supernatural. No question.”
“When I tried using a little Life magic to see what was wrong… her chest just—” He swallows. “—exploded. Like popcorn.”
“I don’t know if my spell triggered it. Or if interacting with her at all did. Or if it was just bad timing.”The words sit heavy, sinking into the room like stones.
I drain the last of my beer and set the bottle aside. The first man looks unremarkable at a glance — just another mourner in dark clothes, posture tight with restraint — but a second look reveals the edges: awareness, tension, something sharpened by experience.
I step closer and extend a hand.
“Ken,” I say quietly. “I wanted to ask if you’ve heard anything about who might’ve done this — or where it happened.”
I don’t push.
I don’t rush.The dead are listening.
-
Dante doesn’t dress it up. He never does.
“The motel we found wasn’t random,” he says just loud enough to make sure Chance can overhear. “We traced Datastream’s killer there off surveillance from an East Side domestic disturbance. Tall, well-dressed guy meeting our down-on-his-luck suspect—money, authority, Missouri plates. A magistrate, of all things. Whatever Datastream stumbled into, it reached higher than street trash.” Rain ticks against the painted glass of the funeral home as he talks, like punctuation. “By the time we got to the Motel 6 west of the 34, you could already smell the rot in the air. Literal. One room held something that wasn’t interested in talking. It took spells, lead, gravity, and a very unlucky clerk with a Texas Peppershaker to put it down.”
His jaw tightens a fraction. “Inside we found the real damage. A girl. Long dead. Ritualized. Not collateral—intentional. Whoever orchestrated this knew exactly what they were doing and didn’t care who got ground up like sirloin in the process.” Dante takes a beat, almost as if he's out of breath. “We burned the place. Fire does what magic sometimes can’t. There was a ghost, or what was left of one, but nothing useful. Just pain.”
Dante finally looks at Ken. “Bottom line? Datastream wasn’t killed by a lone monster. This was a pipeline—money, influence, ritual violence—and the motel was just a dead drop that got too loud. If you’re listening for rumors, listen uphill. That’s where this leads.”
-
Chance doesn’t interrupt Dante while he’s talking. He never does. You don’t step on someone when they’re deliberately letting information spill where it can be overheard. That’s not how you keep doors open.
He waits for the beat at the end — the quiet after the last word settles — then drifts closer like he’d always meant to be there. A respectful angle, not crowding. Present, not imposing.
“Chicago never does subtle,” Chance says lightly, nodding once toward Dante in acknowledgement before turning his attention to the unfamiliar face beside him. “But it does do patterns. Eventually.”
He offers his hand to Ken first. Open palm. Easy grip. No tests hidden in it.
“Chance. Welcome to the city. I wish the circumstances were better.”
There’s a pause — long enough for Ken to return the introduction, for the names to settle — and Chance files it away. New name. New thread. You never know which ones end up load-bearing.
His gaze shifts back to Dante, expression sober now. “What you’re describing doesn’t sound isolated. Pipelines never are. They move because someone keeps them moving.”
He exhales quietly, a sound halfway between sympathy and resolve. “I’m not law enforcement. I’m not muscle. What I am is very good at connecting dots that don’t want to be connected, and finding people who don’t want to be found.” A faint, crooked smile. “And sometimes convincing them they should talk anyway.”
He reaches into his jacket and produces a simple business card — name, number, email. Nothing flashy. Nothing that screams importance. He hands one to Ken, then another to Dante.
“If either of you hear something that doesn’t sit right,” Chance continues, voice low enough to stay inside the circle they’ve formed, “or if you need someone to sanity-check a lead before it turns ugly… I want in. Datastream deserved better than becoming a footnote.”
The rain ticks softly against the windows, steady and patient.
Chance steps back half a pace, giving them room again, but not distance. “No pressure. Just an open line. Chicago works better when people stop pretending they’re alone.”
And for once, that isn’t just philosophy. -
K Kaimuund locked this topic on
