Calendra's Cistern v2c (NewDark) addon

"I'm all dressed up with nowhere to go
 walkin' with a dead man over my shoulder.."
  -Oingo Boingo, "Dead Man's Party"

Re-releease: Ttlg.com
original: Ttlg.com

BACKGROUND:
This is your city. A black-caped lord, you survey your domain from the rooftops 
with pensive, cynical eyes. They are analytical eyes. Like camera shutters, they 
slice and assess every footfall on the midnight cobbles below. You time every 
pendulous swing of the lanterns and evaluate every fitful throw of shadow from 
one end of the street to the other. Your ears unconsciously decipher the sullen 
echoes of voices, machinery and wind. This is a city of metronomes where chimney 
pots sway to the ancient gurgle of pipes whose forlorn songs rise from throats 
of incurable decay. You gauge the lonely armored scrape of each city watchman as 
a matter of habit, for there is machination in thievery. And timing is 
everything. You have internalized the rhythm of movement and non-movement, the 
play of shadows, down to your very own pulse.

You chuckle sardonically, amused to find yourself thinking of the Keepers. But 
you have good reason tonight.

Mercedes was a hard minded, hard bodied acolyte who left the Keepers shortly 
after you. Though your relationship lasted longer than that of most thieves in 
the city, you're not exactly a family man. Besides, Mercedes started dabbling in 
sorcery and had her own agendas. But that's all in the past. And loneliness can 
be delicious in its own way . . . especially on the rooftops at night. Her 
letter arrived yesterday. You have it tucked in your breast pocket and it 
reminds you of the times you spent together as acolytes. It mentions a party, a 
job, strictly business it would seem . . . But you don't think so much about the 
letter's content as you do on the familiar handwriting. And then you decide that 
it is an interesting proposition after all. Not the money so much as the 
challenge of stealing something more abstract than lucre or relics. A theft of 
time and a little company to remind you of your fading youth. Such delicate and 
unpredictable prizes fall outside what you've memorized of this clockwork city. 
At the thieves' guild you once heard an old rogue say that the thief's burden is 
not his bag of loot but the endless desire to possess what he does not have. 
Tonight you meet an old friend . . . for you, a splinter of what might have been 
is gleaming like a jewel under museum glass . . . and opportunity makes the 
thief. 

BRIEFING LETTER:
"Garrett,

I know we agreed not to see each other, but there's a party tomorrow night and 
you're the only man thief-enough to be my escort.  You've heard of the Weeping 
Angel Tavern?  It's near my new apartment on the south side of town.  I heard 
the owner, Lady Calendra, is closing the tavern early in order to throw a lavish 
party.  An elite few are invited and among them, a count seeking payment for his 
delivery of a certain ill-gotten relic taken by crime from swamps in the utter 
south.  I don't know much about it really, but as far as the party goes, we're 
'invited.'  I'll expect you in the Weeping Angel's wine cellar by midnight.  I 
overheard there is a secret door there to the place the party is being held.

As Always,

Mercedes

P.S.     I think it's formal dress so...I'll be wearing black."