(a few hours into the Jaunt, open broadcast)

[protect_and_serve]

[Joscelin's voice, sent across the network, is warm, dry, composed - instilled with enough confidence, he hopes, to reassure the new and uncertain.]

A calm beginning makes for a welcome change. We should still start sharing what we know. Who's with us, and who is missing? Who is infiltrating? What do we know about this world?

If this is your first Jaunt - and there were many new faces in Liminal Space - ask for assistance, and we'll give it.

I'll begin. This is Joscelin Verreuil. We're on the coast of an island, somewhere between Alba and Terre D'Ange- England and France, I think, locally. Magic of some sort appears to be open and commonplace. I can't make sense of their calendar, but we're in or just after the Twentieth Century, as.... Christians... reckon time. This is a port where foreigners are common and unremarked. I have clothes that fit the era, and in my pockets were ten five-pound notes. The Trumps don't mean for us to be spotted immediately, or starve, but I can't guess more than that.

Comments

[dreamingking]

This is my first, and I am, fortunately, or unfortunately as it may be, still myself. The locals don't seem overly suspicious of me yet, but given my arrival, I don't hold out hope of that lasting forever.

I intend to play the tourist quietly for a while, and make inquiries of the local cats.

[protect_and_serve]

Cats?

[dreamingking]

My particular skill if you will. I speak fluent cat, and they are so often overlooked by the humans that surround them. Cats can be very effective at gathering information, given the right incentive.

[protect_and_serve]

Then let us hope that there are plenty of rats with which to bribe them. It is, after all, a port town.

[dreamingking]

They’re quite plump and numerous down by the docks. Excellent hunting, if I must say so myself.

[Yes, he knows what that implies. He's quite content with his diet.]