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| Cairns on the Wine River [FIN]; [ST05][Signups Closed] | |||
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| Tweet Topic Started: Sat Sep 17, 2016 1:22 pm (8,260 Views) | |||
| Keter | Wed Dec 7, 2016 4:54 pm Post #286 | ||
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Light. Fire. The words in his mind awoke Keter before Neriah could. He could sense it once the Shade alerted him to it, the dancing light throughout the Old City, unlike the pitiful lights that had been lit so far. Things were on fire, Kir Lantos had decided to burn down the collection of his enemies. Detestable. Clever. Keter sprung to action quickly and rushed outside, turning to see the flickering warm colors of the flames and the practically blinding white of the heavily falling snow, to Keter it made for a hauntingly beautiful sight. The flames created dancing shadows throughout the Old City, shifting points that the Shadowdancers could use to move throughout. Screams and crackling flames filled the air. For the Black Monkey, there was at most only two options. There were plenty of people scattered throughout the Old City that would need help. Keter would waste no time in finding the nearest shadow to vanish through, shifting his way through the darkness past the flames to find people who needed help, either a distraction from the wolves hunting them down like prey or to move them past the flames safely. When coming across enemies, the Shadowboxer would strike quickly, powerfully, and carefully at the wolves hunting down the Old City residents, staying out of their sight until he was upon them. He would try to stun enemies first, maybe breaking or dislocating their limbs with his considerable strength if possible just to slow them down long enough with pain before they could heal to be finished off. The strikes would surely strike fear into any groups of enemies, maybe distract them long enough for others to flee or even kill them. The silver spikes he had would only be used for final blows, being placed quickly between the gaps in armor. Once an area was cleared of people just trying to escape then Keter would retreat into the shadows and head for the next place to try helping. OOC
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| Glug Photall | Wed Dec 7, 2016 5:48 pm Post #287 | ||
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It was perhaps a private thing that Glug hated waiting. He hated it, but he could tolerate it. He had tolerated it for many years, after all; it had always been an essential part of his survival, waiting. He had waited for the proper animals to be arrive at the proper location; he had waited for them to get into just the right position; he had waited for the wind to be just right. He had waited for that perfect shot, and then he had taken it. That was all a part of hunting. He had never gotten into trapping much, although he could see the appeal; but that, too, was a waiting game. Yet the goblin was not idle. Neither was anyone else. Glug struck quickly and quietly where he could, disrupting progress of Lantos and his Wolves. Was it worth it? Probably not. But it was the only thing he could do at the moment, and he did it. Days began to blur together, much as they did in the wilderness. He liked that aspect of being on his own: not having to subscribe to a set schedule, not having to deal with people on a regular basis, and not having to worry about anything except his own personal agendas. The Pariahs’ defensive strategy worked, mostly, but it had Glug worried as to just how well it had worked. They were boxed in. He could feel it. Something bad was coming. He felt it the way he felt bad weather coming. When the birds flew off from all directions, hurrying away from a given compass point, it was time to leave as quickly as possible. Glug could see the writing on the wall, so to speak. And then it came at last: the blow he had been waiting for. He had slept well enough, but he was awake and thinking when he smelled the distant stench of smoke. His ear perked up, and he heard what sounded like flames. His arrows were readied and his bow was in his hand at once. He moved to a window, confirming that something was coming. Lantos was torching the place. While few people in Nine Angels were innocent, there were a few that could be considered as such. Glug had never been a hero, not in any sense of the word; he knew this. Like most of his kin, he had cowardice in him. He knew this all too well. He felt the instinct leap into him at once, and yet…something made him stop. It would have been so easy to get just out, leave the others to burn, and find his own merry way away from Nine Angels. Far too easy, really, what with all the work the Pariahs had done in the recent weeks and the distractions of Lantos’ progression deep into the heart of this gods-forsaken city - and that was the problem. Glug didn’t like easy. If something was too easy, it became simply routine; it was probably why he’d been on edge since he’d settled into this place. But now…no, it was time to do the hard thing; time to rise to the challenge. Who knew? Perhaps if he acted like a hero for once, he might even be seen as one. He probably wouldn’t be able to lift his status as zakona, but that wasn’t really all that surprising. Besides, he’d been an outcast his entire life. It was nothing new to him. He nodded curtly to himself, as though reaffirming his decision in a mirror, and move away from the window. Getting to the rooftop, he danced across the buildings until he could see clearly the flames that were rushing swiftly toward the Castle. Yurim mentioned something to the Pariahs about slowing the flames…yes, he could certainly do that. He thought at once of his Winter’s Talons, a kind of arrow recently replaced by him using money gained while in Nine Angels. He didn’t have all of his equipment back, of course, but he had at least recovered enough custom arrows to be of moderate use once more. The Lightning Rods had been a significant boon against Rjinders, as an example. His Winter’s Talons would cool things off, create some ice that the flames would have to melt before they could move on. Glug had an arrow nocked and had fired three at particularly volatile-looking areas nearby by the time he’d finished that thought, the frost spreading out and overlapping as they struck, creating a small bank of ice that would hopefully slow the flames enough for the others to get some people out. The blizzard was helping, but Glug wasn’t certain that it would be enough. It seemed that he wasn’t the only one trying to staunch the flames, however. As ice and snow began to cling to one of the buildings, Glug noticed that the flames in and around it were lessening. He turned his attentions to the other side of the street instead, firing his arrows there to complement what someone was clearly doing from the other side. OOC
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| Anci | Wed Dec 7, 2016 7:54 pm Post #288 | ||
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At the distant sound of Neriah’s horn, Anci’s response was to make a noise and tuck her head closer to Lore. Whatever was the matter could wait until Morning. Evening. Night. Whatever passed for a time that she felt was more appropriate for waking up. Between Neriah’s squawking on the two metamanapieces lying nearby and Lore stirring to action she had to get up and deal with this new mess. It was a truly divine revelation to Anci that there was nothing good left in the world now. The safety in the Castle and their now mostly departed companions had worn down her edge and made her soft, comfortable despite the relative squalor of the “old city” they lived in. Anci could feel it in how she sluggishly got dressed and ready. by the rotation order it was meant to be her day off today, she’d undone her hair and absolutely didn’t have the time to braid it up or pin it up. A little light pressure on Lore and she got it wound up in a long ponytail at the very least. Pulling the feathered half cloak over her relatively new and stitched together fur coat, she was just a little jealous of Lore’s ensemble. She’d been ready to go already. No appreciation for the flash and flare. Anci pulled her buccal mask down to cover up her sheepish grin. “Let us go find new pelts.” - - - - - - The Old City was a right mess. Shouting and screaming in the distance, the brightest day in Nine Angels not counting Rijinder’s light show, and so much God damned snow. Anci switched onto the metamana piece. “Lore and me are going wolve hunting. Stop them, safe to stop flames.” Other than Neriah the lines had been quiet, but they’d been running this long without these pieces of magic. She figured they could make it a bit longer without really using them. Regretfully Anci hadn’t gone out and found Froggu after Alex borrowed them and lost them somewhere in the riot. Lore at least had her grumpy boar which wasn’t that bad. She had a bit of experience with aggressive mounts after all. ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Even with the heavy snowfall it was easy to find where the flames were. A bit harder to ride through with the snow and the people fleeing, but the nice thing about the flames and the carnage was that they were at least coming to meet them. The tenor of the screaming and the panic had also changed as they got closer. There was a notable difference in the sounds of terror at flames and running from a distant threat compared to someone being savaged by a shapeshifter. Here Anci had parted from Lorica, striding out down the street and parting her way through the stragglers still trying to get out. She dropped the silver shortsword she held in one hand and in a quick moment with a metallic rattle Rasaki snaked out and curled around the handle before extending itself out to give her a polearm with a silvered blade. It might not be able to change the properties of its metal, but she could twist its shape to her advantage. The cold and snow cut in underneath her layers of clothing, but the nearby flames didn’t make it quite so intolerable like their arrival into Nine Angels was. Anci swung Rasaki around wide, cutting an arc in the freshly trampled snow around her as she spread out her arms. The fur and feathers flapped in the wound, the hollow rattling of teeth she had ripped from wolf skulls was hardly audible over the crackling of the flames. She was making an open invitation to them, goading them to come at her by pridefully displaying trophies taken from the skulls and furred hides of their dead comrades. Albeit she really hoped Lore and the Paladins were on point with the flanking. Anci didn’t quite favor odds above a one on one with a Gloomwood werewolf. Part of her really wished they could have kept the Dalca operators on retainer too. “Come! I need new boots!” she shouted at Lantos’ wolves, a savaged grin concealed under her buccal. |
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| Tanya | Wed Dec 7, 2016 9:15 pm Post #289 | ||
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The horn jolted Tanya awake. She clambered out of bed, crossing the room to shake Caelum awake. "Up. Follow me." Caelum rubbed his eyes and sat up. "What's going on?" The metamanas activated, answering his question before Tanya got the chance to respond. She pursed her lips. "That's irritating. We should have planned for something like this." Caedis was already awake, staring at the wall across from him when she got to his bed. "Time to go?" he asked, looking up. She nodded. "Caedis, evacuate as many people as you can. Caelum, fight the fire. I'll deal with the wolves." They left the Castle and mounted their horses, riding hard for the nearest fire. Tanya called back over her shoulder to Neriah, "Fight. Save as much as you can." Caelum urged his horse to breath clouds of cold mist over the buildings nearest the fire, slowing its spread. Caedis ran his Black silently through the streets, hoisting any smoke-choked refugees up and escorting them away before riding back for more. Tanya herself made for the sound of screams and weapons. She dismounted as she approached the battle, sending her Grey away from the battle. She picked through her stock of alchemicals and drew out two bottles: one full of liquid silver, the other apparently empty. She poured the silver into the second bottle and flicked a small switch concealed on the side. A glow appeared at the bottom of the bottle, and the silver liquid began to rise up as mist. She grinned, satisfied with the results, and headed into the massacre being enacted by Lantos' wolves. By way of weaponry, she wielded only the bottle, swinging it around to spritz any werewolf she could reach with a fine silver mist. As soon as she had done so, she would follow the spritz with a bolt of lightning shot from her eye and a quick swipe with her grafted claws. If the werewolf survived the first few attacks, she rarely wasted time finishing it off, instead moving on to spray more wolves with her silvery concoction. She focused her efforts on wolves who already had victims, trying to buy the transients who had taken up residence around the Castle enough time to get away. Used
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| Lorica | Wed Dec 7, 2016 9:38 pm Post #290 | ||
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I'm getting really tired of getting woken up with emergencies. Lorica swung her feet out of bed and began to pull on clothes, still half-asleep The defense plan they'd devised for the 'Old City' was working, but it meant that she was almost constantly on call, getting woken up every hour of the endless night. Adding to that was the fact that her sleep had been troubled recently. Sometimes she swore she could hear a voice whispering in her ear... The shock of cold air slapping her in the face was a unpleasant but effective way of fully waking up. She tugged her greatcoat tighter and squinted out into the snowfall. The drifting flakes reflecting the light of the blaze, making them glimmer with ominous flashes of red and orange. She nodded at Anci. "Yeah, I'm not feeling particularly peaceful right now. Let's hunt us up some fur coats." Bacon was able to carry both of them, but the boar shied once they drew closer to the flames to avoid becoming his namesake. The pair of them slipped off of his broad back. After a few seconds of muttered planning they separated. The Sulerian walked straight down the main boulevard at a leisurely pace. Lorica sprinted to one side, circling around the burning buildings to find a route that was still clear, taking along some of the moutned Paladins (who had better control of their own mounts). The heat of the inferno soon had her sweating through her thick clothes, but she managed to find a relatively open avenue through the conflagration. Lorica edged forward through the narrow pathway as the flames ate away at the building on either side. She drew the weapons she'd bought from Two-Claws in the process, a matching pair of thick knives nearly as long as her forearms, with a clip point and stubby crossguards. Lorica hunched over, watching through a screen of flames as Anci approached the werewolves. Once it looked like they were wholly invested in her she grunted and leaped over the fire, bounding up through the air. She came down hard and darted forward, getting as close to the werewolves as possible before unleashing a storm of slashes and stabs, her face split in a wide grin. OOC
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| Alexandra | Wed Dec 7, 2016 10:51 pm Post #291 | ||
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"Ithuen Bearkiller, for all her faults, is the first person I've met who cares about this town and the people in it. She wants to see this place improve, Aufdein. How many other people in Nine Angels want to see a real city born from this senka-ridden swamp?" Alex leaned a little closer to Aufdein. "I'm not going to abandon this place whether or not she makes it through this. Maybe I can work with the next administration, if I'm still not a victim of entrapment." She rose and left. "Think about it, Aufdein Korso. You need Nine Angels more than you need her. Could you even make your way to Balefire herself, Korso?" Alex shook herself. "Ah, sorry. I'm trying to manage my anger, but I've had difficulty as of late. Visions and random pain will do that." Alex located Zuraw. She rested against the wall. "I'm...sorry about all that. The Dalcas apologize as well. I think I dredged up some painful memories for all of you. No matter the circumstances of your past, who you are today is who you are. Who gives a damn about the past? Zuraw, I was a mild-mannered Academy girl from the Cascadian upper city. I had a job on the upper city at Itivari, as an engineer at their engines blackworks. I had a pretty little house near the banks of the river." Alex raised her metal arm. "Now I'm a proper asshole. Nobody's going to give a damn about my old identity, they care that I flipped a scorchliner end over end, have run with a notorious criminal gang and annihilated a section of the city. The past isn't worth worrying about. Today is. She hugged Zuraw. "If you need someone to lean on, I'm here as long as I'm still alive. Hey, if we both make it out of this I'll be sure to visit you at the League." Some indeterminable time later, Alex waited beside Ithuen at Pureblood Point. "You should consider a few weeks with us, Ithuen. We've kept old Nine Angels alive as best we can, and I think the people of old Nine Angels would love to have you around. You are one of the few pillars of this community. Hell, you actually care about it. You've got to make it through this. We'll keep you safe and low down. Get you a nice mask like mine. The big thing, though, is your safety and getting you back in as a sheriff for these people when it is safe to show your face." The fire came, but Alex barely flinched as it tore through. She could feel it at the edge of her senses. She hopped onto Apple's back and gave the dead horse a pat before looking to Neriah. "I need a favor. Make sure we break the line of buildings. Pick a good long street, burn everything that would allow the fire to make the leap. Organize other teams if you have too much to handle on your own. Burn it safely, we don't want a backfire raging. I'm going to control the fire at the front and slow it." "Top priority is the safety of the people who live here! Everyone! I'm going to do what I can to slow the flames!" Alex called into the metamana Alex rushed to the front, with Mira in tow. The golem wasn't fast. "Defend the Castle, abort if things get too hairy. A lot of people are going to stream in looking for help, Mira.And don't go losing your control of that hull." Apple tore through the streets without even a hint of slowing. Alex turned alongside the raging flames, keeping a safe distance for the sake of her undead horse, and forced the flames back with sheer willpower, hopefully into places that were too burned for the flames to rage again. She kept her distance from any packs of wolves keeping Apple moving at a full gallop. Her anger simmered. She had it under control. But she wanted to lash back the moment there was a gap, annihilate some poor part of their city. Edited by Alexandra, Wed Dec 7, 2016 11:53 pm.
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| Storyteller[ST] | Thu Dec 8, 2016 3:16 am Post #292 | ||
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Everyone The snow is coming down so hard that it piles on your clothing, clings to your eyelashes and hair. Regardless, the weather isn't doing anything to stop the all-consuming blaze. You all spring to action, taking a three-pronged approach with remarkable cohesion: stopping the fire's spread, rescuing those who can still be protected, and attacking the Wolves of Lantos. You don't even have time to stop and outline the plan. You just do it: everyone taking action, everyone having a role or determining one for themselves. You've come a long, long way, Wine River Pariahs. Inferna, Glug, Caelum, Neriah, and Alex, you all fight the fire in different ways. You use your powers, or build firebreaks, or target areas vulnerable to spread, especially on the approach toward the Castle. After the inferno crawls across one firebreak like tendrils, you realize that the flames are magical -- good thing you've for the most part used magic to counter it. Looks like the Pariahs need to go on a hunt with the hopes that one of their victims will be the sorceror or sorcerors responsible for the blaze. Luckily, you've got several on the case. Yurim, you're attacking wolves with quick and dirty strikes. Since you're being extra careful about those high-concentration silver knives, they don't break. You're not killing any of them -- they're just too damn hardy for the strategy you're using -- but you're managing to cripple any that aren't slipping away from you too soon. Keter, you're fighting any enemy you come across, leaving your silver spikes only for chances to deliver a killing blow. Sadly, they don't come often. These wolves are highly coordinated and know when and how to run when they've been beat. You manage to take down one that was already crippled by Yurim, but the behavior of the others quickly changes to reduce opportunities like that as the fight goes on. Tanya, wolves begin to avoid coming in close contact with you after the first few devastating one-two punches of nebulized silver, lightning and claws. You're not able to kill any, but your presence and behavior is changing theirs in a noticeable way, distracting them from their original objectives and forcing them away from certain parts of their attack front. Anci and Lorica, you try an even more coordinated approach. With Anci as the trophy-wielding bait -- a ploy that only infuriates the older wolves, not the freshly turned ones -- you goad several into attacking at once. When they close in, Lorica, you leap over the fire and ambush with rapid strikes while they're distracted. Even with silver from both of you, it's just... not enough. They engage the two of you in a grueling outnumbered fight, and you manage to take down two of them before they scatter. Sorry, make that one; there was one maimed so badly it appeared dead, but dragged itself away soon after. These monsters are just spectacularly hard to kill. While their movements are highly coordinated, they don't appear to be following a plan that involves killing the Pariahs. You suspect it's because so many of these wolves are fresh. Their understanding of brightspeak isn't instinctive yet, and only the new wolves with the hardest hearts have so quickly gotten over their natural fear and aversion to silver. The newer, bigger pack lacks the ultra-tight cohesion of the rarer veterans, and that alone might be a big factor contributing to your death count of two -- as opposed to zero -- and an even larger list of critical, slow-healing injuries. As Anci and Lorica are dealing the killing blow on their maimed target, making three wolf deaths now, the fire is beginning to slow. Ice sheeting on the more volatile areas is making the fire's ability to take hold all the harder. With both Inferna and Alexandra working on the fire directly, controlling it and pushing it back, the rampant spread of the blaze is turning into a crawl. Right on time, walking into the fire's light from the pounding ice and wind, is Ithuen Bearkiller. She's changed a little. Instead of a Sheriff's coat-and-moons, she's wearing the fur-lined duster, thick trousers, stormie hat and high boots of your average backswamp drifter. A wooden mask shaped like a senka of folklore is strapped to her face, giving her anonymity to all but you. [Ithuen Bearkiller has joined your posse.] "I'm not alone," the Sheriff says as Neriah and her Paladins gallop past her. "A little puppy followed me here." This is the first time you've seen the Hangman Spider in a location outside of Pureblood Point. The golem is made of a patchwork of thick scrap-iron plates, rusting on the edges. Frayed lengths of rope are draped across its many pointed limbs, ending in dangling noose-knots. The final statements of those hung off the Point are etched into every surface of the golem's hull, as per tradition: words of anger, guilt, desperation, or even acceptance inscribed in a wide variety of languages. Greyish-blue smoke leaves its flank vents in lazy tendrils like cigar smoke. "Collect your bodies," Ithuen says to the senka-powered golem, dragging her dual silver axes across the mud, "and I'll collect mine." As those two enter the fray, several of you are helping with the evacuation of prisoners. Keter, Caedis, Neriah and the Friends, you're leading the rescue efforts. This mainly involves clearing out dead ends, freeing people from collapsed wreckage, and making use of the diversions that those fighting the wolves are creating (even though they're not killing many, their efforts are still quite useful). The people you're helping are a mixture from the whole spectrum of the crowd that made their new home in the Old City: drifters, mercs, humans, merchants, down-on-their-luck bounty hunters, paupers, middlemen, blood-sellers, prostitutes, turncoats, anarchists, the whole show. Some are helping each other, too. Most people you come across are remarkably calm considering the dire circumstances. Since the Wine River Transport Company first moved into Nine Angels, they've grown almost numb to inhumanity. All of you notice something interesting about these enemies you're facing: they all recognize you, Pariah leaders. What about you makes you so well-known? This is a pretty far cry from how the Pariahs used to be treated not too long ago. They say that the backswamps change people, and 'they' might be correct. Not only has your fame changed, but you've changed as a group. You're working together more easily. Has anything about you as an individual changed since the Taming of Balefire? Who are you now? The Pariahs have maimed, but not killed, many of the wolves that were part of the initial exterminating push, but an unknown number have slipped through the cracks. During a lull in the action, you hear a background of screams over the metamana connection. One voice is distinct but unfamiliar, maybe one of the Paladins or Friends: "[Get back to the Castle!]" If you decide to abandon your current task to fall back to your headquarters, you arrive to the sight of Mira and Cinder doing their best. They've taken a stand at the ruined entrances of the building, trying to fight off a dozen grizzled werewolves. You've arrived just in time to see Mira bodily throwing off a trio, only to fall to an even larger pair in beast form, her hull barely functional. Cinder is still fighting, but is covered in deep gashes. Wolves are slipping through by the time you can properly intercept. Had Mira and Cinder not been there, they would have been deep inside your headquarters by now, cutting a swathe. You spot a werewolf on the back lines who looks disgusting, twisted and disfigured by serious burns. Maksym, Kir Lantos' shadow-loving packmate, smiles. If you are harmonized with the Ethereal, you feel an episode of your most debilitating symptom right at this very moment. Hybrid-form werewolves wearing Cascadian garb post themselves on neighboring rooftops, preparing heavy crossbows with the help of accompanying spotters. Their shots, made inaccurate by the blizzard, pound the stone of the Castle building, making it shudder to the foundation and throwing chunks of rock in dusty bursts. There are no holes through the walls quite yet, but there will be soon. As Mira's hull is crushed by the sheer strength of multiple werewolves, her presence is forcefully removed from the golem she's occupying. On the bright side, and lucky for the Pariahs, Mira held out unnaturally long before succumbing to both the wolves and the hull's original occupant. Cinder has fallen back inside of the building, where Vaduva and a monstrous Tamrixa are holding off the wolves to keep them from entering the back rooms. A wolf rakes Tamrixa hard across the face and down the neck and shoulder; the demon howls in pain. Vaduva sets off a chain reaction of senka-spells, slowing and delaying attacks. His magic, like the rest of the Ethereal, is volatile and difficult to control, though. A rune misfires, wounding Vaduva and opening him up for an overwhelming counterattack from the wolves. His body disappears into a mass of fur and bioluminescent marks. The sound of flesh and bone tearing apart is masked only by Tamrixa's panicked scream. Just when you thought the timing of events couldn't get worse, you hear a new voice over your metamana piece. "[Wine River Pariahs, this is Hanife Bacek. Can you hear me?]" a woman with a slight Istani accent says in a calm voice. "[We've crash-landed in the backswamps outside the western edge of Nine Angels. We're fortunate that we made it this far with so much damage to the airship. Unfortunately not a single survivor among us is without injury, and I myself am unable to move. It will take Viktor some time to piece himself back together, which leaves me to request aid from the Pariah ringleaders whenever it would be most convenient.]"
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| Carmen | Sat Dec 10, 2016 8:37 pm Post #293 | ||
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The wolves parted around her, giving a wide berth that only expanded as she slammed one after another with thick jets of white-hot flame. They knew who she was and the power she wielded. Some might have seen it first-hand. Others had simply heard the stories of a red woman with fire for hair and a temper to match. Most of all, they would know of The Burning Hatred, and how the massive airship had turned the tide during the last battle against the Wine River Pariahs. This is not what I want to be known for, Carmen lamented as Inferna incinerated the hide of another werewolf. "This is good," Inferna said. "They're frightened of me. Of us. Look at them, scattering like mice exposed to the light." Kir Lantos should not have dismissed me. We could have talked this out. Hammered out a settlement! "Is that what you want to be? A diplomat? A negotiator?" Inferna ran a young lycanthrope through with her glowing blade and then burned its body down to ash. "It was not so long ago that all you wanted was to play your fiddle in nameless taverns at the edge of civilization. You shunned our father's lessons. You never negotiated anything until you came here." A host of civilians rushed past Inferna to safety. They huddled behind her as she quelled the flames that burned their homes and sent gouts of fire at any wolf that dared approach. "People like them," Inferna said, nodding toward the residents, "need people like me right now. Not talk." I am not disputing that, Carmen replied. Never before have I summoned you so frequently. I turned my back on you for months. I used to hate you. But this city has changed that. I have accepted that I need you. What has not changed, however, is that these people need strong peaceful leaders, not more violence. "And who would that be?" Inferna chortled. "You?" No. I don't belong here at all. I will help them as much as I can, but my place is not here. It is back home in Taras. And when I am ready we will go there together. Two distress calls came in over the metamana; one from The Castle, and another from the crash site in the swamps. The competing objectives tore at Carmen deep inside. Inferna seemed hardly fazed. "You think you are fit to lead?" she mocked her other self. "Then tell me, do we save our stronghold, the strangers here with us, or the friends lost in the swamp?" Carmen hesitated. Forgive me, Ansgar. We stay here. We protect the civilians! "What?!" Inferna shouted. "The Scribe is the key to defeating Lantos!" A revolution here will need the support of the people. They have to know that the Pariahs stand with them. We cannot abandon them now in their hour of greatest need. The Scribe will survive. Glug is already on his way. "And Ansgar?" There is no victory without sacrifice. Carmen's voice came as a choked whisper. "So be it," Inferna growled, waving more men and women into the growing mass of citizens under her careful watch. "I will guard them from the pack. When the storm subsides, we will evacuate aboard The Burning Hatred." Her body contorted and expanded, her neck extending, her armor melting into her skin and becoming red, reptilian scales. Her arms and legs twisted and grew, sinewy muscle going taut, massive, scythe-like claws sprouting from her fingers and toes. Her face warped into huge, slavering, snapping jaws with thick scaly plates and fire-scorched horns. From her maw spat oily flames. Leathery wings arched to protect her charges, and her new tail circled around the group protectively. ooc Edited by Carmen, Mon Dec 12, 2016 12:57 am.
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| Keter | Sun Dec 11, 2016 10:46 am Post #294 | ||
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The Shadowboxer, a shadowy figure that appeared long enough to make some well-placed and critical blows, careful with his silver as he aggressively probed the limbs and gaps in the wolves' armor, seeming to come from nowhere but lingering long enough to be distracting in such a subtle taunt. The behavior may not have been very different from any reports or word spread about the Pariah's stint at the Bearkiller's establishment, but what may have stood out was the clothes scavenged from the prison barge's guards that he maintained, with eyes practically leaking shadowy energy between the raised collar of the coat and the flatbrim. Far more subtly might be a sense that, though not losing an inch in how dangerous he behaved, gaining much in the idea that he might not be all there. Ages old, ignored for long, there was this unfortunate sense overcoming Keter. Oh so far back in those old and oft remembered days of Surya, the first of the Black Monkey's incarnations and the last free before Keter Laluan, it was striking wrong chords that led to a mixed bag of reactions from the current Living Myth. The chaos, the attack, the burning buildings, the intensity of the hunt beating away at the inside of his chest, the hit and run tactics, and the satisfaction of seeing people managing to slip away from their attackers. Sometimes when Keter looked at the units attacking the Old City, he did not see wolves but Nalaians clad in armor. He could not kill most of them, but he could strike from the shadows, from outside of the corners of their eyes, quick and vicious and vanish as fast. The burning buildings to his mind turned into wooden huts, mostly small, screams changed pitch and the fires seemed more natural to his eyes. A force pulled against this effect in his mind, struggling to keep him in the here and now, fighting to keep control of the Nalaian to his conscious mind rather than being bogged down by age-old, but it was not fighting against only a single memory of the sort. Another from later on in that infamous Incarnation's mind was trying to fight the first to be remembered, flashing sights of larger buildings, of more people fighting, of a righteous fury intertwining with the thrill of battle. His strikes were careful, powerful, and fast. He lingered for a moment just so that they could watch him disappear from their sight, vanishing into the darkness only to be somewhere else, to grab hold of his little control over the battlefield, to help what turned to old allies in his minds when they needed it before vanishing once more. He was altering the flow of battle actively, carefully, and at the same time hunting for somebody interesting enough to keep his focus, for him to fight, to beat, and to hold the limp body over his head in victory. KETER! Keter's head felt like it was going to split. He was out of the way of enemies, out of their sight, but he dropped to his knees from the agony, his mouth agape but too strained to let any sound pass his lips. There you are. His Shadow whispered soothingly in his mind, Don't forget where you are, monkey. "Right. . ." Keter breathed deep as the pain subsided, the ringing of pain within his head quickly being replaced by the sounds of voices in his ear-- through that device he had been given. He quickly regained his composure, his sense of self in relation to the battlefield, to when and where he was and what he was doing. It was still cold, unfortunately, but he could recall what he was doing, what he was feeling in the here and now, and most importantly who he was. You know what's happening? Of course. I wasn't that far gone. A smile returned to his face as he quickly stood back to his feet, listening in through the metamana earpiece he had been assigned. Calm overtook him, a sort of warrior's peace filled his soul, "What a large pack to break, I think we've got them on edge. I'll get who I can to the temple, just tell me if you need help-- or find somebody interesting to kill." With that, and until requested otherwise, Keter would return to helping people escape as he could, providing distractions, moving debris as necessary, and shadowshifting people too injured to move to the temple. He considered a small thing to contribute, but no matter what these peoples history was, he could find no reason that they should collectively burn like this. |
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| Anci | Sun Dec 11, 2016 4:12 pm Post #295 | ||
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Lore put the finishing touches on the wolf with her blades. Everything seemed to be going relatively well. Right up until someone called them to get back to the Castle and their departed friends had just arrived with Bacek, torn up but still kicking. These things happening at once seemed to be the opposite of fortuitous. They had a handle on the wolves and Kir’s push to destroy the Old City but that was through their concentrated efforts. The flickering light from the flames nearby faded into greys and whites as the color around Anci bled out and the summoning glyph on her chest burned with bright white light through the heavy snowfall. In the distance she heard exclamations identifying her as the summoner, someone had taught them the visual markers Anci had. The distance and Loricia nearby bought her enough safety and time at least. Under the glyph her skin parted, eliciting a gasp of pain that sent a wave of condensation through her mask. Anci leaned on Rasaki to keep her footing, with near literal wolves circling them showing weakness was a bad idea. Pulled through from the otherside came a quadrupedal creature. Its skin was made of a pitch black metal the all flowed and curled towards its back like it had been melted by some extreme force it had been facing. Its emergence propelled it straight forward, only to be bisected in half by the silver blade Rasaki had wrapped around. A sharp, keening cry with a loud rumble like distant came from the creature as it was split in half and the painfully bright, white plasma that made up its body was exposed to the open air. Violent arcs lashed out and reached to the divided halves trying to reconnect. Anci’s silver bindings prevented them from doing so, repelling each other just enough to prevent a merging. They stepped along, plasma arcs coalesced into a cohesive shape they could manipulate like limbs. Nearby weapons that had been discarded were dragged closer by magnetism, the metal melting and flowing to join and cover the exposed portions of their bodies. There wasn’t nearly enough metal present for them to fully heal themselves after the violent division, which is what Anci was counting on. She turned to Lore, her tone was harsh but she did her best to keep it low. No need to tell the enemy directly what they were doing. Leave something to their imagination. “Let's go, wouldn’t want our wandering knight to not have a Castle to go home to!” ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ Coming in on the battle for the Castle from the outside, Anci’s goal was to come up behind some of the former Cascadian Mafia and sweep them out with a hugeified Rasaki meteor hammer. She knew it wouldn’t be lethal, but just dislodging them, destroying them or even sending them for a fall was what she was hoping for. Breaking up their safe points to make them easier targets for the defenders and to put the attackers on the back foot. OOC
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| Lorica | Sun Dec 11, 2016 5:55 pm Post #296 | ||
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Lorica was used to hunting monsters that refused to die. The scattered, ravenous members of her order could all tap the Wellspring in order to regenerate from anything short of instant death... yet these Darkest Gloomwood werewolves put the Keepers to shame. Even with silver-laced blades they refused to die, struggling no matter how much she cut them. It was all she could do to avoid their claws, although she still accumulated a handful of cuts and scrapes in the process of cutting one down. The Keeper knelt over the downed wolf, using her dual knives to completely decapitate it, making doubly sure it wouldn't get up again. Ithuen popped up, towing along a strange golem whose hull was inscribed with lines of overlapping script. "You can have this one, but I'll want his pelt," she said, wiping her knives clean on her pants. "It's damn cold in this godforsaken place." Before the sheriff could reply, a pair of urgent messages came over the metamanas. Lorica bit her lip, thinking for several long moments before replying. "Bookworm... You do what you have to, but don't die on me here." That was all the sentiment she had time for. The Castle was under attack, and she felt her particular gifts would be better suited for an ambush than babysitting the survivors of the Starek raid. "Someone go make sure we don't lose Bacek, or else this was all for naught." Lorica followed Anci back towards the Castle at a loping stride, moving as fast as she could through the incipient blizzard. Their headquarters were under siege, a whole pack of wolves gathered around its walls and fighting their way inside. There were even more hanging back, including one grotesquely disfigured lycanthrope. She just barely recognized him as Marksym before slivers of ice stabbed into her temples. "Eeny meenie miny moe," a voice whispered from her past, whispered with loving affection in her ear. Lorica flinched and spun, knives lashing out at empty air. "Catch a dragon by its toe. If he hollers let him go." She was shaking, and not from the cold. She turned back around, gray eyes focusing on Marksym. There was fear in her stare, but also rage. "Eeny meeny miny moe." "That's you, bitch." She was shaking, but it was Twist who was afraid. The corruption didn't fear Marcus or Marksym or anyone else. So she let it flood her veins with violent energy, giving it control over her entire body. She shuddered, lips twisting back into a wide smile, teeth lengthening into fangs. She leered towards Marksym, gesturing at him with one dagger. "MOE MOE MOE!" The twisted power of the Wellspring flowed out of her, surging towards the Ethereal-touched werewolf. Plants in a straight line between the two of them exploded with life and then died within seconds, withering to nothing. The corruption sank into his disfigured form, swelling his nearest limb with twisted life energy. If the rampant magic managed to strike Marksym it would riddle that appendage with tumors and unnatural growth. Lorica charged straight up the hill towards him, running on all fours as often as she was on two feet. Spurs of bone stabbed out of her joints, spines jutting from her back, claws splitting her fingers. Her skin danced with inky thorns that scratched their way up and down her body, pulsing and throbbing. Another burst of power gave rise to a clustered thicket of leafless trees surrounding Marksym and his coterie, the plants twisting to pummel the lycanthropes with their thick boughs. She threw herself into the copse when she arrived, attacking with blade and tooth and claw. "Good little Twist," Marcus said, but she was beyond hearing. Twist? Well, Twist was never one to hesitate when things got rough... but she's changed in Nine Angels. When she got here she was just dangerous, but now she's plain deadly. More paranoid, less trusting, more apt to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation. Lethal force isn't just a tool in her arsenal, it's the one she reaches for first. She won't stand for insults, not towards her or any that she claims as her own. People fear her. There's some respect there too, because she's not the sort to abandon her allies in their time of need. A good friend and a terrible enemy, that's Twist. And then.... Well, this is hearsay, you know, something I heard through the grapevine. But 'they' say Twist isn't really the pretty girl she appears. She might look human, but there's a devil hidden away inside her. Back when she arrived in Nine Angels you never would have known. She locked that monster deep inside and had thrown away the key, but the shit that the Wolves pulled made her break that door wide open. Now Twist dances a merry jig with that devil, letting it out to play on a whim. I don't know a soul that's seen it and lived, but there must be survivors somewhere, else there wouldn't even be rumors. Abilites
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| Glug Photall | Sun Dec 11, 2016 6:14 pm Post #297 | ||
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How many years had he spent alone? He wondered this as he loosed each new shaft, the arrows flying faster than most people could blink, spreading the snow and ice to fortify existing fire breaks and create new ones. It wasn’t enough…but it was slowing the flames, at least. The enchantments inherent in Glug’s arrows and what was likely to be magical attacks from fellow Pariahs were at least giving the others enough time to hopefully get as many people out as possible. Glug didn’t hold much hope for the Castle, not if this obviously magical fire continued to spread as quickly as it was - but he would do what he could. But why? He wasn’t focusing on it, but in the back of his mind, he had an idea. He had been an outcast his entire life. He had been born sickly for a goblin, and his birth had been a premature one. Yet somehow, he’d been quicker than the other goblins who’d been slaughtered all around him. He’d been captured regardless, as young as he was, but he’d been quick enough despite his sorry state to escape into the woods later on. Somehow, the sickly little greenskin had been survived in impossible conditions. He’d beaten the odds by a very long mile, and he was relatively certain that it wasn’t entirely due to his superior intellectual capacity over that of his fellow greenskins. Perhaps he’d become heartier than them because he’d had to, or perhaps he’d simply been smart and stubborn enough to tolerate the conditions of his Abyssal existence. Whatever the reason, his torment hadn’t ended there. Loneliness often drove goblins to madness, yet his had driven him to seek out the cities in which his kin dwelt. None knew him, and none cared for him, but that was to be expected; he was quickly disillusioned, and he just as quickly learned not to trust even the most dependable of his own kind as far as he could send them by tripping them up. He’d become wary, cynical, a loner not only by history and practice but by nature. He’d started taking jobs just to stay alive, and he’d continued taking those jobs to get smarter and richer. He found others like him, yet he never felt close to them. He just felt sorry for them - and so he’d commissioned the digging of an underground city in a place few goblins dared to go: the heart of the Istan Desert, where the darkness could only cover them for so long. Only the very foolish and the very brave - two traits not necessarily mutually exclusive - ever went there. It was the perfect location of Glughob, and Glughob had been the perfect name. Yet even after all of that, he was still alone. He had been with goblin women but had always had to pay, for that was just the way of things among his kind. Friends, though…friends cost money, he’d learned. Allies? There were no such things…not really. Everyone was an enemy until proven otherwise, and then they were only a stepping stone to the next enemy in line. So what had changed? The crackle of static across the metamana sent Glug’s vision back across the landscape, but the blizzard was so bad that even he couldn’t see through it. He loosed his current shaft and counted the remainder of his Winter’s Talons as he turned and ran; he had four left. He would have been out soon, anyway. He leapt the rooftops and soon slid to a halt across the street from the Castle. He gave the scene a quick once-over and drew an arrow he rarely used: a Blighter’s Arrow. Carefully stripping it and hastily casting the wrapping aside, he put all of his attention onto it as he focused on his target: the doorway through which one of the Pariahs’ friends had just vanished. He muttered the incantation and let it loose, sending it true to the doorway, where it exploded. Acidic black oil flew in all directions, creating a barrier that would hopefully slow the wolves, even if it didn’t stop them. Then he drew another arrow as he uttered the words to another spell, this one much more useful: Globe of Darkness. He centred it in the middle of the fray, hoping to cause sudden confusion and an obstacle that would prove deadly. Nocking the Silver-Tip, he prepared to shoot the nearest werewolf when another message came across the metamana. It was Bacek…the group had been successful, but that wouldn’t mean much if Bacek perished to the elements. He had a quick decision to make. If he left this spot, who knew what would become of the Castle? Crossbowmen on the rooftops…yet their aim was off; the blizzard was impossible to shoot straight through now, though Glug had been doing a fine job of at least hitting the mark, even if his arrows weren’t precisely striking dead-centre; then again, he hadn’t been aiming for precise targets until now Bacek seemed fairly bloody important to this whole affair, however, and the other Pariahs could probably handle things here; one lone archer with a spell or three at his disposal wasn’t going to change much. That one fiery girl alone could do a whole lot of damage very quickly with all that fire she could spew - a lot more damage than Glug could do in so short a time, certainly. He might as well ride off to bring in reinforcements if he could, especially if a healer could get to them as quickly as possible as well. <”Glug Photall. On my way. Numbers and wounds?”> He didn’t like sharing his name in case the metamana was compromised, but he didn’t have time to worry about that right now. He was moving as he was speaking, putting his bow and arrow away in favor of summoning his horse. He leapt from the building top just as the great draft stallion seemed to shift into view from among the falling snow and howling wind. Using his hands to brace his fall, he landed deftly in the saddle, took up the reins, and was on his way in one fluid motion. He was glad that had actually worked, lest he be in a lot worse condition than he was and in dire need of healing himself, but there was no time to think about what could or might have been. <"Mmm..."> Bacek thought, creating a long pause. <"We're mostly Pariah and Dalca lieutenants now. Most of mine-- excuse me."> Bacek audibly lost her composure for a second, choking back a noise. <"Most of mine are either dead or missing their eyes."> Another pause. <"Wounds... what a mess. To save time, allow me to identify your highest priorities for aid. First, there are plenty of my own men who will need assistance. Also, Yevhen Dalca had to take off his bite mask and we couldn't retrieve it before we had to go. His eyes were eaten in the chaos. Mentally he's broken. And that famous bounty hunter had some kind of episode. We stabilized her wounds, but she's been extremely sick the whole way back. Right now she looks like she's almost fighting something, or pushing it away. Currently my leg is crushed under a wooden beam, but my condition is stable. Prioritize others before me, please."> <"Senka will come. I'll leave so they don't attack the others."> It was Czajka's voice. Frost crackled across Glug’s metamana. <"Don't forget Ansgar. He's chained below deck. But I'm gonna... try to-- get some distance."> The start of a coughing fit cut out from the conveyance. <"Sorry. Can't help more. Don't got much left in me but this."> <”Czajka,”> Glug responded, naming the bounty huntress in question. He furrowed his brows at the mention of the big guy. <”Why is Ansgar bound?”> <"It was that or-- leaving him behind. He got dangerous,"> Czajka said through the metamana, her breathing labored. <"I don't-- know what happened."> The furrow in Glug’s brow deepened. If Ansgar had become a danger to the Pariahs, then he was no longer to be trusted - certainly no more than Keter. And he was even more of a danger than Keter, considering how physically powerful he was. Glug’s thought had been to free Ansgar first so that he could help with the others, but if he couldn’t be trusted, then Ansgar should be left for last, even considering any wounds he might have sustained. Then a question came over the metamana about what was going on at the castle. <”Under heavy assault; crossbowmen on the roof but they can’t shoot well in this storm.”> <"'She was not meant to break against the ice, but she will if she doesn't change her ways.' But I did. Why's it still--? What I'm trying to say is: are you sure the cure's a good idea? What if it just makes it all worse? The last thing I haven't tried 'changing' is embracing it, but who's to know what'd happen to me? What if I turned into a Stranger like my husband? But what if the Shadow's lying and just trying to trick me to get my body parts?"> All the words tumbled out of Czajka’s mouth in a gasping panic. Glug thought quickly as he rode, and then responded. <”Focus, Czajka,”> he told her over the metamana. <”Take a breath. Trust your gut. All I can say.”> <"...Right. Thank you.”> With that, Glug fell silent as he rode through the streets. The snow seemed to be getting thicker and heavier with each passing hoof-beat. Though he was trying to focus on the present, however, his thoughts kept shifting to the past. That first winter in the woods had been brutal. He’d barely found shelter before the first storm, and there had been many after it. It took him a while to replicate the mish-mashed lean-tos he’d seen back home, covering it with the barest of materials. But he’d learned quickly. He’d had to. He’d figured out how to take from the woods what he needed; the best way to bind branches together; the best way to cover them and with what; which way to lean the structure and where to place it. His first shelter was washed away the following spring, and he only got smarter after that. Survival made a person either grow stronger or perish, and Glug had somehow grown stronger. And now, for the first time in his life, he found himself not simply hiding until things blew over so that he could lash out at others. There wasn’t enough time to do that, what with so much going on in and around Nine Angels. There simply wasn’t time to play the long game with Lantos like he had with that idiot that had betrayed him once before. But then again, this wasn’t the same situation, either. He’d simply not been paid before, and his employer had tried to kill him. But this was different. This time, the whole thing had been a set-up from the word “go”, and it had been a very frantic ride ever since - much like this ride. He was beyond the thicker portion of the city before he realized it, and he was soon well on his way to Bacek’s position. OOC
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| Mobster Man | Sun Dec 11, 2016 9:56 pm Post #298 | ||
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Yurim growled as a wave of nausea and the feeling of shadow-beings trying to eat away at him. He shook off those that he could and made sure his eyes were protected, they were outmatched now, but their foes were running, the fires wouldn't be a problem for long, the problems were the base being compromised and the damn shadow-lover. When he got the suggestion for moving people Yurim growled into his metamana, "I'll get people out of here, I'll get some of our people to start moving people to the Shadow Temple, good stone will keep us from dying in the snow at least. If Keter or myself work together we can transport the injured." With that said he focused on the Shadow Temple, his mark was there, he could go there any time he wanted. Their only real option was the temple, even ruined it would have the walls to stop the wind, people could use body heat to stay warm. Yurim rushed to the nearest member of the Friends, "Start getting people to the old Shadow Temple, I'll focus on using the shadows to take people there. If you think it would be safer, scatter into groups and take detours to throw off their ideas of where we went, even if it only buys us a few minutes it could be worth it, but if you're helping the injured, go straight to the temple, we can't risk people dying." With that said he would go around, taking the injured through the shadows, appearing in the temple and leaving them there with the words, "The others are coming." He would also make trips into the Castle, if anyone was there he would try to get them out, he wouldn't leave these people to die like dogs. While on his way to save his allies, he realized something, he was well known in this town, he had never been 'well known' just 'rumored'. It must have been because of his actions, helping kill a shadow-killer as a Shadowdancer, helping out a weaker gang become stronger, taunting his enemies publicly, he was either thought of as a loon or a brave idiot. He had changed... but he hadn't moved forward, he had gone backwards, he was back to being his old self, Yurim Shadewalker, Thief and Gang Leader, once this was over he'd lead the Friends for a while longer, he had much to teach them. Edited by Mobster Man, Sun Dec 11, 2016 10:16 pm.
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| Alexandra | Mon Dec 12, 2016 12:29 am Post #299 | ||
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Alex listened over the metamana. She finally spoke up as she brought Apple into a full gallop out of the city, tearing across muddy streets and bouncing off the tightly wound alleys. <Czajka. I'm going to pick you up, let's work out a location, and then we'll drag your horde of murderous senka right into the Wolves of Lantos.> Alex spent a few moments working out a meeting point while Apple sped through the streets. The undead halfdraft didn't pause for a moment, even as wide eyes recognized the woman who had annihilated half a street and orchestrated a dozen other misfortunes. Her signature mask was tight on her face, the one thing those outside of the Pariahs knew her for. Her heavy, ragged coat billowed in the wind behind her. With a series of gestures and arcane words, she brought another summon to the field. "Vixy! Get yourself over to the Castle, defend it from the Wolves of Lantos!" "The ca-Oh! The shithouse sister Mira told me about! Right! On my way!" Vixy jumped into the sky, trailing flames as she went. The elemental moved across the streets before hitting the ground in front of the Castle. Pavement beneath her clawed feet was torn up. The numerous werewolves made it very obvious to Vixy who the Wolves of Lantos were, and she raised a shield and an ax and dashed into combat, trying to aid Lorica's maneuver. Alex, meanwhile, attempted her pickup of Czajka. "You know more about the Ethereal than anyone, Czajka. Make a decision informed by everything you know, then trust in it. I'll do the little job, getting both our hides out of this safely." And if she succeeded, she would turn Apple right around and head into one of the burned districts in hopes of catching a Wolves of Lantos cleaning crew and dumping the kibosh of Senka on that. If that didn't work, she'd reorient and lead them straight into Maksym, making a warning over the metamana before she arrived. (OOC: Celestial warbeast(fire sub) cast for Vixy to defend the castle. Seeing as Alex doesn't arrive at the Castle, I believe she isn't affected by Maksym?) |
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| Tanya | Mon Dec 12, 2016 1:42 am Post #300 | ||
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Her metamana crackled to life with an unfamiliar voice. Tanya shoved aside a werewolf and paused to listen in on the conversation. The jailbreak had been successful - at least to a certain extent. They'd lost a lot of resources and people, but Bacek was finally out. It sounded like the almost the entire team needed healing, however. Tanya forced back another werewolf. She spotted Caelum on his horse at the end of the street and ran towards him, calling out. "Caelum! I need your horse. Get off" The elemental looked bewildered, but obediently swung his leg over and slid to the ground. "What--" Tanya pressed her flask of silver mist on him. "Spray this on any werewolf who gets too close. Save who you can." She vaulted onto the horse and spurred it on. It was slow to start, but accelerated continually, carrying her towards Bacek far faster than her legs could have. She'd never been afraid to get her hands dirty, but nor had she ever had so many different concerns that needed her personal attention. It would have been gratifying if it wasn't so awful. And there were so many things that could kill even her. Rijinders' regenerative powers went well beyond her own - she'd have to look into getting something similar when she got the chance - but his death hadn't even been a turning point of their battle. A victory, certainly, and even a notable one, but they'd killed as close to an immortal as Tanya had met since coming to Imythess, and done so with only a few days' planning. Madame Tanya herself could easily become a casualty in the war they were waging against Kir Lantos. But even with everything she'd spent all her life trying to secure at stake, the thought of packing it in and leaving Balefire had barely crossed her mind, and even then only to wonder why she thought of it so rarely. There was little to gain and everything to lose, and neither revenge nor reputation were of such importance that they were worth risking her life time and time again. She couldn't figure out why she felt such a duty to the cause, nor to the other Pariahs. But, for no good reason she could think, she felt a need to protect Nine Angels. It was almost disturbing how her better judgement could be so quickly subsumed by whatever compulsion it was. It was as though she'd made a deal with the Ethereal and then forgotten it, but she was sure the only question she'd asked it had too high a price for her to pay. She reined in as she and a few other Pariahs reached the prison-break team. She tore through her gear, looking for the most useful potions and passing them to the least injured survivors. "Liquid bandage, healing potion, self-fix kit. Use these to treat non-fatal injuries. Replenishing potion. For anyone whose exhaustion is so bad it will slow us down. We can't stay here long. Miracle Elixir. If anyone's near death, use this one." She pulled out a fourth potion, but kept it to herself. "Where's Ansgar?" she asked anyone close enough to hear. When they'd pointed her in the right direction, she went down to speak with him. "I've got a potion for you. It should help. Are you sane enough to drink it? Or do I have to force it down your throat?"
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8:40 AM Jul 11

